[illustration: "you ruffian!"--frontispiece.] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- grace harlowe's overland riders in the great north woods by jessie graham flower, a. m. illustrated the saalfield publishing company akron, ohio--new york made in u. s. a. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- copyright mcmxxi by the saalfield publishing company ----------------------------------------------------------------------- contents page chapter i--on the big woods trail................................ the overlanders, arriving at their destination, are told that their guide is busy doing the family washing. hippy and hindenburg, the bull pup, make a hit. emma dean wishes she had stayed at home. the "untamed" bronco entertains the villagers. chapter ii--the voice of nature.................................. "why don't yer feed the critter some soothin' syrup?" jeers a villager. emma reads the message of the hermit thrush. on the way to the "big woods." trouble is threatened at bisbee's corners. the overlanders attacked by roistering lumberjacks. chapter iii--the charge of the jacks............................. "out of this, lively!" shouts tom gray. the fight in the village street. hippy and tom rescue an unfortunate indian from the jacks. willy horse follows and overtakes his rescuers. "you big friend--big medicine!" the new guide creates a sensation. chapter iv--a human talking machine.............................. joe shafto lays down the law to her charges. tom gray admits that he is at fault. emma announces that some of her ancestors were birds. hippy advises the guide to eat angel food. a wild beast in the cabin of the forest woman. chapter v--overlanders get a jolt................................ "a bear! a bear under the table!" grace harlowe's companions thrown into panic. nora puts her foot in a platter of venison. the guide explains that henry, the bear, is a "watch dog." hippy and the bear meet in hand-to-hand conflict. chapter vi--camping under the giant pines........................ "sick 'im, hindenburg!" gasps hippy. the bull pup saves his master, and henry gets a beating. tom shows how to read the forest "blazes." the overland riders pitch their first camp in the great forest. emma gets a message from the air. the lull before the storm. chapter vii--felled by a mysterious blow......................... tom and grace hearken to warning sounds in the trees. "quick! get the girls out!" a rush from an unknown peril. hippy declares that "nature is an old fogy." crashing reverberations are heard in the forest. "hippy's hurt!" cries elfreda briggs. chapter viii--their first disaster............................... tom informs his companions that their camp has been wiped out. building a fire in the rain. overland girls learn the secrets of the forest. joe shafto boxes hippy's ears. the pet bear is welcomed with a club. a startling assertion. chapter ix--lumberjacks seek revenge............................. "the skidway was tampered with!" overland tents are destroyed. tom gets a cold welcome. a warning of timber thieves. lean-tos are built for the night's camp. "how can we go to bed with one side of the house out?" wonders emma. awakened by an explosion. chapter x--mystery in the fall of a tree........................ hippy is assisted down the river bank by a flying tree limb. the camp of the overlanders again suffers disaster. "hurry! we've set the woods on fire!" battling with a forest fire. hippy wants to dream of food. a disturbing outlook. chapter xi--the threat of peg tatem............................. henry sleeps on high. the bear and the bull pup scent trouble. the foreman of section forty-three goes trouble-hunting. settlement is demanded of the overlanders for the burned trees. "skip! get out!" orders lieutenant wingate. peg starts a row. chapter xii--a shot from the forest............................. tom gray attacked by the lumberman. the jacks take a hand. hippy uses a firebrand as a weapon. overlanders badly punished. shots from the forest shatter peg's wooden leg. henry paws his way into the fight. the overlanders meet a fresh mystery. chapter xiii--a blazed warning.................................. grace harlowe's party seeks a change of scene. the bent arrow points to danger. the end of a long night's journey through the forest. the mournful wail of a timber wolf carries a meaning to emma dean. "put out that fire!" commands the forest ranger. chapter xiv--their day at home.................................. the caller at the overland camp grows threatening. henry sounds a warning growl. ordered to leave the forest. emma tells the ranger how to get rid of wolves. "i reckon you haven't heard the last of peg tatem." chapter xv--the way of the big woods............................ newcomers arouse the apprehensions of the overland riders. "put up yer hands!" comes the stern command. deputy sheriffs inform the overlanders that they are under arrest. joe shafto fires a warning shot at their annoying callers. chapter xvi--willy horse shows the way.......................... elfreda out-argues the officers of the law. visitors politely requested to remove themselves. threats of revenge. camp is made on the banks of the little big branch. willy shows the way to the overlanders' permanent camp. chapter xvii--in the indian tepee............................... willy horse arrives in a bark canoe. an indian home is built for the overland girls. grace paddles the birch canoe and gets a ducking. henry investigates the tepee and his nose suffers. a loud halloo arouses the girls from their beauty sleep. chapter xviii--the trail of the pirates......................... the bull pup keeps bankers' hours. tom and hippy seek evidence of timber-thieves and make discoveries. hippy evolves a great idea. willy tells lieutenant wingate about chief iron toe. hippy and the indian go away on an important mission. chapter xix--the return of the prodigal......................... "bears is better than husbands," declares joe shafto. hippy announces that he has bought a big timber tract. "don't ask me a question until my stomach begins to function." willy horse brings a warning of spies near the camp. chapter xx--peace or war?....................................... chet ainsworth arrives at the point of a rifle. the peace of the overland camp violently disturbed. hippy admits that he is crazy. henry gives uninvited guests a scare. "they do get that way sometimes." overlanders gaze in amazement. chapter xxi--a wise old owl..................................... joe sicks the bear on the guests. the forest woman in a rage. "stop him! he'll kill the man!" willy horse sees things in the campfire. emma finds a message for hippy in the hoot of the old owl. chapter xxii--when the dam went out............................. a surprise party for the lumberjacks on hippy's claim. the dance is interrupted by the indian's message. "dam up river go out! water come down!" announces willy horse unemotionally. the jacks take alarm. chapter xxiii--the riot of the logs............................. a desperate struggle. "i'm slipping!" gasps hippy. "too late!" tom and hippy are hurled into the river. dynamite used on the pirates' dam. a hand-to-hand knife battle on the spiles. grace stays the indian's hand. chapter xxiv--christmas in the big woods........................ a capture and a confession. peg tatem in the toils. timber pirates get prison terms. the lumberjacks' big christmas. "sit down, you rough-necks!" roars hippy. spike bares his soul. what the snow-bird said. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- grace harlowe's overland riders in the great north woods chapter i on the big woods trail hippy wingate stepped from the train that had just pulled into the little red river valley station and turned to observe tom gray and the others of the overland riders detrain. in one hand hippy carried a suitcase, in the other a disconsolate-looking bull pup done up in a shawl strap. "be you gray?" hippy turned to look at the owner of the voice, not certain that the question had been addressed to him. he found himself facing an uncouth-looking youth who, despite the heat of an early september afternoon, wore a heavy blanket mackinaw coat, rubber shoes and thick stockings tied at the knee. khaki trousers, and a cap of the same material as the coat, completed the typical lumberjack outfit, though tom gray was the only member of the overland party who recognized it as such. the youngster's hands were thrust firmly into the pockets of the mackinaw coat as he stood eyeing hippy with a sullen expression on his face. "am i what?" demanded the overland rider, putting down the suitcase and dropping the pup, much to the animal's relief. "i said, be you gray?" "not yet, old chap. i am threatened with a bald head early in my young life, but i thank goodness i am not gray. why? what's the joke?" the loungers on the station platform laughed, and the boy shifted uneasily and leaned against a station pillar. "'cause i was to meet er feller named gray who was comin' in on this train." "oh! that's it, is it? i thought you meant is my hair gray," grinned hippy. "oh, tom! here is your man. here's your guide," cried hippy, shaking hands cordially with the young fellow. detaching himself from the girls of the party of overland riders who were assembling their luggage, tom gray stepped over to lieutenant wingate. "are you joe shafto?" questioned tom, addressing the boy. "naw, i ain't. joe sent me over to meet you folks and tell you how to git up to the place." "why isn't joe here to meet us?" demanded grace harlowe, joining the group in time to hear the boy's explanation. "joe's doin' the washin' to-day, and to-morrer is ironin' day. joe sent word sayin' as i was to meet you and tell you not to git up there before late to-morrer afternoon." "ho, ho! doing the family washing, eh?" chortled hippy. "fine guide you have selected, tom gray. hey there!" hippy made a spring for the bull pup, who had fastened his teeth in the neck of a fox terrier, and picked his dog up by the handle of the shawl strap. the fox terrier came up with hindenburg, by which name the bull was known, and it required the united efforts of tom and hippy to extricate the fox terrier from hindenburg's tenacious grip. "it might be wise to hang onto your dog, hippy," advised tom. "you are to show us the way to shafto's, i presume?" questioned tom gray, addressing the boy again. "naw. i reckon you can find the way yourself. can't spare the time. i got a fall job in the woods over near the reservation. you take the main road straight north from here till you git to bisbee's corners. ask at the general store there where joe shafto lives and they'll steer you. joe said to tell you folks to get your supplies there, too. bye." the boy turned abruptly and walked away. "hold on! not so fast, boy. how far is it to joe's?" demanded tom. "nigh onto thirty mile," flung back the boy. "i wish i had stayed at home," wailed emma dean. "we have not yet begun, dear," reminded elfreda briggs, to which anne nesbit and nora wingate agreed with emphatic nods. "tom gray, i fear you have made a mess of selecting a guide to pilot us through the big north woods of minnesota," declared grace with a doubtful shake of the head. "i can't help that. i engaged shafto on the recommendation of the postmaster of this very town. he wrote me that, according to his information, no man in the state knows the woods so well as this fellow shafto does. at my request, the postmaster engaged him for us, so don't blame me because joe is doing the family washing instead of being here to meet us," retorted tom with a show of impatience. "lay it to the postmaster and let it go at that," suggested hippy good-naturedly. "tom, i am really amazed that you, a woodsman and a professional forester, should require the services of a guide," teased anne. "i don't. the guide is for you folks. of course i know how to keep from getting lost, but i shall not be with you all the time, so--" "come, let's get busy," urged hippy. "nora, if you will kindly hold hindenburg, tom and i will unload the ponies. ready, thomas?" tom said he was. the palace horsecar attached to their train had already been shunted to a siding, and the ponies of the overland riders were found to have made the journey from the east without injury. quite an assemblage of villagers had gathered to witness the operation of unloading the ponies, and they gazed with interest as each overland girl in turn stepped up to claim her mount as it was led slipping down the gangway. hippy wingate's pony, a western bronco that he had acquired that summer, was the last of the ponies in the car. "ginger," as its owner had named it because of its fiery temper, being unusually free with his heels, had been separated from the other animals in the car by bars, the bars now bearing marks made by his sharp hoofs. "tom, please fetch out my educated horse," urged hippy, winking wisely at the crowd of spectators. "why not fetch him out yourself? he isn't my horse," laughed tom. "oh, very well," said lieutenant wingate, stepping into the car, removing the bars and reaching for the pony's headstall. that was the beginning of what proved to be an exciting time for lieutenant wingate and a most enjoyable entertainment for the villagers. the next act was when hippy was catapulted from the car door by the heels of the untamed bronco and landed in the street. fortunately for him, lieutenant wingate, instead of jumping back when the pony began to kick, threw himself towards the animal, a trick that handlers of ugly horses quickly learn to do. he was thus, instead of being hit by the heels of the bronco, neatly boosted through the open door of the car. the villagers howled with delight as the overland rider got up and brushed the dirt from his uniform. "i have heard it said that incorrigible horses are sometimes made docile by sprinkling a pinch of salt on their tails," observed elfreda briggs to her companions. "remonstrate with the beast, hippy. he is educated," suggested emma dean. "hippy, my darlin', do be careful," begged nora as her husband limped up the gangway, jaws set, the light of battle in his eyes, his anger rising with every step he took. hippy clasped the pony's neck, the rat-tat-tat of the animal's heels against the side of the car being somewhat reminiscent of machine-gun fire to the overland girls. "he'll be killed!" wailed nora. "who? the pony?" asked emma in an unruffled voice. "no! what do i care about the pony? it's my hippy." a yell from the villagers brought others running to the scene, but no one offered assistance. hippy and the bronco were tussling on the threshold of the car with hippy's feet in the air most of the time. "tickle him in the ribs," suggested a villager. "that'll make him laugh and he'll fergit to kick." the villagers howled with delight. "tickle him yourself," retorted nora. "jump!" urged miss briggs. "no! hang on!" shouted tom gray. "if you let go he'll kill you! urge him down the gangway and i will grab him when he makes the rush." at that instant the pony leaped. hippy lost his foothold on the edge of the doorsill, and the pony, unable to bear the additional weight on its neck, stumbled and went down on the gangway. the animal's hips struck the railing, burst through it, and man and horse rolled off to the ground, ginger kicking and squealing, with hippy wingate clinging desperately to his neck. chapter ii the voice of nature the bronco was on his feet instantly, with hippy still clinging to the animal's neck. all the villagers scattered as ginger bolted across the street. "why don't _you_ tickle his ribs?" cried emma to the spectators. for a few moments it looked as if man and bronco would land in the village postoffice by way of its large front window. "whew!" grinned hippy, mopping his brow after he had conquered and tied the pony to the tie-rail in front of the postoffice. "i--i thought you said that ginger was an educated horse," reminded emma. "he is. that is what is the matter with him. like some persons, not far removed from me at the present moment, he knows _too_ much for the general good of the community. what ginger needs is a finishing school, and he's going to start right in attending one this very day. you watch my smoke." "smoke!" chuckled elfreda briggs. "i don't mind it at all ordinarily, but i do wish that, when you get excited, you wouldn't insist on burning soft coal." "say, mister! why don't yer feed the critter some soothin' syrup? they got it in the store there," urged a spectator. "good fer man er beast." hippy grinned at the speaker, and the villagers roared. "good idea, old top. we will pour a bottleful down your throat at the same time. it is good for all animals, you know. why don't you roar, you folks? all right, if you won't, i'll roar." hippy haw-hawed and the villagers grinned. "come, come. please do something, hippy," begged grace laughingly. "sure thing. what do you want me to do?" "if you and tom will roll and tie the packs, you will be doing us a service. i imagine we girls are a bit out of practice in lashing packs, and, as we have quite a bit of equipment to carry, and a long ride ahead of us to-day, we must have everything secure, and start as soon as possible." "want a guide, mister?" questioned a young man dressed as a lumberjack, lounging up to lieutenant wingate. "i kin take ye anywheres." "we have one," replied hippy briefly. "i don't see none. who be he?" "name's hindenburg," said hippy, pointing to the bull pup. "greatest little guide west of the atlantic ocean. i paid a thousand dollars for his bark alone. the breeder threw in the rest of the dog because, when you peel the bark off a tree, it dies." emma dean uttered a high, trilling laugh, and the other girls joined in so heartily that, for a moment, or so, work came to a standstill. hippy then briskly attacked the packs, while tom secured them to the backs of the ponies. while this was being done grace left the party to buy food sufficient to last for at least a two-days' journey, and returned with her arms full of bundles, the contents being transferred to the mess kits of her companions. "are you going to let the dog run?" questioned anne. "i am not. he rides horseback," replied hippy briefly. "i am a man of resources." "especially in leading educated ponies," murmured emma. in the meantime, hippy had taken a canvas bag from his pack and hung it over the pommel of his saddle. "come, little hindenburg. we will now go bye-bye," cooed hippy, lifting the bull pup, depositing it in the open bag, and tying the dog's lead string to the saddle. "hippy darlin'!" cried nora. "if hindenburg jumps out he will hang himself and choke to death." "sure he will. that is why he isn't going to jump out." hindenburg stood up in the bag and barked in apparent approval of hippy's assertion. "listen!" exclaimed emma, holding up a hand. "bark again, hindenburg." hindenburg did so, emma dean giving close attention. "what is the big idea?" demanded lieutenant wingate. "i wished to listen to this voice from the canine world because it carries a message to us," answered miss dean gravely. hippy gave her a quick keen glance, but ginger, taking sudden umbrage at a dog barking at his side, demanded his rider's exclusive attention. by the time hippy had subdued the bronco, emma's peculiar remark had passed out of mind. soon after that, with packs neatly lashed, each rider in the saddle, the overland riders wheeled their ponies and jogged along the village street on their way to the great north woods where tom gray, as an expert forester, was to "cruise" or estimate the amount of timber standing on the thousands of acres in the huge timber tract, the largest tract of virgin timber east of the rocky mountains. the overland riders, who, for the previous three summers, following their return from france where they had served in various capacities during the war, in the overton college unit, had decided to accompany tom to the big woods, seeking such adventure as the northland might afford. as they started away on the first leg of their journey, none was more joyous than the bull pup, who barked at the villagers, barked at every dog and cat within sight, and, after the village had been left behind, entertained himself by barking at imaginary cats and dogs, emma dean being his most interested listener. emma's quietness attracted the attention of her companions, and they wondered at the change in her, for, on previous journeys, there was seldom a time when emma did not have a great deal to say. not until after five o'clock that afternoon did the party halt to rest the ponies and have luncheon, the latter consisting of hot tea and biscuit, the riders having planned to eat their supper at bisbee's corners. most of the girls were quite ready for a rest, but, this being their first long ride of the season, they found, upon dismounting, that they could hardly walk. grace, being the least disturbed of the party, volunteered to get the fire started and brew the tea, while lieutenant wingate and tom gray watered the horses and staked them at the side of the road for a nibble at the grass that grew there. then all hands sat down with their feet curled under them and held out their tin cups for a drink of hot tea. emma dean poised her cup in the air, and, with a far-away look in her eyes, listened intently to the solemn bell note of a hermit thrush. "what _is_ on your mind to-day, emma dean?" laughed anne nesbit. "is it possible that you are in love or something?" "i am listening to the voices of nature," replied emma solemnly, shaking her head slowly and taking a sip of tea. "this is something new, isn't it?" twinkled grace harlowe. "yes," agreed elfreda. "only a few hours ago you were listening to a 'message' from the throat of the bull pup, and now i suppose you are turning your attention to that hermit thrush for the same reason." "i am listening to the voices of nature," returned emma. "listening for the messages that, when once rightly interpreted, will open up the vast realm of the unknown to us mortals. if we would but listen we should hear many mysteries explained and--" "speak, hindenburg!" interjected hippy, giving the bull pup a push with the toe of his boot and bringing a growl from the animal. "how long has she been this way, girls?" "make fun of me if you wish. i am used to it." "i agree with emma that there is much in nature that we might do well to consider, suggestions that it would be to our everlasting advantage to adopt," spoke up tom gray. "so far, however, as being able to read the notes of the birds or the growl of a bull pup--piffle!" "i agree with you," nodded elfreda. "emma, where do you get all that dope?" questioned hippy. "i am beginning to believe what i suspected last season, when you were riding that 'con-centration' hobby, that your war service has unbalanced your mind." "no, no! he is only joking, emma," protested nora. "it matters little to me what hippy wingate says or thinks. i belong to the 'voice of nature cult.'" "what's that? a breakfast food?" laughed anne. "the 'cult' is an organization of advanced thinkers, presided over by madam gersdorff, an adept who can converse with the birds of the air, the animals and--" "i wish she were here," declared hippy with emphasis. "i should like to have her tell that bronco what my opinion of him is and hear what he says in reply," added lieutenant wingate, flipping a biscuit, which hindenburg deftly caught and gulped down at a single swallow. "madam gersdorff gave some remarkable demonstrations of her power in the direction of interpreting the voices of nature last winter," resumed emma. "she is giving me a correspondence course at five dollars a lesson, which i consider a remarkably low price. i wish i might induce you girls to take the course, but i don't suppose any of you have the nerve to do so in the face of hippy wingate's unkind criticisms. let me tell you something. a medium that i went to in boston a few weeks ago told me some remarkable things about myself. i had been telling her of this 'voice of nature cult.' 'how strange,' answered the medium. 'i see birds all about you. a whole flock of them accompanied you into this very room. see! they are hovering over you at this very moment.'" "i'll bet they were a flock of crows," murmured hippy. "did you see them, darlin'?" begged nora in an awed tone that brought smiles to the faces of her companions. "no. i was not sufficiently in tune with nature to see them, especially in daylight." "good-night!" muttered hippy wingate. "and what do you think the medium also said?" asked emma. "five dollars, please," laughed grace. "she did not. all she would consent to take from me was a dollar, and she said that, if i would come to her twice a week regularly, she would promise that, in a few weeks, i could see the birds as well as she could. but i didn't tell you--what the medium said of even greater importance was that the explanation was that some of my ancestors, far back in the dim shadows of the early hours of the world, were birds of the air. just think of it, girls! birds! flying through the air and--" "darting yon and hither," finished hippy. "_alors!_ let's fly," cried elfreda briggs amid a shout of laughter from the overland riders. "so say we all of us," answered grace, springing up and beginning to pack away her mess kit. "it will be long after dark before we reach bisbee's corners." the girls were still laughing as they rode away, emma dean silently resentful, her chin in the air, her face flushed. "do you really think she is in earnest about that nature stuff?" questioned anne. "she thinks she is, but of course she isn't. emma, like many others, must have a hobby to ride. she, fortunately, is fickle in her hobbies, and rides one but a short time before she tires of it and casts it aside. what would we do on these journeys without her?" laughed grace. "yes. our emma is a joy and a delight," nodded anne. after a brisk ride at a steady gallop, the overlanders jogged into the one street that bisbee's corners possessed shortly after nine o'clock that evening, all thoroughly tired but happy, with hindenburg sound asleep in the saddle bag. the streets, they saw, were thronged with men, mostly lumberjacks, some singing, others shouting, and here and there a pair of them engaged in fist battles. "must have been paid off," observed tom gray. "we are getting near the big woods, folks." "i should say we are," replied grace, taking in the scene with keen interest. "i hear a fiddle. there must be a dance going on." "a dance? oh, let's go," cried emma. "better listen to the voices of nature," answered tom laughingly. "a lumberjack dance is no place for a refined woman, or man either, for that matter. where to, grace?" "the general store. i'll go in. the girls had better stay on their horses, for i don't like the looks of things in bisbee's." "lumber-jacks are rough, but let them alone and they will let you alone," said lieutenant wingate. tom gray said this might be true in theory, but that it was not always true in fact. pulling up before the general store, grace dismounted and elbowed her way through a crowd of men, smilingly demanding "gangway," which was readily granted, though accompanied by quite personal remarks about her, to which, of course, the overland girl gave not the slightest heed. "joe shafto bought the supplies for you, mrs. gray," the owner of the store informed her after grace had introduced herself and stated her mission. "joe packed the stuff home on the mules and said you'd pay for it when you come along. that alright?" "perfectly so, and thank you ever so much. what is the excitement out there?" with a nod towards the street. "jacks comin' in for the early work in the woods. the foremen are hirin' 'em here and sendin' 'em on to the different camps. the whole bunch is just spoilin' for fight. better not stir 'em up unless your crowd is lookin' for trouble," advised the storekeeper. "oh, no. nothing like that," laughed grace harlowe, laying the money for their supplies on the counter. "nothing wrong outside, is there, hippy?" she asked quickly as the lieutenant came in rather hurriedly. "no. i'm after candy." "that is fine. buying candy for nora and the girls," glowed grace. "my husband seldom thinks to bring me candy, and--" "for nora? no. i'm getting the candy for the bronco and the bull pup--trying to buy my way into their good graces, as it were. neither one of them takes to the uproar in the street. the bronc' is threatening to bolt, and hindenburg has declared war on the lumberjack tribe because one of them poked a stick in his ribs just now." grace, after thanking the storekeeper for his courtesy, went out laughing, but the instant she stepped into the street she intuitively sensed a change in the spirit of the crowd there. the jacks had fallen silent in comparison with their previous uproarious attitude--sullen and threatening, it seemed to her. "what's wrong here, elfreda?" she asked, stepping up beside miss briggs' pony. "a jack tried to pull emma from her horse, probably out of mischief. tom jumped his pony over and knocked the fellow down with his fist. three or four others started for him. tom rode one of them down and the others ran into the crowd for protection. i think we are headed for trouble," prophesied j. elfreda. "grace, where is hippy?" called tom gray anxiously. "in the store buying candy for the pup." "stand back, you fellows!" commanded tom sternly as he discovered that the jacks were crowding closer and closer to the little group of horsewomen. "we don't mind sport so far as the men are concerned, but you must let these young women alone. hurry, hippy!" he urged, as lieutenant wingate appeared at the store door. "overland!" called grace, which was the rallying hail of the overland riders, and by which signal lieutenant wingate knew that all was not well with his companions. hippy jumped from the store porch and strode to his pony. "what is it?" he questioned sharply, taking ginger's rein from nora and vaulting into his saddle to the accompaniment of joyous barks from hindenburg. "reckon these wild jacks are getting ready to rush us. keep your eyes peeled," warned tom gray. "here they come! look out!" called grace. "let go of my bridle, you ruffian!" they heard anne nesbit cry, and as they looked they saw her bring down her riding crop across the face of a lumberjack who had grasped her pony's bridle and was trying to separate the animal from the others of the party. chapter iii the charge of the jacks "get out of this! lively!" shouted tom to the girls. "keep together!" added hippy. the two men forced their ponies between the girls and the lumberjacks, the girls using their crops on their ponies and urging them on. the overland girls cleared the scene in a few seconds, and halted a short distance up the street to wait for hippy and tom, who were having difficulty in extricating themselves from the mob. they did not succeed in doing this until hippy began to belabor ginger over the rump, at the same time pulling up on the reins. this caused the animal to whirl and buck and kick. every volley from ginger's lightning-like kicks put several members of the mob out of the fight. tom was using his crop, but without much effect. a rough hand was laid on hippy's leg, and a mighty tug nearly unhorsed him. it probably would have done so had not hindenburg at that juncture taken a bite of the lumberjack's hand and caused the fellow to let go without delay. the jacks by this time had begun to fight among themselves. single and group fights suddenly sprung up all over the street. the jacks, for the moment, had lost their interest in the newcomers, and the two overland men, taking advantage of the opportunity, galloped down the street, passing scattered groups of brawlers who were too busy with their own affairs to heed them. the overland men were almost clear of the mob when yells ahead of them attracted their attention to a fresh disturbance. a man, who, as they drew near, was seen to be an indian standing at the side of the road, taking no part in the disturbance, was the object of the uproar. a crowd of half a dozen jacks had pounced on the indian. he went down under the rush. hippy saw them grab the fellow and hurl him into the middle of the street. the indian was on his feet in an instant, and, from the light shed through the windows along the street, hippy saw a knife flash in the indian's hand, saw the red man's arm shoot out, and a man fall, uttering a howl. the jacks hesitated briefly, then uttering angry yells they hurled themselves upon the indian, bore him to the ground, and began to kick at him with their heavy boots. tom turned his pony and rode into the crowd at a gallop. three lumberjacks went down under his charge. "the cowards!" raged hippy, also charging into the group and completing what his companion had begun. "run, you poor fish!" he yelled at the indian, who had got to his feet and stood dazedly gazing at his rescuers. "run!" the indian, suddenly recovering himself, darted between two buildings and disappeared. "good work!" chuckled hippy, galloping up the street with tom to join the girls, who were waiting for them. "oh, that was splendid!" cried anne nesbit as tom and hippy rejoined the party of overland girls. "it won't be splendid unless we step lively," answered tom. "keep going, girls, keep going," urged hippy. "i hate to run away, but being a peace-loving person i run away whenever a fight is suggested to me." "we know it," observed emma. "thanks! which way do we go?" questioned hippy. "straight ahead and take the first right-hand turn about a mile from the village to reach joe shafto's place, the storekeeper told me," grace informed them. the party galloped on until they reached the turn indicated by grace where they halted and consulted, deciding that the road to the right was the one they should take. this road, according to grace's information, should lead them to joe shafto's place, ten or fifteen miles further on, though it was not their purpose to go on to joe's that night. the overland riders walked their horses after making the turn, there being no need for haste, as no one believed that the lumberjacks would follow, and further, the overlanders were looking for a suitable camping place for the night. "this appears to be a good place to make camp," finally called tom gray, who was riding in the lead of the party. tom pulled up and looked about him, the others riding up to him and halting. "no good!" answered a strange voice. "what? who said that?" demanded hippy. a man stepped out from the shadow of the trees and stood confronting the peering overlanders. "it's lo, the poor indian!" cried hippy. "hello, lo!" "so it is," agreed tom. "how did you get here ahead of us?" "come 'cross," answered the man, indicating with a gesture that he bad taken a short cut through the woods, though how he knew where they were going, unless he had heard their discussion at the point where they took the right-hand road, the overlanders could not imagine. "you say this is 'no good' as a camping place. what is the matter with it?" demanded tom gray, regarding the indian suspiciously. "no water. you come, me show." "let him lead the way," suggested elfreda. "yes. give the poor red man a chance," urged hippy. the indian, without asking further permission to lead them, turned and trotted along ahead at a typical indian lope, and at a rate of speed that necessitated putting the ponies at a jog-trot in order to keep him in view. the indian proceeded on for fully half a mile, then, turning sharply to the left, led them on until he reached the bank of a stream, to which he pointed as indicating their camping place. the site was hidden from the road by which they had arrived by trees and a bluff, thus protecting the party from discovery by persons passing along the road, which they readily understood the indian had purposely planned. "fine! fine!" glowed tom. "we are much obliged to you, and thank you," added anne. "what is your name?" asked elfreda as the girls began to dismount. "willy horse." "ho, ho, ho!" exclaimed hippy wingate. "that's a horse of another color. ladies and gentlemen, permit me to introduce to you chief willy horse, and believe me he is some horse to stand the punishment those lumberjacks gave him and still be able to talk horse sense." the overlanders acknowledged the introduction laughingly, and shook hands with the indian, at the same time giving him their names. "where you go?" demanded the red man, addressing tom gray. "to the pineries in the north." "good! what do?" "cruise them, willy. do you know what that is?" the indian nodded. "good! what you do?" he questioned, turning to lieutenant wingate. "oh, most any old thing, willy old hoss," answered hippy jovially. "it is mostly other persons who do the doing, in my case. they do me instead." "good! you big friend--big medicine. you help willy horse. willy not forget. mebby kill lumberjacks one day, too." "don't get naughty. they hang naughty indians," reminded hippy. "oh, mister pony--i mean mister horse--won't you sit down and have a snack with us?" invited emma dean. "of course he must," insisted tom, pausing at his work of starting a cook fire. the indian shook his head. "me go," he announced briefly. "sorry. hope we see you again," said hippy. "me see. you big friend. bye," he said, halting before lieutenant wingate. with that he trotted away. "what a queer character," exclaimed nora wingate. "he loves my hippy, because my hippy is a brave man." "who runs away to fight another day--not!" added emma mockingly. "he must have run very fast to catch up with us," suggested anne. "an indian can outdistance a horse, as horses ordinarily travel," answered tom. "then, too, he probably knew a shorter cut." "did you notice how bruised and swollen his face was, and how indifferent he appeared to be about it?" questioned grace solicitously. "probably not so indifferent as he seemed to be," laughed hippy. "you know an indian forgets neither a kindness nor a wrong, and you see how my magnetic personality led this particular indian to love me." "all indians do," observed emma. "let's make camp and eat," urged anne. "i am nearly famished." hippy most heartily approved of anne's suggestion. every member of the outfit assisted in "rustling" the camp and the food. ginger got a whole handful of candy for his part in the routing of the lumberjacks, and hindenburg also helped himself liberally from the bag when hippy put it down on the ground. while eating their supper the overlanders talked over their experiences of the day and the evening. miss briggs declared that she would have been keenly disappointed if something had not occurred to stir them up at the outset of their journey. "this getting into difficulties became a habit with this outfit on the very day that it set sail for france and the great world war," she said. "i thank my stars that we are going into the woods where peace and the voices of nature reign supreme," spoke up emma. "sometimes the voices of nature have a savage growl in them," reminded tom gray laughingly. "who is going to stand guard to-night?" "no one," answered grace, nodding to hippy. "righto! the bull pup is the guard for this journey. i brought hindenburg along so that i might not lose sleep," answered hippy, which stirred the overland girls to laughter. they had not forgotten that it was a habit with hippy wingate to go to sleep when on guard and leave the camp unprotected. all hands being tired and stiff after their long ride, they turned in as soon as the supper dishes were washed and laid out to dry. hindenburg was tied to a tree on a long leash so that he might not stray away, and the camp quickly settled down to slumber, a slumber that was uninterrupted until some time after sun-up, when the bull pup awakened them with his insistent barks. hindenburg wanted his breakfast. they took their time in breakfasting, knowing that nothing was to be gained by haste in view of the fact that joe shafto would be engaged in ironing the family wash, and that they probably would not get started on their journey to the big north woods before the following day. stiffness of joints from the previous day's ride was soon forgotten in the crisp morning air and the flame of color of the foliage, for they were now entering a scattering growth of forest. as they progressed, however, the trees were of larger and sturdier growth and the road became merely a wagon trail leading to the northward. luncheon was eaten by the roadside and the journey resumed immediately afterwards. an hour later they came upon a clearing of about an acre, with a small space occupied by a garden in which stood a log cabin of comfortable dimensions. "grace, is this the place?" called tom gray as they slowed down. "i don't know, but it seems to answer the description." "anybody living up here would need to be a guide or he never would be able to find his way home," declared lieutenant wingate. "hoo--oo!" hailed emma. after a few moments of waiting the overlanders were gratified to see the cabin door open and a woman step out, shading her eyes with a hand. she was tall, thin and angular, the thinness of her face accentuated by a pair of big horn-rimmed spectacles through which she glared at the newcomers. "who be ye?" demanded the woman in a rasping voice. "we are the overland riders, and we are looking for joe shafto's place," answered grace pleasantly. "i reckon ye ain't lookin' very hard," snapped back the woman. "is this joe's place?" interjected tom gray. "it be, i reckon." "is joe at home? i am tom gray. i arranged to have him act as our guide." "i reckon he is." tom dismounted and led his pony to the gate, irritated at the woman's abrupt manner and speech, but this feeling was not shared by the others of his party who were greatly amused at the brief dialogue. "i say, i am tom gray. may i see joe?" "i reckon ye kin if ye've got eyes." "then please ask him to step out. or shall i go in?" "yer lookin' at joe shafto. if ye don't like the looks of me look t'other way!" she fairly flung at him. "you don't understand, madam. we engaged joe shafto, a man, to guide us through the north woods and--" "i tell ye i'm the party, and i'm man enough for any bunch of rough-necks in the timber," retorted the woman. "a woman guide! good night!" muttered hippy wingate under his breath. chapter iv a human talking machine "of course, of course. i--i--well, i'll talk to my friends about it," answered tom lamely. he was flustrated and flushed, greatly to the enjoyment of the overland girls. "that's all right, tom," soothed grace. "i am positive that miss shafto--" "mrs. shafto," corrected the woman. "mrs. joe shafto. git the handle right." "i am positive that mrs. shafto will answer our purpose very nicely," finished grace. "yes, yes. i--i agree with you," mumbled tom. "if you have time, or when you do have time, we shall have to talk over our plans with you and--" "ain't got no time for nothin' to-day. had yer dinners?" "we had luncheon on the way," replied grace. "lucky for ye. i'll go work at the ironin'; then i've got to clean house. mebby then i'll talk to ye." joe stamped back into the house, slamming the door behind her, and the overland riders lost themselves in gales of laughter, galloping their horses on beyond the house so that joe might not hear. tom followed along slowly, considerably crestfallen. "tom gray, you surely have distinguished yourself," declared anne nesbit. "my hippy couldn't have done worse," added nora. "it gives me a pain in my back just to look at her," averred elfroda. "listening to her is worse." "i shan't listen at all. thank goodness i have the voices of nature to listen to," observed emma. "girls, i admit that i have made a mess of it. i suppose we can go on without a guide, but really it is not wise for you girls, inexperienced as you are in woodcraft, to venture into the big woods." "i do not agree with you folks," interjected grace. "that woman is sharp-tongued, but she is a sturdy and dependable character. it is my opinion that we might have done a great deal worse in selecting a guide. let's go back to the house, make camp nearby, and wait until the sturdy warrior is ready for us. she will be out again to talk to us soon enough, if i am a judge of human nature." the overlanders acted upon the suggestion and pitched their little tents among the trees across the trail from joe shafto's home. while they were thus engaged joe came over and watched the operations, but without uttering a word until the camp was made and a little cook fire started for a cup of afternoon tea. "what's that for?" she demanded, pointing to the fire. "afternoon tea now, and to cook our supper on later," answered grace. "yer all goin' to eat supper with me." the girls protested, but joe, when once she had made an assertion, would brook no opposition. "six o'clock; no earlier, no later. to-morrow mornin' we start at four o'clock. i've got all yer fodder, which-all i'll carry on june and july. them's my pack mules. work singly or in pairs. kin kick like all possessed. no great scratch whether there's anythin' to kick at or not, but they know better'n to kick me, though they ain't no love for henry, and he gives them heels plenty of room, 'cept one time when he forgot hisself and got kicked clear out into the road, and nigh into kingdom come, and i'll bet the pair of 'em that ye folks ain't got a hoss in the outfit, not even that bronco with the glassy eye, that kin kick once to june or july's twenty kicks, and, if you don't believe it, just heave a tin can at one or t'other of 'em and see if ye can count the kicks, but keep the road between ye and the kicks or i shan't be responsible for what happens to ye, because i know them mules and i know what they can do, and then agin--" "oh, help!" wailed emma. "the voice of nature," chuckled hippy. "and to think we've got to listen to it for weeks to come." "what's that ye say?" demanded joe. "i--i think i was thinking out loud. i didn't mean to say anything. honest to goodness i didn't," apologized hippy lamely. joe fixed him with threatening eyes, then launched into another monologue on mules, which wound up with some remarks on lumberjacks, and a leaf from her family history. the overland riders learned that joe's husband, who was a timber cruiser, had been killed by lumberjacks, and that she was the sworn enemy of every man who wore a mackinaw coat and worked in the woods. "since my man's death i've been livin' up here in the woods, guidin' huntin' parties, makin' an honest livin' and layin' for the men who killed my man. i'll find 'em yet. now who be ye all? i hain't had no interduction except as mister gray interduced himself to me, and--" "this is my wife, grace harlowe gray," said tom. the forest woman shook hands and glared into grace's smiling eyes. "glad to meet ye, miss gray. ye look like one of them boudwarriors that i seen pictures of in the high saciety papers." "miss emma dean," announced tom, pointing to emma. "glad to meet ye." joe gave emma a searching look. "pert as a bird, ain't ye?" "some of my ancestors, i have reason to believe, were birds, and it is quite possible that i have inherited some of their traits," answered emma airily. "sparrows! no good. don't git swelled up over some of yer folks wearin' feathers. the kind ye belong to they shoot on sight. and now who be _ye_?" demanded the woman, stepping up to the dignified j. elfreda briggs. elfreda introduced herself. "glad to meet ye. yer quite set up, but i guess ye might come down a peg after ye git acquainted." nora wingate and anne nesbit then introduced themselves, and joe was "glad to meet" them, but she forgot to address personal remarks to them, for her eyes, glaring through the big spectacles, were fixed on hippy wingate's grinning face. all this was "a powerful good joke to him," as emma confided to grace in a loud whisper. joe strode over to hippy and peered down into his face as he sat playing with hindenburg. "i reckon some of yer ancestors must been monkeys, judgin' from that monkey-grin on yer face. what's yer name?" hippy told her, adding that he had been a flying ace in the world war, which announcement he made pompously. "glad to meet ye, lieutenant; but look smart that ye don't try any of yer flytricks on joe shafto. six o'clock, folks. remember!" was joe's parting word as she strode swiftly from their camp, screwing up her face into a long-drawn wink as she passed grace harlowe. in that wink grace read what she had been searching for. joe shafto was human and a humorist, crude, but with a keen mind and a love for banter that promised much enjoyment for the overland riders. "i wonder who is the henry that she mentioned?" reflected grace out loud. "perhaps henry may be a tame goose. think of 'june' and 'july' as names for mules," chortled hippy. "oh, we're going to have a merry, merry time this coming two months--especially hindenburg and myself." afternoon tea was an enjoyable occasion that day, at which the principal topic was their new guide. at five minutes before six, after stamping out their little campfire, the overland party started for the log cabin. as they crossed the road hippy sniffed the air. "i smell food!" he cried. "onions! save me!" moaned emma. "no. it is something far and away ahead of mere onions," answered hippy. "i don't know what it is, but were this not so formal an occasion, i should break into a run for it." the door of the cabin stood open, so the party filed in unbidden. the table was long enough for a lumberjack boarding house, constructed of boards nailed together with cleats and placed on two boxes. oilcloth covered the boards and hung clear to the floor on either side. the ends were open. there was a freshness and wholesomeness about the place that attracted the girls at once. "set down!" commanded joe, entering with a heaping platter of meat. "that is what i smelled!" exclaimed hippy. "may i ask what that meat is, mrs. shafto?" "venison." "eh? don't wake me up," murmured hippy. "is the deer season on?" questioned tom. "no. not till november fifteenth. this is smoked venison, killed last season. i put down a lot of it in caches where the water will keep it cool." another dish, a tinpanful of baked potatoes, came on with other smaller dishes of vegetables; then the coffee was poured into the thick serviceable cups that had already been placed by the plates, which, together with two loaves of bread, comprised the meal. appetites were at concert pitch and it was with difficulty that hippy wingate restrained himself until the girls were seated. "miss dean, set down at the end where i can watch ye that ye don't fly away. sorry ye have to set on a box, but there ain't chairs enough to go around. i give the lieutenant a chair 'cause a box ain't safe for him. he's a big feeder and the box ain't strong. dip in, folks. get started. help yourselves. this ain't no saciety tea." the food was passed along and each rider helped herself from platter and pan, and every plate was heaped under the observant eyes that were glaring through the big horn-rimmed spectacles to see that each person helped herself to liberal portions. exclamations were heard all around the table when the girls had tasted of the smoked venison. hippy, however, was too busy to talk or exclaim unless he were forced to do so. "lieutenant, did ye et like that when ye was chasin' the flyin' dutchmen in france?" demanded joe. hippy nodded. "it's a eternal wonder ye didn't fall down then." "i couldn't. i lived on angel food most of the time, and, after a while, i could fly. see? you live on angel food long enough and you can fly, too," promised hippy gravely. "i reckon i would at that," answered the forest woman, pursing her lips, the nearest thing to a smile that the overland riders had seen on her stern, rugged face. the girls laughed merrily, and nora turned a beaming face on her husband. "hippy, my darlin', you've met your match this time," she said. "i met you first, didn't i?" retorted hippy, then returned to his absorbing occupation and shortly afterwards passed his plate for another helping. "my land!" exclaimed joe. "ye do beat the bears for eatin'. never seen one that could stow it away the way ye do." "you should see him when he is hungry," advised emma. "why, when we were riding in the kentucky mountains last year we--" "well?" demanded the guide. emma had abruptly ceased speaking as she felt something rubbing against her foot. at first she thought it was hindenburg who had slipped into the house and crawled under the table to salvage the crumbs. now something surely was nosing at her knee. emma dean's face contracted ever so little when a cold something brushed the back of the hand that hung at her side. "hi--hippy, where's the pup?" she questioned weakly. "tied to a tree out yonder. why?" emma groped cautiously with the hand, first wishing to assure herself that she was not imagining, before making an exhibition of herself. the hand came in contact with what she recognized instantly, as a cold nose. light fingers crept gingerly along the nose and paused at a huge, furry head, now well at her side. she gave a quick, startled glance down at what lay under her hand, and her face went ghastly pale. uttering a hysterical scream, emma dean toppled over backwards, crashing to the cabin floor. chapter v overlanders get a jolt as she went over, emma dean's feet hit the under side of the table. her plate of venison slid off to the floor, and hippy wingate's coffee landed in his lap. the overlanders sprang to their feet, but joe shafto sat glaring from one to the other of them in amazement. "a bear! a bear! a bear under the table," screamed emma and sank back in a dead faint. it was then that the overland riders saw what had so frightened her, for a black bear ambled out from under the table and began gulping down the venison from emma's overturned plate. to the eyes of the girls he appeared to be a huge animal, and his growls, as he swallowed choice morsels of venison, were far from reassuring. "don't be skeert! it's only henry," cried the forest woman. "set down!" no one heeded her advice. elfreda briggs was standing on a chair, anne nesbit had run into the garden which she had reached by a short cut through an open window. tom and hippy, having sprung back, were gazing on the intruder in startled amazement, while nora wingate, standing on the table with one foot in the platter of venison, was screaming. grace, who had backed into a corner, was trying to subdue her own individual panic sufficiently to reason out the situation. joe shafto's words, when grace finally absorbed them, brought enlightenment. "will he bite, mrs. shafto?" she called. "won't bite nothin' if ye don't bother him." grace ran to emma and bathed her face with water. "get down!" commanded lieutenant wingate, holding up a hand to nora. "don't you see you're spoiling a perfectly good lot of venison? i never saw such a parcel of 'fraid cats in all my life." "neither did i," grumbled mrs. shafto. "i didn't know henry was down there or i'd a shooed him out before ye set down." "i won't get down until that beast is out of the house," declared nora. "whoever heard of such a thing. don't!" hippy pulled her down without ceremony and placed nora in a chair. "behave yourself! you will see more bears, and then some, before you finish this journey." joe took a broom and shooed henry out into the yard. a scream out there followed almost instantly, for henry had ambled around the house to make the acquaintance of anne nesbit. "the beast is chasing me!" she panted, as she ran back into the house. no one gave heed to her, so she ran to nora and the two consoled each other. in the meantime, grace had revived emma. "ha--as he gone?" she wailed weakly. "yes. that is mrs. shafto's tame bear, you silly." "merely a voice of nature that you heard, emma," reminded hippy. "by the way, what message did henry convey to you?" "henry is the name of mrs. shafto's pet," explained grace. "fright!" moaned emma in answer to hippy's question. "mrs. shafto, if you don't mind, i believe i will have another piece of deer," said hippy. "yer wife stepped in it," replied joe. "it's all in the family," observed hippy, holding out his plate. one by one the overlanders returned to the table, with the exception of emma, whose appetite had left her, but hippy had the rest of the venison all to himself. the meal was finished off with apple pie, and the girls said they had not eaten so much since their first meals at home on their return from service in france. following the meal, the overland riders discussed their proposed journey with the forest woman, looked over the supplies she had bought and pronounced themselves satisfied, not only with her purchases, but with joe shafto herself. nothing more was seen of henry that evening. the woman said he probably had gone into the woods to sleep or to forage for food. "where did you get the beast?" questioned emma. "when he war a cub. i shot his mother and brought the cub home, and he's one of the family. i kin make him mind just like a dog, and sick him on like a dog. i'll call him in and show ye." "no, no," protested emma and nora in chorus. "i shall dream of bears all night, but don't you dare let him out while i am here," begged emma. "henry's my watchdog. he sleeps on the front steps, and he'll chaw up anything that comes in the yard after i git to bed, so keep out or you'll git bit." "oh, i shall keep out, never fear," answered emma in a tone of voice that brought a laugh from everyone at the table. before leaving mrs. shafto that night the overland girls acquainted her with such plans as they had made for their outing, tom telling her of the work that lay before him and expressing his wish to have the party as near to his work as possible. "good nights" finally were said, and the guests departed for their little camp among the trees. a fire was built to light up the tents while the girls were arranging their blankets and preparing themselves for bed. "hindenburg gets free range for the night," volunteered hippy. so, with the bull pup on watch, all hands turned in, for an early start was to be made on the following morning. they were awakened by his barking at daybreak. joe shafto was hallooing to them. "git a hustle on ye," she called in answer to tom gray's answering hail. there was a scramble in the camp of the overlanders, for they desired to show their guide that they were no novices at breaking camp and getting under way. just as they were finishing their breakfasts joe led over june and july, and waited observantly while tom and hippy rolled their belongings into packs which mrs. shafto lashed to the mules with her own hands. "ye see the twins don't like to have strangers monkeyin' around 'em," she explained. "i'll git goin' now and ye kin foller along. i've got to git henry first." "eh? what's that?" demanded hippy. "i don't go nowheres without my henry." "you--you aren't going to take that beast with you, are you, mrs. shafto?" cried emma. "i sure be, and i reckon ye'll be mighty glad to have him along before we git through with this here hop into the big woods." emma groaned dismally. "never mind," soothed hippy. "you can practice your nature reading stunt on him. who knows but that you may learn the bear language, so that by the time we finish our work up here you will be able to go out in the forest and tell the bears your life history, and listen to them telling you theirs. of course they might eat you, but that would not matter." "huh!" grunted miss dean, elevating her nose and turning her back on him. "mount!" ordered hippy, after each girl had saddled her pony and stood waiting for the start. they swung into their saddles with agility, and jogged out into the road with hindenburg racing ahead and darting back, barking joyously. he was already feeling the call of the wild. "there's joe," called emma, as they rounded a bend in the road. "i do not see the bear," wondered tom. "perhaps she decided to leave him at home to shift for himself. i hope so." grace said she hoped _not_, for the bear would make life interesting for them. joe was sitting on the back of one of her pack mules jogging along, leading the second mule behind, but, though she must have heard the overlanders shout to her, she neither replied nor looked back. hindenburg, however, darted ahead and began barking at the mules, dodging their heels successfully for several minutes, much to the amusement of the party following. at last, however, he caught a glancing blow from a mule foot that sent him rolling into the bushes. in a few moments he was out again, circling mules and rider, barking his angry protests, then dodging off the trail into the bushes where they heard him barking with a different note in his voice. "there comes the bear!" cried nora. "look at him!" "yes, and there comes hindenburg bucking the line," added hippy. the bear, followed by the dog, burst into sight just at the moment that hindenburg nipped the bear's hind leg. henry whirled, made a pass at the pup, and missed him. the bear then charged hindenburg with mouth wide open, and the battle was on. [illustration: the bear advanced, sparring like a prize fighter.] "call off yer dog," shouted joe. "call off your bear," answered hippy wingate. the guide tried to do so and failed. hippy's efforts to draw hindenburg from the fray met with no better success. it was at this juncture that the bear scored first blood. with a well placed blow of his paw he knocked the pup into the middle of the road, and the lead mule, at whose heels hindenburg had fallen, kicked him the rest of the way into the bushes. "sick 'im, henry!" yelled joe. "no you don't," shouted hippy as the bear ambled across the road in pursuit of the injured pup. "i'll learn that fresh pup to bite my bear," flung back the forest woman. "and i'll kill that brute of a bear if he gets the pup," retorted hippy, galloping his pony to the point at which the two animals had disappeared, and leaping from ginger's back, regardless of the risk of losing his mount. hippy plunged into the bushes to the rescue of the bull pup. the dog's yelps indicated that he was in further trouble, which hippy discovered to be the fact when he came in sight of the combatants. henry was boxing the unfortunate dog with both fore paws. hindenburg, from whose mouth and nose the blood was running, was staggering about weakly, but trying his utmost to get a hold and hang on. "let go, henry, you brute!" commanded hippy. henry, however, instead of letting go, ambled at the dog with wide open mouth, thoroughly angered and determined to finish with his teeth the battle he had begun with his paws. lieutenant wingate sprang into the fray and delivered a kick on the side of the bear's head with all the strength he could throw into the blow. henry rose in his might, rearing on hind legs, and advanced on hippy, snarling and showing his teeth, and sparring like a prize fighter. "that's your game, is it?" jeered the overland rider. _whack!_ hippy planted a blow with his fist full on henry's nose, the most tender part of a bear's body. henry reeled, backed away, followed by lieutenant wingate who sparred skillfully, frequently planting other blows on the tender nose of his adversary. boxing with a bear was a new experience for him, but his success thus far made hippy careless, and in a particularly savage blow he threw his body too far forward, missed the nose, and was obliged to spring towards the animal to save himself from falling. henry, despite his rage and aching nose, did not miss his opportunity. both powerful front legs closed about hippy wingate like a flash, and the man and the bear went down together. chapter vi camping under the giant pines tom gray heard the two crash into the bushes, as he was on his way to the scene followed by joe shafto and part of the overland outfit. as he went down hippy had the presence of mind to thrust both hands under the bear's chin and press upward with all his strength, though, in that tight embrace, it was difficult to do anything except gasp for breath and wonder how long it would be before he heard the snap of his ribs breaking in. with the bear's breath hot on his face, lieutenant wingate afterwards remembered wondering why it was that henry did not bite when the biting was good. never having bitten a human being and having no recollection, in all probability, of any associates outside of human beings the bear may not have been inclined to bite. on the other hand, the bear's temper appeared to be rising, for his growls were growing more menacing with the seconds. "hindenburg! sick 'im!" gasped hippy. he heard the pup, weak from loss of blood, give a feeble yelp, then a snarl, and in the next second hindenburg had fastened his teeth in henry's neck. a heavy paw swept hindenburg away and left him quivering and moaning. the respite had been sufficient, however, to enable lieutenant wingate to roll out of the clutches of the beast, but his freedom was brief. hippy had hardly sprung to his feet when the bear rose and snatched him again. it was at this juncture that tom and the guide arrived, just in time to see hippy wingate deliver another blow squarely on henry's all too tender nose. "henry!" yelled the woman. "let go, henry!" henry plainly was in no mood to let go, and it was evident that it was now his intention to bite and bite hard, for the snarling mouth was wide open when joe shafto sprang to the rescue. joe carried a hardwood club, which she evidently carried as a handy weapon. "now will ye mind me!" she shrieked, bringing the club down with a mighty whack on the bridge of henry's head. "take that, and that, and that!" she added, delivering three more resounding whacks. henry uttered a howl, released his hold on hippy wingate and rolled over on his back, feet in the air, where he lay whining and plainly begging for mercy like a child that was being punished. hippy had quickly rolled out of the way and jumped up, his face bloody, and his clothes showing rents where henry's claws had raked them. hippy ran to hindenburg whom he found whimpering and licking his wounds. "you poor fish! why did you do it?" rebuked lieutenant wingate. "git up!" commanded joe shafto, poking henry in the ribs with her stick. "come with me and behave yerself, or i'll wallop ye till ye won't be able to smell venison for a year of sundays." the guide fastened on one of henry's ears and started for the trail, henry ambling along meekly at her side. "lieutenant, keep that pup away from my henry," ordered joe. "joe, keep that bear away from my pup," retorted hippy, carrying hindenburg in his arms and gently depositing him in the saddle bag. "oh, hippy, what happened to you?" cried emma. "i've been communing with nature," he answered briefly. "darlin', let me wipe the blood from your face," crooned nora. "did the naughty bear scratch oo bootiful face?" the overlanders shouted and hippy, very red of face, sprang into his saddle with such a jolt that ginger gave him a lively minute of bucking in which poor hindenburg got a shaking up that made him whimper. the forest woman with her mules had already started and was now some distance in the lead, with her pet bear shuffling along at the edge of the road abreast of the leading mule. "ye git nothin' to eat to-day, henry. i didn't bring ye up to brawl and to fit with yaller dogs, ye lazy lout," scolded joe. when the party halted for its noon rest and luncheon, henry sat morosely at one side of their camping place, now and then licking his chops, while hindenburg, performing the same service for his wounds, occupied a position on the opposite side of the camp. neither animal appeared to be aware of the other's existence. "behold the forest," said tom gray later in the afternoon, halting his pony on a rise of ground, and encompassing a wide range of country with a sweep of his arm. it was an undulating sea of deep green, almost as limitless as the sky itself, that the overland riders gazed upon. "them's the big north woods," joe informed them. "we take a log trail just beyond here, and to-night we'll be in the 'pineys.'" "and to-morrow i shall be off and at work," announced tom. they were soon picking their way along a shady fragrant trail, tall, straight, noble pines about them seeming to be vieing with each other in their efforts to reach the blue sky. the wind now bore a new fragrance, and the air was heavily pungent with the odor of pine. "emma, does your nature cult explain to you why the trees grow so tall and so straight?" asked tom, riding up beside miss dean. emma shook her head. "because they are fighting the battle of nature--fighting for existence, for their very lives, just as all the world of humans is fighting its battle. a tree must have light and air, or it dies. to get these it must grow up, it must keep up with its competitors, the trees about it, and forge ahead of them if possible, ever reaching up and up for sunlight and air. once let it fall behind and it is lost; it is overwhelmed by the sturdier giants; it pales and pines and seems to lose its ambition. the tree, knowing it has lost its grip, then seems to grow thin and gaunt, and one day it goes crashing down, to rot and furnish nourishment for the giants that overwhelmed it. the tree's life, like ours, is a struggle for existence, with the survival of the fittest." "were i a tree i think i should prefer to grow alone out in an open field," decided emma. "not if you were a wise tree, you would not," laughed tom. "out there you would be the plaything of the winds. your body would be exposed to the glaring sun, the full blast of every passing storm, and the bitter cold of winter, which would, unless you were very hardy, have a tendency to retard your growth and weaken your vigor. trees, like humans, do not enjoy a lonely life, but when they get together they immediately enter into bitter competition. isn't that quite human?" "where are you heading, mrs. shafto?" interrupted grace, as the guide struck off, leaving the trail and entering the dense forest. "goin' to find a campin' place while i kin see," she answered. now and then joe would halt to examine an old blaze on a tree, occasionally making a new blaze with her short-handled woodsman's axe on the opposite side of the tree so that, upon returning along that trail, the new blaze might be easily seen. "i fear that i was not born with a woodsman's sense," complained anne. "no one is. that is why a woodsman blazes trees," answered tom. "i do not know whether you people are familiar with 'blazes.' grace knows something about them." "the only 'blaze' i know anything about is the blaze i make when i try to start a cook fire," laughed hippy. "you will need more knowledge than that if you stray a hundred yards from camp in the pineries," replied tom as they rode along. "a blaze is made by a single downward stroke of the axe, the object being to expose a good-sized spot of the whitish sapwood, which, set in the dark framework of the bark, is a staring mark that is certain to attract attention." "yes, but suppose the traveler tries to find the trail a year or so later?" questioned the practical elfreda. "hasn't it grown up so high that he can't see it?" "no. a blaze always remains at its original height above the ground, because a tree increases its height and girth only by building on top of the previous growth. there is much of interest that i could tell you along this line, but i will merely describe the various blazes and their meanings, leaving the rest until some other time. it is well to remember that a trail blazed in a forest is likely to have been made either by a hunter, a lumberman, a timber-looker, or a surveyor. a hunter's line is apt to be inconspicuous. so is a timber-looker's, because he is searching for a bonanza and doesn't wish anyone else to discover it. a surveyor's line is always absolutely straight, except where it meets an insurmountable object, when it makes a right-angle turn to avoid the object, then goes straight ahead again. "all trees that stand directly on the line of a survey have two notches cut on each side of them and are called 'sight trees.' bushes on or near the line are bent by the woodsman at right angles to it. "when a blaze line turns abruptly so that a person following it might otherwise overlook it, a long slash is made on that side of the tree which faces the new direction. there are other forms of blazes, such as marking section corners, boundaries and the like, which it is unnecessary for you to know now, but with which it might be wise for you to familiarize yourselves as you go along. this is the end of your first lesson." "there's the fork of the river that we are goin' to camp on," called joe, riding down a steep bank, followed by the overlanders, their ponies slipping and sliding until they had reached the more level ground near the stream. "we camp here," announced the forest woman. "if ye don't like it, pick out yer own camp. the bear and i stay right here." dismounting, tom strode over to the tree under which joe had announced her intention of making camp, and, placing a hand on it, gazed up along its length, then at the adjacent trees. "she's stood here for a hundred years or more, and i reckon no wind will blow her down to-night. all right!" announced tom. "get busy, girls," called grace. the overlanders, dismounting, inhaled deeply of the air, heavily pungent with the odor of the pine, then set to work with a vim to pitch their camp. tom, in the meantime, climbed the bank to look at a huge pile of logs that lay on a skidway above their camping place. "someone got left last spring," he said upon his return to his companions. "those logs were cut last winter, but the water in the river last spring was evidently too low to float them down, so they must stay where they are until next spring awaiting the freshets. the blocks will then be knocked from under the skidway and those hundreds of thousands of feet of timber will go thundering down into the river. you will observe that they have cut a channel or 'travoy,' as it is called, through which the logs will roll after leaving the skidway, and pass on to the stream. this 'travoy' is pretty well grown over with second growth, but the logs will roll the growth down, and when they do you would think that all the tremendous forces of nature had been let loose." by this time the camp was nearly finished, and the tents of the overlanders looked like tiny doll houses under those giant pines, and in this, the very heart of nature, in the silence and the grandeur of it all, the girls felt a deep sense of something that they could not define, which left them disinclined to laugh or chatter. soon after dark the sky became overcast, the pines began dripping moisture, and a gentle breeze was heard murmuring in the tops of the trees. "come, little nature child! what are the wild winds in the tree-tops saying?" teased hippy, breaking an awed silence of several minutes. "i--i don't rightly know," answered emma, after listening intently to the whisperings in the pines. "i--i think that the message they are trying to convey to me--to us--is a warning of something to come, something that is near at hand. i wish madam gersdorff were here. she could read the warning and tell us what peril it is that is hovering over us." nora uttered a shrill peal of laughter. "don't," begged anne. "you've got a bad attack of the willies," groaned hippy in a tone of disgust that brought a half-hearted laugh from his companions, though, had they been willing to admit it, they too felt something of the depression that was reflected in emma dean's face and voice. work on the camp finished, the overland riders put out the fire and turned in, henry rolling himself up into a furry ball, hindenburg snuggling down between tom and hippy. only forest sounds, now faint and far away, marred the solemn impressive stillness of the big north woods, a stillness that was destined to be rudely interrupted ere the dawn of another day. chapter vii felled by a mysterious blow when grace awakened late in the night the feeling of oppression with which she had gone to sleep still lay heavy upon her. the faint soughing of a breeze in the tree tops, the light thuds of falling pine cones, were the only sounds to be heard outside of the breathing of her companions who were sleeping soundly. suddenly her ears caught a distant roar, and a few drops of rain pattered on the tent. "it is going to storm," murmured grace. "i hope no dead limbs fall from the trees on our camp." pulling the blankets over her head to shut out the sounds she tried to go to sleep, but sleep would not come, so grace uncovered her head and lay listening. the wind seemed to die down for a while, but it soon sprang up with renewed strength, and was sweeping violently over the tops of the pines, which were creaking and groaning under the strain. a distant crash told of some forest giant that had gone down under the blast; then the rain fell, a deluge of it, which finally beat through the little tents and trickled down over the sleeping overland girls. "are you all right in there?" called tom from the outside. "yes, but we are getting wet. is it going to last long?" asked grace. "not being able to get a view of the sky, i can't say positively. it seems like only a shower to me." "wait a moment. i'll join you." grace hurriedly dressed and, throwing on her rubber coat, stepped out. "i don't just like the way some of these trees are acting," said tom. "perhaps you haven't noticed how the ground is heaving." "yes i have, but i did not know that it meant anything alarming." "it shows that the wind is throwing a great strain on the trees and that there is too much play in the roots for the good of the trees--and ourselves," he added. "i hope our supplies do not fall down under the whipping they are getting." the provisions had been slung in sacks from a rope strung between two trees, about ten feet above the ground, to keep them out of reach of henry and other prowling animals. "how long have you been up?" asked grace. "half an hour or so. i went up to the ridge to the rear of the camp, thinking that i had heard something unusual going on up there, but hurried back when the rain started. what i heard must have been the trees creaking." they listened to the storm for several minutes, tom gray trying to interpret the sounds. "awaken the girls!" he directed, acting upon a sudden resolution. "get them out as quickly as possible." tom had heard a sound coming from the ridge that stirred him into quick action. "tell them to fetch the blankets and our rifles. we mustn't lose any of those things." "will you call hippy and joe?" "yes, yes. hurry!" "turn out!" shouted tom at the opening of hippy's tent. "be lively. blankets and weapons with you." "wha--at, in this storm?" wailed hippy. "better get wet than get killed," retorted tom, springing over to joe shafto's tent. joe answered his hail with a sharp demand to know what he wanted. "pile out as quickly as possible. we are likely to have trouble. and call your bear off." henry was sniffing at tom's heels and growling ominously, but he obeyed the incisive command of his master and retired to his position in front of her tent. the girls, he found, were already out of their tents, blankets over their heads, all shivering in the chill rain, all too cold to speak except emma dean. "i--i to-o-old you something was go-going to happen," she stammered. "the v-v-v-voice of nature to-o-old me so." "n-n-n-nature is an old fogy," jeered hippy mockingly. "nothing has happened and i don't know why we have been dragged out into this rotten storm." "follow me and watch your step," directed tom tersely. he led the way to the river and along its bank to the tethering ground. "lead your ponies to a safer place, further up the stream," he ordered. this hurried departure from their camp was a good deal of a mystery to the overland riders. they did not understand why, nor did tom gray tell them. "hippy, help me tie the horses," he said, after having gone several rods further up stream. "one at a time with the ponies, folks, then go make yourselves as comfortable as possible under the bluff of the bank. the bushes there will offer you more protection from the wind and rain than the trees would." shortly thereafter tom and hippy joined their shivering companions, and the party, with blankets stretched over their heads, huddled miserably as they sat on the wet ground under the blanket roof, hindenburg on hippy's lap, and henry outside in the rain licking the water from his dripping coat of fur. "how are you, j. elfreda?" teased grace. "saturated and satiated," answered miss briggs briefly. "i wonder what the voices of nature are saying at the present moment?" mused hippy. "if they feel anything like i do, their remarks are more forceful than elegant." "even if you were to hear them you would be mo wiser," observed emma. "only persons with unusual minds can read the messages that nature conveys." someone under the blanket roof giggled, and hippy articulated "ahem!" "as i was about to say--what's that?" he exclaimed sharply. a boom, that reminded all who heard it of the explosion of a high-powered shell at a distance, smote the ears of the overland riders. then a succession of resounding reports and terrific crashings shook the earth. "stay where you are!" shouted tom gray as, with single accord, the girls sprang to their feet and started to run. they halted at sound of tom's voice. something from the air struck the ground with a thud, and hippy wingate toppled over against elfreda briggs and sank down, uttering a faint moan. "hippy's hurt! something hit him. quick, tom! show a light!" cried miss briggs. tom gray flashed a ribbon of light from his pocket lamp and sprang to his companion. "hippy! hippy!" he begged. nora uttered an anguished wail, and in an instant her arms were about lieutenant wingate's neck. "let go and give him air," commanded tom. hippy lay as he had fallen, half on his side, one arm doubled under his head. a red welt across his forehead showed where the blow that felled him had fallen. the reverberating crashes that had shaken the earth were dying out and now seemed much further away than at first. chapter viii their first disaster "oh, what has happened?" begged anne tremblingly. "the logs went out," answered tom briefly. "di--did a log hit hippy?" questioned emma. "i don't know what hit him. fetch water," directed tom, who was fanning the unconscious hippy with his hat. joe shafto had run down to the stream and, at this juncture, came up to them with a hatful of water, which she handed to tom. grace took tom's hat from him and did the fanning while her husband was bathing hippy's face. the rain had become a misty drizzle and the wind had died out entirely, but the trees were dripping moisture that soaked into the clothing of the overland riders more effectively than had the downpour of a few moments before. it was nearly half an hour before lieutenant wingate regained consciousness, and it was some little time later before he could hold a sitting position, for his head was swimming. "had we better not get him under his tent?" asked grace. "if there is a tent left, yes. you folks will remain right here until i return. i am going over to the camp," replied tom. "is there danger?" questioned grace anxiously. "i think not. i shall not be gone more than a few minutes." tom took his pocket lamp with him, leaving the overlanders in the dark, for their own lamps were in their packs in the tents. tom, however, came back inside of fifteen minutes. "how is the camp?" asked elfreda. "there isn't any camp," answered tom. "wha--at?" gasped the overlanders. "it hit me and went on into the river," groaned hippy. "voice of nature," he added in a mutter, but no one laughed. "our camp was pitched in the travoy way. the storm loosened the supports of the skidway and let the logs down. several hundred thousand feet of them rolled over our camp and mashed it flat. a good part of the timber went on into the river. the rest of it is scattered all the way along the travoy." "what! all our provisions gone?" wailed hippy. "no. they were strung up high enough to be out of the way," spoke up grace. "you are wrong, grace," differed tom. "a log must have ended up and broken the rope. at least the rope is broken and most of our supplies appear to have been carried away. we are now back to first principles. we must either go back for fresh supplies or live as the forest wanderer lives, rustling for our grub as we go along. the first thing to be done is to build a fire." "fine! i should like to see you do that with everything soaking wet," laughed elfreda. "we shall see," replied tom. "what we need first of all is light so we may see what we are about." after searching about, tom found an old uptilted log which he proposed to use as a "backlog" for a fire. he next roamed about with his lamp, hunting for a dead pine tree leaning to the south. he explained that the wood and bark on the under side of such a tree would be reasonably dry and would make excellent fuel. he found one that had been shivered by lightning, and from the south side of this he chopped off bark and chips. the girls carried these to the fallen uptilted tree. in the meantime, the guide had searched for and found several pine knots. from these tom whittled shavings from their less resinous ends, leaving the shavings on the sticks. he set these knots up like a tripod under the fallen tree, small ends down and the shavings touching. "we will now strike a match and you shall see whether or not we know how to build a fire under present conditions. grace, how do you think you would strike a match with nothing dry to strike it on?" he teased. "i do not believe i should strike it," answered grace. "hold your hat over me," he directed, getting down on his knees. tom placed the head of the match between his teeth and jerked the match forward through the teeth, cupped the match in his hands until the flame of the match ran up its stick, whereupon he applied it to the shavings. the pine knots flickered, then flamed up, snapping and shooting out little streamers of reddish fire. bark and splinters from the leaning tree were placed about the knots, and in a few moments they had a cheerful fire. "cut two saplings and spread the blanket for a backing," said tom, nodding to the guide. joe sharpened one end of each sapling and forced them into the ground back of the log, and on the saplings she stretched one of the wet blankets. "girls, in all our campaigning we haven't learned much, have we?" demanded anne. "had it not been for tom we should have sat all night in misery and wetness. i think we are going to learn something on this journey." "it strikes me that we have already learned a few things," observed miss briggs. lieutenant wingate recovered rapidly, and when able he began searching about to discover what had hit him but could find nothing. the clothing of the party under the influence of that red-hot fire soon dried out, and the spirits of the overland riders rose in proportion. acting upon elfreda's suggestion that they make an effort to salvage their supplies, tom and hippy prepared pitchpine torches, and all hands repaired to the scene of their late camping place. "look! oh, look!" cried emma, as they came within sight of it. not a vestige of the camp was left. logs lay about everywhere, some almost standing on end. young trees were broken off short, bushes laid flat as if a tornado had swept over the scene, and here and there the trunks of giant trees were scarred where the bark had been torn off by logs coming in contact with them. "think what might have happened to us had we not got out in time," murmured anne. "we should have been mashed flat," agreed emma. "how terrible!" "that is what comes from listening to the voice of nature," chuckled hippy. "here are some of our provisions," called grace, who had been clambering over the logs, peering under them and feeling about among the pine cones. she uncovered a dozen or so cans of food, all dented, some mashed out flat, and while she was doing this elfreda discovered some badly battered mess kits. hippy salvaged a chunk of bacon on the river bank, and others found widely scattered remnants of their supplies, including some that had been swept into the river which had not floated away. "this will keep us going until we can replenish our larder," finally announced grace. "after daybreak we shall undoubtedly find more of our belongings. the tents, however, seem to have been destroyed. i found a few pieces of canvas, but that was all. i am glad we saved our blankets." "by the way, mrs. shafto, where is henry?" asked nora. "henry!" cried joe. "if henry is wise he will be found up a tree," chuckled hippy. "henry! henre-e-e-e-e!" called the forest woman. "oh, henre-e-e-e-e-e! here, hen, hen, hen, hen! come here, i tell ye! hen, hen, hen, hen, hen!" "crow! maybe that will fetch hen," suggested hippy, and the overland girls shouted. "don't ye make fun of me!" raged the forest woman, striding over to hippy and shaking a belligerent fist before his face. "i give ye notice that joe shafto kin take care of herself and her bear, and she don't need no advice from a greenhorn like yerself." hippy backed away, the woman following him and still shaking her fist, and the more the girls laughed the angrier did joe get. "that's all right, old dear. don't get excited," begged hippy, trying to soothe the irate woman. "what? old dear! don't ye call me old dear. i ain't yer old dear nor yer young dear. ain't ye ashamed of yerself to speak to yer betters that way, and 'specially to a woman of my years? i'll larn ye to be civil and to mind yer own business!" joe gave the embarrassed hippy a sound box on one ear, then on the other. "take that, and that," she cried. "next time i'll use the club on ye!" each blow jolted hippy's head. "mrs. shafto! please, please! we can't have any such actions in this outfit," rebuked grace. "lieutenant wingate did not mean to offend you, and you must learn to be a good fellow and take as well as give if you are going to stay with this outfit. if you think you cannot, now is the time to say so." "do ye want me to git out?" demanded joe, glaring at grace. "indeed we do not. we wish you to remain, to be a good fellow, to share in our pleasures and take the unpleasant features in the spirit of the overland riders. do you think you can do this?" grace smiled as she said it. "i reckon yer right, miss gray," decided the forest woman after a moment's pondering and glaring through her spectacles at grace. "thank you. nora, suppose you lead hippy to one side--by the ear--and read him a little lecture," suggested grace. "i'll do that," agreed nora wingate. "hippy, my darlin', you come with me. i'll fetch a stout stick and i'll make you think of home and mother." even joe shafto laughed as nora playfully led hippy away by an ear. they found them half an hour later sitting by the fire where nora was still lecturing her irrepressible spouse. "i've reformed, mrs. shafto," called hippy as he saw them approaching. "i was mistaken in thinking you were my dear. you aren't. henry is your dear." "i don't know whether he is or not. i'm afraid henry loped away when the logs came down. i'll track him when it gets light enough to see." all was peace in the overland camp again, and, while they were waiting for daylight, tom and hippy hammered their mess kits back into shape with an axe, greatly to the amusement of their companions. as the graying skies finally brought out in relief the tops of the trees, elfreda, who had been gazing up at them, uttered a sudden exclamation. "what is that up there?" she exclaimed. "it looks like an animal." "it's my henry!" shouted the guide. "come down here, ye beast! come down, i say. henry, do ye hear me?" henry plainly did, but he took his time about obeying, and it was not until the light became stronger that he made a move to descend. after reaching the last of the lower limbs of the tree, henry slid the rest of the way down, dislodging the bark with his claws, a little shower of bark sifting over joe, who was waiting at the base of the tree to welcome her pet. this she did in characteristic fashion when he reached the ground, by giving him a few light taps with her ever-ready club. henry slunk away and sat down by himself to brood over his troubles, hindenburg from a safe distance eyeing the bear, a dark ruff showing along his pugnacious little back. mrs. shafto began the preparation of breakfast immediately after recovering her bear. while she was doing this, the light now being strong enough to permit, tom climbed the bank to examine the skidway from which the logs had swept down over their camp. tom remained up there until the loud halloos of his companions informed him that breakfast was ready. the forester returned to his camp slowly and thoughtfully. "find anything up there?" questioned hippy, giving him a quick glance of inquiry. tom nodded. "the tents?" asked elfreda. "naturally not up there," he replied, sitting down on a blanket and taking the plate of bacon that elfreda handed to him. "out with it," laughed grace. "it always is reflected in your face when there is anything weighty on your mind." "having something on one's mind is more than all of us can boast," chortled hippy. "i might mention names were it not that i am too polite to do so," he added, grinning at emma, who flushed. "at least i did not get my ears boxed," she retorted. "mrs. shafto served you just right, though i think we all regret that, while about it, she did not make a finished job of it." "that subject is closed," reminded miss briggs. "hippy, don't you say another word," warned nora wingate, and, after the laugh had subsided, they looked at tom. "i went up to examine the skidway," he said. "what i found there fully confirmed the vague suspicions that were already in my mind." "eh?" interrupted hippy, leaning forward expectantly. elfreda nodded, as if tom had confirmed her own conclusions. "it was not wholly the rain that dislodged the supports of the logs, folks," resumed tom. "no--ot rain?" exclaimed hippy, blinking at his companion. "not rain," repeated tom. "human hands loosened the supports that sent the great pile of logs down on the camp of the overlanders," he declared impressively. chapter ix lumber-jacks seek revenge "same old game," grumbled hippy. "what makes you think that the skidway was tampered with?" questioned anne, after the exclamations following tom's startling assertion had subsided. "because the evidence is there. even a novice could read the signs left there. in spots, i found the imprints of rubber boots. i also found four canthooks, used for rolling logs." hippy suggested that these might have been left when the lumbermen stopped work in the early spring, but tom shook his head. "no. they were new, which indicates that they were brought to this place within a few days--probably within the last few hours, for the hooks did not have a single point of rust on them." "but, tom! i cannot understand how moving that tremendous weight in bulk was possible for a handful of men," wondered grace. "jacks can do anything they wish with logs," answered tom gray. "in this instance they called on nature for assistance, and fickle nature lent them a hand by sending them rain. the ground too, i discovered, had been dug out under the lower side of the skidway and the supports knocked out." "the varmints!" growled joe shafto, who had been an attentive listener to tom's story. "the jacks shifted some logs around to act as a track to give the logs on the skidway a good start down the bank; they further cleared a channel lower down so that the water might undermine the skidway still more, then, when the trap was properly set, undoubtedly gave the top of the pile a start with their hooks. i can't describe it so you people, unfamiliar with logging operations, can get the picture clearly." "i think you do very well," answered emma wisely. "of course, hippy could improve upon it, but fortunately he is not telling the story." "do you know of any early lumber operations near here, mrs. shafto?" asked tom. the guide said she did not, but that the woods were often full of cutters late in the fall and in the early winter. "section forty-three was goin' to start cuttin' on the first of this month i heard, but i don't know whuther they did or not," she said. tom gray consulted his forestry map and nodded. "we will look in on them, so i believe i shall stay with you until the day after to-morrow. in the meantime i shall have another look at the skidway while you people are packing up," he said, rising. "what shall we do without tents?" questioned anne anxiously. "do nicely. when we make camp this afternoon mrs. shafto and i will show you. i do not think it advisable to head directly for forty-three, but to camp in the vicinity of that section, as i shall wish to speak with the foreman of the gang there." "reckon ye know what ye wants to do," nodded the guide. when tom returned from the skidway he smiled and shook his head in answer to the question in grace's eyes. "nothing further," he said briefly. "you should have been an indian," laughed grace. "should have been? he is," averred hippy. not a shred of canvas large enough to cover a mess plate was found in the ruins of their camp, and, as soon as they had assembled and packed what was left of their equipment, the party went on without tents. after luncheon that day they turned off from the lumber trail and struck out into the densely timbered land, joe following her course by certain old blazes on trees. traveling there was much slower than it had been on the open lumber trail, but the overlanders made satisfactory time, and covered nearly twenty miles before they halted to prepare their camp for the night. it lacked three hours of nightfall then, so tom gray decided to go over to section forty-three and have his talk with the foreman of that lumber camp. it was an hour-and-a-half later when he returned, flushed and angry. "well?" questioned grace. "i learned that a dozen jacks came in from bisbee's corners last night, but when i asked that they be lined up to see if i could identify any of them as belonging to the mob that attacked us at bisbee's, the foreman threatened to set the whole outfit of jacks on me. he said he was not running a detective bureau and that he didn't give a rap what his jacks did so long as they got out timber." "what's his name?" interrupted the guide. "tatem, he said." "feller with a wooden leg?" demanded joe. "yes." "that's peg tatem, the biggest ruffian of 'em all. he'd brain ye with a peavey if you give him any back talk. i've always thought that peg knew the devils who killed my man. oh, i hope the time comes when i get a chance to set henry on him. henry'd make toothpicks of that peg-leg. i promise ye that. his outfit ain't any better'n peg himself." "who is the contractor?" asked tom. "it's the dusenbery outfit. dusenbery is always timber-lookin', peekin' about the pinies to find a cuttin' that he kin steal, and he's stole a lot of it, cap'n gray. ye lookin' for timber thieves?" "that is a part of my job up here," answered tom smilingly. "git dusenbery and ye'll have the biggest stealer of these big north woods, but have yer gun handy when ye git him or he'll git ye first." with this parting admonition, joe took a currycomb and brush from her kit bag and began grooming henry's coat, which, from contact with brush and thorns, and the wetting he had received the night before, looked as if it needed it. "the burning question of the moment is, do we sleep on feathers or firs to-night?" inquired hippy. "we will get at that right away. mrs. shafto, please show lieutenant wingate how to pick a backlog and let him get spruce boughs for two lean-tos and wood for the night's fuel," directed tom. while this was being done, tom selected the camp site; then cut and set four poles, the rear pair lower than the front, and across these he laid ridge poles. when the spruce boughs were brought in they were placed on top of the framework thus erected, and in a few moments the roof was on. the ends of the lean-to were closed by hanging spruce boughs over them. the roof boughs were all laid in the same direction, butts towards the front, tops towards the rear. this accomplished, a little green house had appeared like magic, but it was not yet complete. spruce boughs were brought and spread over the ground under the lean-tos to the depth of about a foot, all laid one way, smooth and springy and so sweetly odorous that the air in the little house seemed intoxicating. emma dean dove in headfirst. "stop that! this house is not intended to be a rough-house," protested hippy, coming up at this juncture with an armful of boughs. "i can't help it. it is so perfectly stunning. do you know what its name is? why, green gables, of course, and--" "what are the wild birds saying?" mocked hippy. "they will be crooning a good-night lullaby the instant i lay my weary person down," declared elfreda briggs. a second lean-to, much smaller than the first, was erected. then preparations for the campfire were begun. this was laid on sloping ground a little lower down than the lean-tos. first, a log was placed and stakes driven behind it to keep it from rolling down the slight decline, its purpose being to supply the backlog of the fire, which, when started, would be almost on a level with the lean-tos, and about four feet from them. evergreen boughs were cut and laid lengthwise in front of the lean-tos, to be planted between the houses and the fire, in case the fire might be too hot for the occupants. hippy was now bringing in the night-wood and complaining bitterly about having to do all the work. "why not harness up that lazy bear and make him draw in the logs?" he demanded. "if ye'll harness the pup and snake in a log with him, i'll make my henry snake two logs," retorted the forest woman. hippy went back for another load of wood, his shoulders jogging up and down with laughter. "this is all very fine, tom, but what are we going to do after you have left us?" wondered anne. "grace knows how to build a lean-to, and i am positive that mrs. shafto does," answered tom. joe nodded. "when you go into permanent camp you will require a different construction to keep the rain out. bark stripped from trees will answer the purpose," tom informed them. the small lean-to was for the guide, and another of about the same size was later erected for tom and hippy, though further from the fire than the little green houses for the girls and the guide. night was upon them by the time they had finished, and mrs. shafto already had built a small cook fire and was preparing supper. about the time it was ready tom put a match under the larger pile of wood, and a cheerful blaze flamed up. "try the house and see how warm it is, girls," suggested grace. exclamations of delight and gurgles of satisfaction followed their trial of the lean-to. "why, it is as warm as a steam-heated house," cried nora. "that is because the rear side of the lean-to is closed and the front open. the heat therefore remains in the lean-to. even a low fire will keep one warm in such a shelter in the coldest of winter nights," grace explained to her companions. in the meantime tom and hippy were discussing the attack of the previous night, and tom gray was cautioning hippy to be on the lookout all the time and see to it that the overland girls were protected. "we are getting into rough country. i don't need to tell you that," said tom. "law is quite a way removed from us, and it takes time to get the law operating in the big woods country. by the time it does get working, the guilty ones generally are out of reach. i wish we had got in touch with willy horse and hired him to join the outfit." "leave it to henry and hippy," laughed lieutenant wingate. "what those two 'h's' can't do, he couldn't. then again, we have hindenburg. do you think that fellow tatem had anything to do with what happened last night?" tom said he knew of no good reason why the foreman of forty-three should have wished to injure them. "the attack looks to me like a lumberjack's revenge but i can't account for it. i have decided to leave you in the morning. grace has a duplicate of my forestry map, and will know where i am most of the time. i'll look in on you from time to time, and about the first of the month i shall make my headquarters on the little big branch where you folks are going to camp for a few weeks. be careful of fire, and if you are visited by a fire warden tell him who you are. one cannot be too particular about saving the forests, and a little carelessness might cause a fire loss of thousands of dollars before the blaze could be stopped." "we want to go to bed," interrupted emma. "how are we going to do so with one side of the house out?" "hang two blankets over the front, please, hippy. take them down after the girls have turned in. i will look after the ponies; then you and i will hit the pines," directed tom, rising. the forest woman was hanging up the mess kits to dry when tom and hippy went out to water and rub down the ponies. she beckoned them to wait. "i been thinkin' 'bout what ye said of peg tatem, cap'n gray, and i don't like it," she said in a tone low enough to prevent being overheard by the girls, who were preparing for bed. "peg must have been mad 'bout somethin' and i reckon it would be healthy for us to git out of here in the mornin' and camp as far away from forty-three as we kin. what do ye say, cap'n?" "don't worry about peg. we shall be out of this in the morning, anyway. i have to leave you to-morrow, so take good care of the girls and don't let henry eat the bull pup." "he had better not," growled hippy. the two overland men went to their lean-to laughing, mrs. shafto feeding the night logs to the fire before seeking her own browse-bed, henry taking up his resting place a little distance from her in the shadows and away from the fire. his fur coat was sufficient protection against the evening chill, but hindenburg's hair was short, and he was shivering when he crawled in and nosed his way under lieutenant wingate's blanket. it did not seem to the overlanders as if they had more than dropped to sleep, though they had been asleep for hours, when they were startled by a terrific explosion, an explosion that shook the earth and made the forest trees above them tremble and a shower of pine cones rain down on them in a perfect deluge. "tree coming! run!" shouted tom gray, at the same time firing his revolver into the air to urge the overlanders to greater haste. chapter x mystery in the fall of a tree "run to the river!" it was hippy's voice, this time raised in warning. he feared that the wide-spreading branches of the falling tree might hit some of the party of overlanders. a branch from a smaller tree, knocked down by the larger one in its fall, gave hippy a sidewipe and sent him flying down the bank. "jump inter the river!" screamed the forest woman. "it ain't deep." joe led the way, shouting as she leaped for the water. had there been light, it would have been easy to see which way the tree was falling, but in the darkness one could only guess from the sound the direction in which the tree was falling. it landed with a mighty crash just as the overland riders leaped into the river, and for a few seconds it sounded as if the forest itself were going down. the girls listened to the crashings and the reports in awesome silence. "all over!" announced tom, in a tone of relief. "i--i don't see anything about a falling tree that necessitates scaring a person out of a year's growth," complained emma. "you don't, eh? then you have something to learn," answered tom rather shortly. "at least there is nothing to prevent our going back and getting to sleep, is there?" questioned nora. "there is!" said tom. "wha--what do you mean?" demanded hippy, but tom made no reply. grace found herself wondering what had caused the tree to fall. there was no wind, other than a gentle zephyr; the ground was dry and the tree was not a dead tree, as she discovered when she found that its foliage had blotted out the campfire. either she had not heard the explosion as the tree burst from the ground, or else she had forgotten that circumstance altogether in the excitement of the moment. "all right. we can go back now," said tom. "and to bed for mine," promised elfreda. "if my eyes serve me right, you have no bed," answered grace laughingly. "i don't understand," wondered miss briggs. "from its position, i should say that the fallen tree pretty well covers our camp," replied grace. "yes, it fell on the lean-tos," tom informed them. the overland girls groaned. "the voices of nature seem to be trying to tell us something. perhaps they are inviting us to get out," suggested hippy whimsically. "what is your interpretation of the tree's fall, you nature-cult person?" he questioned teasingly, nodding at emma. "i think they are seeking to advise us to rid ourselves of one lieutenant wingate if we expect to be permitted to proceed in peace," answered emma. "why don't you go home?" teased the little overland girl. "my wife won't let me. of course you are not bound by any such restrictions," reminded hippy. tom suddenly broke into a run. the others followed, calling to him to know what was wrong, but the forester did not at first answer, as he sped towards their camp, leaping logs and other obstructions in his path. "hurry!" he shouted, upon reaching the scene. "what is it?" called hippy. "we have set the woods on fire!" answered tom. what the party had supposed to be only the campfire blazing under the tree that had fallen across it, in reality was a forest fire in the making. in falling, the tree had scattered the burning embers of the campfire, and set fire to the leaves and pine boughs that covered the ground. by the time tom gray reached the scene the fire was running up the little saplings, tracing out their limbs until they resembled decorated christmas trees, and leaping from tree to tree. "isn't it beautiful!" exclaimed emma enthusiastically, as the spectacle burst into view. "you won't think so before many hours have passed," answered grace, who, as well as her husband, fully understood what this blaze with so good a start might mean. "grab those spruce boughs near the lean-tos and follow me!" shouted tom. "every one of you get to work. stamp out what is left of the campfire, hippy, so that it doesn't spread towards the river and get away from us along the bank. stir yourselves!" through the smoke, the flying sparks and the pungent, almost overpowering odors, the overland riders ran with their arms full of spruce boughs. "what are we to do?" cried elfreda. "i feel as helpless as a child." after they had hurried around the outer edge of the fire, which was rapidly reaching towards them in little wriggling, snake-like streams of fire, tom directed the girls to spread out, each taking several rods of front to protect. "beat it out as fast as you can. when you see a wriggler reaching for a tree, beat it out with your spruce boughs," he ordered. "don't try to put out a tree on fire. you can't do it, and may set yourselves on fire. grace, you take the lower end of the line and keep the girls at work. i will look after this end. should assistance be needed at any one point, shout and we will all concentrate on it. all of you be careful that you don't get burned." the girls quickly took up the positions assigned to them, and began beating and whipping the "golden serpents," as nora characterized them. in a few moments each member of the party was coughing and choking, their arms were aching and tears were running from their eyes. in spite of their efforts, however, the advancing fire drove them steadily back. the big trees soon began to char, and, within an hour, were glowing pillars of fire, as one after another broke into flames that mounted higher and higher. had there been leisure to view it as a spectacle, the sight would have been a magnificent one, but the overlanders had other things to occupy their attention. while in no way to blame for the fire, they felt that this was their responsibility, theirs the duty to stop it, and so they worked and fought, gasping for breath, now and then retreating for fresh air. "lie down every little while!" shouted tom. "the air is better near the ground. pass the word along." his orders were shouted from one to the other and so reached the extreme end of the fighting front. what at first had seemed an easy task had grown to an almost insurmountable one. now they would check the fire at one point, only to discover that it had leaped over the line at another. by the time they had conquered the second one, the first blaze generally would be found to have taken a new start. a canopy of fire and smoke covered the scene high overhead. tom hoped that a forest lookout might discover the blaze and send assistance to them, though he knew that much territory might be burned over before help could reach them. leaving his own position for a survey of conditions, tom ran along the line of fire-fighters, giving an encouraging word here and there while his experienced eyes sized up the situation. "how is it?" gasped grace when he reached her end of the line. "serious! we must fight as long as we have an ounce of strength or a breath left in our bodies," he added, starting back towards his position. "keep it up! it's getting the best of you!" he shouted to each overlander in turn as he passed. "can't we send to forty-three for assistance?" called hippy. "no. you or i would have to go. neither of us can be spared." "we'll have to be spared if this keeps up much longer. do you think the horses are safe?" "yes. they are on the river side of the fire. the breeze is carrying the fire the other way," answered tom. three hours after the discovery of the fire found the overland riders still fighting, to all appearances, just as stubbornly as when they began. their faces were almost unrecognizable, blackened as they were with smoke and streaked with perspiration. in places, their clothing showed black where it had been seared or scorched. emma dean had, for the time being, forgotten to listen to the voices of nature, even though they were sizzling and roaring at her from the far-flung tops of the giant pines. at the end of the fourth hour, a great tree came crashing down with a ripping, rending roar. another followed it soon after, and at intervals still other trees lost their foothold and surrendered to their implacable enemy, _fire_! it was an awesome sight and the air was full of thrilling sounds. there was not one of that party of fire fighters that did not feel the awe. henry disappeared, and his mistress had no thought for him. she had been through other forest fires, and, though she worked desperately, she did so without emotion so far as external appearances indicated. hindenburg, on the contrary, was very much in evidence, running up and down the line, barking at each individual fire fighter and sneezing as he breathed in the pungent smoke. the graying dawn found the overlanders still beating at the flames that still kept them on the retreat, driving them deeper and deeper into the forest. about this time tom gray made his second survey. what he found raised his hopes and his spirits. "we've flanked it!" he cried. "that old cutting to the left has saved us on that side." "thank heaven!" answered grace in a choking voice. "te--ell the others!" "we aren't through yet," reminded tom, hurrying back to give the others the encouraging news and to urge them to continue their efforts. shouts, choking, gasping shouts, greeted the announcement. then how they did work, the girls with handkerchiefs stuffed in their mouths, and hippy wingate with a piece of his khaki shirt gripped between his teeth and partly covering his nostrils as an aid in keeping the smoke out of his lungs. the throats of all were parched and aching for water, but there was none to be had near at hand, and no time to go to the river for it. at nine o'clock in the morning the forest fire was conquered, after having burned over several acres of timber. here and there little blazes were fanned into life by the morning breeze, but alert eyes discovered, and ready hands quickly whipped them out. "done! but it will have to be watched. you girls go back to camp and make some coffee. i don't believe that much of our belongings have been destroyed," said tom. instead of starting for camp, the girls sank down in their tracks, and dropped instantly into a sleep of exhaustion. neither man made an effort to arouse them. "i wish i might do that too. what do you say if we take just one little cat-nap, tom?" urged hippy. "can't be done. the fire might start again." "oh, hang the fire!" growled lieutenant wingate. "it might 'hang' you; in other words, we should be in danger of being burned, for we surely would sleep all day, once we permitted ourselves to drop off!" "all right. carry on! if i could have a nip of sleep i know i should dream of food, which would fix me up all right. how long are we going to let them sleep?" asked hippy, pointing to the sleeping overland girls. "until we make certain that the fire isn't going to break out afresh. we will then shake the girls up and go back to camp. it doesn't look as though i should get away to-day, does it?" grinned tom. "we can sit down, can't we?" "not yet! not for another two hours." the men separated and began a steady patrol of the fire-line, dragging themselves along wearily until the two hours had lengthened into three. hippy then declared himself and announced his intention of going straight back to camp for something to eat and a sleep. tom, after a final look about, agreed. it took some little time to get the girls sufficiently awake to enable them to stand on their feet, but finally the men had marshalled them all and the journey to camp began. it was blackened and cheerless acres of bare and fallen trees that their swollen eyes gazed upon on the way back to camp. thousands of feet of virgin timber had been burned. tom gray, whose love of the forest was almost a passion with him, gazed on the wreckage sadly. "let this be a lesson to all of you. always be careful with your campfires," he warned. the girls were too tired to eat when they reached camp. all they desired was sleep and rest. hippy's crying need was food, and that was what he proposed to get first, but tom would not hear to either of them sitting down until the horses had been looked after and watered. while they were doing that, the forest woman made coffee and fried bacon, which was ready for tom and hippy upon their return. the overland girls had found their blankets, and, rolled tightly in them, lay sound asleep on the bare ground. "poor kids! aren't you proud of each and every one of them, hippy?" glowed tom. "oh, i suppose so. that is, i presume i should be if i weren't famished." henry came ambling in at this juncture and, sitting down, began washing his face with his paws, giving not the slightest heed to the tirade that joe shafto was hurling at him. "ye git no breakfast to-day," raged the forest woman. "oh, don't be so hard-hearted," begged hippy. "give the poor fish a rind of bacon at least. you don't know what it means to have an appetite." hippy's urgings bore fruit, and henry got his breakfast, as did tom and hippy, and their appetites fully equalled that of the bear. "come along, hippy," urged tom after they had finished breakfast. "wha--at? where?" "let's have a look at the tree that so mysteriously fell on our camp." "have a heart! have a heart, tom! i want to lie down and sleep." "so do i, but i cannot until i have learned why that tree came down as it did, and what caused the report just before it fell. come! the sooner we start, the quicker we shall be in dreamland." hippy followed his companion begrudgingly. "look at that, will you?" demanded captain gray, pointing to the ground about the hole which had so recently held the roots of the great tree that had fallen on the lean-tos. the ground had been torn up for some yards from the true base of the tree, and dirt and pieces of roots hurled in all directions. lieutenant wingate was instantly galvanized into alertness. the scene reminded him of france where he had seen so many similar holes, the result of the explosion of shells. he was down on his knees in a second, crawling about in the hole, feeling and smelling the ground. "smell this, tom," he said, handing up to his companion a bit of cardboard. "what does it suggest to you?" "powder, i should say," answered tom. "exactly. it is my opinion that our tree was dynamited. that's what caused the explosion!" cried hippy. "i wonder i didn't recognize it at the time. now what do you make of that?" "i suspected as much, old man. i knew when i heard it that there had been an explosion, and i suspected the reason," answered tom gravely. "i am glad the girls are not awake. this is serious, and the end is not yet!" tom gray's prophecy came true before the end of that already eventful day. chapter xi the threat of peg tatem the shadows were heavy in the big woods when the two men awakened from their afternoon's sleep, into which they had sunk while discussing their discovery. joe shafto was getting supper, and it was the odor of her cooking that aroused lieutenant wingate to full wakefulness. hippy routed out the rest of the camp without delay. they discovered henry asleep high up in one of the virgin pines, hindenburg having found warmth and a less perilous position on the blankets of the overland girls. "i seen ye folks over by the hole in the ground yonder," the forest woman confided to tom as he greeted her and asked how she felt. "i took a look for myself this evenin'. fine kettle of stew, hey?" "meaning what?" questioned tom smilingly. "i reckon some varmint give that air tree a kick over, eh? who do ye reckon the varmint was who did that, cap'n gray?" demanded joe, glaring at him through her spectacles. tom shrugged his shoulders. "i don't know, joe. i wish i did," he replied. "please say nothing about it to the girls. i shall tell mrs. gray, of course. being in charge of the party she should be told of our suspicions." "sure. what do ye reckon on doin' to-night?" "make a new camp and watch it. where was that bear of yours while all that uproar was in progress?" demanded tom. "same place the lieutenant's pup was at--sleepin'!" returned joe dryly. tom turned away laughing. he and hippy rustled boughs for new lean-tos, chopped wood for the night campfire, and began making a new camp a few rods from the one that had been destroyed by the falling tree and the forest fire. the girls volunteered to assist in the work, but hippy declared that they looked as if they needed sleep more than work. the work on the lean-tos had not been finished when the overlanders were summoned to supper. there was little conversation until they had dulled the sharp edges of their appetites; then their drooping spirits revived and they began bantering each other. henry had come down to be on hand when the food was distributed and got many morsels during the meal. the bear suddenly bristled, swayed his head from side to side, and began to growl. at almost the same instant hippy wingate's bull pup was galvanized into life. he began to utter deep growls and resentful coughs. "some varmint hangin' around, i reckon," nodded the forest woman in answer to a look of inquiry from grace. "be still, henerey!" "i hear something coming," declared tom. hippy fastened a hand on hindenburg's collar, and joe threatened the bear with a club until he slunk away and disappeared, then, to their amazement, peg tatem stamped into camp, followed by a group of lumberjacks. the overland riders gazed questioningly at his scowling face. tom gray was the only member of the outfit who knew him, but they instantly recognized the foreman of section forty-three, from the descriptions of him given by tom and joe shafto, who now stood glaring angrily at him through her big horn glasses. tom greeted the newcomer cordially. "won't you sit down and have a snack with us?" he asked. "don't want nothin' t' eat with the likes of ye, thankee," growled peg. "oh, that's all right, old top," observed hippy cheerfully. "we aren't particularly eager to have a rough-neck sit down to mess with us." "hold yer tongue, ye cheap dude!" snarled peg, shaking the heavy stick, that he carried as a cane, at lieutenant wingate. "don't get rough," grinned hippy. "what do you want here anyway?" the lumberjacks, who had accompanied the foreman, halted a few paces to the rear of their superior, and neither their appearance nor their expressions were reassuring. "what is it you wish?" demanded tom. "what ye got to say about this?" snorted peg, taking in the burned area with a sweep of his stick. "as a forester, i am very sorry that this has happened, though it was through no fault of ours," answered tom. "ye lie!" exploded the foreman. "tatem, you will please drop that sort of talk here. remember there are ladies present. besides, i don't take that word from anyone. i said, the fire occurred through no fault of ours. a tree fell on our campfire and scattered the embers, and, before we realized it, the forest was on fire. we worked all night and all the forenoon trying to head the fire off, which we finally succeeded in doing. had we not done our part, this whole section would long since have been entirely burned off. why are you taking it upon yourself to come here and interfere with us?" "why? ye bloomin' idiot! i'm talkin' because ye've burned off a few hundred thousand feet of timber from our section. that's why, and yer goin' to pay for every stick of it. do ye git me?" "oh, perfectly, perfectly," interjected hippy. "your section, did you say?" demanded tom. "that's what i said," leered peg. "you are mistaken. this is not your section. it is possible that you may have intended to crowd your boundaries and steal a few thousand feet of state timber, but so far as its belonging to you or to the people you represent, i know better." "ye--ye say i'm a thief?" demanded peg, the words seeming to stick in his throat. "no. you may intend to be one, but i have not said that you are. you may be for all that i know. if you have nothing more sensible to say than to accuse us of burning your property, move on! before you go, however, i wish to say that i believe that, if the truth were to come out, you know more about what caused that fire, and how it was caused, than anyone else. you know what i mean, peg tatem." only hippy understood to what tom gray referred. that peg tatem did, lieutenant wingate had not the least doubt, for the foreman's face flushed a violent red under his tan, and his eyes narrowed, as he gripped his club-like cane. "get out of here, you and your jacks!" commanded tom savagely. "yes, skip, vamoose, articulate your joints. in other words, shoo!" jeered hippy. "if i ever see you around our camp again i'll slap your wrist. what!" peg tatem, throwing his weight on the clumsy piece of wood that did duty as a leg, made an almost unbelievable leap towards tom gray and brought his club-cane down with all the powerful strength that the man possessed. "i'll kill ye fer that!" raged the foreman of forty-three as his club descended. chapter xii a shot from the forest tom leaped back and the stick hit the ground instead of the mark that it was intended to reach. before the foreman could recover himself, tom gray was upon him, and a blow from the overlander rider's fist sent peg tatem reeling, but before tom could follow up his advantage, the lumberman collected himself and began leaping around tom, now striking with the club, then kicking out with the wooden leg. it was impossible to get close enough to the fellow to give him the knock-out blow that captain gray was hoping to land on his adversary. thus far neither side had made a move to interfere with the combatants, but a movement on the part of the lumberjacks, a gradual edging up, warned hippy that his opportunity to get into the scrimmage was near at hand. "prepare to defend yourselves, girls," he said in a tone that carried to their ears only. "if the worst comes, shoot! tom and i may get knocked out, for these fellows are tougher than the trees they cut." "don't worry, hippy. we will take care of ourselves," said grace calmly. "trust us to defend ourselves." "with what?" questioned elfreda. "there are plenty of good stout sticks on the ground. if you see that these jacks mean to attack us, each of you grab a club and let them have it on their heads. see! joe is holding her club behind her." the forest woman was waiting grimly for an opportunity to crack a lumberjack's head. that opportunity came sooner than she expected. two jacks, having crept around behind the lean-tos, suddenly lifted the rear supports and turned the structures over into the fire. "beat it, ye varmint!" screamed the woman, making a rush for the men. one of them struck her, but fortunately for joe it was a glancing blow, and merely turned her around facing away from them. joe kept on turning until she was again facing the jeering lumbermen. "take that, ye varmint!" the forest woman's club descended on a lumberjack's head. "and ye, too!" she shrieked, hitting the other man across the bridge of his nose. "come on! come on, and i'll wallop the whole pack of ye!" "steady, joe," warned grace harlowe. "don't lose your head." tom and peg were still at it, the foreman growing more and more ferocious as the moments passed and knowing that he had the overlander at a disadvantage, for tom was fighting with his fists only, while peg was using his stick and his wooden leg, and it were difficult for any person, no matter how skillful a boxer he might be, to get under those two dangerous guards. once tom succeeded in doing so. his blow knocked the foreman down, but peg rolled away and was on his feet again with remarkable quickness, and went at his adversary determined to brain him. "ready, girls!" called hippy. "they are going to rush us," warned grace. "when i say 'clubs!' you girls grab sticks, keep together, and stand your ground. don't run at them." each overland girl carried an automatic revolver, and there were rifles within easy reach, but it was not their intention to use either, unless the necessity to do so became imperative. the rifles had been brought on this journey largely because the party hoped to do some hunting in the north woods. the revolvers were, as on previous journeys into the wilder sections of their native country, a part of their regular equipment and for use in great emergencies only. the lumberjacks with one accord rushed at the overland riders, uttering yells and jeers. they carried no weapons in their hands, but, as grace knew to be their practice, each jack wore a lumberman's knife. "clubs!" at the signal, each overland girl snatched up a stick and stood her ground with set lips and a face from which most of the color had fled, realizing fully the seriousness of the situation. lieutenant wingate waited until the lumberjacks were almost upon him, waited lounging indolently, his face wearing a grin. "oh, don't hurry, children," he admonished. "save your wind for the flight to the rear." suddenly, hippy bent forward and when he rose his hand held a pine knot fully five feet long, the limb ablaze almost from end to end. not more than two feet separated the burning part from his hands. the limb was heavy, but lieutenant wingate was far from delicate, and when he swung the burning limb it had power and speed behind it. the limb burned and bruised the faces of three lumberjacks in its first swing. hippy plunged at the mob and belabored them right and left with the blazing torch. more than one jack had to stop fighting long enough to put out the blaze that singed the hair off his head. other jacks had run around one end of the camp to rush it from that vantage point. joe shafto and her club met them, and so did the overland girls. without uttering a sound they belabored the ruffians, beating, whacking, prodding and swinging their clubs to good purpose. "help! oh, help!" screamed emma dean. a thrown club had hit her on the leg and felled her. emma was out of the fight so far as further defense was concerned, holding her aching limb and moaning as she rocked back and forth. hippy turned for a quick glance in her direction. "look out, hippy!" warned nora, but her warning was too late. several of the attackers, taking advantage of his attention being drawn away from them, leaped on him. they bore hippy to the ground. he was mauled and thumped, but not for many seconds, because the girls rushed to his rescue and clubbed his attackers off. the jacks, returning, picked lieutenant wingate up and tossed him into the campfire. emma screamed at the sight, but elfreda briggs grabbed his protruding feet and hauled him out, while grace and her companions beat back the jacks who had done the cruel thing. elfreda put out the flames and assisted hippy to his feet. "go in and fight!" urged j. elfreda. "they're getting the best of us." at that instant, tom gray, turning his head to see how it fared with the girls, was hit on the head by peg tatem's club and knocked unconscious. as it proved later, the blow was a light one and tom was not seriously hurt. the foreman, uttering an exultant yell, aimed a kick at tom's head with his peg leg. grace harlowe hurled her club at the foreman's head, but missed the mark. _bang!_ a bullet hit peg's wooden leg, and the leg went out from under its owner like magic. peg landed on the ground but he was up in an instant, raging and springing for tom. a second bullet hit the wooden leg and split it. the overlanders were amazed. "who shot?" cried anne. "don't know," panted elfreda as she and hippy charged two jacks who were trying to reach emma. peg, frantic with rage, turned his attention to the others of the party, apparently believing that one of them had fired the shots. he raised his club to strike grace who was bending over tom. _bang!_ the club dropped from peg's hand, and the arm fell to his side with a bullet hole through it. [illustration: the club dropped from peg's hand.] "i'm hit! kill 'em!" he screamed. grabbing up the stick with his left hand, the foreman again started for grace, his eyes bloodshot, his lips purple. grace grabbed what was nearest to her hand, a pine knot, and hurled it at the ruffian. it hit him full in the face, and the sharp protuberances on the knot drew points of blood. a blow from a lumberjack's fist, at this juncture, knocked joe shafto flat on her back. she was up with a bound. "henerey! henere-e-e-e-e!" there was a wild note in her voice, a note of alarm and command. "henere-e-e-e-e-e!" they heard henry sliding down a tree--heard his paws raking the bark as he slid. joe heard it too. "sick 'em! sick 'em! sick 'em!" she screamed, giving henry a violent prod with her club and driving the bear towards the lumberjacks. one of them struck the beast with a club, hitting henry over the shoulders. henry made a pass at the man, bringing away a section of the fellow's coat in his claws which dug into the jack's flesh with their sharp points. the man howled and fled from the beast. alternately prodding the bear with her club, and cracking a lumberjack head wherever possible, the forest woman fought her way ahead, backed by tom and hippy. thus goaded, henry rose on his hind legs and went through that party of rough-necks like one of his kind cuffing its way through a flock of grazing sheep. henry bit where he could, but his greatest execution was done with his powerful paws. the overland riders, though angry, weary and perspiring, unable to resist the humor of the ludicrous sight, broke into shouts of laughter. "henry has them on the run. sail in!" bellowed hippy. "run, you ruffians, before i turn the rest of our menagerie on you!" the lumberjacks were now giving ground rapidly, though peg, wounded and, judging from his expression, suffering, was not further punished. when he saw his men running away, the foreman of section forty-three hopped off as best he could, shouting angry threats. the victorious overlanders with the assistance of henry chased the lumber outfit to the river, into which the jacks plunged and waded across with all speed. "don't you ever show your face in our camp again! next time, if you do, it will be bullets, not clubs," lieutenant wingate shouted after the retreating attackers. henry was restrained from following the lumbermen across the river only by heroic measures. the forest woman headed him off and clubbed him back towards the camp, her clothing torn, her hair down her back, her face red and angry. "splendid!" cried grace harlowe, running to meet her. "you are wonderful." "i say, joseph, if that's your name, may i address you as 'old dear' without imperilling my life?" teased hippy. "ye kin call me anything ye like. after the talk of them varmints anything would sound as sweet as the harps of heving in a thunder storm." "all right--old dear," answered hippy solemnly. "i was going to tell you that you are the apple of my eye, but, being a peach, you can't very well be an apple, so we will let it go at 'old dear.'" joe glared through her spectacles. the sharp lines of the rugged face of the forest woman gradually melted into a smile, the first smile that any member of that party had ever seen there. "go on with ye!" she retorted laughing despite her attempt to be stern. "i ought to sick the bear on ye, but i ain't goin' to." chapter xiii a blazed warning "well, we gave them a run, didn't we?" crowed hippy. "i reckon ye'd better pack and git out of here right lively," advised the guide. tom gray agreed that peg tatem would miss no opportunity to take revenge on the overland riders for what they had done to him, and it was decided to break camp and move at once, the forest woman being confident that she could keep in the right direction once she found a lumber road that lay to the right of them a couple of miles away. weary as they were, the overlanders were quite willing to get away without loss of time from the scene of their troubles. their equipment had suffered some, but none was left behind. while they were packing, tom, in order to make them understand that they had gained the ill-will of desperate men, decided to tell them of the dynamiting of the tree, and declared that it was his belief that peg tatem's lumberjacks had done the deed, intending that the tree should fall on the camp while they were asleep. "there are fellows in forty-three's gang that were in the mob at bisbee's corners," declared tom with emphasis. "are they likely to follow us?" asked elfreda. "i don't believe they will stray far from their own camp, but they may try to get us before we leave here. therefore let's go. they have work to do in their own camp, you see," reminded tom. packing and breaking camp were accomplished quickly. ponies were saddled, packs lashed on, after which the party started away, the guide leading, carrying a kerosene dash-lamp to assist her in reading blazes on trees and avoiding obstructions, for the lamp had a reflector that threw a fairly strong bar of light. daylight must see the overland riders some miles from the scene of their fight with the men from forty-three, and there must be as little trail left as possible. for the latter reason, joe shafto kept to such ground as was covered with a mat of pine needles. these, being springy, gave way under the hoofs of the horses, leaving no hoof-prints, no trail. of the overland riders only two persons observed this--tom and grace, for, in her brief trips with him into the woods where he, as a forester, spent much time, grace had learned a great deal about forestry work. no halt was made until midnight, when the forest woman reined in and directed a ray of light against a huge pine tree. "a fresh blaze," said tom, as he trotted up to her to see what the blaze indicated. "a blaze with a bent arrow cut in it, the arrow smeared with dirt to make it stand out. clever, but what does it mean, mrs. shafto?" he asked. "it's a warnin', cap'n." "of what?" "that i don't rightly know. the arrow, i reckon, points at the danger." "is the arrow not pointed in the direction of our old camp?" asked elfreda. "ye guessed it, miss briggs. that means we'd better be moseying along right smart." "how long has that blaze been there?" asked hippy. "an hour, mebby," replied joe. "come along, henry." a few strokes of her axe obliterated the arrow on the blaze, and the party pressed on. "i wonder if that arrow-blaze was intended for us," murmured tom, as they rode on in silence. soon, the guide's lamp revealed another blaze, but this was purely a direction blaze, which she mutilated and changed to mean a different direction, then made a sharp turn to the right. other blazes encountered, all freshly made, led them straight to the lumber road for which she had been searching and would have missed had it not been for the friendly blazes that pointed the way. "what do ye 'low for that?" demanded the forest woman when they had emerged on the road. "i believe now that the blazes were intended for us," answered tom, his brow wrinkling in perplexity. "it is very strange." "why worry?" spoke up hippy. "we are being led, but what's the odds who is doing the leading so long as we are led?" "pure logic," observed miss briggs. "from an illogical source," added emma in an undertone. they proceeded along the lumber road for fully ten miles, fording two streams, then halting at a sawmill on the banks of a river. the mill had not yet started operations. tom got off and looked the property over, consulted his map, then the journey was resumed. just beyond the mill they came upon another of the now familiar blazes, directing them to proceed to the right and follow the river bank. "the blazer fellow evidently knows where we wish to go. do you know where we are, mrs. shafto?" called tom. "yes, i know now. it's the little big branch river, though it ain't much of a river yit. we got a long ways to go before we git to the place where ye folks are goin' to hang out for a spell. i reckon we'd better make camp just before daylight." no one offered objection to her proposal. all were weary and cold, as well as hungry and sleepy. emma was swaying in her saddle, frequently catching herself napping and straightening up just in time to prevent falling from her horse, while the others, noses and lips blue, shivered and made no effort to control the chattering of their teeth. "oh, why was i ever induced to leave my happy home?" wailed anne. "this is the worst of all." nothing more was heard from any of them until joe shafto finally announced that they had reached the end of their night's journey. "rustle something for the makin's, and we'll have heat and a hot drink right smart," she called. while hippy tied the ponies and fetched water for them, tom gathered firewood and started the fire for breakfast. tea, being the quickest drink to make, was brewed, and gulped down by the overlanders almost as fast as joe could, pour it. "how fu--fu--funny you look," chattered emma, nodding at miss briggs. "if i look as funny as i feel, i must be a scream," retorted elfreda. "here, here! don't i get any of that?" cried hippy, coming up at a run. tea was served to him. "ah-h-h-h! nectar of the gods! now if some one will kindly prepare a little food, i shall offer deep and sincere thanks; then seek my downy couch for sweet repose." "hippy is the first to thaw out," chuckled tom. "he always was soft, anyway," reminded emma. "and we are all blue-noses this morning," added nora laughingly. under the warming influence of the tea, their spirits soon revived, and when the campfire was laid and set going a little distance from the small cook fire, sighs of relief were heard on all sides. day was just breaking when the party laid down by the fire for a much needed rest. pine needles were their beds that morning. no one had the ambition to help build a lean-to, nor did one care to wait for some one else to make it. noon found them still asleep, with the exception of grace, who had risen two hours earlier to get breakfast for tom who was about to leave for his work, perhaps not to return for some weeks. the overlanders were to make a permanent camp further down on the little big branch, and, when tom gray returned from his first "cruise," he was to follow the river until he found them. "rather indefinite," laughed grace. "however, you aren't much of a woodsman if you can't find us with such directions, though don't cut off the bends in the river or you surely will miss us. we do not intend that our camp shall be over-conspicuous." tom said his good-bye and, mounting, rode away and disappeared in the forest. grace stirred up the fire and added fresh wood so that her companions might have warmth, for the morning was chill, and then called them. spirals of smoke were rising above the trees from the campfire. joe shafto looked up at it, and shook her head disapprovingly. "if there's one low-down jack within fifty mile of us on high ground, he'll have us spotted for certain," she rebuked. "great fire--great smoke for indian signaling." "thank you. i had not thought of the smoke," answered grace. "how shall i stop its smoking?" "pour water on it till it's out, then build a new fire. never mind. too late now. the damage's done, and a little smoke more or less won't matter no how." breakfast, noon breakfast, proved to be so satisfying that no one felt inclined to pack up and move on. "girls, what do you say to the suggestion that we make camp here until some time to-morrow?" questioned anne. "we are in no hurry, except that we do not wish to be overtaken by peg tatem's gang, which, it doesn't seem probable that we shall be." "yes! stay!" cried the overlanders. "is that satisfactory to you, mrs. shafto?" asked grace, turning to the guide. "i kin stand it if ye kin." "we stay," announced grace. "let's build our sheds after we have settled our breakfasts and are able to summon some ambition." their sleeping quarters were finished before dark, and then the girls rambled along the river, here and there startling a buck or a doe into sudden flight. there were no man-made trails here, no sounds other than the murmuring waters of the little big branch and the voices of nature, to which emma dean listened, nodded or shook her head as if she and those voices were holding converse. the laughing teasing of her companions failed to swerve emma from her newfound hobby. that night, as they snuggled under their blankets, clear and cold out of the silence pealed a mournful howl, long-drawn, strange and full of the wild. nora and anne buried their heads under the blankets to shut out the sound. "what was that?" cried elfreda. "a wolf--an old she timber wolf--a varmint," answered the forest woman from her lean-to. "and it bids us beware of perils near at hand," droned emma in a far-away voice. "will you stop that?" demanded elfreda. "you give me the creeps." "i think it is perfectly wonderful," breathed emma. then with greater emphasis she exclaimed, "such a voice in the wilderness is an inspiration. how i wish madam gersdorff might be here to hear it. girls, you don't know, you cannot dream what a wonderful woman she is." "i'd like to see _anybody_ dream with you setting up such a chatter," complained anne. "please, please, emma, let the wolves howl if they wish. we can't stop them, but that is no reason why you should keep us all awake. we need sleep," begged grace harlowe laughingly. after a few muttered protests, emma subsided, and only the faint yelps of the dreaming bull pup and the noisy slumber of hippy wingate disturbed the deeply impressive silence of the great forest. that he might better guard the camp, hindenburg had been tied out to a tree on his long leash. lieutenant wingate had built a miniature lean-to for the pup to crawl under in the event of rain, but hindenburg was already under it, stretched out on the yielding browse bed, one little brown ear vigilantly erect to catch the slightest sound. emma dean declared that the dog must be deaf in that ear, for he never seemed to hear with it. the bull pup's slumbers were not disturbed that night, nor were henry's. the bear lay at the rear of mrs. shafto's lean-to all night long, curled up into a furry ball, but with the break of day he was off in the forest for the choice morsels of food that he knew were there for him to pluck. after the campers awakened, the forest woman's shrill call soon brought the bear ambling back to camp, but they observed that he was restless, now and then lifting his nose and sniffing the air, punctuated with an occasional throaty growl, but the bull pup, flat on his back, feet in the air, was sound asleep on his browse bed. "henry, what's the matter with ye? i reckon maybe ye smell some varmint that's hangin' 'round waitin' fer the leavin's of the breakfast," scolded joe. the bacon was on the fire and the aroma of coffee in the air when a loud hail warned the overland riders that they were about to receive an early morning call. lieutenant wingate answered the hail. a few moments later they descried a horseman riding through the forest towards the camp. the newcomer was dressed in khaki, wearing an army hat and high lace boots. grace recognized the uniform at once, having seen it before when foresting with tom gray. her identification was confirmed when she caught sight of the bronze badge of the forest service, which the stalwart rider wore on his left breast. his face was rugged and weatherbeaten, and the strength of the wilderness was in his eye, though the man's facial expression, at that moment, was far from pleasant. the forest ranger, or fire warden, halted and surveyed the camp with a slow, searching gaze, narrowly observing the crackling campfire, then suddenly bent a stern look on each member of the overland party. "morning, buddy. you are just in time to sit in with us for a snack of breakfast," greeted lieutenant wingate cordially. "put out that fire!" commanded the ranger sternly, pointing a lean brown finger at the cook fire that had grown into a lively blaze. chapter xiv their day at home "what is wrong about the fire, sir?" questioned grace pleasantly. "have you a permit to build fires in these woods?" "we have not," spoke up hippy. "why?" "then put it out!" "just a moment, old top. who sent you here?" demanded hippy. "the dusenbery outfit that's cutting on forty-three notified me by telephone yesterday that a party of campers had set on fire and burned off several thousand feet of timber. he said there were two men and a party of women--that they were rough-necks, and a lot of other things. i haven't anything to do with that, but i'm going to see to it that you don't do any more damage to the forest." "peg tatem, eh?" reflected hippy. "how did you find us? did peg tell you where we were?" "i saw your smoke yesterday, but couldn't rightly place you till this morning when i smelled your smoke and found i was close to you. are you going to douse the fire?" "i think not, sir," answered grace. the ranger sprang from his horse and strode towards the campfire. hippy stepped between him and the blaze. "don't do anything childish. let the fire alone. when we want the fire out we will put it out ourselves," reminded lieutenant wingate. the ranger drew back an arm as if about to strike at the overland rider when a menacing growl at his side caused the forest man to spring back. he had recognized that growl instantly. henry, standing on his hind legs, "arms" extended, was ready for fight, following a gentle prodding and a "sick 'im, henry," from his mistress. the ranger whipped out his revolver. "drop that gun!" yelled joe shafto. "that's my bear!" "don't shoot! he is a pet bear," admonished lieutenant wingate. "that is henry. oh, are you awake?" he added, as hindenburg rolled over, blinked, and then dashed out and began barking at the stranger. "what's this--a circus?" wondered the ranger. "i give ye fair notice it'll be a circus if ye don't let that bear be," warned the forest woman in a shrill high-pitched voice. "put away your gun, mister man. there's nothing to shoot here, unless you get too confounded obstreperous," urged hippy, now smiling. "my name's wingate, lieutenant wingate, late of the army flying corps in our late unpleasantness with the hun. what's yours?" "chatworth's my name. i'm the warden up here, and, not having a permit to have a fire in the forest, you'll have to hit the lumber trail for the open country." "nothing doing! you will have to dope out something better than that to induce us to leave," grinned hippy. grace demanded to know where the ranger got his authority for stating that they should have a fire permit. "it's my authority!" he answered brusquely. "who told you to assume such authority?" interjected miss briggs in the calm judicial voice that was hers when trying a lawsuit. "i'm not answering fool questions. you heard what i said. are you going?" "well--yes, of course we are going, but it may be a month or two before we do go. if you will kindly give me your address i'll drop you a picture card later on, telling you when we expect to leave the big north woods," drawled lieutenant wingate. "hippy, i do not believe that mr. chatworth fully understands who and what we are," interjected grace. "we take such trips as this one every summer, sir, and we are not greenhorns in the forest. we realize the danger of fire to the forests as fully as well as you do. for your information, i will merely say that we were in no wise to blame for the fire at section forty-three. a tree fell over and scattered the embers of our campfire, thus starting the forest fire and--" "all the more reason why you're not fit to be in the woods," answered the ranger roughly. "cut the rough talk!" admonished lieutenant wingate severely. "had it not been for us that blaze would have swept the whole state. we fought it all night and until nearly noon next day. stop growling! if you keep on growling the bear and my bull pup will think you are an animal and sail into you for keeps." "as i was about to say," reminded grace, "my husband is a forester and is in the north woods now on official business. he was with us when the fire occurred, and will join us further along in a few weeks." "eh? what's his name?" demanded the ranger sharply, eyeing grace with new interest in his eyes. "tom gray," answered grace. "is he the fellow that's cruising the timber up here for the state?" "yes." "humph! why didn't you say so before?" "i presume because you did not ask me," returned grace demurely. "now that you understand, won't you please sit down and have breakfast with us? we have plenty and really shall be glad to have you." "well, i reckon i might as well," decided the ranger, striding over and tying his horse to a sapling. hippy introduced him to the members of the overland party, the ranger bowing awkwardly, but with the quiet dignity so characteristic of those who have learned their lesson from the heart of nature herself. "sorry, folks, that i had to be up a tree with you, but we must do our duty and protect this forest. there are not many of 'em left in these united states, and what there is, are going fast. i'll have a snack with you." "peace has been declared," murmured emma. "keep that menagerie away! i don't like bears nosing around me any more'n i do wolves." "wolves!" exclaimed nora. "we heard one last night." "there are lots of 'em up here and they kill the game. the state offers a bounty of seven dollars and a half for every one killed--every full-grown critter; ten dollars for cubs." "you say the state desires to get rid of them?" questioned emma. "all states do. they're varmints," answered the ranger. "why don't they try dynamite?" asked emma. "perhaps the wolves might eat it and go off." "call the bear," suggested hippy after a brief silence. the overland riders shouted, and the forest ranger grinned, the bull pup joining in the merriment by barking and dashing about the camp, taking a gentle nip at henry's flank as he passed that none too good-natured beast. "i reckon this _is_ a circus after all," choked the guide, trying to talk and eat a slice of tough bacon at the same time. "tell me what happened about that fire. i reckon you haven't told the whole of it." hippy thereupon related what they had discovered after the fire, as well as the experiences they had gone through preceding the fire, to all of which the forest ranger lent an attentive ear. "hm-m-m!" he mused. "reckon you haven't heard the last of that outfit. tatem'll have it up his sleeve for you long as he lives. keep your eyes peeled. that dusenbery outfit is the biggest set of timber thieves in the north woods and i hope we catch 'em. do i understand that your husband is looking for 'timber-lookers' who are looking for easy money on the sly, mrs. gray?" "he may be," smiled grace diplomatically. "mebby i'll run across him. thanks for the snack. thanks to you, miss dean, for the wolf suggestion. i'll pass it on to the game and fish commissioner at st. paul. i'll be off now." "how about this campfire, 'chatty'? do you still insist that we put it out?" questioned hippy solemnly. "well," answered the ranger, stroking his chin reflectively, "being as its you and further, being that i've broken bacon with you and heard a real funny joke from miss dean here, i reckon i don't. 'bye, folks. see you some other time." the ranger led out his horse, mounted and rode away. "that obstacle overcome," announced miss briggs in a tone of relief, "i wonder what next." "if you will kindly cast your eyes downstream i think you will discover three more obstacles on the way to the overland camp, and, from the look of them, i am inclined to feel that they are not harbingers of delight. girls, this really seems to be our 'day at home,'" said grace harlowe laughingly. "good night!" exclaimed hippy wingate after a quick glance downstream. "give henry a poke in the ribs, joe. here's more trouble!" chapter xv the way of the big woods three horsemen were seen approaching as rapidly as the uneven going would permit. two of the trio were holding their rifles under their arms at a position indicating readiness for instant action. the overlanders were observing them narrowly, and especially joe shafto, who, having seen them first, and being suspicious of the newcomers, had run for her rifle and thrown herself down behind a log, commanding henry to follow. the only other member of the overland riders who had a weapon handy was lieutenant wingate, who wore the heavy service revolver that he had carried while a fighting air pilot in france. hippy's hand was close to the butt of his revolver, but he made no effort to draw it, even though he believed that he and his party were about to have trouble. "keep clear, girls, and give me room," he warned. "may have to shoot." as the three strangers, one leading the way, reached the edge of the camp, the two rear riders threw up their rifles and covered the overland party with them. "put up yer hands!" came the command, sharp and incisive. "put up your own," flung back lieutenant wingate, and the newcomers found themselves facing his weapon. "tag! you're it. what is this, anyway?" "drop that aire gun or i'll let ye have a hunk of lead!" threatened one of the strangers. "no you won't. you haven't the nerve. i'll tell you what i will do. i will put my revolver back in its holster provided you put down your own weapons. if you make a move to shoot i will draw and wing you before you can pull a trigger. if you don't believe me, try it. at the same time, old tops, i would advise you that, though you don't know it, you are already covered by a repeating rifle, and further, that should you make a false move, the rifle is likely to go off." with that hippy wingate thrust his revolver into its holster. "your move. what's the joke?" he demanded, casting a quick glance at the log behind which the forest woman was hiding, and observing that her rifle barrel protruded over the log ever so little, though the woman herself was not visible. the men did not lower their weapons, but the rider in advance rode right into the camp. "you carrying guns? i mean game guns--rifles?" questioned the man in a tone of severity. "yes." "shot anything?" "not yet, but i came near shooting two men just now," answered hippy, scowling as savagely as he knew how. "let me see 'em!" "there's one of them. look at it! on that log yonder," he added, pointing to joe shafto's rifle. "want to see the rest of them?" "i reckon that's enough," answered the stranger. "i've heard that ye folks was a tough bunch, and up here for a big killing. i'm the game warden. i don't suppose ye even went to the trouble to git a license to hunt in this state. folks like you think they can git away with most anything, but ye can't do it in these parts." "game warden, eh? you guessed wrong, old santa claus. i have a license. we all have licenses and we propose to do some hunting when the season opens, though that is not the main purpose of our journey up here." "show me." hippy handed his license to the warden, which that officer read with frowning attention. handing it back he demanded to see the licenses of the others, which lieutenant wingate had had the foresight to procure before the overland riders came west. "reckon you're all right so far as licenses is concarned, but ye can't carry guns up here till the season--the game season's open," said the game warden, handing back the licenses. "it's always an open season for the kind of game we are going to hunt," hippy informed him. "eh? what kind's that?" "your kind," retorted hippy sharply. "that's all i've got to do with ye. i'd make ye give up the guns, but these gents have something to say to you folks. they'll take care of yer rifles and such." the game warden backed his horse away. his two companions, taking their cue from his move, rode to the fore. hippy surveyed them narrowly. "here comes the rub," miss briggs confided to grace. "we're deputy sheriffs," announced one. "charmed, i'm sure," greeted hippy, bowing with much dignity. "making early calls seems to be the way of the big woods. what do you want? let me see. so far to-day we have had two wardens and two deputy sheriffs. speak your piece, but remember that you are covered. it's just as well while talking to me to keep your muzzles pointed towards the ground." "are ye the fellows that burned up part of section forty-three?" asked the deputy. "no. the fire did that. we are the fellows that put out the fire, or there would be nothing left of a good part of that section except blackened stumps and dead tree toads." "seeing as ye admit it, that's all right." hippy nodded. grace and elfreda had stepped up, just to the rear of hippy, that they might miss nothing of what was being said. the second deputy kept a watchful eye on them, presumably to see that they played no tricks on his companion. "the owner of that section, hi dusenbery, reckons as ye've got to pay fer the loss of the timber ye burned, and i'm here, fer one thing, to serve the papers on ye in the suit. do ye accept service?" hippy reached for the papers that the deputy held out, and, without looking at them, tore them and dropped the fragments on the ground. "you shouldn't have done that," rebuked miss briggs. "grace, help me gather up the pieces. the idea!" "anything else?" demanded lieutenant wingate. "i have had about enough of this nonsense." "i reckon there is something else. ye're charged with bein' dangerous characters. information has been laid against ye by one william tatem, otherwise known as peg tatem, accusin' some person unknown, but belongin' to this party, of shootin' him through the leg." "it was a wooden leg, and the shots were not fired by any person or persons in this party. we do not know who fired them," interrupted hippy. the deputy sheriffs grinned. "ye are further charged with causin' certain wild animals, to wit, a bear and a big ugly dog, to attack peg tatem and his men and do 'em injury, to wit, bites and scratches, not to speak of a bad scare." "well? there must be something more," urged hippy. "what do you want me to do?" "peg opined that if ye would settle with him for the damages to his leg, and pay him for the scare ye give him, and settle with his jacks for what ye did to them, he might be willin' to let ye off." grace said something to elfreda under her breath and elfreda nodded. both saw that lieutenant wingate's good nature was slipping from him, that his temper was rising. "don't do anything rash, hippy," urged grace in a low tone. "if i refuse, what then?" he demanded belligerently, addressing the man. "that's up to ye." "i refuse to pay one copper cent!" roared hippy. "go tell that timber-legged friend of yours that if he bothers us again he will either get a bullet through his real leg or land in jail or both. put that in your pipe and smoke it! i don't believe you are deputies at all." "then yer under arrest. the whole pack of ye is under arrest!" shouted the deputy, suddenly throwing up his rifle. _bang!_ a bullet whizzed past the deputy's head, fired from the ready rifle of joe shafto, who, with finger on the trigger, was glaring through her big horn-rimmed spectacles, alert for a suggestive move on the part of either of the three men, which would be the signal for another shot from her rifle. chapter xvi willy horse shows the way elfreda laid a hand on lieutenant wingate's arm, then stepped between him and the deputy, who had lowered his rifle a little, hesitating, it appeared, whether to shoot and take his chances or to adopt the safer course. the fact that he chose the latter, and made no further effort to intimidate them with his weapon, was significant to miss briggs. "mister man, i am a lawyer, and i will speak with you. i believe you just said that we are all under arrest," reminded elfreda in an ordinary conversational tone. "ye are that, unless ye settle up," blustered the fellow. "then, of course, you have warrants. have you?" "well, well, no, i reckon i hain't. don't need none. i'm an officer of the law. this is my warrant," he said, tapping the rifle. "we have similar arguments, arguments that are fully as potent," replied miss briggs significantly. "we decline to recognize any authority unless backed by proper credentials. what county are you from, may i inquire?" "st. louis county," grumbled the deputy. "and your companion--is he from the same county?" "yes. come! i ain't got time for per-laverin' around. are ye goin' to pay up or go with us?" "neither! you have no warrant; you have no proof that you are officers of the law, and you admit that you are from st. louis county. grace, what county are we now in?" "beltrami county," replied grace harlowe, who had been consulting her map. miss briggs nodded. "out of your jurisdiction, mister deputy! it might be in order for me to suggest that you remove your persons from our camp," finished elfreda in the same even tone with which she had carried on the conversation throughout. "i'll see whether ye'll go with us or not!" raged the deputy. "joe!" called hippy sharply. "if these rough-necks don't go _instanter_, trim 'em right." "don't set henry on them. they might hurt him," called grace. "get out!" commanded hippy. the three men got, but before going they warned the overland riders that they would have the law on them for shooting at officers in the discharge of their duty. in reply, hippy waved a hand and grinned, and the men rode away rather more rapidly than they had come into the camp. "great thought of yours, j. elfreda," complimented lieutenant wingate. "elfreda uses her head, hippy. how much better than flying into a rage and threatening your enemy with dire things," reminded grace. "you don't always do that yourself," retorted hippy. "thanks, joe. had it not been for you we might have had a disturbance." "aren't we ever going to have peace?" wailed emma. "i know i shall have nervous prostration at this rate." "cheer up. let the voice of nature soothe your troubled spirits and rise above such common things as mere officers of the law," comforted hippy. "what next?" "suppose we break camp and move," suggested grace. "yes, yes; let's do so," urged anne. "do you think they will come back, darlin'?" questioned nora anxiously. "not before it is time for the swallows to build their nests under the eaves." joe, muttering to herself, went out to fetch in her pack mules, june and july, preparatory to loading the equipment on them for the start. joe was a little rougher with the animals than usual, and their ears, tilted back at a sharp angle, indicated their resentment, but the guide was too angry to notice this danger signal. a sharp slap on june's thigh to make the animal step over was followed by a lightning-like flash of two tough little mule heels, and joe shafto was lifted from her feet and hurled against july, and then july began to kick. the overlanders, frightened for the safety of the guide, ran to assist her, when, out of the mix-up, leaped the forest woman, her hair tumbled down her back, and eyes blazing through the big horn-rimmed spectacles, she having rolled under july and out of the way with amazing agility. "i'll larn ye, ye beasts!" she shrieked, running for her club. june felt the sting of it, and july grunted as the club descended on the fleshy part of her hip, at the same instant shooting both hind feet into the air; but this time joe was out of reach. "here, here!" cried hippy, springing forward to interfere. "we don't permit any one to beat animals in this menagerie," he chided, grabbing the woman's club. "leggo!" shrieked joe, wrenching the club from his hands. "no man ain't goin' to tell joe shafto what she kin do. git out of here!" she raged, advancing threateningly on hippy. "i'll paste them mules when i want to, and--" "that's all right, old dear," soothed hippy, backing up laughingly, but joe followed him, shaking the club before his face. "don't ye 'old dear' me. mules is swine, and no better'n some men, and i give ye notice no man ain't goin' to come 'tween me and my mules. i'll paste 'em when i like, and i'll paste 'em like they did me, the varmints, and i won't have no animile that walks like a man interferin' 'tween me and the mules and tellin' me what ter do. git out of here afore i give ye a wallop on the jaw, fer i'm goin' ter finish what i begun on june, and her name'll be december when i git through, and don't ye fergit it." joe grabbed the mule by an ear, gave the animal a prod with her club, then slapped june's face. "consarn ye, ye pore insect that's tryin to look like a hoss, but that ain't even got the skin of one, i reckon ye'll be good arter this," she finished, and threw a pack over the back of the now thoroughly subdued pack-mule. "git started, ye folks, and don't say nothin' to me, for i'm li'ble to git mad arter the stirrin' up them mules give me." "_alors!_ let's go," suggested elfreda after the laughter of the overlanders had subsided. they were on their way a short time later, laughing as they headed for the section on which they hoped eventually to meet tom, and make permanent camp. the forest woman had never been in that part of the woods, but, knowing the general direction, thought she could hold to it and come out somewhere near the spot they desired to reach. that night they lay down to sleep in the open, wrapped in their blankets. for the week following the overland riders camped out in the same way, and nothing occurred to mar the life of freedom and happiness that they were leading. the river had been left to the right of them, for the sake of what joe said might be better going, and a fairly direct course was followed for several days more. one night, however, they suddenly found themselves on the banks of the little big branch where it had taken a deep bend. hippy declared that it had made the bend to be near emma and murmur sweet nothings in her ear. "listen well, little one," he admonished. "tidings from the frozen north, as well as messages intended for our ears alone, may be borne to us through you. it is mighty fortunate that we have you with us." the bank of the river was their camp that night. the party slept just under the bluff, protected by it and lulled to sleep by the gently rippling waters of the forest stream. early on the following morning they were aroused by an uproar in the camp. out of the uproar came the shrill voice of their guide. "get out of here, ye lazy good-for-nothin'. think this 'ere is a lumberjack hotel? sick 'im, henry! sick 'im!" raged joe shafto. grace, hearing the bear growl, sprang up and ran out. her companions were not far behind her. sitting crouched over the campfire, which he had built, calmly cooking his breakfast, was the indian, willy horse, wholly undisturbed by the uproar that his presence had created. "call off the bear!" commanded grace sharply. "the man is our friend." "he's a lazy good-for-nothin' and he's stole yer breakfast," protested the forest woman, as she headed off henry and drove him back with sundry prods of her foot. "good morning, mr. horse," greeted emma. "mornin'," answered the indian briefly. grace by this time was shaking hands with him; then the overland girls surrounded him and demanded to know why he had not been to see them before. emma started to tell willy what a lot of trouble they had been in when grace interjected a remark that caused elfreda to wonder. "perhaps willy horse knows more about our late unpleasantnesses than you do, emma," said grace. "hello, old man. how are you?" cried hippy, striding forward with outstretched hand. "how do! you big friend. me make breakfast fire here." "help yourself," urged the girls. "all yours," added hippy with a wave of the hand that encompassed the entire camp. "not includin' the guide," differed joe shafto. grace told willy to wait until their breakfast was ready and eat with them, but the indian shook his head and stolidly continued preparing his own breakfast. when it was ready he ate it, then sat back and smoked his pipe. "see other big friend," he finally vouchsafed. "tom gray?" questioned grace, instantly divining who willy meant. the indian nodded his head. "him say all right," he added after an interval of puffing. "say him come along bymeby. say willy horse show you place to camp. me show." "that will be fine. did my husband say when he expected to join us?" asked grace. "say him come along soon. you see other white men?" willy bent a steady look on the face of hippy wingate. "i should say we have. deputy sheriffs, game wardens and a forest ranger." "yes, and we saw a fellow named peg tatem. we had a fight with him," emma informed their visitor. "so?" "yes, we did, mr. horse. and some one shot a hole through his wooden leg. who do you suppose could have done that?" "big friend, huh?" he questioned, looking up at hippy. "not guilty," answered hippy with a shake of the head. "how come?" demanded the indian. emma dean told him the story, willy listening gravely, puffing slowly at his pipe, eyes fixed on the campfire. he smoked on in silence for some time after the conclusion of her narrative. "mebby willy find out," he grunted. "you suspect, don't you?" demanded elfreda, who had been narrowly observing the indian. "make breakfast. we go soon. willy show where make camp." with that the indian rose, turned his back on them and loped into the forest. they saw no more of him for fully two hours, and were already packed up and on their way when they saw him standing with shoulder against a great tree, watching their approach. "you come along. willy show," he directed as hippy came abreast of him. "how long will it take to reach this camp?" asked lieutenant wingate. "long time. next sundown." "to-morrow's or to-day's sundown?" demanded emma. "to-morrow." willy resumed his indian gait, shoulders leaning forward, toes pointed inward, his center of gravity well forward, and in this position he trotted along for hours. the party halted at noon, but willy horse jogged on ahead and was soon out of sight. he rejoined them after they had resumed their journey and did not again stop until just before dark when he announced that they would camp where they were. the indian then made browse-beds in the open for the overland girls, and again disappeared. "what's the matter with that pesky savage?" demanded the forest woman. "he's wuss'n the bear." hippy suggested that perhaps the indian had gone off by himself to listen to the voices of nature. "perhaps he has gone away to shoot somebody's wooden leg," suggested emma demurely. elfreda nodded, and said she too was convinced that willy horse had fired the shots that shattered peg tatem's wooden leg, and the girls agreed with her. they never got any nearer to the truth of that occurrence, for, when questioned later about it, willy horse seemed unable to understand what they were talking about. the indian did not reappear until the following morning. that day he led them a long chase and kept the overlanders at a fast jog. how he ever stood up under it they could not imagine, and when they stopped he was breathing naturally, and did not appear to be in the least fatigued. "come camp to-night," he told them when asked how near they were to their destination. the woman guide had little to say, but her sour expression told the overlanders that she was not pleased that the indian was leading them. the skies clouded over late in the afternoon, and later a drizzling rain set in, but they continued on, well protected by their waterproof coats, the hoods of which covered their heads. henry, however, was a disconsolate-looking object, but hindenburg, riding in hippy's saddle bag, was dry and cosy, sleeping soundly as the rain pattered on his sleeping quarters. night found the party still some little distance from its destination, and willy horse was appealed to for encouragement. emma wanted to camp where they were but the others outvoted her, so on they rode. from then on the journey was an unpleasant one. the shins of the riders were barked from contact with trees. low-hanging limbs of small second-growth trees slapped their faces and deluged the riders with water, and altogether they were experiencing about the most unpleasant ride that they had ever taken, except possibly that across the great american desert earlier in their vacation riding. grace, perhaps, was the only exception, in that she found herself enjoying the unusual experience and the excitement of it, for the stumbles of the ponies were frequent; here and there a tree was heard to fall crashing to earth, and, high and piercing on the soggy night air, they occasionally heard the mournful howl of a wolf. "there goes seven dollars and a half," emma would wail every time a wolf howled. willy horse finally shouted and indicated by a gesture, which was revealed to the riders in the rear by hippy's lamp, that he was about to change his course. the indian turned sharply to the right, proceeded in a direct line for half a mile, as nearly as the riders could judge, then threw his arm straight up into the air. "be we there?" yelled the forest woman. "we be. that is, we're here, but whether here is there or somewhere else you will have to search the indian for the answer. i don't know," answered hippy. "wait! me make fire," directed willy. the overlanders, having sat their saddles so long, were literally sticking to the leather, but wrenched themselves loose, slid off and leaned against the steaming sides of their ponies, while water from the trees filtered over them and ran in rivulets down their coats. the flame of a cheerful campfire showed through the mist and was greeted with a hoarse cheer by the cold overland riders. "is this the place where we are to stay until mr. gray joins us?" called grace. "yes," answered the indian. "land sakes! i never could have found it," exclaimed the forest woman. "leastwise not in the dark. reckon i might a follered the river and got here somehow, but not the way that pesky savage took us, and ter think i had ter be showed by a heathen how to get here." the fire flamed into a snapping blaze, and then to the delight of the party, they saw near at hand a large lean-to and two smaller ones. "willy, did you make them for us?" wondered anne. "yes. me make 'em." "but, they must be soaked through," protested nora. "how shall we be able to sleep in a lean-to on a night like this." "no leak. bark on roof," the indian informed her. "come, girls. let us stake down and get close to that fire. i am shivering," urged elfreda. "i expect my pup is too," said hippy. "and the bear. oh, where is he?" henry had disappeared and his master was too busy to bother about him. after building a cook fire, willy ran out into the forest, returning soon thereafter with several large slices of bear meat, from stores that he had safely cached, which he proceeded to fry over the fire while mrs. shafto was boiling water for tea and opening cans of beans. the girls threw off their wet garments and sank luxuriously into the browse floor of their lean-to. "oh, girls, this is worth all the discomforts we have been through, isn't it?" cried anne enthusiastically. "i don't know whether it is or not," answered emma sourly. "any port in a storm, you know." hippy came in wet and dripping after caring for the ponies, with hindenburg tucked safely under his coat. "reminds me of france," he exclaimed jovially. "say, children, may my hindenburg sleep in your quarters to-night? it will be warmer and more comfortable for him than in mine." "no!" shouted the overland girls. "he may sleep in the attic," suggested emma. "otherwise, on the roof. hippy, why do you keep that animal around? what is he good for except to eat and sleep?" "don't you malign my bull pup. he is a watch dog, the best ever, and--" hippy's remaining words were lost in the shout of laughter that interrupted him. "oh, hippy, you are a scream," exclaimed grace. "you know very well that the only thing hindenburg has watched since we started, is the food, and always he has watched for us to throw some of it to him. yes, he is a wonderful watch dog." all were now crowded into the lean-to, except willy, who, after cooking the bear-meat, said "bye," and went away. good-nights were said early that evening and all hands turned in after mrs. shafto had fed what was left of the supper to henry. the bear had come in immediately after getting the odor of one of his relatives being cooked over the overland riders' campfire. rain roared on the bark roofs of the lean-tos all night long, but the girls, dry and cosy, slept the night through without once awakening, with henry on guard out there sitting under a tree in a disconsolate attitude, now and then wearily licking the water from his coat. hindenburg, more favored, slept cuddled between lieutenant wingate's feet. the present camp, it was understood between the overlanders and tom gray, was to be a permanent camp for some time to come, and it was here that some of the most exciting scenes of their journey through the great north woods were to be witnessed by them. chapter xvii in the indian tepee the rain had ceased, when grace, the first of her party to awaken, looked out as she lay on her browse bed. the river was shining in the morning sun, glassy, save here and there where its waters rippled over a shallow of gravel. "turn out!" she shouted. "this is too wonderful to miss. oh, look!" a canoe, with an indian crouching in its stern wielding a paddle, was skimming across the stream, not a sound or splash of paddle, nor hardly a ripple from it to be heard or seen. "it's willy horse. hurry, girls! don't miss this wonderful nature canvas." exclamations were heard from all the girls after they had rubbed the sleep from their eyes. by then willy was nearing their shore, and the bow of his canoe, a real birch canoe made by himself, landed on the beach, whereupon, willy threw out a mess of speckled trout, sufficient for breakfast for the entire party, amid little cries of delight from the girls. "hey there, thundercloud! are those all for my breakfast?" called hippy from his lean-to. "hippy!" rebuked nora. "oh, send him out in the woods to eat with henry," advised emma. while the overland girls were washing at the river, willy cleaned the fish and handed them to the forest woman who already had the cook fire going. and such a breakfast as the overland party had that morning! following the meal they made willy take them for a ride in his canoe, two at a time; then hippy and the bull pup took a skim up and down the river with willy at the paddle. "all we need now to make us feel like real aborigines is an indian wigwam or a tepee," suggested grace to her companions. "what is the difference between them?" asked miss briggs. "a tepee is a temporary home; the wigwam is the indian's permanent abiding place." "me make," announced willy. "oh, mister horse! will you really?" giggled emma. willy grunted, and, shoving off his canoe, paddled swiftly away. he returned an hour later, the canoe loaded with strips of birch bark which he carefully laid on the shore. the indian then trotted off into the forest. on this trip he fetched an armful of "lodge"-poles. after trimming them, he tied three together with a long deerskin thong, about eighteen inches from the tops of the poles, carrying the thong about them a few times and leaving the end of it trailing down. the rest of the poles he stood against the sides of the tripod at regular intervals all the way around. "oh, it's an indian house!" cried emma. "it really is." thus far the work had been quickly accomplished, and now came the enclosing of the structure. this willy did by laying strips of bark on the sloping "lodge"-poles, carrying the leather thong about them to hold the bark firmly against the poles. the entrance, formed by spreading poles apart, faced the waters of the little big branch. the tepee was finished shortly before eleven o'clock that morning, when willy hung a blanket of deerhide over the doorway. as yet, none of the overlanders had been permitted to look in and when they asked if they might do so, "you wait. me fix," answered the indian, ducking into the house he had created, and in a few moments they saw wisps of smoke curling up from the peak of the tepee through the opening left by the tops of the "lodge"-poles. "you come," announced the indian as he stepped out. the girls lost no time in crawling into the tepee. cries of delight rose with the smoke of the lodge-fire that willy had made with a few sticks and pieces of bark, as they found themselves in a circular room fully ten feet in diameter, in the center of which crackled a comforting little fire, the draft carrying the smoke straight up and out of the tepee. "what if it should rain?" questioned emma apprehensively. "me put cover over top," answered the indian, whose stolid expressionless face was peering in at them. "no rain come along. you like?" miss briggs got up and offered her hand to him. "we do, willy. but why do you do so much for us?" she asked. "willy's big friends," he answered gruffly, and started to back out, but the girls would not let him go until each had shaken hands with him and thanked him. "by the way, where do you live?" wondered nora. "summer time live on reservation. hunting time live up here in tepee. me show. me go hunting, too. mebby shoot deer, mebby big moose. bye!" [illustration: grace got one spill and essayed another attempt.] "oh, don't go away," begged grace. "we like to have you here, and i wish, too, that you would let me paddle that beautiful canoe. it is the first bark canoe i have ever seen. i know how to paddle a modern canoe, but i saw this morning that the bark boat is an entirely different craft. will you teach me?" "me show. go meet big friend now." "bring him back with you, willy," urged grace, but the indian already had withdrawn, and when they looked out he had gone. "hey, you folks!" called hippy, who was grooming hindenburg with a horse brush. "where is the dinner?" grace said she had forgotten all about it, and that mrs. shafto had gone out to try to shoot a duck. "in the meantime we starve, eh? hindenburg is so hungry that his sides are caving in, and the bear has gone out into the woods to eat leaves. by the way, willy hoss's canoe is down yonder hidden under the bushes. he said you were to use it, grace. he has gone away." after dinner, which was more in the nature of a luncheon, mrs. shafto came into camp with three ducks which she had shot, and promised her charges that they should have stuffed roast duck for supper. that afternoon grace tried the canoe. she got one spill and was soaked to the skin, but crawled back to shore laughing at her mishap, and essayed another attempt. "i thought my canoe was cranky, but this beats everything," she called to her companions as she again floated out on the stream in the bark canoe. the overland girl practiced for half an hour, during which she got the hang of the cranky bark canoe and did very well paddling it. "let me try it," begged emma. "you will not," objected hippy. "think i want to plunge into that cold water and rescue you?" "do you think i am simple enough to fall in?" demanded emma indignantly. "yes, and as often as i could pull you out. then again, you would lose yourself listening to the voices of nature and get into a fine, wet mess. that nature stuff makes me weary." emma did not paddle the canoe that day, nor did any of the others express a desire to do so. they saw no more of the indian that day, and that night the girls spread their blankets in the tepee. "we must have a fire in here for the sake of cheerfulness," urged anne. "yes. and burn ourselves up," objected emma. "there should be no danger unless we roll into the fire in our sleep," answered miss briggs. a small fire was kindled in the tepee, and, for a long time after they had gone in for the night, the overland girls sat with feet doubled under them, enjoying the novel sensation of having for their use a real indian tepee, and listening to joe shafto relate some of her experiences in the big north woods. the conversation was interrupted by henry who poked his nose into the tepee and sniffed the air inquisitively. a slight tap on his nose by the guide sent the bear scampering away. after a hearty laugh at henry's expense, the girls rolled up in their blankets and went to sleep not to awaken again until sunrise, when they were jolted out of their dreams by a loud halloo. chapter xviii the trail of the pirates "tom's here!" shouted grace. "all right, tom. we will be out as soon as we can find our way out of this roundhouse," she laughed, feeling for the opening that, in the subdued light, looked like all the rest of the tepee wall. tom was bronzed and happy, and after greeting the girls he inquired for henry and hindenburg. "the bear's out lookin' for his breakfast," answered the forest woman. "and the bull pup is asleep. he keeps bankers' hours instead of attending to his business," complained emma. after breakfast tom told them of his work in the forest, adding that he had observed evidences of the recent presence of timber-pirates. "that is, i have found their blazes, secret cuttings on trees in remote sections. this discovery i have marked on the map, and will inform the authorities after i have finished 'cruising' the pineries. this afternoon i shall work north to look over some virgin forest ground near here. come along with me, won't you, hippy?" "sure thing. we'll take hindenburg for protection," agreed hippy. "why not take the rest of the party?" suggested grace. "this is a business trip," replied tom. "of course you can go if you wish, but it were better not, for we shall have to rough it in the real sense of the word. willy wants to go out with me, and may join us up river sometime to-day." "where is the measly redskin, cap'n?" demanded joe. "he has gone downstream. willy has a camp a short distance below here. that indian is a real man." "we have found him so," agreed elfreda. joe shafto grunted disdainfully. tom remained at the camp until after dinner, replenished his supplies, including a stuffed duck which the forest woman prepared for him; then he and hippy set out on their ponies for up-river points. "what is in the wind, tom?" questioned lieutenant wingate after they got under way. "i know you had some good reason other than merely desiring my company, or you would not have asked me to go with you." tom laughed heartily. "a little of both, lieutenant. i hear that timber-pirates have been making some cuttings above here, and i wish you to go along as a witness to what i may find. that's all." "no scraps in sight, eh?" "oh, no." hippy sighed. "tell me about it." "timber thieves seek the remote places and look for suitable plots that can be cut off and floated downstream to the mills. there the logs are thrown in with other logs, and branded on one end to correspond with such logs as have been procured in a legitimate way. should the pirates be discovered, they frequently buy the plot, if they represent a big concern, and nothing more is done so far as the authorities are concerned." "you don't mean to say that reputable lumber companies go in for anything of that sort, do you?" wondered hippy. "i did not say 'reputable.' of course not. all big concerns are not necessarily reputable in the sense you mean, but there is many a man to-day who holds his head high in the world, though the foundation of his business was stolen timber." hippy uttered a low whistle of amazement. "look there!" exclaimed tom gray late in the afternoon as they rode into a "cutting" from which the timber had been removed. several acres had been cut off, and skidways built up for more extensive operations, probably for that very season. upon consulting his map, the forester found, as he had expected, that the timber was not charted as belonging to private individuals. tom pointed to a man-made dam in the river. it had been constructed of spiles--small logs, driven in like posts, set so that they leaned upstream. the water gates were open, and, upon examination, showed that logs had been floated there, for the marks of the logs were visible on the sides of the gates and on the tops of the spiles. added to this, the floor of the dam was covered with last season's logs, hundreds of them. "will you please tell me why a dam is necessary to lumbering?" questioned lieutenant wingate. "to provide a good head of water on which to float logs down to the mills when the river is low. the logs are dumped into the dam until it is full; the gates are then opened and the logs go booming down towards the mills. to be fully equipped there should be a second dam above this one to wash down such timber as fails to clear. we will go on further and see what we find." they found the second dam, constructed across the river at a narrow spot. it had been quite recently built, as tom gray found upon examining the spiles and comparing their age with those of the lower dam. "this looks to me like a fine piece of timber," he announced with a sweeping gesture that took in the great trees that surrounded them. "we will cruise as far as we can before dark and go over the rest of the section to-morrow." "and you believe 'pirates' are trying to hog all they can of it, do you?" questioned hippy. "there can be no doubt of it. we have evidence of that." "suppose some one should step in and buy the section--what then?" "it would serve the robbers right," declared tom gray with emphasis. "what is the section worth?" "too much money for us. say fifty to seventy-five thousand dollars, or even more if it is owned by private persons. if the state owns it, the latter figure probably would be about what one would have to pay for the timber rights." "at the latter price how much could a fellow expect to clear on the deal?" persisted hippy. tom said it would depend upon whether one sold the logs delivered at the mill, or worked them into lumber at his own mill. it was his opinion that the holder should earn a profit of a hundred thousand dollars or more, in the latter instance, provided he had proper shipping facilities. "of course, here you have the river on which to float your logs down to the mill, which should be located at or near the lakes," added tom. "look it over carefully to-morrow. i am getting interested to know more about the lumber business. one can't have too much knowledge, you know. now that we have sold our coal lands in kentucky, you and i are interested in high finance. eh, tom?" "thanks to you, hippy, we are." the coal lands to which hippy referred were part of an estate that had been willed to him by an admiring uncle while lieutenant wingate was a member of the united states army air forces in france. the overland riders had made the kentucky mountains the scene of their summer's outing the year before their present journey, and there experienced many stirring adventures. hippy, at first, decided to work the mines himself, with tom gray as his partner, but that winter they received an offer for the property and sold it outright for a large sum of money, which lieutenant wingate insisted they should share equally. the two friends, after sitting about their campfire until a late hour that night discussing the subject that had taken strong hold of hippy's mind, lay down to sleep in the open. immediately after breakfast next morning tom and hippy started out to make a thorough "cruise" of the pine trees in the section from which a few acres of logs had been cut. they finished their work late in the afternoon, but tom did not venture a further opinion on what he had seen until they were on their way to their camp, where they had decided to remain another night. "well?" demanded hippy finally. "speak up! how about it, tom?" "hippy, you have looked upon the finest plot of virgin timber to be found anywhere outside the states of oregon and washington. i wish someone would buy it and beat those pirates out. it is a burning shame to let them get away with it." "where would one have to go to find out about it?" "st. paul, possibly. why?" "i was just wondering, that's all," answered lieutenant wingate thoughtfully. hippy asked who owned the timber adjoining the section, but tom did not know that any individual owned it because the map showed that it was still a part of the state forest reserve. "you see these maps were issued some months ago, and many changes may have taken place in that time, though they are really supposed to be up to date." "is willy likely to be up here to-day, tom?" "no. i asked him to keep within easy reach of the overland camp at night while we are away." willy, being a man of his word, guarded the overland camp jealously for two nights, but on the morning of the next day, just before daybreak, he started to go upstream and look for the two absent men, his understanding being that they were to be away but one night. he was hiking along the river bank when hippy, who had remained with the horses while his companion went into the forest for a final brief survey before starting for home, discovered the indian who hailed him. "how do?" greeted the indian. "nothing wrong at camp, is there?" questioned the overland rider anxiously. "no. me come see where big friends go." "that is fine. you are just the man i wish to see. who cut off this timber, willy?" indicating the cutting that he and tom had first discovered. "not know. somebody steal um." "that is what captain gray says. perhaps it was cut by a new owner--someone who has bought this plot, willy." the indian, gazing on the stumps in the clearing with expressionless eyes, shook his head slowly. "this section belongs to the state, i think," ventured hippy. "no belong state." "who, then?" "belong chief iron-toe. him chippewa chief--big chief." lieutenant wingate became instantly alert. "are you positive of that, willy?" the indian nodded. "do you know the gentleman with the iron toe?" "him my father." hippy was a little taken back by the answer, but his eagerness for more information overcame what might have become embarrassment. "your father! do you think he would sell the section?" he asked eagerly. "no sell." "but i wish to buy it, willy." "you buy?" questioned the indian, regarding lieutenant wingate thoughtfully. "yes." "you big friend. me fix." "do you mean it?" "me fix." "good. when?" "next sun-up. we go chippewa reservation." "how far?" "two sun ride." "say nothing to anyone about this. i'll say whatever is necessary to my friends. you wake me when you think best to start for the chippewa reservation to-morrow morning and we will be off. want a horse, willy?" "me take pony." it was settled, and on the way back to the camp of the overlanders during that afternoon hippy confided his plan to tom gray, but tom was doubtful of its success. he said he already knew what hippy had had in mind, and that if he were able to buy the section for anything within reason there would be a fortune in it. "will you go in on the deal with me?" asked hippy. "yes, if you keep within my resources. thanks to you for letting me in on your coal land deal in kentucky i have some funds that i can use. that was like giving the money to me, and i have been ashamed of myself ever since for letting you drag me into any such deal." "chop it, tom. as willy would say, 'you big friend.' say nothing to any of the folks, unless you wish to confide in grace. i shall, of course, tell nora where i am going and why." during the rest of the journey back to the overland camp, the two men discussed the plan of action that hippy should follow--provided he got the timber plot--the hiring of men and the purchase of equipment, and, by the time they had reached the overland camp, all details were settled. nothing was said to either grace or nora until that evening, when the two overland men confided their plans to their wives. next morning, before the camp was astir, the indian had awakened lieutenant wingate and the man and the indian had ridden away in the dark of the early morning. chapter xix the return of the prodigal "what ye moonin' 'bout?" demanded joe shafto, giving nora wingate a prod with a long bony finger. "i am worrying about mr. wingate, mrs. shafto. he was to have been back in two days, and here it is nearly two weeks since he and the indian went away." "indians is all varmints, anyway, but don't ye worry 'bout that man of yers. ain't worth it. none of 'em is." "don't you say that about my hippy," rebuked nora indignantly. "i love my husband, just as you loved yours." the forest woman laughed harshly. "ain't no such thing as love. a man's just a man, kind of handy to do the chores and bring home the venison. henry's worth a whole pack of husbands, and i kin wallop henry when he don't mind. best thing 'bout henry is that he can't jaw back at me." "he can growl at you, can't he?" returned nora, laughing in spite of her worry. "he kin, and he kin git a clip on the jaw, like i give my man once. no, sir. bears is better company than is men. i know for i've tried 'em both. take my advice and when ye wants to git another husband, jest git a bear instead." "but bears are beasts," laughed grace, who had joined the two in time to hear mrs. shafto's advice. "so's men. bears growl--so does men. mules kick, like june and july--so does men. animiles live for nothin' but to git fed and sleep. so does men. what's the difference?" the girls laughed heartily. "your logic is excellent, but your philosophy is not sound," replied grace. "there is such a thing as companionship and helpfulness, and the finer things of human association." the forest woman sniffed. "ain't no such thing," she retorted. joe stalked away to attend to her duties, and in a few moments the overland girls heard her berating the bear. tom gray, during the period of lieutenant wingate's absence, had made frequent trips to the section that hippy wished to buy, and now knew to a certainty that it was a prize plot of timber. tom was in the overland camp on this particular day, mapping out the timber tract in detail, though with little idea that it could be purchased at a price within their means. he was at work on the map when he heard hindenburg barking excitedly. "something unusual must be on to make the bull pup raise such a disturbance," muttered tom, tossing his map aside and crawling from the tepee. he saw nora was running, crying out that hippy had returned. "hooray! meet me with food!" shouted hippy. "i've been living on iron rations for two days because bears ate up our fresh stuff and tried to eat the mess kits too. hulloa, tom!" "what luck?" asked tom, after shaking hands. "the best. we have met the enemy and he's 'ourn,' as mother shafto would say. don't ask me a question until my stomach begins to function." a luncheon was quickly prepared, and hippy had plenty of attention, all the girls standing about while he ate, ready hands passing food until hippy could eat no more. "where's that pesky indian?" demanded the guide, frowning. "he is coming along with a bunch of men and supplies to show them the way to our claim. twenty jacks, a cook and a fiddler will be here late this afternoon, together with a knock-down bunk-house, sufficient food supplies for two weeks, tools, and i've got a supply of cash to pay the hands. now what have you to say for yourself, tom gray?" "i was waiting to inquire what sort of a deal you made." "say, folks! had it not been for willy horse i should not have got the property at all. that chief with the iron toes is a shrewd old duffer. he has owned the property for some years, and all that time the hiram dusenbery company has been trying, by fair means or otherwise, to buy it of him, but old iron-toe put the price so high that they preferred to wait, hoping that when he got hard up he might be willing to sell for less." "did he know that timber-thieves had been helping themselves to trees?" questioned elfreda. "no. willy told him. willy saw the chief first and the deal really was made before i even saw the old fellow. well, we smoked a pipe of peace together and he didn't say a word for a whole hour after i was introduced. finally he grunted: "'you big friend willy horse. big friend me, too. what you give?' "i told him to make his own price and i would consider it--that i wished to take no advantage, nor did i desire to pay a price that would not leave me a profit. well, we sat and the chief smoked for another hour. "'you give ten thousand money. you give one-eighth what you make to chief iron-toe. you big friend.' "'it's a bargain!' i said, just like that. old iron-toe handed me his pipe again. i took another pull at it. bah! it was awful. it nearly strangled me, but it sealed the compact. we went to the county seat where the property was transferred to wingate & gray and the deed filed, after which i gave him my check for ten thousand dollars." tom, who had been doing some rapid figuring while lieutenant wingate was speaking, glanced up, smiling. "i don't know how you did it, but you have a wonderful bargain. there is a fortune in those trees." "i didn't do it at all. willy horse did it, and he is going to have the best job that can be dug up for him, provided my influence has weight with the firm of wingate & gray. tom, it's up to you, now. you are the brains of this establishment. go to it. i've done my share so far as it has gone." "you have, indeed. how is the equipment being brought in?" "by mule teams. i reckon, too, that they will have a fine tune getting in here on the trail that leads to the dusenbery company's works above our section and--" "i say, mister lieutenant, do i understand ye to say that a pa'cel of lumberjacks is comin' here?" interrupted joe shafto. "yes." "then i quits right now. don't want no truck with them critters." "that's all right, old dear. you just keep right on with the outfit, and if a lumberjack so much as looks at you, set the bear on him. i know what henry can do in that direction, having had a run-in with him myself." "don't ye 'old-dear' me!" growled joe. "started that agin, have ye? miss wingate, if ye don't tame that husband of yers with a club, i will." joe winked at nora as she said it. "leave him to me, mrs. shafto. hippy, go wash your face. you are a perfect sight. i'm positively ashamed of you." "that's all right, nora. that relieves me of the necessity of being ashamed of myself. joe, you merely imagine that you dislike lumberjacks. there are some good fellows among them. they aren't all so bad as you paint them," said hippy soothingly. the forest woman flared up. "i hate the whole pack and pa'cel of 'em! i-hate 'em wuss'n a scalded pup hates vinegar on his back. i'll stay, of course, but i'll sick henry on 'em if they bothers me; then i'll turn my back and fergit that henry's chawin' up a human bein'. so there!" the overland girls laughed merrily, and grace linking an arm into the guide's led her down to the river where the two sat down, grace to give joe shafto friendly advice, and joe to accept it as she would from no other member of the overland riders. in the meantime tom and hippy were discussing their plans. they spent a good part of the day doing so. after dinner grace and elfreda paddled up the river in the bark canoe, returning just before suppertime, faces flushed from their exercise, and eyes sparkling. early next morning willy horse and the advance guard of the timber outfit arrived on the scene, as was evidenced by sundry shouts up-river. tom and hippy hurried upstream to meet the party, and later in the day the overland girls came up to watch the work already in progress. a knock-down bunk-house was rapidly going up, and the cook with pots and kettles over a brisk fire in the open was preparing supper for the lumberjacks. the jacks were a hardy two-fisted lot of men, swedes, norwegians, french canadians, half-breeds and a few sturdy americans, though the latter were greatly outnumbered. tom was bossing the gang and doing it like a man who had handled lumberjacks before. "why so rough with them?" remonstrated grace. "because i know the breed. be easy with jacks and they think you are afraid of them, and will promptly take advantage of you. one must, not for a moment, let them feel that he is not master of the situation and of them. you will discover that sooner or later." by night the bunk-house was ready for occupancy, though the bunks were not yet in place and the men would be obliged to sleep on the floor for one night at least. after a hearty supper, well cooked under the observant eyes of tom gray, the lumberjacks retired to their shack, and the sound of the fiddle and the shuffle of dancing feet, accompanied by shouts and yells, rose from the bunk-house, which was located near enough to the overland riders' camp to enable them to hear, and to see, if they wished, what was going on. willy horse was the guest of the overlanders, though he refused to eat with them, and sat all the evening by the fire saying never a word, which is the indian's idea of friendly conversation. on the following day, under tom gray's supervision, the construction of the dam for the new owners was begun across a narrow part of the river, a little upstream from the overland camp. in order to lower the water in the river while they were driving the spiles, tom had the men put the gates in place in the dam built further up the stream by the timber-pirates. this, in the low condition of the river, would keep the water back for several days and give tom's men a better opportunity to build his dam. henry had made several cautious visits to the scene of operations, which he viewed from the high branches of a tall pine, and, upon descending, soundly boxed the ears of a lumberjack who attempted to make friends with him. "tom," said grace one evening after a few hours spent by her watching the work, "who is the short, thick-set lumberjack with the red hair?" "the one with the peculiar squint in his eye?" "yes. that is the man." "the men call him spike. i don't know what the rest of the name is. why?" "i don't like his looks. then again there is something about him that reminds me of someone that i have seen--i mean in unpleasant circumstances." "i fear our guide has prejudiced you against lumberjacks, and i know that she has taught henry to hate the whole tribe. one shouldn't look for drawing-room manners in a lumberjack. we have a loyal gang of men, men who will fight for us, if necessary, and who certainly can work. that, it appears to me, is the answer." "very well. i shall keep my eye on him, just the same. hark! i thought i heard someone coming." tom and grace were sitting by the campfire. the others of their party, with the exception of mrs. shafto and the bear, were listening to the fiddle and the thudding of the hob-nail boots of the lumberjacks as they danced away the early hours of the evening. "never mind. the pup will take notice." "the only thing the pup takes notice of is, as emma dean says, food!" laughed grace. "someone _is_ coming, tom." "hindenburg!" commanded tom gray sharply. the bull pup, sleeping by the fire, roused himself, wiggled his stubbed tail, and, rolling over on his side, yawned and promptly went to sleep again. tom gray glanced quickly towards the shadows that lay to the rear of them, and, as he did so, a figure appeared. "willy, is that you?" he demanded, as a familiar movement revealed the identity of the figure. "yes." grace asked the indian where he had been. he mumbled an unintelligible reply, then turned to tom. "two men come. they watch shack. me want to shoot, but not do." "certainly not," rebuked tom. "what do you think they want?" "come spy on camp. i spy on them. fix guns and creep up. look in windows and whisper. bah! no good. what do?" "have they rifles? perhaps they are hunters," suggested tom. "no hunt. me watch." willy horse melted into the shadows. "who can it be?" wondered grace. "hunters, of course. willy horse's zeal has run away with his judgment. i think--" tom paused. protesting voices were heard back in the forest, voices raised in angry resentment. two men suddenly burst out into the light of the campfire, followed by willy horse close at their heels, his rifle pressed against the back of a panting man. chapter xx peace or war? "here, here! what's this?" demanded tom gray, springing up. "willy!" "this is an outrage!" panted the man against whose back willy horse held the rifle. the stranger's red hair fairly bristled as he cautiously removed his hat and mopped the perspiration from face and forehead. "i'll have the law on you, you low-down redskin!" "easy there, pardner. this indian is not low-down," retorted tom gray in a warning tone. "willy is our friend. what is it you wish, sir?" "am i on the section recently purchased by wingate & gray?" "you are, sir. i am tom gray. mr. wingate will be here shortly. won't you sit down?" urged tom. "that is all right, willy. please ask lieutenant wingate to come here," he added, nodding and smiling to the indian, who backed away into the shadows. "i am chet ainsworth, timber agent," said the stranger. "this is my guide, tobe skinner. i'm here to talk a little business with you. tobe thought he knew the way, but we got a thousand miles out of it. while we were trying to decide whether this was a lumber camp or a state's prison colony that indian ruffian got the drop on us and drove us in. tobe would have shot him on the spot if the indian hadn't beat him to it by getting the drop on him. i'll see the indian agent 'bout that when i go back. i'll--" "hippy!" called tom as he saw lieutenant wingate and others of the overland outfit strolling towards camp. "meet mr. ainsworth, and his guide, mr. skinner. they are here on a business matter, the nature of which i do not know. we are ready to hear what you have to say, mr. ainsworth." grace rose and said she would have mrs. shafto prepare food for the two men. "i'm ready to hear the story, ainsworth," announced hippy, nodding. "are you the party that bought section seventy-two, mr. wingate?" asked ainsworth. hippy nodded. "without wishin' to be personal, may i ask what you paid for it?" "you have my permission to ask anything you wish. i reserve the right to answer or not. the answer is _not_! in this instance," replied hippy. "no offense, no offense," answered the agent, assuming a jovial tone. "i represent certain interests that have been negotiating for this very property, parties that already have large holdings in this vicinity, and who wish an uninterrupted stretch of timber and river to the lakes." "yes?" questioned hippy. "of course they knew you bought on speculation, because you ain't lumbermen, and they reckoned they'd buy it from you so as to give you a fine profit on your investment. that's why i asked you what you paid for the property." "yes?" repeated hippy. "no man can say that ain't a fair offer. now we'll get right down to business, mister--mister--" "wingate," assisted tom. "we'll get right down to business, mr. wingate. you will sell?" "sure thing. i'll sell anything i have except my wife and the bull pup." "good! i reckoned that was about the size of it," chuckled ainsworth, passing a hand across his face to hide his expression of satisfaction. "what's your figger?" "half a million." "feet?" "no. dollars." "are you crazy?" "yes." "ha, ha! i see. you're one of those funny fellows," laughed the agent. "that's all right, pard. have your little joke, and now let's get down to business. what'll ye take cash down, balance ninety days, for the section?" "half a million. what will you give?" "twenty-five thousand," answered the agent quickly. "the deal is off," said hippy, rising. "wait a minute! you're too confounded sudden. i want to argue the question," urged the visitor. "no. you have made your offer; i have made my offer. the subject is closed. come, have a snack. i see the girls have it ready for you, and let's talk about the weather. i think it is going to snow." tom, though he had with difficulty repressed his laughter, offered their guests every attention, and so did the overland girls, but the subject of the sale of the claim was not again referred to that evening, except just before bedtime. none of the girls was favorably impressed with either mr. ainsworth or his guide, and during the meal the forest woman glared threateningly at the pair through her big spectacles. near its close, the visitors got a shock that nearly frightened chet ainsworth out of his skin, and at the same time sent the overland riders into unrestrained peals of laughter. henry, who had been out of sight ever since the arrival of the two men, had ambled into camp observed only by emma dean who hugged herself delightedly when she saw the bear's intention. a yell from chet ainsworth when he felt the hot breath of the beast on his neck, as henry sniffed at it, brought every one, including chet, to their feet. tobe skinner whipped out his revolver and would have fired at the animal had not tom gray gripped his wrist. "he's tame. don't be frightened," soothed hippy. "all the animals in our menagerie are halter-broken and milk-fed. sit down. go away, henry! the gentleman's nerves are a little upset after his sprint with willy horse." mr. ainsworth sat down, but the guide did not do so until mrs. shafto had called off her animal and made him lie down. "that was the voice of nature whispering to you, mr. ainsworth," suggested emma demurely. "henry had a message for you. you should have listened. did you ever have the birds of the air, or the beasts or the trees, tell you their secrets, sir?" emma's face wore a serious expression. chet and tobe gazed at her with sagging jaws, then glanced at hippy. hippy wingate tapped his own head with a finger and sighed. "they do get that way sometimes. we have others in our outfit who are similarly affected," he said sadly. "so i have discovered," articulated ainsworth. "i reckon we'll be going." "certainly not," interjected grace. "don't mind mr. wingate. he too is somewhat queer at times. you will stay here to-night, both of you. we could not be so inhospitable as to permit you to start out at this hour of the night. in the morning you will have breakfast and, if you wish, an early start." "sure," agreed tom. "we have a lean-to that is not occupied. you can bunk in there." "thanks, but chain up that bear or i won't be responsible for what happens. think over my offer to-night," he urged, turning to hippy. "after you have slept over it you will see that it is to your best interests to accept." "thanks," answered hippy. "good-night." after the visitors and the overland girls had turned in, and the campfire was fixed for the night, tom and hippy had a confidential talk, their visitor and his proposals being the subject of the discussion; then they too sought their browse-beds. yells and a shot, punctuated by screeches from joe shafto, awakened all hands in the gray of the early morning. "is it peace, or is it war again?" mumbled anne, sitting up and rubbing her eyes sleepily. "it certainly does sound like war, but i think it is only the beginning of it," answered grace, hurriedly throwing on her clothes and running out to see what the uproar was about. what she saw caused grace and her companions, who had followed her out, to utter gasps of amazement. chapter xxi a wise old owl "what's the trouble, tom? oh, stop them!" cried grace. "let her finish it," answered tom briefly. "sick 'em, henry!" shouted hippy wingate, who saw the black bear humping himself across the camp, not yet having discovered what the uproar was about. "what's this? what's this?" he cried, suddenly comprehending. tobe skinner, with streaming face which joe shafto had hit with a pot of hot coffee, was sprinting for the timber, after having taken a shot at the bear with his revolver. following him came chet ainsworth puffing and raging, with henry on his hind legs in close pursuit, making frequent swings with his powerful arms and soundly boxing the head of the fleeing man, and joe shafto prodding the bear to urge him on to further effort. neither tom nor hippy made a move to interfere, but grace sped forward and placed a firm hand on the forest woman's arm. "stop him!" commanded grace sternly. "stop him, i say! he will kill the man." "serve the houn' right if the bear did. i'll larn 'em to mind their business, the sarpints! henry!" a sharp rap over the bear's shoulder slowed the animal down. a second tap brought him to all fours, with his mistress's hand fastened in the hair of his head. "that'll do, hen. these soft-hearted folk ain't goin' to let ye chaw the gentleman up to-day, but, if ever i set eyes on either of the scum agin, i'll give the varmints what's comin' to 'em, and i'll do it sudden-like, and i'll do it so it stays done, and there won't be nobody to stop me next time. if ye don't believe it, jest give me the chance. and to think i had to waste a perfectly good pot of coffee on that timber-robber's head. he's a skin and a tight-wad, and i'll bet my month's wage that he robs the birds of their eggs to save the price of keepin' a hen of his own." "please! please," begged grace laughingly. "which one of the pair do you mean?" "both of 'em. they ain't here for no good. wait till i tell ye what they did and ye'll see--" "just a moment. tell it to all of us," urged grace, leading the irate woman and her tame bear up to her companions. "why did you stop them, grace?" growled hippy. "first fun we've had since emma discovered the animal under the table. what's the joke, old dear?" the forest woman was so angry over her recent experience that she forgot to chide hippy for his familiarity. "matter? matter enough. as i was sayin' to miss gray, them varmints ain't here for no good, and ye ain't heard the last of 'em by a long shot. they'll be back. take joe shafto's word for that, and they won't be back alone, 'cause they're too big cowards. yaller streaks in both of 'em. i'll bet the pair of 'em was trying to get this timber lot away from ye. don't ye have no dealin's with 'em. don't want no truck with them kind of cattle, and i'll tell ye right now that if they show their yaller faces 'round here agin, i'll set my henry on 'em for keeps." mrs. shafto gasped for breath preparatory to entering on a fresh tirade, when tom gray, embracing the opportunity, got in a question. "suppose you tell us what the row was about. what was it?" he asked. "the varmints tried to bribe me, that's what." "bribe you!" exclaimed the overlanders in chorus. "that's what i said." "why didn't you take it?" demanded hippy. "that was easy money." "to do what?" questioned elfreda, her professional interest instantly aroused. "to find out what ye paid for the section and just what ye opined ye'd do with it. they reckon ye're holdin' it on 'spec' and that they kin git it fer a little mor'n ye paid for it. if they can't do that, i opined from what the varmints said, that they'd git the property some other way. wanted me to find out just what yer plans was and to writ' 'em down and leave 'em in a holler log up next the dam above the one ye're buildin'." "what did you say to that?" questioned elfreda. "i sicked henry on 'em and soaked the guide feller with part of the breakfast. i'd a done a heap more if i'd had the time." "how much did they offer you?" inquired emma interestedly. "two dollars and a half, and said they'd leave as much more after they got what they wanted." "two dollars and a half!" exclaimed hippy. "and you refused two dollars and a half? why, old dear, that's a fortune. i am amazed that they should have been so liberal. positively reckless, i should say. discard such riches? it is unbelievable." "when were they to call for this information?" questioned miss briggs. "they didn't say. i was to leave it there, that's all," growled joe, stalking to her breakfast fire and resuming her operations there. "would it not be a good plan to have willy horse watch the log and see if he can give our 'friends' a scare?" asked grace. "yes, but willy is inclined to be violent," laughed tom. "you saw what happened to ainsworth and his guide when they sneaked up to our camp last night, didn't you? next time the indian might do something rash. what do we care, who or what? the property is ours and we are going ahead with our plans. we shall soon put in a portable mill at the mouth of the river, float our logs down and saw them there where the lake steamers can pick up the lumber. let the disappointed ones rage if they wish." the forest woman, having pressed the dents out of her damaged coffee pot and prepared a fresh supply of coffee, now summoned the overlanders to breakfast, which was a somewhat hurried meal, for tom and hippy were eager to get out to direct the work on their dam, which already was moving along satisfactorily, and which they hoped to finish in about another week. following breakfast, the girls saddled their ponies, packed luncheons in their mess kits and started down the river for a day's outing by themselves, leaving joe shafto at home. the party returned just before dark, elfreda briggs proudly exhibiting a duck that she had shot on the lower river. after supper, for which all hands had keen appetites, hippy announced that willy horse had been appointed official hunter for the lumber outfit at seventy-five dollars a month, which meant riches to the indian. it would be willy's duty to provide fresh meat for the lumberjacks. added to this, the indian would shoot wolves and collect the bounty, and, when not otherwise engaged, act as the faithful watchdog for the overland riders. "you big friend," was willy's only comment when informed of his new job, but they observed that he puffed more vigorously at his pipe, and gazed more intently into the fire than usual. "do you see things in the fire?" questioned emma, sitting down by the indian. he nodded. "tell me what you see," she urged in a confidential tone. "see white girl fly like bird." the girls broke into a merry peal of laughter. "he has your measure," laughed tom. "see owl up tree. mebby come see white girls," added the indian, and then, to their amazement, the raucous voice of an owl was heard in the branches high above their heads. the owl continued his hoarse night song, the overland girls interestedly watching emma dean's rapt expression as she listened. "he is trying to say something," she half-whispered, holding up a hand for silence. "he is speaking, perhaps, of the mysteries of the universe--our immediate universe." "yus-s-s-s," observed hippy solemnly. "tell me, i prithee, little bird-woman, what is the wise old owl saying? has he a message for me?" "yes. and i can tell you what it is. he says, 'you simp, you simp, you simp, you simp-simp.' interpreted freely, this means, in addition to the truth of the owl's wise assertion, that you have gathered all the ingredients of a calamity, but you don't know it. beware, hippy wingate, of dire things to come!" finished emma, amid a shout of laughter. the indian puffed on his pipe in stolid silence. chapter xxii when the dam went out in the two weeks that had passed since wingate & gray started their operations on the little big branch, wonders had been accomplished. a modern camp for the lumberjacks had been constructed, and the dam had been completed to the extent of permitting them to close the gates and let water accumulate there. on the day that marked the completion of the work, the overland girls arranged to show their appreciation of what the jacks had done by giving them a surprise party. this party, first suggested as a dinner, after much discussion was changed to an old-fashioned dancing party, which the girls thought the men would enjoy more than they would a dinner. just before they sat down to their supper, the lumberjacks were "tipped" to finish the meal as quickly as possible and slick themselves up, because the overland party was coming over to call, and captain gray to give them a brief "spiel," as hippy expressed it in telling the men to get ready. the jacks received the word without comment; in fact they received it somewhat sullenly. hippy, however, knew the lumberjack tribe by this time--knew their peculiar ways--and told the girls to go ahead with their plans. darkness had settled over the big north woods when hippy rallied his flock for the party, each girl spruced up for the occasion, emma dean's face wreathed in smiles in anticipation of the good time that was in prospect. the only member of the outfit who remained behind was the forest woman, who flatly refused to associate with "them varmints," meaning the lumberjacks. henry, laboring under no such scruples, followed the overlanders as they set out for the lumberjacks' shack. any unusual activity, especially one that gave promise of food, instantly aroused henry's curiosity, so, in this instance, he was close at the heels of the party when they filed into the bunk-house, where he nosed about smelling of the bunks, of the tables and sniffing the air, following which he sat down where he could command a view of the entire room. the lumberjacks shook hands awkwardly with their guests, except that spike merely made a move to do so, then quickly withdrew his hand and shoved it into the pocket of his mackinaw. hippy acted as master of ceremonies, and, after waving jacks and guests to seats, cleared his throat, and made a complimentary speech. "captain gray got stage fright at the last minute and told me that i must tell you what he wished you to know," he said. "i'm not going to make a speech, but what i am to say is, that when we get through with this job mr. gray and myself have decided to declare a dividend. that is, we are going to give each one of you men who started out with us, and who have done such fine, loyal work, a good-sized cash bonus. i perhaps don't need to tell you that i never made a speech in my life--so my friends say--but money is a loud talker; so, at the end of the season, we'll let money tell you how much we appreciate the good work you fellows have done." henry, who sat blinking at lieutenant wingate, at this juncture rolled over, and, curling up, went to sleep. "you see," cried hippy. "even the bear goes to sleep when i talk." the men gave three cheers for wingate & gray, and three more for the overland girls. "help us get these tables out of the way, you fellows. we are going to have some music. speech making is ended." nora wingate was already conferring with the "fiddler." then, as the tables were moved to one side, nora launched into a lively song that she had sung to the doughboys in france, the fiddler accompanying her on his violin. there were rough spots in the fiddling, but these nora submerged in the great volume of her fine contralto voice. the song finished, the men howled for more and stamped on the floor. nora sang again. "we will now have a dance," announced grace. "you boys will please act natural, and for goodness sake don't step on our toes with those hob-nail boots. choose your partners." not a jack moved. "help me haul 'em out, tom," cried hippy, yanking a big canadian to the floor and standing him up beside nora wingate. tom did a similar service for another one, and in a few seconds five lumberjacks, red of face, shifting uneasily on their feet, were standing beside their partners on the dance floor. "hit it up, mr. fiddler," called tom, whereupon the fiddler began sawing the strings of his violin and calling off for the dance, a square dance, and soon the crash of hob-nail boots on the board floor made the shack tremble, the fiddler beating time with his foot. had it not been that the overland girls knew the dance they never could have followed the fiddler's calls. "shinny on the corners," "gents all forw'd," "sling yer pardner," "up and down the travoy," "dozey-dozey," "smash 'em on the finish," was the way he called off, the latter call bringing the feet of the lumberjacks down in a series of bangs that threatened the collapse of the floor. outside, hovering over a little indian fire, willy horse smoked stolidly, his ears attuned, not to the music and the shuffling feet, but to the sounds of nature, and to sounds that did not belong in nature's scheme of things. "let's have a waltz," cried hippy exuberantly. grace shook her head. "no waltzes," she answered. "square dances will do very well. the dancing is rough enough as it is without our being spun to dizziness," she added in a lower tone. "what do you want, hippy wingate?" demanded anne. "this surely is rough enough work, isn't it? the fellows are doing the best they can, but they are not used to dancing with women. it is a great party, just the same." "can't be beat," agreed hippy. "i think willy is trying to attract your attention," interrupted miss briggs, as she swept past hippy in the dance. glancing towards the door, lieutenant wingate saw the indian framed in the open doorway. willy horse made no sign, but his intent gaze was full of meaning. hippy strolled leisurely to the door. "evening, willy. come in and have a dance or something to eat," greeted hippy cordially. in a lower tone he asked, "anything wrong?" "mebby! you come. no speak here." the indian turned away, and hippy followed him casually until well out of sight of the dancers. "now what is wrong?" demanded the overland rider in a brisk tone. "you hear big noise?" hippy shook his head. "can't hear anything above the smashing of the lumberjacks' boots." "me hear. big noise up river--boom--boom--boom! listen! what you hear?" "it sounds like wind in the tops of the trees," answered hippy after a moment of listening. "no wind. willy know." "what is it, then?" "water! dam up-river go out. water come down! mebby logs come down, too!" "what! the dam built by the timber-thieves? it isn't possible. there is not enough water in the dam to cause the roar i hear." "plenty water. you fix gates so dam fill up. you know." "that's so." hippy ran down to the river to listen, still doubting willy's assertion that the timber-thieves' dam had burst out. the indian had followed and stood silently beside his listening companion, his own ears listening to the distant murmur. willy, however, did not need to listen. he knew! "i don't believe it is water that we hear," muttered lieutenant wingate. "him water," muttered the indian. "moon come up. good!" the moon at full, after being hidden from view for nearly a week, rose above the tops of the trees, thinning the darkness that lay heavy on the river, the full light not yet having reached the little big branch at that point. hippy shaded his straining eyes and gazed upstream. all seemed peaceful in that direction, but he suddenly realized that the sound he had heard was increasing in volume. he could now hear a succession of hollow reports, the meaning of which he could not fathom. he asked his companion what it meant. "logs him jump up in water. knock together and make big noise." hippy suddenly visualized the scene that the indian's brief words had pictured. "watch it! i'm going for help!" cried hippy, sprinting for the shack. as he neared it the familiar sounds of the earlier evening greeted his ears. the fiddler was still sawing away; the bang of hob-nailed shoes on the floor of the shack resounded rhythmically, and hippy thought, as he ran, of the weariness that the overland girls must feel after their strenuous evening of constant dancing with the rough and ready lumberjacks who knew neither fatigue for themselves nor for their entertainers. reaching the doorway, hippy caught tom gray's eye and beckoned to him. "yes?" questioned tom eagerly as he stepped over to lieutenant wingate. "willy says the dam has gone out. i can't tell whether it has or not, but it sounds that way." "what dam?" demanded tom gray. "that up-river dam of the timber-pirates. you remember we shut the gates to keep the water below it low while we were driving the spiles for our dam." tom ran out into the open and stood listening. a moment of it was all that was necessary to tell him what had happened. "quick! the gates. we must get our gates open or we're lost!" the two men sprinted for the river, tom in the lead, hippy a close second. he wondered why he had not thought of the gates, and chided himself for his stupidity. "come fast!" called willy, referring to the rushing flood that now had become a sullen roar. "call out the jacks. hurry!" ordered tom. willy flashed away. tom paused only for an instant to listen and estimate how much time they had before the flood would be upon them. "are you game for it, hippy?" he demanded. "for what?" "to help me get the gates up?" "yes." "come on then, and watch your footing," shouted tom, running out on the top log that formed the cap on top of the spiles. the footing was slippery, but not ordinarily perilous. now, in the face of that which was hurtling down upon them, their undertaking was a desperate one. neither had on his spiked boots, which, in a measure, would have aided them in keeping their footing, and they slipped and stumbled, and sprawled on all fours again and again. being so familiar with the operation of the gates that they had planned and built, they had no difficulty in finding the gate-levers, but these were heavy, necessarily so, operating somewhat after the manner of a sweep in an old-fashioned well. tom and hippy threw themselves upon one of the two big levers that operated the gates, and began tugging with all their strength. in the meantime willy horse had reached the lumberjacks' bunk-house. "dam go out! water come down!" he shouted to make himself heard. "big boss say come quick." the fiddler ceased playing, and the dancers gazed at the indian, not fully understanding. "water come down! come quick! run!" this time they understood. uttering a shout the jacks burst out through the narrow doorway, and ran for the river, followed by the overland girls on flying feet, and meeting joe shafto on the way to the scene of the disaster. chapter xxiii the riot of the logs "we'll have to be quick!" shouted tom to make himself heard above the roaring of the waters. "beardown hard!" "i can't. i'm slipping!" gasped hippy. "the gates are moving! keep it up!" the two men struggled and fought, gaining a few inches at a time but not enough to permit the jam of logs that was rushing down the stream to pass through the gates in the flood. at this juncture the overland girls and the jacks came running down the bank. they saw the two men struggling with the gates, and at the same instant they saw something else. in the reflected light of the moon, they saw a white crest sweeping around a bend in the river, hurling logs into the air, which came tumbling and shooting ahead like huge black projectiles. a warning scream from the girls was unheard by either of the struggling men. a dozen lumberjacks leaped to the cap-log to go to the assistance of tom and hippy, who they knew were in great peril. "come back! boys, come back! you can't help them now," cried grace in an agony of apprehension. "the fools! why don't they run?" raged joe shafto, and the pet bear growled in sympathy with her at the unusual sounds. it was a terrifying moment for those who could do no more than stand helplessly watching. the jacks by this time were well out on the cap-log, with willy horse in the lead and red-headed spike close at his heels. they were suddenly halted by a report that sounded like an explosion of heavy artillery. an advance log, rushing straight towards the gates, swerved when within a few feet of them, and, rearing half its dripping length, hurled itself against the gate-lever at which hippy and tom were tugging. both saw the giant rise from the boiling flood. "too late! save your--" tom did not finish. hippy and tom at that instant were catapulted into the air, hurled by the gate-lever, and fell into the river below the dam with a splash. without an instant's hesitation, willy horse, followed by spike, leaped to the rescue, knowing well that only a few seconds lay between them and the cataract of logs that was about to tumble over into the little big branch below the dam. the rest of the jacks hesitated only for an instant, then they too leaped into the river and made their way towards tom and hippy, both of whom were unconscious. willy horse grabbed up hippy with apparent ease, and raised him to his own back just as he would shoulder a dead deer. "git big boss!" he shouted, and began struggling shoreward with his burden. in the meantime spike had sprung to tom gray, but despite his great strength he did not succeed in shouldering tom. "give a hand here!" he bellowed. the lumberjacks reached him at this juncture and, together, spike and his companions brought the unconscious man towards the shore. then the spiling gave way under the strain that for several minutes had been put upon it, and the dam went out with a crash and a roar, accompanied by a series of terrifying explosions. it would have been an awesome sight to the overland riders had not their attention, at that moment, been centered on the lumberjacks. the jacks reached the shore only a few seconds before the structure gave way and the logs, hurtled into the air, fell splashing into the flood below the dam. hippy and tom were borne up the bank and laid on the ground. "are--are they dead?" gasped emma. "no," answered miss briggs, who had placed a finger on the pulse of each. "please carry them to the bunk-house," directed grace in a strained voice, after willy horse had run quick fingers over the heads of the two victims. "big friends bump heads! much all right soon, mebby," he grunted, walking along beside hippy as the jacks started with him and tom towards the house. it was but a short time after their arrival there, however, when both regained consciousness. neither tom nor hippy knew whether they had been hit by the log that struck the gate-lever, or whether they had been made unconscious by their fall into the water. both came to in a severe chill and were put to bed in the bunk-house, warmed with hot drinks and blankets, and soothed until they fell asleep. the lumberjacks stood about awkwardly, and the indian hovered near, his stolid face reflecting no emotion. spike was the only jack present who apparently was indifferent to the scene. at midnight willy motioned to the girls to go. "me watch. big friends wake up morning. no sick," he said. "willy's suggestion is a good one," agreed elfreda. "there is little the matter with either except shock and exhaustion. let's go!" grace nodded. "boys, we thank you very much," she said, turning to the lumberjacks. "mr. wingate and mr. gray would have lost their lives had it not been, for you and willy. they will not forget. neither shall we. good-night." at dawn when hippy awakened, willy horse was still sitting by him, puffing his pipe. "dam go out," observed the indian between puffs. "so i heard it rumored," yawned hippy. "big friend go out." "seems to me that i heard something about that too. how is captain gray?" "other big friend all right." "are the jacks awake?" asked hippy. "git up now." "tell them to come here." when the half-dressed lumberjacks came over to his cot, hippy eyed them sternly. "you're a fine bunch of ladies' men, aren't you? dance the light fantastic while your bosses are trying to save the dam." the jacks grinned sheepishly. "what are you loafing around here for? why don't you get out and start work on a new dam? you needn't think a little thing like a busted dam is going to stop wingate & gray. go on now! you know what to do. we two are the only ones who've got a right to be lazy this morning. wait a moment! come back here!" commanded hippy as his men started to go away. "i take back what i said. you aren't ladies' men at all. you are a bunch of confounded rough-necks. shake paws!" hippy put out a hand, but was sorry for it afterwards, for the bear-like grips of the lumberjacks left it a "pulp," as hippy wingate expressed it. work on a new dam was begun that very day. tom and hippy, though lame and sore, and, at odd moments, a little dizzy, were at the dam all day long directing the work of clearing away the wreck while part of their force cut fresh spiles in the woods. the lumberjacks, wet to the skin, worked with tremendous force and to good purpose, for the organization that tom gray had developed and systematized, was as near a perfectly working machine as it was humanly possible to make it. day after day the work progressed, but despite their best endeavors two weeks and a half had passed before the gates were again lowered to test the new dam's power to resist a full head of water. several days more were required to fill the dam until the surplus water toppled over the "dashboard." for another twenty-four hours the dam was watched for indications of weakness, but none developed. now that the big work was completed tom and hippy journeyed to the wrecked dam of the timber-pirates. they examined what was left of it with great care. finishing their investigation, the two men looked at each other with eyes full of meaning. "well, what do you think of it?" questioned hippy. "i think, hip, that it was something more than structural weakness that caused this dam to go out," answered tom. "what do you think did it--i mean how was it done?" wondered lieutenant wingate. "dynamite!" the word came out with explosive force. "the pirates don't like our presence here, so thought they would put us out of business. they didn't know us, did they, hippy?" "no. i wonder what they will think now--or do?" "nothing in the way of damaging our property, for we shall have our works watched after this. they might blow the upper dam, of course, but there are no logs being held there and the water would simply flow over our construction without doing damage. we must tell willy what we suspect and assign him to guard duty. an indian can sleep and yet be on watch." "like hindenburg, who always sleeps with one ear awake," suggested hippy. "but never hears anything with it," laughed tom. "we'll see." later in the day when tom spoke confidentially with the indian about what the overlanders suspected, willy evinced no surprise. he nodded in agreement with tom that the new dam must be guarded. it was. willy slept near it in a lean-to down near the river. for several nights nothing occurred to indicate that there was anyone within miles of the camp. by day willy hunted, often not coming in until after dark. it was on a saturday night, however, that willy failed to reach camp until nearly midnight. on his back he bore the carcass of a young deer that he had shot and dressed miles from the overland headquarters on the bank of the little big branch. he was nearly in when suddenly he raised his body to an erect position, listened for a few seconds, then dropped his burden and sprinted for home. the overlanders long since had turned in and the lumberjacks were in their bunks, comfortable, and as happy as a lumberjack permits himself to be, when suddenly their bunk-house seemed to be lifted free of the ground. it swayed and trembled as a terrific crash rent the air. the tepee toppled over at the same instant, leaving the overland girls lying in the open. tom and hippy, at the time asleep in their lean-to, which was a few yards nearer the river, never were able to decide whether they had been hurled from their beds or had leaped out before they were fully awake. at least, they found themselves outdoors, and some yards from the lean-to. "for the love of mike, what now?" gasped hippy. hindenburg was running about in circles, uttering dismal howls, and the pet bear was scrambling for the top of the highest tree in his vicinity. "it's the dam!" shouted tom gray. "they've got us this time!" growled tom, starting down the bank, followed by hippy and the yowling bull pup. hippy saw a figure running from the bank of the river a little further upstream. it was a man, and he was running in short hops, as if he were using a stick or cane to assist him in covering ground rapidly. behind the fleeing man tom and hippy discovered a second figure. it was willy horse. the first figure, as the two overlanders started for him at a run, had dashed out over the broken and bent spiles of the dam, hopping from one spile to another with remarkable agility, with willy horse in close pursuit. the hopping man, reaching the end of the spiles at the middle of the dam, halted, hesitated, and the indian was upon him. "it's peg tatem!" cried hippy. "he's the scoundrel who did this thing." a knife in peg's hand flashed in the moonlight, another appearing in the hand of the indian, and out there on their precarious footing the men stood, thrusting and parrying, with their two-edged blades, watched with breathless interest by the entire overland party, who had rushed to the river's edge. a sudden uproar was heard in the direction of the bunk-house. the lumberjacks having discovered that a fight was in progress were running towards the river to see if they too could not get into the fray, for a lumberjack loves nothing in the world so violently as he loves a fight. "keep out of it!" ordered tom as he saw that the jacks were headed for the path that peg and willy had taken. "tom! do something!" begged grace. "don't let those two men kill each other." "we can do nothing. even to call to willy would take his attention from the battle. you know what that would mean." "oh-h-h-h-h!" moaned emma, toppling over in a faint. "oh, heavens! look!" wailed anne. one of the combatants staggered and swayed. an arm was thrust out at him, but the blade that had been driven against him did not flash in the moonlight, for the body of the wielder was between it and the spectators. even the jacks stood silent, they having halted at tom gray's command, but their breathing was heavily audible. "he's killed! it's peg!" cried grace. the indian's victim, following the last thrust, had toppled over into the river below the dam. with a bound, willy horse cleared the spiling and leaped to the river bed to finish his victim. "willy! stop!" grace harlowe's voice rang out shrill and penetrating, as willy, the savage instincts of his race having taken possession of his soul, raised his knife-hand above peg tatem, who lay on his back on the river-bed. chapter xxiv christmas in the big woods willy horse, brought suddenly to his senses by grace's scream, hesitated, got slowly to his feet, and stood narrowly watching his opponent who lay, nearly covered with water, moaning faintly. there was ferociousness in the heart of the indian, but grace's voice had stayed his hand. lumber-jacks, with tom and hippy, had plunged into the shallow stream the instant that grace cried out, and were running towards willy, now standing calmly awaiting them. "did you kill him?" shouted hippy. "no kill. mebby kill bymeby," answered willy horse briefly as tom and hippy came puffing up to him. "you have done enough. let him alone!" commanded tom, lifting the head and shoulders of the wounded man. "fellows, carry this man ashore, but don't hurt him!" emma, having regained consciousness, was assisted up the bank by anne and nora, while peg was being taken to the bunk-house by the lumberjacks. elfreda, after a brief examination, did not believe that peg's wound would prove fatal, but hippy advised her not to tell the foreman of section forty-three of this, saying that he wished to make the man talk, which peg probably would not do were he to think that his wounds were trivial. the lumberjacks were ugly, and, had they had their way, they would have promptly finished the job begun by willy horse, believing, as they did, that peg tatem was responsible for the present and previous disasters that had befallen the overland riders in the big north woods. peg tatem regained consciousness after elfreda and tom had worked over him for more than an hour. "did the redskin git me?" he demanded weakly. "you're right he did," agreed hippy. "you might as well tell us all about it now before it is too late. we know what you have done, and that's good and plenty, but you are now going to make a confession and swear to it." peg went into a violent rage at the suggestion and pounded the cot with his wooden leg until he was exhausted. waiting until the fellow had quieted down, hippy then informed him that in case he recovered, and had not confessed, they would see to it that he went to prison for a long term. after hours of urging, the foreman of section forty-three gave in and made a full confession. elfreda wrote down his statement and made peg swear to it, after hippy had promised that, in the event of his recovery, there would be no prosecution. tatem declared that he had acted wholly under the orders of hiram dusenbery, of the dusenbery lumber company; that it was his jacks who had turned the skidway loose on the overland camp, and that it was tatem himself, acting under orders, who had dynamited the big pine and tumbled it over on the overlanders. he said that dusenbery and chet ainsworth were partners in the business of timber-stealing, and that the dynamiting was ainsworth's scheme. "why did they wish to be rid of us?" asked miss briggs. "they reckoned they'd spoil yer game. t'other reason was that they wanted this 'ere section fer themselves." "good! we will send both to jail," promised elfreda. "now what i wish are the names of witnesses who can verify at least part of your story." after some thought peg named several lumberjacks, fellows who were still in the employ of the dusenbery company. the overlanders then ceased their questioning to give peg a much-needed rest, and left him in the care of two jacks, with the reminder that they would be held fully accountable for the safety and good care of the prisoner. willy horse was started that night for the nearest fire warden's station, there to have the warden telephone for a doctor, and also for the sheriff of the county, as it was thought best to hold tatem as a material witness. the doctor and sheriff arrived late next day. peg's injuries were found to be quite serious, and it was a full week later before he could be moved to the county jail where he was a prisoner under treatment for two more weeks. hippy accompanied peg, and while at the county seat swore out warrants for dusenbery and chet ainsworth. at the december term of court both men were found guilty and sentenced to serve terms in prison. peg tatem, according to agreement with the complainants, was released and advised to seek other fields, which he did. in the meantime a new dam had been built by tom and hippy, and a sawmill established twenty-five miles further down the river. the sounds of the "swampers'" axes and the "saw-gangs" were now heard in the forest from daylight until dark, where huge logs were being felled, trimmed, skidded and rolled down into the new dam, to be "boomed," and released after every thaw in early spring, and sent on their way to the mill. the overland girls still lingered. after some discussion they had decided to remain in the woods until after christmas. by christmas time the ground and the trees were white with snow, and tom closed his "cruising" for the season. willy horse was absent much of the time, trapping for himself and hunting game for the table of the lumberjacks. the girls were now living in a real log cabin which the jacks, hearing them express a wish that they might have one, had built. logs blazed in the fireplace, and there the overland girls, after long hikes in the forest, and occasional rides on their ponies, spent many happy hours. at nora's suggestion, an elaborate christmas celebration, including a christmas tree, was planned by the girls for the jacks and themselves. tom, obliged to go to st. paul on business, more than a week's journey in itself, was commissioned to purchase the supplies and christmas gifts for the celebration, and returned in a sleigh from bisbee's corners, reaching the overland camp by way of a new trail that his men had cut. he was a regular santa claus, except that he rode "behind mules instead of reindeers," as emma dean expressed it. then began the real preparations for christmas, with many conferences in the log cabin. two christmas dinners were to be laid christmas evening, one in the new modern bunk-house that had been recently erected, where the old original gang of lumberjacks and a few selected newcomers were then living. many additional men had been taken on during the early part of the winter when the lumbering operations began on a large scale, and efforts were made to instill into the new men the spirit of the overland outfit, which the old men long since had absorbed. the great day arrived. the old and faithful jacks were to sit down with the overlanders to the spread that was in preparation all that day, joe shafto, after much grumbling, laying aside her feud against all lumberjacks and helping the regular cook in his work of preparing the dinner. this was supervised by grace and elfreda, while their companions attended to laying the tables and decorating the bunk-house with greens brought in by the jacks. at seven o'clock that evening, the jacks, who had been put out of the new bunk-house without ceremony, were told to enter. they thumped in, and gazed in amazement at the transformation of their home, at the festoons of pine cones and greens, at the gaily colored lanterns, at the red, white, and blue candles on the table, and at the big american flag suspended from the rafters at the lower end of the room. the girls disposed themselves about the table so that they might sit with their guests. hippy took the head of the table, with spike, who was known by no other name, at his right. grace had never been able to banish the disagreeable impression that she felt on first setting eyes on the big red-haired lumberjack, and that feeling now seemed to take hold of her more strongly than ever as spike, shoulders slouched forward and eyes lowered, shuffled to the seat assigned to him. "sit down!" ordered hippy, and all hands sat, tom taking the seat at the lower end of the table. there was real turkey, with cranberry sauce, squash, creamed onions, mashed potatoes, celery and a variety of other vegetables, brought from the city by tom. willy horse acted as waiter, mrs. shafto declining to unbend to the extent of waiting on "them varmints." "i'll fodder white folk, and i'll sling a bone to a bear or a bull pup, but no timber houn' of a lumberjack's goin' to git 'chuck' from the paws of joe shafto, and that's the end of the argefyin'," she declared, challenging the girls with a threatening glare through her big horn-rimmed spectacles. there were only a few jacks present, outside of the "original" crowd, as tom called them, all the others having a dinner of their own in the old bunk-house. the "talk" at the table was mostly confined to the overland riders, their efforts to make conversation with their partners, the lumberjacks, eliciting little more than grunts. the jacks were busy, very busy, and when the time came for dessert, every platter and every plate was empty. "pudding! fetch on the pudding," cried hippy. there followed a few moments of waiting while the girls were clearing the table of used dishes, then willy horse was seen entering, bearing a huge platter, on the platter a great mound of blazing plum pudding. the jacks gasped. "fire!" yelled a lumberjack. every jack in the room leaped to his feet and the next instant they were blowing great, long-drawn breaths at the blue flame that, as they thought, was consuming something that was good to eat. with strong breaths, and vigorous slaps from ham-like hands, they soon put out the "fire," willy horse, in a rage, kicking out with his feet at every shin within reach. the overland riders were convulsed with laughter, as the jacks solemnly filed back to their seats at the table. "that's plum pudding, you poor fish!" groaned hippy. "ain't nothin' now," grumbled spike. "purty nigh burned up." grace composed her face and tried to explain that burning the plum pudding was an old english custom, and that, instead of destroying the pudding, it added to its flavor, but the jacks shook their heads, probably thinking that she was saying this to make sport of them. after the pudding had been served, the jacks tasted it gingerly, then smacking their lips they quickly devoured it. coffee and nuts followed, and the meal came to an end. "we will now view the christmas tree," announced hippy. "outside there are millions of christmas trees, all dolled up with fancy spangles, but they aren't like this tree, as you will see. pull the string, emma!" a real christmas tree was revealed as emma dean draped back the flag, a tree decorated with lights and spangles, its branches bending low under the weight of gifts. a beautiful repeating rifle for willy horse brought a grunt from the red man, but nothing more. from the base of the tree emma then picked up a bag, opened it and advanced towards the table. "a little christmas gift from mr. gray and mr. wingate," she said, depositing a ten-dollar gold piece before each lumberjack. their amazement left them speechless. some quickly slipped their gifts into their pockets, others merely sat and gazed at the shining pieces of metal for a moment before picking them up. "fellows, this is not the bonus we promised you," said tom. "this is a christmas present, just a little gift of appreciation on our part. there are socks and boots and other things on the tree for you, and when we have gone you will divide the stuff equally between you. spike, what's the matter?" he demanded. spike had not touched his gold piece, but sat looking at it, drawing in deep labored breaths. "it's real, better grab while the grabbing is good," urged hippy. spike shook his head and shoved both hands under the table. the overland riders saw instantly that the man was agitated. "if you don't wish to accept our gift, you need not do so, spike," said tom. "we shan't lay it up against you if--" "it ain't that!" exploded the lumberjack. "then what is it, old man?" questioned hippy. spike, rising awkwardly, swallowed hard several times and essayed to speak. "talk, if you feel like it. it will do you good," urged tom kindly. "it's 'cause i ain't fit ter touch it, that's why," blurted spike. "yer wants me t' talk. i'll talk. i ain't fit 'cause i ain't fit, that's all. i'm a thief, and i'm a skallerwag, and i served a term in joliet prison. i ain't never had nuthin' but kicks and cuffs and dodgin' perlice afore i got inter this outfit. first off, i thought it was soft here--that ye folks was easy, but somehow it warn't. there was somethin' else in the kind o' treatment yer give me that i couldn't git through my haid." the hair of spike's head was now a bristling flame of red. "you're excited. hook your canthook on the other side and stop the log from rolling before it mashes you flat," advised hippy. "i got ter talk now, and then i'll quit and git out fer good. i took money fer ter do ye an inj'ry. i took it from that houn' ainsworth. i was to tell him 'bout things that was goin' on here and--" a low, rumbling, menacing growl, at first coming, it seemed, from the very boots of the lumberjacks, startled the overland riders. the growl suddenly burst into an angry roar. acting upon a common impulse, every jack in the room sprang to his feet and made a savage rush for the red-headed spike. "sit down, you rough-necks!" bellowed hippy wingate. "this is christmas. sit down unless you want me to give you a clip on the jaw!" the jacks hesitated, drew back, then slouched to their seats, scowling threateningly. "it'd serve me right if ye fellers beat me up," resumed spike. "i'm no good. i never was and i'm goin' ter quit onless ye fire me afore i've got through speakin', but i wants ye folks t' know that i throwed that dirty money away, i did. it burned me like no money i ever filched did; it burned me inside and out and i slung it inter the river. i meant ter do ye a measly trick, ye folks, and i did, but i wants ye ter know partic'lar that chet ainsworth and that gang of his'n didn't git no information outer me. that's more'n i ever done for anybody afore. ye've treated me white, ye have, boss," he said, looking at tom, "and i've--i've--" spike gulped and swallowed hard. "i've opined ter do ye dirt." spike struggled for more words, and then, to the amazement of his fellows, sank into his seat with tears rolling down his cheeks. a jack laughed. hippy fixed him with a stern look. tom gray rose gravely. "don't laugh, fellows," he admonished. "you have seen one of your own bare his soul, if you can understand what that means. it takes a brave man to do that, boys, a man of wonderful courage. i wonder how many of you would have the courage to do the same. i'll have more to say on the subject of spike in a moment. first, i want to thank you for your loyalty to us. we could not have won out if you hadn't been loyal. we are going to make money, as i have told you before, and you boys who have helped to make it are going to get your share." "give 'em a little rough stuff. they'll understand that better than they do this soul business," suggested hippy, and the jacks grinned. "as for spike, he forgot to carry out his threat to resign--" resumed tom. "i quit, and i--" interrupted spike, flushing hotly. "sit down!" commanded hippy, forcing him back into his seat, from which spike had started to rise. "mr. wingate and i have had several talks about affairs here," resumed tom. "among other things, we have decided that we have need of a foreman, a foreman who can get out the work with the new men--you fellows do not need a foreman--and carry out our orders in other directions. before coming here for this little party, we had already decided on a man for the job of foreman, and i, for one, am glad we picked the man we did, but i want you boys to approve of our appointment. what you say _goes_. stand up!" commanded tom gray sternly, fixing his gaze on the red-headed jack, who, from sheer force of habit, obeyed that tone instantly. "there's the man i've picked," announced tom, pointing to spike. a dead silence greeted the announcement, a silence broken only by the heavy breathing of the lumberjacks, and the shrill voice of joe shafto back in the cook-house abusing willy horse. "what do you say, fellows?" urged tom quietly. something seeped slowly into the brain of those rough and ready two-fisted lumbermen. to advance a confessed crook to foreman, a man who had bargained to do a traitorous thing to his big boss--it was big, it was unheard of in their rough lives. even the girls of the overland party, not one of whom had known of tom's and hippy's purpose, felt a thrill, but no one spoke. "well, fellows?" urged tom gently. "_yes!_" the word was uttered in a roar, a mighty roar that was heard in the cook-house and by the lumberjacks at their christmas dinner in the old bunk-house. nora wingate, carried away by her emotions, sprang to her feet and threw wide her arms. "boys! boys!" she cried almost hysterically. "you're rough, but you're men--loyal, splendid fellows, and i love you, every one of you!" spike, with burning face, bolted for the door. "come back here!" bellowed hippy wingate. "you've forgotten something," pointing to the gold-piece that lay where emma dean had placed it before spike's plate. "i never did see anyone so careless with money." the red-headed lumberjack returned slowly, picked up the gold-piece and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. "never mind. don't say it," smiled tom. "you may go now." "thankee," mumbled spike, and made a hurried exit. reaching the door, he broke into a run, never pausing until he had plunged deep into the forest, not to return until long after the jacks had turned in for the night. following the new foreman's departure the gifts for overlanders and jacks were quickly distributed, and, half an hour later, on their way to their own camp, the overland riders stepped out into the sparkling night, where, as hippy wingate had said, every tree was a christmas tree, dressed with snapping reflected lights from the moonbeams on the snowflakes. elfreda briggs called attention to a dark object at the top of a great pine. it was henry--henry in disgrace--henry who had stolen a turkey from the cook-house and felt the sting of his master's club across his sensitive nose. june and july disturbed the serenity of the night with two long-drawn, throaty brays. a snow-bird chirped in the foliage somewhere above the overlanders. "what is the little birdie saying, emma girl?" teased hippy. "what is he saying?" answered emma thoughtfully. "i think, hippy, that he is wishing us all a merry, merry christmas and a happy, successful new year." on the following morning spike entered the office of the company where tom gray was at work on the books. "boss," he said, "it ain't right this thing that ye said last night. i been sittin' out thar in the woods all night thinkin'--" "about being made foreman?" questioned tom. "yes. an' 'bout that other thing. when the fellers laughed an' ye said i was 'barin' my soul,' i didn't have no such thing. but cap'n! out thar in the woods, an' god almighty lookin' down and seein' me thar in the moonlight, i found one. mebby ye told him to give it to me, but i got it. i didn't un'erstan' then what ye meant. i do now, an' wanted ye to know it. cap'n! i got er soul!" without giving tom gray opportunity to make fitting reply, spike squared his shoulders and shuffled out and called his gang together. spike's confession and his new job worked a transformation in him. he no longer wore the surly, hang-dog expression of former days; he walked more erectly and his gray eyes boldly met those of any person who addressed him. the manner in which the red-headed foreman drove the work along throughout the winter, overcoming obstacles and winning and holding the respect of the men, confirmed the judgment of tom and hippy that spike was the right man for the job. the girls of the overland party, with joe shafto, henry and the mules, started for home two days later, leaving tom, hippy and the bull pup to remain in the woods until spring. all that winter the big circular saws in the mill far down on the little big branch sang their way through millions of feet of huge logs, cutting them into lumber, and piling up profits for the firm of wingate & gray, while the jacks toiled and abused each other, and all bosses--especially their own--and fought with the jacks from rival lumber camps until the end of the season. each man then received a cash bonus that brought from him a gasp of amazement and a growl of appreciation. willy horse and most of the "original" party of jacks were kept at work on the section all during the next summer, again to resume lumbering operations in the early fall. the further adventures of the overland riders will be related in a following volume, entitled "grace harlowe's overland riders in the high sierras," the story of an eventful summer's outing. the hold-up of the red limited, the capture of an overlander, strange adventures in the crazy lake section, the bowling game above the clouds, the battle with the mountain bandits, and the solving of the mystery of aerial lake, make a story of unexcelled interest and swift action. the end [transcriber's note: extensive research found no evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] penny nichols finds a clue _by_ joan clark the goldsmith publishing company chicago copyright mcmxxxvi by the goldsmith publishing company manufactured in the united states of america contents chapter i. a warning ii. inside the trunk iii. an impulsive act iv. the molberg gang v. penny turns sleuth vi. susan's misfortune vii. an awkward situation viii. a revealing clue ix. a trap x. the vanishing car xi. a threat xii. kidnapped xiii. the raid xiv. brunner's explanation xv. incriminating evidence xvi. a valuable photograph xvii. under the canvas xviii. at the old sawmill xix. trapped xx. penny's triumph penny nichols finds a clue chapter i a warning penny nichols flung open the office door of the nichols detective agency, descending upon a dignified, gray-haired man who was busy at his desk. "dad," she announced, "i've come to report a mysterious disappearance!" christopher nichols dropped the correspondence upon which he was working and regarded his daughter for a moment, his gray eyes flashing an indulgent welcome. "what sort of disappearance?" he inquired cautiously. penny laughed as she opened her purse, disclosing an empty coin container. "it seems to be my allowance again. yesterday i had two dollars. now the old pocketbook is as bare as mother hubbard's cupboard!" mr. nichols' chief interest in life centered about his charming young daughter and he found it hard at times to keep from pampering her. it was especially difficult at this very moment as penny stood there, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously, her full red lips parted in an enticing smile, and a few unruly ringlets of curly golden hair framing her forehead in an artistry both casual and becoming. "now that is a most bewildering case," he agreed with mock seriousness. "i don't suppose that rattle-trap roadster of yours might offer a clue to the mystery?" "i'm afraid it does," penny admitted. "only this time i indulged in seat covers instead of spare parts. as a result i'm flat broke. and i'm to meet susan altman at the tennis courts in ten minutes." mr. nichols smiled indulgently as he reached into his pocket for a roll of bills. "i'll come to the rescue this time, young lady, but mind, i'm charging it up to next week's allowance." "that's fair enough." carelessly, penny picked up several papers from the desk, studying them curiously. "what's this? a new case?" her father nodded as he quickly retrieved the documents. "i've been hired by the reliance insurance company to track down a gang of auto thieves." "sounds interesting." "unless i miss my guess it will prove a baffling case. i am afraid we may have to postpone our vacation trip to the mountains, penny." "can't you arrange to capture the bold, bad men a little ahead of schedule?" penny bantered. "i wish it would prove as simple as that." "it seems a shame to give up the vacation, because you've worked so hard lately. you really need a long rest." "we'll both take it when this case is solved," mr. nichols promised. "run along now, for i'm particularly busy." not in the least offended by the abrupt dismissal, penny blew her father an impudent kiss as she went out the door. since the death of mrs. nichols many years before, penelope and her father had lived together in a large white house on hilburn street with only mrs. gallup, an elderly housekeeper, to see that the establishment ran smoothly. it was not surprising that under such an arrangement the fifteen-year-old girl enjoyed rare freedom. yet penny never abused her privileges and she enjoyed the complete confidence of her father. penny owned her own roadster and drove it well. to be sure, the car was a second-hand model, but one of which she was very proud, for she had paid for it herself by teaching swimming at the y.w.c.a. automobiles, penny discovered to her chagrin, had an unpleasant way of breaking down at odd moments, and for that reason her expense account usually was far ahead of her allowance. occasionally, mr. nichols came to her rescue with very acceptable gifts of tires and spare parts. reaching the tennis court, penny parked her car on a near-by street. she found susan altman, her chum, already awaiting her. "it's almost too hot today for tennis," the dark-haired girl complained as she took her position at the baseline of the cement court, preparing to serve the first ball. for two long hours the girls battled back and forth. although usually they were well matched, upon this particular day susan found herself unable to cope with her companion's sizzling service and well-placed drives. finally, after completely missing a ball which penny had sent over the net with bullet-like speed, she threw down her racquet in disgust. "i've had enough punishment! that makes the third straight set you've won." "it's getting almost too dark to see the ball," penny said generously. "shall we call it an evening and finish off with something to eat?" they crossed over to eby's café, a favorite haunt of belton city's younger set. the booths were quite deserted. "everyone seems to have gone away for the summer," susan mourned as she pondered over the menu. "i suppose you'll be leaving soon too, penny." "no chance of it, i'm afraid. dad has become involved in a new case which may keep us in town indefinitely." "i wish my father were a detective," susan commented a trifle enviously. "it's too bad about the vacation of course, but your life is exciting at least." it seemed to her that penny always led an unhampered, adventurous existence. at any rate, the girl was well acquainted with interesting happenings at the belton city police court and had more than a nodding acquaintance with fascinating personages of the city. "i've never had any real adventures," penny declared gloomily. "unfortunately, dad is a little secretive about his sleuthing activities. i'd give anything to know about this latest case----" her voice trailed off for the two girls had heard a shrill warning whistle which they instantly recognized as the fire siren. although they had not even begun their suppers they rushed to the plateglass window to watch the red engine clatter by. "why, it's turning down our street!" susan exclaimed. "oh, i hope our house isn't afire!" "let's jump in my car and follow," penny proposed. they hurriedly left the café. penny had parked her roadster just out of sight around the corner. but as they viewed the car, they both stopped short in amazement. "the rear wheel is gone!" susan gasped. "surely that can't be your roadster, penny!" it had grown quite dark outside and for an instant both girls believed they had made a mistake in identifying the car. yet one glance at the license number assured them that they had made no error. a daring thief had jacked up the rear axle, stealing an almost new wheel which penny's father had purchased for her only the previous week. an inspection disclosed that the spare wheel also had been taken. "i never heard of such an outrage!" penny stormed. "why, we couldn't have been in that café fifteen minutes! the theft was accomplished almost under our eyes!" "i hope the loss is covered by insurance," susan said anxiously. "i don't know whether it is or not. dad looks after everything like that. oh, dear, unless i can get in touch with him, we're practically stranded here." although the girls were only a short distance from mr. nichols' office they were nearly a mile from their homes. the roadster had been parked several blocks from a street car line. "we won't be able to learn about the fire either," susan worried. "i wonder if it could have been at our house?" "it isn't likely, but let's telephone and make certain." even as she spoke they heard the fire engine returning from its recent run. "it couldn't have been much of a fire," susan commented in relief. "at least it's out now." "i'll see if i can get in touch with dad," penny offered. she was relieved to find mr. nichols still at his office. after listening to an excited account of all that had befallen, he promised to come over immediately and take charge of the stripped roadster. ten minutes later he drove up in his sedan. "this isn't as unfortunate as it appears," he told the downcast penny. "the loss is completely covered by insurance. besides, i have a dark suspicion that this little job was handled by the same gang of men i am after. i may glean a few valuable clues." after making a brief inspection of the car mr. nichols turned his own sedan over to penny, directing her to take it home while he attended to the stripped roadster and reported to the police. susan had promised to spend the night at the nichols home, so the girls drove directly toward the house on hilburn street. despite mr. nichols' matter-of-fact attitude regarding the theft, they considered it an event of major importance. they were so absorbed in an animated discussion of the affair that they were taken completely by surprise when a policeman held up his hand for penny to stop. "now what have i done?" she murmured in alarm, bringing the sedan to a sudden halt at the curbing. "i hope i haven't crashed a light." the officer stepped up to the car window. "aren't you miss nichols?" he questioned. "why, yes, i am." penny was slightly relieved at his tone. "i recognized your car and knew you lived in the neighborhood. i thought i'd give you a friendly warning." "a warning? i don't understand." "we're on the lookout for a crook who vanished somewhere in this vicinity," the officer explained. "in fact, he ran through the hedge which borders your place." "did you search the grounds?" penny asked with interest. "yes, but he made his get-away. i just thought i'd tip you off to be careful." "we'll be on the lookout," penny promised. "thanks for telling us." the officer moved aside and she drove on again. "i've had almost enough excitement for one evening without encountering a desperado," susan declared with a little shiver as they approached the nichols residence. "i wonder why they're after the man?" "he's probably a jail breaker," penny returned carelessly. susan studied her chum admiringly. "you're the most casual person i ever knew, penelope nichols. didn't that warning give you the creeps?" "to tell you the truth i didn't think much about it. the man would be miles from here by this time." nevertheless, as she turned the car into the gravel driveway, penny's keen gaze swept the dark grounds. susan likewise surveyed the yard anxiously. suddenly she uttered a low cry, nervously clutching her companion's arm. "i saw a shadow just then!" she whispered tensely. "i do believe someone is hiding in the lilac bushes!" chapter ii inside the trunk penny instantly halted the car on the driveway, peering in the direction which her chum indicated. "i don't see anyone," she insisted. "perhaps the shadow you saw was caused by that big tree." she pointed to a large oak which shaded the rear porch of the nichols' home. its swaying boughs did produce grotesque silhouettes upon the path near the lilac bushes. "you may be right," susan admitted reluctantly. "only i was almost positive i saw someone." "i think your nerves are a tiny bit on edge to-night," penny laughed. even so she was not quite sure susan was mistaken. she drove the sedan into the dark garage. as she was preparing to close the heavy double doors she thought she heard a step on the gravel path. "is that you, mrs. gallup?" she called. there was no answer. "i _was_ right," susan whispered tensely. "someone is prowling about the grounds." "there's no one about," penny maintained after peering carefully around. "probably i imagined that i heard footsteps. come on, let's go to the house." it was reassuring to see a light burning in the kitchen. the window shades had not been drawn and from the outside, mrs. gallup could be observed washing dishes. as the girls came in she greeted them in obvious relief. "i'm so glad you're back, penny. i was beginning to be afraid that something had happened to you." "quite a bit did happen," penny laughed. "by the way, you haven't seen anyone prowling about the yard this evening, have you?" "why, no, i've been so busy that i've scarcely glanced out the window. early this afternoon a tramp stopped at the door for food. after i gave him a sandwich he went off. i hope he hasn't come back to make trouble." "oh, no," penny assured her quickly, "i'm sure there's no need for alarm." "then why did you ask?" penny was forced to relate what the policeman had told her, although she realized that the warning would worry the housekeeper. "dear me, i don't feel safe with your father gone. to think that so much has been going on around here and i didn't know a thing about it! why, i haven't even locked the doors!" "i doubt that it will be necessary now," penny said, peering into the refrigerator to see what she could find for a belated supper. "dad will soon be home anyway." "i'm going to lock all the doors and windows this minute," mrs. gallup insisted firmly. "with so much silverware in the house, it isn't wise to take any chance." lowering the window blinds in the dining room, the housekeeper went directly to the buffet, removing a quantity of choice silverware which had been in the nichols family for several generations. leaving the girls to forage their own supper, she carried the box upstairs, intending to lock it in her own bureau drawer. returning again to the lower floor she scurried about closing doors and slamming down windows. "since she's bent upon doing such a thorough job, i suppose i should help," penny remarked to her chum. "finish your supper while i lock the back door." "don't forget to set out the milk bottle before you barricade us in," susan laughed. penny picked the bottle up from the kitchen table and crossed the porch to place it on the step. it took her so long outside that susan came to the door to learn what detained her. she was astonished to behold penny standing as rigid as a statue, her eyes riveted upon the garage door. "what's wrong?" susan inquired. "didn't i close that door when i put the car away?" penny demanded in a low tone. "why, yes, i'm sure you did. the wind must have blown it open." penny shook her head. "the door has a special catch so i know it couldn't have opened by itself. susan, i believe someone has sneaked into the garage since we left it!" susan's eyes dilated with fear. involuntarily, she took a step backwards, turning toward the kitchen door. penny caught her by the hand. "don't tell mrs. gallup or she'll go into hysterics. let's find out if there really is anyone in the garage before we call the police." at first susan hung back, but when she found that penny was determined to investigate the garage alone, she reluctantly followed her chum down the path. cautiously, they peeped into the garage. it appeared to be deserted. "i'll get dad's flashlight from the sedan pocket," penny whispered. she tiptoed across the cement floor. groping about inside the car she found the light, but before she could turn it on she was startled to hear a slight sound overhead. penny's heart began to beat a trifle faster. she was almost certain that someone was hiding in the little room above the garage. in former years it had been occupied by a chauffeur whom mr. nichols employed, but now that the detective drove his own car it was used only for the storage of a few old boxes and trunks. "don't you dare go up there!" susan whispered tensely, sensing the thought in her chum's mind. "it isn't safe." "it's safe enough if you stand guard here at the door," penny insisted. "if anything goes wrong scream for mrs. gallup." before susan could stop her she tiptoed across the cement floor and quietly crept up the stairway leading to the storage room. reaching the top step penny paused to listen. she could hear no unusual sound, yet a certain intuition warned her that someone was in the room. systematically, she flashed the beam of her light over the walls. nothing appeared amiss. "my imagination is running riot tonight," she thought in disgust. "there's no one here." she started toward the stairway, but paused, unable to rid herself of the conviction that all was not as it should be. then her light chanced to focus for an instant upon an old trunk in one corner of the room. beside it in a crumpled heap lay an old rug. from her father penny had learned to be an unusually keen observer. she was positive that upon her last visit to the storeroom, the carpet had covered the trunk, protecting it from dust. summoning her courage, she cautiously approached the trunk. she paused to listen again. distinctly, she could hear the sound of soft breathing. suddenly she flung back the lid. a man cowered inside. "don't make a move," penny warned coolly, blinding him with the light. protected as she was by the darkness, he could not know that she had no weapon. "don't shoot!" he pleaded, stepping from the trunk with hands held above his head. it was then that penny observed that her prisoner was a mere boy. he did not appear to be more than a year or two older than herself. "march down the stairs in front of me and don't try any tricks," she ordered, trying to keep her voice steady. she had grown a little frightened at her own daring. it appeared reasonable to suppose that the youth she had captured was the same crook whom the police had warned her against and yet the boy seemed too young to be a hardened criminal. penny decided upon a bold move. "susan, stand guard at the outside door," she directed. as her chum took the position, penny reached up and switched on the garage light. "i have no weapon," she admitted, knowing that the youth had perceived the fact instantly. "but it will do you no good to try to escape for the police are combing the neighborhood." her words had the desired effect. blinking in the unexpected glare of the light, the young fugitive shrank back against the wall, his face twisted by fear. "do they suspect i'm here?" he questioned. "have they surrounded the district?" "i talked with an officer only a few minutes ago," penny answered truthfully. "he advised me that our property was being watched." she was studying the boy with increasing interest. he was exceedingly well dressed and while his garments were in need of pressing they fitted him perfectly, disclosing a fine physique. he had broad shoulders and powerful muscles. it struck penny that he looked more like a football player than a crook. yet, as she studied his face, she realized that it lacked character. "don't turn me over to the police," the boy begged. "i've done nothing wrong." "then why were you hiding in my garage?" "it's true the police were chasing me," he admitted reluctantly, "but they mistook me for someone else." "if you weren't guilty why did you run?" penny demanded suspiciously. "why didn't you wait and explain?" "you can't explain to a cop," the boy told her with a scornful curl of his lip. "you see, i have a juvenile court record--it doesn't amount to much but the police won't give me a chance. i've been trying to go straight, but every move i make they watch me." "tell me your name." the boy hesitated, then said quietly: "jerry barrows." "i mean your real name," penny smiled. a telltale flush crept over the youth's face, but he threw back his head a trifle defiantly. "it is my real name. i'm no thief either. i admit i've been in a little trouble before this, but today it wasn't my fault. another fellow and myself were standing in a crowd when an old lady let out a holler that someone had picked her pocketbook. the police came running. they spotted me right off. i hadn't been near the old lady, but she was so excited she was ready to identify anyone. when the cops tried to arrest me on suspicion i took to my heels." "what sort of juvenile court record do you have?" penny asked. "nothing of consequence. once i was in a gang that took some apples from a pushcart. it was done in fun, but the judge put me on probation on account of it." penny occasionally had visited juvenile court sessions and in many respects the stories she had heard there corresponded to jerry barrows' account of his difficulties. yet in some ways his tale did not ring true. obviously, he was trying to convey the impression that he had never had a chance and yet he wore expensive clothing. she suspected too that he had been educated in a school fully as good as the one she attended. "i am sorry, but i must turn you over to the police," she told him. "i don't believe your story. it doesn't hang together." a strange change came over the boy's face. the last trace of arrogance left him as he turned pleading eyes upon the two girls. "i lied about my name," he admitted, "but i did it because i want to protect my mother. if she learns that i am in trouble again it will kill her. please, won't you let me go free?" even as the boy spoke, his eyes were roving to the door. it would not be difficult for him to overpower the two girls and escape if he really chose. "if i should let you go will you promise not to get into any more trouble?" penny asked suddenly. the boy nodded. "i'll find a job and keep straight." "would you really work if you had a position?" penny questioned. "would i? just try me!" "then i'm going to turn you loose," she decided. "come to my father's office tomorrow at nine o'clock. i'll ask him to help you find a position." "where is his office?" the boy inquired. "in room of the leader building. you'll see his name on the door. christopher nichols." "nichols, the detective?" the boy questioned uneasily. "yes, but you needn't be afraid he'll turn you over to the police. wait now, and i'll see if the coast is clear." opening the garage door a tiny crack, penny peered out. as she had expected there were no officers lingering about the neighborhood. "it's safe to leave," she informed. he started away, then paused and offered his hand to penny. "thanks for giving me a break," he told her gratefully. "i really meant what i said about going straight." with that he darted through the open door and was lost in the night. chapter iii an impulsive act "i don't know why i let him escape," penny said self-accusingly as she closed the garage doors. "i simply did it on the impulse of the moment." "one couldn't help liking the boy," susan declared optimistically. "do you suppose he'll keep his promise and come to see your father?" "if he doesn't i'll know i made a silly mistake. i hope they can't put me in jail for permitting criminals to escape!" "you might look very well in stripes," susan teased. "they would never become me because i'm too plump." penny was in no mood to respond to the attempted banter. "i wonder what dad will say when he learns about it," she mused uncomfortably. she did not have long to speculate for as the girls turned toward the house mr. nichols came down the walk. "i can't get in at the front door," he complained good naturedly. "has mrs. gallup locked up the place for the summer?" penny explained what had happened but as she repeated jerry barrows' story it sounded flat and a trifle ridiculous. she was not surprised that her father listened incredulously. "why were the police searching for the boy?" he questioned. "i didn't learn," penny confessed. "i have only the boy's word." "and yet you expect me to find him a job?" mr. nichols demanded gruffly. "if he ever shows up--which he won't--i'll turn him over to the authorities." "oh, dad, you wouldn't, not after i gave my promise that you'd help him!" "why should i assist you in thwarting justice?" mr. nichols questioned severely. penny could not see that his eyes were twinkling. "are you trying to ruin my reputation as a detective?" "i didn't mean to do anything that might embarrass you, only i couldn't bear the thought of turning the boy over to the police. he was so young." "i was only teasing," mr. nichols told her kindly. "if the boy does come to my office i'll have a talk with him." "but you don't really think he'll come?" "i have no way of knowing, penny. i must admit i'll be rather surprised if he appears." penny relapsed into moody silence as she walked toward the house with mr. nichols and her chum. she had begun to regret her hasty action. "i left your roadster at a downtown garage," mr. nichols commented, switching to a different subject. "i notified the police that the wheels had been stolen but i did not have time to see the insurance company. i can attend to it in the morning unless you care to do it yourself." "i may as well," penny agreed listlessly. she was feeling very gloomy indeed. although her father had refrained from blaming her, she knew that he was amused if not annoyed at her behavior. above all else, she coveted his admiration. "cheer up," he said lightly as the three entered the house. "what if you did make a slight blunder? all detectives must learn by experience." "a fine detective i'd make!" penny sniffed. "i fail at the very first test. i'm just soft hearted i guess." "part of the blame should fall on me," susan declared. "jerry barrows didn't seem in the least like a criminal, mr. nichols. i was impressed with his story too." "i feel sure he must have been a very persuasive talker," the detective smiled. "however, i don't consider that either of you committed any great crime in permitting the boy to escape so i shouldn't worry about it now that the deed is done." mr. nichols regarded the incident as closed, but mrs. gallup had heard enough of the conversation to surmise a little of what had happened. in response to her questions, the girls were forced to relate the entire story. "penelope nichols, i never thought you'd do such a silly, foolhardy thing!" the housekeeper said severely. she felt it her privilege to be outspoken for she regarded the girl almost as a daughter. "why, that young criminal might have killed you! and to think you let him get away without even making an effort to call the police!" "i'm sorry about it now, mrs. gallup, but i thought i was acting for the best. please, let's not talk about it any more this evening." the subject had grown very painful to both susan and penny. they interested themselves in backgammon and as soon as they could do so gracefully, went to their bedroom. "i'll never hear the last of it unless that boy shows up at father's office tomorrow," penny groaned as she tumbled into bed. "i feel positively ill over the affair." at breakfast the next morning she was her usual cheerful self. she even dared to hope that jerry barrows would keep his promise. "you'll be at your office all morning, won't you, dad?" she questioned anxiously. "all morning," he repeated, smiling quizzically at her over his newspaper. "if your young friend calls upon me i'll telephone you." directly after breakfast susan insisted that she must return home as her mother would be expecting her. "i'll walk along with you," penny offered. "i promised father i'd stop at the insurance office this morning." at the altman residence the girls parted. penny continued downtown alone. mr. nichols had furnished her with the address of the reliance insurance company and she experienced no difficulty in locating the office. after stating her mission she was ushered immediately into the presence of a portly gentleman who adjusted insurance claims. she was not surprised to learn that her name already was known to him. "so you are christopher nichols' daughter?" the man remarked with interest. "we think very highly of your father here. in fact, his work has so impressed us that we have engaged him to assist us in stamping out this gang of auto accessory thieves. but of course you already know that." "my father did mention something about it," penny murmured. "of late the gang has been extending its activities," the adjuster went on, warming to his subject. "why, last night alone, over thirty thefts of car wheels were reported to the police." "thirty!" penny gasped. "and i imagined i was the only one to have such bad luck." "quite the contrary. you merely chanced to be one of the victims of a systematic combing of the city. nearly all of the wheels were taken in a relatively small downtown area. now, in all probability there will be a lull in the activities for a few weeks. then the gang will make another large haul." "but when the wheels are taken in such numbers i should think it would be easy to trace them," penny ventured. the adjuster shook his head. "for the most part the wheels are trucked to other cities for disposal. the serial numbers are altered and the stolen goods is sold and distributed to dishonest dealers almost before the authorities are aware of the thefts. the police have been unable to cope with the situation." the adjuster smiled broadly, adding: "now that your father is on the case, we're expecting a little action." "i'm sure he'll provide it," penny declared loyally. the adjuster reached for a form book, and after asking a few routine questions concerning the stolen wheels, wrote out an order which permitted her to have them replaced free of charge at the garage where her roadster had been towed. penny thanked him for the prompt service and left the office. since she was eager to have her car in operating condition with the least possible delay, she carried the order directly to the hamilton garage. a courteous attendant promised that he would have the roadster equipped and ready for the road within a few minutes. "you'll need a new standard for the spare too," he advised as she stood viewing the crippled car. "when the wheel was stolen, the thief didn't bother to take it off. instead he cut the standard with some sharp instrument. probably with a little hand power saw." "isn't that a new method?" penny inquired with interest, walking around the car to view the severed pieces of metal. "we're getting quite a few cars in here that way," the attendant returned as he unbolted the ruined tire standard and tossed it into a corner. while the man fastened a new wheel upon the rack, penny went over and curiously picked up the discarded scraps of metal. she noted the jagged marks which the saw had left. "i wonder if dad might not make use of this," she thought. "i'll take it along anyway." somewhat to the amusement of the garage man, she carefully placed the pieces of steel in the rear compartment of the car. penny had heard her father remark that many times it was possible to trace a crook by the tools he used. once mr. nichols had apprehended a kidnapper by means of a ransom note which had been written upon a typewriter with a characteristic imprint. penny hoped that the scraps of metal might upon scientific analysis disclose the type of instrument which had been employed by the thief to sever the tire standard. "i'll drive directly to dad's office and see if he can make use of any of these old pieces," she decided. although the errand provided an excellent excuse, the real purpose of her call was to learn if jerry barrows had kept his appointment. mr. nichols was busy in the inner office when penny arrived, but miss arrow, the efficient secretary, told her that she might go in. she found the detective engrossed in studying a group of photographs and their accompanying bertillon records. "trying to brush up on who's out and why?" penny asked banteringly. mr. nichols nodded as he offered a photograph for her inspection. "this is one of the men who i think may be involved in the automobile accessory thefts." "not a very pretty face," penny commented. "no, and 'rap' molberg hasn't a very pretty record either. he's served several terms in the pen, though usually he's a little too smart to have anything proven against him. rap is the ringleader of the well known molberg gang. it begins to look as if the outfit had extended its activities to belton city." "is this rap's description?" penny inquired, indicating the bertillon record which lay upon the desk. it consisted of a bewildering array of figures. . . . . . . - hgt oa tr hl hw "can you decipher it?" mr. nichols smiled. "i know the hgt stands for height and tr for trunk, but what are the other abbreviations?" "oa means outer arm," the detective explained. "hl represents head length and hw indicates the head width. of course all the measurements are reduced to meters, centimeters, and millimeters." "it looks complicated." "not after you become accustomed to it. for instance, i can see at a glance that rap molberg is five feet and seven-eighths inches tall--or as it appears in bertillon--one meter, sixty-seven centimeters and six millimeters." "i don't believe i'll ever care to be a detective," penny smiled. "it's too much like studying the multiplication table!" "crime detection is a scientific profession----" mr. nichols began, but penny cut him short. "tell me, did jerry barrows come to interview you this morning?" "no, and i very much fear we'll never see the young man. i made a point of looking up his juvenile court record and find he has none." "then he must have given me a false name." "i suspect he did, penny." "i guess it was silly of me to trust him. i didn't exactly believe his story at the time, and yet he seemed like a rather decent sort too." "i'd not worry about it any more," mr. nichols said kindly. "i'm afraid i've just done another foolish thing too," penny declared. she then told him about the severed wheel rack. "why, i'd like to examine those pieces of metal," the detective said with interest. "what did you do with them?" "they're in the roadster. i parked the car in front of the office." "then i'll just go down and get them," mr. nichols decided. "i should have inspected the car more carefully last night but i was in a hurry. wait here and i'll be back in a minute." during her father's absence, penny amused herself by looking through some of the books on his desk. there were several weighty volumes devoted to criminology and law. she found them dull and turned with more interest to the photograph of rap molberg. he had the appearance of a typical man from the underworld. his eyes were hard and glaring; there were sullen, cruel lines about his mouth. the only unusual mark of identification was a long jagged scar across his left cheek. in the outside office, a telephone rang. penny heard miss arrow answer the call. apparently, the secretary was unaware that mr. nichols had stepped from the office, for she said: "just a minute, please. i will connect you with him." an instant later the telephone at penny's elbow jangled. she took the receiver from its hook intending to explain to the caller that mr. nichols had left the office. before she could speak, a cold, precise masculine voice came to her over the wire. "just a little warning, mr. nichols!" the words clipped into her ear. "lay off the molberg gang or else----" penny heard a receiver click. the wire had gone dead. chapter iv the molberg gang penny signaled frantically for the operator's attention. it seemed minutes before the telephone girl responded mechanically: "number please." "i was disconnected with my party," penny informed tensely. "see if you can trace the call. it is very important." "just a minute please." there was another long wait, then the telephone operator informed penny that the call could not be traced. it had been made from a pay station. mr. nichols entered the office just as penny hung up the phone. "anything wrong?" he asked quickly, noticing the expression on her face. penny repeated the warning message. "well, it looks as if i'm on the right trail," mr. nichols declared, not in the least disturbed. "i'd have preferred that the molberg gang hadn't learned i was shadowing them, but such news travels fast through underground channels." "i'm afraid some of those dreadful men may harm you," penny said anxiously. "promise me you'll be careful." "i am always careful, my dear, but i refuse to go around wearing a bullet proof vest. this isn't the first warning telephone call i've received." "i suppose not," penny sighed. "but i should think that if the members of the molberg gang know you have been assigned to the case, it would be hard to secure evidence against them." "it won't be easy," the detective agreed. "however, i flatter myself that i have a few trained investigators whose activities will never be suspected." "you mean they mingle with underworld characters and try to gain their confidence?" "yes, that's the usual plan. when i locate rap molberg i'll have him constantly shadowed." "i've never seen many of your assistants around the office," penny remarked. "naturally not," mr. nichols smiled. "if they came here to report, every crook in belton city would be aware of it within an hour." "then how do you keep in touch with your men?" penny asked curiously. "there are a few secrets which i must keep to myself. aren't you taking a rather sudden interest in my work, penny?" "perhaps i am. since my car wheels were stolen i feel personally concerned in the case. i wish i could do something to help." mr. nichols became grave. "there is nothing you can do, penny. the last thing in the world that i could wish would be to have you involved in the case. in fact i've been worried for fear----" "for fear of what?" penny demanded as her father checked himself. "i've been afraid that the molberg gang might attempt to strike at me through you. until this case is finished you must be very careful." "i'll be careful, although even for you i refuse to go around wearing a bullet proof vest," penny grinned, paraphrasing his previous words. "anyway, it might be exciting to be kidnapped." "if you talk like that i see i must assign someone to keep watch over you." "it won't be necessary," penny assured him hastily. "i promise to stop, look and listen before i make any rash moves." as if to demonstrate, she tiptoed to the door, opened it cautiously, peered forth at miss arrow who was busy at her typewriter, and then with a casual "goodbye" flung over her shoulder, was gone. the following week was an uneventful one in the nichols household. as was usually the way when mr. nichols became involved in an important case, meals were served at odd hours and often the detective did not come home at all for lunch or dinner. penny complained that she never saw her father. certainly she heard very little concerning the work he was doing for the insurance company. on a wednesday afternoon she was in the back yard washing her roadster with the garden hose when susan altman came running up to relate a bit of news. "penny, the most wonderful thing has happened!" "what?" "i'm to have a car for my birthday present!" "not really!" "yes, i am. i've been saving money for two years, but i never made much headway. father always thought i was too young to have a car too until this summer." "what made him change his mind?" "mother, i guess. you see she has to have the family car a great deal, but nothing would induce her to drive it herself. i'm to have the new automobile as my very own providing i take mother wherever she wishes to go." "that should be an easy condition to meet," penny smiled. "what kind of car are you going to get?" "i don't know yet. i thought perhaps you'd help me select it." "i'd love to. after running this old bus for nearly three years i consider myself quite an authority on cars." "i can buy any low priced model i wish," susan went on enthusiastically. "what color shall i get?" "one that doesn't show the dirt," penny advised promptly as she coiled up the hose and put it away. "it seems to me that i spend half my time trying to keep this animal of mine presentable." "i thought i might like blue," susan ventured. "i don't suppose you'd have time to go with me now and look at a few models, would you?" "of course i'll go! wait until i change into more presentable clothes." penny darted into the house, returning in a few minutes. "where are you going to buy your car?" she questioned. "father told me to go to the brunner garage on second street." "i'll drive you there in the roadster," penny offered. at the brunner salesrooms a few minutes later the girls were greeted by the manager, george brunner. he was a tall, thin man with sharp black eyes. when he spoke to his employees his manner was overbearing and haughty, but in the presence of the two girls he beamed and smiled and hung upon their words. he talked glibly as he piloted them from one shiny new car to another. presently susan found herself hypnotized by a blue coupé. after mr. brunner had taken the girls a ride in a similar model, she whispered to penny that she thought she would buy the car. "why don't you look around at a few other places first," penny suggested. "you might make a better deal." "i'm afraid to wait for fear father will change his mind. besides, this is exactly the type of car i like." penny refrained from saying more, but she was sorry that her chum seemed determined to make such a hasty transaction. for some reason she had taken an instant dislike to george brunner. susan, however, noticed nothing amiss in his manner and listened spellbound as he talked glowingly of the little blue coupé. "i think i'll take it," susan decided hesitatingly. "could i drive it away?" "certainly," the manager beamed, steering her gently toward the inner office. "just step inside and we'll fill out the necessary papers." almost before she was fully aware of what she was doing, susan had written a check in payment for the car and had signed the usual legal papers. "do you think i've made an awful mistake?" she asked penny nervously while they sat waiting for the car to be serviced. "it's a beautiful model, susan. and if it operates even half as well as mr. brunner claimed, it should be a wonderful bargain." "you didn't like that man very well, did you?" "no," penny responded shortly. "the brunner garage is supposed to be one of the best in belton city." "i know it is. i haven't a thing against mr. brunner except that i don't care for his manners." the discussion ended for the manager had returned to announce that the new car was ready to leave the garage. "i am sure you will find it perfectly satisfactory, miss altman," he beamed. "but in the event that anything _should_ go wrong don't hesitate to call upon us." "i'll remember that," susan said. with penny beside her to offer advice, she drove the coupé from the garage. turning out into second street she narrowly missed being struck by a truck which was traveling at a high rate of speed. "better get out into the country until you've had an opportunity to become accustomed to handling the car," penny suggested. "that's a good idea," susan agreed. "i don't want to wreck the thing before i drive it home." after an hour of straight driving on a deserted road, she became quite dexterous at operating the gears. when she felt entirely confident of her ability to handle the car in any emergency, the girls drove back into the city. they parted at the brunner garage where penny had left her own roadster. "thanks for helping me select the car," susan told her chum gratefully. "i didn't have much to do with it," penny smiled. "but it's a fine looking automobile. i wish i had one half as nice." "i'll let you drive mine whenever you like," susan offered generously. when penny reached home it was nearly dinner time. mrs. gallup was busy in the immaculate green and white kitchen, frosting an angel food cake. "any mail for me this afternoon?" penny inquired, pausing to scrape up a generous spoonful of fudge from the frosting pan. "i declare, i've been too busy all day to even think of the mail." "i'll look." penny went to the box at the front door. there were three letters. two for mr. nichols and one for herself. the latter was addressed in pencil on a cheap yellow envelope. "wonder who it's from?" she thought with interest. quickly, she ripped open the envelope, glancing at the signature which had been signed at the bottom of the brief note. "jerry barrows!" she exclaimed. eagerly she read the message. "sorry i couldn't keep the appointment with mr. nichols," the boy had written. "tell your father to be on guard. his life is in danger." chapter v penny turns sleuth mr. nichols did not have a great deal to say regarding the note which penny read to him later that evening at the dinner table. "don't let it worry you," he advised. "just put it away for future reference and forget about it." "future reference?" "yes, it's always wise to keep such communications. one never knows when a sample of handwriting might prove useful." "i'm sure jerry barrows must have some good qualities or he'd never have sent the message. don't you think so, dad?" "perhaps. it's obvious the boy was afraid to talk with me." "but why should he warn you that your life is in danger? do you think he could know anything concerning the molberg gang?" "it isn't likely, but he may have some underworld connection." "i'm getting more nervous every day," penny declared. "i'll never feel very easy until all the members of that gang are captured." "it may be a more difficult task than i at first believed," her father remarked, frowning. "i know that rap molberg is hiding somewhere in the city but so far none of my investigators have been able to trace him." "perhaps he's through causing trouble," penny said hopefully. "he'll make enough when the time comes." "i've not heard of any automobile thefts or anything of the sort for several days." "that's just it. things have been altogether too quiet. it's like a lull before the storm. a bad sign." mr. nichols abruptly left the table. he walked to the door, then came back. "i must go downtown again this evening, penny," he said regretfully. "i'll leave the telephone number of my new office in the event you should need to reach me. it isn't listed in the 'phone book,' of course." "your new office?" penny demanded. "what became of your old one, may i ask?" "it's still there," mr. nichols smiled. "miss arrow has assumed charge, and i've taken up temporary quarters on the tenth floor of the atler building." "isn't that almost directly across from the brunner garage?" "yes, it's located in the downtown theater district. the bulk of the auto accessory thefts have taken place in this relatively small area. from the window of my new office i secure a bird's eye view of all that goes on in nearby streets." "surely you don't expect to catch the thieves in the act of stealing automobile wheels!" penny marveled. "it will be the surest way of gaining a conviction. if a professional crook isn't captured at the scene of his crime, he usually is clever enough to cover his tracks completely. an amateur is seldom so skillful in obliterating clues." "may i visit this new office of yours?" penny asked. "yes, if you use discretion and don't come too often. i have taken the office under an assumed name--john bradford. i shouldn't care to have my real name known for awhile." "i'll be very discreet if i come," penny promised. her father turned to leave. "it must be dull for you here alone at night," he said apologetically. "why don't you take susan to a picture show?" "i think i'll do that," penny agreed. after mr. nichols had left the house, she telephoned susan. mrs. altman answered the call, informing her that her daughter was spending the evening at the home of an aunt. "i may as well go to the show alone," penny decided. one of her favorite movie stars was showing at a neighborhood theater only a few blocks from the nichols home. penny walked the short distance. she thoroughly enjoyed the picture, remaining to see part of it twice. it was a little after nine o'clock when she left the theater. recalling that mrs. gallup had requested her to bring home a pint of ice cream, she crossed the street to the nearest drug store. while she was waiting to be served, a man in grimy workman's clothes slouched into the store. he pretended to interest himself in a cigarette slot machine, but penny noticed that he darted furtive glances at the waiting customers. something about the man's appearance struck penny as peculiar. she conceded that he looked like a day laborer yet his actions and mannerisms were not in keeping. "i've seen him before," she thought. suddenly the picture of rap molberg flashed into her mind. yet as she scrutinized the man a second time she could see only a slight resemblance to the photo her father had shown her. however, as the man moved swiftly to the nearest telephone booth, suspicion began to take root. in identifying underworld characters, photographs were never a certain guide, that penny knew. too often a criminal disguised his appearance. not by false wigs and beards which even a novice detective might note at a glance. rather by altering his features or by adopting costumes commonly seen upon the street. impulsively, penny stepped into a telephone booth adjoining the one which the workman had entered. by leaning close to the wooden panel, she could hear part of the conversation. "that you, jake?" he asked gruffly. "everything's set for the big haul. we're all ready to go ahead whenever the boss gives the word." by this time penny was almost certain that she was listening to the voice of rap molberg. although in general the man did not resemble the photo which she had seen, the color of his eyes and the expression of his mouth were identical. his build seemed to correspond to the figures of the bertillon record. a minute later the man slammed down the telephone receiver and left the booth. penny waited until he was out of the store, then dropped a nickle in the slot. she called the number which her father had given her. there was no response at the other end of the line. "i suppose he's left the office," she thought frantically. "oh, i can't let that man get away." she rushed from the drug store and reached the street just in time to see the workman disappear around a corner. "i wonder if i dare attempt to shadow him?" penny debated. she was a little afraid, yet the streets in the immediate vicinity of the theater were well lighted, and it did not seem too dangerous. turning the corner, she caught sight of the man far ahead. he was walking rapidly. she too quickened her step, but took care not to approach close enough to arouse his suspicion. presently the man paused beside a fine looking automobile which had been parked at the curbing. as he glanced sharply up and down the street, penny pretended to be looking into the window of a jewelry store. actually, she was watching the man's reflection in the glass. she saw him step into the car, take a key from his pocket and turn on the ignition. as he drove away, penny quickly noted down the license number. she glanced hopefully up the street but there was no policeman within sight. a taxi cab driver noticing her agitated expression, cruised close to the curb. penny hailed him. "follow that green car ahead," she directed tersely, climbing in. "don't let it get out of your sight." at the first corner they were held up by a light which was changing from caution yellow to red. risking arrest, the taxi driver crashed it. the green car ahead had picked up speed. it weaved in and out of traffic in a dangerous manner, driven by a man who was both skillful and reckless. the pursuit led into the hilly, crooked streets upon which the older section of belton city had been built. as they raced down first one narrow street and then another, turning corners at a breathless speed, penny suspected that the man had become aware that he was being followed. her driver had increasing difficulty in keeping him in sight. "the right hand turn!" penny cried as the taxi-man hesitated at an intersection. they tore down a dark, twisting street at a break-neck speed. suddenly the driver slammed on his brakes. the thoroughfare had come to an abrupt end. "it's a dead-end," the taximan said in disgust, turning the cab around. "he couldn't have come this way." "i'm sure he did," penny insisted. the street was short and she could see its entire length. the green car had vanished. there were no houses or garages into which the automobile might have turned. on either side of the street stood factory and manufacturing buildings. "shall i try another road?" the driver questioned. "it's no use now. i guess we've lost him. but i was positive that man came this way. i don't see how i lost him." she gave her home address to the driver, and sank back against the cushions, completely disgusted with the turn of events. as penny alighted at her own door, she cast a speculative glance toward the lighted window. if her father had not returned, mrs. gallup was almost certain to ask embarrassing questions concerning her arrival in a taxicab. "and i forgot the ice cream too!" she thought. "i'll have a nice time explaining." however, it was not necessary to give an account of her activities. mrs. gallup met her at the door. "you came just in time, penny. you're wanted on the telephone." "it isn't father?" "no," the housekeeper assured her, "i think it's your chum." "susan?" "yes." mrs. gallup pushed her gently toward the telephone. "the girl seems to be greatly excited over something. do hurry and answer for she's been waiting several minutes now." chapter vi susan's misfortune when penny answered the telephone she heard her chum's agitated voice. "i know i shouldn't bother you so late in the evening," susan began excitedly, "but i've had the worst luck with my new car!" "you haven't been in a collision?" "no, it isn't quite that bad. but i'm stranded on eighth avenue and i can't reach my folks by telephone." "i'll drive over and get you," penny offered. "what's the matter anyway? has the engine balked already?" "the car has been stripped by thieves! i'm so furious i can't even talk about it." "i'll come right over and see for myself," penny declared. pausing only long enough to tell mrs. gallup where she was going, penny backed her roadster from the garage. she located susan not far from eighth avenue and clark, sitting gloomily behind the wheel of her new coupé. as penny drove up she saw that the spare wheel was missing. a spotlight was gone and likewise a reflecting mirror. "the thieves very obligingly left me the steering wheel," susan greeted her friend. "when a person can't park fifteen minutes without having everything stolen, i think it's time for the police to get busy!" "how did you happen to be parked downtown?" penny inquired. "your mother said you had gone to visit an aunt." "i did, but on the way home i stopped at the "y" for a swim. i should have left the car on a lot but i thought i'd save the quarter. now witness the result!" "you still have four tires," penny pointed out. "that's more than they left me." "yes, but they've done something to the engine. it won't start. that's why i called you." penny lifted the hood to look at the motor. susan peered anxiously over her shoulder. "can you tell what's wrong?" "it looks to me as if some of the vital parts are missing. offhand i'd say it was the generator." "what's a generator?" susan asked blankly. "are they very expensive?" "i don't know but i imagine they are. isn't your car covered by insurance, susan?" "no, it isn't. we intended to take it out but we didn't think a few days' delay would make any difference." "thieves seem to favor new cars." "i realize that now," susan said ruefully. "you know, i noticed a rather queer thing as i came out of the "y." a garage service car was standing beside my coupé. it drove away as i came toward it."' "a service car?" penny demanded alertly. "did you see what garage it was from?" "no, i didn't. in fact, i scarcely paid any attention at the time for it wasn't until i had reached my car that i realized it had been stripped." "you must have surprised the thieves in the act!" penny said excitedly. "undoubtedly, they are using the service truck as a front to escape detection." "how do you mean?" "why, they drive up in the truck and pretend to be changing a tire or repairing the engine. passersby notice nothing amiss." "but what if the owner appears?" "they drive away or if actually caught claim that they have made a mistake in identifying the car of a customer." "the driver of the garage truck did act suspiciously," susan admitted. "i was stupid not to jot down the license number." the girls were talking so earnestly that they failed to note the approach of a policeman. he paused to see what was wrong. "wheel stolen?" he asked, surveying the car critically. "the wheel, the generator, and almost everything detachable," susan informed. "i was only gone a few minutes too." "have you reported to headquarters?" susan shook her head. "what's the use?" "you might recover your stolen property," the policeman said optimistically, taking a notebook from his pocket. "your name and address?" susan gave it and furnished such information as she could regarding the theft. "your car wasn't the only one that was stripped in this neighborhood tonight," the officer told her. "not fifteen minutes ago i ran into a similar case." "i think it's time the police did something about it," susan said somewhat crossly. "we're up against a tough gang, miss. our force is small and we can't place a man on every street corner." as the officer continued to make out his report, a girl came running toward the little group. she was about penny's age, though much thinner. her black hair blew in the wind, unrestrained by hat or beret. "oh, father!" she cried in agitation. the policeman turned quickly around. "why, betty, what brings you here?" he questioned in surprise. "i've been following you for two blocks," the girl said breathlessly. "i wanted to----" her voice trailed off. she had noticed susan and penny. slowly her eyes swept over the dismantled car, then they roved to her father with an expression which was akin to panic. "what was it you wanted, betty?" he asked. "it doesn't matter now," she stammered. she added tensely: "father, you're not making out a report!" "certainly, i am." "don't do it," the girl pleaded, gripping his arm. "you know what it may mean. please, for my sake!" penny and susan exchanged a quick glance. they were at a loss to understand the girl's strange attitude. why should she be so troubled because her father was writing out a routine report of a theft? to their relief, the policeman laughed carelessly and went on making out the report. "you're hysterical, betty," he accused. "come, get a grip upon yourself." "i'm sorry," the girl murmured, glancing nervously at penny and susan. "i shouldn't have made such a request." "my daughter is very excitable," the officer said apologetically. "she didn't really mean what she said." there was an awkward pause. penny turned to the girl and questioned kindly: "haven't i seen you somewhere? your face is familiar." "i've watched you swim at the y.w.c.a. pool. you dive beautifully too." "oh, i remember you now! but i don't know your name." "i am betty davis. you've already met my father." "jerome davis," the officer added. "just a sidewalk pounder." the girls smiled at the disparaging remark. penny mentioned her own name. "you're not related to christopher nichols?" the officer asked. "yes, i am his daughter." "you don't say! well, i am glad to make your acquaintance. down at the station they think a lot of your father." "he was on the force many years ago, i believe," penny said politely. "that was before my time, but i'm always hearing about him. he's solved some difficult cases that have baffled our best detectives." penny made a perfunctory response and the officer turned to his daughter. "betty, you shouldn't be out alone so late at night. you must go back home at once." "if you live nearby i'll be glad to take you in my car," penny offered. "i shouldn't like to trouble you," the girl said hastily. "my home is only a few blocks away." "it will be no trouble at all," penny insisted, opening the door of her roadster. "do let me give you a lift." the girl flashed her father an appealing glance. it was obvious to both penny and susan that she was greatly upset about something, yet the officer appeared not to notice. he did not seem to realize that she wished to speak with him privately. "it's very kind of you to take my daughter home, miss nichols," he said quietly. "don't keep them waiting, betty." reluctantly, the girl crowded into the seat beside penny and susan. "i live at st. clair avenue," she informed briefly. as they drove slowly along, penny had an opportunity to study the girl. she was an odd type. serious and certainly not talkative. when drawn into conversation, her answers were given in monosyllables. "she's worrying over something," penny thought. the car halted before a modest brown cottage on st. clair avenue. betty davis alighted. "thank you so much for bringing me home," she told penny gratefully. she hesitated, then added earnestly: "i know you thought it queer because i asked my father not to make that report." "i'm sure you must have had a very good reason," penny returned. "i was overwrought or i shouldn't have made the request. you see, my father is in great danger!" "i don't quite understand." already betty davis felt that she was revealing too much. "i wish i could tell you about it--but i don't dare," she murmured. with that she turned and ran into the house. chapter vii an awkward situation "now just what did she mean by that remark?" susan demanded of her chum as they saw betty davis disappear inside the cottage. "i'm not a mind reader," penny returned with a shrug. "the air seems to be filled with mysteries this evening." she then told of her experience in shadowing the man whom she had believed to be rap molberg. susan listened in amazement. "you must have lost your senses, penny nichols! if you turn up missing some morning, it will be easy to guess the reason why!" "perhaps it was a foolish thing to do. but i thought if i could learn rap molberg's hideout it would be a big help to dad. investigators from the agency have been searching days for that man. "you should leave the job to them then," susan advised severely. "i guess i will," penny said ruefully. "at any rate, i failed at it." after dropping susan off at the altman residence, she drove on to her own home. mr. nichols was nervously pacing the living room floor when penny entered. "i'm glad you're here," he said in relief. "mrs. gallup told me you had gone off after receiving a telephone call. i was afraid it might have been a frame-up." "i went to meet susan. didn't mrs. gallup explain?" "no, but it doesn't matter now. i shouldn't have worried only things have been popping in the city tonight." "the tire theft gang is at work again?" "yes, they made a big haul. when the story gets out, the nichols detective agency isn't going to appear in a very good light." "you haven't been working long on the case, dad." "true, but to date the result of our investigation has been disappointing. this haul tonight has all the earmarks of rap molberg's hand, yet my men can find no trace of him in the city." penny could not restrain her news an instant longer. she half expected that her father would scold her for the taxicab escapade, but to her surprise he became mildly excited. "can you give me an accurate description of the man, penny?" "he was about five and a half feet in height and wore workman's clothes." "undoubtedly, a disguise," the detective interposed. "his eyes were dark. the expression of his mouth was sullen. his teeth were uneven." "did you notice a scar on his cheek?" "no." "the mark isn't really significant, for rap molberg would be clever enough to hide it. did you observe anything more?" "he seemed extremely nervous. and the telephone conversation made me suspicious. oh, yes, when he drove away i copied down the license number." "let me see it," mr. nichols said eagerly. she handed it to him. "penny, you've done a fine piece of work," he praised. "but i let him get away." "you couldn't help that. this license number may make it possible for us to trace him. i'll telephone police headquarters right now and see if they know anything about the car." he sought a telephone in an adjoining room. penny lingered by his elbow while he made the call. after talking for some minutes, he hung up the receiver. "i was afraid we might run into this, penny. the license number which you noted down belongs to a stolen car." "then it won't be of any use to you." "probably not a great deal. but don't feel disappointed. it wasn't your fault that the man got away. he has eluded some very clever investigators." "i had another queer experience when i went to meet susan," penny related. "did you ever hear of a policeman by the name of jerome davis?" "yes, why?" briefly, penny told of her meeting with the officer and his daughter. "i can't comprehend why betty tried to prevent her father from writing out a report of the theft, dad. if such information leaked out it might cost him his position on the force." "i can readily understand that," mr. nichols returned. "jerome davis is in a bad spot already." "just how do you mean?" "in the first place, he has never stooped to play politics. some of his superiors dislike him on that account, although until recently they never questioned his honesty." "has anything ever been proven against him?" "no, but he has been subjected to severe criticism because so many auto accessory thefts have occurred in his district. the situation gives his enemies a fine opportunity to shoot at him." "i suppose that explains why betty didn't want him to report another theft. she was afraid it might cost him his job." "that might be the reason." "it won't be fair if they discharge him on account of something he can't prevent." "life isn't always fair, penny." "what do you think about jerome davis, dad? is it your opinion that he is honest?" "yes, i think he is." mr. nichols abruptly arose. "what you have told me is very interesting, penny. i believe i'll call davis to the house and have a talk with him. he should be off duty soon." telephoning the davis home, the detective left a message that the policeman was to call back at his earliest convenience. "it's too late to get him here tonight," mr. nichols remarked to his daughter. "if he does telephone i'll ask him to come to my office to-morrow." "then i won't hear what he has to say," penny complained. "i'm afraid you wouldn't anyway, my dear. mr. davis would never talk freely if you were present at the interview." "i suppose not--if he knew it. but i might hide in the closet." "that would be a trifle too theatrical for my taste, penny." the doorbell rang sharply. mrs. gallup came from another room to answer it. a moment later she returned to the study where mr. nichols and penny were sitting. "mr. davis to see you," she told the detective. "davis? strange he didn't telephone before coming at such a late hour. but of course i'll see him." reluctantly, penny arose. "i suppose i'll have to go." "no, wait. you really want to hear the interview?" "i most certainly do." "you've earned the right," mr. nichols smiled. "sit over there in the high-back wing chair." deftly he turned it so that the tall back faced the door. as penny sat down he placed a book in her hands and advised her to curl her feet up under her as she often did when she read. in such a position, she was completely screened from the gaze of the caller as he entered the room. no sooner had penny settled herself comfortably than mrs. gallup ushered the officer into the study. she then quietly withdrew. "have a chair," mr. nichols invited cordially. he offered one which would not reveal penny's hiding place. "my daughter told me you had telephoned," jerome davis began a trifle uneasily. "i thought i might as well walk on over and see you. i hope i didn't come too late." "not at all. i seldom retire before midnight. davis, i suppose you wonder why i wanted to talk with you." a grim look had come over the officer's face. "i judge it's about the stolen wheel and generator. i met your daughter this evening." "so she told me. however, what i really wanted to talk to you about was the molberg gang." the officer offered no response. "i don't need to tell you that they are at the bottom of this recent outburst of thievery," the detective went on, eyeing his caller shrewdly. "unless they're captured soon, you'll be in a bad spot, davis." "i'm in one now. i've always tried to be honest and do my duty as i saw it. because of that i'll probably end up without a job." "not if you team along with me and help me to capture this gang. i'll say frankly that since i took this case for the insurance company, i haven't had much cooperation from the police." "i'll be glad to help you all i can, mr. nichols. but i must act cautiously." "you mean for fear of antagonizing your superiors?" "yes, that's the chief reason," jerome davis admitted hesitatingly. "have you another?" mr. nichols probed. "it's this way," the officer informed, growing confidential. "the commissioner seems to think that i've sold out to rap molberg. at least he appears to suspect that i serve as a stool pigeon for the gang, and tip them off as to the best time to pull a job. i've been demoted twice. a self-respecting man would have resigned long ago." "unless he wanted to prove the truth," mr. nichols suggested softly. "that's it," the officer agreed. "i mean to hang on until i'm fired from the force. i've been unlucky because so many jobs have been pulled in my district. i'm working on the case when i'm off duty and one of these days i may get a break." "you spoke of working cautiously. are you afraid to have your superiors know what you are about?" "not exactly. you see, mr. nichols, lately i've been running down a few tips regarding the whereabouts of rap molberg. some of his henchmen have given me a polite warning to mind my own affairs. their threats have terrified my daughter, and my son, jimmie." "then you don't feel that you can push the search?" the detective inquired pointedly. "i intend to go on just as i have," jerome davis maintained firmly. "i expect to do everything in my power to capture rap molberg!" "good!" mr. nichols exclaimed. "i am satisfied that you are the sort of man i can use. if you will work secretly with my investigators, i am confident we shall produce results." "i'll be glad to cooperate in every way i can," the officer promised. they shook hands to seal the agreement. jerome davis turned to leave. "thank you for coming here tonight," the detective said as he escorted the officer to the door. "you will receive instructions from me within a short while. a day or two at the latest." after the door had closed behind the caller, penny arose from her chair. "did you enjoy the interview?" her father asked, smiling. "it was vastly exciting! i thought surely i'd be seen." "mr. davis was too engrossed in our talk to be very observing." "i don't wonder that betty davis worries about her father. i heard him say that he had been threatened by the molberg gang." "yes, davis is in an awkward situation. however, he seems to be a man of courage. i can use him." "i'll be glad when you're through with this case," penny sighed. "i'm worried sick for fear something may happen to you. all these threats----" "forget them," mr. nichols advised. "i've received plenty of them before this and i'm still alive." "but rap molberg----" "forget him too," the detective smiled. "unless you do, i'll be sorry i ever told you about the case. run along to bed now--and pleasant dreams." "nightmares to you!" penny retorted. she slowly mounted the stairs and disappeared into her own room. chapter viii a revealing clue for the next few days penny saw very little of her father. he left the house early in the morning and often did not return at night until after she had retired. meals became something of an ordeal, for either mr. nichols buried himself in a newspaper or allowed the conversation to lapse. "you're as talkative as the sphinx!" penny accused. "is the case going badly?" "not to my knowledge." "is it going well then?" "not especially." "have you found any clue as to the whereabouts of rap molberg?" "not yet." "you're impossible!" penny cried furiously. "it's no use trying to learn a thing from you unless you're in exactly the right mood!" in desperation she sought solace in the companionship of her chum, susan. they attended a great many moving picture shows and developed an enviable tan by swimming outdoors and playing tennis for hours at a time. although penny was permitted complete freedom, mr. nichols had warned her to use caution whenever she left the house at night. on more than one occasion in going downtown or to the home of a friend, she half suspected that she was being followed. she refrained from mentioning her fear to mr. nichols lest he curtail her freedom. but she became more alert and watchful. one afternoon while penny was mowing the yard, susan drove up in her coupé. it was the first time she had used it since the unfortunate night of the theft. she hailed penny joyously. "the old bus is traveling again! it has a new generator and a fine new wheel!" penny inspected the new purchases. "see anything wrong with the wheel?" susan demanded. "not a thing. why?" "i bought it for about half the regular price. i was a little afraid i might have been gipped." penny examined the spare wheel more critically. "it looks exactly like the one dad bought me some time ago for nine ninety-eight. in fact, i'd think it was the same tire--the one that was stolen from me--if i didn't know better." "i only paid four dollars," susan informed proudly. "wasn't it a bargain?" "it looks like it. where did you buy the tire?" "oh, at a little place on south lake street. i don't remember the name." "south lake isn't such a good location," penny said thoughtfully, "i've heard father say that a great many disreputable firms operate there. i know once he traced stolen furniture to a dealer on that street." "i hope i didn't buy a stolen wheel," susan declared. "was that what you had in mind, penny?" "i thought of it right off. but i haven't any reason for saying it. for all i know, your tire may be a legitimate bargain." "i wish there was some way of finding out for certain," susan said anxiously. "let's look for the serial number. the wheel should have one." penny moved closer to inspect the new purchase. "the number is here all right," she acknowledged. "then the tire wasn't stolen," susan said in relief. penny shook her head. "i'm not so sure of that, sue. it looks to me as if these numbers have been changed. wait a minute!" she darted into the house, returning with her father's magnifying glass. using it to study the figures upon the wheel, the girls could plainly see that the numbers had been altered. "to think i'd buy a stolen wheel!" susan exclaimed indignantly. "i'm going right back and tell that dealer a thing or two!" "you can't very well do that. we would be in no position to prove anything." "i suppose you're right," susan admitted. "i'd like to see the establishment where you bought the tire," penny said after a moment's pause. "could you point it out to me?" "yes, i'll take you there now if you like." penny rolled the lawn mower into the garage and climbed into the coupé beside her chum. "how do you like your car by this time?" she inquired as they drove toward south lake street. "not so well. it starts hard and has a funny sound in the engine. in a few days i mean to take it back to the brunner garage for a complete overhaul." south lake street was located in the poorer section of belton city. the neighborhood was noted for its second-hand stores and it was said that sooner or later stolen merchandise found its way into the crowded little shops which lined the narrow thoroughfare. often wares were piled upon the sidewalks to attract an unwary buyer. stoves, cheap tables, and all manner of hardware rubbed elbows with clever brass jugs, imported vases and oriental rugs. presently, susan halted her car in front of a tire shop which was located at the outskirts of "second hand" row. "this is the place," she announced. the owner of the shop, a short, squat little man with beady black eyes, stood at the window. he eyed the girls sharply. "shall we go in?" susan asked. "let's, but we mustn't act as if we suspect anything." assuming a casual attitude, they sauntered into the shop. the dealer recognized susan instantly. on her first visit he had been a trifle too cordial, but now he regarded her shrewdly. "something?" he inquired. "my friend wishes to buy a new wheel," susan informed. "she'd like to see one like i bought yesterday." again the dealer cast a sharp glance at penny. "haven't i seen you in here before?" he asked. penny shook her head. "no, this is the first time i ever came into your store." "i've seen you somewhere," the man muttered. "now, i know! you're christopher nichols' daughter!" he pronounced the name of the detective with a slight sneer. "yes, i am," penny acknowledged reluctantly. "but i'm sure i've never seen you before." "that's quite likely." "then how did you know me?" "that's my business," the dealer retorted shortly. "i am sorry, but i can't do business with you. good day." penny stood her ground. "haven't you any tires for sale?" "not for you, i haven't. you're a snooper just like your father! get out of here!" penny would have carried the argument further, but susan tugged at her sleeve. they hastily left the shop. as they drove away, they saw the dealer standing at the plate glass window, watching. "such a horrible man!" susan gasped. "i was actually afraid of him. what made him act like that?" "i think he must have guessed why we came," penny told her. "as a sleuth i seem to be a walking advertisement of my calling!" "he recognized you the minute you stepped into the store. didn't that strike you as queer?" "yes, it did, susan. i'm almost certain that man is dealing in stolen tires. he's probably afraid of the law. it's to his advantage to recognize plain clothesmen and persons who might cause him trouble, i imagine i've been seen with my father." "i should think the police could arrest him." "it isn't as easy as one might believe, susan. if a fence is caught with stolen merchandise he claims to have purchased it in good faith. actually he has taken it off the hands of some thief. an arrest is hard to make." "then there's nothing we can do?" "i don't know. i'll ask father when he comes home tonight." "i think a fence is even more contemptible than a thief," susan said scornfully. "i'd give anything if i hadn't bought that tire." "i'm glad you did," penny smiled, "for the clue we gained may prove useful to father." the girls were relieved when they reached the end of south lake and turned into a more pleasant street. driving toward their homes they relapsed into a long silence, each absorbed in her own thoughts. there were occasions when the two friends talked frantically for hours. there were other times when they would speak scarcely a word, yet enjoy perfect understanding. penny had slumped in her seat. suddenly, she straightened, her eyes riveted upon a pedestrian who was crossing the street in front of the coupé. "susan, isn't that jerry barrows?" she demanded excitedly. the car swerved wildly as susan turned to look. "it is!" she exclaimed. "stop the car," penny pleaded. "i want to talk with him." susan brought the coupé to a halt at the curbing. penny sprang out. "jerry barrows!" she called. the boy wheeled and saw her. he hesitated an instant, then turned and ran. chapter ix a trap "wait! i want to talk with you!" penny called. the boy paid no heed. as she ran after him he darted into the nearest alley. provoked, penny hastened back to the car where susan was waiting. "let's try to catch him," she proposed, springing in beside her chum. susan turned the coupé in the narrow street and drove into the alley. they could see the boy only a short distance ahead. "we'll overtake him," penny cried jubilantly. aware that he was being pursued, the boy ran faster. then noticing an opening between two buildings, he squeezed through it and was lost to view. penny tried to follow afoot but soon gave it up. she returned to the coupé disheartened. "he eluded us this time, sue. i suppose that boy thought i meant to have him arrested. actually, i only wanted to question him." for some twenty-five minutes the girls cruised around the block, hoping to sight jerry barrows again. although they kept close watch of the alleys he did not reappear. "did you notice anything peculiar about that boy's appearance?" penny inquired as they turned toward home. "no, why?" "he was dressed much better than on that night when we caught him in our garage. he doesn't look as if he had ever had much hard luck." "i imagine his entire story was a lie," susan declared. "he didn't keep his promise to call at your father's office, and now he runs like a coward when we try to talk with him." "i don't see how i was taken in so easily," penny confessed ruefully. "i couldn't help liking the boy. i hoped he would turn over a new leaf." alighting at the nichols home, she invited her chum to remain for dinner. "i can't tonight," susan told her regretfully. "we're having guests." "i suppose i'll have to eat alone then. no use expecting dad home." in this she was mistaken. entering the house, she discovered mr. nichols submerged in his favorite easy chair. "i didn't look for you home so early, dad." "nor did i expect to make it when i left the house this morning. however, i must return to the office immediately after dinner." "is it so very important?" penny demanded. her father smiled. "lonesome?" "not exactly, only the evenings seem so long." "why don't you go to a moving picture show?" "i've seen every good one in town. besides, i'm tired of movies." "i realize i am being a very poor father," mr. nichols acknowledged, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "you might come back to the office with me." "i'd like that," penny said instantly. "it will be very dull," her father warned. directly after dinner, they motored to mr. nichols new office opposite the brunner garage. since the detective expected to occupy it only a few weeks at the most, it was equipped with the barest of necessities. there was a battered desk, three chairs and two telephones. nothing more. "what in the world do you do here?" penny questioned. "mostly sit and wait," the detective admitted. "i receive reports from some of my men here. during the day i watch the street." with a wave of his hand he indicated a powerful field glass which lay upon the desk. penny picked it up, training it upon the brunner garage on the opposite side of the street. "why, it brings everything remarkably close! do you sit here at the window and watch for the auto thieves?" "something like that. we've set a trap." "a trap?" penny was all interest. "yes, we've planted several expensive new cars in key positions on the street. our men are secretly watching them, of course. we hope that the auto thieves will select one of our models to strip." "it must be tedious waiting." "it is, but if we catch the gang our patience will have been rewarded." "but what of rap molberg?" penny questioned doubtfully. "surely he must delegate the actual thievery to others." "i'm not so sure," mr. nichols said slowly. "it wouldn't surprise me to learn that molberg acts upon orders from someone higher up. however that may be, if we capture some of the lesser fry, they can be made to talk." the detective busied himself at his desk. for a time penny amused herself by watching pedestrians through the field glass. growing tired of that, she buried herself in a magazine. it was not very interesting. by nine o'clock she was thoroughly bored. "i think i'll go home," she announced. "i don't believe anything exciting will happen tonight." "so that's why you came," her father chided. "and i thought it was because you craved my company!" "i did, but this bare office is too depressing." "then i'll excuse you," mr. nichols smiled. "take a taxi home if you like." "no, i think i'll walk." it was a pleasant mellow evening and penny was in the mood for a long stroll. she chose a roundabout route home. she was absent-mindedly crossing a street, thinking of nothing in particular, when an automobile without headlights shot past her at a high rate of speed. frightened, penny sprang backwards. "the nerve of that driver!" she thought. "he missed me by inches." she watched the car swerve around a corner and race up a dead-end street. "why, this is the very place where i lost track of rap molberg!" she told herself. she rushed to the corner. her fascinated gaze followed the retreating automobile. it tore madly to the end of the street where it abruptly halted. penny lost sight of it for an instant. then to her surprise, the headlights were flashed on. in the reflected light she saw the tall walls of a large manufacturing plant. the beam was turned off again. darkness swallowed up the car. while she was straining to see, penny heard the shrill blast of a warning siren from far up the street. the next instant, a police radio cruiser shot past. with a loud screaming of brakes, the police car came to a stop not far from penny. "did you see an automobile without headlights come this way?" the driver asked tersely. penny was only too glad to offer information. "it turned into this dead-end," she began. the officers did not wait to hear more. with a roar, the cruiser was off again. it reached the end of the street and halted because it could go no farther. penny, bent upon missing nothing, followed as fast as she could. by the time she reached the radio cruiser one of the officers had alighted. he was looking carefully about. sighting penny, he walked over to her. "say you! i thought you told us that car came this way." "it did," penny maintained staunchly. "i saw it go to the very end of this street. the lights flashed on for an instant. then the car seemed to vanish. i think it must have gone into that building." she indicated the hamilton manufacturing plant. the officer surveyed it briefly. "don't kid me!" he snapped. "only a houdini ever went through solid walls!" he climbed back into the police car, saying gruffly to the driver: "get going, philips. it was a wrong steer. we must have missed that car at the turn." penny waited until the cruiser disappeared around the corner. then she crossed the street and stood staring meditatively at the tall walls of the hamilton plant. there was no doorway leading into the building. "it's uncanny," she murmured. "yet i know very well that car went in there some way." the building was entirely dark. there were no windows on the street side. only a vast expanse of unbroken wall. "it's too dark to see anything tonight," penny decided after a brief hesitation. "tomorrow i'll come back and perhaps make a few interesting discoveries!" and with that resolution, she turned and walked rapidly toward home. chapter x the vanishing car penny fully intended to tell her father of her experience, but she retired before he came home. she overslept the next morning. when she descended to the breakfast room at nine o'clock, mrs. gallup told her that the detective had been gone for nearly an hour. "your father wasn't in a very good mood this morning," the housekeeper informed as she served penny with a steaming hot waffle. "he complained about the coffee. when he does that it's always because something's gone wrong with his work." "you mustn't mind dad," penny smiled. "we couldn't get along without you." mrs. gallup sniffed. "i do the best i can. the coffee does taste all right, doesn't it?" "it's perfect." "when your father's working on a hard case he always likes it strong as lye," the housekeeper complained. "but i know he was worried about something this morning." "what makes you think so?" "i heard him muttering to himself. something about the stupidity of the police. it seems they let some crook get away last night after your father had laid careful plans to catch him." "not rap molberg?" "i think that was the name. mr. nichols didn't tell me anything, i just heard him talking it over with himself." "it's the only person he will discuss his business with," penny chuckled. after mrs. gallup had gone back into the kitchen she mulled over the information which the housekeeper had given her. it struck her as probable that the car which she had seen vanish down the dead-end street had been driven by rap molberg or one of his confederates. "i wish i could have talked with dad about it before he left the house," she thought. penny had not forgotten her resolution to visit the hamilton plant by daylight. as soon as she had helped mrs. gallup with the dishes, she left the house, walking directly to the scene of the previous evening's adventure. the street was deserted. no one questioned her actions as she made a careful inspection of the old building which had housed the hamilton manufacturing company until its failure. she examined the walls inch by inch, but although she was convinced it was there, she could find no hidden entrance. regardless of her failure to find evidence, penny was unwilling to give up her original theory. she remained unshaken in her belief that the mysterious automobile had disappeared into the hamilton building. "there's no other place it could have gone," she reasoned. "i'll talk it over with dad and see what he thinks." when she stopped at his office, mr. nichols was not there nor could miss arrow tell her when he might return. the detective did not come home for luncheon and late in the afternoon telephoned to say that he would take dinner downtown. rather than spend an evening alone penny called susan, arranging that they should go to the library together. the girls spent an hour in the reading room, but for some reason penny could not interest herself in the magazines. she kept turning through them and laying them aside. she felt unusually restless. presently an electrical magazine attracted her attention. she glanced over it carelessly until she came to a particular article which dealt with photo-electric cells and the clever purposes for which they were used. "why, these 'magic-eyes' are almost human," she commented in an undertone to susan. "they turn lights on and off, cook meals, and open doors, when a beam of light strikes the cell----" "i've heard of them before," susan interrupted in a tone which clearly implied that she was not in the least interested. penny took the hint and dropped the subject. but she became absorbed in the article. when she closed the magazine a half hour later, her face was flushed with excitement. "susan, let's get away from here," she proposed in a whisper. "i've just had an inspiration!" grumbling a little at being forced to leave a fascinating story before she had finished it, susan followed her friend from the building. "what about this inspiration of yours?" she demanded as they walked to penny's parked roadster. "it's this way, susan. i knew there was a logical explanation for the mysterious disappearance of that car rap molberg was driving. let's go over to the hamilton factory this minute and test out my new theory." "you may know what you're talking about, but i'm sure i don't, penny nichols." "that's because you wouldn't let me tell you about that article i was reading," penny laughed. "but i'll explain everything as we go along." without pausing to consider that it might not be safe to investigate the abandoned manufacturing plant at such a late hour, the girls drove directly into the hilly section of belton city. penny turned into the familiar dead-end street and was relieved to find no sign of other vehicles. she halted her roadster at the very end of the pavement in such a position that the bright headlights played upon the massive walls of the hamilton building. "it must be located higher up," penny murmured to herself. "what is?" susan demanded. "i don't see what you're about anyway." without answering, penny directed the beam of her spotlight upon the stone structure. inch by inch she moved it systematically over the high wall. "perhaps it's only a silly idea," she acknowledged at last, "but i believe that somewhere in the wall there must be a secret door--one mechanically operated. no doubt the outline of the opening is disguised by the many irregular cracks in the masonry." "if you're looking for a secret opening, why not come in the daytime when you can see much better?" "i've been here in the daytime and the door can't be detected--at least not by the eye. i'm hoping to have better luck this time." "i can't for the life of me see how," susan began, but ended with a startled gasp. a portion of the massive wall was slowly moving backward. "just as i thought!" penny chuckled in delight. "now we know how rap molberg escaped from the police the other night." in fascination the girls watched the widening gap in the wall. soon it was large enough for an automobile to easily drive through into the empty building. "how did you open it?" susan asked in awe. "the beam of my spotlight struck a photo-electric cell which was secreted near the eaves," penny explained briefly. "you should have read about it at the library." "i wish i had now. it's almost uncanny." "let's drive in and have a look at the inside," penny suggested daringly. "won't it be dangerous?" susan demurred. "the place seems to be deserted. but probably it would be wiser if you waited here and i went in alone." "no, if you're going to risk it, so am i!" "then here goes," penny said. she drove the roadster through the opening into what appeared to be an empty room. curiously, the girls glanced about. suddenly susan uttered a stifled scream. "the door! it's closing!" already the opening had narrowed to a mere slit. it was too late to retreat. "don't lose your nerve," penny advised, although her own heart was beating at a furious rate. "we'll find some way to open that door." "someone may have seen us drive in and closed it deliberately!" "i don't think so, susan. it must have closed automatically." "anyway, we're prisoners inside this horrible place! we'll starve to death before anyone will suspect we're here!" "i got you into this and i'll get you out," penny announced firmly. "there must be some button or lever that opens the door from the inside." although the headlights of the roadster illuminated a portion of the large room, many of the corners and crannies remained dark. taking her flashlight from the pocket of the car, penny moved cautiously about searching for some means of escape. susan remained huddled in her seat, too terrified to move. penny examined the door, but it would not budge when she threw her weight against it. she could find no lock or catch. there were several windows high overhead but without a ladder she could not hope to reach them. she was growing more disturbed than she cared to admit, when susan called to her. "penny, i think there's some sort of lever over here by the car." penny flashed her beam in that direction and was relieved to see that her chum was right. "it must operate the door, susan! we should be out of here in a jiffy!" confidently, she grasped the long handle and pulled with all her strength upon the iron lever. from below came the low rumble of moving machinery. penny and susan riveted their eyes hopefully upon the door. it did not open. instead, a square of floor upon which the roadster was resting, slowly began to sink. uttering a frightened scream, susan tried to open the car door. "save me!" she cried frantically. penny leaped nimbly down upon the running board. "it's all right," she laughed shakily. "we're only descending in an elevator." "we'll be killed before we ever get out of this dreadful place!" the elevator struck the lower floor with a gentle thud. penny then climbed into the car and drove it a few feet forward. relieved of its weight the platform slowly rose again until it had resumed its former position. "we're worse off now than we were before," susan moaned. "i think this must be the way out," penny comforted. she indicated a tunnel-like opening directly ahead. susan who had been looking in the opposite direction had noticed a small room which appeared to be an office. she called her chum's attention to it. together, they cautiously peered inside. save for a battered desk and several chairs the tiny room was empty. cigarette ashes and old papers were scattered over the floor, giving evidence that the office had been used recently. penny tried the desk and found it locked. she picked up a few scraps of paper from the floor. they were without interest. a folded newspaper lying upon one of the chairs drew her attention. opening it, she noticed that an article on the front page had been underscored with pencil lines. the headline read: "auto accessory thefts on steady increase here" the story hinted that belton city police had been unable to cope with the situation and that local insurance companies long harassed by an organized gang, had turned the case over to private detectives. above the latter statement someone had written the name of christopher nichols in pencil. penny carefully folded the newspaper, replacing it upon the chair exactly as she had found it. "let's get away from here before we're caught," she urged. "i suspect we're in a molberg hideout." "nothing would please me better than to leave this place," susan retorted grimly. "just lead me to an exit." "i think the tunnel probably will take us out. come on, let's see." returning to the roadster the dark passage seemed forbiddingly dangerous. carefully examining the concrete floor, penny discovered tire patterns in the dirt. other cars had used the tunnel. with the engine at idling speed, they drove into it. the tunnel led downward at such a steep angle that soon penny was forced to use her brakes to keep from going too fast. "where will this thing end?" susan asked. even as she spoke they reached level ground. an ordinary double garage door barred the way. susan sprang out to open it. "why, we're in an empty garage," she announced as she swung back the door. penny drove the roadster through and waited until susan had closed the door behind her. through a plateglass window the girls could now see the street. but it took them some time to locate another unlocked door which permitted them to escape. once safely out of the building, they pulled up at the side of the road to take note of their surroundings. at first they could not imagine where they were. "why, this must be arlington avenue," penny decided. "we're several hundred feet lower than we were when we left that dead-end street on the hilltop!" "what a clever means for a crook to escape a police chase!" "yes, isn't it? i'm almost certain the place has been used by the molberg gang." "then we can't get away from here too quick," susan declared nervously. penny laughed. "we're safe enough now. besides, i imagine this escape is never used except in an emergency--probably only when the police are hot on the trail." susan glanced at her watch. "it's after ten o'clock and i promised mother i'd be back at nine." "i'll take you straight home," penny promised. "i don't suppose i need to mention it, but i think we shouldn't tell anyone about what we discovered tonight. at least not until the police have been notified." "of course not," susan agreed instantly. "why don't you have your father make the report for us?" "i'd like to handle it that way, if you don't mind," penny said eagerly. "then let's leave it that way. aside from mr. nichols we'll not tell a soul about our discovery tonight." a few minutes later the girls took leave of each other. penny continued alone toward her own home. turning a corner in one of the outlying neighborhood business sections, she noticed a girl in blue hurrying along the street. recognizing betty davis, penny halted her roadster at the curbing. the girl did not notice for she had paused to stare into the window of a café. a group of young men could be seen within, laughing and talking. it was not the type of place frequented by women, and penny was astonished when the girl started to open the door. but with her hand on the knob, betty davis seemed to reconsider, for she turned and walked rapidly away. penny drew alongside in her roadster. "going my way?" she asked cheerfully. "i'll be glad to give you a lift." chapter xi a threat betty davis wheeled quickly about. she laughed to cover her confusion. "why, miss nichols! how you startled me!" "i didn't mean to do that," penny smiled. "if you're on your way home, can't i take you there in my car?" the girl hesitated, and involuntarily, her eyes wandered toward the café. then she stepped into the car. "it's very kind of you to take me home, miss nichols. i'm not out alone this late in the evening as a rule, but something important came up. i searching for my brother." "jimmie?" "yes, how did you know?" "i think your father mentioned his name." "he didn't say anything about----" betty broke off, finishing with an embarrassed laugh: "but then i know he didn't." "your father only mentioned that he had a son by that name," penny said, eyeing her companion curiously. "jimmie is a good boy but he's caused father a great deal of worry," betty added, feeling that some explanation was required. "lately he's fallen in with bad companions." "that is a pity," penny murmured. "you mentioned that you were looking for him. can't i help you?" "oh, no," betty told her hastily, "i don't think i'll bother after all." penny permitted the matter to drop but she was not mistaken in suspecting that the reason her companion had decided to give up the search was because she already had located her brother at the café. "won't you come in for a few minutes?" betty urged when the car stopped at her door. "father isn't due home until late tonight and i'm all alone." "i might stop a little while," penny agreed. despite betty's somewhat queer actions, she had liked the girl from the very first, and was eager to become better acquainted. the davis home was modestly furnished, yet with excellent taste. penny could not refrain from referring to the clever color scheme which had been carried out so successfully in the living room. "i'm glad you like it," betty smiled. "you see, i'm studying to be an interior decorator." "why, how interesting." "i attend night school," betty explained. "or rather i did. just now father is a little pressed for money so i've given it up for a few months." "i hope you'll be able to go on with it again." "yes, so do i, for it's the one ambition of my life. i think after jimmie is a little older it will be easier. just now he's at the age where he feels he must have fine clothes and plenty of spending money." "perhaps you're too indulgent a sister," penny smiled. "jimmie is only a year younger than i," betty explained, "but since mother died five years ago, i've always felt responsible for him. lately i've been terribly worried." "on account of the company he keeps?" "yes, that and other things." betty arose and nervously crossed over to the fireplace. "i don't mean to unburden myself upon you, but lately jimmie has been doing wild things. father doesn't half suspect the truth. i'm half sick with trying to decide if i should tell him or not." "probably it would relieve your mind if you did," penny advised kindly. "yes, but father has always taken such pride in jimmie. i can't bear to hurt him." "perhaps he could bring your brother to his senses." "i'm afraid it may be almost too late. jimmie is so headstrong. he won't listen to anyone. he's changed so much the last few months." "it seems to me that your father should know the truth," penny said quietly. betty davis' face had grown slightly pale. "i realize i should tell him," she acknowledged, "but i can't. there's a special reason why--don't ask me to explain." abruptly, she tried to change the subject, saying lightly: "my brother is very handsome, i think. would you care to see his photograph?" "indeed i would," penny returned politely. she waited while betty went into an adjoining room after it. as the girl returned, a car was driving slowly past the house. "that must be father," betty declared, moving toward the window. penny heard the automobile halt at the curbing. the next instant a hard object crashed through the windowpane, dropping with a thud at betty's feet. almost by a miracle she had escaped being struck by the flying splinters of glass. penny sprang to her feet, rushing to the door. she caught only a fleeting glimpse of the retreating car. betty was staring at a piece of paper which lay upon the carpet. it had been wrapped around a small stone. "you read it," she begged penny. "i'm afraid." penny reached down and picked it up. the message had been printed on cheap brown wrapping paper. it bore the warning: "jerome davis, this is the last warning you will receive from us. we give you twenty-four hours to change your mind." "it's a threat from the molberg gang!" betty declared tensely as penny finished reading the message aloud. "oh, i'll never feel easy again until every member of that outfit has been placed behind bars! what do you think they will do when father defies them?" "probably nothing," penny comforted. "most anonymous notes are sent by cowards and the threats seldom carried out. at least dad doesn't regard them very seriously. he's been threatened by the molberg gang too." "and have they made no attempt to harm him?" betty asked. "not to my knowledge. dad seems more than able to look after himself, and i'm certain your father knows how to protect himself too." "he should," betty admitted. "he's one of the best marksmen on the police force." "then i think rap molberg is the one who should be on his guard," penny smiled. by making light of the threatening note she tried to relieve betty of anxiety. her efforts were not very successful. when she left the house a half hour later the girl was still excited and overwrought. not until penny was nearly home did it occur to her that she had forgotten to look at the photograph of jimmie davis. "oh, well, it doesn't matter," she thought. as she drove the roadster into the garage, mrs. gallup came down the path to meet her. "i'm sorry to be so late," penny said quickly before the housekeeper could take her to task. "a million and one things detained me. dad's home, i suppose?" "no, he isn't. but someone has been trying to get you on the telephone for the past hour." "probably it was dad." "it may have been, but it didn't sound like his voice. listen, isn't that the phone now?" they could hear the bell ringing inside the house. penny ran to answer it. as she took down the receiver, she was greeted by a masculine voice. but it was not the detective who had telephoned. "is this miss nichols?" she was asked. "yes," penny returned quietly, aware from the other's tone that she must prepare herself for bad news. "don't be alarmed, miss nichols, but your father has been hurt." "oh! badly?" "we're not sure yet. he is still unconscious. can you come at once?" "yes, yes, of course! which hospital?" "he has been taken to a private home." "then tell me how to get there." "it won't be necessary. a taxi has already been sent for you. it should be there by this time." "i'll be waiting," penny promised. she hung up the receiver and turned to the housekeeper who was hovering anxiously at her elbow. "dad's been hurt," she said tersely to hide her emotion. "i don't know how badly for i couldn't learn the details. i must go to him at once." "oh, you poor thing," mrs. gallup swept the trembling girl into her arms. they clung to one another for an instant, then penny resolutely brushed away her tears. "it probably isn't as bad as we fear," she said hopefully. catching up her pocketbook from the table, she hurried out upon the porch to wait for the taxicab. chapter xii kidnapped as a dark colored cab stopped in front of the nichols residence, penny ran to the curbing before the driver could alight. "you were sent here to take me to my father?" she asked. "yes, miss." the driver kept his head lowered so that penny could not see his face clearly, but she was too troubled to notice anything wrong. "is father badly hurt?" she questioned anxiously. "i can't tell you, miss. i was only told to come here for you." the driver opened the door, and penny stepped into the car. they sped away. presently penny noticed that the taxi man seemed to be avoiding the main streets of the city. she thought little of it until she chanced to catch a glimpse of the driver's face in the mirror. she had never viewed such a hardened countenance. the man appeared to be watching her every move. it gave her a sudden chill. "where is my father?" she questioned abruptly. "at a house out in the country," the driver returned gruffly. "i didn't even know that he had left the city," penny said suspiciously. "tell me, how was he injured?" "i don't know any of the details. you'll have to wait until you get there." penny leaned back against the cushions, to all appearances, reassured. actually, she was terrified. the conviction was steadily growing in her mind that she had been the victim of treachery. she was almost certain that she was being kidnapped. how decidedly stupid she had been to walk into such a trap! penny felt actually sick as she considered the possible consequence of falling into the hands of the molberg gang. it was not for herself that she feared but for her father. she knew him well enough to realize that he would sacrifice everything to be assured of her safety. "if i let on that i suspect something is wrong it will only put the driver on his guard," she thought. "my best chance is to act innocent and watch for an opportunity to jump out of the car." already they were speeding along a dark, country road. on either side, the highway was lined with tall maples and oak trees. houses were few and far between. penny tried to make careful mental note of the route they were taking from the city. it was difficult to distinguish objects for they were traveling rapidly. as they turned into a bumpy, winding narrow road which led up a steep hill, penny's uneasiness increased. from the manner in which the driver surveyed the roadside, she guessed that the wild ride was nearly ended. "it's now or never," she told herself grimly. the car had slowed down for the hill. watching her chance, penny made a sudden dive for the door. it was locked. she located the catch, but not until the driver had managed to halt the car. with an enraged snarl he caught her roughly by the arm just as she flung open the door. penny wriggled from his grasp and started to run down the road. "stop or i'll shoot!" the driver shouted furiously. penny paid no heed. she raced as fast as she could go down the hill. the driver, an agile man despite his heavy build, took up the pursuit. penny could hear his feet pounding on the hard road behind her. he was gaining. her breath began to come with increasing difficulty. she could run no faster. at the foot of the hill penny noticed an automobile without headlights. she was sure it had not been parked there a few minutes earlier when the cab had passed. had some of rap molberg's men followed the taxi? in that event, she was running straight into another trap. penny had no choice but to continue toward the waiting automobile. but as three men sprang from behind it with drawn revolvers, her heart sank within her. her brave attempt at escape must end in failure. a stone lay in the road. penny did not see it. she stumbled, and, completely exhausted, fell face downward into the dirt. "stay where you are!" a cool voice ordered. "don't move!" she remained as she was, prone upon the ground. a revolver barked. there was a flash of fire dangerously close by. an answering bullet from the opposite direction whizzed over her head. the three men moved cautiously up the hill. they had their quarry covered. "drop your gun!" came the sharp order. the taxi driver mutely obeyed. as handcuffs were snapped over his wrists, penny hurried forward to view her rescuers. one of the men she instantly recognized as a detective employed by her father; the other two she had never before seen. "how did you get here?" she gasped. "we've been trailing you all day," the investigator explained as he deftly searched his prisoner for concealed weapons. "the entire week for that matter. your father's orders." "you mean he's had me shadowed?" penny demanded indignantly. "mr. nichols was afraid something like this might be attempted." "i guess it was lucky for me that i was trailed," penny acknowledged gratefully. "otherwise, i'd have been kidnapped." she watched as the prisoner was led to the waiting car. "do you know who he is?" she asked a detective. "looks like angel face myers, one of molberg's boys. can't be sure 'till we've mugged and finger-printed him at the station." the three men from the nichols agency plied the prisoner with sharp questions. he maintained a sullen silence. "i'd guess he was taking miss nichols to that abandoned house at the top of the hill," one of the detectives surmised shrewdly. "i'll stay here and guard the prisoner while you fellows investigate the place. don't let anyone get away from you." the other two detectives disappeared into the darkness. twenty minutes later they returned to report that they had found no one at the old house, although there was evidence of a hurried departure. the shots previously fired by the detectives had served as a warning. riding back to the city with the handcuffed prisoner, penny wondered how faithfully her father's investigators had followed her movements of the evening. had they noted her call at the davis home or the visit she and susan had paid to the hamilton building? "i suppose i've been trailed everywhere to-night," she ventured conversationally. "you almost gave us the slip," one of the detectives told her with a smile. "in fact, you did for awhile." "when was that?" "right after you left the library." "you turned off somewhere and we lost you for a time. didn't locate you again until you turned up at your own home." penny was relieved. the detectives could not possibly be aware of the secret entrance into the hamilton plant. she would still be the first to report the discovery to her father. the detectives dropped penny at her own home after explaining that it might be necessary for her to appear in court later on to identify the prisoner. "i'll be very glad to do it," penny promised. as she ran up the front steps the door was flung open and mrs. gallup rushed out to meet her. she flung her arms about the girl. "penny!" she cried tremulously. "how thankful i am that you are safe! your father came home fifteen minutes ago. then we knew that the telephone call was a fake." "where is dad now?" "he started for the police station." "then i guess he'll learn the truth in a few minutes if he's still there." "tell me what happened, penny." in the midst of the tale, a car was heard on the driveway, and a minute later mr. nichols entered the house. although he was never inclined to be demonstrative, the detective clasped his daughter in his arms and penny noticed that his hands trembled slightly. "i've just heard the entire story at the police station," he told her. "you gave me a terrific scare, penny." "i gave myself one, too. if it hadn't been for your men who shadowed me, i'm afraid i'd never have returned to tell the tale." "i doubt that the gangsters would have actually harmed you, but they would have used you as a weapon to strike back at me. i am sorry about having you trailed, penny, but you understand my position. i was afraid of this very thing." "it's all right," penny smiled. "only your men aren't so clever at keeping me in sight. i unintentionally gave them the slip earlier in the evening." mrs. gallup had gone to the kitchen to prepare sandwiches and an iced drink. taking advantage of her absence, penny gave a detailed report of her visit to the hamilton plant. at first her father listened almost incredulously. "it sounds fantastic, penny. and yet, it's just the sort of trickery which would appeal to rap molberg. you say the door is operated by means of a photo-electric cell?" "that's what i think. at least when the beam of my light struck a certain spot on the wall, the door opened." mr. nichols arose and paced rapidly back and forth across the floor. "i'm going to take you into my confidence, penny," he said quietly. "for days my men have been circling in on rap and his gang. we've located one of their hideouts, and we're raiding the place tomorrow night. it now seems advisable to surround the hamilton building simultaneously. then there will be no chance that any of the crooks can use the underground ramp to make a get-away." "will the police make the raid?" penny inquired curiously. "yes and no. so far i have taken only one man into my confidence." "and who is that?" "jerome davis." "i was at his house this evening," penny announced. "a threatening note was thrown through the window while i was there." she repeated the contents of the message. "no doubt it came from the molberg gang," her father said. "they are doing everything in their power to intimidate jerome davis. but i believe he is a man who can be trusted. tomorrow night at eleven o'clock he will be ready with a picked group of policemen. no one but himself will know any of the details of the raid until it is actually on. in that way there will be almost no danger of the information leaking out." "where is this other hideout which is to be raided?" "i can't tell you that. it isn't that i don't trust you, but sometimes an unguarded word will destroy the work of weeks." "i guess it's just as well i don't know too much about it ahead of time," penny agreed. the conversation was checked as mrs. gallup came from the kitchen with a tray of sandwiches and a tall pitcher of fruit juice. for a time penny and her father confined their talk to less vital subjects. but when the housekeeper had gone from the room again, mr. nichols took up the matter where it had been dropped. "if my raids tomorrow night are successful, it will end the case. we may need you, penny, to show the officers how to get into the hamilton building." "i'd like to help," she assured him eagerly. "good," mr. nichols said warmly as he picked up the evening paper. "until the appointed hour, don't go near the plant. and mind, not a word of this to anyone." chapter xiii the raid at exactly ten minutes to eleven on the following night, eight police cars rolled swiftly down the boulevard. in a congested portion of the city they drew up to the curbing, waiting for christopher nichols who rode with his daughter in a dark sedan. jerome davis, in charge of the raid, came over to speak to the detective. "everything is all set, mr. nichols. we have the entire neighborhood bottled up. every alley and street guarded." "good. and the hamilton building?" "it is surrounded. at exactly eleven my men will raid both places. it's a cinch we'll get rap molberg and his gang this time." "you're certain no hint of the raid has leaked out?" jerome davis laughed confidently. "even now my men aren't sure what's coming off. this raid can't fail, mr. nichols. we had a straight tip where molberg could be found and we'll get him!" "then go ahead exactly as we planned," mr. nichols directed. "on to the blind pig café!" jerome davis returned to the waiting cars, relaying the detective's orders. in single file the police automobiles moved forward. they rounded a corner and bore down upon a brightly illuminated restaurant. with a start penny recognized it as the same place where she had met betty davis the previous evening. "what a coincidence!" she thought. "how embarrassing it would be for mr. davis if his son should be found in there tonight!" the appearance of the first officer in the doorway of the blind pig was sufficient to give warning that a raid was under way. the few persons who were dining inside made wild dashes for the doors and windows. they were quickly captured by officers stationed at all the exits. although the room lights had been snapped out, no shots were fired. "something is wrong!" mr. nichols exclaimed, abruptly leaving the sedan from which he had been watching. "it looks to me like a tip-off." a few minutes after her father had disappeared into the café, penny saw the policemen load perhaps six or seven prisoners into the waiting cars. but it was apparent even to her that the raid had failed. the persons arrested obviously were not members of the molberg gang. mr. nichol's face was dark when he came back to the sedan. without a word he started the engine and drove rapidly off. "what happened?" penny asked timidly. "oh, the usual," the detective snapped. "it was a tip-off. only a few persons were in the café and the clubrooms to the rear were completely deserted. not a scrap of evidence. we'll have to release all the prisoners." "where are we going now, dad?" "to the hamilton plant. there's just a chance that the raid there was more successful, though i doubt it." "who could have carried the information?" penny inquired. "i don't know. that's what bothers me. penny, you're certain you never dropped a word of this?" "why, of course not!" "i don't mean intentionally, of course. you're sure you never mentioned the raid to your friend susan?" "absolutely not," penny maintained indignantly. "for that matter, i didn't know the blind pig was the place you were raiding." "that's true," mr. nichols acknowledged. "i didn't mean to offend you, penny. i was only seeking information. i can't see how the news leaked out unless--" "unless what?" penny probed. "i'll not say it." "you meant, unless jerome davis had betrayed his trust!" "well, yes, that was what i was thinking. this is the first occasion i've had to question his honesty. it may be i haven't given enough consideration to the stories which have circulated regarding davis." "you said you believed they were started by his political enemies." "yes, and i'm still inclined to think that, although the failure of this raid looks peculiar to say the least. i'll have to be more careful in my dealings with davis." "if the molberg outfit didn't regard him as an enemy then why would they throw a warning note through the window?" penny demanded. "that could have been faked--it might have been a dodge to impress you." "i don't see how it could have been, dad. you see, i met betty davis quite by accident that evening. on the spur of the moment i accepted her invitation to stop a few minutes at the house. it was while i was there that the message was thrown through the window. it couldn't have been planned." "not very well," mr. nichols admitted. "davis may be honest enough, but if i find he's a loose talker, his usefulness for me will be ended." the sedan had reached the dead-end street which led to the vacant hamilton plant. an officer stepped out of the shadow to challenge mr. nichols, but recognizing him, saluted instead. "what luck?" the detective asked. "i can't tell you, sir. i've heard nothing since i was stationed here." penny and her father drove on between the rows of police cars which lined the narrow street. as they halted at the far end of the thoroughfare, an officer came to speak with them. "did you get into the building?" mr. nichols inquired tersely. "yes, your daughter's instructions were very clear. we had no trouble." "what did you find?" "everything was exactly as miss nichols said. the place has been used by the molberg outfit, that's clear. but there wasn't a sign of anyone, and the desk which miss nichols mentioned as being in the little office, was gone." "looks like they got wind of what was up, doesn't it?" "that's the way i figure it," the officer returned. "not much we can do except wreck the place so it can't be used again." mr. nichols talked with several other policemen, and then, satisfied that he had learned all the details of the unsuccessful raid, took penny home. "i suppose this means we'll not be taking that vacation into the mountains very soon," she commented when they were alone in the living room. "i'm afraid of it, penny. would you care to go by yourself?" "no, i'd prefer to wait until you can go too. besides, i've become deeply absorbed in this molberg case." "i've noticed that," her father smiled. "i never suspected that my own daughter had such hidden talents for sleuthing." "now you're teasing!" penny accused. "no, your discoveries have astonished me, penny. perhaps you were favored a little by luck, but you've unearthed information which even my most skilled investigators were unable to turn up." "my clues didn't prove of much value after all." "it wasn't your fault that they didn't. a detective must learn to expect disappointments." "so it seems," penny sighed. "now that rap molberg escaped the police net, what will be your next move?" "i don't know yet, penny." "perhaps rap molberg will leave the city." "i don't think there's much chance of that. he'll remain in hiding for a few days or weeks, then strike again. you must have a constant bodyguard, penny." "oh, dad! if you knew how i hated it! i couldn't feel that even my thoughts were my own!" "sorry, penny, but it's for your own safety." "oh, all right, i submit," penny grumbled good-naturedly. "only if i must have someone tagging at my heels all the time, please make him tall and handsome!" "i don't usually select my men for their beauty," mr. nichols smiled. "but i'll do the best i can for you." although penny disliked the idea of being closely watched, actually a bodyguard was not as annoying as she had imagined it might be. joe franey, the detective assigned by mr. nichols to the service, was young and, while not handsome, distinguished in appearance. his bearing gave no hint of his professional calling. penny found joe very likeable. he never irritated her by making her aware of his presence--in fact, for hours at a time she never saw him at all--yet when she was on the street she was seldom out of his sight. for the next few days, following joe's assignment to his new duties, penny and susan slyly amused themselves by trying to see if they could outwit him. they led the detective a gay chase from one end of the city to another. they dropped into department stores, dodging in one door and out another, but when they were confident they had baffled joe, they were very apt to see him watching them from a doorway across the street. or if they entered a theatre apparently unobserved by the faithful sleuth they were almost certain to see him only a few seats behind. but soon joe became such a fixture in penny's life that she accepted him without much thought. true to mr. nichols' prediction, all remained quiet on the rap molberg front save that the unsuccessful raid had stirred up an aftermath of bitter criticism. the local newspapers provided considerable unfavorable publicity; editors ran scorching editorials blaming mr. nichols and the police for the failure to break up the molberg gang. infuriated by the comments of the press, the police commissioner called both the detective and jerome davis to his office. neither could explain the failure of the raid. it was obvious that someone had allowed information to leak and since only mr. nichols and a few policemen had known the details of the raid, suspicion tended to center upon jerome davis. "it's only a matter of days until he'll be discharged from the force," mr. nichols told his daughter. "surely you don't think he'd be guilty of helping rap molberg?" penny questioned. "i don't know what to believe. davis was called on the carpet yesterday and given an opportunity to explain a number of things. he wouldn't talk." "but that doesn't prove necessarily that he's guilty, does it?" "no, but he's acted strangely of late. the fact remains that someone let information leak either by accident or deliberately. davis was in a bad spot before this. now i'm afraid nothing can save his job." "i feel so sorry for betty," penny murmured. "she'll take it hard if her father is discharged." "you mustn't worry about it," mr. nichols advised kindly. "davis had his chance to make good and seemingly failed. now matters must take their own course." "couldn't you do anything to save his position, dad?" "i doubt it, penny. at any rate, i shouldn't care to interfere ... for i'm not convinced that the commissioner isn't right. davis is a queer type." "just the same i can't help feeling he's honest," penny maintained firmly. "couldn't there have been another reason for the failure of the raid?" "yes, but davis was under suspicion before this. and since the raid he's been anything but cooperative." "then i suppose nothing can be done, but it seems a pity." penny did not speak of the matter again to her father but in secret she continued to mull over the unfortunate situation. she had developed a deep liking for betty davis, yet she readily acknowledged that in many ways the girl acted queerly. "it's too much for me to figure out," penny confessed to susan one afternoon. "everything seems to be such a hopeless contradiction. betty lets on that she is desperately afraid her father will be harmed by rap molberg and yet the police claim that mr. davis is really abetting the criminals." "have you ever met her brother?" "jimmie?" penny asked. "no, but from what she told me i suspect he's something of a problem." "i haven't seen betty in days," susan remarked. "why not call on her this afternoon?" penny hesitated an instant, then agreed. considering her father's association with mr. davis she was not certain that the visit would be very tactful. "we must be careful and not say anything that could offend her," she warned. "of course," susan agreed. "shall we drive over in my car?" at the davis cottage a few minutes later, they caught a glimpse of someone moving about on the upper floor. but when they rapped upon the door there was no response. "i know i saw betty looking out of an upstairs window just as we drove up," susan whispered. "perhaps she doesn't care to see us then. come on, sue, let's not knock again." they quietly withdrew to the car. "where to now?" susan inquired as she snapped on the ignition. "oh, anywhere. i've nothing special to do this afternoon." susan stepped on the electric starter, but the engine refused to respond. she readjusted gasoline and spark levers to no avail. "stalled again!" she complained bitterly. "i never saw such a car! we've had nothing but trouble since we bought it." "perhaps it's only flooded," penny suggested hopefully. susan shook her head. "it's done this before. nothing to do but call the garage. anyway, mr. brunner promised he'd give the car a free overhaul, and this is his chance to make good." the girls telephoned the brunner garage from a drug store located directly across the street. they waited nearly half an hour before the blue service car arrived to tow them in. "may i speak to mr. brunner?" susan politely asked one of the garage employees. "sorry but he's busy," was the curt reply. "i'll handle any complaint you have to make." susan gave a somewhat lengthy account of her car troubles. the employee scarcely bothered to listen. when she had finished, he said briefly. "i'll check the car over and have it ready in half an hour." "let's wait," susan proposed. they found chairs nearby. in fifteen minutes, the same employee returned to report that the car was ready. "so soon?" susan said in surprise. "why, i'm sure you couldn't have checked over everything in such a short while." "the car will start now. if you want a general overhaul you'll have to pay for it." "but mr. brunner promised me when i bought the automobile that if anything went wrong he'd make it right!" susan protested indignantly. "i've driven the car less than five hundred miles and it's almost falling apart! may i see mr. brunner?" "he's in his office," the man informed reluctantly. "and where is that?" "down the hall. the second door from the end." crossing through the deserted repair shop, the girls made their way down the dark hallway. the door which the employee had indicated stood slightly ajar. as penny and susan drew near they heard angry voices. "you can threaten me all you like, but i tell you i'm through! i'll never do any more work for you, brunner!" "you'll do exactly as i say or--" the manager abruptly broke off for he had noticed the two girls standing at the open door. "come in, come in!" he beamed. penny's keen glance traveled beyond george brunner to the person whom he had addressed in such an abusive tone. it was jerry barrows. chapter xiv brunner's explanation jerry barrows had recognized penny instantly. before she could recover from her surprise at seeing him, he wheeled and left the office by a side door. involuntarily, penny started to follow, but without appearing to do so intentionally, the manager neatly blocked her path. "a disgruntled employee of mine," he announced blandly. "i've had a great deal of trouble with him. he's a fine workman but difficult to manage." "what sort of work does he do?" penny inquired alertly. the manager was slightly taken aback at the question. he answered evasively: "oh, he runs my tow truck and does odd jobs about the garage." "i've seen him before," penny remarked. "but his name has slipped my mind. it's not jerry barrows is it?" the manager scrutinized her intently for a moment. his eyes held a fleeting expression of annoyance and dislike. "now i'm sorry but i can't tell you his name," he said apologetically. "i don't know that i ever heard it, although it must be on our pay rolls. of course, i remember very few of my employees by their names." penny and susan exchanged a quick glance which the manager noted. they were both firmly convinced that brunner knew the name but did not wish to reveal it. "since the boy is an employee of yours, probably i could get his name and address from the pay roll," penny suggested pointedly. brunner hesitated, although only momentarily. "why certainly," he said genially. "i'll secure it for you myself. drop in any time next week and i'll have it for you." "couldn't i get it today?" penny persisted. "i am afraid that is impossible," brunner smiled a trifle coldly. "it is nearly time for me to leave the office now. did you young ladies wish to see me about another matter?" susan recounted her many unpleasant experiences in regard to the newly purchased automobile. the manager listened politely but with increasing frigidity. "you must have misunderstood me, miss altman," he said when she had finished. "we can't undertake to guarantee every car which leaves our shop. as a courtesy to our customers we do occasionally make a few minor repairs free of charge. we have found it impractical to go further than this." "but in my case, the car has run less than five hundred miles!" susan protested with growing anger. "it seems to me i'm entitled to service." "you must see my repair man, miss altman. he adjusts all such matters." "i have seen him, and i've had no satisfaction at all!" "then i'm afraid there's nothing more we can do for you." "your guarantee means nothing?" "we stand behind our cars, miss altman, but you must have misunderstood my promise to service your new automobile free of charge." "you said that at the end of five hundred miles my car would receive a complete overhaul!" "but my dear young lady, you have just received this service." "your workman spent less than twenty minutes going over my car." "have you driven it since?" "well, no, i haven't," susan admitted reluctantly. "then i know you will find everything satisfactory for our workmen are efficient. good afternoon, miss altman." the manager opened the door in pointed suggestion that the girls leave. outside in the hall they gave vent to their pent up feelings. "you were right, penny," susan declared angrily. "i should have bought my car at another garage!" "i never did like that man," penny added. "he's such a smooth talker, and yet down under he's mean and selfish. i wonder if jerry barrows actually does work for him?" "he was threatening him when we surprised them in the office." "i know, and it annoyed brunner because we saw him talking with the boy at all. i am as sure as anything that he'll never give me his real name or address." "that's why he suggested that you come back later for it," susan agreed. "when you return he'll have some other excuse." "i mean to go back and annoy him just the same. doesn't it strike you as odd that jerry would be working for him?" "well, perhaps a trifle," susan said thoughtfully. "but it may be that he hired the boy without inquiring too carefully into his past." "the fact remains that brunner was threatening him," penny pointed out. "it didn't appear to me that it was about any casual matter either." the girls lowered their voices for they had come within earshot of a garageman who was working in the repair shop. susan's car was nearby. after some difficulty she managed to start it, but the engine knocked as badly as before. "i suppose there's nothing to do but take the car to another garage," susan said irritably. "i'll never come here again. i know that." "let's go for a swim and drown our troubles," penny suggested. "the big dipper will be open." since the day had been sultry, the proposal appealed to susan. they stopped at their homes only long enough to get their bathing suits, and a few minutes later arrived at the picturesque outdoor pool. penny found several of her school friends performing at the diving board and soon they were all rounded up for a vigorous game of water polo. after a fierce battle which left everyone exhausted, penny's side conquered the opponents. the girls sat down on the edge of the pool to rest. "isn't that betty davis over there under the beach umbrella?" susan presently inquired, indicating a girl in a black bathing suit who sat alone. "why, it is!" penny agreed. "shall we go over and speak to her?" "after the way she treated us this afternoon?" "we can't be certain she was in the house when we called." "i think she was," susan maintained. "she doesn't care for our company, that's all." "she seemed to like us well enough at first. betty is the sensitive type, sue. it may be that she's embarrassed on account of all her father's trouble. i believe i'll swim over and speak to her at any rate." penny arose from the side of the pool. without having appeared to notice the action, betty davis hastily left the reclining chair under the umbrella and disappeared into the dressing room. "i guess you're too late!" susan laughed. "she saw you first." penny sat down again, a trifle nettled. "you're right, sue. she's deliberately avoiding us." "she's a queer sort anyway," susan said indifferently. "let's ignore her from now on." penny gazed thoughtfully toward the dressing room door. "there must be some reason for the way she's acting, sue. i have a notion to corner her in the dressing room so that she'll have to say something to me." "you're inviting a snub if you do. forget her, penny! come on, i'll race you to the end of the pool!" she plunged in and penny reluctantly followed. they swam two lengths and then dived a few times from the high board. "oh, let's go home," penny proposed presently. "i've had enough." they stood for a few minutes under the cold shower, then entered the dressing room. to their surprise they observed a group of excited girls clustered around the matron's desk. "i tell you it's my ring!" one of the bathers insisted angrily. "this girl stole it from my locker!" "it isn't true. the ring is my own. why, it belonged to my mother." penny and susan pushed their way into the little group. they had recognized betty davis' low pitched voice but were unacquainted with the girl who was accusing her of the theft. "let's get to the bottom of this," the matron said severely, turning to the first girl. "did you have your locker fastened securely?" "no, that's how she got in. i forgot to lock it. she had the locker next to mine and she must have snatched the ring while i was in the shower." betty's face was pale, but with an effort she remained calm as she refuted the charge. "i don't know anything about this girl's ring. the one i have is my own." "give it to me," the matron ordered. reluctantly, betty removed the ring from her finger. it was a white gold band with a cluster of three tiny diamonds. in the act of handing it over, she suddenly changed her mind. "i'll not give up my own property! this was my mother's engagement ring. and she's dead now." "can you prove your story?" the matron questioned. "you can call my father. jerome davis--he is on the police force." "yes, but he won't be there long!" the first girl said scornfully. "everyone knows he's to be let out because of dishonesty. and your brother----" "don't you dare say a word against either my father or jimmie!" betty cried. "girls! girls!" the matron chided severely. "we'll discuss this matter calmly please." penny stepped forward. "i think i may be able to help," she said quietly. "i happen to know that the ring belongs to betty davis, for i have seen her wearing it." "you're a friend of hers," the other girl accused. "on the contrary, i scarcely know miss davis. but i believe in seeing justice done. if you actually lost a similar ring, you may find it on the floor near your locker." "have you looked carefully?" the matron questioned. "of course i have! the ring is gone and this davis girl stole it!" "i'll search your locker myself," the matron decided. "show me which one it is." penny and the others followed to witness the inspection. article by article, the matron removed everything from the locker, but the ring was not found. "wait and i'll sweep the floor," penny offered. she ran to find a broom, returning with it a minute later. carefully she swept the space in the vicinity of the locker. "you see, it's gone!" the other girl insisted, eyeing betty davis furiously. "you'll never find it because _she_ is wearing it." as penny's broom brushed past a dark corner of the room, there was a little metallic click. she stooped down and picked up a ring. although it was similar in appearance to the one which betty wore, the resemblance was not close. "is this yours?" she inquired, offering it to the owner of the locker. "yes, it is," the girl admitted. "i don't know how it came to be on the floor." "it was there because you dropped it," the matron said sternly. "next time be more careful about accusing persons." penny and susan turned to go to their own lockers, but before they could leave, betty came toward them timidly. "thank you so much," she said in a low tone. "i owe you a great deal." "not at all," penny returned, a trifle stiffly. "i feel ashamed of the way i have acted lately," the girl went on hurriedly, avoiding penny's penetrating gaze. "i've been so upset about everything. i wish i could explain--but i can't." "i think perhaps i understand." betty stared hard at penny. but she quickly masked the fleeting expression of alarm. after thanking her friends again, she turned and disappeared in the direction of the hair drying room. "just what is it that upsets that girl so?" penny said in an undertone to susan as they went to their own lockers. "she acts as if she's afraid we'll discover something about her." "yes, she does. i can't figure it out at all." the girls quickly dressed but by the time they had dried their hair and were ready for the street, it was long past supper time. "i had no idea it was so late," susan declared as they hurried toward the parked automobile. "mother will be worried for fear something has happened to us." "you might telephone." "it would take me ages to find a 'phone. i'll be home in a minute or two now anyway." it had grown quite dark, but although automobiles had been parked close together near the swimming pool, the girls experienced little difficulty in locating susan's car. as they came up to it they observed that a garage service truck had drawn up to an automobile only a short distance away. the uniformed garage man was busy changing a wheel. "some poor fellow had a flat," susan said sympathetically. "strange i didn't pick up the nail instead. my luck must be changing." penny had paused to survey the service car more critically. the garage man, aware that he was under scrutiny, gave her a sharp glance. then abruptly he threw his tools into a bag, jumped into his truck and drove away, leaving his work unfinished. "quick! see if you can get the license number!" penny cried. "i can't. the car is too far away." "i got the last three numbers," penny informed with satisfaction. "-- . i want to write it down before i forget." susan supplied pencil and paper from her purse. penny jotted down the number. "why did you want it?" susan asked curiously. "you don't think that man was trying to steal a wheel?" "i certainly do. otherwise why would he have left so hurriedly when we came up? see, the wheel is only half changed." they walked over to the nearby automobile to look. the wheel obviously was a new one and apparently had not been damaged. "that man was a tire thief all right," penny announced. "it means that the molberg gang is starting activities again. i must get in touch with father immediately." "i'll take you straight home," susan offered. "if i'd been just a little quicker i'd have caught the entire license number," penny said regretfully. "even so, it may be possible to trace the car." returning to their own automobile, they drove rapidly toward the nichols home. chapter xv incriminating evidence penny found her father occupied at his desk in the study. recounting her experience at the big dipper, she offered him the license number which she had copied. "i don't suppose it will be of any use to you since i failed to get the entire number." "i may be able to trace the car though i rather doubt it," mr. nichols told her. "at any rate, from what you've seen tonight i feel confident that rap molberg is shipping another truck load of stolen wheels out of town. i'll tip off the police to be on the lookout." some months previously the detective had installed a private wire which connected him directly with the police station. he used it now to talk confidentially with the police commissioner. "i must go downtown at once," he informed penny regretfully after making the call. "don't wait up for me. i probably won't return until late." at midnight mr. nichols had not come home. penny, after dozing for some hours in the big easy chair, went off to bed. not until morning at the breakfast table did she learn of the night's activities. "as usual we failed to make a capture," the detective acknowledged gloomily. "the police bottled up all the main highways leading from the city. all suspicious trucks were searched. we thought certain we'd catch molberg with the goods, but he was just a little too smart for us again." "were many wheels stolen last night?" penny inquired curiously. "a good truck load at least. this case has begun to make me look like an amateur. if i don't begin to close in on the molberg gang soon i'll be the laughing stock of the city." "you'll solve the case," penny smiled confidently. "i'm not so sure of that. you see, while molberg is a daring crook, the evidence indicates that he is merely a go-between for a far more clever criminal. a master mind plans out every move that the gang makes, yet doubtlessly that person has never been under suspicion. such a man always takes care to keep within the law himself although he engineers the most daring crimes by means of his henchmen." "and of course they take all the risk." "yes, if his gang is broken up, he merely organizes another." "have you no clue as to where this so called 'master mind' may be?" "none whatsoever. he has kept his hand well hidden. we have made a few arrests but the men can't be made to talk. it may be that they aren't even aware of his identity." "i don't suppose you've ever been able to get any evidence against that place where susan bought the stolen wheel," penny ventured. "no, nothing of value. the owner has a very bad name. no doubt he is receiving stolen goods, but it is always hard to prove anything." penny relapsed into a thoughtful silence which she presently ended by saying: "you know, dad, a peculiar thing happened yesterday. i don't suppose it could have the slightest connection with the case and yet it set me to thinking." "what was that?" mr. nichols asked smilingly. "i saw george brunner talking with jerry barrows in his office." "that young protégé of yours?" "he isn't any longer," penny retorted. "i realize now that i was deceived by his story. but why should he be working for mr. brunner?" "that can be explained easily. i suppose brunner didn't take the trouble to check up his record." "he was threatening the boy," penny reported, her eyebrows puckering into a frown. "i distinctly heard him say: 'you'll do as i tell you or--' then he saw me and broke off." "you're certain that was what he said?" "of course i am! you don't think i imagined it, i hope!" "no," mr. nichols laughed, "but one's ears often distort conversation. it does seem a little odd that brunner should have any connection with this boy. still, there must be a logical explanation. brunner's reputation is above reproach, you know." "i don't think he's so very honest," penny declared. "after the way he acted about susan's car i wouldn't trust him an inch." "brunner does make glib promises," the detective admitted. "in general, however, he seems to have operated his business honestly. he has made a great deal of money, penny, and is considered one of belton city's leading citizens." "i don't see where he makes all his money," penny complained. "whenever you go into his garage it's usually deserted, although he keeps a horde of discourteous workmen." "brunner hasn't been doing so well of late," mr. nichols agreed. "i think he'd bear watching," penny said darkly. "i'll turn the task over to you," mr. nichols chuckled. "i shouldn't care for it myself. digging up the black history of influential citizens isn't the most profitable occupation in the world." realizing that she was being teased, penny dropped the subject. however, no sooner had her father buried himself in his newspaper again than she thought of another question which she could not resist asking. "what did you learn about that license number i gave you last night, dad?" "it was issued in this county. without the complete number it will be impossible to trace the car." mr. nichols again turned to his newspaper and penny permitted him to read undisturbed. she knew that he regarded her interest in the molberg case with amusement. he was humoring her in her desire to play at being a detective. but while he listened politely to her questions and suggestions, he did not really believe that her contributions were of great value. "i wish i could show him!" penny thought determinedly. "maybe i shall too!" mr. nichols, blissfully unaware of what his daughter was thinking, left the breakfast table. "i'll be out of the city all day," he informed. "i may get back late tonight but i can't be sure of it. i guess you'll be well looked after by mrs. gallup." "and by joe," penny added. "must he always trail me around, dad? i'm getting so tired of it." mr. nichols smiled broadly. "from joe's daily reports, i suspected he was the one who was growing tired. you seem to have led him a rapid-fire chase. he turned in a bill for nearly forty gallons of gasoline last week." "he must be drinking it then!" penny retorted. "i'm sure my old car couldn't have traveled any such distance. but seriously, can't you discharge him?" "not until the case is finished, penny." "and when will that be?" "i wish i knew. if all cases were as annoying as this one, i'd soon be out of business. but we have several new leads. i'm hoping something will develop within the next week." "i may do a little sleuthing of my own just to hurry matters along," penny warned with a laugh. "go as far as you like," mr. nichols said, undisturbed. "i depend upon joe to see that you don't get into too hot water." after her father had left the house, penny went to the y.w.c.a. where she taught a friday morning swimming class. by eleven o'clock she was through her work and had the entire day before her. making her way to the business section of the city, she did a little shopping at one of the department stores. as she was buying a pair of gloves, she heard her name spoken. turning, she found betty davis standing beside her. "i saw you from across the aisle," the girl smiled. "i was just starting home." she hesitated, then said hurriedly: "i don't suppose you'd care to take luncheon with me?" "why, i'd love it," penny responded instantly. "i'm not much of a cook," betty confessed modestly, "but i can always scare up a sandwich or so." penny welcomed an opportunity to visit the davis home again for despite betty's peculiar actions, she felt that the girl really liked her. as they boarded a street car, it occurred to her that she had been invited for a particular purpose. the girl grew increasingly ill at ease. conversation became difficult although penny made a special effort to be agreeable. not until luncheon had been served and the dishes washed, did betty bring up the matter which had been troubling her. "i'm worried about father," she confessed. "the truth is, he's in danger of losing his position and through no fault of his own." penny remained silent and the girl went on with increasing embarrassment. "i don't know how to say it--you've been so kind to me. but i was wondering--do you think mr. nichols might be induced to intercede in behalf of my father?" "i'll speak to him about it," penny promised, "but i think perhaps it would be better if your father talked with him personally----" "oh, no," betty said hastily, "he'd never do that! you see, he doesn't know that i have said anything to you. i'm sure he wouldn't like it." "i see," penny responded quietly. "i'll talk with father, but i am afraid it will do no good." betty's shoulders slumped, although she tried to smile bravely. "i shouldn't have made the request. please forget it." "no, i mean to talk to father about it," penny insisted. "it's very kind of you. i'd never have mentioned the matter at all only i realize my father will never turn a hand to defend himself against unjust accusations." the conversation shifted to less personal subjects. as penny arose to leave a half hour later she spoke casually of betty's brother and was surprised to notice a strained expression pass over the girl's face. "you were going to show me his picture the other day when i was here," she reminded betty. "oh, yes, so i was," the other agreed but with out enthusiasm. "jimmie is very good looking. i guess i told you he was a football player at waltham high last year." "i'd like to meet him," penny remarked. "jimmie isn't home very much of the time," betty returned hastily. "but at least i can see his picture," penny said, watching the girl closely. "why, yes," betty stammered, ill at ease. "i'll get it." she went into an adjoining room and did not return for some minutes. she did not bring the photograph. avoiding penny's gaze, she said apologetically: "i can't seem to find it anywhere. i must have misplaced the photo." "it doesn't matter," penny returned politely. she had guessed instantly that betty had made no real effort to find the photograph. for some reason the girl no longer wished her to see it. after chatting for a short while longer, penny took her leave. "now i wonder why betty was so reluctant to have me see the picture," she reflected as she walked slowly toward the street car line. "i'm more interested in it now than i was before." it occurred to penny that if only she could find a copy of the previous year's waltham high school annual, jimmie davis' picture was almost certain to appear in it. "margery barclay's brother attended that school," she recalled. "i might be able to get an annual from him. it won't be out of my way to stop at their house on my way home." when she called at the barclay residence, mrs. barclay answered the door. upon learning that neither margery nor her brother were at home, penny mentioned the purpose of her call. "why, yes, we have one of the annuals," mrs. barclay told her. "i am sure you are very welcome to have it for a few days. i'll find it for you." she went to the bookcase and after searching through several shelves found a thick, dusty volume which she gave to penny. "i'll bring it back tomorrow, mrs. barclay." "keep it as long as you like. no one ever looks at it any more." penny thanked mrs. barclay, and tucking the book under her arm, walked slowly toward the street car line. while she stood at the corner waiting, she turned a few of the pages. "after i get home i'll go through the annual systematically," she decided. a street car stopped at the corner and she boarded it. seating herself near the rear, she again interested herself in the book. although she found many photographs of football stars, she did not immediately locate the one for which she searched. then she turned a page and a face stood out. beneath it, a caption gave the name of jimmie davis and a list of his scholastical achievements. penny stared at the picture in disbelief. "no wonder betty acted as she did!" she told herself excitedly. "now i understand perfectly why she didn't want me to see the photograph!" chapter xvi a valuable photograph convinced that she had made an important discovery, penny hastily left the street car. catching one which was going in the opposite direction, she went directly to her father's main downtown office. "has dad left town yet?" she inquired of miss arrow. "yes, i think he has," the secretary informed. "at least he left here nearly an hour ago and said he likely wouldn't return today." thinking that possibly mr. nichols might have stopped for a few minutes at his temporary office opposite the brunner garage, penny went there. she found the room closed though not locked. "i don't know what to do now," penny thought, slightly bewildered. "it seems to me i have a valuable clue which should be acted upon at once." she considered taking miss arrow or one of her father's detectives into her confidence, yet hesitated to do so lest she make herself appear ridiculous. after all, she had no real evidence upon which to base her theory. even though the photograph of jimmie davis had given her a start, she could not be certain that she knew anything damaging concerning the boy's past. it would be wise to move cautiously. "i'll say nothing about the photograph until i've had an opportunity to do a little investigating of my own," she decided. "i may as well start by asking jerome davis a few questions." penny was familiar with the policeman's regular beat, but before trying to locate him, she went home for her car. it was mrs. gallup's afternoon off, so there was no need to explain to the housekeeper where she was going. "i might leave a note where she'll find it when she returns," penny thought. "still, i should be back by supper time." as penny backed from the garage, she caught a glimpse of joe franey's familiar black coupé parked across the street. "i'm afraid dad's gasoline bill will take a big jump upward today," she chuckled. penny dismissed the detective from her mind and became intent upon the problem which faced her. she must be very cautious if she questioned jerome davis for it might ruin all her plans if he suspected what she was about. approaching the policeman's usual haunts, penny slowed down. presently she caught sight of the officer at a street corner. he was talking with someone. "why, it's jerry barrows!" she exclaimed, pulling up at the curbing to watch. "the plot thickens!" penny made no attempt to interrupt the two. the policeman was talking so earnestly with the boy that he had not even glanced in her direction. she was too far away to hear what they were saying, but she observed jerome davis take a small roll of bills from his pocket. he peeled off three and gave them to the youth. the latter thanked him and moved quickly away. "i can't question mr. davis now or he would be suspicious," penny thought. "i'll come back a little later." recalling that she had never visited the brunner garage to request jerry barrows' address from the manager, she made that her next stop. as she parked outside the building, she noticed that joe franey, faithful to his trust, was still following. "poor man, he must think i am completely crazy," penny laughed. "perhaps i am too!" upon requesting to see mr. brunner, she was informed that he was busy. she was forced to wait nearly three-quarters of an hour before he would see her. "what can i do for you, miss nichols?" he inquired with forced politeness as she entered. penny reminded him of his promise. "oh, yes!" he laughed apologetically. "you know, the matter completely slipped my mind until this minute." "indeed?" penny inquired. she had not been surprised at the answer. "if you will come back in a few days----" "can't you get the address for me now? it is rather important that i have it immediately." the manager frowned. "i'll see what i can do. wait here." he left the office, returning a few minutes later. "i can't seem to find it on our records at all, miss nichols. the boy never worked here steadily. in fact, he has been discharged." "so you refuse to give me the address?" "it isn't that, miss nichols. we'd be glad to provide it if we could. unfortunately, we can't." "i see," penny returned coldly. she left the garage and went back to her car. for a time she sat thinking. she could not make up her mind as to her next move. while she sat debating, george brunner came out of the building. without noticing penny, he climbed into his automobile, one of the latest and most expensive models available, and drove away. "i wonder where he's going in such a hurry?" penny asked herself. she decided that it might be worth her time to follow. quickly, she shifted gears and took after him. without being aware that anyone was trailing him, the garage manager weaved from one street to another, gradually traveling toward the poorer section of the city. penny had difficulty in keeping him in sight. "what a silly thing i am doing," she told herself. "i think i'll sign off and go home." however, she could not resist following the car a few more blocks. her patience was rewarded. presently brunner turned into south lake street. "i'll keep on a little farther," penny decided. "it may be that brunner is perfectly honest and above board, but i have my doubts. i think he'll bear watching." she was not greatly surprised when the garage manager halted his car only a short distance from the tire shop which she and susan had visited only a few days previously. penny drew up to the curbing on the opposite side of the street. as brunner alighted and looked carefully about to see that he was unobserved, penny ducked down out of sight, pretending to be fixing something on the floor of the car. straightening up a minute later, she saw that the garage manager was making his way toward the tire shop. "now what does he want there?" she asked herself. "i must say he isn't keeping very good company." brunner entered the shop and penny settled herself to wait. an hour passed. it began to grow dark. "i really should telephone mrs. gallup that i'll be late for supper," penny reflected. "either that or i should give up this silly chase and go home." in her heart she did not really think that it was silly. the conviction had steadily grown in her mind that in some way the garage owner was involved with jerry barrows and others in a questionable business activity. noticing a drug store nearby, she stepped inside to telephone her home. after several rings, the operator informed her that no one answered. "mrs. gallup must have been detained," penny thought. "i'll not need to hurry home now." as she was leaving the drug store, the door of the tire shop on the opposite side of the street opened and george brunner emerged. penny hastily dodged back into the doorway to avoid being seen. brunner walked directly to his car, preparing to depart. before he could start the motor, the owner of the shop came running after him. it was the same man who had spoken so harshly to penny upon her previous visit. the two men conversed in low tones for several minutes, but as they became more excited, their voices grew louder. "it's too dangerous i tell you," she heard the owner of the tire shop say. "the police are getting wise. and only a day or so ago nichols sent his daughter around here to spy." "i'll deal with her," brunner promised. "she's getting too curious for her own good." "after tonight i'm through," the other insisted. "the little i make isn't worth the risk i take." penny could not hear brunner's reply. he seemed to be arguing with the tire shop owner. she felt elated and excited at the information she had gleaned. _after tonight_! the words burned into her mind. what coup were the two men planning for that evening? if only she might learn! could it be that brunner was involved in the auto accessory thefts? it was generally believed that the disreputable owner of the tire shop made a practice of receiving stolen goods. why then, should a man in brunner's position stoop to have dealings with such a person unless he too were guilty? the evidence against the two was purely circumstantial, that penny plainly realized. it seemed ridiculous to connect brunner with the underworld and yet the very fact that no suspicion had ever been attached to him offered a measure of safety for his dishonorable activities. "dad warned me that one must move cautiously in trying to gather evidence against influential citizens," penny reasoned. "yet, if i wait until i can talk it over with him, it may be too late." brunner's automobile was moving away from the curbing. penny did not have a minute to debate. the instant that the tire shop owner vanished inside his store, she darted to her own car. already brunner was far up the street, but by speeding she managed to approach close enough to keep him within sight. "perhaps i'd better take joe into my confidence," she thought a trifle uneasily. "there's no telling where this chase may end." she glanced back, but the detective's familiar black coupé was not in view. nor did she see it when she looked again a few blocks farther on. "i've lost him somewhere," she told herself in annoyance. "if that isn't my luck! just when i might have used him to advantage!" penny soon discovered that george brunner was returning to his own garage. as he drove into the building she drew up at the curbing, puzzled as to how she could shadow him further. then it occurred to her that she was directly opposite her father's office. from there it would be a simple matter to keep watch of the brunner garage without attracting attention to her own actions. before taking up her station in the little room high above the street, penny fortified herself with several sandwiches and a bottle of milk purchased at a café nearby. then she was ready for her vigil. an hour passed and nothing happened. there was little activity at the brunner garage. several motorists stopped at the red pump for gasoline, but that was all. "perhaps my hunch was wrong," penny thought as she grew tired of waiting. "i really haven't much reason for being suspicious of brunner." after a time she used her father's telephone to call home. no one answered. obviously, mrs. gallup had not returned. "i wonder what detained her," penny mused. "it isn't like her to stay away." she remained at her seat by the window. several times she was tempted to pick up a magazine and read for a few minutes. she resisted the impulse, remembering that she had heard her father say that a good investigator never took his eye from the place or person he was watching. another hour dragged by. penny grew tired and bored. it was a warm night and the tiny room had become oppressive. "i'll wait a little while longer," she decided. penny ate the last of her sandwiches and wished that she had bought coffee instead of milk. it would have helped her to stay awake. suddenly she became alert. a man stood in the doorway of the brunner garage alley entrance. she did not need her father's field glass to see that it was the manager. he looked at his watch, then cast a glance up and down the street. penny studied her own wrist watch. it was exactly ten o'clock. a garage service car rolled swiftly down the street. it swerved into the alley. simultaneously, brunner swung wide the rear doors of the garage. the truck drove in, but not before penny had riveted her eyes upon the license number. at sight of the last three figures, her heart leaped. the numbers-- --were identical with those she had noted upon the license of the service car at the big dipper! chapter xvii under the canvas "it begins to look as if my hunch might be correct," penny told herself. "unless that truck merely drove into the garage for gasoline or service, things look suspicious!" she saw brunner follow the car into the building, carefully closing the doors. "if everything is honest and above board, why did they use the alley entrance when the other one is far more convenient?" she reflected. "obviously, brunner knew the car was coming at exactly ten o'clock too." convinced that she was on the verge of important discoveries, penny settled herself for a long wait. from her chair by the window she could watch both the alley and the main entrance. a half hour elapsed, then another. at length penny's patience was rewarded. the alley doors swung open and a heavy truck which was covered over with a canvas top, emerged. the driver wore a cap and his head was bent low. in the semi-darkness of the dimly lighted street penny could not catch even a glimpse of his face. "i must follow that truck!" she thought tensely. "if dad were here he would do it i feel sure! it's the only chance to gain real evidence!" she waited at the window only long enough to see that the car had turned down center avenue. scribbling a brief message to her father explaining what she intended to do, she left the note where he would find it in the event he returned to the office that night. then she raced to the street. by the time she had her roadster started the covered truck had disappeared. however, turning down center avenue, penny caught it at the first traffic light. satisfied that she would have no trouble in keeping it in view, she slowed down, falling back to a distance which was not likely to arouse suspicion. penny had no idea where the chase would lead, although the truck seemed to be driving directly out of the city. from the slow rate of speed at which it traveled, she thought that it must be heavily loaded with cargo. "if i only knew what was hidden under that canvas cover i might have the solution to the mystery," she reflected. "i think i have it anyway, but i must secure definite evidence." penny was fully aware that she had launched herself upon a dangerous enterprise. in some manner joe franey had lost track of her completely, and she could no longer count upon his protection. in an emergency she must depend entirely upon her own resources. before penny had traveled many miles out of the city she began to grow alarmed because her gasoline gauge showed that she had scarcely a gallon left. although she had her purse with her, it contained only a dollar. she could buy about five gallons of fuel, but should the truck lead her much farther into the country, she easily might find herself stranded. apparently, the driver ahead faced a similar need for gasoline. at the next filling station he turned in. penny determined upon a bold move. at the risk of detection, she too drove into the station. "this will give me just the opportunity i need to get a good look at that driver!" she thought. the truck had pulled up alongside of one of the three pumps but as penny stopped in the shadow where the light from the filling station office would not shine fully upon her, she was disappointed to see that the driver's seat was empty. "he's gone off somewhere," she told herself. "if only i could be sure he'd be away for a minute or two, i'd peep under that canvas cover and see what it is he's hauling." before she could transfer the thought into action, a filling station attendant came to serve her. "how many?" he inquired. "three gallons," penny said. while the attendant operated the pump, she looked searchingly about. the driver of the truck was talking with someone inside the office, but his back was turned so that she could not see his face. "sixty-three cents," the attendant informed politely. "shall i look at your oil?" "it's all right i think," penny responded, offering the money. the man went inside for change. "this is my only chance!" penny told herself. like a flash she was out of the roadster. she moved swiftly to the back of the truck, cast a quick glance toward the office, and seeing that she was unobserved, lifted a corner of the canvas cover. the truck was loaded with automobile wheels. a sound from the direction of the filling station office caused penny to wheel. the driver was coming back! she dropped the canvas flap and melted back into the shadow. she pretended to busy herself with the radiator cap of her own car. "everything okay, sir?" the station attendant asked, emerging from the office and addressing the truck driver. "yes, what do i owe?" penny started as she heard the voice. it was strangely familiar. if only she could see the driver's face! "three-forty-two," the attendant informed the trucker, in response to his question. the driver gave him a bill and waited for his change. for the first time he turned toward penny. she hastily averted her face, yet looked over her shoulder an instant later to view his. "it's jerry barrows!" she recognized. "now i understand in what capacity he was employed by brunner!" the attendant had returned with the driver's change and likewise her own. he noticed that she had removed the radiator cap from the roadster. "need water?" he questioned pleasantly. "please," penny said, very low. at the sound of her voice, jerry barrows turned, but he saw nothing more than penny's back. apparently satisfied that he had never seen the girl before, he climbed into his truck. the attendant had peered down into the radiator of penny's car. "it's full to the top," he reported. "why, so it is," penny acknowledged with a self-conscious laugh. "i guess i didn't look very well." she stepped into the roadster but spent several minutes putting away her change and starting the motor. she did not wish to pull away from the station until after jerry barrows had left. "i intend to find out where he's taking those stolen wheels before i turn back," she decided grimly. after a seemingly interminable delay, the boy started his truck and pulled out of the station. penny waited a few minutes longer and then followed. for some time they traveled over a wide, national highway but presently the truck driver turned into a dirt road which wound in and out through the low hills. several times penny was forced to stop her car and wait by the roadside lest she draw too close to the vehicle ahead. the trail led through a dense forest. farm houses became farther and farther apart. after awhile they crossed a river, and directly beyond penny noticed an odd wooden structure which appeared to be a rebuilt sawmill. the truck turned into a narrow lane which led to the old building. penny hesitated to follow lest the driver discover that he was being shadowed. she parked her car in a clump of bushes just off the road. since leaving the main highway she had traveled without headlights. the truck drew up near the sawmill. penny could hear the roar of the powerful engine and see the headlight beam. then the lights were switched off and the sound of the motor became muffled. "he's driven inside the building," she decided. "unless i get in there somehow, i'll never discover what is going on." penny debated, but in the end curiosity conquered fear. she left the roadster and stealthily made her way toward the sawmill. chapter xviii at the old sawmill from the outside, penny could not have told that the old mill was in use. it was surrounded by unkempt trees and shrubs which hid it from the road. cracks in the decaying boards had been carefully patched so that no light from inside could show through. keeping behind the bushes, penny made a complete tour of the building. she could find no means of entrance other than the main double doors through which the truck had driven. only after a second minute inspection did she notice a small window at the rear well above the level of her head. "if i can get up there i might be able to see what is going on inside," she thought. even on tiptoe she could not reach the window. going down to the river she found an old orange crate which had washed up on the bank. carrying it back to the window she set it underneath and climbed up. she peered into the building. the window opened directly into a dark, deserted little room, but directly beyond she could observe several men moving about. it was impossible to see what they were doing. thinking that perhaps she might overhear their conversation, she pried at the window. to her surprise it was readily raised. but she could hear only a low murmur of voices. it was impossible to distinguish a single phrase. "i might just as well be a million miles away as here," she told herself. "i have a notion to climb inside." penny took after her father in that she seldom experienced the sensation of fear. she knew well enough that she was taking a grave risk in entering the building, yet if she were to learn anything which would aid mr. nichols in his case against the automobile accessory thieves, she must be courageous. naturally agile, penny raised herself to the ledge by sheer strength of her arms. she hesitated an instant, then dropped lightly down inside the sawmill. she moved a few steps forward, then returned to quietly close the window. while it cut off her escape, she realized that the open window would be a telltale sign should anyone notice it. she crept toward the adjoining main room from whence came the low murmur of voices. secreting herself behind a tall pile of old sawed boards, she peered through the doorway. the truck had pulled up at one side of the room. several rough looking men were engaged in unloading the wheels. penny's eyes fastened upon the man who directed the others. it was rap molberg. "get a move on!" he ordered tersely. "we can't stall around all night." the wheels were trundled out one by one from the rear end of the truck, and the men, six in all, fell to work with their tools, defacing the serial numbers and substituting others. penny watched in fascination. her gaze wandered to jerry barrows who had driven the truck to the sawmill. he sat apart, apparently taking no interest in what was going on. somewhere in the building a telephone rang. as one of the men came toward her, penny shrank down behind the pile of lumber. he passed so close that she could have reached out and touched him had she chosen. the man went into a small anteroom and penny heard him answer the telephone. she could not distinguish the words, but presently he returned to the main room. "it was the big boss," he reported to rap molberg. "he called from somm center." "what's he doing there?" rap demanded irritably. "doesn't he think i'm capable of handling this end?" "he's on his way here now," the other informed. "he says he has a hot tip that christopher nichols is wise to our hideout!" "that snooper!" molberg snarled. "i should have known he was up to something when he left town so suddenly." "the cops may be down on us any minute." "then we're getting out of here without leaving any evidence behind!" molberg snapped. "get busy, men!" all fell to work with a will save jerry barrows. "you!" rap shouted angrily. "this is no time for loafing!" "i agreed to drive a truck, but i didn't say i'd deface tires and help with your thieving!" the boy retorted bitterly. "i'm sick and tired of the whole deal." "oh, so you're sick and tired of it, are you?" the other echoed sarcastically. "you're in this the same as the rest of us, and if we go to the pen, you go with us! now get to work or i'll----" he left the threat unsaid, for just then an automobile engine was heard outside the building. everyone froze in an attitude of listening. molberg dropped his tools and ran to peer out through a tiny peep-hole in the wall. "it's all right," he said in relief. "it's the boss. he must have burned up the road getting here from somm center." the wide doors were flung open and a high-powered motor car drove into the building. george brunner alighted. "there's no time to waste," he informed tersely. "load up those wheels and get them out of here!" "we haven't finished defacing the numbers," molberg told him. "we can't stop for that. the important thing is to get this place cleared of evidence before the police pounce down on us." quickly the wheels which had been unloaded were stacked back into the truck. brunner turned sharply upon jerry barrows. "there's your load!" he snapped. "get going with it!" the boy made no move to obey. "did you hear?" brunner snarled. "i heard," jerry barrows retorted coldly, "but i'm not driving that truck out of here tonight. i'm through!" "we'll see about that!" brunner came toward him menacingly. the boy cringed in terror but stood his ground. "i've been thinking it over," he said determinedly. "i'd rather go to jail than keep on as i have. i've driven my last truck load of stolen wheels!" brunner caught him roughly by the shoulder. "you're yellow!" he sneered. "but i know how to handle your kind. i'll just let your father hear that his son has become a thief! how will you like that?" all color had drained from the boy's face. in the light from the workmen's torches, it appeared almost ghostly. "you know it will just about kill my father if he learns the truth!" "then you'll do as i say!" the boy hesitated, seemingly almost on the verge of giving in. then he threw back his head defiantly. "no, i've made up my mind! i'm through for good!" "that's your final decision?" "it is." without warning, brunner's fist shot out. he struck the boy squarely under the chin. jerry barrows' knees crumpled beneath him and he sagged to the floor. brunner turned to the others who stood watching. "anyone here who feels the same way?" no one spoke. "then back to your work!" brunner commanded. "clear the building of every scrap of evidence." penny was horrified at the scene she had witnessed. jerry barrows lay so motionless upon the floor that she was afraid he had been seriously injured. she longed to go to his aid, yet dared not make a move lest she betray her presence. "if only i could get word to the police or to father!" she thought tensely. "by the time i drive back to belton city for help it will be too late." the telephone! if she could but reach the antechamber it might be possible to notify the authorities. watching her chance, she tiptoed across the open space to the little room. the men were so occupied with their work that they did not glance in her direction. no sound betrayed her. penny reached the chamber in safety, and quietly closed the door. it was dark inside and at first she could not locate the telephone. but after groping about, she found it on the wall. "i'll try father's office," she decided. "there's just a chance that he may have returned." her hand trembled as she took down the receiver. she was fully aware of the risk she was taking in attempting the telephone call. muffling her voice and speaking very low, she gave the number of her father's office to the operator. there was a long wait. she could hear a rhythmical buzz on the wire. the bell was ringing but no one answered. "i must try the police," penny thought. just then she heard a click at the other end of the line. a receiver had been taken from its hook. "hello, christopher nichols speaking," acknowledged the familiar voice of her father. in her excitement, penny began an almost incoherent outpouring of what she had witnessed. "you say you've seen the tire thieves at work?" mr. nichols demanded. "yes, bring the police, and they can be trapped with the evidence! but hurry or it will be too late!" "where are you now, penny?" her father questioned tensely. "at the old sawmill. take the road----" a slight sound directly behind caused penny to turn her head. rap molberg stood in the doorway! chapter xix trapped before penny could utter a sound, the man sprang toward her. a grimy hand was clapped roughly against her mouth and the telephone receiver jerked from her hand. "well, if it isn't the little nichols girl!" the man leered, shoving her away from the 'phone. "trying to bring the police down on us, were you?" penny could make no retort. instead she savagely bit his hand. with a cry of rage and pain, molberg jerked it away. penny sprang for the door. the man leaped after her, catching her by the shoulder. he pressed her back against the wall. "no more of your little tricks," he warned. from his pocket he drew forth a stout cord. although penny struggled, she could not prevent him from tying her hands behind her back. he took out a large handkerchief. "not a gag!" penny pleaded. "i suppose you'd like to make another telephone call," the man said sarcastically. "i'm going to fix you so you won't make any more trouble tonight!" the handkerchief was tied tightly across her mouth and her feet were securely trussed. then molberg placed her with her back against the wall and left her alone. almost immediately he returned with brunner. the two had brought a light. "this is luck!" the garage manager declared, his eyes sparkling. "with christopher nichols' daughter in our hands i guess that snooper won't make us any more trouble. did she get through to the police, do you think?" "i doubt it. she had just begun to talk on the 'phone when i caught her," rap informed. "we'll take no chance anyway. we're getting out of here as quickly as we can." the two men went away, taking the light with them. penny was left alone in the dark. she twisted and turned but could not succeed in loosening her bonds. the gag became uncomfortable. "what a mess i've made of things now," she told herself in disgust. "here i am a prisoner, and there isn't a chance dad or the police will get to me in time. if only i could have explained where i was before rap molberg caught me!" penny tried not to think of the possible fate which awaited her. brunner would never permit her to go free. she had gleaned too much valuable information and would prove a damaging witness against him. she knew now that he alone directed the activities of the so-called molberg gang. brunner was the arch criminal, the "master mind" which had baffled police and private investigators. rap molberg, although a dangerous crook, merely carried out his chief's orders. "brunner fooled everyone with his posing as a substantial citizen," penny mused. "all the time he was using his business as a front to hide his unlawful activities." outside, in the main part of the sawmill, she could hear men working feverishly. in a few minutes the big truck would depart with all the evidence which could not be destroyed. penny wondered if she would be left tied up in the little room or taken along. again she struggled to free herself but only succeeded in drawing the knots tighter. the gag was so tight across her mouth that she could utter no sound. spent from her effort to escape, she leaned back against the wall. presently her eyes riveted upon the closed door. was it imagination or had it opened a tiny crack? distinctly, she could notice a widening streak of light. she waited expectantly. noiselessly, the door swung back on its hinges. at first penny could not see who it was that had come in. but as he moved toward her, she recognized jerry barrows. "don't be afraid," he told her in a whisper. "i've come to help you." penny was relieved to know that the boy had not been seriously injured by the blow he had received from brunner. she tried to speak but could not. quickly, he bent and untied the cloth about her mouth. "why are you doing this?" penny whispered. "because you helped me once when i was in trouble," the boy told her instantly. "besides, i hate brunner." "he has forced you to continue in crime against your will?" "yes." "your real name is not jerry barrows," penny stated. the boy paused in untying the cords about her wrists. "no, that isn't my own name," he admitted. "you are jimmie davis," penny accused. the boy stared. "how did you know?" "from a photograph." "you haven't told my father?" he demanded nervously. "no, i've said nothing of it to anyone. but i think the only way out for you is to make a clean breast of everything." "i mean to tell the truth if i ever get away from here alive." "you'll testify against brunner and molberg?" penny questioned eagerly. "yes, if we can manage to escape. the main door is guarded." "i came in through a window," penny told him. "perhaps we can get out the same way." the instant her bonds had been cut, she sprang to her feet. they moved noiselessly to the door. jimmie opened it a crack, then closed it hastily. penny could hear footsteps. "it's brunner!" the boy whispered. "i think he suspects." they braced themselves against the door. the knob turned slowly. then a man's weight was hurled against the panel. "open that door!" brunner shouted furiously, "open or i'll break it down." there was no escape from the room for it was without windows. penny and her companion held the door as long as they could, but when rap molberg had come in response to his chief's call, the result was inevitable. a panel splintered and then the door gave way. penny and her companion retreated against the wall. "so you thought you'd help her escape!" brunner sneered, confronting the boy. "i thought i'd find you here. but you'll pay for your treachery, jimmie davis!" he turned to molberg, tersely ordering him to tie the arms of the prisoners. as the man caught her by the wrist, penny struggled furiously. jimmie was too battered from his recent encounter to put up a fight. he recognized the futility of struggling against impossible odds. "what shall we do with 'em now?" molberg asked gruffly when he had succeeded in overpowering penny. "this girl is a little wildcat if there ever was one!" "we'll take them along with us," brunner ordered tersely. "the important thing is to get away from here while the getting is good. we can decide the fate of these two later on." penny and her companion were forced to walk into the main room of the sawmill. they saw that everything was in readiness for a hurried departure. the truck had been reloaded and stood waiting by the door. "get in!" molberg commanded sharply, pushing penny toward the rear of the van. "how can i with my hands tied?" she demanded indignantly. "unfasten the cords." instead, molberg lifted her off her feet, dropping her unceremoniously among the neat stacks of car wheels with which the truck was filled. even less gently, jimmie davis was tossed in beside her. then the back end of the van was dropped down and the canvas cover thrown over it. penny and her companion were enveloped in darkness. "where are they taking us?" she asked in a whisper. "probably to a hideout in another state," jimmie informed. "our jig is up unless we can escape." "we may have a chance after the truck starts." "i doubt it," the boy returned gloomily. "we'll be watched every second. if we make a move, they'll shoot." penny relapsed into a moody silence. it was hot and unpleasant in the covered truck. her arms hurt where the cords cut deeply into the flesh. her head had begun to ache and she could think of no way to escape. presently the truck began to move. from the manner in which it bumped about, penny knew they were traveling down the rough side road to the main highway. once there the van would be absorbed in the general stream of traffic. "i guess brunner was right when he called me yellow," jimmie presently said in a low tone. "i've betrayed my father, my sister and my friends. i wanted to go straight, but brunner had me in a strangle hold." "how do you mean?" penny asked. "he threatened to tell my father the truth. i'd have quit working for him long ago if i hadn't been such a coward." "just what did you do for brunner, jimmie?" "i drove the truck. at first i thought it was a legitimate job. when i discovered that i was hauling stolen tires i wanted to quit. "brunner wouldn't let you?" "no, he made me keep on. you see i was heavily in debt--father didn't know that either. i needed the money the job brought in. i kept getting in deeper and deeper. i hated to disgrace my father and my sister." "i can understand that, jimmie." "i didn't treat you right either, miss nichols. i lied to you about why the police were after me." "i suspected that," penny acknowledged. "i was driving a truck of stolen wheels to chicago when i had a blow-out," the boy went on. "a policeman came over to investigate. i ducked out and hid in your garage." "why didn't you come to talk with my father as you promised, jimmie?" "i knew he had been assigned to catch the auto accessory thieves. i couldn't afford to take any chance." before penny could reply there came a screech of brakes as the truck abruptly stopped. she was flung hard against the end-gate. "halt!" a voice rang out. "halt or we'll fire!" chapter xx penny's triumph with a thrill of joy, penny recognized her father's voice. in some manner he had traced her telephone call and had brought help! two shots rang out, to be followed in quick succession by others from the driver's seat of the truck. then silence. penny, huddling against the wall of the dark van, decided to take a chance. she screamed loudly for help. a moment later the canvas cover was jerked from the rear of the truck. mr. nichols' face loomed up behind the electric lantern which he carried. "penny! are you hurt?" "not a bit, dad. but i'm tied up." "i'll have you out in a jiffy. courage!" mr. nichols leaped nimbly upon the truck, and with his pocket knife severed the cords which held her arms. "what happened?" penny questioned eagerly. "i heard the shots." "the battle didn't amount to much. we outnumbered them two to one. molberg was wounded in the leg when he leaped off the truck and took to the fields." "and brunner?" "he's handcuffed to one of the officers now." "how did you know where to come?" penny questioned. "i was overpowered before i could give you directions." "i suspected that. in fact, i was worried sick for fear i wouldn't get to you in time. your note gave me a faint clue. then i traced the telephone call to the somm center exchange so i knew you were somewhere in this vicinity. yesterday we received an anonymous tip that an abandoned sawmill near here would bear investigation. putting two and two together i thought perhaps the gangsters might be captured there." "but you came so quickly." "by plane to somm center," mr. nichols smiled. "the police were waiting for me at the field with automobiles. we lost no time in bottling up all the roads approaching the old sawmill." during the hurried conversation, jimmie davis had remained quiet. now mr. nichols bent over him. "who is this boy, penny?" "it's all right, dad. set him free. i'll explain everything." the detective cut the bonds and jimmie stepped down from the truck. "hold on there," a policeman intervened, taking the boy by the arm. "you're wanted at headquarters." jimmie offered no resistance. handcuffs were slipped over his wrists. "oh, dad, don't let them do that!" penny pleaded. "he isn't really a criminal." "who is this boy, penny?" the detective asked again. "jimmie davis alias jerry barrows." "davis! not jerome davis' son!" "yes, he is." "now i begin to understand a few things which weren't clear to me before. why our raid failed, for instance." "i don't believe jerome davis is implicated with the gang," penny insisted. "can't you let this boy go free? if it becomes generally known that he is the son of a policeman it will do so much harm." "we can't favor him on that account, penny." "i realize that, but he's innocent. at least his worst crime was to drive the truck which contained the stolen tires. he only did that because brunner threatened him." "are you certain?" "yes, i am. i overheard brunner quarreling with him." penny then began a rapid account of all that she had witnessed at the old sawmill. several of the policemen gathered near to hear the story. brunner, handcuffed to an officer, listened intently to her words. "it's all a lie," he interrupted. "this davis boy is the son of an old friend of mine. because i thought so much of his father i came here tonight to try to save the boy from his own folly. i pleaded with him to give up his career of crime--" "and why were you found in the company of rap molberg?" mr. nichols questioned severely. "i was trying to think of some way----" "never mind," the detective cut him short. "you can explain it to the judge." while brunner, molberg and the men who had been captured with them were being loaded into police cars, an automobile was observed coming toward the lane which led to the sawmill. "block the road," mr. nichols ordered. "it may be more of the gang." a police car was turned crosswise in the highway. the oncoming automobile stopped just in time to avoid a crash. officers instantly surrounded the car. penny, crowding near recognized the driver as jerome davis. beside him crouched his daughter, betty. "what is the meaning of this?" mr. davis demanded. his eyes swept the group and came to rest upon his own son who was in the custody of an officer. "jimmie!" he exclaimed. his shoulders sagged; his hands fell from the steering wheel. "i see i am too late," he murmured. betty sprang from the car and ran to her brother. "oh, jimmie, how could you do it?" she cried brokenly. "how could you?" penny slipped her arm about the weeping girl and led her away. "why did you come here tonight, betty?" she asked gently. "we came because we knew jimmie was in danger. we thought we might get here ahead of the police and save him from arrest." "then your father knows the truth?" "yes, he's suspected for some weeks that jimmie was implicated with the dreadful molberg gang. tonight he forced me to acknowledge it." "but how did you know, betty?" "once i saw jimmie with rap molberg at the blind pig. i realized too that my brother was deeply in debt. i made him tell me everything." "no wonder you were worried," penny said sympathetically. "i didn't know what to do," betty went on nervously. "i was afraid to tell father the truth because i thought it would just about kill him. he had pledged himself to the task of tracing down the molberg gang." "and of course, if jimmie's name were linked in any way with the automobile thefts, it would have cost your father his position." "yes, i was afraid too that father would insist upon turning jimmie over to the police. he is so upright and honest. he detests a criminal." "how did your father learn the truth, betty?" "he guessed it but at first said nothing to me." "how long has he known?" "since the night of the raid. at least that was when he first became suspicious. he thought jimmie had tipped off the molberg gang that their hideouts were to be raided." "but how did jimmie learn that?" "father unintentionally mentioned it at the breakfast table." "it was immediately after the raid that mr. davis seemed to lose interest in the case," penny said musingly. "yes, he was bewildered by the turn of events. i didn't know it until tonight, but he quietly set about watching jimmie. in a short while he had learned the truth." "and how did you know that jimmie would be here tonight?" penny questioned. "he told me," betty admitted. "for weeks i have pleaded with him to give up this dreadful life he has been leading. he promised me he would. but he said there was a special reason why he must drive the truck one more time." "that was because the leader of the gang had threatened to tell mr. davis," penny commented. "anyway, tonight father forced me to admit everything. when he learned that jimmie would be at the old sawmill, he determined to come here and try to save him from his own folly. oh, miss nichols, do you think they'll keep jimmie in jail?" "not if i can prevent it," penny returned firmly. "come on, i want you to repeat to father what you've just told me." the girls found mr. nichols and a group of policemen talking with jerome davis. the latter looked completely discouraged. "i'm not asking you to believe my story or to let jimmie go free," he said quietly. "my son has broken the law and he must be punished the same as any other offender. of course i shall resign my position on the force immediately." "that may not be necessary," mr. nichols told him kindly. "in my opinion you've already proven that you had no hand in the affair." "it was my fault that the raid failed," the policeman accused himself. he turned to his son. "jimmie, you were the one who tipped off the gang that it was to be staged?" "yes, father," the boy admitted. "i dropped it out before i thought. i didn't mean to do it." "i take all the blame," jerome davis said quietly. "i should never have mentioned the affair at home." he moved over to his son, placing his hand upon his shoulder for an instant. then he turned sternly back to the group of officers. "do your duty, men," he directed. no one moved. "it isn't right to arrest this boy," penny declared. "he was trying to go straight and he ought to have a chance." "he'll get it too!" mr. nichols added. "with you as a witness in his favor, penny, i'm confident he'll be released." brunner, molberg and other members of the captured gang were loaded into police cars and taken back to belton city. although technically under custody, jimmie davis rode with mr. nichols and was not handcuffed. betty and her father took penny home since mr. nichols found it necessary to go to the police station. "i can't thank you enough for all you've done," betty said gratefully as penny alighted at her own doorstep. "if jimmie does go free, it will be entirely through your efforts and your father's." "i think everything will come out right," penny told her encouragingly. "if there's any news i'll let you know the first thing in the morning." as the car drove away, mrs. gallup rushed out of the house to embrace the girl. "penny, what has happened?" she cried. "your clothes are dirty and mussed. you're a sight!" "i don't doubt it," penny laughed. "i've had a wild night." "i didn't get home until an hour ago," mrs. gallup explained. "when i found you weren't here i was frantic. i was afraid you might have been kidnapped again." "rap molberg won't trouble me after this, mrs. gallup. he's spending the night in jail." she then gave a glowing account of the capture at the somm center sawmill. the details left the housekeeper dumbfounded. "penny nichols, it's plain to see you're going to take after your father," she sighed. "one detective in the family is bad enough." "it was the most exciting experience of my life!" penny declared, her eyes gleaming. "i suppose i shall never have another like it." in such a prediction, she was entirely mistaken. without the power to look into the future she could not know that an adventure of far different character, though even more thrilling, awaited her. _the mystery of the lost key_, the second volume in the penny nichols series, relates her escapades at raven ridge. events had moved with such rapidity that until mrs. gallup brought a tray of steaming food from the kitchen and set it before her, penny had not realized how very hungry she was. she had just finished the supper when mr. nichols came home. "what news?" penny asked eagerly. "brunner and molberg are both behind bars where they belong," her father reported. "brunner is trying to raise bail and may get out by morning." "oh, then he may escape the law after all." "no danger of that, penny. he'll be watched from the instant he leaves the jail and kept in sight until he appears for trial." "do you think he will be convicted?" "i feel sure of it. if you testify against him he hasn't a chance. will you mind going to court?" "i'd love it!" penny returned instantly. "nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to serve as a witness against both of those men." "brunner was the real brains behind the gang," mr. nichols went on. "he had everyone fooled, including myself. you did a fine piece of work to-night, my dear." penny flushed at the praise. "if it hadn't been for your arrival at the critical moment, all my information would have been worthless. i guess i was very foolhardy." "perhaps you were, a trifle," the detective smiled. "but an investigator must take certain chances. not that i'd want you to do the same thing again," he added hastily. "you didn't tell me what the police did about jimmie davis," penny reminded him. "i hope he wasn't sent to jail too." "no, he's been placed in the custody of his father for a year. if he straightens up and doesn't violate his parole, nothing more will ever be said regarding his part in the affair." "oh, i'm so glad! i knew you'd arrange it that way." "it wasn't entirely due to my efforts," the detective insisted. "the boy really isn't bad at heart. the way he came to your rescue proved that." "this will mean so much to betty and her father," penny declared happily. her face clouded. "i suppose nothing can save mr. davis' position on the force?" "quite the contrary," mr. nichols smiled. "it is already arranged that he shall keep his job." "but the newspaper publicity?" "there will be none. at least, not regarding mr. davis and his son." it was long after midnight when penny went to bed. she was so tired and worn that she did not awaken until mrs. gallup rapped several times upon her door. "what time is it?" penny inquired drowsily. "nearly noon," the housekeeper reported. "i shouldn't have awakened you, only the telephone has been ringing all morning and the yard is cluttered with newspaper men." "i'll be right down," penny laughed, springing out of bed. it was a new experience for her to find herself occupying the limelight. she enjoyed talking with the reporters but took care to reveal nothing which involved either mr. davis or his son. the morning papers played up the story of the capture, and penny's photograph, dug up from the morgue, appeared upon the front page. she was studying it with mingled feelings of pleasure and disappointment when susan altman burst in upon her. "congratulations!" she beamed. "i see by the morning paper that you are famous!" "did you ever see such a horrible picture?" penny complained. "it's three years old at least. why, i look positively juvenile. where the editor found it i don't know." "you should worry about such a trifle as that!" susan scoffed. "tell me the entire story." "there's nothing to report except what's in the paper," penny replied. although she longed to relate the part which jimmie had played, she wisely refrained from mentioning his name. if he were to have his opportunity to begin life anew, the past must be forgotten. for days penny found herself besieged by friends and acquaintances who were eager to learn all the details of her adventure. when she walked downtown she was gazed upon with awe and admiration. at the trial of rap molberg and george brunner, she appeared as the state's star witness. the garage owner, well fortified with dishonestly acquired money, had employed one of the best criminal lawyers in the state to defend him. penny was put through a severe test when she took the stand, but although nervous, she answered all questions calmly and clearly. her testimony was largely responsible for the conviction of both rap molberg and brunner. the two were ordered confined to the state penitentiary for a long term of years. mr. nichols was jubilant at the result of the trial. "this definitely clears up the case," he declared. "and i think it calls for a big celebration." the victory event took the form of a gala dinner at belton city's leading hotel. penny invited susan and many of her high school friends. in addition, policemen, detectives and all persons who had aided in the capture of the thieves, were present. "we will have no speeches," mr. nichols had promised. "only good food and plenty of fun." penny therefore was surprised when her father, who occupied the chair at the head of the table, arose and faced the expectant group. "i don't mean to break my promise about speech making," he smiled. "for that reason, without any formality, i shall present to my daughter, penny, this token of merit from the officials of the reliance insurance company for her splendid work in connection with the molberg case." penny gasped as her father held up a tiny bejeweled wrist watch and placed it in her hand. it was the daintiest and most exquisite timepiece she had ever seen. "oh, isn't it wonderful," chorused a bevy of friends as they gathered about. "it's the nicest thing that ever happened to me," penny declared. "i can't begin to say how grateful i am." "aren't you going to look at the inscription?" her father inquired, his eyes twinkling. in surprise she glanced down at the case. her face flushed. "read it aloud!" commanded her friends. penny was too confused to obey. for engraved on the watch case, in the tiniest of letters, were the words: "to penny nichols for distinguished services as an agent of justice." the end "shavings" by joseph c. lincoln chapter i mr. gabriel bearse was happy. the prominence given to this statement is not meant to imply that gabriel was, as a general rule, unhappy. quite the contrary; mr. bearse's disposition was a cheerful one and the cares of this world had not rounded his plump shoulders. but captain sam hunniwell had once said, and orham public opinion agreed with him, that gabe bearse was never happy unless he was talking. now here was gabriel, not talking, but walking briskly along the orham main road, and yet so distinctly happy that the happiness showed in his gait, his manner and in the excited glitter of his watery eye. truly an astonishing condition of things and tending, one would say, to prove that captain sam's didactic remark, so long locally accepted and quoted as gospel truth, had a flaw in its wisdom somewhere. and yet the flaw was but a small one and the explanation simple. gabriel was not talking at that moment, it is true, but he was expecting to talk very soon, to talk a great deal. he had just come into possession of an item of news which would furnish his vocal machine gun with ammunition sufficient for wordy volley after volley. gabriel was joyfully contemplating peppering all orham with that bit of gossip. no wonder he was happy; no wonder he hurried along the main road like a battery galloping eagerly into action. he was on his way to the post office, always the gossip- sharpshooters' first line trench, when, turning the corner where nickerson's lane enters the main road, he saw something which caused him to pause, alter his battle-mad walk to a slower one, then to a saunter, and finally to a halt altogether. this something was a toy windmill fastened to a white picket fence and clattering cheerfully as its arms spun in the brisk, pleasant summer breeze. the little windmill was one of a dozen, all fastened to the top rail of that fence and all whirling. behind the fence, on posts, were other and larger windmills; behind these, others larger still. interspersed among the mills were little wooden sailors swinging paddles; weather vanes in the shapes of wooden whales, swordfish, ducks, crows, seagulls; circles of little wooden profile sailboats, made to chase each other 'round and 'round a central post. all of these were painted in gay colors, or in black and white, and all were in motion. the mills spun, the boats sailed 'round and 'round, the sailors did vigorous indian club exercises with their paddles. the grass in the little yard and the tall hollyhocks in the beds at its sides swayed and bowed and nodded. beyond, seen over the edge of the bluff and stretching to the horizon, the blue and white waves leaped and danced and sparkled. as a picture of movement and color and joyful bustle the scene was inspiring; children, viewing it for the first time, almost invariably danced and waved their arms in sympathy. summer visitors, loitering idly by, suddenly became fired with the desire to set about doing something, something energetic. gabriel bearse was not a summer visitor, but a "native," that is, an all-the-year-round resident of orham, and, as his fellow natives would have cheerfully testified, it took much more than windmills to arouse his energy. he had not halted to look at the mills. he had stopped because the sight of them recalled to his mind the fact that the maker of these mills was a friend of one of the men most concerned in his brand new news item. it was possible, barely possible, that here was an opportunity to learn just a little more, to obtain an additional clip of cartridges before opening fire on the crowd at the post office. certainly it might be worth trying, particularly as the afternoon mail would not be ready for another hour, even if the train was on time. at the rear of the little yard, and situated perhaps fifty feet from the edge of the high sand bluff leading down precipitously to the beach, was a shingled building, whitewashed, and with a door, painted green, and four windows on the side toward the road. a clamshell walk led from the gate to the doors. over the door was a sign, very neatly lettered, as follows: "j. edgar w. winslow. mills for sale." in the lot next to that, where the little shop stood, was a small, old-fashioned story-and-a-half cape cod house, painted a speckless white, with vivid green blinds. the blinds were shut now, for the house was unoccupied. house and shop and both yards were neat and clean as a new england kitchen. gabriel bearse, after a moment's reflection, opened the gate in the picket fence and walked along the clamshell walk to the shop door. opening the door, he entered, a bell attached to the top of the door jingling as he did so. the room which mr. bearse entered was crowded from floor to ceiling, save for a narrow passage, with hit- or-miss stacks of the wooden toys evidently finished and ready for shipment. threading his way between the heaps of sailors, mills, vanes and boats, gabriel came to a door evidently leading to another room. there was a sign tacked to this door, which read, "private," but mr. bearse did not let that trouble him. he pushed the door open. the second room was evidently the work-shop. there were a circular saw and a turning lathe, with the needful belts, and a small electric motor to furnish power. also there were piles of lumber, shelves of paint pots and brushes, many shavings and much sawdust. and, standing beside a dilapidated chair from which he had evidently risen at the sound of the door bell, with a dripping paint brush in one hand and a wooden sailor in the other, there was a man. when he saw who his visitor was he sat down again. he was a tall man and, as the chair he sat in was a low one and the heels of his large shoes were hooked over its lower rounds, his knees and shoulders were close together when he bent over his work. he was a thin man and his trousers hung about his ankles like a loose sail on a yard. his hair was thick and plentiful, a brown sprinkled with gray at the temples. his face was smooth-shaven, with wrinkles at the corners of the eyes and mouth. he wore spectacles perched at the very end of his nose, and looked down over rather than through them as he dipped the brush in the can of paint beside him on the floor. "hello, shavin's," hailed mr. bearse, blithely. the tall man applied the brush to the nude pine legs of the wooden sailor. one side of those legs were modestly covered forthwith by a pair of sky-blue breeches. the artist regarded the breeches dreamily. then he said: "hello, gab." his voice was a drawl, very deliberate, very quiet, rather soft and pleasant. but mr. bearse was not pleased. "don't call me that," he snapped. the brush was again dipped in the paint pot and the rear elevation of the pine sailor became sky-blue like the other side of him. then the tall man asked: "call you what?" "gab. that's a divil of a name to call anybody. last time i was in here cap'n sam hunniwell heard you call me that and i cal'lated he'd die laughin'. seemed to cal'late there was somethin' specially dum funny about it. i don't call it funny. say, speakin' of cap'n sam, have you heard the news about him?" he asked the question eagerly, because it was a part of what he came there to ask. his eagerness was not contagious. the man on the chair put down the blue brush, took up a fresh one, dipped it in another paint pot and proceeded to garb another section of his sailor in a spotless white shirt. mr. bearse grew impatient. "have you heard the news about cap'n sam?" he repeated. "say, shavin's, have you?" the painting went serenely on, but the painter answered. "well, gab," he drawled, "i--" "don't call me gab, i tell you. 'tain't my name." "sho! ain't it?" "you know well enough 'tain't. my name's gabriel. call me that-- or gabe. i don't like to be called out of my name. but say, shavin's--" "well, gab, say it." "look here, jed winslow, do you hear me?" "yes, hear you fust rate, gabe--now." mr. bearse's understanding was not easily penetrated; a hint usually glanced from it like a piece of soap from a slanting cellar door, but this time the speaker's tone and the emphasis on the "now" made a slight dent. gabriel's eyes opened. "huh?" he grunted in astonishment, as if the possibility had never until that moment occured to him. "why, say, jed, don't you like to be called 'shavin's'?" no answer. a blue collar was added to the white shirt of the sailor. "don't you, jed?" repeated gabe. mr. winslow's gaze was lifted from his work and his eyes turned momentarily in the direction of his caller. "gabe," he drawled, "did you ever hear about the feller that was born stone deef and the doxology?" "eh? what-- no, i never heard it." the eyes turned back to the wooden sailor and mr. winslow chose another brush. "neither did he," he observed, and began to whistle what sounded like a dirge. mr. bearse stared at him for at least a minute. then he shook his head. "well, by judas!" he exclaimed. "i--i--i snum if i don't think you be crazy, same as some folks say you are! what in the nation has-- has your name got to do with a deef man and the doxology?" "eh? . . . oh, nothin'." "then what did you bust loose and tell me about 'em for? they wan't any of my business, was they?" "no-o. that's why i spoke of 'em." "what? you spoke of 'em 'cause they wan't any of my business?" "ye-es . . . i thought maybe--" he paused, turned the sailor over in his hand, whistled a few more bars of the dirge and then finished his sentence. "i thought maybe you might like to ask questions about 'em," he concluded. mr. bearse stared suspiciously at his companion, swallowed several times and, between swallows, started to speak, but each time gave it up. mr. winslow appeared quite oblivious of the stare. his brushes gave the wooden sailor black hair, eyes and brows, and an engaging crimson smile. when gabriel did speak it was not concerning names. "say, jed," he cried, "have you heard about cap'n sam hunniwell? 'bout his bein' put on the exemption board?" his companion went on whistling, but he nodded. "um-hm," grunted gabe, grudgingly. "i presumed likely you would hear; he told you himself, i cal'late. seth baker said he see him come in here night afore last and i suppose that's when he told you. didn't say nothin' else, did he?" he added, eagerly. again mr. winslow nodded. "did he? did he? what else did he say?" the tall man seemed to consider. "well," he drawled, at length, "seems to me i remember him sayin'-- sayin'--" "yes? yes? what did he say?" "well--er--seems to me he said good night just afore he went home." the disappointed gabriel lost patience. "oh, you divilish fool head!" he exclaimed, disgustedly. "look here, jed winslow, talk sense for a minute, if you can, won't you? i've just heard somethin' that's goin' to make a big row in this town and it's got to do with cap'n sam's bein' app'inted on that gov'ment exemption board for drafted folks. if you'd heard phineas babbitt goin' on the way i done, i guess likely you'd have been interested." it was plain that, for the first time since his caller intruded upon his privacy, the maker of mills and sailors was interested. he did not put down his brush, but he turned his head to look and listen. bearse, pleased with this symptom of attention, went on. "i was just into phineas' store," he said, "and he was there, so i had a chance to talk with him. he's been up to boston and never got back till this afternoon, so i cal'lated maybe he hadn't heard about cap'n sam's app'intment. and i knew, too, how he does hate the cap'n; ain't had nothin' but cuss words and such names for him ever since sam done him out of gettin' the postmaster's job. pretty mean trick, some folks call it, but--" mr. winslow interrupted; his drawl was a trifle less evident. "congressman taylor asked sam for the truth regardin' phineas and a certain matter," he said. "sam told the truth, that's all." "well, maybe that's so, but does tellin' the truth about folks make 'em love you? i don't know as it does." winslow appeared to meditate. "no-o," he observed, thoughtfully, "i don't suppose you do." "no, i . . . eh? what do you mean by that? look here, jed winslow, if--" jed held up a big hand. "there, there, gabe," he suggested, mildly. "let's hear about sam and phin babbitt. what was phineas goin' on about when you was in his store?" mr. bearse forgot personal grievance in his eagerness to tell the story. "why," he began, "you see, 'twas like this: 'twas all on account of leander. leander's been drafted. you know that, of course?" jed nodded. leander babbitt was the son of phineas babbitt, orham's dealer in hardware and lumber and a leading political boss. between babbitt, senior, and captain sam hunniwell, the latter president of the orham national bank and also a vigorous politician, the dislike had always been strong. since the affair of the postmastership it had become, on babbitt's part, an intense hatred. during the week just past young babbitt's name had been drawn as one of orham's quota for the new national army. the village was still talking of the draft when the news came that captain hunniwell had been selected as a member of the exemption board for the district, the board which was to hold its sessions at ostable and listen to the pleas of those desiring to be excused from service. not all of orham knew this as yet. jed winslow had heard it, from captain sam himself. gabe bearse had heard it because he made it his business to hear everything, whether it concerned him or not--preferably not. the war had come to orham with the unbelievable unreality with which it had come to the great mass of the country. ever since the news of the descent of von kluck's hordes upon devoted belgium, in the fall of , the death grapple in europe had, of course, been the principal topic of discussion at the post office and around the whist tables at the setuckit club, where ancient and retired mariners met and pounded their own and each other's knees while they expressed sulphurous opinions concerning the attitude of the president and congress. these opinions were, as a usual thing, guided by the fact of their holders' allegiance to one or the other of the great political parties. captain sam hunniwell, a lifelong and ardent republican, with a temper as peppery as the chile con carne upon which, when commander of a steam freighter trading with mexico, he had feasted so often--captain sam would have hoisted the stars and stripes to the masthead the day the lusitania sank and put to sea in a dory, if need be, and armed only with a shotgun, to avenge that outrage. to hear captain sam orate concerning the neglect of duty of which he considered the united states government guilty was an experience, interesting or shocking, according to the drift of one's political or religious creed. phineas babbitt, on the contrary, had at first upheld the policy of strict neutrality. "what business is it of ours if them furriners take to slaughterin' themselves?" he wanted to know. he hotly declared the lusitania victims plaguey fools who knew what they were riskin' when they sailed and had got just what was comin' to 'em--that is, he was proclaiming it when captain sam heard him; after that the captain issued a proclamation of his own and was proceeding to follow words with deeds. the affair ended by mutual acquaintances leading captain sam from the babbitt hardware company's store, the captain rumbling like a volcano and, to follow up the simile, still emitting verbal brimstone and molten lava, while mr. babbitt, entrenched behind his counter, with a monkey wrench in his hand, dared his adversary to lay hands on a law- abiding citizen. when the kaiser and von tirpitz issued their final ultimatum, however, and the president called america to arms, phineas, in company with others of his breed, appeared to have experienced a change of heart. at all events he kept his anti-war opinions to himself and, except that his hatred for the captain was more virulent than ever since the affair of the postmastership, he found little fault with the war preparations in the village, the organizing of a home guard, the raising of funds for a new flag and flagpole and the recruiting meeting in the town hall. at that meeting a half dozen of orham's best young fellows had expressed their desire to fight for uncle sam. the orham band-- minus its first cornet, who was himself one of the volunteers--had serenaded them at the railway station and the congregational minister and lawyer poundberry of the board of selectmen had made speeches. captain sam hunniwell, being called upon to say a few words, had said a few--perhaps, considering the feelings of the minister and the feminine members of his flock present, it is well they were not more numerous. "good luck to you, boys," said captain sam. "i wish to the almighty i was young enough to go with you. and say, if you see that kaiser anywheres afloat or ashore give him particular merry hell for me, will you?" and then, a little later, came the news that the conscription bill had become a law and that the draft was to be a reality. and with that news the war itself became a little more real. and, suddenly, phineas babbitt, realizing that his son, leander, was twenty-five years old and, therefore, within the limits of the draft age, became once more an ardent, if a little more careful, conscientious objector. he discovered that the war was a profiteering enterprise engineered by capital and greed for the exploiting of labor and the common people. whenever he thought it safe to do so he aired these opinions and, as there were a few of what captain hunniwell called "yellow-backed swabs" in orham or its neighborhood, he occasionally had sympathetic listeners. phineas, it is only fair to say, had never heretofore shown any marked interest in labor except to get as much of it for as little money as possible. if his son, leander, shared his father's opinions, he did not express them. in fact he said very little, working steadily in the store all day and appearing to have something on his mind. most people liked leander. then came the draft and leander was drafted. he said very little about it, but his father said a great deal. the boy should not go; the affair was an outrage. leander wasn't strong, anyway; besides, wasn't he his father's principal support? he couldn't be spared, that's all there was about it, and he shouldn't be. there was going to be an exemption board, wasn't there? all right--just wait until he, phineas, went before that board. he hadn't been in politics all these years for nothin'. sam hunniwell hadn't got all the pull there was in the county. and then captain sam was appointed a member of that very board. he had dropped in at the windmill shop the very evening when he decided to accept and told jed winslow all about it. there never were two people more unlike than sam hunniwell and jed winslow, but they had been fast friends since boyhood. jed knew that phineas babbitt had been on a trip to boston and, therefore, had not heard of the captain's appointment. now, according to gabriel bearse, he had returned and had heard of it, and according to bearse's excited statement he had "gone on" about it. "leander's been drafted," repeated gabe. "and that was bad enough for phineas, he bein' down on the war, anyhow. but he's been cal'latin', i cal'late, to use his political pull to get leander exempted off. nine boards out of ten, if they'd had a man from orham on 'em, would have gone by what that man said in a case like leander's. and phineas, he was movin' heavens and earth to get one of his friends put on as the right orham man. and now--now, by godfreys domino, they've put on the one man that phin can't influence, that hates phin worse than a cat hates a swim. oh, you ought to heard phineas go on when i told him. he'd just got off the train, as you might say, so nobody'd had a chance to tell him. i was the fust one, you see. so--" "was leander there?" "no, he wan't. there wan't nobody in the store but susie ellis, that keeps the books there now, and abner burgess's boy, that runs errands and waits on folks when everybody else is busy. that was a funny thing, too--that about leander's not bein' there. susie said she hadn't seen him since just after breakfast time, half past seven o'clock or so, and when she telephoned the babbitt house it turned out he hadn't been there, neither. had his breakfast and went out, he did, and that's all his step-ma knew about him. but phineas, he. . . . eh? ain't that the bell? customer, i presume likely. want me to go see who 'tis, shavin's--jed, i mean?" chapter ii but the person who had entered the outer shop saved mr. bearse the trouble. he, too, disregarded the "private" sign on the door of the inner room. before gabriel could reach it that door was thrown open and the newcomer entered. he was a big man, gray-mustached, with hair a grizzled red, and with blue eyes set in a florid face. the hand which had opened the door looked big and powerful enough to have knocked a hole in it, if such a procedure had been necessary. and its owner looked quite capable of doing it, if he deemed it necessary, in fact he looked as if he would rather have enjoyed it. he swept into the room like a northwest breeze, and two bundles of wooden strips, cut to the size of mill arms, clattered to the floor as he did so. "hello, jed!" he hailed, in a voice which measured up to the rest of him. then, noticing mr. bearse for the first time, he added: "hello, gabe, what are you doin' here?" gabriel hastened to explain. his habitual desire to please and humor each person he met--each person of consequence, that is; very poor people or village eccentrics like jed winslow did not much matter, of course--was in this case augmented by a particular desire to please captain sam hunniwell. captain sam, being one of orham's most influential men, was not, in mr. bearse's estimation, at all the sort of person whom it was advisable to displease. he might--and did--talk disparagingly of him behind his back, as he did behind the back of every one else, but he smiled humbly and spoke softly in his presence. the consciousness of having just been talking of him, however, of having visited that shop for the express purpose of talking about him, made the explaining process a trifle embarrassing. "oh, howd'ye do, howd'ye do, cap'n hunniwell?" stammered gabriel. "nice day, ain't it, sir? yes, sir, 'tis a nice day. i was just-- er--that is, i just run in to see shavin's here; to make a little call, you know. we was just settin' here talkin', wan't we, shavin's--jed, i mean?" mr. winslow stood his completed sailor man in a rack to dry. "ya-as," he drawled, solemnly, "that was about it, i guess. have a chair, sam, won't you? . . . that was about it, we was sittin' and talkin' . . . i was sittin' and gab--gabe, i mean--was talkin'." captain sam chuckled. as winslow and mr. bearse were occupying the only two chairs in the room he accepted the invitation in its broad sense and, turning an empty box upon end, sat down on that. "so gabe was talkin', eh?" he repeated. "well, that's singular. how'd that happen, gabe?" mr. bearse looked rather foolish. "oh, we was just--just talkin' about--er--this and that," he said, hastily. "just this and that, nothin' partic'lar. cal'late i'll have to be runnin' along now, jed." jed winslow selected a new and unpainted sailor from the pile near him. he eyed it dreamily. "well, gabe," he observed, "if you must, you must, i suppose. seems to me you're leavin' at the most interestin' time. we've been talkin' about this and that, same as you say, and now you're leavin' just as 'this' has got here. maybe if you wait--wait--a--" the sentence died away into nothingness. he had taken up the brush which he used for the blue paint. there was a loose bristle in it. he pulled this out and one or two more came with it. "hu-um!" he mused, absently. captain sam was tired of waiting. "come, finish her out, jed--finish her out," he urged. "what's the rest of it?" "i cal'late i'll run along now," said mr. bearse, nervously moving toward the door. "hold on a minute," commanded the captain. "jed hadn't finished what he was sayin' to you. he generally talks like one of those continued-in-our-next yarns in the magazines. give us the september installment, jed--come." mr. winslow smiled, a slow, whimsical smile that lit up his lean, brown face and then passed away as slowly as it had come, lingering for an instant at one corner of his mouth. "oh, i was just tellin' gabe that the 'this' he was talkin' about was here now," he said, "and that maybe if he waited a space the 'that' would come, too. seems to me if i was you, gabe, i'd--" but mr. bearse had gone. captain hunniwell snorted. "humph!" he said; "i judge likely i'm the 'this' you and that gas bag have been talkin' about. who's the 'that'?" his companion was gazing absently at the door through which gabriel had made his hurried departure. after gazing at it in silence for a moment, he rose from the chair, unfolding section by section like a pocket rule, and, crossing the room, opened the door and took from its other side the lettered sign "private" which had hung there. then, with tacks and a hammer, he proceeded to affix the placard to the inner side of the door, that facing the room where he and captain sam were. the captain regarded this operation with huge astonishment. "gracious king!" he exclaimed. "what in thunder are you doin' that for? this is the private room in here, ain't it?" mr. winslow, returning to his chair, nodded. "ya-as," he admitted, "that's why i'm puttin' the 'private' sign on this side of the door." "yes, but-- why, confound it, anybody who sees it there will think it is the other room that's private, won't they?" jed nodded. "i'm in hopes they will," he said. "you're in hopes they will! why?" "'cause if gabe bearse thinks that room's private and that he don't belong there he'll be sartin sure to go there; then maybe he'll give me a rest." he selected a new brush and went on with his painting. captain hunniwell laughed heartily. then, all at once, his laughter ceased and his face assumed a troubled expression. "jed," he ordered, "leave off daubin' at that wooden doll baby for a minute, will you? i want to talk to you. i want to ask you what you think i'd better do. i know what gab bearse-- much obliged for that name, jed; 'gab's' the best name on earth for that critter--i know what gab came in here to talk about. 'twas about me and my bein' put on the exemption board, of course. that was it, wan't it? um-hm, i knew 'twas. i was the 'this' in his 'this and that.' and phin babbitt was the 'that'; i'll bet on it. am i right?" winslow nodded. "sure thing!" continued the captain. "well, there 'tis. what am i goin' to do? when they wanted me to take the job in the first place i kind of hesitated. you know i did. 'twas bound to be one of those thankless sort of jobs that get a feller into trouble, bound to be. and yet--and yet--well, somebody has to take those kind of jobs. and a man hadn't ought to talk all the time about how he wishes he could do somethin' to help his country, and then lay down and quit on the first chance that comes his way, just 'cause that chance ain't--ain't eatin' up all the pie in the state so the germans can't get it, or somethin' like that. ain't that so?" "seems so to me, sam." "yes. well, so i said i'd take my exemption board job. but when i said i'd accept it, it didn't run across my mind that leander babbitt was liable to be drafted, first crack out of the box. now he is drafted, and, if i know phin babbitt, the old man will be down on us board fellers the first thing to get the boy exempted. and, i bein' on the board and hailin' from his own town, orham here, it would naturally be to me that he'd come first. eh? that's what he'd naturally do, ain't it?" his friend nodded once more. captain sam lost patience. "gracious king!" he exclaimed. "jed winslow, for thunder sakes say somethin'! don't set there bobbin' your head up and down like one of those wound-up images in a christmas-time store window. i ask you if that ain't what phin babbitt would do? what would you do if you was in his shoes?" jed rubbed his chin. "step out of 'em, i guess likely," he drawled. "humph! yes--well, any self-respectin' person would do that, even if he had to go barefooted the rest of his life. but, what i'm gettin' at is this: babbitt'll come to me orderin' me to get leander exempted. and what'll i say?" winslow turned and looked at him. "seems to me, sam," he answered, "that if that thing happened there'd be only one thing to say. you'd just have to tell him that you'd listen to his reasons and if they seemed good enough to let the boy off, for your part you'd vote to let him off. if they didn't seem good enough--why--" "well--what?" "why, then leander'd have to go to war and his dad could go to--" "eh? go on. i want to hear you say it. where could he go?" jed wiped the surplus paint from his brush on the edge of the can. "to sellin' hardware," he concluded, gravely, but with a twinkle in his eye. captain sam sniffed, perhaps in disappointment. "his hardware'd melt where i'd tell him to go," he declared. "what you say is all right, ed. it's an easy doctrine to preach, but, like lots of other preacher's doctrines, it's hard to live up to. phin loves me like a step-brother and i love him the same way. well, now here he comes to ask me to do a favor for him. if i don't do it, he'll say, and the whole town'll say, that i'm ventin' my spite on him, keepin' on with my grudge, bein' nasty, cussed, everything that's mean. if i do do it, if i let leander off, all hands'll say that i did it because i was afraid of phineas and the rest would say the other thing. it puts me in a devil of a position. it's all right to say, 'do your duty,' 'stand up in your shoes,' 'do what you think's right, never mind whose boy 'tis,' and all that, but i wouldn't have that old skunk goin' around sayin' i took advantage of my position to rob him of his son for anything on earth. i despise him too much to give him that much satisfaction. and yet there i am, and the case'll come up afore me. what'll i do, jed? shall i resign? help me out. i'm about crazy. shall i heave up the job? shall i quit?" jed put down the brush and the sailor man. he rubbed his chin. "no-o," he drawled, after a moment. "oh, i shan't, eh? why not?" "'cause you don't know how, sam. it always seemed to me that it took a lot of practice to be a quitter. you never practiced." "thanks. all right, then, i'm to hang on, i suppose, and take my medicine. if that's all the advice you've got to give me, i might as well have stayed at home. but i tell you this, jed winslow: if i'd realized--if i'd thought about the leander babbitt case comin' up afore me on that board i never would have accepted the appointment. when you and i were talkin' here the other night it's queer that neither of us thought of it. . . . eh? what are you lookin at me like that for? you don't mean to tell me that you did think of it? did you?" winslow nodded. "yes," he said. "i thought of it." "you did! well, i swear! then why in thunder didn't you--" he was interrupted. the bell attached to the door of the outer shop rang. the maker of windmills rose jerkily to his feet. captain sam made a gesture of impatience. "get rid of your customer and come back here soon as you can," he ordered. having commanded a steamer before he left the sea and become a banker, the captain usually ordered rather than requested. "hurry all you can. i ain't half through talkin' with you. for the land sakes, move! of all the deliberate, slow travelin'--" he did not finish his sentence, nor did winslow, who had started toward the door, have time to reach it. the door was opened and a short, thickset man, with a leathery face and a bristling yellow- white chin beard, burst into the room. at the sight of its occupants he uttered a grunt of satisfaction and his bushy brows were drawn together above his little eyes, the latter a washed-out gray and set very close together. "humph!" he snarled, vindictively. "so you be here. gabe bearse said you was, but i thought probably he was lyin', as usual. did he lie about the other thing, that's what i've come here to find out? sam hunniwell, have you been put on that draft exemption board?" "yes," he said, curtly, "i have." the man trembled all over. "you have?" he cried, raising his voice almost to a scream. "yes, i have. what's it matter to you, phin babbitt? seems to have het you up some, that or somethin' else." "het me up! by--" mr. phineas babbitt swore steadily for a full minute. when he stopped for breath jed winslow, who had stepped over and was looking out of the window, uttered an observation. "i'm afraid i made a mistake, changin' that sign," he said, musingly. "i cal'late i'll make another: 'prayer meetin's must be held outside.'" "by--," began mr. babbitt again, but this time it was captain sam who interrupted. the captain occasionally swore at other people, but he was not accustomed to be sworn at. he, too, began to "heat up." he rose to his feet. "that'll do, babbitt," he commanded. "what's the matter with you? is it me you're cussin'? because if it is--" the little babbitt eyes snapped defiance. "if it is, what?" he demanded. but before the captain could reply winslow, turning away from the window, did so for him. "if it is, i should say 'twas a pretty complete job," he drawled. "i don't know when i've heard fewer things left out. you have reason to be proud, both of you. and now, phineas," he went on, "what's it all about? what's the matter?" mr. babbitt waved his fists again, preparatory to another outburst. jed laid a big hand on his shoulder. "don't seem to me time for the benediction yet, phineas," he said. "ought to preach your sermon or sing a hymn first, seems so. what did you come here for?" phineas babbitt's hard gray eyes looked up into the big brown ones gazing mildly down upon him. his gaze shifted and his tone when he next spoke was a trifle less savage. "he knows well enough what i came here for," he growled, indicating hunniwell with a jerk of his thumb. "he knows that just as well as he knows why he had himself put on that exemption board." "i didn't have myself put there," declared the captain. "the job was wished on me. lord knows i didn't want it. i was just tellin' jed here that very thing." "wished on you nothin'! you planned to get it and you worked to get it and i know why you did it, too. 'twas to get another crack at me. 'twas to play another dirty trick on me like the one you played that cheated me out of the post office. you knew they'd drafted my boy and you wanted to make sure he didn't get clear. you--" "that'll do!" captain hunniwell seized him by the shoulder. "that's enough," cried the captain. "your boy had nothin' to do with it. i never thought of his name bein' drawn when i said i'd accept the job." "you lie!" "what? why, you little sawed-off, dried-up, sassy son of a sea cook! i'll--" winslow's lanky form was interposed between the pair; and his slow, gentle drawl made itself heard. "i'm sorry to interrupt the experience meetin'," he said, "but i've got a call to testify and i feel the spirit aworkin'. set down again, sam, will you please. phineas, you set down over there. please set down, both of you. sam, as a favor to me--" but the captain was not in a favor-extending mood. he glowered at his adversary and remained standing. "phin--" begged winslow. but mr. babbitt, although a trifle paler than when he entered the shop, was not more yielding. "i'm particular who i set down along of," he declared. "i'd as soon set down with a--a rattlesnake as i would with some humans." captain sam was not pale, far from it. "skunks are always afraid of snakes, they tell me," he observed, tartly. "a rattlesnake's honest, anyhow, and he ain't afraid to bite. he ain't all bad smell and nothin' else." babbitt's bristling chin beard quivered with inarticulate hatred. winslow sighed resignedly. "well," he asked, "you don't mind the other--er--critter in the menagerie sittin', do you? now--now--now, just a minute," he pleaded, as his two companions showed symptoms of speaking simultaneously. "just a minute; let me say a word. phineas, i judge the only reason you have for objectin' to the captain's bein' on the exemption board is on account of your son, ain't it? it's just on leander's account?" but before the furious mr. babbitt could answer there came another interruption. the bell attached to the door of the outer shop rang once more. jed, who had accepted his own invitation to sit, rose again with a groan. "now i wonder who that is?" he drawled, in mild surprise. captain hunniwell's frayed patience, never noted for long endurance, snapped again. "gracious king! go and find out," he roared. "whoever 'tis 'll die of old age before you get there." the slow smile drifted over mr. winslow's face. "probably if i wait and give 'em a chance they'll come in here and have apoplexy instead," he said. "that seems to be the fashionable disease this afternoon. they won't stay out there and be lonesome; they'll come in here where it's private and there's a crowd. eh? yes, here they come." but the newest visitor did not come, like the others, uninvited into the "private" room. instead he knocked on its door. when winslow opened it he saw a small boy with a yellow envelope in his hand. "hello, josiah," hailed jed, genially. "how's the president of the western union these days?" the boy grinned bashfully and opined the magnate just mentioned was "all right." then he added: "is mr. babbitt here? mr. bearse--mr. gabe bearse--is over at the office and he said he saw mr. babbitt come in here." "yes, he's here. want to see him, do you?" "i've got a telegram for him." mr. babbitt himself came forward and took the yellow envelope. after absently turning it over several times, as so many people do when they receive an unexpected letter or message, he tore it open. winslow and captain sam, watching him, saw his face, to which the color had returned in the last few minutes, grow white again. he staggered a little. jed stepped toward him. "what is it, phin?" he asked. "somebody dead or--" babbitt waved him away. "no," he gasped, chokingly. "no, let me be. i'm--i'm all right." captain sam, a little conscience-stricken, came forward. "are you sick, phin?" he asked. "is there anything i can do?" phineas glowered at him. "yes," he snarled between his clenched teeth, "you can mind your own darned business." then, turning to the boy who had brought the message, he ordered: "you get out of here." the frightened youngster scuttled away and babbitt, the telegram rattling in his shaking hand, followed him. the captain, hurrying to the window, saw him go down the walk and along the road in the direction of his store. he walked like a man stricken. captain sam turned back again. "now what in time was in that telegram?" he demanded. jed, standing with his back toward him and looking out of the window on the side of the shop toward the sea, did not answer. "do you hear me?" asked the captain. "that telegram struck him like a shock of paralysis. he went all to pieces. what on earth do you suppose was in it? eh? why don't you say somethin'? you don't know what was in it, do you?" winslow shook his head. "no," he answered. "i don't know's i do." "you don't know as you do? well, do you guess you do? jed winslow, what have you got up your sleeve?" the proprietor of the windmill shop slowly turned and faced him. "i don't know's there's anything there, sam," he answered, "but-- but i shouldn't be much surprised if that telegram was from leander." "leander? leander babbitt? what . . . eh? what in thunder do you want?" the last question was directed toward the window on the street side of the shop. mr. gabriel bearse was standing on the outside of that window, energetically thumping on the glass. "open her up! open her up!" commanded gabe. "i've got somethin' to tell you." captain sam opened the window. gabriel's face was aglow with excitement. "say! say!" he cried. "did he tell you? did he tell you?" "did who tell what?" demanded the captain. "did phin babbitt tell you what was in that telegram he just got? what did he say when he read it? did he swear? i bet he did! if that telegram wan't some surprise to old babbitt, then--" "do you know what 'twas--what the telegram was?" "do i? you bet you i do! and i'm the only one in this town except phin and jim bailey that does know. i was in the telegraph office when jim took it over the wire. i see jim was pretty excited. 'well,' says he, 'if this won't be some jolt to old phin!' he says. 'what will?' says i. 'why,' says he--" "what was it?" demanded captain sam. "you're dyin' to tell us, a blind man could see that. get it off your chest and save your life. what was it?" mr. bearse leaned forward and whispered. there was no real reason why he should whisper, but doing so added a mysterious, confidential tang, so to speak, to the value of his news. "'twas from leander--from phin's own boy, leander babbitt, 'twas. 'twas from him, up in boston and it went somethin' like this: 'have enlisted in the infantry. made up my mind best thing to do. will not be back. have written particulars.' that was it, or pretty nigh it. leander's enlisted. never waited for no exemption board nor nothin', but went up and enlisted on his own hook without tellin' a soul he was goin' to. that's the way bailey and me figger it up. say, ain't that some news? godfreys, i must hustle back to the post office and tell the gang afore anybody else gets ahead of me. so long!" he hurried away on his joyful errand. captain hunniwell closed the window and turned to face his friend. "do you suppose that's true, jed?" he asked. "do you suppose it can be true?" jed nodded. "shouldn't be surprised," he said. "good gracious king! do you mean the boy went off up to boston on his own hook, as that what's-his-name--gab--says, and volunteered and got himself enlisted into the army?" "shouldn't wonder, sam." "well, my gracious king! why--why--no wonder old babbitt looked as if the main topsail yard had fell on him. tut, tut, tut! well, i declare! now what do you suppose put him up to doin' that?" winslow sat down in his low chair again and picked up the wooden sailor and the paint brush. "well, sam," he said, slowly, "leander's a pretty good boy." "yes, i suppose he is, but he's phin babbitt's son." "i know, but don't it seem to you as if some sorts of fathers was like birthmarks and bow legs; they come early in life and a feller ain't to blame for havin' 'em? sam, you ain't sorry the boy's volunteered, are you?" "sorry! i should say not! for one thing his doin' it makes my job on the exemption board a mighty sight easier. there won't be any row there with phineas now." "no-o, i thought 'twould help that. but that wan't the whole reason, sam." "reason for what? what do you mean?" "i mean that wan't my whole reason for tellin' leander he'd better volunteer, better go up to boston and enlist, same as he did. that was part, but 'twan't all." captain sam's eyes and mouth opened. he stared at the speaker in amazement. "you told him to volunteer?" he repeated. "you told him to go to boston and-- you did? what on earth?" jed's brush moved slowly down the wooden legs of his sailor man. "leander and i are pretty good friends," he explained. "i like him and he--er--hum--i'm afraid that paint's kind of thick. cal'late i'll have to thin it a little." captain sam condemned the paint to an eternal blister. "go on! go on!" he commanded. "what about you and leander? finish her out. can't you see you've got my head whirlin' like one of those windmills of yours? finish her out!" jed looked over his spectacles. "oh!" he said. "well, leander's been comin' in here pretty frequent and we've talked about his affairs a good deal. he's always wanted to enlist ever since the war broke out." "he has?" "why, sartin. just the same as you would, or--or i hope i would, if i was young and--and," with a wistful smile, "different, and likely to be any good to uncle sam. yes, leander's been anxious to go to war, but his dad was so set against it all and kept hollerin' so about the boy's bein' needed in the store, that leander didn't hardly know what to do. but then when he was drawn on the draft list he came in here and he and i had a long talk. 'twas yesterday, after you'd told me about bein' put on the board, you know. i could see the trouble there'd be between you and phineas and--and--well, you see, sam, i just kind of wanted that boy to volunteer. i--i don't know why, but--" he looked up from his work and stared dreamily out of the window. "i guess maybe 'twas because i've been wishin' so that i could go myself--or--do somethin' that was some good. so leander and i talked and finally he said, 'well, by george, i will go.' and--and--well, i guess that's all; he went, you see." the captain drew a long breath. "he went," he repeated. "and you knew he'd gone?" "no, i didn't know, but i kind of guessed." "you guessed, and yet all the time i've been here you haven't said a word about it till this minute." "well, i didn't think 'twas much use sayin' until i knew." "well, my gracious king, jed winslow, you beat all my goin' to sea! but you've helped uncle sam to a good soldier and you've helped me out of a nasty row. for my part i'm everlastin' obliged to you, i am so." jed looked pleased but very much embarrassed. "sho, sho," he exclaimed, hastily, "'twan't anything. oh, say," hastily changing the subject, "i've got some money 'round here somewheres i thought maybe you'd take to the bank and deposit for me next time you went, if 'twan't too much trouble." "trouble? course 'tain't any trouble. where is it?" winslow put down his work and began to hunt. from one drawer of his work bench, amid nails, tools and huddles of papers, he produced a small bundle of banknotes; from another drawer another bundle. these, however, did not seem to satisfy him entirely. at last, after a good deal of very deliberate search, he unearthed more paper currency from the pocket of a dirty pair of overalls hanging on a nail, and emptied a heap of silver and coppers from a battered can on the shelf. captain hunniwell, muttering to himself, watched the collecting process. when it was completed, he asked: "is this all?" "eh? yes, i guess 'tis. i can't seem to find any more just now. maybe another batch'll turn up later. if it does i'll keep it till next time." the captain, suppressing his emotions, hastily counted the money. "have you any idea how much there is here?" he asked. "no, i don't know's i have. there's been quite consider'ble comin' in last fortni't or so. summer folks been payin' bills and one thing or 'nother. might be forty or fifty dollars, i presume likely." "forty or fifty! nearer a hundred and fifty! and you keep it stuffed around in every junk hole from the roof to the cellar. wonder to me you don't light your pipe with it. i shouldn't wonder if you did. how many times have i told you to deposit your money every three days anyhow? how many times?" mr. winslow seemed to reflect. "don't know, sam," he admitted. "good many, i will give in. but-- but, you see, sam, if--if i take it to the bank i'm liable to forget i've got it. long's it's round here somewheres i--why, i know where 'tis and--and it's handy. see, don't you?" the captain shook his head. "jed winslow," he declared, "as i said to you just now you beat all my goin' to sea. i can't make you out. when i see how you act with money and business, and how you let folks take advantage of you, then i think you're a plain dum fool. and yet when you bob up and do somethin' like gettin' leander babbitt to volunteer and gettin' me out of that row with his father, then--well, then, i'm ready to swear you're as wise as king solomon ever was. you're a puzzle to me, jed. what are you, anyway--the dum fool or king solomon?" jed looked meditatively over his spectacles. the slow smile twitched the corners of his lips. "well, sam," he drawled, "if you put it to vote at town meetin' i cal'late the majority'd be all one way. but, i don't know"--; he paused, and then added, "i don't know, sam, but it's just as well as 'tis. a king solomon down here in orham would be an awful lonesome cuss." chapter iii upon a late september day forty-nine years and some months before that upon which gabe bearse came to jed winslow's windmill shop in orham with the news of leander babbitt's enlistment, miss floretta thompson came to that village to teach the "downstairs" school. miss thompson was an orphan. her father had kept a small drug store in a town in western massachusetts. her mother had been a clergyman's daughter. both had died when she was in her 'teens. now, at twenty, she came to cape cod, pale, slim, with a wealth of light brown hair and a pair of large, dreamy brown eyes. her taste in dress was peculiar, even eccentric, and orham soon discovered that she, herself, was also somewhat eccentric. as a schoolteacher she was not an unqualified success. the "downstairs" curriculum was not extensive nor very exacting, but it was supposed to impart to the boys and girls of from seven to twelve a rudimentary knowledge of the three r's and of geography. in the first two r's, "readin' and 'ritin'," miss thompson was proficient. she wrote a flowery spencerian, which was beautifully "shaded" and looked well on the blackboard, and reading was the dissipation of her spare moments. the third "r," 'rithmetic, she loathed. youth, even at the ages of from seven to twelve, is only too proficient in learning to evade hard work. the fact that teacher took no delight in traveling the prosaic highways of addition, multiplication and division, but could be easily lured to wander the flowery lanes of romantic fiction, was soon grasped by the downstairs pupils. the hour set for recitation by the first class in arithmetic was often and often monopolized by a hold-over of the first class in reading, while miss floretta, artfully spurred by questions asked by the older scholars, rhapsodized on the beauties of james fenimore cooper's "uncas," or dickens' "little nell," or scott's "ellen." some of us antiques, then tow-headed little shavers in the front seats, can still remember miss floretta's rendition of the lines: "and saxon--i am roderick dhu!" the extremely genteel, not to say ladylike, elocution of the highland chief and the indescribable rising inflection and emphasis on the "i." these literary rambles had their inevitable effect, an effect noted, after a time, and called to the attention of the school committee by old captain lycurgus batcheldor, whose two grandchildren were among the ramblers. "say," demanded captain lycurgus, "how old does a young-one have to be afore it's supposed to know how much four times eight is? my sarah's nathan is pretty nigh ten and he don't know it. gave me three answers he did; first that 'twas forty-eight, then that 'twas eighty-four and then that he'd forgot what 'twas. but i noticed he could tell me a whole string about some feller called lockintar or lochinvar or some such outlandish name, and not only his name but where he came from, which was out west somewheres. a poetry piece 'twas; nate said the teacher'd been speakin' it to 'em. i ain't got no objection to speakin' pieces, but i do object to bein' told that four times eight is eighty-four, 'specially when i'm buyin' codfish at eight cents a pound. i ain't on the school committee, but if i was--" so the committee investigated and when miss thompson's year was up and the question arose as to her re-engagement, there was considerable hesitancy. but the situation was relieved in a most unexpected fashion. thaddeus winslow, first mate on the clipper ship, "owner's favorite," at home from a voyage to the dutch east indies, fell in love with miss floretta, proposed, was accepted and married her. it was an odd match: floretta, pale, polite, impractical and intensely romantic; thad, florid, rough and to the point. yet the married pair seemed to be happy together. winslow went to sea on several voyages and, four years after the marriage, remained at home for what, for him, was a long time. during that time a child, a boy, was born. the story of the christening of that child is one of orham's pet yarns even to this day. it seems that there was a marked disagreement concerning the name to be given him. captain thad had had an uncle edgar, who had been very kind to him when a boy. the captain wished to name his own youngster after this uncle. but floretta's heart was set upon "wilfred," her favorite hero of romance being wilfred of ivanhoe. the story is that the parents being no nearer an agreement on the great question, floretta made a proposal of compromise. she proposed that her husband take up his stand by the bedroom window and the first male person he saw passing on the sidewalk below, the name of that person should be given to their offspring; a sporting proposition certainly. but the story goes on to detract a bit from the sporting element by explaining that mrs. winslow was expecting a call at that hour from the baptist minister, and the baptist minister's christian name was "clarence," which, if not quite as romantic as wilfred, is by no means common and prosaic. captain thad, who had not been informed of the expected ministerial call and was something of a sport himself, assented to the arrangement. it was solemnly agreed that the name of the first male passer-by should be the name of the new winslow. the captain took up his post of observation at the window and waited. he did not have to wait long. unfortunately for romance, the reverend clarence was detained at the home of another parishioner a trifle longer than he had planned and the first masculine to pass the winslow home was old jedidah wingate, the fish peddler. mrs. diadama busteed, who was acting as nurse in the family and had been sworn in as witness to the agreement between husband and wife, declared to the day of her death that that death was hastened by the shock to her nervous and moral system caused by captain thad's language when old jedidah hove in sight. he vowed over and over again that he would be everlastingly condemned if he would label a young-one of his with such a crashety-blank-blanked outrage of a name as "jedidah." "jedidiah" was bad enough, but there were a few jedidiahs in ostable county, whereas there was but one jedidah. mrs. winslow, who did not fancy jedidah any more than her husband did, wept; captain thad's profanity impregnated the air with brimstone. but they had solemnly sworn to the agreement and mrs. busteed had witnessed it, and an oath is an oath. besides, mrs. winslow was inclined to think the whole matter guided by fate, and, being superstitious as well as romantic, feared dire calamity if fate was interfered with. it ended in a compromise and, a fortnight later, the reverend clarence, keeping his countenance with difficulty, christened a red-faced and protesting infant "jedidah edgar wilfred winslow." jedidah edgar wilfred grew up. at first he was called "edgar" by his father and "wilfred" by his mother. his teachers, day school and sunday school, called him one or the other as suited their individual fancies. but his schoolmates and playfellows, knowing that he hated the name above all else on earth, gleefully hailed him as "jedidah." by the time he was ten he was "jed" winslow beyond hope of recovery. also it was settled locally that he was "queer"--not "cracked" or "lacking," which would have implied that his brain was affected--but just "queer," which meant that his ways of thinking and acting were different from those of orham in general. his father, captain thaddeus, died when jed was fifteen, just through the grammar school and ready to enter the high. he did not enter; instead, the need of money being pressing, he went to work in one of the local stores, selling behind the counter. if his father had lived he would, probably, have gone away after finishing high school and perhaps, if by that time the mechanical ability which he possessed had shown itself, he might even have gone to some technical school or college. in that case jed winslow's career might have been very, very different. but instead he went to selling groceries, boots, shoes, dry goods and notions for mr. seth wingate, old jedidah's younger brother. as a grocery clerk jed was not a success, neither did he shine as a clerk in the post office, nor as an assistant to the local expressman. in desperation he began to learn the carpenter's trade and, because he liked to handle tools, did pretty well at it. but he continued to be "queer" and his absent-minded dreaminess was in evidence even then. "i snum i don't know what to make of him," declared mr. abijah mullett, who was the youth's "boss." "never know just what he's goin' to do or just what he's goin' to say. i says to him yesterday: 'jed,' says i, 'you do pretty well with tools and wood, considerin' what little experience you've had. did cap'n thad teach you some or did you pick it up yourself?' he never answered for a minute or so, seemed to be way off dreamin' in the next county somewheres. then he looked at me with them big eyes of his and he drawled out: 'comes natural to me, mr. mullett, i guess,' he says. 'there seems to be a sort of family feelin' between my head and a chunk of wood.' now what kind of an answer was that, i want to know!" jed worked at carpentering for a number of years, sometimes going as far away as ostable to obtain employment. and then his mother was seized with the illness from which, so she said, she never recovered. it is true that doctor parker, the orham physician, declared that she had recovered, or might recover if she cared to. which of the pair was right does not really matter. at all events mrs. winslow, whether she recovered or not, never walked abroad again. she was "up and about," as they say in orham, and did some housework, after a fashion, but she never again set foot across the granite doorstep of the winslow cottage. probably the poor woman's mind was slightly affected; it is charitable to hope that it was. it seems the only reasonable excuse for the oddity of her behavior during the last twenty years of her life, for her growing querulousness and selfishness and for the exacting slavery in which she kept her only son. during those twenty years whatever ambition jedidah edgar wilfred may once have had was thoroughly crushed. his mother would not hear of his leaving her to find better work or to obtain promotion. she needed him, she wailed; he was her life, her all; she should die if he left her. some hard-hearted townspeople, captain hunniwell among them, disgustedly opined that, in view of such a result, jed should be forcibly kidnaped forthwith for the general betterment of the community. but jed himself never rebelled. he cheerfully gave up his youth and early middle age to his mother and waited upon her, ran her errands, sat beside her practically every evening and read romance after romance aloud for her benefit. and his "queerness" developed, as under such circumstances it was bound to do. money had to be earned and, as the invalid would not permit him to leave her to earn it, it was necessary to find ways of earning it at home. jed did odd jobs of carpentering and cabinet making, went fishing sometimes, worked in gardens between times, did almost anything, in fact, to bring in the needed dollars. and when he was thirty-eight years old he made and sold his first "cape cod winslow windmill," the forerunner of the thousands to follow. that mill, made in some of his rare idle moments and given to the child of a wealthy summer visitor, made a hit. the child liked it and other children wanted mills just like it. then "grown-ups" among the summer folk took up the craze. "winslow mills" became the fad. jed built his little shop, or the first installment of it. mrs. floretta winslow died when her son was forty. a merciful release, captain sam and the rest called it, but to jed it was a stunning shock. he had no one to take care of now except himself and he did not know what to do. he moped about like a deserted cat. finally he decided that he could not live in the old house where he was born and had lived all his life. he expressed his feelings concerning that house to his nearest friend, practically his sole confidant, captain sam. "i can't somehow seem to stand it, sam," he said, solemnly. "i can't stay in that house alone any longer, it's--it's too sociable." the captain, who had expected almost anything but that, stared at him. "sociable!" he repeated. "you're sailin' stern first, jed. lonesome's what you mean, of course." jed shook his head. "no-o," he drawled, "i mean sociable. there's too many boys in there, for one thing." "boys!" captain sam was beginning to be really alarmed now. "boys! say--say, jed winslow, you come along home to dinner with me. i bet you've forgot to eat anything for the last day or so-- been inventin' some new kind of whirlagig or other--and your empty stomach's gone to your head and made it dizzy. boys! gracious king! come on home with me." jed smiled his slow smile. "i don't mean real boys, sam," he explained. "i mean me--i'm the boys. nights now when i'm walkin' around in that house alone i meet myself comin' round every corner. me when i was five, comin' out of the buttery with a cooky in each fist; and me when i was ten sittin' studyin' my lesson book in the corner; and me when i was fifteen, just afore father died, sittin' all alone thinkin' what i'd do when i went to boston tech same as he said he was cal'latin' to send me. then--" he paused and lapsed into one of his fits of musing. his friend drew a breath of relief. "oh!" he exclaimed. "well, i don't mind your meetin' yourself. i thought first you'd gone off your head, blessed if i didn't. you're a queer critter, jed. get those funny notions from readin' so many books, i guess likely. meetin' yourself! what an idea that is! i suppose you mean that, bein' alone in that house where you've lived since you was born, you naturally get to thinkin' about what used to be." jed stared wistfully at the back of a chair. "um-hm," he murmured, "and what might have been--and--and ain't." the captain nodded. of all the people in orham he, he prided himself, was the only one who thoroughly understood jed winslow. and sometimes he did partially understand him; this was one of the times. "now--now--now," he said, hastily, "don't you get to frettin' yourself about your not amountin' to anything and all that. you've got a nice little trade of your own buildin' up here. what more do you want? we can't all be--er--know-it-alls like shakespeare, or-- or rich as standard oil companies, can we? look here, what do you waste your time goin' back twenty-five years and meetin' yourself for? why don't you look ahead ten or fifteen and try to meet yourself then? you may be a millionaire, a--er--windmill trust or somethin' of that kind, by that time. eh? ha, ha!" jed rubbed his chin. "when i meet myself lookin' like a millionaire," he observed, gravely, "i'll have to do the way you do at your bank, sam--call in somebody to identify me." captain sam laughed. "well, anyhow," he said, "don't talk any more foolishness about not livin' in your own house. if i was you--" mr. winslow interrupted. "sam," he said, "the way to find out what you would do if you was me is to make sure what you'd do--and then do t'other thing, or somethin' worse." "oh, jed, be reasonable." jed looked over his spectacles. "sam," he drawled, "if i was reasonable i wouldn't be me." and he lived no longer in the old house. having made up his mind, he built a small two-room addition to his workshop and lived in that. later he added a sleeping room--a sort of loft--and a little covered porch on the side toward the sea. here, in pleasant summer twilights or on moonlight nights, he sat and smoked. he had a good many callers and but few real friends. most of the townspeople liked him, but almost all considered him a joke, an oddity, a specimen to be pointed out to those of the summer people who were looking for "types." a few, like mr. gabriel bearse, who distinctly did not understand him and who found his solemn suggestions and pointed repartee irritating at times, were inclined to refer to him in these moments of irritation as "town crank." but they did not really mean it when they said it. and some others, like leander babbitt or captain hunniwell, came to ask his advice on personal matters, although even they patronized him just a little. he had various nicknames, "shavings" being the most popular. his peculiar business, the making of wooden mills, toys and weather vanes, had grown steadily. now he shipped many boxes of these to other seashore and mountain resorts. he might have doubled his output had he chosen to employ help or to enlarge his plant, but he would not do so. he had rented the old winslow house furnished once to a summer tenant, but he never did so again, although he had many opportunities. he lived alone in the addition to the little workshop, cooking his own meals, making his own bed, and sewing on his own buttons. and on the day following that upon which leander babbitt enrolled to fight for uncle sam, jedidah edgar wilfred winslow was forty- five years old. he was conscious of that fact when he arose. it was a pleasant morning, the sun was rising over the notched horizon of the tumbling ocean, the breeze was blowing, the surf on the bar was frothing and roaring cheerily--and it was his birthday. the morning, the sunrise, the surf and all the rest were pleasant to contemplate--his age was not. so he decided not to contemplate it. instead he went out and hoisted at the top of the short pole on the edge of the bluff the flag he had set there on the day when the united states declared war against the hun. he hoisted it every fine morning and he took it in every night. he stood for a moment, watching the red, white and blue flapping bravely in the morning sunshine, then he went back into his little kitchen at the rear of the workshop and set about cooking his breakfast. the kitchen was about as big as a good-sized packing box and jed, standing over the oilstove, could reach any shelf in sight without moving. he cooked his oatmeal porridge, boiled his egg and then sat down at the table in the next room--his combined living and dining-room and not very much bigger than the kitchen-- to eat. when he had finished, he washed the dishes, walked up to the post office for the mail and then, entering the workshop, took up the paint brush and the top sailor-man of the pile beside him and began work. this, except on sundays, was his usual morning routine. it varied little, except that he occasionally sawed or whittled instead of painted, or, less occasionally still, boxed some of his wares for shipment. during the forenoon he had some visitors. a group of summer people from the hotel came in and, after pawing over and displacing about half of the movable stock, bought ten or fifteen dollars' worth and departed. mr. winslow had the satisfaction of hearing them burst into a shout of laughter as they emerged into the yard and the shrill voice of one of the females in the party rose above the hilarity with: "isn't he the weirdest thing!" and an accompanying male voice appraised him as "some guy, believe me! s-o-o-me guy!" jed winced a little, but he went on with his painting. on one's forty-fifth birthday one has acquired or should have acquired a certain measure of philosophical resignation. other customers or lookers came and went. maud hunniwell, captain sam's daughter, dropped in on her way to the post office. the captain was a widower and maud was his only child. she was, therefore, more than the apple of his eye, she was a whole orchard of apples. she was eighteen, pretty and vivacious, and her father made a thorough job of spoiling her. not that the spoiling had injured her to any great extent, it had not as yet, but that was captain sam's good luck. maud was wearing a new dress--she had a new one every week or so--and she came into the windmill shop to show it. of course she would have denied that that was the reason for her coming, but the statement stands, nevertheless. she and jed were great chums and had been since she could walk. she liked him, took his part when she heard him criticized or made fun of, and was always prettily confidential and friendly when they were alone together. of course there was a touch of superiority and patronage in her friendship. she should not be blamed for this; all orham, consciously or unconsciously, patronized jed winslow. she came into the inner shop and sat down upon the same upturned box upon which her father had sat the afternoon before. her first remark, after "good mornings" had been exchanged, was concerning the "private" sign on the inner side of the door. "what in the world have you put that sign inside here for?" she demanded. mr. winslow explained, taking his own deliberate time in making the explanation. miss hunniwell wrinkled her dainty upturned nose and burst into a trill of laughter. "oh, that's lovely," she declared, "and just like you, besides. and do you think gabe bearse will go back into the other room when he sees it?" jed looked dreamily over his spectacles at the sign. "i don't know," he drawled. "if i thought he'd go wherever that sign was i ain't sure but i'd tack it on the cover of the well out in the yard yonder." his fair visitor laughed again. "why, jed," she exclaimed. "you wouldn't want to drown him, would you?" jed seemed to reflect. "no-o," he answered, slowly, "don't know's i would--not in my well, anyhow." miss hunniwell declared that that was all nonsense. "you wouldn't drown a kitten," she said. "i know that because when mrs. nathaniel rogers' old white cat brought all her kittens over here the first of this summer you wouldn't even put them out in the yard at night, to say nothing of drowning them. all six and the mother cat stayed here and fairly swarmed over you and ate you out of house and home. father said he believed they fed at the first table and you were taking what was left. it was a mercy the old cat decided to lead them back to the rogers' again or i don't know what might have become of you by this time." jed seemed to be thinking; there was a reminiscent twinkle in his eye. "the old cat didn't lead 'em back," he said. "nathaniel took 'em back. didn't i ever tell you about that?" "no, you didn't. you know you didn't. mr. rogers took them back? i can't believe it. he told everywhere about town that he was glad to get rid of the whole family and, as you and the cats seemed to be mutually happy together, he wasn't going to disturb you. he thought it was a great joke on you. and he took them back himself? why?" mr. winslow rubbed his chin. "i don't know's i'd ought to say anything about it," he said. "i haven't afore. i wouldn't interfere with nate's sales for anything." "sales? sales of what? oh, you mean thing! don't be so provoking! tell me the whole story this minute." jed painted a moment or two. then he said: "we-ell, maud, you see those kittens got to be kind of a nuisance. they was cunnin' and cute and all that, but they was so everlastin' lively and hungry that they didn't give me much of a chance. i was only one, you see, and they had a majority vote every time on who should have the bed and the chairs and the table and one thing or 'nother. if i sat down i sat on a cat. if i went to bed i laid down on cats, and when i turned them out and turned in myself they came and laid down on me. i slept under fur blankets most of june. and as for eatin'-- well, every time i cooked meat or fish they sat down in a circle and whooped for some. when i took it off the fire and put it in a plate on the table, i had to put another plate and a--a plane or somethin' heavy on top of it or they'd have had it sartin sure. then when i sat down to eat it they formed a circle again like a reg'lar band and tuned up and hollered. lord a-mercy, how they did holler! and if one of the kittens stopped, run out of wind or got a sore throat or anything, the old cat would bite it to set it goin' again. she wan't goin' to have any shirkin' in her orchestra. i ate to music, as you might say, same as i've read they do up to boston restaurants. and about everything i did eat was stuffed with cats' hairs. seemed sometimes as if those kittens was solid fur all the way through; they never could have shed all that hair from the outside. somebody told me that kittens never shed hair, 'twas only full grown cats did that. i don't believe it. nate rogers' old maltee never shed all that alone; allowin' her a half barrel, there was all of another barrel spread around the premises. no-o, those cats was a good deal of a nuisance. um-hm. . . . yes, they was. . . ." he paused and, apparently having forgotten that he was in the middle of a story, began to whistle lugubriously and to bend all his other energies to painting. miss hunniwell, who had laughed until her eyes were misty, wiped them with her handkerchief and commanded him to go on. "tell me the rest of it," she insisted. "how did you get rid of them? how did mr. rogers come to take them back?" "eh? . . . oh, why, you see, i went over to nate's three or four times and told him his cat and kittens were here and i didn't feel right to deprive him of 'em any longer. he said never mind, i could keep 'em long as i wanted to. i said that was about as long as i had kept 'em. then he said he didn't know's he cared about ever havin' 'em again; said he and his wife had kind of lost their taste for cats, seemed so. i--well, i hinted that, long as the tribe was at my house i wan't likely to have a chance to taste much of anything, but it didn't seem to have much effect. then--" "yes, yes; go on! go on!" "oh. . . . then one day nate he happened to be in here--come to borrow somethin', some tool seems to me 'twas--and the cats was climbin' round promiscuous same as usual. and one of the summer women came in while he was here, wanted a mill for her little niece or somethin'. and she saw one of the animals and she dropped everything else and sang out: 'oh, what a beautiful kitten! what unusual coloring! may i see it?' course she was seein' it already, but i judged she meant could she handle it, so i tried to haul the critter loose from my leg--there was generally one or more of 'em shinnin' over me somewhere. it squalled when i took hold of it and she says: 'oh, it doesn't want to come, does it! it must have a very affectionate disposition to be so attached to you.' seemed to me 'twas attached by its claws more'n its disposition, but i pried it loose and handed it to her. then she says again, 'what unusual colorin'! will you sell this one to me? i'll give you five dollars for it.'" he stopped again. another reminder from miss hunniwell was necessary to make him continue. "and you sold one of those kittens for five dollars?" she cried. "no-o." "you didn't? why, you foolish man! why not?" "i never had a chance. afore i could say a word nate rogers spoke up and said the kittens belonged to him. then she saw another one that she hadn't seen afore and she says: 'oh, that one has more unusual colorin's even than this. i never saw such color in a cat.' course she meant on a cat but we understood what she meant. 'are they a very rare breed?' she asked. nate said they was and--" miss hunniwell interrupted. "but they weren't, were they?" she cried. "i never knew they were anything more than plain tabby." jed shook his head. "nate said they was," he went on solemnly. "he said they were awful rare. then she wanted to know would he sell one for five dollars. he said no, he couldn't think of it." "why, the greedy old thing!" "and so he and she had it back and forth and finally they struck a bargain at seven dollars for the one that looked most like a crazy quilt." "seven dollars for a cat? what color was it, for goodness' sake?" "oh, all kinds, seemed so. black and white and maltee and blue and red and green--" "green! what are you talking about? who ever saw a green cat?" "this woman saw one that was part green and she bought it. then she said she'd take it right along in her car. said she had a friend that was as loony about cats as she was and she was goin' to fetch her right down the very next day. and a couple of hours after she'd gone nate and his boy came back with a clothes basket with a board over the top and loaded in the balance of the family and went off with 'em. i ain't seen a hair of 'em since--no, i won't say that quite, but i ain't seen them." "and didn't he give you any of the seven dollars?" "no-o." "but you had been feeding those kittens and their mother for weeks." "ye-es." "but didn't you ask for anything?" "we-ll, i told nate he might maybe leave one of the kittens, so's i could have a--er--souvenir of the visit, but he wouldn't do it. said those kittens was rare and--er--precious, or words to that effect. he didn't intend to let another go as cheap as he had that one." "oh. . . . i see. i remember now; i heard some one saying something, early in july, about the sign on the rogers' front fence. 'rare cats for sale' they said it was. i think. of course, i never thought of those kittens. he must have sold them all, for the sign isn't there now." jed whistled a few bars. "i don't hardly think he's sold 'em," he said. "i presume likely he's just gone out of the business." "i don't see why he shouldn't sell them. green cats ought to sell quickly enough, i should think. were they green, honest and truly, jed?" mr. winslow nodded. "they were that mornin'," he drawled, solemnly. "that morning? what do you mean?" "we-ll, you see, maud, those kittens were into everything and over everything most of the time. four of 'em had got in here early afore i came downstairs that day and had been playin' hide and hoot amongst my paint pots. they was green in spots, sure enough, but i had my doubts as to its bein' fast color." maud laughed joyfully over the secret of the green pussies. "i wish i might have seen that woman's face after the colors began to wear off her 'rare' kitten," she said. jed smiled slightly. "nathan saw it," he said. "i understood he had to take back the kitten and give up the seven dollars. he don't hardly speak to me nowadays. seems to think 'twas my fault. i don't hardly think 'twas, do you?" miss hunniwell's call lasted almost an hour. besides a general chat concerning leander babbit's voluntary enlistment, the subject which all orham had discussed since the previous afternoon, she had a fresh bit of news. the government had leased a large section of land along the bay at east harniss, the next village to orham and seven or eight miles distant, and there was to be a military aviation camp there. "oh, it's true!" she declared, emphatically. "father has known that the army people have been thinking of it for some time, but it was really decided and the leases signed only last saturday. they will begin building the barracks and the buildings--the--oh, what do they call those big sheds they keep the aeroplanes in?" "the hangars," said winslow, promptly. "yes, that's it. they will begin building those right away." she paused and looked at him curiously. "how did you know they called them hangars, jed?" she asked. "eh? . . . oh, i've read about 'em in the newspapers, that's all. . . . h-u-u-m. . . . so we'll have aeroplanes flyin' around here pretty soon, i suppose. well, well!" "yes. and there'll be lots and lots of the flying men--the what- do-you-call-'ems--aviators, and officers in uniform--and all sorts. what fun! i'm just crazy about uniforms!" her eyes snapped. jed, in his quiet way, seemed excited, too. he was gazing absently out of the window as if he saw, in fancy, a procession of aircraft flying over orham flats. "they'll be flyin' up out there," he said, musingly. "and i'll see 'em--i will. sho!" miss hunniwell regarded him mischievously. "jed," she asked, "would you like to be an aviator?" jed's answer was solemnly given. "i'm afraid i shouldn't be much good at the job," he drawled. his visitor burst into another laugh. he looked at her over his glasses. "what is it?" he asked. "oh, nothing; i--i was just thinking of you in a uniform, that's all." jed smiled his slow, fleeting smile. "i guess likely i would be pretty funny," he admitted. "any germans i met would probably die laughin' and that might help along some." but after miss hunniwell had gone he sat for some minutes gazing out of the window, the wistful, dreamy look on his lean, homely face. then he sighed, and resumed his painting. that afternoon, about half past five, he was still at his task when, hearing the doorbell ring, he rose and went into the front shop. to his astonishment the shop was empty. he looked about for the expected customer or caller, whoever he or she might be, and saw no one. he stepped to the window and looked out, but there was no one on the steps or in the yard. he made up his mind that he must have dreamed of the bell-ringing and was turning back to the inner room, when a voice said: "please, are you the windmill man?" jed started, turned again, and stared about him. "please, sir, here i am," said the voice. jed, looking down, instead of up or on a level, saw his visitor then. that is, he saw a tumbled shock of curls and a pair of big round eyes looking up at him over a stock of weather vanes. "hello!" he exclaimed, in surprise. the curls and eyes came out from behind the stack of vanes. they were parts of a little girl, and the little girl made him a demure little courtesy. "how do you do?" she said. jed regarded her in silence for a moment. then, "why, i'm fair to middlin' smart just at present," he drawled. "how do you find yourself to-day?" the young lady's answer was prompt and to the point. "i'm nicely, thank you," she replied, and added: "i was sick at my stomach yesterday, though." this bit of personal information being quite unexpected, mr. winslow scarcely knew what comment to make in reply to it. "sho!" he exclaimed. "was you, though?" "yes. mamma says she is 'clined to think it was the two whole bananas and the choc'late creams, but i think it was the fried potatoes. i was sick twice--no, three times. please, i asked you something. are you the windmill man?" jed, by this time very much amused, looked her over once more. she was a pretty little thing, although just at this time it is doubtful if any of her family or those closely associated with her would have admitted it. her face was not too clean, her frock was soiled and mussed, her curls had been blown into a tangle and there were smooches, jed guessed them to be blackberry stains, on her hands, around her mouth and even across her small nose. she had a doll, its raiment in about the same condition as her own, tucked under one arm. hat she had none. mr. winslow inspected her in his accustomed deliberate fashion. "guess you've been havin' a pretty good time, haven't you?" he inquired. the small visitor's answer was given with dignity. "yes," she said. "will you please tell me if you are the windmill man?" jed accepted the snub with outward humility and inward appreciation. "why, yes," he admitted; "i presume likely i'm the windmill man. is there anything i can do for you this evenin'?" apparently there was, for the child, untucking the doll from beneath her right arm and tucking it under the left, pointed her right hand at a wooden weather-vane in the shape of a sperm whale and asked: "please, does that fish go 'round?" "go 'round? go 'round where?" "i mean does it go 'round and 'round on a stick?" "cal'late it does when it has a chance." "and does it make the wind blow no'theast by no'th and--and like that?" "eh? make the wind blow--how?" "i mean does it make the wind blow different ways, no'theast by no'th and cantin' 'round to the sou-east and--and those ways? captain hedge has got a fish up on his barn that used to do that, but now it won't 'cause he cal'lates it's rusted fast. he said he guessed he would have to be getting a new one. when i saw the fishes out in your yard i thought about it and i thought i would come in and see if you had the right kind. is this one a--a gunfish?" "a which fish?" "a gunfish. no, that isn't it. a--a swordfish, that's it. captain hedge's is a swordfish." "we-ll, that particular one got a wrong start and ended up by bein' a whale, but i shouldn't wonder if we could find a swordfish if we looked. yes, here's one. think that would do?" the child looked it over very carefully. "yes," she said, "i think it would. if you're sure it would make the wind go right." "we-ll, i guess likely i could guarantee that fish would go 'most any way the wind did, unless it should take a notion to blow straight up and down, which don't happen often. so you know cap'n hedge, do you? relation of his, are you? visitin' there?" "no. mamma and i are boarding at mrs. smalley's, but i go over to call on captain hedge 'most every day." "sho! want to know! well, that's nice and sociable. so you're boardin' at luretta smalley's. my! you're consider'ble ways from home, ain't you? is your mamma with you?" for the first time the youthful caller's poise seemed a trifle shaken. "no-o . . . no," she stammered, and added, hastily: "how much is this fish, please?" "i generally sell that sort of fish for about two dollars." he looked out of the window, hummed a tune, and then added: "let's see, what did you say your name was?" "i didn't, but it's barbara armstrong. how much did you say the fish was?" "eh? . . . oh, two dollars." miss armstrong looked very much disappointed. "oh, dear," she sighed. "i didn't know it would be as much as that. i--i'm 'fraid i can't get it." "so? that's too bad. what was you cal'latin' to do with it, if you did get it?" "i was going to give it to captain hedge. he misses his, now that it's rusted so fast that it won't go. but i can't get it. i haven't got but fourteen cents, ten that mamma gave me this morning for being a good girl and taking my medicine nice yesterday, and four that mrs. smalley gave me for getting the eggs last week. and two dollars is ever so much more than fourteen cents, isn't it?" "hum. . . . 'tis a little more, that's right. it's considered more by the--um--er--best authorities. hum . . . er . . . h-u-u-m. sometimes, though, i do take off a little somethin' for spot cash. you'd pay spot cash, i presume likely, wouldn't you?" "i--i don't know what spot cash is. i'd pay fourteen cents." jed rubbed his chin. "we-e-ll," he drawled, gravely, "i'm afraid i couldn't hardly knock off all that that comes to. but," taking another and much smaller vane from a shelf, "there's an article, not quite so big, that i usually get fifty cents for. what do you think of that?" the child took the miniature swordfish and inspected it carefully. "it's a baby one, isn't it," she observed. "will it tell wind just as good as the big one?" "tell wind? hum! . . . don't know's i ever heard it put just that way afore. but a clock tells time, so i suppose there's no reason why a vane shouldn't tell wind. yes, i guess 'twill tell wind all right." "then i think it might do." she seemed a little doubtful. "only," she added, "fifty cents is lots more than fourteen, isn't it?" mr. winslow admitted that it was. "but i tell you," he said, after another period of reflection, "seein' as it's you i'll make a proposal to you. cap'n eri hedge is a pretty good friend of mine, same as he is of yours. suppose you and i go in partners. you put in your fourteen cents and i'll put in the rest of the swordfish. then you can take it to cap'n eri and tell him that we're givin' it to him together. you just consider that plan for a minute now, will you?" miss armstrong looked doubtful. "i--i don't know as i know what you mean," she said. "what did you want me to do?" "why, consider the plan. you know what 'consider' means, don't you?" "i know a mother goose with it in. that one about the piper and the cow: 'he took up his pipes and he played her a tune, consider, old cow, consider.' but i don't know as i surely know what he wanted the cow to do? does 'consider' mean see if you like it?" "that's the idea. think it over and see if you'd like to go halves with me givin' the fish to cap'n hedge." the curls moved vigorously up and down. "i think i should," she decided. "good! now you wait and i'll do it up." he wrapped the toy vane in a piece of paper and handed it to his small patron. she gravely produced a miniature velvet purse with the remnants of some bead fringe hanging to its lower edge and laid a dime and four pennies on the top of a packing case between them. it was growing dark in the shop and jed lighted one of the bracket lamps. returning, he found the coins laid in a row and miss armstrong regarding them somewhat soberly. "there isn't any more than fourteen, is there?" she asked. "i mean--i mean fourteen cents takes all of it, doesn't it?" jed looked at her face. his eye twinkled. "well, suppose it didn't?" he asked. "what then?" she hesitated. "why," she stammered, "if--if there was one left over i--maybe i could buy something tomorrow at the candy store. not to-day, 'cause i told mamma i wouldn't to-day 'cause i was sick at my stomach yesterday--but to-morrow i could." mr. winslow carefully counted the coins and then, spreading them out on his big palm, showed them to her. "there!" he said. "now you've given me the fourteen cents. i've got 'em, haven't i?" miss barbara solemnly nodded. "yes," continued jed. "now i'll put 'em back in your wallet again. there they are, shut up in the wallet. now you put the wallet in your pocket. now take your fish bundle under your arm. there! now everything's settled. you've got the fish, haven't you? sartin'. yes, and i've been paid for it, haven't i?" the child stared at him. "but--but--" she began. "now--now don't let's argue about it," pleaded jed, plaintively. "argum always gives me the--er--epizootic or somethin'. you saw me have the money right in my hand. it's all settled; think it over and see if it ain't. you've got the fish and i've had the fourteen cents. now run right along home and don't get lost. good-night." he led her gently to the door and closed it behind her. then, smiling and shaking his head, he returned to the inner shop, where he lit the lamps and sat down for another bit of painting before supper. but that bit was destined not to be done that night. he had scarcely picked up his brush before the doorbell rang once more. returning to the outer room, he found his recent visitor, the swordfish under one arm and the doll under the other, standing in the aisle between the stacked mills and vanes and looking, so it seemed to him, considerably perturbed. "well, well!" he exclaimed. "back again so soon? what's the matter; forget somethin', did you?" miss armstrong shook her head. "no-o," she said. "but--but--" "yes? but what?" "don't you think--don't you think it is pretty dark for little girls to be out?" jed looked at her, stepped to the door, opened it and looked out, and then turned back again. "why," he admitted, "it is gettin' a little shadowy in the corners, maybe. it will be darker in an hour or so. but you think it's too dark for little girls already, eh?" she nodded. "i don't think mamma would like me to be out when it's so awful dark," she said. "hum! . . . hum. . . . does your mamma know where you are?" the young lady's toe marked a circle on the shop floor. "no-o," she confessed, "i--i guess she doesn't, not just exactly." "i shouldn't be surprised. and so you've come back because you was afraid, eh?" she swallowed hard and edged a little nearer to him. "no-o," she declared, stoutly, "i--i wasn't afraid, not very; but-- but i thought the--the swordfish was pretty heavy to carry all alone and--and so--" jed laughed aloud, something that he rarely did. "good for you, sis!" he exclaimed. "now you just wait until i get my hat and we'll carry that heavy fish home together." miss armstrong looked decidedly happier. "thank you very much," she said. "and--and, if you please, my name is barbara." chapter iv the smalley residence, where mrs. luretta smalley, relict of the late zenas t., accommodated a few "paying guests," was nearly a mile from the windmill shop and on the orham "lower road." mr. winslow and his new acquaintance took the short cuts, through by- paths and across fields, and the young lady appeared to have thoroughly recovered from her misgivings concerning the dark--in reality it was scarcely dusk--and her doubts concerning her ability to carry the "heavy" swordfish without help. at all events she insisted upon carrying it alone, telling her companion that she thought perhaps he had better not touch it as it was so very, very brittle and might get broken, and consoling him by offering to permit him to carry petunia, which fragrant appellation, it appeared, was the name of the doll. "i named her petunia after a flower," she explained. "i think she looks like a flower, don't you?" if she did it was a wilted one. however, miss armstrong did not wait for comment on the part of her escort, but chatted straight on. jed learned that her mother's name was mrs. ruth phillips armstrong. "it used to be mrs. seymour armstrong, but it isn't now, because papa's name was doctor seymour armstrong and he died, you know." and they lived in a central connecticut city, but perhaps they weren't going to live there any more because mamma had sold the house and didn't know exactly what to do. and they had been in orham ever since before the fourth of july, and they liked it ever so much, it was so quaint and--and "franteek"-- jed interrupted here. "so quaint and what?" he demanded. "franteek." miss barbara herself seemed a little doubtful of the word. at any rate mamma said it was something like that, and it meant they liked it anyway. so mr. winslow was left to ponder whether "antique" or "unique" was intended and to follow his train of thought wherever it chanced to lead him, while the child prattled on. they came in sight of the smalley front gate and jed came out of his walking trance to hear her say: "anyway, we like it all but the sal'ratus biscuits and the coffee and they are dreadful. mamma thinks it's made of chickenry--the coffee, i mean." at the gate jed's "queerness," or shyness, came upon him. the idea of meeting mrs. armstrong or even the members of the smalley family he shrank from. barbara invited him to come in, but he refused even to accompany her to the door. "i'll just run along now," he said, hurriedly. "good night." the child put out her hand. "good night," she said. "thank you very much for helping me carry the fish home. i'm coming to see you again some day." she scampered up the walk. jed, waiting in the shadow of the lilac bushes by the fence, saw her rattle the latch of the door, saw the door open and the child caught up in the arms of a woman, who cried: "oh, babbie, dear, where have you been? mamma was so frightened!" he smiled over the memory of the little girl's visit more than once that evening. he was very fond of children and their society did not embarrass or annoy him as did the company of most grown-ups-- strangers, that is. he remembered portions of miss barbara's conversation and determined to repeat them to captain sam hunniwell, the next time the latter called. and that next time was the following forenoon. captain sam, on the way to his office at the bank, stopped his car at the edge of the sidewalk and came into the shop. jed, having finished painting wooden sailors for the present, was boxing an assorted collection of mills and vanes to be sent south, for a certain demand for "winslow mills" was developing at the winter as well as the summer resorts. it was far from winter yet, but this purchaser was forehanded. "hello, jed," hailed the captain, "busy as usual. you've got the busy bee a mile astern so far as real hustlin' is concerned." jed took a nail from the half dozen held between his lips and applied its point to the box top. his sentences for the next few minutes were mumbled between nails and punctuated with blows of the hammer. "the busy bee," he mumbled, "can sting other folks. he don't get stung much himself. collectin' honey's easier, i cal'late, than collectin' money." captain sam grunted. "are you stung again?" he demanded. "who did it this time?" jed pointed with the hammer to an envelope lying on a pile of wooden crows. the captain took up the envelope and inspected its contents. "'we regret to inform you,' he read aloud, 'that the funny novelty company of this town went into bankruptcy a month ago. "'john holway.'" "humph!" he sniffed. "that's short and sweet. owed you somethin', i presume likely?" jed nodded. "seventeen dollars and three cents," he admitted, between the remaining nails. "sho! well, if you could get the seventeen dollars you'd throw off the three cents, wouldn't you?" "no-o." "you wouldn't? why not?" jed pried a crookedly driven nail out again and substituted a fresh one. "can't afford to," he drawled. "that's the part i'll probably get." "guess you're right. who's this john holway?" "eh. . . . why, when he ordered the mills of me last summer he was president of the funny novelty company up there to manchester." "good lord! well, i admire his nerve. how did you come to sell these--er--funny folks, in the first place?" mr. winslow looked surprised. "why, they wrote and sent an order," he replied. "did, eh? and you didn't think of lookin' 'em up to see whether they was good for anything or good for nothin'? just sailed in and hurried off the stuff, i presume likely?" jed nodded. "why--why, yes, of course," he said. "you see, they said they wanted it right away." his friend groaned. "gracious king!" he exclaimed. "how many times have i told you to let me look up credits for you when you get an order from a stranger? well, there's no use talkin' to you. give me this letter. i'll see what i can squeeze out of your funny friend. . . . but, say," he added, "i can't stop but a minute, and i ran in to ask you if you'd changed your mind about rentin' the old house here. if you have, i believe i've got a good tenant for you." jed looked troubled. he laid down the hammer and took the last nail from his mouth. "now--now, sam," he began, "you know--" "oh, i know you've set your thick head dead against rentin' it at all, but that's silly, as i've told you a thousand times. the house is empty and it doesn't do any house good to stay empty. course if 'twas anybody but you, jed winslow, you'd live in it yourself instead of campin' out in this shack here." jed sat down on the box he had just nailed and, taking one long leg between his big hands, pulled its knee up until he could have rested his chin upon it without much inconvenience. "i know, sam," he drawled gravely, "but that's the trouble--i ain't been anybody but me for forty-five years." the captain smiled, in spite of his impatience. "and you won't be anybody else for the next forty-five," he said, "i know that. but all the same, bein' a practical, more or less sane man myself, it makes me nervous to see a nice, attractive, comfortable little house standin' idle while the feller that owns it eats and sleeps in a two-by-four sawmill, so to speak. and, not only that, but won't let anybody else live in the house, either. i call that a dog in the manger business, and crazy besides." the big foot at the end of the long leg swung slowly back and forth. mr. winslow looked absently at the roof. "don't look like that!" snapped captain sam. "come out of it! wake up! it always gives me the fidgets to see you settin' gapin' at nothin'. what are you daydreamin' about now, eh?" jed turned and gazed over his spectacles. "i was thinkin'," he observed, "that most likely that dog himself was crazy. if he wasn't he wouldn't have got into the manger. i never saw a dog that wanted to climb into a manger, did you, sam?" "oh, confound the manger and the dog, too! look here, jed; if i found you a good tenant would you rent 'em that house of yours?" jed looked more troubled than ever. "sam," he began, "you know i'd do 'most anything to oblige you, but--" "oblige me! this ain't to oblige me. it's to oblige you." "oh, then i won't do it." "well, then, 'tis to oblige me. it'll oblige me to have you show some sense. come on, jed. these people i've got in mind are nice people. they want to find a little house and they've come to me at the bank for advice about findin' it. it's a chance for you, a real chance." jed rocked back and forth. he looked genuinely worried. "who are they?" he asked, after a moment "can't name any names yet." another period of reflection. then: "city folks or orham folks?" inquired mr. winslow. "city folks." some of the worried look disappeared. jed was plainly relieved and more hopeful. "oh, then they won't want it," he declared. "city folks want to hire houses in the spring, not along as late in the summer as this." "these people do. they're thinkin' of livin' here in orham all the year round. it's a first-rate chance for you, jed. course, i know you don't really need the money, perhaps, but--well, to be real honest, i want these folks to stay in orham--they're the kind of folks the town needs--and i want 'em contented. i think they would be contented in your house. you let those davidsons from chicago have the place that summer, but you've never let anybody so much as consider it since. what's the real reason? you've told me as much as a dozen, but i'll bet anything you've never told me the real one. 'twas somethin' the davidsons did you didn't like--but what?" jed's rocking back and forth on the box became almost energetic and his troubled expression more than ever apparent. "now--now, sam," he begged, "i've told you all about that ever and ever so many times. there wasn't anything, really." "there was, too. what was it?" jed suffered in silence for two or three minutes. "what was the real reason? out with it," persisted captain hunniwell. "well--well, 'twas--'twas--" desperately, "'twas the squeakin' and-- and squealin'." "squeakin' and squealin'? gracious king! what are you talkin' about?" "why--the--the mills, you know. the mills and vanes outside on--on the posts and the fence. they squeaked and--and sometimes they squealed awful. and he didn't like it." "who didn't?" "colonel davidson. he said they'd got to stop makin' that noise and i said i'd oil 'em every day. and--and i forgot it." "yes--well, i ain't surprised to death, exactly. what then?" "well--well, you see, they were squealin' worse than usual one mornin' and colonel davidson he came in here and--and i remembered i hadn't oiled 'em for three days. and i--i said how horrible the squealin' was and that i'd oil 'em right away and--and--" "well, go on! go on!" "and when i went out to do it there wasn't any wind and the mills wasn't goin' at all. you see, 'twas his oldest daughter takin' her singin' lessons in the house with the window open." captain sam put back his head and shouted. jed looked sadly at the floor. when the captain could speak he asked: "and you mean to tell me that was the reason you wouldn't let the house again?" "er--why, yes." "i know better. you didn't have any row with the davidsons. you couldn't row with anybody, anyhow; and besides the colonel himself told me they would have taken the house the very next summer but you wouldn't rent it to 'em. and you mean to say that yarn you've just spun was the reason?" "why--yes." "rubbish! you've told me a dozen reasons afore, but i'm bound to say this is the most foolish yet. all right, keep the real reason to yourself, then. but i tell you what i'm goin' to do to get even with you: i'm goin' to send these folks down to look at your house and i shan't tell you who they are or when they're comin'." the knee slipped down from mr. winslow's grasp and his foot struck the floor with a crash. he made a frantic clutch at his friend's arm. "oh, now, sam," he cried, in horror, "don't do that! don't talk so! you don't mean it! come here! . . . sam!" but the captain was at the door. "you bet i mean it!" he declared. "keep your weather eye peeled, jed. they'll be comin' 'most any time now. and if you have any sense you'll let 'em the house. so long!" he drove away in his little car. jed winslow, left standing in the shop doorway, staring after him, groaned in anxious foreboding. he groaned a good many times during the next few hours. each time the bell rang announcing the arrival of a visitor he rose to answer it perfectly sure that here were the would-be tenants whom his friend, in the mistaken kindness of his heart, was sending to him. not that he had the slightest idea of renting his old home, but he dreaded the ordeal of refusing. in fact he was not sure that he could refuse, not sure that he could invent a believable excuse for doing so. another person would not have sought excuses, would have declared simply that the property was not for rent, but jed winslow was not that other person; he was himself, and ordinary methods of procedure were not his. two or three groups of customers came in, purchased and departed. captain jerry burgess dropped in to bring the winslow mail, which in this case consisted of an order, a bill and a circular setting forth the transcendent healing qualities of african balm, the foe of rheumatism. mr. bearse happened in to discuss the great news of the proposed aviation camp and to tell with gusto and detail how phineas babbitt had met captain hunniwell "right square in front of the bank" and had not spoken to him. "no, sir, never said a word to him no more'n if he wan't there. what do you think of that? and they say leander wrote his dad that he thought he was goin' to like soldierin' fust-rate, and mrs. sarah mary babbitt she told melissa busteed that her husband's language when he read that was somethin' sinful. she said she never was more thankful that they had lightnin' rods on the roof, 'cause such talk as that was enough to fetch down fire from heaven." chapter v it was nearly noon when jed, entering the front shop in answer to the bell, found there the couple the sight of which caused his heart to sink. here they were, the house hunters--there was no doubt of it in his mind. the man was short and broad and protuberant and pompous. the woman possessed all the last three qualities, besides being tall. he shone with prosperity and sunburn, she reeked of riches and talcum. they were just the sort of people who would insist upon hiring a house that was not in the market; its not being in the market would, in their eyes, make it all the more desirable. jed had seen them before, knew they were staying at the hotel and that their names were powless. he remembered now, with a thrill of alarm, that mr. bearse had recently spoken of them as liking orham very much and considering getting a place of their own. and of course captain sam, hearing this, had told them of the winslow place, had sent them to him. "oh, lord! oh, lord!" thought jed, although what he said was: "good mornin'." he might as well have said nothing. mrs. powless, looming large between the piles of mills and vanes, like a battleship in a narrow channel, was loftily inspecting the stock through her lorgnette. her husband, his walking stick under his arm and his hands in his pockets, was not even making the pretense of being interested; he was staring through the seaward window toward the yard and the old house. "these are really quite extraordinary," the lady announced, after a moment. "george, you really should see these extraordinary things." george was, evidently, not interested. he continued to look out of the window. "what are they?" he asked, without turning. "oh, i don't know. all sorts of queer dolls and boats--and creatures, made of wood. like those outside, you know--er-- teetotums, windmills. do come and look at them." mr. powless did not comply. he said "umph" and that was all. "george," repeated mrs. powless, "do you hear me? come and look at them." and george came. one might have inferred that, when his wife spoke like that, he usually came. he treated a wooden porpoise to a thoroughly wooden stare and repeated his remark of "umph!" "aren't they extraordinary!" exclaimed his wife. "does this man make them himself, i wonder?" she seemed to be addressing her husband, so jed did not answer. "do you?" demanded mr. powless. "yes," replied jed. mrs. powless said "fancy!" mr. powless strolled back to the window. "this view is all right, mollie," he observed. "better even than it is from the street. come and see." mrs. powless went and saw. jed stood still and stared miserably. "rather attractive, on the whole, don't you think, dear?" inquired the gentleman. "must be very decent in the yard there." the lady did not reply, but she opened the door and went out, around the corner of the shop and into the back yard. her husband trotted after her. the owner of the property, gazing pathetically through the window, saw them wandering about the premises, looking off at the view, up into the trees, and finally trying the door of the old house and peeping in between the slats of the closed blinds. then they came strolling back to the shop. jed, drawing a long breath, prepared to face the ordeal. mrs. powless entered the shop. mr. powless remained by the door. he spoke first. "you own all this?" he asked, indicating the surrounding country with a wave of his cane. jed nodded. "that house, too?" waving the point of the cane toward the winslow cottage. "yes." "how old is it?" jed stammered that he guessed likely it was about a hundred years old or such matter. "umph! furniture old, too?" "yes, i cal'late most of it is." "nobody living in it?" "no-o." "got the key to it?" here was the question direct. if he answered in the affirmative the next utterance of the powless man would be a command to be shown the interior of the house. jed was certain of it, he could see it in the man's eye. what was infinitely more important, he could see it in the lady's eye. he hesitated. "got the key to it?" repeated mr. powless. jed swallowed. "no-o," he faltered, "i--i guess not." "you guess not. don't you know whether you've got it or not?" "no. i mean yes. i know i ain't." "where is it; lost?" the key was usually lost, that is to say, jed was accustomed to hunt for fifteen minutes before finding it, so, his conscience backing his inclination, he replied that he cal'lated it must be. "umph!" grunted powless. "how do you get into the house without a key?" jed rubbed his chin, swallowed hard, and drawled that he didn't very often. "you do sometimes, don't you?" the best answer that the harassed windmill maker could summon was that he didn't know. the red-faced gentleman stared at him in indignant amazement. "you don't know?" he repeated. "which don't you know, whether you go into the house at all, or how you get in without a key?" "yes,--er--er--that's it." mr. powless breathed deeply. "well, i'll be damned!" he declared, with conviction. his wife did not contradict his assertion, but she made one of her own. "george," she commanded majestically, "can't you see the man has been drinking. probably he doesn't own the place at all. don't waste another moment on him. we will come back later, when the real owner is in. come!" george came and they both went. mr. winslow wiped his perspiring forehead on a piece of wrapping paper and sat down upon a box to recover. recovery, however, was by no means rapid or complete. they had gone, but they were coming back again; and what should he say to them then? very likely captain sam, who had sent them in the first place, would return with them. and captain sam knew that the key was not really lost. jed's satisfaction in the fact that he had escaped tenantless so far was nullified by the fear that his freedom was but temporary. he cooked his dinner, but ate little. after washing the dishes he crossed the road to the telephone and telegraph office and called up the orham bank. he meant to get captain hunniwell on the wire, tell him that the house hunters had paid him a visit, that he did not like them, and beg the captain to call them off the scent. but captain sam had motored to ostable to attend a preliminary session of the exemption board. jed sauntered gloomily back to the shop. when he opened the door and entered he was greeted by a familiar voice, which said: "here he is, mamma. good afternoon, mr. winslow." jed started, turned, and found miss barbara armstrong beaming up at him. the young lady's attire and general appearance were in marked contrast to those of the previous evening. petunia also was in calling costume; save for the trifling lack of one eye and a chip from the end of her nose, she would have been an ornament to doll society anywhere. "this is my mamma," announced barbara. "she's come to see you." "how do you do, mr. winslow?" said mrs. armstrong. jed looked up to find her standing beside him, her hand extended. beside a general impression that she was young and that her gown and hat and shoes were white, he was at that moment too greatly embarrassed to notice much concerning her appearance. probably he did not notice even this until later. however, he took her hand, moved it up and down, dropped it again and said: "i--i'm pleased to meet you, ma'am." she smiled. "and i am very glad to meet you," she said. "it was very kind of you to bring my little girl home last night and she and i have come to thank you for doing it." jed was more embarrassed than ever. "sho, sho!" he protested; "'twasn't anything." "oh, yes, it was; it was a great deal. i was getting very worried, almost frightened. she had been gone ever since luncheon--dinner, i mean--and i had no idea where. she's a pretty good little girl, generally speaking," drawing the child close and smiling down upon her, "but sometimes she is heedless and forgets. yesterday she forgot, didn't you, dear?" barbara shook her head. "i didn't forget," she said. "i mean i only forgot a little. petunia forgot almost everything. i forgot and went as far as the bridge, but she forgot all the way to the clam field." jed rubbed his chin. "the which field?" he drawled. "the clam field. the place where mrs. smalley's fish man unplants the clams she makes the chowder of. he does it with a sort of hoe thing and puts them in a pail. he was doing it yesterday; i saw him." jed's eyes twinkled at the word "unplants," but another thought occurred to him. "you wasn't out on those clam flats alone, was you?" he asked, addressing barbara. she nodded. "petunia and i went all alone," she said. "it was kind of wet so we took off our shoes and stockings and paddled. i--i don't know's i remembered to tell you that part, mamma," she added, hastily. "i--i guess it must have slipped my mind." but mrs. armstrong was watching jed's face. "was there any danger?" she asked, quickly. jed hesitated before answering. "why," he drawled, "i--i don't know as there was, but--well, the tide comes in kind of slow off on the flats, but it's liable to fill up the channels between them and the beach some faster. course if you know the wadin' places it's all right, but if you don't it's--well, it's sort of uncomfortable, that's all." the lady's cheeks paled a bit, but she did not exclaim, nor as jed would have said "make a fuss." she said, simply, "thank you, i will remember," and that was the only reference she made to the subject of the "clam field." miss barbara, to whom the events of dead yesterdays were of no particular concern compared to those of the vital and living to- day, was rummaging among the stock. "mamma," she cried, excitedly, "here is a whale fish like the one i was going to buy for captain hedge. come and see it." mrs. armstrong came and was much interested. she asked jed questions concerning the "whale fish" and others of his creations. at first his replies were brief and monosyllabic, but gradually they became more lengthy, until, without being aware of it, he was carrying on his share of a real conversation. of course, he hesitated and paused and drawled, but he always did that, even when talking with captain sam hunniwell. he took down and exhibited his wares one by one. barbara asked numberless questions concerning each and chattered like a red squirrel. her mother showed such a genuine interest in his work and was so pleasant and quiet and friendly, was, in short, such a marked contrast to mrs. george powless, that he found himself actually beginning to enjoy the visit. usually he was glad when summer folks finished their looking and buying and went away; but now, when mrs. armstrong glanced at the clock on the shelf, he was secretly glad that that clock had not gone for over four months and had providentially stopped going at a quarter after three. he took them into the inner shop, his workroom, and showed them the band saw and the lathe and the rest of his manufacturing outfit. barbara asked if he lived there all alone and he said he did. "i live out there," he explained, pointing toward the shop extension. "got a sittin'-room and a kitchen out there, and a little upstairs, where i sleep." mrs. armstrong seemed surprised. "why!" she exclaimed, "i thought you lived in that dear little old house next door here. i was told that you owned it." jed nodded. "yes, ma'am," he said, "i do own it, but i don't live in it. i used to live there, but i ain't for quite a spell now." "i don't see how you could bear to give it up. it looks so quaint and homey, and if the inside is as delightful as the outside it must be quite wonderful. and the view is the best in town, isn't it?" jed was pleased. "why, yes, ma'am, 'tis pretty good," he admitted. "anyhow, most folks seem to cal'late 'tis. wouldn't you like to come out and look at it?" barbara clapped her hands. "oh, yes, mamma, do!" she cried. her mother hesitated. "i don't know that we ought to trouble mr. winslow," she said. "he is busy, you know." jed protested. "it won't be a mite of trouble," he declared. "besides, it ain't healthy to work too long at a stretch. that is," he drawled, "folks say 'tain't, so i never take the risk." mrs. armstrong smiled and followed him out into the yard, where miss barbara had already preceded them. the view over the edge of the bluff was glorious and the grass in the yard was green, the flowers bright and pretty and the shadows of the tall lilac bushes by the back door of the little white house cool and inviting. barbara danced along the bluff edge, looking down at the dories and nets on the beach below. her mother sighed softly. "it is lovely!" she said. then, turning to look at the little house, she added, "and it was your old home, i suppose." jed nodded. "yes, ma'am," he replied. "i was born in that house and lived there all my life up to five years ago." "and then you gave it up. why? . . . please forgive me. i didn't mean to be curious." "oh, that's all right, ma'am. nothin' secret about it. my mother died and i didn't seem to care about livin' there alone, that's all." "i see. i understand." she looked as if she did understand, and jed, the seldom understood, experienced an unusual pleasure. the sensation produced an unusual result. "it's a kind of cute and old-fashioned house inside," he observed. "maybe you'd like to go in and look around; would you?" she looked very much pleased. "oh, i should, indeed!" she exclaimed. "may i?" now, the moment after he issued the invitation he was sorry. it had been quite unpremeditated and had been given he could not have told why. his visitor had seemed so genuinely interested, and, above all, had treated him like a rational human being instead of a freak. under this unaccustomed treatment jed winslow had been caught off his guard--hypnotized, so to speak. and now, when it was too late, he realized the possible danger. only a few hours ago he had told mr. and mrs. george powless that the key to that house had been lost. he paused and hesitated. mrs. armstrong noticed his hesitation. "please don't think any more about it," she said. "it is delightful here in the yard. babbie and i will stay here a few minutes, if we may, and you must go back to your work, mr. winslow." but jed, having put his foot in it, was ashamed to withdraw. he hastened to disclaim any intention of withdrawal. "no, no," he protested. "i don't need to go to work, not yet anyhow. i should be real pleased to show you the house, ma'am. you wait now and i'll fetch the key." some five minutes later he reappeared with triumph in his eye and the "lost" key in his hand. "sorry to keep you waitin', ma'am," he explained. "the key had-- er--stole its nest, as you might say. got it now, though." his visitors looked at the key, which was attached by a cord to a slab of wood about the size of half a shingle. upon one side of the slab were lettered in black paint the words here it is. barbara's curiosity was aroused. "what have you got those letters on there for, mr. winslow?" she asked. "what does it say?" jed solemnly read the inscription. "i printed that on there," he explained, "so i'd be able to find the key when i wanted it." mrs. armstrong smiled. "i should think it might help," she observed, evidently much amused. mr. winslow nodded. "you would think so," he said, "wouldn't you? maybe 'twould, too, only 'twas such a plaguey nuisance, towin' that half a cord of wood around, that i left it to home last time. untied the string, you know, and just took the key. the wood and the string was hangin' up in the right place, but the key wan't among those present, as they say in the newspapers." "where was it?" demanded barbara. "hush, dear," cautioned her mother. "you mustn't ask so many questions." "that's all right, ma'am; i don't mind a mite. where was it? we-ll, 'twas in my pants pocket here, just where i put it last time i used it. naturally enough i shouldn't have thought of lookin' there and i don't know's i'd have found it yet, but i happened to shove my hands in my pockets to help me think, and there 'twas." this explanation should have been satisfying, doubtless, but barbara did not seem to find it wholly so. "please may i ask one more question, mamma?" she pleaded. "just only one?" she asked it before her mother could reply. "how does putting your hands in your pockets help you think, mr. winslow?" she asked. "i don't see how it would help a bit?" jed's eye twinkled, but his reply was solemnly given. "why, you see," he drawled, "i'm built a good deal like the old steam launch tobias wixon used to own. every time tobias blew the whistle it used up all the steam and the engine stopped. i've got a head about like that engine; when i want to use it i have to give all the rest of me a layoff. . . . here we are, ma'am. walk right in, won't you." he showed them through room after room of the little house, opening the closed shutters so that the afternoon sunlight might stream in and brighten their progress. the rooms were small, but they were attractive and cosy. the furniture was almost all old mahogany and in remarkably good condition. the rugs were home-made; even the coverlets of the beds were of the old-fashioned blue and white, woven on the hand looms of our great-grandmothers. mrs. armstrong was enthusiastic. "it is like a miniature museum of antiques," she declared. "and such wonderful antiques, too. you must have been besieged by people who wanted to buy them." jed nodded. "ye-es," he admitted, "i cal'late there's been no less'n a million antiquers here in the last four or five year. i don't mean here in the house--i never let 'em in the house--but 'round the premises. got so they kind of swarmed first of every summer, like june bugs. i got rid of 'em, though, for a spell." "did you; how?" he rubbed his chin. "put up a sign by the front door that said: 'beware of leprosy.' that kept 'em away while it lasted." mrs. armstrong laughed merrily. "i should think so," she said. "but why leprosy, pray?" "oh, i was goin' to make it smallpox, but i asked doctor parker if there was anything worse than smallpox and he said he cal'lated leprosy was about as bad as any disease goin'. it worked fine while it lasted, but the board of health made me take it down; said there wan't any leprosy on the premises. i told 'em no, but 'twas a good idea to beware of it anyhow, and i'd put up the sign just on general principles. no use; they hadn't much use for principles, general or otherwise, seemed so." the lady commented on the neatness and order in the little rooms. they were in marked contrast to the workshop. "i suppose you have a woman come here to clean and sweep," she said. jed shook his head. "no-o," he answered. "i generally cal'late to come in every little while and clean up. mother was always a great one for keepin' things slicked up," he added, apologetically, "and i--i kind of like to think 'twould please her. foolish, i presume likely, but-- well, foolish things seem to come natural to me. got a kind of a gift for 'em, as you might say. i . . ." he lapsed into silence, his sentence only begun. mrs. armstrong, looking up, found him gazing at her with the absent, far-off look that his closest associates knew so well. she had not met it before and found it rather embarrassing, especially as it kept on and on. "well?" she asked, after a time. he started and awoke to realities. "i was just thinkin'," he explained, "that you was the only woman that has been in this house since the summer i let it to the davidson folks. and mrs. davidson wan't a mite like you." that was true enough. mrs. davidson had been a plump elderly matron with gray hair, a rather rasping voice and a somewhat aggressive manner. mrs. armstrong was young and slim, her hair and eyes were dark, her manner refined and her voice low and gentle. and, if jed had been in the habit of noticing such things, he might have noticed that she was pleasant to look at. perhaps he was conscious of this fact, but, if so, it was only in a vague, general way. his gaze wandered to barbara, who, with petunia, was curled up in a big old-fashioned rocker. "and a child, too," he mused. "i don't know when there's been a child in here. not since i was one, i guess likely, and that's too long ago for anybody to remember single-handed." but mrs. armstrong was interested in his previous remark. "you have let others occupy this house then?" she asked. "yes, ma'am, one summer i did. let it furnished to some folks name of davidson, from chicago." "and you haven't rented it since?" "no, ma'am, not but that once." she was silent for a moment. then she said: "i am surprised that it hasn't been occupied always. do you ask such a very high rent, mr. winslow?" jed looked doubtful. "why, no, ma'am," he answered. "i didn't cal'late 'twas so very high, considerin' that 'twas just for 'summer and furnished and all. the davidsons paid forty dollars a month, but--" "forty dollars! a month? and furnished like that? you mean a week, don't you?" mr. winslow looked at her. the slow smile wandered across his face. he evidently suspected a joke. "why, no, ma'am," he drawled. "you see, they was rentin' the place, not buyin' it." "but forty dollars a month is very cheap." "is it? sho! now you speak of it i remember that captain sam seemed to cal'late 'twas. he said i ought to have asked a hundred, or some such foolishness. i told him he must have the notion that i was left out of the sweet ile when they pickled the other thirty- nine thieves. perhaps you've read the story, ma'am," he suggested. his visitor laughed. "i have read it," she said. then she added, plainly more to herself than to him: "but even forty is far too much, of course." jed was surprised and a little hurt. "yes--er--yes, ma'am," he faltered. "well, i--i was kind of 'fraid 'twas, but colonel davidson seemed to think 'twas about fair, so--" "oh, you misunderstand me. i didn't mean that forty dollars was too high a rent. it isn't, it is a very low one. i meant that it was more than i ought to think of paying. you see, mr. winslow, i have been thinking that we might live here in orham, barbara and i. i like the town; and the people, most of those i have met, have been very pleasant and kind. and it is necessary--that is, it seems to me preferable--that we live, for some years at least, away from the city. this little house of yours is perfect. i fell in love with the outside of it at first sight. now i find the inside even more delightful. i"--she hesitated, and then added--"i don't suppose you would care to let it unfurnished at--at a lower rate?" jed was very much embarrassed. the idea that his caller would make such a proposition as this had not occurred to him for a moment. if it had the lost key would almost certainly have remained lost. he liked mrs. armstrong even on such short acquaintance, and he had taken a real fancy to barbara; but his prejudice against tenants remained. he rubbed his chin. "why--why, now, ma'am," he stammered, "you--you wouldn't like livin' in orham all the year 'round, would you?" "i hope i should. i know i should like it better than living-- elsewhere," with, so it seemed to him, a little shudder. "and i cannot afford to live otherwise than very simply anywhere. i have been boarding in orham for almost three months now and i feel that i have given it a trial." "yes--yes, ma'am, but summer's considerable more lively than winter here on the cape." "i have no desire for society. i expect to be quiet and i wish to be. mr. winslow, would you consider letting me occupy this house-- unfurnished, of course? i should dearly love to take it just as it is--this furniture is far more fitting for it than mine--but i cannot afford forty dollars a month. provided you were willing to let me hire the house of you at all, not for the summer alone but for all the year, what rent do you think you should charge?" jed's embarrassment increased. "well, now, ma'am," he faltered, "i--i hope you won't mind my sayin' it, but--but i don't know's i want to let this house at all. i--i've had consider'ble many chances to rent it, but--but--" he could not seem to find a satisfactory ending to the sentence and so left it unfinished. mrs. armstrong was evidently much disappointed, but she did not give up completely. "i see," she said. "well, in a way i think i understand. you prefer the privacy. i think i could promise you that barbara and i would disturb you very little. as to the rent, that would be paid promptly." "sartin, ma'am, sartin; i know 'twould, but--" "won't you think it over? we might even live here for a month, with your furniture undisturbed and at the regular rental. you could call it a trial month, if you liked. you could see how you liked us, you know. at the end of that time," with a smile, "you might tell us we wouldn't do at all, or, perhaps, then you might consider making a more permanent arrangement. barbara would like it here, wouldn't you, dear?" barbara, who had been listening, nodded excitedly from the big rocker. "ever and ever so much," she declared; "and petunia would just adore it." poor jed was greatly perturbed. "don't talk so, mrs. armstrong," he blurted. "please don't. i--i don't want you to. you--you make me feel bad." "do i? i'm so sorry. i didn't mean to say anything to hurt your feelings. i beg your pardon." "no, you don't. i--i mean you hadn't ought to. you don't hurt my feelin's; i mean you make me feel bad--wicked--cussed mean--all that and some more. i know i ought to let you have this house. any common, decent man with common decent feelin's and sense would let you have it. but, you see, i ain't that kind. i--i'm selfish and--and wicked and--" he waved a big hand in desperation. she laughed. "nonsense!" she exclaimed. "besides, it isn't so desperate as all that. you certainly are not obliged to rent the house unless you want to." "but i do want to; that is, i don't, but i know i'd ought to want to. and if i was goin' to let anybody have it i'd rather 'twould be you--honest, i would. and it's the right thing for me to do, i know that. that's what bothers me; the trouble's with me. i don't want to do the right thing." he broke off, seemed to reflect and then asked suddenly: "ma'am, do you want to go to heaven when you die?" the lady was naturally somewhat surprised at the question. "why, yes," she replied, "i-- why, of course i do." "there, that's it! any decent, sensible person would. but i don't." barbara, startled into forgetting that children should be seen and not heard, uttered a shocked "oh!" jed waved his hand. "you see," he said, "even that child's morals are upset by me. i know i ought to want to go to heaven. but when i see the crowd that know they're goin' there, are sartin of it, the ones from this town, a good many of 'em anyhow; when i hear how they talk in prayer-meetin' and then see how they act outside of it, i-- well," with a deep sigh, "i want to go where they ain't, that's all." he paused, and then drawled solemnly, but with a suspicion of the twinkle in his eye: "the general opinion seems to be that that's where i'll go, so's i don't know's i need to worry." mrs. armstrong made no comment on this confession. he did not seem to expect any. "ma'am," he continued, "you see what i mean. the trouble's with me, i ain't made right. i ought to let that house; sam hunniwell told me so this mornin'. but i--i don't want to. nothin' personal to you, you understand; but . . . eh? who's that?" a step sounded on the walk outside and voices were heard. jed turned to the door. "customers, i cal'late," he said. "make yourselves right to home, ma'am, you and the little girl. i'll be right back." he went out through the dining-room into the little hall. barbara, in the big rocker, looked up over petunia's head at her mother. "isn't he a funny man, mamma?" she said. mrs. armstrong nodded. "yes, he certainly is," she admitted. "yes," the child nodded reflectively. "but i don't believe he's wicked at all. i believe he's real nice, don't you?" "i'm sure he is, dear." "yes. petunia and i like him. i think he's what you said our bridget was, a rough damson." "not damson; diamond, dear." "oh, yes. it was damson preserve mrs. smalley had for supper last night. i forgot. petunia told me to say damson; she makes so many mistakes." they heard the "rough diamond" returning. he seemed to be in a hurry. when he re-entered the little sitting-room he looked very much frightened. "what is the matter?" demanded mrs. armstrong. jed gulped. "they've come back," he whispered. "godfreys, i forgot 'em, and they've come back. what'll i do now?" "but who--who has come back?" mr. winslow waved both hands. "the old scratch and his wife," he declared. "i hope they didn't see me, but--land of love, they're comin' in!" a majestic tread sounded in the hall, in the dining-room. mrs. george powless appeared, severe, overwhelming, with mr. george powless in her wake. the former saw mr. winslow and fixed him with her glittering eye, as the ancient mariner fixed the wedding guest. "ah!" she observed, with majestic irony, "the lost key is found, it would seem." jed looked guilty. "yes, ma'am," he faltered. "er--yes, ma'am." "so? and now, i presume, as it is apparent that you do show the interior of this house to other interested persons," with a glance like a sharpened icicle in the direction of the armstrongs, "perhaps you will show it to my husband and me." jed swallowed hard. "well, ma'am," he faltered, "i--i'd like to, but--but the fact is, i--" "well, what?" "it ain't my house." "isn't your house? george," turning to mr. powless, "didn't i hear this man distinctly tell you that this house was his?" george nodded. "certainly, my dear," he declared. then turning to mr. winslow, he demanded: "what do you mean by saying it is yours one moment and not yours the next; eh?" jed looked around. for one instant his gaze rested upon the face of mrs. armstrong. then he drew himself up. "because," he declared, "i've rented it furnished to this lady here. and, that bein' the case, it ain't mine just now and i ain't got any right to be in it. and," his voice rising in desperation, "neither has anybody else." mrs. george powless went a few moments later; before she went she expressed her opinion of mr. winslow's behavior. mr. george powless followed her, expressing his opinion as he went. the object of their adjuration sat down upon a rush-bottomed chair and rubbed his chin. "lord!" he exclaimed, with fervor. mrs. armstrong looked at him in amazement. "why, mr. winslow!" she exclaimed, and burst out laughing. jed groaned. "i know how jonah felt after the whale unloaded him," he drawled. "that woman all but had me swallered. if you hadn't been here she would." "jed!" shouted a voice outside. "jed, where are you?" mr. winslow raised his head. "eh?" he queried. "that's sam hollerin', ain't it?" it was captain hunniwell and a moment later he entered the little sitting-room. when he saw who his friend's companions were he seemed greatly surprised. "why, mrs. armstrong!" he exclaimed. "are you here? now that's a funny thing. the last time i saw jed i warned him i was goin' to send you here to look at this house. and you came without bein' sent, after all; eh?" jed stared at him. before the lady could reply he spoke. "what?" he cried. "was she--sam hunniwell, was it her you was goin' to send to see about hirin' this house?" "sure it was. why not?" jed pointed toward the door. "then--then who," he demanded, "sent those powlesses here?" "no one that i know of. and anyhow they don't want to rent any houses. they've bought land over at harnissport and they're goin' to build a house of their own there." "they are? they are? then--then what did that woman say i'd got to show her the inside of this house for?" "i don't know. did she? oh, i tell you what she was after, probably. some one had told her about your old furniture and things, jed. she's the greatest antique hunter on earth, so they tell me. that's what she was after--antiques." jed, having paused until this had sunk in, groaned. "lord!" he said, again. "and i went and--" another groan finished the sentence. mrs. armstrong came forward. "please don't worry about it, mr. winslow," she said. "i know you didn't mean it. of course, knowing your feelings, i shouldn't think of taking the house." but jed slowly shook his head. "i want you to," he declared. "yes, i mean it. i want you to come and live in this house for a month, anyhow. if you don't, that powless woman will come back and buy every stick and rag on the place. i don't want to sell 'em, but i couldn't say no to her any more than i could to the old harry. i called her the old scratch's wife, didn't i," he added. "well, i won't take it back." captain sam laughed uproariously. "you ain't very complimentary to mr. powless," he observed. jed rubbed his chin. "i would be if i was referrin' to him," he drawled, "but i judge he's her second husband." chapter vi of course mrs. armstrong still insisted that, knowing, as she did, mr. winslow's prejudice against occupying the position of landlord, she could not think of accepting his offer. "of course i shall not," she declared. "i am flattered to know that you consider barbara and me preferable to mr. and mrs. powless; but even there you may be mistaken, and, beside, why should you feel you must endure the lesser evil. if i were in your place i shouldn't endure any evil at all. i should keep the house closed and empty, just as you have been doing." captain sam shook his head impatiently. "if you was in his place," he observed, "you would have let it every year. don't interfere with him, mrs. armstrong, for the land sakes. he's showed the first streak of common sense about that house that he's showed since the davidsons went out. don't ask him to take it back." and jed stubbornly refused to take it back. "i've let it to you for a month, ma'am," he insisted. "it's yours, furniture and all, for a month. you won't sell that mrs. powless any of it, will you?" he added, anxiously. "any of the furniture, i mean." mrs. armstrong scarcely knew whether to be amused or indignant. "of course i shouldn't sell it," she declared. "it wouldn't be mine to sell." jed looked frightened. "yes, 'twould; yes, 'twould," he persisted. "that's why i'm lettin' it to you. then i can't sell it to her; i can't, don't you see?" captain sam grinned. "fur's that goes," he suggested, "i don't see's you've got to worry, jed. you don't need to sell it, to her or anybody else, unless you want to." but jed looked dubious. "i suppose jonah cal'lated he didn't need to be swallowed," he mused. "you take it, ma'am, for a month, as a favor to me." "but how can i--like this? we haven't even settled the question of rent. and you know nothing whatever about me." he seemed to reflect. then he asked: "your daughter don't sing like a windmill, does she?" barbara's eyes and mouth opened. "why, mamma!" she exclaimed, indignantly. "hush, babbie. sing like a--what? i don't understand, mr. winslow." the captain burst out laughing. "no wonder you don't, ma'am," he said. "it takes the seven wise men of greece to understand him most of the time. you leave it to me, mrs. armstrong. he and i will talk it over together and then you and he can talk to-morrow. but i guess likely you'll have the house, if you want it; jed doesn't go back on his word. i always say that for you, don't i, old sawdust?" turning to the gentleman thus nicknamed. jed, humming a mournful hymn, was apparently miles away in dreamland. yet he returned to earth long enough to indulge in a mild bit of repartee. "you say 'most everything for me, sam," he drawled, "except when i talk in my sleep." mrs. armstrong and barbara left a moment later, the lady saying that she and mr. winslow would have another interview next day. barbara gravely shook hands with both men. "i and petunia hope awfully that we are going to live here, mr. winslow," she said, "'specially petunia." jed regarded her gravely. "oh, she wants to more'n you do, then, does she?" he asked. the child looked doubtful. "no-o," she admitted, after a moment's reflection, "but she can't talk, you know, and so she has to hope twice as hard else i wouldn't know it. good-by. oh, i forgot; captain hedge liked his swordfish ever so much. he said it was a-- a--oh, yes, humdinger." she trotted off after her mother. captain hunniwell, after a chuckle of appreciation over the "humdinger," began to tell his friend what little he had learned concerning the armstrongs. this was, of course, merely what mrs. armstrong herself had told him and amounted to this: she was a widow whose husband had been a physician in middleford, connecticut. his name was seymour armstrong and he had now been dead four years. mrs. armstrong and barbara, the latter an only child, had continued to occupy the house at middleford, but recently the lady had come to feel that she could not afford to live there longer, but must find some less expensive quarters. "she didn't say so," volunteered captain sam, "but i judge she lost a good deal of her money, bad investments or somethin' like that. if there's any bad investment anywheres in the neighborhood you can 'most generally trust a widow to hunt it up and put her insurance money into it. anyhow, 'twas somethin' like that, for after livin' there a spell, just as she did when her husband was alive, she all at once decides to up anchor and find some cheaper moorin's. first off, though, she decided to spend the summer in a cool place and some friend, somebody with good, sound judgment, suggests orham. so she lets her own place in middleford, comes to orham, falls in love with the place--same as any sensible person would naturally, of course--and, havin' spent 'most three months here, decides she wants to spend nine more anyhow. she comes to the bank to cash a check, she and i get talkin', she tells me what she's lookin' for, i tell her i cal'late i've got a place in my eye that i think might be just the thing, and--" he paused to bite the end from a cigar. his friend finished the sentence for him. "and then," he said, "you, knowin' that i didn't want to let this house any time to anybody, naturally sent her down to look at it." "no such thing. course i knew that you'd ought to let the house and, likin' the looks and ways of these armstrong folks first rate, i give in that i had made up my mind to send her down to look at it. but, afore i could do it, the almighty sent her on his own hook. which proves," he added, with a grin, "that my judgment has pretty good backin' sometimes." jed rubbed his chin. "careful, sam," he drawled, "careful. the kaiser'll be gettin' jealous of you if you don't look out. but what," he inquired, "made her and the little girl move out of middleford, or wherever 'twas they lived? they could have found cheaper quarters there, couldn't they? course i ain't never been there, but seems as if they could." "sartin they could, but the fact of their movin' is what makes me pretty sure the widow's investments had turned sour. it's a plaguey sight easier to begin to cut down and live economical in a place where nobody knows you than 'tis in one where everybody has known you for years. see that, don't you?" jed whistled sadly, breaking off in the middle of a bar to reply that he didn't know as he did. "i've never cut up, so cuttin' down don't worry me much," he observed. "but i presume likely you're right, sam; you generally are." he whistled a moment longer, his gaze apparently fixed upon a point in the middle of the white plastered ceiling. then he said, dreamily: "well, anyhow, 'twon't be but a month. they'll go somewheres else in a month." captain sam sniffed. "bet you a dollar they won't," he retorted. "not unless you turn 'em out. and i see you turnin' anybody out." but mr. winslow looked hopeful. "they'll go when the month's up," he reiterated. "nobody could stand me more than a month. mother used to say so, and she'd known me longer than anybody." and so, in this curious fashion, did tenants come to the old winslow house. they moved in on the following monday. jed saw the wagon with the trunks backing up to the door and he sighed. then he went over to help carry the trunks into the house. for the first week he found the situation rather uncomfortable; not as uncomfortable as he had feared, but a trifle embarrassing, nevertheless. his new neighbors were not too neighborly; they did not do what he would have termed "pester" him by running in and out of the shop at all hours, nor did they continually ask favors. on the other hand they did not, like his former tenants, the davidsons, treat him as if he were some sort of odd wooden image, like one of his own weather vanes, a creature without feelings, to be displayed and "shown off" when it pleased them and ignored when it did not. mrs. armstrong was always quietly cheerful and friendly when they met in the yard or about the premises, but she neither intruded nor patronized. jed's first impression of her, a favorable one, was strengthened daily. "i like her first-rate," he told captain sam. "she ain't too folksy and she ain't too standoffish. why, honest truth, sam," he added, ingenuously, "she treats me just the same as if i was like the common run of folks." the captain snorted. "gracious king! do stop runnin' yourself down," he commanded. "suppose you are a little mite--er--different from the--well, from the heft of mackerel in the keg, what of it? that's your own private business, ain't it?" jed's lip twitched. "i suppose 'tis," he drawled. "if it wan't there wouldn't be so many folks interested in it." at first he missed the freedom to which he had accustomed himself during his years of solitude, the liberty of preparing for bed with the doors and windows toward the sea wide open and the shades not drawn; of strolling out to the well at unearthly hours of the early morning singing at the top of his lungs; of washing face and hands in a tin basin on a bench by that well curb instead of within doors. there were some necessary concessions to convention to which his attention was called by captain hunniwell, who took it upon himself to act as a sort of social mentor. "do you always wash outdoors there?" asked the captain, after watching one set of ablutions. "why--er--yes, i 'most generally do in good weather. it's sort of-- er--well, sort of cool and roomy, as you might say." "roomy, eh? gracious king! well, i should say you needed room. you splash into that basin like a kedge anchor goin' overboard and when you come out of it you puff like a grampus comin' up to blow. how do you cal'late mrs. armstrong enjoys seein' you do that?" jed looked startled and much disturbed. "eh?" he exclaimed. "why, i never thought about her, sam. i declare i never did. i--i'll fetch the wash basin inside this very minute." and he did. the inconvenience attached to the breaking off of a summer-time habit of years troubled him not half as much as the fear that he might have offended a fellow creature's sensibilities. jed winslow was far too sensitive himself and his own feelings had been hurt too many times to make hurting those of another a small offense in his eyes. but these were minor inconveniences attached to his new position as landlord. there were recompenses. at work in his shop he could see through the window the white-clad, graceful figure of mrs. armstrong moving about the yard, sitting with barbara on the bench by the edge of the bluff, or writing a letter at a table she had taken out under the shadow of the silver-leaf tree. gradually jed came to enjoy seeing her there, to see the windows of the old house open, to hear voices once more on that side of the shop, and to catch glimpses of babbie dancing in and out over the shining mica slab at the door. he liked the child when he first met her, but he had been a little fearful that, as a neighbor, she might trouble him by running in and out of the shop, interfering with his privacy and his work or making a small nuisance of herself when he was waiting on customers. but she did none of these things, in fact she did not come into the shop at all and, after the first week had passed, he began to wonder why. late that afternoon, seeing her sitting on the bench by the bluff edge, her doll in her arms, he came out of the door of his little kitchen at the back of the shop and called her. "good evenin'," he hailed. "takin' in the view, was you?" she bobbed her head. "yes, sir," she called in reply; "petunia and i were looking at it." "sho! well, what do you and-er--what's-her-name think of it?" barbara pondered. "we think it's very nice," she announced, after a moment. "don't you like it, mr. winslow?" "eh? oh, yes, i like it, i guess. i ain't really had time to look at it to-day; been too busy." the child nodded, sympathetically. "that's too bad," she said. jed had, for him, a curious impulse, and acted upon it. "maybe i might come and look at it now, if i was asked," he suggested. "plenty of room on that bench, is there?" "oh, yes, sir, there's lots. i don't take much room and petunia almost always sits on my lap. please come." so jed came and, sitting down upon the bench, looked off at the inlet and the beach and the ocean beyond. it was the scene most familiar to him, one he had seen, under varying weather conditions, through many summers and winters. this very thought was in his mind as he looked at it now. after a time he became aware that his companion was speaking. "eh?" he ejaculated, coming out of his reverie. "did you say somethin'?" "yes, sir, three times. i guess you were thinking, weren't you?" "um-m--yes, i shouldn't be surprised. it's one of my bad habits, thinkin' is." she looked hard to see if he was smiling, but he was not, and she accepted the statement as a serious one. "is thinking a bad habit?" she asked. "i didn't know it was." "cal'late it must be. if it wasn't, more folks would do it. tell me, now," he added, changing the subject to avoid further cross- questioning, "do you and your ma like it here?" the answer was enthusiastic. "oh, yes!" she exclaimed, "we like it ever and ever so much. mamma says it's--" barbara hesitated, and then, after what was evidently a severe mental struggle, finished with, "she said once it was like paradise after category." "after--which?" the young lady frowned. "it doesn't seem to me," she observed, slowly, "as if 'category' was what she said. does 'category' sound right to you, mr. winslow?" jed looked doubtful. "i shouldn't want to say that it did, right offhand like this," he drawled. "no-o. i don't believe it was 'category.' but i'm almost sure it was something about a cat, something a cat eats--or does--or something. mew--mouse--milk--" she was wrinkling her forehead and repeating the words to herself when mr. winslow had an inspiration. "'twan't purgatory, was it?" he suggested. miss barbara's head bobbed enthusiastically. "purr-gatory, that was it," she declared. "and it was something a cat does--purr, you know; i knew it was. mamma said living here was paradise after purr-gatory." jed rubbed his chin. "i cal'late your ma didn't care much for the board at luretta smalley's," he observed. he couldn't help thinking the remark an odd one to make to a child. "oh, i don't think she meant mrs. smalley's," explained barbara. "she liked mrs. smalley's pretty well, well as any one can like boarding, you know," this last plainly another quotation. "i think she meant she liked living here so much better than she did living in middleford, where we used to be." "hum," was the only comment jed made. he was surprised, nevertheless. judged by what captain sam had told him, the armstrong home at middleford should have been a pleasant one. barbara rattled on. "i guess that was it," she observed. "she was sort of talking to herself when she said it. she was writing a letter--to uncle charlie, i think it was--and i and petunia asked her if she liked it here and she sort of looked at me without looking, same as you do sometimes, mr. winslow, when you're thinking of something else, and then she said that about the catty--no, the purr-gatory. and when i asked her what purr-gatory meant she said, 'never mind,' and. . . . oh, i forgot!" in consternation; "she told me i mustn't tell anybody she said it, either. oh, dear me!" jed hastened to reassure her. "never mind," he declared, "i'll forget you ever did say it. i'll start in forgettin' now. in five minutes or so i'll have forgot two words of it already. by to- morrow mornin' i wouldn't remember it for money." "truly?" "truly bluely, lay me down and cut me in twoly. but what's this you're sayin' about your ma lookin' at things without seein' 'em, same as i do? she don't do that, does she?" the young lady nodded. "yes," she said; "course not as bad--i mean not as often as you do, but sometimes, 'specially since--" she hastily clapped her hand over her mouth. "oh!" she exclaimed. "what's the matter? toothache?" "no. only i almost told another somethin' i mustn't." "sho! well, i'm glad you put on the cover just in time." "so am i. what else was i talking about? oh, yes, mamma's thinking so hard, same as you do, mr. winslow. you know," she added, earnestly, "she acts quite a lot like you sometimes." jed looked at her in horror. "good lord!" he exclaimed. then, in his solemnest drawl, he added, "you tell her to take somethin' for it afore it's too late." as he rose from the bench he observed: "haven't seen you over to the shop since you moved in. i've been turnin' out another school of swordfish and whales, too. why don't you run in and look 'em over?" she clapped her hands. "oh, may i?" she cried. "i've wanted to ever and ever so much, but mamma said not to because it might annoy you. wouldn't it annoy you, truly?" "not a bit." "oh, goody! and might petunia come, too?" "um-hm. only," gravely, "she'll have to promise not to talk too much. think she'll promise that? all right; then fetch her along." so, the very next morning, when jed was busy at the bandsaw, he was not greatly surprised when the door opened and miss barbara appeared, with petunia in her arms. he was surprised, however, and not a little embarrassed when mrs. armstrong followed. "good morning," said the lady, pleasantly. "i came over to make sure that there hadn't been a mistake. you really did ask babby to come in and see you at work?" "yes, ma'am, i--i did. i did, sartin." "and you don't mind having her here? she won't annoy you?" "not a mite. real glad to have her." "very well, then she may stay--an hour, but no longer. mind, babby, dear, i am relying on you not to annoy mr. winslow." so the juvenile visitor stayed her hour and then obediently went away, in spite of jed's urgent invitation to stay longer. she had asked a good many questions and talked almost continuously, but mr. winslow, instead of being bored by her prattle, was surprised to find how empty and uninteresting the shop seemed after she had quitted it. she came again the next day and the next. by the end of the week jed had become sufficiently emboldened to ask her mother to permit her to come in the afternoon also. this request was the result of a conspiracy between barbara and himself. "you ask your ma," urged jed. "tell her i say i need you here afternoons." barbara looked troubled. "but that would be a wrong story, wouldn't it?" she asked. "you don't really need me, you know." "eh? yes, i do; yes, i do." "what for? what shall i tell her you need me for?" jed scratched his chin with the tail of a wooden whale. "you tell her," he drawled, after considering for a minute or two, "that i need you to help carry lumber." even a child could not swallow this ridiculous excuse. barbara burst out laughing. "why, mr. winslow!" she cried. "you don't, either. you know i couldn't carry lumber; i'm too little. i couldn't carry any but the littlest, tiny bit." jed nodded, gravely. "yes, sartin," he agreed; "that's what i need you to carry. you run along and tell her so, that's a good girl." but she shook her head vigorously. "no," she declared. "she would say it was silly, and it would be. besides, you don't really need me at all. you just want petunia and me for company, same as we want you. isn't that it, truly?" "um-m. well, i shouldn't wonder. you can tell her that, if you want to; i'd just as soon." the young lady still hesitated. "no-o," she said, "because she'd think perhaps you didn't really want me, but was too polite to say so. if you asked her yourself, though, i think she'd let me come." at first jed's bashfulness was up in arms at the very idea, but at length he considered to ask mrs. armstrong for the permission. it was granted, as soon as the lady was convinced that the desire for more of her daughter's society was a genuine one, and thereafter barbara visited the windmill shop afternoons as well as mornings. she sat, her doll in her arms, upon a box which she soon came to consider her own particular and private seat, watching her long- legged friend as he sawed or glued or jointed or painted. he had little waiting on customers to do now, for most of the summer people had gone. his small visitor and he had many long and, to them, interesting conversations. other visitors to the shop, those who knew him well, were surprised and amused to find him on such confidential and intimate terms with a child. gabe bearse, after one short call, reported about town that crazy shavin's winslow had taken up with a young-one just about as crazy as he was. "there she set," declared gabriel, "on a box, hugging a broken- nosed doll baby up to her and starin' at me and shavin's as if we was some kind of curiosities, as you might say. well, one of us was; eh? haw, haw! she didn't say a word and shavin's he never said nothin' and i felt as if i was preaching in a deef and dumb asylum. finally, i happened to look at her and i see her lips movin'. 'well,' says i, 'you can talk, can't you, sis, even if it's only to yourself. what was you talkin' to yourself about, eh?' she didn't seem to want to answer; just sort of reddened up, you know; but i kept right after her. finally she owned up she was countin'. 'what was you countin'?' says i. well, she didn't want to tell that, neither. finally i dragged it out of her that she was countin' how many words i'd said since i started to tell about melissy busteed and what she said about luther small's wife's aunt, the one that's so wheezed up with asthma and doctor parker don't seem to be able to do nothin' to help. 'so you was countin' my words, was you?' says i. 'well, that's good business, i must say! how many have i said?' she looked solemn and shook her head. 'i had to give it up,' says she. 'it makes my head ache to count fast very long. doesn't it give you a headache to count fast, mr. winslow?' jed, he mumbled some kind of foolishness about some things givin' him earache. i laughed at the two of 'em. 'humph!' says i, 'the only kind of aches i have is them in my bones,' meanin' my rheumatiz, you understand. shavin's he looked moony up at the roof for about a week and a half, same as he's liable to do, and then he drawled out: 'you see he does have headache, babbie,' says he. now did you ever hear such fool talk outside of an asylum? he and that armstrong kid are well matched. no wonder she sits in there and gapes at him half the day." captain sam hunniwell and his daughter were hugely tickled. "jed's got a girl at last," crowed the captain. "i'd about given up hope, jed. i was fearful that the bloom of your youth would pass away from you and you wouldn't keep company with anybody. you're so bashful that i know you'd never call on a young woman, but i never figured that one might begin callin' on you. course she's kind of extra young, but she'll grow out of that, give her time." maud hunniwell laughed merrily, enjoying mr. winslow's confusion. "oh, the little girl is only the bait, father," she declared. "it is the pretty widow that jed is fishing for. she'll be calling here soon, or he'll be calling there. isn't that true, jed? own up, now. oh, see him blush, father! just see him!" jed, of course, denied that he was blushing. his fair tormentor had no mercy. "you must be," she insisted. "at any rate your face is very, very red. i'll leave it to father. isn't his face red, father?" "red as a flannel lung-protector," declared captain sam, who was never known to contradict his only daughter, nor, so report affirmed, deny a request of hers. "of course it is," triumphantly. "and it can't be the heat, because it isn't at all warm here." poor jed, the long-suffering, was goaded into a mild retort. "there's consider'ble hot air in here some spells," he drawled, mournfully. miss hunniwell went away reaffirming her belief that mr. winslow's friendship for the daughter was merely a strategical advance with the mother as the ultimate objective. "you'll see, father," she prophesied, mischievously. "we shall hear of his 'keeping company' with mrs. armstrong soon. oh, he couldn't escape even if he wanted to. these young widows are perfectly irresistible." when they were a safe distance from the windmill shop the captain cautioned his daughter. "maud," he said, "you'd better not tease jed too much about that good-lookin' tenant of his. he's so queer and so bashful that i'm afraid if you do he'll take a notion to turn the armstrongs out when this month's up." miss hunniwell glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "suppose he does?" she asked. "what of it? she isn't a great friend of yours, is she, father?" it was the captain's turn to look embarrassed. "no, no, course she ain't," he declared, hastily. "all i've been thinkin' is that jed ought to have a tenant in that house of his, because he needs the money. and from what i've been able to find out about this mrs. armstrong she's a real nice genteel sort of body, and--and--er--" "and she's very sweet and very pretty and so, of course, naturally, all the men, especially the middle-aged men--" captain sam interrupted explosively. "don't be so foolish!" he ordered. "if you don't stop talkin' such nonsense i'll--i don't know what i'll do to you. what do you suppose her bein' sweet and good-lookin' has got to do with me? gracious king! i've got one good-lookin'--er--that is to say, i've got one young female to take care of now and that's enough, in all conscience." his daughter pinched his arm. "oh, ho!" she observed. "you were going to say she was good- looking and then you changed your mind. don't you think this young female--what a word! you ought to be ashamed of it--don't you think she is good-looking, daddy, dear?" she looked provokingly up into his face and he looked fondly down into hers. "don't you?" she repeated. "we-ll, i--i don't know as i'd want to go so far as to say that. i presume likely her face might not stop a meetin'-house clock on a dark night, but--" as they were in a secluded spot where a high hedge screened them from observation miss maud playfully boxed her parent's ears, a proceeding which he seemed to enjoy hugely. but there was reason in the captain's caution, nevertheless. miss maud's "teasing" concerning the widow had set jed to thinking. the "trial" month was almost up. in a little while he would have to give his decision as to whether the little winslow house was to continue to be occupied by barbara and her mother, or whether it was to be, as it had been for years, closed and shuttered tight. he had permitted them to occupy it for that month, on the spur of the moment, as the result of a promise made upon impulse, a characteristic jed winslow impulse. now, however, he must decide in cold blood whether or not it should be theirs for another eleven months at least. in his conversation with captain sam, the conversation which took place immediately after the armstrongs came, he had stoutly maintained that the latter would not wish to stay longer than the month, that his own proximity as landlord and neighbor would be unbearable longer than that period. but if the widow found it so she had so far shown no evidence of her disgust. apparently that means of breaking off the relationship could not be relied upon. of course he did not know whether or not she wished to remain, but, if she did, did he wish her to do so? there was nothing personal in the matter; it was merely the question as to whether his prejudice of years against renting that house to any one was to rule or be overthrown. if she asked him for his decision what should he say? at night, when he went to bed, his mind was made up. in the morning when he arose it was unmade. as he told captain hunniwell: "i'm like that old clock i used to have, sam. the pendulum of that thing used to work fine, but the hands wouldn't move. same way with me. i tick, tick, tick all day over this pesky business, but i don't get anywheres. it's always half- past nothin'." captain sam was hugely disgusted. "it ain't more'n quarter past, if it is that," he declared, emphatically. "it's just nothin', if you ask me. and say, speakin' of askin', i'd like to ask you this: how are you goin' to get 'em out, provided you're fool enough to decide they've got to go? are you goin' to tell mrs. armstrong right up and down and flat-footed that you can't stand any more of her? i'd like to hear you say it. let me know when the show's goin' to come off. i want a seat in the front row." poor jed looked aghast at the very idea. his friend laughed derisively and walked off and left him. and the days passed and the "trial month" drew closer and closer to its end until one morning he awoke to realize that that end had come; the month was up that very day. he had not mentioned the subject to the widow, nor had she to him. his reasons for not speaking were obvious enough; one was that he did not know what to say, and the other that he was afraid to say it. but, as the time approached when the decision must be made, he had expected that she would speak. and she had not. he saw her daily, sometimes several times a day. she often came into the shop to find barbara, who made the workroom a playhouse on rainy or cloudy days, and she talked with him on other topics, but she did not mention this one. it was raining on this particular day, the last day in the "trial month," and jed, working at his lathe, momentarily expected barbara to appear, with petunia under one arm and a bundle of dolls' clothes under the other, to announce casually that, as it was such bad weather, they had run in to keep him, mr. winslow, from getting lonesome. there was precious little opportunity to be lonesome where babbie was. but this morning the child did not come and jed, wondering what the reason for her absence might be, began to feel vaguely uncomfortable. just what was the matter he did not know, but that there was something wrong with him, jed winslow, was plain. he could not seem to keep his mind on his work; he found himself wandering to the window and looking out into the yard, where the lilac bushes whipped and thrashed in the gusts, the overflowing spouts splashed and gurgled, and the sea beyond the edge of the bluff was a troubled stretch of gray and white, seen through diagonal streaks of wind-driven rain. and always when he looked out of that window he glanced toward the little house next door, hoping to see a small figure, bundled under a big rain coat and sheltered by a big umbrella, dodge out of the door and race across the yard toward the shop. but the door remained shut, the little figure did not appear and, except for the fact that the blinds were not closed and that there was smoke issuing from the chimney of the kitchen, the little house might have been as empty as it had been the month before. or as it might be next month. the thought came to jed with a meaning and emphasis which it had not brought before. a stronger gust than usual howled around the eaves of the shop, the sashes rattled, the panes were beaten by the flung raindrops which pounded down in watery sheets to the sills, and jed suddenly diagnosed his own case, he knew what was the matter with him--he was lonesome; he, who had lived alone for five years and had hoped to live alone for the rest of his life, was lonesome. he would not admit it, even to himself; it was ridiculous. he was not lonesome, he was just a little "blue," that was all. it was the weather; he might have caught a slight cold, perhaps his breakfast had not agreed with him. he tried to remember what that breakfast had been. it had been eaten in a hurry, he had been thinking of something else as usual, and, except that it consisted of various odds and ends which he had happened to have on hand, he could not itemize it with exactness. there had been some cold fried potatoes, and some warmed-over pop-overs which had "slumped" in the cooking, and a doughnut or two and--oh, yes, a saucer of canned peaches which had been sitting around for a week and which he had eaten to get out of the way. these, with a cup of warmed- over coffee, made up the meal. jed couldn't see why a breakfast of that kind should make him "blue." and yet he was blue--yes, and there was no use disguising the fact, he was lonesome. if that child would only come, as she generally did, her nonsense might cheer him up a bit. but she did not come. and if he decided not to permit her mother to occupy the house, she would not come much more. eh? why, it was the last day of the month! she might never come again! jed shut off the motor and turned away from the lathe. he sank down into his little chair, drew his knee up under his chin, and thought, long and seriously. when the knee slid down to its normal position once more his mind was made up. mrs. armstrong might remain in the little house--for a few months more, at any rate. even if she insisted upon a year's lease it wouldn't do any great harm. he would wait until she spoke to him about it and then he would give his consent. and--and it would please captain sam, at any rate. he rose and, going to the window, looked out once more across the yard. what he saw astonished him. the back door of the house was partially open and a man was just coming out. the man, in dripping oil-skins and a sou'wester, was philander hardy, the local expressman. philander turned and spoke to some one in the house behind him. jed opened the shop door a crack and listened. "yes, ma'am," he heard hardy say. "i'll be back for 'em about four o'clock this afternoon. rain may let up a little mite by that time, and anyhow, i'll have the covered wagon. your trunks won't get wet, ma'am; i'll see to that." a minute later jed, an old sweater thrown over his head and shoulders, darted out of the front door of his shop. the express wagon with hardy on the driver's seat was just moving off. jed called after it. "hi, philander!" he called, raising his voice only a little, for fear of being overheard at the armstrong house. "hi, philander, come here a minute. i want to see you." mr. hardy looked over his shoulder and then backed his equipage opposite the winslow gate. "hello, jedidah shavin's," he observed, with a grin. "didn't know you for a minute, with that shawl over your front crimps. what you got on your mind; anything except sawdust?" jed was too much perturbed even to resent the loathed name "jedidah." "philander," he whispered, anxiously; "say, philander, what does she want? mrs. armstrong, i mean? what is it you're comin' back for at four o'clock?" philander looked down at the earnest face under the ancient sweater. then he winked, solemnly. "well, i tell you, shavin's," he said. "you see, i don't know how 'tis, but woman folks always seem to take a terrible shine to me. now this mrs. armstrong here-- say, she's some peach, ain't she!-- she ain't seen me more'n half a dozen times, but here she is beggin' me to fetch her my photograph. 'it's rainin' pretty hard, to-day,' i says. 'won't it do if i fetch it to-morrow?' but no, she--" jed held up a protesting hand. "i don't doubt she wants your photograph, philander," he drawled. "your kind of face is rare. but i heard you say somethin' about comin' for trunks. whose trunks?" "whose? why, hers and the young-one's, i presume likely. 'twas them i fetched from luretta smalley's. now she wants me to take 'em back there." a tremendous gust, driven in from the sea, tore the sweater from the winslow head and shoulders and wrapped it lovingly about one of the posts in the yard. jed did not offer to recover it; he scarcely seemed to know that it was gone. instead he stood staring at the express driver, while the rain ran down his nose and dripped from its tip to his chin. "she--she's goin' back to luretta smalley's?" he repeated. "she--" he did not finish the sentence. instead he turned on his heel and walked slowly back to the shop. the sweater, wrapped about the post where, in summer, a wooden sailor brandished his paddles, flapped soggily in the wind. hardy gazed after him. "what in time--?" he exclaimed. then, raising his voice, he called: "hi, jed! jed! you crazy critter! what--jed, hold on a minute, didn't you know she was goin'? didn't she tell you? jed!" but jed had entered the shop and closed the door. philander drove off, shaking his head and chuckling to himself. a few minutes later mrs. armstrong, hearing a knock at the rear door of the winslow house, opened it to find her landlord standing on the threshold. he was bareheaded and he had no umbrella. "why, mr. winslow!" she exclaimed. it was the first time that he had come to that house of his own accord since she had occupied it. now he stood there, in the rain, looking at her without speaking. "why, mr. winslow," she said again. "what is it? come in, won't you? you're soaking wet. come in!" jed looked down at the sleeves of his jacket. "eh?" he drawled, slowly. "wet? why, i don't know's i ain't--a little. it's--it's rainin'." "raining! it's pouring. come in." she took him by the arm and led him through the woodshed and into the kitchen. she would have led him further, into the sitting- room, but he hung back. "no, ma'am, no," he said. "i--i guess i'll stay here, if you don't mind." there was a patter of feet from the sitting-room and barbara came running, petunia in her arms. at the sight of their visitor's lanky form the child's face brightened. "oh, mr. winslow!" she cried. "did you come to see where petunia and i were? did you?" jed looked down at her. "why--why, i don't know's i didn't," he admitted. "i--i kind of missed you, i guess." "yes, and we missed you. you see, mamma said we mustn't go to the shop to-day because-- oh, mamma, perhaps he has come to tell you we won't have to--" mrs. armstrong interrupted. "hush, babbie," she said, quickly. "i told barbara not to go to visit you to-day, mr. winslow. she has been helping me with the packing." jed swallowed hard. "packin'?" he repeated. "you've been packin'? then 'twas true, what philander hardy said about your goin' back to luretta's?" the lady nodded. "yes," she replied. "our month here ends to-day. of course you knew that." jed sighed miserably. "yes, ma'am," he said, "i knew it, but i only just realized it, as you might say. i . . . hum! . . . well . . ." he turned away and walked slowly toward the kitchen door. barbara would have followed but her mother laid a detaining hand upon her shoulder. on the threshold of the door between the dining-room and kitchen jed paused. "ma'am," he said, hesitatingly, "you--you don't cal'late there's anything i can do to--to help, is there? anything in the packin' or movin' or anything like that?" "no, thank you, mr. winslow. the packing was very simple." "er--yes, ma'am. . . . yes, ma'am." he stopped, seemed about to speak again, but evidently changed his mind, for he opened the door and went out into the rain without another word. barbara, very much surprised and hurt, looked up into her mother's face. "why, mamma," she cried, "has--has he gone? he didn't say good-by to us or--or anything. he didn't even say he was sorry we were going." mrs. armstrong shook her head. "i imagine that is because he isn't sorry, my dear," she replied. "you must remember that mr. winslow didn't really wish to let any one live in this house. we only came here by--well, by accident." but barbara was unconvinced. "he isn't glad," she declared, stoutly. "he doesn't act that way when he is glad about things. you see," she added, with the air of a mrs. methusaleh, "petunia and i know him better than you do, mamma; we've had more chances to get--to get acquainted." perhaps an hour later there was another knock at the kitchen door. mrs. armstrong, when she opened it, found her landlord standing there, one of his largest windmills--a toy at least three feet high--in his arms. he bore it into the kitchen and stood it in the middle of the floor, holding the mammoth thing, its peaked roof high above his head, and peering solemnly out between one of its arms and its side. "why, mr. winslow!" exclaimed mrs. armstrong. "yes, ma'am," said jed. "i--i fetched it for babbie. i just kind of thought maybe she'd like it." barbara clasped her hands. "oh!" she exclaimed. "oh, is it for me." jed answered. "'tis, if you want it," he said. "want it? why, mamma, it's one of the very best mills! it's a five dollar one, mamma!" mrs. armstrong protested. "oh, i couldn't let you do that, mr. winslow," she declared. "it is much too expensive a present. and besides--" she checked herself just in time. it had been on the tip of her tongue to say that she did not know what they could do with it. their rooms at mrs. smalley's were not large. it was as if a dweller in a harlem flat had been presented with a hippopotamus. the maker of the mill looked about him, plainly seeking a place to deposit his burden. "'tisn't anything much," he said, hastily. "i--i'm real glad for you to have it." he was about to put it on top of the cookstove, in which there was a roaring fire, but mrs. armstrong, by a startled exclamation and a frantic rush, prevented his doing so. so he put it on the table instead. barbara thanked him profusely. she was overjoyed; there were no comparisons with hippopotami in her mind. jed seemed pleased at her appreciation, but he did not smile. instead he sighed. "i--i just thought i wanted her to have it, ma'am," he said, turning to mrs. armstrong. "'twould keep her from--from forgettin' me altogether, maybe. . . . not that there's any real reason why she should remember me, of course," he added. barbara was hurt and indignant. "of course i shan't forget you, mr. winslow," she declared. "neither will petunia. and neither will mamma, i know. she feels awful bad because you don't want us to live here any longer, and--" "hush, babbie, hush!" commanded her mother. barbara hushed, but she had said enough. jed turned a wondering face in their direction. he stared without speaking. mrs. armstrong felt that some one must say something. "you mustn't mind what the child says, mr. winslow," she explained, hurriedly. "of course i realize perfectly that this house is yours and you certainly have the right to do what you please with your own. and i have known all the time that we were here merely on trial." jed lifted a big hand. "er--er--just a minute, ma'am, please," he begged. "i--i guess my wooden head is beginnin' to splinter or somethin'. please answer me just this--if--if you'd just as soon: why are you movin' back to luretta's?" it was her turn to look wonderingly at him. "why, mr. winslow," she said, after a moment's hesitation, "isn't that rather an unnecessary question? when babbie and i came here it was with the understanding that we were to be on trial for a month. we had gone into no details at all, except that the rent for this one month should be forty dollars. you were, as i understood it, to consider the question of our staying and, if you liked us and liked the idea of renting the house at all, you were to come to me and discuss the matter. the month is up and you haven't said a word on the subject. and, knowing what your feelings had been, i of course realized that you did not wish us to remain, and so, of course, we are going. i am sorry, very sorry. babbie and i love this little house, and we wish you might have cared to have us stay in it, but--" "hold on! hold on!" jed was, for him, almost energetic. "mrs. armstrong, ma'am, do you mean to tell me you're goin' back to luretta smalley's because you think i don't want you to stay? is that it, honest truth?" "why, of course, it is. what else?" "and--and 'tain't because you can't stand me any longer, same as mother used to say?" "can't stand you? your mother used to say? what do you mean, mr. winslow?" "i mean--i mean you ain't goin' because i used to wash my face out in the yard, and--and holler and sing mornin's and look so everlastin' homely--and--and be what everybody calls a town crank-- and--" "mr. winslow! please!" "and--and you and babbie would stay right here if--if you thought i wanted you to?" "why, of course. but you don't, do you?" before jed could answer the outside door was thrown open without knock or preliminary warning, and captain sam hunniwell, dripping water like a long-haired dog after a bath, strode into the kitchen. "mornin', ma'am," he said, nodding to mrs. armstrong. then, turning to the maker of windmills: "you're the feller i'm lookin' for," he declared. "is what philander hardy told me just now true? is it?" jed was dreamily staring out of the window. he was smiling, a seraphic smile. receiving no reply, captain sam angrily repeated his question. "is it true?" he demanded. "no-o, no, i guess 'tisn't. i'd know better if i knew what he told you." "he told me that mrs. armstrong here was movin' back to luretta smalley's to-day. jed winslow, have you been big enough fool--" jed held up the big hand. "yes," he said. "i always am." "you always are--what?" "a big enough fool. sam, what is a lease?" "what is a lease?" "yes. never mind tellin' me; show me. make out a lease of this house to mrs. armstrong here." mrs. armstrong was, naturally, rather surprised. "why, mr. winslow," she cried; "what are you talking about? we haven't agreed upon rent or--" "yes, we have. we've agreed about everything. er--babbie, you get your things on and come on over to the shop. you and i mustn't be sittin' 'round here any longer. we've got to get to work." chapter vii and so, in as sudden a fashion as he had granted the "month's trial," did jed grant the permanent tenure of his property. the question of rent, which might easily have been, with the ordinary sort of landlord, a rock in the channel, turned out to be not even a pebble. captain hunniwell, who was handling the business details, including the making out of the lease, was somewhat troubled. "but, jed," he protested, "you've got to listen to me. she won't pay forty a month, although she agrees with me that for a furnished house in a location like this it's dirt cheap. of course she's takin' it for all the year, which does make consider'ble difference, although from may to october, when the summer folks are here, i could get a hundred and forty a month just as easy as . . . eh? i believe you ain't heard a word i've been sayin'. gracious king! if you ain't enough to drive the mate of a cattle boat into gettin' religion! do you hear me? i say she won't pay--" jed, who was sitting before the battered old desk in the corner of his workshop, did not look around, but he waved his right hand, the fingers of which held the stump of a pencil, over his shoulder. "ssh-h, sh-h, sam!" he observed, mildly. "don't bother me now; please don't, there's a good feller. i'm tryin' to work out somethin' important." "well, this is important. or, if it ain't, there's plenty that is important waitin' for me up at the bank. i'm handlin' this house business as a favor to you. if you think i've got nothin' else to do you're mistaken." jed nodded, contritely, and turned to face his friend. "i know it, sam," he said, "i know it. i haven't got the least mite of excuse for troublin' you." "you ain't troublin' me--not that way. all i want of you is to say yes or no. i tell you mrs. armstrong thinks she can't afford to pay forty a month." "yes." "and perhaps she can't. but you've got your own interests to think about. what shall i do?" "yes." "yes! what in time are you sayin' yes for?" "hum? eh? oh, excuse me, sam; i didn't mean yes, i mean no." "gracious king!" "well--er--er--," desperately, "you told me to say yes or no, so i--" "see here, jed winslow, have you heard what i've been sayin'?" "why, no, sam; honest i ain't. i've run across an idea about makin' a different kind of mill--one like a gull, you know, that'll flap its wings up and down when the wind blows--and--er--i'm afraid my head is solid full of that and nothin' else. there generally ain't more'n room for one idea in my head," he added, apologetically. "sometimes that one gets kind of cramped." the captain snorted in disgust. jed looked repentant and distressed. "i'm awful sorry, sam," he declared. "but if it's about that house of mine--rent or anything, you just do whatever mrs. armstrong says." "whatever she says? haven't you got anything to say?" "no, no-o, i don't know's i have. you see, i've settled that she and babbie are to have the house for as long as they want it, so it's only fair to let them settle the rest, seems to me. whatever mrs. armstrong wants to pay'll be all right. you just leave it to her." captain sam rose to his feet. "i've a dum good mind to," he declared "'twould serve you right if she paid you ten cents a year." then, with a glance of disgust at the mountain of old letters and papers piled upon the top of the desk where his friend was at work, he added: "what do you clean that desk of yours with--a shovel?" the slow smile drifted across the winslow face. "i cal'late that's what i should have to use, sam," he drawled, "if i ever cleaned it." the captain and the widow agreed upon thirty-five dollars a month. it developed that she owned their former house in middleford and that the latter had been rented for a very much higher rent. "my furniture," she added, "that which i did not sell when we gave up housekeeping, is stored with a friend there. i know it is extravagant, my hiring a furnished house, but i'm sure mr. winslow wouldn't let this one unfurnished and, besides, it would be a crime to disturb furniture and rooms which fit each other as these do. and, after all, at the end of a year i may wish to leave orham. of course i hope i shall not, but i may." captain sam would have asked questions concerning her life in middleford, in fact he did ask a few, but the answers he received were unsatisfactory. mrs. armstrong evidently did not care to talk on the subject. the captain thought her attitude a little odd, but decided that the tragedy of her husband's death must be the cause of her reticence. her parting remarks on this occasion furnished an explanation. "if you please, captain hunniwell," she said, "i would rather you did not tell any one about my having lived in middleford and my affairs there. i have told very few people in orham and i think on the whole it is better not to. what is the use of having one's personal history discussed by strangers?" she was evidently a trifle embarrassed and confused as she said this, for she blushed just a little. captain sam decided that the blush was becoming. also, as he walked back to the bank, he reflected that jed winslow's tenant was likely to have her personal history and affairs discussed whether she wished it or not. young women as attractive as she were bound to be discussed, especially in a community the size of orham. and, besides, whoever else she may have told, she certainly had told him that middleford had formerly been her home and he had told maud and jed. of course they would say nothing if he asked them, but perhaps they had told it already. and why should mrs. armstrong care, anyway? "let folks talk," he said that evening, in conversation with his daughter. "let 'em talk, that's my motto. when they're lyin' about me i know they ain't lyin' about anybody else, that's some comfort. but women folks, i cal'late, feel different." maud was interested and a little suspicious. "you don't suppose, pa," she said, "that this mrs. armstrong has a past, do you?" "a past? what kind of a thing is a past, for thunder sakes?" "why, i mean a--a--well, has she done something she doesn't want other people to know; is she trying to hide something, like--well, as people do in stories?" "eh? oh, in the books! i see. well, young woman, i cal'late the first thing for your dad to do is to find out what sort of books you read. a past! ho, ho! i guess likely mrs. armstrong is a plaguey sight more worried about the future than she is about the past. she has lived the past already, but she's got to live the future and pay the bills belongin' to it, and that's no triflin' job in futures like these days." needless to say jed winslow did no speculating concerning his tenant's "past." having settled the question of that tenancy definitely and, as he figured it, forever, he put the matter entirely out of his mind and centered all his energies upon the new variety of mill, the gull which was to flap its wings when the wind blew. barbara was, of course, much interested in the working out of this invention, and her questions were many. occasionally mrs. armstrong came into the shop. she and jed became better acquainted. the acquaintanceship developed. jed formed a daily habit of stopping at the armstrong door to ask if there were any errands to be done downtown. "goin' right along down on my own account, ma'am," was his invariable excuse. "might just as well run your errands at the same time." also, whenever he chopped a supply of kindling wood for his own use he chopped as much more and filled the oilcloth-covered box which stood by the stove in the armstrong kitchen. he would not come in and sit down, however, in spite of barbara's and her mother's urgent invitation; he was always too "busy" for that. but the time came when he did come in, actually come in and sit down to a meal. barbara, of course, was partially responsible for this amazing invitation, but it was heman taylor's old brindle tomcat which really brought it to pass. the cat in question was a disreputable old scalawag, with tattered ears and a scarred hide, souvenirs of fights innumerable, with no beauty and less morals, and named, with appropriate fitness, "cherub." it was a quarter to twelve on a sunday morning and jed was preparing his dinner. the piece de resistance of the dinner was, in this instance, to be a mackerel. jed had bought the mackerel of the fish peddler the previous afternoon and it had been reposing on a plate in the little ancient ice-chest which stood by the back door of the winslow kitchen. barbara, just back from sunday school and arrayed in her best, saw that back door open and decided to call. jed, as always, was glad to see her. "you're getting dinner, aren't you, mr. winslow?" she observed. jed looked at her over his spectacles. "yes," he answered. "unless somethin' happens i'm gettin' dinner." his visitor looked puzzled. "why, whatever happened you would be getting dinner just the same, wouldn't you?" she said. "you might not have it, but you'd be getting it, you know." jed took the mackerel out of the ice-chest and put the plate containing it on the top of the latter. "we-ell," he drawled, "you can't always tell. i might take so long gettin' it that, first thing i knew, 'twould be supper." humming a hymn he took another dish from the ice-chest and placed it beside the mackerel plate. "what's that?" inquired barbara. "that? oh, that's my toppin'-off layer. that's a rice puddin', poor man's puddin', some folks call it. i cal'late your ma'd call it a man's poor puddin', but it makes good enough ballast for a craft like me." he began singing again. "'i know not, yea, i know not what bliss awaits me there. di, doo de di di doo de--'" breaking off to suggest: "better stay and eat along with me to-day, hadn't you, babbie?" barbara tried hard not to seem superior. "thank you," she said, "but i guess i can't. we're going to have chicken and lemon jelly." then, remembering her manners, she added: "we'd be awful glad if you'd have dinner with us, mr. winslow." jed shook his head. "much obliged," he drawled, "but if i didn't eat that mackerel, who would?" the question was answered promptly. while mr. winslow and his small caller were chatting concerning the former's dinner, another eager personality was taking a marked interest in a portion of that dinner. cherub, the taylor cat, abroad on a foraging expedition, had scented from his perch upon a nearby fence a delicious and appetizing odor. following his nose, literally, cherub descended from the fence and advanced, sniffing as he came. the odor was fish, fresh fish. cherub's green eyes blazed, his advance became crafty, strategical, determined. he crept to the winslow back step, he looked up through the open door, he saw the mackerel upon its plate on the top of the ice-chest. "if i didn't eat that mackerel," drawled jed, "who would?" there was a swoop through the air, a scream from barbara, a crash-- two crashes, a momentary glimpse of a brindle cat with a mackerel crosswise in its mouth and the ends dragging on the ground, a rattle of claws on the fence. then jed and his visitor were left to gaze upon a broken plate on the floor, an overturned bowl on top of the ice-chest, and a lumpy rivulet of rice pudding trickling to the floor. "oh! oh! oh!" cried barbara, wringing her hands in consternation. jed surveyed the ruin of the "poor man's pudding" and gazed thoughtfully at the top of the fence over which the marauder had disappeared. "hum," he mused. "h-u-u-m. . . . well, i did cal'late i could get a meal out of sight pretty fast myself, but--but--i ain't in that critter's class." "but your dinner!" wailed barbara, almost in tears. "he's spoiled all your dinner! oh, the bad thing! i hate that cherub cat! i hate him!" mr. winslow rubbed his chin. "we-e-ll," he drawled again. "he does seem to have done what you might call a finished job. h-u-u-m! . . . 'another offensive on the--er--no'theast'ard front; all objectives attained.' that's the way the newspapers tell such things nowadays, ain't it? . . . however, there's no use cryin' over spilt--er--puddin'. lucky there's eggs and milk aboard the ship. i shan't starve, anyhow." barbara was aghast. "eggs and milk!" she repeated. "is that all you've got for sunday dinner, mr. winslow? why, that's awful!" jed smiled and began picking up the fragments of the plate. he went to the closet to get a broom and when he came out again the young lady had vanished. but she was back again in a few minutes, her eyes shining. "mr. winslow," she said, "mamma sent me to ask if you could please come right over to our house. she--she wants to see you." jed regarded her doubtfully. "wants to see me?" he repeated. "what for?" the child shook her head; her eyes sparkled more than ever. "i'm not sure," she said, "but i think there's something she wants you to do." wondering what the something might be, jed promised to be over in a minute or two. barbara danced away, apparently much excited. mr. winslow, remembering that it was sunday, performed a hasty toilet at the sink, combed his hair, put on his coat and walked across the yard. barbara met him at the side door of the house. "mamma's in the dining-room," she said. "come right in, mr. winslow." so jed entered the dining-room, to find the table set and ready, with places laid for three instead of two, and mrs. armstrong drawing back one of three chairs. he looked at her. "good mornin', ma'am," he stammered. "babbie, she said--er--she said there was somethin' you wanted me to do." the lady smiled. "there is," she replied. "babbie has told me what happened to your dinner, and she and i want you to sit right down and have dinner with us. we're expecting you, everything is ready, and we shall--yes, we shall be hurt if you don't stay. shan't we, babbie?" barbara nodded vigorously. "awf'ly," she declared; "'specially petunia. you will stay, won't you, mr. winslow--please?" poor jed! his agitation was great, his embarrassment greater and his excuses for not accepting the invitation numerous if not convincing. but at last he yielded and sat reluctantly down to the first meal he had eaten in that house for five years. mrs. armstrong, realizing his embarrassment, did not urge him to talk and barbara, although she chattered continuously, did not seem to expect answers to her questions. so jed ate a little, spoke a little, and thought a great deal. and by the time dinner was over some of his shyness and awkwardness had worn away. he insisted upon helping with the dishes and, because she saw that he would be hurt if she did not, his hostess permitted him to do so. "you see, ma'am," he said, "i've been doin' dishes for a consider'ble spell, more years than i like to count. i ought to be able to do 'em fair to middlin' well. but," he added, as much to himself as to her, "i don't know as that's any sign. there's so many things i ought to be able to do like other folks--and can't. i'm afraid you may not be satisfied, after all, ma'am," he went on. "i suppose you're a kind of an expert, as you might say." she shook her head. "i fear i'm no expert, mr. winslow," she answered, just a little sadly, so it seemed to him. "barbara and i are learning, that is all." "nora used to do the dishes at home," put in barbara. "mamma hardly ever--" "hush, dear," interrupted her mother. "mr. winslow wouldn't be interested." after considerable urging jed consented to sit a while in the living-room. he was less reluctant to talk by this time and, the war creeping into the conversation, as it does into all conversations nowadays, they spoke of recent happenings at home and abroad. mrs. armstrong was surprised to find how well informed her landlord was concerning the world struggle, its causes and its progress. "why, no, ma'am," he said, in answer to a remark of hers; "i ain't read it up much, as i know of, except in the newspapers. i ain't an educated man. maybe--" with his slow smile--"maybe you've guessed as much as that already." "i know that you have talked more intelligently on this war than any one else i have heard since i came to this town," she declared, emphatically. "even captain hunniwell has never, in my hearing, stated the case against germany as clearly as you put it just now; and i have heard him talk a good deal." jed was evidently greatly pleased, but he characteristically tried not to show it. "well, now, ma'am," he drawled, "i'm afraid you ain't been to the post office much mail times. if you'd just drop in there some evenin' and hear gabe bearse and bluey batcheldor raise hob with the kaiser you'd understand why the confidence of the allies is unshaken, as the herald gave out this mornin'." a little later he said, reflectively: "you know, ma'am, it's an astonishin' thing to me, i can't get over it, my sittin' here in this house, eatin' with you folks and talkin' with you like this." mrs. armstrong smiled. "i can't see anything so very astonishing about it," she said. "can't you?" "certainly not. why shouldn't you do it--often? we are landlord and tenant, you and i, but that is no reason, so far as i can see, why we shouldn't be good neighbors." he shook his head. "i don't know's you quite understand, ma'am," he said. "it's your thinkin' of doin' it, your askin' me and--and wantin' to ask me that seems so kind of odd. do you know," he added, in a burst of confidence, "i don't suppose that, leavin' sam hunniwell out, another soul has asked me to eat at their house for ten year. course i'm far from blamin' 'em for that, you understand, but--" "wait. mr. winslow, you had tenants in this house before?" "yes'm. davidson, their names was." "and did they never invite you here?" jed looked at her, then away, out of the window. it was a moment or two before he answered. then-- "mrs. armstrong," he said, "you knew, i cal'late, that i was--er-- kind of prejudiced against rentin' anybody this house after the davidsons left?" the lady, trying not to smile, nodded. "yes," she replied, "i--well, i guessed as much." "yes'm, i was. they would have took it again, i'm pretty sartin, if i'd let 'em, but--but somehow i couldn't do it. no, i couldn't, and i never meant anybody else should be here. seems funny to you, i don't doubt." "why, no, it was your property to do what you pleased with, and i am sure you had a reason for refusing." "yes'm. but i ain't ever told anybody what that reason was. i've told sam a reason, but 'twan't the real one. i--i guess likely i'll tell it to you. i imagine 'twill sound foolish enough. 'twas just somethin' i heard colonel davidson say, that's all." he paused. mrs. armstrong did not speak. after an interval he continued: "'twas one day along the last of the season. the davidsons had company and they'd been in to see the shop and the mills and vanes and one thing or 'nother. they seemed nice, pleasant enough folks; laughed a good deal, but i didn't mind that. i walked out into the yard along with 'em and then, after i left 'em, i stood for a minute on the front step of the shop, with the open door between me and this house here. a minute or so later i heard 'em come into this very room. they couldn't see me, 'count of the door, but i could hear them, 'count of the windows bein' open. and then . . . huh . . . oh, well." he sighed and lapsed into one of his long fits of abstraction. at length mrs. armstrong ventured to remind him. "and then--?" she asked. "eh? oh, yes, ma'am! well, then i heard one of the comp'ny say: 'i don't wonder you enjoy it here, ed,' he says. 'that landlord of yours is worth all the rent you pay and more. 'tain't everybody that has a dime museum right on the premises.' all hands laughed and then colonel davidson said: 'i thought you'd appreciate him,' he says. 'we'll have another session with him before you leave. perhaps we can get him into the house here this evenin'. my wife is pretty good at that, she jollies him along. oh, he swallows it all; the poor simpleton don't know when he's bein' shown off.'" mrs. armstrong uttered an exclamation. "oh!" she cried. "the brute!" "yes'm," said jed, quietly, "that was what he said. you see," with an apologetic twitch of the lip, "it came kind of sudden to me and-- and it hurt. fact is, i--i had noticed he and his wife was--er-- well, nice and--er--folksy, as you might say, but i never once thought they did it for any reason but just because they--well, liked me, maybe. course i'd ought to have known better. fine ladies and gentlemen like them don't take much fancy to dime museum folks." there was just a trace of bitterness in his tone, the first mrs. armstrong had ever noticed there. involuntarily she leaned toward him. "don't, mr. winslow," she begged. "don't think of it again. they must have been beasts, those people, and they don't deserve a moment's thought. and don't call them ladies and gentlemen. the only gentleman there was yourself." jed shook his head. "if you said that around the village here," he drawled, "somebody might be for havin' you sent to the asylum up to taunton. course i'm much obliged to you, but, honest, you hadn't ought to take the risk." mrs. armstrong smiled slightly, but hers was a forced smile. what she had just heard, told in her guest's quaint language as a statement of fact and so obviously with no thought of effect, had touched her more than any plea for sympathy could have done. she felt as if she had a glimpse into this man's simple, trusting, sensitive soul. and with that glimpse came a new feeling toward him, a feeling of pity--yes, and more than that, a feeling of genuine respect. he sighed again and rose to go. "i declare," he said, apologetically, "i don't know what i've been botherin' you with all this for. as i said, i've never told that yarn to anybody afore and i never meant to tell it. i--" but she interrupted him. "please don't apologize," she said. "i'm very glad you told it to me." "i cal'late you think it's a queer reason for lettin' this house stand empty all this time." "no, i think it was a very good one, and babbie and i are honored to know that your estimate of us is sufficiently high to overcome your prejudice." "well, ma'am, i--i guess it's goin' to be all right. if you feel you can get along with me for a landlord i'd ought sartin to be willin' to have you for tenants. course i don't blame the davidsons, in one way, you understand, but--" "i do. i blame them in every way. they must have been unspeakable. mr. winslow, i hope you will consider babbie and me not merely tenants and neighbors, but friends--real friends." jed did not reply for at least a minute. then he said: "i'm afraid you'll be kind of lonesome; my friends are like corn sprouts in a henyard, few and scatterin'." "so much the better; we shall feel that we belong to select company." he did not thank her nor answer, but walked slowly on through the dining-room and kitchen, where he opened the door and stepped out upon the grass. there he stood for a moment, gazing at the sky, alternately puckering his lips and opening them, but without saying a word. mrs. armstrong and barbara, who had followed him, watched these facial gymnastics, the lady with astonishment, her daughter with expectant interest. "i know what he is doing that for, mamma," she whispered. "it's because he's thinking and don't know whether to whistle or not. when he thinks awful hard he's almost sure to whistle--or sing." "hush, hush, babbie!" "oh, he won't hear us. he hardly ever hears any one when he's thinking like that. and see, mamma, he is going to whistle." sure enough, their guest whistled a few mournful bars, breaking off suddenly to observe: "i hope there wan't any bones in it." "bones in what? what do you mean, mr. winslow?" queried mrs. armstrong, who was puzzled, to say the least. "eh? oh, i hope there wan't any bones in that mackerel heman's cat got away with. if there was it might choke or somethin'." "good gracious! i shouldn't worry over that possibility, if i were you. i should scarcely blame you for wishing it might choke, after stealing your dinner." mr. winslow shook his head. "that wouldn't do," solemnly. "if it choked it couldn't ever steal another one." "but you don't want it to steal another one, do you?" "we-ll, if every one it stole meant my havin' as good an afternoon as this one's been, i'd--" he stopped. barbara ventured to spur him on. "you'd what?" she asked. "i'd give up whittlin' weather vanes and go mackerel-seinin' for the critter's benefit. well--er--good day, ma'am." "good afternoon, mr. winslow. we shall expect you again soon. you must be neighborly, for, remember, we are friends now." jed was half way across the yard, but he stopped and turned. "my--my friends generally call me 'jed,'" he said. then, his face a bright red, he hurried into the shop and closed the door. chapter viii after this, having broken the ice, jed, as captain sam hunniwell might have expressed it, "kept the channel clear." when he stopped at the kitchen door of his tenants' house he no longer invariably refused to come in and sit down. when he inquired if mrs. armstrong had any errands to be done he also asked if there were any chores he might help out with. when the old clock--a genuine seth willard--on the wall of the living-room refused to go, he came in, sat down, took the refractory timepiece in his arms and, after an hour of what he called "putterin' and jackleggin'," hung it up again apparently in as good order as ever. during the process he whistled a little, sang a hymn or two, and talked with barbara, who found the conversation a trifle unsatisfactory. "he hardly ever finished what he was going to say," she confided to her mother afterward. "he'd start to tell me a story and just as he got to the most interesting part something about the clock would seem to--you know--trouble him and he'd stop and, when he began again, he'd be singing instead of talking. i asked him what made him do it and he said he cal'lated his works must be loose and every once in a while his speaking trumpet fell down into his music box. isn't he a funny man, mamma?" "he is indeed, babbie." "yes. petunia and i think he's--he's perfectly scrushe-aking. 'twas awful nice of him to fix our clock, wasn't it, mamma." "yes, dear." "yes. and i know why he did it; he told me. 'twas on petunia's account. he said not to let her know it but he'd taken consider'ble of a shine to her. i think he's taken a shine to me, don't you, mamma?" "i'm sure of it." "so am i. and i 'most guess he's taken one to you, too. anyhow he watches you such a lot and notices so many things. he asked me to- day if you had been crying. i said no. you hadn't, had you, mamma?" mrs. armstrong evaded the question by changing the subject. she decided she must be more careful in hiding her feelings when her landlord was about. she had had no idea that he could be so observing; certainly he did not look it. but her resolution was a little late. jed had made up his mind that something was troubling his fair tenant. again and again, now that he was coming to know her better and better, he had noticed the worn, anxious look on her face, and once before the day of the clock repairing he had seen her when it seemed to him that she had been crying. he did not mention his observations or inferences to any one, even captain sam, but he was sure he was right. mrs. armstrong was worried and anxious and he did not like the idea. he wished he might help her, but of course he could not. another man, a normal man, one not looked upon by a portion of the community as "town crank," might have been able to help, might have known how to offer his services and perhaps have them accepted, but not he, not jedidah edgar wilfred winslow. but he wished he could. she had asked him to consider her a real friend, and to jed, who had so few, a friend was a possession holy and precious. meanwhile the war was tightening its grip upon orham as upon every city, town and hamlet in the land. at first it had been a thing to read about in the papers, to cheer for, to keep the flags flying. but it had been far off, unreal. then came the volunteering, and after that the draft, and the reality drew a little nearer. work upon the aviation camp at east harniss had actually begun. the office buildings were up and the sheds for the workmen. they were erecting frames for the barracks, so gabriel bearse reported. the sight of a uniform in orham streets was no longer such a novelty as to bring the population, old and young, to doors and windows. miss maud hunniwell laughingly confided to jed that she was beginning to have hopes, real hopes, of seeing genuine gold lace some day soon. captain sam, her father, was busy. sessions of the exemption board were not quite as frequent as at first, but the captain declared them frequent enough. and volunteering went on steadily here and there among young blood which, having drawn a low number in the draft, was too impatient for active service to wait its turn. gustavus howes, bookkeeper at the bank, was one example. captain sam told jed about it on one of his calls. "yep," he said, "gus has gone, cleared out yesterday afternoon. goin' to one of the trainin' camps to try to learn to be an officer. eh? what did i say to him? why, i couldn't say nothin', could i, but 'hurrah' and 'god bless you'? but it's leavin' a bad hole in the bank just the same." jed asked if the bank had any one in view to fill that hole. captain sam looked doubtful. "well," he replied, "we've got somebody in view that would like to try and fill it. barzilla small was in to see me yesterday afternoon and he's sartin that his boy luther--lute, everybody calls him--is just the one for the place. he's been to work up in fall river in a bank, so barzilla says; that would mean he must have had some experience. whether he'll do or not i don't know, but he's about the only candidate in sight, these war times. what do you think of him, jed?" jed rubbed his chin. "to fill gus howes' place?" he asked. "yes, of course. didn't think i was figgerin' on makin' him president of the united states, did you?" "hum! . . . w-e-e-ll. . . . one time when i was a little shaver, sam, down to the fishhouse, i tried on a pair of cap'n jabe kelly's rubber boots. you remember cap'n jabe, sam, of course. do you remember his feet?" the captain chuckled. "my dad used to say jabe's feet reminded him of a couple of chicken-halibut." "um-hm. . . . well, i tried on his boots and started to walk across the wharf in em. . . ." "well, what of it? gracious king! hurry up. what happened?" "eh? . . . oh, nothin' much, only seemed to me i'd had half of my walk afore those boots began to move." captain hunniwell enjoyed the story hugely. it was not until his laugh had died away to a chuckle that its application to the bank situation dawned upon him. "umph!" he grunted. "i see. you cal'late that lute small will fill gus howes' job about the way you filled those boots, eh? you may be right, shouldn't wonder if you was, but we've got to have somebody and we've got to have him now. so i guess likely we'll let lute sign on and wait till later to find out whether he's an able seaman or a--a--" he hesitated, groping for a simile. mr. winslow supplied one. "or a leak," he suggested. "yes, that's it. say, have you heard anything from leander babbitt lately?" "no, nothin' more than gab bearse was reelin' off last time he was in here. how is phin babbitt? does he speak to you yet?" "not a word. but the looks he gives me when we meet would sour milk. he's dead sartin that i had somethin' to do with his boy's volunteerin' and he'll never forgive me for it. he's the best hand at unforgivin' i ever saw. no, no! wonder what he'd say if he knew 'twas you, jed, that was really responsible?" jed shook his head, but made no reply. his friend was at the door. "any money to take to the bank?" he inquired. "oh, no, i took what you had yesterday, didn't i? any errands you want done over to harniss? maud and i are goin' over there in the car this afternoon." jed seemed to reflect. "no-o," he said; "no, i guess not. . . . why, yes, i don't know but there is, though. if you see one of those things the soldiers put on in the trenches i'd wish you'd buy it for me. you know what i mean--a gas mask." "a gas mask! gracious king! what on earth?" jed sighed. "'twould be consider'ble protection when gabe bearse dropped in and started talkin'," he drawled, solemnly. october came in clear and fine and on a saturday in that month jed and barbara went on their long anticipated picnic to the aviation camp at east harniss. the affair was one which they had planned together. barbara, having heard much concerning aviation during her days of playing and listening in the windmill shop, had asked questions. she wished to know what an aviation was. jed had explained, whereupon his young visitor expressed a wish to go and see for herself. "couldn't you take petunia and me some time, mr. winslow?" she asked. "guess maybe so," was the reply, "provided i don't forget it, same as you forget about not callin' me mr. winslow." "oh, i'm so sorry. petunia ought to have reminded me. can't you take me some time, uncle jed?" he had insisted upon her dropping the "mr." in addressing him. "your ma's goin' to call me jed," he told her; "that is to say, i hope she is, and you might just as well. i always answer fairly prompt whenever anybody says 'jed,' 'cause i'm used to it. when they say 'mr. winslow' i have to stop and think a week afore i remember who they mean." but barbara, having consulted her mother, refused to address her friend as "jed." "mamma says it wouldn't be respect--respectaful," she said. "and i don't think it would myself. you see, you're older than i am," she added. jed nodded gravely. "i don't know but i am, a little, now you remind me of it," he admitted. "well, i tell you--call me 'uncle jed.' that's got a handle to it but it ain't so much like the handle to an ice pitcher as mister is. 'uncle jed' 'll do, won't it?" barbara pondered. "why," she said, doubtfully, "you aren't my uncle, really. if you were you'd be mamma's brother, like--like uncle charlie, you know." it was the second time she had mentioned "uncle charlie." jed had never heard mrs. armstrong speak of having a brother, and he wondered vaguely why. however, he did not wonder long on this particular occasion. "humph!" he grunted. "well, let's see. i tell you: i'll be your step-uncle. that'll do, won't it? you've heard of step-fathers? um-hm. well, they ain't real fathers, and a step-uncle ain't a real uncle. now you think that over and see if that won't fix it first-rate." the child thought it over. "and shall i call you 'step-uncle jed'?" she asked. "eh? . . . um. . . . no-o, i guess i wouldn't. i'm only a back step-uncle, anyway--i always come to the back steps of your house, you know--so i wouldn't say anything about the step part. you ask your ma and see what she says." so barbara asked and reported as follows: "she says i may call you 'uncle jed' when it's just you and i together," she said. "but when other people are around she thinks 'mr. winslow' would be more respectaful." it was settled on that basis. "can't you take me to the aviation place sometime, uncle jed?" asked barbara. jed thought he could, if he could borrow a boat somewhere and mrs. armstrong was willing that barbara should go with him. both permission and the boat were obtained, the former with little difficulty, after mrs. armstrong had made inquiries concerning mr. winslow's skill in handling a boat, the latter with more. at last captain perez ryder, being diplomatically approached, told jed he might use his eighteen foot power dory for a day, the only cost being that entailed by purchase of the necessary oil and gasoline. it was a beautiful morning when they started on their six mile sail, or "chug," as jed called it. mrs. armstrong had put up a lunch for them, and jed had a bucket of clams, a kettle, a pail of milk, some crackers, onions and salt pork, the ingredients of a possible chowder. "little mite late for 'longshore chowder picnics, ma'am," he said, "but it's a westerly wind and i cal'late 'twill be pretty balmy in the lee of the pines. soon's it gets any ways chilly we'll be startin' home. wish you were goin' along, too." mrs. armstrong smiled and said she wished it had been possible for her to go, but it was not. she looked pale that morning, so it seemed to jed, and when she smiled it was with an obvious effort. "you're not going without locking your kitchen door, are you, mr. jed?" she asked. jed looked at her and at the door. "why," he observed, "i ain't locked that door, have i! i locked the front one, the one to the shop, though. did you see the sign i tacked on the outside of it?" "no, i didn't." "i didn't know but you might have. i put on it: 'closed for the day. inquire at abijah thompson's.' you see," he added, his eye twinkling ever so little, "'bije thompson lives in the last house in the village, two mile or more over to the west'ard." "he does! then why in the world did you tell people to inquire there?" "oh, if i didn't they'd be botherin' you, probably, and i didn't want 'em doin' that. if they want me enough to travel way over to 'bije's they'll come back here to-morrow, i shouldn't wonder. i guess likely they'd have to; 'bije don't know anything about me." he rubbed his chin and then added: "maybe 'twould be a good notion to lock that kitchen door." they were standing at the edge of the bluff. he sauntered over to the kitchen, closed the door, and then, opening the window beside it, reached in through that window and turned the key in the lock of the door. leaving the key in that lock and the window still open, he came sauntering back again. "there," he drawled, "i guess everything's safe enough now." mrs. armstrong regarded him in amused wonder. "do you usually lock your door on the inside in that way?" she asked. "eh? . . . oh, yes'm. if i locked it on the outside i'd have to take the key with me, and i'm such an absent-minded dumb-head, i'd be pretty sure to lose it. come on, babbie. all aboard!" chapter ix the "araminta," which was the name of captain perez's power dory--a name, so the captain invariably explained, "wished onto her" before he bought her--chugged along steadily if not swiftly. the course was always in protected water, inside the outer beaches or through the narrow channels between the sand islands, and so there were no waves to contend with and no danger. jed, in the course of his varied experience afloat and ashore, had picked up a working knowledge of gasoline engines and, anyhow, as he informed his small passenger, the "araminta's" engine didn't need any expert handling. "she runs just like some folks' tongues; just get her started and she'll clack along all day," he observed, adding philosophically, "and that's a good thing--in an engine." "i know whose tongue you're thinking about, uncle jed," declared barbara. "it's mr. gabe bearse's." jed was much amused; he actually laughed aloud. "gabe and this engine are different in one way, though," he said. "it's within the bounds of human possibility to stop this engine." they threaded the last winding channel and came out into the bay. across, on the opposite shore, the new sheds and lumber piles of what was to be the aviation camp loomed raw and yellow in the sunlight. a brisk breeze ruffled the blue water and the pines on the hilltops shook their heads and shrugged their green shoulders. the "araminta" chugged across the bay, rising and falling ever so little on the miniature rollers. "what shall we do, uncle jed?" asked barbara. "shall we go to see the camp or shall we have our chowder and luncheon first and then go?" jed took out his watch, shook it and held it to his ear--a precautionary process rendered necessary because of his habit of forgetting to wind it--then after a look at the dial, announced that, as it was only half-past ten, perhaps they had better go to the camp first. "you see," he observed, "if we eat now we shan't hardly know whether we're late to breakfast or early to dinner." barbara was surprised. "why, uncle jed!" she exclaimed, "i had breakfast ever so long ago! didn't you?" "i had it about the same time you did, i cal'late. but my appetite's older than yours and it don't take so much exercise; i guess that's the difference. we'll eat pretty soon. let's go and look the place over first." they landed in a little cove on the beach adjoining the government reservation. jed declared it a good place to make a fire, as it was sheltered from the wind. he anchored the boat at the edge of the channel and then, pulling up the tops of his long-legged rubber boots, carried his passenger ashore. another trip or two landed the kettle, the materials for the chowder and the lunch baskets. jed looked at the heap on the beach and then off at the boat. "now," he said, slowly, "the question is what have i left aboard that i ought to have fetched ashore and what have i fetched here that ought to be left there? . . . hum. . . . i wonder." "what makes you think you've done anything like that, uncle jed?" asked barbara. "eh? . . . oh, i don't think it, i know it. i've boarded with myself for forty-five year and i know if there's anything i can get cross-eyed i'll do it. just as likely as not i've made the bucket of clams fast to that rope out yonder and hove it overboard, and pretty soon you'll see me tryin' to make chowder out of the anchor. . . . ah hum. . . well. . . . 'as numberless as the sands on the seashore, as numberless as the sands on the shore, oh, what a sight 'twill be, when the ransomed host we see, as numberless as--' well, what do you say? shall we heave ahead for the place where uncle sam's birds are goin' to nest--his two-legged birds, i mean?" they walked up the beach a little way, then turned inland, climbed a dune covered with beachgrass and emerged upon the flat meadows which would soon be the flying field. they walked about among the sheds, the frames of the barracks, and inspected the office building from outside. there were gangs of workmen, carpenters, plumbers and shovelers, but almost no uniforms. barbara was disappointed. "but there are soldiers here," she declared. "mamma said there were, officer soldiers, you know." "i cal'late there ain't very many yet," explained her companion. "only the few that's in charge, i guess likely. by and by there'll be enough, officers and men both, but now there's only carpenters and such." "but there are some officer ones--" insisted babbie. "i wonder-- oh, see, uncle jed, through that window--see, aren't those soldiers? they've got on soldier clothes." jed presumed likely that they were. barbara nodded, sagely. "and they're officers, too," she said, "i'm sure they are because they're in the office. do they call them officers because they work in offices, uncle jed?" after an hour's walking about they went back to the place where they had left the boat and jed set about making the chowder. barbara watched him build the fire and open the clams, but then, growing tired of sitting still, she was seized with an idea. "uncle jed," she asked, "can't you whittle me a shingle boat? you know you did once at our beach at home. and there's the cunningest little pond to sail it on. mamma would let me sail it there, i know, 'cause it isn't a bit deep. you come and see, uncle jed." the "pond" was a puddle, perhaps twenty feet across, left by the outgoing tide. its greatest depth was not more than a foot. jed absent-mindedly declared the pond to be safe enough but that he could not make a shingle boat, not having the necessary shingle. "would you if you had one?" persisted the young lady. "eh? . . . oh, yes, sartin, i guess so." "all right. here is one. i picked it up on top of that little hill. i guess it blew there. it's blowing ever so much harder up there than it is here on the beach." the shingle boat being hurriedly made, its owner begged for a paper sail. "the other one you made me had a paper sail, uncle jed." jed pleaded that he had no paper. "there's some wrapped 'round the lunch," he said, "but it's all butter and such. 'twouldn't be any good for a sail. er--er--don't you think we'd better put off makin' the sail till we get home or--or somewheres? this chowder is sort of on my conscience this minute." babbie evidently did not think so. she went away on an exploring expedition. in a few minutes she returned, a sheet of paper in her hand. "it was blowing around just where i found the shingle," she declared. "it's a real nice place to find things, up on that hill place, uncle jed." jed took the paper, looked at it absently--he had taken off his coat during the fire-building and his glasses were presumably in the coat pocket--and then hastily doubled it across, thrust the mast of the "shingle boat" through it at top and bottom, and handed the craft to his small companion. "there!" he observed; "there she is, launched, rigged and all but christened. call her the--the 'geranium'--the 'sunflower'--what's the name of that doll baby of yours? oh, yes, the 'petunia.' call her that and set her afloat." but barbara shook her head. "i think," she said, "if you don't mind, uncle jed, i shall call this one 'ruth,' that's mamma's name, you know. the other one you made me was named for petunia, and we wouldn't want to name 'em all for her. it might make her too--too-- oh, what are those things you make, uncle jed? in the shop, i mean." "eh? windmills?" "no. the others--those you tell the wind with. i know--vanes. it might make petunia too vain. that's what mamma said i mustn't be when i had my new coat, the one with the fur, you know." she trotted off. jed busied himself with the chowder. a few minutes later a voice behind him said: "hi, there!" he turned to see a broad-shouldered stranger, evidently a carpenter or workman of some sort, standing at the top of the sand dune and looking down at him with marked interest. "hi, there!" repeated the stranger. jed nodded; his attention was centered on the chowder. "how d'ye do?" he observed, politely. "nice day, ain't it? . . . hum. . . . about five minutes more." the workman strode down the bank. "say," he demanded, "have you seen anything of a plan?" "eh? . . . hum. . . . two plates and two spoons . . . and two tumblers. . . ." "hey! wake up! have you seen anything of a plan, i ask you?" "eh? . . . a plan? . . . no, i guess not. . . . no, i ain't. . . . what is it?" "what is it? how do you know you ain't seen it if you don't know what it is?" "eh? . . . i don't, i guess likely." "say, you're a queer duck, it strikes me. what are you up to? what are you doin' here, anyway?" jed took the cover from the kettle and stirred the fragrant, bubbling mass with a long-handled spoon. "about done," he mused, slowly. "just . . . about . . . done. give her two minutes more for luck and then. . . ." but his visitor was becoming impatient. "are you deaf or are you tryin' to get my goat?" he demanded. "because if you are you're pretty close to doin' it, i'll tell you that. you answer when i speak to you; understand? what are you doin' here?" his tone was so loud and emphatic that even mr. winslow could not help but hear and understand. he looked up, vaguely troubled. "i--i hope you'll excuse me, mister," he stammered. "i'm afraid i haven't been payin' attention the way i'd ought to. you see, i'm makin' a chowder here and it's just about got to the place where you can't--" "look here, you," began his questioner, but he was interrupted in his turn. over the edge of the bank came a young man in the khaki uniform of the united states army. he was an officer, a second lieutenant, and a very young and very new second lieutenant at that. his face was white and he seemed much agitated. "what's the matter here?" he demanded. then, seeing jed for the first time, he asked: "who is this man and what is he doing here?" "that's just what i was askin' him, sir," blustered the workman. "i found him here with this fire goin' and i asked him who he was and what he was doin'. i asked him first if he'd seen the plan--" "had he?" broke in the young officer, eagerly. then, addressing jed, he said: "have you seen anything of the plan?" jed slowly shook his head. "i don't know's i know what you mean by a plan," he explained. "i ain't been here very long. i just-- my soul and body!" he snatched the kettle from the fire, took off the cover, sniffed anxiously, and then added, with a sigh of relief, "whew! i declare i thought i smelt it burnin'. saved it just in time. whew!" the lieutenant looked at jed and then at the workman. the latter shook his head. "don't ask me, sir," he said. "that's the way he's been actin' ever since i struck here. either he's batty or else he's pretendin' to be, one or the other. look here, rube!" he roared at the top of his lungs, "can the cheap talk and answer the lieutenant's questions or you'll get into trouble. d'ye hear?" jed looked up at him. "i'm pretty nigh sure i should hear if you whispered a little louder," he said, gently. the young officer drew himself up. "that's enough of this," he ordered. "a plan has been lost here on this reservation, a valuable plan, a drawing of--well, a drawing that has to do with the laying out of this camp and which might be of value to the enemy if he could get it. it was on my table in the office less than an hour ago. now it is missing. what we are asking you is whether or not you have seen anything of it. have you?" jed shook his head. "i don't think i have," he replied. "you don't think? don't you know? what is the matter with you? is it impossible for you to answer yes or no to a question?" "um--why, yes, i cal'late 'tis--to some questions." "well, by george! you're fresh enough." "now--now, if you please, i wasn't intendin' to be fresh. i just--" "well, you are. who is this fellow? how does he happen to be here? does any one know?" jed's first interrogator, the big workman, being the only one present beside the speaker and the object of the question, took it upon himself to answer. "i don't know who he is," he said. "and he won't tell why he's here. looks mighty suspicious to me. shouldn't wonder if he was a german spy. they're all around everywheres, so the papers say." this speech had a curious effect. the stoop in the winslow shoulders disappeared. jed's tall form straightened. when he spoke it was in a tone even more quiet and deliberate than usual, but there could be no shadow of a doubt that he meant what he said. "excuse me, mister," he drawled, "but there's one or two names that just now i can't allow anybody to call me. 'german' is one and 'spy' is another. and you put 'em both together. i guess likely you was only foolin', wasn't you?" the workman looked surprised. then he laughed. "shall i call a guard, sir?" he asked, addressing the lieutenant. "better have him searched, i should say. nine chances to one he's got the plan in his pocket." the officer--he was very young--hesitated. jed, who had not taken his eyes from the face of the man who had called him a german spy, spoke again. "you haven't answered me yet," he drawled. "you was only foolin' when you said that, wasn't you?" the lieutenant, who may have felt that he had suddenly become a negligible factor in the situation, essayed to take command of it. "shut up," he ordered, addressing winslow. then to the other, "yes, call a guard. we'll see if we can't get a straight answer from this fellow. hurry up." the workman turned to obey. but, to his surprise, his path was blocked by jed, who quietly stepped in front of him. "i guess likely, if you wasn't foolin', you'd better take back what you called me," said jed. they looked at each other. the workman was tall and strong, but jed, now that he was standing erect, was a little taller. his hands, which hung at his sides, were big and his arms long. and in his mild blue eye there was a look of unshakable determination. the workman saw that look and stood still. "hurry up!" repeated the lieutenant. just how the situation might have ended is uncertain. how it did end was in an unexpected manner. from the rear of the trio, from the top of the sandy ridge separating the beach from the meadow, a new voice made itself heard. "well, rayburn, what's the trouble?" it asked. the lieutenant turned briskly, so, too, did mr. winslow and his vis-a-vis. standing at the top of the ridge was another officer. he was standing there looking down upon them and, although he was not smiling, jed somehow conceived the idea that he was much amused about something. now he descended the ridge and walked toward the group by the fire. "well, rayburn, what is it?" he asked again. the lieutenant saluted. "why--why, major grover," he stammered, "we--that is i found this man here on the government property and--and he won't explain what he's doing here. i--i asked him if he had seen anything of the plan and he won't answer. i was just going to put him under arrest as--as a suspicious person when you came." major grover turned and inspected jed, and jed, for his part, inspected the major. he saw a well set-up man of perhaps thirty- five, dark-haired, brown-eyed and with a closely clipped mustache above a pleasant mouth and a firm chin. the inspection lasted a minute or more. then the major said: "so you're a suspicious character, are you?" jed's hand moved across his chin in the gesture habitual with him. "i never knew it afore," he drawled. "a suspicious character is an important one, ain't it? i--er--i'm flattered." "humph! well, you realize it now, i suppose?" "cal'late i'll have to, long's your--er--chummie there says it's so." the expression of horror upon lieutenant rayburn's face at hearing himself referred to as "chummie" to his superior officer was worth seeing. "oh, i say, sir!" he explained. the major paid no attention. "what were you and this man," indicating the big carpenter, "bristling up to each other for?" he inquired. "well, this guy he--" began the workman. major grover motioned him to be quiet. "i asked the other fellow," he said. jed rubbed his chin once more. "he said i was a german spy," he replied. "are you?" "no." the answer was prompt enough and emphatic enough. major grover tugged at the corner of his mustache. "well, i--i admit you don't look it," he observed, dryly. "what's your name and who are you?" jed told his name, his place of residence and his business. "is there any one about here who knows you, who could prove you were who you say you are?" mr. winslow considered. "ye-es," he drawled. "ye-es, i guess so. 'thoph mullett and 'bial hardy and georgie t. nickerson and squealer wixon, they're all carpenterin' over here and they're from orham and know me. then there's bluey batcheldor and emulous baker and 'gawpy'--i mean freddie g.--and--" "there, there! that's quite sufficient, thank you. do you know any of those men?" he asked, turning to the workman. "yes, sir, i guess i do." "very well. go up and bring two of them here; not more than two, understand." jed's accuser departed. major grover resumed his catechizing. "what were you doing here?" he asked. "eh? me? oh, i was just picnicin', as you might say, along with a little girl, daughter of a neighbor of mine. she wanted to see where the soldiers was goin' to fly, so i borrowed perez ryder's power dory and we came over. 'twas gettin' along dinner time and i built a fire so as to cook. . . . my soul!" with a gasp of consternation, "i forgot all about that chowder. and now it's got stone cold. yes, sir!" dropping on his knees and removing the cover of the kettle, "stone cold or next door to it. ain't that a shame!" lieutenant rayburn snorted in disgust. his superior officer, however, merely smiled. "never mind the chowder just now," he said. "so you came over here for a picnic, did you? little late for picnics, isnt it?" "yes--ye-es," drawled jed, "'tis kind of late, but 'twas a nice, moderate day and babbie she wanted to come, so--" "babbie? that's the little girl? . . . oh," with a nod, "i remember now. i saw a man with a little girl wandering about among the buildings a little while ago. was that you?" "ye-es, yes, that was me. . . . tut, tut, tut! i'll have to warm this chowder all up again now. that's too bad!" voices from behind the ridge announced the coming of the carpenter and the two "identifiers." the latter, mr. emulous baker and mr. "squealer" wixon, were on the broad grin. "yup, that's him," announced mr. wixon. "hello, shavin's! got you took up for a german spy, have they? that's a good one! haw, haw!" "do you know him?" asked the major. "know him?" mr. wixon guffawed again. "known him all my life. he lives over to orham. makes windmills and whirlagigs and such for young-ones to play with. he ain't any spy. his name's jed winslow, but we always call him 'shavin's,' 'count of his whittlin' up so much good wood, you understand. ain't that so, shavin's? haw, haw!" jed regarded mr. wixon mournfully. "um-hm," he admitted. "i guess likely you're right, squealer." "i bet you! there's only one shavin's in orham." jed sighed. "there's consider'ble many squealers," he drawled; "some in sties and some runnin' loose." major grover, who had appeared to enjoy this dialogue, interrupted it now. "that would seem to settle the spy question," he said. "you may go, all three of you," he added, turning to the carpenters. they departed, jed's particular enemy muttering to himself and mr. wixon laughing uproariously. the major once more addressed jed. "where is the little girl you were with?" he asked. "eh? oh, she's over yonder just 'round the p'int, sailin' a shingle boat i made her. shall i call her?" "no, it isn't necessary. mr. winslow, i'm sorry to have put you to all this trouble and to have cooled your--er--chowder. there is no regulation against visitors to our reservation here just now, although there will be, of course, later on. there is a rule against building fires on the beach, but you broke that in ignorance, i'm sure. the reason why you have been cross-questioned to-day is a special one. a construction plan has been lost, as lieutenant rayburn here informed you. it was on his desk in the office and it has disappeared. it may have been stolen, of course, or, as both windows were open, it may have blown away. you are sure you haven't seen anything of it? haven't seen any papers blowing about?" "i'm sure it didn't blow away, sir," put in the lieutenant. "i'm positive it was stolen. you see--" he did not finish his sentence. the expression upon jed's face caused him to pause. mr. winslow's mouth and eyes were opening wider and wider. "sho!" muttered jed. "sho, now! . . . 'tain't possible that . . . i snum if . . . sho!" "well, what is it?" demanded both officers, practically in concert. jed did not reply. instead he turned his head, put both hands to his mouth and shouted "babbie!" through them at the top of his lungs. the third shout brought a faint, "yes, uncle jed, i'm coming." "what are you calling her for?" asked lieutenant rayburn, forgetting the presence of his superior officer in his anxious impatience. jed did not answer. he was kneeling beside his jacket, which he had thrown upon the sand when he landed, and was fumbling in the pockets. "dear me! dear me!" he was muttering. "i'm sartin they must be here. i know i put 'em here because . . . ow!" he was kneeling and holding the coat with one hand while he fumbled in the pockets with the other. unconsciously he had leaned backward until he sat upon his heels. now, with an odd expression of mingled pain and relief, he reached into the hip pocket of his trousers and produced a pair of spectacles. he smiled his slow, fleeting smile. "there!" he observed, "i found 'em my way--backwards. anybody else would have found 'em by looking for 'em; i lost 'em lookin' for 'em and found 'em by sittin' on 'em. . . . oh, here you are, babbie! sakes alive, you're sort of dampish." she was all of that. she had come running in answer to his call and had the shingle boat hugged close to her. the water from it had trickled down the front of her dress. her shoes and stockings were splashed with wet sand. "is dinner ready, uncle jed?" she asked, eagerly. then becoming aware that the two strange gentlemen standing by the fire were really and truly "officer ones," she looked wide-eyed up at them and uttered an involuntary "oh!" "babbie," said jed, "let me see that boat of yours a minute, will you?" babbie obediently handed it over. jed inspected it through his spectacles. then he pulled the paper sail from the sharpened stick--the mast--unfolded it, looked at it, and then extended it at arm's length toward major grover. "that's your plan thing, ain't it?" he asked, calmly. both officers reached for the paper, but the younger, remembering in time, drew back. the other took it, gave it a quick glance, and then turned again to mr. winslow. "where did you get this?" he asked, crisply. jed shook his head. "she gave it to me, this little girl here," he explained. she wanted a sail for that shingle craft i whittled out for her. course if i'd had on my specs i presume likely i'd have noticed that 'twas an out of the common sort of paper, but--i was wearin' 'em in my pants pocket just then." "where did you get it?" demanded rayburn, addressing barbara. the child looked frightened. major grover smiled reassuringly at her and she stammered a rather faint reply. "i found it blowing around up on the little hill there," she said, pointing. "it was blowing real hard and i had to run to catch it before it got to the edge of the water. i'm--i--i'm sorry i gave it to uncle jed for a sail. i didn't know--and--and he didn't either," she added, loyally. "that's all right, my dear. of course you didn't know. well, rayburn," turning to the lieutenant, "there's your plan. you see it did blow away, after all. i think you owe this young lady thanks that it is not out in mid-channel by this time. take it back to the office and see if the holes in it have spoiled its usefulness to any extent." the lieutenant, very red in the face, departed, bearing his precious plan. jed heaved a sigh of relief. "there!" he exclaimed, "now i presume likely i can attend to my chowder." "the important things of life, eh?" queried major grover. "um-hm. i don't know's there's anything much more important than eatin'. it's a kind of expensive habit, but an awful hard one to swear off of. . . . hum. . . . speakin' of important things, was that plan of yours very important, mr.--i mean major?" "rather--yes." "sho! . . . and i stuck it on a stick and set it afloat on a shingle. i cal'late if sam hunniwell knew of that he'd say 'twas characteristic. . . . hum. . . . sho! . . . i read once about a feller that found where the great seal of england was hid and he used it to crack nuts with. i guess likely that feller must have been my great, great, great granddad." major grover looked surprised. "i've read that story," he said, "but i can't remember where." jed was stirring his chowder. "eh?" he said, absently. "where? oh, 'twas in--the--er--'prince and the pauper,' you know. mark twain wrote it." "that's so; i remember now. so you've read 'the prince and the pauper'?" "um-hm. read about everything mark twain ever wrote, i shouldn't wonder." "do you read a good deal?" "some. . . . there! now we'll call that chowder done for the second time, i guess. set down and pass your plate, babbie. you'll set down and have a bite with us, won't you, mr.--major--i snum i've forgot your name. you mustn't mind; i forget my own sometimes." "grover. i am a major in the engineers, stationed here for the present to look after this construction work. no, thank you, i should like to stay, but i must go back to my office." "dear, dear! that's too bad. babbie and i would like first-rate to have you stay. wouldn't we, babbie?" barbara nodded. "yes, sir," she said. "and the chowder will be awf'ly good. uncle jed's chowders always are." "i'm sure of it." major grover's look of surprise was more evident than ever as he gazed first at barbara and then at mr. winslow. his next question was addressed to the latter. "so you are this young lady's uncle?" he inquired. it was barbara who answered. "not my really uncle," she announced. "he's just my make-believe uncle. he says he's my step-uncle 'cause he comes to our back steps so much. but he's almost better than a real uncle," she declared, emphatically. the major laughed heartily and said he was sure of it. he seemed to find the pair hugely entertaining. "well, good-by," he said. "i hope you and your uncle will visit us again soon. and i hope next time no one will take him for a spy." jed looked mournfully at the fire. "i've been took for a fool often enough," he observed, "but a spy is a consider'ble worse guess." grover looked at him. "i'm not so sure," he said. "i imagine both guesses would be equally bad. well, good-by. don't forget to come again." "thank you, thank you. and when you're over to orham drop in some day and see babbie and me. anybody--the constable or anybody--will tell you where i live." their visitor laughed, thanked him, and hurried away. said barbara between spoonfuls: "he's a real nice officer one, isn't he, uncle jed? petunia and i like him." during the rest of the afternoon they walked along the beach, picked up shells, inspected "horse-foot" crabs, jelly fish and "sand collars," and enjoyed themselves so thoroughly that it was after four when they started for home. the early october dusk settled down as they entered the winding channel between the sand islands and the stretches of beaches. barbara, wrapped in an old coat of captain perez's, which, smelling strongly of fish, had been found in a locker, seemed to be thinking very hard and, for a wonder, saying little. at last she broke the silence. "that mr. major officer man was 'stonished when i called you 'uncle jed,'" she observed. "why, do you s'pose?" jed whistled a few bars and peered over the side at the seaweed marking the border of the narrow, shallow channel. "i cal'late," he drawled, after a moment, "that he hadn't noticed how much we look alike." it was barbara's turn to be astonished. "but we don't look alike, uncle jed," she declared. "not a single bit." jed nodded. "no-o," he admitted. "i presume that's why he didn't notice it." this explanation, which other people might have found somewhat unsatisfactory, appeared to satisfy miss armstrong; at any rate she accepted it without comment. there was another pause in the conversation. then she said: "i don't know, after all, as i ought to call you 'uncle jed,' uncle jed." "eh? why not, for the land sakes?" "'cause uncles make people cry in our family. i heard mamma crying last night, after she thought i was asleep. and i know she was crying about uncle charlie. she cried when they took him away, you know, and now she cries when he's coming home again. she cried awf'ly when they took him away." "oh, she did, eh?" "yes. he used to live with mamma and me at our house in middleford. he's awful nice, uncle charlie is, and petunia and i were very fond of him. and then they took him away and we haven't seen him since." "he's been sick, maybe." "perhaps so. but he must be well again now cause he's coming home; mamma said so." "um-hm. well, i guess that was it. probably he had to go to the-- the hospital or somewhere and your ma has been worried about him. he's had an operation maybe. lots of folks have operations nowadays; it's got to be the fashion, seems so." the child reflected. "do they have to have policemen come to take you to the hospital?" she asked. "eh? . . . policemen?" "yes. 'twas two big policemen took uncle charlie away the first time. we were having supper, mamma and he and i, and nora went to the door when the bell rang and the big policemen came and uncle charlie went away with them. and mamma cried so. and she wouldn't tell me a bit about. . . . oh! oh! i've told about the policemen! mamma said i mustn't ever, ever tell anybody that. and--and i did! i did!" aghast at her own depravity, she began to sob. jed tried to comfort her and succeeded, after a fashion, at least she stopped crying, although she was silent most of the way home. and jed himself was silent also. he shared her feeling of guilt. he felt that he had been told something which neither he nor any outsider should have heard, and his sensitive spirit found little consolation in the fact that the hearing of it had come through no fault of his. besides, he was not so sure that he had been faultless. he had permitted the child's disclosures to go on when, perhaps, he should have stopped them. by the time the "araminta's" nose slid up on the sloping beach at the foot of the bluff before the winslow place she held two conscience-stricken culprits instead of one. and if ruth armstrong slept but little that night, as her daughter said had been the case the night before, she was not the only wakeful person in that part of orham. she would have been surprised if she had known that her eccentric neighbor and landlord was also lying awake and that his thoughts were of her and her trouble. for jed, although he had heard but the barest fragment of the story of "uncle charlie," a mere hint dropped from the lips of a child who did not understand the meaning of what she said, had heard enough to make plain to him that the secret which the young widow was hiding from the world was a secret involving sorrow and heartbreak for herself and shame and disgrace for others. the details he did not know, nor did he wish to know them; he was entirely devoid of that sort of curiosity. possession of the little knowledge which had been given him, or, rather, had been thrust upon him, and which gabe bearse would have considered a gossip treasure trove, a promise of greater treasures to be diligently mined, to jed was a miserable, culpable thing, like the custody of stolen property. he felt wicked and mean, as if he had been caught peeping under a window shade. chapter x that night came a sudden shift in the weather and when morning broke the sky was gray and overcast and the wind blew raw and penetrating from the northeast. jed, at work in his stock room sorting a variegated shipment of mills and vanes which were to go to a winter resort on the west coast of florida, was, as he might have expressed it, down at the mouth. he still felt the sense of guilt of the night before, but with it he felt a redoubled realization of his own incompetence. when he had surmised his neighbor and tenant to be in trouble he had felt a strong desire to help her; now that surmise had changed to certainty his desire to help was stronger than ever. he pitied her from the bottom of his heart; she seemed so alone in the world and so young. she needed a sympathetic counselor and advisor. but he could not advise or help because neither he nor any one else in orham was supposed to know of her trouble and its nature. even if she knew that he knew, would she accept the counsel of shavings winslow? hardly! no sensible person would. how the townsfolk would laugh if they knew he had even so much as dreamed of offering it. he was too downcast even to sing one of his lugubrious hymns or to whistle. instead he looked at the letter pinned on a beam beside him and dragged from the various piles one half-dozen crow vanes, one half-dozen gull vanes, one dozen medium-sized mills, one dozen small mills, three sailors, etc., etc., as set forth upon that order. one of the crows fell to the floor and he accidently stepped upon it and snapped its head off. he was gazing solemnly down at the wreck when the door behind him opened and a strong blast of damp, cold wind blew in. he turned and found that mrs. armstrong had opened the door. she entered and closed it behind her. "good morning," she said. jed was surprised to see her at such an early hour; also just at that time her sudden appearance was like a sort of miracle, as if the thoughts in his brain had taken shape, had materialized. for a moment he could not regain presence of mind sufficient to return her greeting. then, noticing the broken vane on the floor, she exclaimed: "oh, you have had an accident. isn't that too bad! when did it happen?" he looked down at the decapitated crow and touched one of the pieces with the toe of his boot. "just this minute," he answered. "i stepped on it and away she went. did a pretty neat, clean job, didn't i? . . . um-hm. . . . i wonder if anybody stepped on my head 'twould break like that. probably not; the wood in it is too green, i cal'late." she smiled, but she made no comment on this characteristic bit of speculation. instead she asked: "mr. winslow, are you very busy this morning? is your work too important to spare me just a few minutes?" jed looked surprised; he smiled his one-sided smile. "no, ma'am," he drawled. "i've been pretty busy but 'twan't about anything important. i presume likely," he added, "there ain't anybody in ostable county that can be so busy as i can be doin' nothin' important." "and you can spare a few minutes? i--i want to talk to you very much. i won't be long, really." he regarded her intently. then he walked toward the door leading to the little workroom. "come right in here, ma'am," he said, gravely; adding, after they had entered the other apartment, "take that chair. i'll sit over here on the box." he pulled forward the box and turned to find her still standing. "do sit down," he urged. "that chair ain't very comfortable, i know. perhaps i'd better get you another one from my sittin'-room in yonder." he was on his way to carry out the suggestion, but she interrupted him. "oh, no," she said. "this one will be perfectly comfortable, i'm sure, only--" "yes? is there somethin' the matter with it?" "not the matter with it, exactly, but it seems to be--occupied." jed stepped forward and peered over the workbench at the chair. its seat was piled high with small pasteboard boxes containing hardware-screws, tacks and metal washers--which he used in his mill and vane-making. "sho!" he exclaimed. "hum! does seem to be taken, as you say. i recollect now; a lot of that stuff came in by express day before yesterday afternoon and i piled it up there while i was unpackin' it. here!" apparently addressing the hardware, "you get out of that. that seat's reserved." he stretched a long arm over the workbench, seized the chair by the back and tipped it forward. the pasteboard boxes went to the floor in a clattering rush. one containing washers broke open and the little metal rings rolled everywhere. mr. winslow did not seem to mind. "there!" he exclaimed, with evident satisfaction; "sit right down, ma'am." the lady sat as requested, her feet amid the hardware boxes and her hands upon the bench before her. she was evidently very nervous, for her fingers gripped each other tightly. and, when she next spoke, she did not look at her companion. "mr. winslow," she began, "i--i believe--that is, babbie tells me that--that last evening, when you and she were on your way back here in the boat, she said something--she told you something concerning our--my--family affairs which--which--" she faltered, seeming to find it hard to continue. jed did not wait. he was by this time at least as nervous as she was and considerably more distressed and embarrassed. he rose from the box and extended a protesting hand. "now, now, ma'am," he begged. "now, mrs. armstrong, please--please don't say any more. it ain't necessary, honest it ain't. she-- she--that child she didn't tell me much of anything anyhow, and she didn't mean to tell that. and if you knew how ashamed and--and mean i've felt ever since to think i let myself hear that much! i hope--i do hope you don't think i tried to get her to tell me anything. i do hope you don't think that." his agitation was so acute and so obvious that she looked at him in wonder for a moment. then she hastened to reassure him. "don't distress yourself, mr. winslow," she said, smiling sadly. "i haven't known you very long but i have already learned enough about you to know that you are an honorable man. if i did not know that i shouldn't be here now. it is true that i did not mean for you or any one here in orham to learn of my--of our trouble, and if babbie had not told you so much i probably should never have spoken to you about it. the poor child's conscience troubled her so last evening that she came crying to me and confessed, and it is because i gathered from her that she had told enough to make you at least guess the truth that i am here now. i prefer that you should hear the story just as it is from me, rather than imagine something which might be worse. don't you see?" jed saw, but he was still very much perturbed. "now, now, mrs. armstrong," he begged, "don't tell me anything, please don't. i laid awake about all night thinkin' what i'd ought to do, whether i'd ought to tell you what babbie said, or just not trouble you at all and try to forget i ever heard it. that's what i decided finally, to forget it; and i will--i vow and declare i will! don't you tell me anything, and let me forget this. now please." but she shook her head. "things like that are not so easily forgotten," she said; "even when one tries as hard to forget as i am sure you would, mr. winslow. no, i want to tell you; i really do. please don't say any more. let me go on. . . . oh," with a sudden burst of feeling "can't you see that i must talk with someone--i must?" her clasped fingers tightened and the tears sprang to her eyes. poor jed's distress was greater than ever. "now--now, mrs. armstrong," he stammered, "all i meant to say was that you mustn't feel you've got to tell me. course if you want to, that's different altogether. what i'm tryin' to say," he added, with a desperate attempt to make his meaning perfectly clear, "is not to pay any attention to me at all but do just what you want to, that's all." even on the verge of tears as she was, she could not forbear smiling a little at this proclamation of complete self-effacement. "i fear i must pay some attention to you," she said, "if i am to confide in you and--and perhaps ask your help, your advice, afterwards. i have reached a point when i must ask some one's advice; i have thought myself into a maze and i don't know what to do--i don't know what to do. i have no near relatives, no friends here in orham--" jed held up a protesting hand. "excuse me, mrs. armstrong," he stammered; "i don't know as you recollect, probably it might not have meant as much to you as it did to me; but a spell ago you said somethin' about countin' me as a friend." "i know i did. and i meant it. you have been very kind, and barbara is so fond of you. . . . well, perhaps you can advise me, at least you can suggest--or--or--help me to think. will you?" jed passed his hand across his chin. it was obvious that her asking his counsel was simply a last resort, a desperate, forlorn hope. she had no real confidence in his ability to help. he would have been the last to blame her for this; her estimate of his capabilities was like his own, that was all. "w-e-e-ll," he observed, slowly, "as to givin' my advice, when a man's asked to give away somethin' that's worth nothin' the least he can do is say yes and try to look generous, i cal'late. if i can advise you any, why, i'll feel proud, of course." "thank you. mr. winslow, for the past two years or more i have been in great trouble. i have a brother--but you knew that; babbie told you." "um-hm. the one she calls 'uncle charlie'?" "yes. he is--he is serving his sentence in the connecticut state prison." jed leaned back upon the box. his head struck smartly against the edge of the bandsaw bench, but he did not seem to be aware of the fact. "my lord above!" he gasped. "yes, it is true. surely you must have guessed something of that sort, after babbie's story of the policemen." "i--i--well, i did sort of--of presume likely he must have got into some sort of--of difficulty, but i never thought 'twas bad as that. . . . dear me! . . . dear me!" "my brother is younger than i; he is scarcely twenty-three years old. he and i are orphans. our home was in wisconsin. father was killed in a railway accident and mother and my brother charles and i were left with very little money. we were in a university town and mother took a few students as lodgers. doctor armstrong was one; i met him there, and before he left the medical college we were engaged to be married. charlie was only a boy then, of course. mother died three years later. meanwhile seymour--doctor armstrong--had located in middleford, connecticut, and was practicing medicine there. he came on, we were married, and i returned to middleford with him. we had been married but a few years when he died--of pneumonia. that was the year after babbie was born. charles remained in wisconsin, boarding with a cousin of mother's, and, after he graduated from high school, entered one of the banks in the town. he was very successful there and the bank people liked him. after seymour--my husband--died, he came east to see me at middleford. one of doctor armstrong's patients, a bond broker in new haven, took a fancy to him, or we thought he did, and offered him a position. he accepted, gave up his place at the bank in wisconsin, and took charge of this man's middleford office, making his home with babbie and me. he was young, too young i think now, to have such a responsible position, but every one said he had a remarkably keen business mind and that his future was certain to be brilliant. and then--" she paused. it was evident that the hard part of her story was coming. after a moment she went on. "charlie was popular with the young people there in middleford. he was always a favorite, at home, at school, everywhere. mother idolized him while she lived, so did i, so did babbie. he was fond of society and the set he was friendly with was made up, for the most part, of older men with much more money than he. he was proud, he would not accept favors without repaying them, he liked a good time, perhaps he was a little fast; not dissipated--i should have known if he were that--but--careless--and what you men call a 'good fellow.' at any rate, he--" again she paused. jed, sitting on the box, clasping his knee between his hands, waited anxiously for her to continue. "of course you can guess what happened," she said, sadly, after a moment. "it was the old story, that is all. charlie was living beyond his means, got into debt and speculated in stocks, hoping to make money enough to pay those debts. the stocks went down and-- and--well, he took money belonging to his employer to protect his purchases." she waited, perhaps expecting her companion to make some comment. he did not and again she spoke. "i know he meant only to borrow it," she declared. "i know it. he isn't bad, mr. winslow; i know him better than any one and he isn't bad. if he had only come to me when he got into the trouble! if he had only confided in me! but he was proud and--and he didn't. . . . well, i won't tell you how his--his fault was discovered; it would take a long time and it isn't worth while. they arrested him, he was tried and--and sent to prison for two years." for the first time since she began her story jed uttered a word. "sho!" he exclaimed. "sho, sho! dear me! the poor young feller!" she looked up at him quickly. "thank you," she said, gratefully. "yes, he was sent to prison. he was calm and resigned and very brave about it, but to me it was a dreadful shock. you see, he had taken so little money, not much over two thousand dollars. we could have borrowed it, i'm sure; he and i could have worked out the debt together. we could have done it; i would have worked at anything, no matter how hard, rather than have my brother branded all his life with the disgrace of having been in prison. but the man for whom he had worked was furiously angry at what he called charlie's ingratitude; he would teach the young thief a lesson, he said. our lawyer went to him; i went to him and begged him not to press the case. of course charlie didn't know of my going; he never would have permitted it if he had. but i went and begged and pleaded. it did no good. why, even the judge at the trial, when he charged the jury, spoke of the defendant's youth and previous good character. . . ." she covered her eyes with her hand. poor jed's face was a picture of distress. "now--now, mrs. armstrong," he urged, "don't, please don't. i--i wouldn't tell me any more about it, if i was you. of course i'm-- i'm proud to think you believed i was worth while tellin' it to and all that, but--you mustn't. you'll make yourself sick, you know. just don't tell any more, please." she took her hand away and looked at him bravely. "there isn't any more to tell," she said. "i have told you this because i realized that barbara had told you enough to make you imagine everything that was bad concerning my brother. and he is not bad, mr. winslow. he did a wrong thing, but i know--i know he did not mean deliberately to steal. if that man he worked for had been--if he had been-- but there, he was what he was. he said thieves should be punished, and if they were punished when they were young, so much the better, because it might be a warning and keep them honest as they grew older. he told me that, mr. winslow, when i pleaded with him not to make charles' disgrace public and not to wreck the boy's life. that was what he told me then. and they say," she added, bitterly, "that he prides himself upon being a staunch supporter of the church." jed let go of his knee with one hand in order to rub his chin. "i have queer notions, i cal'late," he drawled. "if they wasn't queer they wouldn't be mine, i suppose. if i was--er--as you might say, first mate of all creation i'd put some church folks in jail and a good many jail folks in church. seems's if the swap would be a help to both sides. . . . i--i hope you don't think i'm--er-- unfeelin', jokin', when you're in such worry and trouble," he added, anxiously. "i didn't mean it." his anxiety was wasted. she had heard neither his first remark nor the apology for it. her thoughts had been far from the windmill shop and its proprietor. now, apparently awakening to present realities, she rose and turned toward the door. "that was all," she said, wearily. "you know the whole truth now, mr. winslow. of course you will not speak of it to any one else." then, noticing the hurt look upon his face, she added, "forgive me. i know you will not. if i had not known it i should not have confided in you. thank you for listening so patiently." she was going, but he touched her arm. "excuse me, mrs. armstrong," he faltered, "but--but wasn't there somethin' else? somethin' you wanted to ask my advice about--or-- or--somethin'?" she smiled faintly. "yes, there was," she admitted. "but i don't know that it is worth while troubling you, after all. it is not likely that you can help me. i don't see how any one can." "probably you're right. i--i ain't liable to be much help to anybody. but i'm awful willin' to try. and sometimes, you know-- sometimes surprisin' things happen. 'twas a--a mouse, or a ground mole, wasn't it, that helped the lion in the story book out of the scrape? . . . not that i don't look more like a--er--giraffe than i do like a mouse," he added. mrs. armstrong turned and looked at him once more. "you're very kind," she said. "and i know you mean what you say. . . . why, yes, i'll tell you the rest. perhaps," with the slight smile, "you can advise me, mr. winslow. you see--well, you see, my brother will be freed very shortly. i have received word that he is to be pardoned, his sentence is to be shortened because of what they call his good conduct. he will be free--and then? what shall he do then? what shall we all do? that is my problem." she went on to explain. this was the situation: her own income was barely sufficient for barbara and herself to live, in the frugal way they were living, in a country town like orham. that was why she had decided to remain there. no one in the village knew her story or the story of her brother's disgrace. but now, almost any day, her brother might be discharged from prison. he would be without employment and without a home. she would so gladly offer him a home with her--they could manage to live, to exist in some way, she said--but she knew he would not be content to have her support him. there was no chance of employment in orham; he would therefore be forced to go elsewhere, to go wandering about looking for work. and that she could not bear to think of. "you see," she said, "i--i feel as if i were the only helper and-- well--guardian the poor boy has. i can imagine," smiling wanly, "how he would scorn the idea of his needing a guardian, but i feel as if it were my duty to be with him, to stand by him when every one else has deserted him. besides," after an instant's hesitation, "i feel--i suppose it is unreasonable, but i feel as if i had neglected my duty before; as if perhaps i had not watched him as carefully as i should, or encouraged him to confide in me; i can't help feeling that perhaps if i had been more careful in this way the dreadful thing might not have happened. . . . oh," she added, turning away again, "i don't know why i am telling all these things to you, i'm sure. they can't interest you much, and the telling isn't likely to profit either of us greatly. but i am so alone, and i have brooded over my troubles so much. as i said i have felt as if i must talk with some one. but there--good morning, mr. winslow." "just a minute, please, mrs. armstrong; just a minute. hasn't your brother got any friends in middleford who could help him get some work--a job--you know what i mean? seems as if he must have, or you must have." "oh, we have, i suppose. we had some good friends there, as well as others whom we thought were friends. but--but i think we both had rather die than go back there; i am sure i should. think what it would mean to both of us." jed understood. she might have been surprised to realize how clearly he understood. she was proud, and it was plain to see that she had been very proud of her brother. and middleford had been her home where she and her husband had spent their few precious years together, where her child was born, where, after her brother came, she had watched his rise to success and the apparent assurance of a brilliant future. she had begun to be happy once more. then came the crash, and shame and disgrace instead of pride and confidence. jed's imagination, the imagination which was quite beyond the comprehension of those who called him the town crank, grasped it all--or, at least, all its essentials. he nodded slowly. "i see," he said. "yes, yes, i see. . . . hum." "of course, any one must see. and to go away, to some city or town where we are not known--where could we go? what should we live on? and yet we can't stay here; there is nothing for charles to do." "um. . . . he was a--what did you say his trade was?" "he was a bond broker, a kind of banker." "eh? . . . a kind of banker. . . . sho! did he work in a bank?" "why, yes, i told you he did, in wisconsin, where he and i used to live." "hum. . . . pretty smart at it, too, seems to me you said he was?" "yes, very capable indeed." "i want to know. . . . hum. . . . sho!" he muttered one or two more disjointed exclamations and then ceased to speak altogether, staring abstractedly at a crack in the floor. all at once he began to hum a hymn. mrs. armstrong, whose nerves were close to the breaking point, lost patience. "good morning, mr. winslow," she said, and opened the door to the outer shop. this time jed did not detain her. instead he stared dreamily at the floor, apparently quite unconscious of her or his surroundings. "eh?" he drawled. "oh, yes, good mornin',--good mornin'. . . . hum. . . . 'there is a fountain filled with blood drawn from emmanuel's veins, and sinners plunged de de de de de de di dew dum de.'" his visitor closed the door. jed still sat there gazing at vacancy and droning, dolefully. chapter xi for nearly an hour he sat there, scarcely changing his position, and only varying his musical program by whistling hymns instead of singing them. once, hearing a step in the yard, he looked through the window and saw gabriel bearse walking toward the gate from the direction of the shop door instead of in the opposite direction. evidently he had at first intended to call and then had changed his mind. mr. winslow was duly grateful to whoever or whatever had inspired the change. he had no desire to receive a visit from "gab" bearse, at this time least of all. later on he heard another step, and, again glancing through the window, saw seth wingate, the vegetable and fruit peddler, walking from the door to the gate, just as mr. bearse had done. apparently seth had changed his mind also. jed thought this rather odd, but again he was grateful. he was thinking hard and was quite willing not to be disturbed. but the disturbing came ten minutes after mr. wingate's departure and came in the nature of a very distinct disturbance. there was a series of thunderous knocks on the front door, that door was thrown violently open, and, before the startled maker of mills could do much more than rise to his feet, the door to the workroom was pulled open also. captain hunniwell's bulk filled the opening. captain sam was red-faced and seemed excited. "well, by the gracious king," he roared, "you're here, anyhow! what else is the matter with you?" jed, who, after recognizing his visitor, had seated himself once more, looked up and nodded. "hello, sam," he observed. "say, i was just thinkin' about you. that's kind of funny, ain't it?" "funny! just thinkin' about me! well, i've been thinkin' about you, i tell you that: have you been in this shop all the forenoon?" "eh? . . . why, yes. . . . sartin. . . . i've been right here." "you have? gracious king! then why in the old harry have you got that sign nailed on your front door out here tellin' all hands you're out for the day and for 'em to ask for you up at abijah thompson's?" jed looked much surprised. his hand moved slowly across his chin. "sho!" he drawled. "sho! has that sign been hangin' there all this forenoon?" "don't ask me. i guess it has from what i've heard. anyhow it's there now. and what's it there for? that's what i want to know." jed's face was very solemn, but there was a faint twinkle in his eye. "that explains about seth wingate," he mused. "yes, and gab bearse too. . . . hum. . . . the lord was better to me than i deserved. they say he takes care of children and drunken men and-- er--the critters that most folks think belong to my lodge. . . . hum. . . . to think i forgot to take that sign down! sho!" "forgot to take it down! what in everlastin' blazes did you ever put it up for?" jed explained why the placard had been prepared and affixed to the door. "i only meant it for yesterday, though," he added. "i'd intended takin' it down this mornin'." captain sam put back his head and laughed until the shop echoed. "ho, ho, ho!" he roared. "and you mean to tell me that you put it up there because you was goin' cruisin' to the aviation camp and you didn't want callers disturbin' mrs. armstrong?" his friend nodded. "um-hm," he admitted. "i sent 'em to 'bije's because he was as far off as anybody i could think of. pretty good idea, wasn't it?" the captain grinned. "great!" he declared. "fine! wonderful! you wait till 'bije comes to tell you how fine 'twas. he's in bed, laid up with neuralgia, and emma j., his wife, says that every hour or less yesterday there was somebody bangin' at their door asking about you. every time they banged she says that 'bije, his nerves bein' on edge the way they are, would pretty nigh jump the quilts up to the ceilin' and himself along with 'em. and his remarks got more lit up every jump. about five o'clock when somebody came poundin' he let out a roar you could hear a mile. 'tell 'em shavin's winslow's gone to the devil,' he bellowed, 'and that i say they can go there too.' and then emma j. opened the door and 'twan't anybody askin' about you at all; 'twas the baptist minister come callin'. i was drivin' past there just now and emma j. came out to tell me about it. she wanted to know if you'd gone clear crazy instead of part way. i told her i didn't know, but i'd make it my business to find out. tut, tut, tut! you are a wonder, jed." jed did not dispute the truth of this statement. he looked troubled, however. "sho!" he said; "i'm sorry if i plagued 'bijah that way. if i'd known he was sick i wouldn't have done it. i never once thought so many folks as one every hour would want to see me this time of year. dear me! i'm sorry about 'bije. maybe i'd better go down and kind of explain it to him." captain sam chuckled. "i wouldn't," he said. "if i was you i'd explain over the long distance telephone. but, anyhow, i wouldn't worry much. i cal'late emma j. exaggerated affairs some. probably, if the truth was known, you'd find not more than four folks came there lookin' for you yesterday. don't worry, jed." jed did not answer. the word "worry" had reminded him of his other visitor that morning. he looked so serious that his friend repeated his adjuration. "don't worry, i tell you," he said, again. "'tisn't worth it." "all right, i won't. . . . i won't. . . . sam, i was thinkin' about you afore you came in. you remember i told you that?" "i remember. what have you got on your mind? any more money kickin' around this glory-hole that you want me to put to your account?" "eh? . . . oh, yes, i believe there is some somewheres. seems to me i put about a hundred and ten dollars, checks and bills and such, away day before yesterday for you to take when you came. maybe i'll remember where i put it before you go. but 'twan't about that i was thinkin'. sam, how is barzilla small's boy, lute, gettin' along in gus howes' job at the bank?" captain sam snorted disgust. "gettin' along!" he repeated. "he's gettin' along the way a squid swims, and that's backwards. and, if you asked me, i'd say the longer he stayed the further back he'd get." "sho! then he did turn out to be a leak instead of an able seaman, eh?" "a leak! gracious king! he's like a torpedo blow-up under the engine-room. the bank'll sink if he stays aboard another month, i do believe. and yet," he added, with a shake of the head, "i don't see but he'll have to stay; there ain't another available candidate for the job in sight. i 'phoned up to boston and some of our friends are lookin' around up there, but so far they haven't had any success. this war is makin' young men scarce, that is young men that are good for much. pretty soon it'll get so that a healthy young feller who ain't in uniform will feel about as much out of place as a hog in a synagogue. yes, sir! ho, ho!" he laughed in huge enjoyment of his own joke. jed stared dreamily at the adjusting screw on the handsaw. his hands clasped his knee, his foot was lifted from the floor and began to swing back and forth. "well," queried his friend, "what have you got on your mind? out with it." "eh? . . . on my mind?" "yes. when i see you begin to shut yourself together in the middle like a jackknife and start swinging that number eleven of yours i know you're thinkin' hard about somethin' or other. what is it this time?" "um . . . well . . . er . . . sam, if you saw a chance to get a real smart young feller in lute's place in the bank you'd take him, wouldn't you?" "would i? would a cat eat lobster? only show him to me, that's all!" "um-hm. . . . now of course you know i wouldn't do anything to hurt lute. not for the world i wouldn't. it's only if you are goin' to let him go--" "if i am. either he'll have to let go or the bank will, one or t'other. united we sink, divided one of us may float, that's the way i look at it. lute'll stay till we can locate somebody else to take his job, and no longer." "ya-as. . . . um-hm. . . . well, i tell you, sam: don't you get anybody else till you and i have another talk. it may be possible that i could find you just the sort of young man you're lookin' for." "eh? you can find me one? you can? what are you givin' me, jed? who is the young man; you?" jed gravely shook his head. "no-o," he drawled. "i hate to disappoint you, sam, but it ain't me. it's another--er--smart, lively young feller. he ain't quite so old as i am; there's a little matter of twenty odd years between us, i believe, but otherwise than that he's all right. and he knows the bankin' trade, so i'm told." "gracious king! who is he? where is he?" "that i can't tell you just yet. but maybe i can by and by." "tell me now." "no-o. no, i just heard about him and it was told to me in secret. all i can say is don't get anybody to fill lute small's place till you and i have another talk." captain sam stared keenly into his friend's face. jed bore the scrutiny calmly; in fact he didn't seem to be aware of it. the captain gave it up. "all right," he said. "no use tryin' to pump you, i know that. when you make up your mind to keep your mouth shut a feller couldn't open it with a cold chisel. i presume likely you'll tell in your own good time. now if you'll scratch around and find those checks and things you want me to deposit for you i'll take 'em and be goin'. i'm in a little bit of a hurry this mornin'." jed "scratched around," finally locating the checks and bills in the coffee pot on the shelf in his little kitchen. "there!" he exclaimed, with satisfaction, "i knew i put 'em somewheres where they'd be safe and where i couldn't forget 'em." "where you couldn't forget 'em! why, you did forget 'em, didn't you?" "um . . . yes . . . i cal'late i did this mornin', but that's because i didn't make any coffee for breakfast. if i'd made coffee same as i usually do i'd have found 'em." "why didn't you make coffee this mornin'?" jed's eye twinkled. "w-e-e-ll," he drawled, "to be honest with you, sam, 'twas because i couldn't find the coffee pot. after i took it down to put this money in it i put it back on a different shelf. i just found it now by accident." as the captain was leaving jed asked one more question. "sam," he asked, "about this bank job now? if you had a chance to get a bright, smart young man with experience in bank work, you'd hire him, wouldn't you?" captain hunniwell's answer was emphatic. "you bet i would!" he declared. "if i liked his looks and his references were good i'd hire him in two minutes. and salary, any reasonable salary, wouldn't part us, either. . . . eh? what makes you look like that?" for jed's expression had changed; his hand moved across his chin. "eh--er--references?" he repeated. "why, why, of course. i'd want references from the folks he'd worked for, statin' that he was honest and capable and all that. with those i'd hire him in two minutes, as i said. you fetch him along and see. so long, jed. see you later." he hustled out, stopping to tear from the outer door the placard directing callers to call at abijah thompson's. jed returned to his box and sat down once more to ponder. in his innocence it had not occurred to him that references would be required. that evening, about nine, he crossed the yard and knocked at the back door of the little house. mrs. armstrong answered the knock; barbara, of course, was in bed and asleep. ruth was surprised to see her landlord at that, for him, late hour. also, remembering the unceremonious way in which he had permitted her to depart at the end of their interview that forenoon, she was not as cordial as usual. she had made him her confidant, why she scarcely knew; then, after expressing great interest and sympathy, he had suddenly seemed to lose interest in the whole matter. she was acquainted with his eccentricities and fits of absent-mindedness, but nevertheless she had been hurt and offended. she told herself that she should have expected nothing more from "shavings" winslow, the person about whom two-thirds of orham joked and told stories, but the fact remained that she was disappointed. and she was angry, not so much with him perhaps, as with herself. why had she been so foolish as to tell any one of their humiliation? so when jed appeared at the back door she received him rather coldly. he was quite conscious of the change in temperature, but he made no comment and offered no explanation. instead he told his story, the story of his interview with captain hunniwell. as he told it her face showed at first interest, then hope, and at the last radiant excitement. she clasped her hands and leaned toward him, her eyes shining. "oh, mr. winslow," she cried, breathlessly, "do you mean it? do you really believe captain hunniwell will give my brother a position in his bank?" jed nodded slowly. "yes," he said, "i think likely he might. course 'twouldn't be any great of a place, not at first--nor ever, i cal'late, so far as that goes. 'tain't a very big bank and wages ain't--" but she interrupted. "but that doesn't make any difference," she cried. "don't you see it doesn't! the salary and all that won't count--now. it will be a start for charles, an opportunity for him to feel that he is a man again, doing a man's work, an honest man's work. and he will be here where i can be with him, where we can be together, where it won't be so hard for us to be poor and where there will be no one who knows us, who knows our story. oh, mr. winslow, is it really true? if it is, how--how can we ever thank you? how can i ever show you how grateful i feel?" her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted and joy shone in her eager eyes. her voice broke a little as she uttered the words. jed looked at her and then quickly looked away. "i--i--don't talk so, mrs. armstrong," he pleaded, hastily. "it-- it ain't anything, it ain't really. it just--" "not anything? not anything to find my brother the opportunity he and i have been praying for? to give me the opportunity of having him with me? isn't that anything? it is everything. oh, mr. winslow, if you can do this for us--" "shsh! sshh! now, mrs. armstrong, please. you mustn't say i'm doin' it for you. i'm the one that just happened to think of it, that's all. you could have done it just as well, if you'd thought of it." "perhaps," with a doubtful smile, "but i should never have thought of it. you did because you were thinking for me--for my brother and me. and--and i thought you didn't care." "eh? . . . didn't care?" "yes. when i left you at the shop this morning after our talk. you were so--so odd. you didn't speak, or offer to advise me as i had asked you to; you didn't even say good-by. you just sat there and let me go. and i didn't understand and--" jed put up a hand. his face was a picture of distress. "dear, dear, dear!" he exclaimed. "did i do that? i don't remember it, but of course i did if you say so. now what on earth possessed me to? . . . eh?" as the idea occurred to him. "tell me, was i singin'?" "why, yes, you were. that is, you were--were--" "makin' a noise as if i'd swallowed a hymn book and one of the tunes was chokin' me to death? um-hm, that's the way i sing. and i was singin' when you left me, eh? that means i was thinkin' about somethin'. i told babbie once, and it's the truth, that thinkin' was a big job with me and when i did it i had to drop everything else, come up into the wind like a schooner, you know, and just lay to and think. . . . oh, i remember now! you said somethin' about your brother's workin' in a bank and that set me thinkin' that sam must be needin' somebody by this time in lute small's place." "you didn't know he needed any one?" "no-o, not exactly; but i knew lute, and that amounted to the same thing. mrs. armstrong, i do hope you'll forgive me for--for singin' and--and all the rest of my foolish actions." "forgive you! will you forgive me for misjudging you?" "land sakes, don't talk that way. but there's one thing i haven't said yet and you may not like it. i guess you and your brother'll have to go to sam and tell him the whole story." her expression changed. "the whole story?" she repeated. "why, what do you mean? tell him that charles has been in--in prison? you don't mean that?" "um-hm," gravely; "i'm afraid i do. it looks to me as if it was the only way." "but we can't! oh, mr. winslow, we can't do that." "i know 'twill be awful hard for you. but, when i talked to sam about my havin' a possible candidate for the bank place, the very last thing he said was that he'd be glad to see him providin' his references was all right. i give you my word i'd never thought of references, not till then." "but if we tell him--tell him everything, we shall only make matters worse, shan't we? of course he won't give him the position then." "there's a chance he won't, that's true. but sam hunniwell's a fine feller, there ain't any better, and he likes you and--well, he and i have been cruisin' in company for a long spell. maybe he'll give your brother a chance to make good. i hope he will." "you only hope? i thought you said you believed." "well, i do, but of course it ain't sartin. i wish 'twas." she was silent. jed, watching her, saw the last traces of happiness and elation fade from her face and disappointment and discouragement come back to take their places. he pitied her, and he yearned to help her. at last he could stand it no longer. "now, mrs. armstrong," he pleaded, "of course--" she interrupted. "no," she said, as if coming to a final decision and speaking that decision aloud: "no, i can't do it." "eh? can't do--what?" "i can't have captain hunniwell know of our trouble. i came here to orham, where no one knew me, to avoid that very thing. at home there in middleford i felt as if every person i met was staring at me and saying, 'her brother is in prison.' i was afraid to have babbie play with the other children. i was--but there, i won't talk about it. i can't. and i cannot have it begin again here. i'll go away first. we will all go away, out west, anywhere-- anywhere where we can be--clean--and like other people." jed was conscious of a cold sensation, like the touch of an icicle, up and down his spine. going away! she and babbie going away! in his mind's eye he saw a vision of the little house closed once more and shuttered tight as it used to be. he gasped. "now, now, mrs. armstrong," he faltered. "don't talk about goin' away. it--it isn't needful for you to do anything like that. of course it ain't. you--you mustn't. i--we can't spare you." she drew a long breath. "i would go to the other end of the world," she said, "rather than tell captain hunniwell the truth about my brother. i told you because babbie had told you so much already. . . . oh," turning swiftly toward him, "you won't tell captain hunniwell, will you?" before he could answer she stretched out her hand. "oh, please forgive me," she cried. "i am not myself. i am almost crazy, i think. and when you first told me about the position in the bank i was so happy. oh, mr. winslow, isn't there some way by which charles could have that chance? couldn't--couldn't he get it and-- and work there for--for a year perhaps, until they all saw what a splendid fellow he was, and then tell them--if it seemed necessary? they would know him then, and like him; they couldn't help it, every one likes him." she brushed the tears from her eyes. poor jed, miserable and most unreasonably conscience-stricken, writhed in his chair. "i--i don't know," he faltered. "i declare i don't see how. er--er-- out in that bank where he used to work, that wisconsin bank, he-- you said he did first-rate there?" she started. "yes, yes," she cried, eagerly. "oh, he was splendid there! and the man who was the head of that bank when charles was there is an old friend of ours, of the family; he has retired now but he would help us if he could, i know. i believe . . . i wonder if . . . mr. winslow, i can't tell any one in orham of our disgrace and i can't bear to give up that opportunity for my brother. will you leave it to me for a little while? will you let me think it over?" of course jed said he would and went back to his little room over the shop. as he was leaving she put out her hand and said, with impulsive earnestness: "thank you, mr. winslow. whatever comes of this, or if nothing comes of it, i can never thank you enough for your great kindness." jed gingerly shook the extended hand and fled, his face scarlet. during the following week, although he saw his neighbors each day, and several times a day, mrs. armstrong did not mention her brother or the chance of his employment in the orham bank. jed, very much surprised at her silence, was tempted to ask what her decision was, or even if she had arrived at one. on one occasion he threw out a broad hint, but the hint was not taken, instead the lady changed the subject; in fact, it seemed to him that she made it a point of avoiding that subject and was anxious that he should avoid it, also. he was sure she had not abandoned the idea which, at first, had so excited her interest and raised her hopes. she seemed to him to be still under a strong nervous strain, to speak and act as if under repressed excitement; but she had asked him to leave the affair to her, to let her think it over, so of course he could do or say nothing until she had spoken. but he wondered and speculated a good deal and was vaguely troubled. when captain sam hunniwell called he did not again refer to his possible candidate for the position now held by luther small. and, singularly enough, the captain himself did not mention the subject. but one morning almost two weeks after jed's discussion with the young widow she and captain hunniwell came into the windmill shop together. mrs. armstrong's air of excitement was very much in evidence. her cheeks were red, her eyes sparkled, her manner animated. her landlord had never seen her look so young, or, for that matter, so happy. captain sam began the conversation. he, too, seemed to be in high good humor. "well, jedidah wilfred shavin's'," he observed, facetiously, "what do you suppose i've got up my sleeve this mornin'?" jed laid down the chisel he was sharpening. "your arms, i presume likely," he drawled. "yes, i've got my arms and there's a fist at the end of each one of 'em. any more--er--flippity answers like that one and you're liable to think you're struck by lightnin'. this lady and i have got news for you. do you know what 'tis?" jed looked at mrs. armstrong and then at the speaker. "no-o," he said, slowly. "well, to begin with it's this: lute small is leavin' the orham national a week from next saturday by a vote of eight to one. the directors and the cashier and i are the eight and he's the one. ho, ho! and who do you suppose comes aboard on the next monday mornin' to take over what lute has left of the job? eh? who? why, your own candidate, that's who." jed started. again he looked at mrs. armstrong and, as if in answer to that look, she spoke. "yes, mr. winslow," she said, quickly, "my brother is coming to orham and captain hunniwell has given him the position. it is really you to whom he owes it all. you thought of it and spoke to the captain and to me." "but why in time," demanded captain sam, "didn't you tell me right out that 'twas mrs. armstrong's brother you had in mind? gracious king! if i'd known that i'd have had lute out a fortni't sooner." jed made no reply to this. he was still staring at the lady. "but--but--" he faltered, "did you--have you--" he stopped in the middle of a word. ruth was standing behind the captain and he saw the frightened look in her eyes and the swift movement of her finger to her lips. "oh, yes," she said. "i--i have. i told captain hunniwell of charlie's experience in the bank in wisconsin. he has written there and the answer is quite satisfactory, or so he seems to think." "couldn't be better," declared captain sam. "here's the letter from the man that used to be the bank president out there. read it, jed, if you want to." jed took the letter and, with a hand which shook a little, adjusted his glasses and read. it was merely a note, brief and to the point. it stated simply that while charles phillips had been in the employ of their institution as messenger, bookkeeper and assistant teller, he had been found honest, competent, ambitious and thoroughly satisfactory. "and what more do i want than that?" demanded the captain. "anybody who can climb up that way afore he's twenty-five will do well enough for yours truly. course he and i haven't met yet, but his sister and i've met, and i'm not worryin' but what i'll like the rest of the family. besides," he added, with a combination laugh and groan, "it's a case of desperation with us up at the bank. we've got to have somebody to plug that leak you was talkin' about, jed, and we've got to have 'em immediate, right off quick, at once, or a little sooner. it's a providence, your brother is to us, mrs. armstrong," he declared; "a special providence and no mistake." he hurried off a moment later, affirming that he was late at the bank already. "course the cashier's there and the rest of the help," he added, "but it takes all hands and the cat to keep lute from puttin' the kindlin' in the safe and lightin' up the stove with ten dollar bills. so long." after he had gone jed turned to his remaining visitor. his voice shook a little as he spoke. "you haven't told him!" he faltered, reproachfully. "you--you haven't told him!" she shook her head. "i couldn't--i couldn't," she declared. "don't look at me like that. please don't! i know it is wrong. i feel like a criminal; i feel wicked. but," defiantly, "i should feel more wicked if i had told him and my brother had lost the only opportunity that might have come to him. he will make good, mr. winslow. i know he will. he will make them respect him and like him. they can't help it. see!" she cried, her excitement and agitation growing; "see how mr. reed, the bank president there at home, the one who wrote that letter, see what he did for charles! he knows, too; he knows the whole story. i--i wrote to him. i wrote that very night when you told me, mr. winslow. i explained everything, i begged him--he is an old, old friend of our family-- to do this thing for our sakes. you see, it wasn't asking him to lie, or to do anything wrong. it was just that he tell of charles and his ability and character as he knew them. it wasn't wrong, was it?" jed did not answer. "if it was," she declared, "i can't help it. i would do it again-- for the same reason--to save him and his future, to save us all. i can't help what you think of me. it doesn't matter. all that does matter is that you keep silent and let my brother have his chance." jed, leaning forward in his chair by the workbench, put his hand to his forehead. "don't--don't talk so, mrs. armstrong," he begged. "you know--you know i don't think anything you've done is wrong. i ain't got the right to think any such thing as that. and as for keepin' still-- why, i--i did hope you wouldn't feel 'twas necessary to ask that." "i don't--i don't. i know you and i trust you. you are the only person in orham whom i have trusted. you know that." "why, yes--why, yes, i do know it and--and i'm ever so much obliged to you. more obliged than i can tell you, i am. now--now would you mind tellin' me just one thing more? about this mr. what's- his-name out west in the bank there--this mr. reed--did he write you he thought 'twas all right for him to send sam the--the kind of letter he did send him, the one givin' your brother such a good reference?" the color rose in her face and she hesitated before replying. "no," she confessed, after a moment. "he did not write me that he thought it right to give captain hunniwell such a reference. in fact he wrote that he thought it all wrong, deceitful, bordering on the dishonest. he much preferred having charles go to the captain and tell the whole truth. on the other hand, however, he said he realized that that might mean the end of the opportunity here and perhaps public scandal and gossip by which we all might suffer. and he said he had absolute confidence that charles was not a criminal by intent, and he felt quite sure that he would never go wrong again. if he were still in active business, he said, he should not hesitate to employ him. therefore, although he still believed the other course safer and better, he would, if captain hunniwell wrote, answer as i had asked. and he did answer in that way. so, you see," she cried, eagerly, "he believes in charles, just as i do. and just as you will when you know, mr. winslow. oh, won't you try to believe now?" a harder-hearted man than jed winslow would have found it difficult to refuse such a plea made in such a way by such a woman. and jed's heart was anything but hard. "now, now, mrs. armstrong," he stammered, "you don't have to ask me that. course i believe in the poor young chap. and--and i guess likely everything's goin' to come out all right. that mr. what's- his-name--er--wright--no, reed--i got read and write mixed up, i guess--he's a business man and he'd ought to know about such things better'n i do. i don't doubt it'll come out fine and we won't worry any more about it." "and we will still be friends? you know, mr. winslow, you are the only real friend i have in orham. and you have been so loyal." jed flushed with pleasure. "i--i told you once," he said, "that my friends generally called me 'jed.'" she laughed. "very well, i'll call you 'jed,'" she said. "but turn about is fair play and you must call me 'ruth.' will you? oh, there's babbie calling me. thank you again, for charles' sake and my own. good morning--jed." "er--er--good mornin', mrs. armstrong." "what?" "er--i mean mrs. ruth." the most of that forenoon, that is the hour or so remaining, was spent by mr. winslow in sitting by the workbench and idly scratching upon a board with the point of the chisel. sometimes his scratches were meaningless, sometimes they spelled a name, a name which he seemed to enjoy spelling. but at intervals during that day, and on other days which followed, he was conscious of an uneasy feeling, a feeling almost of guilt coupled with a dim foreboding. ruth armstrong had called him a friend and loyal. but had he been as loyal to an older friend, a friend he had known all his life? had he been loyal to captain sam hunniwell? that was the feeling of guilt. the foreboding was not as definite, but it was always with him; he could not shake it off. all his life he had dealt truthfully with the world, had not lied, or evaded, or compromised. now he had permitted himself to become a silent partner in such a compromise. and some day, somehow, trouble was coming because of it. chapter xii before the end of another week charles phillips came to orham. it was ruth who told jed the news. she came into the windmill shop and, standing beside the bench where he was at work, she said: "mr. winslow, i have something to tell you." jed put down the pencil and sheet of paper upon which he had been drawing new patterns for the "gull vane" which was to move its wings when the wind blew. this great invention had not progressed very far toward practical perfection. its inventor had been busy with other things and had of late rather lost interest in it. but barbara's interest had not flagged and to please her jed had promised to think a little more about it during the next day or so. "but can't you make it flap its wings, uncle jed?" the child had asked. jed rubbed his chin. "w-e-e-ll," he drawled, "i don't know. i thought i could, but now i ain't so sure. i could make 'em whirl 'round and 'round like a mill or a set of sailor paddles, but to make 'em flap is different. they've got to be put on strong enough so they won't flop off. you see," he added, solemnly, "if they kept floppin' off they wouldn't keep flappin' on. there's all the difference in the world between a flap and flop." he was trying to reconcile that difference when ruth entered the shop. he looked up at her absently. "mr. winslow," she began again, "i--" his reproachful look made her pause and smile slightly in spite of herself. "i'm sorry," she said. "well, then--jed--i have something to tell you. my brother will be here to-morrow." jed had been expecting to hear this very thing almost any day, but he was a little startled nevertheless. "sho!" he exclaimed. "you don't tell me!" "yes. he is coming on the evening train to-morrow. i had word from him this morning." jed's hand moved to his chin. "hum . . ." he mused. "i guess likely you'll be pretty glad to see him." "i shall be at least that," with a little break in her voice. "you can imagine what his coming will mean to me. no, i suppose you can't imagine it; no one can." jed did not say whether he imagined it or not. "i--i'm real glad for you, mrs. ruth," he declared. "mrs. ruth" was as near as he ever came to fulfilling their agreement concerning names. "i'm sure you are. and for my brother's sake and my own i am very grateful to you. mr. winslow--jed, i mean--you have done so much for us already; will you do one thing more?" jed's answer was given with no trace of his customary hesitation. "yes," he said. "this is really for me, perhaps, more than for charles--or at least as much." again there was no hesitation in the winslow reply. "that won't make it any harder," he observed, gravely. "thank you. it is just this: i have decided not to tell my brother that i have told you of his--his trouble, of his having been--where he has been, or anything about it. he knows i have not told captain hunniwell; i'm sure he will take it for granted that i have told no one. i think it will be so much easier for the poor boy if he can come here to orham and think that no one knows. and no one does know but you. you understand, don't you?" she added, earnestly. he looked a little troubled, but he nodded. "yes," he said, slowly. "i understand, i cal'late." "i'm sure you do. of course, if he should ask me point-blank if i had told any one, i should answer truthfully, tell him that i had told you and explain why i did it. and some day i shall tell him whether he asks or not. but when he first comes here i want him to be--to be--well, as nearly happy as is possible under the circumstances. i want him to meet the people here without the feeling that they know he has been--a convict, any of them. and so, unless he asks, i shall not tell him that even you know; and i am sure you will understand and not--not--" "not say anything when he's around that might let the cat out of the bag. yes, yes, i see. well, i'll be careful; you can count on me, mrs. ruth." she looked down into his homely, earnest face. "i do," she said, simply, and went out of the room. for several minutes after she had gone jed sat there gazing after her. then he sighed, picked up his pencil and turned again to the drawing of the gull. and the following evening young phillips came. jed, looking from his shop window, saw the depot-wagon draw up at the gate. barbara was the first to alight. philander hardy came around to the back of the vehicle and would have assisted her, but she jumped down without his assistance. then came ruth and, after her, a slim young fellow carrying a traveling bag. it was dusk and jed could not see his face plainly, but he fancied that he noticed a resemblance to his sister in the way he walked and the carriage of his head. the two went into the little house together and jed returned to his lonely supper. he was a trifle blue that evening, although he probably would not have confessed it. least of all would he have confessed the reason, which was that he was just a little jealous. he did not grudge his tenant her happiness in her brother's return, but he could not help feeling that from that time on she would not be as intimate and confidential with him, jed winslow, as she had been. after this it would be to this brother of hers that she would turn for help and advice. well, of course, that was what she should do, what any one of sense would do, but jed was uncomfortable all the same. also, because he was himself, he felt a sense of guilty remorse at being uncomfortable. the next morning he was presented to the new arrival. it was barbara who made the presentation. she came skipping into the windmill shop leading the young man by the hand. "uncle jed," she said, "this is my uncle charlie. he's been away and he's come back and he's going to work here always and live in the bank. no, i mean he's going to work in the bank always and live-- no, i don't, but you know what i do mean, don't you, uncle jed?" charles phillips smiled. "if he does he must be a mind-reader, babbie," he said. then, extending his hand, he added: "glad to know you, mr. winslow. i've heard a lot about you from babbie and sis." jed might have replied that he had heard a lot about him also, but he did not. instead he said "how d'ye do," shook the proffered hand, and looked the speaker over. what he saw impressed him favorably. phillips was a good-looking young fellow, with a pleasant smile, a taking manner and a pair of dark eyes which reminded mr. winslow of his sister's. it was easy to believe ruth's statement that he had been a popular favorite among their acquaintances in middleford; he was the sort the average person would like at once, the sort which men become interested in and women spoil. he was rather quiet during this first call. babbie did two-thirds of the talking. she felt it her duty as an older inhabitant to display "uncle jed" and his creations for her relative's benefit. vanes, sailors, ships and mills were pointed out and commented upon. "he makes every one, uncle charlie," she declared solemnly. "he's made every one that's here and--oh, lots and lots more. he made the big mill that's up in our garret-- you haven't seen it yet, uncle charlie; it's going to be out on our lawn next spring--and he gave it to me for a--for a-- what kind of a present was that mill you gave me, uncle jed, that time when mamma and petunia and i were going back to mrs. smalley's because we thought you didn't want us to have the house any longer?" jed looked puzzled. "eh?" he queried. "what kind of a present? i don't know's i understand what you mean." "i mean what kind of a present was it. it wasn't a christmas present or a birthday present or anything like that, but it must be some kind of one. what kind of present would you call it, uncle jed?" jed rubbed his chin. "w-e-e-ll," he drawled, "i guess likely you might call it a forget- me-not present, if you had to call it anything." barbara pondered. "a--a forget-me-not is a kind of flower, isn't it?" she asked. "um-hm." "but this is a windmill. how can you make a flower out of a windmill, uncle jed?" jed rubbed his chin. "well, that's a question," he admitted. "but you can make flour in a windmill, 'cause i've seen it done." more pondering on the young lady's part. then she gave it up. "you mustn't mind if you don't understand him, uncle charlie," she said, in her most confidential and grown-up manner. "he says lots of things petunia and i don't understand at all, but he's awful nice, just the same. mamma says he's choking--no, i mean joking when he talks that way and that we'll understand the jokes lots better when we're older. she understands them almost always," she added proudly. phillips laughed. jed's slow smile appeared and vanished. "looks as if facin' my jokes was no child's play, don't it," he observed. "well, i will give in that gettin' any fun out of 'em is a man's size job." on the following monday the young man took up his duties in the bank. captain hunniwell interviewed him, liked him, and hired him all in the same forenoon. by the end of the first week of their association as employer and employee the captain liked him still better. he dropped in at the windmill shop to crow over the fact. "he takes hold same as an old-time first mate used to take hold of a green crew," he declared. "he had his job jumpin' to the whistle before the second day was over. i declare i hardly dast to wake up mornin's for fear i'll find out our havin' such a smart feller is only a dream and that the livin' calamity is lute small. and to think," he added, "that you knew about him for the land knows how long and would only hint instead of tellin'. i don't know as you'd have told yet if his sister hadn't told first. eh? would you?" jed deliberately picked a loose bristle from his paint brush. "maybe not," he admitted. "gracious king! well, why not?" "oh, i don't know. i'm kind of--er--funny that way. like to take my own time, i guess likely. maybe you've noticed it, sam." "eh? maybe i've noticed it? a blind cripple that was born deef and dumb would have noticed that the first time he ran across you. what on earth are you doin' to that paint brush; tryin' to mesmerize it?" his friend, who had been staring mournfully at the brush, now laid it down. "i was tryin' to decide," he drawled, "whether it needed hair tonic or a wig. so you like this charlie phillips, do you?" "sartin sure i do! and the customers like him, too. why, old melissa busteed was in yesterday and he waited on her for half an hour, seemed so, and when the agony was over neither one of 'em had got mad enough so anybody outside the buildin' would notice it. and that's a miracle that ain't happened in that bank for more'n one year. why, i understand melissa went down street tellin' all hands what a fine young man we'd got workin' for us. . . . here, what are you laughin' at?" the word was ill-chosen; jed seldom laughed, but he had smiled slightly and the captain noticed it. "what are you grinnin' at?" he repeated. jed's hand moved across his chin. "gab bearse was in a spell ago," he replied, "and he was tellin' about what melissa said." "well, she said what i just said she said, didn't she?" mr. winslow nodded. "um-hm," he admitted, "she said--er--all of that." "all of it? was there some more?" "'cordin' to gabe there was. 'cordin' to him she said . . . she said . . . er . . . hum! this brush ain't much better'n the other. seem to be comin' down with the mange, both of 'em." "gracious king! consarn the paint brushes! tell me what melissa said." "oh, yes, yes. . . . well, 'cordin' to gabe she said 'twas a comfort to know there was a place in this town where an unprotected female could go and not be insulted." captain sam's laugh could have been heard across the road. "ho, ho!" he roared. "an unprotected female, eh? 'cordin' to my notion it's the male that needs protection when melissa's around. i've seen lute small standin' in the teller's cage, tongue-tied and with the sweat standin' on his forehead, while melissa gave him her candid opinion of anybody that would vote to allow alcohol to be sold by doctors in this town. and 'twas ten minutes of twelve saturday mornin', too, and there was eight men waitin' their turn in line, and nary one of them or lute either had the spunk to ask melissa to hurry. ho, ho! 'unprotected female' is good!" he had his laugh out and then added: "but there's no doubt that charlie's goin' to be popular with the women. why, even maud seems to take a shine to him. said she was surprised to have me show such good judgment. course she didn't really mean she was surprised," he hastened to explain, evidently fearing that even an old friend like jed might think he was criticizing his idolized daughter. "she was just teasin' her old dad, that's all. but i could see that charlie kind of pleased her. well, he pleases me and he pleases the cashier and the directors. we agree, all of us, that we're mighty lucky. i gave you some of the credit for gettin' him for us, jed," he added magnanimously. "you don't really deserve much, because you hung back so and wouldn't tell his name, but i gave it to you just the same. what's a little credit between friends, eh? that's what bluey batcheldor said the other day when he came in and wanted to borrow a hundred dollars on his personal note. ho! ho!" captain sam's glowing opinion of his paragon was soon echoed by the majority of orham's population. charlie phillips, although quiet and inclined to keep to himself, was liked by almost every one. in the bank and out of it he was polite, considerate and always agreeable. during these first days jed fancied that he detected in the young man a certain alert dread, a sense of being on guard, a reserve in the presence of strangers, but he was not sure that this was anything more than fancy, a fancy inspired by the fact that he knew the boy's secret and was on the lookout for something of the sort. at all events no one else appeared to notice it and it became more and more evident that charlie, as nine-tenths of orham called him within a fortnight, was destined to be the favorite here that, according to his sister, he had been everywhere else. of course there were a few who did not, or would not, like him. luther small, the deposed bank clerk, was bitter in his sneers and caustic in his comments. however, as lute loudly declared that he was just going to quit anyhow, that he wouldn't have worked for old hunniwell another week if he was paid a million a minute for it, his hatred of his successor seemed rather unaccountable. barzilla small, luther's fond parent, also professed intense dislike for the man now filling his son's position in the bank. "i don't know how 'tis," affirmed barzilla, "but the fust time i see that young upstart i says to myself: 'young feller, you ain't my kind.' this remark being repeated to captain sam, the latter observed: 'that's gospel truth and thank the lord for it.'" another person who refused to accept phillips favorably was phineas babbitt. phineas's bitterness was not the sort to sweeten over night. he disliked the new bank clerk and he told jed winslow why. they met at the post office--phineas had not visited the windmill shop since the day when he received the telegram notifying him of his son's enlistment--and some one of the group waiting for the mail had happened to speak of charlie phillips. "he's a nice obligin' young chap," said the speaker, captain jeremiah burgess. "i like him fust-rate; everybody does, i guess." mr. babbitt, standing apart from the group, his bristling chin beard moving as he chewed his eleven o'clock allowance of "sailor's sweetheart," turned and snarled over his shoulder. "i don't," he snapped. his tone was so sharp and his utterance so unexpected that captain jerry jumped. "land of goshen! you bark like a dog with a sore throat," he exclaimed. "why don't you like him?" "'cause i don't, that's all." "that ain't much of a reason, seems to me. what have you got against him, phin? you don't know anything to his discredit, do you?" "never you mind whether i do or not." captain jerry grunted but seemed disinclined to press the point further. every one was surprised therefore when jed winslow moved across to where phineas was standing, and looking mildly down at the little man, asked: "do you know anything against him, phin?" "none of your business. what are you buttin' in for, shavin's?" "i ain't. i just asked you, that's all. do you know anything against charlie phillips?" "none of your business, i tell you." "i know it ain't. but do you, phin?" each repetition of the question had been made in the same mild, monotonous drawl. captain jerry and the other loungers burst into a laugh. mr. babbitt's always simmering temper boiled over. "no, i don't," he shouted. "but i don't know anything in his favor, neither. he's a pet of sam hunniwell and that's enough for me. sam hunniwell and every one of his chums can go to the devil. every one of 'em; do you understand that, jed winslow?" jed rubbed his chin. the solemn expression of his face did not change an atom. "thank you, phin," he drawled. "when i'm ready to start i'll get you to give me a letter of introduction." jed had been fearful that her brother's coming might lessen the intimate quality of ruth armstrong's friendship with and dependence upon him. he soon discovered, to his delight, that these fears were groundless. he found that the very fact that ruth had made him her sole confidant provided a common bond which brought them closer together. ruth's pride in her brother's success at the bank and in the encomiums of the townsfolk had to find expression somewhere. she could express them to her landlord and she did. almost every day she dropped in at the windmill shop for a moment's call and chat, the subject of that chat always, of course, the same. "i told you he would succeed," she declared, her eyes shining and her face alight. "i told you so, jed. and he has. mr. barber, the cashier, told me yesterday that charles was the best man they had had in the bank for years. and every time i meet captain hunniwell he stops to shake hands and congratulates me on having such a brother. and they like him, not only because he is successful in the bank, but for himself; so many people have told me so. why, for the first time since we came to orham i begin to feel as if i were becoming acquainted, making friends." jed nodded. "he's a nice young chap," he said, quietly. "of course he is. . . . you mustn't mind my shameless family boasting," she added, with a little laugh. "it is only because i am so proud of him, and so glad--so glad for us all." jed did not mind. it is doubtful if at that moment he was aware of what she was saying. he was thinking how her brother's coming had improved her, how well she was looking, how much more color there was in her cheeks, and how good it was to hear her laugh once more. the windmill shop was a different place when she came. it was a lucky day for him when the powlesses frightened him into letting barbara and her mother move into the old house for a month's trial. of course he did not express these thoughts aloud, in fact he expressed nothing whatever. he thought and thought and, after a time, gradually became aware that there was absolute silence in the shop. he looked at his caller and found that she was regarding him intently, a twinkle in her eye and an amused expression about her mouth. he started and awoke from his day-dream. "eh?" he exclaimed. "yes--yes, i guess so." she shook her head. "you do?" she said. "why, i thought your opinion was exactly the opposite." "eh? oh, yes, so 'tis, so 'tis." "of course. and just what did you say about it?" jed was confused. he swallowed hard, hesitated, swallowed again and stammered: "i-- why, i--that is--you see--" she laughed merrily. "you are a very poor pretender, jed," she declared. "confess, you haven't the least idea what opinion i mean." "well--well, to be right down honest, i--i don't know's i have, mrs. ruth." "of course, you haven't. there isn't any opinion. you have been sitting there for the last five minutes, staring straight at me and picking that paint brush to pieces. i doubt if you even knew i was here." "eh? oh, yes, i know that, i know that all right. tut! tut!" inspecting the damaged brush. "that's a nice mess, ain't it? now what do you suppose i did that for? i'm scared to death, when i have one of those go-to-sleeptic fits, that i'll pick my head to pieces. not that that would be as big a loss as a good paint brush," he added, reflectively. his visitor smiled. "i think it would," she said. "neither babbie nor i could afford to lose that head; it and its owner have been too thoughtful and kind. but tell me, what were you thinking about just then?" the question appeared to embarrass mr. winslow a good deal. he colored, fidgeted and stammered. "nothin', nothin' of any account," he faltered. "my--er--my brain was takin' a walk around my attic, i cal'late. there's plenty of room up there for a tramp." "no, tell me; i want to know." her expression changed and she added: "you weren't thinking of--of charles'--his trouble at middleford? you don't still think me wrong in not telling captain hunniwell?" "eh? . . . oh, no, no. i wasn't thinkin' that at all." "but you don't answer my question. well, never mind. i am really almost happy for the first time in ever so long and i mean to remain so if i can. i am glad i did not tell--glad. and you must agree with me, mr. winslow--jed, i mean--or i shall not run in so often to talk in this confidential way." "eh? not run in? godfreys, mrs. ruth, don't talk so! excuse my strong language, but you scared me, talkin' about not runnin' in." "you deserve to be scared, just a little, for criticizing me in your thoughts. oh, don't think me frivolous," she pleaded, with another swift change. "i realize it was all wrong. and some time, by and by, after charles has firmly established himself, after they really know him, i shall go to the bank people, or he will go to them, and tell the whole story. by that time i'm sure--i'm sure they will forgive us both. don't you think so?" jed would have forgiven her anything. he nodded. "sartin sure they will," he said. then, asking a question that had been in his thoughts for some time, he said: "how does your brother feel about it himself, mrs. ruth?" "at first he thought he should tell everything. he did not want to take the position under false pretenses, he said. but when i explained how he might lose this opportunity and what an opportunity it might be for us all he agreed that perhaps it was best to wait. and i am sure it is best, jed. but then, i mean to put the whole dreadful business from my mind, if i can, and be happy with my little girl and my brother. and i am happy; i feel almost like a girl myself. so you mustn't remind me, jed, and you mustn't criticize me, even though you and i both know you are right. you are my only confidant, you know, and i don't know what in the world i should do without you, so try to bear with me, if you can." jed observed that he guessed likely there wouldn't be much trouble at his end of the line, providing she could manage to worry along with a feller that went to sleep sittin' up, and in the daytime, like an owl. after she had gone, however, he again relapsed into slumber, and his dreams, judging by his expression, must have been pleasant. that afternoon he had an unexpected visit. he had just finished washing his dinner dishes and he and babbie were in the outer shop together, when the visitor came. jed was droning "old hundred" with improvisations of his own, the said improvising having the effect of slowing down the already extremely deliberate anthem until the result compared to the original was for speed, as an oyster scow compared to an electric launch. this musical crawl he used as an accompaniment to the sorting and piling of various parts of an order just received from a southern resort. barbara was helping him, at least she called her activities "helping." when jed had finished counting a pile of vanes or mill parts she counted them to make sure. usually her count and his did not agree, so both counted again, getting in each other's way and, as mr. winslow expressed it, having a good time generally. and this remark, intended to be facetious, was after all pretty close to the literal truth. certainly babbie was enjoying herself, and jed, where an impatient man would have been frantic, was enjoying her enjoyment. petunia, perched in lopsided fashion on a heap of mill-sides was, apparently, superintending. "there!" declared jed, stacking a dozen sailors beside a dozen of what the order called "birdhouses medium knocked down." "there! that's the livin' last one, i do believe. hi hum! now we've got to box 'em, haven't we? . . . ye-es, yes, yes, yes. . . . hum. . . . "'di--de--di--de--di--de. . . ." "where's that hammer? oh, yes, here 'tis." "'di--de--di--de--' "now where on earth have i put that pencil, babbie? have i swallowed it? don't tell me you've seen me swallow it, 'cause that flavor of lead-pencil never did agree with me." the child burst into a trill of laughter. "why, uncle jed," she exclaimed, "there it is, behind your ear." "is it? sho, so 'tis! now that proves the instinct of dumb animals, don't it? that lead-pencil knew enough to realize that my ear was so big that anything short of a cord-wood stick could hide behind it. tut, tut! surprisin', surprisin'!" "but, uncle jed, a pencil isn't an animal." "eh? ain't it? seemed to me i'd read somethin' about the ragin' lead-pencil seekin' whom it might devour. but maybe that was a-- er--lion or a clam or somethin'." babbie looked at him in puzzled fashion for a moment. then she sagely shook her head and declared: "uncle jed, i think you are perfectly scru-she-aking. petunia and i are convulshed. we--" she stopped, listened, and then announced: "uncle jed, i think somebody came up the walk." the thought received confirmation immediately in the form of a knock at the door. jed looked over his spectacles. "hum," he mused, sadly, "there's no peace for the wicked, babbie. no sooner get one order all fixed and out of the way than along comes a customer and you have to get another one ready. if i'd known 'twas goin' to be like this i'd never have gone into business, would you? but maybe 'tain't a customer, maybe it's cap'n sam or gabe bearse or somebody. . . . they wouldn't knock, though, 'tain't likely; anyhow gabe wouldn't. . . . come in," he called, as the knock was repeated. the person who entered the shop was a tall man in uniform. the afternoon was cloudy and the outer shop, piled high with stock and lumber, was shadowy. the man in uniform looked at jed and barbara and they looked at him. he spoke first. "pardon me," he said, "but is your name winslow?" jed nodded. "yes, sir," he replied, deliberately. "i guess likely 'tis." "i have come here to see if you could let me have--" babbie interrupted him. forgetting her manners in the excitement of the discovery which had just flashed upon her, she uttered an exclamation. "oh, uncle jed!" she exclaimed. jed, startled, turned toward her. "yes?" he asked, hastily. "what's the matter?" "don't you know? he--he's the nice officer one." "eh? the nice what? what are you talkin' about, babbie?" babbie, now somewhat abashed and ashamed of her involuntary outburst, turned red and hesitated. "i mean," she stammered, "i mean he--he's the--officer one that-- that was nice to us that day." "that day? what day? . . . just excuse the little girl, won't you?" he added, apologetically, turning to the caller. "she's made a mistake; she thinks she knows you, i guess." "but i do, uncle jed. don't you remember? over at the flying place?" the officer himself took a step forward. "why, of course," he said, pleasantly. "she is quite right. i thought your faces were familiar. you and she were over at the camp that day when one of our construction plans was lost. she found it for us. and lieutenant rayburn and i have been grateful many times since," he added. jed recognized him then. "well, i snum!" he exclaimed. "of course! sartin! if it hadn't been for you i'd have lost my life and babbie'd have lost her clam chowder. that carpenter feller would have had me hung for a spy in ten minutes more. i'm real glad to see you, colonel--colonel wood. that's your name, if i recollect right." "not exactly. my name is grover, and i'm not a colonel, worse luck, only a major." "sho! grover, eh? now how in the nation did i get it wood? oh, yes, i cal'late 'twas mixin' up groves and woods. tut, tut! wonder i didn't call you 'pines' or 'bushes' or somethin'. . . . but there, sit down, sit down. i'm awful glad you dropped in. i'd about given up hopin' you would." he brought forward a chair, unceremoniously dumping two stacks of carefully sorted and counted vanes and sailors from its seat to the floor prior to doing so. major grover declined to sit. "i should like to, but i mustn't," he said. "and i shouldn't claim credit for deliberately making you a social call. i came--that is, i was sent here on a matter of--er--well, first aid to the injured. i came to see if you would lend me a crank." jed looked at him. "a--a what?" he asked. "a crank, a crank for my car. i motored over from the camp and stopped at the telegraph office. when i came out my car refused to go; the self-starter appears to have gone on a strike. i had left my crank at the camp and my only hope seemed to be to buy or borrow one somewhere. i asked the two or three fellows standing about the telegraph office where i might be likely to find one. no one seemed to know, but just then the old grouch--excuse me, person who keeps the hardware store came along." "eh? phin babbitt? little man with the stub of a paint brush growin' on his chin?" "yes, that's the one. i asked him where i should be likely to find a crank. he said if i came across to this shop i ought to find one." "he did, eh? . . . hum!" "yes, he did. so i came." "hum!" this observation being neither satisfying nor particularly illuminating, major grover waited for something more explicit. he waited in vain; mr. winslow, his eyes fixed upon the toe of his visitor's military boot, appeared to be mesmerized. "so i came," repeated the major, after an interval. "eh? . . . oh, yes, yes. so you did, so you did. . . . hum!" he rose and, walking to the window, peeped about the edge of the shade across and down the road in the direction of the telegraph office. "phineas," he drawled, musingly, "and squealer and lute small and bluey. hu-u-m! . . . yes, yes." he turned away from the window and began intoning a hymn. major grover seemed to be divided between a desire to laugh and a tendency toward losing patience. "well," he queried, after another interval, "about that crank? have you one i might borrow? it may not fit, probably won't, but i should like to try it." jed sighed. "there's a crank here," he drawled, "but it wouldn't be much use around automobiles, i'm afraid. i'm it." "what? i don't understand." "i say i'm it. my pet name around orham is town crank. that's why phineas sent you to my shop. he said you ought to find a crank here. he was right, i'm 'most generally in." this statement was made quietly, deliberately and with no trace of resentment. having made it, the speaker began picking up the vanes and sailors he had spilled when he proffered his visitor the chair. major grover colored, and frowned. "do you mean to tell me," he demanded, "that that fellow sent me over here because--because--" "because i'm town crank? ye-es, that's what i mean." "indeed! that is his idea of a joke, is it?" "seems to be. he's an awful comical critter, phin babbitt is--in his own way." "well, it's not my way. he sends me over here to make an ass of myself and insult you--" "now, now, major, excuse me. phin didn't have any idea that you'd insult me. you see," with the fleeting smile, "he wouldn't believe anybody could do that." grover turned sharply to the door. mr. winslow spoke his name. "er--major grover," he said, gently, "i wouldn't." the major paused. "wouldn't what?" he demanded. "go over there and tell phin and the rest what you think of 'em. if 'twould do 'em any good i'd say, 'for mercy sakes, go!' but 'twouldn't; they wouldn't believe it." grover's lips tightened. "telling it might do me some good," he observed, significantly. "yes, i know. but maybe we might get the same good or more in a different way. . . . hum! . . . what--er--brand of automobile is yours?" the major told him. jed nodded. "hum . . . yes," he drawled. "i see. . . . i see." grover laughed. "i'll be hanged if i do!" he observed. "eh! . . . well, i tell you; you sit down and let babbie talk petunia to you a minute or two. i'll be right back." he hurried into the back shop, closing the door after him. a moment later grover caught a glimpse of him crossing the back yard and disappearing over the edge of the bluff. "where in the world has the fellow gone?" he soliloquized aloud, amused although impatient. barbara took it upon herself to answer. uncle jed had left the caller in her charge and she felt her responsibilities. "he's gone down the shore path," she said. "i don't know where else he's gone, but it's all right, anyway." "oh, is it? you seem quite sure of it, young lady." "i am. everything uncle jed does is right. sometimes you don't think so at first, but it turns out that way. mamma says he is petunia--no, i mean peculiar but--but very--re-li-a-ble," the last word conquered after a visible struggle. "she says if you do what he tells you to you will be 'most always glad. i think 'always' without any 'most,'" she added. major grover laughed. "that's a reputation for infallibility worth having," he observed. barbara did not know what he meant but she had no intention of betraying that fact. "yes," she agreed. a moment later she suggested: "don't you think you'd better sit down? he told you to, you know." "great scott, so he did! i must obey orders, mustn't i? but he told you to talk--something or other to me, i think. what was it?" "he told me to talk petunia to you. there she is--up there." the major regarded petunia, who was seated upon the heap of mill- sides, in a most haphazard and dissipated attitude. "she is my oldest daughter," continued barbara. "she's very advanced for her years." "dear me!" "yes. and . . . oh, here comes mamma!" mrs. armstrong entered the shop. the major rose. barbara did the honors. "i was just going to come in, mamma," she explained, "but uncle jed asked me to stay and talk to mr.--i mean major--grover till he came back. he's gone out, but he won't be long. mamma, this is mr. major grover, the one who kept uncle jed from being spied, over at the flying place that day when i found the plan paper and he made a shingle boat sail out of it." ruth came forward. she had been walking along the edge of the bluff, looking out over the tumbled gray and white water, and the late october wind had tossed her hair and brought the color to her cheeks. she put out her hand. "oh, yes," she said. "how do you do, major grover? i have heard a great deal about you since the day of babbie's picnic. i'm sure i owe you an apology for the trouble my small daughter must have caused that day." she and the major shook hands. the latter expressed himself as being very glad to meet mrs. armstrong. he looked as if he meant it. "and no apologies are due, not from your side at least," he declared. "if it had not been for your little girl our missing plan might have been missing yet." fifteen minutes elapsed before the owner of the windmill shop returned. when he did come hurrying up the bluff and in at the back door, heated and out of breath, no one seemed to have missed him greatly. major grover, who might reasonably have been expected to show some irritation at his long wait, appeared quite oblivious of the fact that he had waited at all. he and barbara were seated side by side upon a packing case, while ruth occupied the chair. when jed came panting in it was babbie who greeted him. "oh, uncle jed!" she exclaimed, "you just ought to have been here. mr.--i mean major grover has been telling mamma and me about going up in a--in a diggible balloon. it was awf'ly interesting. wasn't it, mamma?" her mother laughingly agreed that it was. jed, whose hands were full, deposited his burden upon another packing case. the said burden consisted of no less than three motor car cranks. grover regarded them with surprise. "where in the world did you get those?" he demanded. "the last i saw of you you were disappearing over that bank, apparently headed out to sea. do you dig those things up on the flats hereabouts, like clams?" jed rubbed his chin. "not's i know of," he replied. "i borrowed these down at joshua rogers' garage." "rogers' garage?" repeated grover. "that isn't near here, is it?" "it is an eighth of a mile from here," declared ruth. "and not down by the beach, either. what do you mean, jed?" jed was standing by the front window, peeping out. "um-hm," he said, musingly, "they're still there, the whole lot of 'em, waitin' for you to come out, major. . . . hum . . . dear, dear! and they're all doubled up now laughin' ahead of time. . . . dear, dear! this is a world of disappointment, sure enough." "what are you talking about?" demanded major grover. "jed!" exclaimed ruth. barbara said nothing. she was accustomed to her uncle jed's vagaries and knew that, in his own good time, an explanation would be forthcoming. it came now. "why, you see," said jed, "phin babbitt and the rest sendin' you over here to find a crank was their little joke. they're enjoyin' it now. the one thing needed to make 'em happy for life is to see you come out of here empty-handed and so b'ilin' mad that you froth over. if you come out smilin' and with what you came after, why-- why, then the cream of their joke has turned a little sour, as you might say. see?" grover laughed. "yes, i see that plain enough," he agreed. "and i'm certainly obliged to you. i owed those fellows one. but what i don't see is how you got those cranks by going down to the seashore." "w-e-e-ll, if i'd gone straight up the road to rogers's our jokin' friends would have known that's where the cranks came from. i wanted 'em to think they came from right here. so i went over the bank back of the shop, where they couldn't see me, along the beach till i got abreast of joshua's and then up across lots. i came back the way i went. i hope those things 'll fit, major. one of 'em will, i guess likely." the major laughed again. "i certainly am obliged to you, mr. winslow," he said. "and i must say you took a lot of trouble on my account." jed sighed, although there was a little twinkle in his eye. "'twan't altogether on your account," he drawled. "i owed 'em one, same as you did. i was the crank they sent you to." their visitor bade barbara and her mother good afternoon, gathered up his cranks and turned to the door. "i'll step over and start the car," he said. "then i'll come back and return these things." jed shook his head. "i wouldn't," he said. "you may stop again before you get back to bayport. rogers is in no hurry for 'em, he said so. you take 'em along and fetch 'em in next time you're over. i want you to call again anyhow and these cranks 'll make a good excuse for doin' it," he added. "oh, i see. yes, so they will. with that understanding i'll take them along. thanks again and good afternoon." he hastened across the street. the two in the shop watched from the window until the car started and moved out of sight. the group by the telegraph office seemed excited about something; they laughed no longer and there was considerable noisy argument. jed's lip twitched. "'the best laid plans of mice--and skunks,'" he quoted, solemnly. "hm! . . . that major grover seems like a good sort of chap." "i think he's awful nice," declared babbie. ruth said nothing. chapter xiii october passed and november came. the very last of the summer cottages were closed. orham settled down for its regular winter hibernation. this year it was a bit less of a nap than usual because of the activity at the aviation camp at east harniss. the swarm of carpenters, plumbers and mechanics was larger than ever there now and the buildings were hastening toward completion, for the first allotment of aviators, soldiers and recruits was due to arrive in march. major grover was a busy and a worried man, but he usually found time to drop in at the windmill shop for a moment or two on each of his brief motor trips to orham. sometimes he found jed alone, more often barbara was there also, and, semi- occasionally, ruth. the major and charles phillips met and appeared to like each other. charles was still on the rising tide of local popularity. even gabe bearse had a good word to say for him among the many which he said concerning him. phineas babbitt, however, continued to express dislike, or, at the most, indifference. "i'm too old a bird," declared the vindictive little hardware dealer, "to bow down afore a slick tongue and a good-lookin' figgerhead. he's one of sam hunniwell's pets and that's enough for me. anybody that ties up to sam hunniwell must have a rotten plank in 'em somewheres; give it time and 'twill come out." charles and jed winslow were by this time good friends. the young man usually spent at least a few minutes of each day chatting with his eccentric neighbor. they were becoming more intimate, at times almost confidential, although phillips, like every other friend or acquaintance of "shavings" winslow, was inclined to patronize or condescend a bit in his relations with the latter. no one took the windmill maker altogether seriously, not even ruth armstrong, although she perhaps came nearest to doing so. charles would drop in at the shop of a morning, in the interval between breakfast and bank opening, and, perching on a pile of stock, or the workbench, would discuss various things. he and jed were alike in one characteristic--each had the habit of absent-mindedness and lapsing into silence in the middle of a conversation. jed's lapses, of course, were likely to occur in the middle of a sentence, even in the middle of a word; with the younger man the symptoms were not so acute. "well, charlie," observed mr. winslow, on one occasion, a raw november morning of the week before thanksgiving, "how's the bank gettin' along?" charles was a bit more silent that morning than he had been of late. he appeared to be somewhat reflective, even somber. jed, on the lookout for just such symptoms, was trying to cheer him up. "oh, all right enough, i guess," was the reply. "like your work as well as ever, don't you?" "yes--oh, yes, i like it, what there is of it. it isn't what you'd call strenuous." "no, i presume likely not, but i shouldn't wonder if they gave you somethin' more responsible some of these days. they know you're up to doin' it; cap'n sam's told me so more'n once." here occurred one of the lapses just mentioned. phillips said nothing for a minute or more. then he asked: "what sort of a man is captain hunniwell?" "eh? what sort of a man? you ought to know him yourself pretty well by this time. you see more of him every day than i do." "i don't mean as a business man or anything like that. i mean what sort of man is he--er--inside? is he always as good-natured as he seems? how is he around his own house? with his daughter--or--or things like that? you've known him all your life, you know, and i haven't." "um--ye-es--yes, i've known sam for a good many years. he's square all through, sam is. honest as the day is long and--" charles stirred uneasily. "i know that, of course," he interrupted. "i wasn't questioning his honesty." jed's tender conscience registered a pang. the reference to honesty had not been made with any ulterior motive. "sartin, sartin," he said; "i know you wasn't, charlie, course i know that. you wanted to know what sort of a man sam was in his family and such, i judge. well, he's a mighty good father--almost too good, i suppose likely some folks would say. he just bows down and worships that daughter of his. anything maud wants that he can give her she can have. and she wants a good deal, i will give in," he added, with his quiet drawl. his caller did not speak. jed whistled a few mournful bars and sharpened a chisel on an oilstone. "if john d. vanderbilt should come around courtin' maud," he went on, after a moment, "i don't know as sam would cal'late he was good enough for her. anyhow he'd feel that 'twas her that was doin' the favor, not john d. . . . and i guess he'd be right; i don't know any vanderbilts, but i've known maud since she was a baby. she's a--" he paused, inspecting a nick in the chisel edge. again phillips shifted in his seat on the edge of the workbench. "well?" he asked. "eh?" jed looked up in mild inquiry. "what is it?" he said. "that's what i want to know--what is it? you were talking about maud hunniwell. you said you had known her since she was a baby and that she was--something or other; that was as far as you got." "sho! . . . hum. . . . oh, yes, yes; i was goin' to say she was a mighty nice girl, as nice as she is good-lookin' and lively. there's a dozen young chaps in this county crazy about her this minute, but there ain't any one of 'em good enough for her. . . . hello, you goin' so soon? 'tisn't half-past nine yet, is it?" phillips did not answer. his somber expression was still in evidence. jed would have liked to cheer him up, but he did not know how. however he made an attempt by changing the subject. "how is babbie this mornin'?" he asked. "she's as lively as a cricket, of course. and full of excitement. she's going to school next monday, you know. you'll rather miss her about the shop here, won't you?" "miss her! my land of goshen! i shouldn't be surprised if i follered her to school myself, like mary's little lamb. miss her! don't talk!" "well, so long. . . . what is it?" "eh?" "what is it you want to say? you look as if you wanted to say something." "do i? . . . hum. . . . oh, 'twasn't anything special. . . . how's--er--how's your sister this mornin'?" "oh, she's well. i haven't seen her so well since--that is, for a long time. you've made a great hit with sis, jed," he added, with a laugh. "she can't say enough good things about you. says you are her one dependable in orham, or something like that." jed's face turned a bright red. "oh, sho, sho!" he protested, "she mustn't talk that way. i haven't done anything." "she says you have. well, by-by." he went away. it was some time before jed resumed his chisel- sharpening. later, when he came to reflect upon his conversation with young phillips there were one or two things about it which puzzled him. they were still puzzling him when maud hunniwell came into the shop. maud, in a new fall suit, hat and fur, was a picture, a fact of which she was as well aware as the next person. jed, as always, was very glad to see her. "well, well!" he exclaimed. "talk about angels and--and they fly in, so to speak. real glad to see you, maud. sit down, sit down. there's a chair 'round here somewheres. now where--? oh, yes, i'm sittin' in it. hum! that's one of the reasons why i didn't see it, i presume likely. you take it and i'll fetch another from the kitchen. no, i won't, i'll sit on the bench. . . . hum . . . has your pa got any money left in that bank of his?" miss hunniwell was, naturally, surprised at the question. "why, i hope so," she said. "did you think he hadn't?" "w-e-e-ll, i didn't know. that dress of yours, and that new bonnet, must have used up consider'ble, to say nothin' of that woodchuck you've got 'round your neck. 'tis a woodchuck, ain't it?" he added, solemnly. "woodchuck! well, i like that! if you knew what a silver fox costs and how long i had to coax before i got this one you would be more careful in your language," she declared, with a toss of her head. jed sighed. "that's the trouble with me," he observed. "i never know enough to pick out the right things--or folks--to be careful with. if i set out to be real toady and humble to what i think is a peacock it generally turns out to be a shanghai rooster. and the same when it's t'other way about. it's a great gift to be able to tell the real--er--what is it?--gold foxes from the woodchucks in this life. i ain't got it and that's one of the two hundred thousand reasons why i ain't rich." he began to hum one of his doleful melodies. maud laughed. "mercy, what a long sermon!" she exclaimed. "no wonder you sing a hymn after it." jed sniffed. "um . . . ye-es," he drawled. "if i was more worldly-minded i'd take up a collection, probably. well, how's all the united states army; the gold lace part of it, i mean?" his visitor laughed again. "those that i know seem to be very well and happy," she replied. "um . . . yes . . . sartin. they'd be happy, naturally. how could they help it, under the circumstances?" he began picking over an assortment of small hardware, varying his musical accompaniment by whistling instead of singing. his visitor looked at him rather oddly. "jed," she observed, "you're changed." changed? i ain't changed my clothes, if that's what you mean. course if i'd know i was goin' to have bankers' daughters with gold--er--muskrats 'round their necks come to see me i'd have dressed up." "oh, i don't mean your clothes. i mean you--yourself--you've changed." "i've changed! how, for mercy sakes?" "oh, lots of ways. you pay the ladies compliments now. you wouldn't have done that a year ago." "eh? pay compliments? i'm afraid you're mistaken. your pa says i'm so absent-minded and forgetful that i don't pay some of my bills till the folks i owe 'em to make proclamations they're goin' to sue me; and other bills i pay two or three times over." "don't try to escape by dodging the subject. you have changed in the last few months. i think," holding the tail of the silver fox before her face and regarding him over it, "i think you must be in love." "eh?" jed looked positively frightened. "in love!" "yes. you're blushing now." "now, now, maud, that ain't--that's sunburn." "no, it's not sunburn. who is it, jed?" mischievously. "is it the pretty widow? is it mrs. armstrong?" a good handful of the hardware fell to the floor. jed thankfully scrambled down to pick it up. miss hunniwell, expressing contrition at being indirectly responsible for the mishap, offered to help him. he declined, of course, but in the little argument which followed the dangerous and embarrassing topic was forgotten. it was not until she was about to leave the shop that maud again mentioned the armstrong name. and then, oddly enough, it was she, not mr. winslow, who showed embarrassment. "jed," she said, "what do you suppose i came here for this morning?" jed's reply was surprisingly prompt. "to show your new rig-out, of course," he said. "'vanity of vanities, all is vanity.' there, now i can take up a collection, can't i?" his visitor pouted. "if you do i shan't put anything in the box," she declared. "the idea of thinking that i came here just to show off my new things. i've a good mind not to invite you at all now." she doubtless expected apologies and questions as to what invitation was meant. they might have been forthcoming had not the windmill maker been engaged just at that moment in gazing abstractedly at the door of the little stove which heated, or was intended to heat, the workshop. he did not appear to have heard her remark, so the young lady repeated it. still he paid no attention. miss maud, having inherited a goodly share of the hunniwell disposition, demanded an explanation. "what in the world is the matter with you?" she asked. "why are you staring at that stove?" jed started and came to life. "eh?" he exclaimed. "oh, i was thinkin' what an everlastin' nuisance 'twas--the stove, i mean. it needs more wood about every five minutes in the day, seems to-- needs it now, that's what made me think of it. i was just wonderin' if 'twouldn't be a good notion to set it up out in the yard." "out in the yard? put the stove out in the yard? for goodness' sake, what for?" jed clasped his knee in his hand and swung his foot back and forth. "oh" he drawled, "if 'twas out in the yard i shouldn't know whether it needed wood or not, so 'twouldn't be all the time botherin' me." however, he rose and replenished the stove. miss hunniwell laughed. then she said: "jed, you don't deserve it, because you didn't hear me when i first dropped the hint, but i came here with an invitation for you. pa and i expect you to eat your thanksgiving dinner with us." if she had asked him to eat it in jail jed could not have been more disturbed. "now--now, maud," he stammered, "i--i'm ever so much obliged to you, but i--i don't see how--" "nonsense! i see how perfectly well. you always act just this way whenever i invite you to anything. you're not afraid of pa or me, are you?" "w-e-e-ll, well, i ain't afraid of your pa 's i know of, but of course, when such a fascinatin' young woman as you comes along, all rigged up to kill, why, it's natural that an old single relic like me should get kind of nervous." maud clasped her hands. "oh," she cried, "there's another compliment! you have changed, jed. i'm going to ask father what it means." this time jed was really alarmed. "now, now, now," he protested, "don't go tell your pa yarns about me. he'll come in here and pester me to death. you know what a tease he is when he gets started. don't, maud, don't." she looked hugely delighted at the prospect. her eyes sparkled with mischief. "i certainly shall tell him," she declared, "unless you promise to eat with us on thanksgiving day. oh, come along, don't be so silly. you've eaten at our house hundreds of times." this was a slight exaggeration. jed had eaten there possibly five times in the last five years. he hesitated. "ain't goin' to be any other company, is there?" he asked, after a moment. it was now that maud showed her first symptoms of embarrassment. "why," she said, twirling the fox tail and looking at the floor, "there may be one or two more. i thought--i mean pa and i thought perhaps we might invite mrs. armstrong and babbie. you know them, jed, so they won't be like strangers. and pa thinks mrs. armstrong is a very nice lady, a real addition to the town; i've heard him say so often," she added, earnestly. jed was silent. she looked up at him from under the brim of the new hat. "you wouldn't mind them, jed, would you?" she asked. "they wouldn't be like strangers, you know." jed rubbed his chin. "i--i don't know's i would," he mused, "always providin' they didn't mind me. but i don't cal'late mrs. ruth--mrs. armstrong, i mean--would want to leave charlie to home alone on thanksgivin' day. if she took babbie, you know, there wouldn't be anybody left to keep him company." miss hunniwell twirled the fox tail in an opposite direction. "oh, of course," she said, with elaborate carelessness, "we should invite mrs. armstrong's brother if we invited her. of course we should have to do that." jed nodded, but he made no comment. his visitor watched him from beneath the hat brim. "you--you haven't any objection to mr. phillips, have you?" she queried. "eh? objections? to charlie? oh, no, no." "you like him, don't you? father likes him very much." "yes, indeed; like him fust-rate. all hands like charlie, the women-folks especially." there was a perceptible interval before miss hunniwell spoke again. "what do you mean by that?" she asked. "eh? oh, nothin', except that, accordin' to your dad, he's a 'specially good hand at waitin' on the women and girls up at the bank, polite and nice to 'em, you know. he's even made a hit with old melissy busteed, and it takes a regular feller to do that." he would not promise to appear at the hunniwell home on thanksgiving, but he did agree to think it over. maud had to be content with that. however, she declared that she should take his acceptance for granted. "we shall set a place for you," she said. "of course you'll come. it will be such a nice party, you and pa and mrs. armstrong and i and little babbie. oh, we'll have great fun, see if we don't." "and charlie; you're leavin' out charlie," jed reminded her. "oh, yes, so i was. well, i suppose he'll come, too. good-by." she skipped away, waving him a farewell with the tail of the silver fox. jed, gazing after her, rubbed his chin reflectively. his indecision concerning the acceptance of the hunniwell invitation lasted until the day before thanksgiving. then barbara added her persuasions to those of captain sam and his daughter and he gave in. "if you don't go, uncle jed," asserted babbie, "we're all goin' to be awfully disappointed, 'specially me and petunia--and mamma--and uncle charlie." "oh, then the rest of you folks won't care, i presume likely?" babbie thought it over. "why, there aren't any more of us," she said. "oh, i see! you're joking again, aren't you, uncle jed? 'most everybody i know laughs when they make jokes, but you don't, you look as if you were going to cry. that's why i don't laugh sometimes right off," she explained, politely. "if you was really feeling so bad it wouldn't be nice to laugh, you know." jed laughed then, himself. "so petunia would feel bad if i didn't go to sam's, would she?" he inquired. "yes," solemnly. "she told me she shouldn't eat one single thing if you didn't go. she's a very high-strung child." that settled it. jed argued that petunia must on no account be strung higher than she was and consented to dine at the hunniwells'. the day before thanksgiving brought another visitor to the windmill shop, one as welcome as he was unexpected. jed, hearing the door to the stock room open, shouted "come in" from his seat at the workbench in the inner room. when his summons was obeyed he looked up to see a khaki-clad figure advancing with extended hand. "why, hello, major!" he exclaimed. "i'm real glad to-- eh, 'tain't major grover, is it? who-- why, leander babbitt! well, well, well!" young babbitt was straight and square-shouldered and brown. military training and life at camp devens had wrought the miracle in his case which it works in so many. jed found it hard to recognize the stoop-shouldered son of the hardware dealer in the spruce young soldier before him. when he complimented leander upon the improvement the latter disclaimed any credit. "thank the drill master second and yourself first, jed," he said. "they'll make a man of a fellow up there at ayer if he'll give 'em half a chance. probably i shouldn't have had the chance if it hadn't been for you. you were the one who really put me up to enlisting." jed refused to listen. "can't make a man out of a punkinhead," he asserted. "if you hadn't had the right stuff in you, leander, drill masters nor nobody else could have fetched it out. how do you like belongin' to uncle sam?" young babbitt liked it and said so. "i feel as if i were doing something at last," he said; "as if i was part of the biggest thing in the world. course i'm only a mighty little part, but, after all, it's something." jed nodded, gravely. "you bet it's somethin'," he argued. "it's a lot, a whole lot. i only wish i was standin' alongside of you in the ranks, leander. . . . i'd be a sight, though, wouldn't i?" he added, his lip twitching in the fleeting smile. "what do you think the commodore, or general, or whoever 'tis bosses things at the camp, would say when he saw me? he'd think the flagpole had grown feet, and was walkin' round, i cal'late." he asked his young friend what reception he met with upon his return home. leander smiled ruefully. "my step-mother seemed glad enough to see me," he said. "she and i had some long talks on the subject and i think she doesn't blame me much for going into the service. i told her the whole story and, down in her heart, i believe she thinks i did right." jed nodded. "don't see how she could help it," he said. "how does your dad take it?" leander hesitated. "well," he said, "you know father. he doesn't change his mind easily. he and i didn't get as close together as i wish we could. and it wasn't my fault that we didn't," he added, earnestly. jed understood. he had known phineas babbitt for many years and he knew the little man's hard, implacable disposition and the violence of his prejudices. "um-hm," he said. "all the same, leander, i believe your father thinks more of you than he does of anything else on earth." "i shouldn't wonder if you was right, jed. but on the other hand i'm afraid he and i will never be the same after i come back from the war--always providing i do come back, of course." "sshh, sshh! don't talk that way. course you'll come back." "you never can tell. however, if i knew i wasn't going to, it wouldn't make any difference in my feelings about going. i'm glad i enlisted and i'm mighty thankful to you for backing me up in it. i shan't forget it, jed." "sho, sho! it's easy to tell other folks what to do. that's how the kaiser earns his salary; only he gives advice to the almighty, and i ain't got as far along as that yet." they discussed the war in general and by sections. just before he left, young babbitt said: "jed, there is one thing that worries me a little in connection with father. he was bitter against the war before we went into it and before he and cap'n sam hunniwell had their string of rows. since then and since i enlisted he has been worse than ever. the things he says against the government and against the country make me want to lick him--and i'm his own son. i am really scared for fear he'll get himself jailed for being a traitor or something of that sort." mr. winslow asked if phineas' feeling against captain hunniwell had softened at all. leander's reply was a vigorous negative. "not a bit," he declared. "he hates the cap'n worse than ever, if that's possible, and he'll do him some bad turn some day, if he can, i'm afraid. you must think it's queer my speaking this way of my own father," he added. "well, i don't to any one else. somehow a fellow always feels as if he could say just what he thinks to you, jed winslow. i feel that way, anyhow." he and jed shook hands at the door in the early november twilight. leander was to eat his thanksgiving dinner at home and then leave for camp on the afternoon train. "well, good-by," he said. jed seemed loath to relinquish the handclasp. "oh, don't say good-by; it's just 'see you later,'" he replied. leander smiled. "of course. well, then, see you later, jed. we'll write once in a while; eh?" jed promised. the young fellow strode off into the dusk. somehow, with his square shoulders and his tanned, resolute country face, he seemed to typify young america setting cheerfully forth to face-- anything--that honor and decency may still be more than empty words in this world of ours. chapter xiv the hunniwell thanksgiving dinner was an entire success. even captain sam himself was forced to admit it, although he professed to do so with reluctance. "yes," he said, with an elaborate wink in the direction of his guests, "it's a pretty good dinner, considerin' everything. of course 'tain't what a feller used to get down at sam coy's eatin'- house on atlantic avenue, but it's pretty good--as i say, when everything's considered." his daughter was highly indignant. "do you mean to say that this dinner isn't as good as those you used to get at that boston restaurant, pa?" she demanded. "don't you dare say such a thing." her father tugged at his beard and looked tremendously solemn. "well," he observed, "as a boy i was brought up to always speak the truth and i've tried to live up to my early trainin'. speakin' as a truthful man, then, i'm obliged to say that this dinner ain't like those i used to get at sam coy's." ruth put in a word. "well, then, captain hunniwell," she said, "i think the restaurant you refer to must be one of the best in the world." before the captain could reply, maud did it for him. "mrs. armstrong," she cautioned, "you mustn't take my father too seriously. he dearly loves to catch people with what he hopes is a joke. for a minute he caught even me this time, but i see through him now. he didn't say the dinner at his precious restaurant was better than this one, he said it wasn't like it, that's all. which is probably true," she added, with withering scorn. "but what i should like to know is what he means by his 'everything considered.'" her father's gravity was unshaken. "well," he said, "all i meant was that this was a pretty good dinner, considerin' who was responsible for gettin' it up." "i see, i see. mrs. ellis, our housekeeper, and i are responsible, mrs. armstrong, so you understand now who he is shooting at. very well, pa," she added, calmly, "the rest of us will have our dessert now. you can get yours at sam coy's." the dessert was mince pie and a boston frozen pudding, the latter an especial favorite of captain sam's. he capitulated at once. "'kamerad! kamerad!'" he cried, holding up both hands. "that's what the germans say when they surrender, ain't it? i give in, maud. you can shoot me against a stone wall, if you want to, only give me my frozen puddin' first. it ain't so much that i like the puddin'," he explained to mrs. armstrong, "but i never can make out whether it's flavored with tansy or spearmint. maud won't tell me, but i know it's somethin' old-fashioned and reminds me of my grandmother; or, maybe, it's my grandfather; come to think, i guess likely 'tis." ruth grasped his meaning later when she tasted the pudding and found it flavored with new england rum. after dinner they adjourned to the parlor. maud, being coaxed by her adoring father, played the piano. then she sang. then they all sang, all except jed and the captain, that is. the latter declared that his voice had mildewed in the damp weather they had been having lately, and jed excused himself on the ground that he had been warned not to sing because it was not healthy. barbara was surprised and shocked. "why, uncle jed!" she cried. "you sing ever so much. i heard you singing this morning." jed nodded. "ye-es," he drawled, "but i was alone then and i'm liable to take chances with my own health. bluey batcheldor was in the shop last week, though, when i was tunin' up and it disagreed with him." "i don't believe it, uncle jed," with righteous indignation. "how do you know it did?" "'cause he said so. he listened a spell, and then said i made him sick, so i took his word for it." captain sam laughed uproariously. "you must be pretty bad then, jed," he declared. "anybody who disagrees with bluey batcheldor must be pretty nigh the limit." jed nodded. "um-hm," he said, reflectively, "pretty nigh, but not quite. always seemed to me the real limit was anybody who agreed with him." so jed, with babbie on his knee, sat in the corner of the bay window looking out on the street, while mrs. armstrong and her brother and miss hunniwell played and sang and the captain applauded vigorously and loudly demanded more. after a time ruth left the group at the piano and joined jed and her daughter by the window. captain hunniwell came a few minutes later. "make a good-lookin' couple, don't they?" he whispered, bending down, and with a jerk of his head in the direction of the musicians. "your brother's a fine-lookin' young chap, mrs. armstrong. and he acts as well as he looks. don't know when i've taken such a shine to a young feller as i have to him. yes, ma'am, they make a good-lookin' couple, even if one of 'em is my daughter." the speech was made without the slightest thought or suggestion of anything but delighted admiration and parental affection. nevertheless, ruth, to whom it was made, started slightly, and, turning, regarded the pair at the piano. maud was fingering the pages of a book of college songs and looking smilingly up into the face of charles phillips, who was looking down into hers. there was, apparently, nothing in the picture--a pretty one, by the way-- to cause mrs. armstrong to gaze so fixedly or to bring the slight frown to her forehead. after a moment she turned toward jed winslow. their eyes met and in his she saw the same startled hint of wonder, of possible trouble, she knew he must see in hers. then they both looked away. captain hunniwell prated proudly on, chanting praises of his daughter's capabilities and talents, as he did to any one who would listen, and varying the monotony with occasional references to the wonderful manner in which young phillips had "taken hold" at the bank. ruth nodded and murmured something from time to time, but to any one less engrossed by his subject than the captain it would have been evident she was paying little attention. jed, who was being entertained by babbie and petunia, was absently pretending to be much interested in a fairy story which the former was improvising--she called the process "making up as i go along"--for his benefit. suddenly he leaned forward and spoke. "sam," he said, "there's somebody comin' up the walk. i didn't get a good sight of him, but it ain't anybody that lives here in orham regular." "eh? that so?" demanded the captain. "how do you know 'tain't if you didn't see him?" "'cause he's comin' to the front door," replied mr. winslow, with unanswerable logic. "there he is now, comin' out from astern of that lilac bush. soldier, ain't he?" it was ruth armstrong who first recognized the visitor. "why," she exclaimed, "it is major grover, isn't it?" the major it was, and a moment later captain hunniwell ushered him into the room. he had come to orham on an errand, he explained, and had stopped at the windmill shop to see mr. winslow. finding the latter out, he had taken the liberty of following him to the hunniwell home. "i'm going to stay but a moment, captain hunniwell," he went on. "i wanted to talk with winslow on a--well, on a business matter. of course i won't do it now but perhaps we can arrange a time convenient for us both when i can." "don't cal'late there'll be much trouble about that," observed the captain, with a chuckle. "jed generally has time convenient for 'most everybody; eh, jed?" jed nodded. "um-hm," he drawled, "for everybody but gab bearse." "so you and jed are goin' to talk business, eh?" queried captain sam, much amused at the idea. "figgerin' to have him rig up windmills to drive those flyin' machines of yours, major?" "not exactly. my business was of another kind, and probably not very important, at that. i shall probably be over here again on monday, winslow. can you see me then?" jed rubbed his chin. "ye-es," he said, "i'll be on private exhibition to my friends all day. and children half price," he added, giving babbie a hug. "but say, major, how in the world did you locate me to-day? how did you know i was over here to sam's? i never told you i was comin', i'll swear to that." for some reason or other major grover seemed just a little embarrassed. "why no," he said, stammering a trifle, "you didn't tell me, but some one did. now, who--" "i think i told you, major," put in ruth armstrong. "last evening, when you called to--to return charlie's umbrella. i told you we were to dine here to-day and that jed--mr. winslow--was to dine with us. don't you remember?" grover remembered perfectly then, of course. he hastened to explain that, having borrowed the umbrella of charles phillips the previous week, he had dropped in on his next visit to orham to return it. jed grunted. "humph!" he said, "you never came to see me last night. when you was as close aboard as next door seems's if you might." the major laughed. "well, you'll have to admit that i came to- day," he said. "yes," put in captain sam, "and, now you are here, you're goin' to stay a spell. oh, yes, you are, too. uncle sam don't need you so hard that he can't let you have an hour or so off on thanksgiving day. maud, why in time didn't we think to have major grover here for dinner along with the rest of the folks? say, couldn't you eat a plate of frozen puddin' right this minute? we've got some on hand that tastes of my grandfather, and we want to get rid of it." their caller laughingly declined the frozen pudding, but he was prevailed upon to remain and hear miss hunniwell play. so maud played and charles turned the music for her, and major grover listened and talked with ruth armstrong in the intervals between selections. and jed and barbara chatted and captain sam beamed good humor upon every one. it was a very pleasant, happy afternoon. war and suffering and heartache and trouble seemed a long, long way off. on the way back to the shop in the chill november dusk grover told jed a little of what he had called to discuss with him. if jed's mind had been of the super-critical type it might have deemed the subject of scarcely sufficient importance to warrant the major's pursuing him to the hunniwells'. it was simply the subject of phineas babbitt and the latter's anti-war utterances and surmised disloyalty. "you see," explained grover, "some one evidently has reported the old chap to the authorities as a suspicious person. the government, i imagine, isn't keen on sending a special investigator down here, so they have asked me to look into the matter. i don't know much about babbitt, but i thought you might. is he disloyal, do you think?" jed hesitated. things the hardware dealer had said had been reported to him, of course; but gossip--particularly the bearse brand of gossip--was not the most reliable of evidence. then he remembered his own recent conversation with leander and the latter's expressed fear that his father might get into trouble. jed determined, for the son's sake, not to bring that trouble nearer. "well, major," he answered, "i shouldn't want to say that he was. phineas talks awful foolish sometimes, but i shouldn't wonder if that was his hot head and bull temper as much as anything else. as to whether he's anything more than foolish or not, course i couldn't say sartin, but i don't think he's too desperate to be runnin' loose. i cal'late he won't put any bombs underneath the town hall or anything of that sort. phin and his kind remind me some of that new kind of balloon you was tellin' me they'd probably have over to your camp when 'twas done, that--er--er--dirigible; wasn't that what you called it?" "yes. but why does babbitt remind you of a dirigible balloon? i don't see the connection." "don't you? well, seems's if i did. phin fills himself up with the gas he gets from his anarchist papers and magazines--the 'rich man's war' and all the rest of it--and goes up in the air and when he's up in the air he's kind of hard to handle. that's what you told me about the balloon, if i recollect." grover laughed heartily. "then the best thing to do is to keep him on the ground, i should say," he observed. jed rubbed his chin. "um-hm," he drawled, "but shuttin' off his gas supply might help some. i don't think i'd worry about him much, if i was you." they separated at the front gate before the shop, where the rows of empty posts, from which the mills and vanes had all been removed, stood as gaunt reminders of the vanished summer. major grover refused jed's invitation to come in and have a smoke. "no, thank you," he said, "not this evening. i'll wait here a moment and say good-night to the armstrongs and phillips and then i must be on my way to the camp. . . . why, what's the matter? anything wrong?" his companion was searching in his various pockets. the search completed, he proceeded to look himself over, so to speak, taking off his hat and looking at that, lifting a hand and then a foot and looking at them, and all with a puzzled, far-away expression. when grover repeated his question he seemed to hear it for the first time and then not very clearly. "eh?" he drawled. "oh, why--er--yes, there is somethin' wrong. that is to say, there ain't, and that's the wrong part of it. i don't seem to have forgotten anything, that's the trouble." his friend burst out laughing. "i should scarcely call that a trouble," he said. "shouldn't you? no, i presume likely you wouldn't. but i never go anywhere without forgettin' somethin', forgettin' to say somethin' or do somethin' or bring somethin'. never did in all my life. now here i am home again and i can't remember that i've forgot a single thing. . . . hum. . . . well, i declare! i wonder what it means. maybe, it's a sign somethin's goin' to happen." he said good night absent-mindedly. grover laughed and walked away to meet ruth and her brother, who, with barbara dancing ahead, were coming along the sidewalk. he had gone but a little way when he heard mr. winslow shouting his name. "major!" shouted jed. "major grover! it's all right, major, i feel better now. i've found it. 'twas the key. i left it in the front door lock here when i went away this mornin'. i guess there's nothin' unnatural about me, after all; guess nothin's goin' to happen." but something did and almost immediately. jed, entering the outer shop, closed the door and blundered on through that apartment and the little shop adjoining until he came to his living-room beyond. then he fumbled about in the darkness for a lamp and matchbox. he found the latter first, on the table where the lamp should have been. lighting one of the matches, he then found the lamp on a chair directly in front of the door, where he had put it before going away that morning, his idea in so doing being that it would thus be easier to locate when he returned at night. thanking his lucky stars that he had not upset both chair and lamp in his prowlings, mr. winslow lighted the latter. then, with it in his hand, he turned, to see the very man he and major grover had just been discussing seated in the rocker in the corner of the room and glaring at him malevolently. naturally, jed was surprised. naturally, also, being himself, he showed his surprise in his own peculiar way. he did not start violently, nor utter an exclamation. instead he stood stock still, returning phineas babbitt's glare with a steady, unwinking gaze. it was the hardware dealer who spoke first. and that, by the way, was precisely what he had not meant to do. "yes," he observed, with caustic sarcasm, "it's me. you needn't stand there blinkin' like a fool any longer, shavin's. it's me." jed set the lamp upon the table. he drew a long breath, apparently of relief. "why, so 'tis," he said, solemnly. "when i first saw you sittin' there, phin, i had a suspicion 'twas you, but the longer i looked the more i thought 'twas the president come to call. do you know," he added, confidentially, "if you didn't have any whiskers and he looked like you you'd be the very image of him." this interesting piece of information was not received with enthusiasm. mr. babbitt's sense of humor was not acutely developed. "never mind the funny business, shavin's," he snapped. "i didn't come here to be funny to-night. do you know why i came here to talk to you?" jed pulled forward a chair and sat down. "i presume likely you came here because you found the door unlocked, phin," he said. "i didn't say how i came to come, but why i came. i knew where you was this afternoon. i see you when you left there and i had a good mind to cross over and say what i had to say before the whole crew, sam hunniwell, and his stuck-up rattle-head of a daughter, and that armstrong bunch that think themselves so uppish, and all of 'em." mr. winslow stirred uneasily in his chair. "now, phin," he protested, "seems to me--" but babbitt was too excited to heed. his little eyes snapped and his bristling beard quivered. "you hold your horses, shavin's," he ordered. "i didn't come here to listen to you. i came because i had somethin' to say and when i've said it i'm goin' and goin' quick. my boy's been home. you knew that, i suppose, didn't you?" jed nodded. "yes," he said, "i knew leander'd come home for thanksgivin'." "oh, you did! he came here to this shop to see you, maybe? humph! i'll bet he did, the poor fool!" again jed shifted his position. his hands clasped about his knee and his foot lifted from the floor. "there, there, phin," he said gently; "after all, he's your only son, you know." "i know it. but he's a fool just the same." "now, phin! the boy'll be goin' to war pretty soon, you know, and--" babbitt sprang to his feet. his chin trembled so that he could scarcely speak. "shut up!" he snarled. "don't let me hear you say that again, jed winslow. who sent him to war? who filled his head full of rubbish about patriotism, and duty to the country, and all the rest of the rotten wall street stuff? who put my boy up to enlistin', jed winslow?" jed's foot swung slowly back and forth. "well, phin," he drawled, "to be real honest, i think he put himself up to it." "you're a liar. you did it." jed sighed. "did leander tell you i did?" he asked. "no," mockingly, "leander didn't tell me. you and sam hunniwell and the rest of the gang have fixed him so he don't come to his father to tell things any longer. but he told his step-mother this very mornin' and she told me. you was the one that advised him to enlist, he said. good lord; think of it! he don't go to his own father for advice; he goes to the town jackass instead, the critter that spends his time whittlin' out young-one's playthings. my lord a'mighty!" he spat on the floor to emphasize his disgust. there was an interval of silence before jed answered. "well, phin," he said, slowly, "you're right, in a way. leander and i have always been pretty good friends and he's been in the habit of droppin' in here to talk things over with me. when he came to me to ask what he ought to do about enlistin', asked what i'd do if i was he, i told him; that's all there was to it." babbitt extended a shaking forefinger. "yes, and you told him to go to war. don't lie out of it now; you know you did." "um . . . yes . . . i did." "you did? you did? and you have the cheek to own up to it right afore my face." jed's hand stroked his chin. "w-e-e-ll," he drawled, "you just ordered me not to lie out of it, you know. leander asked me right up and down if i wouldn't enlist if i was in his position. naturally, i said i would." "yes, you did. and you knew all the time how i felt about it, you sneak." jed's foot slowly sank to the floor and just as slowly he hoisted himself from the chair. "phin," he said, with deliberate mildness, "is there anything else you'd like to ask me? 'cause if there isn't, maybe you'd better run along." "you sneakin' coward!" "er--er--now--now, phin, you didn't understand. i said 'ask' me, not 'call' me." "no, i didn't come here to ask you anything. i came here and waited here so's to be able to tell you somethin'. and that is that i know now that you're responsible for my son--my only boy, the boy i'd depended on--and--and--" the fierce little man was, for the moment, close to breaking down. jed's heart softened; he felt almost conscience-stricken. "i'm sorry for you, phineas," he said. "i know how hard it must be for you. leander realized it, too. he--" "shut up! shavin's, you listen to me. i don't forget. all my life i've never forgot. and i ain't never missed gettin' square. i can wait, just as i waited here in the dark over an hour so's to say this to you. i'll get square with you just as i'll get square with sam hunniwell. . . . that's all. . . . that's all. . . . damn you!" he stamped from the room and jed heard him stumbling through the littered darkness of the shops on his way to the front door, kicking at the obstacles he tripped over and swearing and sobbing as he went. it was ridiculous enough, of course, but jed did not feel like smiling. the bitterness of the little man's final curse was not humorous. neither was the heartbreak in his tone when he spoke of his boy. jed felt no self-reproach; he had advised leander just as he might have advised his own son had his life been like other men's lives, normal men who had married and possessed sons. he had no sympathy for phineas babbitt's vindictive hatred of all those more fortunate than he or who opposed him, or for his silly and selfish ideas concerning the war. but he did pity him; he pitied him profoundly. babbitt had left the front door open in his emotional departure and jed followed to close it. before doing so he stepped out into the yard. it was pitch dark now and still. he could hear the footsteps of his recent visitor pounding up the road, and the splashy grumble of the surf on the bar was unusually audible. he stood for a moment looking up at the black sky, with the few stars shining between the cloud blotches. then he turned and looked at the little house next door. the windows of the sitting-room were alight and the shades drawn. at one window he saw charles phillips' silhouette; he was reading, apparently. across the other shade ruth's dainty profile came and went. jed looked and looked. he saw her turn and speak to some one. then another shadow crossed the window, the shadow of major grover. evidently the major had not gone home at once as he had told jed he intended doing, plainly he had been persuaded to enter the armstrong house and make charlie and his sister a short call. this was jed's estimate of the situation, his sole speculation concerning it and its probabilities. and yet mr. gabe bearse, had he seen the major's shadow upon the armstrong window curtain, might have speculated much. chapter xv the pity which jed felt for phineas babbitt caused him to keep silent concerning his thanksgiving evening interview with the hardware dealer. at first he was inclined to tell major grover of babbitt's expressions concerning the war and his son's enlistment. after reflection, however, he decided not to do so. the winslow charity was wide enough to cover a multitude of other people's sins and it covered those of phineas. the latter was to be pitied; as to fearing him, as a consequence of his threat to "get square," jed never thought of such a thing. if he felt any anxiety at all in the matter it was a trifling uneasiness because his friends, the hunniwells and the armstrongs, were included in the threat. but he was inclined to consider mr. babbitt's wrath as he had once estimated the speech of a certain ostable candidate for political office, to be "like a tumbler of plain sody water, mostly fizz and froth and nothin' very substantial or fillin'." he did not tell grover of the interview in the shop; he told no one, not even ruth armstrong. the--to him, at least--delightful friendship and intimacy between himself and his friends and tenants continued. he and charlie phillips came to know each other better and better. charles was now almost as confidential concerning his personal affairs as his sister had been and continued to be. "it's surprising how i come in here and tell you all my private business, jed," he said, laughing. "i don't go about shouting my joys and troubles in everybody's ear like this. why do i do it to you?" jed stopped a dismal whistle in the middle of a bar. "w-e-e-ll," he drawled, "i don't know. when i was a young-one i used to like to holler out back of uncle laban ryder's barn so's to hear the echo. when you say so and so, charlie, i generally agree with you. maybe you come here to get an echo; eh?" phillips laughed. "you're not fair to yourself," he said. "i generally find when the echo in here says no after i've said yes it pays me to pay attention to it. sis says the same thing about you, jed." jed made no comment, but his eyes shone. charles went on. "don't you get tired of hearing the story of my life?" he asked. "i--" he stopped short and the smile faded from his lips. jed knew why. the story of his life was just what he had not told, what he could not tell. as january slid icily into february mr. gabriel bearse became an unusually busy person. there were so many things to talk about. among these was one morsel which gabe rolled succulently beneath his tongue. charles phillips, "'cordin' to everybody's tell," was keeping company with maud hunniwell. "there ain't no doubt of it," declared mr. bearse. "all hands is talkin' about it. looks's if cap'n sam would have a son-in-law on his hands pretty soon. how do you cal'late he'd like the idea, shavin's?" jed squinted along the edge of the board he was planing. he made no reply. gabe tried again. "how do you cal'late cap'n sam'll like the notion of his pet daughter takin' up with another man?" he queried. jed was still mute. his caller lost patience. "say, what ails you?" he demanded. "can't you say nothin'?" mr. winslow put down the board and took up another. "ye-es," he drawled. "then why don't you, for thunder sakes?" "eh? . . . um. . . oh, i did." "did what?" "say nothin'." "oh, you divilish idiot! stop tryin' to be funny. i asked you how you thought cap'n sam would take the notion of maud's havin' a steady beau? she's had a good many after her, but looks as if she was stuck on this one for keeps." jed sighed and looked over his spectacles at mr. bearse. the latter grew uneasy under the scrutiny. "what in time are you lookin' at me like that for?" he asked, pettishly. the windmill maker sighed again. "why--er--gab," he drawled, "i was just thinkin' likely you might be stuck for keeps." "eh? stuck? what are you talkin' about?" "stuck on that box you're sittin' on. i had the glue pot standin' on that box just afore you came in and . . . er . . . it leaks consider'ble." mr. bearse raspingly separated his nether garment from the top of the box and departed, expressing profane opinions. jed's lips twitched for an instant, then he puckered them and began to whistle. but, although he had refused to discuss the matter with gabriel bearse, he realized that there was a strong element of probability in the latter's surmise. it certainly did look as if the spoiled daughter of orham's bank president had lost her heart to her father's newest employee. maud had had many admirers; some very earnest and lovelorn swains had hopefully climbed the hunniwell front steps only to sorrowfully descend them again. miss melissa busteed and other local scandal scavengers had tartly classified the young lady as the "worst little flirt on the whole cape," which was not true. but maud was pretty and vivacious and she was not averse to the society and adoration of the male sex in general, although she had never until now shown symptoms of preference for an individual. but charlie phillips had come and seen and, judging by appearances, conquered. since the thanksgiving dinner the young man had been a frequent visitor at the hunniwell home. maud was musical, she played well and had a pleasing voice. charles' baritone was unusually good. so on many evenings captain sam's front parlor rang with melody, while the captain smoked in the big rocker and listened admiringly and gazed dotingly. at the moving-picture theater on wednesday and saturday evenings orham nudged and winked when two hunniwells and a phillips came down the aisle. even at the congregational church, where maud sang in the choir, the young bank clerk was beginning to be a fairly constant attendant. captain eri hedge declared that that settled it. "when a young feller who ain't been to meetin' for land knows how long," observed captain eri, "all of a sudden begins showin' up every sunday reg'lar as clockwork, you can make up your mind it's owin' to one of two reasons--either he's got religion or a girl. in this case there ain't any revival in town, so--" and the captain waved his hand. jed was not blind and he had seen, perhaps sooner than any one else, the possibilities in the case. and what he saw distressed him greatly. captain sam hunniwell was his life-long friend. maud had been his pet since her babyhood; she and he had had many confidential chats together, over troubles at school, over petty disagreements with her father, over all sorts of minor troubles and joys. captain sam had mentioned to him, more than once, the probability of his daughter's falling in love and marrying some time or other, but they both had treated the idea as vague and far off, almost as a joke. and now it was no longer far off, the falling in love at least. and as for its being a joke--jed shuddered at the thought. he was very fond of charlie phillips; he had made up his mind at first to like him because he was ruth's brother, but now he liked him for himself. and, had things been other than as they were, he could think of no one to whom he had rather see maud hunniwell married. in fact, had captain hunniwell known the young man's record, of his slip and its punishment, jed would have been quite content to see the latter become maud's husband. a term in prison, especially when, as in this case, he believed it to be an unwarranted punishment, would have counted for nothing in the unworldly mind of the windmill maker. but captain sam did not know. he was tremendously proud of his daughter; in his estimation no man would have been quite good enough for her. what would he say when he learned? what would maud say when she learned? for it was almost certain that charles had not told her. these were some of the questions which weighed upon the simple soul of jedidah edgar wilfred winslow. and heavier still there weighed the thought of ruth armstrong. he had given her his word not to mention her brother's secret to a soul, not even to him. and yet, some day or other, as sure and certain as the daily flowing and ebbing of the tides, that secret would become known. some day captain sam hunniwell would learn it; some day maud would learn it. better, far better, that they learned it before marriage, or even before the public announcement of their engagement--always provided there was to be such an engagement. in fact, were it not for ruth herself, no consideration for charles' feelings would have prevented jed's taking the matter up with the young man and warning him that, unless he made a clean breast to the captain and maud, he--jed-- would do it for him. the happiness of two such friends should not be jeopardized if he could prevent it. but there was ruth. she, not her brother, was primarily responsible for obtaining for him the bank position and obtaining it under fake pretenses. and she, according to her own confession to jed, had urged upon charles the importance of telling no one. jed himself would have known nothing, would have had only a vague, indefinite suspicion, had she not taken him into her confidence. and to him that confidence was precious, sacred. if charlie's secret became known, it was not he alone who would suffer; ruth, too, would be disgraced. she and babbie might have to leave orham, might have to go out of his life forever. no wonder that, as the days passed, and gabe bearse's comments and those of captain eri hedge were echoed and reasserted by the majority of orham tongues, jed winslow's worry and foreboding increased. he watched charlie phillips go whistling out of the yard after supper, and sighed as he saw him turn up the road in the direction of the hunniwell home. he watched maud's face when he met her and, although the young lady was in better spirits and prettier than he had ever seen her, these very facts made him miserable, because he accepted them as proofs that the situation was as he feared. he watched ruth's face also and there, too, he saw, or fancied that he saw, a growing anxiety. she had been very well; her spirits, like maud's, had been light; she had seemed younger and so much happier than when he and she first met. the little winslow house was no longer so quiet, with no sound of voices except those of barbara and her mother. there were red cross sewing meetings there occasionally, and callers came. major grover was one of the latter. the major's errands in orham were more numerous than they had been, and his trips thither much more frequent, in consequence. and whenever he came he made it a point to drop in, usually at the windmill shop first, and then upon babbie at the house. sometimes he brought her home from school in his car. he told jed that he had taken a great fancy to the little girl and could not bear to miss an opportunity of seeing her. which statement jed, of course, accepted wholeheartedly. but jed was sure that ruth had been anxious and troubled of late and he believed the reason to be that which troubled him. he hoped she might speak to him concerning her brother. he would have liked to broach the subject himself, but feared she might consider him interfering. one day--it was in late february, the ground was covered with snow and a keen wind was blowing in over a sea gray-green and splashed thickly with white--jed was busy at his turning lathe when charlie came into the shop. business at the bank was not heavy in mid- winter and, although it was but little after three, the young man was through work for the day. he hoisted himself to his accustomed seat on the edge of the workbench and sat there, swinging his feet and watching his companion turn out the heads and trunks of a batch of wooden sailors. he was unusually silent, for him, merely nodding in response to jed's cheerful "hello!" and speaking but a few words in reply to a question concerning the weather. jed, absorbed in his work and droning a hymn, apparently forgot all about his caller. suddenly the latter spoke. "jed," he said, "when you are undecided about doing or not doing a thing, how do you settle it?" jed looked up over his spectacles. "eh?" he asked. "what's that?" "i say when you have a decision to make and your mind is about fifty-fifty on the subject, how do you decide?" jed's answer was absently given. "w-e-e-ll," he drawled, "i generally--er--don't." "but suppose the time comes when you have to, what then?" "eh? . . . oh, then, if 'tain't very important i usually leave it to isaiah." "isaiah? isaiah who?" "i don't know his last name, but he's got a whole lot of first ones. that's him, up on that shelf." he pointed to a much battered wooden figure attached to the edge of the shelf upon the wall. the figure was that of a little man holding a set of mill arms in front of him. the said mill arms were painted a robin's-egg blue, and one was tipped with black. "that's isaiah," continued jed. "hum . . . yes . . . that's him. he was the first one of his kind of contraption that i ever made and, bein' as he seemed to bring me luck, i've kept him. he's settled a good many questions for me, isaiah has." "why do you call him isaiah?" "eh? oh, that's just his to-day's name. i called him isaiah just now 'cause that was the first of the prophet names i could think of. next time he's just as liable to be hosea or ezekiel or samuel or jeremiah. he prophesies just as well under any one of 'em, don't seem to be particular." charles smiled slightly--he did not appear to be in a laughing mood--and then asked: "you say he settles questions for you? how?" "how? . . . oh. . . well, you notice one end of that whirligig arm he's got is smudged with black?" "yes." "that's hosea's indicator. suppose i've got somethin' on--on what complimentary folks like you would call my mind. suppose, same as 'twas yesterday mornin', i was tryin' to decide whether or not i'd have a piece of steak for supper. i gave--er--elisha's whirlagig here a spin and when the black end stopped 'twas p'intin' straight up. that meant yes. if it had p'inted down, 'twould have meant no." "suppose it had pointed across--half way between yes and no?" "that would have meant that--er--what's-his-name--er--deuteronomy there didn't know any more than i did about it." this time phillips did laugh. "so you had the steak," he observed. jed's lip twitched. "i bought it," he drawled. "i got so far all accordin' to prophecy. and i put it on a plate out in the back room where 'twas cold, intendin' to cook it when supper time came." "well, didn't you?" "no-o; you see, 'twas otherwise provided. that everlastin' cherub tomcat of taylor's must have sneaked in with the boy when he brought the order from the store. when i shut the steak up in the back room i--er--er--hum. . . ." "you did what?" "eh? . . . oh, i shut the cat up with it. i guess likely that's the end of the yarn, ain't it?" "pretty nearly, i should say. what did you do to the cat?" "hum. . . . why, i let him go. he's a good enough cat, 'cordin' to his lights, i guess. it must have been a treat to him; i doubt if he gets much steak at home. . . . well, do you want to give isaiah a whirl on that decision you say you've got to make?" charles gave him a quick glance. "i didn't say i had one to make," he replied. "i asked how you settled such a question, that's all." "um. . . . i see. . . . i see. well, the prophet's at your disposal. help yourself." the young fellow shook his head. "i'm afraid it wouldn't be very satisfactory," he said. "he might say no when i wanted him to say yes, you see." "um-hm. . . . he's liable to do that. when he does it to me i keep on spinnin' him till we agree, that's all." phillips made no comment on this illuminating statement and there was another interval of silence, broken only by the hum and rasp of the turning lathe. then he spoke again. "jed," he said, "seriously now, when a big question comes up to you, and you've got to answer it one way or the other, how do you settle with yourself which way to answer?" jed sighed. "that's easy, charlie," he declared. "there don't any big questions ever come up to me. i ain't the kind of feller the big things come to." charles grunted, impatiently. "oh, well, admitting all that," he said, "you must have to face questions that are big to you, that seem big, anyhow." jed could not help wincing, just a little. the matter-of-fact way in which his companion accepted the estimate of his insignificance was humiliating. jed did not blame him, it was true, of course, but the truth hurt--a little. he was ashamed of himself for feeling the hurt. "oh," he drawled, "i do have some things--little no-account things-- to decide every once in a while. sometimes they bother me, too-- although they probably wouldn't anybody with a head instead of a hubbard squash on his shoulders. the only way i can decide 'em is to set down and open court, put 'em on trial, as you might say." "what do you mean?" "why, i call in witnesses for both sides, seems so. here's the reasons why i ought to tell; here's the reasons why i shouldn't. i--" "tell? ought to tell? what makes you say that? what have you got to tell?" he was glaring at the windmill maker with frightened eyes. jed knew as well as if it had been painted on the shop wall before him the question in the boy's mind, the momentous decision he was trying to make. and he pitied him from the bottom of his heart. "tell?" he repeated. "did i say tell? well, if i did 'twas just a--er--figger of speech, as the book fellers talk about. but the only way to decide a thing, as it seems to me, is to try and figger out what's the right of it, and then do that." phillips looked gloomily at the floor. "and that's such an easy job," he observed, with sarcasm. "the figgerin' or the doin'?" "oh, the doing; the figuring is usually easy enough--too easy. but the doing is different. the average fellow is afraid. i don't suppose you would be, jed. i can imagine you doing almost anything if you thought it was right, and hang the consequences." jed looked aghast. "who? me?" he queried. "good land of love, don't talk that way, charlie! i'm the scarest critter that lives and the weakest-kneed, too, 'most generally. but--but, all the same, i do believe the best thing, and the easiest in the end, not only for you--or me--but for all hands, is to take the bull by the horns and heave the critter, if you can. there may be an awful big trouble, but big or little it'll be over and done with. that bull won't be hangin' around all your life and sneakin' up astern to get you--and those you--er--care for. . . . mercy me, how i do preach! they'll be callin' me to the baptist pulpit, if i don't look out. i understand they're candidatin'." his friend drew a long breath. "there is a poem that i used to read, or hear some one read," he observed, "that fills the bill for any one with your point of view, i should say. something about a fellow's not being afraid to put all his money on one horse, or the last card--about his not deserving anything if he isn't afraid to risk everything. wish i could remember it." jed looked up from the lathe. "'he either fears his fate too much, or his deserts are small, who dares not put it to the touch to win or lose it all.' that's somethin' like it, ain't it, charlie?" he asked. phillips was amazed. "well, i declare, winslow," he exclaimed, "you beat me! i can't place you at all. whoever would have accused you of reading poetry--and quoting it." jed rubbed his chin. "i don't know much, of course," he said, "but there's consider'ble many poetry books up to the library and i like to read 'em sometimes. you're liable to run across a--er--poem-- well, like this one, for instance--that kind of gets hold of you. it fills the bill, you might say, as nothin' else does. there's another one that's better still. about-- 'once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide. do you know that one?" his visitor did not answer. after a moment he swung himself from the workbench and turned toward the door. "'he either fears his fate too much,'" he quoted, gloomily. "humph! i wonder if it ever occurred to that chap that there might be certain kinds of fate that couldn't be feared too much? . . . well, so long, jed. ah hum, you don't know where i can get hold of some money, do you?" jed was surprised. "humph!" he grunted. "i should say you had hold of money two-thirds of every day. feller that works in a bank is supposed to handle some cash." "yes, of course," with an impatient laugh, "but that is somebody else's money, not mine. i want to get some of my own." "sho! . . . well, i cal'late i could let you have ten or twenty dollars right now, if that would be any help to you." "it wouldn't; thank you just the same. if it was five hundred instead of ten, why--perhaps i shouldn't say no." jed was startled. "five hundred?" he repeated. "five hundred dollars? do you need all that so very bad, charlie?" phillips, his foot upon the threshold of the outer shop, turned and looked at him. "the way i feel now i'd do almost anything to get it," he said, and went out. jed told no one of this conversation, although his friend's parting remark troubled and puzzled him. in fact it troubled him so much that at a subsequent meeting with charles he hinted to the latter that he should be glad to lend the five hundred himself. "i ought to have that and some more in the bank," he said. "sam would know whether i had or not. . . . eh? why, and you would, too, of course. i forgot you know as much about folks' bank accounts as anybody. . . . more'n some of 'em do themselves, bashfulness stoppin' me from namin' any names," he added. charles looked at him. "do you mean to tell me, jed winslow," he said, "that you would lend me five hundred dollars without any security or without knowing in the least what i wanted it for?" "why--why, of course. 'twouldn't be any of my business what you wanted it for, would it?" "humph! have you done much lending of that kind?" "eh? . . . um. . . . well, i used to do consider'ble, but sam he kind of put his foot down and said i shouldn't do any more. but i don't have to mind him, you know, although i generally do because it's easier--and less noisy," he added, with a twinkle in his eye. "well, you ought to mind him; he's dead right, of course. you're a good fellow, jed, but you need a guardian." jed shook his head sadly. "i hate to be so unpolite as to call your attention to it," he drawled, "but i've heard somethin' like that afore. up to now i ain't found any guardian that needs me, that's the trouble. and if i want to lend you five hundred dollars, charlie, i'm goin' to. oh, i'm a divil of a feller when i set out to be, desperate and reckless, i am." charlie laughed, but he put his hand on jed's shoulder, "you're a brick, i know that," he said, "and i'm a million times obliged to you. but i was only joking; i don't need any five hundred." "eh? . . . you don't? . . . why, you said--" "oh, i--er--need some new clothes and things and i was talking foolishness, that's all. don't you worry about me, jed; i'm all right." but jed did worry, a little, although his worry concerning the young man's need of money was so far overshadowed by the anxiety caused by his falling in love with maud hunniwell that it was almost forgotten. that situation was still as tense as ever. two- thirds of orham, so it seemed to jed, was talking about it, wondering when the engagement would be announced and speculating, as gabe bearse had done, on captain sam's reception of the news. the principals, maud and charles, did not speak of it, of course-- neither did the captain or ruth armstrong. jed expected ruth to speak; he was certain she understood the situation and realized its danger; she appeared to him anxious and very nervous. it was to him, and to him alone--her brother excepted--she could speak, but the days passed and she did not. and it was captain hunniwell who spoke first. chapter xvi captain sam entered the windmill shop about two o'clock one windy afternoon in the first week of march. he was wearing a heavy fur overcoat and a motoring cap. he pulled off the coat, threw it over a pile of boards and sat down. "whew!" he exclaimed. "it's blowing hard enough to start the bark on a log." jed looked up. "did you say log or dog?" he asked, solemnly. the captain grinned. "i said log," he answered. "this gale of wind would blow a dog away, bark and all. whew! i'm all out of breath. it's some consider'ble of a drive over from wapatomac. comin' across that stretch of marsh road by west ostable i didn't know but the little flivver would turn herself into a flyin'- machine and go up." jed stopped in the middle of the first note of a hymn. "what in the world sent you autoin' way over to wapatomac and back this day?" he asked. his friend bit the end from a cigar. "oh, diggin' up the root of all evil," he said. "i had to collect a note that was due over there." "humph! i don't know much about such things, but i never mistrusted 'twas necessary for you to go cruisin' like that to collect notes. seems consider'ble like sendin' the skipper up town to buy onions for the cook. couldn't the--the feller that owed the money send you a check?" captain sam chuckled. "he could, i cal'late, but he wouldn't," he observed. "'twas old sylvester sage, up to south wapatomac, the 'cranberry king' they call him up there. he owns cranberry bogs from one end of the cape to the other. you've heard of him, of course." jed rubbed his chin. "maybe so," he drawled, "but if i have i've forgot him. the only sage i recollect is the sage tea mother used to make me take when i had a cold sometimes. i couldn't forget that." "well, everybody but you has heard of old sylvester. he's the biggest crank on earth." "hum-m. seems 's if he and i ought to know each other. . . . but maybe he's a different kind of crank; eh?" "he's all kinds. one of his notions is that he won't pay bills by check, if he can possibly help it. he'll travel fifty miles to pay money for a thing sooner than send a check for it. he had this note--fourteen hundred dollars 'twas--comin' due at our bank to-day and he'd sent word if we wanted the cash we must send for it 'cause his lumbago was too bad for him to travel. i wanted to see him anyhow, about a little matter of a political appointment up his way, so i decided to take the car and go myself. well, i've just got back and i had a windy v'yage, too. and cold, don't talk!" "um . . . yes. . . . get your money, did you?" "yes, i got it. it's in my overcoat pocket now. i thought one spell i wasn't goin' to get it, for the old feller was mad about some one of his cranberry buyers failin' up on him and he was as cross-grained as a scrub oak root. he and i had a regular row over the matter of politics i went there to see him about 'special. i told him what he was and he told me where i could go. that's how we parted. then i came home." "hum. . . . you'd have had a warmer trip if you'd gone where he sent you, i presume likely. . . . um. . . . yes, yes. . . . 'there's a place in this chorus for you and for me, and the theme of it ever and always shall be: hallelujah, 'tis do-ne! i believe. . . .' hum! . . . i thought that paint can was full and there ain't more'n a half pint in it. i must have drunk it in my sleep, i guess. do i look green around the mouth, sam?" it was just before captain sam's departure that he spoke of his daughter and young phillips. he mentioned them in a most casual fashion, as he was putting on his coat to go, but jed had a feeling that his friend had stopped at the windmill shop on purpose to discuss that very subject and that all the detail of his wapatomac trip had been in the nature of a subterfuge to conceal this fact. "oh," said the captain, with somewhat elaborate carelessness, as he struggled into the heavy coat, "i don't know as i told you that the directors voted to raise charlie's salary. um-hm, at last saturday's meetin' they did it. 'twas unanimous, too. he's as smart as a whip, that young chap. we all think a heap of him." jed nodded, but made no comment. the captain fidgeted with a button of his coat. he turned toward the door, stopped, cleared his throat, hesitated, and then turned back again. "jed," he said, "has--has it seemed to you that--that he--that charlie was--maybe--comin' to think consider'ble of--of my daughter--of maud?" jed looked up, caught his eye, and looked down again. captain sam sighed. "i see," he said. "you don't need to answer. i presume likely the whole town has been talkin' about it for land knows how long. it's generally the folks at home that don't notice till the last gun fires. of course i knew he was comin' to the house a good deal and that he and maud seemed to like each other's society, and all that. but it never struck me that--that it meant anything serious, you know--anything--anything--well, you know what i mean, jed." "yes. yes, sam, i suppose i do." "yes. well, i--i don't know why it never struck me, either. if georgianna--if my wife had been alive, she'd have noticed, i'll bet, but i didn't. 'twas only last evenin'; when he came to get her to go to the pictures, that it came across me, you might say, like--like a wet, cold rope's end' slappin' me in the face. i give you my word, jed, i--i kind of shivered all over. she means--she means somethin' to me, that little girl and--and--" he seemed to find it hard to go on. jed leaned forward. "i know, sam, i know," he said. his friend nodded. "i know you do, jed," he said. "i don't think there's anybody else knows so well. i'm glad i've got you to talk to. i cal'late, though," he added, with a short laugh, "if some folks knew i came here to--to talk over my private affairs they'd think i was goin' soft in the head." jed smiled, and there was no resentment in the smile. "they'd locate the softness in t'other head of the two, sam," he suggested. "i don't care where they locate it. i can talk to you about things i never mention to other folks. guess it must be because you--you-- well, i don't know, but it's so, anyhow. . . . well, to go ahead, after the young folks had gone i sat there alone in the parlor, in the dark, tryin' to think it out. the housekeeper had gone over to her brother's, so i had the place to myself. i thought and thought and the harder i thought the lonesomer the rest of my life began to look. and yet--and yet i kept tellin' myself how selfish and foolish that was. i knew 'twas a dead sartinty she'd be gettin' married some time. you and i have laughed about it and joked about it time and again. and i've joked about it with her, too. but-- but jokin's one thing and this was another. . . . whew!" he drew a hand across his forehead. jed did not speak. after a moment the captain went on. "well," he said, "when she got home, and after he'd gone, i got maud to sit on my knee, same as she's done ever since she was a little girl, and she and i had a talk. i kind of led up to the subject, as you might say, and by and by we--well, we talked it out pretty straight. she thinks an awful sight of him, jed. there ain't any doubt about that, she as much as told me in those words, and more than told me in other ways. and he's the only one she's ever cared two straws for, she told me that. and--and--well, i think she thinks he cares for her that way, too, although of course she didn't say so. but he hasn't spoken to her yet. i don't know, but--but it seemed to me, maybe, that he might be waitin' to speak to me first. i'm his--er--boss, you know, and perhaps he may feel a little--little under obligations to me in a business way and that might make it harder for him to speak. don't it seem to you maybe that might be it, jed?" poor jed hesitated. then he stammered that he shouldn't be surprised. captain sam sighed. "well," he said, "if that's it, it does him credit, anyhow. i ain't goin' to be selfish in this thing, jed. if she's goin' to have a husband--and she is, of course--i cal'late i'd rather 'twas charlie than anybody else i've ever run across. he's smart and he'll climb pretty high, i cal'late. our little single-sticked bankin' craft ain't goin' to be big enough for him to sail in very long. i can see that already. he'll be navigatin' a clipper one of these days. well, that's the way i'd want it. i'm pretty ambitious for that girl of mine and i shouldn't be satisfied short of a top-notcher. and he's a good feller, jed; a straight, clean, honest and above-board young chap. that's the best of it, after all, ain't it?" jed's reply was almost a groan, but his friend did not notice. he put on his overcoat and turned to go. "so, there you are," he said. "i had to talk to somebody, had to get it off my chest, and, as i just said, it seems to be easier to talk such things to you than anybody else. now if any of the town gas engines--gab bearse or anybody else--comes cruisin' in here heavin' overboard questions about how i like the notion of maud and charlie takin' up with each other, you can tell 'em i'm tickled to death. that won't be all lie, neither. i can't say i'm happy, exactly, but maud is and i'm goin' to make-believe be, for her sake. so long." he went out. jed put his elbows on the workbench and covered his face with his hands. he was still in that position when ruth armstrong came in. he rose hastily, but she motioned him to sit again. "jed," she said, "captain hunniwell was just here with you; i saw him go. tell me, what was he talking about?" jed was confused. "why--why, mrs. ruth," he stammered, "he was just talkin' about--about a note he'd been collectin', and--and such." "wasn't he speaking of his daughter--and--and my brother?" this time jed actually gasped. ruth drew a long breath. "i knew it," she said. "but--but, for mercy sakes, how did you know? did he--?" "no, he didn't see me at all. i was watching him from the window. but i saw his face and--" with a sudden gesture of desperation, "oh, it wasn't that at all, jed. it was my guilty conscience, i guess. i've been expecting him to speak to you--or me--have been dreading it every day--and now somehow i knew he had spoken. i knew it. what did he say, jed?" jed told the substance of what captain sam had said. she listened. when he finished her eyes were wet. "oh, it is dreadful," she moaned. "i--i was so hoping she might not care for charlie. but she does--of course she does. she couldn't help it," with a sudden odd little flash of loyalty. jed rubbed his chin in desperation. "and--and charlie?" he asked, anxiously. "does he--" "yes, yes, i'm sure he does. he has never told me so, never in so many words, but i can see. i know him better than any one else in the world and i can see. i saw first, i think, on thanksgiving day; at least that is when i first began to suspect--to fear." jed nodded. "when they was at the piano together that time and sam said somethin' about their bein' a fine-lookin' couple?" he said. "why, yes, that was it. are you a mind reader, jed?" "no-o, i guess not. but i saw you lookin' kind of surprised and-- er--well, scared for a minute. i was feelin' the same way just then, so it didn't need any mind reader to guess what had scared you." "i see. but, oh, jed, it is dreadful! what shall we do? what will become of us all? and now, when i--i had just begun to be happy, really happy." she caught her breath in a sob. jed instinctively stretched out his hand. "but there," she went on, hurriedly wiping her eyes, "i mustn't do this. this is no time for me to think of myself. jed, this mustn't go any further. he must not ask her to marry him; he must not think of such a thing." jed sadly shook his head. "i'm afraid you're right," he said. "not as things are now he surely mustn't. but--but, mrs. ruth--" "oh, don't!" impatiently. "don't use that silly 'mrs.' any longer. aren't you the--the best friend i have in the world? do call me ruth." if she had been looking at his face just then she might have seen-- things. but she was not looking. there was an interval of silence before he spoke. "well, then--er--ruth--" he faltered. "that's right. go on." "i was just goin' to ask you if you thought charlie was cal'latin' to ask her. i ain't so sure that he is." he told of charles' recent visit to the windmill shop and the young man's query concerning the making of a decision. she listened anxiously. "but don't you think that means that he was wondering whether or not he should ask her?" she said. "no. that is, i don't think it's sartin sure it means that. i rather had the notion it might mean he was figgerin' whether or not to go straight to sam and make a clean breast of it." "you mean tell--tell everything?" "yes, all about the--the business at middleford. i do honestly believe that's what the boy's got on his mind to do. it ain't very surprisin' that he backs and fills some before that mind's made up. see what it might mean to him: it might mean the loss of his prospects here and his place in the bank and, more'n everything else, losin' maud. it's some decision to make. if i had to make it i-- well, i don't know." she put her hand to her eyes. "the poor boy," she said, under her breath. "but, jed, do you think that is the decision he referred to? and why hasn't he said a word to me, his own sister, about it? i'm sure he loves me." "sartin he does, and that's just it, as i see it. it ain't his own hopes and prospects alone that are all wrapped up in this thing, it's yours--and babbie's. he's troubled about what'll happen to you. that's why he hasn't asked your advice, i believe." they were both silent for a moment. then she said, pleadingly, "oh, jed, it is up to you and me, isn't it? what shall we do?" it was the "we" in this sentence which thrilled. if she had bade him put his neck in front of the handsaw just then jed would have obeyed, and smilingly have pulled the lever which set the machine in motion. but the question, nevertheless, was a staggerer. "w-e-e-ll," he admitted, "i--i hardly know what to say, i will give in. to be right down honest--and the lord knows i hate to say it-- it wouldn't do for a minute to let those two young folks get engaged--to say nothin' of gettin' married--with this thing between 'em. it wouldn't be fair to her, nor to sam--no, nor to him or you, either. you see that, don't you?" he begged. "you know i don't say it for any reason but just--just for the best interests of all hands. you know that, don't you--ruth?" "of course, of course. but what then?" "i don't really know what then. seems to me the very first thing would be for you to speak to him, put the question right up to him, same as he's been puttin' it to himself all this time. get him to talk it over with you. and then--well, then--" "yes?" "oh, i don't know! i declare i don't." "suppose he tells me he means to marry her in spite of everything? suppose he won't listen to me at all?" that possibility had been in jed's mind from the beginning, but he refused to consider it. "he will listen," he declared, stoutly. "he always has, hasn't he?" "yes, yes, i suppose he has. he listened to me when i persuaded him that coming here and hiding all--all that happened was the right thing to do. and now see what has come of it! and it is all my fault. oh, i have been so selfish!" "sshh! sshh! you ain't; you couldn't be if you tried. and, besides, i was as much to blame as you. i agreed that 'twas the best thing to do." "oh," reproachfully, "how can you say that? you know you were opposed to it always. you only say it because you think it will comfort me. it isn't true." "eh? now--now, don't talk so. please don't. if you keep on talkin' that way i'll do somethin' desperate, start to make a johnny cake out of sawdust, same as i did yesterday mornin', or somethin' else crazy." "jed!" "it's true, that about the johnny cake. i came pretty nigh doin' that very thing. i bought a five-pound bag of corn meal yesterday and fetched it home from the store all done up in a nice neat bundle. comin' through the shop here i had it under my arm, and-- hum--er--well, to anybody else it couldn't have happened, but, bein' jed shavin's winslow, i was luggin' the thing with the top of the bag underneath. i got about abreast of the lathe there when the string came off and in less'n two thirds of a shake all i had under my arm was the bag; the meal was on the floor--what wasn't in my coat pocket and stuck to my clothes and so on. i fetched the water bucket and started to salvage what i could of the cargo. pretty soon i had, as nigh as i could reckon it, about fourteen pound out of the five scooped up and in the bucket. i begun to think the miracle of loaves and fishes was comin' to pass again. i was some shy on fish, but i was makin' up on loaves. then i sort of looked matters over and found what i had in the bucket was about one pound of meal to seven of sawdust. then i gave it up. seemed to me the stuff might be more fillin' than nourishin'." ruth smiled faintly. then she shook her head. "oh, jed," she said, "you're as transparent as a windowpane. thank you, though. if anything could cheer me up and help me to forget i think you could." jed looked repentant. "i'd no business to tell you all that rigamarole," he said. "i'm sorry. i'm always doin' the wrong thing, seems so. but," he added, earnestly, "i don't want you to worry too much about your brother--er--ruth. it's goin' to come out all right, i know it. god won't let it come out any other way." she had never heard him speak in just that way before and she looked at him in surprise. "and yet god permits many things that seem entirely wrong to us humans," she said. "i know. things like the kaiser, for instance. well, never mind; this one's goin' to come out all right. i feel it in my bones. and," with a return of his whimsical drawl, "i may be short on brains, but a blind man could see they never skimped me when they passed out the bones." she looked at him a moment. then, suddenly leaning forward, she put her hand upon his big red one as it lay upon the bench. "jed," she said, earnestly, "what should i do without you? you are my one present help in time of trouble. i wonder if you know what you have come to mean to me." it was an impulsive speech, made from the heart, and without thought of phrasing or that any meaning other than that intended could be read into it. a moment later, and without waiting for an answer, she hurried from the shop. "i must go," she said. "i shall think over your advice, jed, and i will let you know what i decide to do. thank you ever and ever so much." jed scarcely heard her. after she had gone, he sat perfectly still by the bench for a long period, gazing absently at the bare wall of the shop and thinking strange thoughts. after a time he rose and, walking into the little sitting-room, sat down beside the ugly little oak writing table he had bought at a second-hand sale and opened the upper drawer. weeks before, ruth, yielding to babbie's urgent appeal, had accompanied the latter to the studio of the local photographer and there they had been photographed, together, and separately. the results, although not artistic triumphs, being most inexpensive, had been rather successful as likenesses. babbie had come trotting in to show jed the proofs. a day or so later he found one of the said proofs on the shop floor where the little girl had dropped it. it happened to be a photograph of ruth, sitting alone. and then jed winslow did what was perhaps the first dishonest thing he had ever done. he put that proof in the drawer of the oak writing table and said nothing of his having found it. later he made a wooden frame for it and covered it with glass. it faded and turned black as all proofs do, but still jed kept it in the drawer and often, very often, opened that drawer and looked at it. now he looked at it for a long, long time and when he rose to go back to the shop there was in his mind, along with the dream that had been there for days and weeks, for the first time the faintest dawning of a hope. ruth's impulsive speech, hastily and unthinkingly made, was repeating itself over and over in his brain. "i wonder if you know what you have come to mean to me?" what had he come to mean to her? an hour later, as he sat at his bench, captain hunniwell came banging in once more. but this time the captain looked troubled. "jed," he asked, anxiously, "have you found anything here since i went out?" jed looked up. "eh?" he asked, absently. "found? what have you found, sam?" "i? i haven't found anything. i've lost four hundred dollars, though. you haven't found it, have you?" still jed did not appear to comprehend. he had been wandering the rose-bordered paths of fairyland and was not eager to come back to earth. "eh?" he drawled. "you've--what?" his friend's peppery temper broke loose. "for thunder sakes wake up!" he roared. "i tell you i've lost four hundred dollars of the fourteen hundred i told you i collected from sylvester sage over to wapatomac this mornin'. i had three packages of bills, two of five hundred dollars each and one of four hundred. the two five hundred packages were in the inside pocket of my overcoat where i put 'em. but the four hundred one's gone. what i want to know is, did it drop out when i took off my coat here in the shop? do you get that through your head, finally?" it had gotten through. jed now looked as troubled as his friend. he rose hastily and went over to the pile of boards upon which captain sam had thrown his coat upon entering the shop on his previous visit that day. together they searched, painstakingly and at length. the captain was the first to give up. "'tain't here," he snapped. "i didn't think 'twas. where in time is it? that's what i want to know." jed rubbed his chin. "are you sure you had it when you left wapatomac?" he asked. "sure? no, i ain't sure of anything. but i'd have sworn i did. the money was on the table along with my hat and gloves. i picked it up and shoved it in my overcoat pocket. and that was a darned careless place to put it, too," he added, testily. "i'd have given any feller that worked for me the devil for doin' such a thing." jed nodded, sympathetically. "but you might have left it there to sylvester's," he said. "have you thought of telephonin' to find out?" "have i thought? tut, tut, tut! do you think i've got a head like a six-year-old young-one--or you? course i've thought--and 'phoned, too. but it didn't do me any good. sylvester's house is shut up and the old man's gone to boston, so the postmaster told me when i 'phoned and asked him. won't be back for a couple of days, anyhow. i remember he told me he was goin'!" "sho, sho! that's too bad." "bad enough, but i don't think it makes any real difference. i swear i had that money when i left sage's. i came in here and then i went straight to the bank." "and after you got there?" "oh, when i got there i found no less than three men, not countin' old mrs. emmeline bartlett, in my room waitin' to see me. nellie hall--my typewriter, you know--she knew where i'd been and what a crank old sage is and she says: 'did you get the money, cap'n?' and i says: 'yes, it's in my overcoat pocket this minute.' then i hurried in to 'tend to the folks that was waitin' for me. 'twas an hour later afore i went to my coat to get the cash. then, as i say, all i could find was the two five hundred packages. the four hundred one was gone." "sho, sho! tut, tut, tut! where did you put the coat when you took it off?" "on the hook in the clothes closet where i always put it." "hum-m! and--er--when you told nellie about it did you speak loud?" "loud? no louder'n i ever do." "well--er--that ain't a--er--whisper, sam, exactly." "don't make any difference. there wasn't anybody outside the railin' that minute to hear if i'd bellered like a bull of bashan. there was nobody in the bank, i tell you, except the three men and old aunt emmeline and they were waitin' in my private room. and except for nellie and eddie ellis, the messenger, and charlie phillips, there wan't a soul around, as it happened. the money hasn't been stolen; i lost it somewheres--but where? well, i can't stop here any longer. i'm goin' back to the bank to have another hunt." he banged out again. fortunately he did not look at his friend's face before he went. for that face had a singular expression upon it. jed sat heavily down in the chair by the bench. a vivid recollection of a recent remark made in that very shop had suddenly come to him. charlie phillips had made it in answer to a question of his own. charlie had declared that he would do almost anything to get five hundred dollars. chapter xvii the next morning found jed heavy-eyed and without appetite, going through the form of preparing breakfast. all night, with the exception of an hour or two, he had tossed on his bed alternately fearing the worst and telling himself that his fears were groundless. of course charlie phillips had not stolen the four hundred dollars. had not he, jed winslow, loudly proclaimed to ruth armstrong that he knew her brother to be a fine young man, one who had been imprudent, it is true, but much more sinned against than sinning and who would henceforth, so he was willing to swear, be absolutely upright and honest? of course the fact that a sum of money was missing from the orham national bank, where phillips was employed, did not necessarily imply that the latter had taken it. not necessarily, that was true; but charlie had, in jed's presence, expressed himself as needing money, a sum approximately that which was missing; and he had added that he would do almost anything to get it. and--there was no use telling oneself that the fact had no bearing on the case, because it would bear heavily with any unprejudiced person--charlie's record was against him. jed loyally told himself over and over again that the boy was innocent, he knew he was innocent. but-- the dreadful "but" came back again and again to torment him. all that day he went about in an alternate state of dread and hope. hope that the missing four hundred might be found, dread of--many possibilities. twice he stopped at the bank to ask captain sam concerning it. the second time the captain was a trifle impatient. "gracious king, jed," he snapped. "what's the matter with you? 'tain't a million. this institution'll probably keep afloat even if it never turns up. and 'twill turn up sooner or later; it's bound to. there's a chance that i left it at old sage's. soon's the old cuss gets back and i can catch him by telephone i'll find out. meanwhile i ain't worryin' and i don't know why you should. the main thing is not to let anybody know anything's missin'. once let the news get out 'twill grow to a hundred thousand afore night. there'll be a run on us if gab bearse or melissa busteed get goin' with their throttles open. so don't you whisper a word to anybody, jed. we'll find it pretty soon." and jed did not whisper a word. but he anxiously watched the inmates of the little house, watched charles' face when he came home after working hours, watched the face of his sister as she went forth on a marketing expedition, even scrutinized babbie's laughing countenance as she came dancing into the shop, swinging petunia by one arm. and it was from babbie he first learned that, in spite of all captain hunniwell's precautions, some one had dropped a hint. it may as well be recorded here that the identity of that some one was never clearly established. there were suspicions, centering about the bank messenger, but he stoutly denied having told a living soul. barbara, who was on her way home from school, and had rescued the long-suffering petunia from the front fence where she had been left suspended on a picket to await her parent's return, was bubbling over with news and giggles. "oh, uncle jed," she demanded, jumping up to perch panting upon a stack of the front elevations of birdhouses, "isn't mr. gabe bearse awfully funny?" jed sighed. "yes," he said, "gabe's as funny as a jumpin' toothache." the young lady regarded him doubtfully. "i see," she said, after a moment, "you're joking again. i wish you'd tell me when you're going to do it, so petunia and i would know for sure." "all right, i'll try not to forget to remember. but how did you guess i was jokin' this time?" "'cause you just had to be. a jumping toothache isn't funny. i had one once and it made me almost sick." "um-hm. w-e-e-ll, gabe bearse makes 'most everybody sick. what set you thinkin' about him?" "'cause i just met him on the way home and he acted so funny. first he gave me a stick of candy." mr. winslow leaned back in his chair. "what?" he cried. "he gave you a stick of candy? gave it to you?" "yes. he said: 'here, little girl, don't you like candy?' and when i said i did he gave me a stick, the striped peppermint kind it was. i'd have saved a bite for you, uncle jed, only i and the rest ate it all before i remembered. i'm awfully sorry." "that's all right. striped candy don't agree with me very well, anyway; i'm liable to swallow the stripes crossways, i guess likely. but tell me, did gabe look wild or out of his head when he gave it to you?" "why, no. he just looked--oh--oh, you know, uncle jed--myster'ous-- that's how he looked, myster'ous." "hum! well, i'm glad to know he wan't crazy. i've known him a good many years and this is the first time i ever knew him to give anybody anything worth while. when i went to school with him he gave me the measles, i remember, but even then they was only imitation--the german kind. and now he's givin' away candy: tut, tut! no wonder he looked--what was it?--mysterious. . . . hum. . . . well, he wanted somethin' for it, didn't he? what was it?" "why, he just wanted to know if i'd heard uncle charlie say anything about a lot of money being gone up to the bank. he said he had heard it was ever and ever so much--a hundred hundred dollars--or a thousand dollars, or something--i don't precactly remember, but it was a great, big lot. and he wanted to know if uncle charlie had said how much it was and what had become of it and--and everything. when i said uncle charlie hadn't said a word he looked so sort of disappointed and funny that it made me laugh." it did not make jed laugh. the thought that the knowledge of the missing money had leaked out and was being industriously spread abroad by bearse and his like was very disquieting. he watched phillips more closely than before. he watched ruth, and, before another day had passed, he had devised a wonderful plan, a plan to be carried out in case of alarming eventualities. on the afternoon of the third day he sat before his workbench, his knee clasped between his hands, his foot swinging, and his thoughts busy with the situation in all its alarming phases. it had been bad enough before this new development, bad enough when the always present danger of phillips' secret being discovered had become complicated by his falling in love with his employer's daughter. but now-- suppose the boy had stolen the money? suppose he was being blackmailed by some one whom he must pay or face exposure? jed had read of such things; they happened often enough in novels. he did not hear the door of the outer shop open. a month or more ago he had removed the bell from the door. his excuse for so doing had been characteristic. "i can't stand the wear and tear on my morals," he told ruth. "i ain't sold anything, except through the mail, since the winter really set in. and yet every time that bell rings i find myself jumpin' up and runnin' to wait on a customer. when it turns out to be gabe bearse or somebody like him i swear, and swearin' to me is like whiskey to some folks--comfortin' but demoralizin'." so the bell having been removed, jed did not hear the person who came into and through the outer shop. the first sign of that person's presence which reached his ears was an unpleasant chuckle. he turned, to see mr. phineas babbitt standing in the doorway of the inner room. and--this was the most annoying and disturbing fact connected with the sight--the hardware dealer was not scowling, he was laughing. the winslow foot fell to the floor with a thump and its owner sat up straight. "he, he, he!" chuckled phineas. jed regarded him silently. babbitt's chuckle subsided into a grin. then he spoke. "well," he observed, with sarcastic politeness, "how's the great shavin's jedidah, the famous inventor of whirlagigs? he, he, he!" jed slowly shook his head. "phin," he said, "either you wear rubbers or i'm gettin' deaf, one or the other. how in the world did you get in here this time without my hearin' you?" phineas ignored the question. he asked one of his own. "how's the only original high and mighty patriot this afternoon?" he sneered. the winslow hand caressed the winslow chin. "if you mean me, phin," drawled jed, "i'm able to sit up and take nourishment, thank you. i judge you must be kind of ailin', though. take a seat, won't you?" "no, i won't. i've got other fish to fry, bigger fish than you, at that" "um-hm. well, they wouldn't have to be sperm whales to beat me, phin. be kind of hard to fry 'em if they was too big, wouldn't it?" "they're goin' to fry, you hear me. yes, and they're goin' to sizzle. he, he, he!" mr. winslow sadly shook his head. "you must be awful sick, phin," he drawled. "that's the third or fourth time you've laughed since you came in here." his visitor stopped chuckling and scowled instead. jed beamed gratification. "that's it," he said. "now you look more natural. feelin' a little better . . . eh?" the babbitt chin beard bristled. its wearer leaned forward. "shut up," he commanded. "i ain't takin' any of your sass this afternoon, shavin's, and i ain't cal'latin' to waste much time on you, neither. you know where i'm bound now? well, i'm bound up to the orham national bank to call on my dear friend sam hunniwell. he, he, he! i've got a little bit of news for him. he's in trouble, they tell me, and i want to help him out. . . . blast him!" this time jed made no reply; but he, too, leaned forward and his gaze was fixed upon the hardware dealer's face. there was an expression upon his own face which, when phineas saw it, caused the latter to chuckle once more. "he, he!" he laughed. "what's the matter, shavin's? you look kind of scared about somethin'. 'tain't possible you've known all along what i've just found out? i wonder if you have. have you?" still jed was silent. babbit grunted. "it don't make any difference whether you have or not," he said. "but if you ain't i wonder what makes you look so scared. there's nothin' to be scared about, as i see. i'm just cal'latin' to do our dear old chummie, cap'n sam, a kindness, that's all. he's lost some money up there to the bank, i understand. some says it's four thousand dollars and some says it's forty. it don't make any difference, that part don't. whatever 'tis it's missin' and i'm going to tell him where to find it. that's real good of me, ain't it? ain't it, shavin's; eh?" the little man's malignant spite and evident triumph were actually frightening. and it was quite evident that jed was frightened. yet he made an effort not to appear so. "yes," he agreed. "yes, yes, seems 's if 'twas. er--er-- where is it, phin?" phineas burst out laughing. "'where is it, phin?'" he repeated, mockingly. "by godfreys mighty, i believe you do know where 'tis, shavin's! you ain't gettin' any of it, are you? you ain't dividin' up with the blasted jailbird?" jed was very pale. his voice shook as he essayed to speak. "wh-what jailbird?" he faltered. "what do you mean? what--what are you talkin' about, phin?" "'what are you talkin' about, phin?' god sakes, hear him, will you! all right, i'll tell you what i'm talkin' about. i'm talkin' about sam hunniwell's pet, his new bookkeeper up there to the bank. i'm talkin' about that stuck-up, thievin' hypocrite of a charlie phillips, that's who i'm talkin' about. i called him a jailbird, didn't i? well, he is. he's served his term in the connecticut state's prison for stealin'. and i know it." jed groaned aloud. here it was at last. the single hair had parted and the sword had fallen. and now, of all times, now! he made a pitiful attempt at denial. "it ain't so," he protested. "oh, yes, it is so. six or eight weeks ago--in january 'twas-- there was a drummer in my store sellin' a line of tools and he was lookin' out of the window when this phillips cuss went by with maud hunniwell, both of 'em struttin' along as if common folks, honest folks, was dirt under their feet. and when this drummer see 'em he swore right out loud. 'why,' says he, 'that's charlie phillips, of middleford, ain't it?' 'his name's phillips and he comes from connecticut somewheres,' says i. 'i thought he was in state's prison,' says he. 'what do you mean?' says i. and then he told me. 'by godfreys,' says i, 'if you can fix it so's i can prove that's true i'll give you the biggest order you ever got in this store.' ''twon't be any trouble to prove it,' says he. 'all you've got to do is look up his record in middleford.' and i've looked it up. yes, sir-ee, i've looked it up. ho, ho!" jed, white and shaking, made one more attempt. "it's all a lie," he cried. "of course it is. besides, if you knew so much why have you been waitin' all this time before you told it? if you found out all this--this pack of rubbish in january why did you wait till march before you told it? humph! that's pretty thin, i--" phineas interrupted. "shut up!" he ordered. "why did i wait? well, now, shavin's, seein' it's you and i love you so, i'll tell you. at first i was for runnin' right out in the street and hollerin' to all hands to come and hear the good news about sam hunniwell's pet. and then thinks i: 'hold on! don't be in any hurry. there's time enough. just wait and see what happens. a crook that steals once is liable to try it again. let's wait and see.' and i waited, and-- he, he, he!--he has tried it again. eh, shavin's?" jed was speechless. babbitt, looking like a triumphantly vicious bantam rooster, crowed on. "you don't seem to be quite so sassy and talky as you was when i first came in, shavin's," he sneered. "guess likely you ain't feelin' well now . . . eh? do you remember what i told you last time i was in this shop? i told you i'd pay my debts to you and sam hunniwell if i waited fifty year. well, here's hunniwell's pay comin' to him now. he's praised that phillips thief from one end of ostable county to the other, told how smart he was and how honest and good he was till--lord a'mighty, it's enough to turn a decent man's stomach! and not only that, but here's the feller courtin' his daughter. oh, ho, ho, ho! that's the best of the whole business. that was another thing made me hang off and wait; i wanted to see how the courtin' came along. and it's come along all right. everybody's onto 'em, hangin' over each other, and lookin' soft at each other. she's just fairly heavin' herself at his head, all hands says so. there ain't been anybody in this town good enough for her till he showed up. and now it's comin' out that he's a crook and a jailbird! and he'll be jailed for stealin' this time, too. ho, ho!" he stopped, out of breath, to indulge in another long chuckle. jed leaned forward. "what are you talkin' about, phin?" he demanded. "even allowin' all this--this rigmarole of yours about--about middleford business-- was true--" "it is true and you know it is. i believe you've known it all along." "i say allowin' it is, you haven't any right to say charlie took this money from the orham bank. you can't prove any such thing." "aw, be still! prove--prove nothin'. when a cat and a sasser of milk's shut up together and the milk's gone, you don't need proof to know where it's gone, do you? don't talk to me about proof, jed winslow. put a thief alongside of money and anybody knows what'll happen. why, you know what's happened yourself. you know darn well charlie phillips has stole the money that's gone from the bank. down inside you you're sartin sure of it; and i don't want any better proof of that than just your face, shavin's." this time jed did not attempt to contradict. instead he tried a new hazard. "phin," he pleaded, "don't be too hard. just think of what'll happen if you come out with that--that wild-goose yarn of yours. think of maud, poor girl. you haven't got anything against her, have you?" "yes, i have. she's stuck-up and nose in the air and looks at me as if i was some sort of--of a bug she wouldn't want to step on for fear of mussin' up her shoes. i never did like her, blast her. but leavin' that all to one side, she's sam hunniwell's young-one and that's enough for me." "but she's his only child, phin." "good enough! i had a boy; he was an only child, too, you'll remember. where is he now? out somewheres where he don't belong, fightin' and bein' killed to help wall street get rich. and who sent him there? why, sam hunniwell and his gang. you're one of 'em, jed winslow. to hell with you, every one of you, daughters and all hands." "but, phin--just a minute. think of what it'll mean to charlie, poor young feller. it'll mean--" "it'll mean ten years this time, and a good job, too. you poor fool, do you think you can talk me out of this? you, you sawdust- head? what do you think i came into your hole here for? i came here so's you'd know what i was goin' to do to your precious chums. i wanted to tell you and have the fun of watchin' you squirm. well, i'm havin' the fun, plenty of it. squirm, you wall street bloodsucker, squirm." he fairly stood on tiptoe to scream the last command. to a disinterested observer the scene might have had some elements of farce comedy. certainly phineas, his hat fallen off and under foot, his scanty gray hair tousled and his pugnacious chin beard bristling, was funny to look at. and the idea of calling jed winslow a "wall street bloodsucker" was the cream of burlesque. but to jed himself it was all tragedy, deep and dreadful. he made one more desperate plea. "but, phin," he begged, "think of his--his sister, charlie's sister. what'll become of her and--and her little girl?" phineas snorted. "his sister," he sneered. "all right, i'll think about her all right. she's another stuck-up that don't speak to common folks. who knows anything about her any more'n they did about him? better look up her record, i guess. the boy's turned out to be a thief; maybe the sister'll turn out to be--" "stop! be still!" jed actually shouted it. babbitt stopped, principally because the suddenness of the interruption had startled him into doing so. but the pause was only momentary. he stared at the interrupter in enraged amazement for an instant and then demanded: "stop? who are you tellin' to stop?" "you." "i want to know! well, i'll stop when i get good and ready and if you don't like it, shavin's, you can lump it. that phillips kid has turned out to be a thief and, so far as anybody 'round here knows, his sister may be--" "stop!" again jed shouted it; and this time he rose to his feet. phineas glared at him. "humph!" he grunted. "you'll make me stop, i presume likely." "yes." "is that so?" "yes, it's got to be so. look here, phin, i realize you're mad and don't care much what you say, but there's a limit, you know. it's bad enough to hear you call poor charlie names, but when you start in on ruth--on mrs. armstrong, i mean--that's too much. you've got to stop." this speech was made quietly and with all the customary winslow deliberation and apparent calm, but there was one little slip in it and that slip babbitt was quick to notice. "oh, my!" he sneered. "ruth's what we call her, eh? ruth! got so chummy we call each other by our first names. ruthie and jeddie, i presume likely. aw, haw, haw!" jed's pallor was, for the moment, succeeded by a vivid crimson. he stammered. phineas burst into another scornful laugh. "haw, haw, haw!" he crowed. "she lets him call her ruth. oh, my lord a'mighty! let's shavin's winslow call her that. well, i guess i sized her up all right. she must be about on her brother's level. a thief and--" "shut up, phin!" "shut up? you tell me to shut up!" "yes." "well, i won't. ruth armstrong! what do i care for--" the speech was not finished. jed had taken one long stride to where babbitt was standing, seized the furious little creature by the right arm with one hand and with the other covered his open mouth, covered not only the mouth, but a large section of face as well. "you keep quiet, phin," he drawled. "i want to think." phineas struggled frantically. he managed to get one corner of his mouth from behind that mammoth hand. "ruth armstrong!" he screamed. "ruth armstrong is--" the yell died away to a gurgle, pinched short by the winslow fingers. then the door leading to the kitchen, the door behind the pair, opened and ruth armstrong herself came in. she was pale and she stared with frightened eyes at the little man struggling in the tall one's clutch. "oh, jed," she breathed, "what is it?" jed did not reply. phineas could not. "oh, jed, what is it?" repeated ruth. "i heard him shouting my name. i was in the yard and i heard it. . . . oh, jed, what is it?" babbitt at last managed to wriggle partially clear. he was crazy with rage, but he was not frightened. fear of physical violence was not in his make-up; he was no coward. "i'll tell you what it is," he screamed. "i'll tell you what it is: i've found out about you and that stuck-up crook of a brother of yours. he's a thief. that's what he is, a thief and a jailbird. he stole at middleford and now he's stole again here. and jed winslow and you are--" he got no further, being once more stoppered like a bottle by the winslow grip and the winslow hand. he wriggled and fought, but he was pinned and helpless, hands, feet and vocal organs. jed did not so much as look at him; he looked only at ruth. her pallor had increased. she was trembling. "oh, jed," she cried, "what does he mean? what does he mean by--by 'again--here'?" jed's grip tightened over his captive's mouth. "he doesn't mean anything," he declared, stoutly. "he don't know what he means." from behind the smothering fingers came a defiant mumble. ruth leaned forward. "jed," she begged, "does he--does he know about--about--" jed nodded. she closed her eyes and swayed slightly, but she did not collapse or give way. "and he is going to tell?" she whispered. a furious mumble from behind the fingers and a venomous flash from the babbitt eyes were answers sufficient. "oh, jed," she pleaded, "what shall we do?" for the instant a bit of the old jed came to the surface. his lip twitched grimly as he looked down at the crimson face above his own hand. "i ain't sartin--yet," he drawled. "how do you start in killin' a--a snappin' turtle? i ain't tackled the job since i was a boy." phineas looked as if he could have furnished some points on the subject. his eyes were bulging. then all three heard the door of the outer shop open. ruth looked desperately about her. she hastened to the door by which she had entered. "there's some one coming," she whispered. jed glanced over his shoulder. "you go away," he whispered in reply. "go away, ruth. hurry!" her hand was on the latch of the door, but before she could open it the other door, that leading from the outer shop, opened and leonard grover came in. he stared at the picture before him--at ruth armstrong's pale, frightened face, at babbitt struggling in his captor's clutch, at jed. "why!" he exclaimed. "what is it?" no one answered. phineas was the only one who stirred. he seemed anxious to turn the tableau into a moving picture, but his success was limited. the major turned to ruth. "what is it?" he asked again. she was silent. grover repeated his question, addressing jed this time. "well?" he asked, sharply. "what is the trouble here? what has that fellow been doing?" jed looked down at his wriggling captive. "he's--he's--" he stammered. "well, you see, major, he . . . hum . . . well, i'm afraid i can't tell you." "you can't tell me! what on earth-- mrs. armstrong, will you tell me?" she looked at him appealingly, pitifully, but she shook her head. "i--i can't," she said. he looked from one to the other. then, with a shrug, he turned to the door. "pardon me for interrupting," he observed. "good afternoon." it was ruth who detained him. "oh, please!" she cried, involuntarily. he turned again. "you wish me to stay?" he asked. "oh--oh, i don't know. i--" she had not finished the sentence; she was falteringly trying to finish it when mr. babbitt took the center of the stage. once more he managed to free himself from jed's grip and this time he darted across the shop and put the workbench between himself and his enemy. "i'll tell you what it is," he screamed. "i've found out some things they don't want anybody to know, that's what. i've found out what sort of folks they are, she and her brother. he's a common-- let go of me! by--" the scream ended in another mumble. jed had swarmed over the bench and once more pinned him fast. "you'll have to excuse me, major," he panted. "i--i can't help it. this feller's got what ailed the parrot--he talks too darn much. he's got to stop! he's got to!" but grover was paying little attention. he was looking at ruth. "mrs. armstrong," he asked, "has he been saying--saying things he should not say about you? is that the trouble?" she answered without returning his look. "yes," she said, almost in a whisper. "about me and--and my-- yes, that was it." the major's eyes flashed. "let go of him, jed," he commanded. jed hesitated. "if i do he'll blow up again," he said. "let go of him." jed let go. phineas caught his breath and opened his mouth. major grover stepped in front of him and leveled a forefinger straight at the crimson babbitt nose. "stop!" he ordered, sharply. "stop? what right have you got to tell me to stop? by--" "stop! listen to me. i don't know what you've been saying about this lady--" "i ain't been saying anything, except what i know, and that is that--" "stop! and i don't care. but i know about you, sir, because it is my business to know. the government has had its eye on you for some time and it has asked me to look into your record. i have looked into it. you are not a very dangerous person, mr. babbitt, but that is because of your lack of ability to harm, not because of any good will on your part toward the united states. you have done all the harm you could, you have talked sedition, you've written and talked against the draft, you have corresponded with german agents in boston and new york." "that's a lie." "no, it's the truth. i have copies of your letters and the government has the originals. they are not very dangerous, but that is because you are not big enough to be dangerous. the authorities have left you pretty much to my discretion, sir. it rests with me whether to have you taken in charge and held for trial or merely to warn you and watch you. very well. i warn you now and you may be certain that you are watched. you'll stop your silly, seditious talk at once and you'll write no more letters like those i have seen. if you do it will be a prison term for you as sure as i stand here. do you understand?" apparently phineas understood. his face was not as red as it had been and there was a different look in his eye. jed's rough handling had not frightened him, but the major's cold, incisive tones and the threat of a term in prison had their effect. nevertheless he could still bluster. "you can't talk to me that way," he sputtered. "i--i ain't scared of you even if you are all dressed up in fuss and feathers like a hand-organ monkey. this is a free country." "yes, it is. for decent people it is absolutely free. the other sort have to be put where they can't interfere with that freedom. whether you, babbit, remain free or not depends entirely upon what you do--and say. is this perfectly clear?" phineas did not answer the question directly. for a moment he stood there, his fists clenching and unclenching, and his eyes snapping. then he turned away. "all right," he said, sullenly. "i hear what you say. now i can go, i presume likely--unless you've got some more lyin' and bullyin' to do. get out of my way, shavin's, you fool." but grover had not finished with him. "just a minute," he said. "there is one thing more. i don't know what it is, and i don't wish to know, but evidently you have been saying, or threatening to say, something concerning this lady, mrs. armstrong, which should not be said. you are not to mention her name. do you understand that?" the little hardware dealer almost jumped from the floor as his rage again got the better of him. "the blazes i ain't!" he shrieked. "who says i ain't? is that any of your business, mr.--mr. brass monkey? what's you or the united states gov'ment got to say about my mentionin' names? to the devil with the united states and you, too! you hear that?" major grover smiled. "yes," he said, quietly. "i hear it. so does mr. winslow here, and mrs. armstrong. they can be called as witnesses if it is necessary. you had better let me finish, babbitt. as i say, you are not to mention mrs. armstrong's name, you are not to repeat or circulate any scandal or story reflecting upon her character--" "or her brother's either," put in jed, eagerly. "tell him he can't talk against charlie, either." "certainly. you are not to repeat or circulate anything derogatory to the character of either mrs. armstrong or mr. phillips. in any way derogatory." phineas tossed both fists in the air. "you can't order me around that way," he yelled. "besides, if you knew what i know about that gang you'd--" "hush! i don't want to know anything you know--or pretend to know. as for ordering you about--well, we'll see." "i tell you you can't. you ain't got the right." "perhaps not. but i have the right to use my discretion--my judgment in your case. and my judgment is that if i hear one scandalous story about town reflecting upon the character of mrs. armstrong or her brother--yes, or her friends--i shall know who is responsible and i shall have you arrested and held for trial as an enemy of the country. you condemned the united states to the devil only a moment ago in my hearing. do you think that would help you in court, babbitt? i don't." the little man's face was a sight. as jed said afterward, he looked as if he would have enjoyed biting his way out of the shop. "huh!" he snarled; "i see. you're all in together, the whole lot of you. and you, you brass buttons, you're usin' your soldierin' job to keep your friends out of trouble. . . . huh! yes, that's what you're doin'." the major's smile was provokingly cool. "perhaps i am," he admitted. "but i shouldn't advise you to forget what i have just told you, babbitt. i mean every word of it." it was ruth who spoke next. she uttered a startled exclamation. "there's some one coming up the walk," she cried. "listen." sure enough, heavy footsteps sounded upon the walk leading from the front gate to the shop. jed ran to the window. "it's sam," he exclaimed. "good heavens above! it's sam hunniwell, of all folks--now!" grover looked from one face to the other. "is there any particular reason why captain hunniwell shouldn't come?" he asked. jed and ruth were silent. phineas chuckled malevolently. jed heard the chuckle and spoke. "'twas--'twas cap'n sam he was goin' to tell," he whispered, pointing at babbitt. ruth caught her breath with a frightened gasp. grover nodded. "oh, i see," he said. "well, i don't think he will. he'll be more--more--careful, i'm sure. babbitt, remember." they heard the captain rattle the latch of the front door. ruth opened the door behind her. "i must go, jed," she whispered. "i--i can't stay." the major turned. "i'll go with you, mrs. armstrong," he said. but jed leaned forward. "i--i wish you'd stay, major grover," he whispered. "i--i'd like to have you stay here just a minute or two." grover hesitated. ruth went out, closing the living-room door after her. a moment later captain sam came into the workshop. "hello, jed!" he hailed. "why, hello, major! what--" then for the first time he saw and recognized the third member of the group. he looked at phineas and the little man looked at him. the looks were studies in expression. "humph!" grunted captain sam. "what in time--? . . . humph! . . . well, phin, you look awful glad to see me, i must say. gracious king, man, don't glower at me like that! i haven't done anything to you, if you'd only have sense enough to believe it." babbitt did not answer. he looked as if he were going to burst. major grover was regarding him with a whimsical twinkle in his eye. "mr. babbitt and i have just been discussing some points connected with the war," he observed. "i don't know that we agree, exactly, but we have--well, we have reached an understanding." the captain was plainly puzzled. "humph!" he grunted. "you don't say! . . . well, i-- eh, what is it, jed?" if any one had been watching jed particularly during the recent few minutes they might have observed in his face the dawning of an idea and the changing of that idea into a set purpose. the idea seemed to dawn the moment after he saw captain hunniwell coming up the walk. it had become a purpose by the time the captain rattled the latch. while captain sam and the major were speaking he had hastened to the old desk standing by the wall and was rummaging in one of the drawers. now he came forward. "sam--" he began, but broke off to address mr. babbitt, who was striding toward the door. "don't go, phin," he cried. "i'd rather you didn't go just this minute. i'd like to have you stay. please." phineas answered over his shoulder. the answer was a savage snarl and a command for "shavings" to mind his own business. grover spoke then. "mr. babbitt," he suggested, "don't you think you had better stay a moment? mr. winslow seems to wish it." babbitt reached for the handle of the door, but grover's hand was lightly laid on his shoulder. "do stay, mr. babbitt," begged the major, sweetly. "to oblige me, you know." phineas swore with such vehemence that the oath might have been heard across the road. what he might have said thereafter is a question. at that moment his attention was caught by something which jed winslow had in his hands and he stayed to stare at it. the something was a bundle of crumpled banknotes. chapter xviii jed came forward, the roll of bills in his hand. he seemed quite oblivious of the babbitt stare, or, for that matter, of the complete silence which had so suddenly fallen upon the group in the shop. he came forward, smoothing the crumpled notes with fingers which shook a little. he stopped in front of captain hunniwell. the captain was gazing at him and at the money. jed did not meet his friend's eye; he continued to smooth the banknotes. captain sam spoke first. "what's that?" he demanded. "what money's that?" jed's fingers moved back and forth across the bills and he answered without looking up. he seemed much embarrassed. "sam," he faltered. "sam--er--you remember you told me you'd--er-- lost some money a spell ago? some--er--money you'd collected over to wapatomac. you remember that, don't you?" captain sam looked at him in puzzled surprise. "remember it?" he repeated. "course i remember it. gracious king, 'tain't likely i'd forget it, is it?" jed nodded. "no-o," he drawled, solemnly. "no, course you couldn't. 'twas four hundred dollars you was short, wan't it?" the captain's puzzled look was still there. "yes," he replied. "what of it?" "why--why, just this, sam: i--i want it to be plain, you understand. i want major grover and phineas here to understand the--the whole of it. there's a lot of talk, seems so, around town about money bein' missin' from the bank--" captain sam interrupted. "the deuce there is!" he exclaimed. "that's the first i've heard of any such talk. who's talkin'?" "oh, a--a good many folks, i judge likely. gabe bearse asked babbie about it, and phin here he--" "eh?" the captain turned to face his old enemy. "so you've been talkin', have you?" he asked. mr. babbitt leaned forward. "i ain't begun my talkin' yet, sam hunniwell," he snarled. "when i do you'll--" he stopped. grover had touched him on the shoulder. "sshh!" said the major quietly. to the absolute amazement of captain sam, phineas subsided. his face was blazing red and he seemed to be boiling inside, but he did not say another word. jed seized the opportunity to continue. "i--i just want to get this all plain, sam," he put in, hastily. "i just want it so all hands'll understand it, that's all. you went over to sylvester sage's in wapatomac and he paid you four hundred dollars. when you got back home here fourteen hundred of it was missin'. no, no, i don't mean that. i mean you couldn't find fourteen hundred--i mean--" the captain's patience was, as he himself often said, moored with a short cable. the cable parted now. "gracious king!" he snapped. "jed, if that yarn you're tryin' to spin was wound in a ball and a kitten was playin' with it you couldn't be worse snarled up. what he's tryin' to tell you," he explained, turning to grover, "is that the other day, when i was over to wapatomac, old sylvester sage over there paid me fourteen hundred dollars in cash and when i got back here all i could find was a thousand. that's what you're tryin' to say, ain't it?" turning to jed once more. "yes--yes, that's it, sam. that's it." "course it's it. but what do you want me to say it for? and what are you runnin' around with all that money in your hands for? that's what i want to know." jed swallowed hard. "well, sam," he stammered, "that--that's what i was goin' to tell you. you see--you see, that's the four hundred you lost. i--i found it." major grover looked surprised. phineas babbitt looked more surprised. but, oddly enough, it was captain sam hunniwell who appeared to be most surprised by his friend's statement. the captain seemed absolutely dumbfounded. "you--you what?" he cried. jed smoothed the bills in his hand. "i found it, sam," he repeated. "here 'tis--here." he extended the bundle of banknotes. the captain made no move to take them. jed held them a little nearer. "you--you'd better take it, sam," he urged. "it might get lost again, you know." still captain sam made no move. he looked from the bills in jed's hands to jed's face and back again. the expression on his own face was a strange one. "you found it," he repeated. "you did?" "yes--yes, i found it, sam. just happened to." "where did you find it?" "over yonder behind that pile of boards. you know you said the money was in your overcoat pocket and--and when you came in here on your way back from sylvester's you hove your coat over onto those boards. i presume likely the--the money must have fell out of the pocket then. you see, don't you, sam?" the tone in which the question was asked was one, almost, of pleading. he appeared very, very anxious to have the captain "see." but the latter seemed as puzzled as ever. "here's the money, sam," urged jed. "take it, won't you?" captain sam took it, but that is all he did. he did not count it or put it in his pocket. he merely took it and looked at the man who had given it to him. jed's confusion seemed to increase. "don't you--don't you think you'd better count it, sam?" he stammered. "if--if the major here and phin see you count it and--and know it's all right, then they'll be able to contradict the stories that's goin' around about so much bein' stolen, you know." the captain grunted. "stolen?" he repeated. "you said folks were talkin' about money bein' lost. have they been sayin' 'twas stolen?" it was grover who answered. "i haven't heard any such rumors," he said. "i believe lieutenant rayburn said he heard some idle report about the bank's having lost a sum of money, but there was no hint at dishonesty." captain sam turned to mr. babbitt. "you haven't heard any yarns about money bein' stolen at the bank, have you?" he demanded. before phineas could answer grover's hand again fell lightly on his shoulder. "i'm sure he hasn't," observed the major. the captain paid no attention to him. "have you?" he repeated, addressing babbitt. the little man shook from head to foot. the glare with which he regarded his hated rival might have frightened a timid person. but captain sam hunniwell was distinctly not timid. "have you?" he asked, for the third time. phineas' mouth opened, but grover's fingers tightened on his shoulder and what came out of that mouth was merely a savage repetition of his favorite retort, "none of your darned business." "yes, 'tis my business," began captain sam, but jed interrupted. "i don't see as it makes any difference whether he's heard anything or not, sam," he suggested eagerly. "no matter what he's heard, it ain't so, because there couldn't have been anything stolen. there was only four hundred missin'. i've found that and you've got it back; so that settles it, don't it?" "it certainly would seem as if it did," observed grover. "congratulations, captain hunniwell. you're fortunate that so honest a man found the money, i should say." the captain merely grunted. the odd expression was still on his face. jed turned to the other two. "er--er--major grover," he said, "if--if you hear any yarns now about money bein' missin'--or--or stolen you can contradict 'em now, can't you?" "i certainly can--and will." "and you'll contradict 'em, too, eh, phin?" babbitt jerked his shoulder from grover's grasp and strode to the door. "let me out of here," he snarled. "i'm goin' home." no one offered to detain him, but as he threw open the door to the outer shop leonard grover followed him. "just a moment, babbitt," he said. "i'll go as far as the gate with you, if you don't mind. good afternoon, jed. good afternoon, captain, and once more--congratulations. . . . here, babbitt, wait a moment." phineas did not wait, but even so his pursuer caught him before he reached the gate. jed, who had run to the window, saw the major and the hardware dealer in earnest conversation. the former seemed to be doing most of the talking. then they separated, grover remaining by the gate and phineas striding off in the direction of his shop. he was muttering to himself and his face was working with emotion. between baffled malice and suppressed hatred he looked almost as if he were going to cry. even amid his own feelings of thankfulness and relief jed felt a pang of pity for phineas babbitt. the little man was the incarnation of spite and envy and vindictive bitterness, but jed was sorry for him, just as he would have been sorry for a mosquito which had bitten him. he might be obliged to crush the creature, but he would feel that it was not much to blame for the bite; both it and phineas could not help being as they were--they were made that way. he heard an exclamation at his shoulder and turned to find that captain sam had also been regarding the parting at the gate. "humph!" grunted the captain. "phin looks as if he'd been eatin' somethin' that didn't set any too good. what's started him to obeyin' orders from that grover man all to once? i always thought he hated soldierin' worse than a hen hates a swim. . . . humph! . . . well, that's the second queerest thing i've run across to-day." jed changed the subject, or tried to change it. "what's the first one, sam?" he hastened to ask. his friend looked at him for an instant before he answered. "the first one?" he repeated, slowly. "well, i'll tell you, jed. the first one--and the queerest of all--is your findin' that four hundred dollars." jed was a good deal taken aback. he had not expected an answer of that kind. his embarrassment and confusion returned. "why--why," he stammered, "is--is that funny, sam? i don't--i don't know's i get what you mean. what's--what is there funny about my findin' that money?" the captain stepped across the shop, pulled forward a chair and seated himself. jed watched him anxiously. "i--i don't see anything very funny about my findin' that money, sam," he said, again. captain sam grunted. "don't you?" he asked. "well, maybe my sense of humor's gettin' cross-eyed or--or somethin'. i did think i could see somethin' funny in it, but most likely i was mistaken. sit down, jed, and tell me all about how you found it." jed hesitated. his hand moved slowly across his chin. "well, now, sam," he faltered, "there ain't nothin' to tell. i just--er--found it, that's all. . . . say, you ain't seen that new gull vane of mine lately, have you? i got her so she can flop her wings pretty good now." "hang the gull vane! i want to hear how you found that money. gracious king, man, you don't expect i'm goin' to take the gettin' back of four hundred dollars as cool as if 'twas ten cents, do you? sit down and tell me about it." so jed sat, not with eagerness, but more as if he could think of no excuse for refusing. his companion tilted back in his chair, lit a cigar, and bade him heave ahead. "well," began jed, "i--i--you see, sam, i happened to look behind that heap of boards there and--" "what made you think of lookin' behind those boards?" "eh? why, nothin' 'special. i just happened to look. that's where your coat was, you know. so i looked and--and there 'twas." "i see. there 'twas, eh? where?" "why--why, behind the boards. i told you that, you know." "gracious king, course i know! you've told me that no less than ten times. but where was it? on the boards? on the floor?" "eh? . . . oh, . . . oh, seems to me 'twas on the floor." "don't you know 'twas on the floor?" "why . . . why, yes, sartin." "then what made you say 'seems as if' it was there?" "oh, . . . oh, i don't know. land sakes, sam, what are you askin' me all these questions for?" "just for fun, i guess. i'm interested, naturally. tell me some more. how was the money--all together, or kind of scattered 'round?" "eh? . . . oh, all together." "sure of that?" "course i'm sure of it. i can see it just as plain as day, now i come to think of it. 'twas all together, in a heap like." "um-hm. the band that was round it had come off, then?" "band? what band?" "why, the paper band with '$ ' on it. that had come off when it fell out of my pocket, i presume likely." "yes. . . . yes, i guess likely it did. must have. . . . er-- sam, let me show you that gull vane. i got it so now that--" "hold on a minute. i'm mighty interested about your findin' this money. it's so--so sort of unexpected, as you might say. if that band came off it must have broke when the money tumbled down behind the boards. let's see if it did." he rose and moved toward the pile of boards. jed also rose. "what are you goin' to look for?" he asked, anxiously. "why, the paper band with the '$ ' on it. i'd like to see if it broke. . . . humph!" he added, peering down into the dark crevice between the boards and the wall of the shop. "can't see anything of it, can you?" jed, peering solemnly down, shook his head. "no," he said. "i can't see anything of it." "but it may be there, for all that." he reached down. "humph!" he exclaimed. "i can't touch bottom. jed, you've got a longer arm than i have; let's see if you can." jed, sprawled upon the heap of lumber, stretched his arm as far as it would go. "hum," he drawled, "i can't quite make it, sam. . . . there's a place where she narrows way down here and i can't get my fingers through it." "is that so? then we'd better give up lookin' for the band, i cal'late. didn't amount to anything, anyhow. tell me more about what you did when you found the money. you must have been surprised." "eh? . . . land sakes, i was. i don't know's i ever was so surprised in my life. thinks i, 'here's sam's money that's missin' from the bank.' yes, sir, and 'twas, too." "well, i'm much obliged to you, jed, i surely am. and when you found it-- let's see, you found it this mornin', of course?" "eh? why--why, how--what makes you think i found it this mornin'?" "oh, because you must have. 'cause if you'd found it yesterday or the day before you'd have told me right off." "yes--oh, yes, that's so. yes, i found it this mornin'." "hadn't you thought to hunt for it afore?" "eh? . . . land sakes, yes . . . yes, i'd hunted lots of times, but i hadn't found it." "hadn't thought to look in that place, eh?" "that's it. . . . say, sam, what--" "it's lucky you hadn't moved those boards. if you'd shifted them any since i threw my coat on 'em you might not have found it for a month, not till you used up the whole pile. lucky you looked afore you shifted the lumber." "yes . . . yes, that's so. that's a fact. but, sam, hadn't you better take that money back to the bank? the folks up there don't know it's been found yet. they'll be some surprised, too." "so they will. all hands'll be surprised. and when i tell 'em how you happened to see that money lyin' in a pile on the floor behind those boards and couldn't scarcely believe your eyes, and couldn't believe 'em until you'd reached down and picked up the money, and counted it-- that's about what you did, i presume likely, eh?" "yes. . . . yes, that's just it." "they'll be surprised then, and no wonder. but they'd be more surprised if i should bring 'em here and show 'em the place where you found it. 'twould surprise 'most anybody to know that there was a man livin' who could see down a black crack four foot deep and two inches wide and around a corner in that crack and see money lyin' on the floor, and know 'twas money, and then stretch his arm out a couple of foot more and thin his wrist down until it was less than an inch through and pick up that money. that would surprise em. don't you think 'twould, jed?" the color left jed's face. his mouth fell open and he stared blankly at his friend. the latter chuckled. "don't you think 'twould surprise 'em, jed?" he repeated. "seems likely as if 'twould. it surprised me all right enough." the color came surging back. jed's cheeks flamed. he tried to speak, but what he said was not coherent nor particularly intelligible. "now--now--now, sam," he stammered. "i--i-- you don't understand. you ain't got it right. i--i--" the captain interrupted. "don't try so hard, jed," he continued. "take time to get your steam up. you'll bust a b'iler if you puff that way. let's see what it is i don't understand. you found this money behind those boards?" "eh? yes . . . yes . . . but--" "wait. and you found it this mornin'?" "yes . . . yes . . . but, sam--" "hold on. you saw it layin' on the floor at the bottom of that crack?" "well--well, i don't know as i saw it exactly, but--but-- no, i didn't see it. i--i felt it." "oh, you felt it! thought you said you saw it. well, you reached down and felt it, then. how did you get your arm stretched out five foot long and three-quarters of an inch thick? put it under the steam roller, did you?" jed swallowed twice before replying. "i--i--" he began. "well-- well, come to think of it, sam, i--i guess i didn't feel it with my fingers. i--i took a stick. yes, that was it. i poked in behind there with a stick." "oh, you felt it with a stick. and knew 'twas money? tut, tut! you must have a good sense of touch, jed, to know bills when you scratch across 'em with the far end of a five foot stick. pick 'em up with a stick, too, did you?" mr. winslow was speechless. captain sam shook his head. "and that ain't the most astonishin' part either," he observed. "while those bills were in the dark at the bottom of that crack they must have sprouted. they went in there nothin' but tens and twenties. these you just gave me are fives and twos and all sorts. you'd better poke astern of those boards again, jed. the roots must be down there yet; all you've scratched up are the sprouts." his only answer was a hopeless groan. captain sam rose and, walking over to where his friend sat with his face buried between his hands, laid his own hand on the latter's shoulder. "there, there, jed," he said, gently. "i beg your pardon. i'm sorry i stirred you up this way. 'twas mean of me, i know, but when you commenced givin' me all this rigmarole i couldn't help it. you never was meant for a liar, old man; you make a mighty poor fist at it. what is it all about? what was you tryin' to do it for?" another groan. the captain tried again. "what's the real yarn?" he asked. "what are you actin' this way for? course i know you never found the money. is there somebody--" "no! no, no!" jed's voice rose almost to a shout. he sprang to his feet and clutched at captain sam's coat-sleeve. "no," he shouted. "course there ain't anybody. wh-what makes you say such a thing as that? i--i tell you i did find the money. i did--i did." "jed! of course you didn't. i know you didn't. i know. gracious king, man, be sensible." "i did! i did! i found it and now i give it back to you. what more do you want, sam hunniwell? ain't that enough?" "enough! it's a darned sight too much. i tell you i know you didn't find it." "but i did." "rubbish! in the first place, you and i hunted every inch behind those boards the very day the money was missin', and 'twa'n't there then. and, besides, this isn't the money i lost." "well--well, what if 'tain't? i don't care. i--i know 'tain't. i--i spent your money." "you spent it? when? you told me you only found it this mornin'." "i--i know i did, but 'twan't so. i--i--" jed was in an agony of alarm and frantic haste. "i found your money two or three days ago. yes, sir, that's when i found it. . . . er. . . er . . ." "humph! why didn't you tell me you found it then? if you'd found it what made you keep runnin' into the bank to ask me if i'd found it? why didn't you give it back to me right off? oh, don't be so ridiculous, jed." "i--i ain't. it's true. i--i didn't give it back to you because-- because i--i thought first i'd keep it." "keep it? keep it? steal it, do you mean?" "yes--yes, that's what i mean. i--i thought first i'd do that and then i got--got kind of sorry and--and scared and i got some more money--and now i'm givin' it back to you. see, don't you, sam? that's the reason." captain sam shook his head. "so you decided to be a thief, did you, jed?" he said, slowly. "well, the average person never'd have guessed you was such a desperate character. . . . humph! . . . well, well! . . . what was you goin' to do with the four hundred, provided you had kept it? you spent the money i lost anyway; you said you did. what did you spend it for?" "oh--oh, some things i needed." "sho! is that so? what things?" jed's shaking hand moved across his chin. "oh--i--i forget," he faltered. then, after a desperate struggle, "i--i--i bought a suit of clothes." the effort of this confession was a peculiar one. captain sam hunniwell put back his head and roared with laughter. he was still laughing when he picked up his hat and turned to the door. jed sprang from his seat. "eh? . . . you're not goin', are you, sam?" he cried. the captain, wiping his eyes, turned momentarily. "yes, jed," he said, chokingly, "i'm goin'. say, if--if you get time some of these days dress up in that four hundred dollar suit you bought and then send me word. i'd like to see it." he went out. the door of the outer shop slammed. jed wiped the perspiration from his forehead and groaned helplessly and hopelessly. the captain had reached the gate when he saw phillips coming along the road toward him. he waited until the young man arrived. "hello, captain," hailed charles. "so you decided not to come back to the bank this afternoon, after all?" his employer nodded. "yes," he said. "i've been kept away on business. funny kind of business, too. say, charlie," he added, "suppose likely your sister and you would be too busy to see me for a few minutes now? i'd like to see if you've got an answer to a riddle." "a riddle?" "um-hm. i've just had the riddle sprung on me and it's got my head whirlin' like a bottle in a tide rip. can i come into your house for a minute and spring it on you?" the young man looked puzzled, which was not surprising, but his invitation to come into the house was most cordial. they entered by the front door. as they came into the little hall they heard a man's voice in the living-room beyond. it was major grover's voice and they heard the major say: "it doesn't matter at all. please understand i had no thought of asking. i merely wanted you to feel that what that fellow said had no weight with me whatever, and to assure you that i will make it my business to see that he keeps his mouth shut. as for the other question, ruth--" ruth armstrong's voice broke in here. "oh, please," she begged, "not now. i--i am so sorry i can't tell you everything, but--but it isn't my secret and--and i can't. perhaps some day-- but please believe that i am grateful, very, very grateful. i shall never forget it." charlie, with an anxious glance at captain hunniwell, cleared his throat loudly. the captain's thoughts, however, were too busy with his "riddle" to pay attention to the voices in the living-room. as he and phillips entered that apartment major grover came into the hall. he seemed a trifle embarrassed, but he nodded to captain sam, exchanged greetings with phillips, and hurried out of the house. they found ruth standing by the rear window and looking out toward the sea. the captain plunged at once into his story. he began by asking mrs. armstrong if her brother had told her of the missing four hundred dollars. charles was inclined to be indignant. "of course i haven't," he declared. "you asked us all to keep quiet about it and not to tell a soul, and i supposed you meant just that." "eh? so i did, charlie, so i did. beg your pardon, boy. i might have known you'd keep your hatches closed. well, here's the yarn, mrs. armstrong. it don't make me out any too everlastin' brilliant. a grown man that would shove that amount of money into his overcoat pocket and then go sasshayin' from wapatomac to orham ain't the kind i'd recommend to ship as cow steward on a cattle boat, to say nothin' of president of a bank. but confessin's good for the soul, they say, even if it does make a feller feel like a fool, so here goes. i did just that thing." he went on to tell of his trip to wapatomac, his interview with sage, his visit to the windmill shop, his discovery that four hundred of the fourteen hundred had disappeared. then he told of his attempts to trace it, of jed's anxious inquiries from day to day, and, finally, of the scene he had just passed through. "so there you are," he concluded. "i wish to mercy you'd tell me what it all means, for i can't tell myself. if it hadn't been so-- so sort of pitiful, and if i hadn't been so puzzled to know what made him do it, i cal'late i'd have laughed myself sick to see poor old jed tryin' to lie. why, he ain't got the first notion of how to begin; i don't cal'late he ever told a real, up-and-down lie afore in his life. that was funny enough--but when he began to tell me he was a thief! gracious king! and all he could think of in the way of an excuse was that he stole the four hundred to buy a suit of clothes with. ho, ho, ho!" he roared again. charlie phillips laughed also. but his sister did not laugh. she had seated herself in the rocker by the window when the captain began his tale and now she had drawn back into the corner where the shadows were deepest. "so there you are," said captain sam, again. "there's the riddle. now what's the answer? why did he do it? can either of you guess?" phillips shook his head. "you have got me," he declared. "and the money he gave you was not the money you lost? you're sure of that?" "course i'm sure of it. in the first place i lost a packet of clean tens and twenties; this stuff i've got in my pocket now is all sorts, ones and twos and fives and everything. and in the second place--" "pardon me, just a minute, captain hunniwell. where did he get the four hundred to give you, do you think? he hasn't cashed any large checks at the bank within the last day or two, and he would scarcely have so much on hand in his shop." "not as much as that--no. although i've known the absent-minded, careless critter to have over two hundred knockin' around among his tools and chips and glue pots. probably he had some to start with, and he got the rest by gettin' folks around town and over to harniss to cash his checks. anthony hammond over there asked me a little while ago, when i met him down to the wharf, if i thought shavin's winslow was good for a hundred and twenty-five. said jed had sent over by the telephone man's auto and asked him to cash a check for that much. hammond said he thought 'twas queer he hadn't cashed it at our bank; that's why he asked me about it." "humph! but why should he give his own money away in that fashion? and confess to stealing and all that stuff? i never heard of such a thing." "neither did anybody else. i've known jed all my life and i never can tell what loony thing he's liable to do next. but this beats all of 'em, i will give in." "you don't suppose--you don't suppose he is doing it to help you, because you are his friend? because he is afraid the bank--or you-- may get into trouble because of--well, because of having been so careless?" captain sam laughed once more. "no, no," he said. "gracious king, i hope my reputation's good enough to stand the losin' of four hundred dollars. and jed knows perfectly well i could put it back myself, if 'twas necessary, without runnin' me into the poorhouse. no, 'tain't for me he's doin' it. i ain't the reason." "and you're quite sure his story is all untrue. you don't imagine that he did find the money, your money, and then, for some reason or other, change it with smaller bills, and--" "sshh, sshh, charlie, don't waste your breath. i told you i knew he hadn't found the four hundred dollars i lost, didn't i? well, i do know it and for the very best of reasons; in fact, my stoppin' into his shop just now was to tell him what i'd heard. you see, charlie, old sylvester sage has got back from boston and opened up his house again. and he telephoned me at two o'clock to say that the four hundred dollar packet was layin' on his sittin'-room table just where i left it when he and i parted company four days or so ago. that's how i know jed didn't find it." from the shadowy corner where ruth armstrong sat came a little gasp and an exclamation. charles whistled. "well, by george!" he exclaimed. "that certainly puts a crimp in jed's confession." "sartin sure it does. when sylvester and i parted we was both pretty hot under the collar, havin' called each other's politics about every mean name we could think of. i grabbed up my gloves, and what i thought was my money from the table and slammed out of the house. seems all i grabbed was the two five hundred packages; the four hundred one was shoved under some papers and magazines and there it stayed till sylvester got back from his boston cruise. "but that don't answer my riddle," he added, impatiently. "what made jed act the way he did? got the answer, charlie?" the young man shook his head. "no, by george, i haven't!" he replied. "how about you, mrs. armstrong? can you help us out?" ruth's answer was brief. "no, i'm afraid not," she said. there was a queer note in her voice which caused her brother to glance at her, but captain hunniwell did not notice. he turned to go. "well," he said, "i wish you'd think it over and see if you can spy land anywheres ahead. i need a pilot. this course is too crooked for me. i'm goin' home to ask maud; maybe she can see a light. so long." he went out. when charles returned, having accompanied his employer as far as the door, he found ruth standing by her chair and looking at him. a glance at her face caused him to stop short and look at her. "why, ruth," he asked, "what is it?" she was pale and trembling. there were tears in her eyes. "oh, charlie," she cried, "can't you see? he--he did it for you." "did it for me? did what? who? what are you talking about, sis?" "jed. jed winslow. don't you see, charlie? he pretended to have found the money and to have stolen it just to save you. he thought you--he thought you had taken it." "what? thought i had taken it? i had? why in the devil should he think--" he stopped. when he next spoke it was in a different tone. "sis," he asked, slowly, "do you mean that he thought i took this money because he knew i had--had done that thing at middleford? does he know--about that?" the tears were streaming down her cheeks. "yes, charlie," she said, "he knows. he found it out, partly by accident, before you came here. and--and think how loyal, how wonderful he has been! it was through him that you got your opportunity there at the bank. and now--now he has done this to save you. oh, charlie!" chapter xix the clock in the steeple of the methodist church boomed eleven times and still the lights shone from the sitting-room windows of the little winslow house and from those of jed's living quarters behind his windmill shop. at that time of year and at that time of night there were few windows alight in orham, and mr. gabe bearse, had he been astir at such an hour, might have wondered why the armstrongs and "shavings" were "settin' up." fortunately for every one except him, gabe was in bed and asleep, otherwise he might have peeped under jed's kitchen window shade--he had been accused of doing such things--and had he done so he would have seen jed and charlie phillips in deep and earnest conversation. neither would have wished to be seen just then; their interview was far too intimate and serious for that. they had been talking since eight. charles and his sister had had a long conversation following captain hunniwell's visit and then, after a pretense at supper--a pretense made largely on babbie's account--the young man had come straight to the shop and to jed. he had found the latter in a state of extreme dejection. he was sitting before the little writing table in his living-room, his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands. the drawer of the table was open and jed was, apparently, gazing intently at something within. when phillips entered the room he started, hastily slammed the drawer shut, and raised a pale and distressed face to his visitor. "eh?" he exclaimed. "oh, it's you, charlie, ain't it? i--i--er-- good mornin'. it's--it's a nice day." charles smiled slightly and shook his head. "you're a little mixed on the time, aren't you, jed?" he observed. "it was a nice day, but it is a nice evening now." "eh? is it? land sakes, i presume likely 'tis. must be after supper time, i shouldn't wonder." "supper time! why, it's after eight o'clock. didn't you know it?" "no-o. no, i guess not. i--i kind of lost run of the time, seems so." "haven't you had any supper?" "no-o. i didn't seem to care about supper, somehow." "but haven't you eaten anything?" "no. i did make myself a cup of tea, but twan't what you'd call a success. . . . i forgot to put the tea in it. . . . but it don't make any difference; i ain't hungry--or thirsty, either." phillips leaned forward and laid a hand on the older man's shoulder. "jed," he said gently, "i know why you're not hungry. oh, jed, what in the world made you do it?" jed started back so violently that his chair almost upset. he raised a hand with the gesture of one warding off a blow. "do?" he gasped. "do what?" "why, what you did about that money that captain hunniwell lost. what made you do it, jed?" jed's eyes closed momentarily. then he opened them and, without looking at his visitor, rose slowly to his feet. "so sam told you," he said, with a sigh. "i--i didn't hardly think he'd do that. . . . course 'twas all right for him to tell," he added hastily. "i didn't ask him not to, but--but, he and i havin' been--er--chums, as you might say, for so long, i--i sort of thought. . . . well, it don't make any difference, i guess. did he tell your--your sister? did he tell her how i--how i stole the money?" charles shook his head. "no," he said quietly. "no, he didn't tell either of us that. he told us that you had tried to make him believe you took the money, but that he knew you were not telling the truth. he knew you didn't take it." "eh? now . . . now, charlie, that ain't so." jed was even more disturbed and distressed than before. "i--i told sam i took it and--and kept it. i told him i did. what more does he want? what's he goin' around tellin' folks i didn't for? what--" "hush, jed! he knows you didn't take it. he knew it all the time you were telling him you did. in fact he came into your shop this afternoon to tell you that the sage man over at wapatomac had found the four hundred dollars on the table in his sitting-room just where the captain left it. sage had just 'phoned him that very thing. he would have told you that, but you didn't give him the chance. jed, i--" but jed interrupted. his expression as he listened had been changing like the sky on a windy day in april. "here, here!" he cried wildly. "what--what kind of talk's that? do--do you mean to tell me that sam hunniwell never lost that money at all? that all he did was leave it over at wapatomac?" "yes, that's just what i mean." "then--then all the time when i was--was givin' him the--the other money and tellin' him how i found it and--and all--he knew--" "certainly he knew. i've just told you that he knew." jed sat heavily down in the chair once more. he passed his hand slowly across his chin. "he knew!" he repeated. "he knew! . . ." then, with a sudden gasp as the full significance of the thought came to him, he cried: "why, if--if the money wasn't ever lost you couldn't--you--" charles shook his head: "no, jed," he said, "i couldn't have taken it. and i didn't take it." jed gasped again. he stretched out a hand imploringly. "oh, lord," he exclaimed, "i never meant to say that. i--i--" "it's all right, jed. i don't blame you for thinking i might have taken it. knowing what you did about--well, about my past record, it is not very astonishing that you should think almost anything." jed's agonized contrition was acute. "don't talk so, charlie!" he pleaded. "don't! i--i'd ought to be ashamed of myself. i am--mercy knows i am! but . . . eh? why, how did you know i knew about--that?" "ruth told me just now. after captain hunniwell had gone, she told me the whole thing. about how babbie let the cat out of the bag and how she told you for fear you might suspect something even worse than the truth; although," he added, "that was quite bad enough. yes, she told me everything. you've been a brick all through, jed. and now--" "wait, charlie, wait. i--i don't know what to say to you. i don't know what you must think of me for ever--ever once suspectin' you. if you hadn't said to me only such a little spell ago that you needed money so bad and would do most anything to get five hundred dollars--if you hadn't said that, i don't think the notion would ever have crossed my mind." phillips whistled. "well, by george!" he exclaimed. "i had forgotten that. no wonder you thought i had gone crooked again. humph! . . . well, i'll tell you why i wanted that money. you see, i've been trying to pay back to the man in middleford the money of his which--which i took before. it is two thousand dollars and," with a shrug, "that looks a good deal bigger sum to me now than it used to, you can bet on that. i had a few hundred in a new york savings bank before i--well, before they shut me up. no one knew about it, not even sis. i didn't tell her because-- well, i wish i could say it was because i was intending to use it to pay back what i had taken, but that wasn't the real reason why i kept still about it. to tell you the truth, jed, i didn't feel-- no, i don't feel yet any too forgiving or kindly toward that chap who had me put in prison. i'm not shirking blame; i was a fool and a scamp and all that; but he is--he's a hard man, jed." jed nodded. "seems to me ru--your sister said he was a consider'ble of a professer," he observed. "professor? why no, he was a bond broker." "i mean that he professed religion a good deal. called himself a christian and such kind of names." phillips smiled bitterly. "if he is a christian i prefer to be a heathen," he observed. "um-hm. well, maybe he ain't one. you could teach a parrot to holler 'praise the lord,' i cal'late, and the more crackers he got by it the louder he'd holler. so you never said anything about the four hundred you had put by, charlie." "no. i felt that i had been treated badly and--why, jed, the man used to urge me to dress better than i could afford, to belong to the most expensive club and all that sort of thing. he knew i was in with a set sporting ten times the money i could muster, and spending it, too, but he seemed to like to have me associate with them. said it was good for the business." "sartin! more crackers for polly. go on." "i intended that he should never have that money, but after i came here, after i had been here for a time, i changed my mind. i saw things in a different light. i wrote him a letter, told him i meant to pay back every cent of the two thousand i had taken and enclosed my check for the seven hundred and fifty i had put by. since then i have paid him two hundred and fifty more, goodness knows how. i have squeezed every penny from my salary that i could spare. i have paid him half of the two thousand and, if everything had gone on well, some day or other i would have paid the other half." jed laid a hand on his companion's knee. "good boy, charlie," he said. "and how did the--er--professin' poll parrot act about your payin' it back?" charles smiled faintly. "just before i talked with you that day, jed," he said, "i received a letter from him stating that he did not feel i was paying as rapidly as i could and that, if he did not receive another five hundred shortly he should feel it his duty to communicate with my present employers. do you wonder i said i would do almost anything to get the money?" jed's hand patted the knee sympathetically. "sho, sho, sho!" he exclaimed. "have you heard from him since?" "no, i wrote him that i was paying as fast as i could and that if he communicated with my employers that would end any chances of his ever getting more. he hasn't written since; afraid of stopping the golden egg supply, i presume. . . . but there," he added, "that's enough of that. jed, how could you do it--just for me? of course i had come to realize that your heart was as big as a bushel basket, and that you and i were friends. but when a fellow gives up four hundred dollars of his own money, and, not only does that, but deliberately confesses himself a thief--when he does that to save some one else who, as he knew, had really been a thief and who he was pretty sure must have stolen again--why, jed, it is unbelievable. why did you do it? what can i say to you?" jed held up a protesting hand. "don't say anything," he stammered. "don't! it's--it's all foolishness, anyhow." "foolishness! it's--oh, i don't know what it is! and to sacrifice your reputation and your character and your friendship with captain hunniwell, all for me! i can't understand it." "now--now--now, charlie, don't try to. if i can't understand myself more'n half the time, what's the use of your strainin' your brains? i--i just took a notion, that's all. i--" "but, jed, why did you do it--for me? i have heard of men doing such things for--for women, sacrificing themselves to save a woman they were in love with. you read of that in books and--yes, i think i can understand that. but for you to do it--for me!" jed waved both hands this time. "sshh! sshh!" he cried, in frantic protest. his face was a brilliant crimson and his embarrassment and confusion were so acute as to be laughable, although phillips was far from laughing. "sshh, sshh, charlie," pleaded jed. "you-- you don't know what you're talkin' about. you're makin' an awful fuss about nothin'. sshh! yes, you are, too. i didn't have any notion of tellin' sam i stole that four hundred when i first gave it to him. i was goin' to tell him i found it, that's all. that would keep him bottled up, i figgered, and satisfied and then--then you and i'd have a talk and i'd tell you what i'd done and--well, some day maybe you could pay me back the money; don't you see? i do hope," he added anxiously, "you won't hold it against me, for thinkin' maybe you had taken it. course i'd ought to have known better. i would have known better if i'd been anybody but shavin's winslow. he ain't responsible." "hush, jed, hush! but why did you say you had--kept it?" "eh? oh, that was sam's doin's. he commenced to ask questions, and, the first thing i knew, he had me on the spider fryin' over a hot fire. the more i sizzled and sputtered and tried to get out of that spider, the more he poked up the fire. i declare, i never knew lyin' was such a job! when i see how easy and natural it comes to some folks i feel kind of ashamed to think what a poor show i made at it. well, sam kept pokin' the fire and heatin' me up till i got desperate and swore i stole the money instead of findin' it. and that was hoppin' out of the fryin' pan into the fire," he drawled reflectively. charles smiled. "captain sam said you told him you took the money to buy a suit of clothes with," he suggested. "eh? did i? sho! that was a real bright idea of mine, wasn't it? a suit of clothes. humph! wonder i didn't say i bought shoe laces or collar buttons or somethin'. . . . sho! . . . dear, dear! well, they say george washin'ton couldn't tell a lie and i've proved i can't either; only i've tried to tell one and i don't recollect that he ever did that. . . . humph! . . . a suit of clothes. . . . four hundred dollars. . . . solomon in all his glory would have looked like a calico shirt and a pair of overalls alongside of me, eh? . . . humph!" phillips shook his head. "nevertheless, jed," he declared, "i can't understand why you did it and i never--never shall forget it. neither will ruth. she will tell you so to-morrow." jed was frightened. "no, no, no, she mustn't," he cried, quickly. "i--i don't want her to talk about it. i--i don't want anybody to talk about it. please tell her not to, charlie! please! it's-- it's all such foolishness anyhow. let's forget it." "it isn't the sort of thing one forgets easily. but we won't talk of it any more just now, if that pleases you better. i have some other things to talk about and i must talk about them with some one. i must--i've got to." jed looked at him. the words reminded him forcibly of ruth's on that day when she had come to the windmill shop to tell him her brother's story and to discuss the question of his coming to orham. she, too, had said that she must talk with some one--she must. "have--you talked 'em over with--with your sister?" he asked. "yes. but she and i don't agree completely in the matter. you see, ruth thinks the world of me, she always did, a great deal more than i deserve, ever have deserved or ever will. and in this matter she thinks first of all of me--what will become of me provided--well, provided things don't go as i should like to have them. that isn't the way i want to face the question. i want to know what is best for every one, for her, for me and--and for some one else--most of all for some one else, i guess," he added. jed nodded slowly. "for maud," he said. charles looked at him. "how on earth--?" he demanded. "what in blazes are you--a clairvoyant?" "no-o. no. but it don't need a spirit medium to see through a window pane, charlie; that is, the average window pane," he added, with a glance at his own, which were in need of washing just then. "you want to know," he continued, "what you'd ought to do now that will be the right thing, or the nighest to the right thing, for your sister and babbie and yourself--and maud." "yes, i do. it isn't any new question for me. i've been putting it up to myself for a long time, for months; by, george, it seems years." "i know. i know. well, charlie, i've been puttin' it up to myself, too. have you got any answer?" "no, none that exactly suits me. have you?" "i don't know's i have--exactly." "exactly? well, have you any, exact or otherwise?" "um. . . . well, i've got one, but . . . but perhaps it ain't an answer. perhaps it wouldn't do at all. perhaps . . . perhaps . . ." "never mind the perhapses. what is it?" "um. . . . suppose we let it wait a little spell and talk the situation over just a little mite. you've been talkin' with your sister, you say, and she don't entirely agree with you." "no. i say things can't go on as they've been going. they can't." "um-hm. meanin'--what things?" "everything. jed, do you remember that day when you and i had the talk about poetry and all that? when you quoted that poem about a chap's fearing his fate too much? well, i've been fearing my fate ever since i began to realize what a mess i was getting into here in orham. when i first came i saw, of course, that i was skating on thin ice, and it was likely to break under me at any time. i knew perfectly well that some day the middleford business was bound to come out and that my accepting the bank offer without telling captain hunniwell or any one was a mighty risky, not to say mean, business. but ruth was so very anxious that i should accept and kept begging me not to tell, at least until they had had a chance to learn that i was worth something, that i gave in and . . . i say, jed," he put in, breaking his own sentence in the middle, "don't think i'm trying to shove the blame over on to sis. it's not that." jed nodded. "sho, sho, charlie," he said, "course 'tain't. i understand." "no, i'll take the blame. i was old enough to have a mind of my own. well, as i was saying, i realized it all, but i didn't care so much. if the smash did come, i figured, it might not come until i had established myself at the bank, until they might have found me valuable enough to keep on in spite of it. and i worked mighty hard to make them like me. then--then--well, then maud and i became friends and--and--oh, confound it, you see what i mean! you must see." the winslow knee was clasped between the winslow hands and the winslow foot was swinging. jed nodded again. "i see, charlie," he said. "and--and here i am. the smash has come, in a way, already. babbitt, so ruth tells me, knows the whole story and was threatening to tell, but she says grover assures her that he won't tell, that he, the major, has a club over the old fellow which will prevent his telling. do you think that's true?" "i shouldn't be surprised. major grover sartinly did seem to put the fear of the lord into phin this afternoon. . . . and that's no one-horse miracle," he drawled, "when you consider that all the ministers in orham haven't been able to do it for forty odd years. . . . um. . . . yes, i kind of cal'late phin'll keep his hatches shut. he may bust his b'iler and blow up with spite, but he won't talk about you, charlie, i honestly believe. and we can all thank the major for that." "i shall thank him, for one!" "mercy on us! no, no. he doesn't know your story at all. he just thinks babbitt was circulatin' lies about ruth--about your sister. you mustn't mention the middleford--er--mess to major grover." "humph! well, unless i'm greatly mistaken, ruth--" "eh? ruth--what?" "oh, nothing. never mind that now. and allowing that babbitt will, as you say, keep his mouth shut, admitting that the situation is just what it was before captain hunniwell lost the money or babbitt came into the affair at all, still i've made up my mind that things can't go on as they are. jed, i--it's a mighty hard thing to say to another man, but--the world--my world--just begins and ends with--with her." his fists clenched and his jaw set as he said it. jed bowed his head. "with maud, you mean," he said. "yes. i--i don't care for anything else or anybody else. . . . oh, of course i don't mean just that, you know. i do care for sis and babbie. but--they're different." "i understand, charlie." "no, you don't. how can you? nobody can understand, least of all a set old crank like you, jed, and a confirmed bachelor besides. beg pardon for contradicting you, but you don't understand, you can't." jed gazed soberly at the floor. "maybe i can understand a little, charlie," he drawled gently. "well, all right. let it go at that. the fact is that i'm at a crisis." "just a half minute, now. have you said anything to maud about-- about how you feel?" "of course i haven't," indignantly. "how could i, without telling her everything?" "that's right, that's right. course you couldn't, and be fair and honorable. . . . hum. . . . then you don't know whether or not she--er--feels the same way about--about you?" charles hesitated. "no-o," he hesitated. "no, i don't know, of course. but i--i feel--i--" "you feel that that part of the situation ain't what you'd call hopeless, eh? . . . um. . . . well, judgin' from what i've heard, i shouldn't call it that, either. would it surprise you to know, charlie, that her dad and i had a little talk on this very subject not so very long ago?" evidently it did surprise him. charles gasped and turned red. "captain hunniwell!" he exclaimed. "did captain hunniwell talk with you about--about maud and--and me?" "yes." "well, by george! then he suspected--he guessed that-- that's strange." jed relinquished the grip of one hand upon his knee long enough to stroke his chin. "um . . . yes," he drawled drily. "it's worse than strange, it's-- er--paralyzin'. more clairvoyants in orham than you thought there was; eh, charlie?" "but why should he talk with you on that subject; about anything so--er--personal and confidential as that? with you, you know!" jed's slow smile drifted into sight and vanished again. he permitted himself the luxury of a retort. "well," he observed musingly, "as to that i can't say for certain. maybe he did it for the same reason you're doin' it now, charlie." the young man evidently had not thought of it in just that light. he looked surprised and still more puzzled. "why, yes," he admitted. "so i am, of course. and i do talk to you about things i never would think of mentioning to other people. and ruth says she does. that's queer, too. but we are--er-- neighbors of yours and--and tenants, you know. we've known you ever since we came to orham." "ye-es. and sam's known me ever since i came. anyhow he talked with me about you and maud. i don't think i shall be sayin' more'n i ought to if i tell you that he likes you, charlie." "does he?" eagerly. "by george, i'm glad of that! but, oh, well," with a sigh, "he doesn't know. if he did know my record he might not like me so well. and as for my marrying his daughter--good night!" with hopeless emphasis. "no, not good night by any means. maybe it's only good mornin'. go on and tell me what you mean by bein' at a crisis, as you said a minute ago." "i mean just that. the time has come when i must speak to maud. i must find out if--find out how she feels about me. and i can't speak to her, honorably, without telling her everything. and suppose she should care enough for me to--to--suppose she should care in spite of everything, there's her father. she is his only daughter; he worships the ground she steps on. suppose i tell him i've been," bitterly, "a crook and a jailbird; what will he think of me--as a son-in-law? and now suppose he was fool enough to consent--which isn't supposable--how could i stay here, working for him, sponging a living from him, with this thing hanging over us all? no, i can't--i can't. whatever else happens i can't do that. and i can't go on as i am--or i won't. now what am i going to do?" he had risen and was pacing the floor. jed asked a question. "what does your sister want you to do?" he asked. "ruth? oh, as i told you, she thinks of no one but me. how dreadful it would be for me to tell of my middleford record! how awful if i lost my position in the bank! suppose they discharged me and the town learned why! i've tried to make her see that, compared to the question of maud, nothing else matters at all, but i'm afraid she doesn't see it as i do. she only sees--me." "her brother. um . . . yes, i know." "yes. well, we talked and talked, but we got nowhere. so at last i said i was coming out to thank you for what you did to save me, jed. i could hardly believe it then; i can scarcely believe it now. it was too much for any man to do for another. and she said to talk the whole puzzle out with you. she seems to have all the confidence on earth in your judgment, jed. she is as willing to leave a decision to you, apparently, as you profess to be to leave one to your wooden prophet up on the shelf there; what's-his-name-- er--isaiah." jed looked greatly pleased, but he shook his head. "i'm afraid her confidence ain't founded on a rock, like the feller's house in the bible," he drawled. "my decisions are liable to stick half way betwixt and between, same as--er--jeremiah's do. but," he added, gravely, "i have been thinkin' pretty seriously about you and your particular puzzle, charlie, and--and i ain't sure that i don't see one way out of the fog. it may be a hard way, and it may turn out wrong, and it may not be anything you'll agree to. but--" "what is it? if it's anything even half way satisfactory i'll believe you're the wisest man on earth, jed winslow." "well, if i thought you was liable to believe that i'd tell you to send your believer to the blacksmith's 'cause there was somethin' wrong with it. no, i ain't wise, far from it. but, charlie, i think you're dead right about what you say concernin' maud and her father and you. you can't tell her without tellin' him. for your own sake you mustn't tell him without tellin' her. and you shouldn't, as a straight up and down, honorable man keep on workin' for sam when you ask him, under these circumstances, to give you his daughter. you can't afford to have her say 'yes' because she pities you, nor to have him give in to her because she begs him to. no, you want to be independent, to go to both of 'em and say: 'here's my story and here am i. you know now what i did and you know, too, what i've been and how i've behaved since i've been with you.' you want to say to maud: 'do you care enough for me to marry me in spite of what i've done and where i've been?' and to sam: 'providin' your daughter does care for me, i mean to marry her some day or other. and you can't be on his pay roll when you say that, as i see it." phillips stopped in his stride. "you've put it just as it is," he declared emphatically. "there's the situation--what then? for i tell you now, jed winslow, i won't give her up until she tells me to." "course not, charlie, course not. but there's one thing more--or two things, rather. there's your sister and babbie. suppose you do haul up stakes and quit workin' for sam at the bank; can they get along without your support? without the money you earn?" the young man nodded thoughtfully. "yes," he replied, "i see no reason why they can't. they did before i came, you know. ruth has a little money of her own, enough to keep her and barbara in the way they live here in orham. she couldn't support me as a loafer, of course, and you can bet i should never let her try, but she could get on quite well without me. . . . besides, i am not so sure that . . ." "eh? what was you goin' to say, charlie?" "oh, nothing, nothing. i have had a feeling, a slight suspicion, recently, that-- but never mind that; i have no right to even hint at such a thing. what are you trying to get at, jed?" "get at?" "yes. why did you ask that question about ruth and barbara? you don't mean that you see a way out for me, do you?" "w-e-e-ll, i . . . er . . . i don't cal'late i'd want to go so far as to say that, hardly. no-o, i don't know's it's a way out-- quite. but, as i've told you i've been thinkin' about you and maud a pretty good deal lately and . . . er . . . hum . . ." "for heaven's sake, hurry up! don't go to sleep now, man, of all times. tell me, what do you mean? what can i do?" jed's foot dropped to the floor. he sat erect and regarded his companion intently over his spectacles. his face was very grave. "there's one thing you can do, charlie," he said. "what is it? tell me, quick." "just a minute. doin' it won't mean necessarily that you're out of your worries and troubles. it won't mean that you mustn't make a clean breast of everything to maud and to sam. that you must do and i know, from what you've said to me, that you feel you must. and it won't mean that your doin' this thing will necessarily make either maud or sam say yes to the question you want to ask 'em. that question they'll answer themselves, of course. but, as i see it, if you do this thing you'll be free and independent, a man doin' a man's job and ready to speak to sam hunniwell or anybody else like a man. and that's somethin'." "something! by george, it's everything! what is this man's job? tell me, quick." and jed told him. chapter xx mr. gabe bearse lost another opportunity the next morning. the late bird misses the early worm and, as gabriel was still slumbering peacefully at six a. m., he missed seeing ruth armstrong and her brother emerge from the door of the winslow house at that hour and walk to the gate together. charles was carrying a small traveling bag. ruth's face was white and her eyes were suspiciously damp, but she was evidently trying hard to appear calm and cheerful. as they stood talking by the gate, jed winslow emerged from the windmill shop and, crossing the lawn, joined them. the three talked for a moment and then charles held out his hand. "well, so long, jed," he said. "if all goes well i shall be back here to-morrow. wish me luck." "i'll be wishin' it for you, charlie, all day and all night with double time after hours and no allowance for meals," replied jed earnestly. "you think sam'll get your note all right?" "yes, i shall tuck it under the bank door as i go by. if he should ask what the business was which called me to boston so suddenly, just dodge the question as well as you can, won't you, jed?" "sartin sure. he'll think he's dealin' with that colored man that sticks his head through the sheet over to the ostable fair, the one the boys heave baseballs at. no, he won't get anything out of me, charlie. and the other letter; that'll get to--to her?" the young man nodded gravely. "i shall mail it at the post-office now," he said. "don't talk about it, please. well, sis, good-by-- until to-morrow." jed turned his head. when he looked again phillips was walking rapidly away along the sidewalk. ruth, leaning over the fence, watched him as long as he was in sight. and jed watched her anxiously. when she turned he ventured to speak. "don't worry," he begged. "don't. he's doin' the right thing. i know he is." she wiped her eyes. "oh, perhaps he is," she said sadly. "i hope he is." "i know he is. i only wish i could do it, too. . . . i would," he drawled, solemnly, "only for nineteen or twenty reasons, the first one of 'em bein' that they wouldn't let me." she made no comment on this observation. they walked together back toward the house. "jed," she said, after a moment, "it has come at last, hasn't it, the day we have foreseen and that i have dreaded so? poor charlie! think what this means to him." jed nodded. "he's puttin' it to the touch, to win or lose it all," he agreed, "same as was in the poem he and i talked about that time. well, i honestly believe he feels better now that he's made up his mind to do it, better than he has for many a long day." "yes, i suppose he does. and he is doing, too, what he has wanted to do ever since he came here. he told me so when he came in from his long interview with you last night. he and i talked until it was almost day and we told each other--many things." she paused. jed, looking up, caught her eye. to his surprise she colored and seemed slightly confused. "he had not said anything before," she went on rather hurriedly, "because he thought i would feel so terribly to have him do it. so i should, and so i do, of course--in one way, but in another i am glad. glad, and very proud." "sartin. he'll make us all proud of him, or i miss my guess. and, as for the rest of it, the big question that counts most of all to him, i hope--yes, i think that's comin' out all right, too. ruth," he added, "you remember what i told you about sam's talk with me that afternoon when he came back from wapatomac. if maud cares for him as much as all that she ain't goin' to throw him over on account of what happened in middleford." "no--no, not if she really cares. but does she care--enough?" "i hope so. i guess so. but if she doesn't it's better for him to know it, and know it now. . . . dear, dear!" he added, "how i do fire off opinions, don't i? a body'd think i was loaded up with wisdom same as one of those machine guns is with cartridges. about all i'm loaded with is blanks, i cal'late." she was not paying attention to this outburst, but, standing with one hand upon the latch of the kitchen door, she seemed to be thinking deeply. "i think you are right," she said slowly. "yes, i think you are right. it is better to know. . . . jed, suppose--suppose you cared for some one, would the fact that her brother had been in prison make any difference in--in your feeling?" jed actually staggered. she was not looking at him, nor did she look at him now. "eh?" he cried. "why--why, ruth, what--what--?" she smiled faintly. "and that was a foolish question, too," she said. "foolish to ask you, of all men. . . . well, i must go on and get babbie's breakfast. poor child, she is going to miss her uncle charlie. we shall all miss him. . . . but there, i promised him i would be brave. good morning, jed." "but--but, ruth, what-what--?" she had not heard him. the door closed. jed stood staring at it for some minutes. then he crossed the lawn to his own little kitchen. the performances he went through during the next hour would have confirmed the opinion of mr. bearse and his coterie that "shavings" winslow was "next door to loony." he cooked a breakfast, but how he cooked it or of what it consisted he could not have told. the next day he found the stove-lid lifter on a plate in the ice chest. whatever became of the left-over pork chop which should have been there he had no idea. babbie came dancing in at noon on her way home from school. she found her uncle jed in a curious mood, a mood which seemed to be a compound of absent-mindedness and silence broken by sudden fits of song and hilarity. he was sitting by the bench when she entered and was holding an oily rag in one hand and a piece of emery paper in the other. he was looking neither at paper nor rag, nor at anything else in particular so far as she could see, and he did not notice her presence at all. suddenly he began to rub the paper and the rag together and to sing at the top of his voice: "'he's my lily of the valley, my bright and mornin' star; he's the fairest of ten thousand to my soul--hallelujah! he's my di-dum-du-dum-di-dum-- di--'" barbara burst out laughing. mr. winslow's hallelujah chorus stopped in the middle and he turned. "eh?" he exclaimed, looking over his spectacles. "oh, it's you! sakes alive, child, how do you get around so quiet? haven't borrowed the cat's feet to walk, on, have you?" babbie laughed again and replied that she guessed the cat wouldn't lend her feet. "she would want 'em herself, prob'ly, uncle jed," she added. "don't you think so?" jed appeared to consider. "well," he drawled, "she might, i presume likely, be as selfish and unreasonable as all that. but then again she might . . . hum . . . what was it the cat walked on in that story you and i was readin' together a spell ago? that--er--sure enough story--you know. by kipling, 'twas." "oh, i know! it wasn't a sure enough story; it was a 'just so' story. and the name of it was 'the cat who walked by his wild lone.'" jed looked deeply disappointed. "sho!" he sighed. "i thought 'twas on his wild lone he walked. i was thinkin' that maybe he'd gone walkin' on that for a spell and had lent you his feet. . . . hum. . . . dear, dear! "'oh, trust and obey, for there's no other way to be de-de-de-di-dum-- but to trust and obey.'" here he relapsed into another daydream. after waiting for a moment, babbie ventured to arouse him. "uncle jed," she asked, "what were you doing with those things in your hand--when i came in, you know? that cloth and that piece of paper. you looked so funny, rubbing them together, that i couldn't help laughing." jed regarded her solemnly. "it's emery paper," he said; "like fine sandpaper, you know. and the cloth's got ile in it. i'm cleanin' the rust off this screwdriver. i hadn't used it for more'n a fortni't and it got pretty rusty this damp weather." the child looked at him wonderingly. "but, uncle jed," she said, "there isn't any screwdriver. anyhow i don't see any. you were just rubbing the sandpaper and the cloth together and singing. that's why it looked so funny." jed inspected first one hand and then the other. "hum!" he drawled. "hu-um! . . . well, i declare! . . . now you mention it, there don't seem to be any screwdriver, does there? . . . here 'tis on the bench. . . . and i was rubbin' the sandpaper with ile, or ilin' the sandpaper with the rag, whichever you like. . . . hum, ye-es, i should think it might have looked funny. . . . babbie, if you see me walkin' around without any head some mornin' don't be scared. you'll know that that part of me ain't got out of bed yet, that's all." barbara leaned her chin on both small fists and gazed at him. "uncle jed," she said, "you've been thinking about something, haven't you?" "eh? . . . why, yes, i--i guess likely maybe i have. how did you know?" "oh, 'cause i did. petunia and i know you ever and ever so well now and we're used to--to the way you do. mamma says things like forgetting the screwdriver are your ex-eccen-tricks. is this what you've been thinking about a nice eccen-trick or the other kind?" jed slowly shook his head. "i--i don't know," he groaned. "i dasn't believe-- there, there! that's enough of my tricks. how's petunia's hair curlin' this mornin'?" after the child left him he tried to prepare his dinner, but it was as unsatisfactory a meal as breakfast had been. he couldn't eat, he couldn't work. he could only think, and thinking meant alternate periods of delirious hope and black depression. he sat down before the little table in his living-room and, opening the drawer, saw ruth armstrong's pictured face looking up at him. "jed! oh, jed!" it was maud hunniwell's voice. she had entered the shop and the living-room without his hearing her and now she was standing behind him with her hand upon his shoulder. he started, turned and looked up into her face. and one glance caused him to forget himself and even the pictured face in the drawer for the time and to think only of her. "maud!" he exclaimed. "maud!" her hair, usually so carefully arranged, was disordered; her hat was not adjusted at its usual exact angle; and as for the silver fox, it hung limply backside front. her eyes were red and she held a handkerchief in one hand and a letter in the other. "oh, jed!" she cried. jed put out his hands. "there, there, maud!" he said. "there, there, little girl." they had been confidants since her babyhood, these two. she came to him now, and putting her head upon his shoulder, burst into a storm of weeping. jed stroked her hair. "there, there, maud," he said gently. "don't, girlie, don't. it's goin' to be all right, i know it. . . . and so you came to me, did you? i'm awful glad you did, i am so." "he asked me to come," she sobbed. "he wrote it--in--in the letter." jed led her over to a chair. "sit down, girlie," he said, "and tell me all about it. you got the letter, then?" she nodded. "yes," she said, chokingly; "it--it just came. oh, i am so glad father did not come home to dinner to-day. he would have--have seen me and--and--oh, why did he do it, jed? why?" jed shook his head. "he had to do it, maud," he answered. "he wanted to do the right thing and the honorable thing. and you would rather have had him do that, wouldn't you?" "oh--oh, i don't know. but why didn't he come to me and tell me? why did he go away and--and write me he had gone to enlist? why didn't he come to me first? oh. . . . oh, jed, how could he treat me so?" she was sobbing again. jed took her hand and patted it with his own big one. "didn't he tell you in the letter why?" he asked. "yes--yes, but--" "then let me tell you what he told me, maud. he and i talked for up'ards of three solid hours last night and i cal'late i understood him pretty well when he finished. now let me tell you what he said to me." he told her the substance of his long interview with phillips. he told also of charles' coming to orham, of why and how he took the position in the bank, of his other talks with him--winslow. "and so," said jed, in conclusion, "you see, maud, what a dreadful load the poor young feller's been carryin' ever since he came and especially since he--well, since he found out how much he was carin' for you. just stop for a minute and think what a load 'twas. his conscience was troublin' him all the time for keepin' the bank job, for sailin' under false colors in your eyes and your dad's. he was workin' and pinchin' to pay the two thousand to the man in middleford. he had hangin' over him every minute the practical certainty that some day--some day sure--a person was comin' along who knew his story and then the fat would all be in the fire. and when it went into that fire he wouldn't be the only one to be burnt; there would be his sister and babbie--and you; most of all, you." she nodded. "yes, yes, i know," she cried. "but why--oh, why didn't he come to me and tell me? why did he go without a word? he must have known i would forgive him, no matter what he had done. it wouldn't have made any difference, his having been in--in prison. and now--now he may be--oh, jed, he may be killed!" she was sobbing again. jed patted her hand. "we won't talk about his bein' killed," he said stoutly. "i know he won't be; i feel it in my bones. but, maud, can't you see why he didn't come and tell you before he went to enlist? suppose he had. if you care for him so much--as much as i judge you do--" she interrupted. "care for him!" she repeated. "oh, jed!" "yes, yes, dearie, i know. well, then, carin' for him like that, you'd have told him just what you told me then; that about his havin' done what he did and havin' been where he's been not makin' any difference. and you'd have begged and coaxed him to stay right along in the bank, maybe? eh?" "yes," defiantly. of course i would. why not?" "and your father, would you have told him?" she hesitated. "i don't know," she said, but with less assurance. "perhaps so, later on. it had all been kept a secret so far, all the whole dreadful thing, why not a little longer? besides-- besides, father knows how much charlie means to me. father and i had a long talk about him one night and i--i think he knows. and he is very fond of charlie himself; he has said so so many times. he would have forgiven him, too, if i had asked him. he always does what i ask." "yes, ye-es, i cal'late that's so. but, to be real honest now, maud, would you have been satisfied to have it that way? would you have felt that it was the honorable thing for charlie to do? isn't what he has done better? he's undertakin' the biggest and finest job a man can do in this world to-day, as i see it. it's the job he'd have taken on months ago if he'd felt 'twas right to leave ruth--mrs. armstrong--so soon after--after bein' separated from her so long. he's taken on this big job, this man's job, and he says to you: 'here i am. you know me now. do you care for me still? if you do will you wait till i come back?' and to your dad, to sam, he says: 'i ain't workin' for you now. i ain't on your payroll and so i can speak out free and independent. if your daughter'll have me i mean to marry her some day.' ain't that the better way, maud? ain't that how you'd rather have him feel--and do?" she sighed and shook her head. "i--i suppose so," she admitted. "oh, i suppose that you and he are right. in his letter he says just that. would you like to see it; that part of it, i mean?" jed took the crumpled and tear-stained letter from her hand. "i think i ought to tell you, maud," he said, "that writin' this was his own idea. it was me that suggested his enlistin', although i found he'd been thinkin' of it all along, but i was for havin' him go and enlist and then come back and tell you and sam. but he says, 'no. i'll tell her in a letter and then when i come back she'll have had time to think it over. she won't say 'yes' then simply because she pities me or because she doesn't realize what it means. no, i'll write her and then when i come back after enlistin' and go to her for my answer, i'll know it's given deliberate.'" she nodded. "he says that there," she said chokingly. "but he--he must have known. oh, jed, how can i let him go--to war?" that portion of the letter which jed was permitted to read was straightforward and honest and manly. there were no appeals for pity or sympathy. the writer stated his case and left the rest to her, that was all. and jed, reading between the lines, respected charles phillips more than ever. he and maud talked for a long time after that. and, at last, they reached a point which jed had tried his best to avoid. maud mentioned it first. she had been speaking of his friendship for her lover and for herself. "i don't see what we should have done without your help, jed," she said. "and when i think what you have done for charlie! why, yes-- and now i know why you pretended to have found the four hundred dollars father thought he had lost. pa left it at wapatomac, after all; you knew that?" jed stirred uneasily. he was standing by the window, looking out into the yard. "yes, yes," he said hastily, "i know. don't talk about it, maud. it makes me feel more like a fool than usual and . . . er . . . don't seem as if that was hardly necessary, does it?" "but i shall talk about it. when father came home that night he couldn't talk of anything else. he called it the prize puzzle of the century. you had given him four hundred dollars of your own money and pretended it was his and that you had--had stolen it, jed. he burst out laughing when he told me that and so did i. the idea of your stealing anything! you!" jed smiled, feebly. "'twas silly enough, i give in," he admitted. "you see," he added, in an apologetic drawl, "nine-tenths of this town think i'm a prize idiot and sometimes i feel it's my duty to live up--or down--to my reputation. this was one of the times, that's all. i'm awful glad sam got his own money back, though." "the money didn't amount to anything. but what you did was the wonderful thing. for now i understand why you did it. you thought--you thought charlie had taken it to--to pay that horrid man in middleford. that is what you thought and you--" jed broke in. "don't! don't put me in mind of it, maud," he begged. "i'm so ashamed i don't know what to do. you see--you see, charlie had said how much he needed about that much money and-- and so, bein' a--a woodenhead, i naturally--" "oh, don't! please don't! it was wonderful of you, jed. you not only gave up your own money, but you were willing to sacrifice your good name; to have father, your best friend, think you a thief. and you did it all to save charlie from exposure. how could you, jed?" jed didn't answer. he did not appear to have heard her. he was gazing steadily out into the yard. "how could you, jed?" repeated maud. "it was wonderful! i can't understand. i--" she stopped at the beginning of the sentence. she was standing beside the little writing-table and the drawer was open. she looked down and there, in that drawer, she saw the framed photograph of ruth armstrong. she remembered that jed had been sitting at that desk and gazing down into that drawer when she entered the room. she looked at him now. he was standing by the window peering out into the yard. ruth had come from the back door of the little winslow house and was standing on the step looking up the road, evidently waiting for barbara to come from school. and jed was watching her. maud saw the look upon his face--and she understood. a few moments later she and ruth met. maud had tried to avoid that meeting by leaving jed's premises by the front door, the door of the outer shop. but ruth had walked to the gate to see if babbie was coming and, as maud emerged from the shop, the two women came face to face. for an instant they did not speak. maud, excited and overwrought by her experience with the letter and her interview with jed, was still struggling for self-control, and ruth, knowing that the other must by this time have received that letter and learned her brother's secret, was inclined to be coldly defiant. she was the first to break the silence. she said "good afternoon" and passed on. but maud, after another instant of hesitation, turned back. "oh, mrs. armstrong," she faltered, "may i speak with you just-- just for a few minutes?" and now ruth hesitated. what was it the girl wished to speak about? if it was to reproach her or her brother, or to demand further explanations or apologies, the interview had far better not take place. she was in no mood to listen to reproaches. charles was, in her eyes, a martyr and a hero and now, largely because of this girl, he was going away to certain danger, perhaps to death. she had tried, for his sake, not to blame maud hunniwell because charles had fallen in love with her, but she was not, just then, inclined toward extreme forbearance. so she hesitated, and maud spoke again. "may i speak with you for just a few minutes?" she pleaded. "i have just got his letter and--oh, may i?" ruth silently led the way to the door of the little house. "come in," she said. together they entered the sitting-room. ruth asked her caller to be seated, but maud paid no attention. "i have just got his letter," she faltered. "i--i wanted you to know--to know that it doesn't make any difference. i--i don't care. if he loves me, and--and he says he does--i don't care for anything else. . . . oh,' please be nice to me," she begged, holding out her hands. "you are his sister and--and i love him so! and he is going away from both of us." so ruth's coldness melted like a fall of snow in early april, and the april showers followed it. she and maud wept in each other's arms and were femininely happy accordingly. and for at least a half hour thereafter they discussed the surpassing excellencies of charlie phillips, the certainty that captain hunniwell would forgive him because he could not help it and a variety of kindred and satisfying subjects. and at last jed winslow drifted into the conversation. "and so you have been talking it over with jed," observed ruth. "isn't it odd how we all go to him when we are in trouble or need advice or anything? i always do and charlie did, and you say that you do, too." maud nodded. "he and i have been what pa calls 'chummies' ever since i can remember," she said simply. "i don't know why i feel that i can confide in him to such an extent. somehow i always have. and, do you know, his advice is almost always good? if i had taken it from the first we might, all of us, have avoided a deal of trouble. i have cause to think of jed winslow as something sure and safe and trustworthy. like a nice, kindly old watch dog, you know. a queer one and a funny one, but awfully nice. babbie idolizes him." maud nodded again. she was regarding her companion with an odd expression. "and when i think," continued ruth, "of how he was willing to sacrifice his character and his honor and even to risk losing your father's friendship--how he proclaimed himself a thief to save charlie! when i think of that i scarcely know whether to laugh or cry. i want to do both, of course. it was perfectly characteristic and perfectly adorable--and so absolutely absurd. i love him for it, and as yet i haven't dared thank him for fear i shall cry again, as i did when captain hunniwell told us. yet, when i think of his declaring he took the money to buy a suit of clothes, i feel like laughing. oh, he is a dear, isn't he?" now, ordinarily, maud would have found nothing in this speech to arouse resentment. there was the very slight, and in this case quite unintentional, note of patronage in it that every one used when referring to jed winslow. she herself almost invariably used that note when speaking of him or even to him. but now her emotions were so deeply stirred and the memories of her recent interview with jed, of his understanding and his sympathy, were so vivid. and, too, she had just had that glimpse into his most secret soul. so her tone, as she replied to ruth's speech, was almost sharp. "he didn't do it for charlie," she declared. "that is, of course he did, but that wasn't the real reason." "why, what do you mean?" "don't you know what i mean? don't you really know?" "why, of course i don't. what are you talking about? didn't do it for charlie? didn't say that he was a thief and give your father his own money, do you mean? do you mean he didn't do that for charlie?" "yes. he did it for you." "for me? for me?" "yes. . . . oh, can't you understand? it's absurd and foolish and silly and everything, but i know it's true. jed winslow is in love with you, mrs. armstrong." ruth leaned back in her chair and stared at her as if she thought her insane. "in love with me?" she repeated. "jed winslow! maud, don't!" "it's true, i tell you. i didn't know until just now, although if it had been any one but jed i should have suspected for some time. but to-day when i went in there i saw him sitting before his desk looking down into an open drawer there. he has your photograph in that drawer. and, later on, when you came out into the yard, i saw him watching you; i saw his face and that was enough. . . . oh, don't you see?" impatiently. "it explains everything. you couldn't understand, nor could i, why he should sacrifice himself so for charlie. but because charlie was your brother--that is another thing. think, just think! you and i would have guessed it before if he had been any one else except just jed. yes, he is in love with you. . . . it's crazy and it's ridiculous and--and all that, of course it is. but," with a sudden burst of temper, "if you--if you dare to laugh i'll never speak to you again." but ruth was not laughing. it was a cloudy day and jed's living-room was almost dark when ruth entered it. jed, who had been sitting by the desk, rose when she came in. "land sakes, ruth," he exclaimed, "it's you, ain't it? let me light a lamp. i was settin' here in the dark like a . . . like a hen gone to roost. . . . eh? why, it's 'most supper 'time, ain't it? didn't realize 'twas so late. i'll have a light for you in a jiffy." he was on his way to the kitchen, but she stopped him. "no," she said quickly. "don't get a light. i'd rather not, please. and sit down again, jed; just as you were. there, by the desk; that's it. you see," she added, "i--i--well, i have something to tell you, and--and i can tell it better in the dark, i think." jed looked at her in surprise. he could not see her face plainly, but she seemed oddly confused and embarrassed. "sho!" he drawled. "well, i'm sure i ain't anxious about the light, myself. you know, i've always had a feelin' that the dark was more becomin' to my style of beauty. take me about twelve o'clock in a foggy night, in a cellar, with the lamp out, and i look pretty nigh handsome--to a blind man. . . . um-hm." she made no comment on this confession. jed, after waiting an instant for her to speak, ventured a reminder. "don't mind my talkin' foolishness," he said, apologetically. "i'm feelin' a little more like myself than i have for--for a week or so, and when i feel that way i'm bound to be foolish. just gettin' back to nature, as the magazine folks tell about, i cal'late 'tis." she leaned forward and laid a hand on his sleeve. "don't!" she begged. "don't talk about yourself in that way, jed. when i think what a friend you have been to me and mine i--i can't bear to hear you say such things. i have never thanked you for what you did to save my brother when you thought he had gone wrong again. i can't thank you now--i can't." her voice broke. jed twisted in his seat. "now--now, ruth," he pleaded, "do let's forget that. i've made a fool of myself a good many times in my life--more gettin' back to nature, you see--but i hope i never made myself out quite such a blitherin' numbskull as i did that time. don't talk about it, don't. i ain't exactly what you'd call proud of it." "but i am. and so is charlie. but i won't talk of it if you prefer i shouldn't. . . . jed--" she hesitated, faltered, and then began again: "jed," she said, "i told you when i came in that i had something to tell you. i have. i have told no one else, not even charlie, because he went away before i was--quite sure. but now i am going to tell you because ever since i came here you have been my father confessor, so to speak. you realize that, don't you?" jed rubbed his chin. "w-e-e-ll," he observed, with great deliberation, "i don't know's i'd go as far as to say that. babbie and i've agreed that i'm her back-step-uncle, but that's as nigh relation as i've ever dast figure i was to the family." "don't joke about it. you know what i mean. well, jed, this is what i am going to tell you. it is very personal and very confidential and you must promise not to tell any one yet. will you?" "eh? why, sartin, of course." "yes. i hope you may be glad to hear it. it would make you glad to know that i was happy, wouldn't it?" for the first time jed did not answer in the instant. the shadows were deep in the little living-room now, but ruth felt that he was leaning forward and looking at her. "yes," he said, after a moment. "yes . . . but--i don't know as i know exactly what you mean, do i?" "you don't--yet. but i hope you will be glad when you do. jed, you like major grover, don't you?" jed did not move perceptibly, but she heard his chair creak. he was still leaning forward and she knew his gaze was fixed upon her face. "yes," he said very slowly. "i like him first-rate." "i'm glad. because--well, because i have come to like him so much. jed, he--he has asked me to be his wife." there was absolute stillness in the little room. then, after what seemed to her several long minutes, he spoke. "yes . . . yes, i see . . ." he said. "and you? you've . . ." "at first i could not answer him. my brother's secret was in the way and i could not tell him that. but last night--or this morning--charlie and i discussed all our affairs and he gave me permission to tell--leonard. so when he came to-day i told him. he said it made no difference. and--and i am going to marry him, jed." jed's chair creaked again, but that was the only sound. ruth waited until she felt that she could wait no longer. then she stretched out a hand toward him in the dark. "oh, jed," she cried, "aren't you going to say anything to me-- anything at all?" she heard him draw a long breath. then he spoke. "why--why, yes, of course," he said. "i--i--of course i am. i-- you kind of got me by surprise, that's all. . . . i hadn't--hadn't expected it, you see." "i know. even charlie was surprised. but you're glad, for my sake, aren't you, jed?" "eh? . . . yes, oh, yes! i'm--i'm glad." "i hope you are. if it were not for poor charlie's going away and the anxiety about him and his problem i should be very happy-- happier than i believed i ever could be again. you're glad of that, aren't you, jed?" "eh? . . . yes, yes, of course. . . ." "and you will congratulate me? you like major grover? please say you do." jed rose slowly from his chair. he passed a hand in dazed fashion across his forehead. "yes," he said, again. "the major's a fine man. . . . i do congratulate you, ma'am." "oh, jed! not that way. as if you meant it." "eh? . . . i--i do mean it. . . . i hope--i hope you'll be real happy, both of you, ma'am." "oh, not that--ruth." "yes--yes, sartin, of course . . . ruth, i mean." she left him standing by the writing table. after she had gone he sank slowly down into the chair again. eight o'clock struck and he was still sitting there. . . . and fate chose that time to send captain sam hunniwell striding up the walk and storming furiously at the back door. "jed!" roared the captain. "jed winslow! jed!" jed lifted his head from his hands. he most decidedly did not wish to see captain sam or any one else. "jed!" roared the captain again. jed accepted the inevitable. "here i am," he groaned, miserably. the captain did not wait for an invitation to enter. having ascertained that the owner of the building was within, he pulled the door open and stamped into the kitchen. "where are you?" he demanded. "here," replied jed, without moving. "here? where's here? . . . oh, you're in there, are you? hidin' there in the dark, eh? afraid to show me your face, i shouldn't wonder. by the gracious king, i should think you would be! what have you got to say to me, eh?" apparently jed had nothing to say. captain sam did not wait. "and you've called yourself my friend!" he sneered savagely. "friend--you're a healthy friend, jed winslow! what have you got to say to me . . . eh?" jed sighed. "maybe i'd be better able to say it if i knew what you was talkin' about, sam," he observed, drearily. "know! i guess likely you know all right. and according to her you've known all along. what do you mean by lettin' me take that-- that state's prison bird into my bank? and lettin' him associate with my daughter and--and . . . oh, by gracious king! when i think that you knew what he was all along, i--i--" his anger choked off the rest of the sentence. jed rubbed his eyes and sat up in his chair. for the first time since the captain's entrance he realized a little of what the latter said. before that he had been conscious only of his own dull, aching, hopeless misery. "hum. . . . so you've found out, sam, have you?" he mused. "found out! you bet i've found out! i only wish to the lord i'd found out months ago, that's all." "hum. . . . charlie didn't tell you? . . . no-o, no, he couldn't have got back so soon." "back be hanged! i don't know whether he's back or not, blast him. but i ain't a fool all the time, jed winslow, not all the time i ain't. and when i came home tonight and found maud cryin' to herself and no reason for it, so far as i could see, i set out to learn that reason. and i did learn it. she told me the whole yarn, the whole of it. and i saw the scamp's letter. and i dragged out of her that you--you had known all the time what he was, and had never told me a word. . . . oh, how could you, jed! how could you!" jed's voice was a trifle less listless as he answered. "it was told me in confidence, sam," he said. "i couldn't tell you. and, as time went along and i began to see what a fine boy charlie really was, i felt sure 'twould all come out right in the end. and it has, as i see it." "what?" "yes, it's come out all right. charlie's gone to fight, same as every decent young feller wants to do. he thinks the world of maud and she does of him, but he was honorable enough not to ask her while he worked for you, sam. he wrote the letter after he'd gone so as to make it easier for her to say no, if she felt like sayin' it. and when he came back from enlistin' he was goin' straight to you to make a clean breast of everything. he's a good boy, sam. he's had hard luck and he's been in trouble, but he's all right and i know it. and you know it, too, sam hunniwell. down inside you you know it, too. why, you've told me a hundred times what a fine chap charlie phillips was and how much you thought of him, and--" captain hunniwell interrupted. "shut up!" he commanded. "don't talk to me that way! don't you dare to! i did think a lot of him, but that was before i knew what he'd done and where he'd been. do you cal'late i'll let my daughter marry a man that's been in state's prison?" "but, sam, it wan't all his fault, really. and he'll go straight from this on. i know he will." "shut up! he can go to the devil from this on, but he shan't take her with him. . . . why, jed, you know what maud is to me. she's all i've got. she's all i've contrived for and worked for in this world. think of all the plans i've made for her!" "i know, sam, i know; but pretty often our plans don't work out just as we make 'em. sometimes we have to change 'em--or give 'em up. and you want maud to be happy." "happy! i want to be happy myself, don't i? do you think i'm goin' to give up all my plans and all my happiness just--just because she wants to make a fool of herself? give 'em up! it's easy for you to say 'give up.' what do you know about it?" it was the last straw. jed sprang to his feet so suddenly that his chair fell to the floor. "know about it!" he burst forth, with such fierce indignation that the captain actually gasped in astonishment. "know about it!" repeated jed. "what do i know about givin' up my own plans and-- and hopes, do you mean? oh, my lord above! ain't i been givin' 'em up and givin' 'em up all my lifelong? when i was a boy didn't i give up the education that might have made me a--a man instead of--of a town laughin' stock? while mother lived was i doin' much but give up myself for her? i ain't sayin' 'twas any more'n right that i should, but i did it, didn't i? and ever since it's been the same way. i tell you, i've come to believe that life for me means one 'give up' after the other and won't mean anything but that till i die. and you--you ask me what i know about it! you do!" captain sam was so taken aback that he was almost speechless. in all his long acquaintance with jed winslow he had never seen him like this. "why--why, jed!" he stammered. but jed was not listening. he strode across the room and seized his visitor by the arm. "you go home, sam hunniwell," he ordered. "go home and think-- think, i tell you. all your life you've had just what i haven't. you married the girl you wanted and you and she were happy together. you've been looked up to and respected here in orham; folks never laughed at you or called you 'town crank.' you've got a daughter and she's a good girl. and the man she wants to marry is a good man, and, if you'll give him a chance and he lives through the war he's goin' into, he'll make you proud of him. you go home, sam hunniwell! go home, and thank god you're what you are and as you are. . . . no, i won't talk! i don't want to talk! . . . go home." he had been dragging his friend to the door. now he actually pushed him across the threshold and slammed the door between them. "well, for . . . the lord . . . sakes!" exclaimed captain hunniwell. the scraping of the key in the lock was his only answer. chapter xxi a child spends time and thought and energy upon the building of a house of blocks. by the time it is nearing completion it has become to him a very real edifice. therefore, when it collapses into an ungraceful heap upon the floor it is poor consolation to be reminded that, after all, it was merely a block house and couldn't be expected to stand. jed, in his own child-like fashion, had reared his moonshine castle beam by beam. at first he had regarded it as moonshine and had refused to consider the building of it anything but a dangerously pleasant pastime. and then, little by little, as his dreams changed to hopes, it had become more and more real, until, just before the end, it was the foundation upon which his future was to rest. and down it came, and there was his future buried in the ruins. and it had been all moonshine from the very first. jed, sitting there alone in his little living-room, could see now that it had been nothing but that. ruth armstrong, young, charming, cultured-- could she have thought of linking her life with that of jedidah edgar wilfred winslow, forty-five, "town crank" and builder of windmills? of course not--and again of course not. obviously she never had thought of such a thing. she had been grateful, that was all; perhaps she had pitied him just a little and behind her expressions of kindliness and friendship was pity and little else. moonshine--moonshine--moonshine. and, oh, what a fool he had been! what a poor, silly fool! so the night passed and morning came and with it a certain degree of bitterly philosophic acceptance of the situation. he was a fool; so much was sure. he was of no use in the world, he never had been. people laughed at him and he deserved to be laughed at. he rose from the bed upon which he had thrown himself some time during the early morning hours and, after eating a cold mouthful or two in lieu of breakfast, sat down at his turning lathe. he could make children's whirligigs, that was the measure of his capacity. all the forenoon the lathe hummed. several times steps sounded on the front walk and the latch of the shop door rattled, but jed did not rise from his seat. he had not unlocked that door, he did not mean to for the present. he did not want to wait on customers; he did not want to see callers; he did not want to talk or be talked to. he did not want to think, either, but that he could not help. and he could not shut out all the callers. one, who came a little after noon, refused to remain shut out. she pounded the door and shouted "uncle jed" for some few minutes; then, just as jed had begun to think she had given up and gone away, he heard a thumping upon the window pane and, looking up, saw her laughing and nodding outside. "i see you, uncle jed," she called. "let me in, please." so jed was obliged to let her in and she entered with a skip and a jump, quite unconscious that her "back-step-uncle" was in any way different, either in feelings or desire for her society, than he had been for months. "why did you have the door locked, uncle jed?" she demanded. "did you forget to unlock it?" jed, without looking at her, muttered something to the effect that he cal'lated he must have. "um-hm," she observed, with a nod of comprehension. "i thought that was it. you did it once before, you know. it was a ex-eccen- trick, leaving it locked was, i guess. don't you think it was a-- a--one of those kind of tricks, uncle jed?" silence, except for the hum and rasp of the lathe. "don't you, uncle jed?" repeated barbara. "eh? . . . oh, yes, i presume likely so." babbie, sitting on the lumber pile, kicked her small heels together and regarded him with speculative interest. "uncle jed," she said, after a few moments of silent consideration, "what do you suppose petunia told me just now?" no answer. "what do you suppose petunia told me?" repeated babbie. "something about you 'twas, uncle jed." still jed did not reply. his silence was not deliberate; he had been so absorbed in his own pessimistic musings that he had not heard the question, that was all. barbara tried again. "she told me she guessed you had been thinking awf'ly hard about something this time, else you wouldn't have so many eccen-tricks to-day." silence yet. babbie swallowed hard: "i--i don't think i like eccen-tricks, uncle jed," she faltered. not a word. then jed, stooping to pick up a piece of wood from the pile of cut stock beside the lathe, was conscious of a little sniff. he looked up. his small visitor's lip was quivering and two big tears were just ready to overflow her lower lashes. "eh? . . . mercy sakes alive!" he exclaimed. "why, what's the matter?" the lip quivered still more. "i--i don't like to have you not speak to me," sobbed babbie. "you--you never did it so--so long before." that appeal was sufficient. away, for the time, went jed's pessimism and his hopeless musings. he forgot that he was a fool, the "town crank," and of no use in the world. he forgot his own heartbreak, chagrin and disappointment. a moment later babbie was on his knee, hiding her emotion in the front of his jacket, and he was trying his best to soothe her with characteristic winslow nonsense. "you mustn't mind me, babbie," he declared. "my--my head ain't workin' just right to-day, seems so. i shouldn't wonder if--if i wound it too tight, or somethin' like that." babbie's tear-stained face emerged from the jacket front. "wound your head too tight, uncle jed?" she cried. "ye-es, yes. i was kind of extra absent-minded yesterday and i thought i wound the clock, but i couldn't have done that 'cause the clock's stopped. yet i know i wound somethin' and it's just as liable to have been my head as anything else. you listen just back of my starboard ear there and see if i'm tickin' reg'lar." the balance of the conversation between the two was of a distinctly personal nature. "you see, uncle jed," said barbara, as she jumped from his knee preparatory to running off to school, "i don't like you to do eccen-tricks and not talk to me. i don't like it at all and neither does petunia. you won't do any more--not for so long at a time, will you, uncle jed?" jed sighed. "i'll try not to," he said, soberly. she nodded. "of course," she observed, "we shan't mind you doing a few, because you can't help that. but you mustn't sit still and not pay attention when we talk for ever and ever so long. i--i don't know precactly what i and petunia would do if you wouldn't talk to us, uncle jed." "don't, eh? humph! i presume likely you'd get along pretty well. i ain't much account." barbara looked at him in horrified surprise. "oh, uncle jed!" she cried, "you mustn't talk so! you mustn't! why--why, you're the bestest man there is. and there isn't anybody in orham can make windmills the way you can. i asked teacher if there was and she said no. so there! and you're a great cons'lation to all our family," she added, solemnly. "we just couldn't ever--ever do without you." when the child went jed did not take the trouble to lock the door after her; consequently his next callers entered without difficulty and came directly to the inner shop. jed, once more absorbed in gloomy musings--not quite as gloomy, perhaps; somehow the clouds had not descended quite so heavily upon his soul since babbie's visit--looked up to see there standing behind him maud hunniwell and charlie phillips. he sprang to his feet. "eh?" he cried, delightedly. "well, well, so you're back, charlie, safe and sound. well, well!" phillips grasped the hand which jed had extended and shook it heartily. "yes, i'm back," he said. "um-hm. . . . and--er--how did you leave uncle sam? old feller's pretty busy these days, 'cordin' to the papers." "yes, i imagine he is." "um-hm. . . . well, did you--er--make him happy? give his army the one thing needful to make it--er--perfect?" charlie laughed. "if you mean did i add myself to it," he said, "i did. i am an enlisted man now, jed. as soon as von hindenburg hears that, he'll commit suicide, i'm sure." jed insisted on shaking hands with him again. "you're a lucky feller, charlie," he declared. "i only wish i had your chance. yes, you're lucky--in a good many ways," with a glance at maud. "and, speaking of uncle sam," he added, "reminds me of--well, of daddy sam. how's he behavin' this mornin'? i judge from the fact that you two are together he's a little more rational than he was last night. . . . eh?" phillips looked puzzled, but maud evidently understood. "daddy has been very nice to-day," she said, demurely. "charlie had a long talk with him and--and--" "and he was mighty fine," declared phillips with emphasis. "we had a heart to heart talk and i held nothing back. i tell you, jed, it did me good to speak the truth, whole and nothing but. i told captain hunniwell that i didn't deserve his daughter. he agreed with me there, of course." "nonsense!" interrupted maud, with a happy laugh. "not a bit of nonsense. we agreed that no one was good enough for you. but i told him i wanted that daughter very much indeed and, provided she was agreeable and was willing to wait until the war was over and i came back; taking it for granted, of course, that i--" he hesitated, bit his lip and looked apprehensively at miss hunniwell. jed obligingly helped him over the thin ice. "provided you come back a major general or--or a commodore or a corporal's guard or somethin'," he observed. "yes," gratefully, "that's it. i'm sure to be a high private at least. well, to cut it short, jed, i told captain hunniwell all my past and my hopes and plans for the future. he was forgiving and forbearing and kinder than i had any right to expect. we understand each other now and he is willing, always provided that maud is willing, too, to give me my opportunity to make good. that is all any one could ask." "yes, i should say 'twas. . . . but maud, how about her? you had consider'ble of a job makin' her see that you was worth waitin' for, i presume likely, eh?" maud laughed and blushed and bade him behave himself. jed demanded to be told more particulars concerning the enlisting. so charles told the story of his boston trip, while maud looked and listened adoringly, and jed, watching the young people's happiness, was, for the time, almost happy himself. when they rose to go charlie laid a hand on jed's shoulder. "i can't tell you," he said, "what a brick you've been through all this. if it hadn't been for you, old man, i don't know how it might have ended. we owe you about everything, maud and i. you've been a wonder, jed." jed waved a deprecating hand. "don't talk so, charlie," he said, gruffly. "but, i tell you, i--" "don't. . . . you see," with a twist of the lip, "it don't do to tell a--a screech owl he's a canary. he's liable to believe it by and by and start singin' in public. . . . then he finds out he's just a fool owl, and has been all along. humph! me a wonder! . . . a blunder, you mean." neither of the young people had ever heard him use that tone before. they both cried out in protest. "look here, jed--" began phillips. maud interrupted. "just a moment, charlie," she said. "let me tell him what father said last night. when he went out he left me crying and so miserable that i wanted to die. he had found charlie's letter and we--we had had a dreadful scene and he had spoken to me as i had never heard him speak before. and, later, after he came back i was almost afraid to have him come into the room where i was. but he was just as different as could be. he told me he had been thinking the matter over and had decided that, perhaps, he had been unreasonable and silly and cross. then he said some nice things about charlie, quite different from what he said at first. and when we had made it all up and i asked him what had changed his mind so he told me it was you, jed. he said he came to you and you put a flea in his ear. he wouldn't tell me what he meant, but he simply smiled and said you had put a flea in his ear." jed, himself, could not help smiling faintly. "w-e-e-ll," he drawled, "i didn't use any sweet ile on the job, that's sartin. if he said i pounded it in with a club 'twouldn't have been much exaggeration." "so we owe you that, too," continued maud. "and, afterwards, when daddy and i were talking we agreed that you were probably the best man in orham. there!" and she stooped impulsively and kissed him. jed, very much embarrassed, shook his head. "that--er--insect i put in your pa's ear must have touched both your brains, i cal'late," he drawled. but he was pleased, nevertheless. if he was a fool it was something to have people think him a good sort of fool. it was almost four o'clock when jed's next visitor came. he was the one man whom he most dreaded to meet just then. yet he hid his feelings and rose with hand outstretched. "why, good afternoon, major!" he exclaimed. "real glad to see you. sit down." grover sat. "jed," he said, "ruth tells me that you know of my good fortune. will you congratulate me?" jed's reply was calm and deliberate and he did his best to make it sound whole-hearted and sincere. "i sartin do," he declared. "anybody that wouldn't congratulate you on that could swap his head for a billiard ball and make money on the dicker; the ivory he'd get would be better than the bone he gave away. . . . yes, major grover, you're a lucky man." to save his life he could not entirely keep the shake from his voice as he said it. if grover noticed it he put it down to the sincerity of the speaker. "thank you," he said. "i realize my luck, i assure you. and now, jed, first of all, let me thank you. ruth has told me what a loyal friend and counselor you have been to her and she and i both are very, very grateful." jed stirred uneasily. "sho, sho!" he protested. "i haven't done anything. don't talk about it, please. i--i'd rather you wouldn't." "very well, since you wish it, i won't. but she and i will always think of it, you may be sure of that. i dropped in here now just to tell you this and to thank you personally. and i wanted to tell you, too, that i think we need not fear babbitt's talking too much. of course it would not make so much difference now if he did; charlie will be away and doing what all decent people will respect him for doing, and you and i can see that ruth does not suffer. but i think babbitt will keep still. i hope i have frightened him; i certainly did my best." jed rubbed his chin. "i'm kind of sorry for phin," he observed. "are you? for heaven's sake, why?" "oh, i don't know. when you've been goin' around ever since january loaded up to the muzzle with spite and sure-thing vengeance, same as an old-fashioned horse pistol used to be loaded with powder and ball, it must be kind of hard, just as you're set to pull trigger, to have to quit and swaller the whole charge. liable to give you dyspepsy, if nothin' worse, i should say." grover smiled. "the last time i saw babbitt he appeared to be nearer apoplexy than dyspepsia," he said. "ye-es. well, i'm sorry for him, i really am. it must be pretty dreadful to be so cross-grained that you can't like even your own self without feelin' lonesome. . . . yes, that's a bad state of affairs. . . . i don't know but i'd almost rather be 'town crank' than that." the major's farewell remark, made as he rose to go, contained an element of mystery. "i shall have another matter to talk over with you soon, jed," he said. "but that will come later, when my plans are more complete. good afternoon and thank you once more. you've been pretty fine through all this secret-keeping business, if you don't mind my saying so. and a mighty true friend. so true," he added, "that i shall, in all probability, ask you to assume another trust for me before long. i can't think of any one else to whom i could so safely leave it. good-by." one more visitor came that afternoon. to be exact, he did not come until evening. he opened the outer door very softly and tiptoed into the living-room. jed was sitting by the little "gas burner" stove, one knee drawn up and his foot swinging. there was a saucepan perched on top of the stove. a small hand lamp on the table furnished the only light. he did not hear the person who entered and when a big hand was laid upon his shoulder he started violently. "eh?" he exclaimed, his foot falling with a thump to the floor. "who? . . . oh, it's you, ain't it, sam? . . . good land, you made me jump! i must be gettin' nervous, i guess." captain sam looked at him in some surprise. "gracious king, i believe you are," he observed. "i didn't think you had any nerves, jed. no, nor any temper, either, until last night. you pretty nigh blew me out of water then. ho, ho!" jed was much distressed. "sho, sho, sam," he stammered; "i'm awful sorry about that. i--i wasn't feelin' exactly--er--first rate or i wouldn't have talked to you that way. i--i--you know i didn't mean it, don't you, sam?" the captain pulled forward a chair and sat down. he chuckled. "well, i must say it did sound as if you meant it, jed," he declared. "yes, sir, i cal'late the average person would have been willin' to risk a small bet--say a couple of million--that you meant it. when you ordered me to go home i just tucked my tail down and went. yes, sir, if you didn't mean it you had me fooled. ho, ho!" jed's distress was keener than ever. "mercy sakes alive!" he cried. "did i tell you to go home, sam? yes, yes, i remember i did. sho, sho! . . . well, i'm awful sorry. i hope you'll forgive me. 'twan't any way for a feller like me to talk--to you." captain sam's big hand fell upon his friend's knee with a stinging slap. "you're wrong there, jed," he declared, with emphasis. "'twas just the way for you to talk to me. i needed it; and," with another chuckle, "i got it, too, didn't i? ho, ho!" "sam, i snum, i--" "sshh! you're goin' to say you're sorry again; i can see it in your eye. well, don't you do it. you told me to go home and think, jed, and those were just the orders i needed. i did go home and i did think. . . . humph! thinkin's a kind of upsettin' job sometimes, ain't it, especially when you sit right down and think about yourself, what you are compared to what you think you are. ever think about yourself that way, jed?" it was a moment before jed answered. then all he said was, "yes." "i mean have you done it lately? just given yourself right up to doin' it?" jed sighed. "ye-es," he drawled. "i shouldn't wonder if i had, sam." "well, probably 'twan't as disturbin' a job with you as 'twas for me. you didn't have as high a horse to climb down off of. i thought and thought and thought and the more i thought the meaner the way i'd acted and talked to maud seemed to me. i liked charlie; i'd gone around this county for months braggin' about what a smart, able chap he was. as i told you once i'd rather have had her marry him than anybody else i know. and i had to give in that the way he'd behaved--his goin' off and enlistin', settlin' that before he asked her or spoke to me, was a square, manly thing to do. the only thing i had against him was that middleford mess. and i believe he's a good boy in spite of it." "he is, sam. that middleford trouble wan't all his fault, by any means!" "i know. he told me this mornin'. well, then, if he and maud love each other, thinks i, what right have i to say they shan't be happy, especially as they're both willin' to wait? why should i say he can't at least have his chance to make good? nigh's i could make out the only reason was my pride and the big plans i'd made for my girl. i came out of my thinkin' spell with my mind made up that what ailed me was selfishness and pride. so i talked it over with her last night and with charlie to-day. the boy shall have his chance. both of 'em shall have their chance, jed. they're happy and--well, i feel consider'ble better myself. all else there is to do is to just hope to the lord it turns out right." "that's about all, sam. and i feel pretty sure it's goin' to." "yes, i know you do. course those big plans of mine that i used to make--her marryin' some rich chap, governor or senator or somethin'--they're all gone overboard. i used to wish and wish for her, like a young-one wishin' on a load of hay, or the first star at night, or somethin'. but if we can't have our wishes, why--why-- then we'll do without 'em. eh?" jed rubbed his chin. "sam," he said, "i've been doin' a little thinkin' myself. . . . ye-es, consider'ble thinkin'. . . . fact is, seems now as if i hadn't done anything but think since the world was cranked up and started turnin' over. and i guess there's only one answer. when we can't have our wishes then it's up to us to--to--" "well, to what?" "why, to stick to our jobs and grin, that's about all. 'tain't much, i know, especially jobs like some of us have, but it's somethin'." captain sam nodded. "it's a good deal, jed," he declared. "it's some stunt to grin--in these days." jed rose slowly to his feet. he threw back his shoulders with the gesture of one determined to rid himself of a burden. "it is--it is so, sam," he drawled. "but maybe that makes it a little more worth while. what do you think?" his friend regarded him thoughtfully. "jed," he said, "i never saw anybody who had the faculty of seein' straight through to the common sense inside of things the way you have. maud and i were talkin' about that last night. 'go home and think and thank god,' you said to me. and that was what i needed to do. 'enlist and you'll be independent,' you said to charlie and it set him on the road. 'stick to your job and grin,' you say now. how do you do it, jed? remember one time i told you i couldn't decide whether you was a dum fool or a king solomon? i know now. of the two of us i'm nigher to bein' the dum fool; and, by the gracious king, you are a king solomon." jed slowly shook his head. "sam," he said, sadly, "if you knew what i know about me you'd . . . but there, you're talkin' wild. i was cal'latin' to have a cup of tea and you'd better have one, too. i'm heatin' some water on top of the stove now. it must be about ready." he lifted the saucepan from the top of the "gas burner" and tested the water with his finger. "hum," he mused, "it's stone cold. i can't see why it hasn't het faster. i laid a nice fresh fire, too." he opened the stove door and looked in. "hum . . ." he said, again. "yes, yes . . . i laid it but, i--er-- hum . . . i forgot to light it, that's all. well, that proves i'm king solomon for sartin. probably he did things like that every day or so. . . . give me a match, will you, sam?" chapter xxii it had been a chill morning in early spring when charlie phillips went to boston to enlist. now it was a balmy evening in august and jed sat upon a bench by his kitchen door looking out to sea. the breeze was light, barely sufficient to turn the sails of the little mills, again so thickly sprinkled about the front yard, or to cause the wooden sailors to swing their paddles. the august moon was rising gloriously behind the silver bar of the horizon. from the beach below the bluff came the light laughter of a group of summer young folk, strolling from the hotel to the post-office by the shore route. babbie, who had received permission to sit up and see the moon rise, was perched upon the other end of the bench, petunia in her arms. a distant drone, which had been audible for some time, was gradually becoming a steady humming roar. a few moments later and a belated hydro-aeroplane passed across the face of the moon, a dragon-fly silhouette against the shining disk. "that bumble-bee's gettin' home late," observed jed. "the rest of the hive up there at east harniss have gone to roost two or three hours ago. wonder what kept him out this scandalous hour. had tire trouble, think?" barbara laughed. "you're joking again, uncle jed," she said. "that kind of aeroplane couldn't have any tire trouble, 'cause it hasn't got any tires." mr. winslow appeared to reflect. "that's so," he admitted, "but i don't know as we'd ought to count too much on that. i remember when gabe bearse had brain fever." this was a little deep for babbie, whose laugh was somewhat uncertain. she changed the subject. "oh!" she cried, with a wiggle, "there's a caterpillar right here on this bench with us, uncle jed. he's a fuzzy one, too; i can see the fuzz; the moon makes it shiny." jed bent over to look. "that?" he said. "that little, tiny one? land sakes, he ain't big enough to be more than a kitten-pillar. you ain't afraid of him, are you?" "no-o. no, i guess i'm not. but i shouldn't like to have him walk on me. he'd be so--so ticklesome." jed brushed the caterpillar off into the grass. "there he goes," he said. "i've got to live up to my job as guardian, i expect. last letter i had from your pa he said he counted on my lookin' out for you and your mamma. if he thought i let ticklesome kitten-pillars come walkin' on you he wouldn't cal'late i amounted to much." for this was the "trust" to which major grover had referred in his conversation with jed. later he explained his meaning. he was expecting soon to be called to active service "over there." before he went he and ruth were to be married. "my wife and barbara will stay here in the old house, jed," he said, "if you are willing. and i shall leave them in your charge. it's a big trust, for they're pretty precious articles, but they'll be safe with you." jed looked at him aghast. "good land of love!" he cried. "you don't mean it?" "of course i mean it. don't look so frightened, man. it's just what you've been doing ever since they came here, that's all. ruth says she has been going to you for advice since the beginning. i just want her to keep on doing it." "but--but, my soul, i--i ain't fit to be anybody's guardian. . . . i--i ought to have somebody guardin' me. anybody'll tell you that. . . . besides, i--i don't think--" "yes, you do; and you generally think right. oh, come, don't talk any more about it. it's a bargain, of course. and if there's anything i can do for you on the other side, i'll be only too happy to oblige." jed rubbed his chin. "w-e-e-ll," he drawled, "there's one triflin' thing i've been hankerin' to do myself, but i can't, i'm afraid. maybe you can do it for me." "all right, what is the trifling thing?" "eh? . . . oh, that--er---crown prince thing. do him brown, if you get a chance, will you?" of course, the guardianship was, in a sense, a joke, but in another it was not. jed knew that leonard grover's leaving his wife and babbie in his charge was, to a certain extent, a serious trust. and he accepted it as such. "has your mamma had any letters from the major the last day or so?" he inquired. babbie shook her head. "no," she said, "but she's expecting one every day. and petunia and i expect one, too, and we're just as excited about it as we can be. a letter like that is most par- particklesome exciting. . . . no, i don't mean particklesome--it was the caterpillar made me think of that. i mean partickle-ar exciting. don't you think it is, uncle jed?" captain sam hunniwell came strolling around the corner of the shop. jed greeted him warmly and urged him to sit down. the captain declined. "can't stop," he declared. "there's a letter for maud from charlie in to-night's mail and i want to take it home to her. letters like that can't be held up on the way, you know." charlie phillips, too, was in france with his regiment. "i presume likely you've heard the news from leander babbitt, jed?" asked captain sam. "about his bein' wounded? yes, gab flapped in at the shop this afternoon to caw over it. said the telegram had just come to phineas. i was hopin' 'twasn't so, but eri hedge said he heard it, too. . . . serious, is it, sam?" "they don't say, but i shouldn't wonder. the boy was hit by a shell splinter while doin' his duty with exceptional bravery, so the telegram said. 'twas from washin'ton, of course. and there was somethin' in it about his bein' recommended for one of those war crosses." jed sat up straight on the bench. "you don't mean it!" he cried. "well, well, well! ain't that splendid! i knew he'd do it, too. 'twas in him. sam," he added, solemnly, "did i tell you i got a letter from him last week?" "from leander?" "yes. . . . and before i got it he must have been wounded. . . . yes, sir, before i got his letter. . . . 'twas a good letter, sam, a mighty good letter. some time i'll read it to you. not a complaint in it, just cheerfulness, you know, and--and grit and confidence, but no brag." "i see. well, charlie writes the same way." "ye-es. they all do, pretty much. well, how about phineas? how does the old feller take the news? have you heard?" "why, yes, i've heard. of course i haven't talked with him. he'd no more speak to me than he would to the evil one." jed's lip twitched. "why, probably not quite so quick, sam," he drawled. "phin ought to be on pretty good terms with the old scratch. i've heard him recommend a good many folks to go to him." "ho, ho! yes, that's so. well, jim bailey told me that when phin had read the telegram he never said a word. just got up and walked into his back shop. but jerry burgess said that, later on, at the post-office somebody said somethin' about how leander must be a mighty good fighter to be recommended for that cross, and phineas was openin' his mail box and heard 'em. jerry says old phin turned and snapped out over his shoulder: 'why not? he's my son, ain't he?' so there you are. maybe that's pride, or cussedness, or both. anyhow, it's phin babbitt." as the captain was turning to go he asked his friend a question. "jed," he asked, "what in the world have you taken your front gate off the hinges for?" jed, who had been gazing dreamily out to sea for the past few minutes, started and came to life. "eh?" he queried. "did--did you speak, sam?" "yes, but you haven't yet. i asked you what you took your front gate off the hinges for." "oh, i didn't. i took the hinges off the gate." "well, it amounts to the same thing. the gate's standin' up alongside the fence. what did you do it for?" jed sighed. "it squeaked like time," he drawled, "and i had to stop it." "so you took the hinges off? gracious king! why didn't you ile 'em so they wouldn't squeak?" "eh? . . . oh, i did set out to, but i couldn't find the ile can. the only thing i could find was the screwdriver and at last i came to the conclusion the almighty must have meant me to use it; so i did. anyhow, it stopped the squeakin'." captain sam roared delightedly. "that's fine," he declared. "it does me good to have you act that way. you haven't done anything so crazy as that for the last six months. i believe the old jed winslow's come back again. that's fine." jed smiled his slow smile. "i'm stickin' to my job, sam," he said. "and grinnin'. don't forget to grin, jed." "w-e-e-ll, when i stick to my job, sam, 'most everybody grins." babbie accompanied the captain to the place where the gate had been. jed, left alone, hummed a hymn. the door of the little house next door opened and ruth came out into the yard. "where is babbie?" she asked. "she's just gone as far as the sidewalk with cap'n sam hunniwell," was jed's reply. "she's all right. don't worry about her." ruth laughed lightly. "i don't," she said. "i know she is all right when she is with you, jed." babbie came dancing back. somewhere in a distant part of the village a dog was howling dismally. "what makes that dog bark that way, uncle jed?" asked babbie. jed was watching ruth, who had walked to the edge of the bluff and was looking off over the water, her delicate face and slender figure silver-edged by the moonlight. "eh? . . . that dog?" he repeated. "oh, he's barkin' at the moon, i shouldn't wonder." "at the moon? why does he bark at the moon?" "oh, he thinks he wants it, i cal'late. wants it to eat or play with or somethin'. dogs get funny notions, sometimes." babbie laughed. "i, think he's awf'ly silly," she said. "he couldn't have the moon, you know, could he? the moon wasn't made for a dog." jed, still gazing at ruth, drew a long breath. "that's right," he admitted. the child listened to the lugubrious canine wails for a moment; then she said thoughtfully: "i feel kind of sorry for this poor dog, though. he sounds as if he wanted the moon just dreadf'ly." "um . . . yes . . . i presume likely he thinks he does. but he'll feel better about it by and by. he'll realize that, same as you say, the moon wasn't made for a dog. just as soon as he comes to that conclusion, he'll be a whole lot better dog. . . . yes, and a happier one, too," he added, slowly. barbara did not speak at once and jed began to whistle a doleful melody. then the former declared, with emphasis: "i think some dogs are awf'ly nice." "um? . . . what? . . . oh, you do, eh?" she snuggled close to him on the bench. "i think you're awf'ly nice, too, uncle jed," she confided. jed looked down at her over his spectacles. "sho! . . . bow, wow!" he observed. babbie burst out laughing. ruth turned and came toward them over the dew-sprinkled grass. "what are you laughing at, dear?" she asked. "oh, uncle jed was so funny. he was barking like a dog." ruth smiled. "perhaps he feels as if he were our watchdog, babbie," she said. "he guards us as if he were." babbie hugged her back-step-uncle's coat sleeve. "he's a great, big, nice old watchdog," she declared. "we love him, don't we, mamma?" jed turned his head to listen. "hum . . ." he drawled. "that dog up town has stopped his howlin'. perhaps he's beginnin' to realize what a lucky critter he is." as usual, babbie was ready with a question. "why is he lucky, uncle jed?" she asked. "why? oh, well, he . . . he can look at the moon, and that's enough to make any dog thankful." note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the boy scouts of lenox or the hike over big bear mountain by frank v. webster author of "only a farm boy," "ben hardy's flying machine," "the boy from the ranch," etc. illustrated [illustration: they hoisted him to the limb, where he clung watching the next rescue. _page ._] new york cupples & leon company publishers * * * * * books for boys by frank v. webster mo. cloth. illustrated. only a farm boy tom, the telephone boy the boy from the ranch the young treasurer hunter bob, the castaway the young firemen of lakeville the newsboy partners the boy pilot of the lakes the two boy gold miners jack, the runaway comrades of the saddle the boys of bellwood school the high school rivals bob chester's grit airship andy darry, the life saver dick, the bank boy ben hardy's flying machine the boys of the wireless harry watson's high school days the boy scouts of lenox tom taylor at west point cowboy dave the boys of the battleship jack of the pony express cupples & leon co., publishers, new york * * * * * copyright, , by cupples & leon company the boy scouts of lenox printed in u. s. a. contents chapter page i. when the seed took root ii. the man who loved nature iii. a cloud over the oskamp home iv. the defiance of dock phillips v. the black bear patrol vi. setting the trap vii. dock goes from bad to worse viii. signs of trouble ahead ix. no surrender x. ready for the start xi. on the way xii. the first camp-fire xiii. the life that might have been saved xiv. at the foot of big bear mountain xv. not guilty xvi. what to do in a storm xvii. the landslide xviii. camping on the lake shore xix. friends of the deer xx. first aid to the injured xxi. scout grit xxii. the cabin in the woods xxiii. into the great bog xxiv. returning good for evil xxv. when carl came home--conclusion the boy scouts of lenox chapter i when the seed took root "i move we go into it, fellows!" "it strikes me as a cracking good idea, all right, and i'm glad tom stirred us up after he came back from visiting his cousins over in freeport!" "he says they've got a dandy troop, with three full patrols, over there." "no reason, felix, why lenox should be left out in the cold when it comes to boy scout activities. let's keep the ball rolling until it's a sure thing." "i say the same, josh. why, we can count about enough noses for a full patrol right among ourselves. there's tom chesney to begin with; george cooper here, who ought to make a pretty fair scout even if he is always finding fault; carl oskamp, also present, if we can only tear him away from his hobby of raising homing pigeons long enough to study up what scouts have to know; yourself, josh kingsley; and a fellow by the name of felix robbins, which happens to be me." "that's five to begin with; and i might mention billy button; yes, and walter douglass, though i guess he'd take the premium for a tenderfoot, because he knows next to nothing about outdoor life." "but he's willing to learn, because he told me so, josh; and that counts a lot, you know. that makes seven doesn't it? well, to complete the roster of the patrol we might coax horace herkimer crapsey to cast in his lot with us!" the boy named josh laughed uproariously at the suggestion, and his merriment was shared to some extent by the other two, carl oskamp and george cooper. felix shook his head at them disapprovingly. "just go slow there, fellows," he told them. "because horace has always been so afraid of his soft white hands that he wears gloves most of the time isn't any reason why he shouldn't be made to see the error of his ways." "oh! felix means that if only we can coax horace to join, we _might_ reform him!" exclaimed josh, who was a thin and tall boy, with what might be called a hatchet face, typically yankee. "by the same token," chuckled felix in turn, "a few of us might drop some of our bad habits if once we subscribed to the rules of the scouts, because i've read the same in a newspaper. they rub it into fellows who find fault with things instead of being cheerful." "oh! is that so, felix?" burst out george cooper, who took that thrust to himself. "how about others who are lazy, and always wanting to put things off to another day? do those same rules say 'procrastination is the thief of time?'" "well boys," remarked carl oskamp, pouring oil on the troubled water as was his habit, "we've all got our faults, and it might be a good thing if joining the scouts made us change our ways more or less. there comes tom, now, let's get him to tell us something more about the chance for starting a troop in lenox right away." "he said he believed he knew a young man who might consent to act as scout master," observed felix. "it's mr. robert witherspoon, the civil engineer and surveyor." "why, yes, i believe he used to be a scout master in the town he came from!" declared carl. "i hope tom is bringing us some good news right now." "if that look on his face counts for anything, he's going to give us a chance to let out a few cheers," asserted felix, as the fifth boy drew near. it was a friday afternoon near the close of winter when this conversation took place. school was over for the week, and as there was an unmistakable feeling of coming spring in the air the snow on the ground seemed to be in haste to melt and disappear. every now and then one of the boys would be overcome by an irresistible temptation to stoop, gather up enough of the soft clinging snow to make a hard ball, which was thrown with more or less success at some tree or other object. the town of lenox was just one of many in the eastern section of the great united states, and boasted a few thousand inhabitants, some industries, a high school, and various churches. in lenox the boys were no different from those to be found in every like community. they had a baseball club that vied with rival schools in spirited contests, a football organization, and in fact almost every element that might be expected to thrive in the midst of a lively community. there was, however, one thing in which the boys of lenox seemed to have been lacking, and this had been brought home to them when tom chesney came back from his recent visit to freeport, some twenty miles away. somehow the growing fever among boys to organize scout troops had not broken out very early in lenox; but if late in coming it bade fair to make up for lost time by its fierce burning. the boy who now joined the four whose chatter we have just recorded was a healthy looking chap. there was something positive about tom chesney that had always made him a leader with his comrades. at the same time he was never known to assume any airs or to dictate; which was all the more reason why his chums loved him. "what luck, tom?" demanded josh, as soon as the newcomer joined the others. "it's all fixed," was the quick answer given by tom, who evidently did not believe in beating about the bush. "good for you!" cried felix. "then mr. witherspoon is willing to organize the lenox troop of boy scouts, is he, tom?" "he said he would be glad to have a hand in it," replied the other, "his only regret being that as he is often called out of town he might not be able to give the matter all the attention he would like." "that's great news anyhow, tom!" declared josh, beaming with satisfaction. "we've just been figuring things out, and believe we can find eight fellows who would be willing to make up the first patrol." "we would need that many for a starter," commented tom; "because according to the rules he tells me there must be at least one full patrol before a troop can be started. and i'm glad you can figure on enough. it's going to make it a success from the start." "there's yourself to begin with," remarked josh, counting with his fingers; "felix, walter douglass, george here, billy button, horace crapsey, carl and myself, making the eight we need for a patrol." "i'm glad you're all anxious to join," said tom, glancing from one eager face to the other, as they walked slowly down the street in a group. "why, so far as that goes, tom," ventured felix robbins, "most of us are counting the days before we can be wearing our khaki suits and climbing up out of the tenderfoot bunch to that of second-class scout. only carl here seems to be kind of holding back; though none of us can see why he should want to go and leave his old chums in the lurch." at that tom gave carl another look a little more searching than his first. he was immediately struck by the fact that carl did not seem as happy as usual. he and tom had been close chums for years. that fact made tom wonder why the other had not taken him into his confidence, if there was anything wrong. carl must have known that the eyes of his chum were upon him for he flushed, and then looked hastily up. "oh! it isn't that i wouldn't be mighty glad of the chance to go into this thing with the rest of you," he hastened to say; "don't believe that i'm getting tired of my old chums. it isn't that at all. but something has happened to make me think i may be kept so busy that i'd have no time to give to studying up scout laws and attending meetings." "oh! forget it all, carl, and come in with us," urged josh, laying a hand affectionately on the other's shoulder. "if it's anything where we can help, you know as well as you do your own name that there isn't a fellow but would lay himself out to stand back of you. isn't that so, boys?" three other voices instantly joined in to declare that they would only be glad of the opportunity to show carl how much they appreciated him. it always touches a boy to find out how much his chums think of him. there was a suspicious moisture about carl's eyes as he smiled and nodded his head when replying. "that's nice of you, fellows. but after all perhaps i may see my way clear to joining the troop. i hope so, anyway, and i'll try my best to make the riffle. now tom, tell us all mr. witherspoon said." "yes, we want to know what we'd have to do the first thing," added josh, who was about as quick to start things as felix robbins was slow. "i sent off and got a scout manual. it came last night, and i'm soaking up the contents at a great rate." "that was why i saw a light over in your room late last night, was it?" george cooper demanded. "burning the midnight oil. must have been interesting reading, seems to me, josh." "i could hardly tear myself away from the book," responded the other boy. "after to-night i'll loan it to the rest of you, though i guess tom must have got one from mr. witherspoon, for i see something bulging in his pocket." tom laughed at that. "josh," he said, "it's very plain to me that you will make a pretty clever scout, because you've got the habit of observing things down to a fine point. and if you've read as much as you say, of course you know that one of the first things a tenderfoot has to do is to remember to keep his eyes about him, and see things." "yes," added josh, eagerly, "one test is for each boy to stand in front of a store window for just two minutes, making a mental map of the same, and then go off to jot down as many objects as he can remember to have seen there." "that's quite a stunt," remarked felix thoughtfully; "and i reckon the one who can figure out the biggest number of articles goes up head in the class. i must remember and practice that game. it strikes me as worth while." "listen to the row up there, will you?" burst out george cooper just then. "why, that lot of boys seems to be having a snowball fight, don't they? hello! it isn't a battle after all, but they're pelting somebody or other. see how the balls fly like a flock of pigeons from carl's coop!" "it looks like a man they're bombarding!" ejaculated felix. "you're right about that, and an old man in the bargain," added tom as he quickened his steps involuntarily; "i can see that bully tony pollock leading the lot; yes, and the other fellows must be his cronies, wedge mcguffey and asa green." "see the poor old fellow try to dodge the balls!" exclaimed josh. "they're making them like ice too, and i wouldn't put it past that lot to pack a stone in each snowball in the bargain. they'd be equal to anything." "are we going to stand by and see that sport go on, boys?" asked carl as he shut his jaws tight together, and the light of indignation shone in his eyes. "we wouldn't be fit to wear the khaki of scouts if we did, fellows!" cried tom chesney. "come on, and let's give them a taste of their own medicine," and with loud shouts the five comrades started to gather up the snow as they chased pell-mell toward the scene of excitement. chapter ii the man who loved nature "give it to them, boys!" josh was shouting as he started to send his first ball straight at the group of busy tormentors who were showering the helpless old man with their icy balls that must have stung almost as much as so many rocks. he seemed to be lame, for while he tried to advance toward the young rascals waving his stout cane wildly, they had no difficulty in keeping a safe distance off, and continuing the cruel bombardment. the smashing of that ball flung by josh, who was pitcher on the lenox baseball team, and a fine shot, was the first intimation the three tormentors of the old man had that the tables had been turned. "hey! look here what's on to us!" shrilled one of the trio, as he felt the sudden shock caused by the first snowball striking the back of his head. upon that the bully of the town and his two allies were forced to turn and try to defend themselves against this assault from the rear. they fought desperately for a very short time, but their hands were already half frozen, and five against three proved too great odds for their valor. besides, every time josh let fly he managed to land on some part of the person of tony pollock or one of his cronies. and those hard balls when driven by the sturdy arm of the baseball pitcher stung mercilessly. the old man stood and watched, with something like a smile on his face. he seemed to have forgotten all about his own recent predicament in seeing these young rowdies receiving their just dues. if he had not been old and lame possibly he might have insisted on joining in the fray, and adding to the punishment being meted out to the three cowardly boys. once a retreat was begun, it quickly merged into a regular panic. tom stayed to talk to the old man while his comrades pursued the fleeing trio, and peppered them good and hard. when finally they felt that they had amply vindicated their right to be reckoned worthy candidates for scout membership they came back, laughing heartily among themselves, to where tom and the old man were standing. "why, i've seen that old fellow before," josh remarked in a low tone as he and carl, george and felix drew near. "his name is larry henderson, and they say he's something of a hermit, living away up in the woods beyond bear mountain." "sure thing," added felix, instantly; "i've heard my folks talking about him lots of times. he does a little trapping, they say, but spends most of his time studying animated nature. he knows every animal that ever lived on this continent, and the birds and insects too, i reckon. he's as smart as they make 'em, and used to be a college professor some people say, even if he does talk a little rough now." for some reason all of them were feeling more or less interest in the man who walked with a cane. perhaps this arose from the fact that of late they had become enthusiastic over everything connected with woodcraft. and the fact that mr. henderson was acquainted with a thousand secrets about the interesting things to be discovered in the great outdoors appealed strongly to them. "these are my chums, mr. henderson," said tom, when the others came up; and as the name of each one was mentioned the hermit of bear mountain grasped his hand, giving a squeeze that made some of the boys wince. "i'm glad to meet you all," he said, heartily. "it was worth being attacked by that lot of rowdies just to get acquainted with such a fine lot of boys. and i want to say that you gave them all the punishment they deserved. i counted hits until i lost all track of the number." "yes," said felix, with a grin on his freckled face; "they're rubbing many a sore spot right now, i reckon. josh here, who's our star pitcher on the nine, never wasted a single ball. and i could hear the same fairly whistle through the air." "gosh all hemlock! felix," objected the boy mentioned, "you're stretching things pretty wide, aren't you? now i guess the rest of you did your share in the good work, just as much as i." "all the same i'm thankful for your coming to my assistance," said mr. henderson. "my rheumatism kept me from being as spry in dodging their cannonade as i might have been some years ago. and one ball that broke against that tree had a stone inside it, i'm sorry to say. we would have called that unsportsmanlike in my young days." "only the meanest kind of a fellow would descend to such a trick!" exclaimed the indignant josh; "but then tony pollock and his crowd are ready to do anything low-down and crooked. they'll never be able to join our scout troop, after we get it started." "what's that you are saying?" asked the old man, showing sudden interest. "why, you see, sir," explained josh, always ready to do his share of talking if given half a chance, "our chum here, tom chesney, was visiting his cousins over in freeport, and got interested in their scout troop. so we've taken the thing up, and expect to start the ball rolling right away." "it happens," tom went on, "that there is a young man in town who once served as scout master in a troop, and i've just had him promise to come around to-night and tell us what we've got to do to get the necessary charter from scout headquarters." "you interest me very much, boys," said mr. henderson, his eyes sparkling as he spoke. "i have read considerable about the wonderful progress this new movement is making all over the land; and i want to say that i like the principles it advocates. boys have known too little in the past of how to take care of themselves at all times, and also be ready to lend a helping hand to others." "the camping out, and finding all sorts of queer things in the woods is what makes me want to join a troop!" said josh; "because i always did love to fish and hunt, and get off in the mountains away from everybody." "that's a good foundation to start on," remarked the hermit, with kindling eyes, as he looked from one eager face to another; "but i imagine that after you've been a scout for a short time your ideas will begin to change considerably." "how, sir?" asked josh, looking unconvinced. "well," continued the old man, softly, "you'll find such enjoyment in _observing_ the habits of all the little woods folks that by degrees the fierce desire you have now to slay them will grow colder. in the end most of you will consider it ten times better to sit and watch them at their labors or play than to slaughter them in sport, or even to kill them for food." "but mr. henderson," said josh, boldly, "i've heard that you trap animals for their pelts; and i guess you must knock a few over when you feel like having game for dinner, don't you?" "occasionally i go out and get a rabbit or a partridge, though not often," admitted the old man; "and as for my trapping, i only try to take such animals or vermin as are cruel in their nature and seem to be a pest to the innocent things i'm so fond of having around me. i wish you boys could visit my cabin some time or other, and make the acquaintance of my innumerable pets. they look on me as their best friend, and i would never dream of raising a hand to injure them. kindness to animals, i believe, is one of the cardinal principles of a true scout." "yes, sir, that's what it is," responded josh, eagerly. "i've got the whole twelve points of scout law on the tip of my tongue right now. here's what they are: a scout has got to be trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent." "whew! that's going some!" declared felix, who being prone to put things off to a more convenient season could readily see that he was sure to run up against a good many snags if he tried to keep the scout law. "then you can easily understand," continued mr. henderson, "what a treasure-house the woods is going to be to every observing boy who spends some time there, and becomes interested in seeing all that is going on around him." "i'm sure of that, sir," responded tom, earnestly. "i know for one that i've never paid a quarter of the attention to such things as i ought to have done." "no, you are right there, my lad," the hermit continued, being evidently on a favorite subject, "the average boy can walk through a mile of forest and hardly notice anything around him. in fact, he may even decide that it's only a gloomy place, and outside the cawing of the crows or perhaps an occasional squirrel at which he shies a stone he has heard and seen nothing." "then it's different with a scout, is it, sir?" asked george cooper. "if he has been aroused to take a keen interest in nature the same woods will be alive with interesting things," the other told them. "he will see the shy little denizens peeping curiously out at him from a cover of leaves, and hear their low excited chattering as they tell each other what they think of him. every tree and moss-covered stone and swinging wild grape-vine will tell a story; and afterwards that boy is going to wonder how he ever could have been content to remain in such dense ignorance as he did for years." "mr. henderson do you expect to remain in town over night?" asked tom, suddenly. "why yes, i shall have to stay until to-morrow," came the reply; "i am stopping with my old friend, judge stone. we attended the same red school house on the hill a great many years ago. my stock of provisions ran short sooner than i had counted on, and this compelled me to come down earlier than usual. as a rule i deal over in fairmount, but this time it was more convenient to come here. why do you ask, tom?" "i was wondering whether you could be coaxed to come around to-night, and meet the rest of the boys," the boy told him. "we expect to have a dozen present, and when mr. witherspoon is explaining what a scout must subscribe to in joining a troop, it might influence some of the fellows if you would tell them a few things like those you were just describing to us." the old naturalist looked at the eager faces of the five lads, and a smile came over his own countenance. undoubtedly he was a lover of and believer in boys, no matter whether he had ever had any of his own or not. "i shall be only too pleased to come around, tom; if judge stone can run his car by moonlight. tell me where the meeting is to take place." "the deacons of the church have promised to let us have a room in the basement, which has a stove in it. the meeting will be at eight o'clock, sir," tom informed him. "i hope to be there and listen to what goes on," said the hermit. "and after all i'm not sorry those vicious boys thought to bombard me the way they did, since it has given me the opportunity to get acquainted with such a fine lot of lads. but i see my friend, the judge, coming with his car, and i'll say good-bye to you all for the present." he waved his hand to them as he rode away beside the white-bearded judge, who was one of the most highly respected citizens of lenox. "well, he's a mighty fine sort of an old party, for a fact!" declared george, as they looked after the receding car; nor did he mean the slightest disrespect in speaking in this fashion of the interesting old man they had met in such a strange way. "i'd give something if only i could visit mr. henderson at his cabin," remarked felix; "i reckon he must have a heap of things worth seeing in his collection." "who knows," said tom, cheerily, "but what some good luck might take us up that way one of these fine days." "let's hope so," added josh, as they once more started toward home. chapter iii a cloud over the oskamp home tom and carl walked along together after the other three boys had dropped off at various stages, taking short-cuts for their homes, as supper-time was approaching. "what's gone wrong, carl?" asked tom, as he flung an arm across the shoulders of his closest chum. "i was meaning to tell you about it, tom," explained the other, quickly; "but somehow i kept holding back. it seemed as if i ought to find a way of solving that queer mystery myself. but only this morning i decided to ask you to help me." his words aroused the curiosity of the other boy more than ever. "what's this you're talking about?" he exclaimed. "a mystery is there now, carl? why, i thought it might all be about that coming around so often of mr. amasa culpepper, who not only keeps the grocery store but is a sort of shyster lawyer, and a money lender as well. everybody says he's smitten with your mother, and wants to be a second father to you and your sisters and brothers." "well that used to worry me a whole lot," admitted carl, frankly, "until i asked my mother if she cared any for amasa. she laughed at me, and said that if he was the last man on earth she would never dream of marrying him. in fact, she never expected to stop being john oskamp's widow. so since then i only laugh when i see old amasa coming around and fetching big bouquets of flowers from his garden, which he must hate to pull, he's so miserly." "then what else has cropped up to bother you, carl?" asked tom. the other heaved a long-drawn sigh. "my mother is worried half sick over it!" he explained; "she's hunted every bit of the house over several times; and i've scoured the garden again and again, but we don't seem to be able to locate it at all. it's the queerest thing where it could have disappeared to so suddenly." "yes, but you haven't told me what it is?" remarked tom. "a paper, tom, a most valuable paper that my mother carelessly left on the table in the sitting room day before yesterday." "what kind of a paper was it?" asked tom, who always liked to get at the gist of things in the start. "why, it was a paper that meant considerable to my mother," explained carl. "my father once invested in some shares of oil stock. the certificate of stock was in the safe keeping of amasa culpepper, who had given a receipt for the same, and a promise to hand over the original certificate when this paper was produced." "and you say the receipt disappeared from the table in your sitting room, without anybody knowing what became of it?" asked tom. "yes," replied carl. "this is how it came about. lately we received word that the company had struck some gushers in the way of wells, and that the stock my father had bought for a few cents a share is worth a mint of money now. it was through amasa culpepper my mother first learned about this, and she wrote to the company to find out." "oh! i see," chuckled tom, "and when mr. culpepper learned that there was a chance of your mother becoming rich, his unwelcome attentions became more pronounced than ever; isn't that so, carl?" "i think you're right, tom," said the other boy, but without smiling, for he carried too heavy a load on his mind to feel merry. "you see my mother had hunted up this precious receipt, and had it handy, meaning to go over to mr. culpepper's office in the forenoon and ask for the certificate of stock he has in his safe." "so she laid it on the table, did she?" pursued tom, shaking his head. "don't you think that it was a little careless, carl, in your mother, to do that?" "she can't forgive herself for doing it," replied his chum, sadly. "she says that it just shows how few women have any business qualities about them, and that she misses my father more and more every day that she lives. but none of the other children touched the paper. angus, elsie and dot have told her so straight; and it's a puzzle to know what did become of it." "you spoke of hunting in the garden and around the outside of the house; why should you do that?" "it happened that one of the sitting room windows was open half a foot that day. the weather had grown mild you remember," explained the other. "and you kind of had an idea the paper might have blown out through that open window, was that it?" "it looked like it to me," answered the widow's son, frowning; "but if that was what happened the wind carried it over the fence and far away, because i've not been able to find anything of it." "how long was it between the time your mother laid the paper on the table and the moment she missed it?" continued tom chesney. "just one full hour. she went from the breakfast table and got the paper out of her trunk. then when she had seen the children off to school, and dressed to go out it was gone. she said that was just a quarter to ten." "she's sure of that, is she?" demanded tom. "yes," replied carl, "because the grocer's boy always comes along at just a quarter after nine for his orders, and he had been gone more than twenty minutes." at that the other boy stopped still and looked fixedly at carl. "that grocer's boy is a fellow by the name of dock phillips, isn't he?" was what tom asked, as though with a purpose. "yes," carl replied. "and he works for mr. amasa culpepper, too!" continued tom, placing such a decided emphasis on these words that his companion started and stared in his face. "that's all true enough, tom, but tell me what you mean by saying that in the way you did? what could mr. culpepper have to do with the vanishing of that paper?" "oh! perhaps nothing at all," pursued the other, "but all the same he has more interest in its disappearance than any other person i can think of just now." "because his name was signed at the bottom, you mean, tom?" cried the startled carl. "just what it was," continued tom. "suppose your mother could never produce that receipt, mr. culpepper would be under no necessity of handing over any papers. i don't pretend to know much about such things, and so i can't tell just how he could profit by holding them. but even if he couldn't get them made over in his own name, he might keep your mother from becoming rich unless she agreed to marry him!" carl was so taken aback by this bold statement that he lost his breath for a brief period of time. "but tom, amasa culpepper wasn't in our house that morning?" he objected. "perhaps not, but dock phillips was, and he's a boy i'd hate to trust any further than i could see him," tom agreed. "do you think mr. culpepper could have hired dock to _steal_ the paper?" continued the sorely-puzzled carl. "well, hardly that. if dock took it he did the job on his own responsibility. perhaps he had a chance to glance at the paper and find out what it stood for, and in his cunning way figured that he might hold his employer up for a good sum if he gave him to understand he could produce that receipt." "yes, yes, i'm following you now, go on," implored the deeply interested carl. "here we are at your house, carl; suppose you ask me in. i'd like to find out if dock was left alone in the sitting room for even a minute that morning." "done!" cried the other, vehemently, as he pushed open the white gate, and led the way quickly along the snow-cleaned walk up to the front door. mrs. oskamp was surprised as she stood over the stove in the neat kitchen of her little cottage home when her oldest boy and his chum, tom chesney, whom she liked very much indeed, entered. their manner told her immediately that it was design and not accident that had brought them in together. "i've been telling tom, mother," said carl, after looking around and making certain that none of the other children were within earshot; "and he's struck what promises to be a clue that may explain the mystery we've been worrying over." "i'm pleased to hear you say so, son," the little woman with the rosy cheeks and the bright eyes told carl; "and if i can do anything to assist you please call on me without hesitation, tom." "what we want you to tell us, mother," continued carl, "is how long you left that dock phillips alone in the sitting room when he called for grocery orders on the morning that paper disappeared." mrs. oskamp looked wonderingly at them both. "i don't remember saying anything of that sort to you, carl," she presently remarked, slowly and with a puzzled expression on her pretty plump face. "but you _did_ leave him alone there, didn't you?" the boy persisted, as though something in her manner convinced him that he was on the track of a valuable clue. "well, yes, but it was not for more than two minutes," she replied. "there was a mistake in my last weekly bill, and i wanted dock to take it back to the store with him for correction. then i found i had left it in the pocket of the dress i wore the afternoon before, and so i went upstairs to get it." "two minutes would be plenty of time, wouldn't it, tom?" carl continued, turning on his chum. "he may have stepped up to the table to see what the paper was," tom theorized; "and discovering the name of amasa culpepper signed to it, considered it worth stealing. that may be wronging dock; but he has a bad reputation, you know, mrs. oskamp. my folks say they are surprised at mr. culpepper's employing him; but everybody knows he hates to pay out money, and i suppose he can get dock cheaper than he could most boys." "but what would the boy want to do with that paper?" asked the lady, helplessly. "why, mother," said carl, with a shrug of his shoulders as he looked toward his chum; "don't you see he may have thought he could tell mr. culpepper about it, and offer to hand over, or destroy the paper, for a certain amount of cash." "but that would be very wicked, son!" expostulated mrs. oskamp. "oh well, a little thing like that wouldn't bother tony pollock or dock phillips; and they're both of the same stripe. haven't we hunted high and low for that paper, and wondered where under the sun it could have gone? well, dock got it, i'm as sure now as that my name's carl oskamp. the only question that bothers me now is how can i make him give it up, or tell what he did with it." "if he took it, and has already handed it over to mr. culpepper, there's not a single chance in ten you'll ever see it again," tom asserted; "but we've got one thing in our favor." "i'm glad to hear that, tom," the little lady told him, for she had a great respect for the opinion of her son's chum; "tell us what it is, won't you?" "everybody knows how amasa culpepper is getting more and more stingy every year he lives," tom explained. "he hates to let a dollar go without squeezing it until it squeals, they say. well, if dock holds out for a fairly decent sum i expect amasa will keep putting him off, and try to make him come down in his price. that's our best chance of ever getting the paper back." "tom, i want you to go with me to-night and face dock phillips," said carl. "just as you say; we can look him up on our way to the meeting." chapter iv the defiance of dock phillips remembering his promise, tom called early for his chum. carl lived in a pretty little cottage with his mother, and three other children. there was angus, a little chap of five, dot just three, and elsie well turned seven. everybody liked to visit the oskamp home, there was such an air of contentment and happiness about the entire family, despite the fact that they missed the presence of the one who had long been their guide and protector. tom was an especial favorite with the three youngsters, and they were always ready for a romp with him when he came to spend an evening with his chum. on this occasion however tom did not get inside the house, for carl was on the lookout and hurried out of the door as soon as he heard the gate shut. "hello! seems to me you're in a big hurry to-night," laughed tom, when he saw the other slip out of the house and come down the path to meet him; "what's all the rush about, carl?" "why, you see i knew we meant to drop in at dock phillips' place, and we wouldn't want to be too late at the meeting if we happened to be held up there," was the explanation carl gave. as they hurried along they talked together, and of course much of their conversation was connected with this visit to dock. carl seemed hopeful of good results, but to tell the truth tom had his doubts. in the first place he was a better judge of human nature than his chum, and he knew that the phillips boy was stubborn, as well as vicious. if he were really guilty of having taken the paper he would be likely to deny it vehemently through thick and thin. knowing how apt carl was to become discouraged if things went against him very strongly, tom felt it was his duty to prepare the other for disappointment. "even if dock denies that he ever saw the paper, we mustn't let ourselves feel that this is the end of it, you know, carl," he started to say. "i'll be terribly disappointed, though, tom," admitted the other boy, with a sigh that told how he had lain awake much the last two nights trying to solve the puzzle that seemed to have no answer. "oh! that would only be natural," his chum told him, cheerily; "but you know if we expect to become scouts we must figure out what they would do under the same conditions, and act that way." "that's right, tom," agreed the other, bracing up. "tell me what a true-blue scout would figure out as his line of duty in case he ran up against a snag when his whole heart was set on doing a thing." "he'd just remember that old motto we used to write in our copybooks at school, and take it to heart--'if at first you don't succeed, try, try again!' and carl, a scout would keep on trying right along. he'd set his teeth together as firm as iron and say he'd solve that problem, or know the reason why." "tom, you know how to brace a weak-kneed fellow up all right." "but you're not that kind, carl. only in this case there's so much at stake you hardly do yourself justice. remember how grant went at it, and when he found that lee met all of his tactics so cleverly he got his back up and said he'd fight it out on that line if it took all summer." "i see what you mean, and i'm game enough to say the same thing!" declared the other, with a ring of resolution in his voice. tom felt wonderfully relieved. he knew that carl was capable of great things if only he succeeded in conquering his one little failing of seeing the gloomy side of passing events. "well, here we are at dock's place. it's not a particularly lovely home for any fellow, is it? but then his father is known to be a hard drinker, and the mother finds it a tough job to keep her family in clothes and food. my folks feel sorry for her, and do what they can at times to help her out, though she's too proud to ask for assistance." "dock promises to be as bad as his father, i'm afraid, only so far he hasn't taken to drinking," remarked carl. "there's some hope for him if only he keeps away from that," ventured tom. "but let's knock on the door." no sooner had his knuckles come in contact with the panel than there was a furious barking within. like most poor families the phillips evidently kept several dogs; indeed, dock had always been a great lover of animals, and liked to be strutting along the main street of lenox with a string of dogs tagging at his heels. a harsh voice was heard scolding the dogs, who relapsed into a grumbling and whining state of obedience. "that's dock himself," said carl. "they mind him all right, you see. i hope he opens the door for us, and not his father." just then the phillips door was drawn back. "hello! carl, and you too tom; what's up?" although dock tried to say this with extreme indifference tom saw that he was more or less startled at seeing them. in fact he immediately slipped outside, and closed the door behind him, as though he did not want his mother or any one else to overhear what might be said. this action was positive evidence to the mind of tom chesney that dock was guilty. his fears caused him to act without thinking. at the same time such evidence is never accepted in a court of law as circumstantial. if either of the two boys had ever called at the phillips' house before it must have been on account of some errand, and at the request of their mothers. dock might therefore be filled with curiosity to know why he had been honored with a visit. "we dropped around to have a few words with you, dock," said tom, who had made arrangements with his chum to manage the little interview, and had his plan of campaign all laid out in advance. "oh is that so?" sneered the other, now having had time to recover from the little shock which their sudden appearance had given him. "well, here i am, so hurry up with what you've got to say. i came home late from the store and i'm not done my supper yet." "we'll keep you only a few minutes at the most, dock," continued tom; "you take the orders for groceries for the store, don't you?" "what, me? why, course i do. ain't you seen me a-goin' around with that bob-tail racer of old culpepper's that could make a mile in seventeen minutes if you kept the whip a-waggin' over his back? what if i do take orders; want to leave one with me for a commission, hey?" dock tried to throw all the sarcasm he could into his voice. he had an object no doubt in doing this; which was to impress these two boys as to his contempt for them and their errand, whatever it might be. "we came here in hopes that you might solve a little bit of a mystery that's bothering carl's mother, dock," continued tom. it was pretty dark out there, as the night had settled down, and not much light escaped from the windows close by; still tom thought he saw the other boy move uneasily when he said this. "that's a funny thing for you to say, tom chesney," grumbled the other. "how'd i be able to help mrs. oskamp out, tell me? i ain't much of a hand to figger sums. that's why i hated school, and run away, so i had to go to work. now what you drivin' at anyhow? just tell me that." "day before yesterday you called at mrs. oskamp's house, dock, as you do every morning, to take orders. you always make it about the same time, i understand, which is close to a quarter after nine." "oh! i'm the promptest grocery clerk you ever saw!" boasted dock, perhaps to hide a little confusion, and bolster up his nerve. "after you had gone, or to make it positive at just a quarter to ten mrs. oskamp, who had dressed to go out, missed something that was on the table of the sitting room where you came for orders, and which she says she knows was there when you first arrived!" "what's this you're a-sayin', tom chesney? want to make me out a thief, do you? better go slow about that sort of talk, i tell you!" blustered dock, aggressively. "did mrs. oskamp see me take anything?" "oh! no, certainly not," continued tom; "but she had to go upstairs to get a bill she wanted you to take back to the store for correction, and left you alone in the room for a couple of minutes, that's all." tom was fishing for a "rise," as he would have put it himself, being something of an angler; and he got it too. all unsuspicious of the trap that had been spread for his unwary feet dock gave a harsh laugh, and went on to say angrily: "you have got the greatest nerve i ever heard about, tom chesney, a-comin' here right to my own home, and accusin' me of bein' a reg'lar thief. i wouldn't take a thing for the world. besides, what'd i want with a silly old scrap of paper, tell me?" "oh!" said tom, quietly, "but i never mentioned what it was that was taken. how do you happen to know then it was a paper, dock?" carl gave a gasp of admiration for the clever work of his chum. as for dock, he hardly knew what to say immediately, though after he caught his breath he managed to mutter: "why, there was some papers on the table, i remembered, and i just guessed you must be meanin' that. i tell you i ain't seen no paper, and you can't prove it on me either. i defy you to; so there! now just tell me what you're goin' to do about it." he squared off as though he had a dim idea the two boys might want to lay hands on him and try to drag him around to the police headquarters. of course this was the very last thing tom and carl would think of attempting. strategy alone could influence dock to confess to the truth. "oh! we don't mean to touch you, dock," said tom, hastily. "all we wanted to do was to ask you if you had seen that paper? if you denied it we knew we would have to try and find it another way; because sooner or later the truth is bound to come out, you understand. we'd rather have you on our side than against us, dock." "but what would a feller like me want with your old paper?" snarled the boy, who may not have wholly liked the firm way in which tom said that in the end the real facts must be made known, just as if they meant to get some one accustomed to spying on people to watch him from that time on. "nothing so far as it concerned you," replied tom; "but it was of considerable value to another. your employer, mr. culpepper, might be willing to pay a considerable sum to get possession of that same paper, because it bore his signature." dock gave a disagreeable laugh. "what, that old miser pay any real money out? huh, you don't know him. he squeezes every dollar till it squeals before he lets it go. he'd bargain for the difference of five cents. nobody could do business with him on the square. but i tell you i ain't seen no paper; and that's all i'm a-goin' to say 'bout it. i'm meanin' to let my dogs out for a little air soon's i go back in the house, an' i hopes that you'll close the gate after you when you skip!" there was a veiled threat in his words, and as he proceeded to terminate the interview by passing inside tom and carl thought it good policy to make use of the said gate, for they did not like the manner in which the dogs growled and whined on the other side of the barrier. "he's a tough one, all right," carl was saying as they walked on together, and heard the three dogs barking in the phillips' yard. "yes," admitted his chum, "dock's a hard customer, but not so very smart when you come right down to it. he fell headlong into my trap, which is a very old one with lawyers who wish to coax a man to betray his guilt." "you mean about saying it was a paper that had been lost?" said carl. "yes, you fairly staggered him when you asked him how he knew that." "there's no question about dock's being the guilty one," asserted tom. "he gave himself away the worst kind then. the only thing we have to do is to try and get the truth from him. sooner or later it's got to be found out." "yes," continued carl, dejectedly, "but if he's handed that paper over to mr. culpepper in the meantime, even if we could prove that dock took it what good will that do? once that paper is torn up, we could recover nothing." "but i'm sure he hasn't made his bargain with old amasa yet," tom ventured. "why do you believe that?" asked the other, eagerly. "you heard what he said about the meanness of his employer, didn't you?" was what tom replied. "well, it proves that although dock sounded mr. culpepper about being in a position to give him the paper they haven't arrived at any satisfactory conclusion." "you mean dock wants more than amasa is willing to pay, is that it, tom?" "it looks that way to me," the other boy assented; "and that sort of deadlock may keep on indefinitely. you see, dock is half afraid to carry the deal through, and will keep holding off. perhaps he may even have put so high a price on his find, that every once in a while they'll lock horns and call it a draw." "i hope you've hit on the right solution," sighed carl; "if it didn't do anything else it would give us a chance to think up some other scheme for getting the truth out of dock." "leave it to me, carl; sooner or later we'll find a way to beat him at his own game. if he's got that paper hidden away somewhere we may discover his secret by following him. there are other ways too. it's going to come out all right in the end, you take my word for it!" chapter v the black bear patrol it was a lively scene in the room under the church when the meeting was called to order by mr. witherspoon, the civil engineer and surveyor. a dozen boys were on hand, several having come from curiosity, and meaning to join the scouts later on if they saw reason to believe it would amount to anything. besides the boys there were present judge stone, his friend the hermit-naturalist, larry henderson, and two fathers, who had dropped around to learn whether this new-fangled movement for the rising generation meant that the boys were to be secretly trained for soldiers, as so many people believed. robert witherspoon having once been a scout master knew how to manage a meeting of this sort. after he had called it to order he made a neat little speech, and explained what a wonderful influence for good the organization had been in every community where it had been tested. he read various extracts from the scout manual to show the lofty aims of those who had originated this idea which was taking the world by storm. "the boys have been neglected far too long," he told them; "and it has been decided that if we want a better class of men in the world we must begin work with the boy. it is the province of this scout movement to make duty so pleasant for the average lad that he will be wild to undertake it." in his little talk to the boys mr. witherspoon mentioned the fact that one of the greatest charms of becoming scouts was that growing habit of observing all that went on around them. "when you're in town this may not seem to be much of a thing after all," he had gone on to say; "but in the woods you will find it an ever increasing fascination, as the wonders of nature continue to be unfolded before your eyes. we are fortunate to have with us to-night a gentleman who is known all over the country as a naturalist and lover of the great outdoors. i think it will be worth our while to listen while he tells us something of the charming things to be found in studying nature. mr. henderson i'm going to ask you to take up as much time as you see fit." when tom and carl and some of the other boys did that little favor for mr. larry henderson they were inclined to fancy that he was rather rough in his manner. he had not been talking five minutes however, before they realized that he was a born orator, and could hold an audience spell-bound by his eloquence. he thrilled those boys with the way in which he described the most trivial happening in the lonely wilds. they fairly hung upon his every sentence. "when you first commence to spend some time in the woods, boys," he told them, "it will seem very big and lonesome to you. then as you come to make the acquaintance of br'er 'coon and mr. fox and the frisky chipmunk and all the rest of the denizens, things will take on a different color. in the end you will feel that they are all your very good friends, and nothing could tempt you to injure one of the happy family. "yes, it is true that occasionally i do trap an animal but only when i find it a discordant element in the group. some of them prey upon others, and yet that is no excuse why man should step in and exterminate them all, as he often does just for the sake of a few dollars." this sort of talk roused the enthusiasm of the boys, and when after a while mr. witherspoon put the question as to how many of them felt like immediately signing the roster roll so as to start the first patrol of the intended troop, there was a good deal of excitement shown. first of all tom chesney signed, and immediately after him came carl, felix, josh and george. by the time these five names had appeared josh had slipped his arm through that of walter douglass and brought him up to the table to place his signature on the list. "we need two more to make up the first patrol," announced mr. witherspoon. "unless eight are secured we cannot hope to get our charter from scout headquarters, because that is the minimum number of a troop. i sincerely hope we may be able to make so much progress to-night at this meeting that i can write to-morrow to obtain the necessary authority for acting as your scout master." at that another boy who had been anxiously conferring with his father walked forward. "good for you, billy button!" called out josh. "that makes seven, and we only need one more name. horace, are you going to see this grand scheme fall through for lack of just a single name? your sig would look mighty good to the rest of us at the end of that list." then he ended with an air of assumed dignity, "horace, your country calls you; will it call in vain?" horace herkimer crapsey was the boy who had been spoken of as a dainty dude, who hated to soil his white hands. tom had expressed it as his opinion that if only horace could be coaxed to join the troop it would prove to be the finest thing in the world for him. he had the making of a good scout only for those faults which other boys derided as silly and girlish. he was neat to a painful degree, and that is always looked on as a sort of crime by the average boy. horace evidently had been greatly taken by the combined talk of the scout master and the old hermit-naturalist. to the great delight of josh, as well as most of the other boys, he now stepped forward and placed his name on the list. "that makes eight, and enough for the first patrol," announced mr. witherspoon, with a pleased look; "we can count on an organization now as a certainty. all of you will have to start in as tenderfeet, because so far you have had no experience as scouts; but unless i miss my guess it will be only a short time before a number of you will be applying for the badge of second-class scouts." "that's just what we will, sir!" cried josh, brimming over with enthusiasm. "we cannot elect a patrol leader just now," continued mr. witherspoon, "until there are some of you who are in the second class; but that will come about in good time. but it is of considerable importance what name you would like to give this first patrol of the new lenox troop of boy scouts." there was a conference among the boys, and all sorts of suggestions were evidently being put forward. finally tom chesney seemed to have been delegated as usual to act as spokesman. "mr. chairman," he said, rising from his seat, "my comrades of lenox troop have commissioned me to say they would like to ask mr. henderson to name the first patrol for them. they believe they will be perfectly satisfied with any name he may think best to give them." judge stone smiled, and nodded his head as though he considered this quite a neat little compliment for his good old friend. and the naturalist was also evidently pleased as he got upon his feet. "after all, boys," he told them, "it is a matter of very little consequence what you call this fine patrol. there are a dozen names that suggest themselves. since you have a bear mountain within half a dozen miles of your town suppose you call it the black bear patrol." there was a chorus of approving assents, and it looked as though not a single objection was to be offered. "the black bear is an american institution, you might say," mr. henderson continued, when this point had been settled, "and next to the eagle is recognized as distinctive. from what i have heard said this evening it seems to me also that the boy scouts of america differ from any other branch of the movement in many ways." "above all things," exclaimed mr. witherspoon, "in that there is nothing military about the movement over here. in europe scouts are in one sense soldiers in the making. they all expect to serve the colors some day later on. we do not hold this up before our boys; though never once doubting that in case a great necessity arose every full-fledged scout would stand up for his country's honor and safety." "every time!" exclaimed the impetuous josh. long they lingered there, discussing many things connected with the securing of their uniforms, after the proper time had elapsed. various schemes were suggested whereby each boy could earn enough money to pay for his outfit; because that was one of the important stipulations made in joining a troop, no candidate being allowed to accept help in securing his suit. before the meeting was adjourned it was settled that they were to come together every friday night; and meanwhile each member of the black bear patrol expected to qualify for the grade of second-class scout just as soon as his month of membership as arranged under the bylaws of the order had expired. chapter vi setting the trap "three weeks have gone by since we had that first meeting, tom; just think of it." carl was walking along the river road with his chum when he made this remark. they had seen the last of the snow vanish, and with the coming of milder days all the boys began to talk of going fishing before long. perhaps this saunter of the pair after school may have had something to do with the first contemplated outing of the season, and they wanted to see whether the fish had commenced to come from their winter quarters, though the law would not be off for trout yet awhile. "that's a fact, carl," replied the other boy; "and at our very next meeting most of the members of the patrol are going to get their badges as second-class scouts, because they've already qualified for it to the satisfaction of mr. witherspoon." "honest to goodness i believe there'll be only one tenderfoot left in the lot," carl continued; "and that of course is our dude, horace. he managed to exert himself just enough to fulfill the requirements a tenderfoot has to possess, but there he sticks." "wait a while longer," tom told him, "and one of these fine days you may see horace wake up. i haven't lost hopes of him by a long shot. at our next meeting, after we've passed up, the first thing we have to do is to elect a patrol leader." carl laughed softly. "oh that's all cut and dried, already," he asserted. "well, if it is no one has said anything to me about it," objected tom, at which the other laughed again. "why should they bother when it was seven against one, tom?" argued carl. "why, the boys wouldn't dream of having any other leader than you!" "but that doesn't seem quite fair, it ought to be talked over openly. why pick me out above every one else for that?" "because you've always been a leader among your schoolmates, tom, that's why!" he was quickly, told. "you've got it in you to take the lead in every kind of sport known to boys. baseball, football, hockey, athletics--tell me a single thing where you've had to play second fiddle to any other fellow. and it isn't because you want to push yourself either, but because you can go ahead." "well," said tom, slowly and musingly, "it's mighty nice to know that the other boys like you, and if the fellows are bound to make me take the office of patrol leader i suppose i'll have to accept it." "no one so well able to do the work as you are, tom. but this has been a terribly long three weeks to me, i tell you." "now you're thinking that we haven't made a bit of progress about finding that stolen paper," suggested tom, looking a little crest-fallen. "both of us have tried from time to time to watch dock after nights, but somehow we haven't had much success up to now." "no," added carl, with one of his heavy sighs, "if he has that paper hidden somewhere he's smart enough to keep away from his cache, so far as we've been able to find out." "i don't believe he's come to any settlement with amasa culpepper as yet," tom observed, with considerable positiveness. "we think that, but we don't know for sure," ventured the less confident carl. "if only i could glimpse the paper i'd have a big load lifted from my mind. and it cuts me to the quick to see poor mother trying to look cheerful when i come indoors, though i've noticed signs of tears on her cheeks several times." "i've been thinking of some sort of scheme," began tom, slowly. "good for you!" burst out carl, delightedly. "tell me what it is then; and can we start in to try it right away?" "that depends on several conditions," explained the other. "first of all do you remember what that receipt made out by mr. culpepper looked like, carl?" "do i? why, it seems to me it must have been burned on my memory as though you'd take a red hot poker and make marks on the clean kitchen floor. when i shut my eyes nights and try to go to sleep it keeps dancing in front of me. before i know what i'm doing i find myself grabbing out for it, and then i want to kick myself for being so foolish, when i know it's all just a silly bit of imagination." "i'm glad you remember so well how it looked," remarked tom, somewhat to the mystification of his companion. "what has that got to do with your scheme?" he demanded, in perplexity. "a whole lot," came the swift answer; "because i want you to get me up as close a copy of that receipt as you possibly can!" "whew! do you mean even to signing mr. culpepper's name at the end?" asked carl, whose breath had very nearly been taken away. "yes, even to that," he was told; "in fact the paper wouldn't be worth a pinch of salt in my little game if that signature were omitted. do you think you could duplicate the receipt, carl?" "i am sure i could; but even now i'm groping in the dark, because for the life of me i can't see what you expect to do with it, tom." "don't forget to crease it, to make it look as though it had been folded and opened ever so many times; yes, and soil the outside a little too, as if it had been carried in a boy's pocket along with a lot of other things like marbles or a top or something like that." "but please explain what all this means," carl pleaded. "listen!" replied the other, impressively, "and i'll tell you what my game is. it may work, and it may fall flat; a whole lot depends on circumstances, but there's no harm trying it out." "of course not; go on and tell me." "in watching dock when he didn't know it, we've learned considerable about his habits," continued tom. "for one thing every single night he walks home along the river road here after delivering a package or two at certain houses. it seems to be a part of the programme. well, some fine night we'll lie in wait for him about this spot; and on the road will be that duplicate of the paper which we believe he stole." at that carl became quite excited. "oh! now i see what your game it!" he cried; "and let me tell you i think it's as clever a trick as could be thought of. he'll pick up the paper, thinking it may be something worth while; and when he sees that it is the very receipt he thinks he has got safely hidden away somewhere, dock will be so rattled that the first thing he does will be to hurry to find out whether it's been taken or not." "that's the idea, carl; and of course we'll follow him, so as to jump in the very minute he gets out the real document to compare them." "fine! fine, tom! you are certainly the crackerjack when it comes to laying a trap to trip a scamp up. why, he'll fall into that pit head over heels; and i do hope we can snatch the paper away from him before he has a chance to tear it up." "we'll look out for that all right, you can depend on it," came the reassuring remark from the other scout. "when will you get busy on that copy, carl?" "to-night, after the kids are in bed," carl hastened to reply; "i wouldn't care to have them see what i was doing, though in this case i firmly believe it's all right." "and if your mother wants to know, tell her," said tom. "i'd have to do that anyway," said carl, without the least confusion or hesitation; "i always tell my mother everything that happens. she takes an interest in all my plans, and she's the dearest little mother a boy ever had. but she'll understand that it's only meant to be a trick to catch the thief." "then if you have it ready by to-morrow afternoon we might try how it works that same evening," tom remarked. "i wish the time was now, i'm getting so anxious to do something," sighed the second boy, as he again remembered how he had seen his mother force herself to appear cheerful when he came from school, though there were traces of tears on her cheeks, and her eyes looked red. soon after that the chums separated, as the afternoon was drawing near a close. "i wish you luck with your work to-night, carl," was what tom called out in parting; "and if any one wants to know where we've been, be sure and tell them that so far as we've been able to find out the fishing promises to be mighty fine this spring, better than for years, if signs go for anything." on the following day at noon when they walked home for lunch carl showed his chum the paper. it had been carefully done, and even bore the marks of service in the way of numerous creases, and some soiled spots in the bargain. tom was loud in his praise. "it certainly looks as if it had been carried in a boy's pocket for some time," he declared; "and it's up to you to say how close a copy the contents are to the original." "i'm sure amasa culpepper would say it was his own crabbed handwriting to a fraction," carl had no hesitation in asserting. "and so far as that goes dock phillips isn't capable of discovering any slight difference. if he ever picks this up you mark my words, tom, he's going to get the biggest shock he's felt in many a day." "and you can see how the very first thing he'd be apt to do would be to look around to see if anybody was spying on him, and then hurry away to find if his paper could have been taken from the place where he hid it." "oh! i hope, tom, he doesn't just step over it, and never bother to pick it up." "we've got to take our chance of that happening," he was told; "but we know how nearly every boy would act. besides, scraps of paper have begun to seem worth something in dock's eyes lately. the chances are three to one he'll get it." "well, i'll meet you at just seven o'clock to-night at the old smithy, and we'll lay the trap when we hear his whistle up the road. dock always whistles when he's out after dark. i think it must help him keep his courage up." the church bells had just started to ring seven when the two boys came close to the old blacksmith shop that had been deserted when mr. siebert moved to a better location. they had chosen this spot because it was rather lonely, and there did not seem to be very much chance of their little game being interrupted by any other pedestrian coming along just at the critical time. on one side of the road lay the bushes, in the midst of which the boys expected to hide; on the other could be seen the river. all was quiet around them as the minutes passed away. "there, that's his whistle, tom!" whispered carl, suddenly. thereupon the other scout crept swiftly out upon the road, and placed the folded paper where it could hardly help being seen by any one with ordinary eyesight. he had just returned to the bushes when a figure came hurrying around the bend, whistling vigorously as some boys are in the habit of doing. carl's heart seemed almost to stop beating when he saw dock suddenly halt and bend over. chapter vii dock goes from bad to worse just at that instant, as luck would have it, a vagrant gust of wind, perhaps an advance courier of the prospective storm, swooped down across the road. before the boy who was stooping over could touch the paper that had attracted his attention it was whisked suddenly away. he made an ineffectual effort to seize upon it in the air, but missed it and had to stand there, while the paper floated far out over the river, to fall finally on the moving current. carl quivered with another feeling besides anxiety and suspense; keen disappointment was wringing his heart cruelly. just when their clever little plot seemed on the point of working, a freak of fate had dashed his hopes to the ground. he had the greatest difficulty in suppressing the cry that tried to bubble from between his lips. even tom must have felt bitterly chagrinned when he saw the paper go swirling off, without having had a chance to test its ability to deceive dock phillips, and perhaps lead him into confessing his guilt. the grocer's boy was now walking on again. of course he knew nothing about the character of the elusive paper, save that it had played him a little trick. they could hear him whistling again in his loud way as though he had already forgotten the circumstance. "hang the luck!" complained carl, when he felt that it was safe to let a little of the compressed steam escape through the safety valve of his voice. "that was a rough deal, all right," admitted tom. "who would have dreamed such a blast could sweep down and take that paper off? too bad you had all your work for nothing, carl." "oh! the work didn't amount to much," said the other boy, despondently; "but after hoping for such great things through our plan it's hard to feel that you're up in the air as bad as ever." "we might try it all over again some time, after dock's kind of forgotten about this happening," suggested tom. "but if he kept on seeing loose papers every little while he might get suspicious about it. perhaps we can think up another plan that will have the earmarks of success about it." "i never thought the river would play me such a trick," said carl, looking out on the moving water; "up to now i've had a sort of friendly feeling for the old stream, but after this i'll be apt to look on it as an unprincipled foe." "oh! i wouldn't say that," urged tom, always practical; "the river wasn't to blame at all. and that gust of wind would have come whether we thought to place our bait on the road or not. i'd call it a piece of hard luck, and let it go at that." "we couldn't do anything, tom, now our paper's gone off on the current?" "oh well," replied the other purposely allowing himself to grow humorous so as to cause carl to forget the keen bitterness of his disappointment; "perhaps if we went fishing to-morrow below here we might take the trout that would have your paper tucked away in his little tummy." "that's right, tom," the other added; "we've read some thrilling yarns about jewels being recovered that way; and i remember that even a gold watch was said to have been found, still running inside a fish after many moons." "yes, they tried to explain that phenomenon in a lot of ways, but i guess it must have been meant for a joke, just as my idea was." "it's all over for to-night then?" "yes, let's go home," replied tom. "we have lots to talk over and do, too. before long the exams will be coming on, and we want to pass with honors if we expect to enjoy our vacation this summer." "and it's pretty nearly decided i hear, that the black bear patrol takes a long hike the first thing after school closes," carl was saying, as they started down the river road into lenox. "ten days in camp or knocking about will do more to make us seasoned scouts than as many months at home," ventured tom, knowingly. "all the difference between theory and practice you mean," added carl. "on my own part i don't care how soon we get started. i've a whole lot of things written down to be attended to, once we get away from civilization. that long list mr. witherspoon gave me i've made up a name for." "what is it, then?" asked tom. "things for a tenderfoot scout to look for on his first visit to the storehouse of nature. what do you think of the title, tom?" "a pretty long one, it strikes me," answered the other; "but it covers the ground. every one of us must have a copy, and it'll be a lot of fun to find out who'll be the first to answer all those questions." "one thing i hope will happen before we start out on that hike," said carl. "of course you're referring to that paper again, and i don't blame you a bit. we'll do our level best to get hold of it before then," and trying as well as he knew how to buoy up the drooping spirits of the disappointed chum tom locked arms with him, and in this fashion they walked home. the days again drifted along into weeks. scout matters were looking up decidedly in lenox. there was even some talk of a second rival organization among another set of boys, though mr. witherspoon gave it as his opinion that nothing could ever be done with such a wild crowd. "there isn't a single one among them, from what i hear and know, who could comply with the requirements every scout is expected to have as an asset when he makes application," was the way he put it. "those boys couldn't subscribe to any of the rules which govern scouts in their daily life. they'd have to turn over a new leaf for a fact before they could don the khaki." "and," said josh kingsley, "when such tough fellows as tony pollock, asa green, wedge mcguffey and dock phillips start to turning leaves you can begin to see angel wings sprouting back of their shoulder blades." there were already five boys who had given in their names to make up a second patrol. when it was filled they meant to join the troop, and qualify for a better standing than greenhorns or tenderfeet. larry henderson had long since gone back to his wilderness home beyond bear mountain. twice had tom received a letter from the old naturalist, in which he asked a great many questions, all concerning the boys of lenox, in whom he had not lost interest, and what progress the new troop was making. he also expressed a hearty wish that should they ever take a trip through the section of country where he lived they would not neglect to look him up in his cabin. one thing tom and carl had noticed of late, and this was that dock phillips had taken to going with that tough crowd again. for a while his work in the grocery store had tired him so much each day that when evening came he had been content to go to his home, eat his supper, and then crawl in between the sheets. once more dock was to be seen hanging around the street corners late at night with that group of rowdies that gave the uniformed force so much trouble. some of them only escaped arrest on numerous occasions because their fathers happened to be local politicians whom the police did not wish to offend. tom and carl talked this fact over and arrived at a conclusion, which may, and again may not, have been the true explanation. "dock's getting tired of holding down his job," tom had said, "he's been out of school so long now that he can't be sent back; and he doesn't like hard work either. since his father signed the pledge he's been working steadily enough, and perhaps dock gets into trouble at home because of his temper." "i happen to know he does for a fact," assented carl. "he's been acting hateful, staying out up to midnight every night, and his father has threatened to pitch him out. i rather think he's lazy, and wants to loaf." "perhaps he thinks that he ought to be drawing a regular salary because of that paper he's got hidden away, and which is worth so much to amasa culpepper, as well as to you. to keep him quiet it may be, the old man is paying him a few dollars every week on the sly, even though he refuses to come down with a big lump sum." "tom, would it be right for me to have another talk with dock, and make him an offer?" ventured carl, hesitatingly. "do you mean try to find out what the sum is he asked amasa to pay him?" questioned tom; "and agree to hand it over to him just as soon as the stock of the oil well company can be sold, after your mother gets it again?" "yes, like that. would it be wrong in me? anything like compounding a felony?" carl continued. "i don't see how that could be wrong," the other boy answered, after stopping to think it all over. "you have a right to offer a reward and no questions asked for the return of your own lost or stolen property." "then i'd like to try it before we settle on leaving town, tom." "it would do no harm, i should think," his chum advised him. "the only danger i can see would be if dock took the alarm and went to mr. culpepper, to tell him you were trying to outbid him for the possession of the paper." "that would be apt to make him come to time with a jump, wouldn't it?" said carl. "unless he got it into his head that dock was only trying to frighten him into meeting the stiff price at which he held the paper," said tom. "he might make out that he didn't care a pin, with the idea of forcing dock to come down." "yes, because he would believe dock wouldn't dare put his neck in the noose by confessing to us he had stolen the paper. then would you advise me to try the plan i spoke of?" "if you get a good chance i should say yes." that was on a wednesday afternoon, and carl went home, his head filled with a programme he had laid out that concerned the cornering of dock phillips. on thursday he learned, when home for lunch, that a new boy had come for orders from the grocery. carl was immediately filled with alarm. in imagination he could see dock and mr. culpepper coming to terms at last. after school that afternoon he waited for tom, to whom the startling news was disclosed. the stunning effect of it did not seem to affect tom's quick acting mind. "let's find out just what's happened," he remarked. "perhaps over at joslyn's, next door to the phillips's, we might pick up a clue." "yes, and i know mrs. joslyn right well in the bargain," said carl, showing interest at once. "i'm sure that if i told her as a secret just why we wanted to know about dock she'd tell me if anything had happened there lately." to the joslyn house the two boys went. mrs. joslyn was an energetic little woman, and said to be able to mind her own business. she listened with growing eagerness to the story, and at its conclusion said: "i'm sorry for your mother, carl, and i don't know that i can help you any; but there was something strange that happened at the phillips' house last night." chapter viii signs of trouble ahead "was it about dock?" asked carl, eagerly, while tom could see that the color had left his face all of a sudden. "yes," continued mrs. joslyn, "dock seems to have fallen into the habit of staying out until midnight, with some of those young fellows who loaf on the corners and get into every kind of mischief they can think up." "that's what we've been told was going on, ma'am," said tom. "i could hear his father scolding him furiously, while his mother was crying, and trying to make peace. dock was ugly, too, and for a time i thought his father was going to throw him out of the house. but in the end it quieted down." "that's a new streak in dock's father, i should say," remarked tom. "time was when he used to come home himself at all hours of the night, and in a condition that must have made his wife's heart sick." "yes, but you know he's turned over a new leaf, and acts as if he meant to stick to the water wagon," mrs. joslyn explained. "somehow it's made him just the other way, very severe with dock. i guess he's afraid now the boy will copy his bad example, and that's peeving mr. phillips." "but he let dock stay in the house, you say?" carl continued. "then i wonder why he didn't show up for orders this morning. the other boy told my mother dock was sick and couldn't come." mrs. joslyn smiled. "yes, he says that," she observed. "i went over to take back a dish i had borrowed, and he was lying on the lounge, smoking a cigarette. he said he was real sick, but between you and me, carl, i'm of the opinion he's just tired of his job, and means to throw it up. he'd rather loaf than work any day." carl breathed more freely. it was of course none of his business what dock did with himself, though he might think the other was a mean shirk to hang around idle when his people needed every dollar they could scrape up. "thank you for telling me this, mrs. joslyn," he said as with his chum he prepared to take his departure; "it relieves my mind in several ways. and please don't whisper my secret to any one. i still hope to be able to get that paper from dock sooner or later, if he doesn't come to terms with amasa culpepper." "i promise you faithfully carl," the little woman told him. "i guess i'm able to hold my tongue, even if they do say my sex never can. and carl, you must let me know if anything happens to alter conditions, because i'm dreadfully interested. this is the first time in all my life i've been connected with a secret." "i certainly will let you know, mrs. joslyn," carl promised. "and furthermore," she continued, "if i happen to see dock doing anything that looks queer or suspicious i'll get word to you. he might happen to have his hiding-place somewhere around the back yard or the hen house, you know. he may have buried the paper in the garden. i'll keep an eye on the neighbors while he's home." tom was chuckling at a great rate as he and carl went down the street. "it looks as if you've got mrs. joslyn a whole lot interested, carl," he told the other. "she's just burning with curiosity to find out something. every time dock steps out to feed the chickens she's going to drop whatever she may be doing, and focus her eyes on him, even if her pork chops burn to black leather." "i wonder what he's meaning to do?" remarked carl, in a speculative way. "oh! just as mrs. joslyn told us, dock's a lazy fellow," tom suggested; "and now that his father is working steadily he thinks it's time for him to have a rest. then we believe he's expecting sooner or later to get a big lot of money from mr. culpepper, when they come to terms." "yes," added carl. "and in the meantime perhaps he's got amasa to hand him over a few dollars a week, just to keep him quiet. that would supply his cigarettes, you know, and give him spending money." "well, it's a question how long his father will put up with it," tom mused. "one of these fine days we'll likely hear that dock has been kicked out, and taken to the road." "he's going with that tony pollock crowd you know," carl hinted; "and some of them would put him up for a time. but i'm hoping we'll find a chance to make him own up, and hand back the thing he stole. i'd like to see my mother look happy again." "does amasa still drop in to call now and then?" asked the other. "yes, but my mother insists that i sit up until he goes whenever he does. you'd have a fit laughing, tom, to see the black looks he gives me. i pretend to be studying to beat the band, and in the end he has to take his hat and go. i'm allowed to sleep an hour later after those nights, you see, to make up. it's getting to be a regular nuisance, and mother says she means to send him about his business; but somehow his hide is so thick he can't take an ordinary hint. i think his middle name should have been rhinoceros instead of reuben." "what will she do when you're away with the rest of us on that ten day hike over big bear mountain?" asked tom. "oh! she says she'll have told mr. culpepper before then she doesn't want him to call again," explained carl; "either that or else she'll have to keep all the rest of the children up, and get them to romping like wild indians. you know amasa is nervous, and can't stand noise." tom laughed at the picture thus drawn of three boisterous youngsters employed in causing an ardent wooer to take his departure. "it's only a few days now before we can get started, you know, carl. nearly all the preparations have been made. each scout will have his new uniform on, with a few extra clothes in his pack." "we won't try to carry any tent, will we, tom?" "that's been settled," came the ready answer. "at the meeting when i was elected patrol leader we discussed this trip, and it took like wildfire. in the first place we haven't a tent worth carrying; and then again it would make too heavy a load. all of us have been studying up on how to make brush shelters when in the woods, and even if it rains i think we'll get on fairly well." "each scout has a rubber poncho, which can be made mighty useful in a pinch, i should think," said carl. "then besides our clothes and a blanket, we'll have to carry a cooking outfit, as light as it can be made, and what grub we expect to eat up." "oh! most of that we'll rustle for on the way," the patrol leader told him. "we'll find farms scattered along our route, and it'll be easy enough to buy eggs, milk, perhaps a home-cured ham, some chickens, and other things like bread and butter." "that's a great scheme, tom, and it makes my mouth fairly water just to talk about it. sounds like an army foraging, only instead of taking things we'll expect to pay cash for them. how many are going along on the hike?" "i have yet to hear of any member of the black bear patrol who dreams of backing out; and there are several others who've told me they hope to join us. the way it looks now only a bad case of sickness would be able to keep any scout from being in line on that wonderful morning when lenox troop marches out of town headed for big bear mountain." "one good thing, we don't have to pack any heavy guns along with us," declared carl. "no, that's absolutely forbidden," the patrol leader declared; "we can take a fishing rod if we feel like it, because there's a chance to pick up some trout or bass before we come back on the down-river boat ten days later." "i like that idea of making the return trip by water," carl continued. "it will be great after so much tramping and camping. besides, some of the boys have never been fifteen miles up the river before, and so the trip is going to be a picnic for them." "come over to-night and do your cramming for the exam with me," suggested tom. "i'd like to the worst kind," the other boy said with a grimace; "but this is the night mr. culpepper generally pops in, and you see i'm on guard. but i'm hoping mother will give him his walking papers pretty soon now." "you would have to put a bomb under his chair to convince amasa that his space was more desired than his company," laughed tom, as he strode off toward his own comfortable home. the days passed, and since school would be over for the year at the end of the week, in the bustle of examinations and all that they meant for each boy scout, the intended outing was over-shadowed for the time being. when, however, several of the scouts got together of course the talk soon drifted toward the subject of the hike, and many were the wonderful projects advanced, each of which seemed to give promise of a glorious prospect ahead. so friday night finally came. school had been dismissed with all the accustomed ceremonies that afternoon, and there were few of the boys who had not gone up to a higher grade, so that when the last meeting before their expected vacation trip was called to order by the president of the organization it was a care-free and happy assemblage that answered the roll-call. mr. witherspoon, the scout master, was on hand, but he seldom interfered with the routine of the meeting. it was his opinion that boys got on much better if allowed to manage things as much as possible after their own ideas. if his advice was needed at any time he stood ready to give it; and meanwhile he meant to act more as a big brother to the troop than its leading officer. of course mr. witherspoon expected to start out on the hike with the boys. his only fear was that he might not be allowed to finish the outing in their company, since he was liable to be called away at any time on urgent business. the usual routine of the meeting was gone through with, and then a general discussion took place in connection with the anticipated hike. they had laid out the plan of campaign as well as they could, considering that none of the boys had actually been over the entire route before. "that makes it all the more interesting," tom had told them; "because we'll be apt to meet with a few surprises on the way. none of us would like to have anything all cut and dried ahead of time, i'm sure." "it's generally the unexpected that gives the most pleasure," declared josh kingsley, who was known to have leanings toward being a great inventor some fine day, and always hoped to make an important discovery while he experimented in his workshop in the old red barn back of his home. "well," remarked george cooper, getting slowly to his feet, "there may be some things that drop in on you unexpected like that don't seem to give you a whit of pleasure, and i can name one right now." "oh come, george, you old growler, you're just trying to throw cold water on our big scheme," complained felix robbins, trying to pull the other down. "i've seen him shaking his head lots of times all evening," asserted billy button, "and i just guessed george was aching to make us feel bad. he's never so happy as when he's making other folks miserable." george refused to take his seat. he even shrugged his shoulders as though he thought his comrades were hardly treating him fairly. "listen, fellows," he said, solemnly and ponderously; "i don't like to be the bird of ill omen that carries the bad news; but honest to goodness i'm afraid there's a heap of trouble looming up on the horizon for us unless we change our plans for a hike over big bear mountain." "what sort of trouble do you mean, george?" asked the patrol leader. "only this, mr. president," said george, "on the way here i learned that tony pollock, wedge mcguffey, asa green and dock phillips had started off this very afternoon, meaning to spend a week or more tramping over big bear mountain; and i guess they've got it in for our crowd." chapter ix no surrender "it looks like a set-up job to me!" declared josh kingsley, with a ring of honest indignation in his voice. "they've been hearing so much talk about what a great time we meant to have, it's just made them green with envy; that's what i think," ventured horace crapsey. "yes, but why pick out big bear mountain," felix wanted to know; "unless they meant to spy on the scouts, and give us all the trouble they could?" there were signs of anger visible on every side. scouts may be taught that it is noble to forgive those who wrong them, but all the same they are human, and deep down in their boyish hearts is the resentment any one with spirit feels at being imposed upon. "we haven't lifted a finger to interfere with anything that crowd wanted to do," said walter douglass, aggressively; "and they have no business to upset our plans." "huh! just let them try it, that's all!" grunted josh, shaking his head. "we had an experience something like this over in winchester, where i belonged to the scouts before moving to lenox," remarked rob shaefer, one of the two new boys. "do you mean some rowdies tried to make trouble for you?" asked carl. "in every way they could," the new boy replied. "we stood it as long as we could, and then acted." "what did you do to them?" asked mr. witherspoon, with an amused smile, for he liked to see these wide-awake lads figure out their own plans, and was greatly interested in listening to their discussions as they worked them out. "when it became unbearable," said rob, gravely, though his eyes twinkled, "we ducked the whole five in a frog pond, and after that they let us alone." "cooled 'em off, eh?" chuckled josh, whom the account seemed to amuse very much. "well, that isn't a bad idea, fellows. frog ponds have their uses besides supplying messes of delicious frog-legs for eating. anybody know of a pond that's got a nice green coating of scum on the top? that's the kind i'd like to see tony and his bunch scrambling around it." "oh! the pond will crop up all right when the time comes," asserted felix robbins, confidently; "they always do, you know." "but what are we going to do about this thing?" asked tom, as the chairman of the meeting. "motions are in order. somebody make a suggestion, so we can get the sense of the troop." "one thing certain," observed george, "we've got to give up the plan we've mapped out, and change our programme--or else count on running foul of tony and his crowd. which is it going to be?" a chorus of indignant remonstrances immediately arose. "why should we take water when we laid our plans first?" one demanded. "there are only four of them, all told, while we expect to number ten, perhaps a full dozen!" another scout announced. "i don't believe in knuckling down to any ugly lot of fellows that chooses to knock up against us," and josh must have expressed the feelings of most of those present when he said this, for there was a chorus of "my sentiments exactly," as soon as he finished. then, somehow, all eyes began to turn toward the scout master. they had come to think a great deal of mr. witherspoon. he seemed to have a great love for boys implanted in his heart, and was thus an ideal scout master; for there was always an exchange of sympathy between him and his charges. "you want to know what i think of it, boys?" he started to say. "it would have a heap of influence on our actions, sir--even if we did hate to play second fiddle to that crowd," admitted felix. "but i can see no reason why we should do that," the scout master immediately told them, and at this the anxious look on many faces gave way to one of satisfaction. "then you don't want us to give up the big bear mountain hike, and make up another programme; is that it, mr. witherspoon?" asked tom, who had not been quite so much concerned as some of the others, because he believed he knew the nature of their efficient scout master, and that he was not one of the "back-down" kind. "why should we do that?" replied the other, quietly. "we are not supposed to be aware of the fact that these four rowdies have gone off in that direction. our plain duty is to follow out our original plans, go about our own business, interfering with no one, and at the same time standing up for our rights." at hearing this some of the boys turned and exchanged expressive grins; others even shook hands with each other. fair play was something they admired above all things; and this manly stand on the part of their scout master pleased them immensely. "we're all glad to hear you say that, mr. witherspoon," the chairman of the meeting told him. "i'm sure i voice the sentiments of every scout present when i say that while we'll try to avoid trouble up to a certain point, there's going to be a limit to our forbearance." "and the frog-pond cure is always available as a last resort," added the new boy from winchester. "now let us try to forget all about this disagreeable topic, and go on with the discussion concerning the things we should take with us," the scout master suggested. "scouts should always be able to meet an emergency, no matter how suddenly it is forced on them. we'll be prepared, but at the same time not borrow trouble." accordingly all mention of tony pollock and his scapegrace cronies was avoided as they once more entered into a warm but perfectly friendly argument. there was one among them, however, who seemed to still look troubled. this was no other than carl oskamp. glancing toward his chum several times, tom could see the lines on his forehead, and he was also able to give a pretty good guess why this should be so. of course, it was all on account of the fact that when george made his announcement concerning the movements of tony pollock he had stated that dock phillips was one of the group that had left town, bent on spending a week on big bear mountain. this meant that the new scheme which carl had expected to "try out" on the coming saturday night could not be attempted, because the object of his attention would be far away. tom meant to comfort his chum after the meeting, when they were walking home together. he could see further than carl, and would be able to find more or less encouragement in the way things were working. scout affairs were certainly picking up in lenox of late. perhaps the coming to town of rob shaefer and stanley ackerman, who had both belonged to troops in the past, may have had considerable to do with it. at any rate the new wolf patrol numbered five, and other boys were showing a disposition to make application for membership. rob shaefer was booked for the patrol leader, because of his previous experience along those lines, as well as the fact that he was becoming well liked in lenox boy circles. the other new boy, while a pretty fair sort of fellow, did not have the same winning qualities that rob did. some of them even thought he felt envious because of rob's popularity, though if this were true, he took the wrong means to supplant his rival in the affection of their new friends. as this would be the last chance to talk things over, every little detail had to be settled before the meeting broke up. each boy who expected to accompany the expedition starting out to explore big bear mountain was directed what to carry with him. "and remember," mr. witherspoon told them as a final caution, "we expect to do much tramping under a hot june sun, so that every ounce you have to carry along will tell on your condition. limit your pack to the bare necessities as we've figured them out, and if necessary the strong will assist the weak. that's about all for to-night, boys. seven sharp on monday morning outside the church here, unless it's stormy. the church bell will ring at six if we are going." the boys gave a cheer as the meeting broke up. and it was a merry-hearted lot of lads that started forth bound for various homes where there would be more or less of a bustle and excitement until the hour of departure arrived on monday morning. tom and carl walked home together. "i could see what ailed you, carl," the patrol leader was saying as he locked arms with his chum; "you felt as though things were going against you when george announced that dock had left town." "because now i'll not have a chance to try out that second plan we'd arranged for, and which i had great hopes might succeed," complained carl, gloomily. "cheer up," urged the other, in his hearty fashion; "perhaps things are working your way after all. how do we know but that a glorious chance may come up and that you can win out yet? dock has gone to big bear mountain, where we expect to camp. in a whole week or more we're apt to run across him maybe many times. and carl, something seems to tell me your chance is going to come while we're off on this hike. dock hasn't settled with mr. culpepper yet, that's certain; and he's got that paper hidden away still. keep up your hopes, and it's sure to come out all right yet. besides, think what a grand time we're going to have on our outing!" chapter x ready for the start on the following day, which was saturday, there was considerable visiting among the scouts who so proudly wore their new khaki suits. conferences were of hourly occurrence, blankets brought out for inspection and comment, packs made up and taken to pieces again, and all manner of advice asked concerning the best way to carry the same. each boy had a written list of what he was expected to provide. this was a part of the wonderful system tom chesney had inaugurated. he had told them it was copied from the methods in vogue in the german army, so that in case of a hurried mobilization every man capable of bearing arms in the whole empire would know exactly what his particular duty was. this scout was to carry a generous frying-pan, made of sheet-steel to reduce the weight; another had to look out for the coffee-pot, which was also to hold enough for at least six thirsty campers. so it went on through the whole list of necessities. there were to be two messes of five or six each, and the second had a duplicate list of cooking utensils, as well as food to look after. nothing had been omitted that tom, assisted by several others who had had more or less camping experience, could think of. it was about eleven this saturday morning when tom, doing a little work among his vegetables in the kitchen garden, heard his name called. glancing up he discovered carl standing there by the fence that separated the garden from the highway. immediately tom realized that something new must have happened to make his chum appear so downcast. his first fear was that mr. culpepper had been asked by carl's mother for the securities, and had flatly denied ever having had them. "hello! what's gone wrong now, carl?" he asked, as he hurried over to join the boy who was leaning both elbows on the picket fence, and holding his head in his hands. "it seems as though everything is going wrong with us nowadays, tom," sighed poor carl. "anything more about that stolen paper?" asked tom. "no, it's something else this time," carl replied. "just as if we didn't have enough to worry about already." "no one sick over at your house, is there?" demanded the other, anxiously. "i'm glad to say that isn't the case," carl told him. "fact is, some bad news came in a letter mother had this morning from a lawyer in the city who manages her small affairs." "was it about that tenement house she owns, and the rents from which comes part of her income?" continued tom, quick to make a guess, for he knew something about the affairs of carl's folks. the other nodded his head as he went on to explain: "it burned down, and through some mistake of a clerk part of the insurance was allowed to lapse, so that we will not be able to collect on more than half. isn't that hard luck though, tom?" "i should say it is," declared the other, with a look of sympathy on his face. "but if it was the fault of the lawyer's clerk why shouldn't he be held responsible for the loss? i'd think that was only fair in the eye of the law." "oh!" said carl, quickly, "but my mother says he's really a poor man, and hasn't anything. besides, he's been conducting her little business since father died without charging a cent for his labor, so you see there's no hope of our collecting more than half of the insurance." "too bad, and i'm mighty sorry," tom told him. "coming on top of our losing that paper you can imagine how my mother feels," continued the other; "though she tries to be cheerful, and keeps on telling me she knows everything is sure to come out right in the end. still i can see that while she puts on a brave face it's only to keep me from feeling so blue. when she's all alone i'm sure she cries, for i can see her eyes are red when i happen to come in on her unexpectedly." "nothing can be done, i suppose, carl?" "not a thing," the other boy replied. "that is what makes me furious. if you can only see what's hitting you, and strike back, it does a whole lot of good. unless something crops up to make things look brighter between now and fall there's one thing certain." "what's that?" asked tom, though he believed he could give a pretty good guess, knowing the independent spirit of his chum so well. "i shall have to quit school, and go to work at something or other. my mother will never be able to meet expenses, even in the quiet way we live, now that part of her little income is cut off. a few hundred dollars a year means a lot to us, you see." "oh, i hope it won't come to that," said tom. "a whole lot may happen between now and the beginning of the fall term. for all we know that missing paper may be recovered, which would put your folks on easy street." "that's about the last hope, then," admitted carl. "it's all i'm counting on; and even then the chances seem to be against us." "but you won't think of backing down about going on this grand hike over big bear mountain, i hope?" remarked the patrol leader. "i believe i'd lack the heart to do it, tom, leaving mother feeling so bad; only for one thing." "meaning the fact that dock phillips is somewhere up there on the mountain; that's what you've got in your mind, isn't it, carl?" "yes, and what you said last night keeps haunting me all the time, tom. what if i did run across the chance to make dock own up, and got him to give me that precious paper? it would make everything look bright again--for with the boom on in the oil region that stock must be worth thousands of dollars to-day, if only we can get hold of the certificate again." "well, you're going to; things often work in a queer way, and that's what is happening now. and i feel as sure as anything that mr. culpepper's stinginess in holding out against dock's demands is going to be his undoing." such confident talk as this could not help having its effect on carl. he had in fact come over to tom's house knowing that he was sure to get comfort there. "you make me feel better already, tom," he asserted, as he took the hand the other boy thrust over the top of the garden fence; "and i'm going to try and look at it as a true scout should, believing that the sun is still shining back of the clouds." "i'm about through with my work here in the garden," tom told him, "so suppose you come around to the gate, or hop over the fence here. we'll go up to my room and take a look over the stuff that i expect to pack out of lenox monday a. m. i want to ask your opinion about several things, and was thinking of calling you up on the 'phone when i heard you speak just now." of course the main object tom had in view was not so much getting carl's opinion as to arouse his interest in the projected trip, so that for the time being he might forget his troubles. the two boys spent an hour chatting, and consulting a map tom produced that was supposed to cover most of the big bear mountain territory. it had been made by an old surveyor some years back, simply to amuse himself, and while not quite up to date might be said to be fairly accurate. mr. witherspoon had secured this chart and loaned it to tom, for there was always a possibility of his receiving a sudden call on business that would take him away from town, when the duty of engineering the trip must fall to the leader of the black bear patrol as the second in command. that was going to be an unusually long and tedious sunday for a good many boys in lenox. doubtless they would have their thoughts drawn from the sermon, as they sat with their folks in the family pews. and, too, looking out of the window at the waving trees they would probably picture themselves far away on the wooded slope of big bear mountain, perhaps making their first camp, and starting the glorious fire around which, as the night drew on, they would gather to tell stories and sing school songs. and it could be set down as certain that few of those who expected to join the adventurous spirits starting forth on the long mountain hike slept very soundly on the last night. when the hour agreed on, seven o'clock, came around, there was a scene of bustle under the tower of the church, where the scouts had gathered, together with many friends both young and old who meant to give them a noisy send-off on their hike over big bear mountain. chapter xi on the way amidst many hearty cheers and the clapping of hands the boy scouts started off. felix robbins had been elected bugler of the troop, and as there was no regular instrument for him, he had thought to fetch along the fish horn the boys used in playing fox and geese. this he sounded with considerable vim as the khaki-clad lads marched away, with a flag at their head, the scout master keeping step alongside the column. some of the older people had come to see them off. others hurried to the open doors and windows at the sound of the horn and the cheers, to wave their hands and give encouraging smiles. it was a proud time for those boys. they stood up as straight as ramrods, and held their heads with the proud consciousness that for the time being they were the center of attraction. there were ten in all starting forth. more might have gone, only that no scout not wearing the khaki could accompany the expedition; and besides the members of the black bear patrol, rob shaefer and stanley ackerman were the only two who could boast of a uniform. a number of boys accompanied them for a mile or so, to give them a good send-off; after which they either returned home or else went over the river fishing. for the first two miles or so every one seemed to be standing the tramp well. then as it began to get warmer, and the pack, somehow, seemed to increase in weight, several scouts lagged a little. seeing this, and understanding that it is always an unwise thing to push a horse or a human being in the beginning of a long race, mr. witherspoon thought it best to slacken their pace. they were in no particular hurry to get anywhere; and once heels began to get sore from the rubbing of their shoes, it would not be easy to cure them again. the wise scout master was a believer in the motto that "an ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure." ahead of them loomed the lofty elevation that possibly from its shape had long been known as big bear mountain. the boys had tried to learn just how it came by that name--and naturally this subject interested them more than ever as they found themselves drawing steadily closer to its foot. "it doesn't look so _very_ much like a bear to me," george kingsley remarked, as the discussion waxed warmer. though for that matter george always did find some reason to object to almost everything. "i was told by an old settler who ought to know," ventured tom, "that long ago numerous bears lived in the rocky dens of the mountain, and that's how it came to be called as it is." "must have been years and years ago then," said josh, "because i never remember hearing about a bear being seen hereabouts. i often used to look for bear tracks when i was out hunting, but of course i never found one." "wouldn't it be a great thing if we did happen on a real bear while we were out on this hike?" suggested billy button, who was rather given to stretches of imagination, and seeing things where they did not exist. so they beguiled the time away as they tramped along. gradually they approached the great gloomy looking mountain, and it was seen that by the time they stopped for their noon meal they would probably be at its foot. tom and carl were walking together, for somehow the boys seemed to pair off as a general thing. carl was looking brighter now, as though in the excitement of the start he might have temporarily forgotten his troubles. "there don't seem to be so many farms up this way as we thought," tom observed as they found themselves walking close beside a stretch of woodland, with a gully on the other side of the road. "that may make it harder for us to get the supplies we'll need, i should think," suggested carl, who knew the leaders of the expedition had counted on finding hospitable farmers from time to time, from whom they could purchase bread, butter, and perhaps smoked ham or bacon, very little of which had been carried with them--in fact no more than would be required for a few meals. "yes," admitted tom readily enough. "but then it will afford us a chance to show our ability as scouts--and if you look at it the right way that counts for a lot. when everything goes according to the schedule you've arranged there isn't much credit in doing things; but when you're up against it good and hard, and have to shut your teeth and fight, then when you accomplish things you've got a right to feel satisfied." carl knew full well there was a hidden significance beneath these words of his chum's--and that tom was once more trying to buoy up his hopes. since they had struck a portion of country not so thickly populated, the observing scouts had commenced to notice numerous interesting sights that attracted their attention. soon every boy was straining his eyesight in the hope of discovering new things among the trees, in the air overhead, or it might be amidst the shadows of the woodland alongside the country road. the scout master encouraged this habit of observation all he could. he knew that once it got a firm hold upon the average boy he could never again pass along a road or trail in the country without making numberless discoveries. what had once been a sealed book to his eyes would now become as an open page. about this time there were heard inquiries as to when they expected to stop and have a bite of lunch. tom and the scout master had already arranged this, and when the third scout was heard to say he felt as hungry as a wolf, tom took it upon himself to explain. "if you look ahead," he remarked, so that all could hear, "you'll notice where a hump of the mountain seems to hang over the road. that's about where we expect to rest an hour or so." "must be something unusual about this particular place, i should say, for you to settle on it ahead of time this way," remarked wise josh in his yankee way. "there is," tom informed him. "according to my map here, and what information i've been able to pick up, there's a fine cold spring bubbles up alongside the road right there; and for one i'm feeling the need of a good drink the worst kind." after that it was noticed that even the laggards began to show unusual energy, as if the prospect of soon being able to throw themselves down and slake their thirst, as well as satisfy their hunger, appealed forcibly to them. it was close on to noon when finally, with a shout, they hurried forward and dropped their packs close to where the ice-cold spring flowed. "queer how heavy those old packs do get the longer you carry them," observed george, as he waited for his turn to lie down and drink his fill of the spring water. "you're a suspicious sort of fellow, george," declared felix; "i've seen you turn around as quick as a flash, just as if you thought some other scout might be hanging his pack on to yours, so as to make you carry double." george turned redder than he had already become under the force of the sun; but he did not deny the accusation. it was decided not to light a fire at noon. they could eat a cold lunch and wash it down with water. "we'll keep our fire for this evening," said mr. witherspoon; "you know it is generally quite a ceremony--the starting of the first campfire when scouts go off on a long trip." waiting until the sun had started well on his way down the heavens, and there had arisen a little breeze that made it more bearable, the scout master finally had felix sound his fish horn for the signal to "fall in." some of the boys did not show quite as much animation as on that other occasion. they were not accustomed to walking for hours, and would have to get used to it through experience. an hour later they were straggling along, some of them on the other side of a wire fence that separated the road from the woods, as there seemed to be a chance of making interesting discoveries there. "look at that red squirrel hanging head down to the bark on the trunk of that tree!" exclaimed billy button; "i never noticed just how they did that stunt before." "huh! lots of us are seeing things through a magnifying glass since we joined the scouts," admitted felix. "seems as if the scales have been taken from my eyes, and i find a thousand things worth looking at all around me." "well, here comes one right now, felix; and he's a bouncer at that!" cried the third of the group that had invaded the woods beyond the barbed-wire fence. even as he spoke there was a furious barking, and a savage-looking dog came tearing swiftly toward them, evidently bent on doing mischief. chapter xii the first camp-fire "help, he's going to eat us all up!" shouted billy button. felix and rob shaefer did not like the looks of the oncoming dog any more than did billy. being more pugnacious by nature, however, instead of making a frantic dash over the wire fence, and trying to crawl through between the strands at the risk of tearing their clothes, they hurried to snatch up some clubs which would serve them as a means of defence. the dog acted as if he meant business. they were trespassing on his master's territory, and as the guardian appointed to defend this ground he assailed the intruders without fear or favor. they had quite a lively time of it, what with the shouting, the loud bursts of laughter from those scouts who were safe on the other side of the fence, and the agonized cries of billy button, caught fast in the grip of the barbed-wire, and expecting to be devoured. both felix and rob had luckily managed to secure fairly strong pieces of broken limbs from the trees. with these they boldly assaulted the dog, and kept him from jumping on the helpless comrade until some of the others came to billy's assistance, and by raising the wires allowed him to crawl through. tom and george hastened to join in the fray for it was evident that the savage dog would have to be beaten off before those who were in danger could find a chance to reach the road again. with four enemies against him the dog concluded that he had done all that could be expected of him, and that it was now no dishonor to beat a masterly retreat; which he accordingly did. the boys pretended to chase after him, with loud shouts; but seeing their opportunity to escape made haste to put the wire fence between themselves and the owner of those cruel white fangs. as long as he could follow them from his side of the barrier the dog continued to bark savagely; but did not offer to leave his own domain. after all billy button was the only one to suffer, and he had a fine big three-cornered hole in his coat. "going into the real-estate business, are you, billy?" asked josh, who could always see a chance for a joke. "oh! am i?" retorted the other. "what makes you think that, josh?" "because you've got a sign up 'to rent,'" is what the other told him. "didn't i see that dog take hold of you by the leg, felix, at the time you struck him so hard on the head with your club?" mr. witherspoon asked. "yes, sir, but he only dented my leggings, you see," the bugler replied, as he showed where the marks of the animal's teeth could be plainly seen; "that's the good of having extra-thick canvas leggings on; they save you from snake bites and all sorts of other things that you don't want." "it was a pretty lively skirmish while it lasted, let me tell you," admitted rob shaefer, who had seemed quite to enjoy the affair. another hour or more passed, with the column straggling along, and some of the boys showing positive signs of fatigue. mr. witherspoon had been consulting with the leader of the black bear patrol, and evidently they had reached a conclusion, for presently the welcome order was given to turn into the woods, as the day's hike was at an end. gladly did those tired lads obey the call. and one of the first things they discovered was that there was another cold spring nearby, the presence of which, of course, had been known to those who carried the chart of the region. first of all they dropped down to rest themselves. later on, when they were feeling more like doing things, they would start to put the camp in order, get the fires started, and perhaps erect some sort of rude shelter that to a certain degree would take the place of tents. finally some of the more enterprising began to stir around. josh took it upon himself to provide a fireplace made out of stones which lay conveniently near. it was to be built according to the best formula he knew, something in the shape of a letter v, with the large end toward the wind; and across the top of the stones they would lay their iron rods, thus forming a gridiron on which would rest the frying-pan and the coffee-pot. "i'll duplicate your cooking fire, josh," said rob shaefer, who meant to show some of his new chums a few wrinkles he had learned when in camp on other occasions. half an hour before the sun went down both fires were crackling at a great rate; and when good beds of red embers should have formed operations looking to supper would be started by those in charge of the occasion. everybody took a deep interest in what was now going on. all sorts of suggestions were called back and forth as the ham was sliced and the potatoes put in the pots for boiling; while further along the fires the two coffee-pots began to emit a most delightful and appetizing odor that made the hungry boys wild with impatience. the spot where they had determined to spend their first night out was in the midst of the woods. around them the forest trees lay on every side, some being great oaks, others beeches, with drooping branches and smooth silvery bark--as well as other species, such as sycamore, ash and lindens. most of the scouts were bubbling over with enthusiasm concerning the outlook before them; but several of the less daring ones might be seen casting furtive glances about as though the prospect of passing the night amidst such lonely surroundings had already commenced to make them feel a little queer. no doubt the pride of these fellows would carry them through the initial night; and after that by degrees they would become accustomed to their new experiences. every soldier can look back to his first battle, remembering how he trembled in his shoes, and feeling that he would give all he possessed for the privilege of running away at top speed. and when supper was ready, with the boys gathered around, each bent on doing the best he knew how to show his appreciation of the work of the cooks, it seemed to be the fitting climax to a most wonderful day. would they ever forget that supper? never had anything tasted so royally good at home. "this is the life!" declared josh kingsley, buoyantly, as he passed his tin plate along for a second helping when he heard it mentioned that there was still a further supply not distributed. "it certainly does taste pretty fine to me!" admitted horace crapsey, who had in times gone by been so finicky about his eating that his folks had begun to wonder what was going to become of him--yet who was now sitting there cross-legged like a turk, wielding an ordinary knife and fork, and with his pannikin on his lap, actually doing without a napkin, and enjoying it in the bargain. mr. witherspoon had the seat of honor, for the boys insisted that he should occupy the highest place on the log that had been rolled near the fires. he observed all that went on with satisfaction. boys were close to his heart, and he never tired of his hobby of studying them. it was a constant source of delight to the scout master to listen to them chatter, and he noticed that a perceptible change was taking place in some of his charges since first joining the troop. finally when every youth admitted that he had had all he could eat, mr. witherspoon got up. "now it's full time we started our _real_ campfire," he announced. "that was why i had you gather such a big heap of wood. here's the right place for the blaze, as we must be careful not to scorch any of the trees, the branches of which hang down over us, because this property belongs to some one, and we must respect his rights." he had no trouble about finding willing workers, because every one acted as if anxious to have a hand in the building of that first campfire, to be recorded in the annals of lenox troop as an event of unusual importance. when finally the pyramid had been carefully built the scout master was asked to apply the match. "unfortunately i do not know the customary procedure on such momentous occasions," he told the boys, as they formed a circle around the pile; "and all i can say is that with this match i am about to dedicate this fire to the useful purpose of bringing all our hearts in tune with our surroundings. for to-night then, we will try to believe ourselves real vagabonds, or children of the forest, sitting around the sanctuary at which every camper worships--the crackling fire!" then the blaze began to seize hold of the wood, and amidst the cheers of the enthusiastic scouts the fire got fully under way. high leaped the red flames, so that presently there was a general backward movement, on account of the heat. had it been november instead of june, they would doubtless have enjoyed the cheery warmth much more. each boy managed to pick out a comfortable place, and then the talk began to grow general. plans for the morrow and the succeeding days were being discussed with much ardor. it was while this was going on, and the scouts were all feeling most happy that with but scant warning a discomforting element was suddenly injected into camp content. moving figures, harsh voices, together with the half strangled barks of dogs held in leash startled the seated campers. two rough-looking men, evidently a farmer and his hired man, armed with guns, and holding a couple of dogs by ropes, came in sight close by. chapter xiii the life that might have been saved "hey! what d'ye mean by trespassin' on my ground? i'll have the law on ye for darin' to build a big bonfire like that! no tramp convention c'n threaten to set fire to my woods, let me tell ye!" the man in the lead was shouting this in an angry voice as he bustled forward, with his dog growling and straining to get free. of course every one of the boys scrambled to his feet in a hurry. the sight of their khaki uniforms seemed to give the big farmer a decided shock, for they saw him come to a stop. "what's this here?" he exclaimed, as he stared at the dozen lads. "tell me, am i seein' things bill scruggs? is it the state militia dropped down on us? is there a war on?" mr. witherspoon, who was of course in uniform, stepped to the front and made the old fellow a military salute that must have gone far toward soothing his ruffled feelings. "we're sorry if we've intruded on your ground, sir," he said in that convincing voice of his. "the fact is these are some of the boy scouts of lenox, a troop that has lately been organized. i am robert witherspoon, the surveyor, and if i'm not mistaken i did some work for you a few months ago, mr. brush." "that's a fact ye did, mr. witherspoon," declared the farmer, with less venom in his tone. "seems like i didn't know ye with them togs on." "i'm acting as scout master to these lads just now," continued the other, in his conciliatory way. "one of the rules of the organization is that each troop must have a grown person to serve with them, so that any undue boyish spirits may be kept within reasonable bounds." "so i read in the paper, mr. witherspoon," continued the countryman. "won't you tie up your dogs, mr. brush, and come and join us here before the fire?" asked the scout master, who doubtless had more or less faith in the ability of a cheery blaze to curb animosity. they saw the farmer rub his chin with his hand. he seemed to be debating within himself as to whether or not it would be advisable to comply with such a friendly invitation. "well, p'raps i mightn't git such a good chance to look scouts over again as this here one," he presently said, half to himself. "i've been reading a hull lot lately 'bout the doin's of the boys. got three lads o' my own yet," and there he was seen to swallow something that seemed almost to choke him. "then for their sake you ought to be interested in this great movement, mr. brush," said the scout master; "i remember a bright boy of yours who was very much interested in the little surveying work i did for you that day. he helped me some, and said he thought he'd like to be a civil engineer when he grew up. if he joined the scouts that desire might be encouraged, sir, i assure you." "oh, they been pesterin' the life outen me to let 'em jine, but i ain't had no faith in the thing," mr. brush went on to say, with a stubborn shake of the head. he had by this time tied up his dog, and was accepting a seat on the log close to the obliging scout master. the boys were satisfied to let mr. witherspoon do the most of the talking. they could see that he meant to open the eyes of this unbeliever, and show him a few things that he ought to know. "just why did you frown on the scout movement, may i ask, sir?" mr. witherspoon continued, quietly. "well, in the fust place i don't calc'late that my boys be brought up to be food for gunpowder," replied the farmer. "then like a good many people you think boy scouts in this country are intended to become a part of the military defences; is that it, mr. brush?" "do you mean to tell me it ain't so, mr. witherspoon?" asked the farmer. "nothing is further from the truth than that, as i'll prove to you in a dozen ways, if you care to listen," the scout master told him. "fire away, then," said the farmer. "i'm not hide-bound ye know, and allers open to conviction; so tell me why i orter let my three boys jine the scouts." mr. witherspoon started in and explained the fundamental principles upon which the new movement was organized. he soon convinced the farmer that there was not the slightest intention on the part of those having the matter in hand to incorporate the scouts into a national defence movement. "was that the only objection you had, mr. brush?" he asked when the farmer frankly admitted that he had been wrong in his opinion. "i reckoned that these boys only got together and wore uniforms for a big lark," was the reply to his question. "i ought to know what boys is like, havin' had four of my own." "then you have lost one, have you sir?" questioned the scout master, not from idle curiosity, either, tom chesney felt positive. the old man heaved a great sigh. "yes, my youngest, and the darling o' his maw's heart, little jim. only last summer he was off swimmin' with several o' his chums, and got caught with a cramp. they got him out, brave enough, but--he never kim to agin." mr. witherspoon cast a quick and meaning glance around the circle of eager faces. several of the scouts nodded in a significant fashion as though they guessed what was flashing through the mind of their leader. "mr. brush," said the scout master, gravely, "i'd like to tell you some things that to my own personal knowledge scouts have done; things that they never would have been capable of performing in the wide world had they remained outside of this organization that first of all teaches them to be manly, independent, helpful to others, and true to themselves. may i, sir?" "jest as ye please, mr. witherspoon," came the low reply, for the farmer had evidently been partly overcome with the sad remembrance of the vacant chair, and the face he missed so much at his table. the scout master went about it in a very able manner. again he explained the numerous duties of a scout, and how he was taught to render first aid to the injured in case, for instance, his services should ever be needed when some comrade cut himself with an ax, and was in peril of bleeding to death. "there are other ways," mr. witherspoon continued, "in which the scout is instructed to be able to depend on himself should he be lost in the wilderness, caught in a tornado, tempted to take refuge in a barn, or under an exposed tree during a thunder storm." "all o' that sounds mighty interestin', i must say, sir!" commented the farmer, deeply interested. "to my own personal knowledge, mr. brush," finally said the other, "on three separate occasions i have known of cases where a boy in swimming was apparently dead when dragged from the water after having been under for several minutes; in every one of those instances his scout companions, working according to the rules that had become a part of their education, managed to revive the fluttering spark of life and save the lad!" there was an intense silence as the last word was spoken. every one of those boys realized how terribly the man was suffering, for they could see his face working. presently he looked up, with a groan that welled from his very heart. "jest a year too late, sir!" he said, in an unsteady voice. "oh, why didn't ye come last june? my little jim was alive then, and the apple of my eye. if he'd jined the scouts he might a be'n with us right now. a year too late--it's hard, hard!" "but you said you have three boys still, mr. brush?" said the scout master. "so i have, and mighty dear they be to me too!" exclaimed the farmer, as he proceeded to bring down his ponderous fist on his knee, "and arter what you've told me this night, sir, they cain't be scouts any too soon to please me. i've had my lesson, and it was a bitter one. i'm right glad ye kim along to-night, and camped in my big woods, where we seen the light o' yer fire." "and we're glad too, mr. brush," said the scout master, while several of the boys were heard to cough as though taken with a sudden tickling in their throats. long they sat there talking. mr. brush became an ardent advocate of the scout movement, and even made an arrangement for his boys to join the new patrol being formed, though it would mean many a trip in and out of lenox for him in his new cheap motor car, in order that they attend the weekly meetings. after all that was an evening long to be remembered. tom chesney, who kept a regular log of the outing, meaning to enter his account in a competition for a prize that had been offered by a metropolitan daily, found a fine chance to spread himself when jotting down the particulars. the farmer could hardly tear himself away from the crackling fire. three times he said he must be going, yet did not stir, which quite amused josh kingsley and felix robbins. "our scout master sure must have missed his calling when he set out to be a civil engineer and surveyor," whispered the former in the ear of felix. "that's so," replied the other, "for while he may be a pretty good civil engineer, he'd made a crackerjack of a lawyer or a preacher. when he talks somehow you just hang on every word he says, and it convinces you deep down. that old farmer on a jury would do whatever mr. witherspoon wanted. but it's been worth hearing; and i'm a heap glad to be a scout, after listening to what he's been saying." finally the owner of the woods shook hands all around with them, and accompanied by his hired man and the two dogs respectfully took his departure. chapter xiv at the foot of big bear mountain it took them a long time to get settled on that night. some of the scouts were about to experience their first camp sleep. they had to be shown just how to arrange their blankets, and what to do about the customary pillow upon which they wished to rest their heads. tom, josh and rob shaefer, having been through the mill before, explained these things. they even helped the tenderfeet fill with hemlock browse the little cotton bag, which had possibly once held flour, and which each scout had been advised to carry along in his pack. "they'll be worth their weight in gold many times on the trip," said tom, when even mr. witherspoon stood listening with interest, for he had not as yet learned everything, he was free to confess. "but do we have to carry them along with us like that?" asked horace as he held up the rather bulky object he had made of his cotton slip. "certainly not," he was informed; "you empty it before breaking camp, and in the evening fill it again. plenty of hemlock or spruce handy, whenever you choose to stretch out your hand and pluck it." "you must show me about all these things," billy button remarked. "to tell the truth i don't know the difference between balsam, fir, spruce, hemlock, larch and some other trees i've heard you talking about." "i'll begin to-morrow, and you'll find it simple enough," tom promised him. after all the night really passed without any disturbance. tom and rob managed to wake up a number of times, and getting quietly out of their snug nests, they renewed the fire, thus keeping it going all through the night. had any one been watching closely they probably would have seen a head bob up occasionally, the owner take a cautious look around, and then drop back again as though convinced that all was well, with no danger of ferocious wild beasts raiding the camp. these were the tenderfeet of the troop. they of course could not sleep save in snatches, and the strangeness of their surroundings caused them to feel more or less nervous. all they heard, however, was the barking of farmer brush's watch dogs or some little woods animal complaining because these two-legged intruders had disturbed the peace of their homeland. with the coming of dawn there was a stir in camp. then one by one the scouts crawled out from their blankets, all but two greenhorns. "let them sleep a while longer," said mr. witherspoon. "i fancy neither of them passed a very comfortable night." and at this the other boys moderated their voices as they proceeded to get an early breakfast ready, though in no hurry to leave that pleasant camp content. of course both the laggards were up and ready by the time the call to breakfast was heard in the land. it may be that the smell of the eggs and bacon frying and the aromatic coffee's bubbling had much to do with arousing them. while they were eating who should appear but the hired man of farmer brush. he had a big basket on his arm, also a note for the scout master. "i have to go to town early this morning or i'd fetch these few things myself," the note ran; "i want you to accept them from me with my compliments, and my hearty thanks for your entertainment last night. i have hardly slept a wink thinking about what you told me; and next meeting me and my boys will be on hand. "ezra brush. "p.s. the chickens my wife sends you, and she says they are tender enough to fry." besides the four chickens, all ready for cooking, there was a fine print of new butter, as well as a carton of several dozen eggs fresh from the coop. "three cheers for mr. brush, fellows!" cried tom, after the scout master had read the note aloud; and they were given with a will, much to the entertainment of bill, who stood there and grinned broadly. it was about eight o'clock when the column started once more. they meant to leave the main road they had been following up to this time, for it did not run in the direction they wanted to go. there was another smaller one which they expected to follow, for that day at least, and which skirted the base of the mountain, even ascending it in several places, as their map showed. "it will be our last day on any sort of road, if we follow out the programme as arranged," tom chesney explained, as they sat around at noon munching the "snack" each scout had been commissioned to prepare at breakfast time against his being hungry in the middle of the day, when they would not care to start a fire in order to do any cooking. "you mean we expect to push right up the mountain and begin exploring the country, don't you, tom?" asked josh between bites. "yes, and three of the fellows intend to make maps as we go, for practice," the leader of the black bear patrol explained. "all i hope is," commented billy button, anxiously, "that we don't manage to get lost. i've got a very important engagement a week from friday that i wouldn't want to miss." "huh, guess i'm in the same box," chuckled josh; "anyway i promised to be sitting in my usual chair with my feet under our dining table on that same day; and it'd grieve my heart if i missed connections." the middle of that june day proved to be very warm, and the boys decided to lie around for several hours. when the sun had got well started down the western sky perhaps there might be a little more life in the air. besides, they were in no hurry; so what was the use of exerting themselves unduly? "i hope it isn't going to storm!" suggested carl, as they sprawled under the shady tree where they had halted for the noon rest, each youth in as comfortable an attitude as he could assume. "oh, is there any chance of a terrible storm dropping down on us, do you think?" asked horace crapsey, looking troubled; for although none of the others knew it, the crash of the thunder and the play of lightning had struck terror to his soul ever since the time he had been knocked down, when a tree near his house was shattered by a bolt from the clouds. "not that you can see right now," josh informed him, a little contemptuously; with a strong boy's feeling toward one who shows signs of being afraid; "but when it's summer time and when, in the bargain, a day has been as hot as this one, you never can tell." "that's so, josh," george kingsley remarked, wagging his head as though for once he actually agreed with something that had been said; "a simmering day often coaxes a storm along. it may hit us toward night-time, or even come on any hour afterwards when we're sleeping like babes in the woods." "but what can we do for shelter?" asked billy button; "we haven't got even a rag for a tent; and once we get soaked it'll be a hard job to dry our suits, you know." "leave that to us, billy," tom told him, confidently. "first of all every scout has a rubber poncho; two of these fastened together will make what they call a dog tent, under which a couple of fellows can tuck themselves, and keep the upper part of their bodies dry. soldiers always use them." "yes," added rob shaefer; "and if it looks like rain to-night we'll raise several brush shanties. by making use of the rubber blankets they can be kept as dry as a bone. scouts must learn how to meet every possible condition that can rise up. that's a big part of the fun, once you've begun to play the game." billy seemed to be much impressed by this cheering intelligence; and even horace smiled again, having recovered from his little panic. it was almost three o'clock when the signal was given for a start. they took it slowly, and in the next two hours had probably covered little more than two miles. they were still loitering along the road that skirted the foot of the big bear mountain. "as we have some extra cooking to do to-night, boys," the scout master told them, "we had better pull up here where we can get fine water. that's one of the things you must always look for when camping, remember." nothing pleased the scouts better than the prospect of stopping, and starting supper, for they were tired, and hungry in the bargain. "if we didn't want to eat these fowls right away," tom remarked, "i'd suggest that we bake them in a hot oven made in the ground. that's the original cooker, you know. but it takes a good many hours to do it." "another time, perhaps, when we're stopping several days in one camp we'll get some more chickens, tom," said the scout master, "and have you show us just how it is done. i've heard of the old-time scheme, but never tasted anything cooked in a mud oven." everything looked calm and peaceful just then, but after all that was a deception and a snare. even while the cooks were starting in to cut up the chickens so that the various parts might be placed in the two big frying-pans, after a certain amount of fat salt pork had been "tried out," and allowed to get fiercely hot, josh, who happened to be seen coming from the spring with a coffee-pot of water called out: "well, here comes your storm cloud all right, horace; only instead of a ducking we stand a chance of getting a licking from another enraged tiller of the soil!" chapter xv not guilty "whew! but he looks even madder than mr. brush did!" exclaimed billy button, when he saw the advancing man snap his whip furiously, as though to warn them what to expect on his arrival. every scout was now on his feet and watching. "there's his wagon over on the road," said carl; "he must have been passing and have seen us here. i wonder if we've trespassed on _his_ private property now. mr. witherspoon, you'd better get ready to hypnotize another mad farmer." "he's got his eye on our chickens, let me tell you!" urged josh, as he moved over a few paces, as though meaning to defend the anticipated treat desperately if need be. the man was a big brawny fellow, and very angry at that. mr. witherspoon faced him without a sign of alarm, even smiling, because conscious of having given no reasonable cause for an assault. "that cracking of his whip isn't going to scare us a bit," muttered the pugnacious josh; "he'd better not lay it on me for one, or any of my chums, that's what!" the man could hardly speak at first, from the effect of his anger, together with his hasty rush from the road up to the camp. then holding his threatening whip in one hand he pointed a quivering finger straight toward the fowls that they were expecting to have for their supper, and which could no longer be concealed by josh. "so," bellowed the man, "now i know where the chickens that were stolen from my coop last night went. raidin' the farms up this way, are you? i want to tell you it's going to be a bad job for every one of ye. i'll have the law on ye if i have to go to lenox and look every boy in town over. and i'll know ye all again, if its a month from now." he snapped the whip viciously as he stopped talking; but mr. witherspoon did not seem to shrink back an inch. looking the excited farmer squarely in the eye the scout master started to speak. "i judge from what you say, sir, that you have had the misfortune to lose some of your poultry lately? i'm sorry to hear of it, but when you come and accuse us of being the guilty parties you are making a serious mistake, sir." "oh, am i?" demanded the other, still as furious as ever, though the boys noticed that he made no effort to use the dreadful whip he carried. "i lost some fowls, and you're expecting to have some chickens for dinner. anybody with hoss sense could put them facts together, couldn't they? i ain't to be blarnied so easy, let me tell you." "you seem to talk as though no one owned chickens up this bear mountain way but yourself, sir," said mr. witherspoon, calmly. "these lads are boy scouts. they are a part of the lenox troop, and i can vouch for every one of them as being honest, and incapable of stealing any man's fowls." "you don't say, mister?" sneered the man; "but tell me, who's a-goin' to vouch for you, now?" "my name is robert witherspoon," replied the scout master, showing wonderful self-control the boys thought, considering the insulting manner of the angry farmer. "i am a civil engineer and surveyor. i love boys every way i find them; and it is a pleasure to me to act as their scout master, accompanying them on their hikes when possible, and seeing that they behave themselves in every way. you can find out about my standing from judge jerome, doctor lawson or pastor hotchkiss in lenox." the man still looked in mr. witherspoon's calm eyes. what he saw there seemed to have an influence upon his aroused feelings, for while he still shook his head skeptically there was not so much of menace in his manner now. "boys will be boys, no matter whether they have scout uniforms on or overalls," he said sullenly. "i've suffered mor'n once from raids on my orchards and chicken coops, and found it was some town boys, off on what they called a lark, that made other people suffer." "but i assure you there is not the slightest possibility of any boy here having taken your chickens, sir," continued the scout master. "we've been on the move all day long," added tom, "and only arrived here half an hour back. last night we were several miles away in camp." "but--you got chickens, and i was robbed last night," faltered the farmer, as though that fact impressed him as evidence that no argument could keep down. "if we could prove to you," continued mr. witherspoon, "that we came by these four fowls honestly, i hope you will be frank enough to apologize to my boys for unjustly suspecting them of being hen thieves?" "go on then and do it, mister; but i warn you i'm sot in my ways, and hard to convince. it's got to be a mighty likely yarn that'll fotch me over." "you've lived around here some time, i take it?" asked mr. witherspoon. "man and boy forty-seven years," came the reply. "then you must know ezra brush, for he was born in the farm house he occupies to this day?" suggested the scout master. "i know ezra like a book. him and me have always been good friends, except for that boundary dispute which took us to court; but i reckon ezra don't hold no grudge agin me 'cause i won out. "we had mr. brush sitting beside our campfire for two hours last night, while i told him all about the things boy scouts are taught. he means to have his three boys join the troop at the next meeting; for he knows now that if his little jim and some of his companions had been scouts, the boy's life in all probability would have been saved last summer." "it might have been," admitted the farmer, "if them other lads had knowed what to do, but before a man got there it was too late. and ezra certainly sot some store by that bright-faced little jim; everybody keered for him, he was so winnin' in his ways." "well," continued mr. witherspoon with a smile, for he was certain of his ground by this time, and the whip hung listlessly alongside the farmer's leg; "we made so good an impression on mr. brush that early this morning his man bill came over with a basket, and also this note. please read it, sir." he placed the paper in the other's hand; and leaning down so that the waning light of the setting sun might fall on the writing the farmer seemed to take in the contents of the note. when he looked up he no longer scowled, but let his eyes rove around at the faces of the scouts, all filled with eager anticipation. "well, i was wrong to say what i did, i owns up," he commenced, making a wry face, as though it was rather an unusual thing for him to admit being anything but right; "and since i promised to apologize to ye, boys i'm ready to do it. chickens all looks alike after they've been plucked and the heads cut off; but 'cordin' to what that note reads these here are brush fowls and not from the perkins coop." mr. witherspoon nodded his head, and his eyes twinkled. "are you satisfied to accept mr. perkins' apology, boys, in the same spirit in which it is given?" he asked, looking at his charges. of course there was an immediate response, and in the affirmative too. boys are not apt to harbor any deep resentment, once the accusation is withdrawn. "there, you see these boys are not the ones to hold it against you, mr. perkins," the scout master continued. "did you see the thieves who were in your hen house last night, mr. perkins?" asked tom, as though he had some object in making the inquiry. "wall, no, though i heard the racket when my chickens got to squawkin', and run to the coop with a gun; but the pesky rascals had cleared out with half a dozen of my best young fowls. i reckoned to larn where they was, and i'm on my way to town right now with a load of stuff, meanin' to make a few inquiries in the mornin'." he grinned as he fumbled at the pocket of his coat. "what have you got there, mr. perkins?" asked tom. "it's a boy's cap as was left in my coop last night," declared the farmer; "and a queer lookin' one at that. guess they might tell me who it fits in lenox." every eye was focused on the cap which he held up. it was indeed of an odd color, and very likely the only one of the kind in that section. josh kingsley laughed out loud. "guess we ought to know that cap, fellows!" he exclaimed. "the last time i saw the same it was perked on the red head of tony pollock." chapter xvi what to do in a storm "would you mind letting me see that cap for a minute, mr. perkins?" asked the leader of the black bear patrol. the farmer seemed to hesitate as though loth to let his only evidence go out of his hand; but after one good look at the smiling countenance of tom chesney apparently he felt ashamed of suspecting that so clean-looking a boy could mean to deceive him in any way. so he passed the head-gear over. knowing that tom must have some object in making this request the other scouts pushed closer and watched eagerly. they saw him turn the cap partly inside out. "i thought as much," tom remarked laughingly, at the same time carefully picking several tiny objects up, which he held before the eyes of the admiring farmer, who had doubtless never before heard of such a thing as "scoutcraft." "look for yourself, mr. perkins," tom said exultantly; "you will have no difficulty in recognizing these as fiery red hairs. the boy mentioned by my chum here, has a brick-top like that. i should say the evidence is about as conclusive as anything could be." mr. perkins' mouth had opened wide. he was apparently thunder-struck by the cleverness displayed by this stripling in clinching the guilt of the party who had stolen his spring chickens. "tell me his name again, bub," he said turning to josh; "i calc'late makin' it some warm for him unless i gets pretty good pay for them fowls." "his name is tony pollock," he was told with a grin, for somehow josh seemed to be tickled over the retribution that was likely to overtake the boy who had for so long a time acted as a bully in lenox. after some talk the farmer withdrew, taking with him his evidence in the shape of the queer checked cap, and also the best wishes of the assembled scouts, who gave him a cheer as he drove away. he had even promised to drop around at a couple of their houses with messages hastily scribbled, to the effect that the boys were very well, and having the time of their lives. needless to say that those who sent these were the tender feet of the troop. horace and billy, who imagined that their respective mothers must be lying awake nights in mortal fear lest something dreadful had happened to the heretofore pampered darlings. most of the other boys were accustomed to being away from home, and prided themselves on being able to show the spirit of veteran campers. the fowls turned out to be the peer of any the boys had ever tasted. indeed with the chicken cooked a delicate brown by those in charge, and seasoned with the keen appetites a day in the open air is apt to give a boy, that supper must always linger in their memories as a bright spot never to be excelled. by now the greenhorns would be getting more accustomed to seeing the woods all around them, and probably sleep better than they did before. the second night in camp always does find everybody feeling more at ease, and settling down for a good rest. they had no reason to find fault with anything that happened to them after the departure of mr. perkins. the stars came out in the heavens and there was apparently no sign of rain. to satisfy the more timid boys, tom and rob shaefer had started on a brush shanty, which they so far completed that it could be changed into a fair shelter by making use of their rubber ponchos. it was not really needed, though several of the boys chose to make up their beds under its arched roof, mentioning that they might feel the dew if it happened to prove heavy. again they prepared breakfast, and then started off with a day's tramp ahead of them that would differ in many respects from anything as yet encountered. this was because they expected to strike boldly up the side of the massive mountain that reared its head far above them, its slopes covered for the most part with a heavy growth of timber. this, however, thinned out the nearer one came to the summit, which in turn was composed of bald rocks, grim and silent, save when some eagle gave its shrill scream from a projecting crag. they took their last look at the little road, and then tom led the way into the heart of the wild growth. just as they had anticipated it was a great deal more difficult going now, for there was no trail save an occasional cowpath which might lead down to the creek, or anywhere else; and to which, for this reason, they could not pay any attention. when noon came there was a loud call for a halt. while every boy was too proud to confess that his muscles were beginning to feel sore from the continual strain, he tried pretty hard to find some plausible excuse for wanting to make a good long halt. while they were eating and fanning themselves, for it was very warm, walter douglass noticed tom glancing off toward the southwest. upon looking in that direction himself he burst out with an exclamation: "it's going to strike us this time, boys, as sure as anything!" "what another irate farmer?" cried josh, laughingly. "whatever have the scouts been doing this time to raise trouble? we've been accused of trespassing, and stealing chickens; p'raps they'll try to make out we have evil designs on some country bank." "it looks like a storm," admitted tom; upon which billy button began to stare at the clouds in plain sight, and horace seemed to be listening anxiously to catch the first distant mutter of thunder in the air. "if you are all through eating," said mr. witherspoon, "perhaps we had better move out of this. i'm not the best judge of such things, but i think we could find a better spot than this to stay during the storm." "there! listen to that, will you?" exclaimed george as they heard a heavy boom that seemed to throb on the heavily charged air like the roar of a monster siege gun. horace was looking a little pale, though he set his teeth hard together, and apparently had made up his mind to at least refrain from showing the white feather, no matter how frightened he felt. they did up their packs, keeping the rubber ponchos out, according to the advice of the patrol leader. "at the worst we can put our heads through the slit in the center," he explained to them; "and then it serves as a waterproof to keep the upper part of you dry. but perhaps we can find an overhanging shelf of rock under which all of us can crawl." "but how about that fine big tree yonder, couldn't we take shelter under that?" asked horace, pointing to a massive oak with wide-spreading branches that made a canopy through which even a downpour of rain could hardly penetrate. "never!" tom told him hastily. "a tree standing apart like that is always one of the most dangerous places you can select when seeking shelter from an electrical storm. far better stay out and take your little soaking than to take chances in a barn, or under an isolated tree. in the forest it is not so bad, where there are hundreds of trees; but then you ought to be careful which one you select. lightning loves a shining mark, you know." "but that big tree has stood for one or two hundred years and never been hit by lightning," objected horace, who could not understand exactly. "so have others that i've seen shattered to fragments," mr. witherspoon told him, "but their time came at last, and without warning. we can't afford to accept the risk. there is only one safe way, and that is to avoid dangerous places." the thunder grew louder with every peal. there were vivid flashes of lightning, too, each of which caused horace to start and close his eyes, though he bravely suppressed the groan that seemed ready to burst from his lips. tom, as well as mr. witherspoon, josh and rob shaefer, was constantly on the lookout for some sign of shelter. the ground seemed to favor the possibility of finding something in the line of overlapping lines of rock, which, forming a mushroom ledge, would screen them from the violence of the expected downpour. after all, the honor of making the discovery went to carl. "look over yonder between those bushes, sir; doesn't that seem to be about the kind of place you're after?" he called out, clutching the scout master by the arm. so impressed was mr. witherspoon by what he saw that he immediately directed all of his charges to make for the spot pell-mell. the first big drops were coming down as they arrived, to find that, sure enough, the ledges of stone cropped out as much as six or seven feet. "crawl under wherever you can find a good place, and lie quiet!" ordered the scout master; and in several detachments they proceeded to get out of the rain, now commencing to fall heavily. the wind rushed through the branches with a furious shriek; the thunder crashed; they heard several trees fall under the strain; and then without warning came a blinding flash, with a terrific ear-splitting roar of thunder accompanying it. horace, who with a number of others was in the cavity tom had chosen, shrank close to the leader of the black bear patrol. "oh, tom!" he cried, when his voice could be heard, "didn't that sound right from where that magnificent big oak tree stood that i wanted to get under?" "just what it did!" josh kingsley told him, vehemently, while tom said: "we'll investigate after the storm is over, horace; but right now i'm of the opinion your fine oak is lying shattered into fragments by the bolt that fell!" chapter xvii the landslide "whether that's so or not," said the trembling horace, "i feel that i've learned a lesson. i own up that i'm terribly afraid of lightning; but after this i'm going to face it, even if i have to lie out in the storm, rather than take chances." it became difficult to carry on any sort of conversation, what with all the racket around them. the wind blew, the rain fell in sheets, and the thunder boomed so continuously that one deep-toned roll hardly died away before there would come another crash that made everybody start. still they were a thankful lot of boys as they lay under the ledges and counted the minutes creep past. "we've managed to keep our jackets tolerably dry after all," announced josh, at a time when there happened to be a little slackening of the gale; "and that's what everybody couldn't have done under the same conditions." "well, i should say not," another scout declared; "i know lots of fellows who think themselves extra smart around town, and yet put them up here and they'd either have been knocked out hiding under a tree that was struck, or else soaked through to the skin." "it takes scouts to figure things out when the supreme test comes," said josh. "yes, _some_ scouts," added felix, drily; as much as to tell josh not to plume himself too highly, because this was not his bright thought. a more terrific peal of thunder than any they had yet heard except that one outburst, stopped their talking for a brief time. "i really believe the old storm is coming back to try it all over again!" cried billy button, in dismay. "they often seem to do that," remarked another boy. "that has puzzled me more'n i can tell. what's the explanation, mr. witherspoon?" "well, as near as i can say," replied the scout master, "it's something like this. most storms have a regular rotary movement as well as their forward drift. on that account a hurricane at sea has a core or center, where there is almost a dead clam." "yes, i've read about that," interrupted josh. "sea captains always mention it when they've found themselves in the worst of a big blow. it slackens up, and then comes on again worse than ever." "but always from exactly the opposite quarter," the scout master continued. "you can see how this is, for the wind coming from the east up to the time the core of the gale strikes them, is from the west after the center has passed by. we may be about to get the other side of this little storm now." "listen to it roaring, up on the mountain?" cried horace. "i wonder what those other fellows are doing about now?" josh was heard to say, in a speculative way. "of course you mean tony pollock and his crowd," observed tom. "unless they've been as lucky as we were they're feeling pretty damp ground this time. still tony is a shrewd fellow, and may have discovered some sort of shelter before the downpour came." "i hope so," horace went on to say, for he was not at all cruel by disposition; "because i wouldn't want a dog to be out in this blow, much less boys i've known all my life, even if they have been an ugly lot." there was a short interval of violent downpour. then all at once the storm again slackened, and soon the rain ceased. horace had been whispering to tom, and the pair of them now started to crawl out from under the shelter. "where are you going, tom?" asked josh, wondering what the strange move meant. "just mean to take a little walk over here," was the reply; "we'll be back in a few minutes. horace is curious to see if it was the big oak that was struck." "i'll go along, if you don't object," said the always ready josh. "me too," called out a second scout. accordingly several of them followed tom and horace out from under the ledges. there were at least six in the group that hurried along toward the spot where the splendid oak had been noticed an hour before. they were compelled to pick their way along, for little streams of water flowed in almost every direction; besides, the trees were shedding miniature niagaras that would be very unpleasant if received in the back of the neck by any one passing underneath. in this fashion they neared the place. every boy was keenly on the lookout. "why, i don't see anything at all of the tree, and yet it certainly stood high above those smaller ones over there!" exclaimed horace, presently, with a curious little quiver of awe in his voice. ten seconds later they had advanced far enough to pass the barrier formed by those lesser forest trees. then the entire group of scouts came to a sudden stop and simply stared. horace even rubbed his eyes as if he half believed he might be dreaming. the big oak was gone! where it had stood they saw a shattered trunk not more than twenty feet high. upon the ground in every direction lay torn and twisted limbs and smaller branches, just as they had been violently hurled when that terrible electric bolt struck with such amazing force. "whew!" gasped josh, "there's an object lesson for you, horace!" "it's the same for each one of us," added tom, gravely; "and for every scout who ever hears of it." "supposing we had taken refuge under that fine old oak," suggested felix, with a shrug of his shoulders; "not one of us would have ever known what hit him." "i've seen all i want to, tom; let us go back," said horace, who looked rather white by now. "besides, i think it's going to pour down again shortly." "that's right," added another scout; "you can hear it coming over there. everybody scoot for the home base." they lost no time in retracing their steps, and just managed to reach the friendly shelter of the ledges when the rain did come down, if anything harder than ever. "there'll be a big boom in the river after this!" remarked felix, when the rain had been falling in a deluge for ten minutes. "i think it must be next door to what they call a cloud burst; wouldn't you say so, mr. witherspoon?" asked another boy. "it seems like it," he was told by the scout master. "meantime we ought to be very thankful we're so well provided for. no danger of being floated away this far up on the mountain. but the rain is going to stop presently." "getting softer already!" announced the watchful josh. "i didn't have any chance to ask you about the big oak?" mr. witherspoon continued. "there isn't any," remarked felix; "only a wreck that would make you hold your breath and rub your eyes." "then it was struck by that terrible bolt, was it?" asked the scout master. "smashed, into flinders," replied josh. "you never in all your life saw such a wreck, sir." "we'll all take a glance at it before we leave this place," the leader of the hiking troop told them. "but from the way things look there's a good chance we may think it best to put in the night right here, where we can be sure of a dry place for sleeping." "that strikes me as a good idea, sir," said tom, promptly, for he had been considering proposing that very plan himself, though of course he did not see fit to say so now. "all i hope is that the river doesn't sweep away a part of lenox," one of the boys was heard to say. "you remember that years ago, before any of us can remember, they had a bad flood, and some lives were lost." "oh yes, but that was in the spring," explained josh, "when the heavy snows melted, and what with ten days of rain the ground couldn't take up any more water. it's a whole lot different in june. besides, we've been having it pretty hot and dry lately, remember, and the earth can drink up a lot of water." "still, you never can tell what a flood will do," george was heard to say; but as they all understood his way of looking at the worst side of things none of the other boys took much stock in his gloomy predictions. "we must hustle to find some dry wood, so as to cook our supper, and keep warm afterwards," felix told them. "leave us alone to do that," josh announced. "no matter how hard it has been raining you can always get plenty of dry stuff out of the heart of a stump or a log. and thank goodness we brought an ax along with us." "say, did you feel anything then?" called out one of the other boys. "seemed to me the rocks might be trembling as they did when it thundered extra loud. there it goes again! get that, fellows?" they certainly did, and a thrill of wonder and sudden anxiety passed over them when the trembling sensation became even more pronounced. then they realized that a strange rumbling sound had arisen. it came from further up the mountain, and yet drew rapidly closer, increasing in intensity, until it began to assume the proportions of a terrible roaring, while the rocks vibrated in a sickening way. "oh! it must be an earthquake!" shrilled one scout, in alarm. "lie still, everybody!" shouted mr. witherspoon; "don't think of crawling out. it's a landslide coming down the side of the mountain!" chapter xviii camping on the lake shore for several minutes the scouts lay there and fairly held their breath in the grip of that sudden fear that had come upon them. as the rumbling noise and the sickening sensation of the rock trembling under them passed away they regained in some degree their former confidence. "the worst is over, i think," said mr. witherspoon; "but we'll stay where we are a while longer." content to abide by his judgment, and glad that they had escaped being caught in that avalanche of earth and rocks, the boys kept quiet until finally, as there was no repetition of the landslide, they were allowed to issue forth. investigation showed them where the slip had occurred. some fault in the formation of the mountain side had allowed it to happen, the conditions being just right. later on the rest of the scouts went over to view the wrecked oak, bringing back some of the splinters of wood to use in making the fire they expected to have going presently. considering the two narrow escapes they had passed through recently, one from lightning and the other from the avalanche, the boys all felt that they had reason to be thankful. "you'll have some remarkable things to set down in that log book of yours for this particular day, tom," said the scout master; "and i think you can do the subject justice. i hope to read an account of this trip in print one of these days." "oh! there's a small chance of my account taking the first prize, i'm afraid mr. witherspoon," laughed the leader of the black bear patrol; "i imagine there'll be scores of competitors in the race, and plenty of them can write things just as well as i can, perhaps even better." "yes," remarked josh, "but don't forget that every account of an outing trip has to be absolutely true. no wonderful imaginary stories will be allowed in the competition, the rules said." "yes, that's just what they did state," added felix; "you've got to have things authenticated--wasn't that the word the paper used?" "attested to in due form by the scout master who accompanied the troop," mr. witherspoon explained, smiling; "and in this case i can do that with an easy conscience." "and if things keep going as they have been lately," declared another boy, "there never was and never can be a trip so crowded with interesting happenings as this same hike of lenox troop over big bear mountain." the fire was made without any particular trouble, just as josh and some of the others had predicted. the boys knew how to get dry fuel out of the heart of a stump, and once the fire was roaring it hardly mattered what kind of wood was used, since the heat quickly dried it out. then supper was cooked as usual, only on this occasion they dispensed with some of the conditions that were not absolutely necessary, such as having two separate fires. on the whole they managed to get on, and every one admitted he could dispose of no more when finally the meal was concluded. later on the boys sat around, and while most of them compared notes regarding their experiences during the exciting day just closed, others proceeded to attend to certain duties they did not wish to postpone any longer. as for tom chesney, it was an aim with him to write out his account of daily events while they were still fresh in his mind. he was afraid many of the little details might be forgotten if he delayed; and in the end those were what would give most of the charm to the narrative of the scout doings. the storm had passed on, and above them they saw the stars peeping out once more. long into the night the steady drip of water could be heard, telling of numerous little rivulets that still ran down the side of big bear mountain, though by morning most of these would have dried up. they slept under the friendly ledges. it was, after all was said, a pretty "rocky" bed, as josh termed it; but since the ground outside was so well soaked, and there was always more or less peril in the shape of another landslide, none of the boys complained, or expressed his feelings in more than sundry grunts. with the coming of morning the strange camp was astir, and one by one the boys painfully crawled out, to try to get some of the stiffness from their limbs by jumping around and "skylarking." about nine o'clock the hike was resumed mr. witherspoon did not think it advisable to go on up the mountain any further after that avalanche; he believed they would have just as good a time passing around the base, and in the end making a complete circuit of the high elevation. the day turned out to be a delightful one after the storm. it seemed as though the air had been purified, and even in the middle of the day it was not unpleasantly warm. "we ought to make that little lake by the afternoon, oughtn't we, tom?" the scout master asked, as he plodded along at the side of the patrol leader. another consultation of the map tom carried followed, and it was decided that they must be within a half a mile of the water. ten minutes later josh declared he had caught a glimpse of the sun shining on dancing wavelets; and shortly afterwards a sudden turn brought them in full view of the pond. it was hardly more than that, covering perhaps ten acres; but the boys declared they had never set eyes on a prettier sight as they arrived on the near shore, and proceeded to make a camp there. "if we only had a canoe up here what a great time we'd have fishing," said josh, who was particularly fond of casting a fly for a trout or bass, and scorned to use the humble angleworm, as ordinary fishermen do. "what's the matter with taking a log and straddling the same?" asked tom. "three of us could manage it, one to troll with a spoon, another to cast near the shore and the third to paddle the log." "let's try that in the morning," suggested josh, eagerly; "it's too late in the day to have any great luck now. but i like the looks of that pond--and i think we might get a good string of fish from it, if the wind's right." that night their fire glowed upon the border of the water. it was a new experience, and the boys, seeing tom busily engaged in writing, told him to do full justice to the theme, for it deserved to be recorded exactly in the way they saw it. it was a comfortable night they spent by the pond, in sharp contrast to the preceding one when flattened out under the rocky ledges. every one got a good sound night's sleep, so that when morning came they were in prime condition for the work of the day. "we'll stay here to-day and not go on for another twenty-four hours," decided the scout master, as they sat around eating breakfast. "for one i'm glad to hear that," said felix; "i can hike as well as the next fellow; but just the same when i'm off for pleasure i don't like to keep moving all the time. this suits me first-rate. then i expect to do some paddling when we find the right sort of a log, with josh at the bow casting his flies, and tom at the stern trolling his phantom minnow along." the log needed was easily found, and was rolled down, to be launched in the pond. a rude paddle was also cut, with the aid of the ax and a sharp knife. felix declared he could make it answer the purpose; so presently the enterprising scouts composing the fishing party went forth, followed by the best wishes of their mates. "fix it so we have a fish dinner to-night, fellows!" billy button called out. "if you're wise you'll not make up your mouth that way; then there's no danger of being disappointed," said george. "i never expect anything, and so i meet with pleasant surprises once in a while." perhaps since the days of old robinson crusoe a more remarkable fishing party never started out than that one. the three boys had taken off shoes and socks, and rolled up their trousers above their knees. straddling the log, felix used his paddle, and, sure enough, the clumsy craft moved along fast enough to answer their desires. tom let out his line and trolled, while josh began to cast with great animation, sending his trailing flies close to the shore, and drawing them toward him in fine style. presently he struck and managed to land a fair-sized bass. then tom caught a larger one on his imitation minnow. the fun began to wax furious, so that once both the anglers chanced to be busily engaged with fish they had hooked at the same time. it was while this was going on, and their string had already reached respectable proportions, that the boys on the log heard a sound far away, up on the side of the mountain, which caused josh to exclaim: "that's a pack of dogs yapping, and they're hot on the track of some sort of game, too! it may be only a poor little cottontail, but we'll soon know, for they're heading straight in our direction. whew! listen to the yelps they give!" "there's something in the lake over yonder, and coming this way, too!" exclaimed felix "can it be a muskrat, tom, do you think, swimming on top of the water?" "not much it isn't!" cried josh from the bow of the novel craft; "it's a deer i tell you, a stag with half-grown antlers, taking to the water to escape from the hounds." chapter xix friends of the deer "yes, its a buck," announced tom, as a shout from the camp told that one of the other scouts had also discovered the swimming animal. "whew! there come the dogs along the shore!" cried felix, pointing as he spoke to where a number of swiftly-moving objects could be seen. "they've taken to the water after the deer!" exclaimed josh. "it'll be a shame if they manage to catch up with the poor thing in the pond!" felix declared; "we ought to break that game up somehow. isn't there a way?" "if we had a canoe instead of a log we might get between, and keep the dogs back," he was told by the patrol leader; "but i'm afraid we'll never be able to make it at this rate." felix had started paddling furiously even while the other was speaking. the novel craft began to move through the water much faster than at any previous time. it was really surprising how much speed it could show, when driven by that stout, if homely, paddle, held in the hands of a muscular and excited scout. tom gave directions as though he were the pilot, and while the swimming buck certainly saw them approaching he must have considered that these human enemies were not to be feared one-half as much as those merciless hounds following after him, for he swerved very little. "we're going to cut in between the deer and the dogs after all, boys!" cried the delighted josh, who was bending his body with every movement of the paddler, as though he hoped to be able in that fashion to assist the drive. "it's a pity we didn't think to bring another paddle along!" was tom's comment, "for that would have added considerably to our progress." as it was, however, they managed to intervene between the hounds and the frightened buck. josh waved both arms, and shouted threateningly at the eager dogs. they possibly did not know what to make of it, for as a rule their masters probably tempted them to chase a deer even with the law against hounding in force. "keep back there, you greedy curs!" yelled josh; and as tom and felix joined in the shouting, the last mentioned also waving his flashing paddle, the swimming dogs came to a pause. whenever they made a start as though intending to sweep past the log on which the three scouts were perched, felix, waiting for some such move, paddled vigorously to head them off. this series of obstructive tactics, coupled with the demonstration made by the other boys, served to keep the hounds in check for a certain length of time. "there, he's made the shore across on the other side of the pond!" announced tom. looking that way the boys saw the harried buck hasten out of the shallow water. he turned once on the very edge to give a single glance back toward the baffled dogs, still swimming aimlessly about, and yapping in defeat, then leaped lightly into the undergrowth and vanished from sight. "good-bye!" shouted josh, waving his hand after the rescued deer, "and good luck!" the dogs by this time had managed to flank the obstruction. "no use chasing after them any more, felix," said tom; "i think the deer has a good lead on them now, and will easily make his escape." they watched the pack swim to the shore, and noted that they came out at some little distance from the spot where the buck had left the water. "that's going to delay them still more," announced tom; "they've lost the scent, and will have to chase up and down hunting for it." sure enough the hounds ran first one way with their noses to the ground, then doubled back. it was several minutes before a triumphant yelp announced that they had finally struck the lost trail. "there they go with a rush!" said josh, as the pack was seen to start off, following the course taken by the deer. their eager yelps became less distinct as they skirted around the foot of big bear mountain. "well, that was a queer happening, wasn't it?" said tom, as they prepared to resume their fishing, which had been so singularly interrupted. "it'll make an interesting event for your note book, tom," declared felix. "a deer is seldom seen around this region," josh ventured to say; "which makes our luck all the more remarkable. i wouldn't have missed that sight for a good deal!" "i saw stanley ackerman using his camera, so let's hope he got a bunch of snapshots that'll show the whole circus," felix announced. "how about allowing dogs to roam the woods up here, tom; isn't it against the law in this state nowadays?" josh asked. "it certainly is," he was informed. "for a good many years chasing deer with hounds, and using a jack-light at nights to get them, has been strictly forbidden. time was when packs of hounds used to be met with in plenty. men would start out and hunt deer that way. then the papers took it up, and showed the cruelty of the so-called sport, and it was abolished." "according to the law anybody is allowed to shoot dogs caught in the act of running deer, especially in the summer time; isn't that right, tom?" "yes, that's what we would have had a perfect right to do if we'd had a gun along. but i don't believe that pack belonged to any one man. they are dogs that have gone wild, and having gathered together in the woods, live by hunting." "i've heard that dogs do go back to the old wolf strain sometimes," josh admitted; "and now that you mention it, tom, there was a wild look about every one of the beasts. i even thought they had half a notion to attack us at one time; but the way felix kept that paddle flashing through the air cowed them, i guess." the fishing was resumed, though all this racket seemed to have caused the bass to cease taking hold for some time. by skirting the more distant shores, close to where the water grass and reeds grew, they finally struck a good ground, and were amply rewarded for the efforts put forth. "i think the bass must have their beds on this shoal here," said tom, when they paddled back over the place at which success had come to them. "it's early in the season as yet, and a lot of them are still around here. they haven't gone out into deep water with their newly-hatched young ones." "is that what they do?" asked felix, who was not as much of a fisherman as either of his chums. "well, not immediately after the eggs hatch," tom told him. "the mother bass is going to keep her swarm of little ones in shallow water, and guard them until they get to a certain size. then she darts in among them, scatters the whole lot, after which she is done with them. they have reached an age when they must take their chances." when finally about noon the three came ashore, rather stiff from having straddled that log for such a length of time, they had a pretty fine string of fish, two of them in fact. the talk as they ate their mid-day meal was along the subject of deer hunting, and tom as well as josh had to tell all about it, as far as they knew. stanley declared he had made good use of his camera, and hoped the results would come up to expectations. all of them united in saying that it had been an adventure worth while; and apparently their sympathies were wholly with the gallant buck, for they expressed a fervent hope that he would succeed in outrunning his canine enemies. somehow in the course of the conversation mention was made of tony pollock and his crowd. "i heard tony tell a story of having seen a deer pulled down somewhere in the forest last fall by a pack of ugly dogs," related george cooper. "at the time i believed he was only yarning, though he vowed black and blue it was so. he said the dogs looked and acted so ugly that he thought it best to clear out before they turned on him." "like as not this same pack," remarked tom. "they say that once a dog has taken to that savage sort of life nothing can ever coax him to go back to living with mankind again. it's in the blood, that call of the wild." "well," chuckled josh, "we know of another kind of call of the wild that's going to be heard in the land pretty soon, when farmer sile perkins faces tony. he will demand double pay for the chickens tony and his crowd stole, on penalty of his being arrested if he doesn't whack up. oh i can just see tony begin to crawl then; and i wonder how he'll get the money." carl was saying little or nothing, and tom knew why. here they had been on the hike several days, and as yet there had arisen not a single chance for him to get in touch with dock phillips. tom understood that another spell of dark foreboding was beginning to enfold his chum. at the first opportunity he could find, tom joined carl. the latter had thrown himself down on the bank some distance away from the camp, where he could be in the shade, and yet look out on the sunlit water, which just then had a most attractive aspect. "you're worrying again because nothing has happened as we hoped would be the case, eh, carl?" was what the patrol leader said as he dropped down close to the moody scout. carl sighed heavily. "perhaps it's foolish of me, tom," he said, with a curious little break in his voice, which he tried hard to master; "but once in so often it seems as if something gripped me, and made me shiver. it's when i get to thinking what little real progress i am making that this chilly spell comes along." "yes, i can understand that," the other told him. "i did hope we might run on dock while we were up here, and either force or coax him to tell what he did with the stolen paper. he's away from the influence of mr. culpepper, you know, and if we had to come down to offering him a price to get the paper he might accept." "oh! much as i hate to have to compromise such a thing," said carl, desperately; "i believe i'd do it. anything to get that paper, for the more i think of it the stronger i believe it means everything to my mother." "well, we haven't quite got to the end of our tether yet," the patrol leader assured him. "i can't explain it, but somehow there's a feeling inside of me that tells me to keep on hoping. in some sort of fashion luck is going to turn your way. just keep up your grit, and hang on. take a lesson from the persistence of those dogs in following the deer." "yes, i suppose i ought to. i've read how wolves will keep chasing after a deer day and night, steady as dock-work, until in the end they tire it out and get their dinner." just then they heard a shout, or what was closer to a shriek. it came from beyond the camp, and was immediately followed by cries of alarm from the other scouts. "what's happened?" asked tom, as with carl he hurried to the spot to see a group approaching bearing some burden in their midst. "walt douglass fell out of a tree," replied billy button, looking very pale; "and mr. witherspoon says he's afraid it means a fractured leg, if nothing worse!" chapter xx first aid to the injured dismay seized upon most of the scouts upon realizing what a disaster had fallen upon them. tom however was not the one to forget that he had made a special study of "first aid to the injured," as had also rob shaefer. "carry him over here, where we'll make a soft bed of the blankets, and then we've got to see how badly he's hurt!" was what tom called out, hurrying on ahead to arrange things. his example seemed contagious. boys are apt to follow a leader very much as sheep will a bell-wether. everybody wanted to assist; and the feeling of panic gave way to one of confidence. scouts should be equal to any sudden emergency; and in that way prove the value of their education along the lines of usefulness. walter was groaning dismally, although trying his best to bear the pain. he looked as white as a sheet in the face. tom's first act was to force himself to appear cheerful; he knew that if all of them stared and shuddered it would have a bad effect on the injured lad. when they had made an examination tom and rob agreed that one of the bones only had been broken. "it's a painful thing, but not nearly so bad as a compound fracture would be," tom announced. "i think we can set it all right, temporarily, and then bind the leg up. in the meantime, mr. witherspoon, please make up your mind what we'd better do about getting walter home in a hurry, where the doctor can take charge of him." "i hope you won't think of giving up your hike just on account of me, fellows," said the poor walter, weakly, showing a magnanimous spirit in adversity that made his chums feel all the more admiration for him. "leave that to me," mr. witherspoon announced; "i remember seeing an old car in the yard of that house we passed some three miles back. if you boys can make some sort of stretcher for carrying walter i'll see that he gets home to-day, if i have to accompany him, and then come back again to you." this cheered the stricken lad as nothing else could have done. home just then had a most alluring look to walter. the woods may seem all very delightful when a boy is perfectly well, but let sickness or an accident put him on his back, and there is nothing like one's own home. after making some preparations, tom and rob announced that they were ready. "it's going to hurt you some, walter," said the patrol leader, regretfully; "but it's got to be done, you know. those two ends of the bone must be brought together, and after that we intend to bandage your leg the very best we know how." walter shut his teeth hard together, and seemed to prepare for the worst. "go ahead, boys," he said, grimly; "i'll have to grin and bear it, i guess. and i deserve all i'm getting for being so silly as to slip when i was climbing that tree to see what was in the hole in the trunk." he managed to stand it very bravely indeed, though the agony must have been intense. the other scouts heaved a sigh when they saw the amateur surgeons start to binding up the injured limb. "that's all through with, walter," said tom, cheerily, "and you stood it like a soldier, we'll all declare. just as soon as that litter is done you're going to be carried back to that house, if it takes every one of us to do the job." josh and some of the others had been busily engaged trying to construct a suitable litter. fortunately they had learned how this should be done, for it is one of the duties of every boy scout to know this. with the ax they cut a couple of stout poles about eight feet in length. these were to constitute the sides, and would form the handles, each one to be in charge of a scout. a blanket was arranged across these in such a manner that there would not be the slightest danger of its slipping, after the two poles had been held a certain distance apart with a couple of cross-pieces. when finally the litter was completed it was pronounced first-class by every one. "i'm proud of the way you boys grapple with an emergency," said mr. witherspoon, enthusiastically. "you're all a credit to the organization to which you belong. i mean that your light shall not be kept under a bushel, for this is an example worthy of being spread abroad, and copied by other scouts." the next thing was to lift walter to the litter, which was done without giving the poor fellow much pain. he seemed so grateful for every little thing they did for him, and looked so pitiful lying there that tender-hearted billy button was observed to hurriedly rush away, pretending that he wanted to wash his hands down at the water, when they all knew the tears had been welling up in his eyes. "it's going to be no easy task getting him all the way back to that house," said mr. witherspoon, "especially over such rough ground as we've struck. four will be needed to work at a time, and they'll have to be relieved often, so perhaps we had better all go along save one scout, who can stay to look after the camp." "let billy stay," said josh; "he was complaining of a stone bruise on his heel, and would be better off here than taking that six mile tramp." so it was decided that billy button should remain in the camp. he did not look as if he enjoyed the prospect very much. "no wild animals around here to bother you, billy," josh assured him, when they were prepared to make the start. "you forget those dogs, i guess," billy told him; "they must be pretty mad at us for holding them up. what must i do if they take a notion to come back and threaten to eat me up?" "oh! the easiest thing for you to try," josh told him, "would be to shin up this tree here, and wait for us to rescue you. we've hung our grub up so nothing can get hold of it. but don't worry, billy; there isn't one chance in ten that the dogs'll come back this way." it was a strange procession that left the camp. stanley took a picture of the litter bearers so they would have something to remember the occurrence by; and walter had so far recovered from the shock and the acute pain as to be able to raise his head, so that he might appear in the scene as the object of all this excitement. billy saw them depart, and then turned his attention to other things. being left in full charge of the camp he had a sense of responsibility resting upon him, such as he had never experienced before. it would take them perhaps two full hours going that distance with the injured boy, because great care would be required in picking the easiest way. of course the return journey would be made in half that time. altogether three hours might elapse, even with the best of luck, before the main body of scouts could be expected back; and billy had been told that they would depend on him to get supper started. it was fine to see how very careful the litter bearers were as they pushed along the back trail. one would go ahead to lead the way, and so avoid any unusually rough places as much as possible. every boy looked well to his footing, since any sort of jolt, such as would accompany a stumble, was apt to cause walter unnecessary pain. their progress was necessarily somewhat slow. tom said that was one of the times when it paid to be sure rather than to try to make speed. and from the fact that not once did they cause poor walter to give a groan it could be seen that these careful litter-bearers fulfilled their duty fully as well as red cross or hospital attendants could have done. the two hours and more had passed before they came to the house at which mr. witherspoon had remembered seeing a car. it turned out that the man who lived there was doing so for his health. he wanted to be in a quiet place on account of shattered nerves. when he learned what had happened he told them he would gladly take the injured scout to his home, and that there was room also for mr. witherspoon, whom he would bring back with him again. the splendid manner in which the scouts had managed, both with regard to doing up the fractured limb, and in making that litter, excited the man's admiration; and he felt that he could not do too much for those self-reliant lads. "such work should be encouraged by every right-thinking man or woman," he told them; "and after you've all had a cup of hot coffee, which my wife is getting ready right now, we'll be off." of course all of them were feeling much more cheerful, now that they knew the hike would not have to be abandoned on account of this accident. some of the boys had begun to fear this would be the result. "when i get back here from town," mr. witherspoon told them, "it is apt to be late, and i'll be too tired to try that three miles over rough ground. so i've made arrangements to stay here over-night with our good friends. in the morning after breakfast i'll start off along the trail for the camp. of course it would be nice if several of you met me half way there." "we'll be only too glad to do that, sir," josh told him; for mr. witherspoon had by this time firmly entrenched himself in the affections of his boys, who believed him to be the best scout master any troop had ever boasted, barring none. after seeing the car start, and giving walter a rousing send-off that must have done his heart good, the rest of the boys concluded to turn their faces toward the camp. "three hours will seem an age to billy button," said horace, who was feeling quite proud of the fact that he had been chosen as one of the litter-bearers. "oh! he'll have plenty to do cleaning all those fish we caught this morning, and some other odd jobs i gave him," remarked josh, carelessly. "billy is inclined to be timid," felix observed, loftily; "and it's a good thing, for him to be left alone once in a while. nothing like making a scout feel he's just got to depend on himself for things." the three miles was soon covered by the returning eight scouts. "i can see smoke ahead!" announced josh presently. "yes, and there's the pond shining in the light of the sun," added felix. "isn't that our chum, billy, waving his hands to us?" asked george. "looks as if he wanted us to hurry up some. i wonder what's happened now?" "oh! he's only anxious for us to join him," said carl; "perhaps he made a mistake in the time we were to be back, and he's gone and cooked all the fish." it was soon seen, however, that the guardian of the camp had a good reason for his excitement. his face bore a troubled expression, it struck tom, when he drew near the camp. "anything gone wrong here billy?" he asked. "i should say there had, tom!" he burst out with. "why, would you believe it, some miserable tramps raided the camp, and got away with most of our stuff!" chapter xxi scout grit "tell us how it happened, billy!" said the patrol leader, when the clamor of excited voices partly died away, giving him a chance to make himself heard. "yes, what did they do to you, billy?" demanded josh, noticing that the other did not seem to be limping, or showing any other signs of having met with rough treatment at the hands of the camp raiders. "why, it was this way," billy hastened to explain. "you see i was down by the water cleaning all those fish at the time. guess i must have been pretty much a whole hour at the job. and i'd just about finished when i thought i heard somebody give a sneeze, which made me get up off my knees and look around." "and did you see the tramps in camp cleaning things out then?" asked felix. "well, no, not exactly," replied billy; "the most i thought i saw was something moving in the bushes on the other side of the camp; and yes, it was just like a laugh too that i caught." "what did you do?" asked josh. "i wondered if those wild dogs had come back," said the guardian of the camp, "and the first thing i thought to do was to put the pan of fish i'd cleaned up in the crotch of a tree. then i went to the camp, and oh! my stars i but it was in an _awful_ mess, with things flung around, and most of our eatables taken, as well as the frying-pan and coffee-pot!" "oh! that's sure the limit!" groaned josh. "we'll never be able to keep on our hike with nothing to eat or drink, and not a pan to cook stuff in, even if we bought it from the farmers. it spells the end, fellows!" "yes," echoed george, always seeing the worst side of things, "we'll have to go back to town like dogs with their tails between their legs, and have all the other fellows make fun of us." "hold on there, fellows, don't show the white feather so easily," said tom, who was looking very determined. "do you mean there's any chance for us to keep going, after our things have been taken in this way?" demanded george. "well, we can talk that over to-night, and then see what mr. witherspoon has to say about it when he joins us in the morning," tom told him. "as for me, i'd be willing to go on half rations rather than own up beat. how do we know but that this raid on our stuff was made just to force us to give up our hike?" "why, how could that be?" asked billy button, wonderingly. "and why would hoboes want that to happen?" added george. "when billy says they were tramps he's only jumping to conclusions," tom explained, "he doesn't know a thing about it, because he owns up he failed to get even a single look at the thieves. i've got my own opinion about this thing." "meaning you believe you know who the fellows were?" questioned carl. "stop and think--who would like nothing better than to put us in a hole? don't we happen to know that tony pollock and his crowd are around here on big bear mountain somewhere? didn't they rob that hen roost of mr. perkins?" "tom, i really believe you're right!" exclaimed josh, beginning to look at the matter from the standpoint taken by the patrol leader. "we can soon settle that part of it!" declared rob shaeffer. "by hunting for their tracks, and finding out how many thieves there were," tom went on to say. "come on billy, and show me just where you saw the bushes moving when that laugh struck you." he called upon the others to keep back so that they might not spoil any tracks to be found at that particular spot. a very little search showed the boys what they so eagerly sought. "here are tracks enough, and all heading away from the camp," said the patrol leader presently, "let's see how we can classify them, for every footprint will be different from the others." "here's one that is square across the toe," announced josh, instantly. "and say, seems to me i remember asa green always wears shoes like that. now wedge mcguffey has got broad shoulders and spindle legs, and he wears a pointed shoe like the one that made these tracks." "here's another that's got a patch across the toe," said felix. "couldn't mistake that shoe, no matter where you saw it. a fellow could be hung on such circumstantial evidence as that." "and here's a fourth that's different from any of the rest," continued tom, as he pointed downward, "so it looks as if there were just four in the bunch, which you may remember corresponds with the number in tony pollock's crowd, now that dock phillips has thrown his lot in with them." some of the scouts expressed their indignation loudly as they investigated the results of the daring raid. it would not have been pleasant for tony and his cronies had they been brought face to face with the angry scouts about that time. tom chesney soon had reason to admit that he had met with a personal loss that bothered him exceedingly. "they've even taken my little diary in which i've been keeping an accurate account of our entire trip," he announced; "though what good that could do them i'm at a loss to understand." "oh! they just believed it would make you feel bad," explained carl; "and that would tickle tony, he's such a mean sort of fellow. perhaps he expects to read it out to the others while they sit by their fire, and then throw it away. i hope you can write it all over again, tom." "too bad!" declared josh, "when you went to such trouble to jot everything down just as it happened, thinking you might take that prize offered for the best true account of a hike by scouts." "i'll make sure to write this latest adventure out while it's fresh in my mind," remarked tom, bent on making the best of a bad bargain. "well," observed felix, "all i hope is that we decide not to give up the ship for such a little thing as being without provisions. it'll make us hustle some to lay in a supply; but, after all, the experience is going to be a great thing for us." "and if it comes to a vote," added horace, showing unexpected stamina in this emergency; "count on my voice being raised against giving up. why, i'm just getting interested in this game, and i find it pretty exciting." "just what i say!" echoed josh. "and i!" came from every one of the others, without even the exception of poor billy, who seemed to feel that he might be mostly to blame because the raid on the camp had been conducted while he was in charge. tom smiled on hearing so unanimous an expression of opinion. he knew that even such an apparent catastrophe as had befallen them was not going to cause these gallant fellows to "take water." "how long ago was it that the raid took place, billy?" asked josh, as though a sudden idea had struck him. "oh! i should say about an hour or more," replied the other, after thinking it over. "i suppose they watched the camp for a while to make sure i was the only one around. then when they saw me so busy down there by the pond they just started to root. they may have been poking around half an hour, for all i know; i was keeping my eyes on my work and thinking of poor walter." "tom, would it pay us to follow them right now?" demanded josh, while his eyes sparkled with the spirit of retaliation, as though he could picture them pouncing on the spoilers of the camp, and making them pay dearly for their frolic. the patrol leader, however, shook his head in the negative, much to the disappointment of the impetuous josh. "in the first place they were apt to hurry off," said tom. "then they might even try to blind their trail, though i don't believe any of them know much of the indian way of doing that. but the sun will soon set, and it grows dark early along the northeast side of big bear mountain you know." "yes," added george, always ready with an objection, "and some of us feel a little tired after all we've gone through with to-day." "we'd better leave that until mr. witherspoon joins us in the morning," concluded tom. "of course that wouldn't prevent a couple of scouts following the trail a bit while breakfast was cooking, and saving us that much trouble later on." "the next thing for us to see about is how under the sun will we cook all these delicious bass billy's got ready?" remarked felix. "oh! i forgot to tell you they missed one frying-pan," remarked billy, exultantly; "it chanced to be hanging from a nail i drove in a tree, and they couldn't have seen it. by making relays we can do our cooking in that." "besides, we're two shy of our original number," added horace. "what would we have done without any skillet at all, tom?" asked billy. "oh! there are ways of doing it by heating a flat stone, and cooking the fish on that," replied tom. "then some old hunters who won't bother to carry a frying-pan into the woods with them manage by toasting the meat or fish at the end of a long sliver of wood. given the fish and a hot fire, the fellow who couldn't invent some way of cooking would deserve to go hungry." "that's right," agreed josh. "and everybody notice that it's going to take more than a little thing like this to stall the scouts who are up to their business." indeed, there did seem to be an unusual spirit of animation among the boys that evening. every fellow was anxious to assist in getting supper ready, so that after all it began to look at one time like a case of "too many cooks spoiling the broth." when the first batch of fish had been browned they were kept hot on a clean stone close to the fire while the other lot was cooked. as their supply of coffee had gone together with numerous other things, the boys had to drink cold water for supper. loud were the lamentations over this. "the smell of coffee, bacon, or fried onions is what always makes it seem like camping out," declared josh, sadly; "and now we haven't got a single one of those lovely things left. our breakfast is going to be a pretty limited one; and as for other meals to-morrow, where they are going to come from is a question i'd like somebody to settle." "listen," said tom. "i'm going to get you up at daylight, josh." "me? what for? do we have to start in fishing that early, or else go hungry?" "i want you to go along with me, that's all, josh." "along--where to, may i ask?" continued the other scout, wonderingly. "back to where we took walter," replied tom; "i think when that gentleman hears what's happened to us, after we tell mr. witherspoon, he might be willing to sell us some supplies, such as coffee and bacon, and even loan us an extra frying-pan, as well as some sort of tin to boil coffee in." so, after all, the boys who gathered around the camp fire that evening, after such an eventful day, did not seem to be cast down one-half as much as undoubtedly the four young rascals who had played this mean trick upon them expected would be the case. chapter xxii the cabin in the woods it was just about an hour after dawn, and the sun had hardly got started on his journey toward the zenith, when two boys in the khaki garb of scouts arrived at the house to which walter douglass had been carried on a litter. mr. witherspoon on coming out to get a breath of air before breakfast was announced was surprised and pleased to see tom and josh. "why, this is splendid of you, boys!" he remarked, as they came toward him. "of course you were anxious to know about your comrade. we got him safely home, and called the doctor, who said he would not have to set the limb again, since you scouts had done the job in first-class style. it's a feather in your cap, for he is sure to tell it everywhere. now, what makes you look so glum, josh?" that gave them a chance to explain. when the scout master heard of the latest outrage of which the tony pollock crowd had been guilty, he was much annoyed. "we thought," tom went on to say, "that perhaps by coming over here before you got started we might influence the gentleman to spare us a small amount of coffee, a strip of bacon, and some sort of tin to make the coffee in." "no harm trying," mr. witherspoon immediately remarked; "and it does you credit to have thought up such a scheme. i've found him an accommodating gentleman. if he has anything he can spare i'm sure we'll be welcome to it." when the matter was mentioned to mr. clark, he immediately offered to help them out as far as he could do so. "i can give you plenty of eggs," he said, "and enough coffee for several meals. it happens that i'm shy on bacon just now, and intended to run in to town to stock up either to-day or to-morrow, when i have my eggs to dispose of. what i can spare, you're entirely welcome to." nor would he allow them to pay a cent for what he handed over to them. "what i've heard about you boys from mr. witherspoon here has aroused my interest greatly," he told tom and josh as they were about to depart; "and i'd be glad to know more about such a splendid movement as this promises to be. you must keep me informed of your progress. i would appreciate an occasional letter. then, if it happens that your account of the outing is ever put in print, tom, remember me with a copy." "i certainly will, sir," the patrol leader promised, for he realized that the gentleman and his wife led a lonely life of it, removed from association as they were, with most of their fellows. they reached the camp in three-quarters of an hour after leaving the house, and received a noisy welcome from the rest of the boys, who gave their leaders the regular scout salute as they came into camp. then once again the affair was discussed, this time with mr. witherspoon to listen and give occasional comments. it ended in their original plan's being sustained. they would not give up, and would try to carry out the plan as arranged before the hike was started. tom had an idea that they must be near the cabin of larry henderson, the naturalist whom he had met in lenox, at the time of the snowball battle with the pollock crowd. "he gave me directions how to find his cabin," tom explained to his companions when they were discussing this matter, "and i believe we must be somewhere near there right now. i asked mr. clark, and what he could tell me only confirmed my idea." "but tom, do you think we could get some supplies from him?" asked josh. "there's a reasonable chance of that," he was told. "i understood him to say he always kept a supply of all sorts of food on hand. it was to lay in a lot that took him down to lenox that time, you know." "then goodness knows i hope we can run on his shack to-day," said felix fervently. "we want most of all coffee, potatoes, onions, bacon, ham, and, well anything that can stop the gap when ten campers are half starved." "shall we get started right away, tom?" asked george, who looked distressed, as though he had not been wholly satisfied with the amount of his breakfast. "there's nothing to delay us, since we have no tents to come down," tom told him. "every fellow fold up a blanket, and make his pack ready." "it's going to be marching in light order with us nowadays," sighed felix, "with all our good stuff stolen. that's the only compensation i can see about it." "tom, you've studied your chart good and hard, let's hope," commented josh; "so we won't run any chance of going past the place without knowing it?" "he gave me certain land marks that i couldn't very well miss seeing," explained the patrol leader. "according to my way of thinking," felix was saying, "we must be half around the foot of big bear mountain by this time." "you've got the right idea of it," admitted the one who carried the chart; "and mr. henderson's cabin isn't far away from here. that crag up on the side of the mountain was one of the things he told me about. when we can get it in a direct line with that peak up there we will be within shouting distance of his place." tom continued to keep on his guard as they pressed onward. every one was alive to the necessity of finding the cabin of the old naturalist as soon as possible. farms were so rare up here that they found they could not count on getting their supplies from such places; and the possibility of going hungry was not a pleasant prospect. after all it was an hour after noon when tom announced the fact that the several land marks which had been given to him were in conjunction. "the cabin must be around here somewheres," he said, positively. hardly had he spoken when josh was noticed to be sniffing the air in a suspicious fashion. "what is it, josh?" asked the scout master. "i smell smoke, that's all," was the answer. others could do the same, now that their attention was called to the fact. "with the breeze coming from over that way, it ought to be plain enough we must look for the cabin there," remarked tom. the further they advanced the plainer became the evidence that there was a fire of some sort ahead of them. presently they got a whiff of cooking, at which some of the hungry scouts began to sniff the air like war horses when the odor of burnt powder comes down the breeze from the battlefield. "there it is!" exclaimed one of the watchful boys, suddenly. yes, there stood a commodious cabin right in the midst of the thick woods. it was a charming site for the home of one who loved nature as much as the old naturalist did. when a vociferous shout rang forth a form was seen to come quickly to the open doorway. it was the same genial larry henderson whom some of the scouts had once rescued from the unkind assault of the bully of lenox and his crowd, as they pelted the lame man with hard ice balls. he welcomed them to his little home with a heartiness that could not be doubted, and soon a royal dinner was being prepared for the whole party. while this was being dispatched later on, the owner of the woods cabin listened to the story of the great hike over big bear mountain, as told by the boys. everything seemed to interest him very much indeed, and when last of all they told him how some unscrupulous boys had stolen most of their supplies, meaning to break up the hike, mr. henderson looked pleased. "don't let a little thing like that deter you, boys, from carrying out your original proposition," he remarked. "i can spare you all you want in the way of supplies. yes and even to a coffee-pot and an extra frying-pan. an enterprise as splendidly started as this has been must not be allowed to languish, or be utterly wrecked through the mean tricks of such scamps as those boys." he was pleased when they gave him a round of hearty cheers, such as could only spring from a group of lively, wide-awake american boys. afterwards he showed tom and some of the others many things that interested them more than words could tell. indeed, so fascinating were the various things he took the trouble to explain to them, that the scouts only wished they could stay at the cabin in the woods for a number of days, enjoying his society. it was decided that they must remain there at least until another morning, which would give them a night with the naturalist and hunter, a prospect that afforded satisfaction all around. tom soon saw that mr. henderson had something on his mind which he wished to confide to him; consequently he was not much surprised when he saw him beckon to the leader of the black bear patrol to join him. "tell mr. witherspoon to come, too, and also that bright chap you call rob," remarked the recluse. "it is a little matter that may interest you and i think it best to lay the story before you, and then let you decide for yourselves what you want to do. still, from what i've seen up to this time of your character, i can give a pretty shrewd guess what your answer will be." of course this sort of talk aroused a good deal of curiosity in both tom chesner and rob shaefer, and they impatiently awaited the coming of the scout master. "and now i'll explain," mr. henderson told them, when he found three eager pairs of eyes fastened on him. "i chanced to be about half a mile away from home an hour before noon to-day when i heard angry voices, and discovered that several persons were about to pass by, following a trail that leads straight into the worst bog around the foot of big bear mountain." "i warrant you that it must have been the four young rascals who robbed our camp, that you saw," ventured mr. witherspoon. "i know now that it was as you say," continued the other. "at the time i might have called out and warned them of the peril that lay in wait for them if they should continue along that misleading trail, but when i looked at their faces, and heard a little of the vile language they used, i determined that it would be a very unwise thing for me to let them know i lived so near." "and you allowed them to go on past, you mean, sir?" questioned mr. witherspoon. "yes, i regret to confess it now," came the reply, "but at the time it seemed to be simply ordinary caution on my part. besides, how was i to know they would pay the slightest heed to anything i might say? i did not like their looks. but since then i've had grave doubts about the wisdom of my course, and was more than half inclined to start out, lame though i am, to see whether they did get off the only safe trail, and lose themselves in the bog." "is it then so dangerous?" asked mr. witherspoon; while tom was saying to himself that perhaps the chance so ardently desired by poor carl might be coming at last. "there are places where it might be death itself to any one who got off the trail, and became bewildered. the mud is deceptive, and once one gets fast in it an hour or two is apt to see him swallowed up; nor will his fate ever be known, for the bottomless mire of the bog never discloses its secrets." tom drew a long breath. "if you will show us the way there, sir," he told the naturalist, "we will certainly accompany you." chapter xxiii into the big bog "is it worth our while to bother with that crowd, tom?" asked josh, with a look approaching disgust on his face. one lad waited to hear what reply the patrol leader would make with more or less eagerness, as his face indicated. needless to say this was carl oskamp, who had so much at stake in the matter. "there's just this about it, josh," said tom, gravely, "suppose after we arrived safely home from this splendid hike, the first thing we heard was that one or two of that crowd had been lost in the great bog up here, and it was feared they must have found a grave in the mud flats. how would we feel about it, knowing that we had had the chance given to us to stretch out a helping hand them, and had failed?" josh turned red in the face. then he made a sudden gesture which meant he was ready to throw up his hands. "huh! guess you know best," he replied, in a husky voice; "i didn't think of it that way. i'd sure hate to have such a thing on my mind nights. let's start right away then." that was the way with josh; when he had anything unpleasant to do he was always eager to get it accomplished. for that matter, however, there were others among the scouts who wished to be astir, for the words of the patrol leader had thrilled them. "what if they have gotten lost in that awful mud bog, and right now are stuck fast there, whooping for help?" suggested felix. billy button and horace looked white with the very thought. as usual george pretended to make light of the whole matter, though some of them fancied much of his disbelief was assumed, for george had a reputation to maintain. "oh! no danger of those smart alecks being caught so easy," he told them; "they could slip through any sort of bog without getting stuck. like as not we'll only have our trouble for our pains." "you can stay here at the cabin if you like, george," tom told him. that, however, was far from george's mind; if the others meant "to make fools of themselves he guessed he could stand it too"; and when they started forth george had his place in the very van. josh often said george's "bark was worse than his bite." "fortunately," said the old naturalist, "the great bog isn't more than a mile away from here, and as i've spent many a happy hour there observing the home life of the little creatures that live in its depths the ground is familiar to me." "but you still limp, i notice, sir," remarked tom; "are you sure you can make it to-day? hadn't we better try it alone?" "i wouldn't think of letting you," replied the other, hastily. "i shall get along fairly well, never fear. this limp has become more a habit with me than anything else, i must admit. but if you are ready let us start off." accordingly the entire party began to head in the direction taken by those four boys from lenox. rob and josh were keeping a close watch, and from time to time announced that those they were following had actually come along that same trail, for they could see their footprints. "you know we took note of the different prints made by their shoes," rob told some of the other boys when they expressed surprise that this should be possible, "and it's easy enough to tell them every once in a while." "they are really following my usual trail, which i always take when going to or returning from a trip," explained the hermit-naturalist, looking pleased at this manifestation of scout sagacity on the part of the trackers. tom was keeping alongside his chum carl, instead of being with those who led the procession. he had a reason for this, too; since he had seen that the other was again showing signs of nervousness. "tom," said carl in a low voice as they walked steadily onward, "do you think i may have a chance to see dock face to face, so i can ask him again to tell me what he ever did with that paper he took?" "while of course i can't say positively," was tom's steady answer, "i seem to feel that something's going to happen that will make you happier than you've been this many a long day, carl." "oh! i hope you're on the right track!" exclaimed carl, drawing a long breath, as he clutched the arm of his faithful chum. "it would mean everything to me if only i could go home knowing i was to get that paper. just think what a fine present it would be to my mother, worried half to death as she is right now over the future." "well, keep hoping for the best, and it's all going to come out well. but what's that the boys are saying?" "i think they must have sighted the beginning of the great bog," replied carl. "do you suppose mr. henderson has brought that stout rope along with the idea that it may be needed to pull any one out of the mud?" "nothing else," said tom. "he knows all about this place, and from what he's already told us i reckon it must be a terrible hole." "especially in that one spot where he says the path is hidden under the ooze, and that if once you lose it you're apt to get in deeper and deeper, until there's danger of being sucked down over your head." "it's a terrible thing to think of," declared tom; "worse even than being caught in a quicksand in a creek, as i once found myself." "how did you get out?" asked carl. "i never heard you say anything about it before, tom?" "oh! in my case it didn't amount to much," was the answer, "because i realized my danger by the time the sand was half way to my knees. i suppose if i'd tried to draw one foot out the other would have only gone down deeper, for that's the way they keep sinking, you know." "but tell me how you escaped?" insisted carl. "i happened to know something about quicksands," responded the other, modestly, "and as soon as i saw what a fix i was in i threw myself flat, so as to present as wide a surface as i could, and crawled and rolled until i got ashore. of course i was soaked, but that meant very little compared with the prospect of being smothered there in that shallow creek." "but the chances are tony and those other fellows know nothing at all about the best ways to escape from a sucking bog," ventured carl. "yes, and i can see that mr. henderson is really worried about it. he is straining his ears all the while, and i think he must be listening in hope of hearing calls for help." "but none of us have heard anything like that!" said the other. "no, not a shout that i could mention," tom admitted. "there are those noisy crows keeping up a chatter in the tree-tops where they are holding a caucus, and some scolding bluejays over here, but nothing that sounds like a human cry." "it looks bad, and makes me feel shivery," continued carl. "oh! we mustn't let ourselves think that all of them could have been caught," the patrol leader hastened to say, meaning to cheer his chum up. "they may have been smarter than mr. henderson thinks, and managed to get through the bog without getting stuck." perhaps carl was comforted by these words on the part of his chum; but nevertheless the anxious look did not leave his face. they had by this time fully entered the bog. it was of a peculiar formation, and not at all of a nature to cause alarm in the beginning. indeed it seemed as though any person with common sense could go through on those crooked trails that ran this way and that. the old naturalist had taken the lead at this point, and they could see that he kept watching the trail in front of him. from time to time he would speak, and the one who came just behind passed the word along, so in turn every scout knew that positive marks betrayed the fact of tony's crowd having really come that way. by slow degrees the nature of the bog changed. one might not notice that his surroundings had become less promising, and that the surface of the ooze, green though it was, would prove a delusion and a snare if stepped on, allowing the foot to sink many inches in the sticky mass. in numerous places they could see where the boys ahead of them had missed the trail, though always managing to regain the more solid ground. "it's getting a whole lot spooky in here, let me tell you!" admitted felix, after they had been progressing for some time. "but it's entirely different from a real swamp, you see," remarked josh; "i've been in a big one and i know." "how about that, josh; wouldn't you call a bog a swamp, too?" asked george. "not much i wouldn't," was the reply. "a swamp is always where there are dense trees, hanging vines and water. it's a terribly gloomy place even in the middle of the day, and you're apt to run across snakes, and all sorts of things like that." "well, we haven't seen a single snake so far," admitted horace. "i'm glad, too, because i never did like the things. this isn't so very gloomy, when you come to look around you, but i'd call it just desolate, and let it go at that." "black mud everywhere, though it's nearly always covered with a deceptive green scum," remarked josh, "with here and there puddles of water where the frogs live and squawk the live-long day." "i wonder how deep that mud is anyhow?" speculated george. "suppose you get a pole and try while we're resting here," suggested josh, with a wink at the scout next to him. george thereupon looked around, and seeing a pole which mr. henderson may have placed there at some previous time he started to push it into the bog. "what d'ye think of that, fellows?" he exclaimed, in dismay when he had rammed the seven foot pole down until three fourths of its length had vanished in the unfathomable depths of soft muck. "why, seems as if there wasn't any bottom at all to the thing," said felix. "of course there is a bottom," remarked the naturalist, who had been watching the boys curiously; "but in some places i've been unable to reach it with the longest pole i could manage." "have we passed that dangerous place you were telling us about, sir?" asked mr. witherspoon. "no, it is still some little distance ahead," came the reply. "if it's much worse than right here i wouldn't give five cents for their chances," declared george. "hark!" exclaimed tom just then. "what did you hear?" cried carl. "it sounded like voices to me, though some distance off, and coming from further along the trail," the patrol leader asserted. "they may be stuck in the mire and trying every way they can to get out," observed the naturalist. "let us give them a shout, boys. now, all together!" as they all joined in, the volume of sound must have been heard a mile away. hardly had the echoes died out than from beyond came loud calls, and plainly they heard the words "help, help! oh! come quick, somebody! help!" chapter xxiv returning good for evil when that wailing cry reached their ears it thrilled the scouts through and through, for now they knew that the worst must have happened to the wretched tony pollock and his three cronies, adrift in the treacherous muck bog. "forward, but be very careful to keep in my tracks all the time!" called out the naturalist as he started off. they wound around this way and that. there were times when rob, who came directly on the heels of the pilot, could not see the slightest trace of a trail; but he realized that from long association and investigation mr. henderson knew exactly where to set his feet, and thus avoid unpleasant consequences. they now and then sent out reassuring calls, for those unseen parties ahead continued to make fervent appeals, as though a terrible fear assailed them that the rescuers might go astray and miss them. by degrees the shouts sounded closer, though becoming exceedingly hoarse. presently felix called out that he believed he had glimpsed the unfortunate boys. "oh! they're all in the mud, and up to their waists at that!" he cried. "no, you're wrong there, felix," said josh. "three of them seem to be stuck fast, but there's one up in that tree nearly over them. he must have managed to pull himself up there, somehow or other." "he's got a branch, and is trying to help one of his mates," asserted rob. "but he doesn't seem to be making much headway." "they're in a peck of trouble, believe me!" admitted george, for once neglecting to sneer at the prospect of a fatality. carl was trying to make out who the three in the bog were. "can you see if _he's_ in there, tom?" he asked, eagerly. "yes, it's wedge mcguffey up in the tree, and the others must be tony, asa and dock," the patrol leader assured him; nor did he blame poor carl for sighing as though in relief, for he could easily guess what it meant to him, this golden opportunity to be of help to the stubborn boy who could lift the load from his heart, if only he chose. when they came closer to the struggling captives in the lake of mud they heard them actually sobbing for joy. hope must have been almost gone when first they heard that chorus of cheering shouts. and when the scouts saw what a desperate condition the three prisoners were in they could not blame them for showing such emotion in the excess of their joy. soon the newcomers were as close as they could come to the three who were stuck there in the mire. never would they forget their deplorable appearance. they had evidently floundered about until they were fairly plastered over with the mud, and looked like imps. "can't you get us out of here, fellers?" called tony pollock, in a voice that seemed almost cracked, such was his excitement, and his fears that these scouts, whom he had done his best to injure, might think to pay him back in his own coin and abandon him to his fate. "yes, we'll manage it some way or other," said the hermit-naturalist. "keep as still as you can, because every movement only sends you down deeper." then he turned to tom, for he knew the patrol leader was the one to take charge of the rescue party. "here's the rope, tom," he told him. "pick out several of the stoutest of your comrades, and make use of the tree as a lever. it's all very simple, you can see, thought it may hurt them more or less when you pull." tom understood what was expected of him. "come along with me, carl, rob and josh," he said. "the rest of you stand by and be ready to pull if we need any more help. we'll pass the end of the rope back to you." "but how are we going to climb up in the tree?" asked rob; "without getting stuck in the mud ourselves?" "there's only one way," replied tom, as he seized hold of a branch that happened to be within reach, and commenced to climb it as though he were a sailor swarming up a rope. when he had effected a lodgment above they threw the rope to him, and after tom had made one end fast to the thick limb the other three had little difficulty in following him. then they clambered out to where wedge mcguffey was perched. his condition betrayed the fact that he too had been caught in the muck; but being closer to a friendly branch he must have made a tremendous effort and climbed into the tree. first of all tom made a running noose in the end of the rope. then he lowered this to tony who was almost below the limb of which they were astride. "listen, tony," said tom, clearly, "put the loop under your arms, with the knot at your chest. then grin and bear it, because we've got to drag hard to get you free from all that stuff you're in." "oh! never mind about me, tom; i'd stand anything if only i could get out of this terrible place. pull me in half if you have to; i'm game!" said the boy below. they found that it was really a little harder than they had bargained for, because of their insecure footing. accordingly, after several attempts that did not meet with much success, tom had the other end of the rope carried to the scouts who were on the ground. after that tony just had to come. he evidently suffered pain, but, as he had said, he was game, and in the end they hoisted him to the limb, where he clung watching the next rescue. it happened that asa was the second to be pulled out. meanwhile dock was in great distress of mind. all his nerve seemed to have gone, for he kept pleading with carl not to think of having revenge because of the way he had harmed him. "only get me out of this, carl," he kept saying, "and i've got something right here in my pocket i'm meaning to give back to you. i was getting shaky about it anyhow; but if you help me now you're a-goin' to have it, sure you are, carl!" it can easily be imagined that carl worked feverishly when it came time to get dock phillips out. he was deeper than either of the others had been, and it required some very rough usage before finally they loosened him from his miry bed. dock groaned terribly while the work was being carried on, but they did not stop for that, knowing it had to be. in the end he, too, was drawn up to the limb, a most sorry looking spectacle indeed, but his groans had now changed into exclamations of gratitude. it required much labor to get the four mud-daubed figures down to where the others were awaiting them. even tom and his helpers were pretty well plastered by that time, and their new uniforms looked anything but fine. josh grumbled a little, but as for tom and carl they felt that it was worth all it cost and a great deal more. carl would not wait any longer than he could help. perhaps he believed in "striking while the iron was hot." tom too was egging him on, for he felt that the sooner that precious paper was in the possession of his chum the better. "dock, i hope you mean to keep your word to me," carl said, as they took up the line of march over the ground that had been so lately covered. dock was seen to be fumbling as though reaching into an inner pocket; and while the suspense lasted of course carl held his very breath. then a hand reached back, and something in it was eagerly seized by the widow's son. one look told him that it was the paper his mother needed so much in order to balk the greedy designs of amasa culpepper. "how is everything now, carl?" asked a voice in his ear, and turning he found tom's smiling face close to his own. "oh! that terrible load seems to have fallen from my shoulders just as water does from the back of a duck!" carl exclaimed, joyously, and the patrol leader saw that he was very happy. "i'm so glad!" was all tom said, but the way he grasped his chum's hand counted for much more than mere words. when they finally reached the end of the treacherous great bog there was a halt called by the naturalist. "we must stop here and try to clean these boys off as best we can," he announced. this was no easy task, but by making use of slivers of wood from a fallen tree they finally managed to relieve tony and his crowd of most of the black mud, although they would be apt to carry patches of it on their garments for some time after it dried. "now," said the kindly old hermit-naturalist, "i'm going to invite all of you up to my cabin, and we'll have a feast to-night in celebration of this rescue from the great bog. you four lads have had a narrow escape, and i only hope you'll never forget what the scouts have done for you." even tony seemed affected, and certainly no one had ever before known him to show the first sign of contrition. he went straight up to tom and looked him in the eye. "we played your crowd a mighty low trick i want to say, tom chesney; and while we've et up most of the grub we took, here's something you might be glad to get back again," and with that he thrust into the hand of the patrol leader the little note-book which tom had mourned as lost to him forever. "i'm glad to have that again, tony," the other said, offering his hand to the contrite one; "because i mean to use my account of this hike later on in trying for a prize. it's lucky you didn't throw it away as you did the frying-pan and coffee-pot, which i see you failed to carry along with you." "we know where they're hid in the brush," tony hastened to declare; "and i c'n get 'em again inside of an hour. i'm a-goin' to do it too, 'cause i feel mean about that thing. i'm done with callin' the scouts names. fellers that'd reach out a helpin' hand to them that didn't deserve it must be the right sort. and laugh if you want to, tom chesney, but when we get back home i want ye to lend me a book that tells all a feller has to do when he thinks of gettin' up a scout troop!" tony was as good as his word. when he said a thing he stuck to it, which was his best quality. he tramped a long way back along the trail, and reappeared after sunset bearing the missing cooking utensils. "we're going to pay for the eatables we took later on, i promise ye, tom," he declared. they spent a great night and those four boys who had hated the scouts so long learned many wonderful things connected with the great movement as they sat by the fire, and listened to all that was said. in the morning they went their way, and appeared to be different youths from what they had been in the past. mr. witherspoon and the scouts spent another day and night with the hermit-naturalist. then on the next morning they started forth to complete their hike over big bear mountain. it chanced that no further adventures came their way, and one afternoon weary but well satisfied with the success of their trip, the troop re-entered lenox, with felix sounding his fish horn just as valiantly as though it were the most beautiful silver-plated bugle that money could buy. chapter xxv when carl came home--conclusion amasa culpepper had taken advantage of the absence of carl to drop around that afternoon to see the widow. he fully believed that by this time dock phillips had either destroyed or lost the paper he claimed to have found; or else amasa felt that he could secure possession of it at any time by paying the sum the boy demanded. when carl drew near his home he saw the well-known rig of the old lawyer and grocer at the gate. somehow, the sight gave carl an unpleasant feeling. then, as his hand unconsciously went up to the pocket where he had that precious paper, he felt a sensation of savage joy. they would get rid of this nuisance at last. mr. culpepper would have to produce the certificate for the oil shares that had become so valuable, now that the receipt he had given for it could be produced, and after that an era of prosperity would come to the oskamp's, with grim poverty banished forever. carl entered by the gate, and passed around the side of the house instead of using the front door as usual. the boy knew that the windows of the little sitting room must be open, and of course the afternoon caller would be in there. carl was anxious to hear what had caused the rich old man to don his best clothes and drop in to see his mother of an afternoon, though he strongly suspected the reason back of it. it did not strike the boy that he was playing the part of an eavesdropper, for in his mind just then the end justified the means. and he knew that amasa culpepper had to be fought with his own weapons. evidently he must have again asked mrs. oskamp to marry him, and as before met with a laughing refusal, for carl could hear him walking nervously up and down in the little sitting room. having exhausted his stock of arguments as to why she should think seriously of his proposal, mr. culpepper seemed to be getting angry. he had been courting the widow for a long time without making any impression on her heart. it was time to change his tactics. perhaps since entreaties had failed something in the way of half-veiled threats would become more successful. "you tell me that with the burning of the tenement building more than half of your little property has been lost," carl heard him saying as he crouched there under the open window. "yes, that is the sad truth, mr. culpepper," the widow admitted. "but with a family of children to bring up how are you going to live from now on, when before this happened you had barely enough? if you would seriously consider the proposition i make you, and become mrs. culpepper, your children would have a good home." "that is very generous of you, mr. culpepper," carl heard his mother say, while he fairly held his breath in suspense for fear she might agree to what the other asked; "but i cannot change my mind. i never expect to marry again." "but how can you get along, i want to know?" he demanded, angrily. "it takes money to live, and you will see the children you love suffer." "there is one resource still left," she told him, as though urged to put him to the test. "it lies in those shares of oil stock which you are holding for me. they have become very valuable, and when i dispose of them i hope to have enough and to spare for all future needs." there was a brief and awkward silence. "but what evidence is there," he finally asked icily, "that you ever placed any shares of stock in my hand, or even so, that they were not delivered to you again? of course you can show my name at the bottom of a receipt if that is the fact?" "is that absolutely necessary, mr. culpepper?" she asked, helplessly. "it is strictly business, madam," the visitor went on, in his cold, cutting tones that were like the rasping of a file. "i could not think of handing over anything of value that was in my possession without receiving in return a receipt." "but you would not be so cruel as to deprive my children of their bread simply because of a little technicality, sir? i will do anything the law demands to insure that you are not held liable whether the lost receipt is ever found again or not." "there is only one thing you can do," continued mr. culpepper, eagerly, "that will cause me to waive my rights, and you know what that is. those are my only terms of surrender." "that's just where you're a whole lot mistaken mr. culpepper!" cried carl, unable to hold in any longer, and thrusting his head and shoulders through the open window as he spoke. the widow gave a slight shriek, while mr. culpepper said something half under his breath that no doubt expressed his feelings. "what do you mean by saying that?" he asked, in a voice that was unsteady. "you made a statement that you'll have to take water on," carl told him with a broad smile on his face. "listen! my mother will be down at your office to-morrow morning with judge beatty and myself, and she'll demand that you deliver the paper that this receipt calls for!" with that he held up the precious little paper so that those in the sitting room could see it. mrs. oskamp gave a bubbling cry of joy, while amasa culpepper, seizing his hat and stick, hurried out of the door, entered his buggy and whipped his horse savagely, as though glad to vent his ill humor on some animate object. carl was not another moment in climbing through the open window and gathering his mother in his strong arms. the whole story was told that evening with the younger children gathered around. mrs. oskamp sat there and felt her mother heart glow with pride as she heard how carl had played his part in the exciting drama connected with the hike of the boy scouts. "it seems as though some power over which you had no control must have led you on to the glorious success that came in the end," she told the happy carl, after everything had been narrated. "with that paper in our hands we can have no further trouble in securing our property. but i shall feel that we owe something to dock phillips, and that it can only be repaid through kindness to his mother." on the following day they took judge beatty, who was an old friend of carl's father, into their confidence, and the certificate of stock was promptly though grudgingly delivered to them on demand. amasa culpepper knew that he had been fairly beaten in the game, and he annoyed mrs. oskamp no longer. the oil shares turned out to be worth a large sum of money, and it placed the oskamps beyond the reach of want. tom chesney wrote his account of their great trip over big bear mountain, and, sure enough it did take the prize when submitted in competition with numerous others to the magazine that had made the offer. tom remembered his promise and sent copies of the story to mr. clark, as well as to mr. henderson. the last heard from lenox the boy scouts were thriving famously. they expected to enjoy many an outing under the charge of the good-hearted scout master, mr. witherspoon, but some of the boys were of the opinion that there never could be just such a wonderful series of exciting adventures befall them as had accompanied the hike over big bear mountain. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) ruth fielding down east or the hermit of beach plum point by alice b. emerson author of "ruth fielding of the red mill," "ruth fielding at sunrise farm," "ruth fielding homeward bound," etc. illustrated [illustration: tom cast aside his sweater and plunged into the tide. _ruth fielding down east page _] new york cupples & leon company publishers books for girls by alice b. emerson ruth fielding series mo. cloth. illustrated. ruth fielding of the red mill ruth fielding at briarwood hall ruth fielding at snow camp ruth fielding at lighthouse point ruth fielding at silver ranch ruth fielding on cliff island ruth fielding at sunrise farm ruth fielding and the gypsies ruth fielding in moving pictures ruth fielding down in dixie ruth fielding at college ruth fielding in the saddle ruth fielding in the red cross ruth fielding at the war front ruth fielding homeward bound ruth fielding down east cupples & leon co., publishers, new york. copyright, , by cupples & leon company ruth fielding down east printed in u. s. a. contents chapter page i. the wind storm ii. the mystery of it iii. the derelict iv. the crying need v. off at last vi. "the nevergetovers" vii. movie stunts viii. the auction block ix. a dismaying discovery x. a wild afternoon xi. mr. peterby paul--and "whosis" xii. alongshore xiii. the hermit xiv. a quotation xv. an amazing situation xvi. ruth solves one problem xvii. john, the hermit's, contribution xviii. uncertainties xix. counterclaims xx. the grill xxi. a hermit for revenue only xxii. an arrival xxiii. trouble--plenty xxiv. about "plain mary" xxv. lifting the curtain ruth fielding down east chapter i the wind storm across the now placidly flowing lumano where it widened into almost the proportions of a lake just below the picturesque red mill, a bank of tempestuous clouds was shouldering into view above the sky line of the rugged and wooded hills. these slate-colored clouds, edged with pallid light, foredoomed the continuance of the peaceful summer afternoon. not a breath of air stirred on the near side of the river. the huge old elms shading the red mill and the farmhouse connected with it belonging to mr. jabez potter, the miller, were like painted trees, so still were they. the brooding heat of midday, however, had presaged the coming storm, and it had been prepared for at mill and farmhouse. the tempest was due soon. the backyard of the farmhouse--a beautiful lawn of short grass--sloped down to the river. on the bank and over the stream itself was set a summer-house of fair proportions, covered with vines--a cool and shady retreat on the very hottest day of midsummer. a big robin redbreast had been calling his raucous weather warning from the top of one of the trees near the house; but, with her back to the river and the coming storm, the girl in the pavilion gave little heed to this good-intentioned weather prophet. she did raise her eyes, however, at the querulous whistle of a striped creeper that was wriggling through the intertwined branches of the trumpet-vine in search of insects. ruth fielding was always interested in those busy, helpful little songsters. "you cute little thing!" she murmured, at last catching sight of the flashing bird between the stems of the old vine. "i wish i could put _you_ into my scenario." on the table at which she was sitting was a packet of typewritten sheets which she had been annotating, and two fat note books. she laid down her gold-mounted fountain pen as she uttered these words, and then sighed and pushed her chair back from the table. then she stood up suddenly. a sound had startled her. she looked all about the summer-house--a sharp, suspicious glance. then she tiptoed to the door and peered out. the creeper fluttered away. the robin continued to shout his warning. had it really been a rustling in the vines she had heard? was there somebody lurking about the summer-house? she stepped out and looked on both sides. it was then she saw how threatening the aspect of the clouds on the other side of the river were. the sight drove from her thoughts for the moment the strange sound she had heard. she did not take pains to look beneath the summer-house on the water side. instead, another sound assailed her ears. this time one that she could not mistake for anything but just what it was--the musical horn of tom cameron's automobile. ruth turned swiftly to look up the road. a dark maroon car, long and low-hung like a racer, was coming along the road, leaving a funnel of dust behind it. there were two people in the car. the girl beside the driver--black-haired and petite--fluttered her handkerchief in greeting when she saw ruth standing by the summer-house. at once the latter ran across the yard, over the gentle rise, and down to the front gate of the potter farmhouse. she ran splendidly with a free stride of untrammeled limbs, but she held one shoulder rather stiffly. "oh, ruth!" "oh, helen!" the car was at the gate, and tom brought it to a prompt stop. helen, his twin sister, was out of it instantly and almost leaped into the bigger girl's arms. "oh! oh! oh!" sobbed helen. "you _are_ alive after all that horrible experience coming home from europe." "and you are alive and safe, dear helen," responded ruth fielding, quite as deeply moved. it was the first time they had met since separating in paris a month before. and in these times of war, with peace still an uncertainty, there were many perils to fear between the port of brest and that of new york. tom, in uniform and with a ribbon and medal on his breast, grinned teasingly at the two girls. "come, come! break away! only twenty seconds allowed in a clinch. don't helen look fine, ruth? how's the shoulder?" "just a bit stiff yet," replied the girl of the red mill, kissing her chum again. at this moment the first sudden swoop of the tempest arrived. the tall elms writhed as though taken with st. vitus's dance. the hens began to screech and run to cover. thunder muttered in the distance. "oh, dear me!" gasped ruth, paling unwontedly, for she was not by nature a nervous girl. "come right into the house, helen. you could not get to cheslow or back home before this storm breaks. put your car under the shed, tom." she dragged her friend into the yard and up the warped flag stones to the side door of the cottage. a little old woman who had been sitting on the porch in a low rocking chair arose with difficulty, leaning on a cane. "oh, my back, and oh, my bones!" murmured aunt alvirah boggs, who was not long out of a sick bed herself and would never again be as "spry" as she once had been. "do come in, dearies. it is a wind storm." ruth stopped to help the little old woman. she continued pale, but her thought for aunt alvirah's comfort caused her to put aside her own fear. the trio entered the house and closed the door. in a moment there was a sharp patter against the house. the rain had begun in big drops. the rear door was opened, and tom, laughing and shaking the water from his cap, dashed into the living room. he wore the insignia of a captain under his dust-coat and the distinguishing marks of a very famous division of the a. e. f. "it's a buster!" he declared. "there's a paper sailing like a kite over the roof of the old mill----" ruth sprang up with a shriek. she ran to the back door by which tom had just entered and tore it open. "oh, do shut the door, deary!" begged aunt alvirah. "that wind is 'nough to lift the roof." "what _is_ the matter, ruth?" demanded helen. but tom ran out after her. he saw the girl leap from the porch and run madly down the path toward the summer-house. back on the wind came a broken word or two of explanation: "my papers! my scenario! the best thing i ever did, tom!" he had almost caught up to her when she reached the little pavilion. the wind from across the river was tearing through the summer-house at a sixty-mile-an-hour speed. "oh! it's gone!" ruth cried, and had tom not caught her she would have dropped to the ground. there was not a scrap of paper left upon the table, nor anywhere in the place. even the two fat notebooks had disappeared, and, too, the gold-mounted pen the girl of the red mill had been using. all, all seemed to have been swept out of the summer-house. chapter ii the mystery of it for half a minute tom cameron did not know just what to do for ruth. then the water spilled out of the angry clouds overhead and bade fair to drench them. he half carried ruth into the summer-house and let her rest upon a bench, sitting beside her with his arm tenderly supporting her shoulders. ruth had begun to sob tempestuously. ruth fielding weeping! she might have cried many times in the past, but almost always in secret. tom, who knew her so well, had seen her in dangerous and fear-compelling situations, and she had not wept. "what is it?" he demanded. "what have you lost?" "my scenario! all my work gone!" "the new story? my goodness, ruth, it couldn't have blown away!" "but it has!" she wailed. "not a scrap of it left. my notebooks--my pen! why!" and she suddenly controlled her sobs, for she was, after all, an eminently practical girl. "could that fountain pen have been carried away by the windstorm, too?" "there goes a barrel through the air," shouted tom. "that's heavier than a fountain pen. say, this is some wind!" the sound of the dashing rain now almost drowned their voices. it sprayed them through the porous shelter of the vines and latticework so that they could not sit on the bench. ruth huddled upon the table with tom cameron standing between her and the drifting mist of the storm. she looked across the rain-drenched yard to the low-roofed house. she had first seen it with a home-hungry heart when a little girl and an orphan. how many, many strange experiences she had had since that time, which seemed so long ago! nor had she then dreamed, as "ruth fielding of the red mill," as the first volume of this series is called, that she would lead the eventful life she had since that hour. under the niggard care of miserly old jabez potter, the miller, her great uncle, tempered by the loving kindness of aunt alvirah boggs, the miller's housekeeper, ruth's prospects had been poor indeed. but providence moves in mysterious ways. seemingly unexpected chances had broadened ruth's outlook on life and given her advantages that few girls in her sphere secure. first she was enabled to go to a famous boarding school, briarwood hall, with her dearest chum, helen cameron. there she began to make friends and widen her experience by travel. with helen, tom, and other young friends, ruth had adventures, as the titles of the series of books run, at snow camp, at lighthouse point, at silver ranch, on cliff island, at sunrise farm, with the gypsies, in moving pictures, and down in dixie. with the eleventh volume of the series ruth and her chums, helen cameron and jennie stone, begin their life at ardmore college. as freshmen their experiences are related in "ruth fielding at college; or, the missing examination papers." this volume is followed by "ruth fielding in the saddle; or, college girls in the land of gold," wherein ruth's first big scenario is produced by the alectrion film corporation. as was the fact with so many of our college boys and girls, the world war interfered most abruptly and terribly with ruth's peaceful current of life. america went into the war and ruth into red cross work almost simultaneously. in "ruth fielding in the red cross; or, doing her bit for uncle sam," the girl of the red mill gained a very practical experience in the work of the great peace organization which does so much to smooth the ravages of war. then, in "ruth fielding at the war front; or, the hunt for the lost soldier," the red cross worker was thrown into the very heart of the tremendous struggle, and in northern france achieved a name for courage that her college mates greatly envied. wounded and nerve-racked because of her experiences, ruth was sent home, only to meet, as related in the fifteenth volume of the series, "ruth fielding homeward bound; or, a red cross worker's ocean perils," an experience which seemed at first to be disastrous. in the end, however, the girl reached the red mill in a physical and mental state which made any undue excitement almost a tragedy for her. the mysterious disappearance of the moving picture scenario, which had been on her heart and mind for months and which she had finally brought, she believed, to a successful termination, actually shocked ruth fielding. she could not control herself for the moment. against tom cameron's uniformed shoulder she sobbed frankly. his arm stole around her. "don't take on so, ruthie," he urged. "of course we'll find it all. wait till this rain stops----" "it never blew away, tom," she said. "why, of course it did!" "no. the sheets of typewritten manuscript were fastened together with a big brass clip. had they been lose and the wind taken them, we should have seen at least some of them flying about. and the notebooks!" "and the pen?" murmured tom, seeing the catastrophe now as she did. "why, ruthie! could somebody have taken them all?" "somebody must!" "but who?" demanded the young fellow. "you have no enemies." "not here, i hope," she sighed. "i left them all behind." he chuckled, although he was by no means unappreciative of the seriousness of her loss. "surely that german aviator who dropped the bomb on you hasn't followed you here." "don't talk foolishly, tom!" exclaimed the girl, getting back some of her usual good sense. "of course, i have no enemy. but a thief is every honest person's enemy." "granted. but where is the thief around the red mill?" "i do not know." "can it be possible that your uncle or ben saw the things here and rescued them just before the storm burst?" "we will ask," she said, with a sigh. "but i can imagine no reason for either uncle jabez or ben to come down here to the shore of the river. oh, tom! it is letting up." "good! i'll look around first of all. if there has been a skulker near----" "now, don't be rash," she cried. "we're not behind the german lines now, fraulein mina von brenner," and he laughed as he went out of the summer-house. he did not smile when he was searching under the house and beating the brush clumps near by. he realized that this loss was a very serious matter for ruth. she was now independent of uncle jabez, but her income was partly derived from her moving picture royalties. during her war activities she had been unable to do much work, and tom knew that ruth had spent of her own means a great deal in the red cross work. ruth had refused to tell her friends the first thing about this new story for the screen. she believed it to be the very best thing she had ever originated, and she said she wished to surprise them all. he even knew that all her notes and "before-the-finish" writing was in the notebooks that had now gone with the completed manuscript. it looked more than mysterious. it was suspicious. tom looked all around the summer-house. of course, after this hard downpour it was impossible to mark any footsteps. nor, indeed, did the raider need to leave such a trail in getting to and departing from the little vine-covered pavilion. the sward was heavy all about it save on the river side. the young man found not a trace. nor did he see a piece of paper anywhere. he was confident that ruth's papers and notebooks and pen had been removed by some human agency. and it could not have been a friend who had done this thing. chapter iii the derelict "didn't you find anything, tom?" ruth fielding asked, as helen's twin re-entered the summer-house. his long automobile coat glistened with wet and his face was wind-blown. tom cameron's face, too, looked much older than it had--well, say a year before. he, like ruth herself, had been through much in the war zone calculated to make him more sedate and serious than a college undergraduate is supposed to be. "i did not see even a piece of paper blowing about," he told her. "but before we came down from the house you said you saw a paper blow over the roof like a kite." "that was an outspread newspaper. it was not a sheet of your manuscript." "then it all must have been stolen!" she cried. "at least, human agency must have removed the things you left on this table," he said. "oh, tom!" "now, now, ruth! it's tough, i know----" but she recovered a measure of her composure almost immediately. unnerved as she had first been by the disaster, she realized that to give way to her trouble would not do the least bit of good. "an ordinary thief," tom suggested after a moment, "would not consider your notes and the play of much value." "i suppose not," she replied. "if they are stolen it must be by somebody who understands--or thinks he does--the value of the work. somebody who thinks he can sell a moving picture scenario." "oh, tom!" "a gold mounted fountain pen would attract any petty thief," he went on to say. "but surely the itching fingers of such a person would not be tempted by that scenario." "then, which breed of thief stole my scenario, tom?" she demanded. "you are no detective. your deductions suggest two thieves." "humph! so they do. maybe they run in pairs. but i can't really imagine two light-fingered people around the red mill at once. seen any tramps lately?" "we seldom see the usual tramp around here," said ruth, shaking her head. "we are too far off the railroad line. and the cheslow constables keep them moving if they land _there_." "could anybody have done it for a joke?" asked tom suddenly. "if they have," ruth said, wiping her eyes, "it is the least like a joke of anything that ever happened to me. why, tom! i couldn't lay out that scenario again, and think of all the details, and get it just so, in a year!" "oh, ruth!" "i mean it! and even my notes are gone. oh, dear! i'd never have the heart to write that scenario again. i don't know that i shall ever write another, anyway. i'm discouraged," sobbed the girl suddenly. "oh, ruth! don't give way like this," he urged, with rather a boyish fear of a girl's tears. "i've given way already," she choked. "i just feel that i'll never be able to put that scenario into shape again. and i'd written mr. hammond so enthusiastically about it." "oh! then he knows all about it!" said tom. "that is more than any of us do. you wouldn't tell us a thing." "and i didn't tell him. he doesn't know the subject, or the title, or anything about it. i tell you, tom, i had _such_ a good idea----" "and you've got the idea yet, haven't you? cheer up! of course you can do it over." "suppose," demanded ruth quickly, "this thief that has got my manuscript should offer it to some producer? why! if i tried to rewrite it and bring it out, i might be accused of plagiarizing my own work." "jimminy!" "i wouldn't dare," said ruth, shaking her head. "as long as i do not know what has become of the scenario and my notes, i will not dare use the idea at all. it is dreadful!" the rain was now falling less torrentially. the tempest was passing. soon there was even a rift in the clouds in the northwest where a patch of blue sky shone through "big enough to make a scotchman a pair of breeches," as aunt alvirah would say. "we'd better go up to the house," sighed ruth. "i'll go right around to the neighbors and see if anybody has noticed a stranger in the vicinity," tom suggested. "there's ben! do you suppose he has seen anybody?" a lanky young man, his clothing gray with flour dust, came from the back door of the mill and hastened under the dripping trees to reach the porch of the farmhouse. he stood there, smiling broadly at them, as ruth and tom hurriedly crossed the yard. "good day, mr. tom," said ben, the miller's helper. then he saw ruth's troubled countenance. "wha--what's the matter, ruthie?" "ben, i've lost something." "bless us an' save us, no!" "yes, i have. something very valuable. it's been stolen." "you don't mean it!" "but i do! some manuscript out of the summer-house yonder." "and her gold-mounted fountain pen," added tom. "that would tempt somebody." "my goodness!" ben could express his simple wonderment in a variety of phrases. but he seemed unable to go beyond these explosive expressions. "ben, wake up!" exclaimed ruth. "have you any idea who would have taken it?" "that gold pen, ruthie? why--why---- a thief!" "old man," said tom with suppressed disgust, "you're a wonder. how did you guess it?" "hush, tom," ruth said. then: "now, ben, just think. who has been around here to-day? any stranger, i mean." "why--i dunno," said the mill hand, puckering his brows. "think!" she commanded again. "why--why----old jep parloe drove up for a grinding." "he's not a stranger." "oh, yes he is, ruthie. me nor mr. potter ain't seen him before for nigh three months. your uncle up and said to him, 'why, you're a stranger, mr. parloe.'" "i mean," said ruth, with patience, "anybody whom you have never seen before--or anybody whom you might suspect would steal." "well," drawled ben stubbornly, "your uncle, ruthie, says old jep ain't any too honest." "i know all about that," ruth said. "but parloe did not leave his team and go down to the summer-house, did he?" "oh, no!" "did you see anybody go down that way?" "don't believe i did--savin' you yourself, ruthie." "i left a manuscript and my pen on the table there. i ran out to meet tom and helen when they came." "i seen you," said ben. "then it was just about that time that somebody sneaked into that summer-house and stole those things." "i didn't see anybody snuck in there," declared ben, with more confidence than good english. "say!" ejaculated tom, impatiently, "haven't you seen any tramp, or straggler, or gypsy--or anybody like that?" "hi gorry!" suddenly said ben, "i do remember. there was a man along here this morning--a preacher, or something like that. had a black frock coat on and wore his hair long and sort o' wavy. he was shabby enough to be a tramp, that's a fact. but he was a real knowledgeable feller--he was that. stood at the mill door and recited po'try for us." "poetry!" exclaimed tom. "to you and uncle jabez?" asked ruth. "uh-huh. all about 'to be or not to be a bean--that is the question.' and something about his having suffered from the slung shots and bow arrers of outrageous fortune--whatever that might be. i guess he got it all out of the scriptures. your uncle said he was bugs; but i reckoned he was a preacher." "jimminy!" muttered tom. "a derelict actor, i bet. sounds like a shakespearean ham." "goodness!" said ruth. "between the two of you boys i get a very strange idea of this person." "where did he go, ben?" tom asked. "i didn't watch him. he only hung around a little while. i think he axed your uncle for some money, or mebbe something to eat. you see, he didn't know mr. potter." "not if he struck him for a hand-out," muttered the slangy tom. "oh, ben! don't you know whether he went toward cheslow--or where?" cried ruth. "does it look probable to you," tom asked, "that a derelict actor---- oh, jimminy! of course! _he_ would be just the person to see the value of that play script at a glance!" "oh, tom!" "have you no idea where he went, ben?" tom again demanded of the puzzled mill hand. "no, mister tom. i didn't watch him." "i'll get out the car at once and hunt all about for him," tom said quickly. "you go in to helen and aunt alvirah, ruth. you'll be sick if you let this get the best of you. i'll find that miserable thief of a ham actor--if he's to be found." he added this last under his breath as he ran for the shed where he had sheltered his automobile. chapter iv the crying need tom cameron chased about the neighborhood for more than two hours in his fast car hunting the trail of the man who he had decided must be a wandering theatrical performer. of course, this was a "long shot," tom said; but the trampish individual of whom ben had told was much more likely to be an actor than a preacher. tom, however, was able to find no trace of the fellow until he got to the outskirts of cheslow, the nearest town. here he found a man who had seen a long-haired fellow in a shabby frock coat and black hat riding toward the railroad station beside one of the farmers who lived beyond the red mill. this was following the tempest which had burst over the neighborhood at mid-afternoon. trailing this information farther, tom learned that the shabby man had been seen about the railroad yards. mr. curtis, the railroad station master, had observed him. but suddenly the tramp had disappeared. whether he had hopped number , bound north, or number , bound south, both of which trains had pulled out of cheslow within the hour, nobody could be sure. tom returned to the red mill at dusk, forced to report utter failure. "if that bum actor stole your play, ruth, he's got clear way with it," tom said bluntly. "i'm awfully sorry----" "does that help?" demanded his sister snappishly, as though it were somewhat tom's fault. "you go home, tom. i'm going to stay with ruthie to-night," and she followed her chum into the bedroom to which she had fled at tom's announcement of failure. "jimminy!" murmured tom to the old miller who was still at the supper table. "and we aren't even sure that that fellow did steal the scenario." "humph!" rejoined uncle jabez. "you'll find, if you live to be old enough, young feller, that women folks is kittle cattle. no knowing how they'll take anything. that pen cost five dollars, i allow; but them papers only had writing on 'em, and it does seem to me that what you have writ once you ought to be able to write again. that's the woman of it. she don't say a thing about that pen, ruthie don't." however, tom cameron saw farther into the mystery than uncle jabez appeared to. and after a day or two, with ruth still "moping about like a moulting hen," as the miller expressed it, the young officer felt that he must do something to change the atmosphere of the red mill farmhouse. "our morale has gone stale, girls," he declared to his sister and ruth. "worrying never did any good yet." "that's a true word, sonny," said aunt alvirah, from her chair. "'care killed the cat.' my old mother always said, and she had ten children to bring up and a drunken husband who was a trial. he warn't my father. he was her second, an' she took him, i guess, 'cause he was ornamental. he was a sign painter when he worked. but he mostly advertised king alcohol by painting his nose red. "we children sartain sure despised that man. but mother was faithful to her vows, and she made quite a decent member of the community of that man before she left off. and, le's see! we was talkin' about cats, warn't we?" "you were, aunty dear," said ruth, laughing for the first time in several days. "hurrah!" said tom, plunging head-first into his idea. "that's just what i wanted to hear." "what?" demanded helen. "i have wanted to hear ruth laugh. and we all need to laugh. why, we are becoming a trio of old fogies!" "speak for yourself, master tom," pouted his sister. "i do. and for you. and certainly ruth is about as cheerful as a funeral mute. what we all need is some fun." "oh, tom, i don't feel at all like 'funning,'" sighed ruth. "you be right, sonny," interjected aunt alvirah, who sometimes forgot that tom, as well as the girls, was grown up. she rose from her chair with her usual, "oh, my back! and oh, my bones! you young folks should be dancing and frolicking----" "but the war, auntie!" murmured ruth. "you'll neither make peace nor mar it by worriting. no, no, my pretty! and 'tis a bad thing when young folks grow old before their time." "you're always saying that, aunt alvirah," ruth complained. "but how can one be jolly if one does not feel jolly?" "my goodness!" cried tom, "you were notoriously the jolliest girl in that french hospital. didn't the _poilus_ call you the jolly american? and listen to grandmother grunt now!" "i suppose it is so," sighed ruth. "but i must have used up all my fund of cheerfulness for those poor _blessés_. it does seem as though the font of my jollity had quite dried up." "i wish heavy stone were here," said helen suddenly. "_she'd_ make us laugh." "she and her french colonel are spooning down there at lighthouse point," scoffed ruth--and not at all as ruth fielding was wont to speak. "say!" tom interjected, "i bet heavy is funny even when she is in love." "_that's_ a reputation!" murmured ruth. "they are not at lighthouse point. the stones did not go there this summer, i understand," helen observed. "i am sorry for jennie and colonel marchand if they are at the stones' city house at this time of the year," the girl of the red mill said. "bully!" cried tom, with sudden animation. "that's just what we will do!" "what will we do, crazy?" demanded his twin. "we'll get jennie stone and henri marchand--he's a good sport, too, as i very well know--and we'll all go for a motor trip. jimminy christmas! that will be just the thing, sis. we'll go all over new england, if you like. we'll go down east and introduce colonel marchand to some of our hard-headed and tight-fisted yankees that have done their share towards injecting america into the war. we will----" "oh!" cried ruth, breaking in with some small enthusiasm, "let's go to beach plum point." "where is that?" asked helen. "it is down in maine. beyond portland. and mr. hammond and his company are there making my 'seaside idyl.'" "oh, bully!" cried helen, repeating one of her brother's favorite phrases, and now quite as excited over the idea as he. "i do so love to act in movies. is there a part in that 'idyl' story for me?" "i cannot promise that," ruth said. "it would be up to the director. i wasn't taking much interest in this particular picture. i wrote the scenario, you know, before i went to france. i have been giving all my thought to---- "oh, dear! if we could only find my lost story!" "come on!" interrupted tom. "let's not talk about that. will you write to jennie stone?" "i will. at once," his sister declared. "do. i'll take it to the post office and send it special delivery. tell her to wire her answer, and let it be 'yes.' we'll take both cars. father won't mind." "oh, _but_!" cried helen. "how about a chaperon?" "oh, shucks! i wish you'd marry some nice fellow, sis, so that we'd always have a chaperon on tap and handy." she made a little face at him. "i am going to be old-maid aunt to your many children, tommy-boy. i am sure you will have a full quiver. we will have to look for a chaperon." "aunt kate!" exclaimed ruth. "heavy's aunt kate. she is just what helen declares she wants to be--an old-maid aunt." "and a lovely lady," cried helen. "sure. ask her. beg her," agreed tom. "tell her it is the crying need. we have positively got to have some fun." "well, i suppose we may as well," ruth sighed, in agreement. "yes. we have always pampered the boy," declared helen, her eyes twinkling. "i know just what i'll wear, ruthie." "oh, we've clothes enough," admitted the girl of the red mill rather listlessly. "shucks!" said tom again. "never mind the fashions. get that letter written, sis." so it was agreed. helen wrote, the letter was sent. with jennie stone's usual impulsiveness she accepted for herself and "_mon henri_" and aunt kate, promising to be at cheslow within three days, and all within the limits of a ten-word telegram! chapter v off at last "the ancients," stated jennie stone solemnly, "burned incense upon any and all occasions--red letter days, labor days, celebrating columbus day and the morning after, i presume. but we moderns burn gasoline. and, phew! i believe i should prefer the stale smoke of incense in the unventilated pyramids of egypt to this odor of gas. o-o-o-o, tommy, do let us get started!" "you've started already--in your usual way," he laughed. this was at cheslow station on the arrival of the afternoon up train that had brought miss stone, her aunt kate, and the smiling colonel henri marchand to join the automobile touring party which jennie soon dubbed "the later pilgrims." "and that big machine looks much as the _mayflower_ must have looked steering across cape cod bay on that special occasion we read of in sacred and profane history, hung about with four-poster beds and whatnots. in our neighborhood," the plump girl added, "there is enough decrepit furniture declared to have been brought over on the _mayflower_ to have made a cargo for the _leviathan_." "oh, _ma chere_! you do but stretch the point, eh?" demanded the handsome henri marchand, amazed. "i assure you----" "don't, heavy," advised helen. "you will only go farther and do worse. in my mind there has always been a suspicion that the _mayflower_ was sent over here by some shipped knocked-down furniture factory. miles standish and priscilla mullins and john alden must have hung on by their eyebrows." "their eyebrows--_ma foi_!" gasped marchand. "say, old man," said tom, laughing, "if you listen to these crazy college girls you will have a fine idea of our historical monuments, and so forth. take everything with a grain of salt--do." "_oui, monsieur!_ but i must have a little pepper, too. i am 'strong,' as you americans say, for plentiful seasoning." "isn't he cute?" demanded jenny stone. "he takes to american slang like a bird to the air." "poetry barred!" declared helen. "say," tom remarked aside to the colonel, "you've got all the pep necessary, sure enough, in jennie." "she is one dear!" sighed the frenchman. "and she just said you were a bird. you'll have a regular zoo about you yet. come on. let's see if we can get this baggage aboard the good ship. it does look a good deal of an ark, doesn't it?" although ruth and aunt kate had not joined in this repartee, the girl of the red mill, as well as their lovely chaperon, enjoyed the fun immensely. ruth had revived in spirits on meeting her friends. jennie had flown to her arms at the first greeting, and hugged the girl of the red mill with due regard to the mending shoulder. "my dear! my dear!" she had cried. "i _dream_ of you lying all so pale and bloody under that window-sill stone. and what i hear of your and tom's experiences coming over----" "but worse has happened to me since i arrived home," ruth said woefully. "no? impossible!" "yes. i have had an irreparable loss," sighed ruth. "i'll tell you about it later." but for the most part the greetings of the two parties was made up as tom said of "ohs and ahs." "take it from me," the naughty tom declared to marchand, "two girls separated for over-night can find more to tell each other about the next morning than we could think of if we should meet at the resurrection!" the two cameron cars stood in the station yard, and as the other waiting cars, taxicabs and "flivvers" departed, "the sacred odor of gasoline," which jennie had remarked upon, was soon dissipated. the big touring car was expertly packed with baggage, and had a big hamper on either running-board as well. there was room remaining, however, for the ladies if they would sit there. but as tom was to drive the big car he insisted that ruth sit with him in the front seat for company. as for his racing car, he had turned that over to marchand. it, too, was well laden; but at the start jennie squeezed in beside her colonel, and the maroon speeder was at once whisperingly dubbed by the others "the honeymoon car." "poor children!" said aunt kate in private to the two other girls. "they cannot marry until the war is over. _that_ my brother is firm upon, although he thinks well of colonel henri. and who could help liking him? he is a most lovable boy." "'boy!'" repeated ruth. "and he is one of the most famous spies france has produced in this war! and a great actor!" "but we believe he is not acting when he tells us he loves jennie," aunt kate said. "surely not!" cried helen. "he is the soul of honor," ruth declared. "i trust him as i do--well, tom. i never had a brother." "i've always shared tom with you," pouted helen. "so you have, dear," admitted ruth. "but a girl who has had no really-truly brother really has missed something. perhaps good, perhaps bad. but, at least, if you have brothers you understand men better." "listen to the wisdom of the owl!" scoffed helen. "why, tommy is only a girl turned inside out. a girl keeps all her best and softest attributes to the fore, while a boy thinks it is more manly to show a prickly surface--like the burr of a chestnut." "listen to them!" exclaimed aunt kate, with laughter. "all the wise sayings of the ancient world must be crammed under those pretty caps you wear, along with your hair." "that is what we get at college," said helen seriously. "dear old ardmore! ruth! won't you be glad to get back to the grind again?" "i--don't--know," said her chum slowly. "we have seen so much greater things than college. it's going to be rather tame, isn't it?" but this conversation was all before they were distributed into their seats and had started. colonel marchand was an excellent driver, and he soon understood clearly the mechanism of the smaller car. tom gave him the directions for the first few miles and they pulled out of the yard with mr. curtis, the station master, and his lame daughter, who now acted as telegraph operator, waving the party good-bye. they would not go by the way of the red mill, for that would take them out of the way they had chosen. the inn they had in mind to stop at on this first night was a long four hours' ride. "eastward, ho!" shouted tom. "this is to be a voyage of discovery, but don't discover any punctures or blow-outs this evening." then he glanced at ruth's rather serious face beside him and muttered to himself: "and we want to discover principally the smile that ruth fielding seems to have permanently lost!" chapter vi "the nevergetovers" after crossing the cheslow hills and the lumano by the long bridge about twenty miles below the red mill, the touring party debouched upon one of the very best state roads. they left much of the dust from which they had first suffered behind them, and tom could now lead the way with the big car without smothering the occupants of the honeymoon car in the rear. the highway wound along a pretty ridge for some miles, with farms dotting the landscape and lush meadows or fruit-growing farms dipping to the edge of the distant river. "ah," sighed henri marchand. "like _la belle_ france before the war. such peace and quietude we knew, too. fortunate you are, my friends, that _le boche_ has not trampled these fields into bloody mire." this comment he made when they halted the cars at a certain overlook to view the landscape. but they could not stop often. their first objective inn was still a long way ahead. they did not, however, reach the inn, which was a resort well known to motorists. five miles away tom noticed that the car was acting strangely. "what is it, tom?" demanded ruth quickly. "steering gear, i am afraid. something is loose." it did not take him long to make an examination, and in the meantime the second car came alongside. "it might hold out until we get to the hotel ahead; but i think we had better stop before that time if we can," was tom's comment. "i do not want the thing to break and send us flying over a stone wall or up a tree." "but you can fix it, tom?" questioned ruth. "sure! but it will take half an hour or more." after that they ran along slowly and presently came in sight of a place called the drovers' tavern. "not a very inviting place, but i guess it will do," was ruth's announcement after they had looked the inn over. the girls and aunt kate alighted at the steps while the young men wheeled the cars around to the sheds. the housekeeper, who immediately announced herself as susan timmins, was fussily determined to see that all was as it should be in the ladies' chambers. "i can't trust this gal i got to do the upstairs work," she declared, saying it through her nose and with emphasis. "just as sure as kin be, if ye go for to help a poor relation you air always sorry for it." she led the way up the main flight of stairs as she talked. "this here gal will give me the nevergitovers, i know! she's my own sister's child that married a good-for-nothing and is jest like her father." "bella! you bella! turn on the light in these rooms. is the pitchers filled? and the beds turned down? if i find a speck of dust on this furniture i'll nigh 'bout have the nevergitovers! that gal will drive me to my grave, she will. bella!" bella appeared--a rather good looking child of fourteen or so, slim as a lath and with hungry eyes. she was dark--almost gypsy-like. she stared at ruth, helen and jennie with all the amazement of the usual yokel. but it was their dress, not themselves, ruth saw, engaged bella's interest. "when you ladies want any help, you call for bella," announced miss susan timmins. "and if she don't come running, you let me know, and i'll give her her nevergitovers, now i tell ye!" "no wonder this hotel is called 'drovers' tavern,'" said jennie stone. "that woman certainly is a driver--a slave driver." ruth, meanwhile, was trying to make a friend of bella. "what is your name, my dear?" she asked the lathlike girl. "you heard it," was the ungracious reply. "oh! yes. 'bella.' but your other name?" "arabella montague fitzmaurice pike. my father is montague fitzmaurice." she said it proudly, with a lift of her tousled head and a straightening of her thin shoulders. "oh!" fairly gasped ruth fielding. "it--it sounds quite impressive, i must say. i guess you think a good deal of your father?" "aunt suse don't," said the girl ungraciously. "my mother's dead. and pa is resting this season. so i hafter stay here with aunt suse. i hate it!" "your father is--er--what is his business?" ruth asked. "he's one of the profession." "a doctor?" "lands, no! he's a heavy." "a _what_?" "a heavy lead--and a good one. but these moving pictures knock out all the really good people. there are no chances now for him to play shakespearean roles----" "your father is an actor!" cried ruth. "of course. montague fitzmaurice. surely you have heard the name?" said the lathlike girl, tossing her head. "why--why----of course!" declared ruth warmly. it was true. she had heard the name. bella had just pronounced it! "then you know what kind of an actor my pa is," said the proud child. "he did not have a very good season last winter. he rehearsed with four companies and was only out three weeks altogether. and one of the managers did not pay at all." "that is too bad." "yes. it's tough," admitted bella. "but i liked it." "you liked it when he was so unsuccessful?" repeated ruth. "pa wasn't unsuccessful. he never is. he can play any part," declared the girl proudly. "but the plays were punk. he says there are no good plays written nowadays. that is why so many companies fail." "but you said you liked it?" "in new york," explained bella. "while he was rehearsing pa could get credit at mother grubson's boarding house on west forty-fourth street. i helped her around the house. she said i was worth my keep. but aunt suse says i don't earn my salt here." "i am sure you do your best, bella," ruth observed. "no, i don't. nor you wouldn't if you worked for aunt suse. she says i'll give her her nevergitovers--an' i hope i do!" with which final observation she ran to unlace aunt kate's shoes. "poor little thing," said ruth to helen. "she is worse off than an orphan. her aunt susan is worse than uncle jabez ever was to me. and she has no aunt alvirah to help her to bear it. we ought to do something for her." "there! you've begun. every waif and stray on our journey must be aided, i suppose," pouted helen, half exasperated. but tom was glad to see that ruth had found a new interest. bella waited on the supper table, was snapped at by miss timmins, and driven from pillar to post by that crotchety individual. "jimminy christmas!" remarked tom, "that timmins woman must be a reincarnation of one of the ancient egyptians who was overseer in the brickyard where moses learned his trade. if they were all like her, no wonder the israelites went on a strike and marched out of egypt." they were all very careful, however, not to let miss susan timmins hear their comments. she had the true dictatorial spirit of the old-fashioned new england school teacher. the guests of drovers' tavern were treated by her much as she might have treated a class in the little red schoolhouse up the road had she presided there. she drove the guests to their chambers by the method of turning off the electric light in the general sitting room at a quarter past ten. each room was furnished with a bayberry candle, and she announced that the electricity all over the house would be switched off at eleven o'clock. "that is late enough for any decent body to be up," she announced in her decisive manner. "that's when i go to bed myself. i couldn't do so in peace if i knew folks was burning them electric lights to all hours. 'tain't safe in a thunder storm. "why, when we first got 'em, jed parraday from wachuset come to town to do his buyin' and stayed all night with us. he'd never seed a 'lectric bulb before, and he didn't know how to blow it out. and he couldn't sleep in a room with a light. "so, what does the tarnal old fool do but unhook the cord so't the bulb could be carried as far as the winder. and he hung it outside, shut the winder down on it, drawed the shade and went to bed in the dark. "elnathan spear, the constable, seen the light a-shining outside the winder in the middle of the night and he thought 'twas burglars. he _dreams_ of burglars, elnathan does. but he ain't never caught none yet. "on that occasion, howsomever, he was sure he'd got a whole gang of 'em, and he waked up the whole hotel trying to find out what was going on. i charged parraday ha'f a dollar for burning extry 'lectricity, and he got so mad he ain't stopped at the hotel since. "he'd give one the nevergitovers, that man would!" she concluded. chapter vii movie stunts jennie stone slept in ruth's bed that night because, having been parted since they were both in france, they had a great deal to say to each other--thus proving true one of tom cameron's statements regarding women. jennie was just as sympathetic--and as sleepy--as she could be and she "oh, dear, me'd" and yawned alternately all through the tale of the lost scenario and notebooks, appreciating fully how ruth felt about it, but unable to smother the expression of her desire for sleep. "maybe we ought not to have come on this automobile trip," said jennie. "if the thief just did it to be mean and is somebody who lives around the red mill, perhaps you might have discovered something by mingling with the neighbors." "oh! tom did all that," sighed ruth. "and without avail. he searched the neighborhood thoroughly, although he is confident that a tramp carried it off. and that seems reasonable. i am almost sure, heavy, that my scenario will appear under the trademark of some other producing manager than mr. hammond." "oh! how mean!" "well, a thief is almost the meanest person there is in the world, don't you think so? except a backbiter. and anybody mean enough to steal my scenario must be mean enough to try to make use of it." "oh, dear! ow-oo-ooo! scuse me, ruth. yes, i guess you are right. but can't you stop the production of the picture?" "how can i do that?" "i don't----ow-oo!----know. scuse me, dear." "most pictures are made in secret, anyway. the public knows nothing about them until the producer is ready to make their release." "i--ow-oo!--i see," yawned jennie. "even the picture play magazines do not announce them until the first runs. then, sometimes, there is a synopsis of the story published. but it will be too late, then. especially when i have no notes of my work, nor any witnesses. i told no living soul about the scenario--what it was about, or----" "sh-sh-sh----" "why, heavy!" murmured the scandalized ruth. "sh-sh-sh--whoo!" breathed the plump girl, with complete abandon. "my goodness!" exclaimed ruth, tempted to shake her, "if you snore like that when you are married, henri will have to sleep at the other end of the house." but this was completely lost on the tired jennie stone, who continued to breathe heavily until ruth herself fell asleep. it seemed as though the latter had only closed her eyes when the sun shining into her face awoke the girl of the red mill. the shades of the east window had been left up, and it was sunrise. plenty of farm noises outside the drovers' tavern, as well as a stir in the kitchen, assured ruth that there were early risers here. jennie, rolled in more than her share of the bedclothes, continued to breathe as heavily as she had the night before. but suddenly ruth was aware that there was somebody besides herself awake in the room. she sat up abruptly in bed and reached to seize jennie's plump shoulder. ruth had to confess she was much excited, if not frightened. then, before she touched the still sleeping jennie stone, ruth saw the intruder. the door from the anteroom was ajar. a steaming agateware can of water stood on the floor just inside this door. before the bureau which boasted a rather large mirror for a country hotel bedroom, pivoted the thin figure of arabella montague fitzmaurice pike! from the neatly arranged outer clothing of the two girls supposedly asleep in the big four-poster, bella had selected a skirt of ruth's and a shirt-waist of jennie's, arraying herself in both of these borrowed garments. she was now putting the finishing touch to her costume by setting ruth's cap on top of her black, fly-away mop of hair. turning about and about before the glass, bella was so much engaged in admiring herself that she forgot the hot water she was supposed to carry to the various rooms. nor did she see ruth sitting up in bed looking at her in dawning amusement. nor did she, as she pirouetted there, hear her nemesis outside in the hall. the door suddenly creaked farther open. the grim face of miss susan timmins appeared at the aperture. "oh!" gasped ruth fielding aloud. bella turned to glance in startled surprise at the girl in bed. and at that moment miss timmins bore down upon the child like a shrike on a chippy-bird. "ow-ouch!" shrieked bella. "oh, don't!" begged ruth. "what is it? goodness! _fire!_" cried jennie stone, who, when awakened suddenly, always remembered the dormitory fire at briarwood hall. "you little pest! i'll larrup ye good! i'll give ye your nevergitovers!" sputtered the hotel housekeeper. but the affrighted bella wriggled away from her aunt's bony grasp. she dodged miss timmins about the marble-topped table, retreated behind the hair-cloth sofa, and finally made a headlong dash for the door, while jennie continued to shriek for the fire department. ruth leaped out of bed. in her silk pajamas and slippers, and without any wrap, she hurried to reach, and try to separate, the struggling couple near the door. miss timmins delivered several hearty slaps upon bella's face and ears. the child shrieked. she got away again and plunged into the can of hot water. over this went, flooding the rag-carpet for yards around. "fire! fire!" jennie continued to shriek. helen dashed in from the next room, dressed quite as lightly as ruth, and just in time to see the can spilled. "oh! water! water!" "drat that young one!" barked miss timmins, ignoring the flood and everything else save her niece--even the conventions. she dashed after bella. the latter had disappeared into the hall through the anteroom. "oh, the poor child!" cried sympathetic ruth, and followed in the wake of the angry housekeeper. "fire! fire!" moaned jennie stone. "cat's foot!" snapped helen cameron. "it's water--and it is flooding the whole room." she ran to set the can upright--after the water was all out of it. without thinking of her costume, ruth fielding ran to avert bella's punishment if she could. she knew the aunt was beside herself with rage, and ruth feared that the woman would, indeed, give bella her "nevergetovers." the corridor of the hotel was long, running from front to rear of the main building. the window at the rear end of it overlooked the roof of the back kitchen. this window was open, and when ruth reached the corridor bella was going head-first through the open window, like a circus clown diving through a hoop. she had discarded jennie's shirt-waist between the bedroom and the window. but ruth's skirt still flapped about the child's thin shanks. miss timmins, breathing threatenings and slaughter, raced down the hall in pursuit. ruth followed, begging for quarter for the terrified child. but the housekeeper went through the open window after bella, although in a more conventional manner, paying no heed to ruth's plea. the frightened girl, however, escaped her aunt's clutch by slipping off the borrowed skirt and descending the trumpet-vine trellis by the kitchen door. "do let her go, miss timmins!" begged ruth, as the panting woman, carrying ruth's skirt, returned to the window where the girl of the red mill stood. "she is scared to death. she was doing no harm." "i'll thank you to mind your own business, miss," snapped miss timmins hotly. "i declare! a girl growed like you running 'round in men's overalls--or, what be them things you got on?" at this criticism ruth fielding fled, taking the skirt and jennie's shirt-waist with her. but aunt kate was aroused now and the four women of the automobile party swiftly slipped into their negligees and appeared in the hall again, to meet tom and colonel marchand who came from their room only partly dressed. the critical miss timmins had darted downstairs, evidently in pursuit of her unfortunate niece. the guests crowded to the back window. "where did she go?" demanded tom, who had heard some explanation of the early morning excitement. "is she running away?" "what a child!" gasped aunt kate. "my waist!" moaned jennie. "look at ruth's skirt!" exclaimed helen. "i do not care for the skirt," the girl of the red mill declared. "it is bella." "her aunt will about give her those 'nevergetovers' she spoke of," chuckled tom. "_ma foi!_ look you there," exclaimed colonel marchand, pointing through the window that overlooked the rear premises of the hotel. at top speed miss timmins was crossing the yard toward the big hay barn. bella had taken refuge in that structure, and the housekeeper's evident intention was to harry her out. the woman grasped a clothes-stick with which she proposed to castigate her niece. "the cruel thing!" exclaimed helen, the waters of her sympathy rising for bella pike now. "there's the poor kid!" said tom. bella appeared at an open door far up in the peak of the haymow. the hay was packed solidly under the roof; but there was an air space left at either end. "she has put herself into the so-tight corner--no?" suggested the young frenchman. "you've said it!" agreed tom. "why! it's regular movie stunts. she's come up the ladders to the top of the mow. if auntie follows her, i don't see that the kid can do anything but jump!" "tom! never!" cried ruth. "he is fooling," said jennie. "tell me how she can dodge that woman, then," demanded tom. "ah!" murmured henri marchand. "she have arrive'." miss timmins appeared at the door behind bella. the spectators heard the girl's shriek. the housekeeper struck at her with the clothes stick. and then---- "talk about movie stunts!" shouted tom cameron, for the frightened bella leaped like a cat upon the haymow door and swung outward with nothing more stable than air between her and the ground, more than thirty feet below! chapter viii the auction block helen cameron and jennie stone shrieked in unison when miss susan timmins' niece cast herself out of the haymow upon the plank door and swung as far as the door would go upon its creaking hinges. ruth seized tom's wrist in a nervous grip, but did not utter a word. aunt kate turned away and covered her eyes with her hands that she might not see the reckless child fall--if she did fall. "name of a name!" murmured henri marchand. "_au secours!_ come, tom, _mon ami_--to the rescue!" he turned and ran lightly along the hall and down the stairs. but tom went through the window, almost as precipitately as had bella pike herself, and so over the roof of the kitchen ell and down the trumpet-vine trellis. tom was in the yard and running to the barn before marchand got out of the kitchen. several other people, early as the hour was, appeared running toward the rear premises of drovers' tavern. "see that crazy young one!" some woman shrieked. "i know she'll kill herself yet." "stop that!" commanded tom, looking up and shaking a threatening hand at miss timmins. for in her rage the woman was trying to strike her niece with the stick, as bella clung to the door. "mind your own business, young man!" snapped the virago. "and go back and put the rest of your clothes on. you ain't decent." tom was scarcely embarrassed by this verbal attack. the case was too serious for that. miss timmins struck at the girl again, and only missed the screaming bella by an inch or so. helen and jennie screamed in unison, and ruth herself had difficulty in keeping her lips closed. the cruel rage of the hotel housekeeper made her quite unfit to manage such a child as bella, and ruth determined to interfere in bella's behalf at the proper time. "i wish she would pitch out of that door herself!" cried helen recklessly. tom had run into the barn and was climbing the ladders as rapidly as possible to the highest loft. scolding and striking at her victim, miss susan timmins continued to act like the mad woman she was. and bella, made desperate at last by fear, reached for the curling edges of the shingles on the eaves above her head. "don't do that, child!" shrieked jennie stone. but bella scrambled up off the swinging door and pulled herself by her thin arms on to the roof of the barn. there she was completely out of her aunt's reach. "oh, the plucky little sprite!" cried helen, in delight. "but--but she can't get down again," murmured aunt kate. "there is no scuttle in that roof." "tom will find a way," declared ruth fielding with confidence. "and my henri," put in jennie. "that horrid old creature!" "she should be punished for this," agreed ruth. "i wonder where the child's father is." "didn't you find out last night?" helen asked. "only that he is 'resting'." "some poor, miserable loafer, is he?" demanded aunt kate, with acrimony. "no. it seems that he is an actor," ruth explained. "he is out of work." "but he can't think anything of his daughter to see her treated like this," concluded aunt kate. "she is very proud of him. his professional name is montague fitzmaurice." "some name!" murmured jennie. "their family name is pike," said ruth, still seriously. "i do not think the man can know how this aunt treats little bella. there's tom!" the young captain appeared behind the enraged housekeeper at the open door of the loft. one glance told him what bella had done. he placed a firm hand on miss timmins' shoulder. "if you had made that girl fall you would go to jail," tom said sternly. "you may go, yet. i will try to put you there. and in any case you shall not have the management of the child any longer. go back to the house!" for once the housekeeper was awed. especially when henri marchand, too, appeared in the loft. "madame will return to the house. we shall see what can be done for the child. _gare!_" perhaps the woman was a little frightened at last by what she had done--or what she might have done. at least, she descended the ladders to the ground floor without argument. the two young men planned swiftly how to rescue the sobbing child. but when tom first spoke to bella, proposing to help her down, she looked over the edge of the roof at him and shook her head. "no! i ain't coming down," she announced emphatically. "aunt suse will near about skin me alive." "she shall not touch you," tom promised. "she'll give me my nevergitovers, just as she says. you can't stay here and watch her." "but we'll find a way to keep her from beating you when we are gone," tom promised. "don't you fear her at all." "i don't care where you put me, aunt suse will find me out. she'll send elnathan spear after me." "i don't know who spear is----" "he's the constable," sobbed bella. "well, he sha'n't spear you," declared tom. "come on, kid. don't be scared, and we'll get you down all right." he found the clothes-stick miss timmins had abandoned and used it for a brace. with a rope tied to the handle of the plank door and drawn taut, it was held half open. tom then climbed out upon and straddled the door and raised his arms to receive the girl when she lowered herself over the eaves. she was light enough--little more than skin and bone, tom declared--and the latter lowered her without much effort into henri's arms. when the three girls and aunt kate at the tavern window saw this safely accomplished they hurried back to their rooms to dress. "something must be done for that poor child," ruth fielding said with decision. "are you going to adopt her?" helen asked. "and send her to briarwood?" put in jennie. "that might be the very best thing that could happen to her," ruth rejoined soberly. "she has lived at times in a theatrical boarding house and has likewise traveled with her father when he was with a more or less prosperous company. "these experiences have made her, after a fashion, grown-up in her ways and words. but in most things she is just as ignorant as she can be. her future is not the most important thing just now. it is her present." helen heard the last word from the other room where she was dressing, and she cried: "that's it, ruthie. give her a present and tell her to run away from her aunt. she's a spiteful old thing!" "you do not mean that!" exclaimed her chum. "you are only lazy and hate responsibility of any kind. we must do something practical for bella pike." "how easily she says 'we'," helen scoffed. "i mean it. i could not sleep to-night if i knew this child was in her aunt's control." a knock on the door interrupted the discussion. ruth, who was quite dressed now, responded. a lout of a boy, who evidently worked about the stables, stood grinning at the door. "miz timmins says you folks kin all get out. she won't have you served no breakfast. she don't want none of you here." "my goodness!" wailed jennie. "dispossessed--and without breakfast!" "where is the proprietor of this hotel, boy?" ruth asked. "you mean mr. drovers? he ain't here. gone to boston. but that wouldn't make no dif'rence. suse timmins is boss." "oh, me! oh, my!" groaned jennie, to whom the prospect was tragic. jennie's appetite was never-failing. the boy slouched away just as tom and henri marchand appeared with bella between them. "you poor, dear child!" cried ruth, running along the hall to meet them. bella struggled to escape from the boys. but tom and colonel marchand held her by either hand. "easy, young one!" advised captain cameron. "i never meant to do no harm, miss!" cried bella. "i--i just wanted to see how i'd look in them clothes. i never do have anything decent to wear." "why, my dear, don't mind about that," said ruth, taking the lathlike girl in her arms. "if you had asked us we would have let you try on the things, i am sure." "aunt suse would near 'bout give me my nevergitovers--and she will yet!" "no she won't," ruth reassured her. "don't be afraid of your aunt any longer." "that is what i tell her," tom said warmly. "say! you won't put me in no home, will you?" asked bella, with sudden anxiety. "a 'home'?" repeated ruth, puzzled. "she means a charitable institution, poor dear," said aunt kate. "that's it, missus," bella said. "i knew a girl that was out of one of them homes. she worked for mrs. grubson. she said all the girls wore brown denim uniforms and had their hair slicked back and wasn't allowed even to whisper at table or after they got to bed at night." "nothing like that shall happen to you," ruth declared. "where is your father, bella?" tom asked. "i don't know. last i saw of him he came through here with a medicine show. i didn't tell aunt suse, but i ran away at night and went to broxton to see him. but he said business was poor. he got paid so much a bottle commission on the sales of chief henry red-dog's bitters. he didn't think the show would keep going much longer." "oh!" "you know, they didn't know he was montague fitzmaurice, the great shakespearean actor. pa often takes such jobs. he ain't lazy like aunt suse says. why, once he took a job as a ballyhoo at a show on the bowery in coney island. but his voice ain't never been what it was since." "do you expect him to return here for you?" ruth asked, while the other listeners exchanged glances and with difficulty kept their faces straight. "oh, yes, miss. just as soon as he is in funds. or he'll send for me. he always does. he knows i hate it here." "does he know how your aunt treats you?" aunt kate interrupted. "n--not exactly," stammered bella. "i haven't told him all. i don't want to bother him. it--it ain't always so bad." "i tell you it's got to stop!" tom said, with warmth. "of course she shall not remain in this woman's care any longer," aunt kate agreed. "but we must not take bella away from this locality," ruth observed. "when her father comes back for her she must be here--somewhere." "oh, lady!" exclaimed bella. "send me to new york to mrs. grubson's. i bet she'd keep me till pa opens somewhere in a good show." but ruth shook her head. she had her doubts about the wisdom of the child's being in such a place as mrs. grubson's boarding house, no matter how kindly disposed that woman might be. "bella should stay near here," ruth said firmly, "as long as we cannot communicate with mr. pike at once." "let's write a notice for one of the theatrical papers," suggested helen eagerly. "you know--'montague fitzmaurice please answer.' all the actors do it." "but pa don't always have the money to buy the papers," said bella, taking the suggestion quite seriously. "at least, if bella is in this neighborhood he will know where to find her," went on ruth. "is there nobody you know here, child, whom you would like to stay with till your father returns?" bella's face instantly brightened. her black eyes flashed. "oh, i'd like to stay at the minister's," she said. "at the minister's?" repeated ruth. "why, if he would take you that would be fine. who is he?" "the reverend driggs," said bella. "do you suppose the clergyman would take the child?" murmured aunt kate. "why do you want to go to live with the minister?" asked tom with curiosity. "'cause he reads the bible so beautifully," declared bella. "why! it sounds just like pa reading a play. the reverend driggs is an educated man like pa. but he's got an awful raft of young ones." "a poor minister," said aunt kate briskly. "i am afraid that would not suit." "if the driggs family is already a large one," began ruth doubtfully, when bella declared: "miz driggs had two pairs of twins, and one ever so many times. there's a raft of 'em." helen and jennie burst out laughing at this statement and the others were amused. but to ruth fielding this was a serious matter. the placing of bella pike in a pleasant home until her father could be communicated with, or until he appeared on the scene ready and able to care for the child, was even more serious than the matter of going without breakfast, although jennie stone said "no!" to this. "we'd better set up an auction block before the door of the hotel and auction her off to the highest bidder, hadn't we?" suggested helen, who had been rummaging in her bag. "here, bella! if you want a shirt-waist to take the place of that calico blouse you have on, here is one. one of mine. and i guarantee it will fit you better than heavy's did. she wears an extra size." "i don't either," flashed the plump girl, as the boys retreated from the room. "i may not be a perfect thirty-six----" "is there any doubt of it?" cried helen, the tease. "well!" "never mind," ruth said. "jennie is going to be thinner." "and it seems she will begin to diet this very morning," aunt kate put in. "ow-wow!" moaned jennie at this reminder that they had been refused breakfast. captain tom, however, had handled too many serious situations in france to be browbeaten by a termagant like miss susan timmins. he went down to the kitchen, ordered a good breakfast for all of his party, and threatened to have recourse to the law if the meal was not well and properly served. "for you keep a public tavern," he told the sputtering miss timmins, "and you cannot refuse to serve travelers who are willing and able to pay. we are on a pleasure trip, and i assure you, madam, it will be a pleasure to get you into court for any cause." on coming back to the front of the house he found two of the neighbors just entering. one proved to be the local doctor's wife and the other was a kindly looking farmer. "i knowed that girl warn't being treated right, right along," said the man. "and i told mirandy that i was going to put a stop to it." "it is a disgrace," said the doctor's wife, "that we should have allowed it to go on so long. i will take the child myself----" "and so'll mirandy," declared the farmer. "it is an auction," whispered helen, overhearing this from the top of the stairs. the party of guests came down with their bags now, bringing bella in their midst--and in the new shirt-waist. "let her choose which of these kind people she will stay with," tom advised. "and," he added, in a low voice to ruth, "we will pay for her support until we can find her father." "like fun you will, young feller!" snorted the farmer, overhearing tom. "i could not hear of such a thing," said the doctor's wife. "i'd like to know what you people think you're doing?" demanded miss timmins, popping out at them suddenly. "now, suse timmins, we're a-goin' to do what we neighbors ought to have done long ago. we're goin' to take this gal----" "you start anything like that--taking that young one away from her lawful guardeen--an' i'll get elnathan spear after you in a hurry, now i tell ye. i'll give you your nevergitovers!" "if nate spear comes to my house, i'll ask him to pay me for that corn he bought off'n me as long ago as last fall," chuckled the farmer. "just because you're own cousin to nate don't put _all_ the law an' the gospel on your side, suse timmins. i'll take good care of this girl." "and so will i, if bella wants to live with me," said the doctor's wife. "mirandy will be glad to have her." "and she'd be company for me," rejoined the other neighbor. "i haven't any children." "bella must choose for herself," said ruth kindly. "i guess i'll go with mr. perkins," said the actor's daughter. "miz holmes is real nice; but doctor holmes gives awful tastin' medicine. i might be sick there and have to take some of it. so i'll go to miz perkins. she has a doctor from maybridge and he gives candy-covered pellets. i ate some once. besides, miz perkins is lame and can't get around so spry, and i can do more for her." "now listen to that!" exclaimed the farmer. "ain't she a noticing child?" "well, mrs. perkins will be good to her, no doubt," agreed the doctor's wife. "i'd like to know what you fresh city folks butted into this thing for!" demanded miss timmins. "if there's any law in the land----" "_you'll_ get it!" promised tom cameron. "go get anything you own that you want to take with you, bella," ruth advised the shrinking child. with another fearful glance at her aunt, bella ran upstairs. miss timmins might have started after her, but tom planted himself before that door. the lout of a boy began bringing in the breakfast for the automobile party. ruth talked privately with the doctor's wife and mr. perkins, and forced some money on the woman to be expended for a very necessary outfit of clothing for bella. miss timmins finally flounced back into the kitchen where they heard her venting her anger and chagrin on the kitchen help. bella returned bearing an ancient extension bag crammed full of odds and ends. she kissed ruth and shook hands with the rest of the company before departing with mr. perkins. the doctor's wife promised to write to ruth as soon as anything was heard of mr. pike, and the automobile party turned their attention to ham and eggs, stewed potatoes, and griddle cakes. "only," said jennie, sepulchrally, "i hope the viands are not poisoned. that miss timmins would certainly like to give us all our 'nevergetovers'." chapter ix a dismaying discovery "'the later pilgrims' are well out of that trouble," announced helen, when the cars were underway, the honeymoon car ahead and the other members of the party packed into the bigger automobile. "and i hope," she added, "that ruth will find no more waifs and strays." "don't be knocking ruthie all the time," said tom, glancing back over his shoulder. "she's all right." "and you keep your eyes straight ahead, young man," advised aunt kate, "or you will have this heavy car in the ditch." "watch out for henri and heavy, too," advised helen. "they do not quite know what they are about and you may run them down. there! see his horizon-blue sleeve steal about her? he's got only one hand left to steer with. talk about a perfect thirty-six! it's lucky henri's arm is phenomenally long, or he could never surround _that_ baby!" "i declare, helen," laughed ruth. "i believe you are covetous." "well, henri is an awfully nice fellow--for a frenchman." "and you are the damsel who declared you proposed to remain an old maid forever and ever and the year after." "i can be an old maid and still like the boys, can't i? all the more, in fact. i sha'n't have to be true to just one man, which, i believe, would be tedious." "you should live in that part of new york called greenwich village and wear a russian blouse and your hair bobbed. those are the kind of bon mots those people throw off in conversation. light and airy persiflage, it is called," said tom from the front seat. "what do you know about such people, tommy?" demanded his sister. "there were some co-eds of that breed i met at cambridge. they were exponents of the 'new freedom,' whatever that is. bolshevism, i guess. freedom from both law and morals." "those are not the kind of girls who are helping in france," said ruth soberly. "you said it!" agreed tom. "that sort are so busy riding hobbies over here that they have no interest in what is going on in europe unless it may be in russia. well, thank heaven, there are comparatively few nuts compared with us sane folks." such thoughts as these, however, did not occupy their minds for long. just as tom had declared, they were out for fun, and the fun could be found almost anywhere by these blithe young folk. ruth's face actually changed as they journeyed on. she was both "pink and pretty," helen declared, before they camped at the wayside for luncheon. the hampers on the big car were crammed with all the necessities of food and service for several meals. there were, too, twin alcohol lamps, a coffee boiler and a teapot. altogether they were making a very satisfactory meal and were having a jolly time at the edge of a piece of wood when a big, black wood-ant dropped down jennie stone's back. at first they did not know what the matter was with her. her mouth was full, the food in that state of mastication that she could not immediately swallow it. "ow! ow! ow!" choked the plump girl, trying to get both hands at once down the neck of her shirt-waist. "what _is_ the matter, heavy?" gasped helen. "jennie, dear!" murmured ruth. "don't!" "_ma chere!_" gasped henri marchand. "is she ill?" "jennie, behave yourself!" cried her aunt. "i saw a toad swallow a hornet once," tom declared. "she acts just the same way." "as the hornet?" demanded his sister, beginning to giggle. "as the toad," answered tom, gravely. but henri had got to his feet and now reached the wriggling girl. "let me try to help!" he cried. "if you even begin wiggling that way, colonel marchand," declared helen, "you will be in danger of arrest. there is a law against _that_ dance." "ow! ow! ow!" burst out jennie once more, actually in danger of choking. "what _is_ it?" ruth demanded, likewise reaching the writhing girl. "oh, he bit me!" finally exploded jennie. ruth guessed what must be the trouble then, and she forced jennie's hands out of the neck of her waist and ran her hand down the plump girl's back. between them they killed the ant, for ruth finally recovered a part of the unfortunate creature. "but just think," consoled helen, "how much more awful it would have been if you had swallowed him, heavy, instead of his wriggling down your spinal column." "oh, don't! i can feel him wriggling now," sighed jennie. "that can be nothing more than his ghost," said tom soberly, "for ruth retrieved at least half of the ant's bodily presence." "you'll give us all the fidgets if you keep on wriggling, jennie," declared aunt kate. "well, i don't want to sit on the grass in a woodsy place again while we are on this journey," sighed jennie. "ugh! i always did hate creepy things." "including spiders, snakes, beetles and babies, i suppose?" laughed helen. "come on now. let us clear up the wreck. where do we camp to-night, tommy?" "no more camping, i pray!" squealed jennie. "i am no gypsy." "the hotel at hampton is recommended as the real thing. they have a horse show every year at hampton, you know. it is in the midst of a summer colony of wealthy people. it is the real thing," tom repeated. they made a pleasant and long run that afternoon and arrived at the hampton hotel in good season to dress for dinner. jennie and her aunt met some people they knew, and naturally jennie's fiancé and her friends were warmly welcomed by the gay little colony. men at the pleasure resorts were very scarce that year, and here were two perfectly good dancers. so it was very late when the automobile party got away from the dance at the casino. they were late the next morning in starting on the road to boston. besides, there was thunder early, and helen, having heard it rumbling, quoted: "'thunder in the morning, sailors take warning!'" and rolled over for another nap. ruth, however, at last had to get up. she was no "lie-abed" in any case, and in her present nervous state she had to be up and doing. "but it's going to ra-a-ain!" whined jennie stone when ruth went into her room. "you're neither sugar nor salt," said ruth. "henri says i'm as sweet as sugar," yawned jennie. "he is not responsible for what he says about you," said her aunt briskly. "when i think of what that really nice young man is taking on his shoulders when he marries you----" "but, auntie!" cried jennie, "he's not going to try to carry me pickaback, you know." "just the same, it is wrong for us to encourage him to become responsible for you, jennie," said her aunt. "he really should be warned." "oh!" gasped the plump girl. "let anybody dare try to get between me and my henri----" "nobody can--no fear--when you are sitting with him in the front seat of that roadster of tom's," said ruth. "you fill every atom of space, heavy." she went to the window and looked out again. heavy rolled out of bed--a good deal like a barrel, her aunt said tartly. "what is it doing outside?" yawned the plump girl. "well, it's not raining. and it is a long run to boston. we should be on our way now. the road through the hills is winding. there will be no time to stop for a gypsy picnic." "thank goodness for that!" grumbled jennie, sitting on the floor, schoolgirl fashion, to draw on her stockings. "i'll eat enough at breakfast hereafter to keep me alive until we reach a hotel, if you folks insist on inviting wood ants and other savage creatures of the forest to our luncheon table." when the party finally gathered for breakfast in the hotel dining room on this morning, it was disgracefully late. tom had been over both cars and pronounced them fit. he had ordered the tanks filled with gasoline and had tipped one of the garage men liberally to see that this was properly done. afterward captain tom declared he would never trust a garage workman again. "the only way to get a thing done well is to do it yourself--and a tip never bought any special service yet," declared the angry tom. "it is merely a form of highway robbery." but this was afterward. the party started off from hampton in high fettle and with a childlike trust in the honesty of a garage attendant. there were banks of clouds shrouding the horizon both to the west and north--the two directions from which thunder showers usually rise in this part of new england in which they were traveling. and yet the shower held off. it was some time past noon before the thunder began to mutter again. the automobile party was then in the hilly country. heretofore farms had been plentiful, although hamlets were few and far between. "if it rains," said ruth cheerfully, "of course we can take refuge in some farmhouse." "ho, for adventure among the savage natives!" cried helen. "i hope we shall meet nobody quite as savage as miss susan timmins," was aunt kate's comment. they ran into a deep cut between two wooded hills and there was not a house in sight. indeed, they had not passed a farmstead on the road for the last five miles. over the top of the wooded crest to the north curled a slate colored storm cloud, its upper edge trembling with livid lightnings. the veriest tyro of a weather prophet could see that a storm was about to break. but nobody had foretold the sudden stopping of the honeymoon car in the lead! "what is the matter with you?" cried helen, standing up in the tonneau of the big car, when tom pulled up suddenly to keep from running the maroon roadster down. "don't you see it is going to rain? we want to get somewhere." "i guess we have got somewhere," responded jennie stone. "as far as we are concerned, this seems to be our stopping place. the old car won't go." tom jumped out and hurried forward to join henri in an examination of the car's mechanism. "what happened, colonel?" he asked the frenchman, worriedly. "i have no idea, _mon ami_," responded marchand. "this is a puzzle, eh?" "first of all, let's put up the tops. that rain is already beating the woods on the summit of the hill." the two young men hurried to do this, first sheltering jennie and then together dragging the heavy top over the big car, covering the baggage and passengers. helen and ruth could fasten the curtains, and soon the women of the party were snug enough. the drivers, however, had to get into rain garments and begin the work of hunting the trouble with the roadster. the thunder grew louder and louder. flashes of lightning streaked across the sky overhead. the electric explosions were soon so frequent and furious that the girls cowered together in real terror. jennie had slipped out of the small car and crowded in with her chums and aunt kate. "i don't care!" she wailed, "henri and tom are bound to take that car all to pieces to find what has happened." but they did not have to go as far as that. in fact, before the rain really began to fall in earnest, tom made the tragic discovery. there was scarcely a drop of gasoline in the tank of the small machine. tom hurried back to the big car. he glanced at the dial of the gasoline tank. there was not enough of the fluid to take them a mile! and the emergency tank was turned on! it was at this point that he stated his opinion of the trustworthiness of garage workmen. chapter x a wild afternoon this was a serious situation. five miles behind the automobile party was the nearest dwelling on this road, and tom was sure that the nearest gasoline sign was all of five miles further back! ahead lay more or less mystery. as the rain began to drum upon the roofs of the two cars, harder and harder and faster and faster, tom got out the road map and tried to figure out their location. ridgeton was ahead somewhere--not nearer than six miles, he was sure. and the map showed no gas sign this side of ridgeton. of course there might be some wayside dwelling only a short distance ahead at which enough gasoline could be secured to drive the smaller car to ridgeton for a proper supply for both machines. but if all the gasoline was drained from the tank of the big car into that of the roadster, the latter would be scarcely able to travel another mile. and without being sure that such a supply of gas could be found within that distance, why separate the two cars? this was the sensible way tom put it to henri; and it was finally decided that tom should start out on foot with an empty can and hunt for gasoline, while colonel marchand remained with the girls and aunt kate. when the two young men ran back through the pouring rain to the big car and announced this decision, they had to shout to make the girls hear. the turmoil of the rain and thunder was terrific. "i really wish you'd wait, tom, till the tempest is over," ruth anxiously said. "suppose something happened to you on the road?" "suppose something happened to _us_ here in the auto?" shrieked helen. "but henri marchand will be with you," said her brother, preparing to depart. "and if i delay we may not reach boston to-night." "oh!" gasped jennie. "do please find some gas, tom. i'd be scared to death to stay out here in these woods." "one of the autos may bite her," scoffed helen, ready to scorn her own fears when her friend was even more fearful. "these cars are the wildest thing in these woods, i warrant." "of course you must do what you think is best, tom," said ruth, gravely. "i hope you will not have to go far." "no matter how long i am gone, ruth, don't be alarmed," he told her. "you know, nothing serious ever happens to me." "oh, no!" cried his sister. "of course not! only you get carried away on a zeppelin, or are captured by the germans and ruth has to go to your rescue. we know all about how immune you are from trouble, young man." "thanks be! there are no boches here in peaceful new england," exclaimed jennie, after tom had started off with the gasoline can. "oh!" a sharp clap of thunder seemingly just overhead followed the flash that had made the plump girl shriek. the explosion reverberated between the hills in slowly passing cadence. jennie finally removed her fingers from her ears with a groan. aunt kate had covered her eyes. with helen they cowered together in the tonneau. ruth had been sitting beside tom in the front seat when the cars were stalled, and now henri marchand was her companion. "i heard something then, colonel," ruth said in a low tone, when the salvo of thunder was passed. "you are fortunate, mademoiselle," he returned. "me, i am deafened complete'." "i heard a cry." "not from captain cameron?" "it was not his voice. listen!" said the girl of the red mill, in some excitement. despite the driving rain she put her head out beyond the curtain and listened. her face was sheltered from the beating rain. it would have taken her breath had she faced it. again the lightning flashed and the thunder crashed on its trail. ruth did not draw in her head. she wore her raincoat and a rubber cap, and on her feet heavy shoes. the storm did not frighten her. she might be anxious for tom's safety, but the ordinary chances of such a disturbance of the elements as this never bothered ruth fielding at all. as the rolling of thunder died away in the distance again, the splashing sound of the rain seemed to grow lighter, too; or ruth's hearing became attuned to the sounds about her. there it was again! a human cry! or was it? it came from up the hillside to the north of the road on which the automobiles were stalled. was there somebody up there in the wet woods--some human creature lost in the storm? for a third time ruth heard the wailing, long-drawn cry. henri had his hands full soothing jennie. helen and aunt kate were clinging together in the depths of the tonneau. possibly their eyes were covered against the glare of the lightning. ruth slipped out under the curtain on the leeward side. the rain swept down the hillside in solid platoons that marched one after another from northwest to southeast. dashing against the southern hillside, these marching columns dissolved in torrents that ruth could hear roaring down from the tree-tops and rushing in miniature floods through the forest. the road was all awash. the cars stood almost hub-deep in a yellow, foaming flood. the roadside ditches were not deep here, and the sudden freshet was badly guttering the highway. sheltered at first by the top of the big car, ruth strained her ears again to catch that cry which had come down the wind from the thickly wooded hillside. there it was! a high, piercing scream, as though the one who uttered it was in great fear or agony. nor did the cry seem to be far away. ruth went around to the other side of the automobile. the rain was letting up--or seemed to be. she crossed to the higher ground and pushed through the fringe of bushes that bordered the road. already her feet and ankles were saturated, for she had waded through water more than a foot in depth. here on the steep hillside the flowing water followed the beds of small rivulets which carried it away on either side of her. the thick branches of the trees made an almost impervious umbrella above her head. she could see up the hill through the drifting mist for a long distance. the aisles between the rows of trees seemed filled with a sort of pallid light. across the line of her vision and through one of these aisles passed a figure--whether that of an animal or the stooping body of a human being ruth fielding could not at first be sure. she had no fear of there being any savage creature in this wood. at least there could be nothing here that would attack her in broad daylight. in a lull in the echoing thunder she cried aloud: "hoo-hoo! hoo-hoo! where are you?" she was sure her voice drove some distance up the hillside against the wind. she saw the flitting figure again, and with a desire to make sure of its identity, ruth started in pursuit. had tom been present the girl of the red mill would have called his attention to the mystery and left it to him to decide whether to investigate or not. but ruth was quite an independent person when she was alone; and under the circumstances, with henri marchand so busy comforting jennie, ruth did not consider for a moment calling the frenchman to advise with her. as for helen and aunt kate, they were quite overcome by their fears. ruth was not really afraid of thunder and lightning, as many people are. she had long since learned that "thunder does not bite, and the bolt of lightning that hits you, you will never see!" heavy as the going was, and interfering with her progress through her wet garments did, ruth ran up the hill underneath the dripping trees. she saw the flitting, shadowy figure once more. again she called as loudly as she could shout: "wait! wait! i won't hurt you." whoever or whatever it was, the figure did not stay. it flitted on about two hundred yards ahead of the pursuing girl. at times it disappeared altogether; but ruth kept on up the hill and her quarry always reappeared. she was quite positive this was the creature that had shrieked, for the mournful cry was not repeated after she caught sight of the figure. "it is somebody who has been frightened by the storm," she thought. "or it is a lost child. this is a wild hillside, and one might easily be lost up here." then she called again. she thought the strange figure turned and hesitated. then, of a sudden, it darted into a clump of brush. when ruth came panting to the spot she could see no trace of the creature, or the path which it had followed. but directly before ruth was an opening in the hillside--the mouth of a deep ravine which had not been visible from the road below. down this ravine ran a noisy torrent which had cut itself a wider and deeper bed since the cloudburst on the heights. small trees, brush, and rocks had been uprooted by the force of the stream, but its current was now receding. one might walk along the edge of the brook into this hillside fastness. determined to solve the mystery of the strange creature's disappearance, and quite convinced that it was a lost child or woman, ruth fielding ventured through the brush clump and passed along the ragged bank of the tumbling brook. suddenly, in the muddy ground at her feet, the girl spied a shoe. it was a black oxford of good quality, and it had been, of course, wrenched from the foot of the person she pursued. this girl, or woman, must be running from ruth in fear. ruth picked up the shoe. it was for a small foot, but might belong to either a girl of fourteen or so or to a small woman. she could see the print of the other shoe--yes! and there was the impress of the stockinged foot in the mud. "whoever she may be," thought ruth fielding, "she is so frightened that she abandoned this shoe. poor thing! what can be the matter with her?" ruth shouted again, and yet again. she went on up the side of the turbulent brook, staring all about for the hiding place of her quarry. the rain ceased entirely and abruptly. but the whole forest was a-drip. far up through the trees she saw a sudden lightening of the sky. the clouds were breaking. but the smoke of the torrential downpour still rose from the saturated earth. when ruth jarred a bush in passing a perfect deluge fell from the trembling leaves. the girl began to feel that she had come far enough in what appeared to be a wild-goose chase. then suddenly, quite amazingly, she was halted. she plunged around a sharp turn in the ravine, trying to step on the dryer places, and found herself confronted by a man standing under the shelter of a wide-armed spruce. "oh!" gasped ruth, starting back. he was a heavy-set, bewhiskered man with gleaming eyes and rather a grim look. worst of all, he carried a gun with the lock sheltered under his arm-pit from the rain. at ruth's appearance he seemed startled, too, and he advanced the muzzle of the gun and took a stride forward at the same moment. "hello!" he growled. "be you crazy, too? what in all git out be you traipsing through these woods for in the rain?" chapter xi mr. peterby paul and "whosis" ruth fielding was more than a little startled, for the appearance of this bearded and gruff-spoken man was much against him. she had become familiar, however, during the past months with all sorts and conditions of men--many of them much more dangerous looking than this stranger. her experiences at the battlefront in france had taught her many things. among them, that very often the roughest men are the most tender with and considerate of women. ruth knew that the girls and women working in the red cross and the "y" and the salvation army might venture among the roughest _poilus_, tommies and our own yanks without fearing insult or injury. after that first startled "oh!" ruth fielding gave no sign of fearing the bearded man with the gun under his arm. she stood her ground as he approached her. "how many air there of ye, sissy?" he wanted to know. "and air ye all loose from some bat factory? that other one's crazy as all git out." "oh, did you see her?" "if ye mean that whosis that's wanderin' around yellin' like a cat-o'-mountain----" "oh, dear! it was she that was screaming so!" "i should say it was. i tried to cotch her----" "and that scared her more, i suppose." "huh! be i so scareful to look at?" the stranger demanded. "or, mebbe _you_ ain't loony, lady?" "i should hope not," rejoined ruth, beginning to laugh. "then how in tarnation," demanded the bearded man, "do you explain your wanderin' about these woods in this storm?" "why," said ruth, "i was trying to catch that poor creature, too." "that whosis?" he exclaimed. "whatever and whoever she is. see! here's one of her shoes." "do tell! she's lost it, ain't she? don't you reckon she's loony?" "it may be that she is out of her mind. but she couldn't hurt you--a big, strong man like you." "that's as may be. i misdoubted me she was some kind of a whosis," said the woodsman. "i seen her a couple of times and heard her holler ev'ry time the lightning was real sharp." "the poor creature has been frightened half to death by the tempest," said ruth. "mebbe. but where did she come from? and where did you come from, if i may ask? this yere ain't a neighborhood that many city folks finds their way into, let me tell ye." ruth told him her name and related the mishap that had happened to the two cars at the bottom of the hill. "wal, i want to know!" he responded. "out o' gasoline, heh? wal, that can be mended." "tom cameron has gone on foot for some." "which way did he go, ma'am?" "east," she said, pointing. "towards ridgeton? wal, he'll have a fine walk." "but we have not seen any gasoline sign for ever so far back on the road." "that's right. ain't no reg'lar place. but i guess i might be able to scare up enough gas to help you folks out. ye see, we got a saw mill right up this gully and we got a gasoline engine to run her. i'm a-watchin' the place till the gang come in to work next month. that there whosis got me out in the rain----" "oh! where do you suppose the poor thing has gone?" interrupted ruth. "we should do something for her." "wal, if she don't belong to you folks----" "she doesn't. but she should not be allowed to wander about in this awful way. is she a woman grown, or a child?" "i couldn't tell ye. i ain't been close enough to her. by the way, my name is peterby paul, and i'm well and fav'rably knowed about this mounting. i did have my thoughts about you, same as that whosis, i must say. but you 'pear to be all right. wait, and i'll bring ye down a couple of cans of gasoline, and you can go on and pick up the feller that's started to walk to ridgeton." "but that poor creature i followed up here, mr. paul? we _must_ find her." "you say she ain't nothin' to you folks?" "but she is alone, and frightened." "wal, i expect so. she did give me a start for fair. i don't know where she could have come from 'nless she belongs over toward ridgeton at old miz abby drake's. she's got some city folks stopping with her--" "there she is!" cried ruth, under her breath. a hobbling figure appeared for a moment on the side of the ravine. the rain had ceased now, but it still dripped plentifully from the trees. "i'm going after her!" exclaimed ruth. "all right, ma'am," said mr. peterby paul. "i guess she ain't no whosis, after all." ruth could run much faster than the strange person who had so startled both the woodsman and herself. and running lightly, the girl of the red mill was almost at her quarry's elbow before her presence was suspected by the latter. the woman turned her face toward ruth and screeched in evident alarm. she looked wild enough to be called a "whosis," whatever kind of supernatural apparition that might be. her silk dress was in rags; her hair floated down her back in a tangled mane; altogether she was a sorry sight, indeed. she was a woman of middle age, dark, slight of build, and of a most pitiful appearance. "don't be frightened! don't be afraid of me," begged ruth. "where are your friends? i will take you to them." "it is the voice of god," said the woman solemnly. "i am wicked. he will punish me. do you know how wicked i am?" she added in a tense whisper. "i have no idea," ruth replied calmly. "but i think that when we are nervous and distraught as you are, we magnify our sins as well as our troubles." really, ruth fielding felt that she might take this philosophy to herself. she had been of late magnifying her troubles, without doubt. "i have been a great sinner," said the woman. "do you know, i used to steal my little sister's bread and jam. and now she is dead. i can never make it up to her." plainly this was a serious matter to the excited mind of the poor woman. "come on down the hill with me. i have got an automobile there and we can ride to mrs. drake's in it. isn't that where you are stopping?" "yes, yes. abby drake," said the lost woman weakly. "we--we all started out for huckleberries. and i never thought before how wicked i was to my little sister. but the storm burst--such a terrible storm!" and the poor creature cowered close to ruth as the thunder muttered again in the distance. "it is the voice of god----" "come along!" urged ruth. "lots of people have made the same mistake. so aunt alvirah says. they mistake some other noise for the voice of god!" the woman was now so weak that the strong girl could easily lead her. mr. peterby paul looked at the forlorn figure askance, however. "you can't blame me for thinkin' she was a whosis," he said to ruth. "poor critter! it's lucky you came after her. she give me such a start i might o' run sort o' wild myself." "perhaps if you had tried to catch her it would only have made her worse," ruth replied, gently patting the excited woman's hand. "the voice of god!" muttered the victim of her own nervousness. "and she traipsing through these woods in a silk dress!" exclaimed mr. paul. "i tell 'em all, city folks ain't got right good sense." "maybe you are right, mr. paul," sighed ruth. "we are all a little queer, i guess. i will take her down to the car." "and i'll be right along with a couple of cans of gasoline, ma'am," rejoined peterby paul. "ain't no use you and your friends bein' stranded no longer." "if you will be so kind," ruth said. he turned back up the ravine and ruth urged the lost woman down the hill. the poor creature was scarcely able to walk, even after she had put on her lost shoe. her fears which had driven her into this quite irresponsible state, were the result of ungoverned nervousness. ruth thought seriously of this fact as she aided her charge down the hillside. she must steady her own nerves, or the result might be quite as serious. she had allowed the loss of her scenario to shake her usual calm. she knew she had not been acting like herself during this automobile journey and that she had given her friends cause for alarm. then and there ruth determined to talk no more about her loss or her fears regarding the missing scenario. if it was gone, it was gone. that was all there was to it. she would no longer worry her friends and disturb her own mental poise by ruminating upon her misfortune. when she and the lost woman got out of the ravine, ruth could hear the girls calling her. and there was colonel marchand's horizon-blue uniform in sight as he toiled up the ascent, looking for her. "don't be frightened, dear," ruth said to the startled woman. "these are my friends." then she called to helen that she was coming. colonel marchand hurried forward with an amazed question. "never mind! don't bother her," ruth said. "the poor creature has been through enough--out in all this storm, alone. we must get her to where she is stopping as soon as possible. see the condition her clothes are in!" "but, mademoiselle ruth!" gasped the frenchman. "we are stalled until captain tom comes back with the gasoline--is it not?" "we are going to have gas in a very few minutes," returned ruth gaily. "i did more than find this poor woman up on the hill. wait!" helen and jennie sprang at ruth like a pair of terriers after a cat, demanding information and explanation all in a breath. but when they realized the state of mind of the strange woman, they calmed down. they wrapped her in a dry raincoat and put her in the back of the big car. she remained quietly there with jennie's aunt kate while ruth related her adventure with mr. peterby paul and the "whosis." "goodness!" gasped helen, "i guess he named her rightly. there must be something altogether wrong with the poor creature to make her wander about these wet woods, screeching like a loon." "i'd screech, too," said jennie stone, "if i'd torn a perfectly good silk dress to tatters as she has." "think of going huckleberrying in a frock like that," murmured ruth. "i guess you are both right. and mr. peterby paul did have good reason for calling her a 'whosis'." chapter xii alongshore mr. peterby paul appeared after a short time striding down the wooded hillside balancing a five-gallon gasoline can in either hand. "i reckon you can get to ridgeton on this here," he said jovially. "guess i'd better set up a sign down here so's other of you autermobile folks kin take heart if ye git stuck." "you are just as welcome as the flowers in spring, tra-la!" cried helen, fairly dancing with delight. "you are an angel visitor, mr. paul," said the plump girl. "i been called a lot o' things besides an angel," the bearded woodsman said, his eyes twinkling. "my wife, 'fore she died, had an almighty tart tongue." "and _now_?" queried helen wickedly. "wal, wherever the poor critter's gone, i reckon she's l'arned to bridle her tongue," said mr. peterby paul cheerfully. "howsomever, as the feller said, that's another day's job. mr. frenchy, let's pour this gasoline into them tanks." ruth insisted upon paying for the gasoline, and paying well. then peterby paul gave them careful directions as to the situation of abby drake's house, at which it seemed the lost woman must belong. "abby always has her house full of city folks in the summer," the woodsman said. "she is pretty near a whosis herself, abby drake is." with which rather unfavorable intimation regarding the despised "city folks," mr. peterby paul saw them start on over the now badly rutted road. helen drove the smaller car with ruth sitting beside her. henri marchand took the wheel of the touring car, and the run to boston was resumed. "but we must not over-run tom," said ruth to her chum. "no knowing what by-path he might have tried in search of the elusive gasoline." "i'll keep the horn blowing," helen said, suiting action to her speech and sounding a musical blast through the wooded country that lay all about. "he ought to know his own auto-horn." the tone of the horn was peculiar. ruth could always distinguish it from any other as tom speeded along the cheslow road toward the red mill. but then, she was perhaps subconsciously listening for its mellow note. she tacitly agreed with helen, however, that it might be a good thing to toot the horn frequently. and the signal brought to the roadside an anxious group of women at a sprawling farmhouse not a mile beyond the spot where the two cars had been stalled. "that is the drake place. it must be!" ruth exclaimed, putting out a hand to warn colonel marchand that they were about to halt. a fleshy woman with a very ruddy face under her sunbonnet came eagerly out into the road, leading the group of evidently much worried women. "have you folks seen anything of----" "_abby!_" shrieked the woman ruth had found, and she struggled to get out of the car. "well, i declare, mary marsden!" gasped the sunbonneted woman, who was plainly abby drake. "if you ain't a sight!" "i--i'm so scared!" quavered the unforunate victim of her own nerves, as ruth ran back to help her out of the touring car. "god is going to punish me, abby." "i certainly hope he will," declared her friend, in rather a hard-hearted way. "i told you, you ought to be punished for wearing that dress up there into the berry pasture, and---- land's sakes alive! look at her dress!" afterward, when ruth had been thanked by mrs. drake and the other women, and the cars were rolling along the highway again, the girl of the red mill said to helen cameron: "i guess tom is more than half right. altogether, the most serious topic of conversation for all kinds and conditions of female humans is the matter of dress--in one way or another." "how dare you slur your own sex so?" demanded helen. "well, look at this case," her chum observed. "this mary marsden had been lost in the storm and killed for all they knew, yet abby drake's first thought was for the woman's dress." "well, it was a pity about the dress," helen remarked, proving that she agreed with abby drake and the bulk of womankind--as her twin brother oft and again acclaimed. ruth laughed. "and now if we could see poor dear tommy----" the car rounded a sharp turn in the highway. the drake house was perhaps a mile behind. ahead was a long stretch of rain-drenched road, and helen instantly cried: "there he is!" the figure of tom cameron with the empty gasoline can in his hand could scarcely be mistaken, although he was at least a mile in advance. helen began to punch the horn madly. "he'll know that," ruth cried. "yes, he looks back! won't he be astonished?" tom certainly was amazed. he proceeded to sit down on the can and wait for the cars to overtake him. "what are you traveling on?" he shouted, when helen stopped with the engine running just in front of him. "fairy gasoline?" "why, tommy, you're not so smart!" laughed his sister. "it takes ruth to find gas stations. we were stalled right in front of one, and you did not know it. hop in here and take my place and i'll run back to the other car. ruth will tell you all about it." "perhaps we had better let colonel marchand and jennie have this honeymoon car," ruth said doubtfully. "humph!" her chum observed, "i begin to believe it will be just as much a honeymoon car with you and tom in it as with that other couple. 'bless you, my children!'" she ran back to the big car with this saucy statement. tom grinned, slipped behind the wheel, and started the roadster slowly. "it must be," he observed in his inimitable drawl, "that sis has noticed that i'm fond of you, ruthie." "quite remarkable," she rejoined cheerfully. "but the war isn't over yet, tommy-boy. and if our lives are spared we've got to finish our educations and all that. why, tommy, you are scarcely out of short pants, and i've only begun to put my hair up." "jimminy!" he grumbled, "you do take all the starch out of a fellow. now tell me how you got gas. what happened?" everybody has been to boston, or expects to go there some time, so it is quite immaterial what happened to the party while at the hub. they only remained two days, anyway, then they started off alongshore through the pleasant old towns that dot the coast as far as cape ann. they saw the ancient fishing ports of marblehead, salem, gloucester and rockport, and then came back into the interior and did not see salt water again until they reached newburyport at the mouth of the merrimac. the weather remained delightfully cool and sunshiny after that heavy tempest they had suffered in the hills, and they reached portsmouth and remained at a hotel for three days when it rained again. the young folks chafed at this delay, but aunt kate declared that a hotel room was restful after jouncing over all sorts of roads for so long. "they never will build a car easy enough for auntie," jennie stone declared. "i tell pa he must buy some sort of airship for us----" "never!" cried aunt kate in quick denial. "whenever i go up in the air it will be because wings have sprouted on my shoulder blades. and i should not call an aeroplane easy riding, in any case." "at least," grumbled tom, "you can spin along without any trouble with country constables, and _that's_ a blessing." for on several occasions they had had arguments with members of the police force, in one case helping to support a justice and a constable by paying a fine. they did not travel on sunday, however, when the constables reap most of their harvest, so they really had little to complain of in that direction. nor did they travel fast in any case. after the rainy days at portsmouth, the automobile party ran on with only minor incidents and no adventures until they reached portland. there ruth telegraphed to mr. hammond that they were coming, as in her letter, written before they left cheslow, she had promised him she would. herringport, the nearest town to the moving picture camp at beach plum point, was at the head of a beautiful harbor, dotted with islands, and with water as blue as that of the bay of naples. when the two cars rolled into this old seaport the party was welcomed in person by mr. hammond, the president and producing manager of the alectrion film corporation. "i have engaged rooms for you at the hotel here, if you want them," he told ruth, after being introduced to aunt kate and colonel marchand, the only members of the party whom he had not previously met. "but i can give you all comfortable bunks with some degree of luxury at the camp. at least, we think it luxurious after our gold mining experience in the west. you will get better cooking at the point, too." "but a camp!" sighed aunt kate. "we have roughed it so much coming down here, mr. hammond." "there won't be any black ants at this camp," said her niece cheerfully. "only sand fleas," suggested the wicked tom. "you can't scare me with fleas," said jennie. "they only hop; they don't wriggle and creep." "my star in the 'seaside idyl,' miss loder, demanded hotel accommodations at first. but she soon changed her mind," mr. hammond said. "she is now glad to be on the lot with the rest of the company." "it sounds like a circus," aunt kate murmured doubtfully. "it is more than that, my dear madam," replied the manager, laughing. "but these young people----" "if aunt kate won't mind," said ruth, "let us try it, while she remains at the herringport inn." "i'll run her back and forth every day for the 'eats'," tom promptly proposed. "my duty as a chaperon----" began the good woman, when her niece broke in with: "in numbers there is perfect safety, auntie. there are a whole lot of girls down there at the point." "and we have chaperons of our own, i assure you," interposed mr. hammond, treating aunt kate's objection seriously. "miss loder has a cousin who always travels with her. our own mother paisley, who plays character parts, has daughters of her own and is a lovely lady. you need not fear, madam, that the conventions will be broken." "we won't even crack 'em, aunt kate," declared helen rouguishly. "i will watch jen like a cat would a mouse." "humph!" observed the plump girl, scornfully. "_this_ mouse, in that case, is likely to swallow the cat!" chapter xiii the hermit "now, tell me, miss ruth," said mr. hammond, having taken the girl of the red mill into his own car for the short run to beach plum point, "what is this trouble about your new scenario? you have excited my curiosity during all these months about the wonderful script, and now you say it is not ready for me." "oh, mr. hammond!" exclaimed ruth, "i fear it will never be ready for you." "nonsense! don't lose heart. you have merely come to one of those thank-you-ma'ams in story writing that all authors suffer. wait. it will come to you." "no, no!" sighed ruth. "it is nothing like that. i had finished the scenario. i had it all just about as i wanted it, and then----" "then what?" he asked in wonder at her emotion. "it--it was stolen!" "stolen?" "yes. and all my notes--everything! i--i can't talk about it. and i never could write it again," sobbed ruth. "it is the best thing i ever did, mr. hammond." "if it is better than 'the heart of a schoolgirl', or 'the forty-niners', or 'the boys of the draft', then it must be some scenario, miss ruth. the last two are still going strong, you know. and i have hopes of the 'seaside idyl' catching the public fancy just when we are all getting rather weary of war dramas. "if you can only rewrite this new story----" "but mr. hammond! i am sure it has been stolen by somebody who will make use of it. some other producer may put it on the screen, and then my version would fall flat--if no worse." "humph! and you have been so secret about it!" "i took your advice, mr. hammond. i have told nobody about it--not a thing!" "and somebody unknown stole it?" "we think it was a vagrant actor. a tramp. just the sort of person, though, who would know how to make use of the script." "humph! all actors were considered 'vagrants' under the old english law--in shakespeare's younger days, for instance," remarked mr. hammond. "you see how unwise it would be for me to try to rewrite the story--even if i could--and try to screen it." "i presume you are right. yes. but i hoped you would bring a story with you that we could be working on at odd times. i have a good all-around company here on the lot." "i had most of your principals in mind when i wrote my scenario," sighed ruth. "but i could not put my mind to that same subject now. i am discouraged, mr. hammond." "i would not feel that way if i were you, miss ruth," he advised, trying, as everybody else did, to cheer her. "you will get another good idea, and like all other born writers, you will just _have_ to give expression to it. meantime, of course, if i get hold of a promising scenario, i shall try to produce it." "i hope you will find a good one, mr. hammond." he smiled rather ruefully. "of course, there is scarcely anybody on the lot who hasn't a picture play in his or her pocket. i was possibly unwise last week to offer five hundred dollars spot cash for a play i could make use of, for now i suppose there will be fifty to read. everybody, from jacks, the property man, to the old hermit, believes he can write a scenario." "who is the hermit?" asked ruth, with some curiosity. "i don't know. nobody seems to know who he is about herringport. he was living in an old fish-house down on the point when we came here last week with the full strength of the company. and i have made use of the old fellow in your 'seaside idyl'. "he seems to be a queer duck. but he has some idea of the art of acting, it seems. director jim hooley is delighted with him. but they tell me the old fellow is scribbling all night in his hut. the scenario bug has certainly bit that old codger. he's out for my five hundred dollars," and the producing manager laughed again. "i hope you get a good script," said ruth earnestly. "but don't ask me to read any of them, mr. hammond. it does seem as though i never wanted to look at a scenario again!" "then you are going to miss some amusement in this case," he chuckled. "why so?" "i tell you frankly i do not expect much from even those professional actors. it was my experience even before i went into the motion picture business that plays submitted by actors were always full of all the old stuff--all the old theatrical tricks and the like. actors are the most insular people in existence, i believe. they know how plays should be written to fulfill the tenets of the profession; but invention is 'something else again'." the young people who had motored so far were welcomed by many of mr. hammond's company who had acted in "the forty-niners" and had met ruth and her friends in the west, as related in "ruth fielding in the saddle." the shacks that had been built especially for the company's use were comfortable, even if they did smell of new pine boards. the men of the company lived in khaki tents. there were several old fish-houses that were likewise being utilized by the members of the company. beach plum point was the easterly barrier of sand and rock that defended the beautiful harbor from the atlantic breakers. it was a wind-blown place, and the moan of the surf on the outer reef was continually in the ears of the campers on the point. the tang of salt in the air could always be tasted on the lips when one was out of doors. and the younger folks were out on the sands most of the time when they were not working, sleeping, or eating. "we are going to have some fun here," promised tom cameron to ruth, after their party had got established with its baggage. "see that hard strip of beach? that's no clamflat. i am going to race my car on that sand. palm beach has nothing on this. jackman, the property man (you remember jacks, don't you, ruth?), says the blackfish and bass are biting off the point. you girls can act in movies if you like, but _i_ am going fishing." "don't talk movies to me," sighed the girl. "i almost wish we had not come, tom." "nonsense! you shall go fishing with me. put on your oldest duds and--well, maybe you will have to strip off your shoes and stockings. it is both wet and slippery on the rocks." "pooh! i'll put on my bathing suit and a sweater. i never was afraid of water yet," ruth declared. this was the morning after their arrival. tom had been up to the port and brought down aunt kate for the day. aunt kate sat under an umbrella near where the company was working on location, and she scribbled all day in a notebook. jennie whispered that she, too, was bitten by the scenario bug! "i feel it coming over me," announced helen. "i've got what i think is a dandy idea." "oh, there's too much to do," jennie stone said. "i couldn't find time to dabble in literature." "my, oh, my!" gasped helen, with scorn. "how busy we are! you and henri spend all your time making eyes at each other." "but just think, nell!" cried the plump girl. "he's got to go back to france and fight----" "and so has my tom." "but tom is only your brother." "and henri is nothing at all to you," rejoined helen cruelly. "a fiancé is only an expectation. you may change your mind about henri." "never!" cried jennie, with horror. "well, he keeps you busy, i grant. and there go tom and ruth mooning off together with fish lines. lots of fishing _they_ will do! they are almost as bad as you and henri. why!" ejaculated helen in some heat, "i am just driven to writing scenarios to keep from dying of loneliness." "i notice that 'juvenile lead,' mr. simmons, is keeping you quite busy," remarked jennie slyly, as she turned away. it was a fact that ruth and tom enjoyed each others' company. but helen need not have been even a wee bit jealous. to tell the truth, she did not like to "get all mussed up," as she expressed it, by going fishing. to ruth the adventure was a glad relief from worriment. much as she tried, she could not throw off all thought of her lost scenario. she welcomed every incident that promised amusement and mental relaxation. some of the troupe of actors--the men, mostly--were bathing off the point. "and see that man in the old skiff!" cried ruth. "'the lone fisherman'." the individual in question sat upon a common kitchen chair in the skiff with a big, patched umbrella to keep the sun off, and was fishing with a pole that he had evidently cut in the woods along the shore. "that is that hermit fellow," said tom. "he's a queer duck. and the boys bother him a good deal." he was angrily driving some of the swimmers away from his fishing location at that moment. it was plain the members of the moving picture company used the hermit as a butt for their jokes. while one fellow was taking up the hermit's attention in front, another bather rose silently behind him and reached into the bottom of the skiff. what this second fellow did tom and ruth could not see. "the old chap can't swim a stroke," explained one of the laughing bathers to the visitors. "he's as afraid of water as a cat. now you watch." but tom and ruth saw nothing to watch. they went on to the tip of the point and tom prepared the fishing tackle and baited the hooks. just as ruth made her first cast there sounded a scream from the direction of the lone fisherman. "what is it?" she gasped, dropping her pole. the bathers had deserted the old man in the skiff, and were now at some distance. he was anchored in probably twenty feet of water. to the amazement of ruth and her companion, the skiff had sunk until its gunwales were scarcely visible. the hermit had wrenched away his umbrella and was now balanced upon the chair on his feet, in danger of sinking. his fear of this catastrophe was being expressed in unstinted terms. chapter xiv a quotation "do help him, tom!" cried ruth fielding, and she started for the spot where the man and the skiff were sinking. tom cast aside his sweater, kicked his sneakers off, and plunged into the tide. ruth was quite as lightly dressed as tom; but she saw that he could do all that was necessary. that was, to bring the frightened man ashore. this "hermit" as they called him, was certainly very much afraid of the water. he splashed a good deal, and tom had to speak sharply to keep him from getting a strangle-hold about his own neck. "jimminy! but that was a mean trick," panted tom, when he got ashore with the fisherman. "somebody pulled the plug out of the bottom of the skiff and first he knew, he was going down." "it is a shame," agreed ruth, looking at the victim of the joke curiously. he was a thin-featured, austere looking man, scrupulously shaven, but with rather long hair that had quite evidently been dyed. now that it was plastered to his crown by the salt water (for he had been completely immersed more than once in his struggle with tom cameron) his hair was shown to be quite thin and of a greenish tinge at the roots. the shock of being dipped in the sea so unexpectedly was plainly no small one for the hermit. he stood quite unsteadily on the strand, panting and sputtering. "young dogs! no respect for age and ability in this generation. i might have been drowned." "well, it's all over now," said tom comfortingly. "where do you live?" "over yonder, young man," replied the hermit, pointing to the ocean side of the point. "we will take you home. you lie down for a while and you will feel better," ruth said soothingly. "we will come back here afterward and get your skiff ashore." "thank you, miss," said the man courteously. "i'll make those fellows who played the trick on you get the boat ashore," promised tom, running for his shoes and sweater. the hermit proved to be a very uncommunicative person. ruth tried to get him to talk about himself as they crossed the rocky spit, but all that he said of a personal nature was that his name was "john." his shack was certainly a lonely looking hovel. it faced the tumbling atlantic and it seemed rather an odd thing to ruth that a man who was so afraid of the sea should have selected such a spot for his home. the hermit did not invite them to enter his abode. he promised ruth that he would make a hot drink for himself and remove his wet garments and lie down. but he only seemed moderately grateful for their assistance, and shut the door of the shack promptly in their faces when he got inside. "just as friendly as a sore-headed dog," remarked tom, as they went back to the bay side of the point. "perhaps the others have played so many tricks on him that he is suspicious of even our assistance," ruth said. thus speaking, she stooped to pick up a bit of paper in the path. it had been half covered by the sand and might have lain there a long time, or only a day. just why this bit of brown wrapping paper had caught her attention, it would be hard to say. ruth might have passed it a dozen times without noticing it. but now she must needs turn the paper over and over in her hands as she watched tom, with the help of the rather abashed practical jokers, haul the water-logged skiff ashore. she had forgotten the fishing poles they had abandoned on the rocks, and sat down upon a boulder. suddenly she discovered that there was writing on the bit of paper she had picked up. it was then that her attention really became fixed upon her find. the characters had been written with an indelible pencil. the dampness had only blurred the writing instead of erasing it. her attention thus engaged, she idly scrutinized more than the blurred lines. her attitude as she sat there on the boulder slowly stiffened; her gaze focused upon the paper. "why! what is it?" she murmured at last. the blurred lines became clearer to her vision. it was the wording of the phrase rather than the handwriting that enthralled her. this that follows was all that was written on the paper: "flash:-- "as in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be----" to the ordinary observer, with no knowledge of what went before or followed this quotation, the phrase must seem idle. but the word "flash" is used by scenario writers and motion picture makers, indicating an explanatory phrase thrown on the screen. and this quoted phrase struck poignantly to ruth fielding's mind. for it was one she had used in that last scenario--the one that had so strangely disappeared from the summer-house back at the red mill! amazed--almost stunned--by this discovery, she sat on the boulder scarcely seeing what tom and the others were doing toward salvaging the old hermit's skiff and other property. thoughts regarding the quotation shuttled back and forth in the girl's mind in a most bewildering way. the practical side of her character pointed out that there really could be no significance in this discovery. it could not possibly have anything to do with her stolen script. yet the odd phrase, used in just this way, had been one of the few "flashes" indicated in her scenario. was it likely that anybody else, writing a picture, would use just that phrase? she balanced the improbability of this find meaning anything at all to her against the coincidence of another author using the quotation in writing a scenario. she did not know what to think. which supposition was the more improbable? the thought was preposterous that the paper should mean anything to her. ruth was about to throw it away; and then, failing to convince herself that the quotation was but idly written, she tucked the piece of paper into the belt of her bathing suit. when tom was ready to go back to their fishing station, ruth went with him and said nothing about the find she had made. they had fair luck, all told, and the chef at the camp produced their catch in a dish of boiled tautog with egg sauce at dinner that evening. the company ate together at a long table, like a logging camp crew, only with many more of the refinements of life than the usual logging crew enjoys. it was, however, on a picnic plane of existence, and there was much hilarity. these actor folk were very pleasant people. even the star, miss loder, was quite unspoiled by her success. "you know," she confessed to ruth (everybody confided in ruth), "i never would have been anything more than a stock actress in some jerkwater town, as we say in the west, if the movies hadn't become so popular. i have what they call the 'appealing face' and i can squeeze out real tears at the proper juncture. those are two very necessary attributes for a girl who wishes to gain film success." "but you can really act," ruth said honestly. "i watched you to-day." "i should be able to act. i come of a family who have been actors for generations. acting is like breathing to me. but, of course, it is another art to 'register' emotion in the face, and very different from displaying one's feelings by action and audible expression. you know, one of our most popular present-day stage actresses got her start by an ability to scream off-stage. nothing like that in the movies." "you should hear jennie stone with a black ant down her back," put in helen, with serious face. "i am sure heavy could go the actress you speak of one better, and become even more popular." "i am not to be blamed if i squeal at crawly things," sniffed the plump girl, hearing this. "see how brave i am in most other respects." but that night jennie exhibited what tom called her "scarefulness" in most unmistakable fashion, and never again could she claim to be brave. she gave her chums in addition such a fright that they were not soon over talking about it. the three college girls had cots in a small shack that mr. hammond had given up to their use. it was one of the shacks nearest the shore of the harbor. several boat-docks near by ran out into the deep water. it was past midnight when jennie was for some reason aroused. usually she slept straight through the night, and had to be awakened by violent means in time for breakfast. she was not startled, but awoke naturally, and found herself broad awake. she sat up in her cot, almost convinced that it must be daylight. but it was the moon shining through a haze of clouds that lighted the interior of the shack. the other two girls were breathing deeply. the noises she heard did not at first alarm jennie. there was the whisper of the tide as it rolled the tiny pebbles and shells up the strand and, receding, swept them down again. it chuckled, too, among the small piers of the near-by docks. then the listening girl heard footsteps--or what she took to be that sound. they approached the shack, then receded. she began to be curious, then felt a tremor of alarm. who could be wandering about the camp at this grim hour of the night? she was unwise enough to allow her imagination to wake up, too. she stole from her bed and peered out of the screened window that faced the water. almost at once a moving object met her frightened gaze. it was a figure all in white which seemed to float down the lane between the tents and out upon the nearest boat-dock. afterward jennie declared she could have suffered one of these spirit-looking manifestations in silence. she crammed the strings of her frilled nightcap between her teeth as a stopper! this spectral figure was going away from the shack, anyway. it appeared to be bearing something in its arms. but then came a second ghost, likewise burdened. gasping, jennie waited, clinging to the window-sill for support. a third spectre appeared, rising like banquo's spirit at macbeth's feast. this was too much for the plump girl's self-control. she opened her mouth, and her half-strangled shriek, the partially masticated cap-strings all but choking her, aroused ruth and helen to palpitating fright. "oh! what is it?" demanded helen, bounding out of bed. "ghosts! oh! waw!" gurgled jennie, and sank back into her friend's arms. helen was literally as well as mentally overcome. jennie's weight carried her to the straw matting with a bump that shook the shack and brought ruth, too, out of bed. chapter xv an amazing situation "'ghost'?" cried ruth fielding. "let me see it! remember the campus ghost back at old briarwood, helen? i haven't seen a ghost since that time." "ugh! get this big elephant off of me!" grunted her chum, impolitely as well as angrily. "_she's_ no ghost, i do assure you. she's of the earth, earthy, and no mistake! ouch! get off, heavy!" "oh! oh! oh!" groaned the plump girl. "i--i saw them. three of them!" "sounds like a three-ring circus," snapped helen. but ruth was peering through the window. she saw nothing, and complained thereof: "jen has had a nightmare. i don't see a thing." "nightmare, your granny!" sputtered the plump girl, finally rolling off her half crushed friend. "i saw it--them--_those_!" "your grammar is so mixed i wouldn't believe you on oath," declared helen, getting to her own bare feet and paddling back to her cot for slippers and a negligee. "o-o-oh, it is chilly," agreed ruth, grabbing a wrap, too. "do tell us about it, jennie," she begged. "did you see your ghost through the window here?" "it isn't my ghost!" denied the plump girl. "i'm alive, ain't i?" "but you're not conscious," grumbled helen. "i can see!" wailed jennie. "i haven't lost my eyesight." "stop!" ruth urged. "let us get at the foundation of this trouble. you say you saw----" "i saw what i saw!" "oh, see-saw!" cried helen. "we're all loony, now." ruth was about to ask another question, but she was again looking through the window. she suddenly bit off a cry of her own. she had to confess that the sight she saw was startling. "is--is that the ghost, jennie?" she breathed, seizing the plump girl by her arm and dragging her forward. jennie gave one frightened look through the window and immediately clapped her palms over her eyes. "ow!" she wailed in muffled tones. "they're coming back." they were, indeed! three white figures in indian file came stalking up the long dock. they approached the camp in a spectral procession and had she been awakened to see them first of all, ruth might have been startled herself. helen peered over her chum's shoulder and in teeth-chattering monotone breathed in ruth's ear the query: "what is it?" "it--it's heavy's ghost." "not mine! not mine!" denied the plump girl. "oh!" gasped helen, spying the stalking white figures. it was the moonlight made them appear so ghostly. ruth knew that, of course, at once. and then---- "who ever saw ghosts carrying garbage cans before?" ejaculated the girl of the red mill. "mercy me, heavy! do stop your wailing. it is the chef and his two assistants who have got up to dump the garbage on the out-going tide. what a perfect scare-cat you are!" "you don't mean it, ruth?" whimpered the plump girl. "is that _all_ they were?" helen began to giggle. and it covered her own fright. ruth was rather annoyed. "if you had remained in bed and minded your own business," she said to jennie, "you would not have seen ghosts, or got us up to see them. now go back to sleep and behave yourself." "yes, ma'am," murmured the abashed jennie stone. "how silly of me! i was never afraid of a cook before--no, indeed." helen continued to giggle spasmodically; but she fell asleep soon. as for jennie, she began to breathe heavily almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. but ruth must needs lie awake for hours, and naturally the teeth of her mind began to knaw at the problem of that bit of paper she had found in the sand. the more she thought of it the less easy it was to discard the idea that the writing on the paper was a quotation from her own scenario script. it seemed utterly improbable that two people should use that same expression as a "flash" in a scenario. yet, if this paper was a connecting link between her stolen manuscript and the thief, _who was the thief_? it would seem, of course, if this supposition were granted, that some member of the company of film actors mr. hammond had there at beach plum point had stolen the scenario. at least, the stolen scenario must be in the possession of some member of the company. who could it be? naturally ruth considered this unknown must be one of the company who wished mr. hammond to accept and produce a scenario. ruth finally fell into a troubled sleep with the determination in her mind to take more interest in the proposed scenario-writing contest than she had at first intended. she could not imagine how anybody could take her work and change it so that she would not recognize it! the plot of the story was too well wrought and the working out of it too direct. she did not think that she had it perfect. only that she had perfected the idea as well as she was able. but changing it would not hide from her the recognition of her own brain-child. so after breakfast she went to mr. hammond to make inquiry about the scenario contest. "ha, ha! so you are coming to yourself, miss ruth!" he chuckled. "i told you you would feel different. i only wish _you_ would get a real smart idea for a picture." "nothing like that!" she told him, shaking her head. "i could not think of writing a new scenario. you don't know what it means to me--the loss of that picture i had struggled so long with and thought so much about. i---- "but let us not talk of it," she hastened to add. "i am curious regarding the stories that have been offered to you." "you need not fear competition," he replied. "just as i told you, all these perfectly good acting people base their scenarios on dramas they have played or seen played. they haven't got the idea of writing for the screen at all, although they work before the camera." "and that is no wonder!" exclaimed ruth. "the way the directors take scenes, the actors never get much of an idea of the continuity of the story they are making. but these stories?" "so far, i haven't found a possible scenario. and i have looked at more than a score." "you don't mean it!" "i most certainly do," he assured her. "want to look at them?" "why--yes," confessed ruth. "i am curious, as i tell you." "go to it!" exclaimed mr. hammond, opening a drawer of his desk and pointing to the pile of manuscripts within. "consider yourself at home here. i am going over to the port with director hooley and most of the members of the company. we have found just the location for the shooting of that scene in your 'seaside idyl' where the ladies' aid society holds its 'gossip session' in the grove--remember?" "oh, yes," ruth replied, not much interested, as she took the first scenario out of the drawer. "and hooley's found some splendid types, too, around the village. they really have a sewing circle connected with the herringport union church, and i have agreed to help the ladies pay for having the church edifice painted if they will let us film a session of the society with our principal character actors mixed in with the local group. the sun is good to-day." he went away, and a little later ruth heard the automobiles start for herringport. she had the forenoon to herself, for the rest of her party had gone out in a motor boat fishing--a party from which she had excused herself. eagerly she began to examine the scenarios submitted to mr. hammond. the possibility that she might find one of them near enough like her own lost story to suggest that it had been plagiarized, made ruth's heart beat faster. she could not forget the quotation on the scrap of brown paper. somebody on this point--and it seemed that the "somebody" must be one of the moving picture company--had written that quotation from her scenario. she felt that this could not be denied. chapter xvi ruth solves one problem had ruth fielding been confronted with the question: "did she expect to find a clue to the identity of the person who had stolen her scenario before she left the red mill?" she could have made no confident answer. she did not know what she would find when she sat down at mr. hammond's desk for the purpose of looking over the submitted stories. doubt and suspicion, however, enthralled her mind. she was both curious and anxious. ruth had no particular desire to read the manuscripts. in any case she did not presume mr. hammond desired her advice about selecting a script for filming. she skimmed through the first story. it had not a thing in it that would suggest in the faintest way any familiarity of the author with her own lost scenario. for two hours she fastened her attention upon one after another of the scenarios, often by main will-power, because of the utter lack of interest in the stories the writers had tried to put over. without being at all egotistical, ruth fielding felt confident that had any one of these scenario writers come into possession of her lost script, and been dishonest enough to use it, he would have turned out a much better story. but not a trace of her original idea and its development was to be found in these manuscripts. her suspicion had been needlessly roused. ruth could not deny that the scrap of paper found in the sand was quite as mysterious as ever. the quotation on it seemed to be taken directly from her own scenario. but there was absolutely nothing in this pile of manuscripts to justify her suspicions. she was just as dissatisfied after scanning all the submitted scenarios as mr. hammond seemed to be with the day's work when the company came back from herringport in the late afternoon. "i suppose it is a sanguine disposition that keeps me at this game, miss ruth," he sighed. "i always expect much more than i can possibly get out of a situation; and when i fail i go on hoping just the same." "i am sure that is a commendable disposition to possess," she laughed. "what has gone so wrong?" "it is the old story of leading the horse to water, and the inability of making him drink. this is a balky horse, and no mistake!" "do tell me what you mean, mr. hammond?" "why, i told you we had got what the ladies call 'perfectly lovely' types for that scene to-day. you ought to see them, miss ruth! you would be charmed. just what the dear public expects a back-country sewing circle should look like." "oh!" "and they all promised to be on hand at the location--and they were. i have had my experiences with amateurs before. i had begged the ladies to dress just as they would were they going to an actual meeting of their sewing society----" "and they all dressed up?" laughed ruth, clasping her hands. "well, that i expected to contend with. and most of them even in their best bib and tucker were not out of the picture. not at all! that was not the main difficulty and the one that has spoiled our day's work." "indeed?" "i am afraid jim hooley will have to fake the whole scene after all," continued the manager. "those women came all dressed up 'to have their pictures took,' it is true. but the worst of it is, they could not be natural. it was impossible. they showed in every move and every glance that they were sitting with a bunch of actors and were not at all sure that what they were doing was altogether the right thing. "we worked over them as though it were a 'mob scene' and there were five hundred in it instead of twenty. but twenty wooden dummies would have filmed no more unnaturally. you know, in your story, they are supposed to be discussing the bit of gossip about your heroine's elopement with the schoolteacher. i could not work up a mite of enthusiasm in their minds about such a topic." ruth laughed. but she saw that the matter was really serious for mr. hammond and the director. she became sympathetic. "i fancy that if they had had a real scandal to discuss," she observed, "their faces would have registered more poignant interest." "'poignant interest'!" scoffed the manager in disgust. "if these herringport tabbies had the toothache they would register only polite anguish--in public. they are the most insular and self-contained and self-suppressed women i ever saw. these down-easters! they could walk over fiery ploughshares and only wanly smile----" ruth went off into a gale of laughter at this. mr. hammond was a westerner by birth, and he found the yankee character as hard to understand as did henri marchand. "have you quite given up hope, mr. hammond?" ruth asked. "well, we'll try again to-morrow. oh, they promised to come again! they are cutting out rompers, or flannel undervests, i suppose, for the south sea island children; or something like that. they are interested in that job, no doubt. "i wanted them to 'let go all holts,' as these fishermen say, and be eager and excited. they are about as eager as they would be doing their washing, or cleaning house--if as much!" and mr. hammond's disappointment became too deep for further audible expression. ruth suddenly awoke to the fact that one of her best scenes in the "seaside idyl" was likely to be spoiled. she talked with mr. hooley about it, and when the day's run was developed and run off in one of the shacks which was used for a try-out room, ruth saw that the manager had not put the matter too strongly. the sewing circle scene lacked all that snap and go needed to make it a realistic piece of action. of course, there were enough character actors in the company to use in the scene; but naturally an actor caricatures such parts as were called for in this scene. the professional would be likely to make the characters seem grotesque. that was not the aim of the story. "i thought you were not going to take any interest in this 'seaside idyl,' at all," suggested helen, when ruth was talking about the failure of the scene after supper that night. "i can't help it. my reputation as a scenario writer is at stake, just as much as is mr. hooley's reputation as director," ruth said, smiling. "i really didn't mean to have a thing to do with the old picture. but i can see that somebody has got to put a breath of naturalness into those ladies' aid society women, or this part of the picture will be a fizzle." "and our ruth," drawled jennie, "is going to prescribe one of her famous cure-alls, is she?" "i believe i can make them look less like a lot of dummies while they are cutting out rompers for cannibal island pickaninnies," laughed ruth. "tom, i am going to the port with you the first thing in the morning." "by all means," said captain cameron. "i am yours to command." her newly aroused interest in the scenario at present being filmed, was a good thing for ruth fielding. having found nothing at all in the submitted stories that suggested her own lost story, the girl of the red mill tried to put aside again the thing that so troubled her mind. and this new interest helped. in the morning before breakfast she and tom ran over to the port in the maroon roadster. while they were having breakfast at the inn, ruth asked the waitress, who was a native of this part of the country, about the union church and some of the more intimate life-details of the members of its congregation. it is not hard to uncover neighborhood gossip of a kind not altogether unkindly in any similar community. the union church had a new minister, and he was young. he was now away on his vacation, and more than one local beauty and her match-making mamma would have palpitation of the heart before he returned for fear that the young clergyman would have his heart interests entangled by some designing "foreigner." tom had no idea as to what ruth fielding was getting at through this questioning of the beaming hebe who waited on them at breakfast. and he was quite as much in the dark as to his friend's motive when ruth announced their first visit to be to the office of the herringport _harpoon_, the local news sheet. chapter xvii john, the hermit's, contribution a man with bushy hair, a pencil stuck over his ear, and wearing an ink-stained apron, met them in the office of the _harpoon_. this was ezra payne, editor and publisher of the weekly news-sheet, and this was his busiest day. the _harpoon_, ruth had learned, usually went into the mails on this day. "tut, tut! i see. is this a joke?" mr. payne pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow in uncertainty. "a whole edition, miss? wall, i dunno. i do have hard work selling all the edition some weeks. but i have reg'lar subscribers----" "this will not interfere with your usual edition of the _harpoon_," she hastened to assure him. "how's that, miss?" "i want to buy an edition of one copy." "one copy!" "yes, sir. i want something special printed in one paper. then you can take it out and print your regular edition." "tut, tut! i see. is this a joke?" mr. payne asked, his eyes beginning to twinkle. "it is the biggest joke you ever heard of," declared ruth. "and who's the joke on?" "wait and see what i write," ruth said, sitting down at the battered old desk where he labored over his editorials and proofsheets. opening a copy of the last week's _harpoon_ that lay there, she was able to see the whole face of the paper. "i've got the inside run off," said mr. payne, still doubtfully. "so you can't run anything on the second and third pages." "oh, i want the most prominent place for my item," laughed ruth. "front page, top column---- here it is!" he bent over her. tom stared in wonder, too, as ruth pointed to an item under a certain heading at the top of the middle column of the front page of the sheet. "that is just where i want my item to appear," she said briskly to the editor. "you run that--that department there every week?" "oh, yes, miss. the people expect it. you know how folks are. they look for those items first of all in a country paper." "yes. it is so. one of the new york dailies is still printed with that human foible in mind. it caters to this very curiosity that your _harpoon_ caters to." "yes, miss. you're right. most folks have the same curiosity, city or country. shakespeare spoke of the 'seven ages of man'; but there are only three of particular interest--to womankind, anyway; and they are all _here_." "there you go! slurring the women," she laughed. "or do you speak compliments?" "i guess the women have it right," chuckled mr. payne. "now, what is it you want me to print in one paper for you?" ruth drew a scratch pad to her and scribbled rapidly for a couple of minutes. then she passed the page to the newspaper proprietor. mr. payne read it, stared at her, pursed his lips, and then read it again. suddenly he burst into a cackle of laughter, slapping his thigh in high delight. "by gravy!" he chortled, "that's a good one on the dominie. by gravy! wait till i tell----" "don't you tell anybody, mr. payne," interrupted ruth, smiling, but firmly. "i am buying your secrecy as well as your edition of _one copy_." "i get you! i get you!" declared the old fellow. "this is to be on the q.t.?" "positively." "you sit right here. the front page is all made up on the stone, marriages, births, death notices, and all. i'll set the paragraph and slip it in at the top o' the column. my boy is out, but this young man can help me lift the page into the press. she's all warmed up, and i was going to start printing when edgar comes back from breakfast." he grabbed the piece of copy and went off into the printing room, chuckling. half an hour later the first paper came from the press, and ruth and tom bent over it. the item the girl had written was plainly printed in the position she had chosen on the front page of the _harpoon_. "now, you are to keep still about this," ruth said, threatening mr. payne with a raised finger. "i don't know a thing about it," he promised, pocketing the bill she took from her purse, and in high good humor over the joke. tom helped him take the front page from the press again. the printer unlocked the chase, and removed and distributed the three lines he had set up at ruth's direction. the crowd from beach plum point came over in the cars about noontime. aunt kate had remained at the inn on this morning, and she and ruth walked to the "location," which was a beautiful old shaded front yard at the far end of the village. helen and jennie had come with the real actors, and were to appear in the picture. the story related incidents at a sunday-school picnic, and most of the comedy had already been filmed on the lot. the scene around the long sewing table under the trees, when the ladies' aid was at work with needle and tongue, should be the principal incident of this reel devoted to the picnic. the heroine, to the amazement of the village gossips, has run away with the schoolmaster and married him in the next county. a certain character in the picture runs in with this bombshell of news and explodes it in the midst of the group about the sewing table. the day before this point had failed to make much impression upon the amateur members of the company engaged in this typical scene. the herringport ladies were not at all interested in such a thing happening to the town's schoolmaster, for to tell the truth the local schoolmaster was an old married man with a house full of children and nothing at all romantic about him. ruth took mr. hooley aside and showed him the copy of the _harpoon_ she had had printed, and whispered to him her idea of the change in the action of the scenario. he seized upon the scheme--and the paper--with gusto. "you are a jewel, miss fielding!" he declared. "if this doesn't make those old tabbies come to life and act naturally, nothing ever will!" ruth left the matter in the director's hands and retired from the location. she had no intention herself of appearing in the picture. she found mr. hammond sitting in his automobile in a state of good-humor. "you seem quite sure that the work will go better to-day, mr. hammond," ruth observed, with curiosity as to the reason for his apparent enjoyment. "whether it does or not, miss ruth," he responded. "there is something that i fancy is going to be more than a little amusing." he tapped a package wrapped in a soiled newspaper which lay on the seat beside him. "thank goodness, i can still enjoy a joke." "what is the joke? let me enjoy it, too," she said. "with the greatest of pleasure. i'll let you read it, if you like--as you did those other scenarios." "what! is it a movie story?" she asked. "so i am assured. it is the contribution of john, the hermit. he brought it to me just before we started over here this morning. poor old codger! just look here, miss ruth." mr. hammond turned back the loose covering of the package on the automobile seat. ruth saw a packet of papers, seemingly of roughly trimmed sheets of wrapping paper and of several sizes. at the top of the upper sheet was the title of the hermit's scenario. it was called "plain mary." she glanced down the page, noting that it was written in a large, upright, hand and with an indelible pencil. ruth fielding had not the least idea that she was to take any particular interest in this picture-story. she smiled more because mr. hammond seemed so amused than for any other reason. secretly she thought that most of these moving picture people were rather unkind to the strange old man who lived alone on the seaward side of the beach plum point. "want to read it over?" mr. hammond asked her. "i would consider it a favor, for i've got to go back and try to catch up with my correspondence. i expect this is worse than those you skimmed through yesterday." ruth did not hear him. suddenly she had seen something that had not at first interested her. she read the first few lines of the opening, and saw nothing in them of importance. it was the writing itself that struck her. "why!" she suddenly gasped. she was reminded of something that she had seen before. this writing---- "let me go back to the camp with you, mr. hammond," she said, slipping into the seat and taking the packet of written sheets into her lap. "i--i will look through this scenario, if you like. there is something down there on the point that i want." "sure. be glad to have your company," he said, letting in his clutch after pushing the starter. "we're off." ruth did not speak again just then. with widening eyes she began to devour the first pages of the hermit's manuscript. chapter xviii uncertainties the automobile purred along the shell road, past the white-sided, green-blinded houses of the retired ship captains and the other well-to-do people of herringport. the car ran so smoothly that ruth might have read all the way. but after the first page or two--those containing the opening scenes of "plain mary"--she dared not read farther. not yet. it was not that there was a familiar phrase in the upright chirography of the old hermit. the story merely suggested a familiar situation to ruth's mind. thus far it was only a suggestion. there was something else she felt she must prove or disprove first of all. she sat beside mr. hammond quite speechless until they came to the camp on the harbor shore of beach plum point. he went off cheerfully to his letter writing, and ruth entered the shack she occupied with helen and jennie. she opened her locked writing-case. under the first flap she inserted her fingers and drew forth the wrinkled scrap of paper she had picked up on the sands. a glance at the blurred writing assured her that it was the same as that of the hermit's scenario. "flash: "as in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be----" shakingly ruth sat down before the cheap little maple table. she spread open the newspaper wrapper and stared again at the title page of "plain mary." that title was nothing at all like the one she had given her lost scenario. but a title, after all, meant very little. the several scenes suggested in the beginning of the hermit's story did not conflict with the plot she had evolved, although they were not her own. she had read nothing so far that would make this story different from her own. the names of the characters were changed and the locations for the first scene were different from those in her script. nevertheless the action and development of the story might prove to be exactly like hers. she shrank from going deeper into the hermit's script. she feared to find her suspicions true; yet she _must_ know. finally she began to read. page after page of the large and sprawling writing she turned over, face down upon the table. ruth grew so absorbed in the story that she did not note the passing of time. she was truly aware of but one thing. and that seized upon her mind to wring from it both bitterness and anger. "want to go back to the port, miss ruth?" asked mr. hammond. "i want to mail my letters." his question startled her. she sprang up, a spot of crimson in either cheek. had he looked at her, the manager would certainly have noted her strange look. "i'll come in a minute," she called to him in a half-stifled voice. she laved her eyes and cheeks in cool water, removing such marks of her emotion as she could. then she bundled up the hermit's scenario and joined mr. hammond in the car. "did you look at this?" she asked the producer as he started the motor. "bless you, no! what is it? as crazy as the old codger himself?" "do you really think that man is crazy?" she asked sharply. "why, i don't really know. just queer perhaps. it doesn't seem as though a sane man would live all stark alone over on that sea-beaten point." "he is an actor," declared ruth. "your director says so." "at least, he does not claim to be, and they usually do, you know," chuckled mr. hammond. "but about this thing----" "you read it! then i will tell you something," said the girl soberly, and she refused to explain further. "you amaze me," said the puzzled manager. "if that old codger has succeeded in turning out anything worth while, i certainly shall believe that 'wonders never cease.'" "he has got you all fooled. he _is_ a good actor," declared ruth bitterly. then, as mr. hammond turned a puzzled frown upon her, she added, "tell me what you think of the script, mr. hammond, before you speak to--er--john, or whatever his name may be." "i certainly am curious now," he declared. they got back to the place where the director had arranged to "shoot" the sewing circle scene just as everything was all set for it. mother paisley dominated the half circle of women about the long table under the trees. ruth marveled at the types mr. hooley had found in the village. and she marveled further that any group of human beings could appear so wooden. "oh, ruth!" murmured helen, who was not in this scene, but was an interested spectator, "they will surely spoil the picture again. poor mr. hooley! he takes _such_ pains." it was like playing a child's game for most of the members of the herringport union congregation. they were selfconscious, and felt that they were in a silly situation. those who were not too serious of demeanor were giggling like schoolgirls. yet everything was ready for the cameras. mr. hooley's keen eye ran over all the group. he waved a hand to the camera men. "ready camera--action--go!" the women remained speechless. they merely looked at each other in a helpless way. it was evident they had forgotten all the instructions the director had given them. but suddenly into the focus of the cameras ran a barefooted urchin waving a newspaper. this was the alectrion company's smartest "kid" actor and a favorite wherever his tousled head, freckled face, and wide grin appeared on the screen. he plunged right at mother paisley and thrust the paper into her hand, while he pointed at a certain place on the front page. "read _that_, ma bassett!" cried the news vender. mrs. paisley gave expression first to wonder, then utter amazement, as she read the item ruth had had inserted in this particular "edition" of the _harpoon_. she was a fine old actress and her facial registering of emotion was a marvel. mr. hooley had seldom to advise her. now his voice was heard above the clack of the cameras: "pass it to the lady at your left. that's it! cling to the paper. get your heads together--three of you now!" the amateur players looked at each other and began to grin. the scene promised to be as big a "fizzle" as the one shot the previous day. but the woman next to mrs. paisley, after looking carelessly at the paper, of a sudden came to life. she seized the _harpoon_ with both hands, fairly snatching it out of the actress' hands. she was too startled to be polite. "what under the canopy is this here?" she sputtered. she was a small, wiry, vigorous woman, and she had an expressive, if a vinegary, face. she rose from her seat and forgot all about her "play-acting." "what d'you think it says here?" she demanded of her sister-members of the ladies' aid. "sh!" "ella painter, you're a-bustin' up the show!" admonished a motherly old person at the end of the table. but mrs. painter did not notice these hushed remarks. she read the item in the paper aloud--and so extravagantly did she mouth the astonishing words that ruth feared they might be read on her lips when shown on the screen. "listen!" mrs. painter cried. "right at the top of the marriage notices! 'garside--smythe. at perleyvale, maine, on august twenty-second, the reverend elton garside, of herringport, and miss amy smythe, of perleyvale.' what do you know about that?" the gasp of amazement that went up from the women of the herringport union church was almost a chorus of anguish. the paper was snatched from hand to hand. nobody could accuse the amateurs now of being "wooden." not until mrs. paisley in the character of _ma bassett_, at the signal from mr. hooley, fell back in her chair, exclaiming: "my mercy me! luella sprague and the teacher! who'd have thought it?" did the company in general suspect that something had been "put over on them." "all right! all right!" shouted jim hooley in high delight, stopping his camera men. "that's fine! it's great! miss fielding, your scheme worked like a charm." the members of the sewing circle began to ask questions. "do you mean to say this is in the play?" demanded mrs. ella painter, waving the newspaper and inclined to be indignant. "yes, mrs. painter. that marriage notice is just a joke," the director told her. "it certainly gave you ladies a start and---- well, wait till you see this scene on the screen!" "but ain't it _so_?" cried another. "why, mr. garside---- why! it's in the _harpoon_." "but you won't find it in another _harpoon_," laughed the director, recovering possession of the newspaper. "it's only a joke. but i positively had to give you ladies a real shock or we'd never have got this scene right." "well, of all the impudence!" began mrs. painter. however, she joined in the laughter a minute later. at best, the women had won from mr. hammond enough money to pay for the painting of their church edifice, and they were willing to sacrifice their dignity for that. chapter xix counterclaims "i declare, ruth! that was a ridiculous thing to do," exclaimed helen, when they were on their way back to the point. "but it certainly brought the sewing circle women all up standing." "i've been wondering all day what ruth was up to," said tom, who was steering the big car. "i was in on it without understanding her game." "well, it was just what the directer needed," chuckled jennie. "oh, it takes our ruth to do things." "i wonder?" sighed the girl of the red mill, in no responsive mood. she had something very unpleasant before her that she felt she must do, and nothing could raise her spirits. she did not speak to anybody about the hermit's scenario. she waited for mr. hammond to express his opinion of it. at the camp she found a letter for her from the doctor's wife who had promised to keep her informed regarding arabella montague fitzmaurice pike. that young person was doing well and getting fat at the perkins' farm. but mrs. holmes was quite sure that she had not heard from her father. "you've got another half-orphan on your hands, ruth," said helen. she made it a point always to object to ruth's charities. "i don't believe that man will ever show up again. if he went away with a medicine show----" "no, no," said ruth firmly. "no child would ever respect and love her father as bella does if he was not good to her. he will turn up." just then tom called from outside the door of the girls' shack. "what say to a moonlight dip off the point?" he asked. "the tide is not very low. and i missed my splash this morning." "we're with you, tommy," responded his sister. "wait till we get into bathing suits." even ruth was enthusiastic--to a degree--over this. in twenty minutes they were running up the beach with tom and henri toward the end of the point. "let's go over and get the surf," suggested jennie. "i do love surf bathing. all you have to do is to bob up and down in one place." "heavy is lazy even in her sport," scoffed helen. "but i'm game for the rough stuff." they crossed the neck of land near the hermit's hut. there was a hard beach almost in front of the hut, and up this the breakers rolled and foamed delightfully. the so-called hermit, hearing their voices, came out and sat on a rock to watch them. but he did not offer to speak until ruth went over to him. "mr. hammond let me read your script, john," she said coldly. "indeed?" he rejoined without emotion. "where did you get the idea for that scenario?" he tapped his head with a long forefinger. "right inside of that skull. i do my own thinking," he said. "you did not have any help about it? you originated the idea of 'plain mary?'" he nodded. "you ain't the only person who can write a picture," he observed. "and i think that this one they are filming for you is silly." ruth stared down at him, but said nothing more. she was ready to go back to camp as soon as the others would, and she remained very silent. mr. hammond had been asking for her, miss loder said. when ruth had got into something more presentable than a wet bathing suit, she went to his office. "what do you know about this?" he demanded in plain amazement. "this story the old man gave me to read is a wonder! it is one of the best ideas i ever saw for the screen. of course, it needs fixing up a bit, but it's great! what did you think of it, miss ruth?" "i am glad you like it, mr. hammond," she said, steadying her voice with difficulty. "i do like it, i assure you." "it is _my_ story, mr. hammond!" she exclaimed. "it is the very scenario that was stolen from me at home. he's just changed the names of the characters and given it a different title, and spoiled some of the scenes. but a large part of it is copied word for word from my manuscript!" "miss fielding!" gasped the president of the alectrion film corporation. "i am telling you the truth," ruth cried, rather wildly, it must be confessed, and then she broke down and wept. "my goodness! it can't be possible! you--you've let your mind dwell upon your loss so much----" "do you think i am crazy?" she demanded, flaring up at him, her anger drying her tears. "certainly not," he returned gently; yet he looked at her oddly. "but mistakes have been made----" "mistakes, indeed! it is no mistake when i recognize my own work." "but--but how could this old man have stolen your work--and away back there at the red mill? i believe he has lived here on the point for years. at least, every summer." "then somebody else stole it and he got the script from them. i tell you it is mine!" cried ruth. "miss fielding! let us be calm----" "you would not be calm if you discovered somebody trying to make use of something you had originated, and calling it theirs--no you wouldn't, mr. hammond!" "but it seems impossible," he said weakly. "that old man is an actor--an old-school actor. you can see that easily enough," she declared. "there was such a person about the red mill the day my script was lost. oh, it's plain enough." "not so plain, miss ruth," said mr. hammond firmly. "and you must not make wild accusations. that will do no good--and may do harm in the end. it does not seem probable to me that this old hermit could have actually stolen your story. a longshore character like him----" "he's not!" cried ruth. "don't you see that he is playing a part? he is no fisherman. no longshore character, as you call him, would be as afraid of the sea as he is. he is playing a part--and he plays it just as well as the parts mr. hooley gives him to play." "jove! there may be something in that," murmured the manager. "he got my script some way, i tell you!" declared ruth. "i am not going to let anybody maul my story and put it over as his own. no, sir!" "but--but, miss ruth!" exclaimed mr. hammond. "how are you going to prove what you say is true?" "prove it?" "yes. you see, the burden of proof must be on you." "but--but don't you believe me?" she murmured. "does it matter what i believe?" he asked her gently. "remember, this man has entrusted me with a manuscript that he says is original. at least it is written in his own hand. i cannot go back of that unless you have some means of proof that his story is your story. who did you tell about your plot, and how you worked it out? did you read the finished manuscript--or any part of it--to any person who can corroborate your statements?" "oh, mr. hammond!" she cried, with sudden anguish in her voice. "not a soul! never to a single, solitary person. the girls, nor aunt alvirah, nor tom----" she broke down again and he could not soothe her. she wept with abandon, and mr. hammond was really anxious for her. he went to the door, whistled for one of the boys, and sent for mrs. paisley. but ruth recovered her composure--to a degree, at least--before the motherly old actress came. "don't tell anybody! don't tell anybody!" she sobbed to mr. hammond. "they will think i am crazy! i haven't a word of proof. only my word----" "against his," said the manager gravely. "i would accept your word, miss ruth, against the world! but we must have some proof before we deliberately accuse this old man of robbing you." "yes, yes. i see. i will be patient--if i can." "the thing to do is to find out who this hermit really is," said mr. hammond. "through discovering his private history we may put our finger on the thing that will aid you with proof. good-night, my dear. try to get calm again." chapter xx the grill ruth did not go back to her chums until, under mother paisley's comforting influence, she had recovered a measure of her self-possession. the old actress asked no questions as to the cause of ruth's state of mind. she had seen too many hysterical girls to feel that the cause of her patient's breakdown was at all important. "you just cry all you want to, deary. right here on mother paisley's shoulder. crying will do you good. it is the good lord's way of giving us women an outlet for all our troubles. when the last tear is squeezed out much of the pain goes with it." ruth was not ordinarily a crying girl. she had wept more of late, beginning with that day at the red mill when her scenario manuscript had been stolen, than in all her life before. her tears were now in part an expression of anger and indignation. she was as mad as she could be at this man who called himself "john, the hermit." for, whether he was the person who had actually stolen her manuscript, he very well knew that his scenario offered to mr. hammond was not original with him. the worst of it was, he had mangled her scenario. ruth could look upon it in no other way. his changes had merely muddied the plot and cheapened her main idea. she could not forgive that! the other girls were drowsy when ruth kissed mother paisley good-night and entered the small shack. she was glad to escape any interrogation. by morning she had gained control of herself, but her eyes betrayed the fact that she had not slept. "you certainly do not look as though you were enjoying yourself down here," tom cameron said to her at breakfast time, and with suspicion. "maybe we did come to the wrong place for our vacation after all. how about it, ruth? shall we start off in the cars again and seek pastures new?" "not now, tom," she told him, hastily. "i must stay right here." "why?" "because----" "that is no sensible reason." "let me finish," she said rather crossly. "because i must see what sort of scenario mr. hammond finds--if he finds any--in this contest." "humph! and you said you and scenarios were done forever! i fancy mr. hammond is taking advantage of your good nature." "he is not." "you are positively snappish, ruth," complained tom. "you've changed your mind----" "isn't that a girl's privilege?" "very well, miladi!" he said, with a deep bow as they rose from the table. "however, you need not give all your attention to these prize stories, need you? let's do something besides follow these sun-worshippers around to-day." "all right, tommy-boy," acclaimed his sister. "what do you suggest?" "a run along the coast to reef harbor where there are a lot of folks we know," tom promptly replied. "not in that old _tocsin_," cried jennie. "she's so small i can't take off my sweater without tipping her over." "oh, what a whopper!" gasped helen. "never mind," grinned her twin. "let jennie run to the superlatives if she likes. anyway, i would not dream of going so far as the harbor in that dinky little _tocsin_. i've got my eye on just the craft, and i can get her over here in an hour by telephoning to the port. it's the _stazy_." "goody!" exclaimed jennie stone. "that big blue yacht! and she's got a regular crew--and everything. aunty won't be afraid to go with us in her." "that's fine, tom," said his sister with appreciation. even ruth seemed to take some interest. but she suggested: "be sure there is gasoline enough, tom. that _stazy_ doesn't spread a foot of canvas, and we are not likely to find a gas station out there in the ocean, the way we did in the hills of massachusetts." "don't fear, miss fidget," he rejoined. "are you all game?" they were. the girls went to "doll up," to quote the slangy tom, for reef harbor was one of the most fashionable of maine coast resorts and the knockabout clothing they had been wearing at beach plum point would never do at the harbor hotels. the _stazy_ was a comfortable and fast motor-yacht. as to her sea-worthiness even tom could not say, but she looked all right. and to the eyes of the members of ruth fielding's party there was no threat of bad weather. so why worry about the pleasure-craft's balance and her ability to sail the high seas? "it is only a short run, anyway," tom said. as for colonel marchand, he had not the first idea about ships or sailing. he admitted that only continued fair weather and a smooth sea had kept him on deck coming over from france with jennie and helen. at the present time he and jennie stone were much too deeply engrossed in each other to think of anything but their own two selves. in a fortnight now, both the frenchman and tom would have to return to the battle lines. and they were, deep in their hearts, eager to go back; for they did not dream at this time that the german navy would revolt, that the high command and the army had lost their morale, and that the end of the great war was near. within tom's specified hour the party got under way, boarding the _stazy_ from a small boat that came to the camp dock for them. it was not until the yacht was gone with ruth fielding and her party that mr. hammond set on foot the investigation he had determined upon the night before. the president of the alectrion film corporation thought a great deal of the girl of the red mill. their friendship was based on something more than a business association. but he knew, too, that after her recent experiences in france and elsewhere, her health was in rather a precarious state. at least, he was quite sure that ruth's nerves were "all out of tune," as he expressed it, and he believed she was not entirely responsible for what she had said. the girl had allowed her mind to dwell so much upon that scenario she had lost that it might be she was not altogether clear upon the subject. mr. hammond had talked with tom about the robbery at the red mill, and it looked to the moving picture producer as though there might be some considerable doubt of ruth's having been robbed at all. in that terrific wind and rain storm almost anything might have blown away. tom admitted he had seen a barrel sailing through the air at the height of the storm. "why couldn't the papers and note books have been caught up by a gust of wind and carried into the river?" mr. hammond asked himself. "the river was right there, and it possesses a strong current." the president of the alectrion film corporation knew the lumano, and the vicinity of the red mill as well. it seemed to him very probable that the scenario had been lost. and the gold-mounted fountain pen? why, that might have easily rolled down a crack in the summer-house floor. the whole thing was a matter so fortuitous that mr. hammond could not accept ruth's version of the loss without some doubt, in any case. and then, her suddenly finding in the only good scenario submitted to him by any of his company, one that she believed was plagiarized from her lost story, seemed to put a cap on the whole matter. ruth might be just a little "off soundings," as the fishermen about herringport would say. mr. hammond was afraid that she had been carried into a situation of mind where suspicion took the place of certainty. she had absolutely nothing with which to corroborate her statement. nobody had seen ruth's scenario nor had she discussed the plot with any person. secrecy necessary to the successful production of anything new in the line of picture plays was all right. mr. hammond advised it. but in this case it seemed that the scenario writer had been altogether too secret. had ruth not chanced to read the hermit's script before making her accusation, mr. hammond would have felt differently. better, had she been willing to relate to him in the first place the story of the plot of her scenario and how she had treated it, her present accusation might have seemed more reasonable. but, having read the really good story scrawled on the scraps of brown paper that john, the hermit, had put in the manager's hands, the girl had suddenly claimed the authorship of the story. there was nothing to prove her claim. it looked dubious at the best. john, the hermit, was a grim old man. no matter whether he was some old actor hiding away here on beach plum point or not, he was not a man to give up easily anything that he had once said was his. the manager was far too wise to accuse the hermit openly, as ruth had accused him. they would not get far with the old fellow that way, he was sure. first of all he called the company together and asked if there were any more scenarios to be submitted. "no," being the answer, he told them briefly that out of the twenty-odd stories he had accepted one that might be whipped into shape for filming--and one only. each story submitted had been numbered and the number given to its author. the scripts could now be obtained by the presentation of the numbers. he did not tell them which number had proved successful. nor did he let it be known that he proposed to try to film the hermit's production. mr. hooley was using old john on this day in a character part. for these "types" the director usually paid ten or fifteen dollars a day; but john was so successful in every part he was given that mr. hooley always paid him an extra five dollars for his work. money seemed to make no difference in the hermit's appearance, however. he wore just as shabby clothing and lived just as plainly as he had when the picture company had come on to the lot. when work was over for the day, hooley sent the old man to mr. hammond's office. the president of the company invited the hermit into his shack and gave him a seat. he scrutinized the man sharply as he thus greeted him. it was quite true that the hermit did not wholly fit the character he assumed as a longshore waif. in the first place, his skin was not tanned to the proper leathery look. his eyes were not those of a man used to looking off over the sea. his hands were too soft and unscarred for a sailor's. he had never pulled on ropes and handled an oar! now that ruth fielding had suggested that his character was a disguise, mr. hammond saw plainly that she must be right. as he was a good actor of other parts before the camera, so he was a good actor in his part of "hermit." "how long have you lived over there on the point, john?" asked mr. hammond carelessly. "a good many years, sir, in summer." "how did you come to live there first?" "i wandered down this way, found the hut empty, turned to and fixed it up, and stayed on." he said it quite simply and without the first show of confusion. but this tale of his occupancy of the seaside hut he had repeated frequently, as mr. hammond very well knew. "where do you go in the winter, john?" the latter asked. "to where it's a sight warmer. i don't have to ask anybody where i shall go," and now the man's tone was a trifle defiant. "i would like to know something more about you," mr. hammond said, quite frankly. "i may be able to do something with your story. we like to know about the person who submits a scenario----" "that don't go!" snapped the hermit grimly. "you offered five hundred for a story you could use. if you can use mine, i want the five hundred. and i don't aim to give you the history of my past along with the story. it's nobody's business what or who i am, or where i came from, or where i am going." "hoity-toity!" exclaimed mr. hammond. "you are quite sudden, aren't you? now, just calm yourself. i haven't got to take your scenario and pay you five hundred dollars for it----" "then somebody else will," said the hermit, getting up. "ah! you are quite sure you have a good story here, are you?" "i know i have." "and how do you know so much?" sharply demanded the moving picture magnate. "i've seen enough of this thing you are doing, now--this 'seaside idyl' stuff--to know that mine is a hundred per cent. better," sneered the hermit. "whew! you've a good opinion of your story, haven't you?" asked mr. hammond. "did you ever write a scenario before?" "what is that to you?" returned the other. "i don't get you at all, mr. hammond. all this cross-examination----" "that will do now!" snapped the manager. "i am not obliged to take your story. you can try it elsewhere if you like," and he shoved the newspaper-wrapped package toward the end of his desk and nearer the hermit's hand. "i tell you frankly that i won't take any story without knowing all about the author. there are too many comebacks in this game." "what do you mean?" demanded the other stiffly. "i don't _know_ that your story is original. frankly, i have some doubt about that very point." the old man did not change color at all. his gray eyes blazed and he was not at all pleasant looking. but the accusation did not seem to surprise him. "are you trying to get it away from me for less than you offered?" he demanded. "you are an old man," said mr. hammond hotly, "and that lets you get away with such a suggestion as that without punishment. i begin to believe that there is something dead wrong with you, john--or whatever your name is." he drew back the packet of manuscript, opened a drawer, put it within, and locked the drawer. "i'll think this over a little longer," he said grimly. "at least, until you are willing to be a little more communicative about yourself. i would be glad to use your story with some fixing up, if i was convinced you really wrote it all. but you have got to show me--or give me proper references." "give me back the scenario, then!" exclaimed the old man, his eyes blazing hotly. "no. not yet. i can take my time in deciding upon the manuscripts submitted in this contest. you will have to wait until i decide," said mr. hammond, waving the man out of his office. chapter xxi a hermit for revenue only the bays and inlets of the coast of maine have the bluest water dotted by the greenest islands that one can imagine. and such wild and romantic looking spots as some of these islands are! just at this time, too, a particular tang of romance was in the air. the germans had threatened to devastate our atlantic coast from eastport to key west with a flock of submersibles. there actually were a few submarines lurking about the pathways of our coastwise shipping; but, as usual, the hun's boast came to naught. the young people on the _stazy_ scarcely expected to see a german periscope during the run to reef harbor. yet they did not neglect watching out for something of the kind. skipper phil gordon, a young man with one arm but a full and complete knowledge of this coast and how to coax speed out of a gasoline engine, ordered his "crew" of one boy to remain sharply on the lookout, as well. the _stazy_ did not, however, run far outside. the high and rocky headland that marked the entrance to reef harbor came into view before they had more than dropped the hazy outline of beach plum point astern. but until they rounded the promontory and entered the narrow inlet to reef harbor the town and the summer colony was entirely invisible. "if a german sub should stick its nose in here," sighed helen, "it would make everybody ashore get up and dust. don't you think so?" "is it the custom to do so when the enemy, he arrive?" asked colonel marchand, to whom the idiomatic speech of the yankee was still a puzzle. "sure!" replied tom, grinning. "sure, henri! these new england women would clean house, no matter what catastrophe arrived." "oh, don't suggest such horrid possibilities," cried jennie. "and they are only fooling you, henri." "look yonder!" exclaimed captain tom, waving an instructive hand. "behold! let the kaiser's underseas boat come. that little tin lizzie of the sea is ready for it. depth bombs and all!" the grim looking drab submarine chaser lay at the nearest dock, the faint spiral of smoke rising from her stack proclaiming that she was ready for immediate work. there was a tower, too, on the highest point on the headland from which a continual watch was kept above the town. "o-o-oh!" gurgled jennie, snuggling up to henri. "suppose one of those german subs shelled the movie camp back there on beach plum point!" "they would likely spoil a perfectly good picture, then," said helen practically. "think of ruthie's 'seaside idyl!'. "oh, say!" helen went on. "they tell me that old hermit has submitted a story in the contest. what do you suppose it is like, ruth?" the girl of the red mill was sitting beside aunt kate. she flushed when she said: "why shouldn't he submit one?" "but that hermit isn't quite right in his head, is he?" demanded ruth's chum. "i don't know that it is his head that is wrong," murmured ruth, shaking her own head doubtfully. here jennie broke in. "is auntie letting you read her story, ruth?" she asked slyly. "now, jennie stone!" exclaimed their chaperon, blushing. "well, you are writing one. you know you are," laughed her niece. "i--i am just trying to see if i can write such a story," stammered aunt kate. "well, i am sure you could make up a better scenario than that old grouch of a hermit," helen declared, warmly. ruth did not add anything to this discussion. what she had discovered regarding the hermit's scenario was of too serious a nature to be publicly discussed. her interview the evening before with mr. hammond regarding the matter had left ruth in a most uncertain frame of mind. she did not know what to do about the stolen scenario. she shrank from telling even helen or tom of her discovery. to tell the truth, mr. hammond's seeming doubt--not of her truthfulness but of her wisdom--had shaken the girl's belief in herself. it was a strange situation, indeed. she thought of the woman she had found wandering about the mountain in the storm who had lost control of both her nerves and her mind, and ruth wondered if it could be possible that she, too, was on the verge of becoming a nervous wreck. had she deceived herself about this hermit's story? had she allowed her mind to dwell on her loss until she was quite unaccountable for her mental decisions? to tell the truth, this thought frightened the girl of the red mill a little. practical as ruth fielding ordinarily was, she must confess that the shock she had received when the hospital in france was partly wrecked, an account of which is given in "ruth fielding homeward bound," had shaken the very foundations of her being. she shuddered even now when she thought of what she had been through in france and on the voyage coming back to america. she realized that even tom and helen looked at her sometimes when she spoke of her lost scenario in a most peculiar way. was it a fact that she had allowed her loss to unbalance--well, her judgment? suppose she was quite wrong about that scenario the hermit had submitted to mr. hammond? the thought frightened her! at least, she had nothing to say upon the puzzling subject, not even to her best and closest friends. she was sorry indeed two hours later when they were at lunch on the porch of the reef harbor house with some of the camerons' friends that helen brought the conversation around again to the beach plum point "hermit." "a _real_ hermit?" cried cora grimsby, a gay, blonde, irresponsible little thing, but with a heart of gold. "and is he a hermit for revenue only, too?" "what do you mean by that?" helen demanded. "why, we have a hermit here, you see. over on reef island itself. if you give us a sail in your motor yacht after lunch i'll introduce our hermit to you. but you must buy something of him, or otherwise 'cross his palm with silver.' he told me one day that he was not playing a nut for summer folks to laugh at just for the good of his health." "frank, i must say," laughed tom cameron. "i guess he's been in the hermit business before," said cora, sparkling at tom in his uniform. "but this is his first season at the harbor." "i wonder if he belongs to the hermit's union and carries a union card," suggested jennie stone soberly. "i don't think we should patronize non-union hermits." "goody!" cried cora, clapping her hands. "let's ask him." ruth said nothing. she rather wished she might get out of the trip to reef island without offending anybody. but that seemed impossible. she really had seen all the hermits she cared to see! she could not, however, be morose and absent-minded in a party of which cora grimsby and jennie stone were the moving spirits. it was a gay crowd that crossed the harbor in the _stazy_ to land at a roughly built dock under the high bluff of the wooded island. "there's the hermit!" cora cried, as they landed. "see him sitting on the rock before the door of his cabin?" "right on the job," suggested tom. "no unlucky city fly shall escape that spider's web," cried jennie. he was a patriarchal looking man. his beard swept his breast. he wore shabby garments, was barefooted, and carried a staff as though he were lame or rheumatic. "dresses the part much better than our hermit does," helen said, in comment. the man met the party from the _stazy_ with a broad smile that displayed a toothless cavity of a mouth. his red-rimmed eyes were moist looking, not to say bleary. ruth smelled a distinct alcoholic odor on his breath. a complete drouth had evidently not struck this part of the state of maine. "good day to ye!" said the hermit. "some o' you young folks i ain't never seed before." "they are my friends," cora hastened to explain, "and they come from beach plum point." "do tell! if you air goin' back to-night, better make a good v'y'ge of it. we're due for a blow, i allow. you folks ain't stoppin' right on the p'int, be ye?" ruth, to whom he addressed this last question, answered that they were, and explained that there was a large camp there this season, and why. "wal, wal! i want to know! somebody did say something to me about a gang of movin' picture folks comin' there; but i reckoned they was a-foolin' me." "there is a good sized party of us," acknowledged ruth. "wal, wal! mebbe that fella i let my shack to will make out well, then, after all. warn't no sign of ye on the beach when i left three weeks ago". "did you live there on the point?" asked ruth. "allus do winters. but the pickin's is better over here at the harbor at this time of year." "and the man you left in your place? where is your house on the point?" the hermit "for revenue only" described the hut on the eastern shore in which the other "hermit" lived. ruth became much interested. "tell me," she said, while the others examined the curios the hermit had for sale, "what kind of man is this you left in your house? and who is he?" "law bless ye!" said the old man. "i don't know him from adam's off ox. never seed him afore. but he was trampin' of it; and he didn't have much money. an' to tell you the truth, miss, that hutch of mine ain't wuth much money." she described the man who had been playing the hermit since the alectrion film corporation crowd had come to beach plum point. "that's the fella," said the old man, nodding. ruth stood aside while he waited on his customers and digested these statements regarding the man who claimed the authorship of the scenario of "plain mary." not that ruth would have desired to acknowledge the scenario in its present form. she felt angry every time she thought of how her plot had been mangled. but she was glad to learn all that was known about the beach plum point hermit. and she had learned one most important fact. he was not a regular hermit. as jennie stone suggested, he was not a "union hermit" at all. and he was a stranger to the neighborhood of herringport. if he had been at the point only three weeks, as this old man said, "john, the hermit," might easily have come since ruth's scenario was stolen back there at the red mill! her thoughts began to mill again about this possibility. she wished she was back at the camp so as to put the strange old man through a cross-examination regarding himself and where he had come from. she had no suspicion as to how mr. hammond had so signally failed in this very matter. chapter xxii an arrival mr. hammond was in no placid state of mind himself after the peculiarly acting individual who called himself "john, the hermit," left his office. the very fact that the man refused to tell anything about his personal affairs--who he really was, or where he came from--induced the moving picture producer to believe there must be something wrong about him. mr. hammond went to the door of the shack and watched the man tramping up the beach toward the end of the point. what a dignified stride he had! rather, it was the stride of a poseur--like nothing so much as that of the old-time tragedian, made famous by the henry irving school of actors. "an ancient 'ham' sure enough, just as the boys say," muttered the manager. the so-called hermit disappeared. the moving picture people were gathering for dinner. the sun, although still above the horizon, was dimmed by cloud-banks which were rising steadily to meet clouds over the sea. a wan light played upon the heaving "graybacks" outside the mouth of the harbor. the wind whined among the pines which grew along the ridge of beach plum point. a storm was imminent. just as mr. hammond took note of this and wished that ruth fielding and her party had returned, a snorting automobile rattled along the shell road and halted near the camp. "is this the alectrion film company?" asked a shrill voice. "this is the place, miss," said the driver of the small car. the chauffeur ran his jitney from the railroad station and was known to mr. hammond. the latter went nearer. out of the car stepped a girl--a very young girl to be traveling alone. she was dressed in extreme fashion, but very cheaply. her hair was bobbed and she wore a russian blouse of cheap silk. her skirt was very narrow, her cloth boots very high, and the heels of them were like those of jananese clogs. what with the skimpy skirt and the high heels she could scarcely walk. she was laden with two bags--one an ancient carpet-bag that must have been seventy-five years old, and the other a bright tan one of imitation leather with brass clasps. she wore a coal-scuttle hat pulled down over her eyes so that her face was quite extinguished. altogether her get-up was rather startling. mr. hammond saw jim hooley come out of his tent to stare at the new arrival. she certainly was a "type." there was a certain kind of prettiness about the girl, and aside from her incongruous garments she was not unattractive--when her face was revealed. mr. hammond's interest increased. he approached the spot where the girl had been left by the jitney driver. "you came to see somebody?" he asked kindly. "who is it you wish to see?" "is this the moving picture camp, mister?" she returned. "yes," said the manager, smiling. "are you acquainted with somebody who works here?" "yes. i am arabella montague fitzmaurice," said the girl, with an air that seemed to show that she expected to be recognized when she had recited her name. mr. hammond refrained from open laughter. he only said: "why--that is nice. i am glad to meet you, my dear. who are you looking for?" "i want to see my pa, of course. i guess you know who _he_ is?" "i am not sure that i do, my dear." "you don't--say! who are you?" demanded bella, with some sharpness. "i am only the manager of the company. who is your father, child?" "well, of all the---- wouldn't that give you your nevergitovers!" exclaimed bella, in broad amazement. "say! i guess my pa is your leading man." "mr. hasbrouck? impossible!" "never heard of him," said bella, promptly. "montague fitzmaurice, i mean." "and i never heard of him," declared mr. hammond, both puzzled and amused. "what?" gasped the girl, almost stunned by this statement. "maybe you know him as mr. pike. that is our honest-to-goodness name--pike." "i am sorry that you are disappointed, my dear," said the manager kindly. "but don't be worried. if you expected to meet your father here, perhaps he will come later. but really, i have no such person as that on my staff at the present time." "i don't know---- why!" cried bella, "he sent me money and said he was working here. i--i didn't tell him i was coming. i just got sick of those perkinses, and i took the money and went to boston and got dressed up, and then came on here. i--i just about spent all the money he sent me to get here." "well, that was perhaps unwise," said mr. hammond. "but don't worry. come along now to mother paisley. she will look out for you--and you can stay with us until your father appears. there is some mistake somewhere." by this speech he warded off tears. bella hastily winked them back and squared her thin shoulders. "all right, sir," she said, picking up the bags again. "pa will make it all right with you. he wrote in his letter as if he had a good engagement." mr. hammond might have learned something further about this surprising girl at the time, but just as he introduced her to mother paisley one of the men came running from the point and hailed him: "mr. hammond! there's a boat in trouble off the point. i think she was making for this harbor. have you got a pair of glasses?" mr. hammond had a fine pair of opera glasses, and he produced them from his desk while he asked: "what kind of boat is it, maxwell?" "looks like that blue motor that miss fielding and her friends went off in this morning. we saw it coming along at top speed. and suddenly it stopped. they can't seem to manage it----" the manager hurried with maxwell along the sands. the sky was completely overcast now, and the wind whipped the spray from the wave tops into their faces. the weather looked dubious indeed, and the manager of the film corporation was worried before even he focused his glasses upon the distant motor-boat. chapter xxiii trouble--plenty even ruth fielding had paid no attention to the warning of the reef island hermit regarding a change in the weather, in spite of the fact that she was anxious to return to the camp near herringport. it was not until the _stazy_ was outside the inlet late in the afternoon that skipper phil gordon noted the threatening signs in sea and sky. "that's how it goes," the one-armed mariner said. "when we aren't dependent on the wind to fill our canvas, we neglect watching every little weather change. she's going to blow by and by." "do you think it will be a real storm?" asked ruth, who sat beside him at the steering wheel and engine, watching how he managed the mechanism. "maybe. but with good luck we will make beach plum point long before it amounts to anything." the long graybacks were rather pleasant to ride over at first. even aunt kate was not troubled by the prospect. it was so short a run to the anchorage behind the point that nobody expressed fear. when the spray began to fly over the bows the girls merely squealed a bit, although they hastily found extra wraps. if the _stazy_ plunged and shipped half a sea now and then, nobody was made anxious. and soon the point was in plain view. to make the run easier, however, skipper gordon had sailed the motor-yacht well out to sea. when he shifted the helm to run for the entrance to the bay, the waves began to slap against the _stazy's_ side. she rolled terrifically and the aspect of affairs was instantly changed. "oh, dear me!" moaned jennie stone. "how do you feel, henri? i did not bargain for this rough stuff, did you? oh!" "'mister captain, stop the ship, i want to get off and walk!'" sang helen gaily. "don't lose all hope, heavy. you'll never sink if you do go overboard." "isn't she mean?" sniffed the plump girl. "and i am only afraid for henri's sake." "i don't like this for my own sake," murmured aunt kate. "are you cold, dear?" her niece asked, with quick sympathy. "here! i don't really need this cape with my heavy sweater." she removed the heavy cloth garment from her own shoulders and with a flirt sought to place it around aunt kate. the wind swooped down just then with sudden force. the _stazy_ rolled to leeward. "oh! stop it!" bulging under pressure of the wind, the cape flew over the rail. jennie tried to clutch it again; henri plunged after it, too. colliding, the two managed between them to miss the garment altogether. it dropped into the water just under the rail. "of all the clumsy fingers!" ejaculated helen. but she could not seize the wrap, although she darted for it. nor could ruth help, she being still farther forward. "now, you've done it!" complained aunt kate. the boat began to rise on another roller. the cape was sucked out of sight under the rail. the next moment the whirling propeller was stopped--so abruptly that the _stazy_ shook all over. "oh! what has happened?" shrieked helen. ruth started up, and tom seized her arm to steady her. but the girl of the red mill did not express any fear. the shock did not seem to affect her so much as it did the other girls. here was a real danger, and ruth did not lose her self-possession. phil gordon had shut off the power, and the motor-boat began to swing broadside to the rising seas. "the propeller is broken!" cried tom. "she's jammed. that cape!" gasped the one-armed skipper. "here! tend to this till i see what can be done. jack!" he shouted to his crew. "this way--lively, now!" but ruth slipped into his place before tom could do so. "i know how to steer, tommy," she declared. "and i understand the engine. give him a hand if he needs you." "oh, we'll turn turtle!" shrieked jennie, as the boat rolled again. "you'll never become a turtle, jen," declared tom, plunging aft. "turtles are dumb!" the _stazy_ was slapped by a big wave, "just abaft the starboard bow," to be real nautical, and half a ton of sea-water washed over the forward deck and spilled into the standing-room of the craft. henri had wisely closed the door of the cabin. the water foamed about their feet. ruth found herself knee deep for a moment in this flood. she whirled the wheel over, trying to bring up the head of the craft to meet the next wave. "oh, my dear!" groaned jennie stone. "we are going to be drowned." "drowned, your granny!" snapped helen angrily. "don't be such a silly, jennie." ruth stood at the wheel with more apparent calmness than any of them. her hair had whipped out of its fastenings and streamed over her shoulders. her eyes were bright and her cheeks aglow. helen, staring at her, suddenly realized that this was the old ruth fielding. her chum had not looked so much alive, so thoroughly competent and ready for anything, before for weeks. "why--why, ruthie!" helen murmured, "i believe you like this." her chum did not hear the words, but she suddenly flashed helen a brilliant smile. "keep up your pluck, child!" she shouted. "we'll come out all right." again the _stazy_ staggered under the side swipe of a big wave. "ye-ow!" yelped tom in the stern, almost diving overboard. "steady!" shouted skipper gordon, excitedly. "steady she is, captain!" rejoined ruth fielding, and actually laughed. "how can you, ruth?" complained jennie, clinging to henri marchand. "and when we are about to drown." "weeping will not save us," flung back ruth. her strong hands held the wheel-spokes with a grip unbreakable. she could force the _stazy's_ head to the seas. "can you start the engine on the reverse, miss?" bawled gordon. "i can try!" flashed ruth. "say when." in a moment the cry came: "ready!" "aye, aye!" responded ruth, spinning the flywheel. the spark caught almost instantly. the exhaust sputtered. "now!" yelled the skipper. ruth threw the lever. the boat trembled like an automobile under the propulsion of the engine. the propeller shaft groaned. "ye-ow!" shouted the excited tom again. this time he sprawled back into the bottom of the boat, tearing away a good half of jennie's cape in his grip. the rest of the garment floated to the surface. it was loose from the propeller. "full speed ahead!" shouted the one-armed captain of the motor-boat. ruth obeyed the command. the _stazy_ staggered into the next wave. the water that came in over her bow almost drowned them, but ruth, hanging to the steering wheel, brought the craft through the roller without swamping her. "good for our ruth!" shouted helen, as soon as she could get her breath. "oh, ruth! you always come to our rescue," declared jennie gratefully. "hi! i thought you were a nervous wreck, young lady," tom sputtered, scrambling forward to relieve her. "get you into a tight corner, and you show what you are made of, all right." the girl of the red mill smiled at them. she had done something! nor did she feel at all overcome by the effort. the danger through which they had passed had inspired rather than frightened her. "why, i'm all right," she told tom when he reached her. "this is great! we'll be behind the shelter of the point in a few minutes. there's nothing to worry about." "you're all right, ruth," tom repeated, admiringly. "i thought you'd lost your grip, but i see you haven't. you are the same old ruthie fielding, after all." chapter xxiv about "plain mary" mr. hammond and the actors with him had no idea of the nature of the accident that had happened to the _stazy_. from the extreme end of beach plum point they could merely watch proceedings aboard the craft, and wonder what it was all about. the manager could, however, see through his glasses that ruth fielding was at the wheel. her face came out clear as a cameo when he focused the opera glasses upon her. and at the change in the girl's expression he marveled. those ashore could do nothing to aid the party on the motor-yacht; and until it got under way again mr. hammond was acutely anxious. it rolled so that he expected it to turn keel up at almost any moment. before the blasts of rain began to sweep across the sea, however, the _stazy_ was once more under control. at that most of the spectators made for the camp and shelter. but the manager of the film corporation waited to see the motor-yacht inside the shelter of beach plum point. the rain was falling heavily, and not merely in gusts, when ruth and her friends came ashore in the small boat. the lamps were lit and dinner was over at the main camp. therefore the automobile touring party failed to see bella pike or hear about her arrival. by this time the girl had gone off to the main dormitory with mother paisley, and even mr. hammond did not think of her. nor did the manager speak that evening to ruth about the hermit's scenario or his interview with the old man regarding it. the three girls and aunt kate changed their clothing in the little shack and then joined the young men in the dining room for a late supper. aunt kate was to stay this night at the camp. there was a feeling of much thankfulness in all their hearts over their escape from what might have been a serious accident. "providence was good to us," said aunt kate. "i hope we are all properly grateful." "and properly proud of ruthie!" exclaimed helen, squeezing her chum's hand. "don't throw too many bouquets," laughed ruth. "it was not i that tore jennie's cape out of the propeller. i merely obeyed the skipper's orders." "she is a regular cheerful grig again, isn't she?" demanded jennie, beaming on ruth. "i have been a wet blanket on this party long enough. i just begin to realize how very unpleasant i have been----" "not that, mademoiselle!" objected henri. "but yes! hereafter i will be cheerful. life is worth living after all!" tom, who sat next to her at table (he usually managed to do that) smiled at ruth approvingly. "bravo!" he whispered. "there are other scenarios to write." "tom!" she whispered sharply, "i want to tell you something about that." "about what?" "my scenario." "you don't mean----" "i mean i know what has become of it." "never!" gasped tom. "are you--are--you----" "i am not '_non compos_,' and-so-forth," laughed ruth. "oh, there is nothing foolish about this, tom. let me tell you." she spoke in so low a tone that the others could not have heard had they desired to. she and tom put their heads together and within the next few minutes ruth had told him all about the hermit's scenario and her conviction that he had stolen his idea and a large part of his story from ruth's lost manuscript. "it seems almost impossible, ruth," gasped her friend. "no. not impossible or improbable. listen to what that man on reef island told me about this hermit, so-called." and she repeated it all to the excited tom. "i am convinced," pursued ruth, "that this hermit could easily have been in the vicinity of the red mill on the day my manuscript disappeared." "but to prove it!" cried tom. "we'll see about that," said ruth confidently. "you know, ben told us he had seen and spoken to a tramp-actor that day. uncle jabez saw him, too. and you, tom, followed his trail to the cheslow railroad yards." "so i did," admitted her friend. "i believe," went on ruth earnestly, "that this man who came here to live on beach plum point only three weeks ago, is that very vagrant. it is plain that this fellow is playing the part of a hermit, just as he plays the parts mr. hooley casts him for." "whew!" whistled tom. "almost do you convince me, ruth fielding. but to prove it is another thing." "we _will_ prove it. if this man was at the red mill on that particular day, we can make sure of the fact." "how will you do it, ruth?" "by getting one of the camera men to take a 'still' of the hermit, develop it for us, and send the negative to ben. he and uncle jabez must remember how that traveling actor looked----" "hurrah!" exclaimed tom, jumping up to the amazement of the rest of the party. "that's a bully idea." "what is it?" demanded helen. "let us in on it, too." but ruth shook her head and tom calmed down. "can't tell the secret yet," helen's twin declared. "that would spoil it." "oh! a surprise! i love surprises," said jennie stone. "i don't. not when my chum and my brother have a secret from me and won't let me in on it," and helen turned her back upon them in apparent indignation. after that ruth and tom discussed the matter with more secrecy. ruth said in conclusion: "if he was there at the mill the day my story was stolen, and now submits this scenario to mr. hammond--and it is merely a re-hash of mine, tom, i assure you----" "of course i believe you, ruth," rejoined the young fellow. "mr. hammond should be convinced, too," said the girl. but there was a point that tom saw very clearly and which ruth fielding did not seem to appreciate. she still had no evidence to corroborate her claim that the hermit's story of "plain mary" was plagiarized from her manuscript. for, after all, nobody but ruth herself knew what her scenario had been like! chapter xxv lifting the curtain ruth slept peacefully and awoke the next morning in a perfectly serene frame of mind. she was quite as convinced as ever that she had been robbed of her scenario; and she was, as well, sure that "john, the hermit," had produced his picture play from her manuscript. but ruth no longer felt anxious and excited about it. she clearly saw her way to a conclusion of the matter. if the old actor was identified by ben and uncle jabez as the tramp they had seen and conversed with, the girl of the red mill was pretty sure she would get the best of the thief. in the first place she considered her idea and her scenario worth much more than five hundred dollars. if by no other means, she would buy the hermit's story at the price mr. hammond was willing to pay for it--and a little more if necessary. and if possible she would force the old actor to hand over to her the script that she had lost. thus was her mind made up, and she approached the matter in all cheerfulness. she had said nothing to anybody but tom, and she did not see him early in the morning. one of the stewards brought the girls' breakfast to the shack; so they knew little of what went on about the camp at that time. the rain had ceased. the storm had passed on completely. soon after breakfast ruth saw the man who called himself "john, the hermit," making straight for mr. hammond's office. that was where ruth wished to be. she wanted to confront the man before the president of the film corporation. she started over that way and ran into the most surprising incident! coming out of the cook tent with a huge apron enveloping her queer, tight dress and tilting forward upon her high heels, appeared bella pike! ruth fielding might have met somebody whose presence here would have surprised her more, but at the moment she could not imagine who it could be. "ara-bella!" gasped ruth. the child turned to stare her own amazement. she changed color, too, for she knew she had done wrong to run away; but she smiled with both eyes and lips, for she was glad to see ruth. "my mercy!" she ejaculated. "if it ain't miss fielding! how-do, miss fielding? ain't it enough to give one their nevergitovers to see you here?" "and how do you suppose i feel to find you here at beach plum point," demanded ruth, "when we all thought you were so nicely fixed with mr. and mrs. perkins? and mrs. holmes wrote to me only the other day that you seemed contented." "that's right, miss fielding," sighed the actor's child. "i was. and miz perkins was always nice to me. nothing at all like aunt suse timmins. but, you see, they ain't like pa." "did your father bring you here?" "no'm." "nor send for you?" "not exactly," confessed bella. "well!" "you see, he sent me money. only on tuesday. forty dollars." "forty dollars! and to a child like you?" "well, miss fielding, if he had sent it to aunt suse i'd never have seen a penny of it. and pa didn't know what you'd done for me and how you'd put me with miz perkins." "i suppose that is so," admitted the surprised ruth. "but why did you come here?" "'cause pa wrote he had an engagement here. i came through boston, an' got me a dress, and some shoes, and a hat--all up to date--and i thought i'd surprise pa----" "but, bella! i haven't seen your father here, have i?" "no. there's a mistake somehow. but this nice miz paisley says for me not to worry. that like enough pa will come here yet." "i never!" ejaculated ruth. "come right along with me, bella, and see mr. hammond. something must be done. of course, mrs. perkins and the doctor's wife have no idea where you have gone?" "oh, yes'm. i left a note telling 'em i'd gone to meet pa." "but we must send them a message that you are all right. come on, bella!" and with her arm about the child's thin shoulders, ruth urged her to mr. hammond's office--and directly into her father's arms! this was how arabella montague fitzmaurice pike came to meet her father--in a most amazing fashion! "pa! i never did!" half shrieked the queer child. "arabella! here? how strange!" observed the man who had been acting the part of the beach plum point hermit. "my child!" mr. pike could do nothing save in a dramatic way. he seized bella and hugged her to his bosom in a most stagy manner. but ruth saw that the man's gray eyes were moist, that his hands when he seized the girl really trembled, and he kissed bella with warmth. "i declare!" exclaimed mr. hammond. "so your name is something-or-other-fitzmaurice pike?" "john pike, if it please you. the other is for professional purposes only," said bella's father. "if you do not mind, sir," he added, "we will postpone our discussion until a later time. i--i would take my daughter to my poor abode and learn of her experience in getting here to beach plum point." "go as far as you like, mr. pike. but remember there has got to be a settlement later of this matter we were discussing," said the manager sternly. the actor and his daughter departed, the former giving ruth a very curious look indeed. mr. hammond turned a broad smile upon the girl of the red mill. "what do you know about _that_?" mr. hammond demanded. "why, miss ruth, yours seems to have been a very good guess. that fellow is an old-timer and no mistake." "my guess was good in more ways than one," said ruth. "i believe i can prove that this pike was at the red mill on the day my scenario was stolen." she told the manager briefly of the discovery she had made through the patriarchal old fellow on reef island the day before, and of her intention of sending a photograph of pike back home for identification. "good idea!" declared mr. hammond. "i will speak to mr. hooley. there are 'stills' on file of all the people he is using here on the lot at the present time. if you are really sure this man's story is a plagiarism on your own----" she smiled at him. "i can prove that, too, i think, to your satisfaction. i feel now that i can sit down and roughly sketch my whole scenario again. i must confess that in two places in this 'plain mary' this man pike has really improved on my idea. but as a whole his manuscript does not flatter my story. you'll see!" "truly, you are a different young woman this morning, miss ruth!" exclaimed her friend. "i hope this matter will be settled in a way satisfactory to you. i really think there is the germ of a splendid picture in this 'plain mary.'" "and believe me!" laughed ruth, "the germ is mine. you'll see," she repeated. she proved her point, and mr. hammond did see; but the outcome was through quite unexpected channels. ruth did not have to threaten the man who had made her all the trouble. john m. f. pike made his confession of his own volition when they discussed the matter that very day. "i feel, miss fielding, after all that you did for my child, that i cannot go on with this subterfuge that, for bella's sake, i was tempted to engage in. i did seize upon your manuscript in that summer-house near the mill where they say you live, and i was prepared to make the best use of it possible for bella's sake. "we have had such bad luck! poverty for one's self is bad enough. i have withstood the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune for years. but my child is growing up----" "would you want her to grow up to know that her father is a thief?" ruth demanded hotly. "hunger under the belt gnaws more potently than conscience," said pike, with a grandiloquent gesture. "i had sought alms and been refused at that mill. lurking about i saw you leave the summer-house and spied the gold pen. i can give you a pawn ticket for that," said mr. pike sadly. "but i saw, too, the value of your scenario and notes. desperately i had determined to try to enter this field of moving pictures. it is a terrible come down, miss fielding, for an artist--this mugging before the camera." he went on in his roundabout way to tell her that he had no idea of the ownership of the scenario. her name was not on it, and he had not observed her face that day at the red mill. and in his mind all the time had been his own and his child's misery. "it was a bold attempt to forge success through dishonesty," he concluded with humility. whether ruth was altogether sure that pike was quite honest in his confession or not, for bella's sake she could not be harsh with the old actor. nor could he, ruth believed, be wholly bad when he loved his child so much. as he turned over to ruth every scrap of manuscript, as well as the notebooks she had lost, she need not worry about establishing her ownership of the script. when mr. hammond had examined her material he agreed with ruth that in two quite important places bella's father had considerably improved the original idea of the story. this gave ruth the lead she had been looking for. mr. hammond admitted that the story was much too fine and too important to be filmed here at this summer camp. he decided to make a great spectacular production of it at the company's main studio later in the fall. so ruth proceeded to force bella's father to accept two hundred dollars in payment for what he had done on the story. as her contract with mr. hammond called for a generous royalty, she would make much more out of the scenario than the sum john pike had hoped to get by selling the stolen idea to mr. hammond. the prospects of bella and her father were vastly improved, too. his work as a "type" for picture makers would gain him a much better livelihood than he had been able to earn in the legitimate field. and when ruth and her party left beach plum point camp for home in their automobiles, bella herself was working in a two-reel comedy that mr. hooley was directing. "well, thank goodness!" sighed helen, "ruth has settled affairs for two more of her 'waifs and strays.' now don't, i beg, find anybody else to become interested in during our trip back to the red mill, ruthie." ruth was sitting beside tom on the front seat of the big touring car. he looked at her sideways with a whimsical little smile. "i wish you would turn over a new leaf, ruthie," he whispered. "and what is to be on that new leaf?" she asked brightly. "just me. pay a little attention to yours truly. remember that in a week i shall go aboard the transport again, and then----" "oh, tom!" she murmured, clasping her hands, "i don't want to think of it. if this awful war would only end!" "it's the only war so far that hasn't ended," he said. "and i have a feeling, anyway, that it may not last long. henri and i have got to hurry back to finish it up. leave it to us, ruth," and he smiled. but ruth sighed. "i suppose i shall have to, tommy-boy," she said. "and do finish it quickly! i do not feel as though i could return to college, or write another scenario, or do a single, solitary thing until peace is declared." "and _then_?" asked tom, significantly. ruth gave him an understanding smile. the end * * * * * the ruth fielding series by alice b. emerson _ mo. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid_ _ruth fielding will live in juvenile fiction_. ruth fielding of the red mill _or jasper parloe's secret_ ruth fielding at briarwood hall _or solving the campus mystery_ ruth fielding at snow camp _or lost in the backwoods_ ruth fielding at lighthouse point _or nita, the girl castaway_ ruth fielding at silver ranch _or schoolgirls among the cowboys_ ruth fielding on cliff island _or the old hunter's treasure box_ ruth fielding at sunrise farm _or what became of the raby orphans_ ruth fielding and the gypsies _or the missing pearl necklace_ ruth fielding in moving pictures _or helping the dormitory fund_ ruth fielding down in dixie _or great days in the land of cotton_ ruth fielding at college _or the missing examination papers_ ruth fielding in the saddle _or college girls in the land of gold_ ruth fielding in the red cross _or doing her bit for uncle sam_ ruth fielding at the war front _or the hunt for a lost soldier_ ruth fielding homeward bound _or a red cross worker's ocean perils_ ruth fielding down east _or the hermit of beach plum point_ ruth fielding in the great northwest _or the indian girl star of the movies_ ruth fielding on the st. lawrence _or the queer old man of the thousand islands_ ruth fielding treasure hunting _or a moving picture that became real_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the betty gordon series by alice b. emerson _author of the famous "ruth fielding" series_ _ mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full colors_ _price per volume, cents, postpaid_ _a series of stories by alice b. emerson which are bound to make this writer more popular than ever with her host of girl readers._ . betty gordon at bramble farm _or the mystery of a nobody_ at the age of twelve betty is left an orphan. her uncle sends her to live on a farm. . betty gordon in washington _or strange adventures in a great city_ in this volume betty goes to the national capitol to find her uncle and has several unusual adventures. . betty gordon in the land of oil _or the farm that was worth a fortune_ from washington the scene is shifted to the great oil fields of our country. a splendid picture of the oil field operations of to-day. . betty gordon at boarding school _or the treasure of indian chasm_ seeking the treasure of indian chasm makes an exceedingly interesting incident. . betty gordon at mountain camp _or the mystery of ida bellethorne_ at mountain camp betty found herself in the midst of a mystery involving a girl whom she had previously met in washington. . betty gordon at ocean park _or gay days on the boardwalk_ adventure in high society let loose on the seashore. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the girl scout series by lilian garis _ mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full colors_ _price per volume, cents, postpaid_ _the highest ideals of girlhood as advocated by the foremost organizations of america form the background for these stories and while unobtrusive there is a message in every volume._ . the girl scout pioneers _or winning the first b. c._ a story of the true tred troop in a pennsylvania town. two runaway girls, who want to see the city, are reclaimed through troop influence. the story is correct in scout detail. . the girl scouts at bellaire _or maid mary's awakening_ the story of a timid little maid who is afraid to take part in other girls' activities, while working nobly alone for high ideals. how she was discovered by the bellaire troop and came into her own as "maid mary" makes a fascinating story. . the girl scouts at sea crest _or the wig wag rescue_ luna land, a little island by the sea, is wrapt in a mysterious seclusion, and kitty scuttle, a grotesque figure, succeeds in keeping all others at bay until the girl scouts come. . the girl scouts at camp comalong _or peg of tamarack hills_ the girls of bobolink troop spend their summer on the shores of lake hocomo. their discovery of peg, the mysterious rider, and the clearing up of her remarkable adventures afford a vigorous plot. . the girl scouts at rocky ledge _or nora's real vacation_ nora blair is the pampered daughter of a frivolous mother. her dislike for the rugged life of girl scouts is eventually changed to appreciation, when the rescue of little lucia, a woodland waif, becomes a problem for the girls to solve. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the radio girls series by margaret penrose _ mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full colors_ _price per volume, cents, postpaid_ _a new and up-to-date series, taking in the activities of several bright girls who become interested in radio. the stories tell of thrilling exploits, out-door life and the great part the radio plays in the adventures of the girls and in solving their mysteries. fascinating books that girls of all ages will want to read._ . the radio girls of roselawn _or a strange message from the air_ showing how jessie norwood and her chums became interested in radiophoning, how they gave a concert for a worthy local charity, and how they received a sudden and unexpected call for help out of the air. a girl who was wanted as a witness in a celebrated law case had disappeared, and how the radio girls went to the rescue is told in an absorbing manner. . the radio girls on the program _or singing and reciting at the sending station_ when listening in on a thrilling recitation or a superb concert number who of us has not longed to "look behind the scenes" to see how it was done? the girls had made the acquaintance of a sending station manager and in this volume are permitted to get on the program, much to their delight. a tale full of action and not a little fun. . the radio girls on station island _or the wireless from the steam yacht_ in this volume the girls travel to the seashore and put in a vacation on an island where is located a big radio sending station. the big brother of one of the girls owns a steam yacht and while out with a pleasure party those on the island receive word by radio that the yacht is on fire. a tale thrilling to the last page. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). [_"mary lou! mary lou! are you alive?" max cried._ (page ) (the mystery of the secret band)] the mary lou series the mystery of the secret band by edith lavell the saalfield publishing company akron, ohio new york the mary lou series by edith lavell the mystery at dark cedars the mystery of the fires the mystery of the secret band copyright, mcmxxxv the saalfield publishing company printed in the united states of america _contents_ chapter page i. a real detective ii. the job iii. the book club iv. a midnight visitor v. another robbery vi. saturday afternoon vii. the abandoned house viii. knocked out ix. lunch at the bellevue x. in the dead of night xi. bail xii. detective gay arrives xiii. a prisoner in the dark xiv. the secret band xv. christmas morning xvi. two captures xvii. a sad story xviii. conclusion chapter i _a real detective_ mary louise stamped the snow from her feet and removed her goloshes on the porch. whistling the christmas carol her class had just sung at school, she opened the door of her house and stepped inside. her mother was sitting in an armchair in the living room, sewing. she looked up with a smile at her daughter. "how did your entertainment go?" she inquired. "swell!" replied mary louise enthusiastically. "the seniors were great. you should have seen max!" "i'd like to have seen mary louise gay," mused her mother. "but this snow--and your father had the car----" "oh, i wasn't so hot," laughed mary louise modestly. "i'll tell you who was the star of the afternoon--little rosemary dotts. she was so funny. she forgot all of her piece except the second line--'i'm going to have plum pudding!' well, she said that once, and then she stared around at the audience and repeated it. and still she couldn't think of any more, so she said it again, and rubbed her fat little tummy as she repeated it. well, she kept that up until i thought we'd just pass out laughing at her. honestly, the tears were rolling down my cheeks. her teacher had to come up to the platform and take her away." "that must have been funny," agreed mrs. gay. "well, i guess you're thankful that it's all over. how do you like this weather for your vacation?" mary louise's brown eyes sparkled with pleasure. "it's keen!" she exclaimed. she executed a little dance step in her joy. "two whole weeks with nothing to do but coast and skate and dance!" "and eat and sleep once in a while." "oh yes, of course. especially eat. what would christmas be without eating?" "what are you going to do now?" inquired her mother. "go coasting. max and norman are bringing the bobsled over in ten minutes, and jane and i are supposed to be ready." "you better hurry, then. get something to eat first. and--i forgot to tell you--your father wants to see you at half-past five this afternoon. be sure to be home in time. he said he wanted to 'consult' you." "about somebody's christmas present? i thought all our christmas shopping was finished last week." "it was. this hasn't anything to do with presents, but it concerns your christmas vacation, i believe," replied mrs. gay. "oh, that sounds exciting!" exclaimed mary louise. mr. gay was a detective on the police force, and, knowing his daughter's keen interest in the solution of crimes, he sometimes discussed his cases with her. already she had shown marked ability in the same line herself by unraveling two baffling mysteries the preceding summer. she ran out into the kitchen and poured out a glass of milk for herself and cut a piece of chocolate cake. this brisk weather certainly made her feel hungry, and the refreshments tasted good. then she dashed upstairs to change into her "snow suit," a long-trousered costume that happened to be popular with the older girls at the moment. when she was all ready she opened her side window and whistled to her chum, jane patterson, who lived across the snow-covered lawn in the house next door. "yo, jane!" she called. immediately a corresponding window flew up, and a youthful face appeared at the enclosure. "ready!" was the reply. "the boys there yet?" "i think i hear them," returned mary louise. "come on over." the windows were slammed down simultaneously, and the two girls dashed downstairs to their porches. before they had finished putting on their goloshes, the boys were at the gays' house. "left the sled at the gate," announced max miller, mary louise's especial boy-friend in riverside. "do you think the snow's packed hard enough?" demanded jane. "hope so," returned max, with a grin. "the kids were sledding last night over near cooper's woods, so they ought to have made a track. anyhow, we can have some fun. you've just got to be outdoors, weather like this." they made their way across the yard, chatting about the school entertainment, their dates for the next two weeks, and the fun which christmas always brought them. when they reached the hill where the coasting was the best, near riverside, they found many of their other high-school friends, and for two hours they alternately rode down the steep incline at a breathtaking speed and then trudged slowly back to the top. the sun was setting, and the afternoon was gone before they knew it. "oh, i must go home!" exclaimed mary louise, glancing at her wrist-watch in amazement. "it's only five o'clock," returned max complacently. "you don't eat at your house before six-thirty, do you?" "come on, mary lou!" called jane. "all aboard!" her chum shook her head. "i can't, jane. i've got to be home by five-thirty." "why the rush?" demanded max. "i have to see my father. he left word with mother for me to be there." "oh, you can see him at supper," observed jane lightly. "you don't want to break up the party, do you?" "no, of course not. no need for that at all. i'll just run along by myself. you people take some more rides." "nix," answered max loyally. "you're not going home alone past these woods. if you have to go, mary lou, i'll go too." "oh, we might as well all go," said jane. "i suppose it wouldn't hurt to be on time for a meal once in a while. still, i don't see what all the fuss is about." max looked straight into mary louise's eyes, a serious expression on his face. "mary lou," he asked, "you're not doing any more detective stuff, are you? surely last summer was enough!" the girl laughed. "yes, it was plenty. haven't i been pretty good all fall? never tried to listen in on any of dad's cases or hunt for clues!" "i should think you'd be cured," remarked jane. "the whole town could burn down before i'd go through an experience like yours last summer, to discover a criminal. and if it hadn't been for max and norman----" "i owe them my life!" said mary louise, half seriously and half smilingly. but in her heart she felt a deep sense of gratitude to her two youthful rescuers. "max could use it," remarked norman slyly. "i'll say i could," muttered the other young man fervently. "but you really don't think you'll do dangerous things again, do you, mary lou?" he asked eagerly. "you'll leave the solving of mysteries and crimes to your father hereafter, won't you?" mary louise's eyes twinkled. "i'm not making any rash promises. it sort of gets into the blood, max. there's no other thrill like it. i'd rather solve a mystery than eat.... but i really don't think there is anything for me to solve now. so you can put your mind at rest." "i'll feel safer after this talk with your father is over," returned the young man. they came to a hill, and the subject was forgotten as they all piled on the sled and rode down together. it was only a little past five-thirty when mary louise opened the door of her house. her father was already there, beside the roaring logs in the fireplace, comfortably smoking. mr. gay was a tall, impressive-looking man, with a determined jaw which announced to the world that he usually accomplished whatever he set out to do. he was proud of his daughter's detective work that summer, and delighted to have her follow in his footsteps, though he wished he might keep her always from the more gruesome features in the pursuit of crimes and criminals. "hello, mary lou!" he called, gazing admiringly at her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. "did you have a good time?" "wonderful!" she replied, hanging up her snowflaked coat. "i'm sorry to be late, dad, but i had a hard time getting the others home." "that's all right, daughter. it won't take long for me to tell you what i have in mind. it may take longer for you to decide upon your answer." mary louise sat down opposite him and waited expectantly, not saying another word. "there is a small hotel for women in philadelphia," he began. "it is a pretty up-to-date place, though they try to keep their rates down, because it is endowed, and supposedly was started for girls in moderate circumstances. they have been having some trouble lately, valuables have been stolen--and they are practically sure that none of the servants is guilty. so they want a detective." "a detective?" repeated mary louise breathlessly. "you mean----" "yes, i mean you, mary lou. the proposition was put up to me, and naturally i can't handle it myself. i was to find them a woman detective for a week or so, and i suggested you. the woman in charge is delighted. she said a young girl like you could work better than anyone else because no one would suspect you of being a detective. and you could have a room near hers, under her protection, you see. "now the great question is: would you want to give up your holiday for this purpose? all those engagements you have--all the fun you have planned with your young friends? christmas day alone in a strange city? would it be worth it to you?" it did not take mary louise a moment to make her decision. "i'd love it, dad!" she cried ecstatically. "but i shouldn't know how to go about it," she added hesitatingly. "what to do--how to begin." "mrs. hilliard--she is the hotel manager--would give you all the facts," explained her father. "i'd go with you and get you started. but you must consider carefully, mary lou. think of your friends and your mother and your own pleasures. you can let me know tomorrow." mary louise nodded solemnly. "i know, daddy. but this seems like the chance of a lifetime. because you see i mean to be a detective when i graduate from high school. this is something definite to go on--a real experience, which i can make use of when i apply for a job." "yes, of course. and, by the way, there is a salary attached. you are to get twenty-five dollars a week, and an extra bonus if you get any of the lost valuables back." "oh, daddy!" the exclamation was almost a whisper, so awed was mary louise at the thought of actually earning money in the work that she loved best in all the world. "when would i start?" she asked. "i could take you with me to philadelphia tomorrow morning. but that wouldn't give you much time to write notes to your friends and pack your things. i suppose you'd have a lot of engagements to break." "yes, but they don't matter." "don't you want to think it over another day? i could come back and take you after the weekend." "no, daddy, there's not a question of doubt in my mind. i want to try it and start as soon as possible. some of the crowd will be at jane's tonight, and i can tell them and phone to the others. i'll pack my clothes before i go. have you told mother yet?" "no, i haven't. i thought there was no use stirring her up if you didn't care to undertake it. but now we'll have to break the news to her, if you're sure." "you tell her, daddy!" urged mary louise. "it will be easier." "all right, i will," he promised. a voice sounded from the kitchen. "mary louise, could you do an errand for me? you'll just have time before supper." "yes, mother," replied the girl, jumping to her feet. then in a whisper to her father she added, "tell her while i'm gone." picking up her coat again, she ran out into the kitchen. "i want you to take this basket of jellies and fruit cake over to old mrs. detweiler," said mrs. gay. "i think it would be nice for them to have the things earlier this year, because they have so little at christmas time." "yes it would, mother," agreed the girl absently. "ask them whether they've heard anything from margaret," added mrs. gay. "maybe she's coming home for christmas." "she wasn't home all summer, was she, mother?" "no. and they didn't hear from her, either. they're terribly worried. i can't see why margaret detweiler would do a thing like that, when her grandparents have been so good to her all her life. why, mrs. detweiler wore the same dress for five years just so she could put margaret through high school. and the girl always seemed so grateful and affectionate, too." "maybe something happened to her," suggested mary louise. "surely they would have heard if it had.... well, run along, dear. and come right back, because dinner is practically ready." mary louise pulled on her beret and her goloshes and went out into the snow again. it was entirely dark now, but the stars were shining, and the air was just cold enough to be invigorating. how good it was to be young and lively and happy! how sorry she felt for this poor old couple whom she was visiting, missing their granddaughter so dreadfully. but perhaps everything was all right. maybe margaret detweiler was coming home for christmas. the small brick house where the old couple lived was only a few blocks from mary louise's home. half walking, half running, the girl covered the distance in less than ten minutes. she saw a low light in the living room and knocked at the door. both of the detweilers were well over seventy, and they lived modestly but comfortably on a small pension which mr. detweiler received. it had been sufficient for their needs until the death of margaret's parents obliged them to take care of their only grandchild. but they had gladly sacrificed everything to give margaret an education and a happy girlhood. she was older than mary louise by three or four years, so that the latter had never known her well. but she had always seemed like a sweet girl. mr. detweiler opened the door and insisted that mary louise come inside. both the old people loved mrs. gay and enjoyed the wonderful presents of her own making she sent every christmas. they were profuse in their thanks. "you must take off your things and get warm before you start out again," urged mrs. detweiler. "i'm really not a bit cold," replied mary louise. "and mother told me to come right back, as supper will be waiting. but she wanted me to ask you whether you had heard anything from margaret." tears came to the old lady's eyes, and she shook her head. "not a thing since last christmas," she answered sadly. "you know she didn't come home then, but she wrote to us and sent us a box of lovely presents. expensive things, so i knew she must be doing well. she had a position in a harrisburg store at first, you know, and then she told us she had gotten a fine job in a philadelphia store. that was where the last letter came from--the last we ever received from her!" "didn't you write to her?" asked mary louise. "yes, of course we did. but the letter was returned to us." "what store was she working in? i am going to philadelphia for the christmas holidays, and i might be able to find her." "i'm not sure. but the package was marked 'strawbridge and clothier' on the box. did you ever hear of that store?" "yes, i did. and i'll go there and make inquiries for you, mrs. detweiler." the old lady seized mary louise's hand gratefully. "oh, if you could only find her, mary louise," she exclaimed, "we'd be the happiest couple alive!" "i'll do the best i can," promised the girl as she turned to the door. she ran all the way home, eager to find out what her mother was going to say in reply to her father's startling proposition about her christmas vacation. chapter ii _the job_ if mrs. gay did not like the idea of losing her daughter for two weeks, at least she kept the feeling to herself. she congratulated mary louise heartily on being chosen for a difficult piece of work. "you're a lucky girl!" cried freckles, mary louise's young brother. "wish i was old enough to take the job!" "you couldn't take this one, son," his father reminded him, "because it's a woman's job. a man would be out of place in a woman's hotel. but mary lou can go about unnoticed--people will think she's just a guest." "twenty-five bucks a week!" repeated freckles. "what are you going to do with all that money, sis?" "i don't know. wait and see if i earn it. but if i do, we'll all have something nice out of it." "i wasn't asking for it!" protested the boy. "no, i know you weren't. but wait, and we'll see." she turned to her mother. "the detweilers haven't heard a thing from margaret, mother. not since they received a box last christmas from philadelphia. but i promised to try to hunt her up for them." "oh, i feel so sorry for them!" exclaimed mrs. gay. "i do hope that nothing has happened to margaret." "so do i. but, anyhow, that will give me two jobs in philadelphia." "yes," agreed her father, "and you can give that as your reason for being in philadelphia--to the other guests at the hotel--if you care to." "that's an idea," said mary louise. "and maybe this is the more important of the two. i'm sure margaret detweiler is more precious to her grandparents than money and valuables to the women at that hotel." though her mother accepted the situation calmly--owing to her father's persuasion, no doubt--mary louise found her best friends less agreeable. jane raised a howl of protest when she heard of the plan, and max miller looked so crushed and unhappy that for a moment or two mary louise even considered the idea of giving the whole thing up. "i asked you two months ago to go to the senior dance during christmas week," he said. "and you promised me faithfully, mary lou!" "i know, max. but i couldn't foresee anything like this coming up." "it spoils my whole vacation. it spoils my whole senior year, because this is the biggest affair we have.... in fact, it spoils my whole life!" "now, max, be reasonable! we'd have only a few dances together--you're class president, don't forget, and you'll need to perform your social duties--and any other girl will do as your partner." "no other girl will do at all," he protested stubbornly. "i won't take anybody else. i'll go stag. i'd stay home entirely if i weren't president!" "well, maybe i'll have the whole mystery solved in the week before christmas, and get home in time for the dance," remarked mary louise optimistically. "more likely you'll stay a week overtime," muttered the young man. "or maybe take on the job for good and never come back to riverside at all." mary louise laughed. "you certainly can dish out gloom when you want to, max! you don't suppose my parents would allow me to leave high school and take a regular job when i'm only sixteen, do you? i shan't be seventeen till next spring, you know." but max refused to be consoled, and jane patterson upheld him in his attitude. it was ridiculous, foolhardy, dumb, silly--every adjective she could think of--to go to a strange city and be all alone during christmas week when you could be having a perfectly wonderful time in riverside. "you'll get to be a dried-up old maid by the time you're twenty-five," she told her chum. "and what good will your career be to you then?" "lots of good," returned mary louise complacently. "if i'm going to be an old maid, i'll certainly want a career. but i don't see why a career should interfere with marriage. i'll have plenty of time to have it first." "all the men will be married by that time." "i'll take a chance," laughed mary louise. nothing anybody said could stop her. mary louise was more thrilled than she had ever been in her life, and she meant to put her whole soul into this job. not only for her own sake, but for her father's, as well. in her two previous experiences, personal inclination had made her unravel the mysteries, but now she felt that her father's reputation was involved. if he recommended someone who was incompetent, a failure would reflect upon him. oh, she must succeed--if it were humanly possible! she left the party early that evening and went home to finish packing her suitcase. immediately after breakfast the next morning she and her father took the train to philadelphia. the snow had ceased falling, but the country was still covered with white. the sun shone, and the landscape was lovely. mary louise had never been to philadelphia before, and she watched everything eagerly as she approached the terminal. it was a big city, in comparison with riverside or even harrisburg. but not so big as new york, which she had visited several times. "where is the hotel, daddy?" she asked as they left the train. "and what is its name?" "it is up near the parkway, and it is called 'stoddard house,' because a wealthy woman by the name of stoddard left some money in her will to build it and help keep it up. it is a very attractive place." "i wonder how many rooms it has," said his daughter. "not so many as you might expect, because i understand the whole first floor is planned for the girls' social uses. a card room, several small rooms for the girls to entertain callers, a library, a larger reception room for dancing, and the dining room are all part of the plan. but you'll soon go all over the place and see for yourself." mary louise's eyes sparkled. "it is going to be thrilling, dad!" she said. "i hope you don't run into any danger," he remarked a little apprehensively. "the philadelphia police will have your name on file--i saw to that--so the minute you call for help you can get it. and don't hesitate to phone me long distance any time you need me. i'll give you my list of addresses for the week. don't stop for expense--we can't consider money in cases like this." mary louise nodded proudly. never in her life had she been so happy. she walked along beside her father with her head high and her eyes shining. her only misgiving, as they approached the hotel, was caused by her extreme youth. she hoped fervently that nobody would guess her age. the hotel was an attractive place. set back from the street by a small terrace, its trim brick walls and white-painted doorway and windows looked cozy and home-like. what a nice place to live, mary louise thought, if you weren't lucky enough to have a home of your own! how thankful she was that the place wasn't gloomy and tumbledown like dark cedars, where she had made her first investigations as an amateur detective! nobody would be telling her that ghosts haunted the walls of stoddard house. her father opened the door for her, and she preceded him into the lobby. it was rather small, as lobbies go, with only one counter-desk, one lounge, and a couple of elevators, which you worked yourself, at the side. but doors opened out from the lobby on all sides, revealing glimpses of numerous attractive reception rooms beyond. mr. gay nodded to the girl at the desk and inquired for mrs. hilliard. in a couple of minutes a stout middle-aged woman appeared and smiled pleasantly at him. he introduced mary louise. "let's get back into my office where we can talk undisturbed," suggested mrs. hilliard, leading the way out of a door and along a hall to another smaller room. "now sit down and i'll tell you all about our difficulties." mr. gay and his daughter made themselves comfortable, and mary louise took out her notebook. the same notebook which she had made so valuable on two previous occasions. "last september was the first time we ever had any trouble at all," began mrs. hilliard. "we lost a complete set of silverware--a dozen each of knives, forks, and spoons. but as these were only plated, the loss did not run into a great deal of money, so we didn't make much fuss. i supposed that one of the maids stole them--a waitress who left the next day to be married. "but i must have been mistaken, for more things disappeared after she left. a very unusual vase we had in the library, quite valuable too, for it had belonged in the stoddard family. that made it look as if the thief were a connoisseur. "the matron and i were watching the help carefully, and we felt sure that none of them was responsible. we hadn't many guests at the time--there are only about a dozen who live here permanently. and there happened to be only a couple of transients." "what are 'transients,' mrs. hilliard?" asked mary louise, who was unfamiliar with the term. "they're the people who stop in for a day or two--or even a week--and don't stay permanently," explained the other. "i should think they'd be the people who would be most likely to steal," observed mary louise. "because they could get away with it more easily." "i thought so too, at first. but when things kept right on being stolen, and the same transients never came back, it began to look to me as if one of the permanent lodgers were responsible.... these two girls--i have forgotten their names--were here when the silverware and the vase disappeared, but they were not here in october when our watches were taken." "how many watches?" asked mary louise. "four--including my own!" "and were there any transients here at that time?" "just one. a chorus girl named mary green. she stayed a couple of days and then said her show was closing up." the young detective wrote all these facts into her notebook and asked whether that was all. "not quite," replied mrs. hilliard. "last friday miss violet granger had a valuable oil painting stolen from her room, and a purse containing fifty dollars.... so you see the situation has become pretty serious. two of our regular guests have moved away because of it, and others have threatened to do so if anything else is stolen." she looked doubtfully at mary louise. "i'm sure i don't know how you would go about an investigation like this," she said. "but perhaps you do. are you willing to try it?" "of course i am!" cried the girl eagerly. "it's just the kind of thing i love. i've put down everything you said, mrs. hilliard, and i'm all ready to go to work now. i want to see the hotel and meet the guests as soon as possible." "i think mary louise had better keep secret the fact that she is spying on them," put in mr. gay. "just let them think that she is a young friend of yours, mrs. hilliard, visiting you for her christmas vacation. as a matter of fact, she wants to look up a young girl from riverside, whose whereabouts have been lost by her relations. but use your own discretion, mrs. hilliard." "i will, mr. gay," agreed the woman. "and i will take good care of mary louise for you," she added. "that's right. no late hours--or being out alone at night, mary lou. don't forget that this is a big city, and girls can easily get lost." "i'll be careful, daddy," she promised. mr. gay kissed his daughter good-bye, and mary louise and mrs. hilliard took the elevator to the second floor. "there are ten rooms on each floor," the manager explained. "the fourth floor belongs to the help, and i have my own little three-room apartment at the back. "the third floor is reserved for our permanent guests. we have thirteen of them now--some two in a room, some alone. "our second floor is principally for transients, although sometimes guests prefer to live there permanently. one woman named mrs. macgregor, a wealthy widow, likes her room and bath so much that she has decided to keep it indefinitely. but most of the guests on the second floor come and go.... "and now, my dear, here is your room. i was going to take you into my own apartment at first, but i decided that would be too far away from everybody. here you can mix more with the other guests. of course, whenever you get lonely, you can come up with me. i have some nice books, if you care to read in the evening, and a radio. and perhaps you brought your knitting?" "i forgot all about that," replied mary louise. "but of course i do knit, and i can easily buy some wool and some needles." mrs. hilliard opened the door of the room that was to be mary louise's and handed her the key. "now i'll leave you to rest and unpack," she said. "perhaps you can come down early before dinner to meet some of the girls in the reception room. the younger ones usually play the radio and dance a little before dinner." "i'll be there!" returned mary louise joyfully. chapter iii _the book club_ mary louise was a little awe-struck as she sat down alone in her new bedroom. the first time she had ever been away from home by herself, without any friends! alone in a big city--working on a job! it seemed to her that she had suddenly grown up. she couldn't be the same care-free high-school girl who had gone coasting only yesterday afternoon with her friends. a momentary sensation of depression took hold of her as she thought of jane and the boys and the informal party she was missing that evening. it would be wonderful if jane could be with her now, sharing her experiences as she always had, helping her to solve this mystery. but such a thing was impossible, of course. jane wouldn't want to give up the christmas gayety at riverside, and besides, this was a real job. you couldn't bring your friends along on a real job as if it were only play. then she thought of that other riverside girl alone in this big city. margaret detweiler, the girl who had so mysteriously disappeared. what could have happened to her? suppose something like that should happen to mary louise! "i'm positively getting morbid," she thought, jumping up from the chair on which she was seated and beginning to unpack her things. "i'd better get dressed and go down and meet some of the young people. i'll never accomplish anything by mooning about like this." she unpacked her suitcase and hung her clothing in the closet. what a neat little room it was, with its pretty maple furniture and white ruffled curtains! so different from the common, ugly boarding-house bedroom! she was lucky to have such a nice place to live in. and mrs. hilliard was certainly a dear. she found the shower bath down the hall, and feeling refreshed, slipped into a new wine-red crêpe, which her mother had bought her especially for the holidays. it was very becoming, and her eyes sparkled as she ran down the steps to the first floor. no use bothering with elevators when she had only one flight to go. mrs. hilliard was at the desk, talking to the secretary, who was putting on her hat and coat. "oh, mary louise," she said, "i want you to come here and register and meet miss horton. this is miss gay," she explained, "a young friend of mine. she is visiting me for the holidays, and i forgot to have her register when she came in. but as she is using room , and not my apartment, i think she had better register." mary louise nodded approvingly and wrote her name in the book. "you have never come across a girl named margaret detweiler, have you, miss horton?" she asked. "i want to find her if i can while i am in philadelphia." the secretary shook her head. "no, i don't think so. you might look through the book, though. i can't remember all the transients who have stopped here at stoddard house." "naturally," agreed mary louise, and she turned the pages eagerly. but of course she did not find the name. coincidences like that don't often happen, and besides, she reasoned, if she did find it, it wouldn't do her much good. that wouldn't tell her where margaret was now. "come into the music room with me," said mrs. hilliard. "i see one of our newest arrivals here--a young girl who came only last week. she can't be more than nineteen or twenty. i think you'd like each other." the girl, an attractive brunette with a gay manner and a little too much lipstick, was standing beside the radio, turning the dials. she looked up as mrs. hilliard and mary louise entered the room. "miss brooks, i want you to meet a friend of mine--miss gay," said mrs. hilliard. "perhaps i'd better say 'pauline' and 'mary louise,' because i know you young people don't bother with last names." the girls smiled at each other, and the manager went towards the door. "would you be good enough to take care of mary louise--introduce her to any of the other guests who come in--miss brooks? i have to go back to the desk, for the secretary has gone home." "certainly," agreed pauline immediately. she turned on some dance music. "what do you say we dance?" she asked mary louise. "and does everybody call you by both names?" "most people shorten it to 'mary lou.' yes, i love to dance. that's a dandy fox trot." the girls stepped off, pauline talking gayly all the time, asking mary louise all sorts of questions: where she was from, how long she was going to stay, and so on. mary louise answered pleasantly, happy to have found a new friend. it wouldn't be so bad without jane, now that she had found a girl near her own age in philadelphia, although she thought that pauline was probably nearer twenty-five than twenty. middle-aged people like mrs. hilliard weren't so good at guessing young people's ages, unless they had children of their own. "i wish i could take pauline into my confidence," thought mary louise, "and have her help me the way jane did. it would be so much nicer." but she knew that would not be wise: her father and mrs. hilliard wanted her to keep her job a secret. however, she did make it a point to ask pauline a few questions in return for those she had answered. not that she was interested in pauline as a suspect--the girl had only arrived last week, mrs. hilliard said--but because she really wanted a young companion while she was in this strange city. "my parents are dead," pauline told her. "i have a rich aunt who usually stays at the ritz when she's in philadelphia, but i don't care enough about her to live with her. i sort of flit from place to place, and write fashion articles for the magazines whenever my income runs short. i have a pretty good time." "have you ever stayed at stoddard house before?" asked mary louise. "no, i usually avoid women's places like y. w. c. a.'s and girls' clubs," was the reply. "but this sort of looked different to me, and i thought i'd give it a try. it's pretty good, don't you think?" "i like it very much." by this time half-a-dozen people had entered the room, and two more couples were dancing. suddenly mary louise felt bewildered. how could she possibly get to know so many people in the short space of two weeks and hope to find the thief? the music changed, and the other dancers left the room. apparently the dining-room doors were open. "gosh, i couldn't introduce you to any of those women, mary lou," said pauline. "i don't know any of their names." "oh, that's all right," agreed the young detective. "i'm not feeling a bit lonely." "let's go eat--or are you supposed to wait for mrs. hilliard?" "no, she told me not to. she's such a busy person, she has to snatch her meals whenever she can. but i'll be with her in the evenings." "exciting life!" observed pauline. "maybe i can rake up a date for you later. i've got one myself for tonight, and i'll sound ben out. if he can get hold of another fellow for tomorrow night----" "oh, i don't think i better make any plans," interrupted mary louise. "though i do appreciate it a lot, pauline. but you see i am mrs. hilliard's guest. i have to consult her." "o.k." the two girls went into the dining room, an attractive place, with tables for two and four persons, and chose one of the smaller ones. "we don't want any of the old dames parking with us," observed pauline, glancing at a couple of elderly women just entering the room. "they cramp my style." "rather," laughed mary louise, though she secretly wished she might meet some of the "old dames," as pauline called them. any one of them might be the thief. pauline brooks was very different from the girls of riverside--not nearly so refined, mary louise thought--but she was a gay companion and made witty remarks about everything. no doubt she was a clever writer. just as the girls finished their excellent dinner, mrs. hilliard came into the room. pauline stood up. "i'll be running along, mary lou," she said. "now you have company i better leave you and get dressed." mary louise smiled. "have a good time--and i'll see you tomorrow." "not too early!" warned pauline. "i'll probably be dancing till the small hours tonight." she left the room, and mrs. hilliard sat down in her place. "will you stay here with me while i eat my dinner, mary louise?" she asked. "yes, indeed," replied the girl. "and did you enjoy your dinner?" "it was wonderful! just like a fine hotel." "i think stoddard house is a fine hotel--on a small scale, of course.... and now i have a suggestion to offer for tonight," she continued as she ate her dinner. "some of the regular guests here have a book club which meets once a week. i seldom go to the meetings--i never seem to have time--but i thought i could take you tonight, and in that way you would get acquainted with some of these people. though i don't suppose you'll find the person we're looking for among them. thieves aren't often book lovers." "but it will help me to get the people sorted out, and i am so at sea," said mary louise. "i think it is a fine idea, mrs. hilliard. what time does the club meet?" "seven-thirty. but we'll go to my room first, and you can copy down the names of all the guests, and their room numbers." "oh, that's great!" she cried, thankful to be getting at something definite to start with. as soon as mrs. hilliard finished her dinner she and mary louise took the elevator to the fourth floor and walked down the long corridor to the back of the hotel. here was mrs. hilliard's own private apartment, a cozy suite of three rooms and a bath. mary louise settled herself comfortably in an armchair and took out her notebook. "do you want the names of the maids?" asked mrs. hilliard as she picked up some papers from her desk. "no, not yet," replied the girl. "you believe in their innocence, so i think i'd rather study the guests first." mrs. hilliard handed her a paper, a methodical list of the bedrooms on the second and third floors, and mary louise copied it, just as it was, into her notebook: "second floor: room pauline brooks. may and lucy fletcher. mary louise gay. mrs. b. b. macgregor. anne starling. third floor: room miss henrietta stoddard. mrs. weinberger. miss hortense weinberger. dorothy semple. miss hastings. ruth and evelyn walder. mrs. moyer. miss violet granger." "you have quite a lot of empty rooms, haven't you, mrs. hilliard?" inquired mary louise, when she had finished her copy. "yes. it's always dull at this time of year. and we never are very full. after all, it's rather expensive, with wages on the scale they are now." "how much do you charge?" "fourteen dollars a week. but that doesn't cover our expenses." "no, i'm sure it doesn't. everything is lovely--i didn't tell you how much i like my room--and the food couldn't be better." "well, we have an income from the stoddard estate which helps to pay expenses," mrs. hilliard explained. "there is a woman here named miss henrietta stoddard," observed mary louise, looking at her list. "is she any relation of the founder?" "yes, she is her niece. old mrs. stoddard provided in her will that henrietta should be allowed to live here free all her life, as long as she was single or a widow." "how old a woman is she?" "about forty-five now, i should judge. and very bitter. she expected to inherit her aunt's money, and she even tried to break the will. she hasn't any money--i think she does odd jobs like taking care of children and doing hand sewing for her spending money and her clothing." "hm!" remarked mary louise. mrs. hilliard smiled. "i know what you are thinking--and i kind of think so myself. that miss stoddard is the thief. but you'd never believe it to look at her. she's prim and proper and austere." "you never can tell," said mary louise. "no, that's true.... well, you'll have a good chance to judge for yourself tonight. miss stoddard is the one who is in charge of the book club. there is a library fund in the endowment, and these women decide upon what to buy." "tell me which of these guests belong to the club," urged the girl. "all the regular residents belong, except miss violet granger. she is an artist--she draws for magazines and for an advertising firm--and she always keeps apart from the other guests. she is the one from whom the oil painting and the fifty dollars were stolen." mary louise nodded and put a check beside miss granger's name. "now," she said, "i ought to check the names of all the other people who have had valuables stolen. who else was there?" "well, as i told you, the hotel itself lost the silverware and the chinese vase. then there were four watches stolen--my own, mrs. weinberger's, and the two walder girls.... by the way, they are lovely girls, mary louise--they've lived here a couple of years, and i know their families--i'm sure you're going to like them.... "and the final--at least, i hope it's the final robbery--was the painting and the money from miss granger's room. but i have a feeling that isn't the end, and the guests are all nervous too. it's hurting our business--and--making my own job seem uncertain." mary louise closed her notebook thoughtfully and sighed. "i'll do the best i can, mrs. hilliard," she promised solemnly. ten minutes later they took the elevator to the first floor, and mrs. hilliard led the way into the library. it was a cheerful room with an open fireplace, a number of comfortable chairs and built-in bookcases around the walls. miss henrietta stoddard, a plain-looking woman with spectacles, sat at the table on one side, with a pile of books and a notebook beside her. she was talking to an elderly woman and a younger one. mrs. hilliard introduced mary louise. "mrs. weinberger and miss weinberger," she said, and mary louise immediately placed them as the mother and daughter who lived in rooms and . the daughter was complaining to miss stoddard. "i don't see why we can't have some more exciting books," she said. "something a little more youthful." miss stoddard drew the corners of her severe mouth together. "we buy just what the club votes for," she replied icily. "because the younger members never come to put in their votes!" returned the younger woman petulantly. "i asked the walder girls to come to the meeting tonight, but of course they had dates." she turned eagerly to mary louise. "you can put in a vote, miss gay!" she exclaimed. "will you suggest something youthful?" mary louise smiled. "i shan't be here long enough to belong to the club," she answered. "i'm just visiting mrs. hilliard for the vacation." "you're a schoolgirl?" "yes. a junior at riverside high school." "never heard of it," returned miss weinberger, abruptly and scornfully. "i'm afraid it's not famous--like yale or harvard," remarked mary louise, with a sly smile. miss weinberger went on talking to the others in her complaining, whining tone. mary louise disliked her intensely, but she didn't believe she would ever steal anything. "what time is it?" demanded miss stoddard sharply. "i don't know. my watch was stolen, you know," replied mrs. weinberger, looking accusingly at mrs. hilliard, as if it were her fault. "you never heard anything about those watches, did you?" inquired miss stoddard. "no," replied the manager, keeping her eyes away from mary louise. "there was a night watchman that night, but he said he didn't see any burglar or hear any disturbance." "the night watchman couldn't watch four watches," mary louise remarked facetiously. "yes, there were four stolen," agreed mrs. weinberger. "i suppose mrs. hilliard told you?" mary louise flushed: she must be more careful in the future. "i think that bleached-blond chorus girl took them," observed miss weinberger. "she was here then and left the next day. that name of hers was probably assumed. 'mary green!' too common!" mary louise wanted to write this in her notebook, but caution bade her wait till the meeting was over. the door opened, and an old lady came in, leaning on her cane. she was past eighty, but very bright and cheerful, with beautiful gray hair and a charming smile. mrs. hilliard sprang up and offered her the best chair in the room and introduced mary louise to her. her name was mrs. moyer. now the meeting began: the guests returned the books they had borrowed and discussed new ones to purchase. at half-past nine a maid brought in tea and cakes, and the evening ended sociably. thankful to slip off alone to write her observations in her notebook, mary louise went to her own room. chapter iv _a midnight visitor_ mary louise put on her kimono and stretched herself out comfortably on her pretty bed, with her notebook in her hands. what a lovely room it was! what a charming little bedside table, with its silk-shaded lamp, its dainty ice-water jug--and its telephone. for that convenience especially she was thankful: she'd far rather have a telephone than a radio. little did she realize how soon she was to find that instrument so useful! she opened her notebook at the page upon which she had written the guests' names, and counted them. fourteen people besides herself, and of that number she had met only five. rather a slow beginning! "if i only had jane here, she'd know everybody in the place by now," she thought wistfully. "jane is clever, but she does jump at conclusions. maybe i'm better off alone." she glanced at the notebook again and resolved not to bother yet with the names of people she hadn't met. she'd concentrate instead upon the five that she did know. she began at the beginning with the girl with whom she had danced and eaten supper. "pauline brooks couldn't be guilty," she decided. "because she came to stoddard house only a few days ago for the first time. after the first two robberies had taken place. so she's out.... "now i'm not so sure about miss henrietta stoddard. she might even believe she had a right to steal things, because she was cheated out of her inheritance. yes--i'll watch miss stoddard carefully. "next those two weinberger women. hardly possible, when the mother lost her own watch. of course, thieves sometimes pretend to have things stolen, just to establish their innocence, the same way murderers often wound themselves--for alibis. but, just the same, i believe those women are honest. they're pretty well off, too, to judge from their clothes and their jewelry." she came to the last person she had met--the old lady who had come to the book-club meeting with a cane--mrs. moyer. mary louise's face broke into a smile. nobody in her right senses could suspect a person like that! that was all. except the secretary, miss horton, whom she had met at the desk. mary louise closed the notebook and put it on the table beside her. that was enough for tonight; now she'd try to get some sleep. she put out the light and opened the window. snow still covered everything except the streets and the sidewalks, and the moon shone over the roofs of the buildings beyond. right below her side window was a fire escape, which made her feel somehow safe and secure. it was not nearly so quiet here as in riverside; automobile horns honked now and again, and the sound of trolleys from the street in front was plainly heard. but mary louise was not worried about the noise, and a few minutes after she was in bed she was sound asleep. how many hours later she was awakened by a dream about margaret detweiler, mary louise had no way of knowing, for she had left her watch on the bureau. she thought she had found margaret alone in an empty house, cold and starving to death, and she was trying to remember just what principles of first aid to apply, when she awoke and found it was only a dream. but something, she realized instantly, had awakened her. something--somebody--was in her room! her first sensation was one of terror. a ghost--no, a gypsy, perhaps--who would clap a gag over her mouth and bind her hand and foot! but before she uttered a sound she remembered where she was and why she was there. a delirious feeling of triumph stole over her, making her believe that success was at hand for her in her sleuthing. if this person were really the stoddard house sneak thief, mary louise could lie still and watch her, for the room was light enough from the moon and the street lamps to show up the intruder quite plainly. ever so cautiously, without turning her head or making any kind of sound, she rolled her eyes toward her bureau, where she could sense the intruder to be. her reward was immediate: she saw a short person in dark clothing standing there, carefully picking up some object. "my purse--and my watch!" mary louise thought grimly. the little engraved watch her father had given her last christmas. the figure turned around and silently crept towards the door. but sudden, swift dismay took possession of mary louise, making her tremble with fear and disappointment. the thief was not a woman, whom she could hope to identify as a guest at stoddard house. he was a man! he turned the key in the lock so quietly that only the tiniest click could be heard. then, just as softly, he closed the door again and vanished into the hall. mary louise gasped audibly with both relief and disappointment. relief that he was gone, disappointment that he was a common, ordinary burglar whom she could not hope to catch. nevertheless, she meant to do what she could, so she turned on her light and reached for the telephone beside her bed. in another moment she had told her story to the police, and, so perfect were their radio signals, in less than five minutes one of their cars stood at the door of the hotel. meanwhile, mary louise had hastily thrown on a few clothes and run down the stairs to warn the night watchman. the halls were lighted all night, as well as the lobby of the hotel; she did not see how the burglar could escape without attracting the watchman's notice. she found him quietly smoking a pipe on the doorstep. he said he had seen nobody. "i think the burglar came in through the window from the fire escape," mary louise said. "don't see how he could," returned the man. "i've been around there at the side for the last half hour. nobody came along that alley." baffled, mary louise summoned mrs. hilliard on the house phone, and by the time she stepped out of the elevator the two policemen had arrived. "the thief must be hiding somewhere in the building," concluded mary louise. "waiting for a chance to slip away." "we'll have to make a search," announced mrs. hilliard. "you guard the doorway and the stairway, mike," she said to the watchman, "and one of you officers go around the first floor and see whether the windows are all securely locked--in case the burglar escaped through one of them. then the other officer can come with miss gay and me while we search the floors above." immediately the plan was put into effect, and the searchers began on the second floor, looking first in the corridors and closets and empty rooms, then knocking at the doors of the guests' rooms. pauline brooks' door was the first they went to, and here a light shone under the cracks. "sorry to disturb you, miss brooks," called mrs. hilliard, "but a sneak thief has gotten into the hotel, and we want to find him. may we come in?" "just a minute," replied the girl. "till i put on my bath robe. i was out late--at a dance, and i'm just undressing now." "what time is it, anyway?" asked mary louise. "you see, my watch was stolen." "it's only a few minutes after one," replied the policeman. a moment later pauline unlocked the door, and the three people entered. the room was very untidy: clothing had been flung about everywhere, and two open suitcases occupied the chairs. "look in the closet," advised mrs. hilliard. "there's nobody there," answered pauline. "i've just been in it. but you might look under the bed. that's where men always hide in the bedroom farces." "you wouldn't think this was a 'bedroom farce' if you'd just lost your watch and your purse," remarked mary louise sharply. "i'm sorry, mary lou," apologized pauline. "you see, i didn't know that _you_ were the victim." "we've got to get along," interrupted the officer. "there's nobody here--i'm sure of that." they passed on to the other rooms, waking up the guests when it was necessary, apologizing, explaining--and finding nobody. in only two of the rooms besides pauline's had they found lights burning. miss granger, the artist, was still working on some drawings she was making for a magazine, and miss henrietta stoddard, who explained that she was "such a poor sleeper," was reading a book. but both these women said that they had heard no disturbance. when the search was completed and the group returned to the first floor of the hotel, the watchman and the officer had nothing to report. the windows on the ground floor were all securely locked, the latter announced, and the former said that no one had escaped by the front door or the fire escape. "it's either an inside job or your young friend dreamed it," one of the policemen said to mrs. hilliard. "it couldn't be an inside job," returned the manager. "for there isn't any man who lives in the hotel." "and i didn't dream it," protested mary louise. "because my watch and my purse are gone, and my door was unlocked. i locked it myself when i went to bed last night." "well, we'll keep an eye on the building all night," promised the policeman as he opened the door. "let us know if you have any more trouble." when the men had gone, mrs. hilliard persuaded mary louise to come to her apartment for the rest of the night. she had a couch-bed in her sitting room which she often used for her own guests. mary louise agreed, but it was a long while before she fell asleep again. she kept listening for sounds, imagining she heard footsteps in the hall, or windows opening somewhere in the building. but at last she dozed off, and slept until mrs. hilliard's alarm awakened her the next morning. "you had better go down to the dining room for your breakfast, mary louise," said the manager. "i just have orange juice and coffee, up here--if i go into the dining room i am tempted to overeat, and i put on weight." "all right," agreed mary louise. "i want to go to my room for fresh clothing anyway--i just grabbed these things last night in a hurry.... mrs. hilliard, what do you think of last night's occurrence?" "i don't know what to think. i was convinced that all our robberies before this were inside jobs, because our watchman was so careful. but now i don't know. of course, this may be something entirely different. we'll see if anything happens tonight. you're sure it was a man, mary louise?" "positive. he wore a cap pulled down over his head, and a mask over his eyes. he had on a dark suit--sneakers, too, for i couldn't hear him walk." "did he have a gun?" "i don't know, because i pretended to be asleep, so he didn't need to defend himself. he got out so quickly. where could he have vanished to?" mrs. hilliard shook her head with a sigh. "i haven't the slightest idea," she said. "of course, he might have had an accomplice," mused mary louise. "some woman may have let him out her window to the fire escape. still, the watchman was keeping his eye on that...." mary louise's tone became dreary. "i guess i'm not much use to you, mrs. hilliard. i don't think i ought to take the salary." "you mean you want to go home, mary louise?" "oh no! i wouldn't leave now for anything. but i mean i probably shan't be any help in finding a thief like that. so i oughtn't to accept any pay." "don't worry about that," returned mrs. hilliard, patting mary louise's arm affectionately. "you just do the best you can. nobody can do more. i'd really like it proved that none of our guests is the thief. i'd much rather find out that it was a common burglar." reassured, mary louise went to her own room and dressed. by the time she reached the dining room the guests who held positions had already eaten their breakfasts and gone, and the others, who had nothing to do all day, had not yet put in an appearance. it was only a little after eight, but the dining room was deserted. "i wish i had somebody to talk to," she thought sadly as she seated herself at a little table by a window. the sunlight streamed in through the dainty ruffled curtains, there were rosebuds in the center of her table, and a menu from which she could order anything she wanted, but mary louise was not happy. she felt baffled and lonely. she ordered grapefruit first, and just as she finished it, mrs. weinberger came into the room. she made her way straight to mary louise's table. "may i sit with you, miss gay?" she asked. "my daughter won't eat breakfast for fear of gaining a pound, and it's so lonesome eating all by yourself." mary louise smiled cordially. "i think so too, mrs. weinberger," she replied. "i'll be delighted to have you." "do you feel nervous after last night? it must have been terrible to be right in the room when the burglar got in. i was away when my watch was stolen." "tell me about it, mrs. weinberger," urged mary louise. "i was over in mrs. moyer's room," the woman explained, after she had given her order to the waitress, "and my daughter went out of my room and couldn't remember whether she locked the door or not. anyway, i discovered that my watch was gone when i was dressing for dinner." she sighed. "it was very valuable--a present from my late husband." mary louise had an inspiration. "i believe i'll visit some pawnshops today, to ask about mine," she said, "and i can inquire about yours at the same time, if you want me to, mrs. weinberger." "yes, indeed! but i am afraid it is too late now. mine was an old-fashioned watch--we used to wear them pinned on our dresses, with a brooch. mine had seven diamonds on it in front, and my initials 'e. w.' in tiny pearls on the back." "did you advertise?" "yes, of course. but nothing came of it. my daughter thinks that transient guest--a chorus girl named mary green--stole it. we tried to trace her, but we couldn't find her name with any of the theatrical companies in town at the time." "she never came back here to stoddard house?" "oh no." "and were the other watches stolen the same day?" "yes. mrs. hilliard's was taken during the supper hour, but she had laid it down on the desk, so that was her own carelessness. but the walder girls had theirs taken while they were asleep--just as yours was." "what were theirs like?" "plain gold wrist-watches, with their initials--r. w. and e. w. their names are ruth and evelyn." "well, i'll do what i can," concluded mary louise. "and now let's talk about something pleasant." so for the rest of the meal she and mrs. weinberger discussed books and the current moving pictures. chapter v _another robbery_ mary louise had three separate plans in view for the morning. first, she would visit as many pawnshops as possible in the vicinity and ask to see their displays of watches. second, she meant to go to strawbridge and clothier's department store and find out whether margaret detweiler had worked there, and why and when she had left. and third, she wanted to find some pretext to call on miss henrietta stoddard in her own room and observe her closely. as she walked out of the dining room she met mrs. hilliard going towards her little office on the first floor. "could i see you for a moment, mrs. hilliard?" she inquired. "certainly, my dear. come into the office with me." mary louise followed her into the room, but she did not sit down. she knew how busy the hotel manager would be on saturday morning. "i have decided to visit some pawnshops, mrs. hilliard," she said. "i have my own watch to identify, and i got a pretty good description of mrs. weinberger's today. but i want you to tell me a little more about the other things that were stolen." "the silverware had an ivy-leaf pattern, and the initials 's. h.'--for stoddard house--engraved on it," replied the woman. "the vase was an old chinese one, of an odd size, with decorations in that peculiar red they so often use. i believe i can draw it better than i can describe it. but i feel sure you'd never find it in a pawnshop. whoever stole that sold it to an antique dealer." however, she picked up her pencil and roughly sketched the vase for mary louise, giving her a good idea of its appearance. at the same time she described the painting which had been stolen from miss granger's room--an original by the american artist whistler. mary louise wrote all these facts in her notebook and kept the drawing. "that's fine, mrs. hilliard," she said as she opened the door. "i'm going out now, and i'll be back for lunch." "good-bye and good luck!" mary louise went to her room, and from the telephone book beside her bed she listed the addresses of all the pawnshops in the neighborhood. this was going to be fun, she thought--at least, if she didn't lose her nerve. she hesitated for a few minutes outside of the first shop she came to. the iron bars guarding the window, the three balls in the doorway, seemed rather forbidding. for mary louise had never been inside a pawnshop. "i can say i want to buy a watch," she thought. "i do, too--i certainly need one. but i'm afraid i'd rather have a brand-new ingersoll than a gold one that has belonged to somebody else. still, i don't have to tell the shopkeeper that." boldly she opened the door and went in. she had expected to find an old man with spectacles and a skullcap, the typical pawnbroker one sees in the moving pictures. but there was nothing different about this man behind the counter from any ordinary storekeeper. "good-morning, miss," he said. "what can i do for you today?" "i want to look at ladies' watches," replied mary louise steadily. the man nodded and indicated a glass case on the opposite side of the shop. mary louise examined its contents intently. "the fact is," she said, "my own watch was stolen. i thought maybe it might have been pawned, and i'd look around in the shops first, before i buy one, in the hope of finding it." "recently?" "yes. last night." the man smiled. "if it had been pawned last night or this morning, you wouldn't find it offered for sale yet. we have to hold all valuables until the time on their tickets expires." "oh, of course! how stupid of me.... well, could you tell me whether any ladies' watches have been pawned here since midnight last night?" "yes, we've taken in two," replied the man graciously. "and i don't mind showing them to you. i'm not in league with any thieves. i'm an honest man." "i'm sure of it," agreed mary louise instantly. but she was disappointed upon sight of the watches. neither of them was hers, nor did either remotely resemble mrs. weinberger's or any of the other three stolen from stoddard house. "thank you ever so much," she said finally. "i think i'll look around a little more and ask about my own, and if i can't find it, i may come back and buy one of yours. several of those you have are very pretty." thoroughly satisfied with her interview, she walked down the street until she came to another shop. it was on the corner of an alley, and just as she approached the intersection she noticed a woman in an old-fashioned brown suit coming out of the side door of the pawnshop. the woman glanced about furtively, as if she did not care to be seen, and caught mary louise's eyes. with a gasp of surprise, the girl recognized her immediately. it was miss henrietta stoddard! before mary louise could even nod to her, the woman had slipped across the street and around the corner, lost amid the saturday morning crowd that was thronging the busy street. mary louise repressed a smile and entered the pawnshop by the front door. she repeated her former experience, with this difference, however: she did not find the shopkeeper nearly so cordial or so willing to co-operate. finally she asked point-blank what the woman in the brown suit had just pawned. "i can't see that that's any of your business, miss," he replied disagreeably. "but i will tell you that it wasn't a watch." mary louise wasn't sure that she believed him. but there was nothing that she could do without enlisting the help of her father. she visited four other shops without any success, and finally decided to abandon the plan. it was too hopeless, too hit-or-miss, to expect to find those watches by that kind of searching. far better, she concluded, to concentrate on observing the actions of the people at stoddard house. especially miss henrietta stoddard herself! so she turned her steps to the big department store where she believed margaret detweiler had worked till last christmas and inquired her way to the employment office. the store was brilliantly decorated for christmas, and crowds of late shoppers filled the aisles and the elevators, so that it was not easy to reach her destination. nor was the employment manager's office empty. even at this late date, applicants were evidently hoping for jobs, and mary louise had to sit down and wait her turn. it was half an hour later that she found herself opposite the manager's desk. mechanically a clerk handed her an application to fill out. "i don't want a position," mary louise said immediately. "i want to see whether i can get any information about a girl named margaret detweiler who, i think, worked in your store up to last christmas. would it be too much trouble to look her up in your files? i know you're busy----" "oh, that's all right," replied the manager pleasantly, and she repeated the name to the clerk. "you see," explained mary louise, "margaret detweiler's grandparents haven't heard from her for a year, and they're dreadfully worried. margaret is all they have in the world." the clerk found the card immediately. "miss detweiler did work here for six months last year," she stated. "in the jewelry department. and then she was dismissed for stealing." "stealing!" repeated mary louise, aghast at such news. "why, i can't believe it! margaret was the most upright, honest girl at home; she came from the best people. how did it happen?" "i remember her now," announced the employment manager. "a pretty, dark-eyed girl who always dressed rather plainly. yes, i was surprised too. but she had been ill, i believe, and perhaps she wasn't quite herself. maybe she had doctor's bills and so on. it was too bad, for if she had come to me i could have helped her out with a loan." "was she sent to prison?" asked mary louise in a hoarse whisper. oh, the disgrace of the thing! it would kill old mrs. detweiler if she ever found it out. "no, she wasn't. we found the stolen article in miss detweiler's shoe. at least, one of the things she took--a link bracelet. we didn't recover the ring, but a wealthy woman, a customer who happened to be in the jewelry department at the time, evidently felt sorry for miss detweiler and offered to pay for the ring. we didn't let her, but of course we had to dismiss the girl." "you haven't any idea where margaret went--or what she did?" "only that this woman--her name was mrs. ferguson, i remember, and she lived at the benjamin franklin hotel--promised miss detweiler a job. so perhaps everything is all right now." "i hope so!" exclaimed mary louise fervently. and thanking the woman profusely she left the office and the store. but she had her misgivings. if everything had turned out all right, why hadn't margaret written to her grandparents? who was this mrs. ferguson, and why had she done this kindness for an unknown girl? mary louise meant to find out, if she could. she inquired her way to the benjamin franklin hotel and asked at the desk for mrs. ferguson. but she was informed that no such person lived there. "would you have last year's register?" she asked timidly. she hated to put everybody to so much trouble. the clerk smiled: nobody could resist mary louise. "i'll get it for you," he said. after a good deal of searching she found a mrs. h. r. ferguson registered at the hotel on the twenty-third of the previous december, with only the indefinite address of chicago, illinois, after her name. margaret detweiler did not appear in the book at all: evidently she had never stayed at the benjamin franklin hotel. with a sigh of disappointment, mary louise thanked the clerk and left. nothing had been gained by that visit. "it must be lunch time," she decided, after glancing in vain at her wrist, where she was accustomed to wear her watch. "i guess i'll go back to the house." the minute she entered the door of stoddard house, the most terrible commotion greeted her. a woman's shriek rang through the air; someone cried out, "catch her--she's fainted!" the elevator doors slammed, and people appeared from everywhere, in wild confusion. mary louise dashed through the door to the desk just in time to see mrs. macgregor, the wealthy widow who lived in room , drop down on the bench beside the elevator. women pressed all around her prostrate figure: guests, maids, mrs. hilliard, and the secretary, miss horton, who offered a glass of water to the unconscious woman. but nobody seemed to know what it was all about. presently mrs. macgregor opened her eyes and accepted a sip of the water. then she glared accusingly at mrs. hilliard. "i've been robbed!" she cried. "five hundred dollars and a pair of diamond earrings!" chapter vi _saturday afternoon_ "do you feel any better now, mrs. macgregor?" inquired mrs. hilliard, as the stricken woman sat upright on the bench. "better!" she repeated angrily. "i'll never feel better till i get my money back again." mary louise repressed a smile. macgregor was a scotch name. "now, tell us how it happened," urged mrs. hilliard. "when did you first miss the money?" "just a few minutes ago, when i came out of my bath." she became hysterical again. "lock the doors!" she cried. "search everybody! call the police!" mary louise caught mrs. hilliard's eye. "shall i?" she asked. mrs. hilliard nodded. "and tell the janitor to lock the doors and station himself at the front to let the guests in who come home, for the girls will be coming into lunch from work. today's a half holiday." by the time mary louise had returned, she found the crowd somewhat dispersed. the servants had gone back to their work, but several new arrivals had joined mrs. hilliard and mrs. macgregor. the two walder girls, about whom mary louise had heard so much, were there, and mrs. hilliard introduced them. they were both very attractive, very much the same type as mary louise's own friends in riverside. much more real, she thought, than pauline brooks, with her vivid make-up and her boastful talk. "that is a great deal of money to keep in your room, mrs. macgregor," evelyn walder said. "especially after all the robberies we've been having at stoddard house." "that's just it! it was on account of these terrible goings-on that i took the money and the diamonds from a little safe i have and got them ready to put into the bank. somebody was too quick for me. but i'm pretty sure i know who it was: ida, the chambermaid!" "oh, no!" protested mrs. hilliard. "ida has been with me two years, and i know she's honest." "send for her," commanded mrs. macgregor. while they were waiting for the girl to appear, mrs. macgregor explained more calmly just what had happened. "i had the money and the diamonds in a bag on my bureau," she said. "i was running the water in my bathroom when i heard a knock at the door. i unlocked it, and ida came in with clean towels and a fresh bureau cover. while she was fixing the bureau cover, i hurried back to the bathroom, put the towels away, and turned off the water. my bath salts fell out of the closet when i opened the door to put the towels away, so i was delayed two or three minutes gathering them up. i heard ida go out and close the door behind her, and i got into my bath. when i came back into the bedroom, my bag was gone." "but you didn't scream immediately," observed mrs. hilliard. "you must have waited to dress." "i had dressed in the bathroom, before i knew the bag was stolen." "wasn't anybody else in your room all morning, mrs. macgregor?" mary louise couldn't help asking. "only miss stoddard. she had gone out to buy me some thread--she does my mending for me--and she stopped in on her return from the store and took some of my lingerie to her room." at this moment the chambermaid, a girl of about twenty-two, approached the group. either she knew nothing about the robbery, or else she was a splendid actress, for she appeared entirely unconcerned. "you wanted me, mrs. hilliard?" she inquired. "listen to the innocent baby!" mocked mrs. macgregor scornfully. ida looked puzzled, and mrs. hilliard briefly explained the situation. the girl denied the whole thing immediately. "there wasn't any bag on the bureau, mrs. macgregor," she said. "i know, because i changed the cover." "maybe it wasn't on the bureau," admitted mrs. macgregor. "but it was somewhere in the room. you're going to be searched!" the girl looked imploringly at mrs. hilliard, but the latter could not refuse to grant mrs. macgregor's demand. "i can prove i didn't take any bag," said ida. "by miss brooks. i went right into her room next and made her bed. she can tell you i did. she was just going out--i'm sure she'll remember." "is miss brooks here?" "i think she left the hotel about fifteen minutes ago," stated miss horton, the secretary. "before mrs. macgregor screamed." "well, we can ask her when she comes back," said mrs. hilliard. "where were you, ida, when i sent for you?" "still in miss brooks' room," replied the girl tearfully. "i was running the vacuum cleaner, so i never heard the disturbance." mrs. hilliard turned to mrs. macgregor. "if ida did steal your bag," she said, "she would have to have it concealed on her person. mary louise, you take ida to my apartment and have her undress and prove that she isn't hiding anything." without a word the two girls did as they were told and took the elevator to the fourth floor. mary louise felt dreadfully sorry for her companion, who by this time was shaking and sobbing. she put her arm through ida's as they entered mrs. hilliard's apartment. "you know, ida," she said, "if you did do this it would be lots easier for you if you'd own up now. the police are bound to find out anyhow, sooner or later." "but i didn't, miss!" protested the other girl. "i never stole anything in my life. i was brought up different. i'm a good girl, and my mother would die if she knew i was even accused of stealing." instinctively mary louise believed her. nevertheless, she had to do as she was told, and she carefully made the search. but she found nothing. satisfied, she took the girl back to mrs. hilliard. the police had already arrived, and more of the hotel guests had returned. miss stoddard was sitting beside mrs. macgregor, and mary louise longed to suggest that she--or rather her room--be searched. however, the police attended to that. one officer took each floor, and everybody's room was systematically gone through. but the valuable bag could not be found. the doors of the hotel were unlocked, and everybody was allowed to go in and out again as she pleased. mary louise watched eagerly for pauline brooks, hoping that she would prove ida's alibi, but miss brooks did not return. undoubtedly she had a date somewhere--a lively girl like pauline could not imagine wasting her saturday afternoon on "females," as she would call the guests at stoddard house. the dining-room doors were thrown open, and mary louise and mrs. hilliard went in to their lunch together. the older woman seemed dreadfully depressed. "mrs. macgregor is leaving this afternoon," she said. "and the weinbergers go tomorrow. if this keeps up, the hotel will be empty in another week.... and i'll lose my position." "oh, i hope not," replied mary louise. "everybody can't leave because things are stolen, for there are robberies everywhere. the big hotels all employ private detectives, and yet i've read that an awful lot of things are taken just the same. some people make their living just by robbing hotel guests. so, no matter where people go, they run a risk. even in homes of their own." "yes, that's true. but stoddard house has been particularly unlucky, and you know things like this get around." "i'm going to do my best to find out who is the guilty person," mary louise assured her. "and this morning's robbery ought to narrow down my suspects to those who were at the house at the time. at least, if you can help me by telling me who they are." "yes, i think i can. besides mrs. macgregor and myself, there were only miss stoddard, the two weinbergers, mrs. moyer, and miss brooks. all the rest of the guests have positions and were away at work." mary louise took her notebook and checked off the list. "that does make it easier, unless one of the help is guilty. they were all here at the time.... but of course the thief may be that same man who stole my watch." "yes, that's possible, especially if he is an accomplice of one of the guests--of miss stoddard, for instance." "yes. i've been thinking about her. she was in mrs. macgregor's room, you know." but mary louise did not tell mrs. hilliard about seeing miss stoddard sneaking out of the pawnshop. "you better go to a movie this afternoon, mary louise, and forget all about it for the time being," advised the manager. "shan't i ask the walder girls to take you along? they usually go to a show." "no, thanks, mrs. hilliard. it's very thoughtful of you, but i want to go back to the department store and make another inquiry about the lost girl i'm trying to trace. i'd like a chance to talk to miss stoddard too, and to pauline brooks when she comes back. maybe she saw the thief, if she came out of her room when ida said she did." "well, do as you like. only don't worry too much, dear." mary louise finished her lunch and went out into the open air again. now that she was becoming a little more familiar with the city, she thought she would like to walk along chestnut and walnut streets, to have a look at the big hotels and the expensive shops. the downtown district was thronged with people, shopping, going to matinées, hurrying home for their weekend holiday; the confusion was overwhelming after the quiet of riverside. but mary louise enjoyed the excitement: it would be something to write home about. at broad and walnut streets she stopped to admire the ritz hotel, a tall, imposing building of white stone, where pauline brooks had said that her aunt usually stayed when she was visiting philadelphia. what fun it would be to have luncheon or tea there some day! if only she had somebody to go with. perhaps pauline would take her, if she asked her. mary louise wanted to be able to tell the riverside girls about it. half a block farther on she saw pauline herself coming towards her, accompanied by a stout, stylishly dressed woman and a very blond girl of her own age. "that must be pauline's aunt," mary louise thought, noticing what a hard, unpleasant face the woman had, how unattractive she was, in spite of her elegant clothes. "no wonder pauline doesn't want to live with her!" "hello, pauline!" she said brightly. it was wonderful to meet somebody she knew in this big, strange city. pauline, who had not noticed mary louise, looked up in surprise. "oh, hello--uh--emmy lou," she replied. mary louise laughed and stood still. "we've had all sorts of excitement at stoddard house, pauline. i want to tell you about it." the woman and the blond girl continued to walk on, but pauline stopped for a moment. "you mean besides last night?" she asked. "yes. another robbery. mrs. macgregor----" "tell me at supper time, emmy lou," interrupted pauline. "these people are in a hurry. i've got to go." mary louise was disappointed; she did so want to ask pauline whether ida's story were true. now she'd have to wait. she continued her walk down walnut street until she came to ninth, then she turned up to market street and entered the department store where she had made the inquiries that morning concerning margaret detweiler. there were not so many people visiting the employment manager that afternoon as in the morning: perhaps everybody thought saturday afternoon a poor time to look for a job. mary louise was thankful for this, and apologized profusely for taking the busy woman's time again. "i couldn't find anybody by the name of ferguson at the benjamin franklin hotel now," she said, "or any trace of margaret detweiler at all, there. but after i left the hotel it occurred to me that if you would give me the address that margaret had while she was working here, i might make inquiries at the boarding house, or wherever it was that she lived. they might know something. do you think that would be too much trouble?" "no trouble at all," replied the woman pleasantly. she told the clerk to look in the files again. the address was a number on pine street, and mary louise asked where that street was located, as she copied it down in her notebook. "not far away," was the reply. "you can easily walk there in a few minutes." she gave mary louise explicit directions. it was a shabby red-brick house in a poor but respectable neighborhood. a colored woman answered mary louise's ring. "nothing today!" said the woman instantly, without giving mary louise a chance to speak first. "i'm not selling anything," replied the girl, laughing. "i wanted to ask the landlady here about a girl named margaret detweiler who used to live here. could you ask her to spare me a minute or two?" "all right," agreed the servant. "come in." she ushered mary louise into a neat but gloomy parlor, and in a couple of minutes the landlady appeared. "i understand you want to ask me about miss detweiler?" she inquired. "yes," answered mary louise. "i am trying to find her for her grandparents. the employment manager of the department store said she lived here. is that correct?" "yes, it is. miss detweiler lived here for about five months. she seemed like a nice quiet girl, with no bad habits. she paid regular till the last month she was here, when she took sick and had to spend a lot of money on medicines and doctor's bills. then, all of a sudden, she slipped away without payin' her bill, and i never saw her again." "she owes you money?" demanded mary louise. "no, she don't now. a couple of weeks after she left, she sent it to me in a registered letter. so we're square now." "didn't she send her address?" "no, she didn't." "where was the letter postmarked?" "center square. a little town up the state." "do you still have the envelope?" "no, i haven't. but i remember the name, because i used to know folks at center square." "didn't margaret say anything in her letter about how she was getting on or what she was doing?" asked mary louise. "there wasn't any letter. just a folded piece of paper." "oh, that's too bad! and what was the date?" "sometime in january. let's see, it must have been near the start of the month, for i remember i used some of that money to buy my grandson a birthday present, and his birthday's on the seventh." "well, i thank you very much for what you have told me," concluded mary louise. "maybe it will lead to something. i'll go to center square and make inquiries. you see," she explained, "margaret detweiler's grandparents are very unhappy because they haven't heard from her, and i want to do all in my power to find her. margaret is all they have, and they love her dearly." the woman's eyes filled with tears. "and may you have good luck, my dear child!" she said. chapter vii _the abandoned house_ when mary louise returned to the hotel, she found everything quiet. she went immediately to the fourth floor; mrs. hilliard was in her sitting room, knitting and listening to the radio. "has anything happened since i left?" asked the girl eagerly. "no," replied the manager. "except that another guest has departed. your friend pauline brooks came back, packed her bag, paid her bill, and left. of course, she was only a transient anyway, but the hotel is so empty that i was hoping she would stay a while." "i met her on the street with her aunt," mary louise said. "but she didn't have time to talk to me. did you question her about ida's story?" "yes, and she said it was true that ida did come into her room to make the bed at that time, because she, miss brooks, had slept late. but she didn't know how long the maid had stayed because she left the hotel before mrs. macgregor discovered her loss and screamed. so it is possible that ida went back into mrs. macgregor's room." "personally i believe the girl is innocent," stated mary louise. "so do i. as i said, she has been with me two years, and i have always found her absolutely trustworthy. it probably was a sneak thief. the police are on the lookout for somebody like that." "did you talk to miss stoddard?" "no, i didn't. she went out this afternoon." "she'll bear watching," remarked mary louise. "i think so too," agreed the other.... "now, tell me what you did with yourself this afternoon." mary louise related the story of her visit to margaret detweiler's former boarding house and the scant information she had obtained. "is center square far away?" she asked. "oh, a couple of hours' drive, if you have a car. but do you really think it would do you any good to go there? the girl was probably only passing through and stopped at the postoffice to mail her letter to the landlady." "yes, i am afraid that is all there was to it. but i could at least make inquiries, and after all, it's the only clue i have. i'd never be satisfied if i didn't do the very best i could to find margaret for her grandparents." mary louise stayed a little longer with mrs. hilliard; then she went to her own room to dress for dinner. but suddenly she was terribly homesick. jane and the boys would be coasting all afternoon, she knew, for there would still be plenty of snow left in the country, and there was a dance tonight at another friend's. max would be coming for her in his runabout; she would be wearing her blue silk dress--and--and----her eyes filled with tears. wasn't she just being terribly foolish to stay here in philadelphia, missing all those good times? and for what? there wasn't a chance in the world that she'd discover the thief, when even the police were unsuccessful. "but i'll never learn to be a detective until i try--and--learn to accept failures," she told herself sternly, and she knew that, all things considered, she had not been foolish. it might be hard at the time to give up all the fun, but in the long run it would be worth it. she ought to be thanking her lucky stars for the chance! somewhat reassured, she dressed and went downstairs to the reception room, where the radio was playing. she found the two walder girls, whom she had met at noontime when mrs. macgregor raised the commotion. mary louise greeted them cordially. "it's beginning to rain," said evelyn walder, "so sis and i thought we'd stay in tonight and try to get up a game of bridge. do you play, mary lou?" "yes, indeed," replied mary louise. "i love it. whom shall we get for a fourth? mrs. hilliard?" "mrs. hilliard doesn't like to play, and besides, she has to get up and answer the telephone so much that she usually just knits in the evenings. maybe we can get one of the fletcher girls." "no, i heard lucy say that they had a date," returned ruth walder. mary louise looked disappointed; she was so anxious to meet all the guests at stoddard house. she had an inspiration, however. "how about miss stoddard?" she asked. "does she play?" the other two girls looked at mary louise in amazement. "sure, she plays bridge," replied evelyn. "but we don't want her! if you don't mind my slang, i'll say she's a pain in the neck." mary louise smiled: she thought so too. "mrs. weinberger is nice, even if she is a lot older than we are," observed ruth. "and she loves to play, because her daughter goes out every saturday night with her boy-friend, i think." the others agreed to this suggestion, and mrs. weinberger accepted the invitation immediately. so the evening passed pleasantly, but mary louise did not feel that she had learned anything of value to her job. the party broke up about ten-thirty; mary louise went to her room and took out her notebook. "it's getting so confusing," she mused. "so many things stolen, so many people involved. these two robberies since i came--the one in my room last night, and mrs. macgregor's today--make five in all. i wonder if they could all have been done by the same person. maybe--maybe it's a secret band of some kind! with miss henrietta stoddard as its leader!" her one determination, when she awakened the next morning, was to have a talk with miss stoddard. accordingly, after breakfast she asked mrs. hilliard how that could best be arranged. "miss stoddard always goes to christ church," was the reply. "why couldn't you plan to go with her?" "that's a wonderful idea, mrs. hilliard! i always did want to visit christ church--we read so much about it in history." "i'll ask her to take you with her," offered the manager, "when she comes out of the dining room." the arrangement was easily made, and a couple of hours later mary louise met miss stoddard in the lobby of the hotel. today the spinster was not wearing the shabby brown suit; indeed, she looked quite neat and stylish in a dark blue coat trimmed with fur. the rain had washed most of the snow away, and the sun was shining, so both mary louise and miss stoddard thought it would be pleasant to walk down to second and market streets, where the historic church was situated. for a while they talked of its significance in colonial philadelphia, and miss stoddard promised to show mary louise the pew in which george washington and his family had worshiped. it was miss stoddard, however, who gave the conversation a personal turn. "you saw me come out of that pawnshop yesterday, didn't you, miss gay?" she inquired. "i wanted to ask you not to say anything about my visit to mrs. hilliard or to any of the other guests." "but it is nothing to be ashamed of, miss stoddard," protested mary louise. "lots of people pawn things." "i know. but not women of my type, usually. i'm rather hard pressed for money now, so i sold an old brooch of my mother's. it didn't bring much." mary louise nodded and looked at her companion. but she could not tell whether she were telling the truth or not. "then," continued miss stoddard, "my visit might look suspicious to some people--after all these robberies at the hotel." "yes, i suppose that's true." "but it really proves my innocence, because if i had taken all that money of mrs. macgregor's i shouldn't be rushing to a pawnshop now to get a little more." that was a good point; mary louise had not thought of it before. "who do you think did all the stealing, miss stoddard?" she asked point-blank. "the weinberger girl! i suppose you'd call her a woman, but she seems like just a girl to me. she and the young man she goes with are in league together. i think he's out of work, and the two of them have been planning to get married. so they've been stealing right and left." "even her own mother's watch?" "yes, even that." mary louise was silent. it was an entirely new idea to her. yet it was possible; the weinbergers had been at stoddard house ever since the things began to be stolen. if hortense weinberger were going to marry this young man of hers, she could use the silverware, the vase, and the painting in her new house or apartment. the watches could be pawned, and the money would be enough to keep the young couple for a while.... yes, the explanation was logical. "i have reason to believe that this couple will elope tonight," announced miss stoddard. mary louise's eyes opened wide with excitement. "if that man is the thief, and if i can see him to identify him," she said, "maybe that will solve the mystery. you remember, miss stoddard, a man stole my watch. he was short and of slight build--but of course i couldn't see his face. is miss weinberger's friend like that?" "i don't know. i never saw him. but i overheard a phone call, and hortense weinberger said she'd slip out about eleven tonight. could you be watching then?" "yes, yes!" cried mary louise joyfully. oh, suppose it were true, and she could identify the man! wouldn't it be too wonderful? "i think you're terribly clever, miss stoddard," she said, "if you really have found the solution. it will mean so much to mrs. hilliard. she has been worried to death." they had been so interested in their conversation that they did not realize how near they were to the church. in another minute they were walking reverently into the old building, and for the next hour and a half, robberies and mysteries were forgotten in the solemn beauty of the service. nor did they refer to the subject afterwards, but walked back to the hotel talking about historic philadelphia. mary louise went to her room after dinner and wrote down everything miss stoddard had said about hortense weinberger. the explanation was so plausible that she could hardly wait for the evening to come, with her chance to identify her own particular burglar. if he were the man who had entered her room, the whole thing would be solved and she could go home for christmas! oh, how glad she was that she had had that talk with miss stoddard! in the midst of her daydreams a knock sounded at the door. a maid handed her a card with the name "max miller" engraved on it. mary louise let out a wild whoop of joy and, not waiting to explain, dashed past the maid and down the steps to the lobby. and there he was. good old max--looking handsomer than ever! mary louise could have hugged him in her delight. "max! you angel!" she cried. "how did you know i'd be so glad to see you?" "because i knew how glad i'd be to see you," he replied, still holding onto her hand. mary louise withdrew it laughingly. "women talk," she reminded him, glancing about her. "o.k.," he grinned. "how are you? solved your mystery yet?" "oh no. i've had my own watch and five dollars stolen--that's all!" "and you call this a good time! well, mary lou, you certainly can take it.... but haven't you had enough, little girl? please come home with me!" mary louise's eyes flashed in anger. "is that what you came here for, max miller?" she demanded. "no--oh, no! i didn't expect you'd come home. i just wanted to see you, so i drove down. started early this morning. now let's go places and do things!" "where? you can't do much in philadelphia on sunday." "anywhere. we can take a drive and have our supper at some nice place away from this henhouse." "now, max----" "get your coat and hat. there's a good girl." "but, max, you must be sick of driving. and if you expect to start back tonight----" "i don't. i'm staying over at the y.m. for a couple of days. so i can watch you. now, don't get excited! i have your parents' consent. in fact, they thought it was a bully idea. you may be a wonderful detective, mary lou, but just the same you're a darned pretty girl. and pretty girls alone in strange cities...." "i have mrs. hilliard," she reminded him. "yes, i know. that's what makes it _look_ all right. but it doesn't make you safe, just the same. you could easily be kidnaped." "you're not going to follow me everywhere i go, are you?" she asked, in concern. "no. just keep an eye on you for a couple of days. and maybe help you a bit. with a car at your disposal, you may be able to clear up things quicker and go home in time for the senior prom. that's my little scheme, in a nutshell." "it will be wonderful," agreed mary louise. "i'll admit there have been moments when i've been homesick, max." her eyes brightened. "i know where i want to go this afternoon! to center square." "where's that?" "i don't know. out in the country somewhere--you can look it up on your map." "o.k. i'm ready, mary lou. the car is at the door. run up and get your hat and coat. wrap up warmly. it's a lot warmer, and most of the snow's gone, but you know my runabout isn't like a heated limousine." in five minutes she was back again, looking very pretty in her squirrel coat, with its matching toque. leaving word for mrs. hilliard that she would not be back for supper, she got into the car with max. as the couple started, mary louise explained why she wanted to go to center square: that her project had nothing to do with the thefts at the hotel but was the hope of tracing margaret detweiler. and she told her companion the facts she had learned about the girl. "i'm even more anxious to find her than to solve the mystery at stoddard house," she said, "because of those two old people. it's just too dreadful for them." max nodded. he knew the detweilers and felt extremely sorry for them. everybody in riverside liked them and pitied them in their distress. "i just can't bear to tell them that margaret was dismissed from the department store for stealing," she added. "i wouldn't," advised max. "better tell them nothing at all than that. it wouldn't help any and would only cause them unhappiness." mary louise asked about everything that had happened at riverside since she had left. it had been only two days, but it seemed like an age. max described the party the night before, but it was a poor affair without mary lou, according to his idea, and he had left early so he could get off at daybreak this morning. the day was clear and warm, and except for the slush on the roads the drive was delightful. the young people were happy to be together again and enjoyed every minute of it. it was already dusk of the short winter day when they arrived at center square and stopped at the country hotel. "we're going to want dinner in an hour or so," max told the clerk. "but first we want to see whether we can locate a girl who was here late last winter. did a young woman named margaret detweiler ever register here?" the clerk obligingly looked through his book. but the name was not there. "she's tall and slender and very dark," said mary louise. "has wavy hair and an olive complexion." the clerk shook his head. "no, i don't remember seein' anybody like that around. not many strangers come here--except automobile parties sometimes, stoppin' to eat." "are there any empty houses she might have rented?" was mary louise's next question. "none rented as i know of. there's some abandoned houses around, places where people sometimes come just for the summer." "where?" the clerk gave the directions. "now one more question. where does the postmaster live? for of course the postoffice is closed on sunday." "sure it's closed. but the postmaster lives right over top of it. across the street a way from here." mary louise and max went there next and were fortunate enough to find the man at home. when mary louise told him about the registered letter and described the girl, he said he believed he did remember. so few people came to the little country town; still fewer registered letters. but margaret hadn't stopped in a car, he thought--she had walked from somewhere. no, he was positive she hadn't been boarding with any of the folks around, or he'd have heard of it. well, that was something definite! maybe she was hiding in one of those empty houses the clerk had spoken of, to escape from the police. max turned his car off the main highway into a little dirt road, almost impassable with its slush and snow. he stopped in front of the first empty house which the clerk had described. it was dark and forlorn. "there would be some sort of light if anybody were living there," observed max. "you can't tell," replied mary louise. "if margaret were hiding, she'd be careful about lights. let's get out and look." "but why should she hide? didn't you tell me the employment manager promised not to send her to jail?" "yes, but you don't know what crimes she's committed since. if she were behaving herself, wouldn't she have written to her grandparents? either she's dead or she's doing something wrong." they waded through slush over their shoe-tops but could see no signs of any life. mary louise decided to try another house. "it's a wild theory, mary lou, but you're the doctor," agreed max. "so long as my bus'll run, i'm game." "you are a sport, max! i don't know what i'd do without you." "men are helpful sometimes, aren't they?" "i guess they're absolutely necessary," replied mary louise modestly. "i never seem to be able to get along without them." "that's the proper attitude for a girl," he answered gayly. farther along the road they stopped in front of another empty house. it was situated at the top of a steep incline and almost completely surrounded by trees. "can you climb that hill, max?" she asked. "i can try--if you think there's any use," he replied. it was a difficult task, for the driveway was so covered with slush that it was hard to tell which was road and which was field. but max made it in low gear, and they came to a stop in front of a barn, under a big tree. the house was shabby and unpainted; its windows were covered with boards, and its heavy doors without glass. mary louise shuddered: it reminded her of dark cedars. max turned off the motor and jumped out of the car. "nobody home, i guess," he announced. from her seat in the car mary louise stared at the house, peering into the strip of glass above the boards on the windows. she thought she saw a flicker of light, as if a candle were burning. yes, she was sure of it--and--a face appeared at the window! two frightened eyes looked right into hers. a second later another face appeared, more plainly than the first, for this person evidently had hold of the candle. the first face had vanished, and mary louise saw only that of an exceedingly ugly woman--someone who looked somehow familiar. that very instant the tiny light went out, and at the same moment mary louise sank unconscious in her seat. a stone, hurled from the tree above her, had hit her right on the head! chapter viii _knocked out_ max, who was standing on the ground near by, heard the heavy thud of the stone as it hit the floor of the car. turning about sharply, he saw mary louise slumped in her seat, unconscious from the blow. he flung open the door and jumped in beside her. "mary lou! mary lou! are you alive?" he cried desperately. the girl did not answer. "help! help!" he shrieked, at the top of his lungs. a mocking laugh sounded from the tree above. max looked up, but in the darkness he could see no one. how he wished he had his flashlight! but it was behind in the rumble seat, and he daren't waste a minute; he must get mary lou to a doctor with all possible speed. starting his engine immediately--for there was no reply to his call for help--he circled around the tree and crept cautiously down the slippery hill, praying as he had never prayed before. oh, suppose mary louise were dead! with as much speed as he dared put on, he drove back to the center square hotel. as he came to a stop he felt a little movement beside him, and mary louise raised her head and opened her eyes. "where are we, max?" she asked. "what happened?" "oh, my darling!" he cried, flinging his arm around her shoulders. "you are alive!" the girl managed a feeble laugh. "of course i am. my head hurts dreadfully, though. what happened?" "you were hit by a stone--see it there, on the floor?--from that tree we were parked under. it knocked you out.... now, can you manage to walk up to the hotel, or shall i carry you?" "i can walk," she replied, taking his arm. in the light of the hotel doorway max saw the blood running down her neck. he wiped it with his handkerchief. "can we have a doctor immediately?" he asked the hotel clerk the moment they were inside the door. "yes, there's one in the dining room now, eating his dinner. i'll call him. an accident?" max explained the strange happening at the empty house, but the clerk said he did not know anything about the place. he had not heard of any gangsters in these parts. the doctor came immediately and dressed mary louise's head. the cut was not serious, he assured her; it was not in a vital place. when it was washed and bandaged she was able to eat her dinner with enjoyment. "maybe that first person i saw was margaret detweiler," she said. "i wish i could stay here all night and go investigate tomorrow. but mother wouldn't approve of it." "i should say not!" thundered max. "i'm taking you back to mrs. hilliard tonight, and i think you had better go home to riverside tomorrow." "indeed i won't, max. and that reminds me, i have to be at the hotel tonight at eleven o'clock. i want to spy on an elopement." "elopement! what next?" "well, one of the guests, a miss stoddard, who happens to be a niece of the founder of stoddard house, thinks another guest is eloping tonight. she thinks this couple are responsible for all the robberies at the hotel. you know it was a man who entered my room and stole my watch, so i hoped maybe i could identify this fellow as the burglar. if i could, the mystery would be solved." "and you could go home?" "yes, unless i could find out something more about margaret detweiler. but i wouldn't stay here just on purpose for that. i'd go home and see what i could do from there, with dad's help." "what time is it now, i wonder?" asked max. "we must get back without fail!" "i don't know," replied mary louise regretfully. "i haven't any watch." "i'm going to buy you one for christmas, if i get a check from dad," announced max. "of course, it will be late, but i'll give you your other present first, so you wouldn't mind that, would you, mary lou?" "you'll do nothing of the sort!" protested the girl. "i couldn't accept it. if you get a check from your father it's to buy something for yourself. i'll get an ingersoll tomorrow when i'm in town.... now, what time is it?" "it's half-past eight. if you feel able, i think we better go along, because i don't dare drive too fast on these slippery roads at night." "i'm all right--i only have a headache now. so let's get going." max paid the bill, and they were off. "now, what will your plans be for tomorrow?" he inquired, as they rode along. "i'd like to come out here and visit that empty house with a policeman," she replied. "if it's possible, i will. but of course i have to see what turns up at the hotel. that is my real job: i'm being paid for it, and my father and mrs. hilliard are counting on me to do my best." "i wouldn't care if you never saw center square again," muttered max resentfully. "still, it would be great to catch the guy who threw that rock at you." "and find out whether the girl really was margaret detweiler. yes, and i'd like to see that ugly woman again. i've seen her face before somewhere, but i can't place her. you don't forget a face like that." "there's something crooked about their hiding in that house," remarked max. "yes, of course.... well, to continue with my plans: i'll see what develops tonight. if there really is an elopement, i'll try to identify that man. if he isn't anything like my burglar, i'll believe that miss stoddard is guilty herself and that she just made the whole story up to throw suspicion away from herself." max regarded her admiringly. "you are a pretty clever girl, mary lou," he said. "i do think you'll make a swell detective." "thanks, max. but i'm afraid there's nothing clever about that. it's just using common sense." "well, the good detectives say that's the most important thing: not to let anything escape their notice and to use common sense all the time." they talked of other things for a while, of school and dances and basketball. finally they reached stoddard house, a little after ten o'clock. "oh, i do hope we're in time!" exclaimed mary louise. they found the hotel almost deserted. mrs. hilliard was sitting in a chair, knitting. nobody else was around. "did you have a good time, dear?" she asked, after max had been introduced to her. "an exciting time," replied the young man. "mary lou was hit on the head with a stone and knocked out. but detectives have to expect that sort of thing, i suppose." "sh!" warned the girl. "nobody except mrs. hilliard is supposed to know i'm acting as detective." "i didn't k-n-o-w that!" apologized max, in the tone of joe penner. mrs. hilliard looked troubled. "tell me what happened," she urged. briefly mary louise related the story, and the good woman was relieved to hear that the blow was not serious. she was thankful, too, that the job at stoddard house had not been responsible for it. "are the weinbergers still here?" was mary louise's next question. "mrs. weinberger is. but her daughter went out early this afternoon, and i don't think she came back. her mother was in a great stew at supper time. you would think from the way she carries on that her daughter was a girl in her teens instead of a woman of twenty-eight or so." a look of disappointment crossed mary louise's face. "i must see miss stoddard," she announced. "max, you wait here with mrs. hilliard till i come back, because i may need you. i shan't be gone long." she ran off and took the elevator to the third floor and knocked at miss stoddard's door. "who is it?" was the query. "mary louise gay. may i come in, miss stoddard?" the woman turned the key in the lock and opened the door. she was dressed in a kimono and slippers. "you're too late, miss gay," she said. "miss weinberger has already eloped. i'm sure of it. i saw her get into a taxi this afternoon, and one of the maids came out and brought her her suitcase. she probably had hidden it somewhere from her mother. she's probably married by now--and run off with all the money and jewelry from stoddard house!" "oh!" gasped mary louise in dismay. "why wasn't i here! did you see the man, miss stoddard?" "no--unless he was the taxi driver. but i didn't even get a good look at him." "probably she was to join him somewhere. he wouldn't risk coming near the house in broad daylight if he was the burglar who entered my room." "no, that's true." "if hortense weinberger really is married," said mary louise, "don't you suppose her mother will hear about it tomorrow? and if i keep in touch with her mother, i ought to see the man when he comes back from the honeymoon." "mrs. weinberger was planning to leave stoddard house tomorrow," returned miss stoddard. "yes, i know. but this may alter her plans. and besides, she will surely give her forwarding address to mrs. hilliard. she has no reason to hide; she doesn't have any idea that her daughter or her husband is suspected of stealing." "i hope you're right, miss gay.... now, tell me what happened to your head." "i was riding in an open car, and a stone fell out of a tree and hit me," she answered simply. the older woman pulled down the corners of her mouth and looked doubtful. "of course, she's thinking i'm just a wild young girl," mary louise concluded. but it really didn't matter in the least to her what miss stoddard chose to believe about her. "well, i must get to bed, miss stoddard," she said aloud. "so good-night." "good-night," returned the other, carefully locking the door after mary louise went out. a moment later the girl joined mrs. hilliard and max on the first floor. "miss stoddard thinks miss weinberger eloped this afternoon," she announced. mrs. hilliard laughed incredulously. "old maids love to imagine romances," she said. "well, we'll see.... now, don't you think you had better go to bed?" she asked mary louise in a motherly way. "yes, i do," agreed the girl, "max, if you're still here, i'd be glad to have you come to lunch with me tomorrow. we're allowed to have men to meals, aren't we, mrs. hilliard?" "certainly, dear." "nix on that!" protested the young man immediately. "can you imagine me--one lone fellow--in that dining room full of dames? looking me over and snickering at the way i wear my hair or tie my shoes? nothing doing! i'll call for you at one, mary lou, and we'll go out somewhere to lunch." "o.k.," agreed the girl, smiling. "see you then!" chapter ix _lunch at the bellevue_ mary louise slept late the following morning. the dining-room doors had been closed for an hour when mrs. hilliard finally came into her room. "what time is it, mrs. hilliard?" she inquired, opening her eyes and staring at the bright sunlight pouring through the windows. "it's almost eleven o'clock. i thought you had better sleep this morning, mary louise, on account of your head. how do you feel?" "oh, i'm all right, mrs. hilliard, thank you. but this is no time for anybody with a job to get up! i'll get fired." the woman laughed. "my dear, you are doing all that anybody could do, i believe. i am afraid the situation is hopeless. mrs. weinberger moved out this morning." "did she hear from her daughter?" "yes, she had a telegram. she is married and has gone to new york for a honeymoon over christmas." "how did her mother take it?" "very badly. she seemed all cut up about it. the man has a job as a taxi driver, and though mrs. weinberger has never met him, she is sure he is a rough, uneducated fellow." "miss stoddard thinks he is our thief," announced mary louise. "she believes he has been working with miss weinberger's help." mrs. hilliard's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "that might be possible," she said. "yes. you remember it was a man who entered my room friday night. and with miss weinberger to watch out for him, he could have sneaked into 'most any of the rooms. that's the theory i wanted to work on today. where did mrs. weinberger go?" "to the bellevue--temporarily. she said that she'd find something cheaper later on and send me her forwarding address. but she will stay at the big hotel for a few days, till her daughter comes back." "then i'm going to go see her there. isn't there something she left that i could take over to her, to use for an excuse?" "a special-delivery letter arrived a few minutes ago. i was going to send it over this afternoon by one of the maids." "let me take it! and i'll have max take me there to lunch so i can say i was coming to the hotel anyway. where is it?" "broad and walnut--right across the street from the ritz carlton. your friend will probably know.... now, you get dressed, mary louise, and come over to my apartment for a cup of coffee. you must have something before you leave." "thanks very much, mrs. hilliard. if it isn't too much trouble." she was ready before one o'clock, her bandage entirely covered by her hat, and was waiting downstairs in the lobby for max when he arrived. "you're looking fine today, mary lou!" he exclaimed admiringly. "how's the head?" "oh, it's all right. max, could we go to the bellevue for lunch? and will you please let me pay the bill--out of my salary? because it's on account of the job that i want to go there." "sure we can go," he replied. "but nix on the bill. unless you eat everything on the bill of fare." "i know, but it's a big hotel, and it may be dreadfully expensive." "we'll see," he agreed. max left his car in an open-air garage near the hotel, and the two young people entered together. mary louise thought it was a lovely place, and she pressed max's arm jubilantly. what fun it was to have a companion! she wouldn't have enjoyed lunching there alone at all, but having max made it seem like a party. the hotel was quite crowded, probably with numerous vacation guests and christmas shoppers, and the young couple made their way slowly to the dining room. in the passageway they suddenly came upon pauline brooks with another girl--the same blond girl she had been with on walnut street the preceding saturday noon. "pauline!" exclaimed mary louise. "how are you?" pauline turned around, and seeing mary louise's handsome companion her smile included him. mary louise introduced max, and pauline in turn introduced the cute little blond as miss jackson. the girl immediately began to roll her eyes at max. "i was so disappointed that you moved away from stoddard house," said mary louise. "i didn't like the atmosphere," replied pauline. "too much stealing. i was afraid i wouldn't have anything left if i stayed." "but you didn't lose anything, did you?" asked mary louise. "no, but i wasn't taking any chances. besides, it's a lot more comfortable here." "here? i thought you were at the ritz?" pauline laughed. "i was. but my aunt went out to the country, so i moved over here. like it better." "i see." suddenly a thought came to mary louise: that woman whom she had seen in the empty house--her face looked like pauline's aunt! that was the person she had reminded her of! "is your aunt's place at center square?" she inquired. mary louise thought she saw pauline start at the question, but she answered it carelessly enough. "it's not in any town," she said. "just in the country.... well, i'll be seein' you." she started away. "wait a minute," begged mary louise. "did you girls ever meet a girl named margaret detweiler, from riverside? i am trying to find her for her grandmother." "margaret detweiler--yes----" began miss jackson. but pauline interrupted her. "you're thinking of margaret lyla, blondie," she corrected. "we don't know any margaret detweiler." "that's right," agreed the other girl, in obvious confusion. mary louise sighed: she had probably been mistaken. and it was all so mixed up, anyhow. her memory of the night before, of those two faces at the window, was already growing vague. she and max went on into the dining room. "some high-steppers," remarked max. "not your type, mary lou." "i don't care for the little blonde," agreed mary louise. "but i did sort of like pauline brooks. she was my first friend here in philadelphia, and she seemed awfully sociable." "i don't like her," said max emphatically. of course, mary louise was flattered, and she smiled contentedly. "well, you needn't worry--she'll never be one of my best friends," she said. the waiter led them to a table with a pretty bouquet on the shining white linen cover, and mary louise felt almost as if she were at a party. an orchestra was playing, and there were many people dancing. everything here spoke of gayety and life: no wonder pauline brooks referred the bellevue to stoddard house. but she must be very rich to be able to stay here. "a big city is grand, isn't it?" she remarked to max, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "sometimes," he admitted. "but it can be an awfully lonely place too, mary lou. it all depends on who is with you." and his eyes told her who the person was whom he preferred. "yes, i guess you're right, max. i was lonely--and it was wonderful of you to come. i wish you could stay the whole time here with me." "i'm supposed to go back tonight, or tomorrow morning early at the latest. but i could break that on one condition." "what's that?" demanded mary louise. he lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "mary lou, you know how much i care for you. you know i've adored you since the first minute i met you. there's never been anybody else. let's get married--now--today--and keep it secret till i graduate in june. then----" the waiter approached diplomatically. mary louise picked up the menu in confusion. she had never dreamed max would suggest such a thing. why, she had no idea of getting married for years and years! "i'll take this special luncheon," she said, noticing that its cost was moderate. "i will too," added max, anxious to get rid of the waiter. "what do you say, mary lou? will you?" his voice was so eager that the girl was deeply touched. "oh no, max. i couldn't. i don't love you--or anybody--that way yet. and i couldn't deceive my parents or let you deceive yours." "we might just tell our fathers and mothers," he suggested. "no, no, i couldn't. let's don't even talk about it. i'm here in philadelphia on a detective job, and i mean to give it my very best. i'll be sorry to have you go home, but maybe it will be better. i'll work harder if i haven't anybody to play around with. now--what would you say to a dance while we wait for our first course?" the couple glided off to the music, and more than one person in that big dining room noticed the graceful, handsome pair and envied them their happiness. when they came back to their seats their soup was ready for them. "here come your friends," remarked max, as pauline brooks and her blond companion entered the dining room. "and take a look at the fellows they have with them!" "i don't like their looks," announced mary louise emphatically. "neither do i, needless to say. just goes to show you what kind of girls they are.... mary lou, i want you to drop that brooks woman. she might get you into harm. promise me!" "no need to promise," laughed mary louise. "i'll probably never see her again now that she's moved away from stoddard house." mary louise ate her luncheon with keen enjoyment. there was nothing like going without breakfast, she said, to give you an appetite for lunch. "do you think there's any chance of your getting home for christmas?" asked max wistfully. "no, i don't believe so," she replied. "i try not to think about it. it will be my first christmas away from home, the first time i ever didn't hang up my stocking. but, max, if i could solve this mystery for mrs. hillard, it would be worth ten christmas stockings to me. i just can't tell you what it means." "yes, i realize that. but it doesn't seem right. the fun at home--visiting each other's houses after dinner, and the christmas dance at the country club! gosh, mary lou, i just can't bear it!" "why, max, i'll be the homesick one--not you," she reminded him. her eyes traveled around the room while they were waiting for their dessert, and she caught sight of mrs. weinberger, eating a lonely lunch in a corner by a window, looking as if she didn't care whether she lived or died. mary louise felt dreadfully sorry for her; she was glad to have an excuse to go to speak to her after lunch. she took max over and introduced him. mrs. weinberger acknowledged the introduction, but she did not smile. she looked as if she might never smile again. "yet how much gloomier she would be if she knew we suspected her daughter and her husband of those crimes!" thought mary louise. "i have a special-delivery letter for you, mrs. weinberger," she said. "i was coming here for lunch, so mrs. hilliard asked me to bring it over to you." "thank you," replied the woman, taking the letter and splitting the envelope immediately. "you heard that my daughter is married, miss gay?" "yes, mrs. hilliard told me." mary louise longed to ask when the honeymooners would be back, but she hesitated because mrs. weinberger looked so gloomy. the woman drew a snapshot from the envelope. "why, here is their picture!" she exclaimed. "and--he's positively handsome!" eagerly she handed the photograph to mary louise, anxious for the girl's good opinion of the new son-in-law. what an opportunity for the young detective! mary louise's fingers actually trembled as she took hold of the picture. but all her hopes were dashed to pieces at the first glance. the man was as different from mary louise's burglar as anyone could possibly be. six feet tall and broad-shouldered, he was smiling down tenderly at his new wife, who was at least a foot shorter. "he's charming, mrs. weinberger," she tried to say steadily. "may i offer my congratulations?" the older woman straightened up--and actually smiled! "he is a civil engineer," she read proudly. "but he couldn't get a job, so he's driving a taxi! well, that's an honest living, isn't it?" "i should say so!" exclaimed max. "you're lucky you don't have to support him--as so many mothers and fathers-in-law have to nowadays." mary louise was pleased for mrs. weinberger's sake but disappointed for her own. miss stoddard was all wrong: the solution was incorrect. and she was just as much at sea as ever! "there's your friend pauline brooks," remarked mrs. weinberger. "and--look who's with her!" "that's a friend of hers--a miss jackson," explained mary louise, as the two girls, with their boy-friends, got up to dance. "miss jackson nothing! that's mary green--the chorus girl who was staying at stoddard house when my watch was stolen. i'd like to have a talk with that young woman. but i suppose it wouldn't do any good." mary louise's eyes narrowed until they were only slits; she was thinking deeply. mary green--alias miss jackson! the next step was to find out whether pauline brooks too had a different name at this hotel! maybe at last she was on the right track. chapter x _in the dead of night_ "how about a movie?" suggested max, as the young couple left the hotel dining room. "oh no, max," replied mary louise. "no, thanks. i have to work now. i'm going to stay right here." "in the hotel? doing what?" "some investigating." "you think that young man is guilty? he looked honest to me." "no, i don't believe he's guilty. i--i'll explain later, max, if anything comes of my investigations.... now, run along and do something without me." "can i see you tonight?" "i could probably go to an early show with you after dinner. i'm not sure, so don't stay in philadelphia just on account of that. i mean, if you want to start back home." "i'm going to start home at daylight tomorrow, morning," replied the young man. "so i'll surely be around tonight. at stoddard house soon after seven." "all right, i'll see you then. and thanks for a lovely lunch, max. it's been wonderful." the young man departed, and mary louise hunted a desk in one of the smaller rooms of the bellevue--set aside for writing. she placed a sheet of paper in front of her and took up a pen, as if she were writing a letter. but what she really wanted to do was to think. "i was wrong twice," she reasoned. "first in suspecting miss stoddard, then in believing miss weinberger guilty. i'll go more carefully this time. "if my very first guess was right--that the transient guests were stealing the valuables from stoddard house--i must begin all over again. mrs. hilliard said there were two girls staying at the hotel for a day or so when the silverware and the vase were stolen.... are these girls in league with mary green and pauline brooks? are they all members of a secret band of thieves? that's the first question i have to answer." she frowned and opened her notebook. why hadn't she gotten the names of those girls from mrs. hilliard's old register? the second crime--the stealing of the watches--she could pin on mary green, alias "blondie jackson." now for the last three robberies. they had all taken place while pauline brooks was at stoddard house! mary louise considered them separately. pauline could have stolen miss granger's money and her picture, but it was a man who entered mary louise's bedroom on friday night and who took her watch and her money. was one of those young men whom pauline was dining with today an accomplice? if so, how did he escape from the hotel? out of pauline's window? finally, she thought over the circumstances of mrs. macgregor's robbery, and she almost laughed out loud at her own stupidity. pauline had left her own room as soon as the maid came in to clean it; she had slipped into mrs. macgregor's room and stolen the bag containing the valuables and had left the hotel immediately, before mrs. macgregor came out of her bath. why hadn't she thought of that explanation before? the solution seemed logical and plausible, yet how, mary louise asked herself, could she prove her accusations? none of these girls had been caught in the act; probably none of them still possessed the stolen articles, and the money had not been marked in any way or the serial numbers taken. this fact was dreadfully discouraging. if mary louise could not prove the girls' guilt, she could do nothing about it. she couldn't even assure mrs. hilliard that there would be no more robberies at stoddard house, because she could not know how many members of this gang there were, and the manager could not suspect every transient guest who came to the hotel. no, she concluded, there was nothing to do but try to catch them in a new crime. if they really made it their business to rob hotels, they would probably carry out some plan here at the bellevue tonight. mary louise's only course was to watch them. with this determination in mind, she went to the clerk's desk in the lobby. "could i see the manager?" she inquired. the man looked at her quizzingly, wondering whether mary louise was a patron of the hotel or a society girl who wanted to collect money for something. "are you a guest at the hotel, miss?" he asked. "or have you an appointment?" "no to both questions," she replied. "but i am a private detective, and i want to consult him about something." "o.k.," agreed the clerk. "what name, please?" "mary louise gay." the clerk reached for the telephone, and in another minute he told mary louise where to find the manager's office. she followed his directions and walked in bravely, hoping that the man would not think she was dreadfully young. "i am staying at a small hotel for women called stoddard house," she began, "to investigate a series of robberies which they have had there. the philadelphia police have my name, and if you wish to identify me, please call mr. lestrange." "i will take your word for it, miss gay," replied the man, smiling. "these robberies have always occurred when there was a transient guest at the hotel," she explained. "the last series, while i was at the place, led me to suspect a certain girl; the series before that led other people to suspect another girl. i find these two girls are living here now at the bellevue--they seem to go from one hotel to another, for they were at the ritz only last saturday. they evidently use different names. i should like to meet your hotel detective, explain the case to him, and get permission to watch these two young women." the manager did not appear as surprised as mary louise expected him to be. but she could not know how common hotel robberies were at the present time. "i will send for our detective," he said. "you have my permission to go ahead--under his orders, of course." "oh, thank you!" cried mary louise, delighted that so far it had been easy. the manager sent for the detective, a nice-looking man of about thirty. he introduced him as mr. hayden, and repeated mary louise's story. "what would your plan be, miss gay?" asked the detective. he treated her respectfully, as if she were indeed a real member of the profession, and mary louise felt proud and happy. "first of all, i want to find these girls' names on the hotel register and see what names they are using. then i want, if possible, to engage a room near theirs and listen for them all night. and third, i want you, or one of your assistants, mr. hayden, to be right there in readiness, in case they do anything tonight." "you haven't evidence enough to convict them of the robberies at stoddard house?" asked mr. hayden. "oh no. i may be entirely mistaken. it is only a clue i am going on. but i believe it is worth following up." "what do you say, hayden?" inquired the manager. "i'm glad to help," replied the younger man. "i'll be on duty tonight, anyhow, and i'd enjoy the investigation. nothing is lost, even if nothing does happen." "then let's go have a look at the register," suggested mary louise. "better send for it," said the detective. "arouse no suspicions." the book was brought to them, and mary louise looked carefully for the names of pauline brooks and mary green. but she did not find them. she did, however, find the name of mary jackson, and with it a name of catherine smith, both of whom had arrived that day and engaged a room together on the sixth floor. "those must be the girls," she concluded. "room . what's the nearest room you can give me?" the manager looked in his records. " is moving out tonight. would that be time enough--or do you want it now?" "no, that's plenty of time. and another thing, can you tell me where mrs. weinberger's room is? i met her at stoddard house, and she would be a sort of chaperon for me." "her room is on the tenth floor," was the reply: " ." "thanks. then put me down for , and i'll phone mrs. weinberger this afternoon. i'll come back early this evening, and i'll ask mrs. weinberger to meet me in one of the reception rooms. then, could you come there too, mr. hayden?" the man nodded, smiling. how correct this girl was about everything! "then i believe it's all arranged," said mary louise, rising. "i'll go back to stoddard house. and if you have a chance, mr. hayden, will you keep your eye on these girls we're suspecting?" "but i don't know them," he reminded her. "i'd forgotten that! well, let me describe them. maybe if you visit the sixth floor, you will see them go in and out." she went on to tell him that pauline brooks--or catherine smith, as she called herself here--was a striking brunette, and that her companion, mary green--or mary jackson--was noticeably blond; that both girls were short and slender and wore fur coats and expensive jewelry; that both were as little like the typical sneak thieves as could possibly be imagined. as mary louise walked along the street she decided not to tell mrs. hilliard any of the details of her plans or who the girls were that she was watching. if nothing came of her theory, she would feel foolish at having failed the third time. besides, it wasn't fair to the girls to spread suspicion about them until she had proved them guilty. she stopped at a jewelry store and purchased a small, cheap watch, which she put into her handbag. then she went back to the hotel. immediately upon her arrival at stoddard house she called mrs. weinberger on the telephone; then, assured of her coöperation, she went to mrs. hilliard's office. "i have decided to spend the night at the bellevue," she said. "mrs. weinberger is going to be my chaperon." the manager looked doubtful. "but i promised your father i'd keep you right here with me," she objected. "i know, but this is important. i think i'm on the track of a discovery. and mrs. weinberger has promised to look after me." "does she know that you suspect her daughter, mary louise?" "no, because i don't suspect her any longer. or her new husband either. my clues point in another direction. this time i'm not going to say anything about them till i find out how they work out." "i suppose it will be all right, then," agreed mrs. hilliard reluctantly.... "what are your immediate plans, dear?" "i'm going to sleep now till six o'clock, because it's possible i may be awake most of the night. i'll have my dinner here with you then, or with the walder girls, and after that i'm going to a show with max. about nine-thirty i'll get to the bellevue--mrs. weinberger is going to wait up for me and go to my room with me." "i'm afraid something may happen to you!" protested the good woman. mary louise laughed. "mrs. hilliard, you aren't a bit like an employer to the detective she has hired. instead, you treat me like a daughter. and you mustn't. i shan't be a bit of use to you if you don't help me go ahead and work hard." "i suppose you're right, mary louise," sighed mrs. hilliard. "but i had no idea what a lovable child you were when i told your father i didn't mind hiring anybody so young as long as she got results." "i only hope i do!" exclaimed mary louise fervently. she went to her own room, packed only her toilet articles in her handbag--for she had no intention of going to bed that night--and lay down for her nap. it was dark when she awakened. dressing hurriedly, and taking her hat and coat with her, she met the walder girls in the lobby and accepted their invitation to eat dinner with them. immediately afterwards max arrived at the hotel, and the young couple went directly to a movie. when it was over, the young man suggested that they go somewhere to eat and dance. mary louise shook her head. "i'm sorry, max--i'd like to, but i can't. this is all i can be with you tonight. i want you to take me to the bellevue now. i'm spending the night there." "what in thunder are you doing that for?" he stormed. "please calm down, max!" she begged. "it's perfectly all right: mrs. weinberger is going to meet me and look after me. but i'd rather you didn't say anything about it to mother--i can explain better when i get home." "still, i don't like it," he muttered. nevertheless, he took her to the hotel and waited with her until mrs. weinberger came downstairs. "don't forget to be back home for the dance a week from tonight, mary lou!" he said at parting. mary louise turned to mrs. weinberger. "have you seen the girls--pauline brooks and mary green?" she asked. she had explained over the telephone why she wanted to stay at the bellevue. "no, i haven't," replied the older woman. "but then, i have been in my own room." "how late do you expect to stay up tonight, mrs. weinberger?" "till about eleven, i suppose." "will you bring your knitting or your magazine to my room till you're ready to go to bed?" "certainly--i'll be glad to have your company, my dear." mr. hayden, the hotel detective, stepped out of the elevator and came to join them. "there's a sitting room on the sixth floor," he said. "suppose i go there about midnight, miss gay? i'm going to have a nap now, but my assistant is in charge, and if you need him, notify the desk, and he'll be with you immediately. is that o.k.?" "perfectly satisfactory," agreed mary louise. taking the key to her room, she and mrs. weinberger went up together. pauline's room was apparently dark, but mary louise left her own door open so that mrs. weinberger could watch for the girls. she herself took up a position where she could not be seen from the doorway. she turned on the room radio, and a couple of hours passed pleasantly. at eleven o'clock mrs. weinberger decided to go to her own room and go to bed. when she had gone, mary louise turned off the light and the radio and closed her door. pulling a comfortable chair close beside the keyhole, she sat down to wait and to listen for pauline's and mary's return. the elevators clicked more frequently as midnight approached; more and more guests returned to their rooms. mary louise watched them all until she saw pauline brooks and mary green come along the passageway. they were in high spirits, laughing and talking noisily without any regard for the sleepers in the hotel. even through the thick walls, mary louise could hear them as they prepared for bed. but in half an hour all was quiet. both girls were asleep, no doubt--and mary louise believed that she had had all her trouble for nothing. she sighed and dozed in her chair. however, she was not used to sleeping sitting up, and every little noise in the hall aroused her attention. she heard a man come along at two o'clock, and another at half-past. and a little after three she identified the muffled sound of the door of the next room opening! leaning forward tensely, she glued her eye to the keyhole. two young men emerged from the girls' room and staggered about unsteadily, as if they were drunk. two very small men, who somehow looked more like masqueraders than real men, although they were correctly dressed, except for the fact that they wore their caps instead of hats and had not taken them off in the hotel. in spite of their apparently intoxicated condition they walked silently across the hall to room . very cautiously one of them took a key from his pocket, and after a moment or two, he opened the door. both young men entered the room, but mary louise saw that they did not turn on the light as they went in. "there's something queer about that," she thought. and then she remembered the burglar who had entered her own room at stoddard house and had stolen her watch. he was very like these young men--short and slight and wore a cap. perhaps these were pauline's accomplices! cautiously she moved her chair aside and slipped out of her room. in another moment she had reached the sitting room where mr. hayden, the detective, was dozing over a newspaper. "come with me!" she said briefly, leading him to room . "i saw two young men enter this room a couple of minutes ago." the detective knocked gently on the door. there was no reply. he knocked again. the startled voice of a man called out, "what do you want?" "i'm the hotel detective," answered mr. hayden. "i'm sorry to disturb you, but please open the door." a light flashed on in the room, and an elderly man, now clad in his dressing gown, admitted mary louise and mr. hayden. "this young lady thinks she saw two young men come in here five minutes ago," explained the latter. "were you asleep, sir?" "yes," was the reply. "your knock waked me up." "then, if you don't mind, we'll search the room. have you anything valuable here?" "i certainly have! a wallet with five hundred dollars, and a set of diamond shirt studs." mr. hayden went straight to the closet and turned on the light. feminine giggles greeted his action. "don' be mad at us, mishter!" pleaded a girl's voice. "we jus' had a leetle too mush likker, and we wanted to get some shirt studs for our costumes. we're goin' to a nish party, dreshed up like men!" mr. hayden smiled and pulled out the two "young men" from the closet. as he snatched off their caps, mary louise recognized them instantly. pauline brooks and mary green! "pauline!" she cried. "emmy lou!" in her surprise, pauline forgot to act drunk. but the next moment she remembered. "pleash let us go, mishter," she pleaded, taking hold of mr. hayden's coat collar. "was only jus' a prank----" "prank nothing!" cried mary louise. "and these girls aren't intoxicated, either, mr. hayden." "no, i don't believe they are," agreed the detective. he turned to the owner of the room. "suppose you check up on your valuables, sir, while i call the police." "you're not going to send us to jail!" protested pauline, in a perfectly normal tone. "but we haven't stolen anything." "you stole plenty at stoddard house," mary louise couldn't help saying. pauline regarded her accuser with hatred in her eyes. "so you're the one who's responsible for this!" she hissed. "nasty little rat! and i thought you were a friend of mine!" mary louise laughed. "i'll be a friend when you and your gang give back all the stolen articles and money," she replied. the elderly man who lived in the room interrupted them. "two studs are missing," he announced. "i found the wallet with my money in it on the floor. yet it was carefully put away last night." "take off your shoes, pauline!" ordered mary louise. "that's the place to find missing diamonds." the girl had to obey, and the studs fell out on the floor. "it's enough," concluded mr. hayden. "here comes my assistant. you girls will come with us till the police arrive." "not in these clothes!" objected mary green. "yes, just as you are." he turned to the man. "and now, good-night, sir." "good-night, and thank you a thousand times!" was the reply. "thank miss gay," amended mr. hayden. "it was her work." tired but satisfied, mary louise went back to her own room, and, removing only her shoes and her dress, she slept soundly for the rest of the night. chapter xi _bail_ mary louise did not awaken until nine o'clock the following morning. a pleasant glow of triumph suffused her; she was experiencing her first thrill of professional success. but the occurrence of the preceding night was only a partial victory, she reminded herself; the job was just begun. there were more thieves to be caught, and valuables to be recovered. she decided to ring for a breakfast tray in her room. she had often seen this luxury pictured in the movies; now was her chance to try it out for herself. while it was being prepared she took a shower and dressed. ten minutes later the tempting meal arrived. it was fun, she thought, as she poured the coffee from the silver pot, to play being a wealthy lady, but it would be more enjoyable if jane were with her.... however, she had no time now to think of jane or of her friends in riverside; she must concentrate all her mental powers upon the mystery she was trying to solve. these were the hypotheses she meant to build her case upon: . pauline brooks and mary green were two members of a secret band of hotel robbers, composed probably of women and girls. . pauline's "aunt," as she called her, must be the leader, since she went from hotel to hotel. . the two transient guests who had undoubtedly stolen the silverware and the vase from stoddard house were members of the same gang. . pauline's "aunt" had a country place where she probably hid the stolen articles until they could be disposed of. now, with these facts in mind, mary louise had several poignant questions to answer: . was this country place at center square, and was that woman whom mary louise had seen in the dark pauline's aunt? . was margaret detweiler connected with this gang? mary louise remembered that mary green had admitted that she knew margaret and that pauline had instantly contradicted her. it was still rather a muddle, she decided as she finished her breakfast and left the room. she took the elevator to mrs. weinberger's floor and hastily told her the story of the previous night's excitement; then, scarcely waiting for the older woman's congratulations, she hurried down to the manager's office. "the hotel is exceedingly grateful to you for the service you have rendered us, miss gay," said the man. "the least we can do is to present you with a receipted bill for your room and breakfast." mary louise gasped out her thanks: she had never dreamed of a reward. "and what became of the girls?" she inquired. "they are being held under five hundred dollars bail," was the reply. "they won't have any trouble raising that, i'm afraid," said mary louise. "they'll skip and go right on with their old tricks." "perhaps you're right, miss gay." "is mr. hayden here?" she asked. "no, he has gone home," replied the manager. "but he left this memorandum for you in case you want to visit the girls and see whether you can learn anything more about the case you're working on." mary louise put the paper with the address on it in her handbag and hurried back to stoddard house. she found mrs. hilliard in her office on the first floor, planning her work for the day. "i've great news for you, mrs. hilliard!" she cried, carefully closing the door behind her. "i've caught two of the thieves, and you'll never guess who they are!" "no, i won't even try," returned the other. "i'm not much good as a detective. but hurry up and tell me." "pauline brooks and mary green!" "pauline brooks!" repeated mrs. hilliard in amazement. "but tell me how you know!" "the detective at the bellevue and i caught them in men's clothing, trying to rob another guest at the hotel. remember--i thought it was a man who stole my watch, though he did seem awfully small? well, it was pauline, and she was dressed up the same way last night!" "you're the cleverest girl i ever met, mary louise! how did you ever come to suspect those girls?" "i'll tell you the whole story later--when i have more time, mrs. hilliard. i've got to be off now, after some evidence to prove that they were the thieves who did the stealing here. you see, they're in jail now for what they did at the bellevue, but i have nothing to prove they were guilty of the robberies at stoddard house." "but what are you going to do?" "i'm going to try to find the leader of their gang and find the treasure chest. and that reminds me, i want the names of those two transients who were here when you missed the vase and the silverware." mrs. hilliard searched for them in her book, and mary louise copied them, although she had little hope that they would help her. the way these girls changed names with each change of residence made it extremely baffling. "where do you expect to look for the leader of this gang?" asked the manager. "i'm going to drive up to center square again, right now. in a hired 'drive it yourself' car." "isn't that where you got that blow on your head?" "yes, but you needn't worry about me this time, mrs. hilliard. i'm going to get a policeman to go with me to the empty house." "wise girl.... but i believe you'd be wiser still, mary louise, if you just dropped the thing now and went home for christmas. you've certainly earned your pay, and we can feel that our troubles are over. i can give the guests some assurance that they will not be robbed again. won't you go, dear? your family will be wanting you." "oh no, mrs. hilliard--thank you just the same. but i couldn't think of it. i want to recover the stolen goods and get more proof against those two girls. i couldn't give up now!" "well, then, be very careful!" "i'll be back in time for supper," she promised. mary louise went directly to the nearest agency and hired a car. not a new car, but one which ran smoothly and which she found no difficulty in operating. the day was warm for december, and sunny; the snow was gone; it would be jolly to spend the whole day out-of-doors. of course, it would have been nicer if jane or max were with her, but mary louise had so much to think about that she did not mind being alone. wasn't it funny, she mused, that the very first guest she had met at stoddard house had been the guilty person? how thankful she was that she had not given in to that impulse to make pauline brooks her confidante! perhaps, if she had, pauline would not have stolen her watch. yet, without that misfortune, mary louise might never have solved the mystery. she drove along at an even speed, following her map and watching for the landmarks she had noticed on her previous trip. about noon she arrived at the hotel where she and max had eaten dinner on sunday evening, and she drew the car to a stop at its entrance. the same clerk was at the desk; he remembered mary louise and asked immediately how her head was. "it's almost well," she replied. "but i want to visit that house again and find out who lives there and what hit me." "to collect damages?" "no, not specially. but there is something mysterious about that house, and i'd like to see it in broad daylight. this time i want to take a policeman with me. have you any in center square?" "we have a constable. he might be willing to go along." "would you be kind enough to ring him up and ask him to come here while i eat my lunch in the dining room? after all, he has a right to help me find out what hit me." "sure, i will, miss. and he'll be glad to come. he's mighty obliging. besides, he ain't got much to do." mary louise was hungry, and she enjoyed her lunch immensely. the food wasn't dainty like the stoddard house, or fancy, like the bellevue, but it was wholesome and well cooked, and the keen air had given her a good appetite. when she had finished eating and returned to the main room of the little country hotel, she found the officer waiting for her. he was a stout, middle-aged man with a pleasant smile, and he wore a baggy gray suit with a stringy tie. he was very much interested in the story of mary louise's previous visit to center square, and of her reason for wanting to see the ugly woman again who was occupying the house. "of course, what i'm hoping for," concluded mary louise, "is to catch her with the stolen goods and have her arrested. but she may not be the person i'm looking for at all, because i saw her in the dark with only a lighted candle behind her." "what is her name?" "mrs. brooks is the only name i know her by. but i've learned that criminals have half a dozen names, so you can't go by that. there isn't anybody by that name around here, is there?" the man shook his head. "no, there ain't. but let's drive to the house you mean, and i can tell you who owns it. and maybe tell you something about the people that live there." "i don't believe anybody really lives there," replied mary louise. "it's all boarded up." they got into mary louise's hired car, and she turned off the main highway into the dirt road which she and max had explored. here it was difficult for mary louise to find her way, because on the former occasion it had been dark, and snow had covered most of the ground. she drove along slowly, past the empty house they had first visited, until she came to the hill and the place with the steep driveway. she remembered the house now; there was the tree under which max had parked, and the barn beyond. a huge sign bearing the words "no trespassing--private property" had been erected since her former visit. "this place belongs to a mrs. ferguson of baltimore," announced the constable. "she's a widow with two daughters. they never live here, but once in a while she brings a bunch of girls here for a house party. she's wealthy--always comes in a car and brings a couple of servants." "ferguson," repeated mary louise, wondering where she had heard that name before. but she had heard so many new names in the past few days that she could not place it. "could you describe her?" she inquired. "can't say as i could. never saw her close. she dresses stylish, i know that, and has nothin' to do with the country folks around here." mary louise brought the car to a stop and parked it some distance from the house, cautiously avoiding the trees this time. even though she had a constable with her, she wasn't taking any chances of being hit again. "that's the tree we were parked under," she pointed out, "where i got hit in the head." "did you see anybody?" "no. but my friend said afterward he heard somebody laugh. but he couldn't wait to investigate, because he had to get me to a doctor." "maybe it was just a bad boy. we have some young bums around here once in a while." mary louise got out of the car, and the constable followed her, making a tour of the outside of the house, examining the boarded windows, trying the locked doors. apparently it was deserted. "i'd love to get inside," remarked mary louise. "couldn't we break in?" "not without a warrant," replied the officer. "we ain't got any real evidence against this lady. you can't tell what hit you, and besides, you was trespassin' on private property." mary louise sighed. evidently there was nothing she could do here. she might as well go back to philadelphia. it had been rather a useless waste of time, she thought, as she drove along towards the hotel. she had learned only one fact--the name of the owner of that empty house. "ferguson," she kept repeating to herself, wondering where she had heard that name before. and then it came to her--in a flash. ferguson was the name of the woman who had helped margaret detweiler at the department store! mary louise laughed out loud. "so i'm on the track of the wrong mystery," she thought. "oh, well, if i could find margaret detweiler i'd be happier than if i got back all that money stolen from stoddard house. so my day really hasn't been wasted." when she arrived at her hotel she literally smelled christmas in the air. the windows were hung with wreaths; holly and mistletoe and evergreen decorated the rooms on the first floor. everybody seemed to be hurrying around with a pleasant holiday air of excitement, carrying packages and making last-minute plans for the great day. a sudden swift feeling of homesickness took possession of mary louise, a violent desire to be back in her own home in riverside, sharing the happy holiday confusion. for a moment she felt that she would have to go back at any sacrifice. but ambition overcame sentiment. she would not be a quitter, and leave at the most important time. she would see the thing through as she had planned. but there was nothing to prevent her wiring to her father to come and spend part of the holiday with her. especially now that she had something definite to report to him. so she composed a telegram and sent it at once, over the telephone. "have caught thieves," she said, "but cannot recover stolen goods. leader of band at large. please come help me. love--m.l." as soon as the message was sent, she felt better and was as jolly as anyone else at supper. she was helping the walder girls tie up packages and humming christmas carols when a call came for her on the telephone. "maybe it's dad," she said to mrs. hilliard as she came into the manager's office. but it wasn't. it was mr. hayden, calling from the bellevue. "pauline brooks has wired to a mrs. ferguson, hotel phillips, baltimore, maryland," he announced, "asking for five hundred dollars. all she says in her telegram is: 'please send $ bail,' and signed it 'p.b.' but i thought it might help you to know to whom she wired, miss gay." "i should say it does!" exclaimed mary louise rapturously. "thank you so much, mr. hayden!" she was so happy that she executed a dance. oh, how wonderful that piece of news was! mrs. ferguson! the woman who had helped--or pretended to help--margaret detweiler! the woman who lived at center square! possibly--the same woman whom pauline had called her aunt, by the name of mrs. brooks! everything seemed to be coming untangled all at once. if only mary louise could catch this ferguson woman! but of course she could--with her father's help. thank heaven he would be coming soon! he could fly straight to baltimore and accomplish her arrest. and the mystery--perhaps both mysteries--would be solved! so mary louise went happily to sleep that night, little dreaming that the worst part of her experience lay ahead of her. chapter xii _detective gay arrives_ mary louise awakened the following morning with a delightful sense of expectancy. it was the day before christmas! surely her father would come; he would know how much she wanted him, and her mother would be unselfish enough to urge him to go. he would bring mary louise her christmas presents and take her out to christmas dinner. she dressed quickly and hurried down to the lobby to ask the secretary whether there was any message for her. none had arrived as yet, but by the time she had finished her breakfast it came. "arrive about noon to stay over christmas with you. love--dad," were the precious words she read. her eyes sparkling with anticipation, mary louise ran to mrs. hilliard with her good news. "so you see i don't need to go home," she said. "i can hardly wait till he comes!" "i'm so glad, dear," replied the manager. "you've been an awfully good sport about being away from your family--and now you're getting your reward." "i think i'll put in my time till he arrives by going over to visit my friend pauline brooks," said mary louise. "i'd like to find out whether she obtained her bail yet." "you better be careful," warned mrs. hilliard. "that girl probably hates you now, and if she's free there's no telling what she might do to you!" "i know she hates me. but she can't do a thing. especially with guards all around.... and i'll be back before dad comes. i want to be on the spot to greet him." she put on her hat and coat and went to the address which mr. hayden had written down for her on the paper. she encountered no difficulty in finding her way to the matron who had charge of the women prisoners. "i am mary louise gay," she said. "a private detective in the employ of the manager of stoddard house. i believe that two of your prisoners--pauline brooks and mary green--are guilty of some robberies there, as well as at the bellevue, where they were caught. but i haven't evidence enough to prove my case. i thought if i might talk to these girls----" the matron interrupted her. "you can't do that, miss gay," she said, "because they have already been released on bail, until their case comes up next month." "how did they get the money--it was five hundred dollars, wasn't it?--so soon?" "they wired yesterday to a mrs. ferguson in baltimore. miss brooks received a registered letter this morning, and the girls left half an hour ago." mary louise sighed; it seemed as if she were always too late. why hadn't she come here before breakfast, since she knew from mr. hayden last night that the girls had telegraphed a request for the money? "where did they go?" was her next question. "i don't know. they are to report back here on the morning of january second--or forfeit their bail." "they won't be back," announced mary louise. "five hundred dollars is nothing to them." the matron turned to read a letter; she had no more time to discuss the subject with the young detective. but mary louise lingered. "i just want to ask one more question," she said; "and then i won't take any more of your time. was there a letter from this mrs. ferguson, or did she merely send the money?" "there was a letter. i had it copied, because mr. hayden told me to keep copies of any correspondence these girls had while they were here.... wait a minute--yes, here it is. you may read it for yourself." mary louise took the copy eagerly and read it as quickly as she could. the writing was poor but entirely legible, and the words were spelled right. but the subject matter was so rambling that in certain places she was not sure that she read it correctly. this was the letter which she finally deciphered: _dear girls:_ _you poor girls! meet your misfortune with this $ . u.s. justice is terrible! in what other country would they detain innocent girls?_ _baltimore is where i am now, but i am leaving immediately for a trip to florida. margaret can't go with me on account of school. will you write to her? get her address from the phone book._ _treasure island is playing at the movies, and we liked it a lot. from my observation it is like the book. c.s. enjoyed it thoroughly. and so did i. bring me back the book if you go home for christmas. it was mine anyhow._ _tonight i am packing. baltimore is tiresome, and i'll be glad to leave._ _love,_ _aunt ethel._ "may i make another copy of this letter?" mary louise asked the matron. since it was rather peculiar, it would bear studying. besides, it mentioned margaret, and that might mean margaret detweiler. the matron agreed. "yes, sit down at that desk. or do you want a typewriter?" "well, if you can lend me one," answered mary louise. she had learned typing at school, thinking it would come in handy in her chosen profession. so she typed the letter carefully and put it into her handbag. as she stepped out into the open air again she saw by one of the big clocks on the street that it was only a little past ten. two hours to wait until she saw her father! two hours, with nothing to do. it seemed rather ridiculous that she should be so idle when everybody else was apparently so busy. the throngs of people on the streets rushed along as if there were not a minute to lose. "i can go in here and buy some handkerchiefs for mrs. hilliard for christmas," she thought, as she entered a department store. all the rest of her gifts had been bought and wrapped up long ago; they were piled neatly in a box at home, ready for her mother to distribute to her family and her friends on christmas morning. the organ in the store was playing christmas music; mary louise lingered for a while after she made her purchase to listen to it. she felt very happy because her father was coming. she returned to the hotel about eleven, put mrs. hilliard's gift on her desk and went down to one of the reception rooms to wait for her father. the walder girls came in--they both had a half holiday so that they might start home early--and they said good-bye to mary louise and wished her a merry christmas. the slow hands of the clock crept towards twelve. at five minutes of the hour her father came. mary louise saw him the minute he opened the door and rushed to him as if it had been years, and not days, since their parting. "oh, dad, this is grand!" she cried. "i was so afraid you wouldn't be able to get here. are you very busy?" "no, dear," he replied as he kissed her. "there's a sort of lull in my work now, and i had expected to be home for several days. but now i am at your service. your aunt arrived yesterday to be with your mother over the holidays, so they probably won't miss me much. i want you to tell me everything that has happened so far. max said your watch was stolen, and you were hit on the head by a stone. how is your head now?" "it's all right, daddy. and i bought a cheap watch, so i can get along without my good one, though of course i was especially fond of it. but come into the dining room and let's have lunch while we talk. at least, if you don't mind being the only man with a lot of women. max objected to that." "no, i don't mind," he said. "and i am hungry." when they were seated at one of the small tables and had given their orders, mary louise began to tell her story. "i was robbed that very first night," she said. "of course, it was pretty dark in my room, but not terribly so, for the street lights show up quite well. anyhow, i could see well enough to distinguish a small man, with a cap and a black mask. "well, we had a watchman on guard that night, and the police got here in no time, but nobody saw the burglar get away. i insisted he was hiding in the hotel, but mrs. hilliard had it searched thoroughly, and we couldn't find a man in the place. i didn't dream then that it was a girl masquerading as a man. but that is the explanation: a girl named pauline brooks, who lived right across the hall from me. of course, it was the easiest thing in the world for her to slip back into her own room and take off her disguise." "did you search for the burglar in her room too?" "yes, we went there the very first thing. pauline made us wait a minute or two--she said she had just gotten in from a dance and was half undressed." "and you believed her?" "yes, indeed. we had become quite good friends at supper that night." mr. gay laughed. "but what finally led you to suspect her?" mary louise went on to tell her father in detail about her false suspicions concerning first miss stoddard and then miss weinberger, and described her visit to the bellevue and the catching of pauline brooks and mary green in the very act of stealing. "but that wasn't evidence enough to prove them guilty of the robberies at stoddard house," objected her father. "i know," admitted mary louise. "but i figured out that there is a whole band of these secret hotel thieves, for i'm pretty sure two other members stole some silverware and a vase from stoddard house a while ago. i believe, too, that a woman whom pauline called her aunt is the leader.... and that's what i want you to do, dad. go after her!" "but where is she?" he demanded. "i think she's in baltimore now, at the hotel phillips, because that's where the girls got their money for bail. five hundred dollars. she's planning to go to florida, so you have to hurry." "what could i do with her if i did find her?" inquired mr. gay. "couldn't you arrest her?" "not unless i had some evidence against her." mary louise sighed: it was dreadful, she thought, to know that somebody was guilty and not be able to prove it. but she could see that her father was right. mr. gay was enjoying his lunch. he praised the food and the service to mary louise and exclaimed in surprise that the hotel was not well filled. "it's partly because of these robberies," explained mary louise. "several people have moved out just since i came. no wonder mrs. hilliard is worried." "but she feels encouraged since you found two of the thieves, doesn't she?" "oh, yes, she's tremendously pleased. she told me i had earned my money, and i could go home. but of course i'm not satisfied. the job's only half done." the waitress approached the table, and offered a menu. "i'll take plum pudding," announced mr. gay, "in celebration of the season. how about you, mary lou?" "chocolate sundae," was her inevitable choice. "where," inquired mr. gay, turning to his daughter, "did this aunt of pauline's live when she was in philadelphia?" "she stayed at the ritz." "never at stoddard house?" "oh no." "then we'll make a visit to the ritz after lunch. and i think i will take the two o'clock train to baltimore to see what i can find out about the woman. what does she call herself?" "mrs. ferguson--and sometimes mrs. brooks. possibly there are two different women, but i don't believe so.... but what will you do at the ritz, daddy?" "just make inquiries as to whether anything was stolen while the woman stayed there, and if so, what. that would give me a reason for going after her in baltimore." "that's a great idea, dad!" exclaimed mary louise joyfully. "may i go to the hotel with you?" "of course. now, you run along and get your hat and coat and tell mrs. hilliard where you are going, while i order a taxi." it was not until they were in the cab that mr. gay remembered to ask how mary louise had received the cut on her head. max had not told him much, he explained, because he wanted to keep it secret from mary louise's mother, to save her unnecessary worry. "it was part of my investigation about margaret detweiler," replied the girl, and she hurriedly told her father the reason for her visit to center square and its consequences. "but i feel that in some way the two cases are tied up together," she added, "for the woman who owns the place is named mrs. ferguson, and a face which i saw at the window reminded me of the woman pauline called her aunt. but it's all very confusing." the taxi pulled up at the ritz, and mr. gay and his daughter got out. with his badge, the former had no difficulty in interviewing the hotel detective immediately. he asked whether any money or valuables had been lost at the ritz during the past week. "yes," replied the other, "some money and a valuable bag containing two pearl rings were stolen last friday. but we suspected a chap who called himself a traveling salesman, and we're on his track." "was a mrs. brooks staying here at the time?" "yes. i remember her well. with two nieces." "please describe her," urged mary louise. "she is tall and stout--weighs around a hundred and eighty, i should judge. about fifty years old, with black hair done very severely--looks like a wig. dresses well and wears jewelry. has false teeth and an ugly mouth, but seems a great favorite with young people.... that's about all." "that's enough," said mr. gay. "now, can you tell me just what was stolen?" the detective wrote down the articles on a slip of paper. "a bag containing two pearl rings, and two hundred dollars." the bag was valuable in itself, being made of gold mesh, he told them. "thank you very much," said mr. gay as he pocketed the list. "i'll let you know if i have any success." the taxi was waiting outside the hotel, and mary louise jumped into it first. "i'll ride to the station with you, daddy," she said. "do you think you'll be back tonight?" "maybe," he answered. "but we'll have a fine christmas together tomorrow." he was just in time to catch his train. mary louise watched it pull out of the station and wondered what in the world she would do to pass the afternoon. slowly she walked out to the street and looked at the christmas displays in the shop windows. she had gone about two blocks when she stopped to examine a particularly attractive display, featuring a small, real christmas tree, when she noticed that the shop into whose window she was gazing was a tea room. a cup of hot chocolate ought to taste good, she decided--rich and hot, with whipped cream on the top! so she opened the door and went inside. little did she realize at that moment how thankful she was to be later on for that one cup of chocolate and the plate of little cakes that she ordered! chapter xiii _a prisoner in the dark_ while mary louise waited for her chocolate to be served, she took the copy of the letter from her handbag and read it again. the woman said she was going to florida. oh, suppose her father should be too late to catch her! "but if mrs. ferguson really is a crook, why should she write all her plans to a prisoner, when she would know that the letter would be censored?" mary louise asked herself. her eyes narrowed. the woman had written the letter on purpose to deceive them! she probably had no intention of going to florida! perhaps it was a code letter. mary louise recalled the lindbergh case, in which the kidnaper had written a letter to a prisoner in which the second word of every sentence was a key, thus forming a message. she decided to try to discover something like that for herself. she read the letter again: _dear girls:_ _you poor girls! meet your misfortune with this $ . u.s. justice is terrible! in what other country would they detain innocent girls?_ _baltimore is where i am now, but i am leaving immediately for a trip to florida. margaret can't go with me on account of school. will you write to her? get her address from the phone book._ _treasure island is playing at the movies, and we liked it a lot. from my observation it is like the book. c. s. enjoyed it thoroughly. and so did i. bring me back the book if you go home for christmas. it was mine anyhow._ _tonight i am packing. baltimore is tiresome, and i'll be glad to leave._ _love,_ _aunt ethel._ on a page of her notebook mary louise wrote down each second word and read the result to herself: "poor--your--courts--what--is--can't--her--island----" "shucks! that doesn't mean a thing!" she muttered in disgust. "i guess i was crazy. but just the same, it does seem like a dumb sort of letter if it hasn't some underlying meaning." the waitress brought her chocolate in a lovely little blue pot, and the whipped cream in a bowl. on a plate of the same set, dainty pink and white cakes were piled. "it's a good thing i'm not dieting," thought mary louise, as she poured out a steaming cup of chocolate. "this certainly looks delicious!" she wondered idly, as she finished her refreshments, whether she should go to a picture show, just to put in her time. she wasn't exactly in the mood for that kind of entertainment; her own life was too exciting at the present moment to allow her to feel the need for fiction. so, while she waited for her bill, she glanced again at the letter in her handbag. "i might try the first word of each sentence," she thought. "to see whether i could form a message that way. though i should think that would be too obvious.... still, i'll see what happens." she jotted down the opening word of each sentence on another page of her notebook. "you--meet--us--in--baltimore--margaret--will--get--treasure--from-- c.s.--and--bring--it--to--baltimore." it was all mary louise could do to keep from crying out in her joy. of course that was the answer! pauline and mary were to go to baltimore. the treasure, the stolen goods, must be in that house at c.s.--center square. and "margaret" would go there to get it! mary louise no longer had any difficulty in deciding what to do with her afternoon. she'd drive to center square as fast as she could--in order to beat "margaret" there. oh, how she hoped that the "margaret" referred to was margaret detweiler! her hands actually trembled as she paid the bill, she was in such haste to be off. she hadn't time to go back to the hotel and inform mrs. hilliard of her plan. later on she was to wish desperately that she had taken that precaution. instead, she hurried to the agency and hired the same car she had driven the previous day. then she set off on the road which was by this time becoming familiar. it was after five o'clock when mary louise reached center square. the twilight was deepening; already the short winter day was almost at a close. "i'll need a flashlight," she decided and she stopped in at a country store to buy one. when she came out of the store she drove directly to the abandoned house. this time she did not want to take the constable with her, for he would forbid her breaking into the place. yet that was exactly what mary louise meant to do, if she could not be admitted by knocking at the door! she turned into the driveway, past the "no trespassing" sign, mounted the steep incline, and parked her car in an inconspicuous spot behind the house and at the side of the barn. "here's hoping i don't get hit with a rock!" she thought recklessly, as she jumped out of the car. the darkness was becoming deeper; the silence was broken only by the moaning of the tree branches in the wind. the place seemed completely deserted. with her heart beating fast, mary louise ran to the back door of the house and tried it. as she had anticipated, it was securely locked. a moment later she encountered the same condition at the front door. at both entrances she knocked loudly; at neither was there any response. "just the same, i'm going to get in!" she muttered resolutely. "if i have to climb over the porch to a second-story window!" she walked around the house again, more slowly this time, examining each window as she passed it. everywhere she found boards nailed over the glass. on only one window at the side did she discover a partial opening. it was the window through which she had seen the face of the young girl with the ugly woman beside her. mary louise's heart leaped up in joy. she could break through that glass and get in! the window which she was examining was at least three feet from the ground, and two boards were nailed across the lower sash. but by standing on a log which she dragged to the spot she was able to reach the upper sash. with the aid of a stone she smashed the glass into bits. it would have been easier to climb through the opening without her fur coat, but mary louise felt sure that she would need its protection in the damp, cold house. how thankful she was later on that she had not yielded to her first impulse! she accomplished the feat successfully, however, without even tearing her clothing or breaking her flashlight, and stood on the floor of a room which she soon identified as the dining room. it was horribly cold and damp inside the house, but mary louise scarcely noticed it at first. a thrill of excitement sent a pleasant glow through her body. she was going to search for the treasure! keeping her flashlight turned on, she gave a quick glance about the room. a table, half a dozen chairs, a sideboard of beautiful mahogany, and a china-closet filled with lovely dishes comprised its furnishings. "a good place to begin my search!" she decided, going straight to the attractive sideboard and opening the drawer nearest the top. a luncheon set of exquisite design greeted her eyes. "rather grand for a country place," she silently commented. "let's see what else we can find!" a second drawer was entirely empty, but a third contained a full set of silverware. seizing a spoon in one hand, mary louise turned the flashlight on it with the other. a wild cry of joy escaped her lips; the spoon was decorated with an ivy-leaf pattern! yes, and there were the initials, too--s.h. (for stoddard house, mrs. hilliard had said)--engraved on the stem! "so i know that i'm in the right place!" she couldn't help exclaiming aloud in her triumph. the sound of her own voice in the silent, dark house was strange; mary louise found herself trembling. but only for a moment: courage and common sense came to her rescue. hastily she gathered all the silver together and put it in a pile on the dining-room table. "i may have to go out through the window again," she figured, "so i'll leave my stuff here. but first i'll try the doors from the inside." there, however, she met disappointment. there were no dead latches on the doors; they were both locked securely, and the keys had been removed. now that she had familiarized herself with the plan of the house, she decided to make a systematic search, beginning with the upstairs and working her way down. cautiously she ascended the wide stairway in the hall to the second floor. there were four bedrooms, she saw by the aid of her flashlight, and a bathroom. a narrow staircase led to an attic above. "i might as well begin with the attic," she thought, "and do the thing thoroughly. that would be a natural place to hide things--especially if there's a closet." there was a huge closet, she soon discovered, besides two trunks, and all sorts of odds and ends of furniture piled about the room. naturally, mary louise began her search with the trunks: to her delight she found them unlocked. "if i only have the same luck that i had in the dining room!" she wished as she began to examine the trays. things had apparently been stuffed in hit-or-miss fashion: ribbons, scarves, odd bits of costumes were all entangled together. off in a corner of the tray she found a heavy box which looked especially inviting. opening it excitedly she let out a wild whoop of joy. there was jewelry inside! but when she examined the articles one by one she experienced only disappointment. there was nothing valuable in the whole collection; it was merely "five-and-ten-store" stuff, which nobody would wear except to a costume party. "i might have expected that," she mused as she put the box back into the tray. "if this trunk had had anything valuable in it, it would have been locked." nevertheless, she resolved to make her search thorough and went through both trunks, without any success. then she directed her attention to the closet. this occupied a large space--almost as big as a small room--so that mary louise found that she could easily enter it herself. it was horribly chilly and damp; she shivered, and drew her coat more tightly around her as she continued her task. she was peering into a hat box when she suddenly heard a pounding on a wall. she stopped what she was doing and listened intently. where was the noise coming from? had someone come in? was "margaret" here, or had the police come to arrest mary louise for housebreaking? her hands shook and she turned off her flashlight, waiting tensely in the darkness, while the pounding continued. but she did not hear any footsteps. the noise finally ceased, and, reassured at last, mary louise turned on her flashlight and resumed her search. but the attic revealed nothing of any importance, not even any loose boards in the walls or floor underneath which the treasure might have been stored. with a sigh of disappointment, mary louise descended the attic steps. entering the bedrooms one after the other and searching them carefully, she encountered no better results. the bureaus were practically empty; the beds contained only a blanket spread over each mattress, and though mary louise felt around them with her hands for hard objects which might be concealed, she found nothing. looking at her watch, she saw to her surprise that it was almost eight o'clock. supper hour was long past; because of her excitement, and on account of her refreshments in the philadelphia tea shop, she had not felt hungry. but she was thirsty and was delighted to find running water in the bathroom. "i'm glad i don't have to climb out of that window to get a drink at the pump!" she congratulated herself. and while she was there she methodically searched the bathroom, again without any success. "why, here's an electric light button!" she exclaimed in surprise. "these people must be rich--they have all the modern improvements. and i've been using up my battery!" but the light did not turn on; no doubt the current was cut off while the people were away, and mary louise had to resort to her flashlight again. "because i started in the attic, the treasure will probably be in the cellar," she concluded. "i hope my battery doesn't give out before i get to it." nevertheless, she meant to proceed with the downstairs first, just as she had planned. she would rather be there if "margaret" arrived. oh, how she wished the girl would come! especially if she proved to be margaret detweiler. the kitchen consumed a great deal of time, for she had to look in every possible can and dish in the various closets. as she examined everything, she was conscious of increasing hunger; she sincerely hoped that she would find something she could eat. but her search revealed nothing except some dry groceries: tea, sugar, salt, and spices. moreover, the stove was an electric one, useless without current. she could not even heat water to make herself a cup of tea! she was debating whether she should crawl out of the window and go to a store for something to eat, or whether she should wait until she had completed her task. it was just nine o'clock now; if she left the house she might miss seeing margaret and lose all chance of finding either the girl or the treasure. but as she passed through the dining room from the kitchen she saw immediately that her decision had been made for her. the window through which she had crawled into the house had been boarded up tightly! she was a helpless prisoner in this dark, lonely house! so that was the explanation of the pounding which she had heard from the attic closet! oh, why hadn't she rushed down to see who was doing it? now what in the world could she do? if margaret didn't come, she would have to spend the night here--alone! and tomorrow was christmas! but suppose nobody came tomorrow--or the next day--or the next week! starvation, death from pneumonia, loneliness that would drive her insane--all these grim horrors stared mary louise in the face. shivering with cold, she stood motionless in the dining room and tried to think of some way out. it would be impossible for her to break down those heavy wooden doors, and she knew nothing about picking locks. there wasn't an unboarded window on the whole first floor, and even the windows over the porch on the second floor were tightly nailed shut. oh, what on earth could she do? "if only max and norman would come along now and give that familiar signal!" she wished. but no sound disturbed the silence of the night; even the wind had died, leaving a stillness like death all about her. she felt buried alive in a doorless tomb. "nobody knows i'm here," she moaned. "not even mrs. hilliard. "i'll have to think of something," she decided, with a supreme effort to keep herself in control. "in the meanwhile, i might as well finish my search." but even that satisfaction was denied to mary louise. in the doorway between the dining room and the living room her flashlight went out. at the most critical moment, when her courage was at the lowest ebb, the battery had died! a groan of agonized dismay escaped from her lips. in utter despair she groped for a chair and sank down in it, miserable and defeated. the impenetrable blackness of the room was overpowering, for she was used to the lights of the streets in philadelphia and in riverside. a strange, physical fear took possession of her, paralyzing her limbs; for several minutes she sat still in the darkness, not even attempting to move. a shiver ran through her; she was becoming colder and colder in this damp, icy house. her need for warmth stirred her to action. she rose cautiously to her feet and groped her way to the hall, where she remembered the stairway to be located, and without encountering any serious knocks, she slowly ascended to one of the bedrooms. here the inky blackness still confronted her, but it was not so deep as that of the first floor, for there was an unboarded window in the room. gradually, as she made her way towards it, mary louise could perceive its outline. most of the window was covered by the tree branches, but here and there through the limbs she could distinguish patches of sky. yes--far off, and dim, but real, nevertheless--was one shining star! "the christmas star," she murmured. "or at least--my christmas star. for it's the only one i'll see tonight." there was something immensely comforting in its presence. the star reassured her, it reminded her that god was still in his heaven, and she was not forsaken. tomorrow, christmas morning, rescue would surely come! so, after collecting all the blankets in the house on one bed, she took off her coat and her hat and her shoes and lay down, drawing the squirrel coat over her on top of the blankets. cold and hunger and her dark prison were forgotten in a blissful maze of unconsciousness. mary louise slept until the sun of the strangest christmas of her experience awakened her. chapter xiv _the secret band_ mr. gay settled back in his seat in the train with a sense of comfort. he liked traveling; no matter how hard he was working or how difficult the case he was trying to solve, he could always rest on a journey. "i might have brought mary lou with me," he thought. "she would have liked the experience." but perhaps, he decided, she had wanted to remain on the spot at stoddard house in case anything new developed. little did he think as he was speeding along towards baltimore that his daughter was driving as fast as she could in the opposite direction. into a new danger which he had not dreamed of! mary louise, in her systematic way, had given her father a list of all the valuables to be recovered. now, at his leisure, he took the paper from his pocket and went over it carefully. "set of silverware, ivy-leaf pattern, initials s.h. chinese vase. watches, including one set with diamonds and my own. $ in cash. painting by whistler. pair of diamond earrings." mr. gay let out a low whistle. what a list that was! no wonder mrs. hilliard was worried! he took from his pocket the other slip of paper, which the detective at the ritz had just given to him. "gold-mesh handbag containing $ . pearl rings...." "if this woman, this mrs. ferguson, is responsible for all this, she certainly ought to be kept behind prison bars for the rest of her life," he thought. "but we'll see--we'll see...." his train passed through a small town, and from his window mr. gay could see the christmas decorations in the houses. how he wished that he and mary louise could both be at home, taking part in the happy celebrations! trimming the tree, filling the stockings, eating the turkey dinner together! but there would be more christmases, he reminded himself, and the whole family would be together on new year's day. it was dusk when he arrived in baltimore and he took a taxi straight to the hotel phillips. he engaged a room for he meant to take a shower and have his dinner there, even if he did not remain all night. a few minutes later he was interviewing the hotel detective in his private office. "is there a mrs. ferguson staying here?" he asked, after he had shown his badge. "yes, there is," replied the other man. "she came two days ago with two daughters and four other girls as guests. they have a suite of rooms on the ninth floor and are planning to stay over christmas." "has anything been stolen since their arrival?" questioned mr. gay. the other detective's eyes opened wide in surprise. "yes. a roll of bills, two hundred dollars, i believe it amounted to, and a valuable stamp collection. last night. but surely----" "i have reasons to suspect mrs. ferguson and her accomplices," stated mr. gay. "other hotel robberies lead us to believe she is the leader of a band of hotel thieves." "but we are on the track of another suspect. a man we found wandering into the wrong room last night and excusing himself by the old gag of saying he was drunk." "maybe he was drunk!" "possibly. we couldn't get any sense out of him. but i believe that he was just a darned good actor. another fellow got away--an accomplice, i think, who is known to be a stamp collector. we're on his trail." "i'd like to search the ferguson woman's rooms," announced mr. gay. "can i have your help?" the man hesitated. he hated to antagonize wealthy guests who were bringing so much money into the hotel; yet when he recalled the expression of mrs. ferguson's eyes he remembered that he had distrusted her. so he reluctantly consented to the other detective's request. taking one of his assistants with him, the hotel detective led mr. gay to the ninth floor and knocked at mrs. ferguson's door. from within sounds of laughter and gay music could be heard. as the door opened, the three men saw the girls playing cards in the sitting room of the luxurious suite. a radio was grinding out jazz. with a shrewd glance at the girls, mr. gay realized immediately that they were not the same type as his daughter's friends at riverside. they were older, too, although they were painted and lipsticked to appear young. "mrs. ferguson," began the hotel detective, "i must apologize for interrupting your card game, but i have to go through with a routine. last night some valuables were stolen from one of our guests, and i have promised him to make a thorough search of each room. you understand, of course, that no slight is meant to you or to your guests. the girls can go on with their game, if you will just permit us to look around." mrs. ferguson, who was, mr. gay thought, one of the ugliest women he had ever seen, drew herself up proudly. "i very much resent it," she replied haughtily. "in fact i forbid it!" "you can't do that," answered the detective coolly. "for even if you decide to leave the hotel, your things will be searched before you go. but please don't be unreasonable, mrs. ferguson! suppose that you, for instance, had been robbed of that beautiful diamond ring you are wearing. wouldn't you want us to do everything in our power to get it back for you?" "i wouldn't want guests--especially women and girls--subjected to such insults as you were offering me and my young friends and relatives! besides, i thought you were already pretty sure of your thief." "we're not sure of anything. will you submit peacefully, mrs. ferguson, or must we call in the police?" the woman looked sullen and did not answer; the detective stepped across the room and locked the door. mrs. ferguson turned her back and wandered indifferently towards the bare christmas tree in the corner. it was standing upright in a box of green, but it had not been trimmed. a pile of boxes beside it indicated the ornaments with which it would probably soon be decorated. mr. gay, always the keenest observer, sensed that fact that mrs. ferguson had some special interest in those boxes, and his first shrewd surmise was that valuables were somehow concealed within them. therefore, he kept his eye glued on that corner of the room. "i guess you'll have to stop your games, girls," said mrs. ferguson, "since these men mean to be objectionable. of course, we'll move to another hotel immediately, so you can all go and get your things packed.... pauline, you take care of these balls for the tree. men like this wouldn't care whether they were smashed or not! they have no christmas spirit." "some hotel!" muttered pauline, with an oath under her breath. but she got up and went towards the christmas tree. "wait a minute!" ordered mr. gay. "i'm looking into those boxes." mrs. ferguson laughed scornfully. "they just came from the 'five and ten,'" she said. "they haven't even been unwrapped. and i warn you men, if you break them, you can replace them! it's not easy to get through the crowds now, either." detective gay smiled. "i'll take the responsibility," he promised as he untied the string of the top package. as mrs. ferguson had stated, it contained nothing but bright new christmas-tree balls. but when he lifted the second box in the pile--a huge package as big as a hat box--he knew immediately that it was too heavy to contain christmas-tree ornaments. nevertheless, his countenance was expressionless as he untied the string. a great quantity of tissue paper covered the top of the box; this mr. gay removed, and from beneath it he drew forth a shabby blue book. "is this the stamp album?" he asked the hotel detective. the other man gasped and rushed to mr. gay's side. "yes! yes!" he cried. "that's it! see if the stamps are still in it." with a quick movement pauline brooks took two steps forward and snatched the book from the detective's hands. "that's my album!" she exclaimed. "if you don't believe it, look at the name in the front." triumphantly she turned to the first page and displayed the inscription: _pauline brooks,_ _christmas, ._ _from aunt ethel._ detective gay laughed scornfully. "you can't fool us that easily, miss brooks," he said. "examine the ink in the handwriting for yourself! it's fresh.... you can't pass that off for three years old." pauline looked calmly into her accuser's eyes. "maybe it is," she retorted. "but i don't have to write my name in my books the minute i get them, do i?" "hand it over!" commanded the hotel detective, while mr. gay continued his search of the christmas boxes. at the bottom of the pile he found the gold-mesh handbag with two pearl rings inside it. but he did not discover any of the lost money. "call the police," ordered the hotel detective, turning to his assistant. "gay and i will make a thorough search of this room. and on your way downstairs get hold of mr. jones, in room . he can come up here and identify his stamp album." mrs. ferguson by this time had slipped into her bedroom, and one by one the girls were following her. detective gay, suddenly aware of the fact that the criminals meant to escape by another door, dashed out into the hall just in time to stop them. "must we use handcuffs?" he demanded, pushing mrs. ferguson back into her room and locking the door. the woman did not reply, but she looked at him with an expression of hatred in her eyes. mr. gay called into the next room to the hotel detective, who was still making a systematic search. "can you get me a photographer?" he asked. "o.k.," was the reply, and the detective put the message through, using the room telephone. "now, what do you want a photographer for?" demanded pauline impudently. "because we're such pretty girls?" "i want to send your picture to my daughter," replied mr. gay. "i understand that you and she used to be friends." "who is your daughter?" "mary louise gay." "the little rat! if i'd ever realized----" "how smart she is," supplied mr. gay proudly, "you'd have been more careful! well, miss brooks, you've been pretty clever, but not quite clever enough. this is the end of your dangerous career." "i guess we can get out on bail!" she boasted. "i guess you can't! not this time, young lady!" the photographer and the police arrived at the same time; mrs. ferguson and her band of six had to submit to having their pictures taken and were allowed, under supervision, to pack a few necessary articles of clothing into their suitcases. then, under the escort of four policemen and the assistant hotel detective, they rode downstairs to the waiting patrol car. mr. gay and the hotel detective went on with their methodical search. "suppose we stop and eat," suggested the latter. "we can lock up these rooms." "o.k.," agreed mr. gay. a knock sounded at the door. "i'm jones--the man who lost the album," announced the visitor. "did you fellows really get it?" his question held all the eagerness of the collector. "this it?" queried the hotel detective, holding the worn blue book up to view. "oh, boy! is it? i'll say so! let's see it!" he grasped the book affectionately. "we are still hoping to find your money, too," added mr. gay. but the man was hardly listening; his stamps meant far more to him than his roll of bills. "whom do i thank for this?" he inquired finally, as he opened the door. "my daughter," returned mr. gay. "but she isn't here, and i'll have to tell you the story some other time." during their supper together, mr. gay told the hotel detective about mary louise and the discoveries she had made which led her to suspect mrs. ferguson and pauline brooks. he brought the list out of his pocket and crossed off the articles that had been recovered: the gold-mesh bag and the two pearl rings. "except for the money which was stolen here last night, we probably shan't find anything else in the rooms," he concluded. "mrs. ferguson has no doubt hidden or disposed of everything which her gang stole from stoddard house." nevertheless, the two men resumed their search after dinner. deeply hidden in the artificial grass which filled the christmas-tree box, they found four hundred dollars--the exact amount which had been taken from the hotel ritz in philadelphia and the hotel phillips there in baltimore. but two hours' more searching revealed nothing else. at ten o'clock the two men decided to quit. mr. gay went directly to his room and called stoddard house on the telephone, asking to speak to mary louise. to his surprise it was mrs. hilliard who answered him. "mary louise did not come home for supper," she said. "i concluded that she had gone to baltimore with you, mr. gay." "no, she didn't. could she have gone to the movies with any of the girls, do you think?" "possibly. but she usually tells me where she is going. of course she may have gone home with the walder girls, and i know their folks haven't a phone." mr. gay seemed reassured; after all, he decided, nothing could happen to his daughter now that the criminals were under lock and key. "well, tell her i'll take the first train home tomorrow," he concluded, "and that i have good news for her." "i will, mr. gay," promised the hotel manager. disappointed but not worried, he replaced the receiver and went down to the desk to inquire for the picture of mrs. ferguson's band of thieves. several copies had been struck off, and they were surprisingly good. mr. gay chuckled when he thought how pleased mary louise would be to see all the criminals lined up together. taking the pictures with him, he went straight to the offices of baltimore's leading newspapers. in a short time he had given the editors the important facts of the capture of the dangerous band, giving the credit to mary louise. to one of these newspapers he gave his daughter's picture--a snapshot which he always carried in his pocket. "wait till riverside sees that!" he exulted. "won't our family be proud of our mary lou!" mr. gay slept soundly that night, believing that everything was all right with mary louise. had he but known the agony of spirit his daughter was experiencing he would have returned posthaste to philadelphia. mrs. hilliard, however, was more concerned and spent a restless night. she felt sure that something had happened to mary louise, for she was not the sort of girl to go off without mentioning her plans. even if she had gone to the country with the walder girls, she would have found a way to telephone. mary louise was never thoughtless or selfish. in her worried condition, mrs. hilliard awakened twice during the night and went down and looked into the girl's empty room. at six o'clock she could stand the anxiety no longer, and she called mr. gay on the long distance telephone. he was in bed, asleep, but the first ring at his bedside awakened him. he listened to mrs. hilliard's news with a sinking heart, remembering the dreadful thing which had happened to his daughter the previous summer, while she was investigating a mystery of crime. "i'll take the seven o'clock train to philadelphia!" he cried, already snatching his clothing from the chair beside his bed. in his haste and his deep concern for his daughter he forgot entirely that this was christmas morning. when the waiter in the dining car greeted him with a respectful "merry christmas, sir," mr. gay stared at him blankly. then he remembered and made the correct reply. one look at mrs. hilliard's face as he entered stoddard house told him that there was no news of his girl. mary louise had not returned. "the only place i can think of," said mrs. hilliard, "for i've already gotten in touch with the walder girls, is that empty house out in center square, where she was hit on the head the night she went there with max miller." "i'll drive right out there," announced mr. gay immediately. "i guess i can make inquiries at the hotel.... and in the meantime i'll notify the philadelphia police, but i'll warn them not to give out the news on the radio till i get back.... i don't want to alarm mary lou's mother until it is necessary." ten minutes later he was in a taxicab, directing the driver to speed as fast as the law allowed to center square. chapter xv _christmas morning_ christmas morning! mary louise laughed out loud when she wakened amid the bleakness of her surroundings in that empty house near center square. oh, how different it was from every other christmas of her experience! no lovely fragrance of evergreen, no warm fire, no cheery hot breakfast--no presents! but this last fact worried her least of all. at the moment she believed she would give up all the christmas presents in the world for a plate of sausage and hot cakes. she felt a little stiff from sleeping in her clothing, but underneath the blankets and her fur coat she had not suffered from the cold. and, oh, how good it was to see the sun! to be able to walk around in a light house--or a dimly lighted one, for even some of the second-story windows were boarded up. she shuddered at the fear that no one might come that day to rescue her, that she might be subjected to another black night in this dismal place. but with daylight to aid her perhaps she could find a way out for herself, if no one came. she would try not to lose hope. she got up and washed, thankful at least for the water in the house, and she took a long drink. then she remembered that there was tea in the kitchen, and even though there was no way of heating the water, she could make cold tea and add sugar. perhaps the sugar would supply a little energy. with her fur coat buttoned up to her neck she cautiously descended the stairway in the hall. downstairs it was so dark that she could not even see the outlines of the furniture until her eyes became accustomed to the dimness. "there must be candles in the kitchen," she surmised. "but i'm afraid it will be too dark to find them." she groped her way out to the kitchen, and fumbled around until she touched the dresser. "i'd never be able to tell which is sugar and which is salt," she thought. "except that i can taste anything i happen to find." however, that proceeding might not prove to be so good, she decided, for she had no desire to taste kitchen cleanser or rat poison, for instance. no, it would be better to do without than to take any risks, just for the sake of a cup of cold tea! as she cautiously ran her hand along the bottom shelf of the dresser, her fingers encountered something decidedly rough. for a moment she was puzzled, until she could identify the object. but in a moment she recognized it. sandpaper, of course! sandpaper on the outside of a box of matches. her pulse quickened as she picked up the box, and found that it was full. this was luck indeed! she struck a match at once, and began to hunt feverishly for candles. but she wasted three matches without finding a single one. "i can have my cold tea, anyway," she thought, and with the aid of a single match she located tea and sugar and a cup. the sink was right beside the dresser, and she ran cold water over the tea leaves. "merry christmas, mary lou!" she finally said aloud, as she drank the cold tea through closed teeth, to avoid swallowing the leaves. she felt chillier than ever after she had finished it, but not quite so weak and empty. lighting another match she made her way into the living room. "wouldn't it be wonderful if there were an open fireplace all piled up with wood!" she mused, as she entered the room. there was a fireplace, she found, but it was totally empty. on a shelf over it, however, she came upon a discovery which she had overlooked the previous night. there, right in the middle of the mantelpiece, stood a chinese vase of the very design which mrs. hilliard had described! "maybe if i look around i'll find miss granger's painting," was her next hope. she examined the picture over the fireplace--a cheap hunting scene--and was just about to turn away when she made another find which brought a whoop of joy to her lips. in plain view, at each end of the shelf, stood two tall, red candles! when mary louise had lighted one of these she felt suddenly like a different girl. it was amazing what a change one steady little gleam of light could make. but she was frugal enough to burn only one of them; if she had to spend another night in this house she would not need to be in complete darkness. there was an upright piano at the other side of the room; mary louise stepped over and sat down on the stool in front of it. "i'll play a christmas carol, just to celebrate!" she decided, and struck the opening chords of "o come all ye faithful." she stopped abruptly. "what a terrible rattle!" she exclaimed. "these people must throw their tin cans into the piano when they finish with them!" she stood up and examined the top with her candle. lifting up the hinged half, she peered down into the space beneath. instantly she perceived a gray flannel bag hanging on the end of one of the keys as if someone had deliberately hidden it there. she snatched it off excitedly, delighted to find that it was heavy. no doubt it contained something metallic, which had been the cause of the jangling of the piano keys. with trembling fingers she pulled open the string and dumped the contents of the bag upon a chair. diamond rings, bracelets, earrings, watches, and gold necklaces dropped out before her astonished eyes. a fabulous treasure, such as one reads about in fairy tales or sometimes dreams of finding! color came to mary louise's cheeks, and her heart raced wildly as she examined the articles one by one to make sure that they were genuine. mrs. weinberger's old-fashioned timepiece ornamented with diamonds was there--and mary louise's own dainty little wrist watch, engraved with her name in the back of it. oh, what a joy it was to have it again! she clasped it affectionately about her wrist. leaving the jewelry on the chair, she peered into the piano again to see what else she could find. she was rewarded with another discovery. down in a corner, in a remote spot, she saw a small package wrapped in brown paper. she encountered some difficulty in prying it loose, but at last she had it free. stripped of its brown-paper wrapping, she found that she held a fat wad of bills in her hand! "mrs. macgregor's money!" she thought immediately. "and miss granger's--and my own five dollars!" how wonderful it all was! to be able to return the possessions to the rightful owners at stoddard house! to have proof enough now to convict mrs. ferguson and her band of thieves! to collect her salary from mrs. hilliard and go home--in time for max's senior dance! if--only--she could get out of this house! a feverish sense of impatience took possession of mary louise. it was cruel, she stormed, that in her hour of triumph she should be imprisoned alone in a dark house. wouldn't somebody miss her and come to her rescue? where was her father? why hadn't he driven out here to center square when he returned to stoddard house last night--and had found her missing? but suppose--awful thought--that he had not returned! suppose he had missed finding mrs. ferguson and had been deceived by that letter of hers into pursuing the woman to florida! mrs. hilliard would conclude that he had taken her--mary louise--with him, when neither returned! a trip to florida, mary louise figured, might consume almost a week. while she waited alone in this dark, cold house, each day itself an eternity of hunger and loneliness and suffering! a hollow laugh escaped her lips as she glanced at the money and the valuables heaped on the chair beside her. they were as little use to her now as midas's gold. they would neither feed her nor keep her warm. "there's no use hoping for release by somebody else," she told herself. "i'll have to work out a way by myself. i'll have to be a modern count of monte cristo!" she stood up and gathered her treasure together again into the bag and took the chinese vase from the mantelpiece. another tour of the room revealed the whistler picture in a dark corner. with the aid of her half-burnt candle, she carried everything to the dining room and placed it all in a pile beside the silverware. "i'll hide the money inside my dress and the jewelry in my coat pocket. these other things i'll drop into that wood-basket i saw in the kitchen." when she had finally completed her packing she sat down in the dining room to think. "i believe i'll try to get out the same way i got in," she decided. "because the glass is already broken in that window. all i'll have to do will be to cut my way through the new boards which that caretaker--or whoever he was--hammered on last night." with this purpose in view, mary louise carried her candle into the kitchen. the drawer in the dresser revealed a poor selection of knives; it might take days to cut through a board with only these as tools. nevertheless, she meant to try. anything was better than idleness. selecting what appeared to be the sharpest in the collection, she returned to the window in the dining room. but she realized immediately that her scheme would not work. the boards were too close together; it would be impossible to insert a knife between them at any place. "i guess i'll have to smash that bedroom window and jump out," she thought gloomily. "it would probably mean a broken neck, but that's better than a slow, lingering death." she pulled the dresser drawer farther out, looking idly for some other implement to facilitate her escape. suddenly her eyes lighted upon a hammer. not a very large hammer, but adequate enough for the task. why hadn't she thought of that plan before? it would be lots easier to hammer those boards loose than to try to cut through them with a knife. she picked it up out of the drawer and paused abruptly. there was a slight sound in the front of the house, like the click of a key in a lock. extinguishing her candle, she waited breathlessly till she heard the front door open. someone stepped cautiously into the hall! mary louise's heart stood still in her excitement. who was the intruder? was it the margaret whom mrs. ferguson had mentioned in her letter, or was it the woman herself? whoever it was, was he or she armed with a revolver? much as mary louise longed to find margaret detweiler, she dared not take a chance now of coming face to face with an unknown person in this dark house, since all the valuables were in her possession. her only desire at the moment was for escape. silently she moved towards the door of the kitchen which led directly into the hall. she heard the newcomer go into the living room, and as mary louise crept past the doorway she saw the gleam of a flashlight. but the person, whoever it was, was hidden from her view, and mary louise did not wait to find out who it was. she reached the front door in safety and found the key still reposing in the lock. a second later she removed the key and slipped out of the door into the clear, cold sunshine. she was free at last! and with a chuckle of triumph she inserted the key on the outside of the door and turned it, imprisoning the intruder, just as she herself had been imprisoned for the last sixteen hours! chapter xvi _two captures_ for one ecstatic moment mary louise stood motionless on the front porch, breathing the cold, delicious air of freedom. then she ran around the side of the house to the rear to look for her car. at first she thought it was gone, for she could not see it, huddled up close to the barn. but a few steps more revealed it to her view, and, weak as she was, she darted forward eagerly. she decided that she would drive directly to the hotel and have some breakfast; afterwards she would inquire her way to the constable's house. he could take charge of the valuables in her possession and go back with her to meet the intruder. for mary louise had no intention of returning to philadelphia without first learning that person's identity. besides, she had forgotten to bring out with her the basket containing the vase and the picture and the silverware. no use going back to stoddard house without the entire loot! she climbed into the car and put her foot on the starter--without any success. she pulled out the choke and tried again and again. five minutes passed. she made one final effort, in vain. the car was frozen! despair seized her; she did not know what she could do. in her weakened condition, cold and hungry as she was, she did not believe herself physically capable of walking to the hotel. the distance must be at least a mile, although it had seemed so short by automobile. she got out of the car and silently walked back to the front porch of the house, listening for sounds from the prisoner locked within its walls. but she heard nothing until she reached the driveway. then a young man stepped from behind a tree and almost frightened her to death. he was a tough-looking fellow of about nineteen or twenty, she judged, in slovenly corduroy trousers, a dirty lumber jacket, and cap. he eyed her suspiciously; mary louise forced herself to meet his gaze, although she was trembling so that she had to keep her hand on the jewelry in her pocket to prevent its rattling. the young man edged up nearer to her. "you one of mrs. ferguson's girls?" he demanded. "yes, i know her," replied mary louise. "i----" "you been in the house now?" "yes," admitted mary louise. "anything gone?" "no, i don't think so." "that's lucky," remarked the young man. "i come around last night about six o'clock, same as i do every night, and i seen a window was broke on the side of the house. but i didn't see nobody prowlin' around, so i just nailed a board across it. i'm still watchin' fer that guy that come in a car. you kin tell mrs. ferguson he ain't come back yet." "what guy?" inquired mary louise, feeling more at ease now, since this young man evidently regarded her as one of mrs. ferguson's gang of girls. "that fellow that drove up here last sunday night," was the reply. "didn't mrs. ferguson tell you?" "i haven't seen mrs. ferguson to talk to," she stammered, hardly able to keep from laughing. "well, this guy meant trouble, i'm a-thinkin'. he drove up here in a car with a dame alongside of him. i hid in a tree when i heard the car comin', and when it was under the tree i dropped a rock on the dame's head. knocked her out, and the guy had to rush her off to a doctor." "suppose you had killed her!" exclaimed mary louise solemnly. "i ain't supposin'. besides, nobody knows i done it except mrs. ferguson and you girls, and if any of you dames tell on me, i've got plenty to tell on you!" "no doubt about that," agreed mary louise. "well, i must be getting on. i'm going to the hotel for breakfast." "how about my money?" demanded the young man. "mrs. ferguson wrote me you'd be along today and said you'd pay me. she promised me ten bucks." this announcement scared mary louise; she didn't know whether she should pay the man or not, in order to keep up the pretence that she was a member of the secret band. if she refused, mightn't he knock her down? yet if she complied with his demand and let him see the roll of bills, what would prevent his stealing them all at once? however, a solution came to her mind, and she decided to risk it. "i haven't more than five dollars in my purse," she said, opening it and showing him the contents. "i'll have to pay you when i get back, after i have something to eat. i'm starved--i didn't have any supper last night." "o.k.," agreed the young man, to mary louise's surprise. "meet me here in an hour?" "yes, just about," returned mary louise, hurrying down the driveway. the minute she reached the road, out of sight of the house, mary louise started to run, and she kept on running for perhaps a couple of minutes. then she stopped abruptly, dropping down on the cold, hard ground. she was so faint, she did not believe that she could take another step. "oh, i must get there!" she panted. "i must--must--must----" but the main highway was not even in sight: only the long, desolate country road before her, without a sign of a person or a house. she staggered somehow to her feet and took two or three steps forward. utterly exhausted, she sank again to the ground. "a lot of good all my discoveries will do me or the people of stoddard house," she mused bitterly, "if i pass out here on the road!" she made another effort to rise, but she was growing colder and weaker every minute. in utter dismay she buried her head in her arms. a sense of numbness began to creep over her as she sat there; she was losing consciousness of where she was when the sharp sound of a motor horn aroused her to her senses. a car stopped opposite her; for one tense second she was afraid to look up for fear the occupants were some of mrs. ferguson's gang. when a pleasant masculine voice addressed her, she felt the tears rush to her eyes in relief. "what is the trouble, my girl?" inquired the man. "can i help you?" reassurance and an overwhelming sense of gratitude almost prevented mary louise from answering. the man with the kind voice was someone she could trust: she saw by his manner of dressing that he was a catholic priest. "oh, yes!" she replied. "can you take me to the constable? do you know where he lives?" "yes, of course i can." it was an odd request, but the good man asked no questions. he merely got out of his car and lifted mary louise in beside him. "i'd tell you the story--only i'm so cold and hungry," she said. "maybe--later----" "that's all right, my child," he replied soothingly. in less than five minutes he stopped his car in front of a plain brick house and helped mary louise to the doorway. "merry christmas, hodge!" he said, when the door was opened to his knock. "this young lady----" "merry christmas, father," returned the constable, gazing at mary louise. almost instantly he recalled who she was. "come in, miss gay," he said. "oh, how can i ever thank you enough?" said mary louise, fervently to the priest. but the good man only smiled and departed as quickly as he had appeared. the smell of coffee, of breakfast--for it was only a little after nine o'clock--was overpowering to the hungry, exhausted girl. she sank into a chair with only one cry on her lips: "coffee!" before the constable could even ask her a question, his wife hurried from the dining room with a steaming cup in her hands. she was a motherly woman of about forty-five; three children immediately followed her into the living room to see who the stranger was who had arrived so mysteriously. "drink this, dear," said mrs. hodge, holding the cup to mary louise's lips. "i put cream and sugar in it, so it won't burn you." nothing in her life had ever tasted half so good to the cold, hungry girl as that fragrant cup of coffee. she finished it to the last drop, and a smile broke over her face. "was that good!" she exclaimed. "oh, how much better i feel!" "you must have some breakfast now," urged mrs. hodge. "don't crowd around miss gay so closely, children! she needs room to breathe." "i'm all right now--really," said mary louise. the warmth of the room was working its magic spell; for the first time now she noticed the christmas tree and the toys around the floor. "i've been locked up alone in that empty house of mrs. ferguson's since five o'clock last night----" she began. but mrs. hodge refused to let her talk until she had eaten her breakfast. mary louise ate everything that was on the table: a steaming bowl of oatmeal, an orange, half a dozen hot-cakes, two pieces of sausage, a glass of milk, and another cup of coffee. when she had finally finished she said that she believed she had enjoyed that breakfast more than any meal she had ever had. the whole family listened while she briefly told her story. beginning with the code letter which had directed her to center square, she explained how she had broken into the empty house and how she had been imprisoned by a man who was evidently in mrs. ferguson's employ. "he admitted hitting me--only of course he didn't know it was i--over the head last sunday. he thinks i'm one of mrs. ferguson's gang. so will you go back with me and arrest him, constable hodge?" she asked. "i sure will," agreed the man, and he told one of his children to run across the yard to get a neighbor to help him. "i found the stolen goods," concluded mary louise, reaching into her dress and producing the roll of bills and taking the bag of jewelry from her pocket. "will you take charge of it till i can bring my father up to get it? he's a detective too, you see." everyone gasped in amazement at the heap of valuables which mary louise displayed before their eyes. the children rushed forward excitedly, and the young detective saw no reason why they should not examine them to their hearts' content. one of the boys even wanted to count the money. "but how did you get out of that house?" demanded the constable. "did that man open the door for you?" "oh no," replied mary louise. "a member of mrs. ferguson's gang came with a key. i slipped out and locked her inside. that's why we must hurry back, to catch her before she escapes." mary louise rose from her chair. "can we go now, constable?" she asked. "certainly. yep, here comes my neighbor, who often helps me make arrests. we'll take him along in case your man or your prisoner gets uppish." "could we take a mechanic to fix my car, too?" she asked. "it's frozen." "one of the kids will phone to the garage right now to send somebody out." they gathered up the treasure, and, leaving it in mrs. hodge's care, mary louise, the constable, and the neighbor--a husky six-foot fellow--got into the car. the distance which had seemed so long to the girl an hour ago was covered in less than five minutes. at the turn into the driveway, mary louise saw the man who was waiting for her. recognizing the constable at once, he made a quick dash to get away. but he was not fast enough: the constable was out of the car in a second, commanding him to stop and displaying his revolver. with an oath on his lips he surrendered. the constable's big friend took charge of him while mary louise and the officer entered the dark, cold house. the moment they opened the door they heard a girl's terrified sobs from the living room. "who--are--you?" she called, in a voice choking with fear and misery. "the constable of center square and mary louise gay!" replied the young detective. the prisoner jumped to her feet and ran out to the open door. "mary--louise--gay!" she repeated incredulously, bursting afresh into tears. but mary louise had identified her immediately. she was margaret detweiler! chapter xvii _a sad story_ mary louise thought she had never seen anyone change so much in the short space of two years as margaret detweiler had changed. how much older she looked, how much sadder, in spite of her expensive clothes! what a strange, trapped expression there was in her eyes, like that of an animal caught in a cage! "you--are--going to arrest me?" the girl stammered, directing her question to the constable. "i am doing just what miss gay says, at the present time," replied the man. "so far, i don't know that you're guilty of any crime." "no, no, don't arrest margaret!" protested mary louise. "i just can't believe that she is a member of mrs. ferguson's gang. why, it's too impossible!" "no, it isn't impossible," said margaret, more calmly now. "mrs. ferguson is a special kind of criminal who makes young girls do her stealing for her. she picks up country girls who don't know anybody in the city and trains them.... oh, it's a long story--and a sad one!" "do you mean to say that you did steal, margaret?" demanded mary louise incredulously, for she had never believed that story of margaret's theft at the department store. "you must tell me the truth! for the sake of your grandparents." "i can honestly say that i have never stolen anything in my life," replied the other girl steadfastly. "mrs. ferguson soon found out that i was no good for that, so she made me guardian of the treasure. i felt almost as wicked. but i never stole." "thank heaven for that!" exclaimed mary louise. "but now i've lost her valuables, and she'll send me to prison," whimpered margaret. "oh, mary lou, did you take them?" "yes, i took them. they're at the constable's home now, and most of them belong to the guests at stoddard house in philadelphia. but you shan't suffer, margaret, unless you're really guilty." "the young lady is very cold," remarked the constable. "hadn't we better go back to my house, where it's warm, till your car is fixed, miss gay?" "oh yes, if you will let us!" agreed mary louise enthusiastically. she could see that margaret's teeth were chattering, and she remembered how cold she herself had been after an hour or so in that empty house. "wait until i get my other things," she said, running back into the kitchen for the basket which she had packed early that morning. "i'll put them into the car and see how soon the mechanic thinks he will have it ready." she returned in a couple of minutes and found the others already seated in the constable's sedan. mary louise was glad to find that the officer had put margaret detweiler in front with him, not beside the tough young man with his huge guardian in the rear seat. she squeezed in next to margaret, and the car started. "the mechanic is going to drive my car to your place in about half an hour," announced mary louise. "and then we'll start for philadelphia." "fine!" exclaimed the constable. "that'll give you girls a chance to get warm. and maybe have a cup of coffee." "it's marvelous coffee," commented mary louise. "it just about saved my life." not another word was said about the crimes or the secret band. margaret detweiler was introduced to mrs. hodge as a friend of mary louise's from riverside, and the two girls spent a pleasant half hour in the constable's home, sipping their freshly made coffee and looking at the children's christmas toys. the constable, who had taken the young thug away, returned just as mary louise's hired car drove up to the door. mary louise jumped up and reached for her coat. "wait a minute!" cautioned the constable. "company's comin' here to see you, miss gay! i just met somebody askin' for you at the hotel.... so don't be in too much of a rush!" from the obvious twinkle in the man's eyes, mary louise believed that max miller must have driven down to philadelphia again and, missing her there, had naturally traced her to center square. but at that same moment a yellow taxi stopped at the constable's gate, thereby dispelling any such illusion. max would never ride in a taxicab on his limited allowance! the door of the cab opened, and a tall, handsome man stepped out, paid the driver, and dismissed the cab. it was mary louise's father. flinging open the door, the girl shouted at him in delight, so loud that mr. gay heard her in spite of the noise of the departing cab. in another moment he entered the open door of the house and held mary louise tightly in his arms. "mary lou!" he cried in delight. "are you sure you're all right?" "i'm fine," she replied, ushering him into the constable's house. "merry christmas, daddy!" "the same to you, dear." he gazed at her fondly. "i believe it will be--now. you certainly look happy, daughter." "i am, daddy. these people have treated me royally!" she turned around and introduced her father to mrs. hodge and the children, for he had already met the constable. "and, oh, dad, here is margaret detweiler," she added. "you remember her, don't you?" "i certainly do," replied mr. gay, extending his hand cordially. "my, but your grandparents are going to be glad to see you, margaret!" the girl blushed and looked down at the floor in embarrassment. wisely, mr. gay asked no questions. "i have all the stolen valuables, dad," continued mary louise. "every single thing that was taken from stoddard house, and even the money!" mr. gay gazed at his daughter in speechless admiration: she had excelled his fondest hopes! "mary lou, that's--wonderful!" he said after a moment.... "i have good news too. i caught your thieves. seven of 'em. they are in a baltimore jail now." both girls exclaimed aloud in amazement and delight. margaret detweiler started forward and clutched the detective's arm. "it's really true, mr. gay?" she demanded breathlessly. "mrs. ferguson--is she in jail too?" "locked up without any chance of getting out on bail!" he said authoritatively. "oh, i'm so glad!" murmured the girl thankfully. "now we'll be able to take the valuables right back to their owners at stoddard house, constable hodge," announced mary louise. "i'm not afraid to carry them, with dad beside me." mrs. hodge brought the jewelry and the money from its hiding place and gave it all to detective gay. both he and mary louise tried to thank the hodges for their help and their hospitality; mr. gay wanted to give the constable some sort of recompense, but the good man refused. only after a great deal of persuasion would he accept a five-dollar bill as a christmas present for his children. "ready, daddy?" inquired mary louise as she slipped on her coat. "just a minute," replied her father. "i want to telephone to mrs. hilliard to let her know that you are safe. she's been terribly worried, mary lou.... and shall i tell her that we'll eat christmas dinner with her at stoddard house?" "oh, yes! i've heard about the menu. there won't be a sweller dinner anywhere in philadelphia than at stoddard house. but shall we be in time?" mr. gay consulted his watch. "it's only a little after eleven," he said. "we ought to make it by one o'clock." as soon as the telephone call was completed, the three people got into the little car. mary louise herself took the wheel, for, as she explained, she was familiar with it by this time. "now tell me about your experiences, mary lou," urged her father, as soon as they were well under way. mary louise explained, for margaret's benefit as well as for her father's, about deciphering the code letter and coming up to center square and breaking into the empty house in search of the valuables. but she made light of the coldness and desolation of the dark house and of her own hunger. she concluded with the statement that margaret had come that morning and let her out with a key. "but how did you happen to have the key, margaret?" demanded mr. gay. "i will have to tell you my whole story from the beginning," answered the girl. there was a tragic note in her voice, which drew out her listeners' sympathy, but neither made any comment. "then you can decide what to do with me," she continued. "i guess i deserve to go to prison, but when i assure you that i have never done anything wrong except under compulsion, maybe you will not be so angry with me." "we're not angry with you, margaret," mary louise told her. "only terribly sorry. so please tell us everything. you remember that your grandparents have never heard anything from you since last christmas.... so begin your story there." "all right.... let me see--i was working in that department store in philadelphia, and doing pretty well, for i got commissions besides my salary on everything i sold. i started in the cheap jewelry department and was promoted to the expensive kind. christmas brought me in a lot of business, but i guess i overworked, for i got sick the week before and had to stay home and have the doctor. i'd already spent a good deal of money on presents, and when my doctor's bill was paid i found my salary was all gone. so i went back to the store before i should--on the twenty-third of december, i remember." "the twenty-third of december!" repeated mary louise. "that was the day mrs. ferguson registered at the benjamin franklin hotel." "how did you know, mary lou?" demanded margaret. "i went to the hotel and looked through the old register," she explained. "but go on, margaret. what happened then?" "i found that a ring, an expensive diamond ring, had been stolen from our department," continued the girl. "they insisted that it was taken before i was away, but they couldn't prove anything. just the same, i know the store detective had his eye on me.... well, that very day something else disappeared: a link bracelet. this time they accused me immediately." "but why?" "i don't know, except that i was the newest salesgirl in the department--in fact, the only girl. the store detective stepped behind my counter and leaned down to the floor. _and he picked that bracelet right out of my shoe!_" "how dreadful!" cried mary louise. "somebody had 'planted' it there?" "of course. mrs. ferguson had, as i later learned. but at the time i hadn't a suspicion. she was standing right near the counter, examining some rings. when she heard me accused and told to leave the store, she stepped forward, saying that she was sorry for me. she asked me whether i had any family, and i told her they were too far away for me to go to, without any money. "'but you'll have trouble getting a job without a reference,' she said. 'so perhaps i had better help you.'" "the sly cat!" cried mary louise. margaret nodded. "but i didn't know it then. i simply asked her whether she could get me a job, and she told me to come to the benjamin franklin hotel that afternoon and ask for mrs. ferguson. "of course, i went--i had nothing else to do. she engaged me at once as her secretary. we went out to center square for a few days, and i met a lot of other girls. two daughters, two nieces, and a couple of friends. we had a good time, but i didn't do any work, for she had two servants and a chauffeur, and i felt as if i didn't earn my pay." "did she give you a salary?" asked mary louise. "yes," replied margaret. "for the first couple of weeks. but i had to send it to my landlady in philadelphia. after that, mrs. ferguson bought my clothes and paid my hotel bills, but she never gave me any cash." "so you couldn't get away!" observed mr. gay. "exactly. gradually i began to suspect that there was something crooked about this bunch, and then one day i found the diamond ring which had been stolen from the store: among mrs. ferguson's stuff at center square!" "what did you do?" demanded mary louise. "i showed it to her and said i was going to take it right back to the store, and she stood there and laughed at me. she said it would only prove my own guilt! "the next day we all went to washington and stayed in different hotels. mrs. ferguson kept me with her, but i soon saw through her tricks. her girls were all skilled hotel thieves. she tried to teach me the business, as she called it, but i refused to learn. so she made me take charge of the stuff they stole. the girls would bring their loot to her, and she'd send me with it to center square. every once in a while she would dispose of it all to a crooked dealer who asked no questions." "were you out at center square last sunday, margaret?" interrupted mary louise. "yes. mrs. ferguson and i both went. we had intended to get the place ready to spend christmas there, but for some reason, mrs. ferguson got scared. she said that mary green talked too much, and she thought we ought to clear out. she made plans to dispose of everything in baltimore, and then we were all going to sail to bermuda.... but why did you ask that, mary lou?" "because i was in that car that drove up to the house then. i saw you and then mrs. ferguson. i wouldn't have thought of its being you, only mary green admitted that she knew you. that made me suspicious." "you disappeared pretty quickly!" "rather," laughed mary louise, and she told the story of being hit over the head by a rock and of catching the young man and having him arrested that very morning. "that was clever!" approved her father. "who was he, margaret?" "a neighborhood bum that mrs. ferguson employs to watch the place and keep the people away," replied the girl. "but i'm afraid i interrupted you, margaret," apologized mary louise. "please go on with your story." "there isn't much left to tell. i was too far away from home to run away, without any money, and i hadn't a single friend i could go to. all the store people thought i was a thief, so i knew there was no use asking their help. i just kept on, from day to day, not knowing how it would ever end and never expecting to see my grandparents or my riverside friends again. oh, you can't imagine how unhappy i have been!" she stopped talking, for emotion had overcome her; tears were rolling down her cheeks. mary louise laid her hand over margaret's reassuringly. "it's all right now, isn't it, daddy?" she said. "we'll take you home to your grandparents." "but i can't go back to them!" protested the other girl. "how can i tell them what has happened? they'd be disgraced for life." "you can tell them you have been working for a queer woman who wouldn't allow you to write home," said mr. gay. "a woman whose mind was affected, for that is the truth. there is no doubt that mrs. ferguson is the victim of a diseased mind." "wouldn't you ever tell on me?" questioned margaret. "no, of course not. it was in no way your fault, child.... and now try to be happy. i think i can find you a job in herman's hardware store, right in riverside. and you can live with your grandparents. they need you." "it seems almost too good to be true," breathed the grateful girl. mary louise turned to her father. "now for your story, dad," she begged. "about capturing the thieves." "i think that had better be kept till dinner time," replied mr. gay. "this traffic we're approaching will require all your attention, mary lou. and besides, mrs. hilliard will want to hear it too." chapter xviii _conclusion_ mary louise brought the car to a stop at stoddard house at a quarter to one. carrying the money and the jewels in her father's briefcase, and the other articles in the basket, she and margaret went into the hotel to get ready for dinner while mr. gay returned the hired car to the garage. "i'll notify the police that you're found, mary lou," he said. "then i'll call your mother. i think it will be best if she goes over to your grandparents, margaret, and tells them about you herself. they haven't a telephone, and i don't like to frighten elderly people with telegrams." both girls nodded their approval to these suggestions and hurried into the hotel. mrs. hilliard was waiting for mary louise with open arms; she loved the young detective like a daughter. "now, run along, girls, and get ready for dinner," she said finally. "we are going to have one big table, instead of all the little ones in the dining room. with a tree in the center, and place cards, just like a jolly family party." "that's swell!" exclaimed mary louise. "it'll be real christmas after all." "and thank you so much for the lovely handkerchiefs, dear," added the manager. "it was sweet of you to think of me.... that reminds me, you haven't had your presents yet." "put them at my place at the table," suggested mary louise. "and i'll have presents for some of the guests," she added, with a significant glance at the briefcase and basket. when the girls returned to the first floor, after washing their faces and powdering their noses, they found mr. gay waiting for them. for a moment he did not see them, so intent was he in the newspaper he was reading. "want to see the gang's picture?" he asked when mary louise came to his side. "oh yes! please!" in spite of the fact that it was christmas day, a large photograph of mrs. ferguson and her six accomplices occupied much of the front page of this philadelphia paper. in an inset above the picture of the crooks was mary louise's smiling face! "daddy!" cried the girl in amazement. "are you responsible for this?" "i am," replied her father proudly. "i want everybody to know that the credit belongs to you, daughter." other guests, who had not yet read their newspapers, crowded about mr. gay eager for the exciting news. they all remembered pauline brooks, and mary green; several of them identified the two transients who had stolen the other things from stoddard house. a loud gong sounded from the dining room, and mrs. hilliard threw open the doors. the room was beautifully decorated with greens and holly; a long table stretched out before them, covered with a lovely lace cloth and bearing a small christmas tree as its centerpiece. bright red ribbons had been stretched from the tree to each guest's place, adding brilliancy to the spectacle. "hello, mary louise!" said a voice behind the young detective, and, turning around, mary louise saw mrs. weinberger behind her. "merry christmas, mrs. weinberger!" she replied. "it's nice to see you back here." "i've come back to stay," announced the older woman. "i got lonely at the bellevue. and mrs. macgregor is here too, for christmas dinner." it was a happy group who finally found their places around the beautiful table and sat down. mrs. hilliard was at one end, and miss stoddard was honored with the seat at the other end. mr. gay was the only man present, but he did not seem in the least embarrassed. mary louise found her pile of presents at her place, and margaret detweiler discovered a bunch of violets and a box of candy at hers. even in his haste, mr. gay had remembered the lonely girl. the guests ate their oyster cocktails and their mushroom soup before any formal announcement concerning the valuables was made. then mrs. hilliard rose from her chair. "as you all know from the papers, our criminals have been caught by mary louise gay and her father, and are now in prison. but even better news than that is coming. i'll introduce mr. gay, whom some of you know already, and he'll tell you more about it." everybody clapped as the famous detective stood up. "i'm not going to make a speech," he said, "and keep you waiting for the turkey we're all looking forward to. i just thought that maybe some of you would enjoy this wonderful dinner even more if you knew that you are going to get everything back again which was stolen. my daughter found all the valuables and the money this morning in mrs. ferguson's house at center square, and she will now return them to their rightful owners." as the newspaper had not mentioned anything about the stolen goods, the guests were not prepared for this pleasant surprise. a loud burst of applause greeted mary louise as she smilingly rose to her feet and opened the briefcase and drew out the basket from under the table where she had hidden it. "i'll begin at the beginning," she said. "with the vase and the silverware belonging to stoddard house." she carried these articles to mrs. hilliard, amid appreciative hand-clapping. "next, miss granger's picture and her fifty dollars," she continued. tears actually came to the artist's eyes as she took the painting from mary louise's hands. "you keep the fifty dollars, miss gay," she said. "my picture is what i care for most." "no, miss granger, no, thank you," replied the girl solemnly. "i am being paid a salary for my work by mrs. hilliard, but i can't accept rewards for doing my duty." she picked up the watches next: mrs. weinberger's and mrs. hilliard's. the walder girls would get theirs when they returned from their holidays. "and, last of all, mrs. macgregor's diamond earrings and her five hundred dollars," she concluded, restoring the jewelry and the bills to the delighted woman. "i believe that is all, for i am wearing my own wrist-watch, and i have my purse with its five dollars contents." loud cheering accompanied the applause which followed. when it had at last quieted down, both mrs. weinberger and mrs. macgregor tried in vain to give mary louise a reward, but she remained firm in her refusal. then the turkeys were brought to the dining room, and everything else was temporarily forgotten in the enjoyment of christmas dinner. when it was all over, mr. gay told mary louise to pack her clothing and her presents while he returned the remaining valuables to the ritz and to the police. "for i hope we can make the three-thirty train," he explained. "but with that change at the junction, we'd have to wait all night, shouldn't we, daddy?" inquired mary louise. anxious as she was to get back to riverside, she had no desire to spend the night in a cheerless railway station. "no," replied her father. "because there's going to be a surprise waiting for you at the junction." "max and norman?" guessed mary louise instantly. "you mean that they'll drive down for us?" mr. gay nodded. "that isn't all," he said. mary louise did not guess the rest of the answer until the train pulled into the junction shortly after eight o'clock that night. then a war whoop that could come from no one else but her small brother greeted her ears, and she knew that her mother must be there too. yes, and there was her chum, jane patterson, grinning at her from the boys' car! and her little dog, silky! in another minute mary louise was clasping her arms around mrs. gay and hugging freckles and jane and silky all at once. max, at her side, had to be content with pressing her arm affectionately. questions, christmas greetings, words of joy and congratulation poured so fast upon mary louise's ears that she could scarcely understand them. "you're home to stay, darling?" this from her mother. "you'll go to the senior prom with me?" demanded max. "you're the most famous girl detective in the world!" shouted norman wilder. "you were a lemon to duck my party, but i'll give another one just in your honor," promised jane. "did you get your salary--your twenty-five bucks?" asked freckles. mary louise nodded, smiling, to everything. then she got into max's car beside him, with jane and norman in the rumble seat. mr. gay took the wheel of his sedan, with his wife beside him; margaret detweiler, who was quietly watching everything, sat behind with freckles. the drivers of the two cars did not stop for any food on the way; they sped along as fast as they dared towards riverside. old mr. and mrs. detweiler were waiting up for their precious granddaughter, their lost margaret. a little before midnight the cars pulled up in front of the old couple's home, and everybody in the party went inside for a moment. the greeting between margaret and her grandparents was touching to see. even norman wilder, who prided himself on being "hard-boiled," admitted afterwards that the tears came to his eyes. mrs. gay discreetly drew her own party away, back to her home, where a feast was waiting for the travelers. this, mary louise felt, was her real christmas celebration--with her family and her three dearest friends. now she could tell her story and listen to the praises which meant so much to her. "but the best part of it all," she concluded, "is that i'm a real professional detective at last!" * * * * * * transcriber's note: --retained publication and copyright information from the printed exemplar (this book is public-domain in the u.s.). --obvious typographical errors were corrected without comment. possibly intentional spelling variations were not changed. --a table of contents and a list of the series books were prepared for the convenience of the reader. it takes a thief by walter miller, jr. _strange gods were worshipped on mars. but were they so clever? they'd lost their own world._ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, may . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] _"the ancient gods, our fathers, rode down from the heavens in the firebirds of the sun. coming into the world, they found no air for the breath of their souls. "how shall we breathe?" they asked of the sun. and sun gave them of his fire and beneath the earth they kindled the blaze of the great wind. good air roared from the womb of mars our mother, the ice burned with a great thunder, and there was air for the breath of man._" --from an old martian legend * * * * * a thief, he was about to die like a thief. he hung from the post by his wrists. the wan sunlight glistened faintly on his naked back as he waited, eyes tightly closed, lips moving slowly as he pressed his face against the rough wood and stood on tiptoe to relieve the growing ache in his shoulders. when his ankles ached, he hung by the nails that pierced his forearms just above the wrists. he was young, perhaps in his tenth marsyear, and his crisp black hair was close-cropped in the fashion of the bachelor who had not yet sired a pup, or not yet admitted that he had. lithe and sleek, with the quick knotty muscles and slender rawhide limbs of a wild thing, half-fed and hungry with a quick furious hunger that crouched in ambush. his face, though twisted with pain and fright, remained that of a cocky pup. when he opened his eyes he could see the low hills of mars, sun-washed and gray-green with trees, trees brought down from the heavens by the ancient fathers. but he could also see the executioner in the foreground, sitting spraddle-legged and calm while he chewed a blade of grass and waited. a squat man with a thick face, he occasionally peered at the thief with empty blue eyes--while he casually played mumblety-peg with the bleeding-blade. his stare was blank. [illustration: "_are you ready for me, asir?_"] "ready for me yet, asir?" he grumbled, not unpleasantly. the knifeman sat beyond spitting range, but asir spat, and tried to wipe his chin on the post. "your dirty mother!" he mumbled. the executioner chuckled and played mumblety-peg. after three hours of dangling from the spikes that pierced his arms, asir was weakening, and the blood throbbed hard in his temples, with each jolt of his heart a separate pulse of pain. the red stickiness had stopped oozing down his arms; they knew how to drive the spike just right. but the heartbeats labored in his head like a hammer beating at red-hot iron. _how many heartbeats in a life-time--and how many left to him now?_ he whimpered and writhed, beginning to lose all hope. mara had gone to see the chief commoner, to plead with him for the pilferer's life--but mara was about as trustworthy as a wild hüffen, and he had visions of them chuckling together in tokra's villa over a glass of amber wine, while life drained slowly from a young thief. asir regretted nothing. his father had been a renegade before him, had squandered his last ritual formula to buy a wife, then impoverished, had taken her away to the hills. asir was born in the hills, but he came back to the village of his ancestors to work as a servant and steal the rituals of his masters. no thief could last for long. a ritual-thief caused havoc in the community. the owner of a holy phrase, not knowing that it had been stolen, tried to spend it--and eventually counter-claims would come to light, and a general accounting had to be called. the thief was always found out. asir had stolen more than wealth, he had stolen the strength of their souls. for this they hung him by his wrists and waited for him to beg for the bleeding-blade. _woman thirsts for husband, man thirsts for wife, baby thirsts for breast-milk thief thirsts for knife...._ a rhyme from his childhood, a childish chant, an eenie-meenie-miney for determining who should drink first from a nectar-cactus. he groaned and tried to shift his weight more comfortably. where was mara? * * * * * "ready for me yet, asir?" the squat man asked. asir hated him with narrowed eyes. the executioner was bound by law to wait until his victim requested his fate. but asir remained ignorant of what the fate would be. the council of senior kinsmen judged him in secret, and passed sentence as to what the executioner would do with the knife. but asir was not informed of their judgment. he knew only that when he asked for it, the executioner would advance with the bleeding-blade and exact the punishment--his life, or an amputation, depending on the judgment. he might lose only an eye or an ear or a finger. but on the other hand, he might lose his life, both arms, or his masculinity. there was no way to find out until he asked for the punishment. if he refused to ask, they would leave him hanging there. in theory, a thief could escape by hanging four days, after which the executioner would pull out the nails. sometimes a culprit managed it, but when the nails were pulled, the thing that toppled was already a corpse. the sun was sinking in the west, and it blinded him. asir knew about the sun--knew things the stupid council failed to know. a thief, if successful, frequently became endowed with wisdom, for he memorized more wealth than a score of honest men. quotations from the ancient gods--fermi, einstein, elgermann, hanser and the rest--most men owned scattered phrases, and scattered phrases remained meaningless. but a thief memorized all transactions that he overheard, and the countless phrases could be fitted together into meaningful ideas. he knew now that mars, once dead, was dying again, its air leaking away once more into space. and man would die with it, unless something were done, and done quickly. the blaze of the great wind needed to be rekindled under the earth, but it would not be done. the tribes had fallen into ignorance, even as the holy books had warned: _it is realized that the colonists will be unable to maintain a technology without basic tools, and that a rebuilding will require several generations of intelligently directed effort. given the knowledge, the colonists may be able to restore a machine culture if the knowledge continues to be bolstered by desire. but if the third, fourth, and nth generations fail to further the gradual retooling process, the knowledge will become worthless._ the quotation was from the god roggins, _progress of the mars-culture_, and he had stolen bits of it from various sources. the books themselves were no longer in existence, remembered only in memorized ritual chants, the possession of which meant wealth. asir was sick. pain and slow loss of blood made him weak, and his vision blurred. he failed to see her coming until he heard her feet rustling in the dry grass. "mara----" she smirked and spat contemptuously at the foot of the post. the daughter of a senior kinsman, she was a tall, slender girl with an arrogant strut and mocking eyes. she stood for a moment with folded arms, eyeing him with amusement. then, slowly, one eye closed in a solemn wink. she turned her back on him and spoke to the executioner. "may i taunt the prisoner, slubil?" she asked. "it is forbidden to speak to the thief," growled the knifeman. "is he ready to beg for justice, slubil?" the knifeman grinned and looked at asir. "are you ready for me yet, thief?" asir hissed an insult. the girl had betrayed him. "evidently a coward," she said. "perhaps he means to hang four days." "let him then." "no--i think that i should _like_ to see him beg." she gave asir a long searching glance, then turned to walk away. the thief cursed her quietly and followed her with his eyes. a dozen steps away she stopped again, looked back over her shoulder, and repeated the slow wink. then she marched on toward her father's house. the wink made his scalp crawl for a moment, but then.... _suppose she hasn't betrayed me?_ suppose she had wheedled the sentence out of tokra, and knew what his punishment would be. _i think that i should like to see him beg._ but on the other hand, the fickle she-devil might be tricking him into asking for a sentence that she _knew_ would be death or dismemberment--just to amuse herself. he cursed inwardly and trembled as he peered at the bored executioner. he licked his lips and fought against dizzyness as he groped for words. slubil heard him muttering and looked up. "are you ready for me yet?" * * * * * asir closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "give it to me!" he yelped suddenly, and braced himself against the post. why not? the short time gained couldn't be classed as living. have it done with. eternity would be sweet in comparison to this ignomy. a knife could be a blessing. he heard the executioner chuckle and stand up. he heard the man's footsteps approaching slowly, and the singing hiss of the knife as slubil swung it in quick arcs. the executioner moved about him slowly, teasing him with the whistle of steel fanning the air about him. he was expected to beg. slubil occasionally laid the knife against his skin and took it away again. then asir heard the rustle of the executioner's cloak as his arm went back. asir opened his eyes. the executioner grinned as he held the blade high--aimed at asir's head! the girl had tricked him. he groaned and closed his eyes again, muttering a half-forgotten prayer. the stroke fell--and the blade chopped into the post above his head. asir fainted. when he awoke he lay in a crumpled heap on the ground. the executioner rolled him over with his foot. "in view of your extreme youth, thief," the knifeman growled, "the council has ordered you perpetually banished. the sun is setting. let dawn find you in the hills. if you return to the plains, you will be chained to a wild hüffen and dragged to death." panting weakly, asir groped at his forehead, and found a fresh wound, raw and rubbed with rust to make a scar. slubil had marked him as an outcast. but except for the nail-holes through his forearms, he was still in one piece. his hands were numb, and he could scarcely move his fingers. slubil had bound the spike-wounds, but the bandages were bloody and leaking. when the knifeman had gone, asir climbed weakly to his feet. several of the townspeople stood nearby, snickering at him. he ignored their catcalls and staggered toward the outskirts of the village, ten minutes away. he had to speak to mara, and to her father if the crusty oldster would listen. his thief's knowledge weighed upon him and brought desperate fear. darkness had fallen by the time he came to welkir's house. the people spat at him in the streets, and some of them flung handfuls of loose dirt after him as he passed. a light flickered feebly through welkir's door. asir rattled it and waited. welkir came with a lamp. he set the lamp on the floor and stood with feet spread apart, arms folded, glaring haughtily at the thief. his face was stiff as weathered stone. he said nothing, but only stared contemptuously. asir bowed his head. "i have come to plead with you, senior kinsman." welkir snorted disgust. "against the mercy we have shown you?" he looked up quickly, shaking his head. "no! for that i am grateful." "what then?" "as a thief, i acquired much wisdom. i know that the world is dying, and the air is boiling out of it into the sky. i wish to be heard by the council. we must study the words of the ancients and perform their magic, lest our children's children be born to strangle in a dead world." welkir snorted again. he picked up the lamp. "he who listens to a thief's wisdom is cursed. he who acts upon it is doubly cursed and a party to the crime." "the vaults," asir insisted. "the key to the blaze of the winds is in the vaults. the god roggins tells us in the words--" "stop! i will not hear!" "very well, but the blaze can be rekindled, and the air renewed. the vaults--" he stammered and shook his head. "the council must hear me." "the council will hear nothing, and you shall be gone before dawn. and the vaults are guarded by the sleeper called big joe. to enter is to die. now go away." * * * * * welkir stepped back and slammed the door. asir sagged in defeat. he sank down on the doorstep to rest a moment. the night was black, except for lamp-flickers from an occasional window. "ssssst!" a sound from the shadows. he looked around quickly, searching for the source. "ssssst! asir!" it was the girl mara, welkir's daughter. she had slipped out the back of the house and was peering at him around the corner. he arose quietly and went to her. "what did slubil do to you?" she whispered. asir gasped and caught her shoulders angrily. "don't you _know_?" "no! stop! you're hurting me. tokra wouldn't tell me. i made love to him, but he wouldn't tell." he released her with an angry curse. "you _had_ to take it sometime," she hissed. "i knew if you waited you would be too weak from hanging to even run away." he called her a foul name. "ingrate!" she snapped. "and i bought you a hüffen!" "you _what_?" "tokra gave me a ritual phrase and i bought you a hüffen with it. you can't _walk_ to the hills, you know." asir burned with dull rage. "you slept with tokra!" he snapped. "you're jealous!" she tittered. "how can i be jealous! i hate the sight of you!" "very well then, i'll keep the hüffen." "_do!_" he growled. "i won't need it, since i'm not going to the hills!" she gasped. "you've got to go, you fool! they'll kill you!" he turned away, feeling sick. she caught at his arm and tried to pull him back. "asir! take the hüffen and _go_!" "i'll go," he growled. "but not to the hills. i'm going out to the vault." he stalked away, but she trotted along beside him, trying to tug him back. "fool! the vaults are sacred! the priests guard the entrance, and the sleeper guards the inner door. they'll kill you if you try it, and if you linger, the council will kill you tomorrow." "let them!" he snarled. "i am no sniveling townsman! i am of the hills, and my father was a renegade. your council had no right to judge me. now _i_ shall judge _them_." the words were spoken hotly, and he realized their folly. he expected a scornful rebuke from mara, but she hung onto his arm and pleaded with him. he had dragged her a dozen doorways from the house of her father. her voice had lost its arrogance and became pleading. "please, asir! go away. listen! i will even go with you--if you want me." he laughed harshly. "tokra's leavings." she slapped him hard across the mouth. "tokra is an impotent old dodderer. he can scarcely move for arthritis. you're an idiot! i sat on his lap and kissed his bald pate for you." "then why did he give you a ritual phrase?" he asked stiffly. "because he likes me." "you lie." he stalked angrily on. "very well! go to the vaults. i'll tell my father, and they'll hunt you down before you get there." she released his arm and stopped. asir hesitated. she meant it. he came back to her slowly, then slipped his swollen hands to her throat. she did not back away. "why don't i just choke you and leave you lying here?" he hissed. her face was only a shadow in darkness, but he could see her cool smirk. "because you love me, asir of franic." he dropped his hands and grunted a low curse. she laughed low and took his arm. "come on. we'll go get the hüffen," she said. _why not?_ he thought. _take her hüffen, and take her too._ he could dump her a few miles from the village, then circle back to the vaults. she leaned against him as they moved back toward her father's house, then skirted it and stole back to the field behind the row of dwellings. phobos hung low in the west, its tiny disk lending only a faint glow to the darkness. he heard the hüffen's breathing as they approached a hulking shadow in the gloom. its great wings snaked out slowly as it sensed their approach, and it made a low piping sound. a native martian species, it bore no resemblance to the beasts that the ancients had brought with them from the sky. its back was covered with a thin shell like a beetle's, but its belly was porous and soft. it digested food by sitting on it, and absorbing it. the wings were bony--parchment stretched across a fragile frame. it was headless, and lacked a centralized brain, the nervous functions being distributed. * * * * * the great creature made no protest as they climbed up the broad flat back and strapped themselves down with the belts that had been threaded through holes cut in the hüffen's thin, tough shell. it's lungs slowly gathered a tremendous breath of air, causing the riders to rise up as the huge air-sacs became distended. the girth of an inflated hüffen was nearly four times as great as when deflated. when the air was gathered, the creature began to shrink again as its muscles tightened, compressing the breath until a faint leakage-hiss came from behind. it waited, wings taut. the girl tugged at a ring set through the flesh of its flank. there was a blast of sound and a jerk. nature's experiment in jet propulsion soared ahead and turned into the wind. its first breath exhausted, it gathered another and blew itself ahead again. the ride was jerky. each tailward belch was a rough lurch. they let the hüffen choose its own heading as it gained altitude. then mara tugged at the wing-straps, and the creature wheeled to soar toward the dark hills in the distance. asir sat behind her, a sardonic smirk on his face, as the wind whipped about them. he waited until they had flown beyond screaming distance of the village. then he took her shoulders lightly in his hands. mistaking it for affection, she leaned back against him easily and rested her dark head on his shoulder. he kissed her--while his hand felt gingerly for the knife at her belt. his fingers were numb, but he managed to clutch it, and press the blade lightly against her throat. she gasped. with his other hand, he caught her hair. "now guide the hüffen down!" he ordered. "_asir!_" "quickly!" he barked. "what are you going to do?" "leave you here and circle back to the vaults." "no! not out here at night!" he hesitated. there were slinking prowlers on the cimmerian plain, beasts who would regard the marooned daughter of welkir a delicious bit of good fortune, a gustatory delight of a sort they seldom were able to enjoy. even above the moan of the wind, he could hear an occasional howl-cry from the fanged welcoming committee that waited for its dinner beneath them. "very well," he growled reluctantly. "turn toward the vaults. but one scream and i'll slice you." he took the blade from her throat but kept the point touching her back. "please, asir, _no_!" she pleaded. "let me go on to the hills. why do you want to go to the vaults? because of tokra?" he gouged her with the point until she yelped. "tokra be damned, and you with him!" he snarled. "turn back." "_why?_" "i'm going down to kindle the blaze of the winds." "you're _mad_! the spirits of the ancients live in the vaults." "i am going to kindle the blaze of the winds," he insisted stubbornly. "now either turn back, or go down and i'll turn back alone." * * * * * after a hesitant moment, she tugged at a wing-rein and the hüffen banked majestically. they flew a mile to the south of the village, then beyond it toward the cloister where the priests of big joe guarded the entrance to the vaults. the cloister was marked by a patch of faint light on the ground ahead. "circle around it once," he ordered. "you can't get in. they'll kill you." he doubted it. no one ever tried to enter, except the priests who carried small animals down as sacrifices to the great sleeper. since no outsider ever dared go near the shaft, the guards expected no one. he doubted that they would be alert. the cloister was a hollow square with a small stone tower rising in the center of the courtyard. the tower contained the entrance to the shaft. in the dim light of phobos, assisted by yellow flickers from the cloister windows, he peered at the courtyard as they circled closer. it seemed to be empty. "land beside the tower!" he ordered. "asir--please--" "do it!" the hüffen plunged rapidly, soared across the outer walls, and burst into the courtyard. it landed with a rough jolt and began squeaking plaintively. "hurry!" he hissed. "get your straps off and let's go." "i'm not going." a prick of the knife point changed her mind. they slid quickly to the ground, and asir kicked the hüffen in the flanks. the beast sucked in air and burst aloft. startled faces were trying to peer through the lighted cloister windows into the courtyard. someone cried a challenge. asir darted to the door of the tower and dragged it open. now forced to share the danger, the girl came with him without urging. they stepped into a stair-landing. a candle flickered from a wall bracket. a guard, sitting on the floor beneath the candle, glanced up in complete surprise. then he reached for a short barbed pike. asir kicked him hard in the temple, then rolled his limp form outside. men with torches were running across the courtyard. he slammed the heavy metal door and bolted it. fists began beating on the door. they paused for a moment to rest, and mara stared at him in fright. he expected her to burst into angry speech, but she only leaned against the wall and panted. the dark mouth of the stairway yawned at them--a stone throat that led into the bowels of mars and the realm of the monster, big joe. he glanced at mara thoughtfully, and felt sorry for her. "i can leave you here," he offered, "but i'll have to tie you." she moistened her lips, glanced first at the stairs, then at the door where the guards were raising a frantic howl. she shook her head. "i'll go with you." "the priests won't bother you, if they see that you were a prisoner." "i'll go with you." he was pleased, but angry with himself for the pleasure. an arrogant, spiteful, conniving wench, he told himself. she'd lied about tokra. he grunted gruffly, seized the candle, and started down the stairs. when she started after him, he stiffened and glanced back, remembering the barbed pike. as he had suspected, she had picked it up. the point was a foot from the small of his back. they stared at each other, and she wore her self-assured smirk. "here," she said, and handed it casually. "you might need this." * * * * * they stared at each other again, but it was different this time. bewildered, he shook his head and resumed the descent toward the vaults. the guards were battering at the door behind them. the stairwell was damp and cold. blackness folded about them like a shroud. they moved in silence, and after five thousand steps, asir stopped counting. somewhere in the depths, big joe slept his restless sleep. asir wondered grimly how long it would take the guards to tear down the metal door. somehow they had to get past big joe before the guards came thundering after them. there was a way to get around the monster: of that he was certain. a series of twenty-four numbers was involved, and he had memorized them with a stolen bit of ritual. how to use them was a different matter. he imagined vaguely that one must call them out in a loud voice before the inner entrance. the girl walked beside him now, and he could feel her shivering. his eyes were quick and nervous as he scanned each pool of darkness, each nook and cranny along the stairway wall. the well was silent except for the mutter of their footsteps, and the gloom was full of musty odors. the candle afforded little light. "i told you the truth about tokra," she blurted suddenly. asir glowered straight ahead and said nothing, embarrassed by his previous jealousy. they moved on in silence. suddenly she stopped. "look," she hissed, pointing down ahead. he shielded the candle with his hand and peered downward toward a small square of dim light. "the bottom of the stairs," he muttered. the light seemed faint and diffuse, with a slight greenish cast. asir blew out the candle, and the girl quickly protested. "how will we see to climb again?" he laughed humorlessly. "what makes you think we will?" she moaned and clutched at his arm, but came with him as he descended slowly toward the light. the stairway opened into a long corridor whose ceiling was faintly luminous. white-faced and frightened, they paused on the bottom step and looked down the corridor. mara gasped and covered her eyes. "big joe!" she whispered in awe. he stared through the stairwell door and down the corridor through another door into a large room. big joe sat in the center of the room, sleeping his sleep of ages amid a heap of broken and whitening bones. a creature of metal, twice the height of asir, he had obviously been designed to kill. tri-fingered hands with gleaming talons, and a monstrous head shaped like a marswolf, with long silver fangs. why should a metal-creature have fangs, unless he had been built to kill? the behemoth slept in a crouch, waiting for the intruders. he tugged the girl through the stairwell door. a voice droned out of nowhere: "_if you have come to plunder, go back!_" he stiffened, looking around. the girl whimpered. "stay here by the stairs," he told her, and pushed her firmly back through the door. asir started slowly toward the room where big joe waited. beyond the room he could see another door, and the monster's job was apparently to keep intruders back from the inner vaults where, according to the ritual chants, the blaze of the winds could be kindled. halfway along the corridor, the voice called out again, beginning a kind of sing-song chant: "_big joe will kill you, big joe will kill you, big joe will kill you----_" he turned slowly, searching for the speaker. but the voice seemed to come from a black disk on the wall. the talking-machines perhaps, as mentioned somewhere in the ritual. a few paces from the entrance to the room, the voice fell silent. he stopped at the door, staring in at the monster. then he took a deep breath and began chanting the twenty-four numbers in a loud but quavering voice. big joe remained in his motionless crouch. nothing happened. he stepped through the doorway. * * * * * big joe emitted a deafening roar, straightened with a metallic groan, and lumbered toward him, taloned hands extended and eyes blazing furiously. asir shrieked and ran for his life. then he saw mara lying sprawled in the stairway entrance. she had fainted. blocking an impulse to leap over her and flee alone, he stopped to lift her. but suddenly he realized that there was no pursuit. he looked back. big joe had returned to his former position, and he appeared to be asleep again. puzzled, asir stepped back into the corridor. "_if you have come to plunder, go back!_" he moved gingerly ahead again. "_big joe will kill you, big joe will kill you, big joe will kill----_" he recovered the barbed pike from the floor and stole into the zone of silence. this time he stopped to look around. slowly he reached the pike-staff through the doorway. nothing happened. he stepped closer and waved it around inside. big joe remained motionless. then he dropped the point of the pike to the floor. the monster bellowed and started to rise. asir leaped back, scalp crawling. but big joe settled back in his crouch. fighting a desire to flee, asir reached the pike through the door and rapped it on the floor again. this time nothing happened. he glanced down. the pike's point rested in the center of a gray floor-tile, just to the left of the entrance. the floor was a checkerboard pattern of gray and white. he tapped another gray square, and this time the monster started out of his drowse again. after a moment's thought, he began touching each tile within reach of the door. most of them brought a response from big joe. he found four that did not. he knelt down before the door to peer at them closely. the first was unmarked. the second bore a dot in the center. the third bore two, and the fourth three--in order of their distance from the door. he stood up and stepped inside again, standing on the first tile. big joe remained motionless. he stepped diagonally left to the second--straight ahead to the third--then diagonally right to the fourth. he stood there for a moment, trembling and staring at the sleeper. he was four feet past the door! having assured himself that the monster was still asleep, he crouched to peer at the next tiles. he stared for a long time, but found no similar markings. were the dots coincidence? he reached out with the pike, then drew it back. he was too close to the sleeper to risk a mistake. he stood up and looked around carefully, noting each detail of the room--and of the floor in particular. he counted the rows and columns of tiles--twenty-four each way. twenty-four--and there were twenty-four numbers in the series that was somehow connected with safe passage through the room. he frowned and muttered through the series to himself-- , , , , , , , , .... the first four numbers-- , , , . and the tiles--the first with no dots, the second with one, the third with two, the fourth with three. but the four tiles were not in a straight line, and there were no marked ones beyond the fourth. he backed out of the room and studied them from the end of the corridor again. mara had come dizzily awake and was calling for him weakly. he replied reassuringly and turned to his task again. "first tile, then diagonally left, then straight, then diagonally right--" , , , , . a hunch came. he advanced as far as the second tile, then reached as far ahead as he could and touched the square diagonally right from the fourth one. big joe remained motionless but began to speak. his scalp bristled at the growling voice. "_if the intruder makes an error, big joe will kill._" standing tense, ready to leap back to the corridor, he touched the square again. the motionless behemoth repeated the grim warning. asir tried to reach the square diagonally right from the fifth, but could not without stepping up to the third. taking a deep breath, he stepped up and extended the pike cautiously, keeping his eyes on big joe. the pike rapped the floor. "_if the intruder makes an error, big joe will kill._" but the huge figure remained in his place. * * * * * starting from the first square, the path went left, straight, right, right, right. and after zero, the numbers went , , , , . apparently he had found the key. one meant a square to the southeast; two meant south; and three southwest. shivering, he moved up to the fifth square upon which the monster growled his first warning. he looked back at the door, then at big joe. the taloned hands could grab him before he could dive back into the corridor. he hesitated. he could either turn back now, or gamble his life on the accuracy of the tentative belief. the girl was calling to him again. "come to the end of the corridor!" he replied. she came hurriedly, to his surprise. "_no!_" he bellowed. "stay back of the entrance! not on the tile! _no!_" slowly she withdrew the foot that hung poised over a trigger-tile. "you can't come in unless you know how," he gasped. she blinked at him and glanced nervously back over her shoulder. "but i hear them. they're coming down the stairs." asir cursed softly. now he _had_ to go ahead. "wait just a minute," he said. "then i'll show you how to come through." he advanced to the last tile that he had tested and stopped. the next two numbers were two--for straight ahead. and they would take him within easy reach of the long taloned arms of the murderous sentinel. he glanced around in fright at the crushed bones scattered across the floor. some were human. others were animal-sacrifices tossed in by the priests. he had tested only one two--back near the door. if he made a mistake, he would never escape; no need bothering with the pike. he stepped to the next tile and closed his eyes. "_if the intruder makes an error, big joe will kill._" he opened his eyes again and heaved a breath of relief. "asir! they're getting closer! i can hear them!" he listened for a moment. a faint murmur of angry voices in the distance. "all right," he said calmly. "step only on the tiles i tell you. see the gray one at the left of the door?" she pointed. "this one?" "yes, step on it." the girl moved up and stared fearfully at the monstrous sentinel. he guided her up toward him. "diagonally left--one ahead--diagonally right. now don't be frightened when he speaks--" the girl came on until she stood one square behind him. her quick frightened breathing blended with the growing sounds of shouting from the stairway. he glanced up at big joe, noticing for the first time that the steel jaws were stained with a red-brown crust. he shuddered. the grim chess-game continued a cautious step at a time, with the girl following one square behind him. what if she fainted again? and fell across a triggered tile? they passed within a foot of big joe's arm. looking up, he saw the monster's eyes move--following them, scrutinizing them as they passed. he froze. "we want no plunder," he said to the machine. the gaze was steady and unwinking. "the air is leaking away from the world." the monster remained silent. "hurry!" whimpered the girl. their pursuers were gaining rapidly and they had crossed only half the distance to the opposing doorway. progress was slower now, for asir needed occasionally to repeat through the whole series of numbers, looking back to count squares and make certain that the next step was not a fatal one. "they won't dare to come in after us," he said hopefully. "and if they do?" "_if the intruder makes an error, big joe will kill_," announced the machine as asir took another step. "eight squares to go!" he muttered, and stopped to count again. "asir! they're in the corridor!" hearing the rumble of voices, he looked back to see blue-robed men spilling out of the stairway and milling down the corridor toward the room. but halfway down the hall, the priests paused--seeing the unbelievable: two intruders walking safely past their devil-god. they growled excitedly among themselves. asir took another step. again the machine voiced the monotonous warning. "_if the intruder makes an error...._" * * * * * hearing their deity speak, the priests of big joe babbled wildly and withdrew a little. but one, more impulsive than the rest, began shrieking. "_kill the intruders! cut them down with your spears!_" asir glanced back to see two of them racing toward the room, lances cocked for the throw. if a spear struck a trigger-tile---- "stop!" he bellowed, facing around. the two priests paused. wondering if it would result in his sudden death, he rested a hand lightly against the huge steel arm of the robot, then leaned against it. the huge eyes were staring down at him, but big joe did not move. the spearmen stood frozen, gaping at the thief's familiarity with the horrendous hulk. then, slowly they backed away. continuing his bluff, he looked up at big joe and spoke in a loud voice. "if they throw their spears or try to enter, kill them." he turned his back on the throng in the hall and continued the cautious advance. five to go, four, three, two---- he paused to stare into the room beyond. gleaming machinery--all silent--and great panels, covered with a multitude of white circles and dials. his heart sank. if here lay the magic that controlled the blaze of the great wind, he could never hope to rekindle it. he stepped through the doorway, and the girl followed. immediately the robot spoke like low thunder. "_the identity of the two technologists is recognized. hereafter they may pass with impunity. big joe is charged to ask the following: why do the technologists come, when it is not yet time?_" staring back, asir saw that the robot's head had turned so that he was looking directly back at the thief and the girl. asir also saw that someone had approached the door again. not priests, but townspeople. he stared, recognizing the chief commoner, and the girl's father welkir, three other senior kinsmen, and--slubil, the executioner who had nailed him to the post. "father! stay back." welkir remained silent, glaring at them. he turned and whispered to the chief commoner. the chief commoner whispered to slubil. the executioner nodded grimly and took a short-axe from his belt thong. he stepped through the entrance, his left foot striking the zero-tile. he peered at big joe and saw that the monster remained motionless. he grinned at the ones behind him, then snarled in asir's direction. "your sentence has been changed, thief." "don't try to cross, slubil!" asir barked. slubil spat, brandished the axe, and stalked forward. big joe came up like a resurrection of fury, and his bellow was explosive in the vaults. slubil froze, then stupidly drew back his axe. asir gasped as the talons closed. he turned away quickly. slubil's scream was cut off abruptly by a ripping sound, then a series of dull cracks and snaps. the girl shrieked and closed her eyes. there were two distinct thuds as big joe tossed slubil aside. the priests and the townspeople--all except welkir--had fled from the corridor and up the stairway. welkir was on his knees, his hands covering his face. "mara!" he moaned. "my daughter." "go back, father," she called. dazed, the old man picked himself up weakly and staggered down the corridor toward the stairway. when he passed the place of the first warning voice, the robot moved again--arose slowly and turned toward asir and mara who backed quickly away, deeper into the room of strange machines. big joe came lumbering slowly after them. asir looked around for a place to flee, but the monster stopped in the doorway. he spoke again, a mechanical drone like memorised ritual. "_big joe is charged with announcing his function for the intelligence of the technologists. his primary function is to prevent the entrance of possibly destructive organisms into the vaults containing the control equipment for the fusion reaction which must periodically renew atmospheric oxygen. his secondary function is to direct the technologists to records containing such information as they may need. his tertiary function is to carry out simple directions given by the technologists if such directions are possible to his limited design._" asir stared at the lumbering creature and realized for the first time that it was not alive, but only a machine built by the ancients to perform specific tasks. despite the fresh redness about his hands and jaws, big joe was no more guilty of slubil's death than a grinding mill would be if the squat sadist had climbed into it while the marsoxen were yoked to the crushing roller. perhaps the ancients had been unnecessarily brutal in building such a guard--but at least they had built him to _look_ like a destroyer, and to give ample warning to the intruder. glancing around at the machinery, he vaguely understood the reason for big joe. such metals as these would mean riches for swordmakers and smiths and plunderers of all kinds. * * * * * asir straightened his shoulders and addressed the machine. "teach us how to kindle the blaze of the great wind." "_teaching is not within the designed functions of big joe. i am charged to say: the renewal reaction should not be begun before the marsyear , , as the builders reckoned time._" asir frowned. the years were no longer numbered, but only named in honor of the chief commoners who ruled the villages. "how long until the year , ?" he asked. big joe clucked like an adding machine. "twelve marsyears, technologist." asir stared at the complicated machinery. could they learn to operate it in twelve years? it seemed impossible. "how can we begin to learn?" he asked the robot. "_this is an instruction room, where you may examine records. the control mechanisms are installed in the deepest vault._" asir frowned and walked to the far end of the hall where another door opened into--_another anteroom, with another big joe_! as he approached the second robot spoke: "_if the intruder has not acquired the proper knowledge, big oswald will kill._" thunderstruck, he leaped back from the entrance and swayed heavily against an instrument panel. the panel lit up and a polite recorded voice began reading something about "president snell's role in the eighth world war". he lurched away from the panel and stumbled back toward mara who sat glumly on the foundation slab of a weighty machine. "what are you laughing about?" she muttered. "we're still in the first grade!" he groaned, envisioning a sequence of rooms. "we'll have to learn the magic of the ancients before we pass to the next." "the ancients weren't so great," she grumbled. "look at the mural on the wall." asir looked, and saw only a strange design of circles about a bright splash of yellow that might have been the sun. "what about it?" he asked. "my father taught me about the planets," she said. "that is supposed to be the way they go around the sun." "what's wrong with it?" "one planet too many," she said. "everyone knows that there is only an asteroid belt between mars and venus. the picture shows a planet there." asir shrugged indifferently, being interested only in the machinery. "can't you allow them one small mistake?" "i suppose." she paused, gazing miserably in the direction in which her father had gone. "what do we do now?" asir considered it for a long time. then he spoke to big joe. "you will come with us to the village." the machine was silent for a moment, then: "_there is an apparent contradiction between primary and tertiary functions. request priority decision by technologist._" asir failed to understand. he repeated his request. the robot turned slowly and stepped through the doorway. he waited. asir grinned. "let's go back up," he said to the girl. she arose eagerly. they crossed the anteroom to the corridor and began the long climb toward the surface, with big joe lumbering along behind. "what about your banishment, asir?" she asked gravely. "wait and see." he envisioned the pandemonium that would reign when girl, man, and robot marched through the village to the council house, and he chuckled. "i think that i shall be the next chief commoner," he said. "and my councilmen will all be thieves." "thieves!" she gasped. "why?" "thieves who are not afraid to steal the knowledge of the gods--and become technologists, to kindle the blaze of the winds." "what is a 'technologist', asir?" she asked worshipfully. asir glowered at himself for blundering with words he did not understand, but could not admit ignorance to mara who clung tightly to his arm. "i think," he said, "that a technologist is a thief who tells the gods what to do." "kiss me, technologist," she told him in a small voice. big joe clanked to a stop to wait for them to move on. he waited a long time. the jewel of bas a weird novel of fascinating power by leigh brackett there was a boy-god, sleeping through eternity. and there were his "stone of life" and the androids he had created of matter and energy. and there was a world that was to die from the machinations of the androids' diabolic minds. there were mouse and ciaran to stem the death-flood--two mortals fighting the immortals' plans for conquest. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories spring . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] mouse stirred the stew in the small iron pot. there wasn't much of it. she sniffed and said: "you could have stolen a bigger joint. we'll go hungry before the next town." "uh huh," ciaran grunted lazily. anger began to curl in mouse's eyes. "i suppose it's all right with you if we run out of food," she said sullenly. ciaran leaned back comfortably against a moss-grown boulder and watched her with lazy grey eyes. he liked watching mouse. she was a head shorter than he, which made her very short indeed, and as thin as a young girl. her hair was black and wild, as though only wind ever combed it. her eyes were black, too, and very bright. there was a small red thief's brand between them. she wore a ragged crimson tunic, and her bare arms and legs were as brown as his own. ciaran grinned. his lip was scarred, and there was a tooth missing behind it. he said, "it's just as well. i don't want you getting fat and lazy." mouse, who was sensitive about her thinness, said something pungent and threw the wooden plate at him. ciaran drew his shaggy head aside enough to let it by and then relaxed, stroking the harp on his bare brown knees. it began to purr softly. ciaran felt good. the heat of the sunballs that floated always, lazy in a reddish sky, made him pleasantly sleepy. and after the clamor and crush of the market squares in the border towns, the huge high silence of the place was wonderful. he and mouse were camped on a tongue of land that licked out from the phrygian hills down into the coastal plains of atlantea. a short cut, but only gypsies like themselves ever took it. to ciaran's left, far below, the sea spread sullen and burning, cloaked in a reddish fog. to his right, also far below, were the forbidden plains. flat, desolate, and barren, reaching away and away to the up-curving rim of the world, where ciaran's sharp eyes could just make out a glint of gold; a mammoth peak reaching for the sky. mouse said suddenly, "is that it, kiri? ben beatha, the mountain of life." ciaran struck a shivering chord from the harp. "that's it." "let's eat," said mouse. "scared?" "maybe you want me to go back! maybe you think a branded thief isn't good enough for you! well i can't help where i was born or what my parents were--and you'd have a brand on your ugly face too, if you hadn't just been lucky!" she threw the ladle. this time her aim was better and ciaran didn't duck quite in time. it clipped his ear. he sprang up, looking murderous, and started to heave it back at her. and then, suddenly, mouse was crying, stamping up and down and blinking tears out of her eyes. "all right, i'm scared! i've never been out of a city before, and besides...." she looked out over the silent plain, to the distant glint of ben beatha. "besides," she whispered, "i keep thinking of the stories they used to tell--about bas the immortal, and his androids, and the grey beasts that served them. and about the stone of destiny." * * * * * ciaran made a contemptuous mouth. "legends. old wive's tales. songs to give babies a pleasant shiver." a small glint of avarice came into his grey eyes. "but the stone of destiny--it's a nice story, that one. a jewel of such power that owning it gives a man rule over the whole world...." he squinted out across the barren plain. "some day," he said, softly, "maybe i'll see if that one's true." "oh, kiri." mouse came and caught his wrists in her small strong hands. "you wouldn't. it's forbidden--and no one that's gone into the forbidden plains has ever come back." "there's always a first time." he grinned. "but i'm not going now, mousie. i'm too hungry." she picked up the plate silently and ladled stew into it and set it down. ciaran laid his harp down and stretched--a tough, wiry little man with legs slightly bandy and a good-natured hard face. he wore a yellow tunic even more ragged than mouse's. they sat down. ciaran ate noisily with his fingers. mouse fished out a hunk of meat and nibbled it moodily. a breeze came up, pushing the sunballs around a little and bringing tatters of red fog in off the sea. after a while mouse said: "did you hear any of the talk in the market squares, kiri?" he shrugged. "they gabble. i don't waste my time with it." "all along the border countries they were saying the same thing. people who live or work along the edge of the forbidden plains have disappeared. whole towns of them, sometimes." "one man falls into a beast-pit," said ciaran impatiently, "and in two weeks of gossip the whole country has vanished. forget it." "but it's happened before, kiri. a long time ago...." "a long time ago some wild tribe living on the plains came in and got tough, and that's that!" ciaran wiped his hands on the grass and said angrily, "if you're going to nag all the time about being scared...." he caught the plate out of her hands just in time. she was breathing hard, glaring at him. she looked like her name, and cute as hell. ciaran laughed. "come here, you." she came, sulkily. he pulled her down beside him and kissed her and took the harp on his knees. mouse put her head on his shoulder. ciaran was suddenly very happy. * * * * * he began to draw music out of the harp. there was a lot of distance around him, and he tried to fill it up with music, a fine free spate of it out of the thrumming strings. then he sang. he had a beautiful voice, clear and true as a new blade, but soft. it was a simple tune, about two people in love. ciaran liked it. after a while mouse reached up and drew his head around, stroking the scar on his lip so he had to stop singing. she wasn't glaring any longer. ciaran bent his head. his eyes were closed. but he felt her body stiffen against him, and her lips broke away from his with a little gasping cry. "kiri--kiri, look!" he jerked his head back, angry and startled. then the anger faded. there was a different quality to the light. the warm, friendly, reddish sunlight that never dimmed or faded. there was a shadow spreading out in the sky over ben beatha. it grew and widened, and the sunballs went out, one by one, and darkness came toward them over the forbidden plains. they crouched, clinging together, not speaking, not breathing. an uneasy breeze sighed over them, moving out. then, after a long time, the sunballs sparked and burned again, and the shadow was gone. ciaran dragged down an unsteady breath. he was sweating, but where his hands and mouse's touched, locked together, they were cold as death. "what was it, kiri?" "i don't know." he got up, slinging the harp across his back without thinking about it. he felt naked suddenly, up there on the high ridge. stripped and unsafe. he pulled mouse to her feet. neither of them spoke again. their eyes had a queer stunned look. this time it was ciaran that stopped, with the stewpot in his hands, looking at something behind mouse. he dropped it and jumped in front of her, pulling the wicked knife he carried from his girdle. the last thing he heard was her wild scream. but he had time enough to see. to see the creatures climbing up over the crest of the ridge beside them, fast and silent and grinning, to ring them in with wands tipped at the point with opals like tiny sunballs. they were no taller than mouse, but thick and muscular, built like men. grey animal fur grew on them like the body-hair of a hairy man, lengthening into a coarse mane over the skull. where the skin showed it was grey and wrinkled and tough. their faces were flat, with black animal nose-buttons. they had sharp teeth, grey with a bright, healthy greyness. their eyes were blood-pink, without whites or visible pupils. the eyes were the worst. ciaran yelled and slashed out with his knife. one of the grey brutes danced in on lithe, quick feet and touched him on the neck with its jeweled wand. fire exploded in ciaran's head, and then there was darkness, pierced by mouse's scream. as he slid down into it he thought: "they're kalds. the beasts of legend that served bas the immortal and his androids. kalds, that guarded the forbidden plains from man!" ciaran came to, on his feet and walking. from the way he felt he'd been walking a long time, but his memory was vague and confused. he had been relieved of his knife, but his harp was still with him. mouse walked beside him. her black hair hung over her face and her eyes looked out from behind it, sullen and defiant. the grey beasts walked in a rough circle around them, holding their wands ready. from the way they grinned, ciaran had an idea they hoped they'd have an excuse for using them. with a definitely uneasy shock, ciaran realized that they were far out in the barren waste of the forbidden plains. he got a little closer to mouse. "hello." she looked at him. "you and your short cuts! so all that talk in the border towns was just gabble, huh?" "so it's my fault! if that isn't just like a woman...." ciaran made an impatient gesture. "all right, all right! that doesn't matter now. what does matter is where are we going and why?" "how should i--wait a minute. we're stopping." the kalds warned them with their wands to stand. one of the grey brutes seemed to be listening to something that ciaran couldn't hear. presently it gestured and the party started off again in a slightly different direction. after a minute or two a gully appeared out of nowhere at their feet. from up on the ridge the forbidden plains had looked perfectly flat, but the gully was fairly wide and cut in clean like a sword gash, hidden by a slight roll of the land. they scrambled down the steep bank and went along the bottom. again with an uneasy qualm, ciaran realized they were headed in the general direction of ben beatha. the old legends had been gradually lost in the stream of time, except to people who cared for such things, or made a living from singing about them, like ciaran. but in spite of that ben beatha was tabu. the chief reason was physical. the plains, still called forbidden, ringed the mountain like a protective wall, and it was an indisputable fact whether you liked it or not that people who went out onto them didn't come back. hunger, thirst, wild beasts, or devils--they didn't come back. that discouraged a lot of traveling. besides, the only reason for attempting to reach ben beatha was the legend of the stone of destiny, and people had long ago lost faith in that. nobody had seen it. nobody had seen bas the immortal who was its god and guardian, nor the androids that were his servants, nor the kalds that were slaves to both of them. long, long ago people were supposed to have seen them. in the beginning, according to the legends, bas the immortal had lived in a distant place--a green world where there was only one huge sunball that rose and set regularly, where the sky was sometimes blue and sometimes black and silver, and where the horizon curved down. the manifest idiocy of all that still tickled people so they liked to hear songs about it. somewhere on that green world, somehow, bas had acquired the flaming stone that gave him the power of life and death and destiny. there were a lot of conflicting and confused stories about trouble between bas and the inhabitants of the funny world with the sky that changed like a woman's fancy. eventually he was supposed to have gathered up a lot of these inhabitants through the power of the stone and transported them somehow across a great distance to the world where they now lived. * * * * * ciaran had found that children loved these yarns particularly. their imaginations were still elastic enough not to see the ridiculous side. he always gave the distance cycle a lot of schmaltz. so after bas the immortal and his stone of destiny had got all these people settled in a new world, bas created his androids, khafre and steud, and brought the kalds from somewhere out in that vague distance; another world, perhaps. and there were wars and revolts and raiding parties, and bitter struggles between bas and the androids and the humans for power, with bas always winning because of the stone. there was a bottomless well of material there for ballads. ciaran used it frequently. but the one legend that had always maintained its original shape under the battering of generations was the one about ben beatha, the mountain of life, being the dwelling place of bas the immortal and his androids and the kalds. and somewhere under ben beatha was the stone, whose possession could give a man life eternal and the powers of whatever god you chose to believe in. ciaran had toyed with that one in spite of his skepticism. now it looked as though he was going to see for himself. he looked at the kalds, the creatures who didn't exist, and found his skepticism shaken. shaken so hard he felt sick with it, like a man waking up to find a nightmare beside him in the flesh, booting his guts in. if the kalds were real, the androids were real. from the androids you went to bas, and from bas to the stone of destiny. ciaran began to sweat with sheer excitement. mouse jerked her head up suddenly. "kiri--listen!" from somewhere up ahead and to the right there began to come a rhythmic, swinging clank of metal. underneath it ciaran made out the shuffle of bare or sandalled feet. the kalds urged them on faster with the jewel-tipped wands. the hot opalescence of the tips struck ciaran all at once. a jewel-fire that could shock a man to unconsciousness like the blow of a fist, just by touching. the power of the stone, perhaps. the stone of destiny, sleeping under ben beatha. the shuffle and clank got louder. quite suddenly they came to a place where the gully met another one almost at right angles, and stopped. the ears of the kalds twitched nervously. mouse shrank in closer against ciaran. she was looking off down the new cut. ciaran looked, too. there were kalds coming toward them. about forty of them, with wands. walking between their watchful lines were some ninety or a hundred humans, men and women, shackled together by chains run through loops in iron collars. they were so close together they had to lock-step, and any attempt at attacking their guards would have meant the whole column falling flat. mouse said, with vicious clarity, "one man falls into a beast pit, and in three weeks of gossip a whole town is gone. hah!" ciaran's scarred mouth got ugly. "keep going, mousie. just keep it up." he scowled at the slave gang and added, "but what the hell is it all about? what do they want us for?" "you'll find out," said mouse. "you and your short cuts." ciaran raised his hand. mouse ducked and started to swing on him. a couple of kalds moved in and touched them apart, very delicately, with the wands. they didn't want knockouts this time. just local numbness. ciaran was feeling murderous enough to start something anyway, but a second flick of the wand on the back of his neck took the starch out of him. by that time the slave party had come up and stopped. ciaran stumbled over into line and let the kalds lock the collar around his neck. the man in front of him was huge, with a mane of red hair and cords of muscle on his back the size of ciaran's arm. he hadn't a stitch on but a leather g-string. his freckled, red-haired skin was slippery with sweat. ciaran, pressed up against him, shut his mouth tight and began to breathe very hard with his face turned as far away as he could get it. they shackled mouse right in back of him. she put her arms around his waist, tighter than she really had to. ciaran squeezed her hands. ii the kalds started the line moving again, using the wands like ox-goads. they shuffled off down the gully, going deeper and deeper into the forbidden plains. very softly, so that nobody but ciaran could hear her, mouse whispered, "these locks are nothing. i can pick them any time." ciaran squeezed her hand again. it occurred to him that mouse was a handy girl to have around. after a while she said, "kiri--that shadow. we did see it?" "we did." he shivered in spite of himself. "what was it?" "how should i know? and you better save your breath. looks like a long walk ahead of us." it was. they threaded their way through a growing maze of cracks in the plain, cracks that got deeper and deeper, so you had to look straight up to see the red sky and the little floating suns. ciaran found himself watching furtively to make sure they were still shining. he wished mousie hadn't reminded him of the shadow. he'd never been closer to cold, clawing panic than in those moments on the ridge. the rest of the slave gang had obviously come a long way already. they were tired. but the kalds goaded them on, and it wasn't until about a third of the line was being held up bodily by those in front or behind that a halt was called. they came to a fairly-wide place where three of the gullies came together. the kalds formed the line into a circle, squeezed in on itself so they were practically sitting in each other's laps, and then stood by watchfully, lolling pink tongues over their bright grey teeth and letting the wands flash in the dimmed light. ciaran let his head and shoulders roll over onto mousie. for some time he had felt her hands working around her own collar, covered by her hair and the harp slung across his back. she wore a rather remarkable metal pin that had other functions than holding her tunic on, and she knew how to use it. her collar was still in place, but he knew she could slide out of it now any time she wanted. she bent forward over him as though she was exhausted. her black hair fell over his face and neck. under it her small quick hands got busy. the lock snapped quietly, and the huge red-haired man collapsed slowly on top of ciaran. his voice whispered, but there was nothing weak about it. he said, "now me." ciaran squirmed and cursed. the vast weight crushed him to silence. "i'm a hunter. i can hear a rabbit breathing in its warren. i heard the woman speak. free me or i'll make trouble." ciaran sighed resignedly, and mouse went to work. * * * * * ciaran looked around the circle of exhausted humans. charcoal burners, trappers, hoop-shavers--the lean, tough, hard-bitten riff-raff of the border wilderness. even the women were tough. ciaran began to get ideas. there was a man crushed up against them on the other side--the man who had hitherto been at the head of the column. he was tall and stringy like a hungry cat, and just as mean looking, hunched over his knees with his face buried in his forearms and a shag of iron-grey hair falling over his shoulders. ciaran nudged him. "you--don't make any sign. game to take a chance?" the shaggy head turned slightly, just enough to unveil an eye. ciaran wished suddenly he'd kept his mouth shut. the eye was pale, almost white, with a queer unhuman look as though it saw only gods or devils, and nothing in between. ciaran had met hermits before in his wanderings. he knew the signs. normally he rather liked hermits, but this one gave him unpleasant qualms in the stomach. the man dragged a rusty voice up from somewhere. "we are enslaved by devils. only the pure can overcome devils. are you pure?" ciaran managed not to choke. "as a bird in its nest," he said. "a newly-fledged bird. in fact, a bird still in the shell." the cold, pale eye looked at him without blinking. ciaran resisted an impulse to punch it and said, "we have a means of freeing ourselves. if enough could be freed, when the time came we might rush the kalds." "only the pure can prevail against devils." ciaran gave him a smile of beatific innocence. the scar and the missing tooth rather spoiled the effect, but his eyes made up for it in bland sweetness. "you shall lead us, father," he cooed. "with such purity as yours, we can't fail." the hermit thought about that for a moment and then said, "i will pass the word. give me the feke." ciaran's jaw dropped. his eyes got glassy. "the feke," said the hermit patiently. "the jiggler." ciaran closed his eyes. "mouse," he said weakly, "give the gentleman the picklock." mouse slid it to him, a distance of about two inches. the red-haired giant took some of his weight off ciaran. mouse was looking slightly dazed herself. "hadn't i better do it for you?" she asked, rather pompously. the hermit gave her a cold glance. he bent his head and brought his hands up between his knees. his collar mate on the other side never noticed a thing, and the hermit beat mouse's time by a good third. ciaran laughed. he lay in mouse's lap and had mild hysterics. mouse cuffed him furiously across the back of his neck, and even that didn't stop him. he pulled himself up, looked through streaming eyes at mouse's murderous small face, and bit his knuckles to keep from screaming. the hermit was already quietly at work on the man next him. ciaran unslung his harp. the grey kalds hadn't noticed anything yet. both mouse and the hermit were very smooth workers. ciaran plucked out a few sonorous minor chords, and the kalds flicked their blood-pink eyes at him, but didn't seem to think the harp called for any action. ciaran relaxed and played louder. under cover of the music he explained his plan to the big red hunter, who nodded and began whispering to his other collar-mate. ciaran began to sing. he gave them a lament, one of the wild dark things the cimmerians sing at the bier of a chief and very appropriate to the occasion. the kalds lounged, enjoying the rest. they weren't watching for it, so they didn't see, as ciaran did, the breathing of the word of hope around the circle. * * * * * civilized people would have given the show away. but these were bordermen, as wary and self-contained as animals. it was only in their eyes that you could see anything. they got busy, under cover of their huddled bodies and long-haired, bowed-over heads, with every buckle and pin they could muster. mouse and the hermit passed instructions along the line, and since they were people who were used to using their hands with skill, it seemed as though a fair number of locks might get picked. the collars were left carefully in place. ciaran finished his lament and was half way through another when the kalds decided it was time to go. they moved in to goad the line back into position. ciaran's harp crashed out suddenly in angry challenge, and the close-packed circle split into a furious confusion. ciaran slung his harp over his shoulder and sprang up, shaking off the collar. all around him was the clash of chain metal on rock, the scuffle of feet, the yells and heavy breathing of angry men. the kalds came leaping in, their wands flashing. somebody screamed. ciaran got a fistful of mouse's tunic in his left hand and started to butt through the mêlée. he had lost track of the hermit and the hunter. then, quite suddenly, it was dark. silence closed down oh the gully. a black, frozen silence, with not even a sound of breathing in it. ciaran stood still, looking up at the dark sky. he didn't even tremble. he was beyond that. black darkness, in a land of eternal light. somewhere then, a woman screamed with a terrible mad strength, and hell broke loose. ciaran ran. he didn't think about where he was going, only that he had to get away. he was still gripping mouse. bodies thrashed and blundered and shrieked in the darkness. twice he and mouse were knocked kicking. it didn't stop them. they broke through finally into a clear space. there began to be light again, pale and feeble at first but flickering back toward normal. they were in a broad gully kicked smooth on the bottom by the passing of many feet. they ran down it. after a while mouse fell and ciaran dropped beside her. he lay there, fighting for breath, twitching and jerking like an animal with sheer panic. he was crying a little because it was light again. mouse clung to him, pressing tight as though she wanted to merge her body with his and hide it. she had begun to shake. "kiri," she whispered, over and over again. "kiri, what was it?" ciaran held her head against his shoulder and stroked it. "i don't know, honey. but it's all right now. it's gone." gone. but it could come back. it had once. maybe next time it would stay. darkness, and the sudden cold. the legends began crawling through ciaran's mind. if bas the immortal was true, and the stone of destiny was true, and the stone gave bas power over the life and death of a world ... then...? maybe bas was getting tired of the world and wanted to throw it away. the rational stubbornness in man that says a thing is not because it's never been before helped ciaran steady down. but he couldn't kid himself that there hadn't been darkness where no darkness had even been dreamed of before. he shook his head and started to pull mouse to her feet, and then his quick ears caught the sound of someone coming toward them, running. several someones. there was no place to hide. ciaran got mouse behind him and waited, half crouching. it was the hunter, with the hermit loping like a stringy cat at his heels and a third man behind them both. they all looked a little crazy, and they didn't seem to be going to stop. ciaran said, "hey!" * * * * * they slowed down looking at him with queer, blank eyes. ciaran blew up, because he had to relax somehow. "it's all over now. what are you scared of? it's gone." he cursed them, with more feeling than fairness. "what about the kalds? what happened back there?" the hunter wiped a huge hand across his red-bearded face. "everybody went crazy," he said thickly. "some got killed or hurt. some got away, like us. the rest were caught again." he jerked his head back. "they're coming this way. they're hunting us. they hunt by scent, the grey beasts do." "then we've got to get going." ciaran turned around. "mouse. you, mousie! snap out of it, honey. it's all right now." she shivered and choked over her breath, and the hermit fixed them both with pale, mad eyes. "it was a warning," he said. "a portent of judgment, when only the pure shall be saved." he pointed a bony finger at ciaran. "i told you that evil could not prevail against devils!" that got through to mouse. sense came back into her black eyes. she took a step toward the hermit and let go. "don't you call him evil--or me either! we've never hurt anybody yet, beyond lifting a little food or a trinket. and besides, who the hell are you to talk! anybody as handy with a picklock as you are has had plenty of practice...." mouse paused for breath, and ciaran got a look at the hermit's face. his stomach quivered. he tried to shut mouse up, but she was feeling better and beginning to enjoy herself. she plunged into a detailed analysis of the hermit's physique and heredity. she had a vivid and inventive mind. ciaran finally got his hand over her mouth, taking care not to get bitten. "nice going," he said, "but we've got to get out of here. you can finish later." she started to heel his shins, and then quite suddenly she stopped and stiffened up under his hands. she was looking at the hermit. ciaran looked, too. his insides knotted, froze, and began to do tricks. the hermit said quietly, "you are finished now." his pale eyes held them, and there was nothing human about his gaze, or the cold calm of his voice. "you are evil. you are thieves--and i know, for i was a thief myself. you have the filth of the world on you, and no wish to clean it off." he moved toward them. it was hardly a step, hardly more than an inclination of the body, but ciaran gave back before it. "i killed a man. i took a life in sin and anger, and now i have made my peace. you have not. you will not. and if need comes, i can kill again--without remorse." he could, too. there was nothing ludicrous about him now. he was stating simple fact, and the dignity of him was awesome. ciaran scowled down at the dust. "hell," he said, "we're sorry, father. mouse has a quick tongue, and we've both had a bad scare. she didn't mean it. we respect any man's conscience." there was a cold, hard silence, and then the third man cried out with a sort of subdued fury: "let's go! do you want to get caught again?" he was a gnarled, knotty, powerful little man, beginning to grizzle but not to slow down. he wore a kilt of skins. his hide was dark and tough as leather, his hazel eyes set in nests of wrinkles. the hunter, who had been hearing nothing but noises going back and forth over his head, turned and led off down the gully. the others followed, still not speaking. ciaran was thinking, he's crazy. he's clear off his head--and of all the things we didn't need, a crazy hermit heads the list! there was a cold spot between his shoulders that wouldn't go away even when he started sweating with exertion. * * * * * the gully was evidently a main trail to somewhere. there were many signs of recent passage by a lot of people, including an occasional body kicked off to the side and left to dry. the little knotty man, who was a trapper named ram, examined the bodies with a terrible stony look in his eyes. "my wife and my first son," he said briefly. "the grey beasts took them while i was gone." he turned grimly away. ciaran was glad when the bodies proved to be the wrong ones. ram and the big red hunter took turns scaling the cleft walls for a look. mouse said something about taking to the face of the plain where they wouldn't be hemmed in. they looked at her grimly. "the grey beasts are up there," they said. "flanking us. if we go up, they'll only take us and chain us again." ciaran's heart took a big, staggering jump. "in other words, they're herding us. we're going the way they want us to, so they don't bother to round us up." the hunter nodded professionally. "is a good plan." "oh, fine!" snarled ciaran. "what i want to know is, is there any way out?" the hunter shrugged. "i'm going on anyway," said ram. "my wife and son...." ciaran thought about the stone of destiny, and was rather glad there was no decision to make. they went on, at an easy jog trot. by bits and pieces ciaran built up the picture--raiding gangs of kalds coming quietly onto isolated border villages, combing the brush and the forest for stragglers. where they took the humans, or why, nobody could guess.[ ] froze to a dead stop. the others crouched behind him, instinctively holding their breath. the hunter whispered, "people. many of them." his flat palm made an emphatic move for quiet. small cold prickles flared across ciaran's skin. he found mouse's hand in his and squeezed it. suddenly, with no more voice than the sigh of a breeze through bracken, the hermit laughed. "judgment," he whispered. "great things moving." his pale eyes were fey. "doom and destruction, a shadow across the world, a darkness and a dying." he looked at them one by one, and threw his head back, laughing without sound, the stringy cords working in his throat. "and of all of you, i _alone_ have no fear!" they went on, slowly, moving without sound in small shapeless puddles of shadow thrown by the floating sunballs. ciaran found himself almost in the lead, beside the hunter. they edged around a jog in the cleft wall. about ten feet ahead of them the cleft floor plunged underground, through a low opening shored with heavy timbers. there were two kalds lounging in front of it, watching their wands flash in the light. the five humans stopped. the kalds came toward them, almost lazily, running rough grey tongues over their shiny teeth. their blood-pink eyes were bright with pleasure. ciaran groaned. "this is it. shall we be brave, or just smart?" the hunter cocked his huge fists. and then ram let go a queer animal moan. he shoved past ciaran and went to his knees beside something ciaran hadn't noticed before. a woman lay awkwardly against the base of the cliff. she was brown and stringy and not very young, with a plain, good face. a squat, thick-shouldered boy sprawled almost on top of her. there was a livid burn on the back of his neck. they were both dead. ciaran thought probably the woman had dropped from exhaustion, and the kid had died fighting to save her. he felt sick. ram put a hand on each of their faces. his own was stony and quite blank. after the first cry he didn't make a sound. he got up and went for the kald nearest to him. iii he did it like an animal, quick and without thinking. the kald was quick, too. it jabbed the wand at ram, but the little brown man was coming so fast that it didn't stop him. he must have died in mid-leap, but his body knocked the kald over and bore him down. ciaran followed him in a swift cat leap. he heard the hunter grunting and snarling somewhere behind him, and the thudding of bare feet being very busy. he lost sight of the other kald. he lost sight of everything but a muscular grey arm that was trying to pull a jewel-tipped wand from under ram's corpse. there was a terrible stink of burned flesh. ciaran grabbed the grey wrist. he didn't bother with it, or the arm. he slid his grip up to the fingers, got his other hand beside it, and started wrenching. bone cracked and split. ciaran worked desperately, from the thumb and the little finger. flesh tore. splinters of grey bone came through. ciaran's hands slipped in the blood. the grey beast opened its mouth, but no sound came. ciaran decided then the things were dumb. it was human enough to sweat. ciaran grabbed the wand. a grey paw, the other one, came clawing for his throat around the bulk of ram's shoulders. he flicked it with the wand. it went away, and ciaran speared the jewel tip down hard against the kald's throat. after a while mouse's voice came to him from somewhere. "it's done, kiri. no use overcooking it." it smelled done, all right. ciaran got up. he looked at the wand in his hand, holding it away off. he whistled. mouse said, "stop admiring yourself and get going. the hunter says he can hear chains." ciaran looked around. the other kald lay on the ground. its neck seemed to be broken. the body of the squat, dark boy lay on top of it. the hunter said: "he didn't feel the wand. i think he'd be glad to be a club for killing one of them, if he knew it." ciaran said, "yeah." he looked at mouse. she seemed perfectly healthy. "aren't women supposed to faint at things like this?" she snorted. "i was born in the thieves' quarter. we used to roll skulls instead of pennies. they weren't so scarce." "i think," said ciaran, "the next time i get married i'll ask more questions. let's go." they went down the ramp leading under the forbidden plains. the hunter led, like a wary beast. ciaran brought up the rear. they both carried the stolen wands. the hermit hadn't spoken a word, or moved a hand to help. it was fairly dark there underground, but not cold. in fact, it was hotter than outside, and got worse as they went down. ciaran could hear a sound like a hundred armorers beating on shields. only louder. there was a feeling of a lot of people moving around but not talking much, and an occasional crash or metallic screaming that ciaran didn't have any explanation for. he found himself not liking it. they went a fairish way on an easy down-slope, and then the light got brighter. the hunter whispered, "careful!" and slowed down. they drifted like four ghosts through an archway into a glow of clear bluish light. * * * * * they stood on a narrow ledge. just here it was hand-smoothed, but on both sides it ran in nature-eroded roughness into a jumble of stalactites and wind-galleries. above the ledge, in near darkness, was the high roof arch, and straight ahead, there was just space. eventually, a long way off, ciaran made out a wall of rock. below there was a pit. it was roughly barrel-shaped. it was deep. it was so deep that ciaran had to crane over the edge to see bottom. brilliant blue-white flares made it brighter than daylight about two-thirds of the way up the barrel. there were human beings laboring in the glare. they were tiny things no bigger than ants from this height. they wore no chains, and ciaran couldn't see any guards. but after the first look he quit worrying about any of that. the thing growing up in the pit took all his attention. it was built of metal. it rose and spread in intricate swooping curves of shining whiteness, filling the whole lower part of the cavern. ciaran stared at it with a curious numb feeling of awe. the thing wasn't finished. he had not the faintest idea what it was for. but he was suddenly terrified of it. it was more than just the sheer crushing size of it, or the unfamiliar metallic construction that was like nothing he had seen or even dreamed of before. it was the thing itself. it was power. it was strength. it was a titan growing there in the belly of the world, getting ready to reach out and grip it and play with it, like mouse gambling with an empty skull. he knew, looking at it, that no human brain in his own scale and time of existence had conceived that shining monster, nor shaped of itself one smallest part of it. the red hunter said simply, "i'm scared. and this smells like a trap." ciaran swallowed something that might have been his heart. "we're in it, pal, like it or don't. and we'd better get out of sight before that chain-gang runs into us." off to the side, along the rough part of the ledge where there were shadows and holes and pillars of rock, seemed the best bet. there was a way down to the cavern floor--a dizzy zig-zag of ledges, ladders, and steps. but once on it you were stuck, and no cover. they edged off, going as fast as they dared. mouse was breathing rather heavily and her face was white enough to make the brand show like a blood-drop between her brows. the hermit seemed to be moving in a private world of his own. the sight of the shining giant had brought a queer blaze to his eyes, something ciaran couldn't read and didn't like. otherwise, he might as well have been dead. he hadn't spoken since he cursed them, back in the gully. they crouched down out of sight among a forest of stalactites. ciaran watched the ledge. he whispered, "they hunt by scent?" the hunter nodded. "i think the other humans will cover us. too many scents in this place. but how did they have those two waiting for us at the cave mouth?" ciaran shrugged. "telepathy. thought transference. lots of the backwater people have it. why not the kalds?" "you don't," said the hunter, "think of them as having human minds." "don't kid yourself. they think, all right. they're not human, but they're not true animals either." "did they think _that_?" the hunter pointed at the pit. "no," said ciaran slowly. "they didn't." "then who--" he broke off. "quiet! here they come." ciaran held his breath, peering one-eyed around a stalactite. the slave-gang, with the grey guards, began to file out of the tunnel and down the steep descent to the bottom. there was no trouble. there was no trouble left in any of those people. there were several empty collars. there were also fewer kalds. some had stayed outside to track down the four murderous fugitives, which meant no escape at that end. ciaran got an idea. when the last of the line and the guards were safely over the edge he whispered, "come on. we'll go down right on their tails." mouse gave him a startled look. he said impatiently, "they won't be looking back and up--i hope. and there won't be anybody else coming up while they're going down. you've got a better idea about getting down off this bloody perch, spill it!" she didn't have, and the hunter nodded. "is good. let's go." * * * * * they went, like the very devil. since all were professionals in their own line they didn't make any more fuss than so many leaves falling. the hermit followed silently. his pale eyes went to the shining monster in the pit at every opportunity. he was fermenting some idea in his shaggy head. ciaran had a hunch the safest thing would be to quietly trip him off into space. he resisted it, simply because knifing a man in a brawl was one thing and murdering an unsuspecting elderly man in cold blood was another. later, he swore a solemn oath to drop humanitarianism, but hard. nobody saw them. the kalds and the people below were all too busy not breaking their necks to have eyes for anything else. nobody came down behind them--a risk they had had to run. they were careful to keep a whole section of the descent between them and the slave gang. it was a hell of a long way down. the metal monster grew and grew and slid up beside them, and then above them, towering against the vault. it was beautiful. ciaran loved its beauty even while he hated and feared its strength. then he realized there were people working on it, clinging like flies to its white beams and arches. some worked with wands not very different from the one he carried, fusing metal joints in a sparkle of hot light. others guided the huge metal pieces into place, bringing them up from the floor of the cavern on long ropes and fitting them delicately. with a peculiar dizzy sensation, ciaran realized there was no more weight to the metal than if it were feathers. he prayed they could get past those workers without being seen, or at least without having an alarm spread. the four of them crawled down past two or three groups of them safely, and then one man, working fairly close to the cliff, raised his head and stared straight at them. ciaran began to make frantic signs. the man paid no attention to them. ciaran got a good look at his eyes. he let his hands drop. "he doesn't see us," whispered mouse slowly. "is he blind?" the man turned back to his work. it was an intricate fitting of small parts into a pierced frame. work that in all his wanderings ciaran had never seen done anywhere, in any fashion. he shivered. "no. he just--doesn't see us." the big hunter licked his lips nervously, like a beast in a deadfall. his eyes glittered. the hermit laughed without any sound. they went on. it was the same all the way down. men and women looked at them, but didn't see. in one place they paused to let the slave-gang get farther ahead. there was a woman working not far out. she looked like a starved cat, gaunt ribs showing through torn rags. her face was twisted with the sheer effort of breathing, but there was no expression in her eyes. quite suddenly, in the middle of an unfinished gesture, she collapsed like wet leather and fell. ciaran knew she was dead before her feet cleared the beam she was sitting on. that happened twice more on the way down. nobody paid any attention. mouse wiped moisture off her forehead and glared at ciaran. "a fine place to spend a honeymoon. you and your lousy shortcuts!" for once ciaran had no impulse to cuff her. * * * * * the last portion of the descent was covered by the backs of metal lean-tos full of heat and clamor. the four slipped away into dense shadow between two of them, crouched behind a mound of scrap. they had a good view of what happened to the slave gang. the kalds guided it out between massive pillars of white metal that held up the giant web overhead. fires flared around the cliff foot. a hot blue-white glare beat down, partly from some unfamiliar light-sources fastened in the girders, partly from the mouths of furnaces hot beyond any heat ciaran had ever dreamed of. men and women toiled sweating in the smoke and glare, and never looked at the newcomers in their chains. there were no guards. the kalds stopped the line in a clear space beyond the shacks and waited. they were all facing the same way, expectant, showing their bright grey teeth and rolling their blood-pink eyes. ciaran's gaze followed theirs. he got rigid suddenly, and the sweat on him turned cold as dew on a toad's back. he thought at first it was a man, walking down between the pillars. it was man-shaped, tall and slender and strong, and sheathed from crown to heels in white mesh metal that shimmered like bright water. but when it came closer he knew he was wrong. some animal instinct in him knew even before his mind did. he wanted to snarl and put up his hackles, and tuck his tail and run. * * * * * the creature was sexless. the flesh of its hands and face had a strange unreal texture, and a dusky yellow tinge that never came in living flesh. its face was human enough in shape--thin, with light angular bones. only it was regular and perfect like something done carefully in marble, with no human softness or irregularity. the lips were bloodless. there was no hair, not even any eyelashes. the eyes in that face were what set ciaran's guts to knotting like a nest of cold snakes. they were not even remotely human. they were like pools of oil under the lashless lids--black, deep, impenetrable, without heart or soul or warmth. but wise. wise with a knowledge beyond humanity, and strong with a cold, terrible strength. and old. there were none of the usual signs of age. it was more than that. it was a psychic, unhuman feel of antiquity; a time that ran back and back and still back to an origin as unnatural as the body it spawned. ciaran knew what it was. he had made songs about the creature and sung them in crowded market-places and smoky wine-shops. he'd scared children with it, and made grown people shiver while they laughed. he wasn't singing now. he wasn't laughing. he was looking at one of the androids of bas the immortal--a creature born of the mysterious power of the stone, with no faintest link to humanity in its body or its brain. ciaran knew then whose mind had created the shining monster towering above them. and he knew more than ever that it was evil. the android walked out onto a platform facing the slave-gang, so that it was above them, where they could all see. in its right hand it carried a staff of white metal with a round ball on top. the staff and the mesh-metal sheath it wore blazed bright silver in the glare. the chained humans raised their heads. ciaran saw the white scared glint of their eyeballs, heard the hard suck of breath and the uneasy clashing of link metal. the kalds made warning gestures with their wands, but they were watching the android. it raised the staff suddenly, high over its head. the gesture put the ball top out of ciaran's sight behind a girder. and then the lights dimmed and went out. for a moment there was total darkness, except for the dull marginal glow of the forges and furnaces. then, from behind the girder that hid the top of the staff a glorious opaline light burst out, filling the space between the giant pillars, reaching out and up into the dim air with banners of shimmering flame. the kalds crouched down in attitudes of worship, their blood-pink eyes like sentient coals. a trembling ran through the line of slaves, as though a wind had passed across them and shaken them like wheat. a few cried out, but the sounds were muffled quickly to silence. they stood still, staring up at the light. the android neither moved nor spoke, standing like a silver lance. ciaran got up. he didn't know that he did it. he was distantly aware of mouse beside him, breathing hard through an open mouth and catching opaline sparks in her black eyes. there was other movement, but he paid no attention. he wanted to get closer to the light. he wanted to see what made it. he wanted to bathe in it. he could feel it pulsing in him, sparkling in his blood. he also wanted to run away, but the desire was stronger than the fear. it even made the fear rather pleasurable. he was starting to climb over the pile of scrap when the android spoke. its voice was light, clear, and carrying. there was nothing menacing about it. but it stopped ciaran like a blow in the face, penetrating even through his semi-drugged yearning for the light. he knew sound. he knew mood. he was sensitive to them as his own harp in the way he made his living. he felt what was in that voice; or rather, what wasn't in it. and he stopped, dead still. it was a voice speaking out of a place where no emotion, as humanity knew the word, had ever existed. it came from a brain as alien and incomprehensible as darkness in a world of eternal light; a brain no human could ever touch or understand, except to feel the cold weight of its strength and cower as a beast cowers before the terrible mystery of fire. "sleep," said the android. "sleep, and listen to my voice. open your minds, and listen." iv through a swimming rainbow haze ciaran saw the relaxed, dull faces of the slaves. "you are nothing. you are no one. you exist only to serve; to work; to obey. do you hear and understand?" the line of humans swayed and made a small moaning sigh. it held nothing but amazement and desire. they repeated the litany through thick animal mouths. "your minds are open to mine. you will hear my thoughts. once told, you will not forget. you will feel hunger and thirst, but not weariness. you will have no need to stop and rest, or sleep." again the litany. ciaran passed a hand over his face. he was sweating. in spite of himself the light and the soulless, mesmeric voice were getting him. he hit his own jaw with his knuckles, thanking whatever gods there were that the source of the light had been hidden from him. he knew he could never have bucked it. more, perhaps, of the power of the stone of destiny? a sudden sharp rattle of fragments brought his attention to the scrap heap. the hermit was already half way over it. and mouse was right at his heels. ciaran went after her. the rubble slipped and slid, and she was already out of reach. he called her name in desperation. she didn't hear him. she was hungry for the light. ciaran flung himself bodily over the rubbish. out on the floor, the nearest kalds were shaking off their daze of worship. the hermit was scrambling on all fours, like a huge grey cat. mouse's crimson tunic stayed just out of reach. ciaran threw a handful of metal fragments at her back. she turned her head and snarled at him. she didn't see him. almost as an automatic reflex she hurled some stuff at his face, but she didn't even slow down. the hermit cried out, a high, eerie scream. a huge hand closed on ciaran's ankle and hauled him back. he fought it, jabbing with the wand he still carried. a second remorseless hand prisoned his wrist. the red hunter said dispassionately, "they come. we go." "mouse! let me go, damn you! _mouse!_" "you can't help her. we go, quick." ciaran went on kicking and thrashing. the hunter banged him over the ear with exquisite judgment, took the wand out of his limp hand and tossed him over one vast shoulder. the light hadn't affected the hunter much. he'd been in deeper shadow than the others, and his half-animal nerves had warned him quicker even than ciaran's. being a wise wild thing, he had shut his eyes at once. he doubled behind the metal sheds and began to run in dense shadow. ciaran heard and felt things from a great misty distance. he heard the hermit yell again, a crazy votive cry of worship. he felt the painful jarring of his body and smelled the animal rankness of the hunter. he heard mouse scream, just once. he tried to move; to get up and do something. the hunter slammed him hard across the kidneys. ciaran was aware briefly that the lights were coming on again. after that it got very dark and very quiet. the hunter breathed in his ear, "quiet! don't move." there wasn't much chance of ciaran doing anything. the hunter lay on top of him with one freckled paw covering most of his face. ciaran gasped and rolled his eyes. they lay in a troughed niche of rough stone. there was black shadow on them from an overhang, but the blue glare burned beyond it. even as he watched it dimmed and flickered and then steadied again. high up over his head the shining metal monster reached for the roof of the cavern. it had grown. it had grown enormously, and a mechanism was taking shape inside it; a maze of delicate rods and crystal prisms, of wheels and balances and things ciaran hadn't any name for. then he remembered about mouse, and nothing else mattered. the hunter lay on him, crushing him to silence. ciaran's blue eyes blazed. he'd have killed the hunter then, if there had been any way to do it. there wasn't. presently he stopped fighting. again the red giant breathed in his ear: "look over the edge." he took his hand away. very, very quietly, ciaran raised his head a few inches and looked over. their niche was some fifteen feet above the floor of the pit. below and to the right was the mouth of a square tunnel. the crowded, sweating confusion of the forges and workshops spread out before them, with people swarming like ants after a rain. standing at the tunnel mouth were two creatures in shining metal sheathes--the androids of bas the immortal. * * * * * their clear, light voices rose up to where ciaran and the hunter lay. "did you find out?" "failing--as we judged. otherwise, no change." "no change." one of the slim unhumans turned and looked with its depthless black eyes at the soaring metal giant. "if we can only finish it in time!" the other said, "we can, khafre. we must." khafre made a quick, impatient gesture. "we need more slaves! these human cattle are frail. you drive them, and they die." "the kalds...." "are doing what they can. two more chains have just come. but it's still not enough to be safe! i've told the beasts to raid farther in, even to the border cities if they have to." "it won't help if the humans attack us before we're done." khafre laughed. there was nothing pleasant or remotely humorous about it. "_if_ they could track the kalds this far, we could handle them easily. after we're finished, of course, they'll be subjugated anyway." the other nodded. faintly uneasy, it said, "if we finish in time. if we don't...." "if we don't," said khafre, "none of it matters, to them or us or the immortal bas." something that might have been a shudder passed over its shining body. then it threw back its head and laughed again, high and clear. "but we will finish it, steud! we're unique in the universe, and nothing can stop us. this means the end of boredom, of servitude and imprisonment. with this world in our hands, nothing can stop us!" steud whispered, "nothing!" then they moved away, disappearing into the seething clamor of the floor. the red hunter said, "what were they talking about?" ciaran shook his head. his eyes were hard and curiously remote. "i don't know." "i don't like the smell of it, little man. it's bad." "yeah." ciaran's voice was very steady. "what happened to mouse?" "she was taken with the others. believe me, little man--i had to do what i did or they'd have taken you, too. there was nothing you could do to help her." "she--followed the light." "i think so. but i had to run fast." there was a mist over ciaran's sight. his heart was slugging him. not because he particularly cared, he asked, "how did we get away? i thought i saw the big lights come on ...". "they did. and then they went off again, all of a sudden. they weren't expecting it. i had a head start. the grey beasts hunt by scent, but in that stewpot there are too many scents. they lost us, and when the lights came on again i saw this niche and managed to climb to it without being seen." he looked out over the floor, scratching his red beard. "i think they're too busy to bother about two people. no, three." he chuckled. "the hermit got away, too. he ran past me in the dark, screaming like an ape about revelations and the light. maybe they've got him again by now." * * * * * ciaran wasn't worrying about the hermit. "subjugation," he said slowly. "with this world in their hands, nothing can stop them." he looked out across the floor of the pit. no guards. you didn't need any guards when you had a weapon like that light. frail human cattle driven till they died, and not knowing about it nor caring. the world in their hands. an empty shell for them to play with, to use as they wanted. no more market places, no more taverns, no more songs. no more little people living their little lives the way they wanted to. just slaves with blank faces, herded by grey beasts with shining wands and held by the android's light. he didn't know why the androids wanted the world or what they were going to do with it. he only knew that the whole thing made him sick--sick all through, in a way he'd never felt before. the fact that what he was going to do was hopeless and crazy never occurred to him. nothing occurred to him, except that somewhere in that seething slave-pen mouse was laboring, with eyes that didn't see and a brain that was only an open channel for orders. pretty soon, like the woman up on the girder, she was going to hit her limit and die. ciaran said abruptly, "if you want to kill a snake, what do you do?" "cut off its head, of course." ciaran got his feet under him. "the stone of destiny," he whispered. "the power of life and death. do you believe in legends?" the hunter shrugged. "i believe in my hands. they're all i know." "i'm going to need your hands, to help me break one legend and build another!" "they're yours, little man. where do we go?" "down that tunnel. because, if i'm not clear off, that leads to ben beatha, and bas the immortal--and the stone." almost as though it were a signal, the blue glare dimmed and flickered. in the semi-darkness ciaran and the hunter dropped down from the niche and went into the tunnel. it was dark, with only a tiny spot of blue radiance at wide intervals along the walls. they had gone quite a distance before these strengthened to their normal brightness, and even then it was fairly dark. it seemed to be deserted. the hunter kept stopping to listen. when ciaran asked irritably what was wrong, he said: "i think there's someone behind us. i'm not sure." "well, give him a jab with the wand if he gets too close. hurry up!" the tunnel led straight toward ben beatha, judging from its position in the pit. ciaran was almost running when the hunter caught his shoulder urgently. "wait! there's movement up ahead...." he motioned ciaran down. on their hands and knees they crawled forward, holding their wands ready. a slight bend in the tunnel revealed a fork. one arm ran straight ahead. the other bent sharply upward, toward the surface. there were four kalds crouched on the rock between them, playing some obscure game with human finger bones. ciaran got his weight over his toes and moved fast. the hunter went beside him. neither of them made a sound. the kalds were intent on their game and not expecting trouble. the two men might have got away with it, only that suddenly from behind them, someone screamed like an angry cat. * * * * * ciaran's head jerked around, just long enough to let him see the hermit standing in the tunnel, with his stringy arms lifted and his grey hair flying, and a light of pure insanity blazing in his pale eyes. "evil!" he shrieked. "you are evil to defy the light, and the servants of the light!" he seemed to have forgotten all about calling the kalds demons a little while before. the grey beasts leaped up, moving quickly in with their wands ready. ciaran yelled with sheer fury. he went for them, the rags of his yellow tunic streaming. he wasn't quite clear about what happened after that. there was a lot of motion, grey bodies leaping and twisting and jewel-tips flashing. something flicked him stunningly across the temple. he fought in a sort of detached fog where everything was blurred and distant. the hermit went on screaming about evil and the light. the hunter bellowed a couple of times, things thudded and crashed, and once ciaran poked his wand straight into a blood-pink eye. sometime right after that there was a confused rush of running feet back in the tunnel. the hunter was down. and ciaran found himself running up the incline, because the other way was suddenly choked with kalds. he got away. he was never sure how. probably instinct warned him to go in time so that, in the confusion he was out of sight before the reinforcements saw him. three of the original four kalds were down and the fourth was busy with the hermit. anyway, for the moment, he made it. when he staggered finally from the mouth of the ramp, drenched with sweat and gasping, he was back on the forbidden plain, and ben beatha towered above him--a great golden titan reaching for the red sky. the tumbled yellow rock of its steep slopes was barren of any growing thing. there were no signs of buildings, or anything built by hands, human or otherwise. high up, almost in the apex of the triangular peak, was a square, balconied opening that might have been only a wind-eroded niche in the cliff-face. ciaran stood on widespread legs, studying the mountain with sullen stubborn eyes. he believed in legend, now. it was all he believed in. somewhere under the golden peak was the stone of destiny and the demigod who was its master. behind him were the creatures of that demigod, and the monster they were building--and a little black-haired mouse who was going to die unless something was done about it. a lot of other people, too. a whole sane comfortable world. but mouse was about all he could handle, just then. he wasn't ciaran the bard any longer. he wasn't a human, attached to a normal human world. he moved in a strange land of gods and demons, where everything was as mad as a drunkard's nightmare, and mouse was the only thing that held him at all to the memory of a life wherein men and women fought and laughed and loved. his scarred mouth twitched and tightened. he started off across the rolling, barren rise to ben beatha--a tough, bandy-legged little man in yellow rags, with a brown, expressionless face and a forgotten harp slung between his shoulders, moving at a steady gypsy lope. a wind sighed over the forbidden plain, rolling the sunballs in the red sky. and then, from the crest of ben beatha, the darkness came. this time ciaran didn't stop to be afraid. there was nothing left inside him to be afraid with. he remembered the hermit's words: _judgment. great things moving. doom and destruction, a shadow across the world, a darkness and a dying._ something of the same feeling came to him, but he wasn't human any longer. he was beyond fear. fate moved, and he was part of it. stones and shale tricked his feet in the darkness. all across the forbidden plains there was night and a wailing wind and a sharp chill of cold. far, far away there was a faint red glow on the sky where the sea burned with its own fire. ciaran went on. overhead, then, the sunballs began to flicker. little striving ripples of light went out across them, lighting the barrens with an eerie witch-glow. the flickering was worse than the darkness. it was like the last struggling pulse of a dying man's heart. ciaran was aware of a coldness in him beyond the chill of the wind. _a shadow across the world, a darkness and a dying...._ he began to climb ben beatha. v the stone was rough and fairly broken, and ciaran had climbed mountains before. he crawled upward, through the sick light and the cold wind that screamed and fought him harder the higher he got. he retained no very clear memory of the climb. only after a long, long time he fell inward over the wall of a balcony and lay still. he was bleeding from rock-tears and his heart kicked him like the heel of a vicious horse. but he didn't care. the balcony was man-made, the passage back of it led somewhere--and the light had come back in the sky. it wasn't quite the same, though. it was weaker, and less warm. when he could stand up he went in along the passage, square-hewn in the living rock of ben beatha, the mountain of life. it led straight in, lighted by a soft opaline glow from hidden light-sources. presently it turned at right angles and became a spiral ramp, leading down. corridors led back from it at various levels, but ciaran didn't bother about them. they were dark, and the dust of ages lay unmarked on their floors. down and down, a long, long way. silence. the deep uncaring silence of death and the eternal rock--dark titans who watched the small furious ant-scurryings of man and never, never, for one moment, gave a damn. and then the ramp flattened into a broad high passage cut deep in the belly of the mountain. and the passage led to a door of gold, twelve feet high and intricately graved and pierced, set with symbols that ciaran had heard of only in legend: the _hun-lahun-mehen_, the snake, the circle, and the cross, blazing in hot jewel-fires. but above them, crushing and dominant on both valves of the great door, was the _crux ansata_, the symbol of eternal life, cut from some lustreless stone so black it was like a pattern of blindness on the eyeball. ciaran shivered and drew a deep, unsteady breath. one brief moment of human terror came to him. then he set his two hands on the door and pushed it open. he came into a small room hung with tapestries and lighted dimly by the same opaline glow as the hallway. the half-seen pictures showed men and beasts and battles against a background at once tantalizingly familiar and frighteningly alien. there was a rug on the floor. it was made from the head and hide of a creature ciaran had never even dreamed of before--a thing like a huge tawny cat with a dark mane and great, shining fangs. ciaran padded softly across it and pushed aside the heavy curtains at the other end. * * * * * at first there was only darkness. it seemed to fill a large space; ciaran had an instinctive feeling of size. he went out into it, very cautiously, and then his eyes found a pale glow ahead in the blackness, as though someone had crushed a pearl with his thumb and smeared it across the dark. he was a thief and a gypsy. he made no more sound than a wisp of cloud, drifting toward it. his feet touched a broad, shallow step, and then another. he climbed, and the pearly glow grew stronger and became a curving wall of radiance. he stopped just short of touching it, on a level platform high above the floor. he squinted against its curdled, milky thickness, trying to see through. wrapped in the light, cradled and protected by it like a bird in the heart of a shining cloud, a boy slept on a couch made soft with furs and colored silks. he was quite naked, his limbs flung out carelessly with the slim angular grace of his youth. his skin was white as milk, catching a pale warmth from the light. he slept deeply. he might almost have been dead, except for the slight rise and fall of his breathing. his head was rolled over so that he faced ciaran, his cheek pillowed on his upflung arm. his hair, thick, curly, and black almost to blueness, had grown out long across his forearm, across the white fur beneath it, and down onto his wide slim shoulders. the nails of his lax hand, palm up above his head, stood up through the hair. they were inches long. his face was just a boy's face. a good face, even rather handsome, with strong bone just beginning to show under the roundness. his cheek was still soft as a girl's, the lashes of his closed lids dark and heavy. he looked peaceful, even happy. his mouth was curved in a vague smile, as though his dreams were pleasant. and yet there was something there.... a shadow. something unseen and untouchable, something as fragile as the note of a shepherd's pipe brought from far off on a vagrant breeze. something as indescribable as death--and as broodingly powerful. ciaran sensed it, and his nerves throbbed suddenly like the strings of his own harp. he saw then that the couch the boy slept on was a huge _crux ansata_, cut from the dead-black stone, with the arms stretching from under his shoulders and the loop like a monstrous halo above his head. the legends whispered through ciaran's head. the songs, the tales, the folklore. the symbolism, and the image-patterns. bas the immortal was always described as a giant, like the mountain he lived in, and old, because immortal suggests age. awe, fear, and unbelief spoke through those legends, and the child-desire to build tall. but there was an older legend.... ciaran, because he was a gypsy and a thief and had music in him like a drunkard has wine, had heard it, deep in the black forests of hyperborea where even gypsies seldom go. the oldest legend of all--the tale of the shining youth from beyond, who walked in beauty and power, who never grew old, and who carried in his heart a bitter darkness that no man could understand. the shining youth from beyond. a boy sleeping with a smile on his face, walled in living light. ciaran stood still, staring. his face was loose and quite blank. his heartbeats shook him slightly, and his breath had a rusty sound in his open mouth. after a long time he started forward, into the light. it struck him, hurled him back numbed and dazed. thinking of mouse, he tried it twice more before he was convinced. then he tried yelling. his voice crashed back at him from the unseen walls, but the sleeping boy never stirred, never altered even the rhythm of his breathing. after that ciaran crouched in the awful laxness of impotency, and thought about mouse, and cried. then, quite suddenly, without any warning at all, the wall of light vanished. * * * * * he didn't believe it. but he put his his hand out again, and nothing stopped it, so he rushed forward in the pitch blackness until he hit the stone arm of the cross. and behind him, and all around him, the light began to glow again. only now it was different. it flickered and dimmed and struggled, like something fighting not to die. like something else.... like the sunballs. like the light in the sky that meant life to a world. flickering and feeble like an old man's heart, the last frightened wing-beats of a dying bird.... a terror took ciaran by the throat and stopped the breath in it, and turned his body colder than a corpse. he watched.... the light glowed and pulsed, and grew stronger. presently he was walled in by it, but it seemed fainter than before. a terrible feeling of urgency came over ciaran, a need for haste. the words of the androids came back to him: _failing, as we judged. if we finish in time. if we don't, none of it matters._ a shadow across the world, a darkness and a dying. mouse slaving with empty eyes to build a shining monster that would harness the world to the wills of non-human brains. it didn't make sense, but it meant something. something deadly important. and the key to the whole mad jumble was here--a dark-haired boy dreaming on a stone cross. ciaran moved closer. he saw then that the boy had stirred, very slightly, and that his face was troubled. it was as though the dimming of the light had disturbed him. then he sighed and smiled again, nestling his head deeper into the bend of his arm. "bas," said ciaran. "lord bas!" his voice sounded hoarse and queer. the boy didn't hear him. he called again, louder. then he put his hand on one slim white shoulder and shook it hesitantly at first, and then hard, and harder. the boy bas didn't even flicker his eyelids. ciaran beat his fists against the empty air and cursed without any voice. then, almost instinctively, he crouched on the stone platform and took his harp in his hands. it wasn't because he expected to do anything with it. it was simply that harping was as natural to him as breathing, and what was inside him had to come out some way. he wasn't thinking about music. he was thinking about mouse, and it just added up to the same thing. random chords at first, rippling up against the wall of milky light. then the agony in him began to run out through his finger-tips onto the strings, and he sent it thrumming strong across the still air. it sang wild and savage, but underneath it there was the sound of his own heart breaking, and the fall of tears. there was no time. there wasn't even any ciaran. there was only the harp crying a dirge for a black-haired mouse and the world she lived in. nothing mattered but that. nothing would ever matter. then finally there wasn't anything left for the harp to cry about. the last quiver of the strings went throbbing off into a dull emptiness, and there was only an ugly little man in yellow rags crouched silent by a stone cross, hiding his face in his hands. then, faint and distant, like the echo of words spoken in another world, another time: _don't draw the veil. marsali--don't...!_ ciaran looked up, stiffening. the boy's lips moved. his face, the eyes still closed, was twisted in an agony of pleading. his hands were raised, reaching, trying to hold something that slipped through his fingers like mist. dark mist. the mist of dreams. it was still in his eyes when he opened them. grey eyes, clouded and veiled, and then with the dream-mist thickening into tears.... he cried out, "_marsali!_" as though his heart was ripped out of him with the breath that said it. then he lay still on the couch, his eyes, staring unfocused at the milky light, with the tears running out of them. ciaran said softly, "lord bas...." "awake," whispered the boy. "i'm awake again. music--a harp crying out.... i didn't want to wake! oh, god, i didn't want to!" he sat up suddenly. the rage, the sheer blind fury in his young face rocked ciaran like the blow of a fist. "who waked me? who dared to wake me?" there was no place to run. the light held him. and there was mouse. ciaran said: "i did, lord bas. there was need to." the boy's grey eyes came slowly to focus on his face. ciaran's heart kicked once and stopped beating. a great cold stillness breathed from somewhere beyond the world and walled him in, closer and tighter than the milky light. close and tight, like the packed earth of a grave. a boy's face, round and smooth and soft. no shadow even of down on the cheeks, the lips still pink and girlish. long dark lashes, and under them.... grey eyes. old with suffering, old with pain, old with an age beyond human understanding. eyes that had seen birth and life and death in an endless stream, flowing by just out of reach, just beyond hearing. eyes looking out between the bars of a private hell that was never built for any man before. one strong young hand reached down among the furs and silks and felt for something, and ciaran knew the thing was death. ciaran, suddenly, was furious himself. he struck a harsh, snarling chord on the harpstrings, thinking of mouse. he poured his fury out in bitter, pungent words, the gypsy argot of the quarters, and all the time bas fumbled to get the hidden weapon in his hands. it was the long nails that saved ciaran's life. they kept bas from closing his fingers, and in the meantime some of ciaran's vibrant rage had penetrated. bas whispered: "you love a woman." "yeah," said ciaran. "yeah." "so do i. a woman i created, and made to live in my dreams. do you know what you did when you waked me?" "maybe i saved the world. if the legends are right, you built it. you haven't any right to let it die so you can sleep." "i built another world, little man. marsali's world. i don't want to leave it." he bent forward, toward ciaran. "i was happy in that world. i built it to suit me. i belong in it. do you know why? because it's made from my own dreams, as i want it. even the people. even marsali. even myself. "they drove me away from one world. i built another, but it was no different. i'm not human. i don't belong with humans, nor in any world they live in. so i learned to sleep, and dream." he lay back on the couch. he looked pitifully young, with the long lashes hiding his eyes. "go away. let your little world crumble. it's doomed anyway. what difference do a few life-spans make in eternity? let me sleep." * * * * * ciaran struck the harp again. "_no!_ listen...." he told bas about the slave-gangs, the androids, the shining monster in the pit--and the darkness that swept over the world. it was the last that caught the boy's attention. he sat up slowly. "darkness? you! how did you get to me, past the light?" ciaran told him. "the stone of destiny," whispered the immortal. suddenly he laughed. he laughed to fill the whole dark space beyond the light; terrible laughter, full of hate and a queer perverted triumph. he stopped, as suddenly as he had begun, and spread his hands flat on the colored silks, the long nails gleaming like knives. his eyes widened, grey windows into a deep hell, and his voice was no more than a breath. "could that mean that i will die, too?" ciaran's scarred mouth twitched. "the stone of destiny...." the boy leaped up from his couch. his hand swept over some hidden control in the arm of the stone cross, and the milky light died out. at the same time, an opaline glow suffused the darkness beyond. bas the immortal ran down the steps--a dark-haired, graceful boy running naked in the heart of an opal. ciaran followed. they came to the hollow core of ben beatha--a vast pyramidal space cut in the yellow rock. bas stopped, and ciaran stopped behind him. the whole space was laced and twined and webbed with crystal. rods of it, screens of it, meshes of it. a shining helix ran straight up overhead, into a shaft that seemed to go clear through to open air. in the crystal, pulsing along it like the life-blood in a man's veins, there was light. it was like no light ciaran had ever seen before. it was no color, and every color. it seared the eye with heat, and yet it was cold and pure like still water. it throbbed and beat. it was alive. ciaran followed the crystal maze down and down, to the base of it. there, in the very heart of it, lying at the hub of a shining web, lay _something_. like a black hand slammed across the eyeballs, darkness fell. for a moment he was blind, and through the blindness came a soft whisper of movement. then there was light again; a vague smeared spot of it on the pitch black. it glowed and faded and glowed again. the rusty gleam slid across the half-crouched body of bas the immortal, pressed close against the crystal web. it caught in his eyes, turning them hot and lambent like beast-eyes in the dark of a cave-mouth. little sparks of hell-fire in a boy's face, staring at the stone of destiny. a stone no bigger than a man's heart, with power in it. even dying, it had power. power to build a world, or smash it. power never born of ciaran's planet, or any planet, but something naked and perfect--an egg from the womb of space itself. it fought to live, lying in its crystal web. it was like watching somebody's heart stripped clean and struggling to beat. the fire in it flickered and flared, sending pale witch-lights dancing up along the crystal maze. outside, ciaran knew, all across the world, the sunballs were pulsing and flickering to the dying beat of the stone. bas whispered, "it's over. over and done." * * * * * without knowing it, ciaran touched the harpstrings and made them shudder. "the legends were right, then. the stone of destiny kept the world alive." "alive. it gave light and warmth, and before that it powered the ship that brought me here across space, from the third planet of our sun to the tenth. it sealed the gaps in the planet's crust and drove the machinery that filled the hollow core inside with air. it was my strength. it built my world; _my_ world, where i would be loved and respected--all right, and worshipped!" he laughed, a small bitter sob. "a child i was. after all those centuries, still a child playing with a toy." his voice rang out louder across the flickering dimness. a boy's voice, clear and sweet. he wasn't talking to ciaran. he wasn't even talking to himself. he was talking to fate, and cursing it. "i took a walk one morning. that was all i did. i was just a fisherman's son walking on the green hills of atlantis above the sea. that was all i wanted to be--a fisherman's son, someday to be a fisherman myself, with sons of my own. and then from nowhere, out of the sky, the meteorite fell. there was thunder, and a great light, and then darkness. and when i woke again i was a god. "i took the stone of destiny out of its broken shell. the light from it burned in me, and i was a god. and i was happy. _i didn't know._ "i was too young to be a god. a boy who never grew older. a boy who wanted to play with other boys, and couldn't. a boy who wanted to age, to grow a beard and a man's voice, and find a woman to love. it was hell, after the thrill wore off. it was worse, when my mind and heart grew up, and my body didn't. "and they said i was no god, but a blasphemy, a freak. "the priests of dagon, of all the temples of atlantis, spoke against me. i had to run away. i roamed the whole earth before the flood, carrying the stone. sometimes i ruled for centuries, a god-king, but always the people tired of me and rose against me. they hated me, because i lived forever and never grew old. "a man they might have accepted. but a boy! a brain with all the wisdom it could borrow from time, grown so far from theirs that it was hard to talk to them--and a body too young even for the games of manhood!" ciaran stood frozen, shrinking from the hell in the boy-god's agonized voice. "so i grew to hate them, and when they drove me out i turned on them, and used the power of the stone to destroy. i know what happened to the cities of the gobi, to angkor, and the temples of mayapan! so the people hated me more because they feared me more, and i was alone. no one has ever been alone as i was. "so i built my own world, here in the heart of a dead planet. and in the end it was the same, because the people were human and i was not. i created the androids, freaks like myself, to stand between me and my people--my own creatures, that i could trust. and i built a third world, in my dreams. "and now the stone of destiny has come to the end of its strength. its atoms are eaten away by its own fire. the world it powered will die. and what will happen to me? i will go on living, even after my body is frozen in the cold dark?" silence, then. the pulsing beat of light in the crystal rods. the heart of a world on its deathbed. ciaran's harp crashed out. it made the crystal sing. his voice came with it: "bas! the monster in the pit, that the androids are building--i know now what it is! they knew the stone was dying. they're going to have power of their own, and take the world. you can't let them, bas! you brought us here. we're your people. you can't let the androids have us!" the boy laughed, a low, bitter sound. "what do i care for your world or your people? i only want to sleep." he caught his breath in and turned around, as though he was going back to the place of the stone cross. vi ciaran stroked the harpstrings. "wait...." it was all humanity crying out of the harp. little people, lost and frightened and pleading for help. no voice could have said what it said. it was ciaran himself, a channel for the unthinking pain inside him. "wait--you were human once. you were young. you laughed and quarrelled and ate and slept, and you were free. that's all we ask. just those things. remember bas the fisherman's son, and help us!" grey eyes looking at him. grey eyes looking from a boy's face. "how could i help you even if i wanted to?" "there's some power left in the stone. and the androids are your creatures. you made them. you can destroy them. if you could do it before they finish this thing--from the way they spoke, they mean to destroy you with it." bas laughed. ciaran's hand struck a terrible chord from the harp, and fell away. bas said heavily, "they'll draw power from the gravitic force of the planet and broadcast it the same way. it will never stop as long as the planet spins. if they finish it in time, the world will live. if they don't...." he shrugged. "what difference does it make?" "so," whispered ciaran, "we have a choice of a quick death, or a lingering one. we can die free, on our own feet, or we can die slaves." his voice rose to a full-throated shout. "_god! you're no god!_ you're a selfish brat sulking in a corner. all right, go back to your marsali! and i'll play god for a minute." he raised the harp. "i'll play god, and give 'em the clean way out!" he drew his arm back to throw--to smash the crystal web. and then, with blinding suddenness, there was light again. they stood frozen, the two of them, blinking in the hot opalescence. then their eyes were drawn to the crystal web. the stone of destiny still fluttered like a dying heart, and the crystal rods were dim. ciaran whispered, "it's too late. they're finished." silence again. they stood almost as though they were waiting for something, hardly breathing, with ciaran still holding the silent harp in his hand. very, very faintly, under his fingers, the strings began to thrum. vibration. in a minute ciaran could hear it in the crystal. it was like the buzz and strum of insects just out of earshot. he said: "what's that?" the boy's ears were duller than his. but presently he smiled and said, "so that's how they're going to do it. vibration, that will shake ben beatha into a cloud of dust, and me with it. they must believe i'm still asleep." he shrugged. "what matter? it's death." ciaran slung the harp across his back. there was a curious finality in the action. "there's a way from here into the pit. where is it?" bas pointed across the open space. ciaran started walking. he didn't say anything. bas said, "where are you going?" "back to mouse," said ciaran simply. "to die with her." the crystal maze bummed eerily. "i wish i could see marsali again." * * * * * ciaran stopped. he spoke over his shoulder, without expression. "the death of the stone doesn't mean your death, does it?" "no. the first exposure to its light when it landed, blazing with the heat of friction, made permanent changes in the cell structure of my body. i'm independent of it--as the androids are of the culture vats they grew in." "and the new power source will take up where the stone left off?" "yes. even the wall of rays that protected me and fed my body while i slept will go on. the power of the stone was broadcast to it, and to the sunballs. there were no mechanical leads." ciaran said softly, "and you love this marsali? you're happy in this dream world you created? you could go back there?" "yes," whispered bas. "yes. yes!" ciaran turned. "then help us destroy the androids. give us our world, and we'll give you yours. if we fail--well, we have nothing to lose." silence. the crystal web hummed and sang--death whispering across the world. the stone of destiny throbbed like the breast of a dying bird. the boy's grey eyes were veiled and remote. it seemed almost that he was asleep. then he smiled--the drowsy smile of pleasure he had worn when ciaran found him, dreaming on the stone cross. "marsali," he whispered. "marsali." he moved forward then, reaching out across the crystal web. the long nails on his fingers scooped up the stone of destiny, cradled it, caged it in. bas the immortal said, "let's go, little man." ciaran didn't say anything. he looked at bas. his eyes were wet. then he got the harp in his hands again and struck it, and the thundering chords shook the crystal maze to answering music. it drowned the faint death-whisper. and then, caught between two vibrations, the shining rods split and fell, with a shiver of sound like the ringing of distant bells. ciaran turned and went down the passage to the pit. behind him came the dark-haired boy with the stone of destiny in his hands. they came along the lower arm of the fork where ciaran and the hunter had fought the kalds. there were four of the grey beasts still on guard. ciaran had pulled the wand from his girdle. the kalds started up, and ciaran got ready to fight them. but bas said, "wait." he stepped forward. the kalds watched him with their blood-pink eyes, yawning and whimpering with animal nervousness. the boy's dark gaze burned. the grey brutes cringed and shivered and then dropped flat, hiding their faces against the stone. "telepaths," said bas to ciaran, "and obedient to the strongest mind. the androids know that. the kalds weren't put there to stop me physically, but to send the androids warning if i came." ciaran shivered. "so they'll be waiting." "yes, little man. they'll be waiting." they went down the long tunnel and stepped out on the floor of the pit. * * * * * it was curiously silent. the fires had died in the forges. there was no sound of hammering, no motion. only blazing lights and a great stillness, like someone holding his breath. there was no one in sight. the metal monster climbed up the pit. it was finished now. the intricate maze of grids and balances in its belly murmured with the strength that spun up through it from the core of the planet. it was like a vast spider, making an invisible thread of power to wrap around the world and hold it, to be sucked dry. an army of kalds began to move on silent feet, out from the screening tangle of sheds and machinery. the androids weren't serious about that. it was just a skirmish, a test to see whether bas had been weakened by his age-long sleep. he hadn't been. the kalds looked at the stone of destiny and from there to bas' grey eyes, cringed, whimpered, and lay flat. bas whispered, "their minds are closed to me, but i can feel--the androids are working, preparing some trap...." his eyes were closed now, his young face set with concentration. "they don't want me to see, but my mind is older than theirs, and better trained, and i have the power of the stone. i can see a control panel. it directs the force of their machine...." he began to move, then, rapidly, out across the floor. his eyes were still closed. it seemed he didn't need them for seeing. people began to come out from behind the sheds and the cooling forges. blank-faced people with empty eyes. many of them, making a wall of themselves against bas. ciaran cried out, "_mouse...!_" she was there. her body was there, thin and erect in the crimson tunic. her black hair was still wild around her small brown face. but mouse, the mouse that ciaran knew, was dead behind her dull black eyes. ciaran whispered, "_mouse_...." the slaves flowed in and held the two of them, clogged in a mass of unresponsive bodies. "can't you free them, bas?" "not yet. not now. there isn't time." "can't you do with them what you did with the kalds?" "the androids control their minds through hypnosis. if i fought that control, the struggle would blast their minds to death or idiocy. and there isn't time...." there was sweat on his smooth young forehead. "i've got to get through. i don't want to kill them...." ciaran looked at mouse. "no," he said hoarsely. "but i may have to, unless.... wait! i can channel the power of the stone through my own brain, because there's an affinity between us. vibration, cell to cell. the androids won't have made a definite command against music. perhaps i can jar their minds open, just enough, so that you can call them with your harp, as you called me." a tremor almost of pain ran through the boy's body. "lead them away, ciaran. lead them as far as you can. otherwise many of them will die. and hurry!" bas raised the stone of destiny in his clasped hands and pressed it to his forehead. and ciaran took his harp. he was looking at mouse when he set the strings to singing. that was why it wasn't hard to play as he did. it was something from him to mouse. a prayer. a promise. his heart held out on a song. the music rippled out across the packed mass of humanity. at first they didn't hear it. then there was a stirring and a sigh, a dumb, blind reaching. somewhere the message was getting through the darkness clouding their minds. a message of hope. a memory of red sunlight on green hills, of laughter and home and love. ciaran let the music die to a whisper under his fingers, and the people moved forward, toward him, wanting to hear. he began to walk away, slowly, trailing the harp-song over his shoulder--and they followed. haltingly, in twos and threes, until the whole mass broke and flowed like water in his wake. bas was gone, his slim young body slipping fast through the broken ranks of the crowd. ciaran caught one more glimpse of mouse before he lost her among the others. she was crying, without knowing or remembering why. if bas died, if bas was defeated, she would never know nor remember. * * * * * ciaran led them as far as he could, clear to the wall of the pit. he stopped playing. they stopped, too, standing like cattle, looking at nothing, with eyes turned inward to their clouded dreams. ciaran left them there, running out alone across the empty floor. he followed the direction bas had taken. he ran, fast, but it was like a nightmare where you run and run and never get anywhere. the lights glared down and the metal monster sighed and churned high up over his head, and there was no other sound, no other movement but his own. then, abruptly, the lights went out. he stumbled on, hitting brutally against unseen pillars, falling and scrambling in scrap heaps. and after an eternity he saw light again, up ahead. the light he had seen before, here in the pit. the glorious opalescent light that drew a man's mind and held it fast to be chained. ciaran crept in closer. there was a control panel on a stone dais--a meaningless jumbled mass of dials and wires. the androids stood before it. one of them was bent over, its yellowish hands working delicately with the controls. the other stood erect beside it, holding a staff. the metal ball at the top was open, spilling the opalescent blaze into the darkness. ciaran crouched in the shelter of a pillar, shielding his eyes. even now he wanted to walk into that light and be its slave. the android with the staff said harshly, "can't you find the wave length? he should have been dead by now." the bending one tensed and then straightened, the burning light sparkling across its metal sheath. its eyes were black and limitless, like evil itself, and no more human. "yes," it said. "i have it." the light began to burst stronger from the staff, a swirling dangerous fury of it. ciaran was hardly breathing. the light-source, whatever it was, was part of the power of the stone of destiny. wave lengths meant nothing to him, but it seemed the danger was to the stone--and bas carried it. the android touched the staff. the light died, clipped off as the metal ball closed. "if there's any power left in the stone," it whispered, "our power-wave will blast its subatomic reserve--and bas the immortal with it!" silence. and then in the pitch darkness a coal began to glow. it came closer. it grew brighter, and a smudged reflection behind and above it became the head and shoulders of bas the immortal. the android whispered, "stronger! _hurry!_" a yellowish hand made a quick adjustment. the stone of destiny burned brighter. it burst with light. it was like a sunball, stabbing its hot fury into the darkness. the android whispered, "_more!_" the stone filled all the pit with a deadly blaze of glory. bas stopped, looking up at the dais. he grinned. a naked boy, beautiful with youth, his grey eyes veiled and sleepy under dark lashes. he threw the stone of destiny up on the dais. an idle boy tossing stones at a treetop. light. an explosion of it, without sound, without physical force. ciaran dropped flat on his face behind the pillar. after a long time he raised his head again. the overhead lights were on, and bas stood on the dais beside two twisted, shining lumps of man-made soulless men. the android flesh had taken the radiation as leather takes heat, warping, twisting, turning black. "poor freaks," said bas softly. "they were like me, with no place in the universe that belonged to them. so they dreamed, too--only their dreams were evil." he stooped and picked up something--a dull, dark stone, a thing with no more life nor light than a waterworn pebble. he sighed and rolled it once between his palms, and let it drop. "if they had had time to learn their new machine a little better, i would never have lived to reach them in time." he glanced down at ciaran, standing uncertainly below. "thanks to you, little man, they didn't have quite time enough." he gestured to a staff. "bring it, and i'll free your mouse." vii a long time afterward mouse and ciaran and bas the immortal stood in the opal-tinted glow of the great room of the _crux ansata_. outside the world was normal again, and safe. bas had left full instructions about controlling and tending the centrifugal power plant. the slaves were freed, going home across the forbidden plains--forbidden no longer. the kalds were sleeping, mercifully; the big sleep from which they would never wake. the world was free, for humanity to make or mar on its own responsibility. mouse stood very close to ciaran, her arm around his waist, his around her shoulders. crimson rags mingling with yellow; fair shaggy hair mixing with black. bas smiled at them. "now," he said, "i can be happy, until the planet itself is dead." "you won't stay with us? our gratitude, our love...." "will be gone with the coming generations. no, little man. i built myself a world where i belong--the only world where i can ever belong. and i'll be happier in it than any of you, because it is my world--free of strife and ugliness and suffering. a beautiful world, for me and marsali." there was a radiance about him that ciaran would put into a song some day, only half understanding. "i don't envy you," whispered bas, and smiled. youth smiling in a spring dawn. "think of us sometimes, and be jealous." he turned and walked away, going lightly over the wide stone floor and up the steps to the dais. ciaran struck the harpstrings. he sent the music flooding up against the high vault, filling all the rocky space with a thrumming melody. he sang. the tune he had sung for mouse, on the ridge above the burning sea. a simple tune, about two people in love. bas lay down on the couch of furs and colored silks, soft on the shaft of the stone cross. he looked back at them once, smiling. one slim white arm raised in a brief salute and swept down across the black stone. the milky light rose on the platform. it wavered, curdled, and thickened to a wall of warm pearl. through it, for a moment, they could see him, his dark head pillowed on his forearm, his body sprawled in careless, angular grace. then there was only the warm, soft shell of light. ciaran's harp whispered to silence. the tunnel into the pit was sealed. mouse and ciaran went out through the golden doors and closed them, very quietly--doors that would never be opened again as long as the world lived. then they came into each other's arms, and kissed. rough, tight arms on living flesh, lips that bruised and breaths that mingled, hot with life. temper and passion, empty bellies, a harp that sang in crowded market squares, and no roof to fight under but the open sky. and ciaran didn't envy the dark-haired boy, dreaming on the stone cross. * * * * * [footnote : transcriber's note: text missing from original: the red hunter froze to a dead stop. ] transcriber's note: this etext was produced from analog science fact & fiction july . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. a knyght ther was _but the knyght was a little less than perfect, and his horse did not have a metabolism, and his "castle" was much more mobile--timewise!--than it had any business being!_ by robert f. young _illustrated by leo summers_ _a knyght ther was, and that a worthy man, that fro the tyme that he first bigan to ryden out, he loved chivalrye, trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisye_ --the canterbury tales * * * * * i mallory, who among other things was a time-thief, re-materialized the time-space boat _yore_ in the eastern section of a secluded valley in ancient britain and typed castle, early sixth-century on the lumillusion panel. then he stepped over to the control-room telewindow and studied the three-dimensional screen. the hour was : p.m.; the season, summer; the year a.d. darkness was on hand, but there was a full moon rising and he could see trees not far away--oaks and beeches, mostly. roving the eye of the camera, he saw more trees of the same species. the "castle of yore" was safely ensconced in a forest. satisfied, he turned away. if his calculations were correct, the castle of carbonek stood in the next valley to the south, and on a silver table in a chamber of the castle stood the object of his quest. _if_ his calculations were correct. mallory was not one to keep himself in suspense. stepping into the supply room, he stripped down to his undergarments and proceeded to get into the custom-built suit of armor which he had purchased expressly for the operation. fortunately, while duplication of early sixth-century design had been mandatory, there had been no need to duplicate early sixth-century materials, and sollerets, spurs, greaves, cuisses, breastplate, pauldrons, gorget, arm-coverings, gauntlets, helmet, and chain-mail vest had all been fashioned of light-weight alloys that lent ten times as much protection at ten times less poundage. the helmet was his particular pride and joy: in keeping with the period-piece after which it had been patterned, it looked like an upside-down metal wastepaper basket, but the one-way transparency of the special alloy that had gone into its construction gave him unrestricted vision, while two inbuilt audio-amplifiers performed a corresponding service for his hearing. the outer surface of each piece had been burnished to a high degree, and he found himself a dazzling sight indeed when he looked into the supply-room mirror. this effect was enhanced no end when he buckled on his chrome-plated scabbard and red-hilted sword and hung his snow-white shield around his neck. his polished spear, when he stood it beside him, was almost anticlimactic. it shouldn't have been. it was a good three and one-half inches in diameter at the base, and it was as tall as a young flagpole. as he stood there looking at his reflection, the red cross in the center of the shield took on the hue of freshly-shed blood. the period-piece expert who had designed the shield had insisted on the illusion, saying that it made for greater authenticity, and mallory hadn't argued with him. he was glad now that he hadn't. raising the visor of his helmet, he winked at himself and said, "i hereby christen ye 'sir galahad'." next, he bethought himself of his steed. armor clanking, he left the supply room and walked down the short passage to the rec-hall. the rec-hall occupied the entire forward section of the tsb and had been designed solely for the benefit of the time-tourists whom mallory regularly conducted on past-tours as a cover-up for the illegal activities which he pursued in between trips. in the present instance, however, the hall went quite well with the _yore's_ lumillusioned exterior, possessing, with its gallery-like mezzanine, its long snack table, and its imitation flagstone flooring, an early sixth-century aspect of its own--an aspect marred only slightly by the "anachronistic" telewindows inset at regular intervals along the walls. mallory's steed stood in a stall-like enclosure that was formed by the tourist-bar and one of the walls, and it was a splendid "beast" indeed--as splendid a one as the twenty-second century robotics industry was capable of creating. originally, mallory had planned on bringing a real horse with him, but as this would have necessitated his having to learn how to ride, he had decided against it. the decision had been a wise one: "easy money" looked more like a horse than most real horses did, could travel twice as fast, and was as easy to ride and to maneuver as a golp jetney. it was light-brown in color with a white diamond on its forehead, it was equipped with a secret croup-compartment and an inbuilt saddle, and its fetlock-length trappings were made of genuine synthisilk threaded with gold. it wore no armor--it did not need to: weapons manufactured during the age of chivalry could no more penetrate its "hide" than a tooth pick could. _come on, easy money_, mallory encephalopathed. _you and i have a little job to do._ the rohorse emitted several realistic whinnies, backed out of its "stall", trotted smartly over to his side, and nuzzled his right pauldron. mallory mounted--not gracefully, it is true, but at least without the aid of the winch he would have needed if his armor had been manufactured in the sixth century--and inserted the red pommel of his spear in the stirrup socket. then, activating the _yore's_ lock, he rode across the imaginary drawbridge that spanned the mirage-moat, and set forth into the forest. as the "portcullis" closed behind him, symbolically bringing phase one of operation sangraal to a close, he thought of jason perfidion. * * * * * standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall fireplace in the big balconied room, perfidion said, "mallory, you're wasting your time. worse, you're wasting mine." the room climaxed a vertical series of slightly less sumptuous chambers known collectively as the perfidion tower, and the perfidion tower stood with a score of balconied brothers on a blacktop island in the exact center of kansas' largest golp course. a short distance from the fraternal gathering stood yet another tower--the false tower into which mallory had lumillusioned his tsb upon his arrival. on the golp terrace, as the blacktop island was called, everyone and everything conformed--or else. the room itself was known to time-thieves as "perfidion's lair". and yet there was nothing about jason perfidion--nothing physical, that is--that suggested the predator. he was mallory's age--thirty-three--tall, dark of hair, and strikingly handsome. he looked like--and was--a highly successful businessman with a triplex on get-rich-quick street, and he gave the impression that he was as honest as the day was long. just the same, the predator was there, and if you were alert enough you could sometimes glimpse it peering out through the smoky windowpanes of his eyes. it wasn't peering out now, though. it was sleeping. however, it was due to wake up any second. "then you're not interested in fencing the holy grail?" mallory asked. annoyance intensified the slight swarthiness of perfidion's cheeks. "mallory, you know as well as i do that the grail never really existed, that it was nothing more than the mead-inspired daydream of a bunch of quixotic knights. so go and get your hair cut and forget about it." "but suppose it _did_ exist," mallory insisted. "suppose, tomorrow afternoon at this time, i were to come in here and set it down on this desk here? how much could you get for it?" perfidion laughed. "how much _couldn't_ i get for it! why, without even stopping to think i can name you a dozen collectors who'd give their right arm for it." "i'm not interested in right arms," mallory said. "i'm interested in dollars. how many kennedees could you get for it?" "a megamillion--maybe more. more than enough, certainly, to permit you to retire from time-lifting and to take up residence on get-rich-quick street. but it doesn't exist, and it never did, so get out of here, mallory, and stop squandering my valuable time." mallory withdrew a small stereophoto from his breast pocket and tossed it on the desk. "have a look at that first--then i'll go," he said. perfidion picked up the photo. "an ordinary enough yellow bowl," he began, and stopped. suddenly he gasped, and jabbed one of the many buttons that patterned his desktop. seconds later, a svelte blonde whom mallory had never seen before stepped out of the lift tube. like most general-purpose secretaries, she wore a maximum of makeup and a minimum of clothing, and moved in an aura of efficiency and sex. "get me my photo-projector, miss tyler," perfidion said. when she returned with it, he set it on his desk and inserted the stereophoto. instantly, a huge cube materialized in the center of the room. inside the cube there was a realistic image of a resplendent silver table, and upon the image of the table stood an equally realistic image of a resplendent golden bowl. perfidion gasped again. "unusual workmanship, wouldn't you say?" mallory said. perfidion turned toward the blonde. "you may go, miss tyler." she was staring at the contents of the cube and apparently did not hear him. "i said," he repeated, "that you may go, miss tyler." "oh. yes ... yes sir." * * * * * when the lift-tube door closed behind her, perfidion turned to mallory. for a fraction of a second the predator was visible behind the smoky windowpanes of his eyes; then, quickly, it ducked out of sight. "where was this taken, tom?" "it's a distance-shot," mallory said. "i took it through one of the windows of the church joseph of arimathea built in glastonbury." "but how did you know--" "that it was there? because it _had_ to be there. some time ago, while escorting a group of tourists around ancient britain, i happened to witness joseph of arimathea's landing--and happened to catch a glimpse of what he brought with him. i used to think that the grail was a pipe dream, too, but when i saw it with my own eyes, i knew that it couldn't have been. however, i knew i'd need evidence to convince you, so i jumped back to a later place-time and got a shot of it." "but why a shot, tom? why didn't you lift it then and there?" "you concede that it is the grail then?" "of course it's the grail--there's not the slightest question about it. why didn't you lift it?" "well, for one thing, i wanted to make sure that lifting it would be worth my while, and for another, glastonbury wasn't the logical place-time from which to lift it, because, assuming that the rest of the legend is also true, it was seen after that place-time. no time-thief ever bucked destiny yet and came out the winner, jason; i play my percentages." "i know you do, tom. you're one of the best time-lift men in the business, and the past police would be the first to admit it.... i daresay you've already pinpointed the key place-time?" mallory grinned, showing his white teeth. "i certainly have, but if you think i'm going to divulge it, you're sadly mistaken, jason. and stop looking at my hair--it won't tell you anything beyond the fact that i've been using hair-haste. shoulder-length hair was the rage in more eras than one." perfidion smiled warmly, and clapped mallory on the back. "i'm not trying to ferret out your secret, tom. i know better than that. lifting is your line, fencing mine. you bring me the grail, i'll sell it, take my cut, and everything will be fine. you know me, tom." "i sure do," mallory said, taking the stereophoto out of the projector and returning it to his breast pocket. perfidion snapped his fingers. "a happy thought just occurred to me! i've got a golp date with rowley of puriproducts, so why don't you join us, tom? you play a pretty good game, as i recall." mollified, mallory said, "i'll have to borrow a set of your jetsticks." "i'll get them for you on the way down. come on, tom." mallory accompanied him across the room. "keep mum about this to rowley now," perfidion said confidentially. "he's a potential customer, but we don't want to let the cat out of the bag yet, do we? or should i say 'the grail'." he took time out to grin at his little joke, then, "by the way, tom, i take it you're all set as regards costume, equipment and the like." "i've got the sweetest little suit of armor you ever laid eyes on," mallory said. "fine--no need for me to offer any advice in that respect then." perfidion opened the lift door. "after you, tom." they plummeted down the tube together. * * * * * it had been a good game of golp--from mallory's standpoint, anyway. he had trounced rowley roundly, and he would have inflicted similar ignominy upon perfidion had not the latter been called away in the middle of the game and been unable to return till it was nearly over. oh well, mallory thought, encephalo-guiding his rohorse through the ancient forest, there'll be other chances. aloud, he said, "step lively now, easy money, and let's get this caper over with so we can return to civilization and start feeling what it's like to be rich." in response to the encephalo-waves that had accompanied his words, easy money increased its pace, the infra-red rays of its eye units illumining its way. in places, light from the rising moon seeped through the foliage, but otherwise darkness was the rule. the air was cool and damp--the sea was not far distant--and the sound of frogs and insects was omnipresent and now and then there was the rustling sound of some small and fleeing forest creature. presently the ground began to rise, and not long afterward the trees thinned out temporarily and rohorse and rider emerged on the moonlit crest of the ridge that separated the two valleys. in the distance mallory made out the moon-gilt towers and turrets of a large castle, and knew it to be carbonek beyond a doubt. he sighed with relief. he was all set now--provided his masquerade went over. conversely, if it didn't go over he was finished: his sword and his spear were his only weapons, and his shield and his armor, his only protection. true, each article was superior in quality and durability to its corresponding article in the age of chivalry, but otherwise none of them was anything more than what it seemed. mallory might be a time-thief; but within the framework of his profession he believed in playing fair. in response to his encephalopathed directions, easy money picked its way down the slope of the ridge and re-entered the forest. not long afterward it stepped onto what was euphemistically referred to in that day and age as a "highway" but which in reality was little more than a wide, hoof-trampled lane. as mallory's entire plan of action was based on boldness, he spurned the shadows of the bordering oaks and beeches and encephalopathed the rohorse to keep to the center of the lane. he met no one, however, despite the earliness of the hour, nor had he really expected to. it was highly improbable that any freemen would be abroad after dark, and as for the knight-errants who happened to be in the neighborhood, it was highly improbable that any of them would be abroad after dark either. he grinned. to read _le morte d'arthur,_ you'd think that the chivalry boys had been in business twenty-four hours a day, slaying ogres, rescuing fair damosels, and searching for the sangraal; but not if you read between the lines. mallory had read "arthur" only cursorily, but he had had a hunch all along that in the majority of cases the quest for the sangraal had served as an out, and that the knights of the table round had spent more time wenching and wassailing than they had conducting their so-called dedicated search, and the hunch had played an important role in the shaping of his strategy. the highway turned this way and that, never pursuing a straight course unless such a logical procedure was unavoidable. once, he thought he heard hoofbeats up ahead, but he met no one, and not long afterward he saw the pale pile of carbonek looming above the trees to his left, and encephalo-guided easy money into the lane that led to the entrance. there was no moat, but the portcullis was an imposing one. flanking it on either side was a huge stone lion, and framing it were flaming torches in regularly-spaced niches. warders in hauberk and helmet looked down from the lofty wall, their halberds gleaming in the dancing torchlight. mallory swallowed: the moment of truth had arrived. he halted easy money and canted his white shield so that the red cross in its center would be visible from above. then he marshalled his smattering of old english. "i hight sir galahad of the table round," he called out in as bold a voice as he could muster. "i would rest my eyes upon the sangraal." * * * * * instantly, confusion reigned upon the wall as the warders vied with one another for the privilege of operating the cumbersome windlass that raised and lowered the portcullis, and presently, to the accompaniment of a chorus of creaks and groans and scrapings, the ponderous iron grating began to rise. mallory forced himself to wait until it had risen to a height befitting a knight of sir galahad's caliber, then he rode through the gateway and into the courtyard, congratulating himself on the effectiveness of his impersonation. "ye will come unto the chamber of the sangraal sixty paces down the corridor to thy left eftsoon ye enter the chief fortress, sir knight," one of the warders called down. "an ye had arrived a little while afore, ye had encountered sir launcelot du lake, the which did come unto the fortress and enter in, wherefrom he came out anon and departed." mallory would have wiped his forehead if his forehead had been accessible and if his hands had not been encased in metal gloves. fooling the warders was one thing, but passing himself off as sir galahad to the man who was sir galahad's father would have been quite another. he had learned from the pages of his near-namesake's "arthur" that sir launcelot had visited carbonek before sir galahad had, but the pages had not revealed whether the time-lapse had involved minutes, hours, or years, and for that matter, mallory wasn't altogether certain whether the second visit they described had been the real sir galahad's, which meant failure, or a romanticized version of his own, which meant success. his near-namesake was murky at best, and reading him you were never sure where anybody was, or when any given event was taking place. the courtyard was empty, and after crossing it, mallory dismounted, encephalopathed easy money to stay put, and climbed the series of stone steps that led to the castle proper. entering the building unchallenged, he found himself at the junction of three corridors. the main one stretched straight ahead and debouched into a large hall. the other two led off at right angles, one to the left and one to the right. boisterous laughter emanated from the hall, and he could see knights and other nobles sitting at a long banquet table. scattered among them were gentlewomen in rich silks, and hovering behind them were servants bearing large demijohns. he grinned. just as he had figured--king pelles was throwing a whingding. quickly, mallory turned down the left-hand corridor and started along it, counting his footsteps. rushes rustled beneath his feet, and the flickering light of wall-torches gave him a series of grotesque shadows. he saw no one: all the servants were in the banquet hall, pouring wine and mead. he laughed aloud. forty-eight paces sufficed to see him to the chamber door. it was a perfectly ordinary door. opening it, he thought at first that the room beyond was ordinary, too. then he saw the burning candles arranged along the walls, and beneath them, standing in the center of the floor, the table of silver. the table of the sangraal.... there was no sangraal on the table, however. there was no sangraal in the room, for that matter. there was a girl, though. she was huddled forlornly in a corner, and she was crying. ii mallory laid his spear aside, strode across the room, and raised the girl to her feet. "the sangraal," he said, forgetting in his agitation the few odds and ends of old english he had memorized. "where is it!" she raised startled eyes that were as round, and almost as large, as plums. her face was round, too, and faintly childlike. her hair was dark-brown, and done up in a strange and indeterminate coiffeur that was as charming as it was disconcerting. her ankle-length dress was white, and there was a bow on the bodice that matched the plum-blueness of her eyes. a few cosmetics, properly applied, would have turned her into an attractive woman, and even without them, she rated a second look. she stared at him for some time, then, "surely ye be an advision, sir," she said. "i ... i know ye not." mallory swung his shield around so that she could see the red cross. "now do you know me?" she gasped, and her eyes grew even rounder. "sir ... sir galahad! oh, fair knight, wherefore did ye not say?" mallory ignored the question. "the sangraal," he repeated. "where is it?" her tears had ceased temporarily; now they began again. "oh, fair sir!" she cried, "ye see tofore you, a damosel at mischief, the which was given guardianship of the holy vessel at her own request, and bewrayed her trust, a damosel--" "never mind all that," mallory said. "where's the sangraal?" "i wot not, fair sir." "but you must know if you were guarding it!" "i wot not whither it was taken." "but you must wot who took it." "wot i well, fair knight. sir launcelot, the which is thy father, bare it from the chamber." mallory was stunned. "but that's impossible! my fa--sir launcelot wouldn't steal the sangraal!" "well i wot, fair sir; yet steal it he did. came he unto the chamber and saith, i hight sir launcelot du lake of the table round, whereat i did see his armor to be none other; so then took he the vessel covered with the red samite and bare it with him from the chamber, whereat i--" "how long ago?" "but a little while afore eight of the clock. sithen i have wept. i know now no good knight, nor no good man. and i know from thy holy shield and from they good name that thou art a good knight, and i beseech ye therefore to help me, for ye be a shining knight indeed, wherefore ye ought not to fail no damosel which is in distress, and she besought you of help." mallory only half heard her. sir launcelot was too much with him. it was inconceivable that a knight of such noble principles would even consider touching the sangraal, to say nothing of making off with it. maybe, though, his principles hadn't been quite as noble as they had been made out to be. he had been queen guinevere's paramour, hadn't he? he had lain with the fair elaine, hadn't he? when you came right down to it, he could very well have been a scoundrel at heart all along--a scoundrel whose true nature had been toned down by writers like malory and poets like tennyson. all of which, while it strongly suggested that he was capable of stealing the sangraal, threw not the slightest light on his reason for having done so. mallory was right back where he had started from. he turned to the girl. "you said something about needing my help. what do you want me to do?" instantly, her tears stopped and she clasped her hands together and looked at him with worshipful eyes. "oh, fair sir, ye be most kind indeed! well i wot from thy shining armor that ye--" "knock it off," mallory said. "knock it off? i wot not what--" "never mind. just tell me what you want me to do." "ye must bear me from the castle, fair sir, or the king learns i have bewrayed my trust and wreaks his wrath upon me. and then ye must help me regain the holy cup and return it to this chamber." "we'll worry about getting the cup back after we're beyond the walls," mallory said, starting for the door. "come on--they're all in the banquet hall and as drunk as lords--they won't even see us go by." she hung back. "but the warders, fair sir--they be not enchafed. and king pelles, by my own wish, did forbid them to pass me." mallory stared at her. "by your own wish! well of all the crazy--" abruptly he dropped the subject. "all right then--how _do_ we get out of here?" "there lieth beneath the fortress and the forest a parlous passage wherein dwells the fiend, the which i have much discomfit of. but with ye aside me, fair knight, there is naught to fear." mallory had read enough malory to be able to take sixth-century fiends in his stride. "i'll have to take my horse along," he said. "is there room for it to pass?" "yea, fair sir. the tale saith that aforetime many knights did ride out beneath the fortress and the forest and did smite the saxons, saracens, and pagans, the which did compass the castle about, from behind, whereupon the battle was won." mallory stepped outside the chamber, the girl just behind him, and encephalopathed the necessary directions. after a moment, easy money came trotting down the corridor to his side. the girl gasped, and, to his astonishment, threw her arms around the rohorse's neck. "he is a noble steed indeed, fair sir," she said; "and worthy of a knight fitting to sit in the siege perilous." presently she stepped back, frowning. "he ... he is most cold, fair sir." "all horses of that breed are," mallory explained. "incidentally, his name is 'easy money'." "la! such a strange name." "not so strange." mallory raised his visor, making a mental note to see to it that any and all suits of armor he might buy in the future were air-conditioned. he got his spear. "let's be on our way, shall we?" "ye ... ye have blue eyes, fair sir." "never mind the color of my eyes--let's get out of here." she seemed to make up her mind about something. "an ye will follow me, sir knight," she said, and started down the corridor. * * * * * a ramp, the entrance of which was camouflaged by a rotating section of the inner castle wall, gave access to the subterranean passage. the passage itself, in the flickering light of the torch that the girl had brought along, appeared at first to be nothing more than a natural cave enlarged through the centuries by the stream that still flowed down its center. presently, however, mallory saw that in certain places the stone walls had been cut back in such a way that the space on either side of the stream never narrowed to a width of less than four feet. he saw other evidence of human handiwork too--dungeons. they were little more than shallow caves now, though, their iron gratings having rusted and fallen away. after proceeding half a hundred yards, he paused. "i don't know what we're walking for when we've got a perfectly good horse at our disposal," he told the girl. "come on, i'll help you into the saddle and i'll jump on behind." she shook her head. "no, fair knight, it is not fitting for a gentlewoman to ride tofore her champion. ye will mount, and i will ride behind." "suit yourself," mallory said. he climbed into the saddle with a clank and a clatter, and helped her up on easy money's croup. "by the way, you never did tell me your name." "i hight the damosel rowena." "pleased to meet you," mallory said. _giddy-ap, easy money_, he encephalopathed. they rode in silence for a little while, the light from rowena's torch dancing acappella rigadoons on bare walls and dripping ceilings, easy money's hoofbeats hardly audible above the purling of the stream. presently rowena said, "it were best that ye drew out thy sword, fair sir, for anon the fiend will beset us." "he hasn't beset us yet," mallory pointed out. "la! fair sir, he will." he saw no harm in humoring her, and did as she had suggested. "you mentioned something a while back about having been given guardianship of the sangraal at your own request," he said. "how did that come about?" "list, fair sir, and i will tell ye. but first i must tell ye of sir bors de ganis, of which sir lionel is brother. it happed one day that sir bors did ride into a forest in the kingdom of mennes unto the hour of midday, and there befell him a marvelous adventure. so he met at the departing of the two ways two knights that led lionel, his brother, all naked, bounden upon a strong hackney, and his hands bounden tofore his breast. and every each of them held in his hands thorns wherewith they went beating him so sore that the blood trailed down more than in an hundred places of his body, so that he was all blood tofore and behind, but he said never a word; as he which was great of heart he suffered all that ever they did to him as though he had felt none anguish. "anon sir bors dressed him to rescue him that was his brother; and so he looked upon the other side of him, and saw a knight which brought a fair gentlewoman, and would have set her in the thickest place of the forest for to have been the more surer out of the way from them that sought him. and she which was nothing assured cried with a high voice: 'saint mary succor your maid.' and anon she espied where sir bors came riding. and when she came nigh him she deemed him a knight of the round table, whereof she hoped to have some comfort; and then she conjured him: by the faith that he ought unto him in whose service thou art entered in, and for the faith ye owe unto the high order of knighthood, and for the noble king arthur's sake, that i suppose that made thee knight, that thou help me, and suffer me not to be shamed of this knight. when--" "just a minute," mallory interrupted, thoroughly bewildered and simultaneously afflicted with an irrational sense of _deja vu_. "this gentlewoman you speak of--would she by any chance be you?" "wit ye well, fair sir. when--" "but if she's you, why don't you use the first person singular instead of the third?" "i wot not what--" "why don't you use 'i' instead of 'she' when you refer to yourself directly?" "it would not be fitting, fair knight. when bors heard her say thus he had so much sorrow there he nyst not what to do. for if i let my brother be in adventure he must be slain, and that would i not for all the earth. and if i help not the maid she is shamed for ever, and also she shall lose her virginity the which she shall never get again. then lift he up his eyes and said weeping: fair sweet lord, whose liege man i am, keep lionel, my brother, that these knights slay him not, and for pity of you, and for mary's sake, i shall succor this maid. then dressed he him unto the knight the which had the gentlewoman, and then--" * * * * * "hist!" mallory whispered. "i heard something." for a moment the light flared wildly as though she had nearly dropped the torch. "wh ... whence came the sound, fair knight?" "from the other side of the stream." he peered into the vacillating shadows, but saw nothing but the darker shadows of one of the innumerable man-made caves. the sound he had heard had brought to mind the dull clang that metal makes when it collides with stone, and it had been so faint as to have been barely audible above the purling of the stream. thinking back, he was not altogether certain that he had heard it at all. "my imagination's getting the best of me, i guess," he said presently. "there's no one there." her warm breath penetrated the crevices of his gorget and fanned the back of his neck. "ye ... ye ween not that it could have been the fiend prowling?" "of course i ween not! relax, and finish your story. but get to the point, will you?" "an ... an it so please.... and then sir bors cried: sir knight, let your hand off that maiden, or ye be but dead. and then he set down the maiden, and was armed at all pieces save he lacked his spear. then he dressed his shield, and drew out his sword, and bors smote him so hard that it went through his shield and habergeon on the left shoulder. and through great strength he beat him down to the earth, and at the pulling out of bors' spear there he swooned. then came bors to the maid and said: how seemeth it to you of this knight ye be delivered at this time? now sir, said she, i pray you lead me there as this knight had me. so shall i do gladly: and took the horse of the wounded knight, and set the gentlewoman upon him, and so brought her as she desired. sir knight, said she, ye have better sped than ye weened, for an i had lost my maidenhead, five hundred men should have died for it. what knight was he that had you in the forest? by my faith, said she, he is my cousin. so wot i never with what engyn the fiend enchafed him, for yesterday he took me from my father privily; for i nor none of my father's men mistrusted him not, and if he had had my maidenhead he should have died for the sin, and his body shamed and dishonored for ever. thus as--" "_shhh!_" this time, mallory was certain that he had heard something. the sound had had much in common with the previous sound, except that it had suggested metal scraping against, rather than colliding with, stone. directly across the stream was another cave, this one shallow enough to permit the torchlight to penetrate its deeper shadows, and looking into those shadows, he caught a faint gleam of reflected light. rowena must have caught it, too, for he heard her gasp behind him. "it were best that i thanked ye now for thy great kindness, fair knight," she said, "for anon we be no longer on live." "nonsense!" mallory said. "if this fiend of yours is anywhere in the vicinity, he's probably more afraid of us than we are of him." the cave was behind them now. "per ... peradventure he hath already had meat," rowena said hopefully. "the tale saith that and the fiend be filled, he becomes aweary and besets not them the which do pass him by in peace." "i'll keep my sword handy, just in case he changes his mind," mallory said. "meanwhile, get on with your autobiography--only for pete's sake, cut it short, will you?" "an it please, fair sir. thus as the fair gentlewoman stood talking with sir bors there came twelve knights seeking after her, and anon she told them all how bors had delivered her; then they made great joy, and besought him to come to her father, a great lord, and he should be right welcome. truly, said bors, that may not be at this time, for i have a great adventure to do in this country. so he commended them unto god and departed. the fair gentlewoman did grieve mickle to see him leave, and she saith, sir knights, noble was the service that brave knight did render unto thy liege's daughter in the saving of her maidenhead the which she could never get again, for that be none other than his own brother the which he fauted. therefore, noble must be both his king and his cause, wherefore it be befitting that a gentlewoman of thy liege's daughter's nature leave the castle of her father betimes that she may render fitting service to her succor's cause and be worthy of his deed. thus spake this fair gentlewoman, whereat she did mount upon her palfrey and so departed her from thence and did ride as fast as her palfrey might bear her, whereupon after many days she came to the castle of carbonek and did seek out king pelles and did beseech him that she might be made guardian of the sangraal, whereat he did graciously consent to her request and did consent also that she be made prisoner in the fortress by her own wish. and now she was bewrayed her trust, fair sir, and the table of silver whereon the sangraal stood stands empty." * * * * * for some time after she finished talking, mallory was silent. was she trying to pull his leg? he wondered. or were the gentlewomen of her day and age really as high-minded and as feathered-brained as she would have him believe? he decided not to go into the matter for the moment. "tell me, rowena," he said, "if the sangraal is visible only to those who are worthy of it, as i have been led to believe, how are any of those wassailers whooping it up back there in that banquet hall going to know whether it's gone or not?" "it be ofttimes averred that all cannot see the holy cup, as ye say, fair knight. natheless, all that have come unto the chamber sithen my trust began, they did see it, and sir launcelot, the which is much with sin, he did see it--and did take it." "he's not going to get very far with it, though," mallory said. and then, "how long is the tunnel anyway?" "anon we shall see the stars, fair sir." she was right, and a few minutes later, after rounding a turn in the passage, they emerged upon the bank of a small river. the subterranean stream that had kept them company emerged, too, and joined its larger sister on the way to the sea. on either hand, cliffs rose up, and the susurrus of waves breaking on sand could be heard in the distance. mallory guided easy money upstream to where the cliffs dwindled down to thickly forested slopes. it took him but a moment to orientate himself, and presently rohorse and riders were headed in the direction of the highway. "now," said he, "if you'll tell me where you want to be dropped off, i'll see what i can do about getting the grail back." there was a brief silence. then, "an ... an ye wish, ye may leave me here." he halted easy money, dismounted, and lifted her down to the ground. he looked around, expecting to see a habitation of some sort. he saw nothing but trees. he faced the girl again. "don't you have any friends or relatives you can stay with?" an argent shaft of moonlight slanting down through the foliage illumined her face. "there be none nigh, fair sir, nor none nearer than an hundred miles. i shall abide your again coming here in the forest." mallory stared at her. she didn't look--or act either, for that matter--as though she knew enough to get in out of the rain. "abide here in the forest! why, you wouldn't last a week!" "but ye will return hither with the sangraal long afore that, whereupon we two together shall return the holy vessel to the chamber and i shall not be made to suffer the severing of my two hands." he was aghast. "they wouldn't dare cut off your hands!" "they dare much, fair knight. know ye naught of the customs of the land?" he was silent. what in the world was he going to do about her? she would probably wait here for him until she starved to death or, equally as distressing, until she was apprehended. abruptly he shrugged his shoulders--to the extent that his pauldrons permitted--and remounted the rohorse. why should it matter to him what became of her? he'd returned to the age of chivalry to steal the sangraal, not to play nursemaid to damosels in distress. "don't take any wooden nickels now," he said. two tiny stars appeared in the pale regions of her eyes and twinkled down her cheeks. "may the good lord speed ye upon thy quest, fair knight, and may he guard ye well." "oh, for pete's sake!" mallory said, and reaching down, pulled her up onto easy money's croup. "i have a castle not far from here. i'll drop you off, then i'll go after the sangraal." her breath was warm little wind seeping through the crevices of his gorget. "oh, fair sir, ye be the noblest of all the knights in all the land, and i shall serve thee faithfully for the rest of my days!" the rohorse whinnied. _giddy-ap, easy money_, mallory encephalopathed, and they started out. iii rowena fell for the _yore_ hook, line, and sinker. not even the modern interior gave her pause. those objects which happened to be beyond her ken--and there were many of them--she interpreted as "appointments befitting a noble knight," and as for the rooms themselves, she merely identified them with the rooms out of her own experience that they most closely resembled. thus the rec-hall became "the banquet hall," the supply room became "the kitchen," the control room became "the sorcerer's tower," the tourist compartments became "the sleeping tower," mallory's bedroom-office became "the lord's quarters," the lavatory became "the chapel," and the generator room became "the dungeon." only two things disconcerted her: the absence of servants and the fact that easy money was stabled in the banquet hall. mallory got around the first by telling her that he had given the servants a leave of absence, and she herself got around the second by declaring it to be no more than fitting for such a splendid steed to be accorded special treatment. certainly, mallory reflected, she was nothing if she was not co-operative. after showing her around he wasted no time in getting down to the business on hand, and stepping into the control room, he punched out the data necessary to take the _yore_ back to : p.m. of the same day, and to re-materialize it one half mile west of its present position, as an overlap was bound to occur. there was a barely noticeable tremor as the transition took place, and simultaneously the darkness showing on the control-room telewindow transmuted to dusk. turning away from the jump board, he saw rowena regarding him with large eyes from the doorway. "we're now back to a point in time that precedes the theft of the sangraal," he told her, "and we're relocated farther down the valley. but don't let it throw you. none other than merlin himself built the magic apparatus you see before you in this room, and you know yourself that once he makes up his mind to it, merlin can do anything." she blinked once, but evinced no other signs of surprise. "yea, fair sir," she said, "i am ware of the magic of merlin." "however," mallory went on, "magic such as this isn't something for a gentlewoman such as yourself to fool around with, so i must forbid you to enter this room during my absence from the castle. also, while we're on the subject, i must also forbid you to leave the castle during my absence. merlin would be upset no end if there were two damosels that hight rowena gallivanting around the countryside at the same time." she blinked again. "by my troth, fair sir," she said, "i would lever die than disobey thy two commands." and then, "have ye ate any meat late?" this time, mallory blinked, "meat?" "it is fitting that ye should eat meat afore ye ride out." "oh, you mean food. i'll eat when i get back. but there's no need for you to wait." he took her into the supply room and showed her where the vacuum tins were stored. "you open them like this," he explained, pulling one out and activating the desealer. "then, as soon as the contents cool off a little, you sit down to dinner." "but this be not meat," she objected. "maybe not, but it's a good substitute, and a lot better for you." a thought struck him, and he took her into the lavatory and showed her how to operate the hot and cold-water dispenser, ascribing the setup to more of merlin's magic. he debated on whether to explain the function and purpose of the adjacent shower, decided not to. there was a limit to all things, and an apparatus for washing one's whole body was simply too farfetched for anyone living in the sixth-century to take seriously. back in the rec-hall, he donned his helmet and gauntlets, reset the gauntlet timepiece, picked up his spear and encephalopathed easy money to his side. mounting, he set the spear in the stirrup socket. rowena gazed up at him, plum-blue eyes round with awe and admiration--and concern. "wit ye well, fair sir," she said, "that sir launcelot, the which is thy father, is a knight of many victories, and therefore ye must take care." mallory grinned. "dismay you not, fair damsel, i'll smite him from his steed before he can say 'queen guinevere'." he straightened his sword belt, activated the _yore's_ lock, and rode across the mirage-moat and entered the forest. the "portcullis" closed behind him. * * * * * dusk had become darkness by the time he reached the highway. approximately half an hour later he would reach the highway again. however, the seeming paradox did not disconcert him in the least: this was far from being the first time he had backtracked himself on a job. [illustration] as "before," he spurned the shadows of the bordering oaks and beeches and encephalopathed easy money to keep to the center of the lane. and, as "before," no one was abroad. probably king pelles' wassail was already in progress, or, if not, the goodly knights and gentlewomen were still at evensong. in any event, he reached the lane that led to the castle of carbonek without mishap. after entering the lane, he encephalopathed easy money into the concealment of the shadows of the bordering trees and settled back in the saddle to wait. rowena's placing the time of the theft at "a little while afore eight of the clock" had been a general estimate at best; hence he had allowed himself plenty of leeway and had arrived on the scene a little early. it was well that he had, for hardly a minute passed before he heard hoofbeats approaching from the south, and presently he saw a tall knight astride a resplendent steed turn into the lane. his armor gleamed in the moonlight and bespoke a quality and class that only a knight of sir launcelot's status would be able to afford. mallory watched him ride down the lane to the lion-flanked entrance and heard him announce himself as "sir launcelot". the portcullis was raised without delay, and the knight rode through the gateway and disappeared from view. mallory frowned in the darkness. something about the incident had failed to jibe. he thought back, but he could isolate nothing that, in retrospect anyway, seemed in the least incongruous. he tried again, with the same result, and at length he concluded that the note of discord had originated in his imagination. again, he settled back to wait. he wasn't particularly worried about the outcome of the forthcoming encounter--the superiority of the weapons and armor should be more than enough to see him through--but just the same he wished there was some way to avoid it. there wasn't, of course. sir launcelot's theft of the sangraal was already incorporated in fact, and, as a _fait accompli_, could not be obviated by a previous theft. all mallory could do was to make his move after the _fait acccompli_ in the hope that that was when he _had_ made his move. a time-thief didn't have nearly as much leeway as his seeming freedom of movement might lead the uninitiated to believe. about all he could do was to play along with destiny and await his opportunities. if destiny smiled, he succeeded; if destiny frowned, he did not. however, mallory was optimistic about his forthcoming bid for the grail, for if it wasn't in the books for him to wrest the cup from sir launcelot, the chances were he wouldn't have gotten as far as he had. he estimated that it would take the man five minutes to enter the castle, proceed to the chamber, seize the sangraal, return to the courtyard and come riding back to the portcullis. seven minutes proved to be nearer the mark. in response to a hail from within the wall, several of the warders bent to the windlass, whereupon the portcullis scraped and groaned aloft, and the tall knight came riding out just as the hands of mallory's timepiece registered : p.m. mallory let him pass, straining his eyes in vain for a glimpse of the sangraal. he waited till sir launcelot was half a hundred yards down the highway before he encephalopathed easy money to follow, and he waited till a bend in the road hid the castle of carbonek from view before encephalopathing the command to charge. at this point, sir launcelot became aware that he was no longer alone, and wheeled his steed around. without an instant's hesitation, he dressed his spear and launched a counter-charge. all mallory could think of was a twentieth-century steam locomotive bearing down upon him. he swallowed grimly, "aventred" his own spear, and upped easy money's pace. two could play at being locomotives. the approaching knight and steed loomed larger; the sound of hoofbeats crescendoed into staccato thunder. the spear pointing straight toward mallory's breastplate had something of the aspect of a jet-propelled flagpole. hurriedly, he got his shield into position. maybe the man would spot the red cross, realize its significance, and slow down. if he spotted it, he gave no sign, and only came the faster. mallory braced himself for the forthcoming impact. however, the impact never occurred. at the last moment his antagonist directed the spearpoint at mallory's helmet, did something that made it separate itself from the shaft to the accompaniment of a gout of incandescence and come streaking through the air like a little comet. mallory tried to dodge, but he would have been equally as successful if he had tried to dodge a real comet. there was a deafening _clang!_ in the region of his left audio-amplifier, and the whole left side of his face went numb. just before he blacked out he saw the oncoming knight veer his steed, wheel it around, and ride off. a peal of all-too-familiar laughter drifted back over the man's shoulder. * * * * * "now," said the rent-a-robogogue, "you will try again: 'a' is for 'atom', 'b' is for 'bomb', 'c' is for 'conform', 'd' is for 'dollar', 'e' is for 'economy', and 'f' is for 'fun'. what comes after 'f'?" the boy mallory squirmed in his abc chair. "i don't know what comes next and i don't care!" "i'll box your ears," the rent-a-robogogue threatened. "you wouldn't dare!" "yes i would--i'm a physical-chastisement model, you know. now, we'll try once more: 'a' is for 'atom', 'b' is for 'bomb', 'c' is for 'conform', 'd' is for 'dollar', 'e' is for 'economy', and 'f' is for 'fun'. what comes after 'f'?" "i told you that i didn't know and that i didn't care!" "i warned you," said the rent-a-robogogue. "ow!" the boy mallory cried. "ow!" the man mallory groaned, sitting up in the weeds beside the early sixth-century highway. all was silence around him, if you discounted the stridulations of insects and the _be-ke korak-korak-korak_ of frogs. a few yards away, easy money stood immobile in the moonlight. mallory raised his hand to his helmet and felt the sizable dent that the spearpoint had made. gingerly, he took the helmet off. who in the world would have dreamed that they had jet-rifles in this day and age! the absurdity of the thought snapped him back to full awareness. a moment later he remembered the peal of familiar laughter. perfidion! the man must have wanted the grail desperately to have come after it himself, which meant that it was probably worth much more than he had let on. but how had he known when and where to essay the lift? more specifically, how had he found out when and where to essay the lift on such short notice? mallory thought back. he was reasonably certain that he had made no slips of the tongue during his visit to the perfidion tower and during the ensuing game of golp, and he was equally certain that he had let fall no revealing references to the place-time he had so carefully pinpointed. where, then, had he gone astray? suddenly, way back in his mind, perfidion said, "by the way, tom, i take it you're all set as regards costume, equipment and the like." "i've got the sweetest little suit of armor you ever laid eyes on," mallory heard himself answer. he swore. so that was it! all perfidion had needed to do was to make the rounds of the costumers who specialized in armor, and to shell out a few kennedees to the one mallory had patronized last. then, in possession of the knowledge that mallory was embarking into the past as sir galahad, all perfidion had had to do was to consult one of the many experts he kept at his beck and call. the expert had undoubtedly told him where sir galahad was supposed to have found the grail before taking it to sarras, and, equally as important, approximately when the event was supposed to have taken place. further questions could not have failed to elicit the additional information that sir launcelot had come to the chamber of the sangraal before sir galahad had, and from this perfidion had undoubtedly deduced that sir launcelot could very well have been a time-thief in disguise, too, and that the man, having arrived on the scene first, could very well have been responsible for the grail's so-called return to heaven, despite what legend said to the contrary. certainly it had been a gamble worth taking, and obviously perfidion had taken it. and won the jackpot. but that didn't mean he was going to keep the jackpot. not by a long shot. mallory encephalopathed easy money to his side and pulled himself to his feet with the help of the left stirrup and hung his helmet on the pommel. then he picked up his spear and clambered into the saddle. "we're not beat yet, easy money," he said. _giddy-ap!_ easy money whinnied, stamped its feet, and started back toward the _yore_. a short while later they passed the lane that led to the castle of carbonek. presently mallory heard the _clip-clop_ of approaching hoofbeats, and not wanting to risk an encounter in his weakened condition, he encephalo-guided the rohorse off the highway and into the deep shadows of a big oak. there was something tantalizingly familiar about the horse and rider coming down the highway. small wonder: the "horse" was easy money and the rider was himself. he was on his way to the castle of carbonek to lift the holy grail. mallory gazed after his retreating figure disgustedly. "sucker!" he said. iv rowena nearly threw a fit when mallory rode into the rec-hall. "oh, fair knight, ye be sorely wounded indeed!" she cried, helping him down from his rohorse. "certes, an ye bleed so much ye may die!" mallory's head was throbbing, and he saw two damosels that hight rowena instead of only one. "i'll be all right after i lie down for a while," he said. "and don't worry about the bleeding--it's almost stopped." he took a step in the direction of his bedroom office, staggered and would have fallen if she hadn't caught his arm. her strength astonished him: for all the lightness of his armor, it still lent him an over-all weight of some two hundred and ten pounds; and yet the shoulder which she provided for him to lean on did not give once all the way to his bedside. she had his pauldrons, breastplate, and arm-coverings off in no time flat. his cuisses, greaves, and sollerets followed. the last he remembered was lying there in his under garments and his chain-mail vest with three faces swimming in the misted sea of his vision, each of them invested with the peculiar beauty that concern, and concern alone, can grant. "how is mammakin's little man now?" the rent-a-mammakin asked, applying soothing sedasalve to the boy mallory's swollen ear. "he hit me, mammakin," the boy mallory sobbed. "just because i wouldn't tell him that 'g' stands for 'geography'. i hate geography! i hate it, hate it, hate it!" "nasty old rent-a-robogogue! mammakin sent him away. he was an old model that got rented out by mistake. is mammakin's little man's ear all right now?" the boy mallory sat up. "i want my real--" he began. the man mallory sat up. "i want my real--" he began. "i have great joy of thy swift recovery, fair sir," rowena said. she was perched on the edge of his bed, applying a cool and soothing ointment to his ear. on the table by the bed lay a basin of water, and on her lap lay a pink tube. he grabbed the tube, looked at the label. _sedasalve_. he sighed with relief. "where did you find it?" he asked. "la! fair sir, when ye did seem no longer on live i did run both toward and forward in the castle seeking a magical salve whereby i might succor ye, whereupon i did come to a white box in the chapel wherein lay many magical tubes of diverse colors and natures whereof i did choose one and--" mallory was incredulous. "you chose a tube at random?" he demanded. "good lord, it might have contained a counteragent that could have killed me!" "the ... the letters thereon seemed of a magical nature, fair knight. and ... and the color was seemly." "well anyway it was the right one." he looked at her. could she read? he wondered. he was tempted to ask her, but refrained for fear of embarrassing her. "in that same white box," he said, "you will find a big bottle filled with round red pellets. would you get it for me?" when she returned with it, he took two of the pills, then he laid his head back on the pillow. "they'll restore the blood i lost," he explained, "but in order for them to do the job properly i've got to lie perfectly still for at least one hour." she sat down on the edge of the bed. "marry! the magic of merlin is marvelous, albeit not as marvelous as the magic of joseph of arimathea." "what did he do that was so marvelous?" the plum-blue eyes were fixed full upon his face. "ye wit naught of the tale of the white shield ye bear, fair sir? list, and i will tell ye: "it befell after the passion of our lord thirty-two year, that joseph of arimathea, the gentle knight, the which took down our lord off the holy cross, at that time departed from jerusalem with a great party of his kindred with him. and so he labored till that they came to a city that hight sarras. and at that same hour that joseph came to sarras there was a king that hight evelake, that had great war against the saracens, and in especially against one saracen, the which was king evelake's cousin, a rich king and a mighty, which marched nigh this land, and his name was called tolleme la feintes. so on a day these two met to do battle. then joseph, the son of joseph of arimathea, went to king evelake and told him he should be discomfit and slain, but if he left his belief of the old law and believed upon the new law. and then there he showed him the right belief of the holy trinity, to the which he agreed unto with all his heart; and there this shield was made for king evelake, in the name of him that died upon the cross. and then--" "hold it a minute," mallory said. "this shield you've finally got around to mentioning--is it the same one you set out to tell me about?" "wit ye well, fair sir. and then through king evelake's good belief he had the better of king tolleme. for when evelake was in the battle there was a cloth set afore the shield, and when he was in the greatest peril he left put away the cloth, and then his enemies saw a figure of a man on the cross, wherethrough they all were discomfit. and so it befell that a man of king evelake's was smitten his hand off, and bare that hand in his other hand; and joseph called that man unto him and bade him go with good devotion touch the cross. and as soon as that man had touched the cross with his hand it was as whole as ever it was tofore. then soon after there fell a great marvel, that the cross of the shield at one time vanished away that no man wist where it became. and then king evelake was baptized, and for the most part all the people of that city. so, soon after joseph would depart, and king evelake would go with him whether he would or nold. and so by fortune they came into this land, that at that time was called great britain: and there they found a great felon paynim, that put joseph into prison. and so--" "a great _what_?" mallory asked. in one sense the story was familiar to him, but what bothered him was the fact that it was familiar in another sense too--a sense he couldn't put his finger on. "a wicked unbeliever in our lord. and so by fortune tidings came unto a worthy man that hight mondrames, and he assembled all his people for the great renown he had heard of joseph; and so he came into the land of great britain and disinherited this felon paynim and consumed him; and therewith delivered joseph out of prison. and after that all the people were turned to the christian faith. "not long after that joseph was laid in his deadly bed. and when king evelake say that he made much sorrow, and said: for thy love i have left my country, and sith ye shall depart out of this world, leave me some token of yours that i may think on you. joseph said: that will i do full gladly; now bring me your shield that i took you when ye went into battle against king tolleme. then joseph bled at the nose, so that he might not by no means be staunched. and there upon that shield he made a cross of his own blood. now may ye see a remembrance that i love you, for ye shall never see this shield but ye shall think on me, and it shall be always as fresh as it is now. and never shall man bear this shield about his neck but he shall repent it, unto the time that galahad, the good knight, bare it; and the last of my lineage shall have it about his neck, that shall do many marvelous deeds. now, said king evelake, where shall i put this shield, that this worthy knight may have it? ye shall leave it there as nacien, the hermit, shall be put after his death; for thither shall that good knight come the fifteenth day after that he shall receive the order of knighthood: and so...." * * * * * when mallory awoke, rowena's head was resting on his chest, and she was breathing the soft and even breaths of untroubled sleep. her hair, viewed thus closely, was not as dark as he had at first believed it to be. it was brown, really, rather than dark-brown. and astonishingly lustrous. without thinking, he rested his hand lightly upon her head. she stirred then, and sat up, rubbing her plum-blue eyes. for a moment she stared at him uncomprehendingly, then, "prithee forgive me, fair sir," she said. mallory sat up, too. "forgive you for what? go open a couple of vacuum tins while i get into my armor--i'm going to bring this caper to a close." "thy ... thy strength has returned?" "i never felt better in my life." in the rec-hall he said, sitting down at the table before one of the two vacuum tins she had opened, "you never did ask me what happened." "ye will tell me of thy own will an ye wish me to know." mallory took a mouthful of simulsteak, chewed and swallowed. "your sir launcelot turned out to be a phony, and pulled a rabbit out of his helmet the nature of which i'd better not try to describe to you." eyes round as plums, she regarded him across the table. "a ... a phony, fair sir?" mallory nodded. "that's a sort of felon paynim who plays golp." "but with my own eyes i did see his armor, fair knight." "that's right--you saw his armor. but you didn't see him. a certain character by the name of perfidion was residing behind that hardware--not the good sir launcelot." "perfidion?" mallory grinned. "sir jason perfidion--a knight errant ye wit not of. but the tournament's not over yet, and this time _i've_ got the rabbit: he thinks i'm dead." "he ... he left ye for dead, fair sir?" "that he did, and if that little brain-buster of his had struck just one inch to the right, i'd have been just that." he shoved his empty vacuum tin away and stood up. "excuse me a minute--i've got to visit the sorcerer's tower again." in the control room, he took the _yore_ back to : p.m. of the same day and re-materialized it half a mile farther down the valley. turning, he saw that rowena had followed him and was watching him from the doorway. "whereabouts may i find oats that i may feed thy horse, fair knight?" she asked. "easy money doesn't eat. he--" mallory paused astonished as two of the largest tears he had ever seen coalesced in her eyes and went tumbling down her cheeks. "oh, it's not that he's sick," he rushed on. "it's just that horses like him don't require food to keep them going. why, easy money's guaranteed for ... he'll live another thirty years." the sun came up beyond the plum-blue horizons of her eyes. "it pleaseth me mickle to hear ye speak thus, fair knight. i ... i have great joy of him." back in the rec-hall, mallory pulled on his gauntlets, reset his timepiece, and donned his helmet. the left audio-amplifier was shot, but otherwise the piece was in good condition--aside from the dent, of course. he encephalopathed easy money to his side, hung his shield around his neck, and mounted. "hand me my spear, will you, rowena?" he asked. she did so. "ye be a most noble knight indeed, fair sir," she said, "for to set so little store by thine own life in the service of a damosel the which is undeserving of thy deeds. i ... i would lever that ye forsook the sangraal than that ye be fordone." her concern touched him, and he removed his helmet and leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "keep the home fires burning," he said; then, setting his helmet back in place, he activated the lock, rode across the mirage-moat, and set forth into the forest once again. v this time when he reached the crest of the ridge that separated the two valleys, mallory took an azimuth on the towers of carbonek, encephalo-fed the direction to easy money, and programmed the "animal" to proceed in as straight a course as possible. in the east, the moon was just beginning to rise; in the west, traces of the sunset lingered blood-red just above the horizon. on the highway below, a knight sitting astride a brown rohorse and bearing a white shield with a red cross in the center was riding toward carbonek to challenge a twenty-second century "felon paynim" in imitation age-of-chivalry armor. in the valley mallory had just left behind him there were two castles named _yore_, and soon, a third would pop into existence and yet another mallory come riding out. mallory grinned. it was a little bit like playing chess. the forest which easy money presently entered was parklike in places, and sometimes the trees thinned out into wide, moonlit meadows. crossing one of the meadows, mallory saw the first star, and when at length easy money emerged on the highway, the heavens were decked out in typical midsummer panoply. the rohorse had followed its programming almost perfectly and had emerged at a point just south of the lane leading to the castle of carbonek. all mallory had to do was to encephalo-guide it farther down the highway to a point beyond the site of the forthcoming joust. while doing so, he kept well within the concealing shadows of the bordering oaks and beeches where the ground was soft and could give forth no telltale _clip-clop_ of hoofbeats. his circumspection proved wise--as in one sense, of course, it already had--and when the false sir launcelot came riding by on his way to the castle and the chamber of the sangraal, he was no more aware of mallory iii's presence by the roadside than he would presently be aware of mallory ii's presence in the shadows of the trees that bordered the lane. mallory iii grinned again and brought easy money to a halt just beyond the next bend. "wit ye well, sir jason, that thy hours be numbered," he said. he remained seated in the saddle, feeling pretty good about the world. in no time at all, if his one-man ambuscade came off, he would be on his way back to the _yore_, and thence to the twenty-second century and a haircut. selling the sangraal without the aid of a professional time-fence like perfidion would be difficult, of course, but it could be done, and once it was done, he, mallory, could take his place on get-rich-quick street with the best of them, and no questions would be asked. there was, to be sure, the problem of what to do about a certain damosel that hight rowena, but he would face that when he came to it. maybe he could drop her off a dozen years in the future in a region far enough removed from carbonek to ensure her safety. he would see. [illustration] at this point in his reflections he was jolted into alertness by the sound of approaching hoofbeats. a moment later he heard a second set of hoofbeats and knew that mallory ii had made his presence known. presently both sets crescendoed into staccato thunder as the two "knights" came pounding toward each other, and not long afterward there was a clank and a clatter as mallory ii went tumbling out of his saddle and into the roadside weeds. finally the single set of hoofbeats took over again, and mallory iii saw a horse and rider coming around the bend in the highway. he braced himself. before making his play, he waited till horse and rider were directly opposite him; then he encephalopathed easy money to charge. "sir launcelot" managed to get his shield up in time, but the maneuver did him no good. mallory's spearhead struck the shield dead center, and "sir launcelot" went sailing out of his saddle to land with an awesome clatter flat on his back on the highway. he did not get up. dismounting, mallory removed the man's helmet. it was perfidion all right. there was a large bruise on the side of his head and he was out cold, but he was still breathing. next, mallory looked for the sangraal. perfidion had concealed it somewhere, and apparently he had done the job well. since the armor could not have accommodated an object of that size, the hiding place had to be somewhere on the body of his horse. the horse was standing quietly beside easy money in the middle of the highway. it was jet-black and its fetlock-length trappings were blue, threaded with silver; otherwise, the two steeds were identical. mallory tumbled to the truth then, went over to where the black "horse" was standing, raised its trappings, found the tiny activator button, and depressed it. the croup-hood rose up, and there in the secret compartment, wrapped in red samite, lay the cause of the mounting absentee-rate in king arthur's court. always the skeptic, mallory raised a corner of the samite in order to make certain that he was not being cheated. instantly, a reflected ray of moonlight stabbed upward into his eyes, and for a moment he was blinded. exorcising the thought that sneaked into his mind, he closed the croup-hood, rearranged the trappings, and returned to perfidion's side. dragging the armor-encumbered man over to the black rohorse and slinging him over the saddle was no easy matter, but mallory managed; then he picked up perfidion's helmet and spear and set the former on the pommel and wedged the latter in one of the stirrups. finally he mounted easy money and, encephalopathing the black rohorse to follow, set out down the highway away from the castle of carbonek. make-believe castles could fool the hadbeens, but they couldn't fool a professional. he spotted the phony towers of perfidion's tsb rising above the trees before he had proceeded half a mile. after raising the "portcullis", he got the man down from the black rohorse, dragged him inside, and propped him against the rec-hall bar. then he got the man's helmet and spear and laid them beside him. after considerable reflection, he went into the control room, set the time-dial for june , , the space-dial for a busy intersection in downtown los angeles, and punched out h-o-t-d-o-g s-t-a-n-d on the lumillusion panel. satisfied, he went into the generator room and short-circuited the automatic throw-out unit so that when rematerialization took place, the generator would burn up. finding a ball of heavy-duty twine, he returned to the control room, tied one end to the master switch, and began backing out of the tsb, unwinding the twine as he went. in the rec-hall, he paused, and grinned down at the still-unconscious perfidion. "it's a better break than you meant to give me, jason," he said. "and don't worry--once you explain to the authorities what you're doing in a suit of sixth-century armor and how you happened to open a giant hot-dog stand in the middle of a traffic-clogged crossroads, you'll be all right. as a matter of fact, with your knowledge of things to come, you'll probably wind up a richer man than you are now--if the smog doesn't get you first." he stepped through the lock, jerked the twine, and the "castle" vanished into thin air. remounting easy money and encephalopathing the black rohorse to follow, he started back toward the _yore_, taking a direct route through the forest. he was halfway to his destination and had just emerged into a wide meadow when he saw the knight with the white shield riding toward him in the bright moonlight. in the center of the shield there was a vivid blood-red cross. when the knight saw mallory, he brought his steed to a halt. moonlight glimmered eerily on his shield, turned his helmet to silver. his armor seemed to emit an unearthly light--a light that was at once terrifying and transcendent. the hilt of his sword was as blood-red as the cross on his shield; so was the pommel of his spear. here was righteousness incarnate. here in the form of an armored man on horseback was the quintessence of the age of chivalry--not the age of chivalry as exemplified by the vain and boasting nobles who had constituted nine-tenths of the knight-errantry profession and who had used the quest of the holy grail as an excuse to seek after mead and maidens, but the age of chivalry as it might have been if the ideal behind it had been shared by the many instead of by the few; the age of chivalry, in short, as it had come down to posterity through the pages of malory's _le morte d'arthur_. at length the knight spoke: "i hight sir galahad of the table round." reluctantly, mallory encephalopathed his two rohorses to halt, and said the only thing he had left to say: "i hight sir thomas of the castle _yore_." "by whose leave bear ye likenesses of the red arms and the white shield whereon shines the red cross the which was put there by joseph of arimathea whilst he lay dying in his deadly bed?" mallory did not answer. there was silence. then, "i would joust with ye," sir galahad said. there it was, laid right on the line. the challenge-- the death sentence. nonsense! mallory told himself. he's nothing but a nineteen-year old kid. with your rohorse and your superior weapons you can unseat him in two seconds flat, and once he's down, that glorified junk pile he's wearing will glue him to the ground so fast he won't be able to lift a finger! aloud, he said, "have at me then!" instantly, sir galahad wheeled his horse around and rode to the far side of the meadow. there, he wheeled the horse around again and dressed his spear. moonlight danced a silvery saraband on his white shield, and the blood-red cross blurred and seemed to run. mallory dressed his own spear. immediately, sir galahad charged. _full speed ahead, easy money!_ mallory encephalopathed, and the rohorse took off like a rocket. all he had to do was to hang on tight, and the joust would be in the bag, he reassured himself. sir galahad's spear would break like a matchstick, while his own superior spear would penetrate sir galahad's shield as though the shield was made of tissue paper, as in a sense it really was when you compared the metal that constituted it to modern alloys. no matter how you looked at the situation, the kid was in for a big letdown. mallory almost felt sorry for him. the hoofbeats of horse and rohorse crescendoed; there was the resounding clang! of steel coming into violent contact with steel. mallory's spear struck sir galahad's shield dead center--and snapped in two. sir galahad's spear struck mallory's shield dead center--and mallory sailed over easy money's croup and crashed to the ground. he was stunned, both mentally and physically. staggering to his feet, he drew his sword and raised his shield. sir galahad had wheeled his horse around, and now he came riding back. several yards from mallory, he tossed his spear aside, dismounted as lightly as though he wore no armor at all, drew his sword, and advanced. mallory stepped forward, his confidence returning. his spear had been defective--that was it. but his sword and his shield weren't, and now that the kid had elected to give him a sporting chance, he would teach the young upstart a lesson that he would never forget. again, the two men came together. down came sir galahad's sixth century sword; up went mallory's twenty-second century shield. there was an ear-piercing _clang_, and the shield parted down the middle. aghast, mallory stepped back. sir galahad moved in, sword upraised again. mallory raised his own sword, caught the full force of the terrific down-rushing blow on the blade. his sword was cut cleanly in two, his left pauldron was cleanly cleaved, and a great numbness afflicted his left shoulder. he went down. he stayed down. sir galahad leaned over him, unbroken sword uplifted. the cross in the center of the snow-white shield was a bright and burning red. "ye must yield you as an overcome man, or else i may slay you." "i yield," mallory said. sir galahad sheathed his sword. "ye be not sorely wounded, and sithen i desire not neither of they two steeds, as belike they be as unworthy as they pieces, ye can return to thy castle unholpen." * * * * * mallory blacked out for a moment, and when he came to, the shining knight was gone. he lay there in the moonlight for some time, looking up at the stars. at length he fought his way to his feet and encephalopathed the two rohorses to his side. mounting easy money, he encephalopathed it to return to the westernmost "castle of yore" and encephalopathed the other rohorse to follow. he left his broken weapons where they lay. what had gone out of the world during the last sixteen hundred years that had left sophisticated twenty-second century steel inferior in quality to naïve sixth-century wrought iron? what did sir galahad have that he, mallory, lacked? mallory shook his head. he did not know. the moonlit "towers" of the _yore_ had become visible through the trees before it occurred to him that before riding away the man just might have removed the sangraal from the black rohorse's croup. at first thought, such a possibility was too absurd to be entertained, but not on second thought. according to _le morte d'arthur_, the fellowship of sir galahad, sir percivale, and sir bors had taken both the table of silver and the sangraal to sarras where, some time later, the sangraal had been "borne up to heaven", never to be seen again. whether they had taken the table of silver did not concern mallory, but what did concern him was the fact that if they had taken the sangraal they could have done so only if it had fallen into sir galahad's hands this very night. tomorrow would be too late--now was too late, in fact--provided, of course, that mallory was destined to return with it to the twenty-second century. here, then, was the crossroads, the real moment of truth: was he destined to succeed, or wasn't he? hurriedly, he encephalopathed the two rohorses to halt, dismounted, and raised the black rohorse's trappings. he was dizzy from the loss of blood, but he did not let his dizziness dissuade him from his purpose, and he had the croup-hood raised in a matter of a few seconds. he held his breath when he looked within, expelled it with relief. the sangraal had not been disturbed. he lifted it out of the croup-compartment, straightened its red samite covering, and cradled it in his arms. too weak to remount easy money, he encephalopathed the two rohorses to follow and began walking toward the _yore_. rowena must have seen him coming on one of the telewindows, for she had the lock open when he arrived. her face went white when she looked at him, and when she saw the grail, her eyes grew even larger than plums. he went over and set it gently down on the rec-hall table, then he collapsed into a nearby chair. he had just enough presence of mind left to send her for the bottle of blood-restorer pills, and just enough strength left to swallow several of them when she brought it. then he boarded the phantom ship that had mysteriously appeared beside him and set sail upon the soundless sea of night. vi "no," said the rent-a-mammakin, "you cannot see her. she is displeased with your score in the get-rich-quick race." "i did my best," the boy mallory sobbed. "but when it came to stepping on all those faces, i just couldn't do it!" the rent-a-mammakin arranged its features into a severe frown and strengthened its grip on the boy mallory's arm. "you knew that they were only painted on the game floor to symbolize the competitive spirit," it said. "why couldn't you step on them?" the boy mallory made a final desperate effort to gain the bedroom door which his mother had just slammed and before which the rent-a-mammakin stood, then he sank defeated to the floor. "i don't know why--i just couldn't, that's all," he sobbed. he raised his voice. "but i _will_ step on them! i'll step on real faces too--just you wait and see. i'll be a bigger get-rich-quickman than my father ever dreamed of being. i'll show her!" "i'll show her," the man mallory murmured, "just you wait and see." he opened his eyes. save for himself, the bedroom-office was empty. "rowena?" no answer. he raised his voice. "rowena!" again, no answer. he frowned. the door to the bedroom-office was open, and the "castle" certainly wasn't so large that his voice couldn't carry from one end of it to the other. his shoulder throbbed faintly, but otherwise he was unaware of his wound. rowena had bound it neatly--it was said that age-of-chivalry gentlewomen were quite proficient in such matters--and apparently she had once again got hold of the right counteragent. he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. so far, so good. tentatively, he stood up. a wave of vertigo broke over him. after it passed, he was as good as new. the blood-restorer pills had done their work well. nevertheless, everything was not as it should be. something was very definitely wrong. "rowena!" he called again. still no answer. she had removed his armor and piled it neatly at the foot of the bed. he stared at the various pieces, trying desperately to think. something had awakened him--that was it. the slamming of a door ... or a lock. he look a deep breath. he smelled green things. dampness. a forest at eventide.... he knew then what was wrong. the lock of the _yore_ had been opened and had been left open long enough for the evening air to permeate the interior of the tsb; long enough, in other words, to have permitted someone to ride across the imaginary drawbridge that spanned the mirage-moat. afterward, the lock had slammed back into place of its own accord. he hurried into the rec-hall. easy money stood all alone behind the tourist-bar. the black rohorse was gone. his eyes leaped to the rec-hall table. the sangraal was gone, too. he groaned. the little idiot was taking it back! and after he had forbidden her to leave the "castle" too! well no, he hadn't forbidden her exactly: he had forbidden her to leave it _during his absence_. he walked over to the telewindow nearest the lock and scrutinized the screen. she was nowhere in sight, but night was on hand and the range of his vision, while considerably abetted by the light of the rising moon, was limited to the nearer trees. presently he frowned. was it still the same night, or had he been unconscious for almost twenty-four hours? it _couldn't_ be the same night--the position of the moon disproved that. and yet he could swear that he had been unconscious for no more than a few hours. * * * * * belatedly, he remembered his gauntlet timepiece, and returned to the bedroom-office. the timepiece registered : . but that didn't make any sense either: the moon was still low in the sky. he knew then that there could be but one answer, and he headed for the control room posthaste. sure enough, the jump-board time-dial had been set for : p.m. of the same day. he looked at the space-dial. that had been set to re-materialize the _yore_ one half mile farther west. he wiped his forehead. good lord, she might have sent the tsb all the way back to the age of reptiles! even worse, she might have plunked it right down in the middle of wwiii! she hadn't, though. in point of fact, she had done exactly what she had set out to do--taken the _yore_ back to a point in time from which the sangraal could be returned to the castle of carbonek less than an hour after it had been stolen. suddenly he remembered how she had watched him from the doorway of the control room each time he had reset the time and space-dials. technologically speaking, she was little more than a child, but jump-boards were as uncomplicated as modern technology could make them, and a person needed to be but little more than a child to operate them. grimly, mallory returned to his bedroom-office and got into his armor; then, ignoring the throbbing of his reawakened wound, he mounted easy money and set out. he had no weapons, but it could not be helped. with a little luck, he would have need of none. he was about due for a little luck, if you asked him. he gambled that rowena would use the same route back to the chamber of the sangraal that they had used in leaving it--actually, she had no other choice--and he encephalo-guided easy money at a fast trot in the direction of the river in the hope of overtaking her before she reached the entrance to the subterranean passage. however, the hope did not materialize, and he saw no sign of her till he reached the entrance himself. strictly speaking, he saw no sign of her then either, but he did discern several dislodged stones that could have been thrown up by the black rohorse's hoofs. [illustration] entering the passage, he frowned. until that moment, the incongruity of a sixth-century damosel encephalo-guiding a twenty-second century rohorse had not struck him. after a moment, though, he had to admit that the incongruity was not as glaring as it had at first seemed. "encephalopathing" was merely a glorified term for "thinking," and rowena, shortly after mounting perfidion's steed, must have made the discovery that she had only to think where she wanted to go in order for the rohorse to take her there. he had not remembered to bring a light, nor did he need one. the infra-red rays of easy money's eye units were more than sufficient for the task on hand, and overtaking the girl would have been as easy as rolling off a log--if she hadn't been riding a rohorse, too. overtaking her wasn't of paramount importance anyway: he could confiscate the sangraal after she returned it just as easily as he could before. the odd part about the whole thing was that mallory never once thought of the inevitable overlap till he saw the flicker of torchlight up ahead. an instant later he heard the sound of a woman's voice, and instinctively he encephalo-guided easy money into a nearby shallow cave. * * * * * [illustration] the flickering light grew gradually brighter, and presently hoofbeats became audible. the woman's voice was loud and clear now, and mallory made out her words above the purling of the underground stream: "... and then he set down the maiden, and was armed at all pieces save he lacked his spear. then he dressed his shield, and drew out his sword, and bors smote him so hard that it went through his shield and habergeon on the left shoulder. and through great strength he beat him down to the earth, and at the pulling of bors' spear there he swooned. then came bors to the maid and said: how seemeth it to you of this knight ye be delivered at this time? now sir, said she, i pray you lead me there as this knight had me. so shall i do gladly: and took the horse of the wounded knight, and set the gentlewoman upon him, and so brought her as she desired. sir knight, said she, ye have better sped than ye weened, for an i had lost my maidenhead, five hundred men should have died for it. what knight was he that had you in the forest? by my faith, said she, he is my cousin. so wot i never with what engyn the fiend enchafed him, for yesterday he took me from my father privily: for i nor none of my father's men mistrusted him not, and if he had had my maidenhead he should have died for the sin, and his body shamed and dishonored for ever. thus as...." at this point, the truth behind the sense of _deja vu_ that mallory had experienced the first time he had heard the tale hit him so hard between the eyes that he jerked back his head. when he did so, his helmet came into contact with the cave wall and scraped against the stone. the rohorse and its two riders were directly across the stream now. "_shhh!_" mallory i whispered. rowena i gasped. "it were best that i thanked ye now for thy great kindness, fair knight," she said, "for anon we be no longer on live." "nonsense!" mallory i said. "if this fiend of yours is anywhere in the vicinity, he's probably more afraid of us than we are of him." "per ... peradventure he hath already had meat," rowena i said hopefully. "the tale saith that an the fiend be filled he becomes aweary and besets not them the which do pass him by in peace." "i'll keep my sword handy just in case he changes his mind," mallory i said. "meanwhile, get on with your autobiography--only for pete's sake, cut it short, will you?" "an it please, fair sir. thus as the fair gentlewoman stood talking with sir bors there came twelve knights seeking after her, and anon...." for a long while after the voices faded away, mallory iv could not move. hearing the story the second time and, more important, hearing it from the standpoint of an observer, he had been able to identify it for what it really was--an excerpt from _le morte d'arthur_. the joseph of arimathea bit had been an excerpt, too, he realized now, probably lifted word for word from the text. it was odd indeed that a sixth-century damosel who presumably couldn't read could be on such familiar terms with a book that would not be published for another nine hundred and forty-three years. but not so odd if she was a twenty-second century blonde in a sixth-century damosel's clothing. remembering perfidion's secretary, mallory felt sick. no, there was no noticeable resemblance between her and the damosel that hight rowena; but the removal of a girdle and a quarter of a pound of makeup, not to mention the application of a "lustre-rich" brown hair-dye and the insertion of a pair of plum-blue contact lenses, could very well have brought such a resemblance into being--and quite obviously had. the past police were noted for their impersonations, and most of them had eidetic memories. _come on, easy money_, mallory encephalopathed. _you and i have got a little score to settle._ * * * * * when he entered the chamber of the sangraal, rowena iv was arranging the red samite cover around the grail. she jumped when she saw him. "marry! fair sir, ye did startle me. methinketh ye be asleep in thy castle." "knock it off," mallory said. "the masquerade's over." she regarded him with round uncomprehending eyes. he got the impression that she had been crying. "the ... the masquerade, fair knight?" "that's right ... the masquerade. you're no more the damosel rowena than i'm the knight sir galahad." she lowered her eyes to his breastplate. "i ... i wot well ye be not sir galahad, fair sir. it ... it happed that aforetime i did see sir galahad with my own eyes, and when ye did unlace thy unberere and i did see thy face, i knew ye could not be him of which ye spake." abruptly she raised her head and looked at him defiantly. "but i knew from thy eyes that ye be most noble, fair sir, and therefore an ye did pretend to be him the which ye were not, ye did so for noble cause, and it were not for me to question." "i said knock it off," mallory said, but with considerable less conviction. "i'm onto you--don't you see? you're a time-fink." "a ... a time fink? i wot not what--" "an agent of the past police. one of those do-gooders who run around history replacing stolen goods and turning in hard-working people like myself. you gave yourself away when you lifted that sir bors bit straight out of _le morte d'arthur_ and--" "but i did say ye sooth, fair sir. sir bors did verily succor my maidenhead. i wot not how there can be two of ye and two of me and four hackneys when afore there were but two, and i wot not how by touching the magic board in thy castle in a certain fashion that i could make the hour earlier and i wot not how the magic steed i did bestride brought me hither--i wot not none of these matters, fair sir. i wot only that the magic of thy castle is marvelous indeed." for a while, mallory didn't say anything. he couldn't. in the plum-blue eyes fixed full upon his face, truth shone, and that same truth had invested her every word. the damosel rowena, despite all evidence to the contrary and despite the glaring paradox the admission gave rise to, was not a phony, never had been a phony, and never would be a phony. she was, as a matter of fact--with the exception of sir galahad--the only completely honest person he had known in all his life. "tell me," he said, at length, "weren't you afraid to come back through that passage alone? weren't you afraid the fiend would get you?" "la! fair sir--i had great fear. but it were not fitting that i bethought me of myself at such a time." she paused. then, "what might be thy true name, sir knight?" "mallory," mallory said. "thomas mallory." "i have great joy of thy acquaintance, sir thomas." mallory only half heard her. he was looking at the samite-covered sangraal. no more obstacles stood between him and his quest, and time was a-wasting. he started to take a step in the direction of the silver table. his foot did not leave the floor. * * * * * he was acutely aware of rowena's eyes. as a matter of fact, he could almost feel them upon his face. it wasn't that they were any different than they had been before: it was just that he was suddenly and painfully cognizant of the trust and the admiration that shone in them. despite himself, he had the feeling that he was standing in bright and blinding sunlight. again, he started to take a step in the direction of the silver table. again, his foot did not leave the floor. it wasn't so much the fact that she didn't believe he would take the sangraal that bothered him: it was the fact that she couldn't conceive of him taking it. she could be convinced that black was white, perhaps, and that white was black, and that fiends hung out in empty caves and castles; but she could never be convinced that a "knight" of the qualities she imputed to mallory could perform a dishonorable act. and there it was, laid right on the line. for all the good the grail was going to do mallory, it might just as well have been at the bottom of the mindanao deep. he sighed. his gamble hadn't paid off any more than perfidion's had. the real sir galahad was the one who had inherited the grail after all--not the false one. the false one grinned ruefully. "well," he told the damosel rowena, "it's been nice knowing you." he swallowed; for some reason his throat felt tight. "i ... i imagine you'll be all right now." to his amazement she broke into tears. "oh, sir thomas!" she cried. "in my great haste to return the sangraal to the chamber and to right the grievous wrong committed by the untrue knight sir jason, i did bewray my trust again. for when i espied ye and me and easy money in the passage i did suffer a great discomfit, and it so happed that when my steed did enter into a cave that the sangraal came free from my hands and ... and--" mallory was staring at her. "you _dropped_ it?" stepping over to the silver table, she lifted a corner of the red samite. the dent was not a deep one, but just the same you didn't have to look twice to see it. "i ... i nyst not what to do," she said. suddenly mallory remembered the first sound he had heard in the passage when he and rowena were leaving the castle of carbonek. "well how do you like that!" he said. he grinned. "i take it that this puts your hands in jeopardy all over again--right?" "yea, sir thomas, but i would lever die than beseech thee again to--" "which," mallory continued happily, "makes it out of the question for a knight such as myself to leave you behind." he took her arm. "come on," he said. "i don't know how i'm going to fit a sixth-century damosel into twenty-second century society, but believe me, i'm going to try!" "and ... and will ye take easy money to this land whereof ye speak, sir thomas?" "sir thomas" grinned. "wit ye well," he said, "and his buddy, too. come on." * * * * * in the _yore_, he tossed his helmet and gauntlets into a corner of the rec-hall and proceeded straight to the control room. there, with rowena standing at his elbow, he set the time-dial for june , and the space-dial for the kansas city time-tourist port. lord, it would be good to get home again and get a haircut! "here goes," he told rowena, and threw the switch. there was a faint tremor. "brace yourself, rowena," he said, and took her over to the control-room telewindow. [illustration] together, they gazed upon the screen. mallory gasped. the vista of spiral suburban dwellings which he had been expecting was not in the offing. in its stead was a green, tree-stippled countryside. in the distance, a castle was clearly discernible. he stared at it. it wasn't a sixth-century job like carbonek--it was much more modern. but it was still a castle. obviously, the jump-board had malfunctioned and thrown the _yore_ only a little ways into the future, the while leaving it in pretty much the same locale. he returned to the jump-board to find out. just as he reached it, its lights flickered and went out. the time and space-dials, however, remained illumined long enough for him to see when and where the tsb had re-materialized. the year was a.d.; the locale, warwickshire. mallory made tracks for the generator room. the generator was smoking, and the room reeked with the stench of shorted wires. he swore. perfidion! so that was why the man had broken with tradition and invited a common time-thief to a game of golp! if he had been anyone but perfidion he would have gimmicked the controls of the _yore_ so that mallory would have wound up directly in the fifteenth century sans sojourn in the sixth. but being perfidion, he had wanted mallory to know how completely he was being outsmarted. the chances were, though, that if the man had anticipated the near-coincidence of the two visits to the chamber of the sangraal he would have seen to it that mallory had never gotten a chance to use his sir galahad suit. returning to the control room, mallory saw that the lumillusion panel had been pre-programmed to materialize the _yore_ as a fifteenth-century english castle. apparently it had been in the books all along for him to become a fifteenth-century knight, just as it had been in the books all along for perfidion to become the proprietor of a misplaced hot-dog stand. mallory laughed. he had gotten the best of the bargain after all. at least there was no smog in the fifteenth century. who was he supposed to be? he wondered. had his name gone down in history by any chance? abruptly he gasped. was _he_ the sir thomas malory with estates in northampshire and warwickshire? was _he_ the sir thomas malory who had compiled and translated and written _le morte d'arthur_? almost nothing about the man's life was known, and probably the little that was known had been assumed. he _could_ have popped up from nowhere, made his fortune through foreknowledge, and been knighted. he _could_ have been a reformed time-thief stranded in the fifteenth century. but if he, mallory, was malory, how in the world was he going to get five hundred chapters of semi-historical data together and pass them off as _le morte d'arthur_? suddenly he understood everything. * * * * * going over to where rowena was still standing in front of the telewindow, he said, "i'll bet you know no end of stories about the doings of the knights of the table round." "la! sir thomas. ever i saw day of my life i have heard naught else in the court of my father." "tell me," mallory said, "how did this round table business begin? or, better yet, how did the grail business begin? we can take up the round table business later on." she thought for a moment. then, "list, fair sir, and i will say ye: at the vigil of pentecost, when all the fellowship of the round table were come unto camelot and there heard their service, and the tables were set ready to the meat, right so entered into the hall a full fair gentlewoman on horseback, that had ridden full fast, for her horse was all besweated. then she there alit, and came before the king and saluted him; and he said: damosel, god thee bless. sir, said she, for god's sake say me where sir launcelot is. yonder ye may see him, said the king. then she went unto launcelot and said: sir launcelot, i salute you on king pelles' behalf, and i require you to come on with me hereby into a forest. then sir launcelot asked her with whom she dwelled. i dwell, said she, with king pelles. what will ye with me? said launcelot. ye shall know, said she, when ye--" "that'll do for now," mallory interrupted. "we'll come back to it as soon as i get stocked up on paper and ink. scheherazade," he added. "scheherazade, sir thomas? i wot not--" he leaned down and kissed her. "there's no need for you to wot," he said. probably, he reflected, he would have to do a certain amount of research in order to record the happenings that had ensued his and rowena's departure, and undoubtedly said research would result ironically in the recording of the true visits of sirs galahad and launcelot to the chamber of the sangraal--the "time-slots" on which he and perfidion had gambled and lost their shirts. the main body of the work, however, had been deposited virtually on his lap, and its style and flavor had been arbitrarily determined. moreover, contrary to what history would later maintain, the job would not be done in prison, but right here in the "castle of yore" with rowena sitting--and dictating--beside him. as for the impossibility of giving a sixth-century damosel as his major source, that could be avoided--as in one sense it already had been--my making frequent allusions to imaginary french sources. and as for the main obstacle to the endeavor--his twenty-second century cynicism--that had been obviated during his encounter with sir galahad. the book wouldn't be published till , but just the same, he was keen to get started on it. writing it should be fun. which reminded him: "i know we haven't known each other very long in one sense, rowena," he said, "but in another, we've known each other for almost nine hundred years. will you marry me?" she blinked once. then her plum-blue eyes showed how truly blue they could become and she threw her arms around his gorget. "wit ye well, sir thomas," said she, "that there is nothing in the world but i would lever do than be thy bride!" _thus did the prose epic known successively as "la mort d'arthur," the most ancient and famous history of the renowned prince arthur, king of britaine, as also, all the noble acts, and heroicke deeds of his valiant knights of the round table, and "le morte d'arthur" come to be recorded._ * * * * * transcribers note: obvious typesetter errors from the original corrected in this etext. if they are not obvious errors, they are left as in the original. throughout this text you will see words or phrases with _ (underscore) on either side, such as _this_. these were in italics in the original, but as ascii does not allow for formatting italics, they have been changed in this version. --------------------------------- english library _vol. xii_ jack sheppard a romance by w. harrison ainsworth internationale bibliothek g m b h berlin "upon my word, friend," said i, "you have almost made me long to try what a robber i should make." "there is a great art in it, if you did," quoth he. "ah! but," said i, "there's a great deal in being hanged." _life and actions of guzman d'alfarache._ printed in germany contents. epoch the first, . jonathan wild. chapter i. the widow and her child ii. the old mint iii. the master of the mint iv. the roof and the window v. the denunciation vi. the storm vii. old london bridge epoch the second, . thames darrell. chapter i. the idle apprentice ii. thames darrell iii. the jacobite iv. mr. kneebone and his friends v. hawk and buzzard vi. the first step towards the ladder vii. brother and sister viii. miching mallecho ix. consequences of the theft x. mother and son xi. the mohocks xii. saint giles's round-house xiii. the magdalene xiv. the flash ken xv. the robbery in willesden church xvi. jonathan wild's house in the old bailey xvii. the night-cellar xviii. how jack sheppard broke out of the cage at willesden xix. good and evil epoch the third, . the prison-breaker. chapter i. the return ii. the burglary at dollis hill iii. jack sheppard's quarrel with jonathan wild iv. jack sheppard's escape from the new prison v. the disguise vi. winifred receives two proposals vii. jack sheppard warns thames darrell viii. old bedlam ix. old newgate x. how jack sheppard got out of the condemned hold xi. dollis hill revisited xii. the well hole xiii. the supper at mr. kneebone's xiv. how jack sheppard was again captured xv. how blueskin underwent the peine forte et dure xvi. how jack sheppard's portrait was painted xvii. the iron bar xviii. the bed room xix. the chapel xx. the leads xxi. what befell jack sheppard in the turner's house xxii. fast and loose xxiii. the last meeting between jack sheppard and his mother xxiv. the pursuit xxv. how jack sheppard got rid of his irons xxvi. how jack sheppard attended his mother's funeral xxvii. how jack sheppard was brought back to newgate xxviii. what happened at dollis hill xxix. how jack sheppard was taken to westminster hall xxx. how jonathan wild's house was burnt down xxxi. the procession to tyburn xxxii. the closing scene epoch the first. . jonathan wild. jack sheppard. chapter i. the widow and her child. on the night of friday, the th of november, , and at the hour of eleven, the door of a miserable habitation, situated in an obscure quarter of the borough of southwark, known as the old mint, was opened; and a man, with a lantern in his hand, appeared at the threshold. this person, whose age might be about forty, was attired in a brown double-breasted frieze coat, with very wide skirts, and a very narrow collar; a light drugget waistcoat, with pockets reaching to the knees; black plush breeches; grey worsted hose; and shoes with round toes, wooden heels, and high quarters, fastened by small silver buckles. he wore a three-cornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. his clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world. in stature, he was short and stumpy; in person, corpulent; and in countenance, sleek, snub-nosed, and demure. immediately behind this individual, came a pale, poverty-stricken woman, whose forlorn aspect contrasted strongly with his plump and comfortable physiognomy. she was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. she could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. "well, good night, mr. wood," said she, in the deep, hoarse accents of consumption; "and may god almighty bless and reward you for your kindness! you were always the best of masters to my poor husband; and now you've proved the best of friends to his widow and orphan boy." "poh! poh! say no more about it," rejoined the man hastily. "i've done no more than my duty, mrs. sheppard, and neither deserve nor desire your thanks. 'whoso giveth to the poor lendeth to the lord;' that's my comfort. and such slight relief as i can afford should have been offered earlier, if i'd known where you'd taken refuge after your unfortunate husband's--" "execution, you would say, sir," added mrs. sheppard, with a deep sigh, perceiving that her benefactor hesitated to pronounce the word. "you show more consideration to the feelings of a hempen widow, than there is any need to show. i'm used to insult as i am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but i'm _not_ used to compassion, and know not how to take it. my heart would speak if it could, for it is very full. there was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, mr. wood; but they never come now. i have never wept since that day." "and i trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. pshaw!" added he, making an effort to subdue his emotion, "i can't leave you in this way. i must stay a minute longer, if only to see you smile." so saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate. the room in which this interview took place had a sordid and miserable look. rotten, and covered with a thick coat of dirt, the boards of the floor presented a very insecure footing; the bare walls were scored all over with grotesque designs, the chief of which represented the punishment of nebuchadnezzar. the rest were hieroglyphic characters, executed in red chalk and charcoal. the ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. on a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "_rosa solis_." broken pipes littered the floor, if that can be said to be littered, which, in the first instance, was a mass of squalor and filth. over the chimney-piece was pasted a handbill, purporting to be "_the last dying speech and confession of_ tom sheppard, _the notorious housebreaker, who suffered at tyburn on the th of february, ._" this placard was adorned with a rude wood-cut, representing the unhappy malefactor at the place of execution. on one side of the handbill a print of the reigning sovereign, anne, had been pinned over the portrait of william the third, whose aquiline nose, keen eyes, and luxuriant wig, were just visible above the diadem of the queen. on the other a wretched engraving of the chevalier de saint george, or, as he was styled in the label attached to the portrait, james the third, raised a suspicion that the inmate of the house was not altogether free from some tincture of jacobitism. beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "_paul groves, cobler;_" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "_hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;_" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. a farthing candle, stuck in a bottle neck, shed its feeble light upon the table, which, owing to the provident kindness of mr. wood, was much better furnished with eatables than might have been expected, and boasted a loaf, a knuckle of ham, a meat-pie, and a flask of wine. "you've but a sorry lodging, mrs. sheppard," said wood, glancing round the chamber, as he expanded his palms before the scanty flame. "it's wretched enough, indeed, sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets." "of course--of course," returned wood, hastily; "anything's better than that. but take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good. and now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together. when things are at the worst, they'll mend. take my word for it, your troubles are over." "i hope they are, sir," answered mrs. sheppard, with a faint smile and a doubtful shake of the head, as wood drew her to a seat beside him, "for i've had my full share of misery. but i don't look for peace on this side the grave." "nonsense!" cried wood; "while there's life there's hope. never be down-hearted. besides," added he, opening the shawl in which the infant was wrapped, and throwing the light of the candle full upon its sickly, but placid features, "it's sinful to repine while you've a child like this to comfort you. lord help him! he's the very image of his father. like carpenter, like chips." "that likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. "were it not for that, he would indeed be a blessing and a comfort to me. he never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. but, when i look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,--when i think of that father's shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt _he_ once was,--at such times, mr. wood, despair will come over me; and, dear as this babe is to me, far dearer than my own wretched life, which i would lay down for him any minute, i have prayed to heaven to remove him, rather than he should grow up to be a man, and be exposed to his father's temptations--rather than he should live as wickedly and die as disgracefully as his father. and, when i have seen him pining away before my eyes, getting thinner and thinner every day, i have sometimes thought my prayers were heard." "marriage and hanging go by destiny," observed wood, after a pause; "but i trust your child is reserved for a better fate than either, mrs. sheppard." the latter part of this speech was delivered with so much significance of manner, that a bystander might have inferred that mr. wood was not particularly fortunate in his own matrimonial connections. "goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if mynheer van galgebrok, whom i met last night at the cross shovels, spoke the truth, little jack will never die in his bed." "save us!" exclaimed wood. "and who is this van gal--gal--what's his outlandish name?" "van galgebrok," replied the widow. "he's the famous dutch conjuror who foretold king william's accident and death, last february but one, a month before either event happened, and gave out that another prince over the water would soon enjoy his own again; for which he was committed to newgate, and whipped at the cart's tail. he went by another name then,--rykhart scherprechter i think he called himself. his fellow-prisoners nicknamed him the gallows-provider, from a habit he had of picking out all those who were destined to the gibbet. he was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jail-fever in consequence. he singled out my poor husband from a crowd of other felons; and you know how right he was in that case, sir." "ay, marry," replied wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant. "what did the old fellow judge from, eh, joan?" asked he. "from a black mole under the child's right ear, shaped like a coffin, which is a bad sign; and a deep line just above the middle of the left thumb, meeting round about in the form of a noose, which is a worse," replied mrs. sheppard. "to be sure, it's not surprising the poor little thing should be so marked; for, when i lay in the women-felons' ward in newgate, where he first saw the light, or at least such light as ever finds entrance into that gloomy place, i had nothing, whether sleeping or waking, but halters, and gibbets, and coffins, and such like horrible visions, for ever dancing round me! and then, you know, sir--but, perhaps, you don't know that little jack was born, a month before his time, on the very day his poor father suffered." "lord bless us!" ejaculated wood, "how shocking! no, i did _not_ know that." "you may see the marks on the child yourself, if you choose, sir," urged the widow. "see the devil!--not i," cried wood impatiently. "i didn't think you'd been so easily fooled, joan." "fooled or not," returned mrs. sheppard mysteriously, "old van told me _one_ thing which has come true already." "what's that?" asked wood with some curiosity. "he said, by way of comfort, i suppose, after the fright he gave me at first, that the child would find a friend within twenty-four hours, who would stand by him through life." "a friend is not so soon gained as lost," replied wood; "but how has the prediction been fulfilled, joan, eh?" "i thought you would have guessed, sir," replied the widow, timidly. "i'm sure little jack has but one friend beside myself, in the world, and that's more than i would have ventured to say for him yesterday. however, i've not told you all; for old van _did_ say something about the child saving his new-found friend's life at the time of meeting; but how that's to happen, i'm sure i can't guess." "nor any one else in his senses," rejoined wood, with a laugh. "it's not very likely that a babby of nine months old will save _my_ life, if i'm to be his friend, as you seem to say, mrs. sheppard. but i've not promised to stand by him yet; nor will i, unless he turns out an honest lad,--mind that. of all crafts,--and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,--of all crafts, i say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. as long as your son observes that precept i'll befriend him, but no longer." "i don't desire it, sir," replied mrs. sheppard, meekly. "there's an old proverb," continued wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,--'put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow.' but i don't value that, because i think it applies to one who marries a widow with encumbrances; and that's not my case, you know." "well, sir," gasped mrs. sheppard. "well, my dear, i've a proposal to make in regard to this babby of yours, which may, or may not, be agreeable. all i can say is, it's well meant; and i may add, i'd have made it five minutes ago, if you'd given me the opportunity." "pray come to the point, sir," said mrs. sheppard, somewhat alarmed by this preamble. "i _am_ coming to the point, joan. the more haste, the worse speed--better the feet slip than the tongue. however, to cut a long matter short, my proposal's this:--i've taken a fancy to your bantling, and, as i've no son of my own, if it meets with your concurrence and that of mrs. wood, (for i never do anything without consulting my better half,) i'll take the boy, educate him, and bring him up to my own business of a carpenter." the poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. "well, joan," said the benevolent mechanic, after he had looked at her steadfastly for a few moments, "what say you?--silence gives consent, eh?" mrs. sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion. "shall i take the babby home with me!" persisted wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. "i cannot part with him," replied the widow, bursting into tears; "indeed, indeed, i cannot." "so i've found out the way to move her," thought the carpenter; "those tears will do her some good, at all events. not part with him!" added he aloud. "why you wouldn't stand in the way of his good fortune sure_ly_? i'll be a second father to him, i tell you. remember what the conjuror said." "i _do_ remember it, sir," replied mrs. sheppard, "and am most grateful for your offer. but i dare not accept it." "dare not!" echoed the carpenter; "i don't understand you, joan." "i mean to say, sir," answered mrs. sheppard in a troubled voice, "that if i lost my child, i should lose all i have left in the world. i have neither father, mother, brother, sister, nor husband--i have only _him_." "if i ask you to part with him, my good woman, it's to better his condition, i suppose, ain't it?" rejoined wood angrily; for, though he had no serious intention of carrying his proposal into effect, he was rather offended at having it declined. "it's not an offer," continued he, "that i'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year." and muttering some remarks, which we do not care to repeat, reflecting upon the consistency of the sex, he was preparing once more to depart, when mrs. sheppard stopped him. "give me till to-morrow," implored she, "and if i _can_ bring myself to part with him, you shall have him without another word." "take time to consider of it," replied wood sulkily, "there's no hurry." "don't be angry with me, sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. i know i am undeserving of your bounty; but if i were to tell you what hardships i have undergone--to what frightful extremities i have been reduced--and to what infamy i have submitted, to earn a scanty subsistence for this child's sake,--if you could feel what it is to stand alone in the world as i do, bereft of all who have ever loved me, and shunned by all who have ever known me, except the worthless and the wretched,--if you knew (and heaven grant you may be spared the knowledge!) how much affliction sharpens love, and how much more dear to me my child has become for every sacrifice i have made for him,--if you were told all this, you would, i am sure, pity rather than reproach me, because i cannot at once consent to a separation, which i feel would break my heart. but give me till to-morrow--only till to-morrow--i may be able to part with him then." the worthy carpenter was now far more angry with himself than he had previously been with mrs. sheppard; and, as soon as he could command his feelings, which were considerably excited by the mention of her distresses, he squeezed her hand warmly, bestowed a hearty execration upon his own inhumanity, and swore he would neither separate her from her child, nor suffer any one else to separate them. "plague on't!" added he: "i never meant to take your babby from you. but i'd a mind to try whether you really loved him as much as you pretended. i was to blame to carry the matter so far. however, confession of a fault makes half amends for it. a time _may_ come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in owen wood." as he said this, the carpenter patted the cheek of the little object of his benevolent professions, and, in so doing, unintentionally aroused him from his slumbers. opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. "i don't think he would leave me, even if i could part with him," observed mrs. sheppard, smiling through her tears. "i don't think he would," acquiesced the carpenter. "no friend like the mother, for the babby knows no other." "and that's true," rejoined mrs. sheppard; "for if i had _not_ been a mother, i would not have survived the day on which i became a widow." "you mustn't think of that, mrs. sheppard," said wood in a soothing tone. "i can't help thinking of it, sir," answered the widow. "i can never get poor tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the stone-hall at newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless i manage to stupify myself somehow. the dismal tolling of st. sepulchre's bell is for ever ringing in my ears--oh!" "if that's the case," observed wood, "i'm surprised you should like to have such a frightful picture constantly in view as that over the chimney-piece." "i'd good reasons for placing it there, sir; but don't question me about them now, or you'll drive me mad," returned mrs. sheppard wildly. "well, well, we'll say no more about it," replied wood; "and, by way of changing the subject, let me advise you on no account to fly to strong waters for consolation, joan. one nail drives out another, it's true; but the worst nail you can employ is a coffin-nail. gin lane's the nearest road to the churchyard." "it may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, i care not," retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be roused into sudden eloquence. "to those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better. the spirit i drink may be poison,--it may kill me,--perhaps it _is_ killing me:--but so would hunger, cold, misery,--so would my own thoughts. i should have gone mad without it. gin is the poor man's friend,--his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. it comforts him when he is most forlorn. it may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient. when i have traversed the streets a houseless wanderer, driven with curses from every door where i have solicited alms, and with blows from every gateway where i have sought shelter,--when i have crept into some deserted building, and stretched my wearied limbs upon a bulk, in the vain hope of repose,--or, worse than all, when, frenzied with want, i have yielded to horrible temptation, and earned a meal in the only way i could earn one,--when i have felt, at times like these, my heart sink within me, i have drank of this drink, and have at once forgotten my cares, my poverty, my guilt. old thoughts, old feelings, old faces, and old scenes have returned to me, and i have fancied myself happy,--as happy as i am now." and she burst into a wild hysterical laugh. "poor creature!" ejaculated wood. "do you call this frantic glee happiness?" "it's all the happiness i have known for years," returned the widow, becoming suddenly calm, "and it's short-lived enough, as you perceive. i tell you what, mr. wood," added she in a hollow voice, and with a ghastly look, "gin may bring ruin; but as long as poverty, vice, and ill-usage exist, it will be drunk." "god forbid!" exclaimed wood, fervently; and, as if afraid of prolonging the interview, he added, with some precipitation, "but i must be going: i've stayed here too long already. you shall hear from me to-morrow." "stay!" said mrs. sheppard, again arresting his departure. "i've just recollected that my husband left a key with me, which he charged me to give you when i could find an opportunity." "a key!" exclaimed wood eagerly. "i lost a very valuable one some time ago. what's it like, joan?" "it's a small key, with curiously-fashioned wards." "it's mine, i'll be sworn," rejoined wood. "well, who'd have thought of finding it in this unexpected way!" "don't be too sure till you see it," said the widow. "shall i fetch it for you, sir?" "by all means." "i must trouble you to hold the child, then, for a minute, while i run up to the garret, where i've hidden it for safety," said mrs. sheppard. "i think i _may_ trust him with you, sir," added she, taking up the candle. "don't leave him, if you're at all fearful, my dear," replied wood, receiving the little burthen with a laugh. "poor thing!" muttered he, as the widow departed on her errand, "she's seen better days and better circumstances than she'll ever see again, i'm sure. strange, i could never learn her history. tom sheppard was always a close file, and would never tell whom he married. of this i'm certain, however, she was much too good for him, and was never meant to be a journeyman carpenter's wife, still less what is she now. her heart's in the right place, at all events; and, since that's the case, the rest may perhaps come round,--that is, if she gets through her present illness. a dry cough's the trumpeter of death. if that's true, she's not long for this world. as to this little fellow, in spite of the dutchman, who, in my opinion, is more of a jacobite than a conjurer, and more of a knave than either, he shall never mount a horse foaled by an acorn, if i can help it." the course of the carpenter's meditations was here interrupted by a loud note of lamentation from the child, who, disturbed by the transfer, and not receiving the gentle solace to which he was ordinarily accustomed, raised his voice to the utmost, and exerted his feeble strength to escape. for a few moments mr. wood dandled his little charge to and fro, after the most approved nursery fashion, essaying at the same time the soothing influence of an infantine melody proper to the occasion; but, failing in his design, he soon lost all patience, and being, as we have before hinted, rather irritable, though extremely well-meaning, he lifted the unhappy bantling in the air, and shook him with so much good will, that he had well-nigh silenced him most effectually. a brief calm succeeded. but with returning breath came returning vociferations; and the carpenter, with a faint hope of lessening the clamour by change of scene, took up his lantern, opened the door, and walked out. chapter ii. the old mint. mrs. sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called wheeler's rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from mint street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of saint george's fields. the neighbouring houses were tenanted by the lowest order of insolvent traders, thieves, mendicants, and other worthless and nefarious characters, who fled thither to escape from their creditors, or to avoid the punishment due to their different offenses; for we may observe that the old mint, although it had been divested of some of its privileges as a sanctuary by a recent statute passed in the reign of william the third, still presented a safe asylum to the debtor, and even continued to do so until the middle of the reign of george the first, when the crying nature of the evil called loudly for a remedy, and another and more sweeping enactment entirely took away its immunities. in consequence of the encouragement thus offered to dishonesty, and the security afforded to crime, this quarter of the borough of southwark was accounted (at the period of our narrative) the grand receptacle of the superfluous villainy of the metropolis. infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near saint giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of saffron hill in our own time. and yet, on the very site of the sordid tenements and squalid courts we have mentioned, where the felon openly made his dwelling, and the fraudulent debtor laughed the object of his knavery to scorn--on this spot, not two centuries ago, stood the princely residence of charles brandon, the chivalrous duke of suffolk, whose stout heart was a well of honour, and whose memory breathes of loyalty and valour. suffolk house, as brandon's palace was denominated, was subsequently converted into a mint by his royal brother-in-law, henry the eighth; and, after its demolition, and the removal of the place of coinage to the tower, the name was still continued to the district in which it had been situated. old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. nothing more forlorn could be conceived. the roof was partially untiled; the chimneys were tottering; the side-walls bulged, and were supported by a piece of timber propped against the opposite house; the glass in most of the windows was broken, and its place supplied with paper; while, in some cases, the very frames of the windows had been destroyed, and the apertures were left free to the airs of heaven. on the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, paul groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. it was owing to the untimely end of this poor fellow that mrs. sheppard was enabled to take possession of the premises. in a fit of despondency, superinduced by drunkenness, he made away with himself; and when the body was discovered, after a lapse of some months, such was the impression produced by the spectacle--such the alarm occasioned by the crazy state of the building, and, above all, by the terror inspired by strange and unearthly noises heard during the night, which were, of course, attributed to the spirit of the suicide, that the place speedily enjoyed the reputation of being haunted, and was, consequently, entirely abandoned. in this state mrs. sheppard found it; and, as no one opposed her, she at once took up her abode there; nor was she long in discovering that the dreaded sounds proceeded from the nocturnal gambols of a legion of rats. a narrow entry, formed by two low walls, communicated with the main thoroughfare; and in this passage, under the cover of a penthouse, stood wood, with his little burthen, to whom we shall now return. as mrs. sheppard did not make her appearance quite so soon as he expected, the carpenter became a little fidgetty, and, having succeeded in tranquillizing the child, he thought proper to walk so far down the entry as would enable him to reconnoitre the upper windows of the house. a light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. this light did not remain stationary, but could be seen at one moment glimmering through the rents in the roof, and at another shining through the cracks in the wall, or the broken panes of the casement. wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. before wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. this individual apparently met with some impediment to his further progress; for he had not proceeded many steps when he turned suddenly about, and darted up the passage in which wood stood. uttering a few inarticulate ejaculations,--for he was completely out of breath,--the fugitive placed a bundle in the arms of the carpenter, and, regardless of the consternation he excited in the breast of that personage, who was almost stupified with astonishment, he began to divest himself of a heavy horseman's cloak, which he threw over wood's shoulder, and, drawing his sword, seemed to listen intently for the approach of his pursuers. the appearance of the new-comer was extremely prepossessing; and, after his trepidation had a little subsided, wood began to regard him with some degree of interest. evidently in the flower of his age, he was scarcely less remarkable for symmetry of person than for comeliness of feature; and, though his attire was plain and unpretending, it was such as could be worn only by one belonging to the higher ranks of society. his figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. at this juncture, a cry burst from the child, who, nearly smothered by the weight imposed upon him, only recovered the use of his lungs as wood altered the position of the bundle. the stranger turned his head at the sound. "by heaven!" cried he in a tone of surprise, "you have an infant there?" "to be sure i have," replied wood, angrily; for, finding that the intentions of the stranger were pacific, so far as he was concerned, he thought he might safely venture on a slight display of spirit. "it's very well you haven't crushed the poor little thing to death with this confounded clothes'-bag. but some people have no consideration." "that child may be the means of saving me," muttered the stranger, as if struck by a new idea: "i shall gain time by the expedient. do you live here?" "not exactly," answered the carpenter. "no matter. the door is open, so it is needless to ask leave to enter. ha!" exclaimed the stranger, as shouts and other vociferations resounded at no great distance along the thoroughfare, "not a moment is to be lost. give me that precious charge," he added, snatching the bundle from wood. "if i escape, i will reward you. your name?" "owen wood," replied the carpenter; "i've no reason to be ashamed of it. and now, a fair exchange, sir. yours?" the stranger hesitated. the shouts drew nearer, and lights were seen flashing ruddily against the sides and gables of the neighbouring houses. "my name is darrell," said the fugitive hastily. "but, if you are discovered, answer no questions, as you value your life. wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep it. remember! not a word!" so saying, he huddled the mantle over wood's shoulders, dashed the lantern to the ground, and extinguished the light. a moment afterwards, the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone. "mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame. "the dutchman was right, after all." this exclamation had scarcely escaped him, when the discharge of a pistol was heard, and a bullet whizzed past his ears. "i have him!" cried a voice in triumph. a man, then, rushed up the entry, and, seizing the unlucky carpenter by the collar, presented a drawn sword to his throat. this person was speedily followed by half a dozen others, some of whom carried flambeaux. "mur--der!" roared wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. "damnation!" exclaimed one of the leaders of the party in a furious tone, snatching a torch from an attendant, and throwing its light full upon the face of the carpenter; "this is not the villain, sir cecil." "so i find, rowland," replied the other, in accents of deep disappointment, and at the same time relinquishing his grasp. "i could have sworn i saw him enter this passage. and how comes his cloak on this knave's shoulders?" "it is his cloak, of a surety," returned rowland "harkye, sirrah," continued he, haughtily interrogating wood; "where is the person from whom you received this mantle?" "throttling a man isn't the way to make him answer questions," replied the carpenter, doggedly. "you'll get nothing out of me, i can promise you, unless you show a little more civility." "we waste time with this fellow," interposed sir cecil, "and may lose the object of our quest, who, beyond doubt, has taken refuge in this building. let us search it." just then, the infant began to sob piteously. "hist!" cried rowland, arresting his comrade. "do you hear that! we are not wholly at fault. the dog-fox cannot be far off, since the cub is found." with these words, he tore the mantle from wood's back, and, perceiving the child, endeavoured to seize it. in this attempt he was, however, foiled by the agility of the carpenter, who managed to retreat to the door, against which he placed his back, kicking the boards vigorously with his heel. "joan! joan!" vociferated he, "open the door, for god's sake, or i shall be murdered, and so will your babby! open the door quickly, i say." "knock him on the head," thundered sir cecil, "or we shall have the watch upon us." "no fear of that," rejoined rowland: "such vermin never dare to show themselves in this privileged district. all we have to apprehend is a rescue." the hint was not lost upon wood. he tried to raise an outcry, but his throat was again forcibly griped by rowland. "another such attempt," said the latter, "and you are a dead man. yield up the babe, and i pledge my word you shall remain unmolested." "i will yield it to no one but its mother," answered wood. "'sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried rowland fiercely. "give me the child, or--" as he spoke the door was thrown open, and mrs. sheppard staggered forward. she looked paler than ever; but her countenance, though bewildered, did not exhibit the alarm which might naturally have been anticipated from the strange and perplexing scene presented to her view. "take it," cried wood, holding the infant towards her; "take it, and fly." mrs. sheppard put out her arms mechanically. but before the child could be committed to her care, it was wrested from the carpenter by rowland. "these people are all in league with him," cried the latter. "but don't wait for me, sir cecil. enter the house with your men. i'll dispose of the brat." this injunction was instantly obeyed. the knight and his followers crossed the threshold, leaving one of the torch-bearers behind them. "davies," said rowland, delivering the babe, with a meaning look, to his attendant. "i understand, sir," replied davies, drawing a little aside. and, setting down the link, he proceeded deliberately to untie his cravat. "my god! will you see your child strangled before your eyes, and not so much as scream for help?" said wood, staring at the widow with a look of surprise and horror. "woman, your wits are fled!" and so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "i can't find the key." "devil take the key!" ejaculated wood. "they're about to murder your child--_your_ child, i tell you! do you comprehend what i say, joan?" "i've hurt my head," replied mrs. sheppard, pressing her hand to her temples. and then, for the first time, wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. at this moment, davies, who had completed his preparations, extinguished the torch. "it's all over," groaned wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. however, i'll make a last effort to save the poor little creature, if it costs me my life." and, with this generous resolve, he shouted at the top of his voice, "arrest! arrest! help! help!" seconding the words with a shrill and peculiar cry, well known at the time to the inhabitants of the quarter in which it was uttered. in reply to this summons a horn was instantly blown at the corner of the street. "arrest!" vociferated wood. "mint! mint!" "death and hell!" cried rowland, making a furious pass at the carpenter, who fortunately avoided the thrust in the darkness; "will nothing silence you?" "help!" ejaculated wood, renewing his cries. "arrest!" "jigger closed!" shouted a hoarse voice in reply. "all's bowman, my covey. fear nothing. we'll be upon the ban-dogs before they can shake their trotters!" and the alarm was sounded more loudly than ever. another horn now resounded from the further extremity of the thoroughfare; this was answered by a third; and presently a fourth, and more remote blast, took up the note of alarm. the whole neighbourhood was disturbed. a garrison called to arms at dead of night on the sudden approach of the enemy, could not have been more expeditiously, or effectually aroused. rattles were sprung; lanterns lighted, and hoisted at the end of poles; windows thrown open; doors unbarred; and, as if by magic, the street was instantaneously filled with a crowd of persons of both sexes, armed with such weapons as came most readily to hand, and dressed in such garments as could be most easily slipped on. hurrying in the direction of the supposed arrest, they encouraged each other with shouts, and threatened the offending parties with their vengeance. regardless as the gentry of the mint usually were (for, indeed, they had become habituated from their frequent occurrence to such scenes,) of any outrages committed in their streets; deaf, as they had been, to the recent scuffle before mrs. sheppard's door, they were always sufficiently on the alert to maintain their privileges, and to assist each other against the attacks of their common enemy--the sheriff's officer. it was only by the adoption of such a course (especially since the late act of suppression, to which we have alluded,) that the inviolability of the asylum could be preserved. incursions were often made upon its territories by the functionaries of the law; sometimes attended with success, but more frequently with discomfiture; and it rarely happened, unless by stratagem or bribery, that (in the language of the gentlemen of the short staff) an important caption could be effected. in order to guard against accidents or surprises, watchmen, or scouts, (as they were styled,) were stationed at the three main outlets of the sanctuary ready to give the signal in the manner just described: bars were erected, which, in case of emergency; could be immediately stretched across the streets: doors were attached to the alleys; and were never opened without due precautions; gates were affixed to the courts, wickets to the gates, and bolts to the wickets. the back windows of the houses (where any such existed) were strongly barricaded, and kept constantly shut; and the fortress was, furthermore, defended by high walls and deep ditches in those quarters where it appeared most exposed. there was also a maze, (the name is still retained in the district,) into which the debtor could run, and through the intricacies of which it was impossible for an officer to follow him, without a clue. whoever chose to incur the risk of so doing might enter the mint at any hour; but no one was suffered to depart without giving a satisfactory account of himself, or producing a pass from the master. in short, every contrivance that ingenuity could devise was resorted to by this horde of reprobates to secure themselves from danger or molestation. whitefriars had lost its privileges; salisbury court and the savoy no longer offered places of refuge to the debtor; and it was, therefore, doubly requisite that the island of bermuda (as the mint was termed by its occupants) should uphold its rights, as long as it was able to do so. mr. wood, meantime, had not remained idle. aware that not a moment was to be lost, if he meant to render any effectual assistance to the child, he ceased shouting, and defending himself in the best way he could from the attacks of rowland, by whom he was closely pressed, forced his way, in spite of all opposition, to davies, and dealt him a blow on the head with such good will that, had it not been for the intervention of the wall, the ruffian must have been prostrated. before he could recover from the stunning effects of the blow, wood possessed himself of the child: and, untying the noose which had been slipped round its throat, had the satisfaction of hearing it cry lustily. at this juncture, sir cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. "he has escaped!" exclaimed the knight; "we have searched every corner of the house without finding a trace of him." "back!" cried rowland. "don't you hear those shouts? yon fellow's clamour has brought the whole horde of jail-birds and cut-throats that infest this place about our ears. we shall be torn in pieces if we are discovered. davies!" he added, calling to the attendant, who was menacing wood with a severe retaliation, "don't heed him; but, if you value a whole skin, come into the house, and bring that woman with you. she may afford us some necessary information." davies reluctantly complied. and, dragging mrs. sheppard, who made no resistance, along with him, entered the house, the door of which was instantly shut and barricaded. a moment afterwards, the street was illumined by a blaze of torchlight, and a tumultuous uproar, mixed with the clashing of weapons, and the braying of horns, announced the arrival of the first detachment of minters. mr. wood rushed instantly to meet them. "hurrah!" shouted he, waving his hat triumphantly over his head. "saved!" "ay, ay, it's all bob, my covey! you're safe enough, that's certain!" responded the minters, baying, yelping, leaping, and howling around him like a pack of hounds when the huntsman is beating cover; "but, where are the lurchers?" "who?" asked wood. "the traps!" responded a bystander. "the shoulder-clappers!" added a lady, who, in her anxiety to join the party, had unintentionally substituted her husband's nether habiliments for her own petticoats. "the ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "the long drover of the borough market." "where are they?" "ay, where are they?" chorussed the mob, flourishing their various weapons, and flashing their torches in the air; "we'll starve 'em out." mr. wood trembled. he felt he had raised a storm which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to allay. he knew not what to say, or what to do; and his confusion was increased by the threatening gestures and furious looks of the ruffians in his immediate vicinity. "i don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. "what does he say?" roared the long drover. "he says he don't understand flash," replied the lady in gentleman's attire. "cease your confounded clutter!" said a young man, whose swarthy visage, seen in the torchlight, struck wood as being that of a mulatto. "you frighten the cull out of his senses. it's plain he don't understand our lingo; as, how should he? take pattern by me;" and as he said this he strode up to the carpenter, and, slapping him on the shoulder, propounded the following questions, accompanying each interrogation with a formidable contortion of countenance. "curse you! where are the bailiffs? rot you! have you lost your tongue? devil seize you! you could bawl loud enough a moment ago!" "silence, blueskin!" interposed an authoritative voice, immediately behind the ruffian. "let me have a word with the cull!" "ay! ay!" cried several of the bystanders, "let jonathan kimbaw the cove. he's got the gift of the gab." the crowd accordingly drew aside, and the individual, in whose behalf the movement had been made immediately stepped forward. he was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. his eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. a physiognomist, indeed, would have likened him to that crafty animal, and it must be owned the general formation of his features favoured such a comparison. the nose was long and sharp, the chin pointed, the forehead broad and flat, and connected, without any intervening hollow, with the eyelid; the teeth when displayed, seemed to reach from ear to ear. then his beard was of a reddish hue, and his complexion warm and sanguine. those who had seen him slumbering, averred that he slept with his eyes open. but this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance. certain it was, that the slightest sound aroused him. this astute personage was somewhat under the middle size, but fairly proportioned, inclining rather to strength than symmetry, and abounding more in muscle than in flesh. it would seem, from the attention which he evidently bestowed upon the hidden and complex machinery of the grand system of villany at work around him, that his chief object in taking up his quarters in the mint, must have been to obtain some private information respecting the habits and practices of its inhabitants, to be turned to account hereafter. advancing towards wood, jonathan fixed his keen gray eyes upon him, and demanded, in a stern tone whether the persons who had taken refuge in the adjoining house, were bailiffs. "not that i know of," replied the carpenter, who had in some degree recovered his confidence. "then i presume you've not been arrested?" "i have not," answered wood firmly. "i guessed as much. perhaps you'll next inform us why you have occasioned this disturbance." "because this child's life was threatened by the persons you have mentioned," rejoined wood. "an excellent reason, i' faith!" exclaimed blueskin, with a roar of surprise and indignation, which was echoed by the whole assemblage. "and so we're to be summoned from our beds and snug firesides, because a kid happens to squall, eh? by the soul of my grandmother, but this is too good!" "do you intend to claim the privileges of the mint?" said jonathan, calmly pursuing his interrogations amid the uproar. "is your person in danger?" "not from my creditors," replied wood, significantly. "will he post the cole? will he come down with the dues? ask him that?" cried blueskin. "you hear," pursued jonathan; "my friend desires to know if you are willing to pay your footing as a member of the ancient and respectable fraternity of debtors?" "i owe no man a farthing, and my name shall never appear in any such rascally list," replied wood angrily. "i don't see why i should be obliged to pay for doing my duty. i tell you this child would have been strangled. the noose was at its throat when i called for help. i knew it was in vain to cry 'murder!' in the mint, so i had recourse to stratagem." "well, sir, i must say you deserve some credit for your ingenuity, at all events," replied jonathan, repressing a smile; "but, before you put out your foot so far, it would have been quite as prudent to consider how you were to draw it back again. for my own part, i don't see in what way it is to be accomplished, except by the payment of our customary fees. do not imagine you can at one moment avail yourself of our excellent regulations (with which you seem sufficiently well acquainted), and the next break them with impunity. if you assume the character of a debtor for your own convenience, you must be content to maintain it for ours. if you have not been arrested, we have been disturbed; and it is but just and reasonable you should pay for occasioning such disturbance. by your own showing you are in easy circumstances,--for it is only natural to presume that a man who owes nothing must be in a condition to pay liberally,--and you cannot therefore feel the loss of such a trifle as ten guineas." however illogical and inconclusive these arguments might appear to mr. wood, and however he might dissent from the latter proposition, he did not deem it expedient to make any reply; and the orator proceeded with his harangue amid the general applause of the assemblage. "i am perhaps exceeding my authority in demanding so slight a sum," continued jonathan, modestly, "and the master of the mint may not be disposed to let you off so lightly. he will be here in a moment or so, and you will then learn his determination. in the mean time, let me advise you as a friend not to irritate him by a refusal, which would be as useless as vexatious. he has a very summary mode of dealing with refractory persons, i assure you. my best endeavours shall be used to bring you off, on the easy terms i have mentioned." "do you call ten guineas easy terms?" cried wood, with a look of dismay. "why, i should expect to purchase the entire freehold of the mint for less money." "many a man has been glad to pay double the amount to get his head from under the mint pump," observed blueskin, gruffly. "let the gentleman take his own course," said jonathan, mildly. "i should be sorry to persuade him to do anything his calmer judgment might disapprove." "exactly my sentiments," rejoined blueskin. "i wouldn't force him for the world: but if he don't tip the stivers, may i be cursed if he don't get a taste of the _aqua pompaginis_. let's have a look at the kinchen that _ought_ to have been throttled," added he, snatching the child from wood. "my stars! here's a pretty lullaby-cheat to make a fuss about--ho! ho!" "deal with me as you think proper, gentlemen," exclaimed wood; "but, for mercy's sake don't harm the child! let it be taken to its mother." "and who is its mother?" asked jonathan, in an eager whisper. "tell me frankly, and speak under your breath. your own safety--the child's safety--depends upon your candour." while mr. wood underwent this examination, blueskin felt a small and trembling hand placed upon his own, and, turning at the summons, beheld a young female, whose features were partially concealed by a loo, or half mask, standing beside him. coarse as were the ruffian's notions of feminine beauty, he could not be insensible to the surpassing loveliness of the fair creature, who had thus solicited his attention. her figure was, in some measure, hidden by a large scarf, and a deep hood drawn over the head contributed to her disguise; still it was evident, from her lofty bearing, that she had nothing in common, except an interest in their proceedings, with the crew by whom she was surrounded. whence she came,--who she was,--and what she wanted,--were questions which naturally suggested themselves to blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. "hush!" said she, in a low, but agitated voice; "would you earn this purse?" "i've no objection," replied blueskin, in a tone intended to be gentle, but which sounded like the murmuring whine of a playful bear. "how much is there in it!" "it contains gold," replied the lady; "but i will add this ring." "what am i to do to earn it?" asked blueskin, with a disgusting leer,--"cut a throat--or throw myself at your feet--eh, my dear?" "give me that child," returned the lady, with difficulty overcoming the loathing inspired by the ruffian's familiarity. "oh! i see!" replied blueskin, winking significantly, "come nearer, or they'll observe us. don't be afraid--i won't hurt you. i'm always agreeable to the women, bless their kind hearts! now! slip the purse into my hand. bravo!--the best cly-faker of 'em all couldn't have done it better. and now for the fawney--the ring i mean. i'm no great judge of these articles, ma'am; but i trust to your honour not to palm off paste upon me." "it is a diamond," said the lady, in an agony of distress,--"the child!" "a diamond! here, take the kid," cried blueskin, slipping the infant adroitly under her scarf. "and so this is a diamond," added he, contemplating the brilliant from the hollow of his hand: "it does sparkle almost as brightly as your ogles. by the by, my dear, i forgot to ask your name--perhaps you'll oblige me with it now? hell and the devil!--gone!" he looked around in vain. the lady had disappeared. chapter iii. the master of the mint. jonathan, meanwhile, having ascertained the parentage of the child from wood, proceeded to question him in an under tone, as to the probable motives of the attempt upon its life; and, though he failed in obtaining any information on this point, he had little difficulty in eliciting such particulars of the mysterious transaction as have already been recounted. when the carpenter concluded his recital, jonathan was for a moment lost in reflection. "devilish strange!" thought he, chuckling to himself; "queer business! capital trick of the cull in the cloak to make another person's brat stand the brunt for his own--capital! ha! ha! won't do, though. he must be a sly fox to get out of the mint without my knowledge. i've a shrewd guess where he's taken refuge; but i'll ferret him out. these bloods will pay well for his capture; if not, _he'll_ pay well to get out of their hands; so i'm safe either way--ha! ha! blueskin," he added aloud, and motioning that worthy, "follow me." upon which, he set off in the direction of the entry. his progress, however, was checked by loud acclamations, announcing the arrival of the master of the mint and his train. baptist kettleby (for so was the master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. he had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. it was easy to discover that he was a knave, but equally easy to perceive that he was a pleasant fellow; a combination of qualities by no means of rare occurrence. so far as regards his attire, baptist was not seen to advantage. no great lover of state or state costume at any time, he was generally, towards the close of an evening, completely in dishabille, and in this condition he now presented himself to his subjects. his shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. a white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. the master of the mint was accompanied by another gentleman almost as portly as himself, and quite as deliberate in his movements. the costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. it consisted of a close jerkin of brown frieze, ornamented with a triple row of brass buttons; loose dutch slops, made very wide in the seat and very tight at the knees; red stockings with black clocks, and a fur cap. the owner of this dress had a broad weather-beaten face, small twinkling eyes, and a bushy, grizzled beard. though he walked by the side of the governor, he seldom exchanged a word with him, but appeared wholly absorbed in the contemplations inspired by a broadbowled dutch pipe. behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands. these were the master's body-guard. advancing towards the master, and claiming an audience, which was instantly granted, jonathan, without much circumlocution, related the sum of the strange story he had just learnt from wood, omitting nothing except a few trifling particulars, which he thought it politic to keep back; and, with this view, he said not a word of there being any probability of capturing the fugitive, but, on the contrary, roundly asserted that his informant had witnessed that person's escape. the master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. the gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a dutchman _can_ cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the master. putting his own construction upon this mute interchange of opinions, jonathan ventured to observe, that it certainly was a very perplexing case, but that he thought something _might_ be made of it, and, if left to him, he would undertake to manage the matter to the master's entire satisfaction. "ja, ja, muntmeester," said the dutchman, removing the pipe from his mouth, and speaking in a deep and guttural voice, "leave the affair to johannes. he'll settle it bravely. and let ush go back to our brandewyn, and hollandsche genever. dese ere not schouts, as you faind, but jonkers on a vrolyk; and if dey'd chanshed to keel de vrow sheppard's pet lamb, dey'd have done her a servish, by shaving it from dat unpleasant complaint, de hempen fever, with which its laatter days are threatened, and of which its poor vader died. myn got! haanging runs in some families, muntmeester. it's hereditary, like de jigt, vat you call it--gout--haw! haw!" "if the child _is_ destined to the gibbet, van galgebrok," replied the master, joining in the laugh, "it'll never be choked by a footman's cravat, that's certain; but, in regard to going back empty-handed," continued he, altering his tone, and assuming a dignified air, "it's quite out of the question. with baptist kettleby, to engage in a matter is to go through with it. besides, this is an affair which no one but myself can settle. common offences may be decided upon by deputy; but outrages perpetrated by men of rank, as these appear to be, must be judged by the master of the mint in person. these are the decrees of the island of bermuda, and i will never suffer its excellent laws to be violated. gentlemen of the mint," added he, pointing with his truncheon towards mrs. sheppard's house, "forward!" "hurrah!" shouted the mob, and the whole phalanx was put in motion in that direction. at the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. "let us in," said the master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance." but as no answer was returned to the summons, though it was again, and more peremptorily, repeated, baptist seized a mallet from a bystander and burst open the door. followed by van galgebrok and others of his retinue, he then rushed into the room, where rowland, sir cecil, and their attendants, stood with drawn swords prepared to receive them. "beat down their blades," cried the master; "no bloodshed." "beat out their brains, you mean," rejoined blueskin with a tremendous imprecation; "no half measures now, master." "hadn't you better hold a moment's parley with the gentlemen before proceeding to extremities?" suggested jonathan. "agreed," responded the master. "surely," he added, staring at rowland, "either i'm greatly mistaken, or it is--" "you are not mistaken, baptist," returned rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. i'm glad to recognise you." "and i'm glad your worship's recognition doesn't come too late," observed the master. "but why didn't you make yourself known at once?" "i'd forgotten the office you hold in the mint, baptist," replied rowland. "but clear the room of this rabble, if you have sufficient authority over them. i would speak with you." "there's but one way of clearing it, your worship," said the master, archly. "i understand," replied rowland. "give them what you please. i'll repay you." "it's all right, pals," cried baptist, in a loud tone; "the gentlemen and i have settled matters. no more scuffling." "what's the meaning of all this?" demanded sir cecil. "how have you contrived to still these troubled waters?" "i've chanced upon an old ally in the master of the mint," answered rowland. "we may trust him," he added in a whisper; "he is a staunch friend of the good cause." "blueskin, clear the room," cried the master; "these gentlemen would be private. they've _paid_ for their lodging. where's jonathan?" inquiries were instantly made after that individual, but he was nowhere to be found. "strange!" observed the master; "i thought he'd been at my elbow all this time. but it don't much matter--though he's a devilish shrewd fellow, and might have helped me out of a difficulty, had any occurred. hark ye, blueskin," continued he, addressing that personage, who, in obedience to his commands, had, with great promptitude, driven out the rabble, and again secured the door, "a word in your ear. what female entered the house with us?" "blood and thunder!" exclaimed blueskin, afraid, if he admitted having seen the lady, of being compelled to divide the plunder he had obtained from her among his companions, "how should i know? d'ye suppose i'm always thinking of the petticoats? i observed no female; but if any one _did_ join the assault, it must have been either amazonian kate, or fighting moll." "the woman i mean did not join the assault," rejoined the master, "but rather seemed to shun observation; and, from the hasty glimpse i caught of her, she appeared to have a child in her arms." "then, most probably, it was the widow sheppard," answered blueskin, sulkily. "right," said the master, "i didn't think of her. and now i've another job for you." "propose it," returned blueskin, inclining his head. "square accounts with the rascal who got up the sham arrest; and, if he don't tip the cole without more ado, give him a taste of the pump, that's all." "he shall go through the whole course," replied blueskin, with a ferocious grin, "unless he comes down to the last grig. we'll lather him with mud, shave him with a rusty razor, and drench him with _aqua pompaginis_. master, your humble servant.--gentlemen, your most obsequious trout." having effected his object, which was to get rid of blueskin, baptist turned to rowland and sir cecil, who had watched his proceedings with much impatience, and remarked, "now, gentlemen, the coast's clear; we've nothing to interrupt us. i'm entirely at your service." chapter iv. the roof and the window. leaving them to pursue their conference, we shall follow the footsteps of jonathan, who, as the master surmised, and, as we have intimated, had unquestionably entered the house. but at the beginning of the affray, when he thought every one was too much occupied with his own concerns to remark his absence, he slipped out of the room, not for the purpose of avoiding the engagement (for cowardice was not one of his failings), but because he had another object in view. creeping stealthily up stairs, unmasking a dark lantern, and glancing into each room as he passed, he was startled in one of them by the appearance of mrs. sheppard, who seemed to be crouching upon the floor. satisfied, however, that she did not notice him, jonathan glided away as noiselessly as he came, and ascended another short flight of stairs leading to the garret. as he crossed this chamber, his foot struck against something on the floor, which nearly threw him down, and stooping to examine the object, he found it was a key. "never throw away a chance," thought jonathan. "who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" and, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. arrived beneath an aperture in the broken roof, he was preparing to pass through it, when he observed a little heap of tiles upon the floor, which appeared to have been recently dislodged. "he _has_ passed this way," cried jonathan, exultingly; "i have him safe enough." he then closed the lantern, mounted without much difficulty upon the roof, and proceeded cautiously along the tiles. the night was now profoundly dark. jonathan had to feel his way. a single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. he had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. the venturous climber gazed for a moment at the assemblage beneath, to ascertain that he was not discovered; and, having satisfied himself in this particular, he stepped out more boldly. on gaining a stack of chimneys at the back of the house, he came to a pause, and again unmasked his lantern. nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork. "confusion!" ejaculated jonathan: "can he have escaped? no. the walls are too high, and the windows too stoutly barricaded in this quarter, to admit such a supposition. he can't be far off. i shall find him yet. ah! i have it," he added, after a moment's deliberation; "he's there, i'll be sworn." and, once more enveloping himself in darkness, he pursued his course. he had now reached the adjoining house, and, scaling the roof, approached another building, which seemed to be, at least, one story loftier than its neighbours. apparently, jonathan was well acquainted with the premises; for, feeling about in the dark, he speedily discovered a ladder, up the steps of which he hurried. drawing a pistol, and unclosing his lantern with the quickness of thought, he then burst through an open trap-door into a small loft. the light fell upon the fugitive, who stood before him in an attitude of defence, with the child in his arms. "aha!" exclaimed jonathan, acting upon the information he had obtained from wood; "i have found you at last. your servant, mr. darrell." "who are you!" demanded the fugitive, sternly. "a friend," replied jonathan, uncocking the pistol, and placing it in his pocket. "how do i know you are a friend?" asked darrell. "what should i do here alone if i were an enemy? but, come, don't let us waste time in bandying words, when we might employ it so much more profitably. your life, and that of your child, are in my power. what will you give me to save you from your pursuers?" "_can_ you do so?" asked the other, doubtfully. "i can, and will. now, the reward?" "i have but an ill-furnished purse. but if i escape, my gratitude--" "pshaw!" interrupted jonathan, scornfully. "your gratitude will vanish with your danger. pay fools with promises. i must have something in hand." "you shall have all i have about me," replied darrell. "well--well," grumbled jonathan, "i suppose i must be content. an ill-lined purse is a poor recompense for the risk i have run. however, come along. i needn't tell you to tread carefully. you know the danger of this breakneck road as well as i do. the light would betray us." so saying, he closed the lantern. "harkye, sir," rejoined darrell; "one word before i move. i know not who you are; and, as i cannot discern your face, i may be doing you an injustice. but there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you. if you attempt to play the traitor, you will do so at the hazard of your life." "i have already hazarded my life in this attempt to save you," returned jonathan boldly, and with apparent frankness; "this ought to be sufficient answer to your doubts. your pursuers are below. what was to hinder me, if i had been so inclined, from directing them to your retreat?" "enough," replied darrell. "lead on!" followed by darrell, jonathan retraced his dangerous path. as he approached the gable of mrs. sheppard's house, loud yells and vociferations reached his ears; and, looking downwards, he perceived a great stir amid the mob. the cause of this uproar was soon manifest. blueskin and the minters were dragging wood to the pump. the unfortunate carpenter struggled violently, but ineffectually. his hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. his shouts for help were answered by roars of mockery and laughter. he continued alternately to be tossed in the air, or rolled in the kennel until he was borne out of sight. the spectacle seemed to afford as much amusement to jonathan as to the actors engaged in it. he could not contain his satisfaction, but chuckled, and rubbed his hands with delight. "by heaven!" cried darrell, "it is the poor fellow whom i placed in such jeopardy a short time ago. i am the cause of his ill-usage." "to be sure you are," replied jonathan, laughing. "but, what of that? it'll be a lesson to him in future, and will show him the folly of doing a good-natured action!" but perceiving that his companion did not relish his pleasantry and fearing that his sympathy for the carpenter's situation might betray him into some act of imprudence, jonathan, without further remark, and by way of putting an end to the discussion, let himself drop through the roof. his example was followed by darrell. but, though the latter was somewhat embarrassed by his burthen, he peremptorily declined jonathan's offer of assistance. both, however, having safely landed, they cautiously crossed the room, and passed down the first flight of steps in silence. at this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of rowland and sir cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. darrell stopped, and drew his sword. "you have betrayed me," said he, in a deep whisper, to his companion; "but you shall reap the reward of your treachery." "be still!" returned jonathan, in the same under tone, and with great self-possession: "i can yet save you. and see!" he added, as the figures drew back, and the lights disappeared; "it's a false alarm. they have retired. however, not a moment is to be lost. give me your hand." he then hurried darrell down another short flight of steps, and entered a small chamber at the back of the house. closing the door, jonathan next produced his lantern, and, hastening towards the window, undrew a bolt by which it was fastened. a stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. this obstacle, which appeared to preclude the possibility of egress in that quarter, was speedily got rid of. withdrawing another bolt, and unhooking a chain suspended from the top of the casement, jonathan pushed the iron framework outwards. the bars dropped noiselessly and slowly down, till the chain tightened at the staple. "you are free," said he, "that grating forms a ladder, by which you may descend in safety. i learned the trick of the place from one paul groves, who used to live here, and who contrived the machine. he used to call it his fire-escape--ha! ha! i've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but i never expected to turn it to such good account. and now, sir, have i kept faith with you?" "you have," replied darrell. "here is my purse; and i trust you will let me know to whom i am indebted for this important service." "it matters not who i am," replied jonathan, taking the money. "as i said before, i have little reliance upon _professions_ of gratitude." "i know not how it is," sighed darrell, "but i feel an unaccountable misgiving at quitting this place. something tells me i am rushing on greater danger." "you know best," replied jonathan, sneeringly; "but if i were in your place i would take the chance of a future and uncertain risk to avoid a present and certain peril." "you are right," replied darrell; "the weakness is past. which is the nearest way to the river?" "why, it's an awkward road to direct you," returned jonathan. "but if you turn to the right when you reach the ground, and keep close to the mint wall, you'll speedily arrive at white cross street; white cross street, if you turn again to the right, will bring you into queen street; queen street, bearing to the left, will conduct you to deadman's place; and deadman's place to the water-side, not fifty yards from saint saviour's stairs, where you're sure to get a boat." "the very point i aim at," said darrell as he passed through the outlet. "stay!" said jonathan, aiding his descent; "you had better take my lantern. it may be useful to you. perhaps you'll give me in return some token, by which i may remind you of this occurrence, in case we meet again. your glove will suffice." "there it is;" replied the other, tossing him the glove. "are you sure these bars touch the ground?" "they come within a yard of it," answered jonathan. "safe!" shouted darrell, as he effected a secure landing. "good night!" "so," muttered jonathan, "having started the hare, i'll now unleash the hounds." with this praiseworthy determination, he was hastening down stairs, with the utmost rapidity, when he encountered a female, whom he took, in the darkness, to be mrs. sheppard. the person caught hold of his arm, and, in spite of his efforts to disengage himself, detained him. "where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. "i heard his voice; but i saw them on the stairs, and durst not approach him, for fear of giving the alarm." "if you mean the fugitive, darrell, he has escaped through the back window," replied jonathan. "thank heaven!" she gasped. "well, you women are forgiving creatures, i must say," observed jonathan, sarcastically. "you thank heaven for the escape of the man who did his best to get your child's neck twisted." "what do you mean?" asked the female, in astonishment. "i mean what i say," replied jonathan. "perhaps you don't know that this darrell so contrived matters, that your child should be mistaken for his own; by which means it had a narrow escape from a tight cravat, i can assure you. however, the scheme answered well enough, for darrell has got off with his own brat." "then this is not my child?" exclaimed she, with increased astonishment. "if you have a child there, it certainly is not," answered jonathan, a little surprised; "for i left your brat in the charge of blueskin, who is still among the crowd in the street, unless, as is not unlikely, he's gone to see your other friend disciplined at the pump." "merciful providence!" exclaimed the female. "whose child can this be?" "how the devil should i know!" replied jonathan gruffly. "i suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. "my child! my child!" exclaimed mrs. sheppard, rushing from the adjoining room. "where is it?" "are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing mrs. sheppard. "i am--i am!" cried the widow, snatching the babe, and pressing it to her breast with rapturous delight "god be thanked, i have found it!" "we have both good reason to be grateful," added the lady, with great emotion. "'sblood!" cried jonathan, who had listened to the foregoing conversation with angry wonder, "i've been nicely done here. fool that i was to part with my lantern! but i'll soon set myself straight. what ho! lights! lights!" and, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs. "where shall i fly?" exclaimed the lady, bewildered with terror. "they will kill me, if they find me, as they would have killed my husband and child. oh god! my limbs fail me." "make an effort, madam," cried mrs. sheppard, as a storm of furious voices resounded from below, and torches were seen mounting the stairs; "they are coming!--they are coming!--fly!--to the roof! to the roof." "no," cried the lady, "this room--i recollect--it has a back window." "it is shut," said mrs. sheppard. "it is open," replied the lady, rushing towards it, and springing through the outlet. "where is she?" thundered jonathan, who at this moment reached mrs. sheppard. "she has flown up stairs," replied the widow. "you lie, hussy!" replied jonathan, rudely pushing her aside, as she vainly endeavoured to oppose his entrance into the room; "she is here. hist!" cried he, as a scream was heard from without. "by g--! she has missed her footing." there was a momentary and terrible silence, broken only by a few feeble groans. sir cecil, who with rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. he held down the light, and a moment afterwards beckoned, with a blanched cheek, to rowland. "your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. "her blood be upon her own head, then," replied rowland, sternly. "why came she here?" "she could not resist the hand of fate which drew her hither," replied sir cecil, mournfully. "descend and take charge of the body," said rowland, conquering his emotion by a great effort, "i will join you in a moment. this accident rather confirms than checks my purpose. the stain upon our family is only half effaced: i have sworn the death of the villain and his bastard, and i will keep my oath. now, sir," he added, turning to jonathan, as sir cecil and his followers obeyed his injunctions, "you say you know the road which the person whom we seek has taken?" "i do," replied jonathan. "but i give no information gratis!" "speak, then," said rowland, placing money in his hand. "you'll find him at st. saviours's stairs," answered jonathan. "he's about to cross the river. you'd better lose no time. he has got five minutes' start of you. but i sent him the longest way about." the words were scarcely pronounced, when rowland disappeared. "and now to see the end of it," said jonathan, shortly afterwards passing through the window. "good night, master." three persons only were left in the room. these were the master of the mint, van galgebrok, and mrs. sheppard. "a bad business this, van," observed baptist, with a prolonged shake of the head. "ja, ja, muntmeester," said the hollander, shaking his head in reply;--"very bad--very." "but then they're staunch supporters of our friend over the water," continued baptist, winking significantly; "so we must e'en hush it up in the best way we can." "ja," answered van galgebrok. "but--sapperment!--i wish they hadn't broken my pipe." "jonathan wild promises well," observed the master, after a pause: "he'll become a great man. mind, i, baptist kettleby, say so." "he'll be hanged nevertheless," replied the hollander, giving his collar an ugly jerk. "mind, i, rykhart van galgebrok predict it. and now let's go back to the shovels, and finish our brandewyn and bier, muntmeester." "alas!" cried mrs. sheppard, relieved by their departure, and giving way to a passionate flood of tears; "were it not for my child, i should wish to be in the place of that unfortunate lady." chapter v. the denunciation. for a short space, mrs. sheppard remained dissolved in tears. she then dried her eyes, and laying her child gently upon the floor, knelt down beside him. "open my heart, father of mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. i have sinned deeply; but i have been sorely tried. spare me yet a little while, father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe." her utterance was here choked by sobs. "but if it is thy will to take me from him," she continued, as soon as her emotion permitted her,--"if he must be left an orphan amid strangers, implant, i beseech thee, a mother's feelings in some other bosom, and raise up a friend, who shall be to him what i would have been. let him not bear the weight of my punishment. spare him!--pity me!" with this she arose, and, taking up the infant, was about to proceed down stairs, when she was alarmed by hearing the street-door opened, and the sound of heavy footsteps entering the house. "halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" mrs. sheppard returned no answer. "i've got something to say to you," continued the speaker, rather less harshly; "something to your advantage; so come out o' your hiding-place, and let's have some supper, for i'm infernally hungry.--d'ye hear?" still the widow remained silent. "well, if you won't come, i shall help myself, and that's unsociable," pursued the speaker, evidently, from the noise he made, suiting the action to the word. "devilish nice ham you've got here!--capital pie!--and, as i live, a flask of excellent canary. you're in luck to-night, widow. here's your health in a bumper, and wishing you a better husband than your first. it'll be your own fault if you don't soon get another and a proper young man into the bargain. here's his health likewise. what! mum still. you're the first widow i ever heard of who could withstand that lure. i'll try the effect of a jolly stave." and he struck up the following ballad:-- saint giles's bowl.[a] [music: transcribers note see html version for music] i. where saint-giles' church stands, once a la-zar-house stood; and, chain'd to its gates, was a ves-sel of wood; a broad-bottom'd bowl, from which all the fine fellows, who pass'd by that spot, on their way to the gallows, might tipple strong beer, their spirits to cheer, and drown, in a sea of good li-quor, all fear! for nothing the tran-sit to ty-burn beguiles, so well as a draught from the bowl of saint giles! ii. by many a highwayman many a draught of nutty-brown ale at saint giles's was quaft, until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, and the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the crown. _where the robber may cheer_ _his spirit with beer,_ _and drown in a sea of good liquor all fear!_ _for nothing the transit to tyburn beguiles_ _so well as a draught from the bowl of saint giles!_ iii. there mulsack and swiftneck, both prigs from their birth, old mob and tom cox took their last draught on earth: there randal, and shorter, and whitney pulled up, and jolly jack joyce drank his finishing cup! _for a can of ale calms,_ _a highwayman's qualms,_ _and makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms_ _and nothing the transit to tyburn beguiles_ _so well as a draught from the bowl of saint giles!_ "singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. "and now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours." iv. when gallant tom sheppard to tyburn was led,-- "stop the cart at the crown--stop a moment," he said. he was offered the bowl, but he left it and smiled, crying, "keep it till call'd for by jonathan wild! "_the rascal one day,_ "_will pass by this way,_ "_and drink a full measure to moisten his clay!_ "_and never will bowl of saint giles have beguiled_ "_such a thorough-paced scoundrel as_ jonathan wild!" v. should it e'er be _my_ lot to ride backwards that way, at the door of the crown i will certainly stay; i'll summon the landlord--i'll call for the bowl, and drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! _whatever may hap,_ _i'll taste of the tap,_ _to keep up my spirits when brought to the crap!_ _for nothing the transit to tyburn beguiles_ _so well as a draught from the bowl of st. giles!_ "devil seize the woman!" growled the singer, as he brought his ditty to a close; "will nothing tempt her out? widow sheppard, i say," he added, rising, "don't be afraid. it's only a gentleman come to offer you his hand. 'he that woos a maid',--fol-de-rol--(hiccupping).--i'll soon find you out." mrs. sheppard, whose distress at the consumption of the provisions had been somewhat allayed by the anticipation of the intruder's departure after he had satisfied his appetite, was now terrified in the extreme by seeing a light approach, and hearing footsteps on the stairs. her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. "oh, you're here, are you?" said the ruffian, with an exulting laugh: "i've been looking for you everywhere." "let me go," implored mrs. sheppard,--"pray let me go. you hurt the child. don't you hear how you've made it cry?" "throttle the kid!" rejoined blueskin, fiercely. "if you don't stop its squalling, i will. i hate children. and, if i'd my own way, i'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies." well knowing the savage temper of the person she had to deal with, and how likely he was to put his threat into execution, mrs. sheppard did not dare to return any answer; but, disengaging herself from his embrace, endeavoured meekly to comply with his request. "and now, widow," continued the ruffian, setting down the candle, and applying his lips to the bottle neck as he flung his heavy frame upon a bench, "i've a piece o' good news for you." "good news will be news to me. what is it?" "guess," rejoined blueskin, attempting to throw a gallant expression into his forbidding countenance. mrs. sheppard trembled violently; and though she understood his meaning too well, she answered,--"i can't guess." "well, then," returned the ruffian, "to put you out o' suspense, as the topsman remarked to poor tom sheppard, afore he turned him off, i'm come to make you an honourable proposal o' marriage. you won't refuse me, i'm sure; so no more need be said about the matter. to-morrow, we'll go to the fleet and get spliced. don't shake so. what i said about your brat was all stuff. i didn't mean it. it's my way when i'm ruffled. i shall take to him as nat'ral as if he were my own flesh and blood afore long.--i'll give him the edication of a prig,--teach him the use of his forks betimes,--and make him, in the end, as clever a cracksman as his father." "never!" shrieked mrs. sheppard; "never! never!" "halloa! what's this?" demanded blueskin, springing to his feet. "do you mean to say that if i support your kid, i shan't bring him up how i please--eh?" "don't question me, but leave me," replied the widow wildly; "you had better." "leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "--not just yet." "i am not unprotected," rejoined the poor woman; "there's some one at the window. help! help!" but her cries were unheeded. and blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever. "it won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. come, come, be reasonable, and listen to me. your kid has already brought me good luck, and may bring me still more if his edication's attended to. this purse," he added, chinking it in the air, "and this ring, were given me for him just now by the lady, who made a false step on leaving your house. if i'd been in the way, instead of jonathan wild, that accident wouldn't have happened." as he said this, a slight noise was heard without. "what's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. "who's there?--pshaw! it's only the wind." "it's jonathan wild," returned the widow, endeavouring to alarm him. "i told you i was not unprotected." "_he_ protect _you_," retorted blueskin, maliciously; "you haven't a worse enemy on the face of the earth than jonathan wild. if you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at jonathan's door,--and with reason too, as i can testify." "man!" screamed mrs. sheppard, with a vehemence that shook even the hardened wretch beside her, "begone, and tempt me not." "what should i tempt you to?" asked blueskin, in surprise. "to--to--no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. "go--go!" "i see what you mean," rejoined blueskin, tossing a large case-knife, which he took from his pocket, in the air, and catching it dexterously by the haft as it fell; "you owe jonathan a grudge;--so do i. he hanged your first husband. just speak the word," he added, drawing the knife significantly across his throat, "and i'll put it out of his power to do the same by your second. but d--n him! let's talk o' something more agreeable. look at this ring;--it's a diamond, and worth a mint o' money. it shall be your wedding ring. look at it, i say. the lady's name's engraved inside, but so small i can scarcely read it. a-l-i-v-a--aliva--t-r-e-n--trencher that's it. aliva trencher." "aliva trenchard!" exclaimed mrs. sheppard, hastily; "is that the name?" "ay, ay, now i look again it _is_ trenchard. how came you to know it? have you heard the name before?" "i think i have--long, long ago, when i was a child," replied mrs. sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone--quite gone. where _can_ i have heard it!" "devil knows," rejoined blueskin. "let it pass. the ring's yours, and you're mine. here, put it on your finger." mrs. sheppard snatched back her hand from his grasp, and exerted all her force to repel his advances. "set down the kid," roared blueskin, savagely. "mercy!" screamed mrs. sheppard, struggling to escape, and holding the infant at arm's length; "have mercy on this helpless innocent!" and the child, alarmed by the strife, added its feeble cries to its mother's shrieks. "set it down, i tell you," thundered blueskin, "or i shall do it a mischief." "never!" cried mrs. sheppard. uttering a terrible imprecation, blueskin placed the knife between his teeth, and endeavoured to seize the poor woman by the throat. in the struggle her cap fell off. the ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. the chamber rang with her shrieks. but her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury. planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife. the child was now within reach; and, in another moment, he would have executed his deadly purpose, if an arm from behind had not felled him to the ground. when mrs. sheppard, who had been stricken down by the blow that prostrated her assailant, looked up, she perceived jonathan wild kneeling beside the body of blueskin. he was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. "trenchard," he muttered; "aliva trenchard--they were right, then, as to the name. well, if she survives the accident--as the blood, who styles himself sir cecil, fancies she may do--this ring will make my fortune by leading to the discovery of the chief parties concerned in this strange affair." "is the poor lady alive?" asked mrs. sheppard, eagerly. "'sblood!" exclaimed jonathan, hastily thrusting the ring into his vest, and taking up a heavy horseman's pistol with which he had felled blueskin,--"i thought you'd been senseless." "is she alive?" repeated the widow. "what's that to you?" demanded jonathan, gruffly. "oh, nothing--nothing," returned mrs. sheppard. "but pray tell me if her husband has escaped?" "her husband!" echoed jonathan scornfully. "a _husband_ has little to fear from his wife's kinsfolk. her _lover_, darrell, has embarked upon the thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers--ha! ha! i tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. however, as things have turned up, it's fortunate that i came back." "it is, indeed," replied mrs. sheppard; "most fortunate for me." "for _you_!" exclaimed jonathan; "don't flatter yourself that i'm thinking of you. blueskin might have butchered you and your brat before i'd have lifted a finger to prevent him, if it hadn't suited my purposes to do so, and _he_ hadn't incurred my displeasure. i never forgive an injury. your husband could have told you that." "how had he offended you?" inquired the widow. "i'll tell you," answered jonathan, sternly. "he thwarted my schemes twice. the first time, i overlooked the offence; but the second time, when i had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,--wood, the carpenter of wych street,--he betrayed me. i told him i would bring him to the gallows, and i was as good as my word." "you were so," replied mrs sheppard; "and for that wicked deed you will one day be brought to the gallows yourself." "not before i have conducted your child thither," retorted jonathan, with a withering look. "ah!" ejaculated mrs. sheppard, paralysed by the threat. "if that sickly brat lives to be a man," continued jonathan, rising, "i'll hang him upon the same tree as his father." "pity!" shrieked the widow. "i'll be his evil genius!" vociferated jonathan, who seemed to enjoy her torture. "begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or i will drive you hence with my curses." "curse on, and welcome," jeered wild. mrs. sheppard raised her hand, and the malediction trembled upon her tongue. but ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. "a mother's prayers--a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice." "we shall see," rejoined jonathan, turning carelessly upon his heel. and, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. footnotes: [footnote a: at the hospital of saint giles for lazars, the prisoners conveyed from the city of london towards tyburn, there to be executed for treasons, felonies, or other trespasses, were presented with a bowl of ale, thereof to drink, as their last refreshing in this life.--_strype's stow._ book. ix. ch. iii.] chapter vi. the storm. as soon as he was liberated by his persecutors, mr. wood set off at full speed from the mint, and, hurrying he scarce knew whither (for there was such a continual buzzing in his ears and dancing in his eyes, as almost to take away the power of reflection), he held on at a brisk pace till his strength completely failed him. on regaining his breath, he began to consider whither chance had led him; and, rubbing his eyes to clear his sight, he perceived a sombre pile, with a lofty tower and broad roof, immediately in front of him. this structure at once satisfied him as to where he stood. he knew it to be st. saviour's church. as he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight. the solemn strokes were immediately answered by a multitude of chimes, sounding across the thames, amongst which the deep note of saint paul's was plainly distinguishable. a feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away. he trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. the peculiar appearance of the sky was not without some influence in awakening these terrors. over one of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen. it was still profoundly dark; but the wind, which had begun to blow with some violence, chased the clouds rapidly across the heavens, and dispersed the vapours hanging nearer the earth. sometimes the moon was totally eclipsed; at others, it shed a wan and ghastly glimmer over the masses rolling in the firmament. not a star could be discerned, but, in their stead, streaks of lurid radiance, whence proceeding it was impossible to determine, shot ever and anon athwart the dusky vault, and added to the ominous and threatening appearance of the night. alarmed by these prognostications of a storm, and feeling too much exhausted from his late severe treatment to proceed further on foot, wood endeavoured to find a tavern where he might warm and otherwise refresh himself. with this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "welsh trumpeter." "let me have a glass of brandy," said he, addressing the host. "too late, master," replied the landlord of the trumpeter, in a surly tone, for he did not much like the appearance of his customer; "just shut up shop." "zounds! david pugh, don't you know your old friend and countryman?" exclaimed the carpenter. "ah! owen wood, is it you?" cried david in astonishment. "what the devil makes you out so late? and what has happened to you, man, eh?--you seem in a queer plight." "give me the brandy, and i'll tell you," replied wood. "here, wife--hostess--fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard.--there, mr. wood," cried david, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart. don't be afraid, man,--off with it. it's right nantz. i keep it for my own drinking," he added in a lower tone. mr. wood having disposed of the brandy, and pronounced himself much better, hurried close to the fire-side, and informed his friend in a few words of the inhospitable treatment he had experienced from the gentlemen of the mint; whereupon mr. pugh, who, as well as the carpenter, was a descendant of cadwallader, waxed extremely wrath; gave utterance to a number of fierce-sounding imprecations in the welsh tongue; and was just beginning to express the greatest anxiety to catch some of the rascals at the trumpeter, when mr. wood cut him short by stating his intention of crossing the river as soon as possible in order to avoid the storm. "a storm!" exclaimed the landlord. "gadzooks! i thought something was coming on; for when i looked at the weather-glass an hour ago, it had sunk lower than i ever remember it." "we shall have a durty night on it, to a sartinty, landlord," observed an old one-eyed sailor, who sat smoking his pipe by the fire-side. "the glass never sinks in that way, d'ye see, without a hurricane follerin', i've knowed it often do so in the west injees. moreover, a souple o' porpusses came up with the tide this mornin', and ha' bin flounderin' about i' the thames abuv lunnun bridge all day long; and them say-monsters, you know, always proves sure fore runners of a gale." "then the sooner i'm off the better," cried wood; "what's to pay, david?" "don't affront me, owen, by asking such a question," returned the landlord; "hadn't you better stop and finish the bottle?" "not a drop more," replied wood. "enough's as good as a feast. good night!" "well, if you won't be persuaded, and must have a boat, owen," observed the landlord, "there's a waterman asleep on that bench will help you to as tidy a craft as any on the thames. halloa, ben!" cried he, shaking a broad-backed fellow, equipped in a short-skirted doublet, and having a badge upon his arm,--"scullers wanted." "holloa! my hearty!" cried ben, starting to his feet. "this gentleman wants a pair of oars," said the landlord. "where to, master?" asked ben, touching his woollen cap. "arundel stairs," replied wood, "the nearest point to wych street." "come along, master," said the waterman. "hark 'ee, ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the thames to-night." "and why not, old saltwater?" inquired ben, turning a quid in his mouth. "'cos there's a gale a-getting up as'll perwent you, young freshwater," replied the tar. "it must look sharp then, or i shall give it the slip," laughed ben: "the gale never yet blowed as could perwent my crossing the thames. the weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but i've never turned my back upon it." "may be not," replied the old sailor, drily; "but you'll find it too stiff for you to-night, anyhow. howsomdever, if you _should_ reach t'other side, take an old feller's advice, and don't be foolhardy enough to venter back again." "i tell 'ee what, saltwater," said ben, "i'll lay you my fare--and that'll be two shillin'--i'm back in an hour." "done!" cried the old sailor. "but vere'll be the use o' vinnin'? you von't live to pay me." "never fear," replied ben, gravely; "dead or alive i'll pay you, if i lose. there's my thumb upon it. come along, master." "i tell 'ee what, landlord," observed the old sailor, quietly replenishing his pipe from a huge pewter tobacco-box, as the waterman and wood quitted the house, "you've said good-b'ye to your friend." "odd's me! do you think so?" cried the host of the trumpeter. "i'll run and bring him back. he's a welshman, and i wouldn't for a trifle that any accident befel him." "never mind," said the old sailor, taking up a piece of blazing coal with the tongs, and applying it to his pipe; "let 'em try. they'll be back soon enough--or not at all." mr. wood and the waterman, meanwhile, proceeded in the direction of st. saviour's stairs. casting a hasty glance at the old and ruinous prison belonging to the liberty of the bishop of winchester (whose palace formerly adjoined the river), called the clink, which gave its name to the street, along which he walked: and noticing, with some uneasiness, the melancholy manner in which the wind whistled through its barred casements, the carpenter followed his companion down an opening to the right, and presently arrived at the water-side. moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. into one of these the waterman jumped, and, having assisted mr. wood to a seat within it, immediately pushed from land. ben had scarcely adjusted his oars, when the gleam of a lantern was seen moving towards the bank. a shout was heard at a little distance, and, the next moment, a person rushed with breathless haste to the stair-head. "boat there!" cried a voice, which mr. wood fancied he recognised. "you'll find a waterman asleep under his tilt in one of them ere craft, if you look about, sir," replied ben, backing water as he spoke. "can't you take me with you?" urged the voice; "i'll make it well worth your while. i've a child here whom i wish to convey across the water without loss of time." "a child!" thought wood; it must be the fugitive darrell. "hold hard," cried he, addressing the waterman; "i'll give the gentleman a lift." "unpossible, master," rejoined ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. old saltwater was right. we shall have a reg'lar squall afore we gets across. d'ye hear how the wanes creaks on old winchester house? we shall have a touch on it ourselves presently. but i shall lose my wager if i stay a moment longer--so here goes." upon which, he plunged his oars deeply into the stream, and the bark shot from the strand. mr. wood's anxiety respecting the fugitive was speedily relieved by hearing another waterman busy himself in preparation for starting; and, shortly after, the dip of a second pair of oars sounded upon the river. "curse me, if i don't think all the world means to cross the thames this fine night," observed ben. "one'd think it rained fares, as well as blowed great guns. why, there's another party on the stair-head inquiring arter scullers; and, by the mass! they appear in a greater hurry than any on us." his attention being thus drawn to the bank, the carpenter beheld three figures, one of whom bore a torch, leap into a wherry of a larger size than the others, which immediately put off from shore. manned by a couple of watermen, who rowed with great swiftness, this wherry dashed through the current in the track of the fugitive, of whom it was evidently in pursuit, and upon whom it perceptibly gained. mr. wood strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying skiff. but he could only discern a black and shapeless mass, floating upon the water at a little distance, which, to his bewildered fancy, appeared absolutely standing still. to the practised eye of the waterman matters wore a very different air. he perceived clearly enough, that the chase was moving quickly; and he was also aware, from the increased rapidity with which the oars were urged, that every exertion was made on board to get out of the reach of her pursuers. at one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore. but this plan (probably from its danger) was instantly abandoned; not, however, before her momentary hesitation had been taken advantage of by her pursuers, who, redoubling their efforts at this juncture, materially lessened the distance between them. ben watched these manoeuvres with great interest, and strained every sinew in his frame to keep ahead of the other boats. "them's catchpoles, i s'pose, sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. "something worse, i fear," wood replied. "why, you don't think as how they're crimps, do you?" ben inquired. "i don't know what i think," wood answered sulkily; and he bent his eyes upon the water, as if he wished to avert his attention forcibly from the scene. there is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the thames. the sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation. the ripple of the water against the boat, as its keel cleaves through the stream--the darkling current hurrying by--the indistinctly-seen craft, of all forms and all sizes, hovering around, and making their way in ghost-like silence, or warning each other of their approach by cries, that, heard from afar, have something doleful in their note--the solemn shadows cast by the bridges--the deeper gloom of the echoing arches--the lights glimmering from the banks--the red reflection thrown upon the waves by a fire kindled on some stationary barge--the tall and fantastic shapes of the houses, as discerned through the obscurity;--these, and other sights and sounds of the same character, give a sombre colour to the thoughts of one who may choose to indulge in meditation at such a time and in such a place. but it was otherwise with the carpenter. this was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. it was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. not a bark could be discerned on the river, except those already mentioned. the darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. it was a dead calm. but this calm was more awful than the previous roaring of the blast. amid this portentous hush, the report of a pistol reached the carpenter's ears; and, raising his head at the sound, he beheld a sight which filled him with fresh apprehensions. by the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest. the shot had taken effect upon the waterman who rowed the chase. he had abandoned his oars, and the boat was drifting with the stream towards the enemy. escape was now impossible. darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. they had not to tarry long. in another instant, the collision took place. the watermen, who manned the larger wherry, immediately shipped their oars, grappled with the drifting skiff, and held it fast. wood, then, beheld two persons, one of whom he recognised as rowland, spring on board the chase. a fierce struggle ensued. there was a shrill cry, instantly succeeded by a deep splash. "put about, waterman, for god's sake!" cried wood, whose humanity got the better of every personal consideration; "some one is overboard. give way, and let us render what assistance we can to the poor wretch." "it's all over with him by this time, master," replied ben, turning the head of his boat, and rowing swiftly towards the scene of strife; "but d--n him, he was the chap as hit poor bill thomson just now, and i don't much care if he should be food for fishes." as ben spoke, they drew near the opposing parties. the contest was now carried on between rowland and darrell. the latter had delivered himself from one of his assailants, the attendant, davies. hurled over the sides of the skiff, the ruffian speedily found a watery grave. it was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away. while the strife raged between the principals, the watermen in the larger wherry were occupied in stemming the force of the torrent, and endeavouring to keep the boats, they had lashed together, stationary. owing to this circumstance, mr. wood's boat, impelled alike by oar and tide, shot past the mark at which it aimed; and before it could be again brought about, the struggle had terminated. for a few minutes, darrell seemed to have the advantage in the conflict. neither combatant could use his sword; and in strength the fugitive was evidently superior to his antagonist. the boat rocked violently with the struggle. had it not been lashed to the adjoining wherry, it must have been upset, and have precipitated the opponents into the water. rowland felt himself sinking beneath the powerful grasp of his enemy. he called to the other attendant, who held the torch. understanding the appeal, the man snatched his master's sword from his grasp, and passed it through darrell's body. the next moment, a heavy plunge told that the fugitive had been consigned to the waves. darrell, however, rose again instantly; and though mortally wounded, made a desperate effort to regain the boat. "my child!" he groaned faintly. "well reminded," answered rowland, who had witnessed his struggles with a smile of gratified vengeance; "i had forgotten the accursed imp in this confusion. take it," he cried, lifting the babe from the bottom of the boat, and flinging it towards its unfortunate father. the child fell within a short distance of darrell, who, hearing the splash, struck out in that direction, and caught it before it sank. at this juncture, the sound of oars reached his ears, and he perceived mr. wood's boat bearing up towards him. "here he is, waterman," exclaimed the benevolent carpenter. "i see him!--row for your life!" "that's the way to miss him, master," replied ben coolly. "we must keep still. the tide'll bring him to us fast enough." ben judged correctly. borne along by the current, darrell was instantly at the boat's side. "seize this oar," vociferated the waterman. "first take the child," cried darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort. "give it me," returned the carpenter; "all's safe. now lend me your own hand." "my strength fails me," gasped the fugitive. "i cannot climb the boat. take my child to--it is--oh god!--i am sinking--take it--take it!" "where?" shouted wood. darrell attempted to reply. but he could only utter an inarticulate exclamation. the next moment his grasp relaxed, and he sank to rise no more. rowland, meantime, alarmed by the voices, snatched a torch from his attendant, and holding it over the side of the wherry, witnessed the incident just described. "confusion!" cried he; "there is another boat in our wake. they have rescued the child. loose the wherry, and stand to your oars--quick--quick!" these commands were promptly obeyed. the boat was set free, and the men resumed their seats. rowland's purposes were, however, defeated in a manner as unexpected as appalling. during the foregoing occurrences a dead calm prevailed. but as rowland sprang to the helm, and gave the signal for pursuit, a roar like a volley of ordnance was heard aloft, and the wind again burst its bondage. a moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink. it was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. the blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. the gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. destruction everywhere marked its course. steeples toppled, and towers reeled beneath its fury. trees were torn up by the roots; many houses were levelled to the ground; others were unroofed; the leads on the churches were ripped off, and "shrivelled up like scrolls of parchment." nothing on land or water was spared by the remorseless gale. most of the vessels lying in the river were driven from their moorings, dashed tumultuously against each other, or blown ashore. all was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. men fled from their tottering habitations, and returned to them scared by greater dangers. the end of the world seemed at hand. at this time of universal havoc and despair,--when all london quaked at the voice of the storm,--the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. the boat in which he rode was not overset. fortunately, her course had been shifted immediately after the rescue of the child; and, in consequence of this movement, she received the first shock of the hurricane, which blew from the southwest, upon her stern. her head dipped deeply into the current, and she narrowly escaped being swamped. righting, however, instantly afterwards, she scudded with the greatest rapidity over the boiling waves, to whose mercy she was now entirely abandoned. on this fresh outburst of the storm, wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate. while he was thus occupied, he felt a rough grasp upon his arm, and presently afterwards ben's lips approached close to his ear. the waterman sheltered his mouth with his hand while he spoke, or his voice would have been carried away by the violence of the blast. "it's all up, master," groaned ben, "nothin' short of a merracle can save us. the boat's sure to run foul o' the bridge; and if she 'scapes stavin' above, she'll be swamped to a sartainty below. there'll be a fall of above twelve foot o' water, and think o' that on a night as 'ud blow a whole fleet to the devil." mr. wood _did_ think of it, and groaned aloud. "heaven help us!" he exclaimed; "we were mad to neglect the old sailor's advice." "that's what troubles me," rejoined ben. "i tell 'ee what, master, if you're more fortinate nor i am, and get ashore, give old saltwater your fare. i pledged my thumb that, dead or alive, i'd pay the wager if i lost; and i should like to be as good as my word." "i will--i will," replied wood hastily. "was that thunder?" he faltered, as a terrible clap was heard overhead. "no; it's only a fresh gale," ben returned: "hark! now it comes." "lord have mercy upon us, miserable sinners!" ejaculated wood, as a fearful gust dashed the water over the side of the boat, deluging him with spray. the hurricane had now reached its climax. the blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. stunning and continuous, the din seemed almost to take away the power of hearing. he, who had faced the gale, would have been instantly stifled. piercing through every crevice in the clothes, it, in some cases, tore them from the wearer's limbs, or from his grasp. it penetrated the skin; benumbed the flesh; paralysed the faculties. the intense darkness added to the terror of the storm. the destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. none saw, though all felt, his presence, and heard the thunder of his voice. imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. the actual danger was lost sight of in these wild apprehensions; and many timorous beings were scared beyond reason's verge by the excess of their fears. this had well nigh been the case with the carpenter. he was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of ben, who roared in his ear, "the bridge!--the bridge!" chapter vii. old london bridge. london, at the period of this history, boasted only a single bridge. but that bridge was more remarkable than any the metropolis now possesses. covered with houses, from one end to the other, this reverend and picturesque structure presented the appearance of a street across the thames. it was as if grace-church street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the middlesex to the surrey shore. the houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. in olden days it boasted a chapel, dedicated to saint thomas; beneath which there was a crypt curiously constructed amid the arches, where "was sepultured peter the chaplain of colechurch, who began the stone bridge at london:" and it still boasted an edifice (though now in rather a tumbledown condition) which had once vied with a palace,--we mean nonesuch house. the other buildings stood close together in rows; and so valuable was every inch of room accounted, that, in many cases, cellars, and even habitable apartments, were constructed in the solid masonry of the piers. old london bridge (the grandsire of the present erection) was supported on nineteen arches, each of which would a rialto make for depth and height! the arches stood upon enormous piers; the piers on starlings, or jetties, built far out into the river to break the force of the tide. roused by ben's warning, the carpenter looked up and could just perceive the dusky outline of the bridge looming through the darkness, and rendered indistinctly visible by the many lights that twinkled from the windows of the lofty houses. as he gazed at these lights, they suddenly seemed to disappear, and a tremendous shock was felt throughout the frame of the boat. wood started to his feet. he found that the skiff had been dashed against one of the buttresses of the bridge. "jump!" cried ben, in a voice of thunder. wood obeyed. his fears supplied him with unwonted vigour. though the starling was more than two feet above the level of the water, he alighted with his little charge--which he had never for an instant quitted--in safety upon it. poor ben was not so fortunate. just as he was preparing to follow, the wherry containing rowland and his men, which had drifted in their wake, was dashed against his boat. the violence of the collision nearly threw him backwards, and caused him to swerve as he sprang. his foot touched the rounded edge of the starling, and glanced off, precipitating him into the water. as he fell, he caught at the projecting masonry. but the stone was slippery; and the tide, which here began to feel the influence of the fall, was running with frightful velocity. he could not make good his hold. but, uttering a loud cry, he was swept away by the headlong torrent. mr. wood heard the cry. but his own situation was too perilous to admit of his rendering any assistance to the ill-fated waterman. he fancied, indeed, that he beheld a figure spring upon the starling at the moment when the boats came in contact; but, as he could perceive no one near him, he concluded he must have been mistaken. in order to make mr. wood's present position, and subsequent proceedings fully intelligible, it may be necessary to give some notion of the shape and structure of the platform on which he had taken refuge. it has been said, that the pier of each arch, or lock of old london bridge, was defended from the force of the tide by a huge projecting spur called a starling. these starlings varied in width, according to the bulk of the pier they surrounded. but they were all pretty nearly of the same length, and built somewhat after the model of a boat, having extremities as sharp and pointed as the keel of a canoe. cased and ribbed with stone, and braced with horizontal beams of timber, the piles, which formed the foundation of these jetties, had resisted the strong encroachments of the current for centuries. some of them are now buried at the bottom of the thames. the starling, on which the carpenter stood, was the fourth from the surrey shore. it might be three yards in width, and a few more in length; but it was covered with ooze and slime, and the waves continually broke over it. the transverse spars before mentioned were as slippery as ice; and the hollows between them were filled ankle-deep with water. the carpenter threw himself flat upon the starling to avoid the fury of the wind. but in this posture he fared worse than ever. if he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. as he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. he, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. but this wild scheme was speedily abandoned; and, nerved by despair, the carpenter resolved to hazard an attempt, from the execution, almost from the contemplation, of which he had hitherto shrunk. this was to pass under the arch, along the narrow ledge of the starling, and, if possible, attain the eastern platform, where, protected by the bridge, he would suffer less from the excessive violence of the gale. assured, if he remained much longer where he was, he would inevitably perish, wood recommended himself to the protection of heaven, and began his perilous course. carefully sustaining the child which, even in that terrible extremity, he had not the heart to abandon, he fell upon his knees, and, guiding himself with his right hand, crept slowly on. he had scarcely entered the arch, when the indraught was so violent, and the noise of the wind so dreadful and astounding, that he almost determined to relinquish the undertaking. but the love of life prevailed over his fears. he went on. the ledge, along which he crawled, was about a foot wide. in length the arch exceeded seventy feet. to the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. when, by slow and toilsome efforts, he had arrived midway, something obstructed his further progress. it was a huge stone placed there by some workmen occupied in repairing the structure. cold drops stood upon wood's brow, as he encountered this obstacle. to return was impossible,--to raise himself certain destruction. he glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. he listened to the thunder of the fall now mingling with the roar of the blast; and, driven almost frantic by what he heard and saw, he pushed with all his force against the stone. to his astonishment and delight it yielded to the pressure, toppled over the ledge, and sank. such was the hubbub and tumult around him, that the carpenter could not hear its plunge into the flood. his course, however, was no longer interrupted, and he crept on. after encountering other dangers, and being twice, compelled to fling himself flat upon his face to avoid slipping from the wet and slimy pathway, he was at length about to emerge from the lock, when, to his inexpressible horror, he found he had lost the child! all the blood in his veins rushed to his heart, and he shook in every limb as he made this discovery. a species of vertigo seized him. his brain reeled. he fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,--that the arch was tumbling upon him,--that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. he shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones. but calmer thoughts quickly succeeded. on taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. he remembered that, before he attempted to dislodge the stone, he had placed the child in a cavity of the pier, which the granite mass had been intended to fill. this obstacle being removed, in his eagerness to proceed, he had forgotten to take his little charge with him. it was still possible the child might be in safety. and so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it. acting upon this humane determination, he impelled himself slowly backwards,--for he did not dare to face the blast,--and with incredible labour and fatigue reached the crevice. his perseverance was amply rewarded. the child was still safe. it lay undisturbed in the remotest corner of the recess. so overjoyed was the carpenter with the successful issue of his undertaking, that he scarcely paused a moment to recruit himself; but, securing the child, set out upon his return. retracing his steps, he arrived, without further accident, at the eastern platform of the starling. as he anticipated, he was here comparatively screened from the fury of the wind; and when he gazed upon the roaring fall beneath him, visible through the darkness in a glistening sheet of foam, his heart overflowed with gratitude for his providential deliverance. as he moved about upon the starling, mr. wood became sensible that he was not alone. some one was standing beside him. this, then, must be the person whom he had seen spring upon the western platform at the time of the collision between the boats. the carpenter well knew from the obstacle which had interfered with his own progress, that the unknown could not have passed through the same lock as himself. but he might have crept along the left side of the pier, and beneath the further arch; whereas, wood, as we have seen, took his course upon the right. the darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. wood, however, made known his presence to the individual by laying his hand upon his shoulder. the stranger started at the touch, and spoke. but his words were borne away by the driving wind. finding all attempts at conversation with his companion in misfortune in vain, wood, in order to distract his thoughts, looked up at the gigantic structure standing, like a wall of solid darkness, before him. what was his transport on perceiving that a few yards above him a light was burning. the carpenter did not hesitate a moment. he took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. a pane of glass was shivered by each stone. the signal of distress was evidently understood. the light disappeared. the window was shortly after opened, and a rope ladder, with a lighted horn lantern attached to it, let down. wood grasped his companion's arm to attract his attention to this unexpected means of escape. the ladder was now within reach. both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of rowland. the carpenter trembled; for he perceived rowland's gaze fixed first upon the infant, and then on himself. "it _is_ her child!" shrieked rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. its parents have perished. and shall their wretched offspring live to blight my hopes, and blast my fame? never!" and, with these words, he grasped wood by the throat, and, despite his resistance, dragged him to the very verge of the platform. all this juncture, a thundering crash was heard against the side of the bridge. a stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. when the carpenter a moment afterwards stretched out his hand, scarcely knowing whether he was alive or dead, he found himself alone. the fatal shower, from which he and his little charge escaped uninjured, had stricken his assailant and precipitated him into the boiling gulf. "it's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. "poor little creature!" he muttered, pressing it tenderly to his breast, as he grasped the rope and clambered up to the window: "if thou hast, indeed, lost both thy parents, as that terrible man said just now, thou art not wholly friendless and deserted, for i myself will be a father to thee! and in memory of this dreadful night, and the death from which i have, been the means of preserving thee, thou shalt bear the name of thames darrell." no sooner had wood crept through the window, than nature gave way, and he fainted. on coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. his first inquiries were concerning the child, and he was delighted to find that it still lived and was doing well. every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter. about noon, next day, he was able to move; and the gale having abated, he set out homewards with his little charge. the city presented a terrible picture of devastation. london bridge had suffered a degree less than most places. but it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. the houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. with great difficulty, wood forced a path through the ruins. it was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. thames street was wholly impassable. men were going hither and thither with barrows, and ladders and ropes, removing the rubbish, and trying to support the tottering habitations. grace-church street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. the tiles lay a foot thick in the road. in some cases they were ground almost to powder; in others, driven deeply into the earth, as if discharged from a piece of ordnance. the roofs and gables of many of the houses had been torn off. the signs of the shops were carried to incredible distances. here and there, a building might be seen with the doors and windows driven in, and all access to it prevented by the heaps of bricks and tilesherds. through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;--now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in fleet street. the hurricane appeared to have raged in this quarter with tenfold fury. mr. wood scarcely knew where he was. the old aspect of the place was gone. in lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed. it was a dismal and depressing sight to see a great city thus suddenly overthrown; and the carpenter was deeply moved by the spectacle. as usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder. while involved in this crowd, near temple bar,--where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,--an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child. in vain wood protested his innocence. the ruffian's companions took his part. and the infant, in all probability, would have been snatched from its preserver, if a posse of the watch (sent out to maintain order and protect property) had not opportunely arrived, and by a vigorous application of their halberts dispersed his persecutors, and set him at liberty. mr. wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in wych street. his wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. end of the first epoch. epoch the second. . thames darrell. chapter i. the idle apprentice. twelve years! how many events have occurred during that long interval! how many changes have taken place! the whole aspect of things is altered. the child has sprung into a youth; the youth has become a man; the man has already begun to feel the advances of age. beauty has bloomed and faded. fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. the fashions of the day have become antiquated. new customs have prevailed over the old. parties, politics, and popular opinions have changed. the crown has passed from the brow of one monarch to that of another. habits and tastes are no longer the same. we, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. twelve years ago! it is an awful retrospect. dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? with how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? where are the aspirations that fired us--the passions that consumed us then? has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires--with the anticipations formed of us by others? or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever--the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?--enough of this. let us proceed with our tale. twelve years, then, have elapsed since the date of the occurrences detailed in the preceding division of this history. at that time, we were beneath the sway of anne: we are now at the commencement of the reign of george the first. passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, --the growth untried of that wide gap-- we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of june, . one friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that mr. wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in wych street, drury lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. impressed with this idea, he paused for a moment to listen. but finding all continue silent, he cautiously lifted the latch, and crept into the room, resolved to punish the offender in case his suspicions should prove correct. the chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art. saws, hammers, planes, axes, augers, adzes, chisels, gimblets, and an endless variety of tools were ranged, like a stand of martial weapons at an armoury, in racks against the walls. over these hung levels, bevels, squares, and other instruments of measurement. amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left." on a shelf was placed a row of paint-jars; the contents of which had been daubed in rainbow streaks upon the adjacent closet and window sill. divers plans and figures were chalked upon the walls; and the spaces between them were filled up with an almanack for the year; a godly ballad, adorned with a rude wood-cut, purporting to be "_the history of chaste susannah_;" an old print of the seven golden candlesticks; an abstract of the various acts of parliament against drinking, swearing, and all manner of profaneness; and a view of the interior of doctor daniel burgess's presbyterian meeting-house in russell court, with portraits of the reverend gentleman and the principal members of his flock. the floor was thickly strewn with sawdust and shavings; and across the room ran a long and wide bench, furnished at one end with a powerful vice; next to which three nails driven into the boards served, it would appear from the lump of unconsumed tallow left in their custody, as a substitute for a candlestick. on the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese. attracted by the odour of the latter dainty, a hungry cat had contrived to scratch open the paper in which it was wrapped, displaying the following words in large characters:--"the history of the four kings, or child's best guide to the gallows." and, as if to make the moral more obvious, a dirty pack of cards was scattered, underneath, upon the sawdust. near the door stood a pile of deal planks, behind which the carpenter ensconced himself in order to reconnoitre, unobserved, the proceedings of his idle apprentice. standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. coat, on the present occasion, he had none, it being more convenient, as well as agreeable to him, to pursue his avocations in his shirtsleeves; but, when fully equipped, he wore a large-cuffed, long-skirted garment, which had once been the property of his master. in concealing himself behind the timber, mr. wood could not avoid making a slight shuffling sound. the noise startled the apprentice, who instantly suspended his labour, and gazed anxiously in the direction whence he supposed it proceeded. his face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. his figure was uncommonly slim even for his age, which could not be more than thirteen; and the looseness of his garb made him appear thinner than he was in reality. but if his frame was immature, his looks were not so. he seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years--to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. the glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. in the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears. the only part of his otherwise-interesting countenance, to which one could decidedly object, was the mouth; a feature that, more than any other, is conceived to betray the animal propensities of the possessor. if this is true, it must be owned that the boy's mouth showed a strong tendency on his part to coarse indulgence. the eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. the cheek-bones were prominent: the nose slightly depressed, with rather wide nostrils; the chin narrow, but well-formed; the forehead broad and lofty; and he possessed such an extraordinary flexibility of muscle in this region, that he could elevate his eye-brows at pleasure up to the very verge of his sleek and shining black hair, which, being closely cropped, to admit of his occasionally wearing a wig, gave a singular bullet-shape to his head. taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which murillo delighted to paint, and for which guzman d'alfarache, lazarillo de tormes, or estevanillo gonzalez might have sat:--faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. there was all the knavery, and more than all the drollery of a spanish picaroon in the laughing eyes of the english apprentice; and, with a little more warmth and sunniness of skin on the side of the latter, the resemblance between them would have been complete. satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following--not inappropriate strains:-- the newgate stone. when claude du val was in newgate thrown, he carved his name on the dungeon stone; quoth a dubsman, who gazed on the shattered wall, "you have carved your epitaph, claude du val, _with your chisel so fine, tra la_!" "this s wants a little deepening," mused the apprentice, retouching the letter in question; "ay, that's better." du val was hang'd, and the next who came on the selfsame stone inscribed his name: "aha!" quoth the dubsman, with devilish glee, "tom waters _your_ doom is the triple tree! _with your chisel so fine, tra la_!" "tut, tut, tut," he cried, "what a fool i am to be sure! i ought to have cut john, not jack. however, it don't signify. nobody ever called me john, that i recollect. so i dare say i was christened jack. deuce take it! i was very near spelling my name with one p. within that dungeon lay captain bew, rumbold and whitney--a jolly crew! all carved their names on the stone, and all share the fate of the brave du val! _with their chisels so fine, tra la_! "save us!" continued the apprentice, "i hope this beam doesn't resemble the newgate stone; or i may chance, like the great men the song speaks of, to swing on the tyburn tree for my pains. no fear o' that.--though if my name should become as famous as theirs, it wouldn't much matter. the prospect of the gallows would never deter me from taking to the road, if i were so inclined. full twenty highwaymen blithe and bold, rattled their chains in that dungeon old; of all that number there 'scaped not one who carved his name on the newgate stone. _with his chisel so fine, tra la_! "there!" cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,--"that'll do. claude du val himself couldn't have carved it better--ha! ha!" the name inscribed upon the beam (of which, as it has been carefully preserved by the subsequent owners of mr. wood's habitation in wych street, we are luckily enabled to furnish a facsimile) was [illustration: jack sheppard (signature)] "i've half a mind to give old wood the slip, and turn highwayman," cried jack, as he closed the knife, and put it in his pocket. "the devil you have!" thundered a voice from behind, that filled the apprentice with dismay. "come down, sirrah, and i'll teach you how to deface my walls in future. come down, i say, instantly, or i'll make you." upon which, mr. wood caught hold of jack's leg, and dragged him off the bench. "and so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,--"rob the mails, like jack hall, i suppose." "yes, i will," replied jack sullenly, "if you beat me in that way." amazed at the boy's assurance, wood left off boxing his ears for a moment, and, looking at him steadfastly, said in a grave tone, "jack, jack, you'll come to be hanged!" "better be hanged than hen-pecked," retorted the lad with a malicious grin. "what do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried wood, reddening with anger. "do you dare to insinuate that mrs. wood governs me?" "it's plain you can't govern yourself, at all events," replied jack coolly; "but, be that as it may, i won't be struck for nothing." "nothing," echoed wood furiously. "do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in bridewell for the least of these offences. but i'll be more lenient, and content myself with merely chastising you, on condition--" "you may do as you please, master," interrupted jack, thrusting his hand into his pocket, as if in search of the knife; "but i wouldn't advise you to lay hands on me again." mr. wood glanced at the hardy offender, and not liking the expression of his countenance, thought it advisable to postpone the execution of his threats to a more favourable opportunity. so, by way of gaining time, he resolved to question him further. "where did you learn the song i heard just now?" he demanded, in an authoritative tone. "at the black lion in our street," replied jack, without hesitation. "the worst house in the neighbourhood--the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned wood. "and who taught it you--the landlord, joe hind?" "no; one blueskin, a fellow who frequents the lion," answered jack, with a degree of candour that astonished his master nearly as much as his confidence. "it was that song that put it into my head to cut my name on the beam." "a white wall is a fool's paper, jack,--remember that," rejoined wood. "pretty company for an apprentice to keep!--pretty houses for an apprentice to frequent! why, the rascal you mention is a notorious house-breaker. he was tried at the last old bailey sessions; and only escaped the gallows by impeaching his accomplices. jonathan wild brought him off." "do you happen to know jonathan wild, master?" inquired jack, altering his tone, and assuming a more respectful demeanour. "i've seen him some years ago, i believe," answered wood; "and, though he must be much changed by this time, i dare say i should know him again." "a short man, isn't he, about your height, sir,--with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "hem!" replied wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. but why do you ask?" "because--" stammered the boy. "speak out--don't be alarmed," said wood, in a kind and encouraging tone. "if you've done wrong, confess it, and i'll forgive you!" "i don't deserve to be forgiven!" returned jack, bursting into tears; "for i'm afraid i've done very wrong. do you know this, sir?" he added, taking a key from his pocket. "where did you find it!" asked wood. "it was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with blueskin at the lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been jonathan wild." "where did _he_ get it?" inquired wood, in surprise. "that i can't say. but he promised to give me a couple of guineas if i'd ascertain whether it fitted your locks." "zounds!" exclaimed wood; "it's my old master-key. this key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, jack. what he intended to do with it is of little consequence now. but before he suffered at tyburn, he charged your mother to restore it. she lost it in the mint. jonathan wild must have stolen it from her." "he must," exclaimed jack, hastily; "but only let me have it till to-morrow, and if i don't entrap him in a snare from which, with all his cunning, he shall find it difficult to escape, my name's not jack sheppard." "i see through your design, jack," returned the carpenter, gravely; "but i don't like under-hand work. even when you've a knave to deal with, let your actions be plain, and above-board. that's my maxim; and it's the maxim of every honest man. it would be a great matter, i must own, to bring jonathan wild to justice. but i can't consent to the course you would pursue--at least, not till i've given it due consideration. in regard to yourself, you've had a very narrow escape. wild's intention, doubtless, was to use you as far as he found necessary, and then to sell you. let this be a caution to you in future--with whom, and about what you deal. we're told, that 'whoso is partner with a thief hateth his own soul.' avoid taverns and bad company, and you may yet do well. you promise to become a first-rate workman. but you want one quality, without which all others are valueless. you want industry--you want steadiness. idleness is the key of beggary, jack. if you don't conquer this disgraceful propensity in time, you'll soon come to want; and then nothing can save you. be warned by your father's fate. as you brew so must you drink. i've engaged to watch over you as a son, and i _will_ do so as far as i'm able; but if you neglect my advice, what chance have i of benefitting you? on one point i've made up my mind--you shall either obey me, or leave me. please yourself. here are your indentures, if you choose to seek another master." "i _will_ obey you, master,--indeed i will!" implored jack, seriously alarmed at the carpenter's calm displeasure. "we shall see. good words, without deeds, are rushes and reeds. and now take away those cards, and never let me see them again. drive away the cat; throw that measure of gin through the window; and tell me why you've not so much as touched the packing-case for lady trafford, which i particularly desired you to complete against my return. it must be sent home this evening. she leaves town to-morrow." "it shall be ready in two hours," answered jack, seizing a piece of wood and a plane; "it isn't more than four o'clock. i'll engage to get the job done by six. i didn't expect you home before that hour, sir." "ah, jack," said wood, shaking his head, "where there's a will there's a way. you can do anything you please. i wish i could get you to imitate thames darrell." "i'm sure i understand the business of a carpenter much better than he does," replied jack, adroitly adjusting the board, and using the plane with the greatest rapidity. "perhaps," replied wood, doubtfully. "thames was always your favourite," observed jack, as he fastened another piece of wood on the teeth of the iron stopper. "i've made no distinction between you, hitherto," answered wood; "nor shall i do so, unless i'm compelled." "i've had the hard work to do, at all events," rejoined jack, "but i won't complain. i'd do anything for thames darrell." "and thames darrell would do anything for you, jack," replied a blithe voice. "what's the matter, father!" continued the new-comer, addressing wood. "has jack displeased you? if so, overlook his fault this once. i'm sure he'll do his best to content you. won't you, jack?" "that i will," answered sheppard, eagerly. "when it thunders, the thief becomes honest," muttered wood. "can i help you, jack?" asked thames, taking up a plane. "no, no, let him alone," interposed wood. "he has undertaken to finish this job by six o'clock, and i wish to see whether he'll be as good as his word." "he'll have hard work to do it by that time, father," remonstrated thames; "you'd better let me help him." "on no account," rejoined wood peremptorily. "a little extra exertion will teach him the advantage of diligence at the proper season. lost ground must be regained. i need scarcely ask whether you've executed your appointed task, my dear? you're never behindhand." thames turned away at the question, which he felt might be construed into a reproach. but sheppard answered for him. "darrell's job was done early this morning," he said; "and if i'd attended to his advice, the packing-case would have been finished at the same time." "you trusted too much to your own skill, jack," rejoined thames. "if i could work as fast as you, i might afford to be as idle. see how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands." "you're a noble-hearted little fellow, thames," rejoined wood, casting a look of pride and affection at his adopted son, whose head he gently patted; "and give promise of a glorious manhood." thames darrell was, indeed, a youth of whom a person of far greater worldly consequence than the worthy carpenter might have been justly proud. though a few months younger than his companion jack sheppard, he was half a head taller, and much more robustly formed. the two friends contrasted strikingly with each other. in darrell's open features, frankness and honour were written in legible characters; while, in jack's physiognomy, cunning and knavery were as strongly imprinted. in all other respects they differed as materially. jack could hardly be accounted good-looking: thames, on the contrary, was one of the handsomest boys possible. jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. jack's mouth was coarse and large; darrell's small and exquisitely carved, with the short, proud upper lip, which belongs to the highest order of beauty. jack's nose was broad and flat; darrell's straight and fine as that of antinous. the expression pervading the countenance of the one was vulgarity; of the other, that which is rarely found, except in persons of high birth. darrell's eyes were of that clear gray which it is difficult to distinguish from blue by day and black at night; and his rich brown hair, which he could not consent to part with, even on the promise of a new and modish peruke from his adoptive father, fell in thick glossy ringlets upon his shoulders; whereas jack's close black crop imparted the peculiar bullet-shape we have noticed, to his head. while thames modestly expressed a hope that he might not belie the carpenter's favourable prediction, jack sheppard thought fit to mount a small ladder placed against the wall, and, springing with the agility of an ape upon a sort of frame, contrived to sustain short spars and blocks of timber, began to search about for a piece of wood required in the work on which he was engaged. being in a great hurry, he took little heed where he set his feet; and a board giving way, he must have fallen, if he had not grasped a large plank laid upon the transverse beam immediately over his head. "take care, jack," shouted thames, who witnessed the occurrence; "that plank isn't properly balanced. you'll have it down." but the caution came too late. sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended. losing his presence of mind, jack quitted his hold, and dropped upon the frame. the plank hung over his head. a moment more and he would have been crushed beneath the ponderous board, when a slight but strong arm arrested its descent. "get from under it, jack!" vociferated thames. "i can't hold it much longer--it'll break my wrist. down we come!" he exclaimed, letting go the plank, which fell with a crash, and leaping after sheppard, who had rolled off the frame. all this was the work of a minute. "no bones broken, i hope," said thames, laughing at jack, who limped towards the bench, rubbing his shins as he went. "all right," replied sheppard, with affected indifference. "it's a mercy you both escaped!" ejaculated wood, only just finding his tongue. "i declare i'm all in a cold sweat. how came you, sir," he continued, addressing sheppard, "to venture upon that frame. i always told you some accident would happen." "don't scold him, father," interposed thames; "he's been frightened enough already." "well, well, since you desire it, i'll say no more," returned wood. "you hay'n't hurt your arm, i trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. "only sprained it a little, that's all," answered thames; "the pain will go off presently." "then you _are_ hurt," cried the carpenter in alarm. "come down stairs directly, and let your mother look at your wrist. she has an excellent remedy for a sprain. and do you, jack, attend to your work, and mind you don't get into further mischief." "hadn't jack better go with us?" said thames. "his shin may need rubbing." "by no means," rejoined wood, hastily. "a little suffering will do him good. i meant to give him a drubbing. that bruise will answer the same purpose." "thames," said sheppard in a low voice, as he threw a vindictive glance at the carpenter, "i shan't forget this. you've saved my life." "pshaw! you'd do as much for me any day, and think no more about it. it'll be your turn to save mine next." "true, and i shan't be easy till my turn arrives." "i tell you what, jack," whispered thames, who had noticed sheppard's menacing glance, and dreaded some further indiscretion on his part, "if you really wish to oblige me, you'll get that packing-case finished by six o'clock. you _can_ do it, if you will." "and i _will_, if i can, depend upon it," answered sheppard, with a laugh. so saying, he manfully resumed his work; while wood and thames quitted the room, and went down stairs. chapter ii. thames darrell. thames darrell's arm having been submitted to the scrutiny of mrs. wood, was pronounced by that lady to be very much sprained; and she, forthwith, proceeded to bathe it with a reddish-coloured lotion. during this operation, the carpenter underwent a severe catechism as to the cause of the accident; and, on learning that the mischance originated with jack sheppard, the indignation of his helpmate knew no bounds; and she was with difficulty prevented from flying to the workshop to inflict summary punishment on the offender. "i knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. i told you no good would come of it. and every day's experience proves that i was right. but, like all your overbearing sex, you must have your own way. you'll never be guided by me--never!" "indeed, my love, you're entirely mistaken," returned the carpenter, endeavouring to deprecate his wife's rising resentment by the softest looks, and the meekest deportment. so far, however, was this submission from producing the desired effect, that it seemed only to lend additional fuel to her displeasure. forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. "what!" she exclaimed, almost choked with passion,--"_i_ advised you to burthen yourself with that idle and good-for-nothing pauper, who'm you ought rather to send to the workhouse than maintain at your own expense, did i! _i_ advised you to take him as an apprentice; and, so far from getting the regular fee with him, to give him a salary? _i_ advised you to feed him, and clothe him, and treat him like his betters; to put up with his insolence, and wink at his faults? _i_ counselled all this, i suppose. you'll tell me next, i dare say, that i recommended you to go and visit his mother so frequently under the plea of charity; to give her wine, and provisions, and money; to remove her from the only fit quarters for such people--the mint; and to place her in a cottage at willesden, of which you must needs pay the rent? marry, come up! charity should begin at home. a discreet husband would leave the dispensation of his bounty, where women are concerned, to his wife. and for my part, if i were inclined to exercise my benevolence at all, it should be in favour of some more deserving object than that whining, hypocritical magdalene." "it was the knowledge of this feeling on your part, my love, that made me act without your express sanction. i did all for the best, i'm sure. mrs. sheppard is--" "i know what mrs. sheppard is, without your information, sir. i haven't forgotten her previous history. you've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son--perhaps, i ought rather to say _your_ son, mr. wood." "really, my love, these accusations are most groundless--this violence is most unnecessary." "i can't endure the odious baggage. i hope i may never come near her." "i hope you never may, my love," humbly acquiesced the carpenter. "is my house to be made a receptacle for all your natural children, sir? answer me that." "winny," said thames, whose glowing cheek attested the effect produced upon him by the insinuation; "winny," said he, addressing a pretty little damsel of some twelve years of age, who stood by his side holding the bottle of embrocation, "help me on with my coat, please. this is no place for me." "sit down, my dear, sit down," interposed mrs. wood, softening her asperity. "what i said about natural children doesn't apply to _you_. don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that i would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you." mr. wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. "owen, owen," pursued mrs. wood, sinking into a chair, and fanning herself violently,--"what a fluster you have put me into with your violence, to be sure! and at the very time, too, when you know i'm expecting a visit from mr. kneebone, on his return from manchester. i wouldn't have him see me in this state for the world. he'd never forgive you." "poh, poh, my dear! mr. kneebone invariably takes part with me, when any trifling misunderstanding arises between us. i only wish he was not a papist and a jacobite." "jacobite!" echoed mrs. wood. "marry, come up! mightn't he just as reasonably complain of your being a hanoverian and a presbyterian? it's all matter of opinion. and now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "i'm content to make up our quarrel. but you must promise me not to go near that abandoned hussy at willesden. one can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object." glad to make peace on any terms, mr. wood gave the required promise, though he could not help thinking that if either of them had cause to be jealous he was the party. and here, we may be permitted to offer an observation upon the peculiar and unaccountable influence which ladies of a shrewish turn so frequently exercise over--we can scarcely, in this case, say--their lords and masters; an influence which seems not merely to extend to the will of the husband, but even to his inclinations. we do not remember to have met with a single individual, reported to be under petticoat government, who was not content with his lot,--nay, who so far from repining, did not exult in his servitude; and we see no way of accounting for this apparently inexplicable conduct--for which, among other phenomena of married life, various reasons have been assigned, though none entirely satisfactory to us--except upon the ground that these domineering dames possess some charm sufficiently strong to counteract the irritating effect of their tempers; some secret and attractive quality of which the world at large is in ignorance, and with which their husbands alone can be supposed to be acquainted. an influence of this description appeared to be exerted on the present occasion. the worthy carpenter was restored to instant good humour by a glance from his helpmate; and, notwithstanding the infliction he had just endured, he would have quarrelled with any one who had endeavoured to persuade him that he was not the happiest of men, and mrs. wood the best of wives. "women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;--a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. lest the carpenter should be taxed with too much uxoriousness, it behoves us to ascertain whether the personal attractions of his helpmate would, in any degree, justify the devotion he displayed. in the first place, mrs. wood had the advantage of her husband in point of years, being on the sunny side of forty,--a period pronounced by competent judges to be the most fascinating, and, at the same time, most critical epoch of woman's existence,--whereas, he was on the shady side of fifty,--a term of life not generally conceived to have any special recommendation in female eyes. in the next place, she really had some pretensions to beauty. accounted extremely pretty in her youth, her features and person expanded as she grew older, without much detriment to their original comeliness. hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless: and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago. on the present occasion, in anticipation of mr. kneebone's visit, mrs. wood was dressed with more than ordinary care, and in more than ordinary finery. a dove-coloured kincob gown, embroidered with large trees, and made very low in front, displayed to the greatest possible advantage, the rounded proportions of her figure; while a high-heeled, red-leather shoe did not detract from the symmetry of a very neat ankle, and a very small foot. a stomacher, fastened by imitation-diamond buckles, girded that part of her person, which should have been a waist; a coral necklace encircled her throat, and a few black patches, or mouches, as they were termed, served as a foil to the bloom of her cheek and chin. upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of actæon. from her stomacher, to which it was attached by a multitude of glittering steel chains, depended an immense turnip-shaped watch, in a pinchbeck case. her hair was gathered up behind, in a sort of pad, according to the then prevailing mode; and she wore a muslin cap, and pinners with crow-foot edging. a black silk fur-belowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white persian. but, in spite of her attractions, we shall address ourselves to the younger, and more interesting couple. "i could almost find in my heart to quarrel with jack sheppard for occasioning you so much pain," observed little winifred wood, as, having completed her ministration to the best of her ability, she helped thames on with his coat. "i don't think you could find in your heart to quarrel with any one, winny; much less with a person whom i like so much as jack sheppard. my arm's nearly well again. and i've already told you the accident was not jack's fault. so, let's think no more about it." "it's strange you should like jack so much dear thames. he doesn't resemble you at all." "the very reason why i like him, winny. if he _did_ resemble me, i shouldn't care about him. and, whatever you may think, i assure you, jack's a downright good-natured fellow." good-natured fellows are always especial favourites with boys. and, in applying the term to his friend, thames meant to pay him a high compliment. and so winifred understood him. "well," she said, in reply, "i may have done jack an injustice. i'll try to think better of him in future." "and, if you want an additional inducement to do so, i can tell you there's no one--not even his mother--whom he loves so well as you." "loves!" echoed winifred, slightly colouring. "yes, loves, winny. poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough." "thames!" "have i said anything to offend you?" "oh! no. but if you wouldn't have me positively dislike jack sheppard, you'll never mention such a subject again. besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon." "well then, to change it," replied thames, gravely, "suppose i should be obliged to leave you." winifred looked as if she could not indulge such a supposition for a single moment. "surely," she said, after a pause, "you don't attach any importance to what my mother has just said. _she_ has already forgotten it." "but _i_ never can forget it, winny. i will no longer be a burthen to those upon whom i have no claim, but compassion." as he said this, in a low and mournful, but firm voice, the tears gathered thickly in winifred's dark eyelashes. "if you are in earnest, thames," she replied, with a look of gentle reproach, "you are very foolish; and, if in jest, very cruel. my mother, i'm sure, didn't intend to hurt your feelings. she loves you too well for that. and i'll answer for it, she'll never say a syllable to annoy you again." thames tried to answer her, but his voice failed him. "come! i see the storm has blown over," cried winifred, brightening up. "you're mistaken, winny. nothing can alter my determination. i shall quit this roof to-morrow." the little girl's countenance fell. "do nothing without consulting my father--_your_ father, thames," she implored. "promise me that." "willingly. and what's more, i promise to abide by his decision." "then, i'm quite easy," cried winifred, joyfully. "i'm sure he won't attempt to prevent me," rejoined thames. the slight smile that played upon winifred's lips seemed to say that _she_ was not quite so sure. but she made no answer. "in case he should consent--" "he never will," interrupted winifred. "in case he _should_, i say," continued thames, "will _you_ promise to let jack sheppard take my place in your affections, winny?" "never!" replied the little damsel, "i can never love any one so much as you." "excepting your father." winifred was going to say "no," but she checked herself; and, with cheeks mantling with blushes, murmured, "i wish you wouldn't tease me about jack sheppard." the foregoing conversation, having been conducted throughout in a low tone, and apart, had not reached the ears of mr. and mrs. wood, who were, furthermore, engaged in a little conjugal _tête-à-tête_ of their own. the last observation, however, caught the attention of the carpenter's wife. "what's that you're saying about jack sheppard?" she cried. "thames was just observing--" "thames!" echoed mrs. wood, glancing angrily at her husband. "there's another instance of your wilfulness and want of taste. who but _you_ would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? why, it's the name of a river, not a christian. no gentleman was ever called thames, and darrell _is_ a gentleman, unless the whole story of his being found in the river is a fabrication!" "my dear, you forget--" "no, mr. wood, i forget nothing. i've an excellent memory, thank god! and i perfectly remember that everybody was drowned upon that occasion--except yourself and the child!" "my love you're beside yourself--" "i was beside myself to take charge of your--" "mother?" interposed winifred. "it's of no use," observed thames quietly, but with a look that chilled the little damsel's heart;--"my resolution is taken." "you at least appear to forget that mr. kneebone is coming, my dear," ventured mr. wood. "good gracious! so i do," exclaimed his amiable consort. "but you _do_ agitate me so much. come into the parlour, winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or i'll send you to bed. mr. wood, i desire you'll put on your best things, and join us as soon as possible. thames, you needn't tidy yourself, as you've hurt your arm. mr. kneebone will excuse you. dear me! if there isn't his knock. oh! i'm in such a fluster!" upon which, she snatched up her fan, cast a look into the glass, smoothed down her scarf, threw a soft expression into her features, and led the way into the next room, whither she was followed by her daughter and thames darrell. chapter iii. the jacobite. mr. william kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite saint clement's church in the strand. a native of manchester, he was the son of kenelm kneebone, a staunch catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for james the second at the battle of the boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of stuart. the gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. he had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders--athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. and, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion. the times were such that, with the opinions he entertained, he could not remain idle. the spirit of disaffection was busy throughout the kingdom. it was on the eve of that memorable rebellion which broke forth, two months later, in scotland. since the accession of george the first to the throne in the preceding year, every effort had been made by the partisans of the stuarts to shake the credit of the existing government, and to gain supporters to their cause. disappointed in their hopes of the restoration of the fallen dynasty after the death of anne, the adherents of the chevalier de saint george endeavoured, by sowing the seeds of dissension far and wide, to produce a general insurrection in his favour. no means were neglected to accomplish this end. agents were dispersed in all directions--offers the most tempting held out to induce the wavering to join the chevalier's standard. plots were hatched in the provinces, where many of the old and wealthy catholic families resided, whose zeal for the martyr of their religion (as the chevalier was esteemed), sharpened by the persecutions they themselves endured, rendered them hearty and efficient allies. arms, horses, and accoutrements were secretly purchased and distributed; and it is not improbable that, if the unfortunate prince, in whose behalf these exertions were made, and who was not deficient in courage, as he proved at the battle of malplaquet, had boldly placed himself at the head of his party at an earlier period, he might have regained the crown of his ancestors. but the indecision, which had been fatal to his race, was fatal to him. he delayed the blow till the fortunate conjuncture was past. and when, at length, it _was_ struck, he wanted energy to pursue his advantages. but we must not anticipate the course of events. at the precise period of this history, the jacobite party was full of hope and confidence. louis the fourteenth yet lived, and expectations were, therefore, indulged of assistance from france. the disgrace of the leaders of the late tory administration had strengthened, rather than injured, their cause. mobs were gathered together on the slightest possible pretext; and these tumultuous assemblages, while committing the most outrageous excesses, loudly proclaimed their hatred to the house of hanover, and their determination to cut off the protestant succession. the proceedings of this faction were narrowly watched by a vigilant and sagacious administration. the government was not deceived (indeed, every opportunity was sought by the jacobites of parading their numbers,) as to the force of its enemies; and precautionary measures were taken to defeat their designs. on the very day of which we write, namely, the th of june , bolingbroke and oxford were impeached of high treason. the committee of secrecy--that english council of ten--were sitting, with walpole at their head; and the most extraordinary discoveries were reported to be made. on the same day, moreover, which, by a curious coincidence, was the birthday of the chevalier de saint george, mobs were collected together in the streets, and the health of that prince was publicly drunk under the title of james the third; while, in many country towns, the bells were rung, and rejoicings held, as if for a reigning monarch:--the cry of the populace almost universally being, "no king george, but a stuart!" the adherents of the chevalier de saint george, we have said, were lavish in promises to their proselytes. posts were offered to all who chose to accept them. blank commissions, signed by the prince, to be filled up by the name of the person, who could raise a troop for his service, were liberally bestowed. amongst others, mr. kneebone, whose interest was not inconsiderable with the leaders of his faction, obtained an appointment as captain in a regiment of infantry, on the conditions above specified. with a view to raise recruits for his corps, the warlike woollen-draper started for lancashire, under the colour of a journey on business. he was pretty successful in manchester,--a town which may be said to have been the head-quarters of the disaffected. on his return to london, he found that applications had been made from a somewhat doubtful quarter by two individuals, for the posts of subordinate officers in his troop. mr. kneebone, or, as he would have preferred being styled, captain kneebone, was not perfectly satisfied with the recommendations forwarded by the applicants. but this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. he resolved to judge for himself. accordingly, he was introduced to the two military aspirants at the cross shovels in the mint, by our old acquaintance, baptist kettleby. the master of the mint, with whom the jacobite captain had often had transactions before, vouched for their being men of honour and loyalty; and kneebone was so well satisfied with his representations, that he at once closed the matter by administering to the applicants the oath of allegiance and fidelity to king james the third, and several other oaths besides, all of which those gentlemen took with as little hesitation as the sum of money, afterwards tendered, to make the compact binding. the party, then, sat down to a bowl of punch; and, at its conclusion, captain kneebone regretted that an engagement to spend the evening with mrs. wood, would preclude the possibility of his remaining with his new friends as long as his inclinations prompted. at this piece of information, the two subordinate officers were observed to exchange glances; and, after a little agreeable raillery on their captain's gallantry, they begged permission to accompany him in his visit. kneebone, who had drained his glass to the restoration of the house of stuart, and the downfall of the house of hanover, more frequently than was consistent with prudence, consented; and the trio set out for wych street, where they arrived in the jolliest humour possible. chapter iv. mr. kneebone and his friends. mrs. wood was scarcely seated before mr. kneebone made his appearance. to her great surprise and mortification he was not alone; but brought with him a couple of friends, whom he begged to introduce as mr. jeremiah jackson, and mr. solomon smith, chapmen, (or what in modern vulgar parlance would be termed bagmen) travelling to procure orders for the house of an eminent cloth manufacturer in manchester. neither the manners, the looks, nor the attire of these gentlemen prepossessed mrs. wood in their favour. accordingly, on their presentation, mr. jeremiah jackson and mr. solomon smith received something very like a rebuff. luckily, they were not easily discomposed. two persons possessing a more comfortable stock of assurance could not be readily found. imitating the example of mr. kneebone, who did not appear in the slightest degree disconcerted by his cool reception, each sank carelessly into a chair, and made himself at home in a moment. both had very singular faces; very odd wigs, very much pulled over their brows; and very large cravats, very much raised above their chins. besides this, each had a large black patch over his right eye, and a very queer twist at the left side of his mouth, so that if their object had been disguise, they could not have adopted better precautions. mrs. wood thought them both remarkably plain, but mr. smith decidedly the plainest of the two. his complexion was as blue as a sailor's jacket, and though mr. jackson had one of the ugliest countenances imaginable, he had a very fine set of teeth. that was something in his favour. one peculiarity she did not fail to notice. they were both dressed in every respect alike. in fact, mr. solomon smith seemed to be mr. jeremiah jackson's double. he talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. if mr. jackson took an accurate survey of the room with his one eye, mr. smith's solitary orb followed in the same direction. when jeremiah admired the compasses in the arms of the carpenter's company over the chimney-piece, or the portraits of the two eminent masters of the rule and plane, william portington, and john scott, esquires, on either side of it, solomon was lost in wonder. when mr. jackson noticed a fine service of old blue china in an open japan closet, mr. smith had never seen anything like it. and finally, when jeremiah, having bestowed upon mrs. wood a very free-and-easy sort of stare, winked at mr. kneebone, his impertinence was copied to the letter by solomon. all three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. mrs. wood's astonishment and displeasure momentarily increased. such freedoms from such people were not to be endured. her patience was waning fast. still, in spite of her glances and gestures, mr. kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it. so mrs. wood went on fuming, and the trio went on laughing for some minutes, nobody knew why or wherefore, until the party was increased by mr. wood, in his sunday habiliments and sunday buckle. without stopping to inquire into the cause of their mirth, or even to ask the names of his guests, the worthy carpenter shook hands with the one-eyed chapmen, slapped mr. kneebone cordially on the shoulder, and began to laugh as heartily as any of them. mrs. wood could stand it no longer. "i think you're all bewitched," she cried. "so we are, ma'am, by your charms," returned mr. jackson, gallantly. "quite captivated, ma'am," added mr. smith, placing his hand on his breast. mr. kneebone and mr. wood laughed louder than ever. "mr. wood," said the lady bridling up, "my request may, perhaps, have some weight with _you_. i desire, sir, you'll recollect yourself. mr. kneebone," she added, with a glance at that gentleman, which was meant to speak daggers, "will do as he pleases." here the chapmen set up another boisterous peal. "no offence, i hope, my dear mrs. w," said mr. kneebone in a conciliatory tone. "my friends, mr. jackson and mr. smith, may have rather odd ways with them; but--" "they _have_ very odd ways," interrupted mrs. wood, disdainfully. "our worthy friend was going to observe, ma'am, that we never fail in our devotion to the fair sex," said mr. jackson. "never, ma'am!" echoed mr. smith, "upon my conscience." "my dear," said the hospitable carpenter, "i dare say mr. kneebone and his friends would be glad of a little refreshment." "they shall have it, then," replied his better half, rising. "you base ingrate," she added, in a whisper, as she flounced past mr. kneebone on her way to the door, "how could you bring such creatures with you, especially on an occasion like this, when we haven't met for a fortnight!" "couldn't help it, my life," returned the gentleman addressed, in the same tone; "but you little know who those individuals are." "lord bless us! you alarm me. who are they?" mr. kneebone assumed a mysterious air; and bringing his lips close to mrs. wood's ear, whispered, "secret agents from france--you understand--friends to the cause--hem!" "i see,--persons of rank!" mr. kneebone nodded. "noblemen." mr. kneebone smiled assent. "mercy on us! well, i thought their manners quite out o' the common. and so, the invasion really is to take place after all; and the chevalier de saint george is to land at the tower with fifty thousand frenchmen; and the hanoverian usurper's to be beheaded; and doctor sacheverel's to be made a bishop, and we're all to be--eh?" "all in good time," returned kneebone, putting his finger to his lips; "don't let your imagination run away with you, my charmer. that boy," he added, looking at thames, "has his eye upon us." mrs. wood, however, was too much excited to attend to the caution. "o, lud!" she cried; "french noblemen in disguise! and so rude as i was! i shall never recover it!" "a good supper will set all to rights," insinuated kneebone. "but be prudent, my angel." "never fear," replied the lady. "i'm prudence personified. you might trust me with the chevalier himself,--i'd never betray him. but why didn't you let me know they were coming. i'd have got something nice. as it is, we've only a couple of ducks--and they were intended for you. winny, my love, come with me. i shall want you.--sorry to quit your lord--worships, i mean,--i don't know what i mean," she added, a little confused, and dropping a profound curtsey to the disguised noblemen, each of whom replied by a bow, worthy, in her opinion, of a prince of the blood at the least,--"but i've a few necessary orders to give below." "don't mind us, ma'am," said mr. jackson: "ha! ha!" "not in the least, ma'am," echoed mr. smith: "ho! ho!" "how condescending!" thought mrs. wood. "not proud in the least, i declare. well, i'd no idea," she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, "that people of quality laughed so. but it's french manners, i suppose." chapter v. hawk and buzzard. mrs. wood's anxiety to please her distinguished guests speedily displayed itself in a very plentiful, if not very dainty repast. to the duckling, peas, and other delicacies, intended for mr. kneebone's special consumption, she added a few impromptu dishes, tossed off in her best style; such as lamb chops, broiled kidneys, fried ham and eggs, and toasted cheese. side by side with the cheese (its never-failing accompaniment, in all seasons, at the carpenter's board) came a tankard of swig, and a toast. besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie--the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. while the cloth was laid, the host and thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in hogarth's delectable print--the modern midnight conversation. mrs. wood now re-appeared with a very red face; and, followed by winifred, took her seat at the table. operations then commenced. mr. wood carved the ducks; mr. kneebone helped to the pigeon-pie; while thames unwired and uncorked a bottle of stout carnarvonshire ale. the woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of mr. smith. the leg and wing of a duck were disposed of by this gentleman in a twinkling; a brace of pigeons and a pound of steak followed with equal celerity; and he had just begun to make a fierce assault upon the eggs and ham. his appetite was perfectly gargantuan. nor must it be imagined, that while he thus exercised his teeth, he neglected the flagon. on the contrary, his glass was never idle, and finding it not filled quite so frequently as he desired, he applied himself, notwithstanding the expressive looks and muttered remonstrances of mr. jackson, to the swig. the latter gentleman did full justice to the good things before him; but he drank sparingly, and was visibly annoyed by his companion's intemperance. as to mr. kneebone, what with flirting with mrs. wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. at this juncture, and just as a cuckoo-clock in the corner struck sis, jack sheppard walked into the room, with the packing-case under his arm. "i was in the right, you see, father," observed thames, smiling; "jack _has_ done his task." "so i perceive," replied wood. "where am i to take it to?" asked sheppard. "i told you that before," rejoined wood, testily. "you must take it to sir rowland trenchard's in southampton fields. and, mind, it's for his sister, lady trafford." "very well, sir," replied sheppard. "wet your whistle before you start, jack," said kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. "what's that you're taking to sir rowland trenchard's?" "only a box, sir," answered sheppard, emptying the glass. "it's an odd-shaped one," rejoined kneebone, examining it attentively. "but i can guess what it's for. sir rowland is one of _us_," he added, winking at his companions, "and so was his brother-in-law, sir cecil trafford. old lancashire families both. strict catholics, and loyal to the backbone. fine woman, lady trafford--a little on the wane though." "ah! you're so very particular," sighed mrs. wood. "not in the least," returned kneebone, slyly, "not in the least. another glass, jack." "thank'ee, sir," grinned sheppard. "off with it to the health of king james the third, and confusion to his enemies!" "hold!" interposed wood; "that is treason. i'll have no such toast drunk at my table!" "it's the king's birthday," urged the woollen draper. "not _my_ king's," returned wood. "i quarrel with no man's political opinions, but i will have my own respected!" "eh day!" exclaimed mrs. wood; "here's a pretty to-do about nothing. marry, come up! i'll see who's to be obeyed. drink the toast, jack." "at your peril, sirrah!" cried wood. "he was hanged that left his drink behind, you know, master," rejoined sheppard. "here's king james the third, and confusion to his enemies!" "very well," said the carpenter, sitting down amid the laughter of the company. "jack!" cried thames, in a loud voice, "you deserve to be hanged for a rebel as you are to your lawful king and your lawful master. but since we must have toasts," he added, snatching up a glass, "listen to mine: here's king george the first! a long reign to him! and confusion to the popish pretender and his adherents!" "bravely done!" said wood, with tears in his eyes. "that's the kinchin as was to try the dub for us, ain't it?" muttered smith to his companion as he stole a glance at jack sheppard. "silence!" returned jackson, in a deep whisper; "and don't muddle your brains with any more of that pharaoh. you'll need all your strength to grab him." "what's the matter?" remarked kneebone, addressing sheppard, who, as he caught the single but piercing eye of jackson fixed upon him, started and trembled. "what's the matter?" repeated mrs. wood in a sharp tone. "ay, what's the matter, boy!" reiterated jackson sternly. "did you never see two gentlemen with only a couple of peepers between them before!" "never, i'll be sworn!" said smith, taking the opportunity of filling his glass while his comrade's back was turned; "we're a nat'ral cur'osity." "can i have a word with you, master?" said sheppard, approaching wood. "not a syllable!" answered the carpenter, angrily. "get about your business!" "thames!" cried jack, beckoning to his friend. but darrell averted his head. "mistress!" said the apprentice, making a final appeal to mrs. wood. "leave the room instantly, sirrah!" rejoined the lady, bouncing up, and giving him a slap on the cheek that made his eyes flash fire. "may i be cursed," muttered sheppard, as he slunk away with (as the woollen-draper pleasantly observed) 'a couple of boxes in charge,' "if ever i try to be honest again!" "take a little toasted cheese with the swig, mr. smith," observed wood. "that's an incorrigible rascal," he added, as sheppard closed the door; "it's only to-day that i discovered--" "what?" asked jackson, pricking up his ears. "don't speak ill of him behind his back, father," interposed thames. "if _i_ were your father, young gentleman," returned jackson, enraged at the interruption, "i'd teach _you_ not to speak till you were spoken to." thames was about to reply, but a glance from wood checked him. "the rebuke is just," said the carpenter; "at the same time, i'm not sorry to find you're a friend to fair play, which, as you seem to know, is a jewel. open that bottle with a blue seal, my dear. gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be no bad finish to our meal." this proposal giving general satisfaction, the bottle circulated swiftly; and smith found the liquor so much to his taste, that he made it pay double toll on its passage. "your son is a lad of spirit, mr. wood," observed jackson, in a slightly-sarcastic tone. "he's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. "how, sir?" "except by adoption. thames darrell is--" "my husband nicknames him thames," interrupted mrs. wood, "because he found him in the river!--ha! ha!" "ha! ha!" echoed smith, taking another bumper of brandy; "he'll set the thames on fire one of these days, i'll warrant him!" "that's more than you'll ever do, you drunken fool!" growled jackson, in an under tone: "be cautious, or you'll spoil all!" "suppose we send for a bowl of punch," said kneebone. "with all my heart!" replied wood. and, turning to his daughter, he gave the necessary directions in a low tone. winifred, accordingly, left the room, and a servant being despatched to the nearest tavern, soon afterwards returned with a crown bowl of the ambrosian fluid. the tables were then cleared. bottles and glasses usurped the place of dishes and plates. pipes were lighted; and mr. kneebone began to dispense the fragrant fluid; begging mrs. wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the chevalier de saint george--a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. "the chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper. "you don't say so!" replied mrs. wood, delighted at the idea. mr. kneebone assured her that he _did_ say so; and, as a further proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table. mr. smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following drinking song. i. jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip are dug from the mines of canary; and to keep up their lustre i moisten my lip with hogsheads of claret and sherry. ii. jolly nose! he who sees thee across a broad glass beholds thee in all thy perfection; and to the pale snout of a temperate ass entertains the profoundest objection. iii. for a big-bellied glass is the palette i use, and the choicest of wine is my colour; and i find that my nose takes the mellowest hues the fuller i fill it--the fuller! iv. jolly nose! there are fools who say drink hurts the sight; such dullards know nothing about it. 't is better, with wine, to extinguish the light, than live always, in darkness, without it! "how long may it be since that boy was found in the way mrs. wood mentions?" inquired jackson, as soon as the clatter that succeeded mr. smith's melody had subsided. "let me see," replied wood; "exactly twelve years ago last november." "why, that must be about the time of the great storm," rejoined jackson. "egad!" exclaimed wood, "you've hit the right nail on the head, anyhow. it _was_ on the night of the great storm that i found him." "i should like to hear all particulars of the affair," said jackson, "if it wouldn't be troubling you too much." mr. wood required little pressing. he took a sip of punch and commenced his relation. though meant to produce a totally different effect, the narrative seemed to excite the risible propensities rather than the commiseration of his auditor; and when mr. wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment. "i beg your pardon," he cried; "but really--ha! ha!--you must excuse me!--that is so uncommonly diverting--ha! ha! do let me hear it again?--ha! ha! ha!" "upon my word," rejoined wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes." "to be sure! nothing entertains me so much. people always rejoice at the misfortunes of others--never at their own! the droll dogs! how _they_ must have enjoyed it!--ha! ha!" "i dare say they did. but _i_ found it no laughing matter, i can assure you. and, though it's a long time ago, i feel as sore on the subject as ever." "quite natural! never forgive an injury!--_i_ never do!--ha! ha!" "really, mr. jackson, i could almost fancy we had met before. your laugh reminds me of--of----" "whose, sir?" demanded jackson, becoming suddenly grave. "you'll not be offended, i hope," returned wood, drily, "if i say that your voice, your manner, and, above all, your very extraordinary way of laughing, put me strangely in mind of one of the 'droll dogs,' (as you term them,) who helped to perpetrate the outrage i've just described." "whom do you mean?" demanded jackson. "i allude to an individual, who has since acquired an infamous notoriety as a thief-taker; but who, in those days, was himself the associate of thieves." "well, sir, his name?" "jonathan wild." "'sblood!" cried jackson, rising, "i can't sit still and hear mr. wild, whom i believe to be as honest a gentleman as any in the kingdom, calumniated!" "fire and fury!" exclaimed smith, getting up with the brandy-bottle in his grasp; "no man shall abuse mr. wild in my presence! he's the right-hand of the community! we could do nothing without him!" "_we!_" repeated wood, significantly. "every honest man, sir! he helps us to our own again." "humph!" ejaculated the carpenter. "surely," observed thames, laughing, "to one who entertains so high an opinion of jonathan wild, as mr. jackson appears to do, it can't be very offensive to be told, that he's like him." "i don't object to the likeness, if any such exists, young sir," returned jackson, darting an angry glance at thames; "indeed i'm rather flattered by being thought to resemble a gentleman of mr. wild's figure. but i can't submit to hear the well-earned reputation of my friend termed an 'infamous notoriety.'" "no, we can't stand that," hiccupped smith, scarcely able to keep his legs. "well, gentlemen," rejoined wood, mildly; "since mr. wild is a friend of yours, i'm sorry for what i said. i've no doubt he's as honest as either of you." "enough," returned jackson, extending his hand; "and if i've expressed myself warmly, i'm sorry for it likewise. but you must allow me to observe, my good sir, that you're wholly in the wrong respecting my friend. mr. wild never was the associate of thieves." "never," echoed smith, emphatically, "upon my honour." "i'm satisfied with your assurance," replied the carpenter, drily. "it's more than i am," muttered thames. "i was not aware that jonathan wild was an acquaintance of yours, mr. jackson," said kneebone, whose assiduity to mrs. wood had prevented him from paying much attention to the previous scene. "i've known him all my life," replied the other. "the devil you have! then, perhaps, you can tell me when he intends to put his threat into execution?" "what threat?" asked jackson. "why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one blake, or blueskin, i think he's called." "you've been misinformed, sir," interposed smith. "mr. wild is incapable of such baseness." "bah!" returned the woollen-draper. "i see you don't know him as well as you pretend. jonathan is capable of anything. he has hanged twelve of his associates already. the moment they cease to be serviceable, or become dangerous he lodges an information, and the matter's settled. he has always plenty of evidence in reserve. blueskin is booked. as sure as you're sitting there, mr. smith, he'll swing after next old bailey sessions. i wouldn't be in his skin for a trifle!" "but he may peach," said smith casting an oblique glance at jackson. "it would avail him little if he did," replied kneebone. "jonathan does what he pleases in the courts." "very true," chuckled jackson; "very true." "blueskin's only chance would be to carry _his_ threat into effect," pursued the woollen-draper. "aha!" exclaimed jackson. "_he_ threatens, does he?" "more than that," replied kneebone; "i understand he drew a knife upon jonathan, in a quarrel between them lately. and since then, he has openly avowed his determination of cutting his master's throat on the slightest inkling of treachery. but, perhaps mr. smith will tell you i'm misinformed, also, on that point." "on the contrary," rejoined smith, looking askance at his companion, "i happen to _know_ you're in the right." "well, sir, i'm obliged to you," said jackson; "i shall take care to put mr. wild on his guard against an assassin." "and i shall put blueskin on the alert against the designs of a traitor," rejoined smith, in a tone that sounded like a menace. "in my opinion," remarked kneebone, "it doesn't matter how soon society is rid of two such scoundrels; and if blueskin dies by the rope, and jonathan by the hand of violence, they'll meet the fate they merit. wild was formerly an agent to the jacobite party, but, on the offer of a bribe from the opposite faction, he unhesitatingly deserted and betrayed his old employers. of late, he has become the instrument of walpole, and does all the dirty work for the secret committee. several arrests of importance have been intrusted to him; but, forewarned, forearmed, we have constantly baffled his schemes;--ha! ha! jonathan's a devilish clever fellow. but he can't have his eyes always about him, or he'd have been with us this morning at the mint, eh, mr. jackson!" "so he would," replied the latter: "so he would." "with all his cunning, he may meet with his match," continued kneebone, laughing. "i've set a trap for him." "take care you don't fall into it yourself," returned jackson, with a slight sneer. "were i in your place," said smith, "i should be apprehensive of wild, because he's a declared enemy." "and were i in _yours_," rejoined the woollen-draper, "i should be doubly apprehensive, because he's a professed friend. but we're neglecting the punch all this time. a bumper round, gentlemen. success to our enterprise!" "success to our enterprise!" echoed the others, significantly. "may i ask whether you made any further inquiries into the mysterious affair about which we were speaking just now?" observed jackson, turning to the carpenter. "i can't say i did," replied wood, somewhat reluctantly; "what with the confusion incident to the storm, and the subsequent press of business, i put it off till it was too late. i've often regretted that i didn't investigate the matter. however, it doesn't much signify. all concerned in the dark transaction must have perished." "are you sure of that," inquired jackson. "as sure as one reasonably can be. i saw their boat swept away, and heard the roar of the fall beneath the bridge; and no one, who was present, could doubt the result. if the principal instigator of the crime, whom i afterwards encountered on the platform, and who was dashed into the raging flood by the shower of bricks, escaped, his preservation must have been indeed miraculous." "your own was equally so," said jackson ironically. "what if he _did_ escape?" "my utmost efforts should be used to bring him to justice." "hum!" "have you any reason to suppose he survived the accident?" inquired thames eagerly. jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. "i merely asked the question," he said, after he had enjoyed the boy's suspense for a moment. the hope that had been suddenly kindled in the youth's bosom was as suddenly extinguished. "if i thought he lived----" observed wood. "_if_," interrupted jackson, changing his tone: "he _does_ live. and it has been well for you that he imagines the child was drowned." "who is he?" asked thames impatiently. "you're inquisitive, young gentleman," replied jackson, coldly. "when you're older, you'll know that secrets of importance are not disclosed gratuitously. your adoptive father understands mankind better." "i'd give half i'm worth to hang the villain, and restore this boy to his rights," said mr. wood. "how do you know he _has_ any rights to be restored to?" returned jackson, with a grin. "judging from what you tell me, i've no doubt he's the illegitimate offspring of some handsome, but lowborn profligate; in which case, he'll neither have name, nor wealth for his inheritance. the assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. the less said, therefore, on this point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would only be trouble thrown away. but, if you have any particular fancy for hanging the gentleman, who chose to take the law into his own hands--and i think your motive extremely disinterested and praiseworthy--why, it's just possible, if you make it worth my while, that your desires may be gratified." "i don't see how this is to be effected, unless you yourself were present at the time," said wood, glancing suspiciously at the speaker. "i had no hand in the affair," replied jackson, bluntly; "but i know those who had; and could bring forward evidence, if you require it." "the best evidence would be afforded by an accomplice of the assassin," rejoined thames, who was greatly offended by the insinuation as to his parentage. "perhaps you could point out such a party, mr. jackson?" said wood, significantly. "i could," replied thames. "then you need no further information from me," rejoined jackson, sternly. "stay!" cried wood, "this is a most perplexing business--if you really are privy to the affair----" "we'll talk of it to-morrow, sir," returned jackson, cutting him short. "in the mean time, with your permission, i'll just make a few minutes of our conversation." "as many as you please," replied wood, walking towards the chimney-piece, and taking down a constable's, staff, which hung upon a nail. jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. while he was thus occupied, thames, prompted by an unaccountable feeling of curiosity, took up the penknife which the other had just used, and examined the haft. what he there noticed occasioned a marked change in his demeanour. he laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. "there," cried jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do. to-morrow at twelve i'll be with you, mr. wood. make up your mind as to the terms, and i'll engage to find the man." "hold!" exclaimed the carpenter, in an authoritative voice: "we can't part thus. thames, look the door." (an order which was promptly obeyed.) "now, sir, i must insist upon a full explanation of your mysterious hints, or, as i am headborough of the district, i shall at once take you into custody." jackson treated this menace with a loud laugh of derision. "what ho!" he cried slapping smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandy-bottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. "it is time!" "for what?" grumbled the latter, rubbing his eyes. "for the caption!" replied jackson, coolly drawing a brace of pistols from his pockets. "ready!" answered smith, shaking himself, and producing a similar pair of weapons. "in heaven's name! what's all this?" cried wood. "be still, and you'll receive no injury," returned jackson. "we're merely about to discharge our duty by apprehending a rebel. captain kneebone! we must trouble you to accompany us." "i've no intention of stirring," replied the woollen-draper, who was thus unceremoniously disturbed: "and i beg you'll sit down, mr. jackson." "come, sir!" thundered the latter, "no trifling! perhaps," he added, opening a warrant, "you'll obey this mandate?" "a warrant!" ejaculated kneebone, starting to his feet. "ay, sir, from the secretary of state, for _your_ arrest! you're charged with high-treason." "by those who've conspired with me?" "no! by those who've entrapped you! you've long eluded our vigilance; but we've caught you at last!" "damnation!" exclaimed the woollen-draper; "that i should be the dupe of such a miserable artifice!" "it's no use lamenting now, captain! you ought rather to be obliged to us for allowing you to pay this visit. we could have secured you when you left the mint. but we wished to ascertain whether mrs. wood's charms equalled your description." "wretches!" screamed the lady; "don't dare to breathe your vile insinuations against me! oh! mr. kneebone, are these your french noblemen?" "don't upbraid me!" rejoined the woollen-draper. "bring him along, joe!" said jackson, in a whisper to his comrade. smith obeyed. but he had scarcely advanced a step, when he was felled to the ground by a blow from the powerful arm of kneebone, who, instantly possessing himself of a pistol, levelled it at jackson's head. "begone! or i fire!" he cried. "mr. wood," returned jackson, with the utmost composure; "you're a headborough, and a loyal subject of king george. i call upon you to assist me in the apprehension of this person. you'll be answerable for his escape." "mr. wood, i command you not to stir," vociferated the carpenter's better-half; "recollect you'll be answerable to me." "i declare i don't know what to do," said wood, burned by conflicting emotions. "mr. kneebone! you would greatly oblige me by surrendering yourself." "never!" replied the woollen-draper; "and if that treacherous rascal, by your side, doesn't make himself scarce quickly, i'll send a bullet through his brain." "my death will lie at your door," remarked jackson to the carpenter. "show me your warrant!" said wood, almost driven to his wit's-end; "perhaps it isn't regular?" "ask him who he is?" suggested thames. "a good idea!" exclaimed the carpenter. "may i beg to know whom i've the pleasure of adressing? jackson, i conclude, is merely an assumed name." "what does it signify?" returned the latter, angrily. "a great deal!" replied thames. "if you won't disclose your name, i will for you! you are jonathan wild!" "further concealment is needless," answered the other, pulling off his wig and black patch, and resuming his natural tone of voice; "i _am_ jonathan wild!" "say you so!" rejoined kneebone; "then be this your passport to eternity." upon which he drew the trigger of the pistol, which, luckily for the individual against whom it was aimed, flashed in the pan. "i might now send you on a similar journey!" replied jonathan, with a bitter smile, and preserving the unmoved demeanour he had maintained throughout; "but i prefer conveying you, in the first instance, to newgate. the jacobite daws want a scarecrow." so saying, he sprang, with a bound like that of a tiger-cat, against the throat of the woollen-draper. and so sudden and well-directed was the assault, that he completely overthrew his gigantic antagonist. "lend a hand with the ruffles, blueskin!" he shouted, as that personage, who had just recovered from the stunning effects of the blow, contrived to pick himself up. "look quick, d--n you, or we shall never master him!" "murder!" shrieked mrs. wood, at the top of her voice. "here's a pistol!" cried thames, darting towards the undischarged weapon dropped by blueskin in the scuffle, and pointing it at jonathan. "shall i shoot him?" "yes! yes! put it to his ear!" cried mrs. wood; "that's the surest way!" "no! no! give it me!" vociferated wood, snatching the pistol, and rushing to the door, against which he placed his back. "i'll soon settle this business. jonathan wild!" he added, in a loud voice, "i command you to release your prisoner." "so i will," replied jonathan, who, with blueskin's aid, had succeeded in slipping a pair of handcuffs over the woollen-draper's wrists, "when i've mr. walpole's order to that effect--but not before." "you'll take the consequences, then?" "willingly." "in that case i arrest you, and your confederate, joseph blake, alias blueskin, on a charge of felony," returned wood, brandishing his staff; "resist my authority, if you dare." "a clever device," replied jonathan; "but it won't serve your turn. let us pass, sir. strike the gag, blueskin." "you shall not stir a footstep. open the window, thames, and call for assistance." "stop!" cried jonathan, who did not care to push matters too far, "let me have a word with you, mr. wood." "i'll have no explanations whatever," replied the carpenter, disdainfully, "except before a magistrate." "at least state your charge. it is a serious accusation." "it _is_," answered wood. "do you recollect this key? do you recollect to whom you gave it, and for what purpose? or shall i refresh your memory?" wild appeared confounded. "release your prisoner," continued wood, "or the window is opened." "mr. wood," said jonathan, advancing towards him, and speaking in a low tone, "the secret of your adopted son's birth is known to me. the name of his father's murderer is also known to me. i can help you to both,--nay, i _will_ help you to both, if you do not interfere with my plans. the arrest of this person is of consequence to me. do not oppose it, and i will serve you. thwart me, and i become your mortal enemy. i have but to give a hint of that boy's existence in the proper quarter, and his life will not be worth a day's purchase." "don't listen to him, father," cried thames, unconscious of what was passing; "there are plenty of people outside." "make your choice," said jonathan. "if you don't decide quickly, i'll scream," cried mrs. wood, popping her head through the window. "set your prisoner free!" returned wood. "take off the ruffles, blueskin," rejoined wild. "you know my fixed determination," he added in a low tone, as he passed the carpenter. "before to-morrow night that boy shall join his father." so saying, he unlocked the door and strode out of the room. "here are some letters, which will let you see what a snake you've cherished in your bosom, you uxorious old dotard," said blueskin, tossing a packet of papers to wood, as he followed his leader. "'odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them. "why, this is your writing dolly, and addressed to mr. kneebone." "my writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. "confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters," whispered kneebone, "what's to be done?" "what's to be done! why, i'm undone! how imprudent in you not to burn them. but men _are_ so careless, there's no trusting anything to them! however, i must try to brazen it out.--give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries." "excuse me, madam," replied the carpenter, turning his back upon her, and sinking into a chair: "thames, my love, bring me my spectacles. my heart misgives me. fool that i was to marry for beauty! i ought to have remembered that a fair woman and a slashed gown always find some nail in the way." chapter vi. the first step towards the ladder. if there is one thing on earth, more lovely than another, it is a fair girl of the tender age of winifred wood! her beauty awakens no feeling beyond that of admiration. the charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil. beautiful is the girl of twelve,--who is neither child nor woman, but something between both, something more exquisite than either! such was the fairy creature presented to thames darrell, under the following circumstances. glad to escape from the scene of recrimination that ensued between his adopted parents, thames seized the earliest opportunity of retiring, and took his way to a small chamber in the upper part of the house, where he and jack were accustomed to spend most of their leisure in the amusements, or pursuits, proper to their years. he found the door ajar, and, to his surprise, perceived little winifred seated at a table, busily engaged in tracing some design upon a sheet of paper. she did not hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her head. it was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;--a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. we have seen pitted cheeks, which we would not exchange for dimples and a satin skin. winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look. her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. she was dressed in a little white frock, with a very long body, and very short sleeves, which looked (from a certain fullness about the hips,) as if it was intended to be worn with a hoop. her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. the room in which she sat was a portion of the garret, assigned, as we have just stated, by mr. wood as a play-room to the two boys; and, like most boy's playrooms, it exhibited a total absence of order, or neatness. things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict. the characters of the youthful occupants of the room might be detected in every article it contained. darell's peculiar bent of mind was exemplified in a rusty broadsword, a tall grenadier's cap, a musket without lock or ramrod, a belt and cartouch-box, with other matters evincing a decided military taste. among his books, plutarch's lives, and the histories of great commanders, appeared to have been frequently consulted; but the dust had gathered thickly upon the carpenter's manual, and a treatise on trigonometry and geometry. beneath the shelf, containing these books, hung the fine old ballad of '_st. george for england_' and a loyal ditty, then much in vogue, called '_true protestant gratitude, or, britain's thanksgiving for the first of august, being the day of his majesty's happy accession to the throne_.' jack sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those froissarts and holinsheds of crime--the ordinaries of newgate. his vocal collection comprised a couple of flash songs pasted against the wall, entitled '_the thief-catcher's prophecy_,' and the '_life and death of the darkman's budge_;' while his extraordinary mechanical skill was displayed in what he termed (jack had a supreme contempt for orthography,) a '_moddle of his ma^{s}. jale off newgate_;' another model of the pillory at fleet bridge; and a third of the permanent gibbet at tyburn. the latter specimen, of his workmanship was adorned with a little scarecrow figure, intended to represent a housebreaking chimney-sweeper of the time, described in sheppard's own hand-writing, as '_jack hall a-hanging_.' we must not omit to mention that a family group from the pencil of little winifred, representing mr. and mrs. wood in very characteristic attitudes, occupied a prominent place on the walls. for a few moments, thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence. on a sudden, a change came over her countenance, which, up to this moment, had worn a smiling and satisfied expression. throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of india-rubber, and exclaiming,--"it isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when thames darted into the room. "who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. "i can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "i'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. "don't look at it, i entreat," she cried. but her request was unheeded. thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. "i've a good mind not to speak to you again, sir!" cried winifred, with difficulty repressing a tear of vexation; "you've acted unfairly." "i feel i have, dear winny!" replied thames, abashed at his own rudeness; "my conduct is inexcusable." "i'll excuse it nevertheless," returned the little damsel, affectionately extending her hand to him. "why were you afraid to show me this picture, winny?" asked the youth. "because it's not like you," was her answer. "well, like or not, i'm greatly pleased with it, and must beg it from you as a memorial----" "of what?" she interrupted, startled by his change of manner. "of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. "i shall value it highly, and will promise never to part with it. winny, this is the last night i shall pass beneath your father's roof." "have you told him so?" she inquired, reproachfully. "no; but i shall, before he retires to rest." "then you _will_ stay!" she cried, clapping her hands joyfully, "for i'm sure he won't part with you. oh! thank you--thank you! i'm so happy!" "stop, winny!" he answered, gravely; "i haven't promised yet." "but you will,--won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face. unable to withstand this appeal, thames gave the required promise, adding,--"oh! winny, i wish mr. wood had been my father, as well as yours." "so do i!" she cried; "for then you would have been _really_ my brother. no, i don't, either; because----" "well, winny?" "i don't know what i was going to say," she added, in some confusion; "only i'm sorry you were born a gentleman." "perhaps, i wasn't," returned thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of jonathan wild's foul insinuation crossed him. "but never mind who, or what i am. give me this picture. i'll keep it for your sake." "i'll give you something better worth keeping," she answered, detaching the ornament from her neck, and presenting it to him; "this contains a lock of my hair, and may remind you sometimes of your little sister. as to the picture, i'll keep it myself, though, if you _do_ go i shall need no memorial of _you_. i'd a good many things to say to you, besides--but you've put them all out of my head." with this, she burst into tears, and sank with her face upon his shoulder. thames did not try to cheer her. his own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. he felt that he might soon be separated--perhaps, for ever--from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. from this sorrowful state he was aroused by a loud derisive whistle, followed by a still louder laugh; and, looking up, he beheld the impudent countenance of jack sheppard immediately before him. "aha!" exclaimed jack, with a roguish wink, "i've caught you,--have i?" the carpenter's daughter was fair and free-- fair, and fickle, and false, was she! she slighted the journeyman, (meaning _me!_) and smiled on a gallant of high degree. degree! degree! she smiled on a gallant of high degree. ha! ha! ha!" "jack!" exclaimed thames, angrily. but sheppard was not to be silenced. he went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "when years were gone by, she began to rue her love for the gentleman, (meaning _you!_) 'i slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'but where is my gallant of high degree? where! where! oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' ho! ho! ho!" "what are you doing here!" demanded thames. "oh! nothing at all," answered jack, sneeringly, "though this room's as much mine as yours, for that matter. 'but i don't desire to spoil sport,--not i. and, if you'll give me such a smack of your sweet lips, miss, as you've just given thames, i'll take myself off in less than no time." the answer to this request was a "smack" of a very different description, bestowed upon sheppard's outstretched face by the little damsel, as she ran out of the room. "'odd's! bodikins!" cried jack, rubbing his cheek, "i'm in luck to-day. however, i'd rather have a blow from the daughter than the mother. i know who hits hardest. i tell you what, thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "i'd give my right hand,--and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,--if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you." "that's not likely to be the case, if you go on in this way," replied thames, sharply. "why, what the devil would you have had me do!--make myself scarce, eh? you should have tipped me the wink." "no more of this," rejoined thames, "or we shall quarrel." "who cares if we do?" retorted sheppard, with a look of defiance. "jack," said the other, sternly; "don't provoke me further, or i'll give you a thrashing." "two can play at that game, my blood," replied sheppard, rising, and putting himself into a posture of defence. "take care of yourself, then," rejoined thames, doubling his fists, and advancing towards him: "though my right arm's stiff, i can use it, as you'll find." sheppard was no match for his opponent, for, though he possessed more science, he was deficient in weight and strength; and, after a short round, in which he had decidedly the worst of it, a well-directed hit on the _nob_ stretched him at full length on the floor. "that'll teach you to keep a civil tongue in your head for the future," observed thames, as he helped jack to his feet. "i didn't mean to give offence," replied sheppard, sulkily. "but, let me tell you, it's not a pleasant sight to see the girl one likes in the arms of another." "you want another drubbing, i perceive," said thames, frowning. "no, i don't. enough's as good as a feast of the dainties you provide. i'll think no more about her. save us!" he cried, as his glance accidentally alighted on the drawing, which winifred had dropped in her agitation. "is this _her_ work?" "it is," answered thames. "do you see any likeness?" "don't i," returned jack, bitterly. "strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself. "how very like it is!" "not so strange, surely," laughed thames, "that a picture should resemble the person for whom it's intended." "ay, but it _is_ strange how much it resembles somebody for whom it's _not_ intended. it's exactly like a miniature i have in my pocket." "a miniature! of whom?" "that i can't say," replied jack, mysteriously. "but, i half suspect, of your father." "my father!" exclaimed thames, in the utmost astonishment; "let me see it!" "here it is," returned jack, producing a small picture in a case set with brilliants. thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently--judging from his attire--of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. "you're right jack," he said, after a pause, during which he contemplated the picture with the most fixed attention: "this must have been my father!" "no doubt of it," answered sheppard; "only compare it with winny's drawing, and you'll find they're as like as two peas in a pod." "where did you get it?" inquired thames. "from lady trafford's, where i took the box." "surely, you haven't stolen it?" "stolen's an awkward word. but, as you perceive, i brought it away with me." "it must be restored instantly,--be the consequences what they may." "you're not going to betray me!" cried jack, in alarm. "i am not," replied thames; "but i insist upon your taking it back at once." "take it back yourself," retorted jack, sullenly. "i shall do no such thing." "very well," replied thames, about to depart. "stop!" exclaimed jack, planting himself before the door; "do you want to get me sent across the water?" "i want to save you from disgrace and ruin," returned thames. "bah!" cried jack, contemptuously; "nobody's disgraced and ruined unless he's found out. i'm safe enough if you hold your tongue. give me that picture, or i'll make you!" "hear me," said thames, calmly; "you well know you're no match for me." "not at fisticuffs, perhaps," interrupted jack, fiercely; "but i've my knife." "you daren't use it." "try to leave the room, and see whether i daren't," returned jack, opening the blade. "i didn't expect this from you," rejoined thames, resolutely. "but your threats won't prevent my leaving the room when i please, and as i please. now, will you stand aside?" "i won't," answered jack, obstinately. thames said not another word, but marched boldly towards him, and seized him by the collar. "leave go!" cried jack, struggling violently, and raising his hand, "or i'll maul you for life." but thames was not to be deterred from his purpose; and the strife might have terminated seriously, if a peace-maker had not appeared in the shape of little winifred, who, alarmed by the noise, rushed suddenly into the room. "ah!" she screamed, seeing the uplifted weapon in sheppard's hand, "don't hurt thames--don't, dear jack! if you want to kill somebody, kill me, not him." and she flung herself between them. jack dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside. "what has caused this quarrel, thames?" asked the little girl, anxiously. "you," answered jack, abruptly. "no such thing," rejoined thames. "i'll tell you all about it presently. but you must leave us now, dear winny, jack and i have something to settle between ourselves. don't be afraid. our quarrel's quite over." "are you sure of that?" returned winifred, looking uneasily at jack. "ay, ay," rejoined sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,--hang me, if he thinks proper,--if _you_ wish it." with this assurance, and at the reiterated request of thames, the little girl reluctantly withdrew. "come, come, jack," said thames, walking up to sheppard, and taking his hand, "have done with this. i tell you once more, i'll say and do nothing to get you into trouble. best assured of that. but i'm resolved to see lady trafford. perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is." "so she may," returned jack, brightening up; "it's a good idea. i'll go with you. but you must see her alone; and that'll be no easy matter to manage, for she's a great invalid, and has generally somebody with her. above all, beware of sir rowland trenchard. he's as savage and suspicious as the devil himself. i should never have noticed the miniature at all, if it hadn't been for him. he was standing by, rating her ladyship,--who can scarcely stir from the sofa,--while i was packing up her jewels in the case, and i observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. his back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box. the next minute, i contrived, without either of 'em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket. i was sorry for what i did afterwards; for, i don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother." "that, alone, ought to have prevented you from acting as you did, jack," returned thames, gravely. "i should never have acted as i did," rejoined sheppard, bitterly; "if mrs. wood hadn't struck me. that blow made me a thief. and, if ever i'm brought to the gallows, i shall lay my death at her door." "well, think no more about it," returned thames. "do better in future." "i will, when i've had my revenge," muttered jack. "but, take my advice, and keep out of sir rowland's way, or you'll get the poor lady into trouble as well as me." "never fear," replied thames, taking up his hat. "come, let's be off." the two boys, then, emerged upon the landing, and were about to descend the stairs, when the voices of mr. and mrs. wood resounded from below. the storm appeared to have blown over, for they were conversing in a very amicable manner with mr. kneebone, who was on the point of departing. "quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. "don't mention it," returned wood, in the conciliatory tone of one who admits he has been in the wrong; "your explanation is perfectly satisfactory." "we shall expect you to-morrow," insinuated mrs. wood; "and pray, don't bring anybody with you,--especially jonathan wild." "no fear of that," laughed kneebone.--"oh! about that boy, thames darrell. his safety must be looked to. jonathan's threats are not to be sneezed at. the rascal will be at work before the morning. keep your eye upon the lad. and mind he doesn't stir out of your sight, on any pretence whatever, till i call." "you hear that," whispered jack. "i do," replied thames, in the same tone; "we haven't a moment to lose." "take care of yourself," said mr. wood, "and i'll take care of thames. it's never a bad day that has a good ending. good night! god bless you!" upon this, there was a great shaking of hands, with renewed apologies and protestations of friendship on both sides; after which mr. kneebone took his leave. "and so, you really suspected me?" murmured mrs. wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour. "oh! you men! you men! once get a thing into your head, and nothing will beat it out." "why, my love," rejoined her husband, "appearances, you must allow, were a little against you. but since you assure me _you_ didn't write the letters, and mr. kneebone assures me _he_ didn't receive them, i can't do otherwise than believe you. and i've made up my mind that a husband ought to believe only half that he hears, and nothing that he sees." "an excellent maxim!" replied his wife, approvingly; "the best i ever heard you utter." "i must now go and look after thames," observed the carpenter. "oh! never mind him: he'll take no harm! come with me into the parlour. i can't spare you at present. heigho!" "now for it!" cried jack, as the couple entered the room: "the coast's clear." thames was about to follow, when he felt a gentle grasp upon his arm. he turned, and beheld winifred. "where are you going?" she asked. "i shall be back presently," replied thames, evasively. "don't go, i beg of you!" she implored. "you're in danger. i overheard what mr. kneebone said, just now." "death and the devil! what a cursed interruption!" cried jack, impatiently. "if you loiter in this way, old wood will catch us." "if you stir, i'll call him!" rejoined winifred. "it's you, jack, who are persuading my brother to do wrong. thames," she urged, "the errand, on which you're going, can't be for any good, or you wouldn't be afraid of mentioning it to my father." "he's coming!" cried jack, stamping his foot, with vexation. "another moment, and it'll be too late." "winny, i _must_ go!" said thames, breaking from her. "stay, dear thames!--stay!" cried the little girl. "he hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me i shall never see him again!" when her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. "where's thames?" he hastily inquired. winifred pointed to the door. she could not speak. "and jack?" "gone too," sobbed his daughter. mr. wood uttered something like an imprecation. "god forgive me for using such a word!" he cried, in a troubled tone; "if i hadn't yielded to my wife's silly request, this wouldn't have happened!" chapter vii. brother and sister. on the same evening, in a stately chamber of a noble old mansion of elizabeth's time, situated in southampton fields, two persons were seated. one of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. a crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. it was no easy matter to determine her age, for, though she still retained a certain youthfulness of appearance, she had many marks in her countenance, usually indicating the decline of life, but which in her case were, no doubt, the result of constant and severe indisposition. her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. when younger, and in better health, she must have been eminently lovely; and there were still the remains of great beauty about her. the expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy. her companion was a person of no inferior condition. indeed it was apparent, from the likeness between them, that they were nearly related. he had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. but here the resemblance stopped. the expression was wholly different. he looked melancholy enough, it is true. but his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. no sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. he seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. "well, lady trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. "you depart for lancashire to-morrow. have i your final answer?" "you have, sir rowland," she answered, in a feeble tone, but firmly. "you shall have the sum you require, but----" "but what, madam!" "do not misunderstand me," she proceeded. "i give it to king james--not so you: for the furtherance of a great and holy cause, not for the prosecution of wild and unprofitable schemes." sir rowland bit his lips to repress the answer that rose to them. "and the will?" he said, with forced calmness. "do you still refuse to make one!" "i _have_ made one," replied lady trafford. "how?" cried her brother, starting. "rowland," she rejoined, "you strive in vain to terrify me into compliance with your wishes. nothing shall induce me to act contrary to the dictates of my conscience. my will is executed, and placed in safe custody." "in whose favour is it made?" he inquired, sternly. "in favour of my son." "you have no son," rejoined sir rowland, moodily. "i _had_ one," answered his sister, in a mournful voice; "and, perhaps, i have one still." "if i thought so--" cried the knight fiercely; "but this is idle," he added, suddenly checking himself. "aliva, your child perished with its father." "and by whom were they both destroyed?" demanded his sister, raising herself by a painful effort, and regarding him with a searching glance. "by the avenger of his family's dishonour--by your brother," he replied, coolly. "brother," cried lady trafford, her eye blazing with unnatural light, and her cheek suffused with a crimson stain: "brother," she cried, lifting her thin fingers towards heaven, "as god shall judge me, i was wedded to that murdered man!" "a lie!" ejaculated sir rowland, furiously; "a black, and damning lie!" "it is the truth," replied his sister, falling backwards upon the couch. "i will swear it upon the cross!" "his name, then?" demanded the knight. "tell me that, and i will believe you." "not now--not now!" she returned, with a shudder. "when i am dead you will learn it. do not disquiet yourself. you will not have to wait long for the information. rowland," she added, in an altered tone, "i am certain i shall not live many days. and if you treat me in this way, you will have my death to answer for, as well as the deaths of my husband and child. let us part in peace. we shall take an eternal farewell of each other." "be it so!" rejoined sir rowland, with concentrated fury; "but before we _do_ part, i am resolved to know the name of your pretended husband!" "torture shall not wrest it from me," answered his sister, firmly. "what motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. "a vow," she answered,--"a vow to my dead husband." sir rowland looked at her for a moment, as if he meditated some terrible reply. he then arose, and, taking a few turns in the chamber, stopped suddenly before her. "what has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. "i have dreamed that i shall see him before i die," she rejoined. "dreamed!" echoed the knight, with a ghastly smile. "is that all? then learn from me that your hopes are visionary as their foundation. unless he can arise from the bottom of the thames, where he and his abhorred father lie buried, you will never behold him again in this world." "heaven have compassion on you, rowland!" murmured his sister, crossing her hands and looking upwards; "you have none on me." "i _will_ have none till i have forced the villain's name from you!" he cried, stamping the floor with rage. "rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. "his name, i say!--his name!" thundered the knight. and he unsheathed his sword. lady trafford uttered a prolonged scream, and fainted. when she came to herself, she found that her brother had quitted the room, leaving her to the care of a female attendant. her first orders were to summon the rest of her servants to make immediate preparations for her departure for lancashire. "to-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic. "instantly, hobson," returned lady trafford; "as soon as the carriage can be brought round." "it shall be at the door in ten minutes. has your ladyship any further commands?" "none whatever. yet, stay! there is one thing i wish you to do. take that box, and put it into the carriage yourself. where is sir rowland?" "in the library, your ladyship. he has given orders that no one is to disturb him. but there's a person in the hall--a very odd sort of man--waiting to see him, who won't be sent away." "very well. lose not a moment, hobson." the elderly domestic bowed, took up the case, and retired. "your ladyship is far too unwell to travel," remarked the female attendant, assisting her to rise; "you'll never be able to reach manchester." "it matters not, norris," replied lady trafford: "i would rather die on the road, than be exposed to another such scene as i have just encountered." "dear me!" sympathised mrs. norris. "i was afraid from the scream i heard, that something dreadful had happened, sir rowland has a terrible temper indeed--a shocking temper! i declare he frightens me out of my senses." "sir rowland is my brother," resumed lady trafford coldly. "well that's no reason why he should treat your ladyship so shamefully, i'm sure. ah! how i wish, poor dear sir cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order." lady trafford sighed deeply. "your ladyship has never been well since you married sir cecil," rejoined mrs. norris. "for my part, i don't think you ever quite got over the accident you met with on the night of the great storm." "norris!" gasped lady trafford, trembling violently. "mercy on us! what have i said!" cried the attendant, greatly alarmed by the agitation of her mistress; "do sit down, your ladyship, while i run for the ratifia and rosa solis." "it is past," rejoined lady trafford, recovering herself by a powerful effort; "but never allude to the circumstance again. go and prepare for our departure." in less time than hobson had mentioned, the carriage was announced. and lady trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for barnet. chapter viii. miching mallecho. sir rowland, meantime, paced his chamber with a quick and agitated step. he was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. not conceiving that his sister--feeble as she was, and yielding as she had ever shown herself to his wishes, whether expressed or implied--would depart without consulting him, he was equally surprised and enraged to hear the servants busied in transporting her to the carriage. his pride, however, would not suffer him to interfere with their proceedings; much less could he bring himself to acknowledge that he had been in the wrong, and entreat lady trafford to remain, though he was well aware that her life might be endangered if she travelled by night. but, when the sound of the carriage-wheels died away, and he felt that she was actually gone, his resolution failed him, and he rang the bell violently. "my horses, charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. the man lingered. "'sdeath! why am i not obeyed?" exclaimed the knight, angrily. "i wish to overtake lady trafford. use despatch!" "her ladyship will not travel beyond saint alban's to-night, sir rowland, so mrs. norris informed me," returned charcam, respectfully; "and there's a person without, anxious for an audience, whom, with submission, i think your honour would desire to see." "ah!" exclaimed sir rowland, glancing significantly at charcam, who was a confidant in his jacobite schemes; "is it the messenger from orchard-windham, from sir william?" "no, sir rowland." "from mr. corbet kynaston, then? sir john packington's courier was here yesterday." "no, sir rowland." "perhaps he is from lord derwentwater, or mr. forster? news _is_ expected from northumberland." "i can't exactly say, sir rowland. the gentleman didn't communicate his business to me. but i'm sure it's important." charcam said this, not because he knew anything about the matter; but, having received a couple of guineas to deliver the message, he, naturally enough, estimated its importance by the amount of the gratuity. "well, i will see him," replied the knight, after a moment's pause; "he may be from the earl of mar. but let the horses be in readiness. i shall ride to st. alban's to-night." so saying, he threw himself into a chair. and charcam, fearful of another charge in his master's present uncertain mood, disappeared. the person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,--for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,--to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. he was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side. "your servant, sir rowland," said the stranger, ducking his head, as he advanced. "your business, sir?" returned the other, stiffly. the new-comer looked at charcam. sir rowland waved his hand, and the attendant withdrew. "you don't recollect me, i presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat. the knight, who could ill brook this familiarity, instantly arose. "don't disturb yourself," continued the other, nowise disconcerted by the rebuke. "i never stand upon ceremony where i know i shall be welcome. we _have_ met before." "indeed!" rejoined sir rowland, haughtily; "perhaps, you will refresh my memory as to the time, and place." "let me see. the time was the th of november, : the place, the mint in southwark. i have a good memory, you perceive, sir rowland." the knight staggered as if struck by a mortal wound. speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "you are mistaken, sir. i was in lancashire, at our family seat, at the time you mention." the stranger smiled incredulously. "well, sir rowland," he said, after a brief pause, during which the knight regarded him with a searching glance, as if endeavouring to recall his features, "i will not gainsay your words. you are in the right to be cautious, till you know with whom you have to deal; and, even then, you can't be too wary. 'avow nothing, believe nothing, give nothing for nothing,' is my own motto. and it's a maxim of universal application: or, at least, of universal practice. i am not come here to play the part of your father-confessor. i am come to serve you." "in what way, sir?" demanded trenchard, in astonishment. "you will learn anon. you refuse me your confidence. i applaud your prudence: it is, however, needless. your history, your actions, nay, your very thoughts are better known to me than to your spiritual adviser." "make good your assertions," cried trenchard, furiously, "or----" "to the proof," interrupted the stranger, calmly. "you are the son of sir montacute trenchard, of ashton-hall, near manchester. sir montacute had three children--two daughters and yourself. the eldest, constance, was lost, by the carelessness of a servant, during her infancy, and has never since been heard of: the youngest, aliva, is the present lady trafford. i merely mention these circumstances to show the accuracy of my information." "if this is the extent of it, sir," returned the knight, ironically, "you may spare yourself further trouble. these particulars are familiar to all, who have any title to the knowledge." "perhaps so," rejoined the stranger; "but i have others in reserve, not so generally known. with your permission, i will go on in my own way. where i am in error, you can set me right.--your father, sir montacute trenchard, who had been a loyal subject of king james the second, and borne arms in his service, on the abdication of that monarch, turned his back upon the stuarts, and would never afterwards recognise their claims to the crown. it was said, that he received an affront from james, in the shape of a public reprimand, which his pride could not forgive. be this as it may, though a catholic, he died a friend to the protestant succession." "so far you are correct," observed trenchard; "still, this is no secret." "suffer me to proceed," replied the stranger. "the opinions, entertained by the old knight, naturally induced him to view with displeasure the conduct of his son, who warmly espoused the cause he had deserted. finding remonstrances of no avail, he had recourse to threats; and when threats failed, he adopted more decided measures." "ha!" ejaculated trenchard. "as yet," pursued the stranger, "sir montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. he did not quarrel with rowland's profusion, for his own revenues were ample; but he _did_ object to the large sums lavished by him in the service of a faction he was resolved not to support. accordingly, the old knight reduced his son's allowance to a third of its previous amount; and, upon further provocation, he even went so far as to alter his will in favour of his daughter, aliva, who was then betrothed to her cousin, sir cecil trafford." "proceed, sir," said trenchard, breathing hard. "under these circumstances, rowland did what any other sensible person would do. aware of his father's inflexibility of purpose, he set his wits to work to defeat the design. he contrived to break off his sister's match; and this he accomplished so cleverly, that he maintained the strictest friendship with sir cecil. for two years he thought himself secure; and, secretly engaged in the jacobite schemes of the time, in which, also, sir cecil was deeply involved, he began to relax in his watchfulness over aliva. about this time,--namely, in november, --while young trenchard was in lancashire, and his sister in london, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. he learnt that his sister was privately married--the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained--and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the borough, where she had given birth to a son. rowland's plans were quickly formed, and as quickly executed. accompanied by sir cecil, who still continued passionately enamoured of his sister, and to whom he represented that she had fallen a victim to the arts of a seducer, he set off, at fiery speed, for the metropolis. arrived there, their first object was to seek out davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,--a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of saint george's fields in southwark. refused admittance, they broke open the door. aliva's husband, who passed by the name of darrell, confronted them sword in hand. for a few minutes he kept them at bay. but, urged by his wife's cries, who was more anxious for the preservation of her child's life than her own, he snatched up the infant, and made his escape from the back of the premises. rowland and his companions instantly started in pursuit, leaving the lady to recover as she might. they tracked the fugitive to the mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. meantime, the lady had overtaken them; but, terrified by the menaces of her vindictive kinsmen, she did not dare to reveal herself to her husband, of whose concealment on the roof of the very house the party were searching she was aware. aided by an individual, who was acquainted with a secret outlet from the tenement, darrell escaped. before his departure, he gave his assistant a glove. that glove is still preserved. in her endeavour to follow him, aliva met with a severe fall, and was conveyed away, in a state of insensibility, by sir cecil. she was supposed to be lifeless; but she survived the accident, though she never regained her strength. directed by the same individual, who had helped darrell to steal a march upon him, rowland, with davies, and another attendant, continued the pursuit. both the fugitive and his chasers embarked on the thames. the elements were wrathful as their passions. the storm burst upon them in its fury. unmindful of the terrors of the night, unscared by the danger that threatened him, rowland consigned his sister's husband and his sister's child to the waves." "bring your story to an end, sir," said trenchard who had listened to the recital with mingled emotions of rage and fear. "i have nearly done," replied the stranger.--"as rowland's whole crew perished in the tempest, and he only escaped by miracle, he fancied himself free from detection. and for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. during this period sir montacute has been gathered to his fathers. his title has descended to rowland: his estates to aliva. the latter has, since, been induced to unite herself to sir cecil, on terms originating with her brother, and which, however strange and unprecedented, were acquiesced in by the suitor." sir rowland looked bewildered with surprise. "the marriage was never consummated," continued the imperturbable stranger. "sir cecil is no more. lady trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. the estates must, ere long, revert to sir rowland." "are you man, or fiend?" exclaimed trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration. "you are complimentary, sir rowland," returned the other, with a grim smile. "if you _are_ human," rejoined trenchard, with stern emphasis, "i insist upon knowing whence you derived your information?" "i might refuse to answer the question, sir rowland. but i am not indisposed to gratify you. partly, from your confessor; partly, from other sources." "my confessor!" ejaculated the knight, in the extremity of surprise; "has _he_ betrayed his sacred trust?" "he has," replied the other, grinning; "and this will be a caution to you in future, how you confide a secret of consequence to a priest. i should as soon think of trusting a woman. tickle the ears of their reverences with any idle nonsense you please: but tell them nothing you care to have repeated. i was once a disciple of saint peter myself, and speak from experience." "who are you?" ejaculated trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. "i'm surprised you've not asked that question before, sir rowland. it would have saved me much circumlocution, and you some suspense. my name is wild--jonathan wild." and the great thief-taker indulged himself in a chuckle at the effect produced by this announcement. he was accustomed to such surprises, and enjoyed them. sir rowland laid his hand upon his sword. "mr. wild," he said, in a sarcastic tone, but with great firmness; "a person of your well-known sagacity must be aware that some secrets are dangerous to the possessor." "i am fully aware of it, sir rowland," replied jonathan, coolly; "but i have nothing to fear; because, in the first place, it will be to your advantage not to molest me; and, in the second, i am provided against all contingencies. i never hunt the human tiger without being armed. my janizaries are without. one of them is furnished with a packet containing the heads of the statement i have just related, which, if i don't return at a certain time, will be laid before the proper authorities. i have calculated my chances, you perceive." "you have forgotten that you are in my power," returned the knight, sternly; "and that all your allies cannot save you from my resentment." "i can at least, protect myself," replied wild, with, provoking calmness. "i am accounted a fair shot, as well as a tolerable swordsman, and i will give proof of my skill in both lines, should occasion require it. i have had a good many desperate engagements in my time, and have generally come off victorious. i bear the marks of some of them about me still," he continued, taking off his wig, and laying bare a bald skull, covered with cicatrices and plates of silver. "this gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of tom thurland, whom i apprehended for the murder of mrs. knap. this wedge of silver," pointing to another, "which would mend a coffee-pot, serves to stop up a breach made by will colthurst, who robbed mr. hearl on hounslow-heath. i secured the dog after he had wounded me. this fracture was the handiwork of jack parrot (otherwise called jack the grinder), who broke into the palace of the bishop of norwich. jack was a comical scoundrel, and made a little too free with his grace's best burgundy, as well as his grace's favourite housekeeper. the bishop, however, to show him the danger of meddling with the church, gave him a dance at tyburn for his pains. not a scar but has its history. the only inconvenience i feel from my shattered noddle is an incapacity to drink. but that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. the hardest bout i ever had was with a woman--sally wells, who was afterwards lagged for shoplifting. she attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when i had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand. thus, you see, i've never hesitated and never _shall_ hesitate to expose my life where anything is to be gained. my profession has hardened me." and, with this, he coolly re-adjusted his peruke. "what do you expect to gain from this interview, mr. wild!" demanded trenchard, as if he had formed a sudden resolution. "ah! now we come to business," returned jonathan, rubbing his hands, gleefully. "these are my terms, sir rowland," he added, taking a sheet of paper from his pocket, and pushing it towards the knight. trenchard glanced at the document. "a thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when _certain silence_ might be so cheaply procured." "you would purchase it at the price of your head," replied jonathan, knitting his brows. "sir rowland," he added, savagely, and with somewhat of the look of a bull-dog before he flies at his foe, "if it were my pleasure to do so, i could crush you with a breath. you are wholly in my power. your name, with the fatal epithet of 'dangerous' attached to it, stands foremost on the list of disaffected now before the secret committee. i hold a warrant from mr. walpole for your apprehension." "arrested!" exclaimed trenchard, drawing his sword. "put up your blade, sir rowland," rejoined jonathan, resuming his former calm demeanour, "king james the third will need it. i have no intention of arresting you. i have a different game to play; and it'll be your own fault, if you don't come off the winner. i offer you my assistance on certain terms. the proposal is so far from being exorbitant, that it should be trebled if i had not a fellow-feeling in the cause. to be frank with you, i have an affront to requite, which can be settled at the same time, and in the same way with your affair. that's worth something to me; for i don't mind paying for revenge. after all a thousand pounds is a trifle to rid you of an upstart, who may chance to deprive you of tens of thousands." "did i hear you aright?" asked trenchard, with startling eagerness. "certainly," replied jonathan, with the most perfect _sangfroid_, "i'll undertake to free you from the boy. that's part of the bargain." "is he alive!" vociferated trenchard. "to be sure," returned wild; "he's not only alive, but likely for life, if we don't clip the thread." sir rowland caught at a chair for support, and passed his hand across his brow, on which the damp had gathered thickly. "the intelligence seems new to you. i thought i'd been sufficiently explicit," continued jonathan. "most persons would have guessed my meaning." "then it was _not_ a dream!" ejaculated sir rowland in a hollow voice, and as if speaking to himself. "i _did_ see them on the platform of the bridge--the child and his preserver! they were _not_ struck by the fallen ruin, nor whelmed in the roaring flood,--or, if they _were_, they escaped as i escaped. god! i have cheated myself into a belief that the boy perished! and now my worst fears are realized--he lives!" "as yet," returned jonathan, with fearful emphasis. "i cannot--dare not injure him," rejoined trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. jonathan laughed scornfully. "leave him to me," he said. "he shan't trouble you further." "no," replied sir rowland, who appeared completely prostrated. "i will struggle no longer with destiny. too much blood has been shed already." "this comes of fine feelings!" muttered jonathan, contemptuously. "give me your thorough-paced villain. but i shan't let him off thus. i'll try a strong dose.--am i to understand that you intend to plead guilty, sir rowland?" he added. "if so, i may as well execute my warrant." "stand off, sir!" exclaimed trenchard, starting suddenly backwards. "i knew that would bring him to," thought wild. "where is the boy?" demanded sir rowland. "at present under the care of his preserver--one owen wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up." "wood!" exclaimed trenchard,--"of wych street?" "the same." "a boy from his shop was here a short time ago. could it be him you mean?" "no. that boy was the carpenter's apprentice, jack sheppard. i've just left your nephew." at this moment charcam entered the room. "beg pardon, sir rowland," said the attendant, "but there's a boy from mr. wood, with a message for lady trafford." "from whom?" vociferated trenchard. "from mr. wood the carpenter." "the same who was here just now?" "no, sir rowland, a much finer boy." "'tis he, by heaven!" cried jonathan; "this is lucky. sir rowland," he added, in a deep whisper, "do you agree to my terms?" "i do," answered trenchard, in the same tone. "enough!" rejoined wild; "he shall not return." "have you acquainted him with lady trafford's departure?" said the knight, addressing charcam, with as much composure as he could assume. "no, sir rowland," replied the attendant, "as you proposed to ride to saint albans to-night, i thought you might choose to see him yourself. besides, there's something odd about the boy; for, though i questioned him pretty closely concerning his business, he declined answering my questions, and said he could only deliver his message to her ladyship. i thought it better not to send him away till i'd mentioned the circumstance to you." "you did right," returned trenchard. "where is he?" asked jonathan. "in the hall," replied charcam. "alone?" "not exactly, sir. there's another lad at the gate waiting for him--the same who was here just now, that sir rowland was speaking of, who fastened up the jewel-case for her ladyship." "a jewel-case!" exclaimed jonathan. "ah, i see it all!" he cried, with a quick glance. "jack sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. was anything missed after the lad's departure, sir rowland?" "not that i'm aware of," said the knight.--"stay! something occurs to me." and he conferred apart with jonathan. "that's it!" cried wild when trenchard concluded. "this young fool is come to restore the article--whatever it may be--which lady trafford was anxious to conceal, and which his companion purloined. it's precisely what such a simpleton would do. we have him as safe as a linnet in a cage; and could wring his neck round as easily. oblige me by acting under my guidance in the matter, sir rowland. i'm an old hand at such things. harkee," he added, "mr. what's-your-name!" "charcam," replied the attendant, bowing. "very well, mr. charcoal, you may bring in the boy. but not a word to him of lady trafford's absence--mind that. a robbery has been committed, and your master suspects this lad as an accessory to the offence. he, therefore, desires to interrogate him. it will be necessary to secure his companion; and as you say he is not in the house, some caution must be used in approaching him, or he may chance to take to his heels, for he's a slippery little rascal. when you've seized him, cough thrice thus,--and two rough-looking gentlemen will make their appearance. don't be alarmed by their manners, mr. charcoal. they're apt to be surly to strangers, but it soon wears off. the gentleman with the red beard will relieve you of your prisoner. the other must call a coach as quickly as he can." "for whom, sir?" inquired charcam. "for me--his master, mr. jonathan wild." "are you mr. jonathan wild?" asked the attendant, in great trepidation. "i _am_, charcoal. but don't let my name frighten you. though," said the thief-taker, with a complacent smile, "all the world seems to tremble at it. obey my orders, and you've nothing to fear. about them quickly. lead the lad to suppose that he'll be introduced to lady trafford. you understand me, charcoal." the attendant did _not_ understand him. he was confounded by the presence in which he found himself. but, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. chapter ix. consequences of the theft. "how do you mean to act, sir?" inquired trenchard, as soon as they were left alone. "as circumstances shall dictate, sir rowland," returned jonathan. "something is sure to arise in the course of the investigation, of which i can take advantage. if not, i'll convey him to st. giles's round-house on my own responsibility." "is this your notable scheme!" asked the knight, scornfully. "once there," proceeded wild, without noticing the interruption, "he's as good as in his grave. the constable, sharples, is in my pay. i can remove the prisoner at any hour of the night i think fit: and i _will_ remove him. you must, know, sir rowland--for i've no secrets from you--that, in the course of my business i've found it convenient to become the owner of a small dutch sloop; by means of which i can transmit any light ware,--such as gold watches, rings, and plate, as well as occasionally a bank or goldsmith's note, which has been _spoken with_ by way of the mail,--you understand me?--to holland or flanders, and obtain a secure and ready market for them. this vessel is now in the river, off wapping. her cargo is nearly shipped. she will sail, at early dawn to-morrow, for rotterdam. her commander, rykhart van galgebrok, is devoted to my interests. as soon as he gets into blue water, he'll think no more of pitching the boy overboard than of lighting his pipe. this will be safer than cutting his throat on shore. i've tried the plan, and found it answer. the northern ocean keeps a secret better than the thames, sir rowland. before midnight, your nephew shall be safe beneath the hatches of the zeeslang." "poor child!" muttered trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. i hear the splash in the water--i see the white object floating like a sea-bird on the tide--it will not sink!" "'sblood!" exclaimed jonathan, in a tone of ill-disguised contempt; "it won't do to indulge those fancies now. be seated, and calm yourself." "i have often conjured up some frightful vision of the dead," murmured the knight, "but i never dreamed of an interview with the living." "it'll be over in a few minutes," rejoined jonathan, impatiently; "in fact, it'll be over too soon for me. i like such interviews. but we waste time. have the goodness to affix your name to that memorandum, sir rowland. i require nothing, you see, till my share of the contract is fulfilled." trenchard took up a pen. "it's the boy's death-warrant," observed jonathan, with a sinister smile. "i cannot sign it," returned trenchard. "damnation!" exclaimed wild with a snarl, that displayed his glistening fangs to the farthest extremity of his mouth, "i'm not to be trifled with thus. that paper _must_ be signed, or i take my departure." "go, sir," rejoined the knight, haughtily. "ay, ay, i'll go, fast enough!" returned jonathan, putting his hands into his pockets, "but not alone, sir rowland." at this juncture, the door was flung open, and charcam entered, dragging in thames, whom he held by the collar, and who struggled in vain to free himself from the grasp imposed upon him. "here's one of the thieves, sir rowland!" cried the attendant. "i was only just in time. the young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that lady trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when i got down stairs. come along, my newgate bird!" he continued, shaking him with great violence. jonathan gave utterance to a low whistle. "if things had gone smoothly," he thought, "i should have cursed the fellow's stupidity. as it is, i'm not sorry for the blunder." trenchard, meanwhile, whose gaze was fixed upon the boy, became livid as death, but he moved not a muscle. "'t is he!" he mentally ejaculated. "what do you think of your nephew, sir rowland?" whispered jonathan, who sat with his back towards thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. "it would be a thousand pities, wouldn't it, to put so promising a lad out of the way?" "devil!" exclaimed the knight fiercely, "give me the paper." jonathan hastily picked up the pen, and presented it to trenchard, who attached his signature to the document. "if i _am_ the devil," observed wild, "as some folks assert, and i myself am not unwilling to believe, you'll find that i differ from the generally-received notions of the arch-fiend, and faithfully execute the commands of those who confide their souls to my custody." "take hence this boy, then," rejoined trenchard; "his looks unman me." "of what am i accused?" asked thames, who though a good deal alarmed at first, had now regained his courage. "of robbery!" replied jonathan in a thundering voice, and suddenly confronting him. "you've charged with assisting your comrade, jack sheppard, to purloin certain articles of value from a jewel-case belonging to lady trafford. aha!" he continued, producing a short silver staff, which he carried constantly about with him, and uttering a terrible imprecation, "i see you're confounded. down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! confess your guilt, and sir rowland may yet save you from the gallows." "i've nothing to confess," replied thames, boldly; "i've done no wrong. are _you_ my accuser?" "i am," replied wild; "have you anything to allege to the contrary?" "only this," returned thames: "that the charge is false, and malicious, and that _you_ know it to be so." "is that all!" retorted jonathan. "come, i must search you my youngster!" "you shan't touch me," rejoined thames; and, suddenly bursting from charcam, he threw himself at the feet of trenchard. "hear me, sir rowland!" he cried. "i am innocent, f have stolen nothing. this person--this jonathan wild, whom i beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in wych street, is--i know not why--my enemy. he has sworn that he'll take away my life!" "bah!" interrupted jonathan. "you won't listen to this nonsense, sir rowland!" "if you _are_ innocent, boy," said the knight, controlling his emotion; "you have nothing to apprehend. but, what brought you here?" "excuse me, sir rowland. i cannot answer that question. my business is with lady trafford." "are you aware that i am her ladyship's brother?" returned the knight. "she has no secrets from me." "possibly not," replied thames, in some confusion; "but i am not at liberty to speak." "your hesitation is not in your favour," observed trenchard, sternly. "will he consent, to be searched?" inquired jonathan. "no," rejoined thames, "i won't be treated like a common felon, if i can help it." "you shall be treated according to your deserts, then," said jonathan, maliciously. and, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature. "where did you get this from?" asked wild, greatly surprised at the result of his investigation. thames returned no answer. "i thought as much," continued jonathan. "but we'll find a way to make you open your lips presently. bring in his comrade," he added, in a whisper to charcam; "i'll take care of him. and don't neglect my instructions this time." upon which, with an assurance that he would not do so, the attendant departed. "you can, of course, identify this picture as lady trafford's property?" pursued jonathan, with a meaning glance, as he handed it to the knight. "i can," replied trenchard. "ha!" he exclaimed, with a sudden start, as his glance fell upon the portrait; "how came this into your possession, boy?" "why don't you answer, sirrah?" cried wild, in a savage tone, and striking him with the silver staff. "can't you speak?" "i don't choose," replied thames, sturdily; "and your brutality shan't make me." "we'll see that," replied jonathan, dealing him another and more violent blow. "let him alone," said trenchard authoritatively, "i have another question to propose. do you know whoso portrait this is?" "i do not," replied thames, repressing his tears, "but i believe it to be the portrait of my father." "indeed!" exclaimed the knight, in astonishment. "is your father alive?" "no," returned thames; "he was assassinated while i was an infant." "who told you this is his portrait?" demanded trenchard. "my heart," rejoined thames, firmly; "which now tells me i am in the presence of his murderer." "that's me," interposed jonathan; "a thief-taker is always a murderer in the eyes of a thief. i'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster. but i can tell you who'll have the pleasure of hanging your father's son; and that's a person not a hundred miles distant from you at this moment--ha! ha!" as he said this, the door was opened, and charcam entered, accompanied by a dwarfish, shabby-looking man, in a brown serge frock, with coarse jewish features, and a long red beard. between the jew and the attendant came jack sheppard; while a crowd of servants, attracted by the news, that the investigation of a robbery was going forward, lingered at the doorway in hopes of catching something of the proceedings. when jack was brought in, he cast a rapid glance around him, and perceiving thames in the custody of jonathan, instantly divined how matters stood. as he looked in this direction, wild gave him a significant wink, the meaning of which he was not slow to comprehend. "get it over quickly," said trenchard, in a whisper to the thief-taker. jonathan nodded assent. "what's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. "jack sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the earl of mar. "who's that queer cove in the full-bottomed wig?" "attend to me, sirrah," rejoined wild, sternly. "do you know this picture?" he added, with another significant look, and pointing to the miniature. "i do," replied jack, carelessly. "that's well. can you inform us whence it came?" "i should think so." "state the facts, then." "it came from lady trafford's jewel-box." here a murmur of amazement arose from the assemblage outside. "close the door!" commanded trenchard, impatiently. "in my opinion, sir rowland," suggested jonathan; "you'd better allow the court to remain open." "be it so," replied the knight, who saw the force of this reasoning. "continue the proceedings." "you say that the miniature was abstracted from lady trafford's jewel-box," said jonathan, in a loud voice. "who took it thence?" "thames darrell; the boy at your side." "jack!" cried thames, in indignant surprise. but sheppard took no notice of the exclamation. a loud buzz of curiosity circulated among the domestics; some of whom--especially the females--leaned forward to obtain a peep at the culprit. "si--lence!" vociferated charcam, laying great emphasis on the last syllable. "were you present at the time of the robbery?" pursued jonathan. "i was," answered sheppard. "and will swear to it?" "i will." "liar!" ejaculated thames. "enough!" exclaimed wild, triumphantly. "close the court, mr. charcoal. they've heard quite enough for my purpose," he muttered, as his orders were obeyed, and the domestics excluded. "it's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, sir rowland; so, with your permission, i'll give 'em a night's lodging in saint giles's round-house. you, jack sheppard, have nothing to fear, as you've become evidence against your accomplice. to-morrow, i shall carry you before justice walters, who'll take your information; and i've no doubt but thames darrell will be fully committed. now, for the cage, my pretty canary-bird. before we start, i'll accommodate you with a pair of ruffles." and he proceeded to handcuff his captive. "hear me!" cried thames, bursting into tears. "i am innocent. i could not have committed this robbery. i have only just left wych street. send for mr. wood, and you'll find that i've spoken the truth." "you'd better hold your peace, my lad," observed jonathan, in a menacing tone. "lady trafford would not have thus condemned me!" cried thames. "away with him!" exclaimed sir rowland, impatiently. "take the prisoners below, nab," said jonathan, addressing the dwarfish jew; "i'll join you in an instant." the bearded miscreant seized jack by the waist, and thames by the nape of the neck, and marched off, like the ogre in the fairy tale, with a boy under each arm, while charcam brought upt the rear. chapter x. mother and son. they had scarcely been gone a moment, when a confused noise was heard without, and charcam re-entered the room, with a countenance of the utmost bewilderment and alarm. "what's the matter with the man?" demanded wild. "her ladyship--" faltered the attendant. "what of her?" cried the knight. "is she returned!" "y--e--s, sir rowland," stammered charcam. "the devil!" ejaculated jonathan. "here's a cross-bite." "but that's not all, your honour," continued charcam; "mrs. norris says she's dying." "dying!" echoed the knight. "dying, sir rowland. she was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,--worse than ever she was before. and mrs. norris was so frightened that she ordered the postboys to drive back as fast as they could. she never expected to get her ladyship home alive." "my god!" cried trenchard, stunned by the intelligence, "i have killed her." "no doubt," rejoined wild, with a sneer; "but don't let all the world know it." "they're lifting her out of the carriage," interposed charcam; "will it please your honour to send for some advice and the chaplain?" "fly for both," returned sir rowland, in a tone of bitter anguish. "stay!" interposed jonathan. "where are the boys?" "in the hall." "her ladyship will pass through it?" "of course; there's no other way." "then, bring them into this room, the first thing--quick! they must not meet, sir rowland," he added, as charcam hastened to obey his instructions. "heaven has decreed it otherwise," replied the knight, dejectedly. "i yield to fate." "yield to nothing," returned wild, trying to re-assure him; "above all, when your designs prosper. man's fate is in his own hands. you are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. cast off this weakness. the next hour makes, or mars you for ever. go to your sister, and do not quit her till all is over. leave the rest to me." sir rowland moved irresolutely towards the door, but recoiled before a sad spectacle. this was his sister, evidently in the last extremity. borne in the arms of a couple of assistants, and preceded by mrs. norris, wringing her hands and wepping, the unfortunate lady was placed upon a couch. at the same time, charcam, who seemed perfectly distracted by the recent occurrences, dragged in thames, leaving jack sheppard outside in the custody of the dwarfish jew. "hell's curses!" muttered jonathan between his teeth; "that fool will ruin all. take him away," he added, striding up to charcam. "let him remain," interposed trenchard. "as you please, sir rowland," returned jonathan, with affected indifference; "but i'm not going to hunt the deer for another to eat the ven'son, depend on 't." but seeing that no notice was taken of the retort, he drew a little aside, and folded his arms, muttering, "this whim will soon be over. she can't last long. i can pull the strings of this stiff-necked puppet as i please." sir rowland, meantime, throw himself on his knees beside his sister, and, clasping her chilly fingers within his own, besought her forgiveness in the most passionate terms. for a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. but, after some restoratives had been administered by mrs. norris, she revived a little. "rowland," she said, in a faint voice, "i have not many minutes to live. where is father spencer? i must have absolution. i have something that weighs heavily upon my mind." sir rowland's brow darkened. "i have sent for him," aliva, he answered; "he will be here directly, with your medical advisers." "they are useless," she returned. "medicine cannot save mo now." "dear sister----" "i should die happy, if i could behold my child." "comfort yourself, then, aliva. you _shall_ behold him." "you are mocking me, rowland. jests are not for seasons like this." "i am not, by heaven," returned the knight, solemnly. "leave us, mrs. norris, and do not return till father spencer arrives." "your ladyship----" hesitated norris. "go!" said lady trafford; "it is my last request." and her faithful attendant, drowned in tears, withdrew, followed by the two assistants. jonathan stepped behind a curtain. "rowland," said lady trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that i shall behold my son. where is he?" "within this room," replied the knight. "here!" shrieked lady trafford. "here," repeated her brother. "but calm yourself, dear sister, or the interview will be too much for you." "i _am_ calm--quite calm, rowland," she answered, with lips whose agitation belied her words. "then, the story of his death was false. i knew it. i was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child--an innocent child. god forgive you!" "may he, indeed, forgive me!" returned trenchard, crossing himself devoutly; "but my guilt is not the less heavy, because your child escaped. this hand consigned him to destruction, but another was stretched forth to save him. the infant was rescued from a watery-grave by an honest mechanic, who has since brought him up as his own son." "blessings upon him!" cried lady trafford, fervently. "but trifle with mo no longer. moments are ages now. let me see my child, if he is really here?" "behold him!" returned trenchard, taking thames (who had been a mute, but deeply-interested, witness of the scene) by the hand, and leading him towards her. "ah!" exclaimed lady trafford, exerting all her strength. "my sight is failing me. let me have more light, that i may behold him. yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! it is--it is my son!" "mother!" cried thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "i am, indeed--my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. "oh!--to see you thus!" cried thames, in an agony of affliction. "don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. "i am happy--quite happy now." during this touching interview, a change had come over sir rowland, and he half repented of what he had done. "you can no longer refuse to tell me the name of this youth's father, aliva," he said. "i dare not, rowland," she answered. "i cannot break my vow. i will confide it to father spencer, who will acquaint you with it when i am no more. undraw the curtain, love," she added to thames, "that i may look at you." "ha!" exclaimed her son, starting back, as he obeyed her, and disclosed jonathan wild. "be silent," said jonathan, in a menacing whisper. "what have you seen?" inquired lady trafford. "my enemy," replied her son. "your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him. "sir rowland is your uncle--he will be your guardian--he will protect you. will you not, brother?" "promise," said a deep voice in trenchard's ear. "he will kill me," cried thames. "there is a man in this room who seeks my life." "impossible!" rejoined his mother. "look at these fetters," returned thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command." "ah!" shrieked lady trafford. "not a moment is to be lost," whispered jonathan to trenchard. "his life--or yours?" "no one shall harm you more, my dear," cried lady trafford. "your uncle _must_ protect you. it will be his interest to do so. he will be dependent on you." "do what you please with him," muttered trenchard to wild. "take off these chains, rowland," said lady trafford, "instantly, i command you." "_i_ will," replied jonathan, advancing, and rudely seizing thames. "mother!" cried the son, "help!" "what is this?" shrieked lady trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. "oh, god! would you take him from me?--would you murder him?" "his father's name?--and he is free," rejoined rowland, holding her arms. "release him first--and i will disclose it!" cried lady trafford; "on my soul, i will!" "speak then!" returned rowland. "too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,--"too late!--oh!" heedless of her cries, jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. when he returned, a moment or so afterwards, he found sir rowland standing by the lifeless body of his sister. his countenance was almost as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side. "this is your work," said the knight, sternly. "not entirely," replied jonathan, calmly; "though i shouldn't be ashamed of it if it were. after all, you failed in obtaining the secret from her, sir rowland. women are hypocrites to the last--true only to themselves." "peace!" cried the knight, fiercely. "no offence," returned jonathan. "i was merely about to observe that _i_ am in possession of her secret." "you!" "didn't i tell you that the fugitive darrell gave me a glove! but we'll speak of this hereafter. you can _purchase_ the information from me whenever you're so disposed. i shan't drive a hard bargain. to the point however. i came back to say, that i've placed your nephew in a coach; and, if you'll be at my lock in the old bailey an hour after midnight, you shall hear the last tidings of him." "i will be there," answered trenchard, gloomily. "you'll not forget the thousand, sir rowland--short accounts, you know." "fear nothing. you shall have your reward." "thank'ee,--thank'ee. my house is the next door to the cooper's arms, in the old bailey, opposite newgate. you'll find me at supper." so saying, he bowed and departed. "that man should have been an italian bravo," murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: "he has neither fear nor compunction. would i could purchase his apathy as easily as i can procure his assistance." soon after this mrs. norris entered the room, followed by father spencer. on approaching the couch, they found sir rowland senseless, and extended over the dead body of his unfortunate sister. chapter xi. the mohocks. jonathan wild, meanwhile, had quitted the house. he found a coach at the door, with the blinds carefully drawn up, and ascertained from a tall, ill-looking, though tawdrily-dressed fellow, who held his horse by the bridle, and whom he addressed as quilt arnold, that the two boys were safe inside, in the custody of abraham mendez, the dwarfish jew. as soon as he had delivered his instructions to quilt, who, with abraham, constituted his body-guard, or janizaries, as he termed them, jonathan mounted his steed, and rode off at a gallop. quilt was not long in following his example. springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to saint giles's. stimulated by the promise of something handsome to drink, the man acquitted himself to admiration in the management of his lazy cattle. crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across southampton fields. skirting the noble gardens of montague house, (now, we need scarcely say, the british museum,) the party speedily reached great russell street,--a quarter described by strype, in his edition of old stow's famous _survey_, "as being graced with the best buildings in all bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry, especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect of the pleasant fields up to hampstead and highgate; insomuch that this place, by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in london." neither of the parties outside bestowed much attention upon these stately and salubriously-situated mansions; indeed, as it was now not far from ten o'clock, and quite dark, they could scarcely discern them. but, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. the coachman answered by a surly grunt, and, plying his whip with redoubled zeal, shaped his course down dyot street; traversed that part of holborn, which is now called broad street, and where two ancient alms-houses were, then, standing in the middle of that great thoroughfare, exactly opposite the opening of compston street; and, diving under a wide gateway on the left, soon reached a more open space, surrounded by mean habitations, coach-houses and stables, called kendrick yard, at the further end of which saint giles's round-house was situated. no sooner did the vehicle turn the corner of this yard, than quilt became aware, from the tumultuous sounds that reached his ears, as well as from the flashing of various lanterns at the door of the round-house, that some disturbance was going on; and, apprehensive of a rescue, if he drew up in the midst of the mob, he thought it prudent to come to a halt. accordingly, he stopped the coach, dismounted, and hastened towards the assemblage, which, he was glad to find, consisted chiefly of a posse of watchmen and other guardians of the night. quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. not one of them but bore the marks of having been engaged in a recent and severe conflict. quarter-staves, bludgeons, brown-bills, lanterns, swords, and sconces were alike shivered; and, to judge from the sullied state of their habiliments, the claret must have been tapped pretty freely. never was heard such a bawling as these unfortunate wights kept up. oaths exploded like shells from a battery in full fire, accompanied by threats of direst vengeance against the individuals who had maltreated them. here, might be seen a poor fellow whose teeth were knocked down his throat, spluttering out the most tremendous menaces, and gesticulating like a madman: there, another, whose nose was partially slit, vented imprecations and lamentations in the same breath. on the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. "so, the mohocks have been at work, i perceive," remarked quilt, as he drew near the group. "'faith, an' you may say that," returned a watchman, who was wiping a ruddy stream from his brow; "they've broken the paice, and our pates into the bargain. but shurely i'd know that vice," he added, turning his lantern towards the janizary. "ah! quilt arnold, my man, is it you? by the powers! i'm glad to see you. the sight o' your 'andsome phiz allys does me good." "i wish i could return the compliment, terry. but your cracked skull is by no means a pleasing spectacle. how came you by the hurt, eh?" "how did i come by it?--that's a nate question. why, honestly enouch. it was lent me by a countryman o' mine; but i paid him back in his own coin--ha! ha!" "a countryman of yours, terry?" "ay, and a noble one, too, quilt--more's the pity! you've heard of the marquis of slaughterford, belike?" "of course; who has not? he's the leader of the mohocks, the general of the scourers, the prince of rakes, the friend of the surgeons and glaziers, the terror of your tribe, and the idol of the girls!" "that's him to a hair?" cried terence, rapturously. "och! he's a broth of a boy!" "why, i thought he'd broken your head, terry?" "phooh! that's nothing? a piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and terry o'flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. besides, didn't i tell you that i giv' him as good as he brought--and better! i jist touched him with my 'evenin' star,' as i call this shillelah," said the watchman, flourishing an immense bludgeon, the knob of which appeared to be loaded with lead, "and, by saint patrick! down he cum'd like a bullock." "zounds!" exclaimed quilt, "did you kill him?" "not quite," replied terence, laughing; "but i brought him to his senses." "by depriving him of 'em, eh! but i'm sorry you hurt his lordship, terry. young noblemen ought to be indulged in their frolics. if they _do_, now and then, run away with a knocker, paint a sign, beat the watch, or huff a magistrate, they _pay_ for their pastime, and that's sufficient. what more could any reasonable man--especially a watchman--desire? besides, the marquis, is a devilish fine fellow, and a particular friend of mine. there's not his peer among the peerage." "och! if he's a friend o' yours, my dear joy, there's no more to be said; and right sorry am i, i struck him. but, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if ould nick himself were to hit me a blow, i'd be afther givin' him another." "well, well--wait awhile," returned quilt; "his lordship won't forget you. he's as generous as he's frolicsome." as he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. "there's sharples," cried quilt. "whist!" exclaimed terence; "he elevates his glim. by jasus! he's about to spake to us." "gem'men o' the votch!" cried sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner--ough! ough;--the markis o' slaughterford----" further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. "no mohocks! no scourers!" cried the mob. "hear! hear!" vociferated quilt. "his lordship desires me to say--ough! ough!" fresh groans and hisses. "von't you hear me?--ough! ough!" demanded sharples, after a pause. "by all means," rejoined quilt. "raise your vice, and lave off coughin'," added terence. "the long and the short o' the matter's this then," returned sharples with dignity, "the markis begs your acceptance o' ten guineas to drink his health." the hooting was instantaneously changed to cheers. "and his lordship, furthermore, requests me to state," proceeded sharples, in a hoarse tone, "that he'll be responsible for the doctors' bill of all such gem'men as have received broken pates, or been other_wise_ damaged in the fray--ough! ough!" "hurrah!" shouted the mob. "we're all damaged--we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices. "ay, good luck to him! so we have," rejoined terence; "but we've no objection to take out the dochter's bill in drink." "none whatever," replied the mob. "your answer, gem'men?" demanded sharples. "long life to the markis, and we accept his honourable proposal," responded the mob. "long life to the marquis!" reiterated terence; "he's an honour to ould ireland!" "didn't i tell you how it would be?" remarked quilt. "troth, and so did you," returned the watchman; "but i couldn't belave it. in futur', i'll keep the 'evenin' star' for his lordship's enemies." "you'd better," replied quilt. "but bring your glim this way. i've a couple of kinchens in yonder rattler, whom i wish to place under old sharples's care." "be handy, then," rejoined terence, "or, i'll lose my share of the smart money." with the assistance of terence, and a linkboy who volunteered his services, quilt soon removed the prisoners from the coach, and leaving sheppard to the custody of abraham, proceeded to drag thames towards the round-house. not a word had been exchanged between the two boys on the road. whenever jack attempted to speak, he was checked by an angry growl from abraham; and thames, though his heart was full almost to bursting, felt no inclination to break the silence. his thoughts, indeed, were too painful for utterance, and so acute were his feelings, that, for some time, they quite overcame him. but his grief was of short duration. the elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. as to jack sheppard, he appeared utterly reckless and insensible, and did nothing but whistle and sing the whole way. while he was dragged along in the manner just described, thames looked around to ascertain, if possible, where he was; for he did not put entire faith in jonathan's threat of sending him to the round-house, and apprehensive of something even worse than imprisonment. the aspect of the place, so far as he could discern through the gloom, was strange to him; but chancing to raise his eyes above the level of the surrounding habitations, he beheld, relieved against the sombre sky, the tall steeple of saint giles's church, the precursor of the present structure, which was not erected till some fifteen years later. he recognised this object at once. jonathan had not deceived him. "what's this here kinchen _in_ for?" asked terence, as he and quilt strode along, with thames between them. "what for?" rejoined quilt, evasively. "oh! nothin' partickler--mere curossity," replied terence. "by the powers!" he added, turning his lantern full upon the face of the captive, "he's a nice genn-teel-lookin' kiddy, i must say. pity he's ta'en to bad ways so airly." "you may spare me your compassion, friend," observed thames; "i am falsely detained." "of course," rejoined quilt, maliciously; "every thief is so. if we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday. we never supposed you helped yourself to a picture set with diamonds--not we!" "is the guv'ner consarned in this job?" asked terence, in a whisper. "he is," returned quilt, significantly. "zounds! what's that!" he cried, as the noise of a scuffle was heard behind them. "the other kid's given my partner the slip. here, take this youngster, terry; my legs are lighter than old nab's." and, committing thames to the care of the watchman, he darted after the fugitive. "do you wish to earn a rich reward, my good friend?" said thames to the watchman, as soon as they were left alone. "is it by lettin' you go, my darlin', that i'm to airn it?" inquired terence. "if so, it won't pay. you're mister wild's pris'ner, and worse luck to it!" "i don't ask you to liberate me," urged thames; "but will you convey a message for me?" "where to, honey?" "to mr. wood's, the carpenter in wych street. he lives near the black lion." "the black lion!" echoed terence. "i know the house well; by the same token that it's a flash crib. och! many a mug o' bubb have i drained wi' the landlord, joe hind. and so misther wudd lives near the black lion, eh?" "he does," replied thames. "tell him that i--his adopted son, thames darrell--am detained here by jonathan wild." "thames ditton--is that your name?" "no," replied the boy, impatiently; "darrell--thames darrell." "i'll not forget it. it's a mighty quare 'un, though. i never yet heard of a christians as was named after the shannon or the liffy; and the thames is no better than a dhurty puddle, compared wi' them two noble strames. but then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. people do call their unlawful children strange names. are you quite shure you haven't another alyas, masther thames ditton?" "darrell, i tell you. will you go? you'll be paid handsomely for your trouble." "i don't mind the throuble," hesitated terence, who was really a good-hearted fellow at the bottom; "and i'd like to sarve you if i could, for you look like a gentleman's son, and that goes a great way wi' me. but if misther wild were to find out that i thwarted his schames----" "i'd not be in your skin for a trifle," interrupted quilt, who having secured sheppard, and delivered him to abraham, now approached them unawares; "and it shan't be my fault if he don't hear of it." "'ouns!" ejaculated terence, in alarm, "would you turn snitch on your old pal, quilt?" "ay, if he plays a-cross," returned quilt. "come along, my sly shaver. with all your cunning, we're more than a match for you." "but not for me," growled terence, in an under tone. "remember!" cried quilt, as he forced the captive along. "remember the devil!" retorted terence, who had recovered his natural audacity. "do you think i'm afeard of a beggarly thief-taker and his myrmidons? not i. master thames ditton, i'll do your biddin'; and you, misther quilt arnold, may do your worst, i defy you." "dog!" exclaimed quilt, turning fiercely upon him, "do you threaten?" but the watchman eluded his grasp, and, mingling with the crowd, disappeared. chapter xii. saint giles's round-house. saint giles's round-house was an old detached fabric, standing in an angle of kendrick yard. originally built, as its name imports, in a cylindrical form, like a modern martello tower, it had undergone, from time to time, so many alterations, that its symmetry was, in a great measure, destroyed. bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end,--a sort of heidelberg tun on a large scale,--and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture--it hardly deserved to be called a door--pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. the prison was two stories high, with a flat roof surmounted by a gilt vane fashioned like a key; and, possessing considerable internal accommodation, it had, in its day, lodged some thousands of disorderly personages. the windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on kendrick yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of saint giles's church. lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. warned of the approach of the prisoners by the increased clamour, sharples, who was busied in distributing the marquis's donation, affected to throw the remainder of the money among the crowd, though, in reality, he kept back a couple of guineas, which he slipped into his sleeve, and running hastily up the steps, unlocked the door. he was followed, more leisurely, by the prisoners; and, during their ascent, jack sheppard made a second attempt to escape by ducking suddenly down, and endeavouring to pass under his conductor's legs. the dress of the dwarfish jew was not, however, favourable to this expedient. jack was caught, as in a trap, by the pendant tails of abraham's long frock; and, instead of obtaining his release by his ingenuity, he only got a sound thrashing. sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. "vell," he growled, addressing quilt, "you know who's here, i suppose?" "to be sure i do," replied quilt; "my noble friend, the marquis of slaughterford. what of that?" "vot 'o that!" echoed sharples, peevishly: "everythin'. vot am i to do vith these young imps, eh?" "what you generally do with your prisoners, mr. sharples," replied quilt; "lock 'em up." "that's easily said. but, suppose i've no place to lock 'em up in, how then?" quilt looked a little perplexed. he passed his arm under that of the constable, and drew him aside. "vell, vell," growled sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. but it's confounded inconvenient. one don't often get sich a vindfal as the markis----" "or such a customer as mr. wild," edged in quilt. "now, then, saint giles!" interposed sheppard, "are we to be kept here all night?" "eh day!" exclaimed sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?" "one that wants to go to roost," replied sheppard. "so, stir your stumps, saint giles; and, if you mean to lock us up, use despatch." "comin'! comin'!" returned the constable, shuffling towards him. "coming!--so is midnight--so is jonathan wild," retorted jack, with a significant look at thames. "have you never an out-o-the-vay corner, into vich you could shtow these troublesome warmint?" observed abraham. "the guv'ner'll be here afore midnight." darrell's attention was drawn to the latter part of this speech by a slight pressure on his foot. and, turning at the touch, he perceived sheppard's glance fixed meaningly upon him. "stow it, nab!" exclaimed quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake." "awake!--to be sure i am, my flash cove," replied sheppard; "i'm down as a hammer." "i've just bethought me of a crib as'll serve their turn," interposed sharples, "at any rate, they'll be out o' the vay, and as safe as two chicks in a coop." "lead the way to it then, saint giles," said jack, in a tone of mock authority. the place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. a door led to the inner room; and it was evident from the peals of merriment, and other noises, that, ever and anon, resounded from within, that this chamber was occupied by the marquis and his friends. against the walls hung an assortment of staves, brown-bills, (weapons then borne by the watch,) muskets, handcuffs, great-coats, and lanterns. in one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. towards this box sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel. "vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. "i call this ere crib the little-ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in guildhall. i _have_ squeezed three kids into it afore now. to be sure," he added, lowering his tone, "they wos little 'uns, and one on 'em was smothered--ough! ough!--how this cough chokes me!" sheppard, meanwhile, whose hands were at liberty, managed to possess himself, unperceived, of the spike of a halbert, which was lying, apart from the pole, upon a bench near him. having secured this implement, he burst from his conductor, and, leaping into the hatch, as clowns generally spring into the clock-faces, when in pursuit of harlequin in the pantomime,--that is, back foremost,--broke into a fit of loud and derisive laughter, kicking his heels merrily all the time against the boards. his mirth, however, received an unpleasant check; for abraham, greatly incensed by his previous conduct, caught him by the legs, and pushed him with such violence into the hole that the point of the spike, which he had placed in his pocket, found its way through his clothes to the flesh, inflicting a slight, but painful wound. jack, who had something of the spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust thames into the recess beside him. "how go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked sharples, in a jeering tone. "better than your company, saint giles," replied sheppard; "so, shut the door, and make yourself scarce." "that boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to bridewell," observed sharples. "or the street," returned jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me." "we'll see that, young hempseed," replied sharples, shutting the hatch furiously in his face, and locking it. "if you get out o' that cage, i'll forgive you. now, come along, gem'men, and i'll show you some precious sport." the two janizaries followed him as far as the entrance to the inner room, when abraham, raising his finger to his lips, and glancing significantly in the direction of the boys, to explain his intention to his companions, closed the door after them, and stole softly back again, planting himself near the recess. for a few minutes all was silent. at length jack sheppard observed:--"the coast's clear. they're gone into the next room." darrell returned no answer. "don't be angry with me, thames," continued sheppard, in a tone calculated, as he thought, to appease his companion's indignation. "i did all for the best, as i'll explain." "i won't reproach you, jack," said the other, sternly. "i've done with you." "not quite, i hope," rejoined sheppard. "at all events, i've not done with you. if you owe your confinement to me, you shall owe your liberation to me, also." "i'd rather lie here for ever, than be indebted to _you_ for my freedom," returned thames. "i've done nothing to offend you," persisted jack. "nothing!" echoed the other, scornfully. "you've perjured yourself." "that's my own concern," rejoined sheppard. "an oath weighs little with me, compared with your safety." "no more of this," interrupted thames, "you make the matter worse by these excuses." "quarrel with me as much as you please, thames, but hear me," returned sheppard. "i took the course i pursued to serve you." "tush!" cried thames; "you accused me to skreen yourself." "on my soul, thames, you wrong me!" replied jack, passionately. "i'd lay down my life for yours." "and you expect me to believe you after what has passed?" "i do; and, more than that, i expect you to thank me." "for procuring my imprisonment?" "for saving your life." "how?" "listen to me, thames. you're in a more serious scrape than you imagine. i overheard jonathan wild's instructions to quilt arnold, and though he spoke in slang, and in an under tone, my quick ears, and acquaintance with the thieves' lingo, enabled me to make out every word he uttered. jonathan is in league with sir rowland to make away with you. you are brought here that their designs may be carried into effect with greater security. before morning, unless, we can effect an escape, you'll be kidnapped, or murdered, and your disappearance attributed to the negligence of the constable." "are you sure of this?" asked thames, who, though as brave a lad as need be, could not repress a shudder at the intelligence. "certain. the moment i entered the room, and found you a prisoner in the hands of jonathan wild, i guessed how matters stood, and acted accordingly. things haven't gone quite as smoothly as i anticipated; but they might have been worse. i _can_ save you, and _will_. but, say we're friends." "you're not deceiving me!" said thames, doubtfully. "i am not, by heaven!" replied sheppard, firmly. "don't swear, jack, or i shall distrust you. i can't give you my hand; but you may take it." "thank you! thank you!" faltered jack, in a voice full of emotion. "i'll soon free you from these bracelets." "you needn't trouble yourself," replied thames. "mr. wood will be here presently." "mr. wood!" exclaimed jack, in surprise. "how have you managed to communicate with him?" abraham, who had listened attentively to the foregoing conversation,--not a word of which escaped him,--now drew in his breath, and brought his ear closer to the boards. "by means of the watchman who had the charge of me," replied thames. "curse him!" muttered abraham. "hist!" exclaimed jack. "i thought i heard a noise. speak lower. somebody may be on the watch--perhaps, that old ginger-hackled jew." "i don't care if he is," rejoined thames, boldly. "he'll learn that his plans will be defeated." "he may learn how to defeat yours," replied jack. "so he may," rejoined abraham, aloud, "so he may." "death and fiends!" exclaimed jack; "the old thief _is_ there. i knew it. you've betrayed yourself, thames." "vot o' that?" chuckled abraham. "_you_ can shave him, you know." "i _can_," rejoined jack; "and you, too, old aaron, if i'd a razor." "how soon do you expect mishter vudd?" inquired the janizary, tauntingly. "what's that to you?" retorted jack, surlily. "because i shouldn't like to be out o' the vay ven he arrives," returned abraham, in a jeering tone; "it vouldn't be vell bred." "vouldn't it!" replied jack, mimicking his snuffling voice; "then shtay vere you are, and be cursed to you." "it's all up," muttered thames. "mr. wood will be intercepted. i've destroyed my only chance." "not your _only_ chance, thames," returned jack, in the same undertone; "but your best. never mind. we'll turn the tables upon 'em yet. do you think we could manage that old clothesman between us, if we got out of this box?" "i'd manage him myself, if my arms were free," replied thames, boldly. "shpeak up, vill you?" cried abraham, rapping his knuckles against the hatch. "i likes to hear vot you says. you _can_ have no shecrets from me." "vy don't you talk to your partner, or saint giles, if you vant conversation, aaron?" asked jack, slyly. "because they're in the next room, and the door's shut; that's vy, my jack-a-dandy!" replied abraham, unsuspiciously. "oh! they are--are they?" muttered jack, triumphantly; "that'll do. now for it, thames! make as great a row as you can to divert his attention." with this, he drew the spike from his pocket; and, drowning the sound of the operation by whistling, singing, shuffling, and other noises, contrived, in a few minutes, to liberate his companion from the handcuffs. "now, jack," cried thames, warmly grasping sheppard's hand, "you are my friend again. i freely forgive you." sheppard cordially returned the pressure; and, cautioning thames, "not to let the ruffles drop, or they might tell a tale," began to warble the following fragment of a robber melody:-- "oh! give me a chisel, a knife, or a file, and the dubsmen shall find that i'll do it in style! _tol-de-rol!_" "vot the devil are you about, noisy?" inquired abraham. "practising singing, aaron," replied jack. "vot are you?" "practising patience," growled abraham. "not before it's needed," returned jack, aloud; adding in a whisper, "get upon my shoulders, thames. now you're up, take this spike. feel for the lock, and prize it open,--you don't need to be told _how_. when it's done, i'll push you through. take care of the old clothesman, and leave the rest to me. when the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, the sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; the sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, but the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. _tol-de-rol!_" as jack concluded his ditty, the door flew open with a crash, and thames sprang through the aperture. this manoeuvre was so suddenly executed that it took abraham completely by surprise. he was standing at the moment close to the hatch, with his ear at the keyhole, and received a severe blow in the face. he staggered back a few paces; and, before he could recover himself, thames tripped up his heels, and, placing the point of the spike at his throat, threatened to stab him if he attempted to stir, or cry out. nor had jack been idle all this time. clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key. the policy of this step was immediately apparent. alarmed by the noise of the scuffle, quilt and sharples rushed to the assistance of their comrade. but they were too late. the entrance was barred against them; and they had the additional mortification of hearing sheppard's loud laughter at their discomfiture. "i told you the prison wasn't built that could hold me," cried jack. "you're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door. "but i soon shall be," returned jack; "take these," he added, flinging the handcuffs against the wooden partition, "and wear 'em yourself." "halloo, nab!" vociferated quilt. "what the devil are you about! will you allow yourself to be beaten by a couple of kids?" "not if i can help it," returned abraham, making a desperate effort to regain his feet. "by my shalvation, boy," he added, fiercely, "if you don't take your hande off my peard, i'll sthrangle you." "help me, jack!" shouted thames, "or i shan't be able to keep the villain down." "stick the spike into him, then," returned sheppard, coolly, "while i unbar the outlet." but thames had no intention of following his friend's advice. contenting himself with brandishing the weapon in the jew's eyes, he exerted all his force to prevent him from rising. while this took place, while quilt thundered at the inner door, and jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting--as if in contempt of the general uproar--the following strain:-- with pipe and punch upon the board, and smiling nymphs around us; no tavern could more mirth afford than old saint giles's round-house! _the round-house! the round-house! the jolly--jolly round-house!_ "the jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. "hurrah! come along, thames; we're free." "not sho fasht--not sho fasht!" cried abraham, struggling with thames, and detaining him; "if you go, you musht take me along vid you." "save yourself, jack!" shouted thames, sinking beneath the superior weight and strength of his opponent; "leave me to my fate!" "never," replied jack, hurrying towards him. and, snatching the spike from thames, he struck the janizary a severe blow on the head. "i'll make sure work this time," he added, about to repeat the blow. "hold!" interposed thames, "he can do no more mischief. let us be gone." "as you please," returned jack, leaping up; "but i feel devilishly inclined to finish him. however, it would only be robbing the hangman of his dues." with this, he was preparing to follow his friend, when their egress was prevented by the sudden appearance of jonathan wild and blueskin. chapter xiii. the magdalene. the household of the worthy carpenter, it may be conceived, was thrown into the utmost confusion and distress by the unaccountable disappearance of the two boys. as time wore on, and they did not return, mr. wood's anxiety grew so insupportable, that he seized his hat with the intention of sallying forth in search of them, though he did not know whither to bend his steps, when his departure was arrested by a gentle knock at the door. "there he is!" cried winifred, starting up, joyfully, and proving by the exclamation that her thoughts were dwelling upon one subject only. "there he is!" "i fear not," said her father, with a doubtful shake of the head. "thames would let himself in; and jack generally finds an entrance through the backdoor or the shop-window, when he has been out at untimely hours. but, go and see who it is, love. stay! i'll go myself." his daughter, however, anticipated him. she flew to the door, but returned the next minute, looking deeply disappointed, and bringing the intelligence that it was "only mrs. sheppard." "who?" almost screamed mrs. wood. "jack sheppard's mother," answered the little girl, dejectedly; "she has brought a basket of eggs from willesden, and some flowers for you." "for me!" vociferated mrs. wood, in indignant surprise. "eggs for me! you mistake, child. they must be for your father." "no; i'm quite sure she said they're for you," replied winifred; "but she _does_ want to see father." "i thought as much," sneered mrs. wood. "i'll go to her directly," said wood, bustling towards the door. "i dare say she has called to inquire about jack." "i dare say no such thing," interposed his better half, authoritatively; "remain where you are, sir." "at all events, let me send her away, my dear," supplicated the carpenter, anxious to avert the impending storm. "do you hear me?" cried the lady, with increasing vehemence. "stir a foot, at your peril." "but, my love," still remonstrated wood, "you know i'm going to look after the boys----" "after mrs. sheppard, you mean, sir," interrupted his wife, ironically. "don't think to deceive me by your false pretences. marry, come up! i'm not so easily deluded. sit down, i command you. winny, show the person into this room. i'll see her myself; and that's more than she bargained for, i'll be sworn." finding it useless to struggle further, mr. wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. "at length, i have my wish," continued mrs. wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. "i shall behold the shameless hussy, face to face; and, if i find her as good-looking as she's represented, i don't know what i'll do in the end; but i'll begin by scratching her eyes out." in this temper, it will naturally be imagined, that mrs. wood's reception of the widow, who, at that moment, was ushered into the room by winifred, was not particularly kind and encouraging. as she approached, the carpenter's wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with. but she was disappointed. mrs. sheppard's dress--extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,--offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that--if she had been ill-looking--she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. but, alas! she was beautiful--and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. as the lapse of time and change of circumstances have wrought a remarkable alteration in the appearance of the poor widow, it may not be improper to notice it here. when first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. now, she was the very reverse of all this. her dress, it has just been said, was neatness and simplicity itself. her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion--still pale, but without its former sickly cast,--contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. one marked difference between the poor outcast, who, oppressed by poverty, and stung by shame, had sought temporary relief in the stupifying draught,--that worst "medicine of a mind diseased,"--and those of the same being, freed from her vices, and restored to comfort and contentment, if not to happiness, by a more prosperous course of events, was exhibited in the mouth. for the fresh and feverish hue of lip which years ago characterised this feature, was now substituted a pure and wholesome bloom, evincing a total change of habits; and, though the coarse character of the mouth remained, in some degree, unaltered, it was so modified in expression, that it could no longer be accounted a blemish. in fact, the whole face had undergone a transformation. all its better points were improved, while the less attractive ones (and they were few in comparison) were subdued, or removed. what was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her. "well, mrs. sheppard," said the carpenter, advancing to meet her, and trying to look as cheerful and composed as he could; "what brings you to town, eh?--nothing amiss, i trust?" "nothing whatever, sir," answered the widow. "a neighbour offered me a drive to paddington; and, as i haven't heard of my son for some time, i couldn't resist the temptation of stepping on to inquire after him, and to thank you for your great goodness to us both, i've brought a little garden-stuff and a few new-laid eggs for you, ma'am," she added turning to mrs. wood, who appeared to be collecting her energies for a terrible explosion, "in the hope that they may prove acceptable. here's a nosegay for you, my love," she continued, opening her basket, and presenting a fragrant bunch of flowers to winifred, "if your mother will allow me to give it you." "don't touch it, winny!" screamed mrs. wood, "it may be poisoned." "i'm not afraid, mother," said the little girl, smelling at the bouquet. "how sweet these roses are! shall i put them into water?" "put them where they came from," replied mrs. wood, severely, "and go to bed." "but, mother, mayn't i sit up to see whether thames returns?" implored winifred. "what can it matter to you whether he returns or not, child," rejoined mrs. wood, sharply. "i've spoken. and my word's law--with _you_, at least," she added, bestowing a cutting glance upon her husband. the little girl uttered no remonstrance; but, replacing the flowers in the basket, burst into tears, and withdrew. mrs. sheppard, who witnessed this occurrence with dismay, looked timorously at wood, in expectation of some hint being given as to the course she had better pursue; but, receiving none, for the carpenter was too much agitated to attend to her, she ventured to express a fear that she was intruding. "intruding!" echoed mrs. wood; "to be sure you are! i wonder how you dare show your face in this house, hussy!" "i thought you sent for me, ma'am," replied the widow, humbly. "so i did," retorted mrs. wood; "and i did so to see how far your effrontery would carry you." "i'm sure i'm very sorry. i hope i haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to wood. "don't exchange glances with him under my very nose, woman!" shrieked mrs. wood; "i'll not bear it. look at me, and answer me one question. and, mind! no prevaricating--nothing but the truth will satisfy me." mrs. sheppard raised her eyes, and fixed them upon her interrogator. "are you not that man's mistress?" demanded mrs. wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. "i am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. "that's false!" cried mrs. wood. "i'm too well acquainted with your proceedings, madam, to believe that. profligate women are never reclaimed. _he_ has told me sufficient of you--" "my dear," interposed wood, "for goodness' sake--" "i _will_ speak," screamed his wife, totally disregarding the interruption; "i _will_ tell this worthless creature what i know about her,--and what i think of her." "not now, my love--not now," entreated wood. "yes, _now_," rejoined the infuriated dame; "perhaps, i may never have another opportunity. she has contrived to keep out of my sight up to this time, and i've no doubt she'll keep out of it altogether for the future." "that was my doing, dearest," urged the carpenter; "i was afraid if you saw her that some such scene as this might occur." "hear me, madam, i beseech you," interposed mrs. sheppard, "and, if it please you to visit your indignation on any one let it be upon me, and not on your excellent husband, whose only fault is in having bestowed his charity upon so unworthy an object as myself." "unworthy, indeed!" sneered mrs. wood. "to him i owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself--nay, more than life,--for without his assistance i should have perished, body and soul. he has been a father to me and my child." "i never doubted the latter point, i assure you, madam," observed mrs. wood. "you have said," pursued the widow, "that she, who has once erred, is irreclaimable. do not believe it, madam. it is not so. the poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. i have suffered--i have sinned--i have repented. and, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, i do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven." "mighty fine!" ejaculated mrs. wood, contemptuously. "you cannot understand me, madam; and it is well you cannot. blest with a fond husband, surrounded by every comfort, _you_ have never been assailed by the horrible temptations to which misery has exposed _me_. you have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter. you have never seen the child within your arms perishing from hunger, and no relief to be obtained. you have never felt the hearts of all hardened against you; have never heard the jeer or curse from every lip; nor endured the insult and the blow from every hand. i _have_ suffered all this. i could resist the tempter _now_, i am strong in health,--in mind. but _then_--oh! madam, there are moments--moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence--in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. pardon what i have said, madam. i do not desire to extenuate my guilt--far less to defend it; but i would show you, and such as you--who, happily, are exempted from trials like mine--how much misery has to do with crime. and i affirm to you, on my own conviction, that she who falls, because she has not strength granted her to struggle with affliction, _may_ be reclaimed,--may repent, and be forgiven,--even as she, whose sins, 'though many, were forgiven her'. "it gladdens me to hear you talk thus, joan," said wood, in a voice of much emotion, while his eyes filled with tears, "and more than repays me for all i have done for you." "if professions of repentance constitute a magdalene, mrs. sheppard is one, no doubt," observed mrs. wood, ironically; "but i used to think it required something more than _mere words_ to prove that a person's character was abused." "very right, my love," said wood, "very sensibly remarked. so it does. bu i can speak to that point. mrs. sheppard's conduct, from my own personal knowledge, has been unexceptionable for the last twelve years. during that period she has been a model of propriety." "oh! of course," rejoined mrs. wood; "i can't for an instant question such distinterested testimony. mrs. sheppard, i'm sure, will say as much for you. he's a model of conjugal attachment and fidelity, a pattern to his family, and an example to his neighbours. ain't he, madam?'" "he is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more--much more than that." "he's no such thing!" cried mrs. wood, furiously. "he's a base, deceitful, tyrannical, hoary-headed libertine--that's what he is. but, i'll expose him. i'll proclaim his misdoings to the world; and, then, we shall see where he'll stand. marry, come up! i'll show him what an injured wife can do. if all wives were of my mind and my spirit, husbands would soon be taught their own insignificance. but a time _will_ come (and that before long,) when our sex will assert its superiority; and, when we have got the upper hand, let 'em try to subdue us if they can. but don't suppose, madam, that anything i say has reference to you. i'm speaking of virtuous women--of wives, madam. mistresses neither deserve consideration nor commiseration." "i expect no commiseration," returned mrs. sheppard, gently, "nor do i need any. but, rather than be the cause of any further misunderstanding between you and my benefactor, i will leave london and its neighbourhood for ever." "pray do so, madam," retorted mrs. wood, "and take your son with you." "my son!" echoed the widow, trembling. "yes, your son, madam. if you can do any good with him, it's more than we can. the house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold." "is this true, sir?" cried mrs. sheppard, with an agonized look at wood. "i know you'll not deceive me. is jack what mrs. wood represents him?" "he's not exactly what i could desire him to be, joan," replied the carpenter, reluctantly, "but a ragged colt sometimes makes the best horse. he'll mend, i hope." "never," said mrs. wood,--"he'll never mend. he has taken more than one step towards the gallows already. thieves and pickpockets are his constant companions." "thieves!" exclaimed mrs. sheppard, horror-stricken. "jonathan wild and blueskin have got him into their hands," continued mrs. wood. "impossible!" exclaimed the widow, wildly. "if you doubt my word, woman," replied the carpenter's wife, coldly, "ask mr. wood." "i know you'll contradict it, sir," said the widow, looking at wood as if she dreaded to have her fears confirmed,--"i know you will." "i wish i could, joan," returned the carpenter, sadly. mrs. sheppard let fall her basket. "my son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously--, "my son the companion of thieves! my son in jonathan wild's power! it cannot be." "why not?" rejoined mrs. wood, in a taunting tone. "your son's father was a thief; and jonathan wild (unless i'm misinformed,) was his friend,--so it's not unnatural he should show some partiality towards jack." "jonathan wild was my husband's bitterest enemy," said mrs. sheppard. "he first seduced him from the paths of honesty, and then betrayed him to a shameful death, and he has sworn to do the same thing by my son. oh, heavens; that i should have ever indulged a hope of happiness while that terrible man lives!" "compose yourself, joan," said wood; "all will yet be well." "oh, no,--no," replied mrs. sheppard, distractedly. "all cannot be well, if this is true. tell me, sir," she added, with forced calmness, and grasping wood's arm; "what has jack done? tell me in a word, that i may know the worst. i can bear anything but suspense." "you're agitating yourself unnecessarily, joan," returned wood, in a soothing voice. "jack has been keeping bad company. that's the only fault i know of." "thank god for that!" ejaculated mrs. sheppard, fervently. "then it is not too late to save him. where is he, sir? can i see him?" "no, that you can't," answered mrs. wood; "he has gone out without leave, and has taken thames darrell with him. if i were mr. wood, when he does return, i'd send him about his business. i wouldn't keep an apprentice to set my authority at defiance." mr. wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. "'odd's-my-life!--what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. "it's jonathan wild come back with a troop of constables at his heels, to search the house," rejoined mrs. wood, in equal trepidation. "we shall all be murdered. oh! that mr. kneebone were here to protect me!" "if it _is_ jonathan," rejoined wood, "it is very well for mr. kneebone he's not here. he'd have enough to do to protect himself, without attending to you. i declare i'm almost afraid to go to the door. something, i'm convinced, has happened to the boys." "has jonathan wild been here to-day?" asked mrs. sheppard, anxiously. "to be sure he has!" returned mrs. wood; "and blueskin, too. they're only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter," she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before. while the carpenter irresolutely quitted the room, with a strong presentiment of ill upon his mind, a light quick step was heard descending the stairs, and before he could call out to prevent it, a man was admitted into the passage. "is this misther wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the irish watchman. "it is", seplied winifred; "have you brought any tidings of thames darrell!" "troth have i!" replied terence: "but, bless your angilic face, how did you contrive to guess that?" "is he well?--is he safe?--is he coming back," cried the little girl, disregarding the question. "he's in st. giles's round-house," answered terence; "but tell mr. wudd i'm here, and have brought him a message from his unlawful son, and don't be detainin' me, my darlin', for there's not a minute to lose if the poor lad's to be recused from the clutches of that thief and thief-taker o' the wurld, jonathan wild." the carpenter, upon whom no part of this hurried dialogue had been lost, now made his appearance, and having obtained from terence all the information which that personage could impart respecting the perilous situation of thames, he declared himself ready to start to saint giles's at once, and ran back to the room for his hat and stick; expressing his firm determination, as he pocketed his constable's staff with which he thought it expedient to arm himself, of being direfully revenged upon the thief-taker: a determination in which he was strongly encouraged by his wife. terence, meanwhile, who had followed him, did not remain silent, but recapitulated his story, for the benefit of mrs. sheppard. the poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by mrs. wood, who maintained stoutly, that if thames had been led to do wrong, it must be through the instrumentality of his worthless companion. "and there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed terence. "master thames ditt--what's his blessed name?--has honesty written in his handsome phiz; but as to his companion, jack sheppard, i think you call him, he's a born and bred thief. lord bless you marm! we sees plenty on 'em in our purfession. them young prigs is all alike. i seed he was one,--and a sharp un, too,--at a glance." "oh!" exclaimed the widow, covering her face with her hands. "take a drop of brandy before we start, watchman," said wood, pouring out a glass of spirit, and presenting it to terence, who smacked his lips as he disposed of it. "won't you be persuaded, joan?" he added, making a similar offer to mrs. sheppard, which she gratefully declined. "if you mean to accompany us, you may need it." "you are very kind, sir," returned the widow, "but i require no support. nothing stronger than water has passed my lips for years." "we may believe as much of that as we please, i suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. "mr. wood," she continued, in an authoritative tone, seeing her husband ready to depart, "one word before you set out. if jack sheppard or his mother ever enter this house again, i leave it--that's all. now, do what you please. you know _my_ fixed determination." mr. wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. he was followed with equal celerity by terence and the widow. traversing what remained of wych street at a rapid pace, and speeding along drury lane, the trio soon found themselves in kendrick yard. when they came to the round-house, terry's courage failed him. such was the terror inspired by wild's vindictive character, that few durst face him who had given him cause for displeasure. aware that he should incur the thief-taker's bitterest animosity by what he had done, the watchman, whose wrath against quilt arnold had evaporated during the walk, thought it more prudent not to hazard a meeting with his master, till the storm had, in some measure, blown over. accordingly, having given wood such directions as he thought necessary for his guidance, and received a handsome gratuity in return for his services, he departed. it was not without considerable demur and delay on the part of sharples that the carpenter and his companion could gain admittance to the round-house. reconnoitring them through a small grated loophole, he refused to open the door till they had explained their business. this, wood, acting upon terry's caution, was most unwilling to do; but, finding he had no alternative, he reluctantly made known his errand and the bolts were undrawn. once in, the constable's manner appeared totally changed. he was now as civil as he had just been insolent. apologizing for their detention, he answered the questions put to him respecting the boys, by positively denying that any such prisoners had been entrusted to his charge, but offered to conduct him to every cell in the building to prove the truth of his assertion. he then barred and double-locked the door, took out the key, (a precautionary measure which, with a grim smile, he said he never omitted,) thrust it into his vest, and motioning the couple to follow him, led the way to the inner room. as wood obeyed, his foot slipped; and, casting his eyes upon the floor, he perceived it splashed in several places with blood. from the freshness of the stains, which grew more frequent as they approached the adjoining chamber, it was evident some violence had been recently perpetrated, and the carpenter's own blood froze within his veins as he thought, with a thrill of horror, that, perhaps on this very spot, not many minutes before his arrival, his adopted son might have been inhumanly butchered. nor was this impression removed as he stole a glance at mrs. sheppard, and saw from her terrified look that she had made the same alarming discovery as himself. but it was now too late to turn back, and, nerving himself for the shock he expected to encounter, he ventured after his conductor. no sooner had they entered the room than sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept wood for a short time silent. when he could find words, he tried by the most urgent solicitations to prevail upon the constable to let him out. but threats and entreaties--even promises were ineffectual; and the unlucky captive, after exhausting his powers of persuasion, was compelled to give up the point. the room in which he was detained--that lately occupied by the mohocks, who, it appeared, had been allowed to depart,--was calculated to inspire additional apprehension and disgust. strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. the benches running round the room, though fastened to the walls by iron clamps, had been forcibly wrenched off; while the table, which was similarly secured to the boards, was upset, and its contents--bottles, jugs, glasses, and bowls were broken and scattered about in all directions. everything proclaimed the mischievous propensities of the recent occupants of the chamber. here lay a heap of knockers of all sizes, from the huge lion's head to the small brass rapper: there, a collection of sign-boards, with the names and calling of the owners utterly obliterated. on this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,--namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some half-dozen staves, and a broken sword. as the carpenter's gaze wandered over this scene of devastation, his attention was drawn by mrs. sheppard towards an appalling object in one corner. this was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. near the body, which, it will be surmised, was that of abraham mendez, two ruffianly personages were seated, quietly smoking, and bestowing no sort of attention upon the new-comers. their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. from other obscure hints dropped by the speakers, mrs. sheppard ascertained that thames darrell had been carried off--where she could not make out--by jonathan wild and quilt arnold; and that jack had been induced to accompany blueskin to the mint. this intelligence, which she instantly communicated to the carpenter, drove him almost frantic. he renewed his supplications to sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. at length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. whoever this might be, the visit seemed to have some reference to the carpenter, for, shortly afterwards, sharples made his appearance, and informed the captives they were free. without waiting to have the information repeated, wood rushed forth, determined as soon as he could procure assistance, to proceed to jonathan wild's house in the old bailey; while mrs. sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the mint. chapter xiv. the flash ken. in an incredibly short space of time,--for her anxiety lent wings to her feet,--mrs. sheppard reached the debtor's garrison. from a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the cross shovels. this was enough for the poor widow. she felt she was now near her boy, and, nothing doubting her ability to rescue him from his perilous situation, she breathed a fervent prayer for his deliverance; and bending her steps towards the tavern in question, revolved within her mind as she walked along the best means of accomplishing her purpose. aware of the cunning and desperate characters of the persons with whom she would have to deal,--aware, also, that she was in a quarter where no laws could be appealed to, nor assistance obtained, she felt the absolute necessity of caution. accordingly, when she arrived at the shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. the drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of baptist kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. the master of the mint, in the exercise of his two-fold office of governor and publican, was mounted upon a chair, and holding forth to his guests in a speech, to which mrs. sheppard was unwillingly compelled to listen. "gentlemen of the mint," said the orator, "when i was first called, some fifty years ago, to the important office i hold, there existed across the water three places of refuge for the oppressed and persecuted debtor." "we know it," cried several voices. "it happened, gentlemen," pursued the master, "on a particular occasion, about the time i've mentioned, that the archduke of alsatia, the sovereign of the savoy, and the satrap of salisbury court, met by accident at the cross shovels. a jolly night we made of it, as you may suppose; for four such monarchs don't often come together. well, while we were smoking our pipes, and quaffing our punch, alsatia turns to me and says, 'mint,' says he, 'you're well off here.'--'pretty well,' says i; 'you're not badly off at the friars, for that matter.'--'oh! yes we are,' says he.--'how so?' says i.--'it's all up with us,' says he; 'they've taken away our charter.'--'they can't,' says i.--'they have,' says he.--'they can't, i tell you,' says i, in a bit of a passion; 'it's unconstitutional.'--'unconstitutional or not,' says salisbury court and savoy, speaking together, 'it's true. we shall become a prey to the philistines, and must turn honest in self-defence.'--'no fear o' that,' thought i.--'i see how it'll be,' observed alsatia, 'everybody'll pay his debts, and only think of such a state of things as that.'--'it's _not_ to be thought of,' says i, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; 'and i know a way as'll prevent it.'--'what is it, mint?' asked all three.--'why, hang every bailiff that sets a foot in your territories, and you're safe,' says i.--'we'll do it,' said they, filling their glasses, and looking as fierce as king george's grenadier guards; 'here's your health, mint.' but, gentlemen, though they talked so largely, and looked so fiercely, they did _not_ do it; they did _not_ hang the bailiffs; and where are they?" "ay, where are they?" echoed the company with indignant derision. "gentlemen," returned the master, solemnly, "it is a question easily answered--they are nowhere! had they hanged the bailiffs, the bailiffs would not have hanged them. we ourselves have been similarly circumstanced. attacked by an infamous and unconstitutional statute, passed in the reign of the late usurper, william of orange, (for i may remark that, if the right king had been upon the throne, that illegal enactment would never have received the royal assent--the stuarts--heaven preserve 'em!--always siding with the debtors); attacked in this outrageous manner, i repeat, it has been all but '_up_' with us! but the vigorous resistance offered on that memorable occasion by the patriotic inhabitants of bermuda to the aggressions of arbitrary power, secured and established their privileges on a firmer basis than heretofore; and, while their pusillanimous allies were crushed and annihilated, they became more prosperous than ever. gentlemen, i am proud to say that _i_ originated--that _i_ directed those measures. i hope to see the day, when not southwark alone, but london itself shall become one mint,--when all men shall be debtors, and none creditors,--when imprisonment for debt shall be utterly abolished,--when highway-robbery shall be accounted a pleasant pastime, and forgery an accomplishment,--when tyburn and its gibbets shall be overthrown,--capital punishments discontinued,--newgate, ludgate, the gatehouse, and the compters razed to the ground,--bridewell and clerkenwell destroyed,--the fleet, the king's bench, and the marshalsea remembered only by name! but, in the mean time, as that day may possibly be farther off than i anticipate, we are bound to make the most of the present. take care of yourselves, gentlemen, and your governor will take care of you. before i sit down, i have a toast to propose, which i am sure will be received, as it deserves to be, with enthusiasm. it is the health of a stranger,--of mr. john sheppard. his father was one of my old customers, and i am happy to find his son treading in his steps. he couldn't be in better hands than those in which he has placed himself. gentlemen,--mr. sheppard's good health, and success to him!" baptist's toast was received with loud applause, and, as he sat down amid the cheers of the company, and a universal clatter of mugs and glasses, the widow's view was no longer obstructed. her eye wandered quickly over that riotous and disorderly assemblage, until it settled upon one group more riotous and disorderly than the rest, of which her son formed the principal figure. the agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. there sat jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a half-emptied rummer before him,--there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,--for he was almost past consciousness,--the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. both these ladies possessed considerable personal attractions. the younger of the two, who was seated next to jack, and seemed to monopolize his attention, could not be more than seventeen, though her person had all the maturity of twenty. she had delicate oval features, light, laughing blue eyes, a pretty _nez retroussé_, (why have we not the term, since we have the best specimens of the feature?) teeth of pearly whiteness, and a brilliant complexion, set off by rich auburn hair, a very white neck and shoulders,--the latter, perhaps, a trifle too much exposed. the name of this damsel was edgeworth bess; and, as her fascinations will not, perhaps, be found to be without some influence upon the future fortunes of her boyish admirer, we have thought it worth while to be thus particular in describing them. the other _bona roba_, known amongst her companions as mistress poll maggot, was a beauty on a much larger scale,--in fact, a perfect amazon. nevertheless though nearly six feet high, and correspondingly proportioned, she was a model of symmetry, and boasted, with the frame of a thalestris or a trulla, the regular lineaments of the medicean venus. a man's laced hat,--whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,--cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. mrs. maggot, as well as her companion edgeworth bess, was showily dressed; nor did either of them disdain the aid supposed to be lent to a fair skin by the contents of the patchbox. on an empty cask, which served him for a chair, and opposite jack sheppard, whose rapid progress in depravity afforded him the highest satisfaction, sat blueskin, encouraging the two women in their odious task, and plying his victim with the glass as often as he deemed it expedient to do so. by this time, he had apparently accomplished all he desired; for moving the bottle out of jack's reach, he appropriated it entirely to his own use, leaving the devoted lad to the care of the females. some few of the individuals seated at the other tables seemed to take an interest in the proceedings of blueskin and his party, just as a bystander watches any other game; but, generally speaking, the company were too much occupied with their own concerns to pay attention to anything else. the assemblage was for the most part, if not altogether, composed of persons to whom vice in all its aspects was too familiar to present much of novelty, in whatever form it was exhibited. nor was jack by any means the only stripling in the room. not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands. near to these hopeful youths sat a fence, or receiver, bargaining with a clouter, or pickpocket, for a _suit_,--or, to speak in more intelligible language, a watch and seals, two _cloaks_, commonly called watch-cases, and a _wedge-lobb,_ otherwise known as a silver snuff-box. next to the receiver was a gang of housebreakers, laughing over their exploits, and planning fresh depredations; and next to the housebreakers came two gallant-looking gentlemen in long periwigs and riding-dresses, and equipped in all other respects for the road, with a roast fowl and a bottle of wine before them. amid this varied throng,--varied in appearance, but alike in character,--one object alone, we have said, rivetted mrs. sheppard's attention; and no sooner did she in some degree recover from the shock occasioned by the sight of her son's debased condition, than, regardless of any other consideration except his instant removal from the contaminating society by which he was surrounded, and utterly forgetting the more cautious plan she meant to have adopted, she rushed into the room, and summoned him to follow her. "halloa!" cried jack, looking round, and trying to fix his inebriate gaze upon the speaker,--"who's that?" "your mother," replied mrs. sheppard. "come home directly, sir." "mother be----!" returned jack. "who is it, bess?" "how should i know?" replied edgeworth bess. "but if it _is_ your mother, send her about her business." "that i will," replied jack, "in the twinkling of a bedpost." "glad to see you once more in the mint, mrs. sheppard," roared blueskin, who anticipated some fun. "come and sit down by me." "take a glass of gin, ma'am," cried poll maggot, holding up a bottle of spirit; "it used to be your favourite liquor, i've heard." "jack, my love," cried mrs. sheppard, disregarding the taunt, "come away." "not i," replied jack; "i'm too comfortable where i am. be off!" "jack!" exclaimed his unhappy parent. "mr. sheppard, if you please, ma'am," interrupted the lad; "i allow nobody to call me jack. do i, bess, eh?" "nobody whatever, love," replied edgeworth bess; "nobody but me, dear." "and me," insinuated mrs. maggot. "my little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, bess. ain't you, jacky darling?" "not quite, poll," returned mr. sheppard; "but i love you next to her, and both of you better than _her_," pointing with the pipe to his mother. "oh, heavens!" cried mrs. sheppard. "bravo!" shouted blueskin. "tom sheppard never said a better thing than that--ho! ho!" "jack," cried his mother, wringing her hands in distraction, "you'll break my heart!" "poh! poh!" returned her son; "women don't so easily break their hearts. do they, bess?" "certainly not," replied the young lady appealed to, "especially about their sons." "wretch!" cried mrs. sheppard, bitterly. "i say," retorted edgeworth bess, with a very unfeminine imprecation, "i shan't stand any more of that nonsense. what do you mean by calling me wretch, madam!" she added marching up to mrs. sheppard, and regarding her with an insolent and threatening glance. "yes--what do you mean, ma'am?" added jack, staggering after her. "come with me, my love, come--come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. "he shan't go," cried edgeworth bess, holding him by the other hand. "here, poll, help me!" thus exhorted, mrs. maggot lent her powerful aid, and, between the two, jack was speedily relieved from all fears of being carried off against his will. not content with this exhibition of her prowess, the amazon lifted him up as easily as if he had been an infant, and placed him upon her shoulders, to the infinite delight of the company, and the increased distress of his mother. "now, let's see who'll dare to take him down," she cried. "nobody shall," cried mr. sheppard from his elevated position. "i'm my own master now, and i'll do as i please. i'll turn cracksman, like my father--rob old wood--he has chests full of money, and i know where they're kept--i'll rob him, and give the swag to you, poll--i'll--" jack would have said more; but, losing his balance, he fell to the ground, and, when taken up, he was perfectly insensible. in this state, he was laid upon a bench, to sleep off his drunken fit, while his wretched mother, in spite of her passionate supplications and resistance, was, by blueskin's command, forcibly ejected from the house, and driven out of the mint. chapter xv. the robbery in willesden church. during the whole of the next day and night, the poor widow hovered like a ghost about the precincts of the debtors' garrison,--for admission (by the master's express orders,) was denied her. she could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,--namely, that jonathan wild had paid a secret visit to the cross shovels. at one time, she determined to go to wych street, and ask mr. wood's advice and assistance, but the thought of the reception she was likely to meet with from his wife deterred her from executing this resolution. many other expedients occurred to her; but after making several ineffectual attempts to get into the mint unobserved, they were all abandoned. at length, about an hour before dawn on the second day--sunday--having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. it was a long walk she had to undertake, even if she had endured no previous fatigue, but feeble as she was, it was almost more than she could accomplish. daybreak found her winding her painful way along the harrow road; and, in order to shorten the distance as much as possible, she took the nearest cut, and struck into the meadows on the right. crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. here her strength completely failed her, and she was compelled to seek some repose. making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. when she awoke, the sun was high in heaven. it was a bright and beautiful day: _so_ bright, so beautiful, that even her sad heart was cheered by it. the air, perfumed with the delicious fragrance of the new-mown grass, was vocal with the melodies of the birds; the thick foliage of the trees was glistening in the sunshine; all nature seemed happy and rejoicing; but, above all, the serene sabbath stillness reigning around communicated a calm to her wounded spirit. what a contrast did the lovely scene she now gazed upon present to the squalid neighbourhood she had recently quitted! on all sides, expanded prospects of country the most exquisite and most varied. immediately beneath her lay willesden,--the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis--with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. towards this spot mrs. sheppard now directed her steps. she speedily reached her own abode,--a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. the first circumstance that struck her on her arrival seemed ominous. her clock had stopped--stopped at the very hour on which she had quitted the mint! she had not the heart to wind it up again. after partaking of some little refreshment, and changing her attire, mrs. sheppard prepared for church. by this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice--if sorrowfully, still composedly. every old country church is beautiful, but willesden is the most beautiful country church we know; and in mrs. sheppard's time it was even more beautiful than at present, when the hand of improvement has proceeded a little too rashly with alterations and repairs. with one or two exceptions, there were no pews; and, as the intercourse with london was then but slight, the seats were occupied almost exclusively by the villagers. in one of these seats, at the end of the aisle farthest removed from the chancel, the widow took her place, and addressed herself fervently to her devotions. the service had not proceeded far, when she was greatly disturbed by the entrance of a person who placed himself opposite her, and sought to attract her attention by a number of little arts, surveying her, as he did so, with a very impudent and offensive stare. with this person--who was no other than mr. kneebone--she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction. but a far greater affliction was in store for her. just as the clergyman approached the altar, she perceived a boy steal quickly into the church, and ensconce himself behind the woollen-draper, who, in order to carry on his amatory pursuits with greater convenience, and at the same time display his figure (of which he was not a little vain) to the utmost advantage, preferred a standing to a sitting posture. of this boy she had only caught a glimpse;--but that glimpse was sufficient to satisfy her it was her son,--and, if she could have questioned her own instinctive love, she could not question her antipathy, when she beheld, partly concealed by a pillar immediately in the rear of the woollen-draper, the dark figure and truculent features of jonathan wild. as she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes--those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!--their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. as she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her. why was he there? why did the tempter dare to invade that sacred spot! she could not answer her own questions, but vague fearful suspicions passed through her mind. meanwhile, the service proceeded; and the awful command, "_thou shalt not steal_!" was solemnly uttered by the preacher, when mrs. sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollen-draper. she could not see what occurred, though she guessed it; but she saw jonathan's devilish triumphing glance, and read in it,--"your son has committed a robbery--here--in these holy walls--he is mine--mine for ever!" she uttered a loud scream, and fainted. chapter xvi. jonathan wild's house in the old bailey. just as st. sepulchre's church struck one, on the eventful night of the th of june, (to which it will not be necessary to recur,) a horseman, mounted on a powerful charger, and followed at a respectful distance by an attendant, galloped into the open space fronting newgate, and directed his course towards a house in the old bailey. before he could draw in the rein, his steed--startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,--swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. the next moment, however, he was picked up, and set upon his feet by a person who, having witnessed the accident, flew across the road to his assistance. "you're not hurt i hope, sir rowland?" inquired this individual. "not materially, mr. wild," replied the other, "a little shaken, that's all. curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if still under the influence of some unaccountable alarm; "what can ail him?" "_i_ know what ails him, your honour," rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; "he's seen somethin' not o' this world." "most likely," observed jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in newgate, no doubt." "may be," returned the man gravely. "take him home, saunders," said sir rowland, resigning his faulty steed to the attendant's care, "i shall not require you further. strange!" he added, as the groom departed; "bay stuart has carried me through a hundred dangers, but never played me such a trick before." "and never should again, were he mine," rejoined jonathan. "if the best nag ever foaled were to throw me in this unlucky spot, i'd blow his brains out." "what do you mean, sir?" asked trenchard. "a fall against newgate is accounted a sign of death by the halter," replied wild, with ill-disguised malignity. "tush!" exclaimed sir rowland, angrily. "from that door," continued the thief-taker, pointing to the gloomy portal of the prison opposite which they were standing, "the condemned are taken to tyburn. it's a bad omen to be thrown near that door." "i didn't suspect you of so much superstition, mr. wild," observed the knight, contemptuously. "facts convince the most incredulous," answered jonathan, drily. "i've known several cases where the ignominious doom i've mentioned has been foretold by such an accident as has just befallen you. there was major price--you must recollect him, sir rowland,--he stumbled as he was getting out of his chair at that very gate. well, _he_ was executed for murder. then there was tom jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. it was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. another instance was that of toby tanner--" "no more of this," interrupted trenchard; "where is the boy?" "not far hence," replied wild. "after all our pains we were near losing him, sir rowland." "how so?" asked the other, distrustfully. "you shall hear," returned jonathan. "with the help of his comrade, jack sheppard, the young rascal made a bold push to get out of the round-house, where my janizaries had lodged him, and would have succeeded too, if, by good luck,--for the devil never deserts so useful an agent as i am, sir rowland,--i hadn't arrived in time to prevent him. as it was, my oldest and trustiest setter, abraham mendez, received a blow on the head from one of the lads that will deprive me of his services for a week to come,--if, indeed it does not disable him altogether. however, if i've lost one servant, i've gained another, that's one comfort. jack sheppard is now wholly in my hands." "what is this to me, sir?" said trenchard, cutting him short. "nothing whatever," rejoined the thief-taker, coldly. "but it is much to me. jack sheppard is to me what thames darrell is to you--an object of hatred. i owed his father a grudge: that i settled long ago. i owe his mother one, and will repay the debt, with interest, to her son. i could make away with him at once, as you are about to make away with your nephew, sir rowland,--but that wouldn't serve my turn. to be complete, my vengeance must be tardy. certain of my prey, i can afford to wait for it. besides, revenge is sweetened by delay; and i indulge too freely in the passion to rob it of any of its zest. i've watched this lad--this sheppard--from infancy; and, though i have apparently concerned myself little about him, i have never lost sight of my purpose. i have suffered him to be brought up decently--honestly; because i would make his fall the greater, and deepen the wound i meant to inflict upon his mother. from this night i shall pursue a different course; from this night his ruin may be dated. he is in the care of those who will not leave the task assigned to them--the utter perversion of his principles--half-finished. and when i have steeped him to the lips in vice and depravity; when i have led him to the commission of every crime; when there is neither retreat nor advance for him; when he has plundered his benefactor, and broken the heart of his mother--then--but not till then, i will consign him to the fate to which i consigned his father. this i have sworn to do--this i will do." "not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,--fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,--only burnt the priming. the blaze, however, was sufficient to reveal to the thief-taker the features of his intended assassin. they were those of the irish watchman. "ah! terry o'flaherty!" vociferated jonathan, in a tone that betrayed hot the slightest discomposure. "ah! terry o'flaherty!" he cried, shouting after the irishman, who took to his heels as soon as he found his murderous attempt unsuccessful; "you may run, but you'll not get out of my reach. i'll put a brace of dogs on your track, who'll soon hunt you down. you shall swing for this after next sessions, or my name's not jonathan wild. i told you, sir rowland," he added, turning to the knight, and chuckling, "the devil never deserts me." "conduct me to your dwelling, sir, without further delay," said trenchard, sternly,--"to the boy." "the boy's not at my house," replied wild. "where is he, then?" demanded the other, hastily. "at a place we call the dark house at queenhithe," answered jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. you need have no apprehensions about him, sir rowland. he's safe enough now. i left him in charge of quilt arnold and rykhart van galgebrok--the skipper i spoke of--with strict orders to shoot him if he made any further attempt at escape; and they're not lads--the latter especially--to be trifled with. i deemed it more prudent to send him to the dark house than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father--the carpenter wood. if you choose, you can see him put on board the zeeslang yourself, sir rowland. but, perhaps, you'll first accompany me to my dwelling for a moment, that we may arrange our accounts before we start. i've a few necessary directions to leave with my people, to put 'em on their guard against the chance of a surprise. suffer me to precede you. this way, sir rowland." the thief-taker's residence was a large dismal-looking, habitation, separated from the street by a flagged court-yard, and defended from general approach by an iron railing. even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. in the obscurity in which it was now seen, it looked like a prison, and, indeed, it was jonathan's fancy to make it resemble one as much as possible. the windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from newgate. the clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. the scanty furniture of the rooms corresponded with their dungeon-like aspect. the walls were bare, and painted in stone-colour; the floors, devoid of carpet; the beds, of hangings; the windows, of blinds; and, excepting in the thief-taker's own audience-chamber, there was not a chair or a table about the premises; the place of these conveniences being elsewhere supplied by benches, and deal-boards laid across joint-stools. great stone staircases leading no one knew whither, and long gloomy passages, impressed the occasional visitor with the idea that he was traversing a building of vast extent; and, though this was not the case in reality, the deception was so cleverly contrived that it seldom failed of producing the intended effect. scarcely any one entered mr. wild's dwelling without apprehension, or quitted it without satisfaction. more strange stories were told of it than of any other house in london. the garrets were said to be tenanted by coiners, and artists employed in altering watches and jewelry; the cellars to be used as a magazine for stolen goods. by some it was affirmed that a subterranean communication existed between the thief-taker's abode and newgate, by means of which he was enabled to maintain a secret correspondence with the imprisoned felons: by others, that an under-ground passage led to extensive vaults, where such malefactors as he chose to screen from justice might lie concealed till the danger was blown over. nothing, in short, was too extravagant to be related of it; and jonathan, who delighted in investing himself and his residence with mystery, encouraged, and perhaps originated, these marvellous tales. however this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the old bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name--inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate--of jonathan wild. arrived at his habitation, jonathan knocked in a peculiar manner at the door, which was instantly opened by the grim-visaged porter just alluded to. no sooner had trenchard crossed the threshold than a fierce barking was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and, the next moment, a couple of mastiffs of the largest size rushed furiously towards him. the knight stood upon his defence; but he would unquestionably have been torn in pieces by the savage hounds, if a shower of oaths, seconded by a vigorous application of kicks and blows from their master, had not driven them growling off. apologizing to sir rowland for this unpleasant reception, and swearing lustily at his servant for occasioning it by leaving the dogs at liberty, jonathan ordered the man to light them to the audience-room. the command was sullenly obeyed, for the fellow did not appear to relish the rating. ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. following his guide, sir rowland found himself in a large and lofty apartment, the extent of which he could not entirely discern until lights were set upon the table. he then looked around him with some curiosity; and, as the thief-taker was occupied in giving directions to his attendant in an undertone, ample leisure was allowed him for investigation. at the first glance, he imagined he must have stumbled upon a museum of rarities, there were so many glass-cases, so many open cabinets, ranged against the walls; but the next convinced him that if jonathan was a virtuoso, his tastes did not run in the ordinary channels. trenchard was tempted to examine the contents of some of these cases, but a closer inspection made him recoil from them in disgust. in the one he approached was gathered together a vast assortment of weapons, each of which, as appeared from the ticket attached to it, had been used as an instrument of destruction. on this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. as it is not, however, our intention to furnish a complete catalogue of these curiosities, we shall merely mention that in front of them lay a large and sharp knife, once the property of the public executioner, and used by him to dissever the limbs of those condemned to death for high-treason; together with an immense two-pronged flesh-fork, likewise employed by the same terrible functionary to plunge the quarters of his victims in the caldrons of boiling tar and oil. every gibbet at tyburn and hounslow appeared to have been plundered of its charnel spoil to enrich the adjoining cabinet, so well was it stored with skulls and bones, all purporting to be the relics of highwaymen famous in their day. halters, each of which had fulfilled its destiny, formed the attraction of the next compartment; while a fourth was occupied by an array of implements of housebreaking almost innumerable, and utterly indescribable. all these interesting objects were carefully arranged, classed, and, as we have said, labelled by the thief-taker. from this singular collection trenchard turned to regard its possessor, who was standing at a little distance from him, still engaged in earnest discourse with his attendant, and, as he contemplated his ruthless countenance, on which duplicity and malignity had set their strongest seals, he could not help calling to mind all he had heard of jonathan's perfidiousness to his employers, and deeply regretting that he had placed himself in the power of so unscrupulous a miscreant. jonathan wild, at this time, was on the high-road to the greatness which he subsequently, and not long afterwards, obtained. he was fast rising to an eminence that no one of his nefarious profession ever reached before him, nor, it is to be hoped, will ever reach again. he was the napoleon of knavery, and established an uncontrolled empire over all the practitioners of crime. this was no light conquest; nor was it a government easily maintained. resolution, severity, subtlety, were required for it; and these were qualities which jonathan possessed in an extraordinary degree. the danger or difficulty of an exploit never appalled him. what his head conceived his hand executed. professing to stand between the robber and the robbed, he himself plundered both. he it was who formed the grand design of a robber corporation, of which he should be the sole head and director, with the right of delivering those who concealed their booty, or refused to share it with him, to the gallows. he divided london into districts; appointed a gang to each district; and a leader to each gang, whom he held responsible to himself. the country was partitioned in a similar manner. those whom he retained about his person, or placed in offices of trust, were for the most part convicted felons, who, having returned from transportation before their term had expired, constituted, in his opinion, the safest agents, inasmuch as they could neither be legal evidences against him, nor withhold any portion of the spoil of which he chose to deprive them. but the crowning glory of jonathan, that which raised him above all his predecessors in iniquity, and clothed this name with undying notoriety--was to come. when in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown--namely, a traffic in human blood. this he carried on by procuring witnesses to swear away the lives of those persons who had incurred his displeasure, or whom it might be necessary to remove. no wonder that trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him. apparently, jonathan perceived he was an object of scrutiny; for, hastily dismissing his attendant, he walked towards the knight. "so, you're admiring my cabinet, sir rowland," he remarked, with a sinister smile; "it _is_ generally admired; and, sometimes by parties who afterwards contribute to the collection themselves,--ha! ha! this skull," he added, pointing to a fragment of mortality in the case beside them, "once belonged to tom sheppard, the father of the lad i spoke of just now. in the next box hangs the rope by which he suffered. when i've placed another skull and another halter beside them, i shall be contented." "to business, sir!" said the knight, with a look of abhorrence. "ay, to business," returned jonathan, grinning, "the sooner the better." "here is the sum you bargained for," rejoined trenchard, flinging a pocket-book on the table; "count it." jonathan's eyes glistened as he told over the notes. "you've given me more than the amount, sir rowland," he said, after he had twice counted them, "or i've missed my reckoning. there's a hundred pounds too much." "keep it," said trenchard, haughtily. "i'll place it to your account, sir rowland," answered the thief-taker, smiling significantly. "and now, shall we proceed to queenhithe?" "stay!" cried the other, taking a chair, "a word with you, mr. wild." "as many as you please, sir rowland," replied jonathan, resuming his seat. "i'm quite at your disposal." "i have a question to propose to you," said trenchard, "relating to--" and he hesitated. "relating to the father of the boy--thames darrell," supplied jonathan. "i guessed what was coming. you desire to know who he was, sir rowland. well, you _shall_ know." "without further fee?" inquired the knight. "not exactly," answered jonathan, drily. "a secret is too valuable a commodity to be thrown away. but i said i wouldn't drive a hard bargain with you, and i won't. we are alone, sir rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,--at least to your disadvantage." "i am at a loss to understand you sir,", said trenchard. "i'll make myself intelligible before i've done," rejoined wild. "i need not remind you, sir rowland, that i am aware you are deeply implicated in the jacobite plot which is now known to be hatching." "ha!" ejaculated the other. "of course, therefore," pursued jonathan, "you are acquainted with all the leaders of the proposed insurrection,--nay, must be in correspondence with them." "what right have you to suppose this, sir?" demanded trenchard, sternly. "have a moment's patience, sir rowland," returned wild; "and you shall hear. if you will furnish me with a list of these rebels, and with proofs of their treason, i will not only insure your safety, but will acquaint you with the real name and rank of your sister aliva's husband, as well as with some particulars which will never otherwise reach your ears, concerning your lost sister, constance." "my sister constance!" echoed the knight; "what of her?" "you agree to my proposal, then?" said jonathan. "do you take me for as great a villain as yourself, sir?" said the knight, rising. "i took you for one who wouldn't hesitate to avail himself of any advantage chance might throw in his way," returned the thief-taker, coldly. "i find i was in error. no matter. a time _may_ come,--and that ere long,--when you will be glad to purchase my secrets, and your own safety, at a dearer price than the heads of your companions." "are you ready?" said trenchard, striding towards the door. "i am," replied jonathan, following him, "and so," he added in an undertone, "are your captors." a moment afterwards, they quitted the house. chapter xvii. the night-cellar. after a few minutes' rapid walking, during which neither party uttered a word, jonathan wild and his companion had passed saint paul's, dived down a thoroughfare on the right, and reached thames street. at the period of this history, the main streets of the metropolis were but imperfectly lighted, while the less-frequented avenues were left in total obscurity; but, even at the present time, the maze of courts and alleys into which wild now plunged, would have perplexed any one, not familiar with their intricacies, to thread them on a dark night. jonathan, however, was well acquainted with the road. indeed, it was his boast that he could find his way through any part of london blindfolded; and by this time, it would seem, he had nearly arrived at his destination; for, grasping his companion's arm, he led him along a narrow entry which did not appear to have an outlet, and came to a halt. cautioning the knight, if he valued his neck, to tread carefully, jonathan then descended a steep flight of steps; and, having reached the bottom in safety, he pushed open a door, that swung back on its hinges as soon as it had admitted him; and, followed by trenchard, entered the night-cellar. the vault, in which sir rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. it was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man like himself to stand erect beneath it. notwithstanding the heat of the season,--which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this subterranean region,--a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever flame shone upon. the guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. they had as many designations as grades. there were game watermen and game lightermen, heavy horsemen and light horsemen, scuffle-hunters, and long-apron men, lumpers, journeymen coopers, mud-larks, badgers, and ratcatchers--a race of dangerous vermin recently, in a great measure, extirpated by the vigilance of the thames police, but at this period flourishing in vast numbers. besides these plunderers, there were others with whom the disposal of their pillage necessarily brought them into contact, and who seldom failed to attend them during their hours of relaxation and festivity;--to wit, dealers in junk, old rags, and marine stores, purchasers of prize-money, crimps, and jew receivers. the latter formed by far the most knavish-looking and unprepossessing portion of the assemblage. one or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from billingsgate. the present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, mrs. spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the king's service. this lady was singularly lucky in her matrimonial connections. she had been married four times: three of her husbands died of hempen fevers; and the fourth, having been twice condemned, was saved from the noose by jonathan wild, who not only managed to bring him off, but to obtain for him the situation of under-turnkey in newgate. on the appearance of the thief-taker, mrs. spurling was standing near the fire superintending some culinary preparation; but she no sooner perceived him, than hastily quitting her occupation, she elbowed a way for him and the knight through the crowd, and ushered them, with much ceremony, into an inner room, where they found the objects of their search, quilt arnold and rykhart van galgebrok, seated at a small table, quietly smoking. this service rendered, without waiting for any farther order, she withdrew. both the janizary and the skipper arose as the others entered the room. "this is the gentleman," observed jonathan, introducing trenchard to the hollander, "who is about to intrust his young relation to your care." "de gentleman may rely on my showing his relation all de attention in my power," replied van galgebrok, bowing profoundly to the knight; "but if any unforseen accident--such as a slip overboard--should befal de jonker on de voyage, he mushn't lay de fault entirely on my shoulders--haw! haw!" "where is he?" asked sir rowland, glancing uneasily around. "i do not see him." "de jonker. he's here," returned the skipper, pointing significantly downwards. "bring him out, quilt." so saying, he pushed aside the table, and the janizary stooping down, undrew a bolt and opened a trap-door. "come out!" roared quilt, looking into the aperture. "you're wanted." but as no answer was returned, he trust his arm up to the shoulder into the hole, and with some little difficulty and exertion of strength, drew forth thames darrell. the poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. "why didn't you come out when i called you, you young dog?" cried quilt in a savage tone. "because i knew what you wanted me for!" answered thames firmly. "oh! you did, did you?" said the janizary. "and what do you suppose we mean to do with you, eh?" "you mean to kill me," replied thames, "by my cruel uncle's command. ah! there he stands!" he exclaimed as his eye fell for the first time upon sir rowland. "where is my mother?" he added, regarding the knight with a searching glance. "your mother is dead," interposed wild, scowling. "dead!" echoed the boy. "oh no--no! you say this to terrify me--to try me. but i will not believe you. inhuman as he is, he would not kill her. tell me, sir," he added, advancing towards the knight, "tell me has this man spoken falsely?--tell me my mother is alive, and do what you please with me." "tell him so, and have done with him, sir rowland," observed jonathan coldly. "tell me the truth, i implore you," cried thames. "is she alive?" "she is not," replied trenchard, overcome by conflicting emotions, and unable to endure the boy's agonized look. "are you answered?" said jonathan, with a grin worthy of a demon. "my mother!--my poor mother!" ejaculated thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. "shall i never see that sweet face again,--never feel the pressure of those kind hands more--nor listen to that gentle voice! ah! yes, we shall meet again in heaven, where i shall speedily join you. now then," he added more calmly, "i am ready to die. the only mercy you can show me is to kill me." "then we won't even show you that mercy," retorted the thief-taker brutally. "so get up, and leave off whimpering. your time isn't come yet." "mr. wild," said trenchard, "i shall proceed no further in this business. set the boy free." "if i disobey you, sir rowland," replied the thief-taker, "you'll thank me for it hereafter. gag him," he added, pushing thames rudely toward quilt arnold, "and convey him to the boat." "a word," cried the boy, as the janizary was preparing to obey his master's orders. "what has become of jack sheppard?" "devil knows!" answered quilt; "but i believe he's in the hands of blueskin, so there's no doubt he'll soon be on the high-road to tyburn." "poor jack!" sighed thames. "you needn't gag me," he added, "i'll not cry out." "we won't trust you, my youngster," answered the janizary. and, thrusting a piece of iron into his mouth, he forced him out of the room. sir rowland witnessed these proceedings like one stupified. he neither attempted to prevent his nephew's departure, nor to follow him. jonathan kept his keen eye fixed upon him, as he addressed himself for a moment to the hollander. "is the case of watches on board?" he asked in an under tone. "ja," replied the skipper. "and the rings?" "ja." "that's well. you must dispose of the goldsmith's note i gave you yesterday, as soon as you arrive at rotterdam. it'll be advertised to-morrow." "de duivel!" exclaimed van galgebrok, "very well. it shall be done as you direct. but about dat jonker," he continued, lowering his voice; "have you anything to add consarnin' him? it's almosht a pity to put him onder de water." "is the sloop ready to sail?" asked wild, without noticing the skipper's remark. "ja," answered van; "at a minut's nodish." "here are your despatches," said jonathan with a significant look, and giving him a sealed packet. "open them when you get on board--not before, and act as they direct you." "i ondershtand," replied the skipper, putting his finger to his nose; "it shall be done." "sir rowland," said jonathan, turning to the knight, "will it please you to remain here till i return, or will you accompany us?" "i will go with you," answered trenchard, who, by this time, had regained his composure, and with it all his relentlessness of purpose. "come, then," said wild, marching towards the door, "we've no time to lose." quitting the night-cellar, the trio soon arrived at the riverside. quilt arnold was stationed at the stair-head, near which the boat containing the captive boy was moored. a few words passed between him and the thief-taker as the latter came up; after which, all the party--with the exception of quilt, who was left on shore--embarked within the wherry, which was pushed from the strand and rowed swiftly along the stream--for the tide was in its favour--by a couple of watermen. though scarcely two hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. the moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. a thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. as they approached london bridge, the thief-taker whispered van galgebrok, who acted as steersman, to make for a particular arch--near the surrey shore. the skipper obeyed, and in another moment, they swept through the narrow lock. while the watermen were contending with the eddies occasioned by the fall below the bridge, jonathan observed a perceptible shudder run through trenchard's frame. "you remember that starling, sir rowland," he said maliciously, "and what occurred on it, twelve years ago?" "too well," answered the knight, frowning. "ah! what is that?" he cried, pointing to a dark object floating near them amid the boiling waves, and which presented a frightful resemblance to a human face. "we'll see," returned the thief-taker. and, stretching out his hand, he lifted the dark object from the flood. it proved to be a human head, though with scarcely a vestige of the features remaining. here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance. "it's the skull of a _rebel_," said jonathan, with marked emphasis on the word, "blown by the wind from a spike on the bridge above us. i don't know whose brainless head it may be, but it'll do for my collection." and he tossed it carelessly into the bottom of the boat. after this occurence, not a word was exchanged between them until they came in sight of the sloop, which was lying at anchor off wapping. arrived at her side, it was soon evident, from the throng of seamen in dutch dresses that displayed themselves, that her crew were on the alert, and a rope having been thrown down to the skipper, he speedily hoisted himself on deck. preparations were next made for taking thames on board. raising him in his arms, jonathan passed the rope round his body, and in this way the poor boy was drawn up without difficulty. while he was swinging in mid air, thames regarded his uncle with a stern look, and cried in a menacing voice, "we shall meet again." "not in this world," returned jonathan. "weigh anchor, van!" he shouted to the skipper, "and consult your despatches." "ja--ja," returned the hollander. and catching hold of thames, he quitted the deck. shortly afterwards, he re-appeared with the information that the captive was safe below; and giving the necessary directions to his crew, before many minutes had elapsed, the zeeslang spread her canvass to the first breeze of morning. by the thief-taker's command, the boat was then rowed toward a muddy inlet, which has received in more recent times the name of execution dock. as soon as she reached this spot, wild sprang ashore, and was joined by several persons,--among whom was quilt arnold, leading a horse by the bridle,--he hastened down the stairs to meet him. a coach was also in attendance, at a little distance. sir rowland, who had continued absorbed in thought, with his eyes fixed upon the sloop, as she made her way slowly down the river, disembarked more leisurely. "at length i am my own master," murmured the knight, as his foot touched the strand. "not so, sir rowland," returned jonathan; "you are my prisoner." "how!" ejaculated trenchard, starting back and drawing his sword. "you are arrested for high treason," rejoined wild, presenting a pistol at his head, while he drew forth a parchment,--"here is my warrant." "traitor!" cried sir rowland--"damned--double-dyed traitor!" "away with him," vociferated jonathan to his myrmidons, who, having surrounded trenchard, hurried him off to the coach before he could utter another word,--"first to mr. walpole, and then to newgate. and now, quilt," he continued, addressing the janizary, who approached him with the horse, "fly to st. giles's round-house, and if, through the agency of that treacherous scoundrel, terry o'flaherty, whom i've put in my black list, old wood should have found his way there, and have been detained by sharpies as i directed, you may release him. i don't care how soon he learns that he has lost his adopted son. when i've escorted you proud fool to his new quarters, i'll proceed to the mint and look after jack sheppard." with this, he mounted his steed and rode off. chapter xviii. how jack sheppard broke out of the cage at willesden. the heart-piercing scream uttered by mrs. sheppard after the commission of the robbery in willesden church was productive of unfortunate consequences to her son. luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him. startled by the cry, as may be supposed, the attention of the whole congregation was drawn towards the quarter whence it proceeded. amongst others, a person near the door, roused by the shriek, observed a man make his exit with the utmost precipitation. a boy attempted to follow; but as the suspicions of the lookers-on were roused by the previous circumstances, the younger fugitive was seized and detained. meanwhile, mr. kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,--about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,--and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. turning quickly round, in the hope of discovering the thief, he was no less surprised than distressed--for in spite of his faults, the woollen-draper was a good-natured fellow--to perceive jack sheppard in custody. the truth at once flashed across his mind. this, then, was the cause of the widow's wild inexplicable look,--of her sudden shriek! explaining his suspicious in a whisper to jack's captor, who proved to be a church-warden and a constable, by name john dump,--mr. kneebone begged him to take the prisoner into the churchyard. dump instantly complied, and as soon as jack was removed from the sacred edifice, his person was searched from head to foot--but without success. jack submitted to this scrutiny with a very bad grace, and vehemently protested his innocence. in vain did the woollen-draper offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it. he answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter--had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up. nor did he content himself with declaring his guiltlessness of the crime imputed to him, but began in his turn to menace his captor and accuser, loading the latter with the bitterest upbraidings. by this time, the churchyard was crowded with spectators, some of whom dispersed in different directions in quest of the other robber. but all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of london. of this man kneebone resolved to go in pursuit; and leaving jack in charge of the constable, he proceeded to the small inn,--which bore then, as it bears now, the name of the six bells,--where, summoning the hostler, his steed was instantly brought him, and, springing on its back, he rode away at full speed. meanwhile, after a consultation between mr. dump and the village authorities, it was agreed to lock up the prisoner in the cage. as he was conveyed thither, an incident occurred that produced a considerable impression on the feelings of the youthful offender. just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard--where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves--a momentary stoppage took place. at this gate two paths meet. down that on the right the young culprit was dragged--along that on the left a fainting woman was borne in the arms of several females. it was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, jack's heart severely smote him. he urged his conductors to a quicker pace to get out of sight of the distressing spectacle, and even felt relieved when he was shut out from it and the execrations of the mob by the walls of the little prison. the cage at willesden was, and is--for it is still standing--a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. over these boards the two arms of a guide-post serve to direct the way-farer--on the right hand to the neighbouring villages of neasdon and kingsbury, and on the left to the edgeware road and the healthy heights of hampstead. the cage has a strong door, with an iron grating at the top, and further secured by a stout bolt and padlock. it is picturesquely situated beneath a tree on the high road, not far from the little hostel before mentioned, and at no great distance from the church. for some time after he was locked up in this prison jack continued in a very dejected state. deserted by his older companion in iniquity, and instigator to crime, he did not know what might become of him; nor, as we have observed, was the sad spectacle he had just witnessed, without effect. though within the last two days he had committed several heinous offences, and one of a darker dye than any with which the reader has been made acquainted, his breast was not yet so callous as to be wholly insensible to the stings of conscience. wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. when he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him. feeling rather exhausted, it occurred to him that possibly some provisions might have been left by the constable; and, looking about, he perceived a pitcher of water and a small brown loaf on the floor. he ate of the bread with great appetite, and having drunk as much as he chose of the water, poured the rest on the floor. his hunger satisfied, his spirits began to revive, and with this change of mood all his natural audacity returned. and here he was first visited by that genius which, in his subsequent career, prompted him to so many bold and successful attempts. glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it. the door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,--the walls too thick: but the ceiling,--if he could reach it--there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. while he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. here was an instrument which might be of the greatest service to him in accomplishing his design. he put it carefully aside, resolved to defer the attempt till night. time wore on somewhat slowly with the prisoner, who had to control his impatience in the best way he could; but as the shades of evening were darkening, the door was unlocked, and mr. dump popped his head into the cage. he brought another small loaf, and a can with which he replenished the pitcher, recommending jack to be careful, as he would get nothing further till morning. to this jack replied, that he should be perfectly contented, provided he might have a small allowance of gin. the latter request, though treated with supreme contempt by mr. dump, made an impression on some one outside; for not long after the constable departed, jack heard a tap at the door, and getting up at the summons, he perceived the tube of a pipe inserted between the bars. at once divining the meaning of this ingenious device, he applied his mouth to the tube, and sucked away, while the person outside poured spirit into the bowl. having drunk as much as he thought prudent, and thanked his unknown friend for his attention, jack again lay down on the straw, and indulged himself with another nap, intending to get up as soon as it was perfectly dark. the strong potation he had taken, combined with fatigue and anxiety he had previously undergone, made him oversleep himself, and when he awoke it was just beginning to grow light. cursing himself for his inertness, jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in earnest. availing himself of certain inequalities in the door, he soon managed to climb up to the roof; and securing his feet against a slight projection in the wall, began to use the fork with great effect. before many minutes elapsed, he had picked a large hole in the plaster, which showered down in a cloud of dust; and breaking off several laths, caught hold of a beam, by which he held with one hand, until with the other he succeeded, not without some difficulty, in forcing out one of the tiles. the rest was easy. in a few minutes more he had made a breach in the roof wide enough to allow him to pass through. emerging from this aperture, he was about to descend, when he was alarmed by hearing the tramp of horses' feet swiftly approaching, and had only time to hide himself behind one of the largest sign-boards before alluded to when two horsemen rode up. instead of passing on, as jack expected, these persons stopped opposite the cage, when one of them, as he judged from the sound, for he did not dare to look out of his hiding place, dismounted. a noise was next heard, as if some instrument were applied to the door with the intent to force it open, and jack's fears were at once dispelled, at first, he had imagined they were officers of justice, come to convey him to a stronger prison: but the voice of one of the parties, which he recognised, convinced him they were his friends. "look quick, blueskin, and be cursed to you!" was growled in the deep tones of jonathan wild. "we shall have the whole village upon us while you're striking the jigger. use the gilt, man!" "there's no need of picklock or crow-bar, here, mr. wild," cried jack, placing his hat on the right arm of the guide-post, and leaning over the board, "i've done the trick myself." "why, what the devil's this?" vociferated jonathan, looking up. "have you broken out of the cage, jack?" "something like it," replied the lad carelessly. "bravo!" cried the thief-taker approvingly. "well, that beats all i ever heard of!" roared blueskin. "but are you really there?" "no, i'm here," answered jack, leaping down. "i tell you what, mr. wild," he added, laughing, "it must be a stronger prison than willesden cage that can hold me." "ay, ay," observed jonathan, "you'll give the keepers of his majesty's jails some trouble before you're many years older, i'll warrant you. but get up behind, blueskin. some one may observe us." "come, jump up," cried blueskin, mounting his steed, "and i'll soon wisk you to town. edgeworth bess and poll maggot are dying to see you. i thought bess would have cried her pretty eyes out when she heard you was nabbed. you need give yourself no more concern about kneebone. mr. wild has done his business." "ay--ay," laughed jonathan. "the pocket-book you prigged contained the letters i wanted. he's now in spring-ankle warehouse with sir rowland trenchard. so get up, and let's be off." "before i leave this place, i must see my mother." "nonsense," returned jonathan gruffly. "would you expose yourself to fresh risk? if it hadn't been for her you wouldn't have been placed in your late jeopardy." "i don't care for that," replied jack. "see her i _will_. leave me behind: i'm not afraid. i'll be at the cross shovels in the course of the day." "nay, if you're bent upon this folly," observed wild, who appeared to have his own reasons for humouring the lad, "i shan't hinder you. blueskin will take care of the horses, and i'll go with you." so saying, he dismounted; and flinging his bridle to his companion, and ordering him to ride off to a little distance, he followed jack, who had quitted the main road, and struck into a narrow path opposite the cage. this path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile. "there's the house," said jack, pointing to a pretty cottage, the small wooden porch of which was covered with roses and creepers, with a little trim garden in front of it. "i'll be back in a minute." "don't hurry yourself," said jonathan, "i'll wait for you here." chapter xix. good and evil. as jack opened the gate, and crossed the little garden, which exhibited in every part the neatness and attention of its owner, he almost trembled at the idea of further disturbing her peace of mind. pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. the rooks were cawing amid the boughs, and all nature appeared awaking to happiness. from this peaceful scene jack's eye fell upon jonathan, who, seated upon the stile, under the shade of an elder tree, was evidently watching him. a sarcastic smile seemed to play upon the chief-taker's lips; and abashed at his own irresolution, the lad went on. after knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the latch, and to his surprise found it open. he stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. a cat came and rubbed herself against him as he entered the house, and seemed by her mewing to ask him for food. that was the only sound he heard. jack was almost afraid of speaking; but at length he summoned courage to call out "mother!" "who's there?" asked a faint voice from the bed. "your son," answered the boy. "jack," exclaimed the widow, starting up and drawing back the curtain. "is it indeed you, or am i dreaming?" "you're not dreaming, mother," he answered. "i'm come to say good bye to you, and to assure you of my safety before i leave this place." "where are you going?" asked his mother. "i hardly know," returned jack; "but it's not safe for me to remain much longer here." "true," replied the widow, upon whom all the terrible recollections of the day before crowded, "i know it isn't. i won't keep you long. but tell me how have you escaped from the confinement in which you were placed--come and sit by me--here--upon the bed--give me your hand--and tell me all about it." her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. "jack," said mrs. sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "i have been ill--dreadfully ill--i believe delirious--i thought i should have died last night--i won't tell you what agony you have caused me--i won't reproach you. only promise me to amend--to quit your vile companions--and i will forgive you--will bless you. oh! my dear, dear son, be warned in time. you are in the hands of a wicked, a terrible man, who will not stop till he has completed your destruction. listen to your mother's prayers, and do not let her die broken-hearted." "it is too late," returned jack, sullenly; "i can't be honest if i would." "oh! do not say so," replied his wretched parent. "it is never too late. i know you are in jonathan wild's power, for i saw him near you in the church; and if ever the enemy of mankind was permitted to take human form, i beheld him then. beware of him, my son! beware of him! you know not what villany he is capable of. be honest, and you will be happy. you are yet a child; and though you have strayed from the right path, a stronger hand than your own has led you thence. return, i implore of you, to your master,--to mr. wood. acknowledge your faults. he is all kindness, and will overlook them for your poor father's sake--for mine. return to him, i say--" "i can't," replied jack, doggedly. "can't!" repeated his mother. "why not?" "_i'll_ tell you," cried a deep voice from the back of the bed. and immediately afterwards the curtain was drawn aside, and disclosed the satanic countenance of jonathan wild, who had crept into the house unperceived, "i'll tell you, why he can't go back to his master," cried the thief-taker, with a malignant grin. "he has robbed him." "robbed him!" screamed the widow. "jack!" her son averted his gaze. "ay, robbed him," reiterated jonathan. "the night before last, mr. wood's house was broken into and plundered. your son was seen by the carpenter's wife in company with the robbers. here," he added, throwing a handbill on the bed, "are the particulars of the burglary, with the reward for jack's apprehension." "ah!" ejaculated the widow, hiding her face. "come," said wild, turning authoritatively to jack,--"you have overstayed your time." "do not go with him, jack!" shrieked his mother. "do not--do not!" "he _must!_" thundered jonathan, "or he goes to jail." "if you must go to prison, i will go with you," cried mrs. sheppard: "but avoid that man as you would a serpent." "come along," thundered jonathan. "hear me, jack!" shrieked his mother. "you know not what you do. the wretch you confide in has sworn to hang you. as i hope for mercy, i speak the truth!--let him deny it if he can." "pshaw!" said wild. "i could hang him now if i liked. but he may remain with you if he pleases: _i_ sha'n't hinder him." "you hear, my son," said the widow eagerly. "choose between good and evil;--between him and me. and mind, your life,--more than your life--hangs upon your choice." "it does so," said wild. "choose, jack." the lad made no answer, but left the room. "he is gone!" cried mrs. sheppard despairingly. "for ever!" said the thief-taker, preparing to follow. "devil!" cried the widow, catching his arm, and gazing with frantic eagerness in his face, "how many years will you give my son before you execute your terrible threat?" "nine!" answered jonathan sternly. end of the second epoch. epoch the third. the prison-breaker. chapter i. the return. nearly nine years after the events last recorded, and about the middle of may, , a young man of remarkably prepossessing appearance took his way, one afternoon, along wych street; and, from the curiosity with which he regarded the houses on the left of the road, seemed to be in search of some particular habitation. the age of this individual could not be more than twenty-one; his figure was tall, robust, and gracefully proportioned; and his clear gray eye and open countenance bespoke a frank, generous, and resolute nature. his features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,--a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in charles the second's days--a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. he wore a french military undress of the period, with high jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction. such was the effect produced upon the passengers by his good looks and manly deportment, that few--especially of the gentler and more susceptible sex--failed to turn round and bestow a second glance upon the handsome stranger. unconscious of the interest he excited, and entirely occupied by his own thoughts--which, if his bosom could have been examined, would have been found composed of mingled hopes and fears--the young man walked on till he came to an old house, with great projecting bay windows on the first floor, and situated as nearly as possible at the back of st. clement's church. here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of william kneebone, woollen-draper. tears started to the young man's eyes on beholding the change, and it was with difficulty he could command himself sufficiently to make the inquiries he desired to do respecting the former owner of the house. as he entered the shop, a tall portly personage advanced to meet him, whom he at once recognised as the present proprietor. mr. kneebone was attired in the extremity of the mode. a full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. a stiff, formally-cut coat of cinnamon-coloured cloth, with rows of plate buttons, each of the size of a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and skirts, reached the middle of his legs; and his costume was completed by the silver-hilted sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left arm. bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. "i'm almost afraid to state it," faltered the other; "but, may i ask whether mr. wood, the carpenter, who formerly resided here, is still living?" "if you feel any anxiety on his account, sir, i'm happy to be able to relieve it," answered kneebone, readily. "my good friend, owen wood,--heaven preserve him!--_is_ still living. and, for a man who'll never see sixty again, he's in excellent preservation, i assure you." "you delight me with the intelligence," said the stranger, entirely recovering his cheerfulness of look. "i began to fear, from his having quitted the old place, that some misfortune must have befallen him." "quite the contrary," rejoined the woollen-draper, laughing good-humouredly. "everything has prospered with him in an extraordinary manner. his business has thriven; legacies have unexpectedly dropped into his lap; and, to crown all, he has made a large fortune by a lucky speculation in south-sea stock,--made it, too, where so many others have lost fortunes, your humble servant amongst the number--ha! ha! in a word, sir, mr. wood is now in very affluent circumstances. he stuck to the shop as long as it was necessary, and longer, in my opinion. when he left these premises, three years ago, i took them from him; or rather--to deal frankly with you,--he placed me in them rent-free, for, i'm not ashamed to confess it, i've had losses, and heavy ones; and, if it hadn't been for him, i don't know where i should have been. mr. wood, sir," he added, with much emotion, "is one of the best of men, and would be the happiest, were it not that--" and he hesitated. "well, sir?" cried the other, eagerly. "his wife is still living," returned kneebone, drily. "i understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a smile. "but, it strikes me, i've heard that mrs. wood was once a favourite of yours." "so she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,--"so she was. but those days are over--quite over. since her husband has laid me under such a weight of obligation, i couldn't, in honour, continue--hem!" and he took another explanatory pinch. "added to which, she is neither so young as she was, nor, is her temper by any means improved--hem!" "say no more on the subject, sir," observed the stranger, gravely; "but let us turn to a more agreeable one--her daughter." "that is a far more agreeable one, i must confess," returned kneebone, with a self-sufficient smirk. the stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence. "is she married?" he asked, after a brief pause. "married!--no--no," replied the woollen-draper. "winifred wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. when a mere child she fixed her affections upon a youth named thames darrell, whom her father brought up, and who perished, it is supposed, about nine years ago; and she has determined to remain faithful to his memory." "you astonish me," said the stranger, in a voice full of emotion. "why it _is_ astonishing, certainly," remarked kneebone, "to find any woman constant--especially to a girlish attachment; but such is the case. she has had offers innumerable; for where wealth and beauty are combined, as in her instance, suitors are seldom wanting. but she was not to be tempted." "she is a matchless creature!" exclaimed the young man. "so i think," replied kneebone, again applying to the snuff-box, and by that means escaping the angry glance levelled at him by his companion. "i have one inquiry more to make of you, sir," said the stranger, as soon as he had conquered his displeasure, "and i will then trouble you no further. you spoke just now of a youth whom mr. wood brought up. as far as i recollect, there were two. what has become of the other?" "why, surely you don't mean jack sheppard?" cried the woollen-draper in surprise. "that was the lad's name," returned the stranger. "i guessed from your dress and manner, sir, that you must have been long absent from your own country," said kneebone; "and now i'm convinced of it, or you wouldn't have asked that question. jack sheppard is the talk and terror of the whole town. the ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all. he's the most daring and expert housebreaker that ever used a crow-bar. he laughs at locks and bolts; and the more carefully you guard your premises from him, the more likely are you to insure an attack. his exploits and escapes are in every body's mouth. he has been lodged in every round-house in the metropolis, and has broken out of them all, and boasts that no prison can hold him. we shall see. his skill has not been tried. at present, he is under the protection of jonathan wild." "does that villain still maintain his power?" asked the stranger sternly. "he does," replied kneebone, "and, what is more surprising, it seems to increase. jonathan completely baffles and derides the ends of justice. it is useless to contend with him, even with right on your side. some years ago, in , just before the rebellion, i was rash enough to league myself with the jacobite party, and by wild's machinations got clapped into newgate, whence i was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. i charged the thief-taker, as was the fact, with having robbed me, by means of the lad sheppard, whom he instigated to deed, of the very pocket-book he produced in evidence against me; but it was of no avail--i couldn't obtain a hearing. mr. wood fared still worse. bribed by a certain sir rowland trenchard, jonathan kidnapped the carpenter's adopted son, thames darrell, and placed him in the hands of a dutch skipper, with orders to throw him overboard when he got out to sea; and though this was proved as clear as day, the rascal managed matters so adroitly, and gave such a different complexion to the whole affair, that he came off with flying colours. one reason, perhaps, of his success in this case might be, that having arrested his associate in the dark transaction, sir rowland trenchard, on a charge of high treason, he was favoured by walpole, who found his account in retaining such an agent. be this as it may, jonathan remained the victor; and shortly afterwards,--at the price of a third of his estate, it was whispered,--he procured trenchard's liberation from confinement." at the mention of the latter occurrence, a dark cloud gathered upon the stranger's brow. "do you know anything further of sir rowland?" he asked. "nothing more than this," answered kneebone,--"that after the failure of his projects, and the downfall of his party, he retired to his seat, ashton hall, near manchester, and has remained there ever since, entirely secluded from the world." the stranger was for a moment lost in reflection. "and now, sir," he said, preparing to take his departure, "will you add to the obligation already conferred by informing me where i can meet with mr. wood?" "with pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. "he lives at dollis hill, a beautiful spot near willesden, about four or five miles from town, where he has taken a farm. if you ride out there, and the place is well worth a visit, for the magnificent view it commands of some of the finest country in the neighbourhood of london,--you are certain to meet with him. i saw him yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for a week to come. he called here on his way back, after he had been to bedlam to visit poor mrs. sheppard." "jack's mother?" exclaimed the young man. "gracious heaven!--is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "she is, sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. alas! that the punishment of his offences should fall on her head. poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. she rambles continually about jack, and her husband, and that wretch jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. i pity her from the bottom of my heart. but, in the midst of all her affliction, she has found a steady friend in mr. wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. indeed, i've heard him say that, but for his wife, he would shelter her under his own roof. that, sir, is what i call being a good samaritan." the stranger said nothing, but hastily brushed away a tear. perceiving he was about to take leave, kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. before the question could be answered, a side-door was opened, and a very handsome woman of amazonian proportions presented herself, and marched familiarly up to mr. kneebone. she was extremely showily dressed, and her large hooped petticoat gave additional effect to her lofty stature. as soon as she noticed the stranger, she honoured him with an extremely impudent stare, and scarcely endeavoured to disguise the admiration with which his good looks impressed her. "don't you perceive, my dear mrs. maggot, that i'm engaged," said kneebone, a little disconcerted. "who've you got with you?" demanded the amazon, boldly. "the gentleman is a stranger to me, poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. "i don't know his name." and he looked at the moment as if he had lost all desire to know it. "well, he's a pretty fellow at all events," observed mrs. maggot, eyeing him from head to heel with evident satisfaction;--"a devilish pretty fellow!" "upon my word, poll," said kneebone, becoming very red, "you might have a little more delicacy than to tell him so before my face." "what!" exclaimed mrs. maggot, drawing up her fine figure to its full height; "because i condescend to live with you, am i never to look at another man,--especially at one so much to my taste as this? don't think it!" "you had better retire, madam," said the woollen-draper, sharply, "if you can't conduct yourself with more propriety." "order those who choose to obey you," rejoined the lady scornfully. "though you lorded it over that fond fool, mrs. wood, you shan't lord it over me, i can promise you. that for you!" and she snapped her fingers in his face. "zounds!" cried kneebone, furiously. "go to your own room, woman, directly, or i'll make you!" "make me!" echoed mrs. maggot, bursting into a loud contemptuous laugh. "try!" enraged at the assurance of his mistress, the woollen-draper endeavoured to carry his threat into execution, but all his efforts to remove her were unavailing. at length, after he had given up the point from sheer exhaustion, the amazon seized him by the throat, and pushed him backwards with such force that he rolled over the counter. "there!" she cried, laughing, "that'll teach you to lay hands upon me again. you should remember, before you try your strength against mine, that when i rescued you from the watch, and you induced me to come and live with you, i beat off four men, any of whom was a match for you--ha! ha!" "my dear poll!" said kneebone, picking himself up, "i entreat you to moderate yourself." "entreat a fiddlestick!" retorted mrs. maggot: "i'm tired of you, and will go back to my old lover, jack sheppard. he's worth a dozen of you. or, if this good-looking young fellow will only say the word, i'll go with him." "you may go, and welcome, madam!" rejoined kneebone, spitefully. "but, i should think, after the specimen you've just given of your amiable disposition, no person would be likely to saddle himself with such an incumbrance." "what say you, sir?" said the amazon, with an engaging leer at the stranger. "_you_ will find me tractable enough; and, with _me_ by, your side you need fear neither constable nor watchman. i've delivered jack sheppard from many an assault. i can wield a quarterstaff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten figg himself at the broadsword. will you take me?" however tempting mrs. maggot's offer may appear, the young man thought fit to decline it, and, after a few words of well-merited compliment on her extraordinary prowess, and renewed thanks to mr. kneebone, he took his departure. "good bye!" cried mrs. maggot, kissing her hand to him. "i'll find you out. and now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the woollen-draper, "i'll go to jack sheppard." "you shall first go to bridewell, you jade!" rejoined kneebone. "here, tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, "run and fetch a constable." "he had better bring half-a-dozen," said the amazon, taking up a cloth-yard wand, and quietly seating herself; "one won't do." on leaving mr. kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of covent garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. urging his steed along oxford road,--as that great approach to the metropolis was then termed,--he soon passed marylebone lane, beyond which, with the exception of a few scattered houses, the country was completely open on the right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens; nor did he draw in the rein until he arrived at tyburn-gate, where, before he turned off upon the edgeware road, he halted for a moment, to glance at the place of execution. this "fatal retreat for the unfortunate brave" was marked by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree. opposite the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators. without the inclosure were reared several lofty gibbets, with their ghastly burthens. altogether, it was a hideous and revolting sight. influenced, probably, by what he had heard from mr. kneebone, respecting the lawless career of jack sheppard, and struck with the probable fate that awaited him, the young man, as he contemplated this scene, fell into a gloomy reverie. while he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past him; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise. one of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. he was well mounted, as was his companion; and had pistols in his holsters, and a hanger at his girdle. the other individual, who was a little in advance, was concealed from the stranger's view. presently, however, a sudden movement occurred, and disclosed his features, which were those of a young man of nearly his own age. the dress of this person was excessively showy, and consisted of a scarlet riding-habit, lined and faced with blue, and bedizened with broad gold lace, a green silk-knit waistcoat, embroidered with silver, and decorated with a deep fringe, together with a hat tricked out in the same gaudy style. his figure was slight, but well-built; and, in stature he did not exceed five feet four. his complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. his head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. a mutual recognition took place at the same instant between the stranger and this individual. both started. the latter seemed inclined to advance and address the former; but suddenly changing his mind, he shouted to his companion in tones familiar to the stranger's ear; and, striking spurs into his steed, dashed off at full speed along the edgeware road. impelled by a feeling, into which we shall not pause to inquire, the stranger started after them; but they were better mounted, and soon distanced him. remarking that they struck off at a turning on the left, he took the same road, and soon found himself on paddington-green. a row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. from a man, who was standing beneath the shade of one these noble trees, information was obtained that the horsemen had ridden along the harrow road. with a faint view of overtaking them the pursuer urged his steed to a quicker pace. arrived at westbourne-green--then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse--he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from kensall-green. by the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered--as he conceived--so far out of his course. before retracing his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range over the vast and beautiful prospect spread out beneath him, which is now hidden, from the traveller's view by the high walls of the general cemetery, and can, consequently, only be commanded from the interior of that attractive place of burial,--and which, before it was intersected by canals and railroads, and portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed. after feasting his eye upon this superb panorama, he was about to return, when he ascertained from a farmer that his nearest road to willesden would be down a lane a little further on, to the right. following this direction, he opened a gate, and struck into one of the most beautiful green lanes imaginable; which, after various windings, conducted him into a more frequented road, and eventually brought him to the place he sought. glancing at the finger-post over the cage, which has been described as situated at the outskirts of the village, and seeing no directions to dollis hill, he made fresh inquiries as to where it lay, from an elderly man, who was standing with another countryman near the little prison. "whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. "mr. wood's," was the reply. "there is dollis hill," said the man, pointing to a well-wooded eminence about a mile distant, "and there," he added, indicating the roof of a house just visible above a grove of trees "is mr. wood's. if you ride past the church, and mount the hill, you'll come to neasdon and then you'll not have above half a mile to go." the young man thanked his informant, and was about to follow his instructions, when the other called after him---- "i say, master, did you ever hear tell of mr. wood's famous 'prentice?" "what apprentice?" asked the stranger, in surprise. "why, jack sheppard, the notorious house-breaker,--him as has robbed half lunnun, to be sure. you must know, sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in wych street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,--that he did, the heathen. the gentleman catched him i' th' fact, and we shut him up for safety i' that pris'n. but," said the fellow, with a laugh, "he soon contrived to make his way out on it, though. ever since he's become so famous, the folks about here ha' christened it jack sheppard's cage. his mother used to live i' this village, just down yonder; but when her son took to bad ways, she went distracted,--and now she's i' bedlam, i've heerd." "i tell e'e what, john dump," said the other fellow, who had hitherto preserved silence, "i don't know whether you talkin' o' jack sheppard has put him into my head or not; but i once had him pointed out to me, and if that _were_ him as i seed then, he's just now ridden past us, and put up at the six bells." "the deuce he has!" cried dump. "if you were sure o' that we might seize him, and get the reward for his apprehension." "that 'ud be no such easy matter," replied the countryman. "jack's a desperate fellow, and is always well armed; besides, he has a comrade with him. but i'll tell e'e what we _might_ do----" the young man heard no more. taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. as he passed the six bells, he noticed the steeds of the two horsemen at the door; and glancing into the house, perceived the younger of the two in the passage. the latter no sooner beheld him than he dashed hastily into an adjoining room. after debating with himself whether he should further seek an interview, which, though, now in his power, was so sedulously shunned by the other party, he decided in the negative; and contenting himself with writing upon a slip of paper the hasty words,--"you are known by the villagers,--be upon your guard,"--he gave it to the ostler, with instructions to deliver it instantly to the owner of the horse he pointed out, and pursued his course. passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of neasdon. from this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of dollis hill. it was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. bordered by fine timber, the road occasionally offered glimpses of a lovely valley, until a wider opening gave a full view of a delightful and varied prospect. on the left lay the heights of hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metropolis. the stranger concluded he could not be far from his destination, and a turn in the road showed him the house. beneath two tall elms, whose boughs completely overshadowed the roof, stood mr. wood's dwelling,--a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. on a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. the progress of time was marked in mr. wood by increased corpulence and decreased powers of vision,--by deeper wrinkles and higher shoulders, by scantier breath and a fuller habit. still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. around him were all the evidences of plenty. a world of haystacks, bean-stacks, and straw-ricks flanked the granges adjoining his habitation; the yard was crowded with poultry, pigeons were feeding at his feet, cattle were being driven towards the stall, horses led to the stable, a large mastiff was rattling his chain, and stalking majestically in front of his kennel, while a number of farming-men were passing and repassing about their various occupations. at the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruit-trees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. hearing the approach of the rider, mr. wood turned to look at him. it was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. "i need not ask whether this is mr. wood's," said the latter, "since i find him at his own gate." "you are right, sir," said the worthy carpenter, rising. "i am owen wood, at your service." "you do not remember me, i dare say," observed the stranger. "i can't say i do," replied wood. "your voice seems familiar to me--and--but i'm getting a little deaf--and my eyes don't serve me quite so well as they used to do, especially by this light." "never mind," returned the stranger, dismounting; "you'll recollect me by and by, i've no doubt. i bring you tidings of an old friend." "then you're heartily welcome, sir, whoever you are. pray, walk in. here, jem, take the gentleman's horse to the stable--see him dressed and fed directly. now, sir, will you please to follow me?" mr. wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. there was no light in the room; but, notwithstanding this, the young man did not fail to detect the buxom figure of mrs. wood, now more buxom and more gorgeously arrayed than ever,--as well as a young and beautiful female, in whom he was at no loss to recognise the carpenter's daughter. winifred wood was now in her twentieth year. her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,--but that was the only drawback to her beauty. their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. her figure was perfect,--tall, graceful, rounded,--and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. on the stranger's appearance, she was seated near the window busily occupied with her needle. "my wife and daughter, sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest. mrs. wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. winifred's reception was kind, but more distant, and after the slight ceremonial she resumed her occupation. "this gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear," said the carpenter. "ay, indeed! and who may that be?" inquired his wife. "one whom you may perhaps have forgotten," replied the stranger, "but who can never forget the kindness he experienced at your hands, or at those of your excellent husband." at the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. "i have a token to deliver to you," continued the stranger, addressing her. "to me?" gasped winifred. "this locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,--"do you remember it?" "i do--i do!" cried winifred. "what's all this?" exclaimed wood in amazement. "do you not know me, father?" said the young man, advancing towards him, and warmly grasping his hand. "have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "god bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can--can it be?" "surely," screamed mrs. wood, joining the group, "it isn't thames darrell come to life again?" "it is--it is!" cried winifred, rushing towards him, and flinging her arms round his neck,--"it is my dear--dear brother!" "well, this is what i never expected to see," said the carpenter, wiping his eyes; "i hope i'm not dreaming! thames, my dear boy, as soon as winny has done with you, let me embrace you." "my turn comes before yours, sir," interposed his better half. "come to my arms, thames! oh! dear! oh! dear!" to repeat the questions and congratulations which now ensued, or describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who, after he had hugged his adopted son to his breast with such warmth as almost to squeeze the breath from his body, capered around the room, threw his wig into the empty fire-grate, and committed various other fantastic actions, in order to get rid of his superfluous satisfaction--to describe the scarcely less extravagant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued, but not less heartfelt delight of winifred, would be a needless task, as it must occur to every one's imagination. supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink--their hearts were too full. thames sat with winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. carried out to sea by van galgebrok, and thrown overboard, while struggling with the waves, he had been picked up by a french fishing-boat, and carried to ostend. after encountering various hardships and privations for a long time, during which he had no means of communicating with england, he, at length, found his way to paris, where he was taken notice of by cardinal dubois, who employed him as one of his secretaries, and subsequently advanced to the service of philip of orleans, from whom he received a commission. on the death of his royal patron, he resolved to return to his own country; and, after various delays, which had postponed it to the present time, he had succeeded in accomplishing his object. winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. the discourse, then, turned to darrell's old playmate, jack sheppard; and mr. wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. "for my part, it's only what i expected of him," observed mrs. wood, "and i'm sorry and surprised he hasn't swung for his crimes before this. the gallows has groaned for him for years. as to his mother, i've no pity for her. she deserves what has befallen her." "dear mother, don't say so," returned winifred. "one of the consequences of criminal conduct, is the shame and disgrace which--worse than any punishment the evil-doer can suffer--is brought by it upon the innocent relatives; and, if jack had considered this, perhaps he would not have acted as he has done, and have entailed so much misery on his unhappy parent." "i always detested mrs. sheppard," cried the carpenter's wife bitterly; "and, i repeat, bedlam's too good for her." "my dear," observed wood, "you should be more charitable--" "charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. marry, come up! i've been a great deal too charitable. here's winny always urging you to go and visit mrs. sheppard in the asylum, and take her this, and send her that;--and i've never prevented you, though such mistaken liberality's enough to provoke a saint. and, then, forsooth, she must needs prevent your hanging jack sheppard after the robbery in wych street, when you might have done so. perhaps you'll call that charity: _i_ call it defeating the ends of justice. see what a horrible rascal you've let loose upon the world!" "i'm sure, mother," rejoined winifred, "if any one was likely to feel resentment, i was; for no one could be more frightened. but i was sorry for poor jack--as i am still, and hoped he would mend." "mend!" echoed mrs. wood, contemptuously, "he'll never mend till he comes to tyburn." "at least, i will hope so," returned winifred. "but, as i was saying, i was most dreadfully frightened on the night of the robbery! though so young at the time, i remember every circumstance distinctly. i was sitting up, lamenting your departure, dear thames, when, hearing an odd noise, i went to the landing, and, by the light of a dark lantern, saw jack sheppard, stealing up stairs, followed by two men with crape on their faces. i'm ashamed to say that i was too much terrified to scream out--but ran and hid myself." "hold your tongue!" cried mrs. wood. "i declare you throw me into an ague. do you think _i_ forget it? didn't they help themselves to all the plate and the money--to several of my best dresses, and amongst others, to my favourite kincob gown; and i've never been able to get another like it! marry, come up! i'd hang 'em all, if i could. were such a thing to happen again, i'd never let mr. wood rest till he brought the villains to justice." "i hope such a thing never _will_ happen again, my dear," observed wood, mildly, "but, when it does, it will be time to consider what course we ought to pursue." "let them attempt it, if they dare!" cried mrs. wood, who had worked herself into a passion; "and, i'll warrant 'em, the boldest robber among 'em shall repent it, if he comes across me." "no doubt, my dear," acquiesced the carpenter, "no doubt." thames, who had been more than once on the point of mentioning his accidental rencounter with jack sheppard, not being altogether without apprehension, from the fact of his being in the neighbourhood,--now judged it more prudent to say nothing on the subject, from a fear of increasing mrs. wood's displeasure; and he was the more readily induced to do this, as the conversation began to turn upon his own affairs. mr. wood could give him no further information respecting sir rowland trenchard than what he had obtained from kneebone; but begged him to defer the further consideration of the line of conduct he meant to pursue until the morrow, when he hoped to have a plan to lay before him, of which he would approve. the night was now advancing, and the party began to think of separating. as mrs. wood, who had recovered her good humour, quitted the room she bestowed a hearty embrace on thames, and she told him laughingly, that she would "defer all _she_ had to propose to him until to-morrow." to-morrow! she never beheld it. after an affectionate parting with winifred, thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment--a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. it was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. when about to retire to rest, the rencounter with jack sheppard again recurred to him, and he half blamed himself for not acquainting mr. wood with the circumstances, and putting him upon his guard against the possibility of an attack. on weighing the matter over, he grew so uneasy that he resolved to descend, and inform him of his misgivings. but, when he got to the door with this intention, he became ashamed of his fears; and feeling convinced that jack--bad as he might be--was not capable of such atrocious conduct as to plunder his benefactor twice, he contented himself with looking to the priming of his pistols, and placing them near him, to be ready in case of need, he threw himself on the bed and speedily fell asleep. chapter ii. the burglary at dollis hill. thames darrell's fears were not, however, groundless. danger, in the form he apprehended, was lurking outside: nor was he destined to enjoy long repose. on receiving the warning note from the ostler, jack sheppard and his companion left willesden, and taking--as a blind--the direction of harrow, returned at night-fall by a by-lane to neasdon, and put up at a little public-house called the spotted dog. here they remained till midnight when, calling for their reckoning and their steeds, they left the house. it was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. as they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to dollis hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. the robbers proceeded singly, and kept on the grass skirting the road, so that no noise was made by their horses' feet. as they neared the house, jack sheppard, who led the way, halted and addressed his companion in a low voice:-- "i don't half like this job, blueskin," he said; "it always went against the grain. but, since i've seen the friend and companion of my childhood, thames darrell, i've no heart for it. shall we turn back?" "and disappoint mr. wild, captain?" remonstrated the other, in a deferential tone. "you know this is a pet project. it might be dangerous to thwart him." "pish!" cried jack: "i don't value his anger a straw. all our fraternity are afraid of him; but _i_ laugh at his threats. he daren't quarrel with me: and if he does, let him look to himself. i've my own reasons for disliking this job." "well, you know i always act under your orders, captain," returned blueskin; "and if you give the word to retreat, i shall obey, of course: but i know what edgeworth bess will say when we go home empty-handed." "why what will she say?" inquired sheppard. "that we were afraid," replied the other; "but never mind her." "ay; but i do mind her," cried jack upon whom his comrade's observation had produced the desired effect. "we'll do it." "that's right, captain," rejoined blueskin. "you pledged yourself to mr. wild--" "i did," interrupted jack; "and i never yet broke an engagement. though a thief, jack sheppard is a man of his word." "to be sure he is," acquiesced blueskin. "i should like to meet the man who would dare to gainsay it." "one word before we begin, blueskin," said jack, authoritatively; "in case the family should be alarmed--mind, no violence. there's one person in the house whom i wouldn't frighten for the world." "wood's daughter, i suppose?" observed the other. "you've hit it," answered sheppard. "what say you to carrying her off, captain?" suggested blueskin. "if you've a fancy for the girl, we might do it." "no--no," laughed jack. "bess wouldn't bear a rival. but if you wish to do old wood a friendly turn, you may bring his wife." "i shouldn't mind ridding him of her," said blueskin, gruffly; "and if she comes in my way, may the devil seize me if i don't make short work with her!" "you forget," rejoined jack, sternly, "i've just said i'll have no violence--mind that." with this, they dismounted; and fastening their horses to a tree, proceeded towards the house. it was still so dark, that nothing could be distinguished except the heavy masses of timber by which the premises were surrounded; but as they advanced, lights were visible in some of the windows. presently they came to a wall, on the other side of which the dog began to bark violently; but blueskin tossed him a piece of prepared meat, and uttering a low growl, he became silent. they then clambered over a hedge, and scaling another wall, got into the garden at the back of the house. treading with noiseless step over the soft mould, they soon reached the building. arrived there, jack felt about for a particular window; and having discovered the object of his search, and received the necessary implements from his companion, he instantly commenced operations. in a few seconds, the shutter flew open,--then the window,--and they were in the room. jack now carefully closed the shutters, while blueskin struck a light, with which he set fire to a candle. the room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. the operation was effected with so much rapidity and so little noise, that even if any one had been on the alert, he could scarcely have detected it. they then took off their boots, and crept stealthily up stairs, treading upon the point of their toes so cautiously, that not a board creaked beneath their weight. pausing at each door on the landing, jack placed his ear to the keyhole, and listened intently. having ascertained by the breathing which room thames occupied, he speedily contrived to fasten him in. he then tried the door of mr. wood's bed-chamber--it was locked, with the key left in it. this occasioned a little delay; but jack, whose skill as a workman in the particular line he had chosen was unequalled, and who laughed at difficulties, speedily cut out a panel by means of a centre-bit and knife, took the key from the other side, and unlocked the door. covering his face with a crape mask, and taking the candle from his associate, jack entered the room; and, pistol in hand, stepped up to the bed, and approached the light to the eyes of the sleepers. the loud noise proceeding from the couch proved that their slumbers were deep and real; and unconscious of the danger in which she stood, mrs. wood turned over to obtain a more comfortable position. during this movement, jack grasped the barrel of his pistol, held in his breath, and motioned to blueskin, who bared a long knife, to keep still. the momentary alarm over, he threw a piece of-wash leather over a bureau, so as to deaden the sound, and instantly broke it open with a small crow-bar. while he was filling his pockets with golden coin from this store, blueskin had pulled the plate-chest from under the bed, and having forced it open, began filling a canvass bag with its contents,--silver coffee-pots, chocolate-dishes, waiters trays, tankards, goblets, and candlesticks. it might be supposed that these articles, when thrust together into the bag, would have jingled; but these skilful practitioners managed matters so well that no noise was made. after rifling the room of everything portable, including some of mrs. wood's ornaments and wearing apparel, they prepared to depart. jack then intimated his intention of visiting winifred's chamber, in which several articles of value were known to be kept; but as, notwithstanding his reckless character, he still retained a feeling of respect for the object of his boyish affections, he would not suffer blueskin to accompany him, so he commanded him to keep watch over the sleepers--strictly enjoining him, however, to do them no injury. again having recourse to the centre-bit,--for winifred's door was locked,--jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sudden outcry was raised in the carpenter's chamber. the next moment, a struggle was heard, and blueskin appeared at the door, followed by mrs. wood. jack instandly extinguished the light, and called to his comrade to come after him. but blueskin found it impossible to make off,--at least with the spoil,--mrs. wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag. "give back the things!" cried the, lady. "help!--help, mr. wood!" "leave go!" thundered blueskin--"leave go--you'd better!"--and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. "no, i won't leave go!" screamed mrs. wood. "fire!--murder--thieves!--i've got one of 'em!" "come along," cried jack. "i can't," answered blueskin. "this she-devil has got hold of the sack. leave go, i tell you!" and he forced open the knife with his teeth. "help!--murder!--thieves!" screamed mrs. wood;--"owen--owen!--thames, help!" "coming!" cried mr. wood, leaping from the bed. "where are you?" "here," replied mrs. wood. "help--i'll hold him!" "leave her," cried jack, darting down stairs, amid a furious ringing of bells,--"the house is alarmed,--follow me!" "curses light on you!" cried blueskin, savagely; "since you won't be advised, take your fate." and seizing her by the hair, he pulled back her head, and drew the knife with all his force across her throat. there was a dreadful stifled groan, and she fell heavily upon the landing. the screams of the unfortunate woman had aroused thames from his slumbers. snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his horror found it fastened. he heard the struggle on the landing, the fall of the heavy body, the groan,--and excited almost to frenzy by his fears, he succeeded in forcing open the door. by this time, several of the terrified domestics appeared with lights. a terrible spectacle was presented to the young man's gaze:--the floor deluged with blood--the mangled and lifeless body of mrs. wood,--winifred fainted in the arms of a female attendant,--and wood standing beside them almost in a state of distraction. thus, in a few minutes, had this happy family been plunged into the depths of misery. at this juncture, a cry was raised by a servant from below, that the robbers were flying through the garden. darting to a window looking in that direction, thames threw it up, and discharged both his pistols, but without effect. in another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape. chapter iii. jack sheppard's quarrel with jonathan wild. scarcely an hour after the horrible occurrence just related, as jonathan wild was seated in the audience-chamber of his residence at the old bailey, occupied, like peachum, (for whose portrait he sat,) with his account-books and registers, he was interrupted by the sudden entrance of quilt arnold, who announced jack sheppard and blueskin. "ah!" cried wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. "i was just thinking of you jack. what news. have you done the trick at dollis hill?--brought off the swag--eh?" "no," answered jack, flinging himself sullenly into a chair, "i've not." "why how's this?" exclaimed jonathan. "jack sheppard failed! i'd not believe it, if any one but himself told me so." "i'v not failed," returned jack, angrily; "but we've done too much." "i'm no reader of riddles," said jonathan. "speak plainly." "let this speak for me," said sheppard, tossing a heavy bag of money towards him. "you can generally understand that language. there's more than i undertook to bring. it has been purchased by blood!" "what! have you cut old wood's throat?" asked wild, with great unconcern, as he took up the bag. "if i _had_, you'd not have seen me here," replied jack, sullenly. "the blood that has been spilt is that of his wife." "it was her own fault," observed blueskin, moodily. "she wouldn't let me go. i did it in self-defence." "i care not why you did it," said jack, sternly. "we work together no more." "come, come, captain," remonstrated blueskin. "i thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. you know as well as i do that it was accident." "accident or not," rejoined sheppard; "you're no longer pall of mine." "and so this is my reward for having made you the tip-top cracksman you are," muttered blueskin;--"to be turned off at a moment's notice, because i silenced a noisy woman. it's too hard. think better of it." "my mind's made up," rejoined jack, coldly,--"we part to-night." "i'll not go," answered the other. "i love you like a son, and will follow you like a dog. you'd not know what to do without me, and shan't drive me off." "well!" remarked jonathan, who had paid little attention to the latter part of the conversation: "this is an awkward business certainly: but we must do the best we can in it. you must keep out of the way till it's blown over. i can accommodate you below." "i don't require it," returned sheppard. "i'm tired of the life i'm leading. i shall quit it and go abroad." "i'll go with you," said blueskin. "before either of you go, you will ask my permission," said jonathan, coolly. "how!" exclaimed sheppard. "do you mean to say you will interfere--" "i mean to say this," interrupted wild, with contemptuous calmness, "that i'll neither allow you to leave england nor the profession you've engaged in. i wouldn't allow you to be honest even if you could be so,--which i doubt. you are my slave--and such you shall continue.'" "slave?" echoed jack. "dare to disobey," continued jonathan: "neglect my orders, and i will hang you." sheppard started to his feet. "hear me," he cried, restraining himself with difficulty. "it is time you should know whom you have to deal with. henceforth, i utterly throw off the yoke you have laid upon me. i will neither stir hand nor foot for you more. attempt to molest me, and i split. you are more in my power than i am in yours. jack sheppard is a match for jonathan wild, any day." "that he is," added blueskin, approvingly. jonathan smiled contemptuously. "one motive alone shall induce me to go on with you," said jack. "what's that?" asked wild. "the youth whom you delivered to van galgebrok,--thames darrell, is returned." "impossible!" cried jonathan. "he was thrown overboard, and perished at sea." "he is alive," replied jack, "i have seen him, and might have conversed with him if i had chosen. now, i know you can restore him to his rights, if you choose. do so; and i am yours as heretofore." "humph!" exclaimed jonathan. "your answer!" cried sheppard. "yes, or no?" "i will make no terms with you," rejoined wild, sternly. "you have defied me, and shall feel my power. you have been useful to me, or i would not have spared you thus long. i swore to hang you two years ago, but i deferred my purpose." "deferred!" echoed sheppard. "hear me out," said jonathan. "you came hither under my protection, and you shall depart freely,--nay, more, you shall have an hour's grace. after that time, i shall place my setters on your heels." "you cannot prevent my departure," replied jack, dauntlessly, "and therefore your offer is no favour. but i tell you in return, i shall take no pains to hide myself. if you want me, you know where to find me." "an hour," said jonathan, looking at his watch,--"remember!" "if you send for me to the cross shovels in the mint, where i'm going with blueskin, i will surrender myself without resistance," returned jack. "you will spare the officers a labour then," rejoined jonathan. "can't i settle this business, captain," muttered blueskin, drawing a pistol. "don't harm him," said jack, carelessly: "he dares not do it." so saying, he left the room. "blueskin," said jonathan, as that worthy was about to follow, "i advise you to remain with me." "no," answered the ruffian, moodily. "if you arrest him, you must arrest me also." "as you will," said jonathan, seating himself. jack and his comrade went to the mint, where he was joined by edgeworth bess, with whom he sat down most unconcernedly to supper. his revelry, however, was put an end at the expiration of the time mentioned by jonathan, by the entrance of a posse of constables with quilt arnold and abraham mendez at their head. jack, to the surprise of all his companions, at once surrendered himself: but blueskin would have made a fierce resistance, and attempted a rescue if he had not been ordered by his leader to desist. he then made off. edgeworth bess, who passed for sheppard's wife, was secured. they were hurried before a magistrate, and charged by jonathan wild with various robberies; but, as jack sheppard stated that he had most important disclosures to make, as well as charges to bring forward against his accuser, he was committed with his female companion to the new prison in clerkenwell for further examination. chapter iv. jack sheppard's escape from the new prison. in consequence of jack sheppard's desperate character, it was judged expedient by the keeper of the new prison to load him with fetters of unusual weight, and to place him in a cell which, from its strength and security, was called the newgate ward. the ward in which he was confined, was about six yards in length, and three in width, and in height, might be about twelve feet. the windows which were about nine feet from the floor, had no glass; but were secured by thick iron bars, and an oaken beam. along the floor ran an iron bar to which jack's chain was attached, so that he could move along it from one end of the chamber to the other. no prisoner except edgeworth bess was placed in the same cell with him. jack was in excellent spirits; and by his wit, drollery and agreeable demeanour, speedily became a great favourite with the turnkey, who allowed him every indulgence consistent with his situation. the report of his detention caused an immense sensation. numberless charges were preferred against him, amongst others, information was lodged of the robbery at dollis hill, and murder of mrs. wood, and a large reward offered for the apprehension of blueskin; and as, in addition to this, jack had threatened to impeach wild, his next examination was looked forward to with the greatest interest. the day before this examination was appointed to take place--the third of the prisoner's detention--an old man, respectably dressed, requested permission to see him. jack's friends were allowed to visit him,; but as he had openly avowed his intention of attempting an escape, their proceedings were narrowly watched. the old man was conducted to jack's cell by the turnkey, who remained near him during their interview. he appeared to be a stranger to the prisoner, and the sole motive of his visit, curiosity. after a brief conversation, which sheppard sustained with his accustomed liveliness, the old man turned to bess and addressed a few words of common-place gallantry to her. while this was going on, jack suddenly made a movement which attracted the turnkey's attention; and during that interval the old man slipped some articles wrapped in a handkerchief into bess's hands, who instantly secreted them in her bosom. the turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. after a little further discourse the old man took his departure. left alone with edgeworth bess, jack burst into a loud laugh of exultation. "blueskin's a friend in need," he said. "his disguise was capital; but i detected it in a moment. has he given you the tools?" "he has," replied bess, producing the handkerchief. "bravo," cried sheppard, examining its contents, which proved to be a file, a chisel, two or three gimblets, and a piercer. "jonathan wild shall find it's not easy to detain me. as sure as he is now living, i'll pay him a visit in the old bailey before morning. and then i'll pay off old scores. it's almost worth while being sent to prison to have the pleasure of escaping. i shall now be able to test my skill." and running on in this way, he carefully concealed the tools. whether the turnkey entertained any suspicion of the old man, jack could not tell, but that night he was more than usually rigorous in his search; and having carefully examined the prisoners and finding nothing to excite his suspicions, he departed tolerably satisfied. as soon as he was certain he should be disturbed no more, jack set to work, and with the aid of the file in less than an hour had freed himself from his fetters. with bess's assistance he then climbed up to the window, which, as has just been stated, was secured by iron bars of great thickness crossed by a stout beam of oak. the very sight of these impediments, would have appalled a less courageous spirit than sheppard's--but nothing could daunt him. to work then he went, and with wonderful industry filed off two of the iron bars. just as he completed this operation, the file broke. the oaken beam, nine inches in thickness, was now the sole but most formidable obstacle to his flight. with his gimblet he contrived to bore a number of holes so close together that at last one end of the bar, being completely pierced through, yielded; and pursuing the same with the other extremity, it fell out altogether. this last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers. he then descended; and having induced bess to take off some part of her clothing, he tore the gown and petticoat into shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope which he fastened to the lower bars of the window. with some difficulty he contrived to raise her to the window, and with still greater difficulty to squeeze her through it--her bulk being much greater than his own. he then made a sort of running noose, passed it over her body, and taking firmly hold of the bars, prepared to guide her descent. but bess could scarcely summon resolution enough to hazard the experiment; and it was only on jack's urgent intreaties, and even threats, that she could be prevailed on to trust herself to the frail tenure of the rope he had prepared. at length, however, she threw herself off; and jack carefully guiding the rope she landed in safety. the next moment he was by her side. but the great point was still unaccomplished. they had escaped from the new prison, it is true; but the wall of clerkenwell bridewell, by which that jail was formerly surrounded, and which was more than twenty feet high, and protected by formidable and bristling _chevaux de frise_, remained to be scaled. jack, however, had an expedient for mastering this difficulty. he ventured to the great gates, and by inserting his gimblets into the wood at intervals, so as to form points upon which he could rest his foot, he contrived, to ascend them; and when at the top, having fastened a portion of his dress to the spikes, he managed, not without considerable risk, to draw up his female companion. once over the iron spikes, bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side of the wall. having seen his mistress safe down, jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. and thus he effected his escape from the new prison. chapter v. the disguise. in a hollow in the meadows behind the prison whence jack sheppard had escaped,--for, at this time, the whole of the now thickly-peopled district north of clerkenwell bridewell was open country, stretching out in fertile fields in the direction of islington--and about a quarter of a mile off, stood a solitary hovel, known as black mary's hole. this spot, which still retains its name, acquired the appellation from an old crone who lived there, and who, in addition to a very equivocal character for honesty, enjoyed the reputation of being a witch. without inquiring into the correctness of the latter part of the story, it may be sufficient to state, that black mary was a person in whom jack sheppard thought he could confide, and, as edgeworth bess was incapable of much further exertion, he determined to leave her in the old woman's care till the following night, while he shifted for himself and fulfilled his design--for, however rash or hazardous a project might be, if once conceived, jack always executed it,--of visiting jonathan wild at his house in the old bailey. it was precisely two o'clock on the morning of whit-monday, the th of may , when the remarkable escape before detailed was completed: and, though it wanted full two hours to daybreak, the glimmer of a waning moon prevented it from being totally dark. casting a hasty glance, as he was about to turn an angle of the wall, at the great gates and upper windows of the prison, and perceiving no symptoms of pursuit, jack proceeded towards the hovel at a very deliberate pace, carefully assisting his female companion over every obstacle in the road, and bearing her in his arms when, as was more than once the case, she sank from fright and exhaustion. in this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green,--the neighbourhood of clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement,--passed the noted ducking pond, where black mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination. descending the hollow, or rather excavation,--for it was an old disused clay-pit, at the bottom of which the cottage was situated,--he speedily succeeded in arousing the ancient sibyl, and having committed edgeworth bess to her care, with a promise of an abundant reward in case she watched diligently over her safety, and attended to her comforts till his return,--to all which black mary readily agreed,--he departed with a heart lightened of half its load. jack's first object was to seek out blueskin, whom he had no doubt he should find at the new mint, at wapping, for the old mint no longer afforded a secure retreat to the robber; and, with this view, he made the best of his way along a bye-lane leading towards hockley-in-the-hole. he had not proceeded far when he was alarmed by the tramp of a horse, which seemed to be rapidly approaching, and he had scarcely time to leap the hedge and conceal himself behind a tree, when a tall man, enveloped in an ample cloak, with his hat pulled over his brows, rode by at full speed. another horseman followed quickly at the heels of the first; but just as he passed the spot where jack stood, his steed missed its footing, and fell. either ignorant of the accident, or heedless of it, the foremost horseman pursued his way without even turning his head. conceiving the opportunity too favourable to be lost, jack sprang suddenly over the hedge, and before the man, who was floundering on the ground with one foot in the stirrup, could extricate himself from his embarrassing position, secured his pistols, which he drew from the holsters, and held them to his head. the fellow swore lustily, in a voice which jack instantly recognised as that of quilt arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. "dog!" thundered sheppard, putting the muzzle of the pistol so close to the janizary's ear, that the touch of the cold iron made him start, "don't you know me?" "blood and thunder!" exclaimed quilt, opening his eyes with astonishment. "it can't be captain sheppard!" "it _is_," replied jack; "and you had better have met the devil on your road than me. do you remember what i said when you took me at the mint four days ago? i told you my turn would come. it _has_ come,--and sooner than you expected." "so i find, captain," rejoined quilt, submissively; "but you're too noble-hearted to take advantage of my situation. besides, i acted for others, and not for myself." "i know it," replied sheppard, "and therefore i spare your life." "i was sure you wouldn't injure me, captain," remarked quilt, in a wheedling tone, while he felt about for his sword; "you're far too brave to strike a fallen man." "ah! traitor!" cried jack, who had noticed the movement; "make such another attempt, and it shall cost you your life." so saying, he unbuckled the belt to which the janizary's hanger was attached, and fastened it to his own girdle. "and now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "no," answered quilt, sullenly. "who, then?" demanded jack. "speak, or i fire!" "well, if you _will_ have it, it's sir rowland trenchard." "sir rowland trenchard!" echoed jack, in amazement. "what are you doing with him?" "it's a long story, captain, and i've no breath to tell it,--unless you choose to release me," rejoined quilt. "get up, then," said jack, freeing his foot from the stirrup. "now--begin." quilt, however, seemed unwilling to speak. "i should be sorry to proceed to extremities," continued sheppard, again raising the pistol. "well, since you force me to betray my master's secrets," replied quilt, sullenly, "i've ridden express to manchester to deliver a message to sir rowland." "respecting thames darrell?" observed jack. "why, how the devil did you happen to guess that?" cried the janizary. "no matter," replied sheppard. "i'm glad to find i'm right. you informed sir rowland that thames darrell was returned?" "exactly so," replied quilt, "and he instantly decided upon returning to london with me. we've ridden post all the way, and i'm horribly tired, or you wouldn't have mastered me so easily." "perhaps not," replied jack, to whom an idea had suddenly occurred. "now, sir, i'll trouble you for your coat. i've left mine on the spikes of the new prison, and must borrow yours." "why, surely you can't be in earnest, captain. you wouldn't rob mr. wild's chief janizary?" "i'd rob mr. wild himself if i met him," retorted jack. "come, off with it, sirrah, or i'll blow out your brains, in the first place, and strip you afterwards." "well, rather than you should commit so great a crime, captain, here it is," replied quilt, handing him the garment in question. "anything else?" "your waistcoat." "'zounds! captain, i shall get my death of cold. i was in hopes you'd be content with my hat and wig." "i shall require them as well," rejoined sheppard; "and your boots." "my boots! fire and fury! they won't fit you; they are too large. besides, how am i to ride home without them?" "don't distress yourself," returned jack, "you shall walk. now," he added, as his commands were reluctantly obeyed, "help me on with them." quilt knelt down, as if he meant to comply; but, watching his opportunity, he made a sudden grasp at sheppard's leg, with the intention of overthrowing him. but jack was too nimble for him. striking out his foot, he knocked half a dozen teeth down the janizary's throat; and, seconding the kick with a blow on the head from the butt-end of the pistol, stretched him, senseless and bleeding on the ground. "like master like man," observed jack as he rolled the inanimate body to the side of the road. "from jonathan wild's confidential servant what could be expected but treachery?" with this, he proceeded to dress himself in quilt arnold's clothes, pulled the wig over his face and eyes so as completely to conceal his features, slouched the hat over his brows, drew the huge boots above his knees, and muffled himself up in the best way he could. on searching the coat, he found, amongst other matters, a mask, a key, and a pocket-book. the latter appeared to contain several papers, which jack carefully put by, in the hope that they might turn out of importance in a scheme of vengeance which he meditated against the thief-taker. he then mounted the jaded hack, which had long since regained its legs, and was quietly browsing the grass at the road-side, and, striking spurs into its side, rode off. he had not proceeded far when he encountered sir rowland, who, having missed his attendant, had returned to look after him. "what has delayed you?" demanded the knight impatiently. "my horse has had a fall," replied jack, assuming to perfection--for he was a capital mimic,--the tones of quilt arnold. "it was some time before i could get him to move." "i fancied i heard voices," rejoined sir rowland. "so did i," answered jack; "we had better move on. this is a noted place for highwaymen." "i thought you told me that the rascal who has so long been the terror of the town--jack sheppard--was in custody." "so he is," returned jack; "but there's no saying how long he may remain so. besides, there are greater rascals than jack sheppard at liberty, sir rowland." sir rowland made no reply, but angrily quickened his pace. the pair then descended saffron-hill, threaded field-lane, and, entering holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of fleet-ditch, mounted snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before jonathan wild's door. aware of quilt arnold's mode of proceeding, jack instantly dismounted, and, instead of knocking, opened the door with the pass-key. the porter instantly made his appearance, and sheppard ordered him to take care of the horses. "well, what sort of journey have you had, quilt?" asked the man as he hastened to assist sir rowland to dismount. "oh! we've lost no time, as you perceive," replied jack. "is the governor within?" "yes; you'll find him in the audience-chamber. he has got blueskin with him." "ah! indeed! what's he doing here?" inquired jack. "come to buy off jack sheppard, i suppose," replied the fellow. "but it won't do. mr. wild has made up his mind, and, when that's the case, all the persuasion on earth won't turn him. jack will be tried to-morrow; and, as sure as my name's obadiah lemon he'll take up his quarters at the king's-head," pointing to newgate, "over the way." "well, we shall see," replied jack. "look to the horses, obadiah. this way, sir rowland." as familiar as quilt arnold himself with every part of wild's mysterious abode, as well as with the ways of its inmates, jack, without a moment's hesitation, took up a lamp which was burning in the hall, and led his companion up the great stone stairs. arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,--"sir rowland trenchard." jonathan, who was engaged in conversation with blueskin, instantly arose, and bowed with cringing ceremoniousness to the knight. the latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. "you've arrived sooner than i expected, sir rowland," observed the thief-taker. "lost no time on the road--eh!--i didn't expect you till to-morrow at the earliest. excuse me an instant while i dismiss this person.--you've your answer, blueskin," he added, pushing that individual, who seemed unwilling to depart, towards the door; "it's useless to urge the matter further. jack is registered in the black book." "one word before i go," urged blueskin. "not a syllable," replied wild. "if you talk as long as an old bailey counsel, you'll not alter my determination." "won't my life do as well as his?" supplicated the other. "humph!" exclaimed jonathan, doubtfully. "and you would surrender yourself--eh?" "i'll surrender myself at once, if you'll engage to bring him off; and you'll get the reward from old wood. it's two hundred pounds. recollect that." "faithful fellow!" murmured jack. "i forgive him his disobedience." "will you do it?" persisted blueskin. "no," replied wild; "and i've only listened to your absurd proposal to see how far your insane attachment to this lad would carry you." "i _do_ love him," cried blueskin, "and that's the long and short of it. i've taught him all he can do; and there isn't his fellow, and never will be again. i've seen many a clever cracksman, but never one like him. if you hang jack sheppard, you'll cut off the flower o' the purfession. but i'll not believe it of you. it's all very well to read him a lesson, and teach him obedience; but you've gone far enough for that." "not quite," rejoined the thief-taker, significantly. "well," growled blueskin, "you've had my offer." "and you my warning," retorted wild. "good night!" "blueskin," whispered jack, in his natural tones, as the other passed him, "wait without." "power o' mercy!" cried blueskin starting. "what's the matter?" demanded jonathan, harshly. "nothin'--nothin'," returned blueskin; "only i thought--" "you saw the hangman, no doubt," said jack. "take courage, man; it is only quilt arnold. come, make yourself scarce. don't you see mr. wild's busy." and then he added, in an under tone, "conceal yourself outside, and be within call." blueskin nodded, and left the room. jack affected to close the door, but left it slightly ajar. "what did you say to him?" inquired jonathan, suspiciously. "i advised him not to trouble you farther about jack sheppard," answered the supposed janizary. "he seems infatuated about the lad," observed wild. "i shall be obliged to hang him to keep him company. and now, sir rowland," he continued, turning to the knight, "to our own concerns. it's a long time since we met, eight years and more. i hope you've enjoyed your health. 'slife! you are wonderfully altered. i should scarcely have known you." the knight was indeed greatly changed. though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. his frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. his manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire. "i did not come hither to consult you as to the state of my health, sir," he observed, displeased by jonathan's allusion to the alteration in his appearance. "true," replied wild. "you were no doubt surprised by the unlooked-for intelligence i sent you of your nephew's return?" "was it _unlooked-for_ on your part?" demanded the knight, distrustfully. "on my soul, yes," rejoined jonathan. "i should as soon have expected the bones of tom sheppard to reunite themselves and walk out of that case, as thames darrell to return. the skipper, van galgebrok, affirmed to me,--nay, gave me the additional testimony of two of his crew,--that he was thrown overboard. but it appears he was picked up by fishermen, and carried to france, where he has remained ever since, and where it would have been well for him if he had remained altogether." "have you seen him?" asked trenchard. "i have," replied wild; "and nothing but the evidence of my senses would have made me believe he was living, after the positive assurance i received to the contrary. he is at present with mr. wood,--the person whom you may remember adopted him,--at dollis hill, near willesden; and it's a singular but fortunate circumstance, so far as we are concerned, that mrs. wood chanced to be murdered by blueskin, the fellow who just left the room, on the very night of his return, as it has thrown the house into such confusion, and so distracted them, that he has had no time as yet for hostile movements." "and what course do you propose to pursue in reference to him?" asked sir rowland. "my plan is a very simple one," rejoined the thief-taker smiling bitterly. "i would treat him as you treated his father, sir rowland." "murder him!" cried trenchard shuddering. "ay, murder him, if you like the term," returned wild. "i should call it putting him out of the way. but no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same." "i cannot consent to it," replied sir rowland firmly. "since the sea has spared him, i will spare him. it is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. i will shed no more blood." "and perish upon the gibbet," rejoined jonathan contemptuously. "flight is still left me," replied trenchard. "i can escape to france." "and do you think i'll allow you to depart," cried jonathan in a menacing tone, "and compromise _my_ safety? no, no. we are linked together in this matter, and must go through with it. you cannot--shall not retreat." "death and hell!" cried sir rowland, rising and drawing his sword; "do you think you can shackle my free will, villain?" "in this particular instance i do, sir rowland," replied jonathan, calmly, "because you are wholly in my power. but be patient, i am your fast friend. thames darrell must die. our mutual safety requires it. leave the means to me." "more blood! more blood!" cried trenchard, passing his hand with agony across his brow. "shall i never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch--the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!--the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!--and must another be added to their number--their son! horror!--let me be spared this new crime! and yet the gibbet--my name tarnished--my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!--no, i cannot submit to that." "i should think not," observed jonathan, who had some practice in the knight's moods, and knew how to humour him. "it's a miserable weakness to be afraid of bloodshed.--the general who gives an order for wholesale carnage never sleeps a wink the less soundly for the midnight groans of his victims, and we should deride him as a coward if he did. and life is much the same, whether taken in battle, on the couch, or by the road-side. besides those whom i've slain with my own hands, i've brought upwards of thirty persons to the gallows. most of their relics are in yonder cases; but i don't remember that any of them have disturbed my rest. the mode of destruction makes no difference. it's precisely the same thing to me to bid my janizaries cut thames darrell's throat, as to order jack sheppard's execution." as jonathan said this, jack's hand involuntarily sought a pistol. "but to the point," continued wild, unconscious of the peril in which the remark had placed him,--"to the point. on the terms that procured your liberation from newgate, i will free you from this new danger." "those terms were a third of my estate," observed trenchard bitterly. "what of that," rejoined jonathan. "any price was better than your head. if thames darrell escapes, you will lose both life and property." "true, true," replied the knight, with an agonized look; "there is no alternative." "none whatever," rejoined wild. "is it a bargain?" "take half of my estate--take all--my life, if you will--i am weary of it!" cried trenchard passionately. "no," replied jonathan, "i'll not take you at your word, as regards the latter proposition. we shall both, i hope, live to enjoy our shares--long after thames darrell is forgotten--ha! ha! a third of your estate i accept. and as these things should always be treated as matters of business, i'll just draw up a memorandum of our arrangement." and, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily traced a few lines upon it. "sign this," he said, pushing the document towards sir rowland. the knight mechanically complied with his request. "enough!" cried jonathan, eagerly pocketing the memorandum. "and now, in return for your liberality, i'll inform you of a secret with which it is important you should be acquainted." "a secret!" exclaimed trenchard. "concerning whom?" "mrs. sheppard," replied jonathan, mysteriously. "mrs. sheppard!" echoed jack, surprised out of his caution. "ah!" exclaimed wild, looking angrily towards his supposed attendant. "i beg pardon, sir," replied jack, with the accent and manner of the janizary; "i was betrayed into the exclamation by my surprise that anything in which sir rowland trenchard was interested could have reference to so humble a person as mrs. sheppard." "be pleased, then, in future not to let your surprise find vent in words," rejoined jonathan, sternly. "my servants, like eastern mutes, must have eyes, and ears,--and _hands_, if need be,--but no tongues. you understand me, sirrah?" "perfectly," replied jack. "i'm dumb." "your secret?" demanded trenchard, impatiently. "i need not remind you, sir rowland," replied wild, "that you had two sisters--aliva and constance." "both are dead," observed the knight, gloomily. "not so;" answered wild. "constance is yet living." "constance alive? impossible!" ejaculated trenchard. "i've proofs to the contrary," replied jonathan. "if this is the case, where is she?" "in bedlam," replied the thief-taker, with a satanic grin. "gracious heaven!" exclaimed the knight, upon whom a light seemed suddenly to break. "you mentioned mrs. sheppard. what has she to with constance trenchard?" "mrs. sheppard _is_ constance trenchard," replied jonathan, maliciously. here jack sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment. "again," cried jonathan, sternly: "beware!" "what!" vociferated trenchard. "my sister the wife of one condemned felon! the parent of another! it cannot be." "it _is_ so, nevertheless," replied wild. "stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, constance trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to london, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. it is useless to trace out her miserable career; though i can easily do so if you require it. to preserve herself, however, from destitution, or what she considered worse, she wedded a journeyman carpenter, named sheppard." "alas! that one so highly born should submit to such a degradation?" groaned the knight. "i see nothing surprising in it," rejoined jonathan. "in the first place, she had no knowledge of her birth; and, consequently, no false pride to get rid of. in the second, she was wretchedly poor, and assailed by temptations of which you can form no idea. distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed. with the same inducements we should all do the same thing. poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make _me_, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her." jack sheppard again sought his pistol, and was only withheld from levelling it at the thief-taker's head, by the hope that he might gather some further information respecting his mother. and he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on his forbearance. "what proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired trenchard. "this," replied jonathan, taking a paper from a portfolio, and handing it to the knight, "this written evidence, signed by martha cooper, the gipsy, by whom the girl was stolen, and who was afterwards executed for a similar crime. it is attested, you will observe, by the reverend mr. purney, the present ordinary of newgate." "i am acquainted with mr. purney's hand-writing," said jack, advancing, "and can at once decide whether this is a forgery or not." "look at it, then," said wild, giving him the portfolio. "it's the ordinary's signature, undoubtedly," replied jack. and as he gave back the portfolio to sir rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. "and, does any of our bright blood flow in the veins of a ruffianly housebreaker?" cried trenchard, with a look of bewilderment. "i'll not believe it." "others may, if you won't," muttered jack, retiring. "thank heaven! i'm not basely born." "now, mark me," said jonathan, "and you'll find i don't do things by halves. by your father, sir montacute trenchard's will, you are aware,--and, therefore, i need not repeat it, except for the special purpose i have in view,--you are aware, i say, that, by this will, in case your sister aliva, died without issue, or, on the death of such issue, the property reverts to constance and _her_ issue." "i hear," said sir rowland, moodily. "and i," muttered jack. "thames darrell once destroyed," pursued jonathan. "constance--or, rather, mrs. sheppard--becomes entitled to the estates; which eventually--provided he escaped the gallows--would descend to her son." "ha!" exclaimed jack, drawing in his breath, and leaning forward with intense curiosity. "well, sir?" gasped sir rowland. "but this need give you no uneasiness," pursued jonathan; "mrs. sheppard, as i told you, is in bedlam, an incurable maniac; while her son is in the new prison, whence he will only be removed to newgate and tyburn." "so you think," muttered jack, between his ground teeth. "to make your mind perfectly easy on the score of mrs. sheppard," continued jonathan; "after we've disposed of thames darrell, i'll visit her in bedlam; and, as i understand i form one of her chief terrors, i'll give her such a fright that i'll engage she shan't long survive it." "devil!" muttered jack, again grasping his pistol. but, feeling secure of vengeance, he determined to abide his time. "and now, having got rid of the minor obstacles," said jonathan, "i'll submit a plan for the removal of the main difficulty. thames darrell, i've said, is at mr. wood's at dollis hill, wholly unsuspicious of any designs against him, and, in fact, entirely ignorant of your being acquainted with his return, or even of his existence. in this state, it will be easy to draw him into a snare. to-morrow night--or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day--i propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which i am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. to make sure work of it, i'll superintend the job myself. before midnight, i'll answer for it, it shall be done. my janizaries shall go with me. you hear what i say, quilt?" he added, looking at jack. "i do," replied sheppard. "abraham mendez will like the task,--for he has entertained a hatred to the memory of thames darrell ever since he received the wound in the head, when the two lads attempted to break out of st. giles's round-house. i've despatched him to the new prison. but i expect him back every minute." "the new prison!" exclaimed sheppard. "what is he gone there for?" "with a message to the turnkey to look after his prisoner," replied wild, with a cunning smile. "jack sheppard had a visitor, i understand, yesterday, and may make an attempt to escape. it's as well to be on the safe side." "it is," replied jack. at this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. he drew both his pistols, and prepared for a desperate encounter. "there is another mystery i would have solved," said trenchard, addressing wild; "you have told me much, but not enough." "what do you require further?" asked jonathan. "the name and rank of thames darrell's father," said the knight. "another time," replied the thief-taker, evasively. "i will have it now," rejoined trenchard, "or our agreement is void." "you cannot help yourself, sir rowland," replied jonathan, contemptuously. "indeed!" replied the knight, drawing his sword, "the secret, villain, or i will force it from you." before wild could make any reply, the door was thrown violently open, and abraham mendez rushed into the room, with a face of the utmost consternation. "he hash eshcaped!" cried the jew. "who? jack!" exclaimed jonathan. "yesh," replied abraham. "i vent to de new prish'n, and on wishitin' his shel vid de turnkey, vot should ve find but de shains on de ground, de vinder broken, and jack and agevorth besh gone." "damnation!" cried jonathan, stamping his foot with uncontrollable rage. "i'd rather have given a thousand pounds than this had happened. but he might have broken out of prison, and yet not got over the wall of clerkenwell bridewell. did you search the yard, fool?" "ve did," replied abraham; "and found his fine goat and ruffles torn to shtrips on de shpikes near de creat cate. it vosh plain he vent dat vay." jonathan gave utterance to a torrent of imprecations. while he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and quilt arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. "'sblood! what's this!" cried jonathan, in the utmost surprise. "quilt arnold, is that you?" "it is, sir," sputtered the janizary. "i've been robbed, maltreated, and nearly murdered by jack sheppard." "by jack sheppard!" exclaimed the thief-taker. "yes; and i hope you'll take ample vengeance upon him," said quilt. "i will, when i catch him, rely on it," rejoined wild. "you needn't go far to do that," returned quilt; "there he stands." "ay, here i am," said jack, throwing off his hat and wig, and marching towards the group, amongst whom there was a general movement of surprise at his audacity. "sir rowland, i salute you as your nephew." "back, villain!" said the knight, haughtily. "i disown you. the whole story of your relationship is a fabrication." "time will show," replied jack with equal haughtiness. "but, however, it may turn out, i disown _you_." "well, jack," said jonathan, who had looked at him with surprise not unmixed with admiration, "you are a bold and clever fellow, i must allow. were i not jonathan wild, i'd be jack sheppard. i'm almost sorry i've sworn to hang you. but, it can't be helped. i'm a slave to my word. were i to let you go, you'd say i feared you. besides, you've secrets which must not be disclosed. nab and quilt to the door! jack, you are my prisoner." "and you flatter yourself you can detain me?" laughed jack. "at least i'll try," replied jonathan, sarcastically. "you must be a cleverer lad than even _i_ take you for, if you get out of this place." "what ho! blueskin!" shouted jack. "here i am, captain," cried a voice from without. and the door was suddenly thrown open, and the two janizaries felled to the ground by the strong arm of the stalwart robber. "your boast, you see, was a little premature, mr. wild," said sheppard. "adieu, my worthy uncle. fortunately, i've secured the proof of my birth." "confusion!" thundered wild. "close the doors below! loose the dogs! curses! they don't hear me! i'll ring the alarm-bell." and he raised his arm with the intention of executing his purpose, when a ball from jack's pistol passed through the back of his hand, shattering the limb. "aha! my lad!" he cried without appearing to regard the pain of the wound; "now i'll show you no quarter." and, with the uninjured hand he drew a pistol, which he fired, but without effect, at jack. "fly, captain, fly!" vociferated blueskin; "i shan't be able to keep these devils down. fly! they shall knock me on the head--curse 'em!--before they shall touch you." "come along!" cried jack, darting through the door. "the key's on the outside--quick! quick!" instantly alive to this chance, blueskin broke away. two shots were fired at him by jonathan; one of which passed through his hat, and the other through the fleshy part of his arm; but he made good his retreat. the door was closed--locked,--and the pair were heard descending the stairs. "hell's curses!" roared jonathan. "they'll escape. not a moment is to be lost." so saying, he took hold of a ring in the floor, and disclosed a flight of steps, down which he hurried, followed by the janizaries. this means of communication instantly brought them to the lobby. but jack and his companion were already gone. jonathan threw open the street-door. upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. the man, who was just able to move, pointed towards giltspur-street. jonathan looked in that direction, and beheld the fugitives riding off in triumph. "to-night it is _their_ turn," said jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. "to-morrow it will be _mine_." chapter vi. winifred receives two proposals. the tragical affair at dollis hill, it need scarcely be said, was a dreadful blow to the family. mr. wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following--sunday. as soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. it was fortunate that by this time winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,--her personal attentions. the necessity which had previously existed of leaving the ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed,--the presence of the mangled corpse,--the bustle of the inquest, at which her attendance was required,--all these circumstances produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination. but when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. as to thames, though deeply and painfully affected by the horrible occurrence that had marked his return to his old friends, he was yet able to control his feelings, and devote himself to the alleviation of the distress of the more immediate sufferers by the calamity. it was sunday evening--a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, _cheerful_ look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. the birds were singing blithely amid the trees,--the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,--a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,--at a distance, the church-bells of willesden were heard tolling for evening service. all these things spoke of peace;--but there are seasons when the pleasantest external influences have a depressing effect on the mind, by painfully recalling past happiness. so, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at dollis hill. she was a lovely girl, attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her charming features. her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. these persons were mr. kneebone and winifred. the funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. amongst others who attended the sad ceremony was mr. kneebone. conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. overcome by his affliction, mr. wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned thames. much to her annoyance, therefore, winifred was left alone with the woollen-draper, who following up a maxim of his own, "that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity. he had only been prevented, indeed, by a fear of mrs. wood from pressing his suit long ago. this obstacle removed, he thought he might now make the attempt. happen what might, he could not be in a worse position. "we have had a sad loss, my dear winifred," he began,--"for i must use the privilege of an old friend, and address you by that familiar name,--we have had a sad loss in the death of your lamented parent, whose memory i shall for ever revere." winifred's eyes filled with tears. this was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired. so he resolved to try another tack. "what a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that thames darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"--kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he _had_ been so,--"should turn out to be alive after all. strange, i shouldn't know him when he called on me." "it _is_ strange," replied winifred, artlessly. "_i_ knew him at once." "of course," rejoined kneebone, a little maliciously, "but that's easily accounted for. may i be permitted, as a very old and very dear friend of your lamented parent, whose loss i shall ever deplore, to ask you one question?" "undoubtedly," replied winifred. "and you will answer it frankly?" "certainly." "now for it," thought the woollen-draper, "i shall, at least, ascertain how the land lies.--well, then, my dear," he added aloud, "do you still entertain the strong attachment you did to captain darrell?" winifred's cheeks glowed with blushes, and fixing her eyes, which flashed with resentment, upon the questioner, she said: "i have promised to answer your question, and i will do so. i love him as a brother." "_only_ as a brother?" persisted kneebone. if winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. "if you knew how much importance i attach to your answer," he continued passionately, "you would not refuse me one. were captain darrell to offer you his hand, would you accept it?" "your impertinence deserves very different treatment, sir," said winifred; "but, to put an end to this annoyance, i will tell you--i would not." "and why not?" asked kneebone, eagerly. "i will not submit to be thus interrogated," said winifred, angrily. "in the name of your lamented parent, whose memory i shall for ever revere, i implore you to answer me," urged kneebone, "why--why would you not accept him?" "because our positions are different," replied winifred, who could not resist this appeal to her feelings. "you are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. "disparity of rank is ever productive of unhappiness in the married state. when captain darrell's birth is ascertained, i've no doubt he'll turn out a nobleman's son. at least, i hope so for his sake as well as my own," he added, mentally. "he has quite the air of one. and now, my angel, that i am acquainted with your sentiments on this subject, i shall readily fulfil a promise which i made to your lamented parent, whose loss i shall ever deplore." "a promise to my mother?" said winifred, unsuspiciously. "yes, my angel, to _her_--rest her soul! she extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it." "oh! name it." "you are a party concerned. promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere. promise me." "if in my power--certainly. but, what is it! what _did_ you promise?" "to offer you my heart, my hand, my life," replied kneebone, falling at her feet. "sir!" exclaimed winifred, rising. "inequality of rank can be no bar to _our_ union," continued kneebone. "heaven be praised, _i_ am not the son of a nobleman." in spite of her displeasure, winifred could not help smiling at the absurdity of this address. taking this for encouragement, her suitor proceeded still more extravagantly. seizing her hand he covered it with kisses. "adorable girl!" he cried, in the most impassioned tone, and with the most impassioned look he could command. "adorable girl, i have long loved you to desperation. your lamented mother, whose loss i shall ever deplore, perceived my passion and encouraged it. would she were alive to back my suit!" "this is beyond all endurance," said winifred, striving to withdraw her hand. "leave me, sir; i insist." "never!" rejoined kneebone, with increased ardour,--"never, till i receive from your own lips the answer which is to make me the happiest or the most miserable of mankind. hear me, adorable girl! you know not the extent of my devotion. no mercenary consideration influences me. love--admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me. let your father--if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. i care not. possessed of _you_, i shall have a treasure such as kings could not boast." "pray cease this nonsense," said winifred, "and quit the room, or i will call for assistance." at this juncture, the door opened, and thames entered the room. as the woollen-draper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses. "call as you please, beloved girl," he cried, "i will not stir till i am answered. you say that you only love captain darrell as a brother--" "mr. kneebone!" "that you would not accept him were he to offer--" "be silent, sir." "he then," continued the woollen-draper, "is no longer considered--" "how, sir?" cried thames, advancing, "what is the meaning of your reference to my name? have you dared to insult this lady? if so--" "insult her!" replied kneebone, rising, and endeavouring to hide his embarrassment under a look of defiance. "far from, it, sir. i have made her an honourable proposal of marriage, in compliance with the request of her lamented parent, whose memory--" "dare to utter that falsehood in my hearing again, scoundrel," interrupted thames fiercely, "and i will put it out of your power to repeat the offence. leave the room! leave the house, sir! and enter it again at your peril." "i shall do neither, sir," replied kneebone, "unless i am requested by this lady to withdraw,--in which case i shall comply with her request. and you have to thank her presence, hot-headed boy, that i do not chastise your insolence as it deserves." "go, mr. kneebone,--pray go!" implored winifred. "thames, i entreat--" "your wishes are my laws, beloved, girl," replied kneebone, bowing profoundly. "captain darren," he added, sternly, "you shall hear from me." "when you please, sir," said thames, coldly. and the woollen-draper departed. "what is all this, dear winny?" inquired thames, as soon as they were alone. "nothing--nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. "don't ask me about it now." "winny," said thames, tenderly, "something which that self-sufficient fool has said has so far done me a service in enabling me to speak upon a subject which i have long had upon my lips, but have not had courage to utter." "thames!" "you seem to doubt my love," he continued,--"you seem to think that change of circumstances may produce some change in my affections. hear me then, now, before i take one step to establish my origin, or secure my rights. whatever those rights may be, whoever i am, my heart is yours. do you accept it?" "dear thames!" "forgive this ill-timed avowal of my love. but, answer me. am i mistaken? is your heart mine?" "it is--it is; and has ever been," replied winifred, falling upon his neck. lovers' confidences should be respected. we close the chapter. chapter vii. jack sheppard warns thames darrell. on the following night--namely monday,--the family assembled together, for the first time since the fatal event, in the chamber to which thames had been introduced on his arrival at dollis hill. as this had been mrs. wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. determined, however, to conquer the feeling as soon as possible, wood had given orders to have the evening meal served there; but, notwithstanding all his good resolutions upon his first entrance, he had much ado to maintain his self-command. his wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. the very blank, however, affected him more deeply than if it had been left. then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was _her_ favourite canary. the flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping--_she_ had gathered them. all these circumstances,--slight in themselves, but powerful in their effect,--touched the heart of the widowed carpenter, and added to his depression. supper was over. it had been discussed in silence. the cloth was removed, and wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible--for it was getting dusk--put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers--for such they may now be fairly termed--to their own conversation. having already expressed our determination not to betray any confidences of this sort, which, however interesting to the parties concerned, could not possibly be so to others, we shall omit also the "love passages," and proceeding to such topics as may have general interest, take up the discourse at the point when thames darrell expressed his determination of starting for manchester, as soon as jack sheppard's examination had taken place. "i am surprised we have received no summons for attendance to-day," he remarked; "perhaps the other robber may be secured." "or jack have escaped," remarked winny. "i don't think that's likely. but, this sad affair disposed of, i will not rest till i have avenged my murdered parents." "'_the avenger of blood himself shall slay the murderer_'," said wood, who was culling for himself certain texts from the scriptures. "it is the voice of inspiration," said thames; "and i receive it as a solemn command. the villain has enjoyed his security too long." "'_bloody and deceitful men shall not live half their days_'," said wood, reading aloud another passage. "and yet, _he_ has been spared thus long; perhaps with a wise purpose," rejoined thames. "but, though the storm has spared him, _i_ will not." "'_no doubt_,'" said wood, who had again turned over the leaves of the sacred volume--', "_no doubt this man is a murderer, whom, though he escaped the seas, yet vengeance suffereth not to live_'." "no feelings of consanguinity shall stay my vengeance," said thames, sternly. "i will have no satisfaction but his life." "'_thou shalt take no satisfaction for the life of a murderer which is guilty of death, but he shall surely be put to death_'," said wood referring to another text. "do not steel your heart against him, dear thames," interposed winifred. "'_and thine eye shall not pity_,'" said her father, in a tone of rebuke, "'_but, life shall be for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot_.'" as these words were delivered by the carpenter with stern emphasis, a female servant entered the room, and stated that a gentleman was at the door, who wished to speak with captain darell on business of urgent importance. "with me?" said thames. "who is it?" "he didn't give his name, sir," replied the maid; "but he's a young gentleman." "don't go near him, dear thames," said winifred; "he may have some ill intention." "pshaw!" cried thames. "what! refuse to see a person who desires to speak with me. say i will come to him." "law! miss," observed the maid, "there's nothing mischievous in the person's appearance, i'm sure. he's as nice and civil-spoken a gentleman as need be; by the same token," she added, in an under tone, "that he gave me a span new crown piece." "'_the thief cometh in the night, and the troop of robbers spoileth without_,'" said wood, who had a text for every emergency. "lor' ha' mussy, sir!--how you _do_ talk," said the woman; "this is no robber, i'm sure. i should have known at a glance if it was. he's more like a lord than--" as she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. the intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on thames darrell. his appearance excited the greatest astonishment and consternation amid the group. winifred screamed. thames sprang to his feet, and half drew his sword, while wood, removing his spectacles to assure himself that his eyes did not deceive him, exclaimed in a tone and with a look that betrayed the extremity of surprise--"jack sheppard!" "jack sheppard!" echoed the maid. "is this jack sheppard? oh, la! i'm undone! we shall all have our throats cut! oh! oh!" and she rushed, screaming, into the passage where she fell down in a fit. the occasion of all this confusion and dismay, meanwhile, remained perfectly motionless; his figure erect, and with somewhat of dignity in his demeanour. he kept his keen eyes steadily fixed on thames, as if awaiting to be addressed. "your audacity passes belief," cried the latter, as soon as his surprise would allow him utterance. "if you have contrived to break out of your confinement, villain, this is the last place where you ought to show yourself." "and, therefore, the first i would visit," replied jack, boldly. "but, pardon my intrusion. i was _resolved_ to see you. and, fearing you might not come to me, i forced my way hither, even with certainty of discomposing your friends." "well, villain!" replied thames, "i know not the motive of your visit. but, if you have come to surrender yourself to justice, it is well. you cannot depart hence." "cannot?" echoed jack, a slight smile crossing his features. "but, let that pass. my motive in coming hither is to serve you, and save your life. if you choose to requite me by detaining me, you are at liberty to do so. i shall make no defence. that i am not ignorant of the reward offered for my capture this will show," he added, taking a large placard headed '_murder_' from his pocket, and throwing it on the floor. "my demeanour ought to convince you that i came with no hostile intention. and, to show you that i have no intention of flying, i will myself close and lock the door. there is the key. are you now satisfied?" "no," interposed wood, furiously, "i shall never be satisfied till i see you hanged on the highest gibbet at tyburn." "a time may come when you will be gratified, mr. wood," replied jack, calmly. "may come!--it _will_ come!--it _shall_ come!" cried the carpenter, shaking his hand menacingly at him. "i have some difficulty in preventing myself from becoming your executioner. oh! that i should have nursed such a viper!" "hear me, sir," said jack. "no, i won't hear you, murderer," rejoined wood. "i am no murderer," replied sheppard. "i had no thought of injuring your wife, and would have died rather than commit so foul a crime." "think not to delude me, audacious wretch," cried the carpenter. "even if you are not a principal, you are an accessory. if you had not brought your companion here, it would not have happened. but you shall swing, rascal,--you shall swing." "my conscience acquits me of all share in the offence," replied jack, humbly. "but the past is irremediable, and i did not come hither to exculpate myself, i came to save _your_ life," he added, turning to thames. "i was not aware it was in danger," rejoined darrell. "then you ought to be thankful to me for the warning. you _are_ in danger." "from some of your associates?" "from your uncle, from _my_ uncle,--sir rowland trenchard." "what means this idle boasting, villain?" said thames. "_your_ uncle, sir rowland?" "it is no idle boasting," replied the other. "you are cousin to the housebreaker, jack sheppard." "if it were so, he would have great reason to be proud of the relationship, truly," observed wood, shrugging his shoulders. "it is easy to make an assertion like this," said thames, contemptuously. "and equally easy to prove it," replied jack, giving him the paper he had abstracted from wild. "read that." thames hastily cast his eyes over it, and transferred it, with a look of incredulity, to wood. "gracious heavens! this is more wonderful than all the rest," cried the carpenter, rubbing his eyes. "thames, this is no forgery." "you believe it, father?" "from the bottom of my heart. i always thought mrs. sheppard superior to her station." "so did i," said winifred. "let me look at the paper." "poor soul!--poor soul!" groaned wood, brushing the tears from his vision. "well, i'm glad she's spared this. oh! jack, jack, you've much to answer for!" "i have, indeed," replied sheppard, in a tone of contrition. "if this document is correct," continued wood, "and i am persuaded it is so,--you are as unfortunate as wicked. see what your misconduct has deprived you of--see what you might have been. this is retribution." "i feel it," replied jack, in a tone of agony, "and i feel it more on my poor mother's account than my own." "she has suffered enough for you," said wood. "she has, she has," said jack, in a broken voice. "weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. "those tears will do you good." "do not distress him, dear father," said winifred; "he suffers deeply. oh, jack! repent, while it is yet time, of your evil conduct. i will pray for you." "i cannot repent,--i cannot pray," replied jack, recovering his hardened demeanour. "i should never have been what i am, but for you." "how so?" inquired winifred. "i loved you," replied jack,--"don't start--it is over now--i loved you, i say, as a boy. _hopelessly_, and it made me desperate. and now i find, when it is too late, that i _might_ have deserved you--that i am as well born as thames darrell. but i mustn't think of these things, or i shall grow mad. i have said your life is in danger, thames. do not slight my warning. sir rowland trenchard is aware of your return to england. i saw him last night at jonathan wild's, after my escape from the new prison. he had just arrived from manchester, whence he had been summoned by that treacherous thief-taker. i overheard them planning your assassination. it is to take place to-night." "o heavens!" screamed winifred, while her father lifted up his hands in silent horror. "and when i further tell you," continued jack, "that, after yourself and my mother, _i_ am the next heir to the estates of my grandfather, sir montacute trenchard, you will perhaps own that my caution is sufficiently disinterested." "could i credit your wild story, i might do so," returned thames, with a look of perplexity. "here are jonathan wild's written instructions to quilt arnold," rejoined sheppard, producing the pocket-book he had found in the janizary's clothes. "this letter will vouch for me that a communication has taken place between your enemies." thames glanced at the despatch, and, after a moment's reflection, inquired, "in what way is the attempt upon my life to be made?" "that i couldn't ascertain," replied jack; "but i advise you to be upon your guard. for aught i know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment." "here!" ejaculated wood, with a look of alarm. "oh lord! i hope not." "this i do know," continued jack,--"jonathan wild superintends the attack." "jonathan wild!" repeated the carpenter, trembling. "then it's all over with us. oh dear!--how sorry i am i ever left wych street. we may be all murdered in this unprotected place, and nobody be the wiser." "there's some one in the garden at this moment," cried jack; "i saw a face at the window." "where--where?" cried thames. "don't stir," replied jack. "i will at once convince you of the truth of my assertions, and ascertain whether the enemy really is at hand." so saying, he advanced towards the window, threw open the sash, and called out in the voice of thames darrell, "who's there?" he was answered by a shot from a pistol. the ball passed over his head, and lodged in the ceiling. "i was right," replied jack, returning as coolly as if nothing had happened. "it is jonathan. your uncle--_our_ uncle is with him. i saw them both." "may i trust you?" cried thames, eagerly. "you may," replied jack: "i'll fight for you to the last gasp." "follow me, then," cried thames, drawing his sword, and springing through the window. "to the world's end," answered jack, darting after him. "thames!--thames!" cried winifred, rushing to the window. "he will be murdered!--help!" "my child!--my love!" cried wood, dragging her forcibly back. two shots were fired, and presently the clashing of swords was heard below. after some time, the scuffle grew more and more distant, until nothing could be heard. wood, meanwhile, had summoned his men-servants, and having armed them with such weapons as could be found, they proceeded to the garden, where the first object they encountered was thames darrell, extended on the ground, and weltering in his blood. of jack sheppard or the assailants they could not discover a single trace. as the body was borne to the house in the arms of the farming-men, mr. wood fancied he heard the exulting laugh of jonathan wild. chapter viii. old bedlam. when thames darrell and jack sheppard sprang through the window, they were instantly assailed by wild, trenchard, and their attendants. jack attacked jonathan with such fury, that he drove him into a shrubbery, and might perhaps have come off the victor, if his foot had not slipped as he made a desperate lunge. in this state it would have been all over with him, as, being stunned by the fall, it was some moments before he could recover himself, if another party had not unexpectedly come to his rescue. this was blueskin, who burst through the trees, and sword in hand assaulted the thief-taker. as soon as jack gained his legs, he perceived blueskin lying, as he thought, dead in the plantation, with a severe cut across his temples, and while he was stooping to assist him, he heard groans at a little distance. hastening in the direction of the sound, he discovered thames darrell, stretched upon the ground. "are you hurt, thames?" asked jack, anxiously. "not dangerously, i hope," returned thames; "but fly--save yourself." "where are the assassins?" cried sheppard. "gone," replied the wounded man. "they imagine their work is done. but i may yet live to thwart them." "i will carry you to the house, or fetch mr. wood," urged jack. "no, no," rejoined thames; "fly--or i will not answer for your safety. if you desire to please me, you will go." "and leave you thus?" rejoined jack. "i cannot do it." "go, i insist," cried thames, "or take the consequences upon yourself. i cannot protect you." thus urged, jack reluctantly departed. hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,--for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,--till he reached the edgeware road. arrived at paddington, he struck across marylebone fields,--for as yet the new road was undreamed of,--and never moderated his speed until he reached the city. his destination was the new mint. at this place of refuge, situated in the heart of wapping, near the river-side, he arrived in less than an hour, in a complete state of exhaustion. in consequence of the infamous abuse of its liberties, an act for the entire suppression of the old mint was passed in the ninth year of the reign of george the first, not many months before the date of the present epoch of this history; and as, after the destruction of whitefriars, which took place in the reign of charles the second, owing to the protection afforded by its inmates to the levellers and fifth-monarchy-men, when the inhabitants of alsatia crossed the water, and settled themselves in the borough of southwark,--so now, driven out of their fastnesses, they again migrated, and recrossing the thames, settled in wapping, in a miserable quarter between artichoke lane and nightingale lane, which they termed the new mint. ousted from his old retreat, the cross shovels, baptist kettleby opened another tavern, conducted upon the same plan as the former, which he denominated the seven cities of refuge. his subjects, however, were no longer entirely under his control; and, though he managed to enforce some little attention to his commands, it was evident his authority was waning fast. aware that they would not be allowed to remain long unmolested, the new minters conducted themselves so outrageously, and with such extraordinary insolence, that measures were at this time being taken for their effectual suppression. to the seven cities of refuge jack proceeded. having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. when he awoke it was late in the day, and he was surprised to find blueskin seated by his bed-side, watching over him with a drawn sword on his knee, a pistol in each hand, and a blood-stained cloth bound across his brow. "don't disturb yourself," said his follower, motioning him to keep still; "it's all right." "what time is it?" inquired jack. "past noon," replied blueskin. "i didn't awake you, because you seemed tired." "how did you escape?" asked sheppard, who, as he shook off his slumber, began to recall the events of the previous night. "oh, easily enough," rejoined the other. "i suppose i must have been senseless for some time; for, on coming to myself, i found this gash in my head, and the ground covered with blood. however, no one had discovered me, so i contrived to drag myself to my horse. i thought if you were living, and not captured, i should find you here,--and i was right. i kept watch over you, for fear of a surprise on the part of jonathan. but what's to be done?" "the first thing i do," replied jack, "will be to visit my poor mother in bedlam." "you'd better take care of your mother's son instead," rejoined blueskin. "it's runnin' a great risk." "risk, or no risk, i shall go," replied jack. "jonathan has threatened to do her some mischief. i am resolved to see her, without delay, and ascertain if it's possible to remove her." "it's a hopeless job," grumbled blueskin, "and harm will come of it. what are you to do with a mad mother at a time when you need all your wits to take care of yourself?" "don't concern yourself further about me," returned jack. "once for all, i shall go." "won't you take me?" "no; you must await my return here." "then i must wait a long time," grumbled blueskin. "you'll never return." "we shall see," replied jack. "but, if i should _not_ return, take this purse to edgeworth bess. you'll find her at black mary's hole." and, having partaken of a hasty breakfast, he set out. taking his way along east smithfield, mounting little tower-hill, and threading the minories and hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at moorfields. old bethlehem, or bedlam,--every trace of which has been swept away, and the hospital for lunatics removed to saint george's field,--was a vast and magnificent structure. erected in moorfields in , upon the model of the tuileries, it is said that louis the fourteenth was so incensed at the insult offered to his palace, that he had a counterpart of st. james's built for offices of the meanest description. the size and grandeur of the edifice, indeed, drew down the ridicule of several of the wits of the age: by one of whom--the facetious tom brown--it was said, "bedlam is a pleasant place, and abounds with amusements;--the first of which is the building, so stately a fabric for persons wholly insensible of the beauty and use of it: the outside being a perfect mockery of the inside, and admitting of two amusing queries,--whether the persons that ordered the building of it, or those that inhabit it, were the maddest? and, whether the name and thing be not as disagreeable as harp and harrow." by another--the no less facetious ned ward--it was termed, "a costly college for a crack-brained society, raised in a mad age, when the chiefs of the city were in a great danger of losing their senses, and so contrived it the more noble for their own reception; or they would never have flung away so much money to so foolish a purpose." the cost of the building exceeded seventeen thousand pounds. however the taste of the architecture may be questioned, which was the formal french style of the period, the general effect was imposing. including the wings, it presented a frontage of five hundred and forty feet. each wing had a small cupola; and, in the centre of the pile rose a larger dome, surmounted by a gilded ball and vane. the asylum was approached by a broad gravel walk, leading through a garden edged on either side by a stone balustrade, and shaded by tufted trees. a wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of raving and melancholy madness, executed by the elder cibber, and commemorated by pope in the dunciad, in the well-known lines:-- "close to those walls where folly holds her throne, and laughs to think monroe would take her down, where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, _great cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand_." internally, it was divided by two long galleries, one over the other. these galleries were separated in the middle by iron grates. the wards on the right were occupied by male patients, on the left by the female. in the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. but the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,--which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion--was made a public exhibition. there all the loose characters thronged, assignations were openly made, and the spectators diverted themselves with the vagaries of its miserable inhabitants. entering the outer gate, and traversing the broad gravel walk before-mentioned, jack ascended the steps, and was admitted, on feeing the porter, by another iron gate, into the hospital. here he was almost stunned by the deafening clamour resounding on all sides. some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors. altogether, it was the most dreadful noise he had ever heard. amidst it all, however, there were several light-hearted and laughing groups walking from cell to cell to whom all this misery appeared matter of amusement. the doors of several of the wards were thrown open for these parties, and as jack passed, he could not help glancing at the wretched inmates. here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. there was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. here was a terrific figure gnashing his teeth, and howling like a wild beast;--there a lover, with hands clasped together and eyes turned passionately upward. in this cell was a huntsman, who had fractured his skull while hunting, and was perpetually hallooing after the hounds;--in that, the most melancholy of all, the grinning gibbering lunatic, the realization of "moody madness, laughing wild." hastening from this heart-rending spectacle, jack soon reached the grating that divided the men's compartment from that appropriated to the women. inquiring for mrs. sheppard, a matron offered to conduct him to her cell. "you'll find her quiet enough to-day, sir," observed the woman, as they walked along; "but she has been very outrageous latterly. her nurse says she may live some time; but she seems to me to be sinking fast." "heaven help her!" sighed jack. "i hope not." "her release would be a mercy," pursued the matron. "oh! sir, if you'd seen her as i've seen her, you'd not wish her a continuance of misery." as jack made no reply, the woman proceeded. "they say her son's taken at last, and is to be hanged. i'm glad of it, i'm sure; for it's all owing to him his poor mother's here. see what crime does, sir. those who act wickedly bring misery on all connected with them. and so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits--it would melt a heart of stone to see her. she will cry for days and nights together. if jack sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget--ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. hardened as he may be, that would touch him. but he has never been near her--never." rambling in this way, the matron at length came to a halt, and taking out a key, pointed to a door and said, "this is mrs. sheppard's ward, sir." "leave us together, my good woman," said jack, putting a guinea into her hand. "as long as you please, sir," answered the matron, dropping a curtsey. "there, sir," she added, unlocking the door, "you can go in. don't be frightened of her. she's not mischievous--and besides she's chained, and can't reach you." so saying, she retired, and jack entered the cell. prepared as he was for a dreadful shock, and with his nerves strung to endure it, jack absolutely recoiled before the appalling object that met his gaze. cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. her eyes glistened in the darkness--for light was only admitted through a small grated window--like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. a piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. her arms and feet were uncovered, and of almost skeleton thinness. her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck. her thin fingers were armed with nails as long as the talons of a bird. a chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall. the cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,--the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. when jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. this smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. "you are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. "rather a devil," groaned her son, "to have done this." "you are an angel, i say," continued the poor maniac; "and my jack would have been like you, if he had lived. but he died when he was a child--long ago--long ago--long ago." "would he had done so!" cried jack. "old van told me if he grew up he would be hanged. he showed me a black mark under his ear, where the noose would be tied. and so i'll tell you what i did--" and she burst into a laugh that froze jack's blood in his veins. "what did you do?" he asked, in a broken voice. "i strangled him--ha! ha! ha!--strangled him while he was at my breast--ha! ha!"--and then with a sudden and fearful change of look, she added, "that's what has driven me mad, i killed my child to save him from the gallows--oh! oh! one man hanged in a family is enough. if i'd not gone mad, they would have hanged me." "poor soul!" ejaculated her son. "i'll tell you a dream i had last night," continued the unfortunate being. "i was at tyburn. there was a gallows erected, and a great mob round it--thousands of people, and all with white faces like corpses. in the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it--and that man was jack--my son jack--they were going to hang him. and opposite to him, with a book in his hand,--but it couldn't be a prayer-book,--sat jonathan wild, in a parson's cassock and band. i knew him in spite of his dress. and when they came to the gallows, jack leaped out of the cart, and the hangman tied up jonathan instead--ha! ha! how the mob shouted and huzzaed--and i shouted too--ha! ha! ha!" "mother!" cried jack, unable to endure this agonizing scene longer. "don't you know me, mother?" "ah!" shrieked mrs. sheppard. "what's that?--jack's voice!" "it is," replied her son. "the ceiling is breaking! the floor is opening! he is coming to me!" cried the unhappy woman. "he stands before you," rejoined her son. "where?" she cried. "i can't see him. where is he?" "here," answered jack. "are you his ghost, then?" "no--no," answered jack. "i am your most unhappy son." "let me touch you, then; let me feel if you are really flesh and blood," cried the poor maniac, creeping towards him on all fours. jack did not advance to meet her. he could not move; but stood like one stupified, with his hands clasped together, and eyes almost starting out of their sockets, fixed upon his unfortunate parent. "come to me!" cried the poor maniac, who had crawled as far as the chain would permit her,--"come to me!" she cried, extending her thin arm towards him. jack fell on his knees beside her. "who are you?" inquired mrs. sheppard, passing her hands over his face, and gazing at him with a look that made him shudder. "your son," replied jack,--"your miserable, repentant son." "it is false," cried mrs. sheppard. "you are not. jack was not half your age when he died. they buried him in willesden churchyard after the robbery." "oh, god!" cried jack, "she does not know me. mother--dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "look at me again." "off!" she exclaimed, breaking from his embrace with a scream. "don't touch me. i'll be quiet. i'll not speak of jack or jonathan. i won't dig their graves with my nails. don't strip me quite. leave me my blanket! i'm very cold at night. or, if you must take off my clothes, don't dash cold water on my head. it throbs cruelly." "horror!" cried jack. "don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. "the lash cuts to the bone. i can't bear it. spare me, and i'll be quiet--quiet--quiet!" "mother!" said jack, advancing towards her. "off!" she cried with a prolonged and piercing shriek. and she buried herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her head with the wildest gestures. "i shall kill her if i stay longer," muttered her son, completely terrified. while he was considering what would be best to do, the poor maniac, over whose bewildered brain another change had come, raised her head from under the straw, and peeping round the room, asked in a low voice, "if they were gone?" "who?" inquired jack. "the nurses," she answered. "do they treat you ill?" asked her son. "hush!" she said, putting her lean fingers to her lips. "hush!--come hither, and i'll tell you." jack approached her. "sit beside me," continued mrs. sheppard. "and, now i'll tell you what they do. stop! we must shut the door, or they'll catch us. see!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,--"i had beautiful black hair once. but they cut it all off." "i shall go mad myself if i listen to her longer," said jack, attempting to rise. "i must go." "don't stir, or they'll chain you to the wall," said his mother detaining him. "now, tell me why they brought you here?" "i came to see you, dear mother!" answered jack. "mother!" she echoed,--"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "because you are my mother." "what!" she exclaimed, staring eagerly in his face. "are you my son? are you jack?" "i am," replied jack. "heaven be praised she knows me at last." "oh, jack!" cried his mother, falling upon his neck, and covering him with kisses. "mother--dear mother!" said jack, bursting into tears. "you will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. "never--never!" the words were scarcely pronounced, when the door was violently thrown open, and two men appeared at it. they were jonathan wild and quilt arnold. "ah!" exclaimed jack, starting to his feet. "just in time," said the thief-taker. "you are my prisoner, jack." "you shall take my life first," rejoined sheppard. and, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. "they shall not harm you, my love!" she exclaimed. the movement was fatal to her son. taking advantage of his embarrassed position, jonathan and his assistant rushed upon him, and disarmed him. "thank you, mrs. sheppard," cried the thief-taker, as he slipped a pair of handcuffs over jack's wrists, "for the help you have given us in capturing your son. without you, we might have had some trouble." aware apparently in some degree, of the mistake she had committed, the poor maniac sprang towards him with frantic violence, and planted her long nails in his cheek. "keep off, you accursed jade!" roared jonathan, "--off, i say, or--" and he struck her a violent blow with his clenched hand. the miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. "devil!" cried jack; "that blow shall cost you your life." "it'll not need to be repeated, at all events," rejoined jonathan, looking with a smile of malignant satisfaction at the body. "and, now,--to newgate." chapter ix. old newgate. at the beginning of the twelfth century,--whether in the reign of henry the first, or stephen is uncertain,--a fifth gate was added to the four principal entrances of the city of london; then, it is almost needless to say, surrounded by ramparts, moats, and other defences. this gate, called _newgate_, "as being latelier builded than the rest," continued, for upwards of three hundred years, to be used as a place of imprisonment for felons and trespassers; at the end of which time, having grown old, ruinous, and "horribly loathsome," it was rebuilt and enlarged by the executors of the renowned sir richard whittington, the lord mayor of london: whence it afterwards obtained amongst a certain class of students, whose examinations were conducted with some strictness at the old bailey, and their highest degrees taken at hyde-park-corner, the appellation of whittington's college, or, more briefly, the whit. it may here be mentioned that this gate, destined to bequeath its name--a name, which has since acquired a terrible significance,--to every successive structure erected upon its site, was granted, in , by charter by henry the sixth to the citizens of london, in return for their royal services, and thenceforth became the common jail to that city and the county of middlesex. nothing material occurred to newgate, until the memorable year , when it was utterly destroyed by the great fire. it is with the building raised after this direful calamity that our history has to deal. though by no means so extensive or commodious as the modern prison, old newgate was a large and strongly-built pile. the body of the edifice stood on the south side of newgate street, and projected at the western extremity far into the area opposite saint sepulchre's church. one small wing lay at the north of the gate, where giltspur street compter now stands; and the press yard, which was detached from the main building, was situated at the back of phoenix court. the south or principal front, looking, _down_ the old bailey, and not _upon it_, as is the case of the present structure, with its massive walls of roughened freestone,--in some places darkened by the smoke, in others blanched, by exposure to the weather,--its heavy projecting cornice, its unglazed doubly-grated windows, its gloomy porch decorated with fetters, and defended by an enormous iron door, had a stern and striking effect. over the lodge, upon a dial was inscribed the appropriate motto, "_venio sicut fur_." the gate, which crossed newgate street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for foot-passengers. its architecture was richly ornamental, and resembled the style of a triumphal entrance to a capital, rather than a dungeon having battlements and hexagonal towers, and being adorned on the western side with a triple range of pilasters of the tuscan order, amid the intercolumniations of which were niches embellished with statues. the chief of these was a figure of liberty, with a cat at her feet, in allusion to the supposed origin of the fortunes of its former founder, sir richard whittington. on the right of the postern against the wall was affixed a small grating, sustaining the debtor's box; and any pleasure which the passer-by might derive from contemplating the splendid structure above described was damped at beholding the pale faces and squalid figures of the captives across the bars of its strongly-grated windows. some years after the date of this history, an immense ventilator was placed at the top of the gate, with the view of purifying the prison, which, owing to its insufficient space and constantly-crowded state, was never free from that dreadful and contagious disorder, now happily unknown, the jail-fever. so frightful, indeed, were the ravages of this malady, to which debtors and felons were alike exposed, that its miserable victims were frequently carried out by cart-loads, and thrown into a pit in the burial-ground of christ-church, without ceremony. old newgate was divided into three separate prisons,--the master's side, the common side, and the press yard. the first of these, situated a the south of the building, with the exception of one ward over the gateway, was allotted to the better class of debtors, whose funds enabled them to defray their chamber-rent, fees, and garnish. the second, comprising the bulk of the jail, and by many degrees worse in point of accommodation, having several dismal and noisome wards under ground, was common both to debtors and malefactors,--an association little favourable to the morals or comforts of the former, who, if they were brought there with any notions of honesty, seldom left with untainted principles. the last,--in all respects the best and airiest of the three, standing, as has been before observed, in phoenix court, at the rear of the main fabric,--was reserved for state-offenders, and such persons as chose to submit to the extortionate demands of the keeper: from twenty to five hundred pounds premium, according to the rank and means of the applicant, in addition to a high weekly rent, being required for accommodation in this quarter. some excuse for this rapacity may perhaps be found in the fact, that five thousand pounds was paid for the purchase of the press yard by mr. pitt, the then governor of newgate. this gentleman, tried for high treason, in , on suspicion of aiding mr. forster, the rebel general's escape, but acquitted, reaped a golden harvest during the occupation of his premises by the preston rebels, when a larger sum was obtained for a single chamber than (in the words of a sufferer on the occasion) "would have paid the rent of the best house in saint james's square or piccadilly for several years." nor was this all. other, and more serious impositions, inasmuch as they affected a poorer class of persons, were practised by the underlings of the jail. on his first entrance, a prisoner, if unable or unwilling to comply with the exactions of the turnkeys, was thrust into the condemned hold with the worst description of criminals, and terrified by threats into submission. by the old regulations, the free use of strong liquors not being interdicted, a tap-house was kept in the lodge, and also in a cellar on the common side,--under the superintendence of mrs. spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the dark house at queenhithe,--whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern. the chief scene of these disgusting orgies,--the cellar, just referred to,--was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice. above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "the jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. thus, the same system of plunder was everywhere carried on. the jailers robbed the prisoners: the prisoners robbed one another. two large wards were situated in the gate; one of which, the stone ward, appropriated to the master debtors, looked towards holborn; the other called the stone hall, from a huge stone standing in the middle of it, upon which the irons of criminals under sentence of death were knocked off previously to their being taken to the place of execution, faced newgate street. here the prisoners took exercise; and a quaint, but striking picture has been left of their appearance when so engaged, by the author of the english rogue. "at my first being acquainted with the place," says this writer, in the 'miseries of a prison,' "the prisoners, methought, walking up and down the stone hall, looked like so many wrecks upon the sea. here the ribs of a thousand pounds beating against the needles--those dangerous rocks, credulity here floated, to and fro, silks, stuffs, camlets, and velvet, without giving place to each other, according to their dignity; here rolled so many pipes of canary, whose bungholes lying open, were so damaged that the merchant may go hoop for his money," a less picturesque, but more truthful, and, therefore, more melancholy description of the same scene, is furnished by the shrewd and satirical ned ward, who informs us, in the "delectable history of whittington's college," that "when the prisoners are disposed to recreate themselves with walking, they go up into a spacious room, called the stone hall; where, when you see them taking a turn together, it would puzzle one to know which is the gentleman, which the mechanic, and which the beggar, for they are all suited in the same garb of squalid poverty, making a spectacle of more pity than executions; only to be out at the elbows is in fashion here, and a great indecorum not to be threadbare." in an angle of the stone hall was the iron hold, a chamber containing a vast assortment of fetters and handcuffs of all weights and sizes. four prisoners, termed "the partners," had charge of this hold. their duty was to see who came in, or went out; to lock up, and open the different wards; to fetter such prisoners as were ordered to be placed in irons; to distribute the allowances of provision; and to maintain some show of decorum; for which latter purpose they were allowed to carry whips and truncheons. when any violent outrage was committed,--and such matters were of daily, sometimes hourly, occurrence,--a bell, the rope of which descended into the hall, brought the whole of the turnkeys to their assistance. a narrow passage at the north of the stone hall led to the bluebeard's room of this enchanted castle, a place shunned even by the reckless crew who were compelled to pass it. it was a sort of cooking-room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of cauldrons, and was called jack ketch's kitchen, because the quarters of persons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in oil, pitch, and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or on london bridge. above this revolting spot was the female debtor's ward; below it a gloomy cell, called tangier; and, lower still, the stone hold, a most terrible and noisome dungeon, situated underground, and unvisited by a single ray of daylight. built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees. adjoining it was the lower ward,--"though, in what degree of latitude it was situated," observes ned ward, "i cannot positively demonstrate, unless it lay ninety degrees beyond the north pole; for, instead of being dark there but half a year, it is dark all the year round." it was only a shade better than the stone hold. here were imprisoned the fines; and, "perhaps," adds the before-cited authority, "if he behaved himself, an outlawed person might creep in among them." ascending the gate once more on the way back, we find over the stone hall another large room, called debtors' hall, facing newgate street, with "very good air and light." a little too much of the former, perhaps; as the windows being unglazed, the prisoners were subjected to severe annoyance from the weather and easterly winds. of the women felons' rooms nothing has yet been said. there were two. one called waterman's hall, a horrible place adjoining the postern under the gate, whence, through a small barred aperture, they solicited alms from the passengers: the other, a large chamber, denominated my lady's hold, was situated in the highest part of the jail, at the northern extremity. neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor. the condition of the rooms was indescribably filthy and disgusting; nor were the habits of the occupants much more cleanly. in other respects, they were equally indecorous and offensive. "it is with no small concern," writes an anonymous historian of newgate, "that i am obliged to observe that the women in every ward of this prison are exceedingly worse than the worst of the men not only in respect to their mode of living, but more especially as to their conversation, which, to their great shame, is as profane and wicked as hell itself can possibly be." there were two condemned holds,--one for each sex. that for the men lay near the lodge, with which it was connected by a dark passage. it was a large room, about twenty feet long and fifteen broad, and had an arched stone roof. in fact, it had been anciently the right hand postern under the gate leading towards the city. the floor was planked with oak, and covered with iron staples, hooks, and ring-bolts, with heavy chains attached to them. there was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. over the gateway towards snow hill, were two strong wards, called the castle and the red room. they will claim particular attention hereafter. many other wards,--especially on the master debtor's side,--have been necessarily omitted in the foregoing hasty enumeration. but there were two places of punishment which merit some notice from their peculiarity. the first of these, the press room, a dark close chamber, near waterman's hall, obtained its name from an immense wooden machine kept in it, with which such prisoners as refused to plead to their indictments were pressed to death--a species of inquisitorial torture not discontinued until so lately as the early part of the reign of george the third, when it was abolished by an express statute. into the second, denominated the bilbowes,--also a dismal place,--refractory prisoners were thrust, and placed in a kind of stocks, whence the name. the chapel was situated in the south-east angle of the jail; the ordinary at the time of this history being the reverend thomas purney; the deputy chaplain, mr. wagstaff. much has been advanced by modern writers respecting the demoralising effect of prison society; and it has been asserted, that a youth once confined in newgate, is certain to come out a confirmed thief. however this may be now, it was unquestionably true of old newgate. it was the grand nursery of vice.--"a famous university," observes ned ward, in the london spy, "where, if a man has a mind to educate a hopeful child in the daring science of padding; the light-fingered subtlety of shoplifting: the excellent use of jack and crow; for the silently drawing bolts, and forcing barricades; with the knack of sweetening; or the most ingenious dexterity of picking pockets; let him but enter in this college on the common side, and confine him close to his study but for three months; and if he does not come out qualified to take any degree of villainy, he must be the most honest dunce that ever had the advantage of such eminent tutors." to bring down this imperfect sketch of newgate to the present time, it may be mentioned, that, being found inadequate to the purpose required, the old jail was pulled down in . just at the completion of the new jail, in , it was assailed by the mob during the gordon riots, fired, and greatly damaged. the devastations, however, were speedily made good, and, in two years more, it was finished. it is a cheering reflection, that in the present prison, with its clean, well-whitewashed, and well-ventilated wards, its airy courts, its infirmary, its improved regulations, and its humane and intelligent officers, many of the miseries of the old jail are removed. for these beneficial changes society is mainly indebted to the unremitting exertions of the philanthropic howard. chapter x. how jack sheppard got out of the condemned hold. monday, the st of august ,--a day long afterwards remembered by the officers of newgate,--was distinguished by an unusual influx of visitors to the lodge. on that morning the death warrant had arrived from windsor, ordering sheppard for execution, (since his capture by jonathan wild in bedlam, as related in a former chapter, jack had been tried, convicted, and sentenced to death,) together with three other malefactors on the following friday. up to this moment, hopes had been entertained of a respite, strong representations in his favour having been made in the highest quarter; but now that his fate seemed sealed, the curiosity of the sight-seeing public to behold him was redoubled. the prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the condemned hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. as the day wore on, the crowds diminished,--many who would not submit to the turnkey's demands were sent away ungratified,--and at five o'clock, only two strangers, mr. shotbolt, the head turnkey of clerkenwell prison, and mr. griffin, who held the same office in westminster gatehouse were left in the lodge. jack, who had formerly been in the custody of both these gentlemen, gave them a very cordial welcome; apologized for the sorry room he was compelled to receive them in; and when they took leave, insisted on treating them to a double bowl of punch, which they were now discussing with the upper jailer, mr. ireton, and his two satellites, austin and langley. at a little distance from the party, sat a tall, sinister-looking personage, with harsh inflexible features, a gaunt but muscular frame, and large bony hands. he was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. his name was marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. by his side sat a remarkably stout dame, to whom he paid as much attention as it was in his iron nature to pay. she had a nut-brown skin, a swarthy upper lip, a merry black eye, a prominent bust, and a tun-like circumference of waist. a widow for the fourth time, mrs. spurling, (for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person, had succeeded in moving the stony heart of mr. marvel, who, as he had helped to deprive her of her former husbands, thought himself in duty bound to offer to supply their place. but the lady was not so easily won; and though she did not absolutely reject him, gave him very slight hopes. mr. marvel, therefore, remained on his probation. behind mrs. spurling stood her negro attendant, caliban; a hideous, misshapen, malicious monster, with broad hunched shoulders, a flat nose, and ears like those of a wild beast, a head too large for his body, and a body too long for his legs. this horrible piece of deformity, who acted as drawer and cellarman, and was a constant butt to the small wits of the jail, was nicknamed the black dog of newgate. in the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding chapter, but little was said of the lodge. it may be well, therefore, before proceeding farther, to describe it more minutely. it was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size. a little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. as no apprehension was entertained of an escape by this outlet,--nothing of the kind having been attempted by the boldest felon ever incarcerated in newgate,--both doors were generally left open during the daytime. at six o'clock, the wicket was shut; and at nine, the jail was altogether locked up. not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails. in this screen, which masked the entrance of a dark passage communicating with the condemned hold, about five feet from the ground, was a hatch, protected by long spikes set six inches apart, and each of the thickness of an elephant's tusk. the spikes almost touched the upper part of the hatch: scarcely space enough for the passage of a hand being left between their points and the beam. here, as has already been observed, condemned malefactors were allowed to converse with such of their guests as had not interest or money enough to procure admission to them in the hold. beyond the hatch, an angle, formed by a projection in the wall of some three or four feet, served to hide a door conducting to the interior of the prison. at the farther end of the lodge, the floor was raised to the height of a couple of steps; whence the whole place, with the exception of the remotest corner of the angle before-mentioned, could be commanded at a single glance. on this elevation a table was now placed, around which sat the turnkeys and their guests, regaling themselves on the fragrant beverage provided by the prisoner. a brief description will suffice for them. they were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. the only difference between the officers of newgate and their brethren was, that they had enormous bunches of keys at their girdles, while the latter had left their keys at home. "well, i've seen many a gallant fellow in my time, mr. ireton," observed the chief turnkey of westminster gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but i never saw one like jack sheppard." "nor i," returned ireton, following his example: "and i've had some experience too. ever since he came here, three months ago, he has been the life and soul of the place; and now the death warrant has arrived, instead of being cast down, as most men would be, and as all others _are_, he's gayer than ever. well, _i_ shall be sorry to lose him, mr. griffin. we've made a pretty penny by him--sixty guineas this blessed day." "no more!" cried griffin, incredulously; "i should have thought you must have made double that sum at least." "not a farthing more, i assure you," rejoined ireton, pettishly; "we're all on the square here. i took the money myself, and _ought_ to know." "oh! certainly," answered griffin; "certainly." "i offered jack five guineas as his share," continued ireton; "but he wouldn't take it himself, and gave it to the poor debtors and felons, who are now drinking it out in the cellar on the common side." "jack's a noble fellow," exclaimed the head-jailer of clerkenwell prison, raising his glass; "and, though he played me a scurvy trick, i'll drink to his speedy deliverance." "at tyburn, eh, mr. shotbolt?" rejoined the executioner. "i'll pledge you in that toast with all my heart." "well, for my part," observed mrs. spurling, "i hope he may never see tyburn. and, if i'd my own way with the secretary of state, he never _should_. it's a thousand pities to hang so pretty a fellow. there haven't been so many ladies in the lodge since the days of claude du val, the gentleman highwayman; and they all declare it'll break their hearts if he's scragged." "bah!" ejaculated marvel, gruffly. "you think our sex has no feeling, i suppose, sir," cried mrs. spurling, indignantly; "but i can tell you we have. and, what's more, i tell you, if captain sheppard _is_ hanged, you need never hope to call _me_ mrs. marvel." "'zounds!" cried the executioner, in astonishment. "do you know what you are talking about, mrs. spurling? why, if captain sheppard should get off, it 'ud be fifty guineas out of my way. there's the grand laced coat he wore at his trial, which i intend for my wedding-dress." "don't mention such a thing, sir," interrupted the tapstress. "i couldn't bear to see you in it. your speaking of the trial brings the whole scene to my mind. ah! i shall never forget the figure jack cut on that occasion. what a buzz of admiration ran round the court as he appeared! and, how handsome and composed he looked! everybody wondered that such a stripling could commit such desperate robberies. his firmness never deserted him till his old master, mr. wood, was examined. then he _did_ give way a bit. and when mr. wood's daughter,--to whom, i've heard tell, he was attached years ago,--was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. poor young lady! _she_ trembled too, and was unable to give her evidence. when sentence was passed there wasn't a dry eye in the court." "yes, there was one," observed ireton. "i guess who you mean," rejoined shotbolt. "mr. wild's." "right," answered ireton. "it's strange the antipathy he bears to sheppard. i was standing near jack at that awful moment, and beheld the look wild fixed on him. it was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. when the prisoner was removed from the dock, we met jonathan as we passed through the yard. he stopped us, and, addressing jack in a taunting tone, said, 'well, i've been as good as my word!'--'true,' replied sheppard; 'and i'll be as good as mine!' and so they parted." "and i hope he will, if it's anything to jonathan's disadvantage," muttered mrs. spurling, half aside. "i'm surprised mr. wild hasn't been to inquire after him to-day," observed langley; "it's the first time he's missed doing so since the trial." "he's gone to enfield after blueskin, who has so long eluded his vigilance," rejoined austin. "quilt arnold called this morning to say so. certain information, it seems, has been received from a female, that blueskin would be at a flash-ken near the chase at five o'clock to-day, and they're all set out in the expectation of nabbing him." "mr. wild had a narrow escape lately, in that affair of captain darrell," observed shotbolt. "i don't exactly know the rights of that affair," rejoined griffin, with some curiosity. "nor any one else, i suspect," answered ireton, winking significantly. "it's a mysterious transaction altogether. but, as much as is known is this: captain darrell, who resides with mr. wood at dollis hill, was assaulted and half-killed by a party of ruffians, headed, he swore, by mr. wild, and his uncle, sir rowland trenchard. mr. wild, however, proved, on the evidence of his own servants, that he was at the old bailey at the time; and sir rowland proved that _he_ was in manchester. so the charge was dismissed. another charge was then brought against them by the captain, who accused them of kidnapping him when a boy, and placing him in the hands of a dutch skipper, named van galgebrok, with instructions to throw him overboard, which was done, though he afterwards escaped. but this accusation, for want of sufficient evidence, met with the same fate as the first, and jonathan came off victorious. it was thought, however, if the skipper _could_ have been found, that the result of the case would have been materially different. this was rather too much to expect; for we all know, if mr. wild wishes to keep a man out of the way, he'll speedily find the means to do so." "ay, ay," cried the jailers, laughing. "_i_ could have given awkward evidence in that case, if i'd been so inclined," said mrs. spurling, "ay and found van galgebrok too. but i never betray an old customer." "mr. wild is a great man," said the hangman, replenishing his pipe, "and we owe him much, and ought to support him. were any thing to happen to him, newgate wouldn't be what it is, nor tyburn either." "mr. wild has given you some employment, mr. marvel," remarked shotbolt. "a little, sir," replied the executioner, with a grim smile. "out of the twelve hundred subjects i've tucked up, i may safely place half to his account. if ever he requires my services, he shall find i'm not ungrateful. and though i say it that shouldn't say it, no man can tie a better knot. mr. wild, gentlemen, and the nubbin' cheat." "fill your glasses, gentlemen," observed ireton, "and i'll tell you a droll thing jack said this morning. amongst others who came to see him, was a mr. kneebone, a woollen-draper in wych street, with whose pockets, it appears, jack, when a lad, made a little too free. as this gentleman was going away, he said to jack in a jesting manner, 'that he should be glad to see him to-night at supper.' upon which the other answered, 'that he accepted his invitation with pleasure, and would make a point of waiting upon him,' ha! ha! ha!" "_did_ he say so?" cried shotbolt. "then i advise you to look sharply after him, mr. ireton; for may i be hanged myself if i don't believe he'll be as good as his word." at this juncture, two women, very smartly attired in silk hoods and cloaks, appeared at the door of the lodge. "ah! who have we here?" exclaimed griffin. "only jack's two wives--edgeworth bess and poll maggot," replied austin, laughing. "they can't go into the condemned hold," said ireton, consequentially; "it's against mr. wild's orders. they must see the prisoner at the hatch." "very well, sir," replied austin, rising and walking towards them. "well, my pretty dears," he added, "--to see your husband, eh? you must make the most of your time. you won't have him long. you've heard the news, i suppose?" "that the death warrant's arrived," returned edgeworth bess, bursting into a flood of tears; "oh, yes! we've heard it." "how does jack bear it?" inquired mrs. maggot. "like a hero," answered austin. "i knew he would," replied the amazon. "come bess,--no whimpering. don't unman him. are we to see him here?" "yes, my love." "well, then, lose no time in bringing him to us," said mrs. maggot. "there's a guinea to drink our health," she added, slipping a piece of money into his hand. "here, caliban," shouted the under-turnkey, "unlock captain sheppard's padlock, and tell him his wives are in the lodge waiting to see him." "iss, massa austin," replied the black. and taking the keys, he departed on the errand. as soon as he was gone, the two women divested themselves of their hoods and cloaks, and threw them, as if inadvertently, into the farthest part of the angle in the wall. their beautifully proportioned figures and rather over-displayed shoulders attracted the notice of austin, who inquired of the chief turnkey "whether he should stand by them during the interview?" "oh! never mind them," said mrs. spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. "sit down, and enjoy yourself. i'll keep a look out that nothing happens." by this time caliban had returned, and jack appeared at the hatch. he was wrapped in a loose dressing-gown of light material, and stood near the corner where the women's dresses had just been thrown down, quite out of sight of all the party, except mrs. spurling, who sat on the right of the table. "have you got jonathan out of the way?" he asked, in an eager whisper. "yes, yes," replied edgeworth bess. "patience kite has lured him to enfield on a false scent after blueskin. you need fear no interruption from him, or any of his myrmidons." "that's well!" cried jack. "now stand before me, poll. i've got the watch-spring saw in my sleeve. pretend to weep both of you as loudly as you can. this spike is more than half cut through. i was at work at it yesterday and the day before. keep up the clamour for five minutes, and i'll finish it." thus urged, the damsels began to raise their voices in loud lamentation. "what the devil are you howling about?" cried langley. "do you think we are to be disturbed in this way? make less noise, hussies, or i'll turn you out of the lodge." "for shame, mr. langley," rejoined mrs. spurling: "i blush for you, sir! to call yourself a man, and interfere with the natural course of affection! have you no feeling for the situation of those poor disconsolate creatures, about to be bereaved of all they hold dear? is it nothing to part with a husband to the gallows? i've lost four in the same way, and know what it is." here she began to blubber loudly for sympathy. "comfort yourself, my charmer," said mr. marvel, in a tone intended to be consolatory. "i'll be their substitute." "_you!_" cried the tapstress, with a look of horror: "never!" "confusion!" muttered jack, suddenly pausing in his task, "the saw has broken just as i am through the spike." "can't we break it off?" replied mrs. maggot. "i fear not," replied jack, despondingly. "let's try, at all events," returned the amazon. and grasping the thick iron rod, she pushed with all her force against it, while jack seconded her efforts from within. after great exertions on both parts, the spike yielded to their combined strength, and snapped suddenly off. "holloa--what's that?" cried austin, starting up. "only my darbies," returned jack, clinking his chains. "oh! that was all, was it?" said the turnkey, quietly reseating himself. "now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered sheppard. "quick." "here it is," replied edgeworth bess. "give me your hand, poll, to help me through," cried jack, as he accomplished the operation. "keep a sharp look out, bess." "stop!" interposed edgeworth bess; "mr. langley is getting up, and coming this way. we're lost." "help me through at all hazards, poll," cried jack, straining towards the opening. "the danger's past," whispered bess. "mrs. spurling has induced him to sit down again. ah! she looks this way, and puts her finger to her lips. she comprehends what we're about. we're all safe!" "don't lose a moment then," cried jack, forcing himself into the aperture, while the amazon, assisted by bess, pulled him through it. "there!" cried mrs. maggot, as she placed him without noise upon the ground; "you're safe so far." "come, my disconsolate darlings," cried austin, "it only wants five minutes to six. i expect mr. wild here presently. cut it as short as you can." "only two minutes more, sir," intreated edgeworth bess, advancing towards him in such a manner as to screen jack, who crept into the farthest part of the angle,--"only two minutes, and we've done." "well, well, i'm not within a minute," rejoined the turnkey. "we shall never be able to get you out unseen, jack," whispered poll maggot. "you must make a bold push." "impossible," replied sheppard, in the same tone. "that would be certain destruction. i can't run in these heavy fetters. no: i must face it out. tell bess to slip out, and i'll put on her cloak and hood." meanwhile, the party at the table continued drinking and chatting as merrily as before. "i can't help thinking of jack sheppard's speech to mr. kneebone," observed shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "i'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night." "poh! poh!" rejoined ireton; "it was mere idle boasting. i examined the condemned hold myself carefully this morning, and didn't find a nail out of its place. recollect, he's chained to the ground by a great horse-padlock, and is never unloosed except when he comes to that hatch. if he escapes at all, it must be before our faces." "it wouldn't surprise me if he did," remarked griffin. "he's audacity enough for anything. he got out in much the same way from the gatehouse,--stole the keys, and passed through a room where i was sitting half-asleep in a chair." "caught you napping, eh?" rejoined ireton, with a laugh. "well, he won't do that here. i'll forgive him if he does." "and so will i," said austin. "we're too wide awake for that. ain't we, partner?" he added, appealing to langley, whom punch had made rather dozy. "i should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. during this colloquy, jack had contrived unobserved to put on the hood and cloak, and being about the size of the rightful owner, presented a very tolerable resemblance to her. this done, edgeworth bess, who watched her opportunity, slipped out of the lodge. "halloa!" exclaimed austin, who had caught a glimpse of her departing figure, "one of the women is gone!" "no--no," hastily interposed mrs. spurling; "they're both here. don't you see they're putting on their cloaks?" "that's false!" rejoined marvel, in a low tone; "i perceive what has taken place." "oh! goodness!" ejaculated the tapstress, in alarm. "you won't betray him." "say the word, and i'm mum," returned the executioner. "will you be mine!" "it's a very unfair advantage to take--very," replied mrs. spurling; "however i consent." "then i'll lend a helping hand. i shall lose my fees and the laced coat. but it's better to have the bride without the weddin' dress, than the weddin' dress without the bride." at this moment, saint sepulchre's clock struck six. "close the wicket, austin," vociferated ireton, in an authoritative tone. "good bye!" cried jack, as if taking leave of his mistresses, "to-morrow, at the same time." "we'll be punctual," replied mrs. maggot. "good bye, jack! keep up your spirits." "now for it!--life or death!" exclaimed jack, assuming the gait of a female, and stepping towards the door. as austin rose to execute his principal's commands, and usher the women to the gate, mrs. spurling and marvel rose too. the latter walked carelessly towards the hatch, and leaning his back against the place whence the spike had been removed, so as completely to hide it, continued smoking his pipe as coolly as if nothing had happened. just as jack gained the entrance, he heard a man's footstep behind him, and aware that the slightest indiscretion would betray him, he halted, uncertain what to do. "stop a minute, my dear," cried austin. "you forget that you promised me a kiss the last time you were here." "won't one from me do as well?" interposed mrs. maggot. "much better," said mrs. spurling, hastening to the rescue. "i want to speak to edgeworth bess myself." so saying, she planted herself between jack and the turnkey. it was a moment of breathless interest to all engaged in the attempt. "come--the kiss!" cried austin, endeavouring to pass his arm familiarly round the amazon's waist. "hands off!" she exclaimed, "or you'll repent it." "why, what'll you do?" demanded the turnkey. "teach you to keep your distance!" retorted mrs. maggot, dealing him a buffet that sent him reeling several yards backwards. "there! off with you!" whispered mrs. spurling, squeezing jack's arm, and pushing him towards the door, "and, don't come here again." before austin could recover himself, jack and mrs. maggot had disappeared. "bolt the wicket!" shouted ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. this was done, and austin returned with a crest-fallen look to the table. upon which mrs. spurling, and her now accepted suitor, resumed their seats. "you'll be as good as your word, my charmer," whispered the executioner. "of course," responded the widow, heaving a deep sigh. "oh! jack! jack!--you little know what a price i've paid for you!" "well, i'm glad those women are gone," remarked shotbolt. "coupling their presence with jack's speech, i couldn't help fearing some mischief might ensue." "that reminds me he's still at large," returned ireton. "here, caliban, go and fasten his padlock." "iss, massa ireton," replied the black. "stop, caliban," interposed mrs. spurling, who wished to protract the discovery of the escape as long as possible. "before you go, bring me the bottle of pine-apple rum i opened yesterday. i should like mr. ireton and his friends to taste it. it is in the lower cupboard. oh! you haven't got the key--then _i_ must have it, i suppose. how provoking!" she added, pretending to rummage her pockets; "one never _can_ find a thing when one wants it." "never mind it, my dear mrs. spurling," rejoined ireton; "we can taste the rum when he returns. we shall have mr. wild here presently, and i wouldn't for the world--zounds!" he exclaimed, as the figure of the thief-taker appeared at the wicket, "here he is. off with you, caliban! fly, you rascal!" "mr. wild here!" exclaimed mrs. spurling in alarm. "oh gracious! he's lost." "who's lost?" demanded ireton. "the key," replied the widow. all the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual. ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. "no blueskin, i perceive, sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as wild entered the lodge. "no," replied jonathan, moodily. "i've been deceived by false information. but the wench who tricked me shall bitterly repent it. i hope this is all. i begin to fear i might be purposely go out of the way. nothing has gone wrong here?" "nothing whatever," replied ireton. "jack is just gone back to the condemned hold. his two wives have been here." "ha!" exclaimed jonathan, with a sudden vehemence that electrified the chief turnkey; "what's this! a spike gone! 'sdeath! the women, you say, have been here. he has escaped." "impossible, sir," replied ireton, greatly alarmed. "impossible!" echoed wild, with a fearful imprecation. "no, sir, it's quite possible--more than possible. it's certain. i'll lay my life he's gone. come with me to the condemned hold directly, and, if i find my fears confirmed, i'll--" he was here interrupted by the sudden entrance of the black, who rushed precipitately into the room, letting fall the heavy bunch of keys in his fright. "o massa ireton! massa wild!" ejaculated caliban, "shack sheppart gone!" "gone? you black devil!--gone?" cried ireton. "iss, massa. caliban sarch ebery hole in de place, but shack no dere. only him big hoss padlock--noting else." "i knew it," rejoined wild, with concentrated rage; "and he escaped you all, in broad day, before your faces. you may well say it's impossible! his majesty's jail of newgate is admirably guarded, i must say. ireton, you are in league with him." "sir," said the chief turnkey, indignantly. "you _are_, sir," thundered jonathan; "and, unless you find him, you shan't hold your place a week. i don't threaten idly, as you know. and you, austin; and you langley, i say the same thing to you." "but, mr. wild," implored the turnkeys. "i've said it," rejoined jonathan, peremptorily. "and you, marvel, you must have been a party--" "i, sir!" "if he's not found, i'll get a new hangman." "zounds!" cried marvel, "i--" "hush!" whispered the tapstress, "or i retract my promise." "mrs. spurling," said jonathan, who overheard the whisper, "you owe your situation to me. if you have aided jack sheppard's escape, you shall owe your discharge to me also." "as you please, sir," replied the tapstress, coolly. "and the next time captain darrell wants a witness, i promise you he shan't look for one in vain." "ha! hussy, dare you threaten?" cried wild; but, checking himself, he turned to ireton and asked, "how long have the women been gone?" "scarcely five minutes," replied the latter. "one of you fly to the market," returned jonathan; "another to the river; a third to the new mint. disperse in every direction. we'll have him yet. a hundred pounds to the man who takes him." so saying, he rushed out, followed by ireton and langley. "a hundred pounds!" exclaimed shotbolt. "that's a glorious reward. do you think he'll pay it?" "i'm sure of it," replied austin. "then i'll have it before to-morrow morning," said the keeper of the new prison, to himself. "if jack sheppard sups with mr. kneebone, i'll make one of the party." chapter xi. dollis hill revisited. about an hour after the occurrences at newgate, the door of the small back-parlour already described at dollis hill was opened by winifred, who, gliding noiselessly across the room, approached a couch, on which was extended a sleeping female, and, gazing anxiously at her pale careworn countenance, murmured,--"heaven be praised! she still slumbers--slumbers peacefully. the opiate has done its duty. poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,--deathlike and deep. its very calmness was frightful. her lips were apart, but no breath seemed to issue from them; and, but for a slight--very slight palpitation of the bosom, the vital principle might be supposed to be extinct. this lifeless appearance was heightened by the extreme sharpness of her features--especially the nose and chin,--and by the emaciation of her limbs, which was painfully distinct through her drapery. her attenuated arms were crossed upon her breast; and her black brows and eyelashes contrasted fearfully with the livid whiteness of her skin. a few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been recently allowed to grow again. "poor mrs. sheppard!" sighed winifred, as she contemplated the beautiful wreck before her,--"poor mrs. sheppard! when i see her thus, and think of all she has endured, of all she may yet have to endure, i could almost pray for her release from trouble. i dare not reflect upon the effect that her son's fate,--if the efforts to save him are ineffectual,--may have upon her enfeebled frame, and still worse upon her mind. what a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! ah! she stirs." as she said this, she drew a little aside, while mrs. sheppard heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked larger, blacker, and more melancholy than ever. "where am i?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. "with your friends, dear mrs. sheppard," replied winifred, advancing. "ah! you are there, my dear young lady," said the widow, smiling faintly; "when i first waken, i'm always in dread of finding myself again in that horrible asylum." "you need never be afraid of that," returned winifred, affectionately; "my father will take care you never leave him more." "oh! how much i owe him!" said the widow, with fervour, "for bringing me here, and removing me from those dreadful sights and sounds, that would have driven me distracted, even if i had been in my right mind. and how much i owe _you_, too, dearest winifred, for your kindness and attention. without you i should never have recovered either health or reason. i can never be grateful enough. but, though _i_ cannot reward you, heaven will." "don't say anything about it, dear mrs. sheppard," rejoined winifred, controlling her emotion, and speaking as cheerfully as she could; "i would do anything in the world for you, and so would my father, and so would thames; but he _ought_, for he's your nephew, you know. we all love you dearly." "bless you! bless you!" cried mrs. sheppard, averting her face to hide her tears. "i mustn't tell you what thames means to do for you if ever he gains his rights," continued winifred; "but i _may_ tell you what my father means to do." "he has done too much already," answered the widow. "i shall need little more." "but, _do_ hear what it is," rejoined winifred; "you know i'm shortly to be united to your nephew,--that is," she added, blushing, "when he can be married by his right name, for my father won't consent to it before." "your father will never oppose your happiness, my dear, i'm sure," said mrs. sheppard; "but, what has this to do with me?" "you shall hear," replied winifred; "when this marriage takes place, you and i shall be closely allied, but my father wishes for a still closer alliance." "i don't unterstand you," returned mrs. sheppard. "to be plain, then," said winifred, "he has asked me whether i have any objection to you as a mother." "and what--what was your answer?" demanded the widow, eagerly. "can't you guess?" returned winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. "that he couldn't choose any one so agreeable to me." "winifred," said mrs. sheppard, after a brief pause, during which she appeared overcome by her feelings,--she said, gently disengaging herself from the young girl's embrace, and speaking in a firm voice, "you must dissuade your father from this step." "how?" exclaimed the other. "can you not love him?" "love him!" echoed the widow. "the feeling is dead within my breast. my only love is for my poor lost son. i can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he _ought_ to be loved--that i cannot do." "your esteem is all he will require," urged winifred. "he has it, and will ever have it," replied mrs. sheppard, passionately,--"he has my boundless gratitude, and devotion. but i am not worthy to be any man's wife--far less _his_ wife. winifred, you are deceived in me. you know not what a wretched guilty thing i am. you know not in what dark places my life has been cast; with what crimes it has been stained. but the offences i _have_ committed are venial in comparison with what i should commit were i to wed your father. no--no, it must never be." "you paint yourself worse than you are, dear mrs. sheppard," rejoined winifred kindly. "your faults were the faults of circumstances." "palliate them as you may," replied the widow, gravely, "they _were_ faults; and as such, cannot be repaired by a greater wrong. if you love me, do not allude to this subject again." "i'm sorry i mentioned it at all, since it distresses you," returned winifred; "but, as i knew my father intended to propose to you, if poor jack should be respited--" "_if_ he should be respited?" repeated mrs. sheppard, with startling eagerness. "does your father doubt it? speak! tell me!" winifred made no answer. "your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow. "is thames returned from london?" "not yet," replied the other; "but i expect him every minute. my father's chief fear, i must tell you, is from the baneful influence of jonathan wild." "that fiend is ever in my path," exclaimed mrs. sheppard, with a look, the wildness of which greatly alarmed her companion. "i cannot scare him thence." "hark!" cried winifred, "thames is arrived. i hear the sound of his horse's feet in the yard. now you will learn the result." "heaven support me!" cried mrs. sheppard, faintly. "breathe at this phial," said winifred. shortly afterwards,--it seemed an age to the anxious mother,--mr. wood entered the room, followed by thames. the latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,--partly, perhaps, from both causes,--and wore his left arm in a sling. "well!" cried mrs. sheppard, raising herself, and looking at him as if her life depended upon the answer. "he is respited?" "alas! no," replied thames, sadly. "the warrant for his execution is arrived. there is no further hope." "my poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. "heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated wood. "poor jack!" cried winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. at length, she suddenly started to her feet; and before winifred could prevent her, staggered up to thames. "when is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him. "on friday," he replied. "friday!" echoed mrs. sheppard; "and to-day is monday. he has three days to live. only three days. three short days. horrible!" "poor soul! her senses are going again," said mr. wood, terrified by the wildness of her looks. "i was afraid it would be so." "only three days," reiterated the widow, "three short short days,--and then all is over. jonathan's wicked threat is fulfilled at last. the gallows is in view--i see it with all its hideous apparatus!--ough!" and shuddering violently, she placed her hands before her, as if to exclude some frightful vision from her sight. "do not despair, my sweet soul," said wood, in a soothing tone. "do not despair!" echoed mrs. sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,--"do not despair! and who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? i have wept till my eyes are dry,--suffered till my heart is broken,--prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,--and all of no avail. he will be hanged--hanged--hanged. ha! ha! what have i left but despair and madness? promise me one thing, mr. wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me." "anything, my dear," replied wood, "what is it?" "bury us together in one grave in willesden churchyard. there is a small yew-tree west of the church. beneath that tree let us lie. in one grave, mind. do you promise to do this?" "solemnly," rejoined the carpenter. "enough," said the widow, gratefully. "i must see him to-night." "impossible, dear mrs. sheppard," said thames. "to-morrow i will take you to him." "to-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "i feel it will. i must go to-night, or i shall never behold him again. i must bless him before i die. i have strength enough to drag myself there, and i do not want to return." "be pacified, sweet soul," said wood, looking meaningly at thames; "you _shall_ go, and i will accompany you." "a mother's blessing on you," replied mrs. sheppard, fervently. "and now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, i entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts--to prepare myself for what i have to go through--to pray for my son." "shall we do so?" whispered winifred to her father. "by all means," returned wood; "don't delay an instant." and, followed by the young couple, who gazed wistfully at the poor sufferer, he hastily quitted the room, and locked the door after him. mrs. sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer. so absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear--"mother!" she started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. "mother! dear mother!" cried jack, folding her to his breast. "my son! my dear, dear son!" returned mrs. sheppard, returning his embrace with all a parent's tenderness. jack was completely overcome. his chest heaved violently, and big tears coursed rapidly down his cheeks. "i don't deserve it," he said, at length; "but i would have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness." "and you must have risked much to obtain it, my love. i have scarcely recovered from the shock of hearing of your condemnation, when i behold you free!" "not two hours since," rejoined jack, "i was chained down in the condemned hold in newgate. with a small saw, conveyed to me a few days since by thames darrell, which i contrived to conceal upon my person, i removed a spike in the hatch, and, with the aid of some other friends, worked my way out. having heard from thames that you were better, and that your sole anxiety was about me, i came to give you the _first_ intelligence of my escape." "bless you for it. but you will stay here?" "i dare not. i must provide for my safety." "mr. wood will protect you," urged mrs. sheppard. "he has not the power--perhaps not the will to do so. and if he would, _i_ would not subject him to the annoyance. the moment my escape is known, a large reward will be placed on my head. my dress, my person will be minutely described. jonathan wild and his bloodhounds, with a hundred others, incited by the reward, will be upon my track. nay, for aught i know, some of them may even now have got scent of me." "you terrify me," cried mrs. sheppard. "oh! if this is the case, do not stay an instant. fly! fly!" "as soon as i can do so with safety, i will return, or send to you," said jack. "do not endanger yourself on my account," rejoined his mother. "i am quite easy now; receive my blessing, my dear son; and if we never meet again, rest assured my last prayer shall be for you." "do not talk thus, dear mother," returned jack, gazing anxiously at her pale countenance, "or i shall not be able to quit you. you must live for me." "i will try to do so," replied the widow, forcing a smile. "one last embrace. i need not counsel you to avoid those fatal courses which have placed you in such fearful jeopardy." "you need not," replied jack, in a tone of the deepest compunction. "and, oh! forgive me, though i can never forgive myself, for the misery i have caused you." "forgive you!" echoed his mother, with a look radiant with delight. "i have nothing to forgive. ah!" she screamed, with a sudden change of manner; and pointing to the window, which jack had left open, and at which a dark figure was standing, "there is jonathan wild!" "betrayed!" exclaimed jack, glancing in the same direction. "the door!--the door!--death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked--and i am unarmed. madman that i am to be so!" "help!" shrieked mrs. sheppard. "be silent," said jonathan, striding deliberately into the room; "these cries will avail you nothing. whoever answers them must assist me to capture your son. be silent, i say, if you value his safety." awed by jonathan's manner, mrs. sheppard repressed the scream that rose to her lips, and both mother and son gazed with apprehension at the heavy figure of the thief-taker, which, viewed in the twilight, seemed dilated to twice its natural size, and appeared almost to block up the window. in addition to his customary arms, jonathan carried a bludgeon with a large heavy knob, suspended from his wrist by a loop; a favourite weapon, which he always took with him on dangerous expeditions, and which, if any information had been requisite, would have told sheppard that the present was one of them. "well, jack," he said, after a pause, "are you disposed to go back quietly with me?" "you'll ascertain that when you attempt to touch me," rejoined sheppard, resolutely. "my janizaries are within call," returned wild. "i'm armed; you are not." "it matters not. you shall not take me alive." "spare him! spare him!" cried mrs. sheppard, falling on her knees. "get up, mother," cried jack; "do not kneel to him. i wouldn't accept my life from him. i've foiled him hitherto, and will foil him yet. and, come what will, i'll balk him of the satisfaction of hanging me." jonathan raised his bludgeon, but controlled himself by a powerful effort. "fool!" he cried, "do you think i wouldn't have secured you before this if i hadn't some motive for my forbearance?" "and that motive is fear," replied jack contemptuously. "fear!" echoed wild, in a terrible tone,--"fear! repeat that word again, and nothing shall save you." "don't anger him, my dear son," implored the poor widow, with a look of anguish at jack. "perhaps he means well." "mad as you are, you're the more sensible of the two, i must say," rejoined jonathan. "spare him!" cried mrs, sheppard, who fancied she had made some impression on the obdurate breast of the thief-taker,--"spare him! and i will forgive you, will thank you, bless you. spare him! spare him!" "on one condition i _will_ spare him," returned wild; "on one condition only." "what is it?" asked the poor woman. "either he or you must return with me," answered jonathan. "take _me_, then," replied the widow. and she would have rushed to him, if she had not been forcibly withheld by her son. "do not go near him, mother," cried jack; "do not believe him. there is some deep treachery hidden beneath his words." "i _will_ go," said mrs. sheppard, struggling to get free. "attend to me, mrs. sheppard," said jonathan, looking calmly on at this distressing scene, "attend to me, and do not heed him. i swear to you, solemnly swear to you, i will save your son's life, nay more, will befriend him, will place him out of the reach of his enemies, if you consent to become my wife." "execrable villain!" exclaimed jack. "you hear that," cried mrs. sheppard; "he swears to save you." "well," replied her son; "and you spurn the proposal." "no; she accepts it," rejoined jonathan, triumphantly. "come along, mrs. sheppard. i've a carriage within call shall convey you swiftly to town. come! come!" "hear me, mother," cried jack, "and i will explain to you _why_ the villain makes this strange and revolting proposal. he well knows that but two lives--those of thames darrell and sir rowland trenchard,--stand between you and the vast possessions of the family. those lives removed,--and sir rowland is completely in his power, the estates would be yours--his! if he were your husband. now do you see his motive?" "i see nothing but your danger," replied his mother, tenderly. "granted it were as you say, jack," said wild;--"and i sha'n't take the trouble to contradict you--the estates would be _yours_ hereafter." "liar!" cried jack. "do you affect ignorance that i am a condemned felon, and can inherit nothing? but do not imagine that under any circumstances i would accept your terms. my mother shall never degrade herself by a connection with you." "degrade herself," rejoined jonathan, brutally. "do you think i would take a harlot to my bed, if it didn't suit my purposes to do so?" "he says right," replied mrs. sheppard, distractedly. "i am only fit for such as him. take me! take me!" "before an hour you shall be mine," said jonathan advancing towards her. "back!" cried jack fiercely: "lay a finger on her, and i will fell you to the ground. mother! do you know what you do? would you sell yourself to this fiend?" "i would sell myself, body and soul, to save you," rejoined his mother, bursting from his grasp. jonathan caught her in his arms. "come away!" he cried, with the roar of a demon. this laugh and his looks alarmed her. "it _is_ the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. "save me!--save me!" "damnation!" vociferated jonathan, savagely. "we've no time for any bedlam scenes now. come along, you mad jade. i'll teach you submission in time." with this, he endeavoured to force her off; but, before he could accomplish his purpose, he was arrested, and his throat seized by jack. in the struggle, mrs. sheppard broke from him, and filled the room with her shrieks. "i'll now pay the debt i owe you," cried jack, tightening his grip till the thief-taker blackened in the face. "dog!" cried wild, freeing himself by a powerful effort, and dealing jack a violent blow with the heavy bludgeon, which knocked him backwards, "you are not yet a match for jonathan wild. neither you nor your mother shall escape me. but i must summon my janizaries." so saying, he raised a whistle to his lips, and blew a loud call; and, as this was unanswered, another still louder. "confusion!" he cried; "something has happened. but i won't be cheated of my prize." "help! help!" shrieked mrs. sheppard, fleeing from him to the farthest corner of the room. but it was of no avail. jonathan again seized her, when the door was thrown open, and thames darrell, followed by mr. wood and several serving-men, all well armed, rushed into the room. a glance sufficed to show the young man how matters stood. he flew to the window, and would have passed his sword through the thief-taker's body, if the latter had not quickly interposed the person of mrs. sheppard, so that if the blow had been stricken she must have received it. "quilt!--mendez!--where are you?" vociferated wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. "you call in vain," rejoined thames. "your assistants are in my power. yield, villain!" "never!" replied jonathan. "put down your burthen, monster!" shouted wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him. "take her," cried jonathan; and, flinging the now inanimate body of the poor widow, who had fainted in the struggle, into the arms of thames, he leapt through the window, and by the time the latter could consign her to wood, and dart after him, he had disappeared. "pursue him," cried thames to the attendants, "and see that he does not escape." the order was promptly obeyed. "jack," continued thames, addressing sheppard, who had only just recovered from the blow, and regained his feet, "i don't ask _how_ you came here, nor do i blame your rashness in doing so. fortunately, ever since wild's late murderous attack, the household has all been well armed. a post-chaise seen in the road first alarmed us. on searching the grounds, we found two suspicious-looking fellows in the garden, and had scarcely secured them, when your mother's cries summoned us hither, just in time to preserve her." "your arrival was most providential," said jack. "you must not remain here another instant," replied thames. "my horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,--mount him and fly." "thames, i have much to say," said jack, "much that concerns your safety." "not now," returned thames, impatiently. "i cannot--will not suffer you to remain here." "i will go, if you will consent to meet me at midnight near the old house in wych street," replied jack. "by that time, i shall have fully considered a plan which occurs to me for defeating the schemes of your enemies." "before that time you will be captured, if you expose yourself thus," rejoined thames. "however, i will be there. farewell." "till midnight," replied jack. and imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. he found the horse where thames told him he would find him, mounted, and rode off across the fields in the direction of town. chapter xii. the well hole. jonathan wild's first object, as soon as he had made good his retreat, was to ascertain what had become of his janizaries, and, if possible, to release them. with this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. advancing towards them, sword in hand, jonathan so terrified the hinds by his fierce looks and determined manner, that, after a slight show of resistance, they took to their heels, leaving him master of the field. he then threw open the door of the vehicle, in which he found his janizaries with their arms pinioned, and, leaping into it, ordered the man to drive off. the postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to neasdon and willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. arrived at the latter place, jonathan, who, meanwhile, had contrived to liberate his attendants from their bonds, drew up at the six bells, and hiring a couple of horses, despatched his attendants in search of jack sheppard, while he proceeded to town. dismissing the post-chaise at the old bailey, he walked to newgate to ascertain what had occurred since the escape. it was just upon the stroke of nine as he entered the lodge, and mr. austin was dismissing a host of inquirers who had been attracted thither by the news,--for it had already been extensively noised abroad. some of these persons were examining the spot where the spike had been cut off; others the spike itself, now considered a remarkable object; and all were marvelling how jack could have possibly squeezed himself through such a narrow aperture, until it was explained to them by mr. austin that the renowned housebreaker was of slender bodily conformation, and therefore able to achieve a feat, which he, mr. austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible. affixed to the wall, in a conspicuous situation, was a large placard, which, after minutely describing sheppard's appearance and attire, concluded thus:--"_whoever will discover or apprehend the above_ john sheppard, _so that he be brought to justice, shall receive_ one hundred guineas reward, _to be paid by_ mr. pitt, _the keeper of newgate_." this placard attracted universal attention. while jonathan was conversing with austin, from whom he took care to conceal the fact of his having seen sheppard since his escape, ireton entered the lodge. "altogether unsuccessful, sir," said the chief turnkey, with a look of disappointment, not unmixed with apprehension, as he approached wild. "i've been to all the flash cases in town, and can hear nothing of him or his wives. first, i went to country tom's, the goat, in long lane. tom swore he hadn't set eyes on him since the trial. i next proceeded to jenny bunch's, the ship, in trig lane--there i got the same answer. then to the feathers, in drury lane. then to the golden ball, in the same street. then to martin's brandy-shop, in fleet street. then to dan ware's, in hanging sword court. then to the dean's head, in st. martin's le grand. and, lastly, to the seven cities o' refuge, in the new mint. and nowhere could i obtain the slightest information." "humph!" exclaimed wild. "have you been more successful, sir?" ventured ireton. jonathan shook his head. "mr. shotbolt thinks he has a scheme that can't fail," interposed austin; "but he wishes to know whether you'll be as good as your word, in respect to the great reward you offered for jack's capture." "have i ever broken my word in such matters, that he dares put the question?" rejoined jonathan sternly. "tell mr. shotbolt that if he, or any other person, takes jack sheppard before to-morrow morning, i'll double it. do you hear?" "i do, sir," replied austin respectfully. "two hundred pounds, if he's lodged in newgate before to-morrow morning," continued wild. "make it known among your friends." and he strode out of the place. "two hundred pounds!" exclaimed ireton, "besides the governor's offer--that's three hundred. i must go to work again. keep a sharp look out, austin, and see that we lose no one else. i should be sorry if shotbolt got the reward." "devilish hard! i'm not allowed a chance," grumbled austin, as he was left alone. "however, some one _must_ look after the jail; and they're all gone but me. it's fortunate we've no more jack sheppards, or i should stand but a poor chance. well, i don't think they'll any of 'em nab him, that's one comfort." on quitting the lodge, wild repaired to his own habitation. telling the porter that he would attend to the house himself, he bade him go in search of jack sheppard. there was something in jonathan's manner, as he issued this command, that struck the man as singular, and he afterwards recalled it. he, however, made no remark at the time, but instantly prepared to set out. as soon as he was gone, jonathan went up stairs to the audience-chamber; and, sitting down, appeared for some time buried in reflection. the dark and desperate thoughts that were passing through his mind at this time will presently be shown. after a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten. muttering something to himself, he appeared to be telling upon his fingers the advantages and disadvantages of some scheme he had in contemplation. that he had resolved upon its execution, whatever it might be, was evident from his saying aloud,-- "i will do it. so good an opportunity may never occur again." upon this he arose, and paced the room hastily backwards and forwards, as if further arranging his plans. he then unlocked a cabinet, opened a secret drawer, and, lifter ransacking its contents, discovered a paper he was in search of, and a glove. laying these carefully aside, he restored the drawer to its place. his next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. his sword then came in for his scrutiny: he felt at, and appeared satisfied with its edge. this employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin--it cannot be called a smile--played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. his sword done with, he took up the bludgeon; balanced it in his hand; upon the points of his fingers; and let it fall with a smash, intentionally, upon the table. "after all," he said, "this is the safest weapon. no instrument i've ever used has done me such good service. it _shall_ be the bludgeon." so saying, he slung it upon his wrist. taking up a link, which was blazing beside him, he walked across the room; and touching a spring in the wall, a secret door flew open. beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. it was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the well hole. the bridge was protected on either side by a railing with bannisters placed at wide intervals. steps to aid the descent, which was too steep to be safe without them, led to, a door on the opposite side. this door, which was open, jonathan locked and took out the key. as he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. the red glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky waters below. a slight cough uttered by jonathan at the moment awakened the echoes of the place, and was returned in hollow reverberations. "there'll be a louder echo here presently," thought jonathan. before leaving the place he looked upwards, and could just discern the blue vault and pale stars of heaven through an iron grating at the top. on his return to the room, jonathan purposely left the door of the well hole ajar. unlocking a cupboard, he then took out some cold meat and other viands, with a flask of wine, and a bottle of brandy, and began to eat and drink voraciously. he had very nearly cleared the board, when a knock was heard below, and descending at the summons, he found his two janizaries. they had both been unsuccessful. as jonathan scarcely expected a more satisfactory result, he made no comment; but, ordering quilt to continue his search, and not to return until he had found the fugitive, called abraham mendez into the house, and shut the door. "i want you for the job i spoke of a short time ago, nab," he said. "i mean to have no one but yourself in it. come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy." abraham grinned, and silently followed his master, who, as soon as they reached the audience-chamber, poured out a bumper of spirits, and presented it to him. the jew swallowed it at a draught. "by my shoul!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips, "dat ish goot--very goot." "you shall finish the bottle when the job's done," replied jonathan. "vat ish it, mishter vild?" inquired mendez. "shir rowland trenchard's affair--eh?" "that's it," rejoined jonathan; "i expect him here every minute. when you've admitted him, steal into the room, hide yourself, and don't move till i utter the words, 'you've a long journey before you.' that's your signal." "and a famoush goot shignal it ish," laughed abraham. "he hash a long journey before him--ha! ha!" "peace!" cried jonathan. "there's his knock. go, and let him in. and mind you don't arouse his suspicions." "never fear--never fear," rejoined abraham, as he took up the link, and left the room. jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was properly arranged for his purpose; placed a chair with its back to the door; disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the entrance of the room more into shadow; and then flung himself into a seat to await sir rowland's arrival. he had not to wait long. enveloped in a large cloak, sir rowland stalked into the room, and took the seat assigned him; while the jew, who received a private signal from jonathan, set down the link near the entrance of the well hole, and, having made fast the door, crept behind one of the cases. fancying they were alone, sir rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocket-book filled with notes. "you have behaved like a man of honour, sir rowland," said wild, after he had twice told over the money. "right to a farthing." "give me an acquittance," said trenchard. "it's scarcely necessary," replied wild; "however, if you require it, certainly. there it is. 'received from sir rowland trenchard, , £.--jonathan wild: august st, .' will that do?" "it will," replied trenchard. "this is our last transaction together." "i hope not," replied wild. "it is the last," continued the knight, sternly; "and i trust we may never meet again, i have paid you this large sum--not because you are entitled to it, for you have failed in what you undertook to do, but because i desire to be troubled with you no further. i have now settled my affairs, and made every preparation for my departure to france, where i shall spend the remainder of my days. and i have made such arrangements that at my decease tardy justice will be done my injured nephew." "you have made no such arrangements as will compromise me, i hope, sir rowland?" said wild, hastily. "while i live you are safe," rejoined trenchard; "after my death i can answer for nothing." "'sblood!" exclaimed wild, uneasily. "this alters the case materially. when were you last confessed, sir rowland?" he added abruptly. "why do you ask?" rejoined the other haughtily. "because--because i'm always distrustful of a priest," rejoined jonathan. "i have just parted from one," said trenchard. "so much the worse," replied jonathan, rising and taking a turn, as if uncertain what to do. "so much the better," rejoined sir rowland. "he who stands on the verge of the grave, as i do, should never be unprepared." "you're strangely superstitious, sir rowland," said jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him. "if i were so, i should not be here," returned trenchard. "how so?" asked wild, curiously. "i had a terrible dream last night. i thought my sister and her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay me." "a terrible dream, indeed," said jonathan thoughtfully. "but you mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts. let me recommend a glass of wine." "my penance forbids it," said trenchard, waving his hand. "i cannot remain here long." "you will remain longer than you anticipate," muttered wild. "before i go," continued sir rowland, "i must beg of you to disclose to me all you know relative to the parentage of thames darrell." "willingly," replied wild. "thinking it likely you might desire to have this information, i prepared accordingly. first, look at this glove. it belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. you will observe that a coronet is embroidered on it." "ha!" exclaimed trenchard, starting, "is he so highly born?" "this letter will inform you," replied wild, placing a document in his hand. "what is this!" cried sir rowland. "i know the hand--ha! my friend! and i have murdered _him_! and my sister was thus nobly, thus illustriously wedded. o god! o god!" and he appeared convulsed with agony. "oh! if i had known this," he exclaimed, "what guilt, what remorse might have been spared me!" "repentance comes too late when the deed's done," returned wild, bitterly. "it is not too late to repair the wrong i have done my nephew," cried trenchard. "i will set about it instantly. he shall have the estates. i will return to manchester at once." "you had better take some refreshment before you start," rejoined wild. "'_you've a long journey before you._'" as the signal was given, the jew, who had been some time in expectation of it, darted swiftly and silently behind sir rowland, and flung a cloth over his head, while jonathan, rushing upon him in front, struck him several quick and violent blows in the face with the bludgeon. the white cloth was instantly dyed with crimson; but, regardless of this, jonathan continued his murderous assault. the struggles of the wounded man were desperate--so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. so appalling was the sight, that even the murderers--familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,--looked aghast at it. during this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. it had been removed from the scabbard by the jew. he uttered a deep groan, but said nothing. "despatch him!" roared jonathan. having no means of defence, sir rowland cleared the blood from his vision; and, turning to see whether there was any means of escape, he descried the open door behind him leading to the well hole, and instantly darted through it. "as i could wish!" cried jonathan. "bring the light, nab." the jew snatched up the link, and followed him. a struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. the wounded man had descended the bridge, and dashed himself against the door beyond it; but, finding it impossible to force his way further, he turned to confront his assailants. jonathan aimed a blow at him, which, if it had taken place, must have instantly terminated the strife; but, avoiding this, he sprang at the thief-taker, and grappled with him. firmly built, as it was, the bridge creaked in such a manner with their contending efforts, that abraham durst not venture beyond the door, where he stood, holding the light, a horrified spectator of the scene. the contest, however, though desperate, was brief. disengaging his right arm, jonathan struck his victim a tremendous blow on the head with the bludgeon, that fractured his skull; and, exerting all his strength, threw him over the rails, to which he clung with the tenacity of despair. "spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards. "spare me!" jonathan, however, instead of answering him, searched for his knife, with the intention of severing his wrist. but not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. he then stamped upon the hand on the lower bannister, until that also relaxed its gripe. sir rowland then fell. a hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. "give me the link," cried jonathan. holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. "shoot him! shoot him! put him out of hish mishery," cried the jew. "what's the use of wasting a shot?" rejoined jonathan, savagely. "he can't get out." after making several ineffectual attempts to keep himself above water, sir rowland sunk, and his groans, which had become gradually fainter and fainter, were heard no more. "all's over," muttered jonathan. "shall ve go back to de other room?" asked the jew. "i shall breathe more freely dere. oh! christ! de door's shut! it musht have schwung to during de schuffle!" "shut!" exclaimed wild. "then we're imprisoned. the spring can't be opened on this side." "dere's de other door!" cried mendez, in alarm. "it only leads to the fencing crib," replied wild. "there's no outlet that way." "can't ve call for asshistanche?" "and who'll find us, if we do?" rejoined wild, fiercely. "but they _will_ find the evidences of slaughter in the other room,--the table upset,--the bloody cloth,--the dead man's sword,--the money,--and my memorandum, which i forgot to remove. hell's curses! that after all my precautions i should be thus entrapped. it's all your fault, you shaking coward! and, but that i feel sure you'll swing for your carelessness, i'd throw you into the well, too." chapter xiii. the supper at mr. kneebone's. persuaded that jack sheppard would keep his appointment with mr. kneebone, and feeling certain of capturing him if he did so, shotbolt, on quitting newgate, hurried to the new prison to prepare for the enterprise. after debating with himself for some time whether he should employ an assistant, or make the attempt alone, his love of gain overcame his fears, and he decided upon the latter plan. accordingly, having armed himself with various weapons, including a stout oaken staff then ordinarily borne by the watch, and put a coil of rope and a gag in his pocket, to be ready in case of need, he set out, about ten o'clock, on the expedition. before proceeding to wych street, he called at the lodge to see how matters were going on, and found mrs. spurling and austin at their evening meal, with caliban in attendance. "well, mr. shotbolt," cried the turnkey, "i've good news for you. mr. wild has doubled his offer, and the governor has likewise proclaimed a reward of one hundred guineas for jack's apprehension." "you don't say so!" exclaimed shotbolt. "read that," rejoined austin, pointing to the placard. "i ought to tell you that mr. wild's reward is conditional upon jack's being taken before to-morrow morning. so i fear there's little chance of any one getting it." "you think so, eh?" chuckled shotbolt, who was eagerly perusing the reward, and congratulating himself upon his caution; "you think so--ha! ha! well, don't go to bed, that's all." "what for?" demanded the turnkey. "because the prisoner's arrival might disturb you--ha! ha!" "i'll lay you twenty guineas you don't take him to-night," rejoined austin. "done!" cried shotbolt. "mrs. spurling, you're a witness to the bet. twenty guineas, mind. i shan't let you off a farthing. egad! i shall make a good thing of it." "never count your chickens till they're hatched," observed mrs. spurling, drily. "_my_ chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied shotbolt, with increased merriment. "get ready your heaviest irons, austin. i'll send you word when i catch him." "you'd better send _him_," jeered the turnkey. "so i will," rejoined shotbolt; "so i will. if i don't, you shall clap me in the condemned hold in his stead. good-bye, for the pressent--ha! ha!" and, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the lodge. "i'll lay my life he's gone on a fox-and-goose-chase to mr. kneebone's," remarked austin, rising to fasten the door. "i shouldn't wonder," replied mrs. spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea. and, while the turnkey was busy with the keys, she whispered to the black, "follow him, caliban. take care he don't see you,--and bring me word where he goes, and what he does." "iss, missis," grinned the black. "be so good as to let caliban out, mr. austin," continued the tapstress; "he's only going on an errand." austin readily complied with her request. as he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager. unconscious that his movements were watched, shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards wych street. on the way, he hired a chair with a couple of stout porters, and ordered them to follow him. arrived within a short distance of his destination, he came to a halt, and pointing out a dark court nearly opposite the woollen-draper's abode, told the chairmen to wait there till they were summoned. "i'm a peace-officer," he added, "about to arrest a notorious criminal. he'll be brought out at this door, and may probably make some resistance. but you must get him into the chair as fast as you can, and hurry off to newgate." "and what'll we get for the job, yer hon'r?" asked the foremost chairman, who, like most of his tribe at the time, was an irishman. "five guineas. here's a couple in hand." "faix, then we'll do it in style," cried the fellow. "once in this chair, yer hon'r, and i'll warrant he'll not get out so aisily as jack sheppard did from the new pris'n." "hold your tongue, sirrah," rejoined shotbolt, not over-pleased by the remark, "and mind what i tell you. ah! what's that?" he exclaimed, as some one brushed hastily past him. "if i hadn't just left him, i could have sworn it was mrs. spurling's sooty imp, caliban." having seen the chairmen concealed in the entry, shotbolt proceeded to mr. kneebone's habitation, the shutters of which were closed, and knocked at the door. the summons was instantly answered by a shop-boy. "is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. "he is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. "my name is kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward. "what do you want with me?" "a word in private," replied the other. "stand aside, tom," commanded kneebone. "now sir," he added, glancing suspiciously at the applicant "your business?" "my business is to acquaint you that jack sheppard has escaped, mr. kneebone," returned shotbolt. "the deuce he has! why, it's only a few hours since i beheld him chained down with half a hundred weight of iron, in the strongest ward at newgate. it's almost incredible. are you sure you're not misinformed, sir?" "i was in the lodge at the time," replied the jailer. "then, of course, you must know. well, it's scarcely credible. when i gave him an invitation to supper, i little thought he'd accept it. but, egad! i believe he _will_." "i'm convinced of it," replied shotbolt; "and it was on that very account i came here." and he proceeded to unfold his scheme to the woollen-draper. "well, sir," said kneebone, when the other concluded, "i shall certainly not oppose his capture, but, at the same time, i'll lend you no assistance. if he keeps _his_ word, i'll keep _mine_. you must wait till supper's over." "as you please, sir,--provided you don't let him off." "that i'll engage not to do. i've another reason for supposing he'll pay me a visit. i refused to sign a petition in his behalf to the recorder; not from any ill-will to him, but because it was prepared by a person whom i particularly dislike--captain darrell." "a very sufficient reason," answered the jailer. "tom," continued kneebone, calling to the shop-boy, "don't go home. i may want you. light the lantern. and, if you hear any odd noise in the parlour, don't mind it." "not in the least, sir," replied tom, in a drowsy tone, and with a look seeming to imply that he was too much accustomed to odd noises at night to heed them. "now, step this way, mr. what's-your-name?" "shotbolt, sir," replied the jailer. "very well, mr. slipshod; follow me." and he led the way to an inner room, in the middle of which stood a table, covered with a large white cloth. "jack sheppard knows this house, i believe, sir," observed shotbolt. "every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. "he _ought_ to do, seeing that he served his apprenticeship in it to mr. wood, by whom it was formerly occupied. his name is carved upon a beam up stairs." "indeed!" said shotbolt. "where can i hide myself?" he added, glancing round the room in search of a closet. "under the table. the cloth nearly touches the floor. give me your staff. it'll be in your way." "suppose he brings blueskin, or some other ruffian with him," hesitated the jailer. "suppose he does. in that case i'll help you. we shall be equally matched. you're not afraid, mr. shoplatch." "not in the least," replied shotbolt, creeping beneath the table; "there's my staff. am i quite hidden?" "not quite;--keep your feet in. mind you don't stir till supper's over. i'll stamp twice when we've done." "i forgot to mention there's a trifling reward for his capture," cried shotbolt, popping his head from under the cloth. "if we take him, i don't mind giving you a share--say a fourth--provided you lend a helping hand." "curse your reward!" exclaimed kneebone, angrily. "do you take me for a thief-catcher, like jonathan wild, that you dare to affront me by such a proposal?" "no offence, sir," rejoined the jailer, humbly. "i didn't imagine for a moment that you'd accept it, but i thought it right to make you the offer." "be silent, and conceal yourself. i'm about to ring for supper." the woollen-draper's application to the bell was answered by a very pretty young woman, with dark jewish features, roguish black eyes, sleek glossy hair, a trim waist, and a remarkably neat figure: the very model, in short, of a bachelor's housekeeper. "rachel," said mr. kneebone, addressing his comely attendant; "put a few more plates on the table, and bring up whatever there is in the larder. i expect company." "company!" echoed rachel; "at this time of night?" "company, child," repeated kneebone. "i shall want a bottle or two of sack, and a flask of usquebaugh." "anything else, sir?" "no:--stay! you'd better not bring up any silver forks or spoons." "why, surely you don't think your guests would steal them," observed rachel, archly. "they shan't have the opportunity," replied kneebone. and, by way of checking his housekeeper's familiarity, he pointed significantly to the table. "who's there?" cried rachel. "i'll see." and before she could be prevented, she lifted up the cloth, and disclosed shotbolt. "oh, gemini!" she exclaimed. "a man!" "at your service, my dear," replied the jailer. "now your curiosity's satisfied, child," continued kneebone, "perhaps, you'll attend to my orders." not a little perplexed by the mysterious object she had seen, rachel left the room, and, shortly afterwards returned with the materials of a tolerably good supper;--to wit, a couple of cold fowls, a tongue, the best part of a sirloin of beef, a jar of pickles, and two small dishes of pastry. to these she added the wine and spirits directed, and when all was arranged looked inquisitively at her master. "i expect a very extraordinary person to supper, rachel," he remarked. "the gentleman under the table," she answered. "he _does_ seem a very extraordinary person." "no; another still more extraordinary." "indeed!--who is it?" "jack sheppard." "what! the famous housebreaker. i thought he was in newgate." "he's let out for a few hours," laughed kneebone; "but he's going back again after supper." "oh, dear! how i should like to see him. i'm told he's so handsome." "i'm sorry i can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. "i shall want nothing more. you had better go to bed." "it's no use going to bed," answered rachel. "i shan't sleep a wink while jack sheppard's in the house." "keep in your own room, at all events," rejoined kneebone. "very well," said rachel, with a toss of her pretty head, "very well. i'll have a peep at him, if i die for it," she muttered, as she went out. mr. kneebone, then, sat down to await the arrival of his expected guest. half an hour passed, but jack did not make his appearance. the woollen-draper looked at his watch. it was eleven o'clock. another long interval elapsed. the watch was again consulted. it was now a quarter past twelve. mr. kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles. "i suspect our friend has thought better of it, and won't come," he remarked. "have a little patience, sir," rejoined the jailer. "how are you off there, shoplatch?" inquired kneebone. "rather cramped, eh?" "rather so, sir," replied the other, altering his position. "i shall be able to stretch my limbs presently--ha! ha!" "hush!" cried kneebone, "i hear a noise without. he's coming." the caution was scarcely uttered, when the door opened, and jack sheppard presented himself. he was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. it has been already intimated that jack had an excessive passion for finery; and it might have been added, that the chief part of his ill-gotten gains was devoted to the embellishment of his person. on the present occasion, he appeared to have bestowed more than ordinary attention on his toilette. his apparel was sumptuous in the extreme, and such as was only worn by persons of the highest distinction. it consisted of a full-dress coat of brown flowered velvet, laced with silver; a waistcoat of white satin, likewise richly embroidered; shoes with red heels, and large diamond buckles; pearl-coloured silk stockings with gold clocks; a muslin cravat, or steen-kirk, as it was termed, edged with the fine point lace; ruffles of the same material, and so ample as almost to hide the tips of his fingers; and a silver-hilted sword. this costume, though somewhat extravagant, displayed his slight, but perfectly-proportioned figure to the greatest advantage. the only departure which he made from the fashion of the period, was in respect to the peruke--an article he could never be induced to wear. in lieu of it, he still adhered to the sleek black crop, which, throughout life, formed a distinguishing feature in his appearance. ever since the discovery of his relationship to the trenchard family, a marked change had taken place in jack's demeanour and looks, which were so much refined and improved that he could scarcely be recognised as the same person. having only seen him in the gloom of a dungeon, and loaded with fetters, kneebone had not noticed this alteration: but he was now greatly struck by it. advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. "i am expected, i find," observed jack, glancing at the well-covered board. "you are," replied kneebone. "when i heard of your escape, i felt sure i should see you." "you judged rightly," rejoined jack; "i never yet broke an engagement with friend or foe--and never will." "a bold resolution," said the woollen-draper. "you must have made some exertion to keep your present appointment. few men could have done as much." "perhaps not," replied jack, carelessly. "i would have done more, if necessary." "well, take a chair," rejoined kneebone. "i've waited supper, you perceive." "first, let me introduce my friends," returned jack, stepping to the door. "friends!" echoed kneebone, with a look of dismay. "my invitation did not extend to them." further remonstrance, however, was cut short by the sudden entrance of mrs. maggot and edgeworth bess. behind them stalked blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called--appropriately enough in this instance,--a wrap-rascal. folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. the ladies were, as usual, very gaily dressed; and as usual, also, had resorted to art to heighten their attractions-- from patches, justly placed, they borrow'd graces, and with vermilion lacquer'd o'er their faces. edgeworth bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,--a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,--which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. mrs. maggot was equipped in a light blue riding-habit, trimmed with silver, a hunting-cap and a flaxen peruke, and, instead of a whip, carried a stout cudgel. for a moment, kneebone had hesitated about giving the signal to shotbolt, but, thinking a more favourable opportunity might occur, he determined not to hazard matters by undue precipitation. placing chairs, therefore, he invited the ladies to be seated, and, paying a similar attention to jack, began to help to the various dishes, and otherwise fulfil the duties of a host. while this was going on, blueskin, seeing no notice whatever taken of him, coughed loudly and repeatedly. but finding his hints totally disregarded, he, at length, swaggered up to the table, and thrust in a chair. "excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. "this tongue looks remarkably nice," he added, slicing off an immense wedge, "excuse me--ho! ho!" "you make yourself at home, i perceive," observed kneebone, with a look of ineffable disgust. "i generally do," replied blueskin, pouring out a bumper of sack. "your health, kneebone." "allow me to offer you a glass of usquebaugh, my dear," said kneebone, turning from him, and regarding edgeworth bess with a stare so impertinent, that even that not over-delicate young lady summoned up a blush. "with pleasure, sir," replied edgeworth bess. "dear me!" she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, "what a beautiful ring that is." "do you think so?" replied kneebone, taking it off, and placing it on her finger, which he took the opportunity of kissing at the same time; "wear it for my sake." "oh, dear!" simpered edgeworth bess, endeavouring to hide her confusion by looking steadfastly at her plate. "you don't eat," continued kneebone, addressing jack, who had remained for some time thoughtful, and pre-occupied with his head upon his hand. "the captain has seldom much appetite," replied blueskin, who, having disposed of the fowl, was commencing a vigorous attack upon the sirloin. "i eat for both." "so it seems," observed the woollen-draper, "and for every one else, too." "i say, kneebone," rejoined blueskin, as he washed down an immense mouthful with another bumper, "do you recollect how nearly mr. wild and i were nabbing you in this very room, some nine years ago?" "i do," replied kneebone; "and now," he added, aside, "the case is altered. i'm nearly nabbing _you_." "a good deal has occurred since then, eh, captain!" said blueskin, nudging jack. "much that i would willingly forget. nothing that i desire to remember," replied sheppard, sternly. "on that night,--in this room,--in your presence, blueskin,--in yours mr. kneebone, mrs. wood struck me a blow which made me a robber." "she has paid dearly for it," muttered blueskin. "she has," rejoined sheppard. "but i wish her hand had been as deadly as yours. on that night,--that fatal night,--winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. on that night, i surrendered myself to jonathan wild, and became--what i am." "on that night, you first met me, love," said edgeworth bess, endeavouring to take his hand, which he coldly withdrew. "and me," added mrs. maggot tenderly. "would i had never seen either of you!" cried jack, rising and pacing the apartment with a hurried step. "well, i'm sure winifred could never have loved you as well as i do," said mrs. maggot. "_you_!" cried jack, scornfully. "do you compare _your_ love--a love which all may purchase--with _hers_? no one has ever loved me." "except me, dear," insinuated edgeworth bess. "i've been always true to you." "peace!" retorted jack, with increased bitterness. "i'm your dupe no longer." "what the devil's in the wind now, captain?" cried blueskin, in astonishment. "i'll tell you," replied jack, with forced calmness. "within the last few minutes, all my guilty life has passed before me. nine years ago, i was honest--was happy. nine years ago, i worked in this very house--had a kind indulgent master, whom i robbed--twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship i have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart i have well-nigh broken. in this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended." "come, come, don't take on thus, captain," cried blueskin, rising and walking towards him. "if any one's to blame, it's me. i'm ready to bear it all." "can you make me honest?" cried jack. "can you make me other than a condemned felon? can you make me not jack sheppard?" "no," replied blueskin; "and i wouldn't if i could." "curse you!" cried jack, furiously,--"curse you!--curse you!" "swear away, captain," rejoined blueskin, coolly. "it'll ease your mind." "do you mock me?" cried jack, levelling a pistol at him. "not i," replied blueskin. "take my life, if you're so disposed. you're welcome to it. and let's see if either of these women, who prate of their love for you, will do as much." "this is folly," cried jack, controlling himself by a powerful effort. "the worst of folly," replied blueskin, returning to the table, and taking up a glass; "and, to put an end to it, i shall drink the health of jack sheppard, the housebreaker, and success to him in all his enterprises. and now, let's see who'll refuse the pledge." "_i_ will," replied sheppard, dashing the glass from his hand. "sit down, fool!" "jack," said kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "suppose them so," rejoined jack, "what then?" "nothing--nothing," stammered kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. "i'm glad to hear it, that's all," he added, taking out his snuff-box, his never-failing resource in such emergencies. "it won't do to betray the officer," he muttered. "o lud! what an exquisite box!" cried edgeworth bess. "is it gold?" "pure gold," replied kneebone. "it was given me by poor dear mrs. wood, whose loss i shall ever deplore." "pray, let me have a pinch!" said edgeworth bess, with a captivating glance. "i am so excessively fond of snuff." the woollen-draper replied by gallantly handing her the box, which was instantly snatched from her by blueskin, who, after helping himself to as much of its contents as he could conveniently squeeze between his thumb and finger, put it very coolly in his pocket. the action did not pass unnoticed by sheppard. "restore it," he cried, in an authoritative voice. "o'ons! captain," cried blueskin, as he grumblingly obeyed the command; "if you've left off business yourself, you needn't interfere with other people." "i should like a little of that plum-tart," said mrs. maggot; "but i don't see a spoon." "i'll ring for one," replied kneebone, rising accordingly; "but i fear my servants are gone to bed." blueskin, meanwhile, having drained and replenished his glass, commenced chaunting a snatch of a ballad:-- once on a time, as i've heard tell. in wych street owen wood did dwell; a carpenter he was by trade, and money, i believe, he made. _with his foodle doo_! this carpenter he had a wife, the plague and torment of his life, who, though she did her husband scold, loved well a woollen-draper bold. _with her foodle doo_! "i've a toast to propose," cried sheppard, filling a bumper. "you won't refuse it, mr. kneebone?" "he'd better not," muttered blueskin. "what is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. "the speedy union of thames darrell with winifred wood," replied jack. kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while blueskin resumed his song. now owen wood had one fair child, unlike her mother, meek and mild; her love the draper strove to gain, but she repaid him with disdain. _with his foodle doo_! "peace!" cried jack. but blueskin was not to be silenced. he continued his ditty, in spite of the angry glances of his leader. in vain he fondly urged his suit, and, all in vain, the question put; she answered,--"mr. william kneebone, of me, sir, you shall never be bone." _with your foodle doo_! "thames darrell has my heart alone, a noble youth, e'en _you_ must own; and, if from him my love could stir, jack sheppard i should much prefer!" _with his foodle doo_! "do you refuse my toast?" cried jack, impatiently. "i do," replied kneebone. "drink this, then," roared blueskin. and pouring the contents of a small powder-flask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. at this juncture, the door was opened by rachel. "what did you ring for, sir?" she asked, eyeing the group with astonishment. "your master wants a few table-spoons, child," said mrs. maggot. "leave the room," interposed kneebone, angrily. "no, i shan't," replied rachel, saucily. "i came to see jack sheppard, and i won't go till you point him out to me. you told me he was going back to newgate after supper, so i mayn't have another opportunity." "oh! he told you that, did he?" said blueskin, marching up to her, and chucking her under the chin. "i'll show you captain sheppard, my dear. there he stands. i'm his lieutenant,--lieutenant blueskin. we're two good-looking fellows, ain't we?" "very good-looking," replied rachel. "but, where's the strange gentleman i saw under the table?" "under the table!" echoed blueskin, winking at jack. "when did you see him, my love?" "a short time ago," replied the housekeeper, unsuspiciously. "the plot's out!" cried jack. and, without another word, he seized the table with both hands, and upset it; scattering plates, dishes, bottles, jugs, and glasses far and wide. the crash was tremendous. the lights rolled over, and were extinguished. and, if rachel had not carried a candle, the room would have been plunged in total darkness. amid the confusion, shotbolt sprang to his feet, and levelling a pistol at jack's head, commanded him to surrender; but, before any reply could be made, the jailer's arm was struck up by blueskin, who, throwing himself upon him, dragged him to the ground. in the struggle the pistol went off, but without damage to either party. the conflict was of short duration; for shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. he was speedily disarmed; and the rope and gag being found upon him, were exultingly turned against him by his conqueror, who, after pinioning his arms tightly behind his back, forced open his mouth with the iron, and effectually prevented the utterance of any further outcries. while the strife was raging, edgeworth bess walked up to rachel, and advised her, if she valued her life, not to scream or stir from the spot; a caution which the housekeeper, whose curiosity far outweighed her fears, received in very good part. in the interim, jack advanced to the woollen-draper, and regarding him sternly, thus addressed him: "you have violated the laws of hospitality, mr. kneebone, i came hither as your guest. you have betrayed me." "what faith is to be kept with a felon?" replied the woollen-draper, disdainfully. "he who breaks faith with his benefactor may well justify himself thus," answered jack. "i have not trusted you. others who have done, have found you false." "i don't understand you," replied kneebone, in some confusion. "you soon shall," rejoined sheppard. "where are the packets committed to your charge by sir rowland trenchard?" "the packets!" exclaimed kneebone, in alarm. "it is useless to deny it," replied jack. "you were watched to-night by blueskin. you met sir rowland at the house of a romisch priest, father spencer. two packets were committed to your charge, which you undertook to deliver,--one to another priest, sir rowland's chaplain, at manchester, the other to mr. wood. produce them!" "never!" replied kneebone. "then, by heaven! you are a dead man!" replied jack, cocking a pistol, and pointing it deliberately at his head. "i give you one minute for reflection. after that time nothing shall save you." there was a brief, breathless pause. even blueskin looked on with anxiety. "it is past," said jack, placing his finger on the trigger. "hold!" cried kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me." "but they are everything to me," cried jack, stooping to pick them up. "these packets will establish thames darrell's birth, win him his inheritance, and procure him the hand of winifred wood." "don't be too sure of that," rejoined kneebone, snatching up the staff, and aiming a blow at his head, which was fortunately warded off by mrs. maggot, who promptly interposed her cudgel. "defend yourself!" cried jack, drawing his sword. "leave his punishment to me, jack," said mrs. maggot. "i've the bridewell account to settle." "be it so," replied jack, putting up his blade. "i've a good deal to do. show him no quarter, poll. he deserves none." "and shall find none," replied the amazon. "now, mr. kneebone," she added, drawing up her magnificent figure to its full height, and making the heavy cudgel whistle through the air, "look to yourself." "stand off, poll," rejoined the woollen-draper; "i don't want to hurt you. it shall never be said that i raised my arm willingly against a woman." "i'll forgive you all the harm you do me," rejoined the amazon. "what! you still hesitate! will that rouse you, coward?" and she gave him a smart rap on the head. "coward!" cried kneebone. "neither man nor woman shall apply that term to me. if you forget your sex, jade, i must forget mine." with this, he attacked her vigorously in his turn. it was a curious sight to see how this extraordinary woman, who, it has been said, was not less remarkable for the extreme delicacy of her features, and the faultless symmetry of her figure, than for her wonderful strength and agility, conducted herself in the present encounter; with what dexterity she parried every blow aimed against her by her adversary, whose head and face, already marked by various ruddy streams, showed how successfully her own hits had been made;--how she drew him hither and thither, now leading him on, now driving him suddenly back; harassing and exhausting him in every possible way, and making it apparent that she could at any moment put an end to the fight, and only delayed the finishing stroke to make his punishment the more severe. jack, meanwhile, with blueskin's assistance, had set the table once more upon its legs, and placing writing materials, which he took from a shelf, upon it, made shotbolt, who was still gagged, but whose arms were for the moment unbound, sit down before them. "write as i dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. "write as follows," continued jack. "'i have succeeded in capturing jack sheppard. the reward is mine. get all ready for his reception. in a few minutes after the delivery of this note he will be in newgate.' sign it," he added, as, after some further threats, the letter was indited according to his dictation, "and direct it to mr. austin. that's well. and, now, to find a messenger." "mr. kneebone's man is in the shop," said rachel; "he'll take it." "can i trust him?" mused jack. "yes; he'll suspect nothing. give him this letter, child, and bid him take it to the lodge at newgate without loss of time. blueskin will go with you,--for fear of a mistake." "you might trust me," said rachel, in an offended tone; "but never mind." and she left the room with blueskin, who very politely offered her his arm. meanwhile, the combat between kneebone and mrs. maggot had been brought to a termination. when the woollen-draper was nearly worn out, the amazon watched her opportunity, and hitting him on the arm, disabled it. "that's for mrs. wood," she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp. "i'm at your mercy, poll," rejoined kneebone, abjectly. "that's for winifred," vociferated the amazon, bringing the cudgel heavily upon his shoulder. "damnation!" cried kneebone. "that's for myself," rejoined mrs. maggot, dealing him a blow, which stretched him senseless on the floor. "bravo, poll!" cried jack, who having again pinioned shotbolt, was now tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. "you've given him a broken head, i perceive." "he'll scarcely need a plaister," replied mrs. maggot, laughing. "here, bess, give me the cord, and i'll tie him to this chest of drawers. i don't think he'll come to himself too soon. but it's best to be on the safe side." "decidedly so," replied edgeworth bess; "and i'll take this opportunity, while jack's back is turned,--for he's grown so strangely particular,--of easing him of his snuff-box. perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the before-named article, "he has a pocket-book." "hush!" replied mrs. maggot; "jack will hear you. we'll come back for that by and by, and the dressing-gown." at this moment, rachel and blueskin returned. their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them. "have you sent off the note?" inquired jack. "we have, captain," replied blueskin. "i say _we_, because miss rachel and i have struck up a match. shall i bring off anything?" he added, looking eagerly round. "no," replied jack, peremptorily. having now sealed his letter, sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. he, next, seized the unlucky jailer, and forced him along, while blueskin expedited his movements by administering a few kicks behind. when they got to the door, jack opened it, and, mimicking the voice of the jailer, shouted, "now, my lads, all's ready?" "here we are," cried the chairmen, hurrying out of the court with their swinging vehicle, "where is he?" "here," replied sheppard, dragging out shotbolt by the collar, while blueskin pushed him behind, and mrs. maggot held up a lantern, which she found in the shop. "in with him!" "ay--ay, yer hon'r," cried the foremost chairman, lending a helping hand. "get in wid ye, ye villin!" and, despite his resistance, shotbolt was thrust into the chair, which was instantly fastened upon him. "there, he's as safe as jack sheppard in the condemned hould," laughed the man. "off with you to newgate!" cried jack, "and don't let him out till you get inside the lodge. there's a letter for the head turnkey, mr. irreton. d'ye hear." "yes, yer hon'r," replied the chairman, taking the note. "what are you waiting for?" asked jack, impatiently. "the gen'l'man as hired us," replied the chairman. "oh! he'll be after you directly. he's settling an account in the house. lose no time. the letter will explain all." the chair was then rapidly put in motion, and speedily disappeared. "what's to be done next?" cried blueskin, returning to rachel, who was standing with edgeworth bess near the door. "i shall go back and finish my supper," said mrs. maggot. "and so shall i," replied edgeworth bess. "stop a minute," cried jack, detaining his mistresses. "here we part,--perhaps for ever. i've already told you i'm about to take a long journey, and it's more than probable i shall never return." "don't say so," cried mrs. maggot. "i should be perfectly miserable if _i_ thought you in earnest." "the very idea is dreadful," whimpered edgeworth bess. "farewell!" cried jack, embracing them. "take this key to baptist kettleby. on seeing it, he'll deliver you a box, which it will unlock, and in which you'll find a matter of fifty guineas and a few trinkets. divide the money between you, and wear the ornaments for my sake. but, if you've a spark of love for me, don't meddle with anything in that house." "not for worlds!" exclaimed both ladies together. "farewell!" cried jack, breaking from them, and rushing down the street. "what shall we do, poll?" hesitated edgeworth bess. "go in, to be sure, simpleton," replied mrs. maggot, "and bring off all we can. i know where everything valuable is kept. since jack has left us, what does it matter whether he's pleased or not?" at this moment, a whistle was heard. "coming!" cried blueskin, who was still lingering with rachel. "the captain's in such a desperate hurry, that there's no time for love-making. adieu! my charmer. you'll find those young ladies extremely agreeable acquaintances. adieu!" and, snatching a hasty kiss, he darted after jack. the chair, meanwhile, with its unhappy load, was transported at a brisk pace to newgate. arrived there, the porter thundered at the massive door of the lodge, which was instantly opened--shotbolt's note having been received just before. all the turnkeys were assembled. ireton and langley had returned from a second unsuccessful search; marvel had come thither to bid good-night to mrs. spurling; austin had never quitted his post. the tapstress was full of curiosity; but she appeared more easy than the others. behind her stood caliban, chuckling to himself, and grinning from ear to ear. "well, who'd have thought of shotbolt beating us all in this way!" said ireton. "i'm sorry for old newgate that another jail should have it. it's infernally provoking." "infernally provoking!" echoed langley. "nobody has so much cause for complaint as me," growled austin. "i've lost my wager." "twenty pounds," rejoined mrs. spurling. "i witnessed the bet." "here he is!" cried ireton, as the knocking was heard without. "get ready the irons, caliban." "wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,--"lilly bit--see all right fust." by this time, the chair had been brought into the lodge. "you've got him?" demanded ireton. "safe inside," replied the chairman, wiping the heat from his brow; "we've run all the way." "where's mr. shotbolt?" asked austin. "the gen'l'man'll be here directly. he was detained. t' other gen'l'man said the letter 'ud explain all." "detained!" echoed marvel. "that's odd. but, let's see the prisoner." the chair was then opened. "shotbolt! by--" cried austin, as the captive was dragged forth. "i've won, after all." exclamations of wonder burst from all. mrs. spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. caliban absolutely crowed with delight. "hear the letter," said ireton, breaking the seal. "'_this is the way in which i will serve all who attempt to apprehend me_.' it is signed jack sheppard." "and, so jack sheppard has sent back shotbolt in this pickle," said langley. "so it appears," replied marvel. "untie his arms, and take off that handkerchief. the poor fellow's half smothered." "i guess what share you've had in this," whispered austin to mrs. spurling. "never mind," replied the tapstress. "you've won your wager." half an hour after this occurrence, when it had been sufficiently laughed at and discussed; when the wager had been settled, and the chairman dismissed with the remaining three guineas, which shotbolt was compelled to pay; ireton arose, and signified his intention of stepping across the street to inform mr. wild of the circumstance. "as it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "i'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. mr. wild is sure to be up. he never retires to rest till daybreak--if at all. come with me, langley, and bring the lantern." chapter xiv. how jack sheppard was again captured. jack sheppard, after whistling to blueskin, hurried down a short thoroughfare leading from wych street to the back of saint clement's church, where he found thames darrell, who advanced to meet him. "i was just going," said thames. "when i parted from you at mr. kneebone's door, you begged me to await your return here, assuring me you would not detain me five minutes. instead of which, more than half an hour has elapsed." "you won't complain of the delay when i tell you what i've done," answered jack. "i've obtained two packets, containing letters from sir rowland trenchard, which i've no doubt will establish your title to the estates. take them, and may they prove as serviceable to you as i desire." "jack," replied thames, greatly moved, "i wish i could devise any means of brightening your own dark prospects." "that's impossible," replied jack. "i am utterly lost." "not utterly," rejoined the other. "utterly," reiterated jack, gloomily,--"as regards all i hold dear. listen to me, thames. i'm about to leave this country for ever. having ascertained that a vessel sails for france from the river at daybreak to-morrow morning, i have secured a passage in her, and have already had the few effects i possess, conveyed on board. blueskin goes with me. the faithful fellow will never leave me." "never, while i've breath in my body, captain," rejoined blueskin, who had joined them. "england or france, london or paris, it's all one to me, so i've you to command me." "stand out of earshot," rejoined his leader. "i'll call you when you're wanted." and blueskin withdrew. "i cannot but approve the course you are about to take, jack," said thames, "though on some accounts i regret it. in after years you can return to your own country--to your friends." "never," replied sheppard bitterly. "my friends need not fear my return. they shall hear of me no more. under another name,--not my own hateful one,--i will strive to distinguish myself in some foreign service, and win myself a reputation, or perish honourably. but i will never--never return." "i will not attempt to combat your resolution, jack," returned thames, after a pause. "but i dread the effect your departure may have upon your poor mother. her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it." "i wish you hadn't mentioned her," said jack, in a broken voice, while his whole frame shook with emotion. "what i do is for the best, and i can only hope she may have strength to bear the separation. you must say farewell to her, for i cannot. i don't ask you to supply my place--for that is, perhaps, impossible. but, be like a son to her." "do not doubt me," replied thames, warmly pressing his hand. "and now, i've one further request," faltered jack; "though i scarcely know how to make it. it is to set me right with winifred. do not let her think worse of me than i deserve,--or even so ill. tell her, that more than once, when about to commit some desperate offence, i have been restrained by her gentle image. if hopeless love for her made me a robber, it has also saved me many a crime. will you tell her that?" "i will," replied thames, earnestly. "enough," said jack, recovering his composure. "and now, to your own concerns. blueskin, who has been on the watch all night, has dogged sir rowland trenchard to jonathan wild's house; and, from the mysterious manner in which he was admitted by the thief-taker's confidential servant, abraham mendez, and not by the regular porter, there is little doubt but they are alone, and probably making some arrangements prior to our uncle's departure from england." "is he leaving england?" demanded thames, in astonishment. "he sails to-morrow morning in the very vessel by which i start," replied jack. "now, if as i suspect,--from the documents just placed in your possession,--sir rowland meditates doing you justice after his departure, it is possible his intentions may be frustrated by the machinations of wild, whose interest is obviously to prevent such an occurrence, unless we can surprise them together, and, by proving to sir rowland that we possess the power of compelling a restitution of your rights, force the other treacherous villain into compliance. jonathan, in all probability, knows nothing of these packets; and their production may serve to intimidate him. will you venture?" "it is a hazardous experiment," said thames, after a moment's reflection; "but i will make it. you must not, however, accompany me, jack. the risk i run is nothing to yours." "i care for no risk, provided i can serve you," rejoined sheppard. "besides, you'll not be able to get in without me. it won't do to knock at the door, and jonathan wild's house is not quite so easy of entrance as mr. wood's." "i understand," replied thames; "be it as you will." "then, we'll lose no more time," returned jack. "come along, blueskin." starting at a rapid pace in the direction of the old bailey, and crossing fleet bridge, "for oyster tubs renowned," the trio skirted the right bank of the muddy stream until they reached fleet lane, up which they hurried. turning off again on the left, down seacoal lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. a door in this house opened upon the yard. jack tried it, and found it locked. "if i had my old tools with me, we'd soon master this obstacle," he muttered. "we shall be obliged to force it." "try the cellar, captain," said blueskin, stamping upon a large board in the ground. "here's the door. this is the way the old thief brings in all his heavy plunder, which he stows in out-of-the-way holes in his infernal dwelling. i've seen him often do it." while making these remarks, blueskin contrived, by means of a chisel which he chanced to have about him, to lift up the board, and, introducing his fingers beneath it, with jack's assistance speedily opened it altogether, disclosing a dark hole, into which he leapt. "follow me, thames," cried jack, dropping into the chasm. they were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. it was fastened inside. but, taking the chisel from blueskin, jack quickly forced back the bolt. as they entered the room beyond, a fierce growl was heard. "let me go first," said blueskin; "the dogs know me. soho! boys." and, walking up to the animals, which were chained to the wall, they instantly recognised him, and suffered the others to pass without barking. groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall. as jack conjectured, no one was there, and, though a lamp was burning on a stand, they decided upon proceeding without it. they then swiftly mounted the stairs, and stopped before the audience-chamber. applying his ear to the keyhole, jack listened, but could detect no sound. he, next cautiously tried the door, but found it fastened inside. "i fear we're too late," he whispered to thames. "but, we'll soon see. give me the chisel, blueskin." and, dexterously applying the implement, he forced open the lock. they then entered the room, which was perfectly dark. "this is strange," said jack, under his breath. "sir rowland must be gone. and, yet, i don't know. the key's in the lock, on the inner side. be on your guard." "i am so," replied thames, who had followed him closely. "shall i fetch the light, captain?" whispered blueskin. "yes," replied jack. "i don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to thames, as they were left alone, "but i've a strange foreboding of ill. my heart fails me. i almost wish we hadn't come." as he said this, he moved forward a few paces, when, finding his feet glued to the ground by some adhesive substance, he stooped to feel what it was, but instantly withdrew his hand, with an exclamation of horror. "god in heaven!" he cried, "the floor is covered with blood. some foul murder has been committed. the light!--the light!" astounded at his cries, thames sprang towards him. at this moment, blueskin appeared with the lamp, and revealed a horrible spectacle,--the floor deluged with blood,--various articles of furniture upset,--papers scattered about,--the murdered man's cloak, trampled upon, and smeared with gore,--his hat, crushed and similarly stained,--his sword,--the ensanguined cloth,--with several other ghastly evidences of the slaughterous deed. further on, there were impressions of bloody footsteps along the floor. "sir rowland is murdered!" cried jack, as soon as he could find a tongue. "it is plain he has been destroyed by his perfidious accomplice," rejoined thames. "oh god! how fearfully my father is avenged!" "true," replied jack, sternly; "but we have our uncle to avenge. what's this?" he added, stooping to pick up a piece of paper lying at his feet--it was jonathan's memorandum. "this is the explanation of the bloody deed." "here's a pocket-book full of notes, and a heavy bag of gold," said blueskin, examining the articles on the floor. "the sum which incited the villain to the murder," replied jack. "but he can't be far off. he must be gone to dispose of the body. we shall have him on his return." "i'll see where these footsteps lead to," said blueskin, holding the light to the floor. "here are some more papers, captain." "give them to me," replied jack. "ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest aliva,'--that's your mother's name, thames." "let me see it," cried thames, snatching it from him. "it _is_ addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father. at length, i shall ascertain my name. bring the light this way--quick! i cannot decipher the signature." jack was about to comply with the request, when an unlooked-for interruption occurred. having traced the footsteps to the wall, and perceiving no outlet, blueskin elevated the lamp, and discovered marks of bloody fingers on the boards. "he must have gone this way," muttered blueskin. "i've often heard of a secret door in this room, though i never saw it. it must be somewhere hereabouts. ah!" he exclaimed, as his eye fell upon a small knob in the wall, "there's the spring!" he touched it, and the door flew open. the next moment, he was felled to the ground by jonathan wild, who sprang into the room, followed by abraham bearing the link. a single glance served to show the thief-taker how matters stood. from the slight sounds that had reached him in his place of confinement, he was aware that some persons had found their way to the scene of slaughter, and in a state of the most intense anxiety awaited the result of their investigation, prepared for the worst. hearing the spring touched, he dashed through on the instant, and struck down the person who presented himself, with his bludgeon. on beholding the intruders, his fears changed to exultation, and he uttered a roar of satisfaction as he glared at them, which could only be likened to the cry of some savage denizen of the plains. on his appearance, jack levelled a pistol at his head. but his hand was withheld by thames. "don't fire," cried the latter. "it is important not to slay him. he shall expiate his offences on the gibbet. you are my prisoner, murderer." "_your_ prisoner!" echoed jonathan, derisively. "you mistake,--you are mine. and so is your companion,--the convict sheppard." "waste not another word with him, thames," cried jack. "upon him!" "yield, villain, or die!" shouted thames, drawing his sword and springing towards him. "there's my answer!" rejoined wild, hurling the bludgeon at him, with such fatal effect, that striking him on the head it brought him instantly to the ground. "ah! traitor!" cried jack, pulling the trigger of his pistol. anticipating this, wild avoided the shot by suddenly, ducking his head. he had a narrow escape, however; for, passing within an inch of him, the bullet burried itself deeply in the wall. before he could fire a second shot, jack had to defend himself from the thief-taker, who, with his drawn hanger, furiously assaulted him. eluding the blow, jack plucked his sword from the scabbard, and a desperate conflict began. "pick up that blade, nab," vociferated wild, finding himself hotly pressed, "and stab him. i won't give him a chance." "cowardly villain!" cried jack, as the jew, obeying the orders of his principal, snatched up the weapon of the murdered man, and assailed him. "but i'll yet disappoint you." and springing backwards, he darted suddenly through the door. "after him," cried wild; "he mustn't escape. dead or alive, i'll have him. bring the link." and, followed by abraham, he rushed out of the room. just as jack got half way down the stairs, and wild and the jew reached the upper landing, the street-door was opened by langley and ireton, the latter of whom carried a lantern. "stop him!" shouted jonathan from the stair-head, "stop him! it's jack sheppard!" "give way!" cried jack fiercely. "i'll cut down him who opposes me." the head turnkey, in all probability, would have obeyed. but, being pushed forward by his subordinate officer, he was compelled to make a stand. "you'd better surrender quietly, jack," he cried; "you've no chance."' instead of regarding him, jack glanced over the iron bannisters, and measured the distance. but the fall was too great, and he abandoned the attempt. "we have him!" cried jonathan, hurrying down the steps. "he can't escape." as this was said, jack turned with the swiftness of thought, and shortening his sword, prepared to plunge it into the thief-taker's heart. before he could make the thrust, however, he was seized behind by ireton, who flung himself upon him. "caught!" shouted the head-turnkey. "i give you joy of the capture, mr. wild," he added, as jonathan came up, and assisted him to secure and disarm the prisoner. "i was coming to give you intelligence of a comical trick played by this rascal, when i find him here--the last place, i own, where i should have expected to find him." "you've arrived in the very nick of time," rejoined jonathan; "and i'll take care your services are not overlooked." "mr. ireton," cried jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty, "before you take me hence, i implore you--if you would further the ends of justice--search this house. one of the most barbarous murders ever committed has just been perpetrated by the monster wild. you will find proofs of the bloody deed in his room. but go thither at once, i beseech you, before he has time to remove them." "mr. ireton is welcome to search every room in my house if he pleases," said jonathan, in a tone of bravado. "as soon as we've conveyed you to newgate, i'll accompany him." "mr. ireton will do no such thing," replied the head-turnkey. "bless your soul! d'ye think i'm to be gammoned by such nonsense. not i. i'm not quite such a greenhorn as shotbolt, jack, whatever you may think." "for mercy's sake go up stairs," implored sheppard. "i have not told you half. there's a man dying--captain darrell. take me with you. place a pistol at my ear, and shoot me, if i've told you false." "and, what good would that do?" replied ireton, sarcastically. "to shoot you would be to lose the reward. you act your part capitally, but it won't do." "won't you go?" cried jack passionately. "mr. langley, i appeal to you. murder, i say, has been done! another murder will be committed if you don't prevent it. the blood will rest on your head. do you hear me, sir? won't you stir!" "not a step," replied langley, gruffly. "off with him to newgate!" cried jonathan. "ireton, as you captured him, the reward is yours. but i request that a third may be given to langley." "it shall be, sir," replied ireton, bowing. "now come along, jack." "miscreants!" cried sheppard, almost driven frantic by the violence of his emotions; "you're all in league with him." "away with him!" cried jonathan. "i'll see him fettered myself. remain at the door, nab," he added, loitering for a moment behind the others, "and let no one in, or out." jack, meanwhile, was carried to newgate. austin could scarcely credit his senses when he beheld him. shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. mrs. spurling had retired for the night. jack appealed to the new auditors, and again detailed his story, but with no better success than heretofore. his statement was treated with derision. having seen him heavily ironed, and placed in the condemned hold, jonathan recrossed the street. he found abraham on guard as he had left him. "has any one been here?" he asked. "no von," replied the jew. "that's well," replied wild, entering the house, and fastening the door. "and now to dispose of our dead. why, nab, you shake as if you'd got an ague?" he added, turning to the jew, whose teeth chattered audibly. "i haven't quite recovered the fright i got in the vell-hole," replied abraham. on returning to the audience-chamber, jonathan found the inanimate body of thames darrell lying where he had left it; but, on examining it, he remarked that the pockets were turned inside out, and had evidently been rifled. startled by this circumstance, he looked around, and perceived that the trap-door,--which has been mentioned as communicating with a secret staircase,--was open. he, next, discovered that blueskin was gone; and, pursuing his scrutiny, found that he had carried off all the banknotes, gold, and letters,--including, what jonathan himself was not aware of,--the two packets which he had abstracted from the person of thames. uttering a terrible imprecation, jonathan snatched up the link, and hastily descended the stairs, leaving the jew behind him. after a careful search below, he could detect no trace of blueskin. but, finding the cellar-door open, concluded he had got out that way. returning to the audience-chamber in a by-no-means enviable state of mind, he commanded the jew to throw the body of thames into the well hole. "you musht do dat shob yourself, mishter vild," rejoined abraham, shaking his head. "no prize shall indushe me to enter dat horrid plashe again." "fool!" cried wild, taking up the body, "what are you afraid of? after all," he added, pausing, "he may be of more use to me alive than dead." adhering to this change of plan, he ordered abraham to follow him, and, descending the secret stairs once more, carried the wounded man into the lower part of the premises. unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in newgate, into which he thrust thames, and fastened the door. "go to the pump, nab," he said, when this was done, "and fill a pail with water. we must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth. blood, they say, won't come out. but i never found any truth in the saying. when i've had an hour's rest, i'll be after blueskin." chapter xv. how blueskin underwent the peine forte et dure. as soon as it became known, through the medium of the public prints on the following day, that jack sheppard had broken out of prison, and had been again captured during the night, fresh curiosity was excited, and larger crowds than ever flocked to newgate, in the hope of obtaining admission to his cell; but by the governor's express commands, wild having privately counselled the step, no one was allowed to see him. a question next arose whether the prisoner could be executed under the existing warrant,--some inclining to one opinion, some to another. to settle the point, the governor started to windsor, delegating his trust in the interim to wild, who took advantage of his brief rule to adopt the harshest measures towards the prisoner. he had him removed from the condemned hold, stripped of his fine apparel, clothed in the most sordid rags, loaded with additional fetters, and thrust into the stone hold,--already described as the most noisome cell in the whole prison. here, without a glimpse of daylight; visited by no one except austin at stated intervals, who neither answered a question nor addressed a word to him; fed upon the worst diet, literally mouldy bread and ditch-water; surrounded by stone walls; with a flagged floor for his pillow, and without so much as a blanket to protect him from the death-like cold that pierced his frame,--jack's stout heart was subdued, and he fell into the deepest dejection, ardently longing for the time when even a violent death should terminate his sufferings. but it was not so ordered. mr. pitt returned with intelligence that the warrant was delayed, and, on taking the opinion of two eminent lawyers of the day, sir william thomson and mr. serjeant raby, it was decided that it must be proved in a regular and judicial manner that sheppard was the identical person who had been convicted and had escaped, before a fresh order could be made for his execution; and that the matter must, therefore, stand over until the next sessions, to be held at the old bailey in october, when it could be brought before the court. the unfortunate prisoner, meanwhile, who was not informed of the respite, languished in his horrible dungeon, and, at the expiration of three weeks, became so seriously indisposed that it was feared he could not long survive. he refused his food,--and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them. as his death was by no means what jonathan desired, he resolved to remove him to a more airy ward, and afford him such slight comforts as might tend to his restoration, or at least keep him alive until the period of execution. with this view, jack was carried--for he was no longer able to move without assistance--to a ward called the castle, situated over the gateway on the western side, in what was considered the strongest part of the jail. the walls were of immense thickness; the small windows double-grated and unglazed; the fire-place was without a grate; and a barrack-bed, divided into two compartments, occupied one corner. it was about twelve feet high, nine wide, and fourteen long; and was approached by double doors each six inches thick. as jack appeared to be sinking fast, his fetters were removed, his own clothes were returned to him, and he was allowed a mattress and a scanty supply of bed-linen. mrs. spurling attended him as his nurse, and, under her care, he speedily revived. as soon as he became convalescent, and all fears of his premature dissolution were at an end, wild recommenced his rigorous treatment. the bedding was removed; mrs. spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. a single blanket constituted his sole covering at night. in spite of all this, he grew daily better and stronger, and his spirits revived. hitherto, no visiters had been permitted to see him. as the time when his identity had to be proved approached, this rigour was, in a trifling degree, relaxed, and a few persons were occasionally admitted to the ward, but only in the presence of austin. from none of these could jack ascertain what had become of thames, or learn any particulars concerning the family at dollis hill, or of his mother. austin, who had been evidently schooled by wild, maintained a profound silence on this head. in this way, more than a month passed over. october arrived; and in another week the court would be sitting at the old bailey. one night, about this time, just as austin was about to lock the great gate, jonathan wild and his two janizaries entered the lodge with a prisoner bound hand and foot. it was blueskin. on the cords being removed, he made a desperate spring at wild, bore him to the ground, clutched at his throat, and would, infallibly, have strangled him, if the keepers had not all thrown themselves upon him, and by main force torn him off. his struggles were so violent, that, being a man of tremendous strength, it was some time before they could master him, and it required the combined efforts of all the four partners to put him into irons. it appeared from what he said that he had been captured when asleep,--that his liquor had been drugged,--otherwise, he would never have allowed himself to be taken alive. wild, he asserted, had robbed him of a large sum of money, and till it was restored he would never plead. "we'll see that," replied jonathan. "take him to the bilbowes. put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit. whether he pleads or not, he shall swing with his confederate, jack sheppard." at this allusion to his leader, a shudder passed through blueskin's athletic frame. "where is he?" he cried. "let me see him. let me have a word with him, and you may take all the money." jonathan made no answer, but motioned the partners to take him away. as soon as blueskin was removed, wild intimated his intention of visiting the castle. he was accompanied by ireton and austin. the massive door was unlocked, and they entered the cell. what was their surprise to find it vacant, and the prisoner gone! jonathan, could scarcely believe his eyes. he looked fiercely and inquiringly from one to the other of his companions; but, though both of them were excessively frightened, neither appeared guilty. before a word could be said, however, a slight noise was heard in the chimney, and jack with his irons on descended from it. without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat. "amazement!" cried wild. "how has he unfastened his padlock? austin, it must be owing to your negligence." "my negligence, mr. wild," said the turnkey, trembling in every joint. "i assure you, sir, when i left him an hour ago, it was locked. i tried it myself, sir. i'm as much astonished as you. but i can't account for it!" "at all events, you shall answer for it," thundered wild, with a bitter imprecation. "he's not to blame," said jack, rising. "i opened the padlock with this crooked nail, which i found in the floor. if you had arrived ten minutes later, or if there hadn't been an iron bar in the chimney, that hindered my progress, i should have been beyond your reach." "you talk boldly," replied wild. "go to the iron hold, austin, and tell two of the partners to bring another padlock of the largest size, and the heaviest handcuffs they can find. we'll try whether he'll get loose again." sheppard said nothing, but a disdainful smile curled his lips. austin departed, and presently afterwards returned with the two subordinate officers, each of whom wore a leathern apron round his waist, and carried a large hammer. as soon as the manacles were slipped over the prisoner's wrists, and the new padlock secured to the staple, they withdrew. "leave me alone with him a moment," said jonathan. and the jailers also retired. "jack," said wild, with a glance of malignant triumph, "i will now tell you what i have done. all my plans have succeeded. before a month has elapsed, your mother will be mine. the trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for sir rowland is no more, and the youth, thames, will never again see daylight. blueskin, who had evaded me with the papers and the money, is a prisoner here, and will perish on the same gallows as yourself. my vengeance is completely gratified." without waiting for a reply, but darting a malevolent look at the prisoner, he quitted the cell, the door of which was instantly double-locked and bolted. "i've not quite done yet," said jonathan, as he joined the turnkeys. "i should like to see whether blueskin is a little more composed. i've a question to ask him. give me the keys and the light. i'll go alone." so saying, he descended a short spiral staircase, and, entering a long stone gallery, from which several other passages branched, took one of them, and after various turnings--for he was familiar with all the intricacies of the prison--arrived at the cell of which he was in search. selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by austin, he threw open the door, and beheld blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. he was asleep when jonathan entered, and growled at being disturbed. but, as soon as he perceived who it was, he roused himself, and glared fiercely at the intruder from under his bent brows. "what do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. "i want to know what you've done with the rest of the notes--with the gold--and the papers you took away from my room!" rejoined wild. "then you'll never know more than this," retorted blueskin, with a grin of satisfaction;--"they're in a place of safety, where _you_'ll never find 'em, but where somebody else _will_, and that before long." "hear me, blueskin," said jonathan, restraining his choler. "if you'll tell me where to look for these things, and i _do_ find them, i'll set you free. and you shall have a share of the gold for yourself." "i'll tell you what i'll do," rejoined the other. "set captain sheppard free, and when i hear he's safe,--not before,--i'll put the money and papers into your possession, and some other matters, too, that you know nothing about." "impracticable dolt!" exclaimed jonathan, furiously. "do you think i'd part with the sweetest morsel of revenge on those terms? no! but i'll have the secret out of you by other means." so saying, he violently shut and locked the door. about ten days after this interview, blueskin, having been indicted by wild for several robberies, and true bills found against him, was placed at the bar of the old bailey to be arraigned; when he declared that he would not plead to the indictment, unless the sum of five hundred pounds, taken from him by jonathan wild, was first restored to him. this sum, claimed by wild under the statute th and th of william and mary, entitled "_an act for encouraging the apprehending of highwaymen_," was granted to him by the court. as blueskin still continued obstinate, the judgment appointed to be executed upon such prisoners as stood mute, was then read. it was as follows, and, when uttered, produced a strong effect upon all who heard it, except the prisoner, who, in no respect, altered his sullen and dogged demeanour. "prisoner at the bar," thus ran the sentence, "you shall be taken to the prison from whence you came, and put into a mean room, stopped from the light; and shall there be laid on the bare ground, without any litter, straw, or other covering, and without any garment. you shall lie upon your back; your head shall be covered; and your feet shall be bare. one of your arms shall be drawn to one side of the room, and the other arm to the other side, and your legs shall be served in the like manner. then, there shall be laid upon your body as much iron, or stone as you can bear, and more. and the first day, you shall have three morsels of barley bread, without any drink; and the second day, you shall be allowed to drink as much as you can, at three times, of the water that is next to the prison-door, except running-water, without any bread. and this shall be your diet till you die." "prisoner at the bar," continued the clerk of the court, "he against whom this judgment is given, forfeits his goods to the king." an awful silence prevailed throughout the court. every eye was fixed upon the prisoner. but, as he made no answer, he was removed. before the full sentence was carried into execution, he was taken into a small room adjoining the court. here marvel, the executioner, who was in attendance, was commanded by wild to tie his thumbs together, which he did with whipcord so tightly, that the string cut to the bone. but, as this produced no effect, and did not even elicit a groan, the prisoner was carried back to newgate. the press room, to which blueskin was conveyed on his arrival at the jail, was a small square chamber, walled and paved with stone. in each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. to these a heavy wooden apparatus was attached, which could be raised or lowered at pleasure by pullies. in the floor were set four ring-bolts, about nine feet apart. when the prisoner was brought into this room, he was again questioned; but, continuing contumacious, preparations were made for inflicting the torture. his great personal strength being so well known, it was deemed prudent by marvel to have all the four partners, together with caliban, in attendance. the prisoner, however, submitted more quietly than was anticipated. he allowed his irons and clothes to be taken off without resistance. but just as they were about to place him on the ground, he burst from their hold, and made a desperate spring at jonathan, who was standing with his arms folded near the door watching the scene. the attempt was unsuccessful. he was instantly overpowered, and stretched upon the ground. the four men fell upon him, holding his arms and legs, while caliban forced back his head. in this state, he contrived to get the poor black's hand into his mouth, and nearly bit off one of his fingers before the sufferer could be rescued. meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings. this done, he unloosed the pulley, and the ponderous machine, which resembled a trough, slowly descended upon the prisoner's breast. marvel, then, took two iron weights, each of a hundred pounds, and placed them in the press. as this seemed insufficient, after a lapse of five minutes, he added another hundred weight. the prisoner breathed with difficulty. still, his robust frame enabled him to hold out. after he had endured this torture for an hour, at a sign from wild another hundred weight was added. in a few minutes, an appalling change was perceptible. the veins in his throat and forehead swelled and blackened; his eyes protruded from their sockets, and stared wildly; a thick damp gathered on his brow: and blood gushed from his mouth, nostrils, and ears. "water!" he gasped. the executioner shook his head. "do you submit?" interrogated wild. blueskin answered by dashing his head violently against the flagged floor. his efforts at self-destruction were, however, prevented. "try fifty pounds more," said jonathan. "stop!" groaned blueskin. "will you plead?" demanded wild, harshly. "i will," answered the prisoner. "release him," said jonathan. "we have cured his obstinacy, you perceive," he added to marvel. "i _will_ live," cried blueskin, with a look of the deadliest hatred at wild, "to be revenged on you." and, as the weights were removed, he fainted. chapter xvi. how jack sheppard's portrait was painted. early in the morning of thursday, the th of october, , the door of the castle was opened by austin, who, with a look of unusual importance, announced to the prisoner that four gentlemen were shortly coming up with the governor to see him,--"four _such_ gentlemen," he added, in a tone meant to impress his auditor with a due sense of the honour intended him, "as you don't meet every day." "is mr. wood among them?" asked jack, eagerly. "mr. wood!--no," replied the turnkey. "do you think i'd take the trouble to announce _him_? these are persons of consequence, i tell you." "who are they?" inquired sheppard. "why, first," rejoined austin, "there's sir james thornhill, historical painter to his majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. those grand designs in the dome of st. paul's are his work. so is the roof of the state-room at hampton court palace, occupied by queen anne, and the prince of denmark. so is the chapel of all souls at oxford, and the great hall at blenheim, and i don't know how many halls and chapels besides. he's now engaged on the hall at greenwich hospital." "i've heard of him," replied jack, impatiently. "who are the others?" "let me see. there's a friend of sir james--a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,--his name i believe is hogarth. then, there's mr. gay, the poet, who wrote the 'captives,' which was lately acted at drury lane, and was so much admired by the princess of wales. and, lastly, there's mr. figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the new amphitheatre in marylebone fields." "figg's an old friend of mine," rejoined jack; "he was my instructor in the small sword and back sword exercise. i'm glad he's come to see me." "you don't inquire what brings sir james thornhill here?" said austin. "curiosity, i suppose," returned jack, carelessly. "no such thing," rejoined the jailer; "he's coming on business." "on what business, in the name of wonder?" asked sheppard. "to paint your portrait," answered the jailer. "my portrait!" echoed jack. "by desire of his majesty," said the jailer, consequentially. "he has heard of your wonderful escapes, and wishes to see what you're like. there's a feather in your cap! no house-breaker was ever so highly honoured before." "and have my escapes really made so much noise as to reach the ear of royalty?" mused jack. "i have done nothing--nothing to what i _could_ do--to what i _will_ do!" "you've done quite enough," rejoined austin; "more than you'll ever do again." "and then to be taken thus, in these disgraceful bonds!" continued jack, "to be held up as a sight for ever!" "why, how else would you be taken?" exclaimed the jailer, with a coarse laugh. "it's very well mr. wild allowed you to have your fine clothes again, or you might have been taken in a still more disgraceful garb. for my part, i think those shackles extremely becoming. but, here they are." voices being heard at the door, austin flew to open it, and admitted mr. pitt, the governor, a tall pompous personage, who, in his turn, ushered in four other individuals. the first of these, whom he addressed as mr. gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour--an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. the poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. with a strong tendency to satire, but without a particle of malice or ill-nature in its display. gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. on the contrary, he was a universal favourite, and numbered amongst his intimate acquaintances the choicest spirits of the time,--pope, swift, arbuthnot, and "all the better brothers." his demeanour was polished; his manners singularly affable and gentle; and he was remarkable, for the generosity of his temper. in worldly matters gay was not fortunate. possessed, at one time, of a share in the south sea stock, he conceived himself worth twenty thousand pounds. but, on the bursting of that bubble, his hopes vanished with it. neither did his interest,--which was by no means inconsiderable,--nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. a constant attendant at court, he had the mortification to see every one promoted but himself, and thus bewails his ill-luck. places, i found, were daily given away, and yet no friendly gazette mentioned gay. the prodigious success of the "beggars' opera," which was produced about four years after the date of this history, rewarded him for all his previous disappointments, though it did not fully justify the well-known epigram, alluding to himself and the manager, and "make gay _rich_, and rich _gay_." at the time of his present introduction, his play of "the captives," had just been produced at drury lane, and he was meditating his "fables," which were published two years afterwards. behind the poet came sir james thornhill. the eminent painter had handsome, expressive features, an aquiline nose, and a good deal of dignity in his manner. his age was not far from fifty. he was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. this young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of william hogarth. why he paid so much attention to sir james thornhill may be explained anon. the rear of the party was brought up by a large, powerfully-built man, with a bluff, honest, but rugged countenance, slashed with many a cut and scar, and stamped with that surly, sturdy, bull-dog-like look, which an englishman always delights to contemplate, because he conceives it to be characteristic of his countrymen. this formidable person, who was no other than the renowned figg, the "atlas of the sword," as he is termed by captain godfrey, had removed his hat and "skull covering," and was wiping the heat from his bepatched and close-shaven pate. his shirt also was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest which might have served as a model for a hercules. he had a flattish, perhaps, it should be called, a _flattened_ nose, and a brown, leathern-looking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently undergone the process of tanning. under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. the above description of --the great figg, by the prize-fighting swains sole monarch acknowledged of mary'bone plains-- may sound somewhat tame by the side of the glowing account given of him by his gallant biographer, who asserts that "there was a majesty shone in his countenance, and blazed in his actions, beyond all i ever saw;" but it may, possibly, convey a more accurate notion of his personal appearance. james figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. seconded by his strength and temper, his skill rendered him invincible and he is reputed never to have lost a battle. his imperturbable demeanour in the fight has been well portrayed by captain godfrey, who here condescends to lay aside his stilts. "his right leg bold and firm, and his left, which could hardly ever be disturbed, gave him a surprising advantage, and struck his adversary with despair and panic. he had a peculiar way of stepping in, in a parry; knew his arm, and its just time of moving; put a firm faith in that, and never let his opponent escape. he was just as much a greater master than any other i ever saw, as he was a greater judge of time and measure." figg's prowess in a combat with button has been celebrated by dr. byrom,--a poet of whom his native town, manchester, may be justly proud; and his features and figure have been preserved by the most illustrious of his companions on the present occasion,--hogarth,--in the levée in the "rake's progress," and in "southwark fair." on the appearance of his visitors, sheppard arose,--his gyves clanking heavily as he made the movement,--and folding his arms, so far as his manacles would permit him, upon his breast, steadily returned the glances fixed upon him. "this is the noted house-breaker and prison-breaker, gentlemen," said mr. pitt, pointing to the prisoner. "odd's life!" cried gay, in astonishment; "is this slight-made stripling jack sheppard? why, i expected to see a man six foot high at the least, and as broad across the shoulders as our friend figg. this is a mere boy. are you sure you haven't mistaken the ward, mr. pitt?" "there is no mistake, sir," rejoined the prisoner, drawing himself up, "i am jack sheppard." "well, i never was more surprised in my life," said the poet,--"never!" "he's just the man _i_ expected to see," observed hogarth, who, having arranged everything to thornhill's satisfaction, had turned to look at the prisoner, and was now with his chin upon his wrist, and his elbow supported by the other hand, bending his keen gray eyes upon him, "just the man! look at that light, lithe figure,--all muscle and activity, with not an ounce of superfluous flesh upon it. in my search after strange characters, mr. gay, i've been in many odd quarters of our city--have visited haunts frequented only by thieves--the old mint, the new mint, the worst part of st. giles's, and other places--but i've nowhere seen any one who came up so completely to my notion of a first-rate housebreaker as the individual before us. wherever i saw him, i should pick him out as a man designed by nature to plan and accomplish the wonderful escapes he has effected." as he spoke, a smile crossed sheppard's countenance. "he understands me, you perceive," said hogarth. "well, i won't dispute your judgment in such matters, mr. hogarth," replied gay. "but i appeal to you, sir james, whether it isn't extraordinary that so very slight a person should be such a desperate robber as he is represented--so young, too, for such an _old_ offender. why, he can scarcely be twenty." "i am one-and-twenty," observed jack. "one-and-twenty, ah!" repeated gay. "well, i'm not far from the mark." "he is certainly extremely youthful-looking and very slightly made," said thornhill, who had been attentively studying sheppard's countenance. "but i agree with hogarth, that he is precisely the person to do what he has done. like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. can i be accommodated with a seat, mr. pitt?" "certainly, sir james, certainly," replied the governor. "get a chair, austin." while this order was obeyed, figg, who had been standing near the door, made his way to the prisoner, and offered him his huge hand, which jack warmly grasped. "well, jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cut-and-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? sorry to see you here. wouldn't take my advice. told you how it would be. one mistress enough to ruin a man,--two, the devil. laughed at me, then. laugh on the wrong side of your mouth, now." "you're not come here to insult me, mr. figg?" said jack, peevishly. "insult you! not i;" returned figg. "heard of your escapes. everybody talking of you. wished to see you. old pupil. capital swordsman. shortly to be executed. come to take leave. trifle useful?" he added, slipping a few gold pieces into jack's hand. "you are very kind," said jack, returning the money; "but i don't require assistance." "too proud, eh?" rejoined the prize-fighter. "won't be under an obligation." "there you're wrong, mr. figg," replied jack, smiling; "for, before i'm taken to tyburn, i mean to borrow a shirt for the occasion from you." "have it, and welcome," rejoined figg. "always plenty to spare. never bought a shirt in my life, mr. gay," he added, turning to the poet. "sold a good many, though." "how do you manage that, mr. figg?" asked gay. "thus," replied the prize-fighter. "proclaim a public fight. challenge accepted. fifty pupils. day before, send round to each to borrow a shirt. fifty sent home. all superfine holland. wear one on the stage on the following day. cut to pieces--slashed--bloodied. each of my scholars thinks it his own shirt. offer to return it to each in private. all make the same answer--'d--n you, keep it.'" "an ingenious device," laughed gay. sir james thornhill's preparations being completed, mr. pitt desired to know if he wanted anything further, and being answered in the negative, he excused himself on the plea that his attendance was required in the court at the old bailey, which was then sitting, and withdrew. "do me the favour to seat yourself, jack," said sir james. "gentlemen, a little further off, if you please." sheppard immediately complied with the painter's request; while gay and figg drew back on one side, and hogarth on the other. the latter took from his pocket a small note-book and pencil. "i'll make a sketch, too," he said. "jack sheppard's face is well worth preserving." after narrowly examining the countenance of the sitter, and motioning him with his pencil into a particular attitude, sir james thornhill commenced operations; and, while he rapidly transferred his lineaments to the canvass, engaged him in conversation, in the course of which he artfully contrived to draw him into a recital of his adventures. the _ruse_ succeeded almost beyond his expectation. during the narration jack's features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the skilful artist. all the party were greatly interested by sheppard's history--especially figg, who laughed loud and long at the escape from the condemned hold. when jack came to speak of jonathan wild, his countenance fell. "we must change the subject," remarked thornhill, pausing in his task; "this will never do." "quite right, sir james," said austin. "we never suffer him to mention mr. wild's name. he never appears to so little advantage as when speaking of him." "i don't wonder at it," rejoined gay. here hogarth received a private signal from thornhill to attract sheppard's attention. "and so you've given up all hope of escaping, eh, jack?" remarked hogarth. "that's scarcely a fair question, mr. hogarth, before the jailer," replied jack. "but i tell you frankly, and mr. austin, may repeat it if he pleases to his master, jonathan wild,--i have _not_." "well said, jack," cried figg. "never give in." "well," observed hogarth, "if, fettered as you are, you contrive to break out of this dungeon, you'll do what no man ever did before." a peculiar smile illuminated jack's features. "there it is!" cried sir james, eagerly. "there's the exact expression i want. for the love of heaven, jack, don't move!--don't alter a muscle, if you can help it." and, with a few magical touches, he stamped the fleeting expression on the canvass. "i have it too!" exclaimed hogarth, busily plying his pencil. "gad! it's a devilish fine face when lit up." "as like as life, sir," observed austin, peeping over thornhill's shoulder at the portrait. "as like as life." "the very face," exclaimed gay, advancing to look at it;--"with all the escapes written in it." "you flatter me," smiled sir james. "but, i own, i think it _is_ like." "what do you think of _my_ sketch, jack?" said hogarth, handing him the drawing. "it's like enough, i dare say," rejoined sheppard. "but it wants something _here_." and he pointed significantly to the hand. "i see," rejoined hogarth, rapidly sketching a file, which he placed in the hands of the picture. "will that do?" he added, returning it. "it's better," observed sheppard, meaningly. "but you've given me what i don't possess." "hum!" said hogarth, looking fixedly at him. "i don't see how i can improve it." "may i look at it, sir!" said austin, stepping towards him. "no," replied hogarth, hastily effacing the sketch. "i'm never satisfied with a first attempt." "egad, jack," said gay, "you should write your adventures. they would be quite as entertaining as the histories of guzman d'alfarache, lazarillo de tormes, estevanillo gonzalez, meriton latroon, or any of my favourite rogues,--and far more instructive." "you had better write them for me, mr. gay," rejoined jack. "if you'll write them, i'll illustrate them," observed hogarth. "an idea has just occurred to me," said gay, "which jack's narrative has suggested. i'll write an opera the scene of which shall be laid altogether in newgate, and the principal character shall be a highmaywan. i'll not forget your two mistresses, jack." "nor jonathan wild, i hope," interposed sheppard. "certainly not," replied gay. "i'll gibbet the rascal. but i forget," he added, glancing at austin; "it's high treason to speak disrespectfully of mr. wild in his own domain." "i hear nothing, sir," laughed austin. "i was about to add," continued gay, "that my opera shall have no music except the good old ballad tunes. and we'll see whether it won't put the italian opera out of fashion, with cutzoni, senesino, and the 'divine' farinelli at its head." "you'll do a national service, then," said hogarth. "the sums lavished upon those people are perfectly disgraceful, and i should be enchanted to see them hooted from the stage. but i've an idea as well as you, grounded in some measure upon sheppard's story. i'll take two apprentices, and depict their career. one, by perseverance and industry shall obtain fortune, credit, and the highest honours; while the other by an opposite course, and dissolute habits, shall eventually arrive at tyburn." "your's will be nearer the truth, and have a deeper moral, mr. hogarth," remarked jack, dejectedly. "but if my career were truly exhibited, it must be as one long struggle against destiny in the shape of--" "jonathan wild," interposed gay. "i knew it. by the by, mr. hogarth, didn't i see you last night at the ridotto with lady thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "me!--no, sir," stammered hogarth, colouring. and he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. luckily, sir james was so much engrossed by his own task, that both the remark and gesture escaped him. "i suppose i was mistaken," returned gay. "you've been quizzing my friend kent, i perceive, in your burlington gate." "a capital caricature that," remarked thornhill, laughing. "what does mr. kent say to it?" "he thinks so highly of it, that he says if he had a daughter he would give her to the artist," answered gay, a little maliciously. "ah!" exclaimed sir james. "'sdeath!" cried hogarth, aside to the poet. "you've ruined my hopes." "advanced them rather," replied gay, in the same tone. "miss thornhill's a charming girl. _i_ think a wife a needless incumbrance, and mean to die a bachelor. but, if i were in your place, i know what i'd do--" "what--what would you do?" asked hogarth, eagerly. "run away with her," replied gay. "pish!" exclaimed hogarth. but he afterwards acted upon the suggestion. "good-b'ye, jack," said figg, putting on his hat. "rather in the way. send you the shirt. here, turnkey. couple of guineas to drink captain sheppard's speedy escape. thank him, not me, man. give this fellow the slip, if you can, jack. if not, keep up your spirits. die game." "never fear," replied jack. "if i get free, i'll have a bout with you at all weapons. if not, i'll take a cheerful glass with you at the city of oxford, on my way to tyburn." "give you the best i have in either case," replied figg. "good-b'ye!" and with a cordial shake of the hand he took his departure. sir james thornhill, then, rose. "i won't trouble you further, jack," he remarked. "i've done all i can to the portrait here. i must finish it at home." "permit me to see it, sir james!" requested jack. "ah!" he exclaimed, as the painting was turned towards him. "what would my poor mother say to it?" "i was sorry to see that about your mother, jack," observed hogarth. "what of her?" exclaimed jack, starting up. "is she dead?" "no--no," answered hogarth. "don't alarm yourself. i saw it this morning in the daily journal--an advertisement, offering a reward--" "a reward!" echoed jack. "for what?" "i had the paper with me. 'sdeath! what can i have done with it? oh! here it is," cried hogarth, picking it from the ground. "i must have dropped it when i took out my note-book. there's the paragraph. '_mrs. sheppard left mr. wood's house at dollis hill on tuesday_'--that's two days ago,--'_hasn't been heard of since_.'" "let me see," cried jack, snatching the paper, and eagerly perusing the advertisement. "ah!" he exclaimed, in a tone of anguish. "she has fallen into the villain's hands." "what villain?" cried hogarth. "jonathan wild, i'll be sworn," said gay. "right!--right!" cried jack, striking his fettered hands against his breast. "she is in his power, and i am here, chained hand and foot, unable to assist her." "i could make a fine sketch of him now," whispered hogarth to gay. "i told you how it was, sir james," said austin, addressing the knight, who was preparing for his departure, "he attributes every misfortune that befals him to mr. wild." "and with some justice," replied thornhill, drily. "allow me to assist you, sir james," said hogarth. "many thanks, sir," replied thornhill, with freezing politeness; "but id not require assistance." "i tell you what, jack," said gay, "i've several urgent engagements this morning; but i'll return to-morrow, and hear the rest of your story. and, if i can render you any service, you may command me." "to-morrow will be too late," said sheppard, moodily. the easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. just as hogarth got to the door, the turnkey stopped him. "you have forgotten your knife, mr. hogarth," he observed, significantly. "so i have," replied hogarth, glancing at sheppard. "i can do without it," muttered jack. the door was then locked, and he was left alone. at three o'clock, on the same day, austin brought up jack's provisions, and, after carefully examining his fetters, and finding all secure, told him if he wanted anything further he must mention it, as he should not be able to return in the evening, his presence being required elsewhere. jack replied in the negative, and it required all his mastery over himself to prevent the satisfaction which this announcement afforded him from being noticed by the jailer. with the usual precautions, austin then departed. "and now," cried jack, leaping up, "for an achievement, compared with which all i have yet done shall be as nothing!" chapter xvii. the iron bar. jack sheppard's first object was to free himself from his handcuffs. this he accomplished by holding the chain that connected them firmly between his teeth, and squeezing his fingers as closely together as possible, succeeded in drawing his wrists through the manacles. he next twisted the heavy gyves round and round, and partly by main strength, partly by a dexterous and well-applied jerk, sapped asunder the central link by which they were attached to the padlock. taking off his stockings, he then drew up the basils as far as he was able, and tied the fragments of the broken chain to his legs, to prevent them from clanking, and impeding his future exertions. jack's former attempt to pass up the chimney, it may be remembered, was obstructed by an iron bar. to remove this obstacle it was necessary make an extensive breach in the wall. with the broken links of the chain, which served him in lieu of more efficient implements, he commenced operations just above the chimney-piece, and soon contrived to pick a hole in the plaster. he found the wall, as he suspected, solidly constructed of brick and stone; and with the slight and inadequate tools which he possessed, it was a work of infinite labour and skill to get out a single brick. that done, however, he was well aware the rest would be comparatively easy, and as he threw the brick to the ground, he exclaimed triumphantly, "the first step is taken--the main difficulty is overcome." animated by this trifling success, he proceeded with fresh ardour, and the rapidity of his progress was proclaimed by the heap of bricks, stones, and mortar which before long covered the floor. at the expiration of an hour, by dint of unremitting exertion, he had made so large a breach in the chimney, that he could stand upright in it. he was now within a foot of the bar, and introducing himself into the hole, speedily worked his way to it. regardless of the risk he incurred from some heavy stone dropping on his head or feet,--regardless also of the noise made by the falling rubbish, and of the imminent danger which he consequently ran of being interrupted by some of the jailers, should the sound reach their ears, he continued to pull down large masses of the wall, which he flung upon the floor of the cell. having worked thus for another quarter of an hour without being sensible of fatigue, though he was half stifled by the clouds of dust which his exertions raised, he had made a hole about three feet wide, and six high, and uncovered the iron bar. grasping it firmly with both hands, he quickly wrenched if from the stones in which it was mortised, and leapt to the ground. on examination it proved to be a flat bar of iron, nearly a yard in length, and more than an inch square. "a capital instrument for my purpose," thought jack, shouldering it, "and worth all the trouble i have had in procuring it." while he was thus musing, he fancied he heard the lock tried. a chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. after listening attentively for a short time without drawing breath, he became convinced that his apprehensions were groundless, and, greatly relieved, sat down upon the chair to rest himself and prepare for further efforts. acquainted with every part of the jail, jack well knew that his only chance of effecting an escape must be by the roof. to reach it would be a most difficult undertaking. still it was possible, and the difficulty was only a fresh incitement. the mere enumeration of the obstacles that existed would have deterred any spirit less daring than sheppard's from even hazarding the attempt. independently of other risks, and of the chance of breaking his neck in the descent, he was aware that to reach the leads he should have to break open six of the strongest doors of the prison. armed, however, with the implement he had so fortunately obtained, he did not despair of success. "my name will only be remembered as that of a robber," he mused; "but it shall be remembered as that of a bold one: and this night's achievement, if it does nothing else, shall prevent me from being classed with the common herd of depredators." roused by this reflection, filled with the deepest anxiety for his mother, and burning to be avenged upon jonathan wild, he grasped the iron bar, which, when he sat down, he had laid upon his knees, and stepped quickly across the room. in doing so, he had to clamber up the immense heap of bricks and rubbish which now littered the floor, amounting almost to a car-load, and reaching up nearly to the top of the chimney-piece. "austin will stare," thought jack, "when he comes here in the morning. it will cost them something to repair their stronghold, and take them more time to build it up again than i have taken to pull it down." before proceeding with his task, he considered whether it would be possible to barricade the door; but, reflecting that the bar would be an indispensable assistant in his further efforts, he abandoned the idea, and determined to rely implicitly on that good fortune which had hitherto attended him on similar occasions. having once more got into the chimney, he climbed to a level with the ward above, and recommenced operations as vigorously as before. he was now aided with a powerful implement, with which he soon contrived to make a hole in the wall. "every brick i take out," cried jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother." chapter xviii. the red room. the ward into which jack was endeavouring to break was called the red room, from the circumstance of its walls having once been painted in that colour; all traces of which had, however, long since disappeared. like the castle, which it resembled in all respects except that it was destitute even of a barrack-bedstead, the red room was reserved for state-prisoners, and had not been occupied since the year , when the jail, as has before been mentioned, was crowded by the preston rebels. having made a hole in the wall sufficiently large to pass through, jack first tossed the bar into the room and then crept after it. as soon as he had gained his feet, he glanced round the bare blank walls of the cell, and, oppressed by the musty, close atmosphere, exclaimed, "i'll let a little fresh air into this dungeon. they say it hasn't been opened for eight years--but i won't be eight years in getting out of it." in stepping across the room, some sharp point in the floor pierced his foot, and stooping to examine it, he found that the wound had been inflicted by a long rusty nail, which projected from the boards. totally disregarding the pain, he picked up the nail, and reserved it for future use. nor was he long in making it available. on examining the door, he found it secured by a large rusty lock, which he endeavoured to pick with the nail he had just acquired; but all his efforts proving ineffectual, he removed the plate that covered it with the bar, and with his fingers contrived to draw back the bolt. opening the door he then stepped into a dark narrow passage leading, as he was well aware, to the chapel. on the left there were doors communicating with the king's bench ward and the stone ward, two large holds on the master debtors' side. but jack was too well versed in the geography of the place to attempt either of them. indeed, if he had been ignorant of it, the sound of voices which he could faintly distinguish, would have served as a caution to him. hurrying on, his progress was soon checked by a strong door, several inches in thickness, and nearly as wide as the passage. running his hand carefully over it in search of the lock, he perceived to his dismay that it was fastened on the other side. after several vain attempts to burst it open, he resolved, as a last alternative, to break through the wall in the part nearest to the lock. this was a much more serious task than he anticipated. the wall was of considerable thickness, and built altogether of stone; and the noise he was compelled to make in using the heavy bar, which brought sparks with every splinter he struck off, was so great, that he feared it must be heard by the prisoners on the debtors' side. heedless, however, of the consequences, he pursued his task. half an hour's labour, during which he was obliged more than once to pause to regain breath, sufficed to make a hole wide enough to allow a passage for his arm up to the elbow. in this way he was able to force back a ponderous bolt from its socket; and to his unspeakable joy, found that the door instantly yielded. once more cheered by daylight, he hastened forward, and entered the chapel. chapter xix. the chapel. situated at the upper part of the south-east angle of the jail, the chapel of old newgate was divided on the north side into three grated compartments, or pens as they were termed, allotted to the common debtors and felons. in the north-west angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers. immediately beneath the pulpit stood a large circular pew where malefactors under sentence of death sat to hear the condemned sermon delivered to them, and where they formed a public spectacle to the crowds, which curiosity generally attracted on those occasions. to return. jack had got into one of the pens at the north side of the chapel. the enclosure by which it was surrounded was about twelve feet high; the under part being composed of taken planks, the upper of a strong iron grating, surmounted by sharp iron spikes. in the middle there was a gate. it was locked. but jack speedily burst it open with the iron bar. clearing the few impediments in his way, he soon reached the condemned pew, where it had once been his fate to sit; and extending himself on the seat endeavoured to snatch a moment's repose. it was denied him, for as he closed his eyes--though but for an instant--the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. there he sat as before, with the heavy fetters on his limbs, and beside him sat his three companions, who had since expiated their offences on the gibbet. the chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye--even that of jonathan wild who had come thither to deride him,--was fixed upon him. so perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. from this perturbed state he was roused by thoughts of his mother, and fancying he heard her gentle voice urging him on to fresh exertion, he started up. on one side of the chapel there was a large grated window, but, as it looked upon the interior of the jail, jack preferred following the course he had originally decided upon to making any attempt in this quarter. accordingly, he proceeded to a gate which stood upon the south, and guarded the passage communicating with the leads. it was grated and crested with spikes, like that he had just burst open, and thinking it a needless waste of time to force it, he broke off one of the spikes, which he carried with him for further purposes, and then climbed over it. a short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged. here he found another strong door, making the fifth he had encountered. well aware that the doors in this passage were much stronger than those in the entry he had just quitted he was neither surprised nor dismayed to find it fastened by a lock of unusual size. after repeatedly trying to remove the plate, which was so firmly screwed down that it resisted all his efforts, and vainly attempting to pick it with the spike and nail; he, at length, after half an hour's ineffectual labour, wrenched off the box by means of the iron bar, and the door, as he laughingly expressed it, "became his humble servant." but this difficulty was only overcome to be succeeded by one still greater. hastening along the passage he came to the sixth door. for this he was prepared; but he was not prepared for the almost insurmountable obstacles which it presented. running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars. it seemed as if all the precautions previously taken were here accumulated. any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles. there was a lock, apparently more than a foot wide, strongly plated, and girded to the door with thick iron hoops. below it a prodigiously large bolt was shot into the socket, and, in order to keep it there, was fastened by a hasp, and further protected by an immense padlock. besides this, the door was crossed and recrossed by iron bars, clenched by broad-headed nails. an iron fillet secured the socket of the bolt and the box of the lock to the main post of the doorway. nothing disheartened by this survey, jack set to work upon the lock, which he attacked with all his implements;--now attempting to pick it with the nail;--now to wrench it off with the bar: but all without effect. he not only failed in making any impression, but seemed to increase the difficulties, for after an hour's toil he had broken the nail and slightly bent the iron bar. completely overcome by fatigue, with strained muscles, and bruised hands; streaming with perspiration, and with lips so parched that he would gladly have parted with a treasure if he had possessed it for a draught of water; he sank against the wall, and while in this state was seized with, a sudden and strange alarm. he fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,--that they had climbed up the chimney,--entered the red room,--tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. he even thought he could detect the voice of jonathan, urging and directing them. so strongly was he impressed with this idea, that grasping the iron bar with both hands, he dashed it furiously against the door, making the passage echo with the blows. by degrees, his fears vanished, and hearing nothing, he grew calmer. his spirits revived, and encouraging himself with the idea that the present impediment, though the greatest, was the last, he set himself seriously to consider how it might best be overcome. on reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. with incredible labour, and by the aid of both spike and nail, he succeeded in getting the point of the bar beneath the fillet. exerting all his energies, and using the bar as a lever, he forced off the iron band, which was full seven feet high, seven inches wide, and two thick, and which brought with it in its fall the box of the lock and the socket of the bolt, leaving no further hinderance. overjoyed beyond measure at having vanquished this apparently-insurmountable obstacle, jack darted through the door. chapter xx. the leads. ascending a short flight of steps, jack found at the summit a door, which being bolted in the inside he speedily opened. the fresh air, which blew in his face, greatly revived him. he had now reached what was called the lower leads,--a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. on the north stood the battlements of one of the towers of the gate. on this side a flight of wooden steps, protected by a hand-rail, led to a door opening upon the summit of the prison. this door was crested with spikes, and guarded on the right by a bristling semicircle of spikes. hastily ascending these steps, jack found the door, as he anticipated, locked. he could have easily forced it, but preferred a more expeditious mode of reaching the roof which suggested itself to him. mounting the door he had last opened, he placed his hands on the wall above, and quickly drew himself up. just as he got on the roof of the prison, st. sepulchre's clock struck eight. it was instantly answered by the deep note of st. paul's; and the concert was prolonged by other neighbouring churches. jack had thus been six hours in accomplishing his arduous task. though nearly dark, there was still light enough left to enable him to discern surrounding objects. through the gloom he distinctly perceived the dome of st. paul's, hanging like a black cloud in the air; and nearer to him he remarked the golden ball on the summit of the college of physicians, compared by garth to a "gilded pill." other towers and spires--st. martin's on ludgate-hill, and christchurch in newgate street, were also distinguishable. as he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. to prevent the recurrence of any such escape as that just described, it was deemed expedient, in more recent times, to keep a watchman at the top of newgate. not many years ago, two men, employed on this duty, quarrelled during the night, and in the morning their bodies were found stretched upon the pavement of the yard beneath. proceeding along the wall, jack reached the southern tower, over the battlements of which he clambered, and crossing it, dropped upon the roof of the gate. he then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted giltspur street. arrived at the extremity of the building, he found that it overlooked the flat-roof of a house which, as far as he could judge in the darkness, lay at a depth of about twenty feet below. not choosing to hazard so great a fall, jack turned to examine the building, to see whether any more favourable point of descent presented itself, but could discover nothing but steep walls, without a single available projection. as he looked around, he beheld an incessant stream of passengers hurrying on below. lights glimmered in the windows of the different houses; and a lamp-lighter was running from post to post on his way to snow hill. finding it impossible to descend on any side, without incurring serious risk, jack resolved to return for his blanket, by the help of which he felt certain of accomplishing a safe landing on the roof of the house in giltspur street. accordingly, he began to retrace his steps, and pursuing the course he had recently taken, scaling the two towers, and passing along the wall of the prison, he descended by means of the door upon the lower leads. before he re-entered the prison, he hesitated from a doubt whether he was not fearfully increasing his risk of capture; but, convinced that he had no other alternative, he went on. during all this time, he had never quitted the iron bar, and he now grasped it with the firm determination of selling his life dearly, if he met with any opposition. a few seconds sufficed to clear the passage, through which it had previously cost him more than two hours to force his way. the floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet. he did not disturb any of this litter, but left it as a mark of his prowess. he was now at the entrance of the chapel, and striking the door over which he had previously climbed a violent blow with the bar, it flew open. to vault over the pews was the work of a moment; and having gained the entry leading to the red room he passed through the first door; his progress being only impeded by the pile of broken stones, which he himself had raised. listening at one of the doors leading to the master debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. entering the red room, he crept through the hole in the wall, descended the chimney, and arrived once more in his old place of captivity. how different were his present feelings compared with those he had experienced on quitting it. _then_, though full of confidence, he half doubted his power of accomplishing his designs. _now_, he _had_ achieved them, and felt assured of success. the vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the red room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. he next searched for his stockings and shoes, and when found, put them on. while he was thus employed, his nerves underwent a severe shock. a few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. but these fears, like those he had recently experienced, speedily vanished, and he prepared to return to the roof, congratulating himself that owing to the opportune falling of the bricks, he had in all probability escaped serious injury. throwing the blanket over his left arm and shouldering the iron bar, he again clambered up the chimney; regained the red room; hurried along the first passage; crossed the chapel; threaded the entry to the lower leads; and, in less than ten minutes after quitting the castle, had reached the northern extremity of the prison. previously to his descent he had left the nail and spike on the wall, and with these he fastened the blanket to the stone coping. this done, he let himself carefully down by it, and having only a few feet to drop, alighted in safety. having now fairly got out of newgate for the second time, with a heart throbbing with exultation, he hastened to make good his escape. to his great joy he found a small garret-door in the roof of the opposite house open. he entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. as he was about to descend his chains slightly rattled. "oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. "only the dog," replied the rough tones of a man. securing the chain in the best way he could, jack then hurried down two pair of stairs, and had nearly reached the lobby, when a door suddenly opened, and two persons appeared, one of whom held a light. retreating as quickly as he could, jack opened the first door he came to, entered a room, and searching in the dark for some place of concealment, fortunately discovered a skreen, behind which he crept. chapter xxi. what befell jack sheppard in the turner's house. jack was scarcely concealed when the door opened, and the two persons of whom he had caught a glimpse below entered the room. what was his astonishment to recognise in the few words they uttered the voices of kneebone and winifred! the latter was apparently in great distress, and the former seemed to be using his best efforts to relieve her anxiety. "how very fortunate it is," he observed, "that i happened to call upon mr. bird, the turner, to give him an order this evening. it was quite an unexpected pleasure to meet you and your worthy father." "pray cease these compliments," returned winifred, "and, if you have any communication to make, do not delay it. you told me just now that you wished to speak a few words to me in private, concerning thames darrell, and for that purpose i have left my father below with mr. bird and have come hither. what have you got to say?" "too much," replied kneebone, shaking his head; "sadly too much." "do not needlessly alarm me, i beseech you," replied winifred. "whatever your intelligence may be i will strive to bear it. but do not awaken my apprehension, unless you have good cause for so doing.--what do you know of thames?--where is he?" "don't agitate yourself, dearest girl," rejoined the woollen-draper; "or i shall never be able to commence my relation." "i am calm--perfectly calm," replied winifred. "pray, make no further mystery; but tell me all without reserve." "since you require it, i must obey," replied kneebone; "but prepare yourself for a terrible shock." "for mercy's sake, go on!" cried winifred. "at all hazards then then you shall know the truth," replied the woollen-draper, in a tone of affected solicitude,--"but are you really prepared?" "quite--quite!" replied winifred. "this suspense is worse than torture." "i am almost afraid to utter it," said kneebone; "but thames darrell is murdered." "murdered!" ejaculated winifred. "basely and inhumanly murdered, by jack sheppard and blueskin," continued kneebone. "oh! no--no--no," cried winifred, "i cannot believe it. you must be misinformed, mr. kneebone. jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,--of that i am assured." "generous girl!" cried jack from behind the skreen. "i have proofs to the contrary," replied kneebone. "the murder was committed after the robbery of my house by sheppard and his accomplices. i did not choose to mention my knowledge of this fact to your worthy father; but you may rely on its correctness." "you were right not to mention it to him," rejoined winifred, "for he is in such a state of distress at the mysterious disappearance of mrs. sheppard, that i fear any further anxiety might prove fatal to him. and yet i know not--for the object of his visit here to-night was to serve jack, who, if your statement is correct, which i cannot however for a moment believe, does not deserve his assistance." "you may rest assured he does not," rejoined kneebone, emphatically, "but i am at a loss to understand in what way your father proposes to assist him." "mr. bird, the turner, who is an old friend of our's, has some acquaintance with the turnkeys of newgate," replied winifred, "and by his means my father hoped to convey some implements to jack, by which he might effect another escape." "i see," remarked kneebone. "this must be prevented," he added to himself. "heaven grant you may have been wrongly informed with respect to thames!" exclaimed winifred; "but, i beseech you, on no account to mention what you have told me to my poor father. he is not in a state of mind to bear it." "rely on me," rejoined kneebone. "one word before we part, adorable girl--only one," he continued, detaining her. "i would not venture to renew my suit while thames lived, because i well knew your affections were fixed upon him. but now that this bar is removed, i trust i may, without impropriety, urge it." "no more of this," said winifred, angrily. "is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. my whole life shall be devoted to you, beloved girl. and when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, i am persuaded, no longer refuse me." "sir!" exclaimed winifred. "you will make me the happiest of mankind," cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses. "let me go," cried winifred. "i disbelieve the whole story you have told me." "by heaven!" cried kneebone, with increasing fervour, "it is true--as true as my affection for you." "i do not doubt it," retorted winifred, scornfully; "because i attach credit neither to one nor the other. if thames _is_ murdered, you are his assassin. let me go, sir." the woollen-draper made no answer, but hastily starting up, bolted the door. "what do you mean?" cried winifred in alarm. "nothing more than to obtain a favourable answer to my suit," replied kneebone. "this is not the way to obtain it," said winifred, endeavouring to reach the door. "you shall not go, adorable girl," cried kneebone, catching her in his arms, "till you have answered me. you must--you shall be mine." "never," replied winifred. "release me instantly, or i will call my father." "do so," replied kneebone; "but remember the door is locked." "monster!" cried winifred. "help! help!" "you call in vain," returned kneebone. "not so," replied jack, throwing down the skreen. "release her instantly, villain!" both winifred and her suitor started at this sudden apparition. jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. "in the devil's name, is that you, jack!" ejaculated kneebone. "it is," replied sheppard. "you have uttered a wilful and deliberate falsehood in asserting that i have murdered thames, for whom you well know i would lay down my life. retract your words instantly, or take the consequences." "what should i retract, villain?" cried the woollen-draper, who at the sound of jack's voice had regained his confidence. "to the best of my belief, thames darrell has been murdered by you." "a lie!" exclaimed jack in a terrible tone. and before kneebone could draw his sword, he felled him to the ground with the iron bar. "you have killed him," cried winifred in alarm. "no," answered jack, approaching her, "though, if i had done so, he would have merited his fate. you do not believe his statement?" "i do not," replied winifred. "i could not believe you capable of so foul a deed. but oh! by what wonderful chance have you come hither so seasonably?" "i have just escaped from newgate," replied jack; "and am more than repaid for the severe toil i have undergone, in being able to save you. but tell me," he added with much anxiety, "has nothing been heard of thames since the night of my former escape?" "nothing whatever," answered winifred. "he left dollis hill at ten o'clock on that night, and has not since returned. my father has made every possible inquiry, and offered large rewards; but has not been able to discover the slightest trace of him. his suspicions at first fell upon you. but he has since acquitted you of any share in it." "oh, heaven!" exclaimed jack. "he has been indefatigable in his search," continued winifred, "and has even journeyed to manchester. but though he visited sir rowland trenchard's seat, ashton hall, he could gain no tidings of him, or of his uncle, sir rowland, who, it seems, has left the country." "never to return," remarked jack, gloomily. "before to-morrow morning i will ascertain what has become of thames, or perish in the attempt. and now tell me what has happened to my poor mother?" "ever since your last capture, and thames's mysterious disappearance, she has been dreadfully ill," replied winifred; "so ill, that each day was expected to be her last. she has also been afflicted with occasional returns of her terrible malady. on tuesday night, she was rather better, and i had left her for a short time, as i thought, asleep on the sofa in the little parlour of which she is so fond--" "well," exclaimed jack. "on my return, i found the window open, and the room vacant. she was gone." "did you discover any trace of footsteps?" inquired jack eagerly. "there were some marks near the window; but whether recently made or not could not be ascertained," replied winifred. "oh god!" exclaimed jack, in a tone of the bitterest anguish. "my worst fears are realized. she is in wild's power." "i ought to add," continued winifred, "that one of her shoes was picked up in the garden, and that prints of her feet were discovered along the soft mould; whether made in flying from any one, or from rushing forth in distracted terror, it is impossible to say. my father thought the latter. he has had the whole country searched; but hitherto without success." "i know _where_ she will be found, and _how_," rejoined jack with a shudder. "i have something further to tell you," pursued winifred. "shortly after your last visit to dollis hill, my father was one evening waylaid by a man, who informed him that he had something to communicate respecting thames, and had a large sum of money, and some important documents to deliver to him, which would be given up, provided he would undertake to procure your liberation." "it was blueskin," observed jack. "so my father thought," replied winifred; "and he therefore instantly fired upon him. but though the shot took effect, as was evident from the stains on the ground, the villain escaped." "your father did right," replied jack, with some bitterness. "but if he had not fired that shot, he might have saved thames, and possessed himself of papers which would have established his birth, and his right to the estates of the trenchard family." "would you have had him spare my mother's murderer?" cried winifred. "ho, no," replied jack. "and yet--but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. listen to me, winifred." and he hastily related the occurrences in jonathan wild's house. the account of the discovery of sir rowland's murder filled winifred with alarm; but when she learnt what had befallen thames--how he had been stricken down by the thief-taker's bludgeon, and left for dead, she uttered a piercing scream, fainted, and would have fallen, if jack had not caught her in his arms. jack had well-nigh fallen too. the idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. gazing at her with eyes blinded with tears, he imprinted one brotherly kiss upon her lips. it was the first--and the last! at this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of mr. wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. "what's the matter?" he cried. "i thought i heard a scream. why is the door fastened? open it directly!" "are you alone?" asked jack, mimicking the voice of kneebone. "what for?" demanded wood. "open the door, i say, or i'll burst it open." carefully depositing winifred on a sofa, jack then extinguished the light, and, as he unfastened the door, crept behind it. in rushed mr. wood, with a candle in his hand, which jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. he upset some one--probably mr. bird,--who was rushing up stairs, alarmed by mr. wood's cries: but, regardless of this, he darted along a passage, gained the shop, and passed through an open door into the street. and thus he was once more free, having effected one of the most wonderful escapes ever planned or accomplished. chapter xxii. fast and loose. about seven o'clock on the same night, jonathan wild's two janizaries, who had been for some time in attendance in the hall of his dwelling at the old bailey, were summoned to the audience-chamber. a long and secret conference then took place between the thief-taker and his myrmidons, after which they were severally dismissed. left alone, jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. taking the opposite course from that which he had hitherto pursued when it has been necessary to attend him in his visits to the lower part of his premises, he struck into a narrow passage on the right, which he tracked till he came to a small door, like the approach to a vault. unlocking it, he entered the chamber, which by no means belied its external appearance. on a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. holding the lamp over her rigid but beautiful features, jonathan, with some anxiety, placed his hand upon her breast to ascertain whether the heart still beat. satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. "drink this," cried jonathan, handing her the cup. "you'll feel better after it." mechanically raising the potion to her lips, the poor creature swallowed it without hesitation. "is it poison?" she asked. "no," replied jonathan, with a brutal laugh. "i'm not going to get rid of you just yet. it's gin--a liquor you used to like. you'll find the benefit of it by and by. you've a good deal to go through to-night." "ah!" exclaimed mrs. sheppard, "are you come to renew your terrible proposals?" "i'm come to execute my threats," replied wild. "to-night you shall be my wedded wife." "i will die first," replied mrs. sheppard. "you may die _afterwards_ as soon as you please," retorted jonathan; "but live till then you _shall_. i've sent for the priest." "mercy!" cried mrs. sheppard, vainly trying to discover a gleam of compassion in the thief-taker's inexorable countenance,--"mercy! mercy!" "pshaw!" rejoined jonathan. "you should be glad to be made an honest woman." "oh! let me die," groaned the widow. "i have not many days,--perhaps, not many hours to live. but kill me rather than commit this outrage." "that wouldn't answer my purpose," replied jonathan, savagely. "i didn't carry you off from old wood to kill you, but to wed you." "what motive can you have for so vile a deed?" asked mrs. sheppard. "you know my motive well enough," answered jonathan. "however, i'll refresh your memory. i once might have married you for your beauty,--now i marry you for your wealth." "my wealth," replied mrs. sheppard. "i have nothing." "you are heiress to the trenchard property," rejoined jonathan, "one of the largest estates in lancashire." "not while thames darrell and sir rowland live." "sir rowland is dead," replied jonathan, gloomily. "thames darrell only waits my mandate to follow him. before our marriage there will be no life between you and the estates." "ah!" exclaimed mrs. sheppard. "look here," cried jonathan, stooping down and taking hold of a ring in the floor, with which by a great effort he raised up a flag. "in this pit," he added, pointing to the chasm below, "your brother is buried. here your nephew will speedily be thrown." "horrible!" cried mrs. sheppard, shuddering violently. "but your dreadful projects will recoil on your own head. heaven will not permit the continuance of such wickedness as you practise." "i'll take my chance," replied jonathan, with a sinister smile. "my schemes have succeeded tolerably well hitherto." "a day of retribution will assuredly arrive," rejoined mrs. sheppard. "till then, i shall remain content," returned wild. "and now, mrs. sheppard, attend to what i'm about to say to you. years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, i loved you." "loved me! _you_!" "i loved you," continued jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen by a gipsy in lancashire. i proceeded to manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of sir montacute trenchard. this discovery made, i hastened back to london to offer you my hand, but found you had married in the mean time a smock-faced, smooth-tongued carpenter named sheppard. the important secret remained locked in my breast, but i resolved to be avenged. i swore i would bring your husband to the gallows,--would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,--and i also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father." "and terribly you have kept your vow," replied mrs. sheppard. "i have," replied jonathan. "but i am now coming to the point which most concerns you. consent to become my wife, and do not compel me to have recourse to violence to effect my purpose, and i will spare your son." mrs. sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. "swear that you will do this," she cried. "i swear it," rejoined jonathan, readily. "but what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. "you will not hesitate to break it, if it suits your purpose. i have suffered too much from your treachery. i will not trust you." "as you please," replied jonathan, sternly. "recollect you are in my power. jack's life hangs on your determination." "what shall i do?" cried mrs. sheppard, in a voice of agony. "save him," replied jonathan. "you _can_ do so." "bring him here,--let me see him--let me embrace him--let me be assured that he is safe, and i am yours. i swear it." "hum!" exclaimed jonathan. "you hesitate--you are deceiving me." "by my soul, no," replied jonathan, with affected sincerity. "you shall see him to-morrow." "delay the marriage till then. i will never consent till i see him." "yon ask impossibilities," replied jonathan, sullenly. "all is prepared. the marriage cannot--shall not be delayed. yon must be mine to-night." "force shall not make me yours till jack is free," replied the widow, resolutely. "an hour hence, i shall return with the priest," replied jonathan, striding towards the door. and, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door. "an hour hence, i shall be beyond your malice," said mrs. sheppard, sinking backwards upon the pallet. chapter xxiii. the last meeting between jack sheppard and his mother. after escaping from the turner's house, jack sheppard skirted st. sepulchre's church, and hurrying down snow hill, darted into the first turning on the left. traversing angel court, and green arbour court,--celebrated as one of goldsmith's retreats,--he speedily reached seacoal lane, and pursuing the same course, which he and thames had formerly taken, arrived at the yard at the back of jonathan's habitation. a door, it may be remembered, opened from wild's dwelling into this yard. before he forced an entrance, jack tried it, and, to his great surprise and delight, found it unfastened. entering the house, he found himself in a narrow passage leading to the back stairs. he had not taken many steps when he perceived quilt arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. hearing a noise below, quilt called out, supposing it occasioned by the jew. jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps. quilt, meanwhile, came down, examined the door, and finding it unfastened, locked it with a bitter imprecation on his brother-janizary's carelessness. this done, he followed the course which jack had just taken. as he crossed the cellar, he passed so near to jack who had concealed himself behind a piece of furniture that he almost touched him. it was jack's intention to have knocked him down with the iron bar; but he was so struck with the janizary's looks, that he determined to spare him till he had ascertained his purpose. with this view, he suffered him to pass on. quilt's manner, indeed, was that of a man endeavouring to muster up sufficient resolution for the commission of some desperate crime. he halted,--looked fearfully around,--stopped again, and exclaimed aloud, "i don't like the job; and yet it must be done, or mr. wild will hang me." with this, he appeared to pluck up his courage, and stepped forward more boldly. "some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which i may perhaps prevent," muttered jack to himself. "heaven grant i may not be too late!" followed by jack sheppard, who kept sufficiently near him to watch his proceedings, and yet not expose himself, quilt unlocked one or two doors which he left open, and after winding his way along a gloomy passage, arrived at the door of a vault. here he set down the lamp, and took out a key, and as he did so the expression of his countenance was so atrocious, that jack felt assured he was not wrong in his suspicions. by this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, quilt entered the cell. the next moment, an exclamation was heard in the voice of thames. darting forward at this sound, jack threw open the door, and beheld quilt kneeling over thames, who'se hands and feet were bound with cords, and about to plunge his sword into his breast. a blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the floor. jack then proceeded to liberate the captive from his bondage. "jack!" exclaimed thames. "is it you?" "it is," replied sheppard, as he untied the cords. "i might return the question. were it not for your voice, i don't think i should know you. you are greatly altered." captivity had, indeed, produced a striking alteration in thames. he looked like the shadow of himself--thin, feeble, hollow-eyed--his beard unshorn--nothing could be more miserable. "i have never been out of this horrible dungeon since we last met," he said; "though how long ago that is, i scarcely know. night and day have been alike to me." "six weeks have elapsed since that fatal night," replied jack. "during the whole of that time i have been a close prisoner in newgate, whence i have only just escaped." "six weeks!" exclaimed thames, in a melancholy tone. "it seems like six long months to me." "i do not doubt it," returned jack; "none but those who have experienced it can understand the miseries of imprisonment." "do not speak of it," rejoined thames, with a look of horror. "let us fly from this frightful place." "i will conduct you to the outlet," replied jack; "but i cannot leave it till i have ascertained whether my mother also is a prisoner here." "i can answer that," replied thames. "she is. the monster, wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me." "arm yourself with that ruffian's weapons," replied jack, "and let us search for her." thames complied. but he was so feeble, that it seemed scarcely possible he could offer any effectual resistance in case of an attack. "lean on me," said jack. taking the light, they then proceeded along the passage. there was no other door in it, and jack therefore struck into another entry which branched off to the right. they had not proceeded far when a low moan was heard. "she is here," cried jack, darting forward. a few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. it was locked. jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from quilt arnold, but, none of them would open it. he was therefore obliged to use the iron bar, which he did with as much caution as circumstances would permit. at the first blow, mrs. sheppard uttered a piercing scream. "wretch!" she cried, "you shall not force me to your hateful purpose. i will never wed you. i have a weapon--a knife--and if you attempt to open the door, will plunge it to my heart." "oh god!" exclaimed jack, paralysed by her cries. "what shall i do? if i persist, i shall destroy her." "get hence," continued mrs. sheppard, with a frenzied laugh. "you shall never behold me alive." "mother!" cried jack, in a broken voice. "it is your son." "it is false," cried mrs. sheppard. "think not to deceive me, monster. i know my son's voice too well. he is in newgate. hence!" "mother! dear mother!" cried jack, in a voice, the tones of which were altered by his very anxiety to make them distinct, "listen to me. i have broken from prison, and am come to save you." "it is _not_ jack's voice," rejoined mrs. sheppard. "i am not to be deceived. the knife is at my breast. stir a foot, and i strike." "oh heavens!" cried jack, driven to his wits' end. "mother--dear mother! once again, i beseech you to listen to me. i am come to rescue you from wild's violence. i must break open the door. hold your hand for a moment." "you have heard my fixed determination, villain," cried mrs. sheppard. "i know my life is valuable to you, or you would not spare it. but i will disappoint you. get you gone. your purposes are defeated." "footsteps are approaching," cried thames. "heed her not. it is but a wild threat." "i know not how to act," exclaimed jack, almost driven to desperation. "i hear you plotting with your wicked associates," cried mrs. sheppard. "i have baffled you." "force the door," said thames, "or you will be too late." "better she die by her own hand, than by that monster's," cried jack, brandishing the bar. "mother, i come to you." with this, he struck the door a heavy blow. he listened. there was a deep groan, and the sound of a fall within. "i have killed her," exclaimed jack, dropping the bar,--"by your advice, thames. oh god! pardon me." "do not delay," cried thames. "she may yet be saved. i am too weak to aid you." jack again seized the bar, and, dashing it furiously against the door, speedily burst it open. the unfortunate woman was stretched upon the floor, with a bloody knife in her hand. "mother!" cried jack, springing towards her. "jack!" she cried, raising her head. "is it you?" "it is," replied her son, "oh! why would you not listen to me?" "i was distracted," replied mrs. sheppard, faintly. "i have killed you," cried jack, endeavouring to staunch the effusion of blood from her breast. "forgive--forgive me!" "i have nothing to forgive," replied mrs. sheppard. "i alone am to blame." "can i not carry you where you can obtain help?" cried jack in a agony of distress. "it is useless," replied mrs. sheppard: "nothing can save me. i die happy--quite happy in beholding you. do not remain with me. you may fall into the hands of your enemy. fly! fly!" "do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried jack, in an agony of tears. "you have always been, far dearer to me than myself," replied mrs. sheppard. "but i have one last request to make. let me lie in willesden churchyard." "you shall--you shall," answered jack. "we shall meet again ere long, my son," cried mrs. sheppard, fixing her glazing eyes upon him. "oh god! she is dying," exclaimed jack in a voice suffocated by emotion. "forgive me--oh, forgive me!" "forgive you--bless you!" she gasped. a cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever. "oh, god! that i might die too," cried jack, falling on his knees beside her. after the first violent outbreak of grief had in some degree subsided, thames addressed him. "you must not remain here," he said. "you can render no further service to your poor mother." "i can avenge her," cried jack in a terrible tone. "be ruled by me," returned thames. "you will act most in accordance with her wishes, could she dictate them, by compliance. do not waste time in vain regrets, but let us remove the body, that we may fulfil her last injunctions." after some further arguments, jack assented to this proposal. "go on first with the light," he said. "i will bear the body." and he raised it in his arms. just as they reached the end of the passage, they heard the voices of jonathan and the jew in thames's late place of confinement. wild had evidently discovered the body of quilt arnold, and was loudly expressing his anger and astonishment. "extinguish the light," cried jack; "turn to the left. quick! quick!" the order was only just given in time. they had scarcely gained the adjoining cellar when jonathan and the jew rushed past in the direction of the vault. "not a moment is to be lost," cried jack: "follow me." so saying, he hurried up stairs, opened the back door, and was quickly in the yard. having ascertained that thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down seacoal lane. "where are you going?" cried thames, who, though wholly disencumbered, was scarcely able to keep up with him. "i know not--and care not," replied jack. at this moment, a coach passed them, and was instantly hailed by thames. "you had better let me convey her to dollis hill," he said. "be it so," replied jack. luckily it was so dark, and there was no lamp near, that the man did not notice the condition of the body, which was placed in the vehicle by the two young men. "what will you do?" asked thames. "leave me to my fate," rejoined jack. "take care of your charge." "doubt me not," replied thames. "bury her in willesden churchyard, as she requested, on sunday," said jack. "i will be there at the time." so saying, he closed the door. the coachman having received his order, and being offered an extra fare if he drove quickly, set off at full speed. as jack departed, a dark figure, emerging from behind a wall, rushed after him. chapter xxiv. the pursuit. after running to some distance down seacoal lane, jack stopped to give a last look at the vehicle which was bearing away the remains of his beloved and ill-fated mother. it was scarcely out of sight, when two persons, whom, he instantly recognised as jonathan and abraham mendez, turned the corner of the street, and made it evident from their shouts, that they likewise perceived him. starting off at a rapid pace, jack dashed down turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of fleet-ditch, crossed holborn bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. by the time he had reached st. andrew's church, his pursuers had gained the bridge, and the attention of such passengers as crowded the streets was attracted towards him by their vociferations. amongst others, the watchman whose box was placed against the churchyard wall, near the entrance to shoe-lane, rushed out and sprung his rattle, which was immediately answered by another rattle from holborn-bars. darting down field-lane, jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived. his course had been observed by the watchman, who directed wild which way to take. "it is jack sheppard, the noted housebreaker," cried jonathan, at the top of his sonorous voice. "he has just broken out of newgate. after him! a hundred pounds to the man who takes him." sheppard's name operated like magic on the crowd. the cry was echoed by twenty different voices. people ran out of their shops to join the pursuit; and, by the time wild had got into field-lane, he had a troop of fifty persons at his heels--all eager to assist in the capture. "stop thief!" roared jonathan, who perceived the fugitive hurrying along a street towards hatton garden. "it is sheppard--jack sheppard--stop him!" and his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels. jack, meanwhile, heard, the shouts, and, though alarmed by them, held on a steady course. by various twistings and turnings, during all which time his pursuers, who were greatly increased in numbers, kept him in view, he reached gray's-inn-lane. here he was hotly pursued. fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means--though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot--a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him. at the corner of liquorpond street stood the old hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. hearing the distant shouts, these fellows rushed down to the entrance of the court, and arrived there just as jack passed it. "stop thief!" roared jonathan. "stop thief!" clamoured the rabble behind. at no loss to comprehend that jack was the individual pointed out by these outcries, two of the nearest of the group made a dash at him. but jack eluded their grasp. a large dog was then set at him by a stable-boy; but, striking the animal with his faithful iron-bar, he speedily sent him yelping back. the two hostlers, however, kept close at his heels; and jack, whose strength began to flag, feared he could not hold much longer. determined, however, not be taken with life, he held on. still keeping ahead of his pursuers, he ran along the direct road, till the houses disappeared and he got into the open country. here he was preparing to leap over the hedge into the fields on the left, when he was intercepted by two horsemen, who, hearing the shouts, rode up and struck at him with the butt-ends of their heavy riding-whips. warding off the blows as well as he could with the bar, jack struck both the horses on the head, and the animals plunged so violently, that they not only prevented their riders from assailing him, but also kept off the hostlers; and, in the confusion that ensued, jack managed to spring over the fence, and shaped his course across the field in the direction of sir john oldcastle's. the stoppage had materially lessened the distance between him and his pursuers, who now amounted to more than a hundred persons, many of whom carried lanterns and links. ascertaining that it was sheppard of whom this concourse was in pursuit, the two horsemen leapt the hedge, and were presently close upon him. like a hare closely pressed, jack attempted to double, but the device only brought him nearer his foes, who were crossing the field in every direction, and rending the air with their shouts. the uproar was tremendous--men yelling--dogs barking,--but above all was heard the stentorian voice of jonathan, urging them on. jack was so harrassed that he felt half inclined to stand at bay. while he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. this fall saved him, for the horsemen passed over him. creeping along quickly on his hands and knees, he found the entrance to a covered drain, into which he crept. he was scarcely concealed when he heard the horsemen, who perceived they had overshot their mark, ride back. by this time, jonathan and the vast mob attending him, had come up, and the place was rendered almost as light as day by the links. "he must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. "we were close upon him when he suddenly disappeared." jonathan made no answer, but snatching a torch from a bystander, jumped into the trench and commenced a diligent search. just as he had arrived at the mouth of the drain, and jack felt certain he must be discovered, a loud shout was raised from the further end of the field that the fugitive was caught. all the assemblage, accompanied by jonathan, set off in this direction, when it turned out that the supposed housebreaker was a harmless beggar, who had been found asleep under a hedge. jonathan's vexation at the disappointment was expressed in the bitterest imprecations, and he returned as speedily as he could to the trench. but he had now lost the precise spot; and thinking he had examined the drain, turned his attention to another quarter. meanwhile, the excitement of the chase had in some degree subsided. the crowd dispersed in different directions, and most fortunately a heavy shower coming on, put them altogether to flight. jonathan, however, still lingered. he seemed wholly insensible to the rain, though it presently descended in torrents, and continued his search as ardently as before. after occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought jack must have given him the slip. still, his suspicions were so strong, that he ordered mendez to remain on guard near the spot all night, and, by the promise of a large reward induced two other men to keep him company. as he took his departure, he whispered to the jew: "take him dead or alive; but if we fail now, and you heard him aright in seacoal lane, we are sure of him at his mother's funeral on sunday." chapter xxv. how jack sheppard got rid of his irons. about an hour after this, jack ventured to emerge from his place of concealment. it was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. drenched to the skin,--in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,--and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. listening attentively, he fancied he heard the breathing of some one near him, and moved cautiously in the opposite direction. in spite of his care, he came in contact with a man, who, endeavouring to grasp him, cried, in the voice of mendez, "who goes dere? shpeak! or i fire!" no answer being returned, the jew instantly discharged his pistol, and though the shot did no damage, the flash discovered sheppard. but as the next moment all was profound darkness, jack easily managed to break away from them. without an idea where he was going, jack pursued his way through the fields; and, as he proceeded, the numbness of his limbs in some degree wore off, and his confidence returned. he had need of all the inexhaustible energy of his character to support him through his toilsome walk over the wet grass, or along the slippery ploughed land. at last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread. once more breaking through the hedge he took to the fields. he was now almost driven to despair. wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. and then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:--how was he to get rid of them? tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. again returning to the main road, he passed through clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of stamford hill. he walked on for an hour longer, till he could scarcely drag one leg after another. at length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. how long he continued thus he scarcely knew; but just before dawn, he managed to regain his legs, and, crawling up a bank, perceived he was within a quarter of a mile of tottenham. a short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep. when he awoke it was late in the day, and raining heavily. for some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhausted. his legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. his bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish. all the events of the previous day rushed to his recollection; and though he had been unintentionally the cause of his mother's death, he reproached himself as severely as if he had been her actual murderer. "had i not been the guilty wretch i am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus." this strong feeling of remorse having found a natural vent, in some degree subsided, and he addressed himself to his present situation. rousing himself, he went to the door. it had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. taking up a couple of large stones which lay near, jack tried to beat the round basils of the fetters into an oval form, so as to enable him to slip his heels through them. while he was thus employed a farming man came into the barn. jack instantly started to his feet, and the man, alarmed at his appearance, ran off to a neighbouring house. before he could return, jack had made good his retreat; and, wandering about the lanes and hedges, kept out of sight as much as possible. on examining his pockets, he found about twenty guineas in gold, and some silver. but how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised. when night fell, he crept into the town of tottenham. as he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. a crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock. "here's the full, true, and particular account of jack sheppard's last astonishing and never-to-be-forgotten escape from the castle of newgate," bawled the hawker, "with a print of him taken from the life, showing the manner, how he was shackled and handcuffed. only one penny--two copies--two pence--thank you, sir. here's the----" "let me have one," cried a servant maid, running across the street, and in her haste forgetting to shut the door,--"here's the money. master and missis have been talking all day long about jack sheppard, and i'm dying to read his life." "here you have it, my dear," returned the hawker. "sold again!" "if you don't get back quickly, lucy," observed a bystander, "jack sheppard will be in the house before you." this sally occasioned a general laugh. "if jack would come to my house, i'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. "poor fellow! i'm glad he has escaped." "jack seems to be a great favourite with the fair sex," observed a smirking grocer's apprentice. "of course," rejoined the bystander, who had just spoken, and who was of a cynical turn,--"the greater the rascal, the better they like him." "here's a particular account of jack's many robberies and escapes," roared the hawker,--"how he broke into the house of his master, mr. wood, at dollis hill--" "let me have one," said a carpenter, who was passing by at the moment,--"mr. wood was an old friend of mine--and i recollect seeing jack when he was bound 'prentice to him." "a penny, if you please, sir," said the hawker.--"sold again! here you have the full, true, and particular account of the barbarous murder committed by jack sheppard and his associate, joseph blake, _alias_ blueskin, upon the body of mrs. wood--" "that's false!" cried a voice behind him. the man turned at the exclamation, and so did several of the bystanders; but they could not make out who had uttered it. jack, who had been lingering near the group, now walked on. in the middle of the little town stood the shop of a jew dealer in old clothes. the owner was at the door unhooking a few articles of wearing apparel which he had exposed outside for sale. amongst other things, he had just brought down an old laced bavaroy, a species of surtout much worn at the period. "what do you want fot that coat, friend?" asked jack, as he came up. "more than you'll pay for it, friend," snuffled the jew. "how do you know that?" rejoined jack. "will you take a guinea for it?" "double that sum might tempt me," replied the jew; "it's a nobleman's coat, upon my shoul!" "here's the money," replied jack, taking the coat. "shall i help you on with it, sir?" replied the jew, becoming suddenly respectful. "no," replied jack. "i half suspect this is a highwayman," thought the jew; "he's so ready with his cash. i've some other things inside, sir, which you might wish to buy,--some pistols." jack was about to comply; but not liking the man's manner, he walked on. further on, there was a small chandler's shop, where jack observed an old woman seated at the counter, attended by a little girl. seeing provisions in the window, jack ventured in and bought a loaf. having secured this,--for he was almost famished,--he said that he had lost a hammer and wished to purchase one. the old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. guided by the glare of the forge, which threw a stream of ruddy light across the road, jack soon found the place of which he was in search. entering the workshop, he found the blacksmith occupied in heating the tire of a cart wheel. suspending his labour on jack's appearance, the man demanded his business. making up a similar story to that which he had told the old woman, he said he wanted to purchase a hammer and a file. the man looked hard at him. "answer me one question first?" he said; "i half suspect you're jack sheppard." "i am," replied jack, without hesitation; for he felt assured from the man's manner that he might confide in him. "you're a bold fellow, jack," rejoined the blacksmith. "but you've done well to trust me. i'll take off your irons--for i guess that's the reason why you want the hammer and file--on one condition." "what is it?" "that you give 'em to me." "readily." taking jack into a shed behind the workshop the smith in a short time freed him from his fetters. he not only did this, but supplied him with an ointment which allayed the swelling of his limbs, and crowned all by furnishing him with a jug of excellent ale. "i'm afraid, jack, you'll come to the gallows," observed the smith; "buth if you do, i'll go to tyburn to see you. but i'll never part with your irons." noticing the draggled condition jack was in, he then fetched him a bucket of water, with which jack cleansed himself as well as he could, and thanking the honest smith, who would take nothing for his trouble, left the shop. having made a tolerably good meal upon the loaf, overcome by fatigue, jack turned into a barn in stoke newington, and slept till late in the day, when he awakened much refreshed. the swelling in his limbs had also subsided. it rained heavily all day, so he did not stir forth. towards night, however, he ventured out, and walked on towards london. when he arrived at hoxton, he found the walls covered with placards offering a reward for his apprehension, and he everywhere appeared to be the general subject of conversation. prom a knot of idlers at a public-house, he learnt that jonathan wild had just ridden past, and that his setters were scouring the country in every direction. entering london, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in rupert street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price. the man asked twelve guineas, but after a little bargaining, he came down to ten. taking his new purchase under his arm, jack proceeded to a small tavern in the same street, where, having ordered dinner, he went to a bed-room to attire himself. he had scarcely completed his toilet, when he was startled by a noise at the door, and heard his own name pronounced in no friendly accents. fortunately, the window was not far from the ground; so opening it gently, he dropped into a backyard, and from thence got into the street. hurrying down the haymarket, he was arrested by a crowd who were collected round a street-singer. jack paused for a moment, and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad. not daring, however, to listen to it, he ran on. chapter xxvi. how jack sheppard attended his mother's funeral. that night jack walked to paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the wheat-sheaf, near the green. on the next morning--sunday--the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the harrow road. it was a clear, lovely, october morning. the air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. the road which wound by westbourne green, gave him a full view of the hill of hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. jack's heart was too full to allow him to derive any pleasure from this scene; so he strolled on without raising his eyes till he arrived at kensal green. here he obtained some breakfast, and mounting the hill turned off into the fields on the right. crossing them, he ascended an eminence, which, from its singular shape, seems to have been the site of a roman encampment, and which commands a magnificent prospect. leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. it was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. he beheld the grey tower of willesden church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. there was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,--in those fields she had rambled,--at that church she had prayed. and he had destroyed all this. but for him she might have been alive and happy. the recollection was too painful, and he burst into an agony of tears. aroused by the sound of the church bells, he resolved, at whatever risk, to attend divine service. with this view, he descended the hill and presently found a footpath leading to the church. but he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened--every wound opened. the path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling. when she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers--the garden trim and exquisitely kept. now, it was a wilderness of weeds. the glass in the windows was broken--the roof unthatched--the walls dilapidated. jack turned away with an aching heart. it seemed an emblem of the ruin he had caused. as he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused. at every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past. there was the stile on which jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance--how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. "o god!" he exclaimed, "i am severely punished." he had now gained the high road. the villagers were thronging to church. bounding the corner of a garden wall, he came upon his former place of imprisonment. some rustic hand had written upon the door "jack sheppard's cage;" and upon the wall was affixed a large placard describing his person, and offering a reward for his capture. muffling up his face, jack turned away; but he had not proceeded many steps when he heard a man reading aloud an account of his escapes from a newspaper. hastening to the church, he entered it by the very door near which his first crime had been committed. his mother's scream seemed again to ring in his ears, and he was so deeply affected that, fearful of exciting attention, he was about to quit the sacred edifice, when he was stopped by the entrance of thames, who looked pale as death, with winifred leaning on his arm. they were followed by mr. wood in the deepest mourning. shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, jack buried his face in his hands. the service began. jack who had not been in a place of worship for many years was powerfully affected. accidentally raising his eyes, he saw that he was perceived by the family from dollis hill, and that he was an object of the deepest interest to them. as soon as the service was over, thames contrived to approach him, and whispered, "be cautious,--the funeral will take place after evening service." jack would not hazard a glance at winifred; but, quitting the church, got into an adjoining meadow, and watched the party slowly ascending the road leading to dollis hill. at a turn in the road, he perceived winifred looking anxiously towards him, and when she discovered him, she waved her hand. returning to the churchyard, he walked round it; and on the western side, near a small yew-tree discovered a new-made grave. "whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. "i can't say," answered the fellow; "but i'll inquire from the sexton, william morgan. here, peter," he added to a curly-headed lad, who was playing on one of the grassy tombs, "ask your father to step this way." the little urchin set off, and presently returned with the sexton. "it's mrs. sheppard's grave,--the mother of the famous housebreaker," said morgan, in answer to jack's inquiry;--"and it's well they let her have christian burial after all--for they say she destroyed herself for her son. the crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday--and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends." jack could stand no more. placing a piece of money in morgan's hands, he hurried out of the churchyard. "by my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like jack sheppard as any one i ever seed i' my born days." hastening to the six bells, jack ordered some refreshment, and engaged a private room, where he remained till the afternoon absorbed in grief. meantime, a change had taken place in the weather. the day had become suddenly overcast. the wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. roused by the bell tolling for evening service, jack left the house. on reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. just then, a carriage drawn by four horses, drove furiously up to the six bells; but jack was too much absorbed to take any notice of it. at this moment, the bell began to toll in a peculiar manner, announcing the approach of the corpse. the gate was opened; the coffin brought into the churchyard; and jack, whose eyes were filled with tears, saw mr. wood and thames pass him, and followed at a foot's pace behind them. meanwhile, the clergyman, bare-headed and in his surplice, advanced to meet them. having read the three first verses of the impressive service appointed for the burial of the dead, he returned to the church, whither the coffin was carried through the south-western door, and placed in the centre of the aisle--mr. wood and thames taking their places on either side of it, and jack at a little distance behind. jack had been touched in the morning, but he was now completely prostrated. in the midst of the holy place, which he had formerly profaned, lay the body of his unfortunate mother, and he could not help looking upon her untimely end as the retributive vengeance of heaven for the crime he had committed. his grief was so audible, that it attracted the notice of some of the bystanders, and thames was obliged to beg him to control it. in doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. before the congregation separated, the clergyman descended from the pulpit; and, followed by the coffin-bearers and mourners, and by jack at a respectful distance, entered the churchyard. the carriage, which it has been mentioned drove up to the six bells, contained four persons,--jonathan wild, his two janizaries, and his porter, obadiah lemon. as soon as they had got out, the vehicle was drawn up at the back of a tree near the cage. having watched the funeral at some distance, jonathan fancied he could discern the figure of jack; but not being quite sure, he entered the church. he was daring enough to have seized and carried him off before the whole congregation, but he preferred waiting. satisfied with his scrutiny, he returned, despatched abraham and obadiah to the northwest corner of the church, placed quilt behind a buttress near the porch, and sheltered himself behind one of the mighty elms. the funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. a slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around. jonathan mixed with the group, and, sure of his prey, abided his time. the clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the earth, jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his mother, and invoking the vengeance of heaven on his own head. a murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom jack was recognised. but such was the violence of his grief,--such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. that person advanced towards him. "i have killed her," cried jack. "you have," rejoined jonathan, laying a forcible grasp on his shoulder. "you are my prisoner." jack started to his feet; but before he could defend himself, his right arm was grasped by the jew who had silently approached him. "hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" at the same moment, quilt arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over william morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. "wretch!" cried jack. "are you not content with the crimes you have committed,--but you must carry your villany to this point. look at the poor victim at your feet." jonathan made no reply, but ordered his myrmidons to drag the prisoner along. thames, meanwhile, had drawn his sword, and was about to rush upon jonathan; but he was withheld by wood. "do not shed more blood," cried the carpenter. groans and hoots were now raised by the crowd, and there was an evident disposition to rescue. a small brickbat was thrown, which struck jonathan in the face. "you shall not pass," cried several of the crowd. "i knew his poor mother, and for her sake i'll not see this done," cried john dump. "slip on the handcuffs," cried the thief-taker. "and now let's see who'll dare to oppose me. i am jonathan wild. i have arrested him in the king's name." a deep indignant groan followed. "let me see the earth thrown over her," implored jack; "and take me where you please." "no," thundered wild. "allow him that small grace," cried wood. "no, i tell you," rejoined jonathan, shouldering his way out of the crowd. "my mother,--my poor mother!" exclaimed jack. but, in spite of his outcries and resistance, he was dragged along by jonathan and his janizaries. at the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. the mob pursued the thief-taker and his party all the way, and such missiles as could be collected were hurled at them. they even threatened to cut the traces and take off the wheels from the carriage. the jew got in first. the prisoner was then thrust in by quilt. before jonathan followed he turned to face his assailants. "back!" he cried fiercely. "i am an officer in the execution of my duty. and he who opposes me in it shall feel the weight of my hand." he then sprung into the coach, the door of which was closed by obadiah, who mounted the box. "to newgate," cried jonathan, putting his head out of the window. a deep roar followed this order, and several missiles were launched at the vehicle, which was driven off at a furious pace. and while her son was reconveyed to prison the body of the unfortunate mrs. sheppard was committed to the earth. chapter xxvii. how jack sheppard was brought back to newgate. jack sheppard's escape from newgate on the night of the th of october was not discovered till the following morning; for although the intelligence was brought by several parties to the lodge in the course of the night, austin, who was the officer in attendance, paid no attention to them. after pursuing the fugitive as before related, jonathan wild returned to his own habitation, where he was occupied during the remainder of the night with quilt arnold and obadiah lemon in removing everything which, in case of a search, might tend to criminate him. satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. he was aroused from his slumber, about six o'clock, by the return of abraham mendez, who not choosing to confess that jack had eluded his vigilance, contended himself with stating that he had kept watch till daybreak, when he had carefully searched the field, and, finding no trace of him, had thought it better to return. this information was received by jonathan with a lowering brow. he comforted himself, however, with the certainty which he felt of capturing his prey on the sunday. his breakfast despatched, which he ate with a wolfish appetite, he walked over to newgate, chuckling as he went at the consternation which his appearance would create amongst the turnkeys. entering the lodge, the first person he beheld was austin, who was only just up, and whose toilette appeared scarcely completed. a glance satisfied jonathan that the turnkey was not aware of the prisoner's escape; and he resolved not to destroy what he considered a good jest, by a premature disclosure of it. "you are out betimes this morning, mr. wild," observed austin, as he put on his coat, and adjusted his minor bob. "something fresh on hand, i suppose?" "i'm come to inquire after jack sheppard," returned jonathan. "don't alarm yourself about him, sir," replied austin. "he's safe enough, i assure you." "i should like to satisfy myself on that score," rejoined wild, drily. "so you shall, sir," replied austin, who at this moment recollected, with some uneasiness, the applications at the lodge-door during the night. "i hope you don't imagine anything has gone wrong, sir." "it matters not what i think," replied wild. "come with me to the castle." "instantly, sir," replied austin; "instantly. here, caliban, attend to the door, and keep the wicket locked till i return. d'ye hear. now, sir." taking the keys, he led the way, followed by jonathan, who chuckled internally at the shock that awaited the poor fellow. the door was opened, and austin entered the cell, when he absolutely recoiled before the spectacle he beheld, and could scarcely have looked more alarmed if the prison had tumbled about his ears. petrified and speechless, he turned an imploring look at wild, who was himself filled with astonishment at the pile of rubbish lying before him. "'sdeath!" cried jonathan, staring at the breach in the wall. "some one _must_ have assisted him. unless he has dealings with the devil, he could never have done this alone." "i firmly believe he _has_ dealings with the devil," replied austin, trembling from head to foot. "but, perhaps, he has not got beyond the room above. it's as strong, if not stronger, than this. i'll see." so saying, he scrambled over the rubbish, and got into the chimney. but though the breach was large enough to admit him below, he could not squeeze his bulky person through the aperture into the red room. "i believe he's gone," he said, returning to jonathan. "the door's open, and the room empty." "you believe--you _know_ it," replied jonathan, fixing one of his sternest and most searching glances upon him. "nothing you can say to the contrary will convince me that you have not been accessory to his flight." "i, sir!--i swear----" "tush!" interrupted jonathan, harshly. "i shall state my suspicions to the governor. come down with me to the lodge directly. all further examinations must be conducted in the presence of proper witnesses." with these words, he strode out of the room, darted down the stone stairs, and, on his arrival at the lodge, seized the rope of the great bell communicating with the interior of the prison, which he rang violently. as this was never done, except in some case of great emergency, the application was instantly answered by all the other turnkeys, by marvel, the four partners, and mrs. spurling. nothing could exceed the dismay of these personages when they learnt why they had been summoned. all seemed infected with austin's terrors except mrs. spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. headed by jonathan, all the turnkeys then repaired to the upper part of the jail, and, approaching the red room by a circuitous route, several doors were unlocked, and they came upon the scene of jack's exploits. stopping before each door, they took up the plates of the locks, examined the ponderous bolts, and were struck with the utmost astonishment at what they beheld. arriving at the chapel, their wonder increased. all the jailers declared it utterly impossible he could have accomplished his astonishing task unaided; but who had lent him assistance was a question they were unable to answer. proceeding to the entry to the lower leads, they came to the two strong doors, and their surprise was so great at jack's marvellous performance, that they could scarcely persuade themselves that human ingenuity could have accomplished it. "here's a door," remarked ireton, when he got to that nearest the leads, "which i could have sworn would have resisted anything. i shall have no faith in future in bolts and bars." mounting the roof of the prison, they traced the fugitive's course to the further extremity of the building, where they found his blanket attached to the spike proving that he escaped in that direction. after severely examining austin, and finding it proved, on the testimony of his fellow-jailers, that he could not have aided jack in his flight, jonathan retracted his harsh sentence, and even went so far as to say that he would act as mediator between him and the governor. this was some satisfaction to the poor fellow, who was dreadfully frightened, as indeed he might well be, it being the opinion of the jailers and others who afterwards examined the place, that jack had accomplished, single-handed, in a few hours, and, as far as it could be ascertained, with imperfect implements, what it would have taken half a dozen men several days, provided with proper tools, to effect. in their opinion a hundred pounds would not repair the damage done to the prison. as soon as jack's escape became known, thousands of persons flocked to newgate to behold his workmanship; and the jailers reaped am abundant harvest from their curiosity. jonathan, meanwhile, maintained profound secrecy as to his hopes of capturing the fugitive; and when jack was brought back to newgate on the sunday evening, his arrival was wholly unexpected. at a little after five, on that day, four horses dashed round the corner of the old bailey, and drew up before the door of the lodge. hearing the stoppage, austin rushed out, and could scarcely believe his eyes when he beheld jack sheppard in the custody of quilt arnold and abraham mendez. jack's recapture was speedily made known to all the officers of the jail, and the lodge was instantly crowded. the delight of the turnkeys was beyond all bounds; but poor mrs. spurling was in a state of distraction and began to abuse jonathan so violently that her future husband was obliged to lay forcible hands upon her and drag her away. by wild's command the prisoner was taken to the condemned hold, whither he was followed by the whole posse of officers and by the partners; two of whom carried large hammers and two the fetters. there was only one prisoner in the ward. he was chained to the ground, but started up at their approach. it was blueskin. when he beheld jack he uttered a deep groan. "captain," he cried, in a voice of the bitterest anguish, "have these dogs again hunted you down? if you hadn't been so unlucky, i should have been with you before to-morrow night." jack made no answer, nor did he even cast his eyes upon his follower. but jonathan, fixing a terrible look upon him, cried. "ha! say you so? you must be looked to. my lads," he continued, addressing the partners; "when you've finished this job give that fellow a fresh set of darbies. i suspect he has been at work upon those he has on." "the link of the chain next the staple is sawn through," said ireton, stooping to examine blueskin's fetters. "search him and iron him afresh;" commanded jonathan. "but first let us secure sheppard. we'll then remove them both to the middle stone hold, where a watch shall be kept over them night and day till they're taken to tyburn. as they're so fond of each other's society they shan't part company even on that occasion, but shall swing from the same tree." "you'll never live to see that day," cried blueskin, fixing a menacing look upon him. "what weight are these irons?" asked jonathan, coolly addressing one of the partners. "more than three hundred weight, sir," replied the man. "they're the heaviest set we have,--and were forged expressly for captain sheppard." "they're not half heavy enough," replied wild. "let him be handcuffed, and doubly ironed on both legs; and when we get him into the stone ward, he shall not only be chained down to the ground, but shall have two additional fetters running through the main links, fastened on each side of him. we'll see whether he'll get rid of his new bonds?" he added with a brutal laugh, which was echoed by the bystanders. "mark me," said jack, sternly; "i have twice broken out of this prison in spite of all your precautions. and were you to load me with thrice the weight of iron you have ordered you should not prevent my escaping a third time." "that's right, captain," cried blueskin. "we'll give them the slip yet, and hang that butcherly thief-taker upon his own gibbet." "be silent dog," cried jonathan. and with his clenched hand he struck him a violent blow in the face. for the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. the blow was scarcely dealt, when, with a bound like that of a tiger, blueskin sprang upon him. the chain, which had been partially cut through, snapped near the staple. before any assistance could be rendered by the jailers, who stood astounded, blueskin had got wild in his clutches. his strength has been described as prodigious; but now, heightened by his desire for vengeance, it was irresistible. jonathan, though a very powerful man, was like an infant in his gripe. catching hold of his chin, he bent back the neck, while with his left hand he pulled out a clasp knife, which he opened with his teeth, and grasping wild's head with his arm, notwithstanding his resistance, cut deeply into his throat. the folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. blueskin drew the knife across his throat a second time, widening and deepening the wound; and wrenching back the head to get it into a more favourable position, would infallibly have severed it from the trunk, if the officers, who by this time had recovered from their terror, had not thrown themselves upon him, and withheld him. "now's your time," cried blueskin, struggling desperately with his assailants and inflicting severe cuts with his knife. "fly, captain--fly!" aroused to a sense of the possibility of escape, jack, who had viewed the deadly assault with savage satisfaction, burst from his captors and made for the door. blueskin fought his way towards it, and exerting all his strength, cutting right and left as he proceeded, reached it at the same time. jack in all probability, would have escaped, if langley, who was left in the lodge, had not been alarmed at the noise and rushed thither. seeing jack at liberty, he instantly seized him, and a struggle commenced. at this moment, blueskin came up, and kept off the officers with his knife. he used his utmost efforts to liberate jack from langley, but closely pressed on all sides, he was not able to render any effectual assistance. "fly!" cried jack; "escape if you can; don't mind me." casting one look of anguish at his leader, blueskin then darted down the passage. the only persons in the lodge were mrs. spurling and marvel. hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. blueskin therefore had nothing to stop him. dashing through the open door, he crossed the old bailey, plunged into a narrow court on the opposite side of the way, and was out of sight in a minute, baffling all pursuit. on their return, the jailers raised up jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. efforts were made to staunch his wounds and surgical assistance sent for. "has he escaped?" asked the thief-taker, faintly. "blueskin," said ireton. "no--sheppard?" rejoined wild. "no, no, sir," replied ireton. "he's here." "that's right," replied wild, with a ghastly smile. "remove him to the middle stone hold,--watch over him night and day, do you mind?" "i do, sir." "irons--heavy irons--night and day." "depend upon it, sir." "go with him to tyburn,--never lose sight of him till the noose is tied. where's marvel?" "here, sir," replied the executioner. "a hundred guineas if you hang jack sheppard. i have it about me. take it, if i die." "never fear, sir," replied marvel. "oh! that i could live to see it," gasped jonathan. and with a hideous expression of pain, he fainted. "he's dead," exclaimed austin. "i am content," said jack. "my mother is avenged. take me to the stone room. blueskin, you are a true friend." the body of jonathan was then conveyed to his own habitation, while jack was taken to the middle stone room, and ironed in the manner wild had directed. chapter xxviii. what happened at dollis hill. "at length this tragedy is at an end," said mr. wood, as, having seen the earth thrown over the remains of the unfortunate mrs. sheppard, he turned to quit the churchyard. "let us hope that, like her who 'loved much,' her sins are forgiven her." without another word, and accompanied by thames, he then took his way to dollis hill in a state of the deepest depression. thames did not attempt to offer him any consolation, for he was almost as much dejected. the weather harmonized with their feelings. it rained slightly, and a thick mist gathered in the air, and obscured the beautiful prospect. on his arrival at dollis hill, mr. wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. the two lovers sat together, and their sole discourse turned upon jack and his ill-fated mother. as the night advanced, mr. wood again made his appearance in a more composed frame of mind, and, at his daughter's earnest solicitation, was induced to partake of some refreshment. an hour was then passed in conversation as to the possibility of rendering any assistance to jack; in deploring his unhappy destiny; and in the consideration of the course to be pursued in reference to jonathan wild. while they were thus occupied, a maid-servant entered the room, and stated that a person was without who had a packet for captain darrell, which must be delivered into his own hands. notwithstanding the remonstrances of wood and winifred, thames instantly followed the domestic, and found a man, with his face muffled up, at the door, as she had described. somewhat alarmed at his appearance, thames laid his hand upon his sword. "fear nothing, sir," said the man, in a voice which thames instantly recognised as that of blueskin. "i am come to render you a service. there are the packets which my captain hazarded his life to procure for you, and which he said would establish your right to the estates of the trenchard family. there are also the letters which were scattered about wild's room after the murder of sir rowland. and there," he added, placing in his hands a heavy bag of money, and a pocket-book, "is a sum little short of fifteen thousand pounds." "how have you procured these things?" asked thames, in the utmost astonishment. "i carried them off on the fatal night when we got into wild's house, and you were struck down," replied blueskin. "they have ever since been deposited in a place of safety. you have nothing more to fear from wild." "how so?" asked thames. "i have saved the executioner a labour, by cutting his throat," replied blueskin. "and, may i be cursed if i ever did anything in my whole life which gave me so much satisfaction." "almighty god! is this possible?" exclaimed thames. "you will find it true," replied blueskin. "all i regret is, that i failed in liberating the captain. if he had got off, they might have hanged me, and welcome." "what can be done for him?" cried thames. "that's not an easy question to answer," rejoined blueskin. "but i shall watch night and day about newgate, in the hope of getting him out. he wouldn't require my aid, but before i stopped jonathan's mouth, he had ordered him to be doubly-ironed, and constantly watched. and, though the villain can't see his orders executed, i've no doubt some one else will." "poor jack!" exclaimed thames. "i would sacrifice all my fortune--all my hopes--to liberate him." "if you're in earnest," rejoined blueskin, "give me that bag of gold. it contains a thousand pounds; and, if all other schemes fail, i'll engage to free him on the way to tyburn." "may i trust you?" hesitated thames. "why did i not keep the money when i had it?" returned blueskin, angrily. "not a farthing of it shall be expended except in the captain's service." "take it," replied thames. "you have saved his life," replied blueskin. "and now, mark me. you owe what i have done for you, to him, not to me. had i not known that you and your affianced bride are dearer to him than life i should have used this money to secure my own safety. take it, and take the estates, in captain sheppard's name. promise me one thing before i leave you." "what is it?" asked thames. "if the captain _is_ taken to tyburn, be near the place of execution--at the end of the edgeware road." "i will." "in case of need you will lend a helping hand?" "yes--yes." "swear it!" "i do." "enough!" rejoined blueskin. and he departed, just as wood, who had become alarmed by thames's long absence, made his appearance with a blunderbuss in his hand. hastily acquainting him with the treasures he had unexpectedly obtained, thames returned to the room to apprize winifred of his good fortune. the packets were hastily broken open; and, while wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by sir rowland, thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at jonathan wild's. as soon as he had read it, he let it fall from his grasp. winifred instantly picked it up. "you are no longer thames darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the marquis de chatillon." "my father was of the blood-royal of france," exclaimed thames. "eh-day! what's this?" cried wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. "who--who is the marquis de chatillon?" "your adopted son, thames darrell," answered winifred. "and the marchioness is your daughter," added thames. "o, lord!" ejaculated wood. "my head fairly turns round. so many distresses--so many joys coming at the same time are too much for me. read that letter, thames--my lord marquis, i mean. read it, and you'll find that your unfortunate uncle, sir rowland, surrenders to you all the estates in lancashire. you've nothing to do but to take possession." "what a strange history is mine!" said thames. "kidnapped, and sent to france by one uncle, it was my lot to fall into the hands of another,--my father's own brother, the marshal gaucher de chatillon; to whom, and to the cardinal dubois, i owed all my good fortune." "the ways of providence are inscrutable," observed wood. "when in france, i heard from the marshal that his brother had perished in london on the night of the great storm. it was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found. little did i imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred." "i think i remember reading something about your father in the papers," observed wood. "wasn't he in some way connected with the jacobite plots?" "he was," replied thames. "he had been many years in this country before his assassination took place. in this letter, which is addressed to my ill-fated mother, he speaks of his friendship for sir rowland, whom it seems he had known abroad; but entreats her to keep the marriage secret for a time, for reasons which are not fully developed." "and so sir rowland murdered his friend," remarked wood. "crime upon crime." "unconsciously, perhaps," replied thames. "but be it as it may, he is now beyond the reach of earthly punishment." "but wild still lives," cried wood. "he; also, has paid the penalty of his offences," returned thames. "he has fallen by the hand of blueskin, who brought me these packets." "thank god for that!" cried wood, heartily. "i could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife--no, not quite _that_," he added, a little confused. "and now," said thames, (for we must still preserve the name,) "you will no longer defer my happiness." "hold!" interposed winifred, gravely. "i release you from your promise. a carpenter's daughter is no fit match for a peer of france." "if my dignity must be purchased by the loss of you, i renounce it," cried thames. "you will not make it valueless in my eyes," he added, catching her in his arms, and pressing her to his breast. "be it as you please," replied winifred. "my lips would belie my heart were i to refuse you." "and now, father, your blessing--your consent!" cried thames. "you have both," replied wood, fervently. "i am too much honoured--too happy in the union. oh! that i should live to be father-in-law to a peer of france! what would my poor wife say to it, if she could come to life again? oh, thames!--my lord marquis, i mean--you have made me the happiest--the proudest of mankind." not many days after this event, on a bright october morning, the bells rang a merry peal from the old gray tower of willesden church. all the village was assembled in the churchyard. young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes,--a wedding,--was about to take place. at the gate opening upon the road leading to dollis hill were stationed william morgan and john dump. presently, two carriages dashed down the hill, and drew up before it. from the first of these alighted thames, or, as he must now be styled, the marquis de chatillon. from the second descended mr. wood--and after him came his daughter. the sun never shone upon a lovelier couple than now approached the altar. the church was crowded to excess by the numbers eager to witness the ceremony; and as soon as it was over the wedded pair were followed to the carriage, and the loudest benedictions uttered for their happiness. in spite of the tumultuous joy which agitated him, the bridegroom could not prevent the intrusion of some saddening thoughts, as he reflected upon the melancholy scene which he had so recently witnessed in the same place. the youthful couple had been seated in the carriage a few minutes when they were joined by mr. wood, who had merely absented himself to see that a public breakfast, which he had ordered at the six bells for all who chose to partake of it, was in readiness. he likewise gave directions that in the after part of the day a whole bullock should be roasted on the green and distributed, together with a barrel of the strongest ale. in the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of willesden, strolled out to dollis hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. here they were regaled with another plentiful meal by the hospitable carpenter, who personally superintended the repast. these festivities, however, were not witnessed by the newly-married pair, who had departed immediately after the ceremony for manchester. chapter xxix. how jack sheppard was taken to westminster hall. loaded with the heaviest fetters, and constantly watched by two of the jailers' assistants, who neither quitted him for a single moment, nor suffered any visitor to approach him, jack sheppard found all attempts to escape impracticable. he was confined in the middle stone ward, a spacious apartment, with good light and air, situated over the gateway on the western side, and allotted to him, not for his own convenience, but for that of the keepers, who, if he had been placed in a gloomier or more incommodious dungeon, would have necessarily had to share it with him. through this, his last trial, jack's spirits never deserted him. he seemed resigned but cheerful, and held frequent and serious discourses with the ordinary, who felt satisfied of his sincere penitence. the only circumstance which served to awaken a darker feeling in his breast was, that his implacable foe jonathan wild had survived the wound inflicted by blueskin, and was slowly recovering. as soon as he could be moved with safety, jonathan had himself transported to newgate, where he was carried into the middle ward, that he might feast his eyes upon his victim. having seen every precaution taken to ensure his safe custody, he departed, muttering to himself, "i shall yet live to see him hanged--i shall live to see him hanged." animated by his insatiate desire of vengeance, he seemed to gain strength daily,--so much so, that within a fortnight after receiving his wound he was able to stir abroad. on thursday, the th of november, after having endured nearly a month's imprisonment, jack sheppard was conveyed from newgate to westminster hall. he was placed in a coach, handcuffed, and heavily fettered, and guarded by a vast posse of officers to temple bar, where a fresh relay of constables escorted him to westminster. by this time, jack's reputation had risen to such a height with the populace,--his exploits having become the universal theme of discourse, that the streets were almost impassable for the crowds collected to obtain a view of him. the vast area in front of westminster hall was thronged with people, and it was only by a vigorous application of their staves that the constables could force a passage for the vehicle. at length, however, the prisoner was got out, when such was the rush of the multitude that several persons were trampled down, and received severe injuries. arrived in the hall, the prisoner's handcuffs were removed, and he was taken before the court of king's bench. the record of his conviction at the old bailey sessions was then read; and as no objection was offered to it, the attorney-general moved that his execution might take place on monday next. upon this, jack earnestly and eloquently addressed himself to the bench, and besought that a petition which he had prepared to be laid before the king might be read. this request, however, was refused; and he was told that the only way in which he could entitle himself to his majesty's clemency would be by discovering who had abetted him in his last escape; the strongest suspicions being entertained that he had not affected it alone. sheppard replied by a solemn assertion, "that he had received no assistance except from heaven."--an answer for which he was immediately reprimanded by the court. it having been stated that it was wholly impossible he could have removed his irons in the way he represented, he offered, if his handcuffs were replaced, to take them off in the presence of the court. the proposal, however, was not acceded to; and the chief justice powis, after enumerating his various offences and commenting upon their heinousness, awarded sentence of death against him for the following monday. as jack was removed, he noticed jonathan wild at a little distance from him, eyeing him with a look of the most savage satisfaction. the thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. meanwhile, the mob outside had prodigiously increased, and had begun to exhibit some disposition to riot. the coach in which the prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the driver was glad to escape with life. terrific shouts were raised by the rabble, who threatened to tear wild in pieces if he showed himself. amid this tumult, several men armed with tremendous bludgeons, with their faces besmeared with grease and soot, and otherwise disguised, were observed to be urging the populace to attempt a rescue. they were headed by an athletic-looking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. these desperadoes had been the most active in demolishing the coach, and now, being supported by the rabble, they audaciously approached the very portals of the ancient hall. the shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. jonathan, who with the other constables had reconnoitred this band, and recognised in its ring-leader, blueskin, commanded the constables to follow him, and made a sally for the purpose of seizing him. enfeebled by his wound, wild had lost much of his strength, though nothing of his ferocity and energy,--and fiercely assailing blueskin, he made a desperate but unsuccessful attempt to apprehend him. he was, however, instantly beaten back; and the fury of the mob was so great that it was with difficulty he could effect a retreat. the whole force of the constables, jailers and others was required to keep the crowd out of the hall. the doors were closed and barricaded, and the mob threatened to burst them open if jack was not delivered to them. things now began to wear so serious a aspect that a messenger was secretly despatched to the savoy for troops, and in half an hour a regiment of the guards arrived, who by dint of great exertion succeeded in partially dispersing the tumultuous assemblage. another coach was then procured, in which the prisoner was placed. jack's appearance was hailed with the loudest cheers, but when jonathan followed and took a place beside him in the vehicle, determined, he said, never to lose sight of him, the abhorrence of the multitude was expressed by execrations, hoots, and yells of the most terrific kind. so dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of jonathan, who shrank out of sight. it was well for him that he had taken his place by sheppard, as regard for the latter alone prevented the deadliest missiles being hurled at him. as it was, the mob went on alternately hooting and huzzaing as the names of wild and sheppard were pronounced, while some individuals, bolder than the rest, thrust their faces into the coach-window, and assured jack that he should never be taken to tyburn. "we'll see that, you yelping hounds!" rejoined jonathan, glaring fiercely at them. in this way, jack was brought back to newgate, and again chained down in the middle ward. it was late before jonathan ventured to his own house, where he remained up all night, and kept his janizaries and other assistants well armed. chapter xxx. how jonathan wild's house was burnt down. the day appointed for the execution was now close at hand, and the prisoner, who seemed to have abandoned all hopes of escape, turned his thoughts entirely from worldly considerations. on sunday, he was conveyed to the chapel, through which he had passed on the occasion of his great escape, and once more took his seat in the condemned pew. the rev. mr. purney, the ordinary, who had latterly conceived a great regard for jack, addressed him in a discourse, which, while it tended to keep alive his feelings of penitence, was calculated to afford him much consolation. the chapel was crowded to excess. but here,--even here, the demon was suffered to intrude, and jack's thoughts were distracted by jonathan wild, who stood at a little distance from him, and kept his bloodthirsty eyes fixed on him during the whole of the service. on that night, an extraordinary event occurred, which convinced the authorities that every precaution must be taken in conducting jack to tyburn,--a fact of which they had been previously made aware, though scarcely to the same extent, by the riotous proceedings near westminster hall. about nine o'clock, an immense mob collected before the lodge at newgate. it was quite dark; but as some of the assemblage carried links, it was soon ascertained to be headed by the same party who had mainly incited the former disturbance. amongst the ring-leaders was blueskin, whose swarthy features and athletic figure were easily distinguished. another was baptist kettleby, and a third, in a dutch dress, was recognised by his grizzled beard as the skipper, van galgebrok. before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased. the area in front of the jail was completely filled. attempts were made upon the door of the lodge; but it was too strong to be forced. a cry was then raised by the leaders to attack wild's house, and the fury of the mob was instantly directed to that quarter. wrenched from their holds, the iron palisades in front of the thief-taker's dwelling were used as weapons to burst open the door. while this was passing, jonathan opened one of the upper windows, and fired several shots upon the assailants. but though he made blueskin and kettleby his chief marks, he missed both. the sight of the thief-taker increased the fury of the mob to a fearful degree. terrific yells rent the air. the heavy weapon thundered against the door; and it speedily yielded to their efforts. "come on, my lads!" vociferated blueskin, "we'll unkennel the old fox." as he spoke, several shots were fired from the upper part of the house, and two men fell mortally wounded. but this only incensed the assailing party the more. with a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, blueskin rushed up stairs. the landing was defended by quilt arnold and the jew. the former was shot by blueskin through the head, and his body fell over the bannisters. the jew, who was paralysed by his companion's fate, offered no resistance, and was instantly seized. "where is your accursed master?" demanded blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. the jew did not speak, but pointed to the audience-chamber. committing him to the custody of the others, blueskin, followed by a numerous band, darted in that direction. the door was locked; but, with the bars of iron, it was speedily burst open. several of the assailants carried links, so that the room was a blaze of light. jonathan, however, was nowhere to be seen. rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, blueskin touched the secret spring. he was not there. opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults--searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. wild had escaped. robbed of their prey, the fury of the mob became ungovernable. at length, at the end of a passage, next to the cell where mrs. sheppard had been confined, blueskin discovered a trap-door which he had not previously noticed. it was instantly burst open, when the horrible stench that issued from it convinced them that it must be a receptacle for the murdered victims of the thief-taker. holding a link into the place, which had the appearance of a deep pit, blueskin noticed a body richly dressed. he dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of sir rowland trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs--an order which was promptly obeyed. returning to the audience-chamber, blueskin had the jew brought before him. the body of sir rowland was then laid on the large table. opposite to it was placed the jew. seeing from the threatening looks of his captors, that they were about to wreak their vengeance upon him, the miserable wretch besought mercy in abject terms, and charged his master with the most atrocious crimes. his relation of the murder of sir rowland petrified even his fierce auditors. one of the cases in jonathan's museum was now burst open, and a rope taken from it. in spite of his shrieks, the miserable jew was then dragged into the well-hole, and the rope being tied round his neck, he was launched from the bridge. the vengeance of the assailants did not stop here. they broke open the entrance into jonathan's store-room--plundered it of everything valuable--ransacked every closet, drawer, and secret hiding-place, and stripped them of their contents. large hoards of money were discovered, gold and silver plate, cases of watches, and various precious articles. nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. old implements of housebreaking were discovered; and the thief-taker's most hidden depositories were laid bare. the work of plunder over, that of destruction commenced. straw and other combustibles being collected, were placed in the middle of the audience-chamber. on these were thrown all the horrible contents of jonathan's museum, together with the body of sir rowland trenchard. the whole was then fired, and in a few minutes the room was a blaze. not content with this, the assailants set fire to the house in half-a-dozen other places; and the progress of the flames was rapid and destructive. meanwhile, the object of all this fearful disturbance had made his escape to newgate, from the roof of which he witnessed the destruction of his premises. he saw the flames burst from the windows, and perhaps in that maddening spectacle suffered torture equivalent to some of the crimes he had committed. while he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. the mob now directed their attention to newgate; and, from their threats, appeared determined to fire it. ladders, paviour's rams, sledge-hammers, and other destructive implements were procured, and, in all probability, their purpose would have been effected, but for the opportune arrival of a detachment of the guards, who dispersed them, not without some loss of life. several prisoners were taken, but the ring-leaders escaped. engines were brought to play upon wild's premises, and upon the adjoining houses. the latter were saved; but of the former nothing but the blackened stone walls were found standing on the morrow. chapter xxxi. the procession to tyburn. the noise of this disturbance did not fail to reach the interior of the prison. in fact, the reflection of the flames lighted up the ward in which jack sheppard was confined. the night his execution was therefore passed in a most anxious state of mind; nor was his uneasiness allayed by the appearance of jonathan wild, who, after he had been driven from the roof of the jail, repaired to the middle stone ward in a fit of ungovernable passion, to vent his rage upon the prisoner, whom he looked upon as the cause of the present calamity. such was his fury, that if he had not been restrained by the presence of the two turnkeys, he might perhaps have anticipated the course of justice, by laying violent hands upon his victim. after venting his wrath in the wildest manner, and uttering the most dreadful execrations, jonathan retired to another part of the prison, where he passed the night in consultation with the governor, as to the best means of conveying the prisoner securely to tyburn. mr. pitt endeavoured to dissuade him from attending in person, representing the great risk he would incur from the mob, which was certain to be assembled. but jonathan was not to be deterred. "i have sworn to see him hanged," he said, "and nothing shall keep me away--nothing, by----." by wild's advice, the usual constabulary force was greatly augmented. messengers were despatched to all the constables and head-boroughs to be in attendance,--to the sheriffs to have an extraordinary number of their officers in attendance,--and to the savoy, to obtain the escort of a troop of grenadier-guards. in short, more preparations were made than if a state criminal was about to be executed. the morning of monday the th of november at length dawned. it was a dull, foggy day, and the atmosphere was so thick and heavy, that, at eight o'clock, the curious who arrived near the prison could scarcely discern the tower of st. sepulchre's church. by and by the tramp of horses' feet was heard slowly ascending snow hill, and presently a troop of grenadier guards rode into the area facing newgate. these were presently joined by a regiment of foot. a large body of the constables of westminster next made their appearance, the chief of whom entered the lodge, where they were speedily joined by the civic authorities. at nine o'clock, the sheriffs arrived, followed by their officers and javelin-men. meantime, the stone hall was crowded by all the inmates of the jail, debtors, felons, turnkeys, and officers who could obtain permission to witness the ceremony of the prisoner's irons being struck off. caliban, who, through the interest of mr. ireton, was appointed to the office, stood with a hammer in one hand, and a punch in the other, near the great stone block, ready to fulfil his duty. close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. next to the executioner stood his wife--the former mrs. spurling. mrs. marvel held her handkerchief to her eyes, and appeared in great distress. but her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. at this moment, the bell of newgate began to toll, and was answered by another bell from st. sepulchre's. the great door of the stone hall was thrown open, and the sheriffs, preceded by the javelin-men, entered the room. they were followed by jonathan, who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near the stone. not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout. another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. his countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. on the contrary, it was impossible to look at him without perceiving that his resolution was unshaken. advancing with a slow firm step to the stone-block he placed his left foot upon it, drew himself up to his full height, and fixed a look so stern upon jonathan, that the thief-taker quailed before it. the black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily unriveted the chains. the first stroke appeared to arouse all the vindictive passions of jonathan. fixing a ferocious and exulting look upon jack sheppard, he exclaimed. "at length, my vengeance is complete." "wretch!" cried jack, raising his hand in a menacing manner, "your triumph will be short-lived. before a year has expired, you will share the same fate." "if i do, i care not," rejoined wild; "i shall have lived to see you hanged." "o jack, dear, dear jack!" cried mrs. marvel, who was now quite dissolved in tears, "i shall never survive this scene." "hold your tongue, hussy!" cried her husband gruffly. "women ought never to show themselves on these occasions, unless they can behave themselves properly." "farewell, jack," cried twenty voices. sheppard looked round, and exchanged kindly glances with several of those who addressed him. "my limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed," he observed with a smile, "that i am half inclined to dance." "you'll dance upon nothing, presently," rejoined jonathan, brutally. "farewell for ever," said jack, extending his hand to mrs. marvel. "farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips. "here are a pair of gloves and a nosegay for you. oh dear!--oh dear! be careful of him," she added to her husband, "and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again." "peace, fool!" cried marvel, angrily. "do you think i don't know my own business?" austin and langley then advanced to the prisoner, and, twinning their arms round his, led him down to the lodge, whither he was followed by the sheriffs, the ordinary, wild, and the other officials. meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure. at the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it. at the head of the cart was placed the coffin. on the right were several mounted grenadiers: on the left, some half dozen javelin-men. soldiers were stationed at different points of the street to keep off the mob, and others were riding backwards and forwards to maintain an open space for the passage of the procession. the assemblage which was gathered together was almost countless. every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. the wall of st. sepulchre's church was covered--so was the tower. the concourse extended along giltspur street as far as smithfield. no one was allowed to pass along newgate street, which was barricaded and protected by a strong constabulary force. the first person who issued from the lodge was mr. marvel, who proceeded to the cart, and took his seat upon the coffin. the hangman is always an object of peculiar detestation to the mob, a tremendous hooting hailed his appearance, and both staves and swords were required to preserve order. a deep silence, however, now prevailed, broken only by the tolling of the bells of newgate and st. sepulchre's. the mighty concourse became for a moment still. suddenly, such a shout as has seldom smitten human ears rent the air. "he comes!" cried a thousand voices, and the shout ascended to smithfield, descended to snow hill, and told those who were assembled on holborn hill that sheppard had left the prison. between the two officers, with their arms linked in his, jack sheppard was conducted to the cart. he looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,--as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,--as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings--if he had any--vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. jack had no sooner taken his place in the cart, than he was followed by the ordinary, who seated himself beside him, and, opening the book of prayer, began to read aloud. excited by the scene, jack, however, could pay little attention to the good man's discourse, and was lost in a whirl of tumultuous emotions. the calvacade was now put slowly in motion. the horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart. then came the javelin-men, walking four abreast, and lastly, a long line of constables, marching in the same order. the procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. this was occasioned by jonathan wild, who was seen to mount his horse and join the train. jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to this demonstration of hatred. he had buckled on his hanger, and had two brace of pistols in his belt, as well as others in this holsters. by this time, the procession had reached the west end of the wall of st. sepulchre's church, where, in compliance with an old custom, it halted. by the will of mr. robert dow, merchant tailor, it was appointed that the sexton of st. sepulchre's should pronounce a solemn exhortation upon every criminal on his way to tyburn, for which office he was to receive a small stipend. as soon as the cavalcade stopped, the sexton advanced, and, ringing a handbell, pronounced the following admonition. "_all good people pray heartily unto god for this poor sinner, who is now going to take his death, for whom this great bell doth toll_. "_you who are condemned to die, repent with lamentable tears. ask mercy of the lord for the salvation of your own soul, through the merits of the death and passion of jesus christ, who now sits at the right hand of god, to make intercession for you, if you penitently return to him. the lord have mercy upon you_!" this ceremony concluded, the calvacade was again put in motion. slowly descending snow hill, the train passed on its way, attended by the same stunning vociferations, cheers, yells, and outcries, which had accompanied it on starting from newgate. the guards had great difficulty in preserving a clear passage without resorting to severe measures, for the tide, which poured upon them behind, around, in front, and at all sides, was almost irresistible. the houses on snow hill were thronged, like those in old bailey. every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. words of encouragement and sympathy were addressed to jack, who, as he looked around, beheld many a friendly glance fixed upon him. in this way, they reached holborn bridge. here a little delay occurred. the passage was so narrow that there was only sufficient room for the cart to pass, with a single line of foot-soldiers on one side; and, as the walls of the bridge were covered with spectators, it was not deemed prudent to cross it till these persons were dislodged. while this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down field lane, the end of which was barricaded. the advanced guard rode on to drive away any opposition, while the main body of the procession crossed the bridge, and slowly toiled up holborn hill. the entrance of shoe lane, and the whole line of the wall of st. andrew's church, the bell of which was tolling, was covered with spectators. upon the steps leading to the gates of the church stood two persons whom jack instantly recognised. these were his mistresses, poll maggot and edgeworth bess. as soon as the latter beheld him, she uttered a loud scream, and fainted. she was caught by some of the bystanders, who offered by her every assistance in their power. as to mrs. maggot, whose nerves were more firmly strung, she contented herself with waving her hand affectionately to her lover, and encouraging him by her gestures. while this was taking place, another and more serious interruption occurred. the advanced guard had endeavoured to disperse the mob in field lane, but were not prepared to meet with the resistance they encountered. the pavement had been hastily picked up, and heaped across the end of the street, upon which planks, barrels, and other barricades, were laid. most of the mob were armed with pikes, staves, swords, muskets, and other weapons, and offered a most desperate resistance to the soldiery, whom they drove back with a shower of paving-stones. the arrival of the cart at the end of field lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue. with a loud shout, and headed by a powerfully-built man, with a face as black as that of a mulatto, and armed with a cutlass, the rabble leapt over the barricades, and rushed towards the vehicle. an immediate halt took place. the soldiers surrounded the cart, drew their swords, and by striking the rioters first with the blunt edge of their blades, and afterwards with the sharp points, succeeded in driving them back. amid this skirmish jonathan greatly distinguished himself. drawing his hanger he rode amongst the crowd, trampled upon those most in advance, and made an attempt to seize their leader, in whom he recognised blueskin. baffled in their attempt, the mob uttered a roar, such as only a thousand angry voices can utter, and discharged a volley of missiles at the soldiery. stones and brickbats were showered on all sides, and mr. marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face. at length, however, by dealing blows right and left with their swords, and even inflicting severe cuts on the foremost of the rabble, the soldiers managed to gain a clear course, and to drive back the assailants; who, as they retreated behind the barricades, shouted in tones of defiance, "to tyburn! to tyburn!" the object of all this tumult, meanwhile, never altered his position, but sat back in the cart, as if resolved not to make even a struggle to regain his liberty. the procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along holborn. like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it. fetter lane, on the left, gray's inn, on the right, added their supplies. on all hands jack was cheered, and jonathan hooted. at length, the train approached st. giles's. here, according to another old custom, already alluded to, a criminal taken to execution was allowed to halt at a tavern, called the crown, and take a draught from st. giles's bowl, "as his last refreshment on earth." at the door of this tavern, which was situated on the left of the street, not more than a hundred yards distant from the church, the bell of which began to toll as soon as the procession came in sight, the cart drew up, and the whole cavalcade halted. a wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. every window in the public house was filled with guests; and, as in the case of st. andrew's, the churchyard wall of st. giles's was lined with spectators. a scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. the doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. many of the soldiers dismounted, and called for drink. their example was immediately imitated by the officers, constables, javelin men, and other attendants; and nothing was to be heard but shouts of laughter and jesting,--nothing seen but the passing of glasses, and the emptying of foaming jugs. mr. marvel, who had been a little discomposed by the treatment he had experienced on holborn hill, very composedly filled and lighted his pipe. one group at the door attracted jack's attention, inasmuch as it was composed of several of his old acquaintances--mr. kneebone, van galgebrok, and baptist kettleby--all of whom greeted him cordially. besides these, there was a sturdy-looking fellow, whom he instantly recognised as the honest blacksmith who had freed him from his irons at tottenham. "i am here, you see," said the smith. "so i perceive," replied jack. at this moment, the landlord of the crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to jack, who instantly rose to receive it. raising the bowl in his right hand, jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths; he then turned to kneebone and the others, who extended their hands towards him, and raised it to his lips. just as he was about to drain it, he encountered the basilisk glance of jonathan wild, and paused. "i leave this bowl for you," he cried, returning it to the landlord untasted. "your father said so before you," replied jonathan, malignantly; "and yet it has tarried thus long." "you will call for it before six months are passed," rejoined jack, sternly. once again the cavalcade was in motion, and winding its way by st. giles's church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time, passed the pound, and entered oxford road, or, as it was then not unfrequently termed, tyburn road. after passing tottenham court road, very few houses were to be seen on the right hand, opposite wardour street it was open country. the crowd now dispersed amongst the fields, and thousands of persons were seen hurrying towards tyburn as fast as their legs could carry them, leaping over hedges, and breaking down every impediment in their course. besides those who conducted themselves more peaceably, the conductors of the procession noticed with considerable uneasiness, large bands of men armed with staves, bludgeons, and other weapons, who were flying across the field in the same direction. as it was feared that some mischief would ensue, wild volunteered, if he were allowed a small body of men, to ride forward to tyburn, and keep the ground clear until the arrival of the prisoner. this suggestion being approved, was instantly acted upon, and the thief-taker, accompanied by a body of the grenadiers, rode forward. the train, meantime, had passed marylebone lane, when it again paused for a moment, at jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the city of oxford. scarcely had it come to a halt, when a stalwart man shouldered his way, in spite of their opposition, through the lines of soldiery to the cart, and offered his large horny hand to the prisoner. "i told you i would call to bid you farewell, mr. figg," said jack. "so you did," replied the prize-fighter. "sorry you're obliged to keep your word. heard of your last escape. hoped you'd not be retaken. never sent for the shirt." "i didn't want it," replied jack; "but who are those gentlemen?" "friends of yours," replied figg; "come to see you;--sir james thornhill, mr. hogarth, and mr. gay. they send you every good wish." "offer them my hearty thanks," replied jack, waving his hand to the group, all of whom returned the salutation. "and now, farewell, mr. figg! in a few minutes, all will be over." figg turned aside to hide the tears that started to his eyes,--for the stout prize-fighter, with a man's courage, had a woman's heart,--and the procession again set forward. chapter xxxii. the closing scene. tyburn was now at hand. over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. it was the gallows. jack, whose back was towards it, did not see it; but he heard, from the pitying exclamations of the crowd, that it was in view. this circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour except that he endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting. just as he had succeeded in fixing his attention, it was again shaken, and he was almost unnerved by the sight of mr. wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. jack instantly sprang to his feet, and as his guards construed the motion into an attempt to escape, several of them drew their swords and motioned to him to sit down. but jack did not heed them. his looks were fixed on his old benefactor. "god in heaven bless you, unhappy boy!" cried. wood, bursting into tears, "god bless you!" jack extended his hand towards him, and looked anxiously for thames; but he was nowhere to be seen. a severe pang shot through jack's heart, and he would have given worlds if he possessed them to have seen his friend once more. the wish was vain: and, endeavouring to banish every earthly thought, he addressed himself deeply and sincerely to prayer. while this was passing, jonathan had ridden back to marvel to tell him that all was ready, and to give him his last instructions. "you'll lose no time," said the thief-taker. "a hundred pounds if you do it quickly." "rely on me," rejoined the executioner, throwing away his pipe, which was just finished. a deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. the thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. not a breath was drawn. the troops had kept a large space clear around the gallows. the galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,--so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the edgeware road,--so were the trees,--the walls of hyde park,--a neighbouring barn, a shed,--in short, every available position. the cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. the guards, horse and foot, and constables formed a wide circle round it to keep off the mob. it was an awful moment--so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. at this terrible juncture, jack maintained his composure,--a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,--and the last words he uttered were, "my poor mother! i shall soon join her!" the rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. the next instant, he was launched into eternity! scarcely had he been turned off a moment, when a man with swarthy features leapt into the cart with an open clasp-knife in his hand, and, before he could be prevented, severed the rope, and cut down the body. it was blueskin. his assistance came too late. a ball from wild's pistol passed through his heart, and a volley of musketry poured from the guards lodged several balls in the yet breathing body of his leader. blueskin, however, was not unattended. a thousand eager assistants pressed behind him. jack's body was caught, and passed from hand to hand over a thousand heads, till it was far from the fatal tree. the shouts of indignation--the frightful yells now raised baffle description. a furious attack was made on jonathan, who, though he defended himself like a lion, was desperately wounded, and would inevitably have perished if he had not been protected by the guards, who were obliged to use both swords and fire-arms upon the mob in his defence. he was at length rescued from his assailants,--rescued to perish, seven months afterwards, with every ignominy, at the very gibbet to which he had brought his victim. the body of jack sheppard, meanwhile, was borne along by that tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, until it approached the termination of the edgeware road. at this point a carriage with servants in sumptuous liveries was stationed. at the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. at length, the body was brought towards him. instantly seizing it, the young man placed it in the carriage, shut the door, and commanded his servants to drive off. the order was promptly obeyed, and the horses proceeded at a furious pace along the edgeware road. half an hour afterwards the body of jack was carefully examined. it had been cut down before life was extinct, but a ball from one of the soldiers had pierced his heart. thus died jack sheppard. that night a grave was dug in willesden churchyard, next to that in which mrs. sheppard had been interred. two persons, besides the clergyman and sexton, alone attended the ceremony. they were a young man and an old one, and both appeared deeply affected. the coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. a simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. in after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus-- [illustration: jack sheppard] the end. connie carl at rainbow ranch by joan clark the goldsmith publishing company chicago ------------------------------------------------------------------------ copyright mcmxxxix by the goldsmith publishing company manufactured in the united states of america ------------------------------------------------------------------------ contents i. a homecoming for connie ii. the coming rodeo iii. bad news iv. the foreman's boast v. pop bradshaw's treachery vi. kidnaping catapult vii. a midnight escapade viii. a rescue ix. mr. postil's offer x. the holdup xi. wrangling dudes xii. an argument xiii. over the precipice xiv. a telltale handkerchief xv. an unpleasant revelation xvi. the roundup xvii. a night prowler xviii. stampede xix. turning the herd xx. the end of the trail ------------------------------------------------------------------------ connie carl at rainbow ranch chapter i a homecoming for connie "i'll take your luggage now, miss," said the colored porter politely. "we'll be a-pullin' into red gulch in five minutes." "yes, i know," replied the girl softly, without shifting her gaze from the window. for the past hour connie carl had been watching the horizon beyond the flashing telegraph poles. a faint cloud-like blue line which represented new mexico's mountains--her mountains--had steadily moved closer. she was going home at last, home to rainbow ranch. at first glance a stranger never would have taken connie carl for a westerner. the girl was neatly dressed in a blue suit with gray suede slippers, and a wisp of auburn-red hair peeped from beneath her jaunty felt hat. she looked for all the world like a young lady who had just graduated from a stylish eastern finishing school, which in truth, she had. but now, at sixteen, connie carl had returned to the prairie land she loved, to make her home once more at the place of her birth, rainbow ranch. the train had slowed down for the station. connie went quickly down the aisle, waiting in the vestibule until the train came to a full stop. "someone meetin' you, miss?" asked the porter as she slipped a coin into his hand. "this heah red gulch ain't nothin' but a wide place in the road." "yes, i've wired ahead, so i'm sure someone will meet me," said connie with a smile. "anyway, i've been here before." the porter set out the luggage on the platform. as the train pulled slowly away, connie looked quickly about. two men in wide brimmed hats and blue overalls were loading freight on a motor truck, but she did not know either of them. otherwise the platform was deserted. "it's queer there's no one here to meet me," thought connie. "perhaps i didn't send my wire in time for it to reach the ranch." after hesitating a moment, the girl picked up her heavy suitcases and carried them into the unswept little station. she walked over to the ticket window where the agent was busy with a report. "hello, andy!" said connie. the agent looked up and stared. then light broke over his face. "well, if it ain't connie carl! i'm sure glad to see you back." "i'm glad to get back home too, andy. it seems as if i've been gone half my life." "let's see, how long has it been?" "three years--three long years." "so they educated you, did they, connie?" "well, they tried it," laughed the girl, "but i've not forgotten how to ride a horse. i can hardly wait to get out to the ranch. i thought someone would meet me." "haven't seen blakeman or any of the rainbow outfit in town for a week. roads have been pretty muddy. but you can get through now." "i'll hire a rig," said connie. "does old charlie trench still rim his jitney?" "same as ever," the agent agreed with a grin. then his face became sober. "but you may find other changes around here." "what sort of changes?" inquired connie quickly. "oh, one thing and another," answered the agent vaguely. "say, i see charlie across the street now. if you want to catch him you better hurry." connie hastened across the street, stopping the old man just as he was entering a cafe. he greeted her with a hearty handshake and declared that he would be glad to drive her out to rainbow ranch. "everything looks just the same," laughed connie as charlie loaded her bags into the decrepit old car. "maybe they look thet way," replied the old taxi driver shortly, "but they ain't! you'll find plenty of changes, connie--'specially out at rainbow." "why, is anything the matter, charlie?" connie stared at him in surprise. "i thought everything was running well. the foreman, forest blakeman, seemed to be very efficient." "sure, he's efficient. 'specially where his own interests are concerned. you'll find most of the old outfit broken up." "isn't red farnham there?" asked connie in amazement. "and shorty and sixshooter pete?" "red left six months ago," charlie answered with a shrug. "sixshooter pete drifted north this spring, and some of the other boys hired out to the drowsy water outfit. shorty took himself to mexico. i reckon lefty forbes is about the only one still there." "why didn't blakeman write me about these changes?" asked connie indignantly. "why, those boys were my father's most loyal cowhands. rainbow ranch won't seem like home without them." "there's been a lot of changes since your dad died, connie." "yes," agreed the girl soberly. "when he willed rainbow ranch to me, he provided that i must attend school in the east. i never wished to leave new mexico because i feel that i belong here. now that i'm through school, i'm aiming to take over the management of rainbow ranch myself." old charlie glanced sideways at the girl as he steered the car along the narrow dirt road. "maybe that won't be so easy to do, connie," he said quietly. "dad left rainbow ranch to me, didn't he?" the girl asked sharply. "what are you driving at anyway, charlie? i wish you'd speak right out." "i've already talked a-plenty, connie. you'll get the lay of the land soon enough." old charlie lapsed into moody silence, devoting all his attention to the road. for a time they drove through a winding canyon, following the bed of a swift-moving stream. on either side rose red rock walls which under the light of the fading sun took on many beautiful hues. by craning her neck connie could see the tops of spruce trees, aspens and cottonwoods. the girl watched the blue mountains moving closer and closer. she breathed deeply of the fresh, crisp air. it was good to be home, and yet the edge had been taken from her enjoyment. she felt disturbed. both the station agent and old charlie had hinted that she would find many changes at rainbow ranch. she wondered if she had trusted too much in the judgment of her foreman, forest blakeman. presently the car rolled over the crest of a high hill. connie leaned forward and glanced down into the valley. she could see the rambling old adobe buildings of rainbow ranch. the car crept down the hill, and came at last to a huge wooden gateway. old charlie unfastened it and they drove up a long lane to the courtyard of the ranch house. a dog began to bark. as connie stepped from the car, she saw a tall, dark-haired man striding toward her. it was the ranch foreman, forest blakeman. "howdy, miss connie," he said heartily, sweeping off his sombrero. "welcome home to rainbow ranch. i was just aimin' to drive in to red gulch myself." "then you did receive my telegram?" asked connie. "yes, but a lot of work piled up on us this afternoon, and i couldn't get away as early as i planned. we're short handed you know." "charlie was telling me that shorty and red are gone." "yes," nodded the foreman indifferently. "here, let me take your bags. you must be tired after your long trip." "i am," connie confessed wearily. she followed the foreman into the ranch house. a feeling of relief came over her for inside the dwelling very little had been changed. the adobe walls, mellowed by the smoke of the fireplace, were still adorned with her father's mexican treasures. the furniture was all massive and hand carved. a shy mexican girl whom connie had never seen before in her trips to the ranch took her bags and led her down a long tiled corridor to the east bedchamber. connie unpacked her luggage and changed into a fresh skirt and blouse. she was tired but she felt too excited to lie down. she went to the window and opened it. below she could see the corrals and the barn, and beyond, a long stretch of green meadow land. "i wish i had time for a canter before supper," connie thought. she had forgotten to ask the foreman about her favorite mount, silvertail. connie had raised the big gray from a colt and he was the best horse in the rainbow string. leaving the ranch house, the girl walked rapidly toward the barn. but she stopped short as she saw a familiar slouched figure leaning against the corral bars. "connie!" cried a gruff voice. "lefty forbes!" laughed connie, clasping his horny hand in her own. "i'm glad to see one familiar face around here." "i reckon you won't be seein' mine much longer," drawled the cowboy. "what do you mean?" asked connie quickly. "blakeman is figurin' on givin' me my honorable discharge if i kin read the signs," replied the cowboy dryly. "but i calculate to beat him to the trigger. i'll be quittin' any day now." "oh, lefty, you can't! why, i need you here." "that's the only reason i've stayed on, connie," said the cowboy soberly. "i thought a lot of your dad, and this ranch. but there ain't nothin' i can do now. blakeman runs things with a purty high hand." "he's only the foreman, lefty. now that i'm home, i mean to manage the ranch myself." "i reckon you don't know jest how bad things are, connie." "blakeman wrote me the ranch had been losing money the past year. is that what you mean, lefty?" "things have been runnin' down hill ever since he took over, connie. blakeman's handled the ranch with a high hand. first he fired pete and shorty----" "he discharged them?" connie gasped. "why i thought they left of their own accord----" "well, they didn't. they didn't see eye to eye with blakeman so he told 'em to go. 'course you know how the cattle market's been the last few years. an' blakeman seems to have a talent for sellin' at the bottom. truth is, things are in a purty bad way." "i mean to have a talk with blakeman tomorrow," connie declared. "if he doesn't wish to handle the ranch as i say, i'll find a new foreman." "you can't do that, connie." "why can't i? isn't this my ranch?" "it was your ranch," said the cowboy quietly, "but i reckon now that the first national bank has a strangle hold on it. they have a couple of notes----" "yes, blakeman wrote me about that," connie interrupted, "but i understood the debt was only a small one." "it's enough so the bank can take over any time. for the past year blakeman has paid the interest out of his own pocket--or so he claims. and you're owin' him more than a year's back salary. so you see, unless you're supplied with ready cash, you can't tell him to go." "i begin to understand," murmured connie. "blakeman is a slick sort of fellow, connie. you want to think your way and move slow." and with that bit of sage advice, lefty forbes moved off toward the barn. chapter ii the coming rodeo connie was abroad at dawn the next morning. dressed in riding clothes, she let herself out of the ranch house and went to the barn where silvertail was stabled. the big gray turned his head at her approach and gave a low whinny of welcome. connie laughed with delight as she patted the mane on his glossy neck. "you did miss me, silvertail," she said softly. "and how lonesome i've been for you!" she led the horse from the barn, and with a quick, agile spring vaulted on his back. connie needed no saddle. she had learned to ride bareback as a child, and when it came to handling a high spirited horse there were few cowboys who were her equal. turning her mount eastward toward the rising sun, the girl dug in her heels. silvertail snorted and the dust rolled from under his hoofs. the rhythmic, regular beat of the steel shoes came as music to connie's ears. silvertail's action, as always, seemed nothing short of marvelous. he ran smoothly and easily, obedient to the slightest touch of his mistress. connie rode him with body bent low, the wind whipping her hair about her face. "we've gone far enough," she said at last, turning back toward the ranch. as they came up to the corrals, lefty forbes emerged from the bunkhouse. connie slid to the ground, her face flushed, her eyes bright with excitement. "oh, lefty, silvertail is marvelous!" she declared. "in all the world there's not a horse to compare with him." "nor a rider who stacks up with you," replied the cowboy affectionately. "i suppose you saw the posters advertisin' the rodeo." "no! when is it coming, lefty?" connie asked eagerly. "next week. entries close thursday night. they're offerin' some good prizes this year. five hundred dollars for the best gal bronco rider. i remember you won out in that event when you were just a kid----" "i'm afraid i was a better rider then than i am now," said connie. "i've been out of practice for three years." "you can still ride circles around all the girls in this county," lefty insisted loyally. "it might be an easy way to pick up some money." "or a few broken bones," added connie with a laugh. "no, i think i'll let someone else try for that five hundred dollars." after breakfast she asked forest blakeman if she might have a talk with him. "i reckon you can," he replied with a frown. "it's time you learn just how matters are around here. i hate to tell you, miss connie, but the old rainbow is headed for the rocks." "you gave me no hint of it in your letters," said connie. "didn't see what good it would do to worry you. we might have made it if the bottom hadn't fallen out of the cattle market. lost a thousand dollars on our last shipment." "my father always made money from this ranch. it's considered one of the best in new mexico." "times have changed since your dad was alive, miss connie. most of the smart ranchers have gone into the dude business." "then why can't we do the same?" demanded connie. "the ranch house would hold at least a dozen guests. if necessary we could build on an extra wing and----" "it takes money to make improvements, miss connie." the foreman spoke with a slight sneer which was not lost upon the girl. "can't we raise even a few hundred dollars? that would be enough to get us started." "we can't raise a dime--not a dime. our credit has been stretched to the limit. fact is, there's a note coming due for fifteen hundred dollars at the first national--that's next month. if you're not able to meet it, i'm afraid you're going to lose the ranch, miss connie." connie stared at the foreman thoughtfully. she had not realized that matters could be so bad. "you should have told me about it months ago," she murmured. "no one could have done a better job than i of managing this ranch," the foreman snapped. "i've worked night and day at the job. i've even advanced my own money to pay interest on the ranch debts. my own salary hasn't been paid for months!" "i wasn't blaming you," connie said quickly. "i just wish you hadn't kept these things from me. what do you think is the best for us to do?" "if the bank won't renew your note you're through," replied the foreman bluntly. "i can't advance any more of my own money." "i certainly don't expect it of you," said connie quietly. "tomorrow i'll drive in to town and see the banker." after blakeman had gone to the barn, she sat for a long while on the top rail of the high corral, gazing toward the distant mountains. she felt very alone and for the first time in her life, inadequate to the situation. for some reason which she could not have explained, she did not like forest blakeman. nor could she entirely trust him. he had badly mismanaged the rainbow ranch, she believed, allowing the quality of the stock to run down and the buildings to deteriorate. but she could not discharge him because she owed him money. "lefty is right," connie thought uncomfortably. "i'll have to move carefully." the girl sat watching the horses which had been herded into the smaller pens. a sorrel in particular held her attention for only the night before one of the cowboys had told her that the animal was as yet unbroken. presently lefty and alkali pete came out of the barn with a saddle. they grinned at connie as they stopped by the corral. "now you'll see some fun," said lefty grimly. "old firewater has a wicked look in his eye this morning." connie watched with keen interest as lefty's swinging rope started the sorrel to running in wide circles around the corral. then the lariat flashed out, stopping the animal neatly. while the two cowboys were trying to get the saddle on, the sorrel snorted and snapped his teeth and fought at their slightest touch. connie slid down from the fence. "lefty, let me ride firewater," she pleaded. "not this baby, connie," said the cowboy. "he's thrown me twice." "oh, lefty, don't be stubborn. you know i can do it. anyway, i'm not afraid to wipe up a little corral dust. it won't be the first time." "quit your teasin'," muttered lefty. but in the end he gave in, just as connie knew he would. when the sorrel was saddled, the cowboys blindfolded him, and held his head between them until connie was mounted. then the ropes were released and the blindfold jerked away. "yip-ee!" yelled lefty, jumping aside. "ride 'im, connie!" for an instant firewater stood perfectly still. then he ducked his head, shot up into the air and came down stiff-legged. at every jump he seemed to go a little higher and strike the ground harder. connie's slender little body whipped back and forth as she waved her hat and used her rowels. but after a few minutes firewater stopped bucking and the girl rode him off across the sage. she came back flushed and triumphant. "nice work," praised lefty as she slid to the ground. "lefty, i've been thinking over what you said about the rodeo," connie declared slowly. "do you really believe i'd have any chance to win that prize for bronco riding?" "i sure do, connie. no girl around here would have a chance against you, unless maybe it might be enid bradshaw." "i could use five hundred dollars right now," connie went on soberly. "i've decided to go out for it, lefty." "the boys from the rainbow will sure be pullin' for you." "i'll have to get busy and practice up," connie declared. "until rodeo time i expect to be one big black and blue spot." rather well pleased with her decision to enter the contest, the girl spent the afternoon making an inspection of the ranch. everywhere she found evidence of careless management. "if only i could win five hundred dollars in the rodeo, i'll be able to pay blakeman everything i owe him," she thought. "then i can get rid of him." after her long ride over the range, connie felt more at peace with the world. supper was over when she saw a lone rider turn in at the gate. "why, that's pop bradshaw!" the girl thought as she recognized the stout rancher. she quickly arose from the porch and went to meet him. "hello, there, connie," beamed the old man as he stiffly dismounted. "didn't know you were back home." "yes, i arrived yesterday," connie answered as she shook hands. "how is enid?" "oh, fine, fine. she's grown a lot since you saw her last, but for that matter, so have you. blakeman here, i suppose?" "why, yes, he's out at the barn," connie replied. she wondered what had brought pop bradshaw to the ranch but did not like to ask. "ride over an' see enid," the old rancher invited cordially. "she'll be right glad to visit with you again." "i'll do that," connie promised. the old rancher went on toward the barn. connie sat down on the steps again. "i wonder what business pop has with my foreman?" she reflected. "if it's anything to do with the ranch, i'm the one he should see. but i don't seem to cut much ice around here." since her arrival connie had felt somewhat like a guest. she had been treated with the greatest of politeness by forest blakeman, but he paid scant attention to any suggestion which she offered. his attitude rather than his words had given her to understand that he did not consider her opinions worthy of notice. connie was thinking of going indoors when pop bradshaw and the foreman emerged from the barn. pop was leading a horse. in the gathering dusk the girl could not be certain which animal it was. but as the two men came closer she saw that it was silvertail. the foreman did not notice connie sitting on the porch. he said to pop bradshaw: "well, you've made a good bargain this time. you've bought a fine hoss." connie wondered if she had heard correctly. but she could not doubt her own ears, and besides, she saw that the rancher was preparing to lead silvertail away. "just a minute please," she said, stepping forward. "mr. blakeman, why is pop bradshaw taking my horse?" "why, i bought him a few days ago," answered the rancher before the foreman could reply. "you bought silvertail?" connie echoed in amazement. "but he's my horse. i'd not sell him to anyone." "now be reasonable, miss connie," interposed blakeman. "we need money and silvertail's not much use as a cow pony. i thought the best thing to do would be to get rid of him." "you might have consulted me," retorted connie, striving to control her anger. "i don't aim to take your hoss if you feel thet way about it," pop bradshaw said hastily. "it's nothin' to me one way or the other." "thank you, pop," replied connie gratefully. "i couldn't possibly let silvertail go. mr. blakeman quite overstepped his authority." the foreman's dark eyes flashed angrily, but he made no comment until after the rancher had ridden away. "you made a mistake, miss connie," he said coldly. "you may not get another chance to sell to a good owner like pop." "i'll not sell silvertail to anyone!" "i hope you're right," returned the foreman with a shrug. "but after you've talked with the banker you may get a different idea!" chapter iii bad news forest blakeman's words gave connie a strange feeling. for a moment it had seemed to her that the foreman took satisfaction in knowing that she was fighting with her back to the wall. it was almost as if he wished to see her lose rainbow ranch. she brushed aside the thought. after all, had not blakeman gone without his salary for many months in an effort to stave off financial ruin? it was unjust of her to question his motives. but it would be hard for her to forgive him for trying to sell silvertail. early the next morning connie took the car and drove in to red gulch. she was waiting at the door of the first national bank when it opened at nine o'clock. "come right in, miss carl," invited the president, leading the way to his private office. connie thought he glanced at her a bit appraisingly as she seated herself opposite him. she came straight to the point. "mr. haynes, i wanted to talk to you about our note which is coming due in a few days." "oh, yes," murmured the banker. "on the sixteenth, i believe. i trust you are prepared to pay it." "well, no, i'm not," connie admitted. "but with a six months' extension----" "i am afraid that is impossible, miss carl," the banker said quickly. "i should like to do it, of course, but i must think of my depositors." "but mr. haynes, you don't realize what this will mean!" connie cried. "i'll lose my ranch--everything! if only i had a little more time, even three months----" the banker smiled tolerantly but shook his head. "if you had a year, miss carl, it would not help. ranching is no longer the profitable industry it was in your father's time." "i could make it pay if only i had a little time," connie insisted desperately. "i'd take summer boarders--dudes from the city." "i fear you haven't the capital for that," smiled the banker. "i know exactly how you feel, miss carl, and i only wish i might help you." connie left the bank feeling discouraged and almost ill. mr. haynes' attitude had stunned her. she had never believed that he would refuse to extend the note. "somehow i must raise fifteen hundred dollars before the sixteenth of the month," she told herself grimly. "but how? there's no possible way." connie crossed over to the grocery store where she bought a box of supplies to take back to rainbow ranch. she chatted for a few minutes with the genial owner, joe ferris, who had known her since she was a child. it was well after the noon hour when finally she started home. the girl drove automatically, her mind absorbed with the problem which beset her. upon reaching the ranch she avoided blakeman, feeling that she could not bear to talk with him in her present mood. slipping out to the barn she saddled silvertail and went for a run through the sage. the rush of cool air seemed to quiet her nerves. she rode toward the vermilion cliffs, following an indistinct trail but one which connie knew well. suddenly silvertail shied. the girl was startled to see a man lying on the ground ahead of her. instantly she thought that it was someone in hiding, then she saw that he lay perfectly still. springing from the saddle, connie ran to him and dropped on her knees. he was a lean young man, clean-shaven and pale. she had never seen him before. "are you hurt?" she gasped. the man stirred, opened his eyes and tried to smile. "water," he mumbled. connie ran to get it from her canteen. she pressed the container to the man's lips and he drank thirstily. "not too much," she warned. tearing off the sleeve of her blouse she sopped it in water and sponged his forehead. "how did you get here?" she asked. "where is your horse?" "haven't any," the man mumbled. "i walked from red gulch." "you walked!" exclaimed connie. "no wonder you had a touch of heat. you're a stranger around these parts, aren't you?" "i guess maybe i am," the man admitted. "i'm looking for a job. they told me in red gulch i might get one out at rainbow ranch. i started walking but i couldn't find the place." "why, you're at rainbow ranch now," declared connie. "but as for getting a riding or cowboy job----" "i can ride even if i don't own a horse," the man said quickly. "my name is jim barrows." "i'm real glad to meet you," replied connie smiling. she liked the young man but she doubted very much that he could ride or that he knew anything about ranch work. a cowboy never would have tried to walk the distance from red gulch, nor would one accustomed to outdoor life have been affected by the sun. jim barrows obviously was a tenderfoot. "here, let me help you," she said kindly as the man tried to raise himself. "if you're able to ride my horse i can get you to the ranch house. or maybe it would be better to go for help." "no, i can make it," jim barrows insisted. "my head isn't so woozy now." connie helped him into the saddle, observing that he really did know how to mount. then she led silvertail down the trail. "what made you think of getting a job at rainbow ranch?" she asked presently. "they told me in red gulch that the place was badly in need of a few good men. i guess the ranch has been run by a girl who lives in the east and she's let it go to pieces." connie bit her lip and avoided looking at jim barrows. "i need a job mighty bad," the man went on. "fact is, i've not had a square meal in a week." "i'll see that you get one as soon as we reach the house," connie promised. "i'm sorry to put you to so much trouble, miss. say, do you live near here?" "yes, at rainbow ranch," the girl answered, laughing. "i neglected to tell you my name. i am connie carl." "why, you're the girl who owns the ranch!" "yes." "say, i didn't mean anything----" "don't worry about that," said connie quickly. "i know what people are saying, and in a way it is true. i trusted too much in the ability of my foreman. about that job, i'll have blakeman talk with you. we are short handed, but i'm afraid we can't pay very much even for a good cowhand." "i'd be willing to work almost for my grub." "in that case i think we should be able to come to some sort of deal," connie laughed. lefty and alkali were working in the corrals when the girl led the horse into the courtyard. they turned to stare at the stranger. "lefty!" connie called. "come here and help mr. barrows into the house. tell marie to give him all the food he can eat." "you bet!" replied the cowboy. supported by lefty, the stranger walked quite steadily into the kitchen. connie went to find the foreman. he was not at the barn or in the leather shop, but when she returned a few minutes later to the house, she discovered him talking angrily with lefty. "who is this stranger?" he demanded. "what's he doing here?" "you'll have to ask connie," returned lefty with a shrug. "i don't know nothin' about it." "i was just looking for you, mr. blakeman," said connie. "i found the man lying on the trail. he's down on his luck and hasn't had a square meal in days. i brought him here. i thought you might find some work for him to do." "we can't pay the men we have now," the foreman snapped. "anyway, i don't like the looks of this fellow." "i do," said connie quietly. "my father never would have turned a man away when he was hungry and half-sick." "he's no more sick than you are," retorted the foreman. "i can tell when a guy is puttin' on." "i don't agree with you at all," returned connie. "what reason would he have for pretending that he was ill?" "i don't like him," said blakeman stubbornly. "we ought to cut down expenses wherever we can." "a few dollars won't make any difference now. i wish you would hire him, mr. blakeman." "we could use a herder," spoke up lefty. "the cattle in that southeast section have been gittin' out into the road. another calf was killed yesterday." the foreman glared angrily at the cowboy and started to walk away. "just a minute," connie called after him. "i'll tell barrows that he is hired." "it's your ranch," the foreman said sullenly. "but you're making a mistake!" connie made no reply but went into the kitchen. jim barrows had just finished the ample lunch which marie had set before him. "i couldn't help overhearing," he said to connie. "thanks for going down the line to help me." "we'll be glad to have you work here," smiled connie. "i hope you didn't get into trouble on my account." connie shook her head. "blakeman is only my foreman. i'm really the boss here, but he doesn't seem to realize it. i guess maybe that's because he knows i'll probably lose the ranch in a short while." connie did not go on for she felt that she had told the stranger too much already. he regarded her curiously but did not ask leading questions. "when do i start work?" he inquired presently. "why, whenever you feel able," connie told him. "i'm a lot better already," the man declared heartily. "i'll be ready to go to work in the morning." after connie had gone, jim barrows wandered outdoors. he went out to the corrals and talked for a time with lefty and alkali. the foreman coldly ignored him, but the other cowboys tried to be friendly. it came to them by degrees that the stranger knew more about ranch work than they had thought. "there's something queer about that fellow," lefty confided to connie later on. "how do you mean?" she asked quickly. "seems to me like i've seen him before, only i can't remember where," the cowboy said, scratching his shaggy locks. "but i'm dead sure of one thing. jim barrows ain't the greenhorn we took him to be." chapter iv the foreman's boast try as she would, connie could not rest that night. her mind was a turmoil of worries which made anything but fitful sleep impossible. the girl stood long by her bedroom window, gazing out across the moonlit ranch which had been her childhood home; now her sole possession. she could not rid her mind of the fear that soon her beloved rainbow would pass into the hands of another owner. at dawn she dressed and sauntered down to the stables. when connie was a little girl she liked nothing better than to get up early to see the sunrise; and this morning, as the eastern sky reddened against the distant mountains, the old scenes lived again. connie was startled from her reverie by the sound of masculine voices coming from the bunkhouse. the cowboys were starting the day with their usual round of banter. they talked so loudly that she could not help hearing every word that the men said. "well, alkali," lefty forbes drawled, "in a few days now me and you can feast our eyes on the champeen bulldogger of these here parts." "meanin' who?" alkali asked. "why, meanin' old blakeman hisself. to hear him tell it a man would think nobody even heard of bulldoggin' till he came along." "i wouldn't lay no money on him," alkali said. "the guy is a big loud-speaker." "and that ain't all he is nuther," lefty added. "he's a washout when it comes to runnin' a ranch. look at the jam he's got this place into." "yeah, and miss connie walked right into it. what a homecomin'!" "i know. alkali. and i feel rotten about the whole deal. miss connie is one swell kid. if it weren't for her i'd quit today." at that moment the girl saw forest blakeman approaching from around the house. she wished to warn lefty and alkali. if the foreman heard them there might be trouble. picking up a large clod of earth she tossed it against the bunk-house door. "hey, what's that?" lefty shouted. both cowboys emerged and looked about. "it was only i," connie laughed. then she jerked her head in the direction from which blakeman approached. "there comes your friend now," she said, her voice lowered. "oh, that big ape," alkali muttered, scorn in his voice. the foreman came up to the trio, looking quickly from one to the other. he remarked that connie was abroad early. "yes, mr. blakeman," she replied. "i couldn't sleep so i wandered down here. beautiful sunrise, isn't it?" "it's o.k., i reckon." "i think we are going to have fine weather for the rodeo," connie continued mischievously. "are you in any of the events, mr. blakeman?" "tell her, blake!" laughed lefty and there was an edge to his voice. "tell her they couldn't run the show without you doin' some fancy bulldoggin'." "yeah!" alkali put in. "they don't come no hotter than blake when he sets himself to dump over a steer by his horns." "now listen, you two," blakeman said, perceptibly angered. "i don't have to take any sarcasm from a couple of cow stooges like you! i'll show you what i can do. i'll be on hand for the bulldoggin' and i hope you lugs lay your money against me!" having delivered himself of this defy, forest blakeman turned on his heel and walked off. "we'll be there to see it, won't we, alkali?" lefty chortled. "with both of our hair in one braid," alkali agreed. "just wait till blake goes up against catapult. boy, oh boy, will that steer ruin him?" connie did not quite follow the two men's conversation. she wondered who this catapult might be. "why, that's pop bradshaw's prize bulldoggin' steer, miss connie," lefty explained. "that old hunk of animated baloney has got a neck that's made of pure spring steel." "it sure is," alkali confirmed. "that steer ain't never been throwed in his whole life. if you ask me there ain't a man a-livin' who can do it, nuther." "he must be quite an animal," connie remarked, laughing. "blakeman's been braggin' all winter he's a champeen bulldogger," alkali went on contemptuously. "no one round here ain't even seen him toss up a cow!" the talk ceased abruptly as jim barrows came up from the house. he walked with a firm step and seemed to have fully recovered his strength. "you're to start herdin' in the southeast section," lefty told him. "i'll ride out that way with you after breakfast," connie said quickly. "i thought i might go over to the bradshaw ranch." the stranger nodded and followed lefty to the corrals. he roped his own horse and did it neatly the girl observed. by the time she had finished breakfast he was ready to start and had saddled silvertail for her. as they rode along, connie kept stealing quick glances at her companion. she could not figure him out. lefty had been right in saying that he was no tenderfoot. but who was he? connie might have asked a number of direct questions, but she did not. after all, jim barrows' business was his own, she thought. she had no call to inquire into his private life. at the forks the girl said good-bye and rode on toward the bradshaw ranch where she hoped to renew her friendship with enid. "it's three long years since we've seen each other," she thought. "i imagine we've both changed a great deal." connie unhooked the gate without dismounting and galloped up the lane to the ranch house. the sound of hoofbeats brought both enid and her father to the door. "connie!" cried enid, rushing out to meet her. "my, but it's good to see you again." connie sprang lightly to the ground, tossing the reins over silvertail's head. "you're surely a wonderful sight for sore eyes yourself!" she declared. "i thought you'd be coming over to see me." enid glanced quickly at her father and then looked away. "well--i intended to come--but----" "i know," said connie quickly, "i haven't been home many days." "come on into the house," enid invited. "i hear you happen to own a champion steer by the name of catapult, mr. bradshaw," remarked connie as she stepped up on the veranda. "reckon i do," answered the rancher. "i'd love to see catapult," connie went on. "all the boys are saying no one can throw him." "catapult's out on the range now," replied the rancher. it seemed to connie that his voice was not very friendly. at any rate he did not carry on the conversation. "come on into the house, connie," urged enid hurriedly. connie spent a pleasant hour with her friend, but there were moments when they both felt ill at ease and at a loss for something to say. "it's only because we haven't seen each other for such a long while," connie thought. when she left she gave enid a cordial invitation to ride over to the rainbow. in the days which followed the girl found much to occupy her time at the ranch. she spent many hours in the saddle practicing for the rodeo. sometimes she rode alone and occasionally with the new cowhand, jim barrows. he had proven himself to be both quiet and efficient, but his very ability seemed to infuriate forest blakeman who gave him the most disagreeable tasks about the ranch. twice connie drove over to the bradshaw ranch. she and enid had delightful visits and at times they came close to recapturing the old feeling of comradeship which had existed between them. but always connie sensed that pop bradshaw did not seem to like her. at least he never became cordial or even as friendly as upon the day of their first meeting. "don't mind pop," enid said to her once. "he's not himself these days. we've been losing money on the ranch, and you know what this place means to him. he'd rather give an eye than lose it." "i know exactly how he feels," connie replied. although she went many times to the bradshaw ranch, enid never once came to the rainbow. at first connie was puzzled and then hurt. "i feel almost as if enid didn't like me at times," she thought. "can it be that she's jealous because i'll compete against her in the riding contest?" connie could not really believe that enid would take such a narrow-minded attitude. yet something was wrong. she was certain of that. "i'll not go to the bradshaw ranch until she comes over to see me," connie thought. several days elapsed and enid did not visit rainbow ranch. a sense of hurt gave way to one of indignation. "well, if that's how she feels about it, i'll show her i really can ride!" connie told herself grimly. "i'll win that prize if it's the last thing i ever do." that very afternoon she roped dynamite, one of the most unmanageable horses on the ranch. despite the efforts of every cowboy at the rainbow, dynamite had never been successfully broken. "connie, you're plumb crazy to try it," lefty told her. "that hoss is a sunfisher. he'll go over on his back sure as shootin'." connie would not be dissuaded. with lefty's help she saddled the broncho, while the other cowboys came to the corral fence to watch. then the blindfold was jerked from dynamite's eyes and the gate swung open. the bronco shot up into the air, twisted and came down with a terrific jar which all but unseated connie. again he leaped, seeming to double in the middle. "ride 'im, connie!" shouted lefty. but dynamite had not played his best trick. he shot straight into the air and before the girl could free herself, came down on his back. connie was pinned beneath. a yell went up from the cowboys, but it was jim barrows who was the first to act. his rope sailed out to catch the fallen bronco, thus preventing dynamite from running while connie's feet were still in the stirrups. "are you bad hurt?" lefty cried as he and alkali ran to help her. "no, i'm all right," connie said shakily. her face was pale and twisted with pain. "you are hurt, kid," lefty said, lifting her to her feet. "just my shoulder," connie muttered. "no bones busted?" "not even a little one, lefty. but i did twist my shoulder pretty hard." connie tried to laugh and failed completely. "it served me right," she said. "i should have known enough to stay off dynamite. i was trying to show off." connie brushed the dirt from her clothes and walked slowly to the house, conscious that the cowboys were watching her soberly. she had done a very foolish thing in trying to ride dynamite. the penalty was apt to be great. "unless my shoulder mends rapidly i'll never be able to ride in the rodeo," she thought. "and without that five hundred dollars i haven't a chinaman's chance of saving the ranch." chapter v pop bradshaw's treachery in the morning connie's shoulder was so stiff and sore that the slightest movement of her arm gave her great pain. at lefty's suggestion she rode in to red gulch to consult old doctor horn. other than to give her a liniment to rub on, there was nothing he could do. "just rest the muscles for the next two weeks," he advised. "it will gradually get better." "but i'm planning to ride in the rodeo," connie declared anxiously. the doctor shook his head. "don't do anything foolish, connie. i doubt very much that your shoulder will be well by that time." connie left the doctor's office feeling as if all her troubles had reached a climax. she knew she had no one to blame save herself, yet that made it no easier. she was walking along, eyes on the ground when she heard her name called. turning quickly she saw nate jordan, an old rancher who had been a close friend of her father's. he operated a profitable dude ranch, the circle r, near santa fe. "why, hello, nate!" cried connie in delight. "what are you doing up in our country?" "you should ask," laughed the rancher. "didn't i just sell your foreman one of my best steers?" "how should i know?" retorted connie in a light vein. "after all i'm only the owner of the ranch. you didn't really sell blakeman a steer?" "shore did, connie. thought you knew all about it." "i certainly didn't," the girl replied soberly. "nate, blakeman shouldn't have done that without asking me. i'm so hard up for money i don't know when we'll be able to pay--if ever." "blakeman settled for cash," the rancher told her. "but if you don't want to go through with the deal it's all right with me. just have one of your men trundle the steer back to the circle r." "did you just now take the animal to the ranch, nate?" "no, blakeman came for the steer himself yesterday afternoon. i rode over this way today to see a man." "that's funny," said connie slowly. "blakeman didn't say anything to me about buying a steer." "well, suit yourself about keepin' the animal." "thanks, nate," said connie gratefully. "i'll talk it over with blakeman when i get back to the ranch." all the way to the rainbow she puzzled over blakeman's strange deal with the rancher. she was almost positive that the foreman had not brought a steer to the ranch the previous day. in fact, she remembered seeing him when he rode into the yard and had noticed how tired his pony appeared. "if blakeman doesn't have enough money to pay salaries, how could he buy a steer?" she reflected. "especially when we don't need one. there's something mighty queer about this business." the foreman was nowhere about when connie reached the ranch. however, she asked both lefty and alkali if any new stock had been bought and both assured her in the negative. "i believe i'll just wait and see if blakeman says anything about the matter to me," she thought. later when the foreman returned she carelessly mentioned that she had seen nate in town. while blakeman gave her a quick, sharp glance, he said nothing about the steer. connie was further puzzled because her inspection of the ranch stock did not reveal an addition to the herds. "did he buy that steer with his own money or with mine?" connie speculated. "and where is the animal?" she spent the morning going over the records which blakeman had kept. the foreman had not been a good bookkeeper and it was almost impossible to tell anything about his figures. "he may have cheated me," the girl thought. "i can't tell. but in any event, it looks as if the ranch will not pay for itself on the present basis. my only hope would be to operate a dude ranch, but i can't do that without money." connie glanced at the calendar and frowned. only two more days until the rodeo, and then a scant ten days before the sixteenth. she was certain she could never meet her obligations. "i'd have a chance if i could win a few prizes at the rodeo," she told herself. "oh, why did i have to cripple myself?" connie tried to move her right arm and winced with pain. she thought the muscles weren't quite as sore as they had been. perhaps she would enter the riding contest anyway. the girl was sitting moodily by the window when she heard hoofbeats in the courtyard. enid came riding up to the door. connie's depression vanished as if by magic and she rushed out to greet the ranch girl. "oh, connie, i just heard about how you hurt yourself!" enid cried as she alighted and looped her lines over the hitching post. "will you be out of the rodeo?" "i'm not sure," connie answered. she felt warmed because enid had cared enough to ride over to the ranch. at the same time she was ashamed because she had doubted the girl's friendliness. "oh, i hope you are able to ride," enid went on. "it will be too mean if you're forced out of the contest." "do come in and stay for lunch," connie invited cordially. "oh, no i can't," enid said hastily. "i really shouldn't have come, only dad went to town to see a man----" she broke off in confusion as if she had revealed too much. "doesn't your father like you to come here?" connie asked quietly. "well, he--oh, it isn't that," enid began to stammer. "i can't explain, connie, but pop has changed lately. he isn't himself--he----" "i think i understand," connie said quietly, although she didn't at all. "i hope i'll see you at the rodeo," enid declared hastily. "i'll have to be riding back now." without looking directly at her friend, she sprang into the saddle and rode from the yard. "pop bradshaw has told her to keep away from me," connie thought shrewdly. "one would think i might be a brand of poison! there's something going on around here that i don't understand." scarcely had enid left the courtyard when forest blakeman strode up to where connie was standing. "wasn't that enid bradshaw?" he asked curtly. "yes." "did she want to see me?" "if she did, she forgot to mention it." the foreman made no reply, but turned and walked swiftly toward the barn. a few minutes later connie saw him ride away down the road. it occurred to her as she watched the disappearing figure that in the past few days blakeman had made many unexplained trips. "i'd like to find out where he's going," she decided impulsively. "it may be a sneaking trick to follow, but that's exactly what i shall do!" connie saddled silvertail and without telling anyone of her purpose, rode in pursuit of blakeman, taking care to keep a long distance behind him. in a very short time she was convinced that he was on his way to red gulch. "he's probably going there to buy nails or something of the sort," the girl thought. "but since i've come this far i may as well keep on." connie lagged even farther behind, for she did not wish the foreman to suspect that he was being trailed. when she finally came into red gulch blakeman was nowhere in sight, but she saw his mare tied up in front of the pool hall. connie had no errands to occupy her time so she thought she would drop over to the doctor's office. "you should never ride in the rodeo," he said to her after he had examined her shoulder. "but i know it's no use to tell you that. so go ahead." "thank you, doctor," laughed connie. she left his office feeling in a much better mood. suddenly she slackened her speed as she saw forest blakeman just ahead of her. he was entering the norton cafe. connie was quite certain he had not seen her. she walked slowly on, wondering whether or not to return to rainbow ranch. although she had tied silvertail on a side street, the foreman might see the horse. then of course he would know that she had followed him unless she had a ready excuse for her trip to town. connie was so absorbed with her thoughts that she bumped squarely into a heavy-set man who was coming from the opposite direction. it was pop bradshaw. "why, hello, pop!" said connie. "'mornin'," responded the old rancher uneasily. he turned and entered the norton cafe. connie glanced curiously through the plate glass window. forest blakeman was nowhere in sight so she knew that he must have stepped into one of the ice cream booths. and now pop bradshaw disappeared from sight in a similar manner. "it looks to me as if they are meeting each other by appointment," connie mused. "what business can they be having together?" her suspicions aroused, connie quietly entered the cafe, seating herself in a booth adjoining the one occupied by the two men. she knew they were there for she could hear their voices. "i'd not advise you to double cross me, pop!" blakeman said distinctly although in a low tone. "this is a fine time to get cold feet!" "don't get excited now," returned pop in a quavery voice. "i'll do as i said. i'm only sayin' it goes agin' my grain to play it on the boys thet way with them all thinkin' i've entered catapult in the rodeo same as always." by this time connie was all attention. she leaned closer to the wall so that she would not miss a single word. "let's get this straight," said the cool voice of the foreman. "i paid you five hundred dollars to keep that old horned rhinoceros of yours out of the show. you agreed and took the money and now you're cryin' around about me playin' it dirty on the boys. you knew it was dirty before you took the money, didn't you?" "i didn't realize it then, i reckon. i'm ready and willin' to pay you back." "and leave me holdin' the sack! oh, no you don't! where have you got that steer now?" "oh, he's safe enough," replied the rancher. "he's in the mountain meadow." "then see that he stays there until after the rodeo," said the foreman. "deliver nate's steer to the rodeo barns tomorrow just as i told you. that's all you have to do." connie waited to hear no more. quietly she slipped away from the cafe. chapter vi kidnaping catapult connie felt a trifle stunned by the conversation which she had overheard. "i'd never have believed it if i hadn't heard with my own ears," she thought. "pop bradshaw, who has stood for everything honest and square in this community! for five hundred dollars he means to keep catapult out of the rodeo, substituting a steer which blakeman will be sure to throw in the bulldogging event!" the girl mounted silvertail and started slowly back toward the ranch. she rode along in deep thought for a time. "i'll not let blakeman get by with it!" she exclaimed. "it's a cheap, contemptible trick!" connie was smiling by the time she reached the ranch. she knew exactly what to do. calling lefty and alkali she asked them casually if bets were running heavy on the bulldogging event. "sure, blakeman's goin' to lose his shirt," lefty grinned. "he's been coverin' everything in sight." "he hasn't a chance against catapult," added alkali with satisfaction. "that's just the point i was about to bring up," said connie quietly. "supposing another steer should be substituted for catapult?" "there's no chance of that," declared lefty. "pop bradshaw entered old catapult two weeks ago." "well, i've just learned something which will interest you. pop plans to substitute another steer for catapult--one which resembles him in appearance, i judge." connie then repeated every word of the conversation she had heard in the restaurant. "why, the dirty crook!" exclaimed lefty. "no wonder blakeman was so willin' to cover all bets. he thought he'd clean up pretty!" "we got to do something about this!" muttered alkali. "let's protest to the committee." "an' spoil all the fun?" said lefty. "no, i got a better idea! we'll kidnap old catapult tonight and sneak him into the rodeo barns! then pop can't squawk without givin' himself and the whole scheme away." "that idea ain't nothin' to whoop 'em up about," complained alkali. "that mountain medder is in plain sight of pop's house. it's surrounded by hills and there's just one way out. that's down the trail past pop's buildings." "we can do it real quiet-like so he won't ketch us," insisted lefty. "don't you reckon catapult's tracks on the trail will show?" alkali asked jeeringly. "trust papa," replied lefty with a mysterious grin. the two cowboys separated, after pledging connie to secrecy regarding their proposed adventure. lefty immediately rode to red gulch to hold a confidential consultation with jack crawford who was in charge of the barns at the rodeo. in an hour forest blakeman returned to the ranch without explaining where he had been. but all that day he was aware of curious stares which followed him. he could feel that something was in the air. now and then coming unexpectedly upon a group of cowboys he would hear his name being mentioned. in anger he vented his spite upon jim barrows. the day passed slowly. connie went to her room early but she did not go to bed. instead she read until nearly midnight. then she snapped out her light and sat by the window. in a short time she saw lefty and alkali emerge from the bunkhouse carrying several gunnysacks. at their shrill whistle, she quickly joined them. alkali led silvertail and two broncos down to the main road where they all mounted. "what are you planning to do with the gunnysacks?" connie asked curiously as they rode toward the bradshaw ranch. "i'm aimin' to tie 'em on catapult's hooves so he won't leave no tracks," explained lefty. "ain't that the dizziest idear any sane guy ever had?" demanded alkali. "how we goin' to get gunnysacks on catapult? maybe you think he'll just hold up his feet nice an' purty like he was in a shoe shop!" "now see here," lefty said sharply. "are you with me or ain't you?" "oh, i'm with you all right," drawled alkali, "but my doubts sure are percolatin'." all was still about the bradshaw ranch as the three rode quietly into the mountain meadow. no lights were burning in the house. connie and the two cowboys tied their horses to a clump of cottonwood trees. lefty removed the gunnysacks from his saddle and alkali threw a coil of rope over his shoulder. "it may not be easy to find catapult," connie whispered. "this is a big meadow." "yeah," alkali added, "he's apt to be roostin' in any one of these thousand acres." "i figure catapult will be parked by the lake for the night after this blisterin' hot day," said lefty. "that old uncanned baloney has more sense than his owner." after a brisk walk the three approached the lake. from that point they moved cautiously, crawling forward until they reached the bank. lefty pulled aside a clump of overhanging tree branches and looked out over the moonlit water. a dark blot appeared at the opposite end of the lake and lefty's excited fancy envisioned it as a life-sized steer. "it's catapult, alkali, sure as you're a cow nurse!" he muttered. "he's standin' in up to his belly, a-swishin' flies with his tail." the three conspirators crept slowly around the little lake to the rear of the place where catapult's presence was suspected. "it's him!" exclaimed lefty. "get your rope ready, alkali, and if you nail him, tie the other end to this here tree. then i'll wade out and shoo him in." the rope swished through the air and landed fairly around the big steer's head. lefty waded out toward the frightened animal, circling around him and splashing water with his cupped hands. connie watched anxiously because she was afraid that catapult might turn upon the cowboy and gore him with his sharp horns. but instead. catapult bolted headlong for shore. "keep him circlin' 'round the tree," lefty called to alkali as he followed the steer ashore. the two cowboys drove catapult around and around the tree until his head banged into it. then they roped his front and hind legs together. catapult fell to the ground and rolled over on his side. "now come on with them gunnysacks," lefty said exaultantly. alkali chuckled as he helped his friend bind the pads on the steer's feet. "guess we better bring up our hosses before we untie this here bovine," he chuckled. "he'd make us feel like a tail to a kite a hoofin' it." alkali disappeared into the darkness and soon returned, riding his own horse and leading the other two. "pass me that rope, lefty," he directed. "then you can untie him." the frightened steer arose to his feet with a snort. he eyed his tormentors for a moment and then bolted. alkali's horse braced and catapult was brought up sharply. "he'll soon wear out them gunnysacks at this rate," lefty lamented. "we've got to quiet him down." "get a rope on him too if you can," alkali advised. "move up ahead. i'll stay behind. then when he makes a pass at you, i'll hold him, and when he lays back you yank him right along with you." lefty's rope swished through the air and settled neatly over catapult's thick neck. then riding ahead, with alkali's rope leading to the rear, the two cowboys began their task of leading catapult from the meadow. connie found it hard to control her laughter. the steer presented such a ludicrous spectacle even in the uncertain moonlight, thumbing along the trail shod in gunnysacks. at times he would stop as if trying to fathom the strange method of torment. then lefty's rope would become taut and pull him along. again he would take a lunge forward in a brave effort to escape but alkali's rope would stiffen and bring him up short. they emerged from the mountain meadow and turned to the main road. connie breathed a sigh of relief. and just at that moment catapult stopped and whiffed the night air. then he gave voice to the loudest and longest bellow in his system. "if pop hears that we're sunk," groaned lefty. a light flickered in the ranch house. "he heard it all right," muttered alkali. "now what are we going to do?" asked connie nervously. "you always have such brilliant ideas. lefty! think of something quick!" chapter vii a midnight escapade a thicket of small trees and bushes loomed up in the moonlight fifty yards ahead of the trio. lefty pointed to the spot as he said: "we'll have to park in there and take a chance." scarcely had the unique cavalcade disappeared into the thicket when pop bradshaw and his foreman emerged from the ranch house. they looked about and then walked over to the meadow trail. connie and the cowboys could hear them conversing in low tones and they saw pop shoot the beam of his flashlight on the trail. "we must have dreamed it, sam," he said in a puzzled tone. "the only way out of the meadow is down this trail and there's not a fresh steer track on it. just a few horse and shoe tracks where some of the boys went in to do a little fishin' at the lake." the two men walked back to the ranch house. "that was a narrow escape," chuckled connie as lefty and alkali started catapult on the move again. "sure was," lefty agreed. "i'll be glad when we get this critter to the rodeo barns." connie parted company with the cowboys farther on down the road, returning alone to the ranch while they delivered catapult into the keeping of jack crawford. it was after two o'clock when she reached home. letting herself quietly into the house, she went to bed and slept so soundly that she did not awaken until marie opened the door in the morning. "oh, i had no idea it was so late!" connie cried in dismay. "if i don't hurry i'll be late for the rodeo." as she hurriedly dressed in cowgirl regalia which she planned to wear in the parade, she tried out her shoulder. it was still sore, but she could bear the pain now when she moved it. connie had coffee and rolls in the patio alone, and then hastened outside. lefty and alkali, resplendent in bright colored shirts and silver-trimmed sombreros, were saddling up their broncos ready to start for red gulch. blakeman and jim barrows already had left. "how did you come out last night after we parted company?" she asked quickly. "everything's set," chuckled lefty. "and you should have heard old blake a-blowin' around this morning. he thinks he has that bulldoggin' event cinched. wait 'till catapult gives him the double 'o'." connie laughed and declared that she would not miss the fun for anything in the world. saddling silvertail she rode into red gulch with her friends. on the way in she told them of her determination to compete in the various events open to girls. "you're takin' a big chance with that game shoulder," lefty declared. "i wouldn't do it if i was you." "that money means a lot to me," connie replied soberly. "if i could win the five hundred dollar prize, i might be able to raise enough extra so i could meet my bank obligations. then i'd be able to keep the ranch." "we'll sure be a-pullin' for you, connie," alkali declared warmly. red gulch was jammed with visitors even at such an early hour. the town was decorated with flags; bands, playing slightly off key, marched up and down the streets. cowboys in big hats and high-heeled boots lounged in the doorways of buildings calling out friendly greetings to passers-by. indians from nearby reservations added to the crowd. at the entrance of the fairgrounds connie parted with her friends. while she went to the rodeo barn to look over the horses. lefty and alkali wandered toward the arena. immediately an official hailed them. "i can use you boys," he said. "i want you to keep everyone except rodeo officers, performers and owners out of the ring." lefty and alkali leaped the fence and strolled about observing the fast-gathering throngs that swarmed into the terraced tiers of the wooden grandstand. men in charge of the day's activities hustled about on horseback, calling orders, while a group of starters and judges conferred at the distant end of the arena. suddenly lefty's eyes were arrested by the sight of pop bradshaw talking with forest blakeman near the arena fence. an intriguing idea flashed into his mind. what could be sweeter than for pop to be among those immediately present when catapult magically appeared in place of the steer which he believed had been substituted? "come on in. pop," he called. "we want you in here to see that catapult gets a square deal." the idea delighted the crowd. the old man hesitated but friendly hands seized and boosted him over the fence. connie, who understood the prank which the cowboys were playing on pop, felt rather sorry for him. but she had no sympathy for forest blakeman. he was swaggering about the arena, his attitude proclaiming that already he had been named the champion bulldogger. as connie stood by the fence, jim barrows sauntered over. after making a few casual remarks he fell silent, but the girl noticed that his gaze followed blakeman almost constantly. "your foreman reminds me of someone," he said thoughtfully. "that's funny," laughed connie. "blakeman was saying almost the same thing to me about you. by the way, where did you work before you came to the rainbow, jim?" "oh, one place and another," the man answered vaguely. "mostly on ranches down in texas." without giving connie an opportunity to ask another question, he moved away. "he certainly means to keep his past his own," the girl reflected thoughtfully. "i never met anyone so reserved. i wonder if perhaps he hasn't been in trouble sometime?" connie dismissed the matter from her mind because it was time for the opening parade. she rode in it, side by side with enid bradshaw. the other girl nodded almost curtly to connie, offering no remark save to ask about her injured shoulder. connie tried not to show her hurt at enid's attitude. it only made her more determined than ever to win in the riding event. the preliminary contests were quickly run off. roping events, steer riding and indian races excited but passing interest. at last the bulldogging event was called. several cowboys from the bar six ranch performed with a skill which brought cheers from the crowd. the steer was allowed a thirty foot start after he had rushed from the pen. then horse and rider were after him, with a hazer to keep the animal in a straight course. catching the steer by the horns, the cowboy would hurl himself from the saddle, and twist the animal's horns until he rolled over in the dust. "bring on blakeman!" shouted the crowd. "let's see him throw catapult!" lefty glanced anxiously toward the stanchion, trying to catch jack crawford's eye. he need have had no fears, for just then the gate opened and a large rangy animal was driven in. shouts of "catapult! catapult, do your stuff!" informed forest blakeman that something had gone amiss. it dawned upon him instantly that pop bradshaw had double crossed him. despite his anger he realized that there could be no retreat. to default would be to make himself ridiculous, and brand himself a coward. he waved to the crowd and rode alongside the stanchion. as the bars dropped. catapult rushed out into the arena. partisans of the animal greatly outnumbered those of the man and cries of, "throw him, catapult," muffled occasional urgings of, "throw him, cowboy!" blakeman appeared oblivious of the crowd as he drove home his spurs and rushed pell mell after the fleeing steer. they traversed nearly the full length of the arena before the sorrel overtook the steer and raced him head to head. then blakeman shot through the air in a perfect leap as if hurled from the saddle by the uncoiling of a gigantic spring. headforemost he dived, his body parallel to the ground. he grasped catapult's horns and brought him to a standstill. then, exerting the last iota of his strength, blakeman made a supreme effort to bring the animal to the ground. catapult's head slowly turned under the tremendous force of the man's tensed muscles. but he suddenly snorted and with a sharp toss of his head, hurled his tormentor into the air. blakeman sprawled into soft turf, twenty feet away. the crowd roared its delight; the air became thick with sailing sombreros. lefty and alkali laughed until they collapsed weakly against the fence. "and him claimin' to be a champeen bulldogger!" lefty jeered. blakeman arose unhurt but with a mighty anger surging through him. not a dozen paces away he saw pop bradshaw, the man he believed to be the author of his downfall. furiously, he advanced upon the embarrassed rancher. "so you double crossed me!" he said menacingly. "you'll pay for this!" "i didn't know anything about it," whined the old man. apparently aware that any violence upon the person of pop bradshaw would only draw the anger of the crowd, blakeman turned and limped away. he was followed by the boos of the throng. "guess that ought to put a damper on his braggin' for a while," lefty grinned. "i'll bet pop spends the rest of his life wonderin' how catapult got out of the mountain medder too!" his voice died quickly away for the announcer was calling the next event. it was the bronco riding contest for girls. "where's connie?" lefty muttered. with one accord he and alkali turned the chutes. they saw the girl, white-faced and grim, perched on the fence, waiting for her turn to ride. the two cowboys crowded close enough to speak an encouraging word. "good luck, connie!" grinned lefty. "i'll need it," connie replied with a forced smile. "i've drawn tanglefoot--the worst bronco in the lot." chapter viii a rescue as lefty and alkali both knew well, tanglefoot was a wild bronco which had brought the downfall of more than one ambitious rodeo rider. if connie were able to handle him she might win the grand prize, but even the two cowboys doubted that she had the skill. connie was the fifth rider. before her there were three local girls whose riding while good was not particularly colorful. the fourth contestant, enid bradshaw, by far outpointed her opponents. she knew she had done well and a satisfied smile played over her face as she left the arena. "i'll have to ride as i never did before if i beat that!" thought connie. her turn came next. she mounted tanglefoot from the fence. "let her go!" as the shout went up, the gate flew open, and out streaked the roan, landing with a running buck in the midst of the judges, forcing them to wheel their horses. a ripple of comment passed over the crowd. here was a girl who could ride! tanglefoot, too, acted as if he were surprised. for a moment he seemed to be debating the disgrace of his failure to dislodge his fair rider. then the wiry little mustang went into a veritable paroxysm of bucking. connie never knew that seconds could spin out to such an interminable length. the horse leaped into the air, twisting his lithe body like an ancient equine ancestor trying to shake off a puma or a jaguar from his back. down he would come, stiff-legged, and then rise again into the air as if his muscles were made of spring steel. from her waist up connie held her body as relaxed as possible, at the same time shifting her weight with lightning-like rapidity to preserve her balance. her torso remained vertical to the ground, regardless of tanglefoot's rapid maneuvers. waving her hat with her rein-free hand, the girl kept a graceful seat through it all. tanglefoot's best was not good enough. connie at last heard the timekeeper's pistol. the contest was over as far as she was concerned. she felt that she had acquitted herself well and she was sure of it when she heard the cheers of the crowd ringing in her ears. leaping from tanglefoot's saddle to the back of another horse led by the hazer, she galloped in triumph from the ring. "that was wonderful ridin'," lefty told her proudly, a few minutes later. "if you don't win the prize then the judges have been bought off!" connie watched anxiously as four other girls took their turns in the contest. one was thrown while the other three had drawn horses which did not require a high degree of skill to ride. "it's in the bag, connie!" whispered lefty excitedly. and he was right. a few minutes later the announcer rode forth to broadcast through his megaphone that connie carl had won first prize in the riding contest. "oh, lefty!" the girl cried, fairly overcome by her good fortune. "just think! five hundred dollars! and maybe i'll win more before the day is over." connie had entered her name in a free-for-all race as well as a roping contest. in the latter event she placed third, netting a cash award of fifty dollars. second prize in the running race brought her an additional two hundred dollars. it was a proud moment for connie when she stepped forward to claim her ribbons and a slip of paper which represented seven hundred and fifty dollars. jim barrows, separating himself from the crowd, come over to the fence to congratulate the girl. "what will you do with so much money?" he asked jokingly. "i could use six times as much!" connie laughed. "i think i'll take it home and hide it under the bed. i know one thing! not a cent will be deposited in the first national bank." "you don't trust the banker?" smiled the cowboy. "he and i don't feel too friendly toward each other." "seriously though, miss carl, you're not thinking of carrying that money on your person?" "why not?" asked connie quickly. "i'll cash the check just before i start for the ranch." "aren't you afraid someone might rob you?" such a thought had never even occurred to connie. "there hasn't been a holdup around here since the stagecoach stopped running!" she laughed. "besides, no one could ever get this money away from me." jim barrows said no more, but after chatting for a few minutes wandered off again. it was the longest conversation he had ever carried on with connie. "he really acted as if he were worried about my money," the girl thought. the rodeo was drawing to a close and already many persons were leaving the stands. connie's eye wandered over the crowd. she wondered what had become of pop bradshaw and enid. she had not seen the old rancher since the bulldogging event, nor had the girl appeared to congratulate her upon winning out in the bronco riding contest. "in her heart i don't believe enid really likes me," connie told herself. "and from now on it will be harder than ever for us to be friends." she turned her attention once more to the arena. only one more event remained on the day's program, an indian race. at the opposite side of the track she could see the ponies being lined up. they were small, sleek, beautiful animals, so high spirited that their riders had trouble holding them in position. the indians themselves, adorned with bright sashes, paint and feathers, added a colorful note to the scene. the start of the race was delayed and the crowd grew more impatient. an increasing number deserted the stands, many leaving the bleachers to crowd against the fence. a portion of it gave way causing a momentary flurry of excitement. "back from the track, folks!" warned one of the guards, but when he moved off a minute later, the crowd swarmed through the opening again. no one noticed that a child, separated from its parents, stood alone just inside the break of the fence. then at last the starter's pistol cracked and the racers were off! down the track in a cloud of dust came the ponies, their bareback riders bent low as they urged their mounts to greater speed. at that moment, the child, unaware of any danger, started to toddle across the track. midway to the other side the little girl saw the oncoming horses and heard the thundering hoofs. frozen by terror she stopped and stood perfectly still. "that child will be killed!" screamed a woman. before any of the guards could act, connie slid down from the fence. the racers were almost at the grandstand. with no thought for her own safety, the girl darted out onto the track, directly in the path of the onrushing horses. chapter ix mr. postil's offer connie rushed forward and snatched the child up in her arms. with the riders bearing down upon her, she dived head foremost, rolling over and over at the side of the track. the horses thundered past, and were lost in a cloud of dust. the crowd, thrilled by connie's act of bravery, surged forward. in vain the guards sought to keep the arena clear. friendly hands seized connie and the child, lifting them to their feet. the little girl was crying piteously, but more from fright than because she had been hurt. her only injury was a slight bruise on her arm. "are you all right, baby?" connie asked. "you threw me down in the dirt," the little girl said accusingly. "just look at my pretty dress! i'm not a baby either!" "of course you're not," agreed connie soothingly. "what is your name?" just at that moment a stout gentleman came hurrying up. he caught the child in his arms, hugging her tightly. without saying a word he brushed the child's disheveled hair out of her eyes and mopped the dirt from her face with his handkerchief. "i don't believe she's hurt, sir," declared connie. "only shaken up a bit." the old gentleman seemed too shocked by the accident to make any reply. connie started to move away. "no, wait, please," he requested. "you saved my granddaughter's life. i must talk with you." "anyone would have done the same, sir," connie responded, smiling. "i just happened to be close to the fence." "i saw it all," the old man declared. "you risked your life to save the child. it was magnificent." "oh, hardly that," said connie, flushing with embarrassment. "i didn't know doris had wandered away until i saw her on the track," the old gentleman went on. "i was stunned--paralyzed for i thought surely she would be killed. the child is all i have in the world." "i quite understand," connie murmured. "i haven't told you my name," the man said offering an engraved card. "i am james postil." connie, after introducing herself, glanced at the card, noticing that it bore a new york address. she remarked that mr. postil was a long way from home. "yes, i am spending my vacation in the southwest," he explained. "my granddaughter and i came out here to live at one of these dude ranches for a few weeks." "i hope you found a nice place and that you're having an enjoyable time," connie said pleasantly. "it hasn't turned out that way yet. i was looking for a nice, quiet ranch where doris could run wild and grow healthy and strong. perhaps you've heard of silverhorn ranch?" "oh, yes," nodded connie, "only it isn't really a ranch at all. don't you find it more on the order of a big tourist hotel?" "that's it exactly! something going on from morning to night. i've made up my mind to move out. but you're not interested in my difficulties. tell me about yourself." "there is really nothing to tell," said connie evasively. "you are too modest, i fear," smiled the old gentleman. "i remember you now. you are the young lady who won the bronco riding contest. come, let's go somewhere away from the crowd. i'd like to talk with you." by this time connie had gathered that james postil was a man of considerable wealth, and she half suspected that he meant to offer her money for saving his grandchild. of course she would refuse. mr. postil seemed to sense the girl's attitude, for he led up to the subject very gradually. first he told her more about himself. the head of a large manufacturing company in the east, he found himself at sixty-eight, lonely and alone in the world save for his one grandchild. "i've done my best to raise her up right," he told connie, "but doris has been too much under the care of a governess. that's why i cut loose this summer and brought her out here. i thought i'd try to give her a little personal looking-after. so far the idea hasn't turned out very well." "you'll probably find a more satisfactory place to stay than silverhorn ranch, mr. postil. i can understand that it wouldn't be suitable for doris at all." "here i am, talking about myself again," declared mr. postil. "i've not given you an opportunity to tell me a thing about yourself." connie had not meant to reveal any of her personal troubles, but she found the old gentleman a most sympathetic listener. he interposed a question here and there and before she knew it he had learned the entire story of her financial difficulties. "i don't believe you need to worry any more," mr. postil said briskly. "how much is your bank loan?" "oh, i didn't mean----" "i know you didn't, young lady," smiled mr. postil, "but it happens that i owe you a great debt for saving the life of my grandchild. doris means more to me than anything in the world. now i'll be only too happy to give you enough money----" "oh, no," broke in connie. "i couldn't take a penny." "call it a loan then." connie was sorely tempted but she shook her head. "i really think i'll be able to weather the storm unaided," she insisted. "with the seven hundred and fifty dollars i won today, i'll fix the ranch up a bit and advertise for summer boarders. then if the bank learns i am going ahead in a profitable way, my note may be extended." mr. postil asked connie many questions about rainbow ranch. with no conscious attempt to exaggerate she described the wonderful fishing streams and the lake. "we have an extra special attraction, too," she added. "the ruins of ancient cliff dwellings. my father discovered them in the canyon years ago, and experts say they are in as fine a state of preservation as any ruins in the southwest." "why, you have everything at your ranch," declared mr. postil enthusiastically. "i've been trying to find just such a place. how about taking doris and me as your first paying guests?" "why, i'd like to have you," connie stammered, "only the ranch house isn't fixed up. the food would be plain and there wouldn't be any frills." "that's exactly what i want," mr. postil insisted. "i'll tell you what i'll do. i'll finish out the week at silverhorn, then monday morning i'll come to your place, and i may be able to round up a few other guests for you. here's a couple weeks' board and room money in advance." the old gentleman handed her two bills. "why, you've given me a hundred dollars!" connie protested. "i can't accept that much." "take it, take it," mr. postil urged carelessly. "i'm a very cranky old man and require a lot of service. you'll find it will be worth that much to keep me." connie was quite overcome by her good fortune. she tried to thank mr. postil for his generosity. "i'm doing myself the service," he declared. "i'll get busy right away and see if i can't locate those friends of mine. if i have any luck i'll send you word." "but you've not even seen the ranch," connie protested. "you may not like it at all." "i have no worry on that score," said mr. postil confidently. after he and doris had walked away, connie stood for several minutes with the money held tightly in her hand. it did not seem possible that so many wonderful things could have happened in one day. yet it was true. "i can't help but succeed if mr. postil brings his rich friends to the ranch," she thought excitedly. "but i'll need to hire extra household help and redecorate the bedrooms. oh, i have a million things i must do." connie wandered about the rodeo ground searching for alkali or lefty. she felt she had to tell someone about her good fortune, but apparently both cowboys had drifted away from the arena. finally she gave up the search, and presenting her check at the rodeo office, received cash in the amount of seven hundred and fifty dollars. connie pinned the bills together and fastened the roll inside her shirt pocket. it was after six o'clock by the time she rode silvertail out of the grounds. the streets still swarmed with people and red gulch would be a lively place until the small hours of the morning. but connie was eager to get back home. the sky in the west glowed rosy pink and slowly darkened. on either side of the lonely road the limestone cliffs were a blaze of reflected color. connie rode slowly, enjoying the twilight. as she cantered along she made her plans. with eight hundred and fifty dollars she could remodel the ranch house, hire another mexican woman to help marie, and still have money left. with even a few paying guests she soon would have all her debts paid. connie whistled a gay little tune. for the first time since she had returned home from the east, she felt entirely happy. the sun dropped below the horizon line and the distant mountains seemed to cast their dark shadow over the earth. a chill wind sprang up, rustling the ragged branches of the gnarled cedars. connie shivered and drew her jacket more closely about her. she could feel the cold numbing her fingers. rainbow ranch was still many miles away. the narrow road wound and twisted as it steadily climbed toward eagle pass. just ahead was a short tunnel bored in the rock. as they approached it, silvertail quivered and pricked up his ears. "what's the matter, old boy?" connie asked softly. she thought someone might be approaching from the opposite direction but she heard no one. it had grown so dark that she could not see far ahead. yet for some reason connie shared silvertail's uneasiness. she rode into the tunnel. as the walls closed in about her, she glanced nervously over her shoulder. it was as if she could feel a presence. yet of course there could be no one in the tunnel. connie breathed easier as she saw a circle of light ahead. the tunnel had not been longer than fifty feet yet it had seemed six times that length. connie relaxed in the saddle, and just at that moment, as she emerged from the tunnel, she heard a horse nicker from the bushes at the side of the road. before she could turn her head to look, a man rode out in front of her, deliberately blocking the way. a blue bandana handkerchief had been pulled high over his mouth, and a revolver dangled carelessly from his hand. "pass over the money," he said in a low, grim voice. "and don't try any tricks!" chapter x the holdup connie's first impulse was to spur silvertail into a gallop and try to ride by the holdup man. but an instant's reflection convinced her that such a course would be sheer folly. he might coolly shoot her down. "hurry up and hand over that money!" the man commanded again. connie was certain she had heard the voice somewhere before. from the strained manner in which the man spoke she believed that he was disguising his normal tone. "what money?" she asked, stalling for time. "don't try to bluff," retorted the man curtly. "i know you have it pinned inside your shirt pocket. will you give it up or shall i take it?" he urged his horse a pace closer. connie slowly reached up as if to unpin the roll of money. but the thought of handing over her earnings was more than she could bear. suddenly, throwing caution to the wind, she spurred her horse. silvertail lunged forward. the holdup man laughed harshly as he seized the horse's bridle bringing him up so sharply that connie was nearly unseated. "oh, no you don't!" he said. connie felt the cold muzzle of a revolver press against her side. her determination to save the money at all cost ebbed quickly away. she reached up and unpinned the roll of money. the holdup man jerked it from her hand. "now dismount!" he commanded. connie hesitated and then slowly obeyed. the masked man gave silvertail a sharp clip with his quirt which sent the horse racing down the road. then with a mock bow to connie, he wheeled his own pony, and disappeared into the brush. for several minutes the girl could hear the thud of hoofs and then all was quiet. connie stood in the middle of the road, too stunned to move. every penny of the money she had won at the rodeo was gone! and likewise lost was the hundred dollars given her by mr. postil as an advance on his board and room. after a moment connie started on down the road. she had a long, discouraging walk ahead of her for the nearest habitation was slocer's ranch, a full mile away. "this is the cruelest thing that ever happened," connie told herself bitterly as she trudged along. "all my hopes ended!" a half hour later she pounded on the door of the slocer ranch house. connie knew the owners well although she had not seen them since her return from the east. they were two bachelor brothers who worked the ranch in partnership. george slocer, a man with a bushy red beard, opened the door. for a moment he did not recognize connie. "may i use your telephone?" she asked quickly. "it's terribly important." "why, if it isn't connie carl!" exclaimed the rancher. "come right in. you didn't walk all the way here?" "yes, from eagle pass! i was held up." connie related what had occurred. then she telephoned the sheriff's office in red gulch, asking him to send a posse at once to search for the man. "we'll saddle up and do a little huntin' ourselves," george slocer promised. "that's the lowest trick i ever heard tell about. stealing a gal's money!" "i don't believe there's a chance of catching the man now," connie said glumly. "he's had a good half hour's start." "did you get a look at him?" the rancher asked. "not really. it was so dark and he kept the handkerchief over his face." "didn't recognize the hoss?" "no, it was a dark pony about silvertail's size. i'm sure it must have been some man who knew me because he disguised his voice." "likely someone who knew you were carrying the money on your person. do you remember tellin' anyone you were cashin' the check?" "why, no--" connie said, and then recalled that she had spoken to jim barrows. he had warned her that she was acting unwisely, but she had taken his advice lightly. "several persons were standing near when i cashed the check at the rodeo office," she ended, "but i don't remember anyone in particular." "i reckon your money is gone, connie," the rancher admitted, buckling on his gun belt. "but there's a chance the sheriff may catch the fellow." the slocer brothers loaned the girl a horse so that she might ride on to rainbow ranch while they went to join the sheriff's posse. when connie finally rode into the courtyard marie came running out to meet her. the mexican girl was relieved to see her young mistress, for some minutes before silvertail had galloped up to the gate without a rider. "oh, i'm glad silvertail came home," connie said in relief. "but i thought he would." she told marie what had happened and asked if the cowboys had returned from red gulch. no one was back. connie took the borrowed horse to the barn and unsaddled him. then, feeling discouraged and fairly ill, she went to her own room. marie rapped a few minutes later and brought in a tray of food and a hot drink. "you are so kind, marie," connie said gratefully. "perhaps food will make me feel better." she had eaten no lunch or supper, yet she did not feel hungry. but rather than disappoint the mexican girl, she made a pretense of enjoying the food. "what am i to do now?" connie thought when she was alone once more. "mr. postil arrives monday and nothing will be ready for him. i've accepted his money so i can't turn him away, yet for two weeks he'll be a financial liability rather than an asset." after tossing for more than an hour on her pillow the girl at last fell asleep. she was so exhausted that she did not awaken until morning. connie went downstairs to learn that news of her misfortune had preceded her. the cowboys came to offer their sympathy. later in the morning george slocer rode in to report that the sheriff's posse had been unable to find a trace of the holdup man. "oh, the money is gone all right," connie said gloomily. "perhaps it served me right for carrying so much on my person." she was leaning dejectedly against the corral bars when lefty came to talk with her. "i wish there was somethin' we could do to help you," he said. connie hesitated and then without looking directly at lefty replied quickly: "i hate to ask this, lefty, but i know you picked up a tidy bit of money yesterday at the rodeo. would you lend it to me for a few weeks?" "i sure would, connie, if i had any left," the cowboy answered. "i'm plumb ashamed to tell you but me and alkali did a little celebratin'. we're both busted flat." "that seems to be a common ailment around rainbow ranch," connie said ruefully. "why don't you ask jim barrows?" "oh, i wouldn't do that," connie replied quickly. "besides, he hasn't any money." "you're wrong there, connie. i saw him countin' a big roll this morning in the bunk house." "i don't know where he'd get it," connie said, frowning thoughtfully. "he was stony broke when he came here, and he's not even received his wages since then. what do you think of jim, lefty?" "oh, i guess he's all right. he minds his own business and that's somethin'." "i like him too," said connie. "lefty, i'm thinking of giving you and jim new jobs. i suppose you've heard about my idea to turn this place into a dude ranch?" "yeh, i did hear somethin' about it, but i figgered you wouldn't do anything rash like that." "i don't believe it's a rash idea at all," connie said, smiling. "if i hadn't been held up everything would have worked out beautifully. but now i'm in the business whether i like it or not. my first prize dude arrives monday, and there may be others." "what's this new job?" lefty asked uneasily. "you and jim are to wrangle the dudes--if we snare any. i thought you could take mr. postil riding and fishing. and we'll plan special little over-night camping trips--anything to keep folks entertained." "look here, connie," lefty began to protest, but his voice trailed off as forest blakeman swung into view. the foreman, still smarting from his recent humiliation at the rodeo, was in a bad mood. "you might do a little work, lefty, instead of loafing around all morning," he said curtly. "get those calves watered." "they're already watered," lefty muttered but he moved away from the corral. the foreman turned to connie, making no attempt to disguise his annoyance. "a nice mess we're in now, miss connie! it seems to me you might have consulted me before you decided to turn this place into a dude ranch! just how do you think we'll be able to feed and entertain a house full of guests when we can't even pay our regular help?" "everything would have turned out all right if only i hadn't been robbed." "aren't you forgetting that the sixteenth of the month isn't far away?" "oh, i'm beaten," connie acknowledged. "i realize that. there's no chance my money will ever be recovered." the foreman was silent for a moment. then he said in a lowered tone: "i don't suppose it ever occurred to you to question jim barrows?" "to question him? about his personal affairs?" "they'd bear investigation all right," blakeman replied grimly. "but i wasn't referring to that. i meant about what he was doing yesterday and where he got that big roll of money." "i suppose at the rodeo----" "that's what he claims," blakeman said shortly. "i have a different opinion." "just what are you trying to suggest?" connie asked. "i know you've never liked jim barrows." "that has nothing to do with it. but there's no use trying to convince you he's bad medicine." "if you have the slightest evidence against him i'll certainly listen to it," connie replied coldly. "what do you think the man has done?" the foreman looked quickly about to make certain no one was within hearing distance. then he said tersely: "jim barrows is a sneak and a crook! he was the masked man who held you up at eagle pass!" chapter xi wrangling dudes "that is a very dangerous statement to make unless you have proof," connie replied gravely. "jim barrows' bank roll is proof enough for me," the foreman answered gruffly. "he knew you were carrying the prize money home with you, didn't he?" "yes," admitted connie reluctantly. "and where was he last night? no one saw him in town. he came back to the ranch about four o'clock this morning. his horse was just about done up." "the idea sounds ridiculous to me," connie said scoffingly. "i think you're inclined to be entirely too suspicious, mr. blakeman." "all right," retorted the foreman with a shrug. "i knew you wouldn't believe me. but don't say later that i didn't warn you." after blakeman had walked away, connie stood for a long while gazing off toward the distant mountains. she knew perfectly well that the foreman bore jim barrows a grudge and would enjoy seeing him involved in trouble. for that reason she largely discounted his words. yet the accusation he had made served to arouse a certain distrust in her mind. little things which had seemed insignificant before now took on greater importance. it was true, as blakeman had said, that jim barrows knew she intended to carry the rodeo prize money on her person. his sudden acquisition of a bank roll did seem rather strange. she was almost sure the man had been without funds when he first came to rainbow ranch. as connie mulled the matter over in her mind, she saw jim barrows emerge from the bunk house and walk toward the barn. she was tempted to summon him, but could not quite bring herself to do it. "the idea is ridiculous!" she told herself again. "i'll not think any more about it." but connie found that it was not easy to dismiss the matter from her mind. she caught herself studying the cowboy and pondering forest blakeman's words. late afternoon brought a message from mr. postil in the form of a telegram sent out from red gulch. "expect three more guests monday," it read. "w. p. grimes, son cecil, and daughter helena, arriving with me." connie scarcely knew whether to feel elated or dismayed. but at least the message served to shake her from the lethargy into which she had fallen. she promptly set marie to work cleaning and preparing the guest chambers. the rooms were pleasant enough but they were barren. there were so many things needed--curtains, rugs and linen. "i'm going to town now to buy supplies," connie told the servant. "i'll just have to get credit, that's all. and i'll try to find another woman to help you." at the dry goods store in red gulch, the girl made her selections. as the owner wrapped up the package, he remarked casually: "well, so you're going into the dude business?" "only in a very small way." "reckon the fever's struck everyone around here," the storekeeper went on. "hear your neighbor's going to try it too." "my neighbor?" "sure, pop bradshaw. he's fixing up the ranch and planning on quite a number of city folks spending the summer there. they say he's going to build a swimming pool." "things like that cost money," connie said gravely. "i didn't know pop had it to spend." "oh, he's just the front so they say. i hear that the banker is behind the deal." the news filled connie with deep resentment. it seemed unjust to her that the bank, while refusing to grant an extension to her loan, would risk a large amount in trying to develop pop bradshaw's run-down ranch. she was offended, too, because enid had told her nothing about the proposed plan. "sometimes i feel as if i haven't a true friend in this community," connie thought bitterly. "as for mr. haynes, i believe he deliberately planned to get my ranch. and the worst is that he'll undoubtedly succeed!" back at rainbow ranch the girl called lefty and jim barrows to tell them about their new duties. "in the morning you must be on hand to greet the guests when they arrive," she declared. "i'll appoint you two to keep them happy and satisfied. and now we may as well take a ride over your route." "route?" demanded lefty. "are we supposed to run a milk wagon too?" "it's this way," explained connie. "the guests probably will wish to ride. either you or jim must escort them, and i'd like to have you give an interesting little talk about the different places of interest." "jim here is the one to do that," lefty insisted. "he's the handsome boy and he has style. he could give the ladies a lot of good poses a-settin' on his steed and a-pointin' off dreamy-like into space." "you'll make a good stage cowboy yourself when you get used to the idea," connie laughed. "come on, let's ride up to the lake." the three riders passed along a narrow trail which led through a dense wood of cedar trees. the path soon became steep and narrow, causing the horses to labor as they climbed single file toward the summit. upon reaching the top of the hill, connie dismounted, and throwing the reins to the ground, said to her companions: "this is lover's leap." "it's what?" demanded lefty incredulously. "it used to be conner's lake but from now on we're calling it lover's leap," connie chuckled. "didn't you ever hear the story about how a beautiful indian princess jumped off here and lost her life when her beloved warrior married another squaw?" a grin spread over lefty's face. "oh, sure, i get the idea," he said. "atmosphere." "the lake doesn't really need any build-up," connie declared. "our guests will not find a more beautiful spot anywhere in new mexico." as she spoke, connie moved nearer the edge of the cliff. the opposite side of the hill top sheered off into a perpendicular wall of rock nearly sixty feet high. at the base of the declivity was a small pool of deep blue water. beyond, the hill sloped gently away into the wooded valley. "i'd be careful, miss," warned jim barrows uneasily. "it must be seventy feet down to that lake." "not quite so far," replied connie, moving back from the cliff. "but it's a long drop." after viewing the scene for a few minutes the three riders mounted again and rode down to a fork in the trail. "this path leads to the cliff dwellings," connie explained for jim barrow's benefit. "there are two trails, but for an inexperienced rider this one is best." "alkali was telling me about those cliff ruins," jim barrows remarked. "your father discovered them years ago, didn't he?" "yes, and they're in an almost perfect state of preservation. dad had some excavation done and cut away brush. if you've never been over we might go now. i could spend hours there." "i've seen blakeman over this way a lot," barrows commented as they started down the trail. "i reckon he's interested in such things." "not that i ever heard," laughed connie. "blakeman's hobbies aren't so very cultural, i fear." "he was probably over this way lookin' for a stray cow," lefty contributed. the trail wound down into the valley and then ascended at a steep angle. a little farther on, connie halted her horse so that jim barrows might view the cliff dwellings from this particular point. "of course you know the cliff people were widely distributed throughout the southwest in prehistoric times," she remarked. "the most noted of their ruins are at mesa verde, the national park, but i think ours are just as interesting if they're not so large." "what was the idea of building their homes up under the lip of the cliff?" the cowboy asked. "oh, that was for protection against their enemies," connie explained. "then too, it gave them shelter from the cold. as we go farther you'll find that the cliff dwellers used many devices to guard the entrances of their homes." "it takes an acrobat to get to the place," lefty added. "on the other trail you have to go through a narrow tunnel." "this route is much easier," connie said, "but we'll do a little fancy climbing." she urged her horse on again and for a time they rode single file, circling the cliffs as they ascended higher. presently, tying their steeds to a tree, they continued afoot. by means of a knotted rope, connie swung herself down to the lower level of the cliff. "the old cliff dwellers didn't need ladders to get up and down as we do," she told barrows, pointing out toe holds which had been chipped in the rock. "they climbed like flies." the three companions now stood on a shelf of rock and earth. back beneath the lip of the cliff were visible the geometrical ruins of square granaries, round towers and oblong rooms cut with tiny windows and doors. connie told barrows that seven different families once had occupied the site. "how do you know?" he inquired curiously. "why, by the number of kivas," she declared. "here, i'll show you what i mean." she pointed out a deep, circular hole in the earth which had been roofed over. it was large enough to have held perhaps twenty or thirty people. "a kiva such as this was used for ceremonial purposes only," she explained, "but each little tribe or family had its own. there is a great deal of lore connected with them but i'll not bore you with that. would you like to go down into it?" "how would i get out again?" he inquired. "oh, one of the other kivas has a ladder. dad put it in years ago." "let's take a look at it then," barrows agreed. connie crossed over to another kiva which had been hidden from view by a high wall. "why, where is the ladder?" she asked in surprise. "looks like someone has swiped it," lefty declared peering down into the dark opening. "i'll have to make another before our dude season gets in full swing." "we could let you down on a rope if you'd like to see the inside," connie offered. "but there's nothing down there." "i'll not bother this time," the man returned. "it's getting late anyway." "yes," agreed connie, quickly, "we really should be getting back to the ranch." they retraced their way, finding themselves winded by the time they reached the horses. "it's funny about that ladder," lefty muttered as they started down the trail. "i'd like to know who swiped it." presently they swung back into the path leading from lover's leap and connie pointed out a site which would be excellent for picnics. "you've really given a lot of thought to this dude ranch business, haven't you?" jim barrows asked soberly. "yes," connie acknowledged; "it seems to me we have wonderful attractions here. a dude ranch has been one of my dreams. a silly one, i'm afraid." to hide her emotion, she quickly rode on down the trail. presently she reined in to indicate a large cliff across the ravine. at this hour of sunset it was a shimmering wall of color. "echo cliff," she said softly. "be sure to point it out to our dudes." "say, you sure have picked up a lot of fancy names," lefty complained good naturedly. "they are the names i gave these places when i was a child. i was a great one to pretend, you know." "will the rock really echo?" asked jim. "listen!" commanded connie. cupping her hands to her mouth she gave a long, clear cry which came back not once but several times. "say, that's a real echo!" lefty exclaimed. "in all the years i been workin' here i never knew you could get an echo like that." "maybe i'll be able to teach you a few things about this ranch," connie laughed. "i know and love every rock and stone here." "if you lose the place," said lefty, "it will be a rotten shame." no sooner were the words spoken than he regretted them. connie's smile faded and a tired look came over her face. "yes," she replied. and then, pulling her jacket more closely about her throat, she added: "it's getting chilly. let's be going home." chapter xii an argument in the excitement of preparing for the expected guests connie forgot entirely forest blakeman's warning concerning jim barrows. she had meant to question him about his activities on the day of the rodeo but somehow the opportunity never presented itself. she did not believe that he could have had anything to do with the holdup at eagle pass. early monday morning a high powered limousine drove into the courtyard, bringing mr. postil, his small granddaughter, and the grimes family. the latter consisted of f. p. grimes, a distinguished railroad official, his son cecil, and daughter, helena. connie and the cowboys were on hand to greet the guests and to make them welcome. helena, who appeared to be about eighteen, was a pretty, dark haired girl, dressed in a modish white suit. she gazed about with undisguised distaste as she alighted from the car. "i don't think i shall like this place at all," connie heard her say to her father. "why, it's nothing but a run-down cattle farm." cecil, several years older than his sister, looked equally pained as he gazed about the courtyard. "my man," he said, addressing lefty in a condescending tone, "will you be good enough to show me to my room?" "just follow me," lefty replied gruffly. "our butler ain't workin' today." mr. postil and mr. grimes, apparently old friends, lingered in the courtyard for a few minutes while connie took helena to her bedchamber. "only one room?" the girl asked in surprise. "and no private bath?" "i'm afraid not," connie said politely. "this isn't a very luxurious place, of course. it's merely a ranch." "i can see that," helena murmured dryly. a flush of anger spread over connie's face. offering no reply she quickly left the girl alone. "wrangling dudes isn't going to be quite as great a pleasure as i expected," she thought grimly. "i've never seen such a spoiled girl in all my life. and cecil is just like her, too!" connie found it a relief to talk with mr. grimes and mr. postil. they both seemed well pleased with rainbow ranch and assured her that they would not mind a few inconveniences. "it will do my son and daughter good to rough it for a few weeks," the railroad man declared. "life has always been too easy for them." connie quite agreed with mr. grimes before the day was ended. helena spent nearly all of her time sulking while cecil annoyed the cowboys by asking ridiculous questions and trying to let them know that he considered them as menials whose sole function was to serve him. "if this is a sample of the dudes i'm to herd, i'm quittin' right now," lefty complained to connie. "oh, you wouldn't let me down at a time like this," she said quickly. "mr. postil is fine and for that matter, so is mr. grimes." "old grimes ain't so bad," the cowboy admitted. "he broke down and told me he's plannin' to make a regular he-man out of that son of his. if that ain't a laugh!" "you be nice to cecil, lefty. remember, he's a paying guest." "oh, i'll treat him gentle unless he 'my mans' me again. then i'm liable to give him a good poke in the nose!" with the ranch undermanned, and the new arrivals demanding constant service, connie found herself hard pressed to keep the household running smoothly. it seemed to her that forest blakeman had lain down on his job completely. he made it increasingly clear that he was not in sympathy with her plan of trying to run a dude ranch. however, for some reason which was not clear to connie, blakeman singled helena out, and wasted hours chatting with her. the girl kept the other cowboys from their work too, assuming that it was their duty to keep her entertained. "there's just nothing to do around here," she complained to connie. "perhaps you'd like to ride," connie suggested. "i'll have alkali saddle up a pony for you." "let's do go for a canter," proposed cecil who had come up behind the girls. "i was looking over the horses just now. there's one that's not bad--the others are nags." connie smiled as she followed the brother and sister to the barn. she felt quite certain that neither of them had ever done much riding. it therefore took her by surprise when she learned that the horse which cecil had chosen for his own was none other than silvertail. "i reckon you'll like star a lot better, sir," alkali told the boy persuasively. "silvertail belongs to miss connie, and no one rides him but her." cecil gazed disdainfully at star, a beautiful roan. "if i can't have a horse of my own choosing then i'll not ride," he said peevishly. "saddle silvertail for him, alkali," connie instructed quietly. the cowboy did as he was told, noting as the young man mounted that he was stiff and awkward. "you better handle silvertail easy," he warned. "that hoss is high-spirited." "alkali, you ride along with them," connie directed. "we don't need a guide," helena said quickly. "not unless that other young man is free." "the foreman?" connie inquired. "i'm afraid he isn't. if you wish i'll go with you----" "we'll ride alone," interrupted helena rudely. "come along, cecil." connie and alkali watched the two ride away. helena evidently had taken lessons in the east for she sat her horse well, but her brother bounced high in the saddle. "that conceited coot will ruin silvertail's gait," alkali muttered. "i only hope cecil isn't thrown," connie replied anxiously. "it would serve him right to get pitched into a cactus plant--but he's too lucky for that." connie turned her eyes away from the riders, for just then a car drove into the courtyard. it was lefty returning from red gulch where he had gone for supplies, but the girl was surprised to see two middle-aged women with him. the cowboy climbed out over the car door and came hurrying toward connie. "say, i dragged home two more dudes," he reported in a whisper. "found 'em at the postoffice. they was inquirin' for a place to stay, so i gave 'em a long line about rainbow. they're schoolmarms." "lefty, you're a genius!" connie laughed. she hastened to the car to greet the newcomers. they were pleasant women, spinsters who hailed from elkhart, indiana. this was their first trip west and they assured connie they were enjoying every minute of it. "this is such a lovely ranch," miss gladwin declared enthusiastically. "yes, isn't it," echoed miss parker. "and so mexican! i love the atmosphere." connie's spirits soared. she had become so accustomed to complaints during the past day, that she had begun to think nothing about rainbow ranch was right. it was a pleasure to meet two dudes who were not difficult to please. the teachers were delighted with their bedrooms. they confessed to connie that they had never ridden horseback, but were dying to try it. "we'll take a trip to lover's leap tomorrow," connie promised. "and perhaps to the cliff dwellings." hearing the sound of clattering hoofs in the courtyard, the girl excused herself and hurried outside. silvertail, minus a rider, was wandering aimlessly about near the corrals. before connie could reach the horse, alkali came running from the barn and caught his bridle. "cecil must have been thrown!" connie gasped. "oh, i hope he's not badly hurt." alkali said nothing but a look of smug satisfaction came over his face. connie mounted silvertail and rode out to learn what had happened. she had not gone far when she saw helena approaching on horseback with cecil trudging along beside her. "i'm so glad you're not injured," connie said in relief as she drew rein. "it's not your fault that i'm not!" the youth snapped. "why didn't you warn me the horse was vicious?" "silvertail isn't vicious," connie replied. "but we did try to tell you that he has to be properly handled." "it was your own fault, cecil," said helena with a shrug. "why don't you learn to ride?" connie dismounted, offering to let the youth take her place while she walked. "i'd not ride that horse again for a hundred dollars!" cecil snapped. "and it's fortunate for you that i wasn't injured." as connie expected, the young man made a distorted report of the incident to his father that evening. mr. grimes did not take the affair very seriously. however, the conversation was overheard by the two teachers. inclined to be nervous, they immediately jumped to the conclusion that all of the horses at rainbow ranch were unsafe. it required the combined efforts of connie, alkali, lefty and jim barrows to convince them otherwise. even then they were decidedly uneasy over the proposed trip to lover's leap and the cliff dwellings. "are you quite certain this beast isn't an outlaw?" miss parker asked lefty timidly as he led up her pony the next morning. "ma'am, this hoss was raised on milk," the cowboy assured her. "she's so lazy she won't even swish flies." connie was hopeful that cecil would not be a member of the party, but at the last minute both he and his sister decided to make the trip. mr. grimes and mr. postil, had planned a fishing trip to a nearby lake with alkali serving as guide. "we'll go first to lover's leap and then to the cliff dwellings," connie announced. "what a silly name--lover's leap," cecil scoffed. lefty rode at the head of the party while connie brought up the rear. progress along the trail necessarily was slow for the two teachers could ride comfortably only at a walk. however, they enjoyed the scenery and connie liked to answer their questions. cecil was annoyed by the slow pace and made frequent complaints about the heat. nothing interested him save his own discomfort. the party stopped for lunch at echo canyon where lefty opened the packages of food packed by marie and boiled coffee over an open fire. "i hope there's really something worth seeing at the end of this trail," cecil grumbled as they started on once more. a little later they approached the summit of the steep incline. there lefty halted the party. "we dismount here and walk the rest of the way, folks." "what?" demanded cecil. "up that mountain? why can't we ride?" "there's not room at the top to tie so many horses," connie explained. everyone dismounted and lefty fastened the ponies to a tree. then they started the tedious climb afoot. the two teachers, both plump and short of breath, were very cheerful about it. when they reached the summit and peered over the cliff at the pool below, they declared they had not seen such a beautiful spot anywhere on their vacation trip. "it's well worth the climb," miss parker asserted. "so far as i can see, it's just a lake," said cecil irritably. "and a pretty dinky one at that." connie told the story of the indian princess who had leaped to her death. the teachers were awed by the tale, asking if it were really true. "of course it isn't," answered cecil before connie could speak. "you hear that same story everywhere. about how far down is the lake?" "a little over sixty feet," lefty replied briefly. "looks about half that distance to me," cecil said speculatively. "i guess out west here they have to exaggerate everything or it wouldn't make a good story." "it really is that far down," connie told him. she was growing irritated with cecil, and lefty too was having difficulty in holding his temper. the spoiled young man had no right to ruin the trip for the other members of the party, yet that was exactly what he was doing. "once years ago i dived off here and i thought i'd never reach the water," connie went on. "i did it on a dare." "you jumped from this cliff?" cecil asked incredulously. "yes," connie admitted, "but it was a silly thing to do. i'll never try it again." cecil remained silent but the expression on his face disclosed that he doubted the girl's story. somewhat nettled, connie said quietly to helena and the teachers: "if you care to step over this way i'll show you another pretty view of the valley. on a clear day you can see the cliff dwellings from here." the three women followed her a short distance away. lefty and cecil were left alone at the edge of the cliff. connie paid no heed to them until a few minutes later when she was startled by the sound of their voices. the men were arguing in loud, angry tones. "that's the last crack i'll take from you," she heard lefty say in a deadly drawl. "now it's your turn to take one from me!" his fist shot out, connecting squarely under cecil's jaw. it was not a hard blow, but the young man staggered backwards. he stumbled over a stone and the soft rock gave way beneath his feet. lefty darted forward to save him, but he was too late. with a terrified shriek cecil tumbled headlong over the precipice. chapter xiii over the precipice cecil's panic-stricken cry was muffled by a resounding splash as his body struck the pool below. "my brother will drown!" screamed helena hysterically. "he can't swim a stroke!" connie had rushed to the edge of the cliff. jerking off her riding boots, she poised for an instant on the brow of the declivity. then she shot out into space head foremost, turning slowly in mid-air so that she broke the water with the lower part of her body. the force of the fall sent her deep into the pool and even her heavy clothing did not protect her from the stinging lash of the blow. two powerful strokes brought her to the surface. cecil was almost within arm's reach, sputtering and wildly thrashing the water. connie whipped an arm about his chest and towed him to the edge of the pool. she climbed out on a low ledge of rock and pulled him up after her. for a few minutes cecil sputtered water like a lawn sprinkler. then instead of thanking connie for saving him he said wrathfully: "i shall report this to my father. he'll have that cowboy of yours arrested!" "i don't know what came over lefty," connie said soothingly. "he's usually very even tempered. you must have said something which angered him." cecil avoided the girl's glance. "the fellow tried to drown me," he snapped. "but he'll pay for it." "lefty didn't mean to push you over the precipice, i am sure of that," replied connie. "you slipped on the rock, and then it crumbled." "i suppose you'll not even discharge him for this?" "i haven't thought that far," answered connie quietly. "let's not discuss it now. we'll both catch our deaths if we sit around in these wet clothes." "i'm so bruised and battered i can't walk," cecil complained. "you're lucky no bones are broken," connie told him and added impishly: "it really is a sixty foot drop." this time cecil did not dispute her word. he followed her sullenly as she went ahead and parted the bushes. they climbed from the pool-basin and circled the hill until they struck a trail. this led them back toward lover's leap but they had not gone far before they met lefty and the three women. "oh, cecil, are you all right?" called his sister. "i'm still alive," the young man muttered. "no thanks to that brute!" he glared at lefty. "cecil," the cowboy said anxiously, "i hope you don't think i pushed you off that steep cliff a-purpose." "oh, no," replied the youth mockingly. "i suppose you were just being playful! an old western custom no doubt." "it was an accident, and i'm mighty sorry," lefty said contritely. "maybe i owe you an apology, and i'm makin' it now." "i'll accept no apology from you," retorted cecil. "you'll be reported to the authorities." connie shot lefty a glance which warned him to say nothing more. "let's talk about it after we get back to the ranch," she said. "we'll have to postpone our visit to the cliff dwellings until later." "i'll get the horses," lefty declared. "we may as well all walk along with you," replied connie. "cecil and i will freeze if we stand here." lefty tried to put his jacket around connie but she passed it on to cecil. he took it most ungallantly, and miss parker then stripped off her light sweater, insisting that the girl wear it. "cecil, i think you might thank miss carl for saving your life," helena reminded her brother. "it was a pretty brave thing to do--jumping off that cliff after you." "i did thank her," cecil replied. he had said no word of appreciation to connie, but the girl expected none. if only he could be induced to forget the incident, that was all she asked. somehow she must keep him from reporting the matter to the authorities. as the party trudged along the trail, lefty dropped back to walk with connie. "i guess i've messed things up pretty thoroughly now," he said gloomily. "yes, you have, lefty. why did you strike him? it was inexcusable." "i just couldn't help myself, connie. that fellow has been gettin' under my skin ever since he came here. he just pulled one crack too many and i saw red." "what did he say to you, lefty?" "well, i don't just remember." "was it about me, lefty?" connie pinned him down. "tell me the truth." "well, yes, it was," lefty admitted reluctantly. "he made a remark i didn't like--intimatin' that everything you said was just a lot of apple sauce." "it was very gallant of you to go to my defense. but i hardly think cecil's remark called for such drastic action." "it was the way he said it. and i've stood a lot from him, connie. i just lost my head that's all. i'll pack up my duds as soon as i get back to the bunk house." "have i asked you to do that, lefty?" "no, but this places you in a bad spot. the only thing for me to do is to get out." "i want you to stay, lefty. why, i couldn't run the ranch without you. sometimes i feel you're the only person i can entirely trust." "i've let you in for a heap of trouble, connie. when old man grimes hears what i did to that sweetheart son of his, he'll make things hard for you. if i get out of the way he might not be quite so tough." "i'm not afraid of mr. grimes, lefty." "maybe not, but his money comes in mighty useful," lefty answered dryly. connie knew that the cowboy was entirely right. it was a foregone conclusion that cecil would give an exaggerated report of the incident to his father. the least she could expect would be that mr. grimes and his spoiled brood would depart, taking with them mr. postil, his small daughter, and perhaps the two teachers. nor could she greatly blame anyone for leaving. connie came out of her reverie as she heard cecil, who was far ahead, shout something back. "now what's the matter with him?" muttered lefty. "where are our horses?" called the youth. connie and lefty quickened their pace. when they came within view of the cedars where the ponies had been tied, they stopped short in amazement. the horses were gone. "now what!" exclaimed connie. although they could see where the ponies had nibbled at the tree branches and trampled the ground, but there was no sign of the animals. "this is just another evidence of gross carelessness!" said cecil angrily. "the horses weren't tied well and they've run off." lefty's face grew very red but he managed to control his temper. "it isn't logical that six horses would break away at the same time," connie said quietly. "besides, i'm sure they were well tied." "well, they're gone," said cecil sullenly. "you can see that." "how did they get away?" inquired miss parker. "i don't know," admitted connie soberly. she met lefty's gaze. someone deliberately had turned the horses loose. they were certain of that. the cowboy bent down to examine the soft earth. it was impossible to tell if there were alien footprints by the cedars for cecil and the girls had tramped everywhere. "now what are we going to do?" demanded cecil. "i'm freezing to death if that means anything to you." "how far are we from the ranch?" asked one of the teachers anxiously. "over two miles," connie replied. "i'm afraid we'll have to walk back." "walk?" cecil cried furiously. "in these wet clothes? this is absolutely the last straw." "first we'll build a fire and dry you out," connie said. "lefty, see if you can find some wood." the teachers tried to help the cowboy, but neither helena nor her brother would so much as pick up a stick. cecil's temper sweetened a trifle after he had warmed himself by the big bonfire. but he took keen pleasure in showing helena bruised marks on his skin. it did not seem to occur to him that connie too might be in discomfort. the girl drew lefty aside to discuss the situation. "someone set those horses free deliberately," connie said. "sure, they never walked away themselves." "who could have done it, lefty?" the cowboy shook his head. "it might have been some smart mexican kid," he said finally. "do you know what i believe?" connie asked. "someone is afraid i'll make a success of this dude ranch. it looks to me as if that trick was done for the deliberate purpose of making the guests leave." "pop bradshaw is trying to start up in the dude business," lefty said thoughtfully. "maybe he got wind of how we smuggled catapult into the rodeo grounds. i know blakeman's been makin' it plenty tough for him ever since." "pop wouldn't do a thing like this," connie replied slowly. "we didn't think he'd double-cross his friends either. but he did. maybe he's aimin' to get your dudes away from you, connie." "if they're all like cecil he's welcome to them," answered connie wearily. the party began the long trek back to the ranch. lefty and connie, accustomed to walking, did not mind the rough trail, but the others found it trying. helena had not worn suitable shoes. her complaints were nearly as annoying as those of her brother. at first the school teachers tried to be cheerful but soon they gave up the effort. and then to add to the difficulties, miss parker twisted her ankle. "i don't think i can walk another step," she murmured. "oh, dear, why did we ever come on this horrible trip?" "there's only one thing to do," connie decided. "lefty, you go on ahead to the ranch and come back with some horses. we'll have a long wait here, but it's the best that can be done." "i'll get back just as soon as i can," the cowboy promised. he started down the trail but had gone only a few feet when he halted. emerging from among the trees was a lone rider leading a string of horses. "it's jim barrows!" shouted lefty, waving his hat. "and he has our ponies!" chapter xiv a telltale handkerchief "good old jim!" murmured connie gratefully as she saw the rider coming up the trail. "he's saved our lives." lefty hurried down the path to meet the man and help him with the horses. "everything all right?" asked jim as he rode up. "i was worried when i found your ponies on the trail. i thought you knew how to tie a rope, lefty." ignoring the thrust, the cowboy asked quickly: "where did you find the hosses, jim?" "down the trail about half a mile. couldn't figure how they all broke away." "they didn't break loose," lefty answered grimly. "someone untied 'em a-purpose. you didn't see anyone on the trail?" jim barrows shook his head. "how did you happen to be over this way yourself?" lefty asked curiously. "i thought you were wranglin' steers for blakeman today." jim barrow's eyes narrowed. "you're not hintin' i turned those horses loose----" "now don't get touchy, jim," lefty said quickly. "'course i wasn't hintin' at anything like that. i just asked a civil question." "i came over this way today because i thought something might go wrong." "your bones sort of told you?" "well, i had a feeling. and it turns out i was right." lefty made no reply as he followed jim up the trail, but he studied the man intently. connie had not heard the talk between the two cowboys. she greeted jim warmly. "what happened to you, miss connie?" he asked in astonishment, observing her bedraggled appearance. "oh, we had a little accident," she answered vaguely. "we're certainly grateful to you, jim, for bringing our horses." the man dismounted and helped the school teachers into the saddle. unnoticed by all save connie, a blue bandanna handkerchief dropped from his pocket. she thought that he would pick it up, but after the other members of the party had started down the trail, he rode after them, leaving the handkerchief lying on the ground. as connie rode past the spot, she reached low and swept it up. she would not have given it a second glance save that it reminded her of the handkerchief which the masked bandit had worn the night he robbed her of her rodeo earnings. there was nothing unusual about a blue bandanna, however, for many cowboys carried them. yet as connie folded the bit of cloth she noticed that two initials had been stamped in one corner. but they were not the letters which the girl might have expected to see. "'j. r.'," she mused, "that doesn't seem right. jim's last name doesn't begin with an 'r.'" connie carefully examined the letters again to make certain that she had not mistaken a "b" for an "r." "it's an 'r' all right," she decided. "why should jim be carrying a handkerchief marked like this unless he's passing under an assumed name?" connie had intended to return the handkerchief to the man, but now she thrust it into her pocket, and when she rode alongside a few minutes later, made no mention of finding it. the girl did not know what to think. it was possible, of course, that jim had come into possession of another person's handkerchief and was using it as his own. but that did not seem probable. "perhaps blakeman was right about the man," connie reflected. "from the very first he believed that jim had a past." upon reaching the ranch, cecil immediately inquired for his father. learning that mr. grimes had not returned from the fishing trip, he disappeared to his room. connie changed her own clothing and then went to talk with forest blakeman. he had heard the story of the mishap from helena, a version which strongly favored her brother. "i take it you're discharging lefty?" the foreman inquired. "no," connie replied, "he acted rashly, but it wasn't entirely his fault. cecil had the ducking coming to him." "if you'll excuse me for saying it, you're making a mess of this ranch," blakeman told her bluntly. "i was against this dude idea from the first, but since you brought guests here, i don't believe in cooking up damage suits." "cecil wasn't hurt." "he may claim differently. miss connie, the best thing you can do is to sell this ranch before the bank takes it over." "i don't know of anyone who would buy it." "if your price was right i might be able to find you a buyer," blakeman said quickly. "but you couldn't expect any fancy figure." "who is your prospect?" "well, i'm not at liberty to say. but if you'd take, say five thousand dollars, i think i could swing the deal. that would pay off your bank note and give you something clear." "this ranch is worth three times that amount at least," connie replied. "i'll never sell unless i'm compelled to do it." "if you wait very long you'll miss your chance," blakeman warned. "the bank may sell you out, and then you'll get even less." connie made no reply but turned away. she had seen jim barrows crossing the courtyard and wished to talk with him. the foreman followed her gaze. "if you'd give me a free hand i'd send that fellow on his way," he declared. "what do you know about jim barrows?" connie questioned, pausing again. "i told you what i thought of him the other day. they're saying in town that you've taken a fugitive from justice to shelter." "who said a thing like that?" connie asked sharply. "why, it's common talk. if you weren't so blind you could see for yourself that he's not a square shooter." "you don't really have any evidence against him?" "i can't prove that he's wanted by the law--no. but i do know he's no hand for us. why, today, he was supposed to be wrangling steers, and he walked off from the job." "it was lucky for me that he did," connie said ruefully. "but i think i'll have a talk with him." "don't expect him to break down and tell you his life history," blakeman said with a trace of sarcasm. "he won't do it. the only thing i'd tell him would be to get out." connie did not answer. after the foreman had gone to the barn she stood by the corrals lost in thought. she did not know what she could say to jim barrows. perhaps she might return the handkerchief and ask him to explain the initials. connie had seen the man disappear into the bunk house and she knew that the other cowboys were busy elsewhere. this would be her opportunity to talk with him alone. she walked slowly toward the bunk house, dreading the interview. the door was half ajar. as connie paused, hesitating to rap, she saw jim barrows move across the room. he had not heard her approach. there was something about his manner which struck connie as odd. instead of rapping on the door, she waited and watched. barrows glanced out the window toward the barn, and then he crossed over to a battered chest which stood near blakeman's bunk. the box belonged to the foreman, connie knew, for she had heard lefty joking about how blakeman always kept his love letters locked in it. to the girl's amazement, barrows took a handful of keys from his pocket. he selected one and fitted it into the lock. connie had seen quite enough. she pushed open the door of the bunk house. jim barrows whirled about and his hand went instinctively to his hip pocket. connie noted the gesture and her lips tightened. "oh, it's you, is it?" the man laughed, relaxing. "you were afraid it was blakeman," connie replied coldly. "jim barrows, may i ask what you are doing?" "i guess you can see for yourself, miss. i was trying to open this chest." "forest blakeman's chest," connie supplied. "i reckon you're right." jim barrows grinned arrogantly. "why were you trying to open his chest?" "well, i just had a sudden itch to find out what was inside. prying into things is a weakness of mine." "it seems to be," connie answered scornfully. "jim barrows, there are a number of things which you might explain." she took the blue handkerchief from her pocket, offering it to him. "you dropped this on the trail and i picked it up," she told him. "is it yours?" "it must be if you saw me drop it," he returned amiably. "this may seem very amusing to you, but i don't see anything funny about it," connie said, her anger rising. "this handkerchief happens to be marked with the initials 'j. r.' perhaps you can explain that." the expression of the man's face changed. he took the handkerchief from connie, staring at the telltale markings. "barrows isn't your real name, is it?" connie demanded. "no," the man admitted after a long hesitation. "then tell me what it is." "i can't do that." "you're wanted by the law!" connie accused. "do i look like a criminal?" the man countered, a faint smile playing over his lips. "i believe you've been acting a part ever since you came here!" connie went on indignantly. "that day i found you on the trail--i don't believe you were sick at all. you pretended you were broke and out of work, but i notice you have plenty of money now." "you are very observing," the man replied very quickly. "i've been very blind." "i'll set your mind at rest upon one point. i am not a fugitive from the law." "then why are you using a name other than your own?" "i have a very good reason--one which i cannot reveal." "for all i know you may be the man who held me up at eagle pass," connie continued heatedly. "that's what blakeman tried to tell me----" "oh, so you've been listening to him?" "by your own admission you have good reason not to use your true name." "and it is a good reason," the man returned with emphasis. "connie, i want you to promise that you'll not say anything to blakeman about this." "why should i protect you? you've given me no explanation for trying to break into his chest. in fact----" connie's voice trailed off for just at that moment lefty appeared in the doorway. he looked quickly from one to the other. but he gave no indication that he had overheard the conversation. "connie," he said significantly, "mr. grimes has been talking with cecil. he wants to see you right away." "i'll come," said the girl wearily. she faced jim barrows once more. "there are still several things i wish to say to you," she told him gravely. "we'll finish our conversation after i have seen mr. grimes." chapter xv an unpleasant revelation connie walked slowly toward the ranch house, inwardly bracing herself for an unpleasant interview with mr. grimes. she found the old gentleman awaiting her on the veranda. "i know why you wish to see me," she said quickly before he could speak. "i can't tell you how sorry i am about what happened this afternoon." "you risked your life to pull my son from the lake, young lady. i wish to thank you." connie was taken completely by surprise. mr. grimes did not look in the least angry. "why, didn't cecil tell you----" she began. "oh, yes, my son said a number of things about this fellow called lefty, but i finally got the true story out of him. he probably deserved the ducking." connie could scarcely believe that she had heard correctly. she had been expecting a severe rebuke. her surprise was heightened as the old gentleman continued: "cecil has become a difficult problem of late. i dare say a few such experiences might serve to take some of the conceit out of the boy." "then you're not angry?" connie gasped. mr. grimes glanced quickly about to make certain that no one was within hearing distance of his voice. "quite the contrary," he declared. "i wish i had been there to see it myself. we'll just consider the incident closed." "that's very generous of you, mr. grimes," connie said gratefully. "will you be staying on?" "yes, indeed. i'm thoroughly enjoying ranch life. and i think it may have a beneficial effect upon both cecil and helena." connie felt as if a great load had been lifted from her shoulders. after talking with mr. grimes for a few minutes she went back toward the bunk house. meeting lefty she paused to tell him the good news. "the old gent is a real man," the cowboy declared admiringly. "too bad his son can't be more like him." "yes, it is." "maybe a ducking a day would do him good just like the old man said." "perhaps, but don't you try it," connie warned with a laugh. "from now on you're to keep out of cecil's way as much as possible." "don't worry," lefty rejoined, "i don't have any hankerin' for that sissy's company." connie returned to the bunk house to resume her talk with jim barrows. now that she had thought the matter over she decided there could be only one course open to her. unless the man made a satisfactory explanation for his strange actions she must discharge him. connie knocked on the door and, when there was no answer, pushed it open. the room was deserted. she glanced toward the bunk occupied by barrows. it was neatly made up but an indian blanket, which the cowboy had bought from lefty, was gone. jim's meager belongings likewise were missing. "lefty!" connie called. the cowboy came quickly toward the bunk house. "what's wrong?" he asked in surprise. "i think barrows has skipped out, lefty. at least his things are gone. did you see him leave?" "why, no, connie. he was here the last i knew." "let's see if he's taken one of the horses." they ran to the barn. one glance assured them that instead of a pony, jim barrows had appropriated the ranch car. "that fellow certainly had his nerve!" lefty exclaimed angrily. "what's the big idea anyway?" "i'm afraid he was a crook," connie admitted ruefully. "my suspicions were aroused and i made the mistake of letting him know. now we're minus a car." "i'll ride in to red gulch right away and report to the sheriff," lefty promised. after he had gone, connie wandered back to the bunk house. thinking that barrows might have appropriated other property which did not belong to him, she made an inspection. nothing seemed to have been taken. more from curiosity than for any other reason she tried the lid of forest blakeman's chest. it was still locked. "i wonder what he does keep inside?" she mused. "well?" asked a sharp voice behind her. startled, connie whirled around to see forest blakeman standing in the doorway. she laughed in confusion, realizing that the man easily might misinterpret her action. "i was just looking about----" she began, but blakeman cut her short. "so i observe. you seem to be interested in my personal belongings." connie flushed at the accusation. "i hope you don't think i was trying to break into your chest," she said. "oh, no!" "mr. blakeman, i don't understand you at all. i came here because i wished to see if jim barrows had taken anything from the bunk house. he went off a few minutes ago in the car after we had a rather unpleasant talk together." the foreman's countenance underwent a swift change. "barrows has gone for good?" he questioned. "well, i'm glad you discharged him." "apparently i was wrong about him and you were right," connie admitted ruefully. "he stole the ranch car. i don't know what we'll do without one." "have you notified the sheriff?" "lefty went to red gulch to do it." "maybe it's just as well not to press the matter," the foreman said thoughtfully. "we're rid of barrows and that's something." "that doesn't bring the car back--or my money if he really did take it. somehow it's hard to believe----" "now don't start cooking up sentiment over that worthless fellow," blakeman interrupted quickly. "you have enough troubles without worrying over him." "you're quite right there, mr. blakeman." the foreman hesitated, and then asked with an abrupt change of tone: "have you been thinking over what i said the other day about selling the ranch?" "i've been thinking, but my answer is still the same. i'll never sell unless i'm compelled to do it." "this is the eleventh," the foreman reminded her. "have you talked with the banker lately?" "i'm going in to red gulch tomorrow. i suppose i'll have to come to some decision after i've seen mr. haynes again." "well, let me know," blakeman nodded, as connie walked slowly away. it was after nine o'clock that evening when a familiar car came up the lane to the ranch house. hearing the sound of the motor, connie ran outside. "why, lefty!" she cried in delight as the car stopped with a jerk. "you found our automobile!" the cowboy climbed out and started to untie his horse which he had led on a long rope behind the vehicle. "barrows didn't skip off with it after all," he told connie. "i found the car in front of the drug store at red gulch." "did you see jim?" "no, i couldn't find him anywhere in town. i reckon he abandoned the car and maybe hopped a freight." connie asked lefty if he had talked with the sheriff. "yes, but you know old daniels," the cowboy replied. "he's lazy as they come. said he couldn't do nothin' unless there was a warrant for barrows' arrest." "i'm not sure i want to get out a warrant," connie returned slowly. "i have no real evidence against him." "that's what i figured," lefty nodded. "so i reckon there's no more to be done." in the morning cecil and helena complained that they had not yet seen the cliff dwellings. before connie could assign either lefty or alkali to escort them, the foreman volunteered to serve as guide. while the arrangement did not please connie she could not protest for helena immediately accepted blakeman's offer. after the three had ridden away, she took advantage of their absence to drive in to red gulch. upon presenting herself at the bank she was admitted to mr. haynes' private office. "good morning, miss carl," he said pleasantly. "have a chair." connie sat down, feeling very ill at ease. mr. haynes was watching her shrewdly. already she suspected that it would be useless to make another request for an extension to her note. hesitantly, she explained her plan to launch forth into a dude ranch. "i have seven paying guests now," she declared, "and within a few weeks i hope to increase the number. i'm sure i'll be able to pay off the loan in another three months." "miss carl, i admire your determination," replied the banker, "but i must think about my depositors. i regret to say we cannot renew your note." connie arose, pushing back her chair. "you refuse to give me a chance," she said bitterly. "and i know the reason! from the first you have schemed to take over the ranch. through pop bradshaw you plan to gain control of the best land in the county!" "you're quite wrong, miss carl," the banker answered quietly. "this rumor that we are taking over the bradshaw place and running it as a dude ranch is quite unfounded. i have no idea who is behind the idea, but the financing has not gone through this bank." "i'm sorry i lost my temper," connie apologized. "i'll try to get the money by the sixteenth." she turned quickly and walked from the room. as she opened the door, a tall man who had been standing at the writing desk near the private office partition, ducked his head and slipped out the side door of the bank. "why, that looked like jim barrows!" connie thought. whoever it was, she believed that he had been listening to her conversation with mr. haynes. the walls were thin and she had not taken care to lower her voice. undoubtedly, the man had heard every word. connie darted to the door. she looked up and down the street. the man was nowhere to be seen. "it was jim barrows," she told herself. "he didn't want me to see him--that's why he ran away." chapter xvi the roundup connie spent a half hour searching the streets for the man, and finally abandoned the hunt. it was early afternoon by the time she reached rainbow ranch. lefty met her by the corral gate. "well, how did the guests like the cliff dwellings?" she inquired cheerfully. "blakeman never took 'em there," the cowboy reported. "instead they went for a ride down to the rainbow river." "but there's nothing to see on that trail!" connie exclaimed. "it's just a tiresome, dusty ride! why didn't he take the party to the cliffs as he was supposed to do?" "guess he wanted to be contrary," lefty replied. "he never has cottoned to this dude idea. can you stand some more bad news, connie?" "i've had so much already, i'm getting hardened to it. what is it this time? you didn't pitch cecil in the lake again?" "no, he's been real decent to me ever since that duckin'." "what is the bad news, lefty?" "the two school marms left a few minutes ago. they took their luggage and went just as soon as they got back from the rainbow river trip. miss parker told me to give this to you." he offered a check which was made out for the exact amount owed by the women. "but i thought they intended to stay at least two weeks more," connie murmured, staring at the check. "maybe they didn't like the trip." "that was part of it," lefty agreed. "they came in lookin' pretty hot and bothered." "do you know where they went?" "yes, to the bradshaw ranch. said they had heard it was a lot better place." "someone has been talking with them." "looks like it all right. pop had the nerve to come for them himself." "he's no friend of mine any more," connie said indignantly. "i wish i had been here." "it wouldn't have done any good." "no, i suppose not," connie sighed. "i talked with the banker today, lefty." "what did he say?" "oh, you might know he refused to extend my note. all the way home i tried to think what i could do. unless i sell there's only one way out. i'll have a big roundup and dispose of every longhorn i own. what do you think of the idea?" lefty was silently chewing a blade of grass. "we've been losin' money on cattle ever since blakeman took over the ranch," he said slowly. "i think it's a smart thing to do, connie." "then i'll talk with blakeman right now," the girl declared. "there's no time to be lost. we'll start the roundup tomorrow." before broaching the subject to the foreman connie asked the man for an explanation of why he had taken the party of dudes to the rainbow river instead of the cliff dwellings. "i figured it would prove more entertainin' to them," he replied with a shrug. "after this i wish you would carry out my orders, mr. blakeman. but i'll say no more about it. i'd like your opinion now on another matter--i'm planning a big roundup." she went on to tell of her idea, and was surprised when the foreman offered opposition. "you couldn't sell your cattle at a worse time," he insisted. "and how do you aim to round up the herd without more riders? you've kept alkali and lefty pretty well tied up with the dudes." "we'll let the guests help with the roundup," connie declared gaily. "it should prove an exciting experience for them." "a lot of help they'd be. especially cecil." "anyway, it will be a means of keeping them entertained. as for riders, we might get a few from the slocer ranch. some of their cows will be mixed with ours and they'll probably want to do their own cutting-out." "a roundup would take a couple of days," the foreman frowned. "some of the cows have strayed into the canyons. it will be a hard job to round them all up. how will you feed the men?" "we'll get out dad's old chuck wagon," connie said, her eyes dancing. "it hasn't been used in years, but it will be fun to see it roll once more!" "and will you have marie do the cooking?" the foreman inquired sarcastically. connie shook her head, refusing to take offense. "we'll borrow cookie from the bar r ranch and run everything in the grand old style. it should be a real roundup." "that's what i'd like to see," boomed a hearty voice behind them. "a roundup!" connie turned to see mr. postil who had come up with his small granddaughter. "you'll certainly have an opportunity, mr. postil, if you don't mind riding a horse," connie laughed. "i'm going to start rounding up all my cattle tomorrow." "and will you brand them?" asked the little girl. "only a few of the calves which i may keep," connie answered. "branding isn't as necessary as it was at one time, now that most of the free range is gone." "i've not been in a saddle for twenty years," mr. postil declared, "but if you have a nice gentle horse i might try it." "we have just the one for you," connie promised. "i'm going too," said the little girl. "we'll let you ride in the chuck wagon with cookie," connie laughed. "then you'll be perfectly safe." news of the coming roundup spread swiftly. somewhat to the surprise of everyone, cecil and helena both showed interest, and mr. grimes said he would not miss it for anything. immensely cheered, connie got out the car and drove to the slocer ranch to ask the owners if she might borrow a few of their punchers for the big drive. "i can let you have two of the boys," george slocer promised. "we're short handed ourselves or i could give you more help." "i'll get along all right with that number," connie said. "that will give me five dependable men." her next call was at the bar r ranch. in passing pop bradshaw's place, connie saw the two teachers and enid sitting on the front veranda. she pretended not to see them. putting on a burst of speed she drove past, her eyes glued on the ribbon of road. connie was cordially received at the bar r. cookie, the old colored man, who had flipped flapjacks in many a chuck wagon, grinned from ear to ear when he learned that his culinary services were needed for a roundup. connie took him with her to red gulch, there to select his own supplies for the trip. it was long after supper before they returned to rainbow ranch with the car loaded. however, the girl could not think of sleep, for many things remained to be done. "i'll have to get the chuck wagon up from the field," she told cookie. "i'll see about it now while you start unloading the car." connie looked about for one of the men, but lefty and alkali were both busy pitching hay to the horses. "have you seen blakeman?" she asked. "he was around here a minute or two ago," said alkali. connie went to the bunk house but she could not find the foreman. "oh, well, i'll get the chuck wagon myself," she decided. "it will be easier than waiting for someone else to do it." she went back to the barn for one of the work horses and harness. the chuck wagon had been left in the south field and she was relieved to find that standing in the weather had not damaged it. hitching up, she towed it back to the ranch house. as connie closed the gate behind her, she was surprised to observe cecil and helena mounting horses. "are you going for a ride?" she asked as they came up. "it is a pretty night." "we're on our way to see those famous cliff dwellings by moonlight," helena declared. "ever since we arrived you've been promising us a close glimpse of them. we've decided to do our own exploring." "oh, but it's so late to start out for the cliffs," connie protested. "and it isn't safe for you to go alone." "nonsense," replied helena impatiently. "we're not children." "it's very easy to become lost on the trail. besides, if you're taking part in the roundup you really should get some sleep. we'll have a hard day tomorrow." "you sound just like a granny," helena laughed. "cecil and i know how to take care of ourselves." "come on, helena," urged the boy impatiently. "if you're really determined to go, i'm going too," connie said quietly. "then you'll have to catch up with us," helena replied, digging her heels into her steed's ribs. connie hurriedly turned the chuck wagon over to cookie, and saddling silvertail, set off in pursuit of the boy and girl. she felt irritated beyond measure. it did not seem to matter to them at all how much trouble they caused. if left to themselves they would be sure to take a wrong turn in the trail. connie soon overtook the reckless pair. she had very little to say as the horses clattered over the stony road. it was truly a beautiful night and soon connie, falling under the spell of the big moon, could bear no resentment. often when she was a child she and her father had visited the cliffs upon just such an evening. the recollection of the remarkable sight had lingered long in her memory. connie selected the south trail because it would give the best view of the cliff dwellings as they descended into the valley and climbed again to the other side. emerging from a screen of pines, she reined in her horse and waited for helena and cecil who had fallen behind. with a sweep of her arm she pointed across the canyon. in the moonlight the white rocks shone weirdly, and the dark squares, each one marking the prehistoric dwelling place of an ancient tribe, looked like somber eyes peering across the valley. "why, it's beautiful," helena murmured. even cecil was deeply impressed by the sight. for a long moment no one spoke. then connie sat up very straight as she saw something move along the face of the cliff opposite them. for just an instant she thought that it might be a wild animal but the next moment she clearly distinguished the form of a man. he crept along the cliff trail, making his way toward an opening in the rocks. "who's there?" connie shouted across the chasm. there was no answer. with head bent low, the man fled into the dense bushes which lined the narrow trail. chapter xvii a night prowler "who was that fellow?" cecil asked in a frightened whisper. "why did he run when you called?" "i don't know," the girl answered. "we'll find out." she urged silvertail down the steep trail. "wait," protested cecil in alarm. "we're unarmed, and there's no telling who that man may be. maybe we ought to call off this trip." "you and helena ride back to the ranch," connie urged. "i'm going over there." "then we'll stay with you," declared helena with surprising courage. "after all, this was our idea." the horses picked their way slowly and cautiously down the steep path. soon they reached the bottom of the canyon and began the ascent. connie kept her eyes on the trail above them which circled the cliff. she had seen no sign of anyone moving about. "let your horse have his head," she warned as the way became more treacherous. presently connie called a halt. they tied their steeds to a pine tree and continued afoot. the trail became dangerously narrow, so that a slight misstep would mean a plunge over the sheer precipice. "let's not go any farther," helena gasped. "i'm afraid." "you and cecil wait for me here," connie commanded. leaving the pair huddling with their backs to the cliff, she hurried on down the trail. connie knew every inch of it and had no fear of falling. but she glanced sharply at the overhanging bushes. everything was still. yet the girl had a feeling that her movements were being observed. using the crude steps which had been cut in the cliff by the ancient dwellers, connie descended between two faulted rocks. as she picked up the trail again at the bottom, she saw something bright and shiny lying on the ground. it was a tiny silver knife. with a murmur of astonishment she reached down for it. "why, that looks like jim barrows' knife," she thought as she examined it. connie remembered that the man had worn an ornamental silver knife fastened to his watch chain. her reflection was a brief one for as she fingered the article, helena gave a piercing scream. fearing that harm had befallen the girl, connie thrust the knife into her pocket and scrambled up the cliff by means of toe holds cut there by the ancient dwellers. she ran along the trail until she caught sight of cecil and helena standing where she had left them. "oh, you're all right, thank goodness," she gasped. "when i heard that scream i was frightened nearly out of my wits." "i saw someone moving in the bushes!" helena reported. "where?" helena pointed to a group of shrubs some distance above them. connie knew that it would be impossible to reach the spot without a dangerous climb. unarmed, she had no desire to investigate. "let's get away from here," cecil urged. "you can't hope to learn the identity of that prowler." connie did not mention that already she had gained an important clue. she felt certain the knife belonged to jim barrows. but why would he be investigating the cliff dwellings? was it possible that he was living in one of the kivas, hiding there in fear that the law would overtake him? she hesitated, wondering if she ought not to go back and make a thorough search. helena read her thought and grasped her by the hand. "do let's go away from here," she pleaded. "cecil and i were wrong about wishing to come in the first place. please don't go back into that dark hole under the cliff. something dreadful might happen." "all right, we'll return to the ranch," connie said. "i doubt that we could learn anything to-night anyway." "who do you think was hiding in those bushes?" cecil asked nervously as they mounted their horses. "oh, perhaps a cowboy from slocer's ranch," connie replied carelessly. "one of the boys might have come over here just to see the cliff dwellings by moonlight. nearly every cowboy has a sentimental streak, you know." "i hadn't observed it," helena responded dryly. "it doesn't seem to me the man would have run away unless he were afraid of being recognized." connie did not trust herself to offer any comment as they began the descent into the valley. the discovery that jim barrows was lurking in the vicinity disturbed her more than she cared to have cecil and helena know. for the most part the three rode in silence. the incident of the night had served to sober helena and her brother and they had lost their superior airs. ascending the trail on the far side of the canyon, they turned their horses toward rainbow ranch. connie was dead tired but a great many things remained to be done before she could feel free to turn in. "don't forget that the roundup starts tomorrow at daybreak," she called to cecil and helena as the couple dismounted and walked toward the house. "we'll be up," helena promised. during connie's absence cookie had nearly finished loading the chuck wagon. the girl helped him complete the task and then went to talk with lefty regarding details of the next day's work. "has blakeman returned yet?" she questioned. "no, he hasn't," lefty admitted. "this is a fine night for him to streak off somewhere. leavin' all the work. connie, i reckon you know your own business, but if you ask me, blakeman ain't never had your best interests to heart." "i know he's opposed to this roundup." "he sure is, connie. that's why he's layin' down on the job." "i owe blakeman money," connie said slowly. "if it weren't for that i'd let him go now, but as it is my hands are tied." "sure, i can see how it is," lefty admitted. connie started to turn away, and then abruptly halted. "oh, lefty," she said, "i wish you'd be particularly alert during the roundup. i happen to know that jim barrows is keeping close to the ranch, and i'm afraid he may try to make trouble." "jim barrows?" the cowboy asked in surprise. "i saw him tonight, or at least i think i did," connie replied, and went on to tell how she had picked up the silver knife on the trail near the cliff dwellings. lefty examined the knife carefully. "that's his all right," he said. "wonder what jim was doing around there?" "i mean to find out as soon as we get this roundup off our hands, lefty. but remember, keep a sharp watch tomorrow. we can't afford to have anything go wrong." "i'll be on my guard," the cowboy promised. "and i'll tip alkali off too." despite her great weariness, connie awoke the next morning feeling completely refreshed. at the first sign of dawn she was down at the corrals helping rope horses. besides those required for the guests, each rider would need two extras. at four-thirty the cowboys from the slocer ranch galloped into the courtyard, announcing themselves ready for the big drive. the foreman assigned them to their duties and with lefty and alkali they rode off again. by five o'clock the chuck wagon was on its way. mr. grimes, mr. postil and the little girl went with cookie. helena and cecil chose to follow on horseback. connie knew that the dudes would prove more of a handicap than an aid in the roundup, but she was pleased to see how much interest everyone was taking. most amazing to her was the change of attitude shown by helena and cecil. the pair actually seemed eager to win her approval. with the chuck wagon established in a temporary camp, connie rode away to cover the eastern portion of the range. for several hours she kept to the saddle, rounding up every stray steer. far to the southward she could see a great cloud of dust which meant that alkali and lefty, who covered that section, had their herd on the move. the slocer boys would be slower for they were searching the canyons. irrespective of brand connie rounded up every steer she could find. nearly all bore the mark of the rainbow outfit, but there were a few strays belonging to the slocers and pop bradshaw. it was nearly sundown before connie could drive her steers to the knoll where the other cattle grazed. alkali and the slocer boys were riding through the herd cutting out those which did not bear the rainbow brand. connie went to the chuck wagon for a cup of hot coffee and a dish of steaming stew. it was the first food she had tasted since morning. "you look all done in," observed lefty who had thrown himself on the ground for a few minutes' rest. "oh, i'm all right," connie declared. "it's been a wonderful drive! i had no idea i owned so many steers. if i get anything like a fair price, i'll be able to pay my debts and have a tidy sum left." "you ought to go back to the ranch and get some sleep tonight," lefty advised. "we can hold the herd without you." "perhaps i will after supper," connie agreed. "are the dudes having a good time?" "old man grimes said he enjoyed every minute of it," lefty reported, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "he and mr. postil took the kid and went back to the ranch a few minutes ago." connie could see helena and cecil riding with forest blakeman, evidently under the impression that they were helping him keep the herd under control. while she was eating they came up to the chuck wagon, flushed and excited. "oh, it's been wonderful!" declared helena excitedly. "i'd not have missed it for anything in the world. cecil and i are staying tonight to help hold the herd." "that's fine," replied connie--"we need riders." she avoided looking at lefty who had a pained expression on his face. presently the cowboy arose, and saddling a fresh pony, rode out to relieve alkali. cookie soon had a hearty supper ready and both cecil and helena did justice to it, making no complaint at the rough fare. they did not notice that both connie and alkali kept glancing at the slowly darkening sky. "looks like a storm blowin' up," the cowboy presently remarked. "yes," agreed connie. "and the cattle seem to be growing more restless. we may need more riders before morning. i'm staying, of course." "is there any danger of a stampede?" cecil asked eagerly. "reckon it would give you a real thrill to see one," alkali commented dryly. "well, maybe you'll get your chance." after supper while helena and cecil sat around the campfire, connie rode slowly around the herd. the cattle seemed fairly quiet. a few animals were on their feet but most of them were lying down. lefty's discordant voice could be heard singing an old cowboy song. connie rode over to talk with him. "how does the weather look to you, lefty?" "not so good," he admitted, squinting up at the moving clouds overhead. "we'll have rain before morning. i wish we had a few extra men." "the cattle seem to be quiet." "sure, they are now, but there's something in the air, connie. you can feel it. when the storm breaks, i'll be plumb surprised if they don't start rattlin' their hocks." connie went back to the campfire knowing that it was wise to get as much rest as possible. she warned cecil and his sister that a storm was coming, but both elected to remain. they spread out their bed tarps near the chuck wagon. connie fell asleep almost at once, but in a short while she was awake again. the air had grown cold. it was pitch dark. connie arose and tossed a log on the fire. she could not see the herd to the southward but she heard the rumble of hoofs. the steers were on the move again. "i ought to be getting out there," connie thought. "there's going to be trouble a-plenty." cookie had left the coffee pot on the bed of coals. she poured herself a cup of the strong brew, trying to get the sleep out of her eyes. as she sipped the coffee she heard a horse pounding across the hard ground. enid bradshaw rode into the firelight, springing from the saddle. "connie," she said breathlessly, "there's going to be a bad storm, and your cows are sure to run. i came over to help if you need me." "thank you," replied connie coldly, after a moment of silence. "we don't need any help." "i know how you feel toward me," enid said earnestly. "you think pop and i have plotted to ruin you." "you did take two of my guests away," connie returned. "but in business and love they say all is fair." "connie, you must believe me--i didn't have anything to do with it. i never wanted my father to start the dude ranch in competition with you." "i believe you, enid," connie said slowly. "i'm sure you wouldn't lie to me. after all, why should i be offended? your father has a perfect right to go into the dude business if he likes." "he never wanted to do it either," enid went on desperately. "but we've been so hard pressed for money. the part i can't forgive is that he betrayed you." "what do you mean, enid?" "oh, pop isn't running the ranch at all now--another party has gained control--a man who means to ruin you." "the bank?" "no, connie--someone you've trusted. pop will never forgive me for telling, but i must! i can't stand by and see you cheated out of everything you own." "who is it?" connie demanded. but enid did not answer for just at that moment the very heavens seemed to open. a vivid streak of lightning zigzagged across the inky sky, and a torrent of rain descended. then the earth trembled, and the sound struck fear to connie's heart. the herd had stampeded! chapter xviii stampede "the cattle are running!" cried connie. "the boys never will be able to hold them in this storm!" "we must get out there and help," enid shouted grimly. this time connie did not refuse her aid. before she could saddle silvertail, enid vanished into the night. cecil and helena, awakened by the sudden downpour, called to connie, but she paid no heed. pulling on her slicker, she leaped into the saddle and followed enid. the rain was coming down in torrents and another brilliant flash of lightning momentarily revealed a surging mass of steers. the terrified animals were running away from the camp toward the canyon. the earth shook under the pounding of their hooves. all thought of the important revelation which enid had been upon the point of making at the time the storm broke, had been swept from connie's mind. but she felt warmed by the girl's generous offer of aid. enid really was her friend after all. in this emergency, any feeling of resentment had been forgotten. the stampede called for quick action and courageous riding. connie did not need to dig in the rowels of her spurs for silvertail knew what was expected of him. she could feel his mighty heart pounding against her legs as he raced to overtake the leaders of the herd. connie bent low over silvertail's neck, trusting that there were no fences or badger holes ahead. should her horse stumble she would be badly injured if not crushed to death. through the rain the girl saw someone riding ahead of her. she could not tell who it was, but a man turned in his saddle and shouted something at her. she did not distinguish a word above the roar. farther away a rider was firing his revolver into the air, trying to stem the tide. connie, alkali, and the boys from the slocer ranch outdistanced the leaders of the herd, fighting valiantly to turn them. the cattle had run less than a half mile when they began to circle. "they're starting to mill!" connie shouted. "we'll hold 'em!" yelled alkali. connie could hear the crackling of horns rubbing together. each flash of lightning revealed the cattle churning into a tighter circle. a cowboy rode close to connie, rain spouting from his sombrero. she saw that it was lefty. "look out for another break!" he shouted. "they're millin' too close!" suddenly two dark forms dashed out of the herd. "get 'em, silvertail!" connie cried. she jumped her horse at the animals, sending them scurrying back into the churning mass. the rain had slackened and connie was hopeful that the cattle would quiet down. they were not milling so closely now. the riders were getting them well under control. then from the other side of the herd a revolver cracked, spitting a trail of fire into the black void. "who did that?" cried lefty angrily. "someone's shootin' straight into the herd!" connie heard the cowboy shout cecil's name, but she did not believe that any of the dudes had been responsible for the shot. she was quite certain neither helena nor her brother were armed, and she doubted that they had ridden out to help stop the herd. one of her own men was trying deliberately to start another stampede! already the mischief had been accomplished. at the point where the revolver had been discharged the herd swerved and broke apart. the cattle had started to run again. determined to learn the identity of the person who had started the stampede, connie spurred silvertail. near the spot where the revolver had been fired she caught a glimpse of a rider. it was too dark to see his face clearly. then a ragged streak of lightning brightened the sky. with a start connie recognized her foreman, forest blakeman. she could not believe that he had been guilty of such a low, contemptible act. but even as she was assailed with doubt, she saw him raise his revolver and shoot again--straight into the herd. a great fury took possession of connie. in a flash everything became clear to her. she understood now what enid had intended to tell her. from the very first forest blakeman had plotted to gain control of rainbow ranch. that was why he had not favored the roundup, knowing that if she succeeded in marketing her cattle, he would never be able to force her to sell at his own terms. "how stupid and blind i have been," she thought. connie rushed her horse straight at the foreman. he turned in the saddle and saw her coming. as a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, she knew that he recognized her. "drop that gun!" she shouted furiously. "drop it, you traitor!" blakeman wheeled his horse and disappeared into the darkness. connie did not pursue him. she could not have done it had she wished for silvertail was running with the herd. a shiver ran down the girl's spine as the realization came to her that they were heading straight toward the canyon. at this particular point the cliffs were unprotected by fences or trees. and there was a sheer drop of several hundred feet to the valley below. the canyon could not be more than a quarter of a mile away. blakeman deliberately had stampeded the cattle in that direction, hoping that the animals would run over the precipice and be killed. unless she could turn them in time, her entire herd would be lost! chapter xix turning the herd connie leaned low in the saddle and rode as she had never ridden before. but terror held her in its grip. time was so short--the cliffs so near. a frenzy took possession of the girl. everything she had in the world was at stake. if the herd went over the precipice she would lose every animal and her last chance to save rainbow ranch. she had to turn the herd even at the risk of her own life. silvertail was racing alongside the leaders now, but they would not swerve. on they ran straight toward the cliffs with the herd thundering behind. frantically connie tore off her slicker as she rode. folding it, she used it to strike at the leaders. time after time she brought it down on the rumps of the longhorns, trying to swerve them to the right. connie's heart pounded from the exertion and her breath came in gasps, but still she struck out with all her strength. the cliffs were very close now. it was no use, connie thought with faltering courage. they were doomed to go over, she and silvertail with the cattle. she could not save herself by turning back now. the tide of cattle would sweep them on as surely as if they were caught in the swift-moving stream of a mighty river. then the girl became aware of another rider. enid too was riding at the head of the herd, discharging her revolver and fighting desperately to check the leaders. alkali and lefty must be there too, loyal and true, risking their lives to help her. new courage and strength came to connie. a touch of her spurs sent silvertail leaping after a rangy longhorn at the very head of the herd. with all her might connie brought the slicker across the animal's face. he whirled to the right and the herd followed. keeping silvertail between the frantic animals and the dark precipice connie uttered a little prayer. she hoped fervently that the cattle would turn at a sharp enough angle to avoid the cliff. a flash of lightning showed that her horse was running not more than thirty feet parallel to the brink. as they raced along connie felt the herd edging sideways toward the precipice, slowly pressing her mount closer and closer to destruction. desperately she spurred silvertail alongside the leading steer and slashed with her slicker at the animal's head. the steer swerved in the opposite direction carrying his blind followers clear of the brink. connie's heart leaped. she had won! although the danger was past, the work was by no means done. it took a half hour of hard riding before the animals could be halted in their mad run. but at last they were milling again so that the cowboys could hold them by riding slowly around the herd. not until then did connie have an opportunity to speak with enid. "you were wonderful," she told the girl. "i'll never forget it--never. you risked your life to save my cattle." "i did no more than lefty or alkali or any of the boys," enid answered quietly. "besides, i owe you a great deal, connie. i must tell you about forest blakeman. he has deliberately plotted to ruin you." "i know," connie responded. "i learned the truth tonight when i saw him shoot into the herd." "then he was the one who stampeded the cattle! what a criminal thing to do! but it is in keeping with his character." "tell me everything you know about blakeman," connie urged. "months ago he loaned my father money, and he has made trouble for us ever since. at the time of the rodeo he forced him to keep catapult out of the show, expecting to win a large sum of money for himself. but something went wrong----" "i know about that," connie nodded. "pop didn't wish to deceive his friends but he had no choice. oh, connie, that was why i felt so ashamed to face you. i suspected too that blakeman intended to ruin you, but i couldn't tell you without exposing pop's part in the affair." "substituting another steer for catapult wasn't such a terribly serious thing, enid," connie said kindly. "please don't take it so hard." "there's more to it than that. after the rodeo blakeman came to our ranch and threatened my father. he made him do exactly what he said. pop didn't want to start a dude ranch to rival yours. blakeman arranged to have miss parker and her friend come to our place too. he wanted you to fail in your enterprise." "i realize that now," connie said bitterly. "only a miracle saved me tonight. but why has blakeman done all these things to me?" "because he's grasping and cruel," enid replied. "dude ranching is going to develop into a big thing out here, and your place is the cream of the lot. you have natural scenery and the cliff dwellings will draw a great many guests. once you get started your business will grow by leaps. blakeman has known that, and he's been determined to gain control for himself." "i'm glad you came to tell me all this, enid. it's cleared up so much misunderstanding." "then you'll forgive pop and me?" the girl asked eagerly. "in our hearts we've wished you only success." "of course i forgive you," connie returned heartily. "and now i have something disagreeable to do. i must find blakeman." connie knew that the foreman had disappeared immediately after he had fired into the herd. undoubtedly aware that she had recognized him, he had fled from the scene. he might have gone back to the ranch house to pack up his belongings. if she rode hard she might intercept him. connie did not say anything to alkali or lefty for they were busy with the cattle. but as she started away, enid rode after her. "i'm going along, connie," she declared. "it's not safe for you to face blakeman alone. you don't know that man as i do. he might try anything." "i imagine he's skipped out by this time," connie replied. "but let's see if we can catch him." the first rays of the morning sun were coloring the east as they rode across the range toward the ranch. when they were still some distance away, connie drew rein and her companion likewise halted. they both had observed a lone horseman leaving rainbow ranch. "that looks like blakeman," connie said. "he's riding off now." "but he's not going toward red gulch," returned enid. "he's heading for the canyon." "come on," connie urged, "we mustn't let him get away." the girls raced their tired steeds on toward the horseman. apparently he did not observe their approach for he was traveling in the opposite direction and they were a long distance away. blakeman was riding hard too, and they could not gain. presently they saw the man disappear down into the canyon. "enid, i believe he's taking the south trail toward the cliff dwellings!" connie exclaimed. "maybe we ought to let him go. we'll never catch him now." "yes, we will," insisted connie stubbornly. "he'll not be able to travel very fast down in the canyon." minutes later, their ponies breathing hard, the girls reached the top of the canyon. mounting the other side they could see forest blakeman. "he's going straight to the cliff dwellings!" connie exclaimed. "i wonder why----" she sprang from her horse, tying him to a tree. "you're giving up the pursuit, connie?" asked enid in surprise. "no, but i'd rather blakeman wouldn't know we're following him. he's up to something, enid, and i intend to learn what it is. i know a short-cut to the other side but the trail isn't wide enough for our horses." enid slid from the saddle and quickly tied her pony beside silvertail. then connie led the way down the trail. whenever they were within view of blakeman they took care to bend low behind the bushes which overhung the path. the caution was unnecessary. the foreman never glanced back. "he's making straight for the cliff dwellings all right," connie observed a few minutes later. "we'll take this fork in the trail and circle, coming in from the other direction." the girls lost sight of the man as he disappeared behind a wall of rock. their own trail wound deeper into the canyon, past a spring which in days gone by had provided water for the cliff dwellers. "we're following the path actually used by the women of the tribe when they came for water," connie explained as the girls hurried along. "this is the shortest route to the cliff house, but it's a hard climb." they had gone only a few steps, when in turning a sharp bend, connie came to an abrupt halt. tied to a pine tree on the slope was a pinto pony. "that's not a horse from rainbow ranch!" enid exclaimed in surprise. "no," answered connie, staring at the pony. "i never saw it before. it couldn't have been left here by blakeman because he's on the other trail." the girls looked quickly about but they saw no sign of a rider. hastening on again, they climbed a rocky path toward the high cliffs. as they drew closer, they approached cautiously, keeping an alert watch for forest blakeman. presently they saw his horse tied up at the same point where connie, cecil and helena had left their steeds the previous night, but the foreman had vanished. "he must be somewhere in the cave back under the cliff," connie whispered. "perhaps down in one of the kivas." "but what could he be doing down there?" enid asked blankly. "let's get closer and see if we can find out," connie urged. they followed the trail upward, coming to a tunnel so narrow that they had trouble in squeezing through on hands and knees. emerging at the end, connie and enid stepped out on a wide shelf. just ahead were the ruined dwellings, built snugly under the lip of the cliff. "look!" whispered connie. she pointed toward one of the kivas at the far end of the shelf upon which they stood. a crude ladder leading down into the hole wiggled slightly as if someone were climbing on it. then forest blakeman's head and shoulders appeared. although the girls were unsheltered he did not see them immediately. that was because he was engrossed in examining something in his hand. connie saw that it was a roll of bills. as he put the money into his pocket she and enid ran forward. "just a minute, forest blakeman!" at the sound of connie's voice, the foreman whirled around to face the girls. a look of fear gave way to one of insolent defiance. "well?" he asked brazenly. "you have a great many things to explain, forest blakeman," said connie grimly. "first, why did you stampede my herd?" the man laughed harshly. "why did i stampede your herd?" he mocked. "i'd advise you not to make rash accusations without proof." "i have it and that's why you tried to get away!" connie cried. "and another thing--where did you get that roll of money which i saw you counting? you had it cached in the kiva and it's my money! money that you stole from me that night at eagle pass!" "you're crazy," muttered blakeman, but his expression disclosed that connie's accusation had been a true one. "you were the one who held me up," connie cried with conviction. "you've kept the money hidden here in the kiva, and that's why you never wanted anyone to come near this place. give me my money!" blakeman started to retreat. connie and enid followed. "give me my money," connie repeated again. "if you don't----" the foreman whirled around. "i'll give you something else," he shouted angrily. "when you strike the bottom of the canyon you'll not be apt to carry any tales!" he hurled himself toward the girls. enid gave a piercing scream. whether or not the man intended to push them off the narrow ledge the girls never knew for before he could touch them a cool voice rang out. "stand where you are, forest blakeman. and reach for the sky!" wheeling around, enid and connie saw jim barrows leap nimbly down from the rocks, his gun trained on the foreman. chapter xx the end of the trail the foreman slowly raised his hands above his head. jim barrows frisked him of his revolver and took possession of the roll of bills which he tossed over to connie. she quickly counted the sum. "there's exactly seven hundred dollars here," she reported. "just fifty less than i lost." "i reckon kerrigan spent the fifty," said jim. "what did you call me?" demanded the foreman savagely. "jack kerrigan--wanted in texas for cattle stealing and on a few other charges. you've eluded the authorities very cleverly, jack, but the law has caught up with you at last." "are you a government man?" connie gasped. "reckon i am, miss," the man agreed, without taking his gaze from the foreman. "keep your hands up, jack, and don't try any monkey business." "i don't understand at all," murmured connie in bewilderment. "i thought----" "just what i hoped you would," finished the detective. "if you had suspected who i was my entire purpose would have been defeated. i'll explain everything after i've taken this hombre to jail. march on down the trail, jack!" connie and enid, still somewhat dazed by what had happened, followed the two men. barrows compelled the foreman to ride ahead of him down the trail while he kept him covered. the girls had a dozen questions which they wished to ask, but the detective seemed in no mood for explanations. he promised them he would return to rainbow ranch just as soon as he had delivered his prisoner to the sheriff at red gulch. "i'm hopelessly mixed now," connie confided to enid after they had parted company with the detective. "to think that i believed jim barrows might have been the one who robbed me of my money!" "i don't wonder you arrived at such a conclusion," enid replied after she had heard of the various evidence which had come into her friend's possession. "so many things aren't explained even now." but the girls did not have long to wait until all of their questions were answered. by the time they had changed into dry clothing and refreshed themselves with breakfast, jim barrows returned to the ranch. "i'll start at the beginning," he declared. "first of all my name isn't jim barrows. instead it is jim ragon." "so that accounts for the initialed handkerchief which i picked up," connie commented. "yes, and i suppose you've guessed that i came here for the deliberate purpose of getting a job. i had been tipped off that blakeman might be the man i was after." "you weren't sick at all that day i found you on the trail?" "i'm afraid i was playing possum. i thought i might appeal to your sympathy if you thought i was down and out. so i waited for you on the trail. it was a mean advantage to take, but it did serve my purpose. you were kind enough to give me a job." "blakeman was suspicious of you from the very first." "he didn't like me," the detective admitted, "but until today i am sure he did not suspect who i was. you understand now why i was trying to break into his chest?" "you were after evidence." "yes, and i did succeed in getting a paper which definitely links your foreman with a crime committed in texas. i could have arrested him yesterday but by waiting i hoped to learn more." "did you think that he was the person who robbed me at eagle pass?" connie questioned. "yes, i felt certain of it. i thought that by keeping watch of him i might learn where he had cached the money." connie took a silver knife from her pocket, offering it to the detective. "here is something which belongs to you, i believe." "where did you find it?" he asked quickly. "i picked it up last night on the trail to the cliff dwellings." "i must have dropped it when i followed your foreman there," the detective responded. "i've been watching him ever since i started working here at the ranch. finally i figured out that his secret trips to the cliffs must have some significance. last night i searched the kivas without success. today i lay in wait for blakeman, as you know, with better luck." "what will happen to him?" connie asked. the detective shrugged. "oh, he'll probably get twenty years if he pleads guilty. i have him locked up at the jail now. late this afternoon i'm starting back to texas with him." "then i may not see you again," connie said regretfully. "you must forgive me for discharging you." "you did me a service," the man smiled. "the only thing i worried about was that you might tell blakeman i had been prying into his chest." "i'll always be grateful to you," connie said earnestly. "and you'll be remembered as the finest hand i ever had!" "maybe you'll see me again next summer," the man promised as he prepared to ride away. "i've taken a liking to this ranch. i'd enjoy spending my vacation here." "we'll be looking for you back next year," connie declared. later in the morning the girls rode to red gulch themselves. by that time the cowboys had driven the cattle to the stockyards, and the loading was nearly completed. "did we lose many animals in the stampede?" connie asked lefty anxiously. "only two," he answered. "you're a-sittin' pretty now, connie. this shipment ought to net you a nice amount." "i'll not need very much of the money to pay off my bank debt," she told him gaily. "with the seven hundred dollars i already have, i'll make a first payment on the note. then as soon as my check comes back for this stock, i'll settle it." "looks like you'll get a good market for your cattle too," lefty declared. "you ought to have quite a bit left over." "i can use it," laughed connie. "oh, i have wonderful plans! i'll remodel, and i'll buy thoroughbred stock. perhaps i'll build a new wing on the ranch house and advertise for dudes!" "going into the business strong?" "that's right," connie agreed. "this morning mr. grimes said he intends to come back next year bringing cecil and helena. and he knows several other people he expects to interest in our place." "i could do without cecil myself," lefty muttered. "oh, he's improving every day," connie laughed. "in another year perhaps you'll make a real cowboy of him." "wranglin' dudes ain't my favorite pastime." "oh, that reminds me. lefty, you're to have a new job--and if we do well, a new salary to go with it." "what doin'?" the cowboy asked cautiously. "you're to be the new foreman." lefty stared at connie as if he could not believe his ears. his mouth widened in a grin. "that's sure swell of you, connie. i--i don't know what to say." his horny hand reached out and grasped hers. after leaving the stockyards, connie went directly to the first national bank. mr. haynes received her with a cordiality which was amusing to the girl. he gave her a receipt for the seven hundred dollars, assuring her that she need not worry about the remaining amount. "thank you," said connie, "but i'll pay off the rest of my debt in three days." and she was able to keep her word. the sale of the cattle netted far more than the girl had expected. upon receiving the check in payment, her first act was to settle the note with the bank. "rainbow ranch is really mine again," connie thought with satisfaction as she rode slowly home. her gaze wandered toward the vermilion cliffs. she had never seen them quite so beautiful as they were at this moment, tinted by the last rays of the afternoon sun. behind her sloped the golden plain. ahead in majestic splendor rose the painted mountains. connie drew rein to gaze for a moment at the familiar scene. then with a gay laugh she spurred silvertail into a brisk canter and they raced home to rainbow ranch. the end sue a little heroine by l. t. meade author of "a girl from america," "the princess of the revels," "polly, a new-fashioned girl," "a sweet girl graduate," etc. new york the new york book company biography and bibliography l. t. meade (mrs. elizabeth thomasina smith), english novelist, was born at bandon, county cork, ireland, , the daughter of rev. r. t. meade, rector of novohal, county cork, and married toulmin smith in . she wrote her first book, _lettie's last home_, at the age of seventeen and since then has been an unusually prolific writer, her stories attaining wide popularity on both sides of the atlantic. she worked in the british museum, living in bishopsgate without, making special studies of east london life which she incorporated in her stories. she edited _atlanta_ for six years. her pictures of girls, especially in the influence they exert on their elders, are drawn with intuitive fidelity; pathos, love, and humor, as in _daddy's girl_, flowing easily from her pen. she has traveled extensively, being devoted to motoring and other outdoor sports. among more than fifty novels she has written, dealing largely with questions of home life, are: _david's little lad_; _great st. benedict's_; _a knight of to-day_ ( ); _miss toosey's mission_; _bel-marjory_ ( ); _laddie; outcast robbin, or, your brother and mine_; _a cry from the great city_; _white lillie and other tales_; _scamp and i_; _the floating light of ringfinnan_; _dot and her treasures_; _the children's kingdom: the story of great endeavor_; _the water gipsies_; _a dweller in tents_; _andrew harvey's wife_; _mou-setse: a negro hero_ ( ); _mother herring's chickens_ ( ); _a london baby: the story of king roy_ ( ); _hermie's rose-buds and other stories_; _how it all came round_; _two sisters_ ( ); _autocrat of the nursery_; _tip cat_; _scarlet anemones_; _the band of three_; _a little silver trumpet_; _our little ann_; _the angel of love_ ( ); _a world of girls_ ( ); _beforehand_; _daddy's boy_; _the o'donnells of inchfawn_; _the palace beautiful_; _sweet nancy_ ( ); _deb and the duchess_ ( ); _nobody's neighbors_; _pen_ ( ); _a girl from america_ ( ). contents i. big ben's voice. ii. a servant of god. iii. good security. iv. solitary hours. v. eager words. vi. different sort of work. vii. shopping. viii. comparisons. ix. a trip into the country. x. the return to london. xi. a new departure. xii. left alone. xiii. peter harris. xiv. the search. xv. concentration of purpose. xvi. pickles. xvii. cinderella. xviii. the metropolitan fire brigade. xix. a saintly lady. xx. caught again. xxi. safe home at last. xxii. news of sue. xxiii. amateur detective. xxiv. mother and son. xxv. about ronald. xxvi. two cups of coffee. xxvii. delayed trial. xxviii. cinderella would shield the real thief. xxix. a little heroine. xxx. what was harris to her? xxxi. a stern resolve. xxxii. an unexpected accident. xxxiii. a pointed question. xxxiv. pickles to the fore again. xxxv. the wings are growing. xxxvi. a crisis. xxxvii. the happy gathering. sue: a little heroine. chapter i. big ben's voice. sue made a great effort to push her way to the front of the crowd. the street preacher was talking, and she did not wish to lose a word. she was a small, badly made girl, with a freckled face and hair inclined to red, but her eyes were wonderfully blue and intelligent. she pushed and pressed forward into the thick of the crowd. she felt a hand on her shoulder, and looking up, saw a very rough man gazing at her. "be that you, peter harris?" said sue. "an' why didn't yer bring connie along?" "hush!" said some people in the crowd. the preacher raised his voice a little higher: "'tell his disciples and peter that he goeth before you into galilee.'" peter harris, the rough man, trembled slightly. sue found herself leaning against him. she knew quite well that his breath was coming fast. "his disciples and peter," she said to herself. the street preacher had a magnificent voice. it seemed to roll above the heads of the listening crowd, or to sink to a penetrating whisper which found its echo in their hearts. the deep, wonderful eyes of the man had a power of making people look at him. sue gazed with all her might and main. "father john be a good un," she said to herself. "he be the best man in all the world." after the discourse--which was very brief and full of stories, and just the sort which those rough people could not help listening to--a hymn was sung, and then the crowd dispersed. sue was amongst them. she was in a great hurry. she forgot all about john atkins, the little street preacher to whom she had been listening. she soon found herself in a street which was gaily lighted; there was a gin-palace at one end, another in the middle, and another at the farther end. this was saturday night: father john was fond of holding vigorous discourses on saturday nights. sue stopped to make her purchases. she was well-known in the neighborhood, and as she stepped in and out of one shop and then of another, she was the subject of a rough jest or a pleasant laugh, just as the mood of the person she addressed prompted one or other. she spent a few pence out of her meager purse, her purchases were put into a little basket, and she found her way home. the season was winter. she turned into a street back of westminster; it went by the name of adam street. it was very long and rambling, with broken pavements, uneven roadways, and very tall, narrow, and dirty houses. in a certain room on the fourth floor of one of the poorest of these houses lay a boy of between ten and eleven years of age. he was quite alone in the room, but that fact did not at all insure his being quiet. all kinds of sounds came to him--sounds from the street, sounds from below stairs, sounds from overhead. there were shrieking voices and ugly laughter, and now and then there were shrill screams. the child was accustomed to these things, however, and it is doubtful whether he heard them. he was a sad-looking little fellow, with that deadly white complexion which children who never go into the fresh air possess. his face, however, was neither discontented nor unhappy. he lay very still, with patient eyes, quite touching in their absolute submission. had any one looked hard at little giles they would have noticed something else on his face--it was a listening look. the sounds all around did not discompose him, for his eyes showed that he was waiting for something. it came. over and above the discord a voice filled the air. nine times it repeated itself, slowly, solemnly, with deep vibrations. it was "big ben" proclaiming the hour. the boy had heard the chimes which preceded the hour; they were beautiful, of course, but it was the voice of big ben himself that fascinated him. "ain't he a real beauty to-night?" thought the child. "how i wishes as sue 'ud hear him talk like that! sometimes he's more weakly in his throat, poor fellow! but to-night he's in grand voice." the discord, which for one brief moment was interrupted for the child by the beautiful, harmonious notes, continued in more deafening fashion than ever. children cried; women scolded; men cursed and swore. in the midst of the din the room door was opened and a girl entered. "sue!" cried giles. "yes," answered sue, putting down her basket as she spoke. "i'm a bit late; there wor a crowd in the street, and i went to hear him. he wor grand." "oh, worn't he?" said giles. "i never did know him to be in such beautiful voice." sue came up and stared at the small boy. her good-natured but somewhat common type of face was a great contrast to his. "whatever are you talking about?" she said. "you didn't hear him; you can't move, poor giles!" "but i did hear him," replied the boy. "i feared as i'd get off to sleep, but i didn't. i never did hear big ben in such voice--he gave out his text as clear as could be." "lor', giles!" exclaimed sue, "i didn't mean that stupid clock; i means father john. i squeezed up as close as possible to him, and i never missed a word as fell from his lips. peter harris were there too. i wonder how he felt. bad, i 'spect, when he remembers the way he treated poor connie. and oh, giles! what do yer think? the preacher spoke to him jest as clear as clear could be, and he called him by his name--peter. 'tell his disciples and peter,' father john cried, and i could feel peter harris jump ahind me." "wor that his text, sue?" "yes, all about peter. it wor wonnerful." "well, my text were, 'no more pain,'" said the boy. "i ache bad nearly always, but big ben said, 'no more pain,' as plain as he could speak, poor old fellow! it was nine times he said it. it were werry comforting." sue made no reply. she was accustomed to that sort of remark from giles. she busied herself putting the kettle on the fire to boil, and then cleaned a little frying-pan which by-and-by was to toast a herring for giles's supper and her own. "look what i brought yer," she said to the boy. "it were turning a bit, tom watkins said, and he gave it me for a ha'penny, but i guess frying and a good dash of salt 'ull make it taste fine. when the kettle boils i'll pour out your tea; you must want it werry bad." "maybe i do and maybe i don't," answered giles. "it's 'no more pain' i'm thinking of. sue, did you never consider that maybe ef we're good and patient lord christ 'ull take us to 'eaven any day?" "no," answered sue; "i'm too busy." she stood for a minute reflecting. "and i don't want to go to 'eaven yet," she continued; "i want to stay to look after you." giles smiled. "it's beautiful in 'eaven," he said. "i'd like to go, but i wouldn't like to leave you, sue." "take your tea now, there's a good fellow," answered sue, who was nothing if not matter-of-fact. "aye, dear!" she continued as she poured it out and then waited for giles to raise the cup to his lips, "peter harris do look bad. i guess he's sorry he was so rough on connie. but now let's finish our supper, and i'll prepare yer for bed, giles, for i'm desp'rate tired." chapter ii. a servant of god. john atkins, the street preacher, was a little man who led a wonderful life. he was far better educated than most people of his station, and in addition his mind was tender in feeling and very sensitive and loving. he regarded everybody as his brothers and sisters, and in especial he took to his heart all sorrowful people. he never grumbled or repined, but he looked upon his life as a pilgrimage to a better country, and did not, therefore, greatly trouble if things were not quite smooth for him. this little man had a very wide circle of friends. the fact is, he had more power of keeping peace and order in the very poor part of london, back of westminster, where he lived, than had any dignitary of the church, any rector, any curate, or any minister, be he of what persuasion he might. father john was very humble about himself. indeed, one secret of his success lay in the fact that he never thought of himself at all. having preached on this saturday evening, as was his wont, to a larger crowd than usual, he went home. as he walked a passer-by could have seen that he was lame; he used a crutch. with the winter rain beating on him he looked insignificant. presently he found the house where he had a room, went up the stairs, and entered, opening the door with a latch-key. a fire was burning here, and a small paraffin lamp with a red shade over it cast a warm glow over the little place. the moment the light fell upon father john his insignificance vanished. that was a grand head and face which rose above the crippled body. the head was high and splendidly proportioned. it was crowned with a wealth of soft brown hair, which fell low on the shoulders. the forehead was lofty, straight, and full; the mouth rather compressed, with firm lines round it; the eyes were very deep set--they were rather light gray in color, but the pupils were unusually large. the pupils and the peculiar expression of the eyes gave them a wonderful power. they could speak when every other feature in the face was quiet. "i don't like them--i dread them," said peter harris on one occasion. "aye, but don't i love 'em just!" remarked little giles. giles and sue were special friends of john atkins. they had, in fact, been left in his care by their mother three years before this story begins. this was the way they had first learned to know father john. the man had a sort of instinct for finding out when people were in trouble and when they specially needed him. there was a poor woman lying on her dying bed, and a boy and a girl were kneeling close to her. "keep a good heart up, giles," she said to the boy. "i know i'm goin' to leave yer, and you're as lame as lame can be, but then there's sue. sue has a deal o' gumption for such a young un. sue won't let yer want, giles, lad; you need never go to the workhouse while sue's alive." "no, that he needn't, mother," answered sue. "can't yer get back on to yer sofa, giles?" she added, turning to the boy. "you'll break your back kneeling by mother all this time." "no, i won't; i'd rather stay," answered the boy. his eyes were full of light; he kept on stroking his mother's hand. "go on, mother," he said. "tell us more. you're goin' to 'eaven, and you'll see father." a sob strangled his voice for a minute. "yes, i'll see my good 'usband--that is, i hope so; i can but trust--i allus have trusted, though often, ef i may say the truth, i couldn't tell what i were a-trusting to. somehow, whatever folks say, there _is_ a providence." "oh, mother!" said giles, "god is so beautiful--when you see father again you'll know that." "mother," interrupted sue, "does yer think as providence 'ull get me constant work at the sewing, enough to keep giles and me?" "i dunno, sue," answered the woman. "i've trusted a good bit all my life, and more specially since your father was took, and somehow we haven't quite starved. happen it'll be the same with giles and you." the boy sighed. his back was aching terribly. his heart was breaking at the thought of losing his mother; he struggled to continue kneeling by the bedside, but each moment the effort became greater. the children were kneeling so when a quick, light step was heard on the stairs, and a little man entered. it was too dark in the room for the children to see his face; they heard, however, a very pleasant voice. it said in cheerful tones: "why haven't you fire here, and a candle? can i help you?" "there ain't much candle left," answered giles. "and mother's dying," continued sue. "she don't mind the dark--do yer, mother?" the little man made no reply in words, but taking some matches from his pocket, and also a candle, he struck a light. he placed the candle in a sconce on the wall, and then turned to the three. "be yer a parson?" asked the woman. "i am a servant of god," answered atkins. "i'm real glad as you're a parson," she answered; "you can make it all right between almighty god and me." "you are mistaken; i can't do that. that is jesus christ's work. but i will pray with you--let me hold your hand, and we will pray together." then and there in the dismal attic father john spoke out his heart in the following simple words. even sue never forgot those words to the latest day she lived: "lord god almighty, look down upon this dying woman. thy son died for her and she knows it not. lord, she is in great darkness, and she is so near death that she has no time to learn the truth in its fullness; but thou who art in the light can show some of thy light to her. now, in her dying hour, reveal to her thyself." the dying woman fixed her glittering eyes on the strange man. when he ceased speaking she smiled; then she said, slowly: "i allus felt that i could trust in providence." she never spoke after that, and half an hour afterwards she died. this was the beginning of father john's friendship with giles and sue. the next day sue, by dint of many and anxious inquiries, found him out, and put her queer little unkempt head into his room. "ef yer please, parson, may i speak to yer 'bout giles and me?" "certainly, my little girl. sit down and tell me what i can do for you." "parson," said sue, with much entreaty in her voice and many a pucker on her brow, "what i wants to say is a good deal. i wants ter take care o' giles, to keep up the bit o' home and the bit o' victual. it 'ud kill giles ef he wor to be took to the work'us; and i promised mother as i'd keep 'im. mother wor allers a-trustin', and she trusted giles ter me." here sue's voice broke off into a sob, and she put up her dirty apron to her eyes. "don't cry, my dear," answered atkins kindly; "you must not break your word to your mother. will it cost you so much money to keep yourself and giles in that little attic?" "it ain't that," said she, proudly. "it ain't a bit as i can't work, fur i can, real smart at 'chinery needlework. i gets plenty to do, too, but that 'ere landlady, she ain't a bit like mother; she'd trusten nobody, and she up this morning, and mother scarce cold, and says as she'd not let her room to giles and me 'cept we could get some un to go security fur the rent; and we has no un as 'ud go security, so we must go away the day as mother is buried, and giles must go to the work'us; and it 'ull kill giles, and mother won't trust me no more." "don't think that, my child; nothing can shake your mother's trust where god has taken her now. but do you want me to help you?" sue found the color mounting to her little, weather-beaten face. a fear suddenly occurred to her that she had been audacious--that this man was a stranger, that her request was too great for her to ask. but something in the kindness of the eyes looking straight into hers brought sudden sunshine to her heart and courage to her resolve. with a burst, one word toppling over the other, out came the whole truth: "please, sir--please, sir, i thought as you might go security fur giles and me. we'd pay real honest. oh, sir, will you, jest because mother did trusten so werry much?" "i will, my child, and with all the heart in the world. come home with me now, and i will arrange the whole matter with your landlady." chapter iii. good security. john atkins was always wont to speak of sue and giles as among the successes of his life. this was not the first time he had gone security for his poor, and many of his poor had decamped, leaving the burden of their unpaid rent on him. he never murmured when such failures came to him. he was just a trifle more particular in looking not so much into the merits as the necessities of the next case that came to his knowledge. but no more, than if all his flock had been honest as the day, did he refuse his aid. this may have been a weakness on the man's part; very likely, for he was the sort of man whom all sensible and long-headed people would have spoken about as a visionary, an enthusiast, a believer in doing to others as he would be done by--a person, in short, without a grain of everyday sense to guide him. atkins would smile when such people lectured him on what they deemed his folly. nevertheless, though he took failure with all resignation, success, when it came to him, was stimulating, and giles and sue he classed among his successes. the mother died and was buried, but the children did not leave their attic, and sue, brave little bread-winner, managed not only to pay the rent but to keep the gaunt wolf of hunger from the door. sue worked as a machinist for a large city house. every day she rose with the dawn, made the room as tidy as she could for giles, and then started for her long walk to the neighborhood of cheapside. in a room with sixty other girls sue worked at the sewing-machine from morning till night. it was hard labor, as she had to work with her feet as well as her hands, producing slop clothing at the rate of a yard a minute. never for an instant might her eyes wander from the seam; and all this severe work was done in the midst of an ear-splitting clatter, which alone would have worn out a person not thoroughly accustomed to it. but sue was not unhappy. for three years now she had borne without breaking down this tremendous strain on her health. the thought that she was keeping giles in the old attic made her bright and happy, and her shrill young voice rose high and merry above those of her companions. no; sue, busy and honest, was not unhappy. but her fate was a far less hard one than giles's. giles had not always been lame. when first his mother held him in her arms he was both straight and beautiful. though born of poor parents and in london, he possessed a health and vigor seldom bestowed upon such children. in those days his father was alive, and earning good wages as a fireman in the london fire brigade. there was a comfortable home for both sue and giles, and giles was the very light and sunshine of his father's and mother's life. to his father he had been a special source of pride and rejoicing. his beauty alone would have made him so. sue was essentially an everyday child, but giles had a clear complexion, dark-blue eyes, and curling hair. giles as a baby and a little child was very beautiful. as his poor, feeble-looking mother carried him about--for she was poor and feeble-looking even in her palmy days--people used to turn and gaze after the lovely boy. the mother loved him passionately, but to the father he was as the apple of his eye. giles's father had married a wife some degrees below him both intellectually and socially. she was a hard-working, honest, and well-meaning soul, but she was not her husband's equal. he was a man with great force of character, great bravery, great powers of endurance. before he had joined the fire brigade he had been a sailor, and many tales did he tell to his little giles of his adventures on the sea. sue and her mother used to find these stories dull, but to giles they seemed as necessary as the air he breathed. he used to watch patiently for hours for the rare moments when his father was off duty, and then beg for the food which his keen mental appetite craved for. mason could both read and write, and he began to teach his little son. this state of things continued until giles was seven years old. then there came a dreadful black-letter day for the child; for the father, the end of life. every event of that torturing day was ever after engraved on the little boy's memory. he and his father, both in high spirits, started off for their last walk together. giles used to make it a practice to accompany his father part of the way to his station, trotting back afterwards safely and alone to his mother and sister. to-day their way lay through smithfield market, and the boy, seeing the martyrs' monument in the center of the market-place, asked his father eagerly about it. "look, father, look!" he said, pointing with his finger. "what is that?" "that is the figure of an angel, lad. do you see, it is pointing up to heaven. do you know why?" "no, father; tell us." "long ago, my lad, there were a lot of brave people brought just there where the angel stands; they were tied to stakes in the ground and set fire to and burned--burned until they died." "burned, father?" asked little giles in a voice of horror. "yes, boy. they were burned because they were so brave they would rather be burned than deny the good god. they were called martyrs, and that angel stands there now to remind people about them and to show how god took them straight to heaven." "i think they were grand," answered the boy, his eyes kindling. "can't people be like that now?" "any one who would rather die than neglect a duty has, to my mind, the same spirit," answered the man. "but now, lad, run home, for i must be off." "oh, father, you are going to that place where the wonderful new machinery is, and you said i might look at it. may i come?" the father hesitated, finally yielded, and the two went on together. but together they were never to come back. that very day, with the summer sun shining, and all the birds in the country far away singing for joy, there came a message for the brave father. he was suddenly, in the full prime of his manly vigor, to leave off doing god's work down here, doubtless to take it up with nobler powers above. a fireman literally works with his life in his hands. he may have to resign it at any moment at the call of duty. this trumpet-call, which he had never neglected, came now for giles mason. a fire broke out in the house where little giles watched with keen intelligence the new machinery. the machinery was destroyed, the child lamed for life, and the brave father, in trying to rescue him and others, was so injured by falling stones and pieces of woodwork that he only lived a few hours. the two were laid side by side in the hospital to which they were carried. "father," said the little one, nestling close to the injured and dying man, "i think people _can_ be martyrs now!" but the father was past words, though he heard the child, for he smiled and pointed upwards. the smile and the action were so significant, and reminded the child so exactly of the angel who guards the martyrs' monument, that ever afterwards he associated his brave father with those heroes and heroines of whom the sacred writer says that "the world is not worthy." chapter iv. solitary hours. giles was kept in the hospital for many weeks, even months. all that could be done was done for him; but the little, active feet were never to walk again, and the spine was so injured that he could not even sit upright. when all that could be done had been done and failed, the boy was sent back to his broken-down and widowed mother. mrs. mason had removed from the comfortable home where she lived during her husband's lifetime to the attic in a back street of westminster, where she finally died. she took in washing for a livelihood, and sue, now twelve years old, was already an accomplished little machinist.[ ] they were both too busy to have time to grieve, and at night were too utterly worn-out not to sleep soundly. they were kind to giles lying on his sick-bed; they both loved him dearly, but they neither saw, nor even tried to understand, the hunger of grief and longing which filled his poor little mind. his terrible loss, his own most terrible injuries, had developed in the boy all that sensitive nerve organism which can render life so miserable to its possessor. to hear his beloved father's name mentioned was a torture to him; and yet his mother and sue spoke of it with what seemed to the boy reckless indifference day after day. two things, however, comforted him--one the memory of the angel figure over the martyrs' monument at smithfield, the other the deep notes of big ben. his father, too, had been a martyr, and that angel stood there to signify his victory as well as the victory of those others who withstood the torture by fire; and big ben, with its solemn, vibrating notes, seemed to his vivid imagination like that same angel speaking. though an active, restless boy before his illness, he became now very patient. he would lie on his back, not reading, for he had forgotten what little his father taught him, but apparently lost in thought, from morning to night. his mother was often obliged to leave him alone, but he never murmured at his long, solitary hours; indeed, had there been any one by to listen to all the words he said to himself at these times, they would have believed that the boy enjoyed them. thus three years passed away. in those three years all the beauty had left little giles's face; all the brightness had fled from his eyes; he was now a confirmed invalid, white and drawn and pinched. then his poor, tired-out mother died. she had worked uncomplainingly, but far beyond her strength, until suddenly she sickened and in a few days was dead. giles, however, while losing a mother, had gained a friend. john atkins read the sensitive heart of the boy like a book. he came to see him daily, and soon completed the reading-lessons which his father had begun. as soon as the boy could read he was no longer unhappy. his sad and troubled mind need no longer feed on itself; he read what wise and great men thought, for atkins supplied him with books. atkins's books, it is true, were mostly of a theological nature, but once he brought him a battered shakespeare; and sue also, when cash was a little flush, found an old volume of the _arabian nights_ on a book-stall. these two latter treasures gave great food to the active imagination of little giles. footnote [ ] in july arrangements were made to provide for the families of firemen who were killed in the performance of their duty, but nothing was done for them before that date. chapter v. eager words. when john atkins was quite young he was well-to-do. his father and mother had kept a good shop, and not only earned money for their needs but were able to put by sufficient for a rainy day. john was always a small and delicate child, and as he grew older he developed disease of the spine, which not only gave him a deformed appearance but made him slightly lame. nevertheless, he was an eager little scholar, and his father was able to send him to a good school. the boy worked hard, and eagerly read and learned all that came in his way. thus life was rather pleasant than otherwise with john atkins up to his fifteenth year, but about then there came misfortunes. the investment into which his father had put all his hard-won earnings was worthless; the money was lost. this was bad enough, but there was worse to follow. not only had the money disappeared, but the poor man's heart was broken. he ceased to attend to his business; his customers left him to go elsewhere; his wife died suddenly, and he himself quickly followed her to the grave. after these misfortunes john atkins had a bad illness himself. he grew better after a time, took to cobbling as a trade, and earned enough to support himself. how he came to take up street preaching, and in consequence to be much beloved by his neighbors, happened simply enough. on a certain sunday evening he was walking home from the church where he attended, his heart all aglow with the passionate words of the preacher he had been listening to. the preacher had made bunyan the subject of his discourse, and the author of the _pilgrim's progress_ was at that time the hero of all heroes in the mind of atkins. he was thinking of his wonderful pilgrimage as he hurried home. he walked on. suddenly, turning a corner, he knocked up against a man, who, half-reeling, came full-tilt against him. "aye, peter," he said, knowing the man, and perceiving that he was far too tipsy to get to his home with safety, "i'll just walk home with you, mate. i've got an apple in my pocket for the little wench." the man made no objection, and they walked on. at the next corner they saw a crowd, all listening eagerly to the words of a large, red-faced man who, mounted on a chair, addressed them. on the burning, glowing heart of john atkins fell the following terrible words: "for there be no god, and there be nothing before us but to die as the beasts die. let us get our fill of pleasure and the like of that, neighbors, for there ain't nothing beyond the grave." "it's a lie!" roared atkins. the words had stung him like so many fiery serpents. he rushed into the midst of the crowd; he forgot peter harris; he sprang on to the chair which the other man in his astonishment had vacated, and poured out a whole string of eager, passionate words. at that moment he discovered that he had a wonderful gift. there was the message in his heart which god had put there, and he was able to deliver it. his words were powerful. the crowd, who had listened without any great excitement to the unbeliever, came close now to the man of god, applauding him loudly. atkins spoke of the fatherhood of god and of his love. "ain't that other a coward?" said two or three rough voices when atkins ceased to speak. "and he comes here talking them lies every sunday night," said one poor woman. "come you again, master, and tell us the blessed truth." this decided atkins. he went to his parish clergyman, an overworked and badly paid man, and told him the incident. he also spoke of his own resolve. he would go to these sheep who acknowledged no shepherd, and tell them as best he could of a father, a home, a hope. the clergyman could not but accept the services of this fervent city missionary. "get them to church if you can," he said. "aye, if i can," answered atkins; "but i will compel them to enter the church above--that is the main thing." soon he began to know almost all the poor folks who crowded to hear him. in their troubles he was with them; when joy came he heard first about it, and rejoiced most of all; and many a poor face of a tired woman or worn-out man, or even a little child, looking into his, grew brighter in the presence of death. chapter vi. different sort of work. connie was a very pretty girl. she was between thirteen and fourteen years of age, and very small and delicate-looking. her hair was of a pale, soft gold; her eyes were blue; she had a delicate complexion, pink and white--almost like a china figure, sue said; giles compared her to an angel. connie was in the same trade that sue earned her bread by; she also was a machinist in a large warehouse in the city. all day long she worked at the sewing-machine, going home with sue night after night, glad of sue's sturdy support, for connie was much more timid than her companion. connie was the apple of harris's eye, his only child. he did everything he could for her; he lived for her. if any one could make him good, connie could; but she was sadly timid; she dreaded the terrible moments when he returned home, having taken more than was good for him. at these times she would slink away to visit giles and sue, and on more than one occasion she had spent the night with the pair rather than return to her angry father. some months, however, before this story begins, a terrible misfortune had come to peter harris. he had come home on a certain evening worse than usual from the effects of drink. connie happened to be in. she had dressed herself with her usual exquisite neatness. she always kept the place ship-shape. the hearth was always tidily swept. she managed her father's earnings, which were quite considerable, and the wretched man could have had good food and a comfortable home, and been happy as the day was long, if only the craze for drink had not seized him. connie was very fond of finery, and she was now trimming a pretty hat to wear on the following sunday. not long ago she had made a new friend, a girl at the warehouse of the name of agnes coppenger. agnes was older than connie. she was the kind of girl who had a great admiration for beauty, and when she saw that people turned to look at pretty connie with her sweet, refined face and delicate ways, she hoped that by having such a pleasant companion she also might come in for her share of admiration. she therefore began to make much of connie. she praised her beauty, and invited her to her own home. there connie made companions who were not nearly such desirable ones as sue and giles. she began to neglect sue and giles, and to spend more and more of her time with agnes. on a certain day when the two girls were working over their sewing-machines, the whir of the numerous machines filling the great warehouse, agnes turned to connie. "when we go out at morning break i 'ave a word to say to yer." connie's eyes brightened. "you walk with me," whispered agnes again. an overseer came round. talking was forbidden in the great room, and the girls went on with their mechanical employment, turning out long seam after long seam of delicate stitches. the fluff from the work seemed to smother connie that morning. she had inherited her mother's delicacy. she coughed once or twice. there was a longing within her to get away from this dismal, this unhealthy life. she felt somehow, down deep in her heart, that she was meant for better things. the child was by nature almost a poet. she could have worshiped a lovely flower. as to the country, what her feelings would have been could she have seen it almost baffles description. now, sue, working steadily away at her machine a little farther down the room, had none of these sensations. provided that sue could earn enough money to keep giles going, that was all she asked of life. she was as matter-of-fact as a young girl could be; and as to pining for what she had not got, it never once entered her head. at twelve o'clock there was a break of half-an-hour. the machinists were then turned out of the building. it did not matter what sort of day it was, whether the sun shone with its summer intensity, or whether the snow fell in thick flakes--whatever the condition of the outside world, out all the working women had to go. none could skulk behind; all had to seek the open air. connie coughed now as the bitter blast blew against her cheeks. "isn't it cold?" she said. she expected to see agnes by her side, but it was sue she addressed. "i've got a penny for pease-pudding to-day," said sue. "will you come and have a slice, connie? or do yer want somethin' better? your father, peter harris, can let yer have more than a penny for yer dinner." "oh, yes," answered connie; "'tain't the money--i 'aven't got not a bit of happetite, not for nothing; but i want to say a word to agnes coppenger, and i don't see her." "here i be," said agnes, coming up at that moment. "come right along, connie; i've got a treat for yer." the last words were uttered in a low whisper, and sue, finding she was not wanted, went off in another direction. she gave little sighs as she did so. what was wrong with pretty connie, and why did she not go with her? it had been her custom to slip her hand inside sue's sturdy arm. during the half-hour interval, the girls used to repair together to the nearest cheap restaurant, there to secure what nourishing food their means permitted. they used to chatter to one another, exchanging full confidences, and loving each other very much. but for some time now connie had only thought of agnes coppenger, and sue felt out in the cold. "can't be helped," she said to herself; "but if i am not mistook, agnes is a bad un, and the less poor connie sees of her the better." sue entered the restaurant, which was now packed full of factory girls, and she asked eagerly for her penn'orth of pease-pudding. meanwhile connie and agnes were very differently employed. when the two girls found themselves alone, agnes looked full at connie and said: "i'm going to treat yer." "oh, no, you ain't," said connie, who was proud enough in her way. "yes, but i be," said agnes; "i ha' lots o' money, bless yer! here, we'll come in here." an a.b.c. shop stood invitingly open just across the road. connie had always looked at these places of refreshment with open-eyed admiration, and with the sort of sensation which one would have if one stood at the gates of paradise. to enter any place so gorgeous as an a.b.c., to be able to sit down and have one's tea or coffee or any other refreshment at one of those little white marble tables, seemed to her a degree of refinement scarcely to be thought about. the a.b.c. was a sort of forbidden fruit to connie, but agnes had been there before, and agnes had described the delight of the place. "the quality come in 'ere," said agnes, "an' they horders all sorts o' things, from mutton-chops to poached heggs. i am goin' in to-day, and so be you." "oh, no," said connie, "you can't afford it." "that's my lookout," answered agnes. "i've half-a-crown in my pocket, and ef i choose to have a good filling meal, and ef i choose that you shall have one too, why, that is my lookout." as agnes spoke she pulled her companion through the swinging door, and a minute later the two young girls had a little table between them, not far from the door. agnes called in a lofty voice to one of the waitresses. "coffee for two," she said, "and rolls and butter and poached heggs; and see as the heggs is well done, and the toast buttered fine and thick. now then, look spruce, won't yer?" the waitress went off to attend to agnes's requirements. agnes sat back in her chair with a sort of lofty, fine-lady air which greatly impressed poor connie. by-and-by the coffee, the rolls and butter, and the poached eggs appeared. a little slip of paper with the price of the meal was laid close to agnes's plate, and she proceeded to help her companion to the good viands. "it's this sort of meal you want hevery day," she said. "now then, eat as hard as ever you can, and while you're eating let me talk, for there's a deal to say, and we must be back in that factory afore we can half do justice to our wittles." connie sipped her coffee, and looked hard at her companion. "what is it?" she asked suddenly. "what's all the fuss, agnes? why be you so chuff to poor sue, and whatever 'ave you got to say?" "this," said agnes. "you're sick o' machine-work, ain't you?" "oh, that i be!" said connie, stretching her arms a little, and suppressing a yawn. "it seems to get on my narves, like. i am that miserable when i'm turning that horrid handle and pressing that treadle up and down, up and down, as no words can say. i 'spect it's the hair so full of fluff an' things, too; some'ow i lose my happetite for my or'nary feed when i'm working at that 'orrid machine." "i don't feel it that way," said agnes in a lofty tone. "but then, _i_ am wery strong. i can heat like anything, whatever i'm a-doing of. there, connie; don't waste the good food. drink up yer corffee, and don't lose a scrap o' that poached egg, for ef yer do it 'ud be sinful waste. well, now, let me speak. i know quite a different sort o' work that you an' me can both do, and ef you'll come with me this evening i can tell yer all about it." "what sort of work?" asked connie. "beautiful, refined--the sort as you love. but i am not going to tell yer ef yer give me away." "what do you mean by that, agnes?" "i means wot i say--i'll tell yer to-night ef yer'll come 'ome with me." "yer mean that i'm to spend all the evening with yer?" asked connie. "yes--that's about it. _you_ are to come 'ome with me, and we'll talk. why, bless yer! with that drinkin' father o' yourn, wot do you want all alone by yer lonesome? you give me a promise. and now i must pay hup, and we'll be off." "i'll come, o' course," said connie after brief reflection. "why shouldn't i?" she added. "there's naught to keep me to home." the girls left the a.b.c. shop and returned to their work. whir! whir! went the big machines. the young heads were bent over their accustomed toil; the hands on the face of the great clock which connie so often looked at went on their way. slowly--very slowly--the time sped. would that long day ever come to an end? the machinists' hours were from eight o'clock in the morning to six in the evening. sometimes, when there were extra lots of ready-made clothes to be produced, they were kept till seven or even eight o'clock. but for this extra work there was a small extra pay, so that few of them really minded. but connie dreaded extra hours extremely. she was not really dependent on the work, although peter would have been very angry with his girl had she idled her time. she herself, too, preferred doing this to doing nothing. but to-night, of all nights, she was most impatient to get away with agnes in order to discover what that fascinating young person's secret was. she looked impatiently at the clock; so much so that agnes herself, as she watched her eyes, chuckled now and then. "she'll be an easy prey," thought agnes coppenger. "i'll soon get 'er into my power." at six o'clock there was no further delay; no extra work was required, and the machinists poured into the sloppy, dark, and dreary streets. "come along now, quickly," said agnes. "don't wait for sue; sue has nothing to do with you from this time out." "oh dear! oh dear!" said connie. "but i don't want to give up sue and giles. you ha' never seen little giles mason?" "no," replied agnes, "and don't want to. wot be giles to me?" "oh," said connie, "ef yer saw 'im yer couldn't but love 'im. he's the wery prettiest little fellow that yer ever clapped yer two eyes on--with 'is delicate face an' 'is big brown eyes--and the wonnerful thoughts he have, too. poetry ain't in it. be yer fond o' poetry yerself, agnes?" "i fond o' poetry?" almost screamed agnes. "not i! that is, i never heerd it--don't know wot it's like. i ha' no time to think o' poetry. i'm near mad sometimes fidgeting and fretting how to get myself a smart 'at, an' a stylish jacket, an' a skirt that hangs with a sort o' swing about it. but you, now--you never think on yer clothes." "oh yes, but i do," said connie; "and i ha' got a wery pwitty new dress now as father guv me not a fortnight back; and w'en father don't drink he's wery fond o' me, an' he bought this dress at the pawnshop." "lor', now, did he?" said agnes. "wot sort be it, connie?" "dark blue, with blue velvet on it. it looks wery stylish." "you'd look like a lydy in that sort o' dress," said agnes. "you've the face of a lydy--that any one can see." "have i?" said connie. she put up her somewhat roughened hand to her smooth little cheeks. "yes, you 'ave; and wot i say is this--yer face is yer fortoon. now, look yer 'ere. we'll stand at this corner till the westminster 'bus comes up, and then we'll take a penn'orth each, and that'll get us wery near 'ome. yer don't think as yer father'll be 'ome to-night, connie?" "'tain't likely," replied connie; "'e seldom comes in until it's time for 'im to go to bed." "well then, that's all right. when we get to westminster, you skid down adam street until yer get to yer diggin's; an' then hup you goes and changes yer dress. into the very genteel dark-blue costoom you gets, and down you comes to yer 'umble servant wot is waitin' for yer below stairs." this programme was followed out in all its entirety by connie. the omnibus set the girls down not far from her home. connie soon reached her room. no father there, no fire in the grate. she turned on the gas and looked around her. the room was quite a good one, of fair size, and the furniture was not bad of its sort. peter harris himself slept on a trundle-bed in the sitting-room, but connie had a little room all to herself just beyond. here she kept her small bits of finery, and in especial the lovely new costume which her father had given her. she was not long in slipping off her working-clothes. then she washed her face and hands, and brushed back her soft, glistening, pale-golden hair, and put on the dark-blue dress, and her little blue velvet cap to match, and--little guessing how lovely she appeared in this dress, which simply transformed the pretty child into one of quite another rank of life--she ran quickly downstairs. a young man of the name of anderson, whom she knew very slightly, was passing by. he belonged to the fire brigade, and was one of the best and bravest firemen in london. he had a pair of great, broad shoulders, and a very kind face. it looked almost as refined as connie's own. anderson gave her a glance, puzzled and wondering. he felt half-inclined to speak, but she hurried by him, and the next minute agnes gripped her arm. "my word, ain't you fine!" said that young lady. "you _be_ a gel to be proud of! won't yer do fine, jest! now then, come along, and let's be quick." connie followed her companion. they went down several side-streets, and took several short cuts. they passed through the roughest and worst part of the purlieus at the back of westminster. at last they entered a broader thoroughfare, and there agnes stopped. "why, yer never be livin' here?" asked connie. "no, i bean't. you'll come to my 'ome afterwards. i want to take yer to see a lydy as maybe'll take a fancy to yer." "oh!" said connie, feeling both excited and full of wonder. the girls entered a side passage, and presently connie, to her astonishment, found herself going upwards--up and up and up--in a lift. the lift went up as far as it would go. the girls got out. agnes went first, and connie followed. they walked down the passage, and agnes gave a very neat double knock on the door, which looked like an ordinary front door to a house. the door was opened by a woman rather loudly dressed, but with a handsome face. "how do you do, mrs. warren?" said agnes. "i ha' brought the young lydy i spoke to yer about. shall us both come in?" "oh, yes, certainly," said mrs. warren. she stood aside, and connie, still following her companion, found herself at the other side of the neat door. the place inside was bright with electric light, and the stout, showily dressed lady, going first, conducted the girls into a room which agnes afterwards spoke of as the dining-room. the lady sat down in a very comfortable arm-chair, crossed her legs, and desired connie to come forward and show herself. "take off yer 'at," she said. connie did so. "you're rather pretty." connie was silent. "i want," said the stout woman, "a pretty gel, something like you, to come and sit with me from ten to two o'clock hevery day. yer dooties'll be quite light, and i'll give yer lots o' pretty clothes and good wages." "but what'll i have to do?" asked connie. "jest to sit with me an' keep me company; i'm lonesome here all by myself." connie looked puzzled. "you ask wot wages yer'll get," said agnes, poking connie on the arm. connie's blue eyes looked up. the showy lady was gazing at her very intently. "i'll give yer five shillin's a week," she said, "and yer keep, and some carst-off clothes--my own--now and again; and ef that bean't a bargain, i don't know wot be." connie was silent. "you 'ad best close with it," said agnes. "it's a charnce once in a 'undred. yer'll be very 'appy with mrs. warren--her's a real lydy." "yes, that i be," said mrs. warren. "i come of a very hold family. my ancestors come hover with william the conqueror." connie did not seem impressed by this fact. "will yer come or will yer not?" said mrs. warren. "i'll take yer jaunts, too--i forgot to mention that. often on a fine saturday, you an' me--we'll go to the country together. you don't know 'ow fine that 'ull be. we'll go to the country and we'll 'ave a spree. did yer never see the country?" "no," said connie, in a slow voice, "but i ha' dreamt of it." "she's the sort, ma'am," interrupted agnes, "wot dreams the queerest things. she's hall for poetry and flowers and sech like. she's not matter-o'-fack like me." "jest the sort i want," said mrs. warren. "i--i loves poetry. you shall read it aloud to me, my gel--or, better still, i'll read it to you. an' as to flowers--why, yer shall pluck 'em yer own self, an' yer'll see 'em a-blowin' an' a-growin', yer own self. we'll go to the country next saturday. there, now--ain't that fine?" connie looked puzzled. there certainly was a great attraction at the thought of going into the country. she hated the machine-work. but, all the same, somehow or other she did not like mrs. warren. "i'll think o' it and let yer know," she said. but when she uttered these words the stately dressed and over-fine lady changed her manner. "there's no thinking now," she said. "you're 'ere, and yer'll stay. you go out arter you ha' been at my house? you refuse my goodness? not a bit o' it! yer'll stay." "oh, yes, connie," said agnes in a soothing tone. "but i don't want to stay," said connie, now thoroughly frightened. "i want to go--and to go at once. let me go, ma'am; i--i don't like yer!" poor connie made a rush for the door, but agnes flew after her and clasped her round the waist. "yer _be_ a silly!" she said. "yer jest stay with her for one week." "but i--i must go and tell father," said poor connie. "you needn't--i'll go an' tell him. don't yer get into such a fright. don't, for goodness' sake! why, think of five shillin's a week, and jaunts into the country, and beautiful food, and poetry read aloud to yer, and hall the rest!" "i has most select poetry here," said mrs. warren. "did yer never yere of a man called tennyson? an' did yer never read that most touching story of the consumptive gel called the 'may queen'? 'ef ye're wakin' call me hearly, call me hearly, mother dear.' i'll read yer that. it's the most beauteous thing." "it sounds lovely," said connie. she was always arrested by the slightest thing which touched her keen fancy and rich imagination. "and you 'ates the machines," said agnes. "oh yes, i 'ates the machines," cried connie. then she added after a pause: "i'm 'ere, and i'll stay for one week. but i must go back first to get some o' my bits o' duds, and to tell father. you'd best let me go, ma'am; i won't be long away." "but i can't do that," said mrs. warren; "it's a sight too late for a young, purty gel like you to be out. agnes, now, can go and tell yer father, and bring wot clothes yer want to-morrow.--agnes, yer'll do that, won't yer?" "yes--that i will." "they'll never let me stay," said connie, reflecting on this fact with some satisfaction. "we won't ax him, my dear," said mrs. warren. "i must go, really, now," said agnes. "you're all right, connie; you're made. you'll be a fine lydy from this day out. and i'll come and see yer.--w'en may i come, mrs. warren?" "to-morrer evenin'," said mrs. warren. "you and connie may have tea together to-morrer evenin', for i'm goin' out with some friends to the thayertre." poor connie never quite knew how it happened, but somehow she found herself as wax in the strong hands of mrs. warren. connie, it is true, gave a frightened cry when she heard agnes shut the hall door behind her, and she felt positive that she had done exceedingly wrong. but mrs. warren really seemed kind, although connie could not but wish that she was not quite so stout, and that her face was not of such an ugly brick red. she gave the girl a nice supper, and talked to her all the time about the lovely life she would have there. "ef i takes to yer i'll maybe hadopt yer as my own daughter, my dear," she said. "you're a wery purty gel. and may i ax how old you are, my love?" connie answered that she was fourteen, and mrs. warren remarked that she was small for her age and looked younger. she showed the girl her own smart clothing, and tried the effect of her bit of fur round connie's delicate throat. "there," she said; "you can keep it. it's only rabbit; i can't afford no dearer. but yer'll look real foine in it when we goes out for our constooshionul to-morrow morning." connie was really touched and delighted with the present of the fur. she got very sleepy, too, after supper--more sleepy than she had ever felt in her life--and when mrs. warren suggested that her new little handmaid should retire early to bed, the girl was only too glad to obey. chapter vii. shopping. connie slept without dreams that night, and in the morning awoke with a start. what was the matter? was she late? it was dreadful to be late at the doors of that cruel factory. those who were late were docked of their pay. peter harris was always very angry when his daughter did not bring in her full earnings on saturday night. connie cried out, "father, father!" and then sat up in bed and pushed her golden hair back from her little face. what was the matter? where was she? why, what a pretty room! there was scarcely any light yet, and she could not see the different articles of furniture very distinctly, but it certainly seemed to her that she was in a most elegant apartment. her room at home was--oh, so bare! just a very poor trundle-bed, and a little deal chest of drawers with a tiny looking-glass on top, and one broken chair to stand by her bedside. this was all. but her present room had a carpet on the floor, and there were pictures hanging on the walls, and there were curtains to the windows, and the little bed on which she lay was covered with a gay counterpane--soft--almost as soft as silk. where could she be? it took her almost a minute to get back the memory of last night. then she shuddered with the most curious feeling of mingled ecstasy and pain. she was not going to the factory to-day. she was not going to work at that horrid sewing-machine. she was not to meet sue. she was not to be choked by the horrid air. she, connie, had got a new situation, and mrs. warren was a very nice woman, although she was so fat and her dress was so loud that even connie's untrained taste could not approve of it. just then a voice called to her: "get up, my dear; i'll have a cosy breakfast ready for yer by the time yer've put yourself tidily into yer clothes." "yes," thought connie to herself, "i've done well to come. agnes is right. i wonder what she'll say when she comes to tea this evening. i wonder if she met father. i do 'ope as father won't find me. i'd real like to stay on here for a bit; it's much, much nicer than the cruel sort of life i 'ave to home." connie dressed by the light which was now coming in more strongly through the window. mrs. warren pushed a can of hot water inside the door, and the girl washed with a strange, unwonted sense of luxury. she had no dress but the dark-blue, and she was therefore forced to put it on. when she had completed her toilet she entered the sitting-room. mrs. warren, in her morning _déshabille_, looked a more unpleasing object than ever. her hair was in tight curl-papers, and she wore a very loose and very dirty dressing-gown, which was made of a sort of pattern chintz, and gave her the effect of being a huge pyramid of coarse, faded flowers. there was coffee, however, which smelled very good, on the hearth, and there was some toast and bacon, and some bread, butter, and jam. connie and mrs. warren made a good meal, and then mrs. warren began to talk of the day's programme. "i have a lot of shopping to do this morning," she said, "and we'll go out not later than ten o'clock sharp. it's wonderful wot a lot o' things i has to buy. there's sales on now, too, and we'll go to some of 'em. maybe i'll get yer a bit o' ribbon--you're fond o' blue ribbon, i take it. well, maybe i'll get it for yer--there's no saying. anyhow, we'll walk down the streets, and wot shops we don't go into we'll press our noses against the panes o' glass and stare in. now then, my dear, yer don't s'pose that i'll allow you to come out walking with the likes o' me with yer 'air down like that." "why, 'ow is it to be done?" said connie. "i take it that it's beautiful; i ha' done it more tidy than ever." "but i don't want it tidy. now then, you set down yere close to the fire, so that you can toast yer toes, and i'll see to yer 'air." connie was forced to obey; more and more was she wax in the hands of her new employer. mrs. warren quickly took the hair-pins out of connie's thick plait. she let it fall down to her waist, and then she unplaited it and brushed out the shining waves of lovely hair, and then said, with a smile of satisfaction: "now, i guess there won't be anybody prettier than you to walk abroad to-day." "but i can't," said connie--"i don't ever wear my 'air like that; it's only young lydies as does that." "well, ain't you a lydy, and ain't i a lydy? you're going out with one, and yer'll wear yer 'air as i please." connie shivered; but presently the little dark-blue cap was placed over the masses of golden hair, the gray fur was fastened round the slender throat, and connie marched out with mrs. warren. mrs. warren's own dress was in all respects the reverse of her pretty young companion's. it consisted of a very voluminous silk cloak, which was lined with fur, and which gave the already stout woman a most portly appearance. on her head she wore a bonnet covered with artificial flowers, and she enveloped her hands in an enormous muff. "now, off we go," said mrs. warren. "you'll enjoy yerself, my purty." it is quite true that connie did--at least, at first. this was the time of day when, with the exception of sundays, she was always buried from view in the ugly warehouse. she was unaccustomed to the morning sunshine, and she was certainly unaccustomed to the handsome streets where mrs. warren conducted her. they walked on, and soon found themselves in crowded thoroughfares. at last they stopped before the doors of a great shop, into which crowds of people were going. "oh, what a pretty girl!" said connie to her companion. a young girl, very like connie herself--so like as to make the resemblance almost extraordinary--was entering the shop, accompanied by an old gentleman who was supporting himself by the aid of a gold-headed stick. the girl also had golden hair. she was dressed in dark blue, and had gray fur round her neck. but above the fur there peeped out a little pale-blue handkerchief made of very soft silk. "that's purty," whispered mrs. warren to connie. "yer'd like a 'andkercher like that--yer shall 'ave one. get on in front o' me; you're slimmer nor me; i want to push into the shop." connie obeyed. as she passed the fair young girl, the girl seemed to notice the extraordinary likeness between them, for she turned and looked at connie and smiled. she also said something to her companion, who also stared at the girl. but stout mrs. warren poked connie from behind, and she had to push forward, and presently found herself in the shop. there it seemed to her that mrs. warren did very little buying. it is true she stopped at several counters, always choosing those which were most surrounded by customers; it is true she pulled things about, poking at the goods offered for sale, and making complaints about them, but always keeping connie well to the fore. a delicate color had sprung into the girl's cheeks, and almost every one turned to look at her. the shopmen turned; the shopgirls gazed; the customers forgot what they wanted in their amazement at connie's beauty. her hair, in especial, was the subject of universal admiration--its thickness, its length, its marvelous color. the girl herself was quite unconscious of the admiration which her appearance produced, but mrs. warren knew well what a valuable acquisition she had made in little connie. when they left the shop she seemed to be in high good-humor. but, lo and behold! a change had taken place in the outside world. the sun, so bright and glorious, had hidden himself behind a murky yellow fog, which was coming up each moment thicker and thicker from the river. "oh dear!" said mrs. warren. "oh dear!" cried connie too. "we won't get lost, will us, ma'am?" "lost?" cried mrs. warren, with a sniff. "now, i call this fog the most beautiful fortunation thing that could have 'appened. we'll have a real jolly morning now, connie. you come along o' me. there, child--walk a bit in front. why, ye're a real, real beauty. i feel sort of ashamed to be walkin' with yer. let folks think that you're out with yer nurse, my pretty. yes, let 'em think that, and that she's screening yer from misfortun' wid her own ample person." thus connie walked for several hours that day. in and out of crowded thoroughfares the two perambulated. into shops they went, and out again they came. everywhere connie went first, and mrs. warren followed very close behind. at last the good lady said that she had done her morning's shopping. connie could not well recall what she had bought, and the pair trudged soberly home. when they got there mrs. warren went straight to her own bedroom, and connie sat down by the fire, feeling quite tired with so much exercise. presently mrs. warren came out again. she had changed her dress, and had put on an ample satin gown of black with broad yellow stripes. she was in high good-humor, and going up to connie, gave her a resounding smack on the cheek. "now," she said, "yer won't think 'ard of poor mammy warren. see wot i've gone an' got an' bought for yer." connie turned quickly. a soft little blue handkerchief, delicately folded in tissue-paper, was laid on the table by the girl. "why--why--that ain't for me!" said connie. "yes, but it be! why shouldn't it be for you? i saw yer lookin' at that purty young lydy who was as like yer as two peas. i watched 'ow yer stared at the blue 'andkercher, and 'ow yer sort o' longed for it." "but indeed--indeed i didn't." "anyhow, here's another, and yer can have it, and wear it peeping out among yer fur. i take it that yer blue 'andkercher'll take the cake." "then you've bought it for me?" said connie. "yus--didn't i zay so?" "but i never seen yer do it," said connie. "seen me do it?" said mrs. warren, her eyes flashing with anger. "you was too much taken up with yer own conceits, my gel--hevery one staring at yer, 'cos poor old mammy warren 'ad made yer so beautiful. but though you was full to the brim o' yourself, i warn't so selfish; i were thinkin' o' you--and yere's yer 'andkercher." connie took up the handkerchief slowly. strange as it may seem, it gave her no pleasure. she said, "thank you, mrs. warren," in a subdued voice, and took it into her little bedroom. connie felt that she did not particularly want to wear the handkerchief. she did not know why, but a trouble, the first of the many troubles she was to undergo in the terrible society of mrs. warren, came over her. she went back again and sat down by the fire. during the greater part of the afternoon the stout woman slept. connie watched her furtively. a strong desire to get up and run away seized her. could she not get out of that house and go back to sue and giles? how happy she would feel in giles's bare little room! how she would enjoy talking with the child! with what wonder they would both listen to big ben as he spoke in that voice of his the number of the hours! giles would make up fairy-tales for connie to listen to. how connie did love the "wonnerful" things he said about the big "woice"! one day it was cheerful, another day sad, another day very encouraging, another day full of that noble influence which the child himself so largely exercised. at all times it was an angel voice, speaking to mankind from high above this sordid world. it helped giles, and it helped connie too. she sat by the fire in this well-furnished room and looked anxiously towards the door. once she got up on tiptoe. she had almost reached the door, but had not quite done so, when mrs. warren turned, gave a loud snore, and opened her eyes. she did not speak when she saw connie, but her eyes seemed to say briefly, "well, don't you go any farther"; and connie turned back into her small bedroom. sharp at four o'clock mrs. warren started up. "now then," she said, "i'm goin' to get the tea ready." "can i help you, ma'am?" asked connie. "shall i make you some toast, ma'am?" "toast?" cried mrs. warren. "toast? do you think i'd allow yer to spile yer purty face with the fire beatin' on it? not a bit o' it! you set down there--it's a foine lydy you be, and i ha' to take care of yer." "but why should yer do that, ma'am? i ain't put into the world to do naught. i ha' always worked 'ard--father wanted me to." "eh?" said mrs. warren. "but i'm yer father and mother both now, and i don't want yer to." "don't yer?" said connie. she sank down and folded her hands in her lap. "i must do summut to whiten them 'ands o' yours," said mrs. warren; "and i'm goin' to get yer real purty stockings an' boots to wear. you must look the real lydy--a real lydy wears neat boots and good gloves." "but i ain't a lydy," said connie; "an' wots more," she added, "i don't want to be." "you be a lydy," said mrs. warren; "the halmighty made yer into one." "i don't talk like one," said connie. "no; but then, yer needn't speak. oh lor'! i suppose that's agnes a-poundin' at the door. oh, stand back, child, and i'll go to her." mrs. warren opened the door, and agnes stepped in. "i ha' took french leave," she said. "i dunno wot they'll say at the factory, but yere i be. you promised, you know, mrs. warren, ma'am, as i shouldn't 'ave naught to do with factory life, niver no more." "you needn't," said mrs. warren. "i ha' a deal o' work for yer to get through; but come along into my bedroom and we'll talk over things." mrs. warren and agnes disappeared into the bedroom of the former, mrs. warren having first taken the precaution to lock the sitting-room door and put the key into her pocket. poor connie felt more than ever that she was a prisoner. more than ever did she long for the old life which she had lived. notwithstanding her father's drinking bouts, notwithstanding his cruelty and neglect, the free life, the above-board life--even the dull, dull factory life--were all as heaven compared to this terrible, mysterious existence in mrs. warren's comfortable rooms. chapter viii. comparisons. mrs. warren and agnes talked together for quite three quarters of an hour. when they came out of the bedroom, mrs. warren was wearing a tight-fitting cloth jacket, which made her look more enormous even than the cloak had done. she had a small black bonnet on her head, over which she had drawn a spotted net veil. her hands were encased in decent black gloves, her skirt was short, and her boots tidy. she carried in her hand a fair-sized brown leather bag; and telling connie that she was "goin' out," and would be back when she saw her and not before, left the two girls alone in the little sitting-room. after she had shut the door behind her, agnes went over to it, and possessing herself of the key, slipped it into her pocket. then she stared hard at connie. "well," she said, "an' 'ow do yer like it?" "i don't like it at all," answered connie, "i want to go--i will go. i'd rayther a sight be back in the factory. mrs. warren--she frightens me." "you be a silly," said agnes. "you talk like that 'cos you knows no better. why, 'ere you are as cosy and well tended as gel could be. look at this room. think on the soft chair you're sittin' upon; think on the meals; think on yer bedroom; think on the beautiful walk you 'ad this morning. my word! you be a silly! no work to do, and nothing whatever to trouble yer, except to act the lydy. my word! ef _you're_ discontent, the world'll come to an end. wish i were in your shoes--that i do." "well, agnes, get into them," said connie. "i'm sure you're more than welcome. i'm jest--jest pinin' for wot you thinks naught on. i want to see giles and sue and--and--father. you git into my shoes--you like it--i don't like it." agnes burst into a loud laugh. "my word!" she said, "you're be a gel and a 'arf. wouldn't i jest jump at gettin' into your shoes if i could? but there! yer shoes don't fit me, and that's the truth." "don't fit yer, don't they?" exclaimed connie. "wot do yer mean by that?" "too small," said agnes, sticking out her ugly foot in its broken boot--"too genteel--too neat. no one could make a lydy o' me. look at my 'ands." she spread out her coarse, stumpy fingers. "look at my face. why, yere's a glass; let's stand side by side, an' then let's compare. big face; no nose to speak of; upper lip two inches long; mouth--slit from ear to ear; freckles; eyes what the boys call pig's eyes; 'air rough and coarse; figure stumpy. now look at you. face fair as a lily; nose straight and small; mouth like a rosebud; eyes blue as the sky. no, connie, it can't be done; what with that face o' yourn, and that gold 'air o' yourn, you're a beauty hout and hout. yer face is yer fortoon', my purty maid." "my face ain't my fortune." "things don't fit, connie. you ha' got to stay yere--and be a fine lydy. that's the way you works for yer livin'--i ha' to work in a different sort." "what sort? oh, do tel me!" "no; that's my secret. but i've spoke out plain with the old woman, and i'm comin' yere saturday night--not to stay, bless yer! no, but to do hodd jobs for her; for one thing, to look arter you when she's out. i 'spect she'll get ronald back now you ha' come." "ronald!" cried connie. "who's he?" "never you mind; you'll know when yer see of 'im." "then i'm a prisoner," said connie--"that's what it means." "well, well! take it like that ef yer like. ain't it natural that mrs. warren should want yer to stay now she ha' got yer? when yer stays willin'-like, as yer will all too soon, then yer'll 'ave yer liberty. hin an' out then yer may go as yer pleases; there'll be naught to interfere. yer'll jest do yer dooty then, and yer dooty'll be to please old mammy warren." "has my father missed me?" asked connie, who saw by this time that she could not possibly cope with agnes; if ever she was to effect her escape from this horrible place, it must be by guile. "'ow is father?" she asked. "'ave he missed me yet?" "know nothing 'bout him. don't think he have, for the boys, dick and hal, was 'ome when i come back. they 'ad no news for me at all." "you saw sue to-day?" "yus, i saw her, an' i kep' well away from her." "agnes," said connie in a very pleading voice, "ef i must stay 'ere--an' i don't know wot i ha' done to be treated like this--will yer take a message from me to little giles?" "wot sort?" asked agnes. "tell 'im straight from me that i can't come to see 'im for a few days, an' ax him to pray for me; an' tell him that i 'ears the woice same as he 'ears the woice, and tell 'im as it real comforts me. wull yer do that, agnes--wull yer, now?" "maybe," said agnes; then after a pause she added, "or maybe i won't. i 'ates yer methody sort o' weak-minded folks. that's the worst o' you, connie; you're real weak-minded, for all ye're so purty, what wid yer 'prays' an' yer woice, indeed!" "hark! it's sounding now," said connie. she raised her little delicate hand, and turned her head to listen. the splendid notes filled the air. connie murmured something under her breath. "i know wot giles 'ud say 'bout the woice to-night," she murmured. but agnes burst into a loud laugh. "my word!" she said. "you 're talkin' o' big ben. well, you be a caution." "_he that shall endure_," whispered connie; and then a curious hidden sunshine seemed to come out and radiate her small face. she folded her hands. the impatience faded from her eyes. she sat still and quiet. "wot hever's the matter with yer?" asked agnes. "naught as yer can understand, aggie." "let's get tea," said agnes. she started up and made vigorous preparations. soon the tea was served and placed upon the little centre-table. it was an excellent tea, with shrimps and bread-and-butter, and cake and jam. agnes ate enormously, but connie was not as hungry as usual. "prime, i call it!" said agnes. "my word! to think of gettin' all this and not workin' a bit for it! you be in luck, connie harris--you be in luck." when the meal was over, and agnes had washed up and made the place tidy, she announced her intention of going to sleep. "i'm dead-tired," she said, "and swallerin' sech a fillin' meal have made me drowsy. but i ha' the key in my pocket, so don't you be trying that little gime o'running away." agnes slept, and snored in her sleep, and connie restlessly walked to the window and looked out. when big ben sounded again her eyes filled with tears. she had never spent such a long and dismal evening in her life. mammy warren did not return home until between ten and eleven o'clock. immediately on her arrival, agnes took her departure. mammy warren then locked the door, and having provided herself with a stiff glass of whisky-and-water, desired connie to hurry off to bed. "yer'll be losing yer purty sleep," she said, "and then where'll yer be?" the next day connie again walked abroad with mrs. warren. once more she was dressed in the dark-blue costume, with her golden hair hanging in a great fleece down her back. but when she made her appearance without the little blue handkerchief, mrs. warren sent her back for it. "i know wot i'm about," she said. "the blue in the 'andkercher'll add to the blue in yer eyes. pop it on, gel, and be quick." connie obeyed. "i don't--want to," she said. "and _w'y_ don't yer?" the woman's voice was very fierce. "i'm somehow sort o' feared." "take that for bein' sort o' feared," said mrs. warren; and she hit the child so fierce a blow on the arm that connie cried out from the pain. poor connie was a very timorous creature, however, and the effect of the blow was to make her meek and subservient. the blue handkerchief was tied on and arranged to mrs. warren's satisfaction, and they both went out into the open air. they went by 'bus to quite a different part of the town on this occasion, and mrs. warren again assured her little companion that she had a great deal of shopping to get through. "that is why i wear this cloak," she said; "i ha' bags fastened inside to hold the things as i buy." once again they got into a crowd, and once again connie was desired to walk on a little way in front, and once again people turned to look at the slim, fair child with her beautiful face and lovely hair. once more they entered several shops, and invariably chose the most crowded parts--so crowded that mrs. warren whispered to connie: "we must wait till our turn, honey. we must ha' patience, dearie." they had patience. mrs. warren did absolutely purchase half-a-dozen very coarse pocket-handkerchiefs, keeping connie close to her all the time. one of these she straightway presented to the girl, saying in a loud voice as she did so to the attendant: "i'm out with the purty dear to give her exercise. i am her nurse. she mustn't walk too far. no, thank you, mum, i'll carry the 'andkerchers 'ome myself; i won't trouble yer to send them to portland mansions.--now, come along, my dear; we mustn't waste our time in this 'ot shop. we must be hout, taking of our exercise." they walked a very, very long way that morning, and mrs. warren, contrary to her yesterday's plan, did now and then expend a few pence. whenever she did so she drew the shop people's attention to connie, speaking of her as her charge, and a "dear, delicate young lydy," and begging of the people to be quick, as "'ot air" was so bad for the dear child; and invariably she refused to allow a parcel to be sent to portland mansions, saying that she preferred to carry it. at last, however, she seemed to think that connie had had sufficient exercise, and they went home from the corner of tottenham court road on the top of a 'bus. on their way connie turned innocently to her companion and said: "why ever did yer say as we lived in portland mansions?" but a sharp pinch on the girl's arm silenced her, and she felt more nervous and frightened than ever. the moment they got home, mrs. warren again returned to her bedroom, and came back neatly dressed in a black and yellow silk, with a keen appreciation of roast pork and apple sauce, which had been preparing in the oven all the morning. connie too was hungry. when the meal came to an end mrs. warren said: "more like a lydy you grows each minute. but, my dear, i must thank yer nivver to open yer mouth when you're out, for yer ain't got the accent. yer must niver do it until yer has acquired the rightful accent." "was that why yer pinched me so 'ard when i axed why yer spoke o' portland mansions?" asked connie. mrs. warren burst into a loud laugh. "course it were," she said. "don't yer nivver do nothing o' that sort agin." "but we don't live in portland mansions. why did yer say so?" asked connie. "ax no questions and yer'll be told no lies," was mrs. warren's response. she accompanied this apparently innocent speech with a look out of her fierce black eyes which caused poor connie's heart to sink into her shoes. after a minute mrs. warren said: "to-morrer's saturday; we'll go out a bit in the morning, and then we'll take train into the country. i promised yer a jaunt, and yer shall 'ave it. i'm thinking a lot o' yer, my dear, and 'ow i can best help such a beautiful young gel. yer accent must be 'tended to, and the best way to manage that is for you to have a refoined sort o' companion. ronald is that sort. we'll go and fetch 'im 'ome to-morrer." "whoever is ronald?" asked connie. "do tell me, please," she added in an interested voice, "for agnes spoke of him yesterday." "you wait till yer see," said mrs. warren. she nodded good-humoredly. the rest of the day passed very much like the day before. it was again intensely dull to poor connie. she had nothing whatever to do but to feed and sit still. again mrs. warren slept until tea-time. then agnes made her appearance, and mrs. warren went out in a tight-fitting coat, and with a leather bag in her hand. agnes made tea and scolded connie; and connie grumbled and cried, and begged and begged to be given back her liberty. mrs. warren returned a little later than the night before. agnes went away; mrs. warren drank whisky-and-water, and connie was sent to bed. oh, it was a miserable night! and would her own people ever find her? would sue be satisfied that connie was not quite lost? and would father john look for her? dear, kind, splendid father john! what would she not give to hear his magnificent voice as he preached to the people once again? would not her own father search heaven and earth to find his only child? he was so good to connie when he was not drunk--so proud of her, too, so glad when she kissed him so anxious to do the best he could for her! would he give her up for ever? "oh dear, dear!" thought the poor child, "if it was not for the woice i believe i'd go mad; but the woice--it holds me up. i'm 'appy enough w'en i 'ears it. oh, little giles, thank yer for telling me o' the wonnerful woice!" chapter ix. a trip into the country. saturday dawned a very bright and beautiful day. mrs. warren got up early, and connie also rose, feeling somehow or other that she was going to have a pleasanter time than she had yet enjoyed since her imprisonment. oh yes, she was quite certain now that she was imprisoned; but for what object it was impossible for her even to guess. mrs. warren bustled out quite an hour earlier than usual. she did not go far on this occasion. she seemed a little anxious, and once or twice, to connie's amazement, dodged down a back street as though she were afraid. her red face turned quite pale when she did this, and she clutched connie's arm and said in a faltering voice: "i'm tuk with a stitch in my side! oh, my poor, dear young lydy, i'm afeered as i won't be able to take yer for a long walk this blessed morning." but when connie, later on, inquired after the stitch, she was told to mind her own business, and she began to think that mrs. warren had pretended. they reached waterloo at quite an early hour, and there they took third-class tickets to a part of the country about thirty miles from london. it took them over an hour to get down, and during that time connie sat by the window wrapped in contemplation. for the first time she saw green grass and hills and running water, and although it was midwinter she saw trees which seemed to her too magnificent and glorious for words. her eyes shone with happiness, and she almost forgot mrs. warren's existence. at last they reached the little wayside station to which mrs. warren had taken tickets. they got out, and walked down a winding country lane. "is this real, real country?" asked connie. "yus--too real for me." "oh ma'am, it's bootiful! but i dunna see the flowers." "flowers don't grow in the winter, silly." "don't they? i thought for sure i'd see 'em a-blowin' and a-growin'. yer said so--yer mind." "well, so yer wull, come springtime, ef ye're a good gel. now, i want to talk wid yer wery serious-like." "oh ma'am, don't!" said poor connie. "none o' yer 'dont's' wid me! you ha' got to be very thankful to me for all i'm a-doin' for yer--feedin yer, and cockerin' yer up, and makin' a fuss o' yer, and brushing out yer 'air, and giving yer blue ties, and boots, and gloves." "oh ma'am, yes," said connie; "and i'm wery much obleeged--i am, truly--but i'd rayther a sight rayther, go 'ome to father; i would, ma'am." "wot little gels 'ud like isn't wot little gels 'ull get," said mrs. warren. "you come to me of yer own free will, and 'avin' come, yer'll stay. ef yer makes a fuss, or lets out to anybody that yer don't like it, i've a little room in my house--a room widdout no light and no winder, and so far away from any other room that yer might scream yerself sick and no one 'ud 'ear. into that room yer goes ef yer makes trouble. and now, listen." mrs. warren gripped connie's arm so tight that the poor child had to suppress a scream. "i know wot ye're been saying to agnes--a-grumblin' and a-grumblin' to agnes, instead o' down on yer knees and thankin' the almighty that yer've found mammy warren. i know all about it: yer'll stop that--d'yer 'ear--d'yer 'ear?" "yus, ma'am," said connie. "do yer, promise?" "yus, ma'am," said the poor child again. "i'll see as yer keeps it--yer little good-for-nothing beggar maid as i'm a-pamperin' of! don't i work for yer, and toil for yer? and am i to have naught but grumbles for my pains? yer won't like that room--an' it's there!" "i won't grumble," said connie, terrified, and not daring to do anything but propitiate her tyrant. mrs. warren's manner altered. "wull," she said, "i ha' brought yer down all this long way to 'ave a plain talk, and i guess we 'ave 'ad it. you please me, and i'll do my dooty by you; but don't please me, and there ain't a gel in the whole of lunnon'll be more misrubble than you. don't think as yer'll git aw'y, for yer won't--no, not a bit o' it. and now i've something else to say. there's a young boy as we're goin' to see to-day. 'is name is ronald; he's a special friend o' mine. i ha' had that boy a-wisiting o' me afore now, but he were took bad with a sort of fever. my word! din't i nurse him--the best o' good things didn't i give 'im! but his narves went wrong, and i sent him into the country for change of hair. he's all right now. he's a very purty boy, same as you're a purty gel, and i'm goin' to bring him back to be a companion for yer." "oh ma'am!" "yus," said mrs. warren. "yer'll like that, won't yer?" "oh yus, ma'am." "wull, now--we'll be calling at the cottage in a few minutes, and wot i want yer to do is to have a talk with that yer boy. ye're to tell him as i'm wonnerful good; ye're to tell him the sort o' things i does for yer. the poor boy--he got a notion in his head w'en he had the fever--that i--i--mammy warren--wor cruel to him. you tell him as there ain't a word o' truth in it, for a kinder or more motherly body never lived. ef yer don't tell him that, i'll soon find out; an' there's the room without winders an' without light real 'andy. now--do yer promise?" these words were accompanied by a violent shake. "do yer promise?" "yus, i promise," said connie, turning white. mrs. warren had an extraordinary capacity for changing her voice and manner, even the expression of her face. while she had been extracting two promises from poor connie, she looked like the most awful, wicked old woman that the worst parts of london could produce; but when on two points connie had faithfully promised to yield to her wishes, she immediately altered her tactics, and became as genial and affectionate and pleasant as she had been the reverse a few minutes back. "i believes yer," she said, "and you're a real nice child, and there won't be any one in the 'ole of lunnun 'appier than you as long as yer take the part of poor old mammy warren. now then, yere's the cottage, and soon we'll see the little man. he'll be a nice companion for yer, connie, and yer'll like that, won't you?" "oh yes, ma'am," said connie. she was not a london child for nothing. she had known a good deal of its ups and downs, although nothing quite so terrible as her present position had ever entered into her mind. but she saw clearly enough that the only chance of deliverance for her, and perhaps for the poor little boy, was to carry out mammy warren's injunctions and to keep her promise to the letter. accordingly, when mrs. warren's knock at the cottage door was answered by a kind-looking, pale-faced woman, connie raised her bright blue eyes to the woman's face and listened with deep interest when mrs. warren inquired how the poor little boy was. "is it ronald?" said the woman, whose name was mrs. cricket. "he's ever so much better; he's taken kindly to his food, and is out in the woods now at the back of the house playing all by himself." "in the woods is he, now?" said mrs. warren. "well, i ha' come to fetch him 'ome." "oh ma'am, i don't think he's as strong as all that." "i ha' come to fetch him 'ome by the wishes of his parients," said mrs. warren. "i suppose," she added, "there's no doubt in yer moind that i '_ave_ come from the parients of the boy?" "oh no, ma'am--none, o' course. will you come in, and i'll fetch him?" "is he quite right in the 'ead now?" said mrs. warren as she and connie followed mrs. cricket into the cottage. "he's better," said that good woman. "no talk o' dark rooms and nasty nightmares and cruel old women? all those things quite forgot?" asked mrs. warren. "he ain't spoke o' them lately." "well then, he's cured; he's quite fit to come 'ome. this young lydy is a r'lation o' hisn. i ha' brought her down to see 'im, and we'll all travel back to town together.--you might go and find him, my dear," said mrs. warren, turning to connie, and meanwhile putting her finger to her lips when mrs. cricket's back was turned in order to enjoin silence on the girl. "you run out into the woods, my purty, and find the dear little boy and bring him back here as fast as yer like." "yes, missy," said mrs. cricket, opening the back door of the cottage, "you run out, straight up that path, and you'll find little ronald." connie obeyed. she was glad to be alone in order to collect her thoughts. a wild idea of running away even now presented itself to her. but looking back, she perceived that mrs. warren had seated herself by the kitchen window and had her bold eyes fixed on her retreating little figure. no chance of running away. she must trust to luck, and for the present she must carry out mrs. warren's instructions. presently she came up to the object of her search--an exceedingly pretty, dark-haired boy of about ten years of age. his face was pale, his features regular, his eyes very large, brown, and soft, like rich brown velvet. he did not pay much attention to connie, but went on laying out a pile of horse-chestnuts which he had gathered in rows on the ground. "be your name ronald?" said connie, coming up to him. he looked at her, then sprang to his feet, and politely took off his little cap. "yes, my name is ronald harvey." "i ha' come to fetch yer," said connie. "what for?" asked the boy. "it's mammy warren," said connie in a low tone. "what?" asked the child. his face, always pale, now turned ghastly white. "she's such a nice woman," said connie. she sat down by ronald. "show me these purty balls," she said. "wot be they?" "chestnuts," said the boy. "did you ever see them before? that was not true what you said about--about----" "yus," said connie, "it is true. i'm a little gel stayin' with her now, and you--i want you to come back with me. she's real, real kind is mammy warren." the boy put his hand up to his forehead. "you seem a nice girl," he said, "and you look like--like a lady, only you don't talk the way ladies talk. i'm a gentleman. my father was an officer in the army, and my darling mother died, and--and something happened--i don't know what--but i was very, very, very ill. there was an awful time first, and there seemed to be a woman called mammy warren mixed up in the time and----" "oh, you had fever," said connie, "and you--you pictured things to yourself in the fever. but 'tain't true," she added earnestly. "i'm wid her, an' she's real, real, wonnerful kind." "you wouldn't tell a lie, would you, girl?" said the boy. connie bit her lip hard. "no," she said then in a choked voice. "i wonder if it's true," said the boy. "it seems to me it was much more than the fever, but i can't--i can't _quite_ remember." "she is very kind," echoed connie. "children, come along in," said a cheerful voice at that moment; and connie, raising her eyes, saw the sturdy form of mrs. warren advancing up the path to meet her. "she was terrible cruel in my time," said ronald, glancing at the same figure. "i don't want to go back." "oh, do--do come back, for my sake!" whispered connie. he turned and looked into the beautiful little face. "boys have to be good," he said then, "and--and brave. my father was a very brave man." then he struggled to his feet. "well, ronald," said mrs. warren, "and 'ow may yer be, my dear little boy? this is connie, a cousin o' yourn. wot playmates you two wull be! ye're both comin' back with me to my nice 'ome this wery arfternoon. and now mrs. cricket 'as got a meal for us all and then yer little things'll be packed, ronald, and i'll carry 'em--for in course yer nurse ought to carry yer clothes, my boy. we'll get off to the train as fast as ever we can arter we've had our meal. now, children, foller me back to the cottage." mrs. warren sailed on in front. connie and ronald followed after, hand in hand. there was quite a splendid color in connie's pale cheeks now, for all of a sudden she saw a reason for her present life. she had got to protect ronald, who was so much younger than herself. she would protect him with her very life if necessary. chapter x. the return to london. mrs. warren made a very hearty meal. she swallowed down cup after cup of strong coffee, and ate great hunches of thick bread-and-butter, and called out to the children not to shirk their food. but, try as they would, neither connie nor ronald had much appetite. connie, in spite of herself, could not help casting anxious glances at the little boy, and whenever she did so she found that mrs. warren had fixed her with her bold black eyes. it seemed to connie that mrs. warren's eyes said quite as plainly as though her lips had spoken: "i'll keep my word; there's the room with no winder and no light in it--yer'll find yerself in there ef yer don't look purty sharp." but notwithstanding the threatening expression of mrs. warren's eyes, connie could not restrain all sign of feeling. ronald, on the other hand, appeared quite bright. he devoted himself to connie, helping her in the most gentlemanly way to the good things which mrs. cricket had provided. "the apple jam is very nice," he said. "i watched mrs. cricket make it.--didn't i, mrs. cricket?" "that you did, my little love," said the good woman. "and i give you a little saucer of it all hot and tasty for your tea, didn't i, my little love?" "oh yes," replied ronald; "and didn't i like it, just!" "jam's wery bad for little boys," said mrs. warren at this juncture. "jam guvs little boys fever an' shockin' cruel dreams. it's bread-and-butter as little boys should heat, and sometimes bread without butter in case they should turn bilious." "oh no, ma'am, begging your pardon," here interrupted mrs. cricket; "i haven't found it so with dear little master ronald. you tell his parients, please, ma'am, that it's milk as he wants--lots and lots of country milk--and--and a chop now and then, and chicken if it's young and tender. that was 'ow i pulled 'im round.--wasn't it, ronald, my dear?" "yes," said ronald in his gentlemanly way. "you were very good indeed, mrs. cricket." "perhaps," interrupted mrs. warren, drawing herself up to her full height, which was by no means great, and pursing her lips, "yer'll 'ave the goodness, mrs. cricket, to put on a piece o' paper the exact diet yer like to horder for this yere boy. i'm a busy woman," said mrs. warren, "and i can't keep it in my 'ead. it's chuckens an' chops an' new-laid heggs--yer did say new-laid heggs at thruppence each didn't yer, mrs. cricket?--an' the richest an' best milk, mostly cream, i take it." "i said nothing about new-laid eggs," said mrs. cricket, who was exceedingly exact and orderly in her mind; "but now, as you 'ave mentioned them, they'd come in very 'andy. but i certain did speak of the other things, and i'll write 'em down ef yer like." "do," said mrs. warren, "and i'll mention 'em to the child's parients w'en i see 'em." but at this juncture something startling happened, for ronald, white as a sheet, rose. "has my father come back?" he asked. "have you heard from him? are you taking me to him?" mrs. warren gazed full at ronald, and, quick as thought, she adopted his idea. here would be a way--a delightful way--of getting the boy back to her dreadful house. "now, ain't i good?" she said. "don't i know wot a dear little boy wants? yus, my love, ye're soon to be in the harms of yer dear parient." "but you said both parients," interrupted mrs. cricket. mrs. warren put up her finger to her lips. she had got the boy in her arms, and he found himself most unwillingly folded to her ample breast. "ain't one enough at a time?" was her most dubious remark. "and now then, ronald, hurry up with yer things, for connie and me, we must be hoff. we could leave yer behind, ef yer so wished it, but lunnun 'ud be a much more convenient place for yer to meet yer father." "oh i'll go, i'll go!" said ronald. "my darling, darling father! oh, i did think i'd never see him again! and he's quite well, mrs. warren?" "in splendid, splendid health," said mrs. warren. "niver did i lay eyes on so 'andsome a man." "and i'll see him to-night?" said ronald. "yus--ef ye're quick." then ronald darted into the next room, and mrs. cricket followed him, and connie and mrs. warren faced each other. mrs. warren began to laugh immoderately. "young and tender chuckens," she said, "an' chops an' new-laid heggs an' milk. wotever's the matter with yer, connie?" connie answered timidly that she though ronald a dear little boy, and very pretty, and that she hoped that he would soon get strong with the nourishing food that mrs. warren was going to give him. but here that worthy woman winked in so mysterious and awful a manner that poor connie felt as though she had received an electric shock. after a time she spoke again. "i'm so glad about his father!" she said. "his father was a hofficer in the harmy. will he really see him to-night, mrs. warren?" "will the sky fall?" was mrs. warren's ambiguous answer. "once for all, connie, you ax no questions an' you'll be told no lies." a very few moments afterwards ronald came out of the little bedroom, prepared for his journey. mrs. cricket cried when she parted with him, but there were no tears in the boy's lovely eyes--he was all smiles and excitement. "i'll bring my own, own father down to see you, mrs. cricket," he said; "maybe not to-morrow, but some day next week. for you've been very good to me, darling mrs. cricket." then mrs. cricket kissed him and cried over him again, and the scene might have been prolonged if mrs. warren had not caught the boy roughly by the shoulder and pulled him away. as they were marching down the tiny path which led from the cottage to the high-road, mrs. cricket did venture to say in an anxious voice: "i s'pose as major harvey'll pay me the little money as i spended on the dear child?" "that he will," said mrs. warren. "i'll see him to-night, most like, and i'll be sure to mention the chuckens and the chops." "well then, good-bye again, darling," said mrs. cricket. ronald blew a kiss to her, and then, taking connie's hand, they marched down the high-road in the direction of the railway station, mrs. warren trotting by their side, carrying the small bundle which contained ronald's clothes all tied up neatly in a blue check handkerchief. "yer'll be sure to tell yer father wot a good nurse i were to you, ronald," she remarked as they found themselves alone in a third-class carriage. "you're quite sure it _was_ only a dream?" said ronald then very earnestly. "wot do yer mean by that, chile?" inquired mrs. warren. "i mean the dark room without any light, and the dreadful person who--who--flogged me, and--the hunger." "poor little kid!" said mrs. warren. "didn't he 'ave the fever, and didn't mammy warren hold him in her arms, an', big boy that he be, walked up and down the room wid him, and tried to soothe him w'en he said them nasty lies? it wor a dream, my dear. w'y, connie here can tell yer 'ow good i am to 'er." "wery good," said connie--"so good that there niver were no one better." she tumbled out the words in desperation, and mammy warren gave her a radiant smile, and poked her playfully in the ribs, and said that she was quite the funniest gel she had ever come acrost. after this connie was quite silent until the little party found themselves at waterloo. here they mounted to the top of a 'bus, and ronald, trembling with delight, clutched hold of connie's hand. "stoop down," he said; "i want to whisper." connie bent towards him. "do you think my father will be waiting for me when we get back to mrs. warren's?" "i don't know," was the only reply poor connie could manage to give him. at last the omnibus drive came to an end, and the trio walked the short remaining distance to mrs. warren's rooms. ronald almost tumbled upstairs in his eagerness to get there first. "oh, how will he get in? i do hope he's not been waiting and gone away again." mrs. warren opened the door with her latch key. the room was dark, for there was neither fire-light nor gas-light; but soon these deficiencies were supplied, for mrs. warren was exceedingly fond of creature comforts. "i wonder when he'll come," said ronald. he was standing by the table and looking anxiously with his big brown eyes all round him. "i do wonder when he'll come." mrs. warren made no reply. she began to prepare supper. as she did so there came a knock at the door. mrs. warren went to open it. she had an eager conversation with some one who stood without, and then she and agnes entered the room together. ronald evidently knew agnes, for he shrank away from her and regarded her arrival with the reverse of pleasure. "wull--and 'ow yer?" said agnes in a cheerful tone. she chucked ronald under the chin and remarked on his healthy appearance. "wull," said mrs. warren, "yer can't blame the pore child for that, seein' as he 'ave been cockered up on the best food in the land--chuckens and chops, no less." "oh, dear me! how shockin' greedy you must be!" said agnes. "i'm sure, ma'am," she continued, turning to mrs. warren, "no one could desire better than wot _you_ 'as to eat." "i like my own food," said mrs. warren, "although it be simplicity itself. there are two red 'errin's for supper to-night, and bread-and-butter and tea, and a _little_ raspberry jam, and ef that ain't enough for anybody's palate, i don't know----" "my father, when he comes"--began ronald, but here mrs. warren turned to him. "you're a manly boy, ronald," she said, "and i know you'll tike wot i 'ave to say in a manly sperrit. yer father have been called out o' lunnon, and won't be back for a day or two. he sent a message by agnes 'ere. he don't know the exact day as he'll be back, but he'll come wery soon." "yes," said agnes, "i seen him." "where?" asked ronald. "in the street," said agnes. "he come along 'ere an hour back. ef you'd been 'ome he might ha' took yer back with him; but w'en he found that you was still in the country he wor that pleased 'is whole face seemed to smile, and he said--said 'e, 'dear mammy warren--i'd like to chuck her under her chin.' them was his wery words." "i don't believe my father would say that sort of thing," answered ronald. "oh my!" said agnes. "highty-tighty! don't yer go an' say as i tells lies, young man----" "an' it's the wery thing he would say," interrupted mrs. warren, "for a plainer-spoken, more hagreeable man than the major niver drew breath." "he left yer a message," continued agnes, "an' yer can tike it or leave it--i don't care. wot he said wor this. you're to obey mammy warren, an' be wery grateful to her, an' do jest wot she tells yer until he comes 'ome. he'll be 'ome any day, an' he'll come an' fetch yer then, and the more good yer be to mammy warren the better pleased he'll be." ronald sat down on a little stool. he had sat on that stool before. he looked with dim eyes across the over-furnished, hot, and terribly ugly room. that vision of delight which had buoyed him up all the way back to london was not to be realized for a few days. he must bear with mrs. warren for a few days. it did not enter into his head that the whole story about his father was false from beginning to end. the present disappointment was quite enough for so young a child to bear. after this mrs. warren and agnes conversed in semi-whispers, and presently they retired into mrs warren's bedroom, and connie and ronald were alone. "i am glad yer've come 'ere, ronald," said connie. "yes," said ronald. he pressed his little white hand against his forehead. "you're missing your father, i know," continued connie, "somehow i'm a-missing o' mine." "have you a father, connie?" asked the little boy. "yus--that i 'ave," said connie. "not a great, grand gentleman like yourn, but a father for all that." "is your father in london?" asked the boy. "oh yes," answered connie, "and not far from 'ere, nayther." "then why aren't you with him?" asked ronald. "'cos i can't be," replied connie in a low whisper. "hush!" said ronald. just then the door opened and agnes came out. mrs. warren followed her. mrs. warren wore her usual tight-fitting jacket, but on this occasion agnes carried a leather bag, which seemed to be stuffed so full that it was with difficulty it could be kept shut. mrs. warren addressed the two children. "i'm goin' to lock you two in," she said, "an' you'd best go to bed. there's a little bed made up in your room, connie, for ronald to sleep in; and as you're a deal older than that sweet little boy, you'll nurse him off to sleep, jest as though he wor your real brother. arter he's asleep you can go to bed yerself, for there's nothing like early hours for beauty sleep. you yere me, connie? you know wot to do?" "yus," answered connie. her voice was almost cheerful. she was so truly glad that mrs. warren was going out. when she heard the key turning in the lock, and knew that she and ronald were locked in all alone, she scarcely seemed to mind, so glad was she of ronald's company. neither child spoke to the other until the retreating footsteps of mrs. warren and agnes ceased to sound on the stairs. then connie went up to ronald, and kneeling down by him put her arms round him and kissed him. "you're very pretty," said the little boy, "although you don't talk like a lady. but that doesn't matter," he added, "for you've got a lady's heart." "i love you, ronald," was connie's answer. ronald now put his own arms round connie's neck and kissed her once or twice on her peach-like cheek, and then they both sat down on the floor and were happy for a few minutes in each other's company. after that ronald began to speak. he told connie about his father and about his mother. he did not cry at all, as most children would have done, when he spoke of those he loved so dearly. "mother's dead nearly a year now," he said. "it was waiting for father that killed her. father went out to a dreadful war in south africa, and we heard that he was killed. mother wouldn't believe it; she never did believe it--never--and she taught me not to, and i never did. but, all the same, it killed her." "and then wot became of you?" asked connie. "i was taken here," replied ronald. "that's three or four months ago now. i remember quite well being out walking with my nurse. she wasn't very nice, my nurse wasn't; but she was--oh, so good and kind compared to--what--what happened afterwards! darling mother was dead. they had put her body in the grave, and the angels had got her soul. i didn't like to think of the grave, but i did love to remember the angels. the last thing mother said when she was dying was, 'ronald, when your father comes back, be sure you tell him that i never believed that he was really dead.'" "i promised her, and then she said again, 'and you'll never believe it either, ronald.' and i said that i never, never would, if it was a thousand years. and then she kissed me and smiled; and i s'pose the angels took her, for she never spoke any more." "well," said connie, who did not want ronald to dwell too long on this very sad scene, "tell us 'bout the day you come 'ere." "mother was in her grave," said ronald, "and there was no one who thought very much about me; and my nurse--she was not half as kind as when mother lived. one day she took me for a walk. we went a long, long way, and presently she asked me to wait for her outside one of those awful gin-palaces. she used to go in there sometimes, even when mother was alive. well, i waited and waited outside, but she never came out. i was not a bit frightened at first, of course, for my father's boy mustn't be a coward, must he, connie?" "no," answered connie. "but she didn't come out, and it got late, and people began to look at me, and by-and-by mammy warren came out of the gin-palace. she was--oh, so red in the face! and i thought i'd never seen so dreadfully stout a woman. she put her hand on my shoulder and said, 'wotever are you doing here?' and i said, 'i'm waiting for my nurse, hannah waters.' and she said, 'oh, then, _you're_ the little boy!' and i stared at her, and she said, 'pooh hannah's took bad, and she's asked me to take you home. come along at once, my dear.' "i went with her. i wasn't a bit frightened--i had never been frightened in all my life up to then. but she didn't take me home at all. she brought me to this house. she was very kind to me at first, in a sort of a way, and she told me that my relations had given me to her to look after, and that i was to be her little boy for the present, and must do just what she wanted." "well--and wot did she want?" asked connie, trembling not a little. "it wasn't so dreadful bad at first," continued ronald. "she used to take me out every day for long walks, and she made me look very nice; and we went into shops, for she said she wanted to buy things, but i don't think she ever did buy much. i used to be tired sometimes; we walked such a very long way." "and did she ever make you go a little, tiny bit in front of her?" said connie. "why, yes," replied ronald. "but i rather liked that, for, you see, i'm a gentleman, and she's not a lady." "i wonder," said connie, "ef she spoke of herself as your old nurse." ronald began to laugh. "how clever of you to think of that, connie! she always did; and whenever she did buy things she said they were for me; and she used to give--oh, tremendous grand addresses of where i lived." "portland mansions, p'r'aps?" said connie. "sometimes that, and sometimes other places; but of course the parcels were never sent there; she always carried them herself." "and she wore a big, big cloak, with pockets inside?" asked connie. "yes, she did--she did." "she does just the same with me now," said connie. "i go out with her every day, and we go into the big shops--into the most crowded parts--and she doesn't buy much. i like that the best part of the day, for all the rest of the time i have to stay here and do nothing." "and so had i to stay in these rooms and do nothing," said ronald. "but i won't have to stay long now," he continued, "as my dear, dear father has come home. oh! i wish darling mother were alive, that she might feel as happy as i do to-night." "but tell me, ronald," continued connie, "how was it yer got the fever?" "i don't quite remember that part," said the little boy. "all that part was made up of dreams. there was a dreadful dream when i seemed to be quite well, and when i said something before some one, and mammy warren turned scarlet; and when i was alone she--she flogged me and put me into a dark, dark room for--oh! it seemed like--for ever. and i had nothing to eat, and i was so frightened--for she said there was a bogy there--that i nearly died. i didn't like to be frightened, for it seemed as though i couldn't be father's own son if i were afraid. but i was afraid, connie--i was. i'll have to tell darling father about it when i see him; i'm sure he'll forgive me, more particular when he knows the whole thing was only a fever dream--for there's not any room in this house like that, is there, connie." "yes, but there be," thought connie. but she did not say so aloud. that night ronald slept as peacefully as though he were really back again with his father. but connie lay awake. anxious as she had been before ronald's arrival, that state of things was nothing at all to her present anxiety. the next day was sunday, and if it had not been for big ben the two poor children would have had a most miserable time, for they were shut up in mrs. warren's room from morning till night. in vain they begged to be allowed to go out. mrs. warren said "no," and in so emphatic a manner that they did not dare to ask her twice. agnes did not come at all to the house on sunday, and connie and ronald finally curled themselves up in the deep window-ledge, and connie talked and told ronald all about her past life. in particular she told him about big ben, and little giles, and the wonderful, most wonderful "woice." after that the children had a sort of play together, in which ronald proved himself to be a most imaginative little person, for he invented many fresh stories with regard to big ben, assuring connie that he was much more than a voice. he would not be at all surprised, he said if big ben was not a great angel who came straight down from heaven every hour to comfort the sorrowful people in westminster. ronald thought it extremely likely that this wonderful angel knew his own mother, and was on this special sunday telling him to be a brave boy and keep up his heart, for most certainly he would be safe back with his father before another sunday came. "that's what he says," continued ronald, "and that's what'll happen, you'll see, connie. and when darling father comes here you shall come away too, for i won't leave you alone with mammy warren. she's not a real kind person, is she, connie?" "don't ax me," said connie. ronald looked up into her face. "you can't tell a lie at all well," he said. "you're trying to make me think that mammy warren's nice, but you're not doing it well, for i don't believe you." then the big clock once again tolled the hour, and ronald laughed with glee. "there's no doubt about it now," he said. "father _is_ coming, and very, very soon. oh i am glad, and happy!" during that sunday the children had very little food, for mrs. warren seemed all of a sudden to have changed her tactics. whether it was the fact that she was really angry at mrs. cricket's having fed the boy on chicken and mutton-chops, no one could tell; but all he did have on that eventful sunday was weak tea, stale bread and butter, and a very little jam. towards evening the two poor little creatures were really hungry. by-and-by they clasped each other round the neck, and fell asleep in each other's arms. it was in this condition--curled up near the fire--that mrs. warren found them when she got home. chapter xi. a new departure. with monday morning, however, all things seemed to have altered. mrs. warren was up spry and early. she called connie to come and help her, but she desired ronald to lie in bed. "it's a nasty day," she said; "there's sleet falling. we'll go out, of course, for fresh air is good for children, but we must none of us wear our best clothes." "what do yer mean by that?" said connie. "don't you go and ax me wot i mean; just do wot i tells yer. no dark-blue dress for yer to-day, missy. i ha' got a old gownd as 'ull fit yer fine." poor connie trembled. mrs. warren went into her bedroom. "'ere, now," she said, "you put it on." the old gown was certainly not at all nice. its color was quite indescribable. it was very ragged and torn, too, round the bottom of the skirt. it dragged down in front so as almost to trip poor connie when she tried to walk, and was several inches too short in the back. mrs. warren desired connie to take off her dainty shoes and stockings, and gave her some stockings with holes in them, and some very disreputable shoes down at the heel. she made her pin across her chest a little old shawl of an ugly pale pattern, and instead of allowing her to wear her hair in a golden fleece down her back, she plaited it, and tied it into a little bunch at the back of her head. she then put an old bonnet on the child's head--a bonnet which must have once belonged to quite an elderly woman--and tied it with strings in front. connie felt terribly ashamed of herself. "i'm all in rags," she said, "jest as though i wor a beggar maid." "i've a fancy that yer shall wear these 'ere clothes to-day," said mrs. warren. "yer've been a fine lydy too long; yer'll be a beggar maid to-day. w'en i tell yer wot to do in the street, yer'll do it. you can sing, i take it. now then, you learn the words." mrs. warren planted down before connie the well-known words of "home, sweet home." "i know this without learning it," said the girl. "an' you 'as a good woice, i take it." "middlin'," replied connie. "wull, sing it for me now." connie struck up the familiar words, and so frightened was she that in real desperation she acquitted herself fairly well. "you'll take a treble, an' the little boy 'ull do likewise, and i'll take a fine, deep second. ah! _i_ know 'ow to sing," said mrs. warren. "you won't take little ronald out on a dreadful sort o' day like this," said connie. "wen i want yer adwice i'll ax fur it," said mrs. warren, with most withering sarcasm. poor connie felt her heart suddenly fit to burst. what new and dreadful departure was this? mrs. warren now brought ronald into the front room, and there she arrayed him in garments of the poorest type, allowing his little thin legs to be quite bare, and his very thin arms to show through his ragged jacket. she posed, however, a little red cap on the midst of his curly dark hair; and this cap most wonderfully became the child, so that few people could pass him in the street without noticing the sweetness of his angelic face. then mrs. warren prepared herself for the part she was to take. she went into her bedroom for the purpose, and returned looking so exactly like a stout old beggar woman that the children would scarcely have known her. she had covered her left eye with a patch, and now only looked out on the world with her right one. her hair was knotted untidily under a frowsy old bonnet, and a very thin shawl was bound across her ample breast. "we'll do fine, i take it," she said to the children. "i am your mother, my dears; you'll both 'old me by the 'and. purtier little lambs couldn't be seen than the two of yez. and ef poor, ugly mammy warren 'ave made herself still uglier for yer sweet sakes, 'oo can but love 'er for the ennoblin' deed? wull, come along now, children; but first i'll build up the fire, for we'll be 'ungry arter this 'ere job." the fire was built up to mrs. warren's satisfaction, and the three went downstairs. ronald was quite speechless with shame--to go out like this, to disgrace his brave father and his darling mother in this sort of fashion, was pure torture to the boy; but connie, in the thought of him and the fear that he would take cold, almost forgot her own misery. the three did not go anywhere by 'bus that day, but hurried down side alleys and back streets until they got into the region of piccadilly. the children had not the least idea where they were. suddenly, however, they came to a pause outside a large hotel, and there mrs. warren struck up the first note of "home, sweet home." she had timed everything well. the policeman was at the other end of his beat, and she would not be molested for quite ten minutes. the quavering, ugly notes of the old woman were well subdued, and connie had a really fine voice, and it rose high on the bitter air in sweet, childish appeal and confidence. ronald, too, was struck with a sudden thought. that hotel was a sort of place where father used to live when he was alive. who could tell if his father himself might not have returned, and might not be there, and might not hear him if he sang loud enough and sweet enough? the voice of the boy and the voice of the girl blended together, and mrs. warren skilfully dropped hers so as not to spoil the harmony. the people in the hotel were attracted by the sweet notes, and crowded to the windows. then connie's face of purest beauty--connie's face rendered all the more pathetic by the old bonnet and the dreadful, tattered dress--and ronald with his head thrown back, his red cap held in his hand, the white snow falling in flakes on his rich dark hair, made between them a picture which would melt the hardest heart. sixpences and even shillings were showered from the windows, and as the last note of "home, sweet home" died away mrs. warren pocketed quite a considerable harvest. she and the children then moved on and did likewise before several other large buildings, but they were not so successful again as they had been with their first attempt. the police came back sooner than they were expected. ronald began to cough, too, and connie's face looked blue with cold. mrs. warren, however, was not disappointed. she spoke encouragingly and protectingly to the children. "come 'ome, loveys," she said; "come 'ome, my little dears." they did get home--or, rather, they got back to the dreadful house where they were imprisoned--late in the afternoon, ronald almost speechless with cold and fatigue, connie trembling also, and aching in every limb. but now unwonted comforts awaited them. mrs. warren had no idea of killing off these sources of wealth. she put ronald into a hot bath, and rubbed his limbs until they glowed, and then moved his little bed in front of the fire and got him into it. connie was also rubbed and dried and desired to dispense with her beggar's toilet. afterwards there was quite a good dinner of roast pork with crackling and apple sauce, and dreadful as their position was, both the poor children enjoyed this meal as they had never enjoyed food before. thus a few days went by, the children going out every morning with mrs. warren sometimes as beggar children, but sometimes again as children of the well-to-do. these two programmes formed the most interesting part of their little lives. for the rest of the day they sat huddled up together, sometimes talking, sometimes silent, while each day a bigger and bigger ache came into ronald's heart. why, oh why did not his father come to fetch him? but as all things come to an end, so the children's life in mrs. warren's dreadful attics came to an abrupt conclusion. one day, just as they were dressed to go out, there came a hurried knock at the door. it seemed to connie, who was very sharp and observant, that mrs. warren did not much like the sound. she went to the door and, before opening it, called out, "who's there?" "agnes," was the reply; whereupon mrs. warren opened the door a few inches, and agnes squeezed in, immediately locking the door behind her. she whispered something into mrs. warren's ear, which caused that good woman to turn deadly white and stagger against the wall. "yer've no time to faint, ma'am," said agnes. "'ere--let me slap yer on the back." she gave two resounding whacks on mrs. warren's stout back, which caused that woman to heave a couple of profound sighs and then to recover her presence of mind. she and agnes then retired into her bedroom, where drawers were hastily opened, and much commotion was heard by the two prettily dressed and waiting children. in another minute or two agnes came out alone. "wull," she said, "and 'ow be you, connie?" "i am all right," said connie. "where's mammy warren?" "she's tuk bad, and won't want yer to go out a-walkin' with her to-day. oh my! oh my! how spry we be! it 'minds me o' the old song, 'as willikins were a-walkin' wid his dinah one day.'" "agnes," said connie, "i'm certain sure as there's some'ut wrong." "be yer now?" said agnes. "wull then, ye're mistook. wot could be wrong? ye're a very queer and suspicious gel, connie harris--the most suspicious as i hever see'd. ye're just for all the world the most selfish gel as could be found in the whole o' lunnun. pore mammy warren was told of the sudden death of her sister, and that's all the sympathy you guvs her. wery different she behaves to you and ronald. 'hagnes,' says she, 'tike those pore children for a run,' says she, 'and bring them 'ome safe in time for dinner,' says she, 'an' give 'em some roast mutton for dinner, poor darlin's,' says mammy warren; and then she falls to cryin', and 'oh, my sister!' she says, and 'oh, poor georgina!' she sobs. now then, the pair of yer--out we goes, and i'll go wid yer." quick as thought agnes accomplished her purpose, and the two prettily dressed children--connie with her hair down her back, ronald looking like a little prince--found themselves in the street. but if the two children thought that they had the slightest chance of running away they were terribly mistaken, for agnes proved even a sharper taskmistress than mrs. warren. she seemed to connie to have suddenly got quite old and very cruel and determined. she walked the children here, and she walked them there. they peered into shop windows and got into crowds, but they did no shopping that morning. connie was rather glad of that, and now she was so accustomed to being stared at that she hardly took any notice; while as to ronald, his sweet brown eyes looked full up into the face of every gentleman who passed, in the faint hope of discovering his father again. it seemed to connie that they were out longer than usual; but at last they did come back. then, to their great surprise, they found the door of mammy warren's sitting-room wide opened. "my word! 'ow can this 'ave 'appened?" said agnes. they all went in, and agnes went straight to the bedroom. she came out presently, wearing a very grave face, and told the children that she greatly feared poor mammy warren had gone off her head with grief--that there wasn't a sign of her in the bedroom, nor anywhere in the house. "and she's took her things, too," said agnes. "wull, now--wull, i must go and search for her. yer dinner's in the oven, children, and i'll come back to see 'ow yer be sometime to-night, p'rhaps." "wull mammy warren come back to-night?" asked connie. "i don't know--maybe the poor soul is in the river by now. she wor took wery bad, thinkin' of her sister, georgina. i'll lock yer in, of course, children, and yer can eat yer dinner and think o' yer mercies." chapter xii. left alone. when agnes went out the two children stared at each other. "connie," said ronald, "i wish you'd tell me the real, real truth." but connie was trembling very much. "don't yer ax me," she said. she suddenly burst into tears. "i am so dreadfully frightened," she cried. "i don't think i ever wor so frightened in all my life before. you're not half so frightened as i am, ronald." "of course not," said ronald, "for i am a boy, you see, and i'll be a man by-and-by. besides, i have to think of father--father would have gone through anything. once he was in a shipwreck. the ship was really wrecked, and a great many of the passengers were drowned. father told me all about it, but it was from a friend of father's that i learned afterwards how splendid he was, saving--oh, heaps of people! it was that night," continued ronald, sitting down by the fire as he spoke, his eyes glowing with a great thought, and his little face all lit up by the fire-light--"it was that night that he first found out how much he loved mother; for mother was in a great big atlantic liner, and it was father who saved her life. afterwards they were married to each other, and afterwards i came to them--god sent me, you know." "yus," said connie. she dried her eyes. "go on talking, ronald," she said. "i never met a boy like you. i thought there were no one like giles, but it seems to me some'ow that you're a bit better--you're so wonnerful, wonnerful brave, and 'ave such a cunnin' way of talkin'. i s'pose that's 'cos you--you're a little gen'leman, ronald." ronald made no answer to this. after a minute he said: "there's no thanks to me to be brave--that is, when i'm brave it's all on account of father, and 'like father, like son.' mother used to teach me that proverb when i was very small. shall i tell you other things that father did?" "oh yus, please," said connie. "he saved some people once in a great big fire. no one else had courage to go in, but he wasn't afraid of anything. and another time he saved a man on the field of battle. he got his v. c. for that." "wotever's a v. c.?" inquired connie. "oh," said ronald, "don't you even know that? how very ignorant you are, dear connie. a v. c.--why, it's better to be a victoria cross man than to be the greatest noble in the land. even the king couldn't be more than a victoria cross man." "still, i don't understand," said connie. "it's an honor," said ronald, "that's given for a very, very brave deed. father had it; when he comes back he'll show you his victoria cross; then you'll know." "do yer think as he'll come soon?" asked connie. "he may come to-day," said ronald--"or he may not," he added, with a profound sigh. the little boy had been talking with great excitement, but now the color faded from his cheeks and he coughed a little. he had coughed more or less since that dreadful day when mrs. warren had taken him out in the snowstorm. he was always rather a delicate child, and after his bad fever he was not fit to encounter such misery and hardship. "connie," he said after a time, "it's the worst of all dreadful things, isn't it, to pretend that you are what you aren't?" "what do yer mean by that?" asked connie. "well, it's this way. you praise me for being brave. i am not brave always; i am very frightened sometimes. i am very terribly frightened now, dear connie." "oh ronald!" said connie, "if you're frightened hall's hup." "let me tell you," said ronald. he laid his little, thin hand on the girl's arm. "it's about father. do you think, connie, that mammy warren could have invented that story about him?" "i dunno," said connie. "but what do you think, connie? tell me just what you think." "tell me what you think, ronald." "i am afraid to think," said the child. "at first i believed it, just as though father had spoken himself to me. i thought for sure and certain he'd be waiting for me here. i didn't think for a single moment that he'd be the sort of father that would come and stand outside in the landing and go away again just because i wasn't here. for, you see, i am his own little boy; i am all he has got. i know father so well, i don't believe he could do that kind of thing." "oh, but you can't say," answered connie. "certain sure, it seemed as though agnes spoke the truth." "i thought that too; only father's a very refined sort of man, and he'd never, never chuck mrs. warren under the chin." "agnes might have invented that part," said poor connie. but in her heart of hearts she had long ago given up all hope of ronald's father coming to fetch him. "she might," said ronald; "that is quite true; and he might have had to go to the country--perhaps to rescue some one in great danger. he is the sort who are always doing that. that's quite, quite likely, for it would be in keeping with father's way. and he'd like me, of course, to be unselfish, and never to make a fuss--he hated boys who made a fuss. oh yes, i did believe it; and on saturday night and on sunday, when big ben talked to us, it seemed that it was mother telling me that father would soon be with me. but a whole week has gone and he hasn't come. why, it's saturday night again, connie. i've been back again in this house for a whole week now, and father has never, never come." "maybe he'll come to-night," said connie. "i don't think so; somehow i'd sort of feel it in my bones if he was coming back." "what do yer mean by that?" said connie. "oh, i'd be springy-like and jumpy about. but i'm not. i feel--oh, so lazy and so--so tired! and a little bit--yes, a greatbit--frightened--terribly frightened." "you must cheer up, ronald," said connie. then she added, "i wish we could get out o' this. i wish i could pick the lock and get aw'y." "oh, i wish you could, connie," said the child. "couldn't you try?" "i'm a'most afeered to go into mammy warren's room," said connie; "for ef she did come back and see me any time, she'd punish me awful; but p'r'aps i might find tools for picking the lock in her room." "oh, do let's try!" said ronald. connie half-rose, then sat down again. "it's me that's the coward now," she said. "oh, how so, connie?" "'cos," said connie, "there's that dark room with no winder--'tain't a dream, ronald." "i thought it wasn't," said ronald, turning white. "no--it's there," said connie, "and i'm afeered o' it." ronald sat very still for a minute then. he was thinking hard. he was only a little boy of ten years old, but he was a very plucky one. he looked at connie, who although a little older than he, was very slight and small for her age. "connie," he said, "if you and i are ever to make our escape we must not be frightened. even the dark closet won't frighten me now. _i_ am going into mrs. warren's room." "oh ronald! are you? dare you?" "yes, i dare. father did worse things than that--why should i be afraid?" "you'd win the v. c., ronald, wouldn't you, now?" ronald smiled. "not for such a little, little thing. but perhaps some day," he said; and his eyes looked very bright. "connie, if we can unpick the lock and get the door open, where shall we go?" "we'll go," said connie in a brisk voice, "back to father john as fast as ever we can." "father john," said ronald--"who is he?" "i told you, ronnie--i told you about him." "i forgot for a minute," said ronald. "you mean the street preacher." "yus," said connie. "'e'll save us. there's no fear o' mammy warren getting to us ever again ef he takes us in 'and." ronald smiled. "the only thing i'm afraid of is this," he said--"that if it's true about father, he may come here and find me gone." "let's leave a note for him," said connie then. "let's put it on the table. if mammy warren should come back she'll find the note, but that won't do any harm, for she knows father john, and she's awful afeered of him, 'cos she said as much, so she'd never follow us there." "the very thing!" said ronald. "let's get some paper. will you write the note, connie?" the children poked round in the sitting-room, and found a sheet of very thin paper, and an old pen, and a penny bottle of ink. ronald dictated, and connie wrote: "dear father,--i've waited here for a week. i am trying to be very brave. connie's an awful nice girl. we've picked the lock here, father, and we've gone to father john, in adam street. please come quick, for your little boy is so very hungry for you. come quick, darling father.--your little waiting boy, ronald." "that'll bring him," said ronald. "we'll put it on the table." connie had written her letter badly, and there were several blots; but still a feat was accomplished. her cheeks were bright with excitement now. "what shall i put outside?" she asked--"on the envelope, i mean." ronald thought for a minute; then he said in a slow and impressive voice: "to major harvey, v. c., from ronald." "nobody can mistake who it's meant for," said ronald. "here's a bit of sealing-wax," said connie. "let's seal it." they did so, connie stamping the seal with a penny thimble which she took out of her pocket. "and now," said ronald, pulling himself up, "all is ready, and i am going into mammy warren's room to try and find tools for picking the lock." "i'm a-goin' with yer," said connie. "oh connie, that is brave of you." "no," said connie, "it 'ud be real cowardly to let yer go alone." hand in hand the two children crossed the ugly sitting-room, and opened the door which led into that mysterious apartment known as mammy warren's room. it certainly was a very strange-looking place. there was no bed to be seen anywhere, which in itself was surprising. but connie explained to ronald that the huge wooden wardrobe was doubtless a press-bed which let down at night. "she'd keep all kinds of things at the back of the bed," said the practical connie, who had seen several similar arrangements in the houses of the poor. this room, however, although ugly and dark--very dark--seemed to be suspiciously bare. the children had turned on the gas--for evening had already arrived--and they could see with great distinctness. mammy warren owned the upper part of this tenement-house, and no one ever came up the creaking stairs except to visit her. the children therefore knew that if there was a footstep they would be in danger. connie, however, assured ronald that she could put out the light and be innocently seated by the fire if mammy warren did arrive unexpectedly. all was silence, however, on the creaking stairs, and they were able to resume their search. the chest of drawers stood with all its drawers open and each one of them empty. no sort of tool could the children find. the yellow and black silk dress had disappeared, but the disreputable old beggar's clothes hung on the peg behind the door. there was also a very ancient bonnet, which was hung by its strings over the dress. otherwise there was not a scrap of anything whatever in the room except the press bedstead, which the children could not possibly open, and the empty chest of drawers. "but here," said connie, "is a door. p'rhaps it's a cupboard door." "let's try if it will open," said ronald. he turned the handle. the door shot back with a spring, and the boy's face turned pale. "the dark closet!" said connie. "the dark, dark room without a winder!" ronald caught hold of connie's hand and squeezed it tightly. after a minute he said in a husky voice: "come away." connie shut the mysterious closet door. the children turned out the gas in mammy warren's bedroom, and went back to the sitting-room. here they crouched down, pale and trembling, before the fire. "don't, ronnie--don't," said connie. "hold me very tight, connie," said the little boy. she did so, pressing him to her heart and kissing his little face. after a minute tears came to his eyes, and he said in a sturdy tone: "now i am better. it was wrong of me to be so frightened." "hark--there's the woice!" said connie. they sat very still while big ben proclaimed the hour of nine. "what does he say?" asked ronald, turning round and looking at connie. "i know," said connie, a light on her pretty face. "father john preached on it once. i know wot big ben's a-sayin' of to-night." "tell me," said ronald. "_he that shall endure_," said connie. "yes, connie," repeated ronald--"'he that shall endure'----" "_to the end_," said connie, "_shall be saved_," she added. "oh connie!" cried the boy. "do you really, really think so?" "father john says it, and father john couldn't tell a lie," continued the girl. "he says that is one of god's promises, and god never made a mistake. 'he that shall endure to the end--shall be saved.'" "then," said ronald, "if _we_ endure _we_ shall be saved." "yes," replied connie. "you're not frightened, then?" "not after that," said connie. "how can you tell that _was_ what big ben said?" "'eard him," said connie. she unclasped ronald's arms from her neck and stood up. "i'm better," she said; "i'm not frightened no more. sometimes it's 'ard to endure--father john says it is. but ''e that _shall_ endure to the end'--to the _end_--he made a great p'int o' that--'shall be saved.'" "then _we'll_ be saved," said ronald. "yus," answered connie. she looked down at the little boy. the boy was gazing into the fire and smiling. connie put on some fresh lumps of coal, and the fire broke into a cheerful blaze. it did not matter at all to the good coal whether it burned out its heart in an attic or a palace; wherever it was put to do its duty, it did it. now gay little flames and cheerful bursts of bubbling gas rendered even the hideous room bright. "w'y, it's long past tea!" said connie. "i'll put on the kettle and we'll have our tea, ronald. maybe aggie'll be back in a minute, and maybe she'd like a cup o' tea." connie put on the kettle, and then went to the cupboard to get out the provisions. these were exceedingly short. there was little more than a heel of very stale bread, and no butter, and only a scrape of jam; but there was a little tea in the bottom of the tea-canister, and a little coarse brown sugar in a cup. connie laid the table quite cheerfully. "we'll toast the bread," she said. "tea and toast is famous food." she got an old, bent toasting-fork, and she and ronald laughed and even joked a little as they browned the stale bread until it was quite crisp and tempting-looking. "i'd ever so much rather have this tea than a great, big, grand one with mammy warren," said connie. "yes, connie," said the boy; "so would i." they had no milk with their tea, but that was, after all but a small circumstance. they scraped out the jam-pot and spread its contents on the hot toast, and contrived to enjoy the slender meal to the utmost. ronald said nothing about breakfast the next morning; he doubtless did not even give it a thought. but connie remembered it well, although she took care not to allude to it. ten o'clock struck, and still agnes did not appear. eleven, twelve--and no sign either of mammy warren or the girl. "shall we go to bed?" said ronald. "let's bring our beds and lay 'em on the floor," said connie, "in this room. some'ow i don't think as mammy warren 'ull come back to-night. she wouldn't 'ave tuk all her things ef she meant to come; would she, ronald?" "i don't know," said ronald. he was very sleepy, for the hour was terribly late for so young a child to be awake. after a little reflection connie decided only to drag his bed into the front room. she could lie on the floor by his side, wrapped up in a blanket. the fire was built up with the last scrap of coal in the hod, and then ronald lay down without undressing. connie begged of him to take off his clothes, but he said to her: "maybe father'll come in the middle of the night. i somehow feel as if something must happen to-night, and i don't want not to be ready." connie therefore only removed his shoes. she tucked the blankets round him, and said, "good-night, ronnie." "what is that verse?" asked ronald again. "'he that shall endure to the end'----" "'shall be saved,'" finished connie. when she came to these words she noticed that little ronald was sound asleep. connie changed her mind about lying down. she sat on the floor by the boy's side, laid her head on the pillow close to his, and also dropped asleep. big ben called out the hour but the children slept. perhaps the voice spoke to them in their dreams, for they smiled now and then. doubtless they were far away in those dreams from the dreadful attic, from the influence of a most cruel woman, from hunger and cold. the fire burned to a fine red glow, and then cooled down and grew gray and full of ashes, and eventually went out. for it had burned its heart out trying to help the children; and without a heart, even fire cannot keep alive. but the two children slept on, although ronald now stirred uneasily and coughed in his sleep. it seemed to connie that she also was oppressed by something, as though a great and terrible nightmare were sitting on her chest. ronald coughed louder and opened his eyes. "connie, connie--where are we?" he cried. connie sat up with a stare. "i be stiff," she began, "and--and cold. wotever's the hour? bide a bit, ronald, and i'll find the matches and turn on the gas." "what's the matter with the room?" said ronald. "i don't know nothing," said connie. "my eyes smart," said ronald, "and i can't breathe." "i feel queer too," said connie. "i won't be a second finding out, though. you lie quiet." she groped about, found a match-box, which still contained a few matches, struck a light, and applied it to the gas, which was at full pressure now, and roared out, making a great flame. "w'y, the room's full o' smoke," said connie. "wottever can it be?" ronald sat up in bed, opening his eyes. "where does it come from?" he said. "the fire is out." just then big ben proclaimed the hour of three. "he that shall endure," thought connie. "to the end," darted through ronald's mind; and just then both children heard an unmistakable and awful roar. was it the roar of human voices or the roar of something else--a devouring and awful element? connie turned white. now, if ever, was the time to be brave. "i'll open the winder and look out," she said. she sprang towards it and, with a great effort, pushed it half up. the moment she did so, the noise from without came louder, and the noise from within was more deafening. "fire! fire!" shouted a multitude of people from below in the street; and "fire! fire!" cried the frenzied inhabitants of the old tenement-house. connie and ronald were on the top story. connie went back to ronald. "the house is on fire, ronnie!" she said. "but we mustn't be frightened, either of us; we must think of the grand verse, and of what big ben said. big ben's an angel, you mind; giles knows all about that." "oh yes," said ronald, his teeth chattering; for the draught from the open window, although it relieved his breathing, made him intensely cold. "it's a beautiful verse, isn't it, connie?" he continued. "yus," said connie. "let's get to the winder, ronnie dear. we'll call out. there are people down in the street. the fire-engines 'ull be on in a minute; we'll be saved, in course." "oh, of course," said ronnie. he staggered to the floor, and put his feet into his shoes. "a good thing i wasn't undressed," he said. "yus," said connie. "now, let's get to the winder." the children staggered there. the smoke was getting more dense; the room was filling faster and faster with the horrible, blinding, suffocating thing. but at the window there was relief. connie put out her head for a minute, and then quickly drew it back. "there's flames burstin' out o' the winders," she said. "i wish as the firemen 'ud come." the children clung to one another. just then, above the roar of the flames and the screams of the people, something else was distinctly audible. the fast approach of horses; the gallant figures of men in brass helmets: the brave firemen--members of the noblest brigade in the world--were on the spot. "it's hall right," said connie. "they've come. don't yer be a bit frightened, ronnie; we'll soon be out o' this. you ax giles w'en you see him wot _'e_ thinks o' firemen. '_es_ father were one. oh, there's no fear now that they've come!" she pressed close to the window and put out her head and shoulders. ronald did likewise. the men out in the street were acting promptly. the hose were brought to bear on the increasing flames. but all to no purpose; the house was past saving. was any one within? "no," said a woman down in the crowd; "hevery soul is out, even to my last biby--bless him!" she gave a hysterical cry, and sat down on a neighboring doorstep. but the firemen of the london brigade are very careful to ascertain for themselves whether there is any likelihood of loss of life. "has any one come down from the top floor?" asked a tall young man. he had a splendid figure--broad, square shoulders, and a light and athletic frame--which showed at once that he was the very best possible sort of fireman. just then the flames burst out more brightly than ever, and connie, with her fair hair surrounding her little face, and ronald clinging to her hand, were both distinctly seen. "my god!" cried the firemen, "there are children up there. put the escape up at once--don't lose an instant--i am going up to them." "you can't; it's certain death," said one or two. several other voices were also raised in expostulation. but if any one in that crowd supposed that they were going to turn george anderson, the bravest fireman in london, from his purpose, they were mistaken. "that little angel face, and the face of the boy by her side!" he said once or twice under his breath. and then up and up he went--up and up--the children in the burning room (for the flames had broken out behind them now) watching and watching. his fear was that they might fall from their perilous position. but they had both crept out on to the window-ledge. "courage, courage!" he shouted to them. "hold tight--i'll be there in a minute!" "the window is so hot!" gasped connie. "think--think of the voice," whispered ronald. he closed his eyes. in another minute he would have been beyond all earthly succor, and up in those beautiful realms where angels live, and his mother would meet him. but this was not to be. in less than an instant a firm hand rescued the two children from their perilous position, and they were brought down to the ground uninjured. ronald fainted in that descent, but connie kept her consciousness. they were out of mammy warren's awful house. she had a queer sense as though she had been delivered from a worse danger even than fire. people crowded round, and presently the tall fireman came up. "what is your name?" he said to connie. "connie," she replied. "well, connie," he answered, "it was the sight of your beautiful face in the window that gave me courage to save yer. now, do you want to have a shelter for yourself and your little brother to-night?' "thank you, sir," said connie. the man pulled a card--it looked just like a gentleman's visiting card--out of his pocket. "will you take that," he said, "to no. carlyle terrace? it's just round the corner. take your little brother with you. there are two bells to the house. look for the one that has the word 'night' written under it. it used to be a doctor's house, but there's no doctor there now. my mother will understand--give her that card, and tell her what has happened. good night." he turned away. it was some time before connie and ronald could get rid of the many neighbors who volunteered help, and who regarded the two pretty children as the hero and heroine of the hour. offers of a shake-down for the night, of a hasty meal, of a warm fire, came to connie from all sorts of people. but she had made up her mind to follow out the directions of the tall fireman, and saying that she had friends at no. carlyle terrace, she and ronald soon started off to go to the address the fireman had given them. they were both too excited to feel the effects of all they had gone through at first, but when they reached the house, and connie pressed the button of the bell which had the word "night" written under it, she was trembling exceedingly. "why are we coming here?" asked ronald. "i dunno," said connie. "seems as though a hangel was with us all the time." "i expect so," answered ronald in a very weak voice. "and," continued connie, "he's a-leadin' of us 'ere." they had pressed the bell, and quickly--wonderfully quickly--they heard steps running down the stairs; and the door was opened by a tall woman--very tall and very thin--with a beautiful pale face and soft motherly eyes. "what is it?" she asked. "what is the matter? oh, my poor little dears! and how you smell of fire! have you been in a fire?" "please, ma'am," said connie, "be yer the mother o' mr. george anderson--the bravest fireman, ma'am? he told me to give yer this card, ma'am." "i am mrs. anderson. oh, of course, if he's sent you----" "_'e_ saved us from the fire, ma'am," said connie. "come in, you poor little things," said mrs anderson. she drew the children in; she shut the door behind them. it seemed to connie when that door shut that it shut out sorrow and pain and hunger and cold; for within the house there was warmth--not only warmth for frozen little bodies, but for tired souls. mrs. anderson was one of the most motherly women in london; and george, her son, knew what he was about when he sent the children to her. soon they were revived with warm baths and with hot port-wine and water, and very soon afterwards they were both lying in beds covered with linen sheets that felt soft and fine as silk. but mrs. anderson sat by them both while they slept, for she did not like the look on the boy's face, and felt very much afraid of the shock for him. "the little girl can stand more," she said to herself. "she's a beautiful little creature, but she's a child of the people. she has been accustomed to hardships all her life; but with the boy it's different--he's a gentleman by birth. something very cruel has happened to him, poor little lad! and this seems to be the final straw." mrs. anderson was a very wise woman, and her fears with regard to little ronald were all too quickly realized. by the morning the boy was in a high state of fever. a doctor was summoned, and mrs. anderson herself nursed him day and night. connie begged to be allowed to remain, and her request was granted. "for the present you shall stay with me," said mrs. anderson. "i don't know your story, nor the story of this little fellow, but i am determined to save his life if i can." "i can tell yer something," said connie. "little ronald's a real gent--_'e's_ the son of a hofficer in 'is majesty's harmy, an' the hofficer's name is major harvey, v. c." "what?" cried mrs. anderson. she started back in amazement. "why, i knew him and his wife," she said. "i know he was killed in south africa, and i know his dear wife died about a year ago. why, i've been looking for this child. is your story quite true, little girl?" "yus, it's quite true," said connie. "but tell me--do tell me--is his father really dead?" "i fear so. it is true that his death was not absolutely confirmed; but he has been missing for over two years." "ma'am," said connie, "wot do yer mean by his death not bein' confirmed?" "i mean this, little girl," said mrs. anderson--"that his body was never found." "then he ain't dead," said connie. "what do you mean?" "i feel it in my bones," said connie, "same as ronald felt it in his bones. _'e_ ain't dead." mrs. anderson laid her hand on the girl's pretty hair. "i am getting in a real trained nurse to look after ronald harvey," she said. "if he's the son of my old friend, more than ever is he my care now; and you this evening, little connie, shall tell me your story." this connie did. when she had described all that had occurred to her during the last few weeks, mrs. anderson was so amazed that she could hardly speak. "my poor child!" she said. "you can't guess what terrible dangers you've escaped. that dreadful woman was, without doubt, a member of a large gang of burglars. several have been arrested within the last day or two, and i have no doubt we shall hear of her soon at the police courts." "burglars?" said connie--"burglars? them be thieves, bean't they?" "yes--thieves." "but what could she do with us?" said connie. "she used you for her own purposes. while people were looking at you, she was doubtless picking their pockets. don't think any more about it, dear, only be thankful that you have escaped. and now, don't you feel very anxious about your father and your old friends?" "yus," said connie. "i'd like to go home. i'd like them to know once for all what happened." "would you like to go back to-night? you can return to me, you know. i shall be up with ronald until far into the night." connie rose swiftly. "you're not afraid of the streets, my poor little child?" "oh no, ma'am. i'm only quite an ordinary girl. i ha' learnt my lesson," continued connie. "i were real discontent wid my life at the factory, but i'll be discontent no more." "you had a sharp lesson," said mrs. anderson. "i think god wants you to be a particularly good and a particularly brave woman, or he wouldn't have let you go through so much." "yes, ma'am," answered connie; "and i'll try 'ard to be good and brave." chapter xiii. peter harris. while connie was going through such strange adventures in mammy warren's attic room, her father, giles, and sue, and dear father john were nearly distracted about her. peter harris was a rough, fierce, unkempt individual. he was fond of drink. he was not at all easily impressed by good things; but, as has been said before, if he had one tender spot in his heart it was for connie. when he drank he was dreadfully unkind to his child; but in his sober moments there was nothing he would not do for the pretty, motherless girl. as day after day passed without his seeing her, he got nearly frantic with anxiety. at first he tried to make nothing of her disappearance, saying that the girl had doubtless gone to visit some friends; but when a few days went by and there were no tidings of her, and sue assured him that she not only never appeared now at the great warehouse in cheapside where they used to work together, but also that she had been seen last with agnes coppenger, and that agnes coppenger had also disappeared from her work at the sewing-machine, he began to fear that something bad had happened. father john was consulted, and father john advised the necessity of at once acquainting the police. but although the police did their best, they could get no trace whatever either of agnes or of connie. thus the days passed, and connie's friends were very unhappy about her. her absence had a bad effect on peter, who, from his state of grief and uneasiness, had taken more and more consolation out of the gin-palace which he was fond of frequenting. every night now he came home tipsy, and the neighbors were afraid to go near. soon he began to abuse connie, to say unkind things about her, and to fly into a passion with any neighbor who mentioned her name. giles shed silent tears for his old playmate, and even the voice of big ben hardly comforted him, so much did he miss the genial companionship of pretty connie. but now at last the girl herself was going home. she had no fear. she was full of a wild and yet terrible delight. how often she had longed for her father! connie had a great deal of imagination, and during the dreadful time spent at mother warren's, and in especial since ronald had come, she began to compare her father with ronald's, and gradually but surely to forget the cruel and terrible scenes when that father was drunk, and to think of him only in his best moments when he kissed her and petted her and called her his dear little motherless girl. oh, he would be glad to see her now! he would rejoice in her company. connie quickly found the old house in adam street, and ran up the stairs. one or two people recognized her, and said, "hullo, con! you back?" but being too busy with their struggle for life, did not show any undue curiosity. "is my father in?" asked connie of one. the man said, "he be." and then he added, "yer'd best be careful. he ain't, to say, in his pleasantest mood to-night." connie reached the well-known landing. she turned the handle of the door. it was locked. she heard some one moving within. then a rough voice said: "get out o' that!" "it's me, father!" called connie back. "it's connie!" "don't want yer--get away!" said the voice. connie knelt down and called through the keyhole: "it's me--i've 'ad a dreadful time--let me in." "go 'way--don't want yer--get out o' this!" "oh father--father!" called connie. she began to sob. after all her dreams, after all her longings, after all her cruel trials--to be treated like this, and by her father! it seemed to shake her very belief in fathers, even in the great father of all. "please--please--i'm jest wanting yer awfu' bad!" she pleaded. her gentle and moving voice--that voice for which peter harris, when sober and in his right mind, so starved to hear again--now acted upon him in quite the opposite direction. he had not taken enough to make him stupid, only enough to rouse his worst passions. he strode across the room, flung the door wide, and lifting connie from her knees, said to her: "listen. you left me without rhyme or reason--not even a word or a thought. i sorrowed for yer till i turned to 'ate yer! now then, get out o' this. i don't want yer, niver no more. go down them stairs, unless yer want me to push yer down. go 'way--and be quick!" there was a scowl on his angry face, a ferocious look in his eyes. connie turned quite gently, and without any apparent anger went downstairs. "ah!" said a man in the street, "thought yer wouldn't stay long." "he's wery bad," said connie. she walked slowly, as though her heart were bleeding, down adam street until she came to the house where father john atkins lived. it was a little house, much smaller than its neighbors. father john's room was on the ground floor. she knocked at the door. there was no answer. she turned the handle: it yielded to her pressure. she went in, sank down on the nearest chair, and covered her face with both her hands. she was trembling exceedingly. the shock of her father's treatment was far greater than she could well bear in her present weak and over-excited condition. she had gone through--oh, so much--so very much! that awful time with mammy warren; her anxiety with regard to little ronald; and then that final, awful, never-to-be-forgotten day, that night which was surely like no other night that had ever dawned on the world--the noise of the gathering flames, the terrific roar they made through the old building; the shouts of the people down below; the heat, the smoke, the pain, the cruel, cruel fear; and then last but not least--the deliverance! when that gallant fireman appeared, it seemed to both connie and ronald as though the gates of heaven had opened, and they had been taken straight away from the pains of hell into the glories of the blest. but all these things told on the nerves, and when connie now had been turned away from her father's door, she was absolutely unfit for such treatment. when she reached father john's she was as weak and miserable a poor little girl as could found anywhere in london. "my dear! my dear!" said the kind voice--the sort of voice that always thrilled the hearts of those who listened to him. a hand was laid on the weeping girl's shoulder. "look up," said the voice again. then there was a startled cry, an exclamation of the purest pleasure. "why connie--my dear connie--the good lord has heard our prayers and has sent you back again!" "don't matter," said connie, sobbing on, quite impervious to the kindness, quite unmoved by the sympathy. "there ain't no father 'chart 'eaven," she continued. "i don't believe in 'im no more. there ain't no father, and no jesus christ. ef there were, my own father wouldn't treat me so bitter cruel." "come, connie," said the preacher, "you know quite well that you don't mean those dreadful words. sit down now by the cosy fire; sit in my own little chair, and i'll talk to you, my child. why, connie, can't you guess that we've been praying for you?" "don't matter," whispered connie again. the preacher looked at her attentively. he put his kind hand for a minute on her forehead, and then, with that marvellous knowledge which he possessed of the human heart and the human needs, he said nothing for the time being. connie was not fit to argue, and he knew she was worn-out. he got her to sit in the old arm-chair, and to lay her golden head against a soft cushion, and then he prepared coffee--strong coffee--both for her and himself. it was late, and he was deadly tired. he had been up all the night before. it was his custom often to spend his nights in this fashion; for, as he was fond of expressing it, the divine master seemed to have more work for him to do at night than in the daytime. "there are plenty of others to help in the daytime," thought father john, "but in the darkness the sin and the shame are past talking about. if i can lift a burden from one heart, and help one poor suffering soul, surely that is the best night's rest i can attain to." last night he had put a drunken woman to bed. he had found her on a doorstep, and had managed, notwithstanding his small stature and slender frame, to drag her upstairs. there her terrified children met him. he managed to get them into a calm state of mind, and then induced them to help him for all they were worth. the great, bulky woman was undressed and put into bed. she slept, and snored loudly, and the children crowded round. he made them also go to bed, and went away, promising to call in the morning. he did so. the woman was awake, conscious, and bitterly ashamed. he spoke to her as he alone knew how, and, before he left, induced her to go with him to take the pledge. he then gave her a little money out of his slender earnings to get a meal for the children, and spent the rest of the day trying to get fresh employment for her. she had been thrown out of work by her misdemeanors; but father john was a power, and more than one lady promised to try mrs. simpkins once again. the little preacher was, therefore, more tired than his wont. he bent over connie. she drank her coffee, and, soothed by his presence, became calmer herself. "now then," he said, "you will tell me everything. why did you run away?" "'cos i were tired o' machine-work. but, oh, father john! i niver, niver meant to stay aw'y. i jest thought as i were to get a nice new situation; i niver guessed as it 'ud be a prison." connie then told her story, with many gaps and pauses. "you see," said father john when she had finished, "that when you took the management of your own life into your own hands you did a very dangerous thing. god was guiding you, and you thought you could do without him. you have been punished." "yus," said connie. "i'll niver be the same again." "i hope, indeed, that you will not be the same. you have gone through marvellous adventures, and but for god himself you would not now be in the world. it is not only your pain and misery that you have to consider, but you have also to think of the pain and misery you inflicted on others." "no," said connie defiantly, "that i won't do. i thought father 'ud care, but he turned me from 'ome." "he did care, connie. i never knew any one so distracted. he cared so terribly, and was so sore about you, that he took to drink to drown his pain. in the morning, when he is sober, you will see what a welcome he will give you." "no," said connie, shaking her head. "but i say he will. he will help you, and he will be a father to you. i will take you to him myself in the morning." connie did not say anything more. when she had finished her coffee, the preacher suggested that he should take her to sue and giles. the girl looked at him wildly. in telling her story, she had never mentioned the name of the lady who had taken her in, nor the name of the brave fireman who had befriended her. but now father john boldly asked her for these particulars. her little face flushed and she looked up defiantly. "i dunnut want to give 'em," she said. "but i ask you for them, connie," said the preacher. connie could no more withstand father john's authoritative tone than she could fly. after a minute's pause she did tell what she knew, and father john wrote mrs. anderson's address down in his note-book. "now then, connie," he said, rising, "you're better. sue and giles will be so glad to see you once more! come, dear; let me take you to them." connie stood up. there was a curious, wild light in her eyes; but she avoided looking at the street preacher, and he did not observe it. had he done so he would have been more careful. the two went out into the street together. it was now getting really late. the distance between the preacher's room and the humble lodgings where sue and giles lived was no great way, but to reach the home of the little giles they had to pass some very ill-favored courts. at one of these connie suddenly saw a face she knew. she started, trembling, and would have fled on had not a hand been raised to warning lips. the preacher at that instant was stopped by a man who wanted to ask him a question with regard to a child of his whom father john was trying to find employment for. before he knew what had happened, connie's hand was dragged from his. the girl uttered a slight cry, and the next minute was enveloped in the darkness of one of the worst courts in the whole of london. "quiet--quiet!" said a voice. "don't you let out one sound or you'll niver speak no more. it's me--agnes. i won't do yer no 'arm ef ye're quiet. come along with me now." connie went, for she could not do anything else. her feelings were absolutely confused. she did not know at that fearful moment whether she was glad or sorry to be back with agnes coppenger again. she only felt a sense of relief at having slipped away from father john, and at having, as she thought, parted from her own cruel father. "oh agnes!" she whispered, "hide me; and don't--don't take me back to mammy warren!" "bless yer!" said agnes, "she's coped by the perlice. mammy warren's awaiting her trial in the 'ouse of detention; yer won't be worried by her no more." "w'ere are yer taking me, then, agnes?" "'ome--to my 'ouse, my dear." "yer'll promise to let me go in the morning?" "safe an' sure i will--that is, ef yer want to go." agnes was now walking so fast that connie had the utmost difficulty in keeping up with her. she seemed all the time to be dodging, getting into shadows, avoiding lights, turning rapidly round corners, making the most marvellous short cuts, until at last--at last--she reached a very tall house, much taller than the one where mammy warren had lived. she made a peculiar whistle when she got there. the door was opened by a boy of about connie's age. "'ere we be, freckles," said agnes; "and i ha' got the beautiful and saintly connie back again." "hurrah for saintly connie!" cried freckles. the two girls were dragged in by a pair of strong hands, and connie found herself in utter darkness, descending some slippery stairs--into what depths she had not the slightest idea. "these are the cellars," said agnes when at last a door was flung open, and she found herself in a very poorly lit apartment with scarcely any furniture. "you was in hattics before," continued agnes; "now ye're in the cellars. yer didn't greatly take to kind mammy warren, but perhaps yer'll like simeon stylites better. he's a rare good man is simeon--wery pious too. he sets afore him a saint o' the olden days, an' tries to live accordin'. he ain't in yet, so yer can set down and take things heasy." connie sat down. "i'm that frightened!" she said. agnes began to laugh. "sakes!" she exclaimed, "you ha' no cause. simeon's a real feeling man, and he's allers kind to pore gels, more particular ef they 'appen to be purty." agnes now proceeded to light a fire in a huge, old-fashioned grate. there seemed to be abundance of coal. she built the fire up high, and when it roared up the chimney she desired connie to draw near. "you ain't got over yer fright yet," she began. "don't talk of it," said connie. "i guess as i won't--yer do look piquey. 'ow's the other kid?" "i dunno." agnes laughed and winked. after a minute she said, "yer needn't tell me. 'e's with mrs. anderson, mother o' the fireman. the fireman--'e's a real 'andsome man--i can tike to that sort myself. the kid's wery bad, he is. wull, ef he dies it'll be a pity, for he 'ave the makings in 'im of a first-rate perfessional." "perfessional?" said connie. "yus--ef he lives 'e'll be one. simeon stylites 'ull see to that. you'll be a perfessional, too. there's no use in these 'ere days bein' anything of an amattur; yer must be a perfessional or yer can't earn yer bread." "i don't understand," said connie. "sakes! you be stupid. it's good to open yer heyes now. wot do yer think mammy warren wanted yer for?" "i never could tell, only mrs. anderson said----" "yus--tell us wot she said. she's a torf--let's get _'er_ idees on the subjeck." "i won't tell yer," said connie. "oh--_that's_ yer little gime! wull--i don't keer--i'll tell yer from my p'int o' view. mammy warren wanted yer--not for love--don't think no sech thing--but jest 'cos she could make you a sort o' decoy-duck. w'ile she was pickin' up many a good harvest, folks was a-starin' at you; an' w'en the little boy were there too, w'y, they stared all the more. she 'ad the boy first, and he were a fine draw. but he tuk ill, an' then she had to get some sort, an' i told her 'bout you, and 'ow purty you were, an' wot golden 'air you 'ad. 'her golden 'air was 'angin' down her back,' i sung to her, an' she were tuk with the picter. then i got yer for her--you knows 'ow. wull, pore mammy warren! she's in quad for the present. but she'll come out agin none the worse; bless yer! they feeds 'em fine in quad now. many a one as i know goes in reg'lar for the cold weather. you see, we'n yer gets yer lodgin' an' yer food at government expense, it don't cost yer nothing, an' yer come out none the worse. that's wot mammy warren 'ull do. but simeon stylites-'e's a man 'oo prides himself on niver 'avin' been tuk yet. he'll teach yer 'ow to be a perfessional. now then--yer ain't frightened, be yer?" "no," said connie. once again she was the old connie. she had got over her anguish of despair and grief about her father's conduct. she must get out of this, and the only chance was to let agnes think that she didn't mind. "yer'll make a _beautiful_ perfessional!" said agnes, looking at her with admiration now. "i could--i could grovel at yer feet--pore me, so plain as i ham an' hall, an' you so wery genteel. there now, 'oo's that a-knockin' at the door?" agnes went to the door. she opened it about an inch, and had a long colloquy with some one outside. "all right, freckles," she said, "you can go to bed." she then came back to connie. "simeon ain't returning afore to-morrer," she said. "we'll tike to our beds. come along with me, connie." chapter xiv. the search. when connie had been suddenly dragged with extreme force from the preacher's side, he had darted after her, and would have been knocked down himself, and perhaps killed, if the neighbor who had accosted him had not also gone a step or two into the dark alley and dragged him back by main force. "you don't go down there, father john," he said--"not without two or three big men, as big as myself. that you don't--i'll keep you back, father john by all the strength in my body; for if you go down you'll be killed, and then what use will yer be to the poor little gel?" father john acknowledged the justice of this. a crowd of men and women had gathered round, as they always did in those parts at the slightest disturbance. father john recognized many of them, and soon formed a little body of strong men and women. the policemen also came to their aid. they searched the blind alley, going into every house. in short, they did not leave a stone unturned to recover poor connie; but, alas! all in vain. father john was at least glad that he had not gone to visit sue and giles. he could not bear to bring them such terrible tidings as that poor connie had come home and had been kidnapped again. "we'll get her," said the policeman. "there are lots of thieves about here; but as we've unearthed that dreadful character, mother warren, we'll quickly get the rest of the gang. don't you be afraid, father john; the child will be in your hands before the day is out." nevertheless, father john spent a sleepless night, and early--very early--in the morning he started off to visit peter harris. peter had slept all night. in the morning he awoke with a headache, and with a queer feeling that something very bad had happened. when father john entered his room he gazed at him with bloodshot eyes. "wottever is it?" he said. "i had a dream--i must be mistook, of course, but i thought connie had come back." "well," said father john very gravely, "and so she did come back." "wot?" asked the father. he sat up on the bed where he had thrown himself, and pushed back his rough hair. "i have some very sad news for you, harris. will you wash first and have a bit of breakfast, or shall i tell you now?" "get out with you!" said the man. "will i wash and have a bit o' breakfast? tell me about my child, an' be quick!" all the latent tenderness in that fierce heart had reawakened. "connie back?" said the man. "purty little connie? you don't niver say so! but where be she? wherever is my little gel?" "you ask god where she is," said the preacher in a very solemn voice. "she's nowhere to be found. she came here, and you--you turned her away, peter harris." "i did wot?" said harris. "you turned her off--yes, she came to me, poor child. you had taken too much and didn't know what you were doing." the man's face was ghastly pale. "what do yer mean?" he said. "you took too much, and you were cruel to your child. she came to me in bitter grief. i did what i could to soothe her; i assured her that i know you well, and that you'd be all right and quite ready to welcome her home in the morning." "well, and so i be. welcome my lass home? there ain't naught i wouldn't do for her; the best that can be got is for my connie. oh, my dear, sweet little gel! it's the fatted calf she'll 'ave--the prodigal didn't have a bigger welcome." "but she is no prodigal. she was sinned against; she didn't sin. doubtless she did wrong to be discontented. she was never very strong, perhaps, either in mind or body, and she got under bad influence. she was often afraid to go home, peter harris, because of you; for you were so savage to her when you took, as you call it, a drop too much. i'll tell you another time her story, for there is not a moment now to spare; you must get up and help to find her." peter harris sprang to his feet just as though an electric force had pulled him to that position. "find her?" he said. "but she were here--here! where be she? wot did yer do with her, father john?" "i didn't dare to bring her back here last night, and she could not stay with me. i was taking her to giles and sue when----" "man--speak!" harris had caught the preacher by his shoulder. father john staggered for a minute, and then spoke gently, "as we were passing a blind alley some one snatched her from me, right into the pitch darkness. i followed, but was pulled back myself. as soon as possible we formed a party and went to search for her, aided by the police; but she has vanished. it is your duty now to help to find her. the police have great hopes that they have got a clue, but nothing is certain. beyond doubt the child is in danger. wake up, harris. think no more of that horrible poison that is killing you, body and soul, and do your utmost to find your lost child." "god in heaven help me!" said the miserable man. "lost--you say? and she come 'ere--and i turned her off? oh, my little connie!" "keep up your courage, man; there's not a minute of time to spend in vain regrets. you must help the police. you know nearly all the byways and blind alleys of this part of london. you can give valuable information; come at once." a minute or two later the two men went out together. chapter xv. concentration of purpose. while these dreadful things were happening to connie, sue rose with the dawn, rubbed her sleepy eyes until they opened broad and wide, and went with all youthful vigor and goodwill about her daily tasks. first she had to light the fire and prepare giles's breakfast; then to eat her own and tidy up the room; then, having kissed giles, who still slept, and left all in readiness for him when he awoke, she started for her long walk from westminster to st. paul's churchyard. she must be at her place of employment by eight o'clock, and sue was never known to be late. with her bright face, smooth, well-kept hair, and neat clothes, she made a pleasing contrast to most of the girls who worked at messrs. cheadle's cheap sewing. sue possessed in her character two elements of success in life. she had directness of aim and concentration of purpose. no one thought the little workgirl's aims very high; no one ever paused to consider her purpose either high or noble; but sue swerved not from aim or purpose, either to the right hand or to the left. she was the bread-winner in the small family. that was her present manifest duty. and some day she would take giles away to live in the country. that was her ambition. every thought she had to spare from her machine-work and her many heavy duties went to this far-off, grand result. at night she pictured it; as she walked to and from her place of work she dwelt upon it. some day she and giles would have a cottage in the country together. very vague were sue's ideas of what country life was like. she had never once been in the country; she had never seen green fields, nor smelt, as they grow fresh in the hedges, wild flowers. she imagined that flowers grew either in bunches, as they were sold in convent garden, or singly in pots. it never entered into her wildest dreams that the ground could be carpeted with the soft sheen of bluebells or the summer snow of wood anemones, or that the hedge banks could hold great clusters of starry primroses. no, sue had never seen the place where she and giles would live together when they were old. she pictured it like the town, only clean--very clean--with the possibility of procuring eggs really fresh and milk really pure, and of perhaps now and then getting a bunch of flowers for giles without spending many pence on them. people would have called it a poor dream, for sue had no knowledge to guide her, and absolutely no imagination to fill in details; but, all the same, it was golden in its influence on the young girl, imparting resolution to her face and purpose to her eyes, and encircling her round, in her young and defenseless womanhood, as a guardian angel spreading his wings about her. she walked along to-day brightly as usual. the day was a cold one, but sue was in good spirits. she was in good time at her place, and sat down instantly to her work. a girl sat by her side. her name was mary jones. she was a weakly girl, who coughed long and often as she worked. "i must soon give up, sue," she panted between slight pauses in her work. "this 'ere big machine seems to tear me hall to bits, like; and then i gets so hot, and when we is turned out in the middle o' the day the cold seems to strike so dreadful bitter yere;" and she pressed her hand to her sunken chest. "'tis goin' to snow, too, sure as sure, to-day," answered sue. "don't you think as you could jest keep back to-day, mary jones? maybe you mightn't be seen, and i'd try hard to fetch you in something hot when we comes back." "ye're real good, and i'll just mak' shift to stay in," replied mary jones. but then the manager came round, and the girls could say no more for the present. at twelve o'clock, be the weather what it might, all had to turn out for half an hour. this, which seemed a hardship, was absolutely necessary for the proper ventilation of the room; but the delicate girls felt the hardship terribly, and as many of them could not afford to go to a restaurant, there was nothing for them but to wander about the streets. at the hour of release to-day it still snowed fast, but sue with considerable cleverness, had managed to hide mary jones in the warm room, and now ran fast through the blinding and bitter cold to see where she could get something hot and nourishing to bring back to her. her own dinner, consisting of a hunch of dry bread and dripping, could be eaten in the pauses of her work. her object now was to provide for the sick girl. she ran fast, for she knew a shop where delicious penny pies were to be had, and it was quite possible to demolish penny pies unnoticed in the large workroom. the shop, however, in question was some way off, and sue had no time to spare. she had nearly reached it, and had already in imagination clasped the warm pies in her cold hands, when, suddenly turning a corner, she came face to face with harris. harris was walking along moodily, apparently lost in thought. when he saw sue, however, he started, and took hold of her arm roughly. "sue," he said, "does you know as connie came back last night?" "connie?" cried sue. her face turned pale and then red again in eagerness. "then god 'ave heard our prayers!" she exclaimed with great fervor. "oh! won't my little giles be glad?" "you listen to the end," said the man. he still kept his hand on her shoulder, not caring whether it hurt her or not. "she come back, my purty, purty little gel, but i 'ad tuk too much, and i were rough on her and i bid her be gone, and she went. she went to father john; _'e_ were kind to her, and 'e were taking her to you, w'en some willain--i don't know 'oo--caught her by the arm and pulled her down a dark alley, and she ain't been seen since. wottever is to be done? i'm near mad about her--my pore little gel. and to think that i--_i_ should ha' turned her aw'y!" sue listened with great consternation to this terrible tale. she forgot all about poor mary jones and the penny pie which she hoped to smuggle into the workroom for her dinner. she forgot everything in all the world but the fact that connie had come and gone again, and that peter harris was full of the most awful despair and agony about her. "i'm fit to die o' grief," said the man. "i dunno wot to do. the perlice is lookin' for her 'igh an' low, and---- oh sue, i am near off my 'ead!" sue thought for a minute. "is father john looking for her too?" she said. "w'y, yus--of course he be. i'm to meet the perlice again this afternoon, an' we'll--we'll make a rare fuss." "yer'll find her, in course," said sue. "w'y, there ain't a doubt," she continued. "wot do yer mean by that?" "there couldn't be a doubt," continued the girl; "for god, who brought her back to us all, 'ull help yer if yer ax 'im." "do yer believe that, sue?" "sartin sure i do--i couldn't live if i didn't." "you're a queer un," said harris, he felt a strange sort of comfort in the rough little girl's presence. it seemed to him in a sort of fashion that there was truth in her words. she was very wise--wiser than most. he had always respected her. "you're a queer, sensible gel," he said then--"not like most. i am inclined to believe yer. i'm glad i met yer; you were always connie's friend." "oh yus," said sue; "i love her jest as though she were my real sister." "an' yer do think as she'll come back again?" "i'm sartin sure of it." "turn and walk with me a bit, sue. i were near mad w'en i met yer, but somehow you ha' given me a scrap o' hope." "mr. harris," said sue, all of a sudden, "you were cruel to connie last night; but w'en she comes back again you'll be different, won't yer?" "i tuk the pledge this morning," said harris in a gloomy voice. "then in course you'll be different. it were w'en yer tuk too much that you were queer. w'en you're like you are now you're a wery kind man." "be i, sue?" said harris. he looked down at the small girl. "no one else, unless it be pore connie, iver called me a kind man." "and i tell yer wot," continued sue--"ef ye're sure she'll come back--as sure as i am--she----" "then i am sure," said harris. "i'm as sure as there's a sky above us. there now!" "and a god above us," said sue. the man was silent. "in that case," continued sue, "let's do our wery best. let's 'ave iverything nice w'en she comes 'ome. let's 'ave a feast for her, an' let me 'elp yer." "yer mean that yer'll come along to my room an' put things in order?" said harris. "yes; and oh, mr. harris! couldn't yer take her a little bit of a present?" "right you are, wench," he said. harris's whole face lit up. "that _be_ a good thought!" he clapped sue with violence on the shoulder. "right you be! an' i know wot she've set 'er silly little 'eart on--w'y, a ring--a purty ring with a stone in it; and 'ere's a shop--the wery kind for our purpose. let's come in--you an' me--and get her one this wery instant minute." the two entered the shop. a drawer of rings was brought for harris to select from. he presently chose a little ring, very fine, and with a tiny turquoise as decoration. he felt sure that this would fit connie's finger, and laying down his only sovereign on the counter, waited for the change. sue had gone a little away from him, to gaze in open-eyed wonder at the many trinkets exhibited for sale. notwithstanding her excitement about connie, she was too completely a woman not to be attracted by finery of all sorts; and here were scarves and laces and brooches and earrings--in short, that miscellaneous array of female decorations so fascinating to the taste of girls like sue. in this absorbing moment she forgot even connie. in the meantime, in this brief instant while sue was so occupied, the man who served turned his back to get his change from another drawer. he did this leaving the box with the rings on the counter. in the corner of this same box, hidden partly away under some cotton-wool, lay two lockets, one of great value, being gold, set with brilliants. in this instant, quick as thought, harris put in his hand, and taking the diamond locket, slipped it into his pocket. he then received his change, and he and sue left the shop together. he noticed, however, as he walked out that the shopman was missing the locket. his theft could not remain undiscovered. another instant and he would be arrested and the locket found on his person. he had scarcely time for the most rapid thought--certainly no time for any sense of justice to visit his not too fine conscience. the only instinct alive in him in that brief and trying moment was that of self-preservation. he must preserve himself, and the means lay close at hand. he gave sue a little push as though he had stumbled against her, and then, while the girl's attention was otherwise occupied, he transferred the locket from his own pocket to hers, and with a hasty nod, dashed down a side-street which lay close by. rather wondering at his sudden exit, sue went on. until now she had forgotten mary jones. she remembered her with compunction. she also knew that she had scarcely time to get the penny pies and go back to cheapside within the half-hour. if she ran, however, she might accomplish this feat. sue was very strong, and could run as fast as any girl; she put wings to her feet, and went panting down the street. in the midst of this headlong career, however, she was violently arrested. she heard the cry of "stop thief!" behind her, and glancing back, saw two men, accompanied by some boys, in full pursuit. too astonished and frightened to consider the improbability of their pursuing her, she ran harder than ever. she felt horrified, and dreaded their rudeness should they reach her. down side-streets and across byways she dashed, the crowd in pursuit increasing each moment. at last she found that she had run full-tilt into the arms of a policeman, who spread them out to detain her. "what's the matter, girl? who are you running away from?" "oh, hide me--hide me!" said poor sue. "they are calling out 'stop thief!' and running after me so hard." before the policeman could even reply, the owner of the pawnshop had come up. "you may arrest that girl, policeman," he said roughly. "she and a man were in my shop just now, and one or other of 'em stole a valuable diamond locket from me." "what a shame! i didn't touch it!" said sue. "i never touched a thing as worn't my own in hall my life!" "no doubt, my dear," said the policeman; "but of course you won't object to be searched?" "no, of course," said sue; "you may search me as much as you like--you won't get no stolen goods 'bout me;" and she raised her head fearlessly and proudly. the crowd who had now thickly collected, and who, as all crowds do, admired pluck, were beginning to applaud, and no doubt the tide was turning in sue's favor, when the policeman, putting his hand into her pocket, drew out the diamond locket. an instant's breathless silence followed this discovery, followed quickly by some groans and hisses from the bystanders. "oh, but ain't she a hardened one!" two or three remarked; and all pressed close to watch the result. sue had turned very white--so white that the policeman put his hand on her shoulder, thinking she was going to faint. "she is innocent," said in his heart of hearts this experienced functionary; but he further added, "it will go hard for her to prove it--poor lass!" aloud he said: "i've got to take you to the lock-up, my girl; for you must say how you 'appened to come by that 'ere little trinket. the quieter you come, and the less you talk, the easier it 'ull go wid you." "i have nothink to say," answered sue. "i can't--can't see it at all. but i'll go wid yer," she added. she did not asseverate any more, nor even say she was innocent. she walked away by the policeman's side, the crowd still following, and the owner of the pawnshop--having recovered his property, and given his address to the policeman--returned to his place of business. sue walked on, feeling stunned; her thought just now was how very much poor mary jones would miss her penny pies. chapter xvi. pickles. the lock-up to which the policeman wanted to convey sue was at some little distance. with his hand on her shoulder, they walked along, the crowd still following. they turned down more than one by-street, and chose all the short cuts that constable z could remember. one of these happened to be a very narrow passage, and a place of decidedly ill repute. the policeman, however, still holding his terrified charge, walked down it, and the crowd followed after. in the very middle of this passage--for it was little more--they were met by a mob even greater than themselves. these people were shouting, vociferating, waving frantic hands, and all pointing upwards. the policeman raised his eyes and saw that the cause of this uproar was a house on fire. it was a very tall, narrow house, and all the top of it was completely enveloped in flames. from one window, from which escape seemed impossible--for the flames almost surrounded it--a man leaned out, imploring some one to save him. the height from the ground was too great for him to jump down, and no fire-escape was yet in sight. policeman z was as kind-hearted a man as ever lived. in the excitement of such a moment he absolutely forgot sue. he rushed into the crowd, scattering them right and left, and sent those who had not absolutely lost their heads flying for the fire-escape and the engines. they all arrived soon after, and the man, who was the only person in the burning part of the house, was brought in safety to the ground. in the midst of the shouting, eager crowd sue stood, forgetting herself, as perhaps every one else there did also, in such intense excitement. scarcely, however, had the rescued man reached the ground when she felt herself violently pulled from behind--indeed, not only pulled, but dragged so strongly that she almost lost her feet. she attempted to scream, but a hand was instantly placed over her mouth, and she found herself running helplessly, and against her will, down a narrow passage which flanked one side of the burning house; beyond this into a small backyard; then through another house into another yard; and so on until she entered a small, very dirty room. this room was full of unknown condiments in jars and pots, some queer stuffed figures in fancy-dresses, some wigs and curls of false hair, and several masks, false noses, etc., etc. sue, entering this room, was pushed instantly into a large arm-chair, whereupon her captor came and stood before her. he was a lad of about her own size, and perhaps a year or two younger. he had a round, freckled face, the lightest blue eyes, and the reddest, most upright shock of hair she had ever seen. he put his arms akimbo and gazed hard at sue, and so motionless became his perfectly round orbs that sue thought he had been turned into stone. suddenly, however, he winked, and said in a shrill, cheerful tone: "well, then, plucky 'un, 'ow does yer find yerself now?" not any number of shocks could quite deprive sue of her common-sense. she had not an idea of what had become of her. was this another and a rougher way of taking her to the lock-up? was this queer boy friend or foe? "be yer agen me, boy?" she said. "agen yer! well, the ingratitude! ha'n't i jest rescued yer from the hands o' that 'ere nipper?" "oh!" exclaimed sue; and the relieved tension of her poor, terrified little heart found vent in two big tears which rose to her eyes. the red-haired boy balanced himself on one toe in order to survey those tears more carefully. "well," he said at length, in a tone in which there was a ludicrous mingling of wonder and contempt--"well, ye're a queer un fur a plucky un--a wery queer un. crying! my eyes! ain't yer hin luck not to be in prison, and ain't that a subject for rejoicing? i don't cry when i'm in luck; but then, thank goodness! i'm not a gel. lor'! they're queer cattle, gels are--wery queer, the best o' 'em. but they're as they're made, poor things! we can't expect much from such weakness. but now look you here, you gel--look up at me, full and solemn in the face, and say if ye're hinnercent in the matter o' that 'ere locket. if yer can say quite solemn and straightforward as yer his innercent, why, i'll help yer; but if yer is guilty--and, mark me, i can tell by yer heyes ef ye're talking the truth--i can do naught, fur i'm never the party to harbor guilty folks. now speak the truth, full and solemn; be yer hinnercent?" here the red-haired boy got down on his knees and brought his eyes within a few inches of sue's eyes. "be yer hinnercent?" he repeated. "yes," answered sue, "i'm quite, quite hinnercent; yer can believe me or not as yer pleases. i'm quite hinnercent, and i won't cry no more ef yer dislikes it. i wor never reckoned a cry-baby." "good!" said the boy; "i b'lieves yer. and now jest tell me the whole story. i come hup jest when the perleeceman and the pawnbroker were a-gripping yer. lor'! i could a' twisted out o' their hands heasy enough; but then, to be thankful agen, i ain't a gel." "there's no good twitting me wid being a gel," interrupted sue; "gels have their use in creation same as boys, and i guess as they're often the pluckier o' the two." "gels pluckier! well, i like that. however, i will say as you stood game. i guessed as you wor hinnercent then. and now jest tell me the story." "it wor this way," began sue, whose color and courage were beginning to return. then she told her tale, suppressing carefully all tears, for she was anxious to propitiate the red-haired boy. she could not, however, keep back the indignation from her innocent young voice; and this indignation, being a sure sign in his mind of pluckiness, greatly delighted her companion. "'tis the jolliest shame i ever heard tell on in all my life," he said in conclusion; but though he said this he chuckled, and seemed to enjoy himself immensely. "now then," he added, "there's no doubt at all as ye're hinnercent. i know that as clear--i feels as sartin on that p'int--as tho' i wor reading the secrets of my own heart. but 'tis jest equal sartin as a magistrate 'ud bring you hin guilty. he'd say--and think hisself mighty wise, too--'you had the locket, so in course yer tuk the locket, and so yer must be punished.' then you'd be tuk from the lock-up to the house o' correction, where you'd 'ave solitary confinement, most like, to teach you never to do so no more." "'ow long 'ud they keep me there?" asked sue. "'ow long 'ud they be wicked enough to keep me there fur what i never did?" "well, as it wor a first offence, and you but young, they might make it a matter of no longer than a year, or maybe eighteen months. but then, agen, they'd 'ave to consider as it wor diamonds as you tuk. they gems is so waluable that in course you must be punished according. yes, considerin' as it wor diamonds, sue, i would say as you got off cheap wid two years." "you talk jest as tho' i had done it," said sue angrily, "when you know perfect well as i'm quite hinnercent." "well, don't be touchy. i'm only considerin' what the judge 'ud say. i ain't the judge. yes, you'd 'ave two years. but, lor'! it don't much matter wot time you 'ad, for you'd never be no good arter." "wot do you mean now?" asked sue. "i mean as you'd never get no 'ployment, nor be able to hold up yer head. who, i'd like to know, 'ud employ a prison lass--and what else 'ud you be?" here sue, disregarding her companion's dislike to tears, broke down utterly, and exclaimed through her sobs: "oh! poor giles--poor, poor giles! it 'ull kill my little giles. oh! i didn't think as lord jesus could give me sech big stones to walk hover." "now ye're gettin' complicated," exclaimed the red-haired boy. "i make 'lowance fur yer tears--ye're but a gel, and i allow as the picture's dark--but who hever is giles? and where are the stones? ye're setting still this 'ere minute, and i guess as the arm-chair in which i placed yer, though none o' the newest, be better than a stone." "giles is my brother," said sue; "and the stones--well, the stones is 'phorical, ef yer knows wot that means." "bless us, no! i'm sure i don't. but tell about giles." so sue wiped her eyes again and went back a little further in her life-story. "it is complicated," said her companion when she paused--"a lame brother, poor chap, and you the support. well, well! the more reason as you should keep out o' prison. now, sue, this is wot i calls _deep_; jest keep still fur a bit, and let me put on my considerin' cap." the red-haired boy seated himself on the floor, thrust his two hands into his shock of hair, and stared very hard and very straight before him. in this position he was perfectly motionless for about the space of half a minute; then, jumping up, he came again very close to sue. "be yer willin' to take the adwice of a person a deal wiser nor yourself? look me full in the heyes and answer clear on that p'int." "yes, i'm sure i am," said sue, in as humble a spirit as the most exalted teacher could desire. "good!" said the red-haired boy, giving his thigh a great clap. "then you've got to hearken to _me_. sue, there's nothink in life fur you but to hide." "to hide!" said sue. "yes. you must on no 'count whatever let the perleece find yer. we must get to discover the guilty party, and the guilty party must confess; but in the meanwhile yer must hide. there must be no smell o' the prison 'bout yer, sue." "oh! but--but--boy--i don't know yer name." "pickles," said the red-haired boy, giving his head a bob. "pickles, at yer sarvice." "well, then, pickles," continued sue, "if i go and hide, what 'ull become o' giles?" "and what 'ull come o' him ef yer go ter prison--yer goose? now, jest yer listen to the words o' wisdom. you mustn't go back to giles, fur as sure as you do the perleece 'ull have you. that would break that little tender brother's heart. no, no, leave giles ter me; you must hide, sue." "but where, and fur how long?" asked sue. "ah! now ye're comin' sensible, and axin' refreshin' questions. where? leave the where to me. how long? leave the how long ter me." "oh pickles! ye're real good," sobbed sue; "and ef yer'll only promise as giles won't die, and that he won't break his heart wid frettin', why, i'll leave it ter you--i'll leave it all ter you." "and yer couldn't--search the world over--leave it to a safer person," said pickles. "so now that's a bargain--i'll take care on giles." chapter xvii. cinderella. "the first thing to be considered, sue," said pickles, as he seated himself on the floor by her side, "is the disguise. the disguise must be wot i consider deep." "wot hever does yer mean now?" asked sue. "why, yer silly, yer don't s'pose as yer can go hout and about as you are now? why, the perleece 'ud have yer. don't yer s'pose as yer'll be advertised?" "i dunno heven wot that his," said sue. "oh! my heyes, ain't yer green! well, it 'ull be, say, like this. there'll be by hall the perleece-stations placards hup, all writ hout in big print: 'gel missing--plain gel, rayther stout, rayther short, wid round moon-shaped face, heyes small, mouth big, hair----" "there! you needn't go on," said sue, who, though by no means vain, scarcely relished this description. "i know wot yer mean, and i don't want ter be twitted with not being beautiful. i'd rayther be beautiful by a long way. i s'pose, as the disguise is ter change me, will it make me beautiful? i'd like that." pickles roared. "well, i never!" he said. "we'll try. let me see; i must study yer fur a bit. hair wot's called sandy now--changed ter black. heyebrows; no heyebrows in 'ticlar--mark 'em hout strong. mouth: couldn't sew hup the mouth in the corners. no, sue, i'm feared as i never can't make no pictur' of yer. but now to be serious. we must set to work, and we has no time ter spare, fur hold fryin-pan 'ull come home, and there'll be the mischief to pay ef he finds us yere." "who's he?" asked sue. "who? why, the owner of this yer shop. i'm in his employ. i'm wot's called his steady right-hand man. see, sue, yere's a pair o' scissors; get yer hair down and clip away, and i'll get ready the dye." pickles now set to work in earnest, and proved himself by no means an unskilled workman. in a wonderfully short space of time sue's long, neutral-tinted hair was changed to a very short crop of the darkest hue. her eyebrows were also touched up, and as her eyelashes happened to be dark, the effect was not quite so inharmonious as might have been feared. pickles was in ecstasies, and declared that "not a policeman in london 'ud know her." he then dived into an inner room in the funny little shop, and returned with an old blue petticoat and a faded red jersey. these sue had to exchange for her own neat but sober frock. "ye're perfect," said pickles, dancing round her. "yer looks hangelic. now fur the name." "the name?" said sue. "must i 'ave a new name too?" "in course yer must; nothink must let the name o' sue pass yer lips. now, mind, that slip o' the tongue might prove fatal." "wery well," said sue in a resigned voice of great trouble. "yer needn't be so down on yer luck. i don't myself think anythink o' the name o' sue; 'tis what i considers low and common. now, wot's yer favorite character? say in acting, now." "there's no character hin all the world as i hadmires like cinderella," said sue. "oh, my heyes, cinderella, of hall people! worn't cinderella wot might 'ave bin called beautiful? dressed shabby, no doubt, and wid hard-hearted sisters--but hadn't she small feet, now? well, sue, i don't say as ye're remarkable fur them special features b'in' small, nor is yer looks _wery_ uncommon; but still, ef yer have a fancy for the name, so be it. it _will_ be fun thinkin' of the beautiful, small-footed cinderella and looking at you. but so much the better, so come along, cinderella, fur fryin'-pan 'ull catch us ef we don't make haste." "where are we to go?" asked the poor little newly made cinderella, with a piteous face. "now, yer needn't look like that. none but cheerful folks goes down wid me. where are yer to go to? why, to mother, of course--where else?" "oh, have you got a mother?" asked sue. "well, wot next? 'ow did i happen ter be born? yes, i has a mother, and the wery best little woman in the world--so come along." chapter xviii. the metropolitan fire brigade. pickles and sue had to go a long way before they reached the destination of "the best little woman in the world." they walked along by-streets and all kinds of queer places, and presently reached a part of london where sue had never been before. they passed whole streets of warehouses, and came then to poor-looking dwelling-houses, but all of an immense height, and very old and dirty. it was the back slums of westminster over again, but it was a westminster severed as far as one pole is from another to sue. "we does a roaring trade yere," said pickles, looking around him with the air of a proprietor well satisfied with his property. "wot in?" asked sue. "wot hin? well, that may surprise yer. hin fire, of course." "wot do yer mean?" asked sue. "wot does i mean? i mean as we deals in that 'ere rampagious helement. we belongs to the great london fire brigade. that his, my brother will does; and i have a cousin wot thinks hisself no end of a swell, and he's beginning his drill. do you suppose, you goose, as i'd have acted as i did, wid that 'ere remarkable coolness jest now, when the fire wor burning, and the man wor on the wery brink of destruction, ef fire had not bin, so to speak, my native hair? but now, here we are at last, so come along hup to mother!" taking sue's hand, pickles dragged her up flight after flight of stairs, until they reached the top of one of the very tall, dirty houses. here he suddenly flung open a door, and pushing sue in, sang out: "mother, yere i be! and let me introduce to you cinderella. her sisters have bin that unkind and mean as cannot be told, and she have taken refuge wid us until the prince comes to tie on the glass slipper." no doubt pickles' mother was thoroughly accustomed to him, for she did not smile at all, but coming gravely forward, took sue's two hands in hers, and looking into her face, and seeing something of the great trouble there, said in a soft, kind tone: "sit down, my dear--sit down. if i can help you i will." "oh, you can help her real fine, mother!" said pickles, beginning to dance a hornpipe round them both. "and i said as you were the wery best little 'oman in all the world, and that you would do hall you could." "so i will, my lad; only now do let the poor dear speak for herself." but sue did not. there are limits beyond which fortitude will not go, and those limits were most suddenly reached by the poor child. her morning's early rising, her long walk to her place of business, her hard work when she got there; then her hurried run for the sick girl's lunch, her cruel betrayal, her very startling capture by pickles; the fact that her hair had been cut off, her clothes changed, her very name altered, until she herself felt that she must really be somebody else, and not the sue whom giles loved. all these things she had borne with tolerable calmness; but now (for sue was really starving) the warm room, the bright fire--above all, the kind face that bent over her, the gentle voice that asked to hear her tale--proved too much. she put up her toil-worn hands to her face and burst into such sobs as strong people give way to in agony. mrs. price beckoned to pickles to go away, and then, sitting down by sue's side, she waited until the overloaded heart should have become a little quieted; then she said: "and now, my dear, you will tell me the story." sue did tell it--told it all--mrs. price sitting by and holding her hands, and absolutely not speaking a single word. "you believes me, marm?" said sue at last. mrs. price looked in the girl's eyes and answered simply: "yes, poor lamb, i quite believe you. and now i am going to get you some supper." she made sue lie back in the easy-chair by the fire, and drawing out a little round table, laid a white cloth upon it. sue's mind, by this time partly relieved of its load, was able to take in its novel surroundings. the house might be very tall and very dirty, but this room at least was clean. floor, walls, furniture--all reflected a due and most judicious use of soap and water; and the woman moving about with gentle, deft fingers, arranging now this and now that, was quite different from any woman sue had ever seen before. she was a widow, and wore a widow's cap and a perfectly plain black dress, but she had a white handkerchief pinned neatly over her shoulders, so that she looked half-widow, half-nun. she was tall and slender, with very beautiful dark eyes. sue did not know whether to think her the very gravest person she had ever seen or the very brightest. her face was thoughtful and sweet; perhaps when in repose it was sad, but she never looked at a human being without a certain expression coming into her eyes which said louder and plainer than words, "i love you." this expression gave the hungry and poor who came in contact with her glance many a heart-thrill, and it is not too much to say they were seldom disappointed of the sympathy which the look in those dark and lovely eyes gave them reason to hope for. mrs. price now laid the tea-things, giving the poor little shorn and transformed cinderella sitting by the hearth so many expressive glances that she began to feel quite a heavenly peace stealing over her. "worn't jesus real good to bring me yere?" was her mental comment. she had scarcely made it before two young men came in. these young men were dressed in the uniform of the london fire brigade. they looked dusty, and the taller of the two was covered with smoke and dirt. "mother," he said as he tossed his helmet on the table. "i've been worked almost to death. you have supper ready, i hope." "yes, yes, my lad--a nice little piece of boiled pork, smoking hot, and pease-pudding and potatoes. i am glad you've brought george with you. he is kindly welcome, as he knows." "as he knows very well," answered george, with a smile. he touched the woman's shoulder for an instant with his big hand. then the two young men went into the next room to have a wash before supper. "william is coming on fine," said george, when they returned, looking at the other fireman--"though you did disobey orders, william, and are safe to get a reprimand.--fancy, mrs. price! this brave son of yours, returning from his day's drill, must needs see a fire and rush into it, all against orders--ay, and save a poor chap's life--before any one could prevent him." it may be as well to explain here that each man who wishes to join the metropolitan fire brigade must first have served some time at sea; also, before a man is allowed to attend a fire he must be thoroughly trained--in other words, he must attend drill. there's a drill class belonging to each station. it is under the charge of an instructor and two assistant instructors. each man, on appointment, joins this class, and learns the use of all the different appliances required for the extinction of fire. william price had not quite completed his eight weeks' drill. "yes, it was a ticklish piece of work," continued anderson. "the poor chap he rescued was surrounded by flames. then, too, the street was so narrow and the crowd so great that the whole matter is simply wonderful; but that policeman who kept order was a fine fellow." "why, it worn't never the fire as we come from jest now!" here burst from sue. "hush--hush, cinderella!" said pickles, who had come back, giving her a push under the table. "it 'ud be more suitable to yer present sitiwation ef yer didn't talk. in course it wor that same fire. why, it wor that deed o' bravery done by my own nearest o' kin as incited me to hact as i did by you." "whoever is the girl?" said price, noticing poor sue for the first time. "cinderella's the name of this 'ere misfortunate maiden," replied pickles; "an' yer ax no more questions, bill, an' yer'll get no stories told." "i must go, mrs. price," said anderson; "but i'll be back again as soon as possible." "tell me first, george," said the widow, "how your mother is." "i haven't been to see her for a few days, but she wrote to say that both the children who were rescued from the fire a few days back are doing fairly well. the boy was bad at first, but is now recovering." "ah! that was a brave deed," said price in a voice of the greatest admiration. "and did she tell you the names of the poor little critters?" "she did. connie was the name of one----" "connie?" cried sue, springing to her feet. "sit down, cinderella, and keep yourself quiet," cried pickles. george anderson gave the queer little girl who went by this name a puzzled glance. "yes," he said briefly, "connie was the name of one, and ronald the name of the other. i never saw a more beautiful little creature in all the world than connie." "that's _'er_!" broke from sue's irrepressible lips. chapter xix. a saintly lady. when so many strange things were happening, we may be sure that father john was not idle. he had hoped much from peter harris's knowledge of the byways and dens and alleys of westminster. but although peter was accompanied by the sharpest detectives that scotland yard could provide, not the slightest clue to connie's whereabouts could be obtained. the man was to meet more detectives again that same afternoon, and meanwhile a sudden gleam of hope darted through father john's brain. what a fool he had been not to think of it before! how glad he was now that he had insisted on getting the name and address of the brave fireman deliverer from connie on the previous night! he went straight now to the house in carlyle terrace. he stopped at no. . there he rang the bell and inquired if mrs. anderson were within. mrs. anderson was the last woman in the world to refuse to see any one, whether rich or poor, who called upon her. even impostors had a kindly greeting from this saintly lady; for, as she was fond of saying to herself, "if i can't give help, i can at least bestow pity." mrs. anderson was no fool, however, and she could generally read in their faces the true story of a man or woman who came to her. more often than not the story was a sad one, and the chance visitor was in need of help and sympathy. when this was not the case, she was able to explain very fully to the person who had called upon her what she thought of deceit and dishonest means of gaining a livelihood; and that person, as a rule, went away very much ashamed, and in some cases determined to turn over a new leaf. when this really happened mrs. anderson was the first to help to get the individual who had come to her into respectable employment. she was by no means rich, but nearly every penny of her money was spent on others; her own wants were of the simplest. the house she lived in belonged to her son, who, although a gentleman by birth, had long ago selected his profession--that of a fireman in the london fire brigade. he had a passion for his calling, and would not change it for the richest and most luxurious life in the world. now mrs. anderson came downstairs to interview father john. father john stood up, holding his hat in his hand. he always wore a black frock-coat; his hair hung long over his shoulders; his forehead was lofty; his expressive and marvelously beautiful gray eyes lit up his rugged and otherwise plain face. it was but to look at this man to know that he was absolutely impervious to flattery, and did not mind in the least what others thought about him. his very slight but perceptible deformity gave to his eyes that pathetic look which deformed people so often possess. the moment mrs. anderson entered the room she recognized him. "why," she said in a joyful tone, "is it true that i have the honor of speaking to the great street preacher?" "not great, madam," said father john--"quite a simple individual; but my blessed father in heaven has given me strength to deliver now and then a message to poor and sorrowful people." "sit down, won't you?" said mrs. anderson. father john did immediately take a chair. mrs. anderson did likewise. "now," said the widow, "what can i do for you?" "i will tell you, madam. her father and i are in great trouble about the child----" "what child?" asked mrs. anderson. "you surely don't mean little connie harris? i have been nervous at her not reappearing to-day. at her own express wish, she went to visit her father last night. i would have sent some one with her, but she wouldn't hear of it, assuring me that she had been about by herself in the london streets as long as she could remember; but she has not returned." "no, madam?" over father john's face there passed a quick emotion. then this last hope must be given up. "you have news of her?" said mrs. anderson. "i have, and very bad news." father john then related his story. "oh, why--why did i let her go?" said mrs. anderson. "don't blame yourself dear lady; the person to blame is the miserable father who would not receive his lost child when she returned to him." "oh, poor little girl!" said mrs. anderson. "such a sweet child, too, and so very beautiful!" "her beauty is her danger," said father john. "what do you mean?" "she told me her story, as doubtless she has told it to you." "she has," said mrs. anderson. "there is not the least doubt," continued the street preacher, "that that notorious thief, mrs. warren, used the child to attract people from herself when she was stealing their goods. mrs. warren is one of the most noted pickpockets in london. she has been captured, but i greatly fear that some other members of the gang have kidnapped the child once more." "what can be done?" said mrs. anderson. "i wish my son were here. i know he would help." "ah, madam," said father john, "how proud you must be of such a son! i think i would rather belong to his profession than any other in all the world--yes, i believe i would rather belong to it than to my own; for when you can rescue the body of a man from the cruel and tormenting flames, you have a rare chance of getting at his soul." "my son is a christian as well as a gentleman," said mrs. anderson. "he would feel with you in every word you have uttered, father john. i will send him a message and ask him if he can meet you here later on to-night." "i shall be very pleased to come; and i will if i can," said father john. "but," he added, "my time is scarcely ever my own--i am the servant of my people." "your congregation?" said mrs. anderson. "yes, madam; all sorts and conditions of men. i have no parish; still, i consider myself god's priest to deliver his message to sorrowful people who might not receive it from an ordained clergyman." mrs. anderson was silent. father john's eyes seemed to glow. he was looking back on many experiences. after a minute he said: "the consolation is this: 'he that shall endure to the end--shall be saved.'" "how very strange that you should speak of that!" said mrs. anderson. "why so, madam? don't you believe it?" "oh, indeed i do! but i'll tell you why i think it strange. there is a little boy--the child who was also rescued from the fire--in my house. he was very ill at first; he is now better, but not well enough to leave his bedroom. i was anxious about him for a time, but he is, i thank god, recovering. now, this child went on murmuring that text during his delirium--a strange one to fall from the lips of so young a child." "indeed, yes, madam. i am most deeply interested. i am glad you have mentioned the little boy. connie told me about him last night. i am sorry that in my anxiety for her i forgot him." "you could never forget little ronald if you were to see him," said mrs. anderson. "i don't think i ever saw quite so sweet a child. his patience, his courage, and i think i ought to add his faith, are marvelous." "he cannot be nicer or better than a little boy of the name of giles who lives in a very poor attic near my own room," said the preacher. "i wonder," said mrs. anderson after a pause, "if you could spare time to come up and see little ronald with me." "i should be only too glad," said father john. so mrs. anderson took the preacher upstairs, and very softly opened the door, beyond which stood a screen. she entered, followed by the preacher, into a pretty room, which had lovely photographs hanging on the walls, that bore on childhood in different aspects. there was the summer child--the child of happiness--playing in the summer meadows, chasing butterflies and gathering flowers. and there also was the winter child--the child of extreme desolation--shivering on a doorstep in one of london's streets. there were other children, too--saintly children--st. agnes and her lamb, st. elizabeth, st. ursula; and, above all, there were photographs of the famous pictures of the child of all children, the child of bethlehem. the windows of the room were shaded by soft curtains of pale blue. a cheerful fire burned in the grate, and a child lay, half-sitting up, in a bed covered by a silken eider-down. the child looked quite content in his little bed, and a trained nurse who was in the room went softly out by another door as mrs. anderson and the preacher entered. "hasn't connie come back?" asked ronald. "no, dear," said mrs. anderson; "she's not able to do so just yet." "i want her," said ronald, suppressing a sigh. "i have brought this gentleman to see you, ronald." "what?" the boy cast a quick glance at the somewhat ungainly figure of father john. another disappointment--not the father he was waiting for. but the luminous eyes of the preacher seemed to pierce into the boy's soul. when he looked once, he looked again. when he looked twice, it seemed to him that he wanted to look forever. "i am glad," he said; and a smile broke over his little face. father john sat down at once by the bedside, and mrs. anderson went softly out of the room. "waiting for something, little man?" said the street preacher. "how can you tell?" asked ronald. "i see it in your eyes," said the preacher. "it's father," said ronald. "which father?" asked the preacher. "my own," said ronald--"my soldier father--the v. c. man, you know." "yes," said father john. "i want him," said ronald. "of course you do." "is he likely to come soon?" asked ronald. "if i could tell you that, ronald," said the street preacher, "i should be a wiser man than my father in heaven means me to be. there is only one person who can tell you when your earthly father will come." "you mean lord christ," said ronald. "i mean christ and our father in heaven." ronald shut his eyes for a minute. then he opened them. "i want my father," he said. "i'm sort o' starving for him." "well," said father john, "you have a father, you know--you have two fathers. if you can't get your earthly father down here, you're certain safe to get him up there. a boy with two fathers needn't feel starved about the heart, need he, now?" "i suppose not," said ronald. "he need not, of course," said father john. "i'll say a bit of a prayer for you to the heavenly father, and i know that sore feeling will go out of your heart. i know it, ronald; for he has promised to answer the prayers of those who trust in him. but now i want to talk to you about something else. i guess, somehow, that the next best person to your father to come to see you now is your little friend connie." "yes, yes!" said ronald. "i've missed her dreadful. mrs. anderson is sweet, and nurse charlotte very kind, and i'm beginning not to be quite so nervous about fire and smoke and danger. it's awful to be frightened. i'll have to tell my father when he comes back how bad i've been and how unlike him. but if i can't get him just now--and i'm not going to be unpatient--i want connie, 'cos she understands." "of course she understands," said the preacher. "i will try and get her for you." "but why can't she come back?" "she can't." "but why--why?" "that is another thing i can't tell you." "and i am not to be unpatient," said ronald. "you're to be patient--it's a big lesson--it mostly takes a lifetime to get it well learned. but somehow, when it is learned, then there's nothing else left to learn." ronald's eyes were so bright and so dark that the preacher felt he had said enough for the present. he bent down over the boy. "the god above bless thee, child," he said; "and if you have power and strength to say a little prayer for connie, do. she will come back when the heavenly father wills it. good-bye, ronald." chapter xx. caught again. when connie awoke the next morning, it was to see the ugly face of agnes bending over her. "stylites is to 'ome," she said briefly. "yer'd best look nippy and come into the kitchen and 'ave yer brekfus'." "oh!" said connie. "you'll admire stylites," continued agnes; "he's a wery fine man. now come along--but don't yer keep him waiting." connie had not undressed. agnes poured a little water into a cracked basin for her to wash her face and hands, and showed her a comb, by no means specially inviting, with which she could comb out her pretty hair. then, again enjoining her to "look slippy," she left the room. in the kitchen a big breakfast was going on. a quantity of bacon was frizzling in a pan over a great fire; and freckles, the boy who had let connie and agnes in the night before, was attending to it. two men with rough faces--one of them went by the name of corkscrew, and the other was known as nutmeg--were standing also within the region of the warm and generous fire. but the man on whom connie fixed her pretty eyes, when she softly opened the door and in all fear made her appearance, was of a totally different order of being. he was a tall man, quite young, not more than thirty years of age, and remarkably handsome. he had that curious combination of rather fair hair and very dark eyes and brows. his face was clean-shaven, and the features were refined and delicate without being in the least effeminate; for the cruel strength of the lower jaw and firmly shut lips showed at a glance that this man had a will of iron. his voice was exceedingly smooth and gentle, however, in intonation. when he saw connie he stepped up to her side and, giving her a gracious bow, said: "welcome to the kitchen, young lady." "it's stylites--bob yer curtsy," whispered agnes in connie's ear. so connie bobbed her curtsy. was this the man she was to be so dreadfully afraid of? her whole charming little face broke into a smile. "i'm so glad as you're stylites!" she said. the compliment, the absolutely unexpected words, the charm of the smile, had a visible effect upon the man. he looked again at connie as though he would read her through and through; then, taking her hand, he led her to the breakfast-table. "freckles," he said, "put a clean plate and knife on the table. that plate isn't fit for a young lady to eat off." freckles grinned from ear to ear, showing rows of yellow teeth. he rushed off to wash the plate in question, and returned with it hot and shining to lay again before connie's place. simeon stylites himself helped the little girl to the choicest pieces of bacon, to delicate slices of white bread, and to any other good things which were on the table. as he did this he did not speak once, but his eyes seemed to be everywhere. no one dared do a thing on the sly. the rough-looking men, corkscrew and nutmeg, were desired in a peremptory tone to take their mugs of tea to another table at the farther end of the great room. one of them ventured to grumble, and both cast angry glances at connie. stylites, however, said, "shut that!" and they were instantly mute as mice. the boy freckles also took his breakfast to the other table; but agnes sat boldly down, and pushing her ill-favored face forward, addressed simeon in familiar style: "i nabbed her--yer see." "shut that!" said stylites. agnes flushed an angry red, gave connie a vindictive look, but did not dare to utter another word. connie ate her breakfast with wonderful calm, and almost contentment. during the night which had passed she had gone through terrible dreams, in which simeon stylites had figured largely. he had appeared to her in those dreams as an ogre--a monster too awful to live. but here was a gracious gentleman, very goodly to look upon, very kind to her, although rude and even fierce to the rest of the party. "he'll let me go 'ome," thought connie; "he 'ave a kind 'eart." the meal came to an end. when it did so corkscrew came up and inquired if the young "amattur" were "goin' to 'ave her first lesson in perfessional work." "shut that!" said stylites again. "you go into cellar no. and attend to the silver, corkscrew.--nutmeg, you'll have the other jewelry to put in order this morning. is the furnace in proper order?" "yus, sir." "get off both of you and do your business. we're going out this evening." "when, sir?" "ten o'clock--sharp's the word." "on wot, sir?" "no. 's the job," said simeon stylites. "and wot am i to do?" said agnes. "stay indoors and mend your clothes." "in this room, sir?" "no; your bedroom." "please, simeon stylites, yer ain't thanked me yet for bringin' connie along." for answer stylites put his hand into his pocket, produced half-a-crown, and tossed it to agnes. "get into your room, and be quick about it," he said. "may i take connie along, please, sir?" "leave the girl alone. go!" agnes went. "come and sit in this warm chair by the fire, dear," said stylites. connie did so. the smile round her lips kept coming and going, going and coming. she was touched; she was soothed; she had not a scrap of fear; this great, strong, kind man would certainly save her. he was so different from dreadful mammy warren. "freckles," said the chief, "wash the breakfast things; put them in order; take them all into the pantry. when you have done, go out by the back door, being careful to put on the old man's disguise to-day. fasten the wig firmly on, and put a patch over your eye. here's five shillings; get food for the day, and be here by twelve o'clock sharp. now go." "yus, sir." freckles had an exceedingly cheerful manner. he knew very little fear. the strange life he led gave him a sort of wild pleasure. he winked at connie. "somethin' wery strange be goin' to 'appen," he said to himself. "a hamattur like this a-brought in by private horders, an' no perfessional lesson to be tuk." he thought how he himself would enjoy teaching this pretty child some of the tricks of the trade. oh, of course, she was absolutely invaluable. he didn't wonder that mammy had brought in such spoil when connie was there. but even freckles had to depart, and connie presently found herself alone with the chief. he stood by the hearth, looking taller and more exactly like a fine gentleman, and connie was more and more reassured about him. "please, sir----" she began. "stop!" he interrupted. "mayn't i speak, sir?" "no--not now. for god's sake don't plead with me; i can't stand that." "why, sir?" but connie, as she looked up, saw an expression about that mouth and that jaw which frightened her, and frightened her so badly that all the agony she had undergone in mammy warren's house seemed as nothing in comparison. the next minute, however, the cruel look had departed. simeon stylites drew a chair forward, dropped into it, bent low, and looked into connie's eyes. "allow me," he said; and he put his hand very gently under her chin, and raised her little face and looked at it. "who's your father?" he asked. "peter harris." "trade?" "blacksmith, sir." "where do you live?" "adam street, sir; and----" "hush! only answer my questions." stylites removed his hand from under the girl's chin, and connie felt a blush of pain sweeping over her face. "how long were you with that woman warren?" "dunno, sir." "what do you mean by answering me like that?" "can't 'elp it, sir. tuk a fright there--bad fire--can't remember, please, sir." "never mind; it doesn't matter. stand up; i want to look at your hair." connie did so. simeon took great masses of the golden, beautiful hair between his slender fingers. he allowed it to ripple through them. he felt its weight and examined its quality. "sit down again," he said. "yus, sir." "you're exactly the young girl i want for my profession." "please, sir----" "hush!" "yus, sir." "i repeat--and i wish you to listen--that in my profession you would rise to eminence. you haven't an idea what it is like, have you?" "no--i mean i'm not sure----" "you had better keep in ignorance, for it won't be really necessary for you to understand." "oh, sir." "not really necessary." connie looked up into the stern and very strange face. "but you miss a good deal," said stylites--"yes, a very great deal. tell me, for instance, how you employed your time before you entered mrs. warren's establishment." "i did machine-work, sir." "i guessed as much--or perhaps coppenger told me. machine-work--attic work?--shop?" "yus, sir--in cheapside, sir--a workshop for cheap clothing, sir." "did you like it?" "no, sir." "i should think not. let me look at your hand." he took one of connie's hands and examined it carefully. "little, tapering fingers," he said, "spoiled by work. they could be made very white, very soft and beautiful. have you ever considered what a truly fascinating thing a girl's hand is?" connie shook her head. "you'd know it if you stayed with me. i should dress you in silk and satins, and give you big hats with feathers, and lovely silk stockings and charming shoes." "to wear in this 'ere kitchen, sir?" "oh no, you wouldn't live in this kitchen; you would be in a beautiful house with other ladies and gentlemen. _you would_ like that, wouldn't you?" "yus, sir--ef i might 'ave ronald and giles and father and father john, and p'rhaps mrs. anderson and mr. george anderson, along o' me." "but in that beautiful house you wouldn't have mr. and mrs. anderson, nor your father, nor that canting street preacher, nor the children you've just mentioned. it's just possible you might have the boy ronald, but even that is problematical--you'd have to give up the rest." "then, sir," said connie, "i rayther not go, please." "do you think that matters?" said stylites. "wot, sir?" "that you'd rather not go?" "i dunno, sir." "it doesn't matter one whit. children who come here aren't asked what they'd rather or rather not do, girl--they've got to do what _i_ order." the voice came out, not loud, but sharp and incisive, as though a knife were cutting something. "yus, sir--yus, sir." "connie"--the man's whole tone altered--"what will you give me if i let you go?" "oh, sir----" "i want you to give me something very big, i've taken great trouble to secure you. you're the sort of little girl i want; you would be very useful to me. you have come in here--it is true you haven't the least idea where this house is--but you've come in, and you've seen me, and you've discovered the name which these low people call me. of course, you can understand that my real name is not simeon stylites--i have a very different name; and my home isn't here--i have a very different home. i would take you there, and treat you well, and afterwards perhaps send you to another home. you should never know want, and no one would be unkind to you. you would be as a daughter to me, and i am a lonely man." "oh, sir--sir!" said poor connie, "i--i like you, sir--i'm not afeered--no, not much afeered--but if you 'ud only let the others come----" "that i cannot do, girl. if you choose to belong to me you must give up the others." "_ef_ i choose, sir--may i choose?" "yes--on a condition." the man who called himself simeon stylites looked at the girl with a queer, hungry expression in his eyes. "i wanted you very badly indeed," he said; "and i was not in the least prepared to be sentimental. but i had a little sister like you. she died when she was rather younger than you. i loved her, and she loved me. i was quite a good man then, and a gentleman----" "oh, sir--ye're that now." "no, girl--i am not. there are things that a gentleman would do which i would _not_ do, and there are things which no gentleman would do which i do. i have passed the line; nevertheless, the outward tokens remain; and i live--well, child, i want for nothing. my profession is very lucrative--very." connie did not understand half the words of this strange, queer man, with a terribly stern and yet terribly pathetic voice. "when i saw you this morning," said stylites, "i knew at once it was no go. you were like the little eleanor whom alone in all the world i ever truly loved. you are too young to be told my story, or i would tell it to you." "oh, sir," said connie, "i'd real like to comfort yer." "you can't do that, and i won't spoil the life of any child with such a look of my little eleanor. i am going to give you back your liberty--on a condition." "wot's that?" said connie. "that you never breathe to mortal what happened to you from the time you left your friend, the street preacher, last night, until the time when you found yourself at liberty and outside that same court. wild horses mustn't drag it from you; detectives must do their utmost in vain. i am willing to do a good deal for you, girl, solely and entirely because of that chance likeness. but i won't have _my_ profession and _my_ chances in life imperilled. do you promise?" "sir, i'll niver,--niver tell." "you must promise more strongly than that--the others must be witnesses." "oh, sir--oh, sir! you must trust me. don't call the others in; let me promise to you, yer lone self, an' i will keep my word." the strange man with the strange eyes looked long for a full minute into connie's face. "i could have been good to you," he said, "and what i had to offer was not altogether contemptible. but it somehow wouldn't have fitted in with my memory of eleanor, who went back to god at eleven years of age, very pure in heart, and just like a little child. 'of such is the kingdom of heaven.' those are the words which mark her little grave in a distant part of the country. if you will follow in her steps, and be pure and good in heart and life, you may meet my eleanor in another world. and perhaps you may be able to tell her that i--a man given over to extreme wickedness--did one kind deed for her sake when i gave you back to your friends." "sir----" "not another word. i am a man of moods, and i might recant what i have just said." simeon stylites sounded a little gong on the table. agnes came hurriedly in. "fetch this child's hat and jacket," said the great man imperatively. agnes brought them. "be i to take her out, sir?" she said. "no. and listen. this child isn't for us; let her alone in future.--are you ready, connie?" "yus, sir." simeon stylites put on the most gentlemanly overcoat and a well-brushed silk hat, and he took a neat stick in his hand and went boldly out of the house. as soon as ever he got outside he saw a hansom, and beckoned the driver. he and connie got in. they went for a long drive, and stylites dismissed the hansom in a distant part of the town. "you wouldn't know your way back again?" he said to the girl. "no, sir; an' ef i knew i wouldn't tell." "well, then--good-bye." "good-bye, sir." "yes, good-bye. walk down this street till you come to the end. here's a shilling--you'll get a hansom; ask a policeman to put you in. from there go home again, and forget that you ever saw or heard of simeon stylites." chapter xxi. safe home at last. when harris parted from sue he ran quickly in his cowardly flight. he did not stay his fleet steps until he had gained a very quiet street. then, knowing that he was now quite safe, he exchanged his running for a rapid walk. he suddenly remembered that he was to meet the detectives, who were moving heaven and earth to get connie back for him, not later than three o'clock. they were to meet by appointment in a certain street, and the hour of rendezvous was quickly approaching. he got there in good time; but what was his amazement to see, not only the two detectives--ordinary-looking men in plain clothes--but also the street preacher? the street preacher came up to him eagerly. the detectives also followed close. "harris," said atkins, "you can thank god on your knees--your child is safe at home." "wot?" said harris. in that instant something sharp as a sword went through his heart. oh, what a mean, terrible, horrible wretch he was! what a cowardly deed he had just committed! and yet god was kind, and had given him back his child. "connie is in your room, waiting for you," said atkins. "i went in not an hour ago, hoping to find you, and there she was." "it's very queer," said detective z. "you should have been there also, and have questioned the girl. there isn't the least doubt that she could give the most valuable information, but she won't utter a word--not a word." "won't she, now?" said harris. "perhaps not to you, but she wull, quick enough, to her own father." the entire party then turned in the direction of harris's rooms. they went up the stairs, and harris flung the door wide. a little, slight girl, in the identical same dark-blue dress which harris had bought for her with such pride not many weeks ago, was standing near the fire. already her womanly influences had been at work. the fire burned brightly. the room was tidy. the girl herself was waiting--expectation, fear, longing, all expressed in her sensitive face. "father!" she cried as harris--brutal, red of face, self-reproachful, at once the most miserable and the gladdest man on earth--almost staggered into the room. he took the slim little creature into his arms, gave her a few fierce, passionate kisses; then saying, "it is good to have yer back, wench," pushed her from him with unnecessary violence. he sank into a seat, trembling all over. the two detectives marked his agitation and were full of compassion for him. how deeply he loved his child, they felt. but father john read deeper below the surface. the man was in a very queer state. had anything happened? he knew harris well. at such a moment as this, if all were right, he would not be so overcome. the detectives began to question connie. "we want to ask you a few questions, my dear," said constable z. "who dragged you into that court last night?" "i won't say," answered connie. "you won't say? but you know." "i won't say nothing," said connie. "that is blamed nonsense!" cried harris, suddenly rousing himself. "yer've got to say--yer've got to make a clean breast of it. wot's up? speak!" "i wouldn't be here, father," said connie, "'ef i'd not promised most faithfully not _iver_ to tell, and i won't iver, iver, iver tell, not to anybody in all the world." there was a decidedly new quality in the girl's voice. "i wouldn't do it for nobody," continued connie. she drew herself up, and looked taller; her eyes were shining. the detectives glanced at each other. "if you was put in the witness-box, missy," said one, "yer'd have to break that promise o' yourn, whoever you made it to, or you'ud know what contempt of the law meant." "but i am not in the witness-box," said connie, her tone suddenly becoming gay. "it was awful kind of people to look for me, but they might ha' looked for ever and niver found me again. i'm 'ere now quite safe, and nothing 'as 'appened at all, and i'm niver goin' to tell. please, father john, _you_ won't ask me?" "no, my child," said father john. "you have made a promise, perhaps a rash one, but i should be the last to counsel you to break it." nothing more could be gained from connie at present; and by-and-by father john and the two detectives left her alone with harris. when the door closed behind the three men a timid expression came into connie's gentle eyes. beyond doubt her father was sober, but he looked very queer--fearfully red in the face, nervous, trembling, bad in his temper. connie had seen him in many moods, but this particular mood she had never witnessed in him before. he must really love her. he knew nothing about that terrible time last night when he had turned her away. then he did not know what he was doing. connie was the last to bear him malice for what--like many other little girls of her class--she considered he could not help. most of the children in the courts and streets around had fathers who drank. it seemed to connie and to the other children that this was a necessary part of fathers--that they all took what was not good for them, and were exceedingly unpleasant under its influence. she stood now by the window, and harris sank into a chair. then he got up restlessly. "i be goin' out for a bit, lass," he said. "you stay 'ere." "oh, please, father," said connie, "ef you be goin' out, may i go 'long and pay giles a wisit? i want so much to have a real good talk with him." when connie mentioned the word giles, harris gave quite a perceptible start. something very like an oath came from his lips; then he crushed back his emotion. "hall right," he said; "but don't stay too long there. and plait up that 'air o' yourn, and put it tight round yer 'ead; i don't want no more kidnappin' o' my wench." there was a slight break in the rough man's voice, and connie's little sensitive heart throbbed to the tone of love. a minute later harris had gone out, and connie, perceiving that it was past four o'clock, and that it would not be so very long before sue was back from cheapside, prepared to set off in quite gay spirits to see little giles. she went into her tiny bedroom. it was a very shabby room, nothing like as well furnished as the one she had occupied at mammy warren's. but oh, how glad she was to be back again! how sweet the homely furniture looked! how dear was that cracked and handleless jug! how nice to behold again the wooden box in which she kept her clothes! the little girl now quickly plaited her long, thick hair, arranged it tightly round her head, and putting on a shabby frock and jacket, and laying the dark blue, which had seen such evil days, in the little trunk, she hastily left the room. she was not long in making her appearance in giles's very humble attic. her heart beat as she mounted the well-worn stairs. how often--oh, how often she had though of giles and sue! how she had longed for them! the next minute she had burst into the room where the boy was lying, as usual, flat on his back. "giles," she said, "i've come back." "connie!" answered giles. he turned quickly to look at her. his face turned first red, then very pale; but the next minute he held up his hand to restrain further words. "don't say anything for half a minute, connie, for 'e's goin' to speak." "big ben? oh!" said connie. she remembered what big ben had been to her and to ronald in mammy warren's dreadful rooms. she too listened, half-arrested in her progress across the room. then, above the din and roar of london, the sweet chimes pealed, and the hour of five o'clock was solemnly proclaimed. "there!" said giles. "did yer 'ear wot he said now?" "tell us--do tell us!" said connie. "'the peace of god which passeth all understanding.'" said giles. "ain't it fine?" "oh yus," said connie--"yus! giles--little giles--'ow i ha' missed yer! oh giles, giles! this is the peace o' god come back to me again." giles did not answer, and connie had time to watch him. it was some weeks now since she had seen him--weeks so full of events that they were like a lifetime to the child; and in those weeks a change had come over little giles. that pure, small, angel face of his looked smaller, thinner, and more angelic than ever. it seemed as if a breath might blow him away. his sweet voice itself was thin and weak. "i did miss yer, connie," he said at last. "but then, i were never frightened; sue were--over and over." "and w'y weren't yer frightened, giles?" said connie. "you 'ad a reason to be, if yer did but know." "i did know," said giles, "and that were why i didn't fret. i knew as you were safe--i knew for sartin sure that big ben 'ud talk to yer--_'e'd_ bring yer a message, same as 'e brings to me." "oh--he did--he did!" said connie. "i might ha' guessed that you'd think that, for the message were so wery strong. it were indeed as though a woice uttered the words. but oh, giles--i 'ave a lot to tell yer!" "well," said giles, "and i am ready to listen. poke up the fire a bit, and then set near me. yer must stop talking _w'en 'e_ speaks, but otherwise you talk and i listen." "afore i do anything," said connie--"'ave you 'ad your tea?" "no. i didn't want it. i'll 'ave it w'en sue comes 'ome." "poor sue!" said connie. "i'm that longin' to see her! i 'ope she won't be hangry." "oh, no," said giles. "we're both on us too glad to be angry. we missed yer sore, both on us." while giles was speaking connie had put on the kettle to boil. she had soon made a cup of tea, which she brought to the boy, who, although he had said he did not want it, drank it off with dry and thirsty lips. "dear connie!" he said when he gave her the cup to put down. "now you're better," said connie, "and i'll speak." she began to tell her story, which quickly absorbed giles, bringing color into his cheeks and brightness into his eyes, so that he looked by no means so frail and ill as he had done when connie first saw him. she cheered up when she noticed this, and reflected that doubtless giles was no worse. it was only because she had not seen him for so long that she was really frightened. when her story was finished giles spoke: "you're back, and you're safe--and it were the good lord as did it. yer'll tell me 'bout the fire over agin another day; and yer'll tell me 'bout that little ronald, wot 'ave so brave a father, another day. but i'm tired now a bit. it's wonnerful, all the same, wot brave fathers do for their children. w'en i think o' mine, an' wot 'e wor, an' 'ow 'e died, givin' up his life for others, i'm that proud o' him, an' comforted by him, an' rejoiced to think as i'll see 'im agin, as is almost past talkin' on. but there! you'd best go 'ome now; you're quite safe, for 'e wot gives big ben 'is message 'ull regard yer." "but why mayn't i wait for sue?" said connie. "no," said giles in a faint tone; "i'm too tired--i'm sort o' done up, connie--an' i can't listen, even to dear sue axin' yer dozens and dozens o' questions. you go 'ome now, an' come back ef yer like later on, w'en sue 'ull be 'ome and i'll ha' broke the news to her. she knows she must be very quiet in the room with me, connie." so connie agreed to this; first of all, however, placing a glass with a little milk in it by giles's side. she then returned to her own room, hoping that she might find her father there before her. he was not there; his place was empty. connie, however, was not alarmed, only it had struck her with a pang that if he really loved her half as much as she loved him he would have come on that first evening after her return. she spent a little time examining the room and putting it into ship-shape order, and then suddenly remembered that she herself was both faint and hungry. she set the kettle on, therefore, to boil, and made herself some tea. there was a hunch of bread and a piece of cold bacon in the great cupboard, which in connie's time was generally stored with provisions. she said to herself: "i must ax father for money to buy wittles w'en he comes in." and then she made a meal off some of the bacon and bread, and drank the sugarless and milkless tea as though it were nectar. she felt very tired from all she had undergone; and as the time sped by, and big ben proclaimed the hours of seven, eight, and nine, she resolved to wait no longer for her father. she hoped indeed, he would not be tipsy to-night but she resolved if such were the case, and he again refused to receive her, to go to mrs. anderson and beg for a night's lodging. first of all, however, she would visit giles and sue. giles would have told sue the most exciting part of the story, and sue would be calm and practical and matter-of-fact; but of course, at the same time, very, very glad to see her. connie thought how lovely it would be to get one of sue's hearty smacks on her cheek, and to hear sue's confident voice saying: "you _were_ a silly. well, now ye're safe 'ome, you'll see as yer stays there." connie thought no words would be quite so cheerful and stimulating to hear as those matter-of-fact words of sue's. she soon reached the attic. she opened the door softly, and yet with a flutter at her heart. "sue," she said. but there was no sue in the room; only giles, whose face was very, very white, and whose gentle eyes were full of distress. "come right over 'ere, connie," he said. she went and knelt by him. "ye're not well," she said. "wot ails yer?" "sue ain't come 'ome," he answered--"neither sue nor any tidin's of her. no, i ain't frightened, but i'm--i'm lonesome, like." "in course ye're not frightened," said connie, who, in the new _rôle_ of comforter for giles, forgot herself. "i'll set with yer," she said, "till sue comes 'ome. w'y, giles, anythink might ha' kep' her." "no," said giles, "not anythink, for she were comin' 'ome earlier than usual to-night, an' we was to plan out 'ow best to get me a new night-shirt, an' sue herself were goin' to 'ave a evenin' patchin' her old brown frock. she were comin' 'ome--she 'ad made me a promise; nothin' in all the world would make her break it--that is, _ef_ she could 'elp herself." "well, i s'pose she couldn't 'elp herself," said connie. "it's jest this way. they keep her in over hours--they often do that at cheadle's." "they 'aven't kep' 'er in to-night," said giles. "then wot 'ave come to her?" "i dunno; only big ben----" "giles dear, wot _do_ yer mean?" "i know," said giles, with a catch in his voice, "as that blessed woice comforts me; but there! i must take the rough with the smooth. 'e said w'en last 'e spoke, 'in all their affliction 'e were afflicted.' there now! why did those words sound through the room unless there _is_ trouble about sue?" connie argued and talked, and tried to cheer the poor little fellow. she saw, however, that he was painfully weak, and when ten o'clock struck from the great clock, and the boy--his nerves now all on edge--caught connie's hand, and buried his face against it, murmuring, "the woice has said them words agin," she thought it quite time to fetch a doctor. "you mustn't go on like this, giles," she said, "or yer'll be real ill. i'm goin' away, and i'll be back in a minute or two." she ran downstairs, found a certain mrs. nelson who knew both sue and giles very well, described the state of the child, and begged of mrs. nelson to get the doctor in. "wull, now," said that good woman, "ef that ain't wonnerful! why, dr. deane is in the 'ouse this very blessed minute attending on hannah blake, wot broke her leg. i'll send him straight up to giles, connie, ef yer'll wait there till he comes. lor, now!" continued mrs. nelson, "w'y hever should sue be so late--and this night, of all nights?" connie, very glad to feel that the doctor was within reach, returned to the boy, who now lay with closed eyes, breathing fast. dr. deane was a remarkably kind young man. he knew the sorrows of the poor, and they all loved him, and when he saw giles he bent down over the little fellow and made a careful examination. he then cheered up the boy as best he could, and told him that he would send him a strengthening medicine, also a bottle of port-wine, of which he was to drink some at intervals, and other articles of food. "wen 'ull sue come back?" asked giles of the doctor. "can't tell you that, my dear boy. your sister may walk in at any minute, but i am sure this little friend will stay with you for the night." "yus, if i may let father know," said connie. "you mustn't fret, giles; that would be very wrong," said the doctor. he then motioned connie on to the landing outside. "the boy is ill," he said, "and terribly weak--he is half-starved. that poor, brave little sister of his does what she can for him, but it is impossible for her to earn sufficient money to give him the food he requires. i am exceedingly sorry for the boy, and will send him over a basket of good things." "but," said connie, her voice trembling, "is he wery, wery ill?" "yes," said the doctor--"so ill that he'll soon be better. in his case, that is the best sort of illness, is it not? oh, my child, don't cry!" "do yer mean that giles is goin'--goin' right aw'y?" whispered connie. "right away--and before very long. it's the very best thing that could happen to him. if he lived he would suffer all his life. he won't suffer any more soon. now go back to him, and cheer him all you can." connie did go back. where had she learnt such wonderful self-control--she who, until all her recent trials, had been rather a selfish little girl, thinking a good deal of her pretty face and beautiful hair, and rebelling when trouble came to her? she had chosen her own way, and very terrible trials had been hers in consequence. she had learned a lesson, partly from ronald, partly from big ben, partly from the words of her little giles, whom she had loved all her life. for giles's sake she would not give way now. "set you down, connie--right here," said giles. she sat down, and he looked at her. "wot do doctor say?" said giles. "oh, that ye're a bit weakly, giles. he's goin' to send yer a basket o' good wittles." giles smiled. then he held out his shadowy little hand and touched connie. "niver mind," he said softly; "i know wot doctor said." a heavenly smile flitted over his face, and he closed his eyes. "it won't be jest yet," he said. "there'll be plenty o' time. connie, wull yer sing to me?" "yus," said connie, swallowing a lump in her throat. "sing ''ere we suffer.'" connie began. how full and rich her voice had grown! she remembered that time when, out in the snow, she had sung--little ronald keeping her company: "here we suffer grief and pain, here we meet to part again, in heaven we part no more. oh! that will be joyful, when we meet to part no more." the words of the hymn were sung to the very end, giles listening in an ecstasy of happiness. "now, 'happy land,'" he said. connie sang: "there is a happy land, far, far away, where saints in glory stand, bright, bright as day." the second hymn was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger, who brought a bottle of medicine and a large basket. the contents of the basket were laid on the table--a little crisp loaf of new bread, a pat of fresh butter, half a pound of tea, a small can of milk, a pound of sugar, half-a-dozen new-laid eggs, and a chicken roasted whole, also a bottle of port-wine. "now then," said connie, "look, giles--look!" the messenger took away the basket. even giles was roused to the semblance of appetite by the sight of the tempting food. connie quickly made tea, boiled an egg, and brought them with fresh bread-and-butter to the child. he ate a little; then he looked up at her. "you must eat, too, connie. why, you _be_ white and tired!" connie did not refuse. she made a small meal, and then, opening the bottle of wine with a little corkscrew which had also been sent, kept the precious liquid in readiness to give to giles should he feel faint. eleven o'clock rang out in big ben's great and solemn voice. connie was very much startled when she heard the great notes; but, to her surprise, giles did not take any notice. he lay happy, with an expression on his face which showed that his thoughts were far away. "connie," he said after a minute, "be yer really meanin' to spend the night with me?" "oh yus," said connie, "ef yer'll 'ave me." "you've to think of your father, connie--he may come back. he may miss yer. yer ought to go back and see him, and leave him a message." "i were thinking that," said connie; "and i won't be long. i'll come straight over here the very minute i can, and ef sue has returned----" "sue won't come back--not yet," said giles. "why, giles--how do you know?" "jesus christ told me jest now through the woice o' big ben," said the boy. "oh giles--wot?" "'e said, 'castin' all your care on god, for he careth for you.' i ha' done it, and i'm not frettin' no more. sue's all right; god's a-takin' care of her. i don't fret for sue now, no more than i fretted for you. but run along and tell your father, and come back." connie went. at this hour of night the slums of westminster are not the nicest place in the world for so pretty a girl to be out. connie, too, was known by several people, and although in her old clothes, and with her hair fastened round her head, she did not look nearly so striking as when mammy warren had used her as a decoy-duck in order to pursue her pickpocket propensities, yet still her little face was altogether on a different plane from the ordinary slum children. "w'y, connie," said a rough woman, "come along into my den an' tell us yer story." "is it connie harris?" screamed another. "w'y, gel, w'ere hever were yer hall this time? a nice hue and cry yer made! stop 'ere this minute and tell us w'ere yer ha' been." "i can't," said connie. "giles is bad, and sue ain't come 'ome. i want jest to see father, and then to go back to giles. don't keep me, neighbors." now, these rough people--the roughest and the worst, perhaps, in the land--had some gleams of good in them; and little giles was a person whom every one had a soft word for. "a pore little cripple!" said the woman who had first spoken.--"get you along at once, connie; he's in." "i be sorry as the cripple's bad, and sue not returned," cried another. "i 'ope sue's not kidnapped too. it's awful w'en folks come to kidnappin' one's kids." while the women were talking connie made her escape, and soon entered her father's room. she gave a start at once of pleasure and apprehension when she saw him there. was he drunk? would he again turn her out into the street? she didn't know--she feared. peter harris, however, was sober. that had happened in one short day which, it seemed to him, made it quite impossible for him ever to drink again. he looked at connie with a strange nervousness. "wull," he said, "you _be_ late! and 'ow's giles?" he did not dare to ask for sue. his hope--for he had a hope--was that sue had come back without ever discovering the locket which he had transferred to her pocket. in that case he might somehow manage to get it away again without her knowing anything whatever with regard to his vile conduct. if god was good enough for that, why, then indeed he was a good god, and harris would follow him to his dying day. he would go to the preacher and tell him that henceforth he meant to be a religious, church-going man, and that never again would a drop of drink pass his lips. he had spent an afternoon and evening in the most frightful remorse, but up to the present he had not the most remote intention of saving sue at his own expense. if only she had escaped unsuspected, then indeed he would be good; but if it were otherwise he felt that the very devils of hell might enter into his heart. "'ow's giles? 'ow did he take yer comin' 'ome again, wench?" "oh father," said connie, panting slightly, and causing the man to gaze at her with wide-open, bloodshot eyes, "giles is wery, wery bad--i 'ad to send for the doctor. 'e come, and 'e said--ah! 'e said as 'ow little giles 'ud soon be leavin' us. i can't--can't speak on it!" connie sat down and covered her face with her hands. harris drew a breath at once of relief and suspicion. he was sorry, of course, for little giles; but then, the kid couldn't live, and he had nothing to do with his death. it was sue he was thinking about. of course sue was there, or connie would have mentioned the fact of her not having returned home. connie wept on, overcome by the strange emotions and experiences through which she had so lately passed. "connie," said her father at last, when he could bear the suspense no longer, "sue must be in great takin'--poor sue!" "but, father," said connie, suddenly suppressing her tears, "that's the most dreadful part of all--sue ain't there!" "not there? not to 'ome?" thundered harris. "no, father--she ha' niver come back. it's goin' on for twelve o'clock--an' giles expected her soon arter six! she ain't come back, 'ave sue. wottever is to be done, father?" harris walked to the fire and poked it into a fierce blaze. then he turned his back on connie, and began to fumble with his neck-tie, tightening it and putting it in order. "father," said connie. "wull?" "wot are we to do 'bout sue?" "she'll be back come mornin'." "father," said connie again, "may i go and spend the night 'long o' giles? he's too weakly to be left." "no," said harris; "i won't leave yer out o' my sight. ef there's kidnappin' about an' it looks uncommon like it--you stay safe within these four walls." "but giles--giles?" said connie. "i'll fetch giles 'ere." "father! so late?" "yus--why not? ef there's kidnappin' about, there's niver any sayin' w'en sue may be back. i'll go and fetch him now, and you can get that sofy ready for him; he can sleep on it. there--i'm off! sue--god knows wot's come o' sue; but giles, e' sha'n't want." harris opened the door, went out, and shut it again with a bang. connie waited within the room. she was trembling with a strange mixture of fear and joy. how strange her father was--and yet he was good too! he was not drunk to-night. that was wonderful. it was sweet of him to think of bringing giles to connie's home, where connie could look after him and give him the best food, and perhaps save his life. children as inexperienced as connie are apt to take a cheerful view even when things are at their lowest. connie instantly imagined that giles in his new and far more luxurious surroundings would quickly recover. she began eagerly to prepare a place for him. she dragged a mattress from her own bed, and managed to put it on the sofa; then she unlocked a trunk which always stood in the sitting-room; she knew where to find the key. this trunk had belonged to her mother, and contained some of that mother's clothing, and also other things. connie selected from its depths a pair of thin and very fine linen sheets. these she aired by the fire, and laid them over the mattress when they were quite warm. there was a blanket, white and light and very warm, which was also placed over the linen sheets; and a down pillow was found which connie covered with a frilled pillow-case; and finally she took out the most precious thing of all--a large crimson and gold shawl, made of fine, fine silk, which her mother used to wear, and which connie dimly remembered as thinking too beautiful for this world. but nothing was too beautiful for little giles; and the couch with its crimson covering was all ready for him when harris reappeared, bearing the boy in his arms. "i kivered him up with his own blanket," he said, turning to connie. "ain't that sofy comfor'ble to look at? you lie on the sofa, sonny, an' then yer'll know wot it be to be well tended." little giles was placed there, and connie prepared a hot bottle to put to his feet, while harris returned to the empty room to fetch away the medicine and get the things which dr. deane had ordered. he left a message, too, with mrs. nelson, telling her what had become of the boy, and asking dr. deane to call at his house in the future. "you be a good man," said mrs. nelson in a tone of great admiration. "my word, now! and ain't it lucky for the kid? you be a man o' money, mr. harris--he'll want for nothing with you." "he'll want for nothing no more to the longest day he lives," answered harris. "ah, sir," said mrs. nelson, "he--he won't live long; he'll want for nothing any more, sir, in the paradise of god." "shut up!" said harris roughly. "ye're all with yer grumblin's and moans jest like other women." "and what message am i to give to sue--poor girl--when she comes 'ome?" called mrs. nelson after him. but harris made no reply to this; only his steps rang out hard and firm and cruel on the frosty ground. chapter xxii. news of sue. the next morning, when connie awoke, she remembered all the dreadful things that had happened. she was home again. that strange, mysterious man, simeon stylites, had let her go. how awful would have been her fate but for him! "he were a wery kind man," thought connie. "and now i must try to forget him. i must never mention his name, nor think of him no more for ever. that's the way i can serve him best--pore mr. simeon! he had a very genteel face, and w'en he spoke about his little sister it were real touching. but i mustn't think of him, for, ef i do, some day i might let his name slip, an' that 'ud do him a hurt." connie's thoughts, therefore, quickly left simeon stylites, agnes coppenger, freckles, nutmeg, and corkscrew, and returned to the exciting fact that sue was now missing, and that giles was under her own father's roof. she sprang out of bed, and quickly dressing herself, entered the general sitting-room. she was surprised to find that her father had taken his breakfast and had gone; that giles was sitting up, looking very pretty, with his little head against the white pillow, and the crimson and gold shawl covering his couch. "why, connie," he said, the minute he saw her, "wot a silly chap i wor yesterday! it's all as plain now as plain can be--i know everything now." "wottever do you mean?" said connie. "but don't talk too much, giles, till i ha' got yer yer breakfast." "bless yer!" said giles, with a weak laugh, "i ha' had my breakfast an hour and a half ago--yer father guv it to me. he be a wery kind man." "my father guv you your breakfast?" said connie. she felt that wonders would never cease. never before had harris been known to think of any one but himself. "set down by me, connie; you can't do naught for your breakfast until the kettle boils. i'll tell yer now w'ere sue is." "where?" asked connie. "oh giles! have yer heard of her?" "course i 'ave--i mean, it's all as clear as clear can be. it's only that sue 'ave more money than she told me 'bout, and that she's a-tryin' to give me my 'eart's desire." "your 'eart's desire, giles?" "yus--her an' me 'ave always 'ad our dream; and dear sue--she's a-makin' it come to pass, that's all. it's as plain as plain can be. she's a-gone to the country." "to the country? oh no, giles; i don't think so. wottever 'ud take her to the country at this time o' year?" "it's there she be," said giles. "she knew as i wanted dreadful to 'ear wot it were like, an' she 'ave gone. oh connie, you went to the country; but she didn't guess that. she ha' gone--dear sue 'ave--to find out all for herself; an' she thought it 'ud be a rare bit of a s'prise for me. i must make the most of it w'en i see her, and ax her about the flowers and everything. she's sartin to be back to-day. maybe, too, she could get work at plain sewin' in the country; an' she an' me could live in a little cottage, an' see the sun in the sky, and 'ear the birds a singin'. it's a'most like 'eaven to think of the country--ain't it, connie?" "yus," said connie, "the country's beautiful; but wicked people come out o' lunnon to it, an' then it's sad. an' there's no flowers a-growin' in the fields and 'edges in the winter, giles--an' there's no birds a-singin'." "oh! but that 'ull come back," said giles. "you can eat yer breakfast now, connie, an' then arter that we'll talk more about the country. you _ain't_ goin' to work to-day--be you, connie?" "oh no," said connie; "i ha' lost that place, an' i dunno w'ere to find another. but there's no hurry," she added, "and i like best now to be along o' you." connie then ate her breakfast, and giles lay with his eyes closed and a smile of contentment on his face. in the course of the morning there came an unlooked-for visitor. a funny-looking, red-haired boy entered the room. seeing giles asleep, he held up his finger warningly to connie, and stealing on tiptoe until he got opposite to her, he sat down on the floor. "wull, an' wottever do yer want?" asked connie. "hush!" said the red-haired boy. he pointed to giles. this action on the part of a total stranger seemed so absurd to connie that she burst out laughing. the red-haired boy never smiled. he continued to fix his round, light-blue eyes on her face with imperturbable gravity. "wull," he exclaimed under his breath, "ef she ain't more of a cinderella than t' other! oh, wouldn't the prince give _her_ the glass slipper! poor, poor cinderella at 'ome! _you've_ no chance now. ain't she jest lovely! i call her hangelic! my word! i could stare at that 'ere beauteous face for hiver." as these thoughts crept up to the fertile brain of pickles his lips moved and he nodded his head, so that connie really began to think he was bewitched. "wottever do you want?" she whispered; and, fortunately for them both, at that juncture giles stirred and opened his eyes. "that's right!" cried pickles. "now i can let off the safety-valve!" he gave a sigh of relief. "whoever's he?" asked giles, looking from the red-faced boy to connie. but before she had time to reply, pickles sprang to his feet, made a somersault up and down the room, then stood with his arms akimbo just in front of giles. "i'm glad as you hintroduced the word 'he,' young un; hotherwise, from the looks of yer both, you seems to liken me to a monster. yer want to know who's _he_? he's a boy--a full-grown human boy--something like yerself, only not so flabby by a long chalk." "but wot did you want? and wot's yer name, boy?" said connie, who could not help laughing again. "ah!" said pickles, "now ye're comin' to the p'int o' bein' sensible, young 'oman. i thought at first you could only drop hangelic speeches, an' that you 'ailed from the hangel spheres; but now i see ye're a gel--oh, quite the very purtiest i hiver laid heyes on. now, as i've spoke my true mind, i'll hanswer yer questions in a discreet an' pious manner. my name is pickles--pickles, at yer sarvice." "i never heered such a name in all my life," said connie. "wery like not. i were christened by the proper name o' james; but no james as ever walked 'ud hold me--it didn't fit no w'y; an' pickles did. so pickles i am, an' pickles i'll be to the end o' the chapter. now, as to wot i wants--w'y; i wants a talk with that mealy-faced chap wot looks as if i'd heat him up alive." "no, i don't," said giles. "i were only thinking as you 'ad the wery reddest 'air i iver see'd in my life." "personal remarks air considered ill-mannered, young man. and let me tell yer as my hair's my special glory. but now to business. you can't know, i guess, wot i wants yer for." "no, i can't," said giles. "that's rum; and i to tike the trouble not only to wisit yer own most respectable mansion, but to foller yer 'ere in the true sperrit of kindness." "ye're wery good; but i can't guess wot ye're up to," answered giles. "dear, dear! the silliness o' folks! now, w'en a stranger seeks yer hout, isn't it safe to s'pose as he brings news?" "wull, yes." "next clue--shall i 'elp yer a bit? you 'asn't, so to speak, lost something lately--thimble, or a pair of scissors, or something o' that sort?" "oh, it's sue! it's my darling sue;" exclaimed giles, a light breaking all over his face. "'as yer brought news of sue, boy?" "be sue a thimble, scissors, or a gel?" "oh! a gel, in course--my own dear, dear, only sister." "a little, fat, podgy kind o' woman-gel, wid a fine crop o' freckles and sandy hair?" "yes, yes; that's she. i have bin waiting fur her hall night. where is she? please, please, pickles, where is she?" "well, can't yer guess? where 'ud she be likely ter be? she worn't a wandering sort o' gel, as neglected her home duties, wor she?" "oh no! she never stayed out in hall her life afore." "she worn't, so to speak, a gel as wor given to pilfer, and might be tuk to cool herself in the lock-up." "never--never! sue 'ud sooner die than take wot worn't her own; and i wish i wor strong enough to punch yer head fur thinkin' sech a thing," said giles, his face now crimson with indignation. "well, softly, softly, young un; i didn't say as she _did_ pilfer. i think that 'ere podgy gel as honest as the day. but now, can't yer guess where she his?" "oh yes! i can guess wery well," answered giles, his face softening down. "i guessed long ago--didn't i, connie?" "well, now, wot hever did yer guess?" asked pickles, in some amazement. "oh! there wor but one thing to guess. there were one dream as sue and i were halways dreaming, and she have gone off widout me at last, to see wot it wor like. she'll be back hany moment, arter she have seen and found hout hall she could. sue have gone to the country, pickles." "oh, my heyes! to the country!" exclaimed pickles. his face grew crimson, and he was obliged to leave his seat and walk to the window, where he remained with his back to the others for nearly a minute, and where he indulged in some smothered mirth. when he turned round, however, he was as grave as a judge. "you _are_ clever," he said to giles. "i'm right, ain't i?" asked giles. "in course; you're always as right as a trivet." "oh, i'm so glad! and does she find it wery beautiful?" "scrumptious! fairy-like! scrumptious!" "oh, how happy i am! and when 'ull she be back?" "well, that's the part as may moderate your raptures; she can't exactly tell when. she sent me to tell yer as she don't exactly know. it may be to-morrow; or, agen, it mayn't be fur a week, or even more. she's hever so sorry, and she sends yer a whole pocketful o' love, but she can't tell when she'll get back." "but what is she stayin fur?" "oh! my heyes! wot is she staying fur? you wants ter live in a cottage in the country, don't yer?" "why, yes, that's hour dream." "well, ha'n't she to find hout wot the price o' them are? ha'n't she, stoo-pid?" "i s'pose so. is that what she's staying fur?" pickles nodded. "you don't never tell no lies, do you, boy?" "i! wot do yer take me fur? you can b'lieve me or not as yer pleases." "oh! i do b'lieve yer. will yer take a message back to sue?" "why, in course." "tell her to have two rooms in the cottage, and plenty o' flowers hall round, and a big winder where i can look hout at the stars when i can't sleep o' nights." "yes, i'll tell her faithful. hanythink else?" "tell her as i love to think as she's in the country, but to come back as fast as she can; and give--give her my wery best love. and you wouldn't like to give her a kiss fur me?" "oh! my heye! yere's a rum go. fancy me a-kissing cind--i means sue. no, young un, i hasn't the wery least hobjection in life. i'll give her two resounding smacks the wery minute as i sees her. lor'! it will be fine fun. now, good-bye. i'll come and see yer soon agen.--good-bye, my beauty. i only wishes as it wor _you_ i wor axed ter kiss.--good-bye, giles. i'll remember wot yer said 'bout that 'ere cottage." "be sure as the winders is big enough fur me to see the stars," called out giles after him. chapter xxiii. amateur detective. mrs. price had been blessed by nature with two sons, each as different in manners, disposition, appearance, and tastes as the poles. william, aged twenty, was dark, quiet-looking, with a grave and kind face. in disposition he was as fine a fellow as ever breathed, thoughtful for others, good to all, doing his duty because he loved and feared both god and his mother. he was very reserved, and seldom spoke, but when he did give utterance to his thoughts they were to the point and worth listening to. mrs. price was often heard to say that the mere presence of her elder son in the room gave her a sense of repose, that she felt that she had some one to lean on--which in truth she had. james, her second and younger son, had not one of his brother's characteristics; he had no gentle courtesies, no quiet ways. except when asleep, he was never known to be still for a moment. one glance at his fiery head, at his comical face, would show plainly that he was a very imp of mischief. he was kind-hearted--he would not willingly injure the smallest living thing--but his wild, ungovernable spirit, his sense of the ludicrous in all and every circumstance, made him sometimes do unintentional harm, and his mother had some difficulty in getting him out of the scrapes into which he was always putting himself. no work he had ever done had so delighted the boyish heart of james price, _alias_ pickles, as the capture of sue from the hands of the police. the whole story had a certain flavor about it which would be sure to captivate such a nature as his. sue was innocent; he was quite certain of that. but then, as certainly some one else was guilty. here, then, was a work after his own heart; he would find out who the guilty party was. he had a great deal of the detective about him; indeed, he had almost resolved to join that body when he was grown-up. he had brought sue to his mother; and his mother, too, believing in the girl's innocence, was yet much puzzled how to advise her or what to do with her. sue, being thoroughly drilled and frightened into such a course by pickles, had declared that nothing would induce her to go home; for that if she did she would certainly be taken to prison, and found guilty of a crime of which she was quite innocent. mrs. price, too, felt that she could not counsel sue to go back, though the agony of the poor girl, when she thought of giles waiting and longing for her, was sad to witness. to comfort her a little, pickles went to see giles, being warned by sue on no account to tell him the truth, which would, she said, absolutely and at once break his heart. pickles, winking profoundly, told her to leave it to him. he went, and giles himself supplied him with an idea on which he was not slow to work. giles was fully persuaded that sue was in the country, and might not return for some days. he seemed more pleased than otherwise that she should be so employed. pickles was so delighted with his own success that he danced a kind of hornpipe all the way home. he found sue by herself and very disconsolate, for mrs. price had gone out on some errands. the first thing he did was to go up to her and give her two very fierce salutes, one on her brow, the other on the point of her chin. "there, now," he said; "that 'ere little tender brother sent yer them." "oh pickles! how is he? is he wery cut up?" asked poor cinderella, raising a tearful face. "cut up? not a bit o' him! why, he's quite perky; he think as you has gone to the country." "oh pickles! how hever could he?" "well, listen, and i'll tell yer." pickles here related his whole interview, not forgetting to reproduce in full all his own clever speeches, and his intense admiration for connie. "i'd do a great deal fur _you_, cinderella," he said in conclusion; "fur though ye're as ordinary a woman as i hiver met, yet still yer belongs to the species, and i has a weakness fur the species; but oh, lor'! ef it had been that 'ere connie, why, i'd have a'most spilt my life-blood fur that hangelic creature." "well, yer see, it wor only me," said sue, not a little piqued. "yes, it wor only you. but now, wot do you think of it all?" "oh! i'm wery glad and thankful that giles is wid connie. he wor halways fond of connie, and i'm real pleased as he thinks as i'm gone to the country--that 'ull satisfy him ef hanythink will, fur he have sech a longing fur it, poor feller! but oh, pickles! i do hope as you didn't tell him no lies, to make him so keen upon it." "no--not i. i only nodded and made-believe as he wor clever. no, i wor careful o' the utterances o' the tongue, which is an unruly member." "well, i'm glad," said sue. "i only hope as it ain't wrong to deceive him." "no, it ain't a bit wrong; don't you go a fussing about nothink. but now you have got to listen to me, fur i have got something most serious to talk over." "i'll listen," replied sue. "good! and wot little bit o' brain you have you may stick inter the listening, too, fur you will presently have to think a deal." "wery well," answered sue, who had long ago come to consider pickles the greatest oracle she had ever seen. pickles planted himself on his knees in front of her, and having placed one hand firmly on each leg, bent forward until he brought himself into what he considered a telling position with regard to her face. "ef yer want to unearth a secret, stare 'em well right inter the heyes," was one of his detective principles. "now, cinderella," he began, "you say as ye're hinnercent o' that 'ere theft?" "you know i am," answered sue. "and yet that 'ere wauluable trinket wor found in yer pocket." "well, i can't help that." "i'm afraid yer can't, cinderella; and a wery ugly business it is fur yer; it 'ud bring yer in guilty in hany court wot hiver." "i know that, pickles--i know that only too well; that's why i'm here." "an' you must stay yere until ye're proved hinnercent." "yes." "well, that may be awkward--not fur us, but fur poor, little tender giles. he thinks as ye're gone to the country, and i give him to understand as yer would not be back fur maybe a day or two. but he's hall on a quiver fur yer to come back now; he's hall on a tremble to know wot the country is like. he says ye're to get a cottage as have a big winder in it, fur he wants to see the stars o' nights. now, i think by the looks o' giles as he'll fade away wery quick ef yer don't come back soon." "oh, i know it--i know it!" said sue. "what shall i do? ef i do go back i shall be tuk ter prison. oh! oh! oh!" and she began to weep. "don't cry, you silly! cryin' never mended no broken bones. you dry your eyes and listen when the oracle speaks." "i will," said sue, endeavoring to check her sobs. "well then, yer hinnercence must be proved. the way to prove yer hinnercence is to find hout _who_ put that 'ere trinket in yer pocket." "oh pickles! i don't--i don't think hany one could be so wicked." "bless yer, gel! yer hasn't gone about and seen life like me. 'tis a wicked world, cinderella. some one put that locket in yer pocket; ef it worn't yerself, it wor another." "i don't know why hany one should do it," said sue. "you leave that to me. the reason is a mystery; the person wot did it is a mystery; it remains fur this yere child"--giving his breast a great slap--"to unravel them both. now, cinderella, wot kind o' man wor that 'ere peter harris wot went wid yer to the shop?" "he wor a wery rough kind o' man," said sue, "and he often drank. he wor in trouble jest then 'bout connie. connie is his daughter. she wor away fur a bit, and had come back, and he wanted to give her a ring, and, as i telled yer, we went inter the shop to buy her one." "and had that 'ere harris much money?" "he didn't say as he hadn't; he gave a sovereign to pay fur the ring." "don't yer think, cinderella, as it wor _he_ put the locket in your pocket?" "indeed i don't," answered sue, in great indignation. "he wor a bit rough, and used to drink a good deal, but i never heerd mortal say as he worn't as honest a man as ever stepped. besides, pickles, he wor a friend to me, and i wor a friend to connie, and even ef he wished to do something so desperate wicked he couldn't, fur i wor at the other side o' the shop a'most." "all the same," replied pickles, shaking his fiery head, "i believe as he did it. 'tis a desperate big mystery, but i means to clear it hup, so you leave it ter me, cinderella." chapter xxiv. mother and son. that night mrs. price and her younger son had a conversation. "i do not want to send her away, jamie," she said when they had discoursed with much interest for some time. "she shall and must stay here for the present; but it cannot go on always, for what would the poor little brother do? if cinderella is the bread-winner, and cinderella can earn no bread, the poor little fellow will starve." james price, _alias_ pickles, was looking very sober, even thoughtful. "it tuk a deal o' time to save hup, and 'tis rare and comforting to reflect on having it--but there's my half-crown," he said. "bless you, my laddie! it will help a trifle, but half-a-crown won't feed the smallest eater for long." "then, mother, you know i allow no one ter dictate ter me but you. wot's to be done? ere we to betray the hinnercent?" "no, my lad--no. i confess i am sorely puzzled." "but i ain't," said pickles, who had knowingly brought his mother round to make this confession. "i ain't puzzled the least bit in life, fur i _know_ who is the real thief." "now, jamie, what do you mean?" "mother, it were the man as went with cinderella inter the shop; it wor he wot stole the locket and then put it inter her pocket. i don't know how he did it, nor why he did it, but i do know that _did_ do it." "oh! my dear boy, in your love of mystery you are allowing your imagination to run away with you. i do not think any one would be so wicked." "never you mind, mother; take it on trust as there's that much wickedness in this yer world. be thankful ye're hout o' the way o' hearing o' what's disgusting to dwell on, but this yere is a mystery as must be cleared hup. how do you s'pose, mother, as the locket did get inter cinderella's pocket?" "it may have slipped in as she stood by the counter." "oh, come, mother! that 'ud go down wid no jury as hiver walked. no, no; b'lieve me as 'tis as i say; and wot's more, 'tis my business to prove the truth o' my thoughts. there's a mystery, but james price, _alias_ pickles, 'ull unravel it. you keep cinderella fur a week yere, mother, and i'll engage as the guilty party confesses by the end o' that time." "i will keep the little girl as long as is necessary, pickles. but do be careful. do not allow your vivid imagination to make you unjust to others." "you leave it ter me, mother. you jest promise faithful to keep cinderella fur a bit, and i'll do the rest." "yes, jamie," said mrs. price, "i certainly will make that promise." "that's a brick o' a mother. and now i'm off to bed, fur there's nothing like sleep when the brain is much exercised, as mine is at present." chapter xxv. about ronald. while poor harris was trying to soothe the agonies of his conscience by being specially and extra good to giles, and while giles, who under connie's care was recovering a certain measure of strength, and poor little sue was still acting the part of cinderella with pickles as her champion, another child who plays an important part in this story was gradually recovering health and strength. when ronald was well enough, to come downstairs, and then to walk across mrs. anderson's pretty little parlor, and on a certain fine day to go out with her for a walk, the good lady thought it was full time to make inquiries with regard to his relations. she questioned her son george on the subject, and this gallant young fireman gave her what advice he could. "no, don't employ detectives, mother," said george. "somehow i hate the whole lot of them. keep ronald as long as you want to; he's a dear little chap, and a gentleman by birth, and he loves you too." "i want to keep him, george; the child is the greatest delight and comfort to me. he is very unlike other children--very sensitive and delicate. but i do think that if he has relations they ought to know of his whereabouts." "you have questioned him, of course, on the matter," said george anderson. "no--not much; he hasn't been strong enough. i think, too, the severe illness he has undergone, and the terrible frights he has been subject to, have to a certain extent affected his mind; and beyond the fact that he is always looking for his father, and hoping that his father may walk in, he never talks about the old days." "well, mother," said george, "i must be off now; duty time is close at hand." as he spoke he rose from the seat by the fire which he had been enjoying in his mother's room. "of course, there is little doubt that major harvey is dead; but you could call at the war office and inquire, mother, couldn't you?" "yes, i could and will; and i won't employ detectives, my boy. you may be certain of one thing--that i don't want to part with the child." the next day after breakfast, mrs. anderson felt that it was time to question ronald with regard to his past life. "you are quite well now, ronald," she said. "yes," said ronald, "ever so strong. i feel brave, too," he added; "it would take a very great deal to frighten me now. a soldier's boy should be brave," he continued, that pleading, pathetic look coming into his dark eyes, which gave such a special charm to his little face. "this soldier's boy is very brave," said mrs. anderson, patting his little hand, as the child stood close to her. "my father was a v. c., ma'am," remarked ronald in a soft tone. "you're very proud of that, ronald--you have good reason to be," said his friend. "but now, dear, i seriously want to ask you a few questions. you have told me about connie, and about some of your dreadful life with mammy warren. i am anxious that you should try to forget all these terrible things as much as possible." "oh! but, please, i never could forget dear connie." "i don't want you to forget her. i have been planning a delightful surprise for you with regard to her. but other things you can forget." "there's another person i don't want to forget," said ronald; "that is the good woman in the country who gave me delicious new-laid eggs and chops and chicken. mrs. cricket was her name. i used to think of _the cricket on the hearth_ often when i was looking at her. she was very like one, you know--such a cosy, purring sort of woman." "how long were you with her, ronald?" "i don't remember going to her," said ronald, shaking his head; "but perhaps i was too ill. but i do remember being with her, and the little path in the wood, and how i gradually got better, and how she petted me. and i remember connie coming down the path looking like an angel; but connie was the only bright thing for me to think about that dreadful day. but oh, please--please, mrs. anderson! poor mrs. cricket! father hasn't come back, you know--he is coming, of course, but he hasn't come yet--and no one has paid mrs. cricket!" "no one has paid her, dear?" "nobody at all. mammy warren said to her that father would pay her, but i know now it must have been all a lie." "i am very much afraid it was," said mrs. anderson. "that mammy warren was a dreadful woman. well, ronald, i must try and get mrs. cricket's address, and we'll send her some money; and some day perhaps--there's no saying when--you may be able to go back to her. would you like to see her again?" "very, very much," said the child, "if mammy warren doesn't come to fetch me." "very well: i will endeavor to get her address. perhaps connie could tell me." "oh! perhaps she could," said ronald; "for _i_ couldn't. i haven't a notion where she lived, except that it was far in the country, and the cottage was _teeny_--just two rooms, you know--and there was a pretty wood outside, and the horse-chestnuts lying on the ground." "but now, ronald, i want you to go farther back. tell me of things that happened when--when your mother was alive." "i--i'll try," said the boy. "go on, dear--tell me all you can." "it's very difficult," said ronald. "i remember little bits, and then i forget little bits." "i don't want you to worry yourself, dear; but can you recall anybody ever calling to see your mother--anybody who might be a relation of yours?" "there was the old gentleman, of course," said ronald. "who, dear?" "he was very old, and he wore glasses, and his hair was white. he most times made mother cry, so i--i used to be sorry when he came." "can you recall his name?" "mother used to call him uncle stephen; but he was not her relation--he was father's. i think he always scolded mother; she used to look dreadfully bad after he was gone. i don't want to see _him_ again." "but he may have had a kind heart." "oh, i don't know," said ronald. "i don't want to see him again." "do you think, by chance, that his name was harvey?" "i don't know. i think he in a sort of way belonged to father." "then," said mrs. anderson, "i guess that his name was harvey. now, i won't question you any more, ronald. you may sit up and play with your bricks." ronald played happily enough, and mrs. anderson, after thinking for a few minutes, wrote out an advertisement. the advertisement ran as follows: "if a gentleman who was called uncle stephen by a little boy, son of the late major harvey, who was supposed to have been killed in action at ladysmith on ----, would wish to know anything of the same boy, he can get full particulars from mrs. anderson, carlyle terrace, westminster." this advertisement was put into the _times_, the _standard_, the _telegraph_, and in fact, into all the daily newspapers. it appeared once, and mrs. anderson sat--as she expressed it--with her heart in her mouth for a whole day. but nothing happened: nobody came to inquire; there was no letter on the subject of the little son of brave major harvey. on the second day of the advertisement mrs. anderson felt a great relief in her heart. "after i have advertised for a whole week," she said to herself, "i shall, i think, have done my duty, and perhaps i shall be allowed to keep the dear child." she had looked, and felt, very sad on the first day of the advertisement, but on the second day she was more cheerful, and suggested to ronald that connie should come and have tea with him. ronald was delighted, and clapped his hands in glee. mrs. anderson wrote a little note to connie, slightly blaming her for not coming to see her, but begging her to call that afternoon and have tea with ronald. connie was greatly delighted when she got the letter. "may i go, giles? do yer mind?" she asked. "in course not," answered giles. "why should i mind? yer'll dress yerself in yer wery best, connie, and i'll like well to look at yer afore yer goes out, an' w'en yer comes back." so connie put on her dark-blue costume once more, and brushed out her mane of golden hair and let it hang down her back; for she knew that ronald would scarcely recognize her deprived of this ornament. then, having left his tea all ready for giles, she ran quickly in the direction of mrs. anderson's house. she arrived there at four o'clock in the afternoon, to see a little face pressed up close to the pane of glass, and eager eyes watching for her. when she appeared on the steps little hands began to clap, and there was an eager rush of footsteps and then ronald himself opened the door. "oh connie, connie!" he said, "come in--do, do come in!" "how be yer, ronald?" asked connie. "i'm as well as well can be, and i'm happy, too. mrs. anderson is just a beautiful old lady, and so very good to me! but come and tell me all about yourself. you and i are to have tea all alone in this room. we will have fun. why, connie dear, how lovely you look!" connie told ronald that he also looked lovely, and the two children sat down side by side, while ronald related the little bit of his story which had transpired since connie saw him last. "i was very ill," he said, "for a bit, and silly, and--and cowardly. but a wonderful man came to see me, and he talked--oh, so beautifully!--and then i got better; and mrs. anderson has been more than good to me--no one was ever so good to me before except father. she tells me, connie, that i must not keep looking out for father; for if he can come he will, and if he can't i've just got to wait with patience. the street preacher, too, talked about patience. it's a little bit hard to be very patient, isn't it, connie?" "yus," said connie. "oh! and, connie, some day perhaps you and i may go and stay with mrs. cricket in the country, and mrs. anderson is going to send her money for the chickens and fresh eggs and things. but i can't remember where the country is--can you, connie?" "we got out at a plice called eastborough, an' the cottage wor a ivy cottage down a lane." "ivy cottage--of course!" said ronald. "how stupid of me to have forgotten! now it's all right, and dear mrs. cricket will get her money." when ronald had told all his story connie told all hers. in especial she told about giles, and about poor sue, who had vanished just as suddenly and completely as she (connie) and ronald himself on a certain day had disappeared from their friends. "it's very, very queer," said ronald. "connie," he added, "i want to see that little boy. can't you take me back to him now--can't you?" "yus," said connie, "i could; but would it be right?" "we'll ask mrs. anderson," said ronald, "i'm certain sure she won't mind. you know the way there; you won't let yourself be kidnapped any more, will you, connie?" "no," said connie. then tea was brought in, and the children enjoyed it. but ronald could think of nothing but giles and his earnest desire to see him. once again he begged and implored of connie to take him, just to sit for a few minutes by the little cripple's side, and connie again said that mrs. anderson ought to know. it was just at that moment that a cab drew up at the door, and out of the cab there stepped a white-headed old man, who came ponderously up the steps, leaning on a gold-headed stick. he rang the bell with a loud peal. ronald began to listen. "who can it be?" he said. he ran to the window, and looking out, saw the cab waiting; but he missed the sight of the old gentleman, whom doubtless he would have recognized; and the neat little parlor-maid went to open the door, and then the labored steps were heard in the hall, and the drawing-room door was opened and shut, and there was silence. "a visitor for my dear new aunty," said ronald. "i always call her my aunty, and she likes it very much. oh connie, do take me just to see giles! i know it isn't wrong, and i should be quite safe with you." "first of all," said connie, "we'll ring the bell and ask if we may speak to mrs. anderson for a minute." "very well," said ronald; "only i 'spect she's busy with the person who has called." anne came to answer the children's summons, and told them that her mistress was particularly engaged and could not be disturbed. "that's all right," answered ronald; "you can go away now, please. you needn't take the tea-things just for a bit. you can go away, please, anne." anne, who was devoted to ronald, thought that the children wanted to play together, and left them alone in the little parlor. the light was growing dim, and connie poked the fire into a blaze. "i ought to be goin' back," she said. "giles 'ull want me. i'll come another day, ronald, and mrs. anderson'll let me bring yer back to giles then." "no, no--to-day," said ronald--"to-day--to-night--this minute. it isn't wrong. i must see him. you'll take me to see him, and then you'll bring me back, won't you, connie?" "w'y, yus," said connie. "i s'pose it ain't wrong; but you can't do more nor set down in the room for about five minutes, ronald, for yer'll 'ave to get back 'ere quite early, you know." ronald, delighted at any sort of consent on the part of his little friend, rushed upstairs to fetch his velvet cap and his little overcoat. but he forgot, and so did connie, all about the thin house-shoes he was wearing. soon he had slipped into the coat, and cramming the cap on his head and looking up at connie with a gay laugh, said: "now we'll come." they were in the hall, and had just opened the hall door, when suddenly that of the drawing-room was opened, and the old man, who helped himself along with a stick, came out. ronald looked back and caught sight of him; but ronald himself being in shadow, the old man did not notice him. the old man then spoke in a loud voice: "it is all settled, then, and i will call to-morrow morning at ten o'clock to fetch back the boy. have him ready. and now, good-day to you, madam." but the old gentleman suddenly stopped as he uttered these words, for the hall door was slammed by some one else with violence, and ronald turned a white face up to connie. "it's himself--it's uncle stephen. he made mother cry and cry. i won't go back to him. i won't be his boy. hide me--hide me, connie!" connie herself felt very much frightened. "come along 'ome with me," she said. "he can't get yer at my 'ome. don't shrink like that, ronald. be a man, dear ronald." the children got back to connie's rooms without any special adventure. there giles was waiting with that peaceful look on his face which seemed more or less to quiet every one who came in his way. he smiled all over his little face when he saw connie, and then his eyes grew big and surprised as he noticed the small boy who kept her company. "why are yer back so soon, connie?" he said. "i warn't not one little bit lonesome. and 'oo's he?" said giles. "this is my dear little friend ronald," said connie. "and i wanted to see you awful bad," said ronald, running up to giles, flinging his cap on the floor, and kneeling down by him. "i have thought of you--oh, so much! it was you, you know, who taught me to endure to the end. did connie tell you about that?" "yes," said giles, "she told me." ronald looked up at connie. giles watched the two, and then he held out his little hand and touched ronald's. "you're wery brave," he said. "you had a brave father." "he is a v. c. man. he's coming to see me one day," said ronald. "i know," said giles. "it's real supporting to 'ave a brave father. i have one too." "have you?" said ronald. "and is he coming to see you one day?" "no--i'm goin' to 'im. don't let's talk about it now." ronald sat down on the side of giles's crimson and gold bed, and glanced round the room. connie lit a paraffin lamp and put it on the table. in his first excitement at seeing giles, ronald forgot the mad terror which had awakened in him at the sound of uncle stephen's voice. but now he remembered. "i have come to stay," he remarked emphatically. "oh no, ronald, you can't," exclaimed connie. "i am not going back," exclaimed ronald. "giles, i needn't, need i? there's a dreadful man coming to-morrow, and he's going to take me away from my darling aunty. i won't go. i'll hide here with you, giles." "will yer?" said giles. "that 'ull be real pain to yer aunty, won't it?" "real pain?" said ronald. "but connie can tell her. connie needn't say where i am. she can just tell that i heard uncle stephen's voice, and that i am hiding. i can't go back, can i, giles--can i?" "dunno," said giles; but a wistful expression came into his face. "why do you look like that?" asked ronald. "sometimes one 'as to do things one can't do," was giles's next rather difficult remark. "but this is really silly," said ronald, "for we can do the things we can do." "course not--not by ourselves," said giles. "but if we're to endure to the end, why, 'e'll help." "you remind me of that awful fire," said ronald. he jumped up and walked across the room. his eyes were dim; his heart was beating with great rapidity, for he was still weak and had gone through much. oh, that cruel, cruel old man who had made his mother cry so often! he thought upon him with a growing terror. connie looked at ronald, and then she glanced at giles and her eyes said to giles: "help me all you can about ronald." then giles called her to him. "leave ronald with me for a bit," he said. "go back and tell mrs. anderson; but leave little ronald with me." connie immediately went out; but ronald was so absorbed in trying to quiet his beating heart, and in trying to recover his courage, that he did not even know when she closed the door after her. connie ran as quickly as she could all the way to carlyle terrace. there she rang a loud peal at the front door. it was mrs. anderson herself who opened it to her. "oh connie!" said the widow, "thank god! have you brought news of ronald? what _has_ happened, connie--what _has_ happened?" connie immediately entered the house. "may i speak to yer, ma'am?" she said. "certainly; but where is the boy?" "he's quite safe, ma'am--he's with giles." "why did he go out? he did very wrong." "i did wrong too," said connie. "i tuk him. he's frightened, ma'am. ronnie's rare and frightened. he heered wot the old gentleman said." "how could he hear?" said mrs. anderson. connie told. "'tain't true, ma'am, is it?" said connie. "yer wouldn't niver, niver, let little ronald go away?" "yes, but i must. i am very sad. i wish i needn't send him; but the gentleman who called to-day is his father's uncle, and his nearest relation in the world. connie, you must bring ronald home. i will go with you myself to fetch him." "oh, ma'am," said connie, beginning to sob, "it 'ull break his 'eart." "no, connie," answered mrs. anderson. "hearts like ronald's--brave and true and faithful--don't break; they endure. besides that, the old gentleman--mr. harvey--will not be unkind to him; i am certain of that." so connie and mrs. anderson returned side by side to the house where giles and ronald were waiting for them. when they entered they saw a picture which mrs. anderson could never forget: the dying boy, with his radiant face, lying on the bed half-supported by pillows, the crimson and gold coverlet making a wonderful patch of color; and ronald, the tears still wet on his cheeks, but his eyes very bright, his lips firm, his whole attitude that of a soldier's child. the moment he saw mrs. anderson he went up to her. "i am ashamed," he said. "giles has told me the son of a v. c. man should not be a coward. it is all right--i am going back." mrs. anderson pressed the boy's hand. "i knew you wouldn't disappoint me, ronald," she said. then she turned and talked a little longer to giles. she saw how weak the child was, and knew, with a woman's perception, what a very little time longer he had to live in this old world. "my sister's in the country, ma'am," said giles in his brightest manner. "she's looking for a little house for her an' me--two winders in our room--that's wot sue an' me thought we 'ud like--and iverythink wery purty. sue may be back any day. she's takin' a good bit of a time a-lookin' for the 'ouse; but she'll find it, an' then i'll go there." "but are you strong enough to be moved, giles?" inquired mrs. anderson. "yus," said giles in his confident tone, "quite strong enough. i want to see the country, and to live in it for a spell, afore i go right 'ome to the best country of all. sue's lookin' out; she'll be back--oh, any day, for she knows the time's short." "giles," said connie, "you're too tired to talk any more." she gave the boy some of his restorative medicine, and ronald went up and kissed him. "don't forget," said giles, "brave fathers----" "not me!" answered ronald. "brave fathers for ever!" then ronald went away. mrs. anderson took his hand and led him back to the house. she did not scold him for going out with connie. she did not mean to reproach him at all; he had made a great victory; she felt proud of him. when supper had come to an end she called the boy to her: "ronald dear, i wish to say something. if you were a coward to-day, so was i." "you--my aunt?" said ronald. "oh no--no!" "yes. i didn't want to part with you." ronald shivered. "won't you ever see me any more?" "i hope so. mr. harvey was very kind." "is his name harvey--same as mine?" "yes, darling; he is your father's uncle, and your father lived with him in his old place in somersetshire when he was a boy. he loved your father. he'll tell you lots of stories about him." "about when does he expect father home?" asked ronald. "he doesn't know. perhaps, ronald--perhaps--never." but here ronald gave himself a little shake. "i know father's coming back," he said--"feel it in my bones." there was silence then between the woman and the boy. after a long time ronald spoke: "he made mother cry, all the same." "he told me about that. he wasn't really unkind to her. i, on the whole, like him, ronald, and i think you can do a lot for him--i think your father would wish it." "would he?" said ronald, his eyes sparkling. "i think so. i expect god wants you to help him. he's a hard old man because he has no one to love him, but he did care for your father." ronald flung his arms round mrs. anderson's neck and kissed her. that night it must be owned that he slept badly; and early--very early--in the morning he awoke. "times is pretty bad," thought the boy to himself; "and there's lots o' battles round. but oh, giles! brave fathers for ever! you and me won't disgrace our fathers, will we, giles?" then he got up and dressed himself, and went downstairs and waited until mrs. anderson arrived. as soon as she entered the room he said one word to her--"when?" "ten o'clock," said mrs. anderson. it was eight o'clock then. "two hours more," said ronald. during those two hours he was very busy. he packed his bricks, and helped mrs. anderson to put his very scanty wardrobe into a very tiny trunk. the time went by. ten o'clock struck, and, sharp to the minute, a cab drew up at the door. out of the cab the old gentleman stepped. he entered the hall. he was a very fussy old man, and did not want a young child to live in the house with him. he expected, too, that mrs. harvey's boy--he had undoubtedly a great contempt for poor young harvey--would be a miserable, dwindled, wretched sort of creature. but, lo and behold! a little chap with head well thrown back, his eyes bright and lips brave, stepped up to him. "here i am, uncle stephen. i am ronald. how do you do?" "bless my soul!" said the old man. "let me look at you." he drew the boy round so as to get the light on his face. "'pon my word!" he said, "you are not the sort of little chap i expected. you're uncommon like your father." ronald flushed with pride. mr. harvey came into the parlor and had a little talk with mrs. anderson. "i am indeed indebted to you, madam," he said. "this boy is so surprisingly like my nephew that i could almost fancy the years had gone back and i was teaching the little chap to take his first gallop.--your father was game on a horse, my lad." "yes, sir," said ronald, nodding his head. "'spect so, sir," he added. the old gentleman chucked him under the chin and uttered a laugh. "well, boy, we must be going," he said. "we mustn't keep your kind friend. you will let me know, madam, for what i am indebted to you." "for nothing, sir," said mrs. anderson. a crimson color rushed into her face. "it has been a labor of love to help this dear little fellow. i could take no money; you mustn't even mention it, sir." "well, madam--well--i respect your proper pride, and anything i can do---- by the way--eh, ronald?--there's no saying, but i might invite your friend down to the country.--do you know somersetshire, madam?" "i used to know it very well when i was a girl. my people lived in somersetshire." "then perhaps you will come and pay us a visit, and see ronald after he has learned the full use of the saddle and bridle--eh, ronald?" "oh--aunty! will you come?" said ronald. "i will, darling.--i should like it very much indeed, mr. harvey; it is most kind of you to ask me." "but please--please," said ronald, who had suddenly lost all his fear, "may connie come, too?" "who's connie?" "my special friend and sister." "ho, ho!" said the old man. "i must hear more about her. can make no rash promises. but all right, little chap; i'll do what i can for you. now, if you had taken after---- well, never mind--i won't say anything to hurt you." "and, please," said ronald suddenly, "of course you wouldn't pay my aunty, for the things she did can't be paid for. but poor mrs. cricket--aunty, i know her address. the place in the country is called eastborough; and it's ivy cottage, aunty; and--she was good to me----" "yes," said mrs. anderson, "you'll let me explain, please, mr. harvey. this dear little boy spent a month at mrs. cricket's, and she was never paid a penny." "she ought to be paid," said ronald. "course, when father returns he'll pay you back again. but she ought to get it, for there was real new-laid eggs, and the chickens were so tender." "'pon my word," said the old gentleman, "you're a queer boy! i guess you've got the true harvey blood in you. never neglect a friend--eh? and never owe a penny. well now, madam, will you see to this? and what amount of money ought i to give you for the woman?" mrs. anderson named what she thought would be a correct sum, and immediately afterwards the old gentleman produced the money from his waistcoat pocket. it was a hard moment for ronald when he said good-bye, but after he got into the cab he could not help feeling both surprised and elated. he could not help staring and staring at the old gentleman. "was it your photograph," he said at last, "that my father kept in his dressing-room?" "i expect so," said the old gentleman. "it's surprising," said ronald, "how i forget. but now i remember. he loved you--he used to talk to me about you. he said it was you taught him first to be brave." "bless him--bless him!" said the old gentleman. his voice got a little raspy; it is certain that his eyes were a little dim. "perhaps," said ronald--he had a marvelous way of comprehending the situation--"but for you he would not have been a v. c. man." "god bless you! it was in himself--he had the noblest heart, the grandest nature! there, boy! don't upset me. 'pon my word! i hated the thought of having you---- and i hated going to you," said ronald; "but----" the old face looked into the young face, and the young face looked into the old face, and then they both laughed. before they reached the old gentleman's hotel ronald had so far advanced to a friendly footing that he had peered into the contents of the old man's pocket, had pulled out his watch, had applied it to his ear, and had even gone the amazing length of demanding one for himself. chapter xxvi. two cups of coffee. when harris parted from giles and connie--on the very same day that connie had gone to tea with ronald, on the very same day that ronald had visited giles--he was as troubled and miserable as man could be. there was but one brave thing for him to do--he ought to confess his sin. where sue could be he had not the faintest idea. why was she absent? it was days now since she had left her home--sue, of all people--sue, with a little delicate brother like giles. it was unlike her to go. there could be but one reason. harris had taken means to ascertain whether poor sue had been up before the magistrates. he knew enough about the law, and about crime generally, to know that she would be taken up for theft to bow street; but beyond doubt she had never gone there. where in all the world could she be? harris was by no means sufficiently sorry to give himself up for conscience's sake; but he was in a state of nervousness and great distress of mind. as he walked down a side-street, his hands in his pockets, his rough fur cap--which he generally wore slouched--well off his eyes, he was suddenly accosted by a red-haired boy, who looked at him with a very innocent face and inquired meekly "ef he were lookin' for a job." "none o' yer sauce, youngster," said harris, passing on. "i don't mean the least sauce in life, master," said the red-haired boy, still in the most humble and gentle tone. "i only thought ef we were goin' in the same direction we might p'rhaps cheer each other up." "you're a likely youngster, you ere," he said, looking down at him with the grimmest of smiles. "yus, my mother says as i'm well grown for my hage," replied pickles; and then, keeping pace with the tall man, he began to whistle softly. harris returned to his interrupted thoughts, and soon forgot the small boy, who had to run to keep up with his long strides. suddenly the little boy exclaimed in a shrill, eager treble: "i say, mister!" "wot now, young 'un?" "you ain't of a wery obleeging turn, be yer? you couldn't help me, now, ter find a guilty party?" "you seems a wery rum chap," said harris rather crossly. "i don't know nothink 'bout yer guilty parties. there, be off, can't yer!" "i'll be off in a twinkle, master. i ain't rum a bit; my mother allers said as i wor a real quiet boy; but when my heart is full to bustin' it seems a relief to talk to a body, and you, tho' yer puts on bein' fierce, have a kind nature." "now, what hever do yer mean by that?" "master, you must furgive a wery timid and heasily repulsed boy; but it ain't possible, even fur one so known to be frightened as me, to be feared of yer. i reads yer kindness in yer heyes, master, and so i makes bold to tell my tale o' woe." "well, tell away," said harris, who could not help laughing and looking a little less gruff than before. "you wouldn't be inclined, now, that we should have hour talk hover a pint of hot coffee? there's a heatin-house where the young man have took down the shutters and is dusting away in a manner as his real appetizing. i has fourpence in my pocket. you wouldn't mind my treating yer, jest fer once, would yer?" "not in the least, youngster. i think it'll be a wery sensible use to put yer money to, and a deal more prudent than spending it in marbles or street plays." "master, my mother don't allow me to play at marbles, or to hindulge in street wanities, so i has the money and can afford ter be generous. now let's enter. i smells the coffee a-grinding hup fur hour breakfasts halready." so harris and pickles went in to the eating-house, where in a moment or two, over two steaming cups of excellent coffee, pickles proceeded to unburden himself of his story. "it is only a few days agone, master, as the occurrence as distresses me happened. i wor walking along a certain street wot shall be nameless. i wor walking along bravely, as is my wont, and thinking of my mother, when i see'd a young gel a-flying past me. she wor a wery short, stout gel, and her legs they quite waggled as she ran. i never see'd a gel run so wery hard afore, and i pricked hup my senses to guess wot it hall meant. soon wor the mystery explained. i heerd ahind of her the cry of 'stop thief!' and a number of men and boys were a-giving of her chase. i thought as i'd run wid 'em and see what it hall meant. "presently we shall come up wid the gel. there she wor in the arms of a policeman. he wor a-clutching of her, and trying to find hout wot wor the matter; but she wor so blown she couldn't speak fur a good bit. then hup comes a man wot said as he had a pawnshop, and that inter the pawnshop had come a man and a gel ter buy a ring, and when they come hout there wor a diamond locket missing. he said as either the gel or the man 'ad tuk the locket; and as the man could not be found, he must get the policeman to search the gel. the poor fat gel, she looked quite scared, and said as she hadn't done it; but the nipper said as she must be searched, and he put in his hand inter her pocket and drew hout the diamond locket. she said as she had never put it there. but, in course, it worn't ter be expected as they'd believe her, so she were tuk orf ter prison. she wor tuk orf ter prison--i see'd her myself." here pickles paused. nothing could have been more refined and delicate than the use he had made of his eyes during this narrative; only very quick and fleeting glances did he bestow upon his companion. when harris at the commencement of his tale started and changed color, pickles dropped a piece of bread, and stayed under the table looking for it until the man had quite recovered his composure. when his short story had come to an end he paused; then he said, still without bestowing more than the swiftest side-glance on harris, "the poor fat gel were tuk orf to the lock-hup. but 'tis borne bin on me, master--'tis borne him on me, and i can't get no rest day nor night--as that yer gel were hinnercent. i believe as she never tuk the locket, and i think that ef ye're as kind-hearted as yer looks yer'll help me ter find that other guilty party." harris rose to his feet. "don't be a fool, lad," he said angrily. "i have no time ter give ter sech nonsense. i'm soory fur the gel, but ef she had the locket, of course she tuk the locket. there! i can waste no time. i'll pay fur my hown coffee. good-morning." "good-morning, master, and thank yer. i'm glad as ye're sorry fur the gel; she have a lame brother as must miss her, and her case 'ull go heavy, i fear. it seems as it might be a good work ter find the guilty party. i think as it wor the man as went with her inter the shop. i mean ter attend the trial, and i'll mention, ef permitted, my suspicions. but i won't keep yer longer. sorry again as yer won't oblige me, i'll go home now and consult my mother." all the way back to great anvill street, where mrs. price lived, pickles danced a hornpipe. "i've nailed him at last," he said, chuckling and laughing and dancing all in one breath. "now to put on the torture screw until he confesses! oh pickles, my boy, _wot_ a treasure you'll prove yerself in scotland yard!" chapter xxvii. delayed trial. it is quite true that pickles had put on the torture screw. harris felt exceedingly uncomfortable as he walked home. it was a fact, then, that sue had been caught and put in prison. that disagreeable boy had seen it all; he had witnessed her rapid flight; he had heard her protestations of innocence; he had seen her carried off to prison. sue, so good and brave and honest, would be convicted of theft and would have to bear the penalty of theft--of another's theft, not her own. what a foolish girl she had been to run away! of course, it made her guilt seem all the plainer. there was not a loophole of escape for her. she was certain to be found guilty; probably to-day she would be brought before the magistrate and sentence pronounced upon her. he wondered what magistrate would try her; how long her punishment would last. had he dared he would have attended her trial. but he did not dare. that red-haired boy--that most unpleasant, impudent boy--would probably be there. there was no saying what things he might say. he would probably appear as a witness, and nothing would keep that giddy tongue of his quiet. what a very queer boy he was, and how strange were his suspicions! when any one else in all the world would have accepted sue's guilt as beyond doubt or question, he persisted in declaring her innocent. nay, more than that, he had even declared that the man who had gone with her into the shop was the guilty person. harris knew there was no proof against the man. no one had seen him take the locket; no one had witnessed its transfer into sue's pocket. the man was safe enough. no one living could bring his guilt home to him. but stay a moment! a horrible fear came over him. why did that boy speak like that? he saw sue running away. perhaps he had seen more than that. perhaps he had come on the platform of events earlier in the narrative. harris felt the cold sweat starting to his forehead as it occurred to him that that awful boy had reason for his talk--that he _knew_ to whom he was speaking. when harris took the locket he might have been flattening his nose against the window-pane at the pawnbroker's; he might have seen all that was taking place. what was to be done? he could not confess, and yet if he didn't he was in horrible danger; his present state was worse than any state he had been in before. suppose connie ever found out his meanness, his wickedness. harris was very fond of connie just then. he had suffered during her absence. his home was pleasant to him--as pleasant as his guilty conscience would permit during those days, for little giles was like no one else. oh, could the awful moment ever come when giles would look at him with reproachful eyes--when giles would turn away from him? the miserable man felt that were such a time to arrive it would be almost as bad as the knowledge that god himself could not forgive him. he was distracted, miserable; he must find a refuge from his guilty thoughts. a public-house stood handy. he had not really taken too much for a long time now--not since that terrible night when, owing to drink, he had turned his child from his door. but he would forget his misery now in drink. "that dreadful boy!" he muttered--"that dreadful, dreadful boy, with hair like a flame, and eyes that peered into you like gimlets!" harris passed through the great swing-doors. his good angel must almost have disappeared at that moment. meanwhile connie and giles watched and waited in vain for sue. she was coming to-day--she was coming to-morrow. but the weary hours went by and no sue arrived; there was no message from her. harris went oftener and oftener to the public-house, and brought less and less of his wages home, and giles faded and faded, and connie also looked very sad and weary. once connie said to giles, when nearly a month had gone by: "yer'll 'ave to give up that notion 'bout the country, giles, for 'tain't true." "yus, i believe i must give it up," said giles. "ain't yer anxious now 'bout dear sue?" asked connie. "not wery," said giles. "ef she ain't in the country, the good lord 'ave her safe somewhere else--that's wot i'm a-thinkin' of. father john said to me we'en he come last as trials of this sort are good for me." "you 'ave nothing but trials, poor giles!" said connie. "oh no," answered giles; "i ha' lots o' blessings--you and big ben, the beautiful woice, you know. connie, some'ow i think as my wings is growin' wery fast. i think w'en they're full-grown----" "wot then?" asked connie. "why, i'll fly away. i can't 'ardly believe as a poor little lame boy like me could fly up higher than the stars, but that's wot 'ull 'appen. i picter it wery often--me no longer tied down to my bed, but with wings, flyin' about as strong as the angels. only father john says i'll be higher than the angels, for i'll be one o' the ransomed o' the lord. i'll see father john, too, an' you'll come after a bit, an' sue 'ull come. i can't fret no, i can't." after this connie went for the doctor, and the doctor said that the boy was very ill--that he might linger a few weeks more, but his sufferings were growing less, and that connie's kind care was effecting wonders for him. the weeks went by. harris grew accustomed to his sense of guilt, and sue to her captivity. pickles was anxiously looking forward to a crisis. harris, after giving way to drink for several days, refrained again and worked steadily. he brought in, in consequence, good wages, and connie and giles wanted for nothing. it was the one salve to his conscience, this making of giles comfortable; otherwise, notwithstanding the manifest amendment of his ways, he was scarcely happy. indeed, pickles took care that he should not be so. in the most unlikely and unexpected places this dreadful boy would dart upon him, and more and more certain was harris that he not only knew his secret, but had witnessed his guilt. harris would have fled miles from the boy, but the boy would not be fled from. he acted as a perpetual blister on the man's already sore conscience, and harris almost hated him. his first resolve to confide in pickles and bribe him into silence had long ago died away. he dared not even offer to bribe him; the perfectly fearless and uncorrupt spirit which looked out of the eyes of the boy would be, he knew, proof against all that he could do in the matter of either rewards or punishments. no; all that harris could do was to maintain as imperturbable a spirit as possible while pickles expatiated upon the cruel fate of sue. as far as he could dare question him, he learned from pickles that sue had not been yet tried even before the magistrate. he wondered greatly at this delay, and pickles, who read his wonder in his eyes, remarked lightly that the reason of this long postponement was because the police were busy looking for the guilty party. "whether they finds him or not," concluded pickles, "it must come off soon now, fur i'm told that the expense of keeping sue is breaking that 'ere lock-hup. i 'spect as it 'ull be the finest bit o' a trial as have been fur many a day. i means to be there. and you'll come, won't yer, mr. harris?" "i'm sick o' the subject," said harris. "oh no, you ain't, mr. harris; you 'ave a wery quiet manner, as his only wot his right and becoming, but i can see yer hinterest in yer heyes. you can't keep that good-natured, human look out o' yer heyes, mr. harris; nor can yer help a-starting when yer sees me a-coming. oh no, yer may say wot yer likes, but ye're real interested in that pore, misfort'nit sue, i _knows_; so you will come to her shameful trial, won't yer?" in despair, and fearing any other reply, harris promised. chapter xxviii. cinderella would shield the real thief. after one of these interviews pickles went home and consulted sue. "cinderella," he said, "am i to act as yer prince or not?" "i dunno wot hever yer means, pickles." "well, my beauty, 'tis jest this--the prince rescued cinderella from her cruel sisters, and i want ter rescue you from the arms of justice. you has a wery shameful accusation hanging over you, cinderella; you is, in short, hiding from the law. i can set yer free. shall i?" sue's plump face had grown quite thin during the anxieties of the past month, and now it scarcely lighted up as she answered pickles: "i want ter be set free, but i don't want ter be set free in your way." "'tis the only way, cinderella. the man, peter harris, is the guilty party. he tuk that 'ere locket; he put it in yer pocket. i don't know how he did it, nor why he did it, but i do know that no one else did it. i have jest come from him, and lor' bless yer! i have had him on the torture hooks. i made-b'lieve as you were to be tried next week, and i axed him to come to the trial. i could a'most see him shivering at the bare thought, but fur hall that he did not dare but say he'd come. now, cinderella, ef you were to allow me to manage it, and i wer to get you and he face to face, why, he'd jest have to confess. i'd have a couple o' witnesses handy, and we'd write it down wot he said, and you'd be set free. i'd manage so to terrify him aforehand that he'd have ter confess----" "and then he'd be put in prison?" said sue. "why, in course; and well he'd deserve it. he's the right party to go, fur he's guilty. yes, shameful guilty, too." "he couldn't manage to run away and escape afterwards?" pickles laughed. "you think as i'd help him, maybe. not a bit o' me! i don't harbor no guilty parties, cinderella, as i ha' told yer heaps and heaps o' times. no, he's guilty, and he goes ter prison; there ain't nothink hard in sending him ter prison." "it ha' seemed ter me often lately, pickles, as it must be harder to lie in prison guilty than not guilty--you ha'nt, nothink ter trouble yer mind ef yer ain't guilty." "well then, i s'pose, in that case, as yer'll give yerself hup." "i'd a deal rayther be in hiding with yer, pickles; but i don't feel as ef i _could_ put mr. harris in prison." "then you must go yerself, fur this thing can't go on fur ever." sue looked frightened, and her commonplace gray eyes fell to the ground. she took up the poker and began to trace a pattern on the floor: it was as intricate as her own fate just now. she was a little heroine, however, and her noble thoughts redeemed all plainness from her face when at last she spoke: "once, pickles, arter mother died we was brought down wery low. i had a dreadful influenzy, and i couldn't nohow go to the machining, and we were near starving. mr. harris lent me a shilling that time, and we pulled through. another time i couldn't meet the rent, and connie, she begged of her father, and he give me the money; and when i offerd it him back again he wouldn't take it. he wor a rough man, but he had a kind heart. when i were last at home he wor in a real dreadful trouble about connie--and i loved connie better nor any one in hall the world, arter giles. pickles, it 'ud break connie's heart fur her father to be tuk to prison. i don't know why he did that--ef he really did do it--but i can't furget those two times as he wor good ter me, and hever since i have come yere he have done heverything fur giles. no, i couldn't send mr. harris to prison. i couldn't rest heasy ef i thought o' him sent there by me. i'd rayther lie there myself." "wery well, cinderella; in course you've got ter choose, fur one or other of yer must go to prison, as it is against hall common-sense as you could stay hiding here fur ever. i hadmires yer rare consideration fur that hardened man, peter harris. i can't understand it--no, not the least bit in the world--but i hadmires it as i hadmires the top o' the big mountain wot i could never climb, but jest contemplate solemnly from below. i can understand better yer repugnance not to break the heart o' that purty connie. most plain women is hard on their more lucky sisters, and i hadmires you, cinderella, fur rising superior to the wices of yer sex; but wot i can't hunderstand--wot puzzles me--is yer sad failure in sisterly love. there's that little brother; why, heven now he's pining hal to nothing to see yer. don't yer think as it 'ull break _his_ heart ef yer is tuk ter prison? why, ef yer could have seen him when he heerd me even hint at sech a thing! he said as he wished as he could knock me down." the tears rapidly filled sue's eyes. "pickles," she said after a moment of thought, "'tis a wonderful, wonderful puzzlement ter me. i can't least of all break the heart of giles. giles wor left ter me by mother, and i promised as i'd allers tend him real faithful; but wot i 'as bin thinking is that ef yer must give me hup, and not hide me any longer, and i must be locked hup fur a time, that perhaps we might manage as giles might still think as i wor in the country. connie would be wery good ter him, and mr. harris would support him jest as well as i could have done. giles, he's that innercent that he'd easily be made ter believe as i could not help going away. he knows nothink o' life, little giles don't; he'd never, never guess as there were ought o' the prison 'bout me, and arter a time he'd get accustomed to doing widout me. i think, pickles, we might manage so as not to break giles's heart, and yet fur me to go ter prison." "then you really, really chooses to go ter prison, cinderella?" "i choose, pickles, never to tell on peter harris--never, wot hever happens. i don't want ter go to prison--not one bit--but ef i can't stay hiding, why, i s'pose as i must." "you can't stay hiding more than a day or two longer, cinderella, and i thinks as ye're a great fool;" and pickles walked out of the room in apparently high dudgeon. chapter xxix. a little heroine. two days afterwards it was sunday. pickles and his mother went to church, but sue did not accompany them. she had hitherto, notwithstanding her disguise, been afraid to stir abroad. to-day, however, when mother and son had departed, she ran eagerly up to the tiny attic where she slept. in this attic was an old box without a lock. sue opened it in some perturbation. there were several articles of wearing apparel in this box, all of a mothy and mouldy character. one by one cinderella pulled them out. first there was a purple silk dress. she gazed at it with admiration. yes; no one would ever recognize sue in silk. it would be delightful to put it on. she did so. the skirt was much too long, but with the aid of a whole boxful of pins, she managed to bundle it up round her waist. then came a soft, many-colored paisley shawl. would any one in all the world think of the little machinist if she sallied forth in purple silk and paisley shawl? sue did not believe it possible. she put on the shawl, and tied on her head an old-fashioned bonnet, trimmed with many-colored ribbons. there was further, in the wonderful box, an old remnant of gauze. this would act as a veil. now, indeed, she was completely disguised. she thought herself very grand, and wondered had the prince ever bought finer clothes for the real cinderella. she shut the box again, tripped downstairs, and out into the street. she had not been out for a whole month now, and the fresh, frosty air, even coming to her through the musty gauze, was very refreshing. she walked quickly. she had an object in view. very purposeful was her careworn little face as she stepped briskly along. she had a problem to solve. it was too weighty for her young shoulders; she must get the advice of another. she meant to consult father john--not by words; no, not even with him would she dare confide her secret. but he preached now both sunday morning and sunday evening. she would stand with the crowd and listen to his sermon. perhaps once again there would be a message for her in it. she had not forgotten that last sermon of his; and that last message sent to her from god by his lips had been with her all through her month of captivity. it had been a sad and anxious month for sue, and now its crisis had come, for the kind people who had protected her could do so no longer; she could no longer eat their bread, nor accept the shelter of their home. no; sue quite agreed with pickles that it would be impossible for her to stay in hiding always. better go forth at once and meet the worst and have it over. she would be put in prison. yes--that is, either she or peter harris would be put in prison. pickles had quite brought her round to the belief that harris was really the guilty party. he had done a very, very dreadful thing. sue could not understand why he had acted so badly, so cruelly by her. surely he was the right person to go to prison; she could not bear his crime for him. but then, again, it would be very like jesus christ if she did. it was wonderful how the thought of the great example was before the mind of this simple, ignorant child as she walked hastily on to meet the one who she believed would decide her fate. to-morow, most likely, pickles would come to her and ask for her final decision. she must make up her mind to-day. she had a long way to walk, and when she reached the street where father john held his weekly services the place was already crowded. the preacher had mounted on his chair and had commenced his discourse. sue heard one or two people say, "look at little mother hubbard." but others, again, admired her costume, and out of respect for the rich silk dress, made way for her to approach nearer to the preacher. "now, lord jesus, please do give me the right word," whispered sue. then through her musty veil her eyes were fixed anxiously on atkins. was it more than a coincidence? this was the sentence which fell upon the expectant ear: "my dear, dear brothers and sisters, 'tis a wonderfully happy thing to be good. it gives a man rare courage. you, most of you, knew poor bob daily. well, he died this morning. he was not a scrap afraid. i was with him, and he went away rejoicing. he knew he was going straight away to jesus--straight away to the arms of jesus. he told me a queer thing which had happened to him when he was a young man. he was falsely accused of a crime which he had not done. he was put in prison. he had to stay locked up for what he was innocent of for two years. he said he guessed who had really done the crime, but he did not like to tell on this man, who was much worse off than himself. he bore the punishment for the guilty man, and he had his reward. all the time he was in prison jesus remained so close to him that he made his heart sing. he says that he could look back on that part of his life as the very happiest time that he had ever spent." "i'm a bit faint-like," said sue to her nearest neighbor. "let me out, please." the people made way for her, and for a moment or so she leant against the nearest lamp-post. she did not hear another word of the sermon. she did not need to. when she felt better she walked back to great anvill street. * * * * * that night, just before pickles went to bed, sue sought him. "pickles, i ha' made up my mind--i ha' made it up quite," she said. "well?" asked pickles. "you gave me three days, pickles, and the time 'ull be up to-morrow. well, i'll go to prison 'stead o' peter harris. i ha' that in my mind which 'ull make it come uncommon light ter me. i'll go to prison 'stead o' he." chapter xxx. what was harris to her? pickles went up to the very small room where he slept, threw himself on his bed, and fell a-wondering. for the first time in his life he was completely at sea. what _did_ cinderella mean? for a whole month now she had been his special charge. he had rescued her; he had kept her in the safe shelter of his mother's house; he had been, he considered, very kind indeed to cinderella. what a fate she would have had but for him! sent to prison for a crime of which she was absolutely innocent, her whole future disgraced, blighted, ruined! all the time while he had been hunting up harris, and bringing his ingenious little mind to bear down the full weight of his crime upon the guilty man, he had thought that no amount of gratitude on cinderella's part--nay, even a whole lifetime of devotion--could scarcely repay all she owed him. but now he kicked his legs impatiently and said to himself that it was enough to provoke the best-natured boy in the universe. after all his trouble, all his hard thoughts and anxious reflections, here was this tiresome cinderella refusing to be set free. he had, as he expressed it, nailed his man; he had put the noose round him, and all he had to do was to tighten it, and sue would be free and harris sent to prison. but without sue's aid he could not do this, and sue most emphatically to-night had refused his aid. she would go to prison herself, but she would not betray harris. what did the girl mean? what was this cowardly harris to her that she should risk so much and suffer so sorely for his sake? how she had dreaded prison! how very, very grateful she had been to him for saving her! but now she was willing to go there, willing to bear the unmerited punishment, the lifelong disgrace. why? pickles, think hard as he would, could get no answer to solve this difficulty. true, she had said she had something in her mind which would lighten the prison fare and the prison life. what was it? pickles could stand it no longer; he must go and consult his mother. he ran downstairs. mrs. price had not yet gone to bed. pickles sat down beside her by the fire, and laid his curly red head in her lap. "mother," he said, "this 'ere detective's foiled at last." "what's up now, jamie, boy?" asked the mother. pickles told her. he described how he had all but brought the crime home to harris; how he had proved to sue that harris was the guilty party; but that now sue, after all his tremendous trouble, had refused to identify him. she would go to prison, she said; she would not tell on harris. "i don't understand it one bit, mother," he said in conclusion. "but i do, jamie, my boy," answered mrs. price, tears filling her kind eyes. "i understand it very well. it means just this--that sue, dear child, is very noble." pickles opened his eyes very wide. "then, mother," he began, "cinderella is----" and then he stopped. "your cinderella, whom you rescued, is a real little heroine, jamie; but she must not go to prison. we must do something for her. she has been with me for a whole month now, and i never came across a more upright little soul. you surely have not been frightening her with the base idea that we would give her up, my boy?" pickles colored and hung his head. "i own, mother," he said, "that i did put a little bit of the torture screw to bear on sue. i didn't mean really as she should go to prison; but i thought as a small dose of fright might make her tell on that harris. i do think that peter harris is about the meanest character i ever come across, and i'd like _him_ to go to prison wery well indeed, mother dear." "if he's guilty, believe me he's not a very happy man, my lad. my own feeling is that 'tis best to leave all punishment to the god against whom we sin. but about sue? she must not sleep with the notion that she's to go to prison. i have a great mind to go to her now." "oh! but, mother, mayn't i tell her my own self? 'twas i as rescued her. she's my own cinderella, after all, mother dear; and i'd real enjoy telling her. she's asleep hours ago now, mother." "well, lad, see and have it out with the child before you go to work in the morning, and then i'll have a talk with her afterwards." chapter xxxi. a stern resolve. but sue was not asleep. she had quite made up her mind now as to her line of action. there was no longer even a particle of lingering doubt in her brave little soul; she was innocent, but as the sin which was committed must be punished, she would bear the punishment; she would go to prison instead of harris. prison would not be so bad if she went there innocent. yes, sue would certainly go to prison. the next day she would consult mrs. price, and take the proper steps to deliver herself up to the police. she would go to the pawnbroker's shop and say to him, "i am the little girl in whose pocket you found that lovely diamond locket. i am very sorry i hid from you so long, but now i have come back, and you can send for the police. i will promise not to run away again when they are taking me to prison." this was sue's resolve, but first she intended to do something else. it was because of this something else that she lay awake now; it was because of this almost passionate longing and desire that she lay with her eyes wide open. she was going to put on her disguise once more; just once again, before she was put in prison, she would wander free and unrestrained into the streets. but she must do this very, very early in the morning, and she feared that if she closed her eyes she would sleep over the right time. it was now march, and the days were lengthening. she rose before the dawn, put on again some portion of the remarkable costume she had worn the day before, and went out. yes, she was going to prison. she was most likely going to prison that very day. but before she was locked up she would visit harris's house. she would steal into his rooms to take one look--one long last look for how many weary months--at giles. she knew the ways of this tenement house well. she had nothing to do but walk up the stairs and lift the latch of harris's room and go in. some of the neighbors locked their room doors at night. but susan remembered with satisfaction that harris never did so. it was quite dark when she set off, for she knew she had a very long walk from great anvill street to westminster. chapter xxxii. an unexpected accident. by dint asking her way more than once, of some of the very policemen whom she dreaded, sue found herself at last in the old, well-remembered neighborhood. she passed the door of the house where her mother had died and where she had been so happy with giles, and went on quickly to the other house where connie and harris lived. the house door stood open, as was its wont. sue mounted the stairs; with trembling hands she lifted the latch of harris's room. yes, as she had trusted, it was only on the latch. she stooped down, unfastened her shoes, and took them off; then she stole into the room. there were two bedrooms, besides a sitting-room, in harris's portion of the house. in one of the bedrooms slept harris, in the other his daughter, and in the little sitting-room lay the lame boy. thus sue found herself at once in the presence of her little brother. her heart beat high. how easily she had accomplished her purpose! how good god was to her! stealing over on tiptoes, she knelt down by giles. there was scarcely any light as yet; but a little streamed in from the badly curtained window. this little had sought out giles, and lingered lovingly round his delicate face and graceful head; he looked ethereal with this first soft light kissing him. sue bent down very close indeed. she dared not breathe on his face. she scarcely dared draw her own breath in her fear of waking him; but she took his gentle image more firmly than ever into her heart of hearts: it was to cheer her and comfort her during long, long months of prison life. as she bent over him in an ecstasy of love and longing, giles stirred. instantly sue hid herself behind a curtain: here she could see without being seen. the lame boy stirred again and opened his eyes. he looked peaceful; perhaps he had had a happy dream. "i think sue 'ull soon now have found that cottage in the country," he said aloud. then he turned over and, still smiling, went to sleep again. sue's eyes filled with tears. but the light was getting stronger; any moment harris might rise. though she would go to prison for harris, yet she felt that she could not bring herself to meet him. yes, she must go away with an added weight in her poor, faithful little heart. she stole downstairs, and out into the street. yes, it was very hard to bear the sight of giles, to hear those longing words from the lips of giles, and yet go away to meet unjust punishment for perhaps two long years. still, it never entered into sue's head to go back from her resolve, or to save herself by betraying another. her head was very full of bible lore, and she compared herself now to one of those three young men who had gone into a fiery furnace for the cause of right and duty. "jesus christ wor with them, jest as he'll be with me," she said to herself as she crossed westminster bridge. yes, brave little girl, you were to go through a fiery furnace, but not the one you thought was being prepared for you. sue's trouble, swift and terrible, but in an unlooked-for form, was on her even now. just as she had got over the bridge, and was about to cross a very wide thoroughfare, some lumbering wagons came thundering up. they turned sharp round a corner, and the poor child, weak and giddy from her morning's most unwonted exertion, suddenly found herself turning faint. she was in the middle of the crossing, the wagons were upon her, but she could not run. she had scarcely time to throw up her arms, to utter one piercing cry of terror, before she was thrown to the ground. she had a horrible sensation of her life being crushed out of her, of every bone being broken; then followed peace and unconsciousness. one of the wagons had gone partly over her; one leg was broken. she was carried to the accident ward at st. thomas's hospital close by. chapter xxxiii. a pointed question. neither had mrs. price slept well. all night long she either had fitful and broken dreams, in which her small guest, sue, constantly figured; or she lay with her eyes open, thinking of her. she was surprised at the child's resolve. she recognized an heroic soul under that plain and girlish exterior. in the morning she got up rather earlier than usual, and instead of going directly downstairs, as was her custom, she went up to sue's attic. she had promised her eccentric young son to allow him to tell his own tale in his own way; but she meant to comfort sue with some specially loving and kind greeting. having a true lady's heart, she knew how to give sue a very cheering word, and she went upstairs with that heart full. of course there was no sue in the little chamber. the bed had been lain in, but was now cold and unoccupied. mrs. price went downstairs, considerably puzzled and disturbed. she sent for pickles and told him. she was full of fear at sue's disappearance, and told the heedless boy that she blamed him. "you did wrong, my lad--you did very wrong," she said. "you gave the poor thing to understand that she was to be put in prison, and now doubtless she has gone to deliver herself up." "no, mother. she only went out to have a little exercise. cinderella 'ull be back in an hour or so," answered the boy. but he did not speak with his usual assurance and raillery. the fact was, the calculations in his shrewd little brain were upset by sue's disappearance. he felt disturbed, perplexed, and annoyed. his mother being really displeased with him was a novel experience to pickles. she blamed herself much for having allowed him his own way in this matter, and the moment breakfast was over, went out to the nearest police-station to relate sue's story. pickles stayed in until noon; then he also went out. he had cheered himself until this hour with the hope that sue had only gone out for a walk. notwithstanding all the improbabilities of his poor, frightened cinderella venturing to show herself in the street, he had clung firmly to this idea; but when the neighboring clock struck twelve he was obliged to abandon it. he was obliged to admit to his own little puzzled heart that it was on no ordinary walk that sue had gone. remorse now seized him in full measure. he could not bear the house; he must vent his feelings in exercise. for the first time in his sunny and healthy young life he walked along the streets a defeated and unhappy boy. suddenly, however, a thought occurred to him. he stood still when it flashed across his fertile brain. then, with a cheerful shout, which caused the passers-by to turn their heads and smile, he set off running as fast as his feet would carry him. hope would never be long absent from his horizon, and once again he was following it joyfully. he was on his way now to harris's house. he meant to pay pretty connie a visit, and when with her he would put to her a pointed question. it was nearly three o'clock when he reached westminster. a few minutes later he found himself on the landing outside connie's rooms. here, however, he was again a little puzzled, for he wanted to see connie and not to see giles. taking a long time about it, he managed to set the closed door ajar. he looked in. connie and giles were both within. connie was mending her father's socks; giles was reading aloud to her. neither of them had noticed the slight creaking noise he had made in opening the door. he ventured on a very slight cough. this sound was heard; the reading ceased. "come in," said connie. this he must not do. he waited an instant, then creaked the door again. "dear, dear! i made certain i had shut that door," said connie. at this she rose unsuspiciously. "jest wait a minute, giles dear. i didn't catch that last bit." she ran to the door to put it to. pickles placed his foot in her way. the obstacle caused her to look into the passage. there a boy, very red by nature, and with his natural color now much intensified by hard running, stood awaiting her. he pointed to the door, put his finger to his lips, then rushed down the first flight of stairs, where he turned round, and beckoned to her to follow him. "i'll be back in a minute, giles," said connie. she had ready wit enough to perceive at a glance that pickles had something to say to her which he did not wish giles to hear. closing the door behind her, she ran downstairs. pickles could have hugged her in his gratitude. "ain't you a perfect duck of a darlin'?" he said, gazing hard and full into her face. "what do you want me for, pickles?" asked connie. "fur one or two things of much private importance. first, tell me, how is the little lame chap as is fretting fur his sister wot is kept in the country?" "he is not so well, pickles; he is not so well as he was. pickles, i don't believe that story about sue being in the country." "you don't believe me when i opens my lips to give utterance to the words of gospel truth!" replied pickles. but his red face grew a shade redder, and his full, bold gaze was not quite so steady as usual. "why, surely, pickles, _you_ ain't going to be troubled wid nerves!" he said to himself. connie, watching anxiously, entreated in her softest tones: "dear pickles, you might trust me. i should like to know, and i won't tell giles." "ay, ay, that's a woman's curiosity; but the misfortune is as it can't be gratified. no, connie. you are as rare and pretty a bit of woman as hiver i clapped heyes on. but fur hall that you ain't going to come hover this yere boy. when i tells you, connie, that sue is hin the country, please believe as she _his_ in that year health-giving place. when 'tis conwenient fur me to confide in you farther, why, i'll do it. that time ain't at present. in the meantime, ef you want to real help them who ere in difficulty, you will let me know widout any more wasting o' precious time where yer father, peter harris, is working to-day." "oh pickles! wot do you want wid him?" "nothink to hurt you, pretty one. now, will you speak? "he's at messrs ---- in ---- street," replied connie. "thank yer; and now i'm off. ef you'll listen to the words o' solemn wisdom, and be guided in that same, you'll not mention this stolen interview to little giles--bless the little chap! you keep up his heart, connie. as soon as hiver this yer young man can manage it, sue shall come home. lor', now! ain't the world strange and difficult to live in? wot 'ull bring joy to one 'ull give pain to t'other, but the cause o' right must win the day. well, good-bye, connie. i'll wery like look in soon again." chapter xxxiv. pickles to the fore again. connie went back to giles, and pickles, having obtained the information which he desired, sped as fast as his feet could carry him down the street. once more his spirits were high, and hope was before him. "i may save you, you most obstinate and tiresome cinderella," he said to himself. "but oh, _wot_ a mistake gels are! why hever those weak and misguided beings was allowed to be is a puzzlement too great fur me." but though pickles talked even to himself in this light and careless vein, there was (and he knew it) a pain in his heart--a pain joined to an admiration for sue, which would have made him willing to fight to the very death in her behalf. the day, however, had been spent while he was rushing about, and by the time he reached the place where connie had directed him to seek her father, the workmen were putting by their tools and preparing to go home. pickles followed harris down the street. harris was talking to and walking with one of his fellow-workmen, and pickles did not care to accost him except when he was alone. at the corner, however, of the next street the two parted; and then the boy, putting his face into grave and serious order, ran lightly after harris. when he addressed him his very voice trembled. "mr. harris, i see'd you coming out of that yer shop. i'm in much perplexity and trouble in my mind, and i thought the sight of you and a talk wid you might maybe set me up." "you thought wrong, then," said harris, replying in his gruffest voice, "for i'm in a mortal bit of a hurry, and i'm in no humor to listen to no chaff, so get away." "oh, mr. harris! i'll endeavor to run by yer side for a minute or two. mr. harris, wot does yer think? that little sue wot i tolled yer on--why, she has discovered who the guilty party is. she have found out who really stole the locket and put it into her pocket." "she have!" said harris. he was so astonished and taken by surprise that he now stood still. he stood quite still, gazing helplessly at pickles, while his weather-beaten face grew pale. "'tis gospel truth as i'm telling yer," continued pickles, fixing his own light-blue eyes full on his victim. "sue knows hall about it--the whole thing; the great and awful meanness have been made plain to her. yes, she knows all, sue does; but, mr. harris----" "yes; wot have i to say to this tale? i'm in a hurry--tearing hurry--i tell yer." "yes, mr. harris; i won't keep yer. sue knows, but sue, she won't betray. i know who did it," she said, "but i won't tell on him. he lent me a shilling once. he is kind to my little brother wot is lame. i know wot he did, but i won't never tell, i'll go to prison 'stead of he." harris's color had returned. he now walked so fast that pickles had to run to keep up with him. suddenly, seeing a passing omnibus, he hailed it, and in a second was on the roof. he did not glance at pickles. in reply to his tale he had not answered by a single word. chapter xxxv. the wings are growing. connie went back to giles, sat down by him, and he resumed his reading. he was going through the _pilgrim's progress_ to her, reading short sentences at a time, for his voice was too low and weak to enable him to exert himself for long at a time. "connie, wot were that as i read last?" connie colored. "you weren't listening," said giles reproachfully. "it wor a most beautiful bit. but you didn't hear me, connie." "i wor thinking o' something else jest then," owned connie. "i'll listen now wid hall my might, dear giles." "ah! but i'm tired now," said giles; "and besides, i want to talk 'bout something else, connie." "well." "sue have been a whole month in the country to-day--rayther more than a month. i don't understand it at all. i never thought as she could stay so long away from me. i suppose 'tis hall right, and cottages such as we want do take a powerful long time to find. it has been a long time--wery, wery long--but have i been patient 'bout sue all this long time, connie?" "yes, indeed, dear giles." "oh! i'm glad, fur i've tried to be. then, connie, wot i'm thinking is that ef sue don't soon come back--ef she don't soon find that 'ere cottage--why, i won't want it, connie. sue 'ull come back and find me--gone." "gone!" echoed connie. "do you mean dead? oh giles! you're not ill enough to die." "yes, connie, i think i am. i'm so real desperate weak sometimes that i don't like even to move a finger. i used to be hungry, too, but now i never cares to eat. besides, connie dear----" "yes, giles," answered connie. "those wings that i told you of--why, i often seem to feel them flutter inside of me. i told you before, connie, that when they was full grown, why, i'd fly away. i think they are growing wery fast. i'll want no cottage in the country now. i'm going away to a much better place, ain't i, connie?" "oh! but, giles, i don't want to think that--i don't want to," answered connie, the tears raining down her cheeks. "'tis real good fur me, though, connie. i used to pine sore fur the country; but it have come hover me lately that in winter it 'ud be dull--scarcely any flowers, and no birds singing, nor nothink. now, in heaven there's no winter. 'a land o' pure delight,' the hymn calls it, 'and never-withering flowers.' so you see, connie, heaven must be a sight better than the country, and of course i'd rayther go there; only i'm thinking as 'tis sech a pity 'bout sue." "yes, i wish as sue was home," said connie. "connie dear, couldn't we send her a message to come straight home to me now? i'm so feared as she'll fret real hard ef she comes wid news of that cottage and finds me gone." "i'll look fur her; i will find her," said connie with sudden energy. then she rose and drew down the blinds. "i'll find sue ef i can, giles; and now you will go to sleep." "will you sing to me? when you sing, and i drop off to sleep listening, i allers dream arterwards of heaven." "what shall i sing?" "'there is a land of pure delight.'" chapter xxxvi. a crisis. connie went downstairs and stood in the doorway. she had gone through a good deal during these last adventurous weeks, and although still it seemed to those who knew her that connie had quite the prettiest face in all the world, it was slightly haggard now for a girl of fourteen years, and a little of its soft plumpness had left it. connie had never looked more absolutely pathetic than she did at this moment, for her heart was full of sorrow for giles and of anxiety with regard to sue. she would keep her promise to the little boy--she would find sue. as she stood and thought, some of the roughest neighbors passed by, looked at the child, were about to speak, and then went on. she was quite in her shabby, workaday dress; there was nothing to rouse jealousy about her clothes; and the "gel" seemed in trouble. the neighbors guessed the reason. it was all little giles. little giles was soon "goin' aw'y." "it do seem crool," they said one to the other, "an' that sister o' his nowhere to be found." just then, who should enter the house but kind dr. deane. he stopped when he saw connie. "i am going up to giles," he said. "how is the little chap?" "worse--much worse," said connie, the tears gathering in her eyes. "no news of his sister, i suppose?" "no, sir--none." "i am sorry for that--they were such a very attached pair. i'll run up and see the boy, and bring you word what i think about him." the doctor was absent about a quarter of an hour. while he was away connie never moved, but stood up leaning against the door-post, puzzling her brains to think out an almost impossible problem. when the doctor reappeared she did not even ask how giles was. kind dr. deane looked at her; his face was wonderfully grave. after a minute he said: "i think, connie, i'd find that little sister as quickly as i could. the boy is very, very weak. if there is one desire now in his heart, however, it is just to see sue once more." "i ha' give him my word," said connie. "i'm goin' to find sue ef--ef i never see giles agin." "but you mustn't leave him for long," said the doctor. "have you no plan in your head? you cannot find a girl who is lost as sue is lost in this great london without some clue." "i ain't got any clue," said connie, "but i'll try and find pickles." "whoever is pickles?" asked the doctor. "'e knows--i'm sartin sure," said connie. "i'll try and find him, and then----" "well, don't leave giles alone. is there a neighbor who would sit with him?" "i won't leave him alone," said connie. the doctor then went away. connie was about to return to giles, if only for a few minutes, when, as though in answer to an unspoken prayer, the red-headed pickles appeared in sight. his hair was on end; his face was pale; he was consumed with anxiety; in short, he did not seem to be the same gay-hearted pickles whom connie had last met with. when he saw connie, however, the sight of that sweet and sad face seemed to pull him together. "now must i give her a blow, or must i not?" thought pickles to himself. "it do seem 'ard. there's naught, a'most, i wouldn't do for pore cinderella; but w'en i have to plant a dart in the breast of that 'ere most beauteous crittur, i feels as it's bitter 'ard. w'y, she 'ud make me a most captiwatin' wife some day. now, pickles, my boy, wot have you got in the back o' your 'ead? is it in love you be--an' you not fourteen years of age? oh, fie, pickles! what would yer mother s'y ef she knew?" pickles slapped his hand with a mighty thump against his boyish breast. "that's the w'y to treat nonsense," he said aloud. "be'ave o' yerself, pickles--fie for shame, pickles! that 'ere beauteous maid is to be worshipped from afar--jest like a star. i do declare i'm turnin' po-ettical!" "pickles!" called connie at this moment. "stop!" "pickles be 'ere," replied the youth, drawing up before connie and making a low bow. "giles is worse, pickles," said connie, "an' wot's to be done?" pickles's round face grew grave. "is 'e wery bad?" he asked. "so bad that he'll soon go up to god," said connie. her eyes filled with tears; they rolled down her cheeks. "bright as dimants they be," thought the boy as he watched her. "precious tears! i could poetise 'bout them." "pickles," said connie again, "i have made giles a promise. he sha'n't die without seeing sue. i'm sartin sure, pickles, that you could take me to sue now--i'm convinced 'bout it--and i want you to do it." "why do you think that?" asked pickles. "'cos i do," said connie. "'cos of the way you've looked and the way you've spoken. oh, dear pickles, take me to her now; let me bring her back to little giles to-night!" once again that terribly mournful expression, so foreign to pickles's freckled face, flitted across it. "there!" he said, giving himself a thump. "w'en i could i wouldn't, and now w'en i would i can't. i don't know where she be. she's lost--same as you were lost--w'ile back. she's disappeared, and none of us know nothink about her." "oh! is she really lost? how terrible that is!" said connie. "yus, she's lost. p'r'aps there's one as could find her. connie, i 'ate beyond all things on 'arth to fright yer or say an unkind thing to yer; but to me, connie, you're a star that shines afar. yer'll fergive the imperence of my poetry, but it's drawn from me by your beauty." "don't talk nonsense now, pickles," said connie. "things are too serious. we must find sue--i must keep my promise." "can you bear a bit o' pine?" said pickles suddenly. "pain?" said connie. "i've had a good deal lately. yes, i think--i think i can bear it." "mind yer," said pickles, "it's this w'y. i know w'y sue left yer, and i know w'y she ain't come back. it's true she 'aven't give herself hup yet, although she guv me to understand as she were 'bout to go to prison." "to prison?" said connie, springing forward and putting her hand on pickles's shoulder. "sue--the most honest gel in all the world--go to prison?" "oh yes," said pickles, "yer might call her honest; but w'en she goes into a pawnshop an' comes hout agin wid a golden dimant locket a-hid in her pocket, there are people as won't agree wid yer, an' that's the solemn truth, connie." connie's face was very white. "i don't believe it," she said. "yer don't?" cried pickles. "but i were there at the time. but for me she would ha' been locked up long ago. but i tuk pity on her--'avin' my own suspicions. i hid her and disguised her. wot do yer think i come 'ere for so often but jest to comfort the poor thing an' bring her news o' giles? then all of a suddn't my suspicions seemed confirmed. i guessed wot i see is workin' in your mind--that some one else done it an' putt the blame on 'er. oh, i'm a born detective. i putt my wits in soak, an' soon i spotted the guilty party. bless yer, connie! ye're right--sue be honest--honest as the day--noble, too--more nobler nor most folk. pore sue! pore, plain cinderella! oh, my word! it's beauteous inside she be--an' you're beauteous outside. outside beauty is captiwatin', but the hinner wears best." "go on," said connie; "tell me wot else you 'ave in yer mind." "it's this: yer may own up to it, an' there's no use beatin' about the bush. the guilty party wot stole the locket an' transferred it by sleight-of-'and to poor sue is no less a person than yer own father, connie harris." connie fell back, deadly pale. "no--no!" she said. "no--no! i am sartin sure 'tain't that way." "yus, but it be that way--i tell yer it be. you ax 'im yerself; there's no time for muddlin' and a-hidin' o' the truth. you ax the man hisself." "father!" said connie. "father!" harris, wrangling with another workman, was now seen approaching. when he perceived his daughter and pickles, his first impulse was to dart away down a side-street; but pickles, that most astute young detective, was too sharp for him. "no," he said, rushing at the man and laying his hand on his shoulder. "giles is bad, an' we can't find sue no'ow, and yer must tell the truth." harris did not know why his heart thumped so heavily, and why a sort of wild terror came over him; but when connie also joined pickles, and raising her eyes to the rough man's face, said, "be it true or be it lies, you are my own father and i'll niver turn agin yer," her words had a most startling effect. harris trembled from head to foot. "s'y that agin, wench," he muttered. "you're mine--i'll not turn agin yer," said connie. "then why--wot 'ave i done to deserve a child like this? there, pickles! you know--and you ha' told connie--it's all the truth. there come a day w'en i wanted money, an' i were met by sore temptation. i tuk the dimant locket w'en the pawnbroker 'ad 'is back turned on me; but as i were leavin' the shop--sue bein' by my side--i suddenly saw him pokin' his finger into the place where it had been. i knew it were all up. i managed to slip the locket into sue's pocket, and made off. i ha' been near mad since--near mad since!" "small wonder!" said pickles. "an' do yer know that she 'ad made up her mind to go to prison 'stead o' you?" "you told me so," said harris--"at least you told me that she was goin' to prison instead o' the guilty party." "wull," said pickles, "yer own 'eart told yer 'oo was the guilty party." "that's true, youngster." "father," said connie, "we can't find sue anywhere, and giles is dying, and we must get her, and you must help." "help?" said harris. "yes, i'll help. i won't leave a stone unturned. she wanted to save me, knowing the truth. wull, i'll save and find her, knowin' the truth." "i will come with you," said connie. "i want to go wid yer; only wot am i to do with giles?" "don't worrit 'bout him," said pickles. "i'm 'ere to be o' sarvice to you, miss connie--and to you, sir, now as you 'ave come ter yer right mind." "then i will come with you, father," said connie. "we'll both go together and find sue." as pickles was entering the house he popped his head out again. "i forgot to mention," he said, "as hinquiries o' the most strict and dertective character 'ave been institooted by yer 'umble sarvant for poor cinderella--i mean sue. they've led to no results. there's nothing now but one o' the hospitals." it is very doubtful whether pickles believed himself the clue he had unexpectedly given to harris and connie, but certain it is that they immediately began their investigations in those quarters. from one hospital to another they went, until at last they found sue in bed in st. thomas's hospital--flushed, feverish, struggling still to hide her secret in order that when she was better she might save peter harris. the poor child was rather worse than usual that evening, and the surgeon who had set her leg was slightly anxious at her feverish symptoms. he said to the nurse who was taking charge of the little girl: "that child has a secret on her mind, and it is retarding her recovery. do you know anything about her?" "no, sir. it is very awkward," said the nurse, "but from the first she has refused to give her name, calling herself nothing but cinderella." "well," said the doctor, "but cinderella--she doesn't seem touched in the head?" "oh no," said the nurse; "it isn't that. she's the most sensible, patient child we have in the ward. but it's pitiful to see her when she thinks no one is listening. nothing comforts her but to hear big ben strike. she always cheers up at that, and murmurs something below her breath which no one can catch." "well, nurse," said the doctor, "the very best thing would be to relieve her mind--to get her to tell you who her people are, and to confide any secret which troubles her to you." "i will try," said the nurse. she went upstairs after her interview with the doctor, and bending over sue, took her hot hand and said gently: "i wish, little cinderella, you would tell me something about yourself." "there's naught to tell," said sue. "but--you'll forgive me--i am sure there is." "ef you was to ask me for ever, i wouldn't tell then," said sue. "ah! i guessed--there is something." "yes--some'ut--but i can't bear it--the woice in the air is so beautiful." "what voice?" asked the nurse, who feared that her little patient would suddenly become delirious. "it's big ben hisself is talkin' to me and to my darling, darling little brother." "oh! you have a little brother, cinderella?" "yus, a cripple. but don't ask me no more. the woice gives me strength, and i won't niver, niver tell." "what does big ben say? i don't understand." "no," said sue; "and p'r'aps ye're not wanted to understand. it's for me and for him, poor darling, that woice is a real comfort." the nurse left her little charge a few minutes afterwards. but before she went off duty she spoke to the night nurse, and confessed that she was anxious about the child, who ought to be recovering, and certainly would but for this great weight of trouble on her mind. all these things, which seemed in themselves unimportant, bore directly on immediate events; for when connie and harris arrived at st. thomas's hospital and made inquiries with regard to a little, freckled girl, with an honest face and sturdy figure, the hall porter went to communicate with one of the nurses, and the nurse he communicated with turned out to be the night nurse in the very ward where sue was lying--so suffering, so ill and sorely tried. now, the nurse, instead of sending word that this was not the hour for visiting patients, took the trouble to go downstairs herself and to interview connie and her father. connie gave a faithful description of sue, and then the nurse admitted that there was a little girl in the hospital who was now in the children's surgical ward. she had been brought in a day or two ago, having a broken leg, owing to a street accident. she was a very patient, good child, but there was something strange about her--nothing would induce her to tell her name. "then what do you call her?" asked harris. he was still full of inward tremors, for at that moment he was thinking that of all the sweet sights on earth, that sight would be little sue's plain face. "have yer no name for the pore child?" he repeated. "yes," said the nurse. "she calls herself cinderella." "it's sue! it's sue herself father! god has led us to her--and it's sue her very own self!" poor connie, who had borne up during so many adventures, who had faced the worst steadfastly and without fear, broke down utterly now. she flung herself into her father's arms and sobbed. "hush, wench hush!" said the rough man. "i am willin' to do hall that is necessary.--now then, nurse," he continued, "you see my gel--she's rather upset 'bout that pore cinderella upstairs. but 'ave yer nothing else to say 'bout her?" "she acts in a strange way," said the nurse. "the only thing that comforts her is the sound of big ben when he strikes the hour. and she did speak about a little cripple brother." "can us see her?" asked connie just then. "it is certainly against the rules, but--will you stay here for a few minutes and i'll speak to the ward superintendent?" the nurse went upstairs. she soon returned. "sister elizabeth has given you permission to come up and see the child for a few minutes. this, remember, is absolutely against the ordinary rules; but her case is exceptional, and if you can give her relief of mind, so much the better." then connie and her father followed the nurse up the wide, clean stairs, and down the wide, spotless-looking corridors, until they softly entered a room where many children were lying, some asleep, some tossing from side to side with pain. sue's little bed was the fifth from the door, and sue was lying on her back, listening intently, for big ben would soon proclaim the hour. she did not turn her head when the nurse and the two who were seeking her entered the ward; but by-and-by a voice, not big ben's, sounded on her ear, and connie flung herself by her side and covered her hand with kisses. "you don't think, sue, do yer," said connie, "that _us_ could stop seekin' yer until we found yer?" sue gave a startled cry. "connie--connie! oh connie! 'ow is giles?" "'e wants yer more than anything in all the world." "then he--he's--still alive?" "yus, he's still alive; but he wants yer. he thought you was in the country, gettin' pretty rooms for you and him. but oh, sue! he's goin' to a more beautiful country now." sue didn't cry. she was about to say something, when harris bent forward. "god in 'eaven bless yer!" he said in a husky voice. "god in 'eaven give back yer strength for that noble deed yer ha' done for me an' mine! but it's all at an end now, susan--all at an end--for i myself 'ave tuk the matter in 'and, an' hall you 'as to do is to get well as fast as ever yer can for the sake o' giles." "you mustn't excite her any more to-night," said the nurse then, coming forward; "seeing," she added, "that you have given the poor little thing relief. you can come again to-morrow; but now she must stay quiet." late as the hour was when harris and connie left st. thomas's hospital, harris turned to connie. "i've some'ut to do--and to-night. shall i take yer 'ome first, or wull yer come with me?" "oh, i will come with you, father," said connie. "wull then, come along." they walked far--almost as far as cheapside. connie could not imagine why her father was taking her into a certain dingy street, and why he suddenly stopped at a door which had not yet been shut for the night. "i thought as there were a chance of findin' him up," he said. "come right in, gel." connie entered, and the next minute harris was addressing the pawnbroker from whom he had stolen the locket. "i 'ave a word to say with you," he remarked; and then he related the circumstances of that day, several weeks ago now. "but we found it," said the pawnbroker, "in the pocket of the young gel." "it was i as put it there," said harris. "it was i--the meanest wretch on 'arth. but i've come to my senses at last. you can lock me up ef yer like. i'll stay 'ere; i won't even leave the shop ef yer want to deliver the real thief over to justice." the pawnbroker stared at the man; then he looked at connie. there is no saying what he might have done; but connie's face, with its pleading expression, was enough to disarm any one. "the fact is," he began "this sort o' thing ought to be punished, or however could poor folks live? but it's a queer thing. when the young gel vanished, as it seemed, into the depths of the 'arth, and i 'ad got my property back, i tuk no further trouble. in course, now that you 'ave delivered yerself up, it seems a'most fair that the law should take its course." "that's wot i think," said harris. "make a short job of it, man. call in a constable; 'e can take me to bow street to-night." "no 'urry, man," said the pawnbroker. "i want yer to tell me some'ut more. is that other little party alive or dead? it seems to me as though the 'arth must 'ave swallered her up." "i will tell you," said connie; and she did relate sue's story--as much as she knew of it--and with such pathos that even that pawnbroker, one of the hardest of men, felt a queer softness about his heart. "wull," he said--"wull, it's a queer world! to think o' that child plannin' things out like that! and ef she ad come to me, i might ha' believed her, too. wull now, she be a fine little crittur. an' s'pose"--he glanced at harris--"i don't prosecute you, there's no call, to my way o' thinkin'. and the fact is, i'm too busy to be long out of the shop. don't you steal no more, neighbor. you ha' got off dirt-cheap this time, but don't you steal no more." chapter xxxvii. the happy gathering. there came a day in the early spring of that year when a great many pleasant things happened to the people who have been mentioned in this story. connie's room was very bright with flowers--spring flowers--which had been sent to her all the way from eastborough by mrs. cricket. quantities of primroses were placed in a huge bowl, and the sun came feebly in at the window and seemed to kiss and bless the flowers. there were also some early buttercups and quantities of violets. giles was neither better nor worse, but perhaps on this day he was a little bit on the side of better. it was so beautiful to think that sue was coming back! oh, this was a wonderful day! sue was well again; connie was happy; harris was never tired of doing all he could both for connie and giles; and other people were happy too, for sue's return was to be marked by a sort of holiday--a sort of general feast. to this feast was invited--first, mrs. anderson; then ronald, who happened to be staying in london and was deeply excited at the thought of seeing connie once more; and also dear father john, who would not have missed such an occasion for the wide world. of course, pickles could not be left out of such a gathering; but he could scarcely be considered a guest, for did he not belong, so to speak, to the family, and was not dear sue, in particular, his special property? mrs. anderson supplied the good things for the feast. this she insisted upon. so connie spread quite a lordly board--cold meats not a few, some special delicacies for giles, and a splendid frosted cake with the word "cinderella" written in pink fairy writing across the top. this special cake had been made by mrs. price, and pickles had brought it and laid it with immense pride on a dish in the centre of the table. "yus," said connie, "it do look purty, don't it? wot with good things to eat, and wot with flowers, it's quite wonderful." when everything was arranged, connie went into a little room to put on once again her dark-blue dress, and to unplait her thick hair and allow it to fall over her shoulders. "it's for ronald," she said. "ronald wouldn't know me without my hair down." then, one by one, the visitors made their appearance--father john, who sat down by giles's side and held his hand, and by his mere presence gave the boy the greatest possible comfort; and pickles, whose face was shining with hard rubbing and soap and water, and whose red hair stuck upright all over his head. then mrs. anderson came in and sat down, and gave a gentle look first at giles and then at connie; and connie felt that she loved her better than ever, and giles wondered if he would meet many with faces like hers in heaven. in short, every one had arrived at last except the little heroine. but hark! there was a sound outside as though some vehicle had stopped at the door. giles's breath came fast. there were steps on the stairs, and two porters from the hospital carried sue in between them. "oh, i can really walk," she said. "and oh, giles--giles!--please put me down, porter; i really, really can walk." "jest as himpatient as ever, cinderella!" said pickles, who always tried, as was his custom, to be specially funny in pathetic times. sue glanced at him, but could not speak just then. there are moments in our lives when no words will come. she went up to giles and hid her face on his pillow. poor little sue had a bitterly hard fight with herself, for that face, which belonged not to earth, unnerved her, notwithstanding the rapture of seeing it once again. but giles himself was the first to recover composure. "we are 'avin' such a feast!" he said. "an' it's all _so_ beautiful! now then, sue i do 'ope as ye're 'ungry." after that ronald spoke and made the others laugh; and sue bustled about, just as though she were at home, and connie helped her; and very soon they all crowded round the table, except giles, who had his dainty morsels brought to him by sue's own hands. thus they ate and laughed and were merry, although perhaps the laughter was a little subdued and the merriment a trifle forced. it was when the feast was quite over that father john spoke a few words--just a very few--about the love and goodness of god, and how he had brought his wandering sheep home again to the fold, and how he had helped connie in dark times, and ronald in dark times, and sue in dark times. "and he is helping giles, and will be with him to the end," said the street preacher. "and now," he added, "i think giles is very tired and would like to be all alone with sue. suppose, neighbors, we go into the next room." the opening of the door of the next room was one of the surprises which had been planned by connie and her father. as he was now earning such really excellent wages, and as he had taken the pledge and meant to keep it, he felt he was entitled to another room. it was neatly furnished. there was a fire burning in the grate, and there were white muslin curtains to the windows. connie spoke of it with great pride as the "drawing-room," and pickles assured her that even to set foot in that room was enough to make connie a "lydy" on the spot. when they were alone sue and giles talked softly one to the other. "the blessed woice," said sue, "'ave been with me all the w'y." "and with me," said giles. "you won't go jest yet, giles," said sue. "wery soon--but not quite yet," he answered. sue smiled and kissed his hand, and they talked as those who have been long parted, and know they must be parted soon again, will talk, when heart meets heart. in the other room people were not more cheerful, but at least more glad. "there is nothing left to wish for," said pickles. "it's just the best thing in all the world for little giles to get quite well up in heaven. ain't it now?" he added, looking at father john. "yes," said father john very briefly. then he turned to connie. "you must never forget all that you have lived through, connie," he said. "you'll be a better and a braver girl just because of these dark days." "she's the best wench on 'arth," said harris. suddenly ronald sprang forward and spoke. "uncle stephen said i was to tell you he has bought the cottage in the country where mrs. cricket lives and he's adding to it and making it most beautiful, and dear mrs. cricket is to be housekeeper, and you're all to come down in the summer--all of you--even giles; and giles is to stay there as long as he lives. uncle stephen is a splendid man," continued ronald. "it was after him my darling v. c. father took when he became so great and brave and manly, and i love uncle stephen better than any one except father. father hasn't come home yet, and perhaps i won't see him until giles sees his father. but i'm a very, very happy boy, and it's all because of uncle stephen. now, the rest of you can be happy too in my cottage--uncle stephen says it _is_ my cottage--in the beautiful country." * * * * * these things came to pass, and even giles went for a short time to the beautiful country, where the flowers grew in such abundance, and where the birds sang all day long. "now you can guess," he said to sue after they had been there a fortnight or more, "some little bit about the joys of the land of pure delight." * * * * * transcriber's notes . this book makes extensive use of dialect. original spellings of words in dialect have been retained. . obvious typographical errors have been corrected. . table of contents added in this text was not present in original edition. . one word has been changed from the original to correctly identify the speaker, agnes, replying to connie's question: p. original: "wot sort?" asked connie. replacement: "wot sort?" asked agnes. guilt of the brass thieves _by_ mildred a. wirt _author of_ mildred a. wirt mystery stories trailer stories for girls _illustrated_ cupples and leon company _publishers_ new york _penny parker_ mystery stories _large mo. cloth illustrated_ tale of the witch doll the vanishing houseboat danger at the drawbridge behind the green door clue of the silken ladder the secret pact the clock strikes thirteen the wishing well saboteurs on the river ghost beyond the gate hoofbeats on the turnpike voice from the cave guilt of the brass thieves signal in the dark whispering walls swamp island the cry at midnight copyright, , by cupples and leon co. guilt of the brass thieves printed in u. s. a. dedicated to asa wirt contents chapter page adrift _ _ the brass lantern _ _ a "problem" boy _ _ through the window _ _ unwanted advice _ _ sweeper joe informs _ _ night shift worker _ _ overheard in the gatehouse _ _ sally's helper _ _ overturned _ _ a question of rules _ _ night prowler _ _ the stolen trophy _ _ trapped _ _ under the sail _ _ silk stockings _ _ basement loot _ _ over the balcony _ _ flight _ _ a desperate plight _ _ rescue _ _ captain barker's courage _ _ fire! _ _ dredging the river _ _ the race _ _ chapter _adrift_ "this is the limit! the very limit!" giving his leather suitcase an impatient kick, anthony parker began to pace up and down the creaking old dock. his daughter penny, who stood in the shadow of a shed out of the hot afternoon sun, grinned at him with good humor and understanding. "oh, take it easy, dad," she advised. "after all, this is a vacation and we have two weeks before us. isn't the river beautiful?" "what's beautiful about it?" her father growled. however, he turned to gaze at a zigzag group of sailboats tacking gracefully along the far rippled shore. not a quarter of a mile away, a ferryboat churned the blue water to whip cream foam as it steamed upstream. "are you certain this is the dock where we were to meet mr. gandiss?" penny asked after a moment. "it seems queer he would fail us, for it's nearly five o'clock now. we've waited almost an hour." ceasing the restless pacing, mr. parker, publisher of the _riverview star_, a daily newspaper, searched his pockets and found a crumpled letter. reviewing it at a glance, he said: "four o'clock was the hour mr. gandiss promised to meet us at dock fourteen." "this is number fourteen," penny confirmed, pointing to the numbers plainly visible on the shed. "obviously something happened to mr. gandiss. perhaps he forgot." "a nice thing!" muttered the publisher. "here he invites us to spend two weeks at his island home and then fails to meet us! does he expect us to swim to the island?" penny, a slim, blue-eyed girl with shoulder length bob which the wind tossed about at will, wandered to the edge of the dock. "that must be shadow island over there," she observed, indicating a dot of green land which arched from the water like the curving back of a turtle. "it must be nearly a mile away." "the question is, how much longer are we to wait?" mr. parker glanced again at his watch. "it's starting to cloud up, and may rain in another half hour. why not taxi into town? what's the name of this one-horse dump, anyhow?" "our tickets read 'tate's beach.'" "well, tate's beach must do without us this summer," mr. parker snapped, picking up his suitcase. "i've had my fill of this! we'll spend the night in a hotel, then start for riverview on the early morning train." "do you know mr. gandiss well?" penny inquired, stalling for time. "he advertises in the _star_, and we played golf together occasionally when he came to riverview. i must have been crazy to accept an invitation to come here!" "oh, we'll have a good time if only we can get to the island, dad." "i can't figure out exactly why gandiss invited us," mr. parker added thoughtfully. "he has something in mind besides entertainment, but what it is, i haven't been able to guess." "how about hiring a boat?" penny suggested. her father debated, then shook his head. "no, if gandiss doesn't think enough of his guests to meet them, then he can do without us. come on, we're leaving!" never noted for an even temper or patience, the publisher strode down the dock. "wait, dad!" penny called excitedly. "i think someone may be coming for us now!" a mahogany motorboat with glittering brasswork, approached at high speed from the direction of shadow island. as penny and her father hopefully watched, it swerved toward their dock, and the motor was throttled. "that's not mr. gandiss," the publisher said, observing a sandy-haired, freckled youth at the steering wheel. nevertheless, suitcase in hand, he waited for the boat. the craft came in smoothly, and the young man at the wheel leaped out and made fast to a dock post. "you're anthony parker!" he exclaimed, greeting penny's father, and bestowing an apologetic smile upon them both. "i'm jack--jack gandiss." "harvey gandiss' son?" mr. parker inquired, his annoyance melting. "a chip off the old block," the boy grinned. "hope i haven't kept you waiting long." "well, we had just about given up," mr. parker admitted truthfully. "i'm sure sorry, sir. i promised my father i would meet you sharp at four. fact is, i was out on the river with some friends, and didn't realize how late it was. we were practicing for the trophy sailboat race." penny's blue eyes sparkled with interest. an excellent swimmer, she too enjoyed sailing and all water sports. however, she had never competed in a race. "suppose we get along to the island," mr. parker interposed, glancing at the sky. "i don't like the look of those clouds." "oh, it won't rain for hours," jack said carelessly. "those clouds are moving slowly and we'll reach the island within ten minutes." helping penny and mr. parker into the motorboat, he stowed the luggage under the seat and then cast off. in a sweeping circle, the craft sped past a canbuoy which marked a shoal, and out into the swift current. penny held tightly to her straw hat to keep it from being blown downstream. a stiff breeze churned the waves which spanked hard against the bow of the boat. "my father was sorry he couldn't meet you himself!" jack hurled at them above the whistle of the wind. "he was held up at the airplane factory--labor trouble or something of the sort." mr. parker nodded, his good humor entirely restored. settling comfortably in the leather seat, he focused his gaze on distant shadow island. "good fishing around here?" he inquired. "the best ever. you'll like it, sir." jack was nearly seventeen, with light hair and steel blue eyes. his white trousers were none too well pressed and the sleeves of an old sweater bore smears of grease. steering the boat with finger-tip control, he deliberately cut through the highest of the waves, treating his passengers to a series of jolts. some distance away, a ferryboat, the _river queen_, glided smoothly along, its railings thronged with people. in the pilot house, a girl who might have been sixteen, stood at the wheel. "look, dad!" penny exclaimed. "a girl is handling that big boat!" "sally barker," jack informed disparagingly. "she's the daughter of captain barker who owns the _river queen_. a brat if ever there was one!" "she certainly has that ferryboat eating out of her hand," mr. parker commented admiringly. "oh, she handles a boat well enough. why shouldn't she? the captain started teaching her about the river when she was only three years old. he taught her all she knows about sailboat racing, too." jack's tone of voice left no doubt that he considered sally barker completely beneath his notice. as the two boats drew fairly close together, the girl in the pilot house waved, but he pretended not to see. "you said something about a sailboat race when we were at the dock," penny reminded him eagerly. "is it an annual affair?" jack nodded, swerving to avoid a floating log. "sally won the trophy last year. before that i held it. this year i am planning on winning it back." "oh, i see," penny commented dryly. "that's not why i dislike sally," jack said to correct any misapprehension she might have gained. "it's just--well, she's so sure of herself--so blamed stubborn. and it's an insult to tate's beach the way she flaunts the trophy aboard that cheap old ferryboat!" "how do you mean?" mr. parker inquired, his curiosity aroused. jack did not reply, for just then the engine coughed. the boat plowed on a few feet, and the motor cut off again. "now what?" jack exclaimed, alarmed. even as he spoke, the engine died completely. "sounds to me as if we're out of gas," observed mr. parker. "how is your supply?" a stricken look came upon jack's wind-tanned face. "i forgot to fill the tank before i left the island," he confessed ruefully. "my father told me to be sure to do it, but i started off in such a hurry." "haven't you an extra can of fuel aboard?" mr. parker asked, trying to hide his annoyance. jack shook his head, gazing gloomily toward the distant island. the current had caught the boat and was carrying it downstream, away from the gandiss estate. "nothing to do then, but get out the oars. and it will be a long, hard row." "oars?" jack echoed weakly. "we haven't any aboard and no anchor either." mr. parker was too disgusted to speak. a man who demanded efficiency and responsibility in his own newspaper plant, he had no patience with those negligent of their duties. because he and penny were to be guests of the gandiss family, he made an effort not to blame jack for the mishap. "i--i'm terribly sorry," the boy stammered. "but we shouldn't be stranded here long. we'll soon be picked up." hopefully, jack gazed toward the nearest shore. no small boats were visible. the ferry, plying her regular passenger route, now was far upstream. although the sun still shone brightly, clouds frequently blocked it from view. waves slapped higher against the drifting boat and the river took on a dark cast. neither penny nor her father spoke of the increasing certainty of rain. however, they watched the shifting clouds uneasily. soon there was no more sun, and the river waters became inky black. presently the wind died completely and a dead calm held the boat. but not for many minutes. soon a ripple of breeze ruffled the water, and far upstream a haze of rain blotted out the shoreline. "here it comes!" mr. parker said tersely, buttoning up his coat. the next instant, wind and rain struck the little boat in full force. penny's hat was swept from her head and went sailing gaily down river. waves which broke higher and higher, spanked the boat, threatening to overturn it when they struck broadside. "if we just had an anchor--" jack murmured but did not finish. above the fury of the storm could be heard the faint clatter of a motorboat engine. straining their eyes, they pierced the wall of rain to see a small speedboat fighting its way upstream. "a boat!" penny cried. "now we'll be picked up!" jack sprang to his feet, waving and shouting. closer and closer approached the boat, but there was no answering shout from those aboard. mr. parker, penny and jack yelled in unison. they thought for a moment that the occupants must have heard their cries and would come to the rescue. but the craft did not change course. keeping steadily on, it passed the drifting motorboat well to starboard, and disappeared into the curtain of rain. chapter _the brass lantern_ the rain dashed into penny's face and ran in rivulets down her neck. with a change in the wind direction, the air had become suddenly cold. shivering, she huddled close to her father for warmth. veiled by rain, the shore no longer was visible. far to the right, the chug of a laboring motorboat was heard for an instant, then died away. it was apparent to penny that they were drifting downstream quite rapidly. "listen!" she cried a moment later. from upriver had come three sharp blasts of a whistle. "that's the _river queen_," muttered jack, tossing a lock of wet hair out of his eyes. "we must be right in her path." "then maybe we'll be picked up!" penny exclaimed hopefully. jack gave a snort of disgust. "i'd rather drown than accept help from sally barker! wouldn't she gloat!" "young man," interposed mr. parker with emphasis, "this is no time for false pride. we're in a predicament and will welcome help from any source." "yes, sir, i guess you're right," murmured jack, completely squelched. "i sure am sorry about getting you into this mess." gazing through the curtain of driving rain, penny tried to glimpse the _river queen_. suddenly she distinguished its high decks and was dismayed to see that the ferry was bearing at full speed directly toward the drifting motorboat. jack leaped to his feet, frantically waving his arms. realizing the danger of being run down, mr. parker likewise sprang up, shouting. straight on came the _river queen_, her pilot seemingly unaware of the little boat low in the water and directly in the path. "they don't see us!" jack shouted hoarsely. "we'll be run down!" the ferryboat now was very close. its dark hull loomed up. expecting a splintering crash, penny struggled to her feet, preparing to jump overboard. but instead, she heard a series of sharp whistle toots, and the ferryboat swerved, missing them by a scant three yards. "wow! was that close!" jack muttered, collapsing weakly on the seat. then he straightened up again into alert attention, for the ferry had reduced speed. "maybe we're going to be picked up!" he exclaimed. the ferryboat indeed had maneuvered so that the current would swing the drifting craft directly toward it. five minutes later, wet and bedraggled, the three stranded sailors scrambled up a lowered ladder onto the _river queen's_ slippery deck. a few curious passengers who braved the rain, stared curiously at them as they sought shelter. "well, if it isn't jack gandiss, and in trouble again!" boomed captain barker, owner of the ferry. he was a short, stubby, red-faced man, with twinkling blue eyes. "what happened this time? engine conk out?" "we ran out of gas," the boy admitted briefly. "thanks for picking us up." "better thank sally here," replied the captain, giving orders for the motorboat to be taken in tow. "it was her sharp eyes that picked you up out o' the storm." penny turned to see a dark-haired girl of her own age standing in the doorway of the pilot house. in oilskin hat and coat, one easily might have mistaken her for a boy. impatiently she brushed aside a strand of wet hair which straggled from beneath the ugly headgear, and came out on the rain-swept deck. "well, well, if it isn't jack!" she chortled, enjoying the boy's discomfiture. "imagine an old tar like you running out of gas!" "never mind the cracks!" he retorted grimly. "just go back to your knitting!" turning her back upon jack, sally studied penny with curious interest. "do i know you?" she inquired. "my father and i are to be guests at the gandiss home," penny explained, volunteering their names. "we were on our way to shadow island when we ran out of gas." "let's not go into all the gory details here," jack broke in. "we're getting wet." "you mean you _are_ all wet," corrected sally, grinning. "sally, take our guests to the cabin," captain barker instructed with high good humor. "i'll handle the wheel. we're late on our run now." "how about dropping us off at the island?" jack inquired. "if we had some gasoline--" "we'll take care of you on the return trip," the captain promised. "no time now. we have a hundred passengers to unload at osage." penny followed sally along the wet deck to a companionway and down the stairs to the private quarters of the captain and his daughter. "osage is a town across the river," sally explained briefly. "pop and i make the run every hour. this is our last trip today, thank jupiter!" the cabin was warm and cozy, though cramped in space. sally gave mr. parker one of her father's warm sweaters to put on over his sodden garments, offered penny a complete change of outer clothing, and deliberately ignored jack's needs. "you may return the duds later," she said, leading penny to an adjoining cabin where she could change her clothes. "how long do you folks expect to stay at shadow island?" "two weeks probably." penny wriggled out of the limp dress. "then we'll have time to get better acquainted. you'll be here for the trophy race too!" sally's dark eyes danced and she added in a very loud voice: "you'll be around to see jack get licked!" "in a pig's eye!" called jack through the thin partition of the cabin. "why, that old sailboat of yours is just a mess of wormwood!" "it was fast enough to win the brass lantern trophy!" sally challenged, winking at penny. in a whisper she explained: "i always get a kick out of tormenting jack! he's so cocky and sure of himself! it does him good to be taken down a peg." "tell me about the race," urged penny. "it sounds interesting--especially your feud with jack." "later," promised sally carelessly. "right now i want to get you something warm to drink before we dock at osage. here, give me those wet clothes. i'll dry them for you, and send them to shadow island tomorrow." rejoining jack and mr. parker, the captain's daughter conducted the party to a food bar in the passenger lounge. "hot java," she instructed the counter man. "and what will you have to go with it? hamburgers or dogs? this is on the house." "make mine a dog with plenty of mustard," laughed penny, enjoying the girl's breezy slang. "nothing for me except coffee," said jack stiffly. "i'll pay for it too." mr. parker decided upon a hamburger. food, especially the steaming hot coffee, revived the drooping spirits of the trio. even jack thawed slightly in his attitude toward sally. sipping the brew from a thick china mug, penny's gaze roved curiously about the lounge. the room was poorly furnished, with an ancient red carpet and wicker chairs. passengers were absorbed with newspapers, their fretful children, or the _river queen's_ supply of ancient magazines. the lounge however, was scrupulously clean, and every fixture had been polished until it shone like gold. sam barker, whose father before him had sailed a river boat, was an able, efficient captain, one of the best and most respected on the waterfront. attached to an overhead beam near the food bar, swung an ancient brass lantern. the body was hexagonal in shape, its panes of glass protected by bars of metal. a two-part ornamental turret was covered with a hood from which was attached the suspending ring. "that lantern came from an old whaling boat nearly a century ago," sally explained. "for many years it was kept in the country club as a curio. then two seasons ago, it was offered as a trophy in the annual hat island sailboat race held here." "i won the lantern the first year," jack contributed. he pointed to his name and the date engraved on the trophy's base. "the second year, i upset the apple cart by winning," sally added with a grin. "the race next week will decide who keeps the lantern permanently." "providing it isn't stolen first!" jack cut in pointedly. "sally, why must you be so stubborn about hanging it here on the _river queen?_ every tom, dick, and harry rides this old tub." "don't call the _river queen_ a tub," drawled sally, her tone warning him he had gone far enough. "and as for our passengers--" "what i mean," jack corrected hastily, "is that you can't vouch for the honesty of every person who rides this ferry." "i'm not in the least worried about the lantern being stolen," sally retorted. "i won it fairly enough, didn't i?" "yes." "then it's mine to display as i choose. the racing committee agreed to that. the lantern is chained to a beam and is safe enough." "i hope so," jack said grimly. "i aim to win it back, and i don't want to see it do a disappearing act before the day of the race." "you won't," sally returned shortly. "i accept full responsibility, so let me do the worrying." a signal bell tapped several times, a warning to the passengers that the ferry was approaching shore. as those aboard began to gather up their belongings, sally buttoned her oilskin coat tightly about her. "excuse me for a minute," she said to penny and mr. parker. "i've got to help pop. see you later." chapter _a "problem" boy_ penny, jack and mr. parker reached the deck of the _river queen_ in time to see sally leap nimbly across a wide space to the dock. there she looped a great coil of rope expertly over the post and helped get the gangplank down. "step lively!" she urged the passengers pleasantly, but in a voice crisp with authority. in a space of five minutes, she had helped an old man on crutches, found a child who had become separated from his mother, and refused passage to three young men who sought to make a return trip on the ferry. "sorry, this is the end of the line," she told them firmly. "our last trip today." "then how about a date?" one of the men teased. sally paid not the slightest heed. raising the gangplank, she signalled for the ferry to pull away. "sally always likes to put on a show!" jack muttered disapprovingly. "to watch her perform, one would think she were the captain!" "well, she impresses me as a most capable young lady," commented mr. parker. "after all, we owe our rescue to her and captain barker." taking the hint, jack offered no further disparaging remarks. rain had ceased to fall, but deep shadows blotted out the river shores. watching from the railing, penny saw the island loom up, a dark, compact mass of black. "the ferry can't land there?" she inquired in surprise. jack shook his head. "shoals," he explained briefly. "in the spring during the flood season, the channel is fairly safe. now--" he broke off, and turned to stare toward the pilot house. the engines had been stilled and the ferry was drifting in toward the island. captain barker stood by his wheel, silent, watchful as a cat. "by george!" jack exclaimed admiringly. "the old boy intends to take her in through the shoals. but it's a risky thing to do." "it is necessary?" asked mr. parker, deeply concerned. "after all, we've already caused the barkers great inconvenience. surely there is no need for them to risk going aground just to put us off at the island." "captain barker could give us a little gasoline, but he gets a big kick out of doing it this way," jack muttered. "he and sally both like to show off. it wouldn't surprise me if the old boy oversteps himself this time. we're running into shoal water." sally, evidently worried, stationed herself at the bow of the _river queen_, dropping a leadline over the side. "eight and a half feet!" she called. "seven and three-quarters--" "we'll never make it," jack murmured. "we're going aground now!" even as he spoke, the ferryboat grated on the sandy river bottom. captain barker seemed not in the least disturbed. "let 'er have it!" he shouted through the speaking tube. "every ounce we've got!" rasping and groaning in its timbers, the stout little ferryboat ground her way through the sand. for one terrifying moment it seemed that she had wedged herself fast. but she shuddered and went over the bar into deeper water. sally drew a long sigh of relief, and grinned at jack. "i knew pop could make it," she chuckled, "but he sure had me scared for a minute." "that was a remarkable demonstration of piloting," mr. parker declared. "are we in safe waters now?" "yes, the channel is deep all the way to our dock," jack replied. "i guess captain barker aims to dump us off at our front door." bells jingled again, the engines were cut, and the ferry drifted up to shadow island wharf. while mr. parker and penny were thanking captain barker, sally helped jack and one of the sailors set loose the towed motorboat. their loud, argumentative voices could be heard from the stern. "those kids scrap like a dog and a cat when they're together," chuckled captain barker. "but i calculate they'll outgrow it when they're a little older. at least, i hope so." saying a reluctant goodbye, mr. parker and penny tramped ashore, and with jack, watched until the _river queen_ had safely passed the shoal and was well out in the main channel again. before they could pick up the luggage, an elderly, gray-haired man came hurriedly down a flagstone walk from the brightly lighted house on the knoll. "mr. gandiss!" exclaimed anthony parker, grasping his outstretched hand. "this is my daughter, penelope. or penny, everyone calls her." the owner of shadow island greeted the girl with more than casual interest. but as he spoke, his puzzled gaze followed the _river queen_ whose lights now could be seen far upstream. "i may as well make a clean breast of it, dad," jack said before his father could request an explanation. "we ran out of gas, and the _queen_ picked us up." "you ran out of gas? i distinctly recall warning you this afternoon that the tank would need to be refilled." "i forgot," jack said, edging away. before his father could reprimand him further, he disappeared in the direction of the boathouse. mr. gandiss, a stout, pleasant man, was distressed by his son's behavior. as he led the way to the house, he apologized so profusely that penny and her father began to feel uncomfortable. "oh, boys will be boys," mr. parker declared, trying to put an end to the discussion. "no harm was done." "we enjoyed the adventure," added penny sincerely. "it was a pleasure to meet captain barker and his daughter." mr. gandiss refused to abandon the subject. "jack worries me," he confessed ruefully. "he's sixteen now--almost seventeen, but in some respects he has no responsibility. he's an only child, and i am afraid my wife and i have spoiled him." "jack doesn't seem to get along with sally barker very well," penny remarked, smiling at the recollection. "that's another thing," nodded the island owner. "sally is a fine girl and smart as a whip. jack has the idea that because she isn't the product of a finishing school, she is beneath notice. sally likes to prick holes in jack's inflated ego, and then the war is on!" "you have a fine son," mr. parker said warmly. "he'll outgrow all these ideas." "i hope so," sighed mr. gandiss. "i certainly do." his expression conveyed the impression that he was not too confident. the gandiss home, surrounded by shrubs, was large and pretentious. at the front there was a long, narrow terrace which caught the breeze and commanded a view of the river for half a mile in either direction. there were tennis courts at the rear, and a garden. "i'm glad you folks will be here for the annual sailboat race," mr. gandiss remarked, pausing to indicate the twinkling shore lights across the water. "if it were daytime, you could see the entire course from here. jack is to race a new boat built especially for him." "sally barker is his chief competitor?" inquired penny. "yes, in skill they are about equally matched, i should say. they take their feud very seriously." in the open doorway stood mrs. gandiss, a silver-haired woman not yet in her fifties. cordially, she bade the newcomers welcome. "what a dreadful time you must have had out on the river!" she said sympathetically. "the storm came up so quickly. my husband would have met you himself, but he was delayed at the factory." a servant was sent for the luggage, and effie, a maid, conducted penny to her room. the chamber was luxuriously furnished with a green tiled bath adjoining. pulling a silken cord to open the venetian blinds, penny saw that the window overlooked the river. she breathed deeply of the damp, rain-freshened air. "where do the barkers live?" she asked effie who was laying out embroidered towels. "wherever it suits their fancy to drop anchor, miss. since i came here to work, the only home they ever have had was aboard their ferryboat." the luggage soon was brought up, and effie unpacked, carefully hanging up each garment. penny inquired if she would have time for a hot bath. "oh, yes, miss. the gandiss' never dine until eight. i will draw your tub. pine scent or violet?" penny swallowed hard and nearly lost her composure. "make it pine," she managed, "and omit the needles!" exposure to rain and cold had stiffened her muscles and made her feel thoroughly miserable. however, after fifteen minutes in a steaming bath, she felt as fresh as ever. her golden hair curled in ringlets tight to her head, and when she came from the bathroom, she found a blue dinner dress neatly pressed and laid on the bed. "two weeks of this life and i won't even be able to brush my own teeth," she thought. "no wonder jack is such a spoiled darling." penny wondered what mrs. maud weems would say if she were there. the parkers lived nearly a hundred miles away in a city called riverview, and mrs. weems, the housekeeper, had looked after penny since the death of her mother many years before. mr. parker, known throughout the state, published a daily newspaper, the _star_, and his daughter frequently helped him by writing news or offering unrequested advice. in truth, neither she nor her father had been eager to spend a vacation with members of the gandiss family, feeling that they were practically strangers. jack, penny feared, might prove a particular trial. in the living room, a cheerful fire had been started in the grate. mr. and mrs. gandiss were chatting with mr. parker, trying their best to make him feel at home. an awkward break in the conversation was covered by announcement that dinner was served. jack's chair at the end of the table remained conspicuously empty. "where is the boy?" mr. gandiss asked his wife in a disapproving tone. "i'm sure i don't know," she sighed. "the last i saw him, he was down at the dock." a servant was sent to find jack. after a long absence, he returned to say that the boy was nowhere on the island, and that the motorboat was missing. "he's off somewhere again, and without permission," mr. gandiss said irritably. "probably to the harpers'. you see what i mean, mr. parker? a growing boy is a fearful problem." penny and her father avoided a discussion of such a personal subject. an excellent dinner of six courses was served in perfect style, but while the food was well cooked, no one really enjoyed the meal. coffee in tiny china cups was offered in mr. gandiss' study. his wife excused herself to go to the kitchen for a moment and the two men were left alone with penny. unexpectedly, mr. gandiss said: "anthony, i suppose you wonder why i really invited you here." "i am curious," mr. parker admitted, lighting a cigar. "does your son jack have anything to do with it?" "i need advice in dealing with the boy," mr. gandiss acknowledged. "it occurred to me that association with a sensible girl like your daughter might help to straighten him out." "i wouldn't count on that," penny interposed hastily. "as dad can tell you, i have a lot of most unsensible ideas of my own." "jack is a problem," mr. gandiss resumed, "but i have even more serious ones. how are you two at solving a mystery?" mr. parker winked at his daughter and paid her tribute. "penny has built up quite a reputation for herself as an amateur sherlock holmes. running down gangsters is her specialty." "dad, you egg!" penny said indignantly. both men laughed. but mr. gandiss immediately became serious again. "my problem is difficult," he declared, "and i believe you may be able to help me, because i've heard a great deal about the manner in which you have solved other mysteries." "only in the interests of gaining good stories for our newspaper, _the star_," mr. parker supplied. "this probably would not net a story for your paper," the island owner said. "in fact, we are particularly anxious to keep the facts from getting into print. the truth is, strange things have occurred at my airplane factory in osage--" mr. gandiss did not finish, for at that moment someone rapped loudly on an outside screen door. chapter through the window "now who can that be?" mr. gandiss remarked, startled by the knock on the door. "i heard no motorboat approach the island." he waited, and a moment later a servant entered to say that two detectives, jason fellows and stanley williams, had arrived from the factory and wished to report to him. penny and her father politely arose to withdraw, but mr. gandiss waved them back into chairs. "no, don't go," he said. "i want you to meet these men." the two detectives, who had reached the island in a rented motorboat, appeared in the doorway. mr. gandiss introduced them to penny and her father, and then inquired what had brought them to the house at so late an hour. "it's the same old story only more of it," detective williams said tersely. "another large supply of brass disappeared from the factory yesterday." "any clues?" "not a one. obviously the brass is being stolen by employes, but so far the guilty persons have eluded all our traps." "have you calculated how much i am losing a year?" mr. gandiss asked bitterly. "at the present resale value of brass and copper, not less than $ , a year," mr. fellows reported. "however, the thieves are becoming bolder day by day, so your loss may run much higher." "see here," mr. gandiss said, showing irritation. "i'm paying you fellows a salary to catch those thieves, and i expect action! you say you have no clues?" "several employes are under suspicion," mr. williams disclosed. "but we haven't enough evidence to make any accusations or arrests." "then get some evidence!" mr. gandiss snapped. "this ring of petty thieves must be broken up! if you can't produce results, i'll turn the case over to another agency." after the two detectives had gone, the island owner began to pace the floor nervously. "now you know why i wanted you to come here, mr. parker," he said, slumping down into a chair again. "my plant, which is making war materials, is being systematically looted of valuable copper and brass. the pieces smuggled out are small in size, but they count up to a staggering total." "sabotage?" mr. parker inquired. "i doubt it," the island owner replied, frowning. "while the thefts slow up our war work, the delay is not serious. materials disappear from the stock rooms and from the floors where the girls work. i hold a theory that the metal is being taken by employes who resell it for personal gain." "it looks like a simple case of theft," mr. parker declared. "i should think your detectives would have no trouble running down the guilty persons." "that's what i thought at first," mr. gandiss answered grimly. "it appeared as easy as a b c. but all ordinary methods of catching the thieves have failed. obviously, the thefts are well organized by someone thoroughly familiar with the plant. it's getting on my nerves." "have you called in the police?" "no, and i don't intend to. the matter must be handled quietly. that's why i need your advice." "but i'm no detective," mr. parker protested. "why call on me?" "because you and your daughter have solved some pretty tangled cases." "only for the newspaper," mr. parker replied. "how many employes do you have at the plant?" "about . and not a scrap of real evidence against any individual. there seems to be a perfect system in accounting for all the stock, yet somehow it gets away from the factory." "have you had employes searched as they leave the building?" "no, we haven't dared resort to that," mr. gandiss answered. "you can't search such a large number of workers. if we tried it, half the force would quit." "i'd be glad to help you, if i could," mr. parker offered. "unfortunately, i don't see how i can if professional detectives have failed." "let me be the judge of that," said the island owner quickly. "will you and your daughter visit the factory with me in the morning?" "we'd welcome the opportunity." "then we'll go into the records and all the details tomorrow," mr. gandiss declared, well satisfied. "i know you'll be able to help me." penny and her father were tired, and shortly after ten o'clock went to their rooms. mr. gandiss' problem interested them, though they felt that he had greatly overrated their ability in believing they could contribute to a solution of the mystery. "i'm not certain i care to become involved," mr. parker confessed to penny, who in robe and slippers had tiptoed into his room to say goodnight. "but dad, we can't decently refuse," penny returned eagerly. "i think it would be fun to try to catch those thieves!" "well, we'll see," yawned mr. parker. "skip back to bed now." penny read a magazine for an hour, and then switched off the light on the night table. snuggling down under the silk coverlet, she slept soundly. sometime later, she found herself suddenly awake, though what had aroused her she could not guess. the room remained dark, but the first glimmer of dawn slanted through the venetian blinds. penny rolled over and settled down for another snooze. then she heard a disturbing sound. the wooden blinds were rattling ever so slightly, yet there was no breeze. next her startled gaze focused upon a hand which had been thrust through the window to stealthily push the blinds aside. a leg appeared over the sill, and a dark figure stepped boldly into the bedroom. terrified, penny sat up so quickly that the bed springs creaked a loud protest. instantly the intruder turned his face toward her. "keep quiet!" he hissed. with mingled relief and indignation, penny recognized jack. he tiptoed to the bed. "now don't let out a yip," he cautioned. "i don't want mom or my father to hear." "well, of all the nerve!" penny exclaimed indignantly. "is this my room or is it your private runway?" "don't go off the deep end. all the doors are locked and the servants have orders not to let me in if i am late." "it's nearly morning," said penny, hiding a yawn. "where in the world did you go?" "town," jack answered briefly. penny began to understand the cause of mr. gandiss' worry about his son. "now don't give me that 'holier than thou' line," jack said, anticipating a lecture. "i'm not going to the dogs nearly as fast as the old man believes. he's an old fossil." "you shouldn't speak of your father that way," penny replied. "after all, hasn't he given you everything?" "he tries to keep me tied to his apron strings." jack sat down on the bed, stretching luxuriously. "mom isn't quite so unreasonable." "both of your parents seem like wonderful people to me." "maybe i know 'em better than you do," jack grinned. "oh, they're okay, in their way. don't get me wrong. but my father always is trying to shove me around. if it hadn't been for your open window, i'd have had to sleep out in the cold." "and it would have served you right too! you went off without saying a word to your parents, and worried them half to death. now kindly remove your carcass from this bed!" "oh, cut the lecture," jack pleaded, getting up and yawning again. "gosh, i'm hungry. let's find something to eat in the kitchen." "let's not," retorted penny, giving him a shove. "clear out of here, or i'll heave the lamp at you!" "oh, all right, kitten," he said soothingly. "i'm going. remember your promise not to go wagging your tongue about what time i got in." "i didn't promise a thing!" "but you will," chuckled jack confidently. "see you in the morning." he tiptoed from the room, and penny heard him stirring about in the kitchen. the refrigerator door opened and closed several times. then at last all became quiet again. "the conceited egg!" she thought irritably. "now i'm so thoroughly awakened, i can't possibly go back to sleep." tossing about for a few minutes, she finally arose and dressed. deciding to take an early morning walk about the island, she moved noiselessly through the house to the kitchen. there she paused to note the wreckage jack had left in his wake. the refrigerator door was wide open. as she closed it, she saw dishes of salad, chicken, pickles and tomatoes in a depleted state. jack had topped off his feast with a quart of milk, and the bottle, together with, a pile of chicken bones, cluttered the sink. a step was heard in the dining room. startled, penny turned quickly around, but it was too late to retreat. the gandiss' cook stood in the kitchen doorway, eyeing her with obvious disapproval. chapter unwanted advice "just having an early morning snack?" mrs. bevens, the cook, inquired. "why, no," stammered penny. "that is--." confronted with the empty milk bottle, a chicken skeleton, and two empty food dishes, it seemed futile to deny such incriminating evidence. though tempted to speak of jack, she decided it would not be sporting of her. "young people have such healthy appetites," the cook sighed. "i had counted on that chicken for luncheon. but never mind. i can send to the mainland for something else." feeling like a criminal, penny fled to her room. "i could tar and feather jack!" she thought furiously. "if he ever gets up, i'll make him explain to the cook." the breakfast bell rang at eight o'clock. when penny joined the group downstairs, she was surprised to see jack in a fresh suit, looking little the worse for having been out all night. "what time did you get in, jack?" his father inquired pointedly. "well, now i just don't remember," the boy answered, winking at penny. "_how_ did you get in, might be a better question. if i recollect correctly, all of the doors were locked last night at midnight." penny, decidedly uncomfortable, would have confessed her part, had not jack sent her a warning glance. as everyone went in to breakfast, the matter was allowed to rest. ravenously hungry, penny ate two waffles and several pieces of bacon. observing the butler's amazed gaze upon her, she guessed that the cook had told him of the chicken episode. breakfast over, she managed to get jack into a corner. "listen," she said indignantly, "why don't you tell your parents exactly what happened. mrs. bevens thinks i ate up all the chicken." "does she?" jack chuckled. "that's rich! don't you dare give me away!" "you give me a pain!" penny retorted, losing all patience. "if i weren't a guest in your house, i think i might slug you!" "go ahead," jack invited, unruffled. "you're a little spitfire just like sally! oh, by the way, how about a trial run in the _spindrift_?" "not the new sailboat?" jack nodded, his face animated. "she was delivered yesterday and is smooth as silk. the mast may need to be stepped back a notch or so, but otherwise she's perfect for the race. want to sail with me?" "i'd love to," penny said, forgetting her resentment. hand in hand they ran down the path to the docks. _the spindrift_, built to mr. gandiss' specifications, at a cost of nearly two thousand dollars, was a magnificent boat. sixteen feet from bow to stern, its new coat of white was satin smooth, and its metalwork gleamed in the morning sun. "she's fast," jack declared proudly. "sally barker hasn't a chance to win that race!" "will she have a new boat?" "no, the captain can't afford it. she'll have to sail _cat's paw_ again." in all honesty, jack added: "it's a good boat though. captain barker built it himself." together they put up the snowy white mainsail, and jack shoved off from the dock. heading upstream, the boy demonstrated how close to the wind the _spindrift_ would sail. "she's good in a light breeze too," he declared. "no matter what sort of weather we get for the race, i figure i'll win." "there's an old saying that pride goeth before a fall," penny reminded him. "also one about not counting your chickens." "poultry never interested me," jack grinned, his eyes on the peak of the mainsail. "i'll win that brass lantern trophy from sally if it's the last act of my life." penny, who had sailed a boat for several seasons in riverview, hoped that jack would offer her the tiller. oblivious to her hints, he kept the _spindrift_ heeling along so fast that water fairly boiled behind the rudder. jack was a good sailor and knew it. observing the _river queen_ plying her usual course, the boy deliberately steered to cross her path. as penny well knew, by rules of navigation the ferryboat was compelled to watch out for the smaller boat. with apparent unconcern, jack forced the _queen_ to change courses. as the boats passed fairly close to each other, sally appeared at the railing. a bandana handkerchief covered her hair and she wore slacks and a white sweater. watching the _spindrift_ with concentration, she cupped her hands and shouted: "if you sail near hat island, better be careful, jack! the river level is dropping fast this morning. there's a shoal--" "when i need advice from you, i'll ask for it!" jack replied furiously, turning his back to the ferry. sally waved derisively and disappeared into the pilot house. "why aren't you two nicer to each other?" penny demanded suddenly. "it seems to me you deliberately try to wave a red flag at her. for instance, sailing across the _river queen's_ bow--" "oh, i just intend to show sally she can't push me around! let's go home." suddenly tiring of the sport, jack let out the mainsail, and the boat glided swiftly before the wind. approaching a small island tangled with bushes and vines, penny noted that the water was growing shallow. she called jack's attention to the muddy bottom beneath them. "oh, it's deep enough through here," the boy responded carelessly. "i make the passage every day." "what island are we passing?" "hat. the water always is shoal here. just sit tight and quit scowling at me." "i didn't know i was," penny said, sinking back into the cushions. the _spindrift_ gently grazed bottom. dismayed, penny straightened up, peering over the side. the boat was running hard into a mud bank. "about! bring her about, jack!" she cried before she considered how he might take the uninvited advice. "the water is deep enough here," jack answered stubbornly. "it's only a tiny shoal. we'll sail through it easily." penny said nothing more, though her lips drew into a tight line. jack held to his course. for a moment it appeared that the boat would glide over the shoal into deeper water. then the next instant they were hard aground. the sail began to flap. "we're stuck like a turtle in a puddle," commented penny, not without satisfaction. "we'll get off!" jack cried, seizing a paddle from the bottom of the boat. he tried to shove away from the shoal, but the wind against the big sail resisted his strength. "you'll never get off that way," penny said calmly. "why not take down the sail? we're hard aground now." jack glared, and looked as if he would like to heave the paddle at her. "okay," he growled. winds which came from the head of hat island were tricky. before jack could lower the sail, the breeze, shifting slightly, struck the expanse of canvas from directly aft. "look out, jack!" penny screamed a warning. "we're going to jibe!" jack ducked but not quickly enough. with great violence, the wind swung the sail over to the opposite side of the boat, the boom striking him a stunning blow on the back of the head. moaning with pain, he slumped into the bottom of the _spindrift_. chapter sweeper joe informs alarmed for jack, penny scrambled over a seat to his side. he had been struck a hard blow by the swinging boom and there was a tiny jagged cut just behind his ear. a glance satisfied the girl that he was not seriously injured and that she could do nothing for him at the moment. turning her attention to the sail which was showing an inclination to slam over again, she quickly pulled it in and lowered it to the deck. by then jack had opened his eyes. his bewildered gaze rested upon her, and he rubbed his head. "you--" he mumbled, raising on an elbow. penny firmly pushed him back. "lie still!" she commanded. seizing the paddle, she tried to shove the boat backwards off the mud bank. her best efforts would not move it an inch. slowly jack raised himself to a sitting position. he rubbed his head. bewilderment changed to a look of comprehension. "i'm okay now," he said huskily. "we're hard aground, aren't we?" "solid as a rock," agreed penny, wiping perspiration from her forehead. "any ideas?" "i'll get out and push." "you're not strong enough. you took a nasty blow on the head." had not jack looked so thoroughly miserable, penny might have been tempted to adopt an "i told you so" attitude. there had been no excuse for running aground. sally barker had warned them about the shoal, and jack deliberately had disregarded her advice. "i guess it was my fault," jack mumbled, the words coming with difficulty. "the water was deep enough here yesterday. i was so sure--" his eyes, like those of an abused puppy, appealed to her for sympathy. suddenly, penny's resentment vanished and she felt sorry for jack. "never mind," she said kindly. "we'll get off somehow. if necessary, i can swim to shadow island for help." "it won't be necessary." jack pulled off shoes and socks, and rolled up his slacks above his knees. "i got us into this, and i'll get us out. just sit tight." despite penny's protests, he swung over the side, into the shallow water. applying his shoulder to the _spindrift's_ bow, he pushed with all his strength. penny dug into the mud with the paddle. the boat groaned and clung fast to the shoal. then inch by inch it began to move backwards. "we're off!" penny cried jubilantly. jack pushed until the _spindrift_ was safely away from the shoal. wet and plastered with mud, he scrambled aboard. "no use putting up the sail," he said gloomily. "the centerboard is damaged. when we went aground i should have pulled it up, but things happened so fast i didn't think of it." "can't it be repaired?" "oh, sure, but it means hauling the boat out of water for several days. and the race will be held in a week. i'll have no chance to practice." "it's a bad break," penny said sympathetically. "perhaps the centerboard isn't much damaged." they paddled to the shadow island dock. there with the help of the gandiss chauffeur, jack tied ropes under the bottom of the _spindrift_ and by means of a hoist and crane, lifted the boat a few feet out of water. a piece had been broken from the centerboard and the bottom was so badly scratched that it would have to be repainted before the race. "i call this wretched luck!" jack fumed. "it will take days to repair and repaint the _spindrift_." the accident had a subduing effect upon the boy, and the remainder of the day he tried to make amends to penny. they swam together and played three sets of tennis. in each contest penny won with ease. "you're about the first girl who ever beat me at anything," jack said ruefully. "guess that rap on the head did me no good." "how about the sailboat race?" penny tripped him. "didn't sally win the lantern trophy?" grudgingly, jack admitted that she had. "but the race was a fluke," he added. "the wind was tricky and favored sally's old tub. it won't happen twice." annoyed by the youth's alibis, penny turned and walked away. at dinner that night, mr. gandiss suggested that mr. parker and his daughter might like to visit his steel plant and airplane factory on the mainland. despite vigorous protests, jack was taken along. the buildings owned by mr. gandiss were situated across the river in the town of osage. occupying many city blocks, the property included an airplane testing ground, and was protected by a high guard fence electrically charged. "every employee must pass inspection at the gate," mr. gandiss explained as the taxi cab approached the entrance to the main factory. "we operate on a twenty-four hour basis now, and even so can't keep abreast of orders." lights blazed in the low rows of windows, and from the chimneys of the steel plant, fire leaped high into the dark sky. "will we be able to see steel poured from the furnaces?" penny asked eagerly. "i've always wanted to watch it done." "you may tour every building if your feet hold out," mr. gandiss chuckled. a squat, red-faced man with pouchy eyes, halted the taxi cab at the gate. "no visitors allowed here at night," he began in a surly voice, and then recognized the plant owner. his manner changed instantly. "oh, it's you, mr. gandiss! how are you this evening?" "very well, thank you, clayton. i have some friends with me who wish to see the plant." "drive right in," the gateman invited, swinging open the barrier. the taxi rolled through the gate, and drew up in front of one of the buildings. inside, fluorescent lights gave the effect of daylight. overhead carriers were lifting newly blanked and formed airplane parts from power presses, carrying them to sub-assembly lines. "raw materials, brought up-river by boats, enter one end of the building," mr. gandiss explained proudly. "miraculously they come out the other end as finished airplanes ready for testing." the plant had four main assembly lines along which the wings, fuselages, engines, tail surfaces, pilot and bombardier floors were assembled, he explained. in one room the party paused to watch row upon row of fuselages being put together ready for transfer to the main assembly line. "you have a wonderful factory here, mr. gandiss," penny's father praised, much impressed. "it must be a job to keep tab on the personnel." "oh, everything has been reduced to a system. one department meshes into another. but if production falls down in any one department, results could be serious." mr. gandiss frowned and added: "now take those petty brass thefts. in a way it is a trivial matter, but the practice is spreading." "the disappearance of parts hasn't curtailed production to any extent?" "not as yet, but it has caused our stockrooms serious annoyance. then the loss on a yearly basis will become considerable. the guilty persons must be caught, and the organizers broken up before it gets more serious." mr. gandiss escorted the visitors into another large room where hundreds of girls in slacks, their hair bound by nets, worked over machines with concentrated attention. "our beginners start here," he explained. "strangely, we lose more brass and copper from this shift than anywhere else in the plant." "how do you explain it?" penny asked. "the girls are new and we are convinced they are being misled by someone. the entire situation has us baffled." few of the workers paid the visitors heed as they wandered along the rows of machines. however, a slovenly, sharp-eyed man with a push broom, watched them with deep interest. known as joe the sweeper, though his real name was joseph jakaboloski, he once had been a skilled mechanic. two of his fingers were missing, and he no longer did any useful work. "see that man?" mr. gandiss said in an undertone. "shortly after he started working for us, two years ago, he had an accident that was entirely his own fault. we immediately put him in an easy job and still pay him his former salary. but he doesn't even sweep a room properly." "why not let him go?" mr. parker questioned. mr. gandiss smiled and shook his head. "he was injured while working for us, so we are responsible for looking after him. we would like to pension him off. you see, he constantly stirs up trouble among the new employes." joe the sweeper had been watching mr. gandiss with concentrated attention, though too far away to hear what was said. with amusing haste, he swept his way closer to the group. finally he smirked and sidled up to the factory owner. "can i see you alone fer a minute, mr. gandiss?" he asked, his voice a whine. "i am very busy," the factory owner discouraged him. "what is it you want?" joe edged even closer, dropping his voice so that it was barely audible above the clatter of the machinery. "you been losin' copper and brass from your factory, ain't you?" the direct approach startled mr. gandiss. he gazed at joe keenly, then nodded. "well, maybe i kin help you. what's it worth?" mr. gandiss was careful not to show his dislike for the man. "if you are able to provide information which will lead to the apprehension of the thieves, i'll see that you get a substantial salary increase." joe blinked and grinned. "last night i seen a girl in this room stick a piece of brass into her shirt front. she carried it off with her." "who was the girl?" "dunno her name. a blond piece in blue slacks." "i'm afraid your information is of no value," mr. gandiss said impatiently. "unless you know who she is--" "she's a new gal that's only been workin' here a few nights," joe supplied hastily. "you'll give me that salary raise if i turn her in?" "if your information proves correct." joe's eyes brightened with a crafty light and he jerked his head toward the left. "you can't see her from here," he muttered, "but you can get her name easy enough. she's the gal that operates machine no. ." chapter _night shift worker_ "i detest a stool pigeon," said mr. gandiss after joe the sweeper had slouched away. "however, his information may be valuable. i can't afford not to investigate it." not wishing to attract comment from the other employes, the factory owner made no attempt to see the girl under suspicion. instead, he escorted the party to his private office. ringing a buzzer, he asked one of the foremen to bring the operator of machine to him. presently she came in, a thin, wiry girl in ill-fitting blue slacks and sweater. her hair was bound beneath a dark net and she wore goggles. as she faced mr. gandiss, she removed the latter. everyone stared. for the girl was sally barker. "you sent for me, mr. gandiss?" subdued and embarrassed, her eyes roved from one person to another. "why, sally," said the factory owner in astonishment. "i had no idea you were working here on the night shift. when were you employed?" "a week ago." perplexed, mr. gandiss stared at the girl's factory badge. there could be no mistake. plainly it bore the number . "you like the work?" he asked after an awkward silence. "not very well," she confessed truthfully. "however, i can use the pay i receive." "during the daytime i believe you help your father aboard the _river queen_," mr. gandiss resumed, trying to be friendly. "rather a strenuous program. when do you sleep?" "oh, i get enough rest." sally spoke indifferently, though her eyes were red and she looked tired. "pop didn't want me to take the job, but i have a special use for the money." "pretty clothes, i suppose--or perhaps a new sailboat?" "a college education." mr. gandiss nodded approvingly, and then, recalling the serious charge against the girl, became formal again. "you wonder why i sent for you?" "i know my work hasn't been very good. i've tried, but i keep ruining materials." this gave mr. gandiss the opening he sought. "what do you do with the discarded pieces?" he inquired. "why, i just throw them aside." the question plainly puzzled sally. "you may have heard that we are having a little trouble here at the factory." "what sort of trouble, mr. gandiss?" "small but valuable pieces of copper and brass seem to disappear with alarming regularity. most of the thefts have been attributed to workers on the night shift." sally's blue eyes opened wide, but she returned mr. gandiss' steady gaze. her chin raised. "i've heard talk about it among the girls," she replied briefly. "that's all i know." "you have no idea who may be taking the materials?" "not the slightest, sir." an awkward silence fell. mr. gandiss started to speak again, then changed his mind. "was there anything else?" sally asked stiffly. "nothing." "then may i return to my work?" "why, yes." it was mr. gandiss' turn to appear awkward and ill at ease. "we hope you will enjoy your work here, sally," he said, feeling that a friendly word was necessary to end the interview. "if you should learn anything that will lead to the arrest of the thieves, i hope you will give us the information." sally inclined her head slightly in assent. with dignity, she walked from the office. no one spoke for several minutes after the girl had gone. then mr. gandiss drew a deep sigh. "i had no idea sally was working here," he said, frowning. "father, you shouldn't have accused her of stealing!" jack burst out. "my dear boy, i accused her of nothing." "well, sally is proud. she took it that way. you don't really believe she would stoop to such a thing?" "i confess i don't know what to think. joe the sweeper may not be a reliable informer." "if he saw her hide brass in her clothing as he claims, why didn't he report her last night?" jack demanded. "sally is no thief. i've known her since she was a kid. i get mighty sore at her sometimes, she's so cocky. but she never did a dishonest act in her life." "i'm glad to hear you defend her, jack," mr. gandiss said quietly. "certainly no action will be taken without far more conclusive evidence. now suppose you and penny amuse yourselves for a few minutes. mr. parker and i have a few business matters to discuss." thus dismissed, penny and jack wandered outside. "want to see the steel plant?" jack asked indifferently. "they should be pouring about this time." at penny's eager assent, he led her to another building, up a steep flight of iron stairs to an inner balcony which overlooked the huge blast furnaces. in the noisy, hot room, conversation was practically impossible. gazing below, penny saw a crew of men in front of one of the furnaces, cleaning the tapping hole with a long rod. in a moment a signal was given and the molten steel was poured into a ladle capable of holding a hundred and fifty tons. an overhead crane, operated by a skilled worker, lifted the huge container to the pouring platform. next the molten mass was turned into rectangular ingots or molds. "the steel will cool for about an hour before it is ready to be taken from the mold," jack shouted in penny's ear. moving on, they saw other ingots already cooled, and in a stripping shed observed cranes with huge tongs engage the lugs of the molds and lift them from the ingots. "each one of those ingots weighs twenty thousand pounds," jack said, surprising penny with his knowledge. "after stripping, they are placed in gas-heated pit furnaces and brought to rolling temperature." to see fiery ribbons of steel rolled from cherry red ingots was to penny the most fascinating process of all. she could have watched for hours, but jack, bored by the familiar sight, kept urging her on. leaving the steel plant, they returned to the main factory buildings, and without thinking, sauntered toward the room where sally worked. a portable lunch cart had just supplied hot soup and sandwiches to the employes. sally sat eating at her machine. seeing jack, she quickly looked away. "now she's really sore at me, and i can't blame her," jack commented. "who is joe the sweeper anyhow? riff-raff, i'll warrant." though somewhat amused by the boy's staunch defense of sally, penny was inclined to agree in his second observation. although she knew nothing of the man who had turned informer, she had not liked the sly look of his face. before the pair could approach sally, the brief lunch period came to an end. a whistle blew, sending the girls back to their machines. "you'll have to step on it," a foreman told sally. "you're behind in your quota." her reply was inaudible, but as she adjusted her machine and started it up, she began to work with nervous haste. "this is no place for sally," jack said, obviously bothered. "she never was cut out for factory work. and that foreman, rogers, who is over her! he's a regular slave driver!" "i thought you didn't like sally," penny teased. "i want to see her get a square deal, that's all," jack replied, his face flushing. joe the sweeper sidled over to the couple. "what's the verdict?" he asked in a confidential tone. jack pretended not to understand. "is the gal going to get fired?" "i'm sure i don't know," jack answered coldly. "why does it mean so much to you?" "why, it don't," the sweeper muttered. "she ain't no skin off my elbow." penny and jack walked on through the workroom, aware that many pairs of eyes followed them. sally, bending over a grinding machine, looked up self-consciously. she was grinding pieces of metal, measuring each with a micrometer. there was a streak of grease across her cheek and she looked very tired. suddenly as sally threw the wheel in, there was a loud clattering noise. the foreman came running. he threw the wheel back. "what did i do?" sally gasped, shaking from nervousness. "you forgot to pull this lever." the foreman said curtly. "ruined a piece of work too! now try to think what you're doing and get down to business." penny and jack moved away, not wishing to add to the girl's embarrassment. but a few minutes later, in leaving the workroom, they again passed close to sally's machine. this time she did not see them until they were almost beside her. "how is it going, sally?" jack asked in a friendly way. sally raised her eyes, and in so doing forgot her work. as she automatically placed the metal in line with the wheel, she held her fingers there without thinking. another instant and they would have been mangled. horrified, penny saw what was about to happen. "sally!" she cried. acting instinctively, she reached and jerked the girl's hand away from the swift turning machinery. the wheel had missed sally's fingers by a mere fraction of an inch. the foreman came running again, obviously annoyed. shutting off the machine, he demanded to know what was wrong. sally leaned her head weakly on the table, trying to regain composure. her face was drained of color and she trembled as from a chill. "thanks," she said brokenly to penny. "i--i don't know what's the matter with me tonight. i'm not coordinated right." "go take a walk," the foreman advised, not unkindly. "a nice long walk. get a drink or something. you'll be okay." "i'll never learn," sally said in a choked voice. "sure, you will. everyone has to go through a beginner's stage. get yourself a drink. then you'll feel better." "let me go with you," penny said, taking sally by the arm. without conversation, they made their way between the long rows of machines to the locker room. there sally sank down on a bench, burying her face in her hands. "i'm nervous and upset tonight," she excused herself. "i can't seem to get the hang of machine work." "why not give it up? do you really need the money so badly?" "no," sally admitted truthfully. "i've set my heart on a college education, but pop could raise the money somehow. it's just that he's had financial troubles the past year, and i wanted to help out." "some persons aren't cut out to be factory workers," penny resumed. "do you realize that you nearly lost several of your fingers tonight?" "yes," sally agreed, her freckled face becoming deadly sober. "i'll always be grateful to you. what mr. gandiss said in his office upset me. i wasn't thinking of my work." "i thought that might be it. well, forget the entire matter if you can." sally nodded and getting up, drank at the fountain. "i'll have to go back to work now," she said with an effort. "first, i'll get myself a clean hanky." with a key which she wore on a string about her neck, the girl opened her locker. on the floor lay a leather jacket that had fallen from its hook. as sally picked it up, a heavy object slipped from one of the pockets, thudding against the tin of the locker floor. she stooped quickly to retrieve it, and then, embarrassed, tried to shield the article from view. but she could not hide it from penny who stood directly behind. the object that had fallen from the jacket was a small coupling of brass! chapter _overheard in the gatehouse_ "why, where did that come from?" sally murmured as she fingered the piece of metal. "i never put it in my locker." confused, she raised bewildered eyes to penny. just then the locker room door opened and a forelady came in. miss grimley's keen gaze fastened upon the brass coupling in sally's hand. awkwardly, the girl tried to hide it in a fold of her slacks. "what do you have?" the forelady asked, moving like a hawk toward the girls. "why, nothing," sally stammered. "isn't that a piece of brass?" miss grimley demanded. "where did you get it?" "i found it in my locker." "in your locker!" "i don't know how it got there," sally said quickly, reading suspicion in the other's face. "i'm sure i never put it there." miss grimley took the brass from her, inspecting it briefly. "this looks very much like one of the parts that has been disappearing from the stockroom," she said, her voice icy. "but i've never been near the stockroom!" sally cried. "in the few days that i've been employed here, i've barely left my machine." penny tried to intercede in the girl's behalf. "i'm sure sally knew nothing about the article being in her locker," she assured the forelady. "when she opened it a moment ago and lifted her jacket, the piece of brass fell from a pocket." "someone must have put it there!" sally added indignantly. "i'm certain i never did." "have you given your locker key to anyone?" "no." "and have you always kept it locked?" "why, i think so." "i am sorry," said miss grimley in a tone which implied exactly the opposite, "but i will have to report this. you understand my position." "please--" "i have no choice," miss grimley cut her short. "come with me, please." penny started to accompany sally, but the forelady by a gesture indicated that she was not to come. the door closed behind them. for ten minutes penny waited, hoping that sally would return. finally she wandered outside. sally was not on the floor and another girl had taken her place at the machine. seeing joe the sweeper cleaning a corridor, penny asked him about sally. "no. ?" the man inquired with a grin which showed a gap between his front upper teeth. "you won't see her no more! she's in the employment office now, and they're giving her the can!" "you mean she's being discharged?" "sure. we don't want no thieves around here!" "sally barker isn't a thief," penny retorted loyally. "by the way, how did you know why the girl was taken to the office?" the question momentarily confused joe. but his reply was glib enough. "oh, i have a way o' knowin' what goes on around here," he smirked. "i figured that gal was light-fingered the day they hired her. it didn't surprise me none that they found the stuff in her locker." "and who told you that?" penny pursued the subject. "why, you said so yourself--" "oh, no i didn't." "it was the forelady," joe corrected himself. "i seen the brass in her hand when she came out of the locker room with that gal." disgusted, penny turned her back and walked away in search of jack. it was none of her affair, she knew, but it seemed to her that joe the sweeper had taken more than ordinary interest in sally's downfall. his statements, too, had been confused. "i don't trust that fellow," she thought. "he's sly and mean." penny could not find jack, and when she returned to mr. gandiss' office, a secretary told her that the factory owner and her father expected to meet her at the main gate. hastening there, penny saw no sign of them. nor was the gateman on duty. however, hearing low voices inside the gatehouse, she stepped to the doorway. no one was in view, but two men were talking in the inner office. "it worked slick as a whistle," she heard one of them say. "the girl was caught with the stuff on her, and they fired her." "who was she?" "a new employee named sally barker." "good enough, joe. that ought to take the heat off the others for awhile at least." the name startled penny who instantly wondered if one of the speakers might be sweeper joe. confirming her suspicion, the man came out of the inner room a moment later. seeing her, he stopped short and his jaw dropped. "what you doin' here?" he demanded gruffly. "waiting for mr. gandiss," penny replied. "and you?" joe did not answer. mumbling something, he pushed past her and went off toward the main factory building. "he's certainly acting as if he deliberately planned to get sally into trouble," she thought resentfully. clayton, the gateman, showed his face a moment later, and he too acted self-conscious. as he checked a car through into the factory grounds, he glanced sideways at penny, obviously uneasy as to how much she might have overheard. "been here long?" he inquired carelessly. "no, i just came," penny answered with pretended unconcern. "i'm waiting for my father." the men did not come immediately. however, as penny loitered near the gatehouse, she saw sally barker hurriedly leaving the factory building. "ain't you off early tonight?" the gateman asked as she approached. "i'm off for good," sally answered shortly. her face was tear-stained and she did not try to hide the fact that she had been crying. "fired?" "that's right," sally replied. "unjustly too!" "shoo, you don't say!" the gateman exclaimed, sympathetically. "what did they give you the can for?" sally, in no mood to provide details, went on without answering. penny ran to overtake her. "i'll walk with you to the boundaries of the grounds," she said quickly. "tell me what happened." "just what you would expect," sally shrugged. "they asked me a lot of questions in the personnel office. i told the truth--that i knew nothing about that putrid piece of brass that turned up in my locker! then they gave me a nice little lecture, and said they were sorry but my services no longer were required. branded as a thief!" "don't take it so hard, sally," penny said kindly. "someone probably planted the brass in your locker." "of course! but i can't prove it." "why not appeal to mr. gandiss? he likes you and--" "no," sally said firmly, kicking at a piece of gravel on the driveway, "i'll ask no favors of mr. gandiss. he would have me reinstated, no doubt, but it would be too humiliating." "do you know of anyone in the factory who dislikes you?" sally shook her head. "that's the funny part of it. i'm not acquainted with anyone. i just started in." "how about joe the sweeper?" "oh, him!" sally was scornful. "he caught me in the hall the other day and tried to get fresh. i slapped his face!" "then perhaps he was the one that got you into trouble." "he's too stupid," sally dismissed the subject. "i'm not so sure of that," returned penny thoughtfully. the girls had reached the street and sally's bus was in sight. "what will you do now?" penny asked hurriedly. "get a job at another factory?" "i doubt it," sally replied, fishing in her pocketbook for a bus token. "i'll help pop on the _river queen_. if i do take another job it won't be until after the sailboat races." "i'd forgotten about that. when is the race?" "the preliminary is in a few days--next friday. the finals are a week later." "i hope you win," said penny sincerely. "i'll certainly be on hand to watch." the bus pulled up at the curb. swing-shift employes, arriving at the factory for work, crowded past the two girls. impulsively sally turned and squeezed penny's hand. "i like you," she said with deep feeling. "you've been kind. will you come to see me sometime while you're here?" "of course! i've not brought back those clothes i borrowed yet!" "i'll look for you," sally declared warmly. "i feel that you're a real friend." squeezing penny's hand again, she sprang aboard the bus and was lost in the throng of passengers. chapter _sally's helper_ several days of inactivity followed for penny at shadow island. for the most part, jack was friendly and tried to provide entertainment. however, he was away much of the time, supervising the work of repairing and getting the _spindrift_ into condition for the coming trophy race. sally barker's name seldom was mentioned in the gandiss household, though it was known that the girl intended to enter the competition regardless of her disgrace at the factory. once penny asked jack point-blank what he thought of the entire matter. "just what i always did," he answered briefly. "sally never took anything from the factory. it wouldn't be in keeping with her character." "then why isn't she cleared?" "father did take the matter up with the personnel department, but he doesn't want to go over the manager's head. the brass was found in her locker and quite a few employes learned about it." "the brass was planted!" "probably," agreed jack. "but it's none of my affair. sally wasn't a very good factory worker and the personnel director thought he had to make an example of someone--" "so sally became the goat! i call it unfair. did the thefts cease after she left?" "they're worse than ever." "then obviously sally had nothing to do with it!" "not just one person is involved. the brass is being taken by an organized ring of employes." "i suppose it's none of my affair, but in justice i think sally should be cleared. i don't know the girl well, but i like her." "you may as well hear the whole story," jack said uncomfortably. "father wrote her a letter, inviting her to come in for an interview. she paid no attention." "perhaps she didn't get the letter." "she got it all right. i met her on the street yesterday, and when i tried to talk to her, she threatened to heave a can of varnish in my face! furthermore, she gave me to understand she intends to defeat me soundly in the race tomorrow." "i'll be there to watch," grinned penny. "the contest should be interesting." while jack was out on the river practicing for the approaching competition, penny accompanied her father to the mainland to mail letters and make a few purchases mrs. gandiss had requested. in returning to the waterfront, they wandered down a street within view of the gandiss factory. penny's attention was drawn to a man who came out of an alley at the rear of the plant and stood staring at a tiny junk shop which was situated directly opposite the gandiss factory. "there's joe the sweeper," she observed aloud. and then an instant later added: "that's queer!" "what is?" inquired her father. "why, that junk shop! i've been down this street several times, but i never noticed it there before. i would have sworn that the building was empty." mr. parker gave her a quick, amused look. "it was until yesterday," he informed. "you seem to know all about it!" penny suddenly became suspicious. "what are you keeping from me?" mr. parker did not reply, for he was watching the man who had emerged from the alley. joe seemed to debate for awhile, then crossed the street and entered the junk shop. "good!" exclaimed mr. parker. "our bait seems to be working." "what are you talking about?" penny demanded in exasperation. "will you kindly explain?" "you recall mr. gandiss asked me to help him solve the mystery of those brass thefts at the plant." "why, yes, but i didn't know you had begun to do anything about it." "our plan may not succeed. however, we're trying out a little idea of mine." "does it have anything to do with that junk shop?" "yes, the place was opened yesterday by heiney growski." penny's blue eyes opened wide for she knew the man well. a prominent detective in riverview, he had won distinction by solving a number of difficult cases. "heiney is an expert at make-up and impersonation," mr. parker added. "we brought him here and installed him as the owner of the junk store across the street. his instructions are to buy brass and copper at above the prevailing market prices." "you expect employes who may be pilfering metals to seek the highest price obtainable!" "that's our idea. it may not work." "it should," penny cried jubilantly. "sweeper joe went in there not three minutes ago! i've suspected him from the first!" "aren't you jumping to pretty fast conclusions?" "from what i heard him say to the gatekeeper clayton, i'm sure he's mixed up in some underhanded scheme." "you're not certain of it, penny. joe has been carefully investigated. he seems too stupid a fellow to have engineered such a clever, organized method of pilfering." "he never appeared stupid to me. dad, let's drift over to the junk shop, and learn what is happening." "and give everything away? no, heiney will report if anything of consequence develops. in the meantime, we must show no interest in the shop." to penny's disappointment, her father refused to remain longer in the vicinity of the factory. without glancing toward the junk shop, they walked on to the riverfront. the motorboat they had expected to meet them had not yet arrived. while mr. parker purchased a newspaper and sat down on the dock to read, penny sauntered along the shore. a short distance away on a stretch of beach, a boat had been overturned. sally barker, in blue overalls rolled to the knees, was painting it with deft, sure strokes. penny walked over to watch the work. glancing up, sally smiled, but did not speak. a smudge of blue paint stained her cheek. she had sanded the bottom of the _cat's paw_, and now was slapping on a final coat of paint. "will it dry in time for the race tomorrow?" penny inquired, making conversation. "the finish won't be hard, but that's the way i want it," sally said, dipping her brush. "it makes a faster racing bottom." "then you're all ready for competition?" "the boat is ready." sally hesitated, then added. "but i may not enter the race after all." "not enter? why?" having finished painting, sally carefully cleaned her brush, and tightly closed the paint and varnish cans. she wiped her hands on her faded overalls. "the boy who was racing with me served notice this morning that he had changed his mind. i haven't asked anyone else, because i didn't want to be turned down." "but i should think anyone who likes to sail would be crazy for the chance--" penny began. then as she met sally's gaze, her voice trailed off. "you know what i mean," said sally quietly. "not the factory episode?" "yes, word traveled around." "jack didn't tell?" "i don't think so, but i don't know," sally replied honestly. "anyway, everyone learned why i was discharged. pop is furious." "your mother too, i suppose?" "i have no mother. she died when i was ten. since then, pop and i have lived aboard the _queen_. pop always taught me to speak my mind, never to be afraid, and above all to be honest. to be accused of something one didn't do and to be branded as a thief is the limit!" penny nodded sympathetically. "about the race," she said, reverting to the previous subject, "you aren't really serious about not entering?" "it means everything to me," sally admitted soberly. "but i can't race alone. the rules call for two persons in each boat." "you need an expert sailor?" "not necessarily. of course, the person would have to know how to handle ropes and carry out orders. also, not lose his head in an emergency. to balance the _cat's paw_ right i need someone about my own weight." "it has to be a boy?" "mercy, no! i would prefer a girl if i knew whom to ask." sally suddenly caught the drift of penny's conversation, and a look of amazed delight came upon her face. "not you!" she exclaimed. "you don't mean you would be willing--" "if you want or could use me. i'm a long way from an expert, but i do know a little about sailboats. we have one in riverview. however, i never competed in a race." "i'd be tickled pink to have you!" "then it's settled." "but what about the gandiss family? you are their guest." "that part is a bit awkward," penny admitted. "but they are all good sports. i'm sure no one will hold it against me." "after i was discharged from the factory?" "that really wasn't mr. gandiss' doing, sally. the plant is so large he scarcely knows what goes on in some departments. you were discharged by the personnel manager." "i realize that." "didn't mr. gandiss write you a letter asking you to come in for a personal interview?" "yes, he did," sally acknowledged reluctantly. "i was angry and i tore it up." "then you shouldn't blame mr. gandiss." "i'm not blaming him, penny. i like mr. gandiss very much. in fact, i like him so well i never could bear to accept favors from him." "not even to clear your name?" sally washed her hands at the river's edge, and rolled down the legs of her overalls. "the person who put that brass in my locker hasn't been caught?" she inquired softly. "not to my knowledge." "then all mr. gandiss could do would be to offer me another chance," sally said bitterly. "i'll never work in the factory on that basis. if i am cleared completely, then i am willing to go back." "mr. gandiss is trying to solve the mystery of those thefts," penny declared. "i know that to be a fact. have you any idea who the guilty parties might be?" sally straightened up, digging at paint which had lodged beneath her fingernails. she did not answer. "you do have a clue!" penny cried. "maybe." sally smiled mysteriously. "tell me what it is." "no, i intend to work by myself until i'm sure that i'm on the right track. i've not even told pop." "does it have anything to do with sweeper joe?" sally's expression became blank. "i don't know much about him," she dismissed the subject. "my information concerns a certain house upriver. but don't ask me to tell you more." hastily she gathered up paint cans and brush, turning to leave. "are you really serious about racing with me tomorrow?" she demanded. "of course!" "then you're elected first mate of the _cat's paw_! meet me at the yacht club dock at six in the morning for a trial workout. the preliminary race is at two." "i'll be there without fail." "and bring a little luck with you," sally added with a grin. "we may need it to defeat the _spindrift_." chapter _overturned_ when penny reached the dock next morning she found that sally had preceded her by many hours. the varnished wood of the _cat's paw_ shone in the sunlight. below the waterline, the boat was as smooth and slippery as glass. "isn't she beautiful?" sally asked proudly, squeezing water from a sponge she had been using. "the rigging has been overhauled, and pop came through at the last minute with a new jib sail. every rope has been changed too." "it looks grand," penny praised. "you must have worked like a galley slave getting everything ready for the race." "i have, but i want to win. this race means everything to me." "are you sure you want me to sail with you?" penny asked dubiously. "after all, i am not an expert. i might handicap you." "nonsense! there's no one i would rather have--that is, if you still want to do it. was jack angry when you told him?" penny confessed that she had not spoken to any of the gandiss family of her intention to take part in the race. "but it will be all right," she added. "jack really isn't such a bad sport when you get to know him. i only hope we win!" "oh, we'll come in among the leading five--that's certain," sally said carelessly. "this is only a preliminary race today. the five winning boats will compete next week in the finals." "if you lose today must you give up the trophy?" "not until after the final race." sally laughed goodnaturedly. "but don't put such ideas in my head. we can't lose! i'm grimly determined that jack mustn't beat me!" "i do believe the race is a personal feud between you two! why does it mean so much to defeat him?" sally stepped nimbly aboard the scrubbed deck, stowing away the sponge under one of the seats. "jack and i always have been rivals," she admitted. "we went to grade school together. he used to make fun of me because i lived on a ferryboat." "jack was only a kid then." "i know. but we always were in each other's hair. we competed in everything--debates, literary competitions, sports. jack usually defeated me too. in sailing, due to pop's coaching, i may have a slight edge over him." "do you really dislike jack?" "why, no." sally's tone indicated she never had given the matter previous thought. "if he weren't around to fight with, i suppose i'd miss him terribly." penny sat down on the dock to lace up a pair of soft-soled tennis shoes. by the time she had them on, sally was ready to shove off for the trial run. "suppose we take about an hour's work-out, and then rest until time for the race," she suggested. "you'll quickly learn the tricks of this little boat. she's a sweet sailer." the _cat's paw_ had been tied to the dock with a stiff wind blowing across it, and larger boats were berthed on either side. to get away smoothly without endangering the other craft would be no easy task. as the girls ran up the mainsail, a few loiterers gathered to watch the departure. "all set, mate?" grinned sally. "let's go." with a speed that amazed penny, she trimmed the main and jib sheets flat amidships, placing the tiller a little to starboard. "haul up the centerboard!" she instructed. penny pulled up the board, feeling a trifle awkward and inadept. sally leaped out onto the dock, and casting off, held the boat's head steady into the eye of the wind. with a tremendous shove which delighted the spectators, she sent the _cat's paw_ straight aft, and made a flying leap aboard. with sails flat amidships, the boat shot straight backwards. as they started to clear the stern of the boat that was to starboard, sally let the tiller move over to that side. the bow of the _cat's paw_ began to swing to starboard. not until then, did penny observe that the _spindrift_ was tied up only a few boat-lengths away. jack, armed with several bottles of pop, came hurriedly from the clubhouse. noting sally's spectacular departure, he joined the throng at the railing. "we'll give the crowd a real thrill," sally muttered, keeping her voice low so that it would not carry over the water. "if this trick works, it should be good." even penny was worried. the bow of the _cat's paw_ had swung rapidly to starboard. but sally, calm and cool, still hung on to the sheets. "put your tiller the other way!" jack shouted from the dock. "let your sheet run!" enjoying the boy's excitement, sally pretended to be deaf. wind had struck the sails, but the _cat's paw_ continued to sail backwards. a crash seemed impossible to avert. then at the last instant, the bow swung clear of the neighboring boats. grinning triumphantly, sally put the tiller to port and started the sheets. they sailed briskly away. "beautifully done!" praised penny. "not one sailor in a hundred could pull that off. it took nerve!" "pop taught me that trick. it's risky, of course. if the sails should decide to take charge, or the tiller should fail to go to starboard, one probably would collide with the other boats." "you surprised jack. he expected you to crash." "we'll surprise him this afternoon too," sally declared confidently, steering out into mid-stream. "if this breeze holds, it's just what the doctor ordered!" for an hour the girls practiced maneuvers until penny was thoroughly adept at handling the ropes and carrying out orders. although the rules of the race did not allow them to sail the actual course, sally pointed it out. "we start near the clubhouse," she explained. "then, taking a triangular route we sail past hat island to the first marker. after rounding it, we keep on to the marker near the eastern river shore, and sail back to our starting point." sally was in high spirits, for she declared that if the breeze held, _cat's paw_ would perform at her best. though no one knew exactly what jack's new boat, _spindrift_ could do, observation had convinced most sailing enthusiasts that it would be favored in a light breeze. "i hope it blows a gale this afternoon!" sally chuckled as they moored at the dock. "get some rest now, penny, and meet me at the clubhouse about one o'clock. the race starts sharp at two." penny did not see jack when she returned to shadow island, so had no chance to tell him of her plan to sail with sally in the competition. her father, whom she took into her confidence, was not entirely in favor of the decision. "we are guests of mr. and mrs. gandiss," he reproved mildly. "to sail against jack is a tactless thing to do. though actually you may do him a favor, for you'll likely be more of a handicap than a help in the race." "that's what i figured," laughed penny. by chance, mr. gandiss overheard the conversation. entering the living room, he declared that penny must not hesitate to enter the competition. "after all, the race is supposed to be for fun," he said emphatically. "lately jack and sally have made it into a feud. i really think it would do the boy good to be defeated soundly." long before the hour of the race, penny was at the yacht club docks, dressed in blue slacks, white polo shirt, and an added jacket for protection from wind and blistering sun rays. rowboats, canoes and small sailing craft plied lazily up and down the river, while motor yachts with flags flying, cruised past the clubhouse. out in the main channel where the race was to be held, the judges' boat had been anchored. the shores were thronged with spectators, many of whom had enjoyed picnic lunches on the grassy banks. penny walked along the dock searching for the _cat's paw_. she came first to the _spindrift_ which was just preparing to get underway. jack and a youth penny did not know, were busy coiling ropes. "hi, penny!" jack greeted her, glancing up from his work. "you're going to see a real race today! will i take sally barker for a breeze!" just at that moment, sally herself appeared from inside the clubhouse. seeing penny, she waved and called: "come on, mate, it's time we shove off!" jack's jaw dropped and he gazed at the two girls accusingly. "what is this?" he demanded. "penny, you're not racing in sally's boat?" "yes, i am." "well, if that isn't something!" jack said no more, but his tone had made it clear he considered penny nothing short of a traitor. the two boats presently sailed out from the protecting shores to join the other fifteen-footers which had entered the race. with the breeze blowing strong, the contestants tacked rapidly back and forth, jockeying for the best positions at the start of the contest. tensely sally glanced at her wristwatch. "five minutes until two," she observed. "the gun will go off any minute now." nineteen boats comprised the racing fleet, but in comparison to jack and sally, many of the youthful captains were mere novices. experts were divided in opinion as to the winner, but nearly everyone agreed it would be either jack or sally, with the odds slightly in favor of the latter. "there goes the signal!" cried sally. the boats made a bunched start with _cat's paw_ and _spindrift_ in the best positions. in the sharp breeze, one of the craft carried away a stay, and with a broken mast, dropped out of the race. the others headed for the first marker. at first sally and jack raced almost bow to bow, then gradually the _cat's paw_ forged steadily ahead. except for three or four boats, the others began to fall farther and farther behind. "we'll win!" penny cried jubilantly. "it's too soon to crow yet," sally warned. "while it looks as if this breeze will hold for the entire race, no one can tell. anything might happen." penny glanced back at jack's boat a good six to eight lengths behind. the boy deliberately turned his head, acting as if he did not see her. the _cat's paw_ hugged the marker as it made the turn at hat island. rounding the body of land, the girls were annoyed to see a canoe with three children paddling directly across their course. "now how did they get out here?" sally murmured with a worried frown. "they should know better!" at first the children did not seem to realize that they were directly in the path of the racing boats. but as they saw the fleet rounding hat island in the wake of the _cat's paw_ and the _spindrift_, they suddenly became panic-stricken. with frantic haste, they tried to get out of the way. in her confusion, one of the girls dropped a paddle, and as it floated away, she made a desperate lunge to recover it. another of the occupants, heavy-set and awkward, leaned far over the same side in an attempt to help her. "they'll upset if they aren't careful!" penny groaned. "yes, there they go!" even as she spoke, the canoe flipped over, tossing the three girls into the water. two of them grasped the overturned craft and held on. the third, unable to swim, was too far away to reach the extended hand of her terrified companions. making inarticulate, strangled sounds in her throat, she frantically thrashed the water, trying desperately to save herself. chapter _a question of rules_ "quick!" sally cried, remaining at the tiller of the _cat's paw_. "the life preserver!" finding one under the seat, penny took careful aim and hurled it in a high arc over the span of water. the throw was nearly perfect and the life preserver plopped heavily on the surface not two feet from the struggling girl. but she was too panic-stricken to reach out and grasp it. the river current carried the preserver downstream. sally knew then that to save the girl she must turn aside and abandon the race. "coming about!" she called sharply to warn penny of the swinging boom. already beyond the girl, whose struggles were becoming weaker, they turned and sailed directly toward her. penny kicked off her shoes, and before sally could protest, dived over the gunwale. a half dozen long strokes carried her directly behind the struggling girl. hooking a hand beneath her chin, she pulled her into a firm, safe hold, then towed her to the _cat's paw_ where sally helped them both aboard. throughout the rescue, the other two children had clung to the overturned canoe. sally saw that they were in no danger, for a motorboat from shore was plowing swiftly to the rescue. standing by until the two were taken safely aboard, she then glanced toward the fleet of racing boats. nearly all of them had passed the _cat's paw_ and were well on their way toward the second marker. the _spindrift_ led the field. "we're out of the race," she said dismally. "no! don't give up!" penny pleaded. "you still may have a chance. this girl is all right. i'll look after her while you sail." sally remained unconvinced. "we couldn't possibly overtake jack now." "but we do have a chance to come in among the five leaders! then you would be able to race in the finals. you wouldn't lose the lantern trophy." sparkle came into sally's eyes again. her lips drew into a tight, determined line. "all right, we'll keep on!" she decided. "but it will be nip and tuck to win even fifth place. see what you can do for our passenger." the girl who had been hauled aboard was not more than thirteen years old. although conscious, she had swallowed considerable water and was dazed from the experience. as she began to stir, penny knelt beside her. "lie still," she said soothingly. "we'll have you at the dock soon." stripping off her own jacket, penny tucked it about the shivering child. "we're balanced badly," sally commented, her eyes on the line of boats far ahead, "and overloaded too. it's foolish to try--" "no, it isn't!" penny said firmly. "we're sailing great guns, sally! look at the water boiling behind our rudder." almost as if it were driven by a motor, the _cat's paw_ plowed through the waves, leaving a trail of foam and bubbles in her wake. despite the handicap of an extra passenger, the boat was gaining on the contestants ahead. "if only the course were longer!" sally murmured, straining against the pull of the main sheet. they rounded the second marker only a few feet behind a group of bunched boats. one by one they passed them until only seven remained ahead. but with the finish line close by, they could not seem to gain another inch. "we can't make it," sally said, turning to gaze at the shore with its crowd of excited spectators. "we're bound to finish seventh or eighth, out of the race." "we're still footing faster than the other boats," penny observed. "don't give up yet." a moment later, the crack of a revolver sounding over the water, told the girls that the _spindrift_ had crossed the finish line in first place. to add to sally's difficulties, the rescued girl began to stir and rock the boat. each time she moved, the _cat's paw_ lost pace. though they passed the next two boats, they could not gain to any extent on the one which seemed destined to finish in fifth place. sally had been right, penny realized. barring a miracle, the _cat's paw_ could not be among the winners. although they were slowly gaining, the finish line was too close for them to overcome the lead of the remaining boats. and then the miracle occurred. the _elf_, directly ahead, seemed to falter and to turn slightly aside. the _cat's paw_ seized the chance and forged even. "go to it, sally!" her skipper, tom evans, a freckled youth, called. "you belong in the finals!" then the girls understood and were grateful. deliberately, the boy had slowed his boat so that sally might be among the winners. "it was a fine thing to do!" sally whispered. "but how i hate to win in such fashion!" "tom evans knew he had no chance in the finals," penny said. "as he said, you belong there for you are one of the best sailors in the fleet." sally crossed the finish line in fifth place, then sailed on to the dock by the clubhouse. as penny leaped out to make the boat fast, willing hands assisted with the bedraggled passenger. the child was taken to the clubhouse for a change of clothes. officials gathered about penny and sally, congratulating them upon the race. "i didn't really win," the latter said, paying tribute to tom evans. "the _elf_ deliberately turned aside to give me a chance to pass." nearby, jack gandiss who had won the race, stood unnoticed. after awhile he walked over to the dock where sally and penny were collecting their belongings. "that was a nice rescue," he said diffidently. "of course it cost you second place, which was a pity." sally cocked an eyebrow. "_second_ place?" she repeated. "well, i like that!" "you never could have defeated the _spindrift_." "no? well, if my memory serves me right, the _cat's paw_ was leading when i had to turn aside. not that i wasn't glad to do it." "you may have been ahead, but i was coming up fast. i would have overtaken you at the second marker or sooner." "children! children!" interposed penny as she neatly folded a sail and slipped it into a snowy white cover. "must you always claw at each other?" "why, we aren't fighting," sally denied with a grin. "heck, no!" jack agreed. he started away, then turned and came back. "by the way, sally. how about the trophy?" sally did not understand what he meant. "i won the race, so doesn't the brass lantern belong to me?" jack pursued the subject. "well, it will if you win the final next week." "that's in the bag." "like fun it is!" sally said indignantly. "jack, i hate to crush those delicate feelings of yours, but you're due for the worst defeat of your life!" the argument might have started anew, but jack reverted to the matter of the lantern trophy. "i'm the winner now, and it should be turned over to me," he insisted. sally became annoyed. "that's not according to the rules of the competition," she returned. "the regulations governing the race say that the _final_ winner is entitled to keep the trophy. i was last year's winner. the one this season hasn't yet been determined." "it's not safe to keep the lantern aboard the _river queen_." "don't be silly! there couldn't be a safer place! pop and i chained the trophy to a beam. it can't be removed without cutting the chain." "someone could take the trophy by unlocking the padlock." "oh, no, they couldn't," sally grinned provokingly. "you see, i've already lost the key. the only way that lantern can be removed is by cutting the chain." jack was enraged. "you've lost the key?" he demanded. "if that isn't the last straw!" hanson brown, chairman of the racing committee, chanced to be passing, and jack impulsively hailed him. to the chagrin of the girls, he asked for a ruling on the matter of the trophy's possession. "why, i don't recall that such a question ever came up before," the official replied. "my judgment is that miss barker has a right to retain the trophy until the final race." "ha!" chuckled sally, enjoying jack's discomfiture. "how do you like that?" jack turned to leave. but he could not refrain from one parting shot. "all right," he said, "you get to keep the trophy, but mind--if anything should happen to it--you alone will be responsible!" chapter _night prowler_ when penny, her father, and the gandiss family returned late that afternoon to shadow island, a strange motorboat was tied up at the dock. on the veranda a man sat waiting. although his face appeared familiar, penny did not recognize him. her father, however, spoke his name instantly. "heiney growski! anything to report?" penny remembered then that he was the detective who had been placed in charge of the junk shop near the gandiss factory. the man arose, laying aside a newspaper he had been reading to pass the time. "i've learned a little," he replied to mr. parker's question. "shall we talk here?" "go ahead," encouraged mr. gandiss carelessly. "this is my son, jack, and our guest, penny parker. they know of the situation at the factory, and can be trusted not to talk." though seemingly reluctant to make a report in the presence of the two youngsters, the detective nevertheless obeyed instructions. "since opening up the shop, i've been approached twice by a man from the factory," he began. "that sweeper, called joe?" interposed mr. parker. "yes, the first time he merely came into the place, looked around a bit, and finally asked me what i paid for brass." "you didn't appear too interested?" mr. parker inquired. "no, i gave him a price just a little above the market." "how did it strike him?" "he didn't have much to say, but i could tell he was interested." "did he offer you any brass?" "no, he hinted he might be able to get me a considerable quantity of it later on." "feeling you out." "yes, i figure he'll be back. that's why i came here for instructions. if he shows up with the brass, shall i have him arrested?" mr. parker waited for the factory owner to answer the question. "make a record of every transaction," mr. gandiss said. "encourage the man to talk, and he may reveal the names of others mixed up in the thefts. but make no arrests until we have more information." "very good, sir," the detective returned. "unless the man is very crafty, i believe we may be able to trap him within a few weeks." after heiney had gone, jack and penny went down to the dock together to retie the _spindrift_. the wind had shifted, and with the water level rising, the boat was bumping against its mooring post. "by the way, jack," said penny as she unfastened one of the ropes to make it shorter, "i forgot to congratulate you upon winning the race this afternoon." "skip it," he replied grimly. penny glanced at him, wondering if her ears had deceived her. "why, i thought you were crazy-wild to win," she commented. "not that way." jack kept his face averted as he tied a neat clove hitch. "i guess i made myself look like a heel, didn't i?" for the first time penny really felt sorry for the boy. resisting a temptation to rub salt in his wounds, she said kindly: "well, i suppose you felt justified in asking for the trophy." "i wish i hadn't done that, penny. it's just that sally gets me sometimes. she's so blamed cocky!" "and she feels the same way about you. on the whole, though, i wonder if sally has had a square deal?" jack straightened, staring at the _spindrift_ which tugged impatiently at her shortened ropes. waves were beginning to lap over the dock boards. "you mean about the factory?" he asked in a subdued voice. penny nodded. "i never did think sally was a thief," jack said slowly. "judging from heiney growski's report, someone may have planted the brass in her locker. probably that fellow joe, the sweeper." "don't you feel she should be cleared?" "how can we do anything without proof? this fellow joe isn't convicted yet. besides, he's only one of a gang. sally could be involved, though i doubt it." "you're not really convinced then?" penny gazed at him curiously. "yes, i am," jack answered after a slight hesitation. "sally's innocent. i know that." "then why don't we do something about it?" "what? my father has employed the best detectives already." "at least you could tell sally how you feel about it." jack kicked at the dock post with the toe of his tennis shoe. "and have her tear into me like a wild cat?" he countered. "you don't know sally." "are you so sure that you do?" penny asked. turning she walked swiftly away. jack came padding up the gravel path after her. "wait!" he commanded, grasping her by the arm. "so you think i've given sally a raw deal?" "i have no opinion in the matter," penny returned, deliberately aloof. "if i could do anything to prove sally innocent you know i'd jump at the chance," jack argued, trying to regain penny's good graces. "you really mean that?" "yes, i do." "then why don't you try to get a little evidence against this man joe, the sweeper?" penny proposed eagerly. "you visit the factory nearly every day. keep your eyes and ears open and see what you can learn." "everyone knows who i am," jack argued. "there wouldn't be a chance--" meeting penny's steady, appraising gaze, he broke off and finished: "oh, okay, i'll do what i can, but it's useless." "not if you have a plan." jack stared at penny with sudden suspicion. "say, what are you leading up to anyhow?" he demanded. "do _you_ have one?" "not exactly. it just occurred to me that by watching at the gate of the factory when the employes leave, one might spot some of the men who are carrying off brass in their clothing." jack gave an amused snort. "oh, that's been done. company detectives made any number of checks." "that's just the point," penny argued. "they were factory employes, probably known to some of the workers." "i'm even more widely recognized," jack said. "besides, clayton, our gateman, has instructions to be on the watch for anyone who might try to carry anything away. he's reported several persons. when they were searched, nothing was found." "your gateman is entirely trustworthy?" "why not? he's an old employee." penny said no more, though she was thinking of the conversation overheard while at the factory gatehouse. even if jack took no interest, she decided she would try to do what she could herself. but there really seemed no place to begin. "if you get any good ideas, i'll be glad to help," jack said as if reading her thoughts. "just to barge ahead without any plan, doesn't make sense to me." penny knew that he was right. much as she desired to help clear sally, she had no definite scheme in mind. as the pair turned to leave the docks, they heard a shout from across the water. the _cat's paw_, with canvas spread wide, was sailing before the wind, directly toward the island. sally, at the tiller, signaled that she wanted to talk to them. the boat came in like a house afire, but though the landing was fast, it was skillful. sally looped a rope around the dock post, but did not bother to tie up. "penny," she said breathlessly. "i didn't get half a chance to thank you this afternoon for helping me in the race." "i didn't do anything," penny laughed. "i merely went along for the ride." "that may be your story, but everyone who saw the race knows better. what i really came here for is to ask you to spend the night with me aboard the _river queen_. we'll have a chance to get better acquainted." the invitation caught penny by surprise. sally mistook her hesitation for reluctance. "probably you don't feel you want to leave here," she said quickly. "it was just one of those sudden ideas of mine." "i want to come," penny answered eagerly. "if mr. and mrs. gandiss wouldn't mind. wait and i'll ask." darting to the house, she talked over the matter with her father and then with her hostess. "by all means go," the latter urged. "i imagine you will enjoy the experience. jack can pick you up in the motorboat in the morning." packing her pajamas and a few toilet articles into a tight roll, penny ran back to the dock. jack and sally were arguing about details of the afternoon race, but they abandoned the battle as she hurried up. "jack, you're to pick me up tomorrow morning," she advised him as she climbed aboard the _cat's paw_, "don't forget." the _river queen_ already had been anchored for the night in a quiet cove half a mile down river. with darkness approaching, lights were winking all along the shore. across the river, the gandiss factory was a blaze of white illumination. farther downstream, the colored lights of an amusement park with a high roller coaster, cut a bright pattern in the sky. sally glanced for a moment toward the factory but made no mention of her unpleasant experience there. "pop and i stay alone at night on the _queen_," she explained as they approached the ferry. "our crew is made up of men who live in town, so usually they go home after the six o'clock run." skillfully bringing the _cat's paw_ alongside the anchored _queen_, she shouted for her father to help penny up the ladder. making the smaller craft secure for the night, she followed her to the deck. "what's cooking, pop?" she asked, sniffing the air. "catfish," the captain answered as he went aft. "better get to the galley and tend to it, or we may not have any supper." the catfish, sizzling in butter, was on the verge of scorching. sally jerked the pan from the stove, and then with penny's help, set a little built-in table which swung down from the cabin wall, and prepared the remainder of the meal. supper was not elaborate but penny thought she had never tasted better food. the catfish was crisp and brown, and there were french fried potatoes and a salad to go with it. for dessert, captain barker brought a huge watermelon from the refrigerator, and they split it three ways. "it's fun living on a ferryboat!" penny declared enthusiastically as she and sally washed the dishes. "i can't see why you ever would want to work in a factory when you can live such a carefree life here." the remark was carelessly made. penny regretted it instantly for she saw the smile leave sally's face. "i worked at the factory because i wanted to help make airplanes, and because pop can't afford to give me much money," she explained quietly. "it was all a mistake. i realize that now." "i'm sorry," penny apologized, squeezing her hand. "i didn't mean to be so stupid. as far as your discharge is concerned, you'll be cleared." "how?" "mr. gandiss has detectives working on the case." "detectives!" sally gave a snort of disgust. "why, everyone in the plant knows who they are!" after dishes were done, the girls went on deck. protected from the night breezes by warm lap rugs, they sat listening to the lallup of the waves against the _river queen_. captain barker's pipe kept the mosquitoes away and he talked reminiscently of his days as a boy on the waterfront. presently, the blast of a motorboat engine cut the stillness of the night. sally, straightening in her chair, listened intently. "there goes jack again!" she observed, glancing at her father. "to the harpers', no doubt." the light of the boat became visible and sally followed it with her eyes as it slowly chugged upstream. "i was right!" she exclaimed a moment later. penny's curiosity was aroused, for she knew that jack absented himself from home nearly every night, and that his actions were a cause of worry to his parents. "who are the harpers?" she inquired. "oh! they live across the river where you see those red and blue lights," sally said, pointing beyond the railing. "the house stands on stilts over the water, and is a meeting place for the scum of the city!" "sally!" her father reproved. "well, it's the truth! ma harper and her no-account husband, claude, run an outdoor dance pavilion, but their income is derived from other sources too. black market sales, for instance." "sally, your tongue is rattling like a chain!" "pop, you know very well the harpers are trash." "nevertheless, don't make statements you can't prove." sally's outspoken remarks worried penny because of their bearing upon mr. gandiss' son. "you don't think jack is mixed up with the harpers in black market dealings?" she asked. "oh, no!" sally got up from the deck chair. "he goes there to have a good time. and if you ask me, jack ought to stop being a playboy grasshopper!" captain barker knocked ashes from his pipe and put it deep in his jacket pocket. "the shoe pinches," he told penny with a wink. "sally never learned to dance. i hear tell there's a girl who goes to the harper shindigs that's an expert at jitter-bugging!" "that has nothing to do with me!" sally said furiously. "i'm going to bed!" captain barker arose heavily from his chair. "how about the day's passenger receipts?" he asked. "locked in the cabin safe?" "yes, we took in more than two hundred dollars today." "that makes over five hundred in the safe," the captain said, frowning. "you'll have to take it to the bank first thing in the morning, i don't like to have so much cash aboard." going to the cabin they were to share, sally and penny undressed and tumbled into the double-deck beds. the gentle motion of the boat and the slap of waves on the _queen's_ hull quickly lulled them to sleep. how long penny slumbered she did not know. but toward morning she awoke in darkness to find sally shaking her arm. "what is it?" penny mumbled drowsily. "time to get up?" "sh!" sally warned. "don't make a sound!" penny sat up in the bunk. her friend, she saw, had started to dress. "i think someone is trying to get aboard!" sally whispered. "listen!" penny could hear no unusual sound, only the wash of the waves. "i distinctly heard a boat grate against the _queen_ only a moment ago," sally pulled on her slacks and thrust her feet into soft-soled slippers which would make no sound. "i'm going on deck to investigate!" penny was out of bed in a flash. "wait!" she commanded. "i'm going with you!" dressing with nervous haste, she tiptoed to the cabin door with sally. stealing through the dark corridors to the companionway, they could hear no unusual sound. but midway up the steps, sally's keen ears heard movement. "someone is in the lounge!" she whispered. "it may be pop but i don't think so! come on, and we'll see." chapter _the stolen trophy_ hand in hand the two girls tiptoed to the entranceway of the lounge. distinctly they could hear someone moving about in the darkness, and the sound came from the direction of a small cabin which the barkers used as an office room. "pop!" sally called sharply. "is that you?" she was answered only by complete silence. then a plank creaked. the prowler was stealing stealthily toward the girls! "pop!" shouted sally at the top of her lungs, groping to find a light switch. before she could illuminate the room, a man brushed past the two girls. penny seized him by the coat. a sharp object pierced her finger. she was thrust back against the wall so hard that it knocked the breath from her. the man twisted, and jerking his coat free, dashed up the stairs. "pop!" sally called again. captain barker, armed with revolver and flashlight, came out of his cabin. by this time, sally had found and turned on the light switch. "a prowler!" she cried. "he ran up on deck." "stay below!" ordered the captain. "i'll get him!" penny and sally had no intention of missing any of the excitement. close at captain barker's heels, they darted up the companionway to the deck. to the starboard, the trio heard a slight splash, then the sound of steady dipping oars. "someone's getting away in a rowboat!" sally cried. captain barker ran to the railing. "halt!" he shouted. "halt or i'll fire!" the man, a mere shadow in the mist arising from the river, rowed faster. captain barker fired two shots, purposely high. the man ducked down into the boat, and a moment later switched on an outboard motor, which rapidly carried him beyond view. "did you see who the fellow was, sally?" the captain demanded wrathfully. "no, it was too dark. do you think he got away with the money in the safe?" fearing the worst, the trio descended to an office room adjoining the passenger lounge. a chair had been overturned there, but the door of the safe remained locked. "you girls must have surprised him before he had time to steal the money," captain barker declared in relief. "no harm done, but this is the first time in six years that anyone tried to sneak aboard the _queen_. we'll have to keep a better watch from now on." as the girls turned to leave the cabin, sally saw that penny was looking at the third finger of her right hand. "why, you're hurt!" she cried. penny's hand was smeared with blood which came from a tiny pin-prick wound on the finger. "it's nothing," she insisted. sally ran to a cabinet for gauze, iodine and cotton. "how did it happen?" she asked. "i tried to stop the prowler. as i grabbed his coat, something stuck my finger. it must have been a pin." the wound was superficial and did not pain penny. sally wrapped the finger for her, and then after captain barker had said he would remain up for awhile, they returned to bed. throughout the night there were no further disturbances. at dawn the girls arose, feeling only a little tired as the result of their night's adventure. they had time for a quick swim in the river before breakfast and disgraced themselves by eating six pancakes each. "the crew will be coming aboard soon," sally said, glancing at her watch. "i usually sweep out the lounge and straighten up a bit before we make our first passenger run." penny, who had nothing to do until jack could come to take her back to the island, eagerly offered to help. armed with brooms and dust rags, the girls went below. in the doorway, penny paused, staring at the overhead beam. "why, sally," she commented in astonishment. "what did you do with the lantern trophy? take it down?" "no, it's still there." alarmed by penny's question, sally moved past her, gazing at the beam. where the brass lantern had hung, there now was only a neatly severed chain. "why, it's gone!" she exclaimed in disbelief. "wasn't it here last night when we went to bed?" "of course." "then it was stolen last night!" dropping broom and dustpan, sally brought a chair and inspected the chain. obviously it had been cut by sharp metal scissors. "that prowler who came aboard last night must have done it!" she exclaimed angrily. "oh, what a mean, low trick!" as the full realization of what the loss would mean came to her, sally sank down on the chair, a picture of dejection. "i'm responsible for the trophy, penny! i'll be expected to produce it before the final race. oh, what can we do?" "why do you suppose the thief took the lantern and nothing else?" "someone may have done it for pure spite. but i'm more inclined to think the person came aboard to steal our money in the office safe. the lantern hung here in a conspicuous place and he may have taken it on impulse." intending to notify captain barker of the loss, the girls started up the companionway. abruptly, penny paused, her attention drawn to an object lying on one of the steps. it was a circular badge with a picture and a number on it. no name. such identifications, she knew, were used by many industrial plants. "where did this come from?" she murmured, picking it up. the face on the badge was unfamiliar to her. the man had dark, bushy hair, sunken eyes and prominent cheekbones. sally turned to examine the identification pin. "why, this badge came from the gandiss factory!" she exclaimed, and studied the picture intently. "did you ever see the man before?" "i can't place him, penny. yet i know i have seen him somewhere." "the man should be easy to trace from this picture and number. when i caught hold of his clothing last night, i must have pulled off the pin. that was how my finger was pricked." as the girls examined the pin, they heard a commotion on deck and the sound of voices. before they could go up the steps to investigate, jack gandiss came clattering down to the lounge. "i came to take you back to the island, penny," he informed. "ready?" then his gaze fastened upon the beam where the brass lantern had hung. "say, what became of the trophy?" he demanded sharply. "you decided to take it down after all?" "it's gone," sally said, misery in her voice. "stolen!" the two girls waited for the explosion, but strangely, jack said nothing for a moment. "you warned me," sally hastened on. "oh, it's all my fault. it was conceited and selfish of me to display the trophy here. i deserve everything you're going to say." still jack remained mute, staring at the beam. "go on--tell me what you're thinking," sally challenged miserably. "it's a tough break," jack said without rancor. "this will practically ruin the race," sally accused herself. "i can't replace the trophy for there's no other like it. an ordinary cup never would seem the same." "that's so," jack gloomily agreed. "well, if it's gone, it's gone, and there's nothing more to be done." the boy's calm acceptance of the calamity he had predicted, astonished penny and sally. was this the jack they knew? with a perfect opportunity to say, "i told you so," he had withheld blame. sally sank down on the lower step. "how will i face the racing committee?" she murmured. "what will the other contestants say? they'll feel like running me out of town." "maybe it won't be necessary to tell," jack said slowly. "one of us is almost certain to win the race next friday." "yes, that's true, but--" "if you win, the lantern would be yours for keeps. should i win, no one would need to know that you hadn't turned it over to me. you could make some excuse at the time of the presentation." sally gazed at jack with a new light in her eyes. "i'm truly sorry for all the hateful things i've said to you in the past," she declared earnestly. "you're a true blue friend." "maybe i'm sorry about some of the cracks i made too," he grinned, extending his hand. "shake?" sally sprang up and grasped the hand firmly, but her eyes were misty. she hastened to correct any wrong impression jack might have gained. "i'm glad you made the offer you did," she said, "but i never would dream of keeping the truth from the committee. i'll notify them today." "why be in such a hurry?" penny asked. "the race is a week away. in that time we may be able to find the trophy. after all, we have a good clue." "what clue?" asked jack. penny showed him the pin. as he gazed at the picture on the face of the badge, a strange expression came into his eyes. "you know the man?" penny asked instantly. "he works at our factory. but that's not where i've seen him." "at the harpers?" sally asked. "yes," jack admitted unwillingly. "i don't know his name, but he is a friend of ma harper and her husband." "and of that no-account joe, the sweeper?" "i don't know about that." the questioning had made jack uncomfortable. "the man should be arrested!" "we have no proof, sally," penny pointed out. "while we're satisfied in our own minds that the man who took the lantern is the person who lost the badge, we can't be certain." "the badge may have been dropped by a passenger yesterday," jack added. "let me find out this fellow's name first, and a few facts about him." "i don't believe your friends, the harpers, will tell you much," sally said stiffly. "they're the scum of the waterfront. how you can go there--" penny, who saw that another storm was brewing, quickly intervened, saying it was time she and jack started for the island. sally, taking the hint, allowed the subject to drop. but as she went on deck to see the pair off in jack's motorboat, she whispered to penny: "see me this afternoon, if you can. i have an idea i don't want jack to know about. if we work together, we may be able to trace the trophy." chapter _trapped_ jack had little to say about the theft as he and penny returned to the gandiss home. however, after lunch he offered to go to his father's factory to learn the identity of the employee who had lost the badge aboard the _river queen_. "want to come along?" he invited. ordinarily, penny would have welcomed the opportunity, but remembering that sally had wished to see her, she regretfully turned down the invitation. "i'll ride across the river if you don't mind," she said. "i have an errand in town." by this time penny was familiar with the daily route of the _river queen_ and knew where it would dock to pick up and unload passengers. sally, she felt certain, would be aboard, expecting her. they crossed the river in the motorboat, making an appointment to meet again at four o'clock. after jack had gone, penny set off for the _river queen's_ dock where a sizable group of passengers awaited the ferry. soon the _queen_ steamed in, her bell signaling a landing. passengers crowded the railing, eager to be the first off. a crewman stood at the wheel, and sally was nowhere to be seen. as the boat brushed the dock, sailors leaped off to make fast to the dock posts. captain barker, annoyed because the passengers were pushing, bellowed impatient orders to his men: "all right, start that gangplank forward! lively! are you going to sleep over it all day?" then, seeing penny, he raised his hand in friendly greeting. "is sally aboard?" she called to him. "no, she went up the shore a ways--didn't say where," the captain replied, waving his hand upriver. "ought to be back here any minute." sally, however, did not appear, and the _queen_ pulled away without her. penny loitered on the dock for twenty minutes. the sun was hot and with nothing to do, time lay heavy upon her. it lacked a half hour before the _river queen_ would return, and fully two hours before she was due to meet jack. for lack of occupation, she walked upriver along the docks. buildings were few and far between. there were several fish houses, a boat rental place and the half-deserted amusement park. the beach beyond made easy walking, so penny kept on. with quickening interest she saw that she was approaching a two-story building which appeared to stand on stilts over the water. close by was a large, smoothly cemented area with overhead lights. "that's the harper place!" penny recognized it. "with the dance area adjoining." she moved on along the beach. drawing closer to the building, she passed a clump of bushes fringing the sand. the leaves stirred slightly though there was no breeze. penny failed to notice the movement. but as she passed the bushes, a hand reached out and grasped her ankle. startled, penny uttered a nervous cry. "be quiet, you goon!" a familiar voice bade. it was sally barker crouched amid the foliage. quickly she pulled penny with her behind the bushes. "sally, what are you doing here?" penny demanded. "watching that house. i saw you a long way down the beach." "anything doing?" "a boat is coming in now. that's why i didn't want you to be seen." a rowboat with an outboard, rapidly approached the harper pier. already it was making a wide sweep preparatory to a landing. "why, it's that fellow, joe the sweeper!" penny exclaimed, peering out from the hiding place. "who is steering the boat?" "claude harper," sally revealed. "ma harper's husband." "wonder what joe would be doing here?" "that's what i'd like to know myself," sally returned grimly. "joe isn't as stupid as he's given credit for being. he's crafty and mean, and being mixed up with the harpers is no recommendation." while the girls watched, the boat landed. the two men tied up the craft, and removing a burlap sack which apparently was filled with something heavy, carried it into the two-story house. "i wish we knew what they brought here," penny said. "why not try to find out?" "how?" "couldn't we sneak up to the house and peek in one of the windows?" "we might be caught." "true, but we'll learn nothing more here." debating a moment, the girls emerged from their hiding place. to reach the house they were compelled to cross an open stretch of beach. however, no one was to be seen outside the dwelling and their arrival appeared to attract no notice of anyone inside. "how about that window at the east side?" penny suggested. the one she pointed out was half screened by bushes and at a level which would permit them to peer inside. "okay," agreed sally, "but i'd hate to be caught at this business. the harpers hate me and they would be mighty unpleasant if they came upon us snooping." "what a harsh word!" chuckled penny. "all this comes under the heading of investigation! the only difference is that mr. gandiss' detectives are paid and we aren't." "if i could get the brass lantern back that would be pay enough for me," sally returned. creeping to the window, the girls cautiously peeped into the house. the panes were so dirty it was hard to see inside. but they were able to distinguish three persons sitting at a living room table. papers were spread out before them, and they were adding figures. there was no sign of the sack which had been carried into the house. "who are they?" penny asked her companion. "joe the sweeper, ma harper and her husband. another woman is coming into the room now. but she's only a stupid houseworker ma hires by the week." sally moved backwards, intending to give penny her place at the window. inadvertently, she stepped on a stick which broke in two with a snap. though the sound was not loud, it apparently was heard by those inside the house. for immediately claude harper shoved back his chair and started toward the window. "what was that?" the girls heard him mutter. "i thought i heard someone outside." "quick! crouch down or he'll see us!" penny warned, pulling sally to the ground. claude harper, a sallow-faced man in dirty leather jacket, appeared at the window. to the alarm of the girls, he thrust up the sash. in plain view, should he peer down over the ledge, they held their breath. the man, however, gazed toward the boat docks. "i don't see anyone," he reported to his companions. "i was sure i heard something--" he broke off, ending sharply: "and i did too!" "what is it, claude?" his wife called. "anyone been here this afternoon?" he demanded. "nary a soul until you came." "take a look at those shoetracks in the sand!" hearing the words, penny and sally gazed behind them. from the bush on the beach to the wall where they crouched, led a telltale trail. "i'll go outside and look around!" harper said to his wife. he slammed down the window. "we're sunk!" sally moaned. "we can't run across the beach without being seen, and we're certain to be caught here." keeping close to the wall, treading in firm earth which left no visible shoemarks, the girls crept around the building corner. the slamming of a door warned them that claude harper already was on their trail. "someone's been here by the window!" they heard him shout. frantically, the girls looked about for a place to hide. there was no shrubbery nearby, only the waterfront. penny's desperate gaze fastened upon the rowboat tied up at the pier nearby. in the bottom lay an old canvas sail. "quick! the boat!" she whispered to sally. "we'll be caught there sure!" "it's even more certain if we stay here. come on, it's our only chance." choosing the lesser of two evils, they tiptoed across the pier. though many of the boards were rotten and loose, their shoes fortunately made no sound. scrambling down into the boat, the girls jerked the canvas sail over them. barely had they hidden themselves, than their hearts sank, for they heard heavy footsteps approaching on the pier. chapter _under the sail_ that claude harper was searching for them, the girls did not doubt. but though he knew someone had been peering in the window, they were hopeful he had not actually seen them. huddling beneath the sail in the bottom of the boat, they nervously waited. the man came farther out on the pier, the boards creaking beneath his weight. at any instant the girls expected to have the sailcloth jerked from their heads. however, harper's attention was diverted as sweeper joe came out of the house. "find anyone?" the factory worker asked. "no, but tracks lead to the window. someone's been spying." "kids probably." "i don't know about that," claude harper returned gruffly. "i'd feel a lot safer if we didn't have all that stuff in the basement. what's our chances of getting rid of it tonight?" "we can't do it. tomorrow or next night maybe. arrangements have got to be made, and if we try to push things, we'll end up in a jam." the voices faded away, though not entirely. presently daring to peep from beneath the canvas, penny saw that the two men had seated themselves on the rear steps of the house at the edge of the river and within plain view of the tied-up boat. "we're in a nice position now!" she whispered to sally. "suppose they sit there until they decide to leave in this boat?" "we'll be caught. we're the same as trapped now unless they go back into the house." the two men showed no inclination to leave. they talked earnestly together, evidently making plans of some sort. though the girls tried hard to overhear, they could catch only an occasional word. after awhile, ma harper, a wiry, ugly woman with stringy black hair, came outdoors to join the men on the steps. "it's getting late," she warned. "if you're goin' to tend to that job today, you'll have to be gettin' across the river. ain't you due to show up for work at four o'clock, joe?" "that's right," the man yawned, getting up. "i'll be glad when i can chuck the whole business and live without workin'." though penny and sally did not hear much of the conversation, it was evident to them that the men were about ready to make use of the boat. "we're sunk," sally whispered fearfully. "maybe we ought to climb out of here and make a dash for it." penny offered a better idea. "why not untie the rope, and let the boat drift off?" she proposed. "the current is swift and should carry us downstream fairly fast." "any other boat around that they can use to follow us in?" "i don't see any." penny raised the sail a little higher as she gazed along the pier and nearby beach. "all right, then do your stuff," sally urged. while she held the sail slightly above penny's head so that no movement would be discernible to those on the house steps, the latter reached her hands from beneath the cloth and swiftly untied the rope. the boat began to drift away. covered by the sail, the girls lay motionless and flat on the craft's bottom. at first nothing happened. but as they began to hope that the men would not notice the drifting boat, they heard an explosive shout. "look!" claude harper exclaimed. "our boat!" "jumpin' fish hooks!" sweeper joe muttered. "how did that happen? i tied 'er secure." "it looks like it," the other retorted sarcastically. "i can't afford to lose that boat." the girls could hear running footsteps on the pier and boardwalk near the dance pavilion. sally dared to peep from beneath the canvas again. "they're after a motorboat!" she reported tensely. "harper has one he keeps locked in a boathouse." "how close are we to the bend in the river?" "about twenty yards." the swift current was doing its best for the girls, swinging their boat toward the bend. once beyond it, they would be temporarily hidden from the pier. but the current also was tending to carry them farther and farther from shore. "do we dare row?" penny asked nervously. "not yet. harper is having trouble getting the engine of his boat started," sally reported. "we'll be safe for a minute or two. we're getting closer to the bend." to the nervous girls, the boat scarcely seemed to move. then at last it passed the bend and they were screened by willow trees and bushes. "now!" sally signalled in a tense whisper. throwing off the sail, they seized oars and paddled with all their strength. "quiet!" sally warned as penny's oar made a splash. "sounds carry plainly over the water." the blast of a motorboat engine told them that harper and his companion had started in pursuit. only a minute or two would be required for them to round the bend. throwing caution to the winds, sally and penny dug in with their oars, shooting their craft toward shore. the boat grated softly on the sand. instantly, the girls leaped out, splashing through ankle-deep water. as sally was about to start across the beach, penny seized her hand. "we mustn't leave a trail of footprints this time!" she warned. treading a log at the water's edge, penny walked its length to firm ground which took no visible shoe print. sally followed her to a clump of bushes where they crouched and waited. barely had they taken cover when the motorboat came into view, heading for the little cove. there claude harper recaptured the runaway rowboat, tying it to the stern of the other craft. suddenly penny was dismayed as she realized that in their flight, a most important detail had been overlooked. "the oars!" she whispered. "they're wet!" "maybe the men won't see," sally said hopefully. "we left them half covered by the canvas." intent only upon returning to the pier, claude harper and his companion failed to notice anything amiss. apparently assuming the boat had been carelessly tied and had drifted away under its own power, they were not suspicious. "that was a narrow squeak," penny sighed in relief as the motorboat with the other craft in tow finally disappeared around the bend. "the oars will quickly dry in the sun, so i guess we're safe." now that they were well out of trouble, the adventure seemed fun. penny glanced at her wristwatch, observing that it was past four o'clock. "jack will be waiting for me," she said to sally. "i'll have to hurry." "we'll have plenty of time," sally returned carelessly. "you usually can count on jack being half an hour late for appointments." walking swiftly along the deserted shore, the girls discussed what they had overheard at the harpers. "we stirred up a big fuss and didn't learn too much," penny said regretfully. "all the same, it looks as if the harpers and sweeper joe are mixed up in this brass business together." "they spoke of having something stored in the basement. that is what interests me. oh, penny, if only we could go back there sometime when the harpers are gone and really investigate!" "maybe we can." sally shook her head. "ma harper almost never goes away from home. but sometimes she has streams of visitors from osage--mostly women. i've often wondered why." "factory girls?" "no, they're housewives and every type of person. i think mrs. harper must be selling something to them, but i never could figure it out." the _river queen_ was at the far side of the river, so sally, for lack of occupation, walked on with penny to the dock where she was to meet jack. greatly to their surprise, he was there ahead of them, and evidently had been waiting for some length of time. seeing the girls, he slowly arose to his feet. "well, jack, what did you learn at the factory?" penny asked eagerly. "why, not much of anything." "you mean you weren't able to find out the name of the man who dropped his badge aboard the _queen_?" penny asked incredulously. "of course you learned the name if you really tried," sally added. "every single badge used at your factory would be recorded!" thus trapped, jack said lamely: "oh, i learned his name all right. take it easy, and i'll tell you." chapter _silk stockings_ puzzled by jack's behavior and his evident reluctance to reveal what he had learned, penny and sally sat down beside him on the dock. at their urging he said: "well, i traced the number through our employment office. the badge was issued to a worker named adam glowershick." neither of the girls ever had heard of the name, but sally, upon studying the picture again, was sure she recalled having seen him as a passenger aboard the _river queen_. "he's a punch press operator," jack added. "and he's the man you thought you knew?" penny asked curiously. "yes. as i told you, i've seen him at the harpers." jack acted ill at ease. the girls exchanged a quick glance. but they did not tell jack of their recent adventure. "well, why don't we have the fellow arrested?" sally demanded after a moment of silence. "i'm satisfied he stole the brass lantern. he probably came aboard for money, and unable to get into the safe, took the trophy for meanness." "or he may be mixed up with the gang of factory brass thieves," penny supplied. "you can't prove a case against a man, because he might have dropped the badge anytime he happened to be a passenger aboard the ferry," jack said. "it would do no good to have him booked on suspicion." "is he a friend of yours?" sally asked significantly. "of course not!" "jack is right about it," penny interposed hastily. "we need more information before we ask police to make an arrest. any other news, jack?" "nothing startling. but you know that detective your father brought here from riverview?" "heiney?" "yes, he reported today that sweeper joe contacted him again, offering to sell a large quantity of brass. an appointment has been made for the delivery friday night. if it proves to be stolen brass, then he's trapped himself." "can they prove it's the same brass?" "heiney numbers and records every piece he buys. he should be able to establish a case." knowing that her father had intended to keep the junkman's activities a secret, penny was disturbed by jack's talking in public. evidently he had gleaned this latest information from his father. she was even more troubled by his attitude toward adam glowershick. presently saying goodbye to sally, she and jack returned to shadow island. a strange boat was tied up in the berth usually occupied by the _spindrift_. since the sailboat was nowhere along the dock, it was evident that mr. gandiss, his wife, and mr. parker had gone for an outing on the river. "we seem to have a visitor," penny remarked. jack said nothing, but intently studied the man who slouched near the boathouse, hat pulled low to shade his eyes from the sun glare. "why, isn't that the same fellow whose picture was on the factory badge!" penny exclaimed. "adam glowershick!" "careful or he'll hear you," jack warned, scowling. "i know this man. he's here to see me." penny gazed again at the stranger who had dark bushy hair and prominent cheekbones. "if that isn't glowershick, it's his twin!" she thought, and asked jack if he had the factory badge with him. "no, i haven't," he answered irritably. "furthermore, i wish you would cut out such wild speculation. he'll hear you." jack brought the boat in. leaping ashore, he asked penny to fasten the ropes. "i'll be back in a minute," he flung at her as he strode off. it took time to make the craft secure. when penny glanced up from her work, jack and the stranger had disappeared behind the boathouse. "queer how fast jack ducked out of here," she thought. more than a little annoyed by the boy's behavior, penny started up the gravel path to the house. midway there she heard footsteps, and turning, saw jack hastening after her. "penny--" he began diffidently. she waited for him to go on. "i hate to ask this," he said uncomfortably, "but how are you fixed for money?" "i have a little. dad gave me a fairly large sum to spend when we came here." "could you let me have twenty dollars? it would only be a loan for a few days. i--i wouldn't ask it, only i need it badly." "dad only gave me twenty-five, jack." "i'll pay you back in just a few days, penny. honest i will." "i'll help you out of your jam," penny agreed unwillingly, "but something tells me i shouldn't do it. your parents--" "don't say anything to them about it," jack pleaded. "my father gives me a good allowance, and if he knew i had spent all of it ahead, he'd have a fit." penny went to her room for the money, returning with four crisp five dollar bills. she had planned to buy a new dress but now it must wait. "thanks," jack said gratefully, fairly snatching the money from her hand. "oh, yes, another favor--please don't mention to my folks that anyone was here today." "who is the man, jack?" "oh, just a fellow i met." the boy started moving away. penny, however, pursued him down the path. "not so fast, jack. since i have a financial interest in your affairs now, it's only fair that i ask a few questions. did you meet this man at the harpers?" "what if i did?" "now you're in debt to him and he's pressing you for money. you don't want your parents to know." "something like that," jack muttered, avoiding her steady gaze. "i don't like being a party to anything i fail to understand. jack, if you expect me to keep quiet about this, you'll have to make a promise." "what is it?" "that you'll not go to the harpers' again." "okay, i'll promise," jack agreed promptly. "the truth is, i've had enough of the place. now, is the lecture concluded?" "quite finished," penny replied. with troubled eyes she watched jack return to the boathouse and hand her money to the bushy-haired stranger. "maybe that fellow isn't glowershick," she thought, "but he certainly looks like the picture. if jack should be mixed up with those brass thieves--" penny deliberately dismissed the idea from her mind. a guest of the gandiss' family, she could not permit herself to distrust jack. he was inclined to be wild, irresponsible and at times arrogant, yet she had never questioned his basic character. even though it disturbed her to know that he had given money to the stranger, she refused to believe that he was dishonest or that he would betray his father's trust. if penny hoped that jack would offer a complete explanation for his actions, she was disappointed. after the stranger had gone, he deliberately avoided her. and that night at dinner, he had very little to say. when the meal was finished, jack roved restlessly about the house, not knowing what to do with himself. "i hope you're planning on staying home tonight," his mother commented. "lately, you've scarcely spent an evening here." "there's nothing to do on an island," jack complained. "i thought i might run in to town for an hour or so." he met penny's gaze and amended hastily: "on second thought, i guess i won't. how about an exciting game of chess?" the evening was dull, heightened only by mr. gandiss' discussion of the latest difficulties at the factory. another large quantity of brass had disappeared, he revealed to mr. parker. "perhaps our detectives will solve the mystery eventually," he declared, "but i'm beginning to lose heart. the firm has lost $ , already, and the thieves become bolder each day. at the start, only a small ring operated. now i am convinced at least ten or fifteen employes may be in on the scheme to defraud me." "the brass must be smuggled past the gateman," mr. parker commented thoughtfully. "we have three of them," mr. gandiss replied. "several persons have been turned in, but nothing ever could be proved against any individual who was searched." deeply interested in her father's remark, penny kept thinking about clark clayton, the night-shift gateman, and his apparent friendship with sweeper joe. late the next afternoon when she knew he would be on duty, she purposely arrived at the factory just as a large group of employes was leaving. though at his usual post, clark clayton did not appear especially alert. as employes filed past him, he paid them no special heed. several persons who carried bulky packages were not even stopped for inspection. "why, a person could carry a ton of brass through that gate and he wouldn't know the difference!" she thought. making no attempt to enter the grounds, penny watched for a while. then she hailed a taxi cab, and told the driver to take her to the river. they were nearing the docks when the man, glancing back over his shoulder, said carelessly: "how would you like to buy some genuine silk stockings?" "how would i like to stake out a claim to part of the moon!" penny countered, scarcely knowing how to take the question. "no, i'm serious," the cab driver went on, slowing the taxi to idling pace. "i know a woman along the river who has a pretty fair stock of genuine silk stockings. beauties." "black market?" penny asked with disapproval. "well, no, i wouldn't call it that," the man argued. "she had a supply of these stockings and wants to get rid of them. nothing wrong in that. five dollars a pair." "five dollars a pair!" penny echoed, barely keeping her temper. "if i took you there, she might let you have them for a dollar less." penny opened her lips to tell the black market "runner" what she thought of a person who would engage in such illegal business. then she closed them again and did a little quick thinking. after all, it might be wise to learn where the place was and then report to the police. "well, i don't know," she said, pretending to hesitate. "i'd like to have a pair of silk stockings, but i haven't much money with me. where is the place?" "not far from here along the river. i'll drive you there, and if you make a purchase, you needn't pay me any fare." "all right, that's fair enough. let's go," penny agreed. as they rattled along the street, she carefully memorized the cab's number, and took mental notes on the driver's appearance, intending to report him to police. no doubt he received a generous commission for bringing customers to the establishment, she reasoned. the cab had not gone far when it began to slacken pace. peering out, penny was astonished to see that they were stopping in front of the harper house, overlooking the river. "is this the place?" she gasped, as the driver swung open the door. "i--i don't believe i want to go in after all. i thought you were taking me to a shop." "you can't get silk stockings anywhere else in the county," the driver said. "not like the kind ma harper sells. just go on in and tell her i brought you. she'll treat you right." taking penny by the elbow, he half pulled her from the cab and started her toward the shabby, unpainted dwelling. chapter _basement loot_ while the cab driver waited, penny crossed the sagging porch and rapped on the door. evidently the taxi's approach had been noted, for almost at once ma harper appeared. she was a tall, thin woman, sallow of face, and with a hard glint to her eyes. penny was not in the least deceived by the smile that was bestowed upon her. "hello, deary," the woman greeted her, stepping aside for her to enter. "did ernst bring you to buy something?" "he spoke of silk stockings," penny returned cautiously. "i'm not sure that i'll care to purchase them." "oh, you will when you see them, deary," ma harper declared in a chirpy tone. "just come in and i'll show them to you." "aren't genuine silk stockings hard to get now?" "i don't know of any place they can be bought except here. i was lucky to lay in a good supply before the start of the war. only one or two pairs are left now, but i'll let you have them, deary." "that's very kind of you," returned penny with dry humor. "the stockings cost me plenty," went on the woman, motioning for the girl to seat herself on a sagging davenport. "i'll have to ask five dollars a pair." she eyed penny speculatively to note how the figure struck her. penny had no intention of making a purchase at any price, but to keep the conversation rolling, she pretended to be interested. "five dollars ain't much when you consider you can't get stockings like these anywhere else," the woman added. "just wait here, deary, and i'll bring 'em out." she went quickly from the room. left alone, penny gazed with curiosity at the crude furnishings. curtains hung at the windows, but they had not been washed in many months. the rug also was soiled and threadbare. the main piece of furniture, a table, stood in the center of the room. double doors opened out upon a balcony above the river. wandering outside, penny could see the _river queen_ plying its way far downstream. closer by, a small boat with an outboard approached. due to the glare of a late afternoon sun on the water, she could not at first distinguish its two occupants. the boat, however, looked familiar. "that's the same boat sally and i escaped in yesterday!" she thought. "and it's coming here!" nearer and nearer the craft approached, until penny could see the men's faces plainly. one was sweeper joe and the other, clark clayton, gateman at the gandiss factory. "if they see me here, they're certain to be suspicious!" penny thought in panic. "they'll remember having seen me with mr. gandiss at the factory. i'll skip while the skipping is good!" she turned to find ma harper standing in the doorway. "anything wrong, deary?" the woman asked in a soft purr. "why, no," penny stammered. "i--i was just admiring the river view." "you were lookin' at that boat so funny-like i thought maybe you knew the men. sure there ain't nothing wrong?" "of course not!" penny was growing decidedly uncomfortable. she tried to slip through the doorway, but ma harper did not move aside. "it's getting late," penny said, glancing at her wrist watch. "perhaps i should come some other time to look at the stockings. shall we say tomorrow?" "i have the hosiery right here, deary. beauties, ain't they?" ma harper spread one of the filmy stockings over her rough, callous hand. the silk was fine and beautiful, unquestionably pre-war and of black market origin. "yes, they are lovely," penny said nervously. "but the truth is, i haven't five dollars with me. i'll have to come back later." ma harper's dark eyes snapped angrily. "then what you been takin' my time for?" she demanded. "say--" she accused with sudden suspicion, her gaze roving to the boat which now was close to the pier, "--you seem in a mighty big hurry to get away from here all at once!" "why, no, it's just that the taxi man is waiting, and it's getting late." "what's your name anyhow?" "penny parker." "where do you live?" "i am a summer vacationist." the answers only partially satisfied ma harper. evidently she was afraid that penny might be an investigator, for she debated a moment. then she said: "you wait here until i talk to someone." "but i really must be leaving." "you wait here, i said!" ma harper snapped. "maybe you're okay, but i ain't takin' no chances on you getting me into trouble about these stockings. wait until i talk to joe." leaving penny on the balcony, she went out by way of the front living room door. after it had closed, there was a sharp little click which made the girl fear she had been locked in. the truth was quickly ascertained. the door was locked. for an instant, penny was frightened, but she told herself she was not really a prisoner. there were windows she could unfasten, and another door at the rear of the house. intending to test it, she went quickly through the kitchen. voices reached her ears. evidently ma harper and the two men were standing close to the door, and although speaking in low tones she could hear most of the conversation. "the girl may be all right, but i think she was sent here to spy!" ma reported. "if we let her go, she may bring the police down on us!" "and if you try to hold her here, you'll soon be in trouble!" one of the men answered. penny thought the voice was that of clark clayton. "you and this petty stocking business of yours! we warned you to lay off it." "sure, blame me!" ma's voice rose angrily. "the truth is, you're getting scared of your own racket. i was sellin' stockings and makin' a good, safe income until you come along and talked my husband into lettin' you store your loot in our basement. well, i've made up my mind! you're gettin' the stuff out of here tonight, and you're not bringing any more in!" "okay, okay," growled sweeper joe. "just take it easy, and quit your yippin'. we'll move the stuff as soon as it gets dark. fact is, we've made a deal with a guy that runs a junk shop near the factory. he's offered us a good price. we had to play along slow and easy to be sure he wasn't tied up with the cops." "what about the girl?" ma demanded. "if i let her go, she's apt to get me into hot water about those stockings." "that's your funeral," joe the sweeper retorted. "if you'd handled her right, she wouldn't have become suspicious." the discussion went on, in lower tones. then penny heard ma say: "okay, that's the way we'll do it. i'll think up some story to convince the girl. but that brass must be out of here tonight! another thing, you can't sell the lantern that simpleton, adam glowershick, stole from the _river queen_." "why not?" sweeper joe demanded. "there's good brass in it." "you stupid lout!" ma exclaimed, losing patience. "that lantern is known to practically every person along the waterfront. let it show up in a pawnshop or second hand store, and the police would trace it straight to us. you'll have to heave it into the river." "okay, maybe you're right," the factory worker admitted. penny had learned enough to feel certain that brass, stolen piecemeal from the gandiss factory, had been stored in the harper basement. even more astonishing was the information that the trophy taken from the _river queen_ also was somewhere in the house. "if the lantern is thrown into the river, no one ever be able to recover it," she thought. "if only i could get it now and sneak away through a window!" penny's pulse stepped up a pace, for she knew that to venture into the basement was foolhardy. she listened again at the door. ma and the men still were talking, but how long they would continue to do so, she could not guess. "i'll risk it," she decided. the basement door opened from an inside wall of the kitchen. penny groped her way down the steep, dark stairs but could find no light switch. the cellar room was damp and dirty. as her eyes became accustomed to the dim light which filtered in through two small windows, she saw a furnace surrounded by buckets of ashes and boxes of papers and trash. a clothes line was hung with stockings and silk underwear. penny poked into several of the boxes and barrels. all were empty. then her gaze focused upon another door, which apparently led into a fruit or storage room. it was padlocked. "the brass is locked in there!" she thought, her heart sinking. "the lantern too! how stupid of me not to expect it." without tools, penny could not hope to break into the locked room. there was only one thing to do. she must get away from the house, and bring the police! starting up the stairs, she stopped short. an outside door had slammed. in the room above she heard footsteps, but no voices. frightened, penny remained motionless on the basement stairs. she could hear ma harper tramping about, evidently in search of her, for the woman muttered angrily to herself. "i don't dare stay here," the girl thought. "i'll have to make a dash for it." penny reasoned that in reentering the house, ma harper probably had left the front door unlocked. what had become of the two men she did not know, but she would have to take a chance on their whereabouts. noiselessly, she crept up the stairs to the kitchen door, opening it a tiny crack. though she could not see ma, footsteps told her that the woman had stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the river. "this will be as good a chance as i may get," she reasoned. the door squeaked as she opened it wide enough to slip through. unnerved by the sound, penny moved swiftly across the kitchen to the living room. "so there you are!" cried ma harper from the balcony. penny threw caution to the winds. darting across the room, she jerked at the outside door. it opened, but on the porch, facing her, stood sweeper joe and clark clayton! chapter _over the balcony_ panic-stricken, penny's first thought was to try to dart past the men. but she realized that to do so would be impossible. warned by ma harper's excited cries, they had moved into position to completely block her path. "stop that girl!" shouted ma harper, bearing down, upon her from the direction of the river balcony. "she's from the police and sent here to get evidence!" whirling around, penny ran back toward the kitchen, with the woman in pursuit. she did not waste time testing the rear door, for she already knew it to be locked. however, opening from the kitchen was another closed door which appeared to give exit. with no time to debate, penny jerked it open and darted inside. instantly, she saw that she had made a serious mistake. she had entered a small washroom and had trapped herself. and ma harper was practically upon her. penny did the only possible thing. she slammed the door and turned the key in the lock. for a moment at least, she was beyond reach. "i've really trapped myself now!" she thought, recapturing her breath. "what a mess! if i had used my head this wouldn't have happened." penny sat down on the edge of the bathtub to think. already ma harper was pounding and thumping on the flimsy wooden door panel. the door rattled on its hinges. "you open up or i'll break down the door!" the woman shouted furiously. "you hear me?" penny did not answer. there was no escape from the washroom for it had no window. the tub upon which she sat was ringed with dirt, evidently having seen no use in many weeks. above her head stretched a short clothesline upon which hung a row of ma harper's stockings. "you let me in!" ma harper shouted again. "if i ever lay hands on you, you'll pay for this!" the threat left penny entirely unmoved. she had no intention of opening the door, no matter what the woman might say or do. realizing that her tactics were gaining nothing, ma tried another approach. "please let me in," she coaxed in a falsely sweet voice. "we won't hurt you. if you come out now, we'll let you go home just as you want to do." penny was not to be so easily taken in. she remained silent. ma harper lost her temper completely then. she kicked at the door and shouted for the two men. "joe! clark! come and help me get this brat out of here!" penny, certain that her moments of freedom were limited, heard the two men approach. a heavy body heaved itself against the door, but still the lock held. "i don't want my door smashed," she heard ma harper whine. "can't you get a screwdriver and take off the hinges? there ain't no other key in the house." the reply of the men was inaudible, but penny heard their retreating footsteps. the door knob kept rattling, so she decided ma harper had been left there to keep watch. "this probably is my only chance to escape!" penny reasoned. "i might unlock the door and take a chance on overpowering ma harper. but she's a strong woman!" her roving gaze fastened upon the line of drying stockings, and suddenly she had an idea! jerking one of the stockings down, she seized a thick bar of soap from the dish above the bathtub, and crammed it deep into the toe of the stocking. "this will make a superb weapon!" she thought gleefully. "almost as good as a blackjack!" taking a firm grip on the stocking, penny swung it several times to be certain of its possibilities. then she was ready. quickly she unlocked the door and stepped back. for a moment nothing happened. then ma harper pushed it open, just as she had expected. "now i'll get you!" she screamed, springing at penny. penny kept the stocking behind her back. "i hate to do this," she thought, "but she's asking for it!" as ma reached out to seize her, she swung the stocking. the encased cake of soap cut a neat arc through the air and clipped the woman sharply on the head. more startled than hurt, she stumbled backwards and collapsed into the bathtub. pausing only long enough to see that ma was not really injured, penny made a dash for safety. but her escape was cut off. sweeper joe and clayton the gateman were just entering the front door of the living room, armed with tools to use in taking down the washroom door. seeing penny, they again blocked the exit. desperate, she ran in the only possible direction--to the balcony overlooking the river. the docks were directly beneath the house, and waves lapped the posts of the two-story porch. it was at least a fifteen-foot drop and the water was shallow. but penny had no time to calculate the risk. leaping to the railing of the balcony, she poised there an instant, staring down at the rocks plainly visible in the still water. then, as sweeper joe reached out to grasp her by the shoulder, she jumped. she struck the water head foremost in a shallow dive which wrenched her back but kept her from striking the river bottom. brushing wet hair from her eyes, she began to stroke. her shoes were heavy as lead and impeded her. the force of penny's dive had carried her many feet from shore into deep water, and the river current swept her farther away from the docks. weighted down by the shoes, she knew she did not have sufficient strength to swim to shore with them on. burying her face in the water, she doubled up, and groping down, untied them, one at a time. "those were good shoes," she thought with regret as she kicked them off and saw them settle into the river. penny struck out with smooth crawl strokes for the nearby pier. her skirt kept wrapping itself about her legs. unwilling to discard it, she tucked it high about her waist which made swimming much easier. reaching the pier, she was pulling herself out onto it, when ma harper and the two men came running out of the house to intercept her. "oh! oh!" thought penny. "it's not going to be as easy as i assumed." joe ran out on the pier, while ma and the other man separated, one starting upstream and the other down. no matter which way she turned, penny saw that her escape would be cut off. the river was wide, the current swift. although an excellent swimmer, she had no desire to attempt such a contest of endurance. but there seemed no other way. deliberately pushing off from the pier, she swam directly away from shore, after a dozen strokes she rolled over on her back for a moment to see what was happening. ma harper had shouted to joe, and the words carried plainly over the water. "take after her in the boat! we don't dare let her get away now! she knows too much!" penny had forgotten the motorboat tied up at the pier. now as she saw joe and clark clayton run toward it, her heart sank. though the race seemed hopeless, she flopped over onto her face again, and swam with all her strength. going with the current, her feet churned the water behind her. several times, the men tried without success to start the motorboat engine. penny grew hopeful. then she heard the blast as the motor caught, and knew that in just a minute the men would overtake her. frantically, she glanced about for help. already late afternoon, there were no fishing boats on the river. save for ma harper, who stood ready to seize her should she try to swim in to the beach, no other persons were visible on either shore. the _river queen_ apparently was at the far end of her run, hidden beyond the bend. a hundred yards away, in shallow water, lay a large patch of tall river grass and cat-tails. seeing it, penny took new hope. the area was large enough to offer a temporary refuge if she could reach it! not only would the dense mat of high grass protect her from view, but a boat would not be able to follow. starting to swim again, she put everything she had into each stroke. it would be pinch and go to reach the grass patch! aware of her intention, sweeper joe and clark clayton had changed course, hoping to intercept her. chapter _flight_ the high water grass loomed up and penny's feet struck a muddy bottom. with the boat almost upon her, she plunged into the morass. the water came to armpit level. pushing aside the thick stalks which wrapped themselves about her arms and body, she waded far into the patch before she paused. hidden by the dense growth, she could not at first see the pursuing boat. she knew, however, that it had halted at the edge of the patch, for the motor had been cut off. and after awhile she heard voices, low spoken, but nevertheless clear, for the slightest sound carried over water. "she's over there somewhere in the center of the patch!" one of the men muttered. "i could tell where she went by the way the grass moved. shall we let her go?" "no, we got to get her or she'll tell everything she knows to old man gandiss and the police!" the other answered. with the motor shut off, the two men then took out paddles, and began to force the boat through the jungle of grass. observing that they were coming straight toward her, penny noiselessly waded on, taking every precaution not to move the stalks unnecessarily. noting the direction of the wind, she went with it, hoping that any movement of the grass would appear to be caused by the stiff breeze. but she hoped in vain. for suddenly joe the sweeper shouted hoarsely: "there she is! over there!" he pointed with his paddle blade. the men pushed the boat on, smashing the grass ahead of them. in despair, penny saw that wherever she went she was leaving a trail of trampled, broken grass behind her. no longer trying to prevent splashes, she waded in a wide half-circle. then quickly she back-tracked, this time making not a sound. slipping into the dense growth just beside the trail she had made, she breathlessly waited. the boat came into view. taking a deep breath, penny ducked under water. opening her eyes, she could see the blurred, dark bottom of the craft moving slowly toward her, so close she could have reached out and touched it. her breath began to grow short. the boat barely seemed to move. penny's lungs felt as if they were ready to burst, but still she remained under water. then the men had passed, and she dared raise her head for an instant to gulp in air. the boat reached the end of the trail through the grass that penny herself had made. there it halted, as sweeper joe and his companion, realizing they had lost their quarry, debated their next move. "she was here a minute ago!" sweeper joe growled. "i caught a glimpse of her clothes, and saw the grass move. where did she go?" "she must have doubled back." with difficulty the men turned the boat around and rowed toward penny again. when she dared wait no longer, she submerged again. they passed her and she came up for air. a water snake slithered through the grass, almost touching her hand. startled, penny leaped backwards, making an ugly, loud splash in the water. slight as was the sound, it told the men where she hid. turning in the boat, they saw her through the grass, and bore toward her again. by this time, penny actually enjoyed the desperate game of hide and seek, for so far, the advantage had been hers. she stood watching the boat until it came very close. then she dived, coming up directly underneath the craft. getting her shoulder squarely under one side, she raised up, and with an ease that surprised her, upset the boat. the two men went sprawling into the water. unable to swim, they made animal noises and clutched desperately at the grass for support. but as their feet found solid footing, they started furiously toward penny. taking her time, and deliberately seeking deeper water, she waded away. "that will hold them for a few minutes," she thought gleefully. "i'll get out of this jungle now, and swim ashore." one more the girl's hopes were rudely dashed. as she reached the edge of the grass area, she was disconcerted to see another rowboat approaching from the direction of the harper place. with shadows deepening on the water, she could not at first distinguish the man. then she recognized claude harper. "he must have come home, and ma sent him here to help capture me!" she thought. "if i swim out now, i'll certainly be caught." crouching down so that her nose was just above the water, she waited. claude harper rowed on, resting upon his oars when perhaps ten yards away. "joe!" he called. there was an answering shout from the center of the grass patch. "that gal's somewhere close by!" sweeper joe shouted in warning. "she upset our boat. stay where you are, and see that she doesn't slip past you!" thus warned, claude harper began to survey the grass patch intently. he looked hard at the place where penny stood. she was certain he had seen her, but after a moment, he turned slightly, and his eyes roved on. as she hesitated, not knowing what to do, sweeper joe and clark clayton, who had bailed out their boat, came paddling out to meet harper. wet and plastered with mud, they had lost one of the paddles. "if you ain't sights!" harper cackled upon seeing them. he slapped his thigh in glee. "you look like a couple o' stupid mud turtles!" "fool!" rasped sweeper joe. "don't you have sense enough to figure what will happen if that girl gets away from us?" "you ain't goin' back to no job at the gandiss factory. nor clayton neither!" "it's a lot more serious than that!" joe snapped. he guided the boat alongside harper's craft. "why do you think i took that job in the first place, and spent better than two years studyin' the gandiss factory layout? i lined up the employes we could get to go along with us, got everything organized--and now this gal has to bust up the show just as the profits begin to roll in!" "better pipe down," harper warned curtly. "she can hear you, and so can everyone else on the river." "what's the difference?" joe argued in disgust. "we're through. i'm gettin' out of this town tonight!" "me with you," added clark clayton. "ever since gandiss put detectives on the job, i figured the game was gettin' too dangerous." now it was claude harper who lost his temper. "hold on," he said warningly. "it's all right for you guys to blow town, but what about me and the wife?" "you can do what you please," joe retorted. "we got your brass cached in our basement. if the cops should find it there, we'd take the rap." "get rid of it." "that's a lot easier said than done. besides, that brass is worth a tidy sum o' money." "then why not sell it tonight?" joe proposed suddenly. "if we can get it to the junkman who has a place across from the factory, he'll pay us a good price. we can complete the deal, and still get out of town before midnight." "that's okay for you," harper argued, "but ma and i own property here, and we got a good business." "it was your stupid wife's stocking business that got us into this jam!" clark clayton snarled. "i ain't talkin' about that. i mean our dance hall. we clean up about a hundred bucks every saturday night." "you should have thought about that before you went in with us," joe retorted. "you knew the risks you were taking. anyway, this mess was your wife's making." a silence fell, and then clark clayton said: "we ain't gettin' nowhere. we got to decide what we're goin' to do, and we got to make sure that gal don't get out o' this weed patch until we've arranged our escape." in whispers, the men conferred. though penny strained her ears, she could not catch a single word. however, a plan satisfactory to the three seemed to have been formulated, for presently, the two boats separated. sweeper joe and clark clayton paddled off, heading for the pier at the harpers'. the other man remained in his rowboat, unquestionably detailed to keep watch of the grass patch and prevent the girl's escape. to amuse himself, he began to call out to her, though he could not see her or know where she was. "you think you're a clever one!" he taunted. "but you jest wait! we'll get you out o' there, and when we do, you ain't goin' to like it!" lest a movement of the grass or a splash betray her, penny remained perfectly still. shadows deepened on the river for night was fast coming on. her muscles became stiff and cramped. the wind chilled her to the very bone, and the water which at first had not seemed unbearably cold, made her teeth chatter and dance. each minute became an hour as the torture increased. "i'll have to do something," she thought desperately. "i can't endure this much longer." chapter _a desperate plight_ in the rowboat, claude harper slowly patrolled the area, keeping an alert watch for the slightest movement amid the grass. once as a crane arose from the dense growth into the darkening sky, he focused a flashlight beam on the spot. "he's prepared to stay here half the night if necessary," penny thought, shivering. she could think of no means of escape. when it became completely dark, she might be able to swim away without being detected. but long exposure in cold water had weakened her, and she was none too certain of her ability to reach shore. her absence at the island surely must have been noticed by this time, she reasoned. why was not a boat sent in search of her? "i hope they don't assume i am staying with sally for the night," she worried. penny's thoughts were momentarily distracted as she heard indistinct voices from the direction of the harper dock. lights had been turned on in the house and basement. "those men are getting rid of the stolen brass," she reasoned. "if they try to sell it to heiney, they still may be caught." presently the motorboat moved away from the harper dock, its engine laboring. the craft was sunk low in the water as if from a heavy load. the boat did not turn down stream as penny expected. instead, it crossed the river at right angles, stopping in mid-stream at the deepest part of the channel. there the engine was cut off. "now what?" thought penny. claude harper likewise seemed puzzled by the action, for he turned to stare, muttering to himself. though penny could not see what the men were doing aboard the boat, she heard a loud splash as something heavy was dropped overboard. "the fools!" claude harper exclaimed. "the fools!" another splash and still another followed. then the boat turned and came toward the grass patch. claude harper hailed the men with an angry exclamation. "you idiots! after all the risk we've taken, you dump our profits in the river!" "keep your shirt on!" sweeper joe retorted. "it was the only thing to do. glowershick just phoned from town." "what'd he have to report?" "nothing good. you know that junk shop where we arranged to sell our stuff? where the owner offered us a higher price than any other place in town?" "well?" "he was a dick, planted there by old man gandiss himself. they've already got wind of who's in on the deal." "then if we try to sell the brass anywhere else, we'll be pinched." "you're catching on, harper." "have you dumped all the stuff in the river?" "it will take two more trips at least. and there's the brass lantern to get rid of," joe added. "as soon as the job is done, clark and me are gettin' out of the city." "what are ma and me gonna do?" harper whined. "we've got property here." "that's up to you," joe snapped. "if it wasn't for the gal you'd be safe enough. seen anything of her?" "nary a sign." "she may have slipped away under water. the gal swims like an eel." "i don't think she got away. i been watchin' like a hawk." "she's sure to spill everything, and she's seen plenty," joe muttered. "even though the cops don't find any evidence, they could make it plenty tough for you and the missus." "we got to leave town," harper admitted. "after takin' all this risk and bein' all set to cash in big, it's a dirty break. it ain't fair." "squawkin' won't do no good," joe said shortly. "the question is, what are we goin' to do about the gal?" "we got to make sure she won't carry no tales until we're safely out of town." "then we'll have to flush her out of this bird nest," joe decided. "there's a way we can do it." the manner in which she was to be caught, soon became apparent to penny. systematically, the men began to flatten all of the grass with their paddles and oars. foot by foot, she retreated. their strategy was discouragingly clear. the flattened grass no longer offered protection. soon it all would be level with the water, and she would have no screen. so cold that her limbs were nearly paralyzed, penny considered giving herself up. in any case, the outcome would be the same. the only other recourse was to scream for help, and hope that someone along the shore would hear her and investigate. with only the harper house close by, the prospect that anyone would come to her aid was practically nil. angered at not finding the girl, harper and his companions swung their paddles viciously. penny retreated further, still reluctant to abandon freedom. then far downstream, she saw the _river queen_, recognizing it by the pattern its lights made above the water. the ferry had finished its passenger run, and now apparently was coming upstream to anchor for the night. as penny watched the boat, she took new hope. if only she could signal captain barker or sally! unless the ferry changed course, it was almost certain to pass the grass patch. however, with the water shallow there, it would give the area a wide berth. "even if i shouted for help, no one aboard would hear me," she reasoned. "but i'll have to try something! i'm finished if i stay here." straight up the river came the _queen_. penny could see a man in the lighted pilot house, but no one was visible on the decks. the ferry was traveling at a rapid speed. penny decided to wait no longer. creeping to the very edge of the grass, she ducked under water, and started to swim. her strength had gone even more than she realized. arms and legs were so stiff they barely could press against the water as she stroked. a few feet and she was forced to come to the surface. "there she is!" shouted sweeper joe. bringing the boat around, he started directly for her. penny swam with all the power at her command, stroking deep and fast. not daring to look back, she could hear the dip of sweeper joe's oars. straight toward the deepest part of the channel, she propelled herself. her crawl strokes were jerky, but they carried her along. and she had calculated well. aided by the current, she would intercept the path of the oncoming _river queen_. from the water, the ferryboat looked like an immense monster as it steamed majestically up the river. not wishing to attract attention to himself or his companions, joe shipped his oars and temporarily gave up the chase. but he remained close by, watching alertly. should the ferryboat fail to see or pick up penny, he would be after her upon the instant. treading water, the girl shouted for help and waved an arm. her voice was weak even to her own ears, and could not possibly carry to the pilot house of the _queen_. would her frantic signals be seen? the night was dark, and she was not yet in the arc of the vessel's lights. penny swam a few more strokes, then treaded water again, and signaled frantically. the _river queen_ did not slacken speed. "they haven't seen me!" she thought desperately. "it's useless." now a new danger presented itself. the _queen_ had swerved slightly so that penny was directly in its path. still she had not been seen. looming up in gigantic proportions above her, the ferry threatened to run her down. chapter _rescue_ fearful that she would be killed, penny screamed and waved. straight on steamed the _river queen_, so close now that she could see sally barker on the starboard deck. but the girl was gazing away from her, toward sweeper joe and the other drifting boat. "help! help!" screamed penny in one last desperate attempt to save herself. her cry carried, for she saw sally whirl around and stare intently at the dark water ahead. then she shouted an order to her father. there came a clanging of bells, and the _queen_ swerved to port, missing penny by a scant ten feet. great waves engulfed her, and she fought to keep above the surface. her strength was practically gone. she rolled over on her back, gasping for breath. then she saw that the _queen_ had greatly reduced speed and was turning back on her course. a lifeboat also was being lowered. "they're going to pick me up!" penny thought, nearly overcome by relief. the next minute sally and a sailor were pulling her into the boat. "why, it's penny! and she's half drowned!" she heard her friend exclaim. then she knew no more. when she opened her eyes, penny found herself in a warm, comfortable bed. sally stood beside her with a cup of steaming hot soup. "you're coming around fine," she praised. "drink this! then you'll feel better." penny pulled herself up on an elbow and took a swallow of the soup. it was good and warmed her chilled body. she gulped the cupful down. "sally--" "better not try to talk too much now," sally advised kindly. "how did you get into the water?" the question aroused penny, bringing back a flood of memories. she suddenly realized that she was in sally's cabin on the _river queen_ and the ferry was moving. "where are we?" she asked. "you're safe," sally said soothingly. "you were swimming in the river. we nearly ran you down. lucky i saw you just in time and we picked you up." "yes, i know," penny agreed. "but _where_ are we? near the harpers?" "oh, no, we passed their place long ago. we're far upriver." penny struggled up, swinging her feet out of the bunk. she saw then that she was wearing a pair of sally's pajamas, and that her own wet garments hung over a chair. "we must turn back!" she cried. "tell captain barker, please! oh, it's vitally important, sally!" sally was maddeningly deliberate. "now don't get excited, penny," she advised. "everything will be all right." penny resisted as sally tried to push her back into bed. "you don't understand!" she protested. "sweeper joe, claude harper, and clark clayton are expecting to make their get-away tonight. they're the ones who have been stealing brass from the gandiss factory. it's all cached in the basement of the harper house--or was unless they've dumped it." "penny, are you straight in your head? you know what you're saying?" "i certainly do! i went there this afternoon. when i learned too much, they tried to hold me prisoner. i escaped by the river--hid in the grass patch. but they followed me there, and were about to get me, when the _river queen_ steamed by." "i did see two small boats there. just before you shouted i wondered what they would be doing at this time of night." "sweeper joe and clark clayton have been dumping the stolen brass! unless police stop them before they dispose of it all, not a scrap of evidence will be left! all those men expect to leave town tonight!" "thank heavens, we have a ship-to-shore radio telephone!" sally cried, thoroughly aroused. "i'll have pop call the police right away!" she bolted out the cabin door. every muscle and joint in penny's body ached, but there was no time to think of her misery. her own clothes could not be put on. searching in sally's wardrobe, she found a sweater and a skirt, and undergarments she needed. by the time her friend returned, she was dressed. "penny, you shouldn't have gotten up!" sally protested quickly. "i can't afford to miss the excitement," penny grinned. "hope you don't mind lending me some of your clothes." "of course not, and if you must stay up, you'll need a pair of shoes." sally found a pair of sandals, which although too large, would serve. after penny had put them on, she said: "let's go to the pilot house, because i want you to tell pop exactly what happened." "did you notify police?" "pop sent the message. it may take a little while, but police should be at the harpers' almost anytime now." "those men saw me taken aboard this boat," penny worried. "i'm afraid they'll get away before the police arrive." the girls climbed to the pilot house where captain barker had just turned the wheel over to a helmsman. all members of the crew remained aboard, for with the _queen_ late on her run, there had been no opportunity as yet to put the men ashore. "we may need all our hands tonight," captain barker predicted. "no telling what may develop. i have one of those feelings." "now pop!" reproved sally. "the last time you made a remark like that, we smashed a rudder. remember?" "aye, i remember all too well," he rejoined grimly. urged by sally, penny related everything that had happened at the harpers', and told of her endurance contest in the grass patch. "we'll head back that direction and see what's doing," captain barker offered to satisfy her. "maybe we'll catch sight of those rascals in their boats." although the _queen_ cruised slowly near the shoal area where penny had encountered adventure, there was no sign of any small boat. the ferry crept dangerously close to the grass patch. "watch 'er like a cat!" captain barker warned the helmsman. "cramp her! cramp her!" when the man did not react speedily enough, he seized the wheel and helped spin it hard down. the _queen_ responded readily, moving into deeper waters. satisfied that there were no small boats in the vicinity, captain barker, headed upstream toward the harpers'. across the water, lights were to be seen on both floors of the two-story river house, but so far as could be discerned, no boats were tied up at the pier or docks. "the place isn't deserted, that's certain," penny declared, peering into the wall of darkness. "how long should it take the police to get there?" "if the radio message we sent was properly transmitted, they should be on their way now," the captain replied. sally, impatient for action, was all for taking a crew and descending upon the house and its occupants. puffing thoughtfully at his pipe, her father considered the proposal, but shook his head. "we have no authority to make a search," he pointed out. "any such action would make us liable for court action. just be patient and you'll see fireworks." knowing that to stand by near the harpers' pier would warn the house occupants they were being watched, captain barker ordered the _queen_ to turn downriver toward the main freight and passenger docks. an excursion boat, the _florence_, passed them, her railings lined with women and children who had enjoyed an all-day outing and were returning home. the steamer tied up at the ninth street dock and began to disgorge passengers. then it happened. penny saw a sudden flash of flame which seemed to come from the hold of the excursion ship. the next instant fire shot from the portholes and began to spread. captain barker gave a hoarse shout which sent a chill down her spine. "the _florence_!" he exclaimed huskily. "her oil tanks must have exploded! she'll go up like matchwood, and with all those women and children aboard!" chapter _captain barker's courage_ never did a fire seem to spread so rapidly. in less than three minutes, as those aboard the _river queen_ watched in helpless horror, the _florence_ became a mass of flames from stem to stern. terrified passengers jammed the gangplank as they tried to crowd ashore. some of them leaped from the excursion boat's high railings to the dock below. "her mooring lines are ablaze!" captain barker shouted a moment later. "and the freight sheds are catching afire," penny added, observing a telltale line of flame starting from the flimsy wooden buildings along the wharf, directly back of the dock where the _florence_ had moored. the blazing sheds worried captain barker far less than the fact that the mooring lines had caught fire. if the _florence_ should be cut loose from the dock, helpless women and children would be carried out onto the river in a flaming inferno. "why don't the fire boats get here!" sally murmured nervously. "oh, this is going to be a dreadful disaster if something isn't done to save those helpless people!" at the bridge leading to the pilot house, captain barker stood tensely watching, his hand on the signal ropes. "there go the mooring lines!" he shouted. "the current should bring her this way!" as the _florence_ slowly drifted away from the blazing wharf, men and women began to leap over the railings into the dark waters. "man the lifeboats!" captain barker ordered his crew tersely. "i'm going to try to get a tow line on 'er!" he signaled the engine room, and the _river queen_ began to back rapidly toward the flaming excursion boat. penny and sally ran to help launch the lifeboats. with the _river queen_ desperately short handed, they would be needed to handle oars. a fireman, an engineer, captain barker and a helmsman must remain at their posts, which left only three sailors to pick up passengers. leaping into the first boat launched, the girls rowed into the path of the blazing vessel. in its bright glow against the sky, they could see panic-stricken passengers running about the decks. an increasing number were leaping into the water, and many could not swim. ignoring the cries of those who had life belts or were swimming strongly, they rapidly picked up survivors. to pull children aboard was a comparatively easy task. but many of the women were heavy, and the combined strength of the girls barely was sufficient to get them into the boat without upsetting. finally the lifeboat was filled beyond capacity, and they turned to land their cargo aboard the _queen_. only then did they see what captain barker intended to do. his men had succeeded in making a line fast to the _florence's_ stern. by this time the excursion boat was a flaming inferno, with only a few passengers, the captain, and crew remaining aboard. "pop's going to tow the _florence_ downstream away from the freight sheds!" sally cried. "some of those buildings are filled with war materials awaiting shipment--coal, oil and i don't know what all! if a fire once gets going there, nothing will stop it!" working feverishly, the girls unloaded their passengers and went back for more. motorboats had set out from shore, and they too aided in the rescue work. some of the survivors were taken to land, and others were put aboard the _queen_. aided by a sailor they had picked up, the girls worked until they no longer could see bobbing heads in the swirling waters. "we've done all we can," sally gasped, as they helped the last of the passengers aboard the _queen_. "the captain and most of his men will stay on the _florence_ as long as they are able." though exhausted by their work, the girls did what they could for those aboard. sally distributed all the blankets she could find, and penny helped a sailor revive two women who were unconscious from having swallowed too much water. suddenly there came a loud report like the crack of a pistol. the tow line to the _florence_ had parted! once more the excursion boat, now a roaring furnace, was adrift in mid-stream. in an instant it was apparent to penny what would happen. the cross-current was strong, and in a minute or two would carry the burning vessel into the wharves and sheds. when the boat struck, flying sparks would ignite the dry wood for a considerable distance, and soon the entire waterfront would be ablaze. though outwardly calm, captain barker was beset as he appraised the situation. it would not be possible to get another tow line onto the _florence_ for already her decks had become untenable for the crew. the blazing vessel was drifting rapidly. "we could ram her," he muttered. "she might be nosed out into the channel again, and headed away from the freight docks." "wouldn't that be dangerous?" sally asked anxiously. "we have at least fifty passengers aboard. in this high wind, the _queen_ would be almost certain to catch fire." "there's nothing else to do," captain barker decided grimly, signaling the engine room. "the _florence_ is drifting fast, and before the fire boats can get here, half the waterfront will be ablaze. have the passengers wet down the decks and stand by with buckets!" penny and sally worked feverishly carrying out orders. the deck hose was attached, and buckets were brought from below and filled with water. all survivors who were able to help, cooperated to the fullest extent, helping wet down the decks and assisting women and children to the stern of the ferryboat. captain barker had given an order for the _queen_ to move full speed ahead. in a moment the two boats made jarring contact. penny was thrown from her feet. scrambling up, she saw that blazing timbers from the _florence_ had crashed directly onto the _river queen's_ deck. sparks were falling everywhere. the ferryboat had caught fire in a dozen places. seizing a bucket of water, she doused out the flames nearest her. heat from the _florence_ was intense, and many of the men who had volunteered to help, began to retreat. penny and sally stuck at their post, knowing that the lives of all depended upon extinguishing the flames quickly. crew members of the _florence_ worked beside them with quiet, determined efficiency. in the midst of the excitement, the final boatload of picked-up survivors had to be taken aboard. captain jamison, one of the last to leave the _florence_, collapsed as he reached the deck. severely burned, he was carried below to receive first-aid treatment. undaunted, captain barker shouted terse orders, goading the men to greater activity when the flames showed signs of getting beyond control. after the first contact with the florence, only occasional sparks ignited the _queen's_ decks, but the heat was terrific. women and children became hysterical, fearful that the ferryboat would become a flaming torch. "the worst is over now," sally sighed as she and penny refilled water buckets. "pop knows what he's doing. he's saved the waterfront." "but this ferryboat?" "it still may go up in smoke, but i don't think so," sally replied calmly. "pop is heading so that the wind will carry the flames away from us. he'll beach the _florence_ on horseshoe shoal and let the wreck burn to the water's edge." for the next fifteen minutes, there was no lessening of worry aboard the _river queen_. the ferryboat clung grimly to the blazing excursion boat, losing contact at times, then picking her up again, and pushing on toward the shoal. fire fighting activities aboard the ferryboat became better organized; the passengers, observing that captain barker knew what he was about, became calm and easily managed. by the time fire boats arrived to spray the _florence_ with streams of pressured water, the situation was well in hand. collapsing on the deck from sheer exhaustion, penny and sally gazed toward the warehouses and docks on the opposite shore. only one fire of any size was visible there. "the fire boats will quickly put it out," sally said confidently. "but i hate to think what would have happened if the wind and current had driven the _florence_ along those wharves." penny wiped her cheek and saw that her hand was covered with black soot. sally too was a sight. she had ripped the hem from her skirt, her hair was an untidy mess, everything about her was pungent with smoke. "where were we when all this excitement started?" penny asked presently. "if my memory serves me correctly, we had sent out a police call for claude harper and his pals to be arrested. it all seems vague in my mind, as if it occurred a million years ago." "why, i had forgotten too!" sally gasped. "i hope the police went there and caught those men before they made a get-away." scrambling to their feet, the girls moved to the starboard side of the _queen_, which permitted a view of the harper house far upriver. they were startled and dismayed to see tongues of flame shooting from a window. "that place has caught on fire too!" sally exclaimed, then corrected herself. "but sparks from the _florence_ never could have been carried so far!" "the house has been set afire on purpose!" penny cried. "oh, sally, don't you see? it's a trick to destroy all the evidence hidden there! the harpers intend to skip town tonight, and they're taking advantage of this fire to make it appear that destruction of the house is accidental!" chapter _fire!_ sick at heart, the two girls realized with the harper house aflame, their last chance of proving the guilt of the brass thieves might be gone. as they stood at the railing of the _queen_, gloomily watching the spreading, creeping line of fire, a motorboat chugged up. "ahoy!" shouted a familiar voice. "can you take aboard three more survivors? they're the very last we can find on the river." "it's jack!" penny cried, recognizing his voice though unable to see his face in the dark. "after we get the passengers aboard, perhaps he'll take us upriver to the harpers!" the girls ran to help with the new arrivals, but sailors already had lifted them from the boat and carried them aboard the _queen_. "this is my last load," jack called out. "nearly everyone was saved. coast guard boats are patrolling now, and if there are other survivors, they'll be taken ashore." "jack!" penny called down to him. "that you, penny?" he demanded in astonishment. "why didn't you come back to shadow island this afternoon? we've all been worried about you!" "it's a long story, and there's no time to tell it now! jack, will you take us to the harpers' in your motorboat?" "now?" "yes, the house is on fire." helping the girls into the boat, jack turned to gaze upstream. "that's strange!" he exclaimed. "how could sparks from the _florence_ have carried so far?" "the answer is, they didn't," penny said grimly. "the house was set afire on purpose. just get us to the pier as quickly as you can." somewhere along the shore a big city clock struck the hour of midnight. the young people did not notice. as the boat raced over the water, bouncing as it struck each high wave, they discussed what had happened just prior to the outbreak of fire aboard the _florence_. "i know part of the stolen brass was dumped into the river by sweeper joe," penny revealed excitedly. "the remainder was locked in the basement of the harper house the last i knew. and i'm satisfied the brass lantern taken from the _queen_ by adam glowershick is among the loot. all the thieves expect to skip town tonight. probably they're gone by this time." beaching the boat some distance from the burning house, the three young people ran up the slope. firemen had not yet reached the scene, and the few persons who had gathered, were watching the flames but making no effort to battle them. "it's a hopeless proposition," jack commented. "this far from the city, there's no water pressure. the house will burn to the ground." "and all the evidence with it," penny added gloomily. "what miserable luck!" no boats were tied up at the dock, nor was there any sign of the harpers or their friends in the crowd. obviously, the entire party had fled. "isn't there some place where we can telephone the police?" penny suggested impatiently. "if they act quickly, these men still may be caught. they can't be very far away." "the nearest house is up the beach about an eighth of a mile," jack informed. "maybe we can telephone from there." "you two go," sally said casually. "i want to stay here." at the moment, jack and penny, intent only upon their mission, thought nothing about the remark. following the paved road which made walking easy, they hastened as fast as they could. "jack," penny said, puffing to keep pace with him. "there's something i want to ask you." "shoot!" "why have you felt so friendly toward that crook, glowershick?" jack's eyebrows jerked upward and he gave a snort of disgust. "whatever gave you that crazy idea?" "well, he came to the island, and you borrowed money from me to give him--" "so you recognized him that day?" "yes," penny answered quietly. "you tried to hide his identity, so i said nothing more. i kept thinking you would explain." "i'm prepared to pay you what i owe, penny." "oh, jack, it's not the money. don't you understand--" "you think i've had a finger in lifting the brass lantern from the _queen_," jack said stiffly. "gracious, no! but shouldn't you explain?" jack was silent for a moment. then he said, "thanks, penny, for having a little faith in me. i know i've been an awful sap." "suppose you tell me all about it." "there's nothing to tell. i went to the harpers a number of times--attended their dances, and spent a lot of money. i got into debt to that fellow glowershick and he pressed me for it." "there was nothing more to it?" "not a thing, except that i didn't want my folks to hear about it. that's why i pretended i didn't know glowershick. i was afraid you would tell them. don't you believe me?" "oh, i do, jack. i'm so relieved. and the jitterbug girl at harpers'--" "oh, _her_!" jack said scornfully. "she was a stupid thing, and i don't see how i stood her silly chatter. most of the money i borrowed from glowershick was spent on her. as i've said, i was a complete chump." reaching a house some distance back from the river, they found the owner at home, and were given permission to telephone the police. jack was promised by an inspector that all police cruisers would be ordered to watch for the escaped brass thieves. railroad terminals, bus depots and all roads leading from the city would be guarded. "watch the riverfront too," jack urged. "the men may have gone by boat to tate's beach, intending to catch a train from there." satisfied they had done everything possible, penny and jack hastened back to the harpers'. the sky was tinted pink and flames now shot from the roof of the house. a large crowd had gathered, and there was excited talk and gesturing. "something's wrong!" penny observed anxiously. pushing through the crowd, they sought vainly to find sally. a woman was talking excitedly, pointed toward the flaming building. "i tell you, i saw a girl run in there only a few minutes ago!" she insisted. "and she didn't come out! she must be in there now!" the words shocked penny and jack as the same thought came to them. could it be that reckless sally had ventured into the basement of the house, hoping to recover the brass lantern or other evidence which would incriminate the thieves? "she acted funny when we left her here," penny whispered in horror. "oh, jack! if she's inside the building--" pushing through the crowd, she grasped the arm of the woman who was talking. "who was the girl? what was she wearing?" she demanded tensely. "a blue sweater," the woman recalled. "her hair was flying wild and her face was streaked with dirt as if she'd already been in the fire. i thought maybe she lived here." "it was sally," penny murmured, her heart sinking to her shoe tops. "why hasn't someone brought her out?" "no human being could get into that house now," declared a man who stood close by. "the firemen aren't here yet. anyway, we ain't sure there's anyone inside." "i saw the girl run in, i tell you!" the woman insisted. to debate over such a vital matter infuriated penny and jack. sally was nowhere in the crowd and they were convinced she had entered the blazing building. flames were blowing from some of the lower windows and smoke was dense. it was obvious that no man present was willing to risk his life to ascertain if the girl were inside. "she must have tried to reach the basement!" penny cried. "oh, jack, we've got to bring her out!" nodding grimly, jack stripped off his coat. throwing it over his head as a shield, he darted into the burning building. penny, close at his heels, had no protection. inside the house, smoke was so black they could not see three feet ahead. choking, gasping for breath, they groped their way through the living room to the kitchen. penny jerked open the door leading into the cellar. flames roared into her face. the entire basement was an inferno of heat. no human being could descend the stairs and return. if sally were below, she was beyond help. closing the door, penny staggered backwards. her head was spinning and she could not get her breath. "it's no use!" jack shouted in her ear. "we've got to get out of here! the walls or floor may collapse." clutching penny's arm, he pulled her along. in the black smoke swirling about them, they missed the kitchen door. frantically, they crept along a scorching hot wall, seeking to find an exit. then penny stumbled over an object on the floor and fell. as she tried to get up, her hand touched something soft and yielding. a body lay sprawled in a heap beside her on the floor. "it's sally!" she cried. "oh, jack, help me get her up!" chapter _dredging the river_ sally moaned softly but did not stir as penny tried to pull her to a sitting position. the heat now was almost unbearably intense, with flying brands dropping everywhere. but near the floor, the air was better, and penny drew it in by deep gulps. jack's groping hand encountered the sink. soaking his coat with water from one of the taps, he gave it to penny to protect her head and shoulders. "help me get sally onto my back in a fireman's carry," he gasped. "we can make it." the confidence in jack's voice gave penny new courage and strength. as he knelt down on the floor, she dragged sally onto his back. holding the inert body high on his shoulders, he staggered across the kitchen. penny guided him to the door. flames had eaten into the living room, and a small portion of the floor had fallen through. to reach the exit was impossible. "a window!" jack directed. penny could see none, so dense was the smoke, but she remembered how the room had been laid out, and pulled jack to an outer wall. her exploring hand encountered a window sill, but she could not get the sash up. in desperation, she kicked out the glass. a rush of cool, sweet air struck her face. filling her lungs, she turned to help jack with his burden. before she could grasp him, he sagged slowly to the floor. thrusting her head through the broken window, penny shouted for help. willing hands lifted her to safety, and two men climbed through the window to bring out jack and sally. both were carried some distance from the blazing building to an automobile where they were revived. however, sally was in need of medical attention. hair and eyebrows had been singed half away, and more serious, her hands and arms were severely burned. jack and penny rode with her to the hospital when the ambulance finally came. not until hours later, after captain barker had been summoned, did sally know anyone. heavily bandaged, with her father, jack, and penny at her bedside, she opened her eyes and gave them a half-hearted grin. "the _florence_?" she whispered. "safely beached on a shoal," captain barker assured her tenderly. "there's nothing to worry about. all the passengers have been taken to hospitals or to their homes. a preliminary check has shown only one man lost, an engineer who was trapped at his post when the explosion occurred aboard the _florence_." "pop, you were marvelous," sally whispered. "you saved the waterfront." "and nearly lost a daughter. sally, why did you try to get into that burning building?" sally drew a deep, tired sigh. "never mind," said penny kindly. "we know why you went in--it was to find the brass lantern." sally nodded. "when i got to the basement, flames were shooting up everywhere," she recalled with a shudder. "i realized then that i couldn't possibly find the lantern or anything else. i tried to get back, but smoke was everywhere. that was the last i remembered." "it was jack who saved you," penny said, but he cut in to insist that the credit belonged to her rather than to him. in the midst of a good-natured argument over the subject, a nurse came to say that penny and jack both were wanted on the telephone. "the police department calling," she explained. they were down the hall in a flash to take the call. captain brown of the city police force informed them they were wanted immediately at police headquarters to identify sweeper joe, the harpers, and clark clayton who had been arrested at the railroad station. adam glowershick also had been taken into custody. at headquarters fifteen minutes later, the young people found mr. gandiss, penny's father, and heiney growski already there. questioned by police, the young people revealed everything they knew about the case. "we can hold these men for a while," chief bailey promised mr. gandiss, "but to make charges stick, we'll have to have more evidence." penny had told of the cache of brass in the harper basement, and also of seeing sweeper joe and clark clayton dump much of the loot in the river. she was assured that the ruins of the house would be searched in the morning and that a dredge would be assigned to try to locate the brass which had been thrown overboard into the deepest part of the channel. heiney growski produced records he had kept, showing a list of gandiss factory employes known to be implicated in the plot. "most of the persons involved are new employes who smuggled small pieces of brass out of the factory and turned them over to sweeper joe for pin money," he revealed. "the leaders are joe, clayton, and glowershick. with them behind bars, the ring will dissolve." "there's one thing i want to know," penny declared feelingly. "who planted the brass in sally's locker while she was working at the factory?" no one could answer the question at the moment, but the following day, after police had repeatedly questioned the prisoners, the entire story became known. sweeper joe, the real instigator of the plot, had slipped into the locker room himself, and had placed the incriminating piece of evidence in sally's locker, using a master key. he had disliked her because several times she had resented his attempts to become friendly. although police had obtained signed confessions, tangible evidence also was needed, for as chief bailey pointed out to mr. gandiss, the men might repudiate their statements when they appeared in court. accordingly, police squads were sent to the harpers' to search the ashes for evidence, and also to the river to supervise dredging operations. throughout the day, between trips to the hospital to see sally, jack and penny watched the dredge boat make its trips back and forth over the area where the loot had been dropped. "i hope i wasn't mistaken in the location," penny remarked anxiously as the vessel made repeated excursions without success. "after all, the night was dark, and i had no way of taking accurate bearings." across the river and barely visible, the blackened, smoking skeleton of the _florence_ lay stranded on a sandbar. throughout the night, a fireboat had steadily pumped water into the burning vessel, but even so, fires had not been entirely extinguished. morning papers had carried the encouraging information that there was only one known casualty as a result of the disaster. that many lives had not been lost was credited entirely to the courageous action of captain barker. becoming weary of watching the monotonous dredging operations, jack and penny joined a throng of curious bystanders at the harper property. police had taken complete charge and were raking the smoldering ruins. "find anything?" jack asked a policeman he knew. the man pointed to a small heap of charred metal which had been taken from the basement. there were many pieces of brass, but the missing lantern was not to be found in the pile. however, from a member of the arson squad, they learned that enough evidence had been found to prove conclusively that the fire had been started with gasoline. "ma harper spilled the whole story," one of the policemen related. "she and her husband were fairly straight until they became mixed up with sweeper joe, who has a police record of long standing. ma had a black market business in silk stockings that didn't amount to much. so far as we've been able to learn, she and a taxi driver whom we've caught, were the only ones involved. her husband and the other men considered the stocking racket small potatoes for them." after talking with the policemen for awhile, the young people wandered down to the river's edge to see how dredging operations progressed. "they're hauling something out of the water now!" jack exclaimed. "by george! it looks like brass to me!" finding a boat tied up at the dock, they borrowed it and rowed rapidly out to the dredge. there they saw that some of the metal which sweeper joe had dumped, had indeed been recovered. prodding in the muddy pile in the bottom of the dredge net, penny uttered a little scream of joy. "the brass lantern is here, jack! what wonderful luck!" seizing the slime-covered object, she washed it in the river. "let's take it straight to sally at the hospital!" she urged. because the lantern would be important evidence in the case against glowershick, police aboard the dredge were unwilling for it to be removed. however, the young people carried the news to sally. "oh, i'm so glad the lantern has been recovered!" she cried happily. "jack, you'll win it in the race friday." jack and penny exchanged a quick, stricken glance. temporarily, they had forgotten the race and all it meant to sally. with her hands bandaged from painful burns, she never would be able to compete. "we'll postpone the race," jack said gruffly. "it would be no competition if we held it without you." "nonsense," replied sally. "it will be weeks before i can use my hands well, so it would be stupid to postpone the race that long. fortunately, the doctor says i may leave the hospital tomorrow, and i'll not be scarred." "if you can't race, i won't either," declared jack stubbornly. "jack, you must!" agitated, sally raised herself on an elbow. "i'd feel dreadful if you didn't compete. the race has meant everything to you." "not any more. winning doesn't seem important now. i'll not sail in the race unless the _cat's paw_ is entered, and that's final!" "oh, jack, you're such an old mule!" sally tossed her head impatiently on the pillow. then she grinned. "if my _cat_ is in the race, you'll sail?" "sure," he agreed, suspecting no trick. sally laughed gleefully. "then it's settled! penny will represent me in the race!" "i'll do what?" demanded penny. "you'll skipper the boat in my stead!" "but i lack experience." "you'll win the trophy easily," chuckled sally. "why, the _cat's paw_ is by far the fastest boat on the river." "says who?" demanded jack, but without his old fire. "but i couldn't race alone," said penny, decidedly worried. "sally, would you be able to ride along as adviser and captain bold?" "i certainly would jump at the chance if the doctor would give permission. oh, penny, if only he would!" "the race isn't until friday," jack said encouragingly. "you can make it, sally." the girl pulled herself to a sitting posture, staring at her bandaged hands. "yes, i can," she agreed with quiet finality. "why, i feel better already. even if i have to be carried to the dock in a wheel chair, i'll be in that race!" chapter _the race_ a mid-afternoon sun beat down upon the wharves as a group of sailboats tacked slowly toward the starting line for the annual hat island trophy race. the shores were lined with spectators, and from the clubhouse where a band played, music carried over the water. at the tiller of the _cat's paw_, penny, in white blouse and slacks, hair bound tightly to keep it from blowing, sat nervous and tense. sally, lounging on a cushion in the bow, seemed thoroughly relaxed. though her arms remained in bandages, otherwise she had completely recovered from her unpleasant experience. "isn't the wind dying?" penny asked anxiously. "oh, sally, i was hoping we'd have a good stiff breeze for the race! handicapped as we are--" "we're not handicapped," sally corrected. "of course, i can't handle the ropes or do much to help, but we have a wonderful boat that will prove more than a match for jack's _spindrift_." "you're only saying that to give me confidence." "no, i'm not," sally denied, turning to study the group of racing boats. "we'll win the trophy! just wait and see." "if we do, it will be because of your brain and my brawn," penny chuckled. "i'll admit i'm scared silly. i never was in an important race before." conversation ceased, for the boats now were bunching close to the starting line, maneuvering for position. jack drifted by in the _spindrift_, raising his hand in friendly greeting. as he passed, he actually glanced anxiously toward sally, as if worried lest the girl overtax herself. "i hope he doesn't try to throw the race just to be gallant," penny thought. "but i don't believe he will, for then the victory would be a hollow one." the change apparent in jack so amazed penny that she had to pinch herself to realize it was true. since the night of the fire, he had visited sally every day. in a brief span of hours, he had grown from a selfish, arrogant youth into a steady, dependable man. and it now was evident to everyone that he liked sally in more than a friendly way. "better come about now, penny," sally broke in upon her thoughts. "head for the starting line. the signal should be given any minute now." the boats started in a close, tight group. jack was over the line first, but with _cat's paw_ directly behind. in the first leg of the race, the two boats kept fairly even, with the others lagging. as the initial marker was rounded, there was a noticeable fall-off in the wind. "it's going to be a drifting race," sally confirmed, raising troubled eyes to the wrinkled sail. "we're barely drawing now and jack's boat has the edge in a calm." the _spindrift_ skimmed merrily along, now in the lead by many yards. though penny held the tiller delicately, taking advantage of every breath of wind, the distance between the two boats rapidly increased. "we're out of it," she sighed. "we can't hope to overtake jack now." sally nodded gloomily. shading her eyes against the glare of the sun, she gazed across the river, studying the triangular course. far off-shore, well beyond the line the _spindrift_ and their own boat was taking, the surface of the water appeared rippled. ahead of them there was only a smooth surface. "penny," she said quietly. "i believe there's more breeze out there." penny nodded and headed the _cat's paw_ on the longer course out into the river. to many spectators ashore it appeared that the girls deliberately had abandoned the race, but aboard the _river queen_, captain barker grinned proudly at his guests, mr. parker, and mr. and mrs. gandiss. "those gals are using their heads!" he praised. "well, mr. gandiss, it looks as if the barkers will keep the trophy another year!" "the race isn't over yet," mr. gandiss rumbled goodnaturedly. aboard the _cat's paw_, penny and sally were none too jubilant. although sails curved with wind and they were footing much faster than the other boats, the course they had chosen would force them to sail a much longer distance. could they cross the finish line ahead of the _spindrift_? "shouldn't we turn now?" penny asked impatiently. "jack's so much closer than we." "not yet," sally said calmly. "we must make it in one long tack. he will be forced to make several. that's our only chance. if we misjudge the distance, we're sunk." tensely, they watched the moving line of boats close along shore. the _spindrift_ seemed almost at the finish line, though her sails barely were drawing and she moved through the water at a snail's pace. again penny glanced anxiously at her companion. "now!" sally gave the signal. instantly penny swung the _cat's paw_ onto the homeward tack. every inch of her sails drawing, she swept toward the finish line. "we're so much farther away than the _spindrift_," penny groaned, crouching low so that her body would not deflect the wind. "oh, sally, will we make it?" "can't tell yet. it will be nip and tuck. but if we can keep this breeze--" the wind held, and the _cat's paw_, sailing to windward of the finish line, moved along faster and faster. on the other hand, the _spindrift_ was forced to make several short tacks, losing distance each time. the boats drew even. suddenly sally relaxed, and slumped down on the cushions. "just hold the old girl steady on her course," she grinned. "that brass lantern is the same as ours!" "then we'll win?" "we can't lose now unless some disaster should overtake us." even as sally spoke, boat whistles began to toot. sailing experts nodded their heads in a pleased way, for it was a race to their liking. a minute later, sweeping in like a house afire, the _cat's paw_ crossed the finish line well in advance of the _spindrift_. jack's boat placed second with other craft far behind. friendly hands assisted the girls ashore where they were spirited away to the clubhouse for rest and refreshments. as everyone crowded about to congratulate them upon victory, jack joined the throng. "it was a dandy race," he said with sincerity. "i tried hard to win, but you outsmarted me." "why, jack!" teased sally. "imagine admitting a thing like that!" "now don't try to rub it in," he pleaded. "i know i've been an awful heel. you probably won't believe me, but i'm sorry about the way i acted--" "for goodness sakes, don't apologize," sally cut him short. "i enjoyed every one of those squabbles we had. i hope we have a lot more of them." "we probably will," jack warned, "because i expect to be underfoot quite a bit of the time." later in the afternoon, the brass lantern which had been turned over to the club by the police, was formally presented to sally. she was warned however, that the trophy would have to be returned later for use in court as evidence against adam glowershick. the nicest surprise of all was yet to come. captain barker was requested by a committee chairman to kindly step forward into full view of the spectators. "now what's this?" he rumbled, edging away. but he could not escape. speaking into a loudspeaker, the committee chairman informed the captain and delighted spectators, that in appreciation of what he had done to save the waterfront, a thousand dollar purse had been raised. mr. gandiss, whose factory certainly would have faced destruction had wharves caught fire, had contributed half the sum himself. "why, beaching the _florence_ was nothing," the captain protested, deeply embarrassed. "i can repair the damage done to the _queen_ with less than a hundred dollars." "the money is yours, and you must keep it," he was told. "you must have a use for it." "i have that," captain barker admitted, winking at his daughter. "there's a certain young lady of my acquaintance who has been hankerin' to go away to college." "oh, pop." sally's eyes danced. "how wonderful! i know where i want to go too!" "so you've been studying the school catalogues?" her father teased. sally shook her head. reaching for penny's hand, she drew her close. "i don't need a catalogue," she laughed. "i only know i'm scheduled for the same place penny selects! she's been my good luck star, and i'll set my future course by her!" transcriber's notes --replaced the list of books in the series by the complete list, as in the final book, "the cry at midnight". --silently corrected a handful of palpable typos. transcriber's notes: variable, archaic or unusual spelling and punctuation have been retained apart from minor punctuation inconsistencies which have been silently corrected. an errata list can be found at the end of the book. footnotes were sequentially numbered and placed at the end of each section. the page headers of the book are presented as [header] and, where possible, have been placed so as not to disrupt the reading flow. the two texts of parson haben's or hyberdyne's _sermon in praise of thieves and thievery_ are printed on opposite pages. here each text is shown individually. for this text version, text in superscript is placed within {curly brackets} preceded by a carat character like ^{this}. diacritical marks that cannot be represented in plain text are shown in the following manner: [l~l] ll with a tilde through them [n)] n with a ) attached to the right side [=u] u with macron [=n] n with macron mark up: _italics_ =blackletter typeface (gothic)= +bold+ *smaller font* the shakespeare library. general editor professor i. gollancz, litt.d. [illustration] the rogues and vagabonds of shakespeare's youth: awdeley's 'fraternitye of vacabondes' and harman's 'caveat': edited with an introduction by edward viles and f. j. furnivall [illustration] chatto and windus, publishers london mcmvii r. clay & sons, limited, london and bungay. contents page =preface= i awdeley's _fraternitye_, not plagiarized from, but published 'a fewe yeares' before, harman's _caueat_ i harman's _caueat_: two states of the nd edition. the latter, now called the rd edition, is reprinted here v piraters from harman: bynnyman, and g. dewes vi short account of thomas harman vii harrison's quotation of harman, and his account of english vagabonds, and the punishments for them xi _the groundworke of conny-catching_ is a reprint of harman's _caueat_, with an introduction xiv dekker's _belman of london_: its borrowings from harman xiv s. rowlands's _martin mark-all_ shows up dekker, and has new cant words xvi dekker's _lanthorn and candle-light_ borrows from harman: canting song from it xix _the caterpillers of this nation anatomized_ xxi _a warning for housebreakers_ xxi _street robberies consider'd_ xxii parson haben's or hyberdyne's _sermon in praise of thieves and thievery_ xxiv shares in the present work xxiv . =awdeley's fraternitye of vacabondes=, _with_ the =.xxv. orders of knaues= (p. - ) - . =harman's caueat or warrening for commen cvrsetors vulgarely called vagabones= - . =parson haben's (or hyberdyne's) sermon in praise of thieves and thievery= - . =the groundwork of conny-catching=: those parts that are not reprinted from harman's _caueat_ - . =notes= - . =index= - preface. if the ways and slang of vagabonds and beggars interested martin luther enough to make him write a preface to the _liber vagatorum_[ ] in , two of the ungodly may be excused for caring, in , for the old rogues of their english land, and for putting together three of the earliest tracts about them. moreover, these tracts are part of the illustrative matter that we want round our great book on elizabethan england, harrison's _description of britain_, and the chief of them is quoted by the excellent parson who wrote that book. the first of these three tracts, awdeley's _fraternitye of vacabondes_, has been treated by many hasty bibliographers, who can never have taken the trouble to read the first three leaves of harman's book, as later than, and a mere pilfering from, harman's _caueat_. no such accusation, however, did harman himself bring against the worthy printer-author (herein like printer-author crowley, though he was preacher too,) who preceded him. in his epistle dedicatory to the countes of shrewsbury, p. , below, harman, after speaking of 'these wyly wanderers,' vagabonds, says in or , there was _a fewe yeares since_ a small bréefe setforth of some zelous man to his countrey,--of whom i knowe not,--that made a lytle shewe of there names and vsage, and gaue a glymsinge lyghte, not sufficient to perswade of their peuishe peltinge and pickinge practyses, but well worthy of prayse. [header: awdeley's _fraternitye of vacabondes_.] this description of the 'small bréefe,' and the 'lytle shewe' of the 'names and vsage,' exactly suits awdeley's tract; and the 'fewe yeares since' also suits the date of what may be safely assumed to be the first edition of the _fraternitye_, by john awdeley or john sampson, or sampson awdeley,--for by all these names, says mr payne collier, was our one man known:-- it may be disputed whether this printer's name were really sampson, or awdeley: he was made free of the stationers' company as sampson, and so he is most frequently termed towards the commencement of the register; but he certainly wrote and printed his name awdeley or awdelay; now and then it stands in the register 'sampson awdeley.' it is the more important to settle the point, because ... he was not only a printer, but a versifier,[ ] and ought to have been included by ritson in his _bibliographica poetica_. (registers of the stationers' company, a.d. , vol. i. p. .) these verses of awdeley's, or sampson's, no doubt led to his 'small bréefe' being entered in the stationers' register as a 'ballett': " - . rd. of john sampson, for his lycense for pryntinge of a ballett called the description of vakaboundes ... iiij^{d}. "[this entry seems to refer to an early edition of a very curious work, printed again by sampson, alias awdeley, in , when it bore the following title, 'the fraternitie of vacabondes, as well of rufling vacabones as of beggerly, [ ]as well of women as of men, [ ]and as well of gyrles as of boyes, with their proper names and qualityes. also the xxv. orders of knaves, otherwise called a quartten of knawes. confirmed this yere by cocke lorel.' the edition without date mentioned by dibdin (iv. ) may have been that of the entry. another impression by awdeley, dated [which we reprint] is reviewed in the _british bibliographer_, ii. , where it is asserted (as is very probable, though we are without distinct evidence of the fact) that the printer was the compiler of the book, and he certainly introduces it by three six-line stanzas. if this work came out originally in , according to the entry, there is no doubt that it was the precursor of a very singular series of tracts on the same subject, which will be noticed in their proper places.]"--j. p. collier, _registers_, i. . as above said, i take harman's 'fewe yeares'--in or --to point to the edition of awdeley, and not the ed. and as to awdeley's authorship,--what can be more express than his own words, p. , below, that what the vagabond caught at a session confest as to 'both names and states of most and least of this their vacabondes brotherhood,' _that_,--'at the request of a worshipful man, i ['the printer,' that is, john awdeley] have set it forth as well as i can.' but if a doubt on awdeley's priority to harman exists in any reader's mind, let him consider this second reference by harman to awdeley (p. , below), not noticed by the bibliographers: "for-as-much as these two names, a iarkeman and a patrico, bée in _the old briefe of vacabonds_, and set forth as two kyndes of euil doers, you shall vnderstande that a iarkeman hath his name of a _iarke, which is a seale in their language_, as one should _make writinges and set seales for lycences_ and pasporte," and then turn to awdeley's _fraternitye of vacabondes_, and there see, at page , below: ¶ a iack man. a iackeman is he that can write and reade, and sometime speake latin. he vseth _to make counterfaite licences_ which they call gybes, _and sets to seales, in their language called iarkes_. (see also 'a whipiacke,' p. .) let the reader then compare harman's own description of a _patrico_, p. , with that in 'the old _briefe of vacabonds_,' awdeley, p. : awdeley. harman. ¶ a patriarke co. there is a patrico ... a patriarke co doth _make whiche in their language is a mariages_, & that is _vntill death priest, that should _make depart_ the maried folke. mariages tyll death dyd depart_. and surely no doubt on the point will remain in his mind, though, if needed, a few more confirmations could be got, as awdeley (p. ). harman (p. ). ¶ a palliard. ¶ a pallyard. a palliard is he that goeth in these palliardes ... go with patched a patched cloke, and hys doxy clokes, and haue their morts with goeth in like apparell. them. we may conclude, then, certainly, that awdeley did not plagiarize harman; and probably, that he first published his _fraternitye_ in . the tract is a mere sketch, as compared with harman's _caueat_, though in its descriptions (p. - ) of 'a curtesy man,' 'a cheatour or fingerer,' and 'a ring-faller' (one of whom tried his tricks on me in gower-street about ten days ago), it gives as full a picture as harman does of the general run of his characters. the edition of being the only one accessible to us, our trusty oxford copier, mr george parker, has read the proofs with the copy in the bodleian. let no one bring a charge of plagiarizing awdeley, against harman, for the latter, as has been shown, referred fairly to awdeley's '_small breefe_' or '_old briefe of vacabonds_,' and wrote his own "bolde beggars booke" (p. ) from his own long experience with them. * * * * * [header: harman's _caueat_: the early editions.] harman's _caueat_ is too well-known and widely valued a book to need description or eulogy here. it is _the_ standard work on its subject,--'these rowsey, ragged, rabblement of rakehelles' (p. )--and has been largely plundered by divers literary cadgers. no copy of the first edition seems to be known to bibliographers. it was published in or ,--probably the latter year,[ ]--and must (i conclude) have contained less than the second, as in that's 'harman to the reader,' p. , below, he says 'well good reader, i meane not to be tedyous vnto the, but haue added fyue or sixe more tales, because some of them weare doune whyle my booke was fyrste in the presse.' he speaks again of his first edition at p. , below, 'i had the best geldinge stolen oute of my pasture, that i had amongst others, whyle this boke was _first a printynge_;' and also at p. , below, 'apon alhollenday in the morning last anno domini , or my booke was halfe printed, i meane _the first impression_.' all hallows' or all saints' day is november . [header: harman's _caueat_: the two states of the nd edition.] the edition called the second[ ], also bearing date in , is known to us in two states, the latter of which i have called the third edition. the first state of the second edition is shown by the bodleian copy, which is 'augmented and inlarged by the fyrst author here of,' and has, besides smaller differences specified in the footnotes in our pages, this great difference, that the arrangement of 'the names of the vpright men, roges, and pallyards' is not alphabetical, by the first letter of the christian names, as in the second state of the second edition (which i call the third edition), but higgledy-piggledy, or, at least, without attention to the succession of initials either of christian or sur-names, thus, though in three columns: ¶ vpright men. richard brymmysh. john myllar. wel arayd richard. john walchman. willia_m_ chamborne. bryan medcalfe. robert gerse. gryffen. richard barton. john braye. thomas cutter. dowzabell skylfull in fence. [&c.] ¶ roges. harry walles with the little mouth. john waren. richard brewton. thomas paske. george belbarby. humfrey warde. lytle robyn. lytle dycke. richard iones. lambart rose. harry mason. thomas smithe with the skal skyn. [&c.] ¶ pallyards. nycholas newton carieth a fayned lycence. bashforde. robart lackley. wylliam thomas. edward heyward, hath his morte following hym whiche fayneth y^{e} crank. preston. robart canloke. [&c.] this alone settles the priority of the bodley edition, as no printer, having an index alphabetical, would go and muddle it all again, even for a lark. moreover, the other collations confirm this priority. the colophon of the bodley edition is dated a.d. , 'the eight of january;' and therefore a.d. - . the second state of the second edition--which state i call the third edition--is shown by the copy which mr henry huth has, with his never-failing generosity, lent us to copy and print from. it omits 'the eight of january,' from the colophon, and has 'anno domini ' only. like the nd edition (or a), this rd edition (or b) has the statement on p. , below: 'whyle this second impression was in printinge, it fortuned that nycholas blunte, who called hym selfe nycholan gennyns, a counterefet cranke, that is spoken of in this booke, was fonde begging in the whyte fryers on newe yeares day last past. anno domini . , and commytted vnto a offescer, who caried hym vnto the depetye of the ward, which co_m_mytted hym vnto the counter;' and this brings both the nd and rd editions (or a and b) to the year , modern style. the th edition, so far as i know, was published in , and was reprinted by machell stace (says bohn's lowndes) in . from that reprint mr w. m. wood has made a collation of words, not letters, for us with the rd edition. the chief difference of the th edition is its extension of the story of the 'dyssembling cranke,' nycholas genings, and 'the printar of this booke' wylliam gryffith (p. - , below), which extension is given in the footnotes to pages and of our edition. we were obliged to reprint this from stace's reprint of , as our searchers could not find a copy of the th edition of in either the british museum, the bodleian, or the cambridge university library. thus much about our present edition. i now hark back to the first, and the piracies of it or the later editions, mentioned in mr j. p. collier's _registers of the stationers' company_, i. - , . " - rd. of william greffeth, for his lycense for printinge of a boke intituled a caviat for commen corsetors, vulgarly called vagabons, by thomas harman ... iiij^{d}. "[no edition of harman's 'caveat or warning for common cursetors,' of the date of , is known, although it is erroneously mentioned in the introductory matter to the reprint in , from h. middleton's impression of . it was the forerunner of various later works of the same kind, some of which were plundered from it without acknowledgment, and attributed to the celebrated robert greene. copies of two editions in , by griffith, are extant, and, in all probability, it was the first time it appeared in print: griffith entered it at stationers' hall, as above, in , in order that he might publish it in . harman's work was preceded by several ballads relating to vagabonds, the earliest of which is entered on p. [awdeley, p. ii. above]. on a subsequent page ( ) is inserted a curious entry regarding 'the boke of rogges,' or rogues.] " - . for takynge of fynes as foloweth. rd. of henry bynnyman, for his fyne for undermy[n]dinge and procurynge, as moche as in hym ded lye, a copye from wylliam greffeth, called the boke of rogges ... iij^{s}. [header: piraters of harman's _caueat_.] "[this was certainly harman's 'caveat or warning for common cursetors'; and here we see bynneman fined for endeavouring to _undermine_ griffith by procuring the copy of the work, in order that bynneman might print and publish it instead of griffith, his rival in business. the next item may show that gerard dewes had also printed the book, no doubt without license, but the memorandum was crossed out in the register.] "also, there doth remayne in the handes of mr tottle and mr gonneld, then wardens, the somme of iij^{li}. vij^{s}. viij^{d}., wherto was recevyd of garrad dewes for pryntinge of the boke of rogges in aº ... ij^{li}. vj^{s}. viij^{d}. "[all tends to prove the desire of stationers to obtain some share of the profits of a work, which, as we have already shown, was so well received, that griffith published two editions of it in .]" the fact is, the book was so interesting that it made its readers thieves, as 'jack sheppard' has done in later days. the very wood-cutter cheated harman of the hind legs of the horse on his title, prigged two of his prauncer's props (p. ). to know the keen inquiring social reformer, thomas harman, the reader must go to his book. he lived in the country (p. , foot), in [crayford] kent (p. , p. ), near a heath (p. ), near lady elizabeth shrewsbury's parish (p. ), not far from london (p. , p. ); 'he lodged at the white friars within the cloister' (p. ), seemingly while he was having his book printed (p. ), and had his servant there with him (_ib._); 'he knew london well' (p. , &c.); and in kent 'beinge placed as a poore gentleman,' he had in , 'kepte a house these twenty yeares, where vnto pouerty dayely hath and doth repayre,' and where, being kept at home 'through sickenes, he talked dayly with many of these wyly wanderars, as well men and wemmen, as boyes and gyrles,' whose tricks he has so pleasantly set down for us. he did not, though, confine his intercourse with vagabonds to talking, for he says of some, p. , ¶ some tyme they counterfet the seale of the admiraltie. i haue diuers tymes taken a waye from them their lycences, of both sortes, wyth suche money as they haue gathered, and haue confiscated the same to the pouerty nigh adioyninge to me. p. - . [header: status and character of thomas harman.] our author also practically exposed these tricks, as witness his hunting out the cranke, nycholas genings, and his securing the vagabond's _s._ and _d._ for the poor of newington parish, p. - , his making the deaf and dumb beggar hear and speak, p. - (and securing his money too for the poor). but he fed deserving beggars, see p. , p. . though harman tells us 'eloquence haue i none, i neuer was acquaynted with the muses, i neuer tasted of helycon' (p. - ), yet he could write verses--though awfully bad ones: see them at pages and - , below, perhaps too at p. [ ];--he knew latin--see his comment on cursetors and vagabone, p. ; his _una voce_, p. ; perhaps his 'argus eyes,' p. ; his _omnia venalia rome_, p. ; his _homo_, p. ; he quotes st augustine (and the bible), p. ; &c.;--he studied the old statutes of the realm (p. ); he liked proverbs (see the index); he was once 'in commission of the peace,' as he says, and judged malefactors, p. , though he evidently was not a justice when he wrote his book; he was a 'gentleman,' says harrison (see p. xii. below); 'a iustice of peace in kent,[ ] in queene marie's daies,' says samuel rowlands;[ ] he bore arms (of heraldry), and had them duly stamped on his pewter dishes (p. ); he had at least one old 'tennant who customably a greate tyme went twise in the weeke to london, (over blacke heathe) eyther wyth fruite or with pescoddes' (p. ); he hospitably asked his visitors to dinner (p. ); he had horses in his pasture,[ ] the best gelding of which the pryggers of prauncers prigged (p. ); he had an unchaste cow that went to bull every month (p. , if his ownership is not chaff here); he had in his 'well-house on the backe side of his house, a great cawdron of copper' which the beggars stole (p. - ); he couldn't keep his linen on his hedges or in his rooms, or his pigs and poultry from the thieves (p. ); he hated the 'rascal rabblement' of them (p. ), and 'the wicked parsons that keepe typlinge houses in all shires, where they haue succour and reliefe'; and, like a wise and practical man, he set himself to find out and expose all their 'vndecent, dolefull [guileful] dealing, and execrable exercyses' (p. ) to the end that they might be stopt, and sin and wickedness might not so much abound, and thus 'this famous empyre be in more welth, and better florysh, to the inestymable joye and comfort' of his great queen, elizabeth, and the 'vnspeakable ... reliefe and quietnes of minde, of all her faythfull commons and subiectes.' the right end, and the right way to it. we've some like you still, thomas harman, in our victorian time. may their number grow! [header: thomas harman's family and estates.] thus much about harman we learn from his book and his literary contemporaries and successors. if we now turn to the historian of his county, hasted, we find further interesting details about our author: , that he lived in crayford parish, next to erith, the countess of shrewsbury's parish; , that he inherited the estates of ellam, and maystreet, and the manor of mayton or maxton; , that he was the grandson of henry harman, clerk of the crown, who had for his arms 'argent, a chevron between scalps sable,' which were no doubt those stampt on our thomas's pewter dishes; , that he had a 'descendant,'--a son, i presume--who inherited his lands, and three daughters, one of whom, bridget, married henry binneman--? not the printer, about - a.d., p. vi-vii, above. hasted in his description of the parish of crayford, speaking of ellam, a place in the parish, says:-- "in the th year of k. henry vii. john ellam alienated it (the seat of ellam) to henry harman, who was then clerk of the crown,[ ] and who likewise purchased an estate called maystreet here, of cowley and bulbeck, of bulbeck-street in this parish, in the th year of king edward iv.[ ] on his decease, william harman, his son, possessed both these estates.[ ] on his decease they descended to thomas harman, esq., his son; who, among others, procured his lands to be disgavelled, by the act of the & edw. vi.[ ] he married millicent, one of the daughters of nicholas leigh, of addington, in the county of surry, esq.[ ] his descendant, william harman, sold both these places in the reign of k. james i. to robert draper, esqr."--_history of kent_, vol. i. p. . the manor of maxton, in the parish of hougham "passed to hobday, and thence to harman, of crayford; from which name it was sold by thomas harman to sir james hales.... william harman held the manor of mayton, alias maxton, with its appurtenances, of the lord cheney, as of his manor of chilham, by knight's service. thomas harman was his son and heir: rot. esch. edw. vi."--hasted's _history of kent_, vi. p. . "it is laid down as a rule, that nothing but an act of parliament can change the nature of gavelkind lands; and this has occasioned several [acts], for the purpose of disgavelling the possessions of divers gentlemen in this county.... one out of several statutes made for this purpose is the rd of edw. vi."--hasted's _history of kent_, vol. i. p. cxliii. and in the list of names given,--taken from robinson's _gavelkind_--twelfth from the bottom stands that of thomas harman. of thomas harman's aunt, mary, mrs william lovelace, we find: "john lovelace, esq., and william lovelace, his brother, possessed this manor and seat (bayford-castle) between them; the latter of whom resided at bayford, where he died in the nd year of k. edward vi., leaving issue by mary his wife, daughter of william harman, of crayford, seven sons...."--hasted's _history of kent_, vol. ii. p. . the rectory of the parish of deal was bestowed by the archbishop on roger harman in (_hasted_, vol. iv. p. ). harman-street is the name of a farm in the parish of ash (_hasted_, vol. iii. p. ). [header: harrison on english vagabonds in - a.d.] the excellent parson, william harrison, in his 'description of england,' prefixed to holinshed's chronicles (edit. ), quotes harman fairly enough in his chapter "of prouision made for the poore," book ii, chap. .[ ] and as he gives a statement of the sharp punishment enacted for idle rogues and vagabonds by the statutes of elizabeth, i take a long extract from his said chapter. after speaking of those who are made 'beggers through other mens occasion,' and denouncing the grasping landlords 'who make them so, and wipe manie out of their occupiengs,' harrison goes on to those who are beggars 'through their owne default' (p. , last line of col. , ed. ): "such as are idle beggers through their owne default are of two sorts, and continue their estates either by casuall or meere voluntarie meanes: those that are such by casuall means [ ]are in the beginning[ ] iustlie to be referred either to the first or second sort of poore [ ]afore mentioned[ ]; but, degenerating into the thriftlesse sort, they doo what they can to continue their miserie; and, with such impediments as they haue, to straie and wander about, as creatures abhorring all labour and euerie honest excercise. certes, i call these casuall meanes, not in respect of the originall of their pouertie, but of the continuance of the same, from whence they will not be deliuered, such[ ] is their owne vngratious lewdnesse and froward disposition. the voluntarie meanes proceed from outward causes, as by making of corosiues, and applieng the same to the more fleshie parts of their bodies; and also laieng of ratsbane, sperewort, crowfoot, and such like vnto their whole members, thereby to raise pitifull[ ] and odious sores, and mooue [ ]the harts of[ ] the goers by such places where they lie, to [ ]yerne at[ ] their miserie, and therevpon[ ] bestow large almesse vpon them.[ ] how artificiallie they beg, what forcible speech, and how they select and choose out words of vehemencie, whereby they doo in maner coniure or adiure the goer by to pitie their cases, i passe ouer to remember, as iudging the name of god and christ to be more conuersant in the mouths of none, and yet the presence of the heuenlie maiestie further off from no men than from this vngratious companie. which maketh me to thinke, that punishment is farre meeter for them than liberalitie or almesse, and sith christ willeth vs cheeflie to haue a regard to himselfe and his poore members. "vnto this nest is another sort to be referred, more sturdie than the rest, which, hauing sound and perfect lims, doo yet, notwithstanding sometime counterfeit the possession of all sorts of diseases. diuerse times in their apparell also[ ] they will be like seruing men or laborers: oftentimes they can plaie the mariners, and seeke for ships which they neuer lost.[ ] but, in fine, they are all theeues and caterpillers in the commonwealth, and, by the word of god not permitted to eat, sith they doo but licke the sweat from the true laborers' browes, _and_ beereue the godlie poore of that which is due vnto them, to mainteine their excesse, consuming the charitie of well-disposed people bestowed vpon them, after a most wicked[ ] _and_ detestable maner. "it is not yet full threescore[ ] yeares since this trade began: but how it hath prospered since that time, it is easie to iudge; for they are now supposed, of one sex and another, to amount vnto aboue , persons, as i haue heard reported. moreouer, in counterfeiting the egyptian roges, they haue deuised a language among themselues, which they name _canting_ (but other pedlers french)--a speach compact thirtie yeares since of english, and a great number of od words of their owne deuising, without all order or reason: and yet such is it as none but themselues are able to vnderstand. the first deuiser thereof was hanged by the necke,--a iust reward, no doubt, for his deserts, and a common end to all of that profession. [sidenote: thomas harman.] a gentleman, also, of late hath taken great paines to search out the secret practises of this vngratious rabble. and among other things he setteth downe and describeth [ ]three _and_ twentie[ ] sorts of them, whose names it shall not be amisse to remember, wherby ech one may [ ]take occasion to read and know as also by his industrie[ ] what wicked people they are, and what villanie remaineth in them. "the seuerall disorders and degrees amongst our idle vagabonds:-- . rufflers. . vprightmen. . hookers or anglers. . roges. . wild roges. . priggers of prancers. . palliards. . fraters. . abrams. . freshwater mariners, or whipiacks. . dummerers. . drunken tinkers. . swadders, or pedlers. . iarkemen, or patricoes. of women kinde-- . demanders for glimmar, or fire. . baudie baskets . mortes. . autem mortes. . walking mortes. . doxes. . delles. . kinching mortes. . kinching cooes.[ ] "the punishment that is ordeined for this kind of people is verie sharpe, and yet it can not restreine them from their gadding: wherefore the end must needs be martiall law, to be exercised vpon them as vpon theeues, robbers, despisers of all lawes, and enimies to the commonwealth _and_ welfare of the land. what notable roberies, pilferies, murders, rapes, and stealings of yoong[ ] children, [ ]burning, breaking and disfiguring their lims to make them pitifull in the sight of the people,[ ] i need not to rehearse; but for their idle roging about the countrie, the law ordeineth this maner of correction. the roge being apprehended, committed to prison, and tried in the next assises (whether they be of gaole deliuerie or sessions of the peace) if he happen to be conuicted for a vagabond either by inquest of office, or the testimonie of two honest and credible witnesses vpon their oths, he is then immediatlie adiudged to be greeuouslie whipped and burned through the gristle of the right eare, with an hot iron of the compasse of an inch about, as a manifestation of his wicked life, and due punishment receiued for the same. and this iudgement is to be executed vpon him, except some honest person woorth fiue pounds in the queene's books in goods, or twentie shillings in lands, or some rich housholder to be allowed by the iustices, will be bound in recognisance to reteine him in his seruice for one whole yeare. if he be taken the second time, and proued to haue forsaken his said seruice, he shall then be whipped againe, bored likewise through the other eare and set to seruice: from whence if he depart before a yeare be expired, and happen afterward to be attached againe, he is condemned to suffer paines of death as a fellon (except before excepted) without benefit of clergie or sanctuarie, as by the statute dooth appeare. among roges and idle persons finallie, we find to be comprised all proctors that go vp and downe with counterfeit licences, coosiners, and such as gad about the countrie, vsing vnlawfull games, practisers of physiognomie, and palmestrie, tellers of fortunes, fensers, plaiers,[ ] minstrels, iugglers, pedlers, tinkers, pretensed[ ] schollers, shipmen, prisoners gathering for fees, and others, so oft as they be taken without sufficient licence. from [ ]among which companie our bearewards are not excepted, and iust cause: for i haue read that they haue either voluntarilie, or for want of power to master their sauage beasts, beene occasion of the death and deuoration of manie children in sundrie countries by which they haue passed, whose parents neuer knew what was become of them. and for that cause there is _and_ haue beene manie sharpe lawes made for bearwards in germanie, wherof you may read in other. but to our roges.[ ] each one also that harboreth or aideth them with meat or monie, is taxed and compelled to fine with the queene's maiestie for euerie time that he dooth so succour them, as it shall please the iustices of peace to assigne, so that the taxation exceed not twentie shillings, as i haue beene informed. and thus much of the poore, _and_ such prouision as is appointed for them within the realme of england." [header: _the groundworke of conny-catching_, .] among the users of harman's book, the chief and coolest was the author of _the groundworke of conny-catching_, , who wrote a few introductory pages, and then quietly reprinted almost all harman's book with an 'i leaue you now vnto those which by maister harman are discouered' (p. , below). by this time harman was no doubt dead.--who will search for his will in the wills office?--though samuel rowlands was alive, he did not show up this early appropriator of harman's work as he did a later one. as a kind of supplement to the _caueat_, i have added, as the th tract in the present volume, such parts of the _groundworke of conny-catching_ as are not reprinted from harman. the _groundworke_ has been attributed to robert greene, but on no evidence (i believe) except greene's having written a book in three parts on conny-catching, - , and 'a disputation betweene a hee conny-catcher and a shee conny-catcher, whether a theafe or a whore is most hvrtfull in cousonage to the common-wealth,' .[ ] hearne's copy of the _groundworke_ is bound up in the nd vol. of greene's works, among george iii.'s books in the british museum, as if it really was greene's. another pilferer from harman was thomas dekker, in his _belman of london_, , of which three editions were published in the same year (_hazlitt_). but samuel rowlands found him out and showed him up. from the fifth edition of the belman, the earliest that our copier, mr w. m. wood, could find in the british museum, he has drawn up the following account of the book: _the belman of london. bringing to light the most notorious villanies that are now practised in the kingdome. profitable for gentlemen, lawyers, merchants, citizens, farmers, masters of housholds, and all sorts of servants to mark, and delightfull for all men to reade._ lege, perlege, relege. _the fift impression, with new additions. printed at london by miles flesher._ . [header: thomas dekker's _belman of london_, .] on the back of the title-page, after the table of contents, the eleven following 'secret villanies' are described, severally, as "cheating law. vincent's law. curbing law. lifting law. sacking law. bernard's lawe. the black art. prigging law. high law. frigging law. five iumpes at leape-frog." after a short description of the four ages of the world, there is an account of a feast, at which were present all kinds of vagabonds. dekker was conveyed, by 'an old nimble-tong'd beldam, who seemed to haue the command of the place,' to an upper loft, 'where, vnseene, i might, through a wooden latice that had prospect of the dining roome, both see and heare all that was to be done or spoken.' 'the whole assembly being thus gathered together, one, amongest the rest, who tooke vpon him a seniority ouer the rest, charged euery man to answer to his name, to see if the iury were full:--the bill by which hee meant to call them beeing a double iug of ale (that had the spirit of _aquavitæ_ in it, it smelt so strong), and that hee held in his hand. another, standing by, with a toast, nutmeg, and ginger, ready to cry _vous avez_ as they were cald, and all that were in the roome hauing single pots by the eares, which, like pistols, were charged to goe off so soone as euer they heard their names. this ceremony beeing set abroach, an oyes was made. but he that was rector chory (the captain of the tatterdemalions) spying one to march vnder his colours, that had neuer before serued in those lowsie warres, paused awhile (after hee had taken his first draught, to tast the dexterity of the liquor), and then began, iustice-like, to examine this yonger brother vpon interrogatories.' this yonger brother is afterwards 'stalled to the rogue;' and the 'rector chory[ ]' instructs him in his duties, and tells him the names and degrees of the fraternity of vagabonds. then comes the feast, after which, 'one who tooke vpon him to be speaker to the whole house,' began, as was the custom of their meeting, 'to make an oration in praise of beggery, and of those that professe the trade,' which done, all the company departed, leaving the 'old beldam' and dekker the only occupants of the room. 'the spirit of her owne mault walkt in her brain-pan, so that, what with the sweetnes of gaines which shee had gotten by her marchant venturers, and what with the fumes of drinke, which set her tongue in going, i found her apt for talke; and, taking hold of this opportunity, after some intreaty to discouer to mee what these vpright men, rufflers and the rest were, with their seuerall qualities and manners of life, thus shee began.' [header: samuel rowlands's _martin mark-all_.] and what she tells dekker is taken, all of it, from harman's book. afterwards come accounts of the five 'laws' and five jumps at leap-frog mentioned on the back of the title-page, and which is quoted above, p. xv. lastly 'a short discourse of canting,' which is, entirely, taken from harman, pages - , below. as i have said before, dekker was shown up for his pilferings from harman by samuel rowlands, who must, says mr collier in his bibliographical catalogue, have published his _martin mark-all, beadle of bridewell_, in or before ,--though no edition is known to us before ,--because dekker in an address 'to my owne nation' in his _lanthorne and candle-light_, which was published in , refers to rowlands as a 'beadle of bridewell.' 'you shall know him,' (says dekker, speaking of a rival author, [that is, samuel rowlands] whom he calls 'a usurper') 'by his habiliments, for (by the furniture he weares) hee will bee taken for a _beadle of bridewell_.' that this 'usurper' was rowlands, we know by the latter's saying in _martin mark-all_, leaf e, i back, 'although he (the bel-man, that is, dekker) is bold to call me an _usurper_; for so he doth in his last round.' well, from this treatise of rowlands', mr wood has made the following extracts relating to dekker and harman, together with rowlands's own list of slang words not in dekker or harman, and 'the errour in his [dekker's] words, and true englishing of the same:' _martin mark-all, beadle of bridewell; his defence and answere to the belman of london, discouering the long-concealed originall and regiment of rogues, when they first began to take head, and how they haue succeeded one the other successiuely vnto the sixe and twentieth yeare of king henry the eight, gathered out of the chronicle of crackeropes, and (as they terme it) the legend of lossels. by s[amuel] r[owlands]._ orderunt peccare boni virtutis amore, orderunt peccare mali formidine poenæ. london _printed for iohn budge and richard bonian._ . 'martin mark-all, his apologie to the bel-man of london. there hath been of late dayes great paines taken on the part of the good old bel-man of london, in discouering, as hee thinks, a new-found nation and people. let it be so for this time: hereupon much adoe was made in setting forth their lines, order of lining, method of speech, and vsuall meetings, with diuers other things thereunto appertaining. these volumes and papers, now spread euerie where, so that euerie iacke-boy now can say as well as the proudest of that fraternitie, "will you wapp for a wyn, or tranie for a make?" the gentle company of cursitours began now to stirre, and looke about them; and hauing gathered together a conuocation of canting caterpillars, as wel in the north parts at the diuels arse apeake,[ ] as in the south, they diligently enquired, and straight search was made, whether any had reuolted from that faithles fellowship. herupon euery one gaue his verdict: some supposed that it might be some one that, hauing ventured to farre beyond wit and good taking heede, was fallen into the hands of the magistrate, and carried to the trayning cheates, where, in shew of a penitent heart, and remoarse of his good time ill spent, turned the cocke, and let out all: others thought it might be some spic-knaue that, hauing little to doe, tooke vpon him the habite and forme of an hermite; and so, by dayly commercing and discoursing, learned in time the mysterie and knowlege of this ignoble profession: and others, because it smelt of a study, deemed it to be some of their owne companie, that had been at some free-schoole, and belike, because hee would be handsome against a good time, tooke pen and inke, and wrote of that subiect; thus, _tot homines, tot sententiæ_, so many men, so many mindes. and all because the spightfull poet would not set too his name. at last vp starts an old cacodemicall academicke with his frize bonnet, and giues them al to know, that this invectiue was set foorth, made, and printed fortie yeeres agoe. and being then called, 'a caueat for cursitors,' is now newly printed, and termed, 'the bel-man of london,' made at first by one master harman, a iustice of peace in kent, in queene marie's daies,--he being then about ten yeeres of age.' sign. a. . 'they (the vagabonds) haue a language among themselues, composed of _omnium gatherum_; a glimering whereof, one of late daies hath endeuoured to manifest, as farre as his authour is pleased to be an intelligencer. the substance whereof he leaueth for those that will dilate thereof; enough for him to haue the praise, other the paines, notwithstanding _harman's_ ghost continually clogging his conscience with _sic vos non vobis_.'--sign. c. back.[ ] 'because the bel-man entreateth any that is more rich in canting, to lend him better or more with variety, he will repay his loue double, i haue thought good, not only to shew his errour in some places in setting downe olde wordes vsed fortie yeeres agoe, before he was borne, for wordes that are vsed in these dayes (although he is bold to call me an vsurper (for so he doth in his last round), and not able to maintayne the title, but haue enlarged his dictionary (or _master harmon's_) with such wordes as i thinke hee neuer heard of (and yet in vse too); but not out of vaine glorie, as his ambition is, but, indeede, as an experienced souldier that hath deerely paid for it: and therefore it shall be honour good enough for him (if not too good) to come vp with the reare (i doe but shoote your owne arrow back againe), and not to haue the leading of the van as he meanes to doe, although small credite in the end will redound to eyther. you shall know the wordes not set in eyther his dictionaries by this marke §: and for shewing the errour in his words, and true englishing of the same and other, this marke ¶ shall serue § abram, madde. § he maunds abram, he begs as a madde man. ¶ bung, is now vsed for a pocket, heretofore for a purse. § budge a beake, runne away. § a bite, secreta mulierum. § crackmans, the hedge. § to castell, to see or looke. § a roome cuttle, a sword. § a cuttle bung, a knife to cut a purse. § chepemans, cheape-side market. ¶ chates, the gallowes: here he mistakes both the simple word, because he so found it printed, not knowing the true originall thereof, and also in the compound; as for _chates_, it should be _cheates_, which word is vsed generally for things, as _tip me that cheate_, giue me that thing: so that if you will make a word for the gallous, you must put thereto this word _treyning_, which signifies hanging; and so _treyning cheate_ is as much to say, hanging things, or the gallous, and not _chates_. [header: _martin mark-all. lanthorne and candle-light._] § a fflicke, a theefe. § famblers, a paire of gloues. § greenemans, the fields. § gilkes for the gigger, false keyes for the doore or picklockes. § gracemans, gratious streete market. § iockam, a man's yard. § ian, a purse. § iere, a turd. § lugges, eares. § loges, a passe or warrant. § a feager of loges, one that beggeth with false passes or counterfeit writings. § numans, newgate market. ¶ nigling, company keeping with a woman: this word is not vsed now, but _wapping_, and thereof comes the name _wapping morts_, whoores. § to plant, to hide. ¶ smellar, a garden; not smelling cheate, for that's a nosegay. § spreader, butter. § whittington, newgate. "and thus haue i runne ouer the canter's dictionary; to speake more at large would aske more time then i haue allotted me; yet in this short time that i haue, i meane to sing song for song with the belman, ere i wholly leaue him." [here follow three canting songs.] sign. e , back--e . "and thus hath the belman, through his pitifull ambition, caused me to write that i would not: and whereas he disclaims the name of brotherhood, i here vtterly renounce him & his fellowship, as not desirous to be rosolued of anything he professeth on this subiect, knowing my selfe to be as fully instructed herein as euer he was."--sign. f. in the second part of his _belman of london_, namely, his _lanthorne and candle-light_, , dekker printed a dictionary of canting, which is only a reprint of harman's (p. - , below). a few extracts from this _lanthorne_ are subjoined: _canting._ "this word _canting_ seemes to bee deriued from the latine _verbe canto_, which signifies in english, to sing, or to make a sound with words,--that is to say, to speake. and very aptly may _canting_ take his deriuatio_n_, _a cantando_, from singing, because, amongst these beggerly consorts that can play vpon no better instruments, the language of _canting_ is a kind of musicke; and he that in such assemblies can _cant_ best, is counted the best musitian."--_dekker's lanthorne and candle-light_, b. . back. [header: dekker's _lanthorne and candle-light_.] _specimen of "canting rithmes."_ "enough--with bowsy coue maund nace, tour the patring coue in the darkeman case, docked the dell, for a coper meke his wach shall feng a prounces nab-chete, cyarum, by salmon, and thou shalt pek my iere in thy gan, for my watch it is nace gere, for the bene bowse my watch hath a win, &c." _dekker's lanthorne_, &c., c. . back. a specimen of "canting prose," with translation, is given on the same page. dekker's dictionary of canting, given in _lanthorne and candle-light_, is the same as that of harman. "a canting song. the ruffin cly the nab of the harman beck, if we mawn'd pannam, lap or ruff-peck, or poplars of yarum: he cuts, bing to the ruffmans, or els he sweares by the light-mans, to put our stamps in the harmans, the ruffian cly the ghost of the harman beck if we heaue a booth we cly the ierke. if we niggle, or mill a bowsing ken or nip a boung that has but a win or dup the giger of a gentry cofe's ken, to the quier cuffing we bing, and then to the quier ken, to scowre the cramp ring, and then to the trin'de on the chates, in the lightmans the bube _and_ ruffian cly the harman beck _and_ harmans. thus englished. the diuell take the constable's head, if we beg bacon, butter-milke, or bread, or pottage, to the hedge he bids vs hie or sweares (by this light) i' th' stocks we shall lie. the deuill haunt the constable's ghoast if we rob but a booth, we are whip'd at a poast. if an ale-house we rob, or be tane with a whore, or cut a purse that has inst a penny, and no more, or come but stealing in at a gentleman's dore to the iustice straight we goe, and then to the iayle to be shakled: and so to be hang'd on the gallowes i' th' day time: the pox and the deuill take the constable and his stocks." _ibid._ c. . back. [header: _catterpillers anatomized. warning for housekeepers._] richard head (says mr hotten), in his _english rogue, described in the life of meriton latroon, a witty extravagant_, vols. mo., - , gave "a glossary of cant words 'used by the gipsies'; but it was only a reprint of what decker had given sixty years before," and therefore merely taken from harman too. 'the bibliography of slang, cant, and vulgar language' has been given so fully at the end of mr hotten's slang dictionary, that i excuse myself from pursuing the subject farther. i only add here mr wood's extracts from four of the treatises on this subject not noticed by mr hotten in the edition of his dictionary, but contained (with others) in a most curious volume in the british museum, labelled _practice of robbers_,--press mark . h. .,--as also some of the slang words in these little books not given by harman[ ]: . _the catterpillers of this nation anatomized, in a brief yet notable discovery of house-breakers, pick-pockets, &c. together with the life of a penitent high-way-man, discovering the mystery of that infernal society. to which is added, the manner of hectoring and trapanning, as it is acted in and about the city of london. london, printed for m. h. at the princes armes, in chancery-lane._ . ken = miller, house-breaker. iowre, or mint = wealth or money. gigers jacked = locked doors. tilers, or cloyers, equivalent to shoplifters. joseph, a cloak. bung-nibber, or cutpurse = a pickpocket. * * * * * . _a warning for housekeepers; or, a discovery of all sorts of thieves and robbers which go under theee titles, viz.--the gilter, the mill, the glasier, budg and snudg, file-lifter, tongue-padder, the private theif. with directions how to prevent them, also an exact description of every one of their practices. written by one who was a prisoner in newgate. printed for t. newton_, . glasiers, thieves who enter houses, thro' windows, first remouing a pane of glass (p. ). [header: _warning for housekeepers. street robberies._] the following is a budg and snudg song:-- "the budge it is a delicate trade, and a delicate trade of fame; for when that we have bit the bloe, we carry away the game: but if the cully nap us, and the lurres from us take, o then they rub us to the whitt, and it is hardly worth a make. but when that we come to the whitt our darbies to behold, and for to take our penitency, and boose the water cold. but when that we come out agen, as we walk along the street, we bite the culley of his cole, but we are rubbed unto the whitt. and when that we come to the whitt, for garnish they do cry, mary, faugh, you son of a wh---- ye shall have it by and by. but when that we come to tyburn, for going upon the budge, there stands jack catch, that son of a w---- that owes us all a grudge and when that he hath noosed us and our friends tips him no cole o then he throws us in the cart and tumbles us into the hole."--(pp. , .) on the last page of this short tract (which consists of eight pages) we are promised: "in the next part you shall have a fuller description." * * * * * [header: _street robberies consider'd._] . _street robberies consider'd; the reason of their being so frequent, with probable means to prevent 'em: to which is added three short treatises-- . a warning for travellers; . observations on house-breakers; . a caveat for shopkeepers. london, j. roberts._ [no date] _written by a converted thief._ _shepherd_ is mentioned in this book as being a clever prison breaker (p. ). there is a long list of slang words in this tract. the following are only a few of them: abram, naked betty, a picklock bubble-buff, bailiff bube, pox chive, a knife clapper dudgeon, a beggar born collar the cole, lay hold on the money cull, a silly fellow dads, an old man darbies, iron diddle, geneva earnest, share elf, little fencer, receiver of stolen goods fib, to beat fog, smoke gage, exciseman gilt, a picklock grub, provender hic, booby hog, a shilling hum, strong jem, ring jet, lawyer kick, sixpence kin, a thief kit, dancing-master lap, spoon-meat latch, let in leake, welshman leap, all safe mauks, a whore mill, to beat mish, a smock mundungus, sad stuff nan, a maid of the house nap, an arrest nimming, stealing oss chives, bone-handled knives otter, a sailor peter, portmantua plant the whids, take care what you say popps, pistols rubbs, hard shifts rumbo ken, pawn-brokers rum mort, fine woman smable, taken smeer, a painter snafflers, highwaymen snic, to cut tattle, watch tic, trust tip, give tit, a horse tom pat, a parson tout, take heed tripe, the belly web, cloth wobble, 'o boil yam, to eat yelp, a crier yest, a day ago zad, crooked znees, frost zouch, an ungenteel man &c., a bookseller "the king of the night, as the constables please to term themselves, should be a little more active in their employment; but all their business is to get to a watch house and guzzle, till their time of going home comes." (p. .) "a small bell to window shutters would be of admirable use to prevent housebreakers." (p. .) * * * * * . _a true discovery of the conduct of receivers and thief-takers, in and about the city of london, &c., &c. london_, . this pamphlet is "design'd as preparatory to a larger treatise, wherein shall be propos'd methods to extirpate and suppress for the future such villanous practices." it is by "charles hitchin, one of the marshals of the city of london." i now take leave of harman, with a warm commendation of him to the reader. [header: parson haben's _sermon on thieves_.] the third piece in the present volume is a larky sermon in praise of thieves and thievery, the title of which (p. , below) happened to catch my eye when i was turning over the cotton catalogue, and which was printed here, as well from its suiting the subject, as from a pleasant recollection of a gallop some years ago in a four-horse coach across harford-bridge-flat, where parson haben (or hyberdyne), who is said to have preached the sermon, was no doubt robbed. my respected friend goody-goody declares the sermon to be 'dreadfully irreverent;' but one needn't mind him. an earlier copy than the cotton one turned up among the lansdowne mss, and as it differed a good deal from the cotton text, it has been printed opposite to that. of the fourth piece in this little volume, _the groundworke of conny-catching_, less its reprint from harman, i have spoken above, at p. xiv. there was no good in printing the whole of it, as we should then have had harman twice over. * * * * * the growth of the present text was on this wise: mr viles suggested a reprint of stace's reprint of harman in , after it had been read with the original, and collated with the earlier editions. the first edition i could not find, but ascertained, with some trouble, and through mr w. c. hazlitt, where the second and third editions were, and borrowed the rd of its ever-generous owner, mr henry huth. then mr hazlitt told me of awdeley, which he thought was borrowed from harman. however, harman's own words soon settled that point; and awdeley had to precede harman. then the real bagger from harman, the _groundworke_, had to be added, after the parson's sermon. mr viles read the proofs and revises of harman with the original: mr wood and i have made the index; and i, because mr viles is more desperately busy than myself, have written the preface. [header: mr payne collier's work and alterations.] the extracts from mr j. p. collier must be taken for what they are worth. i have not had time to verify them; but assume them to be correct, and not ingeniously or unreasonably altered from their originals, like mr collier's print of henslowe's memorial, of which dr ingleby complains,[ ] and like his notorious alleyn letter. if some one only would follow mr collier through all his work--pending his hoped-for retractations,--and assure us that the two pieces above-named, and the perkins folio, are the only things we need reject, such some-one would render a great service to all literary antiquarians, and enable them to do justice to the wonderful diligence, knowledge, and acumen, of the veteran pioneer in their path. certainly, in most of the small finds which we workers at this text thought we had made, we afterwards found we had been anticipated by mr collier's _registers of the stationers' company_, or _bibliographical catalogue_, and that the facts were there rightly stated. [header: print the stationers' registers.] that there is pure metal in mr collier's work, and a good deal of it, few will doubt; but the dross needs refining out. i hope that the first step in the process may be the printing of the whole of the stationers' registers from their start to at least, by the camden society,--within whose range this work well lies,--or by the new harleian or some other society. it ought not to be left to the 'early english text' to do some years hence. f. j. furnivall. _ nov., ._ p.s. for a curious ballad describing beggars' tricks in the th century, say about , see the roxburghe collection, i. - , and the ballad society's reprint, now in the press for , i. - , '_the cunning northerne beggar_': . he shams lame; . he pretends to be a poor soldier; . a sailor; . cripple; . diseased; . festered all over, and face daubed with blood; . blind; . has had his house burnt. foretalk to new shakspere society's reprint ( ). thomas harman's will (p. xiv, above) i couldn't find at doctors' commons when i searcht for it, though three john-harman wills of his time turnd up. the print of the stationers' registers calld for above, has since been produc't by mr. arber, to whose energy we are all so much indebted for such numbers of capital texts; and the book only needs an index to be of real use. the entries on p. ii, vi, vii, above, are in arber's _transcript_, i. , , . (see too i. , .[ ]) the hunterian club, glasgow, reprinted, in , s. rowland's _martin mark-all_ (p. xvi, above) from the text of , in its handsome edition of all rowlands's works. as connected, more or less, with the vagabonds of london, i add, opposite, a copy of the curious cut of the notorious southwark brothel, 'holland's leaguer' in , on which mr. rendle has commented in his "bankside, southwark," _harrison_, part ii. p. ix-x, and the site of which is shown on the left of our first plan from roque's map, _ib._ p. *. the brothel is shown, says mr. ebsworth, (_amanda ballads_, , p. *), fortified and sentried, as kept by a mrs. holland, before . "the picture was frontispiece of a quarto pamphlet, '_holland's leaguer; or, an historical discourse of the life and actions of donna britanica hollandia, the arch mistris of the wicked women of eutopia: wherein is detected the notorious sinne of pandarisme_,' etc., sm. to. printed by a. m. for richard barnes, .... "holland's leaguer claimed to be an island out of the ordinary jurisdiction. the portcullis, drawbridge, moat, and wicket for espial, as well as an armed bully or pandar to quell disagreeable intruders, if by chance they got admittance without responsible introduction, all point to an organized system. there were also the garden-walks for sauntering and 'doing a spell of embroidery, or fine work,' _i.e._ flirtation; the summer-house that was proverbially famous or infamous for intrigues, and the river conveniently near for disposal of awkward visitors who might have met with misadventure. [header: foretalk to reprint of .] "shackerly marmion's 'excellent comedy,' _holland's leaguer_, , was reprinted in , in william paterson of edinburgh's choice series, _dramatists of the restoration_. the fourth act gives an exposure of the leaguers' garrison, where riot, disease, and robbery are unchecked. thus _trimalchio_ says, 'i threw thy _cerberus_ a sleepy morsel, and paid thy _charon_ for my waftage over, and i have a golden sprig for my _proserpina_. _bawd:_ then you are welcome, sir!' [illustration: southwark brothel] "yet before long the visitors are shouting 'murder! murder!' 'they have spoiled us of our cloaks, our hats, our swords, and our money. my brother talked of building of a score, [_i.e._ "_tick it._"] and straight they seized our cloaks for the reckoning.'" "the long-credit system did not suit at that establishment, where the health and lives of visitors were uninsured. the proprietress had early declared the free list to be entirely suspended: 'i'll take no tickets nor no future stipends. 'tis not false titles, or denominations of offices can do it. i must have money. tell them so. draw the bridge.'--(act iv. sc. .)" [illustration: roxburghe and bagford ballad woodcuts of beggars, &c.] [illustration] [illustration] footnotes: [ ] _liber vagatorum: der betler orden_: first printed about . its first section gives a special account of the several orders of the 'fraternity of vagabonds;' the nd, sundry _notabilia_ relating to them; the rd consists of a 'rotwelsche vocabulary,' or 'canting dictionary.' see a long notice in the wiemarisches jahrbuch, vol. ; . hotten's _slang dictionary_: bibliography. [ ] see the back of his title-page, p. , below. [ ] _as well_ and _and as well_ not in the title of the edition. [ ] compare the anecdote, p. , , 'the _last_ sommer. anno domini, .' [ ] 'now at this seconde impression,' p. ; 'whyle this second impression was in printinge,' p. . [ ] mr j. p. collier (_bibliographical catalogue_, i. ) has little doubt that the verses at the back of the title-page of harman's _caveat_ were part of "a ballad intituled a description of the nature of a birchen broom" entered at stationers' hall to william griffith, the first printer of the _caveat_. [ ] cp. kente, p. , , , , , , , , &c. moreover, the way in which he, like a norfolk or suffolk man, speaks of _shires_, points to a liver in a non -_shire_. [ ] in _martin mark-all, beadle of bridewell_, , quoted below, at p. xvii. [ ] compare his 'ride to dartforde to speake with a priest there,' p. . [ ] "john harman, esquyer, one of the gentilmen hushers of the chambre of our soverayn lady the quene, and the excellent lady dame dorothye gwydott, widow, late of the town of southampton, married dec. , ." (extract from the register of the parish of stratford bow, given in p. , vol. iii. of lysons's _environs of london_.) [ ] philipott, p. . henry harman bore for his arms--argent, a chevron between scalps sable. [ ] of whose daughters, mary married john, eldest son of wm. lovelace, of hever in kingsdown, in this county; and elizabeth married john lennard, prothonotary, and afterwards _custos brevium_ of the common pleas. see chevening. [ ] see robinson's gavelkind, p. . [ ] she was of consanguinity to abp. chicheley. _stemm. chich._ no. . thomas harman had three daughters: anne, who married wm. draper, of erith, and lies buried there; mary, who married thomas harrys; and bridget, who was the wife of henry binneman. _ibid._ [ ] in the first edition of holinshed ( ) this chapter is the th in book iii. of harrison's _description_. [ ] not in ed. . [ ] _thorow_ in ed. . [ ] _piteous_ in ed. . [ ] _lament_ in ed. . [ ] the remainder of this paragraph is not in ed. . [ ] not in ed. . [ ] compare _harman_, p. . [ ] the ed. inserts _horrible_. [ ] the ed. reads _fifty_. [ ] the ed. reads , which is evidently an error. [ ] for these words the ed. reads _gather_. [ ] the above list is taken from the titles of the chapters in harman's _caueat_. [ ] not in the ed. [ ] these words are substituted for _which they disfigure to begg withal_ in the ed. [ ] the ed. inserts _bearwards_. [ ] not in ed. [ ] these three sentences are not in ed. [ ] hazlitt's _hand book_, p. . [ ] leader of the choir. captain of the company. [ ] where at this day the rogues of the north part, once euerie three yeeres, assemble in the night, because they will not be seene and espied; being a place, to those that know it, verie fit for that purpos,--it being hollow, and made spacious vnder ground; at first, by estimation, halfe a mile in compasse; but it hath such turnings and roundings in it, that a man may easily be lost if hee enter not with a guide. [ ] of the above passages, dekker speaks in the following manner:--"there is an vsurper, that of late hath taken vpon him the name of the belman; but being not able to maintaine that title, hee doth now call himselfe the bel-mans brother; his ambition is (rather out of vaine-glory then the true courage of an experienced souldier) to haue the leading of the van; but it shall be honor good enough for him (if not too good) to come vp with the rere. you shall know him by his habiliments, for (by the furniture he weares) he will be taken for a _beadle of bridewell_. it is thought he is rather a newter then a friend to the cause: and therefore the bel-man doth here openly protest that hee comes into the field as no fellow in armes with him."--_o per se o_ ( edit.), sign. a. . [ ] we quote from four out of the five tracts contained in the volume. the title of the tract we do not quote is '_hanging not punishment enough_,' etc., london, . [ ] to obviate the possibility of mistake in the lection of this curious document, mr e. w. ashbee has, at my request, and by permission of the governors of dulwich college (where the paper is preserved), furnished me with an exact fac-simile of it, worked off on somewhat similar paper. by means of this fac-simile my readers may readily assure themselves that in no part of the memorial is lodge called a "player;" indeed he is not called "thos. lodge," and it is only an inference, an unavoidable conclusion, that the lodge here spoken of is thomas lodge, the dramatist. mr collier, however, professes to find that he is there called "thos. lodge," and that it [the memorial] contains this remarkable grammatical inversion; "and haveinge some knowledge and acquaintaunce of him as a player, requested me to be his baile," which is evidently intended to mean, _as i had some knowledge and acquaintance of lodge as a player, he requested me to be his baile_. but in this place the original paper reads thus, "and havinge of me some knowledge and acquaintaunce requested me to be his bayle," meaning, of course, _lodge, having some knowledge and acquaintance of me requested me to be his bail_. the interpolation of the five words needed to corroborate mr collier's explanation of the misquoted passage from gosson, and the omission of two other words inconsistent with that interpolation, may be thought to exhibit some little ingenuity; it was, however, a feat which could have cost him no great pains. but the labour of recasting the orthography of the memorial must have been considerable; while it is difficult to imagine a rational motive to account for such labour being incurred. to expand the abbreviations and modernize the orthography might have been expedient, as it would have been easy. but, in the name of reason, what is the gain of writing _wheare_ and _theare_ for "where" and "there;" _cleere_, _yeeld_, and _meerly_ for "clere," "yealde," and "merely;" _verie_, _anie_, _laie_, _waie_, _paie_, _yssue_, and _pryvily_, for "very," "any," "lay," "way," "pay," "issue," and "privylie;" _sondrie_, _begon_, and _doen_ for "sundrie," "began," and "don;" and _thintent_, _thaction_, and _thacceptaunce_ for "the intent," "the action," and "the acceptaunce"?--p. of dr c. m. ingleby's '_was thomas lodge an actor? an exposition touching the social status of the playwright in the time of queen elizabeth._' printed for the author by r. barrett and sons, mark lane, . _s._ _d._ [ ] i. : a ballett intituled _tom tell truth_, a.d. ; and i. , 'an interlude, _the cruell detter_ by wager,' licenst to colwell in - . _the fraternitye of vacabondes._ as wel of ruflyng vacabondes, as of beggerly, of women as of men, of gyrles as of boyes, with _their proper names and qualities_. with a description of the crafty company of =cousoners and shifters=. ¶ wherunto also is adioyned =the .xxv. orders of knaues=, otherwyse called =a quartern of knaues=. _confirmed for euer by cocke lorell._ ( * ) ¶ +the vprightman speaketh.+ ¶ our brotherhood[ ] of vacabondes, if you would know where dwell: in graues end barge which syldome standes. the talke wyll shew ryght well. ¶ +cocke lorell aunswereth.+ ¶ some orders of my knaues also in that barge shall ye fynde: for no where shall ye walke i trow, but ye shall see their kynde. * * * * * ¶ imprinted at london by iohn awdeley, dwellyng in little britayne streete without aldersgate. . *[leaf b.]* ¶ _the printer to the reader._ this brotherhood of vacabondes, to shew that there be such in deede both iustices and men of landes, wyll testifye it if it neede. for at a sessions as they sat, by chaunce a vacabond was got. ¶ who promysde if they would him spare, and keepe his name from knowledge then: he would as straunge a thing declare, as euer they knew synce they were men. but if my fellowes do know (sayd he) that thus i dyd, they would kyll me. ¶ they graunting him this his request, he dyd declare as here is read, both names and states of most and least, of this their vacabondes brotherhood. which at the request of a worshipful man i haue set it forth as well as i can. finis. *[leaf ]* ¶ the =fraternitye of vacabondes= both rufling and beggerly, =men and women, boyes and gyrles=, wyth their proper names and qualities. whereunto are adioyned =the company of cousoners and shifters=. ¶ an abraham man. an abraham man is he that walketh bare armed, and bare legged, and fayneth hym selfe mad, and caryeth a packe of wool, or a stycke with baken on it, or such lyke toy, and nameth himselfe poore tom. ¶ a ruffeler. a ruffeler goeth wyth a weapon to seeke seruice, saying he hath bene a seruitor in the wars, and beggeth for his reliefe. but his chiefest trade is to robbe poore wayfaring men and market women. ¶ a prygman. a prygman goeth with a stycke in hys hand like an idle person. his propertye is to steale cloathes of the hedge, which they call storing of the rogeman: or els filtch poultry, carying them to the alehouse, whych they call the bowsyng in, & ther syt playing at cardes and dice, tyl that is spent which they haue so fylched. [header: awdeley. the fraternity of vacabondes.] ¶ a whipiacke. a whypiacke is one, that by coulor of a counterfaite lisence (which they call a gybe, and the seales they cal iarckes) doth vse to beg lyke a maryner, but hys chiefest trade is to rob bowthes in a faire, or to pilfer ware fro_m_ staules, which they cal heauing of the bowth. ¶ a frater. a frater goeth wyth a like lisence to beg for some spittlehouse or hospital. their pray is co_m_monly vpo_n_ *[leaf b.]* poore women as they go and come to the markets. ¶ a quire bird. a quire bird is one that came lately out of prison, & goeth to seeke seruice. he is co_m_monly a stealer of horses, which they terme a priggar of paulfreys. ¶ an vpright man. an vpright man is one that goeth wyth the trunchion of a staffe, which staffe they cal a filtchma_n_. this man is of so much authority, that meeting with any of his profession, he may cal them to accompt, & co_m_maund a share or snap vnto him selfe, of al that they haue gained by their trade in one moneth. and if he doo them wrong, they haue no remedy agaynst hym, no though he beate them, as he vseth co_m_monly to do. he may also co_m_maund any of their women, which they cal doxies, to serue his turne. he hath y_e_ chiefe place at any market walke, & other assembles, & is not of any to be co_n_troled. ¶ a curtall. a curtall is much like to the vpright man, but hys authority is not fully so great. he vseth commonly to go with a short cloke, like to grey friers, & his woman with him in like liuery, which he calleth his altham if she be hys wyfe, & if she be his harlot, she is called hys doxy. ¶ a palliard. a palliard is he that goeth in a patched cloke, and hys doxy goeth in like apparell. ¶ an irishe toyle. an irishe toyle is he that carieth his ware in hys wallet, as laces, pins, poyntes, and such like. he vseth to shew no wares vntill he haue his almes. and if the good man and wyfe be not in the way, he procureth of the ch[i]lldre_n_ or seruants a fleece of wool, or the worth of xij.d. of some other thing, for a peniworth of his wares. *[leaf ]* ¶ a iack man. a iackeman is he that can write and reade, and somtime speake latin. he vseth to make counterfaite licences which they call gybes, and sets to seales, in their language called iarkes. ¶ a swygman. a swygman goeth with a pedlers pack. ¶ a washman. a washman is called a palliard, but not of the right making. he vseth to lye in the hye way with lame or sore legs or armes to beg. these me_n_ y_e_ right pilliards wil often times spoile, but they dare not co_m_playn. they be bitten with spickworts, & somtime with rats bane. ¶ a tinkard. a tinkard leaueth his bag a sweating at the alehouse, which they terme their bowsing in, and in the meane season goeth abrode a begging. ¶ a wylde roge. a wilde roge is he that hath no abiding place but by his coulour of going abrode to beg, is commonly to seeke some kinsman of his, and all that be of hys corporation be properly called roges. ¶ a kitchen co. a kitchin co is called an ydle runagate boy. ¶ a kitchen mortes. a kitchin mortes is a gyrle, she is brought at her full age to the vpryght man to be broken, and so she is called a doxy, vntil she come to ye honor of an altham. ¶ doxies. note especially all which go abroade working laces and shirt stringes, they name them doxies. ¶ a patriarke co. a patriarke co doth make mariages, & that is vntill *[leaf b.]* death depart the maried folke, which is after this sort: when they come to a dead horse or any dead catell, then they shake hands and so depart euery one of them a seuerall way. ¶ the company of cousoners and shifters. ¶ a curtesy man. a curtesy man is one that walketh about the back lanes in london in the day time, and sometime in the broade streetes in the night season, and when he meeteth some handsome yong man clenly apareled, or some other honest citizen, he maketh humble salutatio_n_s and low curtesy, and sheweth him that he hath a worde or two to speake with his mastership. this child can behaue him selfe manerly, for he wyll desire him that he talketh withall, to take the vpper hand, and shew him much reuerence, and at last like his familier acquaintaunce will put on his cap, and walke syde by syde, and talke on this fashion: oh syr, you seeme to be a man, and one that fauoureth men, and therefore i am the more bolder to breake my mind vnto your good maistership. thus it is syr, ther is a certaine of vs (though i say it both taule and handsome men of theyr hands) which haue come lately from the wars, and as god knoweth haue nothing to take to, being both maisterles and moniles, & knowing no way wherby to yerne one peny. and further, wher as we haue bene welthely brought vp, and we also haue beene had in good estimatio_n_, we are a shamed now to declare our misery, and to fall a crauing as common beggers, and as for to steale and robbe, (god is our record) it striketh vs to *[leaf ]* the hart, to thinke of such a mischiefe, that euer any handsome man should fall into such a daunger for thys worldly trash. which if we had to suffise our want and necessity, we should neuer seeke thus shamefastly to craue on such good pityfull men as you seeme to be, neither yet so daungerously to hasarde our liues for so vyle a thing. therefore good syr, as you seeme to be a handsome man your selfe, and also such a one as pitieth the miserable case of handsome men, as now your eyes and countenaunce sheweth to haue some pity vppon this my miserable complainte: so in gods cause i require your maistershyp, & in the behalfe of my poore afflicted fellowes, which though here in sight they cry not with me to you, yet wheresouer they bee, i am sure they cry vnto god to moue the heartes of some good men to shew forth their liberality in this behalfe. all which & i with them craue now the same request at your good masterships hand. with these or such like words he frameth his talke. now if the party (which he thus talketh withall) profereth hym a peny or .ii.d. he taketh it, but verye scornfully, and at last speaketh on this sorte: well syr, your good will is not to be refused. but yet you shall vnderstand (good syr) that this is nothing for them, for whom i do thus shamefastly entreate. alas syr, it is not a groate or .xii.d. i speake for, being such a company of seruiters as wee haue bene: yet neuertheles god forbid i should not receiue your ge_n_tle offer at this time, hoping hereafter through your good motions to some such lyke good gentleman as you be, that i, or some of my fellowes in my place, shall finde the more liberality. these kind of ydle vacabondes wyll go commonly well appareled, without *[leaf b.]* any weapon, and in place where they meete together, as at their hosteryes or other places, they wyll beare the port of ryght good gentlemen, & some are the more trusted, but co_m_monly thei pay them w_i_t_h_ stealing a paire of sheetes, or couerlet, & so take their farewell earely in the morning, before the mayster or dame be sturring. ¶ a cheatour or fingerer. these commonly be such kinde of idle vacabondes as scarcely a man shall discerne, they go so gorgeously, sometime with waiting men, and sometime without. their trade is to walke in such places, where as gentelmen & other worshipfull citizens do resorte, as at poules, or at christes hospital, & somtime at ye royal exchaunge. these haue very many acquaintaunces, yea, and for the most part will acquaint them selues with euery man, and fayne a society, in one place or other. but chiefly they wil seeke their acquaintaunce of such (which they haue learned by diligent enquiring where they resort) as haue receyued some porcioun of money of their friends, as yong gentlemen which are sent to london to study the lawes, or els some yong marchant man or other kynde of occupier, whose friendes hath geuen them a stock of mony[ ] to occupy withall. when they haue thus found out such a pray, they will find the meanes by theyr familiarity, as very curteously to bid him to breakefast at one place or other, where they are best acquainted, and closely amonge themselues wil appoint one of their fraternity, which they call a fyngerer, an olde beaten childe, not onely in such deceites, but also such a one as by his age is painted out with gray heares, wrinkled face, crooked back, and most commonly lame, as it might seeme with age, *[leaf ]* yea and such a one as to shew a simplicity, shal weare a homely cloke and hat scarce worth .vi. d. this nimble fingred knight (being appointed to this place) co_m_meth in as one not knowen of these cheatours, but as vnwares shal sit down at the end of the bord where they syt, & call for his peny pot of wine, or a pinte of ale, as the place serueth. thus sitting as it were alone, mumblyng on a crust, or some such thing, these other yonckers wil finde some kind of mery talke with him, some times questioning wher he dwelleth, & sometimes enquiring what trade he vseth, which co_m_monly he telleth them he vseth husbandry: & talking thus merely, at last they aske him, how sayest thou, father, wylt thou play for thy breakfast with one of vs, that we may haue some pastime as we syt? thys olde karle makyng it straunge at the first saith: my maysters, ich am an old man, and halfe blinde, and can skyl of very few games, yet for that you seeme to be such good gentelmen, as to profer to play for that of which you had no part, but onely i my selfe, and therefore of right ich am worthy to pay for it, i shal with al my hart fulfyl your request. and so falleth to play, somtime at cardes & sometime at dice. which through his cou_n_terfait simplicity in the play somtimes ouer counteth himself, or playeth somtimes against his wyl, so as he would not, & then counterfaiteth to be angry, and falleth to swearing, & so leesing that, profereth to play for a shillyng or two. the other therat hauing good sport, seming to mocke him, falleth againe to play, and so by their legerdemane, & cou_n_terfaiting, winneth ech of them a shilling or twain, & at last whispereth the yong man in the eare to play with hym also, that ech one might haue a fling at him. *[leaf b.]* this yong ma_n_ for company falleth againe to play also with the sayd fyngerer, and winneth as the other did which when he had loste a noble or .vi. s. maketh as though he had lost al his mony, and falleth a intreating for parte thereof againe to bring him home, which the other knowing his mind and intent, stoutely denieth and iesteth, & scoffeth at him. this fingerer seeming then to be in a rage, desireth the_m_ as they are true gentlemen, to tarry till he fetcheth more store of money, or els to point some place where they may meete. they seeming greedy hereof, promiseth faithfully and clappeth handes so to meete. they thus ticklyng the young man in the eare, willeth him to make as much money as he can, and they wil make as much as they can, and co_n_sent as though they wil play booty against him. but in the ende they so vse the matter, that both the young man leeseth his part, and, as it seemeth to him, they leesing theirs also, and so maketh as though they would fal together by the eares with this fingerer, which by one wyle or other at last conueyeth him selfe away, & they as it were raging lyke mad bedlams, one runneth one way, an other an other way, leauing the loser indeede all alone. thus these cheatours at their accustomed hosteries meete closely together, and there receiue ech one his part of this their vile spoyle. of this fraternity there be that be called helpers, which commonly haunt tauernes or alehouses, and co_m_meth in as men not acquainted with none in the companye, but spying them at any game, wil byd them god spede and god be at their game, and will so place him selfe that he will shew his fellow by sygnes and tokens, without speech commonly, but sometime with far fetched *[leaf ]* wordes, what cardes he hath in his hand, and how he may play against him. and those betwene the_m_ both getteth money out of the others purse. ¶ a ring faller. a ryng faller is he that getteth fayre copper rings, some made like signets, & some after other fashio_n_s, very faire gylded, & walketh vp and down the streetes, til he spieth some man of the country, or some other simple body whom he thinketh he may deceaue, and so goeth a lyttle before him or them, and letteth fall one of these ringes, which when the party that commeth after spieth and taketh it vp, he hauing an eye backward, crieth halfe part, the party that taketh it vp, thinking it to be of great value, profereth him some money for his part, which he not fully denieth, but willeth him to come into some alehouse or tauerne, and there they will common vpon the matter. which when they come in, and are set in some solitary place (as commonly they call for such a place) there he desireth the party that found the ring to shew it him. when he seeth it, he falleth a entreating the party that found it, and desireth him to take money for his part, and telleth him that if euer he may do him any frendship hereafter he shal commaund him, for he maketh as though he were very desirous to haue it. the symple man seeing him so importune vpon it, thinketh the ring to bee of great valure, and so is the more lother to part from it. at last this ring faller asketh him what he will geue him for his part, for, saith he, seeing you wyl not let me haue the ring, alowe me my part, and take you the ring. the other asketh what he counteth the ring to be worth, he answereth, v. or vi. pound. no, saith he, it is not so much worth. *[leaf b.]* well (saith this ringfaller) let me haue it, and i wyll alow you .xl. s. for your part. the other party standyng in a doubt, and looking on the ryng, asketh if he wyll geue the money out of hand. the other answereth, he hath not so much ready mony about him, but he wil go fetch so much for him, if he wil go with him. the other that found the ring, thinking he meaneth truly, beginneth to profer him .xx. s. for his part, sometymes more, or les, which he verye scornfullye refuseth at the first, and styl entreateth that he might haue the ring, which maketh the other more fonder of it, and desireth him to take the money for his part, & so profereth him money. this ring faller seing y^{e} mony, maketh it very strau_n_ge, and first questioneth with him wher he dwelleth, and asketh him what is his name, & telleth him that he semeth to be an honest man, and therfore he wil do somwhat for friendships sake, hoping to haue as friendly a pleasure at his hand hereafter, and so profereth hym for .x. s. more he should haue the ryng. at last, with entreatye on both partes, he geueth the ring faller the money, and so departeth, thinkyng he hath gotten a very great iewell. these kynde of deceyuing vacabondes haue other practises with their rings, as somtimes to come to buy wares of mens prentesies, and somtimes of their maisters, and when he hath agreed of the price, he sayth he hath not so much money about him, but pulleth of one of these rings of from his fyngers, and profereth to leaue it in pawne, tyl his maister or his friendes hath sene it, so promising to bring the money, the seller thinking he meaneth truly, letteth him go, and neuer seeth him after, tyll perhaps at tyburne or at such lyke place. ther is another kinde of *[leaf ]* these ring choppers, which co_m_monly cary about them a faire gold ring in deede, and these haue other counterfait rings made so lyke this gold ring, as ye shal not perceiue the contrary, tyl it be brought to y^{e} touchstone. this child wyl come to borow mony of the right gold ring, the party mistrusting the ring not to be good, goeth to the goldsmith with the partye that hath the ryng, and tryeth it whether it be good golde, and also wayeth it to know how much it is worth. the goldsmith tryeth it to be good gold, and also to haue hys ful weight like gold, and warenteth the party which shall lend the money that the ring is worth so much money according to the waight, this yoncker comming home with the party which shall lend the money, and hauing the gold ring againe, putteth vp the gold ring, and pulleth out a counterfaite ring very like the same, & so deliuereth it to the party which lendeth the money, they thinking it to be the same which they tryed, and so deliuereth the money or sometimes wares, and thus vily be deceiued. footnotes: [ ] _orig._ brothethood. [ ] _orig._ mony. ¶ _the_ .xxv. =orders of knaues=, _otherwise called_ =a quarterne of knaues=, _confirmed for euer by cocke lorell_. troll and troll by. troll and trol by, is he that setteth naught by no man, nor no man by him. this is he that would beare rule in a place, and hath none authority nor thanke, & at last is thrust out of the doore like a knaue. troll with. troll with is he _tha_t no man shall know the seruaunt from y^{e} maister. this knaue with his cap on his head *[leaf b.]* lyke capon hardy, wyll syt downe by his maister, or els go cheeke by cheeke with him in the streete. troll hazard of trace. troll hazard of trace is he that goeth behynde his maister as far as he may see hym. such knaues commonly vse to buy spice-cakes, apples, or other trifles, and doo eate them as they go in the streetes lyke vacabond boyes. [header: awdeley. the .xxv. orders of knaues.] troll hazard of tritrace. troll hazard of tritrace, is he that goeth gaping after his master, looking to and fro tyl he haue lost him. this knaue goeth gasyng about lyke a foole at euery toy, and then seeketh in euery house lyke a maisterles dog, and when his maister nedeth him, he is to seeke. chafe litter. chafe litter is he that wyll plucke vp the fether-bed or matrice, and pysse in the bedstraw, and wyl neuer ryse vncalled. this knaue berayeth many tymes in the corners of his maisters chamber, or other places inconuenient, and maketh cleane hys shooes with the couerlet or curtaines. obloquium. obloquium is hee that wyll take a tale out of his maisters mouth and tell it him selfe. he of right may be called a malapart knaue. rince pytcher. rince pytcher is he that will drinke out his thrift at the ale or wine, and be oft times dronke. this is a licoryce knaue that will swill his maisters drink, and brybe his meate that is kept for him. jeffrey gods fo. jeffery gods fo is he, that wil sweare & maintaine *[leaf ]* othes. this is such a lying knaue that none wil beleue him, for the more he sweareth, y_e_ les he is to be beleued. nichol hartles. nichol hartles is he, that when he should do ought for his maister hys hart faileth him. this is a trewand knaue that faineth himselfe sicke when he should woorke. simon soone agon. simon soone agon is he, that when his mayster hath any thing to do, he wil hide him out of the way. this is a loytring knaue that wil hide him in a corner and sleepe or els run away. grene winchard. greene winchard is he, that when his hose is broken and hange out at his shoes, he will put them into his shooes againe with a stick, but he wyll not amend them. this is a slouthfull knaue, that had leauer go lyke a begger then cleanly. proctour. proctour is he, that will tary long, and bring a lye, when his maister sendeth him on his errand. this is a stibber gibber knaue, that doth fayne tales. commitour of tidinges. commitour of tidings is he, that is ready to bring his maister nouels and tidinges, whether they be true or false. this is a tale bearer knaue, that wyll report words spoken in his maisters presence. gyle hather. gyle hather is he, that wyll stand by his maister when he is at dinner, and byd him beware that he eate no raw meate, because he would eate it himselfe. this is a pickthanke knaue, that would make his maister *[leaf b.]* beleue that the cowe is woode. bawde phisicke. bawde phisicke, is he that is a cocke, when his maysters meate is euyll dressed, and he challenging him therefore, he wyl say he wyll eate the rawest morsel thereof him selfe. this is a sausye knaue, that wyl contrary his mayster alway. mounch present. mounch present is he that is a great gentleman, for when his mayster sendeth him with a present, he wil take a tast thereof by the waye. this is a bold knaue, that sometyme will eate the best and leaue the worst for his mayster. cole prophet. cole prophet is he, that when his maister sendeth him on his errand, he wyl tel his answer therof to his maister or he depart from hym. this tittiuell knaue commonly maketh the worst of the best betwene hys maister and his friende. cory fauell. cory fauell is he, that wyl lye in his bed, and cory the bed bordes in which hee lyeth in steede of his horse. this slouthfull knaue wyll buskill and scratch when he is called in the morning, for any hast. dyng thrift. dyng thrift is he, that wil make his maisters horse eate pies and rybs of beefe, and drinke ale and wyne. such false knaues oft tymes, wil sell their maisters meate to their owne profit. esen droppers. esen droppers bene they, that stand vnder mens wales or windowes, or in any other place, to heare the *[leaf ]* secretes of a mans house. these misdeming knaues wyl stand in corners to heare if they be euill spoken of, or waite a shrewd turne. choplogyke. choplogyke, is he that when his mayster rebuketh him of hys fault he wyll geue hym .xx. wordes for one, els byd the deuils pater noster in silence. this proude prating knaue wyll maintaine his naughtines when he is rebuked for them. vnthrifte. vnthrift, is he that wil not put his wearing clothes to washing, nor black his owne shoes, nor amend his his (_sic_) own wearing clothes. this rechles knaue wyl alway be lousy: and say that hee hath no more shift of clothes, and slaunder his maister. vngracious. vngracious, is he _tha_t by his own will, will heare no maner of seruice, without he be compelled therunto by his rulers. this knaue wil sit at the alehouse drinking or playing at dice, or at other games at seruice tyme. nunquam. nunquam, is he that when his maister sendeth him on his errand he wil not come againe of an hour or two where he might haue done it in halfe an houre or lesse. this knaue will go about his owne errand or pastime and saith he cannot speede at the first. ingratus. ingratus, is he that when one doth all that he can for him, he will scant geue him a good report for his labour. this knaue is so ingrate or vnkind, _tha_t he considreth not his frend fro_m_ his fo, & wil requit euil for good & being put most in trust, wil sonest deceiue his maister. _finis._ * * * * * *[leaf b.]* imprinted at london by iohn awdely dwelling in little britaine streete without aldersgate. [decoration] [original in bodleian library, º. r. . art. seld.] =a caueat or warening=, for commen cvrsetors vvlgarely called =vagabones, set forth by thomas harman, esquiere, for the utilite and proffyt of his naturall cuntrey. augmented and inlarged by the fyrst author here of.= _anno domini. m.d.lxvii._ ¶ _vewed, examined, and allowed, according vnto the queenes maiestyes iniunctions._ [illustration] ¶ =imprinted at london, in fletestrete, at the signe of the falcon, by= _wylliam gryffith_, =and are to be sold at his shoppe in saynt dunstones churche yarde, in the west. anno domini. .= [the bodley edition of omits 'or warening' in line , and 'anno domini. .' at foot; and substitutes 'newly augmented and imprinted' for 'augmented ... here of', line .] [header: harman. the epistle.] *[leaf ]* ¶ to the ryght honorable and my singular good lady, elizabeth countes of shrewsbury, thomas harman wisheth all ioye and perfite felicitie, here and in the worlde to come. as of auncient and longe tyme there hath bene, and is now at this present, many good, godly, profitable lawes and actes made and setforthe in this most noble and floryshynge realme, for the reliefe, succour, comforte, and sustentacion of the poore, nedy, impotent, and myserable creatures beinge and inhabiting in all parts of the same; so is there (ryghte honorable and myne especyall good lady) most holsom estatutes, ordinances, and necessary lawes, made, setforth, and publisshed, for the extreme punishement of all vagarantes and sturdy vacabons, as passeth throughe and by all parts of this famous yle, most idelly and wyckedly: and i wel, by good experience, vnderstandinge and consideringe your most tender, pytyfull, gentle, and noble nature,--not onelye hauinge a vygelant and mercifull eye to your poore, indygente, and feable parishnores; yea, not onely in the parishe where your honour moste happely doth dwell, but also in others inuyroninge or nighe adioyning to the same; as also aboundantly powringe out dayely your ardent and bountifull charytie vppon all such as commeth for reliefe vnto your luckly gates,-- i thought it good, necessary, and my bounden dutye, to acquaynte your goodnes with the abhominable, wycked, and detestable behauor of all these rowsey, ragged rabblement of rakehelles, that--vnder the pretence of great misery, dyseases, and other innumerable calamites whiche they fayne--through great hipocrisie do wyn and gayne great almes in all places where they wyly wander, to the vtter deludinge of the good geuers, deceauinge and impouerishing of all such poore housholders, both sicke and sore, as nether can or maye walke abroad for reliefe and comforte (where, in dede, most mercy is to be shewed). and for that i (most honorable lady), beinge placed as a poore gentleman, haue kepte a house these twenty yeares, where vnto pouerty dayely hath and doth repayre, not without some reliefe, as my poore callinge and habylytie maye and doth extende: i haue of late yeares gathered a great suspition that all should not be well, and, as the prouerbe saythe, "sume thinge lurke and laye hyd that dyd not playnely apeare;" for i, hauinge more occation, throughe sickenes, to tary and remayne at home then i haue bene acustomed, do, by my there abyding, talke [ ]and confere dayly with many of these wyly wanderars of both sortes, as well men and wemmen, as boyes and gyrles, by whom i haue *[leaf , back]* gathered and vnderstande their depe dissimulation and detestable dealynge, beinge maruelous suttle and craftye in there kynde, for not one amongst twenty wyll discouer, eyther declare there scelorous secretes: yet with fayre flatteringe wordes, money, and good chere, i haue attained to the typ by such as the meanest of them hath wandred these xiii. yeares, and most xvi. and some twenty and vpward,[ ] and not withoute faythfull promesse made vnto them neuer to discouer their names or any thinge they shewed me; for they would all saye, yf the vpright men should vnderstand thereof, they should not be only greuouslye beaten, but put in daunger of their lyues, by the sayd vpright men. there was a fewe yeares since a small bréefe setforth of some zelous man to his countrey, of whom i knowe not, that made a lytle shewe of there names and vsage, and gaue a glymsinge lyghte, not sufficient to perswade of their peuishe peltinge and pickinge[ ] practyses, but well worthy of prayse. but (good madame), with nolesse trauell then good wyll, i haue repayred and rygged the shyp of knowledge, and haue hoyssed vp the sayles of good fortune, that she maye safely passe aboute and through all partes of this noble realme, and there make porte sale of her wyshed wares, to the confusion of their drowsey demener and vnlawfull language, pylfring pycking, wily wanderinge, and lykinge lechery, of all these rablement of rascales that raunges about al _th_e costes of the same, so _tha_t their vndecent, dolefull dealing and execrable exercyses may apere to all as it were in a glasse, that therby the iusticers _and_ shréeues may in their circutes be more vygelant to punishe these malefactores, and the counstables, bayliffes, and bosholders,[ ] settinge asyde all feare, slouth, _and_ pytie, may be more circomspect in executing the charg geuen them by the aforesayd iusticers. then wyll no more this rascall rablement raunge about the countrey. then greater reliefe may be shewed to _th_e pouerty of eche parishe. then shall we kepe our horses in our pastures vnstolen. then our lynnen clothes shall and maye lye safelye one our hedges vntouched. then shall we not haue our clothes and lynnen hoked out at our wyndowes as well by day as by night. then shall we not haue our houses broken vp in the night, as of late one of my nyghtbors had and two great buckes of clothes stolen out, and most of the same fyne lynnen. then shall we safely kepe our pigges and poultrey from pylfring. then shall we surely passe by [ ]_th_e hygh waies leading to markets _and_ fayres vnharmed. then shall our shopes and bothes be vnpycked _and_ spoyled. then shall these vncomly companies be dispersed and set to labour for their lyuinge, or hastely hang for *[leaf ]* their demerites. then shall it incourrage a great number of gentle men and others, seing this securitie, to set vp houses and kepe hospitalytie in the countrey, to the comfort of their nighboures, releife of the poore, and to the amendement of the common welth. then shall not sinne and wickednes so much abound among vs. then wil gods wrath be much _th_e more pacified towards vs. then shall we not tast of so many and sondry plages, as now dayely raigneth ouer vs. and then shall this famous empyre be in more welth _and_ better florysh, to the inestymable ioye _and_ comfort of the quenes most excelent maiestye, whom god of his infinyte goodnes, to his great glory, long and many yeares make most prosperously to raygne ouer vs, to the great felycitye of all the peres and nobles, and to the vnspeakable ioye, releife, and quietnes of minde, of all her faythfull commons _and_ subiectes. now, me thinketh, i se how these peuysh, peruerse, and pestile_n_t people begyn to freat, fume, sweare, and stare at this my booke, their lyfe being layd open and aparantly paynted out, that their confusion and end draweth one a pase. where as in dede, if it be well waied, it is set forth for their synguler profyt and co_m_moditie, for the sure safegard of their lyues here in this world, that they shorten not the same before[ ] their time, and that by their true labour and good lyfe, in the world to com they may saue their soules, that christ, the second person in [the] trinytie, hath so derely bought wit_h_ his most precious bloud: so that hereby i shall do them more good then they could haue deuised for them selues. for behold, their lyfe being so manyfest wycked and so aparantlye knowen, the honorable wyl abhore them, the worshipfull wyll reiecte them, the yemen wyll sharpely tawnte them, the husband men vtterly defye them, the laboryng men bluntly chyde them, the wemen with a loud exclamation[ ] wonder at them, and all children with clappinge handes crye out at them. i manye times musing with my selfe at these mischeuous misliuers, merueled when they toke their oryginall _and_ beginning; how long they haue exercised their execrable wandring about. i thought it méete to confer with a very old man that i was well acquaynted with, whose wyt _and_ memory is meruelous for his yeares, beinge about the age of fourescore, what he knewe when he was yonge of these lousey leuterars. and he shewed me, that when he was yonge he wayted vpon a man of much worshyp in kent, who died immediatly after the last duke of buckingham was beheaded: at his buryall there was such a number of beggers, besides poore housholders dwelling there abouts, that vnneth they mighte lye or stande aboute the house: then was there *[leaf , back]* prepared for them a great and a large barne, and a great fat oxe sod out in furmenty for them, with bread _and_ drinke aboundantly to furnesh out the premisses; and euery person had two pence, for such was the dole. when night approched, _th_e pore housholders repaired home to their houses: the other wayfaring bold beggers remained alnight in _th_e barne; and the same barne being serched with light in the night by this old man (and then yonge), with[ ] others, they tolde seuen score persons of men, euery of them hauing his woma_n_, except it were two wemen that lay alone to gether for some especyall cause. thus hauing their makes to make mery withall, the buriall was turned to bousing _and_ belly chere, morning to myrth, fasting to feasting, prayer to pastyme _and_ pressing of papes, and lamenting to lechery. so that it may apere this vncomly company hath had a long continuance, but then nothinge geuen so much to pylferinge, pyckinge, and spoyling; and, as far as i can learne or vnderstand by the examination of a number of them, their languag--which they terme peddelars frenche or canting--began but within these xxx. yeeres,[ ] lytle aboue; and that the first inuenter therof was hanged, all saue the head; for that is the fynall end of them all, or els to dye of some filthy and horyble diseases: but much harme is don in the meane space by their continuance, as some x., xii., and xvi. yeares before they be consumed, and the number of them doth dayly renew. i hope their synne is now at the hyghest; and that as short and as spedy a redresse wylbe for these, as hath bene of late yeres for _th_e wretched, wily, wandering vagabonds calling and naming them selues egiptians, depely dissembling and long hyding _and_ couering their depe, decetfull practises,--feding the rude common people, wholy addicted and geuen to nouelties, toyes, and new inuentions,--delyting them with the strangenes of the attyre of their heades, and practising paulmistrie to such as would know their fortunes: and, to be short, all theues and hores (as i may well wryt),--as some haue had true experience, a number can well wytnes, and a great sorte hath well felte it. and now (thankes bée to god), throughe wholsome lawes, and the due execution thereof, all be dispersed, banished,[ ] _and_ the memory of them cleane extynguished; that when they bée once named here after, our chyldren wyll muche meruell what kynd of people they were: and so, i trust, shal shortly happen of these. for what thinge doth chiefely cause these rowsey rakehelles thus to continue and dayly increase? surely a number of wicked parsons that kéepe typlinge houses in all shires, where they haue succour and reliefe; and what so euer they bring, they are sure to receaue money for *[leaf ]* the same, for they sell good penyworthes. the byers haue _th_e greatest gayne; yea, yf they haue nether money nor ware, they wylbe trusted; their credite is much. i haue taken a note of a good many of them, _and_ wil send their names and dwelling-places to such iusticers as dwelleth nere or next vnto them, that they by their good wisdomes may displace the same, and auctoryse such as haue honesty. i wyl not blot my boke with their names, because they be resident. but as for this fletinge fellowshyp, i haue truly setforth the most part of them that be doers at this present, with their names that they be knowene by. also, i haue placed in the end therof their leud language, calling the same pedlers french or canting. and now shal i end my prologue, makinge true declaration (right honorable lady) as they shal fall in order of their vntymelye tryfelinge time, leud lyfe, and pernitious practises, trusting that the same shall neyther trouble or abash your most tender, tymerous, and pytifull nature, to thinke the smal mede should growe vnto you for such almes so geuen. for god, our marcifull and most louing father, well knoweth your hartes and good intent,--the geuer neuer wanteth his reward, according to the sayinge of saynt augustyn: as there is (neyther shalbe) any synne vnpunished, euen so shall there not be eny good dede vnrewarded. but how comfortably speaketh christ our sauiour vnto vs in his gospel ("geue ye, and it shalbe geuen you againe"): behold farther, good madam, that for a cup of colde water, christ hath promised a good reward. now saynt austen properly declareth why christ speaketh of colde water, because the poorest man that is shall not excuse him selfe from that cherytable warke, least he would, parauenture, saye that he hath neyther wood, pot, nor pan to warme any water with. se, farther, what god speaketh in the mouth of his prophet, esaye, "breake thy bread to him that is a hongred;" he sayth not geue him a hole lofe, for paraduenture the poore man hath it not to geue, then let him geue a pece. this much is sayd because the poore that hath it should not be excused: now how much more then the riche? thus you se, good madam, for your treasure here dispersed, where nede and lacke is, it shalbe heaped vp aboundantly for you in heauen, where neither rust or moth shall corupt or destroy the same. vnto which tryumphant place, after many good, happy, and fortunat yeres prosperouslye here dispended. you maye for euer and euer there most ioyfully remayne. a men. ¶¶ _finis_ thre things to be noted all in their kynde a staff, a béesom, and wyth, that wyll wynde [illustration] ¶ a béesome of byrche, for babes very feete,[ ] a longe lastinge lybbet for loubbers as méete a wyth to wynde vp, that these wyll not kéepe bynde all up in one, and vse it to swéepe [illustration] [this page is printed at the back of the title page in bodley edition.] [header: harman. to the reader.] ¶ the epistle to the reader. *[leaf ]* al though, good reader, i wright in plain termes--and not so playnly as truely--concerning the matter, meaning honestly to all men, and wyshe them as much good as to myne owne harte; yet, as there hathe bene, so there is nowe, and hereafter wylbe, curyous heds to finde fauttes: wherefore i thought it necessary, now at this seconde impression, to acquaynt _th_e with a great faulte, as some takethe it, but none[ ] as i meane it, callinge these vagabonds cursetors in the intytelynge of my booke, as runneres or rangers aboute the countrey, deriued of this laten word (_curro_): neither do i wryght it cooresetores, with a duble[ ] oo; or cowresetors, with a w, which hath an other singnification: is there no deuersite betwen a gardein and a garden, maynteynaunce _and_ maintenance, streytes and stretes? those that haue vnderstanding knowe there is a great dyfference: who is so ignorant by these dayes as knoweth not the meaning of a vagabone? and yf an ydell leuterar should be so called of eny man, would not he thi_n_k it bothe odyous and reprochefull? wyll he not shonne the name? ye, and where as he maye and dare, w_i_t_h_ bent browes, wyll reueng that name of ingnomy: yet this playne name vagabone is deryued, as others be, of laten wordes, and now vse makes it commen to al men; but let vs loke back four .c. yeres sithens, _and_ let vs se whether this playn word vagabon was vsed or no. i beleue not, and why? because i rede of no such name in the old estatutes of this realme, vnles it be in the margente of the booke, or in the table, which in the collection and pryntinge was set in; but these were then the co_m_men names of these leud leuterars, faytores, robardesmen, drawlatches, _and_ valyant beggares. yf i should haue vsed suche wordes, or the same order of wryting, as this realme vsed in kynge henry the thyrd or edward _th_e fyrstes tyme, oh, what a grose, barberous fellow *[leaf , back]* haue we here! his wryting is both homely and darke, that wee had nede to haue an interpretar: yet then it was verye well, and in short season a great change we see. well, this delycat age shall haue his tyme on the other syde. eloquence haue i none; i neuer was acquaynted with the muses; i neuer tasted of helycon. but accordinge to my playne order, i haue setforth this worke, symplye and truelye, with such vsual words and termes as is among vs wel known and frequented. so that as _th_e prouerbe saythe, "all though truth be blamed, it shal neuer be shamed." well, good reader, i meane not to be tedyous vnto the, but haue added fyue or sixe more tales, because some of them weare donn whyle my booke was fyrste in the presse; and as i truste i haue deserued no rebuke for my good wyll, euen so i desyre no prayse for my payne, cost, and trauell. but faithfullye for the proffyt and benyfyt of my countrey i haue don it, that the whole body of the realme may se and vnderstand their leud lyfe and pernitious practisses, that all maye spedelye helpe to amend that is amysse. amen saye all with me. finis [header: harman. a ruffler.] ¶ a ruffler. ca. .[ ] *[leaf ]* the rufflar, because he is first in degre of this odious order: and is so called in a statute made for the punishment of vacabonds, in the xxvij. yeare of kyng henry the eight, late of most famous memory: hée shall be first placed, as the worthiest of this vnruly rablement. and he is so called when he goeth first abroad; eyther he hath serued in the warres, or els he hath bene a seruinge man; and, weary of well doing, shakinge of all payne, doth chuse him this ydle lyfe, and wretchedly wanders aboute the most shyres of this realme. and with stout audacyte,[ ] demaundeth where he thinketh hée maye be bolde, and circomspecte ynough, as he sethe cause to aske charitie, rufully and lamentably, that it would make a flyntey hart to relent, and pytie his miserable estate, howe he hath bene maymed and broused in the warres; _and_, parauenture, some wyll shew you some outward wounde, whiche he gotte at some dronken fraye, eyther haltinge of some preuye wounde festred with a fylthy firy flankard. for be well assured that the hardist souldiers be eyther slayne or maymed, eyther and[ ] they escape all hassardes, and retourne home agayne, if they bée without reliefe of their friends, they wyl surely desperatly robbe and steale, and[ ] eyther shortlye be hanged or miserably dye in pryson; for they be so much ashamed and disdayne to beg or aske charity, that rather they wyll as desperatlye fight for to lyue and mayntayne them selues, as manfully and valyantly they ventred them selues in the prynces quarell. now these rufflars, the out castes of seruing men, when begginge or crauinge fayles, then they pycke and pylfer, from other inferiour beggeres that they méete by the waye, as roages, pallyardes, mortes, and doxes. yea, if they méete with a woman alone ridinge to the market, eyther olde man or boye, that hée well knoweth wyll not resiste, such they filche and spoyle. these rufflars, after a yeare or two at the farthest, become vpryght men, vnlesse they be preuented by twind hempe. {i had of late yeares an old man to my tennant, who customably {a greate tyme went twise in the wéeke to london, eyther wyth fruite or with pescodes, when tyme serued therefore. and as he was comminge homewarde on blacke heathe, at the end thereof next to shotars hyl, he ouer tooke two rufflars, the one manerly wayting on the other, as one had ben the maister, _and_ the other the man or seruant, *[leaf , back]* caryinge his maisteres cloke. this olde man was verye glad that hee might haue their company ouer the hyl, because that day he had made a good market; for hée had seuen shyllinges in his purse, and a nolde angell, which this poore man had thought had not bene in his purse, for hée wylled his wyfe ouer night to take out the same angell, and laye it vp vntyll his comminge home agayne. and he verely thought that his wyfe had so don, whiche in dede for got to do it. thus after salutations had, this maister rufflar entered into co_m_munication with this simple olde man, who, ridinge softlye beside them, commoned of many matters. thus fedinge this old man with pleasaunt talke, vntyll they weare one the toppe of the hyll, where these rufflares might well beholde the coaste about them cleare, quiclye stepes vnto this poore man, and taketh holde of his horse brydell, and leadeth him in to the wode, and demaundeth of him what and how much money he had in his purse. "now, by my troth," quoth this old man; "you are a merrye gentle man. i knowe you meane not to take a waye anye thinge from me, but rather to geue me some if i shoulde aske it of you." by and by, this seruant thiefe casteth the cloke that he caried on his arme about this poore mans face, that he should not marke or vew them, with sharpe words to delyuer quicly that he had, and to confesse truly what was in his purse. this poore man, then all abashed, yelded, and confessed that he had but iust seuen shyllinges in his purse; and the trouth is he knew of no more. this old angell was falen out of a lytle purse into the botome of a great purse. now, this seuen shyllings in whyte money they quickly founde, thinkinge in dede that there had bene no more; yet farther groping and searchinge, found this old angell. and with great admiration, this gentleman thyefe begane to blesse hym, sayinge, "good lorde, what a worlde is this! howe maye" (quoth hée) "a man beleue or truste in the same? se you not" (quoth he) "this old knaue tolde me that he had but seuen shyllings, and here is more by an angell: what an old knaue and a false knaue haue we here!" quoth this rufflar; "oure lorde haue mercy on vs, wyll this worlde neuer be better?"--and there with went their waye. and lefte the olde man in the wood, doinge him no more harme. but sorowfully sighinge, this olde man, returning home, declared his misaduenture, with all the words and circumstaunces aboue shewed. wherat, for the tyme was great laughing, and this poore man for his losses among his louing neighboures well considered in the end. [header: harman. a vpright man.] ¶ a vpright man. ca. . *[leaf ]* a vpright[ ] man, the second in secte of this vnsemely sorte, must be next placed, of these rainginge rablement of rascales; some be seruing men, artificers, and laboryng men traded vp in husbandry. these not mindinge to get their lyuinge with the swete of their face, but casting of all payne, wyll wander, after their wycked maner, through the most shyres of this realm,-- {as sommerset shyre, wylshire, barke shyre, oxforde shyre, {harfordeshyre, myddilsex, essex, suffolke, northfolke, sussex, surrye, and kent, as the cheyfe and best shyres of reliefe. yea, not with out punishment by stockes, whyppinges, and imprisonment, in most of these places aboue sayde. yet, not with standinge they haue so good lykinge in their lewed, lecherous loyteringe, that full quiclye all their punishmentes is[ ] for gotten. and repentaunce is neuer thought vpon vntyll they clyme thrée tres with a ladder. these vnrewly rascales, in their roylynge, disperse them selues into seuerall companyes, as occation serueth, sometyme more and somtyme lesse. as, if they repayre to a poore husbandmans house, hée wyll go a lone, or one with him, and stoutely demaund his charytie, eyther shewing how he hath serued in the warres, and their maymed, eyther that he sekethe seruice, and saythe that he woulde be glad to take payne for hys lyuinge, althoughe he meaneth nothinge lesse. yf he be offered any meate or drynke, he vtterlye refusethe scornefully, and wyll nought but money; and yf he espye yong pyges or pultry, he well noteth the place, and they the next night, or shortly after, hée wyll be sure to haue some of them, whyche they brynge to their stawlinge kens, which is their typplyng houses, as well knowen to them, according to the olde prouerbe, "as the begger knowes his dishe." for you must vnderstand, euery typplyng ale house wyll neyther receiue them or their wares, but some certayne houses in euery shyre, especially for that purpose, where they shalbe better welcome to them then honester men. for by such haue they most gayne, and shalbe conuayde eyther into some loft out of the waye, or other secret corner not commen to any other; and thether repayre, at accustomed tymes, their harlots, whiche they terme mortes and doxes,--not with emty hands; for they be as skilfull in picking, riffling, _and_ filching as the vpright men, and nothing inferior to them in all kind of wyckednes, as in other places hereafter they shalbe touched. at these foresayde peltinge, peuish places and vnmannerly metinges, o! how the pottes walke about! their talki_n_g tounges talke at large. they bowle and bowse one to another, and for the tyme bousing belly chere. and after there ruysting recreation, *[leaf , back]* yf there be not rome ynough in the house, they haue cleane strawe in some barne or backehouse nere adioyning, where they couch comly to gether, and[ ] it were dogge and byche; and he that is hardyste maye haue his choyse, vnlesse for a lytle good maner; some wyll take there owne that they haue made promyse vnto, vntyll they be out of sight, and then, according to the old adage, "out of minde." yet these vpright men stand so much vpon their reputation, as they wyl in no case haue their wemen walke with them, but seperat them selues for a tyme, a moneth or more. and mete at fayres, or great markets, where they mete to pylfer and steale from staules, shoppes, or bothes. at these fayres the vpryght men vse commonly to lye _and_ lingar in hye wayes by lanes, some prety way or distaunce from _th_e place, by which wayes they be assured that compeny passeth styll two and fro. and ther they[ ] wyll demaund, with cap in hand and comly curtesy, the deuotion and charity of _th_e people. they haue ben much lately whipped at fayrs. yf they aske at a stout yemans or farmars house his charity, they wyll goe strong as thre or foure in a company. where for feare more then good wyll, they often haue reliefe. they syldome or neuer passe by a iustices house, but haue by wayes, vnlesse he dwell alone, and but weakely manned; thether wyll they also go strong, after a slye, suttle sorte, as with their armes bounde vp with kercher or lyste, hauinge wrapte about the same filthy clothes, either their legges in such maner bewrapped halting down right. not vnprouided of good codg[e]ls, which they cary to sustayne them, and, as they fayne, to kéepe gogges[ ] from them, when they come to such good gentlemens houses. yf any searche be made or they suspected for pylfring clothes of hedgges, or breaking of houses, which they commonly do when the owners bée eyther at the market, church, or other wayes occupyed aboute their busines,--eyther robbe some sely man or woman by the hye waye, as many tymes they do,--then they hygh them into wodes, great thickets, and other ruffe corners, where they lye lurkinge thre or foure dayes to gether, and haue meate and drinke brought them by theyre mortes, and doxes; and whyle they thus lye hydden in couert, in the night they be not idle,--nether, as _th_e common saying is, "well occupyed;" for then, as the wyly foxe, crepinge out of his den, seketh his praye for pultery, so do these for lynnen and any thinge els worth money, that lyeth about or near a house. as somtyme a whole bucke of clothes caryed awaye at a tyme. when they haue a greatter booty then they maye cary awaye quickly to their stawling kendes, as is aboue sayd, they wyll hyde the same for a thre dayes in some thicke couert, and *[leaf ]* in the night time carye the same, lyke good water spanlles, to their foresayd houses. to whom they wyll discouer where or in what places they had the same, where the markes shalbe pycked out cleane, _and_ conuayed craftely fare of, to sell. if the man or woman of the house want money the_m_ selues. [ ]if these vpright men haue nether money nor wares, at these houses they shalbe trusted for their vitales, and it amount to twentye or thirty shyllings. yea, if it fortune any of these vpright men to be taken, either suspected, or charged with fellony or petye brybrye, don at such a tyme or such a place, he wyll saye he was in his hostes house. and if the man or wyfe of that house be examined by an officer, they boldelye vouche, that the[y] lodged him suche a tyme, whereby the truth cannot appeare. and if they chaunce to be retained into seruice, through their lamentable words, with any welthy man, they wyll tary but a smale tyme, either robbing his maister or som of his fellowes. and some of them vseth this polocye, that although they trauayle into al these shyres, aboue said, yet wyl they haue good credite, espiciallye in one shyre, where at diuers good farmars houses they be wel knowen, where they worke a moneth in a place or more, and wyll for that time behaue them selues very honestly _and_ paynfully; and maye at any tyme, for their good vsage, haue worke of them; and to these at a ded lyft, or last refuge, they maye safely repayre vnto and be welcom, when in other places, for a knacke of knauery that they haue playd, thei dare not tary. these vyright men wil sildom or neuer want; for what is gotten by anye mort, or doxe, if it please him, hée doth comaunde the same. and if he mete any begger, whether he be sturdye or impotent, he wyll demaund of him, whether euer he was stalled to the roge or no. if he saye he was, he wyll know of whom, and his name _tha_t stalled hym. and if he be not learnedly able to shewe him the whole circumstaunce thereof, he wyll spoyle him of his money, either of his best garment, if it be worth any money, and haue him to the bowsing ken, which is to some typpling house next adioyninge; and laieth their to gage the best thing that he hath for twenty pence or two shyllinges: this man obeyeth for feare of beating. then doth this vpright man call for a gage of bowse, whiche is a quarte pot of drinke, and powres the same vpon his peld pate, adding these words:--"i. g. p. do stalle thée w. t. to the roge, and that from hence forth it shall be lawefull for the to cant"--that is, to aske or begge--"for thy liuing in al places." here you se _tha_t the vpright man is of great auctorite. for all sortes of beggers are obedient to his hests, and surmounteth all others in pylfring and stealinge. ¶ i lately had standinge in my *[leaf , back]* well house, which standeth on the backeside of my house, a great cawdron of copper, beinge then full of water, hauinge in the same halfe a doson of pewter dyshes, well marked, and stamped w_i_t_h_ the connizance of my armes, whiche being well noted when they were taken out, were set a side, the water powred out, and my caudren taken awaye, being of such bygnes that one man, vnlesse he were of great strength, was not able far to cary the same. not withstandinge, the same was one night within this two yeares conuayed more then half a myle from my house, into a commen or heth, and ther bestowed in a great firbushe. i then immediatly the next day sent one of my men to london, and there gaue warning in sothwarke, kent strete, and barmesey stréete, to all the tynckars there dwelling,--that if any such caudron came thether to be sold, the bringar therof should be stayed, and promised twenty shyllings for a reward. i gaue also intelligence to the water men that kept the ferres, that no such vessel should be ether conuayd to london or into essex, promysing the lyke reward, to haue vnderstanding therof. this my doing was well vnderstand in many places about, and that the feare of espyinge so troubled _th_e conscience of the stealer, that my caudoren laye vntouched in the thicke firbushe more then halfe a yeare after, which, by a great chaunce, was found by hunteres for conneys; for one chaunced to runne into the same bushe where my caudren was, and being perceaued, one thrust his staffe into the same bushe, and hyt my caudren a great blowe, the sound whereof dyd cause the man to thinke and hope that there was some great treasure hidden, wherby he thought to be the better whyle he lyued. and in farther searching he found my caudren; so had i the same agayne vnloked for. [header: harman. a hoker, or angglear.] ¶ a hoker, or angglear. cap. . these hokers, or angglers, be peryllous and most wicked knaues, and be deryued or procede forth from the vpright men; they commenly go in frese ierkynes and gally slopes, poynted benethe the kne; these when they practise there pylfringe, it is all by night; for, as they walke a day times from house to house, to demaund charite, they vigelantly marke where or in what place they maye attayne to there praye, casting there eyes vp to euery wyndow, well noting what they se their, whether apparell or linnen, hanginge nere vnto the sayde wyndowes, and that wyll they be sure to haue _th_e next night folowing; [header: harman. a hoker. a roge.] for they customably carry with them a staffe of v. or vi. foote long, in which, within one ynch of _th_e tope therof, ys a lytle hole bored through, *[leaf ]* in which hole they putte an yron hoke, and with the same they wyll pluck vnto them quickly any thing _tha_t they may reche ther with, which hoke in the day tyme they couertly cary about them, and is neuer sene or taken out till they come to the place where they worke there fete: such haue i sene at my house, and haue oft talked with them and haue handled ther staues, not then vnderstanding to what vse or inte_n_t they serued, although i hadde and perceiued, by there talke and behauiour, great lykelyhode of euyll suspition in them: they wyl ether leane vppon there staffe, to hyde the hole thereof, when they talke with you, or holde their hande vpon the hole; and what stuffe, either wollen or lynnen, they thus hoke out, they neuer carye the same forth with to their staulyng kens, but hides the same a iij. daies in some secret corner, _and_ after conuayes the same to their houses abouesaid, where their host or hostys geueth them money for the same, but halfe the value that it is worth, or els their doxes shall a farre of sell the same at the like houses. i was credebly informed that a hoker came to a farmers house in the ded of the night, and putting back a drawe window of a low cha_m_ber, the bed standing hard by the sayd wyndow, in which laye three parsones (a man and two bygge boyes), this hoker with his staffe plucked of their garme_n_ts which lay vpon them to kepe them warme, with the couerlet and shete, and lefte them lying a slepe naked sauing there shertes, and had a way all clene, and neuer could vnderstande where it became. i verely suppose that when they wer wel waked with cold, they suerly thought that robin goodfelow (accordinge to the old saying) had bene with them that night. [header: harman. a roge.] ¶ a roge. cap. . a roge is neither so stoute or hardy as the vpright man. many of them will go fayntly and looke piteously when they sée, either méete any person, hauing a kercher, as white as my shooes, tyed about their head, with a short staffe in their hand, haltinge, although they nede not, requiring almes of such as they méete, or to what house they shal com. but you may easely perceiue by their colour _tha_t thei cary both health and hipocrisie about them, wherby they get gaine, when others want that cannot fayne and dissemble. others therebee that walke sturdely about _th_e cou_n_trey, _and_ faineth to seke a brother or kinsman of his, dwelling within som part of _th_e shire;--ether that he hath a letter to deliuer to som honest housholder, dwelling out of an other shyre, and will shewe you the same fayre sealed, with the superscription to *[leaf , back]* the partye he speaketh of, because you shall not thinke him to runne idelly about the countrey;--either haue they this shyfte, they wyll cary a cirtificate or pasport about them from som iusticer of the peace, with his hand and seale vnto the same, howe hée hath bene whipped and punished for a vacabonde according to the lawes of this realme, and that he muste returne to .t., where he was borne or last dwelt, by a certayne daye lymited in the same, whiche shalbe a good longe daye. and all this fayned, bycause without feare they woulde wyckedly wander, and wyll renue the same where or when it pleasethe them; for they haue of their affinity that can wryte and read. these also wyll picke and steale as the vpright men, and hath their women and metinges at places apoynted, and nothinge to them inferiour in all kynde of knauery. there bée of these roges curtales, wearinge shorte clokes, that wyll chaunge their aparell, as occation seruethe. and their end is eyther hanginge, whiche they call trininge in their language, or die miserably of the pockes. ¶ there was not long sithens two roges that alwaies did associate them selues together, _and_ would neuer seperat them selues, vnles it were for some especiall causes, for they were sworn brothers, _and_ were both of one age, and much like of favour: these two, trauelinge into east kent, resorted vnto an ale house there,[ ] being weried with traueling, saluting with short curtisey, when they came into the house, such as thei sawe sitting there, in whiche company was the parson of the parish; and callinge for a pot of the best ale, sat downe at the tables ende: the lykor liked them so well, that they had pot vpon pot, and sometyme, for a lytle good maner, would drinke and offer the cup to such as they best fancied; and to be short, they sat out al the company, for eche man departed home aboute their busines. when they had well refreshed them selues, then these rowsy roges requested the good man of the house wyth his wyfe to sit downe and drinke with them, of whome they inquired what priest the same was, and where he dwelt: then they fayninge that they had an vncle a priest, and that he should dwel in these partes, which by all presumptions it should be he, and that they came of purpose to speake with hym, but because they had not sene hym sithens they were sixe yeares olde, they durst not be bold to take acquayntance of him vntyl they were farther instructed of the truth, and began to inquier of his name, and how longe he had dwelt there, and how farre his house was of from _th_e place they were in: the good wyfe of the house, thynkinge them honest men without disceit, because they so farre enquyred of their kinseman, was but of a good zelous naturall intent, shewed them cherefully that hee *[leaf ]* was an honest man _and_ welbeloued in the parish, and of good welth, _and_ had ben there resident xv. years at the least; "but," saith she, "are you both brothers?" "yea, surely," said they, "we haue bene both in one belly, _and_ were twinnes." "mercy, god!" q_uoth_ this folish woman; "it may wel be, for ye be not much vnlike,"--and wente vnto her hall windowe, callinge these yong men vnto her, and loking out therat,[ ] pointed with her fingar _and_ shewed them the house standing alone, no house nere the same by almoste a quarter of a myle; "that," sayd[ ] she, "is your vncles house." "nay," saith one of them, "he is not onely my vncle, but also my godfather." "it may well be," q_uoth_ she, "nature wyll bind him to be the better vnto you." "well," q_uoth_ they, "we be weary, and meane not to trouble our vncle to-night; but to-morowe, god willinge, we wyll sée him and do our duty: but, i pray you, doth our vncle occupy husbandry? what company hath he in his house." "alas!" saith she, "but one old woman _and_ a boy, he hath no occupying at al: tushe," q_uoth_ this good wyfe, "you be mad men; go to him this night, for hée hath better lodging for you then i haue, _and_ yet i speake folishly against my[ ] own profit, for by your taring[ ] here i should gaine _th_e more by you." "now, by my troth," q_uoth_ one of them, "we thanke you, good hostes, for your holsome councell, and we meane to do as you wyll vs: we wyl pause a whyle, and by that tyme it wylbe almost night; _and_ i praye you geue vs a reckeninge,"--so, manerly paying for that they toke, bad their hoste and hostes farewell with takinge leaue of the cup, marched merelye out of the dores towardes this parsones house, vewed the same well rounde about, and passed by two bowshotes of into a younge wodde, where they laye consultinge what they shoulde do vntyll midnight. quoth one of them, of sharper wyt and subtyller then the other, to hys fellowe, "thou seest that this house is stone walled about, and that we cannot well breake in, in any parte thereof; thou seest also that the windowes be thicke of mullions, that ther is no kreping in betwene: wherefore we must of necessytie vse some policye when strength wil not serue. i haue a horse locke here about me," saith he; "and this i hope shall serue oure turne." so when it was aboute xii. of the clocke, they came to the house and lurked nere vnto his chamber wyndowe: the dog of the house barked a good, that with they[ ] noise, this priest waketh out of his sléepe, and began to cough and hem: then one of these roges stepes forth nerer the window _and_ maketh a ruful _and_ pityful noise, requiring for christ sake[ ] some reliefe, that was both hongry and thirstye, and was like to ly with out the dores all nighte and starue for colde, vnles he were releued by him with some small pece of money. "where dwellest thou?" quoth this parson. "alas! sir," saithe this roge, "i haue smal *[leaf , back]* dwelling, and haue com out of my way; and i should now," saith he, "go to any towne nowe at this time of night, they woulde set me in the stockes and punishe me." "well," quoth this pitifull parson, "away from my house, either lye in some of my out houses vntyll the morning, and holde, here is a couple of pence for thée." "a god rewarde you," quoth this roge; "and in heauen may you finde it." the parson openeth his wyndowe, and thrusteth out his arme to geue his almes to this roge that came whining to receiue it, and quickly taketh holde of his hand, and calleth his fellowe to him, whiche was redye at hande with the horse locke, and clappeth the same about the wrest of his arme, that the mullions standing so close together for strength, that for his life he could not plucke in his arme againe, and made him beleue, vnles he would at the least geue them .iii. li., they woulde smite of his arme from the body. so that this poore parson, in feare to lose his hand, called vp his olde woman that lay in the loft ouer him, and wylled her to take out all the money he had, which was iiij. markes, which he saide was all the money in his house, for he had lent vi. li. to one of his neighbours not iiij daies before. "wel," q_uoth_ they, "master parson, if you haue no more, vpon this condicion we wil take of the locke, that you will drinke .xij. pence for our sakes to-morow at the alehouse wher we found you, and thank the good wife for the good chere she made vs." he promised faithfully that he would so do; so they toke of the locke, and went their way so farre ere it was daye, that the parson coulde neuer haue any vnderstanding more of them. now this parson, sorowfully slumbering that night betwene feare and hope, thought it was but folly to make two sorrowes of one; he vsed contentacion for his remedy, not forgetting in the morning to performe his promise, but went betims to his neighbour that kept tiplinge, and asked angerly where the same two men were that dranke with her yester daye. "which two men?" q_uoth_ this good wife. "the straungers that came in when i was at your house wyth my neighbores yesterday." "what! your neuewes?" q_uoth_ she, "my neuewes?" q_uoth_ this parson; "i trowe thou art mad." "nay, by god!" q_uoth_ this good[ ] wife, "as sober as you; for they tolde me faithfully that you were their vncle: but, in fayth, are you not so in dede? for, by my trouth, they are strau[n]gers to me. i neuer saw them before." "o, out vpon them!" q_uoth_ the parson; "they be false theues, and this night thei compelled me to geue them al the money in my house." "benedicite!" q_uoth_ this good wife, "_and_ haue they so in dede? as i shall aunswere before god, one of them told me besides that you were godfather to him, and that he trusted to haue your blessinge before he departed." "what! did he?" quoth this parson; "a halter blesse him for *[leaf ]* me!" "me thinketh, by the masse, by your countenance you loked so wildly when you came in," quoth this good wife, "that somthing was amis." "i vse not to gest," quoth this parson, "when i speake so earnestly." "why, all your sorrowes goe with it," quoth this good wife, "and sitte downe here, and i will fil a freshe pot of ale shall make you mery agayne." "yea," saith this parson, "fill in, _and_ geue me some meat; for they made me sweare and promise them faithfully that i shoulde drinke xii. pence with you this day." "what! dyd they?" quoth she; "now, by the mary masse, they be mery knaues. i warraunt you they meane to bye no land with your money; but how could they come into you in the night, your dores being shut fast? your house is very stronge." then this prason[ ] shewed her all the hole circumstance, how he gaue them his almes oute at the wyndowe, they[ ] made such lamentable crye that it pytied him at the hart; for he sawe but one when he put oute his hand at the wyndowe. "be ruled by me," quoth this good wyfe. "wherin?" quoth this parson. "by my troth, neuer speake more of it: when they shal vnderstand of it in the parish, they wyll but laugh you to skorne." [ ]"why, then," quoth this parson, "the deuyll goe with it,"--and their an end.[ ] [header: harman. a wylde roge.] ¶ a wylde roge. cap. . a wilde roge is he that is borne a roge: he is a more subtil and more geuen by nature to all kinde of knauery then the other, as beastely begotten in barne or bushes, and from his infancye traded vp in trechery; yea, and before ripenes of yeares doth permyt, wallowinge in lewde lechery, but that is counted amongest them no sin. for this is their custome, that when they mete in barne at night, euery one getteth a make[ ] to lye wythall, _and_ their chaunce to be twentye in a companye, as their is sometyme more and sometyme lesse: for to one man that goeth abroad, there are at the least two women, which neuer make it straunge when they be called, although she neuer knewe him before. then when the day doth appeare, he rouses him vp, and shakes his eares, and awaye wanderinge where he may gette oughte to the hurte of others. yet before he skyppeth oute of hys couche and departeth from his darling, if he like her well, he will apoint her where to mete shortlye after, with a warninge to worke warely for some chetes, that their meting might be the merier. ¶ not long sithens, a wild roge chau_n_ced to mete a pore neighbour of mine, who for honesty _and_ good natur surmou_n_teth many. this poore man, riding homeward from london, where he had made his market, this *[leaf , back]* roge demaunded a peny for gods sake, to kepe him a true man. this simple man, beholding him wel, and sawe he was of taule personage with a good quarter staffe in his hand, it much pitied him, as he sayd, to se him want; for he was well able to serue his prince in the wars. thus, being moued with pytie, and[ ] loked in his pursse to finde out a penye; and in loking for the same, he plucked oute viii. shyllinges in whyte money, and raked therin to finde a single peny; and at the last findinge one, doth offer the same to this wylde roge: but he, seinge so much mony in this simple mans hand, being striken to the hart with a couetous desire, bid him forth wyth delyuer al that he had, or els he woulde with his staffe beat out his braynes. for it was not a penye would now quench his thirst, [ ]seing so much as he dyd[ ]: thus, swallowinge his spittell gredely downe, spoyled this poore man of al _th_e money that he had, and lept ouer the hedge into a thicke wode, and went his waye as merely as this good simple man came home sorowfully. i once rebuking a wyld roge because he went idelly about, he shewed me that he was a begger by enheritance--his grandfather was a begger, his father was one, and he must nedes be one by good reason. [header: harman. a prygger of prauncers.] ¶ a prygger of prauncers. cap. . a prigger of prauncers be horse stealers; for to prigge signifieth in their language to steale, _and_ a prauncer is a horse: so beinge put together, the matter is[ ] playne. these go commonly in ierkins of leatherr, or of white frese, _and_ carry litle wands in their hands, and will walke through grounds and pastures, to search and se horses meete for their purpose. and if thei chau_n_ce to be met and asked by the owners of the grounde what they make there, they fayne strayghte that they haue loste their waye, and desyre to be enstructed the beste waye to such a place. these will also repayre to gentlemens houses and aske their charitye, and wyll offer their seruice. and if you aske them what they can do, they wyll saye that they can kepe two or thre geldinges, and waite vppon a gentleman. these haue also their women, that walkinge from them in other places, marke where and what they sée abroade, and sheweth these priggars therof when they meete, which is with in a wéeke or two. and loke, where they steale any thinge, they conuay _th_e same at the least thre score miles of or more. ¶ there was a gentleman, a verye friende of myne, rydyng from london homewarde into kente, hauinge with in thrée myles of his house busynesse, alyghted of his horse, and his man also, in a pretye *[leaf ]* vyllage, where diueres houses were, and looked about hym where he myghte haue a conuenient person to walke his horse, because hee would speake w_i_t_h_ a farmer that dwelt on the backe side of the sayde village, lytle aboue a quarter of a myle from the place where he lighted, and had his man to waight vpon him, as it was mete for his callinge: espying a pryggar there standing, thinking the same to dwell there, charging this prity prigginge person to walke his horse well, and that they might not stande styll for takyng of colde, and at his returne (which he saide should not be longe) he would geue hym a peny to drinke, and so wente aboute his busines. this peltynge priggar, proude of his praye, walkethe his horse[ ] vp and downe tyll he sawe the gentleman out of sighte, and leapes him into the saddell, and awaye he goeth a mayne. this gentleman returninge, and findinge not his horses, sent his man to the one end of the vyllage, and he went himselfe vnto the other ende, and enquired as he went for his horses that were walked, and began some what to suspecte, because neither he nor his man could se nor find him. then this gentleman deligentlye enquired of thre or foure towne dwellers there whether any such person, declaring his stature,[ ] age, apparell, with so many linaments of his body as he could call to remembraunce. and, "vna voce," all sayde that no such man dwelt in their streate, neither in the parish, that they knewe of; but some did wel remember that such a one they saw there lyrkinge and huggeringe two houres before the gentleman came thether, and a straunger to them. "i had thoughte," quoth this gentleman, "he had here dwelled,"--and marched home manerly in his botes: farre from the place he dwelt not. i suppose at his comming home he sente suche wayes as he suspected or thought méete to searche for this prigger, but hetherto he neuer harde any tydinges agayne of his palfreys.--i had the best geldinge stolen oute of my pasture that i had amongst others whyle this boke was first a printinge. [header: harman. a pallyard.] ¶ a pallyard. cap. . these palliardes be called also clapperdogens: these go with patched clokes, _and_ haue their morts with them, which they cal wiues; and if he goe to one house, to aske his almes, his wife shall goe to a nother: for what they get (as bread, chéese, malte, and woll) they sell the same for redy money; for so they get more and if they went together. although they be thus[ ] deuided in the daie, yet they mete iompe at night. yf they chaunce to come to some gentylmans house standinge *[leaf , back]* a lone, and be demaunded whether they be man and wyfe, _and_ if he perceaue that any doubteth thereof, he sheweth them a testimonial with the ministers name, and others of the same parishe (naminge a parishe in some shere fare distant from the place where he sheweth the same). this writing he carieth to salue that sore. ther be many irishe men that goe about with cou_n_terfeate licenses; and if they perceiue you wil straytly examen them, they will immediatly saye they can speake no englishe. ¶ farther, vnderstand for trouth that the worst and wickedst of all this beastly generation are scarse comparable to these prating pallyardes. all for _th_e most parte of these wil either lay to their legs an herb called sperewort, eyther arsnicke, which is called ratesbane. the nature of this spereworte wyll rayse a great blister in a night vpon the soundest part of his body; and if the same be taken away, it wyl dry vp againe and no harme. but this arsnicke will so poyson the same legge or sore, that it will euer after be incurable: this do they for gaine and to be pitied. the most of these that walke about be walchmen. [header: harman. a frater.] ¶ a frater. cap. . some of these fraters will cary blacke boxes at their gyrdel, wher in they haue a briefe of the queenes maiesties letters patentes, geuen to suche[ ] poore spitlehouse for the reliefe of _th_e poore there, whiche briefe is a coppie of the letters patentes, _and_ vtterly fained, if it be in paper or in[ ] parchment without the great seale. also, if the same brief be in printe,[ ] it is also of auctoritie. for the printers wil sée _and_ wel vndersta_n_d, before it come in presse, that the same is lawfull. also, i am credibly informed that the chiefe proctors of manye of these houses, that seldome trauel abroad the_m_ selues, but haue their factors to gather for the_m_, which looke very slenderly to the impotent and miserable creatures committed to their charge, _and_ die for want of cherishing; wheras they _and_ their wiues are wel cra_m_med _and_ clothed, _and_ will haue of the best. and the founders of euery such house, or the chiefe of the parishe wher they be, woulde better sée vnto these proctors, that they might do their duty, they should be wel spoken of here, and in the world to come abou_n_dantly therefore rewarded. i had of late an honest man, and of good wealthe, repayred to my house to common wyth me aboute certeyne affaires. i inuited the same to dinner, and dinner beinge done, i demaunded of hym some newes of these[ ] parties were hee dwelte. "thankes be to god, syr," (saith he); "all is well _and_ good now." "now!" (quoth i) "this same 'nowe' *[leaf ]* declareth _tha_t some things of late hath not bene wel." "yes, syr," (q_uoth_ he) "the[ ] matter is not great. i had thought i should haue bene wel beaten within this seuenth night." "how so?" (quoth i). "mary, syr," sayd he, "i am counstable for fault of a better, and was commaunded by the iusticer to watch. the watch being set, i toke an honest man, one of my neighbors, with me, and went vp to the ende of the towne as far as the spittle house, at which house i heard a great noyse, and, drawing nere, stode close vnder the wall, and this was at one of the clocke after midnight. where he harde swearinge, pratinge, and wagers laying, and the pot apase walkinge, and xl. pence gaged vpon a matche of wrastling, pitching of the barre, and casting of the sledge. and out they goe, in a fustian fume, into the backe syde, where was a great axiltrye,[ ] and there fell to pitching of the barre, being thre to thre. the moone dyd shine bright, the counstable with his neighboure myght see and beholde all that was done. and howe the wyfe of the house was rostinge of a pyg, whyle her gestes were in their matche. at the laste they coulde not agree vpon a caste, and fell at wordes, and from wordes to blowes. the counstable with his[ ] fellowe runnes vnto them, to parte them, and in the partinge lyckes a drye blowe or two. then the noyse increased; the counstable woulde haue had them to[ ] the stockes. the wyfe of the house runnes out with her goodman to intreat the counstable for her gestes, and leaues the pyg at the fyre alone. in commeth two or thrée of the next neighboures, beinge waked wyth this noise, and into the house they come, and fynde none therein, but the pygge well rosted, and carieth the same awaye wyth them, spyte and all, with suche breade and drinke also as stoode vpon the table. when the goodman and the goodwyfe of the house hadde intreated and pacified the counstable, shewinge vnto him that they were proctors and factores all of spyttell houses, and that they taryed there but to breake theyr fast, and woulde ryde awaye immediatelye after, for they had farre to goe, and therefore mente to ryde so earlye. and comminge into their house agayne, fyndinge the pygge wyth bread and drincke all gonne, made a greate exclamation, for they knewe not who had the same. ¶ the counstable returning and hearinge the lamentable wordes of the good wyfe, howe she had lost both meate and drinke, and sawe it was so in deede, hée laughed in his sleue, and commaunded her to dresse no more at vnlawfull houres for any gestes. for hée thought it better bestowed vppon those smell feastes his poore neighboures then vppon suche sturdye lubbares. the nexte mornynge betymes the *[leaf , back]* spitte and pottes were sette at the spittle house doore for the owner. thus were these factours begyled of theyr breakefast, and one of them hadde well beaten an other; "and, by my trouth," (quoth thys counstable) "i was gladde when i was well ryd of them." "why," quoth i, "coulde the[y] caste the barre and sledge well?" "i wyll tell you, syr," (quoth hée) "you knowe there hath bene manye games this sommer. i thinke verely, that if some of these lubbars had bene there, and practysed amongest others, i beleue they woulde haue carryed awaye the beste games. for they were so stronge and sturdye, that i was not able to stande in their handes." "well" (quoth i) "at these games you speake of, both legges and armes bée tryed." "yea," quoth this offycer, "they bée wycked men. i haue séene some of them sithens wyth cloutes bounde aboute theyr legges, and haltynge wyth their staffe in their handes. wherefore some of theym, by god, bee nought all." [header: harman. a abraham man.] ¶ a abraham man. cap. . these abrahom men be those that fayne themselues to haue beene mad, and haue bene kept eyther in bethelem or in some other pryson a good tyme, _and_ not one amongst twenty that euer came in pryson for any such cause: yet wyll they saye howe pitiously and most extreamely they haue bene beaten, and dealt with all. some of these be merye and verye pleasant, they wyll daunce and sing; some others be as colde and reasonable to talke wyth all. these begge money; eyther when they come at farmours howses they wyll demaunde baken, eyther chéese, or wooll, or any thinge that is worthe money. and if they espye small company within, they wyll with fierce countenau_n_ce demau_n_d some what. where for feare the maydes wyll geue theym largely to be ryd of theym. {¶ if they maye conuenyently come by any cheate, they wyl {picke and steale, as the v[p]right man or roge, poultrey or lynnen. and all wemen that wander bée at their commaundemente. of all that euer i saw of this kynde, one naminge him selfe stradlynge is the craftiest and moste dyssemblyngest knaue. hée is able wyth hys tounge and vsage to deceaue and abuse the wysest man that is. and surely for the proporcion of his body, with euery member there vnto appertayninge, it cannot be a mended. but as the prouerbe is "god hath done his part." thys stradlyng sayth he was the lord sturtons man; and when he was executed, for very pensiuenes of mynde, *[leaf ]* he fell out of his wytte, and so continued a yeare after and more; and that with the very gréefe and feare, he was taken wyth a marueilous palsey, that both head and handes wyll shake when he talketh, with anye and that a pase or fast, where by he is much pytied, and getteth greately. and if i had not demaunded of others, bothe men and women, that commonly walketh as he doth, and knowen by them his déepe dissimylation, i neuer hadde vnderstand the same. and thus i end wyth these kynde of vacabondes. [header: harman. a whipiacke.] ¶ a freshe water mariner or whipiacke. cap. . these freshwater mariners, their shipes were drowned in the playne of salisbery. these kynde of caterpillers counterfet great losses on the sea; these bée some western men, and most bée irishe men. these wyll runne about the countrey wyth a counterfet lycence, fayninge either shypwracke, or spoyled by pyrates, neare the coaste of cornwall or deuonshyre, and set a lande at some hauen towne there, hauynge a large and formall wrytinge, as is aboue sayd, with the names and seales of suche men of worshyppe, at the leaste foure or fiue, as dwelleth neare or next to the place where they fayne their landinge. and neare to those shieres wyll they not begge, vntyll they come into wylshyre, hamshyre, barkeshyre, oxfordshyre, harfordshyre, middelsex, and so[ ] to london, and downe by the ryuer to séeke for their shyppe and goods that they neuer hade: then passe they through surrey, sossex, by the sea costes, and so into kent, demaunding almes to bring them home to their country. ¶ some tyme they counterfet the seale of the admiraltie. i haue diuers tymes taken a waye from them their lycences, of both sortes, wyth suche money as they haue gathered, and haue confiscated the same to the pouerty nigh adioyninge to me. and they wyll not beelonge with out another. for at anye good towne they wyll renewe the same. once wyth muche threatninge and faire promises, i required to knowe of one companye who made their lycence. and they sweare that they bought the same at portsmouth, of a mariner there, and it cost them[ ] two shillinges; with such warrantes to be so good and efectuall, that if any of the best men of lawe, or learned, aboute london, should peruse the same, they weare able to fynde no faute there with, but would assuredly allow the same. [header: harman. n. blunt, n. genynges.] *[leaf , back]*[ ] [illustration: =a vpright man= =nicolas blunt= {=the co[=u]terfet cranke= {=nicolas genynges=] these two pyctures, lyuely set out, one bodye and soule, god send him more grace. this mounstrous desembelar, a cranke all about. vncomly couetinge, of eche to imbrace, money or wares, as he made his race. and sometyme a marynar, and a saruinge man, or els an artificer, as he would fayne than. such shyftes he vsed, beinge well tryed, a bandoninge labour, tyll he was espyed. conding punishment, for his dissimulation, he sewerly receaued with much declination.[ ] [header: harman. a counterfet cranke.] *[leaf ]* ¶ a counterfet cranke. cap. . these that do counterfet the cranke be yong knaues and yonge harlots, that depely dissemble the falling sicknes. for the cranke in their language is the falling euyll. i haue séene some of these with fayre writinges testimoniall, with the names and seales of some men of worshyp in shropshyre, and in other shieres farre of, that i haue well knowne, and haue taken the same from them. many of these do go without writinges, and wyll go halfe naked, and looke most pitiously. and if any clothes be geuen them, the[y][ ] immediatly sell the same, for weare it they wyll not, because they would bée the more pitied, and weare fylthy clothes on their heades, and neuer go without a péece of whyte sope about them, which, if they sée cause or present gaine, they wyll priuely conuey the same into their mouth, and so worke the same there, that they wyll fome as it were a boore, _and_ maruelously for a tyme torment them selues; and thus deceiue they the common people, and gayne much. these haue commonly their harlots as the other. apon alhollenday in the morning last anno domini. , or my[ ] booke was halfe printed, i meane the first impression, there came earely in the morninge a counterfet cranke vnder my lodgynge at the whyte fryares, wythin the cloyster, in a lyttle yard or coorte, where aboutes laye two or thre great ladyes, beyng without the lyberties of london, where by he hoped for the greatter gayne; this cranke there lamentably lamentinge and pitefully crying to be releued, declared to dyuers their hys paynfull and miserable dysease. i being rysen and not halfe ready, harde his dolfull wordes and rufull mornings, hering him name the falling sicknes, thought assuredlye to my selfe that hée was a depe desemblar; so, comminge out at a sodayne, and beholdinge his vgly and yrksome attyre, hys lothsome and horyble countinance, it made me in a meruelous parplexite what to thinke of hym, whether it were fayned or trouth,--for after this manner went he: he was naked from the wast vpward, sauyng he had a old ierken[ ] of leather patched, and that was lose[ ] about hym, that all his bodye laye out bare; a filthy foule cloth he ware on his head, being cut for the purpose, hauing a narowe place to put out his face, with a bauer made to trusse vp his beard, and a stryng that tyed the same downe close aboute his necke; with an olde felt hat which he styll caried in his hande to receaue the charytye and deuotion of the people, for that woulde he hold out from hym; hauyng hys face, from the eyes downe ward, all smerd with freshe bloud, *[leaf , back]* as thoughe he had new falen, and byn tormented wyth his paynefull panges,--his ierken beinge all be rayde with durte and myre, and hys hatte and hosen also, as thoughe hée hadde wallowed in the myre: sewerly the sighte was monstrous and terreble. i called hym vnto me, and demaunded of hym what he ayled. "a, good maister," quoth he, "i haue the greuous and paynefull dyseas called the falynge syckenes." "why," quoth i, "howe commeth thy ierken, hose, and hat so be rayd with durte and myre, and thy skyn also?" "a, good master, i fell downe on the backesyde here in the fowle lane harde by the watersyde; and there i laye all most all night, and haue bled all most all the bloude owte in my bodye." it raynde that morninge very fast; and whyle i was thus talkinge with hym, a honest poore woman that dwelt thereby brought hym a fayre lynnen cloth, and byd hym wype his face therewyth; and there beinge a tobbe standing full of rayne water, offered to geue hym some in a dishe that he might make hym selfe cleane: hée refuseth[ ] the same. "why dost thou so?" quoth i. "a, syr," sayth he, "yf i shoulde washe my selfe, i shoulde fall to bléedinge a freshe againe, and then i should not stop my selfe:" these wordes made me the more to suspecte hym. then i asked of hym where he was borne, what is name was, how longe he had this dysease, and what tyme he had ben here about london, and in what place. "syr," saythe he, "i was borne at leycestar, my name is nycholas genings,[ ] and i haue had this falling sycknes viij. yeares, and i can get no remedy for the same; for i haue it by kinde, my father had it and my friendes before me; and i haue byne these two yeares here about london, and a yeare and a halfe in bethelem." "why, wast thou out of thy wyttes?" quoth i. "ye, syr, that i was." "what is the kepars name of the house?" "hys name is," quoth hée, "iohn smith." "then," quoth i, "hée must vnderstande of thy dysease; yf thou hadest the same for the tyme thou wast there, he knoweth it well." "ye, not onely he, but all the house bée syde," quoth this cranke; "for i came thens but within this fortnight." i had stande so longe reasoning the matter wyth him that i was a cold, and went into my chamber and made me ready, and commaunded my seruant to repayre to bethelem, and bringe me true worde from the keper there whether anye suche man hath byn with him as a prisoner hauinge the dysease aforesayd, and gaue hym a note of his name and the kepars also: my seruant, retorninge to my lodginge, dyd assure me that neither was there euer anye such man there, nether yet anye keper of any suche name; but hée that was there keper, he sent me hys name in writing, afferming that hee letteth no man depart from hym vnlesse he be fet a waye by *[leaf ]* hys fréendes, and that none that came from hym beggeth aboute the citye. then i sent for the printar of this booke, and shewed hym of this dyssembling cranke, and how i had sent to bethelem to vnderstand the trouth[ ], and what aunsweare i receaued againe, requiringe hym that i might haue some seruant of his to watche him faithfully that daye, that i might vnder stand trustely to what place he woulde repaire at night vnto, and thether i promised to goe my selfe to sée their order, and that i woulde haue hym to associate me thether: hée gladly graunted to my request, and sent two boyes, that both diligently and vygelantly accomplisht the charge geuen them, and found the same cranke aboute the temple, where about the most parte of the daye hée begged, vnlesse it weare about xii. of the clocke he went on the backesyde of clementes ine without temple barre: there is a lane that goeth into the feldes; there hee renewed his face againe wyth freshe bloud, which he caried about hym in a bladder, and dawbed on freshe dyrte vpon his ierken, hat, and hoson. ¶ and so came backe agayne vnto the temple, and sometyme to the watersyde, and begged of all that passed bye: the boyes behelde howe some gaue grotes, some syxe pens, some gaue more; for hée looked so ougleie and yrksomlye, that euerye one pytied his miserable case that beehelde hym. to bee shorte, there he passed all the daye tyll night approched; and when it began to bée some what dark, he went to the water syde and toke a skoller,[ ] and was sette ouer the water into saincte georges feldes, contrarye to my expectatian; for i had thought he woulde haue gonne into holborne or to saynt gylles in the felde; but these boyes, with argues and lynces eyes, set sewre watche vppon him, and the one tooke a bote and followed him, and the other went backe to tell his maister. the boye that so folowed hym by water, had no money to pay for his bote hyre, but layde his penner and his ynkhorne to gage for a penny; and by that tyme the boye was sette ouer, his maister, wyth all celeryte, hadde taken a bote and followed hym apase: now hadde they styll a syght of the cranke, wych crossed ouer the felddes towardes newyngton, and thether he went, and by that tyme they came thether it was very darke: the prynter hadde there no acquaintance, nether any kynde of weapon about hym, nether knewe he[ ] how farre the cranke woulde goe, becawse hee then suspected that they dogged hym of purposse; he there stayed hym, and called for the counstable, whyche came forthe dylygentelye to inquyre what the matter was: thys zelous pryntar charged thys offycer *[leaf , back]* wyth hym as a malefactor and a dessemblinge vagabonde--the counstable woulde haue layde him all night in the cage that stode in the streate. "naye," saythe this pitifull prynter, "i praye you haue him into your house; for this is lyke to be a cold nyght, and he is naked: you kepe a vytellinge house; let him be well cherished this night, for he is well hable to paye for the same. i knowe well his gaynes hath byn great to day, and your house is a sufficient pryson for the tyme, and we wil there serche hym. the counstable agreed there vnto: they had him in, and caused him to washe him selfe: that donne, they demaunded what money he had about hym. sayth this cranke, "so god helpe me, i haue but xii. pence," and plucked oute the same of a lytle pursse. "why, haue you no more?" quoth they. "no," sayth this cranke, "as god shall saue my soule at the day of iudgement." "we must se more," quoth they, and began to stryp hym. then he plucked out a nother purse, wherin was xl. pens. "toushe," sayth[ ] thys prynter, "i must see more." saythe this cranke, "i pray god i bée dampned both body[ ] and soule yf i haue anye more." "no," sayth thys prynter, "thou false knaue, here is my boye that dyd watche thée all this daye, and sawe when such men gaue the péeses of sixe pens, grotes, and other money; and yet thou hast shewed vs none but small money." when thys cranke hard this, and the boye vowinge it to his face, he relented, and plucked out another pursse, where in was eyght shyllings and od money; so had they in the hole _that_ he had begged that day xiij. shillings iii. [ ]pens halfepeny[ ]. then they strypt him starke naked, and as many as sawe him sayd they neuer sawe hansommer man, wyth a yellowe flexen beard[ ], and fayre skynned, withoute anye spot or greffe. then the good wyfe of the house fet her goodmans[ ] olde clocke, _and_ caused the same to be cast about him, because the sight shoulde not abash her shamefast maydens, nether loth her squaymysh sight. {thus he set[ ] downe at the chemnes end, and called for a {potte of béere, and dranke of a quarte at a draft, and called for another, and so the thyrde, that one had bene sufficient for any resonable man, the drynke was so stronge.[ ] i my selfe, the next morninge, tasted thereof; but let the reader iudge what and howe much he would haue dronke and he had bene out of feare. then when they had thus wrong water out of a flint in spoyli_n_g him of his euyl gotten goods, his passing pens[ ], _and_ fleting trashe, the printer with this offecer were in gealy gealowsit[ ], and deuised to search a barne for some roges and vpright men, a quarter of a myle from the house, that stode a lone in the fieldes, and wente out about their busines, leauing this cranke alone with his wyfe and maydens: this crafty cra_n_ke, espying al gon, requested _the_ good wife that *[leaf ]* hee might goe out on the backesyde to make water, and to exonerate his paunche: she bad hym drawe the lache of the dore and goe out, neither thinkinge or mistrusting he would haue gon awaye naked; but, to conclude, when hee was out, he cast awaye the cloke, and, as naked as euer he was borne, he ran away, [ ]that he could[ ] neuer be hard of [ ]againe.[ ] now[ ] the next morning betimes, i went vnto newington, to vndersta_n_d what was done, because i had word or it was day that there my printer was; and at my comming thether, i hard the hole circumstaunce, as i aboue haue wrytten; and i, seing the matter so fall out, tooke order with the chiefe of the parish that this xiij. shyllings _and_ iij. [ ]pens halfpeny[ ] might the next daye be equally distributed, by their good discrecions, to the pouertie of the same parishe,[ ] and so it was done. [header: harman. a dommerar.] ¶ a dommerar. cap. . these dommerars are leud and most subtyll people: the moste part of these are walch men, and wyll neuer speake, vnlesse they haue extreame punishment, but wyll gape, and with a maruelous force wyll hold downe their toungs doubled, groning for your charyty, and holding vp their handes full pitiously, so that with their déepe dissimulation they get very much. there are of these many, _and_ but one that i vnderstand of hath lost his toung in dede. hauing on a time occasion to ride to dartforde, to speake with a priest there, who maketh all kinde of conserues very well, and vseth stilling of waters; and repayringe to his house, i founde a dommerar at his doore, and the priest him selfe perusinge his[ ] lycence, vnder the seales and hands of certayne worshypfull men, had[ ] thought the same to be good and effectuall. i taking the same writing, and reading it ouer, and noting the seales, founde one of the seales like vnto a seale that i had aboute me, which seale i bought besides charing crosse, that i was out of doubte it was none of those gentlemens seales that had sub[s]cribed. and hauing vnderstanding before of their peuish practises, made me to conceaue that all was forged and nought. i made the more hast home; for well i wyst that he would and must of force passe through the parysh where i dwelt; for there was no other waye for hym. and comminge homewarde, i found them in the towne, accordinge to my expectation, where they were staid; for there was a pallyarde associate with the dommerar and partaker of his gaynes, whyche pallyarde i sawe not at dartford. the stayers of them was a gentleman called[ ] _chayne_, and a seruant of my lord kéepers, cald _wostestowe_, which was *[leaf , back]* the chiefe causer of the staying of them, being a surgien, _and_ cunning in his science, had séene the lyke practises, and, as he sayde, hadde caused one to speake afore that was dome[ ]. it was my chaunce to come at the begynning of the matter. "syr," (quoth this surgien) "i am bold here to vtter some part of my cunning. i trust" (quoth he) "you shall se a myracle wrought anon. for i once" (quoth he) "made a dumme man to speake." quoth i, "you are wel met, and somwhat you haue preuented me; for i had thought to haue done no lesse or they hadde passed this towne. for i well knowe their writing is fayned, and they depe dissemblers." the surgien made hym gape, _and_ we could sée but halfe a toung. i required the surgien to put hys fynger in his mouth, _and_ to pull out his toung, and so he dyd, not withstanding he held strongly a prety whyle; at the length he pluckt out the same, to the great admiration of many that stode by. yet when we sawe his tounge, hée would neither speake nor yet could heare. quoth i to the surgien, "knit two of his fyngers to gether, and thrust a stycke betwene them, and rubbe the same vp and downe a lytle whyle, and for my lyfe hée speaketh by and by." "sir," quoth this surgien, "i praye you let me practise and[ ] other waye." i was well contented to sée the same. he had him into a house, and tyed a halter aboute the wrestes of his handes, and hoysed him vp ouer a beame, and there dyd let him hang a good while: at _th_e length, for very paine he required for gods sake to let him down. so he that was both deafe and dume coulde in short tyme both heare and speake. then i tooke that money i could find in his pursse, and distributed the same to the poore people dwelling there, whiche was xv. pence halfepeny, being all that we coulde finde. that done, and this merry myracle madly made, i sent them with my seruaunt to the next iusticer, where they preached on the pyllery for want of a pulpet, and were well whypped, and none dyd bewayle them. [header: harman. a prygge.] ¶ a dronken tinckar. cap. . these dronken tynckers, called also prygges, be beastly people, _and_ these yong knaues be _th_e wurst. these neuer go w_i_t_h_ out their doxes, and yf their women haue anye thing about them, as apparell or lynnen, that is worth the selling, they laye the same to gage, or sell it out right, for bene bowse at their bowsing ken. and full sone wyll they bée wearye of them, and haue a newe. when they happen one woorke at any good house, their doxes lynger alofe, and tarry for them in some corner; and yf he taryeth longe from her, then she knoweth *[leaf ]* he hath worke, and walketh neare, and sitteth downe by him. for besydes money, he looketh for meate and drinke for doinge his dame pleasure. for yf she haue thrée or foure holes in a pan, hee wyll make as many more for spedy gaine. and if he se any old ketle, chafer, or pewter dish abroad in the yard where he worketh, hée quicklye snappeth the same vp, and in to the booget it goeth round. thus they lyue with deceite. {¶ i was crediblye informed, by such as could well tell, that {one of these tipling tinckers w_i_t_h_ his dogge robbed by the high way iiij. pallyards and two roges, six persons together, and tooke from them aboue foure pound in ready money, _and_ hide him after in a thicke woode a daye or two, and so escaped vntaken. thus with picking and stealing, mingled with a lytle worke for a coulour, they passe their time. [header: harman. a swadder. a iarkeman and a patrico.] ¶ a swadder, or pedler. cap. . these swadders and pedlers bee not all euyll, but of an indifferent behauiour. these stand in great awe of the vpright men, for they haue often both wares and money of them. but for as much as they seeke gayne vnlawfully against the lawes and statutes of this noble realme, they are well worthy to be registred among the number of vacabonds; and vndoubtedly i haue hadde some of them brought before me, when i was in commission of the peace, as malefactors, for bryberinge and stealinge. and nowe of late it is a greate practes of the vpright man, when he hath gotten a botye, to bestowe the same vpon a packefull of wares, and so goeth a time for his pleasure, because he would lyue with out suspition. ¶ a iarke man, and a patrico. cap. . for as much as these two names, a iarkeman and a patrico, bée in the old briefe of vacabonds, and set forth as two kyndes of euil doers, you shall vnderstande that a iarkeman hathe his name of a iarke, which is a seale in their language, as one should make writinges and set seales for lycences and pasporte[ ]. and for trouth there is none that goeth aboute the countrey of them that can eyther wryte so good and fayre a hand, either indite so learnedly, as i haue sene _and_ handeled a number of them: but haue the same made in good townes where they come, as what can not be hadde for money, as the prouerbe sayth ("_omnia venalia rome_"), and manye hath confessed the same to me. *[leaf , back]* now, also, there is a patrico, and not a patriarcho[ ], whiche in their language is a priest that should make mariages tyll death dyd depart; but they haue none such, i am well assured; for i put you out of doubt that not one amo[n]gest a hundreth of them are maried, for they take lechery for no sinne, but naturall fellowshyp and good lyking loue: so that i wyll not blot my boke with these two that be not. [header: harman. a demaunder for glymmar.] ¶ a demaunder for glymmar. cap. . these demaunders for glymmar be for the moste parte wemen; for glymmar, in their language, is fyre. these goe with fayned[ ] lycences and counterfayted wrytings, hauing the hands and seales of suche gentlemen as dwelleth nere to the place where they fayne them selues to haue bene burnt, and their goods consumed with fyre. they wyll most lamentable[ ] demaunde your charitie, _and_ wyll quicklye shed salte teares, they be so tender harted. they wyll neuer begge in that shiere where their losses (as they say) was. some of these goe with slates at their backes, which is a shéete to lye in a nightes. the vpright men be very familiare with these kynde of wemen, and one of them helpes an other. ¶ a demaunder for glymmar came vnto a good towne in kente, to aske the charitie of the people, hauinge a fayned lycens aboute her that declared her misfortune by fyre, donne in somerset shyre, walkinge with a wallet on her shoulders, where in shée put the deuotion of suche as hadde no money to geue her; that is to saye, malte, woll, baken, bread, and cheese; and alwayes, as the same was full, so was it redye money to her, when she emptyed the same, where so euer shee trauelede: thys harlot was, as they terme it, snowte fayre, and had an vpright man or two alwayes attendinge on her watche (whyche is on her parson), and yet so circumspecte, that they woulde neuer bee séene in her company in any good towne, vnlesse it were in smale vyllages where typling houses weare, eyther trauelinge to gether by the hygh wayes; but _th_e troth is, by report, she would wekely be worth vi. or seuen shyllinges with her begging and bycherye. this glimmering morte, repayringe to an ine in _th_e sayde towne where dwelt a wydow of fyftie wynter olde of good welth; but she had an vnthryftye sonne, whom she vsed as a chamberlaine to attend gestes when they repared to her house: this amerous man, be holdinge with ardante eyes thys[ ] glymmeringe glauncer, was presentlye pyteouslye persed to the hart, and lewdlye longed to bée clothed vnder her lyuerye; and bestowinge *[leaf ]* a fewe fonde wordes with her, vnderstode strayte that she woulde be easlye perswaded to lykinge lechery, and as a man mased, mused howe to attayne to his purpose, for[ ] he hadde no money. yet consideringe wyth hym selfe that wares woulde bée welcome where money wanted, hée went with a wannion to his mothers chamber, and there sekinge aboute for odde endes, at length founde a lytle whystell of syluer that his mother dyd vse customablye to weare on, and had forgot the same for haste that morninge, and offeres the same closely to this manerly marian, that yf she would mete hym on the backesyde of the towne and curteously kys him with out constraynt, she shoulde bée mystres thereof, and it weare much better. "well," sayth she, "you are a wanton;" and beholdinge the whystell, was farther in loue there with then rauysht wyth his person, and agred to mete him presently, and to accomplyshe his fonde fancy:--to be short, and not tedyous, a quarter of a myle from the towne, he merely toke measure of her vnder a bawdye bushe; so she gaue hym that she had not, and he receiued that he coulde not; and taking leue of eche other with a curteous kysse, she plesantly passed forth one her iornaye, _and_ this vntoward lycorous chamberlayne repayred home warde. but or these two tortylles tooke there leue, the good wyfe myssed her whystell, and sent one of her maydenes in to her chamber for the same, and being long sawght for, none coulde be founde; her mystres hering that, diligent search was made for the same; and that it was taken awaye, began to suspecte her vnblessed babe, and demaunded of her maydens whether none of them sawe her sonne in her chamber that morning, and one of them aunswered that she sawe him not there, but comming from thens: then had she ynough, for well she wyste that he had the same, and sent for him, but he could not be founde. then she caused her hosteler, in whome she had better affyaunce in for his trouth,--and yet not one amongst twenty of them but haue well left there honesty, (as i here a great sorte saye)--to come vnto her, whiche attended to knowe her pleasure. "goe, seke out," saythe she, "my vntowarde sonne, and byd hym come speake with me." "i sawe him go out," saythe he, "halfe an houre sithens one the backesyde. i hadde thought you hadde sent him of your arrante." "i sent him not," quoth she; "goe, loke him out." ¶ this hollowe hosteler toke his staffe in his necke, and trodged out apase that waye he sawe him before go, and had some vnderstanding, by one of the maydens, that his mistres had her whistell stolen _and_ suspected her sonne; and he had not gone farre but that he espyed him comming homeward alone, and, meting him, axed where he had ben. *[leaf , back]* "where haue i bene?" q_uoth_ he, and began to smyle. "now, by the mas, thou hast bene at some baudy banquet." "thou hast euen tolde trouth," q_uoth_ thys chamberlayne. "sewerly," q_uoth_ this hosteler, "thou haddest the same woman that begged at our house to day, for _th_e harmes she had by fyre: where is she?" q_uoth_ he. "she is almost a myle by this tyme," q_uoth_ this chamberlayne. "where is my mystres whystell?" quoth this hosteler; "for i am well assured that thou haddest it, and i feare me thou hast geuen it to that harlot." "why! is it myssed?" _quoth_ this chamberlayne. "yea," q_uoth_ this hosteler, and shewed him all the hole circumstaunce, what was both sayde and thought on him for the thing. "well, i wyl tell the," quoth this chamberlayne. "i wylbe playne with the. i had it in dede, and haue geue_n_ the same to this woman, and i praye the make the best of it, and helpe nowe to excuse the matter, and yet surely and thou wouldest take so much payne for me as to ouer take her, (for she goeth but softly, and is not yet farre of) and take the same from her, and i am euer thyne assured fréende." "why, then, go with me," quoth this hostler. "nay, in faythe," quoth this chamberlayne; "what is frear then gift? and i hadde prety pastime for the same." "hadest thou so?" quoth this hosteler; "nowe, by the masse, and i wyll haue some to, or i wyll lye in the duste or i come agayne." passing with hast to ouer take this paramoure, within a myle fro_m_ _th_e place where he departed he ouertoke her, hauing an vpright man in her company, a stronge and a sturdye vacabond: some what amased was this hosteler to se one familiarly in her company, for he had well hopped to haue had some delycate dalyance, as his fellowe hadde; but, seinge the matter so fallout, and being of good corage, and thinking to him selfe that one true man was better then two false knaues, and being on the high way, thought vpon helpe, if nede had bene, by such as had passed to and fro, demaunded fersely the whistell that she had euyn nowe of his fellowe. "why, husband," quoth she, "can you suffer this wretche to slaunder your wyfe?" "a vaunt verlet," quoth this vpright man, and letes dryue with all his force at this hosteler, and after halfe[ ] a dosen blowes, he strycks his staffe out of his hande, and as this hosteler stept backe to haue taken vp his staffe agayne, his glymmeringe morte flinges a great stone at him, and strake him one the heade that downe hee fales, wyth the bloud about his eares, and whyle hée laye this amased, the vpright man snatches awaye his pursse, where in hée hadde money of his mystresses as well as of his owne, and there let him lye, and went a waye with spede that they were neuer harde of more. when this drye beaten hosteler was come to him selfe, hée fayntlye wandereth home, and crepethe in to hys couche, and restes *[leaf ]* his ydle heade: his mystres harde that hée was come in, and layde him downe on his beade, repayred straight vnto him, and aske hym what he ayled, and what the cause was of his so sudden lying one his bed. "what is the cause?" quoth this hosteler; "your whystell, your whistel,"--speaking the same pyteouslye thre or foure tymes. "why, fole," quoth his mystrisse, "take no care for that, for i doe not greatly waye it; it was worth but thrée shyllinges foure pens." "i would it had bene burnt for foure yeares agon." "i praye the why so," quoth his mystres; "i think thou art mad." "nay, not yet," quoth this hosteler, "but i haue bene madly handlyd." "why, what is the matter?" quoth his mystres, and was more desirous to know the case. "_and_ you wyl for geue my fellowe and me, i wyll shewe you, or els i wyll neuer doe it." shée made hym presently faithfull promisse that shée woulde. "then," saythe hee, "sende for your sonne home agayne, whyche is ashamed to loke you in the face." "i agre there to," sayth shée "well, then," quoth this hosteler, "youre sonne hathe geuen the same morte that begged here, for the burninge of her house, a whystell, and you haue geuen her v. shyllinges in money, and i haue geuen her ten shyllinges of my owne." "why, howe so?" quoth she. then he sadly shewed her of his myshap, with all the circumstaunce that you haue harde before, and howe hys pursse was taken awaye, and xv. shyllinges in the same, where of v. shyllinges was her money and x. shyllinges his owne money. "is this true?" quoth his mystres. "i, by my trouth," quoth this hosteler, "and nothing greues me so much, neyther my beating, neither the losse of my money, as doth my euell _and_ wreched lucke." "why, what is the matter?" quoth his mystres. "your sonne," saythe this hosteler, "had some chere and pastyme for that whystell, for he laye with her, and i haue bene well beaten, and haue had my pursse taken from me, and you knowe your sonne is merrye and pleasaunt, and can kepe no great councell; and then shall i bemocked _and_ loughed to skorne in all places when they shall here howe i haue bene serued." "nowe, out vpon you knaues both," quoth his mystres, and laughes oute the matter; for she well sawe it would not other wyse preuayle. [header: harman. a bawdy basket.] ¶ a bawdy basket. cap. . these bawdy baskets be also wemen, and go with baskets and capcases on their armes, where in they haue laces, pynnes, nedles, white ynkell, and round sylke gyrdles of al coulours. these wyl bye co_n_neyski_n_s,[ ] _and_ steale line_n_ clothes of on hedges. and for their trifles they wil procure of mayden seruaunts, whe_n_ *[leaf , back]* their mystres or dame is oute of the waye, either some good peece of béefe, baken, or chéese, that shalbe worth xij. pens, for ii. pens of their toyes. and as they walke by the waye, they often gaine some money wyth their instrument, by such as they sodaynely mete withall. the vpright men haue good acquayntance with these, and will helpe and relieue them when they want. thus they trade their lyues in lewed lothsome lechery. amongest them all is but one honest woman, and she is of good yeares; her name is ione messenger. i haue had good proofe of her, as i haue learned by the true report of diuers. {there came to my gate the last sommer, anno domini . , {a very miserable man, and much deformed, as burnt in the face, blere eyde, and lame of one of his legges that he went with a crouche. i axed him wher he was borne, and where he dwelt last, and shewed him that thether he must repaire and be releued, and not to range aboute the countrey; and seing some cause of cherytie, i caused him to haue meate and drinke, and when he had dronke, i demaunded of him whether he was neuer spoyled of the vpright man or roge. "yes, that i haue," quoth he, "and not this seuen yeres, for so long i haue gon abroad, i had not so much taken from me, and so euyll handeled, as i was w_i_th_i_n these iiij. dayes." "why, how so?" quoth i. "in good fayth, sir," quoth hée, "i chaunced to méete with one of these bawdy baskets which had an vpright man in her company, and as i would haue passed quietly by her, 'man,' sayth she vnto vnto her make, 'do you not se this ylfauored, windshake_n_ knaue?' 'yes,' quoth the vpright man; 'what saye you to him?' 'this knaue[ ] oweth me ii. shyllings for wares that[ ] he had of me, halfe a yere a go, i think it well.' sayth this vpright man, 'syra,' sayth he, 'paye your dets.' sayth this poore man, 'i owe her none, nether dyd i euer bargane with her for any thinge, and as this[ ] aduysed i neuer sawe her before in all my lyfe.' 'mercy, god!' quoth she, 'what a lyinge knaue is this, and he wil not paye you, husband, beat him suerly,' and the vpright man gaue me thre or foure blowes on my backe and shoulders, and would haue beat me worsse and i had not geuen hym all the money in my pursse, and in good fayth, for very feare, i was fayne to geue him xiiij. pens, which was all the money that i had. 'why,' sayth this bawdy basket, 'hast thou no more? then thou owest me ten pens styll; and, be well assured that i wyll bée payde the next tyme i méete with thée.' and so they let me passe by them. i praye god saue and blesse me, and al other in my case, from such wycked persons," quoth this poore man. "why, whether went they then?" quoth i. "into east kent, for i mete with them on thyssyde of rochester. i haue dyuers tymes bene attemted, but i neuer loste *[leaf ]* much before. i thanke god, there came styll company by a fore this vnhappy time." "well," quoth i, "thanke god of all, and repaire home into thy natyue countrey." [header: harman. a autem mort. a walking mort.] ¶ a autem mort. cap. . these autem mortes be maried wemen, as there be but a fewe. for autem in their language is a churche; so she is a wyfe maried at the church, and they be as chaste as a cowe i haue, _tha_t goeth to bull euery moone, with what bull she careth not. these walke most times from their husbands companye a moneth and more to gether, being asociate with another as honest as her selfe. these wyll pylfar clothes of hedges: some of them go with children of ten or xii. yeares of age; yf tyme and place serue for their purpose, they wyll send them into some house, at the window, to steale and robbe, which they call in their language, milling of the ken; and wil go w_i_t_h_ wallets on their shoulders, and slates at their backes. there is one of these autem mortes, she is now a widow, of fyfty yeres old; her name is alice milson: she goeth about with a couple of great boyes, the yongest of them is fast vpon xx. yeares of age; and these two do lye with her euery night, and she lyeth in the middes: she sayth that they be her children, that beteled be babes borne of such abhominable bellye. ¶ a walking mort. cap. . these walkinge mortes bee not maryed: these for their vnhappye yeares doth go as a autem morte, and wyll saye their husbandes died eyther at newhauen, ireland, or in some seruice of the prince. these make laces vpon staues, _and_ purses, that they cary in their hands, and whyte vallance for beddes. manye of these hath hadde and haue chyldren: when these get ought, either with begging, bychery, or brybery, as money or apparell, they are quickly shaken out of all by the vpright men, that they are in a maruelous feare to cary any thinge aboute them that is of any valure. where fore, this pollicye they vse, they leaue their money now with one and then with a nother trustye housholders, eyther with the good man or good wyfe, some tyme in one shiere, and then in another, as they trauell: this haue i knowne, _tha_t iiij. or v. shyllinges, yea x. shyllinges, lefte in a place, and the same wyll they come for againe within one quarter of a yeare, or some tyme not in halfe a yeare; and all this is to lytle purpose, for all their peuyshe *[leaf , back]* pollycy; for when they bye them lynnen or garmentse, it is taken awaye from them, and worsse geuen them, or none at all. [header: harman. a walking mort.] ¶ the last sommer, anno domini . , being in familiare talke with a walking mort that came to my gate, i learned by her what i could, and i thought i had gathered as much for my purpose as i desired. i began to rebuke her for her leud lyfe and beastly behauor, declaring to her what punishment was prepared and heaped vp for her in the world to come for her fylthy lyuinge and wretched conuersation. "god helpe," q_uoth_ she, "how should i lyue? none wyll take me into seruice; but i labour in haruest time honestly." "i thinke but a whyle with honestie," q_uoth_ i. "shall i tell you," q_uoth_ she, "the best of vs all may be amended; but yet, i thanke god, i dyd one good dede within this twelue mo_n_thes." "wherein?" q_uoth_ i. sayth she, "i woulde not haue it spoken of agayne." "yf it be méete and necessary," q_uo_d i, "it shall lye vnder my feete." "what meane you by that?" quoth she. "i meane," q_uo_d i, "to hide the same, and neuer to discouer it to any." "well," q_uoth_ she, and began to laugh as much as she could, and sweare by the masse that if i disclosed the same to any, she woulde neuer more[ ] tell me any thinge. "the last sommer," q_uoth_ she, "i was greate with chylde, and i traueled into east kent by the sea coste, for i lusted meruelously after oysters and muskels[ ], and gathered many, and in _th_e place where i found them, i opened them and eate them styll: at the last, in seking more, i reached after one, and stept into a hole, and fel in into the wast, and their dyd stycke, and i had bene drowned if the tide had come, and espyinge a man a good waye of, i cried as much as i could for helpe. i was alone, he hard me, and repaired as fast to me as he might, and finding me their fast stycking, i required for gods sake his helpe; and whether it was with stryuinge and forcing my selfe out, or for ioye i had of his comminge to me, i had a great couller in my face, and loked red and well coullered. and, to be playne with you, hée lyked me so well (as he sayd) that i should there lye styll, and i would not graunt him, that he might lye with me. and, by my trouth, i wist not what to answeare, i was in such a perplexite; for i knew the man well: he had a very honest woman to his wyfe, and was of some welth; and, one the other syde, if i weare not holpe out, i should there haue perished, and i graunted hym that i would obeye to his wyll: then he plucked me out. and because there was no conuenient place nere hande, i required hym that i might go washe my selfe, and make me somewhat clenly, and i would come to his house and lodge all night in his barne, whether he mighte repaire to me, and accomplyshe hys desire, 'but let it not be,' quoth she,[ ] 'before nine of the clocke at nyghte *[leaf ]* for then there wylbe small styrring. and i may repaire to the towne,' q_uoth_ she,[ ] 'to warme and drye my selfe'; for this was about two of the clocke in the after none, 'do so,' quoth hée; 'for i must be busie to looke oute my cattell here by before i can come home.' so i went awaye from hym, and glad was i." "and why so?" quoth i. "because," quoth she, "his wyfe, my good dame, is my very fréend, and i am much beholdinge to her. and she hath donne me so much good or this, that i weare loth nowe to harme her any waye." "why," quoth i, "what and it hadde béene any other man, and not your good dames husbande?" "the matter had bene the lesse," quoth shée. "tell me, i pray the," quoth i, "who was the father of thy chylde?" she stodyd a whyle, and sayde that it hadde a father. "but what was hée?" quoth i. "nowe, by my trouth, i knowe not," quoth shée; "you brynge me out of my matter so, you do." "well, saye on," quoth i. "then i departed strayght to the towne, and came to my dames house, and shewed her of my mysfortune, also of her husbands vsage, in all pointes, and that i showed her the same for good wyll, and byde her take better héede to her husbande, and to her selfe: so shée gaue me great thankes, and made me good chéere, and byd me in anye case that i should be redye at the barne at that tyme and houre we had apoynted; 'for i knowe well,' quoth this good wyfe, 'my husband wyll not breake wyth the. and one thinge i warne[ ] the, that thou geue me a watche worde a loud when hée goeth aboute to haue his pleasure of the, and that shall[ ] bée "fye, for shame, fye," and i wyll bée harde by you wyth helpe. but i charge the kéepe thys secret vntyll all bee fynesed; and holde,' saythe thys good wyfe, 'here is one of my peticotes i geue thée.' 'i thanke you, good dame,' quoth i, 'and i warrante you i wyll bée true and trustye vnto you.' so my dame lefte me settinge by a good fyre with meate and drynke; and wyth the oysters i broughte with me, i hadde greate cheere: shée wente strayght and repaired vnto her gossypes dwelling there by; and, as i dyd after vnderstande, she made her mone to them, what a naughtye, lewed, lecherous husbande shée hadde, and howe that she coulde not haue hys companye for harlotes, and that she was in feare to take some fylthy dysease of hym, he was so commen a man, hauinge lytle respecte whome he hadde to do with all; 'and,' quoth she, 'nowe here is one at my house, a poore woman that goeth aboute the countrey that he woulde haue hadde to doe withall; wherefore, good neyghboures and louinge gossypes, as you loue me, and as you would haue helpe at my hand another tyme, deuyse some remedy to make my husband a good man, _tha_t i may lyue in some suerty without disease, and that hée may saue his soule that god so derelye *[leaf , back]* bought.' after shée hadde tolde her tale, they caste their persinge eyes all vpon her, but one stoute dame amongst the rest had these wordes--'as your pacient bearinge of troubles, your honest behauiour among vs your neyghbours, your tender and pytifull hart to the poore of the parysh, doth moue vs to lament your case, so the vnsatiable carnalite of your faithelesse husbande doth instigate and styre vs to deuyse and inuent some spéedy redresse for your ease[ ] and the amendement of hys lyfe. wherefore, this is my councell and you wyll bée aduertysed by me; for[ ] i saye to you all, vnlesse it be this good wyfe, who is chéefely touched in this matter, i haue the nexte cause; for hée was in hande wyth me not longe a goe, and companye had not bene present, which was by a meruelous chaunce, he hadde, i thinke, forced me. for often hée hath bene tempering[ ] with me, and yet haue i sharpely sayde him naye: therefore, let vs assemble secretly into the place where hée hathe apuynted to méete thys gyllot that is at your house, and lyrke preuelye in some corner tyll hée begyn to goe aboute his busines. and then me thought i harde you saye euen nowe that you had a watche word, at which word we wyll all stepforth, being fiue of vs besydes you, for you shalbe none because it is your husbande, but gette you to bed at your accustomed houre. and we wyll cary eche of vs[ ] good byrchen rodde in our lappes, and we will all be muffeled for knowing, and se that you goe home and acquaynt that walking morte with the matter; for we must haue her helpe to hold, for alwaies foure must hold and two lay one.' 'alas!' sayth this good wyfe, 'he is to stronge for you all. i would be loth, for my sake you should receaue harme at his hande.' 'feare you not,' q_uoth_ these stout wemen, 'let her not geue the watch word vntyl his hosen be abaut his legges. and i trowe we all wylbe with him to bring before he shall haue leasure to plucke them vp againe.' they all with on voyce ag[r]ed to the matter, that the way she had deuised was the best: so this good wife repaired home; but before she departed from her gossypes, she shewed them at what houre they should preuely come in on _th_e backsid, _and_ where to tary their good our: so by _th_e time she came in, it was all most night, and found the walking morte still setting by the fyre, and declared to her all this new deuyse aboue sayd, which promised faythfully to full fyll to her small powre as much as they hadde deuysed: within a quarter of an oure after, in co_m_meth the good man, who said that he was about his cattell. "why, what haue we here, wyfe, setting by the fyre? _and_ yf she haue eate and dronke, send her into the barne to her lodging for this night, for she troubeleth the house." "euen as you wyll husbande," sayth his wyfe; "you knowe she commeth once in two yeres into these *[leaf ]* quarters. awaye," saythe this good wyfe, "to your lodginge." "yes, good dame," sayth she, "as fast as i can:" thus, by loking one[ ] on the other, eche knewe others mynde, and so departed to her comely couche: the good man of the house shrodge hym for ioye, thinking to hym selfe, i wyll make some pastyme with you anone. and calling to his wyfe for hys sopper, set him downe, and was very plesant, and dranke to his wyfe, _and_ fell to his mammerings, and mounched a pace, nothing vnderstanding of the bancquet that[ ] was a preparing for him after sopper, _and_ according to the prouerbe, that swete meate wyll haue sowre sawce: thus, whe_n_ he was well refreshed, his sprietes being reuyued, entred into familiare talke with his wife, of many matters, how well he had spent that daye to both there proffytes, sayinge some of his cattell[ ] were lyke to haue bene drowned in the dyches, dryuinge others of his neyghbours cattell out that were in his pastures, _and_ mending his fences that were broken downe. thus profitably he had consumed the daye, nothinge talking of his helping out of the walkinge morte out of the myre, nether of his request nor yet of her[ ] promisse. thus feding her w_i_t_h_ frendly fantacyes, consumed two houres and more. then fayninge howe hée would se in what case his horse were in and howe they were dressed, repaired couertly into the barne, where as his frée[n]dlye foes lyrked preuely, vnlesse it were this manerly morte, that comly couched on a bottell of strawe. "what, are you come?" q_uoth_ she; "by the masse, i would not for a hundreth pound that my dame should knowe that you were here, eyther any els of your house." "no, i warrant the," sayth this good man, "they be all safe and fast ynough at their woorke, and i wylbe at mine anon," and laye downe by her, and strayght would haue had to do w_i_t_h_ her. "nay, fye," sayth she, "i lyke not this order: if ye lye with me, you shall surely vntrus you _and_ put downe your hosen, for that way is most easiest and best." "sayest thou so?" quoth he, "now, by my trouth agred." and when he had vntrussed him selfe and put downe, he began to assalt the vnsatiable[ ] fort "why," quoth she, that was with out shame, sauinge for her promes, "and are you not ashamed?" "neuer a whyte," sayth he, "lye downe quickely." "now, fye, for shame, fye," sayth shée a loude, whyche was the watche word. at the which word, these fyue furious, sturdy, muffeled gossypes flynges oute, and takes sure holde of this be trayed parson, sone[ ] pluckinge his hosen downe lower, and byndinge the same fast about his féete; then byndinge his handes, and knitting a hande charcher about his eyes, that he shoulde not sée; and when they had made hym sure and fast, then they layd him one vntyll they weare windles. "be good," sayth this morte, "vnto my maister, for the passion of god," *[leaf , back]* and layd on as fast as the rest, and styll seased not to crye vpon them to bée mercyfull vnto hym, and yet layde on a pace; and when they had well beaten hym, that the bloud braste plentifullye oute in most places, they let hym lye styll bounde. with this exhortation, that he shoulde from that tyme forth knowe his wyfe from other mens, and that this punishment was but a flebyting in respect of that which should followe, yf he amended not his manners. thus leuynge hym blustering, blowing, and fominge for payne, and malyncolye that hée neither might or coulde be reuenged of them, they vanyshed awaye, and hadde thys morte with them, and safely conuayde her out of the towne: sone after co_m_meth into the barne one of the good mans boyes, to fet some haye for his horse. and fyndinge his maister lyinge faste bounde and greuouslye beaten with rodes, was sodenly abashed and woulde haue runne out agayne to haue called for helpe; but his maister bed hym come vnto hym and vnbynd hym; "and make no wordes," quoth he, "of this. i wylbe reuenged well inoughe;" yet not with standinge, after better aduyse, the matter beinge vnhonest, he thought it meter to let the same passe, and, not, as the prouerbe saythe, to awake the sleping dogge. "and, by my trouth," quoth this walkinge morte, "i come nowe from that place, and was neuer there sythens this parte was playde, whiche is some what more then a yeare. and i here a very good reporte of hym now, that he loueth his wyfe well, and vseth hym selfe verye honestlye; and was not this a good acte? nowe, howe saye you?" "it was pretely handeled," quoth i, "and is here all?" "yea," quoth she, "here is the ende." [header: harman. a doxe.] ¶ a doxe. cap. . these doxes be broken and spoyled of their maydenhead by the vpright men, and then they haue their name of doxes, and not afore. and afterwarde she is commen and indifferent for any that wyll vse her, as _homo_ is a commen name to all men. such as be fayre and some what handsome, kepe company with the walkinge mortes, and are redye alwayes for the vpright men, and are cheifely mayntayned by them, for others shalbe spoyled for their sakes: the other, inferior, sort wyll resorte to noble mens places, and gentlemens houses, standing at the gate, eyther lurkinge on the backesyde about backe houses, eyther in hedge rowes, or some other thycket, expectinge their praye, which is for the vncomely company of some curteous gest, of whome they be refreshed with meate and some money, where eschaunge is made, ware for ware: this bread and meate they vse to carrye in their *[leaf ]* greate hosen; so that these beastlye brybinge[ ] bréeches serue manye tymes for bawdye purposes. i chaunced, not longe sithens, familiarly to commen with a doxe that came to my gate, and surelye a pleasant harlot, and not so pleasant as wytty, and not so wytty as voyd of all grace and goodnes. i founde, by her talke, that shée hadde passed her tyme lewdlye eyghttene yeares in walkinge aboute. i thoughte this a necessary instrument to attayne some knowledge by; and before i woulde grope her mynde, i made her both to eate and drynke well; that done, i made her faythfull promisse to geue her some money, yf she would open and dyscouer to me such questions as i woulde demaunde of her, and neuer to bée wraye her, neither to disclose her name. "and you shoulde," sayth she, "i were vndon:" "feare not that," quoth i; "but, i praye the," quoth i, "say nothing but trouth." "i wyll not," sayth shée. "then, fyrste tell me," quoth i, "how many vpright men and roges dost thou knowe, or hast thou knowne and byn conuersaunt with, and what their names be?" she paused a whyle, and sayd, "why do you aske me, or wherefore?" "for nothinge els," as i sayde, "but that i woulde knowe them when they came to my gate." "nowe, by my trouth" (quoth she) "then are yea neuer the neare, for all myne acquayntaunce, for the moste parte, are deade." "dead!" quoth i, "howe dyed they, for wante of cherishinge, or of paynefull diseases?" then she sighed, and sayde they were hanged. "what, all?" quoth i, "and so manye walke abroade, as i dayelye see?" "by my trouth," quoth she, "i knowe not paste six or seuen by their names," and named the same to me. "when were they hanged?" quoth i. "some seuen yeares a gone, some thrée yeares, and some w_i_t_h_in this fortnight," and declared the place where they weare executed, which i knewe well to bée true, by the report of others. "why" (quoth i) "dyd not this sorrowfull and fearefull sight much greue the, and for thy tyme longe and euyll spent?" "i was sory," quoth shée, "by the masse; for some of them were good louing men. for i lackt not when they had it, and they wanted not when i had it, and diuers of them i neuer dyd forsake, vntyll the gallowes departed vs." "o, mercyfull god!" quoth i, and began to blesse me. "why blesse ye?" quoth she. "alas! good gentleman, euery one muste haue a lyuinge." other matters i talked of; but this nowe maye suffice to shewe the reader, as it weare in a glasse, the bolde beastly lyfe of these doxes. for suche as hath gone anye tyme abroade, wyll neuer forsake their trade, to dye therefore. i haue hadde good profe thereof. there is one, a notorious harlot, of this affinitye, called besse bottomelye; she hath but one hande, and she hath murthered two children at the least. [header: harman. a dell.] *[leaf , back]* ¶ a dell. cap. . a dell is a yonge wenche, able for generation, and not yet knowen or broken by the vpright man. these go abroade yong, eyther by the death of their parentes, and no bodye to looke vnto them, or els by some sharpe mystres that they serue, do runne away out of seruice; eyther she is naturally borne one, and then she is a wyld dell: these are broken verye yonge; when they haue béene lyen with all by the vpright man, then they be doxes, and no dels. these wylde dels, beinge traded vp with their monstrous mothers, must of necessytie be as euill, or worsse, then their parents, for neither we gather grapes from gréene bryars, neither fygs from thystels. but such buds, such blosoms, such euyll sede sowen, wel worsse beinge growen. [header: harman. a kynchin morte, etc.] ¶ a kynchin morte. cap. . a kynching morte is a lytle gyrle: the mortes their mothers carries them at their backes in their slates, whiche is their shetes, and bryngs them vp sauagely[ ], tyll they growe to be rype, and soone rype, soone rotten. ¶ a kynchen co. cap. . a kynchen co is a young boye, traden vp to suche peuishe purposes as you haue harde of other young ympes before, that when he groweth vnto yeres, he is better to hang then to drawe forth. [header: harman. doxes vsage in the night.] ¶ their vsage in the night. cap. . now i thinke it not vnnecessary to make the reader vnderstand how and in what maner they lodge a nights in barnes or backe houses, and of their vsage there, for asmuch as i haue acquaynted them with their order and practises a day times. the arche and chiefe walkers that hath walked a long time, whose experience is great, because of their continuinge practise, i meane all mortes and doxes, for their handsomnes and diligence for making of their couches. the men neuer trouble them selues with _tha_t thing, but takes the same to be the dutye of _th_e wyfe. and she shuffels vp a quayntitye of strawe or haye into some pretye carner of the barne *[leaf ]* where she maye conuenientlye lye, and well shakethe the same, makinge the heade some what hye, and dryues the same vpon the sydes and fete lyke abed: then she layeth her wallet, or some other lytle pack of ragges or scrype vnder her heade in the strawe, to beare vp the same, and layethe her petycote or cloke vpon and ouer the strawe, so made lyke a bedde, and that serueth for the blancket. then she layeth her slate, which is her sheete, vpon that; and she haue no shéete, as fewe of them goe without, then she spreddeth some large cloutes or rags ouer the same, and maketh her ready, and layeth her drouselye downe. many wyll plucke of their smockes, and laye the same vpon them in stede of their vpper shéete, and all her other pelte and trashe vpon her also; and many lyeth in their smockes. and if the rest of her clothes in colde weather be not sufficient to kepe her warme, then she taketh strawe or haye to performe the matter. the other sorte, that haue not slates, but toumble downe and couche a hogshead in their clothes, these bée styll lousye, and shall neuer be with out vermyn, vnlesse they put of theire clothes, and lye as is a boue sayde. if the vpright man come in where they lye, he hath his choyse, and crepeth in close by his doxe: the roge hath his leauings. if the morts or doxes lye or be lodged in some farmers barne, and the dore be ether locked or made fast to them, then wyl not the vpright man presse to come in, vnles it be in barnes and oute houses standinge alone, or some distance from houses, which be commonly knowne to them, as saint quintens, thrée cranes of the vintrey, saynt tybbes, and knapsbery. these foure be with in one myle compasse neare vnto london. then haue you iiij. more in middlesex, drawe the pudding out of the fyre in harrow on the hyll parish, _th_e crose keyes in cranford[ ] parish, saynt iulyans in thystell worth parish, the house of pyty in northhall parysh. these are their chiefe houses neare about london, where commonly they resorte vnto for lodginge, and maye repaire thether freelye at all tymes. sometyme shall come in some roge, some pyckinge knaue, a nymble prygge; he walketh in softly a nightes, when they be at their rest, and plucketh of as many garmentes as be ought worth that he maye come by, and worth money, and maye easely cary the same, and runneth a waye with the same with great seleritye, and maketh porte sale at some conuenient place of theirs, that some be soone ready in the morning, for want of their casters _and_ togema_n_s. where in stéede of blessinge is cursing; in place of praying, pestelent prating with odious othes _and_ terrible threatninges. the vpright men haue geuen all these nycke names to the places aboue sayde. y[e]t haue *[leaf , back]* we two notable places in kent, not fare from london: the one is betwene detforde and rothered, called the kynges barne, standing alone, that they haunt commonly; the other is ketbroke, standinge by blacke heath, halfe a myle from anye house. there wyll they boldlye drawe the latche of the doore, and go in when the good man with hys famyly be at supper, and syt downe without leaue, and eate and drinke with them, and either lye in the hall by the fyre all night, or in _th_e barne, if there be no rome in the house for them. if the doore be eyther bolted or lockt, if it be not opened vnto them when they wyl, they wyl breake the same open to his farther cost. and in this barne sometyme do lye xl. vpright men with their doxes together at one time. and this must the poore farmer suffer, or els they threaten him to burne him, and all that he hath. * * * * * [header: harman. names of vpright men.] the names of the vpright men, roges, and pallyards. here followeth the vnrulye rablement of rascals, and the moste notoryous and wyckedst walkers that are lyuinge nowe at this present, with their true names as they be called and knowne by. and although i set and place here but thre orders, yet, good reader, vnderstand that all the others aboue named are deriued and come out from the vpright men and roges. concerning the number of mortes and doxes, it is superfluous to wryte of them. i could well haue don it, but the number of them is great, and woulde aske a large volume. ¶ upright men. a.[ ] antony heymer. antony iackeson. b. burfet. bryan medcalfe. c. core the cuekold. chrystoner cooke. d. dowzabell skylfull in fence. dauid coke. dycke glouer. dycke abrystowe. dauid edwardes. dauid holand. dauid iones. e. edmund dun, a singing man. edward skiner, _alias_ ned skinner. edward browne. f. follentine hylles. fardinando angell. fraunces dawghton. g. gryffin. great iohn graye. george marrinar. george hutchinson. h. hary hylles, alias harry godepar. *[leaf ]* harry agglyntine. harry smyth, he driueleth whe_n_ he speaketh. harry ionson. i. iames barnard. iohn myllar. iohn walchman. iohn iones. iohn teddar. iohn braye. iohn cutter. iohn bell. iohn stephens. iohn graye. iohn whyte. iohn rewe. iohn mores. iohn a farnando. iohn newman. iohn wyn, _alias_ wylliams. iohn a pycons. iohn tomas. iohn arter. ion palmer, _alias_ tod. iohn geffrey. iohn goddard. iohn graye the lytle. iohn graye the great. iohn wylliams the longer. iohn horwood, a maker of wels; he wyll take halfe his bargayne in hand, _and_ when hée hath wrought ii. or iii. daies, he runneth away with his earnest. iohn peter. iohn porter. iohn appowes. iohn arter. iohn bates. iohn comes. iohn chyles, _alias_ great chyles. iohn leuet; he maketh tappes and fausets. iohn louedall, a maister of fence. iohn louedale. iohn mekes. iohn appowell. iohn chappell. iohn gryffen. iohn mason. iohn humfrey, with the lame hand. iohn stradling, with the shaking head. iohn franke. iohn baker. iohn bascafeld. k. l. lennard iust. long gréene. laurence ladd. laurence marshall. m. n. nicolas wilson. ned barington. ned wetherdon. ned holmes. o. p. phyllype gréene. q. r. robart grauener. robart gerse. robart kynge. robart egerton. robart bell, brother to iohn bell. robart maple. robart langton. robyn bell. robyn toppe. robart brownswerd, he werith his here long. robart curtes. rychard brymmysh. rychard iustyce. rychard barton. rychard constance. rychard thomas. rychard cadman. rychard scategood. rychard apryce. rychard walker. rychard coper. s. steuen neuet. t. thomas bulloke. *[leaf , back]* thomas cutter. thomas garret. thomas newton. thomas web. thomas graye, his toes be gonne. tom bodel. thomas wast. thomas dawso_n_ _alias_ thomas iacklin. thomas basset. thomas marchant. thomas web. thomas awefeld. thomas gybbins. thomas lacon. thomas bate. thomas allen. v. w. welarayd richard. wyllia_m_ chamborne. wylliam pannell. wylliam morgan. wylliam belson. wylliam ebes. wylliam garret. wylliam robynson. wylliam vmberuile. wylliam dauids. wyll pen. wylliam iones. wyll powell. wylliam clarke. water wirall. wylliam browne. water martyne.[ ] wylliam grace. wylliam pyckering. [header: harman. names of roges.] roges. a. arche dowglas, a scot. b. blacke dycke. c. d. dycke durram. dauid dew neuet, a counterfet cranke. e. edward ellys. edward anseley. f. g. george belberby. goodman. gerard gybbin, a counterfet cranke. h. hary walles, with the lytle mouth. humfrey ward. harry mason. i. iohn warren. iohn donne, with one legge. iohn elson. iohn raynoles, irysh man. iohn harrys. iames monkaster, a counterfet cranke. iohn dewe. iohn crew, with one arme. iohn browne, great stamerar. l. lytle dycke. lytle robyn. lambart rose. m. more, burnt in the hand.[ ] n. nicholas adames, a great stamerar.[ ] nycholas crispyn. nycholas blunt _alias_ nycholas gennings, a counterfet cranke. nycholas lynch. r. rychard brewton. rychard horwod, well nere lxxx. yeares olde; he wyll byte a vi. peny nayle a sonder w_i_t_h_ his téeth, and a bawdye *[leaf ]* dronkard. richard crane; he carieth a kynchne co at his backe. rychard iones. raffe ketley. robert harrison. s. simon kynge. t. thomas paske. [ ]thomas bere. thomas shawnean, irish man. thomas smith, _with_ the skald skyn.[ ] w. wylliam carew. wylliam wastfield. wylson. wylliam gynkes, with a whyte bearde, a lusty and stronge man; he runneth about the countrey to séeke worke, with a byg boy, his sonne carying his toles as a dawber or playsterer, but lytle worke serueth him. [header: harman. names of pallyards.] ¶ pallyards. b. bashford. d. dycke sehan irish. dauid powell. dauid iones, a counterfet crank. e. edward heyward, hath his morte following him, which fained the cranke. edward lewes, a dummerer. h. hugh iones. i. iohn perse,[ ] a counterfet cranke. iohn dauids. iohn harrison. iohn carew. iames lane, with one eye, irish. iohn fysher. iohn dewe. iohn gylford, irish, w_i_t_h_ a counterfet lisence. l. laurence, with the great legge. n. nycholas newton, carieth a fained lisence. nicholas decase. p. prestoue. r. robart lackley. robart canloke. richard hylton, caryeth ii. kynchen mortes about him. richard thomas. s. soth gard. swanders. t. thomas edwards. thomas dauids. wylliam thomas. wylliam coper with the harelyp. wyll pettyt, beareth a kinche_n_ mort at his back. wylliam bowmer. there is aboue an hundreth of irish men and women that wander about to begge for their lyuing, that hath come ouer within these two yeares. they saye the[y] haue béene burned and spoyled by the earle of desmond, and report well of the earle of vrmond. ¶ all these aboue wryten for the most part walke about essex, myddlesex, sussex, surrey, and kent. then let the reader iudge what number walkes in other shieres, i feare me to great a number, if they be well vnderstande. [header: harman. peddelars frenche.] *[leaf , back]* [ ]here followyth their pelting speche.[ ] here i set before the good reader the leud, lousey language of these lewtering luskes _and_ lasy lorrels, where with they bye and sell the common people as they pas through the countrey. whych language they terme peddelars frenche, a vnknowen toung onely, but to these bold, beastly, bawdy beggers, and vaine vacabondes, being halfe myngled with englyshe, when it is famyliarlye talked, and fyrste placinge thinges by their proper names as an introduction to this peuyshe spéeche. nab, *a head*. nabchet, *a hat or cap*. glasyers, *eyes*. a smelling chete, *a nose*. gan, *a mouth*. a pratling chete, *a tounge*. crashing chetes, *téeth*. hearing chetes, *eares*. fambles, *handes*. a fambling chete, *a rynge on thy hand*. quaromes, *a body*. prat, *a buttocke*. stampes, *legges*. a caster, *a cloke*. a togeman, *a cote*. a commission, *a shierte*. drawers, *hosen*. stampers, *shooes*. a mofling chete, *a napkyn*. a belly chete, *an apern*. dudes, *clothes*. a lag of dudes, *a bucke of clothes*. a slate or slates, *a shéete or shetes*. lybbege, *a bed*. bunge, *a pursse*. lowre, *monye*. mynt, *golde*. a bord, *a shylling*. halfe a borde, *sixe pence*. flagg, *a groate*. a wyn, *a penny*. a make, *a halfepeny*. bowse, *drynke*. bene, *good*. benshyp, *very good*. quier, *nought*. a gage, *a quarte pot*. a skew, *a cuppe*. pannam,[ ] *bread*. cassan, *chéese*. yaram,[ ] *mylke*. lap, *butter milke or whey*. *[leaf ]* pek, *meate*. poppelars, *porrage*. ruff pek, *baken*. a grunting chete or a patricos kynchen, *a pyg*. a cakling chete, *a cocke or capon*. a margery prater, *a hen*. a roger or tyb of the buttery, *a goose*. a quakinge chete or a red shanke, *a drake or ducke*. grannam, *corne*. a lowhinge chete, *a cowe*. a bletinge chete, *a calfe or shéepe*. a prauncer, *a horse*. autem, *a church*. salomon, *a alter or masse*. patrico, *a priest*. nosegent, *a nunne*. a gybe, *a writinge*. a iarke, *a seale*. a ken, *a house*. a staulinge ken, *a house that wyll receaue stolen ware*. a bousing ken, *a ale house*. a lypken, *a house to lye in*. a lybbege, *a bedde*. glymmar, *fyre*. rome bouse, *wyne*. lage, *water*. a skypp_e_r, *a barne*. stromell, *strawe*. a gentry cofes ke_n_, *a nobl_e_ or gentlemans house*. a gygger, *a doore*. [header: harman. rogues: their pelting speche.] bufe, *a dogge*. the lightmans, *the daye*. the darkemans, *the nyght*. rome vyle, *london*. dewse a vyle, *the countrey*. rome mort, *the quene*. a gentry cofe, *a noble or gentleman*. a gentry morte, *a noble or gentle woman*. the quyer cuffyn,[ ] *the iusticer of peace*. the harman beck, *the counstable*. the harmans, *the stockes*. quyerkyn, *a pryson house*. quier crampinges, *boltes or fetters*. tryninge, *hanginge*. chattes, *the gallowes*. the hygh pad, *the hygh waye*. the ruffmans, *the wodes or bushes*. a smellinge chete, *a garden or orchard*. crassinge chetes, *apels, peares or anye other frute*. *to fylche, to beate, to stryke, to robbe*.[ ] to nyp a boung, *to cut a pursse*. to skower the cramprings, *[leaf , back] to weare boltes or fetters*. to heue a bough, *to robbe or rifle a boeweth*. to cly the gerke, *to be whypped*. to cutte benle,[ ] *to speake gently*. to cutte bene whydds, *to speake or geue good wordes*. to cutte quyre whyddes, *to geue euell wordes or euell language*. to cutte, *to saye*. to towre, *to sée*. to bowse, *to drynke*. to maunde, *to aske or requyre*. to stall, *to make or ordaine*. to cante, *to speake*. to myll a ken, *to robbe a house*. to prygge, *to ryde*. to dup the gyger, *to open the doore*. to couch a hogshead, *to lye downe and sléepe*. to nygle, *to haue to do with a woman carnally*. stow you, *holde your peace*. bynge a waste, *go you hence*. to the ruffian, *to the deuell*. the ruffian cly the, *the deuyll take thée*. [header: harman. the vpright cofe canteth to the roge.] ¶ the vpright cofe canteth to the roge.[ ] *the vpright man speaketh to the roge.* vprightman.[ ] bene lightmans to thy quarromes, in what lipken hast thou lypped in this darkemans, whether in a lybbege or in the strummell? *god morrowe to thy body, in what house hast thou lyne in all night, whether in a bed, or in the strawe?* roge. i couched a hogshead in a skypper this darkemans. *i layd[ ] me downe to sléepe in a barne this night.* vpright man.[ ] i towre the strummel trine vpon thy nabchet[ ] _and_ togman. *i sée the strawe hang vpon thy cap and coate.* roge. i saye by the salomon i will lage it of with a gage of benebouse; then cut to my nose watch. *i sweare by the masse[ ], i wull washe it of with a quart of good drynke; [leaf ][ ] then saye to me what thou wylt.* man. why, hast thou any lowre in thy bonge to bouse? *why, hast thou any money in thy purse to drinke?* roge. but a flagge, a wyn, and a make. *but a grot, a penny, and a halfe penny.* man. why, where is the kene that hath the bene bouse? *where is the house that hath good drinke?* roge. a bene mort hereby at the signe of the prauncer. *a good wyfe here by at the signe of the hors.* man. i cutt it is quyer buose, i bousd a flagge the laste dark mans. *i saye it is small and naughtye drynke. i dranke a groate there the last night.* roge. but bouse there a bord, _and_ thou shalt haue beneship. *but drinke there a shyllinge, and thou shalt haue very good.* tower ye yander is the kene, dup the gygger, and maund that is bene shyp. *se you, yonder is the house, open the doore, and aske for the best.* man. this bouse is as benshyp[ ] as rome bouse. *this drinke is as good as wyne.* now i tower that bene bouse makes nase nabes. *now i se that good drinke makes a dronken heade.* maunde of this morte what bene pecke is in her ken. *aske of this wyfe what good meate shee hath in her house.* roge. she hath a cacling chete, a grunting chete, ruff pecke, cassan, and popplarr of yarum. *she hath a hen, a pyg, baken, chese and mylke porrage.* man. that is beneshyp to our watche. *that is very good for vs.* now we haue well bousd, let vs strike some chete. *nowe we haue well dronke, let us steale some thinge.* yonder dwelleth a quyere cuffen, it were beneship to myll hym. *yonder dwelleth a hoggeshe and choyrlyshe man, it were very well donne to robbe him.* roge. nowe bynge we a waste to the hygh pad, the ruffmanes is by. naye, let vs go hence to the hygh waye, the wodes is at hand. man. so may we happen on the harmanes, and cly the iarke, or to the quyerken and skower quyaer cramprings, and so to tryning on the chates. *[leaf , back] so we maye chaunce to set in the stockes, eyther be whypped, eyther had to prison house, and there be shackled with bolttes and fetters, and then to hange on the gallowes.* gerry gan, the ruffian clye thee. *a torde in thy mouth, the deuyll take thee.* man. what, stowe your bene, cofe, and cut benat whydds, and byng we to rome vyle, to nyp a bong; so shall we haue lowre for the bousing ken, and when we byng back to the deuseauyel, we wyll fylche some duddes of the ruffemans, or myll the ken for a lagge of dudes. *what, holde your peace, good fellowe, and speake better wordes, and go we to london, to cut a purse; then shal we haue money for the ale house, and when wee come backe agayne into the country, wee wyll steale some lynnen clothes of one[ ] hedges, or robbe some house for a bucke of clothes.* ¶ by this lytle ye maye holy and fully vnderstande their vntowarde talke and pelting speache, mynglede without measure; and as they haue begonne of late to deuyse some new termes for certien thinges, so wyll they in tyme alter this, and deuyse as euyll or worsse. this language nowe beinge knowen and spred abroade, yet one thinge more i wyll ad vnto, not meaninge to englyshe the same, because i learned the same[ ] of a shameles doxe, but for the phrase of speche i set it forth onely. there was a proude patrico and a nosegent, he tooke his iockam in his famble, and a wappinge he went, he dokte the dell, hee pryge to praunce, he byngd a waste into the darke mans, he fylcht the cofe, with out any fylch man. [header: harman. nycholas blunte's tricks.] whyle this second impression was in printinge, it fortuned that nycholas blunte, who called hym selfe nycholan gennyns, a counterefet cranke, that is spoken of in this booke, was fonde begging in the whyte fryers on newe yeares day last past, anno domini. , and commytted vnto a offescer, who caried hym vnto the depetye of the ward, which co_m_mytted hym vnto the counter; _and_ as the counstable and a nother would haue caried hym thether, this counterfet cranke ran awaye, but one lyghter of fote then the other ouer toke hym, _and_ so leading him to the counter, where he remayned three days, _and_ from thence to brydewell, where before the maister[ ] he had his dysgysed aparell put vpon hym, which was monstrous to beholde, and after stode in chepesyde w_i_t_h_ _th_e same apparil on a scafold.[ ] a stockes to staye sure, and safely detayne, *[leaf ]* lasy lewd leutterers, that lawes do offend, impudent persons, thus punished with payne, hardlye for all this, do meane to amende. [header: harman. the stockes.] [illustration] fetters or shackles serue to make fast, male malefactours, that on myschiefe do muse, vntyll the learned lawes do quite or do cast, such, suttile searchers, as all euyll do vse. [illustration] [header: harman. the roge's end.] {a whyp is a whysker, that wyll wrest out blood, *[lf , bk]* {of backe and of body, beaten right well. of all the other it doth the most good, experience techeth, and they can well tell. [illustration] ¶ o dolefull daye! nowe death draweth nere, hys bytter styng doth pearce me to the harte. i take my leaue of all that be here, nowe piteously playing this tragicall parte. neither stripes nor teachinges in tyme could conuert, wherefore an ensample let me to you be, and all that be present, nowe praye you for me. [header: harman. the counterfet cranke.] [illustration] [ ]¶ this counterfet cranke, nowe vew and beholde, placed in pyllory, as all maye well se: this was he, as you haue hard the tale tolde, before recorded with great suttylte, ibused manye with his inpiete, his lothsome attyre, in most vgly manner, was through london caried with dysplayd banner.[ ] [header: harman. conclusion.] [symbol: right index] thus i conclude my bolde beggars booke, that all estates most playnely maye see, as in a glasse well pollyshed to looke, their double demeaner in eche degree. their lyues, their language, their names as they be, that with this warning their myndes may be warmed, to amend their mysdeedes, and so lyue vnharmed. finis. ¶ imprinted at london, in fletestrete, at the signe of the faulcon by wylliam gryffith. anno domni. .[ ] footnotes: [ ] leaf _b._ bodley edition (b). [ ] the severe act against vagrants, ed. vi., c. , was passed in , only years before the date of this nd edition. [ ] the edition reads _pynking_. [ ] so printed in both editions. reads _housholders_; but _borsholders_ is doubtless meant. [ ] leaf . b. [ ] printed "_brfore_." [ ] _reclamation._ b. [ ] the edition reads _and_. [ ] the edition here inserts the word _or_. [ ] _vanished._ b. [ ] _fyt._ b. [ ] the ed. reads _not_. [ ] this word is omitted in the ed. [ ] the chapters are not noted in the bodley ed. [ ] the ed. here inserts the word _he_. [ ] reads _if_. [ ] has _or_. [ ] printed "_vpreght_." _vpright_ in bodley ed. [ ] , _be_. [ ] , _as_. [ ] _the._ b. [ ] _dogges._ b. [ ] inserts _and_. [ ] omits. [ ] omits. [ ] _saith._ b. [ ] , _myne_. [ ] _tarying._ b. [ ] so printed. bodley ed. has _the_. [ ] _sakes._ b. [ ] omitted in . [ ] so printed. [ ] _the._ b. [ ] why ... end. b. omits. [ ] reads _mate_. [ ] omitted in . [ ] seing ... dyd. b. omits. [ ] , _was_. [ ] _horses._ b. [ ] printed _statute_. [ ] printed _this_. [ ] b. inserts _a_. [ ] b. omits _in_. [ ] probably the reason why "in print" came to be considered synonymous with "correct." see gent. of verona, act ii. sc. , . [ ] _those._ b. [ ] b. omits _the_. [ ] castyng_e_ of axtre & eke of ston, sofere hem þere to vse non; bal, and barres, and suche play, out of chyche[gh]orde put a-way.-- myrc, p. , l. - (e. e. t. soc. ). [ ] printed _hts_. [ ] _to to._ b. [ ] omitted in . [ ] _him (sic)._ b. [ ] this page is not in bodley ed. [ ] reads _exclamation_. [ ] _they._ b. [ ] _my my._ b. [ ] _gyrken (et seqq.)._ b. [ ] _loose._ b. [ ] _refused._ b. [ ] _gennins._ b. [ ] _trough._ b. [ ] reads _skolluer_. [ ] omitted in edit. [ ] _sayih (sic)._ b. [ ] printed _dody_. [ ] _d. ob._ b. [ ] _bede._ b. [ ] _mans._ b. [ ] inserts _him; sette hym._ b. [ ] inserts _that_. [ ] _pence_ b. [ ] the edition reads _ioly ioylitie; gelowsy_. b. [ ] the edition finishes the sentence thus:--"ouer the fields to his own house, as hée afterwards said." [ ] _woulde._ b. [ ] _again til now._ b. [ ] _d. ob._ b. [ ] the edition continues thus:--"wherof this crafty cranke had part him selfe, for he had both house and wife in the same parishe, as after you shall heare. but this lewde lewterar could not laye his bones to labour, hauing got once the tast of this lewd lasy lyfe, for al this fayr admonition, but deuised other suttel sleights to maintaine his ydell liuing, and so craftely clothed him selfe in mariners apparel, and associated him self with an other of his companions: they hauing both mariners apparel, went abroad to aske charity of _th_e people, fayning they hadde loste their shippe with all their goods by casualty on the seas, wherewith they gayned much. this crafty cranke, fearinge to be mistrusted, fell to another kinde of begging, as bad or worse, and apparelled himselfe very well with a fayre black fréese cote, a new payre of whyte hose, a fyne felt hat on his head, a shert of flaunders worke esteemed to be worth xvi. shillings; and vpon newe yeares day came againe into the whyt fryers to beg: the printer, hauing occasion to go that ways, not thinking of this cranke, by chaunce met with him, who asked his charitie for gods sake. the printer, vewing him well, did mistrust him to be the counterfet cranke which deceuied him vpon alhollen daye at night, demaunded of whence he was and what was his name. 'forsoth,' saith he, 'my name is nicolas genings, and i came from lecester to séeke worke, and i am a hat-maker by my occupation, and all my money is spent, and if i coulde get money to paye for my lodging this night, i would seke work to morowe amongst the hatters.' the printer perceiuing his depe dissimulation, putting his hand into his purse, seeming to giue him some money, and with fayre allusions brought him into the stréete, where he charged the constable with him, affirminge him to be the counterfet cranke that ranne away vpon alholon daye last. the constable being very loth to medle with him, but the printer knowing him and his depe disceit, desyred he mought be brought before the debutie of the ward, which straight was accomplished, which whe_n_ he came before the debuty, he demaunded of him of whence he was and what was his name; he answered as before he did vnto _th_e printer: the debutie asked the printer what he woulde laye vnto hys charge; he answered and aleged him to be a vagabond and depe deceyuer of the people, and the counterfet crank that ran away vpon alhallon day last from the constable of newington and him, and requested him earnestly to send him to ward: the debuty thinking him to be deceiued, but neuerthelesse laid his co_m_maundement vpon him, so that the printer should beare his charges if he could not iustifie it; he agréed thereunto. and so he and the constable went to cary him to the counter: and as they were going vnder ludgate, this crafty cranke toke his héeles and ran down the hill as fast as he could dryve, the constable and the printer after him as fast as they coulde; but the printer of _th_e twayn being lighter of fote, ouertoke him at fleete bridge, and with strong hand caried him to the counter, and safely deliuered him. in _th_e morow _th_e printer sent his boy that stripped him vpon alhalon day at night to view him, because he would be sure, which boy knew him very well: this crank confessed unto the debuty, _tha_t he had hosted the night before in kent stréet in southwarke, at the sign of the cock, which thing to be true, the printer sente to know, and found him a lyer; but further inquiring, at length found out his habitation, dwelling in maister hilles rentes, hauinge a pretye house, well stuffed, with a fayre ioyne table, and a fayre cubbard garnished with peuter, hauing an old auncient woman to his wyfe. the printer being sure therof, repaired vnto the counter, and rebuked him for his beastly behaviour, and told him of his false fayning, willed him to confesse it, and aske forgivenes: he perceyued him to know his depe dissimulation, relented, and confessed all his disceit; and so remayning in the counter thrée dayes, was removed to brydwel, where he was strypt starke naked, and his ougly attyre put vpo_n_ him before the maisters thereof, who wondered greatly at his dissimulation: for which offence he stode vpon the pillery in cheapsyde, both in his ougly and handsome attyre. and after that went in the myll whyle his ougly picture was a drawing; and then was whypped at a cartes tayle through london, and his displayd banner caried before him vnto his own dore, and so backe to brydewell again, and there remayned for a tyme, and at length let at libertie, on that condicio_n_ he would proue an houest man, and labour truly to get his liuing. and his picture remayneth in bridewell for a monyment."--see, also, _post_, p. . [ ] _of his._ b. [ ] _which priest had._ b. [ ] _cal-(sic)._ b. [ ] _dumme._ b. [ ] so printed. _an._ b. [ ] _pasportes._ b. [ ] _patriarch._ b. [ ] _faynen._ b. [ ] _lamentably._ b. [ ] _beholding this._ b. [ ] _but._ b. [ ] omitted in . [ ] rabbitskins. [ ] b. inserts _sayth she_. [ ] omitted in . [ ] reads _i am_. [ ] omitted in . [ ] _mussels._ b. [ ] _he_, ed. . [ ] _i_, ed. . [ ] _warrant._ b. [ ] _should._ b. [ ] reads _case_. [ ] omitted in . [ ] reads _tempting_. [ ] b. inserts _a_. [ ] _won._ b. [ ] b. omits _that_. [ ] b. inserts _that_. [ ] reads _his_. [ ] b. reads _vnsanable_, or _vnsauable_. [ ] reads _some_. [ ] _bryberinge._ b. [ ] b. reads _safely_. [ ] reads _crayford_. [ ] the arrangement in bodley ed. is not alphabetical. [ ] omitted in edit. [ ] omitted in ed. [ ] last three words omitted in ed. [ ] the ed. arranges these names in the following order:-- thomas béere. irish man. thomas smith with the skalde skin. thomas shawneam. [ ] the ed. reads _persk_. [ ] b. omits. [ ] the ed. reads _yannam_. [ ] b. reads _yarum_. the ed. reads _param_. [ ] _custyn._ b. [ ] for these two lines printed in small type, the edition reads, to fylche *to robbe*. [ ] _benie._ b. [ ] _roger._ b. [ ] _man._ b. [ ] _laye._ b. [ ] b. omits _vpright_. [ ] _nabches._ b. [ ] _masst._ b. [ ] this leaf is supplied in ms. in mr huth's edition. [ ] _good_ in the ed. [ ] the ed. has _some_. [ ] instead of "the same," the ed. reads _that_. [ ] _maisters_. b. [ ] this paragraph is omitted in the ed. of ; but see note, _ante_, p. . [ ] b. omits this stanza and has inserted the following lines under the cut. this is the fygure of the counterfet cranke, that is spoken of in this boke of roges, called nycholas blunt other wyse nycholas gennyngs. his tale is in the xvii. lefe [pp. - ] of this booke, which doth showe vnto all that reades it, woundrous suttell and crafty deseit donne of _and_ by him. [ ] this verse is omitted in the edition of ; also the wood-cut preceding it. [ ] b. adds 'the eight of january'. (this would make the year according to the modern reckoning. harman's 'new yeares day last past, anno domini ', p. , must also be / .) =a sermon in praise of thieves and thievery.= [_lansdowne ms._ , _leaf_ .] a sermon made by p_ar_son haben vppon a mold hill at hartely row,[ ] at the comaundment of vij. theves, whoe, after they had robbed him, comaunded him to preache before them. i marvell that eu_er_ye man will seme to dispraise theverye, and thinke the doers thereof worthye of death, when it is a thinge that cometh nere vnto vertve, and is vsed of all men, of all sort_es_ and in all countryes, and soe comaunded and allowed of god himselfe which thinge, because i cannot soe sapiently shewe vnto you a[ ] soe shorte a tyme and in soe shorte a place, i shall desire you, gentle theves, to take in good p_ar_te this thinge that at this tyme cometh to minde, not misdoubtinge but you of yo_ur_ good knowledge are able to ad more vnto the same then this which i at this tyme shall shewe vnto you. ffirst, fortitude and stoutnes, courage, and boldnes of stomacke, is compted of some a vertue; which beinge graunted, whoe is he then that will not iudge theves vertuous, most stoute, most hardye? i most, without_e_ feare. as for stealinge, that is a thinge vsuall:--who_e_ stealeth not? ffor not only you that haue besett me, but many other in many places. men, woemen, _and_ children, riche and poore, are dailye of that facultye, as the hange man of tiborne can testifye. [header: parson haben's sermon. lands. ms. .] that it is allowed of god himselfe, it is euident in many storyes of the scriptures. and if you liste to looke in the whole course of the bible, you shall finde that theves haue bin belovid of god. ffor iacobe, when he came oute of mesopotomia, did steale his vncles lambes; the same iacobe stale his brother esawes blessinge; and that god saide, "i haue chosen iacob and refused esawe." the children of isarell, when they came oute of egippe, didd steale the egippsians iewells and ring_es_, and god comaunded the[m] soe to doe. david, in the dayes of ahemel[e]ch the preiste, came into the temple and stole awaye the shewe bread; and yet god saide, "this is a man accordinge to myne owne harte." alsoe christe himsellfe, when he was here vppon earth, did take an asse, a colte, which was none of his owne. and you knowe that god saide, "this is my now_n_e sone, in whome i delighte." thus maye you see that most of all god delighteth in theves. i marvell, therefore, that men can despise yo_ur_ lives, when that you are in all poynts almost like vnto christe; for christ hade noe dwellinge place,--noe more haue you. christe, therefore, at the laste, was laide waite for in all places,--and soe are you. christe alsoe at the laste was called for,--and soe shall you be. he was condemned,--soe shall you be. christe was hanged,--soe shall you be. he descended into hell,--so shall you. but in one pointe you differ. he assendid into heaven,--soe shall you never, without gods mercye, which god graunte for his mercyes sake! toe whome, with the so_n_ne and the holye goste, be all hono_ur_ and glory for euer and euer. amen! after this good sermon ended, which edefied them soe muche, theye hadd soe muche compassion on him, that they gave him all his mony agayne, and vij s more for his sermon. =a sermon in praise of thieves and thievery.= [_ms. cott. vesp._ a xxv. _leaf_ .] a sermo[n)] of pa_rs_on hyberdyne w_hi_ch he made att the co_m_mandemente of certen theves, aft_e_r thay had robbed hym, besyd_es_ hartlerowe, in hamshyer, in the feld_es_, ther standinge vpo_n_ a hy[l~l] where as a wynde myll had bene, in the p_re_sens of the theves _tha_t robbed hy_m_, as followithe. the s_er_mon as followethe i greatly merve[l~l] _tha_t any man wy[l~l] p_re_sume to dysprase theverie, _and_ thynke the dooer_es_ therof to be woorthy of deathe, consyderinge itt is a thynge that cu_m_ithe nere vnto vertue, beinge vsed of many in a[l~l] contries, and co_m_mendid _and_ allowed of god hym selfe; the _wh_ich thinge, by-cause i cannot co_m_pendiously shew vnto yow at soo shorte a warnynge _and_ in soo sharpe a wether, i sha[l~l] desyer yow, gentle audiens of theves, to take in good p_ar_te thes thyng_es_ that at thys tyme cu_m_ythe to my mynde, not mysdowtynge but _tha_t yow of yowre good knowledge are able to add mutch more vnto ytt the_n_ this w_hi_ch i sha[l~l] nowe vtter vnto yow. ffyrst, fortitude, _and_ stowtnes of corage, _and_ also bowldnes of minde, is co_m_mendyd of su_m_e men to be a vertue; w_hi_ch, beinge grawnted, who is yt then _tha_t wy[l~l] not iudge theves to be v_er_tused? for thay be of a[l~l] men moste stowte _and_ hardy, _and_ moste w_i_t_h_owte feare; for thevery is a thynge moste vsua[l~l] emonge a[l~l] men, f_o_r not only yow that be here p_re_sente, but many other in dyu_er_se plac_es_, bothe men _and_ wemen _and_ chyldren, rytche and poore, are dayly of thys facultye, as the hangman of tyboorne can testyfye: [header: parson hyberdyne's sermon. ms. cott. vesp. a .] and that yt is allowed of god hym selfe, as it is euydente in many storayes of [the] scriptur_es_; for yf yow looke in the hole cowrse of the byble, yow shall fynde that theves haue bene beloued of gode; for iacobe, whan he came owte of mesopotamia, dyd steale his vncle labanes kydd_es_; the same iacobe also dyd steale his brothe[r] esaues blessynge; _and_ yett god sayde, "i haue chosen iacobe _and_ refused esau." the chyldren of ysrae[l~l], wha_n_ they came owte of egypte, dyd steale the egiptians iewell_es_ of sylu_er_ and gowlde, as god co_m_mawnded them soo to doo. davyd, in the days of abiather the hygh preste, did cu_m_e into _th_e temple _and_ dyd steale the hallowed breede; _and_ yet god saide, "dauid is a ma[=n] euen after myne owne harte." chryste hym selfe, whan he was here on the arthe, did take an asse _and_ a cowlte _tha_t was none of hys; _and_ yow knowe that god said of hym, "this is my beloued soone, in whome i delighte." thus yow may see that god delightithe in theves. but moste of a[l~l] i marve[l~l] _tha_t men can dispyse yow theves, where as in a[l~l] poynt_es_ almoste yow be lyke vnto christe hym selfe: for chryste had noo dwellynge place; noo more haue yow. christe wente frome towne to towne; _and_ soo doo yow. christe was hated of a[l~l] men, sauynge of his freend_es_; and soo are yow. christe was laid waite vpon in many plac_es_; _and_ soo are yow. chryste at the lengthe was cawght; _and_ soo sha[l~l] yow bee. he was browght before the iudges; _and_ soo sha[l~l] yow bee. he was accused; _and_ soo sha[l~l] yow bee. he was condempned; _and_ soo sha[l~l] yow bee. he was hanged; _and_ so sha[l~l] yow bee. he wente downe into he[l~l]; _and_ soo sha[l~l] yow dooe. mary! in this one thynge yow dyffer frome hym, for he rose agayne _and_ assendid into heauen; _and_ soo sha[l~l] yow neuer dooe, w_i_t_h_owte god_es_ greate mercy, w_hi_ch gode grawnte yow! to whome w_i_t_h_ the father, _and_ the soone, _and_ the hooly ghoste, bee a[l~l] honore and glorye, for eu_er_ _and_ eu_er_. amen! thus his s_er_mon beinge endyd, they gaue hy_m_ his money agayne that thay tooke frome hym, _and_ ij^{s} to drynke for hys s_er_mon. finis. footnotes: [ ] ms rew. hartley row is on the south-western road past bagshot. the stretch of flat land there was the galloping place for coaches that had to make up time. [ ] _in_. [_the parts added to_ harman's caueat _to make_] the groundworke of conny-catching; the manner of their pedlers-french, and the meanes _to vnderstand the same, with the cunning slights_ of the counterfeit cranke. therein are handled the practises of the _visiter_, the fetches =of the= shifter =and= rufflar, =the deceits of their= doxes, =the deuises= of priggers, =the names of the base loytering hosels, and the meanes of every blacke-art-mans shifts, with the reproofe of all their diuellish= practises. =done by a justice of peace of great authoritie, who hath had the examining of divers of them.= [illustration] =printed at london by= iohn danter =for= william barley, =and are to to be sold at his shop at the upper end of gratious streete, ouer against leaden-hall=, . [header: the groundworke of conny-catching.] *[leaf ]* to the gentle readers health. gentle reader, as there hath beene diuers bookes set forth, as warnings for all men to shun the craftie coossening sleights of these both men and women that haue tearmed themselues conny-catchers; so amongst the rest, bestow the reading ouer of this booke, wherin thou shalt find the ground-worke of conny-catching, with the manner of their canting speech, how they call all things in their language, the horrible coossening of all these loose varlots, and the names of them in their seuerall degrees, _first, the visiter._ . _the shifter._ . _the rufflar._ . _the rogue._ . _the wild rogue._ . _a prigger of prauncers._ . _a pallyard._ . _a frater._ . _an abraham man._ . _a freshwater marriner, or whipiacke._ . _a counterfait cranke._ . _a dommerar._ . _a dronken tinkar._ . _a swadder, or pedler._ . _a iarkeman & patrico._ . _a demander for glimmar._ . _the baudy basket._ . _an autem mort._ . _a walking mort._ . _a doxe._ . _a dell._ . _kinchin mort._ . _a kinchin co._ all these playing their coossenings in their kinde are here set downe, which neuer yet were disclosed in anie booke of conny-catching. [header: shifters at inns. the visiter.] *[leaf , back]* a new kind of shifting sleight, practised at this day by _some of this cony-catching crue, in innes or vitualling houses, but especially in faires or markets_, which came to my hands since the imprinting of the rest. whereas of late diuers coossening deuises and deuilish deceites haue beene discouered, wherby great inconueniences haue beene eschewed, which otherwise might haue beene the vtter ouerthrowe of diuers honest men of all degrees, i thought this, amongst the rest, not the least worthie of noting, especially of those that trade to faires and markets, that therby being warned, they may likewise be armed, both to see the deceit, and shun the daunger. these shifters will come vnto an inne or vittailing house, that is most vsed in the towne, and walke vp and downe; and if there come any gentleman or other, to lay vp either cloke, sword, or any other thing woorth the hauing, then one of this crue taketh the marks of the thing, or at least the token the partie giueth them: anone, after he is gone, he likewise goeth forth, and with a great countenance commeth in againe to the mayde or seruant, calling for what another left: if they doubt to deliuer it, then hee frets, and calles them at his pleasure, and tels them the markes and tokens: hauing thus done, hee blames their forgetfulnes, and giues them a couple of pence to buy them pinnes, bidding them fetch it straight, and know him better the next time, wherewith they are pleasd, and he possest of his pray. thus one gotte a bagge of cheese the last sturbridge faire; for in such places (as a reclaimd fellow of that crue confessed) they make an ordinary practise of the same. [_the pedler's french_ follows, taken word for word from harman's book, p. - above.] *[leaf ]* the visiter. an honest youth, not many yeares since, seruant in this city, had leaue of his master at whitsontide to see his friends, who dwelt some fifty miles from london. it hapned at a country wake, his mother and hee came acquainted with a precise scholler, that, vnder colour of strickt life, hath bin reputed for that hee is not: hee is well knowen in paules churchyard, and hath beene lately a visiting in essex; for so he presumes to tearme his cosening walks: and therefore wee will call him here a visiter. this honest seeming man must needes (sith his iourney lay to london) stay at the yong mans mothers all the holy daies: where as on his desert hee was kindly vsed; at length, the young man, hauing receiued his mother's blessing, with other his friendes giftes, amounting to some ten poundes, was to this hypocrite as to a faithful guide committed, and toward london they ride: by the way this visiter discourses how excellent insight he had in magick, to recouer by art anything lost or stolne. well, to sant albons they reach; there they sup together, and, after the carowsing of some quarts of wine, they go to bed, where they kindly sleepe,--the visiter slily, but the young man soundly. short tale to make--out of his bed-fellow's sleeue this visiter conuaid his twenty angels, besides some other od siluer, hid it closely, and so fell to his rest. morning comes--vp gets this couple--immediately the money was mist, much adoo was made; the chamberlaine with sundry other seruants examined; and so hot the contention, that the good man, for the discharge of his house, was sending for a constable to haue them both first searcht, his seruants chests after. in the meane time the visiter cals the yong man aside, and bids him neuer grieue, but take horse; and he warrants him, ere they be three miles out of towne, to helpe him to his money by art, saying:--"in these innes ye see how we shall be out-faced, and, beeing vnknowne, how euer we be wrongd, get little remedy." the yong man, in good hope, desired him to pay the reckoning, which done, together they ride. being some two miles from the towne, they ride out of the ordinary way: there he tels this youth how vnwilling hee was to enter into the action, but that it was lost in his company, and so forth. well, a circle was made, wondrous words were vsed, many muttrings made: at length hee cries out,--"vnder a greene turfe, by the east side of an oake; goe thither, goe thither." this thrice he cryed so ragingly, as the yuong man gest him mad, and was with feare almost beside himself. at length, pausing, quoth this visiter, "heard ye nothing cry?" "cry!" said the yong man, "yes; *[leaf , back]* you cride so as, for twise ten pound, i would not heare ye again." "then," quoth he, "'tis all well, if ye remember the words." the yong man repeated them. with that this shifter said, "go to the furthest oke in the high-way towards s. albons, and vnder a greene turfe, on the hither side, lyes your mony, and a note of his name that stole it. hence i cannot stirre till you returne; neyther may either of our horses be vntide for that time: runne yee must not, but keepe an ordinary pace." away goes the yong man gingerly; and, being out of sight, this copesmate takes his cloke-bag, wherein was a faire sute of apparel, and, setting spurres to his horse, was, ere the nouice returned, ridde cleane out of his view. the yong man, seeing himselfe so coossened, made patience his best remedie, tooke his horse, and came to london, where yet it was neuer his lucke to meet this visiter. [header: a shifter described.] a shifter. a shifter, not long since, going ordinarily booted, got leaue of a carrier to ride on his owne hackney a little way from london, who, comming to the inne where the carier that night should lodge, honestly set vp the horse, and entred the hal, where were at one table some three and thirty clothiers, all returning to their seuerall countries. vsing, as he could, his curtesie, and being gentleman-like attirde, he was at all their instance placed at the vpper end by the hostesse. after hee had a while eaten, he fel to discourse with such pleasance, that all the table were greatly delighted therewith. in the midst of supper enters a noise of musitions, who with their instruments added a double delight. for them hee requested his hostesse to laye a shoulder of mutton and a couple of capons to the fire, for which he would pay, _and_ then mooued in their behalfe to gather. among them a noble was made, which he fingring, was well blest; for before he had not a crosse, yet he promist to make it vp an angel. to be short, in comes the reckoning, which (by reason of the fine fare _and_ excesse of wine) amounted to each mans halfe crown. then hee requested his hostesse to prouide so many possets of sacke, as would furnish the table, which he would bestow on the gentlemen to requite their extraordinary costs: _and_ iestingly askt if she would make him her deputie to gather the reckoning; she graunted, and he did so: and on a sodaine, (faining to hasten his hostesse with the possets) he tooke his cloke, and, finding fit time, hee slipt out of doores, leauing the guestes and their hostesse to a new reckoning, _and_ the musitians to a good supper, but they paid for the sauce. this iest some vntruly attribute to a man of excellent parts about london, but he is slandered: the party that performed it hath scarce any good qualitie to liue. of these sort i could set downe a great number, but i leaue you now vnto those which by maister harman are discouered. [then follows harman's book, commencing with a ruffelar, p. . the woodcut of nicolas blunt and nicolas geninges (p. , above) is given, and another one representing the cranke after he was stripped and washed. the volume ends with the chapter "their vsage in the night," p. - above,--the woodcuts and verses at the end of harman's book being omitted in the present _groundworke of conny-catching_. the last words in the latter are, "and this must the poore farmer suffer, or els they threaten to burne him, and all that he hath."] [header: notes to harman, etc.] notes. p. vii. ix, p. , . _elizabeth, countess of shrewsbury, and her parish._ the manor of erith was granted to elizabeth, countess of shrewsbury, by henry viii. in the th year of his reign, a.d. - . the countess died in , and was buried in the parish church of erith. "the manor of eryth becoming part of the royal revenue, continued in the crown till k. henry viii. in his th year, granted it in fee to elizabeth, relict of george, earl of shrewsbury, by the description of the _manor, of eryth, alias lysnes_, with all its members and appurts., and also all that wood, called somersden, lying in eryth, containing acres; and a wood, called ludwood, there, containing acres; and a wood, called fridayes-hole, by estimation, acres, to hold of the king _in capite_ by knight's service.[ ] she was the second wife of george, earl of shrewsbury, knight of the garter,[ ] who died july , anno k. henry viii.,[ ] by whom she had issue one son, john, who died young; and anne, married to peter compton, son and heir of sir wm. compton, knt., who died in the th year of k. henry viii., under age, as will be mentioned hereafter. elizabeth, countess of shrewsbury, in easter term, in the th year of q. elizabeth, levied a fine of this manor, with the passage over the thames; and dying in the tenth year of that reign, anno ,[ ] lies buried under a sumptuous tomb, in this church. before her death this manor, &c., seem to have been settled on her only daughter anne, then wife of wm. herbert, earl of pembroke, and widow of peter compton, as before related, who was in possession of it, with the passage over the thames, anno q. elizabeth."--hasted's _history of kent_, vol. i. p. . p. ix. in lambarde's _perambulation of kent_ (edit. ), p. , he mentions "thomas herman" as being one of the "kentish writers." lambarde, in the same volume, p. , also mentions "abacuk harman" as being the name of one "of suche of the nobilitie and gentrie, as the heralds recorded in their visitation in ." there is nothing about harman in mr sandys's book on gavelkind, &c., _consuetudines cantiæ_. to future inquirers perhaps the following book may be of use: "_bibliotheca cantiana_: a bibliographical account of what has been published on the history, topography, antiquities, customs, and family history of the county of kent." by john russell smith. p. , . _the .xxv. orders of knaues._--mr collier gives an entry in the stationers' registers in - : "edward white. rd. of him, for printinge xxij^{tl} ballades at iiij^{d} a peece--vij^{s} iiij^{d}, and xiiij. more at ij^{d} a peece ij^{s} iiij^{d} ... ix^{s} viij^{d}" and no. is "the xxv^{tie} orders of knaves."--_stat. reg._ ii. . p. . _the last duke of buckingham was beheaded._--edward stafford, third duke of buckingham, one of henry viii.'s and wolsey's victims, was beheaded on tower hill, may , , for 'imagining' the king's death. ('the murnynge of edward duke of buckyngham' was one of certain 'ballettes' licensed to mr john wallye and mrs toye in - , says mr j. p. collier, _stat. reg._ i. .) his father (henry stafford) before him suffered the same fate in , having been betrayed by his servant bannister after his unsuccessful rising in brecon.--_percy folio ballads_, ii. . p. . _egiptians._ the statute hen. viii. c. is _an acte concernyny egypsyans_. after enumerating the frauds committed by the "outlandysshe people callynge themselfes egyptians," the first section provides that they shall be punished by imprisonment and loss of goods, and be deprived of the benefit of hen. vi. c. . "de medietate linguæ." the second section is a proclamation for the departure from the realm of all such egyptians. the third provides that stolen goods shall be restored to their owners; and the fourth, that one moiety of the goods seized from the egyptians shall be given to the seizer. p. , l. . _the lord sturtons man; and when he was executed._ charles stourton, th baron, - :--"which charles, with the help of four of his own servants in his own house, committed a shameful murther upon one hargill, and his son, with whom he had been long at variance, and buried their carcasses foot deep in the earth, thinking thereby to prevent the discovery; but it coming afterwards to light, he had sentence of death passed upon him, which he suffer'd at salisbury, the th of march, anno , phil. & mary, by an halter of silk, in respect of his quality."--_the peerage of england_, vol. ii. p. (lond., ). p. . _saint quinten's._ saint quinten was invoked against coughs, says brand, ed. ellis, , i. . p. . _the three cranes in the vintry._ "then the three cranes' lane, so called, not only of _a sign of three cranes at a tavern door_, but rather of three strong cranes of timber placed on the vintry wharf by the thames side, to crane up wines there, as is afore showed. this lane was of old time, to wit, the th of richard ii., called the painted tavern lane, of the tavern being painted."--stow's _survey of london_, ed. by thoms, p. . "the three cranes was formerly a favourite london sign. with the usual jocularity of our forefathers, an opportunity for punning could not be passed; so, instead of the three cranes, which in the vintry used to lift the barrels of wine, three birds were represented. the three cranes in thames street, or in the vicinity, was a famous tavern as early as the reign of james i. it was one of the taverns frequented by the wits in ben jonson's time. in one of his plays he says:-- 'a pox o' these pretenders! to wit, your _three cranes_, mitre and mermaid men! not a corn of true salt, not a grain of right mustard among them all!'--_bartholomew fair_, act i. sc. . "on the rd of january, / pepys suffered a strong mortification of the flesh in having to dine at this tavern with some poor relations. the sufferings of the snobbish secretary must have been intense:-- 'by invitation to my uncle fenner's, and where i found his new wife, a _pitiful, old, ugly, ill-bred_ woman in a hatt, a mid-wife. here were many of his, and as many of her, relations, _sorry, mean people_; and after choosing our gloves, we all went over to the three cranes taverne; and though the best room of the house, in such a narrow dogghole we were crammed, and i believe we were near , that it made me loath my company and victuals, and a very poor dinner it was too.' "opposite this tavern people generally left their boats to shoot the bridge, walking round to billingsgate, where they would reenter them."--hotten's _history of signboards_, p. . p. . _saynt iulyans in thystellworth parish._ 'thistleworth, see isleworth,' says walker's gazetteer, ed. . that there might well have been a st julyan's inn there we learn from the following extract: "st. julian, the patron of travellers, wandering minstrels, boatmen,[ ] &c., was a very common inn sign, because he was supposed to provide good lodgings for such persons. hence two st. julian's crosses, in saltier, are in chief of the innholders' arms, and the old motto was:--'when i was harbourless, ye lodged me.' this benevolent attention to travellers procured him the epithet of 'the good herbergeor,' and in france '_bon herbet_.' his legend in a ms., bodleian, , fol. , alludes to this:-- 'therefore yet to this day, thei that over lond wende, they biddeth seint julian, anon, that gode herborw he hem sende; and seint julianes pater noster ofte seggeth also for his faders soule, and his moderes, that he hem bring therto.' and in '_le dit des heureux_,' an old french fabliau:-- 'tu as dit la patenotre saint julian à cest matin, soit en roumans, soit en latin; or tu seras bien ostilé.' in mediæval french, _l'hotel saint julien_ was synonymous with good cheer. '---- sommes tuit vostre. par saint pierre le bon apostre, l'ostel aurez saint julien,' says mabile to her feigned uncle in the fabliau of '_boivin de provins_;' and a similar idea appears in 'cocke lorell's bote,' where the crew, after the entertainment with the 'relygyous women' from the stews' bank, at colman's hatch, 'blessyd theyr shyppe when they had done, and dranke about a _saint julyan's_ tonne.' hotten's _history of signboards_," p. . "isleworth in queen elizabeth's time was commonly in conversation, and sometimes in records, called thistleworth."--lysons' _environs of london_, vol. iii. p. . p. . _rothered_: ? rotherhithe. p. . _the kynges barne_, betwene detforde and rothered, can hardly be the great hall of eltham palace. lysons (_environs of london_, iv. p. ) in , says the hall was then used as a barn; and in vol. vi. of the _archæologia_, p. , it is called "king john's barn." p. . _ketbroke._ kidbrooke is marked in large letters on the east of blackheath on the mordern ordnance-map; and on the road from blackheath to eltham are the villages or hamlets of upper kidbrooke and lower kidbrooke. "kedbrooke lies adjoining to charlton, on the south side of the london road, a small distance from blackheath. it was antiently written cicebroc, and was once a parish of itself, though now ( a.d.) it is esteemed as an appendage to that of charlton."--hasted's _history of kent_, vol. i. p. . p. . _sturbridge fair._ stourbridge, or sturbich, the name of a common field, extending between chesterton and cambridge, near the little brook sture, for about half a mile square, is noted for its fair, which is kept annually on september th, and continues a fortnight. it is surpassed by few fairs in great britain, or even in europe, for traffic, though of late it is much lessened. the booths are placed in rows like streets, by the name[s] of which they are called, as cheapside, &c., and are filled with all sorts of trades. the duddery, an area of or yards square, resembles blackwell hall. large commissions are negotiated here for all parts of england in _cheese_, woolen goods, wool, leather, hops, upholsterers' and ironmongers' ware, &c. &c. sometimes hackney coaches from london, ply morning and night, to and from cambridge, as well as all the towns round, and the very barns and stables are turned into inns for the accommodation of the poorer people. after the wholesale business is over, the country gentry generally flock in, laying out their money in stage-plays, taverns, music-houses, toys, puppet-shows, &c., and the whole concludes with a day for the sale of horses. this fair is under the jurisdiction of the university of cambridge.--_walker's gazetteer_, ed. . see index to brand's _antiquities_. footnotes: [ ] rot esch. ejus an, pt. . [ ] this lady was one of the daughters and co-heirs of sir richard walden, of this parish, knt., and the lady margaret his wife, who both lie buried in this church [of erith]. he was, as i take it, made knight of the bath in the th year of k. henry vii., his estate being then certified to be _l._ per annum, being the son of richard walden, esq. sir richard and elizabeth his wife both lie buried here. _mss. dering._ [ ] dugd. bar. vol. i. p. . [ ] harman's dedication of his book to her was no doubt written in , and his nd edition, in both states, published before the countess's death. [ ] of pilgrims, and of whoremongers, say brand and sir h. ellis (referring to the _hist. des troubadours_, tom. i. p. ,) in _brand's antiquities_, ed. , i. . chaucer makes him the patron of hospitality, saying of the frankeleyn, in the prologue to the _canterbury tales_, "seynt iulian he was in his contre." mr hazlitt, in his new edition of brand, i. , notes that as early as the _ancren riwle_, ab. a.d., we have 'surely they (the pilgrims) find st. julian's inn, which wayfaring men diligently seek.' index abraham men, those who feign madness, ; one of them, named stradlynge, 'the craftiest and moste dyssemblyngest knaue,' altham, a curtall's wife, arsenick, to make sores with, associate, accompany, autem, a church, , ---- mortes, description of, ; as chaste as harman's 'cowe,' awdeley, iohn, a printer, awdeley's _vacabondes_; harman's references to, , axiltrye, casting of the, baken, bacon, baudy banquet, whoring, bauer, ? band, bawd phisicke, a cook, bawdy baskets, description of, ; a story of one who, with an upright man, spoiled a poor beggar of his money, beggar by inheritance, belly chere, food, belly chete, an apron, benat, better, bene, good, bene bowse, good drink, beneship, very well, benshyp, very good, , beray, dung, ; dirty, beteled, ? (_betelled_ is deceived), bethlem hospital, , blackheath, bletinge chete, a calf or sheep, blunt, nicolas, an upright man, , bong, purse, , booget, a bag, bord, a shilling, ----, half a, sixpence, borsholders, , _n._, superior constables. see halliwell's _glossary_. bottell, bundle, truss, bottomelye, besse, a harlot, bousing ken, an ale-house, bowle, drink bowls of liquor, bowse, drink, , ; _v._ to drink, braste, burst, bridewell, , broused, bruised, bryberinge, stealing, buckes, baskets, buckingham, duke of, beheaded, bufe, a dog, bung, a purse, , , buskill, ? bustle, wriggle, bychery, bycherye, whoring, byd, pray, byng a waste, go you hence, cakling chete, a cock, or capon, can skyl, know, cante, to speak, canting, the language of vagabonds, ; list of words, - ; specimen of, - capcases, covers for caps, small bandboxes, capon hardy, . for 'capron hardy,' 'a notable whipster or twigger,' a bold or saucy young scamp. (see the index to caxton's _book of curtesye_, e. e. t. soc., p. .) cassan, cheese, caster, a cloak, casting of the sledge, caueat, a warning, chafe litter, the knave, described, chafer, heating dish, charing cross, chattes, the gallows, , chayne, a gentleman, cheapside, , cheatours, card-sharpers enticing young men to their hosteries, win their money and depart, cheeke by cheeke (now 'by jowl'), chete, animal, , col. , foot chetes, things, choplogyke, description of, christ, like a thief, , christes hospital, clapperdogens, . _see_ palliards. clement's inn, clocke, a cloak, clyme three tres with a ladder, to ascend the gallows, cly the gerke, to be whipped, cole, false, . (see mr r. morris in _notes and queries_, oct., , on _colfox_, &c.) cole prophet, description of, commission, a shirt, commitour of tidings, a tell-tale, common, commune, conneys, rabbits, conneyskins, rabbitskins, connizance, cognizance, cornwall, cory fauell, a knave, described, couch a hogshead, lie down and sleep, , counterfet crankes, description of, ; story of one that harman watched, ; how he was dressed, ; his refusal to wash when hidden, ; gives the name of genings, ; said he had been in bethlehem hospital, , which harman found to be a lie, ; in the middle of the day he goes into the fields and renews the blood on his face, ; what money he received, ; at night he goes to newington, where he is given in charge, ; the amount of his gains, ; his escape, ; his recapture, , _n._; his punishment, , _n._ cousoners, cheaters, crashing chetes, teeth, crassinge chetes, apples, pears, or any other fruit, cross keys inn in cranford (middlesex) or crayford (kent), cuffen, fellow, . _see_ quyer. cursetors, ; explanation of, curtal, curtall, one who is next in authority to an upright man, curtesy man, described, cutte, to say, cutte bene whydds, speak or give good words, cutte benle, speak gently, cutte quyre whyddes, give evil words or evil language, darkemans, night, dartford, david, a thief, , ded lyft, a; last refuge, dells, rogues' virgins, described, demaunder for glymmar, description of, ; story of one who behaved courteously to one man and uncourteously to another, - deptford, desmond, earl of, devil's pater noster, devonshire, dewse a vyle, the country, , dialogue, between upright man and rogue, - dokte, fornicated with, dommerar, description of, ; of one who was made to speak, and afterwards punished on the pillory, , doson, dozen, doxes, description of, , , draw-the-pudding-out-of-the-fire; a beggars' inn at harrow-on-the-hill, drawers, hosen, drawlatches, a class of beggars, dronken tinckar, description of, drouselye, drowsily, dudes, cloths, dup the gyger, open the door, dyng-thrift, description of, egiptians, description of, esau, a thief, , esaye, isaiah, esen droppers, eaves-droppers, exonerate, empty (one's belly), factors, tax-gatherers, fambles, hands, ; famble, fambling chete, ring on the hand, faytores, a class of beggars, ferres, , ferries filtchman, the truncheon of a staff, fingerers, - . _see_ cheatours. for knowing; against, to prevent, being recognized, flagg, a groat, , flebytinge, fletinge fellowshyp, the company of vagabonds, frater, one who goes with a licence to beg for some spittlehouse or hospital, but who usually robs poor women, ; description of, freshwater mariner, description of, furmenty, fustian fume, fylche, to beat, to rob, fylthy firy flankard, fynesed, finished, fyngerer, , gage, a quart pot, ---- of bowse, a quart of drink, gally slopes, breeches, gan, a mouth, gealy gealowsit, good fellowship, gentry cofes ken, a noble or gentleman's house, gentry morte, a noble or gentlewoman, genynges, nicolas, a counterfeit cranke, , gestes, guests, glasyers, eyes, glimmeringe morte, a woman who travels the country begging, saying her goods have been burnt, glymmar, fire, , grannam, corn, grauesend barge, a resort of vagabonds and knaves, graunt, agree, greffe, grief, grene winchard, description of a, _groundworke of conny-catching_, grunting chete, or patricos kynchen, a pig, gryffith, wylliam, a printer, gybe, a licence, ; a writing, gygger, a door, , gyle hather, description of, gyllot, a whore, haben, a witty parson, hande charcher, handkerchief, harman beck, constable, harman, thomas, his _caveat_, - ; epistle to the reader, ; his old tenant, ; his copper cauldron stolen, ; recovered, ; notice to tinkers of the loss of his cauldron, ; his gelding stolen, ; in commission of the peace, ; paid for beggars' secrets, harmans, the stocks, harrow-on-the-hill, inn at, hartley row in hampshire, , hearing chetes, ears, heauing of the bowth, robbing the booth, helpers of rogues, helycon, heue a bough, rob a booth, hill's, mr, rents, _him_ redundant: leapes him, , l. hoker, or angglear, description of, ; anecdote of one who took the clothes of the bed in which men were sleeping, without awaking them, holborn, hollowe hosteler, horse locke, hosen, breeches, , hosted, lodged, , _n._ hosteries, card-sharpers' resorts, house of pity, inn in northall, hoyssed, hoisted, huggeringe, loitering, hyberdyne, a parson, hygh, hie, hygh pad, highway, jacob, a thief, , iarckeman, a maker of counterfeit licences, , iarckes, seals, iarke, a seal, ich, i, jeffrey gods fo, a liar, ingratus, an ungrateful knave, in printe, meaning 'correct,' iockam, yard, penis, iompe, jump, plump, exactly, irishe toyle, a beggar, irish rogues, , isleworth (thystellworth), st julian's, a beggars' inn at, iusticers, justices, karle, a knave, ken, a house, , , kent, a man of worship in, death of, kent, mentioned, , , , , , , , kent st, southwark, ketbroke, a beggars' inn, near blackheath, kinde, nature, kitchen co, a boy, , ---- morte, a girl, , knapsbery (inn near london), knaues, orders of, ----, quartern of, kynges barne, beggars' inn in kent, lage, water, lag of dudes, a bucke of clothes, lap, butter, milk, or whey, lasy lorrels, lecherous husband cured, - leicester, lewed lecherous loyteringe, lewtering luskes, licoryce knaue, a drunkard, lightmans, day, (lincoln's inn) fields, london, , , lousey leuterars, vagabonds, lowhinge chete, a cow, lowre, money, , , lubbares, lubbers, luckly, lucky, ludgate, lybbege, a bed, lybbet, a stick, lykinge, lustful, lynx eyes, . (see index to hampole's _pricke of conscience_.) lypken, a house to lie in, make, halfpenny, make (think) it strange, makes, mates, mammerings, mumblings, manerly marian, margery prater, a hen, mariner, one at portsmouth the maker of counterfeit licences for freshwater mariners, matche of wrastlinge, maunde, ask or require, , messenger, ione, an honest bawdy basket, milling of the ken, sending children into houses to rob, mofling chete, a napkin, mounched, eat, mounch-present, one who, being sent by his master with a present, must taste of it himself, myll a ken, rob a house, mynt, gold, nab, a head, , nabchet, a hat or cap, nase, drunken, newhaven, newington, , nichol hartles, a coward, northall, beggars' inn at, nosegent, a nun, nouels, news, nunquam, a loitering servant, nygle, haue to do with a woman carnally, nyp a boung, to cut a purse, obloquium, a malapert knave, occupying, holding of land, of, off, oysters of east kent, palliards, description of, , ; doings of, ; list of names of, , pannam, bread, param, milk, , _n._ patrico, a priest, , paulmistrie, fortune-telling, pecke, meat, peddelars frenche. _see_ canting. pek, meat, peld pate, head uncovered, pelte, clothes, peltinge, ? paltry, contemptible, penner, a pen-case, pens, pence, pickthanke knaue, pillory in cheapside, pitching of the barre, pity: it pytied him at the hart, poppelars, porridge, porte sale, ? quick sale, portsmouth, poules, st paul's, prat, a buttocke, prating knaue, pratling chete, a tongue, prauncer, a horse, prigger of paulfreys, a stealer of horses, proctour, a liar, ; keeper of a spittlehouse, proverbs: although truth be blamed, it shall never be shamed, as the begger knowes his dishe, don't wake the sleeping dog, god hath done his part, out of sight, out of minde, swete meate wyll haue sowre sawce, prygge, to ride, prygger of prauncers, description of, ; a story of a gentleman who lost his horse by giving it in charge for a short time to a 'priggar,' prygges, tinkers, prygman, one who steals clothes off hedges, and a robber of poultry, quakinge chete, or red shanke, a drake or duck, quaromes, a body, queen elizabeth, quier, nought, quier crampringes, bolts or fetters, , quire bird, one lately come out of prison, quyer cuffyn, justice of the peace, , quyerkyn, prison house, , rabblement, rakehelles, ratsbane, rechles, reckless, rifflinge, rince pytcher, a drunkard, ring chopper, description of, ---- faller, description of, robardesmen, robbers, . see william of nassington's description of them quoted in _notes & queries_ by f. j. f. ; and _the vision of piers plowman_, ed. wright, ii. , . robin goodfelow, rochester, rogeman, a receiver of stolen clothes, roger, or tyb of the buttery, a goose, roges, description of, ; subject to beastly diseases, ; list of names of, , rogues, a story of two, who made the acquaintance of a parson at an ale-house, and afterwards went to his house and robbed him, rome bouse, wine, rome mort, the queen, rome vyle, london, rothered in kent, rowsey, ? rough, or frowzy, royal exchange, roylynge, travelling, ruffe, rough, ruffeler, a robber of 'wayfaring men and market women,' , ; a story of one who robbed an old man, a tenant of harman's, on blackheath, ruffian cly the, devil take thee, ruffian, to the, , to the devil ruffmans, woods or bushes, ruff pek, bacon, ruysting, roystering, salomon, an altar, or mass, sawght, sought, saynt augustyn, scelorous, wicked, sewerly, surely, shifters, shotars hyl, shooter's hill, shreeues, sheriffs, shrewd turne, ? sharp handling, hard usage, shrewsbury, elizabeth countess of, harman's dedication to, shrodge, shrugged, hugged, simon soone agon, a loitering knave, skew, a cup, skoller, a waterman (and his boat), skower the cramprings, wear bolts or fetters, skypper, a barn, slates, sheets to lie in, , , , small breefe, old briefe of vacabonds, meaning awdeley's book, smell feastes, smelling chete, a nose, ; a garden or orchard, snowte fayre, fair-faced, sod, boiled, somersetshire, soup, chewed, to produce foaming at the mouth, spanlles, spaniel-dogs, spearwort, spice-cakes, spitlehouse, ; row in a, ; the constable wants to take in custody the roysterers, ; the good wife of the house intreats him for her guests, and while so doing the next door neighbours enter the kitchen, and steal the supper that she was preparing, squaymysh, squeamish, st. george's fields, st. giles's in the fields, st. julian's (inn in thystellworth; isleworth), st. quinten's (inn near london), st. tybbe's (inn near london), stall, to make or ordain, stalling to the rogue, ceremony of, stampers, shoes, stampes, legs, statutes, i. edw. vi. c. iii, p. , _n._; xxvii. hen. viii. for punishment of vagabonds, staulinge ken, a house that will receive stolen wares, , stibber gibber knaue, a liar, stow you, hold your peace, stradlynge, an abraham man, strommell, straw, sturton, lord, summer-games, surgeon, who strung up the dumb rogue, - swadders and pedlers, description of, swygman, a pedlar, tempering, tampering, temple bar, 'thank god of all,' (cp. shakspere's 'thank god you are rid of a knave.' _much ado_, iii. .) the, thee, thieves, a sermon in praise of, 'three trees,' the gallows, tickle in the ear, gammon, tinkard, a beggar, tiplinge[house], an ale-house, tittiuell knaue, a tale-bearer, togeman, a coat, , tortylles, turtle-doves, lovers, towre, see, , trashe, goods, trininge, hanging, the end of roges, , troll and troll by, a knave, described, troll hazard of trace, a knave, troll hazard of tritrace, a knave, troll with, a knave, truth, proverb as to, tryninge, hanging, twin'd hempe, rope and gallows, (cp. bulleyn in _the babees book_, p. - ) _two gent. of verona_, tynckars, harman sends notice of the stealing of his cauldron to the, typ, secret, typlinge houses, alehouses, vacabonde--one being caught, and brought before the justices of the peace, promised to tell them the names and degrees of his fellows, on condition that he escaped punishment, which being granted, he fulfilled his promise, and awdeley obtained the materials for his book, vacabondes, beggerly, ; ruflyng, ; 'the old briefe' of, vagabondes, their vsage in the night, vagabonds, account of the doings of, at the funeral of a man of worship in kent, vagarantes, vngracious, a man who will not work, vnthrift, a reckless knave, vntrus, to undress, vpright man, description of, , , vpright men, list of the names of, , , vrmond, earle of, walkinge mortes, description of, ; a story of a trick that one played on a man who would have had to do with her, and the punishment he received instead, - wannion, a curse, wappinge, fornicating, washman, one who shams lameness, sickness, etc., waste, bynge a; go hence, , watch, the constable, watche, person, ; our watche, us, welsh rogues, , whistle, anecdote of the, - whipiacke, a robber of booths and stalls, whitefriars, , whydds, words, , whystell, whistle, whyte money, silver, wilde roge, description of, ; story of one robbing a man, of whom he had just begged, wilde roge's reason for being a beggar, windless, out of breath, windshaken knaue, woode, mad, wostestowe, a servant of the lord keeper's, wyld dell, description of, wyn, a penny, yannam, bread, , _n._ yaram, milk, yemen, yeomen, ynkell, tape, _richard clay & sons, limited, london and bungay._ errata list: n. : "wiemarisches jahrbuch" should be "weimarisches jahrbuch." p. xix: "to be rosolued" should be "to be resolued." p. xxi: "under theee titles" should be "under these titles." p. : "the groundworke of conny-catching": this page should be numbered p. , in consistency with the table of contents and the index. the original number has been retained. p. : "troll and trol" should be "troll and troll." p. : "these abrahom men" should be "these abraham men." p. : "sayth she vnto vnto her make" should be "sayth she vnto her make." p. : "anno domni. ." should be "anno domini. ." p. : "_an acte concernyny egypsyans_." should be "_an acte concernyng egypsyans_." p. : "on the mordern ordnance-map" should be "on the modern ordnance-map." in the index, page number corresponds to page of the book. the original number has been retained: "caueat, a warning, " should be "caueat, a warning, " "cursetors, ; explanation of, " should be "cursetors, ; explanation of, " "gryffith, wylliam, a printer, " should be "gryffith, wylliam, a printer, " the master key an electrical fairy tale founded upon the mysteries of electricity and the optimism of its devotees. it was written for boys, but others may read it by l. frank baum contents --who knows?-- . rob's workshop . the demon of electricity . the three gifts . testing the instruments . the cannibal island . the buccaneers . the demon becomes angry . rob acquires new powers . the second journey . how rob served a mighty king . the man of science . how rob saved a republic . rob loses his treasures . turk and tatar . a battle with monsters . shipwrecked mariners . the coast of oregon . a narrow escape . rob makes a resolution . the unhappy fate of the demon who knows? these things are quite improbable, to be sure; but are they impossible? our big world rolls over as smoothly as it did centuries ago, without a squeak to show it needs oiling after all these years of revolution. but times change because men change, and because civilization, like john brown's soul, goes ever marching on. the impossibilities of yesterday become the accepted facts of to-day. here is a fairy tale founded upon the wonders of electricity and written for children of this generation. yet when my readers shall have become men and women my story may not seem to their children like a fairy tale at all. perhaps one, perhaps two--perhaps several of the demon's devices will be, by that time, in popular use. who knows? . rob's workshop when rob became interested in electricity his clear-headed father considered the boy's fancy to be instructive as well as amusing; so he heartily encouraged his son, and rob never lacked batteries, motors or supplies of any sort that his experiments might require. he fitted up the little back room in the attic as his workshop, and from thence a net-work of wires soon ran throughout the house. not only had every outside door its electric bell, but every window was fitted with a burglar alarm; moreover no one could cross the threshold of any interior room without registering the fact in rob's workshop. the gas was lighted by an electric fob; a chime, connected with an erratic clock in the boy's room, woke the servants at all hours of the night and caused the cook to give warning; a bell rang whenever the postman dropped a letter into the box; there were bells, bells, bells everywhere, ringing at the right time, the wrong time and all the time. and there were telephones in the different rooms, too, through which rob could call up the different members of the family just when they did not wish to be disturbed. his mother and sisters soon came to vote the boy's scientific craze a nuisance; but his father was delighted with these evidences of rob's skill as an electrician, and insisted that he be allowed perfect freedom in carrying out his ideas. "electricity," said the old gentleman, sagely, "is destined to become the motive power of the world. the future advance of civilization will be along electrical lines. our boy may become a great inventor and astonish the world with his wonderful creations." "and in the meantime," said the mother, despairingly, "we shall all be electrocuted, or the house burned down by crossed wires, or we shall be blown into eternity by an explosion of chemicals!" "nonsense!" ejaculated the proud father. "rob's storage batteries are not powerful enough to electrocute one or set the house on fire. do give the boy a chance, belinda." "and the pranks are so humiliating," continued the lady. "when the minister called yesterday and rang the bell a big card appeared on the front door on which was printed the words: 'busy; call again.' fortunately helen saw him and let him in, but when i reproved robert for the act he said he was just trying the sign to see if it would work." "exactly! the boy is an inventor already. i shall have one of those cards attached to the door of my private office at once. i tell you, belinda, our son will be a great man one of these days," said mr. joslyn, walking up and down with pompous strides and almost bursting with the pride he took in his young hopeful. mrs. joslyn sighed. she knew remonstrance was useless so long as her husband encouraged the boy, and that she would be wise to bear her cross with fortitude. rob also knew his mother's protests would be of no avail; so he continued to revel in electrical processes of all sorts, using the house as an experimental station to test the powers of his productions. it was in his own room, however,--his "workshop"--that he especially delighted. for not only was it the center of all his numerous "lines" throughout the house, but he had rigged up therein a wonderful array of devices for his own amusement. a trolley-car moved around a circular track and stopped regularly at all stations; an engine and train of cars moved jerkily up and down a steep grade and through a tunnel; a windmill was busily pumping water from the dishpan into the copper skillet; a sawmill was in full operation and a host of mechanical blacksmiths, scissors-grinders, carpenters, wood-choppers and millers were connected with a motor which kept them working away at their trades in awkward but persevering fashion. the room was crossed and recrossed with wires. they crept up the walls, lined the floor, made a grille of the ceiling and would catch an unwary visitor under the chin or above the ankle just when he least expected it. yet visitors were forbidden in so crowded a room, and even his father declined to go farther than the doorway. as for rob, he thought he knew all about the wires, and what each one was for; but they puzzled even him, at times, and he was often perplexed to know how to utilize them all. one day when he had locked himself in to avoid interruption while he planned the electrical illumination of a gorgeous pasteboard palace, he really became confused over the network of wires. he had a "switchboard," to be sure, where he could make and break connections as he chose; but the wires had somehow become mixed, and he could not tell what combinations to use to throw the power on to his miniature electric lights. so he experimented in a rather haphazard fashion, connecting this and that wire blindly and by guesswork, in the hope that he would strike the right combination. then he thought the combination might be right and there was a lack of power; so he added other lines of wire to his connections, and still others, until he had employed almost every wire in the room. yet it would not work; and after pausing a moment to try to think what was wrong he went at it again, putting this and that line into connection, adding another here and another there, until suddenly, as he made a last change, a quick flash of light almost blinded him, and the switch-board crackled ominously, as if struggling to carry a powerful current. rob covered his face at the flash, but finding himself unhurt he took away his hands and with blinking eyes attempted to look at a wonderful radiance which seemed to fill the room, making it many times brighter than the brightest day. although at first completely dazzled, he peered before him until he discovered that the light was concentrated near one spot, from which all the glorious rays seemed to scintillate. he closed his eyes a moment to rest them; then re-opening them and shading them somewhat with his hands, he made out the form of a curious being standing with majesty and composure in the center of the magnificent radiance and looking down upon him! . the demon of electricity rob was a courageous boy, but a thrill of fear passed over him in spite of his bravest endeavor as he gazed upon the wondrous apparition that confronted him. for several moments he sat as if turned to stone, so motionless was he; but his eyes were nevertheless fastened upon the being and devouring every detail of his appearance. and how strange an appearance he presented! his jacket was a wavering mass of white light, edged with braid of red flames that shot little tongues in all directions. the buttons blazed in golden fire. his trousers had a bluish, incandescent color, with glowing stripes of crimson braid. his vest was gorgeous with all the colors of the rainbow blended into a flashing, resplendent mass. in feature he was most majestic, and his eyes held the soft but penetrating brilliance of electric lights. it was hard to meet the gaze of those searching eyes, but rob did it, and at once the splendid apparition bowed and said in a low, clear voice: "i am here." "i know that," answered the boy, trembling, "but why are you here?" "because you have touched the master key of electricity, and i must obey the laws of nature that compel me to respond to your summons." "i--i didn't know i touched the master key," faltered the boy. "i understand that. you did it unconsciously. no one in the world has ever done it before, for nature has hitherto kept the secret safe locked within her bosom." rob took time to wonder at this statement. "then who are you?" he inquired, at length. "the demon of electricity," was the solemn answer. "good gracious!" exclaimed rob, "a demon!" "certainly. i am, in truth, the slave of the master key, and am forced to obey the commands of any one who is wise and brave enough--or, as in your own case, fortunate and fool-hardy enough--to touch it." "i--i've never guessed there was such a thing as a master key, or--or a demon of electricity, and--and i'm awfully sorry i--i called you up!" stammered the boy, abashed by the imposing appearance of his companion. the demon actually smiled at this speech,--a smile that was almost reassuring. "i am not sorry," he said, in kindlier tone, "for it is not much pleasure waiting century after century for some one to command my services. i have often thought my existence uncalled for, since you earth people are so stupid and ignorant that you seem unlikely ever to master the secret of electrical power." "oh, we have some great masters among us!" cried rob, rather nettled at this statement. "now, there's edison--" "edison!" exclaimed the demon, with a faint sneer; "what does he know?" "lots of things," declared the boy. "he's invented no end of wonderful electrical things." "you are wrong to call them wonderful," replied the demon, lightly. "he really knows little more than yourself about the laws that control electricity. his inventions are trifling things in comparison with the really wonderful results to be obtained by one who would actually know how to direct the electric powers instead of groping blindly after insignificant effects. why, i've stood for months by edison's elbow, hoping and longing for him to touch the master key; but i can see plainly he will never accomplish it." "then there's tesla," said the boy. the demon laughed. "there is tesla, to be sure," he said. "but what of him?" "why, he's discovered a powerful light," the demon gave an amused chuckle, "and he's in communication with the people in mars." "what people?" "why, the people who live there." "there are none." this great statement almost took rob's breath away, and caused him to stare hard at his visitor. "it's generally thought," he resumed, in an annoyed tone, "that mars has inhabitants who are far in advance of ourselves in civilization. many scientific men think the people of mars have been trying to signal us for years, only we don't understand their signals. and great novelists have written about the martians and their wonderful civilization, and--" "and they all know as much about that little planet as you do yourself," interrupted the demon, impatiently. "the trouble with you earth people is that you delight in guessing about what you can not know. now i happen to know all about mars, because i can traverse all space and have had ample leisure to investigate the different planets. mars is not peopled at all, nor is any other of the planets you recognize in the heavens. some contain low orders of beasts, to be sure, but earth alone has an intelligent, thinking, reasoning population, and your scientists and novelists would do better trying to comprehend their own planet than in groping through space to unravel the mysteries of barren and unimportant worlds." rob listened to this with surprise and disappointment; but he reflected that the demon ought to know what he was talking about, so he did not venture to contradict him. "it is really astonishing," continued the apparition, "how little you people have learned about electricity. it is an earth element that has existed since the earth itself was formed, and if you but understood its proper use humanity would be marvelously benefited in many ways." "we are, already," protested rob; "our discoveries in electricity have enabled us to live much more conveniently." "then imagine your condition were you able fully to control this great element," replied the other, gravely. "the weaknesses and privations of mankind would be converted into power and luxury." "that's true, mr.--mr.--demon," said the boy. "excuse me if i don't get your name right, but i understood you to say you are a demon." "certainly. the demon of electricity." "but electricity is a good thing, you know, and--and--" "well?" "i've always understood that demons were bad things," added rob, boldly. "not necessarily," returned his visitor. "if you will take the trouble to consult your dictionary, you will find that demons may be either good or bad, like any other class of beings. originally all demons were good, yet of late years people have come to consider all demons evil. i do not know why. should you read hesiod you will find he says: 'soon was a world of holy demons made, aerial spirits, by great jove designed to be on earth the guardians of mankind.'" "but jove was himself a myth," objected rob, who had been studying mythology. the demon shrugged his shoulders. "then take the words of mr. shakespeare, to whom you all defer," he replied. "do you not remember that he says: 'thy demon (that's thy spirit which keeps thee) is noble, courageous, high, unmatchable.'" "oh, if shakespeare says it, that's all right," answered the boy. "but it seems you're more like a genius, for you answer the summons of the master key of electricity in the same way aladdin's genius answered the rubbing of the lamp." "to be sure. a demon is also a genius; and a genius is a demon," said the being. "what matters a name? i am here to do your bidding." . the three gifts familiarity with any great thing removes our awe of it. the great general is only terrible to the enemy; the great poet is frequently scolded by his wife; the children of the great statesman clamber about his knees with perfect trust and impunity; the great actor who is called before the curtain by admiring audiences is often waylaid at the stage door by his creditors. so rob, having conversed for a time with the glorious demon of electricity, began to regard him with more composure and less awe, as his eyes grew more and more accustomed to the splendor that at first had well-nigh blinded them. when the demon announced himself ready to do the boy's bidding, he frankly replied: "i am no skilled electrician, as you very well know. my calling you here was an accident. so i don't know how to command you, nor what to ask you to do." "but i must not take advantage of your ignorance," answered the demon. "also, i am quite anxious to utilize this opportunity to show the world what a powerful element electricity really is. so permit me to inform you that, having struck the master key, you are at liberty to demand from me three gifts each week for three successive weeks. these gifts, provided they are within the scope of electricity, i will grant." rob shook his head regretfully. "if i were a great electrician i should know what to ask," he said. "but i am too ignorant to take advantage of your kind offer." "then," replied the demon, "i will myself suggest the gifts, and they will be of such a character that the earth people will learn the possibilities that lie before them and be encouraged to work more intelligently and to persevere in mastering those natural and simple laws which control electricity. for one of the greatest errors they now labor under is that electricity is complicated and hard to understand. it is really the simplest earth element, lying within easy reach of any one who stretches out his hand to grasp and control its powers." rob yawned, for he thought the demon's speeches were growing rather tiresome. perhaps the genius noticed this rudeness, for he continued: "i regret, of course, that you are a boy instead of a grown man, for it will appear singular to your friends that so thoughtless a youth should seemingly have mastered the secrets that have baffled your most learned scientists. but that can not be helped, and presently you will become, through my aid, the most powerful and wonderful personage in all the world." "thank you," said rob, meekly. "it'll be no end of fun." "fun!" echoed the demon, scornfully. "but never mind; i must use the material fate has provided for me, and make the best of it." "what will you give me first?" asked the boy, eagerly. "that requires some thought," returned the demon, and paused for several moments, while rob feasted his eyes upon the gorgeous rays of color that flashed and vibrated in every direction and surrounded the figure of his visitor with an intense glow that resembled a halo. then the demon raised his head and said: "the thing most necessary to man is food to nourish his body. he passes a considerable part of his life in the struggle to procure food, to prepare it properly, and in the act of eating. this is not right. your body can not be very valuable to you if all your time is required to feed it. i shall, therefore, present you, as my first gift, this box of tablets. within each tablet are stored certain elements of electricity which are capable of nourishing a human body for a full day. all you need do is to toss one into your mouth each day and swallow it. it will nourish you, satisfy your hunger and build up your health and strength. the ordinary food of mankind is more or less injurious; this is entirely beneficial. moreover, you may carry enough tablets in your pocket to last for months." here he presented rob the silver box of tablets, and the boy, somewhat nervously, thanked him for the gift. "the next requirement of man," continued the demon, "is defense from his enemies. i notice with sorrow that men frequently have wars and kill one another. also, even in civilized communities, man is in constant danger from highwaymen, cranks and policemen. to defend himself he uses heavy and dangerous guns, with which to destroy his enemies. this is wrong. he has no right to take away what he can not bestow; to destroy what he can not create. to kill a fellow-creature is a horrid crime, even if done in self-defense. therefore, my second gift to you is this little tube. you may carry it within your pocket. whenever an enemy threatens you, be it man or beast, simply point the tube and press this button in the handle. an electric current will instantly be directed upon your foe, rendering him wholly unconscious for the period of one hour. during that time you will have opportunity to escape. as for your enemy, after regaining consciousness he will suffer no inconvenience from the encounter beyond a slight headache." "that's fine!" said rob, as he took the tube. it was scarcely six inches long, and hollow at one end. "the busy lives of men," proceeded the demon, "require them to move about and travel in all directions. yet to assist them there are only such crude and awkward machines as electric trolleys, cable cars, steam railways and automobiles. these crawl slowly over the uneven surface of the earth and frequently get out of order. it has grieved me that men have not yet discovered what even birds know: that the atmosphere offers them swift and easy means of traveling from one part of the earth's surface to another." "some people have tried to build airships," remarked rob. "so they have; great, unwieldy machines which offer so much resistance to the air that they are quite useless. a big machine is not needed to carry one through the air. there are forces in nature which may be readily used for such purpose. tell me, what holds you to the earth, and makes a stone fall to the ground?" "attraction of gravitation," said rob, promptly. "exactly. that is one force i refer to," said the demon. "the force of repulsion, which is little known, but just as powerful, is another that mankind may direct. then there are the polar electric forces, attracting objects toward the north or south poles. you have guessed something of this by the use of the compass, or electric needle. opposed to these is centrifugal electric force, drawing objects from east to west, or in the opposite direction. this force is created by the whirl of the earth upon its axis, and is easily utilized, although your scientific men have as yet paid little attention to it. "these forces, operating in all directions, absolute and immutable, are at the disposal of mankind. they will carry you through the atmosphere wherever and whenever you choose. that is, if you know how to control them. now, here is a machine i have myself perfected." the demon drew from his pocket something that resembled an open-faced watch, having a narrow, flexible band attached to it. "when you wish to travel," said he, "attach this little machine to your left wrist by means of the band. it is very light and will not be in your way. on this dial are points marked 'up' and 'down' as well as a perfect compass. when you desire to rise into the air set the indicator to the word 'up,' using a finger of your right hand to turn it. when you have risen as high as you wish, set the indicator to the point of the compass you want to follow and you will be carried by the proper electric force in that direction. to descend, set the indicator to the word 'down.' do you understand?" "perfectly!" cried rob, taking the machine from the demon with unfeigned delight. "this is really wonderful, and i'm awfully obliged to you!" "don't mention it," returned the demon, dryly. "these three gifts you may amuse yourself with for the next week. it seems hard to entrust such great scientific discoveries to the discretion of a mere boy; but they are quite harmless, so if you exercise proper care you can not get into trouble through their possession. and who knows what benefits to humanity may result? one week from to-day, at this hour, i will again appear to you, at which time you shall receive the second series of electrical gifts." "i'm not sure," said rob, "that i shall be able again to make the connections that will strike the master key." "probably not," answered the demon. "could you accomplish that, you might command my services forever. but, having once succeeded, you are entitled to the nine gifts--three each week for three weeks--so you have no need to call me to do my duty. i shall appear of my own accord." "thank you," murmured the boy. the demon bowed and spread his hands in the form of a semi-circle. an instant later there was a blinding flash, and when rob recovered from it and opened his eyes the demon of electricity had disappeared. . testing the instruments there is little doubt that this strange experience befallen a grown man he would have been stricken with a fit of trembling or a sense of apprehension, or even fear, at the thought of having faced the terrible demon of electricity, of having struck the master key of the world's greatest natural forces, and finding himself possessed of three such wonderful and useful gifts. but a boy takes everything as a matter of course. as the tree of knowledge sprouts and expands within him, shooting out leaf after leaf of practical experience, the succession of surprises dulls his faculty of wonderment. it takes a great deal to startle a boy. rob was full of delight at his unexpected good fortune; but he did not stop to consider that there was anything remarkably queer or uncanny in the manner in which it had come to him. his chief sensation was one of pride. he would now be able to surprise those who had made fun of his electrical craze and force them to respect his marvelous powers. he decided to say nothing about the demon or the accidental striking of the master key. in exhibiting to his friends the electrical devices he had acquired it would be "no end of fun" to mark their amazement and leave them to guess how he performed his feats. so he put his treasures into his pocket, locked his workshop and went downstairs to his room to prepare for dinner. while brushing his hair he remembered it was no longer necessary for him to eat ordinary food. he was feeling quite hungry at that moment, for he had a boy's ravenous appetite; but, taking the silver box from his pocket, he swallowed a tablet and at once felt his hunger as fully satisfied as if he had partaken of a hearty meal, while at the same time he experienced an exhilarating glow throughout his body and a clearness of brain and gaiety of spirits which filled him with intense gratification. still, he entered the dining-room when the bell rang and found his father and mother and sisters already assembled there. "where have you been all day, robert?" inquired his mother. "no need to ask," said mr. joslyn, with a laugh. "fussing over electricity, i'll bet a cookie!" "i do wish," said the mother, fretfully, "that he would get over that mania. it unfits him for anything else." "precisely," returned her husband, dishing the soup; "but it fits him for a great career when he becomes a man. why shouldn't he spend his summer vacation in pursuit of useful knowledge instead of romping around like ordinary boys?" "no soup, thank you," said rob. "what!" exclaimed his father, looking at him in surprise, "it's your favorite soup." "i know," said rob, quietly, "but i don't want any." "are you ill, robert?" asked his mother. "never felt better in my life," answered rob, truthfully. yet mrs. joslyn looked worried, and when rob refused the roast, she was really shocked. "let me feel your pulse, my poor boy!" she commanded, and wondered to find it so regular. in fact, rob's action surprised them all. he sat calmly throughout the meal, eating nothing, but apparently in good health and spirits, while even his sisters regarded him with troubled countenances. "he's worked too hard, i guess," said mr. joslyn, shaking his head sadly. "oh, no; i haven't," protested rob; "but i've decided not to eat anything, hereafter. it's a bad habit, and does more harm than good." "wait till breakfast," said sister helen, with a laugh; "you'll be hungry enough by that time." however, the boy had no desire for food at breakfast time, either, as the tablet sufficed for an entire day. so he renewed the anxiety of the family by refusing to join them at the table. "if this goes on," mr joslyn said to his son, when breakfast was finished, "i shall be obliged to send you away for your health." "i think of making a trip this morning," said rob, carelessly. "where to?" "oh, i may go to boston, or take a run over to cuba or jamaica," replied the boy. "but you can not go so far by yourself," declared his father; "and there is no one to go with you, just now. nor can i spare the money at present for so expensive a trip." "oh, it won't cost anything," replied rob, with a smile. mr. joslyn looked upon him gravely and sighed. mrs. joslyn bent over her son with tears in her eyes and said: "this electrical nonsense has affected your mind, dear. you must promise me to keep away from that horrid workshop for a time." "i won't enter it for a week," he answered. "but you needn't worry about me. i haven't been experimenting with electricity all this time for nothing, i can tell you. as for my health, i'm as well and strong as any boy need be, and there's nothing wrong with my head, either. common folks always think great men are crazy, but edison and tesla and i don't pay any attention to that. we've got our discoveries to look after. now, as i said, i'm going for a little trip in the interests of science. i may be back to-night, or i may be gone several days. anyhow, i'll be back in a week, and you mustn't worry about me a single minute." "how are you going?" inquired his father, in the gentle, soothing tone persons use in addressing maniacs. "through the air," said rob. his father groaned. "where's your balloon?" inquired sister mabel, sarcastically. "i don't need a balloon," returned the boy. "that's a clumsy way of traveling, at best. i shall go by electric propulsion." "good gracious!" cried mr. joslyn, and the mother murmured: "my poor boy! my poor boy!" "as you are my nearest relatives," continued rob, not noticing these exclamations, "i will allow you to come into the back yard and see me start. you will then understand something of my electrical powers." they followed him at once, although with unbelieving faces, and on the way rob clasped the little machine to his left wrist, so that his coat sleeve nearly hid it. when they reached the lawn at the back of the house rob kissed them all good-by, much to his sisters' amusement, and turned the indicator of the little instrument to the word "up." immediately he began to rise into the air. "don't worry about me!" he called down to them. "good-by!" mrs. joslyn, with a scream of terror, hid her face in her hands. "he'll break his neck!" cried the astounded father, tipping back his head to look after his departing son. "come back! come back!" shouted the girls to the soaring adventurer. "i will--some day!" was the far-away answer. having risen high enough to pass over the tallest tree or steeple, rob put the indicator to the east of the compass-dial and at once began moving rapidly in that direction. the sensation was delightful. he rode as gently as a feather floats, without any exertion at all on his own part; yet he moved so swiftly that he easily distanced a railway train that was speeding in the same direction. "this is great!" reflected the youth. "here i am, traveling in fine style, without a penny to pay any one! and i've enough food to last me a month in my coat pocket. this electricity is the proper stuff, after all! and the demon's a trump, and no mistake. whee-ee! how small everything looks down below there. the people are bugs, and the houses are soap-boxes, and the trees are like clumps of grass. i seem to be passing over a town. guess i'll drop down a bit, and take in the sights." he pointed the indicator to the word "down," and at once began dropping through the air. he experienced the sensation one feels while descending in an elevator. when he reached a point just above the town he put the indicator to the zero mark and remained stationary, while he examined the place. but there was nothing to interest him, particularly; so after a brief survey he once more ascended and continued his journey toward the east. at about two o'clock in the afternoon he reached the city of boston, and alighting unobserved in a quiet street he walked around for several hours enjoying the sights and wondering what people would think of him if they but knew his remarkable powers. but as he looked just like any other boy no one noticed him in any way. it was nearly evening, and rob had wandered down by the wharves to look at the shipping, when his attention was called to an ugly looking bull dog, which ran toward him and began barking ferociously. "get out!" said the boy, carelessly, and made a kick at the brute. the dog uttered a fierce growl and sprang upon him with bared teeth and flashing red eyes. instantly rob drew the electric tube from his pocket, pointed it at the dog and pressed the button. almost at the same moment the dog gave a yelp, rolled over once or twice and lay still. "i guess that'll settle him," laughed the boy; but just then he heard an angry shout, and looking around saw a policeman running toward him. "kill me dog, will ye--eh?" yelled the officer; "well, i'll just run ye in for that same, an' ye'll spend the night in the lockup!" and on he came, with drawn club in one hand and a big revolver in the other. "you'll have to catch me first," said rob, still laughing, and to the amazement of the policeman he began rising straight into the air. "come down here! come down, or i'll shoot!" shouted the fellow, flourishing his revolver. rob was afraid he would; so, to avoid accidents, he pointed the tube at him and pressed the button. the red-whiskered policeman keeled over quite gracefully and fell across the body of the dog, while rob continued to mount upward until he was out of sight of those in the streets. "that was a narrow escape," he thought, breathing more freely. "i hated to paralyze that policeman, but he might have sent a bullet after me. anyhow, he'll be all right again in an hour, so i needn't worry." it was beginning to grow dark, and he wondered what he should do next. had he possessed any money he would have descended to the town and taken a bed at a hotel, but he had left home without a single penny. fortunately the nights were warm at this season, so he determined to travel all night, that he might reach by morning some place he had never before visited. cuba had always interested him, and he judged it ought to lie in a southeasterly direction from boston. so he set the indicator to that point and began gliding swiftly toward the southeast. he now remembered that it was twenty-four hours since he had eaten the first electrical tablet. as he rode through the air he consumed another. all hunger at once left him, while he felt the same invigorating sensations as before. after a time the moon came out, and rob amused himself gazing at the countless stars in the sky and wondering if the demon was right when he said the world was the most important of all the planets. but presently he grew sleepy, and before he realized what was happening he had fallen into a sound and peaceful slumber, while the indicator still pointed to the southeast and he continued to move rapidly through the cool night air. . the cannibal island doubtless the adventures of the day had tired rob, for he slept throughout the night as comfortably as if he had been within his own room, lying upon his own bed. when, at last, he opened his eyes and gazed sleepily about him, he found himself over a great body of water, moving along with considerable speed. "it's the ocean, of course," he said to himself. "i haven't reached cuba yet." it is to be regretted that rob's knowledge of geography was so superficial; for, as he had intended to reach cuba, he should have taken a course almost southwest from boston, instead of southeast. the sad result of his ignorance you will presently learn, for during the entire day he continued to travel over a boundless waste of ocean, without the sight of even an island to cheer him. the sun shone so hot that he regretted he had not brought an umbrella. but he wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, which protected him somewhat, and he finally discovered that by rising to a considerable distance above the ocean he avoided the reflection of the sun upon the water and also came with the current of good breeze. of course he dared no stop, for there was no place to land; so he calmly continued his journey. "it may be i've missed cuba," he thought; "but i can not change my course now, for if i did i might get lost, and never be able to find land again. if i keep on as i am i shall be sure to reach land of some sort, in time, and when i wish to return home i can set the indicator to the northwest and that will take me directly back to boston." this was good reasoning, but the rash youth had no idea he was speeding over the ocean, or that he was destined to arrive shortly at the barbarous island of brava, off the coast of africa. yet such was the case; just as the sun sank over the edge of the waves he saw, to his great relief, a large island directly in his path. he dropped to a lower position in the air, and when he judged himself to be over the center of the island he turned the indicator to zero and stopped short. the country was beautifully wooded, while pretty brooks sparkled through the rich green foliage of the trees. the island sloped upwards from the sea-coast in all directions, rising to a hill that was almost a mountain in the center. there were two open spaces, one on each side of the island, and rob saw that these spaces were occupied by queer-looking huts built from brushwood and branches of trees. this showed that the island was inhabited, but as rob had no idea what island it was he wisely determined not to meet the natives until he had discovered what they were like and whether they were disposed to be friendly. so he moved over the hill, the top of which proved to be a flat, grass-covered plateau about fifty feet in diameter. finding it could not be easily reached from below, on account of its steep sides, and contained neither men nor animals, he alighted on the hill-top and touched his feet to the earth for the first time in twenty-four hours. the ride through the air had not tired him in the least; in fact, he felt as fresh and vigorous as if he had been resting throughout the journey. as he walked upon the soft grass of the plateau he felt elated, and compared himself to the explorers of ancient days; for it was evident that civilization had not yet reached this delightful spot. there was scarcely any twilight in this tropical climate and it grew dark quickly. within a few minutes the entire island, save where he stood, became dim and indistinct. he ate his daily tablet, and after watching the red glow fade in the western sky and the gray shadows of night settle around him he stretched himself comfortably upon the grass and went to sleep. the events of the day must have deepened his slumber, for when he awoke the sun was shining almost directly over him, showing that the day was well advanced. he stood up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and decided he would like a drink of water. from where he stood he could see several little brooks following winding paths through the forest, so he settled upon one that seemed farthest from the brushwood villages, and turning his indicator in that direction soon floated through the air to a sheltered spot upon the bank. kneeling down, he enjoyed a long, refreshing drink of the clear water, but as he started to regain his feet a coil of rope was suddenly thrown about him, pinning his arms to his sides and rendering him absolutely helpless. at the same time his ears were saluted with a wild chattering in an unknown tongue, and he found himself surrounded by a group of natives of hideous appearance. they were nearly naked, and bore spears and heavy clubs as their only weapons. their hair was long, curly, and thick as bushes, and through their noses and ears were stuck the teeth of sharks and curious metal ornaments. these creatures had stolen upon rob so quietly that he had not heard a sound, but now they jabbered loudly, as if much excited. finally one fat and somewhat aged native, who seemed to be a chief, came close to rob and said, in broken english: "how get here?" "i flew," said the boy, with a grin. the chief shook his head, saying: "no boat come. how white man come?" "through the air," replied rob, who was rather flattered at being called a "man." the chief looked into the air with a puzzled expression and shook his head again. "white man lie," he said calmly. then he held further conversation with his fellows, after which he turned to rob and announced: "me see white man many times. come in big boats. white man all bad. make kill with bang-sticks. we kill white man with club. then we eat white man. dead white man good. live white man bad!" this did not please rob at all. the idea of being eaten by savages had never occurred to him as a sequel to his adventures. so he said rather anxiously to the chief. "look here, old fellow; do you want to die?" "me no die. you die," was the reply. "you'll die, too, if you eat me," said rob. "i'm full of poison." "poison? don't know poison," returned the chief, much perplexed to understand him. "well, poison will make you sick--awful sick. then you'll die. i'm full of it; eat it every day for breakfast. it don't hurt white men, you see, but it kills black men quicker than the bang-stick." the chief listened to this statement carefully, but only understood it in part. after a moment's reflection he declared: "white man lie. lie all time. me eat plenty white man. never get sick; never die." then he added, with renewed cheerfulness: "me eat you, too!" before rob could think of a further protest, his captors caught up the end of the rope and led him away through the forest. he was tightly bound, and one strand of rope ran across the machine on his wrist and pressed it into his flesh until the pain was severe. but he resolved to be brave, whatever happened, so he stumbled along after the savages without a word. after a brief journey they came to a village, where rob was thrust into a brushwood hut and thrown upon the ground, still tightly bound. "we light fire," said the chief. "then kill little white man. then eat him." with this comforting promise he went away and left rob alone to think the matter over. "this is tough," reflected the boy, with a groan. "i never expected to feed cannibals. wish i was at home with mother and dad and the girls. wish i'd never seen the demon of electricity and his wonderful inventions. i was happy enough before i struck that awful master key. and now i'll be eaten--with salt and pepper, probably. wonder if there'll be any gravy. perhaps they'll boil me, with biscuits, as mother does chickens. oh-h-h-h-h! it's just awful!" in the midst of these depressing thoughts he became aware that something was hurting his back. after rolling over he found that he had been lying upon a sharp stone that stuck out of the earth. this gave him an idea. he rolled upon the stone again and began rubbing the rope that bound him against the sharp edge. outside he could hear the crackling of fagots and the roar of a newly-kindled fire, so he knew he had no time to spare. he wriggled and pushed his body right and left, right and left, sawing away at the rope, until the strain and exertion started the perspiration from every pore. at length the rope parted, and hastily uncoiling it from his body rob stood up and rubbed his benumbed muscles and tried to regain his lost breath. he had not freed himself a moment too soon, he found, for hearing a grunt of surprise behind him he turned around and saw a native standing in the door of the hut. rob laughed, for he was not a bit afraid of the blacks now. as the native made a rush toward him the boy drew the electric tube from his pocket, pointed it at the foe, and pressed the button. the fellow sank to the earth without even a groan, and lay still. then another black entered, followed by the fat chief. when they saw rob at liberty, and their comrade lying apparently dead, the chief cried out in surprise, using some expressive words in his own language. "if it's just the same to you, old chap," said rob, coolly, "i won't be eaten to-day. you can make a pie of that fellow on the ground." "no! we eat you," cried the chief, angrily. "you cut rope, but no get away; no boat!" "i don't need a boat, thank you," said the boy; and then, as the other native sprang forward, he pointed the tube and laid him out beside his first victim. at this act the chief stood an instant in amazed uncertainty. then he turned and rushed from the hut. laughing with amusement at the waddling, fat figure, rob followed the chief and found himself standing almost in the center of the native village. a big fire was blazing merrily and the blacks were busy making preparations for a grand feast. rob was quickly surrounded by a crowd of the villagers, who chattered fiercely and made threatening motions in his direction; but as the chief cried out to them a warning in the native tongue they kept a respectful distance and contented themselves with brandishing their spears and clubs. "if any of your fellows come nearer," rob said to the fat chief, "i'll knock 'em over." "what you make do?" asked the chief, nervously. "watch sharp, and you'll see," answered rob. then he made a mocking bow to the circle and continued: "i'm pleased to have met you fellows, and proud to think you like me well enough to want to eat me; but i'm in a bit of a hurry to-day, so i can't stop to be digested." after which, as the crowd broke into a hum of surprise, he added: "good-day, black folks!" and quickly turned the indicator of his traveling machine to the word "up." slowly he rose into the air, until his heels were just above the gaping blacks; but there he stopped short. with a thrill of fear he glanced at the indicator. it was pointed properly, and he knew at once that something was wrong with the delicate mechanism that controlled it. probably the pressure of the rope across its face, when he was bound, had put it out of order. there he was, seven feet in the air, but without the power to rise an inch farther. this short flight, however, had greatly astonished the blacks, who, seeing his body suspended in mid-air, immediately hailed him as a god, and prostrated themselves upon the ground before him. the fat chief had seen something of white men in his youth, and had learned to mistrust them. so, while he remained as prostrate as the rest, he peeped at rob with one of his little black eyes and saw that the boy was ill at ease, and seemed both annoyed and frightened. so he muttered some orders to the man next him, who wriggled along the ground until he had reached a position behind rob, when he rose and pricked the suspended "god" with the point of his spear. "ouch!" yelled the boy; "stop that!" he twisted his head around, and seeing the black again make a movement with the spear, rob turned his electric tube upon him and keeled him over like a ten-pin. the natives, who had looked up at his cry of pain, again prostrated themselves, kicking their toes against the ground in a terrified tattoo at this new evidence of the god's powers. the situation was growing somewhat strained by this time, and rob did not know what the savages would decide to do next; so he thought it best to move away from them, since he was unable to rise to a greater height. he turned the indicator towards the south, where a level space appeared between the trees; but instead of taking that direction he moved towards the northeast, a proof that his machine had now become absolutely unreliable. moreover, he was slowly approaching the fire, which, although it had ceased blazing, was a mass of glowing red embers. in his excitement he turned the indicator this way and that, trying to change the direction of his flight, but the only result of his endeavor was to carry him directly over the fire, where he came to a full stop. "murder! help! fire and blazes!" he cried, as he felt the glow of the coals beneath him. "i'll be roasted, after all! here; help, fatty, help!" the fat chief sprang to his feet and came to the rescue. he reached up, caught rob by the heels, and pulled him down to the ground, away from the fire. but the next moment, as he clung to the boy's feet, they both soared into the air again, and, although now far enough from the fire to escape its heat, the savage, finding himself lifted from the earth, uttered a scream of horror and let go of rob, to fall head over heels upon the ground. the other blacks had by this time regained their feet, and now they crowded around their chief and set him upright again. rob continued to float in the air, just above their heads, and now abandoned all thoughts of escaping by means of his wrecked traveling machine. but he resolved to regain a foothold upon the earth and take his chances of escape by running rather than flying. so he turned the indicator to the word "down," and very slowly it obeyed, allowing him, to his great relief, to sink gently to the ground. . the buccaneers once more the blacks formed a circle around our adventurer, who coolly drew his tube and said to the chief: "tell your people i'm going to walk away through those trees, and if any one dares to interfere with me i'll paralyze him." the chief understood enough english to catch his meaning, and repeated the message to his men. having seen the terrible effect of the electric tube they wisely fell back and allowed the boy to pass. he marched through their lines with a fine air of dignity, although he was fearful lest some of the blacks should stick a spear into him or bump his head with a war-club. but they were awed by the wonders they had seen and were still inclined to believe him a god, so he was not molested. when he found himself outside the village he made for the high plateau in the center of the island, where he could be safe from the cannibals while he collected his thoughts. but when he reached the place he found the sides so steep he could not climb them, so he adjusted the indicator to the word "up" and found it had still had enough power to support his body while he clambered up the rocks to the level, grass-covered space at the top. then, reclining upon his back, he gave himself up to thoughts of how he might escape from his unpleasant predicament. "here i am, on a cannibal island, hundreds of miles from civilization, with no way to get back," he reflected. "the family will look for me every day, and finally decide i've broken my neck. the demon will call upon me when the week is up and won't find me at home; so i'll miss the next three gifts. i don't mind that so much, for they might bring me into worst scrapes than this. but how am i to get away from this beastly island? i'll be eaten, after all, if i don't look out!" these and similar thoughts occupied him for some time, yet in spite of much planning and thinking he could find no practical means of escape. at the end of an hour he looked over the edge of the plateau and found it surrounded by a ring of the black cannibals, who had calmly seated themselves to watch his movements. "perhaps they intend to starve me into surrender," he thought; "but they won't succeed so long as my tablets hold out. and if, in time, they should starve me, i'll be too thin and tough to make good eating; so i'll get the best of them, anyhow." then he again lay down and began to examine his electrical traveling machine. he did not dare take it apart, fearing he might not be able to get it together again, for he knew nothing at all about its construction. but he discovered two little dents on the edge, one on each side, which had evidently been caused by the pressure of the rope. "if i could get those dents out," he thought, "the machine might work." he first tried to pry out the edges with his pocket knife, but the attempt resulted in failure, then, as the sides seemed a little bulged outward by the dents, he placed the machine between two flat stones and pressed them together until the little instrument was nearly round again. the dents remained, to be sure, but he hoped he had removed the pressure upon the works. there was just one way to discover how well he had succeeded, so he fastened the machine to his wrist and turned the indicator to the word "up." slowly he ascended, this time to a height of nearly twenty feet. then his progress became slower and finally ceased altogether. "that's a little better," he thought. "now let's see if it will go sidewise." he put the indicator to "north-west,"--the direction of home--and very slowly the machine obeyed and carried him away from the plateau and across the island. the natives saw him go, and springing to their feet began uttering excited shouts and throwing their spears at him. but he was already so high and so far away that they failed to reach him, and the boy continued his journey unharmed. once the branches of a tall tree caught him and nearly tipped him over; but he managed to escape others by drawing up his feet. at last he was free of the island and traveling over the ocean again. he was not at all sorry to bid good-by to the cannibal island, but he was worried about the machine, which clearly was not in good working order. the vast ocean was beneath him, and he moved no faster than an ordinary walk. "at this rate i'll get home some time next year," he grumbled. "however, i suppose i ought to be glad the machine works at all." and he really was glad. all the afternoon and all the long summer night he moved slowly over the water. it was annoying to go at "a reg'lar jog-trot," as rob called it, after his former swift flight; but there was no help for it. just as dawn was breaking he saw in the distance a small vessel, sailing in the direction he was following, yet scarcely moving for lack of wind. he soon caught up with it, but saw no one on deck, and the craft had a dingy and uncared-for appearance that was not reassuring. but after hovering over it for some time rob decided to board the ship and rest for a while. he alighted near the bow, where the deck was highest, and was about to explore the place when a man came out of the low cabin and espied him. this person had a most villainous countenance, and was dark-skinned, black-bearded and dressed in an outlandish, piratical costume. on seeing the boy he gave a loud shout and was immediately joined by four companions, each as disagreeable in appearance as the first. rob knew there would be trouble the moment he looked at this evil crew, and when they drew their daggers and pistols and began fiercely shouting in an unknown tongue, the boy sighed and took the electric tube from his coat pocket. the buccaneers did not notice the movement, but rushed upon him so quickly that he had to press the button at a lively rate. the tube made no noise at all, so it was a strange and remarkable sight to see the pirates suddenly drop to the deck and lie motionless. indeed, one was so nearly upon him when the electric current struck him that his head, in falling, bumped into rob's stomach and sent him reeling against the side of the vessel. he quickly recovered himself, and seeing his enemies were rendered harmless, the boy entered the cabin and examined it curiously. it was dirty and ill-smelling enough, but the corners and spare berths were heaped with merchandise of all kinds which had been taken from those so unlucky as to have met these cruel and desperate men. after a short inspection of the place he returned to the deck and again seated himself in the bow. the crippled condition of his traveling machine was now his chief trouble, and although a good breeze had sprung up to fill the sails and the little bark was making fair headway, rob knew he could never expect to reach home unless he could discover a better mode of conveyance than this. he unstrapped the machine from his wrist to examine it better, and while holding it carelessly in his hand it slipped and fell with a bang to the deck, striking upon its round edge and rolling quickly past the cabin and out of sight. with a cry of alarm he ran after it, and after much search found it lying against the bulwark near the edge of a scupper hole, where the least jar of the ship would have sent it to the bottom of the ocean. rob hastily seized his treasure and upon examining it found the fall had bulged the rim so that the old dents scarcely showed at all. but its original shape was more distorted than ever, and rob feared he had utterly ruined its delicate mechanism. should this prove to be true, he might now consider himself a prisoner of this piratical band, the members of which, although temporarily disabled, would soon regain consciousness. he sat in the bow, sadly thinking of his misfortunes, until he noticed that one of the men began to stir. the effect of the electric shock conveyed by the tube was beginning to wear away, and now the buccaneer sat up, rubbed his head in a bewildered fashion and looked around him. when he saw rob he gave a shout of rage and drew his knife, but one motion of the electric tube made him cringe and slip away to the cabin, where he remained out of danger. and now the other four sat up, groaning and muttering in their outlandish speech; but they had no notion of facing rob's tube a second time, so one by one they joined their leader in the cabin, leaving the boy undisturbed. by this time the ship had begun to pitch and toss in an uncomfortable fashion, and rob noticed that the breeze had increased to a gale. there being no one to look after the sails, the vessel was in grave danger of capsizing or breaking her masts. the waves were now running high, too, and rob began to be worried. presently the captain of the pirates stuck his head out of the cabin door, jabbered some unintelligible words and pointed to the sails. the boy nodded, for he understood they wanted to attend to the rigging. so the crew trooped forth, rather fearfully, and began to reef the sails and put the ship into condition to weather the storm. rob paid no further attention to them. he looked at his traveling machine rather doubtfully and wondered if he dared risk its power to carry him through the air. whether he remained in the ship or trusted to the machine, he stood a good chance of dropping into the sea at any moment. so, while he hesitated, he attached the machine to his wrist and leaned over the bulwarks to watch the progress of the storm. he might stay in the ship until it foundered, he thought, and then take his chances with the machine. he decided to wait until a climax arrived. the climax came the next moment, for while he leaned over the bulwarks the buccaneers stole up behind him and suddenly seized him in their grasp. while two of them held his arms the others searched his pockets, taking from him the electric tube and the silver box containing his tablets. these they carried to the cabin and threw upon the heap of other valuables they had stolen. they did not notice his traveling machine, however, but seeing him now unarmed they began jeering and laughing at him, while the brutal captain relieved his anger by giving the prisoner several malicious kicks. rob bore his misfortune meekly, although he was almost ready to cry with grief and disappointment. but when one of the pirates, to inflict further punishment on the boy, came towards him with a heavy strap, he resolved not to await the blow. turning the indicator to the word "up" he found, to his joy and relief, that it would yet obey the influence of the power of repulsion. seeing him rise into the air the fellow made a grab for his foot and held it firmly, while his companions ran to help him. weight seemed to make no difference in the machine; it lifted the pirate as well as rob; it lifted another who clung to the first man's leg, and another who clung to him. the other two also caught hold, hoping their united strength would pull him down, and the next minute rob was soaring through the air with the entire string of five buccaneers dangling from his left leg. at first the villains were too astounded to speak, but as they realized that they were being carried through the air and away from their ship they broke into loud shouts of dismay, and finally the one who grasped rob's leg lost his hold and the five plunged downward and splashed into the sea. finding the machine disposed to work accurately, rob left the buccaneers to swim to the ship in the best way they could, while he dropped down to the deck again and recovered from the cabin his box of tablets and the electric tube. the fellows were just scrambling on board when he again escaped, shooting into the air with considerable speed. indeed, the instrument now worked better than at any time since he had reached the cannibal island, and the boy was greatly delighted. the wind at first sent him spinning away to the south, but he continued to rise until he was above the air currents, and the storm raged far beneath him. then he set the indicator to the northwest and breathlessly waited to see if it would obey. hurrah! away he sped at a fair rate of speed, while all his anxiety changed to a feeling of sweet contentment. his success had greatly surprised him, but he concluded that the jar caused by dropping the instrument had relieved the pressure upon the works, and so helped rather than harmed the free action of the electric currents. while he moved through the air with an easy, gliding motion he watched with much interest the storm raging below. above his head the sun was peacefully shining and the contrast was strange and impressive. after an hour or so the storm abated, or else he passed away from it, for the deep blue of the ocean again greeted his eyes. he dropped downward until he was about a hundred feet above the water, when he continued his northwesterly course. but now he regretted having interfered for a moment with the action of the machine, for his progress, instead of being swift as a bird's flight, became slow and jerky, nor was he sure that the damaged machine might not break down altogether at any moment. yet so far his progress was in the right direction, and he resolved to experiment no further with the instrument, but to let it go as it would, so long as it supported him above the water. however irregular the motion might be, it was sure, if continued, to bring him to land in time, and that was all he cared about just then. when night fell his slumber was broken and uneasy, for he wakened more than once with a start of fear that the machine had broken and he was falling into the sea. sometimes he was carried along at a swift pace, and again the machine scarcely worked at all; so his anxiety was excusable. the following day was one of continued uneasiness for the boy, who began to be harrassed by doubts as to whether, after all, he was moving in the right direction. the machine had failed at one time in this respect and it might again. he had lost all confidence in its accuracy. in spite of these perplexities rob passed the second night of his uneven flight in profound slumber, being exhausted by the strain and excitement he had undergone. when he awoke at daybreak, he saw, to his profound delight, that he was approaching land. the rising sun found him passing over a big city, which he knew to be boston. he did not stop. the machine was so little to be depended upon that he dared make no halt. but he was obliged to alter the direction from northwest to west, and the result of this slight change was so great a reduction in speed that it was mid-day before he saw beneath him the familiar village in which he lived. carefully marking the location of his father's house, he came to a stop directly over it, and a few moments later he managed to land upon the exact spot in the back yard whence he had taken his first successful flight. . the demon becomes angry when rob had been hugged and kissed by his mother and sisters, and even mr. joslyn had embraced him warmly, he gave them a brief account of his adventures. the story was received with many doubtful looks and much grave shaking of heads, as was quite natural under the circumstances. "i hope, my dear son," said the father, "that you have now passed through enough dangers to last you a lifetime, so that hereafter you will be contented to remain at home." "oh, robert!" cried his mother, with tears in her loving eyes, "you don't know how we've all worried about you for the past week!" "a week?" asked rob, with surprise. "yes; it's a week to-morrow morning since you flew into the air and disappeared." "then," said the boy, thoughtfully, "i've reached home just in time." "in time for what?" she asked. but he did not answer that question. he was thinking of the demon, and that on the afternoon of this very day he might expect the wise and splendid genius to visit him a second time. at luncheon, although he did not feel hungry, he joined the family at the table and pleased his mother by eating as heartily as of old. he was surprised to find how good the food tasted, and to realize what a pleasure it is to gratify one's sense of taste. the tablets were all right for a journey, he thought, but if he always ate them he would be sure to miss a great deal of enjoyment, since there was no taste to them at all. at four o'clock he went to his workshop and unlocked the door. everything was exactly as he had left it, and he looked at his simple electrical devices with some amusement. they seemed tame beside the wonders now in his possession; yet he recollected that his numerous wires had enabled him to strike the master key, and therefore should not be despised. before long he noticed a quickening in the air, as if it were suddenly surcharged with electric fluid, and the next instant, in a dazzling flash of light, appeared the demon. "i am here!" he announced. "so am i," answered rob. "but at one time i really thought i should never see you again. i've been--" "spare me your history," said the demon, coldly. "i am aware of your adventures." "oh, you are!" said rob, amazed. "then you know--" "i know all about your foolish experiences," interrupted the demon, "for i have been with you constantly, although i remained invisible." "then you know what a jolly time i've had," returned the boy. "but why do you call them foolish experiences?" "because they were, abominably foolish!" retorted the demon, bitterly. "i entrusted to you gifts of rare scientific interest--electrical devices of such utility that their general adoption by mankind would create a new era in earth life. i hoped your use of these devices would convey such hints to electrical engineers that they would quickly comprehend their mechanism and be able to reproduce them in sufficient quantities to supply the world. and how do you treat these marvelous gifts? why, you carry them to a cannibal island, where even your crude civilization has not yet penetrated!" "i wanted to astonish the natives," said rob, grinning. the demon uttered an exclamation of anger, and stamped his foot so fiercely that thousands of electric sparks filled the air, to disappear quickly with a hissing, crinkling sound. "you might have astonished those ignorant natives as easily by showing them an ordinary electric light," he cried, mockingly. "the power of your gifts would have startled the most advanced electricians of the world. why did you waste them upon barbarians?" "really," faltered rob, who was frightened and awed by the demon's vehement anger, "i never intended to visit a cannibal island. i meant to go to cuba." "cuba! is that a center of advanced scientific thought? why did you not take your marvels to new york or chicago; or, if you wished to cross the ocean, to paris or vienna?" "i never thought of those places," acknowledged rob, meekly. "then you were foolish, as i said," declared the demon, in a calmer tone. "can you not realize that it is better to be considered great by the intelligent thinkers of the earth, than to be taken for a god by stupid cannibals?" "oh, yes, of course," said rob. "i wish now that i had gone to europe. but you're not the only one who has a kick coming," he continued. "your flimsy traveling machine was nearly the death of me." "ah, it is true," acknowledged the demon, frankly. "the case was made of too light material. when the rim was bent it pressed against the works and impeded the proper action of the currents. had you gone to a civilized country such an accident could not have happened; but to avoid possible trouble in the future i have prepared a new instrument, having a stronger case, which i will exchange for the one you now have." "that's very kind of you," said rob, eagerly handing his battered machine to the demon and receiving the new one in return. "are you sure this will work?" "it is impossible for you to injure it," answered the other. "and how about the next three gifts?" inquired the boy, anxiously. "before i grant them," replied the demon, "you must give me a promise to keep away from uncivilized places and to exhibit your acquirements only among people of intelligence." "all right," agreed the boy; "i'm not anxious to visit that island again, or any other uncivilized country." "then i will add to your possessions three gifts, each more precious and important than the three you have already received." at this announcement rob began to quiver with excitement, and sat staring eagerly at the demon, while the latter increased in stature and sparkled and glowed more brilliantly than ever. . rob acquires new powers "i have seen the folly of sending you into the world with an offensive instrument, yet with no method of defense," resumed the demon, presently. "you have knocked over a good many people with that tube during the past week." "i know," said rob; "but i couldn't help it. it was the only way i had to protect myself." "therefore my next gift shall be this garment of protection. you must wear it underneath your clothing. it has power to accumulate and exercise electrical repellent force. perhaps you do not know what that means, so i will explain more fully. when any missile, such as a bullet, sword or lance, approaches your person, its rush through the air will arouse the repellent force of which i speak, and this force, being more powerful than the projective force, will arrest the flight of the missile and throw it back again. therefore nothing can touch your person that comes with any degree of force or swiftness, and you will be safe from all ordinary weapons. when wearing this garment you will find it unnecessary to use the electric tube except on rare occasions. never allow revenge or animosity to influence your conduct. men may threaten, but they can not injure you, so you must remember that they do not possess your mighty advantages, and that, because of your strength, you should bear with them patiently." rob examined the garment with much curiosity. it glittered like silver, yet was soft and pliable as lamb's wool. evidently the demon had prepared it especially for his use, for it was just rob's size. "now," continued the demon, more gravely, "we approach the subject of an electrical device so truly marvelous that even i am awed when i contemplate the accuracy and perfection of the natural laws which guide it and permit it to exercise its functions. mankind has as yet conceived nothing like it, for it requires full knowledge of electrical power to understand even its possibilities." the being paused, and drew from an inner pocket something resembling a flat metal box. in size it was about four inches by six, and nearly an inch in thickness. "what is it?" asked rob, wonderingly. "it is an automatic record of events," answered the demon. "i don't understand," said rob, with hesitation. "i will explain to you its use," returned the demon, "although the electrical forces which operate it and the vibratory currents which are the true records must remain unknown to you until your brain has mastered the higher knowledge of electricity. at present the practical side of this invention will be more interesting to you than a review of its scientific construction. "suppose you wish to know the principal events that are occurring in germany at the present moment. you first turn this little wheel at the side until the word 'germany' appears in the slot at the small end. then open the top cover, which is hinged, and those passing events in which you are interested will appear before your eyes." the demon, as he spoke, opened the cover, and, looking within, the boy saw, as in a mirror, a moving picture before him. a regiment of soldiers was marching through the streets of berlin, and at its head rode a body of horsemen, in the midst of which was the emperor himself. the people who thronged the sidewalks cheered and waved their hats and handkerchiefs with enthusiasm, while a band of musicians played a german air, which rob could distinctly hear. while he gazed, spell-bound, the scene changed, and he looked upon a great warship entering a harbor with flying pennants. the rails were lined with officers and men straining their eyes for the first sight of their beloved "vaterland" after a long foreign cruise, and a ringing cheer, as from a thousand throats, came faintly to rob's ear. again the scene changed, and within a dingy, underground room, hemmed in by walls of stone, and dimly lighted by a flickering lamp, a body of wild-eyed, desperate men were plighting an oath to murder the emperor and overthrow his government. "anarchists?" asked rob, trembling with excitement. "anarchists!" answered the demon, with a faint sneer, and he shut the cover of the record with a sudden snap. "it's wonderful!" cried the boy, with a sigh that was followed by a slight shiver. "the record is, indeed, proof within itself of the marvelous possibilities of electricity. men are now obliged to depend upon newspapers for information; but these can only relate events long after they have occurred. and newspaper statements are often unreliable and sometimes wholly false, while many events of real importance are never printed in their columns. you may guess what an improvement is this automatic record of events, which is as reliable as truth itself. nothing can be altered or falsified, for the vibratory currents convey the actual events to your vision, even as they happen." "but suppose," said rob, "that something important should happen while i'm asleep, or not looking at the box?" "i have called this a record," replied the demon, "and such it really is, although i have shown you only such events as are in process of being recorded. by pressing this spring you may open the opposite cover of the box, where all events of importance that have occurred throughout the world during the previous twenty-four hours will appear before you in succession. you may thus study them at your leisure. the various scenes constitute a register of the world's history, and may be recalled to view as often as you desire." "it's--it's like knowing everything," murmured rob, deeply impressed for perhaps the first time in his life. "it is knowing everything," returning the demon; "and this mighty gift i have decided to entrust to your care. be very careful as to whom you permit to gaze upon these pictures of passing events, for knowledge may often cause great misery to the human race." "i'll be careful," promised the boy, as he took the box reverently within his own hands. "the third and last gift of the present series," resumed the demon, "is one no less curious than the record of events, although it has an entirely different value. it is a character marker." "what's that?" inquired rob. "i will explain. perhaps you know that your fellow-creatures are more or less hypocritical. that is, they try to appear good when they are not, and wise when in reality they are foolish. they tell you they are friendly when they positively hate you, and try to make you believe they are kind when their natures are cruel. this hypocrisy seems to be a human failing. one of your writers has said, with truth, that among civilized people things are seldom what they seem." "i've heard that," remarked rob. "on the other hand," continued the demon, "some people with fierce countenances are kindly by nature, and many who appear to be evil are in reality honorable and trustworthy. therefore, that you may judge all your fellow-creatures truly, and know upon whom to depend, i give you the character marker. it consists of this pair of spectacles. while you wear them every one you meet will be marked upon the forehead with a letter indicating his or her character. the good will bear the letter 'g,' the evil the letter 'e.' the wise will be marked with a 'w' and the foolish with an 'f.' the kind will show a 'k' upon their foreheads and the cruel a letter 'c.' thus you may determine by a single look the true natures of all those you encounter." "and are these, also, electrical in their construction?" asked the boy, as he took the spectacles. "certainly. goodness, wisdom and kindness are natural forces, creating character. for this reason men are not always to blame for bad character, as they acquire it unconsciously. all character sends out certain electrical vibrations, which these spectacles concentrate in their lenses and exhibit to the gaze of their wearer, as i have explained." "it's a fine idea," said the boy; "who discovered it?" "it is a fact that has always existed, but is now utilized for the first time." "oh!" said rob. "with these gifts, and the ones you acquired a week ago, you are now equipped to astound the world and awaken mankind to a realization of the wonders that may be accomplished by natural forces. see that you employ these powers wisely, in the interests of science, and do not forget your promise to exhibit your electrical marvels only to those who are most capable of comprehending them." "i'll remember," said rob. "then adieu until a week from to-day, when i will meet you here at this hour and bestow upon you the last three gifts which you are entitled to receive. good-by!" "good-by!" repeated rob, and in a gorgeous flash of color the demon disappeared, leaving the boy alone in the room with his new and wonderful possessions. . the second journey by this time you will have gained a fair idea of rob's character. he is, in truth, a typical american boy, possessing an average intelligence not yet regulated by the balance-wheel of experience. the mysteries of electricity were so attractive to his eager nature that he had devoted considerable time and some study to electrical experiment; but his study was the superficial kind that seeks to master only such details as may be required at the moment. moreover, he was full of boyish recklessness and irresponsibility and therefore difficult to impress with the dignity of science and the gravity of human existence. life, to him, was a great theater wherein he saw himself the most interesting if not the most important actor, and so enjoyed the play with unbounded enthusiasm. aside from the extraordinary accident which had forced the electrical demon into this life, rob may be considered one of those youngsters who might possibly develop into a brilliant manhood or enter upon an ordinary, humdrum existence, as fate should determine. just at present he had no thought beyond the passing hour, nor would he bother himself by attempting to look ahead or plan for the future. yet the importance of his electrical possessions and the stern injunction of the demon to use them wisely had rendered the boy more thoughtful than at any previous time during his brief life, and he became so preoccupied at the dinner table that his father and mother cast many anxious looks in his direction. of course rob was anxious to test his newly-acquired powers, and decided to lose no time in starting upon another journey. but he said nothing to any of the family about it, fearing to meet with opposition. he passed the evening in the sitting-room, in company with his father and mother and sisters, and even controlled his impatience to the extent of playing a game of carom with nell; but he grew so nervous and impatient at last that his sister gave up the game in disgust and left him to his own amusement. at one time he thought of putting on the electric spectacles and seeing what the real character of each member of his family might be; but a sudden fear took possession of him that he might regret the act forever afterward. they were his nearest and dearest friends on earth, and in his boyish heart he loved them all and believed in their goodness and sincerity. the possibility of finding a bad character mark on any of their familiar faces made him shudder, and he determined then and there never to use the spectacles to view the face of a friend or relative. had any one, at that moment, been gazing at rob through the lenses of the wonderful character marker, i am sure a big "w" would have been found upon the boy's forehead. when the family circle broke up, and all retired for the night, rob kissed his parents and sisters with real affection before going to his own room. but, on reaching his cozy little chamber, instead of preparing for bed rob clothed himself in the garment of repulsion. then he covered the glittering garment with his best summer suit of clothes, which effectually concealed it. he now looked around to see what else he should take, and thought of an umbrella, a rain-coat, a book or two to read during the journey, and several things besides; but he ended by leaving them all behind. "i can't be loaded down with so much truck," he decided; "and i'm going into civilized countries, this time, where i can get anything i need." however, to prevent a recurrence of the mistake he had previously made, he tore a map of the world and a map of europe from his geography, and, folding them up, placed them in his pocket. he also took a small compass that had once been a watch-charm, and, finally, the contents of a small iron bank that opened with a combination lock. this represented all his savings, amounting to two dollars and seventeen cents in dimes, nickles and pennies. "it isn't a fortune," he thought, as he counted it up, "but i didn't need any money the last trip, so perhaps i'll get along somehow. i don't like to tackle dad for more, for he might ask questions and try to keep me at home." by the time he had finished his preparations and stowed all his electrical belongings in his various pockets, it was nearly midnight and the house was quiet. so rob stole down stairs in his stocking feet and noiselessly opened the back door. it was a beautiful july night and, in addition to the light of the full moon, the sky was filled with the radiance of countless thousands of brilliant stars. after rob had put on his shoes he unfolded the map, which was plainly visible by the starlight, and marked the direction he must take to cross the atlantic and reach london, his first stopping place. then he consulted his compass, put the indicator of his traveling machine to the word "up," and shot swiftly into the air. when he had reached a sufficient height he placed the indicator to a point north of east and, with a steady and remarkably swift flight, began his journey. "here goes," he remarked, with a sense of exaltation, "for another week of adventure! i wonder what'll happen between now and next saturday." . how rob served a mighty king the new traveling machine was a distinct improvement over the old one, for it carried rob with wonderful speed across the broad atlantic. he fell asleep soon after starting, and only wakened when the sun was high in the heavens. but he found himself whirling along at a good rate, with the greenish shimmer of the peaceful ocean waves spread beneath him far beyond his range of vision. being in the track of the ocean steamers it was not long before he found himself overtaking a magnificent vessel whose decks were crowded with passengers. he dropped down some distance, to enable him to see these people more plainly, and while he hovered near he could hear the excited exclamations of the passengers, who focused dozens of marine glasses upon his floating form. this inspection somewhat embarrassed him, and having no mind to be stared at he put on additional speed and soon left the steamer far behind him. about noon the sky clouded over, and rob feared a rainstorm was approaching. so he rose to a point considerably beyond the clouds, where the air was thin but remarkably pleasant to inhale and the rays of the sun were not so hot as when reflected by the surface of the water. he could see the dark clouds rolling beneath him like volumes of smoke from a factory chimney, and knew the earth was catching a severe shower of rain; yet he congratulated himself on his foresight in not being burdened with umbrella or raincoat, since his elevated position rendered him secure from rain-clouds. but, having cut himself off from the earth, there remained nothing to see except the clear sky overhead and the tumbling clouds beneath; so he took from his pocket the automatic record of events, and watched with breathless interest the incidents occurring in different parts of the world. a big battle was being fought in the philippines, and so fiercely was it contested that rob watched its progress for hours, with rapt attention. finally a brave rally by the americans sent their foes to the cover of the woods, where they scattered in every direction, only to form again in a deep valley hidden by high hills. "if only i was there," thought rob, "i could show that captain where to find the rebels and capture them. but i guess the philippines are rather out of my way, so our soldiers will never know how near they are to a complete victory." the boy also found considerable amusement in watching the course of an insurrection in venezuela, where opposing armies of well-armed men preferred to bluster and threaten rather than come to blows. during the evening he found that an "important event" was madame bernhardt's production of a new play, and rob followed it from beginning to end with great enjoyment, although he felt a bit guilty at not having purchased a ticket. "but it's a crowded house, anyway," he reflected, "and i'm not taking up a reserved seat or keeping any one else from seeing the show. so where's the harm? yet it seems to me if these records get to be common, as the demon wishes, people will all stay at home and see the shows, and the poor actors 'll starve to death." the thought made him uneasy, and he began, for the first time, to entertain a doubt of the demon's wisdom in forcing such devices upon humanity. the clouds had now passed away and the moon sent her rays to turn the edges of the waves into glistening showers of jewels. rob closed the lid of the wonderful record of events and soon fell into a deep sleep that held him unconscious for many hours. when he awoke he gave a start of surprise, for beneath him was land. how long it was since he had left the ocean behind him he could not guess, but his first thought was to set the indicator of the traveling machine to zero and to hover over the country until he could determine where he was. this was no easy matter. he saw green fields, lakes, groves and villages; but these might exist in any country. being still at a great elevation he descended gradually until he was about twenty feet from the surface of the earth, where he paused near the edge of a small village. at once a crowd of excited people assembled, shouting to one another and pointing towards him in wonder. in order to be prepared for emergencies rob had taken the electric tube from his pocket, and now, as he examined the dress and features of the people below, the tube suddenly slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground, where one end stuck slantingly into the soft earth. a man rushed eagerly towards it, but the next moment he threw up his hands and fell upon his back, unconscious. others who ran to assist their fallen comrade quickly tumbled into a heap beside him. it was evident to rob that the tube had fallen in such a position that the button was being pressed continually and a current of electric fluid issued to shock whoever came near. not wishing to injure these people he dropped to the ground and drew the tube from the earth, thus releasing the pressure upon the button. but the villagers had now decided that the boy was their enemy, and no sooner had he touched the ground than a shower of stones and sticks rained about him. not one reached his body, however, for the garment of repulsion stopped their flight and returned them to rattle with more or less force against those who had thrown them--"like regular boomerangs," thought rob. to receive their own blows in this fashion seemed so like magic to the simple folk that with roars of fear and pain they ran away in all directions. "it's no use stopping here," remarked rob, regretfully, "for i've spoiled my welcome by this accident. i think these people are irish, by their looks and speech, so i must be somewhere in the emerald isle." he consulted his map and decided upon the general direction he should take to reach england, after which he again rose into the air and before long was passing over the channel towards the shores of england. either his map or compass or his calculations proved wrong, for it was high noon before, having changed his direction a half dozen times, he came to the great city of london. he saw at a glance that it would never do to drop into the crowded streets, unless he wanted to become an object of public curiosity; so he looked around for a suitable place to alight. near by was a monstrous church that sent a sharp steeple far into the air. rob examined this spire and saw a narrow opening in the masonry that led to a small room where a chime of bells hung. he crept through the opening and, finding a ladder that connected the belfry with a platform below, began to descend. there were three ladders, and then a winding flight of narrow, rickety stairs to be passed before rob finally reached a small room in the body of the church. this room proved to have two doors, one connecting with the auditorium and the other letting into a side street. both were locked, but rob pointed the electric tube at the outside door and broke the lock in an instant. then he walked into the street as composedly as if he had lived all his life in london. there were plenty of sights to see, you may be sure, and rob walked around until he was so tired that he was glad to rest upon one of the benches in a beautiful park. here, half hidden by the trees, he amused himself by looking at the record of events. "london's a great town, and no mistake," he said to himself; "but let's see what the british are doing in south africa to-day." he turned the cylinder to "south africa," and, opening the lid, at once became interested. an english column, commanded by a brave but stubborn officer, was surrounded by the boer forces and fighting desperately to avoid capture or annihilation. "this would be interesting to king edward," thought the boy. "guess i'll hunt him up and tell him about it." a few steps away stood a policeman. rob approached him and asked: "where's the king to-day?" the officer looked at him with mingled surprise and suspicion. "'is majesty is sojournin' at marlb'ro 'ouse, just now," was the reply. "per'aps you wants to make 'im a wissit," he continued, with lofty sarcasm. "that's it, exactly," said rob. "i'm an american, and thought while i was in london i'd drop in on his royal highness and say 'hello' to him." the officer chuckled, as if much amused. "hamericans is bloomin' green," he remarked, "so youse can stand for hamerican, right enough. no other wissitors is such blarsted fools. but yon's the palace, an' i s'pose 'is majesty'll give ye a 'ot reception." "thanks; i'll look him up," said the boy, and left the officer convulsed with laughter. he soon knew why. the palace was surrounded by a cordon of the king's own life guards, who admitted no one save those who presented proper credentials. "there's only one thing to do;" thought rob, "and that's to walk straight in, as i haven't any friends to give me a regular introduction." so he boldly advanced to the gate, where he found himself stopped by crossed carbines and a cry of "halt!" "excuse me," said rob; "i'm in a hurry." he pushed the carbines aside and marched on. the soldiers made thrusts at him with their weapons, and an officer jabbed at his breast with a glittering sword, but the garment of repulsion protected him from these dangers as well as from a hail of bullets that followed his advancing figure. he reached the entrance of the palace only to face another group of guardsmen and a second order to halt, and as these soldiers were over six feet tall and stood shoulder to shoulder rob saw that he could not hope to pass them without using his electric tube. "stand aside, you fellows!" he ordered. there was no response. he extended the tube and, as he pressed the button, described a semi-circle with the instrument. immediately the tall guardsmen toppled over like so many tenpins, and rob stepped across their bodies and penetrated to the reception room, where a brilliant assemblage awaited, in hushed and anxious groups, for opportunity to obtain audience with the king. "i hope his majesty isn't busy," said rob to a solemn-visaged official who confronted him. "i want to have a little talk with him." "i--i--ah--beg pardon!" exclaimed the astounded master of ceremonies. "what name, please?" "oh, never mind my name," replied rob, and pushing the gentleman aside he entered the audience chamber of the great king. king edward was engaged in earnest consultation with one of his ministers, and after a look of surprise in rob's direction and a grave bow he bestowed no further attention upon the intruder. but rob was not to be baffled now. "your majesty," he interrupted, "i've important news for you. a big fight is taking place in south africa and your soldiers will probably be cut into mince meat." the minister strode towards the boy angrily. "explain this intrusion!" he cried. "i have explained. the boers are having a regular killing-bee. here! take a look at it yourselves." he drew the record from his pocket, and at the movement the minister shrank back as if he suspected it was an infernal machine and might blow his head off; but the king stepped quietly to the boy's side and looked into the box when rob threw open the lid. as he comprehended the full wonder of the phenomenon he was observing edward uttered a low cry of amazement, but thereafter he silently gazed upon the fierce battle that still raged far away upon the african veld. before long his keen eye recognized the troops engaged and realized their imminent danger. "they'll be utterly annihilated!" he gasped. "what shall we do?" "oh, we can't do anything just now," answered rob. "but it's curious to watch how bravely the poor fellows fight for their lives." the minister, who by this time was also peering into the box, groaned aloud, and then all three forgot their surroundings in the tragedy they were beholding. hemmed in by vastly superior numbers, the english were calmly and stubbornly resisting every inch of advance and selling their lives as dearly as possible. their leader fell pierced by a hundred bullets, and the king, who had known him from boyhood, passed his hand across his eyes as if to shut out the awful sight. but the fascination of the battle forced him to look again, and the next moment he cried aloud: "look there! look there!" over the edge of a line of hills appeared the helmets of a file of english soldiers. they reached the summit, followed by rank after rank, until the hillside was alive with them. and then, with a ringing cheer that came like a faint echo to the ears of the three watchers, they broke into a run and dashed forward to the rescue of their brave comrades. the boers faltered, gave back, and the next moment fled precipitately, while the exhausted survivors of the courageous band fell sobbing into the arms of their rescuers. rob closed the lid of the record with a sudden snap that betrayed his deep feeling, and the king pretended to cough behind his handkerchief and stealthily wiped his eyes. "'twasn't so bad, after all," remarked the boy, with assumed cheerfulness; "but it looked mighty ticklish for your men at one time." king edward regarded the boy curiously, remembering his abrupt entrance and the marvelous device he had exhibited. "what do you call that?" he asked, pointing at the record with a finger that trembled slightly from excitement. "it is a new electrical invention," replied rob, replacing it in his pocket, "and so constructed that events are reproduced at the exact moment they occur." "where can i purchase one?" demanded the king, eagerly. "they're not for sale," said rob. "this one of mine is the first that ever happened." "oh!" "i really think," continued the boy, nodding sagely, "that it wouldn't be well to have these records scattered around. their use would give some folks unfair advantage over others, you know." "certainly." "i only showed you this battle because i happened to be in london at the time and thought you'd be interested." "it was very kind of you," said edward; "but how did you gain admittance?" "well, to tell the truth, i was obliged to knock over a few of your tall life-guards. they seem to think you're a good thing and need looking after, like jam in a cupboard." the king smiled. "i hope you haven't killed my guards," said he. "oh, no; they'll come around all right." "it is necessary," continued edward, "that public men be protected from intrusion, no matter how democratic they may be personally. you would probably find it as difficult to approach the president of the united states as the king of england." "oh, i'm not complaining," said rob. "it wasn't much trouble to break through." "you seem quite young to have mastered such wonderful secrets of nature," continued the king. "so i am," replied rob, modestly; "but these natural forces have really existed since the beginning of the world, and some one was sure to discover them in time." he was quoting the demon, although unconsciously. "you are an american, i suppose," said the minister, coming close to rob and staring him in the face. "guessed right the first time," answered the boy, and drawing his character marking spectacles from his pocket, he put them on and stared at the minister in turn. upon the man's forehead appeared the letter "e." "your majesty," said rob, "i have here another queer invention. will you please wear these spectacles for a few moments?" the king at once put them on. "they are called character markers," continued the boy, "because the lenses catch and concentrate the character vibrations radiating from every human individual and reflect the true character of the person upon his forehead. if a letter 'g' appears, you may be sure his disposition is good; if his forehead is marked with an 'e' his character is evil, and you must beware of treachery." the king saw the "e" plainly marked upon his minister's forehead, but he said nothing except "thank you," and returned the spectacles to rob. but the minister, who from the first had been ill at ease, now became positively angry. "do not believe him, your majesty!" he cried. "it is a trick, and meant to deceive you." "i did not accuse you," answered the king, sternly. then he added: "i wish to be alone with this young gentleman." the minister left the room with an anxious face and hanging head. "now," said rob, "let's look over the record of the past day and see if that fellow has been up to any mischief." he turned the cylinder of the record to "england," and slowly the events of the last twenty-four hours were reproduced, one after the other, upon the polished plate. before long the king uttered an exclamation. the record pictured a small room in which were seated three gentlemen engaged in earnest conversation. one of them was the accused minister. "those men," said the king in a low voice, while he pointed out the other two, "are my avowed enemies. this is proof that your wonderful spectacles indicated my minister's character with perfect truth. i am grateful to you for thus putting me upon my guard, for i have trusted the man fully." "oh, don't mention it," replied the boy, lightly; "i'm glad to have been of service to you. but it's time for me to go." "i hope you will favor me with another interview," said the king, "for i am much interested in your electrical inventions. i will instruct my guards to admit you at any time, so you will not be obliged to fight your way in." "all right. but it really doesn't matter," answered rob. "it's no trouble at all to knock 'em over." then he remembered his manners and bowed low before the king, who seemed to him "a fine fellow and not a bit stuck up." and then he walked calmly from the palace. the people in the outer room stared at him wonderingly and the officer of the guard saluted the boy respectfully. but rob only smiled in an amused way as he marched past them with his hands thrust deep into his trousers' pockets and his straw hat tipped jauntily upon the back of his head. . the man of science rob passed the remainder of the day wandering about london and amusing himself by watching the peculiar ways of the people. when it became so dark that there was no danger of his being observed, he rose through the air to the narrow slit in the church tower and lay upon the floor of the little room, with the bells hanging all around him, to pass the night. he was just falling asleep when a tremendous din and clatter nearly deafened him, and set the whole tower trembling. it was the midnight chime. rob clutched his ears tightly, and when the vibrations had died away descended by the ladder to a lower platform. but even here the next hourly chime made his ears ring, and he kept descending from platform to platform until the last half of a restless night was passed in the little room at the bottom of the tower. when, at daylight, the boy sat up and rubbed his eyes, he said, wearily: "churches are all right as churches; but as hotels they are rank failures. i ought to have bunked in with my friend, king edward." he climbed up the stairs and the ladders again and looked out the little window in the belfry. then he examined his map of europe. "i believe i'll take a run over to paris," he thought. "i must be home again by saturday, to meet the demon, so i'll have to make every day count." without waiting for breakfast, since he had eaten a tablet the evening before, he crept through the window and mounted into the fresh morning air until the great city with its broad waterway lay spread out beneath him. then he sped away to the southeast and, crossing the channel, passed between amiens and rouen and reached paris before ten o'clock. near the outskirts of the city appeared a high tower, upon the flat roof of which a man was engaged in adjusting a telescope. upon seeing rob, who was passing at no great distance from this tower, the man cried out: "approchez!--venez ici!" then he waved his hands frantically in the air, and fairly danced with excitement. so the boy laughed and dropped down to the roof where, standing beside the frenchman, whose eyes were actually protruding from their sockets, he asked, coolly: "well, what do you want?" the other was for a moment speechless. he was a tall, lean man, having a bald head but a thick, iron-gray beard, and his black eyes sparkled brightly from behind a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. after attentively regarding the boy for a time he said, in broken english: "but, m'sieur, how can you fly wizout ze--ze machine? i have experiment myself wiz some air-ship; but you--zere is nossing to make go!" rob guessed that here was his opportunity to do the demon a favor by explaining his electrical devices to this new acquaintance, who was evidently a man of science. "here is the secret, professor," he said, and holding out his wrist displayed the traveling machine and explained, as well as he could, the forces that operated it. the frenchman, as you may suppose, was greatly astonished, and to show how perfectly the machine worked rob turned the indicator and rose a short distance above the tower, circling around it before he rejoined the professor on the roof. then he showed his food tablets, explaining how each was stored with sufficient nourishment for an entire day. the scientist positively gasped for breath, so powerful was the excitement he experienced at witnessing these marvels. "eet is wonderful--grand--magnifique!" he exclaimed. "but here is something of still greater interest," continued rob, and taking the automatic record of events from his pocket he allowed the professor to view the remarkable scenes that were being enacted throughout the civilized world. the frenchman was now trembling violently, and he implored rob to tell him where he might obtain similar electrical machines. "i can't do that," replied the boy, decidedly; "but, having seen these, you may be able to discover their construction for yourself. now that you know such things to be possible and practical, the hint should be sufficient to enable a shrewd electrician to prepare duplicates of them." the scientist glared at him with evident disappointment, and rob continued: "these are not all the wonders i can exhibit. here is another electrical device that is, perhaps, the most remarkable of any i possess." he took the character marking spectacles from his pocket and fitted them to his eyes. then he gave a whistle of surprise and turned his back upon his new friend. he had seen upon the frenchman's forehead the letters "e" and "c." "guess i've struck the wrong sort of scientist, after all!" he muttered, in a disgusted tone. his companion was quick to prove the accuracy of the character marker. seeing the boy's back turned, he seized a long iron bar that was used to operate the telescope, and struck at rob so fiercely that had he not worn the garment of protection his skull would have been crushed by the blow. at it was, the bar rebounded with a force that sent the murderous frenchman sprawling upon the roof, and rob turned around and laughed at him. "it won't work, professor," he said. "i'm proof against assassins. perhaps you had an idea that when you had killed me you could rob me of my valuable possessions; but they wouldn't be a particle of use to a scoundrel like you, i assure you! good morning." before the surprised and baffled scientist could collect himself sufficiently to reply, the boy was soaring far above his head and searching for a convenient place to alight, that he might investigate the charms of this famed city of paris. it was indeed a beautiful place, with many stately buildings lining the shady boulevards. so thronged were the streets that rob well knew he would soon be the center of a curious crowd should he alight upon them. already a few sky-gazers had noted the boy moving high in the air, above their heads, and one or two groups stood pointing their fingers at him. pausing at length above the imposing structure of the hotel anglais, rob noticed at one of the upper floors an open window, before which was a small iron balcony. alighting upon this he proceeded to enter, without hesitation, the open window. he heard a shriek and a cry of "au voleur!" and caught sight of a woman's figure as she dashed into an adjoining room, slamming and locking the door behind her. "i don't know as i blame her," observed rob, with a smile at the panic he had created. "i s'pose she takes me for a burglar, and thinks i've climbed up the lightning rod." he soon found the door leading into the hallway and walked down several flights of stairs until he reached the office of the hotel. "how much do you charge a day?" he inquired, addressing a fat and pompous-looking gentlemen behind the desk. the man looked at him in a surprised way, for he had not heard the boy enter the room. but he said something in french to a waiter who was passing, and the latter came to rob and made a low bow. "i speak ze eengliss ver' fine," he said. "what desire have you?" "what are your rates by the day?" asked the boy. "ten francs, m'sieur." "how many dollars is that?" "dollar americaine?" "yes; united states money." "ah, oui! eet is ze two dollar, m'sieur." "all right; i can stay about a day before i go bankrupt. give me a room." "certainement, m'sieur. have you ze luggage?" "no; but i'll pay in advance," said rob, and began counting out his dimes and nickles and pennies, to the unbounded amazement of the waiter, who looked as if he had never seen such coins before. he carried the money to the fat gentleman, who examined the pieces curiously, and there was a long conference between them before it was decided to accept them in payment for a room for a day. but at this season the hotel was almost empty, and when rob protested that he had no other money the fat gentleman put the coins into his cash box with a resigned sigh and the waiter showed the boy to a little room at the very top of the building. rob washed and brushed the dust from his clothes, after which he sat down and amused himself by viewing the pictures that constantly formed upon the polished plate of the record of events. . how rob saved a republic while following the shifting scenes of the fascinating record rob noted an occurrence that caused him to give a low whistle of astonishment and devote several moments to serious thought. "i believe it's about time i interfered with the politics of this republic," he said, at last, as he closed the lid of the metal box and restored it to his pocket. "if i don't take a hand there probably won't be a republic of france very long and, as a good american, i prefer a republic to a monarchy." then he walked down-stairs and found his english-speaking waiter. "where's president loubet?" he asked. "ze president! ah, he is wiz his mansion. to be at his residence, m'sieur." "where is his residence?" the waiter began a series of voluble and explicit directions which so confused the boy that he exclaimed: "oh, much obliged!" and walked away in disgust. gaining the street he approached a gendarme and repeated his question, with no better result than before, for the fellow waved his arms wildly in all directions and roared a volley of incomprehensible french phrases that conveyed no meaning whatever. "if ever i travel in foreign countries again," said rob, "i'll learn their lingo in advance. why doesn't the demon get up a conversation machine that will speak all languages?" by dint of much inquiry, however, and after walking several miles following ambiguous directions, he managed to reach the residence of president loubet. but there he was politely informed that the president was busily engaged in his garden, and would see no one. "that's all right," said the boy, calmly. "if he's in the garden i'll have no trouble finding him." then, to the amazement of the frenchmen, rob shot into the air fifty feet or so, from which elevation he overlooked a pretty garden in the rear of the president's mansion. the place was protected from ordinary intrusion by high walls, but rob descended within the enclosure and walked up to a man who was writing at a small table placed under the spreading branches of a large tree. "is this president loubet?" he inquired, with a bow. the gentleman looked up. "my servants were instructed to allow no one to disturb me," he said, speaking in excellent english. "it isn't their fault; i flew over the wall," returned rob. "the fact is," he added, hastily, as he noted the president's frown, "i have come to save the republic; and i haven't much time to waste over a bundle of frenchmen, either." the president seemed surprised. "your name!" he demanded, sharply. "robert billings joslyn, united states of america!" "your business, monsieur joslyn!" rob drew the record from his pocket and placed it upon the table. "this, sir," said he, "is an electrical device that records all important events. i wish to call your attention to a scene enacted in paris last evening which may have an effect upon the future history of your country." he opened the lid, placed the record so that the president could see clearly, and then watched the changing expressions upon the great man's face; first indifference, then interest, the next moment eagerness and amazement. "mon dieu!" he gasped; "the orleanists!" rob nodded. "yes; they've worked up a rather pretty plot, haven't they?" the president did not reply. he was anxiously watching the record and scribbling notes on a paper beside him. his face was pale and his lips tightly compressed. finally he leaned back in his chair and asked: "can you reproduce this scene again?" "certainly, sir," answered the boy; "as often as you like." "will you remain here while i send for my minister of police? it will require but a short time." "call him up, then. i'm in something of a hurry myself, but now i've mixed up with this thing i'll see it through." the president touched a bell and gave an order to his servant. then he turned to rob and said, wonderingly: "you are a boy!" "that's true, mr. president," was the answer; "but an american boy, you must remember. that makes a big difference, i assure you." the president bowed gravely. "this is your invention?" he asked. "no; i'm hardly equal to that. but the inventor has made me a present of the record, and it's the only one in the world." "it is a marvel," remarked the president, thoughtfully. "more! it is a real miracle. we are living in an age of wonders, my young friend." "no one knows that better than myself, sir," replied rob. "but, tell me, can you trust your chief of police?" "i think so," said the president, slowly; "yet since your invention has shown me that many men i have considered honest are criminally implicated in this royalist plot, i hardly know whom to depend upon." "then please wear these spectacles during your interview with the minister of police," said the boy. "you must say nothing, while he is with us, about certain marks that will appear upon his forehead; but when he has gone i will explain those marks so you will understand them." the president covered his eyes with the spectacles. "why," he exclaimed, "i see upon your own brow the letters--" "stop, sir!" interrupted rob, with a blush; "i don't care to know what the letters are, if it's just the same to you." the president seemed puzzled by this speech, but fortunately the minister of police arrived just then and, under rob's guidance, the pictured record of the orleanist plot was reproduced before the startled eyes of the official. "and now," said the boy, "let us see if any of this foolishness is going on just at present." he turned to the opposite side of the record and allowed the president and his minister of police to witness the quick succession of events even as they occurred. suddenly the minister cried, "ha!" and, pointing to the figure of a man disembarking from an english boat at calais, he said, excitedly: "that, your excellency, is the duke of orleans, in disguise! i must leave you for a time, that i may issue some necessary orders to my men; but this evening i shall call to confer with you regarding the best mode of suppressing this terrible plot." when the official had departed, the president removed the spectacles from his eyes and handed them to rob. "what did you see?" asked the boy. "the letters 'g' and 'w'." "then you may trust him fully," declared rob, and explained the construction of the character marker to the interested and amazed statesman. "and now i must go," he continued, "for my stay in your city will be a short one and i want to see all i can." the president scrawled something on a sheet of paper and signed his name to it, afterward presenting it, with a courteous bow, to his visitor. "this will enable you to go wherever you please, while in paris," he said. "i regret my inability to reward you properly for the great service you have rendered my country; but you have my sincerest gratitude, and may command me in any way." "oh, that's all right," answered rob. "i thought it was my duty to warn you, and if you look sharp you'll be able to break up this conspiracy. but i don't want any reward. good day, sir." he turned the indicator of his traveling machine and immediately rose into the air, followed by a startled exclamation from the president of france. moving leisurely over the city, he selected a deserted thoroughfare to alight in, from whence he wandered unobserved into the beautiful boulevards. these were now brilliantly lighted, and crowds of pleasure seekers thronged them everywhere. rob experienced a decided sense of relief as he mixed with the gay populace and enjoyed the sights of the splendid city, for it enabled him to forget, for a time, the responsibilities thrust upon him by the possession of the demon's marvelous electrical devices. . rob loses his treasures our young adventurer had intended to pass the night in the little bed at his hotel, but the atmosphere of paris proved so hot and disagreeable that he decided it would be more enjoyable to sleep while journeying through the cooler air that lay far above the earth's surface. so just as the clocks were striking the midnight hour rob mounted skyward and turned the indicator of the traveling machine to the east, intending to make the city of vienna his next stop. he had risen to a considerable distance, where the air was remarkably fresh and exhilarating, and the relief he experienced from the close and muggy streets of paris was of such a soothing nature that he presently fell fast asleep. his day in the metropolis had been a busy one, for, like all boys, he had forgotten himself in the delight of sight-seeing and had tired his muscles and exhausted his strength to an unusual degree. it was about three o'clock in the morning when rob, moving restlessly in his sleep, accidently touched with his right hand the indicator of the machine which was fastened to his left wrist, setting it a couple of points to the south of east. he was, of course, unaware of the slight alteration in his course, which was destined to prove of serious importance in the near future. for the boy's fatigue induced him to sleep far beyond daybreak, and during this period of unconsciousness he was passing over the face of european countries and approaching the lawless and dangerous dominions of the orient. when, at last, he opened his eyes, he was puzzled to determine where he was. beneath him stretched a vast, sandy plain, and speeding across this he came to a land abounding in luxuriant vegetation. the centrifugal force which propelled him was evidently, for some reason, greatly accelerated, for the scenery of the country he was crossing glided by him at so rapid a rate of speed that it nearly took his breath away. "i wonder if i've passed vienna in the night," he thought. "it ought not to have taken me more than a few hours to reach there from paris." vienna was at that moment fifteen hundred miles behind him; but rob's geography had always been his stumbling block at school, and he had not learned to gage the speed of the traveling machine; so he was completely mystified as to his whereabouts. presently a village having many queer spires and minarets whisked by him like a flash. rob became worried, and resolved to slow up at the next sign of habitation. this was a good resolution, but turkestan is so thinly settled that before the boy could plan out a course of action he had passed the barren mountain range of thian-shan as nimbly as an acrobat leaps a jumping-bar. "this won't do at all!" he exclaimed, earnestly. "the traveling machine seems to be running away with me, and i'm missing no end of sights by scooting along up here in the clouds." he turned the indicator to zero, and was relieved to find it obey with customary quickness. in a few moments he had slowed up and stopped, when he found himself suspended above another stretch of sandy plain. being too high to see the surface of the plain distinctly he dropped down a few hundred feet to a lower level, where he discovered he was surrounded by billows of sand as far as his eye could reach. "it's a desert, all right," was his comment; "perhaps old sahara herself." he started the machine again towards the east, and at a more moderate rate of speed skimmed over the surface of the desert. before long he noticed a dark spot ahead of him which proved to be a large body of fierce looking men, riding upon dromedaries and slender, spirited horses and armed with long rifles and crookedly shaped simitars. "those fellows seem to be looking for trouble," remarked the boy, as he glided over them, "and it wouldn't be exactly healthy for an enemy to get in their way. but i haven't time to stop, so i'm not likely to get mixed up in any rumpus with them." however, the armed caravan was scarcely out of sight before rob discovered he was approaching a rich, wooded oasis of the desert, in the midst of which was built the walled city of yarkand. not that he had ever heard of the place, or knew its name; for few europeans and only one american traveler had ever visited it. but he guessed it was a city of some importance from its size and beauty, and resolved to make a stop there. above the high walls projected many slender, white minarets, indicating that the inhabitants were either turks or some race of mohammedans; so rob decided to make investigations before trusting himself to their company. a cluster of tall trees with leafy tops stood a short distance outside the walls, and here the boy landed and sat down to rest in the refreshing shade. the city seemed as hushed and still as if it were deserted, and before him stretched the vast plain of white, heated sands. he strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the band of warriors he had passed, but they were moving slowly and had not yet appeared. the trees that sheltered rob were the only ones without the city, although many low bushes or shrubs grew scattering over the space between him and the walls. an arched gateway broke the enclosure at his left, but the gates were tightly shut. something in the stillness and the intense heat of the mid-day sun made the boy drowsy. he stretched himself upon the ground beneath the dense foliage of the biggest tree and abandoned himself to the languor that was creeping over him. "i'll wait until that army of the desert arrives," he thought, sleepily. "they either belong in this city or have come to capture it, so i can tell better what to dance when i find out what the band plays." the next moment he was sound asleep, sprawling upon his back in the shade and slumbering as peacefully as an infant. and while he lay motionless three men dropped in quick succession from the top of the city wall and hid among the low bushes, crawling noiselessly from one to another and so approaching, by degrees, the little group of trees. they were turks, and had been sent by those in authority within the city to climb the tallest tree of the group and discover if the enemy was near. for rob's conjecture had been correct, and the city of yarkand awaited, with more or less anxiety, a threatened assault from its hereditary enemies, the tatars. the three spies were not less forbidding in appearance than the horde of warriors rob had passed upon the desert. their features were coarse and swarthy, and their eyes had a most villainous glare. old fashioned pistols and double-edged daggers were stuck in their belts and their clothing, though of gorgeous colors, was soiled and neglected. with all the caution of the american savage these turks approached the tree, where, to their unbounded amazement, they saw the boy lying asleep. his dress and fairness of skin at once proclaimed him, in their shrewd eyes, a european, and their first thought was to glance around in search of his horse or dromedary. seeing nothing of the kind near they were much puzzled to account for his presence, and stood looking down at him with evident curiosity. the sun struck the polished surface of the traveling machine which was attached to rob's wrist and made the metal glitter like silver. this attracted the eyes of the tallest turk, who stooped down and stealthily unclasped the band of the machine from the boy's outstretched arm. then, after a hurried but puzzled examination of the little instrument, he slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. rob stirred uneasily in his sleep, and one of the turks drew a slight but stout rope from his breast and with gentle but deft movement passed it around the boy's wrists and drew them together behind him. the action was not swift enough to arouse the power of repulsion in the garment of protection, but it awakened rob effectually, so that he sat up and stared hard at his captors. "what are you trying to do, anyhow?" he demanded. the turks laughed and said something in their own language. they had no knowledge of english. "you're only making fools of yourselves," continued the boy, wrathfully. "it's impossible for you to injure me." the three paid no attention to his words. one of them thrust his hand into rob's pocket and drew out the electric tube. his ignorance of modern appliances was so great that he did not know enough to push the button. rob saw him looking down the hollow end of the tube and murmured: "i wish it would blow your ugly head off!" but the fellow, thinking the shining metal might be of some value to him, put the tube in his own pocket and then took from the prisoner the silver box of tablets. rob writhed and groaned at losing his possessions in this way, and while his hands were fastened behind him tried to feel for and touch the indicator of the traveling machine. when he found that the machine also had been taken, his anger gave way to fear, for he realized he was in a dangerously helpless condition. the third turk now drew the record of events from the boy's inner pocket. he knew nothing of the springs that opened the lids, so, after a curious glance at it, he secreted the box in the folds of his sash and continued the search of the captive. the character marking spectacles were next abstracted, but the turk, seeing in them nothing but spectacles, scornfully thrust them back into rob's pocket, while his comrades laughed at him. the boy was now rifled of seventeen cents in pennies, a broken pocket knife and a lead-pencil, the last article seeming to be highly prized. after they had secured all the booty they could find, the tall turk, who seemed the leader of the three, violently kicked at the prisoner with his heavy boot. his surprise was great when the garment of repulsion arrested the blow and nearly overthrew the aggressor in turn. snatching a dagger from his sash, he bounded upon the boy so fiercely that the next instant the enraged turk found himself lying upon his back three yards away, while his dagger flew through the air and landed deep in the desert sands. "keep it up!" cried rob, bitterly. "i hope you'll enjoy yourself." the other turks raised their comrade to his feet, and the three stared at one another in surprise, being unable to understand how a bound prisoner could so effectually defend himself. but at a whispered word from the leader, they drew their long pistols and fired point blank into rob's face. the volley echoed sharply from the city walls, but as the smoke drifted slowly away the turks were horrified to see their intended victim laughing at them. uttering cries of terror and dismay, the three took to their heels and bounded towards the wall, where a gate quickly opened to receive them, the populace feeling sure the tatar horde was upon them. nor was this guess so very far wrong; for as rob, sitting disconsolate upon the sand, raised his eyes, he saw across the desert a dark line that marked the approach of the invaders. nearer and nearer they came, while rob watched them and bemoaned the foolish impulse that had led him to fall asleep in an unknown land where he could so easily be overpowered and robbed of his treasures. "i always suspected these electrical inventions would be my ruin some day," he reflected, sadly; "and now i'm side-tracked and left helpless in this outlandish country, without a single hope of ever getting home again. they probably won't be able to kill me, unless they find my garment of repulsion and strip that off; but i never could cross this terrible desert on foot and, having lost my food tablets, i'd soon starve if i attempted it." fortunately, he had eaten one of the tablets just before going to sleep, so there was no danger of immediate starvation. but he was miserable and unhappy, and remained brooding over his cruel fate until a sudden shout caused him to look up. . turk and tatar the tatars had arrived, swiftly and noiselessly, and a dozen of the warriors, still mounted, were surrounding him. his helpless condition aroused their curiosity, and while some of them hastily cut away his bonds and raised him to his feet, other plied him with questions in their own language. rob shook his head to indicate that he could not understand; so they led him to the chief--an immense, bearded representative of the tribe of kara-khitai, the terrible and relentless black tatars of thibet. the huge frame of this fellow was clothed in flowing robes of cloth-of-gold, braided with jewels, and he sat majestically upon the back of a jet-black camel. under ordinary circumstances the stern features and flashing black eyes of this redoubtable warrior would have struck a chill of fear to the boy's heart; but now under the influence of the crushing misfortunes he had experienced, he was able to gaze with indifference upon the terrible visage of the desert chief. the tatar seemed not to consider rob an enemy. instead, he looked upon him as an ally, since the turks had bound and robbed him. finding it impossible to converse with the chief, rob took refuge in the sign language. he turned his pockets wrong side out, showed the red welts left upon his wrists by the tight cord, and then shook his fists angrily in the direction of the town. in return the tatar nodded gravely and issued an order to his men. by this time the warriors were busily pitching tents before the walls of yarkand and making preparations for a formal siege. in obedience to the chieftain's orders, rob was given a place within one of the tents nearest the wall and supplied with a brace of brass-mounted pistols and a dagger with a sharp, zigzag edge. these were evidently to assist the boy in fighting the turks, and he was well pleased to have them. his spirits rose considerably when he found he had fallen among friends, although most of his new comrades had such evil faces that it was unnecessary to put on the character markers to judge their natures with a fair degree of accuracy. "i can't be very particular about the company i keep," he thought, "and this gang hasn't tried to murder me, as the rascally turks did. so for the present i'll stand in with the scowling chief and try to get a shot at the thieves who robbed me. if our side wins i may get a chance to recover some of my property. it's a slim chance, of course, but it's the only hope i have left." that very evening an opportunity occurred for rob to win glory in the eyes of his new friends. just before sundown the gates of the city flew open and a swarm of turks, mounted upon fleet horses and camels, issued forth and fell upon their enemies. the tatars, who did not expect the sally, were scarcely able to form an opposing rank when they found themselves engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict, fighting desperately for their lives. in such a battle, however, the turks were at a disadvantage, for the active tatars slipped beneath their horses and disabled them, bringing both the animals and their riders to the earth. at the first onslaught rob shot his pistol at a turk and wounded him so severely that he fell from his horse. instantly the boy seized the bridle and sprang upon the steed's back, and the next moment he had dashed into the thickest part of the fray. bullets and blows rained upon him from all sides, but the garment of repulsion saved him from a single scratch. when his pistols had been discharged he caught up the broken handle of a spear, and used it as a club, galloping into the ranks of the turks and belaboring them as hard as he could. the tatars cheered and followed him, and the turks were so amazed at his miraculous escape from their bullets that they became terrified, thinking he bore a charmed life and was protected by unseen powers. this terror helped turn the tide of battle, and before long the enemy was pressed back to the walls and retreated through the gates, which were hastily fastened behind them. in order to prevent a repetition of this sally the tatars at once invested the gates, so that if the turks should open them they were as likely to let their foes in as to oppose them. while the tents were being moved up rob had an opportunity to search the battlefield for the bodies of the three turks who had robbed him, but they were not among the fallen. "those fellows were too cowardly to take part in a fair fight," declared the boy; but he was much disappointed, nevertheless, as he felt very helpless without the electric tube or the traveling machine. the tatar chief now called rob to his tent and presented him with a beautiful ring set with a glowing pigeon's-blood ruby, in acknowledgment of his services. this gift made the boy feel very proud, and he said to the chief: "you're all right, old man, even if you do look like a pirate. if you can manage to capture that city, so i can get my electrical devices back, i'll consider you a trump as long as i live." the chief thought this speech was intended to express rob's gratitude, so he bowed solemnly in return. during the night that followed upon the first engagement of the turks and tatars, the boy lay awake trying to devise some plan to capture the city. the walls seemed too high and thick to be either scaled or broken by the tatars, who had no artillery whatever; and within the walls lay all the fertile part of the oasis, giving the besieged a good supply of water and provisions, while the besiegers were obliged to subsist on what water and food they had brought with them. just before dawn rob left his tent and went out to look at the great wall. the stars gave plenty of light, but the boy was worried to find that, according to eastern custom, no sentries or guards whatever had been posted and all the tatars were slumbering soundly. the city was likewise wrapped in profound silence, but just as rob was turning away he saw a head project stealthily over the edge of the wall before him, and recognized in the features one of the turks who had robbed him. finding no one awake except the boy the fellow sat upon the edge of the wall, with his feet dangling downward, and grinned wickedly at his former victim. rob watched him with almost breathless eagerness. after making many motions that conveyed no meaning whatever, the turk drew the electric tube from his pocket and pointed his finger first at the boy and then at the instrument, as if inquiring what it was used for. rob shook his head. the turk turned the tube over several times and examined it carefully, after which he also shook his head, seeming greatly puzzled. by this time the boy was fairly trembling with excitement. he longed to recover this valuable weapon, and feared that at any moment the curious turk would discover its use. he held out his hand toward the tube, and tried to say, by motions, that he would show the fellow how to use it. the man seemed to understand, by he would not let the glittering instrument out of his possession. rob was almost in despair, when he happened to notice upon his hand the ruby ring given him by the chief. drawing the jewel from his finger he made offer, by signs, that he would exchange it for the tube. the turk was much pleased with the idea, and nodded his head repeatedly, holding out his hand for the ring. rob had little confidence in the man's honor, but he was so eager to regain the tube that he decided to trust him. so he threw the ring to the top of the wall, where the turk caught it skilfully; but when rob held out his hand for the tube the scoundrel only laughed at him and began to scramble to his feet in order to beat a retreat. chance, however, foiled this disgraceful treachery, for in his hurry the turk allowed the tube to slip from his grasp, and it rolled off the wall and fell upon the sand at rob's very feet. the robber turned to watch its fall and, filled with sudden anger, the boy grabbed the weapon, pointed it at his enemy, and pressed the button. down tumbled the turk, without a cry, and lay motionless at the foot of the wall. rob's first thought was to search the pockets of his captive, and to his delight he found and recovered his box of food tablets. the record of events and the traveling machine were doubtless in the possession of the other robbers, but rob did not despair of recovering them, now that he had the tube to aid him. day was now breaking, and several of the tatars appeared and examined the body of the turk with grunts of surprise, for there was no mark upon him to show how he had been slain. supposing him to be dead, they tossed him aside and forgot all about him. rob had secured his ruby ring again, and going to the chief's tent he showed the jewel to the guard and was at once admitted. the black-bearded chieftain was still reclining upon his pillows, but rob bowed before him, and by means of signs managed to ask for a band of warriors to assist him in assaulting the town. the chieftain appeared to doubt the wisdom of the enterprise, not being able to understand how the boy could expect to succeed; but he graciously issued the required order, and by the time rob reached the city gate he found a large group of tatars gathered to support him, while the entire camp, roused to interest in the proceedings, stood looking on. rob cared little for the quarrel between the turks and tatars, and under ordinary circumstances would have refused to side with one or the other; but he knew he could not hope to recover his electrical machines unless the city was taken by the band of warriors who had befriended him, so he determined to force an entrance for them. without hesitation he walked close to the great gate and shattered its fastenings with the force of the electric current directed upon them from the tube. then, shouting to his friends the tatars for assistance, they rushed in a body upon the gate and dashed it open. the turks had expected trouble when they heard the fastenings of the huge gate splinter and fall apart, so they had assembled in force before the opening. as the tatars poured through the gateway in a compact mass they were met by a hail of bullets, spears and arrows, which did fearful execution among them. many were killed outright, while others fell wounded to be trampled upon by those who pressed on from the rear. rob maintained his position in the front rank, but escaped all injury through the possession of the garment of repulsion. but he took an active part in the fight and pressed the button of the electric tube again and again, tumbling the enemy into heaps on every side, even the horses and camels falling helplessly before the resistless current of electricity. the tatars shouted joyfully as they witnessed this marvelous feat and rushed forward to assist in the slaughter; but the boy motioned them all back. he did not wish any more bloodshed than was necessary, and knew that the heaps of unconscious turks around him would soon recover. so he stood alone and faced the enemy, calmly knocking them over as fast as they came near. two of the turks managed to creep up behind the boy, and one of them, who wielded an immense simitar with a two-edged blade as sharp as a razor, swung the weapon fiercely to cut off rob's head. but the repulsive force aroused in the garment was so terrific that it sent the weapon flying backwards with redoubled swiftness, so that it caught the second turk at the waist and cut him fairly in two. thereafter they all avoided coming near the boy, and in a surprisingly short time the turkish forces were entirely conquered, all having been reduced to unconsciousness except a few cowards who had run away and hidden in the cellars or garrets of the houses. the tatars entered the city with shouts of triumph, and the chief was so delighted that he threw his arms around rob's neck and embraced him warmly. then began the sack of yarkand, the fierce tatars plundering the bazaars and houses, stripping them of everything of value they could find. rob searched anxiously among the bodies of the unconscious turks for the two men who had robbed him, but neither could be found. he was more successful later, for in running through the streets he came upon a band of tatars leading a man with a rope around his neck, whom rob quickly recognized as one of the thieves he was hunting for. the tatars willingly allowed him to search the fellow, and in one of his pockets rob found the record of events. he had now recovered all his property, except the traveling machine, the one thing that was absolutely necessary to enable him to escape from this barbarous country. he continued his search persistently, and an hour later found the dead body of the third robber lying in the square in the center of the city. but the traveling machine was not on his person, and for the first time the boy began to give way to despair. in the distance he heard loud shouts and sound of renewed strife, warning him that the turks were recovering consciousness and engaging the tatars with great fierceness. the latter had scattered throughout the town, thinking themselves perfectly secure, so that not only were they unprepared to fight, but they became panic-stricken at seeing their foes return, as it seemed, from death to life. their usual courage forsook them, and they ran, terrified, in every direction, only to be cut down by the revengeful turkish simitars. rob was sitting upon the edge of a marble fountain in the center of the square when a crowd of victorious turks appeared and quickly surrounded him. the boy paid no attention to their gestures and the turks feared to approach him nearly, so they stood a short distance away and fired volleys at him from their rifles and pistols. rob glared at them scornfully, and seeing they could not injure him the turks desisted; but they still surrounded him, and the crowd grew thicker every moment. women now came creeping from their hiding places and mingled with the ranks of the men, and rob guessed, from their joyous chattering, that the turks had regained the city and driven out or killed the tatar warriors. he reflected, gloomily, that this did not affect his own position in any way, since he could not escape from the oasis. suddenly, on glancing at the crowd, rob saw something that arrested his attention. a young girl was fastening some article to the wrist of a burly, villainous-looking turk. the boy saw a glitter that reminded him of the traveling machine, but immediately afterward the man and the girl bent their heads over the fellow's wrist in such a way that rob could see nothing more. while the couple were apparently examining the strange device, rob started to his feet and walked toward them. the crowd fell back at his approach, but the man and the girl were so interested that they did not notice him. he was still several paces away when the girl put out her finger and touched the indicator on the dial. to rob's horror and consternation the big turk began to rise slowly into the air, while a howl of fear burst from the crowd. but the boy made a mighty spring and caught the turk by his foot, clinging to it with desperate tenacity, while they both mounted steadily upward until they were far above the city of the desert. the big turk screamed pitifully at first, and then actually fainted away from fright. rob was much frightened, on his part, for he knew if his hands slipped from their hold he would fall to his death. indeed, one hand was slipping already, so he made a frantic clutch and caught firmly hold of the turk's baggy trousers. then, slowly and carefully, he drew himself up and seized the leather belt that encircled the man's waist. this firm grip gave him new confidence, and he began to breathe more freely. he now clung to the body of the turk with both legs entwined, in the way he was accustomed to cling to a tree-trunk when he climbed after cherries at home. he had conquered his fear of falling, and took time to recover his wits and his strength. they had now reached such a tremendous height that the city looked like a speck on the desert beneath them. knowing he must act quickly, rob seized the dangling left arm of the unconscious turk and raised it until he could reach the dial of the traveling machine. he feared to unclasp the machine just then, for two reasons: if it slipped from his grasp they would both plunge downward to their death; and he was not sure the machine would work at all if in any other position than fastened to the left wrist. rob determined to take no chances, so he left the machine attached to the turk and turned the indicator to zero and then to "east," for he did not wish to rejoin either his enemies the turks or his equally undesirable friends the tatars. after traveling eastward a few minutes he lost sight of the city altogether; so, still clinging to the body of the turk, he again turned the indicator and began to descend. when, at last, they landed gently upon a rocky eminence of the kuen-lun mountains, the boy's strength was almost exhausted, and his limbs ached with the strain of clinging to the turk's body. his first act was to transfer the traveling machine to his own wrist and to see that his other electrical devices were safely bestowed in his pockets. then he sat upon the rock to rest until the turk recovered consciousness. presently the fellow moved uneasily, rolled over, and then sat up and stared at his surroundings. perhaps he thought he had been dreaming, for he rubbed his eyes and looked again with mingled surprise and alarm. then, seeing rob, he uttered a savage shout and drew his dagger. rob smiled and pointed the electric tube at the man, who doubtless recognized its power, for he fell back scowling and trembling. "this place seems like a good jog from civilization," remarked the boy, as coolly as if his companion could understand what he said; "but as your legs are long and strong you may be able to find your way. it's true you're liable to starve to death, but if you do it will be your own misfortune and not my fault." the turk glared at him sullenly, but did not attempt to reply. rob took out his box of tablets, ate one of them and offered another to his enemy. the fellow accepted it ungraciously enough, but seeing rob eat one he decided to follow his example, and consumed the tablet with a queer expression of distrust upon his face. "brave man!" cried rob, laughingly; "you've avoided the pangs of starvation for a time, anyhow, so i can leave you with a clear conscience." without more ado, he turned the indicator of the traveling machine and mounted into the air, leaving the turk sitting upon the rocks and staring after him in comical bewilderment. . a battle with monsters our young adventurer never experienced a more grateful feeling of relief and security than when he found himself once more high in the air, alone, and in undisputed possession of the electrical devices bestowed upon him by the demon. the dangers he had passed through since landing at the city of the desert and the desperate chance that alone had permitted him to regain the traveling machine made him shudder at the bare recollection and rendered him more sober and thoughtful than usual. we who stick closely to the earth's surface can scarcely realize how rob could travel through the air at such dizzy heights without any fear or concern whatsoever. but he had come to consider the air a veritable refuge. experience had given him implicit confidence in the powers of the electrical instrument whose unseen forces carried him so swiftly and surely, and while the tiny, watch-like machine was clasped to his wrist he felt himself to be absolutely safe. having slipped away from the turk and attained a fair altitude, he set the indicator at zero and paused long enough to consult his map and decide what direction it was best for him to take. the mischance that had swept him unwittingly over the countries of europe had also carried him more than half way around the world from his home. therefore the nearest way to reach america would be to continue traveling to the eastward. so much time had been consumed at the desert oasis that he felt he must now hasten if he wished to reach home by saturday afternoon; so, having quickly come to a decision, he turned the indicator and began a swift flight into the east. for several hours he traveled above the great desert of gobi, but by noon signs of a more fertile country began to appear, and, dropping to a point nearer the earth, he was able to observe closely the country of the chinese, with its crowded population and ancient but crude civilization. then he came to the great wall of china and to mighty peking, above which he hovered some time, examining it curiously. he really longed to make a stop there, but with his late experiences fresh in his mind he thought it much safer to view the wonderful city from a distance. resuming his flight he presently came to the gulf of laou tong, whose fair face was freckled with many ships of many nations, and so on to korea, which seemed to him a land fully a century behind the times. night overtook him while speeding across the sea of japan, and having a great desire to view the mikado's famous islands, he put the indicator at zero, and, coming to a full stop, composed himself to sleep until morning, that he might run no chances of being carried beyond his knowledge during the night. you might suppose it no easy task to sleep suspended in mid-air, yet the magnetic currents controlled by the traveling machine were so evenly balanced that rob was fully as comfortable as if reposing upon a bed of down. he had become somewhat accustomed to passing the night in the air and now slept remarkably well, having no fear of burglars or fire or other interruptions that dwellers in cities are subject to. one thing, however, he should have remembered: that he was in an ancient and little known part of the world and reposing above a sea famous in fable as the home of many fierce and terrible creatures; while not far away lay the land of the dragon, the simurg and other ferocious monsters. rob may have read of these things in fairy tales and books of travel, but if so they had entirely slipped his mind; so he slumbered peacefully and actually snored a little, i believe, towards morning. but even as the red sun peeped curiously over the horizon he was awakened by a most unusual disturbance--a succession of hoarse screams and a pounding of the air as from the quickly revolving blades of some huge windmill. he rubbed his eyes and looked around. coming towards him at his right hand was an immense bird, whose body seemed almost as big as that of a horse. its wide-open, curving beak was set with rows of pointed teeth, and the talons held against its breast and turned threateningly outward were more powerful and dreadful than a tiger's claws. while, fascinated and horrified, he watched the approach of this feathered monster, a scream sounded just behind him and the next instant the stroke of a mighty wing sent him whirling over and over through the air. he soon came to a stop, however, and saw that another of the monsters had come upon him from the rear and was now, with its mate, circling closely around him, while both uttered continuously their hoarse, savage cries. rob wondered why the garment of repulsion had not protected him from the blow of the bird's wing; but, as a matter of fact, it had protected him. for it was not the wing itself but the force of the eddying currents of air that had sent him whirling away from the monster. with the indicator at zero the magnetic currents and the opposing powers of attraction and repulsion were so evenly balanced that any violent atmospheric disturbance affected him in the same way that thistledown is affected by a summer breeze. he had noticed something of this before, but whenever a strong wind was blowing he was accustomed to rise to a position above the air currents. this was the first time he had slept with the indicator at zero. the huge birds at once renewed their attack, but rob had now recovered his wits sufficiently to draw the electric tube from his pocket. the first one to dart towards him received the powerful electric current direct from the tube, and fell stunned and fluttering to the surface of the sea, where it floated motionless. its mate, perhaps warned by this sudden disaster, renewed its circling flight, moving so swiftly that rob could scarcely follow it, and drawing nearer and nearer every moment to its intended victim. the boy could not turn in the air very quickly, and he feared an attack in the back, mistrusting the saving power of the garment of repulsion under such circumstances; so in desperation he pressed his finger upon the button of the tube and whirled the instrument around his head in the opposite direction to that in which the monster was circling. presently the current and the bird met, and with one last scream the creature tumbled downwards to join its fellow upon the waves, where they lay like two floating islands. their presence had left a rank, sickening stench in the surrounding atmosphere, so rob made haste to resume his journey and was soon moving rapidly eastward. he could not control a shudder at the recollection of his recent combat, and realized the horror of a meeting with such creatures by one who had no protection from their sharp beaks and talons. "it's no wonder the japs draw ugly pictures of those monsters," he thought. "people who live in these parts must pass most of their lives in a tremble." the sun was now shining brilliantly, and when the beautiful islands of japan came in sight rob found that he had recovered his wonted cheerfulness. he moved along slowly, hovering with curious interest over the quaint and picturesque villages and watching the industrious japanese patiently toiling at their tasks. just before he reached tokio he came to a military fort, and for nearly an hour watched the skilful maneuvers of a regiment of soldiers at their morning drill. they were not very big people, compared with other nations, but they seemed alert and well trained, and the boy decided it would require a brave enemy to face them on a field of battle. having at length satisfied his curiosity as to japanese life and customs rob prepared for his long flight across the pacific ocean. by consulting his map he discovered that should he maintain his course due east, as before, he would arrive at a point in america very near to san francisco, which suited his plans excellently. having found that he moved more swiftly when farthest from the earth's surface, because the air was more rarefied and offered less resistance, rob mounted upwards until the islands of japan were mere specks visible through the clear, sunny atmosphere. then he began his eastward flight, the broad surface of the pacific seeming like a blue cloud far beneath him. . shipwrecked mariners ample proof of rob's careless and restless nature having been frankly placed before the reader in these pages, you will doubtless be surprised when i relate that during the next few hours our young gentleman suffered from a severe attack of homesickness, becoming as gloomy and unhappy in its duration as ever a homesick boy could be. it may have been because he was just then cut off from all his fellow-creatures and even from the world itself; it may have been because he was satiated with marvels and with the almost absolute control over the powers which the demon had conferred upon him; or it may have been because he was born and reared a hearty, healthy american boy, with a disposition to battle openly with the world and take his chances equally with his fellows, rather than be placed in such an exclusive position that no one could hope successfully to oppose him. perhaps he himself did not know what gave him this horrible attack of "the blues," but the truth is he took out his handkerchief and cried like a baby from very loneliness and misery. there was no one to see him, thank goodness! and the tears gave him considerable relief. he dried his eyes, made an honest struggle to regain his cheerfulness, and then muttered to himself: "if i stay up here, like an air-bubble in the sky, i shall certainly go crazy. i suppose there's nothing but water to look at down below, but if i could only sight a ship, or even see a fish jump, it would do me no end of good." thereupon he descended until, as the ocean's surface same nearer and nearer, he discovered a tiny island lying almost directly underneath him. it was hardly big enough to make a dot on the biggest map, but a clump of trees grew in the central portion, while around the edges were jagged rocks protecting a sandy beach and a stretch of flower-strewn upland leading to the trees. it looked beautiful from rob's elevated position, and his spirits brightened at once. "i'll drop down and pick a bouquet," he exclaimed, and a few moments later his feet touched the firm earth of the island. but before he could gather a dozen of the brilliant flowers a glad shout reached his ears, and, looking up, he saw two men running towards him from the trees. they were dressed in sailor fashion, but their clothing was reduced to rags and scarcely clung to their brown, skinny bodies. as they advanced they waved their arms wildly in the air and cried in joyful tones: "a boat! a boat!" rob stared at them wonderingly, and had much ado to prevent the poor fellows from hugging him outright, so great was their joy at his appearance. one of them rolled upon the ground, laughing and crying by turns, while the other danced and cut capers until he became so exhausted that he sank down breathless beside his comrade. "how came you here?" then inquired the boy, in pitying tones. "we're shipwrecked american sailors from the bark 'cynthia jane,' which went down near here over a month ago," answered the smallest and thinnest of the two. "we escaped by clinging to a bit of wreckage and floated to this island, where we have nearly starved to death. indeed, we now have eaten everything on the island that was eatable, and had your boat arrived a few days later you'd have found us lying dead upon the beach!" rob listened to this sad tale with real sympathy. "but i didn't come here in a boat," said he. the men sprang to their feet with white, scared faces. "no boat!" they cried; "are you, too, shipwrecked?" "no;" he answered. "i flew here through the air." and then he explained to them the wonderful electric traveling machine. but the sailors had no interest whatever in the relation. their disappointment was something awful to witness, and one of them laid his head upon his comrade's shoulder and wept with unrestrained grief, so weak and discouraged had they become through suffering. suddenly rob remembered that he could assist them, and took the box of concentrated food tablets from his pocket. "eat these," he said, offering one of each to the sailors. at first they could not understand that these small tablets would be able to allay the pangs of hunger; but when rob explained their virtues the men ate them greedily. within a few moments they were so greatly restored to strength and courage that their eyes brightened, their sunken cheeks flushed, and they were able to converse with their benefactor with calmness and intelligence. then the boy sat beside them upon the grass and told them the story of his acquaintance with the demon and of all his adventures since he had come into possession of the wonderful electric contrivances. in his present mood he felt it would be a relief to confide in some one, and so these poor, lonely men were the first to hear his story. when he related the manner in which he had clung to the turk while both ascended into the air, the elder of the two sailors listened with rapt attention, and then, after some thought, asked: "why couldn't you carry one or both of us to america?" rob took time seriously to consider this idea, while the sailors eyed him with eager interest. finally he said: "i'm afraid i couldn't support your weight long enough to reach any other land. it's a long journey, and you'd pull my arms out of joint before we'd been up an hour." their faces fell at this, but one of them said: "why couldn't we swing ourselves over your shoulders with a rope? our two bodies would balance each other and we are so thin and emaciated that we do not weigh very much." while considering this suggestion rob remembered how at one time five pirates had clung to his left leg and been carried some distance through the air. "have you a rope?" he asked. "no," was the answer; "but there are plenty of long, tough vines growing on the island that are just as strong and pliable as ropes." "then, if you are willing to run the chances," decided the boy, "i will make the attempt to save you. but i must warn you that in case i find i can not support the weight of your bodies i shall drop one or both of you into the sea." they looked grave at this prospect, but the biggest one said: "we would soon meet death from starvation if you left us here on the island; so, as there is at least a chance of our being able to escape in your company i, for one, am willing to risk being drowned. it is easier and quicker than being starved. and, as i'm the heavier, i suppose you'll drop me first." "certainly," declared rob, promptly. this announcement seemed to be an encouragement to the little sailor, but he said, nervously: "i hope you'll keep near the water, for i haven't a good head for heights--they always make me dizzy." "oh, if you don't want to go," began rob, "i can easily--" "but i do! i do! i do!" cried the little man, interrupting him. "i shall die if you leave me behind!" "well, then, get your ropes, and we'll do the best we can," said the boy. they ran to the trees, around the trunks of which were clinging many tendrils of greenish-brown vine which possessed remarkable strength. with their knives they cut a long section of this vine, the ends of which were then tied into loops large enough to permit the sailors to sit in them comfortably. the connecting piece rob padded with seaweed gathered from the shore, to prevent its cutting into his shoulders. "now, then," he said, when all was ready, "take your places." the sailors squatted in the loops, and rob swung the vine over his shoulders and turned the indicator of the traveling machine to "up." as they slowly mounted into the sky the little sailor gave a squeal of terror and clung to the boy's arm; but the other, although seemingly anxious, sat quietly in his place and made no trouble. "d--d--don't g--g--go so high!" stammered the little one, tremblingly; "suppose we should f--f--fall!" "well, s'pose we should?" answered rob, gruffly. "you couldn't drown until you struck the water, so the higher we are the longer you'll live in case of accident." this phase of the question seemed to comfort the frightened fellow somewhat; but, as he said, he had not a good head for heights, and so continued to tremble in spite of his resolve to be brave. the weight on rob's shoulders was not so great as he had feared, the traveling machine seeming to give a certain lightness and buoyancy to everything that came into contact with its wearer. as soon as he had reached a sufficient elevation to admit of good speed he turned the indicator once more to the east and began moving rapidly through the air, the shipwrecked sailors dangling at either side. "this is aw--aw--awful!" gasped the little one. "say, you shut up!" commanded the boy, angrily. "if your friend was as big a coward as you are i'd drop you both this minute. let go my arm and keep quiet, if you want to reach land alive." the fellow whimpered a little, but managed to remain silent for several minutes. then he gave a sudden twitch and grabbed rob's arm again. "s'pose--s'pose the vine should break!" he moaned, a horrified look upon his face. "i've had about enough of this," said rob, savagely. "if you haven't any sense you don't deserve to live." he turned the indicator on the dial of the machine and they began to descend rapidly. the little fellow screamed with fear, but rob paid no attention to him until the feet of the two suspended sailors were actually dipping into the waves, when he brought their progress to an abrupt halt. "wh--wh--what are you g--g--going to do?" gurgled the cowardly sailor. "i'm going to feed you to the sharks--unless you promise to keep your mouth shut," retorted the boy. "now, then; decide at once! which will it be--sharks or silence?" "i won't say a word--'pon my honor, i won't!" said the sailor shudderingly. "all right; remember your promise and we'll have no further trouble," remarked rob, who had hard work to keep from laughing at the man's abject terror. once more he ascended and continued the journey, and for several hours they rode along swiftly and silently. rob's shoulders were beginning to ache with the continued tugging of the vine upon them, but the thought that he was saving the lives of two unfortunate fellow-creatures gave him strength and courage to persevere. night was falling when they first sighted land; a wild and seemingly uninhabited stretch of the american coast. rob made no effort to select a landing place, for he was nearly worn out with a strain and anxiety of the journey. he dropped his burden upon the brow of a high bluff overlooking the sea and, casting the vine from his shoulders, fell to the earth exhausted and half fainting. . the coast of oregon when he had somewhat recovered, rob sat up and looked around him. the elder sailor was kneeling in earnest prayer, offering grateful thanks for his escape from suffering and death. the younger one lay upon the ground sobbing and still violently agitated by recollections of the frightful experiences he had undergone. although he did not show his feelings as plainly as the men, the boy was none the less gratified at having been instrumental in saving the lives of two fellow-beings. the darkness was by this time rapidly enveloping them, so rob asked his companions to gather some brushwood and light a fire, which they quickly did. the evening was cool for the time of year, and the heat from the fire was cheering and grateful; so they all lay near the glowing embers and fell fast asleep. the sound of voices aroused rob next morning, and on opening his eyes and gazing around he saw several rudely dressed men approaching. the two shipwrecked sailors were still sound asleep. rob stood up and waited for the strangers to draw near. they seemed to be fishermen, and were much surprised at finding three people asleep upon the bluff. "whar 'n thunder 'd ye come from?" asked the foremost fisherman, in a surprised voice. "from the sea," replied the boy. "my friends here are shipwrecked sailors from the 'cynthia jane.'" "but how'd ye make out to climb the bluff?" inquired a second fisherman; "no one ever did it afore, as we knows on." "oh, that is a long story," replied the boy, evasively. the two sailors had awakened and now saluted the new-comers. soon they were exchanging a running fire of questions and answers. "where are we?" rob heard the little sailor ask. "coast of oregon," was the reply. "we're about seven miles from port orford by land an' about ten miles by sea." "do you live at port orford?" inquired the sailor. "that's what we do, friend; an' if your party wants to join us we'll do our best to make you comf'table, bein' as you're shipwrecked an' need help." just then a loud laugh came from another group, where the elder sailor had been trying to explain rob's method of flying through the air. "laugh all you want to," said the sailor, sullenly; "it's true--ev'ry word of it!" "mebbe you think it, friend," answered a big, good-natured fisherman; "but it's well known that shipwrecked folks go crazy sometimes, an' imagine strange things. your mind seems clear enough in other ways, so i advise you to try and forget your dreams about flyin'." rob now stepped forward and shook hands with the sailors. "i see you have found friends," he said to them, "so i will leave you and continue my journey, as i'm in something of a hurry." both sailors began to thank him profusely for their rescue, but he cut them short. "that's all right. of course i couldn't leave you on that island to starve to death, and i'm glad i was able to bring you away with me." "but you threatened to drop me into the sea," remarked the little sailor, in a grieved voice. "so i did," said rob, laughing; "but i wouldn't have done it for the world--not even to have saved my own life. good-by!" he turned the indicator and mounted skyward, to the unbounded amazement of the fishermen, who stared after him with round eyes and wide open mouths. "this sight will prove to them that the sailors are not crazy," he thought, as he turned to the south and sped away from the bluff. "i suppose those simple fishermen will never forget this wonderful occurrence, and they'll probably make reg'lar heroes of the two men who have crossed the pacific through the air." he followed the coast line, keeping but a short distance above the earth, and after an hour's swift flight reached the city of san francisco. his shoulders were sore and stiff from the heavy strain upon them of the previous day, and he wished more than once that he had some of his mother's household liniment to rub them with. yet so great was his delight at reaching once more his native land that all discomforts were speedily forgotten. much as he would have enjoyed a day in the great metropolis of the pacific slope, rob dared not delay longer than to take a general view of the place, to note its handsome edifices and to wonder at the throng of chinese inhabiting one section of the town. these things were much more plainly and quickly viewed by rob from above than by threading a way through the streets on foot; for he looked down upon the city as a bird does, and covered miles with a single glance. having satisfied his curiosity without attempting to alight, he turned to the southeast and followed the peninsula as far as palo alto, where he viewed the magnificent buildings of the university. changing his course to the east, he soon reached mount hamilton, and, being attracted by the great tower of the lick observatory, he hovered over it until he found he had attracted the excited gaze of the inhabitants, who doubtless observed him very plainly through the big telescope. but so unreal and seemingly impossible was the sight witnessed by the learned astronomers that they have never ventured to make the incident public, although long after the boy had darted away into the east they argued together concerning the marvelous and incomprehensible vision. afterward they secretly engrossed the circumstance upon their records, but resolved never to mention it in public, lest their wisdom and veracity should be assailed by the skeptical. meantime rob rose to a higher altitude, and sped swiftly across the great continent. by noon he sighted chicago, and after a brief inspection of the place from the air determined to devote at least an hour to forming the acquaintance of this most wonderful and cosmopolitan city. . a narrow escape the auditorium tower, where "the weather man" sits to flash his reports throughout the country, offered an inviting place for the boy to alight. he dropped quietly upon the roof of the great building and walked down the staircase until he reached the elevators, by means of which he descended to the ground floor without exciting special attention. the eager rush and hurry of the people crowding the sidewalks impressed rob with the idea that they were all behind time and were trying hard to catch up. he found it impossible to walk along comfortably without being elbowed and pushed from side to side; so a half hour's sight-seeing under such difficulties tired him greatly. it was a beautiful afternoon, and finding himself upon the lake front, rob hunted up a vacant bench and sat down to rest. presently an elderly gentleman with a reserved and dignified appearance and dressed in black took a seat next to the boy and drew a magazine from his pocket. rob saw that he opened it to an article on "the progress of modern science," in which he seemed greatly interested. after a time the boy remembered that he was hungry, not having eaten a tablet in more than twenty-four hours. so he took out the silver box and ate one of the small, round disks it contained. "what are those?" inquired the old gentleman in a soft voice. "you are too young to be taking patent medicines." "there are not medicines, exactly," answered the boy, with a smile. "they are concentrated food tablets, sorted with nourishment by means of electricity. one of them furnishes a person with food for an entire day." the old gentleman stared at rob a moment and then laid down his magazine and took the box in his hands, examining the tablets curiously. "are these patented?" he asked. "no," said rob; "they are unknown to any one but myself." "i will give you a half million dollars for the recipe to make them," said the gentleman. "i fear i must refuse your offer," returned rob, with a laugh. "i'll make it a million," said the gentleman, coolly. rob shook his head. "money can't buy the recipe," he said; "for i don't know it myself." "couldn't the tablets be chemically analyzed, and the secret discovered?" inquired the other. "i don't know; but i'm not going to give any one the chance to try," declared the boy, firmly. the old gentleman picked up his magazine without another word, and resumed his reading. for amusement rob took the record of events from his pocket and began looking at the scenes reflected from its polished plate. presently he became aware that the old gentleman was peering over his shoulder with intense interest. general funston was just then engaged in capturing the rebel chief, aguinaldo, and for a few moments both man and boy observed the occurrence with rapt attention. as the scene was replaced by one showing a secret tunnel of the russian nihilists, with the conspirators carrying dynamite to a recess underneath the palace of the czar, the gentleman uttered a long sigh and asked: "will you sell that box?" "no," answered rob, shortly, and put it back into his pocket. "i'll give you a million dollars to control the sale in chicago alone," continued the gentleman, with an eager inflection in his smooth voice. "you seem quite anxious to get rid of money," remarked rob, carelessly. "how much are you worth?" "personally?" "yes." "nothing at all, young man. i am not offering you my own money. but with such inventions as you have exhibited i could easily secure millions of capital. suppose we form a trust, and place them upon the market. we'll capitalize it for a hundred millions, and you can have a quarter of the stock--twenty-five millions. that would keep you from worrying about grocery bills." "but i wouldn't need groceries if i had the tablets," said rob, laughing. "true enough! but you could take life easily and read your newspaper in comfort, without being in any hurry to get down town to business. twenty-five millions would bring you a cozy little income, if properly invested." "i don't see why one should read newspapers when the record of events shows all that is going on in the world," objected rob. "true, true! but what do you say to the proposition?" "i must decline, with thanks. these inventions are not for sale." the gentleman sighed and resumed his magazine, in which he became much absorbed. rob put on the character marking spectacles and looked at him. the letters "e," "w" and "c" were plainly visible upon the composed, respectable looking brow of his companion. "evil, wise and cruel," reflected rob, as he restored the spectacles to his pocket. "how easily such a man could impose upon people. to look at him one would think that butter wouldn't melt in his mouth!" he decided to part company with this chance acquaintance and, rising from his seat, strolled leisurely up the walk. a moment later, on looking back, he discovered that the old gentleman had disappeared. he walked down state street to the river and back again, amused by the activity displayed in this busy section of the city. but the time he had allowed himself in chicago had now expired, so he began looking around for some high building from the roof of which he could depart unnoticed. this was not at all difficult, and selecting one of many stores he ascended by an elevator to the top floor and from there mounted an iron stairway leading to the flat roof. as he climbed this stairway he found himself followed by a pleasant looking young man, who also seemed desirous of viewing the city from the roof. annoyed at the inopportune intrusion, rob's first thought was to go back to the street and try another building; but, upon reflecting that the young man was not likely to remain long and he would soon be alone, he decided to wait. so he walked to the edge of the roof and appeared to be interested in the scenery spread out below him. "fine view from here, ain't it?" said the young man, coming up to him and placing his hand carelessly upon the boy's shoulder. "it is, indeed," replied rob, leaning over the edge to look into the street. as he spoke he felt himself gently but firmly pushed from behind and, losing his balance, he plunged headforemost from the roof and whirled through the intervening space toward the sidewalk far below. terrified though he was by the sudden disaster, the boy had still wit enough remaining to reach out his right hand and move the indicator of the machine upon his left wrist to the zero mark. immediately he paused in his fearful flight and presently came to a stop at a distance of less than fifteen feet from the flagstones which had threatened to crush out his life. as he stared downward, trying to recover his self-possession, he saw the old gentleman he had met on the lake front standing just below and looking at him with a half frightened, half curious expression in his eyes. at once rob saw through the whole plot to kill him and thus secure possession of his electrical devices. the young man upon the roof who had attempted to push him to his death was a confederate of the innocent appearing old gentleman, it seemed, and the latter had calmly awaited his fall to the pavement to seize the coveted treasures from his dead body. it was an awful idea, and rob was more frightened than he had ever been before in his life--or ever has been since. but now the shouts of a vast concourse of amazed spectators reached the boy's ears. he remembered that he was suspended in mid-air over the crowded street of a great city, while thousands of wondering eyes were fixed upon him. so he quickly set the indicator to the word "up," and mounted sky-ward until the watchers below could scarcely see him. then he fled away into the east, even yet shuddering with the horror of his recent escape from death and filled with disgust at the knowledge that there were people who held human life so lightly that they were willing to destroy it to further their own selfish ends. "and the demon wants such people as these to possess his electrical devices, which are as powerful to accomplish evil when in wrong hands as they are good!" thought the boy, resentfully. "this would be a fine world if electric tubes and records of events and traveling machines could be acquired by selfish and unprincipled persons!" so unnerved was rob by his recent experiences that he determined to make no more stops. however, he alighted at nightfall in the country, and slept upon the sweet hay in a farmer's barn. but, early the next morning, before any one else was astir, he resumed his journey, and at precisely ten o'clock of this day, which was saturday, he completed his flying trip around the world by alighting unobserved upon the well-trimmed lawn of his own home. . rob makes a resolution when rob opened the front door he came face to face with nell, who gave an exclamation of joy and threw herself into his arms. "oh, rob!" she cried, "i'm so glad you've come. we have all been dreadfully worried about you, and mother--" "well, what about mother?" inquired the boy, anxiously, as she paused. "she's been very ill, rob; and the doctor said to-day that unless we heard from you soon he would not be able to save her life. the uncertainty about you is killing her." rob stood stock still, all the eager joy of his return frozen into horror at the thought that he had caused his dear mother so much suffering. "where is she, nell?" he asked, brokenly. "in her room. come; i'll take you to her." rob followed with beating heart, and soon was clasped close to his mother's breast. "oh, my boy--my dear boy!" she murmured, and then for very joy and love she was unable to say more, but held him tight and stroked his hair gently and kissed him again and again. rob said little, except to promise that he would never again leave home without her full consent and knowledge. but in his mind he contrasted the love and comfort that now surrounded him with the lonely and unnatural life he had been leading and, boy though he was in years, a mighty resolution that would have been creditable to an experienced man took firm root in his heart. he was obliged to recount all his adventures to his mother and, although he made light of the dangers he had passed through, the story drew many sighs and shudders from her. when luncheon time arrived he met his father, and mr. joslyn took occasion to reprove his son in strong language for running away from home and leaving them filled with anxiety as to his fate. however, when he saw how happy and improved in health his dear wife was at her boy's return, and when he had listened to rob's manly confession of error and expressions of repentance, he speedily forgave the culprit and treated him as genially as ever. of course the whole story had to be repeated, his sisters listening this time with open eyes and ears and admiring their adventurous brother immensely. even mr. joslyn could not help becoming profoundly interested, but he took care not to show any pride he might feel in his son's achievements. when his father returned to his office rob went to his own bed-chamber and sat for a long time by the window in deep thought. when at last he aroused himself, he found it was nearly four o'clock. "the demon will be here presently," he said, with a thrill of aversion, "and i must be in the workshop to receive him." silently he stole to the foot of the attic stairs and then paused to listen. the house seemed very quiet, but he could hear his mother's voice softly humming a cradle-song that she had sung to him when he was a baby. he had been nervous and unsettled and a little fearful until then, but perhaps the sound of his mother's voice gave him courage, for he boldly ascended the stairs and entered the workshop, closing and locking the door behind him. . the unhappy fate of the demon again the atmosphere quickened and pulsed with accumulating vibrations. again the boy found himself aroused to eager expectancy. there was a whirl in the air; a crackling like distant musketry; a flash of dazzling light--and the demon stood before him for the third time. "i give you greetings!" said he, in a voice not unkindly. "good afternoon, mr. demon," answered the boy, bowing gravely. "i see you have returned safely from your trip," continued the apparition, cheerfully, "although at one time i thought you would be unable to escape. indeed, unless i had knocked that tube from the rascally turk's hand as he clambered to the top of the wall, i believe you would have been at the yarkand oasis yet--either dead or alive, as chance might determine." "were you there?" asked rob. "to be sure. and i recovered the tube for you, without which you would have been helpless. but that is the only time i saw fit to interfere in any way." "i'm afraid i did not get a chance to give many hints to inventors or scientists," said rob. "true, and i have deeply regretted it," replied the demon. "but your unusual powers caused more astonishment and consternation than you, perhaps, imagined; for many saw you whom you were too busy to notice. as a result several able electricians are now thinking new thoughts along new lines, and some of them may soon give these or similar inventions to the world." "you are satisfied, then?" asked rob. "as to that," returned the demon, composedly, "i am not. but i have hopes that with the addition of the three marvelous devices i shall present you with to-day you will succeed in arousing so much popular interest in electrical inventions as to render me wholly satisfied with the result of this experiment." rob regarded the brilliant apparition with a solemn face, but made no answer. "no living person," continued the demon, "has ever before been favored with such comforting devices for the preservation and extension of human life as yourself. you seem quite unappreciative, it is true; but since our connection i have come to realize that you are but an ordinary boy, with many boyish limitations; so i do not condemn your foolish actions too harshly." "that is kind of you," said rob. "to prove my friendliness," pursued the demon, "i have brought, as the first of to-day's offerings this electro-magnetic restorer. you see it is shaped like a thin metal band, and is to be worn upon the brow, clasping at the back of the head. its virtues surpass those of either the fabulous 'fountain of youth,' or the 'elixir of life,' so vainly sought for in past ages. for its wearer will instantly become free from any bodily disease or pain and will enjoy perfect health and vigor. in truth, so great are its powers that even the dead may be restored to life, provided the blood has not yet chilled. in presenting you with this appliance, i feel i am bestowing upon you the greatest blessing and most longed-for boon ever bequeathed of suffering humanity." here he held the slender, dull-colored metallic band toward the boy. "keep it," said rob. the demon started, and gave him an odd look. "what did you say?" he asked. "i told you to keep it," answered rob. "i don't want it." the demon staggered back as if he had been struck. "don't want it!" he gasped. "no; i've had enough of your infernal inventions!" cried the boy, with sudden anger. he unclasped the traveling machine from his wrist and laid it on the table beside the demon. "there's the thing that's responsible for most of my troubles," said he, bitterly. "what right has one person to fly through the air while all his fellow-creatures crawl over the earth's surface? and why should i be cut off from all the rest of the world because you have given me this confounded traveling machine? i didn't ask for it, and i won't keep it a moment longer. give it to some one you hate more than you do me!" the demon stared aghast and turned his glittering eyes wonderingly from rob to the traveling machine and back again, as if to be sure he had heard and seen aright. "and here are your food tablets," continued the boy, placing the box upon the table. "i've only enjoyed one square meal since you gave them to me. they're all right to preserve life, of course, and answer the purpose for which they were made; but i don't believe nature ever intended us to exist upon such things, or we wouldn't have the sense of taste, which enables us to enjoy natural food. as long as i'm a human being i'm going to eat like a human being, so i've consumed my last electrical concentrated food tablet--and don't you forget it!" the demon sank into a chair, nerveless and limp, but still staring fearfully at the boy. "and there's another of your unnatural devices," said rob, putting the automatic record of events upon the table beside the other things. "what right have you to capture vibrations that radiate from private and secret actions and discover them to others who have no business to know them? this would be a fine world if every body could peep into every one else's affairs, wouldn't it? and here is your character marker. nice thing for a decent person to own, isn't it? any one who would take advantage of such a sneaking invention as that would be worse than a thief! oh, i've used them, of course, and i ought to be spanked for having been so mean and underhanded; but i'll never be guilty of looking through them again." the demon's face was frowning and indignant. he made a motion to rise, but thought better of it and sank back in his chair. "as for the garment of protection," resumed the boy, after a pause, "i've worn it for the last time, and here it is, at your service. i'll put the electric tube with it. not that these are such very bad things in themselves, but i'll have none of your magical contrivances. i'll say this, however: if all armies were equipped with electrical tubes instead of guns and swords the world would be spared a lot of misery and unnecessary bloodshed. perhaps in time; but that time hasn't arrived yet." "you might have hastened it," said the demon, sternly, "if you had been wise enough to use your powers properly." "that's just it," answered rob. "i'm not wise enough. nor is the majority of mankind wise enough to use such inventions as yours unselfishly and for the good of the world. if people were better, and every one had an equal show, it would be different." for some moments the demon sat quietly thinking. finally the frown left his face and he said, with animation: "i have other inventions, which you may use without any such qualms of conscience. the electro-magnetic restorer i offered you would be a great boon to your race, and could not possibly do harm. and, besides this, i have brought you what i call the illimitable communicator. it is a simple electric device which will enable you, wherever you may be, to converse with people in any part of the world, without the use of such crude connections as wires. in fact, you may--" "stop!" cried rob. "it is useless for you to describe it, because i'll have nothing more to do with you or your inventions. i have given them a fair trial, and they've got me into all sorts of trouble and made all my friends miserable. if i was some high-up scientist it would be different; but i'm just a common boy, and i don't want to be anything else." "but, your duty--" began the demon. "my duty i owe to myself and to my family," interrupted rob. "i have never cultivated science, more than to fool with some simple electrical experiments, so i owe nothing to either science or the demon of electricity, so far as i can see." "but consider," remonstrated the demon, rising to his feet and speaking in a pleading voice, "consider the years that must elapse before any one else is likely to strike the master key! and, in the meanwhile, consider my helpless position, cut off from all interest in the world while i have such wonderful inventions on my hands for the benefit of mankind. if you have no love for science or for the advancement of civilization, do have some consideration for your fellow-creatures, and for me!" "if my fellow-creatures would have as much trouble with your electrical inventions as i had, i am doing them a service by depriving them of your devices," said the boy. "as for yourself, i've no fault to find with you, personally. you're a very decent sort of demon, and i've no doubt you mean well; but there's something wrong about our present combination, i'm sure. it isn't natural." the demon made a gesture of despair. "why, oh why did not some intelligent person strike the master key!" he moaned. "that's it!" exclaimed rob. "i believe that's the root of the whole evil." "what is?" inquired the demon, stupidly. "the fact that an intelligent person did not strike the master key. you don't seem to understand. well, i'll explain. you're the demon of electricity, aren't you?" "i am," said the other, drawing himself up proudly. "your mission is to obey the commands of whoever is able to strike the master key of electricity." "that is true." "i once read in a book that all things are regulated by exact laws of nature. if that is so you probably owe your existence to those laws." the demon nodded. "doubtless it was intended that when mankind became intelligent enough and advanced enough to strike the master key, you and all your devices would not only be necessary and acceptable to them, but the world would be prepared for their general use. that seems reasonable, doesn't it?" "perhaps so. yes; it seems reasonable," answered the demon, thoughtfully. "accidents are always liable to happen," continued the boy. "by accident the master key was struck long before the world of science was ready for it--or for you. instead of considering it an accident and paying no attention to it you immediately appeared to me--a mere boy--and offered your services." "i was very anxious to do something," returned the demon, evasively. "you've no idea how stupid it is for me to live invisible and unknown, while all the time i have in my possession secrets of untold benefit to the world." "well, you'll have to keep cool and bide your time," said rob. "the world wasn't made in a minute, and while civilization is going on at a pretty good pace, we're not up to the demon of electricity yet." "what shall i do!" groaned the apparition, wringing his hands miserably; "oh, what shall i do!" "go home and lie down," replied rob, sympathetically. "take it easy and don't get rattled. nothing was every created without a use, they say; so your turn will come some day, sure! i'm sorry for you, old fellow, but it's all your own fault." "you are right!" exclaimed the demon, striding up and down the room, and causing thereby such a crackling of electricity in the air that rob's hair became rigid enough to stand on end. "you are right, and i must wait--wait--wait--patiently and silently--until my bonds are loosed by intelligence rather than chance! it is a dreary fate. but i must wait--i must wait--i must wait!" "i'm glad you've come to your senses," remarked rob, drily. "so, if you've nothing more to say--" "no! i have nothing more to say. there is nothing more to say. you and i are two. we should never had met!" retorted the demon, showing great excitement. "oh, i didn't seek your acquaintance," said rob. "but i've tried to treat you decently, and i've no fault to find with you except that you forgot you were a slave and tried to be a master." the demon did not reply. he was busily forcing the various electrical devices that rob had relinquished into the pockets of his fiery jacket. finally he turned with an abrupt movement. "good-by!" he cried. "when mortal eyes next behold me they will be those of one fit to command my services! as for you, your days will be passed in obscurity and your name be unknown to fame. good-by,--forever!" the room filled with a flash of white light so like a sheet of lightning that the boy went reeling backwards, half stunned and blinded by its dazzling intensity. when he recovered himself the demon of electricity had disappeared. rob's heart was very light as he left the workshop and made his way down the attic stairs. "some people might think i was a fool to give up those electrical inventions," he reflected; "but i'm one of those persons who know when they've had enough. it strikes me the fool is the fellow who can't learn a lesson. i've learned mine, all right. it's no fun being a century ahead of the times!" note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the boy from the ranch or roy bradner's city experiences by frank v. webster author of "only a farm boy," "the newsboy partners," "bob the castaway," "the young treasure hunter," etc. illustrated [frontispiece: "some fired their revolvers"] new york cupples & leon company publishers copyright, , by cupples & leon company the boy from the ranch contents chapter i. roy receives a message ii. mr. bradner is suspicious iii. a farewell ride iv. roy is puzzled v. a queer bed vi. a sudden awakening vii. a game on the train viii. a stop for repairs ix. the dude is swindled x. roy gains a friend xi. roy stops a runaway xii. at the hotel xiii. a visit to mr. annister xiv. roy's trick xv. caleb annister is surprised xvi. some new experiences xvii. caleb annister makes plans xviii. roy in danger xix. roy is missing xx. in the tenement xxi. a dangerous descent xxii. getting a clue xxiii. a lawyer's advice xxiv. another rascally attempt xxv. the round-up--conclusion list of illustrations "some fired their revolvers" . . . . . . _frontispiece_ "look out," cried roy, "they are swindlers!" "get out of my office!" "i think you'll stay there for a while," said wakely. the boy from the ranch chapter i roy receives a message "hi there, low bull, ruste [transcriber's note: rustle?] around the other way and round up them steers! hustle now! what's the matter with you? want to go to sleep on the trail?" billy carew, foreman of the triple o ranch, addressed these remarks to a rather ugly-looking indian, who was riding a pony that seemed much too small for him. the indian, who was employed as a cowboy, was letting his steed amble slowly along, paying little attention to the work of rounding up the cattle. "come now, low bull, get a move on," advised the foreman. "make believe you're hunting palefaces," he added, and then, speaking in a lower tone he said: "this is the last time i'll ever hire a lazy indian to help round-up." "what's the matter, billy?" asked a tall, well-built lad, riding up to the foreman. "matter? everything's the matter. here i foolishly go and give low bull charge of the left wing of rounding up these steers, and he's so lazy and good-for-nothing that he'll let half of 'em get away 'fore we get back to the ranch. get a move on you now!" he called to the indian, and, seeing that the foreman was very much in earnest, low bull urged his pony to a gallop, and began to get the straggling steers into some kind of shape. "can't i help you, billy?" asked the boy. since he is to figure largely in this story i shall give you a brief description of him. roy bradner was the only son of james bradner, who owned a large ranch, near the town of painted stone, in colorado. the boy's mother was dead, and he had lived with his father on the ranch ever since he was a baby. spending much of his time in the open air, roy had become almost as strong and sturdy as a man, and in some respects he could do the work of one. he was quite expert in managing horses, even steeds that had never known a saddle, and at throwing the lariat, or lasso, few on the ranch could beat him. he was a good shot with the revolver and rifle, and, in short, was a typical western boy. "can't i help you, billy?" the lad asked again, as he saw the foreman had not appeared to hear his question. "yes, i wish you would, roy. ride up there alongside of low bull, and sort of keep him up to the mark. it sure looks as if he was going to sleep in the saddle." "i'll do it, billy. where are we going to camp to-night?" "well, i guess if we make a few miles more i'll call it a day's work and quit. we've done pretty well, and if low bull would have done his share, we'd be nearer the ranch than we are now. i don't want any better round-up men than nesting henderson and the rest, but we need another man, and that's why i had to take low bull along. but i'll know better next time." "never mind, billy. i'll see if i can't keep him on the go," said roy, and, with a ringing shout, to hurry up some lagging steers, he touched his horse lightly with the spurs, and dashed toward where the indian was making a half-hearted effort to keep his division of the drive from straggling. "i've come to help you, low bull," announced roy, as he reached the side of the indian. "hu! boy heap smart!" grunted the redman. "steers like boy--go fast now." in fact it seemed as if the cattle knew some one was now behind them who would keep them on the move, for they quickened their pace. "i don't know whether they like me or not," remarked roy, with a laugh that showed his white teeth in contrast to his bronzed skin, "for i reckon if i happened to fall off my horse they'd trample over me mighty quick; they sure would." "hu! mebby so. steers no like men not on hoss," spoke low bull, stating a fact well known among cattlemen, for the steers of the plains are so used to seeing a man on a horse, that once a cowboy is dismounted the cattle become frightened, and are liable to stampede, and trample the unfortunate man to death. "billy says we must hurry the steers along," went on roy. "we're going to camp pretty soon, and he wants to get to the ranch as soon as possible, though i guess it will take us two days more." "no need so much rush," said low bull. "go slow be better. boy drive steers now, low bull take smoke and think. low bull much tired." "i guess he was born that way," thought roy, as he saw the redman start to make a cigarette, a habit he had learned from the white cowboys. low bull was soon smoking in peace and comfort, while he let his pony amble along at its own sweet will. the indian gave no further thought to the cattle, leaving the management of the stragglers to roy, and the lad had to dash here and there on his nimble pony, shouting and waving his lariat, to keep the lagging steers up with the rest of the herd. however, roy was so full of life, and took so much interest in his work, that he did not mind doing low bull's share, as well as his own. "that's just like that lazy indian," remarked billy carew, as he observed, from a distance, what roy was doing. "he'll let the boy do all the work. i'll discharge him after this round-up, that's what i'll do. might have known better than to hire one of them copper-skins!" roy, whose father owned the triple o ranch, had come out on this round-up about a week previously. on all big ranches it is the custom, at stated intervals to send out a party of men to round-up, or gather together, in herds, the cattle or horses that may have strayed to distant pastures. sometimes a week or more is spent on this work, the men sleeping out of doors, and making camp wherever darkness overtakes them. during the night they take turns riding around the cattle, to keep them from straying away. day by day the herd is driven nearer the ranch, until they are either placed in corrals, which are big pens, or are counted, brands put on the new calves, and turned out again, to roam about over the immense pastures, and fatten up for the market. mr. bradner was an extensive ranch owner, and had several herds of cattle. he was considered quite wealthy, but he had made his money by hard work, having very little when he first went out west with his wife and little boy. his wife had died soon after he reached colorado, and, after his baby days, roy had been brought up by his father. the boy liked the life on the ranch, and was fast becoming an expert along cattle lines. he was a good judge of steers and horses, and, while he knew nothing of city ways, never since a mere infant having been in anything larger than a town, and not having traveled more than a few miles, there was nothing about life on the plains but what he was acquainted with. after much hard riding roy managed to get that part of the herd entrusted to the indian, into compact form. then he came back to his companion, who was riding along as if he had nothing more to think about than keeping his cigarette lighted. "hu! heap smart boy!" grunted low bull. "know how make steers travel." "i should think you would know how to do it too," said roy. "you've always lived on the plains." "too much work. indian no like work. like sit an' think, an' smoke. no like work." "everybody's got to work in this world, low bull." "rich man no work. me like be rich man." "but the man sure had to work hard to get rich. i s'pose rich men feel that they can take life easy after they have earned a fortune." "indian no like work. drive cattle too hard. me quit soon," was all low bull replied. "yes, and if you don't quit i think billy will make you vamoose anyhow," murmured roy. low bull rolled another cigarette, and seemed to go to sleep under the influence of it. roy had to race off after a couple of straying steers, and had no further time for talking. when he had brought the cattle back, a long, shrill cry echoed over the plain. at the sound of it low bull seemed to wake up. "billy make camp now," he said. "soon supper--eat--low bull hungry." it was the signal for making camp, and, finding themselves no longer urged forward, the steers stopped, and began to crop the rich grass. the cowboys, of whom there were several, with joyful shouts, came riding up to the cook wagon, which had been pulled along in the rear, but which now came to a halt on the broad, rolling plain. "smoke" tardell started a fire from grease-wood, and began to prepare the evening meal. "set out plenty of grub, smoke," called one of the cowboys, riding close up to tardell, and playfully snatching his big sombrero off. "here! you let that be, bruce arkdell!" exclaimed the cook. "that's my new hat, an' i don't want it spoiled!" "give me an extra plate of beans, or i'll shoot a hole in it!" threatened the cowboy, drawing hit heavy revolver, and aiming it at the hat, which he held in one hand. "all right. you can have three platesful, but don't you spoil my hat!" cried the cook, as he received back his sombrero. "i never see such crazy chaps as them boys be when they're headed for the ranch," muttered "smoke," as he set the coffee pot over the fire. it did not take long to prepare the meal, and the cowboys crowded around the "grub wagon" as they called it. low bull was among them, his eyes greedy for food. "here, low bull," exclaimed billy carew, "you go out and ride around them steers awhile. they ain't quieted down yet, and i don't want no stampede now. ride around 'em, and make 'em feel easy." "after supper," said the indian. "no, now!" insisted the foreman. "low bull hungry. like eat." "low bull is going to stay hungry then, until some of the others have piled in their grub," declared billy. "i'll send somebody out to take your place, as soon as they've eaten. now vamoose!" "low bull like eat." "yes, i know. low bull like eat, but no like work. that's what's the matter with low bull," exclaimed billy with a laugh. "now git." the indian knew there was no use disputing this decision, so, with no very good grace, he started to ride slowly around the cattle, to keep them from moving off in a body. "i'll go out and relieve him in a little while," offered roy. "i'll soon be through supper." "you take your time now, son," advised billy. "it won't hurt that redskin to go hungry a while. maybe he'll be a little sprier after this." supper was soon served, and when roy had eaten his share he prepared to go out, and relieve low bull. he threw the saddle over his pony's back, and, having tightened the girths, was about to vault into place, when he and the other cowboys became aware that some one was riding in great haste toward the temporary camp. "somebody's coming," remarked bruce arkdell. "don't you s'pose we know it," said billy good naturedly. "we've got our sight yet." "yes, and it's porter simms, from the way he gallops," added the cook, shading his eyes from the setting sun, and peering across the prairies at the riding man. "'tis porter," confirmed billy. "wonder what he wants? hope nothing's happened." somehow the words sent a slight feeling of fear to roy's heart. the man might have bad news for some one in camp. "is roy here?" cried porter, as soon as he had come within talking distance. "yes, i'm here," replied the boy. "what's the matter? is it my father--?" "now don't go gettin' skeered," advised porter, as he pulled up his horse sharply. "i sure did ride fast to locate you, but your daddy wanted me to be sure to tell you, first-off, not to git skeered." "what's the matter?" asked roy, his heart fluttering. "well, your daddy's a little under the weather, and he wants for you to come back to the ranch right away. that's the message i was to give to you. don't wait to come in with the steers, but start right off. i'll stay here and take your place." "is he--was he very bad?" asked roy, who had left his father, seemingly, in perfect health. "no, not so very i guess. the doctor was there, and he didn't seem much put out. i reckon mr. bradner had a sort of a bad turn, that's all." "i'll start right away," decided roy. "if i ride all night i can get there by morning." "don't you want one of us to go with you?" asked billy. "no. i'm not afraid. i've done it before. smoke, will you pack me a little grub?" "surest thing you know!" exclaimed the cook, as he began to do up some bacon and bread. chapter ii mr. bradner is suspicious crowding around roy in ready sympathy, the cowboys questioned porter as to the state of affairs at the ranch. the messenger knew very little about it. he had been to a distant pasture land, when he had been summoned to the ranch house by another cowboy, who was sent after him. when he got back he found mr. bradner quite ill. "he said he wanted me to go for roy," went on porter, "'cause he knew i could ride fast. but he particular didn't want roy to git worried. he said it was as much a business matter as anything." "maybe he's goin' to die an' wants to make his will," suggested one of the cowboys. "here! what's the matter with you! don't you know no better than that?" demanded billy in a hoarse whisper. "want to give roy a scare? i'll peg you out if you do that again!" "i--i didn't think!" "no, i guess you didn't. lucky he didn't hear you. now you think twice before you speak once, after this." "here's your grub," announced the cook, holding out a big package to roy. it contained enough food for three men, but roy was a favorite with "smoke," as indeed he was with all the men on the ranch, and this was the only way the genius of the camp-fire could show his affection. "say, what do you think he goin' to do? be three days on the home trail?" asked billy. "he don't want no snack like that. he can't carry it." "i thought maybe he'd be hungry in the night." "i expect i will be, but not enough to get away with all that," remarked roy with a smile, as he saw the big package. "i just want a little bread, and some cold bacon." the cook, with a sigh at the thought of the boy not being able to eat all the food, made a smaller package. meanwhile roy was in the saddle, ready to travel, wondering what could be the matter with his father, and why his parent had sent for him in such a hurry. "got your gun?" asked porter. "yes," answered roy, tapping the pistol in its holster at his belt. "maybe you'd better take my pony," suggested billy. "he can travel faster than yours." "no; jack rabbit's good enough for me," replied the boy, patting his own pony on the neck. "yours may be a bit faster, but jack rabbit will stick longer. well, i'm off!" "good luck!" called billy. "don't worry!" advised porter. "we'll see you in a couple of days," shouted the other cowboys. "take care of yourself." "i will," said roy, as he called to his pony, who started off on a steady "lope" that rapidly carried him over the ground. now that he was away from the confusion of the camp, and had nothing to distract his mind, roy gave himself up to thoughts of his father. "he must be quite sick," he reasoned, "or he never would have sent for me in such a rush. i wonder if porter was afraid to tell me the truth?" for an instant the fear that his father might be dead, and that the cowboy had not dared to tell him of it, unnerved roy. then his natural braveness came back to him. "oh, pshaw! what's the use of thinking such gloomy thoughts," he said to himself. "maybe dad only had a little fit of indigestion, like he had before. i remember then i thought he sure was going to die. but porter said it was as much business as anything else. now what sort of business could dad have that he would need me in such a hurry?" roy did not see any prospect of his questions being answered, at least until he got to the ranch, and could talk to his father, so he continued on, urging his pony to a faster gait. it soon began to get dark, but roy did not mind this, as he had often ridden all night when on a round-up. of course, on such occasions he had been in company with his father's cowboys. still, the prospect of his lonely journey through the darkness did not alarm him. he knew the trail very well, from having been over it often, and, though there were occasionally ugly indians, or unemployed cowboys, to be met with on the plains, roy did not imagine he would have any trouble with them. he was armed, but he hoped he would have no occasion to draw his revolver. there were no wild animals, except steers, to be met and these, he knew, would be in herds under the care of competent men. besides a steer rarely attacks a man on a horse. so roy rode through the long night. about one o'clock he stopped, built a little grease-wood fire, and warmed his bacon. then he munched that and the bread with a good appetite, drinking some coffee the cook had given him in a flask. "i ought to get to the ranch by sun-up," thought the boy, and he was not mistaken, for, when the golden ball peeped up over the prairies roy saw the outbuildings of his father's big cattle farm. a little later he had ridden up to the ranch house, and dismounted. "my father! how is he?" he exclaimed, as he saw the cook on the verandah. "better," was the reply, and the boy felt a sense of relief. "much better. come right in and have some hot coffee. i've got it all ready for you." "not until i've seen my father," and roy hurried into the ranch house. "is that you, roy?" called a voice from a bedroom. "yes, father! how are you?" "considerable better. i hope you were not alarmed." "well, i was--some." roy saw that his father was in bed. the man looked quite pale, and on a stand, near him, were several bottles of medicine. "what is it, father?" asked roy. "what happened?" "well, nothing much, though i was afraid it was at the time. i got one of my bad spells of indigestion, and it affected my heart." "did you think you were going to die?" "well, i did, but the doctor only laughed at me. he said i was needlessly alarmed, and i think, now, that i was. but when i was in such pain, fearing something would happen, i thought of a business matter that needed attending to. i decided i had better get my affairs in shape--in case anything should happen, so i sent for you, to have a talk." "what sort of a talk, father?" "a business talk. i'm going to have you undertake something in an entirely new line. you're a pretty good cattleman now, and i want to see how you'll make out on a business deal." "what kind?" "i'll soon explain. but tell me; how is billy, and the boys?" "very well." "are they getting the cattle in good shape? where did porter find you?" "the cattle will be here to-morrow, i think. porter came up just as we were camping out near the small dried creek in the big swale," replied roy, describing the place so that his father would know it. "but now tell me about this business. i am glad you are better." "yes, i feel much improved. my indigestion is all gone, and i think i can eat breakfast. i'll tell you then." roy could hardly wait for the meal to be finished. after his father had had his repast in bed, mr. bradner told his son to close the door, and sit down close beside him. "i'm going to take you into my confidence," said the ranch owner. "it's time you knew something of my business affairs, and i am going to entrust you with a commission. a good deal depends on the success of it." "i hope i can do it, father." "i am pretty sure you can, or i would not let you go. now i'll tell you what it is. you do not know it, but i have an interest in some property, left by your mother's brother, your uncle henry mayfield. this property was left to your mother, and when she died the property came to me, and to you. that is, i have a third interest in it, and you have two-thirds." "that hardly seems fair. you should have more than i." "never mind, roy. in fact i intend that, in time, you shall have the whole of the property." "where is it located?" "in new york city." "new york? that is a long way off." "yes, a good many miles. in fact i have never seen the property. it is in charge of an agent--a real estate man. every month he sends me the money received for rent, and, for several years i have put your share away, at interest in a bank." "then i have some money saved up, and did not know it." "that is right, and it is quite a sum. but, of late, the rents have been falling off, until they are only about half what they were when your mother owned the property." "why is this?" "the agent says it is because the property has gone down in value, but i can not see how that is, as it is in a good part of new york, and that city is certainly not getting smaller." "how do you account for the rents being less, then?" "that is just the point. i can't account for it, and, to tell you the truth, i am suspicious of this real estate man." "who is he?" "his name is caleb annister." "what do you propose doing, dad? can't you get a lawyer to see him, and find out if he is cheating you?" "i suppose i could, but i have thought of a different plan. it came to me when i was lying sick here, and i decided to put it into operation, so as to straighten out my affairs as well as your own." "what's your plan, dad?" "i am going to send you to new york, to look up this property and the matter of rents, and see whether or not caleb annister is telling the truth, when he says that the value has gone down. roy, i want you to act as my agent, and start for new york at once!" chapter iii a farewell ride his father's announcement rather startled roy. he had never thought much of business, outside of that connected with the ranch, and now the idea of endeavoring to ascertain the value of property, and whether the agent of it was doing his duty, came as a sort of shock. but, more than this, was the idea of going to a big city. in all his life, as far as he could remember, roy had never been in any town of more than five thousand inhabitants. he had never, so far as he knew, taken more than a short ride in a railroad train. i say as far as he knew, for he had been born in chicago, but when he was an infant, his parents had gone out west, so while it was true that he had lived in a big city, and had made quite a railroad journey, he knew nothing about it, except what his father had told him. "you want me to go to new york, dad?" he repeated, wondering if he had heard aright. "that's it. i want you to find out just exactly what caleb annister is doing." "but, i have had no experience in those lines." "i know you have not, but i think you can do what i want. all it needs is brains and common sense, and you have both." "but i have never been in a big city." "no, not since you were old enough to notice anything, but that need not worry you. if i told you to go back to where the boys were rounding-up the cattle, you could do it; couldn't you?" "sure." "well, if you can find your way over the trackless plains i guess you can manage to get along in a big city, even if it is new york. all you have to do is to ask when you don't understand. i guess if some of those city boys came out here, they'd get lost a good deal quicker than you will in the streets of new york. now you had better get ready to start. i'll draw up some papers, and get some instructions ready for you. i think annister is trying to swindle you and me out of this property. if i was well enough i would go myself, but, as it is, i shall send you." "do you think you are well enough for me to leave you?" asked roy anxiously. "oh, yes, there is nothing serious the matter with me. i shall have to be careful of what i eat, that's all, and if i went to new york i'd probably be worse off than i am here, for i would want to try all sorts of new dishes, and my dyspepsia would be very bad." "very well, dad. i'll get ready at once. it sure will be a new experience for me. i'll round-up this caleb annister for you, rope him and put the branding iron on, if i find he's trying to get any of our mavericks into his herd." "that's the way to talk!" exclaimed mr. bradner. "you're a regular westerner, roy. don't let the ways of city folks bother you. do the best you know how, be polite to the ladies, respectful to the men, and don't let 'em bluff you! stick up for your rights, and don't be afraid of anybody. they may try to stampede you in new york, but you keep your head, and you'll come out all right." "i'll try, dad. when do you want me to start?" "to-morrow, if you can. the boys will be in from the round-up then." that day roy spent in getting his clothes packed in a big valise and a trunk. it was decided he should ride to the nearest railroad station, and there take a train for chicago, where he would have to change cars for new york. in the meanwhile mr. bradner drew up a paper giving his son the right to act in a certain capacity. this was put into legal form, and witnessed, a near-by notary being called in to attach his seal. "of course i don't know exactly how you will find the lay of the land there in new york," said mr. bradner that night, "as i have never been there. nor do i know this caleb annister. i have had considerable correspondence with him, and i take him to be a sharp business man. he may try to bluff you, but don't you stand for it. it might be a good plan to size him up first, before you tell him who you are." "that's what i'll do, dad." "you'll have to make your own plans when you get there," went on his father. "you may have to spend considerable money, so i'll give you a good sum in cash, and a draft on my new york bankers. if you get in a hole do the best you can, and telegraph me if you need help. just camp on the trail of this caleb annister, and see what his game is. it doesn't stand to reason that property in new york is shrinking in value. i think there is something wrong somewhere, and i depend on you to find it." "i hope i won't disappoint you, dad." "i don't believe you will, roy. now you had better get to bed, for it's quite late, and you'll have a hard journey ahead of you." roy did not feel a bit tired, for he was hardy and strong, but he did as his father suggested. he could not get to sleep at first thinking of his prospective trip, for he had always wanted to go to a big city, and now he had the chance. billy carew and the other cowboys came in the next morning with the steers, which were turned into a corral for branding purposes. roy told his friends of his journey. "prancing prairie dogs!" exclaimed billy. "i wish i was going. lickity thunder, but that's a great trip, clear to new york!" "we'll ride to the station with you," proposed bruce arkdell. "we'll give you a good send off!" "that's what we will!" chorused the others. roy was to start soon after dinner, as the chicago express would not stop at the railroad station of painted stone unless it was flagged. a little later a strange procession left the ranch house. roy and billy carew rode at the head, and all the cowboys who could be spared followed after. roy's trunk and valises were strapped on the back of a pack mule. mr. bradner, who was not quite well enough to stand the trip to the station, bade his son an affectionate good-bye, and wished him all success. "telegraph if you get into trouble," he said. "yes, and we'll all hot-foot it to the burg of new york, and shoot-up the town!" exclaimed billy. "we'll show 'em how a boy from the ranch can be took care of!" "i guess there'll be no need of that," remarked roy with a smile. it was several miles to the railroad station, and, on the way the cowboys rushed their ponies here and there, indulging in all sorts of antics, for they regarded it as a sort of a holiday, though they liked roy, and were sorry to see him leave. "now boys! give him a grand salute!" proposed bruce, when they came in sight of the station. the cowboys drew their revolvers, aimed them into the air, and fired them off as fast as they could pull their triggers. it sounded as though a small battle was in progress. "give him a yell!" suggested smoke tardell, and the ranchers shouted like wild indians. "here comes the train!" called billy carew, as a whistle was heard, and, down the long line of glistening rails, the smoke of a locomotive was seen. the station agent went out to flag the express. "take care of yourself," advised bruce. "bring me back a slice of new york," requested smoke. "i want it well done." "be careful you don't get 'well-done', roy," advised billy carew. "don't buy any gold bricks, or confederate money, and take care, roy, that them sharpers don't git ye!" he waved his big sombrero, an example followed by all the other cowboys, as roy climbed aboard the express. his trunk and valises were tumbled into the baggage car, the engineer blew two short blasts, and the train was off again, bearing roy to new york. his last view was of his father's cowboys, waving a farewell to him with their big hats, while some fired their revolvers, and others yelled at the top of their lungs. "i wonder when i'll see them again," thought roy. "i sort of hate to leave the old ranch, but i'm glad i'm going to new york." he did not know all that was before him, nor what was to happen before he again saw his friends, the cowboys. chapter iv roy is puzzled while roy's father had given him some instructions as to the best method of proceeding while in new york, mr. bradner had said nothing to his son about what he might expect on his railroad trip. therefore the boy was totally unprepared for the novelties of modern travel. mr. bradner had thought it wise to let his son find out things for himself. roy had never been in anything but an ordinary day coach, and those were of an old-fashioned type. but his father had purchased for him tickets all the way to new york in the pullman parlor and sleeping cars, and it was in a luxurious parlor car, then, that roy found himself when he boarded the express. at first the boy did not know what to make of it. the car had big chairs instead of the ordinary seats, the windows were nearly twice as large as those in other coaches, and there were silk and plush curtains hanging over them. besides there was a thick, soft velvety carpet on the floor of the coach, and, what with the inlaid and polished wood, the hangings, mirrors, brass and nickel-plated fixtures, roy thought he had, by mistake, gotten into the private car of some millionaire. he had occasionally seen the outside of these fine coaches as they rushed through painted stone, but he had never dreamed that he would be in one. so, as soon as he entered the coach, he started back. "what's de matter, sah?" inquired a colored porter in polite tones, as he came from what seemed a little cubby-hole built in the side of the car. "guess i'm in the wrong corral," remarked roy, who was so used to using western and cattle terms, that he did not consider how they would sound to other persons. "wrong corral, sah?" "yes; i must be mixed in with the wrong brand. where's the regular coach?" "oh, dis coach am all reg'lar, sah. reg'lar as can be. we ain't got none but reg'lar coaches on dis yeah express. no indeed, sah." "but i guess my ticket doesn't entitle me to a ride in a private car." "let me see youh ticket, sah." roy passed the negro the bit of pasteboard. "oh, yes indeedy, sah. youh is all right. dis am de coach youh g'wine to ride in. we goes all de way to chicago, sah." "is this for regular passengers?" asked roy, wondering how the railroad could afford to supply such luxurious cars. "well, it's fo' them as pays fo' it, sah. youh has got a ticket fo' de pullman car, an' dis am it, sah. let me show yo' to youh seat, sah." "well, i s'pose it's all right," remarked roy a little doubtfully. he saw several passengers smiling, and he wondered if they were laughing at him, or if he had made a mistake. he resolved to be careful, as he did not want it known that he was making a long journey for the first time. "heah's youh seat," went on the porter, escorting roy to a deep, soft chair. "i'll be right back yeah, an' if youh wants me, all youh has to do is push this yeah button," and he showed roy an electric button fixed near the window. "well, i don't know what i'll want of you," said the boy, trying to think what excuse he could have for calling the colored man. "why, sah, youh might want to git breshed off, or youh might want a book, or a cigar--" "i don't smoke," retorted roy promptly. "well, i'm here to wait on passengers," went on the negro, "and if youh wants me all youh has to do is push that yeah button." "all right--er--" he paused, not knowing what to call the porter. "mah name's george washington thomas jefferson st. louis algernon theophilus brown, but folks dey gen'ally calls me george, sah," and the porter grinned so that he showed every one of his big white teeth. "all right--george," said roy, beginning to understand something of matters. "i'll call you if i want you." "dey calls out when it's meal time." "what's that?" "i say dey calls out when it's meal time. de dining car potah will call out when it's time fo' dinner." "oh," remarked roy, rather dubiously, for he did not know exactly what was meant. the porter left him, laughing to himself at the lack of knowledge shown by the boy from the ranch, but for all that george washington st. louis algernon theophilus brown resolved to do all he could for roy. as for the young traveler he was so interested in the scenery, as it appeared to fly past the broad windows of the car, that he did not worry about what he was going to do when it came meal time. still, after an hour or so of looking out of the window it became a little tiresome, and he turned around to observe his fellow passengers. seated near him was a well-dressed man, who had quite a large watch chain strung across his vest. he had a sparkling stone in his necktie, and another in a ring on his finger. "your first trip east?" he asked, nodding in a friendly way to roy. "my first trip, of any account, anywhere. i haven't taken a long railroad journey since i was a baby, and i don't remember that." "i thought you looked as if you hadn't been a very great distance away from home. going far?" "to new york." "ah you have business there, i suppose?" now roy, though he was but a youth, unused to the ways of the world, had much natural shrewdness. he had been brought up in the breeziness of the west, where it is not considered good form, to say the least, to ask too many questions of a man. if a person wanted to tell you his affairs, that was a different matter. so, as roy's mission was more or less of a secret one, he decided it would not be well to talk about it, especially to strangers. so he answered: "yes, i have some business there." his manner was such that the man soon saw the boy did not care to talk about his affairs, and, being a keen observer, too much so for roy's good, as we shall soon see, the man did not pursue his questioning on those lines. "fine scenery," he remarked. "good, open country around here." roy felt that was a safe enough subject to talk about, and he and the man, who introduced himself as mr. phelan baker, spent some time in conversation. roy, however, was continually wondering what he should do when the announcement was made that dinner was to be served. he did not want to make any mistakes, and have the car full of passengers laugh at him, yet he did not know what was proper to do under the circumstances. he had neglected to inquire how they served meals on trains, and, in fact, had he done so, no one at the ranch could have told him, as not even mr. bradner had traveled enough to make it necessary to eat in a dining car. "if i was back at the ranch i'd know what to do when i heard the grub-call," thought roy. "but this thing has got me puzzled. it sure has. i wonder if they bring you in sandwiches and coffee, as they did to a party i went to? or do you have to go up and help yourself? i don't see how they cook anything on a train going as fast as this one. they must have to eat cold victuals. well, i guess i can stand it for a few days, i've eaten cold bacon and bread when on a round-up, and i'm not going to hold back now. guess i'll just do as the rest do." a little while after this a colored man, in a spotless white suit, passed through the parlor car, calling out: "dinner is now being served in the dining car. first call for dinner!" "well, it's up to me to go to grub now," thought roy. "i wonder how i'll make out?" chapter v a queer bed "are you going to eat on the first call?" asked mr. baker, rising from his comfortable chair and looking at roy. "i don't know--i think--yes, i guess i will." it suddenly occurred to the boy that he might take advantage of the acquaintance he had formed with the man, and observe just how he ought to conduct himself in the dining car. "i shall be glad of your company," spoke mr. baker, with a pleasant smile. "will you sit at my table?" "i'm not so very hungry," remarked roy, thinking that if he found things too strange he could call for something simple, though the truth was he had an excellent appetite. "i am not either," declared mr. baker. "i never eat much while traveling, but i think it best to have my meals regularly. now, if you'll come with me, we'll see what they have at this traveling hotel." he led the way from the parlor to the dining car. if roy had been astonished at the magnificence of the first coach he was doubly so at the scene which now met his eyes. arranged along both sides of the dining car, next to the broad, high windows, were small tables, sparkling with cut-glass and silver. in the center of each table was a small pot of graceful ferns, while throughout the car there were fine hangings, beautifully inlaid wood, and on the floor a soft carpet. it was, indeed, a fine traveling hotel. at the tables, not all of which were occupied, were seated beautiful women, some handsomely gowned, and there were men, attired in the height of fashion. for the first time roy felt rather ashamed of his ordinary "store" clothes, which were neither properly cut, nor of good material. "here is a good table," said mr. baker, indicating one about the center of the car. roy took his seat opposite his new acquaintance, a queer feeling of nervousness overcoming him. "i'd rather ride a bucking bronco any day, than be here," the boy thought. but he was not going to back out now. he knew he had the money to pay for whatever he ordered, and, he reflected that if he was not as stylishly dressed as the others, he was probably more hungry than any of them, for he had an early breakfast. as soon as roy and mr. baker were seated, a colored waiter glided swiftly to their table and filled their glasses from a curiously shaped vessel, called a "caraffe," which looked something like a bottle or flask, with a very large body, and a very small neck. inside was a solid lump of ice, which made the water cold. roy looked curiously at the piece of frozen crystal. mr. baker noted his look of astonishment. "don't you like ice water?" he asked. "yes, but i was wondering how in the world they ever got that big hunk of ice through the little neck of that bottle." "oh," exclaimed mr. baker with a laugh, "they first fill the caraffe with water, and then they freeze it in an ice machine they have on the train for keeping the other supplies from spoiling. it would be rather difficult to put that chunk of ice down through that narrow neck." roy understood now. he began to think he had lots to learn of the world, but there was more coming. the waiter placed a menu card in front of mr. baker, and laid one at roy's plate. he knew what they were, for he had several times taken dinner at a small hotel at painted stone. he was not prepared however for the queer language in which the menu card or bill of fare was printed. it was french, and the names of the most ordinary dishes were in that foreign tongue. roy was puzzled. he wanted a substantial meal, but he did not know how to order it. he was afraid to try to pronounce the odd looking words, and i am afraid if he had done so he would have made a mistake, as, indeed, better educated persons than he would have done. he had a wild notion of telling the waiter to bring everything on the bill of fare, but there seemed to be too many dishes. finally he decided on a course to pursue. the waiter was standing there, polite and all attention, for, though roy's clothes did not impress him as indicating a lad of wealth, mr. baker's attire was showy enough to allow the colored man to think he might receive a handsome tip. "i think i'll have a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee," said roy in desperation. he knew he was safe in ordering that, even if it was not on the card, though it might have been for all he knew, disguised under some odd name. mr. baker looked surprised. "i should say you hadn't any appetite," he remarked. then, as he understood the situation, and roy's embarrassment, he said: "suppose i order for both of us? i am used to this sort of thing." roy was grateful for this delicate way of putting it, and, with a sigh of relief, he replied: "i wish you would. i guess i've got a good appetite after all." thereupon mr. baker ordered a simple but substantial meal, including soup, fish, roast beef, potatoes and side dishes of vegetables, ending up with coffee and pie. "this is fine!" exclaimed roy, when he had finished. "i s'pose they charge about two dollars for grub like this?" several persons in the dining car smiled, for roy was used to shouting at cattle, and calling to cowboys, and had acquired a habit of speaking in rather loud tones. "no, this 'grub' will cost you one dollar," said mr. baker. "well, it's worth it," declared the boy, pulling out quite a roll of bills, for his father had been generous. at the sight of the money a greedy look came into the eyes of mr. baker, a look that would have warned roy had he seen it. but he was busy looking for a one-dollar bill among the fives and tens. "now, if you're ready we'll go back to the parlor car, and have a cigar in the smoking room," suggested mr. baker. "no, thank you. not for mine. i don't smoke." "well, it is a useless habit i suppose, but i am too old to change now. i'll join you presently," and the man went into a small compartment at one end of the parlor car, when they reached it, leaving roy to go to his chair alone. had the boy seen the three men whom mr. baker greeted in the smoking room, perhaps our hero would not have been quite so ready to continue his acquaintance with the man. for, in the little apartment were three individuals whose faces did not indicate any too much honesty, and whose clothes were on the same "flashy" order as were mr. baker's, though none of the trio had as expensive jewelry as had roy's new friend. "well, sport, how about you?" asked one of the men. "did you manage to pick up anything?" "not so loud, ike," cautioned mr. baker, addressing the man who had spoken, and whose name was isaac sutton. "i think i can put you on the track of something." "something good?" asked the third man, who was known as jerome hynard, though that was not his real name. "we want it with plenty of cash," added the last man, who was called dennison tupper. "this is a green kid, right from the ranch, going to new york," said phelan baker. "he's got quite a wad of money, and if you work the game right you may be able to get the most of it. i'll tell you how." then the four began to whisper, for they were laying a plot and were afraid of being overheard. all unconscious of the danger that threatened him, roy was back in the parlor car, enjoying the scenery, and thinking of the many strange things he would see in new york. for some reason mr. baker did not come back where roy was. perhaps he feared the boy might be suspicious of his sudden friendship, for mr. baker was a good reader of character, and he saw that roy, in spite of his lack of experience, was a shrewd lad. as for the young traveler, he began to get tired. he was unused to sitting still so long, and riding in a soft chair was very different from being on the back of the swift pony, galloping over the plains. "i wonder what they're going to do about bunks?" thought roy, as he looked about the car. "i don't fancy sleeping on these chairs, and i've heard they made the seats in the coaches up into bunks." roy had never seen a sleeping car, and imagined the coach he was in was one. he decided he would ask the porter about it soon, if he saw no signs of the beds being made up. he had his supper alone at a table in the dining car, mr. baker remaining with his three cronies, and out of roy's sight. profiting by his experience at dinner, the boy knew how to order a good meal. to his relief, soon after he got back to the parlor car, the porter who had first spoken to him, came up and announced: "youh berth will be ready any time youh want it, sah." "berth?" "yais, sah." roy did not know exactly what was meant. at the ranch that word was never used, a bed being a "bunk." "i don't think i care for any," said roy, deciding that was the safest way. "what's that, sah? youh ain't goin to sit up all night, be youh? mighty uncomfortable, sah. better take a bed. youh ticket calls fo' one, sah." "oh, you mean a bunk?" "bunk! ha! ha! youh western gen'men gwine to hab youh joke, i see. we calls 'em berths, sah." "is mine ready?" "jest as soon as youh want it. youh can go back in de sleeping car." this roy understood. he went back two coaches toward the rear, as directed by the porter, and found himself in still another kind of car. this had big plush seats, like small couches, facing each other, while, overhead, was a sort of sloping ceiling. "i don't see where there are many bunks here," the boy remarked to himself. he saw persons sitting in the seats, talking, and, finding one unoccupied, he took possession of it. soon a porter came in to him, examined his ticket, and asked: "do youh wish youh berth made up now, sah?" "guess i might as well," replied roy, wondering where the porter was going to get the bed from, and whether he was going to produce it from some unseen source, as a conjurer pulls rabbits out of tall hats. "ef youh jest kindly take the next seat, i'll make up your berth," said the porter, and roy moved back one place, but where he could still watch the colored man. that individual then proceeded to make up the berth. while the process is familiar to many of my young readers, it was a novelty to roy. with much wonder he watched the man lift up the cushions of the seats, take out blankets and pillows from the hollow places, and then slide the two bottoms of the seats together until they made a level place. then what roy had thought to be merely a slanting part of the ceiling was pulled down, revealing a broad shelf, that formed the upper berth or bed. on this shelf were sheets, blankets and other things needed for the beds. in a short time roy saw made before his eyes, where there had been only seats before, a comfortable "bunk" with pillows, white sheets, blankets, curtains hanging down in front and all complete. "now youh can turn in," said the porter with a smile, as he began to make up another berth. roy decided to wait a while, until he saw how other men travelers undressed, and when he saw one man retire behind the curtains, and, sitting on the edge of his berth, take off his shoes, and the heavier parts of his clothing, roy did likewise. thus the difficult problem of getting to bed was solved. chapter vi a sudden awakening stretching out in the comfortable berth roy thought he would soon fall asleep, as he was quite tired. but the novelty of his ride, the strange sensation of being whirled along many miles an hour while lying in bed, proved too much for him, and he found himself still wide-awake, though he had been in the berth an hour or more. the noise of the wheels, the rumble of the train, the click-clack as the wheels passed over rail joints or switches, the bumping and swaying motion, all served to drive sleep away from roy's eyes. he thought of many things, of what he would do when he got to new york, of his father, of caleb annister, and what he should say to the new yorker. finally, however, the very monotony of the noises began to make him feel drowsy. in a little while he found his eyes closing, and then, almost before he knew it, he was asleep. meanwhile, back in the smoking room, the three men and mr. baker were talking over their cigars. one of them produced a pack of cards, and they began to play. "maybe if isaac's game doesn't work, we can get him with these," suggested mr. baker, as he dealt the pasteboards to his companions. "maybe," agreed hynard. "what time is ike going to try it?" "about two o'clock. he'll be sure to be asleep then." back in his berth, some hours after this, roy was dreaming that he was being shaken in his bunk at the ranch house. he thought billy carew was urging him to get up early to go off on a round-up, and roy was trying to drive the sleep away from his eyes, and comply. suddenly he knew it was not a dream, but that some one was moving him, though very gently. then he became aware that a hand was being cautiously thrust under his pillow. roy did not stop to think--he acted. his instant impression was of thieves, and he did the most natural thing under the circumstances. he grabbed the hand that was being gently shoved under his pillow. instantly the wrist, which his fingers clasped, was snatched away, withdrawn from the curtains, and a voice exclaimed: "beg pardon. i was looking for your ticket. i'm the conductor. it's all right." roy thought the voice did not sound a bit like the voice of the conductor, who had spoken to him some time before. nor could the boy understand why a conductor should be feeling under his pillow for his ticket, when roy had, as was the custom, given him the bits of pasteboard, including his berth check, earlier in the evening. the conductor had said he would keep them until morning, to avoid the necessity of waking roy up to look at them during the night. "that's queer," thought the boy. he sat up in bed, and thrust his head through the curtains that hung down in front of his berth. down the aisle, which was dimly lighted, he saw a man hurrying toward the end of the car--the end where the smoking apartment was. "that wasn't the conductor," said roy to himself. "he has two brass buttons on the back of coat, and this chap hasn't any. i believe he was a thief, after my money. lucky i didn't put it under my pillow, or he'd have it now. i must be on the watch. no wonder billy carew warned me to be careful. i wonder who that fellow was?" roy had half a notion to get up and inform a porter or the conductor what had happened, but he did not like to dress in the middle of the night, and go hunting through the sleeping car for someone to speak to about the matter. "i'll just be on the watch," thought roy, "and if he comes back i'll be ready for him." however, he was not further disturbed that night, and soon fell asleep again, not forgetting, however, the precaution of hiding his pocketbook in the middle of his bed, under the blankets, where, if thieves tried to take it, they would first have to get him out of the berth. roy awakened shortly after sunrise the next morning. he was accustomed to early rising at the ranch, and this habit still clung to him. he managed to dress, while sitting on the edge of his berth, and then he reached down under the edge of it on the floor of the car, where, the night before, he had left his shoes. to his surprise they were gone. "that's funny," he thought. "i wonder if the fellow who didn't get my money, took my shoes for spite?" to make sure he stepped out into the aisle in his stocking feet, and looked under his berth. his shoes were not to be seen. "now i am in a pickle," thought the boy. "how am i going all the way to new york without shoes? i can't go out in my stocking feet to get a new pair, and i don't suppose there are any stores near the stations, where i could buy new ones. but that's the only thing i can do. i wonder if the train would wait long enough until i could send one of the porters to a store for a pair of shoes? it would be a funny thing to do, i guess, and, besides, he wouldn't know what size to get. i certainly am up against it!" as roy stood in the curtained aisle of the car, all alone, for none of the other travelers were up yet, he saw a colored porter approaching. something in the boy's manner prompted the man to ask: "can i do anything fo' youh, sah? you'se up early, sah." "i am looking for my shoes." "oh, youh shoes. i took 'em, sah." "you took 'em? what right have you taking my shoes? haven't you got any of your own?" and roy spoke sternly, for he thought this was too much; first an attempt made to rob him of his money, and then some one stealing his shoes. "where are they?" he went on. "i want 'em." "yais, sah. right away, sah. i jest took 'em a little while ago to blacken 'em, sah. i allers does that to the gen'men's shoes. i'll have 'em right back. did youh think i done stole 'em, sah?" "that's what i did," replied roy with a smile. "i thought i'd have to go to new york in my stocking feet." "ob, no indeedy, sah. i allers goes around and collects the gen'men's shoes early, 'fore they gits up. i takes 'em back to my place and i blacks 'em. den i brings 'em back." "that's quite an idea," said roy, now noticing that from under the berths of his fellow travelers the shoes were all missing. "yais, sah," went on the colored man. "and sometimes, sah, sometimes, youh know, de gen'men's gives me a little remembrance, sah, for blackenin' their shoes." "then i'll do the same," spoke roy, remembering what billy carew had told him of the necessity for "tipping" the car porters. "thank youh, sah. i'll have youh shoes back d'rectly, sah." the porter was as good as his word, and soon roy was able to put on his shoes, which he hardly recognized. the dust that had accumulated from his ride across the plains to the railroad depot had all been removed, and the leather shone brightly. he gave the porter a quarter of a dollar, for which the colored man returned profuse thanks. soon the other travelers began to get up. roy watched them go to the washroom and did likewise. he met mr. baker in there, and accepted an invitation to go to breakfast with him in the dining car. "did you sleep well last night?" asked the man with the big watch chain. "pretty well," replied roy, deciding to say nothing of the hand that was thrust under his pillow. he first wanted to make a few observations of his fellow passengers. after breakfast, when roy was sitting in his chair in the parlor car, mr. baker approached. "there are some friends of mine in the smoking room," he said to the boy. "i would like to introduce you to them." "that is very kind of you," replied the young traveler. "i shall be glad to meet them," for roy considered it nice on the part of mr. baker to take so much interest in him. "we can have a pleasant chat together," went on the man as he led the way to a private room or "section" as they are called. this was near the smoking room end of the car. "my friends are much interested in ranch life, and perhaps you will give them some information." chapter vii a game on the train the three men in the compartment looked up as phelan baker and roy entered. they exchanged significant glances, but the boy from the ranch did not notice them. then the men made room for the new-comers on the richly upholstered couches. "ah, how are you, baker?" said isaac sutton. "glad to see you." "allow me to introduce a friend of mine," said mr. baker presenting roy to the three men in turn. "he can tell you all you want to know about ranch life," for, by skillful questioning mr. baker had learned more about roy than the lad was aware he had told. "that's good," remarked jerome hynard. "i may decide to buy a ranch, some day." "would you say it was a healthy sort of life?" asked dennison tupper, who was quite pale, and looked as if he had some illness. "it was very healthy out where i was," answered roy. "i guess one look at you proves that," put in mr. baker, in an admiring tone. "you seem as strong and hardy as a young ox." "yes, and i eat like one, when i'm on a round-up," said the boy. there was considerable more conversation, the men asking roy many questions about western life, and showing an interest in the affairs of the ranch. roy answered them to the best of his ability, and naturally was pleased that the men should think him capable of giving them information. finally, when the conversation began to lag a bit, dennison tupper remarked: "perhaps our young friend would have no objections if we gentlemen played a game of cards to pass away the time." "certainly i have no objections to your playing," said roy, who had often watched the cowboys at the ranch play various games. once more the four men exchanged glances. mr. baker produced a pack of cards and soon the travelers were deep in the game. they did not seem to be gambling, only playing for "fun" as they called it. "oh, i believe i'm tired. i'm going to drop out," suddenly remarked mr. baker. "oh, don't do that," expostulated sutton. "no, you'll break up the game," remonstrated tupper. "of course. three can't play whist very well," added hynard in rather ungracious tones. "be a good fellow and stay in the game, baker." "no, i'm tired." "perhaps our young friend from the ranch will take your place," suggested sutton. "will you--er--mr. bradner? we'll play for love or money, just as you like. you must be a sport--all the western chaps are. come on, sit in the game, take mr. baker's place and don't let it break up." it was a cunning appeal, addressed both to roy's desire to be of service to his new friends, and also to his vanity. fortunately he was proof against both. roy had watched the men playing cards, and, to his mind they showed altogether too much skill. they acted more like regular gamblers than like persons playing to pass away an idle hour. he was at once suspicious. "no, thank you," he said. "i never play cards, for love or money." something seemed to annoy at least three of the men, and they looked at mr. baker. "why i thought you said--" began tupper, winking at the man who had first made roy's acquaintance. "dry up!" exclaimed hynard. "that's all right," he added quickly to the boy. "we don't want any one to play against his will. it's all right. we only thought maybe you'd like to pass away the time. i dare say baker will stick in the game now." "oh, yes, i'll stay to oblige you, but i don't care for it," and pretending to suppress a yawn, mr. baker again took his seat at the small card table. a little later roy left the apartment, going back to his place in the parlor car. "i don't like those three men," he said to himself. "i believe they are professional gamblers. mr. baker seems nice, but i wouldn't trust the others." as for the four men whom roy had left, they seemed to lose all interest in their game, after the boy from the ranch was out of sight. "humph!" exclaimed hynard. "that didn't work, did it?" "no more than isaac's attempt last night to get--" began tupper, but sutton silenced him with a gesture. "hush! not so loud!" he said. "some one may hear you." "leave it to me," said mr. baker. "i think i can get him into something else soon. you fellows lay low until i give you the tip." the rest of that morning roy saw nothing of the men whose acquaintance he had made. he got into conversation with several other passengers, some of whom were interesting characters. one man, who had traveled extensively, pointed out, along the way, the various scenes of note, telling roy something about them. it was after dinner when mr. phelan baker, followed by his three friends, entered the parlor car. they took seats near where roy had chanced to rest. "traveling is rather dull, isn't it?' began mr. baker. "i don't find it so," replied roy. "no, that's because it's your first journey. wait until you have crossed the continent a dozen times, and you'll begin to wish you'd never seen it." "it seems to me there is always something of interest," said the boy. "probably there is, if your eyesight is good, and you can see it. i'm getting along in years, and i can't see objects as well as i once could." "i suppose you must have pretty good eyesight, haven't you?" asked sutton, abruptly taking part in the conversation. roy and the four men were all alone in one end of the car, the other passengers, with but few exceptions, having gotten off at various stations. "well, i reckon i don't need glasses to see the brand on a steer," replied roy. "that's so, and i guess you have to be pretty quick to distinguish the different branding marks, don't you?" "you do when you're cutting out a bunch of cattle after a round-up. they keep moving around so it's hard to tell which are yours, and which belong to another ranch." "what did i tell you?" asked sutton in triumph of hynard, who sat next to him. "well, you're right," admitted the other. roy looked a little surprised at this conversation. mr. baker explained. "my two friends here were having a little dispute about eyesight," he said. "mr. sutton said you had the best eyesight of any one he ever saw, and were quick to notice anything. he said you had to be to work on a cattle range." "and mr. hynard said he believed he had as good eyesight as you," put in tupper. "i told him he hadn't, and we agreed to ask you," went on sutton. "that's all right. his saying so doesn't prove it," remarked hynard, in a somewhat surly tone. "of course not, but it doesn't take much to see that he has better eyesight than you, and is quicker with it. he has to be to use a lasso, don't you, mr. bradner?" "well, it does take a pretty quick eye and hand to get a steer when he's on the run," admitted roy. "and you can do it, i'll bet. hynard, you're not in it with this lad." "i believe i am!" "now don't get excited," advised mr. baker, in soothing tones. "we can easily settle this matter." "how? we haven't got a lasso here, nor a wild steer," said hynard. "anyhow i don't claim i can throw a lariat as well as he can. i only said i had as quick eyesight." "well, we can prove that," went on mr. baker. "how?" "easy money. let's see. this windowsill will do." from his pocket mr. baker produced three halves of english walnut shells, and a small black ball, about the size of a buck shot. it seemed to be made of rubber. "here's a little trick that will prove any one's eyesight," he said. "the eye doctors in new york use it to test any person who needs glasses. a doctor friend of mine gave me this." "how do you work it?" asked hynard, seemingly much interested. "this way. i place these three shells on the windowsill, so. then i put the little ball under one. watch me closely. i move it quite fast, first putting it under one shell, then the other. now, i stop and, hynard, tell me which shell it's under! i don't believe you can, i think my young friend can do so." "all right," agreed hynard. "which shell is the ball under?" asked mr. baker, drawing back, and leaving the three shells in a row; they all looked alike, yet roy was sure the ball was under the middle one. "it's under there!" exclaimed hynard, putting his finger on the end shell nearest roy. "is it?" asked mr. baker with a laugh, as he raised it up, and showed nothing beneath. "now let mr. bradner try." "i think it's there," spoke the boy, indicating the middle shell. "right you are," came from mr. baker, as he lifted the shell, and disclosed the ball. "well, it's easier to pick the right one out of two, than out of three," remonstrated hynard. "all right. i'll give him first pick this time," and once more mr. baker manipulated the shells and ball. "now where is it?" he asked roy quickly. the boy, who was quite taken with the new trick, was eagerly leaning forward, watching with eyes that little escaped, the movements of mr. baker's fingers. "it's there," he said quietly, indicating the shell farthest away from him. "what did i tell you?" asked mr. baker, lifting the shell and showing that roy was right. "he's got you beat, hynard," said sutton. "well, i'll bet he can't do it again." roy did, much to his own amusement. "i'll tell you what i'll do," said hynard suddenly. "i'll bet you five dollars i can do it this time, baker." "very well, i'll go you." the money was put up, the shells shifted, and hynard made his choice. he got the right shell. "there's where i lose five dollars," said mr. baker, with regret, passing the bill to hynard. "you try him," whispered tupper to roy. "you can guess right every time. bet him ten dollars. you can't make money easier." all at once the real meaning of what had just taken place was revealed to roy. the men wanted him to gamble, under the guise of a trick. and he was sharp enough to know that once he bet any money, the shell he would pick out would have no ball under it. in fact, had he taken the bait and bet, mr. baker, by a sleight-of-hand trick, would not have put the ball under any shell so that, no matter which one roy selected, he would have been wrong, and would have lost, though they might have let him win once or twice, just to urge him on. understanding what the trick was, he exclaimed: "i don't think i care to bet any money. i have proved that i have quick eyesight, and i think that's all you wanted to know," and, turning away he went back to his chair, at the farther end of the car. chapter viii a stop for repairs for a few seconds the four men were too surprised to say anything. they stood looking at each other and, when they had gone to the smoking room, with an angry glance at mr. baker, sutton remarked: "i thought you said the kid would bite at this game?" "i thought he would." "well, you've got another 'think' coming." "yes, you've bungled this thing all the way through," added hynard. "i didn't blunder any more than you did. i'd like to know who first made his acquaintance, and found out he had money." "well, you did that part of it, but he's got his money yet, and we haven't," said tupper. "and we're not likely to get it," went on hynard. "i think he'll be suspicious of us after this." "maybe not," remarked sutton, hopefully. "we may be able to get him into some other kind of a game. if we can't--" he did not finish, but the other men knew what he meant. roy had incurred the enmity of some dangerous characters, and it behooved him to be on the lookout. the boy had not been in his seat many minutes before an elderly gentleman, the one who had been describing the various scenes of interest, came up to him. "did i see you playing some game with those men just now?" he asked. "they were showing me a game," answered roy. "they said they wanted to test my quick eyesight." "what was it?" "it was a game with three shells and a small ball." "i thought so. my boy, do you know what that game is called?" "no, sir, but i didn't care to play it the way they wanted me to. they wanted me to bet money." "and you refused?" "i sure did." "that is where you were right. that is an old swindling trick, called the 'shell game'. if you had bet any money you would have lost." "i thought as much," said roy. "i'm not so green as i look, even if i spent all my life on a ranch." "indeed you are not, i am glad to see. i would advise you not to have anything more to do with those men." "do you know them?" "no, but they have the ways and airs of professional gamblers." "they tried to rope me up, i guess," said roy. "but they didn't have rope enough to tie me. now i know their brand i'll sure be careful not to mix in with 'em." "i don't exactly understand your terms. i--" "i beg your pardon," said roy. "i suppose i talk, more or less, as i do on the ranch. i meant they tried to get me into one of their corrals and take my hide off. hold me up, you know." "i'm afraid i don't exactly know," went on the gentleman with a smile, "but i gather that you mean they would have robbed you, after getting you into their power." "that's it," said roy. "i'm on another trail now, and they want to be careful," and he looked as though he could take care of himself, a fact that the gentleman noticed. "i felt like warning you, my boy," he said, "as i saw it was your first long journey." "and i'm much obliged to you," said roy. "i wonder how everyone knows i'm a tenderfoot when it comes to traveling on railroad trains?" "a tenderfoot?" "yes, that's what we call persons who don't know much about western life. i suppose their feet get tender from taking such long walks on the plains. anyhow that means a sort of 'greenhorn' i suppose. everyone on the train spots me for that." "well, it is easy to see you are not used to traveling, for you take so much interest in everything, and you show that it is new to you. but you are learning fast. even an experienced traveler might have been taken in by those gamblers." "i guess they'll not bother me any more," said roy. and he was right, but only to a certain extent, for, though the gamblers did not "bother" him again, he had not seen the last of them, as you shall see. the tricksters were in a bad mood, and, soon after that they left the smoking room, and remained in another car, so roy did not see them again that day. the express continued on, bringing the boy nearer and nearer to chicago. he wished he might have a little time to spend there, as he had heard much of it, especially the stock yards, where his father sent many head of cattle in the course of a year. but roy knew he must hurry on to new york, to attend to the business on which he had been sent. the next morning, soon after breakfast, the train came to a sudden stop, near a small railroad station. as the express did not stop, except at the large cities, roy wondered if some one like himself, had flagged the engineer. soon he was aware, however, that something unusual had occurred. passengers began leaving their seats, and went out of the cars. "i wonder what's the matter?" roy said aloud. he was overheard by the gentleman who had talked to him about the gamblers, and who had given his name, as john armstrong. "i think we've had an accident," said mr. armstrong. "an accident? is anybody killed?" "no, i do not think so. suppose we get out and see what the trouble is?" they left their seats, and joined the other passengers who were walking toward the head of the train, which was a long one. it did not take many seconds to ascertain that an accident had occurred to the engine of the express, and that it would be necessary to send to the next station to get materials to make repairs. "that means we'll be held here for some time," observed mr. armstrong. "well, if the delay is not too long, it will give you a chance to walk about and stretch your muscles." "and i'll be glad enough to do it," replied roy. "i'm not used to sitting still, and it sure is very tiresome to me. i'd like to have my pony, jack rabbit, here now. i'd take a fine gallop." "well, i think a walk will have to answer in place of it now. there does not seem to be much in the way of amusements at this station." the depot was a mere shanty, with a small telegraph and ticket office in it. a few houses and a store made up the "town," which was located on the plains. as roy started toward the depot many of the passengers got back in their cars, as the sun was hot. roy, however, rather enjoyed it. among those who had alighted were mr. baker and his three cronies. they stood on the depot platform, talking together. "maybe they're trying to get up some new scheme to get me to gamble," thought roy. as he neared the station his attention was attracted by a rather curious figure. this was a young man whom roy at once characterized as a "dude," for he and the cowboys had been in the habit of so calling any one who was as well dressed as was the stranger. and roy at once knew that the man had not been on the train before, as the boy from the ranch had seen all the passengers during his journey. the "tenderfoot", as roy also characterized him, was attired in a light suit, the trousers very much creased. he had on a purple necktie, rather a high collar, and patent leather shoes. in his hand he carried a light cane, and in one eye was a glass, called a monocle. beside him was a dress-suit case, and he looked as if he was ready to travel. roy glanced at him, and was inclined to smile at the elaborate costume of the youth, for the western lad had the usual cattleman's contempt for fashionable clothes, arguing (not always rightly) that a person who paid so much attention to dress could not amount to a great deal. the young man stood leaning against the side of the depot, carelessly swinging his cane. roy could see he had a valuable watch chain across his vest, and, in his tie there sparkled what was presumably a diamond. as roy watched he saw baker and his three cronies approach the "dude." a moment later they had engaged him in conversation. "i'll bet they're up to some game," mused roy. "i wonder if i can find out what it is, and spoil it? i believe they will try to get the best of that 'tenderfoot.' guess i'll see what's up." chapter ix the dude is swindled carelessly, so as not to attract the attention of the four men, roy strolled to the depot platform, taking care to get on the side opposite that on which was the elaborately-dressed youth. the sharpers did not see roy, who kept in the shadow, and the attention of the other passengers from the train was taken up with what the engineer and firemen were doing, to get the locomotive ready for the repair crew. "how do you do?" asked mr. baker, of the "tenderfoot," as he approached with his three cronies. "haven't i met you somewhere before?" "well, really, i couldn't say; don't you know," replied the well-dressed youth, with an affected drawl. "i am sure i have," went on mr. baker. "so are my three friends. as soon as we saw you standing here, my friend, mr. sutton, said to me, 'where have i seen that distinguished looking gentleman before?' didn't you, sutton?" "indeed i did, mr. baker. and mr. hynard said the same thing." "sure i did," replied mr. hynard. "i know i've met you before mr.--er--ah, i didn't quite catch the name." "my name is de royster--mortimer de royster, of new york," replied the dude, seemingly much flattered at the attention he had attracted. "i'm sure i can't recall where i met you gentlemen before, but, don't you know, your faces are very familiar to me." "of course," went on mr. baker. "i remember you very well now. you are a son of van dyke de royster, the great new york banker; are you not?" "no," replied mr. de royster, "he is only a distant relative of mine, but i belong to the same family. it is very distinguished." "indeed it is," said mr. baker. "i have often read in history of the great doings of the de roysters. gentlemen, shake hands with mr. de royster. i know his relative, the great banker, van dyke de royster, very well." now this was true, to a certain extent, but all the acquaintance mr. baker had with the well known banker, was when the latter had him arrested for trying to cash a forged check. but mr. baker did not mention this. "i am very glad to meet you," said mortimer de royster, as he shook hands with the four swindlers, thinking them delightful gentlemen indeed. "are you going far?" asked hynard. "to new york. you see i am--er--that is--er--i have been doing a little business--i am selling jewelry for a relative of mine in new york. it is not exactly work, for i am traveling for my health, and i do a little trade on the side." "guess he's ashamed to let it be known that he works for a living," thought roy, but later he found he had misjudged de royster. "ah, in the jewelry line, eh?" asked mr. baker. "i used to be in that myself." he did not mention that the way he was "in it" was to try to swindle a diamond merchant out of some precious stones, in which he was partly successful. "did you do any business in this section?" asked tupper. "not much. i stopped off to see some friends, and i did not try to sell them anything. i don't do business with my friends--i don't think it dignified, don't you know," and mortimer de royster swung his cane with a jaunty air, and tried to twirl the ends of a very short mustache. "that's right; i can see you're the right stuff," remarked mr. baker, with a wink at his companions. "did you come down here to take the train?" "yes, i am on my way to new york." "how do you find trade?" asked mr. baker. "well, really, it is not very good, but that does not annoy me, as i am only doing this as a side line. i don't worry, don't you know." "i see. you're a sport!" exclaimed tupper, with easy familiarity. "i sized you up for a sport as soon as i saw you. i must have met you in new york." "yes, i make my headquarters there," said the salesman. "i seem to remember you. sporting life is very attractive to me, i assure you, really it is." "that's the way to talk!" put in hynard. "be a sport!" "they're flattering him for some purpose," thought roy. "i wonder what their object is." he was hidden around the corner of the depot, where he could hear without being seen. "that's a very fine watch chain you have on," said mr. baker. "it is much better than mine." "and i guess he has a better watch than yours, too, baker," spoke up sutton, with a wink, which mr. de royster did not see. "no, he hasn't. my watch cost five hundred dollars." "i have a very fine timepiece, i don't mind admitting," spoke the well-dressed youth. "it was given to me by my father, who is quite wealthy." "i'd like to see it," said mr. baker. by this time an engine, with some parts to repair the broken locomotive, had arrived from a near-by freight yard. the train crew had made the adjustments, and the express was almost ready to proceed. nearly all the passengers, who had alighted, had again boarded their cars. "i shall be pleased to show you my watch," said mr. de royster, drawing out a heavy gold affair. "i think you will readily agree with me, that it is a valuable one." he passed it to mr. baker, and, from where he stood roy could see the swindler slip it into his pocket and substitute for it one somewhat like it, but, probably made of brass instead of gold. mr. baker turned his back, pretending to be trying to get a good light, while he compared his watch with that of mr. de royster. "that's a fine diamond pin in your tie," said tupper, indicating the stone in the salesman's tie. "yes. would you like to look at it? it is of very pure color." he drew out the gem, and, unsuspectingly passed it to tupper. at that instant the locomotive engineer blew two warning whistles, so that the lagging passengers might get on the train, which was about to start. "hurry up! all aboard!" exclaimed hynard, and, as roy watched, he saw tupper thrust mr. de royster's diamond into his own pocket. "they're robbing him!" thought the boy from the ranch. "i must warn him!" he started forward. mortimer de royster grabbed up his suit-case and started for the train. then he became aware that mr. baker had not handed him back his watch, while the other man had his pin. "my timepiece!" he exclaimed. "i'll show it to you when we get in the train. i assure you it's a very fine one. and my pin--i would not like to lose it! give them back!" hardly had he spoken when hynard thrust his hand down into the inside pocket of mr. de royster's coat. his object was to grab his pocketbook, the bulging outline of which he had seen. "look out!" cried roy in a loud voice, springing from his hiding place. "look out! they're swindlers! they've got your watch and pin, and they're trying to get your money!" [illustration: "look out," cried roy, "they are swindlers!"] "there's that boy!" exclaimed hynard, as he drew out his hand. but mr. de royster had felt the sneaking fingers, and had made a grab for them. he was too late, however, and, in attempting to catch hynard he stumbled and fell. "come on!" cried baker to his companions. "let him go! we've got the stuff." "grab them!" cried roy to de royster. "i'll help you." he rushed forward. no sooner did the swindlers see him coming, than they changed their plans. they had intended jumping on the train, which was already in motion, and leaving mr. de royster behind, after they had his watch and diamond. but roy's quickness prevented this. baker signalled to his companions, and they ran off down the track. "come on!" cried roy. "we'll catch them!" "no! i must go to new york," replied the salesman as he arose, and brushed off his clothes. "the train is going." "but they've got your valuables!" "i know it. i was a fool, but it's too late now. help me aboard." the train was gathering headway. roy ceased his pursuit of the robbers and helped de royster aboard, the young man carrying his dress-suit case. then roy followed, while the four swindlers kept on down the railroad tracks. chapter x roy gains a friend "come neah gettin' left, sah!" exclaimed the colored porter of roy's car, as our hero, followed by mortimer de royster, entered the coach. "dat were a close call, sah." "yes, but i wish i had had a chance to round-up those swindlers. i'd shown them how we handle such chaps out on the ranch!" exclaimed roy. "swindlers? was dem nicely dressed gen'men swindlers?" inquired the porter. "swindlers, upon my word, they are the very worst kind," put in de royster. "the idea of tricking me into letting them see my watch, and then keeping it, don't you know! i shall report them to the authorities." "i'm afraid it will not do much good," remarked roy. "they are far enough away by now, and we're getting farther off from them every minute." "that's so. well, then, my watch and diamond pin are gone," and the dude seemed to accept the loss quite calmly. "excuse me, sah," broke in the colored man, addressing de royster, "but has youh a ticket for dis parlor car?" "not yet. i could not buy one at the little station back there, but you may get me one, from the conductor, don't you know," spoke the well-dressed youth, taking a roll of bills from his pocket. at the sight of the money the eyes of the colored man shone in anticipation of a tip he might receive. his opinion of the stranger went up several points. such is the effect of money, and it is not always the right one. "are you going to travel in this car?" asked roy. "yes, it looks like a fairly decent coach. i am really quite particular how i ride." roy was rather amused at the airs mortimer de royster assumed, and he did not quite know whether to like him or not. the youth had an affected manner of speaking, and some oddities, but, in spite of these roy thought he might be all right at heart. the boy from the ranch had learned, from his life in the west, not to judge persons by outward appearances, though they often give an indication of character. "i don't believe i thanked you for what you did for me," went on de royster to roy, when the porter returned with his ticket and the change. the colored man's heart was made happy by a generous tip. "i don't know that i did anything in particular. i didn't think they were going to take your hide off, or i would have warned you sooner." "my hide off? i don't quite catch your meaning, my dear chap--oh, yes, i see. you mean they were going to skin me. oh, yes. that's a good joke. ha! ha! well, thanks to you, they didn't." "still they got something." "yes, that watch was a valuable one, and one my father gave me as a present. the diamond was worth considerable, too. but i am glad they did not get my money. only for your timely warning they might have. some of it is mine, but the most of it belongs to the firm i work for." "they tried to get me into some swindling games, but i refused to have anything to do with them," and roy told of the efforts of baker and his cronies. "i was easily taken in," admitted mortimer de royster. "i am ashamed of myself." "do you carry a valuable stock?" asked roy, wondering if it were not dangerous to have so much jewelry about one. "quite valuable, yes, but all traveling jewelry salesmen belong to a league, and if thieves get away with anything belonging to any member, we have the services of a good detective agency to run the criminals down. the professional thieves know this, and, as capture is almost certain in the end, we have little fear of being robbed. these swindlers took my personal property, and nothing belonging to the firm, i'm glad to say." "perhaps you will get it back," suggested roy. "no, i'm afraid not. but i say, my dear chap, where are you going? you don't look as if you had traveled much." "i haven't. i am going to new york on business for my father." "to new york? good! then i shall have company on the way. that is unless you don't like to be seen with one who lets himself be robbed so easily." "that would not make any difference to me." "thank you. perhaps i may be able to be of some service to you in new york. i know the town fairly well." "that will be very kind of you. i know nothing about it, and i'm afraid i'll be rather green when i get there. i have lived on a ranch all my life." "on a ranch? fancy now! really, don't you know, i often used to think i would like to be a cowboy," drawled the dude. roy looked at the slim figure, and delicate features of mr. de royster, and thought that he would hardly be strong enough for the rough life on the plains. but he was too polite to mention this. "yes," went on the well-dressed youth, "if i had not gone into the jewelry business i might now be a 'cow-puncher,'--i believe that is what you call those gentlemen who take charge of wild steers?" and he looked at his companion inquiringly. "yes, some folks call 'em that." "it must be a very nice sort of life. now this sort of thing is rather tame, don't you know." "well, you had it exciting enough a while ago." "so i did," admitted mr. de royster with a smile. "but that doesn't happen every day. i wish i could do you some favor, in return for what you did for me." "i didn't do much. i wish i could have gotten them in time to have saved your watch and chain. but they stampeded before i could rope them." "stampeded?" "yes, i mean they started to run." "oh, yes. and--er--rope--" "oh, i forgot you didn't understand my lingo. i meant catch them. whenever we want to catch anything on the ranch, we rope it. throw a lariat over it, you know." "oh, yes, a lasso. i should like to have seen you lasso those chaps. have you a lasso with you?" "i have one in my large valise." "where are you going to stop in new york?" "i don't know yet. i'm going to look around for a good place to get my grub, and a bunk after i get there." "your grub and bunk?" mr. de royster seemed puzzled. "well, i mean my meals and a place to sleep." "ah, then perhaps i can be of service to you. i know most of the best hotels, and i can introduce you to the managers of some of them. do you intend to remain in the city long?" "i can't tell. i don't just know how long my father's business will keep me. probably i shall be there several weeks." "then i'll tell you what i'll do," said de royster, in a friendly tone. "i'll get you fixed up at a good hotel, and then i'll show you the sights." "but how can you spare the time from your business?" asked roy, who was beginning to think he had found a real friend in the rather eccentric person of mortimer de royster. "oh, my work is nearly done now for the season. i shall not start out on the road again until fall, when i shall take goods for the spring trade. i was selling christmas stock this trip." "christmas stock, and it is only june," exclaimed roy. "my, but they hustle things in the east!" "they have to. that's why i'll have some spare time now. i can show you various sights of interest, and, in turn, you must promise to protect me from robbers. i think i'll have to get a guardian if this keeps on," and the dude laughed at his joke. "i'll do my best," replied roy. "if i see those fellows again, they'll not get off so easily." "then we'll consider ourselves friends!" exclaimed de royster, extending his hand, which roy shook warmly. the boy was quite attracted to the young man, whom he began to like more and more, as he saw that, under his queer ways, he hid a heart of real worth and kindness. chapter xi roy stops a runaway with a companion who proved himself as interesting as did mortimer de royster, the time passed very quickly for roy. almost before he knew it the train was pulling into chicago, where they changed cars. he wanted to stop off and view the stock yards, but there was not time for this. however he saw much of interest from the car windows, and de royster pointed out various objects, explaining them as the express passed by. "we'll soon be in new york now," said the well-dressed youth, as the train passed beyond the confines of the "windy city." "is new york larger than chicago?" asked roy. "larger? well, i guess, and it beats it every way." "what's that you said, young man?" inquired an individual, seated back of roy and his new friend. "i said new york was larger and better in every way than chicago, don't you know," replied de royster, looking at the man through his single eyeglass. "you must hail from new york then?" "i do." "i thought so. you don't know chicago, or you wouldn't say that. chicago has new york beaten any way you look at it." "then i reckon you're from chicago, stranger," put in roy, who had the easy and familiar manners which life in the west breeds. "i am, and i don't believe i'm far wrong when i say you're from off a ranch." "i am," admitted roy, wondering how the stranger had guessed so soon. "well, there's no use getting into a dispute over our respective cities," went on the stranger. "everyone thinks his home town is the best. are you two traveling far?" thus the conversation opened, and the three were soon chatting pleasantly together. in due time the train arrived at jersey city, just across the hudson river from new york. "here we are!" exclaimed mr. de royster. "a short trip across the ferry now, and we'll be in the biggest city in the western hemisphere." roy followed his friend from the train, mingling with the crowd on the platform under the big shed. "wait a minute!" exclaimed roy. "what for?" "i've got to see about my baggage. it's checked. i wonder if i can hire a pack mule, or get a stage driver to bring it up?" "pack mule?" "sure. that's how i got it from the ranch to the depot." mortimer de royster laughed. "i guess there isn't a pack mule within two thousand miles of here," he said. "nor a stage either, unless it's the automobile ones on fifth avenue. but i'll show you what to do. wait a minute though. you don't know where you're going to stop, do you?" "not exactly." "then if you'll allow me, i'll pick out a good hotel for you." "i'll leave it to you, pardner," said roy, with a helpless feeling that, however much he might know about ranch life, he was all at sea in a big city. "all right. then i'll give your checks to an expressman, and he'll bring the trunks to the hotel. right over this way." mortimer de royster led roy through the crowd, to the express office. the matter of the baggage was soon attended to, and the agent promised to have the trunk and large valise at the hotel before night. it was now four o'clock. "come on!" cried de royster again, pushing his way through the crowd, with roy who carried a small valise, containing a few clothes, following close after him. "wait a minute!" again called the boy from the ranch. "what's the matter now?" "i want to sort of get my bearings. this is a new trail to me, and i'd like to get the lay of the land. say, what's all the stampede about? these folks are milling, ain't they?" "stampede? this isn't a stampede. they're in a rush to get the ferry boat. what do you mean by milling?" "why they're like cattle going around and around, and they don't seem to be getting anywhere." "oh, that's it, eh, my dear chap. well, they're all anxious to get to new york, that's why they're rushing so. come on or we'll miss the boat." mortimer de royster led the way through the ferry house, and out on the boat. he took a seat in the ladies' cabin, and roy sat down beside him. the dude had bought a paper, which he was glancing over, momentarily paying no attention to roy. suddenly the boy from the ranch, who was looking about him with curious eyes, jumped up and exclaimed: "something's the matter. the depot has been cut loose!" "cut loose? what do you mean?" "why, we're afloat! there's water outside." "of course, my dear fellow. we're on the ferry boat, crossing to new york. what did yew think?" "are we on a boat?" "certainly. where did you think you were?" "i thought we were in the depot room, waiting for the boat to come in." "why, no. this is the boat. but of course the approach to it is through the depot, and it is hard to tell exactly where the dock leaves off and the boat begins. i should have told you, but i got interested in the paper." "i was a little startled at first," admitted roy with a smile. "i thought something had happened." several passengers who had heard this exclamation, were also smiling, but roy did not mind this. everything was so strange and novel that he wanted to see it all at once. it was no wonder that he mistook the boat for the waiting room of the station, as the ferry boat was so broad, and the cabin so large, that often strangers are deceived that way. de royster soon took roy out on the lower deck, and showed him new york, lying across the hudson river, the sky-scrapers towering above the water line, the various boats plying to and fro, and the great harbor. "it's wonderful! wonderful!" exclaimed the boy from the ranch. "it's different from what i expected. i never even dreamed new york was like this." "wait; you haven't begun to see it." and, a little later, when they landed, and were crossing west street, with its congested traffic, roy began to think his companion was right. for a moment the noise and excitement confused the boy. there were two long lines of vehicles, mostly great trucks and drays, going up and down, for west street is on the water front, adjoining the docks where the steamships come in, and the wagons cart goods to and from them. then there was a big throng of people, hurrying to and from the ferries, several of which came in close together. the people all seemed in a rush, a trait, which roy was soon to discover, affected nearly every one in new york. he saw policemen standing on the crossings, and, whenever the officer held up his hand, the travel of the vehicles stopped as if by magic, leaving a lane for pedestrians to cross. "he's got them pretty well trained," observed roy. "yes, he belongs to the traffic squad. any driver who refused to do as the officer says, will be arrested. but come on. i want to take you to your hotel." trying to see everything at once, roy followed his new friend. suddenly, as he was in the midst of a press of wagons, men and women, in the middle of the street, he heard a cry: "runaway! runaway! horse is coming! look out!" instantly the policeman began shoving people to one side, to get them out of the path of the runaway. truck drivers began pulling their steeds to either curb. roy looked down the street and saw a horse, attached to a cab, coming on at a gallop. thanks to the prompt action of other drivers the runaway had a clear field. "look out!" shouted the officer. "hey there, young man!" to roy. "git out of the street!" but roy had other intentions. he handed his valise to de royster, who was vainly pulling him by the arm. "come on out of here!" cried de royster. "you'll get run over." "take my satchel," said roy. "what are you going to do?" "i'm going to stop that horse!" "you'll be killed!" "say, i guess i know how to handle horses. it won't be the first one i've caught!" mortimer de royster, giving one more look at the maddened animal, which was now close at hand, made a leap for the sidewalk. roy looked up, gauged the distance, and, to his horror saw that the cab contained a lady and a little girl. there was no driver on the seat. "look out! you'll be killed!" shouted several in the crowd. "the boy's crazy!" muttered the policeman he took a step forward, as if to drag roy out of the way. the next instant the boy had made a leap, just as the horse reached him. it was a leap to one side, but not to get out of the way. it was only to escape the flying hoofs, for, an instant later, roy had the plunging horse by the bridle, and was hanging on for dear life. chapter xii at the hotel there were confused shouts from the crowd. several men rushed forward, in spite of the efforts of the officer to hold them back. women screamed, and several fainted. the horse was rearing and kicking, but roy, plucky lad that he was, held on like grim death. with one hand firmly grasping the bridle, he reached up with the other, and clasped the nostrils of the horse in a tight grip. this served to prevent the horse from breathing well, and, as his lungs needed plenty of air, on account of his fast run, the animal probably concluded he had met his master. "that's right! hold him!" called a man. "i'll help you in a minute!" "i guess i can manage him now," said roy calmly. "there now, old fellow," he went on, speaking soothingly to the horse. the animal was having hard work to breathe. roy saw this and loosened his hold slightly. then he began to pat the horse, continuing to speak to it. the animal, which was more frightened than vicious, began to calm down. "i've got him!" exclaimed the policeman, coming up and taking hold of the bridle. "oh, he's all right now; aren't you, old fellow?" spoke roy, as he rubbed the horse's muzzle. indeed the animal did seem to be. his dangerous hoofs were still, and, though he trembled a bit, he was quieting down. "that was a fine catch, my lad," remarked one man. "where did you learn to stop runaway horses?" "out on my father's ranch in colorado. this is nothing. we have a runaway every day out there. i've often caught 'em." "then the city ought to hire a few lads like you to give some of our policemen lessons," went on the man, with a meaning glance at the officer. "come now, move on. don't collect a crowd," spoke the bluecoat gruffly. he was a little bit ashamed that he had not made an attempt to stop the horse, but it was due more to thoughtlessness than to actual fear. besides, he first considered getting the women out of harm's way. "it was a brave act," went on the man. "i'd like to shake hands with you, young man." he extended his hand which roy, blushing at the praise, accepted. "here, i want to get in on that," exclaimed another man, and soon as many as could crowd around roy were shaking hands with him, while murmurs of admiration were heard on all sides. meanwhile the lady in the cab was being assisted out by a gentleman. then she took her little girl in her arms. the child spoke, in a high clear voice, that could be heard above the noise of traffic, which had started up again, when it was seen that the runaway was stopped. "mother, is that the boy who caught the naughty horsie?" "yes, dear, mother wants to thank him." "so do i, mother. and i want to kiss him for stopping the bad horsie that scared mary." there was a laugh at this, and roy blushed deeper than ever. "come on," he said to mortimer de royster, who had made his way to his side. "let's get out of this. anybody would think i was giving a wild-west exhibition." "well, that's pretty near what it was. i never saw a runaway better stopped, and i've seen some of our best policemen try it. you certainly know how to manage horses." "even if i don't know when i'm on a ferry boat," added roy with a laugh. "but it would be a wonder if i didn't know something about cattle. i've been among 'em all my life." "excuse me, sir," spoke the lady who had been in the cab. "i want to thank you for what you did," and she extended her hand, encased in a neat glove. roy instinctively held out his hand, and then he drew it back. he noted that it was covered with foam and mud, where the horse had splashed it up on the bridle which he grasped. he had not noticed this when the men congratulated him. the lady saw his hesitation and exclaimed: "what? you hesitate on account of not wanting to soil my gloves? there!" and before roy could stop her she had grasped both his hands in her own, practically ruining her new gloves, for his left hand was more dirty than was his right. "what do i care for my gloves?" she exclaimed. "can't i kiss the nice boy, mother?" pleaded the little girl, whom her parent had placed on the crosswalk, close beside her. there was another laugh, but roy was not going to mind that. though he had no brothers or sisters, he was very fond of children. the next instant he had stooped over and kissed the little girl. once more the crowd laughed, but in a friendly way, for roy was a lad after the heart of every new yorker--brave, fearless, yet kind. "i can't begin to thank you," went on the lady. "but for you, mary and i might have been killed." "oh, i guess the horse would have slowed up pretty soon, ma'am," replied roy. "now don't make light of it," urged the lady. "i wish you would call at my home, and see us. my husband will want to add his thanks to mine. here is our address." she gave roy a card on which was engraved the name, "mrs. jonathan rynear," and the address was uptown in new york. "the horse took fright when the cabman got down to get something for me in a store," she said, "and ran away before any one could stop him. i can drive horses, but i could not reach the reins of this one, and i dared not let go of my little girl. now i want you to be sure and come. will you?" "yes, ma'am," spoke roy, and then, when mrs. rynear had shaken hands with him again, roy managed to make his way through the crowd, and, accompanied by de royster, he started up the street. "well, your entrance to new york is rather theatrical," observed mortimer de royster. "you'll get into the papers, first thing you know, really you will, my dear fellow." "that's just where i don't want to get," said roy quickly, as he thought that his mission might not be so well accomplished, if mr. annister read of the arrival in new york, of the son of the man whose agent he was. "how can it get in the papers?" "why, the reporters are all over new york. they'll hear of this in some way, or the policeman will tell them. besides, the policeman has to report all such happenings on his post, and the reporters to go to the police station in search of news." "but how will they know i did it?" "that's so. i don't believe they will, old chap. you didn't give the lady your name." "no, and i'm glad of it." "why; don't you want any one to know you're in new york?" "well, not right away. i have certain reasons for it. later it may make no difference. but i guess the reporters are not liable to know it was me." "no, perhaps not. the policeman may claim the credit of stopping the runaway. some of 'em do, so as to get promotion more quickly." "it wasn't much of a job to stop that runaway." "wasn't it? well, it looked so to me, and i guess it did to the rest of the crowd. but you're all mud. the horse must have splashed you. however you'll soon be at your hotel. we'll take a train." still quite bewildered by the noise and confusion roy followed de royster up a flight of steps, not knowing where he was going. the next he knew was that his friend had dropped two tickets into the box of the elevated station, and they were waiting for an uptown train. presently it came along, making the station and track rock and sway with the vibration. "come on," cried de royster. "where are you going?" asked roy, hanging back. "on the elevated train, of course." "it isn't safe!" exclaimed the boy from the ranch. "it is shaking now. it'll topple down! it needs bracing! do you mean to tell me they run trains up in the air, on a track, and they don't fall off?" "of course. come on. it's safe, even if it does shake a bit. it always does. there's no danger of it falling off. next time we'll take the subway." "all aboard! step lively!" cried the guard at the gate, and roy, with some misgivings, followed his friend. the ride, on a level with the second-story windows of the buildings, was a great novelty to the boy from the ranch and he soon got over his feeling of nervousness in looking out at the strange sights on every hand. "here we are!" exclaimed de royster at length. "i'll take you to the hotel." they got out, walked down a flight of steps, and soon were in front of a good, though not showy hotel. in spite of the fact that it was not one of the most fashionable in new york, the magnificence of the entrance, with its rich hangings, the marble ornamentation, the electric lights and the stained glass, made roy wonder if his friend had not made some mistake. it seemed more like the home of some millionaire, than a public hotel. "go ahead; i'll be right with you," called de royster, as he showed roy into the lobby. "i want to speak to a gentleman a moment." somewhat bewildered, roy advanced into the middle of the lobby, with its marble floor. though he was not aware of it, he made rather a queer figure, with his clothes of unstylish cut, his travel-stained appearance, the mud on his hands and garments, and his general air of being a stranger, totally unused to new york ways. "well, what do you want?" suddenly exclaimed the voice of a boy in a uniform that seemed to consist of nothing but brass buttons. "we don't allow peddlers in here!" chapter xiii a visit to mr. annister roy turned and looked at the boy who had made the somewhat insulting remark. "i beg your pardon, stranger," he replied in his western drawl. "i didn't quite catch your remark." "aw, come off!" slangily replied the brass-buttoned boy, one of many in the hotel employed to show guests to their rooms whenever summoned by a bell rung by the clerk. "what are you, anyhow? selling patent medicine or some indian cure?" for roy plainly showed the effect of his western life, his hair being a little longer than it is worn in the east, his clothes rather too large for him, and his broad-brimmed hat quite conspicuous. "so you think i'm rustling medicine, eh?" he asked the boy. "i don't know what you're 'rustling' but i know if you try to sell anything in this joint, you'll get the poke, see!" roy began to think the language of the east was almost as effective as that of the west in expressing ideas. "i'm not selling medicine, stranger," roy went on, using the term he had picked up among the cowboys when they meet one whom they do not know. "i'm going to put up at this bunk-house, i reckon." "that's a good one!" exclaimed the boy with a laugh. "what wild west show are you from? this is no theatrical boarding house. better beat it out of here before the clerk sees you." but the talk between the two boys had been overheard by the clerk, who, in a hotel, holds authority next to the owner. "what's the trouble there, number twenty-six?" he asked, addressing the bell boy. "aw, here's a guy what t'inks he's goin' to stay here an' sell patent medicines," replied the boy. "what's that? of course we don't allow any peddling schemes in the hotel. send him out." "i did, but he won't go." "your boy is mistaken, stranger," replied roy, walking up to the desk, and looking around for mortimer de royster, who, it seemed, had been delayed in speaking to a friend. several men in the hotel lobby drew near and listened with interest to what was going on. "i came here to put up at this hotel," went on roy. "i was sent here by a friend of mine." "we don't take theatrical people," said the clerk, stiffly. "i'm not from a theatre. i tell you my friend sent me here. he'll be here himself in a minute." the clerk did not look very much impressed, and roy feared he was going to order him out of the hotel. the boy did not want to be thus publicly put to shame. "who's your friend?" asked the clerk. "mr. mortimer de royster." "oh, that's all right!" exclaimed the clerk with a great change of manner. "any friend of mr. de royster is welcome. boy, take the gentleman's grip. what sort of a room would you like?" the bell boy, who had thought to put roy out of the place, was obliged much against his will to take his valise. "that's all right," said roy good-naturedly to the boy. "i can carry my baggage. it isn't heavy. i don't know that i'm going to stop here after all. i think--" just then de royster came pushing his way through the little crowd about the desk. "hello, charlie!" he exclaimed, addressing the clerk. "how are you, old chap? looking fine, upon my word!" "good afternoon, mr. de royster," replied the clerk cordially, extending his hand. "glad to see you. so you're back from your trip?" "yes, but i came pretty near not coming. might not be alive if it wasn't for my friend, mr. bradner, here. by the way, i want you to give him the best in the house. he's a great friend of mine. treat him well." "of course we shall. we were just going to give him a good room--er--ahem, mr. bradner, will you please register?" and he swung the book around on the desk, dipping a pen in an ink bottle at the same time. roy hesitated, and smiled just a little. he was contrasting the treatment he might have received if mr. de royster had not been there. "what's the matter?" asked the jewelry salesman, seeing that something unusual had taken place. "oh, nothing much," replied roy. "they took me for a member of a wild west show, i guess, and they were a little doubtful whether they'd let me bunk here or not." "ahem! all a mistake! it was the bell boy's fault," said the clerk, somewhat embarrassed. "here, number twenty-six, take the gentleman's grip. any friend of yours, mr. de royster, is doubly welcome here. we can give you a fine room, mr. bradner." "all right," replied roy, good naturedly. "i'll take one." "i'll select it for you," put in mr. de royster, as he was in some doubt as to roy's finances, and he did not want to take too extravagant an apartment. roy was soon shown to a pleasant room, mortimer accompanying him. every one connected with the hotel seemed anxious to aid the boy from the ranch, now that it was shown he had wealthy friends. roy thought de royster must be a person of some influence. he was partly right, though the influence came more from the rich and respected relatives of the young jewelry salesman, than from himself. however, it answered the same purpose. "i am sorry you were annoyed by that clerk, my dear chap," said de royster, when he was seated in the room he had selected for roy. "i was unavoidably detained, speaking to a friend i met, don't you know." "it's all right," replied roy. "it all adds to my experience, and i expect to get a lot of it while i'm in the east." "what are your next plans?" "well, i hardly know. i have certain business to do for my father, but i hardly know how to set about it." "perhaps i can tell you." "i wish you could." "if it is a secret don't tell me," said de royster, noting that roy hesitated. "it is a sort of a secret mission. i'm here to round up a man, and see what sort of branding marks he has on him--that is, whether he's honest or not." "that is a queer mission for a boy like you to be sent on." "perhaps, but my father had no one else. i will tell you as much as i can, and see what you have to say." thereupon roy told his friend about the real estate matter, and mr. annister's connection with it, though he mentioned no names. "let me consider it a bit," said the dude, when roy had finished. the latter began to think his friend was more capable than had at first appeared, and, in spite of his rather affected talk, could be relied upon for good advice. "here is what i would do, in your place," said de royster, at length. "i would get my hair cut, order a new suit of clothes or perhaps two and appear as much as possible like a new yorker, don't you know. you say you don't want that man to know you are here from the ranch. well, he certainly would if you appeared before him as you are now. but, if you--er--well, we'll say 'spruce up' a bit, you can be sure he'll never connect you with the west. then you can make whatever inquiries you like." "that's good advice. i'll follow it. i'm much obliged to you." "don't mention it, my dear chap. now, old man"--(roy thought it was strange to be addressed as "old man")--"i've got to go. i'll leave you my card, and address, and, if you get into trouble, why, telephone or call on me. now, good luck." he shook hands with roy and left. the boy from the ranch was a little lonesome after de royster had gone, but he knew he would from now on, very probably have to rely on himself, and he decided to start in at once. after supper he went to the hotel barber shop, and had his hair cut to the length it was worn by new yorkers. he wanted to go out and get a new suit, but he knew the clothing stores would not be open at night. his trunk arrived the next morning, and, having arranged his things in his room, the boy from the ranch set out to buy some new garments, following de royster's advice. "well, i certainly don't look like a cowboy now," thought roy, as he surveyed himself in the glass, after the change. "now to call on mr. annister. i don't believe he'll suspect me of being on his trail." a little later roy was on his way down-town, having inquired from the clerk how to get to the office of the real estate agent. he was soon at the place, a big office building, in which several firms had their quarters. he got in the express elevator, which went up at a speed that took away his breath, and was let out at the twentieth floor, where the real estate agent had his rooms. "is mr. annister in?" roy asked the office boy. "i don't know. what's your business?" "my business is with mr. annister." "what's your name?" "that doesn't matter. tell mr. annister i called to see him regarding the renting of some property on bleecker street," for that was where the building was located in which roy and his father were interested. "all right. i'll tell him, but i don't believe he'll see you," replied the office boy, not very good-naturedly, as he went into an inner room. in a little while he returned and said: "walk in. he'll see you a few minutes, but he's very busy." a few seconds later roy stood in the presence of caleb annister. chapter xiv roy's trick "what can i do for you, sir?" asked the real estate agent as roy entered. "take a chair." caleb annister had been a little curious to see the young man whom his office boy described. he could not imagine what was wanted, but he scented a possible customer to engage some of the offices in the structure, for which he collected the rents. "i want to make some inquiries regarding an office in your bleeker street building," said roy, for such was the designation of the property in question. "ah, yes. you are going to open an office, perhaps?" "i may." this was the truth as roy's father had said, if the agent was found to be dishonest, a new one, with an office in the bleecker street building might be engaged. "aren't you rather young to go in business?" "perhaps, but i am representing other persons. have you any offices to rent in that building?" "a few." "what do they rent for?" it was roy's idea to make inquiries in the guise of a possible tenant, and, see what prices mr. annister was charging. what his next move was you shall very soon see. "well, young man, rents are very high in that building. it is in a good neighborhood, where property is increasing in value all the while, and we have to charge high rents. besides there is a good demand for offices there." this, roy thought, was not the sort of information mr. annister had sent to mr. bradner at the ranch. "do you own the building?" asked the western lad, wanting to see what the agent would say. "no, but i am in full charge. it would be no use for you to see the owner, as he leaves everything to me. he would not give you any lower rent rate than i would. besides, he lives away out west, and never comes to new york." "can you give me an idea of what the rents are for such offices as are vacant?" asked roy, trying not to let any western expressions slip into his talk, as he wanted to pose as a new yorker. "is it for yourself?" "no, for parties i represent." "i can give you a list of such offices as are vacant, with the prices, and you can go and see them. the janitor will show them to you, if i send him a note." "that will do very well." caleb annister went over some books, and soon handed roy a list of room numbers, with the prices at which they rented by the month. it needed but a glance at the list, and a rapid calculation on the part of roy, who was quick at figures, to see that if the entire building rented in the same proportion, the income from it was much larger than what his father was receiving. clearly there was something wrong, and he must find out where it was. "i shall look at these offices," he said, "and let you know whether or not they will suit my friend." "what is the name?" asked mr. annister, preparing to write a note to the janitor. now roy was "up against it" as he put it. he did not want to give his name, or mr. annister would suspect something at once, and, possibly, put some obstacles in his way. nor did he want to tell an untruth, and give a false name. finally he saw a way out of the difficulty. he decided to give de royster's name, as he had an idea that if mr. annister proved to be dishonest, as it seemed he was, the young jewelry salesman could be induced to take the agency of the building, at least until he had to begin his travels again. to do this de royster would need an office in the building, so it would be no untruth for roy to give his name, and say he was looking for apartments for him. he knew his friend would consent. so he said: "you may make out the note in the name of mortimer de royster." "de royster? that is a good name. i know some of the family." mr. annister wrote the note, and gave it to roy, not asking his name. in fact, the real estate man took his caller to be an office boy for mr. de royster, for business men in new york frequently send their office helpers on errands of importance, and this was no more than the average office boy could do. with the note roy went to the bleecker building, as it was called. he found the janitor, who readily showed him the vacant offices. "aren't rents rather high here?" asked roy. "that's what they are. but this is a good location for business men, and they're willing to pay for it," answered the man. "have you no cheaper offices than these?" "no. in fact all the others cost more. some men have several rooms, and they pay a good price." "how many offices, or sets of offices, have you in this building? i should think it would keep you busy looking after them." "it does," replied the janitor, who, like others of his class, liked a chance to complain of how hard they worked. "there are more than a hundred offices in this building." "and are most of them rented?" "all but the five i showed you. i tell you the man who owns this building has a fine thing out of it. he must make a lot over his expenses." "who owns it?" asked roy, wanting to see how much the janitor knew. "i couldn't tell you. mr. annister never told me. he hires me. i guess he must have an interest in the property." "yes, entirely too much of an interest in it," thought roy. "he has some of my interest, and i'm going to get it back." there was one thing more he wanted to know. "are the tenants good pay?" he asked. "they have to be, young man. if they get behind a month mr. annister puts them out. that's why those five offices are vacant. but they'll soon be rented. you'd better hurry if you want one." "my friend will think it over," answered the boy from the ranch. he had found out what he wanted to know. the property, instead of decreasing in value as mr. annister had said, was increasing. nearly every office was rented at a good price, and the tenants were prompt pay, save in a few instances. it did not require much calculation to see that the income from the property was nearly double what mr. annister reported it to be to mr. bradner. that meant but one thing. the dishonest agent was keeping part of the rent for himself, and sending false reports to roy's father. but it was one thing to know this, and another to prove it. roy left the building, thanking the janitor for his trouble, and started back toward mr. annister's office. "i wonder what i had better do?" he thought. chapter xv caleb annister is surprised perhaps, if mr. bradner had known just the extent of the rascality of his agent, he might not have sent roy to investigate. but, at the worst, he only imagined that perhaps the man might be careless in collecting the rents, which would account for the small income from the property. roy certainly had a difficult task before him, and he hardly knew how to undertake it. should he confront caleb annister with the evidence of his dishonesty, or would it be better to wait a while? he had all the proof he needed; but what would be the outcome? that was what puzzled roy. finally, with a decision characteristic of him, and following his nature, which was influenced by the openness of action associated with the west, he made up his mind. "i'll go right back and see him," reasoned the boy, "tell him who i am, show him that i know he's been cheating us, and demand that he make good the money he has taken. then i'll see how he acts. if he pays back the rent money he has retained i guess dad will not be hard on him. if he doesn't--" roy knew his father was a man who would have his rights if there was any way of getting them. he had half a notion to telegraph his father for instructions, but he wanted to do the work all alone, if he could. when he got back to the office where mr. annister had his rooms, the boy in the outer apartment did not stop roy to ask him his business. he at once announced him to the agent, who told roy to come in. the boy from the ranch nerved himself for what was coming. he felt just as he used to when, for the first time, he mounted a new bucking bronco. there was no telling just what the animal would do. likewise he did not know how caleb annister would act when he exposed his rascality. "well, did you see the offices?" asked the real estate man. "yes, sir." "did you like them? we think they are the best in new york." "they are very fine. the rents are higher than i thought to find them." "perhaps, but you must know there is a good demand for offices in that neighborhood. i could have rented them several times, since they were vacant, but i wanted to get good tenants, who would pay." "you have no cheaper offices you could let mr. de royster have?" "none. in fact i am thinking of raising the rents of those." roy wondered if he and his father would get any of the increase. "that property must be quite valuable," he went on. "it is." roy now felt that the real estate agent had convicted himself. there was need of no further evidence. it was time to make the disclosure. "mr. annister," said roy. "perhaps i had better introduce myself. here is my card." he handed over one on which he had written his name, and the address of his father's ranch, as well as that of the hotel where he was stopping. for a moment the agent did not know what to do, as he looked at the bit of pasteboard. his face became pale, then red, then pale again. next he smiled, in a sickly sort of way. "so you are roy bradner, son of james bradner, eh?" he asked, slowly. "yes, sir." "well, that's--that's a pretty good joke," went on the agent. "a pretty good joke." roy could not quite see it. "you come east here, and pretend to want an office in the building your father owns, and you take me in completely. that is a good joke. but i see what you are after." "that will save a lot of explanation then, mr. annister." "i see what you want," the agent went on. "you wanted to find out in a quiet way, if i was properly looking after your father's property. so you come here, and don't let me know who you are. it's a good joke. but i guess you found i was looking after your interests; didn't you? you found me faithful to my trust. now you can go back and tell your father that i am looking well after his affairs. that's what you can do. when are you going back?" "i don't know!" exclaimed roy boldly, "but when i do go back i will tell my father that you are a swindler, and that you are cheating him--and me also--out of our rent money." "what's that?" cried mr. annister, his face fairly purple with rage. "you dare call me a swindler! i'll have you arrested for insulting me! leave my office at once! how dare you address me in that manner?" "i dare because i'm right," replied roy coolly. "you can't bluff me, mr. annister. i see through your game. i now demand that you pay back all the money you have retained, or i shall make a complaint against you." the bold and fearless bearing of the boy had its effect on the real estate agent. he saw he had to deal with a lad, who, if he had had no previous business experience, was capable of looking after his own interests. "perhaps you will kindly explain," said the agent, in a tone he meant to be sarcastic, but which did not deceive roy. "certainly. i accuse you of charging high rents for the offices in the bleecker building, and with sending my father only about half of what you collect!" "oh! so that's the game; is it?" asked the agent, with a sneer. "perhaps you know how much i take in as rent for the offices in that building?" "i can pretty nearly figure it out," and roy mentioned a sum that was so near the mark that mr. annister was startled. "and perhaps you know what the expenses are, the taxes, the water rent, the insurance and so forth?" "no, but i know what you charged my father for those items, and, taking them out, at your figures, and also your commission, it would leave a larger sum than we ever received." mr. annister saw that he was dealing with no novice, even if the lad was from the western ranch. he resolved to proceed on a different plan. "you may think yourself very smart," he said to roy, "but you do not understand new york real estate." "i understand enough for this case, i think." "i'm afraid not," and the agent smiled. he was beginning to get command of his nerves. "you see there are many expenses you do not know of." "you never mentioned them to my father." "no, i could not. besides, how do i know that your father sent you to make these inquiries? i do not even know you are roy bradner. you may be an impostor." "i think i can soon prove to you who i am. as for my authority, there is a letter from my father to you, instructing you to turn this business over to me at my demand." he handed mr. annister a letter to this effect written by mr. bradner, and properly executed before a notary public. the rascally agent knew the signature of mr. bradner only too well. but he was not going to give up so easily. "any one can write a letter, and forge a signature," he said. "then you think i forged my father's name?" and a dangerous look came into roy's eyes. it was a look such as that when he stopped the runaway horse. "i don't care to have any further conversation with you," said mr. annister, sneeringly. "i do not recognize your authority. how do i know you are roy bradner? you will have to bring me better proof than this. besides, even if you are who you say you are, that does not say you understand this renting business. it is very complicated. there are many charges i have to meet which makes the amounts received for rent much less than you have figured. besides, the property is in bad shape, it needs repairs, and it is going down in value." "you said a little while ago that it was increasing." the agent started. he saw he had made a mistake. "oh, well," he said impatiently. "you are only a boy; you can't understand it." "i may be only a boy, but i think i understand what is going on, and that is that you are cheating my father and me. i was in the building to-day. it is in excellent repair." "don't you dare accuse me of cheating!" exclaimed mr. annister, but his tone was not as blustering as it had been. "i believe that is the truth." "what do you intend to do?" inquired the agent, as he saw that roy was firm. "not that it makes any difference to me, for i shall communicate with your father, but i do not want you to come here and annoy me." he was beginning to be afraid of what roy might disclose. "i intend to make you return the money you have unlawfully retained. i believe it is called embezzling, and is a criminal offense. but i will give you a little time. i shall call here a week from to-day. if, by that time, you do not have what i consider a proper sum ready to send to my father i shall consult with the police." "pooh! the police will never interfere. this is a civil matter--not criminal." "i think it is criminal. but i will wait one week. in the meanwhile i shall write to my father and see what he advises me to do. but i shall report all the facts in the case." "get out of my office!" exclaimed the now angry and frightened real estate agent. "i believe you are an impostor. if you annoy me again i shall have you arrested!" [illustration: "get out of my office!"] "i'll leave your office, because i have finished my business with you, and not because i am afraid of arrest," answered roy coolly. "you know i am not an impostor. i can prove who i am. i shall call on you again in a week," and he went out in time to surprise the office boy with his ear at the key hole, listening to what was going on. "cracky!" exclaimed the little lad, when roy had gone out. "he certainly talked to the boss like a dutch uncle." meanwhile mr. annister sat in his office chair, much disturbed in his mind. he was in great alarm, for he knew roy was no impostor. "what am i going to do?" he asked himself. "he has found me out!" he sat biting his nails nervously, his eyes roving about his office, as if seeking some way of escape from the trouble he was in. suddenly an idea came to him. "i must get that boy out of the way," he said in a low whisper, which even the office lad could not hear. "he knows too much. he is too smart. and i must act promptly. if i can get him out of the way for two weeks, and before he has a chance to hear from his father, the property will be mine, and i can defy them all. that's what i'll do. i'll get him out of the way!" chapter xvi some new experiences roy passed out through the outer rooms of caleb annister's suite of offices. he noted the eavesdropping act of the boy, but said nothing to the small chap, who seemed much embarrassed. then roy, with his head somewhat in a whirl over what he had just gone through, went into the tiled corridor. he got into an elevator, but, no sooner had the attendant closed the iron-grilled door than the car seemed to fall to the bottom of the elevator well with a sickening suddenness. "look out!" cried the boy from the ranch, startled out of his reverie concerning mr. annister, by the fear that the car had broken from the cable. "she's going to smash!" he cried. down, down, down fell the car, but, to roy's surprise no one seemed to mind it. to him it felt, as he expressed it, "as if the bottom had dropped out of his stomach." roy clung to one side of the iron grating which formed the car. every moment he expected the cage to be dashed to pieces. then some one laughed. roy knew something was going on that he didn't understand. a moment later the car came to a gradual stop, amid a hissing of air. "say, stranger, does it often break loose and go on a stampede that way?" asked roy of the attendant who opened the door at the ground floor. "what's the matter? did it scare you?" "well, it was a pretty good imitation of it," replied roy, while the other passengers broke into laughter. "i sure thought i was going to china. what was the matter?" "nothing. this is an express elevator, and it drops from the twentieth story to the ground in about fifteen seconds. it lands into an air chamber, as soft as a piece of rubber. there's no danger. i do it a hundred times a day." "you'll have to excuse me the next time," said roy, with a smile as he got out. "i don't exactly cotton to elevators anyhow, but when they drop you like a steer falling over a cliff, why it'll be walk the stairs for mine, after this. it sure will." "guess you're from out west, ain't you?" "that's what i am, and it's a mighty good place. say, that trip sure made me dizzy." indeed there is a curious feeling about being dropped twenty stories in a swift elevator, and roy might well be excused for his sensation. however, he soon recovered himself, and, as it was noon time, and he had a good appetite, he looked about for a place to get something to eat. he noticed a small restaurant nearby, and went in. instead of seeing tables set out in the place, he beheld rows of chairs, with one arm made very large, so that it served as a shelf on which to place plates, cups and saucers. in fact it was a chair and table combined. he saw men eating, and others hurrying to and fro, so he took a vacant place, and sat there, expecting a waiter to come to him and take his order. he remained there for some time, noting that the men seated in a row on either side of him, were busy with their food, but no attendant came to him. "this is queer," thought the boy. "the waiters must be terribly busy. they don't keep you waiting like this at my hotel." finally a man, seeing that roy was a stranger, spoke to him, saying: "you have to wait on yourself here." "wait on yourself?" "yes. you go up to that counter over there," pointing to it, "and take whatever you want. you'll find plates, knives, forks and so on. then, if you want coffee, you take a cup, go to that counter, where the man stands, and he'll draw a cup for you." "thanks," replied roy, proceeding to put these directions into use. then for the first time he noticed that the other patrons of the restaurant were doing the same thing. roy helped himself to some sandwiches, crullers, a piece of cheese and some pie. "i wonder who i pay?" he thought, as he saw no one behind the food counter to take any money. "guess it must be the man at the coffee urn." he carried his food to a chair, placing it on the broad arm. then he went back for a cup of coffee. "i got some grub back there," he said to the man. "what's the damage?" "pay the girl at the desk when you go out," replied the man shortly without looking around. "tell her what you had, and she'll tell you how much it is." "well, isn't that the limit," exclaimed roy, half to himself, as he got his coffee. "this is certainly a new-fangled way of getting your grub." still he rather liked the novelty of it. certainly it was quick, once one learned how to go about it. roy made a good though not very fancy meal, and then walked up to the desk, where he observed other men paying. "well," asked the young lady, who seemed to have a very large amount of light hair, piled up on top of her head in all sorts of waves and frizzes. "what'd you have?" she spoke briskly, making change for one man, and handing another one a box of cigars, that he might take one, and, all the while she never stopped chewing gum. roy named over the articles. "twenty cents!" exclaimed the girl. "here, that's a lead nickel!" she added quickly, to the customer just ahead of roy. "don't try any of them tricks on me." roy laid down two dimes, wondering at the cheapness of the meal, and feeling quite confused by the rush and excitement about him. he walked out, wondering what his next move should be. he had not gone a dozen steps up the street, before he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to mention to the young lady at the desk that he had a piece of pie. "i've got to go right back and pay her for that pie!" thought the lad. "she'll think i'm trying to cheat her. lucky i thought of it when i did, or they might have sent a policeman after me." he hurried back, and made his way to the desk through a crowd of men coming out. "say," he began to the cashier, "i'm awfully sorry, but i made a mistake." "no mistakes corrected after you leave the desk. see that sign?" and the girl pointed to one to that effect. "you should count your change while you're here. you can't work that game on me." "i'm not trying to work any game," and roy felt a little hurt that his good motive should thus be mistaken. "i had a piece of pie and i forgot to tell you of it. i came back to pay the five cents." "oh!" the girl's manner changed, and she looked a little embarrassed. "that's all right. you could have paid me to-morrow. "but i might not be here to-morrow." roy laid down a five-cent piece. "say, but you're honest!" exclaimed the cashier, as she put back a straggling lock of her yellow hair. "you can't live in new york." "now i wonder why she said that?" reasoned roy, as he walked along the street. "can it be that every one in new york is dishonest? well, i certainly think mr. annister is. i must write to father, and tell him what took place. then i wander what i had better do next." roy was quite perplexed. he would have been more worried had he known what was passing through the mind of caleb annister at that moment. chapter xvii caleb annister makes plans the rascally real estate agent was more worried over the visit of roy than he cared to acknowledge, even to himself. the truth was that caleb annister was planning a bold stroke, which was nothing less than to obtain title of the building belonging to mr. bradner and his son. for a long time, as mr. bradner had suspected, the agent had been cheating him, retaining part of the rents. but this did not satisfy mr. annister. he had begun to steal, and he liked that easy way of getting money so well that he determined on operations on a larger scale. now roy's coming was likely to interfere with this. it was caleb annister's plan to obtain ownership of the building in this way. though he had reported to mr. bradner that the taxes had been always paid promptly, they were, in fact, very much behind, and had not been paid for two years. consequently the city had put the property up for sale for unpaid taxes. a certain length of time must elapse before a title could be taken from the former owner, and given to any one who would pay the taxes and other city charges. mr. annister planned to pay these back taxes without mr. bradner's knowledge and so become the owner of the building, which was quite valuable. but it needed about two weeks before his trick could be consummated, and with roy on hand in new york it might not go through at all. for the real estate agent realized, that as roy had already begun to investigate the property, he might not stop there, but go further discover that the taxes were unpaid, and have his father pay them in the two weeks that remained, thus keeping the title of the building and land in mr. bradner's name. "i must prevent that at all costs!" exclaimed the agent, as he sat in his office, when roy had gone. "i have gone too far to back out now. and i will not be thwarted by a mere boy. bah! why should i be afraid of him? if i can get him out of the way--if i can have him disappear for two weeks, i can snap my fingers at him and his father too. then i'll no longer be the agent for the bleecker building--i'll be the owner, and a wealthy man!" he gave himself up to day-dreams of what this would mean. he was brought back from it, however, by the necessity of getting roy out of the way. "i wonder how i can do it?" he murmured. at present caleb annister could see no way of bringing this about. he decided to go out for dinner, thinking, perhaps, some plan might occur to him. as he was walking along the street he almost collided with a man who was hurrying along in the opposite direction. "i beg your pardon!" exclaimed mr. annister. "certainly. my fault entirely," replied the other. "i--why, if it isn't caleb annister," he went on. "how are you?" "phelan baker!" cried mr. annister, in a tone of surprise. "i thought you were out west." "i was, but i arrived in new york this morning." "and how are sutton and hynard?" went on mr. annister. "i haven't seen them since that affair of--" "hush! don't mention such things in public," cautioned mr. baker, for what mr. annister referred to was a swindling game in which baker and his cronies had been involved, and the discovery of which had made it necessary for them to leave the city awhile. "the boys are all right," went on mr. baker. "tupper is with them. in fact they came on to new york with me. we were delayed on the road." he did not say this was caused by the necessity for fleeing after robbing mortimer de royster. "we're at the same hotel. by the way," he went on, "you couldn't lend me fifty dollars; could you? i'm short, and the boys have very little. we haven't had any luck lately. i'd like fifty dollars for a few days. can you let me have it?" "i'm sorry," began mr. annister. "i'd like to, but the truth is i have some heavy bills to meet, and people who owe me money, have not paid me. otherwise--" "well, perhaps i can get it somewhere else," said mr. baker. in fact he had very little hope, when he made the request of mr. annister, that he would get the loan. the real estate agent was known to be very "close", seldom lending money, though he was quite well off. "i'd like to accommodate you," went on caleb annister, brightening up, when he saw that mr. baker was not going to press the matter, "but you see how it is." "you haven't any work that you want done; have you?" asked the man who had helped to rob mortimer de royster, and who had tried unsuccessfully to rob and swindle roy. "we could do almost anything you wanted done, if you paid us for it. none of us have anything in view to get a few dollars at." suddenly a thought came into the wicked brain of caleb annister. this might be the very chance he was looking for! baker and his men could get roy out of the way for him. he would try it. "perhaps you might do me a service," he said. "it is very simple, and does not amount to a great deal." mr. baker knew the real estate agent well enough to feel that whenever he wanted anything done, it was no small matter. but he merely said: "tell me what it is. if it's possible we'll do it--for money, of course." "oh, it's very possible, and i will be willing to pay you and your friends well. come and have lunch with me, and we will talk it over." caleb annister had intended going to an expensive restaurant and ordering a fine meal, for he was fond of good living, but, when he found he would have to take baker, and pay for his dinner, he changed his plans, and went to a cheap eating place. there, sitting in a secluded corner, mr. annister unfolded a plot to the swindler. "there is a certain young man, lately arrived in new york," said the real estate agent, "who is bothering me. nothing serious, you understand, but i have a certain deal to put through and he might spoil it. i want him kept out of the way for two weeks. by that time my plans will be finished, and i don't care what he does. do you think you can get him, and take him, say to some nearby town, or even some place in new york and keep him there for two weeks? but i must insist that no harm comes to him." with all his swindling schemes, mr. annister would not go too far. "sure we can do it," replied phelan baker. "that's easy. what do we get for it?" "if you get him away, and keep him out of sight for two weeks all will be well, and i will pay you a thousand dollars." "good enough! we'll do it. now who is this boy you want taken away?" "roy bradner." "what? roy bradner, the boy from triple o ranch?" "that's the one. but what do you know of him?" and mr. annister was very much astonished. "this is curious," murmured baker. "very curious. i'll tell you about it, annister." chapter xviii roy in danger when roy got out into the street again, after paying for the pie he had forgotten about, he was quite puzzled as to which direction to take to get back to his hotel. "guess i'm off the trail," he told himself. "i'd ought to have brought a compass along. let's see, which way is north?" he looked about for a sight of the sun, but, though it was shining, the tall buildings hid it from view. "might as well be down in the grand canyon of the colorado, as here in new york for all you can see of the sun," he murmured. "i ought to have taken more notice of the way i came, but what with going in so many buildings, and that express elevator, i'm all turned around." he tried to think which way to take, and then, getting over a little natural embarrassment about asking a stranger the road, he inquired of a well-dressed man the way to get to his hotel, the name of which, fortunately, roy remembered. "go right down those stairs," said the man, pointing to a flight which started in a little shelter built on the sidewalk. "take an uptown express, and you'll land right at your hotel. there's a station there." "station?" thought roy. "that's a queer place for a station. didn't have room for it above ground, i reckon." he walked down the flight of steps, finding himself in a brilliantly lighted place. doing as he saw the crowd do he bought a ticket at a little window and then, seeing a sign "uptown express trains," he followed the throng going in that direction. a moment later a string of cars came rumbling up along-side of the platform. "all aboard!" called the guard. the boy from the ranch got in and took a seat. the next moment the train started off at great speed, for it was an express, and made but few stops. leaving the brilliantly-lighted station the cars plunged into darkness, relieved by an occasional electric lamp. "must be a tunnel," thought roy. "we'll come out on top of the ground in a minute, and i can see what new york looks like. space is so crowded down town, i s'pose they have to tunnel for a few blocks." but the tunnel did not come to an end. in vain roy waited for the train to emerge into daylight. past station after station it rushed, the lights there showing for an instant, and then the darkness closing in again. finally the express stopped. several passengers got off, and more got on. then it started up again, still whizzing through the dark. roy could stand it no longer. perhaps he had made a mistake and gotten into the wrong train this one might be destined for china, or some other under-ground port. roy made his way to where a guard was standing. "excuse me, stranger," he began, in his broad western tones. "but how long is this tunnel, anyhow?" "tunnel? this ain't no tunnel!" "no? what is it then? it's a pretty good imitation. looks like an underground river that has gone dry." "why, this is the subway." "the subway?" "sure. it goes right under the streets, all the way along new york." then roy understood. mortimer de royster had told him something of this underground railroad, through the heart of new york, but thinking of other things had put it out of roy's mind. a little later he alighted and walked to his hotel. meanwhile caleb annister and mr. baker had been plotting together. they discussed many schemes, and at last hit on one they thought would answer. "i think we'll let tupper do the trick," said baker. "young bradner saw less of him than he did of the rest of us, and if tupper shaves off his moustache, and changes his voice a bit, as he can do, the boy will never recognize him," for baker had told mr. annister of the encounter of himself and his cronies with the boy from the ranch. "anything so as to get him away for two weeks," said the agent. "don't tell him too much about it, and then--if anything happens, you understand--i can't be called to testify." "oh, nothing will happen, in the way you mean. we'll be careful. now where is he stopping?" mr. annister mentioned the name of the hotel, which roy had written on the card he had left with the agent. "all right. i'll see tupper, and have him fix up to do the job. it ought to be easy. you'll have the money, i suppose?" "as soon as he is out of the way--safely--you get the thousand dollars." there was some more talk, and the two plotters separated. it was three days after this, during which time roy had enjoyed himself going about new york alone, (for he had not seen de royster) that, as he was sitting in the hotel lobby one afternoon, a well-dressed man approached him. "aren't you from out painted stone way, in colorado?" asked the man pleasantly. "that's where i'm from, the triple o ranch," replied roy, who was frank by nature, and unsuspicious. he wondered who the man could be, and how he knew where he was from in the west. "i thought so," went on the stranger. "i was out on a ranch near there about a week ago and i happened to be at the railroad station when you got aboard." "what ranch were you on?" asked roy, for he knew them all within a radius of a hundred miles of his father's. "why, it was--er--let's see--seems to me it was the double x." "there's no such ranch near painted stone." "well, maybe i'm wrong. i just stopped there, but i have a poor memory for names," said the stranger quickly. "but permit me to introduce myself. i'm john wakely, of buffalo. i'm a stranger in new york, and, as you are also, i thought we might go about a bit together." "that would suit me," replied roy, who was beginning to feel a bit lonely in the big city, without the company of a friend. he thought this was a good opportunity to go around and see the sights. he told the man his name. "suppose we go in and have some ice cream soda," went on mr. wakely. "or, better, still, have it in my room. i'm stopping at this hotel. then we can go out a bit." the idea appealed to roy, who had a liking for the ice cream sodas he had only lately become familiar with. the day was hot, and the stranger seemed very cordial. roy had a dim suspicion that he had heard his voice somewhere before, but he could not place it. certainly the face was not one he could recall. they went to mr. wakely's room, and soon a bell boy brought two large glasses of the cool beverage. he set them down on the table between mr. wakely and roy, and then withdrew. had roy known now of the dangers of the city he never would have trusted a stranger as he did this one. "is that your handkerchief on the floor behind you?" asked mr. wakely suddenly, pointing at something on the carpet. roy turned. at the same instant mr. wakely extended his hand over the glass of soda in front of the boy. something like a white powder sifted down into it. a moment later roy turned back. "it's not my handkerchief," he said. "must be a piece of dust rag, the work-girl dropped." "very likely. but drink your soda and we'll go out." the boy put to his lips the glass, into which mr. wakely had sifted the white powder. he was in great danger, but he did not realize nor suspect it. chapter xix roy is missing shortly after this incident, approaching the clerk at the hotel desk where he had engaged a room near roy's, mr. wakely, seeming much concerned, said: "my friend, mr. bradner, has been taken suddenly ill. i think i shall take him to my doctor's. will you call me a cab?" "why don't you have the hotel doctor look at him?" suggested the clerk, who had taken a liking to the boy from the ranch. the clerk did not exactly like the ways of mr. wakely, who had only taken a room at the hotel a day or so before. "oh, i don't like to trust a strange doctor. i think my physician can fix him up. he is in need of rest, more than anything else. the strenuous life of the city, after his quiet days on the ranch has been too much for him." "he looked strong and hearty," replied the clerk. "he told me he used to rope wild steers. i should think he could stand it here. he hasn't been going around much." "still i think i shall take him away," went on mr. wakely. "please call me a cab. i believe i'll take his baggage with me. i'll settle for his bill." "there's nothing to settle. mr. bradner paid me this morning for his board up to the end of the week." mr. wakely looked relieved at this, but said nothing. the clerk, not exactly liking what was going on, but being unable to interpose any objections, rung for a cab. then, under orders from mr. wakely, roy's baggage was brought down and put into the vehicle. a little later roy's new acquaintance came down in the elevator, supporting the lad with an arm around his shoulders. roy could hardly walk, for his legs were trembling, and there was a curious white, dazed look on his face. "what's the matter, old chap?" asked the hotel clerk, with ready sympathy. "can i do anything for you?" it seemed as if roy tried to speak, but only a murmur came from his lips. "he'll be all right in a little while," said mr. wakely quickly. "he's a little faint; that's all. i'll look after him." somehow the clerk thought mr. wakely acted as if he did not want any one to come too near roy, or lend any aid. a little later, leading the boy, who seemed to become weaker, mr. wakely got into the cab with him, and drove on. "poor fellow," said the clerk sympathetically. "i hope he gets better. he certainly is a nice chap, and i wonder what could have made him ill so suddenly? i don't like that wakely fellow." that evening it occurred to mortimer de royster that he had not seen his friend roy for some time. not, in fact, since he had parted with him at the hotel. "that's beastly impolite on my part, don't you know," said de royster to himself. "i must run around and see him. i've been so busy straightening out my accounts since i came back from my western trip, that i have neglected all my friends. however, i'll make up for it. i'll take him to some theatre and give him a good time." thus musing, mortimer de royster adjusted his one eye glass, selected a delicately-colored necktie from his rather large stock, and attired himself to go out and call at roy's hotel, which he soon reached. "good evening, mortimer," greeted the clerk, who knew de royster quite well. "how are you?" "feeling very fit, old chap, don't you know," replied de royster. "how are you?" "so-so." "that's good. charming evening, isn't it? charming. i--er--i called to see my friend, mr. bradner. going to take him out and show him a bit of new york after dark, don't you know. i have tickets to a very nice show, and i think he'll like it. i owe a good deal to him, old man. he's a clever chap. i want to repay him in some way. i'll go up to his room." "it's no use." "no use. why, my dear fellow, what do you mean?" "i mean he was taken away--ill--in a cab by a friend of his." "who was the friend?" mortimer de royster lost his rather careless manner, and was all attention. "a fellow named wakely. he took rooms here a day or so ago. made friends with mr. bradner--roy, i call him, for i feel quite friendly toward him. late this afternoon wakely came to me and said roy was sick, and he was going to take him to a doctor." "and did he?" "that's what he did. took his baggage too," and the clerk related what had taken place. "what sort of a fellow was this wakely?" asked de royster, with increasing interest. the clerk described him. the dudish jewelry salesman shook his head. "i don't recognize him," he said. "what do you think about it? you saw him." "i'll tell you what i think," went on the clerk. "i think that fellow wakely is up to some game, and i wish roy had not made his acquaintance." "that's just what i believe," exclaimed de royster. "it seems a queer thing that roy should be taken sick so suddenly. why, he was as healthy as a young ox. i'll wager there's something wrong. he came here to new york to expose a man he thought was a swindler, and i believe the man has him in his power now. i must do something to aid him." "what are you going to do?" asked the clerk, as de royster started out of the hotel. "i'm going to try to find the cab driver who took them away, and perhaps i can trace roy. if i can't do it that way i'll notify the police. roy has been taken away against his will, and maybe they are keeping him in hiding. i'm going to find him!" roused into sudden action by the thought of danger to the lad who had aided him, mortimer de royster hurried out, a look of determination on his face. chapter xx in the tenement when roy awakened, after what seemed like a very long sleep, he found himself in a poorly furnished room. at first he could not understand it--everything was so different from his pleasant apartment at the hotel. he thought it must be a dream, but when he saw his trunk and valises near the bed, he knew he was not asleep. he sat up and looked about him. the room he was in contained, besides the bed, a table, a few chairs and a small cupboard. as roy roused a man, seated in one of the chairs, approached the bed. "so, you're awake, are you?" he asked. "what's the matter--what has happened, mr. wakely?" asked roy, recognizing the man who had treated him to ice cream soda. "oh, you're all right. you're just staying here for a few days." "but what happened? did the hotel catch fire? did i get hurt? did they bring me here?" "i brought you here, but the hotel did not catch fire." "then why am i not there--in my own room?" "this is your room for a while." something in the man's smile roused roy's suspicions. "what do you mean?" he asked quickly. "now keep quiet and you'll be all right," spoke mr. wakely, in what he meant to be a soothing tone. "you can't help yourself. you're here, and you're going to stay." all of roy's energies were aroused. he believed he had been brought to the place for the purposes of robbery. but how had it been done without his knowledge? he started to leave the bed. "no you don't!" exclaimed mr. wakely. "you stay right there." "what's that?" cried roy, a sudden fire coming into his eyes, and his hands clenching themselves ready for a fray. "i must say you've got nerve to do this. i'm going to get up, and you and i are going to have a tussel! i guess i haven't roped wild steers, and ridden bucking broncos, for nothing!" he threw off the covers, noting for the first time that he was fully dressed. but, as he attempted to approach mr. wakely a dizziness overcame him, and he sank back, trembling on the bed. "you see i am right," went on the plotter with an evil smile. "you had better stay where you are." it seemed to roy as if all his strength had left him. he had never felt so weak before, save once, when he was recovering from a severe fever. "where am i; and what do you want?" he managed to ask. "now if you'll promise to lie quietly, i'll tell you," went on the man. "i guess i'll not take any chances though. i'll tie you in bed, and you can listen then." it did not take him long, in roy's weakened condition, to fasten the boy securely in the bed, by means of ropes which he took from the cupboard. "there," remarked mr. wakely when he had finished. "i think you'll stay there for a while. now listen. you have been brought here for a certain purpose. i can't tell you just what it is, but, if you behave yourself, no harm will come to you." [illustration: "i think you'll stay there for a while," said wakely] "but what right have you got to bring me here?" "never mind about that. you're here, and you're going to stay." "i'll call for help, as soon as i'm able." "and a lot of good it will do you. you are on the top floor of a tenement house, and there are no tenants except on the first floor. you can yell until you are hoarse, for there is a big electric light plant near here. it runs night and day and it makes so much noise constantly that all the yelling you can do won't be heard above it. besides, if the tenants should happen to hear you yelling, they'll pay no attention to you, for you are supposed to be crazy. i told 'em so. now you see how helpless you are." roy felt stunned. why had this man gotten him in his power? "but i can't see what you want of me," went on roy weakly. "if it's money, why take what i have, if you mean to rob me." "no. i'm not going to rob you." "then are you kidnapping me, and holding me for a ransom?" roy had read of such things. "not much! kidnapping isn't in my line. i am acting under orders for a friend of mine. he wants you kept out of the way for a while, and i'm going to do it. "now understand. i'm on guard here, or in the next room all the while. if i'm not there some one else will be. if you try to escape it will go hard with you. if you behave you'll be well taken care of, and fed. in a short time--that is, in a week or so--you will be allowed to go. now, if you'll promise to lie quietly, i'll take off the ropes." "i'll not promise you anything!" "very well, then you stay tied up. i'm going out for a few minutes, but you needn't think you can escape." the man left, locking the door. as soon as he was gone roy tried to loosen the bonds, but they were tied too tightly, and he was too weak to accomplish anything. "i wonder what his object is?" thought the boy from the ranch. "he must have put some drug in that soda to make me partly unconscious. i remember now it had tasted queer. then he brought me here. but what for? i can't understand it. i wonder if i can escape?" once more roy tried to loosen the ropes, but the effort was too much, and his head, which was not tied down, fell back. he was unconscious. chapter xxi a dangerous descent when roy regained his senses again, he felt much better. he was still tied down on the bed, and wakely was sitting near him. "well, you were quiet enough," remarked the man with a sneer. "i've got something here to eat. you can take it, if you don't raise a row." "oh, i'll take it," said roy. he knew if he was to make an effort to escape, which he fully intended to do, he would need all his strength, and food was necessary. "then, i'll loosen the ropes a bit. but, mind now, no funny work, or i'll tackle you." roy had his own opinion as to how he would fare in a tussel with wakely, but he said nothing. the ropes were loosened and the boy partook of the food. he felt better after it. it was now dark, and wakely lighted the gas in the room. roy wondered whether it was the same day he had been taken from the hotel, or whether several had elapsed. it was the same day, as he learned later. "now, i'm going to sleep in the next room," went on the man, "and i warn you i'll awaken at the slightest sound. if you try any tricks--well, it will be better if you don't. as i said, no harm will come to you--if you're quiet." roy did not answer. he wanted to think out a plan of action. he was puzzled over the queer situation, and wondering who could have any object in keeping him a prisoner. he did not associate caleb annister with it. after the meal wakely again adjusted the ropes about the boy on the bed, and roy offered no objections. he was sure when the time came he could undo the bonds. for what roy did not know about tying ropes, to hold anything from a bucking bronco to a wild steer, was not worth knowing. he was in a situation now where his life on the ranch was likely to stand him in good stead. "you can go to sleep whenever you want to," said wakely. "but remember--no tricks!" roy did not answer. he wanted to think, and he knew he could do it best in the dark. presently wakely turned off the gas, and withdrew, again locking the door. it did not need much listening on roy's part to show that the man had spoken the truth about the noises near the tenement. there sounded the whirr of dynamos, the puffing of steam, the rattle of coal and ashes down chutes--in short it would have taken a loud voice to make itself heard above the racket. a better place to keep a prisoner, in the midst of a great city, could not have been devised. nevertheless roy did not give up hope. he resolved to attempt nothing that night. he wanted daylight to work by, and he felt that wakely could not be with him all the while. "but if i stay here more than a day or so there's going to be trouble," thought the boy. "dad will write or telegraph me, in answer to my letter telling about annister's game, and, if i can't answer him, he'll get worried. i wish i could understand what this is all about. maybe they take me for another person. well, i can't do anything now. i must try to sleep. that stuff he gave me makes my head ache. this shows how foolish i was to trust too much to strangers. when he got me to look around at that handkerchief he must have put something into my soda." thus musing, roy fell into a doze. from that he passed into a heavy sleep, and wakely, peering in the door a little later, noted with satisfaction that his prisoner was deep in slumber. "that's good," he whispered. "i can get some rest myself now. it's no joke--being on guard all the while. some of the others of the gang have got to help out. i must send word to baker. he's got to take his share." roy felt better the next morning, and ate with relish the breakfast wakely brought in, though the meal was not a very good one. a little while after this his captor went out, and roy resolved to attempt to loosen his bonds. it was a hard task, for he could not work to advantage, but to his delight he found he could gradually undo some of the knots. but he did not cast off the ropes. that was not his plan. as long as he knew he could loosen them at will, he decided to remain as though bound. this would make wakely think he was in no position to escape, and the man would not keep such close watch. soon after this voices were heard in the outer room, and roy knew some one was with his guard. they did not come into the apartment, and the boy saw nothing of any one until, at noon, more food was brought to him. he deemed it inadvisable to attempt to escape now, and resolved to wait another day. night came, supper was brought, and again roy was locked in. he was beginning to be very uncomfortable, lying in bed so long. "i'll slip out the first chance i get to-morrow," he thought. "right after breakfast will be a good time." fortune favored him. soon after wakely had brought in the morning meal, he went out, locking the door after him. roy heard another door close, and guessed rightly that his captor had left the building. "now's my chance!" thought the boy. putting into operation his knowledge of ropes and knots, and, by using his strength, which was not small, he managed to loosen his bonds. in a few minutes he was standing in the middle of the room free. "now for the door!" roy murmured. "i wonder if i can break it open, or work the lock?" a moment's inspection served to show him that to open the portal was out of the question. the lock was a heavy one. the door itself was solid, not one with panels, and, after trying it cautiously, for roy did not want to make a noise, he decided he could not escape that way. there was only one other means,--the window. he went to it and looked out. it was fully sixty feet from the ground, and there was nothing, in the shape of a lightning rod, or a rain-pipe leader to cling to. nothing but the bare tenement house wall, broken here and there with other windows. roy leaned far out. he knew it was useless to shout, as the noise from the electric shop drowned all other sound. nor could he see any one whose attention he might attract. it was necessary for him that he work quickly, for wakely, or one of his friends, might return any moment. yet how could roy get out of the window and to the ground? he looked about the room for something to aid him. his first thought was of the bed clothes. he had read of persons tying sheets together, after tearing them into strips, and so making a rope. but there were no sheets on his bed, merely a small blanket, for it was warm weather. there was nothing in the shape of a rope in the room. it looked as if roy would have to remain a prisoner. suddenly an idea came to him as he looked at his large valise which, with his trunk, had been brought to his room. "i have it!" he exclaimed. "my lasso! it's long enough!" it did not take a minute to get it from the valise. it was a long thin lariat, strong enough to support several pounds, and he knew it would reach over a hundred feet. "lucky i thought to bring that with me," he said, "though billy carew laughed at me, and asked if i expected to rope any steers in the streets of new york. i guess he didn't figure on this." it did not take roy two minutes to fasten one end of the lariat to the bed, which was the heaviest article in the room. then he tossed the other end out of the window, noting that it touched the ground, with several feet to spare. "now for it!" murmured the boy. "it's a dangerous climb, to go down hand over hand, but i think i can slide it!" testing the lasso to make sure it was securely fastened, he put one leg over the window sill, grasped the lariat with both hands, and swung himself off. as he did so he heard the door of his room open, and some one rushed in. there was a cry of alarm. "that's wakely," reasoned roy. "he's discovered that i'm gone." an instant later the face of wakely appeared at the window. he shouted to roy: "come back here!" "not much!" "then i'll cut the rope!" wakely drew out his knife, but, before he had a chance to use it he was pulled back, and the face of mortimer de royster replaced that of roy's late captor. chapter xxii getting a clue roy was so astonished at the sight of his friend, the jewelry salesman, peering out of the window that he nearly let go his hold of the rope. he recovered himself quickly, however, and slid on toward the ground. as he looked up at the casement he could see that de royster and wakely were having some kind of a struggle. "i must go back and help him," thought roy. "mr. de royster is no match for that fellow. i'd like to tackle him on my own account, though he was not cruel to me while he had me a prisoner." his determination to do this was increased when his friend leaned out of the window, and called: "come on up, roy! help me!" "he's plucky to tackle that fellow alone," thought the boy from the ranch. but now he had no time for musings. he must act. as he let go the rope, his feet having touched the ground, he found himself in the not very clean yard of the tenement. about him were boxes and barrels of rubbish, decaying vegetables were on all sides, besides tin cans and heaps of refuse. clearly the tenants in the house were not particular. roy looked about him. the yard was surrounded by a high fence, and there were no persons in sight. to the rear was the electric light plant, and on either side, the yards of other tenement houses. then roy saw an alley, which, he thought, would lead to the street. leaving his lariat dangling, he made a dash for the alley and soon found himself in front of the tenement house, where he had so recently been a prisoner. up the stairs he went on the jump, and, as he came near the room where he had been held, he could hear the sound of a struggle. "they're fighting!" he thought. "i must help de royster!" as he entered the apartment he saw the jewelry salesman holding wakely by the wrists, while the man was endeavoring to get away. "quiet now, my dear fellow!" exclaimed mortimer de royster. "i say, old chap, you can't get away, don't you know. i've got you, and i'm going to have you arrested." "you are, eh? i'll see about that!" exclaimed wakely. "let go of me!" at the same time he gave a violent wrench. "hold on, my dear fellow," remonstrated de royster. "you mustn't do that, don't you know." in spite of his rather slight built de royster was proving himself almost a match for wakely. but his strength was not of the lasting kind, while the other's was. "let me go!" fiercely demanded wakely. "if you don't it will be the worst for you!" at the same time he gave such a yank that he succeeded in freeing one arm. but de royster was not going to give up so easily. he grabbed wakely around the waist. at that moment roy made a rush for wakely. just as he was about to grab him, he was thrust aside by some one from behind. wakely turned, gave one look at the newcomer, and cried: "quick! tell annister he's escaped!" wakely had not yet observed roy, as the boy from the ranch was back of him. then the man who had taken roy from the hotel succeeded in breaking the hold de royster and roy had on him. he dashed from the room, just as the other man, to whom he had called the warning, also ran out. both seemed much frightened. "hold on!" cried de royster, as if either of the men would stop for that. "hold on! i know you." "come on! we'll get 'em!" shouted roy, turning quickly and starting after his captor and the confederate. but he was too late. wakely slammed the door of the room shut, and locked it, and roy knew it would be useless to try and open it. "break the door down!" exclaimed mortimer de royster. "we can catch them!" "the door's too strong," replied roy. "then we're caught!" "yes, but don't worry. i can go down the lariat the same as i did before." "perhaps you can, but i can't my dear fellow." "oh, i'll come up the stairs and open the door for you, if the key's there. say, but how did you get here, anyhow?" "i came after you. i've been tracing you for hours. what does it all mean, roy? why did they take you a prisoner?" "i don't know. wait until i get my breath and i'll talk." "that's so. i'm a little troubled that way myself, don't you know. if i could have held that chap a little longer i would have had him." "yes, but he had help at hand." "right again, old chap. the other man came in at the wrong time. you know who he was, don't you?" "no. i didn't get a good look at his face. who was he?" "one of the four swindlers from out west who got my watch and diamond pin!" "you don't mean it;" cried roy, much excited. he began to understand part of the plot now. "that's who he was," declared the dudish salesman. "i knew him at once, but i couldn't warn you. i needed all my breath to hold that other man. what was his name? i've forgotten." "he called himself wakely. i met him at my hotel." the exciting incidents of the last few minutes, and the surprise created by de royster's announcement that one of the train swindlers was a friend of wakely, set roy to thinking. "did you hear what the fellow, whom i was holding, said just before he got away?" asked mr. de royster, after a pause. "yes, he said 'quick! tell annister he's escaped!'" "i wonder what he meant?" "i reckon i can explain. i might as well tell you the whole story of why i came to new york, and you will understand. caleb annister is the name of the man who is agent for some property my father and i own. it was this man whose actions i came to investigate. i found him to be a swindler, and i gave him a short time in which to pay back the money he had wrongfully retained." "what did he say?" "he tried to explain, but it was a pretty poor explanation. i caught him 'with the goods on him', as we say out west." "but why should this man whom i held--this wakely--want the other to warn annister about some one escaping?" "that 'some one' was me. i believe annister got these fellows to get me out of the way for a time, until he could work some of his schemes. perhaps he thought i would be frightened, and go back west, where i could not bother him any more. "are you going?" "not a bit. i'm going to keep right after him. i begin to see through his plot. this man wakely came to my hotel purposely to get acquainted with me. then he drugged me, and got me out to this place, where he kept me a prisoner. what was to be the outcome i don't know. but i am surprised to hear you say that the other man who came into the room was one of the swindlers who robbed you." "i am sure of it. i would never forget his face. wakely, too, seems familiar, but i can't place him." "maybe wakely is a member of their gang, and perhaps annister, too, is in with them." "i shouldn't be surprised. what do you think we had better do?" neither of them yet recognized wakely as tupper. "i think we'd better get out of this place before they come back with reinforcements," said roy with a laugh. he was cool, despite what he had gone through, for he was somewhat used to meeting danger and doing his best to escape. "i'll slide down my rope again," he went on, "come up the stairs, and open the door. then we can talk it over. i must get my baggage away from here." it did not take the boy long to repeat his feat with the lariat, and soon, having found a key, he opened the door from without, releasing mortimer de royster. chapter xxiii a lawyer's advice "now, what's the first thing to be done, my dear chap?" asked de royster, as roy loosed the lasso from the bed and coiled it up. "arrange to get my stuff away from here. i reckon, and back to my hotel. then i want to hear how you traced me." "i'll tell you. but i agree with you that we had better leave this place. let's go down to the street and engage an expressman." they found one who agreed to take roy's baggage back to the hotel. after seeing it safely in the wagon, during which time a few of the tenants in the house looked on curiously, but said nothing, the two friends started for the hotel, where roy had been stopping. "as soon as i called at your hotel that night, and found you had been taken away, sick, by a man who had only recently come to the place, i suspected something was wrong," explained mr. de royster, on the way. "the clerk told me about you going away in a cab, and gave me a fairly good description of the driver, whom he had a glimpse of. it was a cab seldom seen in this part of the city. "i knew my best plan, don't you know, would be to find that driver, and learn where he had taken you and your baggage. my idea was that some sharpers had gotten you into their power to rob you. i never suspected there was such a deep plot." "neither did i," replied roy, "and i don't believe we have seen the last of it." "well," went on de royster, "i had quite a time tracing that cabman. i must have interviewed nearly fifty drivers before i found one who knew a fellow that answered the description of the one who had taken you away. but at last i located him, and, though he was reluctant at first, to tell me what i wanted to know, he did, after i threatened to call in the police." "would you have done so?" "certainly. i felt that you were in danger, for you know little of new york." "that's so, and i'm afraid it will take me a long time to learn. i'm pretty green." "well, you may be in some things, but you can go ahead of new yorkers in lots of ways. that was a great trick, sliding down that lasso." "it was lucky i had it with me." "indeed it was, and it was a good thing those scoundrels took your baggage as well as you, or you might have been there yet." "no, for you would have helped me, i reckon. you arrived just a few minutes after i had started to escape. how did you manage it?" "well, as i said, my dear chap," replied de royster, adjusting his one eye glass, which had fallen out during the struggle with wakely, "i made the cabman tell me where he took you, and, after that it was an easy matter to locate you. i got to the tenement right behind wakely and i followed him up the stairs, though, then, i didn't know who he was, and i rushed into the room as soon as he opened the door, for he forgot to close it when he looked at the bed and saw it empty. i suspected you had been in here, when i saw what a lonesome sort of place it was. i pulled him back, just as he had his knife out, ready to cut the lasso." "i hardly believe he would have dared to cut it," said roy. "he only wanted to scare me into coming back." "perhaps he did. but i was not going to take any chances; i just grabbed him." "that was fine on your part." "oh, that's nothing. look what you did for me. i only paid you back a little." "nonsense. as if i wanted pay." "of course you didn't, but i was glad of the chance. i only wish i could have held wakely. now, i suppose he'll go and tell annister, and they'll keep right after you." "do you think so?" "i believe so, from what you tell me of the men." "then what would you advise me to do?" "let me think it over a bit. suppose we go to your room?" "all right." there was considerable surprise on the part of the clerk at the hotel when roy came back. on the way he and mortimer de royster had agreed it would be better not to say anything about the reason for the taking away of the boy from the ranch--a veritable kidnapping in fact. so it was explained that roy had recovered from his temporary illness, and had simply been away on business, which was true enough in its way,--though it was not very pleasant business. "now," said de royster, when he and roy were once more back in the former's room. "this is what i would do. i would consult a good lawyer, and let him advise me. i think this is too much for you to handle alone." "i believe you are right. do you know a good lawyer?" "i can introduce you to the one who does business for our firm. he is very reliable, and his charges are reasonable." "then we will go see him, after i have changed my clothes. sleeping in them hasn't made them look exactly as new as they were." "that's a good idea. have you heard from your father since writing to him about annister?" "i don't know. perhaps a letter came while i was away. i wonder where they would send it?" "they would keep it here until you gave them some instructions for forwarding it. i'll inquire at the desk for you while you are changing your clothes." as roy had purchased two suits on coming to new york, he had a new one to put on, while the other was sent to be pressed. he had not finished dressing when de royster came back. "no letters, but there's a telegram," he said, handing roy the yellow envelope. the boy tore it open and read: "letter received. no doubt annister is swindler. you are doing right. keep after him. don't spare expense. take property from his control, and give to some good man. i leave it to you. answer when you get this." "why this came yesterday," said roy. "dad will be wondering why he doesn't hear from me." "then you had better answer at once. there is a branch telegraph office in the hotel lobby. write an answer and i'll take it down while you finish dressing." a reply was soon prepared and sent. meanwhile roy got ready for the street and, accompanied by de royster, he went to the lawyer's office. the legal gentleman greeted mortimer de royster cordially. roy was quite surprised to find out how many friends the jewelry salesman had. everyone seemed to like him in spite of his odd ways. roy's story was soon told. the lawyer took off his gold spectacles, wiped them carefully with a silk handkerchief, replaced them, looked at roy over the tops of them, and remarked: "hum!" it was not very encouraging, nor did it tell very much. roy began to fear he had not made himself clear. "i would like--" he began. "what you want is my advice as to how next to proceed; isn't it?" asked the lawyer, as though he had come to some decision, as indeed he had. "yes, sir." "well, i shall have to look into this matter of the property. evidently mr. annister has some reason for wanting you out of the way. what it is we shall have to discover. meanwhile you had better do nothing." "but suppose they kidnap him again?" asked de royster. "i don't believe they'll dare do that. perhaps you had better take care where you go, however. in the meanwhile i will make some inquiries about this property. i will communicate with you as soon as i have anything to report." "do you think you can make mr. annister give back the money he has wrongfully kept?" asked roy. "i'm afraid i can't give you an opinion until i have looked further into the case," said the lawyer with a smile. "it may be necessary to take civil action, and we might have to make a criminal complaint. now don't worry about it. i'll look after it. just you keep out of the way of those men." "i will," agreed roy with a laugh. "i'm not afraid of them, however. i'll be ready for them next time." "another thing," went on the lawyer, "don't drink ice cream sodas, or anything else, with strangers." "i'll stick to mr. de royster," said the boy. "i reckon if i trail along with him they'll not be able to rope me." "rope you? oh, yes, i understand," replied the lawyer with a smile. "yes, that's right. good morning." chapter xxiv another rascally attempt "what next?" asked roy of mortimer de royster, as they emerged from the lawyer's office. "well, as it's getting near dinner time, suppose we go back to the hotel." "that's a good idea. will you stay and have grub with me--i mean lunch. i must get used to calling it that while i'm in new york." "yes, thank you. i've got a good appetite since that tussel with wakely." "you had nerve to tackle him." "i thought he was going to cut the rope and let you drop." "if he had, that would have been the end of me. i'd have 'passed in my chips,' as the card players say." "those card players! i'd like to meet them. i'd get even with them for stealing my watch and diamond!" "maybe you'll have a chance, when we round up annister." "if we ever do. but i imagine he's too slick a criminal to be caught." "we'll see," said roy. "what would you like to do this afternoon?" asked de royster, when the meal was finished. "i can show you some sights if you'd like to see them." "i sure would. i haven't had much time so far. there wasn't a great deal to see in that tenement." "then we'll go up to bronx park. we can make a quick trip in the subway." "that's the place i thought was a tunnel, and i was wondering when we would come to the end," and roy laughed at the memory of his natural mistake. the two friends had a good time in the park, looking at the animals. the herd of buffalo interested roy very much, as did the elephants, tigers, and other beasts from tropical countries, for he had never seen any before, since no circuses ever came to painted stone, nor anywhere in that vicinity. "you haven't got any of these out west; have you?" asked mortimer de royster, with a new yorker's usual pride in the big zoo. "no, and we don't want 'em." "why not?" "they'd stampede the cattle in seven counties. what would a drove of steers or a band of horses do if they saw one of them elephants coming at 'em, so's they couldn't tell which end was the tail? or one of them long-necked giraffes? why, those giraffes would starve out our way. there's no trees tall enough for 'em to eat their breakfast from." they went into the reptile house, and the snakes fascinated roy. he paused before a glass box of rattlers. "there's something we've got out west," he said, "and we'd give a good deal not to have 'em. we lose lots of cattle from snake-bites--those ugly rattlers! i don't like to look at 'em! i nearly stepped on one once, and he stuck his fangs in my boot." "what did you do?" "stepped on it and killed it. come on; let's look at something more pleasant." they spent the rest of the day in the park, and returned to the hotel that evening. for about a week nothing occurred. mortimer de royster took roy for occasional pleasure trips, including one jaunt to coney island, where the boy from the ranch had his first glimpse of the ocean. the big waves, and the immense expanse of water, astonished him more than anything he had seen in new york. "i never knew there was so much water in the world," he said. "this would be fine out our way in time of drouth, when all the pastures dry up." "i'm afraid it would be worse than none at all," said mr. de royster. "it's salt, and it would kill the grass." "that's so. i didn't think about that." they went in bathing, and took in many amusements at the pleasure resort. it was quite late when they got back to the hotel, and de royster did not go all the way with roy, turning off to go to his own boarding house, which was about a mile from where roy was stopping. "i'll see you to-morrow," called the jewelry salesman, as the two parted. "i guess the lawyer will have some word for us then." "there's a note for you," said the hotel clerk to roy as the boy entered, and he handed over a sealed envelope. in the upper left hand corner was the printed name and address of the lawyer to whom de royster had taken him. "mr. felix ketchum must have some news for me," thought roy, as he opened the note. it was a written request for him to call at a certain address that night, where he would receive some information that would be of service to him, and the communication was signed with mr. ketchum's name. a postscript stated that the lawyer would be there. "that's queer," thought the boy. "i wonder why he didn't have me call at his office? but perhaps he has to work secretly against annister. i guess that's it." "when did this note come?" he asked the clerk. "right after dinner." "dinner?" "i mean the evening dinner--i suppose you call it supper out west," and the clerk smiled. "that's what we do. who brought this?" "a boy. he said there was no answer. hope it isn't bad news." "no; only a business matter. can you tell me where the bowery is?" "the bowery. you're not going there; are you?" "yes, i have an appointment to meet a man there," and roy mentioned the number. "you want to be careful," cautioned the clerk. "it's not the best place in the world after dark. don't take much money with you, for you might be robbed." "aren't there policemen there?" "yes, but they can't be all over. that address is not far from the chinese district, and it's a hanging-out place for thieves and criminals." "funny that mr. ketchum should want me to go there," thought roy, "but perhaps he has to get evidence against mr. annister from a man who doesn't care to be seen during the day. i guess i'll chance it. there can't be much danger in the midst of a big city, with policemen around. besides i'll be on my guard. i wish i could tell mr. de royster. but, no, i'll not bother him. he'll think i'm a regular baby, not able to take care of myself." this thought decided roy to go alone. he suspected nothing, but, had he known more about new york, he would have considered twice before venturing into one of the worst parts of that great city. the clerk once more cautioned the boy, gave him directions how to get to the address on the bowery, and in due time roy arrived there. part of the street was brilliantly lighted, but the building where he was directed to call, was in a dark location, and did not look very inviting. "i wonder if this is it?" thought roy. "guess i'll ask." he saw a door opening into a dim hallway. a man was standing there. "is mr. ketchum in this building?" asked roy, for the note had instructed him to ask for the lawyer. "yes, come on in," said the man gruffly. roy advanced. the door shut after him with a click, and he was left in almost total darkness. at the same time he felt some one grab him. "have you got him?" cried a voice. "don't hurt him, but hold him tight." roy recognized the voice as that of caleb annister! as he felt arms closing around him he kicked out vigorously. there was a howl of pain, but roy was not released. he knew that once more he was in the hands of annister's accomplices. chapter xxv the round-up--conclusion across roy's mind it flashed in an instant that he had been deceived by the note--it was a forgery. he had been tricked into coming to the bowery. he dwelt but momentarily on this, however, for he needed to devote all his attention to escaping from the grip of the man who held him. fortunately roy was of exceptional strength for so young a lad. his training on the ranch, roping steers, training wild horses, and his life in the open, made him more than a match for the average man. he kicked out vigorously, right and left, and squirmed like an eel. he felt the grip of the man relaxing, and heard him call for aid. then another came. but roy was fighting desperately. he made up his mind not only not to let the men take him away again, but to hold them until help came. with this in view he set up a loud shout. "police! police! police!" he cried, remembering what the hotel clerk had said about the bluecoats being on the bowery. "stop his mouth or we'll all be arrested!" exclaimed some one. "yes. can't you manage him?" asked annister desperately. "he's as strong as a horse!" roy heard one man grunt, and this caused the boy to smile grimly. the struggle in the dark continued. the boy had a good grip on two men, and was preventing them from dragging him down the dark hallway. but help was at hand. his cries had been heard in the street, and, a moment later the door leading to the thoroughfare opened, and a little light came in. at the same time roy heard the sound of a club striking on the pavement. "the cops are coming!" cried a voice. a few seconds later a burly bluecoat entered the door. "what's going on?" he asked. "nothing but a drunken row," quickly replied one of the men who had attacked roy, at the same time trying to loosen the grip of the lad. "i'm putting the fellow out." the plotter would have been glad to drop the matter now and escape, but roy had no intention of letting him go. "officer!" exclaimed roy quickly, "they're trying to get me away! i've got hold of two of 'em. give us a hand and we'll throw and tie 'em both." he talked as though he was on the ranch, handling a pair of refractory calves. somehow the officer recognized the honesty in roy's voice. he knew it was not uncommon for thieves and pickpockets to attack persons in dark hallways. he supposed it was one of those cases. "i'll help you!" he exclaimed, quickly advancing. some one in the rear of the hall had opened a door, and the place was lighter. the policeman saw two men whom roy had gripped, holding them by twisting his hands in their coats. the men tried to escape. "no, you don't!" exclaimed the officer, grabbing one. "i've got you." at the same time a second policeman appeared, and took charge of the other. the rest of the men escaped. "now let's see who we've got," said the first bluecoat, as he led his prisoner to the light in the rear. his brother officer did likewise. "i don't know either of 'em," announced the first policeman. "me either," admitted his colleague. "they must belong to a new pickpocket gang." but roy knew them both. one was caleb annister, and the other john wakely, alias dennison tupper, though roy did not learn that until later. "do you want to make a charge against these two?" asked the first officer. "a charge of attempted pocket picking?" "it's worse than that," replied roy. "they tried to kidnap me." "kidnap you? then you'd better come to the station, and tell the sergeant all about it. i'll ring for the wagon." in a little while the patrol vehicle dashed up with a clanging of the gong, and, through the great crowd that almost instantly gathered, roy followed the two officers and their prisoners into the wagon. they were soon at the station house. "how do i know but what you're all of one gang?" asked the sergeant, when roy had told his story, while the other two remained obstinately silent. "if you will telephone for mr. ketchum he will identify me." the name produced an instant effect, for mr. ketchum was a lawyer well known in police circles, as he prosecuted many criminals. the sergeant telephoned, and, in a short time, came the answer from mr. ketchum's home that he would come to the station and identify roy. he did so, and the sergeant admitted his mistake. "i'll just lock these two up," he said, indicating mr. annister and wakely. "you're not going to lock me up, are you?" asked caleb annister, who seemed to lose all courage as he saw the way matters were going. "you're not going to prosecute me, are you, roy bradner? i'll make restitution! i'll pay it all back!" "then you confess you swindled this boy, and his father?" asked mr. ketchum quickly. "i--er--i won't say anything," replied the other sullenly, as he saw the mistake he had made. "you don't have to. i have evidence enough to convict you without any admissions on your part. i discovered your scheme in time. a few days more and it would have been too late to pay the taxes, and save the property for mr. bradner and his son." "was he going to take the property?" asked roy, amazed at the duplicity of the agent his father had trusted. "he was. that is why he tried to have you put out of the way. he was afraid you would interfere with his plan before the two weeks expired. fortunately i discovered it in time. to-morrow i will pay the taxes in your father's name, and the building will remain the property of him and yourself." "what's the charge against these two, then?" asked the sergeant. "attempted kidnapping and embezzlement against him," replied mr. ketchum, indicating annister, "and against wakely, a charge of actual kidnapping. i think we shall be able to arrest the others in the gang, also." "hold on!" exclaimed a voice, and roy turned around to behold mortimer de royster. "there's another charge to be made." "who against?" asked the sergeant, impressed by the apparently wealthy air of the jewelry salesman. "against him," pointing to wakely. "what is the charge?" "robbery. he and three others stole my gold watch and diamond pin." wakely uttered an exclamation. "i now recognize him as one of the robbers, even though he has shaved his moustache off," went on de royster, and roy, now, also knew where it was he had heard wakely's voice before. "lock 'em up!" called the sergeant to the doorman, as he made an entry on the blotter, against the prisoners' names. "you can see the judge in the morning," he went on. "i suppose you will be here, mr. ketchum?" "oh, yes. i will prosecute this case to a finish. it was a wicked and bold attempt at swindling." "well, you seem to turn up every time i need you," remarked roy to mortimer de royster. "how did you know i was here?" "i called at your hotel shortly after you left. i had forgotten to tell you, when we parted, that i would call for you early to-morrow morning. the clerk said you had gone to the bowery, after receiving a note. "i was suspicious, and i followed. i got there just as the patrol wagon left, and i came on to the station house. well, i guess you 'rounded them up' as you call it, roy." "yes, they're roped and in the corral now, all right. that is, part of them are." "the police will get the others. they'll make annister and wakely tell who their confederates are." mortimer de royster's surmise proved correct. later that night hynard, baker and sutton were arrested, just as they were about to leave the city. on sutton were found pawn tickets representing de royster's watch and diamond, and he got them back in due time. there were also some envelopes and letter heads secured in some criminal way from mr. ketchum's office. on one of them the note to roy had been written. after a hearing the swindlers and annister, the rascally real estate agent, were sent to jail, in default of bail, there to await trial on several charges. eventually they were sent to prison for long terms. "well, you saved your father's building for him," remarked mr. ketchum to roy, a few days later. "do you really think annister could have gotten it into his possession?" "he could, under the law. of course we might have contested it, but it would have been a long and expensive proceeding. he would have had a tax deed to it, and that is considered pretty good. your father can be proud of you. what are you going to do now?" "go back to the ranch, i guess. i've done all dad told me to, except get a good man to look after the property. perhaps you can suggest some one?" "i think i can arrange that without difficulty." "then i wish you would. i know my father would be glad to have you." this was done a few days later, and mr. bradner was informed, by telegraph, of what had transpired. he could now be sure of getting all the rent money from the bleeker building. little was ever recovered of the money that mr. annister had unlawfully retained, for his property was so tied up that the law could not touch it. "now, since your business is all attended to, why can't you stay in new york a few weeks longer, and see more of the sights?" proposed mortimer de royster to the boy from the ranch. "i think i will," decided roy. "besides, you have still a visit to make." "a visit?" "exactly. you must call on that lady of the runaway." "oh! i reckon she has forgotten me," answered the boy from the ranch. but he had not been forgotten, as a visit to the lady's home quickly proved. he was royally entertained, and the lady's husband insisted upon presenting him with a ruby scarf pin, doing so in the names of both his wife and his little daughter. "and now you've got to make me a promise," said roy to mortimer de royster, when the boy from the ranch was ready to go home. "all right, roy, anything you say goes." "you must visit our ranch soon. i'll show you the best time possible." "i don't know what sort of a figure i'd cut on a ranch," answered the jewelry salesman, with a faint smile. "don't forget how i got mixed up with those sharpers when i was out in your neighborhood." "we haven't any sharpers at our ranch. if they came around where we were our cowboys would treat them pretty rough, i can tell you that. i'd like to get you on one of our ponies and ride you across the ranges. you'd find it the best kind of outdoor exercise." "i believe you there, roy." "then you will come? i want you to meet my father. you'll soon get used to our style of living--just as i got used to city ways." and the boy from the ranch grinned as he thought of the experiences he had undergone. "i'll come if i possibly can," answered mortimer de royster. let me add here that he did come, during the following july, and he and roy had many a good time together, hunting, fishing, and rounding-up cattle. it must be admitted that roy was anxious to get home, to see his father and tell his parent the details of what had transpired. he found his father much improved, for which he was thankful. "roy, you did well--as well as any man could have done," said mr. bradner. "i am proud of you." and his beaming face showed he meant what he said. it was a happy reunion. the cowboys were also glad to have the boy among them again, and that night they held a sort of jollification, lighting a big bonfire and shooting off their firearms as if it was the fourth of july. and here let us take our leave of the boy from the ranch. the lady in the car by william le queux published by j.b. lippincott company, philadelphia. this edition dated . the lady in the car, by william le queux. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ the lady in the car, by william le queux. preface. an apology. i hereby tender an apology to the reader for being compelled, in these curious chronicles of an adventurous motorist and his actions towards certain of his female acquaintances, to omit real names, and to substitute assumed ones. with the law of libel looming darkly, the reason is obvious. since the days when, as lads, we played cricket together at cheltenham "the prince," always a sportsman and always generous to the poor, has ever been my friend. in the course of my own wandering life of the past dozen years or so, i have come across him in all sorts of unexpected places up and down europe, and more especially in those countries beyond the danube which we term the balkans. for certain of his actions, and for the ingenuity of his somewhat questionable friends, i make no apology. while the game of "mug-hunting" remains so easy and so profitable, there will be always both hunters and hunted. as my friend's escapades were related to me, so have i set them down in the following pages, in the belief that my readers may perhaps care to make more intimate acquaintance with the clever, fearless, and altogether remarkable man whose exploits have already, from time to time, been referred to in guarded and mysterious terms by the daily press. william le queux. chapter one. his highness's love affair. the prince broke open a big box of choice "petroffs," selected one, lit it slowly, and walked pensively to the window. he was in a good mood that morning, for he had just got rid of a troublesome visitor. the big _salon_ was elegantly furnished with long mirrors, gilt chairs covered with sky-blue silk upholstery, a piano, and a pretty writing-table set close to the long window, which led out to a balcony shaded by a red-and-white sun-blind--the _salon_ of the best suite in the majestic, that huge hotel facing the sea in king's road, brighton. he was a tall, well-set-up man of about thirty-three; dark-haired, good-looking, easy-going, and refined, who, for the exception of the slightest trace of foreign accent in his speech, might easily have been mistaken for an englishman. in his well-cut dark brown flannels and brown shoes he went to the balcony, and, leaning over, gazed down upon the sun-lit promenade, full of life and movement below. his arrival a few days before had caused quite a flutter in the big hotel. he had not noticed it, of course, being too used to it. he travelled a great deal--indeed, he was always travelling nowadays--and had learned to treat the constant endeavours of unknown persons to scrape acquaintance with him with the utter disregard they deserved. not often did the majestic, so freely patronised by the stockbroker and the newly-rich, hold as guest any person equalling the prince in social distinction, yet at the same time so modest and retiring. the blatant persons overcrowding the hotel that august sunday, those pompous, red-faced men in summer clothes and white boots, and those over-dressed women in cream silk blouses and golden chatelaines, mostly denizens of kensington or regent's park, had been surprised when an hour ago he had walked along the hall and gone outside to speak with his chauffeur. he was so very good-looking, such a sportsman, and so very english they whispered. and half of those city men's wives were instantly dying for an opportunity of speaking with him, so that they could return to their suburban friends and tell of their acquaintance with the cousin of his imperial majesty the kaiser. but prince albert of hesse-holstein was thinking of other things. he had no use for that over-fed sunday crowd, with their slang chatter, their motor-cars and their gossip of "bithneth," through which he had just passed. he drew half a dozen times at his yellow russian cigarette, tossed it away, and lit another. he was thinking of his visitor who had just left, and--well, there remained a nasty taste in his mouth. the man had told him something-- something that was not exactly pleasant. anyhow, he had got rid of him. so prince albert ernst karl wilhelm, head of the great house of hesse-holstein, grand-cross of the orders of the black eagle, saint sava and the elephant, and commander of st hubert and of the crown of italy, returned again to the balcony, smoked on, and watched. in the meantime, in the big hall below, sat a well-dressed elderly lady with her daughter, a pretty, fair-haired, blue-eyed girl of twenty, a dainty figure in white, who wore a jade bangle upon her left wrist. they were americans on a tour with "poppa" through europe. mr robert k. jesup, of goldfields, nevada, had gone to pay a pilgrimage to stratford-on-avon, while his wife and daughter were awaiting him in brighton. with the inquisitiveness of the american girl mary jesup had obtained the "almanach de gotha" from the reading-room, and both mother and daughter were, with difficulty, translating into english the following notice of the prince's family which they found within the little red-covered book: "evangeliques--souche: widukind iii, comte de schwalenberg (principaute de holstein), - ; bailli a arolsen et acquisition du chateau de hesse vers, ; comte du saint empire de hesse, , dignite confirme, juin, ; bailli de wildungen, ; acquisition d'eisenberg (chateau fort, aujourd'hui en ruines, situe sur la montagne du meme nom) vers, ; acquisition par heritage du comte de pyrmont, ; coll. du titre de `hoch et wohlgeboren,' vienne, fevr., ; pretention a l'heritage du comte de rappolstein (ribeaupierre haute-alsace) et des seigneuries de hohenack et de geroldseck (ibidem) par suite du mariage ( juill, ) du cte chretien-louis, ne juill, , + dec. , avec elisabeth de rappolstein, nee mars, , + dec. , apres la mort de son oncle jean-jacques dernier comte de rappolstein, juill, ; les lignes ci-dessus descendent de deux fils (freres consaiguins) du susdit chretien-louis comte de hesse-eisenberg, de pyrmont et rappolstein, etc.--v. l'edition de (page )." "there, mother!" exclaimed the pretty girl. "why, they were an ancient family even before america was discovered! isn't he real nice? say! i only wish we knew him." "ah, my dear," replied the elder woman with a sigh. "those kind of people never know us. he's a royalty." "but he looks such a nice man. what a lovely car he's got--real fine! i've been out to see it. how i wish he'd take us for a ride." "you'd better ask him, my dear," laughed her mother. "guess i shouldn't be backward. i believe he would in a moment, if i asked him very nicely," she exclaimed, laughing in chorus. truth to tell, she had admired him when she had first encountered him two days ago. she had been seated in one of those wicker chairs outside the door in king's road, when he had come out and taken the chair next to hers, awaiting his car--a big sixty "mercedes" painted cream, with the princely arms and crown upon its panels. he was talking in english to his man, who had carried out his motor-coat. he was a prince--one of the wealthiest of all the german princes, a keen automobilist, a sportsman who had hunted big game in german east africa, a landlord who owned a principality with half a dozen mediaeval castles and some of the finest estates in the german empire, and one of the kaiser's most intimate relatives. and yet he was travelling with only his man and his motor-car. though mary jesup was heiress to the two millions sterling which her father had made during the past three years--as half the people in the hotel knew--yet she was aware that even her father's wealth could not purchase for her the title of princess of hesse-holstein. she was a very charming girl, bright, athletic and go-ahead--a typical american girl of to-day--and as she strolled out along the pier with her mother, her thoughts constantly reverted to the young man in brown who had given her more than one glance when he had passed. meanwhile, there had entered to the prince his faithful valet charles, a tall, thin, clean-shaven englishman, some four years his senior. "well?" asked his highness sharply casting himself into an easy-chair, and taking another "petroff." "got rid of him--eh?" "yes--but it was difficult. i gave him a couple of sovereigns, and made an appointment to meet him in the bar of the cecil, in london, next thursday at four." "good. that gives us time," remarked the prince with a sigh of relief. "and about the girl? what have you found out?" "she and her mother dined in the _table-d'hote_ room last night, and took coffee afterwards in the palm court. the father is the man who owns the gold-mines in nevada--worth ten million dollars. last year he gave half a million dollars to charity, and bought the bourbon pearls for his wife. gave eighty thousand pounds for them. she's got them here, a long string twice round her neck and reaches to her waist. she's wearing them to-day, and everybody, of course, thinks they're false." "how foolish these american women are! fancy wearing pearls of that price in the open street! why, she might easily be robbed," his master remarked. "but who'd believe they're genuine? they're too big to take a thiefs fancy," replied the faithful charles. "the jesups seem fond of jewellery. miss mary has a lovely diamond necklet--" "and wore it last night, i suppose?" "of course. they are newly-rich people, and crowd it all on. yet, what does it matter? men like jesup can easily buy more if they lose it. why, to have her jewels stolen is only a big advertisement for the american woman. haven't you seen cases in the paper--mostly at newport they seem to occur." "the girl is pretty--distinctly pretty, charles," remarked the prince slowly, with a philosophic air. "yes, your highness. and she'd esteem it a great honour if you spoke to her, i'm sure." prince albert pursed his lips. "i think not. these american girls have a good deal of spirit. she'd most probably snub me." "i think not. i passed through the hall five minutes ago, and she was looking you up in the `almanach de gotha.'" his highness started. "was she?" he cried with quick interest. "then she evidently knows all about me by this time! i wonder--" and he paused without concluding his sentence. charles saw that his master was thinking deeply, so he busied himself by putting some papers in order. "she's uncommonly pretty," his highness declared presently. "but dare i speak to her, charles? you know what these americans are." "by all means speak to her. the mother and daughter would be company for you for a few days. you could invite them to go motoring, and they'd no doubt accept," the man suggested. "i don't want the same experience that we had in vichy, you know." "oh, never fear. these people are quite possible. their wealth hasn't spoilt them--as far as i can hear." "very well, charles." the prince laughed, tossing his cigarette-end into the grate, and rising. "i'll make some excuse to speak with them." and charles, on his part, entertained shrewd suspicions that his master, confirmed bachelor that he was, had, at last, been attracted by a girl's fresh, fair beauty, and that girl an american. time hung heavily upon the prince's hands. that afternoon he ran over in his car to worthing, where he dined at warne's, and the evening he spent in lonely state in a box at the brighton alhambra. truth to tell, he found himself thinking always of the sweet-faced, rather saucy american girl, whose waist was so neat, whose tiny shoes were so pointed, and whose fair hair was always drawn straight back from her intelligent brow. yes. he felt he must know her. the morrow came, and with it an opportunity occurred to speak with her mother. they were sitting, as it is usual to sit, at the door of the hotel, when a mishap to a dog-cart driven by a well-known actress gave him the desired opportunity, and ten minutes later he had the satisfaction of bowing before mary jesup herself. he strolled with them on to the pier, chatting so very affably that both mother and daughter could hardly believe that he was the cousin of an emperor. then, at his request to be allowed to join them at their table at luncheon, they had their midday meal together. the girl in white was altogether charming, and so unlike the milk-and-water misses of germany, or the shy, dark-eyed minxes of france or italy, so many of whom had designed to become princess of hesse-holstein. her frank open manner, her slight american twang, and her americanisms he found all delightful. mrs jesup, too, was a sensible woman, although this being the first occasion that either mother or daughter had even met a prince, they used "your highness" a trifle too frequently. nevertheless, he found this companionship of both women most charming. "what a splendid motor-car you have!" mary remarked when, after luncheon, they were taking their coffee in the palm court at the back of the hotel. "i'm very fond of motoring, miss jesup. are you?" was his highness's reply. "i love it. poppa's got a car. we brought it over with us and ran around france in it. we left it in paris till we get back to the continent in the fall. then we do italy," she said. "perhaps you would like to have a run with me and your mother to-morrow," the prince suggested. "it's quite pretty about the neighbourhood." "i'm sure you're very kind, prince," responded the elder woman. "we should be charmed. and further, i guess my husband'll be most delighted to meet you when he gets down here. he's been in germany a lot." "i shall be very pleased to meet mr jesup," the young patrician responded. "till he comes, there's no reason why we should not have a few runs--that is, if you're agreeable." "oh! it'll be real lovely!" declared mary, her pretty face brightening in anticipation of the pleasure of motoring with the man she so admired. "then what about running over to eastbourne to tea to-day?" he suggested. mother and daughter exchanged glances. "well," replied mrs jesup, "we don't wish to put you out in the least, prince. i'm sure--" "good! you'll both come. i'll order the car for three o'clock." the prince ascended the stairs much gratified. he had made a very creditable commencement. the hundred or so of other girls of various nations who had been presented to him with matrimonial intent could not compare with her, either for beauty, for charm, or for intelligence. it was a pity, he reflected, that she was not of royal, or even noble birth. charles helped him on with a light motor-coat, and, as he did so, asked: "if the parson calls, what am i to say?" "say what you like, only send him back to london. tell him he is better off in bayswater than in brighton. he'll understand." "he may want some money. he wrote to you yesterday, remember." "then give him fifty pounds, and tell him that when i want to see him i'll wire. i want to be alone just now, charles," he added a trifle impatiently. "you've got the key of my despatch-box, eh?" "yes, your highness." below, he found the big cream-coloured car in waiting. some of the guests were admiring it, for it had an extra long wheelbase and a big touring body and hood--a car that was the last word in all that was comfort in automobilism. the english chauffeur, garrett, in drab livery faced with scarlet, and with the princely cipher and crown upon his buttons, raised his hat on the appearance of his master. and again when a moment later the two ladies, in smart motor-coats, white caps, and champagne-coloured veils, emerged and entered the car, being covered carefully by the fine otter-skin rug. the bystanders at the door of the hotel regarded mother and daughter with envy, especially when the prince got in at the girl's side, and, with a light laugh, gave the order to start. a few moments later they were gliding along the king's road eastward, in the direction of lewes and eastbourne. "you motor a great deal, i suppose?" she asked him, as they turned the corner by the aquarium. "a good deal. it helps to pass the time away, you know," he laughed. "when i have no guests i usually drive myself. quite recently i've been making a tour up in scotland." "we're going up there this autumn. to the trossachs. they say they're fine! and we're going to see scott's country, and edinburgh. i'm dying to see melrose abbey. it must be lovely from the pictures." "you ought to get your father to have his car over," the prince suggested. "it's a magnificent run up north from london." the millionaire's wife was carefully examining the prince with covert glances. his highness was unaware that the maternal gaze was so searching, otherwise he would probably have acted somewhat differently. a splendid run brought them to lewes, the old-world sussex capital. there, with a long blast of the electric siren, they shot down the hill and out again upon the eastbourne road, never pulling up until they were in the small garden before the queen's. mary jesup stepped out, full of girlish enthusiasm. her only regret was that the people idling in the hall of the hotel could not be told that their companion was a real live prince. they took tea under an awning overlooking the sea, and his highness was particularly gracious towards mrs jesup, until both mother and daughter were filled with delight at his pleasant companionship. he treated both women as equals; his manner, as they afterwards put it, being devoid of any side, and yet he was every inch a prince. that run was the first of many they had together. robert k. jesup had been suddenly summoned by cable to paris on business connected with his mining interests, therefore his wife and daughter remained in brighton. and on account of their presence the prince lingered there through another fortnight. mostly he spent his days walking or motoring with mrs jesup and her daughter, and sometimes--on very rare occasions--he contrived to walk with mary alone. one morning, when he had been with her along the pier listening to the band, he returned to luncheon to find in his own room a rather tall, clean-shaven, middle-aged clergyman, whose round face and ruddy complexion gave him rather the air of a _bon vivant_. sight of his unexpected visitor caused the prince to hold his breath for a second. it was the parson. "sorry i was out," his highness exclaimed. "charles told you where i was, i suppose?" "yes, prince," replied the cleric. "i helped myself to a whisky and soda. hope you won't mind. it was a nice morning in town, so i thought i'd run down to see you." "you want another fifty, i suppose--eh?" asked his highness sharply. "some other work of charity--eh?" "my dear prince, you've guessed it at once. you are, indeed, very good." his highness rang the bell, and when the valet appeared, gave him orders to go and get fifty pounds, which he handed to the clergyman. then the pair had luncheon brought up to the room, and as they sat together their conversation was mostly about mutual friends. for a cleric the reverend thomas clayton was an extremely easy-going man, a thorough sportsman of a type now alas! dying out in england. it was plain to see that they were old friends, and plainer still when, on parting a couple of hours later, the prince said: "when i leave here, old fellow, you'll join me for a little, won't you? don't worry me any more at present for your confounded--er charities-- will you? fresh air for the children, and whisky for yourself--eh? by jove, if i hadn't been a prince, i'd have liked to have been a parson! good-bye, old fellow." and the rubicund cleric shook his friend's hand heartily and went down the broad staircase. the instant his visitor had gone he called charles and asked excitedly: "did any one know the parson came to see me?" "no, your highness. i fortunately met him in king's road, and brought him up here. he never inquired at the office." "he's a fool! he could easily have written," cried the prince eagerly. "where are those women, i wonder?" he asked, indicating mrs jesup and her daughter. "i told them you would be engaged all the afternoon." "good. i shan't go out again to-day, charles. i want to think. go to them with my compliments, and say that if they would like to use the car for a run this afternoon they are very welcome. you know what to say. and--and see that a bouquet of roses is sent up to the young lady's room before she goes to dress. put one of my cards on it." "yes, your highness," replied the valet, and turning, left his master to himself. the visit of the reverend thomas clayton had, in some way, perturbed and annoyed him. and yet their meeting had been fraught by a marked cordiality. presently he flung himself into a big armchair, and lighting one of his choice "petroffs" which he specially imported, sat ruminating. "ah! if i were not a prince!" he exclaimed aloud to himself. "i could do it--do it quite easily. but it's my confounded social position that prevents so much. and yet--yet i must tell her. it's imperative. i must contrive somehow or other to evade that steely maternal eye. i wonder if the mother has any suspicion--whether--?" but he replaced his cigarette between his lips without completing the expression of his doubts. as the sunlight began to mellow, he still sat alone, thinking deeply. then he moved to go and dress, having resolved to dine in the public restaurant with his american friends. just then charles opened the door, ushering in a rather pale-faced, clean-shaven man in dark grey tweeds. he entered with a jaunty air and was somewhat arrogant of manner, as he strode across the room. the prince's greeting was greatly the reverse of cordial. "what brings you here, max?" he inquired sharply. "didn't i telegraph to you only this morning?" "yes. but i wanted a breath of sea-air, so came down. i want to know if you're going to keep the appointment next monday--or not." "i can't tell yet." "hylda is anxious to know. you promised her, remember." "i know. but apologise, and say that--well, i have some private business here. you know what to say, max. and i may want you down here in a hurry. come at once if i wire." the man looked him straight in the face for a few moments. "oh!" he ejaculated, and then without being invited, crossed and took a cigarette. "charles," said the visitor to the valet who had remained in the room, "give me a drink. let me wish success to matrimony." and with a knowing laugh he tossed off the whisky and soda handed to him. for half an hour he remained chatting confidentially with the prince, then he left, saying that he should dine alone at the old ship, and return to london at ten. when max mason had gone, prince albert heaved a long sigh, and passed into the adjoining room to dress. that night proved a momentous one in his highness's life, for after dinner mrs jesup complained of a bad headache, and retiring at once to her room, left the young people together. what more natural, therefore, than that his highness should invite mary to put on her wrap and go for a stroll along the promenade in the moonlight. she accepted the invitation eagerly, and went up to her mother's room. "i'm going for a walk with him, mother," she cried excitedly as she burst into the room where mrs jesup, with all traces of headache gone, was lazily reading a novel. "that's real good. put on something thick, child, for its chilly," was the maternal reply. "and, remember, you don't go flirting with princes very often." "no, mother, but just leave him to me. i've been thinking over what you say, and i mean to be princess of hesse-holstein before the year's out. or else--" "or else there'll be trouble--eh?" laughed her mother. but the girl had disappeared to join the man who loved her, and who was waiting below. in the bright august moonlight they strolled together as far as hove, where they sat upon a seat outside the lawns. the evening was perfect, and there were many passers-by, mostly couples more or less amatory. never had a girl so attracted him as had mary that calm and glorious night. never had he looked into a woman's eyes and seen there love reflected as in hers. they rose and strolled back again, back to the pier which they traversed to its head. there they found a seat unoccupied, and rested upon it. and there, taking her little hand tenderly in his, he blurted forth, in the blundering words of a blundering man, the story of his affection. she heard him in silence to the end. "i--i think, prince, you have not fully considered what all this means. what--" "it means, mary, that i love you--love you deeply and devotedly as no other man has ever loved a woman! i am not given to ecstasies over affection, for i long ago thought every spark of it was dead within my heart. i repeat, however, that i love you." and ere she could prevent him, he had raised her hand and pressed it to his lips. she tried to withdraw it, but he held it firmly. the moon shone full upon her sweet face, and he noticed how pale and beautiful she looked. she gave him one glance, and in that instant he saw the light of unshed tears. but she was silent, and her silence puzzled him. "ah!" he sighed despondently. "am i correct, then, in suspecting that you already have a lover?" "a lover? whom do you mean?" "that tall, fair-haired, mysterious man who, during the past week, has been so interested in your movements. have you not noticed him? he's staying at the hotel. i've seen him twenty times at least, and it is only too apparent that he admires you." "i've never even seen him," she exclaimed in surprise. "you must point him out to me. i don't like mysterious men." "i'm not mysterious, am i?" asked the prince, laughing, and again raising her hand to his lips tenderly. "will you not answer my question? do you think you can love me sufficiently--sufficiently to become my wife?" "but--but all this is so sudden, prince. i--i--" "can you love me?" he interrupted. for answer she bent her head. next moment his lips met hers in a hot passionate caress. and thus did their hearts beat in unison. before they rose from the seat mary jesup had promised to become princess of hesse-holstein. next morning, the happy girl told her mother the gratifying news, and when mrs jesup entered the prince's private _salon_ his highness asked her, at least for the present, to keep their engagement secret. that day the prince was occupied by a quantity of correspondence, but the future princess, after a tender kiss upon her white brow, went out in the car with her mother as far as bognor. two hours later the prince sent a telegram to the rev thomas clayton, despatched charles post-haste to london by the pullman express, and then went out for a stroll along king's road. he was one of the happiest men in all the world. not until dinner did he again meet mrs jesup and her daughter. after describing what an excellent run they had had, the millionaire's wife said: "oh, mary has been telling me something about a mysterious fair-haired man whom you say has been watching her." "yes," replied his highness. "he's been hanging about for some days. i fancy he's no good--one of those fellows who live in hotels on the look-out for pigeons." "what we call in america a crook--eh?" "exactly. at least that's my opinion," he declared in confidence. mrs jesup and her daughter appeared both very uneasy, a circumstance which the prince did not fail to notice. they went up to his _salon_ where they had coffee, and then retired early. half an hour later, while his highness was lazily enjoying one of his brown "petroffs," the millionaire's wife, with blanched face, burst into the room crying: "prince! oh, prince! the whole of my jewels and mary's have been stolen! both cases have been broken open and the contents gone! my pearls too! what shall we do?" his highness started to his feet astounded. "do? why find that fair-haired man!" he replied. "i'll go at once to the manager." he sped downstairs, and all was quickly in confusion. the manager recollected the man, who had given the name of mason, and who had left suddenly on the previous morning. the police were telephoned for, and over the wires to london news of the great jewel robbery was flashed to new scotland yard. there was little sleep for either of the trio that night. examination showed that whoever the thief was, he had either been in possession of the keys of the ladies' trunks, wherein were the jewel-cases, or had obtained impressions of them, for after the jewels had been abstracted the trunks had been relocked. the prince was very active, while the two ladies and their maid were in utter despair. their only consolation was that, though mary had lost her diamonds, she had gained a husband. about noon on the following day, while his highness was reading the paper as he lolled lazily in the depths of the big armchair, a tap came at the door and a waiter ushered in a thin, spare, grey-faced, grey-bearded man. the prince sprang to his feet as though he had received an electric shock. the two men faced each other, both utterly dumbfounded. "wal!" ejaculated the visitor at last, when he found tongue. "if this don't beat hog-stickin'! say, young tentoes, do you know i'm robert k. jesup?" "you--jesup! my dear uncle jim!" gasped the other. "what does this mean?" "yes. things in new york over that little poker job are a bit hot just now, so lil and the old lady are working the matrimonial trick this side--a spoony jay, secret engagement, and blackmail. worked it in paris two years ago. great success! done neatly, it's real good. i thought they'd got hold of a real live prince this time--and rushed right here to find it's only you! they ought really to be more careful!" "and i tell you, uncle, i too have been completely deceived. i thought i'd got a soft thing--those bourbon pearls, you know? they left their keys about, i got casts, and when they were out bagged the boodle." "wal, my boy, you'd better cough 'em up right away," urged the old american criminal, whose name was ford, and who was known to his associates as "uncle jim." "i suppose the parson's in it, as usual--eh? say! the whole lot of sparklers aren't worth fifty dollars, but the old woman and the girl look well in 'em. my! ain't we all been taken in finely! order me a cocktail to take the taste away. guess lil'll want to twist your rubber-neck when she sees you, so you'd better get into that famous car of yours and make yourself scarce, young man!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the _sussex daily news_ next morning contained the following announcement: "his royal highness prince albert of hesse-holstein has left brighton for the continent." chapter two. the prince and the parson. his royal highness descended from the big cream-coloured "mercedes" in the place royale, drew off his gloves, and entered the quiet, eminently aristocratic hotel de l'europe. all brussels knew that prince albert of hesse-holstein was staying there. hence, as the car pulled up, and the young man in long dust-coat and motor-goggles rose from the wheel and gave the car over to the smart chauffeur garrett in the grey uniform with crimson facings, a small crowd of gaping idlers assembled to watch his entrance to the hotel. in the hall a few british tourists in tweeds or walking-skirts stared at him, as though a real live prince was of different clay, while on ascending the main staircase to his private suite, two waiters bowed themselves almost in two. in his sitting-room his middle-aged english man-servant was arranging his newspapers, and closing the door sharply behind him he said: "charles! that girl is quite a sweet little thing. i've seen her again!" "and your highness has fallen in love with her?" sniffed the man. "well, i might, charles. one never knows." and he took a "petroff" from the big silver box, and lit it with care. "i am very lonely, you know." charles's lips relaxed into a smile, but he made no remark. he was well aware how confirmed was his master's bachelordom. he often admired pretty girls, just as much as they adored him--because he was a prince-- but his admiration was tinged with the acidity of sarcasm. when charles had gone, his highness flung off his motor-coat and threw himself into a big chair to think. with a smart rat-a-plan, an infantry regiment of _les braves belges_ was crossing the place to relieve the guard at the palace. he rose and gazed across the square: "ah!" he laughed to himself, "my dear uncle, the red rubber king, is closely guarded, it seems! i suppose i ought to call upon him. he's at home, judging from the royal standard. whew! what a bore it is to have been born a prince! if i'd been a policeman or a pork-butcher i daresay i'd have had a much better time. the world never guesses how badly we fellows are handicapped. men like myself cannot cross the road without some scoundrelly journalist working up a `royal scandal' or a political complication." then his thoughts ran off into another direction--the direction in which they had constantly flowed during the past week--towards a certain very charming, sweet-faced girl, scarcely out of her teens, who was staying with her father and mother at the grand hotel, down on the boulevard. the northovers were english--decidedly english. they were of that insular type who, in a continental hotel, demand bacon and eggs for breakfast, denounce every dish as a "foreign mess," and sigh for the roast beef and yorkshire pudding of middle-class suburbia. james northover, charles had discovered to be a very estimable and trusted person, manager of the stamford branch of the london and north western bank, who was now tasting the delights of continental travel by three weeks' vacation in belgium. his wife was somewhat obese and rather strong-minded, while little nellie was decidedly pretty, her light brown hair dressed low and secured by a big black velvet bow, a pair of grey, rather mischievous eyes, sweetly dimpled cheeks, and a perfect complexion. not yet nineteen, she had only left the high school a year before, and was now being afforded an opportunity of inflicting her school-girl french upon all and sundry with whom she came into contact. and it was french--french with those pronounced "ong" and "onny" endings for which the tourist-agents are so terribly responsible. but with all her linguistical shortcomings little nelly northover, the slim-waisted school-miss with the tiny wisp of unruly hair straying across her brow, and the rather smart and intelligent chatter, had attracted him. indeed, he could not get the thought of her out of his head. they had met at a little inn at the village of anseremme, on the meuse, close to dinant--that paradise of the cheap "hotel-included" tourist. something had gone wrong with the clutch of his car, and he had been held up there for two days while an engineer had come out from brussels to repair the damage. being the only other guest in the place beside the eminently respectable bank manager and his wife and daughter, he lost no time in ingratiating himself with them, and more especially with the last-named. though he spoke english perfectly and with but the very slightest accent, he had given his name at the inn as herr birkenfeld, for was not that one of his names? he was count of birkenfeld, and seigneur of a dozen other places, in addition to being prince of the royal house of hesse-holstein. the bank manager and his wife, of course, believed him to be a young german gentleman of means until, on the morning of the day of his departure, charles, in greatest confidence, revealed to them who his master really was. the english trio were utterly staggered. to nellie, there was an element of romance at meeting a real prince in those rural solitudes of river and forest. as she declared to her mother, he was so nice and so unassuming. just, indeed, like any ordinary man. and in her young mind she compared albert prince of hesse-holstein with the provincial young gentlemen whom she had met last season at the popular county function, the stamford ball. as constantly nellie northover's thoughts reverted to the affable prince, so did his highness, on his part, sit hour upon hour smoking his pet russian cigarettes in quick succession, pondering and wondering. his position was one of terrible weariness. ah! how often he wished that he had not been born a prince. as an ordinary mortal he might have dared to aspire to the hand of the sweet young english miss. but as prince albert of hesse-holstein, such a marriage would be denounced by press and public as a _misalliance_. he liked james northover. there was something of the john bull about him which he admired. a keen, hard-headed business man, tall and bald, who spoke with a nottingham brogue, and who had been over thirty years in the service of the bank, he was a highly trusted servant of his directors. in allowing overdrafts he seldom made mistakes, while his courtesy had brought the bank a considerably increased business. the prince knew all that. a couple of days after meeting nellie in anseremme he had written to a certain reverend thomas clayton, who lived in bayswater, and had only that morning received a long letter bearing the stamford postmark. it was on account of this letter that he went out after luncheon in the car along the rue royale, and down the boulevard botanique, to the grand hotel on the boulevard d'anspach. he found nellie alone in the big _salon_, reading an english paper. on seeing him the girl flushed slightly and jumped to her feet, surprised that he should call unexpectedly. "miss northover!" he exclaimed, raising his motor-cap, "i've called to take you all for a little run this afternoon--if you can come. i have the car outside." "i'm sure it's awfully kind of you, prince," the girl replied with some confusion. "i--well, i don't know what to say. father and mother are out." "ah!" he laughed; "and of course you cannot come with me alone. it is against your english ideas of _les convenances_--eh?" she laughed in chorus, afterwards saying: "i expect them back in half an hour." "oh, then, i'll wait," he exclaimed, and taking off his motor-coat, he seated himself in a chair and began to chat with her, asking what sights of brussels she had seen, at the same time being filled with admiration at her fresh sweetness and _chic_. they were alone in the room, and he found an indescribable charm in her almost childlike face and girlish chatter. she was so unlike the artificial women of cosmopolitan society who were his friends. yes. he was deeply in love with her, and by her manner towards him he could not fail to notice that his affection was reciprocated. presently her parents appeared. they had noticed the big cream-coloured car with the chauffeur standing outside, and at once a flutter had run through both their hearts, knowing that the august visitor had arrived to call upon them. northover was full of apologies, but the prince cut them short, and within a quarter of an hour they were all in the car and on the road to that goal of every british tourist, the battlefield of waterloo. the autumn afternoon was perfect. the leaves had scarcely begun to turn, and the sun so hot that it might still have been august. nellie's father was just as proud of the prince's acquaintance as she was herself, while mrs northover was filled with pleasurable anticipations of going back to quiet, old-world stamford--a place where nothing ever happens--and referring, in the hearing of her own tea-drinking circle, to "my friend prince albert." a week passed. mr and mrs northover could not fail to notice how constantly the prince was in nellie's society. only once, however, did her father mention it to his wife, and then in confidence. "nellie seems much struck by the prince, don't you think? and i'm sure he admires her. he's such a good fellow. i like him. i suppose it's a mere harmless flirtation--and it amuses them both." "fancy, if she became princess of hesse-holstein, james!" but james northover only grunted dubiously. he was ignorant of the truth; ignorant of the fact that on the previous night, while they had been taking a stroll along the boulevard after dinner, the prince, who had been walking with nellie, had actually whispered to her a declaration of love. it had all been done so secretly. the pair had been following a little distance behind her worthy parents, and in the star-lit night he had pressed her hand. he had told her hurriedly, whispering low, how fondly he had loved her from the very first moment they had met. how devoted he was to her, and declaring that no woman had ever touched the chord of love in his heart as she had done. "to-morrow, dearest, we shall part," he whispered; "but before we do so will you not give me one word of hope--hope that you may some day be mine! tell me, can you ever reciprocate my love?" he whispered in deep earnestness, as he bent to her, still holding her little hand in his strong grip as they walked. for a few moments she was silent; her dimpled chin sank upon her breast. he felt her quivering with emotion, and as the light of a gas-lamp fell across her beautiful face he saw tears in her eyes. she turned to him and lifted her gaze to his. then he knew the truth without her spoken word. she was his--his own! "we will keep our secret, dearest," he said presently. "no one must know. for family reasons it must not yet leak out. think how lonely i shall be at this hour to-morrow--when you have left!" "and i also," she sobbed. "you know--you must have seen--that i love you!" at that moment her mother turned to look back, and consequently they both instantly assumed an attitude of utter unconcern. and next afternoon when he saw the three off from the gare du nord by the harwich service, neither the estimable northover, nor his rather obese spouse, had the slightest idea of the true secret of the two young hearts. nellie grasped her lover's hand in adieu. their eyes met for a single instant, and it was all-sufficient. each trusted the other implicitly. it was surely a charming love-idyll between prince and school-girl. his highness remained in brussels for about three weeks, then crossed to london. he stayed at the carlton, where, on the night of his arrival, he was visited by the rather ruddy-faced jovial-looking clergyman, the reverend thomas clayton. it was charles who announced him, saying in an abrupt manner: "the parson's called, your highness." "show him in," was the prince's reply. "i was expecting him." the greeting between prince albert and his old clerical friend was hearty, and the two men spent a couple of hours over whisky and sodas and cigarettes, chatting confidentially. "you're in love with her, prince!" laughed his reverend friend. "yes, i really and honestly believe i am," the other admitted, "and especially so, after your report." "my inquiries were perfectly satisfactory," the clergyman said. "i want to have an excuse for going up to stamford, but don't see well how it can be managed," remarked the prince pensively, between whiffs of his cigarette. "with my assistance it might, my dear boy," replied the reverend thomas. "it wants a little thinking over. you're a prince, remember." "yes," sighed the other wearily. "that's just the confounded difficulty. i wonder what the world would say if they knew my secret?" "say?" and the clergyman pulled a wry face. "why bother about what the world thinks? i never do." "yes. but you're a parson, and a parson can do practically just what he likes." "as long as he's popular with his parishioners." and it was not till near midnight, after a dainty snack of supper, served in the prince's sitting-room, that the pair parted. a fortnight later mr james northover was agreeably impressed to receive a letter from the prince stating that a great friend of his, the rev thomas clayton, of st ethelburga's, bayswater, was staying in stamford, convalescent after an illness, and that he was coming to visit him. the northover household was thrown into instant confusion. its head was for inviting the prince to stay with them, but mrs northover and nellie both declared that he would be far more comfortable at the stamford hotel, or at the "george." besides, he was a prince, and alice, the cook, could not possibly do things as was his highness's habit to have them done. so a telegram was sent to the carlton saying that the northovers were most delighted at the prospect of seeing the prince again. next day his highness arrived in the big cream-coloured car at the stamford hotel, causing great excitement in the town. charles had come down by the morning train and engaged rooms for his master, and within half an hour of the prince's arrival the worthy mayor called and left his card. the prince's first visit, however, was to his old friend, the rev thos. clayton, whom he found in rather shabby apartments in rock terrace seated in an armchair, looking very pale, and quite unlike his usual self. "i'm sure it's awfully good of you to become an invalid on my account?" exclaimed the prince the moment they were alone. "however do you pass your days in this sleepy hollow?" "by study, my dear boy! study's a grand thing! see!" and he exhibited a big dry-as-dust volume on "the extinct civilisations of africa." he remained an hour, and then, remounting into the car, drove out along the tinwell road, where, half a mile from the town, mr northover's comfortable, red-brick villa was situated. he found the whole family assembled to welcome him--as they had, indeed, been assembled in eager expectation for the past four hours. nellie he found looking particularly dainty, with the usual big black velvet bow in her hair, and wearing a neat blouse of cream washing-silk and a short black skirt. she was essentially the type of healthy hockey-playing english girl. as he grasped her hand and greeted her with formality, he felt it tremble within his grasp. she had kept his secret; of that there was no doubt. the home life of the northovers he found quite pleasant. it was so unlike anything he had even been used to. he remained to tea, and he returned there to dine and spend a pleasant evening listening to nellie's performances on the piano. afterwards, when the ladies had retired as they did discreetly at half-past ten, he sat smoking his "petroffs" and chatting with mr northover. "i hope you found your friend, the clergyman, better, prince. where is he living?" "oh, yes; he's much better, thanks. but he has rather wretched quarters, in a house in rock terrace. i've urged him to move into an hotel. he says, however, that he hates hotels. he's such a good fellow--gives nearly all he has to the poor." "i suppose he's down here for fresh air?" "yes. he's very fond of this neighbourhood. often came here when a boy, i believe." "when you go again i'd like to call upon him. we must not allow him to be lonely." "i shall call to-morrow. perhaps you could go with me, after the bank has closed?" "yes. at four-thirty. will you call at the bank for me?" and so it was arranged. punctually at the hour named the prince stepped from his car before the bank--which was situated in a side street between two shops--and was at once admitted and ushered through to the manager's room. then the pair went on to rock terrace to pay the visit. the invalid was much better, and northover found him a man entirely after his own heart. he was a man of the world, as well as a clergyman. in the week that followed, nellie's father made several visits, and once, on a particularly bright day, the prince brought the rev thomas round in the car to return the visit at tinwell road. within ten days the vicar of st ethelburga's, bayswater, had become quite an intimate friend of the northovers; so much so, indeed, that they compelled him to give up his rooms in rock terrace, and come and stay as their guest. perhaps it was more for the prince's sake they did this--perhaps because they admired clayton as "a splendid fellow for a parson." anyhow, all this gave the prince plenty of opportunities for meeting nellie clandestinely. instead of going to her music-lesson, or to her hockey-club, or visiting an old schoolfellow, she went daily to a certain secluded spot on the worthope road, where she was joined by the man she loved. her romance was complete. she adored albert, utterly and devotedly; while he, on his part, was her slave. on the third day after his arrival in stamford she had promised to become princess of hesse-holstein, and now they were closely preserving their secret. the advent of his highness had raised mrs northover to the very pinnacle of the social scale in stamford. times without number she tried to obtain from nellie the true state of affairs, but the girl was sly enough to preserve her lover's secret. if the truth were yet known to the family of hesse-holstein, all sorts of complications would assuredly ensue. besides, it would, he felt certain, bring upon him the displeasure of the emperor. he must go to potsdam, and announce to the kaiser his engagement with his own lips. and so little nellie northover, the chosen princess of hesse-holstein, the girl destined to become husband of the ruler of a principality half the size of england, and the wealthiest of the german princes, often wandered the country roads alone, and tried to peer into her brilliant future. what would the girls of stamford say when they found that nellie northover was actually a princess! why, even the marchioness who lived at the great ancestral mansion, mentioned in tennyson's well-known poem, would then receive her! and all through the mere failing of a motor-car clutch at that tiny obscure belgian village. the reverend thomas gradually grew stronger while guest of mr northover, and both he and the prince, together with the northovers, mr henry ashdown, the assistant manager of the bank who lived on the premises, and others of the northovers' friends went for frequent runs in the nobleman's car. the prince never hedged himself in by etiquette. every friend of northover at once became his friend; hence, within a fortnight, his highness was the most popular figure in that quaint old market town. one afternoon while the prince and the clergyman were walking together up the high street, they passed a thin, pale-faced man in dark grey flannels. glances of recognition were exchanged, but no word was uttered. "max is at the `george,' isn't he?" asked the prince. "yes," replied his companion. "arrived the night before last, and having a particularly dull time, i should think." "so should i," laughed the prince. that evening, the two ladies being away at the milton hound show, they took northover and his assistant, ashdown, after their business, over to peterborough to bring them back. ashdown was some ten years younger than his chief, and rather fond of his whisky and soda. at the great northern hotel in peterborough they found the ladies; and on their return to stamford the whole party dined together at the prince's hotel, an old-fashioned hostelry with old-fashioned english fare. and so another fortnight went past. the autumn winds grew more chilly, and the leaves fell with the advance of october. nellie constantly met the prince, in secret, the only person knowing the truth besides themselves being the parson, who had now become one of the girl's particular friends. while the prince was dressing for dinner one evening, charles being engaged in putting the links in his shirt-cuffs, he suddenly asked: "max is still in stamford, i suppose?" "i believe so, your highness." "well, i want you to take this up to london to-night, charles." and he drew from a locked drawer a small sealed packet about four inches square, looking like jewellery. "you'll see the address on it. take it there, then go to the suffolk hotel, in suffolk street, strand, and wait till i send you instructions to return." "very well, your highness," answered the man who always carried out his master's instructions with blind obedience. next day, in conversation with mr northover, the prince expressed regret that he had been compelled to discharge his man charles at a moment's notice. "the man is a thief," he said briefly. "i lost a valuable scarf-pin the other day--one given me by the emperor. but i never suspected him until a few days ago when i received an anonymous letter telling me that my trusted man, charles, had, before i took him into my service, been convicted of theft, and was, indeed, one of a gang of clever swindlers! i made inquiries, and discovered this to be the actual truth." "by jove!" remarked the reverend thomas. "think what an escape the prince has had! all his jewellery might have suddenly disappeared!" "how very fortunate you were warned!" declared mr northover. "your correspondent was anonymous, you say?" "yes. some one must have recognised him in london, i think, and, therefore, given me warning. a most disagreeable affair--i assure you." "then you've lost the emperor's present?" asked nellie. "yes," sighed the prince; "it's gone for ever. i've given notice to the police. they're sending a detective from london to see me, i believe, but i feel certain i shall never see it again." this conversation was repeated by mrs northover to her husband, when he returned from business that evening. about the same hour, however, while the prince was smoking with his clerical friend in his private room at the hotel, the waiter entered, saying that a mr mason had called upon his highness. "that's the man from scotland yard!" exclaimed the prince aloud. "show him up." a few moments later a rather pale-faced, fair-haired man in shabby brown tweeds was ushered in, and the waiter, who knew the story of charles's sudden discharge, retired. "good evening, prince," exclaimed the new-comer. "i got your wire and came at once." at the same time he produced from his pocket a small cartridge envelope containing something slightly bulky, but carefully sealed. "right! go over there, max, and help yourself to a drink. you're at the `george,' i suppose?" "no. i've got a room here--so as to be near you--in case of necessity, you know," he added meaningly. the two men exchanged glances. it was evident at once that mr mason was no stranger, for he helped himself to a cigarette uninvited, and, mixing a small drink, drained it off at a single gulp. then, after chatting for a quarter of an hour or so, he went out "just to get a wash," as he put it. the prince, when he had gone, turned over the small packet in his hand without opening it. then he rose, walked to the window, and in silence looked out upon the old church opposite, deep in thought. the parson, watching him without a word, knit his brows, and pursed his lips. next morning the prince sent garrett with the car to london, as he wanted some alteration to the hood, and that afternoon, as he crossed the marketplace, he again met max. neither spoke. a glance of recognition was all that passed between them. meanwhile, the detective from london had been making a good many inquiries in stamford, concerning the associates and friends of the discharged valet charles. the latter was, the detective declared, an old hand, and his highness had been very fortunate in getting rid of him when he did. that evening mr and mrs ashdown invited the prince and the clergyman to dinner, at which they were joined by the sweet-faced nellie and her father and mother. with true provincial habit, the party broke up at ten-thirty, and while the parson walked home with the northovers, his highness lit a cigar and strolled back to the hotel alone. until nearly two o'clock he sat smoking, reading, and thinking--thinking always of pretty nellie--and now and then glancing at the clock. after the church-bell had struck two he had a final "peg," and then turned in. next morning, when the waiter brought his coffee, the man blurted forth breathlessly: "there's been a great robbery, your highness, last night. the london and north western bank has been entered, and they say that four thousand pounds in gold has been stolen." "what!" gasped the prince, springing up. "mr northover's bank?" "yes, sir. the whole town is in an uproar! i've told mr mason, and he's gone down to see. they say that a week ago a youngish man from london took the empty shop next door to the bank, and it's believed the thieves were secreted in there. there doesn't seem any evidence of any of the locks being tampered with, for the front door was opened with a key, and they had keys of both the doors of the strong-room. the police are utterly mystified, for mr northover has one key, and mr ashdown the other, and the doors can't be opened unless they are both there together. both gentlemen say their keys have never left them, and none of the burglar-alarms rang." "then it's an absolute mystery--eh," remarked the prince, utterly astonished. "perhaps that scoundrel charles has had something to do with it! he went to the bank for me on several occasions!" "that's what mr mason and the other police officers think, sir," the waiter said. "and it seems that the men must have got out the coin, brought it into the empty shop, carried it through the back of the premises and packed it into a dark-green motor-car. a policeman out on the worthorpe road, saw the car pass just before two o'clock this morning. there were two men in it, besides the driver." the prince dressed hastily, and was about to rush down to the bank to condole with northover when the latter burst into his room in a great state of mind. "it's an absolute mystery, and so daring!" he declared. "the thieves must have had duplicate keys of the whole bank! they left all the notes, but cleared out every bit of gold coin. we had some unusually heavy deposits lately, and they've taken three thousand four hundred and thirty-two pounds!" "what about that man who took the shop next door?" "he's perfectly respectable, the police assure me. he knows nothing about it. he's hardly finished stocking the place with groceries, and opens the day after to-morrow. his name is newman." "then how did they get their booty away?" "that's the mystery. unless through the back of the shop next door. no motor-car came along the street in the night, for ashdown's child was ill, and mrs ashdown was up all night and heard nothing. the means by which they got such a heavy lot of coin away so neatly is as mysterious as how they obtained the keys." "depend upon it that my scoundrelly valet has had a finger in this!" the prince declared. "i'll assist you to try and find him. i happen to know some of his friends in london." northover was delighted, and at the police-station the superintendent thanked his highness for his kind promise of assistance. mr mason was ubiquitous, and the parson full of astonishment at the daring coup of the unknown thieves. two bank directors came down from town in the afternoon, and after a discussion, a full report was telegraphed to new scotland yard. that same evening the prince went up to london, accompanied by the keen-eyed mr mason, leaving the parson still the guest of mr northover. the latter, however, would scarcely have continued to entertain him, had he known that, on arrival at king's cross, his highness and mr mason took a cab to a certain house in hereford road, bayswater, where charles and garrett were eagerly awaiting him. in the room were two other men whom the prince shook by the hand and warmly congratulated. charles opened the door of the adjoining room, a poorly furnished bedroom, where stood a chest of drawers. one drawer after the other he opened. they were full of bags of golden sovereigns! "those impressions you sent us, prince, gave us a lot of trouble," declared the elder of the two men, with a pronounced american accent. "the keys were very difficult to make, and when you sent us word that the parson had tried them and they wouldn't act, we began to fear that it was no go. but we did the trick all right, after all, didn't we? guess we spent a pretty miserable week in stamford, but you seemed to be having quite a good time. where's the sky-pilot?" "he's remaining--convalescent, you know. and as for bob newman, he'll be compelled to carry on that confounded grocery business next door for at least a couple of months--before he fails, and shuts up." "well," exclaimed the man mason, whom everybody in stamford--even the police themselves--believed to be a detective. "it was a close shave! you know, prince, when you came out of the bank after dinner and i slipped in past you, i only just got into the shadow before that slip of a girl of northover's ran down the stairs after you. i saw you give her a kiss in the darkness." "she deserved a kiss, the little dear," replied his highness, "for without her we could never have brought off so complete a thing." "ah! you always come in for the good things," charles remarked. "because i'm a prince," was his highness's reply. the police are still looking for the prince's valet, and his highness has, of course, assisted them. charles, however, got away to copenhagen to a place of complete safety, and he being the only person suspected, it is very unlikely that the bank will ever see their money again-- neither is nellie northover ever likely to see her prince. chapter three. the mysterious sixty. when the smart chauffeur, garrett, entered the cosy chambers of his highness prince albert of hesse-holstein, alias charles fotheringham, alias henry tremlett, in dover street, piccadilly, he found him stretched lazily on the couch before the fire. he had exchanged his dinner jacket for an easy coat of brown velvet; between his lips was a russian cigarette of his pet brand, and at his elbow a brandy and soda. "ah! garrett," he exclaimed as the chauffeur entered. "come here, and sit down. shut the door first. i want to talk to you." as chauffeur to the prince and his ingenious companions, garrett had met with many queer adventures and been in many a tight corner. to this day he wonders he was not "pinched" by the police a dozen times, and certainly would have been if it were not that the gay, good-looking, devil-may-care prince albert never left anything to chance. when a _coup_ was to be made he thought out every minute detail, and took precaution against every risk of detection. to his marvellous ingenuity and wonderful foresight garrett, with his friends, owed his liberty. during the three years through which he had thrown in his lot with that select little circle of "crooks," he had really had a very interesting time, and had driven them thousands of miles, mostly on the continent, in the big "mercedes" or the "sixty" six-cylinder "minerva." his highness's share in the plunder had been very considerable. at his bankers he possessed quite a respectable balance, and he lived in easy affluence the life of a prince. in the drawing-rooms of london and paris he was known as essentially a ladies' man; while in italy he was usually henry tremlett, of london, and in france he was charles fotheringham, an anglo-frenchman and chevalier of the legion d'honneur. "look here, garrett," he said, raising himself on his elbow and looking the man in the face as he tossed his cigarette in the grate. "to-day, let's see, is december . you must start in the car to-morrow for san remo. we shall spend a week or two there." "to-morrow!" the chauffeur echoed. "the roads from paris down to the riviera are pretty bad just now. i saw in the paper yesterday that there's heavy snow around valence." "snow, or no snow, we must go," the prince said decisively. "we have a little matter in hand down there--you understand?" he remarked, his dark eyes still fixed upon the chauffeur. the man wondered what was the nature of the _coup_ intended. "and now," he went on, "let me explain something else. there may be some funny proceedings down at san remo. but just disregard everything you see, and don't trouble your head about the why, or wherefore. you're paid to be chauffeur, garrett--and paid well, too, by your share of the profits--so nothing else concerns you. it isn't, sparklers we're after this time--it's something else." the prince who, speaking english so well, turned his birth and standing to such good account, never told the chauffeur of his plans. his confederates, indeed, were generally kept completely in the dark until the very last moment. therefore, they were all very frequently puzzled by what seemed to be extraordinary and motiveless actions by the leader of the party of adventurers. the last _coup_ made was in the previous month, at aix-les-bains, the proceeds being sold to the old jew in amsterdam for four thousand pounds sterling, this sum being divided up between the prince, the parson, a neat-ankled little parisienne named valentine dejardin, and garrett. and they were now going to spend a week or two in that rather dull and much over-rated little italian seaside town, where the sharper and crook flourish to such a great extent in spring--san remo. they were evidently about to change their tactics, for it was not diamonds they were after, but something else. garrett wondered as the count told him to help himself to a whisky and soda what that "something else" would turn out to be. "i daresay you'll be a bit puzzled," he said, lazily lighting a fresh cigarette, "but don't trouble your head about the why or wherefore. leave that to me. stay at the hotel regina at san remo--that big place up on the hill--you know it. you'll find the parson there. let's see, when we were there a year ago i was tremlett, wasn't i?--so i must be that again, i suppose." he rose from his couch, stretched himself, and pulling a bookcase from the high old-fashioned wainscoting slid back one of the white enamelled panels disclosing a secret cavity wherein, garrett knew, reposed a quantity of stolen jewels that he had failed to get rid of to the jew diamond dealer in amsterdam, who acted in most cases as receiver. the chauffeur saw within that small cavity, of about a foot square, a number of little parcels each wrapped in tissue paper--jewels for which the police of europe for a year or so had been hunting high and low. putting his hand into the back the prince produced a bundle of banknotes, from which he counted one "fifty" and ten fivers, and handed them to his man. "they're all right. you'll want money, for i think that, after all, you'd better go to san remo as a gentleman and owner of the car. both the parson and i will be perfect strangers to you--you understand?" "perfectly," was garrett's reply, as he watched him replace the notes, push back the panel into its place, and move the bookcase into its original position. "then get away to-morrow night by newhaven and dieppe," he said. "if i were you i'd go by valence and die, instead of by grenoble. there's sure to be less snow there. wire me when you get down to cannes." and he pushed across his big silver box of cigarettes, one of which the chauffeur took, and seating himself, listened to his further instructions. they, however, gave no insight into the adventure which was about to be undertaken. at half-past seven on the following night, with his smartly-cut clothes packed in two suit-cases, his chauffeur's dress discarded for a big leather-lined coat of dark-green frieze and motor-cap and goggles, and a false number-plate concealed beneath the cushion, garrett drew the car out of the garage in oxford street, and sped along the embankment and over westminster bridge on the first stage of his long and lonely journey. the night was dark, with threatening rain, but out in the country the big searchlight shone brilliantly, and he tore along the brighton road while the rhythmic splutter of his open exhaust awakened the echoes of the country-side. with a loud shriek of the siren he passed village after village until at brighton he turned to the left along that very dangerous switchback road that leads to newhaven. how he shipped the car, or how for four weary days--such was the hopeless state of the roads--he journeyed due south, has no bearing upon this narrative of an adventurer's adventure. fortunately the car ran magnificently, the engines beating in perfect time against rain and blizzard, and tyre-troubles were few. the road--known well to him, for he had traversed it with the prince at least a dozen times to and from monte carlo--was snow-covered right from lyons down to aix in provence, making progress difficult, and causing him constant fear lest he should run into some deep drift. at last, however, in the bright riviera sunshine, so different to the london weather he had left behind five days ago, and with the turquoise mediterranean lying calm and picturesque on his right, he found himself passing along the lower corniche from nice through beaulieu, monaco, and mentone to ventimiglia, the italian frontier. arrived there, he paid the customs deposit at the little roadside bureau of the italian dogana, got a leaden seal impressed upon the front of the chassis, and drew away up the hill again for a few short miles through bordighera and ospedaletti to the picturesque little town of san remo, which so bravely but vainly endeavours to place itself forward as the nice of the italian riviera. the hotel regina, the best and most fashionable, stands high above the sea-road, embowered in palms, oranges, and flowers, and as garrett turned with a swing into the gateway and ran up the steep incline on his "second," his arrival, dirty and travel-worn as he was, caused some stir among the smartly dressed visitors taking their tea _al fresco_. with an air of nonchalance the gentleman chauffeur sprang out, gave over the mud-covered car to a man from the hotel garage, and entering the place, booked a pretty but expensive sitting-room and bedroom overlooking the sea. having tubbed and exchanged his rough tweeds for grey flannels and a straw hat, he descended to see if he could find the parson, who, by the list in the hall, he saw was among the guests. he strolled about the town, and looked in at a couple of _cafes_, but saw nothing of the prince's clever confederate. not until he went in to dinner did he discover him. wearing a faultless clerical collar and perfect-fitting clerical coat, and on his nose gold pince-nez, he was sitting a few tables away, dining with two well-dressed ladies--mother and daughter he took them to be, though afterwards he found they were aunt and niece. the elder woman, handsome and well-preserved, evidently a foreigner from her very dark hair and fine eyes, was dressed handsomely in black, with a bunch of scarlet roses in her corsage. as far as garrett could see, she wore no jewellery. the younger of the pair was certainly not more than nineteen, fair-haired, with a sweet girlish face, blue eyes almost childlike in their softness, and a pretty dimpled cheek, and a perfectly formed mouth that invited kisses. she was in pale carnation--a colour that suited her admirably, and in her bodice, cut slightly low, was a bunch of those sweet-smelling flowers which grow in such profusion along the italian coast as to supply the european markets in winter. both women were looking at garrett, noticing that he was a fresh arrival. in a riviera hotel, where nearly every guest makes a long stay, a fresh arrival early in the season is always an event, and he or she is discussed and criticised, approved or condemned. garrett could see that the two ladies were discussing him with the reverend thomas, who glared at him for a moment through his glasses as though he had never before seen him in his life, and then with some words to his companions, he went on eating his fish. he knew quite well of garrett's advent, but part of the mysterious game was that they did not recognise each other. when dinner was over, and everyone went into the hall to lounge and take coffee, garrett inquired of the hall-porter the names of the two ladies in question. "the elder one, m'sieur," he replied, in french, in a confidential tone, "is roumanian, the princess charles of krajova, and the young lady is her niece, mademoiselle dalrymple." "dalrymple!" he echoed. "then mademoiselle must be english!" "certainly, m'sieur." and garrett turned away, wondering with what ulterior object our friend "the parson" was ingratiating himself with la princesse. next day, the gay devil-may-care prince, giving his name as mr henry tremlett, of london, arrived, bringing the faithful charles, to whose keen observation more than one successful _coup_ had owed its genesis. there were now four of them staying in the hotel, but with what object garrett could not discern. the prince gave no sign of recognition to the parson or the chauffeur. he dined at a little table alone, and was apparently as interested in the two women as garrett was himself. garrett's main object was to create interest, so acting upon the instructions the prince had given him in london, he posed as the owner of the fine car, swaggered in the hall in his big coat and cap, and took runs up and down the white winding coast-road, envied by many of the guests, who, he knew, dearly wanted to explore the beauties of the neighbourhood. it was not, therefore, surprising that more than one of the guests of both sexes got into casual conversation with garrett, and among them, on the second day after his arrival, the princess charles of krajova. she was, he found, an enthusiastic motorist, and as they stood that sunny afternoon by the car, which was before the hotel, she made many inquiries regarding the long stretch from dieppe to the italian frontier. while they were chatting, the parson, with mademoiselle approached. the rev thomas started a conversation, in which the young lady joined. the latter garrett decided was very charming. her speech was that of an educated english girl only lately from her school, yet she had evidently been well trained for her position in society, and though so young, carried herself extremely well. as yet, nobody had spoken to tremlett. he seemed to keep himself very much to himself. why, the chauffeur wondered? that evening he spent in the hall, chatting with the parson and the ladies. he had invited them all to go for a run on the morrow by the seashore as far as savona, then inland to ceva, and back by ormeo and oneglia, and they had accepted enthusiastically. then, when aunt and niece rose to retire, he invited the rev thomas up to his sitting-room for a final whisky and soda. when they were alone with the door shut, clayton said: "look here, garrett! this is a big game we're playing. the prince lies low, while we work it. to-morrow you must attract the girl, while i make myself agreeable to the aunt--a very decent old body, after all. recollect, you must not fall in love with the girl. she admires you, i know." "not very difficult to fall in love with her," laughed the other. "she's uncommonly good-looking." "yes, but be careful that you don't make a fool of yourself, and really allow yourself to be smitten," he urged. "but what is the nature of this fresh game?" garrett inquired, eager to ascertain what was intended. "don't worry about that, my dear fellow," was his reply. "only make love to the girl. leave the rest to his highness and myself." and so it came about that next day, with the pretty winnie--for that was her name--seated at his side, garrett drove the car along to savona, chatting merrily with her, and discovering her to be most _chic_ and charming. her parents lived in london, she informed him, in queen's gate. her father was in parliament, sitting for one of the welsh boroughs. the run was delightful, and was the commencement of a very pleasant friendship. he saw that his little friend was in no way averse to a violent flirtation, and indeed, he spent nearly the whole of the next morning with her in the garden. the chauffeur had already disregarded the parson's advice, and had fallen desperately in love with her. as they sat in the garden she told him that her mother was a roumanian lady, of bucharest, whose sister had married the enormously wealthy landowner, prince charles of krajova. for the past two years she had lived in paris, vienna and bucharest, with her aunt, and they were now at san remo to spend the whole winter. "but," she added, with a wistful look, "i far prefer england. i was at school at folkestone, and had a most jolly time there. i was so sorry to leave to come out here." "then you know but little of london?" "very little," she declared. "i know folkestone better. we used to walk on the leas every day, or play hockey and tennis. i miss my games so very much," she added, raising her fine big eyes to his. at his invitation she walked down to the town and back before luncheon, but not without some hesitation, as perhaps she thought her aunt might not like it. on the promenade they met his highness, but he gave them no sign of recognition. "that gentleman is staying at our hotel," she remarked after he had passed. "i saw on the list that he is a mr tremlett, from london." "yes--i also saw that," remarked the chauffeur. "looks a decent kind of fellow." "rather a fop, i think," she declared. "my aunt, however, is anxious to know him, so if you make his acquaintance, will you please introduce him to us?" "i'll be most delighted, of course, miss dalrymple," he said, inwardly congratulating himself upon his good fortune. and an hour later he wrote a note to the prince and posted it, telling him of what the girl had said. while the parson monopolised the princess, garrett spent most of the time in the company of winifred dalrymple. that afternoon he took the parson and the ladies for a run on the car, and that evening, it being christmas eve, there was a dance, during which he was on several occasions her partner. she waltzed splendidly, and garrett found himself each hour more deeply in love with her. during the dance, he managed to feign to scrape acquaintance with the prince, and presented him to his dainty little friend, as well as her aunt, whereat the latter at once went out of her way to be most gracious and affable. already the handsome tremlett knew most of the ladies in the hotel, as his coming and going always caused a flutter within the hearts of the gentler sex, for he was essentially a ladies' man. indeed, to his easy courtly manner towards them was due the great success of his many ingenious schemes. he would kiss a woman one moment and rifle her jewel-case the next, so utterly unscrupulous was he. he was assuredly a perfect type of the well-bred, audacious young adventurer. while the dance was proceeding garrett was standing with winifred in the hall, when they heard the sound of an arriving motor-car coming up the incline from the road, and going to the door he saw that it was a very fine sixty horse-power "fiat" limousine. there were no passengers, but the driver was a queer grey-haired, hunchbacked old man. his face was splashed, his grey goat's-skin coat was muddy, like the car, for it was evident that he had come a long distance. as he entered the big brilliantly-lit hall, his small black eyes cast a searching look around. winifred, whom garrett was at that moment leading back to the ballroom, started quickly. had she, he wondered, recognised him? if so, why had she started. that she was acquainted with the stranger, and that she did not wish to meet him he quickly saw, for a few moments later she whispered something to the princess, whose face instantly changed, and the pair pleading fatigue a few minutes later, ascended in the lift to their own apartments. so curious was the incident, that garrett determined to ascertain something regarding the queer, wizened-faced old hunchback who acted as chauffeur, but to his surprise when he returned to the hall, he found the car had already left. the little old man in the fur motor-coat had merely called to make inquiry whether a certain german baron was staying in the hotel, and had then left immediately. he was much puzzled at the marked uneasiness of both the princess and winifred at the appearance of the mysterious "sixty." indeed, he saw her highness's maid descend the stairs half an hour later, evidently in order to gather some facts concerning the movements of the hunchback. prince and parson were both playing bridge, therefore garrett was unable to relate to them what he had seen, so he retired to bed wondering what the truth might really be. morning dawned. the prince and his friend were both down unusually early, walking in the garden, and discussing something very seriously. but its nature they kept from their chauffeur. the morning he spent with winifred, who looked very sweet and charming in her white serge gown, white shoes and big black hat. they idled in the garden among the orange groves for an hour, and then walked down to the town and back. at luncheon a surprise awaited them, for quite close to garrett sat the little old man, clean and well-dressed, eating his meal and apparently taking no notice of anybody. yet he saw what effect the man's presence had produced upon the princess and her niece, who having taken their seats could not well escape. where was the big "sixty"? it was certainly not in the garage at the hotel! and why had the old man returned? reviewing all the circumstances, together with what the prince had explained to him in dover street, he found himself utterly puzzled. the whole affair was an enigma. what were the intentions of his ingenious and unscrupulous friends? the prince had, he recollected, distinctly told him that diamonds were not in the present instance the object of their manoeuvres. about three o'clock that afternoon he invited the princess and her pretty niece to go out for a run in the car to taggia, the road to which first runs along by the sea, and afterwards turns inland up a beautiful fertile valley. they accepted, but both prince and parson pleaded other engagements, therefore he took the two ladies alone. the afternoon was bright and warm, with that blue sky and deep blue sea which is so characteristic of the riviera, and the run to taggia was delightful. they had coffee at a clean little osteria--coffee that was not altogether good, but quite passable--and then with winifred up beside him, garrett started to run home in the sundown. they had not gone more than a couple of miles when, of a sudden, almost before he could realise it, garrett was seized by a contraction of the throat so violent that he could not breathe. he felt choking. the sensation was most unusual, for he broke out into a cold perspiration, and his head beginning to reel, he slowed down and put on the brake, for they were travelling at a brisk pace, but beyond that he remembered absolutely nothing. all he knew was that an excruciating pain shot through his heart, and then in an instant all was blank! of only one other thing he had a hazy recollection, and it was this. just at the moment when he lost consciousness the girl at his side, leant towards him, and took the steering-wheel, saying: "let go, you fool!--let go, will you!" her words being followed by a weird peal of laughter. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the darkness was impenetrable. for many hours garrett had remained oblivious to everything. yet as he slowly struggled back to consciousness he became aware that his legs were benumbed, and that water was lapping about him. he was lying in a cramped position, so cramped that to move was impossible. he was chilled to the bone. for a full hour he lay half-conscious, and wondering. the pains in his head were awful. he raised his hand, and discovered a nasty wound upon his left temple. then he at last realised the astounding truth. he was lying upon rocks on the seashore, and it was night! how long he had been there, or how he had come there he had no idea. that woman's laughter rang in his ears. it was a laugh of triumph, and caused him to suspect strongly that he had been the victim of feminine treachery. but with what motive? was it possible that at taggia, while he had been outside looking around the car, something had been placed in his coffee! he recollected that it tasted rather bitter. but where was the car? where were the princess and her pretty niece? it was a long time before his cramped limbs were sufficiently supple to enable him to walk, and then in the faint grey dawn he managed to crawl along a white unfamiliar high road that ran beside the rocky shore. for nearly two hours he walked in his wet clothes until he came to a tiny town which he discovered, was called voltri, and was quite a short distance from genoa. the fascinating winifred had evidently driven the car with his unconscious form covered up in the tonneau for some time before the pair had deposited him in the water, their intention being that the sea should itself dispose of his body. for an hour he remained in the little inn drying his clothes and having his wound attended to, and then when able to travel, he took train back to san remo, arriving late in the afternoon. he found to his astonishment he had remained unconscious at the edge of the tideless sea for about thirty hours. his bandaged head was put down by the guests as due to an accident in the car, for he made no explanation. presently, however, the hotel proprietor came to his room, and asked the whereabouts of the princess and her niece, as they had not been seen since they left with him. in addition, the maid had suddenly disappeared, while the party owed a little bill of nearly one hundred pounds sterling. "and mr tremlett?" garrett asked. "he is still here, of course?" "no, signore," was the courtly italian's reply. "he left in a motor-car with mr clayton and his valet late the same night." their destination was unknown. the little old hunchback had also left, garrett was informed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ a week later, as garrett entered the cosy sitting-room in dover street the prince sprang from his chair, exclaiming: "by jove, garrett! i'm glad to see you back. we began to fear that you'd met with foul play. what happened to you? sit down, and tell me. where's the car?" the chauffeur was compelled to admit his ignorance of its whereabouts, and then related his exciting and perilous adventure. "yes," replied the handsome young adventurer, gaily. "it was a crooked bit of business, but we needn't trouble further about the car, garrett, for the fact is we've exchanged our `forty' for that old hunchback's mysterious `sixty.' it's at meunier's garage in paris. but, of course," he laughed, "you didn't know who the hunchback really was. it was finch grey." "finch grey!" gasped garrett, amazed, for he was the most renowned and expert thief in the whole of europe. "yes," he said, "we went to san remo to meet him. it was like this. the reverend thomas was in milan and got wind of a little _coup_ at the banca d'italia which finch grey had arranged. the plot was one night to attack the strong-room of the bank, a tunnel to which had already been driven from a neighbouring house. the proceeds of this robbery--notes and gold--were to be brought down to san remo by finch grey in his `sixty,' the idea being to then meet the princess and her niece, who were really only members of his gang. our idea was to get friendly with the two ladies, so that when the car full of gold and notes arrived we should have an opportunity of getting hold of it. our plans, however, were upset in two particulars, by the fact that a few days prior to my arrival the pair had quarrelled with the old hunchback, and secondly, because a friend of the princess's, staying at the hotel, had recognised you as a `crook.' by some means the two women suspected that, on finch grey's appearance, our intention was either to demand part of the proceeds of the bank robbery or expose them to the police. therefore they put something in your coffee, the girl drove the car to the spot where you found yourself, and then they escaped to genoa, and on to rome. finch grey, who did not know who we were, was highly concerned with us regarding the non-return of the ladies. we suggested that we should go out in his `sixty' with him to search for them, and he, fearing that you had met with an accident, consented. the rest was easy," he laughed. "how?" "well, we let him get half way to oneglia, when we just slipped a handkerchief with a little perfume upon it, over his nose and mouth, and a few minutes later we laid him quietly down behind a wall. then i turned the car back to where we had previously stored some pots of white paint and a couple of big brushes, and in an hour had transformed the colour of the car and changed its identification-plates. imagine our joy when we found the back locker where the tools should have been crammed with bags of gold twenty lire pieces, while under the inside seat we found a number of neat packets of fifty and one-hundred and five-hundred lire notes. just after midnight we slipped back through san remo, and two days ago arrived safely in paris with our valuable freight. like to see some of it?" he added, and rising he pushed back the bookcase, opened the panel and took out several bundles of italian notes. i saw also within a number of small canvas bags of gold. "by this time, garrett," he added, laughing and pouring me out a drink, "old finch grey is gnashing his teeth, for he cannot invoke the aid of the police, and the women who intended to be avenged upon us for our daring are, no doubt, very sorry they ran away with our car, which, after all, was not nearly such a good one as the mysterious `sixty.' theirs wasn't a particularly cheery journey, was it?" and lifting his glass he added, "so let's wish them very good luck!" chapter four. the man with the red circle. another story related by garrett, the chauffeur, is worth telling, for it is not without its humorous side. it occurred about six weeks after the return of the party from san remo. it was dismal and wet in london, one of those damp yellow days with which we, alas i are too well acquainted. about two o'clock in the afternoon, attired in yellow fishermen's oil-skins instead of his showy grey livery, garrett sat at the wheel of the new "sixty" six-cylinder car of finch grey's outside the royal automobile club, in piccadilly, bade adieu to the exemplary bayswater parson, who stood upon the steps, and drew along to the corner of park lane, afterwards turning towards the marble arch, upon the first stage of a long and mysterious journey. when it is said that the journey was a mysterious one garrett was compelled to admit that, ever since he had been in the service of prince albert of hesse-holstein his journeys had been made for the most part with a motive that, until the moment of their accomplishment, remained to him a mystery. his employer gave him orders, but he never allowed him to know his plans. he was paid to hold his tongue and obey. what mattered if his highness, who was such a well-known figure in the world of automobilism was not a highness at all; or whether the rev thomas clayton held no clerical charge in bayswater. he, garrett, was the prince's chauffeur, paid to close his ears and his eyes to everything around him, and to drive whatever lady who might be in the car hither and thither, just as his employer or his audacious friends required. for two years his life had been one of constant change, as these secret records show. in scarcely a country in europe he had not driven, while fully half a dozen times he had driven between boulogne and the "place" at monte carlo, four times from calais due east to berlin, as well as some highly exciting runs over certain frontiers when compelled to evade the officers of the law. the good-looking prince albert, whose real name was hidden in obscurity, but who was best known as tremlett, burchell-laing, drummond, lord nassington, and half a dozen other aliases, constantly amazed and puzzled the police. leader of that small circle of bold and ingenious men, he provided the newspapers with sensational gossip from time to time, exploits in which he usually made use of one or other of his high-power cars, and in which there was invariably a lady in the car. prince albert was nothing if not a ladies' man, and in two years had owned quite a dozen cars of different makes with identification plates innumerable, most of them false. his highness, who always found snobs to bow and dust his boots, and who took good care to prey upon their snobbishness, was a perfect marvel of cunning. his cool audacity was unequalled. the times which he passed unsuspected and unidentified beneath the very noses of the police were innumerable, while the times in which garrett had been in imminent peril of arrest were not a few. the present journey was, however, to say the least, a very mysterious one. that morning at ten o'clock he had sat, as usual, in the cosy chambers in dover street. his highness had given him a cigar, and treated him as an equal, as he did always when they were alone. "you must start directly after lunch for the highlands, garrett," he had said suddenly, his dark, clearly defined brows slightly knit. he was still in his velvet smoking-jacket, and smoked incessantly his brown "petroffs." "i know," he went on, "that the weather is wretched--but it is imperative. we must have the car up there." garrett was disappointed, for they were only just back from hamburg, and he had expected at least to spend a few days with his own people down at surbiton. "what?" he asked, "another _coup_?" his highness smiled meaningly. "we've got a rather ticklish piece of work before us, garrett," he said, contemplating the end of his cigar. "there's a girl in it--a very pretty little girl. and you'll have to make a lot of love to her--you understand?" and the gay nonchalant fellow laughed as his eyes raised themselves to the chauffeur's. "well," remarked the man, somewhat surprised. "you make a much better lover than i do. remember the affair of the pretty miss northover?" "yes, yes!" he exclaimed impatiently. "but in this affair it's different. i have other things to do besides love-making. she'll have to be left to you. i warn you, however, that the dainty elfrida is a dangerous person--so don't make a fool of yourself, garrett." "dangerous?" he echoed. "i mean dangerously attractive, that's all. neither she, nor her people, have the least suspicion. the blair-stewarts, of glenblair castle, up in perthshire, claim to be one of the oldest families in the highlands. the old fellow made his money at shipbuilding, over at dumbarton, and bought back what may be, or may not be, the family estate. at any rate, he's got pots of the needful, and i, having met him with his wife and daughter this autumn at the `excelsior,' at aix, am invited up there to-morrow to spend a week or so. i've consented if i may go _incognito_ as mr drummond." "and i go to take the car up?" "no. you go as herbert hebberdine, son of old sir samuel hebberdine, the banker of old broad street, a young man sowing his wild oats and a motor enthusiast, as every young man is more or less nowadays," he laughed. "you go as owner of the car. to mrs blair-stewart i explained long ago that you were one of my greatest friends, so she has asked me to invite you, and i've already accepted in your name." "but i'm a stranger!" protested garrett. "never mind, my dear fellow," laughed the audacious prince. "clayton will be up there too. it's he who knows the people, and is working the game pretty cleverly." "is it jewels?" asked the chauffeur in a low voice. "no, it just isn't, this time! you're mistaken, as you always are when you're too inquisitive. garrett, it's something better," he answered. "all you've got to do is to pretend to be smitten by the girl. she's a terrible little flirt, so you won't have very much difficulty. you make the running, and leave all the rest to me." his master, having shown him on the map where glenblair was situated, half way between stirling and perth, added: "i'll go up to-night, and you'll be there in three days' time. meanwhile i'll sing your praises, and you'll receive a warm welcome from everybody when you arrive. take your decent kit with you, and act the gentleman. there's a level thousand each for us if we bring it off properly. but," he added, with further injunctions not to fall genuinely in love with the pretty elfrida, "the whole thing rests upon you. the girl must be devoted to you--otherwise we can't work the trick." "what _is_ the trick?" asked garrett, his curiosity aroused. "never mind what it is, garrett," he said, rising to dismiss him. "have your lunch and get away. you've five hundred miles of bad roads and new metal before you, so the sooner you're off the better. call and see clayton at his rooms. he's got a bag, or something, to put in the car, i think. when we meet in scotland, recollect that i'm prince albert _incognito_. we were at bonn together, and have been friends for many years. good luck to you!" and with that he left the prince's cosy rooms, and soon found himself out in dover street again, much puzzled. the real object of his visit and his flirtation at a scotch castle filled his mind as, in the dull light of that fading afternoon, he swept along the muddy great north road his exhaust opened and roaring as he went ascending through whetstone and barnet in the direction of hatfield. the "sixty" repainted cream with narrow gilt lines upon it certainly presented a very smart appearance, but in the back he had a couple of false number-plates, together with three big pots of dark-green enamel and a brush, so that if occasion arose, as it had arisen more than once, he could run up a by-road, and in an hour transform its appearance, so that its own maker would scarcely recognise it. in the grey twilight as he approached hitchin, swinging round those sharp corners at a speed as high as he dared, it poured with rain again, and he was compelled to lower the wind-screen and receive the full brunt of the storm, so blurred became everything through the sheet of plate-glass. the old "sun" at hitchin reached, he got a drink, lit his head-lamps, and crossing the marketplace, pushed forward, a long and monotonous run up alconbury hill and through wansford to stamford where, at the stamford hotel--which recalled memories of the northovers--he ate a cold dinner and rested for an hour over a cigar. many were the exciting adventures he had had while acting as chauffeur to his highness, but his instructions that morning had somehow filled him with unusual misgiving. he was on his way to pretend to make love to a girl whom he had never seen, the daughter of a millionaire shipbuilder, a man who, as the prince had informed him, had risen from a journeyman, and like so many others who make money, had at once looked round for a ready-made pedigree, and its accompanying estate. heraldry and family trees seem to exercise a strange and unaccountable fascination for the parvenu. as he pushed north, on through that long dark night in the teeth of a bitter northeaster and constant rain, his mind was full of the mysterious _coup_ which his highness and his friend were about to attempt. jewels and money were usually what they were in search of, but on this occasion it was something else. what it was, his highness had flatly refused to tell. aided by the rev thomas clayton, one of the cleverest impostors who ever evaded the police, his highness's successes had been little short of marvellous. his audacity was unparalleled. the parson, who lived constantly in that smug circle wherein moved the newly-rich, usually marked down the victim, introduced his highness, or the fascinating mr tremlett, and left the rest to the young cosmopolitan's tact and ingenuity. their aliases were many, while the memory of both tremlett and clayton for faces was extraordinary. a favourite pose of the prince was that of military _attache_ in the service of the german government, and this self-assumed profession often gained him admission to the most exclusive circles here, and on the continent. garrett's alias of herbert hebberdine he had assumed on one or two previous occasions--once at biarritz, when his highness successfully secured the splendid pearl necklace of the duchess of taormino, and again a few months later at abbazia, on the beautiful shore of the adriatic. on both occasions their _coup_ had been brought off without a hitch, he recollected. therefore, why should he, on this occasion, become so foolishly apprehensive? he could not tell. he tried to analyse his feelings as, hour after hour, he sat at the wheel, tearing along that dark, wet, endless highway due north towards york. but all in vain. over him seemed to have spread a shadow of impending evil, and try how he would, he could not shake off the uncomfortable feeling that he was rushing into some grave peril from which he was destined not to escape. to describe in detail that wet, uncomfortable run from hyde park corner to edinburgh would serve no purpose in this little chronicle of an exciting chapter of an adventurous life. suffice it to say that, late in the night of the second day after leaving london, he drew up before the north british hotel, in prince's street, glad of shelter from the icy blast. a telegram from his highness ordered him to arrive at the castle on the following evening; therefore, just as dusk was falling, he found himself before the lodge-gates of the splendid domain of the laird of glenblair, and a moment later turned into the drive which ascended for more than a mile through an avenue of great bare beeches and oaks, on the one side a dense wood, and on the other a deep, beautiful glen, where, far below, rippled a burn with many picturesque cascades. once or twice he touched the button of the electric horn to give warning of his approach, when suddenly the drive took a wide curve and opened out before a splendid old mansion in the scotch baronial style, situated amid the most romantic and picturesque scenery it had ever been his lot to witness. at the door, brought out by the horn, stood his highness, in a smart suit of blue serge, and the parson, in severe clerical garb and pince-nez, while with them stood two women, one plump, elderly, and grey-haired, in a dark gown, the other a slim figure in cream with wavy chestnut hair, and a face that instantly fascinated the new-comer. as he alighted from the car and drew off his fur glove the prince--who was staying _incognito_ as mr drummond--introduced him to his hostess, before whom he bowed, while she, in turn, said: "this is my daughter, elfrida--mr hebberdine." garrett bowed again. their eyes met, and next instant the young man wished heartily that he had never come there. the prince had not exaggerated her beauty. she was absolutely perfect. in all the years he had been a wanderer he had never seen such dainty _chic_, such tiny hands and feet, or such a sweet face with its soft pink cheeks and its red lips made for kisses. she could not have been more than eighteen or so, yet about her was none of the _gaucherie_ of the school-girl. he noticed that she dropped her eyes quickly, and upon her cheeks arose just the _soupcon_ of a blush. "had a good run, herbert?" asked the prince as he entered the big hall of the castle. "not very. the roads were infernally bad in places," replied the other, "and the new metal between york and newcastle is most annoying." "good car, that of yours!" remarked the parson, as though he had never seen it before, while his highness declared that a six-cylinder was certainly the best of all. after a whisky and soda, brought by the grave, antiquated butler, garrett drove the car round to the garage some little distance from the house, where he found three fine cars belonging to his host. then, as he went to his room to change for dinner, he passed his highness on the stairs. "the game's quite easy," whispered the latter as he halted for a second. "it remains for you to make the running with elfrida. only be careful. old blair-stewart is pretty sly--as you'll see." at dinner in the long old-fashioned panelled room, hung with the portraits of what were supposed to be the ancestors of the blair-stewarts of glenblair, garrett first met the rather stout, coarse-featured shipbuilder who had assumed the head of that historic house, and had bought the estate at three times its market value. from the first moment of their meeting garrett saw that he was a blatant parvenu of the worst type, for he began to talk of "my hothouses," "my motors," and "my yacht" almost in the first five minutes of their conversation. the party numbered about fifteen at dinner, and he had the good fortune to be placed next the dainty little girl in turquoise towards whom the part allotted to him was to act as lover. she was, he saw, of very different type to her father. she had been at school in versailles, and afterwards had studied music in dresden she told him, and she could, he found, speak three languages quite well. she had apparently put off her school-girl shyness when she put up her hair, and indeed she struck him as being an amusing little friend to any man. motoring was her chief hobby. she could drive one of her father's cars, a "sixteen-twenty" herself, and often did so. therefore they were soon upon a topic in which they were mutually enthusiastic. a yellow-haired, thin-faced young man of elegant appearance, for he had a velvet collar to his dress-coat and amethyst buttons to his vest, was looking daggers at them. from that garrett concluded that archie gould was the lover of the winning elfrida, and that he did not approve of their mutual merriment. the parson, who said grace, was a perfect example of decorum, and was making himself delightful to his hostess, while his highness was joking with a pretty little married woman who, without doubt, was full of admiration of his handsome face. what would the good people of glenblair have thought had they been aware of the identity of the trio they were entertaining at their table? as garrett reflected, he smiled within himself. his fellow guests were mostly wealthy people, and as he looked around the table he saw several pieces of jewellery, necklets, pendants and the like for which the old jew in the kerk straat at amsterdam would have given them very fair prices. if jewellery was not the object of their visit, then what was? two days passed, and garrett took elfrida and the prince for several runs on the "sixty," much to the girl's delight. he watched closely the actions of his two companions, but could detect nothing suspicious. blair-stewart's wife was a quaint old crow with a faint suspicion of a moustache, who fancied herself hugely as wife of the wealthy laird of glenblair. she was busy visiting the poor of the grey straggling highland village, and his highness, flattering her vanity, was assisting her. next to the prince, the parson was the most prominent person in the house-party, and managed to impress on every occasion his own importance upon the company. with the dainty elfrida, garrett got on famously, much to the chagrin and disgust of her yellow-headed young admirer, gould, who had recently inherited his father's estate up in inverness-shire, and who it was currently reported, was at that moment engaged in the interesting occupation of "going through" it. elfrida, though extremely pretty, with a soft natural beauty all her own, was an essentially out-door girl. it being a hard frost, they had been out together on the "sixty" in the morning, and later she had been teaching him curling on the curling-pond in the park, and initiated him into the mysteries of "elbow in" and "elbow out." indeed, every afternoon the whole party curled, a big bonfire being lit on the side of the pond, and tea being taken in the open. he had never practised the sport of casting those big round stones along the ice before, but he found it most invigorating and amusing, especially when he had as instructress such a charming and delightful little companion. just as the crimson light of sundown was tinting the snow with its blood-red glow one afternoon, she suddenly declared her intentions to return to the house, whereupon he offered to escort her. as soon, however, as they were away from the rest of the party she left the path by which they were approaching the avenue, saying that there was a shorter cut to the castle. it was then that they found themselves wandering over the snow in the centre of a leafless forest, where the deep crimson afterglow gleamed westward among the black trunks of the trees, while the dead silence of winter was upon everything. garrett was laughing with her, as was his habit, for their flirtation from the first had been a desperate one. at eighteen, a girl views nothing seriously, except her hobbies. as they walked together she presented a very neat-ankled and dainty appearance in her short blue serge skirt, little fur bolero, blue french _beret_, and thick white gloves. in the brief time he had been her father's guest, he had not failed to notice how his presence always served to heighten the colour of her cheeks, or how frequently she met him as if by accident in all sorts of odd and out-of-the-way corners. he was not sufficiently conceited to imagine that she cared for him any more than she did for young gould, though he never once saw him with her. he would scowl at them across the table; that was all. of a sudden, as they went on through the leafless wood she halted, and looking into his face with her beautiful eyes, exclaimed with a girl's frankness: "i wonder, mr hebberdine, if i might trust you?--i mean if you would help me?" "trust me!" he echoed very surprised, as their acquaintanceship had been of such short duration. "if you repose any confidence in me, miss blair-stewart, i assure you i shall respect its _secrecy_." her eyes met his, and he was startled to see in them a look of desperation such as he had not seen in any woman's gaze before. in that moment the mask seemed to have fallen from her, and she stood there before him craving his pity and sympathy--his sympathy above that of all other men! was not his position a curious one? the very girl whom he had come to trick and to deceive was asking him to accept her confidences. "you are very kind indeed to say that," she exclaimed, her face brightening. "i hardly know whether i dare ask you to stand my friend, for we've only known each other two or three days." "sufficiently long, miss elfrida, to win me as your faithful champion," the young man declared, whereupon her cheeks were again suffused by a slight flush. "well, the fact is," she said with charming bluntness, "though i have lots of girl friends, i have no man friend." "there is archie gould," he remarked, "i thought he was your friend!" "he's merely a silly boy," she laughed. "i said a man friend--like yourself." "why are you so anxious to have one?" she hesitated. her eyes were fixed upon the spotless snow at their feet, and he saw that she held her breath in hesitation. "men friends are sometimes dangerous, you know," he laughed. "not if the man is a true gentleman," was her rather disconcerting answer. then, raising her eyes again, and gazing straight into his face she asked, "will you really be my friend?" "as i've already said, i'd only be too delighted. what do you want me to do?" "i--i want you to help me, and--and to preserve my secret." "what secret?" he inquired, surprised that a girl of her age should possess a secret. he saw the sudden change in her countenance. her lips were trembling, the corners of her mouth hardened, and, without warning, she buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. "oh! come, come, elfrida!" he exclaimed quickly, placing his hand tenderly upon her shoulder. "no, don't give way like this! i am your friend, and will help you in what ever way you desire, if you will tell me all about it. you are in distress. why? confide in me now that i have promised to stand your friend." "and--and you promise," she sobbed. "you promise to be my friend-- whatever happens." "i promise," he said, perhaps foolishly. "whatever happens you may rely upon my friendship." then, next instant, his instructions from his highness flashed across his mind. he was there for some secret reason to play a treacherous part--that of the faithless lover. she stood immovable, dabbing her eyes with a little wisp of lace. he was waiting for her to reveal the reason of her unhappiness. but she suddenly walked on mechanically, in her eyes a strange look of terror, nay of despair. he strode beside her, much puzzled at her demeanour. she wished to tell him something of which she was ashamed. only the desperation of her position prompted her to make the admission, and seek his advice. they had gone, perhaps, three hundred yards still in the wood. the crimson light had faded, and the december dusk was quickly darkening, as it does in scotland, when again she halted and faced him, saying in a faltering tone: "mr hebberdine, i--i do hope you will not think any the worse of me--i mean, i hope you won't think me fast, when i tell you that i--well, somehow, i don't know how it is--but i feel that fate has brought you here purposely to be my friend--_and to save me_!" "to save you!" he echoed. "what do you mean? be more explicit." "i know my words must sound very strange to you. but it is the truth! ah!" she cried, "you cannot know all that i am suffering--or of the deadly peril in which i find myself. it is because of that, i ask the assistance of you--an honest man." honest! save the mark! he foresaw himself falling into some horrible complication, but the romance of the situation, together with the extreme beauty of his newly found little friend held the young man fascinated. "i cannot be of assistance, miss elfrida, until i know the truth." "if we are to be friends you must call me elfrida," she said in her girlish way, "but in private only." "you are right. other people might suspect, and misconstrue what is a platonic friendship," he said, and he took her hand in order to seal their compact. for a long time he held it, his gaze fixed upon her pale, agitated countenance. why was she in peril? of what? he asked her to tell him. a slight shudder ran through her, and she shook her head mournfully, no word escaping her lips. she sighed, the sigh of a young girl who had a burden of apprehension upon her sorely troubled mind. he could scarcely believe that this was the bright, happy, laughing girl who, half an hour ago, had been putting her stones along the ice, wielding her besom with all her might, and clapping her dainty little hands with delight when any of her own side knocked an opponent off "the pot lid." at last, after long persuasion, during which time dusk had almost deepened into darkness in that silent snow-covered wood, she, in a faltering voice, and with many sentences broken by her emotion, which she vainly strived to suppress, told him a most curious and startling story to which he listened with breathless interest. the first of the series of remarkable incidents had occurred about two years ago, while she was at school in versailles. she, with a number of other elder girls, had gone to spend the summer at a branch of the college close to fontainebleau, and they often succeeded, when cycling, in getting away unobserved and enjoying long runs in the forest alone. one summer's evening she was riding alone along a leafy by-way of the great forest when, by some means, her skirt got entangled in the machine and she was thrown and hurt her ankle. a rather well-dressed frenchman who was coming along assisted her. he appeared to be very kind, gave her a card, with the name "paul berton" upon it, was told her name in response, and very quickly a friendship sprang up between them. he was an engineer, and staying at the lion d'or, in fontainebleau, he said, and having wheeled her machine several miles to a spot quite near the college, suggested another meeting. she, with the school-girl's adventurous spirit, consented, and that proved to be the first of many clandestine rendezvous. she was not quite seventeen while he was, she thought, about twenty-six. she kept her secret from all, even from her most intimate schoolmate, fearing to be betrayed to the head governess, so all the summer these secret meetings went on, she becoming more and more infatuated on every occasion, while he, with apparent carelessness, learned from her the history of her family, who they were, and where they resided. "one thing about paul puzzled me from the very first evening we met," she said reflectively as she was describing those halcyon days of forbidden love. "it was that i noticed, high upon his left wrist, about four inches from the base of the hand, a scarlet mark, encircling the whole arm. it looked as though he had worn a bracelet that had chafed him, or perhaps it had been tattooed there. several times i referred to it, but he always evaded my question, and seemed to grow uneasy because i noticed it. indeed, after a few meetings i noticed that he wore shirts with the cuffs buttoned over with solitaires, instead of open links. well--" she went on slowly with a strange, far-away look in her face. "i--i hardly like to tell you further." "go on, little friend," he urged, "your secret is in safe keeping with me--whatever it may be. you loved the man, eh?" "ah! yes!" she cried. "you are right. i--i loved him--and i did not know. we met again in paris--many times. all sorts of ruses i resorted to, in order to get out, if only for half an hour. he followed me to london--when i left school--and he came up here." "up here!" he gasped. "he loved you, then?" "yes. and when i went to dresden he went there also." "why?" she held her breath. her eyes looked straight into his, and then were downcast. "because--because," she faltered hoarsely, "because he is my husband!" "your husband. great heavens!" "yes. i married him six months ago at the registry office in the blackfriars road, in london," she said in a strangely blank voice. "i am madame berton." he stood utterly dumbfounded. the sweet, refined face of the child-wife was ashen pale, her white lips were trembling, and tears were welling in her eyes. he could see she wished to confide further in him. "well?" he asked. it was the only word he could utter. "we parted half an hour after our marriage, and i have only seen him six times since. he comes here surreptitiously," she said in a low voice of despair. "why?" "because evil fortune has pursued him. he--he confessed to me a few weeks ago that he was not so rich as he had been. he will be rich some day, but now he is horribly poor. he being my husband, it is my duty to help him--is it not?" garrett's heart rose against this cowardly foreigner, who had inveigled her into a secret marriage, whoever he might be, for, according to french law, he might at once repudiate her. poor child! she was evidently devoted to him. "well," he said, "that depends upon circumstances. in what manner is he seeking your assistance?" she hesitated. at last she said: "well--i give him a little money sometimes. but i never have enough. all the trinkets i dare spare are gone." "you love him--eh?" asked the young man seriously. "yes," was her frank reply. "i am looking forward to the day when he can acknowledge me as his wife. being an engineer he has a brilliant idea, namely, to perform a great service to my father in furthering his business aims, so that it will be impossible for him to denounce our marriage. towards this end i am helping him. ah! mr hebberdine, you don't know what a dear, good fellow paul is." the young man sniffed suspiciously. "he has invented a new submarine boat which will revolutionise the naval warfare of the future. father, in secret, builds submarine boats, you know. but paul is anxious to ascertain what difference there is between those now secretly building and his own invention, prior to placing it before dear old dad." "well?" she hesitated. "i wanted to ask you, mr hebberdine, if you will do me a favour to-night," she said presently. "paul is staying at the `star,' down in the village, in the name of mr james. i dare not go there, and he dare not approach me. there have been thieves about in this neighbourhood lately, and dad is having the castle watched at night by detectives." at this garrett pricked up his ears. glenblair was, in those circumstances, no place for his highness and his clerical companion. "i wonder," she suggested, "whether you would do me a great favour and go down to the village to-night about ten and--and give him this." from within her fur bolero she produced an envelope containing what seemed to be a little jewellery box about two inches long by an inch and a half broad. this she handed to him saying, "give it into the hand of nobody except paul personally. tell him that you are my friend--and his." so devoted was the girl-wife to her husband, and so unhappy did she seem that garrett, filled with the romance of the affair, at once agreed to carry out his promise. her remarkable story had amazed him. he alone knew her secret. as they sat at dinner that night, her eyes met his once or twice, and the look they exchanged was full of meaning. he was the bearer of some secret message to her husband. at half-past nine when the men had gone to the billiard-room, garrett slipped upstairs to his room to put on a pair of thick boots, for he had a walk through the snow a good couple of miles to the village. scarcely had he closed the door when it opened again, and the prince, his finger raised in silence, entered, and in a low excited whisper exclaimed: "it's all up! we must get away on the car as soon as possible. every moment's delay means increased peril. how have you got on with elfrida?" the chauffeur stared at him without uttering a word. "elfrida!" he echoed at last. "well, she's told me a most remarkable story, and made me her confidante." then, as briefly as possible, he told him everything. how her husband was staying in glenblair village as mr james; and how he had promised to convey the little packet to him. when he had finished the prince fell back in his chair utterly dumbfounded. then, taking the little packet, he turned it over in his hand. "great heavens!" he cried. "you don't know what you've done, garrett. there's something very funny about all this!" he added quickly. "wait here, and i'll run along to clayton," and he left the young man instantly, carrying the packet in his hand. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ an hour later garrett was driving the prince and the rev thomas clayton in the car due south, and they were travelling for all they were worth over the hard frozen snow. of the reason of that sudden flight, garrett was in complete ignorance. all he knew was that he had orders to creep out to the garage, get the car, and await his companions who, in a few moments, came up out of the shadows. their big overcoats were in the car, therefore their evening clothes did not trouble them. then, with as little noise as possible, they ran down a back drive which his highness, having reconnoitred, knew joined the main perth road. an idling constable saw them, and wished them good evening. they were guests from the castle, therefore he allowed them to pass unmolested. the constable would scarcely have done this, however, had he known what they were carrying away with them. they took the road by dunblane and stirling, and then straight south into glasgow, where at two o'clock in the morning, garrett's two companions alighted in a deserted snow-covered street in the suburbs of the city, and bidding him farewell, gave him orders to get back to london with all haste. the run was a most dismal one. all through the snowstorm next day he kept on, making but poor progress. next night, garrett spent alone in carlisle, and on the following morning started direct for london, being compelled, owing to the abominable state of the roads, to take two days over the run. a week of suspense went by, when one evening he received a note from his highness, in consequence of which he went to dover street, where he found him smoking one of his "petroffs," as was his wont. "well, garrett?" he laughed. "sit down, and have a drink. i've got eight hundred pounds for you here--your share of the boodle?" "but i don't understand," he exclaimed. "what boodle?" "of course you don't understand!" he laughed. "just carry your mind back. you told me the story of little elfrida's unfortunate secret marriage, and that her husband had a red ring tattooed around his left wrist. that conveyed nothing to you; but it told me much. that afternoon i was walking with the ladies up glenblair village when, to my surprise, i saw standing at a door no less a person than jacques fourrier, or `le bravache,' as he's known in paris, an `international,' like ourselves." "le bravache!" gasped garrett, for his reputation was that of the most daring and successful adventurer on the continent, besides which he knew him as his highness's arch-enemy owing to a little love affair of a couple of years before. "yes. `le bravache'!" the prince went on. "he recognised me, and i saw that our game was up. then you told me elfrida's story, and from the red circle on the man's arm i realised that paul berton, the engineer, and `le bravache' were one and the same person! besides, she had actually given you to take to her husband the very thing we had gone to glenblair to obtain!" "what was it?" he asked excitedly. "well, the facts are these," answered the audacious, good-looking prince, blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips. "old blair-stewart has taken, in secret, a contract from the german government to build a number of submarine boats for naval use. the plans of these wonderful vessels are kept in a strong safe in the old chap's private office in dumbarton, and both fourrier and ourselves were after them--the french intelligence department having, in confidence, offered a big sum to any one bringing them to the quay d'orsay. now you see the drift of the story of the exemplary paul to his pretty little wife, and why he induced her to take impressions in wax of her father's safe-key, she believing that he merely wanted sight of the plans in order to ascertain whether they were any better than his own alleged invention. fortunately for us, she induced you to be her messenger. when we sent you up there with orders to be nice to elfrida we never anticipated such a _contretemps_ as fourrier's presence, or that the dainty little girl would actually take the impressions for us to use." "then you have used it?" "of course. on the night after leaving you, having made the false key in glasgow, we went over to dumbarton and got the plans quite easily. we crossed by harwich and antwerp to brussels on to paris, and here we are again. the intelligence department of the admiralty are very satisfied--and so are we. the pretty elfrida will no doubt remain in ignorance, until her father discovers his loss, but i'm half inclined to write anonymously to her and tell the poor girl the truth regarding her mysterious husband. i think i really shall, for my letter would cast a good deal of suspicion upon the man with the red circle." chapter five. the wicked mr wilkinson. how my cosmopolitan friend, the prince, was tricked by a woman, and how he was, entirely against his inclination, forced to run the gauntlet of the police at bow street at imminent risk of identification as tremlett, form an interesting narrative which is perhaps best told in his own words, as he recounted it to me the other day in the noisy continental city where he is at this moment in hiding. an untoward incident, he said one afternoon as we sat together in the "sixty" on our way out into the country for a run, occurred to me while travelling from sofia, the bulgarian capital, to bucharest, by way of rustchuk. if you have ever been over that wonderfully-engineered line, which runs up the isker defile and over the high balkans to the danube, you will recollect, diprose, how grand is the scenery, and how full of interest is the journey across the battlefields of plevna and the fertile, picturesque lands of northern bulgaria. it is a corner of europe practically unknown. at gornia, a small wayside station approaching the danube, the train halts to take up water, and it was there that the mishap occurred to me. i had descended to stretch my legs, and had walked up and down the platform for ten minutes or so. then, the signal being given to start again, i entered my compartment, only to discover that my suit-case, despatch-box, coat, and other impedimenta were missing! the train was already moving out of the station, but, in an instant, my mind was made up, and, opening the door, i dropped out. my bulgarian is not very fluent, as may be supposed, but i managed to make the dull station-master understand my loss. he shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and exhibited his palms in perfect ignorance. this rendered me furious. within my official-looking despatch-box were a number of valuable little objects, which i wished to keep from prying eyes my passport and a quantity of papers of highest importance. no doubt some clever railway thief had made off with the whole! for a full ten minutes i was beside myself in frantic anger; but judge my amazement when presently i found the whole of my things piled up outside the station in the village street! they had been placed there by a half-drunken porter, who believed that i intended to descend. fortunately no one understood german or english, for the language i used was rather hem-stitched. my annoyance was increased on learning that there was not another train to rustchuk--where i had to cross the danube--for twenty-four hours, and, further, that the nearest hotel was at tirnovo, eighteen miles distant by a branch line. i was therefore compelled to accept the inevitable, and in the dirty, evil-smelling inn at tirnovo--about on a par with a russian post-house-- i met, on the following day, madame demidoff, the queer-looking old lady with the yellow teeth, who, strangely enough, came from london. she had with her a rather attractive young girl of about twenty, mademoiselle elise, her niece, and she told me that they were travelling in the balkans for pleasure, in order to ascertain what that unbroken ground was like. the first hour i was in tirnovo and its rat-eaten "hotel" i longed to be away from the place; but next morning, when i explored its quaint terrace-like streets, built high upon a sleep cliff where the river below takes a sweep almost at right angles, and where dense woods rise on the opposite bank, i found it to be a town full of interest, its old white mosques and other traces of turkish occupation still remaining. to the stranger, tirnovo is but a name on the map of the balkans, but for beauty of situation and quaint interest it is surely one of the strangest towns in europe. the discomforts of our hotel caused me to first address the ugly old lady in black, and after luncheon she and her niece elise strolled out upon the high bridge with me, and through the turkish town, where the little girls, in their baggy trousers, were playing in the streets, and where grave-faced men in fezzes squatted and smoked. madame and her niece were a decidedly quaint pair. the first-named knew her london well, for when she spoke english it was with a distinctly cockney accent. she said "yers" for "yes," and "'emmersmith" for "hammersmith." mademoiselle was, however, of a type, purely parisienne--thin, dark-haired, narrow-featured, with bright, luminous, brown eyes, a mouth slightly large, and a sense of humour that attracted me. both of them had travelled very extensively, and their knowledge of the continent was practically as wide as my own. both were, of course, much impressed by my princely position. it is marvellous what a title does, and how snobbish is the world in every quarter of the globe. so interesting did i find the pair that i spent another day in tirnovo, where, in the summer sunset, we were idling after dinner on the balcony overhanging the steep cliff above the river. our _salle-a-manger_ was half filled by rough, chattering peasants in their white linen clothes embroidered in red, and round pork-pie hats of fur, while our fare that night had been of the very plainest--and not over fresh at that. but it was a distinctly curious incident to find, in that remotest corner of the balkans, a lady whose residence was in the west end of london, and who, though a foreigner by birth, had evidently been educated "within the sound of bow bells." "i love bulgaria," the old lady had said to me as we had walked together down by the river bank that afternoon. "i bring elise here every summer. last june we were at kazanlik, among the rose-fields, where they make the otto of rose. it was delightful." i replied that i, also, knew servia, bulgaria, and roumania fairly well. "then your highness is travelling for pleasure?" she inquired. i smiled vaguely, for i did not satisfy her. she struck me as being a particularly inquisitive old busybody. when next morning mademoiselle elise informed me that her aunt was suffering from a headache, i invited her to go for a stroll with me out of the town, to which she at once acceded. her smart conversation and natural neat waisted _chic_ attracted me. she used "ideale," the very expensive parisian perfume that to the cosmopolitan is somehow the hall-mark of up-to-date smartness. her gown was well-cut, her gloves fresh and clean, and her hat a small toque of the very latest _mode_. idling beside her in the bright sunshine, with the broad river hundreds of feet below, and the high blue balkans on every side about us, i spent a most delightful morning. "we move down to varna to-morrow, and then home by way of constantinople," she replied in french in answer to my question. "aunt melanie has invited your highness to our house in toddington terrace, she tells me. i do hope you will come. but send us a line first. in a month we shall be back again to the dreariness of the terrace." "dreariness? then you are not fond of london?" "no." and her face fell, as though the metropolis contained for her some sad memory she would fain forget. her life with that yellow-toothed, wizen-faced old aunt could not be fraught with very much pleasure, i reflected. "i much prefer travelling. fortunately we are often abroad, for on all my aunt's journeys i act as her companion." "you are, however, french--eh?" "yes--from paris. but i know the balkans well. we lived in belgrade for a year--before the servian _coup d'etat_. i am very fond of the servians." "and i also," i declared, for i had been many times in servia, and had many friends there. they were a curious pair, and about them both was an indescribable air of mystery which i could not determine, but which caused me to decide to visit them at their london home, the address of which i had already noted. at five o'clock that evening i took farewell of both madams and her dainty little niece, and by midnight was in the roumanian capital. my business--which by the way concerned the obtaining of a little matter of , francs from an unsuspecting french wine merchant--occupied me about a week and afterwards i went north to klausenburg, in hungary, and afterwards to budapest, graz, and other places. contrary to my expectations, my affairs occupied me much longer than i expected, and four months later i found myself still abroad, at the fine hotel stefanie, among the beautiful woods of evergreen laurel at abbazia, on the gulf of quarnero. my friend, the rev thomas clayton from bayswater, was staying there, and as, on the evening of my arrival, we were seated together at dinner i saw, to my great surprise, madame demidoff enter with the pretty elise, accompanied by a tall, fair-haired gentlemanly young man, rather foppishly dressed. "hulloa?" i exclaimed to my friend, "there's somebody i know! that old woman is madame demidoff." "no, my dear prince," was my friend's reply. "you are, i think, mistaken. that is the old countess gemsenberg, and the girl is her daughter elise. she's engaged to that fellow--an awful ass--young hausner, the son of the big banker in vienna, who died last year, leaving him thirty million kroners." "do you really know this?" i asked, looking the parson straight in the face. "know it? why, everybody in this hotel knows of their engagement. i've been here five weeks, and they were here before i arrived. they're staying the season, and have the best suite of rooms in the place. the old countess is, no doubt, very wealthy, and lives in munich." neither of the women had noticed me, and i remained silent. what my friend had told me was certainly extraordinary. why, i wondered had madame represented herself as a woman of the middle-class, resident in a dull west end terrace? why had elise not admitted to me the truth? she had seemed so charmingly frank. with an intention to remain unseen and observant i purposely avoided the pair that evening. next morning i saw elise and young hausner strolling together on the strandweg, that broad path which forms the principal promenade, and runs along the rocky coast from volosca to icici. she was smartly dressed in cream serge, girdled narrow but distinctive, and wore a large black hat which suited her admirably, while he was in an easy suit of dark blue, a panama, and white shoes. they were talking very earnestly as they walked slowly on in the bright autumn sunshine with the blue adriatic before them. he seemed to be telling her something very seriously, and she was listening without uttering a word--or, at least, she scarcely spoke while they were within my sight. on returning to the hotel i stumbled upon madame demidoff, who, seated in the hall, was chatting with a tall, bald-headed, middle-aged man in dark brown tweed, who had every appearance of an englishman. she had just given him a letter to read, and he was laughing heartily over it. fortunately, however, she sat with her back to the door and, therefore, did not observe me. so i was enabled to make my exit without detection. half an hour later i pointed out the englishman to the parson, asking who he was. "i don't know," was his reply. "i've never seen him before; a fresh arrival, i suppose." that day i lunched and dined in my private sitting-room, in order to avoid the pair, and continue my observations. that night i caught sight of elise, whose exquisite gown of pale pink chiffon was creating a sensation among the well-dressed women, for the news of her engagement to the young millionaire banker made her the most-talked-of and admired girl in the great crowded hotel. at eleven that night, when i believed that the ladies had gone to bed, i ventured downstairs to the _fumoir_. as i went along the corridor, i noticed madame's english friend, with his overcoat over his evening clothes, leaving the hotel for a stroll, while almost at the same moment madame herself emerged from one of the rooms, and, without doubt, recognised me, i saw her start quickly, hesitate for a second, and then turn away in pretence that she had not noticed me. her attitude was distinctly curious, and therefore i made no attempt to claim acquaintance. the mystery of the situation was, however, considerably increased when, next morning, i was surprised to learn that the countess gemsenberg had received bad news from munich, that her husband had been injured in a lift accident, and that she and her daughter had left mattuglie--the station for abbazia, three miles distant--by the : train, young hausner leaving by the same train. from the servants i discovered that madame and her daughter had spent half the night packing, and had not announced their departure until six that morning. no telegram had been received by either of the trio, which seemed to me a curiously interesting point. was it possible that madame had fled upon recognising me? if so, for what reason? the mystery surrounding the pair attracted me, and during the further fortnight i remained at the stefanie, i made inquiries concerning them. it appeared that a few days after their arrival the countess herself had told two german ladies of her daughter's engagement to young hausner, and that the latter would arrive in a few days. this news at once spread over the big hotel, and when the young man arrived he at once became the most popular person in abbazia. the countess's enemies, however, declared that one night in the hotel-garden she and hausner had a violent quarrel, but its nature was unknown, because they spoke in english. mademoiselle was also present, and instead of supporting her lover, took her mother's side and openly abused him. and yet next morning the pair were walking arm-in-arm beside the sea, as though no difference of opinion had occurred. as for the englishman in brown, i ascertained that he did not live there, but at the quarnero, down by the sea. those who heard him talk declared that the countess addressed him as mr wilkinson, and that he was undoubtedly english. many facts i ascertained were distinctly strange. the more so when, on making inquiry through a man whom the parson knew living at the quarnero, i found that this mr wilkinson had left abbazia at the same hour as his three friends. i could see no reason why my presence at the stefanie should create such sudden terror within the mind of the old lady with the yellow teeth. the more i reflected upon the whole affair, the more mysterious were the phases it assumed. i recollected that the old lady, whoever she might be, lived at number toddington terrace, regent's park, and i resolved to call and see her in pretence that i had not recognised her in abbazia, and was unaware of her presence there. autumn gave place to winter, and i was still wandering about the continent on matters more or less lucrative. to venice naples and down to constantinople i went, returning at last in the dark days of late january to the rain and mud of london; different, indeed, to the sunshine and brightness of the beautiful bosphorus. one afternoon, while seated here in dover street, lazily looking forth upon the traffic, i suddenly made up my mind to call upon the old lady, and with that purpose took a taxi-cab. as we pulled up before number , i at once recognised the truth, for the green venetian blinds were all down. in answer to my ring, a narrow-faced, consumptive-looking woman, evidently the caretaker, opened the door. "no, sir. madame demidoff and elise left home again for the continent a fortnight ago, and they won't be back till the beginning of april." she spoke of elise familiarly without the prefix "miss." that was curious. "do you know where they are?" "i send their letters to the excelsior hotel, at palermo." "thank you. by the way," i added, "do you happen to know who is the landlord of these houses?" "mr epgrave, sir. he lives just there--that new-painted house at the corner;" and she pointed to the residence in question. and with that information i re-entered the cab and drove back to the club. so madame was enjoying the war in sicilian sunshine! lucky old woman. i had only been back in london a week, and was already longing for warmth and brightness again. that night, seated alone, trying to form some plan for the immediate future, i found myself suggesting a flying visit to palermo. the villa igiea was a favourite hotel of mine, and i could there enjoy the winter warmth, and at the same time keep an eye upon the modest old lady of toddington terrace, who appeared to blossom forth into a wealthy countess whenever occasion required. the idea grew upon me. indeed, a fortnight later, constant traveller that i am, i ran from paris to naples in the "sixty," with garrett, and shipped the car over to palermo, where i soon found myself idling in the big white and pale green lounge of the igiea, wondering how best to get sight of madame, who i had already ascertained, was at the excelsior at the other end of the town, still passing as countess gemsenberg. the pretty elise was with her, and my informant--an italian--told me in confidence that the young marquis torquato torrini, head of the well-known firm of genoese shipowners who was staying in the hotel, was head over heels in love with her, and that engagement was imminent. i heard this in silence. what, i wondered had become of the young austrian millionaire, hausner? i, however, kept my own counsel, waited and watched. the parson also turned up a couple of days later and started gossip and tea-drinking in the hotel. but, of course, we posed as strangers to each other. the igiea being the best hotel in palermo and situated on the sea, the blue mediterranean lapping the grey rocks at the end of the beautiful garden, it is the mode for people at other hotels to go there to tea, just as they go to the "reserve," at beaulieu, or the star and garter at richmond. i therefore waited from day to day, expecting her to come there. each day i pottered about in the car, but in vain. one morning, however, while passing in front of the cathedral, i saw her walking alone, and quickly seized the opportunity and overtook her. "ah! mademoiselle!" i exclaimed in french as i raised my cap in feigned surprise and descended from the car. "fancy, you! in palermo! and madame, your aunt?" "she is quite well, thank you, prince," she replied; and then, at my invitation, she got into the car and we ran round the town. i saw that she was very uneasy. the meeting was not altogether a pleasant surprise for her; that was very evident. "this place is more civilised than tirnovo," i laughed. "since then i expect that you, like myself, have been travelling a good deal." "yes. we've been about quite a lot--to vienna, abbazia, rome, and now to palermo." "and not yet to london?" "oh! yes. we were at home exactly eleven days. the weather was, however, so atrocious that madame--my aunt, i mean--decided to come here. we are at the excelsior. you are, of course, at the igiea?" and so we ran along through the big, rather ugly, town, laughing and chatting affably. dressed in a neat gown of dove-grey cloth, with hat to match and long white gloves, she looked extremely _chic_, full of that daintiness which was so essentially that of the true parisienne. i told her nothing of my visit to toddington terrace, but presently i said: "i'll come to the excelsior, and call on your aunt--if i may?" i noticed that she hesitated. she did not seem at all desirous to see me at their hotel. i, of course, knew the reason. the old lady was not madame demidoff in palermo. "we will call and see you at the igiea," she said. "we have never been there yet." "i shall be delighted," i answered her. "only send me a note, in order that i may be in." beyond the town we ran along beside the calm blue sea, with the high purple hills rising from across the bay. bright and merry, she seemed quite her old self again--that sweet and charming self that i had first met in that rough, uncouth bulgarian town. after an hour, we got out and seated ourselves on the rocks to rest. she was certainly not averse to a mild flirtation. indeed--had she not already been engaged to hausner, broken it off, and was now half engaged to the marquis torrini? she was nothing if not fickle. "yes," she sighed at last, "i suppose we shall have to go back to humdrum london, before long. it is so much more pleasant here than in toddington terrace," she added in her pretty broken english. "ah! mademoiselle," i laughed. "one day you will marry and live in paris, or vienna, or budapest." "marry!" she echoed. "ugh! no!" and she gave her little shoulders a shrug. "i much prefer, prince, to remain my own mistress. i have been too much indulged--what you in english call spoil-et." "all girls say that!" i laughed. "just as the very man who unceasingly declares his intention to remain a bachelor is the first to become enmeshed in the feminine web." "ah! you are a pessimist, i see," she remarked, looking straight into my eyes. "no, not exactly. i suppose i shall marry some day." "and you are engaged--eh?" "no," i laughed, "it hasn't got so far as that yet. a single kiss and a few letters--that's the present stage." "and the lady is engleesh?" "ah! the rest must, for the present, remain a mystery, mademoiselle," i laughed, wondering what the marquis would say if he discovered us idling away the morning like that. and so we chatted and laughed on, the best of friends. i tried to obtain some facts regarding her visit to abbazia, but she was not communicative. knowing that she was well aware of my visit to the stefanie, i mentioned it casually, adding: "you must have already left before my arrival." for an instant she raised her eyes to mine with a keen look of inquiry, but, finding me in earnest, lowered her gaze again. at length i saw from my watch that we must move again, if we intended to be back to luncheon, therefore we rose and re-entering the car drove by the sea-road, back to the town. she seemed delighted with her ride. "i'll bring my aunt to call on you very soon," she said, as we parted. "i will send you a line to say the day." "yes, do, mademoiselle, i shall be greatly charmed. _au revoir_!" and i lifted my hat as she gave me her tiny, white-gloved hand and then turned away. next afternoon, while in the car near the theatre, i saw her driving with a dark-bearded, well-dressed young man, whom i afterwards discovered was the marquis. she saw me raise my hat, blushed in confusion, and gave me a slight bow of acknowledgment. that evening i made a discovery considerably increasing the puzzle. i met the mysterious mr wilkinson face to face in the hall of the hotel de france, whither i had gone to pay a call upon some english friends who had just arrived. wearing the same brown suit, he passed me by and left the hotel, for he was unacquainted with me, and therefore unaware of my presence. from the hall-porter i learnt that "mr james wilkinson, of london"--as he had registered in the hotel-book--had been there for the past three days. for four days i awaited madame's visit, but no note came from elise. the latter was, no doubt, too occupied with her italian lover. i could not write to her, as she had not given me the name by which she was known at the excelsior. compelled, therefore, to play a waiting game, i remained with my eyes ever open to catch sight of one or other of the mysterious quartette. but i was disappointed, for on this fifth day i made inquiry, and to my utter dismay discovered that the same tactics had been adopted in palermo as in abbazia. the whole four had suddenly disappeared! greatly puzzled, the parson returned to london. i nevertheless remained in italy until may, when back again i found myself, one bright afternoon about five o'clock, descending from the car outside the house in toddington terrace, my intention being to pay a call upon madame demidoff. my ring was answered by a neat maidservant in smart cap and apron. next instant we stared at each other in speechless amazement. it was elise! utterly confused, her face first flushed scarlet, and then blanched. "you--you want to see madame," she managed to stammer in her broken english. "she isn't at home!" beyond her, in the hall, stood the tall figure of a man, whom i at once recognised as the mysterious wilkinson. "but, mademoiselle," i said, smiling, yet wondering, the motive of that masquerade. "i called also to see you." she drew herself up in an instant, replying with some hauteur: "i think, m'sieur, you have made some mistake. we have never met before--to my knowledge." her reply staggered me. "when will madame demidoff return?" i inquired, amazed at this reception. "to-morrow--at this hour," was her rather hesitating reply. "then i shall be glad if you will give her my card, and say i will call," i said; "that is if you still deny having met me in tirnovo and in palermo?" "i really do not know what you are talking about, m'sieur," she answered, and then, without further parley, closed the door in my face. i stood still, staggered. surely my reception at toddington terrace was the reverse of cordial. next afternoon at the same hour i called at number , but there was no response to my ring, and the blinds were all down again. the place was deserted, for the tenants had evidently fled. that same night as i sat in my rooms, a short, thick-set man, who gave the name of payne, was ushered in. "i think," he said, "your highness happens to know something of an old lady named demidoff and her friends who live in toddington terrace?" "yes," i replied, much surprised. "well," he explained, "i'm a police officer, and i watched you go twice to the house, so i thought you knew something about them. are they your friends?" "well, no; not exactly my friends," i replied, very suspicious of my visitor. "i had never been nearer a man from scotland yard in all my life! imagine my position, my dear diprose!" "ah! that's a good job. they seem to have been playing a pretty smart game on the continent of late." "how? what was their game?" i asked eagerly. "one that brought them in thousands a year. from the italian and austrian police, who are both over here, it seems that they worked like this: old madame demidoff had a young and pretty french servant named elise. on the continent madame took the title of countess, and elise posed as her daughter. the latter flirted with wealthy young bachelors, and so cleverly did she play her cards, that in several instances they proposed marriage to her. then, after the old woman had secretly spread the report of the engagement, there would suddenly appear on the scene elise's english husband--a well-known ex-convict named wilkinson. this latter person would at once bluster, make charges against the unsuspecting young lover, threaten exposure, and end by accepting a thousand or two to preserve secrecy, none of the young elegants, of course, caring that it should be known how completely they had been `had.' there are over a dozen different charges against them, the most recent being a coup in palermo a few months ago, by which they blackmailed the young marquis torrini to the tune of nine thousand pounds." "i was in palermo at the time, but i never knew that was their game." "were you?" he cried in triumph. "then you'll identify them, won't you? i arrested madame demidoff and wilkinson at parkeston quay last night, as they were getting away to the hook. the girl tried to get to paris, but was followed and apprehended on landing at calais early this morning. the italian government are asking for the extradition of the interesting trio, and the papers are already on their way over." i regretted having blurted forth the fact that i had known them in palermo, for in the interests of justice--though terribly afraid of being recognised myself--i was compelled to identify madame and wilkinson at bow street next day. she swore a terrible vengeance upon me, but at present i have no fear of her reprisals, for the assize court at palermo a month ago condemned her to ten years' imprisonment, while wilkinson--whose past record was brought up--has been sent to gorgona for fifteen years, and the dainty elise, his wife, is serving seven years at syracuse. "but," the prince added: "by jove! it was a narrow squeak for me. old never-let-go hartley, of scotland yard, was in the extradition court. and i know he was racking his brains to remember where he had met me before." chapter six. the vengeance of the vipers. certain incidents in my friend's career are a closed book to all but clayton, the exemplary bayswater parson, the devoted valet charles, and his smart chauffeur garrett. gay, well-dressed, debonair as he always is, a veritable master of the art of skilful deception and ingenious subterfuge, he has found it more than once to his advantage to act as spy. his knowledge of the east of europe is perhaps unique. no man possessed a wider circle of friends than prince albert of hesse-holstein, who to-day can pose perfectly as the young german highness, and to-morrow as the wandering englishman, and a bit of a fool to boot. this wide acquaintance with men and matters in the balkans first brought him in touch with the intelligence department of the foreign office, and his services as secret agent of the british government were promptly secured. in this connection he was always known as mr reginald martin. downing street is rather near new scotland yard, where the names of prince albert of hesse-holstein and of tremlett are a little too well-known. therefore, to the chief of the secret service, and afterwards to the british ministers and consuls resident in the balkan countries, servia, bulgaria, montenegro, and roumania, he was for a time known as reggie martin. only on rare occasions, however, were his services requisitioned. the game of spying did not pay him nearly so well as the game of jewel-lifting. yet he had taken to it out of mere love of adventure, and surely some of his experiences in the orient were sufficiently perilous and exciting. more than once he had been in possession of state secrets which, if divulged, would have set two or more of the powers flying at one another's throats, and more than once he had carried his life in his hand. one series of incidents through which he lived last year were, in themselves, as romantic as anything seen written in fiction. they were hard solid facts--an exciting chapter from the life of a man who was a perfect and polished adventurer, a little too impressionable perhaps, where the fair sex were concerned, but keen-witted, audacious, and utterly fearless. he seldom, if ever, speaks of the affair himself, for he is not anxious that people should know of his connection with the secret service. as an old college chum, and as one whom he knows is not likely to "give him away" to the police, he one day, after great persuasion, related it in confidence to me as together we spent a wearisome day in the _rapide_ between paris and marseilles. "well, my dear diprose, it happened like this," he said, as he selected one of his "petroffs" and lit it with great care. "i was sent to the balkans on a very difficult mission. at downing street they did not conceal that fact from me. but i promised to do my best. garrett was with the `sixty' in vienna, so i wired sending it on to sofia, in bulgaria, and then left charing cross for the balkans myself. "i first went _via_ trieste down the adriatic to cattaro and up to quaint little cettinje, the town of one long street, where i had audience of prince nicholas of montenegro, whom i had met twice before-- in my character of reggie martin, of course--and thence i went north to servia, where i was received several times in private audience by king peter. one day i arrived in bulgaria to have confidential interviews with the prime minister dimitri petkoff, and the newly appointed minister of foreign affairs. my orders from downing street, i may as well at once admit, were to ascertain whether bulgaria intended to declare war against turkey over macedonia. the british government was extremely anxious to ascertain bulgaria's intentions, as well as the views of the other balkan powers, in order that the british policy towards the porte might combat that of the expansion intrigues of germany. "our public at home have a perfectly erroneous idea of bulgaria, believing it to be a semi-savage land. if, however, they went to sofia they would find a fine modern city entirely up to date--a city that must in a few years become the paris of the balkans. "i had wandered along the wide tree-lined boulevards, idled outside the big white mosque, and strolled through the market alive with peasants in their sheepskins, and the girls with sequins and fresh flowers twined in their plaited hair, until it was time for me to keep my appointment with my friend the patriot petkoff, prime minister. "half an hour later i was conducted through the long corridor of the fine government offices opposite the sobranje, or parliament house, and ushered into the presence of the real ruler of bulgaria. "`ah! _mon cher_ martin,' he cried in french. `welcome back to sofia! they were talking of you in the club last night. de corvin was saying you were delayed in belgrade. he met you there--at our legation, so he told us. and you have your motor-car here--eh? good. i'll go for a run with you,' and his excellency put out his left hand in greeting. his right sleeve hung limp and empty, for he lost his arm in the turco-russian campaign, at the historic battle of the shipka. "dark-eyed, dark-haired, with a pleasant face and a small pointed imperial on his chin, he was a wonderful orator and a magnificent statesman who had the full confidence of his sovereign. a dozen times had political plots, inspired by russia, been formed to assassinate him. indeed, he had actually been driving beside the great stambouloff when the latter had been killed in the street. but he had always escaped. under his direction, bulgaria had risen to be the strong power of the balkans, and as my personal friend i hoped that he would tell me, in strictest confidence, what was his future policy towards the turk. "with that object i took the seat he offered me, and lighting cigarettes, we began to chat. "through the open window came up the strains of martial music, as an infantry regiment in their grey uniforms on the russian model were marching past, and as i glanced around the quiet, comfortable, red-carpeted room, i saw that the only picture was a fine full-length portrait of the prince. "for fully an hour we gossiped. perfectly frankly i at last told his excellency the object of my mission. "he shrugged his shoulders somewhat dubiously, and smiled, declaring that each of the powers was endeavouring to ascertain the very same thing. i pressed my point, assuring him of britain's good-will, and explaining certain facts which, after a while, decided him. "`but you see, _mon cher ami_,' he said, `supposing the truth got out to constantinople! all my efforts of the past fifteen years would be negatived. and further--it would mean dire disaster for bulgaria!' "`i have been entrusted with many state secrets before, your excellency,' i replied. `it would, for instance, not be the first time you spoke with me in confidence.' "he admitted it, and assuring me of his good-will towards england, he declared that before he could speak, he must consult his royal master. "therefore, the french minister awaiting an audience, i rose and left, having arranged to dine with him at the union club that evening. "for nearly a week i idled in sofia visiting many diplomatists and their wives, motoring about the neighbourhood, and driving out every night at one legation or the other, no one, of course, being aware of my secret mission in the bulgarian capital. garrett kept eyes and ears open, of course. useful man garrett--very useful indeed. "one night with the italian minister and his wife, i went to the official ball given by the minister-president, and among others i had as partner a rather tall, fair-haired girl with clear blue eyes and a pretty childlike face. about twenty-two, she was dressed exquisitely in white chiffon, the corsage of which was trimmed with tiny pink roses, and on her white-gloved wrist gleamed a splendid diamond bracelet. olga steinkoff was her name, and as we waltzed together amid the smartly dressed women and uniformed and decorated men i thought her one of the most charming of cosmopolitan girls i had ever encountered south of the danube. "her chaperone was an old and rather ugly woman in dark purple silk, a stiff and starchy person who talked nearly the whole evening to one of the _attaches_ of the turkish legation, a sallow, middle-aged, bearded man in black frock-coat and red fez. "the girl in white chiffon was perfect in figure, in daintiness and _chic_, and a splendid dancer. we sat out two dances, and waltzed twice together, i afterwards taking her down to supper. she spoke french excellently, a little english, and a little bulgarian, while russian was her own language. her father lived in moscow, she told me, and she had spent four years in constantinople with her aunt--the ugly old woman in purple. "the sallow-faced, beady-eyed turk who did not dance, and who took no champagne, was evidently her particular friend. i inquired of the italian minister and found that the thin-faced bearded _attache_ was named mehmed zekki, and that he had been in sofia only a couple of months. "towards me he was quite affable, even effusive. he mentioned that he had noticed me in the club, dining with the prime minister, and he referred to a number of people in belgrade who were my friends. he was _attache_ there, he told me, for two years--after the _coup d'etat_. "twice during next day i encountered the charming olga, driving with her aunt, in a smart victoria, and during the next week met them at several diplomatic functions. "one afternoon, olga and her chaperone accepted my invitation for a run on the `sixty,' and i took them for a little tour of about thirty miles around the foot of the high balkans, returning along the winding banks of the isker. they were delighted, for the afternoon was perfect. i drove, and she sat up beside me, her hand on the horn. "one night, ten days later, we were sitting out together in the bright moonlight in the garden of the austrian legation, and i found her not averse to a mild flirtation. i knew that the frock-coated turk was jealous, and had become amused by it. on four or five occasions she had been out for runs with me--twice quite alone. "i mentioned the turk, but she only laughed, and shrugging her shoulders, answered: "`all turks are as ridiculous as they are bigoted. mehmed is no exception.' "i was leaving bulgaria next morning, and told her so. "`perhaps, mademoiselle, we shall meet again some day, who knows?' i added, `you have many friends in the diplomatic circle, so have i.' "`but you are not really going to-morrow!' she exclaimed with undisguised dismay, opening her blue eyes widely, `surely you will stay for the ball at the palace on wednesday.' "`i regret that is impossible,' i replied, laughing. `i only wish i could remain and ask you to be my partner, but i have urgent business in bucharest.' "`oh! you go to roumania!' she cried in surprise. `but,'--she added wistfully, `i--i really wish you could remain longer.' "during our brief friendship i had, i admit, grown to admire her immensely, and were it not for the fact that a very urgent appointment called me to roumania, i would have gladly remained. she had taken possession of my senses. "but i took her soft hand, and wished her adieu. then we returned into the ballroom, where i found several of my friends, and wished them farewell, for my train left at nine next morning. "in a corner of the room stood the veteran prime minister, with a star in brilliants upon his dress-coat, the empty sleeve of which hung limply at his side. "`_au revoir, mon cher ami_,' he said grasping my hand warmly. `recollect what i told you this morning--and return soon to bulgaria again. _bon voyage_!' "then i passed the police-guard at the door, and drove back to the hotel de bulgarie. "that night i slept but little. before me constantly arose the childlike beautiful face of olga steinkoff that had so strangely bewitched me. "i knew that i was a fool to allow myself to be attracted by a pair of big eyes, confirmed bachelor and constant traveller that i am. yet the whole night through i seemed to see before my vision the beautiful face, pale and tearful with grief and sorry. was it at my departure? "next day i set out in the car across the shipka, and three nights later took up my quarters at that most expensive hotel, the `boulevard,' at bucharest, the paris of the near east. next day i paid several visits to diplomats i knew. bucharest is always full of life and movement-- smart uniforms and pretty women--perhaps the gayest city in all the continent of europe. "on the third evening of my arrival i returned to the hotel to dress for dinner, when, on entering my sitting-room, a neat female figure in a dark travelling-dress rose from an armchair, and stood before me gazing at me in silence. "it was olga! "`why, mademoiselle!' i cried, noticing that she was without her hat, `fancy you--in bucharest! when did you arrive?' "`an hour ago,' she answered, breathlessly. `i--i want your assistance, m'sieur martin. i am in danger--grave danger!' "`danger! of what?' "`i hardly know--except that the police may follow me and demand my arrest. this place--like sofia--swarms with spies.' "`i know,' i said, much interested, but surprised that she should have thus followed me. `but why do you fear?' "`i surely need not explain to you facts--facts that are painful!' she said, looking straight at me half-reproachfully with those wonderful blue eyes that held me so fascinated. `i merely tell you that i am in danger, and ask you to render me assistance.' "`how? in what manner can i assist you?' "`in one way alone,' was her quick, breathless answer. `ah! if you would only do it--if you would only save my life!' and with her white ungloved hands clenched in desperation, she stood motionless as a statue. "`save your life!' i echoed. `i--i really don't understand you, mademoiselle.' "`before they arrest me i will commit suicide. i have the means here!' and she touched the bodice of her dress. `ah, m'sieur, you do not know in what a position i find myself. i prefer death to save my honour, and i appeal to you, an english gentleman to help me!' "tears were rolling down her pale cheeks as she snatched up my hand convulsively, imploring me to assist her. i looked into her countenance and saw that it was the same that i had seen in those dark night hours in sofia. "`but, mademoiselle, how can i help you?' i inquired. `what can i do?' "`ah! i--i hardly like to ask you,' she said, her cheeks flushing slightly. `you know so very little of me.' "`i know sufficient to be permitted to call myself your friend,' i said earnestly, still holding her tiny hand. "`then i will be frank,' she exclaimed, raising her clear eyes again to mine. `the only way in which you can save me is to take me at once to england--to--to let me pass as your wife!' "`as my _wife_!' i gasped, staring at her. `but--' "`there are no buts!' she cried, clinging to me imploringly. `to me it is a matter of life--or death! the orient express passes here at three to-morrow morning for constantza, whence we can get to constantinople. thence we can go by steamer on to naples, and across to calais by rail. for me it is unsafe to go direct by budapest and vienna. already the police are watching at the frontier.' "for a moment i was silent. in the course of years of travel i had met with many adventures, but none anything like this! here was a charming girl in dire distress--a girl who had already enchanted me by her beauty and grace--appealing to my honour to help her out of a difficulty. nay to save her life! "she was russian--no doubt a political suspect. "`where is madame?' i inquired. "`gone to belgrade. we parted this morning, and i came here to you.' "`and your friend, mehmed?' "`bah! the yellow-faced fool!' she cried impatiently with a quick snap of her white fingers. `he expects to meet me at the court ball to-night!' "`and he will be disappointed!' i added with a smile, at the same time reflecting that upon my passport already _vised_ for constantinople-- covered as it was, indeed, with _vises_ for all the east--i could easily insert after my own name the words, `accompanied by his wife louisa.' "besides, though i had several times been in the sultan's capital, i knew very few people there. so detection would not be probable. "olga saw my hesitation, and repeated her entreaty. she was, i saw, desperate. yet though i pressed her to tell me the truth, she only answered: "`the police of warsaw are in search of me because of the events of may last. some day, when we know each other better, i will tell you my strange story. i escaped from the "museum of riga"'!" "pale to the lips, her chest rising and falling quickly, her blue eyes full of the terror of arrest and deportment to poland she stood before me, placing her life in my hands. "she had escaped from the `museum of riga,' that prison the awful tortures of which had only recently been exposed in the duma itself. she, frail looking, and beautiful had been a prisoner there. "it wanted, i reflected, still eight days to the opening of the shooting which i was due to spend with friends in scotland. even if i returned by the roundabout route she suggested i should be able to get up north in time. "and yet my duty was to remain there, for at noon on the morrow, by the orient express from constantza to ostend, a friend would pass whom i particularly wanted to meet on business for a single moment at the station. if i left with my pretty companion i should pass my friend on the black sea a few hours out of port. it meant either keeping the appointment i had made with my friend, or securing the girl's safety. to perform my duty meant to consign her into the hands of the police. "acquaintance with political refugees of any sort in the balkan countries is always extremely risky, for spies abound everywhere, and everybody is a suspect. "i fear i am not very impressionable where the fair sex are concerned, but the romance and mystery of the situation whetted my appetite for the truth. her sweet tragic face appealed to me. i had fallen in love with her. "she interpreted my hesitation as an intention to refuse. "`ah! m'sieur martin. do, i beg, have pity upon me! once in your england i shall no longer fear those tortures of riga. see!' and drawing up her sleeve she showed me two great ugly red scars upon the white flesh scarcely yet healed. `once in your england!' she cried clasping her hands and falling at my feet, `i shall be free--_free_!' "`but how do you know that the police have followed you?' "`mariniski, our military _attache_ in sofia, is my cousin. he warned me that two agents of secret police arrived there yesterday morning. when i got here i received a wire from him to say they are now on their way here to bucharest. therefore not a moment must be lost. we can leave at three, and at ten to-morrow morning will have sailed from constantza. they are due here at eleven-thirty.' "`to-night?' "`no, to-morrow.' "she held my hands in hers, still upon her knees, her gaze fixed imploringly into mine. what could i do, save to render her assistance? ah! yes, she was delightfully charming, her face perfect in its beauty, her hands soft and caressing, her voice musical and silvery. "i gave her my reply, and in an instant she sprang to her feet, kissing my hands again and again. "i sent the car back to vienna, and early that morning we entered the train of dusty _wagons-lits_ which had been three days on its journey from ostend to the orient, and next morning in the bright sunshine, found ourselves on the clean deck of the mail steamer for constantinople. "there were not more than twenty passengers, and together with my dainty little companion, i spent a happy day in the bright sunshine, as we steamed down the black sea, a twelve-hour run. dinner was at half-past five, and afterwards, in the evening twilight, as we passed the turkish forts at the beautiful entrance to the bosphorus, we sat together in a cosy corner on deck, and i held her small, soft hand. "she had, i admit, completely enchanted me. "she seemed to have suddenly become greatly interested in me, for she inquired my profession, and the reason i visited the east, to which i gave evasive, if not rather misleading replies, for i led her to believe that i was the representative of a firm of london railway contractors, and was in sofia taking orders for steel rails. "it is not always judicious to tell people one's real profession. "when we reached the quay at constantinople, and i had handed over my baggage to the dragoman of the pera palace hotel, my pretty companion said in french: "`i lived here for quite a long time, you know, so i shall go and stay with friends out at sarmaschik. i will call at your hotel at, say, eleven to-morrow morning. by that time you will have ascertained what is the next steamer to naples.' "and so, in the dirty ill-lit custom-house at galata, with its mud, its be-fezzed officials and slinking dogs, we parted, she entering a cab and driving away. "next morning she kept her appointment and was, i saw, exceedingly well-dressed. "i told her when we met in the big vestibule of the hotel, that there was a steamer leaving for marseilles at four that afternoon, and suggested that route as preferable to naples. "`i think we will delay our departure until to-morrow,' she said. `my friends have a little family gathering to-night, and ask me to say that they would be delighted to meet you. they are not at all bigoted, and you will find them very hospitable.' "i bowed and accepted the invitation. "`you will not find the house alone, as constantinople is so puzzling,' she said. `i will send their _kavass_ for you at eight o'clock.' "and a few moments later she drove away in the smart carriage that had brought her. "that day i idled about the sultan's capital, looked in at st sophia, paused and watched the phantasmagoria of life on the galata bridge, and strolled in the grand rue at pera, merely killing time. case-hardened bachelor that i am, my mind was now filled with that sweet-faced, beautiful woman of my dreams who had been so cruelly tortured in that abominable prison at riga, and whom i was aiding to the safe refuge of england's shores. "once, while turning a corner at the end of the grand rue, the busy shopping centre of the turkish capital, a mysterious incident occurred. among the many figures in frock-coats and fezes my eye caught one which caused me to start. it struck me curiously as that of my sallow-faced friend, mehmed zekki, of sofia. yet in a crowd of turks all dressed alike, one is rather difficult to distinguish from another, so i quickly dismissed the suspicion that we had been followed. "i had already dined at the hotel and was sitting in the turkish smoking-room, when there arrived a big montenegrin _kavass_, in gorgeous scarlet and gold, and wearing an arsenal of weapons in his belt, as is their mode. "`monsieur martin?' he inquired. `mademoiselle olga. she send me for you. i take you to ze house.' "so i rose, slipped on my overcoat, and followed him out to the brougham, upon the box of which, beside the driver, sat a big black eunuch. the carriage had evidently been to fetch some ladies before calling for me. "the _kavass_ seated himself at my side, and we drove up and down many dark, ill-lit streets, where the scavenger dogs were howling, until we suddenly came out in view of the bosphorus, that lay fairy-like beneath the full eastern moon. "nicholas, the _kavass_, was from cettinje, he told me, and when we began to talk, i discovered that his brother mirko had been my servant on a journey through albania two years before. "`what! gospodin!' cried the big mountaineer, grasping my hand and wringing it warmly. `are you really the gospodin martin? i was in cettinje last summer, and my dear old father spoke of you! i have to thank you. it was you who brought the english doctor to him and saved his life. fancy that we should meet here, and to-night!' "`why to-night?' "the big fellow was silent. his manner had entirely changed. "suddenly he said: `gospodin, you are going to the house of mehmed zekki and--' "`zekki!' i gasped. `then i was not mistaken when i thought i saw him. he had followed us.' "`ah! gospodin! have a care of yourself! take this, in case--in case you may require it,' he said, and pulling from his sash one of his loaded revolvers, he handed it to me. "`but you said that mademoiselle had sent you for me?' i remarked surprised. "`i was told to say that, gospodin. i know nothing of mademoiselle.' "`mademoiselle olga steinkoff. have you never heard of her?' i demanded. "`never.' "`then i will go back to the hotel.' "`no, gospodin. do not show fear. it would be fatal. enter and defy the man who is evidently your enemy. touch neither food nor drink there. then, if you are threatened, utter the words, _shunam-al-zulah_--recollect them. show no fear, gospodin--and you will escape.' "at that moment the carriage turned into a large garden, which surrounded a fine house--almost a palace--the house wherein my enemy was lying in wait. "entering a beautiful winter-garden full of flowers, a servant in long blue coat and fez, conducted me through a large apartment, decorated in white and gold, into a smaller room, oriental in decoration and design, an apartment hung with beautiful gold embroideries, and where the soft cushions of the divans were of pale-blue silk and gold brocade. "two middle-aged turks were squatting smoking, and as i was shown in, scowled at me curiously, saluted, and in french asked me to be seated. "`mademoiselle will be here in a few moments,' added the elder of the pair. "a few seconds later the servant entered with a tiny cup of coffee, the turkish welcome, but i left it untouched. then the door again opened and i was confronted by the sallow-faced, black-bearded man against whom the _kavass_ had warned me. "`good evening, monsieur martin,' he exclaimed with a sinister grin upon his thin face. `you expected, i believe, to meet mademoiselle olga, eh?' "`well--i expected to meet you,' i laughed, `for i saw you in pera to-day.' "he looked at me quickly, as his servant at that moment handed him his coffee on a tray. "`i did not see you,' he said somewhat uneasily, raising his cup to his lips. then, noticing that i had not touched mine, he asked, `don't you take coffee? will you have a glass of rahki?' "`i desire nothing,' i said, looking him straight in the face. "`but surely you will take something? we often drank together in the club at sofia, remember!' "`i do not drink with my enemies.' "the trio started, glaring at me. "`you are distinctly insulting,' exclaimed mehmed, his yellow face growing flushed with anger. `recall those words, or by the prophet, you do not pass from this house alive!' "i laughed aloud in their faces. "`ah!' i cried, `this is amusing! this is really a good joke! and pray what do you threaten?' "`we do not threaten,' zekki said. `you are here to die.' and he laughed grimly, while the others grinned. "`why?' "`that is our affair.' "`and mine also,' i replied. `and gentlemen, i would further advise you in future to be quite certain of your victim, or it may go ill with you. let me pass!' and i drew the revolver the _kavass_ had given me. "`put that thing away!' ordered the elder of the men, approaching me with threatening gesture. "`i shall not. let us end this confounded foolishness. _shunam-al-zulah_!' "the effect of these words upon the trio was electrical. "the sallow-faced _attache_ stood staring at me open-mouthed, while his companions fell back, as though i had dealt them both a blow. they seemed too dumbfounded to respond, as, revolver in hand, i next moment passed out of the room and from that house to which i had been so cleverly lured, and where my death had evidently been planned. "at the hotel i spent a sleepless night, full of deep anxiety, wondering for what reason the curious plot had been arranged, and whether my dainty little companion had had any hand in it. "my apprehensions were, however, entirely dispelled when early on the following been morning, olga called to ask why i had absent when the _kavass_ had called for me. "i took her into one of the smaller rooms, and told her the whole truth, whereat she was much upset, and eager to leave the turkish capital immediately. "at seven that same evening we sailed for naples, and without further incident duly arrived at the italian port, took train for rome, and thence by express to paris and charing cross. "on the journey she refused to discuss the plot of the jealous, evil-eyed turk. her one idea was to get to london--and to freedom. "at eleven o'clock at night we stepped out upon charing cross platform, and i ordered the cabman to drive me to the cecil, for when acting the part of reggie martin, i always avoided dover street. it was too late to catch the scotch mail, therefore i would be compelled to spend the first day of the pheasants in london, and start north to my friends on the following day. "suddenly as we entered the station she had decided also to spend the night at the cecil and leave next day for ipswich, where a brother of hers was a tutor. "i wished her good-night in the big hall of the hotel, and went up in the lift. "rising about half-past six next morning and entering my sitting-room, i was amazed to encounter olga, fully dressed in hat and caracul jacket, standing in the grey dawn, reading a paper which she had taken from my despatch-box! "instantly she dropped her hand, and stood staring at me without uttering a word, knowing full well that i had discovered the astounding truth. "i recognised the document by the colour of the paper. "`well, mademoiselle?' i demanded in a hard tone, `and for what reason, pray, do you pry into my private papers like this?' "`i--i was waiting to bid you adieu,' she answered tamely. "`and you were at the same time making yourself acquainted with the contents of that document which i have carried in my belt ever since i left sofia--that document of which you and your interesting friend, zekki, have ever since desired sight--eh?' i exclaimed, bitterly. `my duty is to call in the police, and hand you over as a political spy to be expelled from the country.' "`if m'sieur wishes to do that he is at perfect liberty to do so,' she answered, in quick defiance. `the result is the same. i have read petkoff's declaration, so the paper is of no further use,' and she handed it to me with a smile of triumph upon those childlike lips. `arrest or liberty--i am entirely in monsieur's hands,' she added, shrugging her shoulders. "i broke forth into a torrent of reproach for i saw that bulgaria had been betrayed to her arch-enemy, turkey, by that sweet-faced woman who had so completely deceived me, and who, after the first plot had failed, had so cleverly carried the second to a successful issue. "defiant to the last, she stood smiling in triumph. even when i openly accused her of being a spy she only laughed. "therefore i opened the door and sternly ordered her to leave, knowing, alas! that, now she had ascertained the true facts, the bulgarian secret policy towards turkey would be entirely negatived, that the terrible atrocities in macedonia must continue, and that the russian influence in bulgaria would still remain paramount. "i held my silence, and spent a dull and thoughtful sunday in the great london hotel. had i remained in bucharest, as was my duty, and handed the document in petkoff's handwriting to the king's messenger, who was due to pass in the orient express, the dainty olga could never have obtained sight of it. this she knew, and for that reason had told me the story of her torture in the prison at riga and urged me to save her. zekki, knowing that i constantly carried the secret declaration of bulgaria in the belt beneath my clothes, saw that only by my unconsciousness, or death, could they obtain sight of it. hence the dastardly plot to kill me, frustrated by the utterance of the password of the turkish spies themselves. "it is useless for a man to cross swords with a pretty woman where it is a matter of ingenuity and double-dealing. with the chiefs of the foreign office absent, i could only exist in anxiety and dread, and when i acted it was, alas! too late. "inquiries subsequently made in constantinople showed that the house in which zekki had received me, situated near the konak of ali saib pasha, was the headquarters of the turkish secret service, of which the sallow-faced scoundrel was a well-known member, and that on the evening of the day of my return to london the body of nicholas, the montenegrin _kavass_ who saved my life, had been found floating in the bosphorus. death had been his reward for warning me! "readers of the newspapers are well aware how, two months later, as a result of turkish intrigue in sofia, my poor friend dimitri petkoff, prime minister of bulgaria, was shot through the heart while walking with me in the boris garden. "both bulgarian and turkish governments have, however, been very careful to suppress intelligence of a dramatic incident which occurred in constantinople only a few weeks ago. olga steinkoff, the secret agent employed by the sublime porte, was, at her house in the sarmaschik quarter, handed by her maid a beautiful basket of fruit that had been sent by an admirer. the dainty woman with the childlike face cut the string, when, lo! there darted forth four hissing, venomous vipers. two of the reptiles struck, biting her white wrist ere she could withdraw, and an hour later, her face swollen out of all recognition, she died in terrible agony. "the betrayal of bulgaria and the assassination of petkoff, the patriot, have, indeed, been swiftly avenged." chapter seven. the sign of the cat's-paw. another part which the prince played in the present-day drama now being enacted in eastern europe brought him in touch with "the sign of the cat's-paw," a sign hitherto unknown to our foreign office, or to readers of the daily newspapers. at the same time, however, it very nearly cost him his own life. the affair occurred about a couple of months after the death of the fascinating olga steinkoff. he had been sent back to the balkans upon another mission. cosmopolitan of cosmopolitans, he had been moving rapidly up and down europe gathering information for downing street, but ever on the look-out for an opening for the parson and himself to operate in a very different sphere. garrett, blindly obedient to the telegrams he received, had taken the car on some long flying journeys, vienna, berlin and back to belgrade, in servia. for two months or so i had lost sight of both the mild-mannered, spectacled clayton and the prince, when one morning, while walking down st james's street, i saw garrett in his grey and scarlet livery driving the car from piccadilly down to pall mall. by this i guessed that his highness had returned to london, so i called at dover street, and twenty minutes later found myself seated in the big saddle-bag chair with a "petroff" between my lips. he was in his old brown velvet lounge coat and slippers, and had been at his writing-table when i entered. but on my appearance he threw down his pen, stretched himself, and sat round for a gossip. suddenly, while speaking, he made a quick, half-foreign gesture of ignorance in response to a question of mine, and in that brief instant i saw upon his right palm a curious red mark. "hullo!" i asked. "what's that?" "oh--nothing," he replied, rather confused i thought, and shut his hand so that i could not see it. "but it is!" i declared. "let me see." "how inquisitive you are, diprose, old chap," he protested. so persistent was i, and so aroused my curiosity by finding a mark exactly like the imprint of a cat's-paw, that, not without considerable reluctance, he explained its meaning. the story he narrated was, indeed, a most remarkable and dramatic one. and yet he related it as though it were nothing. perhaps, indeed, the puzzling incidents were of but little moment to one who led a life so chock-full of adventure as he. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ yes, it really was curious, he remarked at last. it was in march. i had been in london's mud and rain for a fortnight, and grown tired of it. suddenly a confidential mission had been placed in my hands--a mission which had for its object british support to the bulgarian government against the machinations of austria to extend her sphere of influence southward across the danube and servia. my destination was sofia, the bulgarian capital, and once more the journey by the orient express across europe was a long and tedious one. i had wired to garrett, who was awaiting me with the car at the hungaria, in budapest, to bring it on to sofia. but i was much occupied with the piece of scheming which i had undertaken to carry out. my patriotism had led me to attempt a very difficult task--one which would require delicate tact and a good deal of courage and resource, but which would, if successful, mean that a loan of three millions would be raised in london, and that british influence would become paramount in that go-ahead country, which, ere long, must be the power of the balkans. i knew, however, that there were others in sofia upon the same errand as myself, emissaries of other governments and other financial houses. therefore, in the three long never-ending days the journey occupied, my mind was constantly filled with thoughts of the best and most judicious course to pursue in order to attain my object. the run was uneventful, save for one fact. at the staatsbahnhof, at vienna, just before our train left for budapest, a queer, fussy little old man in brown entered, and was given the compartment next mine. his nationality i could not determine. he spoke deep guttural german with the fair-bearded conductor of the train, but by his clothes--which were rather dandified for so old a man--i did not believe him to be a native of the fatherland. i heard him rumbling about with his bags next door, apparently settling himself, when of a sudden my quick ear caught an imprecation which he uttered to himself in english. a few hours later, at dinner, i found him placed at the little table opposite me, and naturally we began to chat. he spoke in french-- perfect french it was--but refused to speak english, though, of course, he could had he wished. "ah! non," he laughed, "i cannot. excuse me. my pronunciation is so faulty. your english is so ve-ry deefecult." and so we chatted in french, and i found the queer old fellow was on his way to sofia. he seemed slightly deformed, his face was distinctly ugly, broad, clean-shaven, with a pair of black piercing eyes that gave him a most striking appearance. his grey hair was long, his nose aquiline, his teeth protruding and yellow, and he was a grumbler of the most pronounced type. he growled at the food, at the service, at the draughts, at the light in the restaurant, at the staleness of the bread we had brought with us from paris, and at the butter, which he declared to be only danish margarine. his complaints were amusing. he was possessed of much grim humour. at first the _maitre d'hotel_ bustled about to do the bidding of the new-comer, but very quickly summed him up, and only grinned knowingly when called to listen to his biting criticism of the compagnie internationale des wagons-lits and all its works. next day, at semlin, where our passports were examined, the passport-officer took off his hat to him, bowed low and _vised_ his passport without question, saying, as he handed back the document to its owner: "_bon voyage_, altesse." i stared at the pair. my fussy friend with the big head must therefore be either a prince or a grand duke! just then i was not a prince--only plain m'sieur martin. in roumania princes are as plentiful as blackberries, so i put him down as a roumanian. as i sat opposite him at dinner that night he was discussing with me the harmful writings of some newly discovered german who was posing as a cheap philosopher, and denouncing them as dangerous to the community. he leaned his elbow upon the narrow table and supported his clean-shaven chin upon his finger, displaying to me most, certainly by accident, the palm of his thin right hand. what i discovered there caused me a good deal of surprise. in its centre was a dark livid mark, as though it had been branded there by a hot iron, the plain and distinct imprint of a cat's-paw! it fascinated me. there was some hidden meaning in that mark, i felt convinced. it was just as though a cat had stepped upon blood with one of its fore-paws and trodden upon his hand. whether he noticed that i had detected it or not, i cannot say, but he moved his hand quickly, and ever after kept it closed. his name, he told me at last, was konstantinos vassos, and he lived in athens. but i took that information _cum grano_, for i knew him to be a prince travelling _incognito_. the passport-officer at semlin makes no mistakes. but if actually a prince, why did he carry a passport? there is, unfortunately, no good hotel at sofia. the best is the bulgarie, kept by a pleasant old lady to whom i was well-known as m'sieur martin, and in this we found ourselves next night installed. he gave his name as vassos, and to all intents and purposes was more of a stranger in prince ferdinand's capital than i myself was, for i had been there at least half a dozen times before. most of the ministers knew me, and i was always elected a member of the smart diplomats' club, the union, during my stay. the days passed. from the first morning of my arrival i found myself as before in a vortex of gaiety; invitations to the legations poured in upon me, cards for dances here and there, receptions by members of the cabinet, and official dinners by the british and french ministers, while daily i spent each afternoon with my friend, colonel mayhew, the british military _attache_, in his comfortable quarters not far from our agency. all the while, i must here confess, i was working my cards very carefully. i had sounded my friend, petkoff, the grave, grey-haired prime minister--the splendid bulgarian patriot--and he was inclined to admit the british proposals. the minister of war, too, was on my side. german agents had approached him, but he would have none of them. in bulgaria just then they had no love of germany. they were far too russophile. indeed, in this strenuous life of a fortnight or so i had practically lost sight of the ugly old gentleman who had been addressed by the passport-officer as his highness. once or twice i had seen him wandering alone and dejected along the streets, for he apparently knew nobody, and was having a very quiet time, greeks were disliked in sofia almost as much as turks, on account of the greek bands who massacre the bulgars in macedonia. one night at the weekly dance at the military club--a function at which the smart set at sofia always attend, and at which the ministers of state themselves put in an appearance--i had been waltzing with the daughter of the minister of the interior, a pretty dark-haired girl in blue, whom i had met during my last visit to bulgaria, and the spanish _attache_, a pale-faced young man wearing a cross at his throat, had introduced to me a tall, very handsome, sweet-faced girl in a black evening-gown trimmed with silver. a thin wreath of the same roses was in her hair, and around her neck was a fine gold chain from which was suspended a big and lustrous diamond. mademoiselle balesco was her name, and i found her inexpressibly charming. she spoke french perfectly, and english quite well. she had been at school in england, she said--at scarborough. her home was at galatz, in roumania, where her father was prefect. we had several dances, and afterwards i took her down to supper. then we had a couple of waltzes, and i conducted her out to the carriage awaiting her, and, bowing, watched her drive off alone. but while doing so, there came along the pavement, out of the shadow, the short ugly figure of the old greek vassos, with his coat collar turned up, evidently passing without noticing me. a few days later, when in the evening i called on mayhew at his rooms, he said: "what have you been up to, martin? look here! this letter was left upon me, with a note asking me to give it to you in secret. looks like a woman's hand! mind what you're about in this place, old chap! there are some nasty pitfalls, you know!" i took the letter, opened it, read it through, and placed it in my pocket without a word. with a bachelor's curiosity, he was eager to know who was my fair correspondent. but i refused to satisfy him. suffice it to say that on that same night i went alone to a house on the outskirts of sofia, and there met at her urgent request the pretty girl marie balesco, who had so enchanted me. ours seemed to be a case of mutual attraction, for as we sat together, she seemed, after apologising for thus approaching me and throwing all the convenances to the winds, to be highly interested in my welfare, and very inquisitive concerning the reasons which had brought me to bulgaria. like most women of the balkans, she smoked, and offered me her cigarette-case. i took one--a delicious one it was, but rather strong-- so strong, indeed, that a strange drowsiness suddenly overcame me. before i could fight against it the small, well-furnished room seemed to whirl about me, and i must have fallen unconscious. indeed i knew no more until on awakening i found myself back in my bed at the hotel. i gazed at the morning sunshine upon the wall, and tried to recollect what held occurred. my hand seemed strangely painful. raising it from the sheets, i looked at it. upon my right palm, branded as by a hot iron, was the sign of the cat's-paw! horrified i stared at it. it was the same mark that i had seen upon the hand of vassos! what could be its significance? in a few days the burn healed, leaving a dark red scar, the distinct imprint of the feline foot. from mayhew i tried, by cautious questions, to obtain some information concerning the fair-faced girl who had played such a prank on me. but he only knew her slightly. she had been staying with a certain madame sovoff, who was something of a mystery, but had left sofia. a month passed. mademoiselle and madame returned from belgrade and were both delighted when i suggested they should go for a run in the "sixty." i took them over the same road as i had taken olga steinkoff. in a week mademoiselle became an enthusiastic motorist, and was full of inquiry into the various parts of the engine, the ignition, lubrication, and other details. one day i carefully approached the matter of this remarkable mark upon my palm. but she affected entire ignorance. i confess that i had grown rather fond of her, and i hesitated to attribute to her, or to madame, any sinister design; the strange mark on my hand was both weird and puzzling. we drove out in the car often, and many a time i recollected pretty olga, and her horrible fate. vassos, who was still at the hotel, annoyed me on account of his extreme politeness, and the manner in which he appeared to spy upon all my movements. i came across him everywhere. inquiries concerning the reason of the ugly greek's presence in bulgaria met with negative result. one thing seemed certain; he was not a prince _incognito_. how i longed to go to him, show him the mark upon my hand, and demand an explanation. but my curiosity was aroused; therefore i patiently awaited developments, my revolver always ready in my hip pocket, in case of foul play. the mysterious action of the pretty girl from galatz also puzzled me. at last the cabinet of prince ferdinand were in complete accord with the prime minister petkoff, regarding the british proposals. all had been done in secret from the party in opposition, and one day i had lunched with his excellency the prime minister, at his house in the suburbs of the city. "you may send a cipher despatch to london, if you like, mr martin," he said, as we sat over our cigars. "the documents will all be signed at the cabinet meeting at noon to-morrow. in exchange for this loan of three millions raised in london, all the contracts for quick-firing guns and ammunition go to your group of financiers." such was the welcome news his excellency imparted to me, and you may imagine that i lost no time in writing out a cipher message, and sending it by the man-servant to the nearest telegraph office. for a long time i sat with him, and then he rose, inviting me to walk with him in the boris gardens, as was his habit every afternoon, before going down to the sitting of the sobranje, or parliament. on our way we passed vassos, who raised his hat politely to me. "who's that man?" inquired the minister quickly, and i told him all i knew concerning the ugly hunchback. in the pretty public garden we were strolling together in the sundown, chatting upon the situation in macedonia and other matters, when of a sudden, a black-moustached man in a dark grey overcoat and round astrachan cap, sprang from the bushes at a lonely spot, and raising a big service revolver, fired point-blank at his excellency. i felt for my own weapon. alas! it was not there! i had forgotten it! the assassin, seeing the minister reel and fall, turned his weapon upon me. thereupon, in an instant i threw up my hands, crying that i was unarmed, and was an englishman. as i did so, he started back as though terrified. his weapon fell from his grasp, and with a spring, he disappeared again into the bushes. all had happened in a few brief instants; for ere i could realise that a tragedy had actually occurred, i found the unfortunate prime minister lying lifeless at my feet. my friend had been shot through the heart! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ readers of the newspapers will recollect the tragic affair, which is no doubt still fresh in their minds. i told the chief of police of sofia of my strange experience, and showed him the mark upon my palm. though detectives searched high and low for the hunchback greek, for madame sovoff, and for the fascinating mademoiselle, none of them were ever found. the assassin was, nevertheless, arrested a week later, while trying to cross the frontier into servia. i, of course, lost by an ace the great financial coup, but before execution the prisoner made a confession which revealed the existence of a terrible and widespread conspiracy, fostered by bulgaria's arch-enemy turkey, to remove certain members of the cabinet who were in favour of british influence becoming paramount. yes. it was a rather narrow squeak. quite unconsciously, i had, it seemed, become an especial favourite of the silent, watchful old konstantinos vassos. he had no idea that i was a "crook" or that i was a secret agent. fearing lest i, in my innocence, should fall a victim with his excellency--being so often his companion--he had, with the assistance of the pretty marie balesco, contrived to impress upon my palm the secret sign of the conspirators. to this fact i certainly owe my life, for the assassin--a stranger to sofia, who had been drawn by lot--would, no doubt, have shot me dead, had he not seen upon my raised hand "the sign of the cat's-paw." chapter eight. concerning a woman's honour. few people are aware of the prince's serious love affair. beyond his most intimate friend, the parson, i believe nobody knows of it except myself. the truth i have managed to glean only bit by bit, for he has never told me himself. it is a matter which he does not care to mention, for recollections of the woman are, no doubt, ever in his heart, and as with many of us, ever painful. no man or woman is thoroughly bad. adventurer that he is, the prince has ever been true and honourable, even generous, towards a good woman. the best and staunchest of friends, yet the bitterest of enemies if occasion required, he has never, to my knowledge, played an honest woman a scurvy trick. the little romance of real life occurred in florence about three years ago. a good many people got hold of a garbled version of it, but none know the actual truth. he loved, and because he loved he dare not pose in his usual character as a prince, for fear that she should discover the fraud. on the contrary, he was living at a small cheap hotel on the lung arno as jack cross, and posing as a man who was very hard-up and, besides, friendless. he had entered upon the campaign with an entirely different object--an object which had for its consummation the obtaining of some very fine jewels belonging to the wife of an american who had made a corner in cotton, and who was engaged in seeing europe. max mason and the parson were both living as strangers to each other at the savoy, in the piazza vittorio emanuele, and idling daily in the via tornabuoni. a big coup had been planned, but instead of bringing it off, as luck would have it, his highness had fallen hopelessly in love, and with a real royal princess, a woman whose beauty was universally proverbial. their love-story was full of pathos. they were standing together in a garden one sunny afternoon, and were alone, without eavesdroppers. a moment before, he had been wondering what she would do; what she would say if she knew the ghastly truth-- that he was a thief! he had been born a gentleman--though he had no more right to the title of "prince" than i had. true, at college at cheltenham he had been nicknamed "the prince," because of his charming manner and elegant airs. few of us even imagined, however, that he would, in later years, pass himself off as a german princeling and gull the public into providing him with the wherewithal to live in ease and luxury. as he stood at the handsome woman's side, thoughts of the past--bitter and regretful--flashed upon him. his conscience pricked him. "princess!--i--i--" he stammered. "well?" and her sweet red lips parted in a smile. "i--ah! yes, it's madness. i--i know i'm a fool! i see danger in all this. i have jeopardised your good name sufficiently already. people are looking at us now--and they will surely misjudge us!" "you are not a fool, my dear jack," she answered in her charming broken english. "you are what you call a goose." and she laughed outright. "but think! what will they say?" "they may say just whatever pleases them," she answered airily, glancing at the half a dozen or so smartly dressed people taking tea in the beautiful italian garden overlooking the red roofs and cupolas of the lily city, florence. "they--the world--have already said hard things about me. but what do i really care?" "_you_ care for the prince's honour, as well as your own," he ventured in a low serious voice, looking straight into her blue eyes. her imperial and royal highness angelica pia marie therese crown-princess of bosnia, and daughter of a reigning emperor, was acknowledged to be one of the most beautiful and accomplished women in europe. her photographs were everywhere, and a year before, at her brilliant marriage in vienna, all the states of europe were represented, and her photograph had appeared in every illustrated newspaper on the two continents. the world, ignorant of the tragedy of life behind a throne, believed the royal marriage to be a love-match, but the bitter truth remained that it was merely the union of two imperial houses, without the desire of either the man, or the woman. princess angelica had, at the bidding of the emperor, sacrificed her love and her young life to a man for whom she had only contempt and loathing. as she stood there, a tall, frail figure, in plain white embroidered muslin, her fair hair soft beneath her big black hat, her sweet delicately moulded face and her eyes of that deep childlike blue that one so seldom sees in girls after fourteen, there was upon her countenance an undisguised love-look. she was indeed the perfect incarnation of all that was graceful and feminine; little more indeed, than a girl, and yet the wife of a prince that would ere long become a king. for a few moments the man and the woman regarded each other in silence. he was spell-bound by her wondrous beauty like many another man had been. but she knew, within herself, that he was the only man she had ever met that she could love. and surely they were a curiously ill-assorted pair, as far as social equality went, she the daughter of an emperor, while he a hard-up young englishman, tall, dark-haired, with a handsome, serious face, lived, he had explained to her, in florence, first, because it was cheap, and secondly, because his old aunt, who had a small house out on the fiesole road, practically kept him. his story to her was that he had once been on the stock exchange, but a run of ill-luck had broken him, so he had left england, and now managed to scrape along upon a couple of hundred or so a year paid him by a firm of italian shipping and forwarding agents, for whom he now acted as english manager. the position was an excellent "blind." nobody recognised him as tremlett, alias "his highness." half aristocratic florence--those stiff-backed italian duchesses and countesses with their popinjay, over-dressed male appendages--envied jack cross his intimate acquaintance with the crown-princess of bosnia, who, in winter, lived at the magnificent villa on the viale dei colli, overlooking the town. towards italian society her royal highness turned the cold shoulder. the emperor had no love for italy, or the italians, and it was at his orders that she kept herself absolutely to herself. on rare occasions, she would give a small garden-party or dinner to a dozen or so of the most prominent men and women in the city. but it was not often that they were asked, and beyond three or four people in florence her highness had no friends there. but part of her school-days had been spent in the big convent up at fiesole, therefore it had been her whim after her marriage, to purchase that beautiful villa with its gorgeous rooms, marble terraces, and lovely gardens as a winter home. and to that splendid house the prince, alias jack cross, was always a welcome guest. he went there daily, and when not there, her highness would amuse herself by chattering to him over the telephone to his office. envied by the society who would not know him because he was not an aristocrat, and with the sharp eye of the florentine middle-classes upon him, little wonder was it that whispers were soon going about regarding the princess's too frequent confidences with the unknown englishman. he was watched whenever he rang at the great iron gate before which stood an italian sentry day and night, and he was watched when he emerged. in the clubs, in the salons, in the shops, in the _cafes_, the gossip soon became common, and often with a good deal of imaginary embroidery. it was true that he often dined at the villa renata with her highness, the young countess von wilberg, the lady-in-waiting, and the old countess lahovary, a roumanian, who had been lady-in-waiting to her mother the empress, and in whose charge she always was when outside bosnia. the evenings they often spent in the drawing-room, her highness being a good pianist. and on many a night she would rise, take her shawl, and pass out into the bright italian moonlight with the young englishman as her escort. it was the way they passed nearly every evening--in each other's company. yet neither of her companions dare suggest a cessation of the young man's visits, fearing to arouse the princess's anger, and receive their dismissal. at risk of gossip her imperial highness often invited him to go for runs with her in her fine forty "fiat" to siena, to bologna, or to pisa, accompanied always, of course, by the countess lahovary. in those days he pretended not to possess a car, though he could drive one, and on many occasions he drove the princess along those white dusty italian highways. she loved motoring, and so did he. indeed, he knew quite as much regarding the engine as any mechanic. the crown prince hardly, if ever, came to florence. his father, the king, was not on the best of terms with the italian court, therefore he made that an excuse for his absence in paris, where, according to report his life was not nearly as creditable as it might have been. such were the circumstances in which, by slow degrees, her highness found herself admiring and loving the quiet unassuming but good-looking young englishman at whom everybody sneered because, to save himself from penury, he had accepted the managership of a trading concern. prince albert himself saw it all, and recognised the extreme peril of the situation. born in the purple as the woman who had entranced him had been, she held public opinion in supreme contempt, and time after time had assured jack that even if people talked and misconstrued their platonic friendship she was entirely heedless of their wicked untruths and exaggerations. that afternoon was another example of her recklessness in face of her enemies. she had invited up a few people to take tea and eat strawberries in the grounds, while a military band performed under the trees near by. but quickly tiring of the obsequiousness of her guests, she had motioned cross aside, and in a low voice said in english: "for heaven's sake, jack, take me away from these awful people. the women are hags, and the men tailors' dummies. let us walk down to the rosary." and he, bowing as she spoke, turned and walked at her side, well knowing that by taking her from her guests he was increasing the hatred already felt against him. in her heart she loved this unknown hardworking young englishman, while he was held captive beneath her beauty, spell-bound by the music of her voice, thrilled by the touch of the soft hand which he kissed each day at greeting her, and each evening when they parted. yes, people talked. cross knew they did. men had told him so. max and the parson had heard all sorts of wild gossip, and had sent him a letter telling him that he was an idiot. they wanted to handle the american woman's diamonds. they were not in florence for sentimental reasons. the report had even reached his old aunt's ears, and she had administered to him a very severe reprimand, to which he had listened without a single word of protest, except that he denied, and denied most emphatically, that he was the princess's lover. he was her friend, that was all. true, she was lonely and alone there in gay florence, the city of flowers. sarajevo, her own capital she hated, she had often said. "it is pleasant, my dear jack, to be in dear old firenze," she had declared only the previous evening as they had walked and talked together in the white moonlight. "but doubly pleasant to be near such a good, true friend as you are to me." "i do but what is my duty, princess," he replied in a low voice. "you have few friends here. but i am, i hope, one who is loyal and true." those words of his crossed her mind as they strolled away from the music and the guests that warm may afternoon, strolled on beneath the blossoms, and amid the great profusion of flowers. she glanced again at his serious thoughtful face, and sighed within herself. what were titles, imperial birth, power, and the servility of the people, to love? why was she not born a commoner, and allowed to taste the sweets of life, that even the most obscure little waiting-maid or seamstress were allowed. every woman of the people could seek love and obtain it. but to her, she reflected bitterly, it was denied--because she was not of common clay, but an emperor's daughter, and destined to become a reigning queen! together they walked along the cool cypress avenue; he tall, clean-limbed in his suit of white linen and panama. but they strolled on in silence, beyond the gaze of their enemies. "you seem to fear what these wretched gossips may say concerning us, jack," she said at last, raising her eyes to his. "why should you?" "i fear for your sake, princess," he answered. "you have all to lose-- honour, name, husband--everything. for me--what does it matter? i have no reputation. i ceased to have that two years ago when i left england--bankrupt." "poor jack!" she sighed, in her quaint, childlike way. "i do wish you were wealthy, for you'd be so much happier, i suppose. it must be hard to be poor," she added--she who knew nothing of the value of money, and scarcely ever spent any herself, her debts and alms being paid by palace secretaries. "yes," he laughed. "and has it never struck you as strange that you, an imperial princess, should be a friend of a man who's a bankrupt--an outsider like myself?" and an ugly thought flashed through his mind causing him to wince. "and have you not always shown yourself my friend, jack? should i not be ungrateful if i were not your friend in return?" she asked. they halted almost unconsciously half way along the cypress avenue, and stood facing each other. prince albert of hesse-holstein was struggling within himself. he loved this beautiful woman with all his heart, and all his soul. yet he knew himself to be treading dangerous ground. their first acquaintance had been a purely accidental one three years ago. her highness was driving in the ringstrasse, in vienna, when her horses suddenly took fright at a passing motor-car and bolted. jack, who was passing, managed to dash out and stop them, but in doing so was thrown down and kicked on the head. he was taken to the hospital, and not until a fortnight afterwards was he aware of the identity of the pretty woman in the carriage. then, on his recovery, he was commanded to the palace and thanked personally by the princess and by her father, the grey-bearded emperor. from that day the princess angelica had never lost sight of him. when she had married he had endeavoured to end their acquaintance, but she would not hear of it. and so he had drifted along, held completely beneath her spell. he was her confidant, and on many occasions performed in secret little services for her. their friendship, purely platonic, was firm and fast, and surely no man was ever more loyal to a woman than was the young englishman, who was, after all, only an audacious adventurer. in the glorious sunset of the brilliant tuscan day they stood there in silence. at last he spoke. "princess," he exclaimed, looking straight into her eyes. "forgive me for what i am about to say. i have long wished to say it, but had not the courage. i--well, you cannot tell the bitterness it causes me to speak, but i have decided to imperil you no longer. i am leaving florence." she looked at him in blank surprise. "leaving florence!" she gasped. "what do you mean, jack?" "i mean that i must do so--for your sake," was his answer. "the world does not believe that a woman can have a man friend. i--i yesterday heard something." "what?" "that the prince has set close watch upon us." "well, and what of that? do we fear?" "we do not fear the truth, princess. it is the untruth of which we are in peril." "then ferdinand is jealous!" she remarked as though speaking to herself. "ah! that is distinctly amusing!" "my friendship with you has already caused a scandal in this gossip-loving city," he pointed out. "it is best for you that we should part. remember the difference in our stations. you are of blood-royal--while i--" and he hesitated. how could he tell her the ghastly truth? she was silent for a few moments, her beautiful face very grave and thoughtful. well, alas! she knew that if this man left her side the sun of her young life would have set for ever. "but--but jack--you are my friend, are you not?" "how can you ask that?" "ah! yes. forgive me. i--i know--you risked your life to save mine. you--" "no, no," he cried, impatiently. "don't let's talk of the past. let us look at the future, and let us speak plainly. we are old friends enough for that, princess." "angelica," she said, correcting him. "then--angelica," he said, pronouncing her christian name for the first time. then he hesitated and their eyes met. he saw in hers the light of unshed tears, and bit his lip. his own heart was too full for mere words. "jack," she faltered, raising her hand and placing it upon his arm, "i don't quite understand you. you are not yourself this evening." the bar of golden sunlight caught her wrist and caused the diamonds in her bracelet to flash with a thousand fires. "no, princess--i--i mean angelica. i am not. i wish to speak quite plainly. it is this. if i remain here, in florence, i shall commit the supreme folly of--of loving you." she cast her eyes to the ground, flushed slightly and held her breath. "this," he went on, "must never happen for two reasons, first you are already married, and secondly, you are of imperial birth, while i am a mere nobody, and a pauper at that." "i am married, it is true!" she cried, bitterly. "but god knows, what a hollow mockery my marriage has been! god knows how i have suffered, compelled as i am to act a living lie! you despise me for marrying ferdinand, a man i could never love. yes, you are right, you are quite--" "i do not despise, you, angelica. i have always pitied you," he interrupted. "i knew well that you did not love the prince, but were compelled to sacrifice yourself." "you knew!" she cried, clutching his arm wildly, and looking into his face. "ah! yes, jack. you--you knew the truth. you must have known. i could not conceal it from you." "what?" he asked, his hand upon her slim shoulder. "that--that i loved you," she burst forth. but next second, as if ashamed of her confession, she covered her face with her hands and sobbed bitterly. tenderly he placed his strong arm about her neck as her head fell upon her shoulder. for a moment he held her closely to him. then, in a faltering voice, he said: "angelica, i know that our love is mutual, that is why we must part." "no! no!" she cried through her tears. "no. do not leave me here alone, jack! if you go from florence i must return to the hateful semi-imprisonment of the palace at sarajevo among those dull boors with whom i have not the least in common." "but, angelica, i am in honour bound not to compromise you further. your enemies are all talking, and inventing disgraceful scandals that have already reached the prince's ears. hence his spies are here, watching all our movements." "spies! yes, bosnia is full of them!" she cried angrily. "and ferdinand sends them here to spy upon me!" and she clenched her tiny white hands resentfully. "they are here, hence we must part. we must face our misfortune bravely; but for your sake i must leave your side, though heaven knows what this decision has cost me--my very life and soul." she raised her head, and with her clear blue eyes looked into his face. at that same instant they heard a footstep on the gravel, and sprang quickly apart. but just as they did so a tall, well-dressed, brown-bearded man came into view. both held their breath, for no doubt he had seen her in jack's arms. the man was the marquis giulio di san rossore, a roman nobleman, who was a friend of her husband the prince. but that he was her secret enemy she well knew. only a month ago he had fallen upon his knees before her, and declared his love to her. but she had spurned and scorned him in indignation. he heard her biting words in silence, and had turned away with an expression upon his face which plainly told her of the fierce italian spirit of revenge within his heart. but he came forward smiling and bowing with those airs and graces which the cultured son of the south generally assumes. "they have sent me to try and find you, your highness," he said. "the duchess of spezia has suggested a ball in aid of the sufferers from the earthquake down in calabria, and we want to beg of you to give it your patronage." and he glanced at the princess's companion with fierce jealousy. he had, as they feared, witnessed the beautiful woman standing with her head upon his shoulder. "let us go back, mr cross," her highness said, "i would like to hear details of what is proposed." and all three strolled along the fine old avenue, and skirted the marble terrace to where the guests, having now finished their tea, were still assembled gossiping with the countess von wilberg and countess lahovary. as they walked together, the marquess giulio chuckled to himself at the discovery he had made, and what a fine tale he would be able to tell that night at the florence club. the truth was proved. the penniless englishman was the princess's lover! florence had suspected it, but now it should know it. that same night, after dinner, jack was standing alone with the princess in the gorgeous _salon_ with its gilt furniture and shaded electric lights. he looked smart and well-groomed, notwithstanding that his evening clothes showed just a trifle the worse for wear, while she was brilliant and beautiful in an evening-gown of palest eau-de-nil embroidered chiffon, a creation of one of the great houses of the rue de la paix. upon her white neck she wore her historic pearls, royal heirlooms that were once the property of catherine the great, and in her corsage a splendid true-lover's knot in diamonds, the ornament from which there usually depended the black ribbon and diamond star-cross decoration, which marked her as an imperial archduchess. the cross was absent that night, for her only visitor was the man at her side. her two female companions were in the adjoining room. they knew well their royal mistress's attraction towards the young englishman, and never sought to intrude upon them. both were well aware of the shameful sham of the princess's marriage and of his neglect and cruelty towards her, and both women pitied her in her loveless loneliness. "but, jack!" her highness was saying, her pale face raised to his. "you really don't mean to go? you can't mean that!" "yes, angelica," was his firm reply, as he held her waist tenderly, drawing her towards him and looking deeply into her fine eyes. "i must go--to save your honour." "no, no!" she cried, clinging to him convulsively. "you must not--you shall not! think, if you go i shall be friendless and alone! i couldn't bear it." "i know. it may seem cruel to you. but in after years you will know that i broke our bond of affection for your own dear sake," he said very slowly, tears standing in his dark eyes as he uttered those words. "you know full well the bitter truth, angelica--just as well as i do," he went on in a low whisper. "you know how deeply, how fervently i love you, how i am entirely and devotedly yours." "yes, yes. i know, jack," she cried, clinging to him. "and i love you. you are the only man for whom i have ever entertained a single spark of affection. but love is forbidden to me. ah! yes i know! had i been a commoner and not a princess, and we had met, i should have found happiness, like other women. but alas! i am accursed by my noble birth, and love and happiness can never be mine--never!" "we love each other, angelica," whispered the man who was a thief, softly stroking her fair hair as her head pillowed itself upon his shoulder. "let us part, and carry tender remembrances of each other through our lives. no man has ever loved a woman more devoutly than i love you." "and no woman has ever loved a man with more reverence and more passion than i love you, jack--my own dear jack," she said. their lips slowly approached each other, until they met in a fierce long passionate caress. it was the first time he had kissed her upon the lips--their kiss, alas! of long farewell. "good-bye, my love. farewell," he whispered hoarsely. "though parted from you in the future i shall be yours always--always. remember me-- sometimes." "remember you!" she wailed. "how can i ever forget?" "no, dear heart," he whispered. "do not forget, remember--remember that we love each other--that i shall love you always--always. farewell!" again he bent and kissed her lips. they were cold. she stood immovable. the blow of parting had entirely paralysed her senses. once more he pressed his hot lips to hers. "may providence protect and help us both, my beloved," he whispered, and then with a last, long, yearning look upon the sad white countenance that had held him in such fascination, he slowly released her. he caught up her soft white hand, kissing it reverently, as had been his habit ever since he had known her. then he turned, hard-faced and determined, struggling within himself, and next second the door had closed upon him, and she was left alone. "jack! my jack!" she gasped. "gone!" and grasping the edge of the table to steady herself, she stood staring straight before her. her future, she knew, was only a blank grey sea of despair. jack, the man whom she worshipped, the man whom she believed was honest, and for whom her pure affection was boundless, had gone out of her young life for ever. outside, a young tuscan contadino, passing on to meet his love, was singing in a fine clear voice one of the old florentine _stornelli_-- those same love-songs sung in the streets of the lily city ever since the middle ages. she listened: _fiorin di mela! la mela e dolce e la sua buccia e amara, l'uomo gli e finto e la donna sincera_. _fior di limone! tre cose son difficili a lasciare: il giuoco, l'amicizia, e il primo amore_! _fior di licore! licore e forte e non si puo incannare; ma son piu forti le pene d'amore_. she held her breath, then with sudden wild abandon, she flung herself upon the silken couch, and burying her face in its cushions gave herself up to a paroxysm of grief and despair. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ six weeks later. grey dawn was slowly spreading over the calm mediterannean, the waters of which lazily lapped the golden shingle. behind the distant blue the yellow sun was just peeping forth. at a spot upon the seashore about four miles from leghorn, in the direction of the maremma, five men had assembled, while at a little distance away, on the old sea-road to rome, stood the hired motor-car which had brought one of them there. the motive for their presence there at that early hour was not far to seek. the men facing each other with their coats cast aside were the brown-bearded marquess giulio di san rossore, and prince albert. the latter, having left florence, had learnt in bologna of a vile, scandalous, and untrue story told of the princess by the marquess to the aristocratic idlers of the florence club, a story that was a foul and abominable lie, invented in order to besmirch the good name of a pure and unhappy woman. on hearing it he had returned at once to the lily city, gone to the marquess's palazzo on the lung' arno, and struck him in the face before his friends. this was followed by a challenge, which jack, although he knew little of firearms, was forced to accept. was he not champion and defender of the helpless and lonely woman he loved--the woman upon whom the marquess had sworn within himself to be avenged? and so the pair, accompanied by their seconds and a doctor, now faced each other, revolvers in their hands. the prince stood unflinching, his dark brow slightly contracted, his teeth hard set, his handsome countenance pale and serious. as he raised his weapon he murmured to himself some words. "for your honour, my own angelica--my dear lost love!" the signal was given an instant later, and two shots sounded in rapid succession. next moment it was seen that the italian was hit, for he staggered, clutched at air, and fell forward upon his face, shot through the throat. quickly the doctor was kneeling at his side, but though medical aid was rendered so quickly, he never spoke again, and five minutes afterwards he was dead. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ half an hour later prince albert was driving the hired car for all he was worth across the great plain towards the marble-built city of pisa to catch the express to paris. from that day jack cross has concealed his identity, and has never been traced by the pretty crown-princess. no doubt she often wonders what was the real status of the obscure good-looking young englishman who spoke german so perfectly, who loved her devotedly, who fought bravely in vindication of her honour, and yet who afterwards so mysteriously disappeared into space. these lines will convey to her the truth. what will she think? chapter nine. a double game. lord nassington drove his big red sixty horse-power six-cylinder "napier" slowly up the corso in rome. by his side was his smart chauffeur, garrett, in dark-green livery with the hand holding a garland proper, the crest of the nassingtons, upon his bright buttons. it was four o'clock, the hour of the _passeggiata_, the hour when those wintering in the eternal city go forth in carriages and cars to drive up and down the long, narrow corso in order to see, and be seen, to exchange bows with each other, and to conclude the processional drive at slow pace owing to the crowded state of the street by a tour of the pincian hill whence one obtains a magnificent view of rome and the tiber in the sunset. roman society is the most exclusive in the world. your roman princess will usually take her airing in her brougham with the windows carefully closed, even on a warm spring afternoon. she holds herself aloof from the crowd of wealthy foreigners, even though her great gaunt palazzo has been denuded of every picture and work of art years ago, and she lives with a _donna di casa_ in four or five meagre rooms on the first floor, the remainder of the great place being unfurnished and untenanted. there is more pitiful make-believe among the aristocracy of rome than in any other city in the world. the old principessa, the marchesa, and the contessa keep themselves within their own little circle, and sneer at the wealthy foreigner and his blatant display of riches. one hears girls of the school-room discussing the social scale of passers-by, and disregarding them as not being "of the aristocracy" like themselves. truly the eternal city is a complex one in winter, and the corso at four o'clock, is the centre of it all. you know that slowly-passing almost funereal line of carriages, some of them very old and almost hearse-like, moving up and down, half of them emblazoned with coronets and shields--for the italian is ever proud of his heraldry--while the other half hired conveyances, many of them ordinary cabs in which sit some of the wealthiest men and women in europe who have come south to see the antiquities and to enjoy the sunshine. behind the lumbering old-fashioned brougham of a weedy marchesa, lord nassington drove his big powerful car at snail's pace, and almost silently. in such traffic the flexibility of the six-cylinder is at once appreciated. both garrett and his master had their eyes about them, as though in search of some one. a dozen times pretty women in furs bowed to lord nassington, who raised his motor-cap in acknowledgment. the smart, good-looking young peer had spent a couple of months there during the previous winter and had become immensely popular with the cosmopolitan world who gather annually in the italian capital. therefore, when he had arrived at the excelsior, a week before, word had quickly gone round the hotels, clubs, pastrycooks, and _cafes_ that the young english motoring milord had returned. upon the table of his luxurious little sitting-room at the hotel were lying a dozen or so invitations to dinners, receptions, the opera, and a luncheon-party out at tivoli, while charles, his man, had been busy spreading some picturesque gossip concerning his master. for the nonce his highness prince albert of hesse-holstein was _incognito_, and as was the case sometimes, he was passing as an english peer, about whose whereabouts, position, and estates debrett was somewhat vague. according to that volume of volumes, lord nassington had let his ancestral seat in northamptonshire, and lived in new orleans. therefore, his highness had but little to fear from unwelcome inquiry. he spoke english as perfectly as he could speak german when occasion required, for to his command of languages his success had been in great measure due. such a fine car as his had seldom, if ever, been seen in rome. it was part of his creed to make people gossip about him, for as soon as they talked they began to tumble over each other in their endeavour to make his acquaintance. both garrett and charles always had some interesting fiction to impart to other servants, and so filter through to their masters and mistresses. the story running round rome, and being passed from mouth to mouth along the corso, in aregno's, in the excelsior, and up among the idlers on the pincio, was that that reckless devil-may-care young fellow in motor-coat and cap, smoking a cigar as he drove, had only a fortnight before played with maximums at monte carlo, and in one day alone had won over forty thousand pounds at roulette. the rather foppishly dressed italians idling along the corso--every man a born gambler--were all interested in him as he passed. he was a favourite of fortune, and they envied him his good luck. and though they wore yellow gloves and patent-leather boots they yearned for a _terno_ on the lotto--the aspiration of every man, be he _conte_ or _contadino_. as his lordship approached the end of the long, narrow street close to the porta del popolo, garrett gave him a nudge, and glancing at an oncoming carriage he saw in it two pretty dark-haired girls. one, the better looking of the pair, was about twenty-two, and wore rich sables, with a neat toque of the same fur. the other about three years her senior, wore a black hat, a velvet coat, and a boa of white arctic fox. both were delicate, refined-looking girls, and evidently ladies. nassington raised his cap and laughed, receiving nods and merry laughs of recognition in return. "i wonder where they're going, garrett?" he remarked after they had passed. "better follow them, hadn't we?" remarked the man. a moment later, however, a humble cab passed, one of those little open victorias which the visitor to rome knows so well, and in it was seated alone a middle-aged, rather red-faced english clergyman. his lordship and he exchanged glances, but neither recognised each other. "good!" whispered the man at the wheel to his servant beside him. "so the parson's arrived. he hasn't been long on the way from berlin. i suppose he's keeping his eye upon the girls." "trust him," laughed the chauffeur. "you sent him the snap-shot, i suppose?" "of course. and it seems he's lost no time. he couldn't have arrived before five o'clock this morning." "when clayton's on a good thing he moves about as quickly as you do," the smart young english chauffeur remarked. "yes," his master admitted. "he's the most resourceful man i've ever known--and i've known a few. we'll take a run up the pincio and back," and, without changing speed, he began to ascend the winding road which leads to the top of the hill. up there, they found quite a crowd of people whom nassington had known the previous season. rome was full of life, merriment and gaiety. carnival had passed, and the pasqua was fast approaching; the time when the roman season is at its gayest and when the hotels are full. the court receptions and balls at the quirinale had brought the italian aristocracy from the various cities, and the ambassadors were mostly at their posts because of the weekly diplomatic receptions. surely it is a strange world--that vain, silly, out-dressing world of rome, where religion is only the cant of the popular confessor and the scandal of a promenade through st peter's or san giovanni. at the summit of the pincio lord nassington pulled up the car close to the long stone balustrade, and as he did so a young italian elegant, the marquis carlo di rimini, stepped up and seizing his hand, was profuse in his welcome back to rome. the englishman descended from the car, lit one of his eternal "petroffs," and leaned upon the balustrade to chat and learn the latest scandal. the marquis carlo and he were fellow members of the circolo unione, one of the smartest clubs in rome, and had played bridge together through many a night. a whisper had once gone forth that the source of the over-dressed young noble's income was cards, but nassington had always given him his due. he had never caught him cheating, and surely if he had cheated the englishman would have known it. as they stood there, gazing across the city below, the sky was aflame in all the crimson glory of the roman sunset, and even as they spoke the angelus had, of a sudden, clashed forth from every church tower, the bells clanging discordantly far and near. it was the hour of the _venti-tre_, but in the city nobody cared. the patient toilers in the campagna, however, the _contadini_ in the fields and in the vineyards who had been working on the brown earth since the dawn, crossed themselves with a murmured prayer to the madonna and prodded their ox-teams onward. in rome itself nowadays, alas! the bells of the _venti-tre_ of spring and winter only remind the gay, giddy cosmopolitan crowd that it is the hour for tea in the halls of the hotels, or the english tea-rooms in the corso. an hour later, when his lordship entered his room at the excelsior, he found the reverend thomas clayton seated in his armchair patiently smoking and awaiting him. "by jove! old chap. you got through quick," cried his lordship throwing off his coat and cap. "well?" "it's a soft thing--that's my opinion, the girl velia is devilish pretty, and the cousin isn't half bad-looking. i haven't been idle. got in at six--an hour late, of course, had a bath and breakfast and out. saw a dozen people i know before noon, lunched at that little _trattoria_ behind the post office where so many of the deputies go, and learnt a lot. i'm no stranger here you know--lived here a year once-- did a splendid bit of business, but had to slip. that was the year before we joined our forces." "well, what do you know?" "boncini, her father is, of course, minister of the interior, and a pretty slick customer. made pots of money, they say, and only keeps in office by bribery. half the money subscribed by charitable people on behalf of the sufferers from the recent earthquake down in calabria went into his pocket. he bought a big villa, and fine estate, close to vallombrosa a month or so afterwards." his lordship grunted. "picks up what he can?" he remarked. "one of us--it seems!" "exactly. and to do any business, we'll have to be pretty cute. he's already seen and heard a lot of you, and he knows that you've met his pretty daughter. perhaps he fancies you'll marry her." "the only use of marriage to a man, my dear clayton," exclaimed the devil-may-care adventurer blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke from his lips, "is to enable him to make a settlement upon his wife, and so wriggle from the clutches of his creditors." the parson laughed. regarding the marriage tie his highness, or "his lordship" rather as he was at that moment called, was always sarcastic. "really, old chap, you spread your fame wherever you go. why, all rome is talking about this wonderful coup of yours at monte." "it was garrett's idea. he told them down in the garage, and charles told a lady's maid or two, i think. such things are quite easy when one starts out upon a big bluff. but if what you've discovered about his excellency the minister boncini is really true, then i shall alter my tactics somewhat. i mean that i must make the dark-haired daughter a stepping-stone to her father." "with care--my dear fellow," exclaimed the parson in that calm, clerical drawl habitual to him. "the girl's cousin, miss ethel thorold, is english. the sister of the signora boncini married a man on the london stock exchange, named thorold." "that's awkward," exclaimed his lordship thoughtfully, "upsets my plans." "but he's dead," the parson declared. his companion nodded satisfaction. "now miss ethel is, i've found, a rather religiously inclined young person--all praise to her. so i shall succeed very soon in getting to know her. indeed, as you've already made her acquaintance you might introduce me as the vicar of some living within your gift." "excellent--i will." "and what's your plans?" "they're my own secrets at present, tommy," was the other's quick answer. "you're at the grand, aren't you? well, for the present, we must be strangers--till i approach you. understand?" "of course. give me five hundred francs will you. i'm short?" his lordship unlocked his heavy steel despatch-box and gave his friend five one-hundred franc notes without a word. then they reseated themselves, and with charles, the faithful valet, leaning against the edge of the table smoking a cigarette with them, their conversation was both interesting and confidential. a fortnight went by, and rome was in the middle of her pasqua _fetes_. the night was perfect, bright and star-lit. the great gilded ballroom of the huge old peruzzi palace, in the via nazionale, the residence of his excellency the minister boncini, was thronged by a brilliant crowd, among whom lord nassington made his way, ever and anon bowing over some woman's hand. the bright uniforms, the glittering stars and coloured ribbons worn by the men, and the magnificent toilettes of the women combined to form a perfect phantasmagoria of colour beneath the huge crystal electroliers. the political and social world of rome had gathered there at the monthly reception of his excellency, the rather stout grey-bearded man with the broad cerise-and-white ribbon of the order of the crown of italy across his shirt-front, and the diamond star upon his coat. his lordship strode through the huge painted _salons_ with their heavy gilt mirrors and giant palms, and approached the man of power in that complex nation, modern italy. at that moment his excellency was chatting with the french ambassador, but on the englishman's approach he turned to him exclaiming in french: "ah! lord nassington! i am so pleased you could come. velia told me of the slight accident to your car yesterday. i hope you were not hurt at all?" "oh! no," laughed the debonair young man. "i had perhaps a close shave. my car is a rather fast one, and i was driving recklessly on the maremma road--a sharp turn--and i ran down a bank, that's all. the car will be all right by to-morrow." "ah, milord. the automobile is an invention of the future, without a doubt." "most certainly. indeed, as a matter of fact, i thought of making a suggestion to your excellency--one which i believe would be most acceptable to the italian nation. but, of course, here it's quite impossible to talk." "then come to-morrow morning to my private cabinet at the ministry--or better still, here to luncheon, and we can chat." his lordship expressed his thanks, and then moved off in search of the pretty velia. for the greater part of the evening he dangled at the side of the good-looking girl in turquoise chiffon, having several waltzes with her and afterwards strolling out upon the balcony and sitting there beneath the starlight. "what a charming man your friend mr clayton is!" exclaimed the girl in english, as they were sitting together apart from the others. "papa is delighted with him." "oh, yes--a most excellent fellow for a parson," his lordship laughed, and then their conversation turned upon motors and motoring. "how is your shoulder this evening?" she inquired. "not at all painful," he declared. "it's nearly all right again. the car will be ready for the road to-morrow afternoon. i'm lunching with you here, and i wonder if you and your cousin will come with me for a run out to tivoli afterwards?" "i should be delighted," she said. "our car is only a sixteen `fiat' you know, and we never travel faster than a cab. it would be such fun to have a run in your beautiful `sixty'! i don't suppose papa would object." "i'll ask him to come, too," laughed the man by whom she had become so attracted, and then they returned for another dance. her ears were open, and so were those of the shrewd old man who controlled the internal affairs of the kingdom. there were whisperings everywhere, regarding the young man's wealth, his good fortune, and his aristocratic family. his excellency had not failed to notice the attraction which the young english peer held for his daughter, and also that he paid her marked attention. therefore the old man was extremely self-satisfied. next day after the little family luncheon at the peruzzi palace at which only the signora boncini, velia, and her cousin ethel were present, his excellency took his guest aside in his small private room for their coffee and cigarettes. nassington offered the minister one of his "petroffs" which was pronounced excellent. then, after a brief chat, his lordship came to the point. "the fact is, your excellency," he said, "a suggestion has occurred to me by which the italian government could, while benefiting the country to an enormous extent, at the same time secure a very handsome sum annually towards the exchequer." "how?" inquired the shrewd old statesman. "by granting to a group of substantial english financiers a monopoly for the whole of the motor-transport of italy," his lordship replied, blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips. "you have, in every part of the kingdom, great tracts of productive country without railways or communications. at the same time you have excellent roads everywhere. the concession, if granted, would be taken up by a great firm who handle motor-traction, and certain districts, approved by your government, would be opened up as an experiment. would not that be of national benefit?" "i see," replied the statesman stroking his beard thoughtfully. "and you propose that the earnings of the syndicate should be taxed by our department of finance?" "exactly." a keen, eager look was in the old man's eyes, and did not pass unrecognised by the man lounging in the armchair in picturesque indolence. "and suppose we were to go into the matter," the minister said. "what attitude would your lordship adopt?" "well--my attitude would be this," nassington replied. "you give me the proper concession, signed by the ministers, and i guarantee to find the capital among my personal friends in financial circles in london. but on one condition," he added. "that the whole matter is kept secret. afterwards, i venture to think the whole country, and especially the rural population will be grateful to your excellency." boncini instantly saw that such a move would increase his popularity immensely in the country. the idea appealed to him. if lord nassington's friends were ready with capital, they would also be ready, he foresaw, with a very substantial sum for bribery. personally he cared not a rap for the progress of italy. while in office, he intended to amass as much as he could. he was the all-powerful man in italy at the moment. but next year he might be--well where more than one minister as powerful as he, had found himself--in prison! "there are difficulties," his excellency said with some hesitation. "my colleagues in the cabinet may raise objections. they may not see matters in the light that i do. and the senate, too--they--" "i know. i quite understand your excellency," exclaimed his lordship, lowering his voice into a confidential whisper. "let us speak quite frankly. in a gigantic matter of this sort--a matter of millions-- certain palm-oil has to be applied--eh?" the old man smiled, placed his hands together and nodded. "then let us go further," lord nassington went on. "i submit in all deference--and, of course, this conversation is strictly in private between us, that should you think favourably of the scheme--my friends should secretly place a certain sum, say one hundred thousand pounds sterling at your excellency's command, to apply in whatever way you may think best to secure the success of the proposition. are you willing?" the old man rose from his chair, and standing before the younger man stretched forth his hand. "perfectly," he said as the other grasped it. "we agree." "and if i frame the form of the concession you will agree to it and, in return for an undertaking of the payment of one hundred thousand pounds into--where shall we say--into the head office of the credit lyonnais in paris in the name of your nominee, you will hand me the legal concession confirmed by the italian government?" "i agree to hand you the necessary documents within a fortnight," responded his excellency. "the adoption of motor-traction in the remote districts for bringing wine and produce to the nearest railways will be of the greatest boon to our country." "of course, my friends will leave the whole of the details, as far as finance on your side is concerned, to you," his lordship said. "you can administer the official backsheesh so much better than any one else." "within a fortnight you shall be able, my lord, to hand your friends the actual concession for motor-transport throughout the kingdom of italy." for another half-hour they discussed certain details, lord nassington talking big about his wealthy friends in london. then, with his daughter and his niece, his excellency accepted his guest's invitation for a run out to tivoli to take tea. the "sixty" ran splendidly, and the minister of the interior was delighted. before the girls, however, no business was discussed. velia's father, who, by the way had once been a clever advocate in milan, knew better than to mention affairs of state before women. during the run, however, he found himself counting upon the possibilities of velia's marriage with the amiable young english aristocrat who, upon his own initiative, had offered to place one hundred thousand sterling unreservedly in his hands. at most the present cabinet could last another year, and then--well, oblivion if before then he did not line his nest snugly enough. the thought of the poor widows and orphans and starving populace down in calabria sometimes caused him a twinge of conscience. but he only laughed and placed it aside. he had even been unscrupulous, and this young english peer was his friend, he would use to best advantage. though lord nassington was an eligible husband for his daughter, yet, after all, he was not a business man, but a wealthy "mug." as such he intended to treat him. at the little _cafe_, near the falls, where they took tea the conversation ran on motors and motoring, but his excellency could not disguise from himself that the young peer was entirely fascinated by his good-looking daughter. they lingered there until the mists began to rise and the red afterglow was fast disappearing; then they ran past the sulphur springs and on the broad highway back to the eternal city at such a pace that his excellency's breath was taken away. but lord nassington drove, and notwithstanding the accident of two days previously, the minister felt himself perfectly safe in his hands. three weeks went by. his lordship took a flying visit to london, and quickly returned. both he and the highly respectable clergyman of the english church, the reverend thomas clayton, became daily visitors at the peruzzi palace. in the corso the pretty signorina boncini and her cousin were often seen in his lordship's car, and already the gossip-loving world of rome began to whisper that an engagement was about to take place. the valet, charles, also made a quick journey to london and back, and many telegrams were exchanged with a registered cable address in london. one afternoon, in the private cabinet of that colossal building, the ministry of the interior, his excellency handed his english friend a formidable document bearing many signatures with the official seal of the government embossed, a document which gave lord nassington the exclusive right to establish motor-transport for both merchandise and passengers upon every highway in the kingdom. in exchange, his excellency received an undertaking signed by a responsible firm in the city of london to place to the account of madame boncini at the credit lyonnais in paris the respectable sum of one hundred thousand pounds within seven days. "i shall return at once to london," his lordship said replacing the formidable document in its envelope, "and in exchange for this, the financial group will at once pay in the sum to madame's account in paris, while the actual sum for the concession will be paid here, in rome, to the department of finance, on the date stipulated." "benissimo," replied the grey-bearded statesman, holding one of his long toscano cigars in the candle which he had lit for that purpose. "it is all settled. you will dine with us at home to-night." his lordship accepted, and after further discussion regarding several minor details of the concession he rose and left. that night he dined at the peruzzi palace, seated next his excellency's charming daughter, and next morning left the excelsior in his big red car, to run as far as bologna and thence return to london by rail. with her father's consent velia her cousin and signora ciullini, her aunt, accompanied him and they set out across the maremma for marble-built pisa, where the girls were to return home by rail. the more direct road was by orvieto, but it is not so good as that wide, open road across the fever-marshes of the maremma, therefore his lordship resolved on taking the latter. the day was glorious, and travelling for all they were worth with only two stops to refill with petrol, they ran into pisa late that same night. the sleeping-car express from paris to rome was due in half an hour, therefore after a scrambling meal at the victoria the aristocratic motorist saw the girls and their aunt safely into the train--kissing velia in secret by the way--and waving them "addio," watched the train glide out of the big echoing station again. then, with garrett at his side, he turned the big car with its glaring head-lights out of the big gates through the town along the lung' arno and into the high road for florence. in the early morning he passed through the dimly-lit deserted streets of the city of the medici, and away beyond, through prato, to the foot-hills of the appenines where he began to ascend that wonderfully engineered military road which runs, with many dangerous turns for motorists, high up across the mountain range, and ends in the long colonnaded street of old bologna. it was noon ere he drew into the piazza before the station, and giving garrett instructions to continue on to milan and north to berlin where the car was to be garaged, he took the afternoon express for the frontier at chiasso, travelling thence _via_ bale to ostend and london. on entering his snug chambers at five o'clock one afternoon, he found charles and the parson smoking and awaiting him. that evening the trio held a long and earnest consultation. the official document was carefully examined, and the names of many city firms mentioned. the parson seemed to possess a remarkable intimate knowledge of city life. "old boncini is a clever old thief," remarked the reverend gentleman. "he's feathering his nest finely--all the money in his wife's name." "my dear fellow, half the cabinet ministers of europe only use their political influence in order to gain fortune. except the british government there isn't a single one which isn't corrupt." "well, albert, my dear boy, you certainly seem to have got hold of a good thing," the parson remarked. "his corrupt excellency seems to place every faith in you. your four-flush was admirable all the time." "it took a bit of working, i can tell you. he's as slick as a rat." "but he doesn't suspect anything wrong?" "hasn't the slightest idea of it, my dear tommy. he fancies i'm going to marry his daughter. the fat old mother is already imagining herself mother-in-law of a british peer." "yes. all rome knows that you've fallen in love with the pretty velia, and that you've told her the tale. what a fellow you are with the ladies." "why?" he laughed taking a cigarette. "they are all very charming and delightful. but in my career i generally manage to make them useful. it's really remarkable what a woman will do in the interests of the man whom she fancies is in love with her. fortunately, perhaps, for me, i've only been in love once." "and it resulted in a tragedy," remarked the parson quietly, knowing that he referred to the princess. his lordship sighed, flinging himself down in his armchair, worn out by long travel. "my dear boy," he said with a weary sigh, "if i ever got married i'd soon go mothy--everybody does. married people, whatever their position in life, settle down into the monotonous groove that is the death of all romance. before a man marries a girl they have little dinners together at restaurants, and little suppers, and all seems so bright and gay under the red candle-shades. we see it on every hand. but why should it all be dropped for heavy meals and dulness, just because two people who like one another have the marriage service read over them?" the parson laughed. his friend was always amusing when he discussed the question of matrimony. during the next four days his lordship, in the character of mr tremlett--as he was known in certain circles in the city--was busy with financiers to whom he offered the concession. his story was that it had been granted by the italian government to his cousin, lord nassington, and that the latter had given it into his hands to negotiate. in the various quarters where he offered it the concession caused a flutter of excitement. the shrewdest men in the city saw that it was a good thing, and one after the other craved a day to think it over. it really was one of the best things that had been offered for a long time. the terms required by the italian government were not at all heavy, and huge profits were certain to be made out of such a monopoly. the great tracts of fertile land in central and southern italy would, by means of motor-transport, be opened up to trade, while tremlett's picturesque story of how the concession had been snatched away from a strong group of german financiers was, to more than one capitalist, most fascinating. indeed he saw half a dozen of the most influential men in the city, and before a week was out he had got together a syndicate which could command a couple of millions sterling. they were all of them shrewd men, however, and he saw that it behoved him to be on the alert. there is such a thing in the city as to be "frozen out" of a good thing, even when one holds it in one's hand. by dint of close watching and clever observation, he discovered something, and this caused him to ponder deeply. the syndicate expressed themselves ready to treat, but for the present he was rather unwilling. some hitches occurred on technicalities, and there were a number of meetings to consider this point and that. by all this mr tremlett saw that he was losing time, and at the same moment he was not keeping faith with the old statesman concerning the amount to be paid into madame's account in paris. at last one morning, after the parson had left for an unknown destination, he took a taxi-cab down to the city with a bold resolve. the five prominent financiers were seated together in an office in old broad street when mr tremlett, leaning back in his chair, said: "well, gentlemen, it seems that we are as far away as ever from coming to terms, and i think it useless to discuss the matter further. i must take the business elsewhere." "we admit," exclaimed an old bald man, a director of one of london's largest banks, "that it is a good thing, but the price you ask is prohibitive." "i can get it in paris. so i shall go there," was tremlett's prompt reply. "well," exclaimed the bald man, "let's get straight to facts. your cousin, lord nassington, wants sixty thousand pounds in cash for the concession and a percentage of shares, and that, we have decided, is far too much." "those are his figures," remarked tremlett. "well, then all we can offer is one-half--thirty thousand in cash and ten per cent, of shares in the company," said the other, "and," he added, "i venture to say that ours is a very handsome offer." tremlett rose from the table with a sarcastic smile. "let us talk of something else," he said. "i haven't come down here to the city to play at marbles." "well," asked the old man who was head of the syndicate. "what are your lowest terms?" "i've stated them." "but you don't give us time to inquire into the business," he complained. "i have shown you the actual concession. surely you are satisfied with it!" "we are." "and i've told you the conditions of the contract. yet you postpone your decision from day to day!" the five men glanced at each other, rather uneasily tremlett thought. "well," he went on. "this is the last time i shall attend any meeting. we come to a decision this morning, or the matter is off. you, gentlemen, don't even show _bona fides_!" "well, i think you know something of the standing of all of us," the banker said. "that is so. but my cousin complains that he, having offered the concession, you on your part do not attempt to show your intention to take it up." "but we do. we wish to fix a price to-day," remarked another of the men. "a price, gentlemen, which is ridiculous," declared tremlett. the five men consulted together in undertones, and in the end advanced their offer five thousand pounds. at this tremlett only shook his shoulders. a further five thousand was the result, and a long discussion followed. "have you your cousin's authority to accept terms?" asked one of the capitalists. "i have." "then forty thousand is all we can offer." tremlett hesitated. "i have a number of payments to make for bribery," he declared. "it will take half that sum." "that does not concern us, my dear sir," said the bald-headed banker. "we know that a concession such as this can only be obtained by the judicious application of palm-oil." "but i must pay out nearly twenty thousand almost immediately," tremlett said. at this there was another long discussion, whereupon at last the bald-headed man said: "if the payment of the bribes is imperative at once, we will, on consideration of the business being to-day concluded on a forty thousand pound basis, hand you over half the sum at once. that is our final decision." tremlett was not at all anxious. indeed he took up his hat and cane, and was about to leave, when two of the men present exercising all their powers of persuasion, got him at last to reseat himself and to accept the sum of twenty thousand pounds down, and twenty thousand thirty days from that date, in addition to a percentage of shares in the company to be formed. memoranda were drawn up and signed by all parties, whereupon tremlett took from his pocket the official concession and handed it to the head of the syndicate. that same afternoon, before four o'clock, he had received a draft for twenty thousand pounds, with which he had opened an account in charles's name at a branch bank in tottenham court road. at nine o'clock that same evening he left for paris, putting up at a small obscure hotel near the gare du nord where he waited in patience for nearly a week. once or twice he telegraphed, and received replies. late one night the parson arrived unexpectedly and entered the shabby bedroom where his lordship was lounging in an armchair reading a french novel. he sprung up at the entrance of the round-faced cleric, saying: "well, tommy? how has it gone? tell me quick." "you were quite right," exclaimed the clergyman. "the crowd in london were going behind your back. they sent two clever men to rome, and those fellows tried to deal with boncini direct. they arrived the day after i did, and they offered him an extra twenty thousand if he would rescind your concession, and grant them a new one. boncini was too avaricious and refused, so they then treated with you." "i got twenty thousand," remarked his lordship, "got it in cash safe in the bank." "yes. i got your wire." "and what did you do?" asked his friend. "i acted just as you ordered. as soon as i was convinced that the people in london were working behind our backs, i laid my plans. then when your wire came that you'd netted the twenty thousand, i acted." "how?" "i took all the signed proof you gave me of old boncini's acceptance of the bribe, and of madame's banking account at the credit lyonnais, to that scoundrel ricci, the red-hot socialist deputy in the chamber." "and what did he say?" asked his lordship breathlessly. "say!" echoed the other. "he was delighted. i spent the whole evening with him. next day, he and his colleagues held a meeting, and that afternoon he asked in the chamber whether his excellency, the minister of the interior, had not been bribed by an english syndicate and put a number of similarly awkward questions. the government had a difficulty in evading the truth, but imagine the sensation when he waved proofs of the corruptness of the cabinet in the face of the house. a terrible scene of disorder ensued, and the greatest sensation has been caused. look here,"--and he handed his friend a copy of _le soir_. at the head of a column on the front page were the words in french, "cabinet crisis in italy," and beneath, a telegram from rome announcing that in consequence of the exposure of grave scandals by the socialists, the italian cabinet had placed their resignations in the hands of his majesty. "serve that old thief boncini right," declared his lordship. "he was ready to sell me for an extra few thousands, but i fortunately got in before him. i wonder if the pretty velia has still any aspirations to enter the british peerage?" and both men laughed merrily at thought of the nice little nest-egg they had managed to filch so cleverly from the hands of five of the smartest financiers in the city of london. chapter ten. love and the outlaw. "by jove!" i ejaculated, "who's the girl, prince?" "that's zorka. pretty, isn't she, diprose?" "pretty!" i echoed. "why, she's the most beautiful woman i've seen in the whole of servia!" we were driving slowly together in the big "sixty" up the main street of the city of belgrade, and were at that moment passing the iron railings of the palace of his majesty king peter. it was a bright dry afternoon, and the boulevard was thronged by a smart crowd, ladies in paris-made gowns, and officers in brilliant uniforms and white crosses with red and white ribbons on their breasts. belgrade, though constantly in a ferment of political storm and stress, and where rumours of plots against the throne are whispered nightly in the corners of drawing-rooms, is, nevertheless, a quiet and pleasant place. its picturesque situation, high up upon its rocks at the confluence of the save with the danube, its pretty kalemegdan gardens, its wide boulevard and its pleasant suburbs, combine to offer considerable attraction to the foreigner. it is the gateway to eastern europe. at quiet old semlin--or zimony--on the opposite bank of the danube is hungary, the fringe of western europe: in belgrade the orient commences. i happened to be at the grand at belgrade, and had there found the prince, or reggie martin, as he always called himself in the balkans. he was idling, with no apparent object. only the faithful garrett was with him. both charles and the parson he had left behind in london. therefore, i concluded that the reason of his presence in servia was to learn some diplomatic secret or other, for he only went to the balkans with that one object. of his business, the prince seldom, if ever, spoke. even from his most intimate associate, the rev thomas clayton, he usually concealed his ulterior object until it was attained. the parson, garrett, and charles acted in blind obedience. they were paid to obey, not to reason, he often told them. and so it was that although we had been together a week in king peter's capital, i was in entire ignorance of the reason of his presence there. as we had brought the big car slowly along the boulevard, a dark-eyed peasant-girl, with a face full of wondrous beauty, had nodded saucily to him, and this had caused me to notice and admire her. belgrade is full of pretty women, but not one was half so handsome. she was about twenty, i judged, and the manner in which her hair was dressed with the gay-coloured handkerchief upon it was in the style of unmarried women. "i want to speak to her, to ask her a question," the prince said suddenly, after we had gone some distance. and driving the car down into the square we turned back in order to overtake her. "an old friend of yours?" i inquired. "yes, my dear diprose," he laughed as he touched the button of the electric horn. "and a girl with a very remarkable past. her story would make a good novel--by jove it would." five minutes later we had overtaken her, and pulled up at the kerb. the girl blushed and appeared confused as my companion, stopping the car, got down and stood at her side with his motor-cap raised. he spoke to her in his best servian, for he knew a smattering of that difficult language, and appeared to be inviting her to enter the car and come for a run. at first she was disinclined to accept the invitation, because of the crowd of smart promenaders. she was probably shy at being seen in the company of two foreigners. at last her curiosity as to what conveyance by automobile might be got the better of her, and she reluctantly entered the door held open for her. then reggie introduced us, and got back to his seat at the wheel, i mounting again to my place beside him. in a few minutes we were out on the broad semendria road, a fine well-kept military highway, and on getting clear of the town, put on a "move" until the speedometer before me registered fifty miles an hour. zorka, now alone with us, clapped her hands with childish delight. she was an eastern beauty of rare type, with full red lips, magnificent luminous eyes, and a pink and white complexion that any woman of mayfair would envy. ten miles from belgrade, we stopped at a small wine-shop and had some refreshment. she sat at the little table before us laughing at me because we could not understand each other. in lieu of paying the rustic beauty compliments, i raised my glass and bowed. she accepted my homage with queenly grace. indeed, in her peasant costume of scarlet and black, with golden sequins on the bodice, she reminded me of a heroine of opera. we sat in the little garden above the broad blue danube until the sun grew golden with departing day, the prince chatting with her and laughing merrily. he seemed to be asking many questions, while i, in my curiosity, kept pestering him to tell the story of our beautiful companion--the story which he had declared to be so remarkable and romantic. he had offered her one of his "petroffs" from his gold cigarette-case, and she was smoking with the air of one accustomed to the use of tobacco. our eyes met suddenly, and blowing a cloud of smoke from her pretty lips she suddenly burst out laughing. apparently she was enjoying that unconventional meeting to its full bent. she had never before ridden in a motor-car--indeed, there are but few in servia--and the rush through the air had exhilarated her. i noted her well-formed hands, her splendid bust, and her slim, graceful figure, and i longed to hear her story. the prince possessed, indeed, a wide circle of friends ranging from princes of the blood down to peasants. at last he made some remarks, whereupon our delightful little companion grew suddenly silent, her great dark eyes fixed upon me. "zorka is not servian, diprose," the prince began. "she's turkish. and this meeting to-day has recalled to me memories, of a strange and very remarkable incident which occurred to me not so very long ago." and then he went on to relate the following chapter of his amazing life-story. i will here record it in his own words: that silent night was glorious. i shall preserve its memory for ever. high up to that mountain fastness i was the first stranger to ascend, for i was the guest of a wild tribe of albanian brigands, those men of the skreli who from time to time hold up travellers to ransom, and against whom the turkish government are powerless. it was a weird, never-to-be-forgotten experience, living with those tall, handsome fellows in white skin-tight woollen trousers with big snake-like bands running up the legs, black furry boleros, and white fezes. every man was armed to the teeth with great silver-hilted pistols and long knives in their belts, and nobody went a dozen yards without his rifle ready loaded. ever since the days before we were together at cheltenham, diprose, i had read stories of brigands, but here was the real thing--the free-booters of the mountains, who would never let me go about without a dozen men as guard, lest i should be mistaken for a stranger and "picked off" by one of the tribe lurking behind a rock. life is, indeed, cheap in the skreli country, that great range of inaccessible mountains east of gallant little montenegro. on that night in the early autumn i was seated upon a rock with a tall, thin, wiry, but handsome, young man, named luk, known in his tribe as "the open eye," whom the great chieftain, vatt marashi, had given me as head of my body-guard, while beside was the dark-faced albanian who, speaking italian, acted as my guide and interpreter. zorka was spinning her flax close by. in the domain of his imperial majesty the sultan, the moon seems to shine with far greater brilliancy than it does anywhere else in the world, and surely the panorama of high mountain and deep dark valley there spread before us was a veritable stage-picture, while the men at my side were as romantic looking a pair as could be found anywhere in real life. many times, as at night i lay down upon my humble bed of leaves, had i reflected how insecure was my position, and how easily my hosts could break their word, hold me to ransom, and worry the foreign office. yet, let me here assert that all, from the chieftain, down to the humblest tribesman, treated me with a kindness, courtesy, and forethought, that, from the first, caused me to admire them. they might be brigands, and the blood-curdling stories of their cruelty might possibly be true, but they were, without doubt, a most gentlemanly gang of ruffians. we had eaten our evening meal, and were sitting in the calm night smoking cigarettes, prior to turning in. the two men beside me had placed their rifles upon the ground, where the moonbeams glinted along the bright barrels, and our conversation had become exhausted. below, in that dark valley, ran the mule-track to ipek, therefore day and night it was watched for passing travellers, as indeed were all the paths at the confines of the territory over which my friend vatt marashi, defiant of the turks, ruled so firmly and yet so justly. luk, rolling a fresh cigarette, was making some remark to palok, my guide, in his peculiar soft-sounding but unwritten language, when it suddenly occurred to me to ask him to give me some little reminiscence of his own adventurous life. he was silent for a few moments, his keen gaze upon the shining rifle-barrel before him, then, with palok translating into italian, he told me the story of how he earned his nickname of "the open eye." about two years before, when his tribe were at feud with their neighbours, the powerful kastrati, who live in the opposite range of mountains, he was one dark night with a party of his fellow tribesmen in ambush, expecting a raid from their enemies. the false alarms were several when, of a sudden, luk discerned a dark figure moving slowly in the gloom. raising his rifle he was on the point of firing when some impulse seized him to stay his hand and shout a challenge. the reply was a frightened one--and in turkish. luk came forth from his hiding-place, and a few seconds later, to his great surprise, encountered the stranger, who proved to be a woman wearing her veil, and enshrouded by an ugly black shawl wrapped about her. he knew sufficient turkish to demand her name, and whence she had come, but she refused to satisfy him. she had already recognised by his dress, that he was of the tribe of the skreli, therefore she knew that she had fallen into the hands of enemies. "speak!" he cried, believing her to be a spy from the kastrati. "tell me who sent you here to us? whither are you going?" "i know not," was her reply in a sweet voice which told him at once that she was quite young, and he, being unmarried, became instantly interested. "where are you from?" he asked, expecting that she had come from skodra, the nearest turkish town. "from constantinople," was her reply. "constantinople!" gasped luk, to whom the capital was so far off as to be only a mere city of legend. it was, indeed, many hundred leagues away. in the darkness he could not see her eyes. he could only distinguish that the lower part of her face was veiled like that of all mahommedan women. "and you have come here alone?" he asked. "yes, alone. i--i could not remain in constantinople longer. am i still in turkey?" "nominally, yes. but the sultan does not rule us here. we, of the skreli, are christians, and our country is a free one--to ourselves, but not to our captives." "ah!" she said with failing heart. "i see! i am your captive--eh? i have heard in constantinople how you treat the turks whom you capture." "you may have heard many stories, but i assure you that the skreli never maltreat a woman," was the brigand's proud answer. "this path is unsafe for you, and besides it is my duty to take you to our chief vatt marashi that he may decide whether we give you safe conduct." "no, no!" she implored. "i have heard of him. take pity upon me--a defenceless woman! i--i thought to escape from turkey. i have no passport, so i left the train and hoped to get across the mountains into montenegro, where i should be free." "then you have escaped from your harem--eh?" asked luk, his curiosity now thoroughly aroused. "yes. but i have money here with me--and my jewels. i will pay you-- pay you well, if you will help me. ah! you do not know!" luk was silent for a moment. "when a woman is in distress the skreli give their assistance without payment," was his reply, and then, as day was breaking, he led her up the steep and secret paths to that little settlement where we now were-- the headquarters of the all-powerful vatt marashi. at the latter's orders she unwound the veil from her face, disclosing the beautiful countenance of a turkish girl of eighteen, and when she took off her cloak it was seen that beneath she wore a beautiful harem dress, big, baggy trousers of rich mauve and gold brocade, and a little bolero of amaranth velvet richly embroidered with gold. upon her neck were splendid emeralds, pearls, and turquoises, and upon her wrists fine bracelets encrusted with diamonds. she stood in the lowly hut before the chief and her captor luk, a vision of perfect beauty--looking "a veritable houri as promised by mahommed," as luk put it. vatt marashi listened to her story. she had, she told him, escaped from her father's harem because she was betrothed, as is usual in turkey, to a man whom she had never seen. she had taken money from the place where one of the black eunuchs hoarded it, and with the assistance of a young officer, a cousin of hers, had succeeded in leaving the capital in the baggage-waggon of the orient express. unable to procure a passport, however, she dare not attempt to cross the frontier into bulgaria, for she would at once be detected, refused permission to travel, and sent back. for a turkish woman to attempt to leave turkey in that manner the punishment is death. so at some small station near the frontier, the name of which she did not know, she had, under cover of night, left the train, and taken to the mountains. for four days she had wandered alone, until luk had discovered her. "and what was done with her?" i inquired, much interested. "well," replied my companion. "she elected to remain with us, our chief giving her assurance that she would be well and honourably treated. he pointed out that had she been a man he would have demanded of the sultan a heavy ransom for her release, but as she was a defenceless woman, and alone, she was not to remain a prisoner. if she cared to accept the offer of the protection of the skreli, then every man of his tribe would defend her, and her honour to the last drop of blood remaining in their veins. the word of skreli, once given, is, as you know, never broken." and his was no idle boast. the code of honour among the tribes of northern albania would put even ours of england to the blush. the skreli are very bad enemies, but they are, as i know from personal experience, most firm and devoted friends. "and so it came about," luk went on, "that zorka--that was her name--was placed in my mother's charge, and discarded her veil, as do our own women. well--i suppose i may confess it--i loved her. it was only to be expected, i suppose, for she was very lovely, and every unmarried man in the tribe was her devoted admirer. though she lived with us, no word of affection passed between us. why should it? would it not have been folly?--she the daughter of a great pasha who was seeking for her all over turkey, and i a poor humble tribesman, and a christian into the bargain? and so a year went over. we often walked together, and the others envied me my friendship with the delicate and beautiful girl who preferred our free untrammelled life of the mountains to the constant confinement of her father's harem on the bosphorus. unlike that of our women, her skin was lily white, and her little hands as soft as satin. ah! yes, i loved her with all my soul, though i never dared to tell her so. she became as a sister to me, as a daughter to my mother. it was she who said the last word to me when i went forth upon a raid; she who waited to welcome me on my return." "and you said nothing," i remarked, with some surprise. "nothing. our chief had ordered that no man should declare his love to her. she was our guest, like yourself, and she was therefore sacred. well," he went on, gazing thoughtfully across the dark valley, the white moonbeams shining full upon his thin, sun-tanned countenance. "one day our men down yonder, on the northern border, discovered three strangers who were examining the rocks and chipping pieces off--french mining engineers we afterwards found them to be. they were captured, brought up here, and held to ransom. two were elderly men, but the third was about twenty-eight, well-dressed with a quantity of french banknotes upon him. at first the price we asked of the sultan was too high. the vali of skodra refused to pay, but suggested a smaller sum. we were in no hurry to compromise, so the three remained prisoners, and--" "and what?" "well, during that time the younger of the three saw zorka, and fell in love with her. i caught the pair one night walking together. they sat here, at this very spot. the frenchman had been in constantinople, and, speaking a little turkish, could converse with her. i crept up and overheard some of their conversation. next day i told the chief, and when he heard it he was angry, and ordered that the prisoners were to be released and sent away--without ransom--that very day. zorka was one of ourselves. so that afternoon the three strangers were escorted down to the skodra road, and there told to begone." here luk broke off, slowly rolling a fresh cigarette in silence. by the light of the brilliant moon i saw the sudden change in his countenance. "well?" i asked. "there is not much more to tell," he said hoarsely, hard lines showing at the corners of his mouth. "a few weeks later we one night missed zorka. the whole tribe went forth to search for her. some men of the hoti, down on the way to skodra, had seen a woman pass. vatt marashi took me with some others down to the lake-side, where we heard that she had escaped on the little steamer that runs up the lake to ryeka, in montenegro. and further that she had a male companion who, from his description, we knew to be the frenchman whose life we had spared. with the man was an elderly woman. he had evidently returned to skodra, and sent zorka a message in secret. at risk of arrest by the turks we went down into skodra itself, and saw the captain of the steamer, from whom we learnt that the frenchman's name was paul darbour, and that he was a mining engineer, living in paris. while on the boat he had chatted to the captain in french, and mentioned that he was going first to ragusa, down on the dalmatian coast. the skreli punish an insult to their women with death, therefore that same night, upon the lake shore, we twelve men and our good chief raised the blood-feud, and i was ordered to go forth in search of the man who had enticed away our zorka. none of them, however knew how deeply i loved her myself. well, i left, wearing the montenegrin dress, the blue baggy trousers, scarlet jacket, and pork-pie hat. through montenegro, down to cattaro, i followed them, and took the steamer along the adriatic to ragusa. but they had already left. for a month i followed the trio from place to place, until late one night, in trieste, i met zorka in european dress, walking with her lover along the quays. he was speaking sharply to her, evidently trying to induce her to act against her will, for she was weeping bitterly. i crept after them unseen in the shadows. from words she let drop in turkish i knew that he was treating her with cruelty, now that he had got her in his power--that she bitterly regretted listening to his love-speeches. i clenched my teeth, took a few sharp steps, and next instant my keen knife was buried up to the hilt behind our enemy's shoulder. he fell forward almost without a cry." "and zorka?" i asked. "i brought her safely back again to us," was his simple answer. "see. she is my wife!" luk is here, outside belgrade, the prince added. but in secret, for a price is set upon his head. he is a turkish brigand, and he and his band terrorise the montenegrin border. the servian government offered, only a month ago, twenty thousand dinars for his capture. they little dream he is in hiding in a cave over in yonder mountain, and that he is supplied with food by his faithful little wife here! and true sportsman that he was, he raised his glass again to her--and to her husband. chapter eleven. touching the widow's mite. one. the prince, keen motorist that he was, had--attended by the faithful garrett, of course--been executing some remarkably quick performances on the brooklands track. about a month before he had purchased a hundred horse-power racing-car, and now devoted a good deal of his time to the gentle art of record-breaking. some of his times for "the mile" had been very creditable, and as mr richard drummond, son of a manchester cotton magnate, his name was constantly appearing in the motor journals. having for the time being discarded the purple, and with it his cosy chambers off piccadilly, he had now taken up his quarters at that small hotel so greatly patronised by motorists, the "hut," on the ripley road. among the many road-scouts, with their red discs, in that vicinity he had become extremely popular on account of his generosity in tips, while to the police with his ugly grey low-built car with its two seats behind the long bonnet he was a perpetual source of annoyance. though he never exceeded the speed limit--in sight of the police--yet his open exhaust roared and throbbed, while his siren was the most ear-piercing of any on the road. a little bit of business up in staffordshire which he had recently brought to a successful issue by the aid of the faithful charles, the parson, and mr max mason, had placed them all in funds, and while the worthy bayswater vicar was taking his ease at the "majestic" up at harrogate--where, by the way, he had become extremely popular among his fellow guests--mason was at the bath at bournemouth for a change of air. to the guests at harrogate the rev thomas clayton had told the usual tale which seems to be on the lips of every cleric, no matter how snug his living--that of the poor parish, universal suffering, hard work, small stipend, ailing wife and several small children. indeed, he admitted to one or two of the religious old ladies whose acquaintance he had made, that some of his wealthier parishioners, owing to his nervous breakdown, had subscribed in order to send him there for a month's holiday. thus he had become indispensable to the tea-and-tattle circle, and the ladies soon began to refer to him as "that dear mr clayton." with one of them, a certain wealthy widow named edmondson, he had become a particular favourite, a fact which he had communicated in a letter to the good-looking motorist now living at the pretty wayside inn in front of the lake on the ripley road. while the parson was enjoying a most decorous time with the philanthropic widow, dick drummond, as he soon became known, had cultivated popularity in the motor-world. to men in some walks of life, and especially to those on the crooked by-paths, popularity is a very dangerous thing. indeed, as the prince had on many occasions pointed out in confidence to me, his popularity greatly troubled him, making it daily more difficult for him to conceal his identity. at that moment, because he had lowered a record at brooklands, he was living in daily terror of being photographed, and having his picture published in one or other of the illustrated papers. if this did occur, then was it not more than likely that somebody would identify dick drummond the motorist, with the handsome prince albert of hesse-holstein? he led a life of ease and comfort in all else, save this constant dread of recognition, and was seriously contemplating a sudden trip across the channel with a run through france and germany when he one morning received a registered letter bearing the harrogate postmark. he read it through half a dozen times. then he burned it. afterwards he lit a "petroff" and went out for a stroll in the sunshine along the road towards ripley village. "it's really wonderful how clerical clothes and a drawling voice attract a woman. they become fascinated, just as they do when they meet a prince. by jove!" he laughed merrily to himself. "what fools some women--and men, too, for the matter of that--make of themselves! they never trouble to institute inquiry, but accept you just at your own value. take myself as an instance! in all these four years nobody has ever discovered that i'm not prince albert. nobody has taken the trouble to trace the real prince to his safe abode, the sanatorium of wismar. yet the great difficulty is that i cannot always remain a prince." then he strode along for some time in thoughtful silence. in his well-cut blue serge suit and peaked motor-cap he presented the smart devil-may-care figure of a man who would attract most women. indeed, he was essentially a ladies' man, but he always managed to turn his amorous adventures to monetary advantage. only once in his life had he been honestly in love. the tragic story of his romance in florence i have already explained in a previous chapter. his thoughts were always of his real princess--ever of her. she had been his ideal, and would always remain so. he had defended her good name, but dared not return to her and expose himself as a fraud and a criminal. better by far for her to remain in ignorance of the truth; better that he should possess only sweet sad memories of her soft lips and tender hands. as he walked, a young man passed in a dirty white racing-car, on his way to brooklands, and waved to him. it was george hartwell, the holder of the one-mile record, and an intimate friend of his. the prince was debating within himself whether he should adopt the parson's suggestion, abandon motor-racing for the nonce, and join him up in yorkshire. "i wonder whether the game's worth the candle?" he went on, speaking to himself after the cloud of dust has passed. "if what clayton says is true, then it's a good thing. the old woman is evidently gone on him. i suppose he's told her the tale, and she believes he's a most sanctified person." he halted at a gate near the entrance to ripley village, and lighting another cigarette puffed vigorously at it. "my hat!" he ejaculated at last. "a real parson must have an exceedingly soft time of it--snug library, pretty girls in the choir, tea-fights, confidences, and all that kind of thing. in the country no home is complete without its tame curate." then, after a long silence, he at length tossed away the end of his cigarette, and declared: "yes, i'll go. there'll be a bit of fun--if nothing else." and he walked to the village telegraph office and wired one word to his bosom friend and ingenious accomplice. it was a word of their secret code--formice--which clayton would interpret as "all right. shall be with you as soon as possible, and will carry out the suggestions made in your letter." then he walked back to the "hut," where he found garrett sitting out in that little front garden against the road, which is usually so crowded by motorists on warm sunday afternoons. "better go and pack," he said sinking into a chair as his supposed servant rose and stood at attention. "we're going back to town in an hour." garrett, without asking questions, returned into the hotel. he saw by the prince's sharp decided manner that something new was in the wind. an hour later dick drummond motor-maniac, drew the car along the road towards esher, and as he disappeared around the bend among the trees, he ceased to exist. prince albert became himself again. direct to dover street they went--and there found the discreet charles awaiting them. fresh kit was packed while garrett, in a garage over in westminster where he was unknown, was busily engaged in repainting the ugly racer with its big bonnet a bright yellow. that evening the prince spent alone in his pretty sitting-room consuming dozens of his pet russian cigarettes, and thinking hard. for an hour he was busy upon some accounts written in german--accounts from a jew dealer in precious stones in amsterdam. the gentleman in question was a good customer of the prince's, gave fair prices, and asked no questions. his highness seemed troubled about one item, for as he rested his brow upon his hand, still seated at his desk, he murmured in a low voice to himself: "i'm sure the old hebrew has done me out of four hundred and fifty! eighteen hundred was the price agreed for that carroty-headed woman's pendant. that's what comes of leaving business matters to max." and sighing, he added: "i shall really have to attend to the sales myself, for no doubt we're swindled every time. the old jew doesn't believe in honour among thieves, it seems!" some letters which had arrived during his absence were put before him by the valet, charles. among them were several invitations to the houses of people struggling to get into society--by the back door, and who wanted to include the name of prince albert of hesse-holstein in the list of their guests. "are we likely to be away for long?" asked the valet, at the same time helping himself to a cigarette from his master's silver box. "i haven't the slightest idea," laughed the good-looking young adventurer. "you'll go down to the `majestic' at harrogate by the first train in the morning and take the best suite for me. garrett and i will arrive in the car. of course you'll tell the usual story to the servants of my wealth, and all that." "the parson's down there, isn't he?" "yes, but you'll take no notice of him. understand?" so the smart young crook who posed as valet, having received his master's instructions, retired to pack his own clothes. at ten next morning garrett brought round the hundred "racer," now covered in yellow enamel and bearing a different identification-plate from that it had borne the previous day, and with the prince up beside him wearing a light dust-coat and his peaked cap turned the wrong way, so as not to catch the wind, drew out into piccadilly, and turned up shaftesbury avenue due northward. throughout that warm summer's day they tore along the great north road as far as doncaster, wary always of the police-traps which abound there. then, after a light meal, they pushed on to ferrybridge, taking the right-hand road through micklefield to the cross-roads beyond aberford, and then on the well-kept old roman way which runs through wetherby to plampton corner, and ascends the hill into harrogate. the last forty miles they did at tearing speed, the great powerful engine running like a clock, leaving a perfect wall of white dust behind. the car was a "flyer" in every sense of the word. the prince had won the heath stakes at brooklands, therefore, on an open road, without traffic or police-traps, they covered the last forty miles within the hour. the sun had already sunk, and the crimson afterglow had spread before they reached the stray, but as the car drew up before the great hotel, charles, bareheaded and urbane, came forth to receive his master, while behind him stood the assistant manager and a couple of attendants also in bareheaded servitude. charles, who always acted as advance-agent had already created great excitement in the hotel by the announcement that his highness was on his way. quite a small crowd of visitors had concluded their dinner early, and assembled in the hall to catch first sight of the german princeling who preferred residence in england to that in his native principality. as he passed across the great hall and entered the lift, dusty after his journey, his quick eyes caught sight of the sedate modest-looking parson seated away from the others, chatting with a rather buxom, florid-looking, red-necked woman of about fifty. the parson had his face purposely averted. at present he did not wish to claim acquaintance with the new-comer, whom he allowed to ascend to the fine suite of rooms reserved for him. next morning, as the prince crossed the hall to go out for a stroll about the town he created quite a flutter in the hotel, especially among the female guests. the place was filled by summer holiday-makers from london, each of whom was eager to rub elbows with a real live prince. indeed many were the flattering words whispered by pretty lips regarding his highness's good looks and general bearing. the worthy bayswater vicar was chatting with mrs edmondson in his usual clerical drawl, when the prince's sudden appearance caused him to look up. then turning to her again, he exclaimed: "oh, here's prince albert! i knew him quite well when i was british chaplain in hanover," and crossing to his highness he shook hands heartily, adding in the next breath: "i wonder if your highness would allow me to present to you my friend here, mrs edmondson?" "delighted, i'm sure," replied the younger man bowing before the rather stout, dark-haired lady, whose blatant pomposity crumpled up instantly, and who became red and white in turns. the introduction had been effected so suddenly that the relict of thomas edmondson, esquire, j.p., d.l., of milnthorpe hall, near whitby, had been taken completely off her feet--or "off her perch," as the merry cleric afterwards jocosely put it. she knew mr clayton to be a most superior person, but had no idea of his intimate acquaintance with princes of the blood-royal. she succeeded in stammering some conventional expressions of pleasure at being presented, and then lapsed into ignominious silence. "mrs edmondson has kindly expressed herself very interested in my poor parish," explained the parson, "just as your highness has been interested. i wrote to you a month ago to aix-les-bains, thanking you for your generous donation towards our children's holiday fund. it was really extremely kind of you." "oh, don't mention it, mr clayton," replied his highness. "i've been in your parish twice, remember, and i know well how very hard you work, and what a number of the deserving poor you have. i'm just going down in the town for a stroll. perhaps i'll see you after lunch? come to my room for a smoke." and then, bowing to the obese widow, he replaced his grey felt hat and strode out. "what a very charming man!" declared the widow when she recovered herself sufficiently to speak. "so he has been to your parish!" "oh, yes. he gives me most liberal donations," answered clayton in a low tone of confidence. "but he always prefers to remain anonymous, of course. he has been my best friend for years. i had no idea he was in england. he wrote me last from aix." but the widow's brain was already active. though possessing a deep religious feeling, and subscribing liberally to all sorts of charities just as her late husband had done, she was nevertheless a snob, and was already wondering whether, with the assistance of the pleasant-faced cleric, she could not induce the prince to be her guest at milnthorpe. she knew that his presence there would give to her house a _cachet_ which had always been lacking, and would raise her social position in the select county of yorks a hundred per cent. "most delightful man!" she repeated as they went forth into the grounds. "i hope i shall have the pleasure of a long chat with him." "oh, that won't be very difficult, my dear mrs edmondson," her companion replied. "any one introduced by me will, i feel assured, be received most cordially by him. he does me the honour of reposing the most implicit trust in myself." "a trust which certainly is not misplaced," declared the stout widow in her self-satisfied way, as she strutted along in a new grey cotton gown of latest _mode_, a large hat to match, a big golden chatelaine at her side, and a blue silk sunshade. "you are very flattering," replied clayton. "i--i fear i do not deserve such kind words, i only do my duty to my bishop and my parish, and prosecute the line of life which providence has laid out for me." "there are clergymen--and clergymen," the woman said with affected wisdom. "i have known more than one who has been utterly worthless. it is, therefore, very gratifying to meet a man with such a high mind, and such a keen sense of responsibility towards his poor backsliding fellow creatures as yourself." he was silent, for he was biting his nether lip. what would this estimable widow think if she knew the truth that he had no parish, no wife, no little children, and that he had no right to the sombre garb of religion in which he stood before her? a moment later he succeeded in changing the subject. the prince lunched alone in his private room, as he always did in hotels in order to impress both management and guests. it was another habit of his, in order to cause servants to talk, to have a big bottle of eau de cologne placed in his bath each morning. the chatter of servants as to his generosity, and his careless extravagance, was often most useful to him. while the parson was always parsimonious--which, by the way, was rather belied by his rubicund complexion--the prince was ever open-handed. the good-looking, well-dressed young man's slight foreign accent entirely disappeared whenever he became tremlett or lord nassington, or drummond, or any other imaginary person whose identity he from time to time assumed. at present, however, he spoke with just sufficient error of grammar and speech to betray his foreign birth, and as he rose, and stood looking out of the window he presented, in his cool, grey flannels, the ideal young foreign prince of english tastes and english education. already in the reading-room below, the "almanach de gotha" had been handled a dozen times by inquisitive half-pay colonels, and mothers with marriageable daughters. and what had been found printed there had caused a flutter in many hearts. the prince's audacity was superb. the suspicion of any little _coup_ he made as prince he always managed to wriggle out of. even though some evil-disposed persons had made ugly allegations against him at times, yet they were not believed. he was a prince and wealthy, therefore what motive had he to descend to the level of a thief? the parson, too, always managed to evade suspicion. his voice, his manner, and his general get-up were perfect. those who had visited his house in bayswater, not far from queen's road station, had found it to be the ideal and complete clergyman's home, with study and half-written sermons on the writing-table. their victims, indeed, were as puzzled as were the police. the prince's magnificent impertinence and amazing boldness carried him through it all. he was a fatalist. if he and his friends clayton, garrett, and mason were ever caught--well it would be just fate. till they actually fell into the hands of the police they would have a good time, and act fearlessly. as he stood at the window, with the eternal russian cigarette between his lips, gazing thoughtfully out upon the garden below, the door opened and the parson entered. "well, tommy, old chap!" exclaimed his highness, when in a few moments the two men were lounging in easy-chairs opposite each other. "now, tell me all about the old girl," he said laughing. "she walks like a pea-hen." "there's not much more to tell than what you already know," responded the parson, "except that she's all in a flutter at meeting you, and wants to chat with you again." "have you made any inquiries concerning her?" "of course. a week ago i ran over in secret to milnthorpe hall. fine place, big park, large staff of servants, butler an italian. husband was partner in a firm of shipbuilders at barrow, and left nearly a million to his wife. one son recently passed into the army, and just now stationed in cawnpore. rather rackety, his mother says. the old woman dotes on parsons." "and quite gone on you--eh?" clayton laughed. "she gave me a cheque for fifty pounds for my children's holiday fund last week," he said. "she's promised to come down and go round my parish one day, soon." his highness smiled knowingly. "is her place far from whitby?" he inquired, between whiffs of his cigarette. "about four miles, on the high road just past a place called swarthoe cross. grosmount station, on the pickering line is nearest." "the old girl, as far as i've been able to observe, is a purse-proud old crow," his highness remarked. "rather. likes her name to figure in subscription lists. the old man built and endowed some almshouses in whitby, and offered twenty thousand to his party for a knighthood, but was refused. it's a sore point, for she badly wanted to be lady edmondson." "how long since the dear one departed?" "two years." "and she's looking for a second, i suppose?" "that's my belief." "i wonder if she'd be attracted by the title of princess?" he laughed. "why, the very suggestion would take the silly old woman's breath away," declared the reverend thomas. "well, if she's so confoundedly generous, what is to prevent us from benefiting a bit? we sadly need it, tommy," the prince declared. "i had a letter from max the day before yesterday. he wants fifty wired without fail to the poste restante at copenhagen. he's lying low there, just now." "and one of the best places in europe," the parson exclaimed. "it's most snug at the `angleterre,' or at the `bristol.' i put in six months there once. stockholm is another good spot. i was all one summer at that little hotel out at salsjobaden, and had quite a good time. i passed as an american and nobody recognised me, though my description had been circulated all over europe. the swedish and danish police are a muddle-headed lot--fortunately for fellows like ourselves who want to lie undisturbed. have you sent max the money?" "i wired twenty-five this morning, and promised the balance in seven days," responded his highness, lighting a fresh cigarette with his half-consumed one. he always smoked in the russian style, flinging away the end when only half finished. of the proceeds of the various _coups_ made, his highness took one-third, with one-third to clayton, who was a schemer almost as ingenious as the prince himself, and the remaining third was divided between max mason, charles, and garrett, the chauffeur. the pair of conspirators spent the greater part of the afternoon together in exchanging confidences and arranging plans. then his highness rang for garrett, and ordered him to bring round the car at five o'clock. the parson descended to the hall below, being followed ten minutes later by his highness. the latter found his friend lounging picturesquely with the fascinated widow, and joined them at tea, greatly to the gratification of the "pompous old crow," as prince albert had designated her half an hour before. as they finished the tea and muffins, the big yellow racing-car drew slowly up to the door, and on seeing it the widow began to discuss motors and motoring. "i have a car at home--a sixty-mercedes--and i'm awfully fond of a run in it," she told the prince. "one gets about so quickly, and sees so much of the country. my poor husband hated them, so i never rode in one until after his death." "the car i have with me is a racer, as you see," remarked his highness. "it's a hundred horse-power, and made a record on the brooklands track just before i bought her. if you were not of the feminine sex, mrs edmondson, i'd invite you to go for a run with me," he laughed. "it's rather unsociable, for it's only a two-seater, with garrett on the step." "i'd love to go for a run," she declared. "it--well it really wouldn't be too great a breach of the convenances for a woman to go out on a racing-car, would it?" "i don't think so, mrs edmondson," remarked the reverend thomas, in his most cultivated clerical drawl. "but i would wrap up well, for the prince travels very fast on a clear road." so "the old crow" decided to accept his highness's invitation, and ascended to put on her brown motor-cap and veil and a thick coat against the chill, evening winds. two. a quarter of an hour later, with garrett--in his grey and red livery-- seated on the step, and the widow up beside him, the prince drew the great ugly yellow car out of the hotel entrance, while the parson, standing amid the crowd of jealous onlookers, waved his hand in merry farewell. in a few moments the siren screamed, and the open exhaust roared and spluttered as they crossed the stray, taking the road through starbeck to knaresborough, thence south by little ribston to wetherby. having turned off to the left through the town, they came upon a straight open road where, for the first time his highness, accustomed as he was to all the vagaries of his powerful car, put on a "move" over the ten miles into york, a run at such a pace that the widow clung to her seat with both hands, almost breathless. she had never travelled half so fast before in all her life. in york they ran round by the station past the old grey minster, then out again through clifton, as far as shipton moor, turning up to beningborough station, and thence into the by-roads to newton-upon-ouse, in the direction of knaresborough. once or twice while they tore along regardless of speed-limits or of police-traps, the powerful engine throbbing before them, she turned to his highness and tried to make some remarks. but it was only a sorry attempt. travelling at fifty miles an hour over those white roads, without a glass screen, or even body to the car, was very exhilarating, and after the first few minutes of fright, at the tearing pace, she seemed to delight in it. curious though it is, yet it is nevertheless a fact that women delight in a faster pace in a car than men, when once the first sensation of danger has passed. when they were safely back again in the hall of the hotel she turned to him to express her great delight at the run. "your car is, indeed, a magnificent one, your highness. i've never been on a racer before," she said, "but it was truly delightful. i never had a moment's anxiety, for you are such a sure and clever driver." her eye had been from time to time upon the speedometer, and she had noted the terrific rate at which they had now and then travelled, especially upon any downward incline. the prince, on his part, was playing the exquisite courtier. had she been a girl of twenty he could not have paid "old crow" more attention. as he was dressing for dinner with the aid of the faithful charles, the parson entered, and to him he gave an accurate description of the run, and of the rather amorous attitude the obese widow had assumed towards him. "good, my dear boy," exclaimed the urbane cleric, "i told you that she's the most perfect specimen of the snob we've ever met." a week went by--a pleasant week, during which mrs edmondson, her nose now an inch higher in the air than formerly, went out daily with the prince and his chauffeur for runs around the west riding. one afternoon they ran over to ripon, and thence across to the fine old ruins of fountains abbey. like many women of her class and character, the buxom lady delighted in monastic ruins, and as the pair strolled about in the great, roofless transept of the abbey she commenced an enthusiastic admiration of its architecture and dimensions. though living at whitby she had, curiously enough, never before visited the place. "crowland, in lincolnshire is very fine," she remarked, "but this is far finer. yet we have nothing in england to compare with pavia, near milan. have you ever been there, prince?" "only through the station," his highness replied. truth to tell he was not enthusiastic over ruins. he was a very modern up-to-date young man. they idled through the ruins, where the sunshine slanted through the gaunt broken windows, and the cawing rooks flapped lazily in and out. one or two other visitors were there besides themselves, and among them a lonely pale-faced man in grey, wearing gold pince-nez who, with hands behind his back, was studying the architecture and the various outbuildings. the prince and his companion brushed close by him in the old refectory, when he glanced up suddenly at a window. his face was familiar enough to his highness, who, however, passed him by as a stranger. it was max mason, only yesterday returned from copenhagen. that afternoon the widow grew confidential with her princely cavalier in motor clothes, while he, on his part, encouraged her. "ah!" he sighed presently as they were walking slowly together in a distant part of the great ruined fabric. "you have no idea how very lonely a man can really be, even though he may be born a prince. more often than not i'm compelled to live _incognito_, for i have ever upon me the fierce glare of publicity. every movement, every acquaintance i make, even my most private affairs are pried into and chronicled by those confounded press fellows. and for that reason i'm often compelled to hold aloof from people with whom i could otherwise be on terms of intimate friendship. half my time and ingenuity is spent upon the adoption of subterfuges to prevent people from discovering who i really am. and then those infernal illustrated papers, both here and on the continent, are eternally republishing my photograph." "it really must be most annoying, prince," remarked the widow sympathetically. "i often adopt the name of burchell-laing," he said, "and sometimes-- well," and he paused, looking her straight in the face. "i wonder, mrs edmondson, whether i might confide in you--i mean whether you would keep my secret?" "i hope i may be permitted to call myself your highness's friend," she said in a calm, impressive tone. "whatever you may tell me will not, i assure you, pass my lips." "i am delighted to have such a friend as yourself," he declared enthusiastically. "somehow, though our acquaintanceship has been of such brief duration, yet i feel that your friendship is sincere, mrs edmondson." by this speech the widow was intensely flattered. her companion saw it in her countenance. he did not allow her time to make any remark, but added: "my secret is-- well a rather curious one, perhaps--but the fact is that i have a dual personality. while being prince albert of hesse-holstein, i am also known as dick drummond, holder of two records on the brooklands motor-track. in the motor-world i'm believed to be a young man of means, who devotes his time to motor-racing--a motor-maniac in fact." the widow stared at him in blank astonishment. "are you really the mr drummond of whose wonderful feat i read of only the other day in the papers?" "i won the race at brooklands the other day," he said carelessly, "i won it with the car i have here now." "and nobody suspects that this mr drummond is a prince!" she exclaimed. "nobody. i could never afford to go racing in my own name. the kaiser would not allow it, you know. i have to be so very careful." "i quite understand that," remarked the widow. "but what an excellent motor-driver you must be! what a fine performance your record was! why, there was half a column in the _morning post_ about it!" "it was not any more difficult, or more dangerous, than some of the long quick runs i've made on the continent. from rome up to berlin, for instance, or from warsaw to ostend, i'm racing again at brooklands next week." "and may i come and see you?" she asked. "do let me. i will, of course, keep your secret, and not tell a soul." he hesitated. "you see nobody knows but yourself and garrett, my chauffeur--not even clayton. he's a good fellow, but parsons," he laughed, "are bad hands at keeping secrets. too much tea and gossip spoils them, i suppose." "but i'll swear to remain secret. only let me know the day and hour, and i'll go south and see you. i should love to see a motor-race. i've never seen one in my life." so at last, with seeming reluctance, his highness, having taken the flattered widow into his confidence, promised on condition that she said nothing to anybody, she should know the day and hour when to be at brooklands. as the warm summer days slipped by, it became more and more apparent to the parson that his friend, the widow, had become entirely fascinated by the lighthearted easy-going prince. she, on her part, recognised how, because of her intimate acquaintance with his highness, and the fact that he honoured her table with his presence sometimes at dinner, every one in the hotel courted her friendship in the hope that they might be introduced to the cousin of the kaiser. prince and parson were, truth to tell, playing a very big bluff. max had taken up his quarters at the spa hydro, and though meeting his two accomplices frequently in the streets, passed them by as strangers. now and then the parson went up to smoke with the prince after the wealthy widow had retired, and on such occasions the conversation was of such a character that, if she had overheard it, she would have been considerably surprised. one evening, when they were together, the valet, charles, entered, closing the door carefully after him. "well," asked his master, "what's the news?" "i've just left max down in the town," replied the clean-shaven servant. "he got back from milnthorpe hall this morning. he went there as an electrical engineer, sent by cameron brothers, of london, at the old woman's request, and examined the whole place with a view to a lighting installation. he reports that, beyond a few good paintings--mostly family portraits of the original owners--and a little _bric-a-brac_, there's nothing worth having. the old woman keeps her jewels in the bank at york, as well as greater part of the plate. what's in general use is all electro. besides, there are burglar-alarms all over the place." "then the old woman's a four-flush!" declared the parson tossing away his cigarette angrily. "i thought she'd got some good stuff there. that was my impression from the outside." "afraid of thieves, evidently," remarked the prince. "she's a lone woman, and according to what you say, the only men in the house are the italian butler, and a young footman." "if there's nothing there, what's the use troubling over her further?" his highness puffed thoughtfully at his "petroff." he was reflecting deeply, bitterly repenting that he had been such a fool as to tell her the truth regarding his motor-racing _nomade-guerre_. he could not afford to allow her to become his enemy. to abandon her at once would surely be a most injudicious action. "at present let's postpone our decision, tommy," he exclaimed at last. "there may be a way to success yet. you, charles, see max to-morrow, and tell him to go to london and lie low there. i'll wire him when i want him. you have some money. give him a tenner." and the man addressed soon afterwards withdrew. the events of the next two days showed plainly that the original plans formulated by the rev thomas clayton had been abandoned. the widow, with some trepidation, invited the prince and his clerical friend to be her guests at milnthorpe, but they made excuses, much to her chagrin. the exemplary vicar was compelled to return to his bayswater parish, while the prince was also recalled to london to race at brooklands, making the journey, of course, on the car. thus mrs edmondson found herself left alone in the "majestic," with her fellow guests full of wonder at what had really occurred. the widow, however, had been buoyed up by a few whispered words of the prince at the moment of his departure. "preserve my secret as you promised, mrs edmondson, and come to london one day next week. you always go to the langham--you say. i'll call on you there next friday. _au revoir_!" and he lifted his cap, shook her hand, and mounted at the wheel of the big mustard-coloured "racer." on the day appointed he called at the langham and found her installed in one of the best suites, prepared to receive him. he told her that, on the morrow at noon, he was to race at brooklands against carlier, the well-known frenchman, both cars being of the same horse-power. the distance was one hundred miles. she was delighted, and promised to observe every secrecy, and come down to witness the struggle. he remained to tea, chatting with her pleasantly. when he rose and bade her adieu, she sat alone for a long time thinking. was she dreaming? or was it really a fact that he, prince albert of hesse-holstein, had, for a few moments, held her hand tenderly? the difference of their ages was not so much, she argued--about twelve years. she was twelve years older. what did that matter, after all? if she, plain mrs edmondson, of milnthorpe, became princess albert of hesse-holstein! phew! the very thought of it took her breath away. she was a clever scheming woman, and had always been, ever since her school-girl days. she flattered herself that she could read the innermost secrets of a man's heart. yes. she was now convinced. this man, who had reposed confidence in her and told her of his dual personality, was actually in love with her. if he did not marry her, it certainly should not be her fault. with that decision she called marie, her french maid, and passed into her room to dress for dinner with her sister-in-law and her husband--a barrister--with the theatre and savoy to follow. next day at noon she was down at brooklands, where a number of motor enthusiasts and men "in the trade" had assembled. she saw a tall, slim figure in grey overalls and an ugly helmet-shaped cap with dark glasses in the eye-holes, mount upon a long grey car, while a mechanic in blue cotton and a short jacket buttoned tightly, gave a last look round to see that all was working properly. the man mounted the step, the signal was given by the starters, and the two cars, pitted against each other, both grey, with huge numbers painted on the front of their bonnets, came past her like a flash, while the mechanics swung themselves half out, in order to balance the cars as they went round the bend. after the first two or three laps the pace became terrific, and as the widow sat watching, she saw the prince _incognito_, his head bent to the wind, a slim, crouched figure at the wheel driving the long car at a pace which no express train could travel. at first he slowly forged ahead, but presently, after twenty minutes, the frenchman gradually crept up, inch by inch. it was the test of the two cars--a comparatively new english make against a french firm. dick drummond had many friends on the course. he was popular everywhere, and at regular intervals as he passed the stand where the widow was seated, a crowd of young, smart, clean-shaven men shouted to his encouragement. each time, with slight dust flying behind, he went round the bend, garrett, in his dirty blue clothes, swung himself out to balance the car, while to the prince himself all has become a blur. travelling at that terrific pace, the slightest swerve would mean a terrible accident, therefore, he had no eyes save for the track before him. garrett was busy every moment with the lubrication, and at the same time both feared tyre-troubles, the bugbear of the racing motorist. such speed sets up tremendous friction and consequent heat, therefore tyre-bursts are likely, and if a tyre does "go off" while a car is travelling at that pace, the consequences may be very serious. many a bad accident had occurred on that track, and more than one good man had lost his life. yet the prince, sportsman that he was, knowing that the widow's eyes were upon him, set his teeth hard and drove until once again he gradually drew away from his opponent, the renowned carlier. there were present representatives of the daily and the motor press. the race would be chronicled everywhere on the morrow. if the frenchman won, it would be an advertisement worth many thousands of pounds to the firm for whom he was driving. to-day every maker of motor-cars vies with his competitors, and strives strenuously to obtain the greatest advertisement. like so many other things about us, alas! it is not the quality of the car, or of the materials used, but a car's excellence seems to be judged by its popularity. and that popularity is a mere matter of advertisement. the best car ever turned out by the hand of man would never be looked at if not advertised and "boomed." the french driver, a man who had won a dozen races, including the circuit of the ardennes, and the florio cup, was trying to get an advertisement for the particular company for whom he was the professional racer, while dick drummond was merely trying his english car against the paris-built variety. the whirr-r was constant, now approaching and now receding, as the two cars went round and round the track with monotonous regularity. experts, men interested in various makes, stood leaning over the rails making comment. it was agreed on every hand that drummond was a marvel of cool level-headedness. his driving was magnificent, and yet he had apparently nothing to gain, even if he won the race. he was not financially interested, as far as was known, in the make of car he drove. he was merely a man of means, who had taken up motor-car racing as a hobby. the frenchman drove well, and the race, after the first three-quarters of an hour, was a keenly contested one. first drummond would lead, and then carlier. once drummond spurted and got half a lap ahead, then with the frenchman putting on speed, he fell behind again till they were once more neck and neck. time after time they shot past the widow, who had eyes only for her champion. her blue sunshade was up, and as she stood there alone she hoped against hope that the prince--the man who had told her his secret--would prove the victor. when he was in front, loud shouts rent the air from the men interested in the make of car he was driving, while, on the other hand, if the frenchman gained the vantage the applause from his partisans was vociferous. over all was a cloud of light dust, while the wind created by the cars as they rushed past fanned the cheeks of the woman watching her champion with such deep interest. a group of men near her were discussing him. "drummond is a magnificent driver," one remarked in admiration. "look at him coming up now. cagno never drove like that, even in his very best race." "i wonder what interest he has in the company? he surely wouldn't race for the mere excitement," remarked another. "interest!" cried a third man--and, truth to tell, he was max mason--"why he has the option to buy up the whole of the concern, lock, stock, and barrel. i heard so yesterday. the company gave it to him a fortnight ago. lawrence, the secretary, told me so. why, by jove! if he wins, the fortune of that make of car is secured. i suppose he has capital behind him, and will buy up the whole concern. i only wish i were in it. a tenth share would be a fortune." "you're right," remarked the first man. "dick drummond is a shrewd chap. if he wins he'll make a pot of money on the deal--you see. it'll be the biggest advertisement that a car has ever had in all the whole annals of motoring." mrs edmondson listened to all this in silence. she quite understood. the prince, in his character of dick drummond, had entered into the affair with a view to a big financial deal--the purchase of the important company who were responsible for the car he was driving. the car in question, be it said, was the actual mustard-coloured one in which she had careered about the west riding, although she did not recognise it in its garb of dirty slate-grey. she found it quite fascinating, standing there watching those two cars with their powerful roaring engines striving for the mastery, as mile after mile was covered at that frightful break-neck speed. her heart was with the man bent over his wheel, whom every one believed to be a commoner, and whom she alone knew to be a prince. and he, the cousin of the kaiser, had actually squeezed her hand! as the end of the race approached the excitement increased. the onlookers grouped themselves in little knots, watching critically for any sign of weakness in one or the other. but there was none. carlier was as dogged as his opponent, and kept steadily on until at the eightieth mile he gradually overhauled the englishman. there were still twenty miles to cover. but dick drummond was behind, quite an eighth of a lap. carlier had apparently been husbanding all his strength and power. the car he was driving was certainly a splendid one, and was behaving magnificently. would it beat the english make? as the last few laps were negotiated at a frightful speed the knots of onlookers became more and more enthusiastic. some cheered dick until they were hoarse, while others, with an interest in the car carlier was driving, cried "bravo! bravo!" the blood ran quickly in the widow's veins. ninety-five miles had been covered, and still drummond was behind more than half a lap. she watched his crouching figure, with head set forward, his position never altering, his chin upon his breast, his eyes fixed upon the track before him. garrett seemed ever at work, touching this and that at the order of his master, whose face was wholly protected from the cutting wind by the ugly mask, save mouth and chin. as the board showed ninety-seven miles he came at a fearful pace past the spot where mrs edmondson had again risen from her seat in her excitement. he was spurting, and so valiantly did he struggle, getting every ounce out of the hundred horse-power of his car, that he slowly, very slowly, crept towards the flying frenchman. "keep on, drummond!" shrieked the men, taking off their caps and waving them. "don't be beaten, old man!" but he could not hear them above the terrible roar of his exhaust. no express train ever designed had run so quickly as he was now travelling. official timekeepers were standing, chronometers in hand, calmly watching, and judges were making ready to declare the winner. every spectator stood breathless. it was really marvellous that one hundred miles could have been covered in that brief space of time while they had been watching. again, and yet again, the two cars flashed by, yet still dick lagged behind. suddenly, however, they came round for the last lap, and as they passed the watchful widow, the englishman like a shot from a gun, passed his opponent and won by twenty yards. when he pulled up, after having run again round the course to slacken speed, he almost fell into the arms of the crowd of men who came up to congratulate him. mrs edmondson had left her post of vantage and stood near by. she overheard one of them--it was mason--say: "by jove, dick! this is a wonderful run. you've broken the five, ten, and hundred mile records! the fortune of your car is made?" then the victor turned to his opponent and shook his hand, saying in french: "thank you, my dear carlier, for a very excellent race." the widow, after a brief chat, returned to town by rail, while garrett drove his master back to dover street. that night his highness dined with the widow at the langham, and she bestowed upon him fulsome praise regarding his prowess. "what make of car is yours?" she asked while they were lingering over their dessert in the widow's private sitting-room. "it's the st christopher," he answered. "st christopher!" she echoed. "what a funny name to give a car!" "it may appear so at first sight, but st christopher has been taken by motorists on the continent as their patron saint--the saint who for ages has guarded the believer against the perils of the way. so it's really appropriate, after all." "i heard them say that you've made the fortune of the car by your success to-day," she remarked. "yes," he answered carelessly. "anybody who cared to put in a few thousands now would receive a magnificent return for their money-- twenty-five per cent, within a year." "you think so?" she asked interestedly. "think, mrs edmondson?" he echoed. "i'm sure of it! why, the st christopher now holds the world's record, and you know what that means. the makers will begin to receive far more orders than they can ever execute. look at the napier, the itala, the fiat, and others. the same thing has happened. the st christopher, however, is in the hands of two men only, and they, unfortunately, lack capital." "you should help them, if it's such a good thing." "i'm doing so. now i've won the race i shall put in fifteen thousand-- perhaps twenty. they are seeing me to-morrow. as a matter of fact," he added, lowering his tone, "i mean to hold controlling interest in the concern. it's far too good a thing to miss." the fat widow, with her black bodice cut low, and the circle of diamonds sparkling upon her red neck, sipped her wine slowly, but said nothing. his highness did not refer to this matter again. he was a past-master of craft and cunning. later on, the rev thomas clayton was announced, and the trio spent quite a pleasant evening, which concluded by the lady inviting them both to milnthorpe the following week. at first the prince again hesitated. the widow sat in breathless expectancy. at all hazards she must get his highness to visit her. it would be known all over the county. she would pay a guinea each to the fashionable papers to announce the fact, for it would be worth so very much to her in the county. "i fear, mrs edmondson, that i must go to berlin next week," replied the prince. "i'm sure it's very good of you, but the emperor has summoned me regarding some affairs of my brother karl." "oh! why can't you postpone your visit, and come and see me first?" she urged in her most persuasive style. "mr clayton, do urge the prince to come to me," she added. "you can surely go to germany a week later, prince," exclaimed the cleric. "where's the kaiser just now?" "at kiel, yachting." "then he may not be in berlin next week?" "he has appointed to meet me at potsdam. his majesty never breaks an engagement." "then you will break yours, prince, and go with me to milnthorpe," declared the parson. "yes," cried mrs edmondson; "and we will have no further excuses, will we, mr clayton?" so his highness was forced to accept, and next day the wily widow returned to yorkshire to make preparations for the visit which was to shed such social lustre upon her house. three. the prince and the parson held several long interviews in the two days that followed, and it was apparent from one meeting which took place, and at which both mason and garrett were present, that some clever manoeuvre was intended. the quartette held solemn councils in the prince's chambers, and there was much discussion, and considerable laughter. the latter, it appeared, was in consequence of max's recollection of the wonderful record of his highness at brooklands. on the day appointed both prince and parson, attended by the faithful charles, left king's cross by train for whitby, garrett having started alone on the "forty," with orders to travel by way of doncaster and york, and arrive at milnthorpe by noon next day. the fine old place was, the prince found, quite a comfortable residence. the widow did the honours gracefully, welcoming her guests warmly. when the two friends found themselves alone in the prince's room, his highness whispered to the exemplary vicar: "i don't like the look of that italian butler, tommy. do you know i've a very strange fancy?" "of what?" "that i've met that fellow before, somewhere or other." "i sincerely hope not," was the clergyman's response. "where i've met him i can't remember. by jove! it'll be awkward for us if he recollects me." "then we'll have to watch him. i wonder if--" and the parson crossed noiselessly to the bedroom door and opened it suddenly. as he did so there was the distinct sound of some one scuffling round the corner in the corridor. both men detected it. there had been an eavesdropper! they were suspected! at dinner that night the pair cast furtive glances at the thin, clean-shaven face of the middle-aged italian butler, whose head was prematurely bald, but whose manners as a servant were perfect. ferrini was the name by which his mistress addressed him, and it was apparent that he was very devoted to her. the young footman was english--a cockney, by his twang. in the old panelled room, with its long family portraits and its old carved buffet laden with well-kept silver--or rather electro-plate, as the pair already knew--a well-cooked dinner was served amid flowers and cunningly-concealed lights. the table was a round one, and the only other guest was a tall, fair-haired young girl, a miss maud mortimer, the daughter of a neighbouring squire. she was a loosely built, slobbering miss, with a face like a wax doll, and a slight impediment in her speech. at first she seemed shy in the presence of the kaiser's cousin, but presently, when her awkwardness wore off, she grew quite merry. to the two visitors the meal was a perfect success. those dark watchful eyes of the italian, however, marred their pleasure considerably. even the parson was now convinced that the man knew something. what was it? where had the fellow met the prince before? was it under suspicious circumstances--or otherwise? next day garrett arrived with the car, while to the white house hotel at whitby came a quietly dressed and eminently respectable golfer, who gave his name as harvey, but with whom we are already familiar under the name of mason. the afternoon was a hot, breathless one, but towards five o'clock the prince invited his hostess to go for a run on the "forty"--repainted, since its recent return from the continent, dark blue with a coronet and cipher upon its panels. garrett who had had a look round the widow's "sixty" mercedes, in confidence told his master that it was all in order, and that the chauffeur was an experienced man. with the widow and her two guests seated together behind, garrett drove the car next day along the pretty road by pickering down to malton, returning by way of castle howard. the pace they travelled was a fast one, and the widow, turning to his highness, said: "really, prince, to motor with you is quite a new experience. my man would never dare to go at such a rate as this for fear of police-traps." "i'm pretty lucky in escaping them," responded the good-looking adventurer, glancing meaningly at the man in black clerical overcoat and cap. "the prince once ran from boulogne to nice in twenty-eight hours on his st christopher," remarked the rev thomas. "and in winter, too." "marvellous!" declared the widow, adjusting her pale-blue motor-veil, new for the occasion. "there's no doubt a great future before that car--especially after the record at brooklands." "rather!" exclaimed the rubicund vicar. "i'm only a poor parson, but if i had a little capital i should certainly put it in. i have inside knowledge, as they say in the city, i believe, mrs edmondson," he laughed. "from the prince?" "of course. he intends having the largest interest in the concern. they've had eight orders for racers in the last six days. a record at brooklands means a fortune to a manufacturer." his highness was silent, while the self-satisfied widow discussed the future of the eight-cylinder st christopher. returning to the hall, ferrini came forth bowing to his mistress, and casting a distinctly suspicious glance at the two visitors. both men noticed it, and were not a little apprehensive. they had played some clever games, but knew not from one moment to the other when some witness might not point a finger at them in open denunciation. while the prince was dressing for dinner charles said: "that butler fellow is far too inquisitive for my liking. i found him in here an hour ago, and i'm positive he had been trying to unlock your crocodile suit-case. he made an excuse that he had come to see whether you had a siphon of soda. but i actually caught him bending over your bag." the prince remained grave and silent. "where have we met that fellow before? i can't remember." "neither can i. his face is somehow familiar. i'm sure we've seen him somewhere!" "that's what the parson says. write to max at whitby, and tell him to come over on some pretext or other and get a glance at the man. post the letter yourself to-night." "perhaps the fellow is afraid of his plate," the valet exclaimed in an undertone, laughing. "he needn't be. it's all `b' electro--not worth taking away in a dung-cart. the only thing i've seen is the old woman's necklet, and that she keeps in her room, i fancy. if the sparklers are real they're worth a couple of thousand to the dutchman." "they are certainly real. she's got them out of the bank in your honour. her maid told me so to-day. and she means, i believe, to give a big dinner-party for some of the county people to meet you." "are you sure of this?" asked his master quickly. "the cook told the footman, who told me. the housekeeper to-day ordered a lot of things from london, and to-morrow the invitations are to be sent out." "are people coming here to dine and sleep?" "yes. eight bedrooms are to be prepared." "then keep an eye on that confounded italian. send that letter to max, and tell him to reply to you in cipher. his letter might fall into somebody else's hands. max might also inquire into what the police arrangements are about here--where the village constable lives, and where is the nearest police-station." "couldn't you send me in to whitby, and i'd give him all instructions, and tell him the state of affairs?" "yes. go in the morning. garrett will take you in on the car. say you're going to buy me a book i want." and with that his highness finished tying his cravat with care, and descended into the pretty drawing-room, where the widow, lounging picturesquely beneath the yellow-shaded lamp, awaited him. that evening the parson, who complained of headache on account of the sun during a walk in the morning, retired to his room early, and until past eleven the prince sat alone with his fat and flattered hostess. as she lolled back in the big silk-covered easy-chair, slowly fanning herself and trying to look her best, he, calm, calculating person that he was, had his eyes fixed upon her sparkling necklet, wondering how much the old jew in amsterdam would give for it. "what a splendid ornament!" he remarked, as though he had noticed it for the first time. "do you like it?" she asked with a smile. "it belonged to my husband's family." "beautiful!" remarked his highness, bending closer to examine it, for he had the eye of a connoisseur, and saw that it was probably french work of the eighteenth century. "many people have admired it," she went on. "my husband was very fond of jewellery, and gave me quite a quantity. i never keep it here, however, for a year ago an attempt was made to break into the place." "so you keep them in a safe deposit?" he exclaimed; "and quite right, too. diamonds are always a sore temptation to burglars." "i'm asking a few people to dinner next wednesday, and am sending to the bank in york for some of my ornaments," remarked the widow. "i hope they'll be safe here. since the attempt by thieves, i confess i've been awfully nervous." "oh, they'll be safe enough," declared the audacious adventurer, taking a fresh russian cigarette from his case. "i hope so. i have invited a few people--the best in the county--to meet your highness. i hope you won't object." "not at all," he replied affably. "only, as you know, i much prefer to remain _incognito_." "you're one of the most modest men i've ever met," she declared, in a soft voice, intended to be seductive. "i find life as a commoner much more agreeable than as a prince," he responded. "in _incognito_, i always enjoy freedom of speech and freedom of action, which, as a royalty, it is impossible to obtain." the widow's mind was ever active. she was straining her utmost to fascinate her guest. the difference in their ages was really not so very great. her secret hope was that she could induce him to make a declaration of love. fancy her, plain mrs edmondson, ridiculed by the county and only tolerated by a certain section of it, suddenly becoming a princess! milnthorpe was a beautiful old place, but to her it was but a sepulchre. she hated it because, while in residence there, she was buried alive. she preferred monte carlo, paris, or even cairo. "then the dinner-party will be a very smart one?" he remarked for want of something better to say. "and my hostess herself will surely be the smartest of them all," he added with a bow and an intent to flatter. "ah! i fear not," replied the widow with a slight sigh. "i dare say the diamonds which poor tubby gave me are as good as any worn by the other women, but as for smartness--well, prince, a woman's mirror does not lie," and she sighed again. "youth is but fleeting, and a woman's life is, alas! a long old age." "oh, come!" he laughed, lounging back in his chair. "you haven't yet arrived at the regretful age. life is surely still full of youth for you!" she was much gratified at that little speech of his, and showed it. he continued to flatter her, and with that cunning innate within him he slowly drew from her the fact that she would not be averse to a second marriage. he was fooling her, yet with such cleverness that she, shrewd woman that she was, never dreamed that he was laughing at her in his sleeve. so earnest, so sensible, so perfectly frank and straightforward was he, that when after half an hour's _tete-a-tete_ she found him holding her hand and asking her to become princess, she became utterly bewildered. what she replied she hardly knew, until suddenly, with an old-fashioned courtliness, he raised her fat, bejewelled hand gallantly to his lips and said: "very well. let it be so, mrs edmondson. we are kindred spirits, and our souls have affinity. you shall be my princess." "and then the old crow started blubbering," as he forcibly described the scene afterwards to the parson. for a few moments he held her in his embrace, fearful every moment that the ferret-eyed italian should enter. indeed, his every movement seemed to be watched suspiciously by that grave, silent servant. they mutually promised, for the present, to keep their secret. he kissed her upon the lips, which, as he declared to the parson, were "sticky with some confounded face-cream or other." then ferrini suddenly appeared, and his mistress dismissed him for the night. the prince, however, knew that he would not retire, but lurk somewhere in the corridor outside. he stood before the old jacobean fireplace, with its high overmantel of carved stone and emblazoned arms, a handsome man who would prove attractive to any woman. was it therefore any wonder that the ambitious widow of the shipbuilder should have angled after him? he had entirely eclipsed the parson. first their conversation was all of affection; then it turned upon something akin, money. upon the latter point the prince was utter careless. he had sufficient, he declared. but the widow was persistent in telling him the state of her own finances. besides the estate of milnthorpe, which produced quite a comfortable income, she enjoyed half the revenue from the great firm her husband had founded, and at that moment, besides other securities, she had a matter of seventy thousand pounds lying idle at her bank, over which she had complete control. she expected this would interest him, but, on the contrary, he merely lit a fresh cigarette, and having done so, said: "my dear mrs edmondson, this marriage of ours is not for monetary interest. my own estates are more than sufficient for me. i do not desire to touch one single penny of your money. i wish you to enjoy your separate estate, and remain just as independent as you are to-day." and so they chatted on until the chimes of the stable clock warned them it was two in the morning. then having given him a slobbery good-night kiss, they separated. before his highness turned in, he took from his steel despatch-box a small black-covered book, and with its aid he constructed two cipher telegrams, which he put aside to be despatched by charles from the whitby post office in the morning. the calm, warm summer days went slowly by. each afternoon the widow-- now perfectly satisfied with herself--accompanied her two guests on runs on the prince's "forty"--one day to scarborough, the next over the cleveland hills to guisborough, to helmsley on to the ruins of rievaulx, and to other places. one afternoon the parson made an excuse to remain at home, and the widow took the prince in to york in her own mercedes. arrived there, they took tea in the coffee-room of the station hotel, then, calling at a solicitor's office in coney street, appended their joint names to a document which, at the widow's instigation, had already been prepared. a quarter of an hour later they pulled up before the west riding bank in stonegate, and though the offices were already closed, a clerk on duty handed to the widow a box about eighteen inches square, tied with string, and sealed with four imposing red seals. for this she scribbled her name to a receipt, and placing it in the car between them, drove back by way of malton, pickering, and levisham. "this is the first time i've had my tiara out, my dear albert, since the burglars tried to get in," she remarked when they had gone some distance, and the mercedes was tearing along that level open stretch towards malton. "well, of course, be careful," answered her companion. then after a pause he lowered his voice so the chauffeur could not overhear, and said: "i wonder, gertrude, if you'll permit me to make a remark--without any offence?" "why, certainly. what is it?" "well, to tell the truth, i don't half like the look of that foreign servant of yours. he's not straight. i'm sure of it by the look in his eyes." "how curious! do you know that the same thought has occurred to me these last few days," she said. "and yet he's such a trusty servant. he's been with me nearly two years." "don't trust him further, gertrude, that's my advice," said his highness pointedly. "i'm suspicious of the fellow--distinctly suspicious. do you know much of him?" "nothing, except that he's a most exemplary servant." "where was he before he entered your service?" "with lady llangoven, in hertford street. she gave him a most excellent character." "well, take my warning," he said. "i'm sure there's something underhand about him." "you quite alarm me," declared the widow. "especially as i have these," and she indicated the sealed parcel at her side. "oh, don't be alarmed. while i'm at milnthorpe i'll keep my eyes upon the fellow, never fear. i suppose you have a safe in which to keep your jewels?" "yes. but some of the plate is kept there, and he often has the key." his highness grunted suspiciously, thereby increasing the widow's alarm. "now you cause me to reflect," she said, "there were several curious features about this recent attempt of thieves. the police from york asked me if i thought that any one in the house could have been in league with them. they apparently suspected one or other of the servants." "oh!" exclaimed the prince. "and the italian was at that time in your service?" "yes." "then does not that confirm our suspicions? is he not a dangerous person to have in a house so full of valuable objects as milnthorpe?" "i certainly agree. after the dinner-party on wednesday, i'll give him notice." "rather pay the fellow his month's money, and send him away," her companion suggested. then in the same breath he added: "of course it is not for me to interfere with your household arrangements. i know this is great presumption. but my eyes are open, and i have noted that the man is not all he pretends to be. therefore i thought it only my duty to broach the subject." "my interests are yours," cooed the widow at his side. "most decidedly ferrini shall go. or else one morning we may wake up and find that thieves have paid us a second visit." then, the chauffeur having put on a "move," their conversation became interrupted, and the subject was not resumed, for very soon they found themselves swinging through the lodge-gates of milnthorpe. wednesday night came. milnthorpe hall was aglow with light, the rooms beautifully decorated by a well-known florist, the dinner cooked by a _chef_ from london, the music played by a well-known orchestra stationed on the lawn outside the long, oak-panelled dining-room; and as one guest after another arrived in carriages and cars they declared that the widow had certainly eclipsed herself by this entertainment in honour of his highness prince albert of hesse-holstein. not a word of their approaching marriage was allowed to leak out. for the present, it was their own secret. any premature announcement might, he had told her, bring upon him the kaiser's displeasure. four. in the long drawing-room, receiving her guests, stood the widow, handsome in black and silver, wearing her splendid tiara and necklet of diamonds, as well as a rope of fine, well-matched pearls, all of which both the parson and his highness duly noted. she certainly looked a brilliant figure, while, beside her, stood the prince himself, with the miniature crosses of half a dozen of his decorations strung upon a tiny gold chain across the lappel of his dress-coat. several guests had arrived earlier in the day to dine and sleep, while the remainder, from the immediate neighbourhood, included several persons of title and social distinction who had accepted the invitation out of mere curiosity. half the guests went because they were to meet a real live prince, and the other half in order to afterwards poke fun at the obese tuft-hunter. the dinner, however, was an unqualified success, the thanks being in a great measure due to his highness, who was full of vivacity and brilliant conversation. everybody was charmed with him, while of course later on, in the corner of the drawing-room, the bayswater parson sang his friend's praises in unmeasured terms. the several unmarried women set their caps pointedly at the hero of the evening, and at last, when the guests had left and the visitors had retired, he, with the parson and two other male visitors, sir henry hutton, and a certain lionel meyer, went to the billiard-room. it was two o'clock when they went upstairs. the bayswater vicar had to pass the prince's room, in order to get to his own, but he did not enter further than the threshold. both men looked eagerly across at the dressing-table, upon which charles had left two candles burning. that was a secret sign. both men recognised it, and the prince instantly raised his finger with a gesture indicative of silence. then he exclaimed aloud: "well, good-night, clayton. we'll go for a run in the morning," and closed his door noisily, while the parson went along to his own room. the prince, always an early riser, was up at eight o'clock, and was already dressed when charles entered his room. "well?" he inquired, as was his habit. "there's a rare to-do below," exclaimed the valet. "the whole house has been ransacked in the night, and a clean sweep made of all the jewellery. the old woman is asking to see you at once." without ado, his highness descended, sending charles along to alarm the parson. in the morning-room he found the widow, with the two male guests and two ladies, assembled in excited conclave. as he entered, his hostess rushed towards him, saying: "oh, prince! a most terrible thing has happened! every scrap of jewellery, including my tiara and necklet, has been stolen!" "stolen!" he gasped, pretending not to have heard the news. "yes. i placed them myself in the safe in the butler's pantry, together with several cases the maids brought me from my guests. i locked them up just after one o'clock and took the key. here it is. it has never left my possession. i--" she was at that moment interrupted by the entrance of the parson, who, having heard of the robbery from the servants, began: "my de-ah mrs edmondson. this is really a most untoward circumstance-- most--" "listen," the widow went on excitedly. "hear me, and then advise me what to do. i took this key,"--and she held it up for their inspection--"and hid it beneath the corner of the carpet in my room. this morning, to my amazement, my maid came to say that the safe-door had been found ajar, and that though the plate had been left, all the jewellery had disappeared. only the empty cases remain!" "how has the safe been opened?" asked the prince, standing amazed. was it possible that some ingenious adventurer had got ahead of him? it certainly seemed so. "it's been opened by another key, that's evident," replied the widow. "and where's ferrini?" inquired his highness quickly. "he's missing. nobody has seen him this morning," answered the distressed woman. "ah, prince, you were right--quite right in your surmise. i believed in him, but you summed him up very quickly. i intended to discharge him to-morrow, but i never dreamed he possessed a second key." "he has the jewels, evidently," remarked sir henry hutton, himself a county magistrate. "i'll run into whitby, and inform the police, mrs edmondson. we have no idea which direction the fellow has taken." at that moment the door opened, and garrett, cap in hand, stood on the threshold. "well, what's the matter?" asked his master. "please, your highness, our car's gone. it's been stolen from the garage in the night!" the announcement caused an electrical effect upon the assembly. "then this man could also drive a car, as well as wait at table!" exclaimed sir henry. "myself, i always distrust foreign servants." "ferrini had one or two lessons in driving from my chauffeur, i believe," remarked the widow, now in a state of utter collapse. "never mind, mrs edmondson," said his highness cheerily. "allow sir henry and myself to do our best. the fellow is bound to be caught. i'll give the police the number of my car, and its description. and what's more, we have something very valuable here." and he drew out his pocket-book. "you recollect the suspicions of ferrini which i entertained, and which i explained in confidence to you? well, my valet has a pocket camera, and with it three days ago i took a snap-shot of your exemplary servant. here it is!" "by jove. excellent!" cried sir henry. "this will be of the greatest assistance to the police." and so it was arranged that the police of whitby should be at once informed. at breakfast--a hurried, scrappy meal that morning--every one condoled with the prince upon the loss of his car. surely the whole affair had been most cleverly contrived by ferrini, who had got clear away. just as the meal had concluded and the parson had promised to accompany sir henry over to whitby to see the police, he received a telegram calling him to his brother, who had just landed in liverpool from america, and who wished to see him at the adelphi hotel that evening. to his hostess he explained that he was bound to keep the appointment, for his brother had come from san francisco on some important family affairs, and was returning to new york by the next boat. therefore he bade adieu to mrs edmondson--"de-ah mrs edmondson," he always called her--and was driven in the dog-cart to grosmont station, while a few minutes later, the prince and sir henry set out in the widow's mercedes for whitby. the pair returned about one o'clock, and at luncheon explained what they had done. in the afternoon, the widow met his highness out in the tent upon the lawn, and they sat together for some time, he enjoying his eternal "petroff." indeed, he induced her to smoke one, in order to soothe her nerves. "don't upset yourself too much, my dear gertrude," he urged, placing his hand upon hers. "we shall catch the fellow, never fear. do you know, i've been wondering whether, if i went up to town and saw them at scotland yard, it would not be the wisest course. i know one of the superintendents. i met him when my life was threatened by anarchists, and the police put me under their protection. the whitby police seem very slow. besides, by this time ferrini is far afield." "i really think, albert, that it would be quite a good plan," exclaimed the widow enthusiastically. "if you went to scotland yard they would, no doubt, move heaven and earth to find the thief." "that's just what i think," declared his highness. "i'll go by the six-twenty." "but you'll return here to-morrow, won't you?" urged the widow. "the people i have here will be so disappointed if you don't--and--and as for myself," she added, her fat face flushing slightly--"well, you know that i am only happy when you are near me." "trust me, gertrude. i'll return at once--as soon as ever i've set the machinery of scotland yard in motion. i have the negative of the photo i took, and i'll hand it to them." and so that evening, without much explanation to his fellow guests, he ran up to town, leaving charles and most of his baggage behind. next day, mrs edmondson received a long and reassuring telegram from him in london. two days passed, but nothing further was heard. garrett, without a car, and therefore without occupation, decided to go up to london. the theft of the car had utterly puzzled him. whatever _coup_ his master and his friends had intended had evidently been effected by the man ferrini. all their clever scheming had been in vain. they had been forestalled. chapter twelve. conclusion. a week later. the soft summer afterglow flooded the pretty pale-blue upholstered sitting-room in the new palast hotel, overlooking the alster at hamburg, wherein the prince, the parson, and the pale-faced englishman, mason, were seated together at their ease. the prince had already been there two days, but clayton was staying over at the hamburgerhof, while mason, who had arrived _via_ copenhagen only a couple of hours before, had taken up his quarters at the kronprinzen, a smaller establishment in the jungfernstieg. the trio had been chatting, and wondering. mason had just shown them a telegram, which apparently caused them some apprehension. suddenly, however, a waiter entered with a card for herr stoltenberg, as the prince was there known. "show the gentleman in," he ordered in german. a moment later a well-dressed gentlemanly-looking young englishman in light travelling overcoat and dark-green felt hat entered. it was the valet charles. "by jove!" he exclaimed, as soon as the door had closed, "i had a narrow squeak--a confoundedly narrow squeak. you got my wire from amersfoort?" he asked of mason. "yes. i've just been explaining to the prince what happened on the night of the dinner-party," replied the pale-faced man. "tell me. i'm all anxiety to know," urged the valet. "i left garrett in rosendaal. he's utterly puzzled." "i expect he is," mason responded. "the fact is that he's just as much puzzled as the wily italian himself. it's a good job i was able to locate that fellow as one of old blair-stewart's servants up at glenblair castle. you remember--when we met `le bravache' on his own ground," mason went on. "well, i played the part of detective, and wrote to him secretly, asking him to meet me in whitby. he did so, and to him i confided my suspicions of you all, promising him a police reward of two hundred pounds if he kept his eye on you, watched, and informed me of all that was in progress. of course i bound him to the most complete secrecy. he tumbled into the trap at once. the prince had, of course, previously got wax-impressions of the widow's safe-key, for she had one day inadvertently given her key to him to go and unlock a cabinet in the library. three times the suspicious butler met me, and made secret reports on your doings. he watched you like a cat. then, on the night of the dinner-party, i had an appointment with him at one o'clock in the morning. i stole our car, and ran it noiselessly by the back road through the park to the spot where he was to meet me. he came punctually, and got in the car at my side to be driven into whitby, where he supposed three detectives were in waiting. my story was that we were to pick them up at the hotel, drive back to the hall, and arrest the lot of you. he was delighted with the project, and on joining me had a nip of whisky from my flask just to keep out the night air. ten minutes later he was _hors de combat_. i'd doctored the whisky, so, pulling up, i bound and gagged him, and deposited him in a disused cow-house on the opposite side of a field on the edge of roxby high moor--a place i'd previously prospected. having thus got rid of him, i turned the car back again to a spot within a mile of milnthorpe lodge-gates--previously arranged with the prince--and there, close by a stile, i found a biggish packet wrapped hurriedly in brown paper. its feel was sufficient to tell me that it was the boodle. the prince and the parson had secured it after ferrini had absented himself, and having placed it there in readiness for me, had quietly returned to their beds. with it under the seat i drove south as hard as i could by driffield into hull. before i got there i changed the identification plate, obliterated the coronets on the panels with the enamel i found in readiness, and leaving the car in a garage, got across to bergen, in norway, and thence by train down to christiania, copenhagen, and here." "well, you put me into a fine hole, prince," protested the valet good-humouredly. "i waited, expecting to hear something each day. the old woman telegraphed frantically to london a dozen times at least, but got no reply. she was just about to go up to town herself to see what had become of you, and i was beginning to feel very uneasy, i confess, when an astounding thing happened. the italian on the morning of the third day turned up, dirty, dazed, and in a state of terrible excitement. i saw him in the hall where he made a long rambling statement, mostly incoherent. the old woman and sir henry, however, would hear no explanation, and, calling the village constable, had him arrested at once. an hour later they carted him off to whitby. then i made an excuse, cleared out, and here i am! but i tell you," he added, "i had a narrow shave. he made an allegation that i was in the swindle, but every one thought he'd either gone mad, or was trying to bluff them." "it was unavoidable, my dear charles. i couldn't communicate with you," the prince explained. "never mind, my boy. there's a good share coming to you. the sparklers are worth at least ten thousand to our old friend the jew, and they'll be in his hands and out of their settings by this time to-morrow. besides, the silly old crow who thought she'd got a mug, and was going to marry me, has put up twenty thousand pounds in cash to get into the st christopher car deal. i got the money out of my bank safely yesterday, and it's now paid into a new account in the dresdener bank, in the name of karl stoltenberg." "well, you absolutely misled me," charles declared. "because it was imperative," replied herr stoltenberg, as he said he wished to be known in the immediate future. "the old crow was a fool from the very first. she was too ambitious, and never saw through our game or how the record at brooklands was faked entirely for her benefit. the parson's first idea was mere vulgar burglary. if we'd brought it off we should have found only a lot of worthless electro. but i saw a little farther. she had money, and with a little working would no doubt part. she did. i suppose by this time the poor vain old woman has given up all idea of becoming princess albert of hesse-holstein." "well, my dear prince," exclaimed the parson, "my own idea is that we should separate and all lie doggo for at least a year, now that we have so successfully touched the widow's mite." and this course was at once unanimously agreed. i happen, as an intimate friend of his audacious highness, to know his whereabouts at the present moment, and also the snug and unsuspected hiding-places of each of his four accomplices. but to reveal them would most certainly put my personal friends at new scotland yard upon their track. as a matter of fact, i am pledged to absolute secrecy. if i were not, my old college chum would never have dared to furnish me with the details of these stirring adventures of a romantic life of daring and subterfuge--adventures which i have here recounted, and in which perhaps the most prominent if sadly-deceived character has always been "the lady in the car." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the end. two little women on a holiday by carolyn wells author of the patty books, the marjorie books, two little women series, etc. frontispiece by e. c. caswell made in the united states of america to my very dear child friend frances althea sprague contents chapter i a wonderful plan ii a favourable decision iii the arrival iv a merry quartette v going about vi a matinee idol vii great preparations viii the caller ix fine feathers x a skating party xi the collections xii the lost jewel xiii suspicions xiv at the tea room xv dolly's ride xvi was it alicia? xvii a clever idea xviii four celebrations xix alicia's secret xx uncle jeff's four friends chapter i a wonderful plan "hello, dolly," said dotty rose, over the telephone. "hello, dot," responded dolly fayre. "what you want?" "oh! i can't tell you this way. come on over, just as quick as you can." "but i haven't finished my algebra, and it's nearly dinner time, anyway." "no it isn't,--and no matter if it is. come on, i tell you! you'd come fast enough if you knew what it's about!" "tell me, then." "i say i can't,--over the telephone. oh, dolly, come on, and stop fussing!" the telephone receiver at dotty's end of the wire was hung up with a click, and dolly began to waggle her receiver hook in hope of getting dotty back. but there was no response, so dolly rose and went for her coat. flinging it round her, and not stopping to get a hat, she ran next door to dotty rose's house. it was mid january, and the six o'clock darkness was lighted only by the street lights. flying across the two lawns that divided the houses, dolly found dotty awaiting her at the side door. "hurry up in, doll," she cried, eagerly, "the greatest thing you ever heard! oh, the very greatest! if you only can! oh, if you only can!" "can what? do tell me what you're talking about." dolly tossed her coat on the hall rack, and followed dotty into the roses' living-room. there she found dotty's parents and also bernice forbes and her father. what could such a gathering mean? dolly began to think of school happenings; had she cut up any mischievous pranks or inadvertently done anything wrong? what else could bring mr. forbes to the roses' on what was very evidently an important errand? for all present were eagerly interested,--that much was clear. mr. and mrs. rose were smiling, yet shaking their heads in uncertainty; bernice was flushed and excited; and mr. forbes himself was apparently trying to persuade them to something he was proposing. this much dolly gathered before she heard a word of the discussion. then mrs. rose said, "here's dolly fayre. you tell her about it, mr. forbes." "oh, let me tell her," cried bernice. "no," said mr. rose, "let her hear it first from your father. you girls can chatter afterward." so mr. forbes spoke. "my dear child," he said to dolly, "my bernice is invited to spend a week with her uncle, in new york city. she is privileged to ask you two girls to accompany her if you care to." dolly listened, without quite grasping the idea. she was slow of thought, though far from stupid. and this was such a sudden and startling suggestion that she couldn't quite take it in. "go to new york, for a week. oh, i couldn't. i have to go to school." mrs. rose smiled. "that's just the trouble, dolly. dot has to go to school, too,--at least, she ought to. bernice, likewise. but this invitation is so delightful and so unusual, that i'm thinking you three girls ought to take advantage of it. the question is, what will your parents say?" "oh, they'll never let me go!" exclaimed dolly, decidedly. "they don't want anything to interfere with my lessons." "no, and we feel the same way about dotty. but an exceptional case must be considered in an exceptional manner. i think your people might be persuaded if we go about it in the right way." "i don't believe so," and dolly looked very dubious. "tell me more about it." "oh, doll, it's just gorgeous!" broke in bernice. "uncle jeff,--he's father's brother,--wants me to spend a week with him. and he's going to have my cousin, alicia, there at the same time. and he wants us to bring two other girls, and alicia can't bring one, 'cause she's at boarding school, and none of the girls can get leave,--that is, none that she wants. so uncle said for me to get two, if i could,--and i want you and dot." "a whole week in new york! visiting!" dolly's eyes sparkled as the truth began to dawn on her. "oh, i wish i could coax mother into it. i've never been to new york to stay any time. only just for the day. how lovely of you, bernie, to ask us!" "there's no one else i'd rather have, but if you can't go, i'll have to ask maisie may. i must get two." "are you going anyway, dots?" "i don't know. i want to go terribly, but i don't want to go without you, dolly. oh, won't your mother let you?" "the only way to find out is to ask her," said mr. forbes, smiling. "suppose i go over there now and ask. shall i go alone, or take you three chatterboxes along?" "oh, let us go," and dotty sprang up; "we can coax and you can tell about the arrangements." "very well," agreed mr. forbes, "come along, then." so the four went across to the fayre house, and found the rest of dolly's family gathered in the library. "here is mr. forbes, daddy," said dolly, as they entered. mr. and mrs. fayre and trudy, dolly's older sister, greeted the visitor cordially, and looked with smiling inquiry at the eager faces of the three girls. dolly went and sat on the arm of her mother's chair, and, putting an arm around her, whispered, "oh, mumsie, please, please do say yes! oh, please do!" "yes to what?" returned mrs. fayre, patting her daughter's shoulder. "mr. forbes will tell you. listen." "it's this way, my dear people," began mr. forbes. he was a man with an impressive manner, and it seemed as if he were about to make a speech of grave importance, as, indeed, from the girls' point of view, he was. "my brother jefferson, who lives in new york, has invited my daughter to spend a week in his home there. he has asked also another niece, miss alicia steele. he wants these girl visitors to bring with them two friends, and as alicia does not wish to avail herself of that privilege, bernice may take two with her. she wants to take dotty and dolly. there, that's the whole story in a nutshell. the question is, may dolly go?" "when is this visit to be made?" asked mrs. fayre. "as soon as convenient for all concerned. my brother would like the girls to come some day next week, and remain one week." "what about school?" and mrs. fayre looked decidedly disapproving of the plan. "that's just it!" exclaimed dotty. "we knew you'd say that! but, mrs. fayre, my mother says this is the chance of a lifetime,--almost,--and we ought, we really ought to take advantage of it." "but to be out of school for a whole week,--and what with getting ready and getting home and settled again, it would mean more than a week--" "but, mother, we could make up our lessons," pleaded dolly, "and i do want to go! oh, i do want to go, just awfully!" "i should think you would," put in trudy. "let her go, mother, it'll be an education in itself,--the visit will. why, the girls can go to the museums and art galleries and see all sorts of things." "of course we can," said bernice, "and my uncle has a beautiful house and motor cars and everything!" "that's another point," said mr. fayre, gravely. "you must realise, mr. forbes, that my little girl is not accustomed to grandeur and wealth. i don't want her to enjoy it so much that she will come back discontented with her own plain home." "oh, nonsense, my dear sir! a glimpse of city life and a taste of frivolity will do your girl good. dolly is too sensible a sort to be a prey to envy or discontent. i know dolly fairly well, and i can vouch for her common sense!" "so can i," said bernice. "doll will enjoy everything to the limit, but it won't hurt her disposition or upset her happiness to see the sights of the city for a short time. oh, please, mr. fayre, do let her go." "just as her mother thinks," and mr. fayre smiled at the insistent bernice. "tell me of the household," said mrs. fayre. "is your brother's wife living?" "jeff has never been married," replied mr. forbes. "he is an elderly bachelor, and, i think is a bit lonely, now and then. but he is also a little eccentric. he desires no company, usually. it is most extraordinary that he should ask these girls. but i think he wants to see his two nieces, and he fears he cannot entertain them pleasantly unless they have other companions of their own age." "and who would look after the girls?" "mrs. berry, my brother's housekeeper. she is a fine noble-hearted and competent woman, who has kept his house for years. i know her, and i am perfectly willing to trust bernice to her care. she will chaperon the young people, for i doubt if my brother will go to many places with them. but he will want them to have the best possible time, and will give them all the pleasure possible." "that part of it is all right, then," smiled mrs. fayre; "it is, to my mind, only the loss of more than a week of the school work that presents the insuperable objection." "oh, don't say insuperable," urged mr. forbes. "can't you bring yourself to permit that loss? as dolly says, the girls can make up their lessons." "they can--but will they?" "i will, mother," cried dolly; "i promise you i will study each day while i'm in new york. then i can recite out of school hours after i get back, and i'll get my marks all the same." "but, dolly dear, you can't study while you are in new york. there would be too much to distract you and occupy your time." "oh, no, mrs. fayre," observed bernice, "we couldn't be all the time sightseeing. i think it would be fine for all us girls to study every day, and keep up our lessons that way." "it sounds well, my dear child," and mrs. fayre looked doubtfully at bernice, "and i daresay you mean to do it, but i can't think you could keep it up. the very spirit of your life there would be all against study." "i agree with that," said mr. forbes, decidedly. "i vote for the girls having an entire holiday. lessons each day would spoil all their fun." "they couldn't do it," trudy said. "i know, however much they tried, they just couldn't study in that atmosphere." "why not?" asked bernice. "we're not young ladies, like you, trudy. we won't be going to parties, and such things. we can only go to the shops and the exhibitions and for motor rides in the park and such things. we could study evenings, i'm sure." "it isn't only the lessons," mrs. fayre said; "but i can't feel quite willing to let my little girl go away for a week without me." her pleasant smile at mr. forbes robbed the words of any reflection they might seem to cast on his brother's invitation. "i'm sure mrs. berry would do all that is necessary in the way of a chaperon's duties, but these girls are pretty young even for that. they need a parent's oversight." mrs. fayre was about to say a mother's oversight, when she remembered that bernice had no mother, and changed the words accordingly. there was some further discussion, and then mrs. fayre said she must have a little time alone to make up her mind. she knew that if dolly did not go, maisie may would be asked in her place, but she still felt undecided. she asked for only an hour or two to think it over, and promised to telephone directly after dinner, and tell mr. forbes her final decision. this was the only concession she would make. if not acceptable then her answer must be no. "please do not judge my wife too harshly," said mr. fayre as he accompanied mr. forbes and bernice to the door. "she still looks upon dolly as her baby, and scarcely lets her out of her sight." "that's all right," returned mr. forbes. "she's the right sort of a mother for the girl. i hope she will decide to let dolly go, but if not, i quite understand her hesitancy, and i respect and admire her for it. bernice can take somebody else, and i trust you will not try over hard to influence mrs. fayre in dolly's favour. if anything untoward should happen, i should never forgive myself. i would far rather the children were disappointed than to have mrs. fayre persuaded against her better judgment." the forbeses departed, and then dotty rose went home, too. "oh, dollyrinda," she whispered as they stood in the hall, "do you s'pose your mother'll ever say yes?" "i don't believe so," replied dolly mournfully. "but, oh, dot, how i do want to go! seems 'sif i never wanted anything so much in all my life!" "you don't want to go a bit more than i want to have you. why, dollops, i shan't go, if you don't." "oh, yes, you will, dotty. you must. it would be silly not to." "but i couldn't! i just couldn't. do you s'pose i could have one single bit of fun going to places without you? and knowing you were here at home, longing to be with us! no-sir-ee! i just couldn't pos-sib-ly! so just you remember that, old girl; no dolly,--no dotty! and that's sure!" there was a ring in dotty's voice that proclaimed an unshakable determination, and dolly knew it. she knew that no coaxing of bernice or even of dolly herself, could make dotty go without her chum. for chums these two were, in the deepest sense of the word. they were together all that was possible during their waking hours. they studied together, worked and played together, and occupied together their little house, built for them, and called treasure house. dolly knew she couldn't enjoy going anywhere without dotty, and she knew dot felt the same way about her. but this was such a big, splendid opportunity, that she hated to have dotty miss it, even if she couldn't go herself. the two girls said good-night, and dolly went back to her family in the library. "i hate terribly to disappoint you, dolly darling," began her mother, and the tears welled up in dolly's blue eyes. this beginning meant a negative decision, that was self evident, but dolly fayre was plucky by nature and she was not the sort that whines at disappointment. "all right," she said, striving to be cheerful, and blinking her eyes quickly to keep those tears back. "now, look here, edith," said mr. fayre, "i don't believe i can stand this. i don't differ with you regarding the children, but i do think you might let dolly go on this party. even if it does take a week out of school, she'll get enough general information and experience from a week in the city to make up." "that's just it, will. but the experiences she gets there may not be the best possible for a little girl of fifteen." "oh, fifteen isn't an absolute baby. remember, dear, dolly is going to grow up some day, and she's getting started." "and another thing. i asked mr. forbes a few questions while you were talking to bernice, and it seems this other girl, the niece, alicia, is attending a very fashionable girls' boarding school." "well, what of that? you speak as if she were attending a lunatic asylum!" "no; but can't you see if dolly goes to stay a week with wealthy bernice forbes and this fashionable alicia, she'll get her head full of all sorts of notions that don't belong there?" "no, i won't, mother," murmured dolly, who, again on her mother's arm chair, was looking earnestly into the maternal blue eyes, so like her own. and very lovingly mrs. fayre returned the gaze, for she adored her little daughter and was actuated only by the best motives in making her decisions. "and, here's another thing," said dolly, "dot won't go, if i don't. it seems too bad to spoil her fun." "oh, yes, she will," said mrs. fayre, smiling. "she would be foolish to give up her pleasure just because you can't share it." "foolish or not, she won't go," repeated dolly. "i know my dot, and when she says she won't do a thing, she just simply doesn't do it!" "i'd be sorry to be the means of keeping dotty at home," and mrs. fayre sighed deeply. chapter ii a favourable decision all through dinner time, mrs. fayre was somewhat silent, her eyes resting on dolly with a wistful, uncertain expression. she wanted to give the child the pleasure she craved, but she had hard work to bring herself to the point of overcoming her own objections. at last, however, when the meal was nearly over, she smiled at her little daughter, and said, "all right, dolly, you may go." "oh, mother!" dolly cried, overwhelmed with sudden delight. "really? oh, i am so glad! are you sure you're willing?" "i've persuaded myself to be willing, against my will," returned mrs. fayre, whimsically. "i confess i just hate to have you go, but i can't bear to deprive you of the pleasure trip. and, as you say, it would also keep dotty at home, and so, altogether, i think i shall have to give in." "oh, you angel mother! you blessed lady! how good you are!" and dolly flew around the table and gave her mother a hug that nearly suffocated her. "there, there, dollygirl," said her father, "go back and finish your pudding while we talk this over a bit. are you sure, edith, you are willing? i don't want you to feel miserable and anxious all the week dolly is cut loose from your apron string." "no, will; it's all right. if you and the roses and trudy, here, all agree it's best for dolly to go, it seems foolish for me to object. and it may be for her good, after all." "that's what i say, mother," put in trudy. "doll isn't a child, exactly. she's fifteen and a half, and it will be a fine experience for her to see a little bit of the great world. and she couldn't do it under better conditions than at mr. forbes' brother's. the forbes' are a fine family, and you know, perfectly well, there'll be nothing there that isn't just exactly right." "it isn't that, trudy. but,--oh, i don't know; i daresay i'm a foolish mother bird, afraid of her littlest fledgling." "you're a lovely mother-bird!" cried dolly, "and not foolish a bit! but, oh, do decide positively, for i can't wait another minute to tell dot, if i'm going." "very well," said mrs. fayre, "run along and tell dotty, and bernice, too." dolly made a jump and two hops for the telephone, and soon the wires must have bent under the weight of joyous exclamations. "oh, dolly, isn't it fine!" "oh, dotty, it's splendid! i can hardly believe it!" "have you told bernice?" "not yet. had to tell you first. when do we go?" "next tuesday, i think. now, you tell bernie, so she can write to her uncle that we accept." and then there was another jubilation over the telephone. "fine!" cried bernice, as she heard the news. "lovely! i'd so much rather have you two girls than any others. i'll write uncle jeff to-night that i'll bring you. and i'll come over to-morrow, and we'll decide what clothes to take, and all that." mrs. fayre sighed, as dolly reported this conversation. "you girls can't do a bit of serious study all the rest of the time before you go," she said. "now, dolly, i'll have to ask you to do your lessons every day, before you plan or talk over the trip at all." "yes, mother, i will," and dolly started at once for her schoolbooks. it was hard work to put her mind on her studies, with the wonderful possibilities that lay ahead of her. but she was exceedingly conscientious, was dolly fayre, and she resolutely put the subject of the new york visit out of her mind, and did her algebra examples with diligence. not so, dotty rose. after dolly's telephone message, she flung her schoolbooks aside, with a shout of joy, and declared she couldn't study that night. "i don't wonder," laughed her father. "why, dot, you're going on a veritable fairy-tale visit. you are quite justified in being excited over it." "i thought you and dolly didn't like bernice forbes very much," said mrs. rose. "we didn't use to, mother. but lately, she's been a whole lot nicer. you know doll made her sort of popular, and after that, she helped along, herself, by being ever so much more pleasant and chummy with us all. she used to be stuck up and disagreeable; ostentatious about being rich, and all that. but nowadays, she's more simple, and more agreeable every way." "that's nice," observed mr. rose. "forbes is not a popular man, nor a very good citizen; i mean he isn't public-spirited or generous. but he's a fine business man and a man of sound judgment and integrity. i'm glad you're chums with his daughter, dotty. and you ought to have a perfectly gorgeous time on the new york visit." "oh, we will, daddy; i'm sure of that. what about clothes, mumsie?" "i'll have to see about that. you'll need a few new frocks, i suppose, but we can get them ready made, or get miss felton to come for a few days. there's nearly a week before you start." "i want some nice things," declared dotty. "you know bernice has wonderful clothes, and i suppose her cousin has, too." "maybe your wardrobe can't be as fine as a rich man's daughter," said her father smiling at her, "but i hope mother will fix you up so you won't feel ashamed of your clothes." "i think they'll be all right," and mrs. rose nodded her head. "i'll see mrs. fayre to-morrow, and we'll find out what bernice is going to take with her. you children can't need elaborate things, but they must be right." the rose family spent the entire evening talking over the coming trip, and when dotty went to bed she set an alarm clock, that she might rise early in the morning to do her lessons for the day before breakfast. she did them, too, and came to the table, smiling in triumph. "did all my examples and learned my history perfectly," she exulted. "so you see, mother, my trip won't interfere with my education!" "oh, you can make up your lessons," said her father, carelessly. "i wouldn't give much for a girl who couldn't do a few extra tasks to make up for a grand outing such as you're to have." "i either!" agreed dotty. "but the fayres are worried to death for fear doll will miss a lesson somewhere." "dolly learns more slowly than you," remarked her mother. "you have a gift for grasping facts quickly, and a good memory to retain them." "you ought to be grateful for that," said mr. rose. "i am," returned dotty. "when i see dolly grubbing over her history, i can't understand how she can be so long over it." "but she's better in mathematics than you are." "yes, she is. she helps me a lot with the old puzzlers. she thinks we'll study in new york. but somehow, i don't believe we will." "of course, you won't," laughed mr. rose. "why, you'd be foolish to do that. a fine opportunity has come to you girls, and i advise you to make the most of it. see all the sights you can; go to all the pleasant places you can; and have all the fun you can cram into your days. then go to sleep and rest up for the next day." "good, sound advice, dads," said dotty; "you're a gentleman and a scholar to look at it like that! but i don't know as we can go about much; i believe mr. forbes is quite an old man, and who will take us about?" "i thought the housekeeper would," said mrs. rose. "i don't know at all, mother. it seems bernie has never visited there before, though she has been to the house. her uncle is queer, and why he wants his two nieces all of a sudden, and his two nieces' friends, nobody knows. it's sort of mysterious, i think." "well, it's all right, as long as you're properly invited. it seems strange bernie's cousin didn't care to take a friend." "yes; i wonder what she's like. bernice hasn't seen her since they were little girls. she lives out in iowa, i think. she's at school in connecticut somewhere. it's all sort of unknown. but i like that part of it. i love new experiences." "i always do too, dot," said her father. "i reckon when you come home, you'll have lots to tell us." "new york isn't so strange to me," said dotty. "i've been there a lot of times, you know. but to go and stay in a house there,--that's the fun. it's so different from going in for a day's shopping with mother. or the day we all went to the hippodrome." "you'll probably go to the hippodrome again, or some such entertainment," suggested mrs. rose. "i dunno. i imagine the old gentleman doesn't favour such gaiety. and the housekeeper lady will likely be too busy to do much for us. we can't go anywhere alone, can we?" "i don't know," replied mrs. rose. "you must be guided by circumstances, dotty. whatever mr. forbes and mrs. berry say for you to do, will be all right. make as little trouble as you can, and do as you're told. you'll have fun enough, just being with the girls." "indeed i will! oh, i'm so glad dolly can go. i wouldn't have stirred a step without her!" "no, i know you wouldn't," agreed her mother. next day at school recess, bernice showed the girls a letter she had received from alicia. "you know i haven't seen her in years," bernice said; "i think she must be more grown up than we are, though she's only just sixteen." "dearest bernice:" the letter ran. "isn't it simply screaming that we're to camp out at uncle jeff's! i'm wildly excited over it! do you know why he has asked us? i'm not sure, myself, but i know there's a reason, and it's a secret. i heard aunt and father talking about it when i was home at christmas time, but when i drifted into the room, they shut up like clams. however, we'll have one gay old time! think of being in new york a whole week! i don't want to take any of the girls from here, for fear they'd bring back tales. don't you bring anybody you can't trust. oh, i've laid lots of plans, but i won't tell you about them till i see you. bring all your best clothes, and ask your father for quite a lot of money, though i suppose uncle jeff will give us some. i can scarcely wait for the time to come! "devotedly yours, "alicia." "what does she mean by a secret reason for your going?" asked dolly. "i haven't an idea," replied bernice. "my father knows, though, i'm quite sure, 'cause he smiled at that part of alicia's letter. but he wouldn't tell me. he only said, 'oh, pshaw, nothing of any consequence. it's very natural that a lonely old bachelor uncle should want to see his little girl nieces, and it's very kind and thoughtful of him to ask you to bring friends.' he says uncle jeff is not fond of company, and spends all his time by himself. he's a scientist or naturalist or something, and works in his study all day. so, dad says, it'll be fine for us girls to have four of us to be company for each other." "it's gorgeous!" sighed dotty, in an ecstasy of anticipation. "but what does your cousin mean by bringing a lot of money? we can't do that,--and our parents don't let us spend much money ourselves, anyway." "oh, that'll be all right," said bernice, carelessly. "we won't need much money. and if we go to matinees, or anything like that, of course, i'll pay, if uncle jeff doesn't. you two girls are my guests, you know. you needn't take any money at all." "all right," said dolly, and dismissed the subject. money did not figure very largely in her affairs, as, except for a small allowance for trifles, she never handled any. nor did dotty, as these two were still looked upon as children by their parents. but motherless bernice bought her own clothes and paid her own bills; and so generous was her father, that there was no stint, and as a consequence, she too, cared and thought little about money as a consideration. "i'm a little scared of that alicia person," said dolly to dotty as they walked home from school. "pooh! i'm not. she's no richer than bernie." "it isn't that. i'm not afraid of rich people. but she seems so grown up and--well, experienced." "well, sixteen is grown up. and we're getting there, dolly. i shall put up my hair while i'm in new york." "why, dot rose! really?" "yes, that is if alicia does. bernice often does, you know." "i know it. i'll ask mother if i may." "goodness, dolly, can't you decide a thing like that for yourself? what would your mother care?" "i'd rather ask her," returned the conscientious dolly. mrs. fayre smiled when dolly put the question. "i've been expecting that," she said. "you'd better do as the others do, dear. if they twist up their pigtails, you do the same." "i'll show you how," offered trudy. "if you're going to do it, you may as well learn a becoming fashion." so trudy taught her little sister how to coil up her yellow, curly mop in a correct fashion, and very becoming it was to dolly. but it made her look a year or two older than she was. "oh!" exclaimed her mother, when she saw her, "where's my baby? i've lost my little girl!" "just as well," said dolly, delighted at her achievement and pirouetting before a mirror. "it's time i began to be a little grown up, mother." "yes, i suppose it is. i felt just the same when trudy put up her curls for the first time. i am a foolish old thing!" "now, don't you talk like that," cried dolly, "or i'll pull down my hair and wear it in tails till i'm fifty!" "no, dear; do as you like about it. and, if you want to wear it that way while you're in new york, do. it's all right." more discussions came with the new dresses. mrs. fayre was for keeping to the more youthful models, but mrs. hose felt that the girls should have slightly older styles. bernice's frocks were almost young ladyish, but those were not copied. dotty and dolly always had their things similar, different in colouring but alike in style. so their respective mothers had many confabs before the grave questions were settled. and the result was two very attractive wardrobes that were really right for fifteen-year-old girls. afternoon dresses of voile or thin silk, and one pretty party dress for each of dainty chiffon and lace. morning frocks of linen and a tailored street suit seemed to be ample in amount and variety. bernice had more and grander ones, but the two d's were entirely satisfied, and watched the packing of their small trunks with joyful contentment. dolly put in her diary, declaring she should write a full account of each day's happenings. "then that'll do for me," said dotty. "i hate to keep a diary, and what would be the use? it would be exactly like yours, doll, and i can borrow yours to read to my people after you've read it to your family." "all right," agreed dolly, good-naturedly, for what pleased one girl usually suited the other. they didn't take their schoolbooks, for it made a heavy load, and too, all agreed that it would spoil the pleasant vacation. the girls promised to make up the lessons on their return, and so it seemed as if nothing marred the anticipation of their splendid holiday. chapter iii the arrival the girls were put on the train at berwick and as mrs. berry was to meet them at the station in new york, they were allowed to make the trip alone. "i think this train ride the best part of the whole thing," said dolly, as she took off her coat and hung it up beside her chair. "i do love to ride in a parlour car; i wish we were to travel in it for a week." "i like it, too," agreed bernice. "oh, girls, what fun we're going to have! you won't like uncle jeff at first, he's awful queer; but there's one thing sure, he'll let us do just as we like. he's very good-natured." "what's mrs. berry like?" asked dotty. "i suppose we'll obey her?" "yes, but she's good-natured, too. i can twist her round my finger. oh, we'll have a high old time." "s'pose mrs. berry shouldn't be there to meet us when we get in," suggested dolly. "what then?" "she will, of course," said bernice. "but if she shouldn't, if the car broke down or anything like that, we'd take a taxicab right to the house." this sounded very grown-up and grand to the two d's, who had had little experience with taxicabs, and dotty exclaimed with glee, "i'd rather do that than go in mr. forbes' car! what a lark it would be! oh, bernice, can we go somewhere in a taxicab while we're there?" "i don't know, dotty,--i s'pose so. but why should we? uncle jeff has two cars, and the chauffeur will take us wherever we want to go." "but i've never been in a taxicab,--without older people, i mean, and i'd love to try it." "well, i expect you can," returned bernice, carelessly. "i dare say you can do pretty much anything you want to." "but do behave yourself, dot," cautioned dolly; "you're so daring and venturesome, i don't know what mischief you'll get into!" "oh, we won't get into mischief," laughed bernice. "there'll be enough fun, without doing anything we oughtn't to." "of course, i won't do anything wrong," declared dotty, indignantly. "but there are so many things to do, it sets me crazy to think of it!" "i'm going to buy things," announced bernice. "there aren't any decent shops in berwick, and i'm going to get lots of things in the city stores." "we can't do that," said dolly, decidedly. "we haven't lots of money like you have, bernie; i'm going to see things. i want to see all the pictures i possibly can. i love to look at pictures." "i want to go to the theatre," and dotty looked at bernice inquiringly. "will we, do you s'pose?" "oh, yes, mrs. berry will take us. perhaps we can go to matinees, alone." "i don't think we ought to do that," and dolly looked distinctly disapproving. "oh, come now, old priggy-wig," said dotty, "don't be too awfully 'fraidcat!" "it will be just as mrs. berry says," bernice informed them. "father said i must obey her in everything. uncle jeff won't pay much attention to what we do, but mrs. berry will. i wonder if alicia will be there when we get there." but alicia wasn't. as the girls came up the stairs into the great station, they saw a smiling, motherly-looking lady waiting to welcome them. "here you are!" she cried, and it wasn't necessary for bernice to introduce her friends, except to tell which was which. "i feel as if i knew you," mrs. berry said, and her kindly grey eyes beamed at them both. "now i must learn to tell you apart. dolly with golden hair,--dotty with black. is that it?" "is alicia here?" asked bernice, eagerly. "no; she's coming in at the other station. she won't arrive for an hour or more. where are your checks? let george take them." the footman took the checks and looked after them, while mrs. berry piloted the girls to the waiting motor-car. it was a large and very beautiful limousine, and they all got in, and were soon rolling up fifth avenue. "how splendid it all is!" exclaimed dolly, looking out at the crowds. "it seems as if we must get all snarled up in the traffic, but we don't." "kirke is a very careful driver," said mrs. berry, "and he understands just where to go. how you've grown, bernice. i haven't seen you for two years, you know." "yes, i have. we're all getting to be grown-ups, mrs. berry. isn't alicia?" "i don't know. i haven't seen her for a long time. but she's at a very fashionable school, so i suppose she is full of notions." "what are notions?" asked dolly, smiling up into the speaker's eyes. "oh, notions," and mrs. berry laughed, "well, it's thinking you know it all yourself, and not being willing to listen to advice. i don't believe you have notions, dolly." "no, she hasn't," said bernice. "but dotty and i have! however, i promised dad i'd obey you, mrs. berry, in everything you say, so i don't believe you'll have any trouble with us." "land, no! i don't expect any. now, let me see; i've two big rooms for you all, with two beds in each. i suppose you'll room with your cousin, bernice, and these other two girls together?" "yes, indeed," said dolly, quickly, for she had no idea of rooming with any one but dotty. "that settles itself, then." "but suppose i don't like alicia," said bernice, doubtfully. "suppose we quarrel." "all right," and mrs. berry nodded her head, "there are other rooms. i don't want you to be uncomfortable in any particular. i thought you'd like it better that way. the two rooms i've fixed for you, are two big ones on the second floor. mine is on the same floor, in the rear. your uncle's rooms are upon the third floor." "i think it sounds fine," declared bernice, "and i'm sure i'll get on with alicia, if she does have 'notions.'" and then they reached the big house on upper fifth avenue, and as they entered, dolly felt a little appalled at the grandeur everywhere about her. not so dotty. she loved elegance, and as her feet sank into the deep soft rugs, she laughed out in sheer delight of being in such beautiful surroundings. mrs. berry took the girls at once to their rooms, and sent the car for alicia. "i'll give the front room to dotty and dolly," she said to bernice; "and you can have the other. it's quite as nice, only it looks out on the side street, not on the avenue." "that's right, mrs. berry. dot and dolly are more company than alicia and i are. we're really members of the family. i was so surprised at uncle jeff's inviting us. why did he do it, anyway?" "why, indeed!" said mrs. berry, but her expression was quizzical. "no one can tell why mr. forbes does things! he is a law unto himself. now, girls, your trunks are coming up. and here are two maids to unpack for you and put your things away. you can direct them." mrs. berry bustled away, and two neat-looking maids appeared, one of whom entered bernice's room and the other attended on dot and dolly. "which frocks shall i leave out for dinner?" the maid asked, as she shook out and hung up the dresses in the wardrobe. "the blue voile for me," replied dolly, "and--er--what is your name?" "foster, miss," and she smiled at dolly's gentle face. "and the rose-coloured voile for me," directed dotty. "you'll find, foster, that our frocks are pretty much alike except as to colour." "yes, ma'am. and these patent leather pumps, i daresay?" "yes, that's right," and dotty flung herself into a big easy-chair and sighed in an ecstasy of delight that she really had a ladies' maid to wait on her. dolly didn't take it so easily. she wanted to look after her own things, as she did at home. but dotty motioned to her not to do so, lest foster should think them inexperienced or countrified. their simple belongings were soon in place, and the two d's wandered into bernice's room. here everything was helter-skelter. finery was piled on beds and chairs, and hats were flung on top of one another, while shoes and veils, gloves and hair-brushes were scattered on the floor. "it's my fault," laughed bernice, "don't blame perkins for it! i'm hunting for a bracelet, that has slipped out of my jewel case, somehow. it must be in this lot of stockings!" it wasn't, but it turned up at last, inside of a hat, and bernice gave a little squeal of relief. "that's all right, then!" she cried; "i wouldn't lose that for worlds! it's a bangle father gave me for christmas, and it has a diamond in the pendant. all right, perkins, put the things away any place you like. but save hooks and shelves enough for my cousin alicia. she'll be in this room with me." each large room had what seemed to the two little women ample room for clothes. but bernice had brought so much more than they did, that her things overflowed the space provided. "i'll wear this to-night, for dinner," she said, pulling out a light green silk from a pile of frocks. "oh, bernie!" exclaimed dotty; "not that! that's a party dress, isn't it?" "not exactly. i've more dressy ones. but it is a little fussy for a quiet evening at home, i suppose. well, what shall i wear?" "this?" and dotty picked out a simple challie. "oh, gracious, no! that's a morning frock. i guess i'll stick to the green. don't you think so, perkins?" "yes, miss. it's a lovely gown." the maid was interested in the girls, her life in the quiet house being usually most uneventful. this sudden invasion of young people was welcomed by all the servants, and there were many in jefferson forbes' palatial home. mrs. berry had engaged several extra ones to help with the increased work, but the two maids assigned to the girls were trusted and tried retainers. and then, there was a bustle heard downstairs, a peal of laughter and a perfect flood of chatter in a high, shrill voice, and with a bounding run up the staircase, alicia burst into the room where the three girls were. "hello, bernice, old girl!" she shouted, and flung her arms around her cousin's neck, giving her resounding smacks on her cheek. "golly! molly! polly! but i'm glad to see you again! forgotten me, have you? take a good look! your long lost alicia! 'tis really she! and look who's here! i'll bet a pig these two stammering, blushing young misses are the far-famed dolly and dotty, but which is which?" "guess!" said dotty, laughing, as dolly stood dismayed, and half frightened at this whirlwind of a girl. "all right, i'll guess. lemmesee! dolly fayre and dotty rose;--you see i know your names. why, the fair one is dolly of course, and that leaves dotty to be you!" "right!" cried dotty, and alicia flew to her and grabbed her as enthusiastically as she had bernice. "oh, you chickabiddy!" she cried. "i foresee we shall be chums! i love towhead, too, but i'm a little afraid of her. see her steely blue eyes, even now, fixed on me in utter disapprobation!" "not at all," said dolly, politely, "i think you're very nice." the calm demureness of this speech was too much for alicia, and she went off in peals of laughter. "oh, you're rich!" she cried; "simpully rich! won't we have fun! i'm 'most afraid i'll love you more'n the other one--the black haired witch." and then dolly was treated to an embrace that ruffled her hair and collar and came near ruffling her temper. for dolly didn't like such sudden familiarity, but her good manners kept her from showing her annoyance. "oh, you don't fool me!" cried alicia; "i know you think i'm awful! too rambunctious and all that! but i'm used to it! at school they call me that awful alicia! how's that?" "fine, if you like it--and i believe you do!" laughed dolly. "mind reader! i say, bernice, where am i to put my togs! you've squatted on every available foot of property in this room! i thought it was to be ours together! but every single bed in the room is covered with your rags. i've two trunks of duds, myself." "two trunks! why did you bring so much?" "had to have it. there's lots of things i carry around with me beside clothes. why, i've brought a whole chafing-dish outfit." "goodness, alicia," exclaimed bernice, "do you think uncle jeff won't give us enough to eat?" "i take no chances. but it isn't that. it's thusly. say we're out of an evening, and on returning, are sent straight to beddy-by. how comforting to have the necessary for a little spread of our own! oh, i've tried it out at school, and i can tell you there's something in it. but, where, ladies and gentlemen, where i ask you, can i put it? bernice has all the places full." "leave it in your trunk," suggested dolly, "until you want to use it." "angel child!" cried alicia. "i knew you had some brain concealed among that mop of yellow silk floss! i'll do that same, and be thankful if my voracious cousin leaves me enough room for a few scant and skimpy clodings!" and then, as perkins unpacked alicia's trunks and foster came in to help, the room really seemed incapable of holding all. "we'd better get out, doll," said dotty, laughing, as alicia deposited an armful of petticoats and dressing jackets in her lap. "oh, don't go! i want you to hold things till i find a place for them. and, say, are your own wardrobes full?" "no!" cried dolly. "just the thing! put your overflow in our room, we've less than a dozen dresses between us." "goodness gracious me! oh, you're going to buy a lot in the city,--i see!" "no, we're not," said dolly, who never sailed under false colours; "we brought all we had, all our best ones. i mean. but we don't have things like you and bernice." "you frank little bunch of honesty! isn't she the darling! all right, neighbours, since you insist, i'll put some seventeen or twenty-four of my paris confections in your empty cupboards." of course, alicia was exaggerating, but she really did take half a dozen frocks into the two d's room, and hung them in outspread fashion right over their best costumes. "and, now, since one good turn deserves another," she rattled on, "i'll just toss my extra shoes and slippers into your lowest bureau drawer, and my stockings into the next one. there's plenty of room." so there was, by crowding the contents already there. but alicia was so quick of motion, and so gay of speech that they couldn't refuse to let her have her way. and, too, it seemed inevitable, for there wasn't room for alicia's things and bernie's in the same room, and the d's shelves and bureau drawers showed much vacancy. "now, what do we wear this evening?" alicia asked, tossing over her dresses. "this, let us say?" she held up a low--necked evening gown of silk tissue. "no, you goose," said bernice, decidedly. "your respected uncle would think you were crazy! here, wear this." bernice picked out one of the least ornate, a pretty dresden silk, and then the girls all began to dress for dinner. chapter iv a merry quartette "ready for dinner, girls?" sounded a cheery voice, and mrs. berry came bustling in. "almost, aren't you? try to remember that mr. forbes doesn't like to be kept waiting." "i'm scared to death," said bernice, frankly. "i never know what to say to uncle jeff, anyway, and being a guest makes it all the harder." "pooh! i'm not afraid," exclaimed alicia. "leave it to me. i'll engineer the conversation and all you girls need to do is to chip in now and then." alicia was a tall, fair girl, larger than any of the others. she was plump and jolly-looking, and had a breezy manner that was attractive because of her smiling good-natured face. she laughed a great deal, and seemed to have no lack of self-confidence and self-assurance. her dress had many fluttering ribbons of vivid pink, and frills of lace of an inexpensive variety. she led the way downstairs, calling out, "march on, march on to victory!" and the others followed. the four entered the drawing-room, and found there a tall, dignified gentleman, in full evening dress. he had a handsome face, though a trifle stern and forbidding of expression, and his closely trimmed white beard was short and pointed. he had large, dark eyes, which darted from one girl to the other as the quartette appeared. "h'm," he said, "this is bernice; how do you do, my dear? how do you do?" "i'm alicia," announced that spry damsel, gaily, and she caught him by the hand. "yes, and very like your mother, my dear sister. well, alicia, if you possess half her fine traits, you'll make a splendid woman. but i doubt if you are very much like her except in appearance. you look to me like a flibbertigibbet,--if you know what that is." "yes, and i am one, thank you, uncle jeff," and alicia laughed gaily, not at all abashed at her uncle's remark. "these are my two friends from berwick, uncle," said bernice, introducing them. "dolly fayre and dotty rose." "you are welcome, my dears," and the courteous old gentleman bowed to them with great dignity. "i trust you can find amusement and enjoy your visit here. now, let us dine." dolly looked curiously at her host, as he stood back, and bowed the girls out of the room, before he followed them, but dotty was so interested in the surroundings that she gave no second thought to mr. forbes, as she passed him. the dining-room was a marvel of old time grandeur. nothing was modern, but the heavy black walnut sideboard and chairs spoke of long usage and old time ways. mrs. berry did not appear at the table, and evidently was not expected, as no place was set for her. mr. forbes sat at the head, and two girls at either side. a grave-faced, important looking butler directed the service, and two footmen assisted. everything was of the best, and wonderfully cooked and served, but dolly and dotty could scarcely eat for the novelty and interest of the scene. "come, come, miss fayre, eat your terrapin," counselled mr. forbes, "it is not so good cold." "oh, gracious, uncle jeff," exclaimed the volatile alicia, "don't call those kids miss! call 'em dotty and dolly, do." "can't remember which is which," declared her uncle, looking at the two d's. "i can remember the last names, because the fayre girl is fair, and the rose girl is rosy. i shall call them rosy and fairy, i think." "all right, mr. forbes," and dolly smiled and dimpled at the pretty conceit. "and you two must call me something less formal," he said. "suppose you call me uncle forbes, as you are not really my nieces." this seemed a fine plan and was readily adopted. "and now," mr. forbes went on, "i don't mind confessing that i've no idea what to do with you girls. by way of entertainment, i mean." "oh, uncle jeff," said bernice, "it's enough entertainment just to be here in new york for a week. why, we will have all we can do to see the shops and the sights--i suppose we can go around sight-seeing?" "bless my soul, yes. of course you can. go where you like. order the motors whenever you choose. mrs. berry will do all you want her to; just tell her your plans. all i ask is that i shan't be troubled with you during the day." "why, uncle," cried alicia, "won't we see you at all in the daytime?" "no. i am a very busy man. i cannot have my work interrupted by a pack of foolish chatterers." "whatever did you ask us for?" alicia's round face wore a look of surprised inquiry. "never you mind, miss. i had a very good reason for asking you, but one doesn't always tell his reasons. however, i expect to see you every night at the dinner table, and for an hour or so afterward in the drawing room. the rest of the time you must amuse yourselves. have you any friends in new york, any of you?" "i have a few," said dotty, as the inquiring glance turned in her direction. "invite them to the house when you choose," said mr. forbes, hospitably, if curtly. "oh, no, sir," said dotty, quickly. "they wouldn't fit in." mr. forbes chuckled. "you have a sense of the fitness of things, miss rosy. why wouldn't they fit in?" "why, they're plain people. not grand and elegant like you." "oho! so i'm grand and elegant, am i? and are you grand and elegant, too?" dotty considered. "yes," she said, finally, "i am, while i'm here. i'm very adaptable, and while i'm in new york, i mean to be just as grand and elegant as the house itself." mr. forbes burst into hearty laughter. "good for you!" he cried. "when you're in rome do as the romans do. and you, fairy of the golden curls. are you going to be grand, also?" "i can't," returned dolly, simply. "i can only be myself, wherever i am. but i shall enjoy all the beautiful things as much as dotty." again mr. forbes laughed. "you're a great pair," he said. "i'm glad i discovered you. and now, bernice and alicia, haven't you any young friends in town you'd like to invite to see you here? remember the house is yours." "oh, uncle jeff," cried alicia, "you are too good! do you mean it? can we do just as we like? invite parties, and all that?" "yes, indeed. why not? have the best time possible, and see to it that those two little friends of yours have a good time, too." "but won't you go with us anywhere?" asked bernice; "i thought you'd take us to see places where we can't go alone." "bless my soul! take a lot of chattering magpies sightseeing! no, not if i know it! mrs. berry will take you; and on a pinch, i might let my secretary accompany you, say to see the downtown big buildings or the bright lights at night." "oh, do you have a secretary?" asked alicia. "what's he like?" "fenn? oh, he's a good sort. very dependable and really accommodating. he'll be of great help to you, i'm sure." "what is your business, mr. forbes?" asked dolly, who was much interested in this strange type of man. she had never seen any one like him, and he seemed to her a sort of fairy godfather, who waved his wand and gave them all sorts of wonderful gifts. "i haven't any business, my dear. my occupation and amusement is collecting specimens for my collection. i am an entomologist and ornithologist, if you know what those big words mean." "yes, sir, i do." and dolly smiled back at him. "mayn't we see your collection?" "i'm not sure about that, i don't show it to everybody. it is up on the fourth floor of this house, and no one is allowed up there unless accompanied by myself or mr. fenn. by the way, remember that, all of you. on no account go up to the fourth floor. not that you'd be likely to, for you have no call above the second floor, where your rooms are. but this is a special command. the house is yours, as i said, but that means only this first floor and the one above it." "goodness me, uncle jeff!" said alicia, "you needn't lay down the law so hard! we're not absolute babes, to be so strictly cautioned and forbidden! if you desire us not to go up the second flight of stairs, of course we won't." "that's right, my dear, don't. but i do lay it down as a law, and it is the only law i shall impose on you. except for that you can follow out your own sweet wills." "but," said dotty, her dark eyes brilliant with the excitement of the occasion, "i'm not always sure as to what is proper. i want to do just what is right. is it correct for us to go about alone, in your big motor, with your chauffeur? can we go to the art galleries and the shops alone?" "bless my soul! i don't know." the big man looked absolutely helpless. "surely you must know such things yourselves. what do your mothers let you do at home? oh, well, if you're uncertain, ask mrs. berry, she'll know. she's an all-round capable person, and she'll know all the unwritten laws about chaperonage and such things. do as she bids you." this was satisfactory, and dotty began at once to make plans for the next day. "let's go to the metropolitan museum first," she said. "all right," chimed in alicia, "we'll go there in the morning, then. but to-morrow is wednesday, and i want to go to a matinee in the afternoon. can't we, uncle jeff?" "of course you can. tell fenn, he'll see about tickets for you. just tell mrs. berry to see fenn about it." "oh," sighed the outspoken dotty, "it is just like fairyland! tell fenn! just as if fenn were a magician!" "he is," said mr. forbes, smiling at her enthusiasm. "i couldn't keep house without fenn. he's my right hand man for everything. you girls mustn't claim too much of his time and attention, for i keep him on the jump most of the time myself." "does your collection keep you so busy?" asked dolly, whose secret longing was to see that same collection, which greatly interested her. "yes, indeed. there's always work to be done in connection with it. i've a lot of new specimens just arrived to-day, awaiting classification and tabulation." after dinner they all returned to the drawing-room. mr. forbes seemed desirous of keeping up a general conversation, but it was hard to find a subject to interest him. he would talk a few moments, and then lapse into absent-mindedness and almost forget the girls' presence. at times, he would get up from his chair, and stalk up and down the room, perhaps suddenly pausing in front of one of them, and asking a direct question. "how old are you?" he asked abruptly of alicia. "sixteen," she replied. "i was sixteen last october." "you look like your mother at that age. she was my only sister. she has now been dead--" "ten years," prompted alicia. "i was a little child when she died." "and who looks after you now? your father's sister, isn't it?" "yes, uncle jeff. my aunt nellie. but i'm at school, you know. i shall be there the next four years, i suppose." "yes, yes, to be sure. yes, yes, of course. and you, bernice? you have no mother, either. but who looks after you?" "i look after myself, uncle. father thinks there's no necessity for me to have a chaperon in our little home town." "not a chaperon, child, but you ought to have some one to guide and teach you." "dad doesn't think so. he says an american girl can take care of herself." "maybe so, maybe so. it might be a good thing for you to go to school with alicia." "it might be. but i like our high school at home, and we learn a lot there." "but not the same kind of learning. do they teach you manners and general society instruction?" "no," said bernice, smiling at thought of such things in connection with the berwick school. "but my father thinks those things come naturally to girls of good families." "maybe so, maybe so." and then mr. forbes again walked up and down the long room, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. dolly and dotty felt a little uncomfortable. they wanted to make themselves agreeable and entertaining, but their host seemed interested exclusively in his young relatives, and they hesitated lest they intrude. as it neared ten o'clock, mr. forbes paused in his pacing of the room, bowed to each of the four in turn, and then saying, courteously, "i bid you goodnight," he vanished into the hall. immediately mrs. berry entered. it seemed a relief to see her kind, smiling face after the uncertain phases of their eccentric host. "now you young people must go to bed," the housekeeper said; "you're tired,--or ought to be. come along." not at all unwillingly they followed her upstairs, and she looked after their comfort in most solicitous fashion. after she had shown them how to ring the various bells to call the maids or to call her, in emergency, and had drawn their attention to the ice water in thermos bottles, and told them how to adjust the ventilators, she bade them good-night and went away. the rooms had a communicating door, and this alicia promptly threw open and came through into the two d's room. "oh, isn't it all the greatest fun! and did you ever see anything so crazy as uncle jeff? what he wants us here for, _i_ don't know! but it's something,--and something especial. he never asked us here to amuse him! of that i'm certain." "not much he didn't!" and bernice followed alicia, and perched on the edge of dolly's bed. "isn't he queer? i didn't know he was so funny as he is. did you, alicia?" "no; i haven't seen him since i was a tiny mite. but he's all right. he knows what he's about and i don't wonder he doesn't want us bothering around if he's busy." "i'd love to see his collection," said dolly. "i'm awfully interested in such things." "oh, well, you'll probably have a chance to see it while we're here," and alicia began taking down her hair. "now, girls, let's get to bed, for i'm jolly well tired out. but i foresee these poky evenings right along, don't you? we'll have to cram a lot of fun into our days, if the evenings are to be spent watching an elderly gentleman stalking around thus." and then alicia gave a very good imitation of the way mr. forbes walked around. she didn't ridicule him; she merely burlesqued his manner as he paused to speak to them in his funny, abrupt way. "what are you, my dear?" she said, looking at dolly. "are you a specimen i can use in my collection? no? are you a fashionable butterfly? i say, bernice," she suddenly broke off, "why was he so curious about the way we live at home, and who brings us up?" "i don't know; and anyway, he knew how long our mothers have been dead and who takes care of us. why did he ask those things over and over?" "i think he's a bit absent-minded. half the time he was thinking of matters far removed from this charming quartette of bewitching beauties. well, it's up to us to make our own good time. i move we corral the big limousine for to-morrow morning and go in search of adventure." "to the metropolitan?" suggested dolly. "yes, if you like, though i'd rather go to the shops," and alicia gathered up her hairpins to depart. her long light hair hung round her shoulders, and she pushed it back as she affectionately kissed dolly and dotty good-night. "you are sure two darlings!" she said emphatically. chapter v going about four smiling, eager girls trooped down to breakfast the next morning, and found mrs. berry awaiting them. she presided at the table, and they learned that she would always do so at breakfast and luncheon, though she did not dine with them. "uncle jeff says we may go to a matinee to-day," said alicia, delightedly. "will you see about the tickets, mrs. berry? uncle said mr. fenn would get them if you asked him to." "yes, my dear. and what are your plans for the morning? do you want the car?" "yes, indeed," said bernice. "we're going to the museum and i don't know where else." "to the library, if we have time," suggested dolly. "i want to see all the places of interest." "places of interest never interest me," declared alicia. "i think they're poky." "all right," returned dolly, good-naturedly, "i'll go wherever you like." "now, don't be so ready to give in, doll," cautioned bernice. "you have as much right to your way as alicia has to hers." "no, i haven't," and dolly smiled brightly; "this is the house of alicia's uncle, and not mine." "well, he's my uncle, too, and what i say goes, as much as alicia's commands." "there, there, girls, don't quarrel," said mrs. berry, in her amiable way. "surely you can all be suited. there are two cars, you know, and if you each want to go in a different direction, i'll call taxi-cabs for you." dolly and dotty stared at this new lavishness, and dotty said, quickly, "oh, no, don't do that! we all want to be together, wherever we go. and i think, as dolly does, that bernice and alicia must choose, for they belong here and we're guests." "you're two mighty well-behaved little guests," and mrs. berry beamed at them. "well, settle it among yourselves. now, what matinee do you want to go to? i'll order tickets for you." "will you go with us, mrs. berry?" asked dolly. "no, child. i hope you'll let me off. you girls are old enough to go alone in the daytime, and kirke will take you and come to fetch you home. now, what play?" "i want to see 'the lass and the lascar'; that's a jolly thing, i hear," said alicia, as no one else suggested anything. "musical?" asked bernice. "yes," said mrs. berry, "it's a comic opera, and a very good one. i've seen it, and i'm sure you girls will enjoy it. i'll order seats for that. be sure to be home for luncheon promptly at one, so you can get ready for the theatre." "i can't believe it all," whispered dotty, pinching dolly's arm, as they ran upstairs to prepare for their morning's trip. "think of our going to all these places in one day!" "and six days more to come!" added dolly. "oh, it is too gorgeous!" arrayed in warm coats and furs, the laughing quartette got into the big car, and george, the polite footman, adjusted the robes, and asked their destination. "to the metropolitan museum, first," said alicia, unselfishly. "oh," cried dolly, with sparkling eyes, "are we really going there first! how good of you, alicia!" and from the moment they entered the vestibule of the great museum, dolly was enthralled with what she saw. like one in a trance, she walked from room to room, drinking in the beauty or strangeness of the exhibits. she ignored the catalogues, merely gazing at the pictures or curios with an absorbed attention that made her oblivious to all else. "watch her," said alicia, nudging dotty. "she doesn't even know where she is! just now, she's back in assyria with the people that wore that old jewellery!" sure enough dolly was staring into a case of antique bracelets and earrings of gold and jewels. she moved along the length of the case, noting each piece, and fairly sighing with admiration and wonder. "my gracious! isn't she the antiquarian!" exclaimed alicia. "look here, old professor wiseacre, what dynasty does this junk belong to?" dolly looked up with a vacant stare. "come back to earth!" cried alicia, shaking with laughter. "come back to the twentieth century! we mourn our loss!" "yes, come back, dollums," said dotty. "there are other rooms full of stuff awaiting your approval." dolly laughed. "oh, you girls don't appreciate what you're seeing. just think! women wore these very things! real, live women!" "well, they're not alive now," said bernice, "and we are. so give us the pleasure of your company. say, dolly, some day you come up here all alone by yourself, and prowl around--" "oh, i'd love to! i'll do just that. and then i won't feel that i'm delaying you girls. where do you want to go now?" "anywhere out of this old museum," said alicia, a little pettishly. "you've had your way, dotty, now it's only fair i should have mine. we've about an hour left; let's go to the shops." "yes, indeed," and dolly spoke emphatically. "i didn't realise that i was being a selfish old piggy-wig!" "and you're not," defended bernice. "we all wanted to come here, but, well, you see, dolly, you do dawdle." "but it's such a wonder-place!" and dolly gazed longingly backward as they left the antiquities. "and there are rooms we haven't even looked into yet." "dozens of 'em," assented alicia. "but not this morning, my chickabiddy! i must flee to the busy marts and see what's doing in the way of tempting bargains." "all right," and dolly put her arm through alicia's. "what are you going to buy?" "dunno, till i see something that strikes my fancy. but in the paper this morning, i noticed a special sale of 'pastime toggery' at follansbee's. let's go there." "never heard of the place," said dolly. "but let's go." "never heard of follansbee's! why, it's the smartest shop in new york for sport clothes." "is it? we never get sport clothes. unless you mean middies and sweaters. my mother buys those at the department stores." "oh, you can't get exclusive models there!" and alicia's face wore a reproving expression. "no," said outspoken dolly, "but we don't wear exclusive models. we're rather inclusive, i expect." "you're a duck!" cried alicia, who, though ultra-fashionable herself, liked the honesty and frankness of the two d's. they reached the shop in question, and the four girls went in. the berwick girls were a little awed at the atmosphere of the place, but alicia was entirely mistress of the situation. she had many costumes and accessories shown to her, and soon became as deeply absorbed in their contemplation as dolly had been in the museum exhibits. "why, for goodness' sake!" cried bernice, at last. "are you going to buy out the whole shop, alicia?" "why, i'm not going to buy any," returned alicia, looking surprised; "i'm just shopping, you know." "oh, is that it? well, let me tell you it isn't any particular fun for us to look on while you 'shop'! and, anyway, it's time to be going home, or we'll be late for the luncheon and for the matinee." "all right, i'll go now. but wait. i want to buy some little thing for you girls,--sort of a souvenir, you know." "good for you!" said bernice, but dolly demurred. "i don't think you ought to, alicia," she said. "i don't believe my mother would like me to take it." "nonsense, towhead! i'm just going to get trifles. nobody could object to my giving you a tiny token of my regard and esteem. let me see,--how about silk sweaters? they're always handy to have in the house." unheeding the girls' protestations, alicia selected four lovely colours, and asked the saleswoman to get the right sizes. dolly's was robin's egg blue; dotty's salmon pink; bernice's, a deep orange, and alicia's own was white, as she declared she already had every colour of the rainbow. then she selected an old rose one for mrs. berry, getting permission to exchange it if it should be a misfit. alicia ordered the sweaters sent to her uncle's house, and the bill sent to her father. this arrangement seemed perfectly satisfactory to the shop people, and the girls set off for home. "i feel uncomfortable about that sweater," announced dolly, as they were on their way. "that doesn't matter," laughed alicia, "so long as you don't feel uncomfortable in it! remove that anxious scowl, my little towhead; i love to give things to my friends, and you must learn to accept trifles gracefully." "but it isn't a trifle, alicia. i know mother won't like it." "won't like that blue sweater! why, it's a beauty!" "i don't mean that. i mean she won't like for me to take it,--to accept it from you." "all right; tell her you bought it yourself." "tell a story about it! no, thank you." dolly's blue eyes fairly flashed at the thought. "well, my stars! dolly, don't make such a fuss about it! throw it away, or give it to the scullery maid! you don't have to keep it!" clearly, alicia was annoyed. dolly was far from ungrateful, and she didn't know quite what to do. "of course, she'll keep it," dotty broke in, anxious to straighten matters out. "she adores it, alicia; but we girls aren't accustomed to making each other gifts,--at least, not expensive ones." "well, you needn't make a habit of it. one sweater doesn't make a summer! i hope mrs. berry won't be so squeamish! if i thought she would, i'd throw hers in the ash barrel before i'd give it to her!" "i s'pose i was horrid about it, alicia," said dolly, contritely; "i do love it, really, you know i do; but, as dotty says, we never give such gifts. why, i can't give you anything to make up for it--" "and i don't want you to! you little goose! but like as not, you can sometime do something for me worth more than a dozen sweaters." "i hope so, i'm sure. will you tell me if i can?" "yes, baby-face! i declare, dolly, it's hard to realise you're fifteen years old! you act about twelve,--and look ten!" "oh, not so bad as that!" and dolly laughed gaily. "i s'pose i do seem younger than i am, because i've always lived in a small town. we don't do things like city girls." "'deed we don't!" exclaimed dotty. "i used to live in the city, and when i went to berwick it was like a different world. but i've come to like it now." "i like it," said bernice, decidedly. "i think we have a lot more fun in berwick than we could in new york. to live, i mean. of course, this visit here is lovely, but it's the novelty and the strange sights that make it so. i wouldn't want to live in new york." "neither would i," and dolly shook her head very positively. "i would," said alicia. "i'd just love to live here, in a house like uncle jeff's, and have all these cars and servants and everything fine." "no, thank you," dolly rejoined. "it's beautiful for a week, but it makes my head go round to think of living like this always." "your head is not very securely fastened on, anyway," and alicia grinned at her. "you'll lose it some day!" "maybe so," smiled dolly, affably, and then they suddenly found they were back home. "good time, girlies?" called out mrs. berry, as they entered. "lunch is all ready; sit down and eat it, and get dressed for the matinee afterward, mr. fenn got fine seats for you,--near the front. you'll like the play, i know." and like the play they did. it was a light opera, of the prettiest type, full of lovely scenery, gay costumes and bright, catchy music. "the lass and the lascar" was its name, and the lass in question was a charming little girl who seemed no older than the quartette themselves. the lascar was a tall, handsome man, whose swarthy east indian effects were picturesque and attractive. he had a magnificent baritone voice, and the girls sat breathless when he sang his splendid numbers. all four were fond of music and even more than the gay splendour of the show they enjoyed the voices and orchestra. "isn't he wonderful!" exclaimed alicia, as the curtain fell on the first act. "oh, girls, isn't he superb! i'm madly in love with him!" "he has a beautiful voice," agreed dolly, "but i couldn't be in love with him! he's too,--too ferocious!" "but that's his charm," declared alicia, rolling her eyes in ecstasy. "oh, he is ideal! he's fascinating!" the curtain rose again, and the lascar proved even more fascinating. he was a daredevil type, as lascars have the reputation of being, but he was gentle and affectionate toward the lass, who, for some inexplicable reason, scorned his advances. "what a fool she is! what a fool!" alicia whispered, as the coquettish heroine laughed at the impassioned love songs of her suitor. "i should fall into his arms at once!" "then there wouldn't be any more opera," laughed bernice. "that fall into his arms is always the last episode on the stage." "that's so," agreed alicia, "but how can she flout him so? oh, girls, isn't he the grandest man? i never saw such a handsome chap! what a lovely name he has, too: bayne coriell! a beautiful name." "good gracious, alicia! don't rave over him like that! somebody will hear you!" "i don't care. i never saw any one so wonderful! i'm going to get his picture when we go out. i suppose it's for sale in the lobby. they usually are." "are they?" asked dolly. "then i want to get one of the lass. marie desmond, her name is. can i, do you think?" "yes, of course, dollykins. you get that and i'll get my hero, my idol, bayne coriell!" as it chanced the photographs were not on sale at the theatre, but an usher told alicia where they could be bought, and she directed kirke to stop there on the way home. she bought several different portraits of the man who had so infatuated her and dolly bought two photographs of miss desmond. the other girls said they didn't care for any pictures, and laughed at the enthusiasm of alicia and dolly. "i want this," dolly defended herself, "because sometime i'm going to be an opera singer. i did mean to sing in grand opera, and maybe i will, but if i can't do that, i'll sing in light opera, and i like to have this picture to remind me how sweet miss desmond looks in this play." "pooh," said alicia, "that's all very well. but i want these pictures of bayne coriell because he's such a glorious man! why, he's as handsome as apollo. and, girls, i don't believe he's hardly any older than we are." "oh, he must be," returned dotty. "why, he's twenty-two or more, i'm sure." "maybe he is twenty, but not more than that. oh, how i wish i could meet him! think of the joy of talking to a man like that!" "well, it's not likely you'll ever meet bayne coriell," said bernice, laughing at the idea; "so you needn't hope for that!" chapter vi a matinee idol "oh, uncle jeff," alicia cried, as they gathered round the dinner-table that same night, "we went to the splendidest play! it was a light opera, 'the lass and the lascar.' have you seen it?" "no, my dear, i rarely go to the theatre; never to foolish pieces like that! but it's all right for you young people. so you enjoyed it, did you? how did you like--" but alicia's babble interrupted him. "oh, uncle, it was simply out of sight! and the hero! ah-h-h!" alicia leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes as if the memory of the hero was overwhelming. "took your fancy, did he?" asked her uncle, with a twinkle in his eye. "good-looking chap?" "good-looking faintly expresses it!" and alicia returned to consciousness. "he was like a greek god! and his charm! oh, uncle jeff, he is just indescribable! i wish you could see him." "must be a paragon! what did the rest of you girls think! were you hit so hard?" dotty laughed. "he was splendid, uncle forbes," she said, "but we didn't fall so head over heels in love with him as alicia did. he has a stunning voice and he's a fine actor." "oh, more than that!" raved alicia. "he's a darling! a man of a thousand!" "a young man?" asked mr. forbes. "yes," replied bernice. "alicia thinks he isn't twenty, but he can't be much more. he looked a mere boy." "wasn't that because he was made up as a young character in the play?" "partly," admitted alicia. "but he's a very young man, anyway. oh, uncle jeff, i'm just crazy over him! i think i shall go to see that play every chance i can possibly get. could we go to an evening performance?" "speak for yourself, john!" cried bernice. "i don't want to see that play again! i enjoyed it heaps, and i think mr. coriell was fine, but next time we go i'd rather see something else." "so would i," said the two d's together. "how can you say so!" and alicia looked at the others in scorn. "you'll never find any actor who can hold a candle to coriell! i have his picture, uncle," and, excusing herself, she left the table to get them. "h'm, yes, a good-looking man," agreed mr. forbes, as he scrutinised the photographs. "but, alicia, you mustn't fall in love with every operatic tenor you see. i believe this coriell is a 'matinee idol,' but don't allow him to engage your young affections." "too late with your advice, uncle jeff!" and alicia gazed raptly at the pictures. "i adore him! and the fact that my adoration is hopeless makes it all the more interesting. oh, isn't he a wonder!" gaily she set the pictures up in front of her, propping them on glasses or salt cellars, and continued to make mock worship at his shrine. "don't be silly, alicia," commented her uncle, but she only shook her head at him, and gave a mournful sigh. the girls spent the evening much the same as they had done the night before. they all sat in the stately drawing-room, and endeavoured to make conversation. but uncle jeff was hard to talk to, for he rarely stuck to one subject for more than five minutes at a time, and abruptly interrupted the girls when they were trying their best to be entertaining. alicia continued to chatter about her new-found enthusiasm, until her uncle commanded her to desist. "may i beg of you, alicia," he said, sternly, "to cease raving over that man? he's doubtless old enough to be your father, and would be bored to death could he hear your nonsense about him!" alicia looked put out, but a glance at her uncle's face proved his seriousness, and she said no more about the actor. the evening wore away, but it seemed to the girls as if it never would be ten o'clock. and it was greatly to their relief, when, at about half-past nine, mr. forbes bade them good-night and went off upstairs. "it is all the queerest performance," said bernice. "what in the world does uncle jeff want of us,--i can't make out. the outlook seems to be that we can have all the fun we want daytimes, and pay for it by these ghastly evening sessions." "there's something back of it all," said alicia, astutely. "this revered uncle of ours, bernie, has something up his sleeve." "i think so, too," said dotty. "he scrutinises us all so closely, when he thinks we're not looking. but i, for one, am quite willing to put up with these evenings for the sake of the fun we have in the daytime." "i should say so!" agreed dolly. "we never can thank you enough, bern, for bringing us." "and i'm glad to have you here," said mrs. berry, entering the room. "you're like a ray of sunshine in this dull house,--like four rays of sunshine." "but why are we here?" insisted alicia. "you must know why, mrs. berry. do tell us." "you're here, my dears, because mr. forbes invited you. there is no other reason,--no other explanation. and now, tell me, did you like the play?" "did we like it!" exclaimed the volatile alicia, "we're just crazy over it. why, the chief actor--" "now, 'licia," protested dolly, "if you're going to begin raving over that man again!" "well, i am!" declared alicia. "i just can't help it!" nor did she seem able to curb her enthusiasm, for after the girls went to their rooms, she kept on extolling mr. coriell until the others were tired of the subject. and even when the d's were nearly ready for bed, and, in kimonos, were brushing their hair, alicia burst into their room, exclaiming, "i've the grandest plan! i'm going to invite mr. coriell to come here and call on me!" "alicia steele!" dotty cried, "you're not going to do any such thing!" "yes, i am. uncle jeff said we could invite anybody we wanted to,--that's permission enough for me." "but he didn't mean some one you don't know at all,--and an actor at that!" "i don't care. he didn't make any exceptions, and i'm going to do it. i'm going to write the note." she went back to her own room, and sat down at the pretty little escritoire that was there. "how shall i address him?" she asked, but more of herself than the others. "not at all!" said dolly, and she took the pen from alicia's fingers. "you must be crazy to think of such a thing!" "don't do it, alicia," begged dotty; "tell her not to, bernice." "i don't care what she does," and bernice laughed. "it's none of my affair. i think it would be rather good fun, only i know he wouldn't come." "i think he would," said alicia. "anyway, i'm going to tell him how i adored his acting and his singing, and i guess he'll be glad to come to call at jefferson forbes' house! i think i'll ask him to afternoon tea. why, it isn't such a terrible thing, as you seem to think, dolly. anybody has a right to write to an actor,--they expect it. he probably gets hundreds of notes every day." "then he won't notice yours. he can't possibly accept a hundred invitations." "oh, they don't all invite him. any way, i'm going to write." alicia found another pen, and soon produced this effusion: "my dear mr. coriell. "i'm just simply crazy over your performance in 'the lass and the lascar' and i feel that i must meet you. i shall die if i don't! please, oh, please give me an opportunity. will you come to see me at my uncle's house, mr. jefferson forbes? can you come to-morrow or friday? i can't exist if you say no! so grant the plea of "your devoted admirer, "alicia steele." "it's perfectly horrid!" and dolly's fair face grew flushed with anger. "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, alicia." "now, look here, dolly fayre," and alicia's eyes flashed, "i won't be dictated to by a little country ignoramus! i've had experience in the ways of the world, and you haven't. now suppose you let me alone. it's none of your business, as you very well know." "dolly was only advising you for your own good!" dotty flashed out, indignant at the rebuff to her chum; "but, truly, doll, it isn't up to you to tell alicia what to do. this is her uncle's house, not yours, and you're in no way responsible for her doings." "i know it," and dolly looked serious, "but i know, too, alicia will be sorry and ashamed if she sends that silly letter!" "let her be, then," counselled bernice. "if uncle jeff doesn't like it, that's alicia's affair, not ours. leave her alone, dolly." but dolly made one more effort. "listen, alicia," she said, pleadingly; "at least, ask mrs. berry's advice. she's awfully indulgent, you know, and if she says all right,--then go ahead." alicia looked at dolly. to tell the truth, she had misgivings herself about the plan, but she was too proud to be advised. "i'll tell you what," she decided, at last; "you said, only to-day, dolly, that you'd be glad to do something for me. now, prove that you meant it. you go and ask mrs. berry if we can do this. she's awfully fond of you, and she'd say yes to you quicker'n she would to me. so, if you're so anxious for her consent, go and ask her. she's in her room,--i just heard her go in." "but, alicia," and dolly looked dismayed, "_i_ don't want to do this thing! why should i ask mrs. berry for what you want?" "because you said you'd be glad to do me a favour. i knew you didn't mean it! i knew you'd fizzle out when the time came!" "she hasn't fizzled out!" exclaimed dotty. "doll never breaks a promise. but, say, alicia, i'll go and ask mrs. berry. how's that?" "no, dolly's got to go, if any one does. she said she'd love to do me a favour, now let her do it." it was evidently a test case with alicia, and one glance at her determined face convinced dolly, that she would never be forgiven if she failed to do this thing. "all right," she said, slowly, "i'll go and ask mrs. berry. but i shall tell her it's for you, alicia. i shan't let her think i want to ask that man here!" "hold on, dolly. don't you think it would be nice if he should come, with mrs. berry's permission?" "yes, i think that would be lots of fun; but she won't give permission, alicia. i know that as well as i know my own name!" "of course, she won't, if you go about it that way! i depend on you to coax her or get around her some way to make her say yes. see? don't think that you can go in there and say 'may we?' and have her say 'no,' and let that end it! i tell you you've got to get her consent. you've got to do this for me, because you said you'd do whatever i asked you." "oh, alicia!" and dotty shook her head vigorously, "doll never said that!" "well, she meant that. and what's the use of her doing anything i can do for myself? but you all know she's mrs. berry's pet of the four of us--" "no, i'm not," and dolly looked deeply troubled. "yes, you are, and it's just because you're so mild and meek. now, will you go and ask her? you'll have to be quick or she'll have gone to bed." "yes, i'll go," and dolly showed sudden determination. "and will you promise to do all you can to make her say yes--" "i'll do that, alicia, but i can't promise to make her say yes." "you can if you coax her. and don't let her think it's all for my benefit. because it isn't. you girls will have just as much fun as i will, if he comes." dolly twisted up her golden curls in a loose knot, and still in her trailing dressing-gown, she went down the hall to mrs. berry's room and tapped gently at the door. it was opened at once, and dolly was glad to see mrs. berry had not yet begun her preparations for the night, so she was not disturbing her. "what is it, dearie?" asked the kind-hearted lady; "come in. sit down." dolly sat down in a little rocker, and was suddenly seized with a fit of shyness. the request she had come to make seemed so impossible, that she couldn't put it into words. mrs. berry saw her embarrassment, and kindly strove to put her at ease. "how do you like my room?" she said, cordially; "you've never been in here before." "it's lovely," said dolly, looking about at the pretty furnishings; "it's in a sort of back extension, isn't it?" "yes, this a narrower part of the house, and gives me an outlook on our tiny yard as well as on the side street. it's a very satisfactory room, except for my neighbour," and she laughed. "who is the unsatisfactory neighbour?" asked dolly, smiling in response. "not the people next door, they're quiet enough; but they have a parrot, and he's in the room just across from this, and he chatters so often that it is sometimes very annoying. look over, you can see him now." sure enough, as dolly looked from the window, she saw a big polly in a cage at the opposite casement. only thin lace curtains were between, and dolly could clearly see the beautiful bird. "it's a lovely parrot," she said, "but i suppose his chatter is just as bothersome as if he were a homelier bird. well, mrs. berry," and she turned from the window, "i've come to ask you something." "and something that you hesitate to ask,--i can see that. but don't be afraid, dear. tell me what it is, and if i have to refuse you, at least i won't do it harshly." "i know you won't!" and dolly felt ashamed of her fears. "well, it's just this. alicia,--that is, we're all of us just crazy over the hero in the play we saw this afternoon, and we--that is, we think it would be nice if we could--if we could ask him to--to call here, on us." the dreaded speech was made, and though mrs. berry looked surprised, she didn't exclaim in horror at the idea. "whose plan is this?" she asked, quietly. "why,--well,--we all want it." "yes, but who first thought of it?" "alicia spoke of it, and--the others agreed,--we all agreed,--that it would be lots of fun,--if you approved of it." now mrs. berry could see a hole through a millstone, and she knew as well as if she had been told, that the others had planned this thing,--probably alicia or bernice,--and had made dolly their spokesman, because of her good-natured acquiescence. "what do you think of the idea?" she said smiling. "at first it seemed to me a very forward thing to do," dolly replied, looking very sober; "but if you think it's all right, i'd like to meet mr. coriell. you see, i'm going to be an opera singer myself, some day, and there are a few questions i'd like to ask him." mrs. berry gasped. "you do beat the dickens!" she exclaimed. "so you're going on the stage, are you?" "yes, i think so." "then of course you ought to meet an actor. tell alicia to go ahead and ask this man. tell her to invite him to tea on friday. i'll arrange a pretty tea-party for you." "oh, i'll tell her! she'll be so glad!" and dolly departed, quite unconscious that she had unwittingly betrayed alicia's principal part in the scheme. chapter vii great preparations demurely dolly went back to her room. the other girls were breathlessly awaiting her return, and pounced on her for the news. "at least you got back alive!" cried dotty as she grabbed dolly by the arms and danced her up and down the room. "but what did she say?" demanded alicia, in fiery impatience. "don't you wish you knew!" and dolly fell into a teasing mood, and when dolly fayre felt like teasing, she was adept at it! "tell us! tell us!" cried bernice. "oh, dolly, tell us!" "tell you what?" asked dolly, with an innocent stare. "tell us what mrs. berry said." "oh, she asked me how i liked her room, and she showed me the parrot next door. it's a beautiful bird--" "never mind a bird! what did she say about mr. coriell?" "why, we talked about the parrot first. you see, his cage hangs in a window right across from hers, not ten feet away--" "nonsense!" cried alicia, "who cares about the parrot! tell us about my hero!" "she says he has a dreadful voice, and squawks like fury--" "oh, he hasn't! he's a wonderful singer!" "i mean the parrot," said dolly, mischievously enjoying alicia's disgusted look. "and she says we can ask him to tea." "who? the parrot?" this from dotty. "no, you silly! mr. coriell. but, of course, if you'd rather have the parrot--" "oh, dolly, do be sensible!" and bernice looked exasperated; "are you going to tell us all about it or not?" "not if you're so rude to me! certainly not! you are dismissed, you two. dot and i are going to bed." "not much you're not!" declared alicia. "not till you tell us what mrs. berry said." "then you must ask me with due politeness and proper courtesy. i can't report to a lot of cackling geese! you're worse than parrots!" "please, dear, sweet dollyrinda, what did the lady say?" begged dotty, in wheedling tones. "ah, yes, tell us," and alicia took the cue. "angel child! beautiful blonde towhead! what,--oh, vouchsafe to deign to tell us, what did she say?" "whoop it up, dollums," said bernice, laughing, "out with it, you little rascal. did she hold up her hands in horror?" "she did not," said dolly, with dignity. "she said, that if alicia chose, she might invite the gentleman to tea on friday, and that she would see to it that there was a nice tea-party prepared for his benefit. there, who's a good ambassador?" "you are! you blessed angel!" cried alicia, warmly; "you're a wonder! a marvel! a peach! a pippin! oh, you're just all there is of it! did she really say that?" "oh, you want to know what she really said," and dolly's head went on one side, as she began to tease again. "of course, that's what she really said," interposed dotty, who didn't want any more high words. "'licia, be satisfied with that, and scoot to bed." "nothing of the sort. we're going to make fudge to celebrate! i told you i had my chafing-dish; don't you girls feel fudgy?" "i could nibble a morsel," bernice said, "and not half try. how about you, dot?" "i'm right there--with bells on!" "isn't it too late?" objected dolly. "now, look here, priggy-wig," and alicia shook a finger at her, "if you don't quit that spoilsporting of yours, there'll be trouble in camp! the truth is, there's not much fun in making fudge, just 'cause there's nobody to forbid it! at school, we have to do it on the sly. here, if mrs. berry or uncle jeff knew we thought of it, they'd send forty 'leven footmen and maids to help us!" "that's so," laughed dolly; "i wasn't thinking of them. but isn't it time we all went to bed?" "of course it is, young hayseed. that's why we're staying up. also, it makes you so delightfully sleepy next morning! now, do you come to this fudge party or do you go to bed?" "do i come to it!" cried dolly, in disdain. "well, i like that! why, your old fudge party is for me! i'm the heroine of the hour! who went on your desperate and dangerous errand, i'd like to know! who got permission to invite your old coriell man to tea? come, now, declare the fudge party a feast in my honour, or call it off!" "it is! it is!" laughed alicia. "to the victor belong the spoils. the party is all for you, and if you will accept our humble invitation come right into our room and make yourself at home." so the two d's went into the other girls' room, and alicia got out her chafing-dish set and prepared for the feast. "how are you going to make fudge with nothing but chocolate?" laughed dotty. "that's so," said alicia, looking blank. "i forgot i had to have milk and butter and sugar and a lot of things. guess we can't do it." "guess we can!" retorted bernice, and she pushed a bell button. "oh, bernie!" exclaimed dotty, "you oughtn't to call the maid so late! she'll be in bed." "then she won't answer," said bernice, calmly. but in a moment a maid did come, and smilingly listened to their requests. "some milk, please," said alicia, "and sugar, and butter,--" "all the things for fudge, miss?" asked the girl, her eyes taking in the chafing-dish. "certainly. in a moment." she disappeared and the girls burst into peals of laughter. "it's impossible to do anything frisky here," said alicia, "because everything we want to do, is looked on as all right!" "well, it isn't a dreadful thing to make fudge of an evening," put in bernice. "no," agreed dolly, "but i wouldn't think of doing it at my house. after i'd gone to my room for the night, i mean." "it's a funny thing," said alicia, "but all the fun of it's gone now. i don't care two cents for the fudge, it's the excitement of doing it secretly, that appeals to me. we do it at school, and we have to be so fearfully careful lest the teachers hear us." "i know what you mean," said dolly, "but i don't believe i feel that way. i love fudge, but i'd a whole lot rather have people know we're making it than to do it on the sly." "you're a little puritan," and alicia flew over and kissed her. "no wonder mrs. berry said yes to you, you probably made her think it was a duty to humanity!" when the maid returned with the trayful of things they had asked for, there was also a goodly plate of frosted cakes and a dish of fruit. "in case you might feel hungry," she explained. "mrs. berry was saying the other day, how hungry young folks do be gettin'. shall i return for the tray, miss?" "no," said dolly, kindly. "you go to bed. we'll set the things out in the hall, when we're finished, and you can take them away in the morning." "thank you, miss," and the maid went away, leaving the girls to their spread. "i'm not going to make fudge," said alicia, "there's enough here to eat, without it." "i'll do it, then," said dolly. "i'm not going to make all this trouble and then not seem to appreciate it." she began to cut the chocolate, and dotty helped her. alicia made the chafing-dish ready, and bernice set out a table for them. "this is splendid fudge," alicia remarked, as at last they sat enjoying the feast. "you must give me your recipe." "probably just like yours," smiled dolly; "but it always tastes better if somebody else makes it." "not always! it depends on who makes it. this is fine!" "even if we are not doing it on the sly? i declare, alicia, i can't understand that feeling of yours. i s'pose you don't care so much about mr. coriell, since mrs. berry is willing." "it does take the snap out of it," alicia admitted. "but i couldn't do that on the sly, anyway. i mean if i had him here. i wish i could meet him somewhere else,--at some tearoom, or somewhere." "oh, alicia, i think you're horrid! nice girls don't do things like that!" dolly's big blue eyes expressed such amazement that alicia laughed outright. "you little innocent!" she cried. "i'd rather be innocent than ill-bred," dolly flashed back. "well, wait till you go to boarding-school and you'll get some of those strait-laced notions knocked out of you." "i don't ever expect to go. i wouldn't like to leave home. and that reminds me, girls, i must skip. i've got to write up my diary before i go to bed. you do my share of the clearing up, won't you, dot?" "'course i will," and dolly ran off to the other room while the three cleared away the party and set the tray out in the hall. "is dolly always so goody-goody?" asked alicia. dotty took the question seriously. "i shouldn't call her that," she said; "but she isn't very mischievous, and she's as honest as the day is long. she positively abhors deceit. and, somehow, alicia, all the things that you think are fun, are the sort of things she doesn't stand for. that's all. doll isn't a prig,--is she, bernice?" "no; she's as fond of fun as anybody. but alicia rubs her the wrong way." "i don't mean to. only i don't see any harm in pranks that she thinks are fearful." "well, you ought to bless her for getting the coriell matter fixed up. i don't believe mrs. berry would have done it for any of us. but when dolly asked her, i s'pose she made it seem all right." "it is all right," defended alicia. "oh, i don't know," and bernice looked doubtful, "i don't think the fayres or roses would like it much; i doubt if my dad would approve. but what mrs. berry says, goes." "it does so!" assented alicia, and then they all said good-night. alicia's letter was mailed next morning and to her surprise a reply arrived about noon, brought by a messenger. it said: my dear miss steele: your welcome invitation is here. i cannot accept for to-morrow as i have an important engagement then, but i will do myself the pleasure of calling upon you to-day at four o'clock, and trust i may find you at home. sincerely yours, bayne coriell. "oh, isn't it wonderful!" sighed alicia. "a letter from him! oh, girls, i'm so happy! how can i wait for four o'clock!" she ran away to tell mrs. berry of the letter. "very well," said the kind-hearted woman, "it's just as well to have him come to-day. suppose we have tea in the small reception room, it's cosier than the drawing-room." "all right," said alicia. "will uncle jeff come down, do you think?" "i doubt it. however, i'll tell him you expect mr. coriell, and he can do as he likes." mrs. berry had a peculiar twinkle in her eye, and alicia noted it, and wondered what it meant. the whole affair seemed mysterious, for she had not supposed mrs. berry would be so ready to receive this strange young man. "you think it's all right for us to receive him, don't you, mrs. berry?" she asked, for she began to fear lest she had been too unconventional. "i daresay it's all right, my dear. of course, such things weren't done in my day, but young folks are different now. and mr. forbes said you girls were to do pretty much as you like." "were you surprised at our asking for this?" alicia persisted. "well, yes, since you ask me, i must say i was surprised. especially when i found dolly fayre was the ringleader." "oh,--well,--she did ask you, didn't she? maybe dolly isn't such a quiet little mouse as she seems." "dolly's all right," and mrs. berry spoke with some asperity. "now, i'll send tea in at quarter past four, is that your idea?" "oh, mrs. berry, won't you be present?" "no; i have my duties, and i observe them properly, but to preside at tea is not one of them. your uncle expressly ordered that." "do you mean uncle jeff ordered that we should receive mr. coriell alone?" "well, he didn't direct that _i_ should be there. if he wants to come down, he will." "very well," and alicia suddenly became dignified, "we can manage. i suppose it will be proper to dress up a good deal?" again that amused smile flitted over mrs. berry's face. "as you like," she said, indifferently. "all your frocks are pretty." alicia returned to the others, and told them all the conversation. "i hope uncle forbes does come down," said dolly, "i think it would be nicer to have him there." "come, now, old mother prim, don't throw cold water on our little party," said alicia. "you know how the conversation would run, with uncle at the helm!" "it wouldn't run at all," laughed bernice, "it would stagnate!" when the girls began to dress for the tea, there was a wide diversity of opinion as to appropriate costumes. "our very best," said alicia decidedly. "nothing's too good for bayne!" "you'd better be careful," warned dotty, "you'll call him bayne to his face! you use it so much!" "don't care if i do!" returned alicia, pertly. "i say, doll, is that your best frock?" "yes, except an evening one." "let's see your evening one. i'll bet it's just about right for this afternoon." dolly produced a pretty light blue affair of chiffon, and alicia exclaimed, "wear that, of course. it's really no evening dress at all, but it's a very nice afternoon thing." dolly looked dubious. "what are you going to wear, dots?" she said. "oh, i s'pose we might as well wear our best ones. as alicia says, they're all right for afternoon here, though they wouldn't be in berwick." "all right," and dolly put on her pretty fluffy dress. very lovely she looked, her golden curls twisted up high on her head, and held by a bandeau of blue ribbon. dotty's dress was yellow, and very becoming. she wore a black velvet headband, and alicia cried out in approval when she saw the two d's ready for inspection. "my!" she said, "you look better than i do! now, i am mad!" but her rage was only simulated, and she didn't really think what she said. she herself wore a most elaborate embroidered dress of rich pink silk. it was trimmed, too, with pearl bead fringe, and to dolly's simple taste it was too fussy. but dotty admired it, and bernice thought it wonderful. "it is a good thing," said alicia, carelessly. "it's imported. i've never had it on before." bernice had a lovely dress of white tulle, with white satin ribbons;--lovely, that is, for evening, but too dressy for daytime. however, as the winter dusk fell early, the lights were on, and it seemed almost like evening. chapter viii the caller the four girls, in the reception room, waited the coming of their guest. to their surprise, mr. forbes came in, and looked them over with a chuckle. "well, you are ready for the fray, aren't you?" he said, taking in their dressy finery and their important, self-conscious airs. "yes, uncle jeff," responded alicia; "will you stay and see our young man?" for some unexplained reason, uncle jeff laughed heartily. but he checked his merriment, and said, "no, alicia, i fear i might intrude; i know you want to flirt with this young actor, and i'd be a spoilsport. but let me warn you to be very gentle with him. you see, he may be so overcome by this galaxy of youth and beauty that he'll be embarrassed and run away!" "nonsense, uncle," said bernice, "actors are not easily embarrassed. more likely we girls will be struck dumb at his splendour and importance." "well, tell me all about it afterward," and still chuckling, mr. forbes went off. "what ails uncle?" said alicia, pettishly. "anybody'd think he had a joke on us." "no," dotty rejoined, "only he's sort of old, you know, and he doesn't see the fun in this, as we do." "well, i wish the fun would hurry up! it's after four now." "such people are never on time," said alicia, with a great air of experience. "he's sure to be late. oh, there's the bell now!" the girls, with hearts beating high, grouped themselves in a picturesque pose, which they had practised beforehand, and breathlessly watched the doorway. through it came, in a moment, a jolly-faced man, with an informal manner and pleasant smile. "hullo, girlies," he said, "what's up? expecting a party? well, i won't keep you a minute. where's mr. forbes?" "why, you're the party, mr. coriell," said alicia, stepping forward to greet him, and looking very coquettish as she smiled up into his face. "oh, am i! all right, have it your own way, kiddies. but i can't give you more than ten minutes of my valuable time. what do you want? autographs? or tickets for a box? speak up, now." "oh, no!" exclaimed bernice, for alicia was speechless with disappointment at this prosaic attitude on the part of the visitor. "we just want to--to talk to you." "you see," said dolly, frankly, "we thought you'd be--different." "oh, of course you did! they always do! you wanted to see the lascar, not plain james brown!" "what!" cried alicia, hope rising in her breast that this was not the great actor after all, "aren't you bayne coriell?" "sure! that's my stage name, but in private life i'm james brown, at your service." "you don't even look like the lascar!" wailed dotty, dismayed at the turn things had taken. "of course, i don't, little one. actors on and off, are two different persons. oh, i begin to see through this performance. your uncle didn't tell you anything about me! eh?" "no, sir," said dolly, as the others were silent. "we saw you in your play, and we admired your work so much, that we--we--" "oh, the matinee idol business! well, well! i didn't expect that. why, kiddies, outside the theatre, i'm just a plain united states citizen. i have a daughter about the age of you girls. my muriel is fourteen, nearly fifteen, but she's taller than any of you. your uncle is a great friend of mine. he was my father's chum, and he has been more than kind to me all my life. i supposed he knew all about the letter from miss alicia, and ran around here expecting to see you and him both." "that's why he chuckled at us!" and dolly's eyes twinkled at the joke. somehow, she seemed more at ease with the actor than the other girls. "you see, mr. brown, we thought you'd be more like you are on the stage. of course we didn't expect you'd be dressed like the lascar, or--or--made up,--isn't that what you call it? but we thought you'd be stagy and actory--" james brown laughed. "everybody thinks that, or something like it," he said. "few people realise that an actor's profession is merely a profession,--a business; and that we discard it out of business hours." "but don't you get lots of notes from--from your audiences?" asked dotty. "indeed i do. my wife looks after 'em, and most of 'em go into the trash basket. but of course a note from jefferson forbes' home was welcome, and i was glad to call on his nieces. are you all his nieces?" "no," said alicia, who had recovered her poise, and she introduced the other girls by name. "i wrote the note, because i thought you were--" "because you thought i was a gay young sport," laughed james brown; "well, i'm sorry, for your sake, that i'm merely an uninteresting, middle-aged man, but, i doubt if your uncle would have let you send that note, if i had been a stranger to him. take my advice, girls, for i know what i'm talking about, never write to an actor with whom you are not acquainted. it can never lead to any good result and might lead to great harm." "are they all bad?" asked dolly, innocently. "no, indeed, far from it. but many of them are thoughtless; and, too, if a girl so far forgets the conventions as to write to a stranger, an actor often thinks he is justified in meeting her half way. and nice girls don't write to men they don't know. the fact that a man is an actor, is no more reason to treat him informally than if he were a broker or a merchant. it is the glamour of the stage that blinds you to the proprieties. that's only natural, i know, and that's why i'm presuming to give you this little talk for your own good. if ever you feel moved to make advances to a matinee idol,--don't do it!" alicia looked decidedly chagrined and a little angry, but mr. brown proceeded to talk of other matters, and though it was plain to be seen he meant the advice he had given them, all unpleasant effect was forgotten as he began to tell them some funny anecdotes. and then tea was brought in, and they all grouped round the teatable, still listening to his entertaining chat. the actor was a good-looking man, but far from being as handsome as he appeared on the stage. his fascination and charm were evidently as much put on as his swarthy complexion and long black hair, which so became him as an east indian. really, his hair was ash-coloured, and he was rather bald. "i expect to go on the stage," observed dolly, as they ate the cakes and bon-bons that accompanied the elaborate tea service. "you do!" exclaimed the guest. "why?" "because i feel i have talent for it. not so much as an actress, perhaps, but as a singer. what shall i do first, mr. brown, to prepare for the light opera stage?" james brown looked at her kindly. "i see you are in earnest," he said, in a serious tone, "and so, i will treat your question practically. the first thing to do, is to finish your education, and then start on a course of voice training. by the time you have done these things, come to me again, and i will advise you further. do you think me flippant?" he continued, as dolly looked decidedly disappointed. "i am telling you just the line to follow that i expect my own daughter to pursue. muriel has promise of a good singing voice. i assume you have that hope also, otherwise you wouldn't think of a stage career. tell your parents what i have told you, and if they care to consult me on the subject i shall be more than glad to meet them." "good gracious! what a come down!" cried dotty. "we thought of course doll could start in in the chorus at most any time, and work up." "that has been done successfully," and mr. brown smiled, "about one time in ten thousand. my plan is surer and better in every way." "is that the way miss marie desmond learned?" asked dolly, wistfully. "yes, my child. miss desmond worked long and faithfully before she attained her present position. if you'd care to meet her and have a little talk with her, i can arrange it. suppose you all come to my house some afternoon, and muriel will make a little party for you, and i'm sure i can persuade miss desmond to meet you for a few minutes at least. she is not a lady easy of access, i can tell you, but she will meet friends of mine." "well, well, jim, hobnobbing with young people, are you?" sang out a hearty voice from the hall, and uncle jeff came stalking into the room. "glad to see you, my boy. you seem to be getting on famously." "yes, indeed. your nieces and their friends are the most charming bunch of young people i've seen in a long time. we're discussing all sorts of matters of interest. join us in a cup of tea, won't you?" "that's what i'm here for," and uncle jeff took a seat among the group. "yes, thank you, alicia, fix me up a cup. sugar, please, but no lemon. how's your wife, jim? muriel all right?" "yes, thank you. i'm just asking these girls to come round, say to-morrow, for a little party. or would you rather have a box party at the theatre?" the girls decided in favour of the afternoon party at mr. brown's home, and the matter was settled. and then, somehow, the two men fell into conversation, which in no way interested the girls, being about political matters and business affairs. indeed, their very presence seemed to be forgotten by the gentlemen. absent-mindedly uncle jeff accepted a second cup of tea, and then a third, still arguing a point of finance with his guest. alicia, in high dudgeon, made a motion to the others that they leave the room, and dolly nodded assent. so, noiselessly, the four rose from their seats, and stole out into the hall. mr. brown looked up, saw them go, and waved his hand with a smile of farewell, but uncle jeff paid no attention, if indeed, he noticed their departure. "well! of all things!" exclaimed alicia, as they sought refuge in the library, which was in the rear of the house. "i call that positively insulting!" "now, 'licia," and dotty laughed, "you know the man said he could only give us ten minutes of his time, and he gave us more than a half hour. i don't think we've any reason to complain." "well, i do! it was a perfect fizzle, the whole thing! i'm utterly disgusted! matinee idol! pooh, he's just an every-day man!" "well, that's just what he said he was," rejoined bernice, who was almost as much disappointed as alicia. "but he was very kind and pleasant, i think." "oh, kind enough," and alicia still pouted; "but i thought he would be young and--and sporty, you know." "he certainly isn't sporty! whatever he is," said dolly. "i think he's awfully nice. i'm glad we're going to his daughter's party. it's fine to go to a place like that." "she's just a little girl," complained alicia. "fourteen years old! i don't want to go to an infant class!" "all right," put in bernice, "you can stay home, then. i'm delighted to go. to think of telling the girls at home that we went to bayne coriell's daughter's party! my, won't they think we're grand!" "that's so," agreed alicia. "not everybody could get such an invitation. we couldn't, only that he's uncle jeff's friend. but i can tell you, girls, if i hadn't got up this whole scheme we wouldn't have been asked there. you can thank me for it." "dolly, too," said dotty. "if she hadn't asked mrs. berry, he wouldn't have come at all." "yes, he would; why wouldn't he?" "oh, pshaw! it was all made up by uncle jeff. you could see that. mrs. berry told him, and he let us go ahead, just to have a joke on us. mr. brown came mostly to see mr. forbes,--not us." "you're right, you little smarty-cat," and alicia smiled at the astute dotty. "and i do believe uncle jeff meant to give us a lesson about writing to actors. i thought it was queer he took it so easily,--and mrs. berry too. they played right into our hands. they wouldn't have done that if the actor person had been a stranger." "of course they wouldn't," and dotty wagged her head. "i felt sure there was some reason why mrs. berry said yes to doll so easily. but i didn't think coriell bayne, or whatever his name is, was old enough to be uncle forbes' chum." "he isn't exactly," said dolly; "that is, he said his father and mr. forbes were friends. i suppose the son carried on the friendship." "he looks as old as my father,--off the stage," said bernice; "but on it, he might be my father's son!" "you can't tell a thing about actors!" declared alicia. "if ever i think another one is handsome and fascinating, i'll remember james bayne, and know he's nothing but an old fogy!" "oh, i don't call mr. brown an old fogy," defended dotty. "i think he's interesting and pleasant; just about like my father, or yours, doll." "he's not a bit like our fathers, though he doesn't look much younger. anyway, i'm glad i've met him, but he did give me a setback about my career." "is that a real stunt, dolly?" and alicia looked at her curiously. "do you really want to go on the stage? it doesn't seem like you." "yes, i do, or at least, i did, until mr. brown said what he did. i don't know as i want to devote my whole life to getting ready for a stage career. i'm going to think it over and see about it." "you funny little thing! i hope you'll decide to do it, and in about ten or twenty years, when i'm an old married woman, i'll come to your first performance." "whose performance? who's stage struck?" asked uncle jeff, walking in at the door. he had a way of appearing unexpectedly. "dolly," answered alicia. "she wants to be a prima donna." "bless my soul!" exclaimed the old man, "why, one reason i had jim brown here to-day, was to knock such foolishness out of your heads." "and he did his part all right, uncle forbes," said dolly, looking serious, "but i don't quite take the knocking. at least, i haven't decided what i'll do about it." "oho, you haven't, haven't you?" and the old man raised his shaggy eyebrows. "well, alicia, how did you like your handsome, fascinating, young man?" alicia had quite recovered her good humour, and she replied, laughingly, "oh, except that he isn't very young or handsome or fascinating, i liked him pretty well." "you're a good girl," pronounced her uncle. "i thought maybe you'd resent the little trick i played on you. but when you raved over the handsome hero, and the greek god effects of him, i couldn't refrain from showing you how deceitful appearances may be. jim's a fine chap, not at all a silly flirt, and his daughter is a lovely young girl, a little older than you girls--" "why, uncle jeff, mr. brown says she's younger, he said muriel is not yet fifteen." "bless me! is that so? well, he must know. but i can tell you, she seems as old or older than any of you. i suppose because she's been brought up among stage people. but a mighty nice girl, all the same. and mrs. brown is a delightful woman. all nice people. i'm glad he asked you to his home. it'll be a rare treat for you." "when is it to be, to-morrow?" asked dotty. "we don't know yet. when brown went away he said he'd consult his wife and daughter and telephone us about it. i fancy they'll make quite an affair of it. see here, have you all proper frocks to wear? i don't want my girls less well dressed than the others there. and i have a sneaking notion these are your best clothes." uncle jeff's eyes twinkled as he glanced at their dresses. "anyway, i'd like to give each of you a new frock. go to-morrow morning and get them." and having given the order, uncle jeff stalked away. chapter ix fine feathers "isn't he the funniest and the very dearest old thing in the world!" said alicia, in a whisper, as mr. forbes disappeared. "i've got loads of clothes, but i'm glad to have him give me a dress, for i'll warrant it'll be about the best money can buy." "let's get the best new york can show us," chimed in bernice. "i can't do it," said dolly, decidedly. "my mother wouldn't like me to accept a dress from mr. forbes." "oh, fiddlesticks, dollyrinda!" said dotty, "it's not charity. my mother wouldn't let me either, ordinarily speaking, but this is different." "how is it different?" "why, mr. forbes doesn't look on it as giving as clothes because we're poor--" "he does so, dot! you can't fool me! he knows that alicia and bernie can afford grand clothes and we can't, and so he gives us each a dress to make it easy for us to take them." now, alicia privately thought this was just about the truth, but bernice thought differently; "rubbish!" she cried. "uncle jeff doesn't think anything of the sort! he's so kind-hearted, he wants us all to have things nice, and he doesn't even think about whether it would hurt our feelings or not. why, dolly, the price of a dress is no more to him, than a glass of soda water would be to us." "i know that's so," and dolly's blue eyes looked very troubled, "but it isn't nice to take clothing from anybody but your own people." "but dolly," argued alicia, "if you kick up a bobbery, and refuse to take this kind offer, then we'll all have to do the same, and you deprive us all of the pretty presents." "oh, alicia, i'd be sorry to do that!" "well, that's what it would amount to. now, be sensible, and go with us to-morrow, and we'll all get lovely dresses, and it will please uncle jeff. i know he'd be hurt and offended, if you refused, dolly." "i'll see about it; i'll think it over," and that was all dolly would say about it then. but next morning, mrs. berry informed them that they were asked to an at home at mrs. brown's that afternoon, from four till seven, and she further said that of her knowledge, it would be an occasion where the nicest possible apparel would be required. "gorgeous!" cried alicia; "uncle jeff told us yesterday, we could get new frocks as presents from him. we can get them at follansbee's, and if they need alteration, they'll do it for us at once, as the case is so especial." dolly's objections were overruled, even mrs. berry siding with the other girls. "yes, indeed, dolly," she said; "you will spoil the pleasure of the others if you refuse to do as they do. and it would grieve mr. forbes if he thought you didn't appreciate or accept his kind offer. run along, girls, all of you, and get your hats and coats, the car will be here in a few minutes." "won't you go with us, mrs. berry," asked dolly, "to help pick them out? we don't know about these things as well as some one who lives in the city." "no, dearies. but you won't have any trouble just ask for mrs. baxter at follansbee's and her judgment will be the right thing. be sure to take what she advises. she'll know." in gay spirits the quartette started off, dolly joining in the general enthusiasm, for having decided to do as the others did, she had no wish to hesitate further. mrs. baxter was more than pleased to advise and suggest to jefferson forbes' relatives, and she had her assistants bring out dozens of frocks for inspection. at last, after much discussion and trying on, the four were selected and were promised for two o'clock that afternoon. what slight alterations were necessary could be done in that time, and there would be no doubt of prompt delivery. the dresses were absolutely unlike any the girls had ever owned before. they were all imported models, and though of finest materials, were simple in fabric and design. yet they had an air and an effect never achieved by a village dressmaker or a department store. dolly's was of fine white net, frilled with delicate lace, and adorned with tiny rosebud garlands, and knots of pale blue velvet. dotty's, of apricot pink crepe, with hints of silver lace peeping through its chiffon draperies. alicia's was corn-coloured crepe de chine with cherry velvet decorations, and bernice rejoiced in a white embroidered net, made up over green silk. all had that indefinable charm which betokens the genius of a great modiste, and the girls were enchanted with the wonderful robes. "but what awful prices!" said dolly, as they drove away from the shop. "i'm sure mother will be displeased. i feel awfully about it." "now, doll," said dotty, sensibly, "you can't help it now. so don't let it spoil your pleasure and ours too. when we get home you can tell your mother just how it was. i'll tell her too, and i'm sure she'll see that you couldn't do anything else than get the frock, or kick up a terrible bobbery!" this was common sense, as dotty's remarks often were, so dolly accepted the situation, and made the best of it. and that afternoon, when they were all arrayed in the new frocks, and presented themselves to uncle jeff for inspection, his approval was so hearty, that dolly was very glad she hadn't put a damper on the whole thing by remaining obstinate. "you are visions of beauty," he declared, as he looked at each in turn. "madame who-ever-it-was, turned you out remarkably well. i don't know much about feminine millinery, but i've a general idea of the fitness of things. and i'll bet a thousand dollars that these affairs are in better taste than the rigs you had on yesterday, though those were far gayer." "you do know a lot about it, uncle," said bernice. "these are way ahead of our best dresses, but it's because they came from a high class shop. and when you get the bill you'll open your eyes!" "that's all right, bernie. i'm an old bachelor, you know, and never before have i had the privilege of buying dresses for anybody. i'm downright glad if you girls are pleased with these, and i'm downright proud of the little cavalcade setting forth from my house." the courteous old gentleman made a profound bow and the girls curtseyed in response. then off they went to the party. as mrs. berry had foretold, fine clothes were the order of the day at the brown house. everything was as formal as a grown-up affair. the girls were ushered to a dressing-room to take off their wraps, and then at the drawing-room door, their names were announced by an imposing-looking personage in livery, and they were swept along into the room, by the crush of others behind them. mrs. brown and her daughter were receiving, and they greeted each arrival with gay banter and smiles. "ah, my dears, how do you do?" said mrs. brown to our girls. "i am so glad to welcome mr. forbes' young people. muriel, dear, these are the girls daddy told you about last night. 'member?" "'course i do. aw'fly jolly to have you here. sweet of you to come. wish i could chin-chin more, but i'll see you after the rush is over." they passed in line, saying scarce a word beyond a mere greeting, and following the example of their predecessors they took seats in what seemed to be a large auditorium. a curtained stage faced them, and they looked about at the fast gathering audience. it was a merry crowd of young people all laughing and chattering, and all arrayed in beautiful clothes after the order of those the girls wore themselves. there were many boys present, too, and they moved easily about, joking with their friends here and there. presently two boys drifted toward our quartette, and one of them said, "what'll be the show, do you know?" "no," said dotty, her black eyes dancing with the excitement of the scene; "what do you guess?" "dunno. last time they had minstrels, and the time before, a magicker." "legerdemain?" "yes; rabbits out of hats, and that sort. can't we sit here? engaged?" "no," and dotty smiled as she looked toward the other girls for their consent. "oh, let us stay," said the other boy, in a wheedling voice. "we'll be awfully good,--so good you won't know us." "we don't know you, anyway," laughed alicia, and the first boy responded, "sure enough. roof's the introduction, you know, but i'll add that this marvellously handsome companion of mine is one geordie knapp, and i'm ted hosmer, very much at your service." "well," said alicia, "we're miss forbes, miss fayre, miss rose and miss steele. shall i tell you which is which, or let you guess?" "let us sherlock it out!" exclaimed geordie knapp. "i know you're miss steele because you mentioned yourself last.'" "right!" and dotty clapped her hands in admiration of his quickness. "now, which am i?" "rosy posy!" declared ted hosmer, little thinking he had guessed correctly, but saying so because of dotty's pink cheeks. "yes, sir! you are a sherlock holmes. now which is miss forbes?" "i'm not going to guess any more, i'll spoil my record," and ted looked uncertainly from dolly to bernice. "but as you two are named forbes and fayre, i'll call you both miss f., and so be sure of you." and then the curtain began to rise, and the young people became silent. the entertainment was very amusing, being entirely in pantomime, and performed by exceedingly clever actors. the story depicted was funny, and the antics of the performers were novel and humorous, and the room resounded with laughter from the appreciative audience. there were about a hundred young people present yet the large room was only partly filled. dolly concluded, as she looked about, that it was a sort of small theatre where mr. brown rehearsed his own plays. in this she was partly right, although it had been built more for entertainment of the actor's guests. james brown, or bayne coriell, as he was more often called, stood very high in his profession, and had hosts of friends and acquaintances. his wife was popular, too, and muriel was just beginning to take her place in society. after the pantomime was over, two celebrated dancers gave an exhibition of their skill, and then miss marie desmond appeared and sang two of her songs from "the lass and the lascar." dolly was enthralled. she sat, listening to every note, and admiring the graceful manner and deportment of miss desmond as well as enjoying her music. "well, you seemed to care for that, miss f.," said ted hosmer. "you didn't move an eyelash while marie was on!" "oh, i did enjoy it!" and dolly's eyes shone with delight. "isn't she a splendid singer!" "top notch! i like her lots. hello, here's our charming hostess." the programme was over now, and muriel brown sought out the forbes party to invite them to the refreshment room. "i feel that i know you," she laughed, "from dad's description. he says the fair girl is miss fayre, and the rosy girl, miss rose." "oh, that's it, is it?" cried ted; "then this is miss forbes, and now all the problems are solved!" he looked at bernice, who acknowledged the fact, and then muriel was pounced upon by a rush of young people, and literally carried away. "great girl, muriel," said young hosmer. "never saw such a favourite. i say, mayn't we take you girls to the supper room? or don't you eat?" "indeed we do," said alicia, laughing, "but i may as well own up i'm so interested in looking about me, i'm not conscious of hunger." "well, come ahead to the dining-room, and you can eat and look about at the same time. i'll corral a couple more henchmen to help in your services and we'll flock by ourselves." geordie whistled to a couple of his chums, whom he presented as marly turner and sam graves. "now," went on geordie, who was a born manager, "we're eight of us,--that's enough for a table to our own selves. nail one, samivel." the way to the dining-room lay through a crush of guests, every one, it seemed, headed in a different direction. "why don't they all go one way?" asked dotty, "few of 'em eat," replied ted. "most of 'em going on. but the food's always fine here, and anyway you girls want to see the dining-room if you've never been here before. it's a whole show." it was. the splendid great room, with vaulted ceiling, represented an old english hall. there was a raised platform across the end and a gallery on either side. fine paintings and tapestries adorned the walls, and a multitude of small tables offered places for all who chose to sit at them. "here we are," and the boys decided on a table in a desirable position, from which the girls could see the gay scene. "now for some supper." obsequious waiters appeared and soon the party was served with viands fit for a king. "told you so," said ted. "trust the coriell bunch to give you eats worth-while. oh, i guess yes!" "but it's getting so late," sighed dolly, as she caught sight of an old english clock that hung near by. "and mr. brown promised me i could speak to miss desmond. i'm afraid she'll be gone." "'fraid she's gone now," said ted. "but i'll flee and discover." he left them and threaded his way among the crowd. "here we are!" he cried gaily, as he returned, bringing the lady in question. "just caught her on the fly. trust little teddums to get you what you want, miss fair dolly." marie desmond greeted the girls as ted named them. "you lovely kiddies!" she cried. "what a delectable bunch! i could eat you all up. and your frocks! paris! i know; you needn't tell me! are you all sisters? oh, no, i remember now; you have variegated names. which one of you wanted to talk to me? i've a whole minute to spare! never say i'm not a lady of leisure!" "i'm the one," said dolly, her eyes fixed on the lovely, laughing face of the actress. "but a minute is no good, thank you. i want to talk to you about a whole day!" "oh, i do wish we could manage it," and miss desmond appeared to think that was the one thing on earth she desired. but dolly noted her wandering attention, and was not surprised when she left them as suddenly as she had come, and with a fleeting, smiling good-bye. "oh, isn't she exquisite!" breathed dolly, her eyes on the disappearing figure. "you bet she is!" assented marly turner. "and it's a wonder she took a step out of her way to speak to us kids. but friends of coriell,--of course." "is she so very busy?" asked dolly her eyes wide with interest. "well, she's a society belle as well as a popular actress. so, i s'pose, she has more or less on all the time. there's no time for much of anything in new york. i say, can't us fellows come to see you girls? when? where?" "i don't know," said dolly, mindful of the coriell episode. "i'm not going to say yes till i know what's right. i'll ask uncle forbes." "do. here's a telephone call that'll reach us. let us come soon." and then mrs. brown appeared, spoke a few words to the girls, and the hoys with them, and in a moment everybody was going home. our girls followed the example set them, said their good-byes, went to the cloak-room for their wraps, and bade the footman at the door call the forbes car. chapter x a skating party that evening, in the drawing-room, mr. forbes questioned the girls rather closely as to their enjoyment of the party at the browns'. "i liked it," said dolly, "but it was queer,--that's what it was,--queer. the idea of just seeing a performance on the stage, and then rushing through a very fancy supper, and then scooting for home as if the house was on fire!--that's not my idea of a party!" uncle jeff laughed. "and you, dotty," he said, "how did it strike you?" "i adored it! everybody was so gay and smartly dressed and quick-spoken,--i do like to hear people say things fast." "how queer you are!" exclaimed bernice; "why do you like to hear people talk fast?" "not talk fast exactly, but say things suddenly, funny things, i mean." "i understand," said mr. forbes; "you mean bright at repartee and quick-witted." "yes, sir, that's just what i do mean. and everything was so well planned and well arranged,--oh, i enjoyed every minute of it." "well, i didn't," said bernice. "i'd rather go to a regular party, where they play games and dance and act sociable." "why, the people were sociable enough," put in alicia. "i'm like dot, i thought it was lovely! muriel is as pretty as a picture--" "she scarcely said three words to us!" complained bernice. "she couldn't help that. there were so many guests, that she hadn't time to more than speak a minute or two with each one of them." "i like berwick parties better," persisted bernice. "there we all know each other--" "but, bernie," said dolly, laughing, "all the people at this party knew each other,--nearly. we were strangers, of course, but the rest seemed to be well acquainted with muriel." "and i thought the party was to be for us," went on bernice, "and i thought we'd be introduced to everybody, and be--well, be somebody, you know." "oho! you wanted to be honoured and lionised!" and uncle jeff's eyes twinkled. "not exactly. but i understood from mr. brown that the whole affair was gotten up for us, and so i think we ought to have been noticed more. why, the boys just scraped acquaintance with us, and even had to ask our names!" "that's the way they do at large parties, bernie," said her uncle. "you are supposed to talk to any of the other guests without introduction." "well, it's no sort of a way! they were awfully nice boys, but i don't suppose we'll ever see them again." "oh, yes, we will," said dolly. "they asked to call on us, and i said i'd ask you, uncle forbes. would it be all right?" "bless my soul, dolly! i don't know. i've so little knowledge of etiquette for young people. ask mrs. berry, whatever she says, you may do. who are the boys? hosmer? knapp? oh, they're all right. i know the families. but as to their calling, put it up to mrs. berry. and, by the way, how'd you girls like to have a party, a real one?" "like the one we went to to-day?" asked bernice, doubtfully. "i don't care much about it." "well, have some other kind. there must be other ways of entertaining. what would you like, bernice?" "i'd like a little party,--but i suppose that would have to be formal, too." "oh, gracious, you old hayseed!" exclaimed alicia. "you go back to the country! i'd love to have a party, uncle, the biggest and grandest there is! muriel brown would invite the people for us, i'm sure. oh, it would be just heavenly! we'd have an orchestra, and a midnight supper, and--oh, and everything!" "hold on, my child, don't go too fast! we'll only have what you all agree on. come, two d's, what do you say?" "we oughtn't to say," laughed dolly. "it's for your nieces to choose. and anyway, dot and i like everything, and we'd enjoy any kind of a party--or no party at all." "you've a nice disposition," said mr. forbes, looking at her. "don't you ever lose your temper?" "she hasn't any to lose!" dotty answered for her. "in fact, she's too awfully good-natured for any use! but she has other faults. she's as stubborn as a perfectly good mule! aren't you, dollums?" "i s'pect i am," and the golden head nodded. "but only when i care enough to be stubborn. as to this party, i don't care what sort it is, 'cause i know it will be lovely, anyway. that is, if we have it. but seems to me invitations for a big affair ought to be sent out several days in advance, and we'll be going home the middle of next week." "why, you've only just got here!" said mr. forbes. "well, it's friday night now, and we came last wednesday for a week. so, if we go home next wednesday, that party would have to be in three or four days, and that's a short time." "of course," agreed alicia. "we couldn't give a big party on such short notice." "that's easily arranged," and mr. forbes laughed; "stay another week." "oh, i couldn't," cried dolly. "my mother wouldn't hear of such a thing. the other girls can, though." "i wouldn't if doll didn't," declared dotty. "but bernie and alicia could stay." "so we could," said bernice. "my father will let me stay as long as uncle jeff wants me." "i can stay, too," said alicia, "but it's lots more fun to have you other girls with us." "we'll see about all that," and mr. forbes dismissed the subject. a footman came in to say that miss fayre was wanted on the telephone. "oh!" cried dolly, her face turning white, "do you suppose any thing's wrong at home? mother had a cold; maybe it's developed into pneumonia!" "nonsense, child; don't borrow trouble. probably it's nothing of the sort." "isn't that dolly all over?" said alicia, after dolly had left the room. "she always thinks the worst there is to think!" "maybe she's right," said dotty. "mrs. fayre does have awful colds,--hark, i hear dolly laughing! it's all right!" they all listened, and they heard dolly say, "oh, perfectly splendid! i'd just love it!--thank you!--yes, indeed!--i'm 'most sure--oh, delightful!--well, i'll ask her--fine!--yes, yes,--just wait a minute,--i'll ask her now--hold the wire." followed a whispered conversation, and the girls caught the sound of mrs. berry's voice. unable to restrain their curiosity longer, the three rushed out to the hall and saw dolly, her hand over the transmitter, talking to mrs. berry. "what is it? tell us all!" cried bernice, and alicia crowded close to listen. "oh, girls," and dolly beamed at them, "it's the loveliest invitation! marly turner wants us to go, to a skating party to-morrow afternoon at st. valentine's rink! and mrs. berry says it will be all right for us to go. yes," she continued, speaking into the telephone. "yes, we can go. and we're all most happy to accept. what time?" "four o'clock," came the answer. "meet our crowd at the rink. so glad you can come." "so are we," returned dolly, "and thank you, ever so much. good-bye." "good-bye," said turner, and dolly hung up the receiver. "tell us more," cried alicia. "what did you hang up so soon for? why didn't you let us talk to him? what an old selfish you are!" "i couldn't, alicia," and dolly looked hurt. "i knew from his manner and speech that he only; wanted a reply to his invitation, and i wasn't expected to say more." "but why did he ask for you?" grumbled alicia; "why not for me?" "i don't know, i'm sure," and dolly laughed; "he did, that's all. let's go and tell uncle forbes about it." "all right, girls; all right. glad you're going. have a good time. marly turner? yes, yes, son of the bayard turners. nice boy. his crowd will be all right. can you all skate? did you bring your skates? if not, get some. get whatever you want. look as good as the rest. good-night now. good-night, all." abruptly, as usual, mr. forbes left the room, and as the girls were getting accustomed to his eccentricities they nodded their good-nights, and then began to plan for the skating party. mrs. berry appeared and helped them decide on certain details of costume and accessories. the two d's had brought the pretty skating costumes they had worn at the berwick carnival, but as bernice had been the queen that night, her white velvet gown was out of the question. alicia, too, had no appropriate garb, so these two bought new dresses. the final result was four very becomingly attired girls who started merrily off on saturday afternoon for the party at the rink. four bunches of violets, with marly turner's card, had come to the house, and each fair damsel wore one at her corsage. dolly's suit was of light blue cloth trimmed with silver fox, and dotty's was red cloth with dark fur. bernice looked very handsome in white cloth, and alicia had chosen emerald green. they were met at the rink by marly and his chums, and at once introduced to the chaperon of the affair, who was marly's married sister. she didn't look much older than the boy himself, but she greeted the girls with a charming hospitality and declared herself delighted to take them in charge. the other boys whom they had met at muriel's party were there, and muriel was, too. she welcomed the four warmly, but as she was constantly in demand by other gay young friends, they had no chance for connected conversation with her. indeed, connected conversation was not thought of, unless with one's skating partner. "you're all right on runners," commented geordie knapp, as he skated with dotty. "you must be fond of it." "oh, i am. i skate a lot at home; that is, when there's ice. we're dependent on that, you see, as we haven't an ice rink in berwick." "berwick? small town?" "yes. 'bout as big as a minute," and dotty laughed good-naturedly. "that's why you're so up to the minute, then," geordie laughed back. "want to sit down and rest a bit?" "all right. let's," and they sat down for a few moments. "there goes your chum,--with ted hosmer. she is your chum, isn't she? the fair dolly?" "dolly fayre? yes, indeed; we're super-inseparable." "that's the way with ted and me. we're always together. funny, isn't it, how you like one person better'n anybody else?" "yes; i couldn't keep house without dolly. and we do keep house!" and dotty told her companion all about treasure house and its delights. "wow! that's some stunt! a house like that i i'd like to see it." "do. some day next summer come out to berwick and i'll show it to you. we've great little old brothers, too. one apiece." "have you? i s'pose you can cut up larks in the country that you couldn't here?" "it's awfully different." dotty sighed. "i like the city better in lots of ways, but, altogether, i guess i'd rather live in berwick." "what are you two confabbing about?" sang out a voice, and dolly, with ted hosmer, came gliding up and stopped in front of dot and young knapp. "settling the affairs of the nation," said geordie; "also, it's a case of 'change partners.'" he jumped up, took dolly's hands in his, and they swayed off across the ice, leaving dotty and ted together. "don't mind him; he's crazy," said ted, as he dropped onto the seat beside dotty. "and anyway, we're such chums we share our best friends with each other!" "glad you do! i like to talk to different people--" "i'm a different people; oh, i assure you i am. please like to talk to me!" "i do. or, at least, i'm sure i shall. what shall we talk about?" "sports in general. what do you like best, next to skating?" "tennis, don't you?" "sure, if you do. but that's mostly for summer. come on, let's skate round a couple of times, and then go for the tea place." it was good fun skating with ted, and, as dolly told him, he reminded her a little of her friend, tad brown. "any kin of muriel's?" "no, a boy in berwick. he has a twin brother, tod." "great names! tadpole and toddlekins, in full, i suppose." "they are called those sometimes. oh, mrs. graham is beckoning to us. we must go." they joined mrs. graham, who was their chaperon, and she marshalled her crowd of young people to the tea room. at last muriel brown found a chance to talk to our girls. "we seem like old friends," she said, gaily. "isn't the ice fine to-day? are you going to the dance to-night? what? not invited? that can easily be remedied. i say, sam, don't you want these four angel children at your party?" "'deed i do!" and sam graves beamed broadly, "i didn't dare ask them myself,--meant to get you to do it. coax 'em, muriel. make 'em say yes." alicia took it upon herself to accept this invitation, though dolly insisted it would depend on mrs. berry's sanction. "who's mrs. berry?" asked muriel. "is she a dragon?" "no, indeed," smiled dotty; "she's the dearest old yes-sayer in the world!" "oh, she'll let you come then. tell the girls all about it, sam," and muriel moved away. "she went off and left her ice cream untouched!" exclaimed dotty. "she's always on the hop,--muriel is," said sam. "now you girls come to-night, won't you? it's a small and early at my house. mr. forbes knows me, and i know your mrs. berry, too. just tell her it's little sammy's party, and she'll send you flying over." "tell us something about it," said dolly. "is it to be very grand? we're hazy on the subject of new york dances." "can you dance?" "yes, though maybe not the very latest steps." "that's all right, then. put on a clean sash and come along. you won't be wall flowers!" "what time shall we come?" asked bernice. "tell me about the details; i'm mr. forbe's niece." bernice was always a little jealous if the d's seemed to be consulted rather than herself or alicia. "oh, no details specially. all informal, you know. come when you like,--nine, maybe, or half past. if you're feeling conventional about it, my mother will call on you--by telephone--and ask you proper." "oh, no, she needn't do that," and bernice laughed at the idea. "we're only little girls. if mrs. berry says we can go, your invitation is enough." "good work! be sure to come. crazy to have you. 'scuse me a minute,--there's a girl i want to speak to." sam darted off, and another boy dropped into his vacated seat. it was this touch and go effect that dotty liked, but to dolly it seemed a whirling maze. and, indeed, almost before they knew it they were all whirled off home. chapter xi the collections on sunday, dinner was in the middle of the day, and directly after it was over mr. forbes led the four to the drawing-room, as was usual in the evening, and asked an account of the dance. "it was lovely!" vouchsafed dotty. "gorgeous!" agreed bernice. "perfectly all right," alicia averred. "nice enough, but very grown uppish," was dolly's verdict. "you stick to your taste for simpler parties?" said mr. forbes, looking kindly at dolly. "yes, sir; i guess i'm a country girl." "well, i'm not," and dotty's black eyes flashed. "i'd just as lief live in berwick, to be sure; but i do love to visit in new york and see all the grand doings." "and was the party grand?" "oh, it was, uncle," said alicia. "it was small and it was early." "pooh!" cried dolly. "we came home at half past eleven. i don't call that early!" "early for a city party," insisted alicia, "but it was an elaborate affair, after all, and what do you s'pose, uncle jeff? we had invitations to a lot of things, next week and the week after, too." "well, you girls are real belles!" "they do seem to like us," and alicia looked very well self-satisfied. "which one of you do they like the best?" teased uncle jeff. "dotty," said alicia and bernice together. "nothing of the sort!" declared dotty, blushing rosy red. "who, then?" and mr. forbes turned to her. "why, i don't know," said dotty, still embarrassed. "dolly, i guess." "you know better, dot," and dolly laughed at her. "i think, uncle forbes, the most citified boys and girls like bernie and alicia best, and some of the others take to dot and me." her honest blue eyes proved this was her true opinion, whatever the facts might be. "well, look here," and mr. forbes' eyes twinkled "i ask you two, dotty and dolly, which of my two nieces is a greater favourite?" "why, how can we tell that, right before them both?" cried dolly, taking it as a joke. "yes, i want you to tell me,--right before them." "i don't think there's a bit of difference," dotty said, speaking seriously, and looking at the two girls. "you see, everybody likes bernie--and--they all like alicia." "you're a diplomat!" laughed the old man, "now, dolly, see if you can beat that?" dolly liked being put on her mettle, and after a moment's thought, when she pretended to study the girls, she said, "they are both liked tremendously for themselves,--but more, because they are your nieces." "capital!" and mr. forbes rubbed his hands in glee. "you're a tactful young person, i do avow. now, just for that you may ask anything of me you like, to the half of my kingdom." "i'll ask," said dolly, quickly, "before you have a chance to repent of that offer. this is what i want: let us go up and see your collections. may we?" "i s'pose so. will you be good little girls, and not finger the exhibits, except such as i say you may?" "of course we will. we're not mischievous little kiddies! oh, are you really going to let us see it! when?" "now. may as well get it over, i suppose. march!" he led the way, and the girls trooped after him, up to the fourth floor of the house. the rooms corresponded to those below stairs, but all were arranged as a museum. there were enormous cases filled with specimens of every sort of bird, butterfly or insect. or, if not every kind was represented, surely they were nearly all there, so multitudinous were the exhibits. "what a lot!" exclaimed dolly, "i had no idea it was such an enormous collection." "yes," said mr. forbes, with justifiable pride, "it is the largest private collection that i know of. come, let me show you the birds first." obediently the girls followed his directions, and with ever growing interest they saw the rows and rows of stuffed birds, of all sizes and of all varieties of plumage. then came great cabinets filled with shallow drawers, each of which, when opened, displayed tiny moths, queer flies, and microscopic insects, each daintily mounted on its own pin and all standing in trim rows. the butterflies were the prettiest exhibit of all. these showed rare varieties and well-known ones; specimens from far distant countries and from their own state. all the girls were interested, but dolly was absorbed. she walked from case to case, asking intelligent questions, that mr. forbes was glad to answer. "you ought to make natural history a special study," he said to her. "you seem so fond of it." "oh, i am!" responded dolly. "i shall try to get mother to let me take it up specially next year. and here are the beetles! how wonderfully they are arranged, and what beautiful colours!" "yes, see the iridescent wings of this chap," and uncle jeff pointed to a fine specimen. "i don't wonder the old egyptians loved this creature and carved their scarabs in its likeness, do you?" "no indeed," responded dolly. "and do you like old egyptian things, too? so do i. i saw wonders in the museum." "i have quite an antique collection, if you're interested." "if i'm interested! well, i just guess i am!" the other girls enjoyed the exhibition, too, but not so much as dolly, who was enthusiastic over it all. they had so far seen only the front rooms, but now uncle jeff conducted them to the room in the rear extension of the house, and as he unlocked the door he said, "here are my greatest treasures of all." the girls went in, and mr. forbes rolled up the shades and let in the sunlight. "my, but it's close and stuffy!" exclaimed bernice; "mayn't we have a window open, uncle?" "yes, indeed; i believe in fresh air, but i keep this room closed so much of the time it does get stale." mr. forbes threw open a window that faced the south, and as there was no wind blowing, the fresh winter air was balmy and pleasant. "that's better," said bernice, and she began to look at the treasures all about her. there were many tall cases, like book-cases, and on their shelves were ranged curios and valuables of all sorts. these proved more interesting to dotty than the birds and butterflies. "oh, look at the old jewellery!" she cried. "just like what we saw in the museum, doll." "yes, here are old egyptian trinkets,--aren't they, uncle forbes?" "yes, those are egyptian and abyssinian. this nose ring was worn by a lady in india some centuries before you girls were born." "what is the oldest thing you have, uncle?" asked alicia. "this jewellery?" "no; this is my oldest piece," and mr. forbes took from a shelf an image of a cat. it was of dark brown material, and was dingy and roughened, as if by fire. "this came from an old egyptian tomb," he said. "you know they put all sorts of idols and charms in the tombs of their dead. then once in a while these things are exhumed, and in some instances sold by the egyptian museum authorities. i buy only what is guaranteed by them to be genuine. i have an agent, who has travelled in many countries to collect authentic antiquities for me. this cat dates from about b. c." "gracious!" cried dotty, "and there's been nearly two thousand years since b. c. that makes mr. cat about four thousand years old! some cat!" "well, a cat has nine lives anyway," laughed alicia, "so it ought to be a long time dead." "that never was a live cat, was it?" asked dolly. "oh, no. this was a bronze image, but fire and age have turned it to a mere brittle shell. if it were dropped to the floor it would break into a thousand pieces." "oh, my! take it!" exclaimed dolly, who was holding the precious relic. "i didn't know it was so fragile." mr. forbes took it carefully. "that's why i don't often bring young people up here. they're too heedless to appreciate the value of these old things. yes, two centuries before the christian era, this piece of bric-a-brac, as we would call it, adorned the tomb of some egyptian citizen. i have the guarantee, signed by the egyptian museum. and here is a fine specimen. this is in a better state of preservation. see, you can read the date on it clearly, b. c." mr. forbes took from a cabinet a small image of a mummy. it was of blue stone, somewhat chipped and worn, but preserving its shape and colour. on the back, in rude figures, but clearly discernible was the date to which he called their attention. "wonderful!" said alicia. "their figures are much like ours, aren't they?" "yes, my child, the arabic numerals are of ancient usage. think of the old hand that carved that date! long since mouldered to dust!" "it gives me the creeps!" declared bernice, "and yet it fascinates me, too. was this found in a tomb?" "yes, or in a temple. excavations in egypt, latterly, produce so many of these things that it is not difficult to get them. but that's pretty old, you see,--half a century before christ." "i wonder who was king of egypt then," said dotty. "i wish i could remember my history better. i learned about the ptolemies and the other dynasties, but i get 'em all mixed up." although the others were eagerly examining the old mummy relic, dolly stood looking at it thoughtfully. "may i take it?" she said, after the others had scrutinised it. dolly handled it carefully, as she minutely observed it on every side. it was about six inches long and was a perfect little model of an egyptian mummy. she gazed at the date deeply graven on the back, and then with a slight smile she handed it back to mr. forbes, saying, "very good, eddie!" "what! what do you mean?" cried the old gentleman, glaring at her, and alicia exclaimed, "why, dolly fayre! you rude little thing!" "but what do you mean?" persisted mr. forbes. "why do you call me eddie?" "oh," and dolly laughed, "that's a slang phrase that people say when they see through a joke." "joke, miss! are you making fun of my antiques? explain yourself!" "yes, what do you mean, dolly?" said dotty, anxiously; "you can't mean to insult mr. forbes." "you goosies!" cried dolly, "he's fooling you. it's a joke on us." "what is? what's a joke?" "this mummy," and now mr. forbes had joined in dolly's laughter. "you're a cute one!" he said. "not one person in a dozen catches on to that. tell 'em, my dear. oh, you are a smart one!" mr. forbes shook with glee, and dolly held up the image to the mystified girls. "don't you see, you blindies, the date b. c. couldn't have been put on in the year b. c.?" "why not?" asked alicia, looking blank. "why, at that time they didn't know how many years it would be before christ's birth. nobody dated anything b. c. until after the christian era had begun." "but why didn't they?" and bernice also looked bewildered. "think a minute, you sillies. nobody knew the exact date of the year one until after the year one was here. in fact, i don't think they began to count right away, anyhow. but certainly they didn't know five hundred and thirty-seven years before!" "oh, i see!" cried bernice. "all the b. c. years have been computed or dated since the a. d. years began." "of course they have, and mr. forbes had the date carved on this mummy on purpose to fool people. didn't you?" "yes," chuckled mr. forbes, "and it has fooled lots of people older and wiser than you, little dolly fayre! i think you're pretty smart to notice the fraud!" "oh, no. but it just happened to occur to me that i'd never seen a b. c. date marked before, and then i thought at once that it couldn't be." "pretty cute, all the same. you other girls didn't see it." "no, we didn't," admitted dotty. "i own up i was fooled. i never thought of the absurdity of the thing. did you make up the joke?" "no, i bought the mummy from a dealer who sold a few of them for the purpose of fun-making. it's a pretty good joke." it was, and though the girls felt a little chagrined at being taken in, they were generous enough to appreciate dolly's cleverness and be glad of it. a case of antique jewellery proved interesting to all. the queer ornaments worn by the ancients were admired and studied by the girls, and mr. forbes enjoyed telling of their histories. "this earring," he said, "is perhaps the gem of the whole collection. it is byzantine, and is of wonderfully delicate workmanship." the filigree gold ornament, was a long and slender pendant, of intricate gold work and studded with tiny jewels. it was one of a pair of earrings, and they wondered where its mate might be, if indeed, it was yet in existence. "it would make a fine lavalliere," said dolly, holding it up against her chest, and glancing in a nearby mirror. "see!" and she hooked the trinket into the lace at her throat, "isn't it becoming?" "very," laughed bernice, and turned to see what dotty was now exclaiming over. it proved to be a bracelet, that legend said had been worn by cleopatra, though mr. forbes frankly acknowledged he didn't believe this. "let me take it by the light," said alicia, "it's getting dusk in here." she took the bracelet to the open window, and admired the beauty of its wrought gold. "here, take it, uncle jeff," she said; "i declare i'm almost afraid to handle these valuable things for fear i should suddenly become a klep-what-do-you-call-it?" "kleptomaniac?" said her uncle, laughing, "i'm not afraid, or i shouldn't have brought you girls up here. i don't mind admitting i have one friend, a wise old octogenarian, rich as croesus, whom i wouldn't trust up here alone! he'd steal a gem as quickly as a highway robber would!" "how awful!" said bernice. "just because of his craze for antiques?" "yes. you know some people are carried quite out of themselves by a pet hobby. well, girls, it is getting dusk. let's go downstairs, and have a little chat over what you've seen. i'd like to see how much you remember of what i've told you." "shall i shut the window, uncle jeff?" asked bernice. "no, leave it open. a little air will do the room good. i'll see to it later." the girls left the room, mr. forbes followed, and locking the door, pocketed the key, and they all went downstairs. chapter xii the lost jewel a pleasant hour was spent in the library as mr. forbes told the girls anecdotes connected with his treasures, and also catechised them on what they had learned from their afternoon in his museum. dolly had taken the greatest interest in it, though bernice soon proved that she had the best memory of them all, for she could tell dates and data that her uncle had informed them, and which the others more often forgot. "i haven't any memory," sighed dolly. "but i do love to see these things and hear about them. it's lots of work, isn't it, to get them all properly catalogued and labelled?" "yes, it keeps fenn pretty busy, and often i bring in an assistant for him. but fenn is a clever chap, and a quick worker." their chat was interrupted by geordie knapp and ted hosmer, who came over to call on the girls. "come right in, boys, glad to see you," was mr. forbes' hearty greeting. "i shouldn't wonder if our young friends here would be glad too. they've spent the whole afternoon with my old fogy talk and i'll warrant they'll be glad of a change." "you, stay with us, uncle, and enjoy the change, too," laughed alicia, as mr. forbes was leaving the room. "no, no; it doesn't seem to occur to you that i'd like a rest from a crowd of chatter-boxes!" his merry smile belied his words, and he went off leaving the young people together. mrs. berry looked in, and hospitably invited the boys to stay to supper, which they willingly agreed to do. also, they stayed an hour or more after supper, and when at last they departed, the four girls remained in the library talking things over. to their surprise, mr. forbes came to the room, and without a word sat down facing the group. something in his expression caused the girls to stop their laughter and chatter, for the old gentleman looked decidedly serious. "well, my dears," and he looked from one to another, "have you had a pleasant day?" "yes, indeed," spoke up alicia, and they all added words of assent. "well, i haven't," said mr. forbes, and they looked up at him with a startled air. "that is, i have just made a discovery that makes to-day one of the most unfortunate of my life." "what is it, uncle? what is the matter?" alicia spoke solicitously, as if she feared her uncle had become suddenly ill. "i have met with a loss." "a loss?" queried bernice. "what have you lost?" "one of my dearest possessions. i went to my museum just now, to that rear room which we were in last, and i discovered that one of my valuable pieces of jewellery is gone." the girls stared at him blankly, and at last, bernice said, "which one?" "the byzantine earring, the gold filigree piece." "oh," cried alicia, "that lovely piece! why, where can it be?" "i don't know," replied her uncle, slowly. "i searched everywhere, and as i couldn't find it, i came down here to ask if you girls had taken it as--as a joke on me." "no, indeed!" exclaimed alicia. "i'd scorn to do such a mean trick! none of us would think of such a thing, would we, girls?" "no, indeed," said they all, and then a silence fell. where could the jewel be? as always, in moments of excitement, dolly turned very pale while dotty flushed furiously red. alicia, sat, her big eyes staring with dismay and bernice nervously picked at her handkerchief. "come now," said mr. forbes, "if any of you girls did take it, in jest, give it up, for it isn't a funny joke at all." "oh, we didn't! i'm sure none of us did!" and dolly almost wailed in her earnest denial. "of course, we didn't!" declared dotty, angrily. "you ought to know we're not that sort of girls! it must have been mislaid, or pushed behind something that conceals it from view." "probably you're right," and mr. forbes looked at her intently. "that's probably the solution of its disappearance. i'll have fenn make search to-morrow. i'm sorry i bothered you about it. good-night." with his funny abruptness he left the room, and the girls sat looking at each other in amazement. "did you ever hear anything like that!" demanded dotty, furiously. "the idea of thinking we would do such a thing! i hate practical jokes, unless among a lot of school chums. i wouldn't think of playing a joke on a grown-up!" "uncle jeff hasn't had much experience with young folks," put in alicia, by way of excuse for their host. "you know he always lives alone, and he doesn't know what girls would or wouldn't do." "but how awful for that thing to be lost," mused bernice. "suppose it fell down behind a case, or somewhere, and he never finds it!" "oh, his secretary will find it," said dolly, hopefully. "it must be somewhere around. don't let's talk about it. if we do, i shan't sleep a wink all night! i never do, if i worry." "i think it's something to worry about," said alicia. "it's the worst blow uncle jeff could have. you know how he adores his treasures. why, he'd rather lose everything from these downstairs than one specimen out of those fourth story rooms. and that gold earring, of all things!" "i tell you stop talking about it!" and dolly clapped her hands over her ears. "please, humour me in this," she added, smiling a little, "truly, it will keep me awake, if i get to worrying over it." "all right, girls, let's drop the subject. also, let's go to bed." it was alicia who spoke, and she seemed under great excitement. her eyes were unnaturally bright, and her cheeks were pink, and she moved jerkily, as if nervous. so the four went up to their rooms, and saying good-night, they closed the door of communication between. "what's the matter, dollums?" asked dotty, as she saw tears in the blue eyes. "nothing, dot, only don't talk about that gold thing, will you? i just simply can't stand it if you do!" "'course i won't if you don't want me to, only what do you s'pose did become of it?" "there you go! i think you're too mean for anything!" "oh, pshaw, i didn't mean to. i forgot. all right, no more talk 'bout that old rubbish. what shall us talk about?" "don't talk at all. i'd rather go to sleep." "go, then, old crossy! but i s'pose you don't mean to sleep in your clothes!" "no," and dolly laughed a little. "i know i'm an old bear, and a crosspatch, and everything horrid,--but i'm nervous, dotty, i am." "i know it, old girl, but you'll get over it. i believe this city life is wearing you out! i believe it's time you went home." "oh, i think so, too. i wish we could go tomorrow!" "well, we can't. what has got into you, dollyrinda? i believe you're homesick!" "i am, dotty! i'd give anything to see mother now.--i wish i was home in my own room." "you'll be there soon enough. i s'pose we'll go wednesday." "wednesday! that seems ages off!" "why, dollums, to-morrow, you can say wednesday is day after to-morrow! that's what i always do if i want to hurry up the days. but i don't want to hurry up our days in new york! no sir-ee! i love every one of 'em! _i_ wish we could stay a month!" "i don't!" and then there were few more words said between the two that night. soon they were in bed, and if dolly lay awake, dotty didn't know it, for she fell asleep almost as soon as her dark curly head touched its pillow. meantime in the next room, the other two were talking. "i do hope uncle jeff will find his old jewel," bernice said, pettishly. "we won't have a bit more fun, if he doesn't." "that's so," agreed alicia, "but he won't find it." "how do you know?" "oh, 'cause. it's very likely fallen down some crack or somewhere that nobody'd think of looking. why, once, a photograph was on our mantel, and it disappeared most mysteriously. and we never could find it. and after years, there was a new mantelpiece put in, and there was the picture! it had slipped down a narrow mite of a crack between the mantel-shelf and the wall back of it." "tell uncle jeff that to-morrow. maybe it will help him to find the thing." "all right, i will. but of course, mr. fenn will look everywhere possible. i don't believe anybody'll ever find it." "then uncle will be cast down and upset all the rest of the time we're here." "well, i can't help that. what do you suppose, bernice, he asked us here for, anyway?" "you ask me that a hundred dozen times a day, 'licia! i tell you i don't know, but i think it was only a whim. you know how queer he is. he forgets we're in this house from one evening to the next. if to-day hadn't been sunday, we wouldn't have seen him this afternoon. i wish we were going to stay another week." "so do i. but i don't like to ask him outright, and he hasn't said anything about it lately. the others couldn't stay, anyway." "oh, i don't know. i think if they were invited their mothers would let them. and anyway, i'd rather stay without them, than to go home." "yes, i would, too. dot likes it better than dolly." "yes, dolly's homesick. anybody can see that. but they like it when we go to places, and see sights." "who wouldn't? we're really having fairy-tale times, you know." "i know it. i shall hate to go back to school." "well, i don't hate to go home. i have good enough times in berwick; but i'd like to stay here one week more. i think i'll ask uncle jeff to let us, if he doesn't ask us himself." "wait till he finds his lost treasure. he'll be pretty blue if he doesn't get that back." "yes, indeed he will. let's hope the fenn man will spy it out. it must be in that room somewhere, you know." "of course it must. the secretary will find it. that's what secretaries are for." and then silence and sleep descended on that room also. next morning, mr. forbes appeared at the breakfast table. this was the first time they had ever seen him in the morning and the girls greeted him cheerily. "very nice," he said, affably, "to come down and breakfast with a flock of fresh young rosebuds like you," and he seemed so good-natured, that alicia decided he had taken his loss more easily than she had feared. but toward the end of the meal, mr. forbes made known the reason of his early appearance. "we can't find that earring," he said, suddenly. "mr. fenn and i have been looking since six o'clock this morning. now i'm going to ask you girls to help me. will you all come up to the museum and hunt? your young eyes may discern it, where we older seekers have failed. at any rate, i'd like you to try." the four expressed ready willingness, and they rose from the table and followed uncle jeff up the stairs to the rear room where the loss had occurred. the sun shone in at the southern windows, and flooded the room with brightness. it seemed impossible to overlook the treasure, and surely it must be found at once. a youngish man was there before them, and he was introduced as the secretary. lewis fenn was a grave looking, solemn-faced chap, who, it was evident took seriously the responsibility of his position as tabulator and in part, custodian of valuable treasures. he bowed to the girls, but said nothing beyond a word of greeting to each. "you see," said mr. forbes, "i locked this room myself, after you girls last evening, and nobody could get in to take the earring. consequently, it would seem that a close search must be efficacious. so, let us all set to, and see what we can do in the way of discovery." "let's divide the room in four," suggested mr. fenn, "and one of you young ladies take each quarter." "good idea!" commented uncle jeff, "and we'll do just that. alicia, you take this west end, next the door; bernice, the east end, opposite; dotty, the north side, and dolly, the south side. there, that fixes it. now, to work, all of you. i've exhausted my powers of search, and so has fenn." the two men sat down in the middle of the room, while the girls eagerly began to search. they were told not to look in the cases, but merely on tables or any place around the room where the jewel might have fallen or been laid. "who had it last?" asked mr. fenn, as the girls searched here and there. nobody seemed to know, exactly, and then alicia said, suddenly, "why, don't you know, dolly hooked it onto the front of her dress, and said it would make a lovely pendant." "but i took it off," said dolly, turning white. "where did you put it then?" asked mr. fenn, not unkindly, but curiously. "let me see," faltered dolly, "i don't quite remember. i guess i laid it on this table." "if so, it must be there now, my dear," said mr. forbes, suavely. "look thoroughly." dolly did look thoroughly, and dotty came over to help her, but the earring was not on the table. nor was it on other tables that were about the room; nor on any chair or shelf or settee or window-sill. "where can it be?" said dotty, greatly alarmed, lest dolly's having fastened it to her dress should have been the means of losing it. "are you sure you removed it from your frock, miss fayre?" asked fenn, and at that moment dolly took a dislike to the man. his voice was low and pleasant, but the inflection was meaning, and he seemed to imply that dolly might have worn it from the room. "of course, i am," dolly replied, in a scared, low voice, which trembled as she spoke. "there's an idea," said mr. forbes. "mightn't you have left it hooked into your lace, dolly, and it's there still? run and look, my dear." "i'll go with you," said dotty, but fenn said, "no, miss rose, you'd better stay here." dotty was so astonished at his dictum that she stood still and stared at him. dolly ran off to her room on the second floor and carefully examined the dress she had worn the day before. "no," she said, on her return, "it isn't on my dress. i knew it couldn't be,--i should have seen it when i undressed. besides, i know i took it off here, only a moment after i tried it on. i merely looked at it an instant, and then i unhooked it and laid it on this table." "but at first, you weren't sure that you did place it on that table, miss fayre," came the insinuating voice of fenn once more. "yes, i did, i'm sure of it now," and dolly's white face was drawn with anxiety. "think again." counselled the secretary. "maybe you took it off, and absent-mindedly slipped it in your pocket." chapter xiii suspicions dotty turned on fenn like a little fury. "what do you mean?" she cried. "are you accusing dolly of stealing that thing?" "there, there," said mr. forbes, placatingly, "of course, fenn didn't mean that. not intentionally, that is. but without thinking, couldn't--" "no, she couldn't!" stormed dotty. "dolly fayre doesn't go around pocketing people's jewels unconsciously! she isn't a kleptomaniac, or whatever you call it! she did exactly as she says she did. she laid that earring on that table." "then why isn't it there now?" asked fenn. "because somebody else moved it. oh, don't ask me who. i don't know who! and i don't care who! but dolly put it there, and whoever took it away from there can find it! perhaps you, can, mr. fenn!" the secretary looked at the angry girl with an irritating smile. "i wish i might, miss rose. but i've searched the room thoroughly, as you all have, too. it can't be here, you know." "i'll tell you," said alicia, eagerly, and then she described how in her home a photograph had slipped down behind the mantel and had been lost for years. "let us see," and mr. forbes went to the mantel in the room. but there was not the least mite of a crack between the shelf and the wall. alicia's suggestion was useless. "but," she said, "there might be that sort of a hiding-place somewhere else. let's look all over." the girls tried hard to find some crack or crevice in any piece of furniture, into which the trinket might have slipped, but there was none. they felt down between backs and seats of chairs, looked behind cases of treasures, moved every book and paper that lay on the tables, even turned up the edges of rugs, and peeped under. "it doesn't make any difference how much we look," dotty declared, "we've just got to look more,--that's all. why, that earring is in this room, and that's all there is about that! now, it's up to us to find it. you know, after you search all the possible places, you have to search the impossible ones." "i admire your perseverance," said mr. forbes, "but i can't hope it will be rewarded. it isn't as if we were hunting for a thing that somebody had purposely concealed, that would mean an exhaustive search. but we're looking for something merely mislaid or tossed aside, and if we find it, it will be in some exposed place, not cleverly hidden." "oh, i don't know, uncle jeff," said bernice, "you know when alicia's photograph slipped behind the mantel, that was deeply hidden, although not purposely." "yes, that's so," and uncle jeff looked questioningly from one girl to another. it was impossible to ignore the fact that he deemed one of them responsible for the disappearance of the jewel, and until the matter was cleared up, all felt under suspicion. fenn, too, was studying the four young faces, as if to detect signs of guilt in one of them. at last he said, "let us get at this systematically. who took the earring first, when mr. forbes handed it out from the case?" "i did," said dotty, promptly. "i stood nearest to mr. forbes and he handed it to me. after i looked at it, i passed it to alicia." "no, you didn't," contradicted alicia. "i didn't touch it." "why, yes, 'licia," dotty persisted, "you took it and said--" "i tell you i didn't! i never handled the things at all! it was bernice." "i did have it in my hands," said bernice, reflectively, "but i can't remember whether i took it from dot or alicia." "i didn't touch it, i tell you!" and alicia frowned angrily. "oh, yes, you did," said dolly, "it was you, alicia, who passed it on to me. and i took it--" "you didn't take it from me, dolly," and alicia grew red with passion. "i vow i never touched it! you took it from bernice." "no," said dolly, trying to think. "i took it from you, and i held it up and asked you how it looked." "no, doll, you asked me that," said bernice, "and i said it was very becoming." "you girls seem decidedly mixed as to what you did," said mr. fenn, with a slight laugh. "i think you're not trying to remember very clearly." "hold on, fenn," said mr. forbes, reprovingly. "it's in the girls' favour that they don't remember clearly. if they tossed the thing aside carelessly, they naturally wouldn't remember." "but, mr. forbes," and the secretary spoke earnestly, "would these young ladies toss a valuable gem away carelessly? they are not ignorant children. they all knew that the earring is a choice possession. i'm sure not one of them would toss it aside, unheeding where it might fall!" this was perfectly true. none of the four girls could have been so heedless as that! they had carefully handled every gem or curio shown them, and then returned it to mr. forbes as a matter of course. fenn's speech was rather a facer. all had to admit its truth, and the four girls looked from one to another and then at mr. forbes. he was studying them intently. bernice and dolly were crying. alicia and dotty were dry-eyed and angry-faced. if one of the four had a secret sense of guilt, it was difficult to guess which one it might be, for all were in a state of excitement and were well-nigh hysterical. "much as i regret it," mr. forbes began, "i am forced to the conclusion that one or more of you girls knows something of the present whereabouts of my lost jewel. i do not say i suspect any of you of wilful wrong-doing, it might be you had accidentally carried it off, and now feel embarrassed about returning it. i can't--i won't believe, that any of you deliberately took it with intent to keep it." "we thank you for that, mr. forbes," and dotty's tone and the expression of her face denoted deepest sarcasm. "it is a comfort to know that you do not call us thieves! but, for my part, i think it is about as bad to accuse us of concealing knowledge of the matter. i think you'd better search our trunks and suitcases! and then, if you please, i should like to go home--" "no doubt you would, miss rose!" broke in fenn's cold voice. "a search of your belongings would be useless. if one of you is concealing the jewel, it would not be found in any available place of search. you would have put it some place in the house, not easy of discovery. that would not be difficult." "be quiet, fenn," said mr. forbes. "girls, i'm not prepared to say i think one of you has hidden the jewel, but i do think that some of you must know something about it. how can i think otherwise? now, tell me if it is so. i will not scold,--i will not even blame you, if you have been tempted, or if having accidentally carried it off, you are ashamed to own up. i'm not a harsh man. i only want the truth. you can't be surprised at my conviction that you do know something of it. why, here's the case in a nutshell. i handed that earring to you, and i never received it back. what can i think but that you have it yet? it is valuable, to be sure, but the money worth of it is as nothing to the awfulness of the feeling that we have an untrustworthy person among us. can it be either of my two nieces who has done this wrong? can it be either of their two young friends? i don't want to think so, but what alternative have i? and i must know! for reasons which i do not care to tell you, it is imperative that i shall discover who is at fault. i could let the whole matter drop, but there is a very strong cause why i should not do so. i beg of you, my dear nieces,--my dear young friends,--i beseech you, tell me the truth, won't you?" mr. forbes spoke persuasively, and kindly. alicia burst into a storm of tears and sobbed wildly. bernice, her face hidden in her handkerchief, was crying too. dotty sat stiffly erect in her chair, her little hands clenched, her big, black eyes staring at mr. forbes in a very concentration of wrath. dolly was limp and exhausted from weeping. with quivering lips and in a shaking voice, she said: "maybe one of us is a kleptomaniac, then, after all." "ah, a confession!" said mr. fenn, with his cynical little smile. "go on, miss fayre. which one has the accumulating tendency?" "you do make me so mad!" exclaimed dotty, glaring at him. "uncle forbes, can't we talk with you alone?" "oh, no, little miss," said fenn, "mr. forbes is far too easy-going to look after this affair by himself! he'd swallow all the stories you girls would tell him! i'll remain, if you please. unless you have something to conceal, you can't object to my presence at this interesting confab." dolly came to dotty's aid. she looked at the secretary with a glance of supreme contempt. "it is of no consequence, mr. fenn," she said, haughtily, "whether you are present or not. uncle forbes, i agree with dotty. you said yourself, you have an acquaintance who can't help taking treasures that are not his own. it may be that one of us has done this. but, even so, the jewel must be in the house. none of us has been out of the house since we were in this room yesterday afternoon. so, if it is in the house, it must be found." "ha! you have hidden it securely, to be willing to have a thorough search of the house made!" and fenn looked unpleasantly at her. "own up, miss fayre; it will save a lot of trouble for the rest of us." dolly tried to look at the man with scorn, but her nerves gave way, and again she broke down and cried softly, but with great, convulsive sobs. dotty was furious but she said nothing to fenn for she knew she would only get the worst of it. "come now, dolly," said mr. forbes, in a gentle way, "stop crying, my dear, and let's talk this over. where did you lay the earring when you took it from your dress?" "on--on--the t-table," stammered dolly, trying to stop crying. but, as every one knows, it is not an easy thing to stem a flood of tears, and dolly couldn't speak clearly. "yes; what table?" "this one," and dotty spoke for her, and indicated the table by the south window. "where,--on the table?" persisted uncle jeff. dolly got up and walked over to the light stand in question. "about here, i think," and she indicated a spot on the surface of the dull finished wood. "why didn't you hand it back to me?" queried mr. forbes, in a kind tone. "i d-don't know, sir," dolly sobbed again. "i'm sure i don't know why i didn't." "i know," put in dotty. "because just then, mr. forbes showed us a bracelet that had belonged to cleopatra, and we all crowded round to look at that, and doll laid down the earring to take up the bracelet. we didn't suppose we were going to be accused of stealing!" "tut, tut," said mr. forbes. "nobody has used that word! i don't accuse you of anything,--except carelessness." "but when it comes to valuable antiques," interrupted fenn, "it is what is called criminal carelessness." "it was careless of dolly to lay the earring down," said mr. forbes, "but that is not the real point. after she laid it down, just where she showed us, on that small table, somebody must have picked it up. her carelessness in laying it there might have resulted in its being brushed off on the floor, but not in its utter disappearance." "maybe it fell out of the window," suggested bernice, suddenly, "that window was open then, you know." mr. forbes waited over to the table. "no," he said, "this stand is fully a foot from the window sill. it couldn't have been unknowingly brushed as far as that." "of course, it couldn't," said fenn, impatiently. "you're making no progress at all, mr. forbes." "propose some plan, yourself, then," said dotty, shortly; "you're so smart, suppose you point your finger to the thief!" "i hope to do so, miss rose," and fenn smirked in a most aggravating way. "but i hesitate to accuse anyone before i am quite sure." "a wise hesitation!" retorted dotty. "stick to that, mr. fenn!" she turned her back on him, and putting her arm round dolly, sat in silent sympathy. suddenly bernice spoke. she was not crying now, on the contrary, she was composed and quiet. "uncle jeff," she said, "this is a horrid thing that has happened. i feel awfully sorry about it all, but especially because it is making so much trouble for dolly and dotty, the two friends that i brought here. alicia and i belong here, in a way, but the others are our guests, as well as your guests. it is up to us, to free them from all suspicion in this thing and that can only be done by finding the earring. i don't believe for one minute that any one of us four girls had a hand, knowingly, in its disappearance, but if one of us did, she must be shown up. i believe in fairness all round, and while i'm sure the jewel slipped into some place, or under or behind something, yet if it didn't,--if somebody did,--well,--steal it! we must find out who. i wouldn't be willing, even if you were, uncle, to let the matter drop. i want to know the solution of the mystery, and i'm going to find it!" "bravo! bernie, girl," cried her uncle, "that's the talk! as i told you i must know the truth of this thing,--never mind why, i must find it out. but how?" "first," said bernice, speaking very decidedly, but not looking toward the other girls, "i think all our things ought to be searched." "oh, pshaw, bernie," said alicia, "that would be silly! you know if any of us wanted to hide that earring we wouldn't put it in among our clothes." "why not?" demanded bernice. "i can't imagine any of us having it, but if we have, it's by accident. why, it might have caught in any of our dresses or sashes, and be tucked away there yet." "that's so," and dotty looked hopeful. "it could be, that as one of us passed by the table, it got caught in our clothing. anyway, we'll all look." "but don't look in your own boxes," objected fenn. "every girl must search another's belongings." "i wonder you'd trust us to do that!" snapped dotty, and fenn immediately replied: "you're right! it wouldn't be safe! i propose that mrs. berry search all your rooms." "look here, fenn, you are unduly suspicious," mr. forbes remonstrated, mildly. "but, sir, do you want to get back your gem, or not? you asked for my advice and help in this matter, now i must beg to be allowed to carry out my plans of procedure." it was plain to be seen that mr. forbes was under the thumb of his secretary. and this was true. lewis fenn had held his position for a long time, and his services were invaluable to jefferson forbes. it was necessary that the collector should have a reliable, responsible and capable man to attend to the duties he required of a secretary, and these attributes fenn fully possessed. but he was of a small, suspicious nature, and having decided on what course to pursue regarding the lost curio, he was not to be swerved from his path. "well, well, we will see," mr. forbes said, an anxious look wrinkling his forehead as he looked at the girls. "run away now, it's nearly luncheon time. don't worry over the thing. each one of you knows her own heart. if you are innocent, you've no call to worry. if you are implicated, even in a small degree in the loss of my property, come to me and tell me so. see me alone, if you like. i will hear your confession, and if it seems wise, i will keep it confidential. i can't promise this, for as i hinted, i have a very strong reason for probing this affair to the very core. it is a mystery that must be cleared up!" chapter xiv at the tea room the girls went to their rooms to tidy up for luncheon, though there was some time before the meal would be announced. by common consent the door was closed between the rooms, and on one side of it the two d's faced each other. "did you ever see such a perfectly horrid, hateful, contemptible old thing as that fenn person?" exclaimed dotty, her voice fairly shaken with wrath. "i can't see how mr. forbes can bear to have him around! he ought to be excommunicated, or whatever they do to terrible people!" "he is awful, dotty, i don't wonder you gave it to him! but you mustn't do it. he's mr. forbes' right hand man, and whatever uncle jeff tells him to do, he'll do it. the idea of searching our trunks! i won't allow them to touch mine, i can tell you that!" "oh, dolly, now don't be stubborn. why, for you to refuse to let them look over your things would be the same as saying you had the thing hidden." "dorothy rose! what a thing to say to me!" "i'm not saying it to you! i mean, i am saying it to you, just to show you what other people would say! you know it, dolly. you know fenn would say you had the earring." "but, dotty, it must be somewhere." "of course, it must be somewhere,--look here, dollyrinda, you don't know anything about it, do you? honest injun?" "how you talk, dot. how should i know anything about it?" "but do you?" "don't be silly." "but, do you?" "dotty, i'll get mad at you, if you just sit there saying, 'but do you?' like a talking machine! are you going to change your dress for luncheon?" "no, i'm not. these frocks are good enough. but, dolly, do you? do you know anything, anything at all, about the earring?" dolly was sitting on the edge of her little white bed. at dotty's reiteration of her query, dolly threw her head down on the pillow and hid her face. "do you?" repeated dotty, her voice now tinged with fear. dolly sat upright and looked at her. "don't ask me, dotty," she said, "i can't tell you." "can't tell me," cried dotty, in bewilderment, "then who on earth could you tell, i'd like to know!" "i could tell mother! oh, dotty, i want to go home!" "well, you can't go home, not till day after to-morrow, anyway. what's the matter with you, dolly, why can't you tell me what you know? how can i find the thing, and clear you from suspicion if you have secrets from me?" "you can't, dotty. don't try." dolly spoke in a tense, strained way, as if trying to preserve her calm. she sat down at their little dressing-table and began to brush her hair. a tap came at the door, and in a moment, bernice came in. "let me come in and talk to you girls," she begged. "alicia is in a temper, and won't say anything except to snap out something quarrelsome. what are we going to do?" "i don't know, bernie," and dotty looked as if at her wits' end. "it's bad enough to put up with that old fenn's hateful talk, but now dolly's gone queer, and you say alicia has,--what are we to do?" "let's talk it all over with mrs. berry at lunch, she's real sensible and she's very kind-hearted." "yes, she is. and there's the gong now. come on, let's go down. come on, dollikins, brace up, and look pretty! heigho! come on, alicia!" alicia appeared, looking sullen rather than sad, and the quartette went downstairs. mrs. berry listened with interest to their story. interest that quickly turned to deep concern as the story went on. "i don't like it," she said, as the girls paused to hear her comments. "no carelessness or thoughtlessness could make that valuable earring disappear off the face of the earth! i mean, it couldn't get lost, it must have been taken." "by us?" flared out alicia. "maybe not meaningly, maybe for a joke, maybe unconsciously; but it was carried out of that room by some one, of that i'm certain." "the idea of thinking we'd do it as a joke!" cried bernice. "but you told me about the joke mr. forbes played on you about the b. c. image, why mightn't one of you have taken this to tease him? oh, girls, if any of you did,--give it back, i beg of you! mr. forbes is a kind man, but a very just one. if you give it back at once, and explain, he will forgive you, fully and freely. but if you delay too long he will lose patience. and, too, you must know he wants to--" "wants to what, mrs. berry?" asked dotty, for the lady had stopped speaking very suddenly. "never mind. i forgot myself. but mr. forbes has a very strong reason for wishing to sift this matter to the bottom. don't, girls,--oh, don't deceive him!" "what makes you think we're deceiving him?" cried dotty. "that's the way old fenn talks! isn't he a disagreeable man, mrs. berry?" "mr. fenn is peculiar," she admitted, "but it isn't nice for you to criticise mr. forbes' secretary. he is a trusted employee, and of great use in his various capacities." "but he was very rude to us," complained alicia. "he was positively insulting to dolly and me." "don't remember it," counselled mrs. berry. "the least you have to do with him the better. forget anything he may have said, and keep out of his way all you can." mr. forbes' housekeeper was a tactful and peaceable woman, and she well knew the temperament and disposition of the secretary. she herself disliked him exceedingly, but it was part of her diplomacy to avoid open encounter with him. and she deemed it best for the girls to follow her course. "i think," she said finally, "the best thing for you to do, is to go for a nice motor ride in the park. it is a lovely day, and the ride will do you good and make you feel a heap better. then on your return, stop at a pretty tearoom, and have some cakes and chocolate, or ices; and while you're gone, i'll have a little talk with mr. forbes, and, who knows, maybe we might find the earring!" "you're going to search our boxes!" cried alicia. "well, i won't submit to such an insult! i shall lock mine before i go out." "so shall i," declared dolly. "i think we all ought to. really, mrs. berry, it's awful for you to do a thing like that!" "mercy me! girls, how you do jump at conclusions! i never said a word about searching your rooms. i had no thought of such a thing! you mustn't condemn me unheard! you wouldn't like that, yourselves!" "indeed, we wouldn't, mrs. berry," cried dolly, smiling at her. "i apologise for my burst of temper, i'm sure. but i hate to be suspected." "be careful, dolly, not to be selfish. others hate to be suspected too--" "yes, but _i_'m innocent!" cried dolly, and as soon as she had spoken she blushed fiery red, and her sweet face was covered with confusion. "meaning somebody else isn't innocent!" spoke up alicia; "who, please?" "me, probably," said dotty, striving to turn the matter off with a laugh. "dolly and i always suspect each other on principle--" "oh, pooh! this is no time to be funny!" and alicia looked daggers at the smiling dotty. "you're right, alicia, it isn't!" she flashed back, and then mrs. berry's calm voice interrupted again. "now, girlies, don't quarrel among yourselves. there's trouble enough afoot, without your adding to it. take my advice. go and put on some pretty dresses and then go for a ride, as i told you, and get your tea at the 'queen titania' tearoom. it's just lately been opened, and it's a most attractive place. but promise not to squabble. indeed, i wish you'd promise not to discuss this matter of the earring. but i suppose that's too much to ask!" "yes, indeed, mrs. berry," and bernice smiled at her. "i'm sure we couldn't keep that promise if we made it!" "well, don't quarrel. it can't do any good. run along now, and dress." the cheery good-nature of the housekeeper helped to raise the girls' depressed spirits, and after they had changed into pretty afternoon costumes and donned their coats and furs, they had at least, partially forgotten their troubles of the morning. but not for long. as they sped along in the great, comfortable car, each found her thoughts reverting to the sad episode, and oh, with what varied feelings! suddenly, bernice broke out with a new theory. "i'll tell you what!" she exclaimed; "uncle jeff hid that thing himself, to see how we would act! then he pretended to suspect us! that man is studying us! oh, you needn't tell me! i've noticed it ever since we came. he watches everything we do, and when he says anything especial, he looks closely, to see how we're going to take it." "i've noticed that, too," agreed dolly. "but it's silly, bernie, to think he took his own jewel." "just to test us, you know. i can't make out why he wants to study us so, but maybe he's writing a book or something like that. else why did he want not only alicia and me but two of our friends to come for this visit? he studies us, not only as to our own characters, but the effect we have on each other." dotty looked at bernice with interest. "you clever thing!" she cried; "i do believe you're right! i've caught uncle forbes frequently looking at one or another of us with the most quizzical expression and listening intently for our answers to some question of right or wrong or our opinions about something." "i've noticed it," said dolly, though in an indifferent tone, "but i don't think he's studying us. i think he's so unused to young people that everything we do seems strange to him. why any of our fathers would know what we're going to say before we say it. mine would anyhow and so would dot's. but mr. forbes is surprised at anything we say or do because he never saw girls at close range before. i think we interest him just like his specimens do." "that's it," cried dotty, "you've struck it, doll. we're just specimens to him. he's studying a new kind of creature! and, maybe he did want to see what we'd do in given circumstances,--like an unjust accusation, and so he arranged this tragic situation." "no," said dolly, still in that unnerved, listless way, "no, that won't do, dotty. if it were true, he'd never let mr. fenn be so rude to us. why, this morning, i'm sure,--i know,--mr. forbes was just as uncertain of what had become of that earring as--as any of us were." "well, have it your own way," and dotty smiled good-naturedly at her chum, "but here's my decision. that thing is lost. somehow or other, for some ridiculous reason, blame seems to be attached to my dollyrinda. i won't stand it! i hereby announce that i'm going to find that missing gimcrack before i go back to my native heath,--if i have to take all summer!" "aren't you going home on wednesday?" cried dolly, looking aghast at the idea. "not unless that old thing is found! i'll telephone my dear parents not to look for me until they see me. i'll hunt every nook and cranny of mr. forbes' house, and when i get through, i'll hunt over again. but find the thing, i will! so there, now!" "why do you say dolly is suspected?" asked alicia. "oh, you all know she is, just because she hooked the foolish thing into her lace. she put it on the table after that, and every one of us probably handled it, but no, it is laid to dolly! just because she's the only one of us incapable of such a thing,--i guess!" "why, dot rose, what a speech!" and dolly almost laughed at the belligerent dotty. "none of us would take it wrongly, i'm sure--but--" "well, but what?" demanded alicia, as dolly paused. "oh, nothing, alicia, but the same old arguments. mistake,--unintentional,--caught in our dresses,--and all that." dolly spoke wearily, as if worn out with the subject. "well, i've a new theory," said dotty, "i believe that fenn man stole it!" the other three laughed, but dotty went on. "yes, i do. you see, he's never had a chance to take any of the treasures before, 'cause uncle forbes would know he was the thief. but now he has all us four to lay it on, so he made the most of his chance." "oh, dotty, i can't believe it!" said bernice. "he didn't act like a thief this morning. he was more like an avenging justice." "that's just his smartness! make it seem as if we did it, you know." "nothing in it," and dolly smiled at dotty's theory. "he wasn't here yesterday, at all. he didn't know that i hooked the old thing on my waist,--oh, i wish i hadn't done that!" "never you mind, dollums," dotty said, endearingly. "if he did do it, we'll track him down. because, girls, i tell you i'm going to find that earring. and what dorothy rose says, goes! see?" dotty's brightness cheered up the others, and as they drove through the park, there were many sights of interest, and after a time the talk drifted from the subject that had so engrossed them. and when at last they stopped at the new tea room and went in, the beauty and gaiety of the place made them almost forget their trouble. "i'll have cafe parfait," said dotty, "with heaps of little fancy cakes. we can't get real fancy cakes in berwick, and i do love 'em!" the others were of a like mind, and soon they were feasting on the rich and delicate confections that the modern tea room delights to provide. while they sat there, muriel brown came in, accompanied by two of her girl friends. "oh, mayn't we chum with you?" muriel cried, and our four girls said yes, delightedly. "how strange we should meet," said dolly, but muriel laughed and responded, "not so very, as i'm here about four or five days out of the seven. i just simply love the waffles here, don't you?" and then the girls all laughed and chattered and the new yorkers invited the other four to several parties and small affairs. "new york is the most hospitable place i ever saw!" declared dotty. "we seem to be asked somewhere every day for a week." "everybody's that," laughed muriel. "but you must come to these things we're asking you for, won't you?" "i don't believe we can promise," said bernice, suddenly growing serious. "you see, we may go home on wednesday." "day after to-morrow? oh, impossible! don't say the word!" and with a laugh, muriel dashed away the unwelcome thought. "i shall depend upon you," she went on, "especially for the friday party. that's one of the best of all! you just must be at it!" "if we're here, we will," declared alicia, carried away by the gay insistence. "and i'm 'most sure bernice and i will be here, even if the others aren't." "i want you all," laughed muriel, "but i'll take as many as i can get." then into the limousine again, and off for home. "oh," cried dolly, "that horrid business! i had almost forgotten it!" "we can't forget it till it's settled," said dotty, and her lips came tightly together with a grim expression that she showed only when desperately in earnest. chapter xv dolly's ride it was tuesday morning that lewis fenn came to dolly and asked her to give him a few moments' chat. a little bewildered, dolly followed fenn into the reception room, and they sat down, fenn closing the door after them. "it's this way, miss fayre," he began. "i know you took the gold earring. it's useless for you to deny it. it speaks for itself. you are the only one of you girls especially interested in antiques, and moreover, you are the one who handled the jewel last. now, i don't for a moment hold you guilty of stealing. i know that you thought the thing of no very great intrinsic value, and as mr. forbes has so many such things in his possession you thought one more or less couldn't matter to him. so, overcome by your desire to keep it as a souvenir, and because of its antique interest you involuntarily took it away with you. of course, searching your boxes is useless, for you have concealed it some place in the house where no one would think of looking. now, i come to you as a friend, and advise you to own up. i assure you, mr. forbes will forgive you and he will do so much more readily if you go to him at once and confess." dolly sat rigidly, through this long citation, her face growing whiter, her eyes more and more frightened, as she listened. when fenn paused, she struggled to speak but couldn't utter a sound. she was speechless with mingled emotions. she was angry, primarily, but other thoughts rushed through her brain and she hesitated what attitude to assume. the secretary looked at her curiously. "well?" he said, and there was a threatening tone in his voice. dolly looked at him, looked straight into his accusing eyes, began to speak, and then, in a burst of tears, she cried out, "oh, how i hate you!" dotty flung open the door and walked in. "i've been listening," she announced, "listening at the keyhole, to hear what you said to my friend! i heard, and i will answer you. dolly fayre no more took that earring, than you did, mr. fenn, and i'm inclined to think from your manner, that you stole it yourself!" "what!" shouted fenn, surprised out of his usual calm. "what do you mean, you little minx?" "just what i say," repeated dotty, but dolly had already fled from the room. she went in search of mrs. berry, and found her in her own bedroom. "please, mrs. berry," said dolly, controlling her sob-shaken voice, "i want to go out, all by myself, a little while. may i?" "goodness, child, what do you mean? where? i'll go with you." "no; i want to go alone. i have to think something out all by myself. nobody can help me, and if i'm here, all the girls will butt in and bother me." "where are you going? for a walk?" "no, please. i want to ride on the top of a fifth avenue stage. i want to go alone, and then, sitting up there, with the fresh air blowing around me, i can think something out. i may go, mayn't i, mrs. berry? i know all about the stages." "why, yes, child, of course, you can go, if you really want to. you can't come to any harm just riding on top of a bus. run along. but i'd rather you'd let me help you. or go with you." "no, please; i must be alone. i don't want even dotty. i have something very serious to decide. no one can help me. my mother could, but she isn't here." "i wish you'd try me," and the kind lady smiled endearingly. "i would if i could, and you're a dear to ask me. but this is a special matter, and it troubles me awfully. so, i'll go off by myself for an hour or so, and when i come back, i'll be all decided about it." dolly got her hat and coat, without seeing the other girls at all. she went out at the front door of the big fifth avenue house, and walked a few blocks before she stopped to wait for a stage. "i don't care which way i go," she thought to herself, "i'll take the first bus that comes along." the first one chanced to be going down-town, and signalling the conductor, dolly climbed the little winding stairs to the top. there were only half a dozen passengers up there, and dolly sat down near the front. it was a clear, crisp morning. the air was full of ozone, and no sooner had dolly settled herself into her seat, than she began to feel better. her mind cleared and she could combat the problems that were troubling her. but she was in a dilemma. should she go to mr. forbes and tell him where the jewel was,--or, should she not? she wanted to be honest, she wanted to do right, but it would be a hard task. the more she thought it over, the more she was perplexed, and though her spirits were cheered by the pleasant ride, her troubles were as far as ever from a solution. down she went, down the beautiful avenue, past the sherman statue and the plaza fountain. on, past the library, down through the shopping district, and then dolly concluded she would go on down to the washington arch, and stay in the same bus for the return trip. but, before she realised it, she found the bus she was in had turned east on thirty-second street, and was headed for the railroad station. she started up, to get off the stage, but sat down again. "what's the use?" she thought. "i can just as well go on to the station, and come back again. i only want the ride." so she went on, and at the station, she was asked to take another stage. down the stairs she climbed, and as she glanced at the great colonnade of the building she realised that from there trains went home! home,--where mother was! unable to resist, dolly obeyed an impulse to enter the station. the warm, pleasant atmosphere of the arcade, soothed her nerves, and she walked along, thinking deeply. she came to the stairs that led down to the waiting rooms, and a great wave of homesickness came over her. she would go home! she had money with her, she would buy a ticket, and go straight to berwick! she couldn't, she simply could not face uncle jeff and the girls, with her secret untold, and she would not tell it! anyway, she couldn't go back to the house where that horrid fenn was! that was certain. she looked in her pocket-book, and tucked away in its folds was the return half of her berwick ticket! she had forgotten that she had it with her. it seemed a finger of fate pointing the way. "i will," she decided. "i will go back to berwick. i'll ask about the trains." inquiry at the information department told her that there would be a train for berwick in half an hour, and dolly went in and sat down in the waiting room. suddenly it struck her that the people at mr. forbes' would be alarmed at her non-appearance, and would be very anxious for her safety. that would never do. she had no wish to disturb kind mrs. berry or to scare dotty half to death. she saw the telephone booths near by, and realised how easy it would be to communicate with the house. she asked the operator for the number of jefferson forbes' residence and in a moment was in the booth. the butler responded to her call, and dolly did not ask for any one else. "that you, mcpherson?" she said, speaking as casually as she could. "yes, miss fayre. will you speak with mrs. berry?" "no; i'll give you a message. please say to miss rose that i have gone to berwick." "to berwick, miss?" "yes; and tell mrs. berry the same. that's all, mcpherson; no message for any one else." "yes, miss fayre. when will you be back, miss fayre?" "not at all. or, that is,--never mind that. just say i have gone to berwick. i'll write to miss rose as soon as i get there." "yes, miss fayre," and the butler hung up his receiver. it was not his business if the ladies came or went. in obedience to orders, mcpherson went to mrs. berry and delivered the message. "the dear child," said the housekeeper, and the tears came to her eyes. of course, she knew about the earring episode, and until now she hadn't suspected that dolly really took it. but to run away practically proved her guilt. so she had meant to go when she asked permission to go on the bus! mrs. berry's heart was torn, for she loved dolly best of the four, and it was a blow to be thus forced to believe her guilty. she quizzed the butler, but he had no further information to give. "she only said she was going, ma'am, and said for me to tell you and miss rose. that's all." "i will tell miss rose," said mrs. berry, and dismissed the man. she thought deeply before going to find dotty. she wondered if she might yet stay dolly's flight and persuade her to return. she looked up a timetable, and found that the train for berwick would leave in ten minutes. doubtless dolly was already in the car. however, being a woman of energetic nature, mrs. berry telephoned to the railroad station. she asked for a porter, and begged him to try to find dolly, whom she described, and ask her to come to the telephone. "i remember seeing that girl," said the negro porter. "she was walking around sort of sad-like, and sort of uncertain. but i don't see her now." "look on the berwick train," commanded mrs. berry, "and do it quickly. if she's on the train, ask her to get off and answer my call. i think she'll do it. go quickly! i'll hold the wire." but it was within a few minutes of starting time; the train was crowded, and after a short search the porter came back with the word that he couldn't find her. "i could of," he said, "if i'd 'a' had a minute more. but the train despatcher put me off, and they started. sorry, ma'am." "i'm sorry, too," and mrs. berry sighed as she realised how near she had come to success, only to fail. she thought a few moments longer, then she went to find dotty. that young person, she discovered, to her astonishment, was up in mr. forbes' own study, on the fourth floor. dotty had insisted on an interview with her host after the stormy time she had with his secretary. mr. forbes had received her, not at all unwillingly, for he wanted to get at the truth of the unpleasant matter. "dolly never took it!" mrs. berry heard dotty, declare, as she approached the door. "either it's just lost, or else mr. fenn stole it,--or else--" "or else what?" asked mr. forbes, as dotty paused. "i don't like to say," and dotty twisted her finger nervously; "i do suspect somebody,--at least, i fear maybe i do, a little bit, but i won't say anything about it, unless you keep on blaming dolly. then i will!" "i have something to tell you," said mrs. berry, entering. "dolly has gone home." "what!" cried mr. forbes and dotty simultaneously. lewis fenn smiled. "yes," continued mrs. berry, "she has gone home to berwick. she came to me and asked if she might go for a ride on top of a fifth avenue stage, to think things out by herself,--she said. then, a little later, she telephoned from the pennsylvania station that she was just taking the train for berwick." "i don't believe it!" cried dotty. "who told you?" "mcpherson. he took the message. dolly said to tell you, dotty, and to tell me, but she sent no word to any one else." "looks bad," said mr. forbes, shaking his head. "i told you so!" said lewis fenn, nodding his. "i knew when i flatly accused miss fayre this morning of taking the earring, that she was the guilty one. understand me, she didn't mean to steal. she didn't look upon it as theft. she only took a fancy to the bauble, and appropriated it without really thinking it wrong. as a child would take a worthless little trinket, you know." dotty looked stunned. she paid no attention to fenn's talk; she stared at mrs. berry, saying, "has she really gone?" "yes, dear," answered the sympathetic lady, "she has. perhaps it's the best thing. she'll tell her mother all about it, and then we'll know the truth." "yes, she'll confess to her mother," said fenn, and he grinned in satisfaction. "shut up, fenn," said mr. forbes. "i'm not at all sure dolly is the culprit. if i know that girl, she wouldn't run away if she were guilty,--but she might if she were unjustly accused." "that's generous of you, sir," said the secretary, "but you know yourself that when i taxed miss fayre definitely with the deed, she immediately went off, pretending that she was just going for a ride, and would return. that piece of deception doesn't look like innocence, i think you must admit!" "no, no, it doesn't. dotty, did you say you had some other suspicion? what is it?" "i can't tell it now. i can't understand dolly. i know, oh, i know she never took the earring, but i can't understand her going off like that. she never pretends. she's never deceitful--" "she surely was this time," and fenn seemed to exult in the fact. "maybe she changed her plan after she started," suggested dotty delorously. "not likely," mused mr. forbes. "it was unprecedented for her to go alone for a bus ride, but if it was because she wanted to get off home secretly, it is, of course, very plausible. she didn't want any of you girls to know she was going, lest you persuade her not to. she didn't want to go in my car alone, as that would seem strange. but to take a bus, that was really a clever way to escape unnoticed!" "i'm surprised that she telephoned back at all," said mr. fenn. "of course, she would!" said dotty, indignantly. "she didn't want us to think she was lost or worry about her safety." "she was most considerate," said fenn, sarcastically. "oh, stop!" cried dotty, at the very end of her patience with the man. "you're enough to drive any one distracted!" "let the child alone, fenn," said mr. forbes; "your manner is irritating." "the whole affair is irritating," returned the secretary, "but it is now in a way to be cleared up, i think. we shall hear from miss fayre's parents, i'm sure." "what is going on?" spoke up alicia from the doorway, and she and bernice came into the room. "i know we're forbidden up here, but dotty's here, so we came, too. what's the matter?" "dolly's gone home," said mr. forbes, looking at his nieces. "dolly has!" exclaimed bernice. "what for?" "because she was persecuted!" dotty replied, "and unjustly accused, and suspected, and her life made generally miserable! i don't blame her for going home! i'm going, too." "when did she go? who took her?" alicia asked. "she went alone," said mrs. berry, and she gave them the details of dolly's departure. "well, i am surprised," said bernice, but alicia began to cry softly. "yes, cry, alicia!" said dotty, turning on her. "i should think you would! you made dolly go! you know where that earring thing is!" "i do not!" and alicia stared at dotty. "well, you know something more than you've told!" chapter xvi was it alicia? "what do you mean by that speech dotty?" asked bernice, as alicia kept on crying. "i mean just what i say. alicia knows where the earring is, or, if she doesn't know that, she knows something about it that she won't tell us." "what is it, alicia?" said her uncle, kindly. "if you know anything at all, tell us, won't you?" "i don't, uncle. i don't know anything about it!" and alicia wept more than ever. "well, the thing to do is to find it," said fenn gazing closely at alicia. "where we find it will disclose who took it." "i agree with you, mr. fenn," said a voice from the doorway, and there stood dolly fayre! "oh," cried dotty, "i knew you wouldn't run away!" "i did," returned dolly, looking very sober. "i couldn't stand things here, and i was tempted to go home." "did you start out with that idea?" asked dotty. "no; never thought of such a thing when i went out. but i took a bus that turned around and went to the station, so that made me think of berwick and i got homesick for mother, and i just couldn't help wanting to go to her. and i telephoned back here that i was going. then, i had no sooner done that, than it seemed to me a cowardly thing to do, after all, and i changed my mind quick and came right back here. i rode up on top of a stage, and the trip in this lovely bright air made me feel a heap better. now then, i want to say, once for all, that i didn't take that earring, but i'm going to find out who did, and also i'm going to find the jewel. i don't know which i'll find first, but one means the other." "just what i said, miss fayre," exclaimed fenn. "i'll join forces with you, and we'll see about this thing. we'll find the missing jewel and we'll find out who took it, but we'll have to put up a search." "all my things are at your disposal," said dolly; "look through all my cupboards and bureau drawers as you like. i'm not afraid." "of course not," said fenn, "after your absence this morning! you had a fine opportunity to dispose of the jewel!" "how dare you!" cried dolly, turning white with rage. "i have told you truthfully where i went and why." "let her alone, fenn," said mr. forbes, sharply. "you talk too much. run along now, girls; we'll let the matter rest for to-day. i'll consult with mr. fenn, and i don't think we'll search your belongings. i can't think any one of you has intentionally concealed the jewel. it's lost but not stolen, that's what i think." "you dear old thing!" and bernice impulsively threw her arms around her uncle's neck. "i think you're right. but it must be found!" "it must be found!" repeated dolly. "otherwise suspicion will always rest on me." "not on you any more than the rest of us," declared dotty, "but there's no use in hunting any more in this room. it simply isn't here." they had searched the room in which the jewel had been kept, thoroughly and repeatedly. so the girls went off to their own rooms to talk it all over again. "you're too hard on them, fenn," said mr. forbes to his secretary, when they were alone. "but it's a clear case, sir. that fayre girl took it. she got scared and tried to run home, then decided it would be better to face the music, so she returned. she's the one, of course. she adores those old trinkets; the others don't care two cents for them. she put it on her dress,--probably she took it off again, but after that the temptation to possess the thing was too strong for her. she thought you'd not miss it, and she carried it off. then, when she was out this morning, she either threw it away, or secreted it somewhere. perhaps she took it to some friend for safe keeping." "i don't believe it, fenn. i've studied the four girls pretty closely and dolly fayre is, i think, the most frank and honest and conscientious of them all. why, i'd suspect either of my own nieces before i would dolly." "you're generous, sir. but you're mistaken. miss fayre is the culprit, and we'll fasten the theft on her yet." "i hope not,--i sincerely hope not. but it's a queer business, fenn, a very queer business." "it's all of that, mr. forbes, but we'll get at the truth of it yet." meantime the four girls were talking over the matter. but not all together. the two d's, in their own room, and the other two girls in theirs were having separate confabs. "now, dolly fayre," dotty was saying, "you tell me everything you know about this thing! i don't want any holding back or concealing of any suspicions or doubts you may have." "it isn't really a suspicion, dotty, but i--will tell you. it's only that just as we left the room, the museum room i call it, yesterday afternoon, we were all out, and alicia ran back. she said she had left her handkerchief on the table. and she went straight to that very table where i had laid the earring. now, i can't suspect alicia, but that's what she did." "well, dolly," and dotty looked thoughtful, "that's enough to cast suspicion on her. she went to that very table?" "yes. of course, i didn't think anything about it at the time, but now i remember it distinctly. that's why i wanted to go home and tell mother all about it, and ask her if i ought to tell mr. forbes about alicia." "i see. i don't know myself what you ought to do. i've been thinking it might be alicia all the time. i hate to suspect her, as much as you do. but if she ran back, and went to that table, and then the jewel that laid there was gone, it certainly looks queer. decidedly queer." "well, what shall i do?" "i suppose you'll have to keep still, unless you're actually accused of taking it. you can't very well tell on alicia." "that's what i think." "but if they really accuse you,--and mr. fenn has already done so." "oh, fenn! i don't care what he says. if mr. forbes doesn't think i took it, i don't want to say anything about alicia." "well, let's wait and see. after what you've just told me, i think she did take it. but i don't want to think that." now, in the next room, alicia and bernice were talking confidentially and in low tones. "of course, dolly must have taken it," alicia said, slowly. "i can't believe that," said bernice. "i know dolly fayre awfully well, and i just about 'most know she couldn't do such a thing." "i daresay she never was tempted before. you can't tell what you may do until there's a sudden temptation. she might have thought it was no harm, when uncle jeff has so many of such trinkets. she might have thought he'd never miss it--" "no," dissented bernice. "dolly never thought out those things. if she did take it, it was just on the spur of the moment, and, as you say, because of a sudden irresistible temptation. and the minute after she was doubtless sorry, but then she was ashamed to confess or return it." it was luncheon time then, and the girls went downstairs together, with no disclosures of their suspicions of each other. at the luncheon table the subject was freely discussed. dolly explained to mrs. berry that, after she had telephoned she was going home, she felt that it was a cowardly thing to do, and that she ought to remain and see the matter through. "you see," dolly said, smiling, "it was a sudden temptation, when i got to the station, to go home. just the sight of the ticket office, and the train gates, gave me a wave of homesickness and i wanted to see mother so terribly, that i thought i'd just go. but as soon as i'd telephoned, i realised that i oughtn't to do it, so i came right back here. i didn't telephone i'd changed my mind, for i thought i'd be here so soon. mrs. berry, what do you think became of the earring?" "i don't know, i'm sure, my dear. i don't think i could ever believe that any one of you girls took it with any wrong intent. did one of you just borrow it? to study it as a curio or anything like that?" "no!" cried bernice. "that's absurd. if i'd wanted to do that i should have asked uncle's permission." "of course you would," and good mrs. berry sighed at the undoubted fallacy of her theory. it was during luncheon that the telephone bell rang, and geordie knapp invited the girls to a matinee at the hippodrome. "they must come," he said to mrs. berry, who had answered his call. "please let them. it's a big party. we've three boxes; my mother is going with us, and all the rest are young people. i know your girls will like it." "of course they will," mrs. berry replied. "i'll be glad to have them go. wait; i'll ask them." the invitation was heard with delight, and bernice answered geordie for the others that they'd all be glad to go. "good!" cried geordie. "we'll call for you in our big car. be ready on time." they promised and hastened through luncheon to go to dress. "i'm glad you're going," kind mrs. berry said; "it'll take your minds off this old earring business. have a real good time, and don't even think of anything unpleasant." so the girls started off in gay spirits, resolved not to worry over the lost jewel. during the intermission at the matinee dotty chanced to be talking to geordie alone, and she told him about the mystery, and asked him what he thought. the boy was greatly interested, and asked for all the details. so dotty told him all, even of dolly's seeing alicia return to the room and go to the table by the window. "jiminy crickets!" said geordie, "that looks bad! but i can't believe alicia would take it, nor any of you others. let me talk to alicia; i won't accuse her, you know, but maybe i can gather something from the way she talks." so by changing of seats geordie found opportunity to talk to alicia about the matter. to his surprise, she willingly discussed it, and, moreover, she made no secret of the fact that she suspected dolly of taking it. she said she felt sure that dolly did it, meaning no great harm, but probably being over-tempted. "why," said alicia, "she said only at luncheon that when she was at the railroad station she was so tempted to go home to her mother that she very nearly went. so, you see, she is given to sudden temptations and i suppose she can't always resist them." geordie considered. "i don't believe she took it, alicia," he said; "either it's slipped behind something, or else somebody else got in and took it. it never was one of you four girls! i'm sure it wasn't if i could be over there for an hour or so, i'll bet i could find it. i'm pretty good at such things. s'pose i go home with you after the show; may i?" "oh, i wish you would! if you could find that thing, you would be a joy and a blessing!" and so, after the performance was over, geordie knapp and ted hosmer both went to mr. forbes' house with the four girls. alicia asked her uncle's permission for them all to go up to the museum rooms, and he gave it. he was not entirely willing, for he rarely allowed visitors to his collections, but alicia coaxed until he gave in. "it can't be that alicia took it," dotty whispered to dolly, "for she is so willing to have geordie investigate." ted hosmer was as anxious as geordie to hunt for the earring, but when he reached the rooms of the collections he was so interested in looking at the specimens that he nearly forgot what they came for. "look at the birds!" he cried, as they passed through the natural history room on the way to the antiques. "you like birds?" asked dolly, as she saw his eyes brighten at the sights all round him. "yes, indeed! i've a small collection myself, but nothing like this! i study about birds every chance i get. oh, see the humming birds! aren't they beautiful?" but dolly persuaded him to leave the birds and butterflies and go on to the antique room. here the girls told their two visitors all about the earring and its disappearance. mr. fenn was not present, for which dolly was deeply grateful. mr. forbes watched the two boys quizzically. then he said, "go to it, geordie. do a little detective work. if any of my four visitors took it, make them own up. i won't scold them; i'm anxious only to know which one it was." "you don't really think it was any of them, i know, mr. forbes, or you wouldn't speak like that," said ted. "i know you think as i do, that some queer mischance or accident is responsible for the disappearance. but what was that accident, and where is the jewel?" the two boys searched methodically. they did not look into cupboards or drawers; they asked questions and tried to think out some theory. "could any one have come in at the window?" asked ted. "no chance of that," said mr. forbes, "considering the window is in the fourth story, and no balcony, or any way of reaching it from the ground." geordie stuck his head out of the window in question. "who lives next door?" he said, looking across the narrow yard to the next house. "people named mortimer," replied mr. forbes. "but they're all away from home. they're somewhere down south." "there's somebody over there. i see a light in one of the rooms." "a caretaker, maybe. but don't be absurd. it's all of ten or twelve feet across to that house from our back extension to theirs. are you thinking somebody could spring across, take the jewel and spring back again?" "that isn't very likely, is it?" ted laughed, "but there's some explanation, somewhere," and the boy shook his head. "you see, mr. forbes, somebody might have made entrance to this room after the girls left it sunday afternoon, and before you discovered your loss." "somebody might," agreed mr. forbes, "but i can't quite see how. surely no intruder came up by way of the stairs; i can't believe any one came in by the window, and what other way is there?" "suppose," said geordie, earnestly, "suppose the caretaker, or whoever is next door, saw you people examining the earring by the light from the window,--you were by the window, weren't you?" "yes," said dolly, to whom he had put the question. "yes, it was growing dusk, and i stepped to the window to look at the gold work." "well, suppose this caretaker person saw you, and realised the jewel was valuable. then suppose after you all went out and left the earring on this little table, which is only ten or twelve inches from the window, suppose the caretaker leaned out of his window, and, with a long pole, with a hook on the end, fished the thing over to himself." "ridiculous!" cried mr. forbes. "nobody could do such a thing as that! absurd, my boy! why, even a long fishpole would scarcely be long enough, and he couldn't get purchase enough on the end--" "i admit it sounds difficult, sir, but they do pretty clever things that way." "and, too, i can't suspect my neighbour's servants! why, i've not the slightest cause for such suspicion!" "oh, no, i can't think it's that way, either," said dolly. "why, that caretaker is a nice old man. i've heard mrs. berry tell about him. his room is just opposite hers, two floors beneath this very room we're in now. he has a parrot that chatters and annoys mrs. berry, but the old man is honest, i'm sure. and he's too old to be agile enough to do such an acrobatic thing as you suggest." chapter xvii a clever idea ted hosmer looked at dolly as she spoke, and a sudden light came into his eyes. "by jiminy!" he said, and he drew a sharp little whistle. "i say, dolly, where is your mrs. berry?" "oh, no, ted," dolly laughed, "you can't connect mrs. berry with this matter any more than you can the mortimers' servants. mrs. berry didn't do it." "i didn't say she did," returned ted, smiling at her. "but where is she, that's all." "i don't know. probably in her room." "take me there, will you? i must see her at once. why, i've got an idea!" "goodness, ted!" exclaimed geordie. "what a strange piece of news!" "don't be funny!" said ted; "i say, dolly, take me to speak to mrs. berry, won't you?" "why, of course, if you like,--come on." dolly led the way and ted followed. the others paid little attention, for geordie was thinking out a new theory of how somebody could get across from the next house, by means of scuttles to the roofs on the front part of the houses. of course, in front the houses were attached, but the back extensions were only one room wide, thus giving ground space for tiny back yards. a tap on mrs. berry's door was answered, and the two were admitted. "what is it?" and the housekeeper looked a little surprised at her visitors. "may we look out of your window?" asked ted, politely. "surely," was the reply. "but what for?" ted, however, already had raised the window and was looking out. it was dark, or nearly, and the house next door showed a dim light in the room opposite the one they were in. the shade was down at the window, so they saw nothing of the room but a few indistinct shadows. "tell us something about the old caretaker next door, won't you?" begged ted, and mrs. berry responded: "now, don't suspect him! why, old joe is the most honest man in the city! i've known him for years, and i'm sure he wouldn't steal a pin! mr. mortimer trusts him absolutely." "but tell us a little about him." "there's nothing to tell, only that he stays there alone when the family go away. he lives, practically, in the two rooms; that room opposite and the kitchen. he has no company but his parrot; he makes a great pet of that." "a nice polly?" "a handsome bird, yes. but a nuisance with its continual squawking and chattering." "thank you, mrs. berry; i believe that's all. pardon our intrusion. we'll go now. come along, dolly." dolly followed ted from the room, and he said, "don't go back upstairs yet. come along with me." "where?" "never mind. come on," and, making a gesture for her to be silent, ted piloted her down the main staircase and out of the front door. "gracious! i won't go another step till you tell me where we're going!" "of course i'll tell you. we're going next door. come on; you don't need wraps; it's just a step." taking her hand, ted led her down the forbes' steps and up those of the house next door. he rang the bell and they waited. in a moment, shuffling steps were heard and an old man opened the door. "that you, joe?" said ted, pleasantly. "let us come in for a moment, please." "i don't know you, young sir, but if i'm not mistaken, this is one of the little ladies from next door." "quite right. we intend no harm, i assure you. let us come in for a minute or two." the old man let them enter and closed the door behind them. "how's your parrot?" asked ted, conversationally. old joe looked surprised, but he answered courteously, "polly is well, as usual." "what kind of a bird is he?" "a parrot, sir." "i don't mean that. is he honest or--or gives to thievery?" "oh, sir, he's the thievingest beast in the world, that he is! i don't dare leave a thing around i'm not willing for him to take if he wants it." "yes, just so. and does he ever go out of this house?" "no,--oh, no." ted's face fell. dolly's, too, for she began to see what ted had in mind. but if polly never left the mortimer house, surely he didn't fly over and steal the earring. "could i go up to the room where the bird is?" said ted, trying to conceal his disappointment at the collapse of his theory. "yes, sir, if you like, or i'll bring the bird down here." "we'll go up, please," and dolly and ted followed the old man to the room on the second floor, which was opposite mrs. berry's. they looked in and saw the bird in his cage, hanging from a bracket near the window. "pretty polly," said ted, walking toward the cage. "nice polly. polly want a cracker?" the bird cocked his head on one side, but said nothing. "and you're sure he never leaves his cage?" said ted, examining the fastening on the cage door. "well, sir, he does leave his cage. i said he doesn't leave this house. that is,--not often. so seldom as to call it never." "what do you mean by that?" "well, a few days ago,--i'm thinking it was sunday,--the bird let himself out of his cage. the latch broke, do you see, and he could push the door open with his claw. i came into the room, and there he was stalking up and down the floor with a knowing look. i soon found how he got out of the cage and i fixed the latch so he can't do it again. i let him out often, but i'm not going to have him letting himself out." "sunday, was it?" and dolly's eyes brightened as ted went on with his questions. "and you weren't here when he got out of his cage?" "no, sir. but i came in soon and he was marching along the floor, winking at me." "and was the window open?" old joe stopped to think. "no," he said, finally, and dolly gave a sigh of despair. if the window had been open, there was a possibility that polly had been the thief. "can he fly?" she put in. "fly? yes, that he can. that's why i'm careful to keep him shut up here. i wouldn't like him to fly over and annoy mrs. berry. he did that once a year ago, and the lady was right down mad about it." "think again, joe. couldn't this window have been open sunday, when polly got out of his cage?" "well, now, i do believe it was! wasn't sunday that warm, pleasant day? yes? well, then, come to think of it, this here window was open! my! it was a good thing mr. polly didn't walk out of it!" "but that's just what he did do,--i believe!" "what, sir? what do you mean?" "well, i'll tell you. a small article has disappeared from the house next door, from a room on this side, just above mrs. berry's room. it's a hard matter to find out what became of the thing, a small trinket of jewellery, and i'm in hopes that your bird flew over and took it, because that will let out certain very much worried human beings!" "oh, i can't think polly did that!" "can he fly as far as to go up to that window two stories higher than this? you say he can fly, but would he be likely to fly up?" "if so be that window was open he might. he's a born thief, that bird is. but in that case, what did he do with it? a jewel, you say?" "yes, an old, very old earring." "ah!" and joe started; "of fine work, but all broken and bent?" "i don't know. how about that, dolly?" "it was old, and it was fine gold work. but it wasn't bent or broken." "then it's not the same," said joe. "polly has a lot of playthings, and some old imitation jewellery that mrs. mortimer lets him have because he loves such things. and it was monday, yes, yesterday, he had an old piece of stuff that i didn't remember seeing before, but i paid little attention to it. and it was that bent and twisted it can't have been the thing you're searching for. no, that it couldn't." "i suppose not," said ted, but dolly said, "let us see it, anyway, can't you? maybe polly bent it up himself." old joe went and searched through a lot of broken bits of metal tilings in a box on the table. "here it is," he said. "you see how it's worn out!" "that's it!" cried dolly. "oh, ted, that's the earring! hooray!" "is it? hooray!" shouted ted. "really, oh, it's too good to be true! polly must have taken it, joe." "yes, he must have done so, if miss, here, says it's the one. but let me figger it out. i s'pose when polly opened his cage door, the open window attracted him, and he flew out. then as the other windows in the forbes house were closed, he made for that one that was open. was nobody in the room?" "no," said dolly, "not when the jewel was taken. i left it on a table, near the window, and--" "yes, miss, i see! polly was tempted by the glittering thing; he loves glitter, and he snatched it up and flew right back home with it. he hid it somewhere; that's his thievish nature, and when i came in here he was walking up and down the floor as innocent appearin' as a lamb! oh, you wicked polly!" "wick-ed polly!" screeched the bird. "naughty polly!" "yes, very naughty polly!" said ted. "but a good polly, after all, to get us out of our troubles!" "then, you see," continued old joe, "that villainous bird, he hid his treasure, and when i let him out yesterday, just to fly around the room, he found it out again, and he hent and broke it all up." "well, never mind!" dolly cried, "as long as we have it! oh, ted, how clever of you to think of it! i'm so glad! come, let's hurry home and tell about it! my, won't they all rejoice!" "shall i go over and make my apologies to mr. forbes?" asked joe, anxiously. "no; at least, not now. mr. forbes won't hold you at all to blame. it was merely coincidence that the bird happened to get out of his cage, just when the jewel lay there unprotected," said ted. "and, he'd taken something else if he hadn't found that. anything glittering or sparkling catches his eye, and he steals it. but 'tis seldom he gets a chance outside the house." "why do you keep such a bird?" asked dolly. "he isn't mine. i wouldn't care to have him. he belongs to mrs. mortimer, and she only laughs at his thievin' traits. she thinks they're cunning. so, i must needs take good care of him. 'twas careless of me to leave the window open, and him here alone. but i didn't think he could break loose from his cage. i'm thinkin' the door was ajar." "well, we're much obliged to you and to polly. oh, just think if you hadn't reasoned it out, ted, we never would have known the truth! you see, joe thought the earring was one of polly's own belongings, so, of course, he never would have paid any attention to it." "that i wouldn't, miss. i supposed it was some of the trinkets the missus gave him. she buys 'em for him at the five-and-ten. he breaks 'em as fast as he gets 'em!" "i hope this can be straightened out, and i think it can," said dolly, as she looked at the bent gold work. "i'm sure it can," agreed ted, "but anyway, it solves the mystery and clears you girls! hooray! hurroo!! come on, let's go and tell them all." the two dashed into the forbes house next door, and found the rest of them down in the drawing room, wondering what had become of dolly and ted. with a beaming face and dancing eyes, dolly went straight to mr. forbes and dangled the bent and twisted earring before his surprised countenance. "bless my soul!" he cried, as he saw it. "did you--where did you find it?" dolly realised that he had been about to say, "did you decide to own up?" or something like that, and she was glad that he changed his sentence. "next door!" she exclaimed, for ted stood back and let her have the pleasure of telling. "that old parrot came and stole it!" "oh! the parrot!" cried mr. forbes. "why, of course! i see it all! why didn't _i_ think of that? once before, i saw that bird light on my window sill and i shooed him off. strange i didn't think of that solution!" "tell us more!" cried dotty; "who thought of a parrot? whose parrot is it? how did he get in? when?" "wait a minute, dot," said dolly, laughing, "and i'll tell you all about it. you tell some, ted, i'm all out of breath!" so ted told the whole story of their visit to the next house. "and i thought it was n. g. when the old chap said the window in his room wasn't open. also, when he said the bird never left that house, i thought again we were off the track. but when we went on to discuss the matter, and he said the bird was a born thief, and also he finally remembered that his window was open on sunday afternoon, why i felt sure we had found the culprit. then, the old fellow produced the earring, which he had seen, but had scarcely noticed, thinking it was some of the bird's own junk. it seems polly also collects antiques!" "well, well, hosmer, my boy, you did well to think of such a solution to our mystery! what put you on the track in the first place?" "i think it was the birds of your collection, sir. i'm very fond of birds and bird study, and i know a lot about parrots, and their ways. well, seeing all your stuffed birds, put birds in my head, i suppose; any way, when dolly spoke of a parrot next door that annoyed mrs. berry, i thought right away of how that polly bird would like to grab a gold trinket if he had a good chance. so i looked up his chances, and i began to realise that if your window was open, the one in the other house might have been too. sunday was such a warm, pleasant day. so, i looked into matters a little, and concluded we'd better go over there. i didn't say what we were going for, because it might easily have turned out a wild goose chase--" "instead of a wild parrot chase!" said alicia. "oh, isn't it just fine that it's found!" "i guess old fenn will be surprised," said dotty, with an angry shake of her dark head. "he tried his best to fasten it on dolly--" "fasten the earring on?" asked geordie knapp, laughing. "no; i did that myself," rejoined dolly. "oh, uncle forbes, you didn't think i took it, did you?" "i didn't know what to think. no thought of that bird came into my mind. and so i had to cudgel my brain to think how it did disappear. for i had to know! yes, i positively had to know!" "of course," agreed bernice. "you didn't want to lose that jewel." "it wasn't only that, there was another reason, a reason that i'll tell you some day." chapter xviii four celebrations next morning at breakfast, each of the four girls found a note at her plate. the notes were all alike, and they read: mr. jefferson forbes, because of his great delight over the discovery of his lost piece of property, invites you to a celebration occasion, to-morrow, thursday evening. mr. forbes would say, also, that he has obtained the consent of all interested parents, that you may stay till saturday. mr. jefferson forbes will be glad of suggestions as to what form said celebration shall assume. they all laughed at the formal style and stilted language of the notes, and were amazed at the information that they were to make a longer visit than they had thought. mrs. berry smiled at the shower of questions that followed the reading of the notes, but she only said, "don't ask me, my dears. after breakfast, mr. forbes will meet you in the reception room and discuss it." so a merry group of four awaited the coming of their host in the pretty little reception room. "good morning," he said, cheerily, as he entered, "what an attractive bunch of humanity! four smiling faces and eight bright eyes! i greet you all." with an old-fashioned bow, he took a seat near them, and asked, "did you receive certain important documents?" "we did," replied bernice. "may we have further enlightenment?" "you may, and first i will remove that anxious look from dolly's face, by saying that her mother is perfectly willing that she should stay here the rest of the week." "oh, goody!" cried dolly. "how did you ask her? by telephone?" "yes. so pleased was i over the developments of last evening, that i telephoned all the powers that be, and arranged for an extension to our house party. are you glad?" "indeed we are," chorused the girls, and uncle jeff went on. "now, our celebration is to be just whatever you want. and if you don't all want the same thing, you can all have different things. so just state your preferences." "i know mine," said alicia, "it is to go to muriel brown's party on friday night. she asked us, and i'd love to go." "that's one," said her uncle. "of course you can all go to the party. now, bernice, what do you choose?" "i'd like to go to the opera," said bernice. "grand opera, i mean. i've never been but once, and i'd love to go." "good! we'll go to-night. if you all agree?" they certainly did agree to that, and then mr. forbes asked the two d's to choose. "i want to go to the metropolitan museum,--with you!" said dolly, half afraid to ask such a boon. but mr. forbes seemed pleased, and declared he would be delighted to go with her, and explain the exhibits and the others could go or not, as they liked. all decided in favour of going, and then dotty was asked to choose. "don't laugh at me," said dotty, "but i'd like to have a party. only, not a big one. just us four girls, and the four boys, that we know the best; geordie, ted, marly turner and sam graves. i like that sort of a party better than the big, dressy ones." "why, dot rose!" exclaimed alicia, "i thought you liked the big dances." "so i do, if i knew the people. but i think it would be lots of fun to have a few, and have a less formal party. i'd like to ask muriel brown, and two or three of those girls we met with her, the other day, and then, have a few more boys; but not a hundred, like muriel had." "a good plan," said mr. forbes, "because you couldn't invite a large party on such short notice. so, make out your list, dotty, and invite them by telephone at once. mrs. berry will help you, and will arrange all details. let me see, you can have that party to-morrow night; go to the opera to-night; go to muriel's party on friday night, and go home on saturday. the museum we can visit any afternoon. i thank you for your kind attention." "oh, uncle jeff, we thank you for your kindness, all of it," cried alicia. "you have been so very good to us, and now you are doing a lot more for our pleasure." "have you enjoyed it all, so far, alicia?" and her uncle looked at her inquiringly. "oh, yes, sir, indeed i have! i was troubled about the lost earring, but that was not your fault." "nor the fault of any of you girls," said mr. forbes. "as i have hinted to you, i have a reason for this visit you are making me, beside a desire to give you pleasure. i am considering a serious matter and this stay of yours in my house is helping me to a decision." "what can it be, uncle?" cried bernice. "tell us, so we can help you more, and more intelligently." "i will tell you saturday morning," he returned with a smile. "perhaps in that time other developments may occur that will alter my final decision in the matter." "it sounds most mysterious," laughed dolly, "can't we guess what it's all about?" "you may guess, if you like, but i don't promise to tell you if you guess correctly. and i don't mind adding, that i feel pretty sure you couldn't guess correctly, if you tried!" "no use trying, then!" said alicia, gaily. "oh, i'm so glad we're going to stay longer. i want to do a lot of things beside the celebrations we've just planned. i do think you're the best and kindest uncle in the whole world! i've got a secret, too, and some day i'm going to tell it to you all." "secrets seem to be the order of the day," laughed dolly; "we'll have to scrape up one, dot." "well, it's no secret that we're having one grand, glorious, good time!" said dotty. "what's on for this morning?" mr. forbes went off to his own room then, and the girls planned out all they should do for the rest of their stay in the city. there was some shopping, some sight-seeing and some errands yet undone but they at last agreed on a programme that would suit everybody. dotty's party, as they called it, took place on thursday night, and she had her way about having it a small gathering. there were about twenty in all, and according to dotty's wishes it was not only a dancing party. there were games as well as dances, for dotty loved games. some of the city young people were at first inclined to laugh at the idea of games, but when they began to take part in these that dotty had planned they became exceedingly interested. one was an "observation test," up in mr. forbes' museum. at dotty's request, he had allowed the collection rooms to be opened to the guests, and this very special dispensation was so appreciated by all that they were most exceedingly careful not to handle the rare specimens or touch the exhibits. this state of things lent itself beautifully to the game. each player was asked to walk about for half an hour and look at the curios and treasures, and at the expiration of the time, to return to the drawing room, and spend ten minutes writing down the names of such objects as could be remembered. this game, most of them had played before, with a table full of less interesting exhibits. but in the wonderful museum rooms of mr. forbes it was quite another story. so eagerly did the young people observe and examine the things, that the half hour allotted for that purpose slipped away all too soon. and then they sat down to write their lists, and that too proved an absorbing occupation. our four girls wrote lists, just for fun, but did not compete for the prizes, as, knowing the exhibit so well, that would not have been fair. muriel brown took the first prize, and the hostesses were glad of it for it was pleasant to have muriel so honoured. the prize was a gold penholder, and the boys' prize, which marly turner won, was a similar gift. after it was over, another game was played. this was ribbon cutting. girls and boys, stood at either end of the long drawing-room. to each girl was given the end of a piece of long, narrow ribbon, and a pair of scissors. the other end of each ribbon was held by a boy, who likewise had a pair of scissors. at a signal, each player started cutting the ribbon straight through the middle. if the scissors slipped and cut through the selvage, the player was out of the game. it was not easy, for the ribbon was narrow, and there was a strong impulse to hurry, which made for crooked cutting. the middle of each piece of ribbon was marked by a knot, and whoever reached the knot first, was the winner of that pair. the one who finished first of all, received a special prize. the game caused great laughter and sport, and the city young people declared they enjoyed it quite as much as dancing. then the feast was served, and very beautiful and elaborate it was. the celebration, mr. forbes had said, was to be especially for the two d's, as it was dotty's choice, and dolly's choice of a visit to the museum provided little opportunity for gaiety. the table showed two great floral d's, one at either end. dotty's was made of red roses, and dolly's of pink roses. every guest had as a souvenir, some pretty and valuable little trinket, and at every place was a small d made of flowers. cakes, ices, jellies, and all such things as could be so shaped, were cut in the form of d's, and our two girls felt greatly honoured to see their initial so prominently and beautifully displayed. in the centre of the table was a huge french doll, of the finest type. it was dressed in silk covered with polka dots, and its hat and parasol were of silk to match. everybody laughed when mr. forbes pointed out that it was dotty dolly! and all agreed it was a most clever and appropriate symbol. after supper there was dancing, and a fine orchestra furnished the music. our girls liked dancing pretty well, but often they sat out a dance talking to one or another of their guests. once, as dolly passed along the hall, chatting with geordie knapp, they heard rather loud voices behind the closed door of the little reception room. rather surprised that the door should be shut at all, that evening, dolly paused involuntarily, and geordie stood by her side. they had no intention of eavesdropping; indeed, geordie thought perhaps some new game was about to be announced. but to dolly's amazement, she heard alicia's voice saying, "oh, i cannot! i dare not!" the tones were quivering with emotion, and dolly couldn't help listening for the next words. she feared alicia was troubled about something; indeed, she didn't know what she feared. and, next came a voice that was unmistakably; marly turner's, saying, "do, dear! oh, trust me,--_i_ will take care of you!" "but it is a desperate step!" exclaimed alicia, "if i should ever regret it!" "you will not regret it, dearest," marly said, "i will never let you regret it! your own mother eloped; it is fitting you should do so, too." dolly looked at geordie, her face white with horror. alicia, planning an elopement! and with marly turner! she laid her hand on the knob of the door. "don't!" said geordie, "don't you get mixed up in a thing like that! is alicia steele that sort of a girl?" "i don't know," faltered dolly. "i heard bernice hint once that alicia's mother did elope with her father,--but, alicia! why, she isn't seventeen, yet!" "well, that's old enough to know what she's about. i advise you, dolly, not to go in there. tell mr. forbes, if you like." "oh, i couldn't tell on alicia!" and, then, as they still stood there, too fascinated to move away, alicia said, "yes, to-morrow night. i will steal out after the house is quiet,--oh, my hero! my idol!" "my angel!" exclaimed marly, in a deep, thrilled voice, and dolly turned away, sick at heart. "i don't know what to do!" she said to geordie, as they went on to the drawing room, where the dancers were. "don't do anything," he advised. "it's none of your business. that steele girl isn't like you, she's a different type. if she wants to cut up such didoes, don't you mix in it. let her alone. i knew marly liked her,--he said so,--but i didn't suppose he'd do such a thing as that! but i shan't say a word to him. we're good friends, but not chums. marly's a good chap, but he's awfully anxious to act grown up, and my stars! he's doing so! elope with the steele girl! jiminy!" "i can't bear to tell on alicia," said dolly, "and yet, i can't think i ought to let her go ahead and do this thing. she's so fond of romance, and excitement, she doesn't realise what she's doing." later on, dolly saw alicia and young turner emerge from the reception room, and saunter toward the drawing room. they were talking earnestly, in whispers. alicia's cheeks were pink, and her manner a little excited. marly looked important, and bore himself with a more grown up air than usual. dolly and geordie looked at each other, and shook their heads. it was only too evident that the two were planning some secret doings. they went off by themselves and sat on a davenport in a corner of the room, and continued to converse in whispers, oblivious to all about them. dolly and geordie purposely walked past the other pair, and distinctly heard marly say something about a rope ladder. "it's part of the performance," he urged, as alicia seemed to demur. then she smiled sweetly at him, and said, "all right, then, just as you say." "it's perfectly awful!" said dolly, as they walked on. "i've simply got to tell dotty, anyway." "oh, i wouldn't," expostulated geordie; "i don't believe they'll pull it off. somebody will catch on and put a stop to it." "maybe and maybe not," said dolly, dubiously. "alicia is awfully clever, and if she sets out to do a thing, she generally carries it through. and her head is full of crazy, romantic thoughts. she'd rather elope than to go back to school, i know she would. she told me she'd do anything to get out of going back to school." "that makes it look serious," agreed geordie. "still i don't think you ought to mix yourself up in it, unless you just tell the whole story to mr. forbes." "i hate to be a tattle-tale," and dolly looked scornful. "but if it's for alicia's good, maybe i ought to." "look at them now! their heads close together, and whispering like everything!" "yes, they're planning for their getaway!" during the rest of the evening, dolly watched alicia, feeling mean to do it, and yet unable to keep herself from it. at last the guests went home, one and all exclaiming at the good time they had had. marly turner bade dolly good night, with a smiling face. "i've had the time of my life!" he declared. "i've not seen much of you," said dolly, pointedly. "i know it. too bad! i wanted to dance with you oftener, but the time was so short." "and you found another charmer?" "well, alicia sure is a wonder, isn't she? you know she is!" "yes, she is," said dolly, and for the life of her, she couldn't frown on the happy-hearted youth. marly went off, and the others followed. "i'm not going to talk things over to-night," said dolly, when the four were alone. "i'm tired, and i'm going straight to bed." chapter xix alicia's secret the time seemed fairly to fly. each of the four girls had some last few errands to do, each wanted some little souvenirs for herself, or for her people at home, and so busy were they that there was not so much mutual conversation among them as usual. they were to go home on saturday. and already it was friday afternoon. they had finished luncheon, alicia and bernice had gone to their room, and dolly was about to go upstairs, when she remembered that she had planned to run in and say good-bye to old joe and his parrot. dolly felt she owed a debt of gratitude to polly, and she had bought a little toy for him. "i'm going to run in next door a minute," she said to mrs. berry. "very well, my dear. here's a cracker for polly." dolly took it laughingly, and went out to the hall. "put your coat round you," called out mrs. berry. "it's only a step, i know, but it's a very cold day." "oh, dot just took my coat upstairs, with her own. well, here's alicia's hanging on the hall rack. i'll throw this round me." she did so, and ran out of the front door and up the steps of the next house. old joe answered her ring at the bell. "just ran over to say good-bye," laughed dolly, "and to bring a cracker and a toy for polly." "thank you, miss," and joe smiled at her. "i'll bring the bird down to you, ma'am, to save your going upstairs." "all right," said dolly, a little absent-mindedly, for she was thinking of a lot of things at once. still absentmindedly, she put her hand in her coat pocket for a handkerchief. there was none there, and she drew out a letter instead. then she suddenly remembered she had on alicia's coat, and with a glance at the envelope, she thrust the letter back in the pocket. but that one glance sufficed to show her it was in marly turner's handwriting. she had had a note from him a day or two ago, inviting her to some party or other, and his striking, sprawling penmanship was unmistakable. the letter had been opened, and dolly remembered that alicia had had several letters in the mail that morning. it all recalled to her the talk she had overheard the night before. all that morning alicia had seemed preoccupied, and twice she had gone off by herself to telephone in a booth, which the girls rarely used, for they had no secrets from one another. dolly thought over the situation between alicia and young turner. she had not told dotty yet. she had two minds about doing so. it seemed to her one minute that she had no right to interfere in alicia's affairs and then again, it seemed as if she ought to tell mr. forbes what was going on. she had heard alicia say to marly that they would elope that very night, and she felt sure they meant to do so. they were all going to muriel brown's party, that being alicia's own choice of the "celebrations." would she elope from the party, or return home first? the latter, probably, for they had mentioned a rope ladder, and that seemed as if alicia meant to go late at night when all the others were asleep. if she ran away from the party there would be no need of a rope ladder. dolly had asked bernice if alicia's mother had eloped, and bernice had said she thought she had, though she had never heard any of the particulars. and then joe came down with the parrot, and dolly forgot alicia and her elopement for the moment. polly showed great delight over his gifts, and after a few words of good-bye to the bird and to old joe, dolly ran back again. in the hall she took off alicia's coat and hung it on the rack just as alicia herself appeared on the stairs. "where you been?" she called out gaily. "next door," said dolly, "to say a fond farewell to polly mortimer. and as my coat was upstairs, i took the liberty of wearing yours." "that's all right," laughed alicia, "you're welcome to it, i'm sure. oh, i say, dolly, there's a letter in the pocket of it! i hope you didn't read it!" "alicia steele! you ought to be ashamed of yourself to hint at such a thing!" "there, there, don't flare up over nothing! i only said i hoped you didn't. did you?" "i consider that question insulting!" "yes, people often get out of answering, that way! now, you haven't answered me yet. did you or did you not read that letter that's in the pocket of my coat?" "i did not! but i've my opinion of a girl who could even think i'd do such a thing!" "well, you had plenty of time, and when you were in next door, would have been a good opportunity. i'm not sure i believe you even yet. you're blushing like fury!" "who wouldn't, at being insulted like that! i don't think you can have much sense of honour yourself, to think anybody decent would read another person's letter!" "now, don't get huffy, little goldilocks!" and alicia laughed at her. "i had to be sure, you see, because it's a most important matter, and i wouldn't have anybody know for the world,--until i get ready to tell, myself." "and when will you be ready to tell?" dolly tried to speak lightly, but the words nearly choked her. "i dunno. maybe you'll know about it to-morrow." "oh, alicia--" dolly meant to speak a word of warning or of pleading, indeed she didn't quite know what she was going to say, but just then, dotty and bernice came down stairs, and proposed they all go for a motor ride, and a last visit to the pretty tearoom. dolly agreed, but alicia didn't seem quite willing. "i'm expecting a telephone message," she said, at last. "you girls go on, and leave me at home. i shan't mind." "oh, no," said dotty, "we four can't be together after to-day. we mustn't be separated this last day of all. come on, 'licia." "but it's an important message," and alicia looked anxious. "can i be of help?" said mrs. berry, coming toward them. "yes," cried dotty, "let mrs. berry take the message, and tell her what answer to make." "no answer," said alicia, slowly, and a pink flush rose to her cheeks. "but just take the message, if you please, dear mrs. berry. it will be short, i know. jot it down, lest you forget the exact wording." mrs. berry promised and the four ran away to get ready for their last afternoon together. "dress up pretty, girls," alicia called from her room. "no telling whom we might meet at the tearoom." "that's so," said dotty; "put on your dresden silk, doll." dolly laughingly agreed, and the four dressed-up young ladies started off. a few calls at various shops, a few stops to look once more at certain points of interest they admired, and then for a long drive through the parks, and finally to the tearoom. "how short the time has been," said bernice, as they flew along. "yes," assented alicia, "it doesn't seem possible we've been here as long as we have. oh, i don't want to go home. i wish i could live in new york, i just love it!" "i like it," said dolly, "but i don't want to live here. i'd like to come here oftener than i do, though." at the tearoom they found janet knapp and corinne bell, two girls whom they had come to know very pleasantly. "sit here with us," called out janet, as they entered. "we haven't ordered yet,--what do you girls want?" "cafe frappe for me," said dotty, "and waffles." "thick chocolate and whipped cream for mine," said alicia. "oh, when shall i ever get these lovely things again? think of going back to boarding-school diet!" "don't you have good things to eat at that nice school?" asked dolly. "oh, good enough, but not lovely, fancy things like these." "i'd like to go to boarding-school," said janet, "but mother doesn't want me away from home. she thinks girls get no home training at those fashionable schools." "we don't, and that's a fact," admitted alicia. "we're taught manners and, oh, well, i s'pose it's up to the girl herself, as to what she learns. maybe i won't go back to school, after all." "oh, alicia," cried bernice, "what do you mean?" "oh, nothing," and alicia smiled as she tossed her head. "i've got a secret. i can't tell you now. maybe you'll know soon." dolly looked at alicia, in bewilderment. could she be referring to her intended elopement with marly turner? "good gracious! what do you mean?" and janet laughed. "never mind," returned alicia, airily, "don't ask me any questions. you know they call me 'that awful alicia!' so be prepared for anything." dolly grew thoughtful. only she and geordie knapp held the secret of alicia's strange remarks, and she couldn't decide whether it was her duty to tell anyone of her knowledge or not. she made up her mind to tell mrs. berry, as soon as she went home, and then she had compunctions about that, for dolly was very conscientious and she really didn't know what was right to do. "i go to an awfully nice school," corinne bell said. "it's quite near my house and i can go alone every day. we have such interesting teachers, and such a jolly lot of girls. you'd love it, alicia." "yes, i'd love it, but how could i go there? it isn't a boarding school, is it?" "no; but couldn't you board somewhere in new york?" "alone! no, i should say not! you know i live out in the western wilds, at least the middle western wilds, and i think they're wilder than the far west. this little new york visit is all poor alicia will see of the glittering metropolis for,--oh, well, it may be for years and it may be forever!" "what do you do in vacation time?" asked janet. "oh, dad and i go to summery places. couldn't come to new york then, you know. but when i get married, i'm going to live in new york, you can bet on that!" "you're not thinking of marrying soon, i hope," and janet laughed. "never can tell!" said alicia, smiling saucily. "i have all sorts of wonderful schemes in my noodle. some of 'em materialise,--some don't. but trust little alicia to do something big! oh, girls, my secret is just too splendid!" "is it--is it all right?" and dolly stammered, as she looked at alicia with a doubtful glance. "is it all right! you little sanctimonious-eyed prude! you bet it's all right! maybe we'll meet again, janet. you can't 'most always sometimes tell." "i hope you'll come to berwick to visit me, alicia," said bernice; "i think as we're cousins we ought to see more of each other." "i'd love to, bernie. maybe i'll come this summer." "we could have a sort of reunion at our house," went on bernice; "muriel and you girls could come for a few days, and the two d's and i would be there, and we'd scare up a lot of fun." "'deed we would! i'll surely come if it can be arranged. but i never know dad's plans from one day to the next," alicia said. "hello, girls," sang out a boyish voice, and in came geordie knapp with half a dozen comrades. "we just sorter, kinder thought we'd see a bunch of peaches here about this time o' day! hello, everybody!" marly turner was not among the group, and dolly looked anxiously at geordie, as if to ask him what he knew concerning him. "what is it, dolly?" asked geordie, with a blank look. "secret!" laughed dolly, "come over here and whisper to me." "oh, how rude!" cried alicia; "even out west we don't whisper in polite society!" "but this is a special case," and dolly smiled and dimpled, as if about to discuss the most trivial subject with geordie. the boy looked surprised when dolly spoke to him about what they had overheard the night before. "why," he said, "i never gave it another thought! i don't believe they really meant what we thought they did." "yes, they did," asserted dolly. "all day, alicia has been keyed up to some great excitement. she had a letter from marly this morning, and she expects a telephone from him. also, she said things that could only mean that they really are going to elope to-night." "such as what?" "she said maybe she'd live in new york soon, and said she had a big, wonderful secret and we'd know it to-morrow,--why, she even said she expects to live in new york after she's married!" "whew! that's going some! still, dolly, i don't just see what we can do." "i think i ought to tell mr. forbes, don't you?" "i don't know. i do hate tell other people's secrets." "yes; so do i. perhaps i'll just tell mrs. berry." "i say, i've an idea! suppose i get hold of turner, and get him to go home and spend the evening with me. i'll insist upon it, you know, and if he objects, i'll ask him what's up." "oh, yes, geordie, that will be fine! you do that, will you?" "yes; suppose i telephone him now, and ask him." "go ahead, and then tell me what he says." geordie excused himself and went off to the telephone booth. "you seem to have a lot of secrets, too, dolly," said alicia. "yes, i have," and dolly looked demure. "can't let you have all the fun, 'licia." "nothing doing," geordie reported to dolly, as he came back, and his face looked more serious. he made an opportunity to speak to her alone again, and he said, "i got him all right, and he said he couldn't see me this evening, for he's awful busy. said he was busy with his father." "his father! why, mr. turner is an actor, isn't he?" "sure he is, one of the best." "then how can marly be with him? isn't mr. turner acting?" "not just now. he's rehearsing, i think." "well, i believe marly made that up. he's planning the elopement." "i'm afraid he is. he was sort of queer and didn't answer as straightforwardly as he usually does. oh, what a silly performance to cut up! why, they're just a couple of kids!" "i know it. i never was mixed up in a thing like this before." "you're not mixed up in this." "no; not unless i mix in purposely. and i believe i shall have to. you see, i'm only a country girl, and i don't know what's right to do in this case. but i'm going to follow my instinct, and tell either mr. forbes or mrs. berry. i don't think i'll tell dot or bernice, for they'd have no more knowledge of what's right to do, than i have myself." "you're a good deal of a trump, dolly fayre. but i think you're in a hard place. i wish i could help you, and i'll do anything you say." "couldn't you go to mr. turner?" "i'd hate to. yer see, us fellows don't tell on each other,--it isn't done--" "i know. well, let's hope we're mistaken." "but i don't see how we can be,---after what we heard." "neither do i. i've a mind to speak straight out to alicia about it." "do, if you think best." "well, i'll see." chapter xx uncle jeff's four friends still uncertain what she'd do, dolly went home with the rest of the quartette. alicia was in high spirits, constantly exclaiming, "oh, if you only knew what i know!" or "i'm terribly excited over my secret! just you wait till to-morrow!" or some such speech. and as they entered the forbes house she flew to mrs. berry demanding to know if a telephone message had arrived for her. "yes," replied the good-natured housekeeper. "marly turner called up, and he asked me to tell you that everything was all right, and he'd pull it off to-night, sure." "oh, goody!" cried alicia, "are you sure that's just what he said?" "yes," asseverated mrs. berry, "see, i wrote it down, so i shouldn't forget." dolly had to eavesdrop a little to overhear this conversation, as alicia had drawn mrs. berry aside, to make her inquiries. and it was with a heavy heart that dolly went upstairs to lay off her wraps. "oh, girls, i'm so happy!" cried alicia, as she flung herself into a chair. "but don't ask me why, for i refuse to tell you. now, do we dress for to-night's party before dinner or after?" "before, please," said mrs. berry, who had followed the girls to their rooms. "mr. forbes asked me to tell you that he wants an interview in the drawing-room before you go to muriel's, and so you'd better be dressed." "ah, those drawing-room interviews!" exclaimed bernice. "how they frightened me at first; then they rather bored me; but in the last few days i've come to like them!" "so have i," said dotty. "i like mr. forbes himself a whole lot better than i did at first. he's so much more get-at-able." "he ought to be," laughed alicia, "with four girls to train him up in the way he should go! what frocks, ladies? our very bestest?" "yes, indeed," said bernice. "this is our last night, and we must 'go out in a blaze of glory'! and scoot, you two d's. we've none too much time to dress." dolly and dotty went to their room, and it was rather a silent dolly who sat down to the dressing-table to brush her golden locks. "whatamatter, dollums?" said her chum. "sad at thoughts of going home?" "oh, no; really, dot, i'm glad to go home. we've had a magnificent time here, but i'm--well, i s'pect i'm homesick." "so'm i, a little, now that you mention it. but we've enough to remember and think over for a long time, haven't we?" "of course. my but i'm glad that earring was found! oh, dot, wouldn't it have been awful if we had gone home with that doubt hanging over us?" "it would, indeed, old girl. and, now if you'll proceed to do up that taffy-coloured mass on top of your head, i'll accept the dressing mirror for a while." dolly twisted up her golden mop, and decorated it with a ribbon band, and then gave over her place to dotty. and, shortly, four very much dressed-up girls went down to the extra elaborate dinner that was served in honour of the last night of their visit. the chat at table was far more gay and spontaneous than it had been on the night of their arrival, for all had become used to each other's ways, and had grown to like each other very much. mr. forbes, too, had changed from a stiff, somewhat embarrassed host to a genial, even gay comrade. he asked all about their doings of the day, and they told him, with gay stories of funny episodes. dolly watched alicia, but except that her eyes were unusually bright and her laughter very frequent, the western girl showed no especial excitement. after dinner they all went to the drawing-room, and it was with a feeling of real sadness that dolly realised it was for the last time. mr. forbes walked up and down the room as he often did, and then paused in front of the group of girls who were standing by the piano. "sit down, girlies," he said; "alicia and bernice, sit on that sofa, please,--you two d's on that one." uncle jeff was smiling, but still, there seemed to be an undercurrent of seriousness in his tone, that implied a special talk. "did it ever occur to any of you," he began, "that i invited you here for something beside a mere desire to give you young people some pleasure?" "why, you've practically said so to us, uncle jeff," laughed alicia; "are you going to tell us your reason?" "yes, i am. and i'm going to tell you now." mr. forbes sat down in an easy chair, in such a position that he could look straight at all the girls, but his gaze rested on his two nieces. "my reason," he said, slowly, "is, i admit, a selfish one. if you girls have enjoyed your visit, i'm very glad, but what i wanted, was to study you." "i knew it!" exclaimed bernice. "i thought you were studying us--our characters." "yes, just that. and i wanted to study the characters of my two nieces. now you know you can't judge much of girls, unless you see them with their comrades, their chums; or at least with other girls of their own age. so i asked you each to bring a girl friend with you. as it happened, bernie brought two, and alicia none, but that didn't matter. and i'm exceedingly glad to have met and known the two d's." the courteous old gentleman bowed to dotty and dolly who smiled and bowed in return. "well," uncle jeff went on, "here's the reason i wanted to study my two nieces. because i want to take one of them to live with me, and to inherit, eventually, my house and the greater part of my fortune." there was a silence, as each of his hearers thought over what this would mean. either bernice or alicia was to be chosen to live in that big city house, practically to be mistress of it, to have a life of wealth and luxury and at last to inherit mr. forbes' great fortune, and all his valuable collections and belongings. dotty broke the silence. "it's great!" she exclaimed, "just great! and which one are you going to choose?" "i have chosen," said mr. forbes, slowly, "it remains to be seen whether the one i have selected will accept. but now, you all can see why i was so alarmed and anxious over the episode of the lost earring. i had to find out if any of you girls had yielded to temptation. and if so, if it was one of my nieces, or one of their friends." "and if it had been one of your nieces, you would have chosen the other!" cried bernice. "no, my child," returned her uncle. "quite the contrary. if either you or alicia had taken that gem, with a wrong intent, i should have asked the wrong-doer to come and live with me, hoping i could teach her the error of her ways. but that's neither here nor there. for none of you did take the jewel, nor indeed, ever thought of such a thing. but my decision, which i have made, is not entirely based on worthiness, or even on desirability. and i'll tell you frankly, had i tried to choose my favourite between bernie and 'licia, i should have had a hard time! for i have come to love both girls very dearly, and would have not the slightest objection to adopting them both." "and us two also?" asked dotty, mischievously. "yes, and you two also! bless my soul! from a lonely, somewhat misanthropic old man, you young people have turned me into a real human being! i like young voices round me, and young folks's pleasures going on in my house. well, my dears, are you interested to know my choice?" "are we?" cried dotty, while dolly fairly held her breath. "i have chosen alicia," mr. forbes announced, and there was a deep silence. bernice looked a little bewildered, but not at all disappointed. alicia looked simply stunned, and the two d's just listened for further developments. "but don't you for one minute think," said mr. forbes, "that i consider alicia in any way superior to bernice; nor, on the other hand, do i think bernie better than alicia. i love my nieces equally, and the thing that settled the question in my mind was a letter i received to-day from alicia's father." "i know!" cried alicia, "i had one, too. i didn't say anything about it, because dad asked me not to. you tell, uncle jeff." "it's this," said mr. forbes. "alicia's father is to be married soon. as you know, alicia's mother, my dear sister died many years ago, and i know mr. steele but slightly. however, now that he is about to remarry, i hope that it will please both him and his new wife if alicia comes to live with me. also, i hope it will please alicia." "oh, uncle jeff!" and alicia flew over to him, and flung her arms round his neck, "indeed it does please me! why, only to-day i was saying how i'd love to live in new york, and how i hated to go back to that old school! but i never dreamed of such a thing as this!" "oh, it's just fine!" exclaimed bernice. "i couldn't think of leaving father, and i'd rather live in the country anyhow--" "i discovered that, bernie, girl," said her uncle, seriously. "that's why i had you girls here, so i could see for myself what your tastes and traits really are. i've learned that bernice prefers her own home and too that she doesn't want to leave her father alone though my plan would have been if i asked bernice to come here to have her father live here, too. however, i also discovered that alicia is unhappy in her school life, that she does not care much about returning to her western home to live with a stepmother, and that she adores new york city! so, i wrote to her father asking his opinion, and he leaves the settlement of the question to alicia, herself." "and i settle it! yes! oh, i certainly do!" and the girl gave her kind uncle another big embrace. "isn't it funny you should have been saying to-day that perhaps you might live in new york?" said bernice. "yes," replied alicia, and her face changed, "but i didn't mean this!" dolly spoke impulsively. in fact, it seemed as if she couldn't keep still. "suppose you tell your uncle just what you did mean," she said, looking straight at alicia with an unmistakably meaning gaze. alicia turned on her with a sudden expression of anger. "you did read that note in my coat pocket!" she cried, "you did read it, dolly fayre! and you pretended you were too honourable to do such a thing!" "why, alicia, i did not! you take that back!" "bless my soul! are you two quarrelling? what is the matter?" "dolly read my note!" cried alicia, "she--" "i did not!" interrupted dolly, her blue eyes blazing. "alicia has a secret, and i think she ought to tell it!" "i've got a right to have a secret if i like,--dolly fayre!" "but it isn't a nice secret! you wouldn't want uncle forbes to know it! it's--it's shocking!" "how do you know?" "i know all about it,--at least i know something about it. i heard you and marly turner--" "oh, pshaw! you little blue-eyed goose! you only think it's shocking, because you're so prim and straight-laced! i'll tell uncle jeff, myself, and i'll tell him right now!" "all right, alicia," and dolly drew a big sigh of relief. if alicia would tell her own secret, it would take all responsibility from her shoulders. but alicia hesitated. she began to speak once or twice, and stammered and paused. at last she said, "i hate to tell, it sounds so--so grown-up and ambitious." "i should think it did!" cried dolly, who began to wonder if alicia were crazy. "you tell him, dolly," and alicia suddenly looked very shy and embarrassed. "do you mean it? do you want me to tell him?" "yes, i honestly wish you would. though how you found out about it, i don't see!" "we weren't intending to listen, alicia, but geordie knapp and i heard you and marly turner, in the little reception-room last night." "oh, that explains it! yes, we did talk pretty loud. well, what did you think of it, dolly?" "if you say so, i'll tell the rest, and see what they think of it." "all right, go ahead! spare my blushes, good people, but i am fearfully embarrassed!" everybody looked uncomprehending, and dolly began. she couldn't see how alicia could treat the matter so lightly, but was fervently thankful that she did so. "it's this," said dolly, solemnly, "alicia is planning to elope with marly turner." there were four astonished faces that greeted this announcement, but none showed such blank amazement as alicia's own. "oh, dolly!" she cried. "oh, dolly fayre! you will be the death of me yet! go on, tell them more!" "that's about all i know. they planned it last night and it just happened that geordie and i heard them. marly coaxed her, and alicia hesitated and then consented. she said her mother eloped, and she would do the same. they were going to have a rope ladder." "oh, dolly! oh, uncle jeff! oh, dollyrinda!" "well, alicia, suppose you stop yelling, oh, and tell me about this interesting performance," mr. forbes spoke, severely. but alicia had thrown herself into a big chair and was screaming with laughter. every time she essayed to speak, she went off in uncontrollable spasms of mirth and when she wiped her eyes and endeavoured to speak, she giggled again. dolly realised there was some misunderstanding somewhere and waited for the explanation. at last it came. "no, uncle jeff," and alicia managed to speak intelligibly, "i'm not going to elope with marly or anybody else. i'm going to live here with you." "but you were!" said dolly. "you planned to!" "no, my child," and alicia laughed again. "i'll have to tell my story myself. i've written a play, uncle, and in it, the heroine elopes with the handsome hero. i was awfully shy about showing it to anybody, but marly said he'd try to persuade his father to read it over and see if it showed any promise. you know it's a great thing to have mr. turner read your play, and i was delighted. well, last night, marly and i went over the elopement scene, that's the strong act of the play, and that's what dolly heard, and she thought we were talking ourselves! oh, dolly, if people plan to elope they don't do it at the top of their lungs! marly and i read the various character parts to see how it would sound in different voices. well, then, he said he'd try to get his father to read it to-night, so i'd know before i went away to-morrow. and he telephoned that he'd pull it off,--he meant he'd get his father to read it. that's my secret. and, you know, uncle jeff, my mother did elope, because her father didn't want her to marry jim steele. and i'd heard the story of her elopement so often, and it was so dramatic, that i put it in my play. oh, dolly, what a little innocent you are!" "i don't care if i am," returned dolly, and her pretty face beamed with smiles. "i think your secret is lovely, alicia, and i think uncle forbes' secret is too." "so do i," said dotty, "and i'm glad and proud that dollyrinda and i are chums of two such talented and distinguished girls." "and _i_'m glad, alicia," said her uncle, "that you have a taste for writing. i shall be glad to help you cultivate it and i've no doubt that mr. turner can give you valuable advice. of course your early efforts can't amount to much, but if you care to keep at it, you may yet do good work. well, then, do i understand, that you accept my invitation to live with me?" "yes, indeed, you dear, darling old uncle! i'll live with thee, and be thy love! as the poet sings." "then run away to your party now, and we'll settle all further details to-morrow." "and you'll forgive me, alicia, for misjudging you?" said dolly, still smiling at her funny mistake. "yes, indeed, you blue-eyed angel! and you'll forgive me for thinking you read my note. in it, marly said he thought he could get his father to read my manuscript and i was so excited over it. but of course i know you wouldn't touch my letter only i was so upset over it, i hardly knew what i said." "oh, that's all right. and, girls, won't we have the great times having alicia come to berwick to see us all?" "yes, and having you all come here to visit me!" returned alicia. "we'll always be chums," said dotty. "these days together have made us inseparable friends." "the forbes quartette," said dolly. "only bernice is named forbes, but i mean uncle forbes' quartette." "yes," said jefferson forbes, "my four friends, my rosebud garland of girls." the end a mystery story for girls the magic curtain by roy j. snell the reilly & lee co. chicago copyright by the reilly & lee co. printed in the u. s. a. contents chapter page i a face in the dark ii petite jeanne's masquerade iii on the verge of adventure iv a living statue v the secret place vi the woman in black vii dreams of other days viii an island mystery ix caught in the act x the one within the shadows xi a dance for the spirits xii the lost cameo xiii a nymph of the night xiv the disappearing parcel xv strange voices xvi through the window xvii startling revelations xviii they that pass in the night xix the unseen eye xx a place of enchantment xxi from the heights to despair xxii the armored horse xxiii florence solves a mystery xxiv the black packet xxv the bearded stranger xxvi an exciting message xxvii dreaming xxviii florence crashes in xxix it happened at midnight xxx a surprise party xxxi florence meets the lady in black xxxii sparkling treasure the magic curtain chapter i a face in the dark it was that mystic hour when witches are abroad in the land: one o'clock in the morning. the vast auditorium of the civic opera house was a well of darkness and silence. had you looked in upon this scene at this eerie hour you would most certainly have said, "there is no one here. this grandest of all auditoriums is deserted." but you would have been mistaken. had you been seated in the box at the left side of this great auditorium, out of that vast silence you might have caught a sound. faint, indistinct, like the rustle of a single autumn leaf, like a breath of air creeping over a glassy sea at night, it would have arrested your attention and caused you to focus your eyes upon a pair of exceedingly long drapes at the side of the opera hall. these drapes might have concealed some very long windows. in reality they did not. had you fixed your attention upon this spot you might, in that faint light that was only a little less than absolute darkness, have seen a vague, indistinct spot of white. this spot, resting as it did at a position above the bottom of the drape where a short person's head would have come, might have startled you. and well it might. for this was in truth the face of a living being. this mysterious individual was garbed in a dress suit of solemn black. that is why only his face shone out in the dark. this person, seemingly a golden haired youth with features of unusual fineness, had called himself pierre andrews when, a short time earlier, he had applied for a position as usher in the opera. because of his almost startling beauty, his perfect manners and his french accent, he had been hired on the spot and had been given a position in the boxes where, for this "first night" at least, those who possessed the great wealth of the city had been expected to foregather. they had not failed to appear. and why should they fail? was this not their night of nights, the night of the "grand parade"? ah, yes, they had been there in all their bejewelled and sable-coated splendor. rubies and diamonds had vied with emeralds and sapphires on this grand occasion. yes, they had been here. but now they had departed and there remained only this frail boy, hovering there on the ledge like a frightened gray bat. why was he here? certainly a timid-appearing boy would not, without some very pressing reason, remain hidden behind drapes at the edge of a great empty space which until that night had been practically unknown to him. and, indeed, at this moment the place, with its big empty spaces, its covered seats, its broad, deserted stage, seemed haunted, haunted by the ghosts of other years, by all those who, creeping from out the past, had stalked upon its stage; haunted, too, by those who only one or two short years before had paraded there on a "first night" in splendor, but who now, laid low by adverse circumstances, crept about in places of poverty. yet, haunted or no, here was this frail boy peeking timidly out from his hiding place as the clock struck one. he had asked a curious question on this night, had this boy of golden locks and expressive blue eyes. it was during the recess between acts while the curtain was down and the pomp that was egypt had for a moment been replaced by the pomp that is america. leaning over the balustrade, this thoughtful boy had witnessed the "grand parade" of wealth and pomp that passed below him. between massive pillars, beneath chandeliers of matchless splendor where a thousand lights shone, passed ladies of beauty and unquestioned refinement. with capes of royal purple trimmed in ermine or sable but slightly concealing bare shoulders and breasts where jewels worth a king's ransom shone, they glided gracefully down the long corridor. bowing here and there, or turning to whisper a word to their companions, they appeared to be saying to all the throng that beheld them: "see! are we not the glory that is america in all her wealth and power?" then it was that this mysterious boy, poised there upon the ledge still half hidden by drapes, had asked his question. turning to a white-haired, distinguished-looking man close beside him, a man whom he had never before seen, he had said: "is this life?" the answer he received had been quite as unusual as the question. fixing strangely luminous eyes upon him, the man had said: "it is a form of life." "a form of life." even at this moment the boy, standing in the shadows timid and terribly afraid, was turning these words over in his mind. "a form of life." there had been about him, even as he had performed his simple duties as usher in the boxes on this night, an air of mystery. he had walked--more than one had noted this--with the short, quick steps of a girl. his hair, too, was soft and fine, his cheeks like the softest velvet. but then, he was french. his accent told this. and who knows what the french are like? besides, his name was pierre. he had said this more than once. and pierre, as everyone knows, is the name of a boy. it was during the curtain before the last act that an incident had occurred which, for a few of the resplendent throng, had dimmed the glory of that night. no great fuss was made about the affair. a slim girl seated in the box occupied by the man whose great wealth had made this opera house possible, had leaned over to whisper excited words in this gray-haired millionaire's ears. with fingers that trembled, she had touched her bare neck. with perfect poise the man had beckoned to a broad-shouldered person in black who had until now remained in the shadows. the man had glided forward. some words had been spoken. among these words were: "search them." one would have said that the golden-haired usher standing directly behind the box had caught these words for he had suddenly turned white and clutched at the railing to escape falling. had you looked only a moment later at the spot where he had stood you might have noted that he was not there. and now here he was on the ledge, still all but concealed by drapes, poised as if for further flight. and yet he did not flee. instead, dropping farther into the shadows, he appeared to lose himself in thought. what were these thoughts? one might suppose that he was recasting in his mind the events of the immediate past, that he read again the look of surprise and consternation on the face of the beautiful child of the very rich when she discovered that the string of beautifully matched pearls, bought by her father in europe at a fabulous cost, were gone. one might suppose that he once again contemplated flight as the stout, hard-faced detective, who had so opportunely materialized from the shadows, had suggested searching the ushers and other attendants; that he shuddered again as he thought how barely he had escaped capture as, in the darkness attending the last act, he had glided past eagle-eyed sleuth jaeger, and concealed himself behind the draperies. one might suppose that he lived again those moments of suspense when a quiet but very thorough search had revealed neither the priceless pearls nor his own humble person. yes, one might suppose all this. yet, if one did, he would suppose in vain. our minds are the strangest creation of god. "the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." the young person still half concealed by draperies and quite hidden by darkness was living again, not the scenes enacted among the boxes, but those which had been enacted upon the stage. in his mind's eye he saw again the glory that once was egypt. picturing himself as the heroine, aida, he loved the prince of all egypt's warriors, and at the same time shuddered for her people. as radames, he heard the shouts of his people when he returned as a triumphant victor. as amneris, the egyptian princess in the stately boat of those ancient days beneath a golden moon, he glided down the blue nile. and all the time, as the matchless beauty of the scenes and the exquisite melody of the music filled him with raptures that could not be described, he was saying to himself: "oh, for one golden moment to stand before that assembled throng--all the rich, the learned of the great of this city--and to feel the glory of the past about me! to know love and adventure, the daring of a captain of the guard, the tender sentiments of an aida, and to express it all in song! to do all this and to feel that every heart in that throng beats in rapture or in sorrow, as my own! what glory! what matchless joy!" and yet, even as these last thoughts passed into eternity, the young head with its crown of gold fell forward. there was a moment of relaxation expressing pain and all but hopeless despair. then, like a mouse creeping out from the dark, he slipped from his place to glide stealthily along among the shadows and at last disappear into that place of darkness that is a great auditorium at night. having felt his way across a tier of boxes, he vaulted lightly over a low rail. passing through a narrow corridor, he touched a door and pushed it noiselessly open. he was met by a thin film of light. "too much," he murmured. "i shall be seen." backing away, he retraced his steps. having moved a long way to the right, he tried still another door. "ah, it is better," he breathed. a moment later he found himself on the ground floor. "but the way out?" he whispered the words to the vast silence that was all about him. no answer came to him. yet, even as he paused, uncertainly, a sound reached his ears. "a watchman. in the concourse. this is the way." he sprang toward the stage. a mouse could scarcely have made less sound, as, gliding down the carpeted aisle, he at last reached a door at the left of the stage. the door creaked as he opened it. with one wild start, he dashed across the gaping stage to enter a narrow passageway. another moment and he was before a door that led to the outer air. it was locked, from within. with breath that came short and quick, he stood there listening intently. "footsteps." he did not so much as whisper the words. "the watchman. there is need for haste. "the lock. perhaps there is a key. ah, yes, here it is!" his skilled fingers fumbled in the darkness for a moment. the light from without streamed in. the door closed. he was gone. chapter ii petite jeanne's masquerade fifteen minutes after his disappearance into the shadows, the youth, still clad in a dress suit, might have been seen walking between the massive pillars that front the grand opera house. despite the fact that his small white hands clasped and unclasped nervously, he was able to maintain a certain air of nonchalance until a figure, emerging from the shadow cast by a pillar, sprang toward him. at that instant he appeared ready for flight. one glance at the other, and he indulged in a low chuckle. "it is you!" he exclaimed. "it is i. but what could have kept you?" the person who spoke was a girl. a large, strongly built person, she contrasted strangely with her slender companion. "circumstances over which i had no control," the youth replied. "but come on!" he shuddered. "i am freezing!" having hurried west across the bridge, they entered a long concourse. from this they emerged into a railway station. having crossed the waiting room, the slim one entered an elevator, leaving the other to wait below. when the slim one reappeared he was wrapped from head to toe in a great blue coat. "ah, this is better, _ma chere_," he murmured, as he tucked a slender arm into his companion's own and prepared to accompany her into the chill of night. the apartment they entered half an hour later was neither large nor new. it was well furnished and gave forth an air of solid comfort. the living quarters consisted of a narrow kitchen and a fair-sized living-room. at either side of the living-room were doors that led each to a private room. the big girl walked to the fireplace where a pile of kindling and firewood lay waiting. having touched a match to this pile, she stood back to watch it break into a slow blaze, and then go roaring up the chimney. "see!" she exclaimed. "how cozy we shall be in just a moment." "ah, yes, yes, _mon ami_!" the slight one patted her cheek. "we shall indeed. but anon--" the private door to the right closed with a slight rush of air. the slim one had vanished. the stout girl's gown revealed a powerful chest. every curve of her well-formed body suggested strength, while the blonde-haired one, with all her slender shapeliness, seemed little more than a child--and a girl, at that. yet, one cannot fully forget the dress suit that at this moment must rest upon a hanger somewhere behind that closed door. "well, now tell me about it," said the stout one, as, some moments later, the blonde one reappeared in a heavy dressing gown and sat down before the fire. "a pearl necklace was stolen," the slight one said in a quiet tone. "it was worth, oh, untold sacks of gold. _mon dieu!_ how is one to say how much? since i was near, i was suspected. who can doubt it? i bolted. in the darkness i concealed myself in the drapes that seemed to hide a window and did not." "but why did you run? you could not have done worse." "but, _mon dieu_! there was talk of searching us. could i be searched?" "no." a broad smile overspread the stout girl's face. "no, you could not." "ah, my good friend! _ma chere!_ my beloved florence." the slender one patted the other's cheek with true affection. "you agree with me. what else can matter? you have made me happy for all my life." so now you know that this large, capable girl is none other than an old friend, one you have met many times, florence huyler. but wait, there is still more. "but how now is it all to end?" two lines appeared between the large girl's eyes. "i shall return!" the other exclaimed. "tomorrow night i shall go back. i must go! it is too wonderful for words. all the rich, the great ones. the sable coats, the gowns, the rare jewels. and the stage! oh, my friend, how perfectly exquisite, how glorious!" "yes, and they'll arrest you." the large girl's tone was matter-of-fact. "and what will you see after that?" "for what will they arrest me? did i take the necklace? no! no! nevair!" "but you ran away." "yes, and for a very good reason." a faint flush appeared on the slim one's cheek. "i could not be searched." "and will you tell them why?" "oh, no!" "then how can you go back?" "listen, my friend." the slim one laid an impressive hand on the other's arm. "sometimes we have good fortune, is it not so? yes. it is so. the young lady, that girl who lost the necklace, she will be there. she is kind. something tells me this. she will not have pierre andrews arrested. something tells me so. for look, now, as pierre i am--how did you say it?--very handsome!" "but, petite jeanne!" florence broke short off. by this exclamation she had betrayed a secret. since, however, only the walls and her companion heard it, it did not much matter. our old friend, petite jeanne (the little french girl), and pierre andrews are one and the same person. on the stage jeanne had played many a role. now she was playing one in real life and playing it for a grand prize. * * * * * * * * but we must go back a little. petite jeanne, as you will recall if you have read that other book, _the gypsy shawl_, was a little french girl found wandering with the gypsies among the hills of france. brought by a rich benefactress to america, she had made a splendid showing on the stage as a star in light opera. all stage productions, however, have their runs and are no more. petite jeanne's engagement had come to an end, leaving her with a pocketful of money and one great yearning, a yearning to have a place upon the stage in grand opera. this longing had come to her through contact with a celebrated opera star, marjory dean. through marjory dean she had secured the services of a great teacher. for some time after that she had devoted her entire time to the mastering of the technique of grand opera and to the business of developing her voice. "you will not go far without study abroad," marjory dean had warned her. "yet, who knows but that some golden opportunity may come to you? you have a voice, thin to be sure, but very clear and well placed. what is still more, you have a feeling for things. you are capable of inspiring your audience with feelings of love, hate, hope, despair. this will carry you far." "and i shall work! oh, how i shall work!" jeanne had replied. that had been months ago. but teachers must be paid. jeanne's pocketful of money no longer weighed her down. then, too, times were hard. the little french girl could make people feel the things she did on the stage because she, too, had a warm heart. she could not resist wandering from time to time into the tenement districts where dwelt her gypsy friends. there she found poverty and great need. always she came away with an empty purse. on maxwell street it was no better. "i shall apply for work," she had told florence at last. "but what can you do?" "i can act. i can sing." "but no one wants you to act or sing." "on the stage," jeanne had shrugged, "perhaps no. but in life one may always act a part. i shall act. but what shall i be?" "there, now!" she had cried a moment later. "i shall be a boy. i shall become an usher, an usher in grand opera. if i may not be on the stage, i may at least spend every night in the aisles. i shall see all the operas, and i shall earn a little." "but, petite jeanne!" "no! no! do not resist me!" jeanne had cried. "i will do it. i must! it is my soul, my life, the stage, the opera. hours each day i shall be near it. perhaps i may steal out upon the stage and sing an aria when the hall is dark. perhaps, too, i shall meet marjory dean, the great one this city adores. "and who knows," she had clasped her hands in ecstasy, "who knows but that in some mysterious way my opportunity may come?" * * * * * * * * "my opportunity," she thought now, as, sitting before the glowing fire, she contemplated the future, "appears to be a bed in jail. but who knows?" jeanne refused to be depressed. casting off her dressing gown, she sprang away in a wild dance as she chanted: "now i am pierre, now i am jeanne. to-night i sleep on eiderdown, to-morrow i am in jail. "oh, sweet mystery of life." her voice rang out high and clear. then, like the flash of sunshine across the brow of a hill, her mood changed. "to-morrow!" she exclaimed, dropping into the depths of a great chair by the fire. "why think of to-morrow? see! the tea kettle sings for us. why not one good cup of black tea? and then--sweet dreams." a moment later there was a clinking of thin china cups. a belated midnight lunch was served. an hour later, as petite jeanne twisted her pink toes beneath her silk-covered eiderdown, brought all the way from her beloved france, she whispered low: "to-morrow!" and after a time, once again, faint, indistinct like a word from a dream: "to-morrow." chapter iii on the verge of adventure long after petite jeanne's dainty satin slippers had danced her off to bed, florence huyler sat before the fire thinking. if your acquaintance with florence is of long standing, you will know that she was possessed of both courage and strength. for some time a gymnasium director, she had developed her splendid physical being to the last degree. even now, though her principal business in life had for some time been that of keeping up with the little french girl, she spent three hours each day in the gymnasium and swimming pool. her courage surpassed her strength; yet as she contemplated the step petite jeanne had taken and the events which must immediately follow that move, she trembled. "it's all too absurd, anyway," she told herself. "she wants to be an opera singer, so she dresses herself up like a boy and becomes an usher. what good could possibly come of that?" all the time she was thinking this she realized that her objections were futile. petite jeanne believed in fate. fate would take her where she wished to go. "if she wished to marry the president's son, she'd become a maid in the white house. and then--" florence paused. she dared not say that petite jeanne would not attain her end. up to this moment jeanne had surmounted all obstacles. adopted by the gypsies, she had lived in their camps for years. she had inherited their fantastic attitude toward life. for her nothing was entirely real, and nothing unattainable. "but to-morrow night!" florence shuddered. the little french girl meant to don her dress suit and as pierre andrews return to her post as usher in the boxes of that most magnificent of all opera houses. "a necklace worth thousands of dollars was stolen." she reviewed events. "petite jeanne was near. when they looked for her, she had vanished. she stole the necklace. what could be more certain than this? she stole it! they will say that. they'll arrest her on sight. "she stole it." she repeated the words slowly. "did she?" the very question shocked her. petite jeanne was no thief. this she knew right well. she had no need to steal. she still had a little money in the bank. yet, as a means to an end, had she taken the necklace, intending later to return it? "no! no!" she whispered aloud. "jeanne is reckless, but she'd never do that! "but where is the necklace? who did take it?" for a time she endeavored to convince herself that the precious string of pearls, having become unclasped, had slipped to the floor, that it had been discovered and even now was in its youthful owner's possession. "no such luck." she prodded the fire vigorously. "in the end fortune smiles upon us. but in the beginning, nay, nay! "and to-morrow evening--" she rose to fling her splendid arms wide. "to-morrow my little friend walks in, after many brave detectives have spent the day in a vain search for her, and says quite nonchalantly: "'there you are, madame. shall i remove your sable coat? or will you wear it? and will you have the chair, so? or so? _voila!_' "who can say it is not going to be dramatic? drama in real life! that's what counts most with jeanne. oh, my dear little jeanne! what an adorable peck of trouble you are!" and all the time, quite lost in the big, eager, hungry world that waited just outside her window, the little french girl lay among her pink eiderdown quilts and slept the sleep of the just. the cold gray dawn of the morning after found petite jeanne considerably shaken in her mind regarding the outcome of this, her latest adventure. "will they truly arrest me?" she asked herself as, slipping into a heavy robe, she sought the comfort of an early fire. "and if they arrest me, what then?" she shuddered. she had once visited a police court in this very city. an uninviting place it had been, too. with judge and lawyers alternately laughing and storming at crestfallen individuals who stood, some quite bewildered, others with an air of hopelessness about them, with two women weeping in a corner, and with an ill-smelling, ogling group of visitors looking on, the whole place had depressed her beyond words. "am i to stand there to be stared at? will the lawyers and the judge make a joke of my misfortune?" she stamped her little foot angrily. "no! no! nevair! they shall not! "and yet," she thought more soberly, "i must go back. i truly must! "oh, why did i run away? why did i not say: 'search me if you must. you will see that i do not have your necklace!' "but no!" she flushed. "as petite jeanne i might be searched. but as pierre. ah, no! no!" a cup of steaming coffee revived her spirits; but for a few hours only. then the dull, drab day bore down upon her with greater force than ever. and indeed it was no sort of day to enliven spirits and bolster up courage. gray skies, gray streets, gray fog, dripping walls of great buildings, these were all about her. and in the end a slow, weepy, drizzling rain began to fall. there is but one way to endure such a day. that is to don storm rubbers, raincoat and an old hat, and defy it. defy it petite jeanne did. and once in the cool damp of it all, she found relief. she wandered on and on. the fog grew thicker. clouds hung dark and low. lights began to appear. yet it was not night. of a sudden, as she wandered aimlessly on, she became conscious of an astonishing fact: numbers of people were hurrying past her. a strange proceeding on a drab day when men prefer to be indoors. but strangest of all, each one of these individuals was shorter than petite jeanne herself. and the little french girl was far from tall. "how extraordinary!" she murmured under her breath. "it is as if i were some half-grown gulliver in the land of the pygmies." she knew this was pure fancy. but who were these people? a look into one storm-clad, bemuffled face told her the answer: "orientals. but where can they be going? they must have come from many places." the question absorbed her attention. it drove trouble from her mind. she followed the one whose face she had scrutinized. in time she saw him dart up a short flight of stairs to enter a door on which were inscribed the words: "members only." other figures appeared. one and all, they followed in this one's wake. as jeanne looked up she saw that the three-story building was possessed of a highly ornamented front. strange and grotesque figures, dragons, birds of prey, great, ugly faces all done in wood or metal and painted in gaudy colors, clustered in every available niche. suddenly she was seized with a desire to follow these little men. "but no!" she whispered. "they would never allow me to pass." she looked for the street number. there was none. she walked a few paces to the left. "seven, three, seven," she read aloud. she gave a sudden start. she knew this location. only three blocks away was a costumer's shop. for a dollar or two this costumer would turn her into any sort of person she might choose to be, a pirate, an eskimo, yes, even a chinaman. that was his business. at once jeanne was on her way to that shop. in an astonishingly short time she was back; or at least some person answering her description as to height, breadth of shoulders, glove number, etc., was coming down the street. but was it jeanne? perhaps not one of her best friends could have told. certainly in the narrow hallway of that mysterious building, which little men were still entering, her nationality was not challenged. to these mysterious little people, who were gathering for who knows what good or evil reason, she was for the moment an oriental. chapter iv a living statue in the meantime florence, too, had gone for a walk in the rain. the discovery she made that day was destined to play a very large part in her immediate future. florence by nature belonged to the country, not to the city. fate had, by some strange trick, cast her lot in the city. but on every possible occasion she escaped to quiet places where the rattle and bang of city life were gone and she might rest her weary feet by tramping over the good, soft, yielding earth. since their rooms were very near the heart of the city, at first thought it might seem impossible for her to reach such a spot of tranquility without enduring an hour-long car ride. this was not true. the city which had for so long been florence's home is unique. no other in the world is like it. located upon a swamp, it turned the swamp first into a garden, then into a city where millions live in comfort. finding a stagnant river running into the lake, it turned the river about and made it a swift one going from the lake. lacking islands upon its shore-line, this enterprising metropolis proceeded to build islands. a brisk twenty-minute walk brought florence to one of these islands. this island at that time, though of a considerable size, was quite incomplete. in time it was to be a place where millions would tread. at that moment, save for one dark, dome-shaped building at its north end, it was a place of desolation, or so it seemed to florence. at either end the land rose several feet above the surface of the lake. in the center it was so low that in time of storm waves dashed completely over it. since the island had been some years in building a voluntary forest which might better, perhaps, be called a jungle, had sprung up on its southern extremity. beyond this jungle lay the breakwater where in time of storm great waves mounted high and came crashing down upon heaps of limestone rocks as large as small houses. to the left of this jungle, on the side facing the lake, was a narrow, sandy beach. it was toward this beach that florence made her way. there she hoped to spend an hour of quiet meditation as she promenaded the hard-packed sand of the beach. vain hope. some one was there before her. * * * * * * * * petite jeanne had entered many strange places. none was more strange nor more fantastically beautiful than the one she found within the four walls of that dragon-guarded building in the heart of a great city. playing the role of an american born chinese lady, she passed the attendant and climbed two flights of stairs unmolested. as she reached the top of the second flight she found her feet sinking deep in the thick pile of an oriental rug. one glance about her and she gripped at her heart to still it. "it is a dream!" she told herself. "there is no place like this." yet she dared not distrust her senses. surely the lovely chinese ladies, dressed in curious chinese garments of matchless silk, gliding silently about the place, were real; so, too, was the faint, fragrant odor of incense, and the lamps that, burning dimly, cast a shadow of purple and old rose over all. "dragons," she murmured, "copper dragons looking as old as time itself. smoke creeps from their nostrils as if within them burned eternal fire. lamps made of three thousand bits of glass set in copper. banners of silk. pictures of strange birds. who could have planned all this and brought it into being? "and there," she whispered, as she dared a few steps across the first soft-carpeted space, "there is an altar, an altar to a god wholly unknown to me. the ladies are kneeling there. suppose they invite me to join them!" at once she felt terribly frightened. she sank deep in the shadows. she was playing the part of a chinese lady, yet she knew nothing of their religion. and this appeared to be a temple. she was contemplating flight when a sound, breaking in upon her attention, caused her to pause. from somewhere, seemingly deep down and far away, came the dong-dong of a gong. deep, serene, melodious, it seemed to call to her. a simple, impulsive child of nature, she murmured: "it calls. i shall go." turning her back to the broad stairs that led down and away to the cool, damp, outer air, she took three steps downward on a narrow circular staircase which led, who could tell where? smoke rose from the spaces below, the smoke of many incense burners. pausing there, she seemed about to turn back. but again came the deep, melodious, all but human call of the gong. moving like one in a trance, she took three more steps downward and was lost from sight. * * * * * * * * the person who had disturbed florence's hoped-for hour of solitude on the island beach was a girl. yet, as florence first saw her, she seemed less a living person than a statue. tanned by the sun to a shade that matched the giant rock on which she stood, clad only in a scant bathing suit that in color matched her skin, standing rigid, motionless, she seemed a thing hewn of stone to stand there forever. yet, even as florence looked on entranced, she flung her arms high, gave vent to a scream that sent gulls scurrying from rocky roosts, and then, leaping high, disappeared beneath the dull surface of the water. that scream, together with the deft arching of her superb body as she dove, marked her as one after florence's own kind. gone was her wish for solitude. one desire possessed her now: to know this animated statue of the island. "where does she live?" she asked herself. "how can she dare to visit this desolate spot alone?" even as she asked this question, the girl emerged from the water, shook back her tangled hair, drew a rough blue overall over her dripping bathing suit, and then, leaping away like a wild deer, cleared the breakwater at a bound and in a twinkling lost herself on a narrow path that wound through the jungle of low willows and cottonwoods. "she is gone!" florence exclaimed. "i have lost her!" nevertheless, she went racing along the beach to enter the jungle over the path the girl had taken. she had taken up a strange trail. that trail was short. it ended abruptly. this she was soon enough to know. chapter v the secret place petite jeanne was a person of courage. times there had been when, as a child living with the gypsies of france, she had believed that she saw a ghost. at the heart of black woods, beneath a hedge on a moonless night some white thing lying just before her had moved in the most blood-chilling fashion. never, on such an occasion, had jeanne turned to flee. always, with knees trembling, heart in her throat, she had marched straight up to the "ghost." always, to be sure, the "ghost" had vanished, but jeanne had gained courage by such adventures. so now, as she glided down the soft-carpeted, circular staircase with the heavy odor of incense rising before her and the play of eerie green lights all about her, she took a strong grip on herself, bade her fluttering heart be still, and steadily descended into the mysterious unknown. the scene that met her gaze as at last she reached those lower levels, was fantastic in the extreme. a throng of little brown people, dressed in richest silks, their faces shining strangely in the green light, sat in small circles on rich oriental rugs. scattered about here and there all over the room were low pedestals and on these pedestals rested incense burners. fantastic indeed were the forms of these burners: ancient dragons done in copper, eagles of brass with wings spread wide, twining serpents with eyes of green jade, and faces, faces of ugly men done in copper. these were everywhere. as jeanne sank silently to a place on the floor, she felt that some great event in the lives of these people was about to transpire. they did not speak; they whispered; and once, then again, and yet again, their eyes strayed expectantly to a low stage, built across the far end of the room. "what is to happen?" the girl asked herself. she shuddered. to forget that she was in a secret place at the very heart of a chinese temple built near the center of a great city--this was impossible. "i shouldn't be here," she chided herself. "something may happen to me. i may be detained. i may not be able to reach the opera house in time. and then--" she wondered what that would mean. she realized with a sort of shock that she was strangely indifferent to it all. truth was, events had so shaped themselves that she was at that moment undecided where her own best good lay. she had ventured something, had begun playing the role of a boy. she had done this that she might gain a remote end. the end now seemed very remote indeed. the perils involved in reaching that end had increased four-fold. "why go back at all?" she asked herself. "as pierre i can die very comfortably. as petite jeanne i can live on. and no one will ever know. i am--" her thoughts were interrupted, not by a sound nor a movement, but by a sudden great silence that had fallen, like a star from the sky at night, upon the assembled host of little people. petite jeanne was not a stranger to silence. she had stood at the edge of a clearing before an abandoned cabin, far from the home of any living man just as the stars were coming out, when a hush had fallen over all; not a leaf had stirred, not a bird note had sounded, and the living, breathing world had seemed far away. she had called that silence. she had drifted with idle paddle in a canoe far out upon the glimmering surface of lake huron. there, alone, with night falling, she had listened until every tiniest wavelet had gone to rest. she had heard the throb of a motor die away in the distance. she had felt rather than heard the breath of air stirred by the last lone seagull on his way to some rocky ledge for rest. she had at last listened for the faintest sound, then had whispered: "this is silence." it may have been, but never had a silence impressed her as did the silence of this moment as, seated there on the floor, far from her friends, an uninvited guest to some weird ceremony, she awaited with bated breath that which was to come. she had not long to wait. a long tremulous sigh, like the tide sweeping across the ocean at night, passed over the motionless throng; a sigh, that was all. but petite jeanne? she wished to scream, to rise and dash out of the room crying, "fire! fire!" she did not scream. something held her back. perhaps it was the sigh, and perhaps the silence. the thing that was happening was weird in the extreme. on the stage a curtain was slowly, silently closing. no one was near to close it. it appeared endowed with life. this was not all. the curtain was aflame. tongues of fire darted up its folds. one expected this fire to roar. it did not. yet, as the little french girl, with heart in throat and finger nails cutting deep, sat there petrified, flames raced up the curtain again and yet again. and all the time, in great, graceful folds, it was gliding, silently gliding from the right and the left. "soon it will close," she told herself. "and then--" only one thought saved jeanne from a scream that would have betrayed her; not a soul in that impassive throng had moved or spoken. it was borne in upon her that here was some form of magic which she did not know. "it's a magic curtain." these words, formed by her lips were not so much as whispered. but now from a dark corner of the stage a figure appeared. a weird stooping figure he was, clothed all in white. he moved toward the curtain with slow, halting steps. he seemed desirous of passing between the folds of the curtain before the opening; yet a great fear appeared to hold him back. at this moment there came to jeanne's mind words from a very ancient book: "_draw not nigh hither. put off thy shoes from thy feet._" "the burning bush!" she whispered. "it burned but was not consumed; a magic bush. this is a magic curtain." "_remove thy shoes._" she seemed to hear someone repeat these words. her hands went to her feet. they were fully clad. a quick glance to right and left assured her that not another person in the room wore shoes. "my shoes will betray me!" consternation seized her. one look backward, a stealthy creeping toward the soft-carpeted stair, another stealthy move and she was on her way out. but would she make it? her heart was in her throat. a quarter of the way up she was obliged to pause. she was suffocating with fear. "i must be calm," she whispered. "i must! i must!" of a sudden life seemed a thing of solemn beauty. somehow she must escape that she might live on and on. once again she was creeping upward. did a hand touch her foot? was someone preparing to seize her? with an effort, she looked down. no one was following. every eye was glued upon the magic curtain. the curtain was closed. the white-robed figure had vanished. what had happened? had he passed through? had the curtain consumed him? she shuddered. then, summoning all her courage, she leaped up the stairs, glided silently across the room above, and passed swiftly on until she gained the open air. then how she sped away! never had she raced so swiftly and silently as now. it was some time before she realized how futile was her flight. no one pursued her. in time she was able to still her wildly beating heart. then she turned toward home. once she stopped dead in her tracks to exclaim: "the magic curtain! oh! why did i run away?" then, as another mood seized her, she redoubled her pace. florence, she hoped, awaited her with a roaring fire, a cup of hot chocolate and a good scolding. chapter vi the woman in black by the time she reached the doorway that led to her humble abode, petite jeanne was in high spirits. the brisk walk had stirred her blood. her recent adventure had quickened her imagination. she was prepared for anything. alas, how quickly all this vanished! one moment she was a heroine marching forth to face that which life might fling at her; the next she was limp as a rag doll. such was petite jeanne. the cause? the room she entered was dark; chill damp hung over the place like a shroud. florence was not there. the fire was dead. cheer had passed from the place; gloom had come. jeanne could build a fire. this is an art known to all wanderers, and she had been a gypsy. but she lacked the will to put her skill to the test, so, quite in despair, she threw herself in a chair and lay there, looking for all the world like a deserted french doll, as she whispered to herself: "what can it matter? life is without a true purpose, all life. why should one struggle? why not go down with the tide? why--" but in one short moment all this was changed. the door flew open. florence burst into the room and with her came a whole gust of fresh lake air, or so it seemed to jeanne. "you have been to the island!" she exclaimed, as she became a very animated doll. "yes, i have been there." excitement shone from the big girl's eyes. "and i have made a surprising discovery. but wait. what ails the fire?" "there is no fire." "but why?" jeanne shrugged. "one does not know," she murmured. seizing the antiquated wood-hamper that stood by the hearth, florence piled shavings and kindling high. then, after scratching a match, she watched the yellow flames spread as shadows began dancing on the wall. "you have been surrendering to gloom," she said reprovingly. "don't do it. it's bad for you. where there is light there is hope. and see how our fire gleams!" "you speak truth, my friend." jeanne's tone was solemn. "but tell me." her mood changed. "you have met adventure. so have i." her eyes shone. "yes." florence was all business at once. "but take a look at the clock. there is just time to rush out for a cup of tea, then--" "then i go to jail," replied jeanne solemnly. "tell me. what does one wear in jail?" "you are joking," florence replied. "this is a serious affair. but, since you will go, it will not help to be late. we must hurry." a moment later, arm in arm, they passed from the outer door and the dull damp of night swallowed them up. when, a short time later, petite jeanne, garbed as pierre andrews, stole apprehensively through the entrance to the great opera house, her ever-fearful eyes fell upon two men loitering just within. the change that came over one of these, a tall, dark young man with a steely eye, as he caught sight of jeanne was most astonishing. turning square about like some affair of metal set on wheels, he appeared about to leap upon her. only a grip on his arm, that of his more stocky companion, appeared to save the girl. "watch out!" the other counseled savagely. "think where you are!" on the instant the look in those steely eyes changed. the man became a smiling wolf. "hey there, boy!" he called to jeanne. but jeanne, in her immaculate suit of black, gave but one frightened backward look, and then sped for the elevator. her heart was doing double time as she saw the elevator door silently close. "who could that man be?" she questioned herself breathlessly. "he can't have been a detective. they do not stand on ceremony. he would be here by my side, with a hand on my arm. but if not a detective, what then?" she could form no answer. in the meantime, the dark, slim man was saying to the stocky one: "can you beat it? you can't! thought he'd cut for good! my luck. but no! here he is, going back." "what do you care?" the other grumbled. "they'll take him, and that's the end of it. come on outside." his eyes strayed to the corner. a deep-chested man whose coat bulged in a strange way was loitering there. "air's bad in here." they passed out into the night. and there we leave them. but not for long. men such as these are found in curious places and at unheard-of hours. but jeanne? with her heart stilled for a brief period of time, she rose to the floor above, only to be thrown into a state of mind bordering on hysteria at thought of facing the ordeal that must lie just before her. seeking a dark corner, she closed her eyes. allowing her head to drop forward, she stood like one in prayer. did she pray, or did she but surrender her soul and body to the forces of nature all about her? who can say but that these two are the same, or at least that their effect is the same? however that may be, it was a changed jeanne who, three minutes later, took up her post of duty in the boxes, for hers was the air of a sentry. her movements were firm and steady, the look upon her face as calm as the reflection of the moon upon a still pool at midnight. that which followed was silent drama. throughout it all, not a word was spoken, no, not so much as whispered. the effect was like a thing of magic. jeanne will never erase those pictures from her memory. scarcely had she taken her place at the door leading to the box than the great magnate, j. rufus robinson, and his daughter, she of the lost pearls, appeared. jeanne caught her breath as she beheld the cape of green velvet trimmed with white fur and the matchless french gown of cream colored silk she wore. there was no lack of jewels despite the lost pearls. a diamond flashed here, a ruby burned there, yet they did not outshine the smile of this child of the rich. "i am seeing life," jeanne whispered to herself. "i must see more of it. i must! i just must!" yet, even as she whispered these words she thought of the bearded man with those luminous eyes. she had asked him if all this was life--this wealth, this pomp and circumstance. and he had replied quite calmly: "it is a form of life." at that instant jeanne thought of impending events that hung over her like a sword suspended by a hair, and shuddered. assisting the millionaire's daughter to remove her wrap, she carried it to the cloak-room at the back, then assisted the pair to arrange their chairs. this done, she stepped back, a respectful distance. while this was being done, a man, gliding forward with silent unconcern, had taken a place in the shadows at the back of the box. deeper in the shadows stood a woman in black. jeanne did not see the woman. she did see the man, and shuddered again. he, she realized, was the detective. as she turned her back, the detective moved, prepared without doubt to advance upon her. but a curious thing happened. the woman in the shadows darted forward. touching the arm of the rich young lady, she pointed at jeanne and nodded her head. the girl in turn looked at the detective and shook her head. then both the detective and the woman in black lost themselves in the shadows at the back of the box. all this was lost to jeanne. her back had been turned. her mind had been filled by a magic panorama, a picture of that which was to pass across the opera stage that night. thus does devotion to a great art cause us to forget the deepest, darkest trouble in our lives. all during that long evening petite jeanne found herself profoundly puzzled. why was nothing said to her regarding the pearls? why was she not arrested? "they have been found," she told herself at last. yet she doubted her own words, as well she might. two incidents of the evening impressed her. as she left the box during an intermission the rich girl turned a bright smile full upon her as she said: "what is your name?" caught off her guard, the little french girl barely escaped betraying her secret. the first sound of "jeanne" was upon her lips when of a sudden, without so much as a stammer or blush, she answered: "pierre andrews, if you please." "what a romantic name." the girl smiled again, then passed on. "now why did she do that?" jeanne's head was in a whirl. scarcely had she regained her composure when a voice behind her asked: "are you fond of the opera?" "oh, yes! yes, indeed i am." she turned about. "then you may see much of it this season." the mysterious woman in black was already turned about. she was walking away. jeanne did not see her face, yet there was that about her voice, a depth, a melodious resonance, a something, that thrilled her to the very tips of her slender toes. "will wonders never end?" she asked herself, and found no answer. chapter vii dreams of other days petite jeanne left the opera house that night in a brown study. she was perplexed beyond words. the necklace had not been found. she had made sure of that when, between the second and third act, she had discovered on a bulletin board of the lobby a typewritten notice of the loss and an offer of a reward for the return of the pearls. "if the pearls had been found that notice would have been taken down," she assured herself. "but if this is true, why did i go unmolested? one would suppose that at least i would be questioned regarding the affair. but no!" she shrugged her graceful shoulders. "they ask me nothing. they look and look, and say nothing. oh, yes, indeed, they say: 'what is your name?' that most beautiful rich one, she says this. and the dark one who is only a voice, she says: 'do you like the opera?' she asks this. and who is she? i know that voice. i have heard it before. it is very familiar, yet i cannot recall it. if she is here again i shall see her face." having thus worked herself into a state of deep perplexity that rapidly ripened into fear, she glided, once her duties were done, down a narrow aisle, across the end of the stage where a score of stage hands were busy shifting scenes, then along a narrow passage-way, with which, as you will know from reading _the golden circle_, she was thoroughly familiar. from this passageway she emerged upon a second and narrower stage. this was the stage of the civic theatre. the stage was dark. the house was dark. only the faintest gleam of light revealed seats like ghosts ranged row on row. how familiar it all seemed to her. the time had been when, not many months back, she had stood upon that stage and by the aid of her god-given gift, had stirred the audience to admiration, to laughter and to tears. as she stood there now a wave of feeling came over her that she could not resist. this stage, this little playhouse had become to her what home means to many. the people who had haunted those seats were _her_ people. they had loved her. she had loved them. but now they were gone. the house was dark, the light opera troop was scattered. she thought she knew how a mother robin must feel as she visits her nest long after the fledglings have flown. advancing to the center of the stage, she stretched her arms wide in mute appeal to the empty seats. but no least whisper of admiration or disapproval came back to her. a moment she stood thus. then, as her hands dropped, her breast heaved with one great sob. but, like the sea, jeanne was made of many moods. "no! no!" she stamped her small foot. "i will not come back to this! i will not! the way back is closed. only the door ahead is open. i will go on. "grand opera, this is all now. this is art indeed. pictures, music, story. this is grand opera. big! grand! noble! some day, somehow i shall stand upon that most wonderful of all stages, and those people, those thousands, the richest, the most learned, the most noble, they shall be my people!" having delivered this speech to the deserted hall, she once again became a very little lady in a trim black dress suit, seeking a way to the outer air and the street that led to home. she had come this way because she feared that the slender, dark-faced stranger who had accosted her earlier in the evening would await her at the door. "if he sees me he will follow," she told herself. "and then--" she finished with a shudder. in choosing this way she had counted upon one circumstance. nor had she counted in vain. as she hurried down the dark aisle toward the back of the theatre which was, she knew, closed, she came quite suddenly upon a man with a flashlight and time clock. "oh, tommy mosk!" she exclaimed in a whisper. "how glad i am that you are still here!" the watchman threw his light upon her face. "petite jeanne!" he exclaimed. "but why the masquerade?" tommy belonged to those other days and, with the rest, had come to love the simple, big-hearted little light opera star. "petite jeanne! but why--" "please don't make me tell." she gripped his arm. "only let me out, and see me safe into a taxi. and--and--" she put a finger to her lips. "don't whisper a word." "i--it's irregular, but i--i'll do it," he replied gallantly. jeanne gave his arm another squeeze and they were away. three minutes later, still dressed as pierre, the usher, she was huddled on the broad seat of a taxi, speeding for home. chapter viii an island mystery when florence, whose work as physical director required her attention until late hours three nights in the week, arrived, she found the little french girl still dressed as pierre, curled up in a big chair shuddering in the cold and the dark. "wh-what's happened?" she stared at her companion in astonishment. "n-n-nothing happened!" wailed petite jeanne. "that is why i am so very much afraid. they have said not one word to me about the pearls. they believe i have them. they will follow me, shadow me, search this place. who can doubt it? oh, _mon dieu_! such times! such troubles! "and yes!" she cried with a fresh shudder. "there is the slim, dark-faced one who is after me. and how can i know why?" "you poor child!" florence lifted her from the chair as easily as she might had she been a sack of feathers. "you shall tell me all about it. but first i must make a fire and brew some good black tea. and you must run along and become petite jeanne. i am not very fond of this pierre person." she plucked at the black coat sleeve. "in fact i never have cared for him at all." half an hour later the two girls were curled up amid a pile of rugs and cushions before the fire. cups were steaming, the fire crackling and the day, such as it had been, was rapidly passing into the joyous realm of "times that are gone," where one may live in memories that amuse and thrill, but never cause fear nor pain. jeanne had told her story and florence had done her best to reassure her, when the little french girl exclaimed: "but you, my friend? only a few hours ago you spoke of a discovery on the island. what was this so wonderful thing you saw there?" "well, now," florence sat up to prod the fire, "that was the strangest thing! you have been on the island?" "no, my friend. in the fort, but not on the island." "then you don't know what sort of half wild place it is. it's made of the dumping from a great city: cans, broken bricks, clay, everything. and from sand taken from the bottom of the lake. it's been years in the making. storms have washed in seeds. birds have carried in others. little forests of willow and cottonwood have sprung up. the south end is a jungle. a fit hide-out for tramps, you'd say. all that. you'd not expect to find respectable people living there, would you?" "but how could they?" "that's the queer part. they could. and i'm almost sure they do. seems too strange to be true. "and yet--" she prodded the fire, then stared into the flames as if to see reproduced there pictures that had half faded from her memories. "and yet, petite jeanne, i saw a girl out there, quite a young girl, in overalls and a bathing-suit. she was like a statue when i first saw her, a living statue. she went in for a dip, then donned her overalls to dash right into the jungle. "i wanted to see where she went, so i followed. and what do you think! after following a winding trail for a little time, i came, just where the cottonwoods are tallest, upon the strangest sort of dwelling--if it was a dwelling at all--i have ever seen." "what was it like?" jeanne leaned eagerly forward. "like nothing on land or sea, but a little akin to both. the door was heavy and without glass. it had a great brass knob such as you find on the cabin doors of very old ships. and the windows, if you might call them that, looked like portholes taken from ships. "but the walls; they were strangest of all. curious curved pillars rose every two or three feet apart, to a considerable height. between these pillars brick walls had been built. the whole was topped by a roof of green tile." "and the girl went in there?" "where else could she have gone?" "and that was her home?" "who could doubt it?" "america--" jeanne drew a long breath. "your america is a strange place." "so strange that even we who have lived here always are constantly running into the most astonishing things. "perhaps," the big girl added, after a brief silence, "that is why america is such a glorious place to live." "but did you not endeavor to make a call at this strange home?" asked jeanne. "i did. little good it did me! i knocked three times at the door. there was no answer. it was growing dark, but no light shone from those porthole windows. so all i could do was to retrace my steps. "i had gone not a dozen paces when i caught the sound of a half suppressed laugh. i wheeled about, but saw no one. now, what do you make of that?" "it's a sweet and jolly mystery," said jeanne. "we shall solve it, you and i." and in dreaming of this new and apparently harmless adventure, the little french girl's troubles were, for the time being at least, forgotten. she slept soundly that night and all her dreams were dreams of peace. but to-morrow was another day. chapter ix caught in the act and on that new day, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds after a storm, there came to jeanne an hour of speechless joy. having exercised as ever her gift of friendship to all mankind, she was able, through her acquaintance with the watchman, to enter the opera house when she chose. there was only one drawback to this; she must enter always as pierre and never as petite jeanne. knowing that some sort of rehearsal would be in progress, she garbed herself in her pierre costume and repaired to the place which to her, of all places on earth, seemed the home of pure enchantment--the opera. even now, when the seats were clothed like ghosts in white sheets, when the aisles, so often adorned with living models all a-glitter with silks and jewels, and echoing with the sound of applause and laughter, were dark and still, the great hall lost none of its charm. as she tripped noiselessly down the foyer where pillars cut from some curious stone flanked her on every side and priceless chandeliers hung like blind ghosts far above her head, she thought of the hundreds who had promenaded here displaying rich furs, costly silks and jewels. she recalled, too, the remark of that strangely studious man with a beard: "it is a form of life." "i wonder what he meant?" she said half aloud. "perhaps some day i shall meet him again. if i do, i shall ask him." but jeanne was no person to be living in the past. she dreamed of the future when only dreams were at her command. for her the vivid, living, all-entrancing _present_ was what mattered most. she had not haunted the building long before she might have been found curled up in a seat among the dark shadows close to the back row on the orchestra floor. she had pushed the white covering away, but was still half hidden by it; she could be entirely hidden in a second's time if she so willed. behind and above her, black chasms of darkness, the boxes and balconies loomed. before her the stage, all dark, seemed a mysterious cave where a hundred bandits might hide among the settings of some imposing scene. she did not know the name of the opera to be rehearsed on this particular afternoon. who, then, can describe the stirring of her blood, the quickening of her heart-beats, the thrill that coursed through her very being when the first faint flush of dawn began appearing upon the scene that lay before her? a stage dawn it was, to be sure; but very little less than real it was, for all that. in this matchless place of amusement shades of light, pale gray, blue, rosy red, all come creeping out, and dawn lingers as it does upon hills and forests of earth and stone and wood. eagerly the little french girl leaned forward to catch the first glimpse of that unknown scene. slowly, slowly, but quite surely, to the right a building began looming out from that darkness. the trunk of a tree appeared, another and yet another. dimly a street was outlined. one by one these objects took on a clearer line until with an impulsive movement, jeanne fairly leaped from her place. "it is france!" she all but cried aloud. "my own beloved france! and the opera! it is to be 'the juggler of notre dame'! was there ever such marvelous good fortune!" it was indeed as if a will higher than her own had planned all this, for this short opera was the one jeanne had studied. it was this opera, as you will remember from reading _the golden circle_, that jeanne had once witnessed quite by chance as she lay flat upon the iron grating more than a hundred feet above the stage. "and now i shall see marjory dean play in it once more," she exulted. "for this is a dress rehearsal, i am sure of that." she was not long in discovering that her words were true. scarcely had the full light of day shone upon that charming stage village, nestled among the hills of france, than a company of peasants, men, women and children, all garbed in bright holiday attire, came trooping upon the stage. but what was this? scarcely had they arrived than one who loitered behind began shouting in the most excited manner and pointing to the road that led back to the hills. "the juggler is coming," jeanne breathed. "the juggler of notre dame." she did not say marjory dean, who played the part. she said: "the juggler," because at this moment she lived again in that beautiful village of her native land. once again she was a gypsy child. once more she camped at the roadside. with her pet bear and her friend, the juggler, she marched proudly into the village to dance for pennies before the delighted crowd in the village square. what wonder that petite jeanne knew every word of this charming opera by heart? was it not france as she knew it? and was not france her native land? breathing deeply, clutching now and then at her heart to still its wild beating, she waited and watched. a second peasant girl followed the first to the roadside. she too called and beckoned. others followed her. and then, with a burst of joyous song, their gay garments gleaming like a bed of flowers, their faces shining, these happy villagers came trooping back. and in their midst, bearing in one hand a gay, colored hoop, in the other a mysterious bag of tricks, was the juggler of notre dame. "it is marjory dean, marjory herself. she is the juggler," jeanne whispered. she dared not trust herself to do more. she wanted to leap to her feet, to clap her hands and cry: "ray! ray! ray! _vive! vive! vive!_" but no, this would spoil it all. she must see this beautiful story through to its end. so, calming herself, she settled back to see the juggler, arrayed in his fantastic costume, open his bag of tricks. she saw him delight his audience with his simple artistry. she watched, breathless, as a priest, coming from the monastery, rebuked him for practicing what he believed to be a sinful art. she suffered with the juggler as he fought a battle with his soul. when he came near to the door of the monastery that, being entered, might never again be abandoned, she wished to rise and shout: "no! no! juggler! stay with the happy people in the bright sunshine. show them more of your art. life is too often sad. bring joy to their lives!" she said, in reality, nothing. when at last the curtain fell, she was filled with one desire: to be for one short hour the juggler of notre dame. she knew the words of his song; had practiced his simple tricks. "why not? sometime--somewhere," she breathed. "sometime? somewhere?" she realized in an instant that no place could be quite the same to her as this one that in all its glories of green and gold surrounded her now. when the curtain was up again the stage scene remained the same; but the gay peasants, the juggler, were gone. after some moments of waiting jeanne realized that this scene had been set for the night's performance, that this scene alone would be rehearsed upon the stage. "they are gone! it is over!" how empty her life seemed now. it was as if a great light had suddenly gone out. stealing from her place, she crept down the aisle, entered a door and emerged at last upon a dark corner of the stage. for a moment, quite breathless, she stood there in the shadows, watching, listening. "there is no one," she breathed. "i am alone." an overpowering desire seized her to don the juggler's costume, to sing his songs, to do his tricks. the costume was there, the bag of tricks. why not? pausing not a second, she crept to the center of the stage, seized the coveted prizes, then beat a hasty retreat. ten minutes later, dancing lightly and singing softly, she came upon the stage. she was there alone. yet, in her mind's eye she saw the villagers of france, matrons and men, laughing lovers, dancing children, all before her as, casting her bag upon the green, she seized some trifling baubles and began working her charms. for her, too, the seats were not dark, covered empties, but filled with human beings, filled with the light and joy of living. of a sudden she seemed to hear the reproving words of the priest. turning about, with sober face, she stood before the monastery door. and then, like some bird discovered in a garden, she wanted to run away. for there, in very life, a little way back upon the vast stage, stood all the peasants of the opera. and in their midst, garbed in street attire, was marjory dean! "who are you? how do you dare tamper with my property, to put on my costume?" marjory dean advanced alone. there was sternness in her tone. but there was another quality besides. had it not been for this, jeanne might have crumpled in a helpless heap upon the stage. as it was, she could only murmur in her humblest manner: "i--i am only an usher. see!" she stripped off the juggler's garb, and stood there in black attire. "please do not be too hard. i have harmed nothing. see! i will put it all back." this, with trembling fingers, she proceeded to do. then in the midst of profound silence, she retreated into the shadows. she had barely escaped from the stage into the darkness of the opera pit when a figure came soft-footedly after her. she wished to flee, but a voice seemed to whisper, "stay!" the word that came ten seconds after was, "wait! you can't deceive me. you are petite jeanne!" it was the great one, marjory dean, who spoke. "why, how--how could you know?" jeanne was thrown into consternation. "who could not know? if one has seen you upon the stage before, he could not be mistaken. "but, little girl," the great one's tone was deep and low like the mellow chimes of a great clock, "i will not betray you. "you did that divinely, petite jeanne. i could not have done it better. and you, jeanne, are much like me. a little make-up, and there you are, petite jeanne, who is marjory dean. some day, perhaps, i shall allow you to take my place, to do this first act for me, before all this." she spread her arms wide as if to take in a vast audience. "no!" jeanne protested. "i could never do that. never! marjory dean, i--no! no!" she broke off to stare into the darkness. no one was there! "i could almost believe i imagined it," she told herself. "and yet--no! it was true. she said it. marjory dean said that!" little wonder, then, that all the remaining hours of that day found on her fair face a radiance born, one might say, in heaven. many saw that face and were charmed by it. the little rich girl saw it as jeanne performed her humble duties as pierre. she was so taken by it that, with her father's consent, she invited pierre to visit her at her father's estate next day. and pierre accepted. and that, as you well may guess, leads to quite another story. chapter x the one within the shadows having accepted an invitation from a daughter of the rich, jeanne was at once thrown into consternation. "what am i to wear?" she wailed. "as pierre i can't very well wear pink chiffon and satin slippers. and of course evening dress does not go with an informal visit to an estate in mid-afternoon. oh, why did i accept?" "you accepted," florence replied quietly, "because you wish to know all about life. you have been poor as a gypsy. you know all about being poor. you have lived as a successful lady of the stage. you were then an artist. successful artists are middle class people, i should say. but your friend rosemary is rich. she will show you one more side of life." "a form of life, that's what he called it." "who called it?" "a man. but what am i to wear?" "well," florence pondered, "you are a youth, a mere boy; that's the way they think of you. you are to tramp about over the estate." "and ride horses. she said so. how i love horses!" "you are a boy. and you have no mother to guide you." florence chanted this. "what would a boy wear? knickers, a waist, heavy shoes, a cap. you have all these, left from our summer in the northern woods." why not, indeed? this was agreed upon at once. so it happened that when the great car, all a-glitter with gold and platinum trimmings, met her before the opera at the appointed hour, it was as a boy, perhaps in middle teens, garbed for an outing, that the little french girl sank deep into the broadcloth cushions. "florence said it would do," she told herself. "she is usually right. i do hope that she may be right this time." rosemary robinson had been well trained, very well trained indeed. the ladies who managed and taught the private school which she attended were ladies of the first magnitude. as everyone knows, the first lesson to be learned in the school of proper training is the art of deception. one must learn to conceal one's feelings. rosemary had learned this lesson well. it had been a costly lesson. to any person endowed with a frank and generous nature, such a lesson comes only by diligence and suffering. if she had expected to find the youthful pierre dressed in other garments than white waist, knickers and green cap, she did not say so, either by word, look or gesture. this put jeanne at her ease at once; at least as much at ease as any girl masquerading as a boy might be expected to achieve. "she's a dear," she thought to herself as rosemary, leading her into the house, introduced her in the most nonchalant manner to the greatest earthly paradise she had ever known. as she felt her feet sink deep in rich oriental rugs, as her eyes feasted themselves upon oil paintings, tapestries and rare bits of statuary that had been gathered from every corner of the globe, she could not so much as regret the deception that had gained her entrance to this world of rare treasures. "but would i wish to live here?" she asked herself. "it is like living in a museum." when she had entered rosemary's own little personal study, when she had feasted her eyes upon all the small objects of rare charm that were rosemary's own, upon the furniture done by master craftsmen and the interior decorated by a real artist, when she had touched the soft creations of silk that were curtains, drapes and pillows, she murmured: "yes. here is that which would bring happiness to any soul who loves beauty and knows it when he sees it." "but we must not remain indoors on a day such as this!" rosemary exclaimed. "come!" she seized her new friend's hand. "we will go out into the sunshine. you are a sun worshipper, are you not?" "perhaps," said jeanne who, you must not forget, was for the day pierre andrews. "i truly do not know." "there are many sun worshippers these days." rosemary laughed a merry laugh. "and why not? does not the sun give us life? and if we rest beneath his rays much of the time, does he not give us a more abundant life?" "see!" pierre, catching the spirit of the hour, held out a bare arm as brown as the dead leaves of october. "i _am_ a sun worshipper!" at this they went dancing down the hall. "but, see!" rosemary exclaimed. "here is the organ!" she threw open a door, sprang to a bench, touched a switch here, a stop there, then began sending out peals of sweet, low, melodious music. "a pipe organ!" jeanne exclaimed. "in your home!" "why not?" rosemary laughed. "father likes the organ. why should he not hear it when he chooses? it is a very fine one. many of the great masters have been here to play it. i am taking lessons. in half an hour i must come here for a lesson. then you must become a sun worshipper. you may wander where you please or just lie by the lily pond and dream in the sun." "i am fond of dreaming." "then you shall dream." the grounds surrounding the great house were to the little french girl a land of enchantment. the formal garden where even in late autumn the rich colors of bright red, green and gold vied with the glory of the indian summer sunshine, the rock garden, the pool where gold-fish swam, the rustic bridge across the brook, and back of all this the primeval forest of oak, walnut and maple; all this, as they wandered over leaf-strewn paths, reminded her of the forests and hedges, the grounds and gardens of her own beloved france. "truly," she whispered to herself, "all this is worth being rich for. "but what a pity--" her mood changed. "what a pity that it may not belong to all--to the middle class, the poor. "and yet," she concluded philosophically, "they have the parks. truly they are beautiful always." it was beside a broad pool where lily pads lay upon placid waters that jeanne at last found a place of repose beneath the mellow autumn sun, to settle down to the business of doing her bit of sun worship. it was truly delightful, this spot, and very dreamy. there were broad stretches of water between the clusters of lily pads. in these, three stately swans, seeming royal floats of some enchanted midget city, floated. some late flowers bloomed at her feet. here bees hummed drowsily. a dragon fly, last of his race, a great green ship with bulging eyes, darted here and there. yet in his movements there were suggestions of rest and dreamy repose. the sun was warm. from the distance came the drone of a pipe organ. it, too, spoke of rest. jeanne, as always, had retired at a late hour on the previous night. her head nodded. she stretched herself out upon the turf. she would close her eyes for three winks. "just three winks." but the drowsy warmth, the distant melody, the darting dragon fly, seen even in her dreams, held her eyes tight closed. as she dreamed, the bushes not five yards away parted and a face peered forth. it was not an inviting face. it was a dark, evil-eyed face with a trembling leer about the mouth. jeanne had seen this man. he had called to her. she had run away. that was long ago, before the door of the opera. she did not see him now. she slept. a little bird scolding in a tree seemed eager to wake her. she did not wake. the man moved forward a step. someone unseen appeared to move behind him. with a wolf-like eye he glanced to right and left. he moved another step. he was like a cat creeping upon his prey. "wake up, jeanne! wake up! wake! wake! wake up!" the little bird scolded on. jeanne did not stir. still the sun gleamed warm, the music droned, the dragon fly darted in her dreams. but what is this? the evil-eyed one shrinks back into his place of hiding. no footsteps are heard; the grass is like a green carpet, as the master of the estate and his wife approach. they would have passed close to the sleeping one had not a glance arrested them. "what a beautiful boy!" whispered the lady. "and see how peacefully he sleeps! he is a friend of rosemary, a mere child of the opera. she has taken a fancy to him." "who would not?" the man rumbled low. "i have seen him at our box. there was the affair of the pearls. he--" "could a guilty person sleep so?" "no." "not upon the estate of one he has robbed." "surely not. do you know," the lady's tone became deeply serious, "i have often thought of adopting such a child, a boy to be a companion and brother to rosemary." could jeanne have heard this she might well have blushed. she did not hear, for the sun shone on, the music still droned and the dragon fly darted in her dreams. the lady looked in the great man's eyes. she read an answer there. "shall we wake him and suggest it now?" she whispered. ah, jeanne! what shall the answer be? you are pierre. you are jeanne. but the great man shakes his head. "the thing needs talking over. in a matter of so grave importance one must look carefully before one moves. we must consider." so the two pass on. and once again jeanne has escaped. and now rosemary comes racing down the slope to discover her and to waken her by tickling her nose with a swan's feather. "come!" she exclaims, before jeanne is half conscious of her surroundings. "we are off for a canter over the bridle path!" seizing jeanne's hand, she drags her to her feet. then together they go racing away toward the stables. the remainder of that day was one joyous interlude in petite jeanne's not uneventful life. save for the thought that rosemary believed her a boy, played with her and entertained her as a boy and was, perhaps, just a little interested in her as a boy, no flaw could be found in this glorious occasion. a great lover of horses since her days in horse-drawn gypsy vans, she gloried in the spirited brown steed she rode. the day was perfect. blue skies with fleecy clouds drifting like sheep in a field, autumn leaves fluttering down, cobwebs floating lazily across the fields; this was autumn at its best. they rode, those two, across green meadows, down shady lanes, through forests where shadows were deep. now and again rosemary turned an admiring glance upon her companion sitting in her saddle with ease and riding with such grace. "if she knew!" jeanne thought with a bitter-sweet smile. "if she only knew!" "where did you learn to ride so well?" rosemary asked, as they alighted and went in to tea. "in france, to be sure." "and who taught you?" "who but the gypsies?" "gypsies! how romantic!" "romantic? yes, perhaps." jeanne was quick to change the subject. she was getting into deep water. should she begin telling of her early life she must surely, sooner or later, betray her secret. "rich people," she thought, as she journeyed homeward in the great car when the day was done, "they are very much like others, except when they choose to show off. and i wonder how much they enjoy that, after all. "but rosemary! does she suspect? i wonder! she's such a peach! it's a shame to deceive her. yet, what sport! and besides, i'm getting a little of what i want, a whole big lot, i guess." she was thinking once more of marjory dean's half-promise. "will she truly allow me to be her understudy, to go on in her place when the 'juggler' is done again?" she was fairly smothered by the thought; yet she dared to hope--a little. chapter xi a dance for the spirits when jeanne arrived at the rooms late that night, after her evening among the opera boxes, she found a half burned out fire in the grate and a rather amusing note from florence on the table: "i am asleep. do not disturb me." this is how the note ran. she read the note and smiled. "poor, dear, big florence," she murmured. "how selfish i am! she works hard. often she needs rest that she does not get. yet i am always hoping that she will be here to greet me and to cheer me with jolly chatter and something warm to drink." still in this thoughtful mood, she entered her chamber. she did not switch on the light at once, but stood looking out of the window. somewhat to her surprise, she saw a dark figure lurking in the shadows across the street. "who could it be?" she whispered. she had little hope of solving this problem when an automobile light solved it for her and gave her a shock besides. the light fell full upon the man's face. she recognized him instantly. "jaeger!" she said the name out loud and trembled from head to foot. jaeger was the detective who haunted the boxes at the opera. "he is shadowing me!" she could not doubt this. "he believes i stole those pearls. perhaps he thinks he can catch me trying them on. not much chance of that." she laughed uneasily. "it is well enough to know you are innocent; but to convince others, that is the problem." she thought of the lady in black. "if only i could see her, speak to her!" she drew the shades, threw on the light and disrobed, still in a thoughtful mood. she was remembering the voice of that lady. there was something hauntingly familiar about that voice. it brought to her mind a feeling of forests and rippling waters, the scent of balsam and the song of birds. yet she could not tell where she had heard it before. joan of arc was jeanne's idol. once as a child, wandering with the gypsies, she had slept within the shadows of the church where joan received her visions. at another time she had sat for an entire forenoon dreaming the hours away in the chamber that had once been joan's own. yet, unlike joan, she did not love wearing the clothes of a boy. she was fond of soft, clinging, silky things, was this delicate french child. so, dressed in the silkiest of all silks and the softest of satin robes, she built herself a veritable mountain of pillows before the fire and, sinking back into that soft depth, proceeded to think things through. to this strange girl sitting at the mouth of her cave made of pillows, the fire on the hearth was a magic fire. she prodded it. as it blazed red, she saw in it clearly the magic curtain. she felt again the thrill of this mysterious discovery. once more she was gazing upon strange smoking images, bronze eagles, giants' heads, dragons. she smelled the curious, choking incense. and again the feeling of wild terror seized her. so real was the vision that she leaped to her feet, sending the soft walls of her cave flying in every direction. next instant she was in complete possession of her senses. "why am i afraid?" she asked herself. "why was i afraid then? it is but a stage setting, some oriental magic." a thought struck her all of a heap. "stage setting! that's it!" she exclaimed in a low whisper. "why not? what a wonderful setting for some exotic little touch of oriental drama! "i must return to that place. i must see that magic curtain once more." she rearranged the door to her cave. "i must take someone with me. why not marjory dean?" the thought pleased her. she mused over it until the fire burned low. but with the dimming of the coals her spirits ebbed. as she gazed into the fire she seemed to see a dark and evil face leering at her, the man who had called to her at the opera door. had she seen that same face staring at her on that other occasion when she slept in the sun on the robinson estate, she might well have shuddered more violently. as it was, she asked but a single question: "who is he?" she threw on fuel. the fire flamed up. once more she was gay as she heard marjory dean whisper those magic words: "you did that divinely, petite jeanne. i could not have done it better. some day, perhaps, i shall allow you to take my place." "will you?" she cried, stretching her arms wide. "oh! will you, marjory dean?" after this emotional outburst she sat for a long time quite motionless. "i wonder," she mused after a time, "why this desire should have entered my heart. why grand opera? i have done light opera. i sang. i danced. they applauded. they said i was marvelous. perhaps i was." her head fell a little forward. "ambition!" her face was lifted to the ceiling. "it is ambition that drives us on. when i was a child i danced in the country lanes. then i must go higher, i must dance in a village; in a small city; in a large city; in paris. that so beautiful paris! and now it must be grand opera; something drives me on." she prodded the fire and, for the last time that night, it flamed high. springing to her feet she cast off her satin robe to go racing across the floor in the dance of the juggler. low and clear, her voice rose in a french song of great enchantment. for a time her delicate, elf-like form went weaving in and out among the shadows cast by the fire. then, all of a sudden, she danced into her chamber. the show, given only for spirits and fairies, was at an end. "to-morrow," she whispered low, as her eyes closed for sleep, "to-morrow there is no opera. i shall not see marjory dean, nor rosemary, nor those dark-faced ones who dog my steps. to-morrow? whom shall i see? what strange new acquaintance shall i make; what adventures come to me?" chapter xii the lost cameo in spite of the fact that the opera house was dark on the following night, adventure came to petite jeanne, adventure and excitement a-plenty. it came like the sudden rush of an ocean's wave. one moment she and florence were strolling in a leisurely manner down the center of state street; the next they were surrounded, completely engulfed and carried whither they knew not by a vast, restless, roaring, surging sea of humanity. for many days they had read accounts of a great autumn festival that was to occur on this night. having never witnessed such a fete, save in her native land, petite jeanne had been eager to attend. so here they were. and here, too, was an unbelievable multitude. petite jeanne cast a startled look at her companion. florence, big capable florence, smiled as she bent over to speak in the little french girl's ear. "get in front of me. i'll hold them back." "but why all this?" petite jeanne tried to gesture, only to end by prodding a fat man in the stomach. "this," laughed florence, "is harvest jubilee night. a city of three million invited all its citizens to come down and enjoy themselves in six city blocks. bands are to play. radio stars are to be seen. living models will be in all the store windows. "the three million are here. they will hear no bands. they will see no radio stars, nor any living models either. they will see and hear only themselves." "yes. and they will feel one another, too!" the little french girl cried, as the crush all but pressed the breath from her lungs. the look on her face was one of pure fright. florence, too, was thinking serious thoughts. that which had promised only a bit of adventure in the beginning bade fair to become a serious matter. having moved down the center of a block, they had intended turning the corner. but now, caught in the tremendous crush of humanity, by the thousands upon thousands of human beings who thronged the streets, carried this way and that by currents and counter-currents, they were likely to be carried anywhere. and should the crush become too great, they might well be rendered unconscious by the vise-like pressure of the throng. this indeed was harvest jubilee night. the leading men of this city had made a great mistake. wishing to draw thousands of people to the trading center of the city, they had staged a great fete. as florence had said, men and women of note, actors, singers, radio stars were to be found on grand stands erected at every street crossing. all this was wonderful, to be sure! only one fact had been lost sight of: that hundreds of thousands of people cannot move about freely in the narrow space of six city blocks. now, here were the laughing, shouting, crowding, groaning, weeping thousands. what was to come of it all? petite jeanne asked herself this question, took one long quivering breath, then looked up at her stout companion and was reassured. "we came here for a lark," she told herself. "we must see it through. "i only hope," she caught her breath again, "that i don't see anyone in this crowd who makes me trouble. surely i cannot escape him here!" she was thinking of the dark-faced man with the evil eye. "keep up courage," florence counseled. "we'll make it out of here safe enough." but would they? every second the situation became more tense. now they were carried ten paces toward wabash avenue; now, like some dance of death, the crowd surged backward toward dearborn street. and now, caught in an eddy, they whirled round and round. in such a time as this the peril is great. always, certain persons, deserting all caution, carried away by their own exuberance, render confusion worse confounded. bands of young men, perhaps from high school or college, with hands on shoulders, built up flying wedges that shot through the crowd like bullets through wood. just such a group was pressing upon the stalwart florence and all but crushing the breath out of her, when for the first time she became conscious of a little old lady in a faded shawl who fairly crouched at her feet. "she's eighty if a day," she thought, with a sudden shock. "she'll be killed unless-- "petite jeanne," she screamed, "there are times when human beings have neither eyes, ears nor brains. they can always feel. you have sharp elbows. use them now to the glory of god and for the life of this dear old lady in her faded shawl." suiting actions to her own words, she kicked forth lustily with her square-pointed athletic shoe. the shoe made contact with a grinning youth's shins. the look of joy on the youth's face changed to one of sudden pain. he ceased to shove and attempted a retreat. one more grinning face was transformed by an elbow thrust in the stomach. this one doubled up and did his best to back away. jeanne added her bit. as florence had said, her elbows were sharp and effective. in an incredibly short time there was space for breathing. one moment the little old lady, who was not five feet tall and did not weigh ninety pounds, was in peril of her life; the next she was caught in florence's powerful arms and was being borne to safety. and all the time she was screaming: "oh! oh! oh! it is gone! it is lost! it is lost!" "yes," florence agreed, as she dropped her to the curbing, well out of the crush, "you have lost a shoe. but what's a shoe? you would have lost your life. and, after all, how is one to find a shoe in such a place of madness?" the little old lady made no answer. she sat down upon the curb and began silently to sob while her slight body rocked from side to side and her lips whispered words that could not be heard. "was there ever such another night?" petite jeanne cried, in real distress. she was little and quick, very emotional and quite french. "we came here for a gay time," she went on. "and now, see how it is! we have been tossed about from wave to wave by the crowd, which is a sea, and now it has washed us ashore with a weeping old lady we have never seen before and may never see again." "hush!" florence touched her lips. "you will distress her. you came here to find joy and happiness. joy and happiness may be found quite as often by serving others less fortunate than ourselves as in any other way. we will see if this is not true. "come!" she placed gentle hands beneath the bent form of the little, old lady on the curb. "come, now. there is a bright little tea room right over there. a good cup of black tea will cheer you. then you must tell us all about it." a look of puzzled uncertainty gave way to a smile on the wrinkled face as this strange derelict of the night murmured: "tea. yes, yes, a good cup of black tea." the tea room was all but deserted. on this wild night of nights people did not eat. vendors of ice cream sandwiches found no customers. baskets of peanuts were more likely to be tumbled into the street than eaten. the throng had indeed become a wild, stormy sea. and a stormy sea neither eats nor sleeps. "tell me," said florence, as the hot tea warmed the white-haired one's drowsy blood, "why did you weep at the loss of a shoe?" "a shoe?" the little old lady seemed puzzled. she looked down at her feet. "a shoe? ah, yes! it is true. one shoe is gone. "but it is not that." her voice changed. her dull blue eyes took on fresh color. "i have lost more--much more. my purse! money? no, my children. a little. it is nothing. i have lost my cameo, my only treasure. and, oh, i shall never see it again!" she began wringing her hands and seemed about to give way once more to weeping. "tell us about it," petite jeanne put in eagerly. "perhaps we can help you." "tell you? help me?" the old eyes were dreamy now. "my cameo! my one great treasure. it was made in florence so many, many years ago. it was my own portrait done in onyx, pink onyx. i was only a child, sixteen, slight and fair like you." she touched jeanne's golden hair. "he was young, romantic, already an artist. he became very famous when he was older. but never, i am sure, did he carve such a cameo, for, perhaps--perhaps he loved me--just a little. "but now!" this was a cry of pain. "now it is gone! and i have kept it all these long years. i should not have come to-night. i had not been to the heart of the city for ten years. but this night they told me i was to see 'auld sandy' himself. he's on the radio, you know. he sings old scotch songs so grandly and recites burns' poems with so much feeling. i wanted to see him. i did not dare leave the cameo in my poor room. my cameo! so i brought it, and now-- "but you said you would help me." once again her face brightened. "yes." florence's tone was eager, hopeful. "we will help you. someone will find your purse. it will be turned in. the police will have it. we will get it for you in the morning. only give us your address and we will bring it, your treasure, your cameo." "will you?" florence heard that cry of joy, and her heart smote her. could they find it? they wrote down the little old lady's address carefully; then escorting her to the elevated platform, they saw her safely aboard a train. "now why did i do that?" florence turned a face filled with consternation to petite jeanne. "why did i promise so much?" she was to wonder this many times during that night of mysterious and thrilling adventure. "let us go back," said petite jeanne. "see! the trains are loaded with people returning home. the crowd must not be so great. the little lady's purse must have been kicked about; but we may yet find it." "that," replied florence, "would seem too good to be true. yes, let us go back. we must not hope too much, for all that. many are going, but others are coming. surely this is one wild night in a great city." and so it was. hardly had they descended the iron steps to the street and walked half a block than the waves of humanity were upon them again. "the tide is set against us." florence urged her companion into the momentary security of a department store entrance. there, from a vantage point of safety, they watched the crowds surging by. they were at a point where the pressure of the throng was broken. it was interesting to study the faces of those who emerged into a place of comparative quiet. some were exuberant over the struggle they had waged and won, others crushed. here was one in tears and there was one who had fainted, being hurried away by others to a place of first aid. "they are poor," petite jeanne murmured. "at least they are not rich, nor even well-to-do. they are working people who came for a good time. are they having it? who can tell? surely, never before have they seen so many people. and perhaps they never will see so many again. to-morrow they will talk. how they will talk of this night's adventure! as for me," she sighed, "i prefer a quiet place beneath the stars." "do you?" florence spoke up quickly. "then we will go to just such a place." "surely not in this great city." "ten minutes by elevated train, ten minutes walk after that, and we are there. come! we can never hope to reach the spot where the cameo was lost. come!" nor did she fail to make good her promise. twenty minutes later they were walking in a spot where, save for the low swish of water against rocks, silence reigned supreme. "how strange! how fascinating! what stillness!" petite jeanne gripped her companion's arm hard. "here are silence, starlight, moonlight, grass beneath one's feet and the gleam of distant water in our eyes." "yes." florence's tone was low like the deep notes of a cello. "and only a short time ago, perhaps a year ago, the waters of the lake lay ten feet deep at the very spot on which we stand. such is the wondrous achievement of man when inspired by a desire to provide a quiet place for a weary multitude. this is 'made land' a park in the making. great squares of limestone were dumped in the lake. with these as a barrier to hold back the onrush of the lake waters, men have hauled in sand, clay, ashes, all the refuse of a great city. nature has breathed upon that ugly pile of debris. the sun has caressed it, the wind smoothed it, rain beat down upon it, birds brought seeds, and now we have soft earth, grass, flowers, a place of beauty and quiet peace." the place they had entered is strange. a great city, finding itself cramped for breathing space, has reached out a mighty hand to snatch land from the bottom of the lake. thirty blocks in length, as large as an ordinary farm, this space promises to become, in the near future, a place of joy forever. at the time of our story it was half a field of tangled grass and half a junk pile. as the two girls wandered on they found themselves flanked on one side by a tumbled line of gigantic man-made boulders and on the other by a curious jumble of waste. steel barrels, half rusted away, lay among piles of cement blocks and broken plaster. "come," said florence, "let us go out upon the rocks." a moment of unsteady leaping from spot to spot, and they sat looking out on a band of gold painted across the waters by the moon. "how still it is!" jeanne whispered. "after all the shouting of the throng, i feel that i may have gone suddenly deaf." "it _is_ still," florence replied. "no one here. not a soul. only you and i, the moon and the night." and yet, even as she spoke, a sudden chill gripped her heart. she had caught a sound. someone was among the rocks close at hand; there could be no mistaking that. who could it be? her heart misgave her. had she committed a dangerous blunder? she had been here before, but never at night. the city, with all its perils, its evil ones, was but a few steps away. as she listened she even now caught indistinctly the murmur of it. someone was among the rocks. he might be advancing. who could it be, at this hour of the night? strangely enough at this instant one thought entered her mind: "nothing must happen to me. i have a sacred duty to perform. i have pledged myself to return that priceless cameo to that dear little old lady." at the same instant the light from a distant automobile, making a turn on the drive, fell for a space of seconds upon the tumbled pile of rocks. it lit up not alone the rocks but a face; a strangely ugly face, not ten paces away. one second the light was there. the next it was gone. and in that same second the moon went under a cloud. the place was utterly dark. chapter xiii a nymph of the night florence had never seen the face lit up there in the night; yet it struck fear to her heart. what must we say, then, of petite jeanne? for this was the face of one who, more than any others, inspired her with terror. he it had been who called after her at the door of the opera, he who had looked out from the bushes as she slept in the sun. at sight of him now, she all but fell among the rocks from sheer panic. as for florence, she was startled into action. they were, she suddenly realized, many blocks from any human habitation, on a deserted strip of man-made shore land lighted only by stars and the moonlight. and at this moment the moon, having failed them, had left the place black as a tomb. with a low, whispered "come!" and guided more by instinct than sight, she led jeanne off the tumbled pile of rocks and out to the path where grass grew rank and they were in danger at any moment of tripping over pieces of debris. "who--who was that?" florence fancied she heard the little french girl's heart beating wildly as she asked the question. "who can tell? there may be many. see! yonder, far ahead, is a light." the light they saw was the gleam of a camp fire. in this desolate spot it seemed strangely out of place; yet there is that about fire and light that suggests security and peace. how often in her homeland had petite jeanne felt the cozy warmth of an open fireplace and, secure from all danger, had fallen asleep in the corner of a gypsy's tent. how often as a child had florence, in a cane-seated rocker, sat beside the humble kitchen stove to hear the crackle of the fire, to watch its glow through its open grate and to dream dreams of security and peace. what wonder, then, that these two bewildered and frightened ones, at sight of a glowing fire, should leap forward with cries of joy on their lips? nor were they destined to disappointment. the man who had built that fire loved its cheerful gleam just as they did, and for the very same reason: it whispered to him of security and peace. he was old, was this man. his face had been deeply tanned and wrinkled by many a sun. his hair was snow white. a wandering philosopher and preacher, he had taken up his abode in a natural cavern between great rocks. he welcomed these frightened girls to a place of security by his fireside. "probably nothing to frighten you," he reassured them. "there are many of us sleeping out here among the rocks. in these times when work is scarce, when millions know not when or where they are to eat and when, like our master, many of us have nowhere to lay our heads, it will not seem strange that so many, some by the aid of a pile of broken bricks and some with cast-off boards and sheet-iron, should fashion here homes of a sort which they may for a brief time call their own. "of course," he added quickly, "all too soon this will be a thing of the past. buildings will rise here and there. they are rising even now. three have been erected on these very shores. scores of buildings will dot them soon. palm trees will wave, orange trees blossom, grass and flowers will fringe deep lagoons where bright boats flash in the sun. all this will rise as if by magic and our poor abodes built of cast-off things will vanish, our camp fires gleam no more." his voice trailed off into nothingness. for a time after that they sat there silent, staring at the fire. "that," said florence, speaking with some effort, "will be too bad." "no, i suppose not." the old man's voice was mellow. "it's going to be a fair, a great exposition. millions of eager feet will tramp over the very spot where we now sit in such silence and peace. they are to call it the 'century of progress.' progress," he added dreamily. "progress. that is life. there must be progress. time marches on. what matter that some are left behind? "but, see!" his tone changed. "great clouds are banking up in the west. there will be a storm! my poor shelter does well enough for me. for you it will not suffice. "you will do well to go forward," he advised, as they sprang to their feet. "it is a long way back over the path you have come. if you go forward it is only a matter of a few blocks to a bridge over the railroad tracks. and across that bridge you will find shelter and a street car to carry you home." as he stood there by the fire, watching their departure, he seemed a heroic figure, this wandering philosopher. "surely," florence whispered to herself, "it is not always the rich, the famous, the powerful who most truly serve mankind." once more she was reminded of the little old lady and her one treasure, the priceless cameo fashioned by skilled and loving fingers so many years ago. "and i promised to return it to her!" this thought was one almost of despair. "and yet," she murmured, "i made that promise out of pure love. who knows how providence may assist me?" there appeared to be, however, little time for thoughts other than those of escape from the storm. their hurried march south began at once. * * * * * * * * as for the man who had so inspired them with terror, the one of the evil eye, he had not followed them. there is some reason to doubt that he so much as saw them. had his attention been directed toward them, it seems probable that he would have passed them by as unknown to him and quite unimportant for he, as we must recall, knew jeanne only as the boy usher, pierre. truth was, this young man, who would have laughed to scorn any suggestion that his home might be found in this tumbled place, was engaged in a special sort of business that apparently required haste; for, after passing down the winding path at a kind of trotting walk, he hastened past a dark bulk that was a building of some size, turned to the right, crossed a temporary wooden bridge to come out at last upon the island which was also a part of the city's "made land." it was upon this island that florence, a few evenings before, had discovered the mysterious girl and the more mystifying house that was so much like a ship, and yet so resembled a tiny church. even while the two girls talked to the ragged philosopher, this evil-eyed one with the dark and forbidding face had crossed the island and, coming out at the south end, had mounted the rock-formed breakwater where some frame-like affair stood. at the far end of the frame was a dark circle some twenty feet in diameter. this circle was made of steel. it supported a circular dip-net for catching fish. there was a windlass at the end of the pole supporting the net. by unwinding the windlass one might allow the net to sink into the water. if luck were with him, he might hope to draw it up after a time with a fair catch of perch or herring. all day long this windlass might be heard screaming and creaking as it lifted and lowered the net. for the present it was silent. the fisherman slept. not so this dark prowler. the man with the evil eye was not alone upon the rocks that night, though beyond a shadow of a doubt he believed himself to be. off to the left, at a distance of forty yards, a dark figure, bent over in a position of repose and as still as the rocks themselves, cast a dark shadow over the near-by waters. did this figure's head turn? who could say? certainly the man could not, for he believed himself alone. however, he apparently did not expect to remain unmolested long, for his eyes were constantly turning toward the barren stretch of sand he had crossed. his movements betrayed a nervous fear, yet he worked rapidly. having searched about for some time, he located a battered bucket. this he filled with water. bringing it up, he threw the entire contents of the bucket upon the windlass. not satisfied with this, he returned for a second bucket of water and repeated the operation. satisfied at last, he drew a package wrapped in black oilcloth from beneath his coat and tossed it to the center of the dangling net. then with great care lest the rusty windlass, for all the careful soaking he had given it, should let out a screeching complaint, he quietly lowered the net into the lake. the water had done its work; the windlass gave forth no sound. after this he turned and walked slowly away. he was some fifty feet from the windlass, busy apparently in contemplating the dark clouds that threatened to obscure the moon, when almost at the same instant two causes for disturbance entered his not uneventful life. from the direction of the lake came a faint splash. at the brow of the little ridge over which he had passed to reach this spot, two men had appeared. that the men were not unexpected was at once evident. he made no attempt to conceal himself. that the splash puzzled him went without question. he covered half the distance to the breakwater, then paused. "poof! nothing! wharf rat, perhaps," he muttered, then returned to his contemplation of the clouds. yet, had he taken notice before of that silent figure on the rocks, he might now have discovered that it had vanished. the two men advanced rapidly across the stretch of sand. as they came close there was about their movements an air of caution. at last one spoke: "don't try anything, al. we got you." "yeah?" "yes. and the goods are on you!" "yeah?" the dark, evil-eyed one who was apparently known as al, stood his ground. the moon lost itself behind a cloud. the place went dark. yet when the moon reappeared, bringing out the gleam of an officer's star upon the breast of one of the newcomers, he stood there motionless. "will you hand it over, or shall we take you in?" it was the man with the star who spoke. "you've got nothing on me!" al threw open his coat. "look me over." "we will. and then--" "yeah? and then?" "we'll see." at that instant, all unseen, a dripping figure emerged from the water close to the submerged fishing net. it was the figure that, but a short half hour before had rested motionless upon the rocks; a slender girl whose figure was for a second fully outlined by a distant flash of lightning. she carried some dark object beneath her right arm. chapter xiv the disappearing parcel in the meantime florence and jeanne were making the best of their opportunity to leave the "made land." they hoped to cross the bridge and reach the car line before the threatened storm broke. petite jeanne was terribly afraid of lightning. every time it streaked across the sky she gripped her strong companion's arm and shuddered. it was impossible to make rapid progress. from this point the beaten path disappeared. there were only scattered tracks where other pedestrians had picked their way through the litter of debris. here florence caught her foot in a tangled mass of wire and all but fell to the ground; there jeanne stepped into a deep hole; and here they found their way blocked by a heap of fragments from a broken sidewalk. "why did we come this way?" petite jeanne cried in consternation. "the other was longer, more dangerous. cheer up! we'll make it." florence took her arm and together they felt their way forward through the darkness that grew deeper and blacker at every step. rolling up as they did at the back of a city's skyscrapers, the mounting clouds were terrible to see. "the throng!" petite jeanne's heart fairly stopped beating. "what must a terrific thunderstorm mean to that teaming mass of humanity?" even at her own moment of distress, this unselfish child found time for a compassionate thought for those hundreds of thousands who still thronged the city streets. as for the crowds, not one person of them all was conscious that a catastrophe impended. walled in on every side by skyscrapers, no slightest glance to the least of those black clouds was granted them. their ears filled by the honk of horns, the blare of bands and the shouts of thousands, they heard not one rumble of distant thunder. so they laughed and shouted, crowded into this corner and that, to come out shaken and frightened; but never did one of them say, "it will storm." yet out of this merry-mad throng two beings were silent. a boy of sixteen and a hunchback of uncertain age, hovering in a doorway, looked, marveled a little, and appeared to wait. "when will it break up?" the boy asked out of the corner of his mouth. "early," was the reply. "there's too many of 'em. they can't have much fun. see! they're flooding the grandstands. the bands can't play. they'll be going soon. and then--" the hunchback gave vent to a low chuckle. * * * * * * * * after snatching a pair of boy's strap-overalls from the rocks the girl, who had emerged from the water beside the submerged net, with the dark package under her arm hurried away over a narrow path and lost herself at once in the tangled mass of willows and cottonwood. she had not gone far before a light appeared at the end of that trail. seen from the blackness of night, the structure she approached took on a grotesque aspect. with two small round windows set well above the door, it seemed the face of some massive monster with a prodigious mouth and great gleaming eyes. the girl, it would seem, was not in the least frightened by the monster, for she walked right up to its mouth and, after wrapping her overalls about the black package which still dripped lake water, opened the door, which let out a flood of yellow light, and disappeared within. had florence witnessed all this, her mystification regarding this child of the island might have increased fourfold. as you already know, florence was not there. she was still with petite jeanne on the strip of "made land" that skirted the shore. they were more than a mile from the island. they had come at last to a strange place. having completely lost their way in the darkness, they found themselves of a sudden facing a blank wall. a strange wall it was, too. it could not be a house for, though made of wood, this wall was composed not of boards but of round posts set so close together that a hand might not be thrust between them. "wh--where are we?" jeanne cried in despair. "i don't know." florence had fortified her mind against any emergency. "i do know this wall must have an end. we must find it." she was right. the curious wall of newly hewn posts did have an end. they were not long in finding it. coming to a corner they turned it and again followed on. "this is some enclosure," florence philosophized. "it may enclose some form of shelter. and, from the looks of the sky, shelter is what we will need very soon." "yes! yes!" cried her companion, as a flare of lightning gave her an instant's view of their surroundings. "there is a building looming just over there. the strangest sort of building, but a shelter all the same." ten minutes of creeping along that wall in the dark, and they came to a massive gate. this, too, was built of logs. "there's a chain," florence breathed as she felt about. "it's fastened, but not locked. shall we try to go in?" "yes! yes! let us go in!" a sharp flash of lightning had set the little french girl's nerves all a-quiver. "come on then." there was a suggestion of mystery in florence's tone. "we will feel our way back to that place you saw." the gate swung open a crack. they crept inside. the door swung to. the chain rattled. then once more they moved forward in the dark. after a time, by the aid of a vivid flash, they made out a tall, narrow structure just before them. a sudden dash, and they were inside. "we--we're here," florence panted, "but where are we?" "oo--o! how dark!" petite jeanne pressed close to her companion's side. "i am sure there are no windows." "the windows are above," whispered florence. a flash of lightning had revealed an opening far above her head. at the same instant she stumbled against a hard object. "it's a stairway," she announced after a brief inspection. "a curious sort of stairway, too. the steps are shaped like triangles." "that means it is a spiral stairway." "and each step is thick and rough as if it were hand-hewn with an axe. but who would hew planks by hand in this day of steam and great sawmills?" "let's go up. we may be able to see something from the windows." cautiously, on hands and knees, they made their way up the narrow stairway. the platform they reached and the window they looked through a moment later were quite as mysterious as the stairway. everywhere was the mark of an axe. the window was narrow, a mere slit not over nine inches wide and quite devoid of glass. yet from this window they were to witness one of god's greatest wonders, a storm at night upon the water. the dark clouds had swung northward. they were now above the surface of the lake. blackness vied with blackness as clouds loomed above the water. like a great electric needle sewing together two curtains of purple velvet for a giant's wardrobe, lightning darted from sky to sea and from sea to sky again. "how--how marvelous! how terrible!" petite jeanne pressed her companion's arm hard. "and what a place of mystery!" florence answered back. "but what place _is_ this?" jeanne's voice was filled with awe. "and where are we?" "this," florence repeated, "is a place of mystery, and this is a night of adventure. "adventure and mystery," she thought to herself, even as she said the words. once more she thought of the cameo. "i promised to return it to-morrow. and now it seems i am moving farther and farther from it." had she but known it, the time was not far distant when, like two bits of flotsam on a broad sea, she and the lost cameo would be drifting closer and closer together. and, strange as it may seem, the owner of the cameo, that frail, little, old lady, was to play an important part in the lives of petite jeanne and florence. * * * * * * * * in the meantime the two officers and the man of the evil eye were playing a bit of drama all their own on the sand-blown desert portion of the island. "you'll have to come clean!" the senior officer was saying to the man whom he addressed as al. "all you got to do is search me. you'll find nothing on me, not even a rod." the man stood his ground. "fair enough." with a skill born of long practice, the veteran detective went through the man's clothes. "you've cachéd it," he grumbled, as he stood back empty-handed. "i'm not in on the know." the suspicion of a smile flitted across the dark one's face. "whatever you're looking for, i never had it." "no? we'll look about a bit, anyway." the officers mounted the breakwater to go flashing electric lanterns into every cavity. as the boom of thunder grew louder they abandoned the search to go tramping back across the barren sand. left to himself, al made a pretense of leaving the island, but in reality lost himself from sight on the very brush-grown trail the nymph of the lake had taken a short time before. "well, i'll be--!" he muttered, as he brought up squarely before the structure that seemed a monster's head, whose eyes by this time were quite sightless. the light had blinked off some moments before. after walking around the place twice, he stood before the door and lifted a hand as if to knock. appearing to think better of this, he sank down upon the narrow doorstep, allowed his head to fall forward, and appeared to sleep. not for long, however. foxes do not sleep in the night. having roused himself, he stole back over the trail, crept to the breakwater, lifted himself to a point of elevation, and surveyed the entire scene throughout three lightning flashes. then, apparently satisfied, he made his way to the windlass he had left an hour or two before. he repeated the process of drowning the complaining voice of the windlass and then, turning the crank, rapidly lifted the dripping net from the bottom of the lake. with fingers that trembled slightly, he drew a small flashlight from his pocket to cast its light across the surface of the net. muttering a curse beneath his breath, he flashed the light once again, and then stood there speechless. what had happened? the meshes of that net were fine, so fine that a dozen minnows not more than two inches long struggled vainly at its center. yet the package he had thrown in this net was gone. "gone!" he muttered. "it can't have floated. heavy. heavy as a stone. and i had my eyes on it, every minute; all but--but the time i went down that trail. "they tricked me!" he growled. he was thinking now of the policemen. "but no! how could they? i saw them go, saw them on the bridge. couldn't have come back. not time enough." at this he thrust both hands deep in his pockets and went stumping away. chapter xv strange voices as for florence and jeanne, they were still hidden away in that riddle of a place by the lake shore on "made land." a more perplexing place of refuge could not have been found. what was it? why was it here? were there men about the place within the palisades? these were the questions that disturbed even the stout-hearted florence. they were silent for a long time, those two. when at last jeanne spoke, florence started as if a stranger had addressed her. "this place," said petite jeanne, "reminds me of a story i once read before i came to america. in my native land we talked in french, of course, and studied in french. but we studied english just as you study french in america. "a story in my book told of early days in america. it was thrilling, oh, very thrilling indeed! there were indians, real red men who scalped their victims and held wild war dances. there were scouts and soldiers. and there were forts all built of logs hewn in the forest. and in these forts there were--" "fort," florence broke in, "a fort. of course, that is what this is, a fort for protection from indians." "but, indians!" jeanne's tone reflected her surprise. "real live, wild indians! there are none here now!" "of course not!" florence laughed a merry laugh. "this is not, after all, a real fort. it is only a reproduction of a very old fort that was destroyed many years ago, old fort dearborn." "but i do not understand. why did they put it here?" petite jeanne was perplexed. "it is to be part of the great fair, the century of progress. it was built in order that memories of those good old frontier days might be brought back to us in the most vivid fashion. "just think of being here now, just we alone!" florence enthused. "let us dream a little. the darkness is all about us. on the lake there is a storm. there is no city now; only a village straggling along a stagnant stream. wild ducks have built their nests in the swamps over yonder. and in the forest there are wild deer. in the cabins by the river women and children sleep. but we, you and i, we are sentries for the night. indians prowl through the forest. the silent dip of their paddles sends their canoes along the shallow water close to shore. "see! there is a flash of light. what is that on the lake? indian canoes? or floating logs? "shall we arouse the garrison? no! no! we will wait. it may be only logs after all. and if indians, they may be friendly, for this is supposed to be a time of peace, though dark rumors are afloat." florence's voice trailed away. the low rumble of thunder, the swish of water on a rocky shore, and then silence. petite jeanne shook herself. "you make it all so very real. were those good days, better days than we are knowing now?" "who can tell?" florence sighed. "they seem very good to us now. but we must not forget that they were hard days, days of real sickness and real death. we must not forget that once the garrison of this fort marched forth with the entire population, prepared to make their way to a place of greater safety; that they were attacked and massacred by the treacherous red men. "we must not forget these things, nor should we cease to be thankful for the courage and devotion of those pioneers who dared to enter a wilderness and make their homes here, that we who follow after them might live in a land of liberty and peace." "no," petite jeanne's tone was solemn, "we will not forget." * * * * * * * * in the meantime the pleasure-seeking throng, all unconscious of the storm that had threatened to deluge them, still roamed the streets. their ranks, however, were thinning. one by one the bands, which were unable to play because of the press, and might not have been heard because of the tumult, folded up their music and their stands and instruments and, like the arabs, "silently stole away." the radio stars who could not be seen answered other calls. grandstands were deserted, street cars and elevated trains were packed. the great city had had one grand look at itself. it was now going home. and still, lurking in the doorway, the grown boy in shabby clothes and the hunchback lingered, waiting, expectant. "it won't be long now," the hunchback muttered. "it won't be long," the other echoed. * * * * * * * * petite jeanne, though a trifle disappointed by the dispelling of the mystery of their immediate surroundings, soon enough found herself charmed by florence's vivid pictures of life in those days when chicago was a village, when the chicago river ran north instead of south, and indians still roamed the prairies in search of buffaloes. how this big, healthy, adventure-loving girl would have loved the life they lived in those half forgotten days! as it was, she could live them now only in imagination. this she did to her heart's content. so they lingered long, these two. seated on a broad, hand-hewn bench, looking out over the dark waters, waiting in uncertainty for the possible return of the storm that, having spent its fury in a vain attempt to drown the lake, did not return, they lived for the most part in the past, until a clock striking somewhere in the distance announced the hour of midnight. "twelve!" petite jeanne breathed in great surprise. "it will not rain now. we must go." "yes." florence sprang to her feet. "we must go at once." the moon was out now; the storm had passed. quietly enough they started down the winding stairs. yet startling developments awaited them just around the corner. in the meanwhile on the city streets the voice of the tumult had died to a murmur. here came the rumble of a passing train; from this corner came the sound of hammers dismantling grandstands that the morning rush might not be impeded. other than these there was no sign that a great city had left its homes and had for once taken one long interested look at itself only to return to its homes again. as florence and jeanne stepped from the door of the blockhouse they were startled by the sound of voices in low but animated conversation. "here, at this hour of the night!" at once florence was on the defensive. the fort, she knew, was not yet open to the public. even had it been, located as it was on this desolate stretch of "made land," it would be receiving no visitors at midnight. "come!" she whispered. "they are over there, toward the gate. we dare not try to go out, not yet." seizing jeanne by the hand, she led her along the dark shadows of a wall and at last entered a door. the place was strange to them; yet to florence it had a certain familiarity. this was a moment when her passion for the study of history stood her in good stead. "this is the officers' quarters," she whispered. "there should be a door that may be barred. the windows are narrow, the casements heavy. here one should be safe." she was not mistaken. hardly had they entered than she closed the door and let down a massive wooden bar. "now," she breathed, "we are safe, unless--" she broke short off. a thought had struck her all of a heap. "unless what?" jeanne asked breathlessly. "unless this place has a night watchman. if it has, and he finds us here at this hour of the night we will be arrested for trespassing. and then we will have a ride in a police wagon which won't be the least bit of fun." "no," agreed jeanne in a solemn tone, "it won't." "and that," whispered florence, as she tiptoed about examining things, "seems to be about what we are up against. i had thought the place a mere unfurnished wooden shell. that is the way the blockhouse was. but see! at the end of this room is a fireplace, and beside it are all sorts of curious cooking utensils, great copper kettles, skillets of iron with yard-long handles and a brass cornhopper. coming from the past, they must be priceless." "and see! there above the mantel are flintlock rifles," jeanne put in. "and beside the fireplace are curious lanterns with candles in them. how i wish we could light them." "we dare not," said florence. "but one thing we can do. we can sit in that dark corner where the moon does not fall, and dream of other days." "and in the meantime?" jeanne barely suppressed a shudder. "in the meantime we will hope that the guard, if there be one, goes out for his midnight lunch and that we may slip out unobserved. truly we have right enough to do that. we have meant no harm and have done none." so, sitting there in the dark, dreaming, they played that florence was the youthful commander of the fort and that the slender jeanne was his young bride but recently brought into this wilderness. "the wild life and the night frighten you," florence said to jeanne. "but i am young and strong. i will protect you. come! let us sit by the fire here and dream a while." jeanne laughed a low musical laugh and snuggled closer. but, for jeanne, the charm of the past had departed. try as she might, she could not overcome the fear that had taken possession of her upon realizing that they were not alone. "who can these men be?" she asked herself. "guards? perhaps, and perhaps not." she thought of the dark-faced man who so inspired her with fear. "we saw him out there on the waste lands," she told herself, as a chill coursed up her spine. "it is more than probable that he saw us. he may have followed us, watching us like a cat. and now, at this late hour, when a piercing scream could scarcely be heard, like a cat he may be ready to spring." in a great state of agitation she rose and crept noiselessly toward the window. "come," she whispered. "see yonder! two men are slinking along before that other log building. one is stooped like a hunchback. he is carrying a well-filled sack upon his back. surely they cannot be guards. "can it be that this place is left unguarded, and that it is being robbed?" here was a situation indeed. two girls in this lonely spot, unguarded and with such prowlers about. "i am glad the door is b-barred." jeanne's teeth chattered. having gone skulking along the building across the way, the men entered and closed the door. two or three minutes later a wavering light appeared at one of the narrow windows. "perhaps they are robbing that place of some precious heirlooms!" florence's heart beat painfully, but she held herself in splendid control. "this buil-building will be next!" jeanne spoke with difficulty. "perhaps. i--i think we should do something about it." "but what?" "we shall know. providence will guide us." florence's hand was on the bar. it lifted slowly. what was to happen? they were going outside, jeanne was sure of that. but what was to happen after that? she could not tell. getting a good grip on herself, she whispered bravely: "you lead. i'll follow." chapter xvi through the window "come!" florence whispered, as the door of the ancient barracks swung open and they tiptoed out into the night. "we must find out what those men are doing. this place was built in memory of the past for the good of the public. generous-hearted people have loaned the rare treasures that are stored here. they must not be lost." skirting the buildings, gliding along the shadows, they made their way past the powder-magazine all built of stone, moved onward the length of a log building that loomed in the dark, dashed across a corner and arrived at last with wildly beating hearts at the corner of the building from which the feeble, flickering light still shone. "now!" florence breathed, gripping her breast in a vain attempt to still the wild beating of her heart. "not a sound! we must reach that window." leading the way, she moved in breathless silence, a foot at a time along the dark wall. now she was twenty feet from the window, now ten, now--. she paused with a quick intake of breath. did she hear footsteps? were they coming out? and if they did? flattening herself against the wall, she drew jeanne close to her. a moment passed. her watch ticked loudly. from some spot far away a hound baying the moon gave forth a long-drawn wail. two minutes passed, three, four. "they--they're not coming out." taking the trembling hand of the little french girl in her own, she once more led her forward. and now they were at the window, peering in with startled eyes. what they saw astonished them beyond belief. crouching on the floor, lighted only by a flashlight lantern, was a grown boy and a hunchbacked man. the boy at that moment was in the act of dumping the contents of a large bag upon the log floor of the building. "loot!" whispered florence. "but why do they pour it out?" florence placed two fingers on her companion's lips. that the articles had not been taken from the fort they realized at once, for the boy, holding up a modern lady's shoe with an absurdly high heel, gave forth a hoarse laugh. there were other articles, all modern; a spectacle-case with broken lenses inside but gold rims still good, another pair of glasses with horn rims that had not been broken; and there were more shoes. and, most interesting of all, there were several purses. that the strange pair regarded these purses with the greatest interest was manifested by the manner in which they had their heads together as the first was opened. shaking the contents into his huge fist, the hunchback picked out some small coins and handed them to the boy. a glittering compact and a folded bill he thrust into the side pocket of his coat. the boy frowned, but said not a word. instead he seized upon a second pocket-book and prepared to inspect it for himself. "pickpockets!" jeanne whispered. "they have been working on that helpless throng. now they have come here to divide their loot." florence did not answer. the crouching boy was about to open the second purse, the hunchback making no protest, when to the girls there came cause for fresh anxiety. from the far side of the enclosure there came the rattle of chains. "someone else," florence whispered, "and at this hour of the night. but they cannot harm us," came as an after-thought. "the chain is fastened on the inside." she was thankful for this, but not for long. "but how did these get in?" petite jeanne pointed to the crouching pair within. "let's get out!" jeanne pleaded. "this is work for an officer. we can send one." "someone is at the gate," florence reminded her. then there happened that which for the moment held them glued to the spot. having thrust a hand into the second purse, a small one, well worn, the crouching boy drew forth an object that plainly puzzled him. he held it close to the light. as he did so, florence gave vent to an involuntary gasp. "the cameo! the lost cameo!" she exclaimed half aloud. "it must belong to our little old lady of the merry-mad throng." at the same instant there came from behind her a man's gruff voice in angry words: "here, you! what you doing? why do you lock the gate? thought you'd keep me out, eh? "but i fooled you!" the voice continued. "i scaled the palisades." instantly there came sounds of movement from within. the crouching figures were hastily stuffing all that pile back into the sack and at the same time eagerly looking for an avenue of escape. florence caught the gleam of a star on the newcomer's coat. "oh, please!" she pleaded. "we have taken nothing, meant no harm. the storm-- "but please, officer," her tone changed, "that pair within have been doing something, perhaps robbing. they have a precious cameo that belongs to a dear old lady. please don't let them escape." in answer to this breathless appeal the officer made no reply. instead he strode to the window, looked within, then rapped smartly on the sash with his club. at the same time he pointed to his star. the strange intruders could not fail to understand. they shouldered their sack and came forth meekly enough. "you come with me, all of you!" the officer commanded. "let's get this thing straight. "now then," he commanded, after they had crossed the enclosure in silence and he had lighted a large lamp in a small office-like room, "dump that stuff on the floor." "i want to tell ye," the hunchback grumbled, "that we hain't no thieves, me an' this boy. we hain't. we--" "dump it out!" the officer's tone was stern. the hunchback obeyed. "we found this, we did; found all of it." "ye-s, you found it!" the officer bent over to take up a purse. he opened it and emptied a handful of coins on the table at his side. "purses!" he exclaimed. "how many?" he counted silently. "seven of 'em and all full of change. and you found 'em! tell that to the judge!" "honest, we found them." the grown boy dragged a ragged sleeve across his eyes. "we was down to the jubilee. people was always crushin' together and losin' things in the scramble, shoes and purses an' all this." he swept an arm toward the pile. "so we just stayed around until they was gone. then we got 'em." "and you thought because you found 'em they were yours?" "well, ain't they?" the hunchback grew defiant. "not by a whole lot!" the officer's voice was a trifle less stern. "if you find a purse or any other thing on the street, if it's worth the trouble, you're supposed to turn it in, and you leave your name. if it's not called for, you get it back. but you can't gather things up in a sack and just walk off. that don't go. "see here!" he held up a tiny leather frame taken from the purse he had emptied. "that's a picture of an old lady with white hair; somebody's mother, like as not. what's it worth to you? not that!" he snapped his fingers. "but to the real owner it's a precious possession." "yes, yes," florence broke in eagerly, "and there's a ragged little purse in that pile that contains a dear old lady's only real possession, a cameo." "how'd you know that?" the officer turned sharply upon her. "we saw it in his hand." she held her ground, nodding at the boy. "we were with the lady, helping her out of the crush, when she lost it." "you--you look like that kind," the officer said slowly, studying her face. "i--i'm going to take a chance. got her address?" "yes, yes," eagerly. "give it to me." "here. write it down." "good. now then, you pick out the purse and show me this thing you call a cameo. never heard of one before, but if it's different from everything else i've seen it must be one of them cameos." "oh tha-thank you!" florence choked. she had made a promise to the little old lady. now the promise was near to fulfillment. the purse was quickly found and the cameo exposed to view. "that's a cameo all right," the officer grinned. "it's nothing else i ever saw. you take it to her and may god bless you for your interest in an old lady." florence found her eyes suddenly dimmed. "as for you!" the officer's tone grew stern once more as he turned to the marauding pair. "you give me your names and tell me where you live. i'll just keep all this stuff as it is, and turn it in. if any of it remains unclaimed we'll let you know." glad to know that they were not to be sent to jail for a misdemeanor they had committed in ignorance, the strange pair gave their names and place of residence and then disappeared into the shadows whence they had come. the officer, whose duty it was to keep an eye on lake shore property, escorted the girls to the street car line, then bade them good-night. there were times when the little french girl could not sleep. on returning to her room, she found that, despite the lateness of the hour, her nerves were all a-tingle, her eyes wide and staring. long after florence had retired for the night, she lay rolled in a soft, woolly blanket, huddled up in a great chair before the fire. at first, as she stared at the fire she saw there only a confusion of blurred impressions. in time these impressions took form and she saw much of her own life spread out before her. the opera, its stage resplendent with color, light and life; the boxes shrouded in darkness; these she saw. the great estate, home of rosemary robinson, was there, and the glowing magic curtain that appeared to burn but was not consumed; these were there too. as in a dream she heard voices: the lady in black spoke, jaeger, the detective, and rosemary. she seemed to catch the low murmur of the hunchback and that boy of his; heard, too, the sharp call of the man with the evil eye. "all this," she said aloud, "fits in somehow. 'there is a destiny that shapes our ends, rough hew them how we may.' if i could see it all as it is to be when all is finished they would all have their places, their work to do, the little old lady, the crushing throng, the hooters, yes, even the one with the dark face and evil eye: all these may serve me in the end. "serve me. poor little me!" she laughed aloud, and, blazing with a merry crackle, the fire appeared to laugh back. chapter xvii startling revelations the circular fishing net, which had for so unusual a purpose been lowered into the lake at the dead of night and brought up later, quite empty, belonged to a youth, known among his acquaintances as "snowball." snowball was black, very black indeed. when snowball arrived at his net next morning he found a white man sitting by his windlass. this young man's eye had a glint of blue steel in it that set the black boy's knees quivering. "that your net?" the stranger nodded toward the lake. "yaas, sir!" "deep down there?" "tol'able deep. yaas, sir." "swim?" "who? me? yaas, sir." "here." the man slipped a bill between two boards and left it fluttering there. "skin off and dive down there. black package down there. see? bring it up. see?" "yaas, sir. oh, yas, yas, sir." there surely was something strange about the glint of those eyes. snowball struggled out of his few bits of loose clothing and, clad only in trunks, disappeared beneath the surface of the lake. a moment later he came to the surface. "got it?" those eyes again. "n--no, sir." the black boy's teeth chattered. "nothin' down there. not nothin' at all." "go down again. you got poor eyes!" the man made a move. snowball disappeared. he came up again sputtering. "hain't nothin'. tellin' y' th' truth, sir. just nothin' at all." the stranger made a threatening move. snowball was about to disappear once more, when a shrill laugh came rippling across the rocks. the man turned, startled, then frowned. "what's pleasing you, sister?" he addressed this remark to a slim girl in a faded bathing suit, seated on a rock a hundred feet away. "snowball's right." the girl laughed again. "nothing down there. nothing at all." the man gave her a quick look, then sprang to his feet. the next instant he was scrambling over the rocks. when he arrived at the spot where the girl had been, she was nowhere to be seen. it was as if the lake had swallowed her up; which, perhaps it had. apparently the man believed it had, for he sat down upon the rocks to wait. ten minutes passed. not a ripple disturbed the surface. he looked toward the windlass and the net. snowball, too, had vanished. "crooks!" he muttered. "all crooks out here!" at that, after picking his way across the breakwater, he took to the stretches of sand and soon disappeared. * * * * * * * * when, later that same day, petite jeanne started away, bent on the joyous business of returning a lost cameo to a dear old lady, she expected to come upon no fresh mystery. "certainly," she said to florence, who, because of her work, could not accompany her, "in the bright light of day one experiences no thrills." surprise came to her all the same. she had reached the very street crossing at which she was to alight before she realized that the address the little old lady had given was in chinatown. "surprise number one," she murmured. "a white lady living in chinatown. i can't be wrong, for just over there is the temple where i saw the magic curtain." if other evidence were lacking, she had only to glance at the pedestrians on the street. nine out of every ten were chinese. for a moment she stood quite still upon the curb. perhaps her experience on that other occasion had inspired an unwarranted fear. "for shame!" she stamped her small foot. "this is broad day! why be afraid?" surprise number two came to her upon arriving at the gate of the place she sought. no dingy tenement this. the cutest little house, set at the back of a tiny square of green grass, flanked a curious rock garden where water sparkled. the whole affair seemed to have been lifted quite complete from some chinese fairy book. "it's the wrong address." her spirits drooped a little. but no. one bang at the gong that hung just outside the door, and the little old lady herself was peeping through a narrow crack. "oh! it is you!" she exclaimed, throwing the door wide. "and you have my cameo!" "yes," jeanne smiled, "i have your cameo." because she was french, jeanne was not at all disturbed by the smothering caress she received from the old lady of this most curious house. the next moment she was inside the house and sinking deep in a great heap of silky, downy pillows. "but, my friend," she exclaimed, as soon as she had caught her breath after a glance about the room where only oriental objects, dragons, curious lanterns, silk banners, and thick mats were to be found, "this is chinatown, and you are not oriental!" "no, my child. i am not." the little lady's eyes sparkled. "but for many years my father was consul to china. i lived with him and came to know the chinese people. i learned to love them for their gentleness, their simplicity, their kindness. they loved me too a little, i guess, for after my father died and i came to america, some rich chinese merchants prepared this little house for me. and here i live. "oh, yes," she sighed contentedly, "i do some translating for them and other little things, but i do not have a worry. they provide for me. "but this!" she pressed the cameo to her lips. "this comes from another time, the long lost, beautiful past when i was a child with my father in venice. that is why i prize it so. can you blame me?" "no! no!" the little french girl's tone was deeply earnest. "i cannot. i, too, have lived long in europe. france, my own beautiful france, was my childhood home. "but tell me!" her tone took on an excited note. "if you know so much of these mysterious chinese, you can help me. will you help me? will you explain something?" "if i can, my child. gladly!" "a few days ago," the little french girl leaned forward eagerly, "i saw the most astonishing curtain. it burned, but was not consumed, like the burning bush." "you saw that?" it seemed that the little lady's eyes would pop from her head. "you saw that? where?" "over yonder." jeanne waved a hand. "in that chinese temple." "i--did not--know it--was--here." the little lady spoke very slowly. "then you have seen it!" in her eagerness jeanne gripped the arms of her chair hard. "tell me! what is it? how is it done? could one borrow it?" "borrow it? my child, you do not know what you are asking! "but you--" she lowered her voice to a shrill whisper. "how can you have seen it?" quite excitedly and with many a gesture, the little french girl told of her visit to the chinese temple on that rainy afternoon. "oh, my child!" the little lady was all but in tears as she finished, tears of excitement and joy. "my dear child! you cannot know what you have done, nor how fortunate you are that you escaped unharmed." "but this is america, not china!" jeanne's tone showed her amazement. "true, my child. but every great american city is many cities in one. on the streets you are safe. when you pry into the secrets of other people, that is quite another matter." "secrets!" "the chinese people seem to be simple, kindly, harmless folks. so they are, on the street. but in their private dealings they are the most secretive people in the world. "that temple you visited!" it was her turn to lean far forward. "that is more than a temple. it is a place of business, a chamber of commerce and the meeting place of the most powerful secret society the chinese people have ever known, the hop sing tong." "and that meeting, the magic curtain--" jeanne's eyes went wide. "that was beyond doubt a secret meeting of the tong. you came uninvited. because of the darkness you escaped. you may thank providence for that! but never, never do that again!" "then," jeanne's tone was full of regret, "then i may never see the magic curtain again." "o, i wouldn't say that." the little lady smiled blandly. "seeing the magic curtain and attending the meeting of a secret society are two different matters. the chinese people are very kind to me. some of the richest chinese merchants--" "oh! do you think you could arrange it? do you think i might see it, two or three friends and i?" "it might be arranged." "will you try?" "i will do my best." "and if it can be, will you let me know?" jeanne rose to go. "i will let you know." as jeanne left the room, she found herself walking in a daze. "and to think!" she whispered to herself, "that this little old lady and her lost cameo should so soon begin to fit into the marvelous pattern of my life." she had wonderful dreams, had this little french girl. she would see the magic curtain once more. with her on this occasion should be marjory dean, the great opera star, and her friend angelo who wrote operas. when the magic curtain had been seen, an opera should be written around it, an oriental opera full of mystery; a very short opera to be sure but an opera all the same. "and perhaps!" her feet sped away in a wild fling. "perhaps i shall have a tiny part in that opera; a very tiny part indeed." chapter xviii they that pass in the night the opera presented that night was wagner's _die valkyre_. to petite jeanne, the blithesome child of sunshine and song, it seemed a trifle heavy. for all this she was fascinated by the picture of life as it might have been lived long before man began writing his own history. and never before had she listened to such singing. it was in the last great scene that a fresh hope for the future was borne in upon her. in the opera, brunhilde having, contrary to the wishes of the gods, interceded for her lover sigmund, she must be punished. she pleads her own cause in vain. at last she asks for a special punishment: that she be allowed to sleep encircled by fire until a hero of her people is found strong enough to rescue her. her wish is granted. gently the god raises her and kisses her brow. slowly she sinks upon the rock while tongues of flame leap from the rocks. moment by moment the flames leap higher until the heroine is lost from sight. it was at the very moment when the fires burned fiercest, the orchestra played its most amazing strains, that a great thought came to jeanne. "i will do it!" she cried aloud. "how wonderful that will be! we shall have an opera. the magic curtain; it shall be like this." then, realizing that there were people close at hand, she clapped a hand to her lips and was silent. a moment more and the strains of delectable music died away. then it was that a man touched jeanne's arm. "you are french." the man had an unmistakable accent. "yes, monsieur." "i would like a word with you." "yes, yes. if you will please wait here." as pierre, in a dress suit, jeanne still had work to do. her head awhirl with her bright new idea, her eyes still seeing red from the fires that guarded brunhilde, she hurried through with her humble tasks. little wonder that she had forgotten the little frenchman with the small beard. she started when he touched her arm. "pardon, my son. may i now have a word with you?" she started at that word "son," but quickly regained her poise. "surely you may." she was at his command. "i am looking," he began at once, "for a little french girl named petite jeanne." "pet--petite!" the little french girl did not finish. she was trembling. "ah! perhaps you know her." "no, no. ah, yes, yes," jeanne answered in wild confusion. "you will perhaps tell me where she lives. i have a very important message for her. i came from france to bring it." "from france?" jeanne was half smothered with excitement. what should she do? should she say: "i am petite jeanne?" ah, no; she dared not. then an inspiration came to her. "you wish this person's address? this petite jeanne?" "if you will," the man replied politely. "very well. i will write it down." drawing a small silver pencil from her pocket with trembling fingers, she wrote an address upon the back of a program. "there, monsieur. this is it. "i think--" she shifted her feet uneasily. "i am sure she works rather late. if you were to call, perhaps in an hour, you might find her there." "so late as this?" the frenchman raised his eyebrows. "i am sure she would not mind." "very well. i shall try. and a thousand thanks." he pressed a coin in her unwilling hand. the next moment he had vanished. "gone!" she murmured, sinking into a seat. "gone! and he had an important message for me! oh! i must hurry home!" even as she spoke these words she detected a rustle at the back of the box. having turned quickly about, she was just in time to see someone pass into the narrow aisle. it was the lady in black. "i wonder if she heard?" jeanne's heart sank. as she left the opera house the little french girl's spirits were low. the lady in black frightened her. "what can she mean, always dogging my footsteps?" she asked herself as she sought the street. "and that dark-faced one? i saw him again to-night by the door. who is he? what can he want?" there was a little group of people gathered by the door. as she passed out, she fancied she caught a glimpse of that dark, forbidding face, those evil eyes. with a shudder she sped away. she was not pursued. at her apartment she quickly changed into her own plain house dress. having lighted the living-room fire, she waited a little for the return of florence, who should have been home long before. "what can be keeping her?" with nervous, uncertain steps, she crossed to her own chamber door. having entered, she went to the window. her room was dark. the street below was half dark. a distant lamp cast a dim, swaying light. at first no one was to be seen. then a single dark figure moved stealthily up the street. the swaying light caused this person to take on the appearance of an acrobat who leaped into the air, then came down like a rubber ball. even when he paused to look up at the building before him, he seemed to sway like a drunken sailor. "that may be the man." her pulse quickened. a moment more and a car, careering down the street, lighted the man's face. it did more. it brought into the open for a second another figure, deeper in the shadows. "what a strange pair!" she murmured as she shrank back. the man least concealed was the dark-faced one with the evil eye. the other man was jaeger, the detective. "but they are not together," she assured herself. "jaeger is watching the other, and the dark one is watching me." even as she said this, a third person came into view. instantly, by his slow stride, his military bearing, she recognized the man. "it is he!" she was thrown into a state of tumult. "it is my frenchman." but what was this? he was on the opposite side of the street, yet he did not cross over, nor so much as glance that way. he marched straight on. she wanted to rush down the stairs and call to him; yet she dared not, for were not those sinister figures lurking there? to make matters worse, the dark-faced one took to following the frenchman. darting from shadow to shadow, he obviously believed himself unobserved. false security. jaeger was on his trail. "what does it all mean?" jeanne asked herself. "is this little frenchman after all but a tool of the police? does he hope to trap me and secure the pearls--which i do not have? or is he with that evil one with the desperate eyes? or is it true that he came but now from france and bears a message for me?" since she could answer none of these questions, she left her room, looked to the fastening of the outer door, then took a seat by the fire. there for a long time she tried to read her fortune in the flames, but succeeded in seeing only a flaming curtain that was not consumed. chapter xix the unseen eye five days passed. uneventful days they were for petite jeanne; yet each one was charged with possibilities both wonderful and terrible. she saw no more of marjory dean. what of her promise? had she forgotten? the little old lady of the cameo she visited once. the chinese gentleman who might secure for her one more shuddering look at the magic curtain was out of town. never did she enter the opera at night without casting fearful glances about lest she encounter the dark-faced man of the evil eye. he was never there. where was he? who was he? what interest could he have in a mere boy usher of the opera? to these questions the little french girl could form no answer. there were times when she believed him a gypsy, or at least a descendant of gypsies from france. when she thought of this she shuddered anew. for in france were many enemies of bihari's band. and she was one of that band. at other times she was able to convince herself that she had seen this dark-faced one at the back of the boxes on that night when the priceless pearls had vanished. yet how this could be when jaeger, the detective, and the mysterious lady in black haunted those same shadows, she could not imagine. of late jaeger was not always there. perhaps he was engaged in other affairs. it might be that on that very night jeanne had seen him follow the dark-faced one, he had made an important arrest. if so, whom had he apprehended, the dark-faced one or the little frenchman with a military bearing? jeanne could not but believe that the little man from france was honest and sincere, that he truly bore an important message for her. "but why then did he not come that night and deliver it?" she said to florence. "perhaps he lost his way." "lost his way? how could he? he was here, just across the way." "you say two men followed him?" "yes, yes!" "then he may have been frightened off." "if so, why did he not return?" "who can say?" ah, yes, who could? certainly no one, for no one knew the full truth, which was that in her excitement jeanne had mixed her numbers and, instead of presenting him with her own address, had sent him five blocks down the street where, as one must know, he found no little french girl named petite jeanne. so here is one matter settled, straight off. but what of the business-like little frenchman? did he truly bear a message of importance? if so, what was the message? and where was the man now? not so easy to answer, these questions. jeanne asked herself these questions and many more during these days when, as pierre, she served the occupants of the boxes faithfully, at the same time drinking in all the glory and splendor of music, color and drama that is grand opera at its best. a glimpse now and then of the lady in black lurking in deep shadows never failed to thrill her. never did she see her face. not once did there come to her a single intimation of the position she filled at the opera. as she felt that unseen eye upon her, jeanne experienced a strange sensation. she went hot and cold all over. then a great calm possessed her. "it is the strangest thing!" she exclaimed to florence one night. "it is like--what would you call it?--a benediction. i am dreadfully afraid; yet i find peace. it is like, shall i say, like seeing god? should you be afraid of god if you saw him?" "yes, i think i might," florence answered soberly. "yet they say god is love. why should one fear love?" "who knows? anyway, your friend is not god. she is only a lady in black. perhaps she is not love either. her true name may be hate." "ah, yes, perhaps. but i feel it is not so. and many times, oh my friend, when i _feel_ a thing is so it _is_ so. but when i just think it is true, then it is not true at all. is this not strange?" "it is strange. but you gypsies are strange anyway." "ah, yes, perhaps. for all that, i am not all gypsy. once i was not gypsy at all, only a little french girl living in a little chateau by the side of the road." "petite jeanne," florence spoke with sudden earnestness, "have you no people living in france?" "my father is dead, this i know." the little french girl's head drooped. "my mother also. i have no brothers nor sisters save those who adopted me long ago in a gypsy van. who else can matter?" "uncles and aunts, cousins, grandparents?" "ah, yes." the little french girl's brow clouded. "now i remember. there was one--we called her grandmother. was she? i wonder. we play that so many things are true, we little ones. i was to see her twice. she was, oh, so grand!" she clasped her hands as if in a dream. "lived at the edge of a wood, she did, a great black forest, in a castle. "a very beautiful castle it was to look at on a sunny day, from the outside. little towers and spires, many little windows, all round and square. "but inside?" she made a face and shuddered. "oh, so very damp and cold! no fires here. no lights there. only a bit of a brazier that burned charcoal, very bright and not warm at all. a grandmother? a castle? ah, yes, perhaps. but who wants so grand a castle that is cold? who would wish for a grandmother who did not bend nor smile? "and besides," she added, as she sank into a chair, "she may not have been my grandmother at all. this was long ago. i was only a little one." "all the same," florence muttered to herself, some time later, "i'd like to know if that was her grandmother. it might make a difference, a very great difference." chapter xx a place of enchantment then came for petite jeanne an hour of swiftly passing glory. she had arisen late, as was her custom, and was sipping her black coffee when the telephone rang. "this is marjory dean." the words came to her over the wire in the faintest whisper. but how they thrilled her! "is this petite jeanne? or is it pierre?" the prima donna was laughing. "it is petite jeanne at breakfast," jeanne answered. her heart was in her throat. what was she to expect? "then will you please ask pierre if it will be possible for him to meet me at the opera house stage door at three this afternoon?" "i shall ask him." jeanne put on a business-like tone. for all that, her heart was pounding madly. "it may be my great opportunity!" she told herself. "i may yet appear for a brief space of time in an opera. what glory!" after allowing a space of thirty seconds to elapse, during which time she might be supposed to have consulted the mythical pierre, she replied quite simply: "yes, miss dean, pierre will meet you at that hour. and he wishes me to thank you very much." "sh! never a word of this!" came over the phone; then the voice was gone. jeanne spent the remainder of the forenoon in a tumult of excitement. at noon she ate a light lunch, drank black tea, then sat down to study the score of her favorite opera, "the juggler of notre dame." it is little wonder that jeanne loved this more than any other opera. it is the story of a simple wanderer, a juggler. jeanne, as we have said before, had been a wanderer in france. she had danced the gypsy dances with her bear in every village of france and every suburb of paris. and cluny, a suburb of paris, is the scene of this little opera. a juggler, curiously enough named jean, arrives in this village just as the people have begun to celebrate may day in the square before the convent. the juggler is welcomed. but one by one his poor tricks are scorned. the people demand a drinking song. the juggler is pious. he fears to offend the virgin. but at last, beseeching the virgin's forgiveness, he grants their request. hearing the shouts of the crowd, the prior of the monastery comes out to scatter the crowd and rebuke the singer. he bids the poor juggler repent and, putting the world at his back, enter the monastery, never more to wander over the beautiful hills of france. in the juggler's poor mind occurs a great struggle. and in this struggle these words are wrung from his lips: "but renounce, when i am still young, renounce to follow thee, oh, liberty, beloved, careless fay with clear golden smile! 'tis she my heart for mistress has chosen; hair in the wind laughing, she takes my hand, she drags me on chance of the hour and the road. the silver of the waters, the gold of the blond harvest, the diamonds of the nights, through her are mine! i have space through her, and love and the world. the villain, through her, becomes king! by her divine charm, all smiles on me, all enchants, and, to accompany the flight of my song, the concert of the birds snaps in the green bush. gracious mistress and sister i have chosen. must i now lose you, oh, my royal treasure? oh, liberty, my beloved, careless fay of the golden smile!" "liberty ... careless fay of the golden smile." jeanne repeated these words three times. then with dreamy eyes that spanned a nation and an ocean, she saw again the lanes, the hedges, the happy villages of france. "who better than i can feel as that poor juggler felt as he gave all this up for the monastery's narrow walls?" she asked. no answer came back. she knew the answer well enough for all that. and this knowledge gave her courage for the hours that were to come. she met marjory dean by one of the massive pillars that adorn the great opera house. "to think," she whispered, "that all this great building should be erected that thousands might hear you sing!" "not me alone." the prima donna smiled. "many, many others and many, i hope, more worthy than i." "what a life you have had!" the little french girl cried rapturously. "you have truly lived! "to work, to dream, to hope," she went on, "to struggle onward toward some distant goal, this is life." "ah, no, my child." marjory dean's face warmed with a kindly smile. "this is not life. it is but the beginning of life. one does not work long, hope much, struggle far, before he becomes conscious of someone on the way before him. as he becomes conscious of this one, the other puts out a hand to aid him forward. together they work, dream, hope and struggle onward. together they succeed more completely. "and then," her tone was mellow, thoughtful, "there comes the time when the one who had been given the helping hand by one before looks back and sees still another who struggles bravely over the way he has come. his other hand stretches back to this weaker one. and so, with someone before to assist, with one behind to be assisted, he works, dreams, hopes and struggles on through his career, be it long or short. and this, my child, is life." "yes, i see it now. i knew it before. but one forgets. watch me. i shall cling tightly to your hand. and when my turn comes i shall pray for courage and strength, then reach back to one who struggles a little way behind." "wise, brave child! how one could love you!" with this the prima donna threw her arm across jeanne's shoulder and together they marched into the place of solemn enchantment, an opera house that is "dark." chapter xxi from the heights to despair "to-day," said marjory dean, as they came out upon the dimly lighted stage, "as you will see," she glanced about her where the setting of a french village was to be seen "we are to rehearse 'the juggler of notre dame.' and to-day, if you have the courage, you may play the juggler in my stead." "oh!" jeanne's breath came short and quick. her wild heartbeats of anticipation had not been in vain. "but the company!" she exclaimed in a low whisper. "shall they know?" "they will not be told. many will guess that something unusual is happening. but they all are good sports. and besides they are all of my--what is it you have called it?--my 'golden circle.'" "yes, yes, your 'golden circle.'" "and those of our 'golden circle' never betray us. it is an unwritten law." "ah!" jeanne breathed deeply. "can i do it?" "certainly you can. and perhaps, on the very next night when the 'juggler' is done--oh, well, you know." "yes. i know." jeanne was fairly choking with emotion. when, however, half an hour later, garbed as the juggler with his hoop and his bag of tricks, she came before the troop of french villagers of the drama, she was her own calm self. for once again as in a dream, she trod the streets of a beautiful french village. as of yore she danced before the boisterous village throng. only now, instead of stick and bear, she danced with hoop and bag. she was conscious at once that the members of the company realized that she was a stranger and not marjory dean. "but i shall show them how a child of france may play her native drama." at once she lost herself in the character of jean, the wandering-juggler. eagerly she offered to do tricks with cup and balls, to remove eggs from a hat. scorned by the throng, she did not despair. "i know the hoop dance." the children of the troop seized her by the hands to drag her about. and jeanne, the lithe jeanne who had so often enthralled thousands by her fairy-like steps, danced clumsily as the juggler must, then allowed herself to be abused by the children until she could break away. "what a glorious company!" she was thinking in the back of her mind. "how they play up to me!" "my lords," she cried when once more she was free, "to please you i'll sing a fine love salvation song." they paid her no heed. as the juggler she did not despair. as jeanne, she saw a movement in a seat close to the opera pit. "an auditor!" her heart sank. "what if it is someone who suspects and will give me away!" there was scant time for these thoughts. as the juggler she offered songs of battle, songs of conquest, drama. to all this they cried: "no! no! give us rather a drinking song!" at last yielding to their demand she sang: "hallelujah, sing the hallelujah of wine." then as the prior descended upon the throng, scattering them like tiny birds before a gale, she stood there alone, defenseless, as the prior denounced her. real tears were in her eyes as she began her farewell to the glorious liberty of hedge and field, river, road and forest of france. this farewell was destined to end unfinished for suddenly a great bass voice roared: "what is this? you are not marjory dean! where is she? what are you doing here?" a huge man with a fierce black mustache stood towering above her. she recognized in him the director of the opera, and wished that the section of the stage beneath her feet might sink, carrying her from sight. "here i am," came in a clear, cold tone. it was marjory dean who spoke. she advanced toward the middle of the stage. riveted to their places, the members of the company stood aghast. full well they knew the fire that lay ever smouldering in marjory dean's breast. "and what does this mean? why are you not rehearsing your part?" "because," miss dean replied evenly, "i chose to allow another, who can do it quite as well, to rehearse with the company." "and i suppose," there was bitter sarcasm in the director's voice, "she will sing the part when that night comes?" "and if she did?" "then, miss dean, your services would no longer be required." the man was purple with rage. "very well." marjory dean's face went white. "we may as well--" but petite jeanne was at her side. "miss dean, you do not know what you are saying. it is not worth the cost. please, please!" she pleaded with tears in her voice. "please forget me. at best i am only a little french wanderer. and you, you are the great marjory dean!" reading the anguish in her upturned face, marjory dean's anger was turned to compassion. "another time, another place," she murmured. "i shall never forget you!" half an hour later the rehearsal was begun once more. this time marjory dean was in the stellar role. it was a dead rehearsal. all the sparkle of it was gone. but it was a rehearsal all the same, and the director had had his way. chapter xxii the armored horse as for jeanne, once more dressed as pierre and feeling like just no one at all, she had gone wandering away into the shadows of the orchestra floor, when suddenly she started. someone had touched her arm. until this moment she had quite forgotten the lone auditor seated there in the dark. now as she bent low to look into that person's face she started again as a name came to her lips. "rosemary robinson!" "it is i," rosemary whispered. "i saw it all, pierre." she held jeanne's hand in a warm grasp. "you were wonderful! simply magnificent! and the director. he was beastly!" "no! no!" jeanne protested. "he was but doing his duty." "this," rosemary replied slowly, "may be true. but for all that you are a marvelous 'juggler of notre dame.' and it is too bad he found out. "but come!" she whispered eagerly, springing to her feet. "why weep when there is so much to be glad about? let us go exploring! "my father," she explained, "has done much for this place. i have the keys to every room. there are many mysteries. you shall see some of them." seizing jeanne's hand, she led the way along a corridor, down two gloomy flights of stairs and at last into a vast place where only here and there a light burned dimly. they were now deep down below the level of the street. the roar and thunder of traffic came to them only as a subdued rumble of some giant talking in his sleep. the room was immense. shadows were everywhere, shadows and grotesque forms. "where are we?" jeanne asked, scarcely able to repress a desire to flee. "it is one of the property rooms of the opera house. what will you have?" rosemary laughed low and deep. "only ask for it. you will find it here. all these things are used at some time or another in the different operas." as jeanne's eyes became accustomed to the pale half-light, she realized that this must be nearly true. in a corner, piled tight in great dark sections, was a miniature mountain. standing on edge, but spilling none of its make-believe water, was a pond where swans were wont to float. a little way apart were the swans, resting on great heaps of grass that did not wither and flowers that did not die. in a distant corner stood a great gray castle. someone had set it up, perhaps to make sure that it was all intact, then had left it standing. "what a place for mystery!" jeanne exclaimed. "yes, and listen! do you hear it?" "hear what?" "the river. we are far below the river. listen. do you not hear it flowing?" "i hear only the rumble of traffic." "perhaps i only imagine it, but always when i visit this place i seem to hear the river rushing by. and always i think, 'what if the walls should crumble?'" "but they will not crumble." "we shall hope not. "but see." the rich girl's mood changed. "here is a charger! let us mount and ride!" she sprang toward a tall object completely covered by a white cloth. when the cloth had been dragged off, a great steed all clad in glittering armor stood before them. "come!" rosemary's voice rose high. "here we are! you are a brave knight. i am a defenseless lady. give me your hand. help me to mount behind you. then i will cling to you while we ride through some deep, dark forest where there are dragons and cross-bowmen and all sorts of terrifying perils." joining her in this spirit of make-believe, jeanne assisted her to the back of the inanimate charger. having touched some secret button, rosemary set the charger in motion. they were riding now. swaying from side to side, rising, falling, they seemed indeed to be passing through some dark and doleful place. as jeanne closed her eyes the illusion became quite complete. as she felt rosemary clinging to her as she might cling to some gallant knight, she forgot for the time that she was petite jeanne and that she had suffered a dire disappointment. "i am pierre!" she whispered to herself. "i am a brave knight. rosemary loves me." the disquieting effect of this last thought awakened her to the realities of life. perhaps, after all, rosemary did love her a little as pierre. if this were true-- sliding off the steed, then lifting rosemary to the floor, she exclaimed: "come! over yonder is a castle. let us see who is at home over there." soon enough she was to see. the castle was, as all stage castles are, a mere shell; very beautiful and grand on the outside, a hollow echo within. for all that, the two youthful adventurers found a certain joy in visiting that castle. there was a rough stairway leading up through great empty spaces within to a broad, iron-railed balcony. from this balcony, on more than one night, an opera lover had leaned forth to sing songs of high enchantment, luring forth a hidden lover. they climbed the stairs. then petite jeanne, caught by the spell of the place, leaned far out of the window and burst into song, a wild gypsy serenade. rosemary was leaning back among the rafters, drinking in the sweet mystery of life that was all about her, when of a sudden the french girl's song broke off. her face went white for an instant as she swayed there and must surely have fallen had not rosemary caught her. "wha--what is it?" she whispered hoarsely. for a space of seconds there came no answer, then a low whisper: "those eyes! i saw them. those evil eyes. back of the mountain. they glared at me." "eyes?" "the dark-faced man. he--he frightens me! the way out! we must find it!" roused by her companion's fears, rosemary led the way on tiptoe down the stairs. still in silence they crossed the broad emptiness of the castle, came to a rear door, tried it, felt it yield to their touch, and passed through, only to hear the intruder come racing down the stairs. "he--he did not see us!" rosemary panted. "for now we are safe. this--come this way!" she crowded her way between a stairway lying upon its side and a property porch. jeanne, whose heart was beating a tattoo against her ribs, followed in silence. "what a brave knight i am!" she told herself, and smiled in spite of her deathly fears. "the way out," rosemary whispered over her shoulder. "if i only can find that!" a sound, from somewhere behind, startled them into renewed effort. passing through a low forest of property trees, they crossed a narrow bare space to find themselves confronted by a more formidable forest of chairs and tables. chairs of all sorts, with feet on the floor or high in air, blocked their way. as rosemary attempted to creep between two great piles, one of these toppled to the floor with a resounding crash. "come!" her tone was near despair. "we must find the way out!" as for jeanne, she was rapidly regaining her composure. this was not the only time she had been lost in an opera house. the paris opera had once held her a prisoner. "yes, yes. the way out!" she took the lead. "i think i see a light, a tiny red light." for a second she hesitated. what was this light? was it held in the hand of the unwelcome stranger? was it an "exit" light? "it's the way out!" she exulted. a quick turn, a sharp cry and she went crashing forward. some object had lain in her path. she had stumbled upon it in the dark. what was it? this did not matter. all that mattered were rosemary and the way out. where was rosemary? leaping to her feet, she glanced wildly about. a move from behind demoralized her. one more wild dash and she was beneath that red light. before her was a door. and at that door, pressing the knob, was rosemary. next instant they had crowded through that door. but where were they? narrow walls hemmed them in on every side. "it's a trap!" rosemary moaned. not so jeanne. she pressed a button. they were in a french elevator. they went up. up, up they glided. the light of a door came, then faded, then another and yet another. in consternation lest they crash at the top, jeanne pressed a second button. they came to a sudden halt. a light shone above them. a second, slower upward glide and they were before still another door. the door swung open. still filled with wild panic, they rushed into a room where all was dark, and lost themselves in a perfect labyrinth where costumes by hundreds hung in rows. crowded together, shoulder to shoulder, with scarcely room to breathe, they stood there panting, waiting, listening. slowly their blood cooled. no sound came to their waiting ears. still jeanne felt rosemary's heart beating wildly. "to her i am a knight," she thought. "i am pierre." then a thought struck her all of a heap. "perhaps i am not pierre to her. she may suspect. yes, she may know!" a cold chill gripped her heart. "if she finds out, what an impostor she will believe me to be! "and yet," she thought more calmly, "i have meant no wrong. i only wanted to be near the opera, to be ready for any great good fortune that might befall me. "besides, how could she know? who would tell her? the lady in black? but how could she know? no! no! my secret is safe. "come!" she whispered a moment later, "i think we have escaped from those most terrible eyes." creeping out, they made their way along a corridor that welcomed them with ever-increasing brightness until they stood before a passenger elevator. a moment later they stood in the clear bright light of late autumn afternoon. throwing back her chest, the little french girl, who for a moment was pierre, drank in three deep breaths, then uttered a long-drawn: "wh-e-w!" "this," said rosemary, extending her hand as she might had she been leaving a party, "has been delightful. so perfectly wonderful. let's do it again sometime. "one more thing!" she whispered this. "they have never found my pearls. but it really does not matter, at least not very much. what are pearls among friends?" before petite jeanne could recover from her surprise she was gone. "i suppose," she sighed as she turned to go on her way, "that some people have many terrible adventures and want none, and some have none but want many. what a crazy, upside-down world this is, after all." she was well on her way home when a question, coming into her mind with the force of a blow, left her stunned. "why did rosemary say: 'the pearls have not been found. it does not matter?' "does she believe i took the pearls?" she asked herself, when she had partially recovered her poise. "and was she telling me i might keep them? "how absurd! and yet, what did she mean? "and, after all, how could she help believing that i took them? i ran away. there has been no explanation. unless--unless she knows that i am petite jeanne and not pierre! and how could she know?" that night as, once more playing the role of pierre, she entered the boxes, she found jaeger, the detective, in his place. and, lurking deep in the shadows was the lady in black. she shuddered anew. chapter xxiii florence solves a mystery that night, by the light of a fickle moon that ever and anon hid himself behind a cloud, florence made her way alone to the shores of that curious island of "made land" on the lake front. she had determined to delve more deeply into the mysteries of this island. on this night she was destined to make an astonishing discovery. it was not a promising place to wander, this island. there, when the moon hid his face, darkness reigned supreme. yet, even at such times as these, she was not afraid. strong as a man, endowed with more than the average man's courage, she dared many things. there were problems regarding that island which needed solving. she meant to solve them. besides, the place was gloriously peaceful, and florence loved peace. she did not, however, love peace alone. she yearned for all manner of excitement. most of all she was enchanted by sudden contrast. one moment: silence, the moon, the stars, placid waters, peace; the next: a sound of alarm, darkness, the onrush of adventure and unsolved mystery. this, for florence, was abundance of life. she had come to the island to find peace. but she would also probe into a mystery. as she neared the southern end of the island where stood the jungle of young cottonwood trees, she paused to look away at the ragged shore line. there, hanging above the rough boulders, was snowball's fishing derrick. like a slim, black arm, as if to direct the girl's search out to sea, it pointed away toward black waters. "no! no!" florence laughed low. "not there. the mystery lies deep in the heart of this young forest." straight down the path she strode to find herself standing at last before that challenging door of massive oak. "ah!" she breathed. "at home. they can't deny it." light was streaming through the great round eyes above her. her heart skipped a beat as she lifted a hand to rap on that door. what sort of people were these, anyway? what was she letting herself in for? she had not long to wait. the door flew open. a flood of white light was released. and in that light florence stood, open-mouthed, speechless, staring. "wa-all," came in a not unfriendly voice, "what is it y' want?" "aunt--aunt bobby!" florence managed to stammer. "yes, that's me. and who may you be? step inside. let me have a look. "florence! my own hearty florence!" the aged woman threw two stout arms about the girl's waist. "and to think of you findin' me here!" for a moment the air was filled with exclamations and ejaculations. after that, explanations were in order. if you have read _the thirteenth ring_, you will remember well enough that aunt bobby was a ship's cook who had cooked her way up and down one of the great lakes a thousand times or more, and that on one memorable journey she had acted as a fairy godmother to one of florence's pals. florence had never forgotten her, though their journeys had carried them to different ports. "but, aunt bobby," she exclaimed at last, "what can you be doing here? and how did such a strange home as this come into being?" "it's all on account of her." aunt bobby nodded toward a slim girl who, garbed in blue overalls, sat beside the box-like stove. "she's my grandchild. grew up on the ship, she did, amongst sailors. tie a knot and cast off a line with the best of them, she can, and skin up a mast better than most. "but the captain would have it she must have book learnin'. so here we are, all high and dry on land. and her a-goin' off to school every mornin'. but when school is over, you should see her--into every sort of thing. "ah, yes," she sighed, "she's a problem, is meg!" meg, who might have been nearing sixteen, smiled, crossed her legs like a man, and then put on a perfect imitation of a sailor contemptuously smoking a cob pipe--only there was no pipe. "this place, do you ask?" aunt bobby went on. "meg calls it the cathedral, she does, on account of the pillars. "them pillars was lamp-posts once, broken lamp-posts from the boulevard. dumped out here, they was. the captain and his men put up the cathedral for us, where we could look at the water when we liked. part of it is from an old ship that sank in the river and was raised up, and part, like the pillars, comes from the rubbish heap. "i do say, though, they made a neat job of it. meg'll show you her stateroom after a bit. "but now, meg, get down the cups. coffee's on the stove as it always was in the galleys." florence smiled. she was liking this. here she was finding contrast. she thought of the richly appointed opera house where at this moment jeanne haunted the boxes; then she glanced about her and smiled again. she recalled the irrepressible meg as she had seen her, a bronze statue against the sky, and resolved to know more of her. as they sat dreaming over their coffee cups, aunt bobby began to speak of the romance of other days and to dispense with unstinting hand rich portions from her philosophy. "forty years i lived on ships, child." she sighed deeply. "forty years! i've sailed on big ones and small ones, wind-jammers and steamers. some mighty fine ones and some not so fine. mostly i signed on freighters because i loved them best of all. they haul and carry. "they're sort of human, ships are." she cupped her chin in her hands to stare dreamily at the fire. "sort of like folks, ships are. some are slim and pretty and not much use except just to play around when the water's sparklin' and the sun shines bright. that's true of folks and ships alike. and i guess it's right enough. we all like pretty things. "but the slow old freighter, smelling of bilge and tar, she's good enough for me. she's like the most of us common workers, carrying things, doing the things that need to be done, moving straight on through sunshine and storm until the task is completed and the work is done. "yes, child, i've sailed for forty years. i've watched the moon paint a path of gold over waters blacker than the night. i've heard the ice screaming as it ground against our keel, and i've tossed all night in a storm that promised every minute to send us to the bottom. forty years, child, forty years!" the aged woman's voice rose high and clear like the mellow toll of a bell at midnight. "forty years i've felt the pitch and toss, the swell and roll beneath me. and now this!" she spread her arms wide. "the ground beneath my feet, a roof over my head. "but not for long, child. not for long. a few months now, and a million pairs of feet will tramp past the spot where you now stand. what will these people see? not the cathedral, as meg will call it, nothing half as grand. "and we, meg and me, we'll move on. fate will point his finger and we'll move. "ah, well, that's life for most of us. sooner or later fate points and we move. he's a traffic cop, is fate. we come to a pause. he blows his whistle, he waves his arm. we move or he moves us. "and, after all," she heaved a deep sigh that was more than half filled with contentment, "who'd object to that? who wants to sit and grow roots like stupid little cottonwood trees?" chapter xxiv the black packet "meg, show florence your stateroom." aunt bobby rose after her soliloquy. "mine's more plain-like," she apologized. "the men set a heap of store on meg, so they took what was the stateroom of the captain in the balmy days of that old ship and set it up for meg, right here on the island. "it's all there, walls and cabinet all done in mahogany and gold, wide berth, and everything grand." "it's not like sleeping on the water with a good hull beneath you." meg's tone was almost sullen. "just you wait! i'm going back!" once inside her stateroom her mood changed. it became evident at once that she was truly proud of this small room with its costly decorations that had come down from the past. two great lanterns made of beaten bronze hung one at the head and one at the foot of her berth. "it's wonderful!" florence was truly impressed. "but this island, it is a lonely spot. there must be prowlers about." "oh, yes. all the time. some good ones, some bad." "but are you not afraid?" "afraid? no. i laugh at them. why not? "and besides. look!" her slender finger touched a secret button. a cabinet door flew open, revealing two revolvers. their long blue barrels shone wickedly in the light. "but you couldn't fire them." "oh, couldn't i? come over some day just before dark, when the waves are making a lot of noise. i'll show you. "you see," she explained, "i must be careful. if the police heard, they'd come and take them from me. "but on board ship!" her eyes danced. "i could out-shoot them all. you know how long a freighter is?" "yes." "we used that for a shooting range. i could out-shoot all the men. it was grand! if we missed the target, the bullet went plump into the sea! and that was all. "no," she said thoughtfully as she dropped into a chair, "i'm not afraid. there was one man, though, who had me almost scared. his face was so dark! he had such ugly eyes!" "dark face, ugly eyes!" florence recalled jeanne's description of the man who had hounded her footsteps. "but i fooled him!" meg chuckled. "i fooled him twice. and i laughed in his face, too." rising, she pressed a second button in the wall to reveal still another secret compartment. "see that!" she pointed to a black packet. "that was his. it's mine now. "i wonder why he put it where he did?" she mused. "where?" "in snowball's net." "what?" "that's just what he did. i was sitting alone among the rocks at night. he came out, acting mysterious. he poured two buckets of water on snowball's windlass so it wouldn't creak and then he threw this package into the net and lowered away. "it is heavy. went right to the bottom. i slipped into the water and went after it. got it, too. see! there it is! "and do you know," her voice fell to an excited whisper, "that's to be my birthday present to myself. it's to be my surprise." "surprise! haven't you unwrapped it?" "no. why should i? that would spoil my fun." florence looked at this slim girl in overalls, and smiled. "you surely are an unusual child!" "he came back next day." meg ignored this last. "he made snowball dive down and look for his package. he didn't find it. the man was angry. his face got blacker than ever, and how his eyes snapped! an ugly red scar showed on his chin. then i laughed, and he chased me. "i dropped into the water and came up where there is a hole like a sea grotto. i watched him until he went away. he never came back. so now this is mine!" pride of ownership was in her voice. "but ought you not to open the package? it may have been stolen. it may contain valuables, watches, diamonds, pearls." florence was thinking of the lost necklace. "ought!" meg's face was twisted into a contemptuous frown. "ought! that's a landlubber's word. you never hear it on a ship. many things _must_ be done--hatch battened down, boilers stoked, bells rung. lots of things _must_ be done. but nothing merely _ought_ to be done. no! no! i want to save it for my birthday. and i shall!" at that she snapped the cabinet door shut, then led the way out of her stateroom. ten minutes later florence was on the dark winding path on her way home. "what an unusual child!" she thought. and again, "i wonder who that man could be? what does that packet contain?" chapter xxv the bearded stranger though that which happened to jeanne on this very night could scarcely be called an adventure, it did serve to relieve the feeling of depression which had settled upon her like a cloud after that dramatic but quite terrible moment when the irate director had driven her from the stage. it did more than this; it gave her a deeper understanding of that mystery of mysteries men call life. between acts she stood contemplating her carefully creased trousers and the tips of her shiny, patent leather shoes. suddenly she became conscious that someone was near, someone interested in her. a sort of sixth sense, a gypsy sense, told her that eyes were upon her. as her own eyes swept about a wide circle, they took in the bearded man with large, luminous eyes. he was standing quite near. with sudden impulse, she sprang toward him. "please tell me." her voice was eager. "why did you say all this was 'a form of life'?" "that question," the man spoke slowly, "can best be answered by seeing something other than this. would you care to go a little way with me?" jeanne gave him a quick look. she was a person of experience, this little french girl. "he can be trusted," her heart assured her. "but i am working." her spirits dropped. "there are extra ushers." "yes--yes." "i will have one called." "this man has influence here," jeanne thought a moment later, as, side by side, they left the building. "who can he be?" her interest increased tenfold. "we will go this way." they turned west, went over the bridge, crossed the street to the south, then turned west again. "oh, but this--this is rather terrible!" jeanne protested. scarcely five minutes had passed. they had left the glitter and glory of jewels, rich silks and costly furs behind. now they were passing through throngs of men. roughly clad men they were, many in rags. their faces were rough and seamed, their hands knotted and blue with cold. jeanne drew her long coat tightly about her. "no one will harm you." her strange companion took her arm. the street setting was as drab as were those who wandered there: cheap movies displaying gaudy posters, cheaper restaurants where one might purchase a plate of beans and a cup of coffee for a dime. the wind was rising. picking up scraps of paper and bits of straw, it sent them in an eddy, whirling them round and round. like dead souls in some lost world, these bits appeared to find no place to rest. "see!" said her companion. "they are like the men who wander here; they have no resting place." jeanne shuddered. but suddenly her attention was arrested by a falling object that was neither paper nor straw, but a pigeon. one glance assured her that this was a young bird, fully grown and feathered, who had not yet learned to fly. he fluttered hopelessly on the sidewalk. "a beautiful bird," was her thought. "such lovely plumage!" a passer-by with an ugly, twisted face leered up at her as he said: "there's something to eat." "some--" jeanne did not finish. to her utter astonishment she saw that a very short man in a long greasy coat had captured the pigeon, tucked it under his coat and was making off. "he--he won't eat it?" she gasped. "come. we will follow." her companion hurried her along. the short man, with the bird still under his arm, had turned south into a dark and deserted street. jeanne shuddered and wished to turn back. then she thought of the pigeon. "he is beautiful even now," she whispered. "what must he be when he gets his second plumage? how proudly he will strut upon the roof-tops. "tell me truly," she said to her companion, "he would not eat him?" there came no answer. having traveled two blocks south, they crossed the street to find themselves facing a vacant lot. there, amid piles of broken bricks and rusty heaps of sheet-iron, many camp fires burned. moving about from fire to fire, or sitting huddled about them, were men. these were more ragged and forlorn, if that were possible, than those she had seen upon the street. then, with the force of a bullet, truth entered the very heart of her being. these men were derelicts. these piles of broken bricks and rusting iron were their homes; these camp fires their kitchens. soon the young pigeon would be simmering in a great tin can filled with water. "wait!" she cried, leaping forward and seizing the short man by the arm. "don't--don't cook him! i will pay you for him. here! here is a dollar. is that enough? if not, i have another." blinking back at her in surprise, taking in her long coat, her jaunty cap, the man stared at her in silence. then, as the bearded man hurried up, he blinked at him in turn. "i didn't mean to eat him," he protested. "honest i didn't. but if you want him--" he eyed the dollar bill eagerly "--if you want him, here he is." thrusting the pigeon into jeanne's hands, he seized the bill and muttered: "a dollar--a dollar, a whole cartwheel, one big iron man! i didn't know there was one left in the world!" he seemed about to shed tears. as he turned his face up to jeanne's she noticed that he had but one eye. "what's your name?" the bearded one asked. "mostly they call me the one-eyed shrimp." pocketing the money, he walked away. "this, too," said the bearded one solemnly, "is a form of life." "but why such cruel, cruel contrasts?" in her mind's eye jeanne was seeing jewels, silks and furs. there were tears in her voice. "to that question no answer has been found," the bearded man answered solemnly. "the world is very old. it has always been so. perhaps it is necessary. it gives contrast. lights and shadows. we must have them or nothing could be seen. "i am a sculptor, a very poor one, but one nevertheless. perhaps you may visit my studio. there you will find things i have done in lovely white marble, yet the beauty of the marble can only be brought out by shadows. "come! you are cold." he turned jeanne about. "we will go back to the opera house. always we must be going back." strange as it may seem, jeanne did not wish to return. that magnificent palace of art and song had suddenly become abhorrent to her. "the contrasts," she murmured, "they are too great!" "yes. there you have discovered a great truth. come to my studio some day. i will show you more." the bearded one pressed a card into her hand. without looking at it, she thrust it deep into her trousers pocket. in silence they returned to the opera house. once inside, jeanne experienced a miracle. the dark, cold, bitter world outside had vanished. in her mind, for the moment, not a trace of it remained. for her, now, there was only light and life, melody, color--romance in fact, and opera at its best. chapter xxvi an exciting message petite jeanne was a sun-worshipper and a fire-worshipper of the best sort. she worshipped the one who created fire and who sends us light to dispel the gloom of night. the day following her unusual experiences in the lower regions of the opera house found her curled up in a big chair. the chair stood before a large window of their living room. here she was completely flooded with light. on bright days, for a space of two hours, the sunlight always succeeded in finding its way through the labyrinth of chimneys and skyscrapers, to fall like a benediction upon this blonde-haired girl. and jeanne rejoiced in it as a kitten does the warm spot before the hearth. "it's god looking down upon his world," she murmured now. "jeanne," florence stood in the door of her room, "did that man, the dark-faced one with the evil eye, did he have a scar on his chin?" "y-e-s. let me see." she closed her eyes to invite a picture. it came. "yes, now i see him as i did only yesterday. yes, there was a scar." "you saw him yesterday?" reluctantly jeanne turned her face from the sunlight. "i'll tell you about it. it was exciting, and--and a bit terrible. what can he want?" she told florence about the previous day's adventure. "but why did you ask about the scar?" it was her turn to ask questions. "i was out at the island last night. you'd never dream of the discovery i made there. but then, you've never seen aunt bobby--probably not so much as heard of her." florence had described her experiences up to the time when meg invited her to inspect her stateroom, when the phone rang. "i'll answer it." florence took down the receiver. "it's for you," she said, half a minute later. with a deep sigh jeanne deserted her spot in the sun. for all that, her face was flushed with excitement when she put the receiver down. "it's the little old lady of the cameo." in her excitement she found herself talking in a hoarse whisper. "she has persuaded hop long lee, the rich chinaman, to let us see the magic curtain. better still, his people will stage a little play for us. they will use the magic curtain." "when?" "next friday, at midnight." "midnight? what an hour!" "night is best. and what other hour could one be sure of? there is marjory dean. she must see it. and we must find angelo." "angelo? have you seen him?" "not for months. he went to new york to make his fortune." angelo, as you will recall, was the youthful dreamer who had created a fascinating light opera role for jeanne. "but only two days ago," jeanne went on, "i heard that he had been seen here in the city." "here? why does he not give us a ring?" "who knows?" jeanne shrugged. "for all that, i will find him. he must come. "and to think!" she did a wild fling across the room. "we are to see the magic curtain. we will weave an opera about it. the opera shall be played on that so grand stage." "by whom?" jeanne did not hesitate. "by marjory dean! she will have the leading role. i shall insist. and why not? would she not do so much for me? truly. and more, much more! "as for me!" again she settled herself in the spot of sunlight. "my time will come." she might have added, "sooner than you could dream of." she did not. chapter xxvii dreaming angelo must be found. it was he who had written the successful light opera, _the gypsy god of fire_. no other could write as he--or so jeanne thought. yes, he must be found, and that without delay. friday midnight would be here before anyone could dream three dreams. and where was one to look for him save in his old haunts? "his garret studio and at night," jeanne said to florence, next morning. "to-morrow we will go." "but to-morrow i cannot go. my work keeps me out late." "ah, well, then i shall go alone." "are you not afraid to be on the streets at night?" "as pierre i am afraid. but i shall be petite jeanne. as jeanne i shall be safe enough." knowing the futility of an argument with this strange child of france, florence smiled and went on her way. that is how it came about that jeanne found herself at a late hour climbing the stairway that led to the garret studio that once had witnessed so much lightness and gaiety. she had expected to find changes. times were hard. it had come to her, in indirect ways, that her good friend had met with little success in new york. but she was scarcely prepared for that which met her gaze as the door was thrown open by angelo himself. advancing into the center of the room, she found bare floors where there had been bright, rich, oriental rugs. the unique stage, with all its settings of blue, green, red and gold, was bare. "yes," angelo spoke slowly, meditatively, as if answering her mood, "they took my things, one at a time. fair enough, too. i owed money. i could not pay. the piano went first, my old, old friend. a battered friend it was, but its tones were true. "and what grand times we had around that piano! remember?" "i remember." jeanne's tone was low. "but don't be sad about it." angelo was actually smiling. "they took the piano, the rugs, the desk where i composed your light opera. "ah, yes; but after all, these are but the symbols of life. they are not life itself. they could not carry away the memory of those days, those good brave days when we were sometimes rich and sometimes very, very poor. the memories of those days will be with us forever. and of such memories as these life, the best of life, is made." after some brief, commonplace remarks, came a moment of silence. "if you'll excuse me," swen, angelo's friend, said, "i will go out to search for a bit of cheer." "yes, yes. he will bring us cheer. then he will sing us a song." jeanne made a brave attempt at being merry. when swen was gone, angelo motioned her to a place before the fire. "we will not despair. 'hope springs eternal in the human breast.' the beautiful spring-time of life will bloom again. "and see," he exclaimed, enthusiastic as a boy, "we still have the fireplace! they could not take that. and there is always wood to be had. i found this on the beach. it was washed up high in the storm at a spot where children romp all summer long. driftwood. some from a broken ship and some from who knows where? "see how it burns. the flame! the flame!" he was all but chanting now. "what colors there are! can you see them? there is red and orange, pink, purple, blue. all like a miniature magic curtain." "yes, like a magic curtain," jeanne murmured. then suddenly she awoke from the entrancing spell this remarkable youth had woven. "ah, yes, but those brave days will return for you!" she cried, springing to her feet and leaping away in a wild dance. "the magic curtain, it will bring them back to you!" his fine eyes shone as he rose to admire the grace of her rhythmic dance. "now you are dreaming." "dreaming?" she stopped dead still. "perhaps. but my dreams will come true. allow me to congratulate you. you are about to become famous. you will write a grand opera." "ah! the gypsy fortune teller speaks." he still smiled. nevertheless he held her hand in a warm clasp. "yes," she agreed, "i am a gypsy, a fortune teller. well, perhaps. but, for all that, i only speak of things i have seen. listen, my good friend!" her tone was impressive. "i have seen that which will form the background for an oriental opera. not a long opera, one act perhaps; but an opera, vivid and living, all the same. and you, my friend, shall write it." "you talk in riddles." he drew her to a seat beside him. "explain, my beautiful gypsy." "this much i shall tell you, not more. i have seen a magic curtain that burns but is not consumed. friday at midnight you shall see it for yourself. and about it you shall weave a story more fantastic than any you have yet dreamed." "and you shall be the leading lady!" he had caught the spirit of the hour. "that shall be glory. glory for me." "ah, no, my friend." petite jeanne's head drooped a little. "i am not known to grand opera. but you shall have a leading lady, such a grand lady! marjory dean! what do you say to that?" "you are right." angelo's tone was solemn. "she is very grand, marvelous indeed. but, after all, we work best, we write best, we do all things best for those who love us a little." "ah, you would say that!" jeanne seized him by the shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. "but see!" she cried when she had regained her composure. "marjory dean, too, is to see the magic curtain. to-morrow at midnight, you shall see her. and then i am sure she will love you more than a little. then all will be more than well. "and now see! here is swen. he is bringing hot coffee and sweet rolls stuffed, i am sure, with pineapple and fresh cocoanut. on with the feast!" angelo produced two ancient plates and three large cups devoid of handles. they settled themselves comfortably before the hearth to enjoy such a communion of good spirits as had never been granted them in those balmy days when purses were lined with gold. "what is poverty when one has friends?" angelo demanded joyously, as at last he assisted jeanne to her feet. "what, indeed?" jeanne agreed heartily. "friday at midnight," angelo said solemnly, as a moment later jeanne stood at the doorway. "as the clock strikes the hour," she breathed. then she was gone. chapter xxviii florence crashes in at that moment florence was involved in an affair which threatened to bring her brief career to a tragic end. it had begun innocently enough. the back of a man's head, seen in a crowd, had interested her. she had made a study of men's heads. "there's as much character to be read in the back of one's head as in one's face," a psychologist had said to her. doubting his statement, she had taken up this study to disprove his theory. she had ended by believing. for truly one may read in the carriage of the head stubbornness, indecision, mental and physical weakness; yes, and a capacity for crime. it was this last, revealed in the neck of the man in the throng, that had set her on his trail. she had not long to wait for confirmation. at a turn in the street the man offered her a side view. at once she caught her breath. this man was dark of visage. he had an ugly red scar on his chin. "jeanne's shadow!" she whispered to herself. "and such a shadow!" she shuddered at the very thought. for this young man was not unknown to her. not ten days before, in a crowded police court he had been pointed out to her as one of the most dangerous of criminals. he was not, at this time, in custody. just why he was there she had not been told. though suspected of many crimes, he had been detected in none of them. "and it is he who has been dogging jeanne's footsteps!" she muttered. "i must warn her. "he, too, it was, who sank the package in snowball's net. meg's birthday present." she smiled. then she frowned. "i must warn her. it may be a bomb. stranger discoveries have been made." for a moment she considered another theory regarding the package. a moment only--then all this was driven from her mind. drama was in the making, real drama from life. the evil-eyed one had paused before a doorway. he had remained poised there for a moment like a bird of prey: then the prey appeared, or so it seemed to florence. a short, foreign-appearing man with a military bearing all but came to a position of salute before the dark one of the evil eye. that one essayed a smile which, to the girl, seemed the grin of a wolf. the short man appeared not to notice. he uttered a few words, waved his hands excitedly, then turned as if expecting to be led away. "a frenchman," florence thought. "who else would wave his arms so wildly?" then a thought struck her all of a heap. "this is jeanne's little frenchman, the one who bears a message for her, who has come all the way from france to deliver it." at once she became wildly excited. she had notions about that message. strangely fantastic notions they were; this she was obliged to admit. but they very nearly drove her to committing a strange act. in a moment more she would have dashed up to the little frenchman. she would undoubtedly have seized him by the arm and exclaimed: "you are looking for petite jeanne. come! i will lead you to her!" this did not happen. there was a moment of indecision. then, before her very eyes, the dark one, after casting a suspicious glance her way, bundled his prey into a waiting taxi and whisked him away. "gone!" consternation seized her. but, suddenly, her mind cleared. "what was that number?" she racked her brain. tom howe, the young detective who had pointed out the dark-faced one, had given her the street number believed to be his hangout. "one, three," she said aloud. "one, three, six, four, burgoyne place. that was it! "oh, taxi! taxi!" she went dashing away after a vacant car. having overtaken the cab, she gave the driver hasty instructions, and then settled back against the cushions. her head was in a whirl. what was it she planned to do? to follow a dangerous criminal? alone? to frustrate his plans single-handed? the thing seemed tremendous, preposterous. "probably not going to his haunt at all. may not be his haunt." pressing her hands against her temples, she closed her eyes. for a space of several moments she bumped along. then she straightened up. the cab had ceased its bumping. they were rolling along on smooth paving. this was not to be expected. "driver! driver!" she exclaimed, sliding the glass window to one side with a bang. "where are we?" "kinzie and carpen." "oh, oh!" she could have wept. "you're going north. the address i gave you is south." "it can't be, miss." "it is!" "then i'm wrong." "of course! turn about and go south to . then i'll tell you the way." once again they glided and jolted along. in the end they pulled up before a stone building. a two-story structure that might once have been a mansion, it stood between two towering warehouses. "that's the place. there's the number." she hesitated. should she ask the driver to remain? "no, they'll see him and make a run for it." she had thought of a better way. she paid him and as if frightened by his surroundings he sped away. "not a moment to lose!" she whispered. some sixth sense seemed to tell her that this was the place--that the dark one and his victim were inside. speeding to a corner where a boy cried his papers, she thrust half a dollar into his hand, and whispered a command: "bring a policeman to that house!" she poked a thumb over her shoulder. "you'll need three of 'em!" the boy muttered, as he hurried away. she did not hear. she was speeding back. "now!" she breathed, squaring her shoulders. up the stone steps, a thrust at the doorbell. ten seconds. no answer. a vigorous thump. a kick. still no response. examining the door, she found it to be a double one. "rusty catches. easy! "but then?" she did not stand on ceremony. stepping back a pace, she threw her sturdy form against the door. it gave way, letting her into a hallway. to the right of the hallway was a door. a man was in the act of springing at her when someone from behind exclaimed: "wait! it's a frail!" the words appeared to upset the other's plans, or at least to halt them for a second. during that second the girl plunged head foremost. striking him amidships, she capsized him and took all the wind from his sail in one and the same instant. she regained her balance just in time to see a long, blue gun being leveled at her. it was in the hand of the evil-eyed one. not for naught had she labored in the gymnasium. before the gun flashed, it went whirling through space, crashed a window and was gone. as for the evil-eyed one, he too vanished. at the same moment three stolid policemen came stamping in. the newsboy had done yeoman duty. the offender who had been overturned by florence was duly mopped up. the evil-eyed one was sought in vain. groaning in a corner was the short frenchman. his arms were bound behind him in a curious fashion; in fact they were so bound by ropes and a stick that his arms might have been twisted from their sockets, and this by a few simple turns of that stick. "kidnappin' an' torture!" said one of the police, standing the captured offender on his feet. "you'll get yours, mike." "it was blackie's idea," grumbled the man. "and where's blackie?" the man shrugged. "left you to hold the bag. that's him. anyway, now we got it on him, we'll mop him up! blamed if we don't! tim, untie that man." he nodded toward the little frenchman. "now then," the police sergeant commanded, "tell us why you let 'em take you in." "they--they told me they would take me to a person known as petite jeanne." "pet--petite jeanne!" florence could have shouted for joy. "and have you money for her, a great deal of money?" "no, miss." the little man stared at her. florence wilted. her pet dream had proven only an illusion. "at any rate," she managed to say after a time, "when the police are through with you i'll take you to her lodgings. i am her friend and pal." the little man looked at her distrustfully. he had put his confidence in two american citizens that day, and with dire results. "we'll see about that later." the police sergeant scowled. "i think--" his scowl had turned to a smile when, a few moments later, after completing his investigation and interrogating florence, he turned to the frenchman. "i think--at least it's my opinion--that you'll be safe enough in this young lady's company. "if she'd go to the trouble of hirin' a taxi and followin' you, then breakin' down a door and riskin' her life to rescue you from a bloody pair of kidnappers and murderers, she's not goin' to take you far from where you want to go." "i am overcome!" the frenchman bowed low. "i shall accompany her with the greatest assurance." so, side by side, the curious little frenchman and the girl marched away. "but, mademoiselle!" the frenchman seemed dazed. "why all this late unpleasantness?" "those two!" florence threw out her arms. "they'd have tortured you to death. they thought, as i did, that you were in possession of money, a great deal of money." "in france," the man exclaimed in evident disgust, "we execute such men!" "in america," florence replied quietly, "we mostly don't. and what a pity! "the elevated is only three blocks away." she took up a brisk stride. "we'll take it. i hate taxis. drivers never know where you want to go. outside the loop, they're lost like babes in the wood." a taxi might indeed have lost both florence and the polite little frenchman. under florence's plan only the frenchman was lost. and this, to her, was just as bad, for she _did_ want petite jeanne to meet this man and receive the message from him, even though the message was not to be delivered in the form of bank notes. it was the little man's extreme politeness that proved his undoing. in the loop they were obliged to change trains. florence had waited for the right train, and then had invited him to go before her, when, with a lift of his hat, he said, bowing: "after you, my dear mademoiselle!" this was all well enough. but there were other madams and mademoiselles boarding that train. again and yet again the little man bowed low. when at last the gates banged and the train rattled on its way, florence found to her consternation that she was alone. "we left him there bowing!" there was a certain humor in the situation. but she was disappointed and alarmed. speeding across the bridge at the next station, she boarded a second train and went rattling back. arrived at her former station, she found no trace of the man. "he took another train. it's no use." her shoulders drooped. "all that and nothing for it." her dejection lasted but for a moment. "to-morrow," she murmured. "it is not far away. and on the morrow there is ever something new." chapter xxix it happened at midnight midnight. the lights of chinatown were dim as four figures made their way to a door marked: "for members only." jeanne, the foremost of these figures, knew that door. she had entered it before. yet, as her hand touched the heavy handle, she was halted by a sudden fear. her face blanched. close at her side marjory dean, artist and supreme interpreter of life as she was, understood instantly. "come, child. don't be afraid. they are a simple people, these orientals." "yes. yes, i know." the girl took a tight grip on herself and pressed on through the door. marjory dean, angelo and swen followed. at the top of the second stair they were halted by a dark shadow-like figure. "what you want?" "hop long lee." "you come." the man, whose footsteps made not the slightest sound, led the way. "midnight," jeanne whispered to herself. "why did i say midnight?" it was always so. ever she was desiring mystery, enchantment at unheard-of hours. always, when the hour came she was ready to turn back. "the magic curtain." she started. a second dark figure was beside her. "you wished to see?" "y-yes." "you shall see. i am hop long lee. "and these are your friends? ah, yes! come! you will see!" his hand touched jeanne's. she started back. it was cold, like marble. they followed in silence. they trod inch-thick rugs. there came no sound save the tok-tok-tok of some great, slow clock off there somewhere in the dark. "i am not afraid," jeanne told herself. "i am not going to be afraid. i have seen all this before." yet, when she had descended the narrow, winding stairs, when a small, oriental rug was offered her in lieu of a chair, her limbs gave way beneath her and she dropped, limp as a rag, to the comforting softness of the rug. that which followed will remain painted on the walls of never-to-be-forgotten memories. figures, dark, creeping figures, appeared in this dimly lighted room. once again the curtain, a red and glowing thing, crept across the stage. she gripped marjory dean's hand hard. some figures appeared before the curtain. grotesque figures. they danced as she had imagined only gnomes and elves might dance. a vast, many-colored dragon crept from the darkness. with a mighty lashing of tail, he swallowed the dancers, then disappeared into the darkness from which he had come. "oh!" jeanne breathed. even marjory dean, who had witnessed many forms of magic, was staring straight ahead. a single figure appeared on the stage, one all in white. the figure wore a long, flowing robe. the face was white. from somewhere strange music began to whisper. it was like wind sighing in the trees, the trees in the graveyard at midnight. and this was midnight. next instant jeanne leaped straight into the air. someone had struck a gong, an oriental gong. mortified beyond belief, she settled back in her place. and now the magic curtain, like some wall of fire, burned a fiercer red. from the shadows the dragon thrust out his head once more. the white-faced figure ceased dancing. the wind in the trees sang on. the figure, appearing to see the dragon, drew back in trembling fright. he approached the fiery curtain, yet his back was ever toward it. there was yet a space between the two sections of the curtain. the figure, darting toward this gap, was caught in the flames. "oh!" jeanne breathed. "he will die in flames!" marjory dean pressed her hand hard. of a sudden the floor beneath the white figure opened and swallowed him up. jeanne looked for the dragon. it was gone. the fiery red of the curtain was turning to an orange glow. "come. you have seen." it was hop long lee who spoke. once again his marble-cold hand touched jeanne's hand. ten minutes later the four figures were once more in the street. "midnight in an oriental garden," angelo breathed. "that," breathed marjory dean, "is drama, oriental drama. give it a human touch and it could be made supreme." "you--you think it could be made into a thing of beauty?" "surely. most certainly, my child. nothing could be more unique." "come," whispered jeanne happily. "come with me. the night is young. the day is for sleep. come. we will have coffee by my fire. then we will talk, talk of all this. we will create an opera in a night. is it not so?" and it was so. a weird bit of opera it was that they produced that night. even the atmosphere in which they worked was fantastic. candle light, a flickering fire that now and then leaped into sudden conflagration, mellow-toned gongs provided by the little lady of the cameo; such were the elements that added to the fantastic reality of the unreal. in this one-act drama the giant paper dragon remained. the flaming curtain, the setting for some weird buddhist ceremony, was to furnish the motif. a flesh and blood person, whose part was to be played by marjory dean, replaced the thing of white cloth and paper that had danced a weird dance, and became entangled in the fiery curtain. oriental mystery, the deep hatred of some types of yellow men for the white race, these entered into the story. in the plot the hero (marjory dean), a white boy, son of a rich trader, caught by the lure of mystery, adventure and tales of the magic curtain, volunteers to take the place of a rich chinese youth who is to endure the trial by fire. a very ugly old chinaman, who holds the white boy in high regard, learning of his plans and realizing his peril, prepares the trap-door in the floor beneath the magic curtain. when the hour comes for the trial by fire, the white boy, being ignorant of the secrets that will save him, appears doomed as the flames of the curtain surround him, consuming the very mask from his face and leaving him there, his identity revealed in stark reality. then as the rich chinaman, who has planned the trial, realizes the catastrophe that must befall his people if the rich youth is burned to death, prepares to cast himself into the flames, the floor opens to swallow the boy up, and the curtain fades. there is not space here to tell of the motives of love, hate, pride and patriotism that lay back of this bit of drama. enough that when it was done marjory dean pronounced it the most perfect bit of opera yet produced in america. "and you will be our diva?" jeanne was all eagerness. "i shall be proud to." "then," angelo's eyes shone, "then we are indeed rich once more." "yes. your beautiful rugs, your desk, your ancient friend the piano, they shall all come back to you." in her joy jeanne could have embraced him. as it was she wrung his hand in parting, and thanked him over and over for his part in this bit of work and adventure. "the music," she whispered to swen, "you will do it?" "it is as well as done. the wind whispering in the graveyard pines at midnight. this is done by reeds and strings. and there are the gongs, the deep melodious gongs of china. what more could one ask?" what more, indeed? "and now," said florence, after she had, some hours later, listened to jeanne's recital of that night's affairs, "now that it is all over, what is there in it all for you?" "for me?" jeanne spread her hands wide. "nothing. nothing at all." "then why--?" "only this," jeanne interrupted her, "you said once that one found the best joy in life by helping others. well then," she laughed a little laugh, "i have helped a little. "and you shall see, my time will come." was she right? does one sometimes serve himself best by serving others? we shall see. chapter xxx a surprise party time marched on, as time has a way of doing. a week passed, another and yet another. each night of opera found jeanne, still masquerading as pierre, at her post among the boxes. never forgetting that a priceless necklace had been stolen from those boxes and that she had run away, ever conscious of the searching eyes of jaeger and of the inscrutable shadow that was the lady in black, jeanne performed her tasks as one who walks beneath a shadow that in a moment may be turned into impenetrable darkness. for all this, she still thrilled to the color, the music, the drama, which is grand opera. "some day," she had a way of whispering to herself, "some happy day!" yet that day seemed indistinct and far away. the dark-faced menace to her happiness, he of the evil eye, appeared to have vanished. perhaps he was in jail. who could tell? the little frenchman with the message, too, had vanished. why had he never returned to ask pierre, the usher in the boxes, the correct address of petite jeanne? beyond doubt he believed himself the victim of a practical joke. "this boy pierre knows nothing regarding the whereabouts of that person named petite jeanne." thus he must have reasoned. at any rate the message was not delivered. if jeanne had lost a relative by death, if she had inherited a fortune or was wanted for some misdemeanor committed in france, she remained blissfully ignorant of it all. three times rosemary robinson had invited her to visit her at her home. three times, as pierre, politely but firmly, she had refused. "this affair," she told herself, "has gone far enough. before our friendship ripens or is blighted altogether, i must reveal to her my identity. and that i am not yet willing to do. it might rob me of my place in this great palace of art." thanks to marjory dean, the little french girl's training in grand opera proceeded day by day. without assigning a definite reason for it, the prima donna had insisted upon giving her hours of training each week in the role of the juggler. more than this, she had all but compelled jeanne to become her understudy in the forthcoming one-act opera to be known as "the magic curtain." at an opportune moment marjory dean had introduced the manager of the opera to all the fantastic witchery of this new opera. he had been taken by it. at once he had agreed that when the "juggler" was played, this new opera should be presented to the public. so jeanne lived in a world of dreams, dreams that she felt could never come true. "but i am learning," she would whisper to herself, "learning of art and life. what more could one ask?" then came a curious invitation. she was to visit the studios of fernando tiffin. the invitation came through marjory dean. strangest of all, she was to appear as pierre. "why pierre?" she pondered. "yes, why?" florence echoed. "but, after all, such an invitation! fernando tiffin is the greatest sculptor in america. have you seen the fountain by the art museum?" "where the pigeons are always bathing?" "yes." "it is beautiful." "he created that statue, and many others." "that reminds me," jeanne sought out her dress suit and began searching its pockets, "an artist, an interesting man with a beard, gave me his card. he told me to visit his studio. he was going to tell me more about lights and shadows." "lights and shadows?" "yes. how they are like life. but now i have lost his card." * * * * * * * * florence returned to the island. there she sat long in the sunshine by the rocky shore, talking with aunt bobby. she found the good lady greatly perplexed. "they've served notice," aunt bobby sighed, "the park folks have. all that is to come down." she waved an arm toward the cottonwood thicket and the "cathedral." "a big building is going up. steam shovels are working over on the west side now. any day, now, we'll have to pack up, meg and me. "and where'll we go? back to the ships, i suppose. i hate it for meg. she ought to have more schoolin'. but poor folks can't pick and choose." "there will be a way out," florence consoled her. but would there? who could tell? she hunted up meg and advised her to look into that mysterious package. "it may be a bomb." "if it is, it won't go off by itself." "it may be a gun." "don't need a gun. got two of 'em. good ones." "it may be stolen treasure." "well, i didn't steal it!" meg turned flashing eyes upon her. and there for a time the matter ended. * * * * * * * * jeanne attended the great sculptor's party. since she had not been invited to accompany marjory dean, she went alone. what did it matter? miss dean was to be there. that was enough. she arrived at three o'clock in the afternoon. a servant answered the bell. she was ushered at once into a vast place with a very high ceiling. all about her were statues and plaster-of-paris reproductions of masterpieces. scarcely had she time to glance about her when she heard a voice, saw a face and knew she had found an old friend--the artist who had spoken so interestingly of life, he of the beard, was before her. "so this is where you work?" she was overjoyed. "and does the great fernando tiffin do his work here, too?" "i am fernando tiffin." "oh!" jeanne swayed a little. "you see," the other smiled, putting out a hand to steady her, "i, too, like to study life among those who do not know me; to masquerade a little." "masquerade!" jeanne started. did he, then, see through her own pretenses? she flushed. "but no!" she fortified herself. "how could he know?" "you promised to tell me more about life." she hurried to change the subject. "ah, yes. how fine! there is yet time. "you see." he threw a switch. the place was flooded with light. "the thing that stands before you, the 'fairy and the child,' it is called. it is a reproduction of a great masterpiece: a perfect reproduction, yet in this light it is nothing; a blare of white, that is all. "but see!" he touched one button, then another, and, behold, the statue stood before them a thing of exquisite beauty! "you see?" he smiled. "now there are shadows, perfect shadows, just enough, and just enough light. "life is like that. there must be shadows. without shadows we could not be conscious of light. but when the lights are too bright, the shadows too deep, then all is wrong. "your bright lights of life at the opera house, the sable coats, the silks and jewels, they are a form of life. but there the lights are too strong. they blind the eyes, hide the true beauty that may be beneath it all. "but out there on that vacant lot, in the cold and dark--you have not forgotten?" "i shall never forget." jeanne's voice was low. "there the shadows were too deep. it was like this." he touched still another button. the beauty of the statue was once more lost, this time in a maze of shadows too deep and strong. "you see." his voice was gentle. "i see." "but here are more guests arriving. you may not be aware of it, but this is to be an afternoon of opera, not of art." soon enough jeanne was to know this, for, little as she had dreamed it, hers on that occasion was to be the stellar role. it was marjory dean who had entered. with her was the entire cast of "the magic curtain." "he has asked that we conduct a dress rehearsal here for the benefit of a few choice friends," miss dean whispered in jeanne's ear, as soon as she could draw her aside. "a strange request, i'll grant you," she answered jeanne's puzzled look. "not half so strange as this, however. he wishes you to take the stellar role." "but, miss dean!" "it is his party. his word is law in many places. you will do your best for me." she pressed jeanne's hand hard. jeanne did her best. and undoubtedly, despite the lack of a truly magic curtain, despite the limitations of the improvised stage, the audience was visibly impressed. at the end, as jeanne sank from sight beneath the stage, the great sculptor leaned over to whisper in marjory dean's ear: "she will do it!" "what did i tell you? to be sure she will!" the operatic portion of the program at an end, the guests were treated to a brief lecture on the art of sculpture. tea was served. the guests departed. through it all jeanne walked about in a daze. "it is as if i had been invited to my own wedding and did not so much as know i was married," she said to florence, later in the day. florence smiled and made no reply. there was more to come, much more. florence believed that. but jeanne had not so much as guessed. chapter xxxi florence meets the lady in black the great hour came at last. "to-night," jeanne had whispered, "'the magic curtain' will unfold before thousands! will it be a success?" the very thought that it might prove a failure turned her cold. the happiness of her good friends, angelo, swen and marjory dean was at stake. and to jeanne the happiness of those she respected and loved was more dear than her own. night came quite suddenly on that eventful day. great dark clouds, sweeping in from the lake, drew the curtain of night. jeanne found herself at her place among the boxes a full hour before the time required. this was not of her own planning. there was a mystery about this; a voice had called her on the telephone requesting her to arrive early. "now i am here," she murmured, "and the place is half dark. who can have requested it? what could have been the reason?" still another mystery. florence was with her. and she was to remain. a place had been provided for her in the box usually occupied by rosemary robinson and her family. "of course," she had said to florence, "they know that we had something to do with the discovery of the magic curtain. it is, perhaps, because of this that you are here." florence had smiled, but had made no reply. at this hour the great auditorium was silent, deserted. only from behind the drawn stage curtain came a faint murmur, telling of last minute preparations. "'the magic curtain.'" jeanne whispered. the words still thrilled her. "it will be witnessed to-night by thousands. what will be the verdict? to-morrow angelo and swen, my friends of our 'golden circle,' will be rich or very, very poor." "the magic curtain." surely it had been given a generous amount of publicity. catching a note of the unusual, the mysterious, the uncanny in this production, the reporters had made the most of it. an entire page of the sunday supplement had been devoted to it. a crude drawing of the curtains, pictures of hop long lee, of angelo, swen, marjory dean, and even jeanne were there. and with these a most lurid story purporting to be the history of this curtain of fire as it had existed through the ages in some little known buddhist temple. the very names of those who, wrapped in its consuming folds, had perished, were given in detail. jeanne had read, had shuddered, then had tried to laugh it off as a reporter's tale. in this she did not quite succeed. for her the magic curtain contained more than a suggestion of terror. she was thinking of all this when an attendant, hurrying up the orchestra aisle, paused beneath her and called her name, the only name by which she was known at the opera house: "pierre! oh, pierre!" "here. here i am." without knowing why, she thrilled to her very finger tips. "is it for this that i am here?" she asked herself. "hurry down!" came from below. "the director wishes to speak to you." "the director!" the blood froze in her veins. so this was the end! her masquerade had been discovered. she was to be thrown out of the opera house. "and on this night of all nights!" she was ready to weep. it was a very meek pierre who at last stood before the great director. "are you pierre?" his tone was not harsh. she began to hope a little. "i am pierre." "this man--" the director turned to one in the shadows. jeanne caught her breath. it was the great sculptor, fernando tiffin. "this man," the director repeated, after she had recovered from her surprise, "tells me that you know the score of this new opera, 'the magic curtain.'" "y-yes. yes, i do." what was this? her heart throbbed painfully. "and that of the 'juggler of notre dame.'" "i--i do." this time more boldly. "surely this can be no crime," she told herself. "this has happened," the director spoke out abruptly, "miss dean is at the robinson home. she has fallen from a horse. she will not be able to appear to-night. fernando tiffin tells me that you are prepared to assume the leading role in these two short operas. i say it is quite impossible. you are to be the judge." staggered by this load that had been so suddenly cast upon her slender shoulders, the little french girl seemed about to sink to the floor. fortunately at that instant her eyes caught the calm, reassuring gaze of the great sculptor. "i have said you are able." she read this meaning there. "yes." her shoulders were square now. "i am able." "then," said the director, "you shall try." ninety minutes later by the clock, she found herself waiting her cue, the cue that was to bid her come dancing forth upon a great stage, the greatest in the world. and looking down upon her, quick to applaud or to blame, were the city's thousands. in the meantime, in her seat among the boxes, florence had met with an unusual experience. a mysterious figure had suddenly revealed herself as one of petite jeanne's old friends. at the same time she had half unfolded some month-old mysteries. petite jeanne had hardly disappeared through the door leading to the stage when two whispered words came from behind florence's back: "remember me?" with a start, the girl turned about to find herself looking into the face of a tall woman garbed in black. reading uncertainty in her eyes, the woman whispered: "cedar point. gamblers' island. three rubies." "the 'lady cop'!" florence sprang to her feet. she was looking at an old friend. many of her most thrilling adventures had been encountered in the presence of this lady of the police. "so it was you!" she exclaimed in a low whisper. "you are jeanne's lady in black?" "i am the lady in black." "and she never recognized you?" "i arranged it so she would not. she never saw my face. i have been a guardian of her trail on many an occasion. "and now!" her figure grew tense, like that of a springing tiger. "now i am about to come to the end of a great mystery. you can help me. that is why i arranged that you should be here." "i?" florence showed her astonishment. "sit down." the girl obeyed. "some weeks ago a priceless necklace was stolen from this very box. you recall that?" "how could i forget?" florence sat up, all attention. "of course. petite jeanne, she is your best friend. "she cast suspicion upon herself by deserting her post here; running away. had it not been for me, she would have gone to jail. i had seen through her masquerade at once. 'this,' i said to myself, 'is petite jeanne. she would not steal a dime.' i convinced others. they spared her. "then," she paused for a space of seconds, "it was up to me to find the pearls and the thief. i think i have accomplished this; at least i have found the pearls. as i said, you can help me. you know the people living on that curious man-made island?" "i--" florence was thunderstruck. aunt bobby! meg! how could they be implicated? all this she said to herself and was fearful. then, like a bolt from the blue came a picture of meg's birthday package. "you know those people?" the "lady cop" insisted. "i--why, yes, i do." "you will go there with me after the opera?" "at night?" "there is need for haste. we will go in robinson's big car. jaeger will go, and rosemary. perhaps jeanne, too. you will be ready? that is all for now. "only this: i think jeanne is to have the stellar role to-night." "jeanne! the stellar role? how could that be?" "i think it has been arranged." "arranged?" there came no answer. the lady in black was gone. chapter xxxii sparkling treasure the strangest moment in the little french girl's career was that in which, as the juggler, she tripped out upon the opera house stage. more than three thousand people had assembled in this great auditorium to see and hear their favorite, the city's darling, marjory dean, perform in her most famous role. she was not here. they would know this at once. what would the answer be? the answer, after perfunctory applause, was a deep hush of silence. it was as if the audience had said: "marjory dean is not here. ah, well, let us see what this child can do." only her tireless work under miss dean's direction saved jeanne from utter collapse. used as she was to the smiling faces and boisterous applause of the good old light opera days, this silence seemed appalling. as it was, she played her part with a perfection that was art, devoid of buoyancy. this, at first. but as the act progressed she took a tight grip on herself and throwing herself into the part, seemed to shout at the dead audience: "you shall look! you shall hear! you must applaud!" for all this, when the curtain was run down upon the scene, the applause, as before, lacked enthusiasm. she answered but one curtain call, then crept away alone to clench her small hands hard in an endeavor to keep back the tears and to pray as she had never prayed before, that marjory dean might arrive prepared to play her part before the curtain went up on the second act. but now a strange thing was happening. from one corner of the house there came a low whisper and a murmur. it grew and grew; it spread and spread until, like a fire sweeping the dead grass of the prairies, it had passed to the darkest nook of the vast auditorium. curiously enough, a name was on every lip; "petite jeanne!" someone, a fan of other days, had penetrated the girl's mask and had seen there the light opera favorite of a year before. a thousand people in that audience had known and loved her in those good dead days that were gone. when jeanne, having waited and hoped in vain for the appearance of her friend and benefactor, summoned all the courage she possessed, and once more stepped upon the stage, she was greeted by such a round of applause as she had never before experienced--not even in the good old days of yesteryear. this vast audience had suddenly taken her to its heart. how had this come about? ah, well, what did it matter? they were hers, hers for one short hour. she must make the most of this golden opportunity. that which followed, the completing of the "juggler," the opening of "the magic curtain," the complete triumph of this new american opera, will always remain to jeanne a beautiful dream. she walked and danced, she sang and bowed as one in a dream. the great moment of all came when, after answering the fifth curtain call with her name, "petite jeanne! petite jeanne!" echoing to the vaulted ceiling, she left the stage to walk square into the arms of marjory dean. "why, i thought--" she paused, too astounded for words. "you thought i had fallen from a horse. so i did--a leather horse with iron legs. it was in a gymnasium. rosemary pushed me off. truly it did not hurt at all." "a frame-up!" jeanne stared. "yes, a frame-up for a good cause. 'the magic curtain' was yours, not mine. you discovered it. it was through your effort that this little opera was perfected. it was yours, not mine. your golden hour." "my golden hour!" the little french girl repeated dreamily. "but not ever again. not until i have sung and sung, and studied and studied shall i appear again on such a stage!" "child, you have the wisdom of the gods." "but the director!" jeanne's mood changed. "does he not hate you?" "quite the contrary. he loves me. why should he not? i have found him a fresh little american opera and a future star. his vast audience has gone away happy. what more could he ask?" what more, indeed? but what is this? florence is at jeanne's side. what is she saying? "they think they have discovered the whereabouts of rosemary's pearls. on the island." would she go with them? most certainly, and at once. but alas, she has no clothes save those of pierre, the usher of the boxes. ah, well, they must do. she will be ready at once. yes! yes! at once! right away! they were all tumbling helter-skelter into the big town car, jeanne, florence, rosemary, jaeger, the "lady cop" and even marjory dean, when a dapper little man approached the car to ask for petite jeanne. "she is here," the "lady cop" informed him. indeed she was, and wedged in so tight it was difficult to move. "ah! at last!" the little man sighed. "may i speak with her? it has been my privilege to bear a message from france." "a message!" jeanne thrilled to the tips of her toes. "i am afraid it is impossible." the "lady cop's" tone was business-like. "it is late. our errand is of the greatest importance." "so, too, is my message. if you will permit, i shall accompany you." looking in the crowded car, he opened the driver's door and, hearing no objections, took his place beside the chauffeur. "and mystery still pursued her," florence whispered to herself, as she studied the back of the little frenchman's head. jeanne was crowded in between rosemary and the "lady cop." as rosemary's arm stole about her, still conscious of her dress suit and her masquerade, she moved uneasily. "it's all right, little french girl," rosemary whispered. "i have known all the time that you were petite jeanne and not pierre. "all the same," she added, "i have enjoyed this little play at life quite as much as you." with a little sigh of relief jeanne sank back among the cushions. down the boulevard they sped; across a rattling wooden bridge, then across the wind-blown, sandy island. the car came to a stop at the entrance to the path that led to aunt bobby's "cathedral." "you would do well to let me go first," florence said to jaeger and the "lady cop." "meg, the girl, has two fine revolvers. she can use them and will do so if she believes she is being attacked." fortunately there was no trouble about securing an entrance. the strange pair had not yet retired. at the sound of florence's voice they threw wide the door. at sight of her numerous company, however, they appeared ready to slam it shut again. "just a little lark." florence reassured them. "we have come all the way from the opera to a 'cathedral.'" "well, come in then." aunt bobby moved aside to let them pass. "you see," said florence, when they had crowded into the small living room, "this lady here," she nodded at the "lady cop," "has a curious notion about that birthday package of yours, meg. she believes it contains a pearl necklace of great value." "but i--" meg's face flushed. "a reward of a thousand dollars has been offered for its return," the "lady cop" put in quickly. "if you have recovered it, that reward will be your own. think what that will mean." "but i have waited all this time!" meg protested. "and to-morrow is my birthday." florence glanced hastily at her watch. she smiled. "not to-morrow, but to-day." she showed that it was fifteen minutes past twelve. with her last objection overruled, meg produced the mysterious package. at once a little circle of eager ones gathered about her. with trembling hands, she untied the cord. she had all but unrolled the black wrapping when the package, slipping from her nerveless fingers, fell to the floor. at once there came flashing back to them all manner of color: white, pink, red and green. "not pearls alone, but diamonds, rubies, sapphires!" the "lady cop" said, in an awed tone. "what a treasure!" at the same time, with a little cry of joy, rosemary bent over to seize her string of pearls and clasp them about her neck. "a thousand dollars, meg!" it was aunt bobby who spoke. "they said a thousand. that will settle all our troubles for many a day." "and there will be more, much more." the "lady cop" began carefully gathering up the scattered jewels. "all these were stolen. there will be other rewards, and that which is never claimed may be sold." "that dark-faced one thought he had chosen a safe place to hide it!" meg laughed. "he was close pressed by the police," the "lady cop" explained. "it was his one chance. and he lost; which was right enough." "and now," came in a polite tone from the corner, "if i may have a word with petite jeanne?" it was the little frenchman. "but where is she? i do not see her." "meg," said jeanne imploringly, "have you a dress to loan me?" "sure have!" they disappeared. five minutes later jeanne reappeared in a blue calico dress. "i am petite jeanne." she bowed low to the little frenchman. "ah, yes! so you are. then it is my pleasure to announce that you are sole heir to a great castle in france. it is known as '_le neuf chateau_.' but it is truly very old and carries with it a broad estate." "a castle!" jeanne seemed undecided whether to shout or weep. "a great castle for poor little me?" "ah, my child," the frenchman put in quickly, "it will not be necessary--it is quite unnecessary for you to reside there. indeed, at this moment it is rented, for an unheard of rental, to a rich american who fancies castles and is fond of following the hounds." "then," exclaimed jeanne, "i shall accept! i shall return to my beautiful paris. and there, forever and ever, i shall study for the opera. is it not so, marjory dean? "and you, all of you, shall come to paris as my guests." "yes, yes, on some bright summer's day," the great prima donna agreed. that night--or shall we say morning?--petite jeanne arranged "pierre's" carefully pressed dress suit upon a hanger and hung it deep in the shadows of her closet. "good-bye pierre," she whispered. "you brought me fear and sorrow, hope, romance, a better understanding of life, and, after that, a brief moment of triumph. i wonder if it is to be farewell forever or only adieu for to-day." and now, my reader, it is time to draw the magic curtain. and what of that curtain? up to this moment you know quite as much as i do. it was used in but one performance of the opera that bears its name. it was then withdrawn by its owner. not, however, until a stage-property curtain, produced with the aid of tiny copper wires, strips of asbestos and colored ribbons, had been created to take its place. the secret of the original magic curtain is still locked in the breast of its oriental creator. the dark-faced one has not, so far as i know, been apprehended. perhaps he fled to another city and has there met his just fate. why he haunted the trail of the page of the opera, pierre, is known to him alone, and the doer of dark deeds seldom talks. and so the story ends. but what of the days that were to follow? did that little company indeed journey all the way to paris? and did they find mystery and great adventure in jeanne's vast castle? did jeanne tire of studying opera "forever and ever" and did she return to america? or did our old friend, florence, forgetting her blonde companion of many mysteries, go forth with others to seek adventure? if you wish these questions answered you must read our next volume, which is to be known as: _hour of enchantment_. * * * * * * * * transcriber's note: --obvious typographical errors were corrected without comment. non-standard spellings and dialect were left unchanged. a guest of ganymede by c. c. macapp illustrated by giunta [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of tomorrow june extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] on jupiter's moons great treasure awaits a daring man--and so does death! i his employer had paid enormously to have the small ship camouflaged as a chunk of asteroid-belt rock, and gil murdoch had successfully maneuvered it past the quarantine. now it lay snugly melted into the ice; and if above them enough water had boiled into space to leave a scar, that was nothing unique on ganymede's battered surface. in any case, the terran patrols weren't likely to come in close. murdoch applied heat forward and moved the ship gingerly ahead. "what are you doing now?" waverill demanded. murdoch glanced at the blind man. "trying to find a clear spot, sir, so i can see into the place." "what for? why don't you just contact them?" "just being careful, sir. after all, we don't know much about them." murdoch kept the annoyance out of his voice. he had his own reasons for wanting a preliminary look at the place, though the aliens had undoubtedly picked them up thousands of miles out and knew exactly where they were now. something solid, possibly a rock imbedded in the ice, bumped along the hull. murdoch stopped the ship, then moved on more slowly. the viewscreens brightened. he stopped the drive, then turned off the heat forward. water, milky with vapor bubbles, swirled around them, gradually clearing. in a few minutes it froze solid again and he could see. they were not more than ten feet from the clear area carved out of the ice. murdoch had the viewpoint of a fish in murky water, looking into an immersed glass jar. the place was apparently a perfect cylinder, walled by a force-field or whatever held back the ice. he could see the dark translucency of the opposite wall, about fifty yards away and extending down eighty or ninety feet from the surface. he'd only lowered the ship a third that far, so that from here he looked down upon the plain one-story building and the neat lawns and hedges around it. the building and greenery occupied only one-half of the area, the half near murdoch being paved entirely with gravel and unplanted. that, he presumed, was where they'd land. the building was fitted to the shape of its half-circle, and occupied most of it, like a half cake set in a round box with a little space around it. a gravel walkway, bordered by grass, ran along the straight front of the building and around the back curve of it. the hedges surrounded the half-circle at the outside. there was an inconspicuous closed door in the middle of the building. there were no windows in the flat gray wall. the plants looked terran, and apparently were rooted in soil, though there must be miles of ice beneath. artificial sunlight poured on the whole area from the top. murdoch had heard, and now was sure, that something held an atmosphere in the place. "what are we waiting for?" waverill wanted to know. murdoch reached for a switch and said, simply, "hello." * * * * * the voice that answered was precise and uninflected. "who are you." "my employer is frederick waverill. he has an appointment." "and you." "gilbert murdoch." there was a pause, then, "gilbert andrew murdoch. age thirty-four. born in the state called illinois." murdoch, startled, hesitated, then realized he'd probably been asked a question. "er--that's right." "there is a price on your head murdoch." murdoch hesitated again, then said, "there'd be a price on your own if earth dared to put it there." waverill gripped the arms of his seat and stood up, too vigorously for the light gravity. "never mind all that. i hired this man because he could make the contact and get me here. can you give me back my eyes?" "we can but first of all i must warn both of you against trying to steal anything from us or prying into our methods. several terrans have tried but none have escaped alive." waverill made an impatient gesture. "i've already got more money than i can count. i've spent a lot of it, a very great lot, on the metal you wanted, and i have it here in the ship." "we have already perceived it and we do not care what it has cost you. we are not altruists." that, thought murdoch, could be believed. he felt clammy. if they knew so much about him, they might also be aware of the years he'd spent sifting and assessing the rumors about them that circulated around the tenuous outlaw community of space. still, he'd been as discreet as was humanly possible. he wondered if waverill knew more than he pretended. he thought not; murdoch's own knowledge was largely meticulous deduction. this much murdoch knew with enough certainty to gamble his life on it: the treatments here involved a strange virus-like thing which multiplied in one's veins and, for presumably selfish or instinctive reasons, helped the body to repair and maintain itself. he knew for dead certain that the aliens always carefully destroyed the virus in a patient's veins before letting him go. he thought he knew why. the problem was to smuggle out any viable amount of the virus. even a few cells, he thought, would be enough if he could get away from here and get them into his own blood. for it would multiply; and what would be the going price for a drop of one's blood--for a thousandth of a drop--if it carried virtual immortality? a man could very nearly buy earth. * * * * * the voice was speaking again. "move straight ahead. the field will be opened for you." murdoch got the ship moving. he was blanked out again by the melting ice until they popped free into air, with an odd hesitation and then a rush. the ship was borne clear on some sort of a beam. he could hear water cascading outside the hull for a second, then it was quiet. he glanced at the aft viewer and could see the tunnel where they'd come out, with a little water still in the bottom, confined by the force-field again. the water that had escaped was running off along a ditch that circled the clearing. they were lowered slowly to the gravelled area. "leave the ship," the voice directed, "and walk to the doorway you see." murdoch helped waverill through the inner and outer hatches and led him toward the building. his information was that a force barrier sliced off this half of the circle from the other, and he could see that the hedges along the diameter pressed against some invisible plane surface. he hesitated as they came to it, and the voice said, "walk straight ahead to the door. the field will be opened for you." he guided waverill in the right direction. as they passed the mid-point he felt an odd reluctance, a tingle and a slight resistance. waverill grunted at it, but said nothing. the door slid open and they were in a plain room with doors at the left and right. the outer door closed behind them. the door on the right opened and murdoch took waverill through it. they were in a second room of the same size, bare except for a bench along one wall. the voice said, "remove your clothing and pile it on the floor." waverill complied without protest, and after a second murdoch did too. "step back," the voice said. they did. the clothing dropped through the floor, sluggishly in the light gravity. murdoch grunted. there were weapons built into his clothes, and he felt uneasy without them. at the end of the room away from the middle of the building was another door like the one they'd come through. it opened and a robot walked in. it was humanoid in shape, flesh-colored but without animal details. the head had several features other than the eyes, but none of them was nose, mouth or ears. it stood looking at them for a minute, then said in the familiar voice, "do not be alarmed if you feel something now." there was a tingling, then a warmth, then a vibration, and some other sensations not easy to classify. murdoch couldn't tell whether they came from the robot or not. it was obvious, though, that the robot was scanning them. he resisted an urge to move his hands more behind him. he'd been well satisfied with the delicate surgery, but now he imagined it awkward and obvious. the robot didn't seem to notice anything. after a minute the robot said, "through the door where i entered you will find a bedroom and a bath and a place to cook. it is best you retire now and rest." murdoch offered his arm to waverill, who grumbled a little but came along. the voice went on, seeming now to come from the ceiling, "treatment will begin tomorrow. during convalescence murdoch will care for waverill. sight will be restored within four days and you will be here one day after that then you may return to your ship. you will be protected from each other while you are here. if you keep your bargain you will be of no concern to us after you leave." murdoch watched waverill's face but it showed nothing. he was sure the billionaire already had arrangements to shut him up permanently as soon as he was no longer needed, and he didn't intend, of course, to let those arrangements work out. ii it developed that when the robot spoke of days, it meant a twenty-four-hour cycle of light and dark, with temperatures to suit. under other circumstances, the place would have been comfortable. the pantry was stocked with earthside food that didn't help murdoch's confidence any, since it was further evidence of the aliens' contacts with men. he cooked eggs and bacon, helped waverill eat, then washed up the dishes. he felt uneasy without his clothes; the more because the weapons in them, through years of habit, were almost part of himself. he thought, i'm getting too jumpy too soon. my nerves have to last a long time yet. while he was putting the dishes to drain, the robot walked into the room and watched him for a moment. then it said to waverill, "keep your hand on my shoulder and walk behind me." it reached for waverill's right hand and placed it on its own right shoulder, revealing in the process that its arm was double-jointed. then it simply walked through the wall. the blind man, without flinching and perhaps without being aware, passed through the seemingly firm substance. when they were gone, murdoch went quickly to the wall and passed his hands over it. solid. the voice came from the ceiling, "you can not penetrate the walls except when told to. any place you can reach in this half of the grounds is open to you. the half where your ship is will remain cut off. you may amuse yourself as you wish so long as you do not willfully damage anything. we have gone to great effort to make this place comfortable for terrans. do not impair it for those who may come later." murdoch smiled inwardly. he'd known the walls would be solid; he'd only wanted to check the alien's watchfulness. now he knew that there was more to it than just the robot, and that the voice was standard wherever it came from. not that the information helped any. * * * * * he walked back to the middle of the building and went through the door across the lobby. in that half of the building were a library, a gymnasium and what was evidently a solar system museum. there was nothing new to him in the museum. though there were useful tables and data in the library, he was too tense to study. the gymnasium he'd use later. he went outside, walking gingerly on the gravel. the rear of the building was a featureless semi-circle, the lawns and hedges unvaried. he took deep breaths of the air perfumed by flowers. he jumped at a sudden buzz near his elbow. a bee circled up from a blossom and headed for the top of the building to disappear over the edge. murdoch considered jumping for a hold and hauling himself up to the top of the building to see if there were hives there, but decided not to risk the aliens' displeasure. he realized now that he'd been hearing the bees all the time without recognizing it, and was annoyed at himself for not being more alert. he paid more attention now, and saw that there were other insects too; ants and a variety of beetles. there were no birds, mammals, or reptiles that he could see. he parted the hedge and leaned close to the clear wall, shading the surface with his hands to see into the ice. there were a few rocks in sight. he found one neatly sliced in two by the force-field, or whatever it was, showing a trail of striations in the ice above it where it had slowly settled. on ganymede, the rate of sink of a cool rock would be very slow in the ice. far back in the dimness he could see a few vague objects that might have been large rocks or ships. there were some other things with vaguely suggestive shapes, like long-eroded artifacts. nothing that couldn't have been the normal fall-in from space. he went to the front of the building again and stood for a while, looking at the graveled other half of the place. he couldn't see any insects there, and not a blade of grass. he approached the barrier and leaned against it, to see how it felt. it was rigid, but didn't feel glass-hard. rather it had a very slight surface softness, so he could press a fingernail in a fraction of a millimeter. he remembered that on earth bees would blunder into a glass pane, and looked around to see if they hit the barrier. they didn't. an inch or so from it, they turned in the air and avoided it. neither could he see any insects crawling on the invisible surface. he pressed his face closer, and noticed again the odd reluctance he'd felt when crossing on the way in. at ground level, a dark line not more than a quarter of an inch thick marked where the barrier split the soil. gravel heaped up against it on both sides. he looked again toward the ship. if things went according to plan, the ship's proximity alarm would go off some time within the next two days. he didn't think the aliens would let him go to the ship, but he expected the diversion to help him check out something he'd heard about the barrier. he flexed his thumbs, feeling the small lumps implanted in the web of flesh between thumb and finger on each hand. he'd practiced getting the tiny instruments in and out until he could do it without thinking. but now the whole project seemed ridiculously optimistic. he felt annoyed at himself again. it's the aliens, he thought, that are getting my nerves. i've pulled plenty of jobs as intricate as this without fretting this way. * * * * * he began another circuit around the building, and was at the rear when the voice said, almost at his shoulder, "murdoch, waverill wants you." his employer lay on his cot, looking drowsy. he scowled at murdoch's footsteps. "where you been? i want a drink." murdoch involuntarily glanced around. "will they let you have it, sir?" the voice came from the ceiling this time. "one ounce of hundred-proof liquor every four hours." "is there any here?" murdoch asked. "tell us where to find it and we will get it from your ship." murdoch told them where the ship's supply of beverages was stowed, and headed for the front of the building. the robot was already in the lobby. it allowed him to follow outside, but said, "stand back from the barrier." murdoch leaned against the building, trying not to show his eagerness. this was an unexpected break. he watched the ground level as the robot passed through the barrier. the dark line in the ground didn't change. the gravel stayed in place on both sides. neither did the plants to the sides move. evidently the barrier only opened at one spot to let things through. the robot had no trouble with the hatches, and came out quickly with a bottle in one hand. murdoch worried again whether it had discovered that the ship's alarm was set. if so, it didn't say anything as it drew near. it handed murdoch the bottle and disappeared into the building. after a few moments murdoch followed. he found waverill asleep, but at his footsteps the older man stirred. "murdoch? where's that drink?" "right away, sir." murdoch got ice from the alien's pantry, put it in a glass with a little water and poured in about a jigger of rye. he handed it to waverill, then poured himself a straight shot. rye wasn't his favorite, but it might ease his nerves a little. "mm," said waverill, "'s better." murdoch couldn't see any marks on him. "did they stick any needles into you, sir?" "i'm not paying you to be nosey." "of course not, sir. i only wanted to know so i wouldn't touch you in a sore spot." "there are no sore spots," waverill said. "i want to sleep a couple of hours, so go away. then i'll want a steak and a baked potato." "surely, sir." murdoch went outside again and toured the grounds without seeing anything new. he went to the barrier and stared at the ship for a while. then, to work off tension, he went into the gymnasium and took a workout. he had a shower, looked in on waverill and found him still asleep, then went back to the library. the books and tapes were all terran, with no clues about the aliens. the museum was no more helpful. it was a relief when he heard waverill calling. there were steaks in the larder, and potatoes. waverill grumbled at the wait while murdoch cooked. the older man still acted a little drowsy, but had a good appetite. after eating he wanted to rest again. murdoch wandered some more, then forced himself to sit down in the library and pretend to study. he went over his plans again and again. they were tenuous enough. he had to get a drop of waverill's blood sometime within the next day or two, and get it past the barrier. then he had to get it into the ship and, once away from ganymede, inoculate himself. the problem of waverill didn't worry him. the drowsiness would have to be coped with, but based on the time-table waverill's symptoms would give him, he should be able to set up a flight plan which would allow him to nap. the time dragged agonizingly. he had two more drinks during the "afternoon", took another workout and a couple of turns around the building, and finally saw the sunlamps dimming. after that there was a time of lying on his bunk trying to force himself to relax. finally he did sleep. iii he was awake again with the first light; got up and wandered restlessly into the pantry. in a few minutes he heard waverill stirring. "murdoch!" came the older man's voice. murdoch went to him. "yes, sir. i was just going to get breakfast." "i can see the light!" "you--that's wonderful, sir!" "i can see the light! dammit, where are you? take me outside!" "it's no brighter out there, sir." murdoch was dismayed. he'd counted on another day before waverill's sight began to return; with a chance to arrange a broken drinking glass, a knife in waverill's way, something to bring blood in an apparent accident. now.... "take me outside!" "yes, sir." murdoch, his mind spinning, guided the older man. the door slid open for them and waverill crowded through. as he stepped on the gravel with his bare feet, he said, "ouch! damn it!" "step lightly, sir, and it won't hurt." murdoch had a sudden wild hope that waverill would cut his feet on a sharp pebble. but there were no sharp pebbles; they were all rounded; and the light gravity made it even more unlikely. waverill raised his head and swung it to the side. "i can see spots of light up there." "the sunlamps, sir. they're getting brighter." "i can see where they are." the older man's voice was shaky. he looked toward murdoch. "i can't see you, though." "it'll come back gradually, sir. why don't you have breakfast now?" waverill told him what to do with breakfast. "i want to stay out here. how bright is it now? is it like full daylight yet?" "no, sir. it'll be a while yet. you'll be able to feel it on your skin." murdoch was clammy with the fear that the other's sight would improve too fast. he looked around for some sharp corner, some twig he could maneuver the man into. he didn't see anything. "what's that sweet smell?" waverill wanted to know. "flowers, sir. there's a blossoming hedge around the walkways." "i'll be able to see flowers again. i'll...." the older man caught himself as if ashamed. "tell me what this place looks like." murdoch described the grounds, meanwhile guiding waverill slowly around the curved path. somewhere, he thought, there'll be something sharp i can bump him into. he had a wild thought of running the man into a wall; but a bloody nose would be too obvious. "i can feel the warmth now," waverill said, "and i can tell that they're brighter." he was swiveling his head and squinting, experimenting with his new traces of vision. * * * * * murdoch carried on a conversation with half his attention, while his mind churned. he thought, i'll have to resist the feeling that it's safer here in back of the building. they'll be watching everywhere. he wished he could get the man inside; under the cover of serving breakfast he could improvise something. i'm sweating, he thought. i can just begin to feel the lamps, but i'm wet all over. i've got to-- he drew in his breath sharply. from somewhere he heard the buzz of a bee. his mind leaped upon the sound. he stopped walking, and waverill said, "what's wrong with you?" "nothing. i--stepped on a big pebble." "they all feel big to me. damned outrage; taking away a man's...." waverill's voice trailed off as he started experimenting with his eyes again. there were more bees now, and presently murdoch saw one loop over the edge of the building and search along the hedge. the first of them, he thought. there'll be more. he looked along the hedge. most of the blossoms hadn't really closed for the night, though the petals were drawn together. he walked as slowly as he dared. the buzzing moved tantalizingly closer, then away. a second buzz added itself. he heard the insect move past them, then caught it in the corner of his eye. waverill stopped. "is that a _bee_? here?" "i guess they keep them to fertilize the plants, sir." "they bother me. i can't tell where they are." "i'll watch out for them, sir." he could see the insect plainly now, and thought, i have an excuse to watch it. the buzz changed pitch as the bee started to settle, then changed again as it moved on a few feet. murdoch clamped his teeth in frustration. he tried to wipe his free hand where trousers should have been, and discovered that his thigh was sweaty too. he thought, surely waverill must feel how sweaty my arm is. the bee flirted with another flower, then settled on a petal. tense, murdoch subtly moved waverill toward the spot. he could see every move of the insect's legs as it crawled into the bell of the flower. "you can smell the blossoms more now, sir," he said. his throat felt dry, and he thought his voice sounded odd. "it's warming up and bringing out the smell, i guess." he halted, and tried not to let his arm tense or tremble. "this is a light blue blossom. can you see it?" "i--i'm not sure. i can see a bright spot a little above my head and right in front of me." "that's a reflection off the ice, sir. the flower's down here." holding his breath, he took waverill's hand and moved it toward the flower. he found himself gritting his teeth and wincing as waverill's fingers explored delicately around the flower. the bee crawled out, apparently not aware of anything unusual, and moved away a few inches. it settled on a leaf and began working its legs together. murdoch felt like screaming. waverill's fingers stopped their exploration, then, as the bee was silent, began again. waverill bent over to bring his eyes closer to his hand. * * * * * shaking with anxiety now, murdoch executed the small movements of his right hand that forced the tiny instrument out from between his thumb and forefinger. he felt a panicky desire to hurry, and forced himself to move slowly. he transferred the tiny syringe to his left hand, which was nearer waverill. waverill was about to pluck the blossom. murdoch moved his right hand forward, trying--in case the aliens could see, though he had his body in the way--to make the move casual. he flicked a finger near the bee. the bee leaped into the air, its buzz high-pitched and loud. waverill tensed. murdoch cried, "look out, sir!" and grabbed at waverill's hand. he jabbed the miniature syringe into the fleshy part of the hand, at the outside, just below the wrist. "damn you!" waverill bellowed, slapping at his right hand with his left. he jerked away from murdoch. "here, sir! let me help you!" "get away from me, you clumsy fool!" "please, sir. let me get the stinger out. you'll squeeze more poison into your skin." waverill faced him, a hand raised as if to strike. then he lowered it. "all right, damn you; and be careful about it." shakily, murdoch took waverill's hand. the syringe, dangling from the skin, held a trace of red in its minute plastic bulb. murdoch gasped for breath and fought to make his fingers behave. he got hold of the syringe and drew it out. pretending to drop it, he hid it in the junction of the third and fourth fingers of his left hand. he kept his body between them and the building, and tried to make his actions convincing. "there. it's out, sir." waverill was still cursing in a low voice. presently he stopped, but his face was still hard with anger. "take me inside." "yes, sir." murdoch was weak with reaction. he drew a painful breath, gave the older man his left arm and led him back. the tiny thing between his fingers felt as large and as conspicuous as a handgun. iv murdoch felt as if the entire place was lined with eyes, all focused on his left hand. the act of theft clearly begun, his life in the balance, he felt now the icy nausea of fear; a feeling familiar enough, and which he knew how to control, but which he still didn't like. fear. it's a strange thing, he thought. a peculiar thing. if you analyzed it, you could resolve it into the physical sick feeling and the wish in your mind, a very fervent wish, that you were somewhere else. sometimes, if it caught you tightly enough, it was almost paralyzing so that your limbs and even your lungs seemed to be on strike. when fear gripped him he always remembered back to that turning point, that act that had made him an outlaw and an exile from earth. he'd been a pilot in the space force, young, just out of the academy, and the bribe had seemed very large and the treason very small. it seemed incredibly naive, now, that he should not have understood that a double-cross was necessarily a part of the arrangement. it was in escaping at all, against odds beyond calculating, that he had learned that he thought faster and deeper than other men, and that he had guts. having guts turned out to be a different thing than he had imagined. it didn't mean that you stood grinning and calm while others went mad with fear. it meant you suffered all the panic, all the actual physical agony they did, but that you somehow stuck to the gun, took the buffeting and still had in a corner of your being enough wit to throw the counter-punch or think through to the way out. and that's what he had to do now. endure the fear and keep his wits. the robot had responded to waverill's loud demand. it barely glanced at waverill's hand, said, "it will heal quickly" and left. so far as murdoch could tell, it didn't look at him. as soon as he dared, he went and took a shower. in the process of lathering he inserted the syringe into the slit between thumb and forefinger of his left hand. in that hiding-place was a small plastic sphere holding a substance which ought to be nutrient to the virus. it was delicate work, but he'd practiced well and his fingers were under control now; and he got the point of the syringe into the sphere and squeezed. he relaxed the squeeze, felt the bulb return slowly to shape as it drew out some of the gummy stuff. he squeezed it back in, let the shower rinse the syringe and got that back into the pouch in his right hand. he didn't dare discard it. there was always the possibility of failure and a second try, though, the timing made it very remote. if the surgery was right, the pouches in his hand were lined with something impervious, so that none of the virus would get into his blood too soon. he lathered very thoroughly and rinsed off, then let a blast of warm air dry him. he felt neither fear nor elation now. rather there was a let-down, and a weary apprehension at the trials ahead. the next big step was to get the small sphere past the barrier ahead of the time of leaving. he was pretty sure that he couldn't smuggle it out on his person. the alien's final examination and sterilization would prevent that. * * * * * now there came the agony of waiting for the next step. he hadn't been able to rig things tightly enough to predict within several hours when it would come. it might be in one hour or in ten. a derelict was drifting in. he'd arranged that, but it might be late or it might be intercepted. he prepared a meal for waverill and himself; sweated out the interval and cooked another. he wandered from library to gymnasium to out-of-doors, and fought endlessly the desire to stand at the barrier and stare at the ship. the robot examined waverill and revealed only that things were going well. waverill spent most of his time bringing objects before his eyes, squinting and twisting his face, swallowed up in the ecstasy of his slowly returning vision. when darkness came the older man slept. murdoch lay twisting on his own couch or dozed fitfully, beset with twisted dreams. when the ship's alarm went off he didn't know at first whether it was real or another of the dreams. his mind was sluggish in clearing, and when he sat up he could hear sounds at the front of the building. suddenly in a fright that he would be too late, he jumped up and ran that way. the robot was already out of the building. it turned toward him with a suggestion of haste. "what is this." murdoch tried to act startled. "the ship's alarm! there's something headed in! maybe earth patrol!" "why did you leave the alarm on." "we--i guess i forgot in the excitement." "that was dangerous stupidity. how is the alarm powered." "it's self-powered. rechargeable batteries." "you are fortunate that it is only a dead hull drifting by, otherwise we would have to dispose of you at once. stay here. i will shut it off." murdoch pretended to protest mildly, then stood watching the robot go. his hands were moving in what he hoped looked like a gesture of futility. he got the plastic sphere out of its hiding-place and thumbed it like a marble. he held his breath. the robot crossed the barrier. murdoch flipped the sphere after it. he saw it arc across the line and bound once, then he lost it in the gravel. in the dim light from jupiter, low on the horizon, he could not find it again. desperately, he memorized the place in relation to the hedge. when he and waverill left, there would be scant time to look for it. the robot didn't take long to solve the ship's hatches, go in through the lock, and locate the alarm. the siren chopped off in mid-scream. the robot came back out and started toward him. involuntarily, he backed up against the building, wondering what the robot (or its masters) right deduce with alien senses, and whether swift punishment might strike him the next instant. but the robot passed him silently and disappeared indoors. after a while he followed it inside, lay down on his couch, and resumed the fitful wait. * * * * * the next morning waverill's eyes followed him as he fixed breakfast. there was life in them now, and purpose. the man looked younger, more vigorous, too. murdoch, trying not to sound nervous, asked, "can you see more now, sir?" "a little. sit me so the light falls on my plate." murdoch watched the other's attempts to eat by sight rather than feel, adding mentally to his own time-table of the older man's recovery. apparently waverill could see his plate, but no details of the food on it. there was no more drowsiness, though. the movements were deft except that they didn't yet correlate with the eyes. the eyes seemed to have a little trouble matching up too, sometimes. no doubt it would take a while to restore the reflexes lost over the years. waverill walked the grounds alone in mid-morning. murdoch, following far enough behind not to draw a rebuff, took the opportunity to spot his small treasure in the gravel beyond the barrier. once found, it was dismayingly visible. but there was nothing he could do now. he was sweating again, and hoped with a sort of half-prayer to fortune that his nerves wouldn't start to shatter once more. he made lunch, then set himself the job of waiting out the afternoon. ages later he cooked dinner. he managed to eat most of his steak, envying waverill the wolfish appetite that made quick work of the meal. the long night somehow wore through, and he embraced eagerly the small respite of breakfast. he felt unreal when the alien voice said, "do not bother to wash the dishes. lie down on your bunks for your final examination. when you awake you may leave." the fear spread through him again as he moved slowly to his couch. he thought, if they've caught me, this is when they'll kill me. he was afraid, no doubt of that; all the old symptoms were there. but, oddly, there was a trace of perverse comfort in the thought: maybe i've lost. maybe i'll just never wake up. then dizziness hit him. he was aware of a brief, feeble effort to resist it, then he slid into darkness. * * * * * he came awake still dizzy, and with a drugged feeling. his mouth was dry. breath came hard at first. he tried to open his eyes, but his lids were too stiff. he spent a few minutes just getting his breath to working, then he was able to open his eyes a little. when he sat up there was a wash of nausea. he sat on the edge of the bunk, head hung, until it lessened. gradually he felt stronger. waverill was sitting up too, looking no better than murdoch felt. he seemed to recover faster, though. murdoch thought. he's actually healthier than i am now. i hope he hasn't become a superman. the voice from the ceiling said, "your clothes are in the next room. dress and leave at once. the barriers will be opened for you." murdoch got to his feet and headed for the other room. he paused to let waverill go ahead, and noticed that waverill had no trouble finding the door. the older man wasn't talking this morning, and the jubilation he must feel at seeing again was confined, outwardly, to a tight grin. they dressed quickly, murdoch noting in the process that his clothes had been gone over carefully and all weapons removed. it didn't matter. but it did matter that he had to collect his prize on the way to the ship, and the sweaty anxiety was with him. as they went out the door, waverill stopped and let his eyes sweep about the grounds. what a cool character he is, murdoch thought. not a word. not a sign of emotion. waverill turned and started toward the ship. murdoch let him get a step ahead. his own eyes were searching the gravel. for a moment he had the panicky notion that it was gone; then he spotted it. he wouldn't have to alter his course to reach it. he saw waverill flinch a little as they crossed the barrier, then he too felt the odd sensation. he kept going, trying to bring his left foot down on the capsule. he managed to do it. taut with anxiety, he paused and half-turned as if for a last look back at the place. he could feel the sphere give a little; or maybe it was a pebble sinking into the ground. he twisted his foot. he thought he could feel something crush. he hesitated, in the agony of trying to decide whether to go on or to make more sure by dropping something and pretending to pick it up. he didn't have anything to drop. he thought, i've got to go on or they'll suspect. he turned. waverill had stopped and was looking back at him keenly. murdoch gripped himself, kept his face straight, and went on. waverill had to grope a little getting into the ship, as though his hands still didn't correlate with his eyes, but it was clear that he could see all right, even in the ship's dim interior. murdoch said, "your eyes seem to be completely well, sir." waverill was playing it cool too. "they don't match up very well yet, and i have to experiment to focus. it'll come back, though." he went casually to his seat and lowered himself into it. murdoch got into the pilot's seat. "better strap in, sir." * * * * * he didn't have long to wonder how they'd be sent off; the ship lifted and simply passed through whatever served as a ceiling. there was no restraint when murdoch turned on the gravs and took over. he moved off toward ganymede's north pole, gaining altitude slowly, watching his screens, listening to the various hums and whines as the ship came alive. the radar would have to stay off until they were away from ganymede, but the optical system showed nothing threatening. he moved farther from the satellite, keeping it between him and jupiter. "hold it here," waverill said. letting the ship move ahead on automatic, murdoch turned in pretended surprise. "what...." waverill had a heat gun trained steadily on him. "i'll give you the course." murdoch casually reached down beside the pilot's chair. a compartment opened under his fingers, and he lifted a gun of his own. waverill's mouth went tight as he squeezed the trigger. nothing happened. waverill glanced at the weapon. rage moved across his face. he hoisted the gun as if to throw it, then stopped as murdoch lifted his own gun a little higher. "you got to them," waverill said flatly. "the ones that did the remodeling job on this crate and hid that gun for you? of course. did you think you were playing with an idiot?" "i could have sworn they were beyond reach." "i reached them." murdoch got unstrapped and stood up. he had the ship's acceleration just as he wanted it. "and naturally i went over the ship while you were blind. get into your suit now, waverill." "why?" "i'm giving you a better break than you were going to give me. i'm putting you where the patrol will pick you up." "you won't make it, you son of a bitch. i've got some cards left." "i know where you planned to rendezvous. by the time you buy your way out of jail, i'll be out of your reach." "you _never_ will." "talk hard enough and i may decide to kill you right now." waverill studied his face for a moment, then slowly got to his feet. he went to the suit locker, got out his suit, and squirmed into it. murdoch grinned as he saw the disappointment on the other's face. the weapons were gone from the suit, too. he said, "zip up and get the helmet on, and get into the lock." waverill, face contorted with hate, complied slowly. murdoch secured the inner hatch behind the man, then got on the ship's intercom. "now, waverill, you'll notice it's too far for a jump back to ganymede. i'm going to spend about forty minutes getting into an orbit that'll give you a good chance. when i say shove off, you can either do it or stay where you are. if you stay, we'll be headed a different direction and i'll have to kill you for my own safety." he left the circuit open, and activated a spy cell so he could see into the lock. waverill was leaning against the inner hatch, conserving what heat he could. v murdoch set up a quick flight program, waited a minute to get farther from ganymede and the aliens, then turned on a radar search and set the alarm. he unzipped his left shoe, got it off and stood staring at it for a moment, almost afraid to turn it over. then he turned it slowly. there was a sticky spot on the sole. the muscles around his middle got so taut they ached. he hurried to the ship's med cabinet, chose a certain package of bandages and tore it open with unsteady fingers. there was a small vial hidden there. he unstoppered it and poured the contents onto the shoe sole. he let it soak while he checked the pilot panel, then hurried back. with a probe, he mulled the liquid around on the shoe sole and waited a minute longer. then he scraped all he could back into the vial and looked at it. there were a few bits of shoe sole in it, but none big enough to worry him. he got out a hypodermic and drew some of the fluid into it. the needle plugged. he swore, ejected a little to clear it and drew in some more. when he had his left sleeve pushed up, he looked at the vein in the bend of his elbow for a little while, then he took a deep breath and plunged the needle in. he hit it the first time. he was very careful not to get any air into the vein. he sighed, put the rest of the fluid back in the vial and stoppered it, and cleaned out the needle. then he put a small bandage on his arm and went back to the pilot's seat. he felt tired now that it was done. the scan showed nothing dangerous. waverill hadn't moved. murdoch opened his mouth to speak to him, then decided not to. he flexed his arm and found it barely sore, then went over his flight program again. he made a small adjustment. the acceleration was just over one g, and it made him a little dizzy. he wondered if he could risk a drink. it hadn't hurt waverill. he went to the small sink and cabinet that served as a galley, poured out a stiff shot into a glass, and mixed it with condensed milk. he took it back to the pilot's seat, not bothering with the free-fall cap, and drank it slowly. it was nearly time to unload waverill. he checked course again, then thumbed the mike. "all right, waverill. get going. you should be picked up within nine or ten hours." waverill didn't answer, but the panel lights showed the outer hatch activated. through the spy cell murdoch could see the stars as the hatch slowly opened. waverill jumped off without hesitating. murdoch liked the tough old man's guts, and hoped he'd make it all right. * * * * * he closed the hatch and fed new data into the autopilot. he sagged into the seat as the ship strained into a new course, then it eased off to a steady forward acceleration. he was ready to loop around another of jupiter's moons, then around the giant planet itself, on a course that should defy pursuit unless it were previously known. he flexed his arm. it was a little sorer now. he wondered when the drowsiness would hit him. he didn't want to trust the autopilot until he was safely past jupiter; if a meteor or a derelict got in the way, it might take human wits to set up a new course safely. he had all the radar units on now. the conic sweep forward showed the great bulge of jupiter at one side; no blips in space. the three plan position screens, revolving through cross-sections of the sphere of space around him, winked and faded with blips but none near the center. he thought, i've made it. i've gotten away with it, and i ought to feel excited. instead, he was only tired. he thought, i'll get up and fill a thermos with coffee, then i can sit here. he unstrapped and began to rise. then his eyes returned to one of the scopes. this particular one was seldom used in space; it was for planet landings. it scanned ahead in a narrow horizontal band, like a sea vessel's surface sweep. he'd planned only to use it as he transited jupiter, to cut his course in near to the atmosphere, and it was only habit that had made him glance at it. the bright green line showed no peaks, but at the middle, and for a little way to each side, it was very slightly uneven. he thought, it's just something in the system, out of adjustment. he looked at the forward sweep. there were no blips dead ahead. he moved the adjustments of the horizontal sweep, blurred the line, then brought it back to sharpness. except in the middle. the blurriness there remained. he opened a panel and punched automatic cross-checks, got a report that the instrument was in perfect order. he looked at the scope again. the blurred length had grown to either side. clammy sweat began to form on his skin. he punched at the computers, set up a program that would curve the ship off its path, punched for safety verification, and activated the autopilot. he heard the drive's whine move higher, but felt no answering lateral acceleration. he punched for three g deceleration, working frantically to get strapped in. the drive shrieked but there was no tug at his body. the blurred part of the green line was spreading. he realized he was pressing against the side of his seat. that meant the ship was finally swerving. but he'd erased that program. and now, abruptly, deceleration hit him. he sagged forward against his straps, gasping for air. he heard a new whine as his seat automatically began to turn, pulling in the straps on one side, as it maneuvered to face him away from the deceleration. he was crushed sideways for a while, then the seat locked and he pressed hard against the back of it. this he could take, though he judged it was five or six g's. he labored for breath. the deceleration cut off and he was in free fall. his screens and scopes were dark. the drive no longer whined. he thought, something's got me. something that can hide from radar, and control a ship from a distance like a fish on the end of a spear. he tore at the straps, got free and leaped for the suit locker. he dressed in frantic haste, cycled the air lock ... and found himself on the surface of a planet. he had been returned to ganymede. panicked, he fled; then abruptly, where nothing had been, there was something solid in his path. he turned his face to avoid the impact and tried to get his arms in front of him. he crashed into something that did not yield. his arms slid around something, and without opening his eyes he knew the robot had him. he tried to fight, but his strength was pitiful. he relaxed and tried to think. in his suit helmet radio the voice of the robot said, "we will put you to sleep now." he fought frantically to break loose. his mind screamed, no! if you go to sleep now you'll never.... * * * * * he was wrong. his first waking sensation was delicious comfort. he felt good all over. he came a little more awake and his spaceman's mind began to reason: there's light gravity, and i'm supported by the armpits. no acceleration. i'm breathing something heavier than air, but it feels good in my lungs, and tastes good. his eyelids unlocked themselves, and the shock of seeing was like a knife in his middle. he was buried in the ice, looking out at the place where he and waverill had stayed. he was far into the ice and could only see distortedly. between him and the open were various things; rocks, eroded artifacts. at the edge of his vision on the right was a vaguely animal shape. terror made him struggle to turn his head. he couldn't; he was encased in something just tight enough to hold him. his nose and mouth were free, and a draft of the cloying atmosphere moved past them so that he could breath. there was enough space before his eyes for him to see the stuff swirling like a heavy fog. he thought, i'm being fed by what i breathe. i don't feel hungry. in horror, he forced the stuff out of his lungs. it was hard to exhale. he resisted taking any back in, but eventually he had to give up and then he fought to get it in. he tried to cry out, but the sound was a muffled nothing. he yielded to panic and struggled for a while without accomplishing anything, except that he found that his casing did yield, very slowly, if he applied pressure long enough. that brought a little sanity, and he relaxed again until the exhaustion wore off. there was movement in the vague shape at his right, and he felt a compulsion to see it more plainly. even after it was in his vision, horrified fascination kept him straining until his head was turned toward it. it was alive; obscenely alive, a caricature of parts of a man. there was no proper skin, but an ugly translucent membrane covered it. the whole was encased as murdoch himself must be, and from the casing several pipes stretched back into the dark ice. the legs were entirely gone, and only stubs of arms remained, sufficient for the thing to hang from in its casing. bloated lungs pulsed slowly, breathing in and out a misty something like what murdoch breathed. the stomach was shrunken to a small repugnant sack, hanging at the bottom with what might be things evolved from liver and kidneys. blood moved from the lungs through the loathsome mess, pumped by an overgrown heart that protruded from between the lungs. a little blood circulated up to what had once been the head. the skull was gone. the nose and mouth were one round hole where the nutrient vapor puffed in and out. the brain showed horrible and shrunk through the membrane. a pair of lidless idiot eyes stared unmovingly in murdoch's direction. the whole jawless head was the size of murdoch's two fists doubled up, if he could judge the size through the distortion of the ice. * * * * * sick but unable to vomit, murdoch forced his eyes away from the thing. now the aliens spoke to him, from somewhere. "pretty isn't he murdoch. he makes a good bank for the virus. you were right you know it does offer great longevity but it has its own ideas of what a host should be." murdoch produced a garbled sound and the aliens spoke again. "your words are indistinct but perhaps you are asking how long it took him to become this way. he was one of our first visitors the very first who tried to steal from us. his plan was not as clever as your own which we found diverting though of course you had no chance against our science which is beyond your understanding." and, in answer to his moan, they said, "do not be unphilosophical murdoch you will find many thoughts to occupy your time." i'll go mad, he thought. that's the way out! but he doubted that even the escape of madness would be allowed. end [transcriber's note: original text had two sections labeled "iii". sections after first iii have been renumbered.] transcriber's note: the book's frontispiece was missing. there were no other illustrations. how janice day won by helen beecher long author of "janice day the young homemaker," "the testing of janice day," "the mission of janice day," etc. illustrated by corinne turner the goldsmith publishing co. cleveland copyright, , by sully & kleinteich contents chapter i. trouble from near and far ii. "talky" dexter, indeed iii. "the seventh abomination" iv. a rift in the honeymoon v. "the bluebird--for happiness" vi. the tentacles of the monster vii. swept on by the current viii. real trouble ix. how nelson took it x. how polktown took it xi. "men must work while women must weep" xii. an unexpected emergency xiii. into the lion's den xiv. a declaration of war xv. and now it is distant trouble xvi. one matter comes to a head xvii. the opening of the campaign xviii. hopewell sells his violin xix. the gold coin xx. suspicions xxi. what was in the paper xxii. deep waters xxiii. joseph us comes out for prohibition xxiv. another gold piece xxv. in doubt xxvi. the tide turns xxvii. the tempest xxviii. the enemy retreats xxix. the truth at last xxx. marm parraday does her duty how janice day won chapter i trouble from near and far at the corner of high street, where the lane led back to the stables of the lake view inn, janice day stopped suddenly, startled by an eruption of sound from around an elbow of the lane--a volley of voices, cat-calls, and ear-splitting whistles which shattered polktown's usual afternoon somnolence. one youthful imitator expelled a laugh like the bleating of a goat: "na-ha-ha-ha! ho! jim nar-ha-nay! there's a brick in your hat!" another shout of laugher and a second boy exclaimed: "look out, old feller! you'll spill it!" all the voices seemed those of boys; but this was an hour when most of the town lads were supposed to be under the more or less eagle eye of mr. nelson haley, the principal of the polktown school. janice attended the middletown seminary, and this chanced to be a holiday at that institution. she stood anxiously on the corner now to see if her cousin, marty, was one of this crowd of noisy fellows. with stumbling feet, and with the half dozen laughing, mocking boys tailing him, a bewhiskered, rough-looking, shabby man came into sight. his appearance on the pleasant main thoroughfare of the little lakeside town quite spoiled the prospect. before, it had been a lovely scene. young spring, garbed only in the tender greens of the quickened earth and the swelling buds of maple and lilac, had accompanied janice day down hillside avenue into high street from the old day house where she lived with her uncle jason, her aunt 'mira, and marty. all the neighbors had seen janice and had smiled at her; and those whose eyes were anointed by romance saw spring dancing by the young girl's side. her eyes sparkled; there was a rose in either cheek; her trim figure in the brown frock, well-built walking shoes of tan, and pretty toque, was an effective bit of life in the picture, the background of which was the sloping street to the steamboat dock and the beautiful, blue, dancing waters of the lake beyond. an intoxicated man on the streets of polktown during the three years of janice day's sojourn here was almost unknown. there had been no demand for the sale of liquor in the town until lem parraday, proprietor of the lake view inn, applied to the town council for a bar license. the request had been granted without much opposition. mr. cross moore, president of the council, held a large mortgage on the parraday premises, and it was whispered that this fact aided in putting the license through in so quiet a way. it was agreed that polktown was growing. the "boom" had started some months before. already the sparkling waters of the lake were plied by a new _constance colfax_, and the c. v. railroad was rapidly completing its branch which was to connect polktown with the eastern seaboard. whereas in the past a half dozen traveling men might visit the town in a week and put up at the inn, there had been through this winter a considerable stream of visitors. and it was expected that the inn, as well as every house that took boarders in the town, would be well patronized during the coming summer. to janice day the winter had been lovely. she had been very busy. well had she fulfilled her own tenet of "do something." in service she found continued joy. janice loved polktown, and almost everybody in polktown loved her. at least, everybody knew her, and when these young rascals trailing the drunken man spied the accusing countenance of janice they fell back in confusion. she was thankful her cousin marty was not one of them; yet several, she knew, belonged to the boys' club, the establishment of which had led to the opening of polktown's library and free reading-room. however, the boys pursued tim narnay no farther. they slunk back into the lane, and finally, with shrill whoops and laughter, disappeared. the besotted man stood wavering on the curbstone, undecided, it seemed, upon his future course. janice would have passed on. the appearance of the fellow merely shocked and disgusted her. her experience of drunkenness and with drinking people, had been very slight indeed. gossip's tongue was busy with the fact that several weak or reckless men now hung about the lake view inn more than was good for them; and janice saw herself that some boys had taken to loafing here. but nobody in whom she was vitally interested seemed in danger of acquiring the habit of using liquor just because lem parraday sold it. the ladies of the sewing society of the union church missed "marm" parraday's brown face and vigorous tongue. it was said that she strongly disapproved of the change at the inn, but lem had overruled her for once. "and, poor woman!" thought janice now, "if she has to see such sights as this about the inn, i don't wonder that she is ashamed." the train of her thought was broken at the moment, and her footsteps stayed. running across the street came a tiny girl, on whose bare head the spring sunshine set a crown of gold. such a wealth of tangled, golden hair janice had never before seen, and the flowerlike face beneath it would have been very winsome indeed had it been clean. she was a neglected-looking little creature; her patched clothing needed repatching, her face and hands were begrimed, and---- "goodness only knows when there was ever a comb in that hair!" sighed janice. "i would dearly love to clean her up and put something decent to wear upon her, and----" she did not finish her wish because of an unexpected happening. the little girl came so blithely across the street only to run directly into the wavering figure of the intoxicated jim narnay. she screamed as narnay seized her by one thin arm. "what ye got there?" he demanded, hoarsely, trying to catch the other tiny, clenched fist. "oh! don't do it! don't do it!" begged the child, trying her best to slip away from his rough grasp. "ye got money, ye little sneak!" snarled the man, and he forced the girl's hand open with a quick wrench and seized the dime she held. he flung her aside as though she had been a wisp of straw, and she would have fallen had not janice caught her. indignantly the older girl faced the drunken ruffian. "you wicked man! how can you? give her back that money at once! why, you--you ought to be arrested!" "aw, g'wan!" growled the fellow. "it's my money." he stumbled back into the lane again--without doubt making for the rear door of the inn barroom from which he had just come. the child was sobbing. "wait!" exclaimed janice, both eager and angry now. "don't cry. i'll get your ten cents back. i'll go right in and tell mr. parraday and he'll make him give it up. at any rate he won't give him a drink for it." the child caught janice's skirt with one grimy hand. "don't--don't do that, miss," she said, soberly. "why not?" "'twon't do no good. pop's all right when he's sober, and he'll be sorry for this. i oughter kep' my eyes open. ma told me to. i could easy ha' dodged him if i'd been thinkin'. but--but that's all ma had in the house and she needed the meal." "he--he is your father?" gasped janice. "oh, yes. i'm sophie narnay. that's pop. and he's all right when he's sober," repeated the child. janice day's indignation evaporated. now she could feel only sympathy for the little creature that was forced to acknowledge such a man for a parent. "ma's goin' to be near 'bout distracted," sophie pursued, shaking her tangled head. "that's the only dime she had." "never mind," gasped janice, feeling the tears very near to the surface. "i'll let you have the dime you need. is--is your papa always like that?" "oh, no! oh, no! he works in the woods sometimes. but since the tavern's been open he's been drinkin' more. ma says she hopes it'll burn down," added sophie, with perfect seriousness. suddenly janice felt that she could echo that desire herself. ethically two wrongs do not make a right; but it is human nature to see the direct way to the end and wish for it, not always regarding ethical considerations. janice became at that moment converted to the cause of making polktown a dry spot again on the state map. "my dear!" she said, with her arm about the tangle-haired little sophie, "i am sorry for--for your father. maybe we can all help him to stop drinking. i--i hope he doesn't abuse you." "he's awful good when he's sober," repeated the little thing, wistfully. "but he ain't been sober much lately." "how many are there of you, sophie?" "there's ma and me and johnny and eddie and the baby. we ain't named the baby. ma says she ain't sure we'll raise her and 'twould be no use namin' her if she ain't going to be raised, would it?" "no-o--perhaps not," admitted janice, rather startled by this philosophy. "don't you have the doctor for her?" "once. but it costs money. and ma's so busy she can't drag clean up the hill to doc poole's office very often. and then--well, there ain't been much money since pop come out of the woods this spring." her old-fashioned talk gave janice a pretty clear insight into the condition of affairs at the narnay house. she asked the child where she lived and learned the locality (down near the shore of pine cove) and how to get to it. she made a mental note of this for a future visit to the place. "here's another dime, sophie," she said, finding the cleanest spot on the little girl's cheek to kiss. "your father's out of sight now, and you can run along to the store and get the meal." "you're a good 'un, miss," declared sophie, nodding. "come and see the baby. she's awful pretty, but ma says she's rickety. good-bye." the little girl was away like the wind, her broken shoes clattering over the flagstones. janice looked after her and sighed. there seemed a sudden weight pressing upon her mind. the sunshine was dimmed; the sweet odors of spring lost their spice in her nostrils. instead of strolling down to the dock as she had intended, she turned about and, with lagging step, took her homeward way. the sight of this child's trouble, the thought of narnay's weakness and what it meant to his unfortunate family, brought to mind with crushing force janice's own trouble. and this personal trouble was from afar. amid the kaleidoscopic changes in mexican affairs, janice's father had been laboring for three years and more to hold together the mining properties conceded to him and his fellow-stockholders by the administration of porfirio diaz. in the battle-ridden state of chihuahua mr. broxton day was held a virtual prisoner, by first one warring faction and then another. at one time, being friendly with a certain chief of the belligerents, mr. day had taken out ore and had had the mine in good running condition. some money had flowed into the coffers of the mining company. janice benefited in a way during this season of plenty. now, of late, the yaquis had swept down from the mountains, mr. day's laborers had run away, and his own life was placed in peril again. he wrote little about his troubles to his daughter, living so far away in the vermont village, but his bare mention of conditions was sufficient to spur janice's imagination. she was anxious in the extreme. "if daddy would only come home on a visit as he had expected to this spring!" was the longing thought now in her mind. "oh, dear me! what matter if the season does change? it won't bring him back to me. i'd--i'd sell my darling car and take the money and run away to him if i dared!" this was a desperate thought indeed, for the kremlin automobile her father had bought janice the year before remained the apple of her eye. that very morning marty had rolled it out of the garage he and his father had built for it, and started to overhaul it for his cousin. marty had become something of a mechanic since the arrival of the kremlin at the day place. the roads were fast drying up, and marty promised that the car would soon be in order. but the thought now served to inspire no anticipation of pleasure in janice's troubled mind. she passed major price just at the foot of hillside avenue. the major was polktown's moneyed man--really the magnate of the village. his was the largest house on the hill--a broad, high-pillared colonial mansion with a great, shaded, sloping lawn in front. an important looking house was the major's and the major was important looking, too. but janice noted more particularly than ever before that there were many purple veins distinctly lined upon the major's nose and cheeks and that his eyes were moist and wavering in their glance. he used a cane with a flourish; but his legs had an unsteadiness that a cane could not correct. "good day! good day, miss janice! happy to see you! fine spring weather--yes, yes," he said, with great cordiality, removing his silk hat. "charming weather, indeed. it has tempted me out for a walk--yes, yes!" and he rolled by, swinging his cane and bobbing his head. janice knew that nowadays the major's walks always led him to the lake view inn. mrs. price and maggie did their best to hide the major's missteps, but the children on the streets, seeing the local magnate making heavy work of his journey back up the hill, would giggle and follow on behind, an amused audience. this was another victim of the change in polktown's temperance situation. poor major price---- "hi, janice! did you notice the 'still' the major's got on?" called the cheerful voice of marty, her cousin. "he's got more than he can carry comfortably already; walky dexter will be taking him home again. he did the other night." "no, marty! did he?" cried the troubled girl. "sure," chuckled marty. "walky says he thinks some of giving up the express business and buyin' himself a hack. some of these old soaks around town will be glad to ride home under cover after a session at lem parraday's place. think of walky as a 'nighthawk'!" and marty, who was a short, freckled-faced boy several years his cousin's junior, went off into a spasm of laughter. "don't, marty!" cried janice, in horror. "don't talk so lightly about it! why, it is dreadful!" "what's dreadful? walky getting a hack?" "be serious," commanded his cousin, who really had gained a great deal of influence over the thoughtless marty during the time she had lived in polktown. "oh, marty! i've just seen such a dreadful thing!" "hullo! what's that?" he asked, eyeing her curiously and ceasing his laughter. he knew now that she was in earnest. "that horrid old jim narnay--you know him?" "sure," agreed marty, beginning to grin faintly again. "he was intoxicated--really staggering drunk. and he came out of the back door of the inn, and some boys chased him out on to the street, hooting after him. perry grimes and sim howell and some others. old enough to know better----" "he, he!" chuckled marty, exploding with laughter again. "old narnay's great fun. one of the fellows the other day told him there was a brick in his hat, and he took the old thing off to look into it to see if it was true. then he stood there and lectured us about being truthful. he, he!" "oh, marty!" ejaculated janice, in horror. "you never! you don't! you _can't_ be so mean!" "hi tunket!" exploded the boy. "what's the matter with you? what d'ye mean? 'i never, i don't, i can't'! what sort of talk is that?" "there's nothing funny about it," his cousin said sternly. "i want to know if _you_ would mock at that poor man on the street?" "at narnay?" "yes." "why not?" demanded marty. "he's only an old drunk. and he is great fun." "he--he is disgusting! he is horrid!" cried the girl earnestly. "he is an awful, ruffianly creature, but he's nothing to laugh at. listen, marty!" and vividly, with all the considerable descriptive powers that she possessed, the girl repeated what had occurred when little sophie narnay had run into her drunken parent on the street. marty was a boy, and not a thoughtful boy at all; but, as he listened, the grin disappeared from his face and he did not look like laughing. "whew! the mean scamp!" was his comment. "poor kid! do you s'pose he hurts her?" "he hurts her--and her mother--and the two little boys--and that unnamed baby--whenever he takes money to spend for drink. it doesn't particularly matter whether he beats her. i don't think he does that, or the child would not love him and make excuses for him. but tell me, marty day! is there anything funny in a man like that?" "whew!" admitted the boy. "it does look different when you think of it that way. but some of these fellers that crook their elbows certainly do funny stunts when they've had a few!" "marty day!" cried janice, clasping her hands, "i didn't notice it before. but you even _talk_ differently from the way you used to. since the bar at the inn has been open i believe you boys have got hold of an entirely new brand of slang." "huh?" said marty. "why, it is awful! i had been thinking that mr. parraday's license only made a difference to himself and poor marm parraday and his customers. but that is not so. everybody in polktown is affected by the change. i am going to talk to mr. meddlar about it, or to elder concannon. something ought to be done." "hi tunket! there ye go!" chuckled marty. "more _do something_ business. you'd better begin with walky." "begin what with walky?" "your temperance campaign, if that's what you mean," said the boy, more soberly. "not walky dexter!" exclaimed janice, amazed. "you don't mean the liquor selling has done him harm?" "well," marty said slowly, "walky takes a drink now and then. sometimes the drummers he hauls trunks and sample-cases for give him a drink. as long as he couldn't get it in town, walky never bothered with the stuff much. but he was a little elevated saturday night--that's right." "oh!" gasped janice, for the town expressman was one of her oldest friends in polktown, and a man in whom she took a deep interest. a slow grin dawned again on marty's freckled countenance. "ye ought to hear him when he's had a drink or two. you called him 'talkworthy' dexter; and he sure is some talky when he's been imbibing." "oh, marty, that's dreadful!" and janice sighed. "it's just wicked! polktown's been a sleepy place, but it's never been wicked before." her cousin looked at her admiringly. "hi jinks, janice! i bet you got it in your mind to stir things up again. i can see it in your eyes. you give polktown its first clean-up day, and you've shook up the dry bones in general all over the shop. there's going to be _something doing_, i reckon, that'll make 'em all set up and take notice." "you talk as though i were one of these awful female reformers the funny papers tell about," janice said, with a little laugh. "you see nothing in my eyes, marty, unless it's tears for poor little sophie narnay." the cousins arrived at the old day house and entered the grass-grown yard. it was an old-fashioned, homely place, a rambling farmhouse up to which the village had climbed. there was plenty of shade, lush grass beneath the trees, with crocuses and other spring flowers peeping from the beds about the front porch, and sweet peas already breaking the soil at the side porch and pump-bench. a smiling, cushiony woman met janice at the door, while marty went whistling barnward, having the chores to do. aunt 'mira nowadays usually had a smile for everybody, but for janice always. "your uncle's home, janice," she said, "and he brought the mail." "oh!" cried the girl, with a quick intake of breath. "a letter from daddy?" "wal--i dunno," said the fleshy woman. "i reckon it must be. yet it don't look just like brocky day's hand of write. see--here 'tis. it's from mexico, anyway." the girl seized the letter with a gasp. "it--it's the same stationery he uses," she said, with a note of thankfulness. "i--i guess it's all right. i'll run right up and read it." she flew upstairs to her little room--her room that looked out upon the beautiful lake. she could never bring herself to read over a letter from her father first in the presence of the rest of the family. she sat down without removing her hat and gloves, pulled a tiny hairpin from the wavy lock above her ear and slit the thin, rice-paper envelope. two enclosures were shaken out into her lap. chapter ii "talky" dexter, indeed! the moments of suspense were hard to bear. there was always a fluttering at janice's heart when she received a letter from her father. she always dreamed of him as a mariner skirting the coasts of uncertainty. there was no telling, as aunt 'mira often said, what was going to happen to broxton day next. first of all, on this occasion, the young girl saw that the most important enclosure was the usual fat letter addressed to her in daddy's hand. with it was a thin, oblong card, on which, in minute and very exact script, was written this flowery note: "with respect i, whom you know not, venture to address you humbly, and in view of the situation of your honorable father, the señor b day, beg to make known to you that the military authorities now in power in this district have refused him the privilege of sending or receiving mail. yet, fear not, sweet señorita; while the undersigned retains the boon of breath and the power of brain and arm, thy letters, if addressed in my care, shall reach none but thy father's eye, and his to thee shall be safely consigned to the government mails beyond the rio grande. "faithfully thine, "juan dicampa." who the writer of this peculiar communication was, janice had no means of knowing. in the letter from her father which she immediately opened, there was no mention of juan dicampa. mr. day did say, however, that he seemed to have incurred the particular enmity of the zapatist chief then at the head of the district because he was not prepared to bribe him personally and engage his ragged and barefoot soldiery to work in the mine. he did not say that his own situation was at all changed. rather, he joked about the half-breeds and the pure-blood yaquis then in power about the mine. either mr. broxton day had become careless because of continued peril, or he really considered these indians less to be feared than the brigands who had previously overrun this part of chihuahua. however, it was good to hear from daddy and to know that--up to the time the letter was written, at least--he was all right. she went down to supper with some cheerfulness, and took the letter to read aloud, by snatches, during the meal. a letter from mexico was always an event in the day household. marty was openly desirous of emulating "uncle brocky" and getting out of polktown--no matter where or how. aunt 'mira was inclined to wonder how the ladies of mexico dressed and deported themselves. uncle jason observed: "i've allus maintained that broxton day is a stubborn and foolish feller. why! see the strain he's been under these years since he went down to that forsaken country. an' what for?" "to make a fortune, dad," interposed marty. "hi tunket! wisht i was in his shoes." "money ain't ev'rything," said uncle jason, succinctly. "well, it's a hull lot," proclaimed the son. "i reckon that's so, jason," aunt almira agreed. "it's his money makin' that leaves janice so comfterble here. and her automobile----" "oh, shucks! is money wuth life?" demanded mr. day. "what good will money be to him if he's stood up against one o' them dough walls and shot at by a lot of slantindicular-eyed heathen?" "hoo!" shouted marty. "the mexicans ain't slant-eyed like chinamen and japs." "and they ain't heathen," added aunt almira. "they don't bow down to figgers of wood and stone." "besides, uncle," put in janice, softly, and with a smile, "it is _adobe_ not _dough_ they build their houses of." "huh!" snorted uncle jason. "don't keer a continental. he's one foolish man. he'd better throw up the whole business, come back here to polktown, and i'll let him have a piece of the old farm to till." "oh! that would be lovely, uncle jason!" cried janice, clasping her hands. "if he only _could_ retire to dear polktown for the rest of his life and we could live together in peace." "hi tunket!" exclaimed marty, pushing back his chair from the supper table just as the outer door opened. "he kin have _my_ share of the old farm," for marty had taken a mighty dislike to farming and had long before this stated his desire to be a civil engineer. "at it ag'in, air ye, marty?" drawled a voice from the doorway. "if repetition of what ye want makes detarmination, mart, then you air the most detarmined man since lot's wife--and she was a woman, er-haw! haw! haw!" "come in, walky," said uncle jason, greeting the broad and ruddy face of his neighbor with a brisk nod. "set up and have a bite," was aunt 'mira's hospitable addition. "no, no! i had a snack down to the tavern, marthy's gone to see her folks terday and i didn't 'spect no supper to hum. i'm what ye call a grass-widderer. haw! haw! haw!" explained the local expressman. walky's voice seemed louder than usual, his face was more beaming, and he was more prone to laugh at his own jokes. janice and marty exchanged glances as the expressman came in and took a chair that creaked under his weight. the girl, remembering what her cousin had said about the visitor, wondered if it were possible that walky had been drinking and now showed the effects of it. it was true, as janice had once said--the expressman should have been named "talkworthy" rather than "walkworthy" dexter. to-night he seemed much more talkative than usual. "what were all you younkers out o' school so early for, marty?" he asked. "ain't been an eperdemic o' smallpox broke out, has there?" "teachers' meeting," said marty. "the superintendent of schools came over and they say we're going to have fortnightly lectures on friday afternoons--mebbe illustrated ones. crackey! it don't matter what they have," declared this careless boy, "as long as 'tain't lessons." "lectures?" repeated walky. "do tell! what sort of lectures?" "i heard mr. haley say the first one would proberbly be illustrated by a collection of rare coins some rich feller's lent the state school board. he says the coins are worth thousands of dollars." "lectures on coins?" cackled walky. "i could give ye a lecture on ev'ry dollar me and josephus ever airned! haw! haw! haw!" walky rolled in his chair in delight at his own wit. uncle jason was watching him with some curiosity as he filled and lit his pipe. "walky," he drawled, "what was the very hardest dollar you ever airned? it strikes me that you allus have picked the softest jobs, arter all." "me? soft jobs?" demanded walkworthy, with some indignation. "ye oughter try liftin' some o' them drummers' sample-cases that i hatter wrastle with. wal!" then his face began to broaden and his eyes to twinkle. "arter all, it was a soft job that i airned my hardest dollar by, for a fac'." "let's have it, walky," urged marty. "get it out of your system. you'll feel better for it." "why, ter tell the truth," grinned walky, "it was a soft job, for i carried five pounds of feathers in a bolster twelve miles to old miz' kittridge one winter day when i was a boy. i got a dollar for it and come as nigh bein' froze ter death as ever a boy did and save his bacon." "do tell us about it, walky," said janice, who was wiping the supper dishes for her aunt. "i should say it was a soft job--five pounds of feathers!" burst out marty. "how fur did you haf to travel, walky?" asked aunt 'mira. "twelve mile over the snow and ice, me without snowshoes and it thirty below zero. yes, sir!" went on walky, beginning to stuff the tobacco into his own pipe from mr. day's proffered sack. "that was some job! miz bob kittridge, the old lady's darter-in-law, give me the dollar _and_ the job; and i done it. "the old lady lived over behind this here very mountain, all alone on the kittridge farm. the tracks was jest natcherly blowed over and hid under more snow than ye ever see in a winter nowadays. i believe there was five foot on a level in the woods. "there'd been a rain; then she'd froze up ag'in," pursued walky. "it put a crust on the snow, but i had no idee it had made the ice rotten. and with mr. mercury creepin' down to thirty below--jefers-pelters! i'd no idee mink creek had open air-holes in it. i ain't never understood it to this day. "wal, sir! ye know where mink creek crosses the road to kittridge's, jason?" mr. day nodded. "i know the place, walky," he agreed. "that's where it happened," said walky dexter, nodding his head many times. "i was crossin' the stream, thinkin' nothin' could happen, and 'twas jest at sunup. i'd come six mile, and was jest ha'f way to the farm. i kerried that piller-case over my shoulder, and slung from the other shoulder was a gun, and i had a hatchet in my belt. "jefers-pelters! all of a suddint i slumped down, right through the snow-crust, and douced up ter my middle inter the coldest water i ever felt i did, for a fac'! "i sprung out o' that right pert, ye kin believe; and then the next step i went down ker-chug! ag'in--this time up ter my armpits." "crackey!" exclaimed marty. "that was some slip. what did you do?" "i got out o' that hole purty careful, now i tell ye; but i left my cap floatin' on the open pool o' water," the expressman said. "why, i was a cake of ice in two minutes--and six miles from anywhere, whichever way i turned." "oh, walky!" ejaculated janice, interested. "what ever did you do?" "wal, i had either to keep on or go back. didn't much matter which. and in them days i hated ter gin up when i'd started a thing. but i had ter git that cap first of all. i couldn't afford ter lose it nohow. and another thing, i'd a froze my ears if i hadn't got it. "so i goes back to the bank of the crick and cut me a pole. then i fished out the cap, wrung it out as good as i could, and clapped it on my head. before i'd clumb the crick bank ag'in that cap was as stiff as one o' them tin helmets ye read about them knights wearin' in the middle ages--er-haw! haw! haw! "i had ter laig it then, believe me!" pursued the expressman. "was cased in ice right from my head ter my heels. could git erlong jest erbout as graceful as one of these here cigar-store injuns--er-haw! haw! haw! "i dunno how i made it ter ma'am kittridge's--but i done it! the old lady seen the plight i was in, and she made me sit down by the kitchen fire just like i was. wouldn't let me take off a thing. "she het up some kinder hot tea--like ter burnt all the skin off my tongue and throat, i swow!" pursued walky. "must ha' drunk two quarts of it, an' gradually it begun ter thaw me out from the inside. that's how i saved my feet--sure's you air born! "when i come inter her kitchen i clumped in with feet's big as an elephant's an' no more feelin' in them than as though they'd been boxes and not feet. if i'd peeled off that ice and them boots, the feet would ha' come with 'em. but the old lady knowed what ter do, for a fac'. "hardest dollar ever i airned," repeated walky, shaking his head, "and jest carryin' a mess of goose feathers---- "hullo! who's this here comin' aboard?" janice had run to answer a knock at the side door. aunt 'mira came more slowly with the sitting room lamp which she had lighted. "well, janice day! air ye all deef here?" exclaimed a high and rather querulous voice. "do come in, mrs. scattergood," cried the girl. "i declare, miz scattergood," said aunt 'mira, with interest, "you here at this time o' night? i am glad to see ye." "guess ye air some surprised," said the snappy, birdlike old woman whom janice ushered into the sitting room. "i only got back from skunk's holler, where i been visitin', this very day. and what d'ye s'pose i found when i went into hopewell drugg's?" "goodness!" said aunt 'mira. "they ain't none o' them sick, be they?" "sick enough, i guess," exclaimed mrs. scattergood, nodding her head vigorously: "leastways, 'rill oughter be. i told her so! i was faithful in season, and outer season, warnin' her what would happen if she married that drugg." "oh, mrs. scattergood! what has happened?" cried janice, earnestly. "what's happened to hopewell?" added aunt 'mira. "enough, i should say! he's out carousin' with that fiddle of his'n--down ter lem parraday's tavern this very night with some wild gang of fellers, and my 'rill hum with that child o' his'n. and what d'ye think?" demanded mrs. scattergood, still excitedly. "what d'ye think's happened ter that lottie drugg?" "oh, my, mrs. scattergood! what _has_ happened to poor little lottie?" janice cried. "why," said 'rill drugg's mother, lowering her voice a little and moderating her asperity. "the poor little thing's goin' blind again, i do believe!" chapter iii "the seventh abomination" sorrowful as janice day was because of the report upon little lottie drugg's affliction, she was equally troubled regarding the storekeeper himself. janice had a deep interest in both mr. drugg and 'rill scattergood--"that was," to use a provincialism. the girl really felt as though she had helped more than a little to bring the storekeeper and the old-maid school-teacher together after so many years of misunderstanding. it goes without saying that mrs. scattergood had given no aid in making the match. indeed, as could be gathered from what she said now, the birdlike woman had heartily disapproved of her daughter's marrying the widowed storekeeper. "yes," she repeated; "there i found poor, foolish 'rill--her own eyes as red as a lizard's--bathing that child's eyes. i never did believe them boston doctors could cure her. yeou jest wasted your money, janice day, when you put up fer the operation, and i knowed it at the time." "oh, i hope not, mrs. scattergood!" janice replied. "not that i care about the money; but i do, _do_ hope that little lottie will keep her sight. the poor, dear little thing!" "what's the matter with lottie drugg?" demanded marty, from the doorway. walky dexter had started homeward, and marty and mr. day joined the women folk in the sitting room. "oh, marty!" janice exclaimed, "mrs. scattergood says there is danger of the poor child's losing her sight again." "and that ain't the wust of it," went on mrs. scattergood, bridling. "my darter is an unfortunate woman. i knowed how 'twould be when she married that no-account drugg. he sartainly was one 'drug on the market,' if ever there was one! always a-dreamin' an' never accomplishin' anything. "now lem parraday's opened that bar of his'n--an' he'd oughter be tarred an' feathered for doin' of it--i 'spect hopewell will be hangin' about there most of his time like the rest o' the ne'er-do-well male critters of this town, an' a-lettin' of what little business he's got go to pot." "oh, miz scattergood," said aunt 'mira comfortably, "i wouldn't give way ter sech forebodin's. hopewell is rather better than the ordinary run of men, i allow." uncle jason chuckled. "it never struck me," he said, "that hopewell was one o' the carousin' kind. i'd about as soon expec' mr. middler to cut up sech didoes as hope drugg." mrs. scattergood flushed and her eyes snapped. if she was birdlike, she could peck like a bird, and her bill was sharp. "i reckon there ain't none of you men any too good," she said; "minister, an' all of ye. oh! i know enough about _men_, i sh'd hope! i hearn a lady speak at the skunk's holler schoolhouse when i was there at my darter-in-law's last week. she was one o' them suffragettes ye hear about, and she knowed all about men and their doin's. "i wouldn't trust none o' ye farther than i could sling an elephant by his tail! as for hopewell drugg--he never was no good, and he never will be wuth ha'f as much again!" "well, well, well," chuckled uncle jason, easily. "how did this here sufferin-yet l'arn so much about the tribes o' men? i 'spect she was a spinster lady?" "she was a miss pogannis," was the tart reply. "ya-as," drawled mr. day. "it's them that's never summered and wintered a man that 'pears ter know the most about 'em. ev'ry old maid in the world knows more about bringin' up children than the wimmen that's had a dozen." "oh, yeou needn't think she didn't know what she was talkin' abeout!" cried mrs. scattergood, tossing her head. "she culled her examples from hist'ry, as well as modern times. look at abraham, isaac, and jacob! all them men kep' their wimmen in bondage. "d'yeou s'pose sarah wanted to go trapesing all over the airth, ev'ry time abraham wanted ter change his habitation?" demanded the argumentative suffragist. "of course, he always said god told him to move, not the landlord. but, my soul! a man will say anything. "an' see how jacob treated rachel----" "great scott!" ejaculated uncle jason, letting his pipe go out. "i thought jacob was a fav'rite hero of you wimmen folks. didn't he sarve--how many was it?--fourteen year, for rachel?" "bah!" exclaimed the old lady. "i 'spect she wished he'd sarved fourteen year _more_, when she seen the big family she had to wash and mend for. don't talk to me! wimmen's never had their rights in this world yet, but they're goin' to get 'em now." here aunt 'mira broke in to change the topic of conversation to one less perilous: "i never did hear tell that hopewell drugg drank a drop. it's a pity if he's took it up so late in life--and him jest married." "wal! i jest tell ye what i know. there's my 'rill cryin' her eyes out an' she confessed that drugg had gone down to the tavern to fiddle, and that he'd been there before. she has to wait on store evenin's, as well as take care of that young one, while he's out carousin'." "carousin'! gosh!" exploded marty, suddenly. "i know what it is. there's a bunch of fellers from middletown way comin' over to-night with their girls to hold a dance. i heard about it. hopewell's goin' to play the fiddle for them to dance by. tell you, the inn's gettin' to be a gay place." "it's disgustin whatever it is!" cried mrs. scattergood, rather taken aback by marty's information, yet still clinging to her own opinion. it was not mrs. scattergood's nature to scatter good--quite the opposite. "an' no married man should attend sech didoes. like enough he _will_ drink with the rest of 'em. oh, 'rill will be sick enough of her job before she's through with it, yeou mark my words." "oh, mrs. scattergood," janice said pleadingly, "i hope you are wrong. i would not want to see miss 'rill unhappy." "she's made her bed--let her lie in it," said the disapproving mother, gloomily. "i warned her." later, both janice and marty went with mrs. scattergood to see her safely home. she lived in the half of a tiny cottage on high street above the side street on which hopewell drugg had his store. had it not been so late, janice would have insisted upon going around to see "miss 'rill," as all her friends still called, the ex-school teacher, though she was married. as they were bidding their caller good night at her gate, a figure coming up the hill staggered into the radiance of the street light on the corner. janice gasped. mrs. scattergood ejaculated: "what did i tell ye?" marty emitted a shrill whistle of surprise. "what d'ye know about _that_?" he added, in a low voice. there was no mistaking the figure which turned the corner toward hopewell drugg's store. it was the proprietor of the store himself, with his fiddle in its green baize bag tightly tucked under his arm; but his feet certainly were unsteady, and his head hung upon his breast. they saw him disappear into the darkness of the side street. janice day put her hand to her throat; it seemed to her as though the pulse beating there would choke her. "what did i tell ye? what did i tell ye?" cried the shrill voice of mrs. scattergood. "_now_ ye'll believe what i say, i hope! the disgraceful critter! my poor, poor 'rill! i knew how 'twould be if she married that man." it chanced that janice day's bible opened that night to the sixth of proverbs and she read before going to bed these verses: "these six things doth the lord hate; yea, seven are an abomination unto him. "a proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood. "an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief. "a false witness that speaketh lies, _and he that soweth discord among brethren_." chapter iv a rift in the honeymoon janice could not call at the little grocery on the side street until friday afternoon when she returned from middletown for over sunday. while the roads were so bad that she could not use her car in which to run back and forth to the seminary she boarded during the school days near the seminary. but 'rill drugg and little lottie were continually in her mind. from walky dexter, with whom she rode home to polktown on friday, she gained some information that she would have been glad not to hear. "talk abeout the 'woman with the sarpint tongue,'" chuckled walky. "we sartain sure have our share of she in polktown." "what is the matter now, walky?" asked janice, gaily, not suspecting what was coming. "has somebody got ahead of you in circulating a particularly juicy bit of gossip?" "huh!" snorted the expressman. "i gotter take a back seat, _i_ have. did ye hear 'bout hopewell drugg gittin' drunk, an' beatin' his wife, an' i dunno but they say by this time that it's his fault lettle lottie's goin' blind again----" "oh, walky! it can't be true!" gasped the girl, horrified. "what can't? that them old hens is sayin' sech things?" demanded the driver. "that lottie is truly going blind?" "dunno. she's in a bad way. hopewell wants to send her back to boston as quick's he can. i know that. and them sayin' that he's turned inter a reg'lar old drunk, an' sich." "what do you mean, walky?" asked janice, seriously. "you cannot be in earnest. surely people do not say such dreadful things about mr. drugg?" "fact. they got poor old hopewell on the dissectin' table, and the way them wimmen cut him up is a caution to cats!" "what women, walky?" "his blessed mother-in-law, for one. and most of the ladies aid is a-follerin' of her example. they air sayin' he's nex' door to a ditch drunkard." "why, walky dexter! nobody would really believe such talk about mr. drugg," janice declared. "ye wouldn't think so, would ye? we've all knowed hopewell drugg for years an' years, and he's allus seemed the mildest-mannered pirate that ever cut off a yard of turkey-red. but now--jefers-pelters! ye oughter hear 'em! he gits drunk, beats 'rill scattergood, _that was_, and otherwise behaves himself like a hardened old villain." "oh, walky! i would not believe such things about mr. drugg--not if he told them to me himself!" exclaimed janice. "an' i reckon nobody would ha' dreamed sech things about him if marm scattergood hadn't got home from skunk's holler. i expect she stirred up things over there abeout as much as her son and his wife'd stand, and they shipped her back to polktown. and polktown--includin' hopewell--will hafter stand it." "it is a shame!" cried janice, with indignation. then she added, doubtfully, remembering the unfortunate incident she and marty and mrs. scattergood had viewed so recently: "of course, there isn't a word of truth in it?" "that hopewell's become a toper and beats his wife?" chuckled walky. "wal--i reckon not! maybe hopewell takes a glass now and then--i dunno. i never seen him. but they _do_ say he went home airly from the dance at lem parraday's t'other night in a slightly elevated condition. haw! haw! haw!" "it is nothing to laugh at," janice said severely. "nor nothin' ter cry over," promptly returned walkworthy dexter. "what's a drink or two? it ain't never hurt _me_. why should it hopewell?" "don't argue with me, walky dexter!" janice exclaimed, much exasperated. "i--i _hate_ it all--this drinking. i never thought of it much before. polktown has been free of that curse until lately. it is a shame the bar was ever opened at the lake view inn. _and something ought to be done about it!_" walky had pulled in his team for her to jump down before hopewell drugg's store. "jefers-pelters!" murmured the driver, scratching his head. "if that gal detarmines to put lem parraday out o' the licker business, mebbe--mebbe i'd better go down an' buy me another drink 'fore she does it. haw! haw! haw!" hopewell drugg's store was a very different looking shop now from its appearance that day when janice had led little blind lottie up from the wharf at pine cove and delivered her to her father for safe keeping. then the goods had been dusty and fly-specked, and the interior of the store dark and musty. now the shelves and showcases were neatly arranged, everything was scrupulously clean, and it was plain that the reign of woman had succeeded the pandemonium of man. there was nobody in the store at the moment; but from the rear the sobbing tones of a violin took up the strains of "silver threads among the gold." janice listened. there seemed, to her ear, a sadder strain than ever in hopewell's playing of the old ballad. for a time this favorite had been discarded for lighter and brighter melodies, for the little family here on the by-street had been wonderfully happy. they all three welcomed janice day joyfully now. the storekeeper, much sprucer in dress than heretofore, smiled and nodded to her over the bridge of his violin. his wife, in a pretty print house dress, ran out from her sitting room where she was sewing, to take janice in her arms. as for little lottie, she danced about the visitor in glee. "oh, janice day! oh, janice day! looker me!" she crowed. "see my new dress? isn't it pretty? and mamma 'rill made it for me--all of it! she makes me lots and lots of nice things. isn't she just the bestest mamma 'rill that ever was?" "she certainly is," admitted janice, laughing and kissing the pretty child. but she looked anxiously into the beautiful blue eyes, too. nothing there betrayed growing visual trouble. yet, when lottie drugg was stone-blind, the expression of her eyes had been lovely. "weren't you and your papa lucky to get such a mamma?" continued janice with a swift glance over her shoulder at hopewell. the storekeeper was drawing the bow across the strings softly and just a murmur came from them as he listened. his eyes, janice saw, were fixed in pride and satisfaction upon his wife's trim figure. on her part, mrs. drugg seemed her usual brisk, kind self. yet there was a cheerful note lacking here. the honeymoon for such a loving couple could not yet have waned; but there was a rift in it. 'rill wanted to talk. janice could see that. the young girl had been the school teacher's only confidant previous to her marriage to hopewell drugg, and she still looked upon janice as her dearest friend. they left lottie playing in the back room of the store and listening to her father's fiddle, while 'rill closed the door between that room and the dwelling. "oh, my dear!" janice hastened to ask, first of all, "is it true?" 'rill flushed and there was a spark in her eye--janice thought of indignation. indeed, her voice was rather sharp as she asked: "is what true?" "about lottie. her eyes--you know." "oh, the poor little thing!" and instantly the step-mother's countenance changed. "janice, we don't know. poor hopewell is 'most worried to death. sometimes it seems as though there was a blur over the child's eyes. and she has never got over her old habit of shutting her eyes and seeing with her fingers, as she calls it." "ah! i know," the girl said. "but that does not necessarily mean that she has difficulty with her vision." "that is true. and the doctor in boston wrote that, at times, there might arise some slight clouding of the vision if she used her eyes too much, if she suffered other physical ills, even if she were frightened or unhappy." "the last two possibilities may certainly be set aside," said janice, with confidence. "and she is as rosy and healthy looking as she could be." "yes," said 'rill. "then what can it be that has caused the trouble?" "we cannot imagine," with a sigh. "it--it is worrying hopewell, night and day." "poor man!" "he--he is changed a great deal, janice," whispered the bride. janice was silent, but held 'rill's hand in her own comforting clasp. "don't think he isn't good to me. he is! he is! he is the sweetest tempered man that ever lived! you know that, yourself. and i thought i was going to make him--oh!--so happy." "hush! hush, dear!" murmured janice, for mrs. drugg's eyes had run over and she sobbed aloud. "he loves you just the same. i can see it in the way he looks at you. and why should he not love you?" "but he has lost his cheerfulness. he worries about lottie, i know. there--there is another thing----" she stopped. she pursued this thread of thought no further. janice wondered then--and she wondered afterward--if this unexplained anxiety connected hopewell drugg with the dances at the lake view inn. chapter v "the bluebird--for happiness" could it be possible that janice day had alighted from walky dexter's old carryall at the little grocery store for still another purpose? it was waning afternoon, yet she did not immediately make her way homeward. mrs. beaseley lived almost across the street from hopewell drugg's store, and nelson haley, the principal of polktown's graded school, boarded with the widow. janice ran in to see her "just for a moment." therefore, it could scarcely be counted strange that the young school principal should have caught the girl in mrs. beaseley's bright kitchen when he came home with his satchel of books and papers. "there! i do declare for't!" ejaculated the widow, who was a rather lugubrious woman living in what she believed to be the remembrance of "her sainted charles." "there! i do declare for't! i git to talkin' and i forgit how the time flies. that's what my poor charles uster say--he had _that_ fault to find with me, poor soul. i couldn't never seem to git the vittles on the table on time when i was young. "i was mindin' to make you a shortcake for your supper to-night, mr. haley, out o' some o' them peaches i canned last fall! but it's so late----" "you needn't hurry supper on my account, mrs. beaseley," said nelson, cheerily, and without removing his gloves. "i find i've to go downtown again on an errand. i'll not be back for an hour." janice was smiling merrily at him from the doorway. mrs. beaseley began to bustle about. "that'll give me just time to toss up the shortcake," she proclaimed. "good-bye, janice. come again. mr. haley'll like to walk along with you, i know." mrs. beaseley was blind to what most people, in polktown knew--that janice and the schoolteacher were the very closest of friends. only their years--at least, only janice's youth--precluded an announced engagement between them. "wait until i can come home and get a square look at this phenomenal young man whom you have found in polktown," daddy had written, and janice would not dream of going against her father's expressed wish. besides, nelson haley was a poor young man, with his own way to make in the world. his work in the polktown school had attracted the attention of the faculty of a college not far away, and he had already been invited to join the teaching staff of that institution. janice had been the young man's inspiration when he had first come to polktown, a raw college graduate, bent only on "teaching for a living" and on earning his salary as easily as possible. awakened by his desire to stand well in the estimation of the serious-minded girl--eager to "make good" with her--nelson haley had put his shoulder to the wheel, and the result was polktown's fine new graded school, with the young man himself at the head of it. nelson was good looking--extremely good looking, indeed. he was light, not dark like janice, and he was muscular and sturdy without being at all fleshy. the girl was proud of him--he was always so well-dressed, so gentlemanly, and carried himself with such an assured air. daddy was bound to be pleased with a young man like nelson haley, once he should see the schoolteacher! in his companionship now, janice rather lost sight of the troubles that had come upon her of late. nelson told her of his school plans as they strolled down high street. "and i fancy these lectures and readings the school committee are arranging will be a good thing," the young man said. "we'll slip a little extra information to the boys and girls of polktown without their suspecting it." "sugar-coated pills?" laughed janice. "yes. the old system of pounding knowledge into the infant cranium isn't in vogue any more." "poor things!" murmured janice day, from the lofty rung of the scholastic ladder she had attained. "poor things! i don't blame them for wondering: 'what's the use?' marty wonders now, old as he is. there is such a lot to learn in the world!" they talked of other things, too, and it was the appearance of jim narnay weaving a crooked trail across high street toward the rear of the inn that brought back to the girl's mind the weight of new trouble that had settled upon it. "oh, dear! there's that poor creature," murmured janice. "and i haven't been to see how his family is." "who--jim narnay's family?" asked nelson. "yes." "you'd better keep away from such people, janice," the young man said urgently. "why?" "you don't want to mix with such folk, my dear," repeated the young man, shaking his head. "what good can it do? the fellow is a drunken rascal and not worth striving to do anything for." "but his family? the poor little children?" said janice, softly. "if you give them money, jim'll drink it up." "i believe that," admitted janice. "so i won't give them money. but i can buy things for them that they need. and the poor little baby is sick. that cunning sophie told me so." "goodness, janice!" laughed nelson, yet with some small vexation. "i see there's no use in opposing your charitable instincts. but i really wish you would not get acquainted with every rag-tag and bob-tail in town. first those trimminses--and now these narnays!" janice laughed at this. "why, they can't hurt me, nelson. and perhaps i might do them good." "you cannot handle charcoal without getting some of the smut on your fingers," nelson declared, dogmatically. "but they are not charcoal. they are just some of god's unfortunates," added the young girl, gently. "it is not sophie's fault that her father drinks. and maybe it isn't altogether _his_ fault." "what arrant nonsense!" exclaimed nelson, with some exasperation. "it always irritates me when i hear these old topers excused. a man should be able to take a glass of wine or beer or spirits--or let it alone." "yes, indeed, nelson," agreed janice, demurely. "he _ought_ to." the young man glanced sharply into her rather serious countenance. he suspected that she was not agreeing with him, after all, very strongly. finally he laughed, and the spark of mischief immediately danced in janice day's hazel eyes. "that is just where the trouble lies, nelson, with drinking intoxicating things. people should be able to drink or not, as they feel inclined. but alcohol is insidious. why! you teach that in your own classes, nelson haley!" "got me there," admitted the young school principal, with a laugh. then he became sober again, and added: "but _i_ can take a drink or leave it alone if i wish." "oh, nelson! you _don't_ use alcoholic beverages, do you?" cried janice, quite shocked. "oh! you _don't_, do you?" "my, my! see what a little fire-cracker it is!" laughed nelson. "did i say i was in the habit of going into lem parraday's bar and spending my month's salary in fiery waters?" "oh, but nelson! you don't _approve_ of the use of liquor, do you?" "i'm not sure that i do," returned the young man, more gravely. "and yet i believe in every person having perfect freedom in that as well as other matters." "anarchism!" cried janice, yet rather seriously, too, although her lips smiled. "i know the taste of all sorts of beverages," the young man said. "i was in with rather a sporty bunch at college, for a while. but i knew i could not afford to keep up that pace, so i cut it out." "oh, nelson!" janice murmured. "it's too bad!" "why, it never hurt me," answered the young schoolmaster. "it never could hurt me. a gentleman eats temperately and drinks temperately. of course, i would not go into the lake view inn and call for a drink, now that i am teaching school here. my example would be bad for the boys. and i fancy the school committee would have something to say about it, too," and he laughed again, lightly. they had turned into hillside avenue and the way was deserted save for themselves. the warm glow of sunset lingered about them. lights twinkling in the kitchens as they went along announced the preparation of the evening meal. janice clasped her hands over nelson's arm confidingly and looked earnestly up into his face. "nelson!" she said softly, "don't even _think_ about drinking anything intoxicating. i should be afraid for you. i should worry about the hold it might get upon you----" "as it has on jim narnay?" interrupted the young man, laughing. "no," said janice, still gravely. "you would never be like him, i am sure------" "nor will drink ever affect me in any way--no fear! i know what i am about. i have a will of my own, i should hope. i can control my appetites and desires. and i should certainly never allow such a foolish habit as tippling to get a strangle hold on me." "of course, i know you won't," agreed janice. "i thank goodness i'm not a man of habit, in any case," continued nelson, proudly. "one of our college professors has said: 'there is only one thing worse than a bad habit--and that's a good habit.' it is true. no man can be a well-rounded and perfectly poised man, if he is hampered by habits of any kind. habits narrow the mind and contract one's usefulness in the world----" "oh, nelson!" excitedly interrupted janice. "see the bluebird! the first i have seen this spring. the dear, little, pretty thing!" "good-_night_!" exploded the school teacher, with a burst of laughter. "my little homily is put out of business. a bluebird, indeed!" "but the bluebird is so pretty--and so welcome in spring. see! there he goes." then she added softly, still clinging to nelson's arm: "'the bluebird--for happiness.'" chapter vi the tentacles of the monster the sweet south wind blew that night and helped warm to life the winter-chilled breast of mother earth. her pulses leaped, rejuvenated; the mellowing soil responded; bud and leaf put forth their effort to reach the sun and air. at janice day's casement the odors of the freshly-turned earth and of the growing things whispered of the newly begun season. the ruins of the ancient fortress across the lake to the north still frowned in the mists of night when janice left her bed and peered from the open window, looking westward. behind the mountain-top which towered over polktown it was already broad day; but the sun would not appear, to gild the frowning fortress, or to touch the waters of the lake with its magic wand, for yet several minutes. as the first red rays of the sun graced the rugged prospect across the lake, janice went through the barnyard and climbed the uphill pasture lane. she was bound for the great "overlook" rock in the second-growth, from which spot she never tired of looking out upon the landscape--and upon life itself. janice day took many of her problems to the overlook. there, alone with the wild things of the wood, with nothing but the prospect to tempt her thoughts, she was wont to decide those momentous questions that come into every young girl's life. as she sped up the path past the sheep sheds on this morning, her feet were suddenly stayed by a most unexpected incident. janice usually had the hillside to herself at this hour; but now she saw a dark figure huddled under the shelter, the open side of which faced her. "a bear!" thought janice. yet there had not been such a creature seen in the vicinity of polktown for years, she knew. she hesitated. the "bear" rolled over, stretched himself, and yawned a most prodigious yawn. "goodness, mercy, me!" murmured janice day. "it's a man!" but it was not. it was a boy. janice popped down behind a boulder and watched, for at first she had no idea who he could be. certainly he must have been up here in the sheepfold all night; and a person who would spend a night in the open, on the raw hillside at this time of year, must have something the matter with him, to be sure. "why--why, that's jack besmith! he worked for mr. massey all winter. what is he doing here?" murmured janice. she did not rise and expose herself to the fellow's gaze. for one thing, the ex-drug clerk looked very rough in both dress and person. his uncombed hair was littered with straw and bits of corn-blades from the fodder on which he had lain. his clothing was stained. he wore no linen and the shoes on his feet were broken. never in her life had janice day seen a more desperate looking young fellow and she was actually afraid of him. yet she knew he came of a respectable family, and that he had a decent lodging in town. what business had he up here at her uncle's sheepfold? janice continued her walk no farther. she remained in hiding until she saw jack besmith stumble out of the sheep pasture and down the hill behind the day stables--taking a retired route toward the village. coming down into the barnyard once more, janice met marty with a foaming milk pail. "hullo, early bird!" he sang out. "did you catch the worm this morning?" janice shuddered a trifle. "i believe i did, marty," she confessed. "at least, i saw some such crawling thing." "hi tunket! not a snake so early in the year?" "i don't know," and his cousin smiled, yet with gravity. "huh?" queried the boy, with curiosity, for he saw that something unusual had occurred. janice gravely told him whom she had seen in the sheepfold. "and, marty, i believe he must have been up there all night--sleeping outdoors such weather as this. what for, do you suppose?" marty professed inability to explain; but after he had taken the milk in to his mother, he slipped away and ran up to the sheep pasture himself. "i say, janice," he said, grinning, when he came back. "i can solve the mystery, i can." "what mystery?" asked his cousin, who was flushed now with helping her aunt get breakfast. "the mystery of the 'early worm' that you saw this mornin'." he brought his hand from behind him and displayed an empty, amber-colored flask on which was a gaudy label announcing its contents to have been whiskey and sold by "_l. parraday, polktown._" "oh, dear! is _that_ the trouble with the besmith boy?" murmured janice. "that's how he came to lose his job with massey." "poor fellow! he looked dreadful!" "oh, he's a bad egg," said her cousin, carelessly. janice hurried through breakfast, for the car was to be brought forth to-day. marty had been fussing over it for almost a week. the wind was drying up the roads and it was possible for janice to take a spin out into the open country. marty's prospects of enjoying the outing, however, were nipped before he could leave the table. "throw the chain harness on the colts, marty," said his father. "the 'tater-patch is dry enough to put the plow in. and i'll want ye to help me." "oh--dad! i got to help janice get her car out. this ain't no time to plow for 'taters," declared marty. "your mouth'll be open wider'n anybody else's in the house for the 'taters when they're grown," said uncle jason, calmly. "you got to do your share toward raisin' 'em." "oh, dad!" ejaculated the boy again. "now, marty, you stop talkin'!" cried his mother. "huh! you wanter make a feller dumb around here, too. s'pose janice breaks down on the road?" he added, with reviving hope. "i guess she'll find somebody that knows fully as much about them gasoline buggies as you do, son," observed uncle jason, easily. "you an' me'll tackle the 'tater field." when his father spoke so positively marty knew there was no use trying to change him. he frowned, and muttered, and kicked the table leg as he got up, but to no avail. janice, later, got into her car and started for a ride. she put the kremlin right at the hill and it climbed hillside avenue with wonderful ease. the engine purred prettily and not a thing went wrong. "poor marty! it's too bad he couldn't go, too," she thought. "i'd gladly share this with somebody." nelson, she knew, was busy this forenoon. it took no little of his out-of-school time to prepare the outline for the ensuing week's work. besides, on this saturday morning, there was a special meeting of the school committee, as he had told her the afternoon before. something to do with the course of lectures before mentioned. and the young principal of polktown's graded school was very faithful to his duties. she thought of mrs. drugg and little lottie; but there was trouble at the drugg home. somehow, on this bright, sweet-smelling morning, janice shrank from touching anything unpleasant, or coming into communication with anybody who was not in attune with the day. she was fated, however, to rub elbows with trouble wherever she went and whatever she did. she ran the kremlin past the rear of walky dexter's place and saw walky himself currying josephus and his mate on the stable floor. the man waved his currycomb at her and grinned. but his well-known grimace did not cheer janice day. "dear me! poor walky is in danger, too," thought the young girl. "why! the whole of polktown is changing. in some form or other that liquor selling at the inn touches all our lives. i wonder if other people see it as plainly as i do." she ran up into the upper middletown road, as far out as elder concannon's. the old gentleman--once janice day's very stern critic, but now her staunch friend--was in the yard when janice approached in her car. he waved a cordial hand at her and turned away from the man he had been talking with. "well, there ye have it, trimmins," the girl heard the elder say, as her engine stopped. "if you can find a man or two to help you, i'll let you have a team and you can go in there and haul them logs. there's a market for 'em, and the logs lie jest right for hauling. you and your partner can make a profit, and so can i." then he said to janice: "good morning, child! you're as fresh to look at as a morning-glory." she had nodded and smiled at the patriarchal old gentleman; but her eyes were now on the long and lanky looking woodsman who stood by. "good day, mr. trimmins," she said, when she had returned elder concannon's greeting. "is mrs. trimmins well? and my little virginia and all the rest of them?" "the fambly's right pert, miss," trimmins said. janice had a question or two to ask the elder regarding the use of the church vestry for some exercises by the girl's guild of which she had been the founder and was still the leading spirit. "goodness, yes!" agreed the elder. "do anything you like, janice, if you can keep those young ones interested in anything besides dancing and parties. still, what can ye expect of the young gals when their mothers are given up to folly and dissipation? "there's mrs. marvin petrie and mrs. major price want to be 'patronesses,' i believe they call themselves, of an assembly ball, an' want to hold the ball at lem parraday's hotel. it's bad enough to have them dances; but to have 'em at a place where liquor is sold, is a sin and a shame! i wish lem parraday had lost the hotel entirely, before he got a liquor license." "oh, elder! it is dreadful that liquor should be sold in polktown," janice said, from the seat of the automobile. "i'm just beginning to see it." "that's what it is," said the elder, sturdily. "it's a shame mr. parraday was ever allowed to have a license at the lake view inn." "wal--it does seem too bad," the elder agreed, but with less confidence in his tone. "i know they say the inn scarcely paid him and his wife, and he might have had to give it up this spring," janice said. "ahem! that would have been unfortunate for the mortgagee," slowly observed the old man. "mr. cross moore?" janice quickly rejoined. "well! he could afford to lose a little money if anybody could." "tut, tut!" exclaimed the elder, who had a vast respect for money. "don't say that, child. nobody can afford to lose money." janice turned her car about soberly. she saw that the ramification of this liquor selling business was far-reaching, indeed. elder concannon spoke only too truly. where self-interest was concerned most people would lean toward the side of liquor selling. "the tentacles of the monster have insinuated themselves into our social and business life, as well as into our homes," she thought. "why--why, what can _i_ do about it? just _me_, a girl all alone." chapter vii swept on by the current janice picked up trimmins on the road to town. the lanky southerner, who lived as a squatter with his ever-increasing family back in the woods, was a soft-spoken man with much innate politeness and a great distaste for regular work. he said the elder had just offered him a job in the woods that he was going to take if he could get a man to help him. "i heard you talking about it, mr. trimmins," the young girl said, with her eyes on the road ahead and her foot on the gas pedal. "i hope you will make a good thing out of it." "not likely. the elder's too close for that," responded the man, with a twinkle in his eye. "yes. i suppose that elder concannon considers a small profit sufficient. he got his money that way--by 'littles and dribbles'--and i fancy he thinks small pay is all right." "my glo-_ree_! you bet he does!" said trimmins. "but the elder never had but one--leastways, two--chillen to raise. he wouldn't ha' got rich very fast with _my_ family--no, sir!" "perhaps that is so," janice admitted. "tell ye what, miss," the woodsman went on to say, "a man ought to git paid accordin' to the mouths there is to home to feed. i was readin' in a paper t'other day that it took ten dollars a week to take proper care of a man and his wife, and there ought to be added to them ten dollars two dollars a week ev'ry time they got a baby." "why! wouldn't that be fine?" cried janice, laughing. "it sure would be a help," said trimmins, the twinkle in his eye again. "i reckon both me an' narnay would 'preciate it." "oh! you mean jim narnay?" asked janice, with sudden solemnity. "yes ma'am. i'm goin' to see him now. he's a grand feller with the axe and i want him to help me." janice wondered how much work would really be done by the two men if they were up in the woods together. yet mrs. narnay and the children might get along better without jim. janice had made some inquiries and learned that mrs. narnay was an industrious woman, working steadily over her washtub, and keeping the children in comparative comfort when jim was not at home to drink up a good share of her earnings. "are you going down to the cove to see narnay now, mr. trimmins?" janice asked, as she turned the automobile into the head of high street. "yes, ma'am. that is, if i don't find him at lem parraday's." "oh, mr. trimmins!" exclaimed janice, earnestly. "look for him at the house first. and don't you go near lem parraday's, either." "wal!" drawled the man. "i s'pose you air right, miss." "i'll drive you right down to the cove," janice said. "i want to see little sophie, and--and her mother." "whatever you say, miss," agreed the woodsman. they followed a rather rough street coveward, but arrived safely at the small collection of cottages, in one of which the narnays lived. jim narnay was evidently without money, for he sat on the front stoop, sober and rather neater than janice was used to seeing him. he was whittling a toy of some kind for the little boys, both of whom were hanging upon him. their attitude, as well as what sophie narnay had told her, assured janice that the husband and father of the household was not a cruel man when he was sober. the children still loved him, and he evidently loved them. "got a job, jim?" asked trimmins, after thanking janice for the ride, and getting out of the automobile. "not a smitch of work since i come out of the woods," admitted the bewhiskered man, rising quickly from the stoop to make way for janice. "come on, old feller," said trimmins. "i want to talk to you. if you are favorable inclined, i reckon i got jest the job you've been lookin' for." the two went off behind the cottage. janice did not know then that there was a short cut to high street and the lake view inn. sophie came running to the door to welcome the visitor, her thin little arms red and soapy from dish-water. "i knowed 'twas you," she said, smiling happily. "they told me you was the only girl in town that owned one o' them cars. and i told mom that you must be awful rich and kind. course, you must be, or you couldn't afford to give away ten cent pieces so easy." mrs. narnay came to the door, too, her arms right out of the washtub; but janice begged her not to inconvenience herself. "keep right on with your work and i'll come around to the back and sit on that stoop," said the young girl. "and you must see the baby," sophie urged. "i can bring out the baby if i wrap her up good, can't i, marm?" "have a care with the poor child, sophie," said mrs. narnay, wearily. "where's your pop gone?" "he's walked out with mr. trimmins," said the little girl. the woman sighed, and janice, all through her visit, could see that she was anxious about her absent husband. the baby was brought out--a pitifully thin, but pretty child--and sophie nursed her little sister with much enjoyment. "i wisht she was twins," confessed the little girl. "it must be awful jolly to have twins in the family." "my soul, child!" groaned mrs. narnay. "don't talk so reckless. one baby at a time is affliction enough--as ye'll find out for yourself some day." janice, leaving a little gift to be hidden from jim narnay and divided among the children, went away finally, with the determination that dr. poole should see the baby again and try to do something for the poor, little, weakly thing. trimmins and jim narnay had disappeared, and janice feared that, after all, they had drifted over to the inn, there to celebrate the discovery of the job they both professed to need so badly. "that awful bar!" janice told herself. "if it were not here in polktown those two ne'er-do-wells would have gone right about their work without any celebration at all. i guess mrs. scattergood is right--mr. lem parraday ought to be tarred and feathered for ever taking out that license! and how about the councilmen who voted to let him have it?" as she wheeled into high street once more a tall, well groomed young man, with rosy cheeks and the bluest of blue eyes, hailed her from the sidewalk. "oh, janice day!" he cried. "how's the going?" "mr. bowman! i didn't know you had returned," janice said, smiling and stopping the car. "the going is pretty good." "have you been around by the lower road where my gang is working?" "no," janice replied. "but marty says the turnout is being put in and that the bridge over the creek is almost done." "good! i'll get over there by and by to see for myself." he had set down a heavy suitcase and still held a traveling bag. "just now," he added, "i am hunting a lodging." "hunting a lodging? why! i thought you were a fixture with marm parraday," janice said. "i thought so, too. but it's got too strong for me down there. besides, it is a rule of the railroad company that we shall find board, if possible, where no liquor is sold. i had a room over the bar and it is too noisy for me at night." "marm parraday will be sorry to lose you, mr. bowman," janice said. "isn't it dreadful that they should have taken up the selling of liquor there?" "bad thing," the young civil engineer replied, promptly. "i'm sorry for marm parraday. lem ought to be kicked for ever getting the license," he added vigorously. "dear me, mr. bowman," sighed janice. "i wish everybody thought as you do. polktown needs reforming." "what! again?" cried the young man, laughing suddenly. then he added: "i expect, if that is so, you will have to start the reform, miss janice. and--and you'd better start it with your friend, hopewell drugg. really, they are making a fool of him around the inn--and he doesn't even know it." "oh, mr. bowman! what do you mean?" called janice after him; but the young man had picked up his bag and was marching away, so that he did not hear her question. before she could start her engine he had turned into a side street. she ran back up hillside avenue in good season for dinner. the potato patch was plowed and marty had gone downtown on an errand. janice backed the car into the garage and went upstairs to her room to change her dress for dinner. she was there when marty came boisterously into the kitchen. "my goodness! what's the matter with you, marty day?" asked his mother shrilly. "what's happened?" "it's nelson haley," the boy said, and janice heard him plainly, for the door at the foot of the stairs was ajar. "it's awful! they are going to arrest him!" "what do you mean, marty day? be you crazy?" mrs. day demanded. "what's this? one o' your cheap jokes?" asked the boy's father, who chanced to be in the kitchen, too. "guess nelson haley don't think it's a joke," said the boy, his voice still shaking. "i just heard all about it. there ain't many folks know it yet----" "stop that!" cried his mother. "you tell us plain what mr. haley's done." "ain't done nothin', of course. but they _say_ he has," marty stoutly maintained. "then what do they accuse him of?" queried mr. day. "they accuse him of stealin'! hi tunket! ain't that the meanest thing ye ever heard?" cried the boy. "nelson haley, stealin'. it gets _me_ for fair!" "why--why i can't believe it!" aunt 'mira gasped, and she sat down with a thud on one of the kitchen chairs. "i got it straight," marty went on to say. "the school committee's all in a row over it. ye see, they had the coins----" "_who_ had _what_ coins?" cried his mother. "the school committee. that collection of gold coins some rich feller lent the state board of education for exhibition at the lecture next friday. they only come over from middletown last night and mr. massey locked them in his safe." "wal!" murmured uncle jason. "massey brought 'em to the school this morning where the committee held a meeting. i hear the committee left the trays of coins in their room while they went downstairs to see something the matter with the heater. when they come up the trays had been skinned clean--'for a fac'!" exclaimed the excited marty. "what's that got to do with mr. haley?" demanded uncle jason, grimly. "why--he'd been in the room. i believe he don't deny he was there. nobody else was in the buildin' 'cept the janitor, and he was with massey and the others in the basement. "then coins jest disappeared--took wings and flewed away," declared marty with much earnestness. "what was they wuth?" asked his father, practically. "dunno. a lot of money. some says two thousand and some says five thousand. whichever it is, they'll put him under big bail if they arrest him." "why, they wouldn't dare!" gasped mrs. day. "say! massey and them others has got to save their own hides, ain't they?" demanded the suspicious marty. "wal. 'tain't common sense that any of the school committee should have stolen the coins," uncle jason said slowly. "mr. massey, and cross moore, and mr. middler----" "mr. middler warn't there," said marty, quickly. "he'd gone to middletown." "joe pellet and crawford there?" asked uncle jason. "all the committee but the parson," his son admitted. "and all good men," uncle jason said reflectively. "schoolhouse locked?" "so they say," marty declared. "that's what set them on nelson. only him and the janitor carry keys to the building." "who's the janitor?" asked uncle jason. "benny thread. you know, the little crooked-backed feller--lives on paige street. and, anyway, there wasn't a chance for him to get at the coins. he was with the committee all the time they was out of the room." "and are they sure mr. haley was in there?" asked aunt 'mira. "he admits it," marty said gloomily. "i don't know what's going to come of it all----" "hush!" said uncle jason suddenly. "shut that door." but it was too late, janice had heard all. she came down into the kitchen, pale-faced and with eyes that blazed with indignation. she had not removed her hat. "come, uncle jason," she said, brokenly. "i want you to go downtown with me. if nelson is in trouble we must help him." "drat that boy!" growled uncle jason, scowling at marty. "he's a reg'lar big mouth! he has to tell ev'rything he knows all over the shop." chapter viii real trouble it seemed to janice day as though the drift of trouble, which had set her way with the announcement by her father of his unfortunate situation among the yaqui indians, had now risen to an overwhelming height. 'rill's secret misgivings regarding hopewell drugg, little lottie's peril of blindness, the general tendency of polktown as a whole to suffer the bad effects of liquor selling at the tavern--all these things had added to janice's anxiety. now, on the crest of the threatening wave, rode this happening to nelson haley, an account of which marty had brought home. "come, uncle jason," she said again to mr. day. "you must come with me. if nelson is arrested and taken before justice little, the justice will listen to _you_. you are a property owner. if they put nelson under bail----" "hold your hosses," interrupted uncle jason, yet not unkindly. "noah didn't build the ark in a day. we'd best go slow about this." "slow!" repeated janice. "i guess you wouldn't talk about bein' slow, jason day, if _you_ was arrested," aunt 'mira interjected. "ma's right," said marty. "mebbe they'll put him in the cell under the town hall 'fore you kin get downtown." "there ain't no sech haste as all that," stated uncle jason. "what's the matter of you folks?" he spoke rather testily, and janice looked at him in surprise. "why, uncle!" she cried, "what do you mean? it's nelson haley who is in trouble." "i mean to eat my dinner fust of all," said her uncle firmly. "and so had you better, my gal. a man can't be expected to go right away to court an' put up every dollar he's got in the world for bail, until he's thought it over a little, and knows something more about the trouble." "why, jason!" exploded aunt 'mira. "of course mr. haley is innocent and you will help him." "hi tunket, dad!" cried marty. "you ain't goin' back on nelson?" janice was silent. her uncle did not look at her, but drew his chair to the table. "i ain't goin' back on nobody," he said steadily. "but i can't do nothing to harm my own folks. if, as you say, marty, them coins is so vallible, his bail'll be consider'ble--for a fac'. if i put up this here property that we got, an'--an' anything happens--not that i say anythin' will happen--where'd we be?" "what ever do ye mean, jason day?" demanded his wife. "that nelson haley would run away?" "ahem! we don't know how strongly the young man's been tempted," said mr. day doggedly. "uncle!" cried janice, aghast. "dad!" exclaimed marty. "jase day! for the land's sake!" concluded aunt 'mira. "sit down and eat your dinner, janice," said uncle jason a second time, ignoring his wife and son. "remember, i got a duty to perform to your father as well as to you. what would broxton day do in this case?" "i--i don't know, uncle jason," janice said faintly. "fust of all, he wouldn't let you git mixed up in nothin' that would make the neighbors talk about ye," mr. day said promptly. "now, whether nelson haley is innercent or guilty, there is bound ter be slathers of talk about this thing and about ev'rybody connected with it." "he is not guilty, uncle," said janice, quietly. "that's my opinion, too," said mr. day, bluntly. "but i want the pertic'lars, jest the same. i want to know all about it. where there's so much smoke there must be some fire." "not allus, dad," growled marty, in disgust. "smoke comes from an oak-ball, but there ain't no fire." "you air a smart young man," returned his father, coolly. "you'll grow up to be the town smartie, like walky dexter, i shouldn't wonder. nelson must ha' done somethin' to put himself in bad in this thing, and i want to know what it is he done." "he went into the schoolhouse," grumbled marty. "howsomever," pursued mr. day, "if they shut nelson haley up on this charge and he ain't guilty, we who know him best will git together and bail him out, if that seems best." "'if that seems best!'" repeated aunt 'mira. "jason day! i'm glad the lord didn't make me such a moderate critter as you be." "you're a great friend of nelse haley--i don't think!" muttered marty. but janice said nothing more. that uncle jason did not rush to nelson's relief as she would have done had it been in her power, was not so strange. janice was a singularly just girl. the hurt was there, nevertheless. she could not help feeling keenly the fact that everybody in polktown did not respond at once to nelson's need. that he should be accused of stealing the collection of coins was preposterous indeed. yet janice was sensible enough to know that there would be those in the village only too ready and willing to believe ill of the young schoolmaster. nelson haley's character was not wishy-washy. he had made everybody respect him. his position as principal of the school gave him almost as much importance in the community as the minister. but not all the polktown folk loved nelson haley. he had made enemies as well as friends since coming to the lakeside town. there were those who would seize upon this incident, no matter how slightly the evidence might point to nelson, and make "a mountain of a molehill." nelson was a poor young man. he had come to polktown with college debts to pay off out of his salary. to those who were not intimately acquainted with the school-teacher's character, it would not seem such an impossibility that he should yield to temptation where money was concerned. but to janice the thought was not only abhorrent, it was ridiculous. she would have believed herself capable of stealing quite as soon as she would have believed the accusation against nelson. yet she could not blame uncle jason for his calm attitude in this event. it was his nature to be moderate and careful. she did not scold like aunt 'mira, nor mutter and glare like marty. she could not, however, eat any dinner. it was nerve-racking to sit there, playing with her fork, awaiting uncle jason's pleasure. janice's eyes were tearless. she had learned ere this, in the school of hard usage, to control her emotions. not many girls of her age could have set off finally with mr. day for the town with so quiet a mien. for she insisted upon accompanying her uncle on this quest. she felt that she could not remain quietly at home and wait upon his leisurely report of the situation. first of all they learned that no attempt had been made as yet to curtail the young schoolmaster's liberty; otherwise the situation was quite as bad as marty had so eagerly reported. the collection of gold coins, valued at fifteen hundred dollars, had been left in the committee room next to the principal's office in the new school building. it being saturday, the outer doors of the building were locked--or supposedly so. benny thread, the janitor, was with the four committeemen in the basement for a little more than half an hour. during that half-hour nelson haley had entered the school building, using his pass key, had been to his office, and entered the committee room, and from thence departed, all while the committee was below stairs. he had been seen both going in and coming out by the neighbors. he carried his school bag in both instances. the collection of coins was of some weight; but nelson could have carried that weight easily. the committee, upon returning to the second floor and finding the trays empty, had at once sent for nelson and questioned him. in their first excitement over the loss of the coins, they had been unwise enough to state the trouble and their suspicions to more than one person. in an hour the story, with many additions, had spread over polktown. a fire before a high wind could have traveled no faster. uncle jason listened, digested, and made up his mind. although a moderate man, he thought to some purpose. he was soon satisfied that the four committeemen, having got over their first fright, would do nothing rash. and janice had much to thank her uncle for in this emergency; for he was outspoken, once having formed an opinion in the matter. finding the four committeemen in the drugstore, uncle jason berated them soundly: "i did think you four fellers was safe to be let toddle about alone. i swan i did! but here ye ac' jest like ye was nuthin' but babies! "jest because ye acted silly and left that money open for the fust comer to pocket, ye hafter run about an' squeal, layin' it all to the fust person that come that way. if mr. middler or elder concannon had come inter that school buildin', i s'pose it'd ha' been jest the same. you fellers would aimed ter put it on them--one or t'other. i'm ashamed of ye." "wal, jase day, you're so smart," drawled cross moore, "who d'ye reckon could ha' took the coins?" "most anybody _could_. mr. haley sartinly did _not_," uncle jason returned, briskly. "how d'ye know so much?" demanded massey, the druggist. "'cause i know him," rejoined mr. day, quite as promptly as before. "aw--that's only talk," said joe pellet, pulling his beard reflectively. "mr. haley's a nice young man----" "i've knowed him since ever he come inter this town," mr. day interrupted, with energy. "he's too smart ter do sech a thing, even if he was so inclined. you fellers seem ter think he's an idiot. what! steal them coins when he's the only person 'cept the janitor that's knowed to have a key to the school building? "huh!" pursued uncle jason, with vast disgust. "you fellers must have a high opinion of your own judgment, when you choosed mr. haley to teach this school. did ye hire a nincompoop, i wanter know? why! if he'd wanted ever so much ter steal them coins, he'd hafter been a fule ter done it in this way." "there's sense in what ye say, jason," admitted mr. crawford. "i sh'd hope so! but there ain't sense in what you fellers have done--for a fac! lettin' sech a story as this git all over town. by jiminy! if i was mr. haley, i'd sue ye!" "but what are we goin' ter do, jason?" demanded cross moore. "sit here an' twiddle our thumbs, and let that feller 't owns the coins come down on us for their value?" "you'll have to make good to him anyway," said mr. day, bluntly. "you four air responserble." "hi tunket!" exploded joe pellet. "and let the thief git away with 'em?" "better git a detecertif, an' put him on the case," said mr. day. "of course, you air all satisfied that nobody could ha' got into the schoolhouse but mr. haley?" "he an' benny is all that has keys," said massey. "sure about this here janitor?" asked uncle jason, slowly. "why, he was with us all the time," said crawford, in disgust. "and he's a hardworkin' little feller, too," massey added. "not a thing wrong with benny but his back. that is crooked; but he's as straight as a string." "how's his fambly?" asked uncle jason. "ain't got none--but a wife. a decent, hard-working woman," proclaimed the druggist. "no children. her brother boards with 'em. that's all." "well, sir!" said uncle jason, oracularly. "there air some things in this worl' ye kin be sure of, besides death and taxes. there's a few things connected with this case that ye kin pin down. f'r instance: the janitor didn't do it. nelse haley didn't do it. none o' you four fellers done it." "say! you goin' to drag us under suspicion, jase?" drawled cross moore. "if you keep on sputterin' about nelse haley--yes," snapped mr. day, nodding vigorously. "howsomever, there's still another party ter which the finger of suspicion p'ints." "who's that?" was the chorus from the school committee. "a party often heard of in similar cases," said mr. day, solemnly. "his name is _unknown_! yes, sir! some party unknown entered that building while you fellers was down cellar, same as nelson haley did. this party, unknown, stole the coins." "aw, shucks, jase!" grunted mr. cross moore. "you got to give us something more satisfactory than that if you want to shunt us off'n nelson haley's trail," and the other three members of the school committee nodded. chapter ix how nelson took it something more than mere curiosity drew janice day's footsteps toward the new school building. there were other people drawn in the same direction; but their interest was not like hers. somehow, this newest bit of gossip in polktown could be better discussed at the scene of the strange robbery itself. icivilly sprague and mabel woods walked there, arm in arm, passing janice by with side glances and the tossing of heads. icivilly and mabel had attended nelson's school the first term after miss 'rill scattergood gave up teaching; but finding the young schoolmaster impervious to their charms, they had declared themselves graduated. they were not alone among the older girls who found nelson provokingly adamant. he did not flirt. of late it had become quite apparent that the schoolmaster had eyes only for janice day. of course, that fact did not gain nelson friends among girls like icivilly and mabel in this time of trial. janice knew that they were whispering about her as she passed; but her real thought was given to more important matters. uncle jason had told her just how the affair of the robbery stood. there was a mystery--a deep, deep mystery about it. in the group about the front gate of the school premises were jim narnay and trimmins, the woodsmen. both had been drinking and were rather hilarious and talkative. at least, trimmins was so. "wish _we'd_ knowed there was all that cash so free and open up here in the schoolhouse--heh, jim?" trimmins said, smiting his brother toper between the shoulders. "we wouldn't be diggin' out for no swamp to haul logs." "you're mighty right, trimmins! you're mighty right!" agreed the drunken narnay. "gotter leave m' fambly--hate ter do it!" and he became very lachrymose. "ter'ble thing, trimmins, f'r a man ter be sep'rated from his fambly jest so's ter airn his livin'." "right ye air, old feller," agreed the southerner. "hullo! here's the buddy we're waitin' for. how long d'ye s'pose he'll last, loggin?" janice saw the ex-drug clerk, jack besmith, mounting the hill with a pack on his back. rough as the two lumbermen were, besmith looked the more dissolute character, despite his youth. the trio went away together, bound evidently for one of elder concannon's pieces of woodland, over the mountain. benny thread came out of the school building and locked the door importantly behind him. several of the curious ones surrounded the little man and tried to get him into conversation upon the subject of the robbery. "no, i can't talk," he said, shaking his head. "i can't, really. the gentlemen of the school committee have forbidden me. why--only think! it was more by good luck than good management that i wasn't placed in a position where i could be suspected of the robbery. lucky i was with the committeemen every moment of the time they were down cellar. no, i am not suspected, thanks be! but i must not talk--i must not talk." it was evident that he wanted to talk and he could be over-urged to talk if the right pressure was brought to bear. janice came away, leaving the eagerly curious pecking at him--the one white blackbird in the flock. uncle jason had given her some blunt words of encouragement. janice felt that she must see nelson personally and cheer him up, if that were possible. at least, she must tell him how she--and, indeed, all his friends--had every confidence in him. some people whom she met as she went up high street looked at her curiously. janice held her head at a prouder angle and marched up the hill toward mrs. beaseley's. she ignored these curious glances. but there was no escaping mrs. scattergood. that lover of gossip must have been sitting behind her blind, peering down high street, and waiting for janice's appearance. she hurried out of the house, beckoning to the girl eagerly. janice could not very well refuse to approach, so she walked on up the hill beyond the side street on which mrs. beaseley's cottage stood, and met the birdlike little woman at her gate. "for the good land's sake, janice day!" exploded mrs. scattergood. "i was wonderin' if you'd never git up here. surely, you've heard abeout this drefful thing, ain't you?" janice knew there was no use in evasion with mrs. scattergood. she boldly confessed. "yes, mrs. scattergood, i have heard about it. and i think mr. cross moore and those others ought to be ashamed of themselves--letting people think for a moment that mr. haley took those coins." "who _did_ take 'em?" asked the woman, eagerly. "have they found out?" "why, nobody but the person who really is the thief knows who stole the coins; but of course everybody who knows nelson at all, is sure that it was not mr. haley." "wal--they gotter lay it to somebody," mrs. scattergood said, rather doubtfully. "that's the best them useless men could do," she added, with that birdlike toss of the head that was so familiar to janice. "if there'd been a woman around, they'd laid it on to her. oh! i know 'em all--the hull kit an' bilin' of 'em." janice tried to smile at this; but the woman's beadlike eyes seemed to be boring with their glance right through the girl and this made her extremely uncomfortable. "i expect you feel pretty bad, janice day," went on mrs. scattergood. "but it's allus the way. you'll find as you grow older that there ain't much in this world for females, young or old, but trouble." "why, mrs. scattergood!" cried the girl, and this time she did call up a merry look. "what have you to trouble you? you have the nicest time of any person i know--unless it is mrs. marvin petrie. no family to trouble you; enough to live on comfortably; nothing to do but go visiting--or stay at home if you'd rather----" "tut, tut, tut, child! all is not gold that glitters," was the quick reply. "i ain't so happy as ye may think. i have my troubles. but, thanks be! they ain't abeout men. but you've begun yours, i kin see." "yes, i am troubled because mr. haley is falsely accused," admitted janice, stoutly. "wal--yes. i expect you air. and if it ain't no worse than you believe--wal! i said you was a new-fashioned gal when i fust set eyes on you that day comin' up from the landing in the old _constance colfax_; and you be." "how am i different from other girls?" asked janice, curiously. "wal! most gals would wait till they was sure the young man wasn't goin' to be arrested before they ran right off to see him. but mebbe it's because you ain't got your own mother and father to tell ye diff'rent." janice flushed deeply at this and her eyes sparkled. "i am sure aunt 'mira and uncle jason would have told me not to call on nelson if they did not believe just as i do--that he is guiltless and that all his friends should show him at once that they believe in him." "hoity-toity! mebbe so," said the woman, tartly. "them days never did have right good sense--yer uncle an' aunt, i mean. when _i_ was a gal we wouldn't have been allowed to have so much freedom where the young fellers was consarned." janice was quite used to mrs. scattergood's sharp tongue; but it was hard to bear her strictures on this occasion. "i hope it is not wrong for me to show my friend that i trust and believe in him," she said firmly, and nodding good-bye, turned abruptly away. of herself, or of what the neighbors thought of her conduct, janice day thought but little. she went on to mrs. beaseley's cottage, solely anxious on nelson's account. she found the widow in tears, for selfishly immured as mrs. beaseley was in her ten-year-old grief over the loss of her "sainted charles," she was a dear, soft-hearted woman and had come to look upon nelson haley almost as her son. "oh, janice day! what ever are we going to do for him?" was her greeting, the moment the girl entered the kitchen. "if my poor, dear charles were alive i know he would be furiously angry with mr. cross moore and those other men. oh! i cannot bear to think of how angry he would be, for charles had a very stern temper. "and mr. haley is such a pleasant young man. as i tell 'em all, a nicer and quieter person never lived in any lone female's house. and to think of their saying such dreadful things about him! i am sure _i_ never thought of locking anything away from mr. haley in this house--and there's the 'leven sterling silver teaspoons that belonged to poor, dear charles' mother, and the gold-lined sugar-basin that was my aunt abby's, and the sugar tongs--although they're bent some. "why! mr. haley is jest one of the nicest young gentlemen that ever was. and here he comes home, pale as death, and won't eat no dinner. janice, think of it! i allus have said, and i stick to it, that if one can eat they'll be all right. my sainted charles," she added, stating for the thousandth time an uncontrovertible fact, "would be alive to this day if he had continued to eat his victuals!" "i'd like to speak to mr. haley," janice said, finally "getting a word in edgewise." "of course. maybe he'll let you in," said the widow. "he won't me, but i think he favors you, janice," she added innocently, shaking her head with a continued mournful air. "he come right in and said: 'mother beaseley, i don't believe i can eat any dinner to-day,' and then shut and locked his door. i didn't know what had happened till 'rene hopper, she that works for mrs. cross moore, run in to borry my heavy flat-iron, an' she tol' me about the stolen money. ain't it _awful_?" "i--i hope nelson will let me speak to him, mrs. beaseley," stammered janice, finding it very difficult now to keep her tears back. "you go right along the hall and knock at his door," whispered mrs. beaseley, hoarsely. "an' you tell him i've got his dinner down on the stove-hearth, 'twixt plates, a-keepin' it hot for him." janice did as she was bidden as far as knocking at the door of the front room was concerned. there was no answer at first--not a sound from within. she rapped a second time. "i am sorry, mrs. beaseley; i could not possibly eat any dinner to-day," nelson's voice finally replied. there was no tremor in the tone of it. janice knew just how proud the young man was, and no matter how bitterly he was hurt by this trouble that had fallen upon him, he would not easily reveal his feelings. she put her lips close to the crack of the door. "nelson!" she whispered. "nelson!" a little louder. she heard him spring to his feet and overturn the chair in which he had been sitting. "nelson! it's only me," janice quavered, the pulse beating painfully in her throat. "let me in--do!" he came across the room slowly. she heard him fumble at the key and knob. then the door opened. "oh, nelson!" she repeated, when she saw him in the darkened parlor. the pallor of his face went to her heart. his hair was disheveled; his eyes red from weeping. after all, he was just a big boy in trouble, and with no mother to comfort him. all the maternal instincts of janice day's nature went out to the young fellow. "nelson! nelson!" she cried, under her breath. "you poor, poor boy! i'm so sorry for you." "janice--you----" he stammered, and could not finish the phrase. she cried, emphatically: "of course i believe in you, nelson. we _all_ do! you must not take it so to heart. you will not bear it all alone, nelson. every friend you have in polktown will help you." she had come close to him, her hands fluttering upon his breast and her eyes, sparkling with teardrops, raised to his face. "oh, janice!" he groaned, and swept her into his arms. chapter x how polktown took it that was a very serious saturday night at the old day house, as well as at the beaseley cottage. aunt 'mira had whispered to janice before the girl had set forth with her uncle in the afternoon: "bring him home to supper with ye, child--the poor young man! we got to cheer him up, betwixt us. i'm goin' to have raised biscuits and honey. he does dote on light bread." but nelson would not come. janice had succeeded in encouraging him to a degree; but the young schoolmaster was too seriously wounded, both in his self-respect and at heart, to wish to mingle on this evening with any of his fellow-townsmen--even those who were his declared friends and supporters. "don't look for me at church to-morrow, either, janice," the young man said. "it may seem cowardly; but i cannot face all these people and ignore this disgrace." "it is _not_ disgrace, nelson!" janice cried hotly. "it is, my dear girl. one does not have to be guilty to be disgraced by such an accusation. i may be a coward; i don't know. at least, i feel it too keenly to march into church to-morrow and know that everybody is whispering about me. why, janice, i might break down and make a complete fool of myself." "oh, no, nelson!" "i might. even the children will know all about it and will stare at me. i have to face them on monday morning, and by that time i may have recovered sufficient self-possession to ignore their glances and whispers." and with that decision janice was obliged to leave him. "the poor, foolish boy!" aunt 'mira said. "don't he know we all air sufferin' with him?" but uncle jason seemed better to appreciate the schoolmaster's attitude. "i don't blame him none. he's jest like a dog with a hurt paw--wants ter crawl inter his kennel and lick his wounds. it's a tough propersition, for a fac'." "he needn't be afraid that the fellers will guy him," growled marty. "if they do, i'll lick 'em!" "oh, marty! all of them?" cried janice, laughing at his vehemence, yet tearful, too. "well--all i _can_," declared her cousin. "and there ain't many i can't, you bet." "if you was as fond of work as ye be of fightin', marty," returned mr. day, drily, "you sartin sure'd be a wonderful feller." "ya-as," drawled his son but in a very low tone, "maw says i'm growin' more'n more like you, every day." "marty," janice put in quickly, before the bickering could go any further, "did you see little lottie? it was so late when i came out of mrs. beaseley's, i ran right home." "i seed her," her cousin said gloomily. "how air her poor eyes?" asked aunt 'mira. "they're not poor eyes. they're as good as anybody's eyes," marty cried, with exasperation. "wal--they say she's' goin' blind again," said tactless aunt 'mira. "i say she ain't! she ain't!" ejaculated marty. "all foolishness. i don't believe a thing them doctors say. she's got just as nice eyes as anybody'd want." "that is true, marty," janice said soothingly; but she sighed. the door was open, for the evening was mild. on the damp spring breeze the sound of a husky voice was wafted up the street and into the old day house. "hello!" grunted uncle jason, "who's this singin' bird a-comin' up the hill? tain't never walky a-singin' like that, is it?" "it's walky; but it ain't him singin'," chuckled marty. "huh?" queried uncle jason. "it's lem parraday's whiskey that's doin' the singin'," explained the boy. "hi tunket! listen to that ditty, will ye?" "'i wish't i was a rock a-settin' on a hill, a-doin' nothin' all day long but jest a-settin' still,'" roared walky, who was letting the patient josephus take his own gait up hillside avenue. "for the good land o' goshen!" cried aunt 'mira. "what's the matter o' that feller? has he taken leave of his senses, a-makin' of the night higeous in that-a-way? who ever told walky dexter 't he could sing?" "it's what he's been drinking that's doing the singing, i tell ye," said her son. "poor walky!" sighed janice. the expressman's complaint of his hard lot continued to rise in song: "'i wouldn't eat, i wouldn't sleep, i wouldn't even wash; i'd jest set still a thousand years, and rest myself, b'gosh!'" "whoa, josephus!" he had pulled the willing josephus (willing at all times to stop) into the open gateway of the old day place. marty went out on the porch to hail him. "'i wish i was a bump a-settin' on a log, baitin' m' hook with a flannel shirt for to ketch a frog! "and when i'd ketched m' frog, i'd rescue of m' bait-- an' what a mess of frog's hind laigs i _wouldn't_ have ter ate!'" "come on in, walky, and rest your voice." "you be gittin' to be a smart young chap, marty," proclaimed walky, coming slowly up the steps with a package for mrs. day and his book to be signed. the odor of spirits was wafted before him. walky's face was as round and red as an august full moon. "how-do, janice," he said. "what d'yeou think of them fule committeemen startin' this yarn abeout nelson haley?" "what do folks say about it, walky?" cut in mr. day, to save his niece the trouble of answering. "jest erbeout what you'd think they would," the philosophical expressman said, shaking his head. "them that's got venom under their tongues, must spit it aout if they open their lips at all. polktown's jest erbeout divided--the gossips in one camp and the kindly talkin' people in t'other. one crowd says mr. haley would steal candy from a blind baby, an' t'other says his overcoat fits him so tight across't the shoulders 'cause his wings is sproutin'. haw! haw! haw!" "and what d' ye say, mr. dexter?" asked aunt 'mira, bluntly. the expressman puckered his lips into a curious expression. "i tell ye what," he said. "knowin' mr. haley as i do, i'm right sure he's innercent as the babe unborn. but, jefers-pelters! who _could_ ha' done it?" "why, walky!" gasped janice. "i know. it sounds awful, don't it?" said the expressman. "i don't whisper a word of this to other folks. but considerin' that the schoolhouse doors was locked and mr. haley had the only other key besides the janitor, who air massey and them others goin' to blame for the robbery?" "they air detarmined to save their own hides if possible," uncle jason grumbled. "natcherly--natcherly," returned walky. "we know well enough none o' them four men of the school committee took the coins, nor benny thread, neither. they kin all swear alibi for each other and sartain sure they didn't all conspire ter steal the money and split it up 'twixt 'em. haw! haw! haw! 'twouldn't hardly been wuth dividin' into five parts," he added, his red face all of a grin. "that sounds horrid, mr. dexter," said aunt 'mira. "wal, it's practical sense," the expressman said, wagging his head. "it's a problem for one o' them smart detecatifs ye read abeout in the magazines--one o' them like they have in stories. i read abeout one of 'em in a story. yeou leave him smell the puffumery on a gal's handkerchief and he'll tell right away whether she was a blonde or a brunette, an' what size glove she wore! haw! haw! haw! "this ain't no laughing matter, walky," mr. day said, with a side glance at janice. "better laff than cry," declared walky. "howsomever, folks seed mr. haley go into the schoolhouse and come out ag'in----" "he told the committee he had been there," janice interrupted. "that's right, too. mebbe not so many folks would ha' knowed they'd seen him there if he hadn't up and said so. proberbly there was ha'f a dozen other folks hangin' abeout the schoolhouse, too, at jest the time the coin collection was stole; but they ain't remembered 'cause they didn't up and tell on themselves." "oh, walky!" gasped the girl, startled by the suggestion. "wal," drawled the expressman, in continuation, "that ain't no good to us, for nobody had a key to the door but him and benny thread." "i wonder----" murmured janice; but said no more. "it's a scanderlous thing," walky pursued, receiving his book back and preparing to join josephus at the gate. "goin' ter split things wide open in polktown, i reckon. 'twill be wuss'n a church row 'fore it finishes. already there's them that says we'd oughter have another teacher in mr. haley's place." "oh, my!" cried aunt 'mira. "ain't willin' ter give the young feller a chance't at all, heh?" said mr. day, puffing hard at his pipe. "wall! we'll see abeout _that_." "we'd never have a better teacher, i tell 'em," walky flung back over his shoulder. "but mr. haley's drawin' a good salary and there's them that think it oughter go ter somebody that belongs here in polktown, not to an outsider like him." "hi tunket!" cried marty, after walky had gone. "there ye have it. miss pearly breeze, that used ter substi-_toot_ for 'rill scattergood, has wanted the school ever since mr. haley come. she'd do fine tryin' to be principal of a graded school--i don't think!" "oh, don't talk so, i beg of you," janice said. "of course nelson won't lose his school. if he did, under these circumstances, he could never go to millhampton college to teach. why! perhaps his career as a teacher would be irrevocably ruined." "now, don't ye take on so, janice," cried aunt 'mira, with her arm about the girl. "it won't be like that. it _can't_ be so bad--can it, jason?" "we mustn't let it go that fur," declared her spouse, fully aroused now. "consarn walky dexter, anyway! i guess, as marty says, what he puts in his mouth talks as well as sings for him. "i snum!" added the farmer, shaking his head. "i dunno which is the biggest nuisance, an ill-natered gossip or a good-natered one. walky claims ter feel friendly to mr. haley, and then comes here with all the unfriendly gossip he kin fetch. huh! i ain't got a mite o' use fer sech folks." uncle jason was up, pacing the kitchen back and forth in his stocking feet. he was much stirred over janice's grief. aunt 'mira was in tears, too. marty went out on the porch, ostensibly for a pail of fresh water, but really to cover his emotion. none of them could comfortably bear the sight of janice's tears. as marty started the pump a boy ran into the yard and up the steps. "hullo, jimmy gallagher, what you want?" demanded marty. "i'm after janice day. got a note for her," said the urchin. "hey, janice!" called her cousin; but the young girl was already out on the porch. "what is it, jimmy? has nelson----" "here's a note from miz' drugg. said for me to give it to ye," said the boy, as he clattered down the steps again. chapter xi "men must work while women must weep" janice brought the letter indoors to read by the light of the kitchen lamp. her heart fluttered, for she feared that it was something about nelson. the drugg domicile was almost across the street from the beaseley cottage and the girl did not know but that 'rill had been delegated to tell her something of moment about the young schoolmaster. marty, too, was eagerly curious. "hey, janice! what's the matter?" he whispered, at her shoulder. "mr. drugg has to be away this evening and she is afraid to stay in the house and store alone. she wants me to come over and spend the night with her. may i, auntie?" "of course, child--go if you like," aunt 'mira said briskly. "you've been before." twice mr. drugg had been away buying goods and janice had spent the night with 'rill and little lottie. "though what protection i could be to them if a burglar broke in, i'm sure i don't know," janice had said, laughingly, on a former occasion. she went upstairs to pack her handbag rather gravely. she was glad to go to the drugg place to remain through the night. she would be near nelson haley! somehow, she felt that being across the street from the schoolmaster would be a comfort. when she came downstairs marty had his hat and coat on. "i'll go across town with ye--and carry the bag," he proposed. "going to the reading room, anyway." "that's nice of you, marty," she said, trying to speak in her usual cheery manner. janice was rather glad it was a moonless evening as she walked side by side with her cousin down hillside avenue. it was one of the first warm evenings of the spring and the neighbors were on their porches, or gossiping at the gates and boundary fences. what about? ah! too well did janice day know the general subject of conversation this night in polktown. "come on, janice," grumbled marty. "don't let any of those old cats stop you. they've all got their claws sharpened up." "hush, marty!" she begged, yet feeling a warm thrill at her heart because of the boy's loyalty. "there's that old benny thread!" exploded marty, as they came out on the high street. "oh! he's as important now as a billy-goat on an ash-heap. you'd think, to hear him, that he'd stole the coins himself--only he didn't have no chance't. he and jack besmith wouldn't ha' done a thing to that bunch of money--no, indeed!--if they'd got hold of it." "why, marty!" put in janice; "you shouldn't say that." then, with sudden curiosity, she added: "what has that drug clerk got to do with the janitor of the school building?" "he's benny's brother-in-law. but jack's left town, i hear." "he's gone with trimmins and narnay into the woods," janice said thoughtfully. "so _he's_ out of it," grumbled marty. "jack went up to massey's the other night to try to get his old job back, and massey turned him out of the store. told him his breath smothered the smell of iodoform in the back shop," and marty giggled. "that's how jack come to get a pint and wander up into our sheep fold to sleep it off." "oh, dear, marty," sighed janice, "this drinking in polktown is getting to be a dreadful thing. see how walky dexter was to-night." "yep." "everything that's gone wrong lately is the fault of lem parraday's bar." "huh! i wonder?" questioned marty. "guess nelse haley won't lay _his_ trouble to liquor drinking." "no? i wonder----" "here's the library building, janice," interrupted the boy. "want me to go any further with you?" "no, dear," she said, taking the bag from him. "tell aunt 'mira i'll be home in the morning in time enough to dress for church." "aw-right." "and, marty!" "yep?" returned he, turning back. "i see there's a light in the basement of the library building. what's going on?" "we fellers are holding a meeting," said marty, importantly. "i called it this afternoon. i don't mind telling you, janice, that we're going to pass resolutions backing up mr. haley--pass him a vote of confidence. that's what they do in lodges and other societies. and if any of the fellers renege tonight on this, i'll--i'll--well, i'll show 'em somethin'!" finished marty, very red in the face and threatening as he dived down the basement steps. "oh, well," thought janice, encouraged after all. "nelson has some loyal friends." she came to the store on the side street without further incident. she looked across timidly at nelson's windows. a lamp burned dimly there, so she knew he was at home. indeed, where would he go--to whom turn in his trouble? aside from an old maiden aunt who had lent him enough of her savings to enable him to finish his college course, nelson had no relatives alive. he had no close friend, either young or old, but herself, janice knew. "oh, if daddy were only home from mexico!" was her unspoken thought, as she lifted the latch of the store door. there were no customers at this hour; but it was hopewell drugg's custom to keep the store open until nine o'clock every evening, and saturday night until a much later hour. every neighborhood store must do this to keep trade. "i'm so glad to see you, janice," 'rill proclaimed, without coming from behind the counter. "you'll stay?" "surely. don't you see my bag?" returned janice gaily. "is mr. drugg going to be away all night?" "he--he could not be sure. it's another dance," 'rill said, rather apologetically. "he feels he must play when he can. every five dollars counts, you know, and hopewell is sure that lottie will have to go back to the school." "where is the dance?" asked janice gravely. "down at the inn?" "yes," replied the wife, quite as seriously, and dropping her gaze. "oh! i hear my janice! i hear my janice day!" cried lottie's sweet, shrill voice from the rear apartment and she came running out into the store to meet the visitor. "have a care! have a care, dear!" warned 'rill. "look where you run." janice, seeing more clearly from where she stood in front of the counter, was aware that the child ran toward her with her hands outstretched, and with her eyes tightly closed--just as she used to do before her eyes were treated and she had been to the famous boston physician. "oh, lottie dear!" she exclaimed, taking the little one into her arms. "you will run into something. you will hurt yourself. why don't you look where you are going?" "i _do_ look," lottie responded pouting. then she wriggled all her ten fingers before janice's face. "don't you see my lookers? i can see--oh! so nicely!--with my fingers. you know i always could, janice day." 'rill shook her head and sighed. it was plain the bride was a very lenient stepmother indeed--perhaps too lenient. she loved hopewell drugg's child so dearly that she could not bear to correct her. lottie had always had her own way with her father; and matters had not changed, janice could see. "mamma 'rill," lottie coaxed, patting her step-mother's pink cheek, "you'll let me sit up longer, 'cause janice is here--won't you?" of course 'rill could not refuse her. so the child sat there, blinking at the store lights like a little owl, until finally she sank down in the old cushioned armchair behind the stove and fell fast asleep. occasionally customers came in; but between whiles janice and the storekeeper's wife could talk. the racking "clump, clump, clump," of a big-footed farm horse sounded without and a woman's nasal voice called a sharp: "whoa! whoa, there! now, emmy, you git aout and hitch him to that there post. ain't no ring to it? wal! i don't see what hope drugg's thinkin' of--havin' no rings to his hitchin' posts. he ain't had none to that one long's i kin remember." "here comes mrs. si leggett," said 'rill to janice. "she's a particular woman and i am sorry hopewell isn't here himself. usually she comes in the afternoon. she is late with her saturday's shopping this time." "take this basket of eggs--easy, now, emmy!" shrilled the woman's voice. "handle 'em careful--handle 'em like they _was_ eggs!" a heavy step, and a lighter step, on the porch, and then the store door opened. the woman was tall and raw-boned. she wore a sunbonnet of fine green and white stripes. emmy was a lanky child of fourteen or so, with slack, flaxen hair and a perfectly colorless face. "haow-do, miz' drugg," said the newcomer, putting a large basket of eggs carefully on the counter. "what's hopewell givin' for eggs to-day?" "just what everybody else is, mrs. leggett. twenty-two cents. that's the market price." "wal--seems ter me i was hearin' that mr. sprague daowntown was a-givin' twenty-three," said the customer slowly. "perhaps he is, mrs. leggett. but mr. drugg cannot afford to give even a penny above the market price. of course, either cash or trade--just as you please." "wal, i want some things an' i wasn't kalkerlatin' to go 'way daowntown ter-night--it's so late," said mrs. leggett. 'rill smiled and waited. "twenty-two's the best you kin do?" queried the lanky woman querulously. "that is the market price." "wal! lemme see some cheap gingham. it don't matter abeout the pattern. it's only for emmy here, and it don't matter what 'tis that covers her bones' long's it does cover 'em. will this fade?" "i don't think so," mrs. drugg said, opening the bolt of goods so that the customer could get at it better. janice watched, much amused. the woman pulled at the piece one way, and then another, wetting it meantime and rubbing it with her fingers to ascertain if the colors were fast. she was apparently unable to satisfy herself regarding it. finally she produced a small pair of scissors and snipped off a tiny piece and handed it to emmy. "here, emmy," she said, "you spit aout that there gum an' chew on this here awhile ter see if it fades any." janice dodged behind the post to hide the expression of amusement that she could not control. she wondered how 'rill could remain so placid and unruffled. emmy took the piece of goods, clapped it into her mouth with the most serious expression imaginable, and went to work. her mother said: "ye might's well count the eggs, miz' drugg. i make 'em eight dozen and ten. i waited late for the rest of the critters ter lay; but they done fooled me ter-day--for a fac'!" emmy having chewed on the gingham to her mother's complete satisfaction, mrs. leggett finished making her purchases and they departed. then 'rill and her guest could talk again. naturally the conversation almost at the beginning turned upon nelson haley's trouble. "it is terrible!" 'rill said. "mr. moore and those others never could have thought what they were doing when they accused mr. haley of stealing." "they were afraid that they would have to make good for the coins, and felt that they must blame somebody," janice replied with a sigh. "of course, hopewell went right over to tell the schoolmaster what he thought about it as soon as the story reached us. hopewell thinks highly of the young man, you know." "until this thing happened, i thought almost everybody thought highly of him," said janice, with a sob. "oh, my dear!" cried 'rill, tearful herself, "there is such gossip in polktown. so many people are ready to make ill-natured and untruthful remarks about one----" janice knew to what secret trouble the storekeeper's wife referred. "i know!" she exclaimed, wiping away her own tears. "they have talked horridly about mr. drugg." "it is untruthful! it is unfair!" exclaimed hopewell drugg's wife, her cheeks and eyes suddenly ablaze with indignation. to tell the truth, she was like an angry kitten, and had the matter not been so serious, janice must have laughed at her. "they have told all over town that hopewell came home intoxicated from that last dance," continued the wife. "but it is a story--a wicked, wicked story!" janice was silent. she remembered what she and marty and mrs. scattergood had seen on the evening in question--how hopewell drugg had looked as he staggered past the street lamp on the corner on his way home with the fiddle under his arm. she looked away from 'rill and waited. janice feared that the poor little bride would discover the expression of her doubt in her eyes. chapter xii an unexpected emergency 'rill seemed to understand what was in janice's mind and heart. she kept on with strained vehemence: "i know what they all say! and my mother is as bad as any of them. they say hopewell was intoxicated. he was sick, and the bartender mixed him something to settle his stomach. i think maybe he put some liquor in it unbeknown to hopewell. or something! "the poor, dear man was ill all night, janice, and he never did remember how he got home from the dance. whatever he drank seemed to befuddle his brain just as soon as he came out into the night air. that should prove that he's not a drinking man." "i--i am sorry for you, dear," janice said softly. "and i am sorry anybody saw mr. drugg that evening on his way home." "oh, i know you saw him, janice--and marty day and my mother. mother can be as mean as mean can be! she has never liked hopewell, as you know." "yes, i know," admitted janice. "she keeps throwing such things up to me. and her tongue is never still. it is true hopewell's father was a drinking man." "indeed?" said janice, curiously. "yes," sighed 'rill drugg. "he was rather shiftless. perhaps it is the nature of artists so to be," she added reflectively. "for he was really a fine musician. had hopewell had a chance he might have been his equal. i often think so," said the storekeeper's bride proudly. "i know that the elder mr. drugg taught the violin." "yes. and he used to travel about over the country, giving lessons and playing in orchestras. that used to make mrs. drugg awfully angry. she wanted him to be a storekeeper. she made hopewell be one. how she ever came to marry such a man as hopewell's father, i do not see." "she must have loved him," said janice wistfully. "of course!" cried the bride, quite as innocently. "she couldn't have married him otherwise." "and was hopewell their only child?" "yes. he seldom saw his father, but he fairly worshiped him. his father was a handsome man--and he used to play his violin for hopewell. it was this very instrument my husband prizes so greatly now. when mr. drugg died the violin was hid away for years in the garret. "you've heard how hopewell found it, and strung it himself, and used to play on it slyly, and so taught himself to be a fiddler, before his mother had any idea he knew one note from another. she was extremely deaf at the last and could not hear him playing at odd times, up in the attic." "my!" said janice, "he must have really loved music." "it was his only comfort," said the wife softly. "when he was twenty-one what little property his father had left came to him. but his mother did not put the violin into the inventory; so hopewell said: 'give me the fiddle and you can have the rest.'" "he loved it so!" murmured janice appreciatively: "yes. i guess that was almost the only time in his life that hopewell really asserted himself. with his mother, at least. she was a very stubborn woman, and very stern; more so than my own mother. but mrs. drugg had to give in to him about the violin, for she needed hopewell to run the store for her. they had little other means. "but she made him marry 'cinda stone," added 'rill. "poor 'cinda! she was never happy. not that hopewell did not treat her well. you know, janice, he is the sweetest-tempered man that ever lived. "and that is what hurts me more than anything else," sobbed the bride, dabbling her eyes with her handkerchief. "when they say hopewell gets intoxicated, and is cruel to me and to lottie, it seems as though--as though i could scratch their eyes out!" for a moment hopewell's wife looked so spiteful, and her eyes snapped so, that janice wanted to laugh. of course, she did not do so. but to see the mild and sweet-tempered 'rill display such venom was amusing. the store door opened with a bang. the girl and the woman both started up, lottie remaining asleep. "hush! never mind!" whispered janice to 'rill. "i'll wait on the customer." when she went out into the front of the store, she saw that the figure which had entered was in a glistening slicker. it had begun to rain. "why, frank bowman! is it you?" she asked, in surprise. "oh! how-do, janice! i didn't expect to find you here." "nor i you. what are you doing away up here on the hill?" janice asked. frank bowman did not look himself. the girl could not make out what the trouble with him was, and she was puzzled. "i guess you forgot i told you i was moving," he said hesitatingly. "oh, i remember! and you've moved up into this neighborhood?" "not exactly. i am going to lodge with the threads, but i shall continue to eat marm parraday's cooking." "the threads?" murmured janice. "you know. the little, crooked-backed man. he's janitor of the school. his wife has two rooms i can have. her brother has been staying with them; but he's lost his job and has gone up into the woods. it's a quiet place--and that's what i want. i can't stand the racket at the hotel any longer," concluded the civil engineer. but janice thought he still looked strange and spoke differently from usual. his glance wandered about the store as he talked. "what did you want to buy, frank?" she asked. "i'm keeping store to-night." she knew that 'rill would not want the young man to see her tears. "oh--ah--yes," bowman stammered. "what did i want?" at that janice laughed outright. she thought highly of the young civil engineer, and she considered herself a close enough friend to ask, bluntly: "what ever is the matter with you, frank bowman? you're acting ridiculously." he came nearer to her and whispered: "where's mrs. drugg?" janice motioned behind her, and her face paled. what had happened? "i--i declare i don't know how to tell her," murmured the young man, his hand actually trembling. "tell her what?" gasped janice. "or even that i ought to tell her," added frank bowman, shaking his head. janice seized him by the lapel of his coat and tried to shake him. "what do you mean? what are you talking about?" she demanded. "what is the matter, janice?" called 'rill's low voice from the back. "never mind! i can attend to _this_ customer," janice answered gaily. "it's frank bowman." then she turned swiftly to the civil engineer again and whispered: "what is it about? hopewell?" "yes," he returned in the same low tone. "what is the matter with him?" demanded the girl greatly worried. "he's down at the inn----" "i know. he went there to play at a dance tonight. that's why i am here--to keep his wife company," explained janice. "well," said bowman. "i went down to get some of my books i'd left there. they're having a high old time in that big back room, downstairs. you know?" "where they are going to have the assembly ball?" "yes," he agreed. "but it's nothing more than a dance, is it?" whispered janice. "hopewell was hired to play----" "i know. but such playing you never heard in all your life," said bowman, with disgust. "and the racket! i wonder somebody doesn't complain to judge little or to the town council." "not with mr. cross moore holding a mortgage on the hotel," said janice, with more bitterness than she usually displayed. "you're right there," bowman agreed gloomily. "but what about hopewell?" "i believe they have given him something to drink. that joe bodley, the barkeeper, is up to any trick. if hopewell keeps on he will utterly disgrace himself, and----" janice clung to his arm tightly, interrupting his words with a little cry of pity. "and it will fairly break his wife's heart!" she said. chapter xiii into the lion's den janice day was growing up. what really ages one in this life? emotions. fear--sorrow--love--hate--sympathy--jealousy--all the primal passions wear one out and make one old. this young girl of late had suffered from too much emotion. nelson haley's trouble; her father's possible peril in mexico; the many in whom she was interested being so affected by the sale of liquor in polktown--all these things combined to make janice feel a burden of responsibility that should not have rested upon the shoulders of so young a girl. "frank," she whispered to bowman, there in the front of the dusky store, "frank, what shall we do?" "what can we do?" he asked quite blankly. "he--he should be brought home." "my goodness!" bowman stammered. "do you suppose mrs. drugg would go down there after him?" "she mustn't," janice hastened to reply, with decision; "but i will." "not you, janice!" bowman exclaimed, recoiling at the thought. "do you suppose i'd let you tell mrs. drugg?" demanded the girl, fiercely, yet under her breath. "he's her husband." "and i'm her friend." bowman looked admiringly at the flushed face of the girl. "you are fine, janice," he said. "but you're too fine to go into that place down there and get drugg out of it. if you think it is your duty to go for the man, i'll go with you. and i'll go in after him." "oh, mr. bowman! if you would!" "oh, i will. i only wish we had your car. he may be unable to walk and then the neighbors will talk." "it's got beyond worrying about what the neighbors say," said janice wearily. "now, wait. i must go and excuse myself to mrs. drugg. she must not suspect. maybe it isn't as bad as you think and we'll get hopewell home all right." the storekeeper's wife had carried lottie back to the sitting room. the child was still asleep and 'rill was undressing her. "what is the matter, janice?" she asked curiously. "has mr. bowman gone? what did he want?" "he didn't want to buy anything. he wanted to see me. i--i am going out with him a little while, miss 'rill." the latter nodded her head knowingly. "i know," she said. "you are going across the street. i am glad mr. bowman feels an interest in mr. haley's affairs." "yes!" gasped janice, feeling that she was perilously near an untruth, for she was allowing 'rill to deceive herself. "will you put the window lamps out before you go, dear?" the storekeeper's wife said. "certainly," janice answered, and proceeded to do so before putting on her coat and hat. "don't be long," 'rill observed softly. "it's after eleven now." janice came and kissed her--oh, so tenderly! they stood above the sleeping child. 'rill had eyes only for the half naked, plump limbs and body of the little girl, or she might have seen something in janice's tearful glance to make her suspicious. janice thought of a certain famous picture of the "madonna and child" as she tiptoed softly from the room, looking back as she went 'rill yearned over the little one as only a childless and loving woman does. perhaps 'rill had married hopewell drugg as much for the sake of being able to mother little lottie as for any other reason. yet, what a shock that tender, loving heart was about to receive--what a blow! janice shrank from the thought of being one of those to bring this hovering trouble home to the trusting wife. could she not escape it? there was her handbag on the end of the counter. she was tempted to seize it, run out of the store, and make her way homeward as fast as possible. she could leave frank bowman to settle the matter with his own conscience. he had brought the knowledge of this trouble to the little store on the side street. let him solve the problem as best he might. then janice gave the civil engineer a swift glance, and her heart failed her. she could not leave that unhappy looking specimen of helplessness to his own devices. frank's pompadour was ruffled, his eyes were staring, and his whole countenance was a troubled mask. in that moment janice day realized for the first time the main duty of the female in this world. that is, she is here to pull the incompetent male out of his difficulties! she thought of nelson, thoughtful and sensible as he was, actually appalled by his situation in the community. and here was frank bowman, a very efficient engineer, unable to engineer this small matter of getting hopewell drugg home from the dance, without her assistance. "oh, dear me! what would the world be without us women?" thought janice--and gave up all idea of running away and leaving frank to bungle the situation. the two went out of the store together and closed the door softly behind them. janice could not help glancing across at the lighted front windows of mrs. beaseley's cottage. "there's trouble over yonder," said young bowman gently. "i went in to see him after supper. he said you'd been there to help him buck up, janice. really, you're a wonderful girl." "i'm sorry," sighed janice. "what?" cried frank. "yes. i am sorry if i am wonderful. if i were not considered so, then not so many unpleasant duties would fall my way." frank laughed at that. "i guess you're right," he said. "those that seem to be able to bear the burdens of life certainly have them to bear. but poor nelson needs somebody to hold up his hands, as it were. he's up against it for fair, janice." "oh! i can't believe that the committee will continue this persecution, when they come to think it over," the girl cried. "it doesn't matter whether they do or not, i fear," bowman said, with conviction. "the harm is done. he's been accused." "oh, dear me! i know it," groaned janice. "and unless he is proved innocent, nelson haley is bound to have trouble here in polktown." "do you believe so, frank?" "i hate to say it. but we--his friends--might as well face the fact first as last," said the civil engineer, sheltering janice beneath the umbrella he carried. it was misting heavily and she was glad of this shelter. "oh, i hope they will find the real thief very quickly!" "so do i. but i see nothing being done toward that. the committee seems satisfied to accuse nelson--and let it go at that." "it is too, too bad!" "they are following the line of least resistance. the real thief is, of course, well away--out of polktown, and probably in some big city where the coins can be disposed of to the best advantage." "do you really believe so?" cried the girl. "i do. the thief was some tramp or traveling character who got into the schoolhouse by stealth. that is the only sensible explanation of the mystery." "do you really believe so?" repeated janice. "yes. think of it yourself. the committee and benny thread are not guilty. nelson is not guilty. only two keys to the building and those both accounted for. "some time--perhaps on friday afternoon or early evening--this tramp i speak of crept into the cellar when the basement door of the schoolhouse was open, with the intention of sleeping beside the furnace. in the morning he slips upstairs and hides from the janitor and keeps in hiding when the four committeemen appear. "he sees the trays of coins," continued frank bowman, waxing enthusiastic with his own story, "and while the committeemen are downstairs, and before nelson comes in, he takes the coins." "why _before_ nelson entered?" asked janice sharply. "because nelson tells me that he did not see the trays on the table in the committee room when he looked in there. the thief had removed them, and then put the trays back. had nelson seen them he would have stopped to examine the coins, at least. you see, they were brought over from middletown and delivered to massey, who kept them in his safe all night. nelson never laid eyes on them." "i see! i see!" murmured janice. "so this fellow stole the coins and slipped out of the building with them. they may even be melted down and sold for old gold by this time; although that would scarcely be possible. at any rate, the committee will have to satisfy the owner of the collection. that is sure." "and that is going to make them all just as mad as they can be," declared the girl. "they want to blame somebody----" "and they have blamed nelson. it remains that he must prove himself innocent--before public opinion, not before a court. there they have to prove guilt. he is guilty already in the eyes of half of polktown. no chance of waiting to be proved guilty before he is considered so." janice flushed and her answer came sharply: "and how about the other half of polktown?" "we may be evenly divided--fifty-fifty," and bowman laughed grimly. "but the ones who believe--or _say_ that they believe--nelson haley guilty, will talk much louder than those who deny." "oh, frank bowman! you take all my hope away." "i don't mean to. i want to point out to you--and myself, as well--that to sit idle and wait for the matter to settle itself, is not enough for us who believe haley is guiltless. we've got to set about disproving the accusation." "i--i can see you are right," admitted the girl faintly. "yes; i am right. but being right doesn't end the matter. the question is: how are we going about it to save nelson?" janice was rather shocked by this conclusion. frank had seemed so clear up to this point. and then he slumped right down and practically asked her: "what are _you_ going to do about it?" "oh, dear me!" cried janice day, faintly, "i don't know. i can't think. we must find some way of tracing the real thief. oh! how can i think of that, when here poor 'rill and hopewell are in trouble?" "never mind! never mind, janice!" said frank bowman. "we'll soon get hopewell home. and i hope, too, that his wife will know enough to keep him away from the hotel hereafter." "but, suppose she can't," whispered janice. "you know, his father was given to drinking." "no! is that so?" "yes. maybe it is hereditary----" "queer it didn't show itself before," said bowman sensibly. "i am more inclined to believe that joe bodley is playing tricks. why! he's kept bar in the city and i know he was telling some of the scatter-brained young fools who hang around the inn, that he's often seen 'peter' used in men's drink to knock them out. 'peter,' you know, is 'knock-out drops!'" "no, i don't know," said janice, with disgust. "or, i didn't till you told me." "forgive me, janice," the civil engineer said humbly. "i was only explaining." "oh, i'm not blaming you at all," she said. "but i am angry to think that my own mind--as well as everybody's mind in polktown--is being contaminated from this barroom. we are all learning saloon phrases. i never heard so much slang from marty and the other boys, as i have caught the last few weeks. having liquor sold in polktown is giving us a new language." "well," said bowman, as the lights of the inn came in sight, "i hadn't thought of it that way. but i guess you are right. now, now, janice, what had we better do? hear the noise?" "what kind of dance is it?" asked janice, in disgust. "i should think that it was a sailor's dance hall, or a lumber camp dance. i have heard of such things." "it's going a little too strong for lem parraday himself to-night, i guess. marm shuts herself in their room upstairs, i understand, and reads her bible and prays." "poor woman!" "she's of the salt of the earth," said bowman warmly. "but she can't help herself. lem would do it. the inn did not pay. and it is paying now. at least, he says it is." "it won't pay them in the end if this keeps up," said janice, listening to the stamping and the laughter and the harsh sounds of violins and piano. "surely hopewell isn't making _all_ that--that music?" "i'll go in and see. i shouldn't wonder if he was not playing at all now. maybe one of the boys has got his fiddle." "oh, no! he'd never let that precious violin out of his own hands, would he?" queried janice. "why! do you know, frank, i believe that is quite a valuable instrument." "i don't know. but when i started uptown one of the visitors was teasing to get hold of the violin. i don't know the man. he is a stranger--a black-haired, foxy-looking chap. although, by good rights, i suppose a 'foxy-looking' person should be red-haired, eh?" janice, however, was not splitting hairs. she said quickly: "do go in; frank, and see what hopewell is about." "how'll i get him out?" "tell him i want to see him. he'll think something has happened to 'rill or lottie. i don't care if he is scared. it may do him good." "i'll go around by the barroom door," said the young engineer, for they had come to the front entrance of the hotel. lights were blazing all over the lower floor of the sprawling building; but from the left of the front door came the sound of dancing. some of the windows were open and the shades were up. janice, standing in the darkness of the porch, could see the dancers passing back and forth before the windows. by the appearance of those she saw, she judged that the girls and women were mostly of the mill-hand class, and were from middletown and millhampton. she knew the men of the party were of the same class. the tavern yard was full of all manner of vehicles, including huge party wagons which carried two dozen passengers or more. there was a big crowd. janice felt, after all, as though she had urged frank bowman into the lion's den! the dancers were a rough set. she left the front porch after a while and stole around to the barroom door. the door was wide open, but there was a half-screen swinging in the opening which hid all but the legs and feet of the men standing at the bar. here the voices were much plainer. there were a few boys hanging about the doorway, late as the hour was. janice was smitten with the thought that marty's boys' club, the foundation society of the public library and reading room, would better be after these youngsters. "why, simeon howell!" she exclaimed suddenly. "you ought not to be here. i don't believe your mother knows where you are." the other boys, who were ragamuffins, giggled at this, and one said to young howell: "aw, sim! yer mother don't know yer out, does she? better run home, simmy, or she'll spank ye." simeon muttered something not very complimentary to janice, and moved away. the howells lived on hillside avenue and he was afraid janice would tell his mother of this escapade. suddenly a burst of voices proclaimed trouble in the barroom. she heard frank bowman's voice, high-pitched and angry: "then give him his violin! you've no right to it. i'll take him away all right; but the violin goes, too!" "no, we want the fiddle. he was to play for us," said a harsh voice. "there is another feller here can play instead. but we want both violins." "none of that!" snapped the engineer. "give me that!" there was a momentary struggle near the flapping screen. suddenly hopewell drugg, very much disheveled, half reeled through the door; but somebody pulled him back. "aw, don't go so early, hopewell. you're your own man, ain't ye? don't let this white-haired kid boss you." "let him alone, joe bodley!" commanded bowman again, and janice, shaking on the porch, knew that it must be the barkeeper who had interfered with hopewell drugg's escape. the girl was terror-stricken; but she was indignant, too. she shrank from facing the half-intoxicated crowd in the room just as she would have trembled at the thought of entering a cage of lions. nevertheless, she put her hand against the swinging screen, pushed it open, and stepped inside the tavern door. chapter xiv a declaration of war the room was a large apartment with smoke-cured and age-blackened beams in the ceiling. this was the ancient tap-room of the tavern, which had been built at that pre-revolutionary time when the stuffed catamount, with its fangs and claws bared to the york state officers, crouched on top of the staff at bennington--for polktown was one of the oldest settlements in these "hampshire grants." no noisier or more ill-favored crew, janice day thought, could ever have been gathered under the roof of the inn, than she now saw as she pushed open the screen. tobacco smoke poisoned the air, floating in clouds on a level with the men's heads, and blurring the lamplight. there was a crowd of men and boys at the door of the dance hall. at the bar was another noisy line. it was evident that joe bodley had merely run from behind the bar for a moment to stop, if he could, hopewell drugg's departure. hopewell was flushed, hatless, and trembling. whether he was intoxicated or ill, the fact remained that he was not himself. the storekeeper clung with both hands to the neck of his violin. a greasy-looking, black-haired fellow held on to the other end of the instrument, and was laughing in the face of the expostulating frank bowman, displaying a wealth of white teeth, and the whites of his eyes, as well. he was a foreigner of some kind. janice had never seen him before, and she believed he must be the "foxy-looking" man frank had previously mentioned. it was, however, joe bodley, whom the indignant young girl confronted when she came so suddenly into the room. most of the men present paid no attention to the quarreling group at the entrance. "come now, hopewell, be a sport," the young barkeeper was saying. "it's early yet, and we want to hear more of your fiddling. give us that 'darling, i am growing old' stuff, with all the variations. sentiment! sentiment! oh, hullo! evening, miss! what can i do for you?" he said this last impudently enough, facing janice. he was a fat-faced, smoothly-shaven young man--little older than frank bowman, but with pouches under his eyes and the score of dissipation marked plainly in his countenance. he had unmeasured impudence and bravado in his eyes and in his smile. "i have come to speak to mr. drugg," janice said, and she was glad she could say it unshakenly, despite her secret emotions. she would not give this low fellow the satisfaction of knowing how frightened she really was. frank bowman's back was to the door. perhaps this was well, for he would have hesitated to do just what was necessary had he known janice was in the room. the young engineer had not been bossing a construction gang of lusty, "two-fisted" fellows for six months without many rude experiences. "so, you won't let go, eh?" he gritted between his teeth to the smiling foreigner. with his left hand in his collar, frank jerked the man toward him, thrust his own leg forward, and then pitched the fellow backward over his knee. this act broke the man's hold upon drugg's violin and he crashed to the floor, striking the back of his head soundly. "all right, mr. drugg," panted frank. "get out." but it was janice, still confronting bodley, that actually freed the storekeeper from his enemies. her eyes blazed with indignation into the bartender's own. his fat, white hand dropped from hopewell's arm. "oh, if the young lady's really come to take you home to the missus, i s'pose we'll have to let you go," he said, with a nasty laugh. "but no play, no pay, you understand." janice drew the bewildered hopewell out of the door, and frank quickly followed. few in the room had noted the incident at all. the three stood a minute on the porch, the mist drifting in from the lake and wetting them. the engineer finally took the umbrella from janice and raised it to shelter her. "they--they broke two of the strings," muttered hopewell, with thought for nothing but his precious violin. "you'd better cover it up, or it will be wet; and that won't do any fiddle any good," growled frank, rather disgusted with the storekeeper. but there was something queer about hopewell's condition that both puzzled janice and made her pity him. "he is not intoxicated--not as other men are," she whispered to the engineer. "i don't know that he is," said frank. "but he's made us trouble enough. come on; let's get him home." drugg was trying to shelter the precious violin under his coat. "he has no hat and the fiddle bag is gone," said janice. "i'm not going back in there," said the civil engineer decidedly. and then he chuckled, adding: "that fellow i tipped over will be just about ready to fight by now. i reckon he thinks differently now about the 'white-headed kid,' as he called me. you see," frank went on modestly, "i was something of a boxer at the tech school, and i've had to keep my wits about me with those 'muckers' of the railroad construction gang." "oh, dear, me! i think there must be something very tigerish in all of us," sighed janice. "i was glad when i saw that black-haired man go down. what did he want hopewell's violin for?" "don't know. just meanness, perhaps. they doctored hopewell's drink somehow, and he was acting like a fool and playing ridiculously." they could talk plainly before the storekeeper, for he really did not know what was going on. his face was blank and his eyes staring, but he had buttoned the violin beneath the breast of his coat. "come on, old fellow," frank said, putting a heavy hand on drugg's shoulder. "let's be going. it's too wet to stand here." the storekeeper made no objection. indeed, as they walked along, hopewell between frank and janice, who carried the umbrella, drugg seemed to be moving in a daze. his head hung on his breast; he said no word; and his feet stumbled as though they were leaden and he had no feeling in them. "mr. bowman!" exclaimed janice, at last, and under her breath, "he is ill!" "i am beginning to believe so myself," the civil engineer returned. "i've seen enough drunken fellows before this to know that hopewell doesn't show many of the usual symptoms." janice halted suddenly. "there's a light in mr. massey's back room," she said. "eh? back of the drugstore? yes, i see it," bowman said, puzzled. "why not take mr. drugg there and see if massey can give him something? i hate to take him home to 'rill in this condition." "something to straighten him up--eh?" cried the engineer. "good idea. if he's there and will let us in," he added, referring to the druggist, for the front store was entirely dark, it being now long past the usual closing hour of all stores in polktown. janice and frank led hopewell drugg to the side door of the shop, he making no objection to the change in route. it was doubtful if he even knew where they were taking him. he seemed in a state of partial syncope. frank had to knock the second time before there was any answer. they heard voices--massey's and another. then the druggist came to the entrance, unbolted it and stuck his head out--his gray hair all ruffled up in a tuft which made him, with his big beak and red-rimmed eyes, look like a startled cockatoo. "who's this, now? jack besmith again? what did i tell you?" he snapped. then he seemed to see that he was wrong, and the next moment exclaimed: "wal! i am jiggered!" for, educated man though he was, mr. massey had lived in the hamlet of his birth all of his life and spoke the dialect of the community. "wal! i am jiggered!" he repeated. "what ye got there?" "i guess you see whom we have, mr. massey," said frank bowman pushing in and leading the storekeeper. "oh, mr. massey! it's hopewell drugg," janice said pleadingly. "can't you help him?" "janice day! i declare to sun-up!" ejaculated the druggist. "what you beauing about that half-baked critter for? and he's drunk?" "he is _not_!" cried the girl, with indignation. "at least, he is like no other drunken person i have seen. he is ill. they gave him something to drink down at the inn--at that dance where he was playing his violin--and it has made him ill. don't you _see_?" and she stamped her foot impatiently. "hoity-toity, young lady!" chuckled massey. they were all inside now and the druggist locked the door again. behind the stove, in the corner, sat mr. cross moore, and he did not say a word. "you can see yourself, mr. massey," urged frank bowman, helping drugg into a chair, "that this is no ordinary drunk." "no," massey said reflectively, and now looked with some pity at the helpless man. "alcohol never did exhilarate hopewell. it just dopes him. it does some folks. and it doesn't take much to do it." "then hopewell drugg has been in the habit of drinking?" asked bowman, in surprise. "you have seen him this way before?" "no, he hasn't. never mind what these chattering old women in town say about him now. i never saw him this way but once before. that was when he had been given some brandy. 'member that time, cross, when we all went fishin' down to pine cove? gosh! must have been all of twenty years ago." all that mr. cross moore emitted was a grunt, but he nodded. "hopewell cut himself--'bad--on a rusty bailer. he fell on it and liked ter bled to death. you know, cross, we gave him brandy and he was dead to the world for hours." "yes," said mr. moore. "what did he want to drink now for?" "i do not believe he knowingly took anything intoxicating," janice said earnestly. "they have been playing tricks down there at the tavern on him." "tricks?" repeated mr. moore curiously. "yes, sir," said janice. "men mean enough to sell liquor are mean enough to do anything. and not only those who actually sell the stuff are to blame in a case like this, but those who encourage the sale of it." mr. cross moore uncrossed his long legs and crossed them slowly the other way. he always had a humorous twinkle in his shrewd gray eye. he had it now. "meaning me?" he drawled, eyeing the indignant young girl just as he would look at an angry kitten. "yes, mr. moore," said janice, with dignity. "a word from you, and lem parraday would stop selling liquor. he would have to. and without your encouragement he would never have entered into the nefarious traffic. polktown is being injured daily by that bar at the inn, and you more than any other one person are guilty of this crime against the community!" mr. cross moore did not change his attitude. janice was panting and half crying now. the selectman said, slowly: "i might say that you are an impudent girl." "i guess i am," janice admitted tearfully. "but i mean every word i have said, and i won't take it back." "you and i have been good friends, janice day," continued mr. moore in his drawling way. "i never like to quarrel with my friends." "you can be no friend of mine, mr. moore, till the sale of liquor stops in this town, and you are converted," declared janice, wiping her eyes, but speaking quite as bravely as before. "then it is war between us?" he asked, yet not lightly. "yes, sir," sobbed janice. "i always have liked you, mr. cross moore. but now i can't bear even to look at you! i don't approve of you at all--not one little bit!" chapter xv and now it is distant trouble mr. massey had been attending to the overcome hopewell drugg. he mixed him something and forced it down his throat. then he whispered to frank bowman: "it was brandy. i can smell it on his breath. pshaw! hopewell's a harmless critter. why couldn't they let him alone?" frank had taken up the violin. the moisture had got to it a little on the back and the young man thoughtlessly held it near the fire to dry. hopewell's eyes opened and almost immediately he staggered to his feet, reaching for the instrument. "wrong! wrong!" he muttered. "never do that. crack the varnish. spoil the tone." "hullo, old fellow!" said mr. massey, patting hopewell on the shoulder. "guess you feel better--heh?" "ye--yes. why! that you, massey?" ejaculated the storekeeper, in surprise. "'twas me when i got up this mornin'," grunted the druggist. "why--why--i don't remember coming here to your store, massey," said the mystified hopewell drugg. "i--i guess i didn't feel well." "i guess you didn't," said the druggist, drily, eyeing him curiously. "was i sick? lost consciousness? this is odd--very odd," said hopewell. "i believe it must have been that lemonade." mr. cross moore snorted. "lemonade!" he ejaculated. "suthin' b'sides tartaric acid to aid the lemons in that lemonade, hopewell. you was drunk!" drugg blinked at him. "that--that's a hard sayin', cross moore," he observed gently. "what lemonade was this, hopewell?" demanded the druggist. "i had some. two glasses. the other musicians took beer. i always take lemonade." "that's what did it," frank bowman said, aside to janice. "joe bodley doped it." "you had brandy, hopewell. i could smell it on your breath," said massey. "and i know how that affects you. remember?" "oh, no, massey! you know i do not drink intoxicants," said hopewell confidently. "i know you are a dern fool, hopewell--and mebbe i'm one!" declared mr. cross moore, suddenly rising. then he bolted for the door and went out without bidding anybody good night. massey looked after his brother committeeman with surprise. "now!" he muttered, "what's got into him, i'd like for to be told?" meanwhile hopewell was saying to janice: "miss janice, how do you come here? i know amarilla expected you. isn't it late?" "mr. drugg," said the girl steadily, "we brought you here to be treated by mr. massey--mr. bowman and i. i do not suppose you remember our getting you out of the lake view inn?" "getting me out of the inn?" he gasped flushing. "yes. you did not know what you were doing. they did not want you to leave the dance, but mr. bowman made them let you come away with us." "you don't mean that, miss janice?" said the storekeeper horrified. "are--are you sure? i had not been drinking intoxicants." "brandy, i tell ye, hopewell!" exclaimed the druggist exasperated. "you keep away from the inn. they're playing tricks on you down there, them fellers are. you ain't fit to run alone, anyway--and never was," he added, too low for hopewell to hear. "and look out for that violin, mr. drugg, if you prize it at all," added frank bowman. "why do you say that?" asked hopewell puzzled. "i believe there was a fellow down there trying to steal it," the engineer said. "he had got it away from you and was looking inside of it. is the name of the maker inside the violin? is it a valuable instrument, mr. drugg?" "i--i don't know," the other said slowly. "only for its associations, i presume. it was my father's instrument and he played on it a great many years. i--i think," said hopewell diffidently, "that it has a wonderfully mellow tone." "well," said frank, "that black-haired fellow had it. and he looks like a fellow that's not to be trusted. there's more than joe bodley around that hotel who will bear watching, i guess." "i will not go down to lem parraday's again," sighed hopewell. "i--i felt that i should earn all the extra money possible. you see, my little girl may have to return to boston for treatment." "it's a mean shame!" muttered the civil engineer. "oh! i hope you are wrong about lottie," janice said quickly. "the dear little thing! she seemed very bright to-night," she added, with more cheerfulness in her tone than she really felt. "say, you don't want that violin stole, hopewell," said mr. massey reflectively. "enough's been stole in polktown to-day, i should say, to last us one spell." "never mind," put in frank bowman, scornfully, looking full at the druggist. "you won't have to pay for mr. drugg's violin if it is stolen." "hum! don't i know that?" snarled massey. "we committeemen have our hands full with that missin' collection. wish't we'd never voted to have the coins brought over here. them lectures are mighty foolish things, anyway. that is scored up against young haley, too. he wanted the lecture to come here." "and you are foolish enough to accuse nelson of stealing the coins," said bowman, in a low voice. "i should think you'd have more sense." "hey!" exclaimed the druggist. "who would _you_ accuse?" "not haley, that's sure." "nobody but the committee, the janitor, and haley knew anything about the coins," the druggist said earnestly. "they were delivered to me last night right here in the store by mr. hobart, the lecturer. he came through from middletown a-purpose. he took the boat this morning for the landing. now, nobody else knew about the coins being in town----" "who was here with you, mr. massey, when the coins were delivered to your keeping?" janice day interposed, for she had been listening. "warn't nobody here," said mr. massey promptly. "you were alone in the store?" "yes, i was," quite as positively. "what did you do with the trays?" "locked 'em in my safe." "at once?" again asked janice. "say! what you tryin' to get at, young lady?" snorted the druggist. "don't you s'pose i knew what i was about last night? i hadn't been down to lem parraday's." "some of you didn't know what you were about this morning, or the coins never would have been lost," said frank bowman significantly. "that's easy enough to say," complained the committeeman. "it's easy enough to blame us----" "and it seems to be easy for you men to blame mr. haley," janice interrupted indignantly. "well!" "i'd like to know," continued the girl, "if there was not somebody around here who saw mr. hobart bring the coins in here and leave them with you." "what if there was?" demanded mr. massey with sudden asperity. "the coins were not stolen from this shop--make up your mind on that score, miss janice." "but if some evilly disposed person had seen them in your possession, he might have planned to do exactly what was afterward done." "what's that?" demanded the druggist. "planned to get into the schoolhouse, wait till you brought the coins there, and then steal them." "aw, young lady!" grunted the druggist. "that's too far-fetched. i don't want to hurt your feelin's; but young haley was tempted, and young haley fell. that's all there is to it." janice was not silenced. she said reflectively: "we may all be mistaken. i really wish you would put your mind to it, mr. massey, and try to remember who was here in the evening, about the time that mr. hobart brought you the coin collection." she was not looking at the druggist as she spoke; but she was looking into the mirror over the prescription desk. and she could see massey's face reflected in that glass. she saw his countenance suddenly change. it flushed, and then paled, and he showed great confusion. but he did not say a word. she was puzzled, but said no more to him. it did not seem as though there was anything more to say regarding the robbery and nelson haley's connection with it. besides, hopewell drugg was gently reminding her that they must start for home. "i'm afraid amarilla will be anxious. it--it is dreadfully late," he suggested. "we'll leave mr. massey to think it over," said frank bowman. "maybe he'll come to a better conclusion regarding nelson haley." "i don't care who stole the coins. we want 'em back," growled the druggist, preparing to lock them all out. the trio separated on the corner. hopewell was greatly depressed as he walked on with janice day. "i--i hope that amarilla will not hear of this evening's performance. i declare! i had no idea that that bodley young man would play me such a trick. i shall have to refuse to play for any more of the dances," he said, in his hesitating, stammering way. "you may be sure i shall not tell her," janice said firmly. they went into the dark store together as though they had just met on the porch. "i'm awfully glad you've both come," said 'rill drugg. "i was getting real scared and lonesome. mr. bowman gone home, janice?" the girl nodded. she had not much to say. the last hour had been so full of incident that she wanted to be alone and think it over. so she hurried to bid the storekeeper and his wife good night and went into the bedroom she was to share with little lottie. janice lay long awake. that was to be expected. her mind was overwrought and her young heart burdened with a multitude of troubles. her night spent with 'rill had not turned out just as she expected, that was sure. from her window she could watch the front of mrs. beaseley's cottage and she saw that nelson's lamp burned all night. he was wakeful, too. it made another bond between them; but it was not a bond that made janice any more cheerful. she returned to the day house early on sunday morning, and her unobservant aunt did not notice the marks the young girl's sleepless night had left upon her countenance. aunt 'mira was too greatly distracted just then about a new gown she, with the help of mrs. john-ed. hutchins, had made and was to wear for the first time on this occasion. "that is, if i kin ever git the pesky thing ter set straight over my hips. do come here an' see what's the matter with it, janice," aunt 'mira begged, in a great to-do over the frock. "what do you make of it?" "it doesn't fit very smoothly--that is true," janice said gently. "i--i am afraid, aunt 'mira, that it draws so because you are not drawn in just the same as you were when the dress was fitted by mrs. john-ed." "my soul and body!" gasped the heavy lady, in desperation. "i knowed it! i felt it in my bones that she'd got me pulled in too tight." janice finally got the good woman into proper shape to fit the new frock, rather than the new frock to fitting her, and started off with aunt 'mira to church, leaving mr. day and marty to follow. janice looked hopefully for nelson. she really believed that he would change his determination at the last moment and appear at church. but he did not. nor did anybody see him outside the beaseley cottage all day. it was a very unhappy sunday for janice. the whole town was abuzz with excitement. there were two usually inoffensive persons "on the dissecting table," as walky dexter called it--nelson and hopewell drugg. much had already been said about the missing coin collection and nelson haley's connection with it; so the second topic of conversation rather overshadowed the schoolmaster's trouble. it was being repeated all about town that hopewell drugg had been taken home from the dance at the lake view inn "roaring drunk." monday morning saw nelson put to the test. some of the boys gathered on the corner of high street near the teacher's lodging, whispering together and waiting for his appearance. it was said by some that mr. haley would not appear; that he "didn't dare show his head outside the door." about quarter past eight that morning there were many more people on the main street of the lakeside village than were usually visible at such an hour. especially was there a large number of women, and it was notorious that on that particular monday more housewives were late with their weekly wash than ever before in the annals of polktown. "jefers-pelters!" muttered walky dexter, as he urged josephus into high street on his first trip downtown. "what's got ev'rybody? circus in town? if so, it must ha' slipped my mind." "yep," said massey, the druggist, at his front door, and whom the expressman had hailed. "and here comes the procession." from up the hill came a troop of boys--most of them belonging in the upper class of the school. marty was one of them, and in their midst walked the young schoolmaster! "i snum!" ejaculated walky. "i guess that feller ain't got no friends--oh, no!" and he chuckled. the druggist scowled. "boy foolishness. that don't mean nothing." "he, he, he! it don't, hey?" drawled walky, chirping to josephus to start him. "wal--mebbe not. but if i was you, and had plate glass winders like you've got, an' no insurance on 'em, i wouldn't let that crowd of young rapscallions hear my opinion of mr. haley." indeed, marty and his friends had gone much further than passing resolutions. nelson was their friend and chum as well as their teacher. he coached their baseball and football teams, and was the only instructor in gymnastics they had. the streak of loyalty in the average boy is the biggest and best thing about him. nelson often joined the crowd on the way to the only level lot in town where games could be played; and this seemed like one of those saturday occasions, only the boys carried their books instead of masks and bats. their chorus of "hullo, mr. haley!" "morning, mr. haley!" and the like, as he reached the corner, almost broke down the determination the young man had gathered to show a calm exterior to the polktown inhabitants. more than a few other well-wishers took pains to bow to the schoolmaster or to speak to him. and then, there was janice, flying by in her car on her way to middletown to school, passing him with a cheery wave of her gloved hand and he realized that she had driven this way in the car on purpose to meet him. indeed, the young man came near to being quite as overwhelmed by this reception as he might have been had he met frowning or suspicious faces. but he got to the school, and the school committee remained under cover--for the time being. janice, coming back from middletown in the afternoon, stopped at the post-office and got the mail. in it was a letter which she knew must be from her father, although the outer envelope was addressed in the same precise, clerkly hand which she associated with the mysterious juan dicampa. no introductory missive from the flowery juan was inside, however; and her father's letter began as follows: "dear daughter:-- "i am under the necessity of putting on your young shoulders more responsibility than i think you should bear. but i find that of a sudden i am confined to an output of one letter a month, and that one to you. as i write in english, and these about me read (if they are able to read at all) nothing but spanish, i have some chance of getting information and instructions to my partners in ohio, by this means, and by this means only. "first of all, i will assure you, dear child, that my health is quite, quite good. there is nothing the matter with me save that i am a 'guest of the state,' as they pompously call it, and i cannot safely work the mining property. i am not going to dig ore for the benefit of either the federal forces or the constitutionalists. "i shall stay to watch the property, however, and meanwhile the zapatist chief in power here watches me. he takes pleasure in nagging and interfering with me in every possible way; so issues this last decree limiting the number of letters to one a month. "he would do more, but he dare not. i happen to be on friendly terms with a chief who is this fellow's superior. if the chief in charge here should harm me and my friend should feel so inclined, he might ride up here, and stand my enemy up against an adobe wall. the fellow knows it--and is aware of my friend's rather uncertain temper. that temper, my dear janice, known to all who have ever heard of juan dicampa, and his abundant health, is the wall between me and a possibly sudden and very unpleasant end." there was a great deal more to the letter, but at first janice could not go on with it for surprise. the clerkly writer with the abundance of flowery phrases, juan dicampa was, then, a mexican chieftain--perhaps a half-breed yaqui murderer! the thought rather startled janice. yet she was thankful to remember how warmly the man had written of her father. much of what followed in her father's letter she had to transmit to the bank officials and others of his business associates in her old home town. but the important thing, it seemed all the time to janice, was juan dicampa. she thought about him a great deal during the next few days. mostly she thought about his health, and the chances of his being shot in some battle down there in mexico. she began to read even more than heretofore of the mexican situation in the daily papers. she began to look for mention of dicampa, and tried to learn what manner of leader he was among his people. if juan dicampa should be removed what, then, would happen to broxton day? chapter xvi one matter comes to a head that was a black week for janice as well as for the young schoolmaster. she could barely keep her mind upon her studies at the seminary. nelson haley's salvation was the attention he was forced to give to his classes in the polktown school. one or another of the four committeemen who had constituted themselves his enemies, were hovering about nelson all the time. he felt himself to be continually watched and suspected. mr. middler, who had been away on an exchange over sunday, returned to find his parish split all but in two by the accusation against nelson haley. mr. middler was the fifth member of the school committee, and both sides in the controversy clamored for him to take a hand in the case. "gentlemen," he said to his four brother committeemen in massey's back room, "i have not a doubt in my mind that you are all honestly convinced that mr. haley has stolen the coins. otherwise you would not have made a matter public that was quite sure to ruin the young man's reputation." the four committeemen writhed under this thrust, and the minister went on: "on the other hand, i have no doubt in my mind that mr. haley is just as innocent as i am of the robbery." "ye say that 'cause you air a clergyman," said cross moore bluntly. "it's your business to be allus seeing the good side of folks, whether they've got a good side, or not." the minister flushed. "i thank god i can see the good side of my fellow men," he said quickly. "i can even see your good side, mr. moore, when you are willing to uncover it. you do not show it now, when you persecute this young man----" "'persecute'? we oughter prosecute," flashed forth cross moore. "the fellow's as guilty as can be. nobody else could have done it." "i wonder?" returned the minister, and walked out before there could be further friction between them; for he liked the hard-headed, shrewd, and none-too-honest politician, as he liked few men in polktown. if the minister did not distinctly array himself with the partisans of nelson haley, he expressed his full belief in his honesty in a public manner. and at thursday night prayer meeting he incorporated in his petition a request that his parishioners be not given to judging those under suspicion, and that a spirit of charity be spread abroad in the community at just this time. the next day, walky dexter said, that charitable spirit the minister had prayed for "got awfully swatted." news spread that on the previous saturday, only a few hours after the coin collection was missed, nelson haley had sent away a post-office money order for two hundred dollars. "that's where a part of the missing money went," was the consensus of public opinion. how this news leaked out from the post-office was a mystery. but when taxed with the accusation nelson's pride made him acknowledge the fact without hesitation. "yes; i sent away two hundred dollars. it went to my aunt in sheffield. i owed it to her. she helped me through college." "where did i get the money? i saved it from my salary." categorically, these were his answers. "if that young feller only could be tongue-tied for a few weeks, he might git out o' this mess in some way," walky dexter said. "he talks more useless than th' city feller that was a-sparkin' one of our country gals. he talked mighty high-falutin'--lots dif'rent from what the boys she'd been bringed up with talked. "sez he: 'see haow b-e-a-u-tiful th' stars shine ter-night. an' if th' moon would shed--would shed----' 'never mind the woodshed,' sez the gal. 'go on with yer purty talk.' haw! haw! haw! "now, this here nelson haley ain't got no more control of his tongue than that feller had. jefers-pelters! what ye goin' ter do with a feller that tells ev'rything he knows jest because he's axed?" "he's perfectly honest," janice cried. "that shows it." "if he's puffec' at all," grunted walky, "he's a puffec' fule! that's what he is!" and nelson haley's frankness really did spell disaster. taking courage from the discovery of the young schoolmaster's use of money, the committee swore a warrant out for him before judge little. it was done very quietly; but nelson's friends, who were on the watch for just such a move, were informed almost as soon as the dreadful deed was done. news of it came to the day house on saturday afternoon, just before supper-time. on this occasion uncle jason waited for no meal to be eaten. marty ran and got out janice's car. his cousin and mr. day joined him while aunt 'mira came to the kitchen door with the inevitable slice of pork dangling from her fork. "i'd run him right out o' the county, that's what i'd do, janice, an' let cross moore and massey whistle for him!" cried the angry lady. "leastwise, don't ye let that drab old crab, poley cantor, take him to jail." "we'll see about _that_," said uncle jason grimly. "let her go, marty--an' see if ye can git us down the hill without runnin' over nobody's pup." perhaps judge little had purposely delayed giving the warrant to constable cantor to serve. the days found nelson at home and ran him down to the justice's office before the constable had started to hunt for his prey. the "drab" old constable met them in front of the justice's office and marched back into the room with janice and nelson and marty and his father. judge little looked surprised when they entered. "what's this? what's this?" he demanded, smiling at janice. "another case of speeding, janice day?" "somebody's been speeding, i reckon, jedge," drawled mr. day. "and their wheels have skidded, too. i understand that you've issued a warrant for mr. haley?" "had to do it, jason--positively _had_ to," said the justice. "better serve it right here, quietly, constable. this is a serious matter, mr. haley. i'm sorry." "wal," drawled uncle jason, "it ain't so serious; i s'pose, but what you kin take bail for him? i'm here to offer what leetle tad of property i own. an' if ye want more'n i got, i guess i kin find all ye want purty quick." "that'll be all right, jason," judge little said quickly. "i'll put him under nominal bail, only. we'll have a hearing monday evening, if that's agreeable to----" "nossir!" exclaimed uncle jason promptly. "this business ain't goin' ter be hurried. we gotter git a lawyer--and a good one. i dunno but mr. haley will refuse to plead and the case will hatter be taken to a higher court. why, jedge little! this here means life an' repertation to this young man, and his friends aren't goin' ter see no chance throwed away ter clear him and make them school committeemen tuck their tails atween their laigs, an' skedaddle!" "oh, very well, jason. we'll set the examination for next saturday, then?" "that'll be about right," said uncle jason. "give us a week to turn around in. what d'ye say, mr. haley?" "i'd like to have it over as quickly as possible," sighed the young man. "but i think you know best, mr. day." he could not honestly feel grateful. as they got into the car again to whirl up the hill to the day house for supper, nelson felt a little doubtful, after all, of mr. day's wisdom in putting off the trial. "i might just as well be tried, convicted, and sentenced right now, as to have it put off a week," he said, after they reached the day place. "they've got me, and they mean to put me through. a demand has been made upon the committee through the state board by the owner of the collection of coins. the value of the collection is placed by the owner at sixteen hundred and fifty dollars, their face value--although some of the pieces were rare, and worth more. there is not a man of the quartette that would not sell his soul for four hundred and twelve dollars and fifty cents!" "_now_ you've said a mouthful!" grunted marty, in agreement. "that's a hard sayin'," mr. day observed judiciously. "they're all--th' hull quadruped (yes, marty, that's what i meant, 'quartette,') of 'em--purty poor pertaters, i 'low. but four hundred dollars is a lot of money for any man ter lose." nelson was very serious, however. he said to janice: "you see now, can't you, why i can not teach any longer? i should not have done it this past week. i shall ask for my release. it is neither wise, nor right for a person accused of robbery to teach school in the community." "oh, nelson!" gasped the girl despairing. "hi tunket! i won't go to school--_a-tall_, if they don't let you teach, mr. haley," cried marty. "of course you will, marty," said the schoolmaster. "i shall need you boys right there to stand up for me." "well!" gasped the very red lad, "you kin bet if they put miss pearly breeze inter your place, i won't go. i've vowed i won't never go to school to no old maid again!" "wal, now you've said it," sniffed his father, "and hev relieved your mind, s'pose ye bring in some wood for the settin' room stove. we need a spark o' fire to take the chill off." meanwhile nelson was saying: "i will resign; i will not wait for them to request me to get out. if you will lend me ink and paper, janice, i'll write my resignation here and hand it to massey as i go home." "but, mr. middler----" began janice. "mr. middler is only one of five. he has no power now in the committee, for the other four are against him. cross moore and massey and crawford and joe pellet mean to put it on me if they can. i think they have already had legal advice. i think they will attempt to escape responsibility for the loss of the coin collection by prosecuting and convicting me of having stolen the money. they were not under bond, you know." "it's a mess! it's a mess!" groaned uncle jason, "whichever way ye look at it. what ye goin' ter do, mr. haley, if ye don't teach?" "i'd go plumb away from here an' never come back to polktown no more!" declared the heated marty, coming in with an armful of wood. "i feel as though i might as well do that, marty, when i hear you speak," said nelson, shaking his head. "what good does it do you to go to school? i have failed somewhere when you use such poor grammar as----" "huh! what's good grammar?" demanded the boy, so earnest that he interrupted the teacher. "that won't make ye a civil engineer--and that's what i'm goin' ter be." "a proper use of english will help even in that calling in life," said the schoolmaster. "but seriously, i have no intention of running away." "ye don't wanter be idle," mr. day said. "i'll find something to do, i fancy. but whether or no, it shall not be said of me that i was afraid to face this business. i won't run away from it." janice squeezed his hand privately in approval. she had been afraid that he might wish to flee. and who could blame him? during this week of trial, however, nelson haley had recovered his self-control, and had deliberately made up his mind to the manly course. nevertheless, he did not appear in his accustomed place in church on the morrow. it was not possible for him to walk boldly up the church aisle among the people who doubted his honesty, or would sneer at him, either openly or behind his back. and it was known all over the town by church time that sunday that he had been arrested, bailed, and had asked the school committee for a vacation of indefinite length and without pay, and that this had been granted. miss pearly breeze and her contingent of trends were not happy for long. the school committee knew that a return to old methods in school matters would never satisfy polktown again. they telegraphed the state superintendent of schools and a proper and capable substitute for mr. haley was expected to arrive on monday. it was on monday morning, too, that nelson's partisans and the enemy came to open warfare. that is, the junior portion of the community began belligerent action. janice was rather belated that morning in starting for middletown in the kremlin car. marty jumped on the running board with his school books in a strap, to ride down the hill to the corner of school street. just as they came in sight of polktown's handsome brick schoolhouse, there was nelson haley briskly approaching. he had given up his key to the committee on saturday night; but there were books and private papers in his desk that he desired to remove before his successor arrived. the front door was locked and he had to wait for benny thread to hobble up from the basement to open it. this delay brought every woman on the block to her front windows. some peeped from behind the blinds; some boldly came out on their "stoops" to eye the unfortunate schoolmaster askance. a group of boys were gathered on the corner within plain earshot of the schoolmaster. as janice turned the car carefully into school street sim howell, one of these young loungers, uttered a loud bray. "what d'ye s'pose he's after now?" he then demanded of nobody in particular, but loud enough for all the neighbors to hear. "s'pose he thinks there's any more money in there ter steal?" "stop, janice!" yelped marty. "i knew i'd got ter do it. that feller's been spoilin' for it for a week! lemme down, i say!" he did not wait for his cousin to obey his command. before she could stop the car he took a flying leap from the running-board of the automobile. his books flew one way, his cap another; and with a wild shout of rage, marty fell upon sim howell! chapter xvii the opening of the campaign janice ran the car on for half a block before she stopped. she looked back. she had never approved of fisticuffs--and marty was prone to such disgraceful activities. nevertheless, when she saw sim howell's blood-besmeared countenance, his wide-open mouth, his clumsy fists pawing the air almost blindly, something primal--instinctive--made her heart leap in her bosom. she delighted in marty's clean blows, in his quick "duck" and "side-step;" and when her cousin's freckled fist impinged upon the fatuous countenance of sim howell, janice day uttered an unholy gasp of delight. she saw nelson striding to separate the combatants. she hoped he would not be harsh with marty. then, seeing the neighbors gathering, she pressed the starter button and the kremlin glided on again. the tall young schoolmaster was between the two boys, holding each off at arm's length, when janice wheeled around the far corner and gave a last glance at the field of combat. "i am getting to be a wicked, wicked girl!" she accused herself, when she was well out of town and wheeling cheerfully over the lower road toward middletown. "i have just longed to see that simeon howell properly punished ever since i caught him that day mocking jim narnay. and _that_ arises from the influence of lem parraday's bar. oh, dear me! _i_ am affected by the general epidemic, i believe. "if the inn did not sell liquor, in all human probability, narnay would not have been drunk that day; at least, not where i could see him. and so sim and those other young rascals would not have chased and mocked him. i would not have felt so angry with sim--dear me! everything dovetails together, nelson's trouble and all. i wonder if, after all, the selling of liquor at the inn isn't at the bottom of nelson's trouble. "it sounds foolish--or at least, far-fetched. but it may be so. perhaps the person who stole those coins was inspired to do the wicked deed because he was under the influence of liquor. and, of course, the lake view inn was the nearest place where liquor was to be bought. "dear me! am i foolish? who knows?" janice concluded, with a sigh. the thought of sim howell mocking jim narnay reminded her of the latter's unfortunate family. she had been only once to the little cottage near pine cove since narnay had gone into the woods with trimmins and jack besmith. nor had she been able to see dr. poole, amid her multitudinous duties, and ask him how the nameless little baby was getting on; although she had at once left a note at the doctor's office asking him to call and see the child at her expense. the peril threatening her father and the peril threatening nelson haley filled janice day's mind and heart so full that other interests had been rather lost sight of during the past eventful week. she had not seen frank bowman since the time they had separated on the street corner by the drug store, late saturday night, when she had taken hopewell drugg home. bowman was with his railroad construction gang not far off the lower middletown road. but janice had been going to and from school by the upper road, past elder concannon's place, because it was dryer. this morning, however, frank heard her car coming, and he appeared, plunging through the jungle, shouting to her to stop. he could scarcely make a mistake in hailing the car, for janice's automobile was almost the only one that ran on this road. by summer time, however, the boarding house people and lem parraday hoped that automobiles in polktown would be, in the words of walky dexter, "as thick as fleas on a yaller hound." janice saw frank bowman coming, if she did not hear him call, and slowed down. he strode crashingly down the hillside in his high boots, corduroys, and canvas jacket, his face flushed with exercise and, of course, broadly smiling. janice liked the civil engineer immensely. he lacked nelson haley's solid character and thoughtfulness; but he always had a fund of enthusiasm on tap. "how goes the battle, janice?" was his cheery call, as he leaped down into the roadway and thrust out a gloved hand to grasp hers. "i guess, by now, simmy howell has learned a thing or two," she declared, her mind on the scrimmage she had just seen. "what?" demanded bowman, wonderingly. at that janice burst into a laugh. "oh! i am a perfect heathen. i suppose you did not mean marty's battle with his schoolmate. but that was in my mind." "what's marty fighting about now?" asked the civil engineer, with a puzzled smile. "and are you interested in such sparring encounters?" "i was in this one," confessed janice. then she told him of the occurrence--and its cause, of course. "well, i declare!" said frank bowman, happily. "for once i fully approve of marty." "do you? well, to tell the truth, so do i!" gasped janice, laughing again. "but i know it is wicked." "guess the whole day family feels friendly toward nelson," declared the engineer. "i hear mr. day went on nelson's bond saturday night." "yes, indeed. dear uncle jason! he's slow, but he's dependable." "well, i am glad nelson haley has some friends," bowman said quickly. "but i didn't stop you to say just this." "no?" "no," said the civil engineer. "when i asked you, 'how goes the battle?' i was thinking of something you said the other night when we were rounding up that disgraceful old reprobate, hopewell drugg," and he laughed. "oh, poor hopewell! isn't it a shame the way they talk about him?" "it certainly is," agreed frank bowman. "but whether hopewell drugg is finally injured in character by lem parraday's bar or not, enough other people are being injured. you said you'd do anything to see it closed." "i would," cried janice. "at least, anything i could do." "by jove! so would i!" exclaimed frank bowman, vigorously. "it was pay night for my men last saturday night. one third of them have not shown up this morning, and half of those that have are not fit for work. i've got a reputation to make here. if this drunkenness goes on i'll have a fat chance of making good with the board of directors of the railroad." "how about making good with that pretty daughter of vice president harrison's?" asked janice, slily. bowman blushed and laughed. "oh! she's kind. she'll understand. but i can't take the same excuses for failure to a board of directors." "of course not," laughed janice. "a mere board of directors hasn't half the sense of a lovely girl--nor half the judgment." "you're right!" cried bowman, seriously. "however, to get back to my men. they've got to put the brake on this drinking stuff, or i'll never get the job done. as long as the drink is right here handy in polktown, i'm afraid many of the poor fellows will go on a spree every pay day." "it is too bad," ventured janice, warmly. "i guess it is! for them and me, too!" said bowman, shaking his head. "do you know, these fellows don't want to drink? and they wouldn't drink if there was anything else for them to do when they have money in their pockets. let me tell you, janice," he added earnestly, "i believe that if these fellows had it to vote on right now, they'd vote 'no license' for polktown--yes, ma'am!" "oh! i wish we could _all_ vote on it," cried janice. "i am sure more people in polktown would like to see the bar done away with, than desire to have it continued." "i guess you're right!" agreed bowman. "but, of course, we 'female women,' as walky calls us, can't vote." "there are enough men to put it down," said bowman, quickly. "and it can come to a vote in town meeting next september, if it's worked up right." "oh, frank! can we do that?" "now you've said it!" crowed the engineer. "that's what i meant when i wondered if you had begun your campaign." "_my_ campaign?" repeated janice, much flurried. "why, yes. you intimated the other night that you wanted the bar closed, and walky has told all over town that you're 'due to stir things up,' as he expresses it, about this dram selling." "oh, dear!" groaned janice, in no mock alarm. "my fatal reputation! if my friends really loved me they would not talk about me so." "i'm afraid there is some consternation under walky's talk," said bowman, seriously. "he likes a dram himself and would be sorry to see the bar chased out of polktown. i hope you can do it, janice." "me--_me_, frank bowman! you are just as bad as any of them. putting it all on my shoulders." "the time is ripe," went on the engineer, seriously. "you won't be alone in this. lots of people in the town see the evil flowing from the bar. mrs. thread tells me her brother would never have lost his job with massey if it hadn't been for lem parraday's rum selling." "do you mean jack besmith?" cried janice, startled. "that's the chap. mrs. thread is a decent little woman, and poor benny is harmless enough. but she is worried to death about her brother." janice, remembering the condition of the ex-drug clerk when he left polktown for the woods, said heartily: "i should think she would be worried." "she tells me he tried to get back his job with massey on friday night--the evening before he went off with trimmins and narnay. but i expect he'd got mr. massey pretty well disgusted. at any rate, the druggist turned him down, and turned him down hard." "poor fellow!" sighed janice. "i don't know. oh, i suppose he's to be pitied," said frank bowman, with some disgust. "anyhow, besmith got thoroughly desperate, went down to the inn after his interview with his former employer, and spent all the money he had over lem's bar. he didn't come home at all that night----" "oh!" exclaimed janice, remembering suddenly where jack besmith had probably slept off his debauch, for she had seen him asleep in her uncle's sheepfold on that particular saturday morning. "he's a pretty poor specimen, i suppose," said the engineer, eyeing janice rather curiously. "he's one of the weak ones. but there are others!" janice was silent for a moment. indeed, she was not following closely bowman's remarks. she was thinking of jack besmith. mr. massey had evidently been much annoyed by his discharged clerk. when she and frank bowman, with hopewell drugg, had gone to the druggist's back door that eventful saturday night, massey had thought it was jack besmith summoning him to the door. massey had spoken besmith's name when he first opened the door and peered out into the mist. "now, janice," she suddenly heard frank bowman say, "what shall we do?" she awoke to the subject under discussion with a start. "goodness! do you really expect me to tell you?" "why--why, you see, janice, you've got ideas. you always do have," said the civil engineer, humbly. "i've talked to such of my men as have come back to work this morning. of course, they have been off before, on pay day; but this is the worst. they had a big time down there at the inn saturday night and sunday morning." "poor mrs. parraday!" sighed janice. "you're right. i'm sorry for marm parraday. she's the salt of the earth. but there are more than marm parraday suffering through lem's selling whiskey. but about my boys," added the engineer. "they tell me if the stuff wasn't so handy they would finish the job without going on these sprees. and i believe they would." "well! i'll think about it," janice rejoined, preparing to start her car. "i suppose if i don't go ahead in the matter, the railroad will never get its branch road built into polktown?" and she laughed. "that's about the size of it!" cried bowman, as the wheels began to roll. but it was of jack besmith, the ex-drug clerk, that janice day thought as she sped on toward the seminary and not of the opening of the campaign against the liquor traffic in polktown, which she felt had really been organized on this morning. in some way the ne'er-do-well was connected in her mind with another train of thought that, until now, had had "the right of way" in her inner consciousness. what had jack besmith to do with nelson haley's troubles? janice day was puzzled. chapter xviii hopewell sells his violin janice day had no intention of avoiding what seemed, finally, to be a duty laid upon her. if everybody else in polktown opposed to the sale of liquor, merely complained about it--and in a hopeless, helpless way--it was not in her disposition to do so. she was broxton day's own daughter and she absolutely had to _do something_! she was imbued with her father's spirit of helpfulness, and she believed thoroughly in his axiom: if a thing is wrong, go at it and make it right. of course, janice knew very well that a young girl like herself could do little in reality about this awful thing that had stalked into polktown. she could do nothing of her own strength to put down the liquor traffic. but she believed she might set forces in motion which, in the end, would bring about the much-desired reformation. she had done it before. her inspiration had touched all of polktown and had awakened and rejuvenated the old place. she had learned that all that the majority of people needed to rank them on the active side of right, was to be made to think. she determined that polktown should be made to think upon this subject of liquor selling. after school she drove around by the upper road and branched off into a woods path that she had not dared venture into the week before. the spring winds had done much to dry this woodroad and there were not many mud-holes to drive around before she came in sight of the squatters' cabin occupied by the family of mr. trimmins. this transplanted family of georgia "crackers" had been a good deal of a misfit in the vermont community until janice had found and interested herself in them. virginia, a black-haired sprite of eleven or twelve, was the leader of the family in all things, although there were several older children. but "jinny" was born to be a commander. having made a friend of the little witch of a girl, and of buddy, who had been the baby the year before, but whose place had been usurped because of the advent of another tow-head into the family, the others of "them trimminses," as they were spoken of in polktown, had become janice day's staunch friends. virginia and two of her sisters came regularly to the meetings of the girls' guild which janice had founded; but it was a long walk to the union church and janice really wondered how they ever got over the road in stormy weather. it always puzzled janice where so many children managed to sleep when bedtime came, unless they followed the sea law of "watch and watch." now all the children who were at home poured out of the cabin to greet the driver of the kremlin car. the whole family, as now arrayed before her, she had not seen since christmas. she had not forgotten to bring a great bag of "store cakes," of which these poor little trimminses were inordinately fond; so most of them soon drifted away, each with a share of the goodies, leaving janice to talk with mrs. trimmins and jinny and play with buddy and the baby. "it's a right pretty evening, miss janice," said mrs. trimmins. "i shell be glad enough when the settled weather comes to stay. i kin git some o' these young'uns out from under foot all day long, then. "trimmins has got a gang wo'kin' for him over th' mountain a piece----" "here comes dad now," said the sharp-eyed virginia. "and the elder's with him." "why--ya-as," drawled her mother, "so 'tis. it's one of concannon's timber lots trimmins is a-wo'kin' at." the elder, vigorous and bewhiskered, came tramping into the clearing like a much younger man. trimmins slouched along by his side, chewing a twig of black birch. "no, trimmins," the elder was saying decisively. "we'll stick to the letter of the contract. i furnish the team and feed them. i went a step further and furnished supplies for three men instead of two. but not one penny do you nor they handle till the job is finished." "that's all right, elder," drawled the georgian. "that's 'cordin' to contrac', i know. i don't keer for myself. but narnay and that other feller are mighty hongree for a li'le change." "powerful thirsty, ye mean!" snorted the elder. "wa-al--mebbe so! mebbe so!" agreed trimmins, with a weak grin. "they knew the agreement before they started in with you on the job, didn't they?" "oh, ya-as. they knowed about the contrac'." "'nuff said, then," grunted the elder. "oh! is that you, janice day? i'll ride back with you," added the elder, who had quite overcome his dislike for what he had formerly termed "devil wagons," since one very dramatic occasion when he himself had discovered the necessity for traveling much "faster than the law allowed." "you are very welcome, elder concannon," janice said, smiling at him. she kissed the two babies and virginia, shook hands with mrs. trimmins, and then waved a gloved hand to the rest of the family as she settled herself behind the steering wheel. the elder got into the seat beside her. "i declare for't, janice!" the elder said, as the started, the words being fairly jerked ouf of his mouth, "i dunno but i'd like to own one of these contraptions myself. you can git around lively in 'em--and that's a fac'." "they are a whole lot better than 'shanks' mare,' elder," said the young girl, laughing. "i--should--say! and handy, too, when the teams are all busy. now i had to walk clean over the mountain to-day to that piece where trimmins and them men are working. warn't a hoss fit to use." "has mr. trimmins a big gang at work?" the elder chuckled. "he calls it a gang--him, and jim narnay, and a boy. they've all got a sleight with the axe, i do allow; and the boy handles the team right well." "is he jack besmith?" questioned janice. "that's his name, i believe," said the elder. "likely boy, i guess. but if i let 'em have any money before the job is done--as trimmins wants me to--none of 'em would do much till the money was spent--boy and all." "it is too bad about young besmith," janice said, shaking her head. "he is only a boy." "yep. but a month or so in the woods without drink will do him a heap of good." that very evening, however, janice saw jack besmith in town. from marty she learned that he did not stay long. "he came in for booze--that's what he come for," said her cousin, in disgust. "he started right back for the woods with a two-gallon demi-john." "and i thought they had no money up there," janice reflected. "can it be that lem parraday or his barkeeper would trust them for drink?" marty was nursing a lump on his jaw and a cut lip. the morning's battle, had not gone all his way, although he said to janice with his usual impish grin when she commented upon his battered appearance: "you'd orter see the other feller! if nelson haley hadn't got in betwixt us i'd ha' whopped sim howell good and proper. i was some excited, i allow. if i hadn't been i needn't never run ag'inst sim's fist a-_tall_. he's a clumsy kid, if ever there was one--and i reckon he's got enough of me for a spell. anyway, he won't get fresh with mr. haley again--nor none of the rest of 'em." "dear me, marty! it seems too bad that any of the boys should feel so unkindly toward mr. haley, after all he's done for them." "they're a poor lot--fellers like sim howell. hang around the tavern hoss sheds all the time. can't git 'em to come up to the readin' room with the decent fellers," marty said belligerently. marty had forgotten that--not so long before--he had been a frequenter of the tavern "hoss sheds" himself. that was before janice had started the public library association and the boys' club. janice did not see nelson that evening, and she wondered what he was doing with his idle time. so the following afternoon she came home by the lower road, meaning to call on the schoolmaster. she stopped her car before hopewell drugg's store and ran in there first. 'rill was behind the counter; but from the back room the wail of the violin announced hopewell's presence. the lively tunes which the storekeeper had played so much through the winter just past--such as "jingle bells" and "aunt dinah's quilting party"--seemed now forgotten. nor was hopewell in a sentimental mood and his old favorite, "silver threads among the gold," could not express his feelings. "old hundred" was the strain he played, and he drew it lingeringly out of the strings until it fairly rasped the nerves. no son of israel, weeping against the wall in old jerusalem, ever expressed sorrow more deeply than did hopewell's fiddle at the present juncture. "oh, dear, janice! that's the way he is all day long," whispered the bride, the tears sparkling in her eyes. "he says lottie _must_ go to boston, and i guess he's right. the poor little thing doesn't see anywhere near as good as she did." "oh, my dear!" cried janice, under her breath. "i wish i could help pay for her trip." "no. you've done your part, janice. you paid for the treatment before----" "i only helped," interrupted janice. "it was a great, big help. hopewell can never repay you," said the wife. "and he can accept no more from you, dear." "but i haven't got it to offer!" almost wailed janice. "daddy's mine is shut down again. i--i could almost wish to sell my car--only it was a particular present from daddy----" "no, indeed! there is going to be something else sold, i expect," 'rill said gravely. "here! let us go back. i don't like even to see this fellow come in here. hopewell must wait on him." janice turned to see joe bodley, the fat, smirking bartender from the lake view inn, now entering the store. "afternoon, mrs. drugg!" he called after the storekeeper's retreating wife. "i won't bite ye." "mr. drugg will be right in," said 'rill, beckoning janice away. hopewell entered, violin in hand. he greeted janice in his quiet way and then spoke to bodley. "you wanted to see me, mr. bodley?" "now, how about that fiddle, hopewell? d'ye really want to sell it?" asked the bartender, lightly. "i--i must sell it, mr. bodley. i feel that i _must_," said hopewell, in his gentle way. "it's as good as sold, then, old feller," said the barkeeper. "i've got a customer for it." "ah! but i must have my price. otherwise it will do me no good to sell the violin which i prize so highly--and which my father played before me." "that's yankee talk," laughed bodley. "how much?" "i believe it is a valuable instrument--a very valuable instrument," said poor hopewell, evidently in fear of not making the sale, yet determined to obtain what he considered a fair price for it. "at least, i know 't is an _old_ violin." "one of the 'old masters,' eh?" chuckled bodley. "perhaps. i do not think you will care to pay my price, sir," said the storekeeper, with dignity. "i've got a customer for it. he seen it down to the dance--and he wants it. what's your price?" repeated bodley. "i thought some of sending it to new york to be valued," hopewell said slowly. "my man will buy it--sight unseen, as ye might say--on my recommend. he only saw it for a moment," said bodley. "what will he give for it?" asked hopewell. "how much do you want?" "one hundred dollars, mr. bodley," said the storekeeper, this time with more firmness. "_what_? one hundred of your grandmother's grunts! why, hopewell, there _ain't_ so much money--not in polktown, at least--'nless it's hid away in a broken teapot on the top shelf of a cupboard in elder concannon's house. they say he's got the first dollar he ever earned, and most all that he's gathered since that time." janice heard all this as she stood in the back room with 'rill. then, having excused herself to the storekeeper's wife, she ran out of the side door to go across the street to mrs. beaseley's. in fact, she could not bear to stay there and hear hopewell bargain for the sale of his precious violin. it seemed too, too, bad! it had been his comfort--his only consolation, indeed--for the many years that circumstances had kept him and 'rill scattergood apart. and after all, to be obliged to dispose of it---- janice remembered how she had brought little lottie home to the storekeeper the very day she first met him, and how he had played "silver threads among the gold" for her in the dark, musty back room of the old store. why! hopewell drugg would be utterly lost without the old fiddle. she was glad mrs. beaseley was rather an unobservant person, for janice's eyes were tear-filled when she looked into the cottage kitchen. nelson, however, was not at home. he had gone for a long tramp through the fields and had not yet returned. so, leaving word for him to come over to the day house that evening, janice went slowly back to her car. before she could start it 'rill came outside. bodley had gone, and the storekeeper's wife was frankly weeping. "poor hopewell! he's sold the fiddle," sobbed 'rill. "to that awful bartender?" demanded janice. "just as good as. the fellow's paid a deposit on it. if he comes back with the rest of the hundred dollars in a month, the fiddle is his. otherwise, hopewell declares he will send it to new york and take what he can get for it." "oh, dear me!" murmured janice, almost in tears, too. "it--it is all hopewell can do," pursued 'rill. "he has nothing else on which he can raise the necessary money. lottie must have her chance." chapter xix the gold coin the campaign against liquor selling in polktown really had been opened on that monday morning when janice and frank bowman conferred together near the scene of the young engineer's activities for the railroad. the determination of two wide-awake young people to _do something_ was the beginning of activities. not only was the time ripe, but popular feeling was already stirred in the matter. the thoughtful people of polktown were becoming dissatisfied with the experiment. those who had considered it of small moment in the beginning were learning differently. if polktown was to be "boomed" through such disgraceful means as the sale of intoxicants at the only hotel, these people with suddenly awakened consciences would rather see the town lie fallow for a while longer. the gossip regarding hopewell drugg's supposed fall from sobriety was both untrue and unkind. that the open bar at lem parraday's was a real and imminent peril to polktown, however, was a fact now undisputed by the better citizens. janice had sounded elder concannon on that very monday when she had brought him home from the trimmins place. the old gentleman, although conservative to a fault where money was concerned--his money, or anybody's--agreed that one or two men should not be allowed to benefit at the moral expense of their fellow townsmen. that the liquor selling was causing a festering sore in the community of polktown could not be gainsaid. sim howell and two other boys in their early teens had somehow obtained liquor, and had been picked up in a frightful condition on the public street by constable poley cantor. the boys were made very ill by the quantity of liquor they had drunk, and although they denied that they had bought the stuff at the hotel, it was soon learned that the supply of spirits the boys had got hold of, came from lem parraday's bar. one of the town topers had purchased the half-gallon bottle and had hid it in a barn, fearing to take it home. the boys had found it and dared each other to taste the stuff. "it's purty bad stuff 'at lem sells, i allow," observed walky dexter. "no wonder it settled them boys. it's got a 'kick' to it wuss'n josephus had that time the swarm of bees lit on him." the town was ablaze with the story of the boys' escapade on wednesday afternoon when janice came back from middletown. she stopped at hopewell drugg's store, which was a rendezvous for the male gossips of the town, and walky was holding forth upon the subject uppermost in the public mind: "them consarned lettle skeezicks--i'd ha' trounced the hull on 'em if they'd been mine." "how would you have felt, mr. dexter, if they really were yours?" asked janice, who had been talking to 'rill and nelson haley. "suppose sim howell were your boy? how would you feel to know that, at his age, he had been intoxicated?" "jefers-pelters!" grunted walky. "i reckon i wouldn't git pigeon-breasted with pride over it--nossir!" "then don't make fun," admonished the girl, severely. "it is an awful, _awful_ thing that the boys of polktown can even get hold of such stuff to make them so ill." "that is right, miss janice," hopewell said, busy with a customer. "what else, mrs. massey?" "that's all to-day, hopewell. i hate to give you so big a bill, but that's all i've got," said the druggist's wife, as she handed the store-keeper a twenty-dollar gold certificate. "he, he!" chuckled walky, "guess massey wants all the change in town in his own till, heh?" "that is all right, mrs. massey," said hopewell, in his gentle way. "i can change it. have to give you a gold piece--there." "what's going to be done about this liquor selling, anyway?" demanded nelson haley, in a much more serious mood, it would seem, than usual. "i think janice has the right of it--although i did not think so at first. 'live and let live,' is a good motto; but it is foolish to let a mad dog live in a community. lem parraday's bar is certainly doing a lot of harm to innocent people." janice clapped her hands softly, and her eyes shone. the school teacher went on with increased warmth: "polktown is really being vastly injured by the liquor selling. to think of those boys becoming intoxicated--one of them of my school, too----" the young man halted suddenly in this speech. in his earnestness he had forgotten that it was his school no longer. "it is a disgraceful state of affairs," 'rill hastened to say, kindly covering nelson's momentary confusion. but janice beamed at the young man. "oh, nelson! i am delighted to hear you speak so. we are going to hold a temperance meeting--mr. middler and i have talked it over. and i have obtained elder concannon's promise to be one of those on the platform. polktown must be waked up----" "what! _again_? haw! haw! haw!" burst out walky. "jefers-pelters, janice day! you've abeout give polktown insomnia already! i sh'd say our eyes was purty well opened----" "_yours_ are not, old fellow," said nelson, good-naturedly, but with marked earnestness, too. "you're patronizing the barroom side of the hotel altogether more than is good for you, and if you don't know it yourself, walky, i feel myself enough your friend to tell you so." "nonsense! nonsense!" returned the expressman, reddening a little, yet man enough to accept personal criticism when he was so prone to criticizing other people. "what leetle i drink ain't never goin' ter hurt me." "nor anybody else?" asked janice, softly, for she liked walky and was sorry to see him go wrong. "how about your example, walky?" "shucks! don't talk ter me abeout 'example.' that's allus the excuse of the weak-headed. if my example was goin' ter hurt the boys, ev'ry one o' them would wanter be th' town expressman! haw! haw! haw! i ain't never seen none o' them tumblin' over each other fer th' chance't ter cut me out on my job. an' 'cause i chaw terbaccer, is ev'ry white-headed kid in town goin' ter take up chawin' as a habit? "jefers-pelters! i 'low if i had a boy o' m' own mebbe i'd be a lettle keerful how i used either licker, or terbaccer. but i hain't. i got only one child, an' she's a female. i reckon i ain't gotter worry about little matildy bein' inflooenced either by her daddy's chawin', or his takin' a snifter of licker on a cold day--i snum!" "unanswerable logic, walky," said nelson, with some scorn. "i've used the same myself. and it serves all right if one is utterly selfish. i thought _that_ out after janice, here, opened my eyes." "you show me how my takin' a drink 'casionally hurts anybody or anything else, an', jefers-pelters! i'll stop it mighty quick!" exclaimed the expressman, with some heat. "i shall hold you to that, walky," said janice, quickly, interfering before there should be any further sharp discussion. "and," muttered nelson, "she's as good as got you, walky--she has that!" at the moment the door opened with a bang, and mr. massey plunged in. he was without a hat and wore the linen apron he always put on when he was compounding prescriptions in the back room of his shop. in his excitement his gray hair was ruffled up more like a cockatoo's topknot than usual, and his eyes seemed fairly to spark. "hopewell drugg!" he exclaimed, spying the storekeeper. "was my wife just in here?" "hul-_lo_!" ejaculated walky dexter. "hopewell hasn't been sellin' her paris green for buckwheat flour, has he? that would kinder be in your line, wouldn't it, massey?" but the druggist paid the town humorist no attention. he hurried to the counter and leaned across it, asking his question for a second time. "why, yes, she was here, mr. massey," said hopewell, puzzled. "she changed a bill with you, didn't she?" "jefers-pelters! was it counterfeit?" put in walky, drawing nearer. "a twenty dollar bill--yes, sir," said the storekeeper. "did you give her a gold piece--a ten dollar gold piece--in the change?" shot in massey, his voice shaking. "why--yes." "is this it?" and the druggist slapped a gold coin down on the counter between them. hopewell picked up the coin, turned it over in his hand, holding it close to his near-sighted eyes. nothing could ever hurry hopewell drugg in speech. "why--yes," he said again. "i guess so." "but look at the date, man!" shouted massey. "don't you see the date on it?" amazed, drugg repeated the date aloud, reading it carefully from the coin. "why, yes, that's the date, sir," said the storekeeper. "don't ye know that's one of the rarest issues of ten dollar coins in existence? somethin' happened to the die: they only issued a few," massey stammered. "where'd you git it, hopewell?" "why--why--is it valuable?" asked hopewell. "a rare coin, you say?" "rare!" shouted massey. "yes, i tell ye! it's rare. there ain't but a few in existence. mr. hobart told me when he brought them coins over here that night. and he pointed one of them out to me in that collection. where did you get this one, hopewell--where'd you get it, i say?" and on completing the demand he turned sharply and stared with his blinking, red eyes directly at nelson haley. chapter xx suspicions "why--why--why----" stammered hopewell drugg, and could say no more. the others had noted massey's accusing glance at the schoolmaster; but not even walky dexter commented upon it at the moment. "come, hopewell!" exclaimed the druggist; "where did you get it?" "where--where did i get the gold piece?" repeated the storekeeper, weakly. "yes. who paid it in to you? hi, man! surely you don't think for a moment i accuse you of having stolen the coin collection--or having guilty knowledge of the theft?" "oh, mr. massey! what are you saying?" cried the storekeeper's wife. "the coins?" whispered hopewell. "is that one of them?" "jefers-pelters!" ejaculated walky, "here's a purty mess." "who gave it to you?" again demanded mr. massey. "why, it would be hard to say offhand," the storekeeper had sufficient wit to reply. "oh, but hopewell!" implored the druggist. "don't ye see what i am after? stir yourself, man! perhaps we are right on the trail of the thief--this is maybe a clue," and he cast another glance at nelson as though he feared the schoolmaster might try to slip out of the store if he did not watch him. nelson came forward to the counter. at first he had grown very red; now he was quite pale and the look of scorn and indignation he cast upon the druggist might have withered that person at a time of less excitement. "i ran 'way up here the minute my wife gave me that gold piece, hopewell," massey continued. "don't you remember how you came by it?" "he means, mr. drugg," broke in nelson, "that he suspects you got it from me. now tell him, if you please: have i passed a gold piece over your counter since the robbery--that piece, or any other?" "not--not to my knowledge, mr. haley," the storekeeper said, shaking his head slowly. "oh, nelson!" gasped janice, coming nearer and touching his arm lightly. the young man's hands were clenched. he had a temper and it nearly mastered him now. but he had learned to control himself. otherwise he could never have been as successful as he was in handling his pupils. his eyes darted lightning at the druggist; but the latter was too excited to realize nelson haley's mood. "this fellow has been to the postmaster to try to discover if i bought my money-order the other day with gold coin; but the postmaster obeyed the rules of the department and refused to answer. he and the other committeemen are doing every underhanded thing possible to injure me. cross moore even tried to get into my rooms to search my trunk--but mrs. beaseley threatened him with a broom. "it doesn't surprise me that mr. massey should attempt in this way to find what he calls 'a clue.' the only clue he and his friends are looking for is something with which to connect me with the robbery." janice's light touch on his arm again, stayed his wrathful words; but the druggist's freckled face glowed--red under the young man's gaze. "wal!" he grunted, shortly, "we're bound to look after our own skins--not after yours, mr. haley." "i believe you!" exclaimed the schoolmaster in scorn, and turned away. "but, say, hopewell, ye ain't answered me yet," went on massey, again addressing the storekeeper. "well--i couldn't say offhand----" "great goodness, hopewell!" cried massey, pounding his fist upon the counter for emphasis, "you're the most exasperating critter. if this--this---- if mr. haley didn't give you the coin, _who did_?" "why--i--i----" drugg was slow enough at best. now he was indeed very irritating. he was not the man to allow anything he said to injure another, if he could help it. "le's see," he continued; "i've had that gold piece sev'ral days. i am sure, of course, that mr. haley did not give it to me. no. come to think of it----" "well?" gasped mr. massey. "i _do_ remember the transaction, now. it--it was give me as an option on my violin," said hopewell drugg, with growing confidence. "yes. i remember now all about it." "what's that? yer fiddle, hopewell?" put in dexter. "ye ain't goin' ter sell yer fiddle?" "i must," hopewell said simply. "i accepted that ten dollar gold piece and two five dollar bills, as a payment upon it." "who from?" demanded massey, sticking to his text, and that only. "young joe bodley, of the lake view inn." "joe bodley! why, he was abed when them coins was stolen--i know that," blurted out the druggist, very much disappointed. "lem parraday 'tends bar himself forenoons, for joe's allus up till past midnight. you know that, walky." "ya-as--f'r sure," agreed the expressman. "but one o' these here magazine deteckatiffs might be able ter hook up joe with them missin' coins, jes' the same. mebbe he's a sernamb'list," suggested, walky, with a sly grin. "a _what_?" demanded massey, with a startled look. "he's an odd feller, an' a son o' jethro. i don't know what other lodges he b'longs to." "jefers-pelters!" ejaculated walky, "who's talkin' about lodges? i mean mebbe joe walks in his sleep. he might ha' stole them coins when he was sernamb'latin' about----" the druggist snorted. "that's some o' your funny business, i s'pose, walky dexter. if you stood ter lose four hundred dollars you wouldn't chuckle none about it, i'm bound." "mebbe that's so," admitted walky. "but i dunno's i'd go around suspectin' everybody there was of stealin' that money. caesar's wife--er was it his darter?--wouldn't 'scape suspicion in your mind, mr. massey." "by hickory!" exclaimed the exasperated druggist, "i'd suspect my own grandmother!" "sure ye would--ef ye thought by so doin' ye'd escape payin' out four hundred dollars! hay! haw! haw!" laughed the expressman. "ye ac' right fullish, massey. all sorts of money is passed over that bar. i seen a feller count out forty pennies there t'other day for a flask of whiskey: an' i bet he'd either robbed his baby's bank, or the missionary-fund box. haw! haw! haw!" "you can laugh," began the druggist, looking sour enough, when walky broke in again: "sure i can. it's lucky i can, too. if i couldn't laff at most of the folks that live in this town, i'd be tempted ter commit sooicide--that's right! and you air one of the most amusin' of the lot, massey. them other committeemen run ye a clost second." "oh! i can't stop here and fool with you all day, walky dexter," snapped the druggist, pretty well worked up by now. "i tell ye this gold piece is a clue----" "mebbe," said walky. "mebbe 'tis a clue. but i reckon it's what them magazine deteckatifs call a blind clue. haw! haw! haw! an' afore ye git anywhere with it, it'll proberbly go on crutches an' be deef an' dumb inter the bargain!" massey did not look as though he enjoyed these gibes much. "i'll go down an' see joe," he grunted. "mebbe he'll know something about it." "i hope you do not expect to find that i spent that ten dollar gold piece at the inn bar," said nelson, bitterly. "well! i'll find out how it got into joe's hands," growled massey. "if joe tells you," chuckled walky. "an' do stop for yer hat, massey. you'll ketch yer death o' dampness." the druggist had opened a fruitful subject for speculation. those he left behind in the store were eagerly interested. indeed, janice and nelson could not fail to be excited by the occurrence, and the latter rode home with janice in the car to talk the matter over with uncle jason. "of course," the schoolmaster said, when the family was assembled in the sitting room of the old day house, "_that_ gold piece may not be one of those stolen at all. there are plenty of ten dollar gold pieces in circulation." "not in polktown!" exclaimed uncle jason. "and if we are to believe mr. massey," added janice, "there are not many ten dollar gold pieces of that particular date in existence." "we don't really know. perhaps massey is mistaken. we know he was excited," said nelson. "hold hard, now," advised uncle jason, "it's a breach in their walls, nevertheless." "how is that, mr. day?" asked the schoolmaster. "why, don't you see?" said uncle jason, puffing on his pipe in some excitement. "they have opened th' way for doubt ter stalk in," and he chuckled. "them committeemen have been toller'ble sure--er they've _said_ they was--it was you stole the money, mr. haley. if they can't connect this coin with you at all, they'll sartain sure be up a stump. and they air a-breakin' down their own case against ye. i guess i'm lawyer enough ter see that." "oh, goodness, uncle jason! so they will!" cried janice. "but it does not seem reasonable that the person stealing the coins would spend one of them in polktown," nelson said slowly. "i dunno," reflected mr. day. "i never did think that a thief had any medals fer good sense--nossir! he most allus leaves some openin' so's ter git caught." "and if he spent the money at the tavern--and for liquor--of course he _couldn't_ have good sense." "i take off my hat to you on that point, janice," laughed nelson. "i believe you are right." "ya-as, ain't she?" aunt almira said proudly. "an' our janice has done suthin' this time that'll make polktown put her on a ped-ped-es-tri-an----" "'pedestal,' maw!" giggled marty. "wal, never mind," said the somewhat flurried mrs. day. "mr. middler said it. mr. haley, ye'd oughter hear all 't mr. middler said about her this arternoon at the meetin' of the ladies' aid." "oh, auntie!" murmured janice, turning very red. "go on, maw, and tell us," said marty. "what did he say?" and he grinned delightedly at his cousin's rosy face. "sing her praises, mrs. day--do," urged nelson. "we know she deserves to have them sung." "wal! i should say she did," agreed aunt 'mira, proudly. "it's her, the parson says, that's re'lly at the back of this temp'rance movement that's goin' ter be inaugurated right here in polktown. nex' sunday he's goin' to give a sermon on temperance. he said 'at he was ashamed to feel that he--like the rest of us--was content ter drift along and _do nothin'_ 'cept ter talk against rum selling, until janice began ter _do somethin'_." "now, auntie!" complained the girl again. "wal! you started it--ye know ye did, janice. they was talkin' about holdin' meetings, an' pledge-signin', and stirrin' up the men folks ter vote nex' fall ter make polktown so everlastin'ly dry that all the old topers, like jim narnay, an' bruton willis, an'--an' the rest of 'em, will jest natcherly wither up an' blow away! i tell ye, the ladies' aid is all worked up." "i wonder, now," said uncle jason, reflectively. "ye wonder what, jase day?" demanded his spouse, with some warmth. "i wonder if it can be _did_?" returned uncle jason. "lemme tell ye, rum sellin' an' rum drinkin' is purty well rooted in polktown. if janice is a-goin' ter stop th' sale of licker here, she's tackled purty consider'ble of a job, lemme tell ye." chapter xxi what was in the paper as the days passed it certainly looked as though mr. day was correct in his surmise about the difficulties of "janice's job," as he called it. the girl was earnestly talking to everybody whom she knew, especially to the influential men of polktown, regarding the disgraceful things that had happened in the lakeside hamlet since the bar had been opened at the inn. and it was among these influential men that she found the most opposition to making polktown "dry" instead of "wet." she had thrown down her gauntlet at mr. cross moore's feet, so she troubled no more about him. janice realized that nobody was more politically powerful in polktown than mr. moore. but she believed she could not possibly obtain him on the side of prohibition, so she did not waste her strength or time in trying. not that mr. cross moore was a drinking man himself. he was never known to touch either liquor or tobacco. he was just a hard-fisted, hard-hearted, shrewd and successful country politician; and there appeared to be no soft side to his character. unless that side was exposed to his invalid wife. and nobody outside ever caught mr. moore displaying tenderness in particular to her, although he was known to spend much time with her. he had fought his way up in politics and in wealth, from very poor and small beginnings. from his birth in an ancient log cabin, with parents who were as poor and miserable as the trimminses or the narnays to being president of the town council and chairman of the school committee, was a long stride for mr. cross moore--and nobody appreciated the fact more clearly than himself. money had been the best friend he had ever had. without elder concannon's streak of acquisitiveness in his character that made the good old man almost miserly, mr. cross moore possessed the money-getting ability, and a faith in the creed that "wealth is power" that nothing had yet shaken in his long experience. for a number of years polktown had been free of any public dram-selling, although the voters had not put themselves on record as desiring prohibition. occasionally a more or less secret place for the selling of liquor had risen and was quickly put down. there had, in the opinion of the majority of the citizens, been no call for a drinking place, and there would probably have been no such local demand had lem parraday--backed by mr. moore, who held the mortgage on the inn--not desired to increase the profits of that hostelry. the license was taken out that visitors to polktown might be satisfied. there had been no local demand for the sale of liquor, as has been said. those who made a practise of using it could obtain all they wished at middletown, or other places near by. but once having allowed the traffic a foothold in the hamlet, it would be hard to dislodge it. john barleycorn is fighting for his life. he has few real friends, indeed, among his consumers. no man knows better the danger of alcohol than the man who is addicted to its use--until he gets to that besotted stage where his brain is so befuddled that his opinion would scarcely be taken in a court of law on any subject. janice day was determined not to listen to these temporizers in polktown who professed themselves satisfied if the license was taken away from the lake view inn. something more drastic was needed than that. "the business must be voted out of town. we all must take a stand upon the question--on one side or the other," the girl had said earnestly, in discussing this point with elder concannon. "if you only shut up this bar, another license, located at some other point, will be asked for. each time the fight will have to be begun again. vote the town _dry_--that is the only way." "well, i reckon that's true enough, my girl," said the cautious elder. "but i doubt if we can do it. they're too strong for us." "we can try," janice urged. "you don't _know_ that the wets will win, elder." "and if we try the question in town meeting and get beaten, we'll be worse off than we are now." "why shall we?" janice demanded. "and, besides, i do not believe the wets can carry the day." "i'm afraid the idea of making the town dry isn't popular enough," pursued the elder. "why not?" "we are vermonters," said elder concannon, as though that were conclusive. "we're sons of the green mountain boys, and liberty is greater to us than to any other people in the world." "including the liberty to get drunk--and the children to follow the example of the grown men?" asked janice, tartly. "is _that_ liberty so precious?" "that's a harsh saying, janice," said the old man, wagging his head. "it's the truth, just the same," the girl declared, with doggedness. "you can't make the voters do what you want--not always," said elder concannon. "i don't want to see liquor sold here; but i think we'll be more successful if we oppose each license as it comes up." "what chance had you to oppose lem parraday's license?" demanded the girl, sharply. "well! i allow that was sprung on us sudden. but cross moore was interested in it, too." "somebody will always be particularly interested in the granting of the license. i believe with uncle jason that it's foolish to give old nick a fair show. he does not deserve the honors of war." more than elder concannon did not believe that polktown could be carried for prohibition in town meeting. but election day was months ahead, and if "keeping everlastingly at it" would bring success, janice was determined that her idea should be adopted. mr. middler's first sermon on temperance was in no uncertain tone. indeed, that good man's discourses nowadays were very different from those he had been wont to give the congregation of the union church when janice had first come to polktown. in the old-fashioned phrase, mr. middler had "found liberty." there was nothing sensational about his sermons. he was a drab man, who still hesitated before uttering any very pronounced view upon any subject; but he thought deeply, and even that super-critic, elder concannon, had begun to praise the pastor of the union church. to start the movement for prohibition in the largest church in the community was all very well; but janice and the other earnest workers realized that the movement must be broader than that. a general meeting was arranged in the town house, the biggest assembly room in town, and speakers were secured who were really worth hearing. all this went on quite satisfactorily. indeed, the first temperance rally was a pronounced success, and white ribbons became common in polktown, worn by both young and old. but janice's and nelson haley's private affairs remained in a most unsatisfactory state indeed. first of all, there was a long month to wait before janice could expect to see another letter from daddy. it puzzled her that he was forbidden to write but once in thirty days, by an under lieutenant of the zapatist chief, juan dicampa, who was mr. day's friend--or supposed to be, and yet the letters came to her readdressed in juan dicampa's hand. she watched the daily papers, too, for any word printed regarding the chieftain, and perhaps never was a brigand's well-being so heartily prayed for, as was juan dicampa's. janice never forgot that her father said dicampa stood between him and almost certain death. considering nelson haley's affairs, that young man was quite impatient because they had come to no head. nor did it seem that they were likely to soon. nelson had secretly objected when uncle jason had asked judge little to put off for a full week the examination of nelson in his court. the unfortunate schoolmaster felt that he wanted the thing over and the worst known immediately. but it seemed that he was neither to be acquitted at once of the crime charged against him, nor was he to be found guilty and punished. uncle jason was right about the turning up of the ten dollar gold piece being a blow to the accusation the school committee had lodged against nelson. they could not connect the young schoolmaster with the gold coin. by uncle jason's advice, too, nelson had put off engaging a lawyer in middletown to come over to defend the young man in judge little's court. "and well he did wait, too," declared mr. day, very much pleased with his own shrewdness. "_that_ would have meant a twenty dollar note. now it don't cost mr. haley a cent." "what do you mean, jase day?" demanded aunt almira, for her husband announced the above at the supper table on friday evening of that eventful week. "they ain't goin' ter send mr. haley to jail without a trial?" "hear the woman, will ye?" apostrophized uncle jason, with disgust. "ain't thet jes' like ye, almiry--goin' off at ha'f cock thet-a-way? who said anythin' about mr. haley goin' ter jail?" "wal----" "he ain't goin' yet awhile, i reckon," and mr. day chuckled. "i told ye them fule committeemen would overreach themselves. they've withdrawn the charge." "_what_?" chorused the family, in joy and amazement. "yessir! that's what they've done. jedge little sent word to me an' give me back my bond. 'course, we could ha' demanded a hearin' an' tried ter git a clear discharge. and then ag'in--wal! i advised mr. haley ter let well enough alone." "then they know who is the thief at last?" asked janice, quaveringly. "no." "but they know mr. haley never stole them coins!" cried aunt almira. "wal--ef they do, they don't admit of it," drawled uncle jason. "what in tarnation is it, then, dad?" demanded marty. "why, they've made sech a to-do over findin' that gold piece in hope drugg's possession, that they don't dare go on an' prosercute the schoolmaster--nossir!" "bully!" exclaimed the thoughtless marty. "that's all right, then." "but--but," objected janice, with trembling lip, "that doesn't clear nelson at all!" "it answers the puppose," proclaimed uncle jason. "he ain't under arrest no more, and he don't hafter pay no lawyer's fee." "ye-es," admitted his niece, slowly. "but what is poor nelson to do? he's still under a cloud, and he can't teach school." "and believe me!" growled marty, "that greeny they got to teach in his place don't scu'cely know beans when the bag's untied." it was true that the four committeemen had considered it wise to withdraw their charge against nelson haley. without any evidence but that of a purely presumptive character, their lawyer had advised this retreat. really, it was a sharp trick. it left nelson worse off, as far as disproving their charge went, than he would have been had they taken the case into court. the charge still lay against the young man in the public mind. he had no opportunity of being legally cleared of suspicion. the ancient legal supposition that a man is innocent until he is found guilty, is never honored in a new england village. he is guilty unless proved innocent. and how could nelson prove his innocence? only by discovering the real thief and proving _him_ guilty. the shrewd attorney hired by the four committeemen knew very well that he was not prejudicing his clients' case when he advised them to quash the warrant. but as for the discovery of the rare coin in circulation--one known to belong to the collection stolen from the schoolhouse--that injured the committeemen's cause rather than helped it, it must be confessed. joe bodley frankly admitted having paid over the gold piece to hopewell drugg, as a deposit on the fiddle. but he professed not to know how the coin had come into the till at the tavern. joe had full charge of the cash-drawer when mr. parraday was not present, and he had helped himself to such money as he thought he would need when he went up town to negotiate for the purchase of the fiddle. he denied emphatically that the man who had engaged him to purchase the fiddle had given him the ten dollar gold piece. who the purchaser of the fiddle was, however, the barkeeper declined to say. "that's my business," joe had said, when questioned on this point. "ya-as. i expect to take the fiddle. hopewell's agreed to sell it to me, fair and square. if i can make a lettle spec on the side, who's business is it but my own?" when janice heard the report of this--through walky dexter, of course--she was reminded of the black-haired, foreign looking man, who had been so much interested in hopewell's violin the night she and frank bowman had taken the storekeeper home from the dance. "i wonder if he can be the customer that joe bodley speaks of? oh, dear me!" sighed janice. "i'm so sorry hopewell has to sell his violin. and i'm sorry he is going to sell it this way. if that 'foxy looking foreigner,' as mr. bowman called him, is the purchaser of the instrument, perhaps it is worth much more than a hundred dollars. "lottie _must_ go again and have her eyes examined. hopewell will take her himself next month--the poor, dear little thing! oh! if daddy's mine wasn't down there among those hateful mexicans---- "and i wonder," added the young girl, suddenly, "what one of those real old violins is worth." she chanced to be reflecting on this subject on a saturday afternoon near the end of the month hopewell had allowed to joe bodley to find the rest of the purchase price for the violin. she had been up to the church vestry to attend a meeting of her girls' guild. as she passed the public library this thought came to her: "i'll go in and look in the encyclopaedia. _that_ ought to tell about old violins." she looked up cremona and read about its wonderful violins made in the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries by the amati family and by antonio stradivari and josef guarnerius. it did not seem possible that hopewell's instrument could be one of these beautifully wrought violins of the masters; yet---- "who knows?" sighed janice. "you read about such instruments coming to light in such queer places. and hopewell's fiddle _looks_ awfully old. from all accounts his father must have been a musician of some importance, despite the fact that he was thought little of in polktown by either his wife or other people. mr. drugg might have owned one of these famous violins--not one of the most ancient, perhaps--and told nobody here about it. why! the ordinary polktownite would think just as much of a two-dollar-and-a-half fiddle as of a real stradivarius or an amati." while she was at the task, janice took some notes of what she read. while she was about this, walky dexter, who brought the mail over from middletown, daily, came in with the usual bundle of papers for the reading desk, and the girl in charge that afternoon hastened to put the papers in the files. major price had presented the library with a year's subscription to a new york daily. janice or marty always found time to scan each page of that paper for mexican news--especially for news of the brigand chief, juan dicampa. she went to the reading desk after closing and returning the encyclopaedia to its proper shelf, and spread the new york paper before her. this day she had not to search for mention of her father's friend, the zapatist chief. right in front of her eyes, at the top of the very first column, were these headlines: juan dicampa captured the zapatist chieftain captured by federals with of his force and immediately shot. massacre of his followers. chapter xxii deep waters the dispatch in the new york paper was dated from a texan city on the day before. it was brief, but seemed of enough importance to have the place of honor on the front page of the great daily. there were all the details of a night advance, a bloody attack and a fearful repulse in which general juan dicampa's force had been nearly wiped out. the half thousand captured with the famous guerrilla chief were reported to have been hacked to pieces when they cried for quarter, and juan dicampa himself was given the usual short shrift connected in most people's minds with mexican justice. he had been shot three hours after his capture. it was an awful thing--and awful to read about. the whole affair had happened a long way from that part of chihuahua in which daddy's mine was situated; but janice immediately realized that the "long arm" of dicampa could no longer keep mr. broxton day from disaster, or punish those who offended the american mining man. the very worst that could possibly happen to her father, janice thought, had perhaps already happened. that was a very sorrowful evening indeed at the old day house on hillside avenue. although mr. jason day and janice's father were half brothers only, the elder man had in his heart a deep and tender love for broxton, or "brocky," as he called him. he remembered brocky as a lad--always. he felt the superiority of his years--and presumably his wisdom--over the younger man. despite the fact that mr. broxton day had early gone away from polktown, and had been deemed very successful in point of wealth in the middle west, uncle jason considered him still a boy, and his ventures in business and in mining as a species of "wild oat sowing," of which he could scarcely approve. "no," he sighed. "if brocky had been more settled he'd ha' been better off--i snum he would! a piece o' land right here back o' polktown--or a venture in a store, if so be he must trade--would ha' been safer for him than a slather o' mines down there among them mexicaners." "don't talk so--don't talk so, jason!" sniffed aunt almira. "wal--it's a fac'," her husband said vigorously. "there may be some danger attached ter store keepin' in polktown; it's likely ter make a man a good deal of a hawg," added uncle jason. "but i guess the life insurance rates ain't so high as they be on a feller that's determined ter spend his time t'other side o' that rio grande river they tell about." "i wonder," sighed aunt almira, quite unconscious that she spoke aloud, "if i kin turn that old black alpaca gown i got when sister susie died, jason, an' fashion it after one o' the new models?" "heh?" grunted the startled mr. day, glaring at her. "of course, we'll hafter go inter black--it's only decent. but i did fancy a plum-colored dress this spring, with r'yal purple trimmins. i seen a pattern in the fashion sheet of the fireside love letter that was re'l sweet." "what's eatin' on you, maw?" demanded her son gruffly. "whatcher wanter talk that way for right in front of janice? i reckon we won't none of us put on crêpe for uncle brocky yet awhile," he added, stoutly. on monday arrived another letter from mr. broxton day. of course, it was dated before the dreadful night attack which had caused the death of general juan dicampa and the destruction of his forces; and it had passed through that chieftain's hands and had been remailed. janice put away the envelope, directed in the sloping, clerkly hand, and sighed. daddy was in perfect health when he had written this last epistle and the situation had not changed. "but no knowing what has happened to poor daddy since he wrote," thought janice. "we can know nothing about it. and another whole month to wait to learn if he is alive." the girl was quite well aware that she could expect no inquiry to be made at washington regarding mr. broxton day's fate. the administration had long since warned all american citizens to leave mexico and to refrain from interference in mexican affairs. mr. day had chosen to stay by his own, and his friends', property--and he had done this at his peril. "oh, i wish," thought the girl, "that somebody could go down there and capture daddy, and just make him come back over the border! as uncle jason says, what's money when his precious life is in danger?" in almost the same breath, however, she wished that daddy could send her more money. for lottie drugg had gone to boston. her father had given over the violin to joe bodley, and that young speculator paid the storekeeper the remainder of the hundred dollars agreed upon. with this hundred dollars hopewell started for boston with lottie, leaving his wife to take care of the store for the few days he expected to be absent. janice went over to stay with mrs. drugg at night during hopewell's absence. perhaps it was just as well that janice was not at home during these few days, as it gave her somebody's troubles besides her own to think about. and the day household really, if not visibly, was in mourning for broxton day. uncle jason's face was as "long as the moral law," and aunt 'mira, lachrymose at best, was now continuously and deeply gloomy. marty was the only person in the day household able to cheer janice in the least. 'rill and hopewell were in deep waters, too. had lottie not been such an expense, the little store on the side street would have made a very comfortable living for the three of them. they lived right up to their income, however; and so hopewell was actually obliged to sell his violin to get lottie to boston. mrs. scattergood was frequently in the store now that her son-in-law was away. she was, of course, ready with her criticisms as to the course of her daughter and her husband. "good land o' goshen!" chirped the little old woman to janice, "didn't i allus say it was the fullishest thing ever heard of for them two to marry? amarilly had allus airned good money teachin' and had spent it as she pleased. and hope drugg never did airn much more'n the salt in his johnny-cake in this store." meanwhile she was helping herself to sugar and tea and flour and butter and other little "notions" for her own comfort. hopewell always said that "mother scattergood should have the run of the store, and take what she pleased," now that he had married 'rill; and, although the woman was not above maligning her easy-going son-in-law, she did not refuse to avail herself of his generosity. "an' there it is!" went on mrs. scattergood. "'rill was fullish enough to put the money she'd saved inter a mortgage that pays her only five per cent. an' ter git th' int'rest is like pullin' eye-teeth, and i tell her she never will see the principal ag'in." mrs. scattergood neglected to state that she had urged her daughter to put her money in this mortgage. it was on her son's farm, across the lake at "skunk's hollow," as the place was classically named; and the money would never have been tied up in this way had her mother not begged and pleaded and fairly "hounded" 'rill into letting the shiftless brother have her savings on very uncertain security. "them two marryin'," went on mrs. scattergood, referring to 'rill and hopewell, "was for all the worl' like famine weddin' with poverty. and a very purty weddin' that allus is," she added with a sniff. "neither of 'em ain't got nothin', nor never will have--'ceptin' that hopewell's got an encumbrance in the shape of that ha'f silly child." janice was tempted to tell the venomous old woman that she thought hopewell's only encumbrance was his mother-in-law. "and him fiddlin' and drinkin' and otherwise wastin' his substance," croaked mrs. scattergood. at this janice did utter an objection: "now, that is not so, mrs. scattergood. you know very well that that story about hopewell being a drinking man is not true." "my! is that so? didn't i see him myself? and you seen him, too, janice day, comin' home that night, a wee-wawin' like a boat in a heavy sea. i guess i see what i see. and as for his fiddlin'----" "you need not be troubled on that score, at least," sighed janice. "poor hopewell! he's sold his violin." walky dexter came into the store that same evening, chuckling over the sale of the instrument. "i wouldn't go for ter say hopewell is a sharper," he grinned; "but mebbe he ain't so powerful innercent as he sometimes 'pears. if so, i'm sartainly glad of it." "what do you mean, mr. dexter?" asked 'rill, rather sharply. "guess joe bodley feels like he'd like ter know whether hopewell done him or not. joe's condition is suthin' like the snappin' turtle's when he cotched a-holt of peleg swift's red nose as he was stoopin' ter git a drink at the spring. he didn't durst ter let go while peke was runnin' an' yellin' 'murder!' but he was mighty sorry ter git so fur from home. haw! haw! haw!" "what is the matter with joe bodley now, walky?" asked nelson, who was present. "didn't he make a good thing out of the violin transaction?" "why--haw! haw!--he dunno yit. but i b'lieve he's beginnin' ter have his doubts--like th' feller 't got holt of the black snake a-thinkin' it was a heifer's tail," chuckled walky, whose face was very red and whose spicy breath--joe bodley always kept a saucer of cloves on the end of the bar--was patent to all in the store. "joe's a good sport; he ain't squealin' none," pursued dexter; "but there is the fiddle a-hangin' behint th' bar an' joe's beginnin' ter look mighty sour when ye mention it to him." "why, mr. dexter!" 'rill said, in surprise, "hasn't he turned it over to the man he said he bought it for?" "wal--not so's ye'd notice it," walky replied, grinning fatuously. "i dunno who the feller is, or how much money he gin joe in the fust place to help pay for the fiddle--some, of course. but if joe paid hopewell a hundred dollars for the thing you kin jest bet he 'spected to git ha'f as much ag'in for it. "but i reckon the feller's reneged or suthin'. joe ain't happy about it--he! he! mebbe on clost examination the fiddle don't 'pear ter be one o' them old masters they tell about! haw! haw! haw!" janice started to say something. "why don't they look inside----" "inside o' what?" demanded walky, when the girl halted. "i am positive that hopewell would never have sold it for a hundred dollars if he hadn't felt he must," broke in the storekeeper's wife, and janice did not complete her impulsive observation. "ye can't most allus sometimes tell!" drawled walky. "mebbe hopewell had suthin' up his sleeve 'sides his wrist. haw! haw! haw! "shucks! talk about a fiddle bein' wuth a hunderd dollars! jefers-pelters! i seen one a-hangin' in a shop winder at bennington once 't looked every whit as good as hopewell's, and as old, an' 'twas marked plain on a card, 'two dollars an' a ha'f.'" "i guess there are fiddles and _fiddles_," said 'rill, a little tartly for her. "no," laughed nelson. "there are fiddles and _violins_. like the word 'vase.' if it's a cheap one, plain 'vase' is well enough to indicate it; but if it costs over twenty-five dollars they usually call it a 'vahze.' i have always believed hopewell's instrument deserved the dignity of 'violin.'" "wal," declared walky. "i guess ye kin have all the dignity, _and_ the vi'lin, too, if you offer joe what he paid for it. i don't b'lieve he'll hang off much for a profit--er--haw! haw! haw!" "i wish i were wealthy enough to buy the violin back from that fellow," whispered janice to the schoolmaster. "ah! i expect you do, janice," he said softly, eyeing her with admiration. "and i wish i could give you the money to do so. it would give you more pleasure, i fancy, to hand hopewell back his violin when he returns from boston than almost anything we could name. wouldn't it?" "oh, dear me! yes, nelson," she sighed. "i just wish i were rich." just about this time there were a number of things janice desired money for. she had a little left in the bank at middletown; but she dared not use it for anything but actual necessities. no telling when daddy could send her any more for her own private use. perhaps, never. the papers gave little news of mexican troubles just now. of course, juan dicampa being dead, there was no use watching the news columns for _his_ name. and daddy was utterly buried from her! she had no means of informing herself whether he were alive or dead. she wrote to him faithfully at least once each week; but she did not know whether the letters reached him or not. as previously advised, she addressed the outer envelope for her father's letters in care of juan dicampa. but that seemed a hollow mockery now. she was sending the letters to a dead man. was it possible that her father received the missives? could juan dicampa's influence, now that he was dead, compass their safety? it seemed rather a ridiculous thing to do, yet janice continued to send them in care of the guerrilla chieftain. indeed, janice day was wading in deep waters. it was very difficult for her to carry a cheerful face about during this time of severe trial. but she threw herself, whole-heartedly, into the temperance campaign, and strove to keep her mind from dwelling upon her father's peril. chapter xxiii josephus comes out for prohibition it was while janice was staying with mrs. hopewell drugg during the storekeeper's absence in boston, that she met sophie narnay on the street. the child looked somewhat better as to dress, for janice had found her some frocks weeks before, and mrs. narnay had utilized the gifts to the very best advantage. but the poor little thing was quite as hungry looking as ever. "oh, miss janice!" she said, "i wish you'd come down to see our baby. she's ever so much worse'n she was. i guess 'twas a good thing 'at we never named her. 'twould jest ha' been a name wasted." "oh, dear, sophie! is she as bad as all that?" cried janice. "yep," declared the child. "can't the doctor help her?" "he's come a lot--an' he's been awful nice. mom says she didn't know there was such good folks in the whole worl' as him an' you. but there's somethin' the matter with the baby that no doctor kin help, so he says. an' i guess he's got the rights of it," concluded sophie, in her old-fashioned way. "i will certainly come down and see the poor little thing," promised janice. "and your mamma and johnnie and eddie. is your father at home now?" "nop. he's up in concannon's woods yet. they've took a new contrac'--him and mr. trimmins. an' mebbe it'll last all summer. dear me! i hope so. then pop won't be home to drink up all the money mom earns." "i will come down to-morrow," janice promised, for she was busy just then and could not accompany sophie to pine cove. this was saturday afternoon and janice was on her way to the steamboat dock to see if certain freight had arrived by the _constance colfax_ for hopewell drugg's store. she was doing all she could to help 'rill conduct the business while the storekeeper was away. during the week she had scarcely been home to the day house at all. marty had run the car over to the drugg place in the morning in time for her to start for middletown; and in the afternoon her cousin had come for the kremlin and driven it across town to the garage again. this saturday she would not use the car, for she wished to help 'rill, and marty had taken a party of his boy friends out in the kremlin. marty had become a very efficient chauffeur now and could be trusted, so his father said, not to try to hurdle the stone walls along the way, or to make the automobile climb the telegraph poles. "marm" parraday was sweeping the front porch and steps of the lake view inn. although the inn had become very well patronized now, the tavernkeeper's vigorous wife was not above doing much of her own work. "oh, janice day! how be ye?" she called to the girl. "i don't see ye often," and mrs. parraday smiled broadly upon her. as janice came nearer she saw that marm parraday did not look as she once did. her hair had turned very gray, there were deeper lines in her weather-beaten face, and a trembling of her lips and hands made janice's heart ache. if the inn was doing well and lem parraday was prospering, his wife seemed far from sharing in the good times that appeared to have come to the lake view inn. the great, rambling house had been freshened with a coat of bright paint; the steps and porch and porch railings were mended; the sod was green; the flower gardens gay; the gravel of the walks and driveway freshly raked; while the round boulders flanking the paths were brilliant with whitewash. "why!" said janice honestly, "the old place never looked so nice before, mrs. parraday. you have done wonders this spring. i hope you will have a prosperous season." mrs. parraday clutched the girl's arm tightly. janice saw that her eyes seemed quite wild in their expression as she pointed a trembling finger at the gilt sign at the corner of the house, lettered with the single word: "bar." "with that sign a-swingin' there, janice day?" she whispered. "you air wishin' us prosperity whilst lem sells pizen to his feller men?" "oh, mrs. parraday! i was not thinking of the liquor selling," said janice sympathetically. "ye'd better think of it, then," pursued the tavernkeeper's wife. "ye'd better think of it, day and night. that's what _i_ do. i git on my knees and pray 't lem won't prosper as long as that bar room's open. i do it 'fore lem himself. he says i'm a-tryin' ter pray the bread-and-butter right aout'n aour mouths. he's so mad at me he won't sleep in the same room an' has gone off inter the west wing ter sleep by hisself. but i don't keer," cried mrs. parraday wildly. "woe ter him that putteth the cup to his neighbor's lips! that's what _i_ tell him. 'wine is a mocker--strong drink is ragin'.' that's what the bible says. "an' lem--a perfessin' member of mr. middler's church--an' me attendin' the same for goin' on thutty-seven years----" "but surely, mrs. parraday, you are not to blame because your husband sells liquor," put in janice, sorry for the poor woman and trying to comfort her. "why ain't i?" sharply demanded the tavern-keeper's wife. "i've been lem's partner for endurin' all that time, too--thutty-seven years. i've been hopin' all the time we'd git ahead an' have suthin' beside a livin' here in polktown. _i've been hungry for money_! "like enough if i hadn't been so sharp after it, an' complained so 'cause we didn't git ahead, lem an' cross moore wouldn't never got their heads together an' 'greed ter try rum-selling to make the old inn pay a profit. "oh, yes! i see my fault now. oh, lord! i see it," groaned marm parraday, clasping her trembling hands. "but, believe me, janice day, i never seen this that's come to us. we hev brought the curse of rum inter this taown after it had been free from it for years. an' we shell hafter suffer in the end--an' suffer more'n anybody else is sufferin' through our fault." she broke off suddenly and, without looking again at janice, mounted the steps with her broom and disappeared inside the house. janice, heartsick and almost in tears, was turning away when a figure appeared from around the corner of the tavern--from the direction of the bar-room, in fact. but frank bowman's smiling, ruddy face displayed no sign of _his_ having sampled lem parraday's bar goods. "hullo, janice," he said cheerfully. "i've just been having a set-to with lem--and i don't know but he's got the best of me." "in what way?" asked the girl, brushing her eyes quickly that the young man might not see her tears. "why, this is pay day again, you know. my men take most of the afternoon off on pay day. they are cleaning up now, in the camp house, and will be over by and by to sample some of lem's goods," and the engineer sighed. "no, i can't keep them away from the place. i've tried. some of them won't come; but the majority will be in that pleasing condition known as 'howling drunk' before morning." "oh, frank! i wish lem would stop selling the stuff," cried janice.' "well, he won't. i've just been at him. i told him if he didn't close his bar at twelve o'clock tonight, according to the law, i'd appear in court against him myself. i mean to stand outside here with constable cantor to-night and see that the barroom is dark at twelve o'clock, anyway." "that will be a splendid move, frank!" janice said quickly, and with enthusiasm. "ye-es; as far as it goes. but lem said to me: 'don't forget this is a hotel, mr. bowman, and i can serve my guests in the dining room or in their own rooms, all night long, if i want to.' and that's true." "oh, dear me! so he can," murmured janice. "he's got me there," grumbled young bowman. "i never thought lem parraday any too sharp before; but he's learned a lot from joe bodley. that young fellow is about as shrewd and foxy as they make 'em." "yet they say he did not sell hopewell's violin at a profit, as he expected to," janice observed. "that's right, too. and it's queer," the engineer said. "i've seen that black-haired, foxy-looking chap around town more than once since joe bought the fiddle. hullo! what's the matter with dexter?" the engineer had got into step at once with janice, and they had by this time walked down high street to the steamboat dock. the freight-house door was open and walky dexter had loaded his wagon and was ready to drive up town; but josephus was headed down the dock. the expressman was climbing unsteadily to his seat, and in reply to something said by the freight agent, he shouted: "thas all right! thas all right! i kin turn josephus 'round on this dock. jefers-pelters! he could _back_ clean up town with _this_ load, i sh'd hope!" janice had said nothing in reply to frank bowman's last query; but the latter added, under his breath: "goodness! walky is pretty well screwed-up, isn't he? i just saw him at the hotel taking what he calls a 'snifter.'" "poor walky!" sighed janice. "poor josephus, _i_ should say," rejoined frank quickly. the expressman was turning the old horse on the empty dock. there was plenty of room for this manoeuver; but walky dexter's eyesight was not what it should be. or, perhaps he was less patient than usual with josephus. "git around there, josephus!" the expressman shouted. "back! back! i tell ye! consarn yer hide!" he yanked on the bit and josephus' heavy hoofs clattered on the resounding planks. the wagon was heavily laden; and when it began to run backward, with walky jerking on the reins, it could not easily be stopped. a rotten length of "string-piece" had been removed from one edge of the dock, and a new timber had not yet replaced it. as bad fortune would have it, walky backed his wagon directly into this opening. "hold on there! where ye goin' to--ye crazy ol' critter?" bawled the freight agent. "hul-_lo_! jefers-pelters!" gasped the suddenly awakened walky, casting an affrighted glance over his shoulder. "i'm a-backin' over the dump, ain't i? gid-_ap_, josephus!" but when once josephus made up his slow mind to back, he did it thoroughly. he, too, expected to feel the rear wheels of the heavy farm wagon bump against the string-piece. "gid-_ap_, josephus!" yelled walky again, and rose up to smite the old horse with the ends of the reins. he had no whip--nor would one have helped matters, perhaps, at this juncture. the rear wheels went over the edge of the dock. the lake was high, being swelled by the spring floods. "plump!" the back of the wagon plunged into the water, and, the bulk of the load being over the rear axle, the forward end shot up off the front truck. wagon body and freight sunk into the lake. walky, as though shot from a catapult, described a parabola over his horse's head and landed with a crash on all fours directly under josephus' nose. never was the old horse known to make an unnecessary motion. but the sudden flight and unexpected landing on the dock of his driver, quite excited josephus. with a snort he scrambled backward, the front wheels went over the edge of the dock and dragged josephus with them. harnessed as he was, and still attached to the shafts, the old horse went into the lake with a great splash. "hey! whoa! whoa, josephus! jefers-pelters! ain't this a purty to-do?" roared walky, recovering his footing with more speed than grace. "naow see that ol' critter! what's he think he's doin'--takin' a swimmin' lesson?" for josephus, with one mighty plunge, broke free from the shafts. he struck out for the shore and reached shallow water almost immediately. walky ran off the dock and along the rocky shore to head the old horse off and catch him. but josephus had no intention of being so easily caught. either he had lost confidence in his owner, or some escapade of his colthood had come to his memory. he splashed ashore, dodged the eager hand of walky, and with tail up, nostrils expanded, mane ruffled, and dripping water as he ran, josephus galloped up the hillside and into the open lots behind polktown. walky dexter, with very serious mien, came slowly back to the dock. janice and frank bowman, as well as the freight agent, had been held spellbound by these exciting incidents. frank and the agent were now convulsed with laughter; but janice sympathized with the woeful expressman. the latter halted on the edge of the dock, gazing from the shafts of his wagon sticking upright out of the lake to the snorting old horse up on the hill. then he scratched his bare, bald crown, sighed, and muttered quite loud enough for janice to hear: "jefers-pelters! i reckon old josephus hez come out for prohibition, an' no mistake!" chapter xxiv another gold piece fortunately for walky dexter, the freight that he had backed into the lake was not perishable. it could not be greatly injured by water. with the help of neighbors and loiterers and a team of horses, the two sections of the unhung wagon and the crates of agricultural tools were hauled out of the lake. "there, walky," said the freight agent, wiping his perspiring brow when the work was completed--for this happened on a warm day in early june. "i hope ter goodness you look where you air backin' to, nex' time." "perhaps it will be just as well if he _backs_ where he's _looking_," suggested the young engineer, having removed his coat and aided very practically in the straightening out of walky's affairs. this greatly pleased janice, who had remained to watch proceedings. "come, naow, tell the truth, walky dexter," drawled another of the expressman's helpers. "was ye seein' double when ye did that trick?" there was a general laugh at this question. walky dexter, for once, had no ready reply. indeed, he had been particularly serious all through the work of re-establishing his wagon on the dock. "well, walky, ye oughter stand treat on this, i vum!" said the freight agent. "suthin' long, an' cool, would go mighty nice." "isuckles is aout o' season--he! he!" chuckled another, frankly doubtful of walky's generosity. "lock up your freight house, sam, and ye shall have it," declared walky, with sudden briskness. "that's the ticket!" exclaimed the doubting thomas, with a quick change of tone. "spoke like a soldier, walky. i hope joe's jest tapped a fresh kaig." walky halted and scratched his head as he looked from one to another of the expectant group. "why, ter tell the trewth," he jerked out, "i'm feelin' more like some o' thet thar acid phosphate massey sells out'n his sody-fountain. le's go up there." "jest as yeou say, walky. you're the doctor," said the freight agent, though somewhat crestfallen, as were the others, at this suggestion. "don't count me in, walky--though i'm obliged to you," laughed bowman, who was getting into his coat. "jest the same we'll paternize the drug store for this once," said the expressman, stoutly, and with gravity he led the way up the hill. later walky went across into the fields and tried to catch josephus; but that wise old creature seemed suddenly to have lost confidence in his master, and refused to be won by his tones, or even the shaking of an empty oat-measure. so walky was obliged to go home and bring down josephus' mate to draw the freight to its destination. janice parted from the young engineer and walked up hillside avenue, intending to take supper at home and afterward return to the drugg place to spend another night or two with the storekeeper's lonely wife. she was sitting with aunt 'mira on the side porch before supper, while the "short bread" was baking and uncle jason and marty were at the chores, when walky dexter drew near with his now all but empty wagon, and stopped in the lane to bring in a new cultivator uncle jason had sent for. "evenin', miz' day," observed walky, eyeing aunt 'mira and her niece askance. "naow say it!" "say what, mr. dexter?" asked mrs. day puzzled. "why, i been gittin' of it all over taown," groaned the expressman. "sarves me right, i s'pose. i see the reedic'lous side o' most things that happen ter other folks--an' they gotter right ter laff at me." "why, what's happened ye?" asked aunt 'mira. "jefers-pelters!" ejaculated walky. "ain't janice tol' ye?" "nothin' about you," mrs. day assured him. "she'd be a good 'un ter tell secrets to, wouldn't she?" the expressman said, with a queer twist of his face. "ain't ye heard how i dumped m' load--an' josephus--inter the lake?" and he proceeded to recount the accident with great relish and good humor. marty and his father, bringing in the milk, stopped to listen and laugh. at the conclusion of the story, as marty was pumping a pail of water for the kitchen shelf, walky said: "gimme a dipper o' that, boy. my mouth's so dry i can't speak the trewth. that's it--thanky!" "ye oughtn't to be dry, walky--comin' right past lem parraday's _ho_-tel," remarked mr. day, with a chuckle. "wal, naow! that's what i was goin' ter speak abeout," said walky, with sudden vigor. "janice, here, an' me hev been havin' an argyment right along about that rum sellin' business----" "about the _drinking_, at any rate, walky," interposed janice, gently. "wal--ahem!--ya-as. about the drinkin' of it, i s'pose. yeou said, janice, that my takin' a snifter now and then was an injury to other critters as well as to m'self." "and i repeat it," said the girl confidently. "d'ye know," jerked out walky, with his head on one side and his eyes screwed up, "that i b'lieve josephus agrees with ye?" "ho! ho!" laughed marty. "was you fresh from lem parraday's bar when you backed the old feller over the dock?" "wal, i'd had a snifter," drawled walky, his eyes twinkling. "anyhow, i'm free ter confess that i don't see how i could ha' done sech a fullish thing if i hadn't been drinkin'--it's a fac'! i never did b'lieve what little i took would ever hurt anybody. but poor ol' josephus! he might ha' been drowned." "oh, walky!" cried janice. "do you see that?" "i see the light at last, janice," solemnly said the expressman. "i guess i'd better let the stuff alone. i dunno when i'd git a hoss as good as josephus----" "no nearer'n the boneyard," put in marty, _sotto voce_. "anyhow, i see my failin' sure enough. never was so reckless b'fore in all my life," pursued walky. "mebbe, if i kep' on drinkin' that stuff they sell daown ter the _ho_-tel, i'd drown both m' hosses--havin' drowned m' own brains--like twin kittens, in ha'f an inch o' alcohol! haw! haw! haw!" but despite his laughter janice saw that walky dexter was much in earnest. she said to nelson that evening, in hopewell drugg's store: "i consider walky's conversion is the best thing that's happened yet in our campaign for prohibition." "a greater conquest than _mine_?" laughed the schoolmaster. "why, nelson," janice said sweetly, "i know that you have only to think carefully on any subject to come to the right conclusion. but poor walky isn't 'long' on thought, if he is on 'talk,'" and she laughed a little. it was after sunday school the following afternoon that janice went again to pine cove to see the narnay baby. she had conversed with busy dr. poole for a few moments and learned his opinion of the case. it was not favorable. "not much chance for the child," said the brusk doctor. "never has been much chance for it. one of those children that have no right to be born." "oh, doctor!" murmured janice. "a fact. it has never had enough nutrition and is going to die of plain starvation." "can nothing be done to save it? if it had plenty of nourishment _now_?" "no use. gone too far," growled the physician, shaking his grizzled head. "if i knew how to save it, i would; that's my job. but the best thing that can happen is its death. ought to be a hangin' matter for poor folks to have so many children, anyway," he concluded grimly. "that sounds _awful_ to me, dr. poole," janice said. "there is something awful about nature. nature takes care of these things, if we doctors are not allowed to." "why! what do you mean?" "the law of the survival of the fittest is what keeps this old world of ours from being overpopulated by weaklings." janice day was deeply impressed by the doctor's words, and thought over them sadly as she walked down the hill toward pine cove. she went by the old path past mr. cross moore's and saw him in his garden, wheeling his wife in her chair. mrs. moore was a frail woman, and because of long years of invalidism, a most exacting person. she had great difficulty in keeping a maid because of her unfortunate temper; and sometimes mr. moore was left alone to keep house. nobody could suit the invalid as successfully as her husband. "wheel me to the fence. i want to speak to that girl, cross," commanded the wife sharply, and the town selectman did so. "janice day!" called mrs. moore, "i wish to speak to you." janice, smiling, ran across the street and shook hands with the sick woman over the fence palings. but she barely nodded to mr. cross moore. "i understand you're one o' these folks that's talking so foolish about prohibition, and about shutting up the hotel. is that so?" demanded mrs. moore, her sunken, black eyes snapping. "i don't think it is foolish, mrs. moore," janice said pleasantly. "and we don't wish to close the inn--only its bar." "same thing," decided mrs. moore snappishly. "takin' the bread and butter out o' people's mouths! ye better be in better business--all of ye. and a young girl like you! i'd like to have my stren'th and have the handling of you, janice day. i'd teach ye that children better be seen than heard. where you going to, cross moore?" for her husband had turned the chair and was starting away from the fence. "well--now--mother! you've told the girl yer mind, ain't ye?" suggested mr. moore. "that's what you wanted to do, wasn't it?" "i wish she was my young one," said mrs. moore, between her teeth, "and i had the use o' my limbs. i'd make her behave herself!" "i wish she _was_ ours, mother," mr. moore said kindly. "i guess we'd be mighty proud of her." janice did not hear his words. she had walked away from the fence with flaming cheeks and tears in her eyes. she was sorry for mrs. moore's misfortunes and had always tried to be kind to her; but this seemed such an unprovoked attack. janice day craved approbation as much as any girl living. she appreciated the smiles that met her as she walked the streets of polktown. the scowls hurt her tender heart, and the harsh words of mrs. moore wounded her deeply. "i suppose that is the way they both feel toward me," she thought, with a sigh. the wreck of the old fishing dock--a favorite haunt of little lottie drugg--was at the foot of the hill, and janice halted here a moment to look out across it, and over the quiet cove, to the pine-covered point that gave the shallow basin its name. lottie had believed that in the pines her echo lived, and janice could almost hear now the childish wail of the little one as she shouted, "he-a! he-a! he-a!" to the mysterious sprite that dwelt in the pines and mocked her with its voice. blind and very deaf, lottie had been wont to run fearlessly out upon the broken dock and "play with her echo," as she called it. a wave of pity swept over janice's mind and heart. suppose lottie should again completely lose the boon of sight. what would become of her as she grew into girlhood and womanhood? "poor little dear! i almost fear for hopewell to come home and tell us what the doctors say," sighed janice. then, even more tender memories associated with the old wharf filled janice day's thought. on it, in the afterglow of a certain sunset, nelson haley had told her how the college at millhampton had invited him to join its faculty, and he had asked her if she approved of his course in polktown. it had been decided between them that polktown was a better field for his efforts in his chosen profession for the present--as the college appointment would remain open to him--and janice was proud to think that meanwhile he had built the polktown school up, and had succeeded so well. this spot was the scene of their first really serious talk. she wondered now if her advice had been wise, after all. suppose nelson had gone to millhampton immediately when he was called there? he would have escaped this awful accusation that had been brought against him--that was sure. his situation now was most unfortunate. having requested a vacation from his school, he was receiving no pay all these weeks that he was idle. and janice knew the young man could ill afford this. he had been of inestimable help to mr. middler and the other men who had charge of the campaign for prohibition that was moving on so grandly in polktown. but that work could not be paid for. janice believed nelson was now nearly penniless. his situation troubled her mind almost as much as that of her father in mexico. she went on along the shore to the northward, toward the little group of houses at the foot of the bluff, in one of which the narnays lived. there were the children grouped together at one end of the rickety front porch. their mother sat on the stoop, rocking herself to and fro with the sickly baby across her lean knees, her face hopeless, her figure slouched forward and uncouth to look at. a more miserable looking party janice day had never before seen. and the reason for it was quickly explained to her. at the far end of the porch lay narnay, on his back in the sun, his mouth open, the flies buzzing around his red face, sleeping off--it was evident--the night's debauch. "oh, my dear!" moaned janice, taking mrs. narnay's feebly offered hand in both her own, and squeezing it tightly. "i--i wish i might help you." "ye can't, miss. there ain't nothin' can be done for us--'nless the good lord would take us all," and there was utter hopelessness and desperation in her voice. "don't say that! it must be that there are better times in store for you all," said janice. "with _that_?" asked mrs. narnay, nodding her uncombed head toward the sleeping drunkard. "not much. only for baby, here. there's a better time comin' for her--thanks be!" "oh!" "doctor says she can't live out th' summer. she's goin' ter miss growin' up ter be what _i_ be--an' what sophie'll proberbly be. it's a mercy. but it's hard ter part 'ith the little thing. when she is bright, she's that cunnin'!" as janice came up the steps to sit down beside the poor woman and play with the baby, that smiled at her so wanly, the sleeping man grunted, rolled over toward them, half opened his eyes, and then rolled back again. something rattled on the boards of the porch. janice looked and saw several small coins that had rolled out of the man's trousers pocket. mrs. narnay saw them too. "git them, sophie--quick!" she breathed peremptorily. "cheese it, mom!" gasped sophie, running on tiptoe toward her sleeping father. "he'll nigh erbout kill us when he wakes up." "i don't keer," said the woman, grabbing the coins when sophie had collected them. "he come out o' the woods last night and he had some money an' i hadn't a cent. i sent him to git things from the store and all he brought back--and that was at midnight when they turned him out o' the hotel--was a bag of crackers and a pound of oatmeal. and he's got money! he kin kill me if he wants. i'm goin' ter have some of it--oh, look! what's this?" janice had almost cried out in amazement, too. one of the coins in the woman's toil-creased palm was a gold piece. "five dollars! mebbe he had more," mrs. narnay said anxiously. "mebbe concannon's paid 'em all some more money, and jim's startin' in to drink it up." "better put that money back, mom, he'll be mad," said sophie, evidently much alarmed. "he won't be ugly when the drink wears off and he ain't got no money to git no more," her mother said. "jim never is." "but he'll find out youse got that gold coin. he's foxy," said the shrewd child. janice drew forth her purse. "let me have that five dollar gold piece," she said to mrs. narnay. "i'll give you five one dollar bills for it. you won't have to show but one of the bills at a time, that is sure." "that's a good idea, miss," said the woman hopefully. "and mebbe i can make him start back for the woods again to-night. oh, dear me! 'tis an awful thing! i don't want him 'round--an' yet when he's sober he's the nicest man 'ith young'uns ye ever see. he jest dotes on this poor little thing," and she looked down again into the weazened face of the baby. "it is too bad," murmured janice; but she scarcely gave her entire mind to what the woman was saying. here was a second gold piece turned up in polktown. and, as uncle jason had said, such coins were not often seen in the hamlet. janice had more than one reason for securing the gold piece, and she determined to learn, if she could, if this one was from the collection that had been stolen from the school-house weeks before. chapter xxv in doubt the first of all feminine prerogatives is the right to change one's mind. janice day changed hers a dozen times about that five dollar gold piece. it was at last decided, however, by the young girl that she would not immediately take nelson haley into her confidence. why excite hope in his mind only, perhaps, to have it crushed again? better learn all she could about the gold coin that had rolled out of jim narnay's pocket, before telling the young schoolmaster. in her heart janice did not believe narnay was the person who had stolen the coin collection from the schoolhouse. he might have taken part in such a robbery, at night, and while under the influence of liquor; but he never would have had the courage to do such a thing by daylight and alone. narnay might be a companion of the real criminal; but more likely, janice believed, he was merely an accessory after the fact. this, of course, if the gold piece should prove to be one of those belonging to the collection which mr. haley was accused of stealing. the coin found in hopewell drugg's possession, and which had come to him through joe bodley, might easily have been put into circulation by the same person as this coin narnay had dropped. the ten dollar coin had gone into the tavern till, and this five dollar coin would probably have gone there, too, had chance not put it in janice day's way. "first of all, i must discover if there was a coin like this one in that collection," the girl told herself. and early on monday morning, on her way to the seminary, she drove around through high street and stopped before the drugstore. fortunately mr. massey was not busy and she could speak to him without delaying her trip to middletown. "what's that?" he asked her, rumpling his topknot in his usual fashion when he was puzzled or disturbed. "list of them coins? i should say i did have 'em. the printed list mr. hobart left with 'em wasn't taken by--by--well, by whoever took 'em. here 'tis." "you speak," said janice quickly, "as though you still believed mr. haley to be the thief." "well!" and again the druggist's hands went through his hair. "i dunno what to think. if he done it, he's actin' mighty funny. there ain't no warrant out for him now. he can leave town--go clean off if he wants--and nobody will, or can, stop him. and ye'd think if he had all that money he _would_ do so." "oh, mr. massey!" "well, i'm merely puttin' the case," said the druggist. "that would be sensible. he's got fifteen hundred dollars or more--if he took the coin collection. an' it ain't doin' him a 'tarnal bit of good, as i can see. i told cross moore last night that i believe we'd been barkin' up the wrong tree all this time." "what did he say?" cried janice eagerly. "well--he didn't _say_. ye know how cross is--as tight-mouthed as a clam with the lockjaw. but it is certain sure that we committeemen have our own troubles. mr. haley was a master good teacher. ye got to hand it to him on _that_. and this feller the board sent us ain't got no more idea of handling the school than i have of dancing the spanish fandango. "however, that ain't the p'int. what i was speakin' of is this: nelse haley is either a blamed fool, or else he never stole that money," and the druggist said it with desperation in his tone. "i hear he's took a job at sixteen a month and board with elder concannon--and farmin' for the elder ain't a job that no boy with money _and_ right good sense would ever tackle." "oh, mr. massey! has he?" for this was news indeed to janice. "yep. that's what he's done. it looks like his runners was scrapin' on bare ground when he'd do that. course, i need a feller right in this store--behind that sody-fountain. and a smart, nice appearin' one like nelse haley would be just the ticket--'nough sight better than jack besmith was. but i couldn't hire the schoolteacher, 'cause it would create so much talk. but goin' to work on a farm--and for a slave-driver like the elder--well!" janice understood very well why nelson had said nothing to her about this. he was very proud indeed and did not want the girl to suspect how poor he had really become. nelson had said he would stay in polktown until the mystery of the stolen coin collection was cleared up--or, at least, until it was proved that he had nothing to do with it. "and the poor fellow has just about come to the end of his rope," thought janice commiseratingly. "oh, dear, me! even if i had plenty of money, he wouldn't let me help him. nelson wouldn't take money from a girl--not even borrow it!" however, janice stuck to her text with massey and obtained the list of the lost collection to look at. "dunno what you want it for," said the druggist. "you going sleuthing for the thief, miss janice?" "maybe," she returned, with a serious smile. "i reckon that ten dollar gold piece that joe bodley took in at the hotel was a false alarm." "if joe bodley had told you how he came by it, it would have helped some, would it not, mr. massey?" "sure--it might. but he couldn't remember who gave it to him," said the man, wagging his head forlornly. "i wonder?" said janice, using one of her uncle's favorite expressions, and so made her way out of the store and into her car again. when she had time that forenoon at the seminary she spread out the sheet on which the description of the coins was printed, and looked for the note relating to the five dollar gold piece in her possession. it was there. it was not a particularly old or a very rare coin, however. there might be others of the same date and issue in circulation. so, after all, the fact that narnay had it proved nothing--unless she could discover how he came by it--who had given it to him. in the afternoon janice drove home by the upper road and ran her car into elder concannon's yard. it was the busy season for the elder, for he conducted two big farms and had a number of men working for him besides his regular farm hands. he was ever ready to talk with janice day, however, and he came out of the paddock now, in his old dust coat and broad-brimmed hat, smiling cordially at her. "come in and have a pot of tea with me," he said. "ye know i'm partial to 'old maid's tipple' and mrs. grayson will have it ready about now, i s'pose. stop! i'll tell her to bring it out on the side porch. it's shady there. you look like a cup would comfort you, janice. what's the matter?" "i've lots of troubles, elder concannon," she said, with a sigh. "but you have your share, too, so i'll keep most of mine to myself," and she hopped out from behind the wheel of the automobile. they went to the porch and the elder halloaed in at the screen door. his housekeeper soon bustled out with the tray. she remained to take one cup of tea herself. then, when she had gone about her duties, janice opened the subject upon which she had come to confer. "how are those men getting on in your wood lot, elder?" "what men--and what lot?" he asked smiling. "i don't know what lot it is; but i mean mr. trimmins and those others." "oh! trimmins and jim narnay and that besmith boy?" "yes." "why, they are moving on slowly. this is their third job with me since winter. once or twice they've kicked over the traces and gone on a spree----" "that was when you paid them?" "that was when i _had_ to pay them," said the elder. "they work pretty well when they haven't any money." "have you paid them lately, sir?" asked janice. "i am asking for a very good reason--not out of curiosity." "i have not. it's a month and more since they saw the color of my money. hold on! that's not quite true," he added suddenly. "i gave jim narnay a dollar saturday afternoon." "oh!" "he came by here on his way to town. said he was going down to see his sick baby. she _is_ sick, isn't she?" "oh, yes," murmured janice. "poor little thing!" "well, he begged for some money, and i let him have a dollar. he said he didn't want to go down home without a cent in his pocket. so i gave it to him." "only a dollar?" repeated the girl thoughtfully. the old man's face flushed a little, and he said tartly: "i reckon _that_ did him no good. by the looks of his face when he went through here sunday night he'd proberbly spent it all in liquor, i sh'd say." "oh, no! i didn't mean to criticize your generosity," janice said quickly. "i believe you gave him more than was good for him. i know that mrs. narnay and the children had little benefit of it." "that's what i supposed," grunted the elder. janice sipped her tea and, looking over the edge of her cup at him, asked: "having much trouble, elder, with your new man?" "what new man?" snorted the old gentleman, his mouth screwed up very tightly. "i hear you have the school teacher working for you," she said. "well! so i have," he admitted, his face suddenly broadening. "trust you women folks for finding things out in a hurry. but he ain't teaching school up here--believe me!" "no?" "he's helping clean up my hog lot. i dunno but maybe he thinks it isn't any worse than managing polktown boys," and the elder chuckled. but janice was serious and she bent forward and laid a hand upon the old man's arm. "oh, elder concannon! don't be too hard on him, will you?" she begged. he grinned at her. "i won't break him all up in business. we want to use him down town in these meetings we're going to hold for temperance. he's got a way of talking that convinces folks, janice--i vow! remember how he talked for the new schoolhouse? i haven't forgotten that, for he beat me that time. "now; we can't afford to hire many of these outside speakers for prohibition--it costs too much to get them here. but i have told mr. haley to brush up his ideas, and by and by we'll have him make a speech in polktown. he can practise on the pigs for a while," added the elder laughing; "and maybe after all they won't be so dif'rent from some of them in town that i want should hear the young man when he does spout." so janice was comforted, and ran down town to the drugg place in a much more cheerful frame of mind. marty was waiting at the store for the car. there was a special reason for his being so prompt. "look-a-here!" he called. "what d'ye know about this?" and he waved something over his head. "what is it, marty day?" janice cried, looking at the small object in wonder. "another letter from uncle brockey! hooray! he ain't dead yet!" shouted the boy. his cousin seized the missive--fresh from the post-office--and gazed anxiously at the envelope. it was postmarked in one of the border towns many days after the report of juan dicampa's death; yet the writing on the envelope was the handwriting of the guerrilla chief. "goodness me!" gasped janice, "what can this mean?" she broke the seal. as usual the envelope inside was addressed to her by her father. and as she hastily scanned the letter she saw no mention made of juan dicampa's death. indeed, mr. broxton day wrote just as though his own situation, at least, had not changed. and he seemed to have received most of her letters. what did it mean? if the guerrilla leader had been shot by the federals, how was it possible for her father's letters to still come along, redirected in juan dicampa's hand? doubt assailed her mind--many doubts, indeed. although mr. broxton day seemed still in safety, the mystery surrounding his situation in mexico grew mightily in janice's mind. that evening hopewell drugg returned from boston and reported that lottie would have to remain under the doctors' care for a time. they, too, were in doubt. nobody could yet say whether the child would lose her sight or not. chapter xxvi the tide turns these doubts, however, did not switch janice day's thought off the line of the stolen gold coins. the five dollar gold piece found in the possession of jim narnay still raised in the girl's mind a number of queries. it was a mystery, she believed, that when solved might aid in clearing nelson haley of suspicion. of course, the coin she carried in her purse might not be one of those lost with the collection. that was impossible to decide at the moment. the case of the ten-dollar coin was different. that was an exceedingly rare one and in all probability nobody but a person ignorant of its value would have put it into circulation. nevertheless, how did jim narnay get hold of a five dollar gold piece? elder concannon had not given it to him. narnay had come to town on that saturday evening with only a dollar of the elder's money in his pocket. did he bring the coin with him, or did he obtain it after reaching town? and who had given the gold piece to the man, in either case? janice would have been glad to take somebody into her confidence in this matter; but who should it be? not her uncle or her aunt. neither hopewell nor 'rill was to be thought of. and the minister, or elder concannon, seemed too much apart from this business to be conferred with. and nelson---- she did go to mrs. beaseley's one evening, hoping that she might find nelson there, for she had not seen the young man or heard from him since he had gone out of town to work for elder concannon. he was not at the widow's, and she found that good but lachrymose woman in tears. "i'm a poor lone woman--loner and lorner than i've felt since my poor, sainted charles passed away. oh, janice! it seems a pitiful shame that such a one as mr. haley should have to go to work on a farm when he can do such a lot of other things--and better things." "i don't know about there being anything much better than farming--if one has a taste for it," said janice cheerfully. "but an educated man--a teacher!" groaned mrs. beaseley. "an' i felt like he was my own son--'specially since cross moore and them others been houndin' him about that money. cross moore come to me, an' says he: 'miz beaseley, 'tis your duty to let me look through that young man's things when he's out. we'll either clear him or clench it on him.' "an' says i: 'cross moore, if you put your fut across my threshold i'll sartain sure take the broom to you--an' ye'll find _that's_ clenched, a'ready!'" "oh, mrs. beaseley!" gasped janice, yet inclined to laugh, too. "oh, i'd ha' done it," threatened the widow, the tears still on her cheeks. "think o' them, houndin' poor mr. haley so! why! if my poor sainted charles was alive, he'd run cross moore clean down to the lake--an' inter it, i expect, like walky dexter's boss. "and if he warn't so proud----" "_who_ is so proud, mrs. beaseley?" asked janice, who had some difficulty at times in following the good woman's line of talk. "why--mr. nelson haley. i did make him leave his books here, and ev'rything he warn't goin' ter use out there at the elder's. and i'm going to keep them two rooms jest as he had 'em, and he shell come back here whenever he likes. money! what d' i keer whether he pays me money or not? my poor, sainted charles left me enough to live on as long as a poor, lorn, lone creeter like me wants ter live. nelson haley is welcome ter stay here for the rest of his endurin' life, if he wants to, an' never pay me a cent!" "i don't suppose he could take such great favors as you offer him, mrs. beaseley," said janice, kissing her. "but you are a _dear_! and i know he must appreciate what you have already done for him." "wish't 'twas more! wish't 'twas more!" sobbed mrs. beaseley. "but he'll come back ter me nex' fall. i know! when he goes ter teachin' ag'in, he _must_ come here to live." "oh, mrs. beaseley! do you think they will _let_ nelson teach again in the polktown school?" cried the girl. "my mercy me! d'yeou mean to tell me cross moore and massey and them other men air perfect fules?" cried the widow. "here 'tis 'most time for school to close, and they tell me the graduatin' class ain't nowhere near where they ought to be in their books. the supervisor come over himself, and he says he never seen sech ridiculous work as this mr. adams has done here. he--he's a _baby_! and he ought to be teachin' babies--not bein' principal of a graded school sech as mr. haley built up here." there were plenty of other people in polktown who spoke almost as emphatically against the present state of the school and in nelson's favor. three months or so of bad management had told greatly in the discipline and in the work of the pupils. a few who would graduate from the upper grade were badly prepared, and would have to make up some of their missed studies during the summer if they were to be accepted as pupils in their proper grade at the middletown academy. mr. haley's record up to the very day he had withdrawn from his position of teacher was as good as any teacher in the state. indeed, several teachers from surrounding districts had met with him in polktown once a month and had taken work and instructions from him. the state board of education and the supervisors had appreciated nelson's work. mr. adams had been the only substitute they could give polktown at such short notice. he was supposed to have had the same training, as mr. haley; but--"different men, different minds." "ye'd oughter come over to our graduation exercises, janice," said marty, with a grin. "we're goin' to do ourselves proud. hi tunket! that adams is so green that i wonder walky's old josephus ain't bit him yet, thinkin' he was a wisp of grass." "now marty!" said his mother, admonishingly. "fact," said her son. "adams wants me to speak a piece on that great day. i told him i couldn't--m' lip's cracked!" and marty giggled. "but sally prentiss is going to recite 'a psalm of life,' and peke ringgold is going to tell us all about 'bozzar--bozzar--is'--as though we hadn't been made acquainted with him ever since hector was a pup. and hector's a big dog now!" "you're one smart young feller, now, ain't ye?" said his father, for this information was given out by marty at the supper table one evening just before the "great day," as he called the last session of school for that year. "i b'lieve i'm smart enough to know when to go in and keep dry," returned his son, flippantly. "but i've my doubts about mr. adams--for a fac'." "nev' mind," grunted his father. "there'll be a change before next fall." "there'd better be--or i don't go back for my last year at school. now, you can bet on that!" cried marty, belligerently. "hi tunket! i'd jest as soon be taught by an old maid after all as adams." differently expressed, the whole town seemed of a mind regarding the school and the failure of mr. adams. the committee got over that ignominious graduation day as well as possible. mr. middler did all he could to make it a success, and he made a very nice speech to the pupils and their parents. the minister could not be held responsible in any particular for the failure of the school. of all the committee, he had had nothing to do with nelson haley's resignation. as walky dexter said, mr. middler "flocked by himself." he had little to do with the other four members of the school committee. "and when it comes 'lection," said walky, dogmatically, "there's a hull lot on us will have jest abeout as much to do with cross moore and massey and old crawford and joe pellett, as mr. middler does. jefers-pelters! if they don't put nobody else up for committeemen, i'll vote for the taown pump!" "ya-as, walky," said uncle jason, slily. "that'd be likely, i reckon. i hear ye air purty firmly seated on the water wagon." chapter xxvii the tempest mr. cross moore was not a man who easily or frequently recanted before either public or private opinion. as political "boss" of the town he had often found himself opposed to many of his neighbors' wishes. neither sharp tongue nor sharp look disturbed him--apparently, at least. besides, mr. moore loved a fight "for the fight's sake," as the expression is. he had backed lem parraday in applying for a liquor license, to benefit his own pocket. it had to be a good reason indeed, to change mr. moore's attitude on the liquor selling question. the hotel barroom held great attractions for many of cross moore's supporters, although mr. moore himself seldom stepped into that part of the hotel. the politician did not trust lem parraday to represent him, for lem was "no wiser than the law allows," to quote his neighbors. but joe bodley, the young barkeeper, imported from the city, was just the sort of fellow cross moore could use. and about this time joe bodley was in a position where his fingers "itched for the feel of money." not other people's money, but his own. he had scraped together all he had saved, and drawn ahead on his wages, to make up the hundred dollars paid hopewell drugg for the violin, and---- "seems ter me that old fiddle is what they call a sticker, ain't it, 'stead of a straddlevarious?" chuckled walky dexter, referring to the instrument hanging on the wall behind joe's head. "oh, i'll get my money back on it," bodley replied, with studied carelessness. "maybe i'll raffle it off." "not here in polktown ye won't," said the expressman. "yeou might as well try ter raffle off a white elephant." "pshaw! of course not. but a fine fiddle like that--a real cremona--will bring a pretty penny in the city. there, walky, roll that barrel right into this corner behind the bar. i'll have to put a spigot in it soon. might's well do it now. 'tis the real simon-pure article, walky. have a snifter?" "on the haouse?" queried walky, briskly. "sure. it's a tin roof," laughed bodley. "much obleeged ter ye," said walky. "as yer so pressin'--don't mind if i do. a glass of sars'p'rilla'll do me." "what's the matter with you lately, walky?" demanded the barkeeper, pouring the non-alcoholic drink with no very good grace. "lost your taste for a man's drink?" "sort o'," replied walky, calmly. "here's your health, joe. i thought you had that fiddle sold before you went to hopewell arter it?" "to tell ye the truth, walky----" "don't do it if it hurts ye, joe. haw! haw!" the barkeeper made a wry face and continued: "that feller i got it for, only put up a part of the price. i thought he was a square sport; but he ain't. when he got a squint at the old fiddle while hopewell was down here playing for the dance, he was just crazy to buy it. any old price, he said! after i got it," proceeded joe, ruefully, "he tries to tell me it ain't worth even what i paid for it." "wal--'tain't, is it?" said walky, bluntly. "if it's worth a hundred it's worth a hundred and fifty," said the barkeeper doggedly. "ya-as--_if_," murmured the expressman. "however, nobody's going to get it for any less--believe me! least of all that fontaine. i hate these kanucks, anyway. i know _him_. he's trying to jew me down," said joe, angrily. "wal, you take it to the city," advised walky. "you kin make yer spec on it there, ye say." there was a storm cloud drifting across old ti as the expressman climbed to his wagon seat and drove away from the inn. it had been a very hot day and was now late afternoon--just the hour for a summer tempest. the tiny waves lapped the loose shingle along the lake shore. there was the hot smell of over-cured grass on the uplands. the flower beds along the hilly street which janice day mounted after a visit to the narnays, were quite scorched now. this street brought janice out by the lake view inn. she, too, saw the threatening cloud and hastened her steps. sharp lightnings flickered along its lower edge, lacing it with pale blue and saffron. the mutter of the thunder in the distance was like a heavy cannonade. "maybe it sounded so years and years ago when the british and french fought over there," janice thought. "how these hills must have echoed to the roll of the guns! and when ethan allen and his green mountain boys discharged the guns in a salvo of thanksgiving over old ti's capture--oh! is that you, nelson? how you startled me." for the young schoolmaster had come up the hill behind her at a breathless gait. "we've got to hurry," he said. "that's going to be what marty would call a 'humdinger' of a storm, janice." "dear me! i didn't know you were in town," she said happily. "we got the last of the hay in this morning," said the bronzed young fellow, smiling. "i helped mow away and the elder was kind enough to say that i had done well and could have the rest of the day to myself. i fancy the shrewd old fellow knew it was about to rain," and he laughed. "and how came you down this way?" janice asked. "followed your trail," laughed nelson. i went in to mrs. beaseley's of course. "and then at drugg's i learned you had gone down to see jim narnay's folks. but i didn't catch you there. goodness, janice, but they are a miserable lot! i shouldn't think you could bear to go there." "oh, nelson, the poor little baby--it is so sick and it cheers mrs. narnay up a little if i call on her. besides, sophie and the little boys are just as cunning as they can be. i can't help sympathizing with them." "do save some of your sympathy for other folks, janice," said nelson, rather ruefully. "you ought to have seen the blisters i had on my hands the first week or two i was a farmer." "oh, nelson! that's too bad," she cried, with solicitude. "too late!" he returned, laughing. "they are callouses now--marks of honest toil. whew! see that dust-cloud!" the wind had ruffled the lake in a wide strip, right across to the eastern shore. whitecaps were dancing upon the surface and the waves ran a long way up the beach. the wind, rushing ahead of the rain-cloud, caught up the dust in the streets and advanced across the town. janice hid her face against the sleeve of her light frock. nelson led her by the hand as the choking cloud passed over. then the rain, in fitful gusts at first, pelted them so sharply that the girl cried out. "oh, nelson, it's like hail!" she gasped. a vivid flash of lightning cleaved the cloud; the thunder-peal drowned the schoolmaster's reply. but janice felt herself fairly caught up in his arms and he mounted some steps quickly. a voice shouted: "bring her right this way, school teacher! right in here!" it was lem parraday's voice. they had mounted the side porch of the inn and when janice opened her eyes she was in the barroom. the proprietor of the inn slammed to the door against the thunderous rush of the breaking storm. the rain dashed in torrents against the house. the blue flashes of electricity streaked the windows constantly, while the roll and roar of the thunder almost deafened those in the darkened barroom. joe bodley was behind the bar briskly serving customers. he nodded familiarly to janice, and said: "bad storm, miss. glad to see you. you ain't entirely a stranger here, eh?" "shut up, joe!" commanded mr. parraday, as janice flushed and the schoolmaster took a threatening step toward the bar. "oh, all right, boss," giggled the barkeeper. "what's yours, mister?" he asked nelson haley. a remarkable clap of thunder drowned nelson's reply. perhaps it was as well. and as the heavy roll of the report died away, they heard a series of shrieks somewhere in the upper part of the house. "what in good gracious is the matter now?" gasped lem parraday, hastening out of the barroom. again a blinding flash of light lit up the room for an instant. it played upon the fat features of joe bodley--pallidly upon the faces of his customers. some of them had shrunk away from the bar; some were ashamed to be seen there by janice and the schoolmaster. the thunder discharged another rolling report, shaking the house in its wrath. the rain beat down in torrents. janice and nelson could not leave the place while the storm was at its height, and for the moment, neither thought of going into the dining room. again and again the lightning flashed and the thunder broke above the tavern. it was almost as though the fury of the tempest was centered at the lake view inn. janice, frankly clinging to nelson's hand, cowered when the tempest rose to these extreme heights. echoing another peal of thunder once again a scream from within the house startled the girl. "oh, nelson! what's that?" "gee! i believe marm parraday's on the rampage," exclaimed joe bodley, with a silly smile on his face. the door from the hall flew open. in the dusky opening the woman's lean and masculine form looked wondrous tall; her hollow eyes burned with unnatural fire; her thin and trembling lips writhed pitifully. with her coming another awful flash and crash illumined the room and shook the roof tree of the inn. "it's come! it's come!" she said, advancing into the-room. her face shone in the pallid, flickering light of the intermittent flashes, and the loafers at the bar shrank away from her advance. "i told ye how 'twould be, lem parraday!" cried the tavern keeper's wife. "this is the end! this is the end!" another stroke of thunder rocked the house. marm parraday fell on her knees in the sawdust and raised her clasped hands wildly. the act loosened her stringy gray hair and it fell down upon her shoulders. a wilder looking creature janice day had never imagined. "almighty father!" burst from the quivering lips of the poor woman. "almighty father, help us!" "she's prayin'!" gasped a trembling voice back in the shrinking crowd. "help us and save us!" groaned the woman, her face and clasped hands uplifted. "we hear thy awful voice. we see the flash of thy anger. ah!" the thunder rolled again--ominously, suddenly, while the casements rattled from its vibrations. "_forgive lem and these other men for what they air doin', o lord!_" was the next phrase the startled spectators heard. "_they don't deserve thy forgiveness--but overlook 'em!_" the voice in the heavens answered again and drowned her supplication. one man screamed--a shrill, high neigh like that of a hurt horse. janice caught a momentary glimpse of the pallid face of joe bodley shrinking below the edge of the counter. there was no leer upon his fat face now; it expressed nothing but terror. lem parraday entered hastily. he caught his wife by her thin shoulders just as she pitched forward. "now, now, marm! this ain't no way to act," he said, soothingly. the thunder muttered in the distance. suddenly the flickering lightning seemed less threatening. as quickly as it had burst, the tempest passed away. "my jimminy! she's fainted," lem parraday murmured, lifting the woman in his strong arms. chapter xxviii the enemy retreats as the summer advanced visitors flocked to polktown. from the larger and better known tourist resorts on the new york side of the lake, small parties had ventured into polktown during the two previous seasons. now news of the out-of-the-way, old-fashioned hamlet had spread; and by the end of july the lake view inn was comfortably filled, and most people who were willing to take "city folks" to board had all the visitors they could take care of. "but i dunno's we're goin' to make much by havin' sech a crowd," lem parraday complained. "with marm sick nothin' seems ter go right. sech waste in the kitchen i never did see! an' if i say a word, or look skew-jawed at them women, they threaten ter up an' leave me in a bunch." for marm parraday, by dr. poole's orders, had been taken out into the country to her sister's, and told to stay there till cool weather came. "if you are bound to run a rum-hole, lem," said the plain-spoken doctor, "don't expect a woman in her condition to help you run it." lem thought it hard--and he looked for sympathy among his neighbors. he got what he was looking for, but of rather doubtful quality. "i cartainly do wish marm'd git well--or sumpin'," he said one day in walky dexter's hearing. "i don't see how a man's expected to run a _ho_-tel without a woman to help him. it beats me!" "it'll be _sumpin'_ that happens ter ye, i reckon," observed walky, drily. "sure as yeou air a fut high, lem. in the fall. beware the ides o' september, as the feller says. only mebbe i ain't got jest the month right. haw! haw! haw!" town meeting day was in september. the call had already been issued, and included in it was the amendment calling for no license in polktown--the new ordinance, if passed, to take immediate effect. the campaign for prohibition was continued despite the influx of summer visitors. indeed, because of them the battle against liquor selling grew hotter. not so many "city folks" as the hotel-keeper and his friends expected, desired to see a bar in the old-fashioned community. especially after the first pay day of the gang working on the branch of the v. c. road. when the night was made hideous and the main street of polktown dangerous for quiet people, by drink-inflamed fellows from the railroad construction camp, a strong protest was addressed to the town selectmen. there was a possibility of several well-to-do men building on the heights above the town, another season. uncle jason had a chance to sell his sheep-lot at such a price that his cupidity was fully aroused. but the buyer did not care to close the bargain if the town went "wet" in the fall. naturally mr. day's interest in prohibition increased mightily. the visiting young people would have liked to hold dances in lem parraday's big room at the inn. but gently bred girls did not care to go where liquor was sold; so the dancing parties of the better class were held in the odd fellows hall. the recurrent temperance meetings which had at first been held in the town house had to seek other quarters early in the campaign. mr. cross moore "lifted his finger" and the councilmen voted to allow the town hall to be used for no such purpose. however, warm weather having come, in a week the campaign committee obtained a big tent, set it up on the old circus grounds behind major price's place, somewhat curtailing the boys' baseball field, and the temperance meetings were held not only once a week, but thrice weekly. the tent meetings became vastly popular. when nelson haley, urged by the elder, made his first speech in the campaign, polktown awoke as never before to the fact that their schoolmaster had a gift of oratory not previously suspected. and, perhaps as much as anything, that speech raised public opinion to a height which could be no longer ignored by the school committee. there was an unveiled demand in the polktown column of the middletown courier that nelson haley should be appointed teacher of the graded school for the ensuing year. even mr. cross moore saw that the time had come for him and his comrades on the committee to back down completely from their position. it was the only thing that would save them from being voted out of office at the coming election--and perhaps that would happen anyway! before the summer was over the request, signed by the five committeemen, came to nelson that he take up his duties from which he had asked to be relieved in the spring. "it's a victory!" cried janice, happily. "oh, nelson! i'm _so_ glad." but there was an exceedingly bitter taste on nelson haley's lips. he shook his head and could not smile. the accusation against his character still stood. he had been accused of stealing the collection of coins, and he had never been able to disprove the charge. chapter xxix the truth at last daddy had not written for nearly two months. at least, no letter from him had reached janice. the day family in polktown had not gone into mourning in the spring and aunt 'mira gloried in a most astonishing plum-colored silk with "r'yal purple" trimmings. nevertheless, janice had now all but given up hope for her father's life. the uncertainty connected with his fate was very hard for the young girl to bear. she had the thought with her all the time--a picture in her mind of a man, blindfolded, his wrists fastened behind him, standing with his back against a sunburnt wall and a file of ragged, barefooted soldiers in front of him. in desperation she had written a letter addressed personally to "general juan dicampa," sending it to the same place to which she addressed her father's letters. she did this almost in fear of the consequences. who would read her letter now that the guerrilla chief was dead? in the appeal janice pleaded for her father's life and for news of him. days passed and there was no reply. but the letter, with her name and address on the outside, was not returned to her. broxton day's fate was discussed no more before janice at home. and other people who knew of her trouble, save nelson haley, soon forgot it. for the girl did not "wear her heart on her sleeve." as for the druggs--hopewell and his wife--they were so worried about little lottie's case that they had thought for nobody's troubles but their own. the doctors would not let the child return to polktown at present. they kept her all through the summer, watching her case. and lottie, at a summer school in boston, was enjoying herself hugely. she was not yet at an age to worry much about the future. these months of lottie's absence were weary ones indeed for her father. sometimes he wandered about the store quite distraught. 'rill was worried about him. he missed the solace of his violin and refused to purchase a cheap instrument to take the place of the one he had been obliged to sacrifice. "no, miss janice," he told the girl once, when she spoke of this. "i could not play another instrument. i am no musician. i was never trained. it was just a natural talent that i developed, because i found in my heart a love for the old violin my father had played so many years. "through its vibrant strings i expressed deeper feelings than i could ever express in any other way--or upon any other instrument. my lips would never have dared tell my love for 'rill," and he smiled in his gentle way, "half so boldly as my violin told it! ask her. she will tell you that my violin courted her--not hopewell drugg." "oh, it is too, too bad!" cried janice. "and that fellow down at lem parraday's hotel has never succeeded in disposing of the fiddle. i wish he would sell it back to you." "i could not buy it at the price he gave me for it," said hopewell, sadly shaking his head. "no use to think of it." but janice thought of it--and thought of it often. if daddy were only--only _successful_ again! that is the way she put it in her mind. if he could only send her some more money! there was many a thing janice day needed, or wanted. but she thought that she would deny herself much for the sake of recovering the violin for hopewell drugg. meanwhile nothing further had come to light regarding the missing collection of gold coins. no third coin had been put into circulation--in polktown, at least. the four school committeemen who were responsible for the collection had long since paid the owner out of their own pockets rather than be put to further expense in law. jim narnay's baby was growing weaker and weaker. the little thing had been upon the verge of passing on so many times, that her parents had grown skeptical of the doctor's prophecy--that she could not live out the summer. it seemed to janice, however, that the little body was frailer, the little face wanner, the tiny smile more pitiful, each time she went to pine cove to see the baby. nelson, who had come back to town and again taken up his abode with the overjoyed mrs. beaseley while he prepared for the opening of the school, urged janice not to go so often to the narnay cottage. "you've enough on your heart and mind, dear girl," he said to her. "why burden yourself with other people's troubles?" "why--do you know, nelson," she told him, thoughtfully, "that is one of the things i have learned of late." "what is one of the things you have learned?" "i have been learning, nelson, that the more we share other people's burdens the less weight our own assume. it's wonderful! when i am thinking of the poor little narnay baby, i am not thinking of daddy away down there in mexico. and when i am worrying about little lottie drugg--or even about hopewell's lost violin--i am not thinking about those awful gold coins and _who_ could have taken them----" "here! here, young woman!" exclaimed the schoolmaster, stopping short, and shaking his head at her. "_that's_ certainly not your personal trouble." "oh, but, nelson," she said shyly. "whatever troubles _you_ must trouble _me_ quite as though it were my really, truly own!" what nelson might have said, right there on hillside avenue, too--even what he might have _done_!--will never be known; for here marty suddenly appeared running wildly and shrieking at the top of his lungs for them to stop. "hi! hi! what's the matter wi' you folks?" he yelled, his face red, and his breath fairly gasping in his throat. "i been yellin' after ye all down high street. look what i found!" "looks like a newspaper, marty," said nelson, calmly. "_but what is in it?_" cried janice, turning pale. nelson seized the paper and held it open. he read rapidly: "'great battle fought southwest of chihuahua. federal forces thoroughly whipped. rebels led by the redoubtable general juan dicampa, whose reported death last spring was only a ruse to blind the eyes of the federals to his movements. at the head of a large force of regular troops and yaqui indians, dicampa fell upon the headquarters of general cesta, capturing or killing his entire command, and becoming possessed of quantities of munition and a great store of supplies. a telling blow that may bring about the secure establishment of a _de facto_ government in our ensanguined sister republic." "goodness me, janice! what do you think of that? there is a lot more of it, too." "then--if juan dicampa is not dead----" began the girl. "sure, uncle brocky ain't dead!" finished marty. "at least, dear girl," said nelson, sympathetically, "there is every reason to believe that what marty says is true." "oh, i can hope! i can hope again!" she murmured. "and, perhaps--who knows, nelson?--perhaps my own great trouble is going to melt away and be no more, just like last winter's snow! perhaps daddy is safe, and will come home." "i wish my difficulties promised as quick a solution, janice," said nelson, shaking his head. "but i am glad for you, my dear." marty ran ahead with the paper to spread the good news of uncle brocky's probable safety. janice and nelson were not destined to be left to their own devices for long, however. as they slowly mounted the pleasant and shady street there was the rattle of wheels behind them, and a masterful voice said: "whoa! that you, schoolmaster? how-do, janice." "dr. poole!" they cried, as one. "bad news for you, janice," said the red-faced doctor, in his brusk way. "know you're interested in that narnay youngster. i've just come from there. i've got to go half way to bristol to set a feller's leg. they telephoned me. before i could get there and back that narnay baby is going to be out of the reach of all my pills and powders." he did not say it harshly; it was dr. poole's way to be brusk. "oh, doctor! will it surely die?" "not two hours to live--positively," said the physician, gathering up the reins. "i'm sorry for jim. if the fellow is a drunkard, he is mighty tender-hearted when it comes to kids--and he's sober," he added, under his breath. "is he there?" asked janice, quickly. "no. hasn't been in town for two weeks. up in the woods somewhere. it will break him all up in business, i expect. i told you, for i didn't know but you'd want to go down and see the woman." "thank you, doctor," janice said, as the chaise rattled away. but she did not turn back down the hill. instead, she quickened her steps in the opposite direction. "well! i am glad for once you are not going to wear yourself out with other people's troubles," said nelson, looking sideways at her. "poor mr. narnay," said the girl. "i am going after him. he must see the baby before she dies." "janice!" "yes. the car is all ready, i know. it will take only half an hour to run up there where those men are at work. i took elder concannon over there once. the road isn't bad at all at this time of year." "do you mean you are going clear over the mountain after that drunken narnay?" demanded nelson, with some heat. "i am going after the baby's father, nelson," she replied softly. "you may go, too, if you are real good," and she smiled up at him so roguishly that his frown was dissipated and he had to smile in return. they reached the day house shortly and janice hurried in for her dust-coat and goggles. marty offered his own cap and "blinders," as he called them, to the schoolmaster. "you'll sure need 'em, mr. haley, if you go with janice, and she's drivin'. i b'lieve she said she was in a hurry," and he grinned as he opened the garage door and ran the kremlin out upon the gravel. the automobile moved out of the yard and took the steep hill easily. once on the upper road, janice urged the car on and they passed elder concannon's in a cloud of dust. the camp where the baby's father was at work was easily found. jim narnay seemed to know what the matter was, for he flung down the axe he was using and was first of the three at the side of the car when janice stopped. mr. trimmins sauntered up, too, but the sullen jack besmith seemed to shrink from approaching the visitors. "i will get you there if possible in time to see the baby once more, mr. narnay, if you will come right along as you are," said janice, commiseratingly, after explaining briefly their errand. "dr. poole told me the time was short." "go ahead, jim," said trimmins, giving the man's hand a grip. "miss day, you sartain sure are a good neighbor." janice turned the car as soon as narnay was in the tonneau. the man sat clinging with one hand to the rail and with the other over his face most of the way to town. speed had to be reduced when they turned into high street; but constable poley cantor turned his back on them as they swung around the corner into the street leading directly down to pine cove. janice left nelson in the car at the door, and ran into the cottage with the anxious father. mrs. narnay sat with the child on her lap, rocking herself slowly to and fro, and weeping. the children--even sophie--made a scared little group in the corner. the woman looked up and saw her husband. "oh, jim!" she said. "ain't it too bad? she--she didn't know you was comin'. she--she's jest died." janice was crying frankly when she came out of the house a few minutes afterward. nelson, seeing her tears, sprang out of the car and hastened up the ragged walk to meet her. "janice!" he exclaimed and put his arm around her shoulders, stooping a little to see into her face. "don't cry, child! is--is it dead?" janice nodded. jim narnay came to the door. his bloated, bearded face was working with emotion. he saw the tenderness with which nelson haley led the girl to the car. the heavy tread of the man sounded behind the young folk as nelson helped janice into the car, preparing himself to drive her home. "i say--i say, miss janice," stammered narnay. she wiped her eyes and turned quickly, in sympathy, to the broken man. "i will surely see mr. middler, mr. narnay. and tell your wife there will be a few flowers sent down--and some other things. i--i know you will remain and be--be helpful to her, mr. narnay?" "yes, i will, miss," said narnay. his bleared eyes gazed first on the young girl and then on haley. "i beg your pardon, miss," he added. "what is it, mr. narnay?" asked janice. "mebbe i'd better tell it ter schoolmaster," said the man, his lips working. he drew the back of his hand across them to hide their quivering. "i know something mebbe mr. haley would like to hear." "what is it, narnay?" asked nelson, kindly. "i--i----i hear folks says ye stole them gold coins out of the schoolhouse." nelson looked startled, but janice almost sprang out of her seat. "oh, jim narnay!" she cried, "can you clear mr. haley? do you know who did it?" "i see you--you and schoolmaster air fond of each other," said the man. "i never before went back on a pal; but you've been mighty good to me an' mine, miss janice, and--and i'm goin' to tell." nelson could not speak. janice, however, wanted to cry aloud in her delight. "i knew you could explain it all, mr. narnay, but i didn't know that you _would_," she said. "you knowed i could tell it?" demanded the startled narnay. "ever since that five dollar gold piece rolled out of your pocket--yes," she said, and no more to narnay's amazement than to nelson's, for she had told the schoolmaster nothing about that incident. "my mercy, miss! did _you_ git that five dollar coin?" demanded narnay. "yes. right here on your porch. the sunday you were at home." "and i thought i'd lost it. i didn't take the whiskey back to the boys, and jack's been sayin' all the time i double-crossed him. says i must ha' spent the money for booze and drunk it meself. and mebbe i would of--if i hadn't lost the five," admitted narnay, wagging his head. "but i don't understand," broke in nelson haley. janice touched his arm warningly. "but you didn't lose the ten dollar coin he gave you before that to change at lem parraday's, mr. narnay?" she said slyly. "i guess ye do know about it," said the man, eyeing janice curiously. "i can't tell you much, i guess. only, you air wrong about me passin' the first coin. jack did that himself--and brought back to camp a two gallon jug of liquor." "_jack besmith!_" gasped the school teacher, the light dawning in his mind. "yes," said narnay. "me and trimmins has knowed it for a long time. we wormed it out o' jack when he was drunk. but he was putting up for the stuff right along, so we didn't tell. he's got most of the money hid away somewhere--we don't know where. "he told us he saw the stuff up at massey's the night before he stole it. he went there to try to get his job back, and seen massey puttin' the trays of coin into his safe. he knowed they was goin' down to the schoolhouse in the mornin'. "he got drunk," pursued narnay. "he didn't go home all night. early in the mornin' he woke up in a shed, and went back to town. it was so early that little benny thread (that's jack's brother-in-law) was just goin' into the basement door of the schoolhouse to 'tend to his fire. "jack says he slipped in behind him and hid upstairs in a clothes closet. he thought he'd maybe break open the teacher's desk and see if there wasn't some money in it, if he didn't git a chance at them coins. but that was too easy. the committee left the coins right out open in the committee room, and jack grabbed up the trays, took 'em to the clothes room, and emptied them into the linin' of his coat, and into his pants' pockets. they was a load! "so, after the teacher come into the buildin' and went out again, jack put back the trays, slipped downstairs, dodged benny and the four others, and went out at the basement door. benny's always swore that door was locked; but it's only a spring lock and easy enough opened from inside. "that--that's all, i guess," added narnay, in a shamefaced way. "jack backed that load of gold coin clean out to our camp. and he hid 'em all b'fore we ever suspected he had money. we don't know now where his _cache_ is----" "oh, nelson!" burst out janice, seizing both the schoolmaster's hands. "the truth at last!" "ye--ye've been so good to us, miss janice," blubbered narnay, "i couldn't bear to see the young man in trouble no longer--and you thinkin' as much as you do of him----" "if i have done anything at all for you or yours, mr. narnay," sobbed janice, "you have more than repaid me--over and over again you have repaid me! do stay here with your wife and the children. i am going to send mr. middler right down. let's drive on, nelson." the teacher started the car. "and to think," he said softly when the kremlin had climbed the hill and struck smoother going, "that i have been opposed to your doing anything for these narnays all the time, janice. yet because _you_ were kind, _i_ am saved! it--it is wonderful!" "oh, no, nelson. it is only what might have been expected," said janice, softly. chapter xxx marm parraday does her duty it was on the day following the burial of the narnay baby that the mystery surrounding mr. broxton day's situation in mexico was quite cleared up, and much to his daughter's satisfaction. quite a packet of letters arrived for janice--several delayed epistles, indeed, coming in a single wrapper. with them was a letter in the exact script of juan dicampa--that mysterious brigand chief who was mr. day's friend--and couched in much the same flowery phraseology as the former note janice had received. it read: "señorita:-- "i fain would beg thy pardon--and that most humbly--for my seeming slight of thy appeal, which reached my headquarters when your humble servant was busily engaged elsewhere. thy father, the senior b. day, is safe. he has never for a moment been in danger. the embargo is now lifted and he may write to thee, sweet señorita, as he may please. the enemy has been driven from this fair section of my troubled land, and the smile of peace rests upon us as it rests upon you, dear señorita. adios. "faithfully thine, "juan dicampa." "such a strangely boyish letter to come from a bloodthirsty bandit--for such they say he is. and he is father's friend," sighed janice, showing the letter to nelson saley. "oh, dear! i wish daddy would leave that hateful old mine and come home." nevertheless, daddy's return--or his abandonment of the mine--did not appear imminent. good news indeed was in mr. broxton day's most recent letters. the way to the border for ore trains was again open. for six weeks he had had a large force of peons at work in the mine and a great amount of ore had been shipped. there was in the letter a certificate of deposit for several hundred dollars, and the promise of more in the near future. "you must be pretty short of feminine furbelows by this time. be good to yourself, janice," wrote mr. day. but his daughter, though possessing her share of feminine vanity in dress, saw first another use for a part of this unexpected windfall. she said nothing to a soul but walky dexter, however. it was to be a secret between them. there was so much going on in polktown just then that walky could keep a secret, as he confessed himself, "without half trying." "nelson haley openin' aour school and takin' up the good work ag'in where he laid it daown, is suthin' that oughter be noted a-plenty," declared mr. dexter. "and i will say for 'em, that committee reinstated him before anybody heard anythin' abeout jack besmith havin' stole the gold coins. "sure enough!" went on walky, "that's another thing that kin honestly be laid to lem parraday's openin' that bar at the inn. that's where jack got the liquor that twisted his brain, that led him astray, that made him a thief---- jefers-pelters! sounds jest like 'the haouse that jack built,' don't it? but poor jack besmith has sartainly built him a purty poor haouse. and there's steel bars at the winders of it--poor feller!" however, it was nelson haley himself who used the story of jack besmith most tellingly, and for the cause of temperance. as the young fellow had owned to the crime when taxed with it, and had returned most of the coins of the collection, he was recommended to the mercy of the court. but all of polktown knew of the lad's shame. therefore, nelson haley felt free to take the incident--and nobody had been more vitally interested in it than himself--for the text of a speech that he made in the big tent only a week or so before town meeting day. nelson stood up before the audience and told the story simply--told of the robbery and of how he had felt when he was accused of it, sketching his own agony and shame while for weeks and months he had not been under suspicion. "i did not believe the bad influence of liquor selling could touch _me_, because i had nothing to do with _it_," he said. "but i have seen the folly of that opinion." he pointed out, too, the present remorse and punishment of young jack besmith. then he told them frankly that the blame for all--for jack's misdeed, his own suffering, and the criminal's final situation--lay upon the consciences of the men who had made liquor selling in polktown possible. it was an arraignment that stung. those deeply interested in the cause of prohibition cheered nelson to the echo. but one man who sat well back in the audience, his hat pulled over his eyes, and apparently an uninterested listener, slipped out after nelson's talk and walked and fought his conscience the greater part of that night. somehow the school teacher's talk--or was it janice day's scorn?--had touched mr. cross moore in a vulnerable part. had the summer visitors to polktown been voters, there would have been little doubt of the town meeting voting the hamlet "dry." but there seemed to be a large number of men determined not to have their liberties, so-called, interfered with. lem parraday's bar had become a noisy place. some fights had occurred in the horse sheds, too. and on the nights the railroad construction gang came over to spend their pay, the village had to have extra police protection. frank bowman was doing his best with his men; but they were a rough set and he had hard work to control them. the engineer was a never-failing help in the temperance meetings, and nobody was more joyful over the clearing up of nelson haley's affairs than he. "you have done some big things these past few months, janice day," he said with emphasis. "nonsense, frank! no more than other people," she declared. "well, i guess you have," he proclaimed, with twinkling eyes, "just think! you've brought out the truth about that lost coin collection; you've saved hopewell drugg from becoming a regular reprobate--at least, so says his mother-in-law; you've converted walky dexter from his habit of taking a 'snifter'----" "oh, no!" laughed janice. "josephus converted walky." save at times when he had to deliver freight or express to the hotel, the village expressman had very little business to take him near lem parraday's bar nowadays. however, because of that secret between janice and himself, walky approached the inn one evening with the avowed purpose of speaking to joe bodley. marm parraday had returned home that very day--and she had returned a different woman from what she was when she went away. the inn was already being conducted on a winter basis, for most of the summer boarders had flitted. there were few patrons now save those who hung around the bar. walky, entering by the front door instead of the side entrance, came upon lem and his wife standing in the hall. marm parraday still had her bonnet on. she was grimly in earnest as she talked to lem--so much in earnest, indeed, that she never noticed the expressman's greeting. "that's what i've come home for, lem parraday--and ye might's well know it. i'm a-goin' ter do my duty--what i knowed i should have done in the fust place. you an' me have worked hard here, i reckon. but you ain't worked a mite harder nor me; and you ain't made the inn what it is no more than i have." "not so much, marm--not so much," admitted her husband evidently anxious to placate her, for marm parraday was her old forceful self again. "i'd never oughter let rum sellin' be begun here; an' now i'm a-goin' ter end it!" "my mercy, marm! 'cordin' ter the way folks talk, it's goin' to be ended, anyway, when they vote on town meeting day," said lem, nervously. "i ain't dared renew my stock for fear the 'drys' might git it----" "lem parraday--ye poor, miser'ble worm!" exclaimed his wife. "be you goin' ter wait till yer neighbors put ye out of a bad business, an' then try ter take credit ter yerself that ye gin it up? wal, _i_ ain't!" cried the wife, with energy. "we're goin' aout o' business right now! i ain't in no prayin' mood terday--though i thank the good lord he's shown me my duty an' has give me stren'th ter do it!" on the wall, in a "fire protection" frame, was coiled a length of hose, with a red painted pail and an axe. marm turned to this and snatched down the axe from its hooks. "why, marm!" exploded lem, trying to get in front of her. "stand out o' my way, lem parraday!" she commanded, with firm voice and unfaltering mien. "yeou air crazy!" shrieked the tavern keeper, dancing between her and the barroom door. "not as crazy as i was," she returned grimly. she thrust him aside as though he were a child and strode into the barroom. her appearance offered quite as much excitement to the loafers on this occasion as it had the day of the tempest. only they shrank from her with good reason now, as she flourished the axe. "git aout of here, the hull on ye!" ordered the stern woman. "ye have had the last drink in this place as long as lem parraday and me keeps it. git aout!" she started around behind the bar. joe bodley, smiling cheerfully, advanced to meet her. "now, marm! you know this ain't no way to act," he said soothingly. "this ain't no place for ladies, anyway. women's place is in the home. this here----" "scat! ye little rat!" snapped marm, and made a swing at him--or so he thought--that made joe dance back in sudden fright. "hey! take her off, lem parraday! _the woman's mad!_" "you bet i'm mad!" rejoined marm parraday, grimly, and _smash!_ the axe went among the bottles on the shelf behind the bar. every bottle containing anything to drink was a target for the swinging axe. joe jumped the bar, yelling wildly. he was the first out of the barroom, but most of the customers were close at his heels. "marm! yeou air ruinin' of us!" yelled lem. "i'm a-savin' of us from the wrath to come!" returned the woman, sternly, and swung her axe again. the spigot flew from the whiskey barrel in the corner and the next blow of the axe knocked in the head of the barrel. the acrid smell of liquor filled the place. not a bottle of liquor was left. the barroom of the lake view inn promised to be the driest place in town. up went the axe again. lem yelled loud enough to be heard a block: "not that barrel, marm! for the good land o' goshen! don't bust in _that_ barrel." "why not?" demanded his breathless wife, the axe poised for the stroke. "cause it's merlasses! if ye bust thet in, ye will hev a mess here, an' no mistake." "jefers-pelters!" chuckled walky dexter, telling of it afterward, "i come away then an' left 'em erlone. but you kin take it from me--marm parraday is quite in her us'al form. doc. poole's a wonderful doctor--ain't he? "but," pursued walky, "i had a notion that old fiddle of hopewell's would be safer outside than it was in marm parraday's way, an' i tuk it down 'fore i fled the scene of de-vas-ta-tion! haw! haw! haw! "i run inter joe bodley on the outside. 'joe,' says i, 'i reskered part of your belongin's. it looks ter me as though yeou'll hev time an' to spare to take this fiddle to the city an' raffle it off. but 'fore ye do that, what'll ye take for the fiddle--lowest cash price?' "'jest what it cost me, walky,' says joe. 'one hundred dollars.' "'no, joe; it didn't cost ye that,' says i. 'i mean what _yeou_ put into it yerself. that other feller that backed out'n his bargain put in some. how much?' "wal," pursued the expressman, "he hummed and hawed, but fin'ly he admitted that he was out only fifty dollars. 'here's yer fifty, joe,' says i. 'hopewell wants his fiddle back.' "i reckon joe needed the money to git him out o' taown. he can take a hint as quick as the next feller--when a ton of coal falls on him! haw! haw! haw! he seen his usefulness in polktown was kind o' passed. so he took the fifty, an' here's the vi'lin, janice day. i reckon ye paid abeout forty-seven-fifty too much for it; but ye told me ter git it at _any_ price." to hopewell and 'rill, janice, when she presented the storekeeper with his precious fiddle, revealed a secret that she had _not_ entrusted to walky dexter. by throwing the strong ray of an electric torch into the slot of the instrument she revealed to their wondering eyes a peculiar mark stamped in the wood of the back of it. "that, mr. drugg," the girl told him, quietly, "is a mark to be found only in violins manufactured by the amati family. the date of the manufacture of this instrument i do not know; but it is a genuine cremona, i believe. at least, i would not sell it again, if i were you, without having it appraised first by an expert." "oh, my dear girl!" cried 'rill, with streaming eyes, "hopewell won't ever sell it again. i won't let him. and we've got the joyfulest news, janice! you have doubled our joy to-day. but already we have had a letter from boston which says that our little lottie is in better health than ever and that the peril of blindness is quite dissipated. she is coming home to us again in a short time." "joyful things," as janice said, were happening in quick rotation nowadays. with the permanent closing of the lake view inn bar, several of the habitués of the barroom began to straighten up. jim narnay had really been fighting his besetting sin since the baby's death. he had found work in town and was taking his wages home to his wife. trimmins was working steadily for elder concannon. and being so far away from any place where liquor was dispensed, he was doing very well. really, with the abrupt closing of the bar, the cause of the "wets" in polktown rather broke down. they had no rallying point, and, as walky said, "munitions of war was mighty scurce." "a feller can't re'lly have the heart ter _vote_ for whiskey 'nless ther's whiskey in him," said walky, at the close of the voting on town meeting day. "how about that, cross moore? we dry fellers have walked over ye in great shape--ain't that so?" "i admit you have carried' the day, walky," said the selectman, grimly. "he! he! i sh'd say we had! purty near two ter one. wal! i thought ye said once that no man in polktown could best ye--if ye put yer mind to it?" cross moore chewed his straw reflectively. "i don't consider i have been beaten by a man," he said. "no? jefers-pelters! what d'ye call it?" blustered walky. "i reckon i've been beaten by a girl--and an idea," said mr. cross moore. "wal," sighed aunt 'mira, comfortably, rocking creakingly on the front porch of the old day house in the glow of sunset, "polktown does seem rejoovenated, jest like mr. middler preached last sunday, since rum sellin' has gone out. and it was a sight for sore eyes ter see marm parraday come ter church ag'in--an' that poor, miser'ble lem taggin' after her." janice laughed, happily. "i know that there can be nobody in town as glad that the vote went 'no license' as the parradays." "ya-as," agreed aunt 'mira, rather absently. "did ye notice marm's new bonnet? it looked right smart to me. i'm a-goin' ter have miz lynch make me one like it." "say, janice! want anything down town?" asked marty coming out of the house and starting through the yard. "it doesn't seem to me as though i really wanted but one thing in all this big, beautiful world!" said his cousin, with longing in her voice. "what's that, child?" asked her aunt. "i want daddy to come home." marty went off whistling. aunt 'mira rocked a while, "ya-as," she finally said, "if broxton day would only let them mexicaners alone an' come up here to polktown----" janice suddenly started from her chair; her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled. "oh! here he is!" she murmured. "here _who_ is? who d'ye mean, janice day? _not yer father?_" gasped aunt 'mira, staring with near-sighted eyes down the shadowy path. janice smiled. "it's nelson," she said softly, her gaze upon the manly figure mounting the hill. the master key [illustration: rob was surrounded by a group of natives] the master key _an electrical fairy tale_ founded upon the mysteries of electricity and the optimism of its devotees. it was written for boys, but others may read it by l. frank baum illustrations by f. y. cory _the_ bowen-merrill company publishers · indianapolis copyright the bowen-merrill company press of braunworth & co. bookbinders and printers brooklyn, n. y. to my son robert stanton baum [illustration] contents _chapter_ _page_ i rob's workshop ii the demon of electricity iii the three gifts iv testing the instruments v the cannibal island vi the buccaneers vii the demon becomes angry viii rob acquires new powers ix the second journey x how rob served a mighty king xi the man of science xii how rob saved a republic xiii rob loses his treasures xiv turk and tatar xv a battle with monsters xvi shipwrecked mariners xvii the coast of oregon xviii a narrow escape xix rob makes a resolution xx the unhappy fate of the demon [illustration] [illustration] illustrations _page_ rob was surrounded by a group of natives of hideous appearance--_frontispiece_ from his workshop ran a network of wires throughout the house--_headpiece_ a quick flash of light almost blinded rob a curious being looked upon him from a magnificent radiance--_tailpiece_ scientific men think the people of mars have been trying to signal us--_headpiece_ i am here to do your bidding, said the demon--_tailpiece_ men have not yet discovered what the birds know--_headpiece_ these three gifts may amuse you for the next week--_tailpiece_ rob's action surprised them all--_headpiece_ "he'll break his neck!" cried the astounded father the red-whiskered policeman keeled over--_tailpiece_ rob's captors caught up the end of the rope and led him away--_headpiece_ "if it's just the same to you, old chap, i won't be eaten to-day"--_tailpiece_ rob soared through the air with five buccaneers dangling from his leg--_headpiece_ it was a strange sight to see the pirates drop to the deck and lie motionless when night fell his slumber was broken and uneasy--_tailpiece_ when rob had been kissed by his mother, he gave an account of his adventures--_headpiece_ rob sat staring eagerly at the demon--_tailpiece_ the being drew from an inner pocket something resembling a box--_headpiece_ these spectacles will indicate the character of every one you meet--_tailpiece_ rob is in truth a typical american boy--_headpiece_ rob placed the indicator to a point north of east and began his journey--_tailpiece_ a crowd assembled, all shouting and pointing toward him in wonder--_headpiece_ a man rushed toward it, but the next moment he threw up his hands and fell unconscious rob reached the entrance of the palace, only to face another group of guardsmen rob only smiled in an amused way as he marched past them--_tailpiece_ a tremendous din and clatter nearly deafened him--_headpiece_ the eyes of the frenchman were actually protruding from their sockets from an elevation of fifty feet or more rob overlooked a pretty garden--_headpiece_ placing the record so that the president could see clearly, rob watched the changing expressions upon the great man's face rob experienced a decided sense of relief as he mixed with the gay populace--_tailpiece_ beneath him stretched a vast sandy plain, and speeding across this he came to a land abounding in vegetation--_headpiece_ "those fellows seem to be looking for trouble" uttering cries of terror and dismay, the three turks took to their heels rob was miserable and unhappy, and remained brooding over his cruel fate--_tailpiece_ the tatars arrived swiftly and noiselessly--_headpiece_ the turk rose slowly into the air, with rob clinging to him with desperate tenacity without more ado rob mounted into the air, leaving the turk staring after him--_tailpiece_ coming toward him was an immense bird--_headpiece_ with one last scream the creature tumbled downward to join its fellow--_tailpiece_ during the next few hours rob suffered from a severe attack of homesickness--_headpiece_ the disappointment of the sailors was something awful to witness as they slowly mounted into the sky the sailor gave a squeal of terror--_tailpiece_ rob mounted skyward, to the unbounded amazement of the fishermen, who stared after him--_headpiece_ rob hovered over the great tower of the lick observatory until he attracted the excited gaze of its inhabitants--_tailpiece_ finding himself upon the lake front, rob hunted up a vacant bench and sat down to rest--_headpiece_ as he started downward he saw the old gentleman looking at him with a half-frightened, half-curious expression--_tailpiece_ at precisely ten o'clock rob reached the front door of his own house--_headpiece_ rob boldly ascended the stairs, entered the workshop and closed and locked the door--_tailpiece_ the demon sank into a chair nerveless and limp, but still staring fearfully at the boy--_headpiece_ a flash of white light half-stunned and blinded rob. when he recovered himself the demon had disappeared--_tailpiece_ [illustration] who knows? these things are quite improbable, to be sure; but are they impossible? our big world rolls over as smoothly as it did centuries ago, without a squeak to show it needs oiling after all these years of revolution. but times change because men change, and because civilization, like john brown's soul, goes ever marching on. the impossibilities of yesterday become the accepted facts of to-day. here is a fairy tale founded upon the wonders of electricity and written for children of this generation. yet when my readers shall have become men and women my story may not seem to their children like a fairy tale at all. perhaps one, perhaps two--perhaps several of the demon's devices will be, by that time, in popular use. who knows? "_in wonder all philosophy began; in wonder it all ends; and admiration fills up the interspace. but the first wonder is the offspring of ignorance: the last is the parent of adoration._" --coleridge. [illustration] the master key _chapter one_ rob's workshop when rob became interested in electricity his clear-headed father considered the boy's fancy to be instructive as well as amusing; so he heartily encouraged his son, and rob never lacked batteries, motors or supplies of any sort that his experiments might require. he fitted up the little back room in the attic as his workshop, and from thence a net-work of wires soon ran throughout the house. not only had every outside door its electric bell, but every window was fitted with a burglar alarm; moreover no one could cross the threshold of any interior room without registering the fact in rob's workshop. the gas was lighted by an electric fob; a chime, connected with an erratic clock in the boy's room, woke the servants at all hours of the night and caused the cook to give warning; a bell rang whenever the postman dropped a letter into the box; there were bells, bells, bells everywhere, ringing at the right time, the wrong time and all the time. and there were telephones in the different rooms, too, through which rob could call up the different members of the family just when they did not wish to be disturbed. his mother and sisters soon came to vote the boy's scientific craze a nuisance; but his father was delighted with these evidences of rob's skill as an electrician, and insisted that he be allowed perfect freedom in carrying out his ideas. "electricity," said the old gentleman, sagely, "is destined to become the motive power of the world. the future advance of civilization will be along electrical lines. our boy may become a great inventor and astonish the world with his wonderful creations." "and in the meantime," said the mother, despairingly, "we shall all be electrocuted, or the house burned down by crossed wires, or we shall be blown into eternity by an explosion of chemicals!" "nonsense!" ejaculated the proud father. "rob's storage batteries are not powerful enough to electrocute one or set the house on fire. do give the boy a chance, belinda." "and his pranks are so humiliating," continued the lady. "when the minister called yesterday and rang the bell a big card appeared on the front door on which was printed the words: 'busy; call again.' fortunately helen saw him and let him in, but when i reproved robert for the act he said he was just trying the sign to see if it would work." "exactly! the boy is an inventor already. i shall have one of those cards attached to the door of my private office at once. i tell you, belinda, our son will be a great man one of these days," said mr. joslyn, walking up and down with pompous strides and almost bursting with the pride he took in his young hopeful. mrs. joslyn sighed. she knew remonstrance was useless so long as her husband encouraged the boy, and that she would be wise to bear her cross with fortitude. rob also knew his mother's protests would be of no avail; so he continued to revel in electrical processes of all sorts, using the house as an experimental station to test the powers of his productions. it was in his own room, however,--his "workshop"--that he especially delighted. for not only was it the center of all his numerous "lines" throughout the house, but he had rigged up therein a wonderful array of devices for his own amusement. a trolley-car moved around a circular track and stopped regularly at all stations; an engine and train of cars moved jerkily up and down a steep grade and through a tunnel; a windmill was busily pumping water from the dishpan into the copper skillet; a sawmill was in full operation and a host of mechanical blacksmiths, scissors-grinders, carpenters, wood-choppers and millers were connected with a motor which kept them working away at their trades in awkward but persevering fashion. the room was crossed and recrossed with wires. they crept up the walls, lined the floor, made a grille of the ceiling and would catch an unwary visitor under the chin or above the ankle just when he least expected it. yet visitors were forbidden in so crowded a room, and even his father declined to go farther than the doorway. as for rob, he thought he knew all about the wires, and what each one was for; but they puzzled even him, at times, and he was often perplexed to know how to utilize them all. one day when he had locked himself in to avoid interruption while he planned the electrical illumination of a gorgeous pasteboard palace, he really became confused over the network of wires. he had a "switch-board," to be sure, where he could make and break connections as he chose; but the wires had somehow become mixed, and he could not tell what combinations to use to throw the power on to his miniature electric lights. so he experimented in a rather haphazard fashion, connecting this and that wire blindly and by guesswork, in the hope that he would strike the right combination. then he thought the combination might be right and there was a lack of power; so he added other lines of wire to his connections, and still others, until he had employed almost every wire in the room. [illustration: a quick flash of light almost blinded rob] yet it would not work; and after pausing a moment to try to think what was wrong he went at it again, putting this and that line into connection, adding another here and another there, until suddenly, as he made a last change, a quick flash of light almost blinded him, and the switch-board crackled ominously, as if struggling to carry a powerful current. rob covered his face at the flash, but finding himself unhurt he took away his hands and with blinking eyes attempted to look at a wonderful radiance which seemed to fill the room, making it many times brighter than the brightest day. although at first completely dazzled, he peered before him until he discovered that the light was concentrated near one spot, from which all the glorious rays seemed to scintillate. he closed his eyes a moment to rest them; then re-opening them and shading them somewhat with his hands, he made out the form of a curious being standing with majesty and composure in the center of the magnificent radiance and looking down upon him! [illustration] [illustration] _chapter two_ the demon of electricity rob was a courageous boy, but a thrill of fear passed over him in spite of his bravest endeavor as he gazed upon the wondrous apparition that confronted him. for several moments he sat as if turned to stone, so motionless was he; but his eyes were nevertheless fastened upon the being and devouring every detail of his appearance. and how strange an appearance he presented! his jacket was a wavering mass of white light, edged with braid of red flames that shot little tongues in all directions. the buttons blazed in golden fire. his trousers had a bluish, incandescent color, with glowing stripes of crimson braid. his vest was gorgeous with all the colors of the rainbow blended into a flashing, resplendent mass. in feature he was most majestic, and his eyes held the soft but penetrating brilliance of electric lights. it was hard to meet the gaze of those searching eyes, but rob did it, and at once the splendid apparition bowed and said in a low, clear voice: "i am here." "i know that," answered the boy, trembling, "but _why_ are you here?" "because you have touched the master key of electricity, and i must obey the laws of nature that compel me to respond to your summons." "i--i didn't know i touched the master key," faltered the boy. "i understand that. you did it unconsciously. no one in the world has ever done it before, for nature has hitherto kept the secret safe locked within her bosom." rob took time to wonder at this statement. "then who are you?" he inquired, at length. "the demon of electricity," was the solemn answer. "good gracious!" exclaimed rob, "a demon!" "certainly. i am, in truth, the slave of the master key, and am forced to obey the commands of any one who is wise and brave enough--or, as in your own case, fortunate and fool-hardy enough--to touch it." "i--i've never guessed there was such a thing as a master key, or--or a demon of electricity, and--and i'm awfully sorry i--i called you up!" stammered the boy, abashed by the imposing appearance of his companion. the demon actually smiled at this speech,--a smile that was almost reassuring. "i am not sorry," he said, in kindlier tone, "for it is not much pleasure waiting century after century for some one to command my services. i have often thought my existence uncalled for, since you earth people are so stupid and ignorant that you seem unlikely ever to master the secret of electrical power." "oh, we have some great masters among us!" cried rob, rather nettled at this statement. "now, there's edison--" "edison!" exclaimed the demon, with a faint sneer; "what does he know?" "lots of things," declared the boy. "he's invented no end of wonderful electrical things." "you are wrong to call them wonderful," replied the demon, lightly. "he really knows little more than yourself about the laws that control electricity. his inventions are trifling things in comparison with the really wonderful results to be obtained by one who would actually know how to direct the electric powers instead of groping blindly after insignificant effects. why, i've stood for months by edison's elbow, hoping and longing for him to touch the master key; but i can see plainly he will never accomplish it." "then there's tesla," said the boy. the demon laughed. "there is tesla, to be sure," he said. "but what of him?" "why, he's discovered a powerful light," the demon gave an amused chuckle, "and he's in communication with the people in mars." "what people?" "why, the people who live there." "there are none." this quiet statement almost took rob's breath away, and caused him to stare hard at his visitor. "it's generally thought," he resumed, in an annoyed tone, "that mars has inhabitants who are far in advance of ourselves in civilization. many scientific men think the people of mars have been trying to signal us for years, only we don't understand their signals. and great novelists have written about the martians and their wonderful civilization, and--" "and they all know as much about that little planet as you do yourself," interrupted the demon, impatiently. "the trouble with you earth people is that you delight in guessing about what you can not know. now i happen to know all about mars, because i can traverse all space and have had ample leisure to investigate the different planets. mars is not peopled at all, nor is any other of the planets you recognize in the heavens. some contain low orders of beasts, to be sure, but earth alone has an intelligent, thinking, reasoning population, and your scientists and novelists would do better trying to comprehend their own planet than in groping through space to unravel the mysteries of barren and unimportant worlds." rob listened to this with surprise and disappointment; but he reflected that the demon ought to know what he was talking about, so he did not venture to contradict him. "it is really astonishing," continued the apparition, "how little you people have learned about electricity. it is an earth element that has existed since the earth itself was formed, and if you but understood its proper use humanity would be marvelously benefited in many ways." "we are, already," protested rob; "our discoveries in electricity have enabled us to live much more conveniently." "then imagine your condition were you able fully to control this great element," replied the other, gravely. "the weaknesses and privations of mankind would be converted into power and luxury." "that's true, mr.--mr.--demon," said the boy. "excuse me if i don't get your name right, but i understood you to say you are a demon." "certainly. the demon of electricity." "but electricity is a good thing, you know, and--and--" "well?" "i've always understood that demons were bad things," added rob, boldly. "not necessarily," returned his visitor. "if you will take the trouble to consult your dictionary, you will find that demons may be either good or bad, like any other class of beings. originally all demons were good, yet of late years people have come to consider all demons evil. i do not know why. should you read hesiod you will find he says: 'soon was a world of holy demons made, aerial spirits, by great jove designed to be on earth the guardians of mankind.'" "but jove was himself a myth," objected rob, who had been studying mythology. the demon shrugged his shoulders. "then take the words of mr. shakespeare, to whom you all defer," he replied. "do you not remember that he says: 'thy demon (that's thy spirit which keeps thee) is noble, courageous, high, unmatchable.'" "oh, if shakespeare says it, that's all right," answered the boy. "but it seems you're more like a genius, for you answer the summons of the master key of electricity in the same way aladdin's genius answered the rubbing of the lamp." "to be sure. a demon is also a genius; and a genius is a demon," said the being. "what matters a name? i am here to do your bidding." [illustration] [illustration] _chapter three_ the three gifts familiarity with any great thing removes our awe of it. the great general is only terrible to the enemy; the great poet is frequently scolded by his wife; the children of the great statesman clamber about his knees with perfect trust and impunity; the great actor who is called before the curtain by admiring audiences is often waylaid at the stage door by his creditors. so rob, having conversed for a time with the glorious demon of electricity, began to regard him with more composure and less awe, as his eyes grew more and more accustomed to the splendor that at first had well-nigh blinded them. when the demon announced himself ready to do the boy's bidding, he frankly replied: "i am no skilled electrician, as you very well know. my calling you here was an accident. so i don't know how to command you, nor what to ask you to do." "but i must not take advantage of your ignorance," answered the demon. "also, i am quite anxious to utilize this opportunity to show the world what a powerful element electricity really is. so permit me to inform you that, having struck the master key, you are at liberty to demand from me three gifts each week for three successive weeks. these gifts, provided they are within the scope of electricity, i will grant." rob shook his head regretfully. "if i were a great electrician i should know what to ask," he said. "but i am too ignorant to take advantage of your kind offer." "then," replied the demon, "i will myself suggest the gifts, and they will be of such a character that the earth people will learn the possibilities that lie before them and be encouraged to work more intelligently and to persevere in mastering those natural and simple laws which control electricity. for one of the greatest errors they now labor under is that electricity is complicated and hard to understand. it is really the simplest earth element, lying within easy reach of any one who stretches out his hand to grasp and control its powers." rob yawned, for he thought the demon's speeches were growing rather tiresome. perhaps the genius noticed this rudeness, for he continued: "i regret, of course, that you are a boy instead of a grown man, for it will appear singular to your friends that so thoughtless a youth should seemingly have mastered the secrets that have baffled your most learned scientists. but that can not be helped, and presently you will become, through my aid, the most powerful and wonderful personage in all the world." "thank you," said rob, meekly. "it'll be no end of fun." "fun!" echoed the demon, scornfully. "but never mind; i must use the material fate has provided for me, and make the best of it." "what will you give me first?" asked the boy, eagerly. "that requires some thought," returned the demon, and paused for several moments, while rob feasted his eyes upon the gorgeous rays of color that flashed and vibrated in every direction and surrounded the figure of his visitor with an intense glow that resembled a halo. then the demon raised his head and said: "the thing most necessary to man is food to nourish his body. he passes a considerable part of his life in the struggle to procure food, to prepare it properly, and in the act of eating. this is not right. your body can not be very valuable to you if all your time is required to feed it. i shall, therefore, present you, as my first gift, this box of tablets. within each tablet are stored certain elements of electricity which are capable of nourishing a human body for a full day. all you need do is to toss one into your mouth each day and swallow it. it will nourish you, satisfy your hunger and build up your health and strength. the ordinary food of mankind is more or less injurious; this is entirely beneficial. moreover, you may carry enough tablets in your pocket to last for months." here he presented rob the silver box of tablets, and the boy, somewhat nervously, thanked him for the gift. "the next requirement of man," continued the demon, "is defense from his enemies. i notice with sorrow that men frequently have wars and kill one another. also, even in civilized communities, man is in constant danger from highwaymen, cranks and policemen. to defend himself he uses heavy and dangerous guns, with which to destroy his enemies. this is wrong. he has no right to take away what he can not bestow; to destroy what he can not create. to kill a fellow-creature is a horrid crime, even if done in self-defense. therefore, my second gift to you is this little tube. you may carry it within your pocket. whenever an enemy threatens you, be it man or beast, simply point the tube and press this button in the handle. an electric current will instantly be directed upon your foe, rendering him wholly unconscious for the period of one hour. during that time you will have opportunity to escape. as for your enemy, after regaining consciousness he will suffer no inconvenience from the encounter beyond a slight headache." "that's fine!" said rob, as he took the tube. it was scarcely six inches long, and hollow at one end. "the busy lives of men," proceeded the demon, "require them to move about and travel in all directions. yet to assist them there are only such crude and awkward machines as electric trolleys, cable cars, steam railways and automobiles. these crawl slowly over the uneven surface of the earth and frequently get out of order. it has grieved me that men have not yet discovered what even the birds know: that the atmosphere offers them swift and easy means of traveling from one part of the earth's surface to another." "some people have tried to build air-ships," remarked rob. "so they have; great, unwieldy machines which offer so much resistance to the air that they are quite useless. a big machine is not needed to carry one through the air. there are forces in nature which may be readily used for such purpose. tell me, what holds you to the earth, and makes a stone fall to the ground?" "attraction of gravitation," said rob, promptly. "exactly. that is one force i refer to," said the demon. "the force of repulsion, which is little known, but just as powerful, is another that mankind may direct. then there are the polar electric forces, attracting objects toward the north or south poles. you have guessed something of this by the use of the compass, or electric needle. opposed to these is centrifugal electric force, drawing objects from east to west, or in the opposite direction. this force is created by the whirl of the earth upon its axis, and is easily utilized, although your scientific men have as yet paid little attention to it. "these forces, operating in all directions, absolute and immutable, are at the disposal of mankind. they will carry you through the atmosphere wherever and whenever you choose. that is, if you know how to control them. now, here is a machine i have myself perfected." the demon drew from his pocket something that resembled an open-faced watch, having a narrow, flexible band attached to it. "when you wish to travel," said he, "attach this little machine to your left wrist by means of the band. it is very light and will not be in your way. on this dial are points marked 'up' and 'down' as well as a perfect compass. when you desire to rise into the air set the indicator to the word 'up,' using a finger of your right hand to turn it. when you have risen as high as you wish, set the indicator to the point of the compass you want to follow and you will be carried by the proper electric force in that direction. to descend, set the indicator to the word 'down.' do you understand?" "perfectly!" cried rob, taking the machine from the demon with unfeigned delight. "this is really wonderful, and i'm awfully obliged to you!" "don't mention it," returned the demon, dryly. "these three gifts you may amuse yourself with for the next week. it seems hard to entrust such great scientific discoveries to the discretion of a mere boy; but they are quite harmless, so if you exercise proper care you can not get into trouble through their possession. and who knows what benefits to humanity may result? one week from to-day, at this hour, i will again appear to you, at which time you shall receive the second series of electrical gifts." "i'm not sure," said rob, "that i shall be able again to make the connections that will strike the master key." "probably not," answered the demon. "could you accomplish that, you might command my services forever. but, having once succeeded, you are entitled to the nine gifts--three each week for three weeks--so you have no need to call me to do my duty. i shall appear of my own accord." "thank you," murmured the boy. the demon bowed and spread his hands in the form of a semi-circle. an instant later there was a blinding flash, and when rob recovered from it and opened his eyes the demon of electricity had disappeared. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter four_ testing the instruments there is little doubt that had this strange experience befallen a grown man he would have been stricken with a fit of trembling or a sense of apprehension, or even fear, at the thought of having faced the terrible demon of electricity, of having struck the master key of the world's greatest natural forces, and finding himself possessed of three such wonderful and useful gifts. but a boy takes everything as a matter of course. as the tree of knowledge sprouts and expands within him, shooting out leaf after leaf of practical experience, the succession of surprises dulls his faculty of wonderment. it takes a great deal to startle a boy. rob was full of delight at his unexpected good fortune; but he did not stop to consider that there was anything remarkably queer or uncanny in the manner in which it had come to him. his chief sensation was one of pride. he would now be able to surprise those who had made fun of his electrical craze and force them to respect his marvelous powers. he decided to say nothing about the demon or the accidental striking of the master key. in exhibiting to his friends the electrical devices he had acquired it would be "no end of fun" to mark their amazement and leave them to guess how he performed his feats. so he put his treasures into his pocket, locked his workshop and went downstairs to his room to prepare for dinner. while brushing his hair he remembered it was no longer necessary for him to eat ordinary food. he was feeling quite hungry at that moment, for he had a boy's ravenous appetite; but, taking the silver box from his pocket, he swallowed a tablet and at once felt his hunger as fully satisfied as if he had partaken of a hearty meal, while at the same time he experienced an exhilarating glow throughout his body and a clearness of brain and gaiety of spirits which filled him with intense gratification. still, he entered the dining-room when the bell rang and found his father and mother and sisters already assembled there. "where have you been all day, robert?" inquired his mother. "no need to ask," said mr. joslyn, with a laugh. "fussing over electricity, i'll bet a cookie!" "i do wish," said the mother, fretfully, "that he would get over that mania. it unfits him for anything else." "precisely," returned her husband, dishing the soup; "but it fits him for a great career when he becomes a man. why shouldn't he spend his summer vacation in pursuit of useful knowledge instead of romping around like ordinary boys?" "no soup, thank you," said rob. "what!" exclaimed his father, looking at him in surprise, "it's your favorite soup." "i know," said rob, quietly, "but i don't want any." "are you ill, robert?" asked his mother. "never felt better in my life," answered rob, truthfully. yet mrs. joslyn looked worried, and when rob refused the roast, she was really shocked. "let me feel your pulse, my poor boy!" she commanded, and wondered to find it so regular. in fact, rob's action surprised them all. he sat calmly throughout the meal, eating nothing, but apparently in good health and spirits, while even his sisters regarded him with troubled countenances. "he's worked too hard, i guess," said mr. joslyn, shaking his head sadly. "oh, no; i haven't," protested rob; "but i've decided not to eat anything, hereafter. it's a bad habit, and does more harm than good." "wait till breakfast," said sister helen, with a laugh; "you'll be hungry enough by that time." however, the boy had no desire for food at breakfast time, either, as the tablet sufficed for an entire day. so he renewed the anxiety of the family by refusing to join them at the table. "if this goes on," mr. joslyn said to his son, when breakfast was finished, "i shall be obliged to send you away for your health." "i think of making a trip this morning," said rob, carelessly. "where to?" "oh, i may go to boston, or take a run over to cuba or jamaica," replied the boy. "but you can not go so far by yourself," declared his father; "and there is no one to go with you, just now. nor can i spare the money at present for so expensive a trip." "oh, it won't cost anything," replied rob, with a smile. mr. joslyn looked upon him gravely and sighed. mrs. joslyn bent over her son with tears in her eyes and said: "this electrical nonsense has affected your mind, dear. you must promise me to keep away from that horrid workshop for a time." "i won't enter it for a week," he answered. "but you needn't worry about me. i haven't been experimenting with electricity all this time for nothing, i can tell you. as for my health, i'm as well and strong as any boy need be, and there's nothing wrong with my head, either. common folks always think great men are crazy, but edison and tesla and i don't pay any attention to that. we've got our discoveries to look after. now, as i said, i'm going for a little trip in the interests of science. i maybe back to-night, or i may be gone several days. anyhow, i'll be back in a week, and you mustn't worry about me a single minute." "how are you going?" inquired his father, in the gentle, soothing tone persons use in addressing maniacs. "through the air," said rob. his father groaned. "where's your balloon?" inquired sister mabel, sarcastically. "i don't need a balloon," returned the boy. "that's a clumsy way of traveling, at best. i shall go by electric propulsion." "good gracious!" cried mr. joslyn, and the mother murmured: "my poor boy! my poor boy!" "as you are my nearest relatives," continued rob, not noticing these exclamations, "i will allow you to come into the back yard and see me start. you will then understand something of my electrical powers." they followed him at once, although with unbelieving faces, and on the way rob clasped the little machine to his left wrist, so that his coat sleeve nearly hid it. when they reached the lawn at the back of the house rob kissed them all good-by, much to his sisters' amusement, and turned the indicator of the little instrument to the word "up." immediately he began to rise into the air. "don't worry about me!" he called down to them. "good-by!" mrs. joslyn, with a scream of terror, hid her face in her hands. "he'll break his neck!" cried the astounded father, tipping back his head to look after his departing son. [illustration: "he'll break his neck!" cried the astounded father] "come back! come back!" shouted the girls to the soaring adventurer. "i will--some day!" was the far-away answer. having risen high enough to pass over the tallest tree or steeple, rob put the indicator to the east of the compass-dial and at once began moving rapidly in that direction. the sensation was delightful. he rode as gently as a feather floats, without any exertion at all on his own part; yet he moved so swiftly that he easily distanced a railway train that was speeding in the same direction. "this is great!" reflected the youth. "here i am, traveling in fine style, without a penny to pay any one! and i've enough food to last me a month in my coat pocket. this electricity is the proper stuff, after all! and the demon's a trump, and no mistake. whee-ee! how small everything looks down below there. the people are bugs, and the houses are soap-boxes, and the trees are like clumps of grass. i seem to be passing over a town. guess i'll drop down a bit, and take in the sights." he pointed the indicator to the word "down," and at once began dropping through the air. he experienced the sensation one feels while descending in an elevator. when he reached a point just above the town he put the indicator to the zero mark and remained stationary, while he examined the place. but there was nothing to interest him, particularly; so after a brief survey he once more ascended and continued his journey toward the east. at about two o'clock in the afternoon he reached the city of boston, and alighting unobserved in a quiet street he walked around for several hours enjoying the sights and wondering what people would think of him if they but knew his remarkable powers. but as he looked just like any other boy no one noticed him in any way. it was nearly evening, and rob had wandered down by the wharves to look at the shipping, when his attention was called to an ugly looking bull dog, which ran toward him and began barking ferociously. "get out!" said the boy, carelessly, and made a kick at the brute. the dog uttered a fierce growl and sprang upon him with bared teeth and flashing red eyes. instantly rob drew the electric tube from his pocket, pointed it at the dog and pressed the button. almost at the same moment the dog gave a yelp, rolled over once or twice and lay still. "i guess that'll settle him," laughed the boy; but just then he heard an angry shout, and looking around saw a policeman running toward him. "kill me dog, will ye--eh?" yelled the officer; "well, i'll just run ye in for that same, an' ye'll spend the night in the lock-up!" and on he came, with drawn club in one hand and a big revolver in the other. "you'll have to catch me first," said rob, still laughing, and to the amazement of the policeman he began rising straight into the air. "come down here! come down, or i'll shoot!" shouted the fellow, flourishing his revolver. rob was afraid he would; so, to avoid accidents, he pointed the tube at him and pressed the button. the red-whiskered policeman keeled over quite gracefully and fell across the body of the dog, while rob continued to mount upward until he was out of sight of those in the streets. "that was a narrow escape," he thought, breathing more freely. "i hated to paralyze that policeman, but he might have sent a bullet after me. anyhow, he'll be all right again in an hour, so i needn't worry." it was beginning to grow dark, and he wondered what he should do next. had he possessed any money he would have descended to the town and taken a bed at a hotel, but he had left home without a single penny. fortunately the nights were warm at this season, so he determined to travel all night, that he might reach by morning some place he had never before visited. cuba had always interested him, and he judged it ought to lie in a southeasterly direction from boston. so he set the indicator to that point and began gliding swiftly toward the southeast. he now remembered that it was twenty-four hours since he had eaten the first electrical tablet. as he rode through the air he consumed another. all hunger at once left him, while he felt the same invigorating sensations as before. after a time the moon came out, and rob amused himself gazing at the countless stars in the sky and wondering if the demon was right when he said the world was the most important of all the planets. but presently he grew sleepy, and before he realized what was happening he had fallen into a sound and peaceful slumber, while the indicator still pointed to the southeast and he continued to move rapidly through the cool night air. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter five_ the cannibal island doubtless the adventures of the day had tired rob, for he slept throughout the night as comfortably as if he had been within his own room, lying upon his own bed. when, at last, he opened his eyes and gazed sleepily about him, he found himself over a great body of water, moving along with considerable speed. "it's the ocean, of course," he said to himself. "i haven't reached cuba yet." it is to be regretted that rob's knowledge of geography was so superficial; for, as he had intended to reach cuba, he should have taken a course almost southwest from boston, instead of southeast. the sad result of his ignorance you will presently learn, for during the entire day he continued to travel over a boundless waste of ocean, without the sight of even an island to cheer him. the sun shone so hot that he regretted he had not brought an umbrella. but he wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, which protected him somewhat, and he finally discovered that by rising to a considerable distance above the ocean he avoided the reflection of the sun upon the water and also came within the current of good breeze. of course he dared not stop, for there was no place to land; so he calmly continued his journey. "it may be i've missed cuba," he thought; "but i can not change my course now, for if i did i might get lost, and never be able to find land again. if i keep on as i am i shall be sure to reach land of some sort, in time, and when i wish to return home i can set the indicator to the northwest and that will take me directly back to boston." this was good reasoning, but the rash youth had no idea he was speeding over the ocean, or that he was destined to arrive shortly at the barbarous island of brava, off the coast of africa. yet such was the case; just as the sun sank over the edge of the waves he saw, to his great relief, a large island directly in his path. he dropped to a lower position in the air, and when he judged himself to be over the center of the island he turned the indicator to zero and stopped short. the country was beautifully wooded, while pretty brooks sparkled through the rich green foliage of the trees. the island sloped upwards from the sea-coast in all directions, rising to a hill that was almost a mountain in the center. there were two open spaces, one on each side of the island, and rob saw that these spaces were occupied by queer-looking huts built from brushwood and branches of trees. this showed that the island was inhabited, but as rob had no idea what island it was he wisely determined not to meet the natives until he had discovered what they were like and whether they were disposed to be friendly. so he moved over the hill, the top of which proved to be a flat, grass-covered plateau about fifty feet in diameter. finding it could not be easily reached from below, on account of its steep sides, and contained neither men nor animals, he alighted on the hill-top and touched his feet to the earth for the first time in twenty-four hours. the ride through the air had not tired him in the least; in fact, he felt as fresh and vigorous as if he had been resting throughout the journey. as he walked upon the soft grass of the plateau he felt elated, and compared himself to the explorers of ancient days; for it was evident that civilization had not yet reached this delightful spot. there was scarcely any twilight in this tropical climate and it grew dark quickly. within a few minutes the entire island, save where he stood, became dim and indistinct. he ate his daily tablet, and after watching the red glow fade in the western sky and the gray shadows of night settle around him he stretched himself comfortably upon the grass and went to sleep. the events of the day must have deepened his slumber, for when he awoke the sun was shining almost directly over him, showing that the day was well advanced. he stood up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and decided he would like a drink of water. from where he stood he could see several little brooks following winding paths through the forest, so he settled upon one that seemed farthest from the brushwood villages, and turning his indicator in that direction soon floated through the air to a sheltered spot upon the bank. kneeling down, he enjoyed a long, refreshing drink of the clear water, but as he started to regain his feet a coil of rope was suddenly thrown about him, pinning his arms to his sides and rendering him absolutely helpless. at the same time his ears were saluted with a wild chattering in an unknown tongue, and he found himself surrounded by a group of natives of hideous appearance. they were nearly naked, and bore spears and heavy clubs as their only weapons. their hair was long, curly, and thick as bushes, and through their noses and ears were stuck the teeth of sharks and curious metal ornaments. these creatures had stolen upon rob so quietly that he had not heard a sound, but now they jabbered loudly, as if much excited. finally one fat and somewhat aged native, who seemed to be a chief, came close to rob and said, in broken english: "how get here?" "i flew," said the boy, with a grin. the chief shook his head, saying: "no boat come. how white man come?" "through the air," replied rob, who was rather flattered at being called a "man." the chief looked into the air with a puzzled expression and shook his head again. "white man lie," he said calmly. then he held further conversation with his fellows, after which he turned to rob and announced: "me see white man many times. come in big boats. white men all bad. make kill with bang-sticks. we kill white man with club. then we eat white man. dead white man good. live white man bad!" this did not please rob at all. the idea of being eaten by savages had never occurred to him as a sequel to his adventures. so he said rather anxiously to the chief: "look here, old fellow; do you want to die?" "me no die. you die," was the reply. "you'll die, too, if you eat me," said rob. "i'm full of poison." "poison? don't know poison," returned the chief, much perplexed to understand him. "well, poison will make you sick--awful sick. then you'll die. i'm full of it; eat it every day for breakfast. it don't hurt white men, you see, but it kills black men quicker than the bang-stick." the chief listened to this statement carefully, but only understood it in part. after a moment's reflection he declared: "white man lie. lie all time. me eat plenty white man. never get sick; never die." then he added, with renewed cheerfulness: "me eat you, too!" before rob could think of a further protest, his captors caught up the end of the rope and led him away through the forest. he was tightly bound, and one strand of rope ran across the machine on his wrist and pressed it into his flesh until the pain was severe. but he resolved to be brave, whatever happened, so he stumbled along after the savages without a word. after a brief journey they came to a village, where rob was thrust into a brushwood hut and thrown upon the ground, still tightly bound. "we light fire," said the chief. "then kill little white man. then eat him." with this comforting promise he went away and left rob alone to think the matter over. "this is tough," reflected the boy, with a groan. "i never expected to feed cannibals. wish i was at home with mother and dad and the girls. wish i'd never seen the demon of electricity and his wonderful inventions. i was happy enough before i struck that awful master key. and now i'll be eaten--with salt and pepper, probably. wonder if there'll be any gravy. perhaps they'll boil me, with biscuits, as mother does chickens. oh-h-h-h-h! it's just awful!" in the midst of these depressing thoughts he became aware that something was hurting his back. after rolling over he found that he had been lying upon a sharp stone that stuck out of the earth. this gave him an idea. he rolled upon the stone again and began rubbing the rope that bound him against the sharp edge. outside he could hear the crackling of fagots and the roar of a newly-kindled fire, so he knew he had no time to spare. he wriggled and pushed his body right and left, right and left, sawing away at the rope, until the strain and exertion started the perspiration from every pore. at length the rope parted, and hastily uncoiling it from his body rob stood up and rubbed his benumbed muscles and tried to regain his lost breath. he had not freed himself a moment too soon, he found, for hearing a grunt of surprise behind him he turned around and saw a native standing in the door of the hut. rob laughed, for he was not a bit afraid of the blacks now. as the native made a rush toward him the boy drew the electric tube from his pocket, pointed it at the foe, and pressed the button. the fellow sank to the earth without even a groan, and lay still. then another black entered, followed by the fat chief. when they saw rob at liberty, and their comrade lying apparently dead, the chief cried out in surprise, using some expressive words in his own language. "if it's just the same to you, old chap," said rob, coolly, "i won't be eaten to-day. you can make a pie of that fellow on the ground." "no! we eat you," cried the chief, angrily. "you cut rope, but no get away; no boat!" "i don't need a boat, thank you," said the boy; and then, as the other native sprang forward, he pointed the tube and laid him out beside his first victim. at this act the chief stood an instant in amazed uncertainty. then he turned and rushed from the hut. laughing with amusement at the waddling, fat figure, rob followed the chief and found himself standing almost in the center of the native village. a big fire was blazing merrily and the blacks were busy making preparations for a grand feast. rob was quickly surrounded by a crowd of the villagers, who chattered fiercely and made threatening motions in his direction; but as the chief cried out to them a warning in the native tongue they kept a respectful distance and contented themselves with brandishing their spears and clubs. "if any of your fellows come nearer," rob said to the fat chief, "i'll knock 'em over." "what you make do?" asked the chief, nervously. "watch sharp, and you'll see," answered rob. then he made a mocking bow to the circle and continued: "i'm pleased to have met you fellows, and proud to think you like me well enough to want to eat me; but i'm in a bit of a hurry to-day, so i can't stop to be digested." after which, as the crowd broke into a hum of surprise, he added: "good-day, black folks!" and quickly turned the indicator of his traveling machine to the word "up." slowly he rose into the air, until his heels were just above the gaping blacks; but there he stopped short. with a thrill of fear he glanced at the indicator. it was pointed properly, and he knew at once that something was wrong with the delicate mechanism that controlled it. probably the pressure of the rope across its face, when he was bound, had put it out of order. there he was, seven feet in the air, but without the power to rise an inch farther. this short flight, however, had greatly astonished the blacks, who, seeing his body suspended in mid-air, immediately hailed him as a god, and prostrated themselves upon the ground before him. the fat chief had seen something of white men in his youth, and had learned to mistrust them. so, while he remained as prostrate as the rest, he peeped at rob with one of his little black eyes and saw that the boy was ill at ease, and seemed both annoyed and frightened. so he muttered some orders to the man next him, who wriggled along the ground until he had reached a position behind rob, when he rose and pricked the suspended "god" with the point of his spear. "ouch!" yelled the boy; "stop that!" he twisted his head around, and seeing the black again make a movement with the spear, rob turned his electric tube upon him and keeled him over like a ten-pin. the natives, who had looked up at his cry of pain, again prostrated themselves, kicking their toes against the ground in a terrified tattoo at this new evidence of the god's powers. the situation was growing somewhat strained by this time, and rob did not know what the savages would decide to do next; so he thought it best to move away from them, since he was unable to rise to a greater height. he turned the indicator towards the south, where a level space appeared between the trees; but instead of taking that direction he moved towards the northeast, a proof that his machine had now become absolutely unreliable. moreover, he was slowly approaching the fire, which, although it had ceased blazing, was a mass of glowing red embers. in his excitement he turned the indicator this way and that, trying to change the direction of his flight, but the only result of his endeavor was to carry him directly over the fire, where he came to a full stop. "murder! help! fire and blazes!" he cried, as he felt the glow of the coals beneath him. "i'll be roasted, after all! here; help, fatty, help!" the fat chief sprang to his feet and came to the rescue. he reached up, caught rob by the heels, and pulled him down to the ground, away from the fire. but the next moment, as he clung to the boy's feet, they both soared into the air again, and, although now far enough from the fire to escape its heat, the savage, finding himself lifted from the earth, uttered a scream of horror and let go of rob, to fall head over heels upon the ground. the other blacks had by this time regained their feet, and now they crowded around their chief and set him upright again. rob continued to float in the air, just above their heads, and now abandoned all thoughts of escaping by means of his wrecked traveling machine. but he resolved to regain a foothold upon the earth and take his chances of escape by running rather than flying. so he turned the indicator to the word "down," and very slowly it obeyed, allowing him, to his great relief, to sink gently to the ground. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter six_ the buccaneers once more the blacks formed a circle around our adventurer, who coolly drew his tube and said to the chief: "tell your people i'm going to walk away through those trees, and if any one dares to interfere with me i'll paralyze him." the chief understood enough english to catch his meaning, and repeated the message to his men. having seen the terrible effect of the electric tube they wisely fell back and allowed the boy to pass. he marched through their lines with a fine air of dignity, although he was fearful lest some of the blacks should stick a spear into him or bump his head with a war-club. but they were awed by the wonders they had seen and were still inclined to believe him a god, so he was not molested. when he found himself outside the village he made for the high plateau in the center of the island, where he could be safe from the cannibals while he collected his thoughts. but when he reached the place he found the sides so steep he could not climb them, so he adjusted the indicator to the word "up" and found it had still enough power to support his body while he clambered up the rocks to the level, grass-covered space at the top. then, reclining upon his back, he gave himself up to thoughts of how he might escape from his unpleasant predicament. "here i am, on a cannibal island, hundreds of miles from civilization, with no way to get back," he reflected. "the family will look for me every day, and finally decide i've broken my neck. the demon will call upon me when the week is up and won't find me at home; so i'll miss the next three gifts. i don't mind that so much, for they might bring me into worse scrapes than this. but how am i to get away from this beastly island? i'll be eaten, after all, if i don't look out!" these and similar thoughts occupied him for some time, yet in spite of much planning and thinking he could find no practical means of escape. at the end of an hour he looked over the edge of the plateau and found it surrounded by a ring of the black cannibals, who had calmly seated themselves to watch his movements. "perhaps they intend to starve me into surrender," he thought; "but they won't succeed so long as my tablets hold out. and if, in time, they should starve me, i'll be too thin and tough to make good eating; so i'll get the best of them, anyhow." then he again lay down and began to examine his electrical traveling machine. he did not dare take it apart, fearing he might not be able to get it together again, for he knew nothing at all about its construction. but he discovered two little dents on the edge, one on each side, which had evidently been caused by the pressure of the rope. "if i could get those dents out," he thought, "the machine might work." he first tried to pry out the edges with his pocket knife, but the attempt resulted in failure. then, as the sides seemed a little bulged outward by the dents, he placed the machine between two flat stones and pressed them together until the little instrument was nearly round again. the dents remained, to be sure, but he hoped he had removed the pressure upon the works. there was just one way to discover how well he had succeeded, so he fastened the machine to his wrist and turned the indicator to the word "up." slowly he ascended, this time to a height of nearly twenty feet. then his progress became slower and finally ceased altogether. "that's a little better," he thought. "now let's see if it will go sidewise." he put the indicator to "north-west,"--the direction of home--and very slowly the machine obeyed and carried him away from the plateau and across the island. the natives saw him go, and springing to their feet began uttering excited shouts and throwing their spears at him. but he was already so high and so far away that they failed to reach him, and the boy continued his journey unharmed. once the branches of a tall tree caught him and nearly tipped him over; but he managed to escape others by drawing up his feet. at last he was free of the island and traveling over the ocean again. he was not at all sorry to bid good-by to the cannibal island, but he was worried about the machine, which clearly was not in good working order. the vast ocean was beneath him, and he moved no faster than an ordinary walk. "at this rate i'll get home some time next year," he grumbled. "however, i suppose i ought to be glad the machine works at all." and he really was glad. all the afternoon and all the long summer night he moved slowly over the water. it was annoying to go at "a reg'lar jog-trot," as rob called it, after his former swift flight; but there was no help for it. just as dawn was breaking he saw in the distance a small vessel, sailing in the direction he was following, yet scarcely moving for lack of wind. he soon caught up with it, but saw no one on deck, and the craft had a dingy and uncared-for appearance that was not reassuring. but after hovering over it for some time rob decided to board the ship and rest for a while. he alighted near the bow, where the deck was highest, and was about to explore the place when a man came out of the low cabin and espied him. this person had a most villainous countenance, and was dark-skinned, black-bearded and dressed in an outlandish, piratical costume. on seeing the boy he gave a loud shout and was immediately joined by four companions, each as disagreeable in appearance as the first. rob knew there would be trouble the moment he looked at this evil crew, and when they drew their daggers and pistols and began fiercely shouting in an unknown tongue, the boy sighed and took the electric tube from his coat pocket. the buccaneers did not notice the movement, but rushed upon him so quickly that he had to press the button at a lively rate. the tube made no noise at all, so it was a strange and remarkable sight to see the pirates suddenly drop to the deck and lie motionless. indeed, one was so nearly upon him when the electric current struck him that his head, in falling, bumped into rob's stomach and sent him reeling against the side of the vessel. [illustration: it was a strange sight to see the pirates drop to the deck and lie motionless] he quickly recovered himself, and seeing his enemies were rendered harmless, the boy entered the cabin and examined it curiously. it was dirty and ill-smelling enough, but the corners and spare berths were heaped with merchandise of all kinds which had been taken from those so unlucky as to have met these cruel and desperate men. after a short inspection of the place he returned to the deck and again seated himself in the bow. the crippled condition of his traveling machine was now his chief trouble, and although a good breeze had sprung up to fill the sails and the little bark was making fair headway, rob knew he could never expect to reach home unless he could discover a better mode of conveyance than this. he unstrapped the machine from his wrist to examine it better, and while holding it carelessly in his hand it slipped and fell with a bang to the deck, striking upon its round edge and rolling quickly past the cabin and out of sight. with a cry of alarm he ran after it, and after much search found it lying against the bulwark near the edge of a scupper hole, where the least jar of the ship would have sent it to the bottom of the ocean. rob hastily seized his treasure, and upon examining it found the fall had bulged the rim so that the old dents scarcely showed at all. but its original shape was more distorted than ever, and rob feared he had utterly ruined its delicate mechanism. should this prove to be true, he might now consider himself a prisoner of this piratical band, the members of which, although temporarily disabled, would soon regain consciousness. he sat in the bow, sadly thinking of his misfortunes, until he noticed that one of the men began to stir. the effect of the electric shock conveyed by the tube was beginning to wear away, and now the buccaneer sat up, rubbed his head in a bewildered fashion and looked around him. when he saw rob he gave a shout of rage and drew his knife, but one motion of the electric tube made him cringe and slip away to the cabin, where he remained out of danger. and now the other four sat up, groaning and muttering in their outlandish speech; but they had no notion of facing rob's tube a second time, so one by one they joined their leader in the cabin, leaving the boy undisturbed. by this time the ship had begun to pitch and toss in an uncomfortable fashion, and rob noticed that the breeze had increased to a gale. there being no one to look after the sails, the vessel was in grave danger of capsizing or breaking her masts. the waves were now running high, too, and rob began to be worried. presently the captain of the pirates stuck his head out of the cabin door, jabbered some unintelligible words and pointed to the sails. the boy nodded, for he understood they wanted to attend to the rigging. so the crew trooped forth, rather fearfully, and began to reef the sails and put the ship into condition to weather the storm. rob paid no further attention to them. he looked at his traveling machine rather doubtfully and wondered if he dared risk its power to carry him through the air. whether he remained in the ship or trusted to the machine, he stood a good chance of dropping into the sea at any moment. so, while he hesitated, he attached the machine to his wrist and leaned over the bulwarks to watch the progress of the storm. he might stay in the ship until it foundered, he thought, and then take his chances with the machine. he decided to wait until a climax arrived. the climax came the next moment, for while he leaned over the bulwarks the buccaneers stole up behind him and suddenly seized him in their grasp. while two of them held his arms the others searched his pockets, taking from him the electric tube and the silver box containing his tablets. these they carried to the cabin and threw upon the heap of other valuables they had stolen. they did not notice his traveling machine, however, but seeing him now unarmed they began jeering and laughing at him, while the brutal captain relieved his anger by giving the prisoner several malicious kicks. rob bore his misfortune meekly, although he was almost ready to cry with grief and disappointment. but when one of the pirates, to inflict further punishment on the boy, came towards him with a heavy strap, he resolved not to await the blow. turning the indicator to the word "up" he found, to his joy and relief, that it would yet obey the influence of the power of repulsion. seeing him rise into the air the fellow made a grab for his foot and held it firmly, while his companions ran to help him. weight seemed to make no difference in the machine; it lifted the pirate as well as rob; it lifted another who clung to the first man's leg, and another who clung to him. the other two also caught hold, hoping their united strength would pull him down, and the next minute rob was soaring through the air with the entire string of five buccaneers dangling from his left leg. at first the villains were too astounded to speak, but as they realized that they were being carried through the air and away from their ship they broke into loud shouts of dismay, and finally the one who grasped rob's leg lost his hold and the five plunged downward and splashed into the sea. finding the machine disposed to work accurately, rob left the buccaneers to swim to the ship in the best way they could, while he dropped down to the deck again and recovered from the cabin his box of tablets and the electric tube. the fellows were just scrambling on board when he again escaped, shooting into the air with considerable speed. indeed, the instrument now worked better than at any time since he had reached the cannibal island, and the boy was greatly delighted. the wind at first sent him spinning away to the south, but he continued to rise until he was above the air currents, and the storm raged far beneath him. then he set the indicator to the northwest and breathlessly waited to see if it would obey. hurrah! away he sped at a fair rate of speed, while all his anxiety changed to a feeling of sweet contentment. his success had greatly surprised him, but he concluded that the jar caused by dropping the instrument had relieved the pressure upon the works, and so helped rather than harmed the free action of the electric currents. while he moved through the air with an easy, gliding motion he watched with much interest the storm raging below. above his head the sun was peacefully shining and the contrast was strange and impressive. after an hour or so the storm abated, or else he passed away from it, for the deep blue of the ocean again greeted his eyes. he dropped downward until he was about a hundred feet above the water, when he continued his northwesterly course. but now he regretted having interfered for a moment with the action of the machine, for his progress, instead of being swift as a bird's flight, became slow and jerky, nor was he sure that the damaged machine might not break down altogether at any moment. yet so far his progress was in the right direction, and he resolved to experiment no further with the instrument, but to let it go as it would, so long as it supported him above the water. however irregular the motion might be, it was sure, if continued, to bring him to land in time, and that was all he cared about just then. when night fell his slumber was broken and uneasy, for he wakened more than once with a start of fear that the machine had broken and he was falling into the sea. sometimes he was carried along at a swift pace, and again the machine scarcely worked at all; so his anxiety was excusable. the following day was one of continued uneasiness for the boy, who began to be harrassed by doubts as to whether, after all, he was moving in the right direction. the machine had failed at one time in this respect and it might again. he had lost all confidence in its accuracy. in spite of these perplexities rob passed the second night of his uneven flight in profound slumber, being exhausted by the strain and excitement he had undergone. when he awoke at daybreak, he saw, to his profound delight, that he was approaching land. the rising sun found him passing over a big city, which he knew to be boston. he did not stop. the machine was so little to be depended upon that he dared make no halt. but he was obliged to alter the direction from northwest to west, and the result of this slight change was so great a reduction in speed that it was mid-day before he saw beneath him the familiar village in which he lived. carefully marking the location of his father's house, he came to a stop directly over it, and a few moments later he managed to land upon the exact spot in the back yard whence he had taken his first successful flight. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter seven_ the demon becomes angry when rob had been hugged and kissed by his mother and sisters, and even mr. joslyn had embraced him warmly, he gave them a brief account of his adventures. the story was received with many doubtful looks and much grave shaking of heads, as was quite natural under the circumstances. "i hope, my dear son," said his father, "that you have now passed through enough dangers to last you a lifetime, so that hereafter you will be contented to remain at home." "oh, robert!" cried his mother, with tears in her loving eyes, "you don't know how we've all worried about you for the past week!" "a week?" asked rob, with surprise. "yes; it's a week to-morrow morning since you flew into the air and disappeared." "then," said the boy, thoughtfully, "i've reached home just in time." "in time for what?" she asked. but he did not answer that question. he was thinking of the demon, and that on the afternoon of this very day he might expect the wise and splendid genius to visit him a second time. at luncheon, although he did not feel hungry, he joined the family at table and pleased his mother by eating as heartily as of old. he was surprised to find how good the food tasted, and to realize what a pleasure it is to gratify one's sense of taste. the tablets were all right for a journey, he thought, but if he always ate them he would be sure to miss a great deal of enjoyment, since there was no taste to them at all. at four o'clock he went to his workshop and unlocked the door. everything was exactly as he had left it, and he looked at his simple electrical devices with some amusement. they seemed tame beside the wonders now in his possession; yet he recollected that his numerous wires had enabled him to strike the master key, and therefore should not be despised. before long he noticed a quickening in the air, as if it were suddenly surcharged with electric fluid, and the next instant, in a dazzling flash of light, appeared the demon. "i am here!" he announced. "so am i," answered rob. "but at one time i really thought i should never see you again. i've been--" "spare me your history," said the demon, coldly. "i am aware of your adventures." "oh, you are!" said rob, amazed. "then you know--" "i know all about your foolish experiences," interrupted the demon, "for i have been with you constantly, although i remained invisible." "then you know what a jolly time i've had," returned the boy. "but why do you call them foolish experiences?" "because they were, abominably foolish!" retorted the demon, bitterly. "i entrusted to you gifts of rare scientific interest--electrical devices of such utility that their general adoption by mankind would create a new era in earth life. i hoped your use of these devices would convey such hints to electrical engineers that they would quickly comprehend their mechanism and be able to reproduce them in sufficient quantities to supply the world. and how do you treat these marvelous gifts? why, you carry them to a cannibal island, where even your crude civilization has not yet penetrated!" "i wanted to astonish the natives," said rob, grinning. the demon uttered an exclamation of anger, and stamped his foot so fiercely that thousands of electric sparks filled the air, to disappear quickly with a hissing, crinkling sound. "you might have astonished those ignorant natives as easily by showing them an ordinary electric light," he cried, mockingly. "the power of your gifts would have startled the most advanced electricians of the world. why did you waste them upon barbarians?" "really," faltered rob, who was frightened and awed by the demon's vehement anger, "i never intended to visit a cannibal island. i meant to go to cuba." "cuba! is that a center of advanced scientific thought? why did you not take your marvels to new york or chicago; or, if you wished to cross the ocean, to paris or vienna?" "i never thought of those places," acknowledged rob, meekly. "then you were foolish, as i said," declared the demon, in a calmer tone. "can you not realize that it is better to be considered great by the intelligent thinkers of the earth, than to be taken for a god by stupid cannibals?" "oh, yes, of course," said rob. "i wish now that i had gone to europe. but you're not the only one who has a kick coming," he continued. "your flimsy traveling machine was nearly the death of me." "ah, it is true," acknowledged the demon, frankly. "the case was made of too light material. when the rim was bent it pressed against the works and impeded the proper action of the currents. had you gone to a civilized country such an accident could not have happened; but to avoid possible trouble in the future i have prepared a new instrument, having a stronger case, which i will exchange for the one you now have." "that's very kind of you," said rob, eagerly handing his battered machine to the demon and receiving the new one in return. "are you sure this will work?" "it is impossible for you to injure it," answered the other. "and how about the next three gifts?" inquired the boy, anxiously. "before i grant them," replied the demon, "you must give me a promise to keep away from uncivilized places and to exhibit your acquirements only among people of intelligence." "all right," agreed the boy; "i'm not anxious to visit that island again, or any other uncivilized country." "then i will add to your possessions three gifts, each more precious and important than the three you have already received." at this announcement rob began to quiver with excitement, and sat staring eagerly at the demon, while the latter increased in stature and sparkled and glowed more brilliantly than ever. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter eight_ rob acquires new powers "i have seen the folly of sending you into the world with an offensive instrument, yet with no method of defense," resumed the demon, presently. "you have knocked over a good many people with that tube during the past week." "i know," said rob; "but i couldn't help it. it was the only way i had to protect myself." "therefore my next gift shall be this garment of protection. you must wear it underneath your clothing. it has power to accumulate and exercise electrical repellent force. perhaps you do not know what that means, so i will explain more fully. when any missile, such as a bullet, sword or lance, approaches your person, its rush through the air will arouse the repellent force of which i speak, and this force, being more powerful than the projective force, will arrest the flight of the missile and throw it back again. therefore nothing can touch your person that comes with any degree of force or swiftness, and you will be safe from all ordinary weapons. when wearing this garment you will find it unnecessary to use the electric tube except on rare occasions. never allow revenge or animosity to influence your conduct. men may threaten, but they can not injure you, so you must remember that they do not possess your mighty advantages, and that, because of your strength, you should bear with them patiently." rob examined the garment with much curiosity. it glittered like silver, yet was soft and pliable as lamb's wool. evidently the demon had prepared it especially for his use, for it was just rob's size. "now," continued the demon, more gravely, "we approach the subject of an electrical device so truly marvelous that even i am awed when i contemplate the accuracy and perfection of the natural laws which guide it and permit it to exercise its functions. mankind has as yet conceived nothing like it, for it requires full knowledge of electrical power to understand even its possibilities." the being paused, and drew from an inner pocket something resembling a flat metal box. in size it was about four inches by six, and nearly an inch in thickness. "what is it?" asked rob, wonderingly. "it is an automatic record of events," answered the demon. "i don't understand," said rob, with hesitation. "i will explain to you its use," returned the demon, "although the electrical forces which operate it and the vibratory currents which are the true records must remain unknown to you until your brain has mastered the higher knowledge of electricity. at present the practical side of this invention will be more interesting to you than a review of its scientific construction. "suppose you wish to know the principal events that are occurring in germany at the present moment. you first turn this little wheel at the side until the word 'germany' appears in the slot at the small end. then open the top cover, which is hinged, and those passing events in which you are interested will appear before your eyes." the demon, as he spoke, opened the cover, and, looking within, the boy saw, as in a mirror, a moving picture before him. a regiment of soldiers was marching through the streets of berlin, and at its head rode a body of horsemen, in the midst of which was the emperor himself. the people who thronged the sidewalks cheered and waved their hats and handkerchiefs with enthusiasm, while a band of musicians played a german air, which rob could distinctly hear. while he gazed, spell-bound, the scene changed, and he looked upon a great warship entering a harbor with flying pennants. the rails were lined with officers and men straining their eyes for the first sight of their beloved "_vaterland_" after a long foreign cruise, and a ringing cheer, as from a thousand throats, came faintly to rob's ear. again the scene changed, and within a dingy, underground room, hemmed in by walls of stone, and dimly lighted by a flickering lamp, a body of wild-eyed, desperate men were plighting an oath to murder the emperor and overthrow his government. "anarchists?" asked rob, trembling with excitement. "anarchists!" answered the demon, with a faint sneer, and he shut the cover of the record with a sudden snap. "it's wonderful!" cried the boy, with a sigh that was followed by a slight shiver. "the record is, indeed, proof within itself of the marvelous possibilities of electricity. men are now obliged to depend upon newspapers for information; but these can only relate events long after they have occurred. and newspaper statements are often unreliable and sometimes wholly false, while many events of real importance are never printed in their columns. you may guess what an improvement is this automatic record of events, which is as reliable as truth itself. nothing can be altered or falsified, for the vibratory currents convey the actual events to your vision, even as they happen." "but suppose," said rob, "that something important should happen while i'm asleep, or not looking at the box?" "i have called this a record," replied the demon, "and such it really is, although i have shown you only such events as are in process of being recorded. by pressing this spring you may open the opposite cover of the box, where all events of importance that have occurred throughout the world during the previous twenty-four hours will appear before you in succession. you may thus study them at your leisure. the various scenes constitute a register of the world's history, and may be recalled to view as often as you desire." "it's--it's like knowing everything," murmured rob, deeply impressed for perhaps the first time in his life. "it _is_ knowing everything," returned the demon; "and this mighty gift i have decided to entrust to your care. be very careful as to whom you permit to gaze upon these pictures of passing events, for knowledge may often cause great misery to the human race." "i'll be careful," promised the boy, as he took the box reverently within his own hands. "the third and last gift of the present series," resumed the demon, "is one no less curious than the record of events, although it has an entirely different value. it is a character marker." "what's that?" inquired rob. "i will explain. perhaps you know that your fellow-creatures are more or less hypocritical. that is, they try to appear good when they are not, and wise when in reality they are foolish. they tell you they are friendly when they positively hate you, and try to make you believe they are kind when their natures are cruel. this hypocrisy seems to be a human failing. one of your writers has said, with truth, that among civilized people things are seldom what they seem." "i've heard that," remarked rob. "on the other hand," continued the demon, "some people with fierce countenances are kindly by nature, and many who appear to be evil are in reality honorable and trustworthy. therefore, that you may judge all your fellow-creatures truly, and know upon whom to depend, i give you the character marker. it consists of this pair of spectacles. while you wear them every one you meet will be marked upon the forehead with a letter indicating his or her character. the good will bear the letter 'g', the evil the letter 'e'. the wise will be marked with a 'w' and the foolish with an 'f'. the kind will show a 'k' upon their foreheads and the cruel a letter 'c'. thus you may determine by a single look the true natures of all those you encounter." "and are these, also, electrical in their construction?" asked the boy, as he took the spectacles. "certainly. goodness, wisdom and kindness are natural forces, creating character. for this reason men are not always to blame for bad character, as they acquire it unconsciously. all character sends out certain electrical vibrations, which these spectacles concentrate in their lenses and exhibit to the gaze of their wearer, as i have explained." "it's a fine idea," said the boy; "who discovered it?" "it is a fact that has always existed, but is now utilized for the first time." "oh!" said rob. "with these gifts, and the ones you acquired a week ago, you are now equipped to astound the world and awaken mankind to a realization of the wonders that may be accomplished by natural forces. see that you employ these powers wisely, in the interests of science, and do not forget your promise to exhibit your electrical marvels only to those who are most capable of comprehending them." "i'll remember," said rob. "then adieu until a week from to-day, when i will meet you here at this hour and bestow upon you the last three gifts which you are entitled to receive. good-by!" "good-by!" repeated rob, and in a gorgeous flash of color the demon disappeared, leaving the boy alone in the room with his new and wonderful possessions. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter nine_ the second journey by this time you will have gained a fair idea of rob's character. he is, in truth, a typical american boy, possessing an average intelligence not yet regulated by the balance-wheel of experience. the mysteries of electricity were so attractive to his eager nature that he had devoted considerable time and some study to electrical experiment; but his study was the superficial kind that seeks to master only such details as may be required at the moment. moreover, he was full of boyish recklessness and irresponsibility and therefore difficult to impress with the dignity of science and the gravity of human existence. life, to him, was a great theater wherein he saw himself the most interesting if not the most important actor, and so enjoyed the play with unbounded enthusiasm. aside from the extraordinary accident which had forced the electrical demon into his life, rob may be considered one of those youngsters who might possibly develop into a brilliant manhood or enter upon an ordinary, humdrum existence, as fate should determine. just at present he had no thought beyond the passing hour, nor would he bother himself by attempting to look ahead or plan for the future. yet the importance of his electrical possessions and the stern injunction of the demon to use them wisely had rendered the boy more thoughtful than at any previous time during his brief life, and he became so preoccupied at the dinner table that his father and mother cast many anxious looks in his direction. of course rob was anxious to test his newly-acquired powers, and decided to lose no time in starting upon another journey. but he said nothing to any of the family about it, fearing to meet with opposition. he passed the evening in the sitting-room, in company with his father and mother and sisters, and even controlled his impatience to the extent of playing a game of carom with nell; but he grew so nervous and impatient at last that his sister gave up the game in disgust and left him to his own amusement. at one time he thought of putting on the electric spectacles and seeing what the real character of each member of his family might be; but a sudden fear took possession of him that he might regret the act forever afterward. they were his nearest and dearest friends on earth, and in his boyish heart he loved them all and believed in their goodness and sincerity. the possibility of finding a bad character mark on any of their familiar faces made him shudder, and he determined then and there never to use the spectacles to view the face of a friend or relative. had any one, at that moment, been gazing at rob through the lenses of the wonderful character marker, i am sure a big "w" would have been found upon the boy's forehead. when the family circle broke up, and all retired for the night, rob kissed his parents and sisters with real affection before going to his own room. but, on reaching his cozy little chamber, instead of preparing for bed rob clothed himself in the garment of repulsion. then he covered the glittering garment with his best summer suit of clothes, which effectually concealed it. he now looked around to see what else he should take, and thought of an umbrella, a rain-coat, a book or two to read during the journey, and several things besides; but he ended by leaving them all behind. "i can't be loaded down with so much truck," he decided; "and i'm going into civilized countries, this time, where i can get anything i need." however, to prevent a recurrence of the mistake he had previously made, he tore a map of the world and a map of europe from his geography, and, folding them up, placed them in his pocket. he also took a small compass that had once been a watch-charm, and, finally, the contents of a small iron bank that opened with a combination lock. this represented all his savings, amounting to two dollars and seventeen cents in dimes, nickles and pennies. "it isn't a fortune," he thought, as he counted it up, "but i didn't need any money the last trip, so perhaps i'll get along somehow. i don't like to tackle dad for more, for he might ask questions and try to keep me at home." by the time he had finished his preparations and stowed all his electrical belongings in his various pockets, it was nearly midnight and the house was quiet. so rob stole down stairs in his stocking feet and noiselessly opened the back door. it was a beautiful july night and, in addition to the light of the full moon, the sky was filled with the radiance of countless thousands of brilliant stars. after rob had put on his shoes he unfolded the map, which was plainly visible by the starlight, and marked the direction he must take to cross the atlantic and reach london, his first stopping place. then he consulted his compass, put the indicator of his traveling machine to the word "up," and shot swiftly into the air. when he had reached a sufficient height he placed the indicator to a point north of east and, with a steady and remarkably swift flight, began his journey. "here goes," he remarked, with a sense of exaltation, "for another week of adventure! i wonder what'll happen between now and next saturday." [illustration] [illustration] _chapter ten_ how rob served a mighty king the new traveling machine was a distinct improvement over the old one, for it carried rob with wonderful speed across the broad atlantic. he fell asleep soon after starting, and only wakened when the sun was high in the heavens. but he found himself whirling along at a good rate, with the greenish shimmer of the peaceful ocean waves spread beneath him far beyond his range of vision. being in the track of the ocean steamers it was not long before he found himself overtaking a magnificent vessel whose decks were crowded with passengers. he dropped down some distance, to enable him to see these people more plainly, and while he hovered near he could hear the excited exclamations of the passengers, who focused dozens of marine glasses upon his floating form. this inspection somewhat embarrassed him, and having no mind to be stared at he put on additional speed and soon left the steamer far behind him. about noon the sky clouded over, and rob feared a rainstorm was approaching. so he rose to a point considerably beyond the clouds, where the air was thin but remarkably pleasant to inhale and the rays of the sun were not so hot as when reflected by the surface of the water. he could see the dark clouds rolling beneath him like volumes of smoke from a factory chimney, and knew the earth was catching a severe shower of rain; yet he congratulated himself on his foresight in not being burdened with umbrella or rain-coat, since his elevated position rendered him secure from rain-clouds. but, having cut himself off from the earth, there remained nothing to see except the clear sky overhead and the tumbling clouds beneath; so he took from his pocket the automatic record of events, and watched with breathless interest the incidents occurring in different parts of the world. a big battle was being fought in the philippines, and so fiercely was it contested that rob watched its progress for hours, with rapt attention. finally a brave rally by the americans sent their foes to the cover of the woods, where they scattered in every direction, only to form again in a deep valley hidden by high hills. "if only i was there," thought rob, "i could show that captain where to find the rebels and capture them. but i guess the philippines are rather out of my way, so our soldiers will never know how near they are to a complete victory." the boy also found considerable amusement in watching the course of an insurrection in venezuela, where opposing armies of well-armed men preferred to bluster and threaten rather than come to blows. during the evening he found that an "important event" was madame bernhardt's production of a new play, and rob followed it from beginning to end with great enjoyment, although he felt a bit guilty at not having purchased a ticket. "but it's a crowded house, anyway," he reflected, "and i'm not taking up a reserved seat or keeping any one else from seeing the show. so where's the harm? yet it seems to me if these records get to be common, as the demon wishes, people will all stay at home and see the shows, and the poor actors 'll starve to death." the thought made him uneasy, and he began, for the first time, to entertain a doubt of the demon's wisdom in forcing such devices upon humanity. the clouds had now passed away and the moon sent her rays to turn the edges of the waves into glistening showers of jewels. rob closed the lid of the wonderful record of events and soon fell into a deep sleep that held him unconscious for many hours. when he awoke he gave a start of surprise, for beneath him was land. how long it was since he had left the ocean behind him he could not guess, but his first thought was to set the indicator of the traveling machine to zero and to hover over the country until he could determine where he was. this was no easy matter. he saw green fields, lakes, groves and villages; but these might exist in any country. being still at a great elevation he descended gradually until he was about twenty feet from the surface of the earth, where he paused near the edge of a small village. at once a crowd of excited people assembled, shouting to one another and pointing towards him in wonder. in order to be prepared for emergencies rob had taken the electric tube from his pocket, and now, as he examined the dress and features of the people below, the tube suddenly slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground, where one end stuck slantingly into the soft earth. a man rushed eagerly towards it, but the next moment he threw up his hands and fell upon his back, unconscious. others who ran to assist their fallen comrade quickly tumbled into a heap beside him. [illustration: a man rushed toward it, but the next moment he threw up his hands and fell unconscious] it was evident to rob that the tube had fallen in such a position that the button was being pressed continually and a current of electric fluid issued to shock whoever came near. not wishing to injure these people he dropped to the ground and drew the tube from the earth, thus releasing the pressure upon the button. but the villagers had now decided that the boy was their enemy, and no sooner had he touched the ground than a shower of stones and sticks rained about him. not one reached his body, however, for the garment of repulsion stopped their flight and returned them to rattle with more or less force against those who had thrown them--"like regular boomerangs," thought rob. to receive their own blows in this fashion seemed so like magic to the simple folk that with roars of fear and pain they ran away in all directions. "it's no use stopping here," remarked rob, regretfully, "for i've spoiled my welcome by this accident. i think these people are irish, by their looks and speech, so i must be somewhere in the emerald isle." he consulted his map and decided upon the general direction he should take to reach england, after which he again rose into the air and before long was passing over the channel towards the shores of england. either his map or compass or his calculations proved wrong, for it was high noon before, having changed his direction a half dozen times, he came to the great city of london. he saw at a glance that it would never do to drop into the crowded streets, unless he wanted to become an object of public curiosity; so he looked around for a suitable place to alight. near by was a monstrous church that sent a sharp steeple far into the air. rob examined this spire and saw a narrow opening in the masonry that led to a small room where a chime of bells hung. he crept through the opening and, finding a ladder that connected the belfry with a platform below, began to descend. there were three ladders, and then a winding flight of narrow, rickety stairs to be passed before rob finally reached a small room in the body of the church. this room proved to have two doors, one connecting with the auditorium and the other letting into a side street. both were locked, but rob pointed the electric tube at the outside door and broke the lock in an instant. then he walked into the street as composedly as if he had lived all his life in london. there were plenty of sights to see, you may be sure, and rob walked around until he was so tired that he was glad to rest upon one of the benches in a beautiful park. here, half hidden by the trees, he amused himself by looking at the record of events. "london's a great town, and no mistake," he said to himself; "but let's see what the british are doing in south africa to-day." he turned the cylinder to "south africa," and, opening the lid, at once became interested. an english column, commanded by a brave but stubborn officer, was surrounded by the boer forces and fighting desperately to avoid capture or annihilation. "this would be interesting to king edward," thought the boy. "guess i'll hunt him up and tell him about it." a few steps away stood a policeman. rob approached him and asked: "where's the king to-day?" the officer looked at him with mingled surprise and suspicion. "'is majesty is sojournin' at marlb'ro 'ouse, just now," was the reply. "per'aps you wants to make 'im a wissit," he continued, with lofty sarcasm. "that's it, exactly," said rob. "i'm an american, and thought while i was in london i'd drop in on his royal highness and say 'hello' to him." the officer chuckled, as if much amused. "hamericans is bloomin' green," he remarked, "so youse can stand for hamerican, right enough. no other wissitors is such blarsted fools. but yon's the palace, an' i s'pose 'is majesty'll give ye a 'ot reception." "thanks; i'll look him up," said the boy, and left the officer convulsed with laughter. he soon knew why. the palace was surrounded by a cordon of the king's own life guards, who admitted no one save those who presented proper credentials. "there's only one thing to do;" thought rob, "and that's to walk straight in, as i haven't any friends to give me a regular introduction." so he boldly advanced to the gate, where he found himself stopped by crossed carbines and a cry of "halt!" "excuse me," said rob; "i'm in a hurry." he pushed the carbines aside and marched on. the soldiers made thrusts at him with their weapons, and an officer jabbed at his breast with a glittering sword, but the garment of repulsion protected him from these dangers as well as from a hail of bullets that followed his advancing figure. he reached the entrance of the palace only to face another group of guardsmen and a second order to halt, and as these soldiers were over six feet tall and stood shoulder to shoulder rob saw that he could not hope to pass them without using his electric tube. [illustration: rob reached the entrance of the palace, only to face another group of guardsmen] "stand aside, you fellows!" he ordered. there was no response. he extended the tube and, as he pressed the button, described a semi-circle with the instrument. immediately the tall guardsmen toppled over like so many tenpins, and rob stepped across their bodies and penetrated to the reception room, where a brilliant assemblage awaited, in hushed and anxious groups, for opportunity to obtain audience with the king. "i hope his majesty isn't busy," said rob to a solemn-visaged official who confronted him. "i want to have a little talk with him." "i--i--ah--beg pardon!" exclaimed the astounded master of ceremonies. "what name, please?" "oh, never mind my name," replied rob, and pushing the gentleman aside he entered the audience chamber of the great king. king edward was engaged in earnest consultation with one of his ministers, and after a look of surprise in rob's direction and a grave bow he bestowed no further attention upon the intruder. but rob was not to be baffled now. "your majesty," he interrupted, "i've important news for you. a big fight is taking place in south africa and your soldiers will probably be cut into mince meat." the minister strode towards the boy angrily. "explain this intrusion!" he cried. "i have explained. the boers are having a regular killing-bee. here! take a look at it yourselves." he drew the record from his pocket, and at the movement the minister shrank back as if he suspected it was an infernal machine and might blow his head off; but the king stepped quietly to the boy's side and looked into the box when rob threw open the lid. as he comprehended the full wonder of the phenomenon he was observing edward uttered a low cry of amazement, but thereafter he silently gazed upon the fierce battle that still raged far away upon the african _veld_. before long his keen eye recognized the troops engaged and realized their imminent danger. "they'll be utterly annihilated!" he gasped. "what shall we do?" "oh, we can't do anything just now," answered rob. "but it's curious to watch how bravely the poor fellows fight for their lives." the minister, who by this time was also peering into the box, groaned aloud, and then all three forgot their surroundings in the tragedy they were beholding. hemmed in by vastly superior numbers, the english were calmly and stubbornly resisting every inch of advance and selling their lives as dearly as possible. their leader fell pierced by a hundred bullets, and the king, who had known him from boyhood, passed his hand across his eyes as if to shut out the awful sight. but the fascination of the battle forced him to look again, and the next moment he cried aloud: "look there! look there!" over the edge of a line of hills appeared the helmets of a file of english soldiers. they reached the summit, followed by rank after rank, until the hillside was alive with them. and then, with a ringing cheer that came like a faint echo to the ears of the three watchers, they broke into a run and dashed forward to the rescue of their brave comrades. the boers faltered, gave back, and the next moment fled precipitately, while the exhausted survivors of the courageous band fell sobbing into the arms of their rescuers. rob closed the lid of the record with a sudden snap that betrayed his deep feeling, and the king pretended to cough behind his handkerchief and stealthily wiped his eyes. "'twasn't so bad, after all," remarked the boy, with assumed cheerfulness; "but it looked mighty ticklish for your men at one time." king edward regarded the boy curiously, remembering his abrupt entrance and the marvelous device he had exhibited. "what do you call that?" he asked, pointing at the record with a finger that trembled slightly from excitement. "it is a new electrical invention," replied rob, replacing it in his pocket, "and so constructed that events are reproduced at the exact moment they occur." "where can i purchase one?" demanded the king, eagerly. "they're not for sale," said rob. "this one of mine is the first that ever happened." "oh!" "i really think," continued the boy, nodding sagely, "that it wouldn't be well to have these records scattered around. their use would give some folks unfair advantage over others, you know." "certainly." "i only showed you this battle because i happened to be in london at the time and thought you'd be interested." "it was very kind of you," said edward; "but how did you gain admittance?" "well, to tell the truth, i was obliged to knock over a few of your tall life-guards. they seem to think you're a good thing and need looking after, like jam in a cupboard." the king smiled. "i hope you haven't killed my guards," said he. "oh, no; they'll come around all right." "it is necessary," continued edward, "that public men be protected from intrusion, no matter how democratic they may be personally. you would probably find it as difficult to approach the president of the united states as the king of england." "oh, i'm not complaining," said rob. "it wasn't much trouble to break through." "you seem quite young to have mastered such wonderful secrets of nature," continued the king. "so i am," replied rob, modestly; "but these natural forces have really existed since the beginning of the world, and some one was sure to discover them in time." he was quoting the demon, although unconsciously. "you are an american, i suppose," said the minister, coming close to rob and staring him in the face. "guessed right the first time," answered the boy, and drawing his character marking spectacles from his pocket, he put them on and stared at the minister in turn. upon the man's forehead appeared the letter "e". "your majesty," said rob, "i have here another queer invention. will you please wear these spectacles for a few moments?" the king at once put them on. "they are called character markers," continued the boy, "because the lenses catch and concentrate the character vibrations radiating from every human individual and reflect the true character of the person upon his forehead. if a letter 'g' appears, you may be sure his disposition is good; if his forehead is marked with an 'e' his character is evil, and you must beware of treachery." the king saw the "e" plainly marked upon his minister's forehead, but he said nothing except "thank you," and returned the spectacles to rob. but the minister, who from the first had been ill at ease, now became positively angry. "do not believe him, your majesty!" he cried. "it is a trick, and meant to deceive you." "i did not accuse you," answered the king, sternly. then he added: "i wish to be alone with this young gentleman." the minister left the room with an anxious face and hanging head. "now," said rob, "let's look over the record of the past day and see if that fellow has been up to any mischief." he turned the cylinder of the record to "england," and slowly the events of the last twenty-four hours were reproduced, one after the other, upon the polished plate. before long the king uttered an exclamation. the record pictured a small room in which were seated three gentlemen engaged in earnest conversation. one of them was the accused minister. "those men," said the king in a low voice, while he pointed out the other two, "are my avowed enemies. this is proof that your wonderful spectacles indicated my minister's character with perfect truth. i am grateful to you for thus putting me upon my guard, for i have trusted the man fully." "oh, don't mention it," replied the boy, lightly; "i'm glad to have been of service to you. but it's time for me to go." "i hope you will favor me with another interview," said the king, "for i am much interested in your electrical inventions. i will instruct my guards to admit you at any time, so you will not be obliged to fight your way in." "all right. but it really doesn't matter," answered rob. "it's no trouble at all to knock 'em over." then he remembered his manners and bowed low before the king, who seemed to him "a fine fellow and not a bit stuck up." and then he walked calmly from the palace. the people in the outer room stared at him wonderingly and the officer of the guard saluted the boy respectfully. but rob only smiled in an amused way as he marched past them with his hands thrust deep into his trousers' pockets and his straw hat tipped jauntily upon the back of his head. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter eleven_ the man of science rob passed the remainder of the day wandering about london and amusing himself by watching the peculiar ways of the people. when it became so dark that there was no danger of his being observed, he rose through the air to the narrow slit in the church tower and lay upon the floor of the little room, with the bells hanging all around him, to pass the night. he was just falling asleep when a tremendous din and clatter nearly deafened him, and set the whole tower trembling. it was the midnight chime. rob clutched his ears tightly, and when the vibrations had died away descended by the ladder to a lower platform. but even here the next hourly chime made his ears ring, and he kept descending from platform to platform until the last half of a restless night was passed in the little room at the bottom of the tower. when, at daylight, the boy sat up and rubbed his eyes, he said, wearily: "churches are all right as churches; but as hotels they are rank failures. i ought to have bunked in with my friend, king edward." he climbed up the stairs and the ladders again and looked out the little window in the belfry. then he examined his map of europe. "i believe i'll take a run over to paris," he thought. "i must be home again by saturday, to meet the demon, so i'll have to make every day count." without waiting for breakfast, since he had eaten a tablet the evening before, he crept through the window and mounted into the fresh morning air until the great city with its broad waterway lay spread out beneath him. then he sped away to the southeast and, crossing the channel, passed between amiens and rouen and reached paris before ten o'clock. near the outskirts of the city appeared a high tower, upon the flat roof of which a man was engaged in adjusting a telescope. upon seeing rob, who was passing at no great distance from this tower, the man cried out: "_approchez!--venez ici!_" then he waved his hands frantically in the air, and fairly danced with excitement. so the boy laughed and dropped down to the roof where, standing beside the frenchman, whose eyes were actually protruding from their sockets, he asked, coolly: "well, what do you want?" the other was for a moment speechless. he was a tall, lean man, having a bald head but a thick, iron-gray beard, and his black eyes sparkled brightly from behind a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. after attentively regarding the boy for a time he said, in broken english: "but, m'sieur, how can you fly wizout ze--ze machine? i have experiment myself wiz some air-ship; but you--zere is nossing to make go!" [illustration: the eyes of the frenchman were actually protruding from their sockets] rob guessed that here was his opportunity to do the demon a favor by explaining his electrical devices to this new acquaintance, who was evidently a man of science. "here is the secret, professor," he said, and holding out his wrist displayed the traveling machine and explained, as well as he could, the forces that operated it. the frenchman, as you may suppose, was greatly astonished, and to show how perfectly the machine worked rob turned the indicator and rose a short distance above the tower, circling around it before he rejoined the professor on the roof. then he showed his food tablets, explaining how each was stored with sufficient nourishment for an entire day. the scientist positively gasped for breath, so powerful was the excitement he experienced at witnessing these marvels. "eet is wonderful--grand--magnifique!" he exclaimed. "but here is something of still greater interest," continued rob, and taking the automatic record of events from his pocket he allowed the professor to view the remarkable scenes that were being enacted throughout the civilized world. the frenchman was now trembling violently, and he implored rob to tell him where he might obtain similar electrical machines. "i can't do that," replied the boy, decidedly; "but, having seen these, you may be able to discover their construction for yourself. now that you know such things to be possible and practical, the hint should be sufficient to enable a shrewd electrician to prepare duplicates of them." the scientist glared at him with evident disappointment, and rob continued: "these are not all the wonders i can exhibit. here is another electrical device that is, perhaps, the most remarkable of any i possess." he took the character marking spectacles from his pocket and fitted them to his eyes. then he gave a whistle of surprise and turned his back upon his new friend. he had seen upon the frenchman's forehead the letters "e" and "c." "guess i've struck the wrong sort of scientist, after all!" he muttered, in a disgusted tone. his companion was quick to prove the accuracy of the character marker. seeing the boy's back turned, he seized a long iron bar that was used to operate the telescope, and struck at rob so fiercely that had he not worn the garment of protection his skull would have been crushed by the blow. as it was, the bar rebounded with a force that sent the murderous frenchman sprawling upon the roof, and rob turned around and laughed at him. "it won't work, professor," he said. "i'm proof against assassins. perhaps you had an idea that when you had killed me you could rob me of my valuable possessions; but they wouldn't be a particle of use to a scoundrel like you, i assure you! good morning." before the surprised and baffled scientist could collect himself sufficiently to reply, the boy was soaring far above his head and searching for a convenient place to alight, that he might investigate the charms of this famed city of paris. it was indeed a beautiful place, with many stately buildings lining the shady boulevards. so thronged were the streets that rob well knew he would soon be the center of a curious crowd should he alight upon them. already a few sky-gazers had noted the boy moving high in the air, above their heads, and one or two groups stood pointing their fingers at him. pausing at length above the imposing structure of the hotel anglais, rob noticed at one of the upper floors an open window, before which was a small iron balcony. alighting upon this he proceeded to enter, without hesitation, the open window. he heard a shriek and a cry of "_au voleur!_" and caught sight of a woman's figure as she dashed into an adjoining room, slamming and locking the door behind her. "i don't know as i blame her," observed rob, with a smile at the panic he had created. "i s'pose she takes me for a burglar, and thinks i've climbed up the lightning rod." he soon found the door leading into the hallway and walked down several flights of stairs until he reached the office of the hotel. "how much do you charge a day?" he inquired, addressing a fat and pompous-looking gentleman behind the desk. the man looked at him in a surprised way, for he had not heard the boy enter the room. but he said something in french to a waiter who was passing, and the latter came to rob and made a low bow. "i speak ze eengliss ver' fine," he said. "what desire have you?" "what are your rates by the day?" asked the boy. "ten francs, m'sieur." "how many dollars is that?" "dollar americaine?" "yes; united states money." "ah, _oui_! eet is ze two dollar, m'sieur." "all right; i can stay about a day before i go bankrupt. give me a room." "_certainement_, m'sieur. have you ze luggage?" "no; but i'll pay in advance," said rob, and began counting out his dimes and nickles and pennies, to the unbounded amazement of the waiter, who looked as if he had never seen such coins before. he carried the money to the fat gentleman, who examined the pieces curiously, and there was a long conference between them before it was decided to accept them in payment for a room for a day. but at this season the hotel was almost empty, and when rob protested that he had no other money the fat gentleman put the coins into his cash box with a resigned sigh and the waiter showed the boy to a little room at the very top of the building. rob washed and brushed the dust from his clothes, after which he sat down and amused himself by viewing the pictures that constantly formed upon the polished plate of the record of events. [illustration] _chapter twelve_ how rob saved a republic while following the shifting scenes of the fascinating record rob noted an occurrence that caused him to give a low whistle of astonishment and devote several moments to serious thought. "i believe it's about time i interfered with the politics of this republic," he said, at last, as he closed the lid of the metal box and restored it to his pocket. "if i don't take a hand there probably won't be a republic of france very long and, as a good american, i prefer a republic to a monarchy." then he walked down-stairs and found his english-speaking waiter. "where's president loubet?" he asked. "ze president! ah, he is wiz his mansion. to be at his residence, m'sieur." "where is his residence?" the waiter began a series of voluble and explicit directions which so confused the boy that he exclaimed: "oh, much obliged!" and walked away in disgust. gaining the street he approached a gendarme and repeated his question, with no better result than before, for the fellow waved his arms wildly in all directions and roared a volley of incomprehensible french phrases that conveyed no meaning whatever. "if ever i travel in foreign countries again," said rob, "i'll learn their lingo in advance. why doesn't the demon get up a conversation machine that will speak all languages?" by dint of much inquiry, however, and after walking several miles following ambiguous directions, he managed to reach the residence of president loubet. but there he was politely informed that the president was busily engaged in his garden, and would see no one. "that's all right," said the boy, calmly. "if he's in the garden i'll have no trouble finding him." then, to the amazement of the frenchmen, rob shot into the air fifty feet or so, from which elevation he overlooked a pretty garden in the rear of the president's mansion. the place was protected from ordinary intrusion by high walls, but rob descended within the enclosure and walked up to a man who was writing at a small table placed under the spreading branches of a large tree. "is this president loubet?" he inquired, with a bow. the gentleman looked up. "my servants were instructed to allow no one to disturb me," he said, speaking in excellent english. "it isn't their fault; i flew over the wall," returned rob. "the fact is," he added, hastily, as he noted the president's frown, "i have come to save the republic; and i haven't much time to waste over a bundle of frenchmen, either." the president seemed surprised. "your name!" he demanded, sharply. "robert billings joslyn, united states of america!" "your business, monsieur joslyn!" rob drew the record from his pocket and placed it upon the table. "this, sir," said he, "is an electrical device that records all important events. i wish to call your attention to a scene enacted in paris last evening which may have an effect upon the future history of your country." he opened the lid, placed the record so that the president could see clearly, and then watched the changing expressions upon the great man's face; first indifference, then interest, the next moment eagerness and amazement. "_mon dieu!_" he gasped; "the orleanists!" rob nodded. "yes; they've worked up a rather pretty plot, haven't they?" the president did not reply. he was anxiously watching the record and scribbling notes on a paper beside him. his face was pale and his lips tightly compressed. finally he leaned back in his chair and asked: "can you reproduce this scene again?" "certainly, sir," answered the boy; "as often as you like." "will you remain here while i send for my minister of police? it will require but a short time." "call him up, then. i'm in something of a hurry myself, but now i've mixed up with this thing i'll see it through." [illustration: rob watched the changing expressions upon the great man's face] the president touched a bell and gave an order to his servant. then he turned to rob and said, wonderingly: "you are a boy!" "that's true, mr. president," was the answer; "but an american boy, you must remember. that makes a big difference, i assure you." the president bowed gravely. "this is your invention?" he asked. "no; i'm hardly equal to that. but the inventor has made me a present of the record, and it's the only one in the world." "it is a marvel," remarked the president, thoughtfully. "more! it is a real miracle. we are living in an age of wonders, my young friend." "no one knows that better than myself, sir," replied rob. "but, tell me, can you trust your chief of police?" "i think so," said the president, slowly; "yet since your invention has shown me that many men i have considered honest are criminally implicated in this royalist plot, i hardly know whom to depend upon." "then please wear these spectacles during your interview with the minister of police," said the boy. "you must say nothing, while he is with us, about certain marks that will appear upon his forehead; but when he has gone i will explain those marks so you will understand them." the president covered his eyes with the spectacles. "why," he exclaimed, "i see upon your own brow the letters--" "stop, sir!" interrupted rob, with a blush; "i don't care to know what the letters are, if it's just the same to you." the president seemed puzzled by this speech, but fortunately the minister of police arrived just then and, under rob's guidance, the pictured record of the orleanist plot was reproduced before the startled eyes of the official. "and now," said the boy, "let us see if any of this foolishness is going on just at present." he turned to the opposite side of the record and allowed the president and his minister of police to witness the quick succession of events even as they occurred. suddenly the minister cried, "ha!" and, pointing to the figure of a man disembarking from an english boat at calais, he said, excitedly: "that, your excellency, is the duke of orleans, in disguise! i must leave you for a time, that i may issue some necessary orders to my men; but this evening i shall call to confer with you regarding the best mode of suppressing this terrible plot." when the official had departed, the president removed the spectacles from his eyes and handed them to rob. "what did you see?" asked the boy. "the letters 'g' and 'w'." "then you may trust him fully," declared rob, and explained the construction of the character marker to the interested and amazed statesman. "and now i must go," he continued, "for my stay in your city will be a short one and i want to see all i can." the president scrawled something on a sheet of paper and signed his name to it, afterward presenting it, with a courteous bow, to his visitor. "this will enable you to go wherever you please, while in paris," he said. "i regret my inability to reward you properly for the great service you have rendered my country; but you have my sincerest gratitude, and may command me in any way." "oh, that's all right," answered rob. "i thought it was my duty to warn you, and if you look sharp you'll be able to break up this conspiracy. but i don't want any reward. good day, sir." he turned the indicator of his traveling machine and immediately rose into the air, followed by a startled exclamation from the president of france. moving leisurely over the city, he selected a deserted thoroughfare to alight in, from whence he wandered unobserved into the beautiful boulevards. these were now brilliantly lighted, and crowds of pleasure seekers thronged them everywhere. rob experienced a decided sense of relief as he mixed with the gay populace and enjoyed the sights of the splendid city, for it enabled him to forget, for a time, the responsibilities thrust upon him by the possession of the demon's marvelous electrical devices. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter thirteen_ rob loses his treasures our young adventurer had intended to pass the night in the little bed at his hotel, but the atmosphere of paris proved so hot and disagreeable that he decided it would be more enjoyable to sleep while journeying through the cooler air that lay far above the earth's surface. so just as the clocks were striking the midnight hour rob mounted skyward and turned the indicator of the traveling machine to the east, intending to make the city of vienna his next stop. he had risen to a considerable distance, where the air was remarkably fresh and exhilarating, and the relief he experienced from the close and muggy streets of paris was of such a soothing nature that he presently fell fast asleep. his day in the metropolis had been a busy one, for, like all boys, he had forgotten himself in the delight of sight-seeing and had tired his muscles and exhausted his strength to an unusual degree. it was about three o'clock in the morning when rob, moving restlessly in his sleep, accidently touched with his right hand the indicator of the machine which was fastened to his left wrist, setting it a couple of points to the south of east. he was, of course, unaware of the slight alteration in his course, which was destined to prove of serious importance in the near future. for the boy's fatigue induced him to sleep far beyond daybreak, and during this period of unconsciousness he was passing over the face of european countries and approaching the lawless and dangerous dominions of the orient. when, at last, he opened his eyes, he was puzzled to determine where he was. beneath him stretched a vast, sandy plain, and speeding across this he came to a land abounding in luxuriant vegetation. the centrifugal force which propelled him was evidently, for some reason, greatly accelerated, for the scenery of the country he was crossing glided by him at so rapid a rate of speed that it nearly took his breath away. "i wonder if i've passed vienna in the night," he thought. "it ought not to have taken me more than a few hours to reach there from paris." vienna was at that moment fifteen hundred miles behind him; but rob's geography had always been his stumbling block at school, and he had not learned to gage the speed of the traveling machine; so he was completely mystified as to his whereabouts. presently a village having many queer spires and minarets whisked by him like a flash. rob became worried, and resolved to slow up at the next sign of habitation. this was a good resolution, but turkestan is so thinly settled that before the boy could plan out a course of action he had passed the barren mountain range of thian-shan as nimbly as an acrobat leaps a jumping-bar. "this won't do at all!" he exclaimed, earnestly. "the traveling machine seems to be running away with me, and i'm missing no end of sights by scooting along up here in the clouds." he turned the indicator to zero, and was relieved to find it obey with customary quickness. in a few moments he had slowed up and stopped, when he found himself suspended above another stretch of sandy plain. being too high to see the surface of the plain distinctly he dropped down a few hundred feet to a lower level, where he discovered he was surrounded by billows of sand as far as his eye could reach. "it's a desert, all right," was his comment; "perhaps old sahara herself." he started the machine again towards the east, and at a more moderate rate of speed skimmed over the surface of the desert. before long he noticed a dark spot ahead of him which proved to be a large body of fierce looking men, riding upon dromedaries and slender, spirited horses and armed with long rifles and crookedly shaped simitars. "those fellows seem to be looking for trouble," remarked the boy, as he glided over them, "and it wouldn't be exactly healthy for an enemy to get in their way. but i haven't time to stop, so i'm not likely to get mixed up in any rumpus with them." [illustration: "those fellows seem to be looking for trouble"] however, the armed caravan was scarcely out of sight before rob discovered he was approaching a rich, wooded oasis of the desert, in the midst of which was built the walled city of yarkand. not that he had ever heard of the place, or knew its name; for few europeans and only one american traveler had ever visited it. but he guessed it was a city of some importance from its size and beauty, and resolved to make a stop there. above the high walls projected many slender, white minarets, indicating that the inhabitants were either turks or some race of mohammedans; so rob decided to make investigations before trusting himself to their company. a cluster of tall trees with leafy tops stood a short distance outside the walls, and here the boy landed and sat down to rest in the refreshing shade. the city seemed as hushed and still as if it were deserted, and before him stretched the vast plain of white, heated sands. he strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the band of warriors he had passed, but they were moving slowly and had not yet appeared. the trees that sheltered rob were the only ones without the city, although many low bushes or shrubs grew scattering over the space between him and the walls. an arched gateway broke the enclosure at his left, but the gates were tightly shut. something in the stillness and the intense heat of the mid-day sun made the boy drowsy. he stretched himself upon the ground beneath the dense foliage of the biggest tree and abandoned himself to the languor that was creeping over him. "i'll wait until that army of the desert arrives," he thought, sleepily. "they either belong in this city or have come to capture it, so i can tell better what to dance when i find out what the band plays." the next moment he was sound asleep, sprawling upon his back in the shade and slumbering as peacefully as an infant. and while he lay motionless three men dropped in quick succession from the top of the city wall and hid among the low bushes, crawling noiselessly from one to another and so approaching, by degrees, the little group of trees. they were turks, and had been sent by those in authority within the city to climb the tallest tree of the group and discover if the enemy was near. for rob's conjecture had been correct, and the city of yarkand awaited, with more or less anxiety, a threatened assault from its hereditary enemies, the tatars. the three spies were not less forbidding in appearance than the horde of warriors rob had passed upon the desert. their features were coarse and swarthy, and their eyes had a most villainous glare. old fashioned pistols and double-edged daggers were stuck in their belts and their clothing, though of gorgeous colors, was soiled and neglected. with all the caution of the american savage these turks approached the tree, where, to their unbounded amazement, they saw the boy lying asleep. his dress and fairness of skin at once proclaimed him, in their shrewd eyes, a european, and their first thought was to glance around in search of his horse or dromedary. seeing nothing of the kind near they were much puzzled to account for his presence, and stood looking down at him with evident curiosity. the sun struck the polished surface of the traveling machine which was attached to rob's wrist and made the metal glitter like silver. this attracted the eyes of the tallest turk, who stooped down and stealthily unclasped the band of the machine from the boy's outstretched arm. then, after a hurried but puzzled examination of the little instrument, he slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. rob stirred uneasily in his sleep, and one of the turks drew a slight but stout rope from his breast and with gentle but deft movement passed it around the boy's wrists and drew them together behind him. the action was not swift enough to arouse the power of repulsion in the garment of protection, but it awakened rob effectually, so that he sat up and stared hard at his captors. "what are you trying to do, anyhow?" he demanded. the turks laughed and said something in their own language. they had no knowledge of english. "you're only making fools of yourselves," continued the boy, wrathfully. "it's impossible for you to injure me." the three paid no attention to his words. one of them thrust his hand into rob's pocket and drew out the electric tube. his ignorance of modern appliances was so great that he did not know enough to push the button. rob saw him looking down the hollow end of the tube and murmured: "i wish it would blow your ugly head off!" but the fellow, thinking the shining metal might be of some value to him, put the tube in his own pocket and then took from the prisoner the silver box of tablets. rob writhed and groaned at losing his possessions in this way, and while his hands were fastened behind him tried to feel for and touch the indicator of the traveling machine. when he found that the machine also had been taken, his anger gave way to fear, for he realized he was in a dangerously helpless condition. the third turk now drew the record of events from the boy's inner pocket. he knew nothing of the springs that opened the lids, so, after a curious glance at it, he secreted the box in the folds of his sash and continued the search of the captive. the character marking spectacles were next abstracted, but the turk, seeing in them nothing but spectacles, scornfully thrust them back into rob's pocket, while his comrades laughed at him. the boy was now rifled of seventeen cents in pennies, a broken pocket knife and a lead-pencil, the last article seeming to be highly prized. after they had secured all the booty they could find, the tall turk, who seemed the leader of the three, violently kicked at the prisoner with his heavy boot. his surprise was great when the garment of repulsion arrested the blow and nearly overthrew the aggressor in turn. snatching a dagger from his sash, he bounded upon the boy so fiercely that the next instant the enraged turk found himself lying upon his back three yards away, while his dagger flew through the air and landed deep in the desert sands. "keep it up!" cried rob, bitterly. "i hope you'll enjoy yourself." the other turks raised their comrade to his feet, and the three stared at one another in surprise, being unable to understand how a bound prisoner could so effectually defend himself. but at a whispered word from the leader, they drew their long pistols and fired point blank into rob's face. the volley echoed sharply from the city walls, but as the smoke drifted slowly away the turks were horrified to see their intended victim laughing at them. uttering cries of terror and dismay, the three took to their heels and bounded towards the wall, where a gate quickly opened to receive them, the populace feeling sure the tatar horde was upon them. [illustration: uttering cries of terror and dismay, the three turks took to their heels] nor was this guess so very far wrong; for as rob, sitting disconsolate upon the sand, raised his eyes, he saw across the desert a dark line that marked the approach of the invaders. nearer and nearer they came, while rob watched them and bemoaned the foolish impulse that had led him to fall asleep in an unknown land where he could so easily be overpowered and robbed of his treasures. "i always suspected these electrical inventions would be my ruin some day," he reflected, sadly; "and now i'm side-tracked and left helpless in this outlandish country, without a single hope of ever getting home again. they probably won't be able to kill me, unless they find my garment of repulsion and strip that off; but i never could cross this terrible desert on foot and, having lost my food tablets, i'd soon starve if i attempted it." fortunately, he had eaten one of the tablets just before going to sleep, so there was no danger of immediate starvation. but he was miserable and unhappy, and remained brooding over his cruel fate until a sudden shout caused him to look up. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter fourteen_ turk and tatar the tatars had arrived, swiftly and noiselessly, and a dozen of the warriors, still mounted, were surrounding him. his helpless condition aroused their curiosity, and while some of them hastily cut away his bonds and raised him to his feet, others plied him with questions in their own language. rob shook his head to indicate that he could not understand; so they led him to the chief--an immense, bearded representative of the tribe of kara-khitai, the terrible and relentless black tatars of thibet. the huge frame of this fellow was clothed in flowing robes of cloth-of-gold, braided with jewels, and he sat majestically upon the back of a jet-black camel. under ordinary circumstances the stern features and flashing black eyes of this redoubtable warrior would have struck a chill of fear to the boy's heart; but now under the influence of the crushing misfortunes he had experienced, he was able to gaze with indifference upon the terrible visage of the desert chief. the tatar seemed not to consider rob an enemy. instead, he looked upon him as an ally, since the turks had bound and robbed him. finding it impossible to converse with the chief, rob took refuge in the sign language. he turned his pockets wrong side out, showed the red welts left upon his wrists by the tight cord, and then shook his fists angrily in the direction of the town. in return the tatar nodded gravely and issued an order to his men. by this time the warriors were busily pitching tents before the walls of yarkand and making preparations for a formal siege. in obedience to the chieftain's orders, rob was given a place within one of the tents nearest the wall and supplied with a brace of brass-mounted pistols and a dagger with a sharp, zigzag edge. these were evidently to assist the boy in fighting the turks, and he was well pleased to have them. his spirits rose considerably when he found he had fallen among friends, although most of his new comrades had such evil faces that it was unnecessary to put on the character markers to judge their natures with a fair degree of accuracy. "i can't be very particular about the company i keep," he thought, "and this gang hasn't tried to murder me, as the rascally turks did. so for the present i'll stand in with the scowling chief and try to get a shot at the thieves who robbed me. if our side wins i may get a chance to recover some of my property. it's a slim chance, of course, but it's the only hope i have left." that very evening an opportunity occurred for rob to win glory in the eyes of his new friends. just before sundown the gates of the city flew open and a swarm of turks, mounted upon fleet horses and camels, issued forth and fell upon their enemies. the tatars, who did not expect the sally, were scarcely able to form an opposing rank when they found themselves engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict, fighting desperately for their lives. in such a battle, however, the turks were at a disadvantage, for the active tatars slipped beneath their horses and disabled them, bringing both the animals and their riders to the earth. at the first onslaught rob shot his pistol at a turk and wounded him so severely that he fell from his horse. instantly the boy seized the bridle and sprang upon the steed's back, and the next moment he had dashed into the thickest part of the fray. bullets and blows rained upon him from all sides, but the garment of repulsion saved him from a single scratch. when his pistols had been discharged he caught up the broken handle of a spear, and used it as a club, galloping into the ranks of the turks and belaboring them as hard as he could. the tatars cheered and followed him, and the turks were so amazed at his miraculous escape from their bullets that they became terrified, thinking he bore a charmed life and was protected by unseen powers. this terror helped turn the tide of battle, and before long the enemy was pressed back to the walls and retreated through the gates, which were hastily fastened behind them. in order to prevent a repetition of this sally the tatars at once invested the gates, so that if the turks should open them they were as likely to let their foes in as to oppose them. while the tents were being moved up rob had an opportunity to search the battlefield for the bodies of the three turks who had robbed him, but they were not among the fallen. "those fellows were too cowardly to take part in a fair fight," declared the boy; but he was much disappointed, nevertheless, as he felt very helpless without the electric tube or the traveling machine. the tatar chief now called rob to his tent and presented him with a beautiful ring set with a glowing pigeon's-blood ruby, in acknowledgment of his services. this gift made the boy feel very proud, and he said to the chief: "you're all right, old man, even if you do look like a pirate. if you can manage to capture that city, so i can get my electrical devices back, i'll consider you a trump as long as i live." the chief thought this speech was intended to express rob's gratitude, so he bowed solemnly in return. during the night that followed upon the first engagement of the turks and tatars, the boy lay awake trying to devise some plan to capture the city. the walls seemed too high and thick to be either scaled or broken by the tatars, who had no artillery whatever; and within the walls lay all the fertile part of the oasis, giving the besieged a good supply of water and provisions, while the besiegers were obliged to subsist on what water and food they had brought with them. just before dawn rob left his tent and went out to look at the great wall. the stars gave plenty of light, but the boy was worried to find that, according to eastern custom, no sentries or guards whatever had been posted and all the tatars were slumbering soundly. the city was likewise wrapped in profound silence, but just as rob was turning away he saw a head project stealthily over the edge of the wall before him, and recognized in the features one of the turks who had robbed him. finding no one awake except the boy the fellow sat upon the edge of the wall, with his feet dangling downward, and grinned wickedly at his former victim. rob watched him with almost breathless eagerness. after making many motions that conveyed no meaning whatever, the turk drew the electric tube from his pocket and pointed his finger first at the boy and then at the instrument, as if inquiring what it was used for. rob shook his head. the turk turned the tube over several times and examined it carefully, after which he also shook his head, seeming greatly puzzled. by this time the boy was fairly trembling with excitement. he longed to recover this valuable weapon, and feared that at any moment the curious turk would discover its use. he held out his hand toward the tube, and tried to say, by motions, that he would show the fellow how to use it. the man seemed to understand, but he would not let the glittering instrument out of his possession. rob was almost in despair, when he happened to notice upon his hand the ruby ring given him by the chief. drawing the jewel from his finger he made offer, by signs, that he would exchange it for the tube. the turk was much pleased with the idea, and nodded his head repeatedly, holding out his hand for the ring. rob had little confidence in the man's honor, but he was so eager to regain the tube that he decided to trust him. so he threw the ring to the top of the wall, where the turk caught it skilfully; but when rob held out his hand for the tube the scoundrel only laughed at him and began to scramble to his feet in order to beat a retreat. chance, however, foiled this disgraceful treachery, for in his hurry the turk allowed the tube to slip from his grasp, and it rolled off the wall and fell upon the sand at rob's very feet. the robber turned to watch its fall and, filled with sudden anger, the boy grabbed the weapon, pointed it at his enemy, and pressed the button. down tumbled the turk, without a cry, and lay motionless at the foot of the wall. rob's first thought was to search the pockets of his captive, and to his delight he found and recovered his box of food tablets. the record of events and the traveling machine were doubtless in the possession of the other robbers, but rob did not despair of recovering them, now that he had the tube to aid him. day was now breaking, and several of the tatars appeared and examined the body of the turk with grunts of surprise, for there was no mark upon him to show how he had been slain. supposing him to be dead, they tossed him aside and forgot all about him. rob had secured his ruby ring again, and going to the chief's tent he showed the jewel to the guard and was at once admitted. the black-bearded chieftain was still reclining upon his pillows, but rob bowed before him, and by means of signs managed to ask for a band of warriors to assist him in assaulting the town. the chieftain appeared to doubt the wisdom of the enterprise, not being able to understand how the boy could expect to succeed; but he graciously issued the required order, and by the time rob reached the city gate he found a large group of tatars gathered to support him, while the entire camp, roused to interest in the proceedings, stood looking on. rob cared little for the quarrel between the turks and tatars, and under ordinary circumstances would have refused to side with one or the other; but he knew he could not hope to recover his electrical machines unless the city was taken by the band of warriors who had befriended him, so he determined to force an entrance for them. without hesitation he walked close to the great gate and shattered its fastenings with the force of the electric current directed upon them from the tube. then, shouting to his friends the tatars for assistance, they rushed in a body upon the gate and dashed it open. the turks had expected trouble when they heard the fastenings of the huge gate splinter and fall apart, so they had assembled in force before the opening. as the tatars poured through the gateway in a compact mass they were met by a hail of bullets, spears and arrows, which did fearful execution among them. many were killed outright, while others fell wounded to be trampled upon by those who pressed on from the rear. rob maintained his position in the front rank, but escaped all injury through the possession of the garment of repulsion. but he took an active part in the fight and pressed the button of the electric tube again and again, tumbling the enemy into heaps on every side, even the horses and camels falling helplessly before the resistless current of electricity. the tatars shouted joyfully as they witnessed this marvelous feat and rushed forward to assist in the slaughter; but the boy motioned them all back. he did not wish any more bloodshed than was necessary, and knew that the heaps of unconscious turks around him would soon recover. so he stood alone and faced the enemy, calmly knocking them over as fast as they came near. two of the turks managed to creep up behind the boy, and one of them, who wielded an immense simitar with a two-edged blade as sharp as a razor, swung the weapon fiercely to cut off rob's head. but the repulsive force aroused in the garment was so terrific that it sent the weapon flying backwards with redoubled swiftness, so that it caught the second turk at the waist and cut him fairly in two. thereafter they all avoided coming near the boy, and in a surprisingly short time the turkish forces were entirely conquered, all having been reduced to unconsciousness except a few cowards who had run away and hidden in the cellars or garrets of the houses. the tatars entered the city with shouts of triumph, and the chief was so delighted that he threw his arms around rob's neck and embraced him warmly. then began the sack of yarkand, the fierce tatars plundering the bazaars and houses, stripping them of everything of value they could find. rob searched anxiously among the bodies of the unconscious turks for the two men who had robbed him, but neither could be found. he was more successful later, for in running through the streets he came upon a band of tatars leading a man with a rope around his neck, whom rob quickly recognized as one of the thieves he was hunting for. the tatars willingly allowed him to search the fellow, and in one of his pockets rob found the record of events. he had now recovered all his property, except the traveling machine, the one thing that was absolutely necessary to enable him to escape from this barbarous country. he continued his search persistently, and an hour later found the dead body of the third robber lying in the square in the center of the city. but the traveling machine was not on his person, and for the first time the boy began to give way to despair. in the distance he heard loud shouts and sound of renewed strife, warning him that the turks were recovering consciousness and engaging the tatars with great fierceness. the latter had scattered throughout the town, thinking themselves perfectly secure, so that not only were they unprepared to fight, but they became panic-stricken at seeing their foes return, as it seemed, from death to life. their usual courage forsook them, and they ran, terrified, in every direction, only to be cut down by the revengeful turkish simitars. rob was sitting upon the edge of a marble fountain in the center of the square when a crowd of victorious turks appeared and quickly surrounded him. the boy paid no attention to their gestures and the turks feared to approach him nearly, so they stood a short distance away and fired volleys at him from their rifles and pistols. rob glared at them scornfully, and seeing they could not injure him the turks desisted; but they still surrounded him, and the crowd grew thicker every moment. women now came creeping from their hiding places and mingled with the ranks of the men, and rob guessed, from their joyous chattering, that the turks had regained the city and driven out or killed the tatar warriors. he reflected, gloomily, that this did not affect his own position in any way, since he could not escape from the oasis. suddenly, on glancing at the crowd, rob saw something that arrested his attention. a young girl was fastening some article to the wrist of a burly, villainous-looking turk. the boy saw a glitter that reminded him of the traveling machine, but immediately afterward the man and the girl bent their heads over the fellow's wrist in such a way that rob could see nothing more. while the couple were apparently examining the strange device, rob started to his feet and walked toward them. the crowd fell back at his approach, but the man and the girl were so interested that they did not notice him. he was still several paces away when the girl put out her finger and touched the indicator on the dial. to rob's horror and consternation the big turk began to rise slowly into the air, while a howl of fear burst from the crowd. but the boy made a mighty spring and caught the turk by his foot, clinging to it with desperate tenacity, while they both mounted steadily upward until they were far above the city of the desert. [illustration: the turk rose slowly into the air, with rob clinging to him with desperate tenacity] the big turk screamed pitifully at first, and then actually fainted away from fright. rob was much frightened, on his part, for he knew if his hands slipped from their hold he would fall to his death. indeed, one hand was slipping already, so he made a frantic clutch and caught firmly hold of the turk's baggy trousers. then, slowly and carefully, he drew himself up and seized the leather belt that encircled the man's waist. this firm grip gave him new confidence, and he began to breathe more freely. he now clung to the body of the turk with both legs entwined, in the way he was accustomed to cling to a tree-trunk when he climbed after cherries at home. he had conquered his fear of falling, and took time to recover his wits and his strength. they had now reached such a tremendous height that the city looked like a speck on the desert beneath them. knowing he must act quickly, rob seized the dangling left arm of the unconscious turk and raised it until he could reach the dial of the traveling machine. he feared to unclasp the machine just then, for two reasons: if it slipped from his grasp they would both plunge downward to their death; and he was not sure the machine would work at all if in any other position than fastened to the left wrist. rob determined to take no chances, so he left the machine attached to the turk and turned the indicator to zero and then to "east," for he did not wish to rejoin either his enemies the turks or his equally undesirable friends the tatars. after traveling eastward a few minutes he lost sight of the city altogether; so, still clinging to the body of the turk, he again turned the indicator and began to descend. when, at last, they landed gently upon a rocky eminence of the kuen-lun mountains, the boy's strength was almost exhausted, and his limbs ached with the strain of clinging to the turk's body. his first act was to transfer the traveling machine to his own wrist and to see that his other electrical devices were safely bestowed in his pockets. then he sat upon the rock to rest until the turk recovered consciousness. presently the fellow moved uneasily, rolled over, and then sat up and stared at his surroundings. perhaps he thought he had been dreaming, for he rubbed his eyes and looked again with mingled surprise and alarm. then, seeing rob, he uttered a savage shout and drew his dagger. rob smiled and pointed the electric tube at the man, who doubtless recognized its power, for he fell back scowling and trembling. "this place seems like a good jog from civilization," remarked the boy, as coolly as if his companion could understand what he said; "but as your legs are long and strong you may be able to find your way. it's true you're liable to starve to death, but if you do it will be your own misfortune and not my fault." the turk glared at him sullenly, but did not attempt to reply. rob took out his box of tablets, ate one of them and offered another to his enemy. the fellow accepted it ungraciously enough, but seeing rob eat one he decided to follow his example, and consumed the tablet with a queer expression of distrust upon his face. "brave man!" cried rob, laughingly; "you've avoided the pangs of starvation for a time, anyhow, so i can leave you with a clear conscience." without more ado he turned the indicator of the traveling machine and mounted into the air, leaving the turk sitting upon the rocks and staring after him in comical bewilderment. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter fifteen_ a battle with monsters our young adventurer never experienced a more grateful feeling of relief and security than when he found himself once more high in the air, alone, and in undisputed possession of the electrical devices bestowed upon him by the demon. the dangers he had passed through since landing at the city of the desert and the desperate chance that alone had permitted him to regain the traveling machine made him shudder at the bare recollection and rendered him more sober and thoughtful than usual. we who stick closely to the earth's surface can scarcely realize how rob could travel through the air at such dizzy heights without any fear or concern whatsoever. but he had come to consider the air a veritable refuge. experience had given him implicit confidence in the powers of the electrical instrument whose unseen forces carried him so swiftly and surely, and while the tiny, watch-like machine was clasped to his wrist he felt himself to be absolutely safe. having slipped away from the turk and attained a fair altitude, he set the indicator at zero and paused long enough to consult his map and decide what direction it was best for him to take. the mischance that had swept him unwittingly over the countries of europe had also carried him more than half way around the world from his home. therefore the nearest way to reach america would be to continue traveling to the eastward. so much time had been consumed at the desert oasis that he felt he must now hasten if he wished to reach home by saturday afternoon; so, having quickly come to a decision, he turned the indicator and began a swift flight into the east. for several hours he traveled above the great desert of gobi, but by noon signs of a more fertile country began to appear, and, dropping to a point nearer the earth, he was able to observe closely the country of the chinese, with its crowded population and ancient but crude civilization. then he came to the great wall of china and to mighty peking, above which he hovered some time, examining it curiously. he really longed to make a stop there, but with his late experiences fresh in his mind he thought it much safer to view the wonderful city from a distance. resuming his flight he presently came to the gulf of laou tong, whose fair face was freckled with many ships of many nations, and so on to korea, which seemed to him a land fully a century behind the times. night overtook him while speeding across the sea of japan, and having a great desire to view the mikado's famous islands, he put the indicator at zero, and, coming to a full stop, composed himself to sleep until morning, that he might run no chances of being carried beyond his knowledge during the night. you might suppose it no easy task to sleep suspended in mid-air, yet the magnetic currents controlled by the traveling machine were so evenly balanced that rob was fully as comfortable as if reposing upon a bed of down. he had become somewhat accustomed to passing the night in the air and now slept remarkably well, having no fear of burglars or fire or other interruptions that dwellers in cities are subject to. one thing, however, he should have remembered: that he was in an ancient and little known part of the world and reposing above a sea famous in fable as the home of many fierce and terrible creatures; while not far away lay the land of the dragon, the simurg and other ferocious monsters. rob may have read of these things in fairy tales and books of travel, but if so they had entirely slipped his mind; so he slumbered peacefully and actually snored a little, i believe, towards morning. but even as the red sun peeped curiously over the horizon he was awakened by a most unusual disturbance--a succession of hoarse screams and a pounding of the air as from the quickly revolving blades of some huge windmill. he rubbed his eyes and looked around. coming towards him at his right hand was an immense bird, whose body seemed almost as big as that of a horse. its wide-open, curving beak was set with rows of pointed teeth, and the talons held against its breast and turned threateningly outward were more powerful and dreadful than a tiger's claws. while, fascinated and horrified, he watched the approach of this feathered monster, a scream sounded just behind him and the next instant the stroke of a mighty wing sent him whirling over and over through the air. he soon came to a stop, however, and saw that another of the monsters had come upon him from the rear and was now, with its mate, circling closely around him, while both uttered continuously their hoarse, savage cries. rob wondered why the garment of repulsion had not protected him from the blow of the bird's wing; but, as a matter of fact, it had protected him. for it was not the wing itself but the force of the eddying currents of air that had sent him whirling away from the monster. with the indicator at zero the magnetic currents and the opposing powers of attraction and repulsion were so evenly balanced that any violent atmospheric disturbance affected him in the same way that thistledown is affected by a summer breeze. he had noticed something of this before, but whenever a strong wind was blowing he was accustomed to rise to a position above the air currents. this was the first time he had slept with the indicator at zero. the huge birds at once renewed their attack, but rob had now recovered his wits sufficiently to draw the electric tube from his pocket. the first one to dart towards him received the powerful electric current direct from the tube, and fell stunned and fluttering to the surface of the sea, where it floated motionless. its mate, perhaps warned by this sudden disaster, renewed its circling flight, moving so swiftly that rob could scarcely follow it, and drawing nearer and nearer every moment to its intended victim. the boy could not turn in the air very quickly, and he feared an attack in the back, mistrusting the saving power of the garment of repulsion under such circumstances; so in desperation he pressed his finger upon the button of the tube and whirled the instrument around his head in the opposite direction to that in which the monster was circling. presently the current and the bird met, and with one last scream the creature tumbled downwards to join its fellow upon the waves, where they lay like two floating islands. their presence had left a rank, sickening stench in the surrounding atmosphere, so rob made haste to resume his journey and was soon moving rapidly eastward. he could not control a shudder at the recollection of his recent combat, and realized the horror of a meeting with such creatures by one who had no protection from their sharp beaks and talons. "it's no wonder the japs draw ugly pictures of those monsters," he thought. "people who live in these parts must pass most of their lives in a tremble." the sun was now shining brilliantly, and when the beautiful islands of japan came in sight rob found that he had recovered his wonted cheerfulness. he moved along slowly, hovering with curious interest over the quaint and picturesque villages and watching the industrious japanese patiently toiling at their tasks. just before he reached tokio he came to a military fort, and for nearly an hour watched the skilful maneuvers of a regiment of soldiers at their morning drill. they were not very big people, compared with other nations, but they seemed alert and well trained, and the boy decided it would require a brave enemy to face them on a field of battle. having at length satisfied his curiosity as to japanese life and customs rob prepared for his long flight across the pacific ocean. by consulting his map he discovered that should he maintain his course due east, as before, he would arrive at a point in america very near to san francisco, which suited his plans excellently. having found that he moved more swiftly when farthest from the earth's surface, because the air was more rarefied and offered less resistance, rob mounted upwards until the islands of japan were mere specks visible through the clear, sunny atmosphere. then he began his eastward flight, the broad surface of the pacific seeming like a blue cloud far beneath him. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter sixteen_ shipwrecked mariners ample proof of rob's careless and restless nature having been frankly placed before the reader in these pages, you will doubtless be surprised when i relate that during the next few hours our young gentleman suffered from a severe attack of homesickness, becoming as gloomy and unhappy in its duration as ever a homesick boy could be. it may have been because he was just then cut off from all his fellow-creatures and even from the world itself; it may have been because he was satiated with marvels and with the almost absolute control over the powers which the demon had conferred upon him; or it may have been because he was born and reared a hearty, healthy american boy, with a disposition to battle openly with the world and take his chances equally with his fellows, rather than be placed in such an exclusive position that no one could hope successfully to oppose him. perhaps he himself did not know what gave him this horrible attack of "the blues," but the truth is he took out his handkerchief and cried like a baby from very loneliness and misery. there was no one to see him, thank goodness! and the tears gave him considerable relief. he dried his eyes, made an honest struggle to regain his cheerfulness, and then muttered to himself: "if i stay up here, like an air-bubble in the sky, i shall certainly go crazy. i suppose there's nothing but water to look at down below, but if i could only sight a ship, or even see a fish jump, it would do me no end of good." thereupon he descended until, as the ocean's surface came nearer and nearer, he discovered a tiny island lying almost directly underneath him. it was hardly big enough to make a dot on the biggest map, but a clump of trees grew in the central portion, while around the edges were jagged rocks protecting a sandy beach and a stretch of flower-strewn upland leading to the trees. it looked very beautiful from rob's elevated position, and his spirits brightened at once. "i'll drop down and pick a bouquet," he exclaimed, and a few moments later his feet touched the firm earth of the island. but before he could gather a dozen of the brilliant flowers a glad shout reached his ears, and, looking up, he saw two men running towards him from the trees. they were dressed in sailor fashion, but their clothing was reduced to rags and scarcely clung to their brown, skinny bodies. as they advanced they waved their arms wildly in the air and cried in joyful tones: "a boat! a boat!" rob stared at them wonderingly, and had much ado to prevent the poor fellows from hugging him outright, so great was their joy at his appearance. one of them rolled upon the ground, laughing and crying by turns, while the other danced and cut capers until he became so exhausted that he sank down breathless beside his comrade. "how came you here?" then inquired the boy, in pitying tones. "we're shipwrecked american sailors from the bark 'cynthia jane,' which went down near here over a month ago," answered the smallest and thinnest of the two. "we escaped by clinging to a bit of wreckage and floated to this island, where we have nearly starved to death. indeed, we now have eaten everything on the island that was eatable, and had your boat arrived a few days later you'd have found us lying dead upon the beach!" rob listened to this sad tale with real sympathy. "but i didn't come here in a boat," said he. the men sprang to their feet with white, scared faces. "no boat!" they cried; "are you, too, shipwrecked?" "no;" he answered. "i flew here through the air." and then he explained to them the wonderful electric traveling machine. but the sailors had no interest whatever in the relation. their disappointment was something awful to witness, and one of them laid his head upon his comrade's shoulder and wept with unrestrained grief, so weak and discouraged had they become through suffering. [illustration: the disappointment of the sailors was something awful to witness] suddenly rob remembered that he could assist them, and took the box of concentrated food tablets from his pocket. "eat these," he said, offering one to each of the sailors. at first they could not understand that these small tablets would be able to allay the pangs of hunger; but when rob explained their virtues the men ate them greedily. within a few moments they were so greatly restored to strength and courage that their eyes brightened, their sunken cheeks flushed, and they were able to converse with their benefactor with calmness and intelligence. then the boy sat beside them upon the grass and told them the story of his acquaintance with the demon and of all his adventures since he had come into possession of the wonderful electric contrivances. in his present mood he felt it would be a relief to confide in some one, and so these poor, lonely men were the first to hear his story. when he related the manner in which he had clung to the turk while both ascended into the air, the elder of the two sailors listened with rapt attention, and then, after some thought, asked: "why couldn't you carry one or both of us to america?" rob took time seriously to consider this idea, while the sailors eyed him with eager interest. finally he said: "i'm afraid i couldn't support your weight long enough to reach any other land. it's a long journey, and you'd pull my arms out of joint before we'd been up an hour." their faces fell at this, but one of them said: "why couldn't we swing ourselves over your shoulders with a rope? our two bodies would balance each other and we are so thin and emaciated that we do not weigh very much." while considering this suggestion rob remembered how at one time five pirates had clung to his left leg and been carried some distance through the air. "have you a rope?" he asked. "no," was the answer; "but there are plenty of long, tough vines growing on the island that are just as strong and pliable as ropes." "then, if you are willing to run the chances," decided the boy, "i will make the attempt to save you. but i must warn you that in case i find i can not support the weight of your bodies i shall drop one or both of you into the sea." they looked grave at this prospect, but the biggest one said: "we would soon meet death from starvation if you left us here on the island; so, as there is at least a chance of our being able to escape in your company i, for one, am willing to risk being drowned. it is easier and quicker than being starved. and, as i'm the heavier, i suppose you'll drop me first." "certainly," declared rob, promptly. this announcement seemed to be an encouragement to the little sailor, but he said, nervously: "i hope you'll keep near the water, for i haven't a good head for heights--they always make me dizzy." "oh, if you don't want to go," began rob, "i can easily----" "but i do! i do! i do!" cried the little man, interrupting him. "i shall die if you leave me behind!" "well, then, get your ropes, and we'll do the best we can," said the boy. they ran to the trees, around the trunks of which were clinging many tendrils of greenish-brown vine which possessed remarkable strength. with their knives they cut a long section of this vine, the ends of which were then tied into loops large enough to permit the sailors to sit in them comfortably. the connecting piece rob padded with seaweed gathered from the shore, to prevent its cutting into his shoulders. "now, then," he said, when all was ready, "take your places." the sailors squatted in the loops, and rob swung the vine over his shoulders and turned the indicator of the traveling machine to "up." as they slowly mounted into the sky the little sailor gave a squeal of terror and clung to the boy's arm; but the other, although seemingly anxious, sat quietly in his place and made no trouble. "d--d--don't g--g--go so high!" stammered the little one, tremblingly; "suppose we should f--f--fall!" "well, s'pose we should?" answered rob, gruffly. "you couldn't drown until you struck the water, so the higher we are the longer you'll live in case of accident." this phase of the question seemed to comfort the frightened fellow somewhat; but, as he said, he had not a good head for heights, and so continued to tremble in spite of his resolve to be brave. the weight on rob's shoulders was not so great as he had feared, the traveling machine seeming to give a certain lightness and buoyancy to everything that came into contact with its wearer. as soon as he had reached a sufficient elevation to admit of good speed he turned the indicator once more to the east and began moving rapidly through the air, the shipwrecked sailors dangling at either side. "this is aw--aw--awful!" gasped the little one. "say, you shut up!" commanded the boy, angrily. "if your friend was as big a coward as you are i'd drop you both this minute. let go my arm and keep quiet, if you want to reach land alive." the fellow whimpered a little, but managed to remain silent for several minutes. then he gave a sudden twitch and grabbed rob's arm again. "s'pose--s'pose the vine should break!" he moaned, a horrified look upon his face. "i've had about enough of this," said rob, savagely. "if you haven't any sense you don't deserve to live." he turned the indicator on the dial of the machine and they began to descend rapidly. the little fellow screamed with fear, but rob paid no attention to him until the feet of the two suspended sailors were actually dipping into the waves, when he brought their progress to an abrupt halt. "wh--wh--what are you g--g--going to do?" gurgled the cowardly sailor. "i'm going to feed you to the sharks--unless you promise to keep your mouth shut," retorted the boy. "now, then; decide at once! which will it be--sharks or silence?" "i won't say a word--'pon my honor, i won't!" said the sailor, shudderingly. "all right; remember your promise and we'll have no further trouble," remarked rob, who had hard work to keep from laughing at the man's abject terror. once more he ascended and continued the journey, and for several hours they rode along swiftly and silently. rob's shoulders were beginning to ache with the continued tugging of the vine upon them, but the thought that he was saving the lives of two unfortunate fellow-creatures gave him strength and courage to persevere. night was falling when they first sighted land; a wild and seemingly uninhabited stretch of the american coast. rob made no effort to select a landing place, for he was nearly worn out with the strain and anxiety of the journey. he dropped his burden upon the brow of a high bluff overlooking the sea and, casting the vine from his shoulders, fell to the earth exhausted and half fainting. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter seventeen_ the coast of oregon when he had somewhat recovered, rob sat up and looked around him. the elder sailor was kneeling in earnest prayer, offering grateful thanks for his escape from suffering and death. the younger one lay upon the ground sobbing and still violently agitated by recollections of the frightful experiences he had undergone. although he did not show his feelings as plainly as the men, the boy was none the less gratified at having been instrumental in saving the lives of two fellow-beings. the darkness was by this time rapidly enveloping them, so rob asked his companions to gather some brushwood and light a fire, which they quickly did. the evening was cool for the time of year, and the heat from the fire was cheering and grateful; so they all lay near the glowing embers and fell fast asleep. the sound of voices aroused rob next morning, and on opening his eyes and gazing around he saw several rudely dressed men approaching. the two shipwrecked sailors were still sound asleep. rob stood up and waited for the strangers to draw near. they seemed to be fishermen, and were much surprised at finding three people asleep upon the bluff. "whar 'n thunder'd ye come from?" asked the foremost fisherman, in a surprised voice. "from the sea," replied the boy. "my friends here are shipwrecked sailors from the 'cynthia jane.'" "but how'd ye make out to climb the bluff?" inquired a second fisherman; "no one ever did it afore, as we knows on." "oh, that is a long story," replied the boy, evasively. the two sailors had awakened and now saluted the new-comers. soon they were exchanging a running fire of questions and answers. "where are we?" rob heard the little sailor ask. "coast of oregon," was the reply. "we're about seven miles from port orford by land an' about ten miles by sea." "do you live at port orford?" inquired the sailor. "that's what we do, friend; an' if your party wants to join us we'll do our best to make you comf'table, bein' as you're shipwrecked an' need help." just then a loud laugh came from another group, where the elder sailor had been trying to explain rob's method of flying through the air. "laugh all you want to," said the sailor, sullenly; "it's true--ev'ry word of it!" "mebbe you think it, friend," answered a big, good-natured fisherman; "but it's well known that shipwrecked folks go crazy sometimes, an' imagine strange things. your mind seems clear enough in other ways, so i advise you to try and forget your dreams about flyin'." rob now stepped forward and shook hands with the sailors. "i see you have found friends," he said to them, "so i will leave you and continue my journey, as i'm in something of a hurry." both sailors began to thank him profusely for their rescue, but he cut them short. "that's all right. of course i couldn't leave you on that island to starve to death, and i'm glad i was able to bring you away with me." "but you threatened to drop me into the sea," remarked the little sailor, in a grieved voice. "so i did," said rob, laughing; "but i wouldn't have done it for the world--not even to have saved my own life. good-by!" he turned the indicator and mounted skyward, to the unbounded amazement of the fishermen, who stared after him with round eyes and wide open mouths. "this sight will prove to them that the sailors are not crazy," he thought, as he turned to the south and sped away from the bluff. "i suppose those simple fishermen will never forget this wonderful occurrence, and they'll probably make reg'lar heroes of the two men who have crossed the pacific through the air." he followed the coast line, keeping but a short distance above the earth, and after an hour's swift flight reached the city of san francisco. his shoulders were sore and stiff from the heavy strain upon them of the previous day, and he wished more than once that he had some of his mother's household liniment to rub them with. yet so great was his delight at reaching once more his native land that all discomforts were speedily forgotten. much as he would have enjoyed a day in the great metropolis of the pacific slope, rob dared not delay longer than to take a general view of the place, to note its handsome edifices and to wonder at the throng of chinese inhabiting one section of the town. these things were much more plainly and quickly viewed by rob from above than by threading a way through the streets on foot; for he looked down upon the city as a bird does, and covered miles with a single glance. having satisfied his curiosity without attempting to alight, he turned to the southeast and followed the peninsula as far as palo alto, where he viewed the magnificent buildings of the university. changing his course to the east, he soon reached mount hamilton, and, being attracted by the great tower of the lick observatory, he hovered over it until he found he had attracted the excited gaze of its inhabitants, who doubtless observed him very plainly through the big telescope. but so unreal and seemingly impossible was the sight witnessed by the learned astronomers that they have never ventured to make the incident public, although long after the boy had darted away into the east they argued together concerning the marvelous and incomprehensible vision. afterward they secretly engrossed the circumstance upon their records, but resolved never to mention it in public, lest their wisdom and veracity should be assailed by the skeptical. meantime rob rose to a higher altitude, and sped swiftly across the great continent. by noon he sighted chicago, and after a brief inspection of the place from the air determined to devote at least an hour to forming the acquaintance of this most wonderful and cosmopolitan city. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter eighteen_ a narrow escape the auditorium tower, where "the weather man" sits to flash his reports throughout the country, offered an inviting place for the boy to alight. he dropped quietly upon the roof of the great building and walked down the staircase until he reached the elevators, by means of which he descended to the ground floor without exciting special attention. the eager rush and hurry of the people crowding the sidewalks impressed rob with the idea that they were all behind time and were trying hard to catch up. he found it impossible to walk along comfortably without being elbowed and pushed from side to side; so a half hour's sight-seeing under such difficulties tired him greatly. it was a beautiful afternoon, and finding himself upon the lake front, rob hunted up a vacant bench and sat down to rest. presently an elderly gentleman with a reserved and dignified appearance and dressed in black took a seat next to the boy and drew a magazine from his pocket. rob saw that he opened it to an article on "the progress of modern science," in which he seemed greatly interested. after a time the boy remembered that he was hungry, not having eaten a tablet in more than twenty-four hours. so he took out the silver box and ate one of the small, round disks it contained. "what are those?" inquired the old gentleman in a soft voice. "you are too young to be taking patent medicines." "these are not medicines, exactly," answered the boy, with a smile. "they are concentrated food tablets, stored with nourishment by means of electricity. one of them furnishes a person with food for an entire day." the old gentleman stared at rob a moment and then laid down his magazine and took the box in his hands, examining the tablets curiously. "are these patented?" he asked. "no," said rob; "they are unknown to any one but myself." "i will give you a half million dollars for the recipe to make them," said the gentleman. "i fear i must refuse your offer," returned rob, with a laugh. "i'll make it a million," said the gentleman, coolly. rob shook his head. "money can't buy the recipe," he said; "for i don't know it myself." "couldn't the tablets be chemically analyzed, and the secret discovered?" inquired the other. "i don't know; but i'm not going to give any one the chance to try," declared the boy, firmly. the old gentleman picked up his magazine without another word, and resumed his reading. for amusement rob took the record of events from his pocket and began looking at the scenes reflected from its polished plate. presently he became aware that the old gentleman was peering over his shoulder with intense interest. general funston was just then engaged in capturing the rebel chief, aguinaldo, and for a few moments both man and boy observed the occurrence with rapt attention. as the scene was replaced by one showing a secret tunnel of the russian nihilists, with the conspirators carrying dynamite to a recess underneath the palace of the czar, the gentleman uttered a long sigh and asked: "will you sell that box?" "no," answered rob, shortly, and put it back into his pocket. "i'll give you a million dollars to control the sale in chicago alone," continued the gentleman, with an eager inflection in his smooth voice. "you seem quite anxious to get rid of money," remarked rob, carelessly. "how much are you worth?" "personally?" "yes." "nothing at all, young man. i am not offering you my own money. but with such inventions as you have exhibited i could easily secure millions of capital. suppose we form a trust, and place them upon the market. we'll capitalize it for a hundred millions, and you can have a quarter of the stock--twenty-five millions. that would keep you from worrying about grocery bills." "but i wouldn't need groceries if i had the tablets," said rob, laughing. "true enough! but you could take life easily and read your newspaper in comfort, without being in any hurry to get down town to business. twenty-five millions would bring you a cozy little income, if properly invested." "i don't see why one should read newspapers when the record of events shows all that is going on in the world," objected rob. "true, true! but what do you say to the proposition?" "i must decline, with thanks. these inventions are not for sale." the gentleman sighed and resumed his magazine, in which he became much absorbed. rob put on the character marking spectacles and looked at him. the letters "e", "w" and "c" were plainly visible upon the composed, respectable looking brow of his companion. "evil, wise and cruel," reflected rob, as he restored the spectacles to his pocket. "how easily such a man could impose upon people. to look at him one would think that butter wouldn't melt in his mouth!" he decided to part company with this chance acquaintance and, rising from his seat, strolled leisurely up the walk. a moment later, on looking back, he discovered that the old gentleman had disappeared. he walked down state street to the river and back again, amused by the activity displayed in this busy section of the city. but the time he had allowed himself in chicago had now expired, so he began looking around for some high building from the roof of which he could depart unnoticed. this was not at all difficult, and selecting one of many stores he ascended by an elevator to the top floor and from there mounted an iron stairway leading to the flat roof. as he climbed this stairway he found himself followed by a pleasant looking young man, who also seemed desirous of viewing the city from the roof. annoyed at the inopportune intrusion, rob's first thought was to go back to the street and try another building; but, upon reflecting that the young man was not likely to remain long and he would soon be alone, he decided to wait. so he walked to the edge of the roof and appeared to be interested in the scenery spread out below him. "fine view from here, ain't it?" said the young man, coming up to him and placing his hand carelessly upon the boy's shoulder. "it is, indeed," replied rob, leaning over the edge to look into the street. as he spoke he felt himself gently but firmly pushed from behind and, losing his balance, he plunged headforemost from the roof and whirled through the intervening space toward the sidewalk far below. terrified though he was by the sudden disaster, the boy had still wit enough remaining to reach out his right hand and move the indicator of the machine upon his left wrist to the zero mark. immediately he paused in his fearful flight and presently came to a stop at a distance of less than fifteen feet from the flagstones which had threatened to crush out his life. as he stared downward, trying to recover his self-possession, he saw the old gentleman he had met on the lake front standing just below and looking at him with a half frightened, half curious expression in his eyes. at once rob saw through the whole plot to kill him and thus secure possession of his electrical devices. the young man upon the roof who had attempted to push him to his death was a confederate of the innocent appearing old gentleman, it seemed, and the latter had calmly awaited his fall to the pavement to seize the coveted treasures from his dead body. it was an awful idea, and rob was more frightened than he had ever been before in his life--or ever has been since. but now the shouts of a vast concourse of amazed spectators reached the boy's ears. he remembered that he was suspended in mid-air over the crowded street of a great city, while thousands of wondering eyes were fixed upon him. so he quickly set the indicator to the word "up," and mounted sky-ward until the watchers below could scarcely see him. then he fled away into the east, even yet shuddering with the horror of his recent escape from death and filled with disgust at the knowledge that there were people who held human life so lightly that they were willing to destroy it to further their own selfish ends. "and the demon wants such people as these to possess his electrical devices, which are as powerful to accomplish evil when in wrong hands as they are good!" thought the boy, resentfully. "this would be a fine world if electric tubes and records of events and traveling machines could be acquired by selfish and unprincipled persons!" so unnerved was rob by his recent experiences that he determined to make no more stops. however, he alighted at nightfall in the country, and slept upon the sweet hay in a farmer's barn. but, early the next morning, before any one else was astir, he resumed his journey, and at precisely ten o'clock of this day, which was saturday, he completed his flying trip around the world by alighting unobserved upon the well-trimmed lawn of his own home. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter nineteen_ rob makes a resolution when rob opened the front door he came face to face with nell, who gave an exclamation of joy and threw herself into his arms. "oh, rob!" she cried, "i'm so glad you've come. we have all been dreadfully worried about you, and mother--" "well, what about mother?" inquired the boy, anxiously, as she paused. "she's been very ill, rob; and the doctor said to-day that unless we heard from you soon he would not be able to save her life. the uncertainty about you is killing her." rob stood stock still, all the eager joy of his return frozen into horror at the thought that he had caused his dear mother so much suffering. "where is she, nell?" he asked, brokenly. "in her room. come; i'll take you to her." rob followed with beating heart, and soon was clasped close to his mother's breast. "oh, my boy--my dear boy!" she murmured, and then for very joy and love she was unable to say more, but held him tight and stroked his hair gently and kissed him again and again. rob said little, except to promise that he would never again leave home without her full consent and knowledge. but in his mind he contrasted the love and comfort that now surrounded him with the lonely and unnatural life he had been leading and, boy though he was in years, a mighty resolution that would have been creditable to an experienced man took firm root in his heart. he was obliged to recount all his adventures to his mother and, although he made light of the dangers he had passed through, the story drew many sighs and shudders from her. when luncheon time arrived he met his father, and mr. joslyn took occasion to reprove his son in strong language for running away from home and leaving them filled with anxiety as to his fate. however, when he saw how happy and improved in health his dear wife was at her boy's return, and when he had listened to rob's manly confession of error and expressions of repentance, he speedily forgave the culprit and treated him as genially as ever. of course the whole story had to be repeated, his sisters listening this time with open eyes and ears and admiring their adventurous brother immensely. even mr. joslyn could not help becoming profoundly interested, but he took care not to show any pride he might feel in his son's achievements. when his father returned to his office rob went to his own bed-chamber and sat for a long time by the window in deep thought. when at last he aroused himself, he found it was nearly four o'clock. "the demon will be here presently," he said, with a thrill of aversion, "and i must be in the workshop to receive him." silently he stole to the foot of the attic stairs and then paused to listen. the house seemed very quiet, but he could hear his mother's voice softly humming a cradle-song that she had sung to him when he was a baby. he had been nervous and unsettled and a little fearful until then, but perhaps the sound of his mother's voice gave him courage, for he boldly ascended the stairs and entered the workshop, closing and locking the door behind him. [illustration] [illustration] _chapter twenty_ the unhappy fate of the demon again the atmosphere quickened and pulsed with accumulating vibrations. again the boy found himself aroused to eager expectancy. there was a whirl in the air; a crackling like distant musketry; a flash of dazzling light--and the demon stood before him for the third time. "i give you greetings!" said he, in a voice not unkindly. "good afternoon, mr. demon," answered the boy, bowing gravely. "i see you have returned safely from your trip," continued the apparition, cheerfully, "although at one time i thought you would be unable to escape. indeed, unless i had knocked that tube from the rascally turk's hand as he clambered to the top of the wall, i believe you would have been at the yarkand oasis yet--either dead or alive, as chance might determine." "were you there?" asked rob. "to be sure. and i recovered the tube for you, without which you would have been helpless. but that is the only time i saw fit to interfere in any way." "i'm afraid i did not get a chance to give many hints to inventors or scientists," said rob. "true, and i have deeply regretted it," replied the demon. "but your unusual powers caused more astonishment and consternation than you, perhaps, imagined; for many saw you whom you were too busy to notice. as a result several able electricians are now thinking new thoughts along new lines, and some of them may soon give these or similar inventions to the world." "you are satisfied, then?" asked rob. "as to that," returned the demon, composedly, "i am not. but i have hopes that with the addition of the three marvelous devices i shall present you with to-day you will succeed in arousing so much popular interest in electrical inventions as to render me wholly satisfied with the result of this experiment." rob regarded the brilliant apparition with a solemn face, but made no answer. "no living person," continued the demon, "has ever before been favored with such comforting devices for the preservation and extension of human life as yourself. you seem quite unappreciative, it is true; but since our connection i have come to realize that you are but an ordinary boy, with many boyish limitations; so i do not condemn your foolish actions too harshly." "that is kind of you," said rob. "to prove my friendliness," pursued the demon, "i have brought, as the first of to-day's offerings, this electro-magnetic restorer. you see it is shaped like a thin metal band, and is to be worn upon the brow, clasping at the back of the head. its virtues surpass those of either the fabulous 'fountain of youth,' or the 'elixir of life,' so vainly sought for in past ages. for its wearer will instantly become free from any bodily disease or pain and will enjoy perfect health and vigor. in truth, so great are its powers that even the dead may be restored to life, provided the blood has not yet chilled. in presenting you with this appliance, i feel i am bestowing upon you the greatest blessing and most longed-for boon ever bequeathed to suffering humanity." here he held the slender, dull-colored metallic band toward the boy. "keep it," said rob. the demon started, and gave him an odd look. "what did you say?" he asked. "i told you to keep it," answered rob. "i don't want it." the demon staggered back as if he had been struck. "don't want it!" he gasped. "no; i've had enough of your infernal inventions!" cried the boy, with sudden anger. he unclasped the traveling machine from his wrist and laid it on the table beside the demon. "there's the thing that's responsible for most of my troubles," said he, bitterly. "what right has one person to fly through the air while all his fellow-creatures crawl over the earth's surface? and why should i be cut off from all the rest of the world because you have given me this confounded traveling machine? i didn't ask for it, and i won't keep it a moment longer. give it to some one you hate more than you do me!" the demon stared aghast and turned his glittering eyes wonderingly from rob to the traveling machine and back again, as if to be sure he had heard and seen aright. "and here are your food tablets," continued the boy, placing the box upon the table. "i've only enjoyed one square meal since you gave them to me. they're all right to preserve life, of course, and answer the purpose for which they were made; but i don't believe nature ever intended us to exist upon such things, or we wouldn't have the sense of taste, which enables us to enjoy natural food. as long as i'm a human being i'm going to eat like a human being, so i've consumed my last electrical concentrated food tablet--and don't you forget it!" the demon sank into a chair, nerveless and limp, but still staring fearfully at the boy. "and there's another of your unnatural devices," said rob, putting the automatic record of events upon the table beside the other things. "what right have you to capture vibrations that radiate from private and secret actions and discover them to others who have no business to know them? this would be a fine world if every body could peep into every one else's affairs, wouldn't it? and here is your character marker. nice thing for a decent person to own, isn't it? any one who would take advantage of such a sneaking invention as that would be worse than a thief! oh, i've used them, of course, and i ought to be spanked for having been so mean and underhanded; but i'll never be guilty of looking through them again." the demon's face was frowning and indignant. he made a motion to rise, but thought better of it and sank back in his chair. "as for the garment of protection," resumed the boy, after a pause, "i've worn it for the last time, and here it is, at your service. i'll put the electric tube with it. not that these are such very bad things in themselves, but i'll have none of your magical contrivances. i'll say this, however: if all armies were equipped with electrical tubes instead of guns and swords the world would be spared a lot of misery and unnecessary bloodshed. perhaps they will be, in time; but that time hasn't arrived yet." "you might have hastened it," said the demon, sternly, "if you had been wise enough to use your powers properly." "that's just it," answered rob. "i'm _not_ wise enough. nor is the majority of mankind wise enough to use such inventions as yours unselfishly and for the good of the world. if people were better, and every one had an equal show, it would be different." for some moments the demon sat quietly thinking. finally the frown left his face and he said, with animation: "i have other inventions, which you may use without any such qualms of conscience. the electro-magnetic restorer i offered you would be a great boon to your race, and could not possibly do harm. and, besides this, i have brought you what i call the illimitable communicator. it is a simple electric device which will enable you, wherever you may be, to converse with people in any part of the world, without the use of such crude connections as wires. in fact, you may"---- "stop!" cried rob. "it is useless for you to describe it, because i'll have nothing more to do with you or your inventions. i have given them a fair trial, and they've got me into all sorts of trouble and made all my friends miserable. if i was some high-up scientist it would be different; but i'm just a common boy, and i don't want to be anything else." "but, your duty--" began the demon. "my duty i owe to myself and to my family," interrupted rob. "i have never cultivated science, more than to fool with some simple electrical experiments, so i owe nothing to either science or the demon of electricity, so far as i can see." "but consider," remonstrated the demon, rising to his feet and speaking in a pleading voice, "consider the years that must elapse before any one else is likely to strike the master key! and, in the meanwhile, consider my helpless position, cut off from all interest in the world while i have such wonderful inventions on my hands for the benefit of mankind. if you have no love for science or for the advancement of civilization, _do_ have some consideration for your fellow-creatures, and for me!" "if my fellow-creatures would have as much trouble with your electrical inventions as i had, i am doing them a service by depriving them of your devices," said the boy. "as for yourself, i've no fault to find with you, personally. you're a very decent sort of demon, and i've no doubt you mean well; but there's something wrong about our present combination, i'm sure. it isn't natural." the demon made a gesture of despair. "why, oh why did not some intelligent person strike the master key!" he moaned. "that's it!" exclaimed rob. "i believe that's the root of the whole evil." "what is?" inquired the demon, stupidly. "the fact that an intelligent person did not strike the master key. you don't seem to understand. well, i'll explain. you're the demon of electricity, aren't you?" "i am," said the other, drawing himself up proudly. "your mission is to obey the commands of whoever is able to strike the master key of electricity." "that is true." "i once read in a book that all things are regulated by exact laws of nature. if that is so you probably owe your existence to those laws." the demon nodded. "doubtless it was intended that when mankind became intelligent enough and advanced enough to strike the master key, you and all your devices would not only be necessary and acceptable to them, but the world would be prepared for their general use. that seems reasonable, doesn't it?" "perhaps so. yes; it seems reasonable," answered the demon, thoughtfully. "accidents are always liable to happen," continued the boy. "by accident the master key was struck long before the world of science was ready for it--or for you. instead of considering it an accident and paying no attention to it you immediately appeared to me--a mere boy--and offered your services." "i was very anxious to do something," returned the demon, evasively. "you've no idea how stupid it is for me to live invisible and unknown, while all the time i have in my possession secrets of untold benefit to the world." "well, you'll have to keep cool and bide your time," said rob. "the world wasn't made in a minute, and while civilization is going on at a pretty good pace, we're not up to the demon of electricity yet." "what shall i do!" groaned the apparition, wringing his hands miserably; "oh, what shall i do!" "go home and lie down," replied rob, sympathetically. "take it easy and don't get rattled. nothing was ever created without a use, they say; so your turn will come some day, sure! i'm sorry for you, old fellow, but it's all your own fault." "you are right!" exclaimed the demon, striding up and down the room, and causing thereby such a crackling of electricity in the air that rob's hair became rigid enough to stand on end. "you are right, and i must wait--wait--wait--patiently and silently--until my bonds are loosed by intelligence rather than chance! it is a dreary fate. but i must wait--i must wait--i must wait!" "i'm glad you've come to your senses," remarked rob, drily. "so, if you've nothing more to say--" "no! i have nothing more to say. there _is_ nothing more to say. you and i are two. we should never have met!" retorted the demon, showing great excitement. "oh, i didn't seek your acquaintance," said rob. "but i've tried to treat you decently, and i've no fault to find with you except that you forgot you were a slave and tried to be a master." the demon did not reply. he was busily forcing the various electrical devices that rob had relinquished into the pockets of his fiery jacket. finally he turned with an abrupt movement. "good-by!" he cried. "when mortal eyes next behold me they will be those of one fit to command my services! as for you, your days will be passed in obscurity and your name be unknown to fame. good-by,--forever!" the room filled with a flash of white light so like a sheet of lightning that the boy went reeling backwards, half stunned and blinded by its dazzling intensity. when he recovered himself the demon of electricity had disappeared. * * * * * rob's heart was very light as he left the workshop and made his way down the attic stairs. "some people might think i was a fool to give up those electrical inventions," he reflected; "but i'm one of those persons who know when they've had enough. it strikes me the fool is the fellow who can't learn a lesson. i've learned mine, all right. it's no fun being a century ahead of the times!" [illustration] transcriber's note: obvious printer errors have been corrected. otherwise, the author's original spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact. transcriber's note: inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. italic text is denoted by _underscores_. the autobiography of a thief. the autobiography of a thief recorded by hutchins hapgood author of "the spirit of the ghetto," etc. new york fox, duffield & company copyright, , by fox, duffield & company entered at the library of congress, washington, u. s. a. entered at stationers' hall, london, england. published may, . "_oh, happy he who can still hope to emerge from this sea of error!_" faust. "_there is no man doth a wrong for the wrong's sake, but thereby to purchase himself profit, or pleasure, or honour, or the like; therefore why should i be angry with a man for loving himself better than me? and if any man should do wrong merely out of ill-nature, why, yet it is but like the thorn or briar, which prick and scratch because they can do no other._" bacon. contents. chapter page editor's note i. boyhood and early crime ii. my first fall iii. mixed ale life in the fourth and seventh wards iv. when the graft was good v. mamie and the negotiable bonds vi. what the burglar faces vii. in stir viii. in stir (continued) ix. in stir and out x. at the graft again xi. back to prison xii. on the outside again xiii. in the mad-house xiv. out of hell editor's postscript editor's note. i met the ex-pickpocket and burglar whose autobiography follows soon after his release from a third term in the penitentiary. for several weeks i was not particularly interested in him. he was full of a desire to publish in the newspapers an exposé of conditions obtaining in two of our state institutions, his motive seeming partly revenge and partly a very genuine feeling that he had come in contact with a systematic crime against humanity. but as i continued to see more of him, and learned much about his life, my interest grew; for i soon perceived that he not only had led a typical thief's life, but was also a man of more than common natural intelligence, with a gift of vigorous expression. with little schooling he had yet educated himself, mainly by means of the prison libraries, until he had a good and individually expressed acquaintance with many of the english classics, and with some of the masterpieces of philosophy. that this ex-convict, when a boy on the east side of new york city, should have taken to the "graft" seemed to me, as he talked about it, the most natural thing in the world. his parents were honest, but ignorant and poor. one of his brothers, a normal and honorable man, is a truck driver with a large family; and his relatives and honest friends in general belong to the most modest class of working people. the swell among them is another brother, who is a policeman; but jim, the ex-convict, is by far the cleverest and most intelligent of the lot. i have often seen him and his family together, on saturday nights, when the clan gathers in the truckman's house for a good time, and he is the life of the occasion, and admired by the others. jim was an unusually energetic and ambitious boy, but the respectable people he knew did not appeal to his imagination. as he played on the street, other boys pointed out to him the swell thief at the corner saloon, and told him tales of big robberies and exciting adventures, and the prizes of life seemed to him to lie along the path of crime. there was no one to teach him what constitutes real success, and he went in for crime with energy and enthusiasm. it was only after he had become a professional thief and had done time in the prisons that he began to see that crime does not pay. he saw that all his friends came to ruin, that his own health was shattered, and that he stood on the verge of the mad-house. his self-education in prison helped him, too, to the perception that he had made a terrible mistake. he came to have intellectual ambitions and no longer took an interest in his old companions. after several weeks of constant association with him i became morally certain that his reform was as genuine as possible under the circumstances; and that, with fair success in the way of getting something to do, he would remain honest. i therefore proposed to him to write an autobiography. he took up the idea with eagerness, and through the entire period of our work together, has shown an unwavering interest in the book and very decided acumen and common sense. the method employed in composing the volume was that, practically, of the interview. from the middle of march to the first of july we met nearly every afternoon, and many evenings, at a little german café on the east side. there, i took voluminous notes, often asking questions, but taking down as literally as possible his story in his own words; to such a degree is this true, that the following narrative is an authentic account of his life, with occasional descriptions and character-sketches of his friends of the under world. even without my explicit assurance, the autobiography bears sufficient internal evidence of the fact that, essentially, it is a thief's own story. many hours of the day time, when i was busy with other things, my friend--for i have come to look upon him as such--was occupied with putting down on paper character-sketches of his pals and their careers, or recording his impressions of the life they had followed. after i had left town for the summer, in order to prepare this volume, i wrote to jim repeatedly, asking for more material on certain points. this he always furnished in a manner which showed his continued interest, and a literary sense, though fragmentary, of no common kind. h. h. the autobiography of a thief. chapter i. _boyhood and early crime._ i have been a professional thief for more than twenty years. half of that time i have spent in state's prison, and the other half in "grafting" in one form or another. i was a good pickpocket and a fairly successful burglar; and i have known many of the best crooks in the country. i have left the business for good, and my reasons will appear in the course of this narrative. i shall tell my story with entire frankness. i shall not try to defend myself. i shall try merely to tell the truth. perhaps in so doing i shall explain myself. i was born on the east side of new york city in , of poor but honest parents. my father was an englishman who had married an irish girl and emigrated to america, where he had a large family, no one of whom, with the exception of myself, went wrong. for many years he was an employee of brown brothers and company and was a sober, industrious man, and a good husband and kind father. to me, who was his favorite, he was perhaps too kind. i was certainly a spoiled child. i remember that when i was five years old he bought me a twenty-five dollar suit of clothes. i was a vigorous, handsome boy, with red, rosy cheeks and was not only the pet of my family, but the life of the neighborhood as well. at that time, which is as far back as i can remember, we were living on munro street, in the seventh ward. this was then a good residential neighborhood, and we were comfortable in our small, wooden house. the people about us were irish and german, the large jewish emigration not having begun yet. consequently, lower new york did not have such a strong business look as it has now, but was cleanly and respectable. the gin-mills were fewer in number, and were comparatively decent. when the jews came they started many basement saloons, or cafés, and for the first time, i believe, the social evil began to be connected with the drinking places. i committed my first theft at the age of six. older heads put me up to steal money from the till of my brother's grocery store. it happened this way. there were several much older boys in the neighborhood who wanted money for row-boating and theatres. one was eighteen years old, a ship-caulker; and another was a roustabout of seventeen. i used to watch these boys practice singing and dancing in the big marble lots in the vicinity. how they fired my youthful imagination! they told me about the theatres then in vogue--tony pastor's, the old globe, wood's museum and josh hart's theatre comique, afterwards owned by harrigan and hart. one day, george, the roustabout, said to me: "kid, do you want to go row-boating with us?" when i eagerly consented he said it was too bad, but the boat cost fifty cents and he only had a ten-cent stamp (a small paper bill: in those days there was very little silver in circulation). i did not bite at once, i was so young, and they treated me to one of those wooden balls fastened to a rubber string that you throw out and catch on the rebound. i was tickled to death. i shall never forget that day as long as i live. it was a saturday, and all day long those boys couldn't do too much for me. towards evening they explained to me how to rob my brother's till. they arranged to be outside the store at a certain hour, and wait until i found an opportunity to pass the money to them. my mother watched in the store that evening, but when she turned her back i opened the till and gave the eight or ten dollars it contained to the waiting boys. we all went row-boating and had a jolly time. but they were not satisfied with that. what i had done once, i could do again, and they held out the theatre to me, and pretended to teach me how to dance the clog. week in and week out i furnished them with money, and in recompense they would sometimes take me to a matinée. what a joy! how i grew to love the vaudeville artists with their songs and dances, and the wild bowery melodramas! it was a great day for indian plays, and the number of indians i have scalped in imagination, after one of these shows, is legion. some of the small boys, however, who did not share in the booty grew jealous and told my father what was doing. the result was that a certain part of my body was sore for weeks afterwards. my feelings were hurt, too, for i did not know at that time that i was doing anything very bad. my father, indeed, accompanied the beating with a sermon, telling me that i had not only broken god's law but had robbed those that loved me. one of my brothers, who is now a policeman in the city service, told me that i had taken my ticket for the gallows. the brother i had robbed, who afterwards became a truckman, patted me on the head and told me not to do it again. he was always a good fellow. and yet they all seemed to like to have me play about the streets with the other little boys, perhaps because the family was large, and there was not much room in the house. so i had to give up the till; but i hated to, for even at that age i had begun to think that the world owed me a living! to get revenge i used to hide in a charcoal shed and throw pebbles at my father as he passed. i was indeed the typical bad boy, and the apple of my mother's eye. when i couldn't steal from the till any more, i used to take clothes from my relatives and sell them for theatre money; or any other object i thought i could make away with. i did not steal merely for theatre money but partly for excitement too. i liked to run the risk of being discovered. so i was up to any scheme the older boys proposed. perhaps if i had been raised in the wild west i should have made a good trapper or cow-boy, instead of a thief. or perhaps even birds' nests and fish would have satisfied me, if they had been accessible. one of my biggest exploits as a small boy was made when i was eight years old. tom's mother had a friend visiting her, whom tom and i thought we would rob. tom, who was a big boy, and some of his friends, put me through a hall bed-room window, and i made away with a box of valuable jewelry. but it did me no good for the big boys sold it to a woman who kept a second-hand store on division street, and i received no part of the proceeds. my greatest youthful disappointment came about four weeks later. a boy put me up to steal a box out of a wagon. i boldly made away with it and ran into a hall-way, where he was waiting. the two of us then went into his back-yard, opened the box and found a beautiful sword, the handle studded with little stones. but the other boy had promised me money, and here was only a sword! i cried for theatre money, and then the other boy boxed my ears. he went to his father, who was a free mason, and got a fifty cent "stamp." he gave me two three-cent pieces and kept the rest. i shall never forget that injustice as long as i live. i remember it as plainly as if it happened yesterday. we put the sword under a mill in cherry street and it disappeared a few hours later. i thought the boy and his father had stolen it, and told them so. i got another beating, but i believe my suspicion was correct, for the free mason used to give me a ten cent stamp whenever he saw me--to square me, i suppose. when it came to contests with boys of my own size i was not so meek, however. one day i was playing in jersey, in the back-yard of a boy friend's house. he displayed his pen-knife, and it took my fancy. i wanted to play with it, and asked him to lend it to me. he refused, and i grabbed his hand. he plunged the knife into my leg. i didn't like that, and told him so, not in words, but in action. i remember that i took his ear nearly off with a hatchet. i was then eight years old. about this time i began to go to sunday school, with what effect on my character remains to be seen. one day i heard a noted priest preach. i had one dollar and eighty cents in my pocket which i had stolen from my brother. i thought that each coin in my pocket was turning red-hot because of my anxiety to spend it. while the good man was talking of the blessed one i was inwardly praying for him to shut up. he had two beautiful pictures which he intended to give to the best listener among the boys. when he had finished his talk he called me to him, gave me the pictures and said: "it's such boys as you who, when they grow up, are a pride to our holy church." a year later i went to the parochial school, but did not stay long, for they would not have me. i was a sceptic at seven and an agnostic at eight, and i objected to the prayers every five minutes. i had no respect for ceremonies. they did not impress my imagination in the slightest, partly because i learned at an early age to see the hypocrisy of many good people. one day half a dozen persons were killed in an explosion. one of them i had known. neighbors said of him: "what a good man has gone," and the priest and my mother said he was in heaven. but he was the same man who had often told me not to take money from the money-drawer, for that was dangerous, but to search my father's pockets when he was asleep. for this advice i had given the rascal many a dollar. ever after that i was suspicious of those who were over-virtuous. i told my mother i did not believe her and the priest, and she slapped my face and told me to mind my catechism. everything mischievous that happened at the parochial school was laid to my account, perhaps not entirely unjustly. if a large firecracker exploded, it was james--that was my name. if some one sat on a bent pin, the blame was due to james. if the class tittered teacher nolan would rush at me with a hickory stick and yell: "it's you, you devil's imp!" and then he'd put the question he had asked a hundred times before: "who med (made) you?" i was finally sent away from the parochial school because i insulted one of the teachers, a catholic brother. i persisted in disturbing him whenever he studied his catechism, which i believed he already knew by heart. this brother's favorite, by the way, was a boy who used to say his prayers louder than anybody else. i met him fifteen years afterwards in state's prison. he had been settled for "vogel-grafting," that is, taking little girls into hall-ways and robbing them of their gold ear-rings. he turned out pretty well, however, in one sense, for he became one of the best shoe-makers in sing sing. although, as one can see from the above incidents, i was not given to veneration, yet in some ways i was easily impressed. i always loved old buildings, for instance. i was baptized in the building which was until lately the germania theatre, and which was then a church; and that old structure always had a strange fascination for me. i used to hang about old churches and theatres, and preferred on such occasions to be alone. sometimes i sang and danced, all by myself, in an old music hall, and used to pore over the names marked in lead pencil on the walls. many is the time i have stood at night before some old building which has since been razed to the ground, and even now i like to go round to their sites. i like almost anything that is old, even old men and women. i never loved my mother much until she was an old woman. all stories of the past interested me; and later, when i was in prison, i was specially fond of history. after i was dismissed from the parochial school, i entered the public school, where i stayed somewhat longer. there i studied reading, writing, arithmetic and later, grammar, and became acquainted with a few specimens of literature. i remember longfellow's _excelsior_ was a favorite of mine. i was a bright, intelligent boy, and, if it had not been for conduct, in which my mark was low, i should always have had the gold medal, in a class of seventy. i used to play truant constantly, and often went home and told my mother that i knew more than the teacher. she believed me, for certainly i was the most intelligent member of my family. yes, i was more intelligent than my parents or any of my brothers and sisters. much good it has done me! now that i have "squared it" i see a good deal of my family, and they are all happy in comparison with me. on saturday nights i often go around to see my brother the truckman. he has come home tired from his week's work, but happy with his twelve dollar salary and the prospect of a holiday with his wife and children. they sit about in their humble home on saturday night, with their pint of beer, their songs and their jovial stories. whenever i am there, i am, in a way, the life of the party. my repartee is quicker than that of the others. i sing gayer songs and am jollier with the working girls who visit my brother's free home. but when i look at my stupid brother's quiet face and calm and strong bearing, and then realize my own shattered health and nerves and profound discontent, i know that my slow brother has been wiser than i. it has taken me many years on the rocky path to realize this truth. for by nature i am an ishmælite, that is, a man of impulse, and it is only lately that wisdom has been knocked into me. certainly i did not realize my fate when i was a kid of ten, filled with contempt for my virtuous and obscure family! i was overflowing with spirits and arrogance, and began to play "hooky" so often that i practically quit school about this time. it was then, too, that we moved again, this time to cherry street, to the wreck of my life. at the end of the block on which we lived was a corner saloon, the headquarters of a band of professional thieves. they were known as the old border gang, and among them were several very well-known and successful crooks. they used to pass our way regularly, and boys older than i (my boy companions always had the advantage of me in years) used to point the famous "guns" out to me. when i saw one of these great men pass, my young imagination was fired with the ambition to be as he was! with what eagerness we used to talk about "juggy," and the daring robbery he committed in brooklyn! how we went over again and again in conversation, the trick by which johnny the "grafter" had fooled the detective in the matter of the bonds! we would tell stories like these by the hour, and then go round to the corner, to try to get a look at some of the celebrities in the saloon. a splendid sight one of these swell grafters was, as he stood before the bar or smoked his cigar on the corner! well dressed, with clean linen collar and shirt, a diamond in his tie, an air of ease and leisure all about him, what a contrast he formed to the respectable hod-carrier or truckman or mechanic, with soiled clothes and no collar! and what a contrast was his dangerous life to that of the virtuous laborer! the result was that i grew to think the career of the grafter was the only one worth trying for. the real prizes of the world i knew nothing about. all that i saw of any interest to me was crooked, and so i began to pilfer right and left: there was nothing else for me to do. besides i loved to treat those older than myself. the theatre was a growing passion with me and i began to be very much interested in the baseball games. i used to go to the union grounds in brooklyn, where after the third inning, i could usually get admitted for fifteen cents, to see the old athletics or mutuals play. i needed money for these amusements, for myself and other boys, and i knew of practically only one way to get it. if we could not get the money at home, either by begging or stealing, we would tap tills, if possible, in the store of some relative; or tear brass off the steps in the halls of flats and sell it at junk shops. a little later, we used to go to grand street and steal shoes and women's dresses from the racks in the open stores, and pawn them. in the old seventh ward there used to be a good many silver plates on the doors of private houses. these we would take off with chisels and sell to metal dealers. we had great fun with a dutchman who kept a grocery store on cherry street. we used to steal his strawberries, and did not care whether he saw us or not. if he grabbed one of us, the rest of the gang would pelt him with stones until he let go, and then all run around the corner before the "copper" came into sight. all this time i grew steadily bolder and more desperate, and the day soon came when i took consequences very little into consideration. my father and mother sometimes learned of some exploit of mine, and a beating would be the result. i still got the blame for everything, as in school, and was sometimes punished unjustly. i was very sensitive and this would rankle in my soul for weeks, so that i stole harder than ever. and yet i think that there was some good in me. i was never cruel to any animals, except cats; for cats, i used to tie their tails together and throw them over a clothesline to dry. i liked dogs, horses, children and women, and have always been gentle to them. what i really was was a healthy young animal, with a vivid imagination and a strong body. i learned early to swim and fight and play base-ball. dime and nickel novels always seemed very tame to me; i found it much more exciting to hear true stories about the grafters at the corner saloon!--big men, with whom as yet i did not dare to speak; i could only stare at them with awe. i shall never forget the first time i ever saw a pickpocket at work. it was when i was about thirteen years old. a boy of my own age, zack, a great pal of mine, was with me. zack and i understood one another thoroughly and well knew how to get theatre money by petty pilfering, but of real graft we were as yet ignorant, although we had heard many stories about the operations of actual, professional thieves. we used to steal rides in the cars which ran to and from the grand street ferries; and run off with overcoats and satchels when we had a chance. one day we were standing on the rear platform when a woman boarded the car, and immediately behind her a gentlemanly looking man with a high hat. he was well-dressed and looked about thirty-five years old. as the lady entered the car, the man, who stayed outside on the platform, pulled his hand away from her side and with it came something from her pocket--a silk handkerchief. i was on the point of asking the woman if she had dropped something, when zack said to me, "mind your own business." the man, who had taken the pocket-book along with the silk handkerchief, seeing that we were "next," gave us the handkerchief and four dollars in ten and fifteen cent paper money ("stamps"). zack and i put our heads together. we were "wiser" than we had been half an hour before. we had learned our first practical lesson in the world of graft. we had seen a pickpocket at work, and there seemed to us no reason why we should not try the game ourselves. accordingly a day or two afterwards we arranged to pick our first pocket. we had, indeed, often taken money from the pockets of our relatives, but that was when the trousers hung in the closet or over a chair, and the owner was absent. this was the first time we had hunted in the open, so to speak; the first time our prey was really alive. it was an exciting occasion. zack and i, who were "wise," (that is, up to snuff) got several other boys to help us, though we did not tell them what was doing, for they "were not buried" yet, that is, "dead," or ignorant. we induced five or six of them to jump on and off the rear platform of a car, making as much noise and confusion as possible, so as to distract the attention of any "sucker" that might board. soon i saw a woman about to get on the car. my heart beat with excitement, and i signalled to zack that i would make the "touch." in those days women wore big sacques with pockets in the back, open, so that one could look in and see what was there. i took the silk handkerchief on the run, and with zack following, went up a side street and gloried under a lamp-post. in the corner of the handkerchief, tied up, were five two-dollar bills, and for weeks i was j. p. morgan. for a long time zack and i felt we were the biggest boys on the block. we boasted about our great "touch" to the older boys of eighteen or nineteen years of age who had pointed out to us the grafters at the corner saloon. they were not "in it" now. they even condescended to be treated to a drink by us. we spent the money recklessly, for we knew where we could get more. in this state of mind, soon after that, i met the "pick" whom we had seen at work. he had heard of our achievement and kindly "staked" us, and gave us a few private lessons in picking pockets. he saw that we were promising youngsters, and for the sake of the profession gave us a little of his valuable time. we were proud enough, to be taken notice of by this great man. we felt that we were rising in the world of graft, and began to wear collars and neckties. chapter ii. _my first fall._ for the next two years, until i was fifteen, i made a great deal of money at picking pockets, without getting into difficulties with the police. we operated, at that time, entirely upon women, and were consequently known technically as moll-buzzers--or "flies" that "buzz" about women. in those days, and for several years later, moll-buzzing, as well as picking pockets in general, was an easy and lucrative graft. women's dresses seemed to be arranged for our especial benefit; the back pocket, with its purse and silk handkerchief could be picked even by the rawest thief. it was in the days when every woman had to possess a fine silk handkerchief; even the bowery "cruisers" (street-walkers) carried them; and to those women we boys used to sell the handkerchiefs we had stolen, receiving as much as a dollar, or even two dollars, in exchange. it was a time, too, before the great department stores and delivery wagon systems, and shoppers were compelled to carry more money with them than they do now, and to take their purchases home themselves through the streets. very often before they reached their destination they had unconsciously delivered some of the goods to us. at that time, too, the wearing of valuable pins and stones, both by men and women, was more general than it is now. furthermore, the "graft" was younger. there were not so many in the business, and the system of police protection was not so good. altogether those were halcyon days for us. the fact that we were very young helped us particularly in this business, for a boy can get next to a woman in a car or on the street more easily than a man can. he is not so apt to arouse her suspicions; and if he is a handsome, innocent-looking boy, and clever, he can go far in this line of graft. he usually begins this business when he is about thirteen, and by the age of seventeen generally graduates into something higher. living off women, in any form, does not appeal very long to the imagination of the genuine grafter. yet i know thieves who continue to be moll-buzzers all their lives; and who are low enough to make their living entirely off poor working girls. the self-respecting grafter detests this kind; and, indeed, these buzzers never see prosperous days after their boyhood. the business grows more difficult as the thief grows older. he cannot approach his prey so readily, and grows shabbier with declining returns; and shabbiness makes it difficult for him to mix up in crowds where this kind of work is generally done. for several years we youngsters made a great deal of money at this line. we made a "touch" almost every day, and i suppose our "mob," composed of four or five lads who worked together, averaged three or four hundred dollars a week. we worked mainly on street cars at the ferry, and the amount of "technique" required for robbing women was very slight. two or three of us generally went together. one acted as the "dip," or "pick," and the other two as "stalls." the duty of the "stalls" was to distract the attention of the "sucker" or victim, or otherwise to hide the operations of the "dip". one stall would get directly in front of the woman to be robbed, the other directly behind her. if she were in such a position in the crowd as to render it hard for the "dip," or "wire" to make a "touch," one of the stalls might bump against her, and beg her pardon, while the dip made away with her "leather," or pocket-book. shortly before i was fifteen years old i was "let in" to another kind of graft. one day tim, zack and i were boasting of our earnings to an older boy, twenty years of age, whose name was pete. he grinned, and said he knew something better than moll-buzzing. then he told us about "shoving the queer" and got us next to a public truckman who supplied counterfeit bills. our method was to carry only one bad bill among several good ones, so that if we were collared we could maintain our innocence. we worked this as a "side-graft," for some time. pete and i used to go to mass on sunday morning, and put a bad five dollar bill in the collector's box, taking out four dollars and ninety cents in change, in good money. we irreverently called this proceeding "robbing the dago in rome." we use to pick "leathers," at the same time, from the women in the congregation. in those days i was very liberal in my religious views. i was not narrow, or bigoted. i attended grace church, in tenth street, regularly and was always well repaid. but after a while this lucrative graft came to an end, for the collector began to get "next". one day he said to me, "why don't you get your change outside? this is the fourth time you have given me a big bill." so we got "leary" (suspicious) and quit. with my big rosy cheeks and bright eyes and complexion i suppose i looked, in those days, very holy and innocent, and used to work this graft for all it was worth. i remember how, in church, i used tracts or the christian advocate as "stalls"; i would hand them to a lady as she entered the church, and, while doing so, pick her pocket. even at the early age of fifteen i began to understand that it was necessary to save money. if a thief wants to keep out of the "pen" or "stir," (penitentiary) capital is a necessity. the capital of a grafter is called "spring-money," for he may have to use it at any time in paying the lawyer who gets him off in case of an arrest, or in bribing the policeman or some other official. to "spring," is to escape from the clutches of the law. if a thief has not enough money to hire a "mouth-piece" (criminal lawyer) he is in a bad way. he is greatly handicapped, and can not "jump out" (steal) with any boldness. but i always had great difficulty in saving "fall-money," (the same as spring-money; that is money to be used in case of a "fall," or arrest). my temperament was at fault. when i had a few hundred dollars saved up i began to be troubled, not from a guilty conscience, but because i could not stand prosperity. the money burned a hole in my pocket. i was fond of all sorts of amusements, of "treating," and of clothes. indeed, i was very much of a dude; and this for two reasons. in the first place i was naturally vain, and liked to make a good appearance. a still more substantial reason was that a good personal appearance is part of the capital of a grafter, particularly of a pickpocket. the world thinks that a thief is a dirty, disreputable looking object, next door to a tramp in appearance. but this idea is far from being true. every grafter of any standing in the profession is very careful about his clothes. he is always neat, clean, and as fashionable as his income will permit. otherwise he would not be permitted to attend large political gatherings, to sit on the platform, for instance, and would be handicapped generally in his crooked dealings with mankind. no advice to young men is more common in respectable society than to dress well. if you look prosperous the world will treat you with consideration. this applies with even greater force to the thief. keep up a "front" is the universal law of success, applicable to all grades of society. the first thing a grafter is apt to say to a pal whom he has not seen for a long time is, "you are looking good," meaning that his friend is well-dressed. it is sure flattery, and if a grafter wants to make a borrow he is practically certain of opening the negotiations with the stereotyped phrase: "you are looking good;" for the only time you can get anything off a grafter is when you can make him think you are prosperous. but the great reason why i never saved much "fall-money" was not "booze," or theatres, or clothes. "look for the woman" is a phrase, i believe, in good society; and it certainly explains a great deal of a thief's misfortunes. long before i did anything in graftdom but petty pilfering, i had begun to go with the little girls in the neighborhood. at that time they had no attraction for me, but i heard older boys say that it was a manly thing to lead girls astray, and i was ambitious to be not only a good thief, but a hard case generally. when i was nine or ten years old i liked to boast of the conquests i had made among little working girls of fourteen or fifteen. we used to meet in the hall-ways of tenement houses, or at their homes, but there was no sentiment in the relations between us, at least on my part. my only pleasure in it was the delight of telling about it to my young companions. when i was twelve years old i met a little girl for whom i had a somewhat different feeling. nellie was a pretty, blue-eyed little creature, or "tid-bit," as we used to say, who lived near my home on cherry street. i used to take her over on the ferry for a ride, or treat her to ice-cream; and we were really chums; but when i began to make money i lost my interest in her; partly, too, because at that time i made the acquaintance of a married woman of about twenty-five years old. she discovered me one day in the hallway with nellie, and threatened to tell the holy brother on us if i didn't fetch her a pint of beer. i took the beer to her room, and that began a relationship of perhaps a year. she used to stake me to a part of the money her husband, a workingman, brought her every saturday night. although the girls meant very little to me until several years later, i nevertheless began when i was about fifteen to spend a great deal of money on them. it was the thing to do, and i did it with a good grace. i used to take all kinds of working girls to the balls in walhalla hall in orchard street; or in pythagoras, or beethoven halls, where many pretty little german girls of respectable families used to dance on saturday nights. it was my pride to buy them things--clothes, pins, and to take them on excursions; for was i not a rising "gun," with money in my pocket? money, however, that went as easily as it had come. perhaps if i had been able to save money at that time i might not have fallen (that is, been arrested) so early. my first fall came, however, when i was fifteen years old; and if i was not a confirmed thief already, i certainly was one by the time i left the tombs, where i stayed ten days. it happened this way. zack and i were grafting, buzzing molls, with a pal named jack, who afterwards became a famous burglar. he had just escaped from the catholic protectory, and told us his troubles. instead of being alarmed, however, i grew bolder, for if jack could "beat" the "proteck" in three months, i argued i could do it in twenty-four hours. we three ripped things open for some time; but one day we were grafting on sixth avenue, just below twentieth street, when i fell for a "leather." the "sucker," a good-looking moll was coming up the avenue. her "book," which looked fat, was sticking out of her skirt. i, who was the "wire," gave jack and zack the tip (thief's cough), and they stalled, one in front, one behind. the girl did not "blow" (take alarm) and i got hold of the leather easily. it looked like a get-away, for no one on the sidewalk saw us. but as bad luck would have it, a negro coachman, standing in the street by the pavement, got next, and said to me, "what are you doing there?" i replied, "shut up, and i'll give you two dollars." but he caught hold of me and shouted for the police. i passed the leather to jack, who "vamoosed." zack hit the negro in the face and i ran up seventh avenue, but was caught by a flyman (policeman), and taken to the station house. on the way to the police station i cried bitterly, for, after all, i was only a boy. i realized for the first time that the way of the transgressor is hard. it was in the afternoon, and i spent the time until next morning at ten, when i was to appear before the magistrate, in a cell in the station-house, in the company of an old grafter. in the adjoining cells were drunkards, street-walkers and thieves who had been "lined up" for the night, and i spent the long hours in crying and in listening to their indecent songs and jokes. the old grafter called to one of the tenderloin girls that he had a kid with him who was arrested for moll-buzzing. at this they all expressed their sympathy with me by saying that i would either be imprisoned for life or be hanged. they got me to sing a song, and i convinced them that i was tough. in the morning i was arraigned in the police court. as there was no stolen property on me, and as the sucker was not there to make a complaint, i was "settled" for assault only, and sent to the tombs for ten days. my experience in the tombs may fairly be called, i think, the turning point of my life. it was there that i met "de mob". i learned new tricks in the tombs; and more than that, i began definitely to look upon myself as a criminal. the tombs of twenty years ago was even less cheerful than it is at present. the boys' prison faced the women's prison, and between these two was the place where those sentenced to death were hanged. the boys knew when an execution was to take place, and we used to talk it over among ourselves. one man was hanged while i was there; and if anybody thinks that knowledge of such things helps to make boys seek the path of virtue, let him go forth into the world and learn something about human nature. on my arrival in the tombs, mrs. hill, the matron, had me searched for tobacco, knives or matches, all of which were contraband; then i was given a bath and sent into the corridor of the cells where there were about twenty-five other boys, confined for various crimes, ranging from petty larceny to offenses of the gravest kind. on the second day i met two young "dips" and we exchanged our experiences in the world of graft. i received my first lesson in the art of "banging a super," that is, stealing a watch by breaking the ring with the thumb and forefinger, and thus detaching it from the chain. they were two of the best of the sixth ward pickpockets, and we made a date to meet "on the outside." indeed, it was not many weeks after my release before i could "bang a super," or get a man's "front" (watch and chain) as easily as i could relieve a moll of her "leather". as i look back upon the food these young boys received in the tombs, it seems to me of the worst. breakfast consisted of a chunk of poor bread and a cup of coffee made of burnt bread crust. at dinner we had soup (they said, at least, there was meat in it), bread and water; and supper was the same as breakfast. but we had one consolation. when we went to divine service we generally returned happy; not because of what the good priest said, but because we were almost sure of getting tobacco from the women inmates. certainly the gerry society has its faults; but since its organization young boys who have gone wrong but are not yet entirely hardened, have a much better show to become good citizens than they used to have. that society did not exist in my day; but i know a good deal about it, and i am convinced that it does a world of good; for, at least, when it takes children into its charge it does not surround them with an atmosphere of social crime. while in the tombs i experienced my first disillusionment as to the honor of thieves. i was an impulsive, imaginative boy, and that a pal could go back on me never seemed possible. many of my subsequent misfortunes were due to the treachery of my companions. i have learned to distrust everybody, but as a boy of fifteen i was green, and so the treachery i shall relate left a sore spot in my soul. it happened this way. on a may day, about two months before i was arrested, two other boys and i had entered the basement of a house where the people were moving, had made away with some silverware, and sold it to a christian woman in the neighborhood for one twentieth of its value. when i had nearly served my ten days' sentence for assault, my two pals were arrested and "squealed" on me. i was confronted with them in the tombs. at first i was mighty glad to see them, but when i found they had "squealed," i set my teeth and denied all knowledge of the "touch." i protested my innocence so violently that the police thought the other boys were merely seeking a scape-goat. they got twenty days and my term expired forty-eight hours afterwards. the silverware i stole that may morning is now an heirloom in the family of the christian woman to whom i sold it so cheap. if i had always been as earnest a liar as i was on that occasion in the tombs i might never have gone to "stir" (penitentiary); but i grew more indifferent and desperate as time went on; and, in a way, more honest, more sincerely a criminal: i hardly felt like denying it. i know some thieves who, although they have grafted for twenty-five years, have not yet "done time"; some of them escaped because they knew how to throw the innocent "con" so well. take tim, for instance. tim and i grafted together as boys. he was not a very skilful pickpocket, and he often was on the point of arrest; but he had a talent for innocence, and the indignation act he would put up would melt a heart of stone. he has, consequently, never been in stir, while i, a much better thief, have spent half of my adult life there. that was partly because i felt, when i had once made a touch, that the property belonged to me. on one occasion i had robbed a "bloke" of his "red super" (gold watch), and made away with it all right, when i carelessly dropped it on the sidewalk. a crowd had gathered about, and no man really in his right mind, would have picked up that super. but i did it, and was nailed dead to rights by a "cop." some time afterwards a pal asked me why the deuce i had been so foolish. "didn't the super belong to me," i replied, indignantly. "hadn't i earned it?" i was too honest a thief. that was one of my weaknesses. chapter iii. _mixed-ale life in the fourth and seventh wards._ for a time--a short time--after i left the tombs i was quiet. my relatives threw the gallows "con" into me hard, but at that time i was proof against any arguments they could muster. they were not able to show me anything that was worth while; they could not deliver the goods, so what was the use of talking? although i was a disgrace at home, i was high cock-a-lorum among the boys in the neighborhood. they began to look up to me, as i had looked up to the grafters at the corner saloon. they admired me because i was a fighter and had "done time." i went up in their estimation because i had suffered in the good cause. and i began to get introductions to the older grafters in the seventh ward--grafters with diamond pins and silk hats. it was not long before i was at it harder than ever, uptown and downtown. i not only continued my trade as moll-buzzer, but began to spread myself, got to be quite an adept in touching men for vests and supers and fronts; and every now and then "shoved the queer" or worked a little game of swindling. our stamping-ground for supers and vests at that time was fulton, nassau, lower broadway and wall streets, and we covered our territory well. i used to work alone considerably. i would board a car with a couple of newspapers, would say, "news, boss?" to some man sitting down, would shove the paper in front of his face as a stall, and then pick his super or even his entire "front" (watch and chain). if you will stand for a newspaper under your chin i can get even your socks. many is the "gent" i have left in the car with his vest entirely unbuttoned and his "front" gone. when i couldn't get the chain, i would snap the ring of the watch with my thumb and fore-finger, giving the thief's cough to drown the slight noise made by the breaking ring, and get away with the watch, leaving the chain dangling. instead of a newspaper, i would often use an overcoat as a stall. it was only when i was on the "hurry-up," however, that i worked alone. it is more dangerous than working with a mob, but if i needed a dollar quick i'd take any risk. i'd jump on a car, and tackle the first sucker i saw. if i thought it was not diplomatic to try for the "front," and if there was no stone in sight, i'd content myself with the "clock" (watch). but it was safer and more sociable to work with other guys. we usually went in mobs of three or four, and our methods were much more complicated than when we were simply moll-buzzing. each thief had his special part to play, and his duty varied with the position of the sucker and the pocket the "leather" was in. if the sucker was standing in the car, my stall would frequently stand right in front, facing him, while i would put my hand under the stall's arm and pick the sucker's leather or super. the other stalls would be distracting the attention of the sucker, or looking out for possible interruptions. when i had got possession of the leather i would pass it quickly to the stall behind me, and he would "vamoose." sometimes i would back up to the victim, put my hand behind me, break his ring and pick the super, or i would face his back, reach round, unbutton his vest while a pal stalled in front with a newspaper, a bunch of flowers, a fan, or an overcoat, and get away with his entire front. a dip, as i have said, pays special attention to his personal appearance; it is his stock in trade; but when i began to meet boys who had risen above the grade of moll-buzzers, i found that the dip, as opposed to other grafters, had many other advantages, too. he combines pleasure and instruction with business, for he goes to the foot-ball games, the new london races, to swell theatres where the graft is good, and to lectures. i have often listened to bob ingersoll, the greatest orator, in my opinion, that ever lived. i enjoyed his talk so much that i sometimes forgot to graft. but as a general rule, i was able to combine instruction with business. i very seldom dropped a red super because of an oratorical flourish; but the supers did not come my way all the time, i had some waiting to do, and in the meantime i improved my mind. then a dip travels, too, more than most grafters; he jumps out to fairs and large gatherings of all descriptions, and grows to be a man of the world. when in the city he visits the best dance halls, and is popular because of his good clothes, his dough, and his general information, with men as well as women. he generally lives with a moll who has seen the world, and who can add to his fund of information. i know a dip who could not read or write until he met a moll, who gave him a general education and taught him to avoid things that interfered with his line of graft; she also took care of his personal appearance, and equipped him generally for an a no. pickpocket. women are much the same, i believe, in every rank of life. it was at this time, when i was a kid of fifteen, that i first met sheenie annie, who was a famous shop-lifter. she was twenty-one years old, and used to give me good advice. "keep away from heavy workers," (burglars) she would say; "there is a big bit in that." she had lived in graftdom ever since she was a tid-bit, and she knew what she was talking about. i did not work with her until several years later, but i might as well tell her sad story now. i may say, as a kind of preface, that i have always liked the girl grafter who could take care of herself instead of sucking the blood out of some man. when i find a little working girl who has no other ambition than to get a little home together, with a little knick-knack on the wall, a little husband and a little child, i don't care for her. she is a nonentity. but such was not sheenie annie, who was a bright, intelligent, ambitious, girl; when she liked a fellow she would do anything for him, but otherwise she wouldn't let a man come near her. the little jewish lassie, named annie, was born in the toughest part of new york. later on, as she advanced in years and became an expert pilferer, she was given the nickname of "sheenie." she was brought up on the street, surrounded by thieves and prostitutes. her only education was what she received during a year or two in the public school. she lived near grand street, then a popular shopping district. as a very little girl she and a friend used to visit the drygoods stores and steal any little notion they could. there was a crowd of young pickpockets in her street, and she soon got on to this graft, and became so skilful at it that older guns of both sexes were eager to take her under their tuition and finish her education. the first time i met her was in a well-known dance-hall--billy mcglory's--and we became friends at once, for she was a good girl and full of mischief. she was not pretty, exactly, but she was passable. she was small, with thick lips, plump, had good teeth and eyes as fine and piercing as any i ever saw in man or woman. she dressed well and was a good talker, as nimble-witted and as good a judge of human nature as i ever met in her sex. sheenie annie's graft broadened, and from dipping and small shop-lifting she rose to a position where she doubled up with a mob of clever hotel workers, and made large amounts of money. here was a girl from the lowest stratum of life, not pretty or well shaped, but whom men admired because of her wit and cleverness. a big contractor in philadelphia was her friend for years. i have seen letters from him offering to marry her. but she had something better. for she was an artist at "penny-weighting" and "hoisting." the police admitted that she was unusually clever at these two grafts, and they treated her with every consideration. penny-weighting is a very "slick" graft. it is generally worked in pairs, by either sex or both sexes. a man, for instance, enters a jewelry store and looks at some diamond rings on a tray. he prices them and notes the costly ones. then he goes to a fauny shop (imitation jewelry) and buys a few diamonds which match the real ones he has noted. then he and his pal, usually a woman, enter the jewelry store and ask to see the rings. through some little "con" they distract the jeweler's attention, and then one of them (and at this sheenie annie was particularly good) substitutes the bogus diamonds for the good ones; and leaves the store without making a purchase. i can give an example of how sheenie annie "hoisted," from my own experience with her. on one occasion, when i was about eighteen years old, sheenie and i were on a racket together. we had been "going it" for several days and needed some dough. we went into a large tailoring establishment, where i tried on some clothes, as a stall. nothing suited me.--i took good care of that--but in the meantime annie had taken two costly overcoats, folded them into flat bundles, and, raising her skirt quickly, had hidden the overcoats between her legs. we left the store together. she walked so straight that i thought she had got nothing, but when we entered a saloon a block away, and the swag was produced, i was forced to laugh. we "fenced" the overcoats and with the proceeds continued our spree. once sheenie "fell" at this line of graft. she had stolen some costly sealskins from a well-known furrier, and had got away with them. but on her third visit to the place she came to grief. she was going out with a sealskin coat under her skirt when the office-boy, who was skylarking about, ran into her, and upset her. when the salesman, who had gone to her rescue, lifted her up, she lost her grip on the sealskin sacque, and it fell to the floor. it was a "blow," of course, and she got nailed, but as she had plenty of fall-money, and a well-known politician dead to rights, she only got nine months in the penitentiary. sheenie annie was such a good shop-lifter that, with only an umbrella as a stall, she could make more money in a week than a poor needle-woman could earn in months. but she did not care for the money. she was a good fellow, and was in for fun. she was "wise," too, and i liked to talk to her, for she understood what i said, and was up to snuff, which was very piquant to me. she had done most of the grafts that i had done myself, and her tips were always valuable. to show what a good fellow she was, her sweetheart, jack, and another burglar named jerry were doing night work once, when they were unlucky enough to be nailed. sheenie annie went on the stand and swore perjury in order to save jack. he got a year, but jerry, who had committed the same crime, got six. while he was in prison annie visited him and put up a plan by which he escaped, but he would not leave new york with her, and was caught and returned to "stir." annie herself fell in half a dozen cities, but never received more than a few months. after i was released from serving my second bit in the "pen," i heard annie had died insane. an old girl pal of hers told me that she had died a horrible death, and that her last words were about her old friends and companions. her disease was that which attacks only people with brains. she died of paresis. two other girls whom i knew when i was fifteen turned out to be famous shop-lifters--big lena and blonde mamie, who afterwards married tommy, the famous cracksman. they began to graft when they were about fourteen, and mamie and i used to work together. i was mamie's first "fellow," and we had royal good times together. lena, poor girl, is now doing five years in london, but she was one of the most cheerful molls i ever knew. i met her and mamie for the first time one day as they were coming out of an oyster house on grand street. i thought they were good-looking tid-bits, and took them to a picnic. we were so late that instead of going home mamie and i spent the night at the house of lena's sister, whose husband was a receiver of stolen goods, or "fence," as it is popularly called. in the morning lena, mamie and i made our first "touch" together. we got a few "books" uptown, and mamie banged a satchel at sterns. after that we often jumped out together, and took in the excursions. sometimes mamie or lena would dip and i would stall, but more frequently i was the pick. we used to turn our swag over to lena's sister's husband, max, who would give us about one-sixth of its value. these three girls certainly were a crack-a-jack trio. you can't find their likes nowadays. even in my time most of the girls i knew did not amount to anything. they generally married, or did worse. there were few legitimate grafters among them. since i have been back this time i have seen a great many of the old picks and night-workers i used to know. they tell the same story. there are no molls now who can compare with big lena, blonde mamie, and sheenie annie. times are bad, anyway. after my experience in the tombs i rose very rapidly in the world of graft, and distanced my old companions. zack, the lad with whom i had touched my first moll, soon seemed very tame to me. i fell away from him because he continued to eat bolivers (cookies), patronize the free baths, and stole horse-blankets and other trivial things when he could not get "leathers." he was not fast enough for me. zack "got there," nevertheless, and for little or nothing, for several years later i met him in state's prison. he told me he was going to colorado on his release. i again met him in prison on my second bit. he was then going to chicago. on my third hit i ran up against the same old jail-bird, but this time his destination was boston. to-day he is still in prison. as i fell away from the softies i naturally joined hands with more ambitious grafters, and with those with brains and with good connections in the upper world. as a lad of from fifteen to eighteen i associated with several boys who are now famous politicians in this city, and "on the level," as that phrase is usually meant. jack lawrence was a well-educated boy, and high up as far as his family was concerned. his father and brothers held good political positions, and it was only a taste for booze and for less genteel grafting that held jack back. as a boy of sixteen or seventeen he was the trusted messenger of a well-known republican politician, named j. i. d. one of jacks pals became a federal judge, and another, mr. d----, who was never a grafter, is at present a city magistrate in new york. while jack was working for j. i. d., the politician, he was arrested several times. once he abstracted a large amount of money from the vest pocket of a broker as he was standing by the old _herald_ building. he was nailed, and sent word to his employer, the politician, who went to police headquarters, highly indignant at the arrest of his trusted messenger. he easily convinced the broker and the magistrate that jack was innocent; and as far as the republican politician's business was concerned, jack was honest, for j. i. d. trusted him, and jack never deceived him. there are some thieves who will not "touch" those who place confidence in them, and jack was one of them. after he was released, the following conversation, which jack related to me, took place between him and the politician, in the latter's office. "how was it?" the big one said, "that you happened to get your fingers into that man's pocket?" jack gave the "innocent con." "none of that," said j. i. d., who was a wise guy, "i know you have a habit of taking small change from strangers' pockets." jack then came off his perch and gave his patron a lesson in the art of throwing the mit (dipping). at this the politician grinned, and remarked: "you will either become a reputable politician, for you have the requisite character, or you will die young." jack was feared, hated and envied by the other young fellows in j. i. d.'s office, for as he was such a thorough rascal, he was a great favorite with those high up. but he never got j. i. d.'s full confidence until after he was tested in the following way. one day the politician put his gold watch on a table in his office. jack saw it, picked it up and put it in the big one's drawer. the latter entered the room, saw that the watch was gone, and said: "i forgot my watch. i must have left it home." "no," said jack, "you left it on the table, and i put it in your desk." a smile spread over the patron's face. "jack, i can trust you. i put it there just to test your honesty." the boy hesitated a moment, then, looking into the man's face, replied; "i know right well you did, for you are a wise guy." after that j. i. d. trusted jack even with his love affairs. as jack advanced in life he became an expert "gun," and was often nailed, and frequently brought before magistrate d----, his old friend. he always got the benefit of the doubt. one day he was arraigned before the magistrate, who asked the flyman the nature of the complaint. it was the same as usual--dipping. jack, of course, was indignant at such an awful accusation, but the magistrate told him to keep still, and, turning to the policeman, asked the culprit's name. when the copper told him, the magistrate exclaimed: "why, that is not his name. i knew him twenty years ago, and he was a d---- rascal then; but that was not his name." jack was shocked at such language from the bench, and swore with such vehemence that he was innocent, that he again got the benefit of the doubt, and was discharged, and this time justly, for he had not made this particular "touch." he was hounded by a copper looking for a reputation. jack, when he was set free, turned to the magistrate, and said: "your honor, i thank you, but you only did your duty to an innocent man." the magistrate had a good laugh, and remarked: "jack, i wouldn't believe you if you swore on a stack of bibles." a curious trait in a professional grafter is that, if he is "pinched" for something he did not do, although he has done a hundred other things for which he has never been pinched, he will put up such a wail against the abominable injustice that an honest man accused of the same offense would seem guilty in comparison. the honest man, even if he had the ability of a philadelphia lawyer, could not do the strong indignation act that is characteristic of the unjustly accused grafter. old thieves guilty of a thousand crimes will nourish revenge for years against the copper or judge who sends them up to "stir" on a false accusation. when i was from fifteen to seventeen years old, i met the man who, some think, is now practically leader of tammany hall. i will call him senator wet coin. at that time he was a boy eighteen or nineteen and strictly on the level. he knew all the grafters well, but kept off the rocky path himself. in those days he "hung out" in an oyster shanty and ran a paper stand. it is said he materially assisted mr. pulitzer in making a success of the _world_, when that paper was started. he never drank, in spite of the name i have given him. in fact, he derived his real nickname from his habit of abstinence. he was the friend of a bowery girl who is now a well-known actress. she, too, was always on the level in every way; although her brother was a grafter; this case, and that of senator wet coin prove that even in an environment of thieves it is possible to tread the path of virtue. wet coin would not even buy a stolen article; and his reward was great. he became captain of his election district, ran for assemblyman, was elected, and got as high a position, with the exception of that of governor, as is possible in the state; while in the city, probably no man is more powerful. senator wet coin made no pretensions to virtue; he never claimed to be better than others. but in spite of the accusations against him, he has done far more for the public good than all the professional reformers, religious and other. he took many noted and professional criminals in the prime of their success, gave them positions and by his influence kept them honest ever since. some of them are high up, even run gin-mills to-day. i met one of them after my second bit, who used to make his thousands. now he has a salary of eighteen dollars a week and is contented. i had known him in the old days, and he asked: "what are you doing?" "the same old thing," i admitted. "what are you up to?" "i have squared it, jim," he replied earnestly. "there's nothing in the graft. why don't you go to sea?" "i'd as lief go to stir," i replied. we had a couple of beers and a long talk, and this is the way he gave it to me: "i never thought i could live on eighteen dollars a week. i have to work hard but i save more money than i did when i was making hundreds a week; for when it comes hard, it does not go easy. i look twice at my earnings before i part with them. i live quietly with my sister and am happy. there's nothing in the other thing, jim. look at hope. look at dan noble. look at all the other noted grafters who stole millions and now are willing to throw the brotherly hand for a small borrow. if i had the chance to make thousands to-morrow in the under world, i would not chance it. i am happy. better still, i am contented. only for mr. wet coin i'd be splitting matches in the stir these many years. show me the reformer who has done as much for friends and the public as wet coin." * * * * * a "touch" that pleased me mightily as a kid was made just before my second fall. superintendent walling had returned from a summer resort, and found that a mob of "knucks" (another name for pick-pockets) had been "tearing open" the third avenue cars outside of the post office. about fifty complaints had been coming in every day for several weeks; and the superintendent thought he would make a personal investigation and get one of the thieves dead to rights. he made a front that he was easy and went down the line. he did not catch any dips, but when he reached police head-quarters he was minus his gold watch and two hundred and fifty dollars in money. the story leaked out, and superintendent walling was unhappy. there would never have been a come-back for this "touch" if an old gun, who had just been nailed, had not "squealed" as to who touched the boss. "little mick" had done it, and the result was that he got his first experience in the house of refuge. it was only a short time after little mick's fall that it came my turn to go to the house of refuge. i had grown tougher and much stuck on myself and was taking bigger risks. i certainly had a swelled head in those days. i was seventeen years old at the time, and was grafting with jack t----, who is now in byrnes's book, and one of the swellest "peter" men (safe-blowers) in the profession. jack and i, along with another pal, joe quigley, got a duffer, an englishman, for his "front," on grand street, near broadway. it was a "blow," and i, who was the "wire," got nailed. if i had not given my age as fifteen i should have been sent to the penitentiary. as it was i went to the house of refuge for a year. joe quigley slipped up on the same game. he was twenty, but gave his age as fifteen. he had had a good shave by the tombs barber, there was a false date of birth written in his aunt's bible, which was produced in court by his lawyer, and he would probably have gone with me to the house of refuge, had not a central office man who knew him, happened in; joe was settled for four years in sing sing. when i arrived at the house of refuge, my pedigree was taken and my hair clipped. then i went into the yard, looked down the line of boys on parade and saw about forty young grafters whom i knew. one of them is now a policeman in new york city, and, moreover, on the level. some others, too, but not many, who were then in the house of refuge, are now honest. several are running big saloons and are captains of their election districts, or even higher up. these men are exceptions, however, for certainly the house of refuge was a school for crime. unspeakably bad habits were contracted there. the older boys wrecked the younger ones, who, comparatively innocent, confined for the crime of being orphans, came in contact with others entirely hardened. the day time was spent in the school and the shop, but there was an hour or two for play, and the boys would arrange to meet for mischief in the basement. severe punishments were given to lads of fifteen, and their tasks were harder than those inflicted in state's prison. we had to make twenty-four pairs of overalls every day; and if we did not do our work we were beaten on an unprotected and tender spot until we promised to do our task. one morning i was made to cross my hands, and was given fifteen blows on the palms with a heavy rattan stick. the crime i had committed was inattention. the principal had been preaching about the prodigal son. i, having heard it before, paid little heed; particularly as i was a catholic, and his teachings did not count for me. they called me a "papist," and beat me, as i described. i say without hesitation that lads sent to an institution like the house of refuge, the catholic protectory, or the juvenile asylum, might better be taken out and shot. they learn things there they could not learn even in the streets. the newsboy's life is pure in comparison. as for me, i grew far more desperate there than i had been before: and i was far from being one of the most innocent of boys. many of the others had more to learn than i had, and they learned it. but even i, hard as i already was, acquired much fresh information about vice and crime; and gathered in more pointers about the technique of graft. chapter iv. _when the graft was good._ i stayed in the house of refuge until i was eighteen, and when released, went through a short period of reform. i "lasted," i think, nearly three weeks, and then started in to graft again harder than ever. the old itch for excitement, for theatres, balls and gambling, made reform impossible. i had already formed strong habits and desires which could not be satisfied in my environment without stealing. i was rapidly becoming a confirmed criminal. i began to do "house-work," which was mainly sneak work up town. we would catch a basement open in the day time, and rummage for silverware, money or jewels. there is only a step from this to the business of the genuine burglar, who operates in the night time, and whose occupation is far more dangerous than that of the sneak thief. however, at this intermediate kind of graft, our swag, for eighteen months, was considerable. one of our methods was to take servant girls to balls and picnics and get them to tip us off to where the goods were and the best way to get them. sometimes they were guilty, more often merely suckers. during the next three years, at the expiration of which i made my first trip to sing sing, i stole a great deal of money and lived very high. i contracted more bad habits, practically ceased to see my family at all, lived in a furnished room and "hung out" in the evening at some dance-hall, such as billy mcglory's old armory, george doe's or "the" allen's. sheenie annie was my sweetheart at this period, and after we had made a good touch what times we would have at coney island or at billy mcglory's! saturday nights in the summer time a mob of three or four of us, grafters and girls, would go to the island and stop at a hotel run by an ex-gun. at two or three o'clock in the morning we'd all leave the hotel, with nothing on but a quilt, and go in swimming together. sheenie annie, blonde mamie and big lena often went with us. at other times we took respectable shop-girls, or even women who belonged to a still lower class. what boy with an ounce of thick blood in his body could refuse to go with a girl to the island? and billy mcglory's! what times we had there, on dear old saturday nights! at this place, which contained a bar-room, dance-room, pool-room and a piano, congregated downtown guns, house-men and thieves of both sexes. no rag-time was danced in those days, but early in the morning we had plenty of the cancan. the riots that took place there would put to shame anything that goes on now.[a] i never knew the town so tight-shut as it is at present. it is far better, from a moral point of view than it has ever been before; at least, in my recollection. "the" allen's was in those days a grade more decent than mcglory's; for at "the's" nobody who did not wear a collar and coat was admitted. i remember a pal of mine who met a society lady on a slumming expedition with a reporter. it was at mcglory's. the lady looked upon the grafter she had met as a novelty. the grafter looked upon the lady in the same way, but consented to write her an article on the bowery. he sent her the following composition, which he showed to me first, and allowed me to copy it. i always did like freaks. i won't put in the bad grammar and spelling, but the rest is: "while strolling, after the midnight hour, along the lane, that historic thoroughfare sometimes called the bowery, i dropped into a concert hall. at a glance, i saw men who worked hard during the week and needed a little recreation. near them were their sisters (that is, if we all belong to the same human family), who had fallen by the wayside. a man was trying to play a popular song on a squeaky piano, while another gent tried to sing the first part of the song, when the whole place joined in the chorus with a zest. i think the song was most appropriate. it was a ditty of the slums entitled, 'dear old saturday night.'" when i was about nineteen i took another and important step in the world of graft. one night i met a couple of swell grafters, one of whom is at the present time a pinkerton detective. they took me to the haymarket, where i met a crowd of guns who were making barrels of money. two of them, dutch lonzo and charlie allen, became my friends, and introduced me to mr. r----, who has often kept me out of prison. he was a go-between, a lawyer, and well-known to all good crooks. if we "fell" we had to notify him and he would set the underground wires working, with the result that our fall money would need replenishing badly, but that we'd escape the stir. that i was not convicted again for three years was entirely due to my fall money and to the cleverness of mr. r----. besides these expenses, which i considered legitimate, i used to get "shaken down" regularly by the police and detectives. the following is a typical case: i was standing one day on the corner of grand street and the bowery when a copper who knew me came up and said: "there's a lot of knocking (complaining) going on about the grand street cars being torn open. the old man (the chief) won't stand for it much longer." "it wasn't me," i said. "well, it was one of the gang," he replied, "and i will have to make an arrest soon, or take some one to headquarters for his mug," (that is, to have his picture taken for the rogues' gallery). i knew what that meant, and so i gave him a twenty dollar bill. but i was young and often objected to these exorbitant demands. more than anybody else a thief hates to be "touched," for he despises the sucker on whom he lives. and we were certainly touched with great regularity by the coppers. still, we really had nothing to complain of in those days, for we made plenty of money and had a good time. we even used to buy our collars, cuffs and gloves cheap from grafters who made it their business to steal those articles. they were cheap guns,--pipe fiends, petty larceny thieves and shop-lifters--but they helped to make our path smoother. after i met the haymarket grafter i used to jump out to neighboring cities on very profitable business. a good graft was to work the fairs at danbury, waverly, philadelphia and pittsburg, and the foot-ball games at princeton. i always travelled with three or four others, and went for gatherings where we knew we would find "roofers," or country gentlemen. on my very first jump-out i got a fall, but the copper was open to reason. dutch lonzo and charlie allen, splendid pickpockets, (i always went with good thieves, for i had become a first-class dip and had a good personal appearance) were working with me in newark, where vice-president hendricks was to speak. i picked a watch in the crowd, and was nailed. but dutch lonzo, who had the gift of gab better than any man i ever met, took the copper into a saloon. we all had a drink, and for twenty-five dollars i escaped even the station-house. unfortunately, however, i was compelled to return the watch; for the copper had to "square" the sucker. then the copper said to dutch lonzo, whom he knew: "go back and graft, if you want, but be sure to look me up." in an hour or two we got enough touches to do us for two weeks. senator wet coin was at this speech with about two hundred tammany braves, and we picked so many pockets that a newspaper the next day said there must have been at least one hundred and ninety-nine pickpockets in the tammany delegation. we fell quite often on these trips, but we were always willing to help the coppers pay for their lower flats. i sometimes objected because of their exorbitant demands, but i was still young. i knew that longshoremen did harder work for less pay than the coppers, and i thought, therefore, that the latter were too eager to make money on a sure-thing graft. and i always hated a sure-thing graft. but didn't we strike it rich in connecticut! whether the people of that state suffer from partial paralysis or not i don't know, but certainly if all states were as easy as connecticut the guns would set up as vanderbilts. i never even got a tumble in connecticut. i ripped up the fairs in every direction, and took every chance. the inhabitants were so easy that we treated them with contempt. after a long trip in connecticut i nearly fell on my return, i was that raw. we were breech-getting (picking men's pockets) in the brooklyn cars. i was stalling in front, lonzo was behind and charlie was the pick. lonzo telephoned to me by gestures that charlie had hold of the leather, but it wouldn't come. i was hanging on a strap, and, pretending to slip, brought my hand down heavily on the sucker's hat, which went over his ears. the leather came, was slipped to me, lonzo apologized for spoiling the hat and offered the sucker a five dollar bill, which he politely refused. now that was rough work, and we would not have done it, had we not been travelling so long among the reubs in connecticut. we could have made our gets all right, but we were so confident and delayed so long that the sucker blew before we left the car, and lonzo and charlie were nailed, and the next morning arraigned. in the meantime, however, we had started the wires working, and notified mr. r.---- and lonzo's wife to "fix" things in brooklyn. the reliable attorney got a bondsman, and two friends of his "fixed" the cops, who made no complaint. lonzo's wife, an irishwoman and a handsome grafter, had just finished a five year bit in london. it cost us six hundred dollars to "fix" that case, and there was only two hundred and fifty dollars in the leather. that made lonzo's wife exceedingly angry. "good lord," she said. "there's panthers for you in new york! there's the blokes that shakes you down too heavy. i'd want an unlimited cheque on the bank of england if you ever fell again." a little philosophy on the same subject was given me one day by an english moll, who had fallen up-state and had to "give up" heavily. "i've been in a good many cities and 'amlets in this country," said she, "but gad! blind me if i ever want to fall in an 'amlet in this blooming state again. the new york police are at least a little sensible at times, but when these rufus's up the state get a yorker or a wise guy, they'll strip him down to his socks. one of these voracious country coppers who sing sweet hymns in jail is a more successful gun than them that hit the rocky path and take brash to get the long green. it is only the grafter that is supposed to protect the people who makes a success of it. the hypocritical mouthings of these people just suit the size of their bibles." lonzo and i, and patsy, a grafter i had picked up about this time, made several fat trips to philadelphia. at first we were leary of the department stores, there had been so many "hollers," and worked the "rattlers" (cars) only. we were told by some local guns that we could not "last" twenty-four hours in philadelphia without protection, but that was not our experience. we went easy for a time, but the chances were too good, and we began voraciously to tear open the department stores, the churches and the theatres; and without a fall. whenever anybody mentioned the fly-cops (detectives) of philadelphia it reminded us of the inhabitants of connecticut. they were not "dead": such a word is sacred. their proper place was not on the police force, but on a shelf in a dutchman's grocery store labelled the canned article. philadelphia was always my town, but i never stayed very long, partly because i did not want to become known in such a fat place, and partly because i could not bear to be away from new york very long; for, although there is better graft in other cities, there is no such place to live in as manhattan. i had no fear of being known in philadelphia to the police; but to local guns who would become jealous of our grafting and tip us off. on one of my trips to the city of brotherly love i had a poetical experience. the graft had been good, and one sunday morning i left dan and patsy asleep, and went for a walk in the country, intending, for a change, to observe the day of rest. i walked for several hours through a beautiful, quiet country, and about ten o'clock passed a country church. they were singing inside, and for some reason, probably because i had had a good walk in the country, the music affected me strangely. i entered, and saw a blind evangelist and his sister. i bowed my head, and my whole past life came over me. although everything had been coming my way, i felt uneasy, and thought of home for the first time in many weeks. i went back to the hotel in philadelphia, feeling very gloomy, and shut myself up in my room. i took up my pen and began a letter to a tommy (girl) in new york. but i could not forget the country church, and instead of writing to the little tommy, i wrote the following jingles: "when a child by mother's knee i would watch, watch, watch by the deep blue sea, and the moon-beams played merrily on our home beside the sea. chorus. "the evening star shines bright-i-ly above our home beside the sea, and the moon-beams danced beamingly on our home beside the sea. but now i am old, infirm and grey i shall never see those happy days; i would give my life, all my wealth, and fame to hear my mother gently call my name." towards evening patsy and dan returned from a good day's work. patsy noticed i was quiet and unusually gloomy, and asked: "what's the matter? didn't you get anything?" "no," i replied, "i'm going back to new york." "where have you been?" asked dan. "to church," i replied. "in the city?" he asked. "no," i replied, "in the country." "i cautioned you," said dan, "against taking such chances. there's no dough in these country churches. if you want to try lone ones on a sunday take in some swell church in the city." the following sunday i went to a fashionable church and got a few leathers, and afterwards went to all the swell churches in the city. i touched them, but they could not touch me. i heard all the ministers in philadelphia, but they could not move me the way that country evangelist did. they were all artificial in comparison. shortly after my poetical experience in philadelphia i made a trip up new york state with patsy, dan and joe, and grafted in a dozen towns. one day when we were on the cars going from albany to amsterdam, we saw a fat, sleepy-looking dutchman, and i nicked him for a clock as he was passing along the aisle to the end of the car. it took the dutchman about ten minutes after he had returned to his seat to blow that his super was gone, and his chain hanging down. a look of stupid surprise spread over his innocent countenance. he looked all around, picked up the end of his chain, saw it was twisted, put his hand in his vest pocket, then looked again at the end of the chain, tried his pocket again, then went through all of his pockets, and repeated each of these actions a dozen times. the passengers all got "next," and began to grin. "get on to the hiker," (countryman) said patsy to joe, and they both laughed. i told the dutchman that the clock must have fallen down the leg of his underwear; whereupon the reuben retired to investigate, searched himself thoroughly and returned, only to go through the same motions, and then retire to investigate once more. it was as good as a comedy. but it was well there were no country coppers on that train. they would not have cared a rap about the dutchman's loss of his property, but we four probably should have been compelled to divide with them. grafters are a superstitious lot. before we reached buffalo a feeling came over me that i had better not work in that town; so joe, dan and an english grafter we had picked up, named scotty, stopped at buffalo, and patsy and i went on. sure enough, in a couple of days joe wired me that scotty had fallen for a breech-kick and was held for trial. i wired to mr. r----, who got into communication with mr. j----, a canadian jew living in buffalo, who set the wires going. the sucker proved a very hard man to square, but a politician who was a friend of mr. j---- showed him the errors of his way, and before very long scotty returned to new york. an english moll-buzzer, a girl, got hold of him and took him back to london. it was just as well, for it was time for our bunch to break up. we were getting too well-known; and falls were coming too frequent. so we had a general split. joe went to washington, patsy down east, scotty to "stir" in london and i stayed in manhattan, where i shortly afterwards met big jack and other burglars and started in on that dangerous graft. but before i tell about my work in that line, i will narrate the story of mamie and johnny, a famous cracksman, whom i met at this time. it is a true love story of the under world. johnny, and mamie, who by the way is not the same as blonde mamie, are still living together in new york city, after many trials and tribulations, one of the greatest of which was mamie's enforced relation with a new york detective. but i won't anticipate on the story, which follows in the next chapter. footnote: [a] summer of chapter v. _mamie and the negotiable bonds._ johnny met mamie when he was sixteen. at that time he was looked up to in the neighborhood as one of the most promising of the younger thieves. he was an intelligent, enterprising boy and had, moreover, received an excellent education in the school of crime. his parents had died before he was twelve years old, and after that the lad lived at the newsboys' lodging house, in rivington street, which at that time and until it ceased to exist was the home of boys some of whom afterwards became the swellest of crooks, and some very reputable citizens and prominent politicians. a meal and a bed there cost six cents apiece and even the youngest and stupidest waif could earn or steal enough for that. johnny became an adept at "hooking" things from grocery stores and at tapping tills. when he was thirteen years old he was arrested for petty theft, passed a night in the police station, and was sent to the catholic protectory, where he was the associate of boys much older and "wiser" in crime than he. at that place were all kinds of incurables, from those arrested for serious felonies to those who had merely committed the crime of being homeless. from them johnny learned the ways of the under world very rapidly. after a year of confinement he was clever enough to make a key and escape. he safely passed old "cop o'hagen," whose duty it was to watch the harlem bridge, and returned to the familiar streets in lower new york, where the boys and rising pickpockets hid him from the police, until they forgot about his escape. from that time johnny's rise in the world of graft was rapid. he was so successful in stealing rope and copper from the dry-docks that the older heads took him in hand and used to put him through the "fan-light" windows of some store, where his haul was sometimes considerable. he began to grow rich, purchased some shoes and stockings, and assumed a "tough" appearance, with great pride. he rose a step higher, boarded tug-boats and ships anchored at the docks, and constantly increased his income. the boys looked upon him as a winner in his line of graft, and as he gave "hot'l" (lodging-house) money to those boys who had none, he was popular. so johnny became "chesty", began to "spread" himself, to play pool, to wear good linen collars and to associate with the best young thieves in the ward. it was at this time that he met mamie, who was a year or two younger than he. she was a small, dark, pale-faced little girl, and as neat and quick-witted as johnny. she lived with her parents, near the newsboys' lodging house, where johnny still "hung out". mamie's father and mother were poor, respectable people, who were born and bred in the old thirteenth ward, a section famous for the many shop girls who were fine "spielers" (dancers). mamie's mother was one of the most skillful of these dancers, and therefore mamie came by her passion for the waltz very naturally; and the light-footed little girl was an early favorite with the mixed crowd of dancers who used to gather at the old concordia assembly rooms, on the bowery. it was at this place that johnny and mamie met for the first time. it was a case of mutual admiration, and the boy and girl started in to "keep company." johnny became more ambitious in his line of graft; he had a girl! he needed money to buy her presents, to take her to balls, theatres and picnics; and he began to "gun", which means to pickpockets, an occupation which he found far more lucrative than "swagging" copper from the docks or going through fan-light windows. he did not remain content, however, with "dipping" and, with several much older "grafters", he started in to do "drag" work. "drag" work is a rather complicated kind of stealing and success at it requires considerable skill. usually a "mob" of four grafters work together. they get "tipped off" to some store where there is a line of valuable goods, perhaps a large silk or clothing-house. one of the four, called the "watcher", times the last employee that leaves the place to be "touched". the "watcher" is at his post again early in the morning, to find out at what time the first employee arrives. he may even hire a furnished room opposite the store, in order to secure himself against identification by some central office detective who might stroll by. when he has learned the hours of the employees he reports to his "pals". at a late hour at night the four go to the store, put a spindle in the yale lock, and break it with a blow from a hammer. they go inside, take another yale lock, which they have brought with them, lock themselves in, go upstairs, carry the most valuable goods downstairs and pile them near the door. then they go away, and, in the morning, before the employees are due, they drive up boldly to the store with a truck; representing a driver, two laborers, and a shipping clerk. they load the wagon with the goods, lock the door, and drive away. they have been known to do this work in full view of the unsuspecting policeman on the beat. while johnny had advanced to this distinguished work, mamie, too, had become a bread-earner, of a more modest and a more respectable kind. she went to work in a factory, and made paper boxes for two and one-half dollars a week. so the two dressed very well, and had plenty of spending money. unless johnny had some work to do they always met in the evening, and soon were seriously in love with one another. mamie knew what johnny's line of business was, and admired his cleverness. the most progressive people in her set believed in "getting on" in any way, and how could mamie be expected to form a social morality for herself? she thought johnny was the nicest boy in the world, and johnny returned her love to the full. so johnny finally asked her if she would "hitch up" with him for life, and she gladly consented. they were married and set up a nice home in allen street. it was before the time when the jews acquired an exclusive right to that part of the town, and in this neighborhood mamie and johnny had many friends who used to visit them in the evening; for the loving couple were exceedingly domestic, and, when johnny had no business on hand, seldom went out in the evening. johnny was a model husband. he had no bad habits, never drank or gambled, spent as much time as he could with his wife, and made a great deal of money. mamie gave up her work in the shop, and devoted all her attention to making johnny happy and his home pleasant. for about four years johnny and mamie lived very happily together. things came their way; and johnny and his pals laid by a considerable amount of money against a rainy day. to be sure, they had their little troubles. johnny "fell," that is to say, was arrested, a score of times, but succeeded in getting off. it was partly due to good luck, and partly to the large amount of fall-money he and his pals had gathered together. on one occasion it was only mamie's cleverness and devotion that saved johnny, for a time, from the penitentiary. one dark night johnny and three pals, after a long conversation in the saloon of a ward politician, visited a large jewelry store on fulton street, brooklyn, artistically opened the safe, and made away with fifteen thousand dollars. it was a bold and famous robbery, and the search for the thieves was long and earnest. johnny and his friends were not suspected at first, but an old saying among thieves is, "wherever there are three or four there is always a leak," a truth similar to that announced by benjamin franklin: "three can keep a secret when two are dead." one of johnny's pals, patsy, told his girl in confidence how the daring "touch" was made. that was the first link in the long chain of gossip which finally reached the ears of the watching detectives; and the result was that patsy and johnny were arrested. it was impossible to "settle" this case, no matter how much "fall-money" they had at their disposal; for the jeweler belonged to the jewelers' protective association, which will prosecute those who rob anyone belonging to their organization. as bribery was out of the question, johnny and patsy, who were what is called in the underworld "slick articles," put their heads together, and worked out a scheme. the day of their trial in the brooklyn court came around. they were waiting their turn in the prisoner's "pen," adjoining the court, when mamie came to see them. the meeting between her and johnny was very affecting. after a few words mamie noticed that her swell johnny wore no neck-tie. johnny, seemingly embarrassed, turned to a court policeman, and asked him to lend him his tie for a short time. the policeman declined, but remarked that mamie had a tie that would match johnny's complexion very well. mamie impulsively took off her tie, put it on johnny, kissed him, and left the court-house. johnny was to be tried in ten minutes, but he induced his lawyer to have the trial put off for half an hour; and another case was tried instead. then he took off mamie's neck-tie, tore the back out of it, and removed two fine steel saws. he gave one to patsy, and in a few minutes they had penetrated a small iron bar which closed a little window leading to an alley. patsy was too large to squeeze himself through the opening, but "stalled" for johnny while the latter "made his gets". when they came to put these two on trial there was a sensation in court. no johnny! patsy knew nothing about it, he said; and he received six years for his crime. but johnny's day for a time in the "stir" soon came around. he made a good "touch", and got away with the goods, but was betrayed by a pal, a professional thief who was in the pay of the police, technically called a "stool-pigeon". mamie visited johnny in the tombs, and when she found the case was hopeless she wanted to go and steal something herself so that she might accompany her boy to prison. but when johnny told her there were no women at sing sing she gave up the idea. johnny went to prison for four years, and mamie went to a tattooer, and, as a proof of her devotion, had johnny's name indelibly stamped upon her arm. mamie, in consequence of her fidelity to johnny, whom she regularly visited at sing sing, was a heroine and a martyr in the eyes of the grafters of both sexes. the money she and johnny had saved began to dwindle, and soon she was compelled to work again at box-making. she remained faithful to johnny, although many a good grafter tried to make up to the pretty girl. when johnny was released from sing sing, mamie was even happier than he. they had no money now, but some politicians and saloon-keepers who knew that johnny was a good money-getter, set them up in a little house. and they resumed their quiet domestic life together. their happiness did not last long, however. johnny needed money more than ever now and resumed his dangerous business. he got in with a quartette of the cleverest safe-crackers in the country, and made a tour of the eastern cities. they made many important touches, but finally johnny was again under suspicion for a daring robbery in union square, and was compelled to become a solitary fugitive. he sent word, through an old-time burglar, to mamie, exhorted her to keep up the home, and promised to send money regularly. he was forced, however, to stay away from new york for several years, and did not dare to communicate with mamie. at first, mamie tried to resume her work at box-making. but she had had so much leisure and had lived so well that she found the work irksome and the pay inadequate. mamie knew many women pickpockets and shop-lifters, friends of her husband. when some of these adventurous girls saw that mamie was discontented with her lot, they induced her to go out and work with them. so mamie became a very clever shop-lifter, and, for a time, made considerable money. then many of the best "guns" in the city again tried to make up to mamie, and marry her. johnny was not on the spot, and that, in the eyes of a thief, constitutes a divorce. but mamie still loved her wayward boy and held the others back. in the meantime johnny had become a great traveller. he knew that the detectives were so hot on his track that he dared to stay nowhere very long; nor dared to trust anyone: so he worked alone. he made a number of daring robberies, all along the line from montreal to detroit, but they all paled in comparison with a touch he made at philadelphia, a robbery which is famous in criminal annals. he had returned to philadelphia, hoping to get a chance to send word to mamie, whom he had not seen for years, and for whom he pined. while in the city of brotherly love he was "tipped off" to a good thing. he boldly entered a large mercantile house, and, in thirteen minutes, he opened a time-lock vault, and abstracted three hundred thousand dollars worth of negotiable bonds and escaped. the bold deed made a sensation all over the country. the mercantile house and the safe manufacturers were so hot for the thief that the detectives everywhere worked hard and "on the level". johnny was not suspected then, and never "did time" for this touch. for a while he hid in philadelphia; boarded there with a poor, respectable family, representing himself as a laborer out of work. he spent the daytime in a little german beer saloon, playing pinocle with the proprietor; and was perfectly safe. but his longing for mamie had grown so strong that he could not bear it. he knew that the detectives were still looking for him because of the old crime, and that they were hot to discover the thief of the negotiable bonds. he sent word to mamie, nevertheless, through an old pal he found at philadelphia, and arranged to see her at mount vernon, near new york. the two met in the side room of a little saloon near the railway station; and the greeting was affectionate in the extreme. they had not seen one another for years! and hardly a message had been exchanged. after a little johnny told mamie, proudly, that it was he who had stolen the negotiable bonds. "now," he added, "we are rich. after a little i can sell these bonds for thirty cents on the dollar and then you and i will go away and give up this life. i am getting older and my nerve is not what it was once. we'll settle down quietly in london or some town where we are not known, and be happy. won't we, dear?" mamie said "yes," but she appeared confused. when johnny asked her what was the matter, she burst into tears; and choked and sobbed for some time before she could say a word. she ordered a glass of whiskey, which she never used to drink in the old days, and when the bar-tender had left, she turned to the worried johnny, embraced him tenderly and said, in a voice which still trembled: "johnny, will you forgive me if i tell you something? it's pretty bad, but not so bad as it might be, for i love only you." johnny encouraged her with a kiss and she continued, in a broken voice: "when you were gone again, johnny, i tried to make my living at the old box-making work; but the pay wasn't big enough for me then. so i began to graft--dipping and shop-lifting--and made money. but a central office man you used to know--jim lennon--got on to me." "jim lennon?" said johnny, "sure, i knew him. he used to be sweet on you, mamie. he treated you right, i hope." mamie blushed and looked down. "well?" said johnny. "jim came to me one day," she continued, "and told me he wouldn't stand for what i was doing. he said the drygoods people were hollering like mad; and that he'd have to arrest me if i didn't quit. i tried to square him with a little dough, but i soon saw that wasn't what he was after." "'look here, mamie,' he finally said. 'it's just this way. johnny is a good fellow, but he's dead to you and dead to me. he's done time, and that breaks all marriage ties. now, i want you to hitch up with me, and lead an honest life. i'll give you a good home, and you won't run any more risk of the pen!'" johnny grew very pale as mamie said the last words; and when she stopped speaking, he said quietly: "and you did it?" mamie again burst into tears. "oh, johnny," she cried, "what else could i do. he wouldn't let me go on grafting, and i had to live." "and so you married him?" johnny insisted. the reply was in a whisper. "yes," she said. for the next thirty seconds johnny thought very rapidly. this woman had his liberty in her hands. he had told her about the negotiable bonds. besides, he loved mamie and understood the difficulty of her position. his life as a thief had made him very tolerant in some respects. he therefore swallowed his emotion, and turned a kind face to mamie. "you still love me?" he asked, "better than the copper?" "sure," said mamie, warmly. "now listen," said johnny, the old business-like expression coming back into his face. "i am hounded for the old trick; and the detectives are looking everywhere for these negotiable bonds, which i have here, in this satchel. can i trust you with them? will you mind them for me, until things quiet down?" "of course, i will," said mamie, gladly. so they parted once more. johnny went into hiding again, and mamie went to the detective's house, with the negotiable bonds. she had no intention of betraying johnny; for she might be arrested for receiving stolen goods; and, besides, she still loved her first husband. so she planted the bonds in the bottom of the detective's trunk. here was a pretty situation. her husband, the detectives, and many other "fly-cops" all over the country, were looking for these negotiable bonds, at the very moment when they were safely stowed away in the detective's trunk. mamie and johnny, who continued to meet occasionally, often smiled at the humor of the situation. soon, however, suspicion for the philadelphia touch began to attach to johnny. mamie's detective asked her one evening if she had heard anything about johnny, of late. "not for years," said mamie, calmly. but one night, several central office men followed mamie as she went to mt. vernon to meet johnny; and when the two old lovers parted, johnny was arrested on account of the fifteen thousand dollar robbery in brooklyn, from the penalty of which he had escaped by means of mamie's neck-tie many years before. the detectives suspected johnny of having stolen the bonds, but of this they could get no evidence. so he was sent to sing sing for six years on the old charge. when he was safely in prison the detectives induced him to return the bonds, on the promise that he would not be prosecuted at his release, and would be paid a certain sum of money. the mercantile house agreed, and johnny sent word to mamie to give up the bonds. then, of course, the detective knew about the trick that mamie had played him. but he, like johnny, was a philosopher, and forgave the clever woman. when he first heard of it, however, he had said to her, indignantly: "you cow, if you had given the bonds to me, i would have been made a police captain, and you my queen." as soon as johnny got out of stir, mamie quit the detective, and the couple are now living again together in a quiet, domestic manner, in manhattan. chapter vi. _what the burglar faces._ for a long time i took sheenie annie's advice and did not do any night work. it is too dangerous, the come-back is too sure, you have to depend too much on the nerve of your pals, the "bits" are too long; and it is very difficult to square it. but as time went on i grew bolder. i wanted to do something new, and get more dough. my new departure was not, however, entirely due to ambition and the boldness acquired by habitual success. after a gun has grafted for a long time his nervous system becomes affected, for it is certainly an exciting life. he is then very apt to need a stimulant. he is usually addicted to either opium or chloral, morphine or whiskey. even at this early period i began to take a little opium, which afterwards was one of the main causes of my constant residence in stir, and was really the wreck of my life, for when a grafter is doped he is inclined to be very reckless. perhaps if i had never hit the hop i would not have engaged in the dangerous occupation of a burglar. i will say one thing for opium, however. that drug never makes a man careless of his personal appearance. he will go to prison frequently, but he will always have a good front, and will remain a self-respecting thief. the whiskey dip, on the other hand, is apt to dress carelessly, lose his ambition and, eventually to go down and out as a common "bum". i began night-work when i was about twenty years old, and at first i did not go in for it very heavily. big jack, jerry, ed and i made several good touches in mt. vernon and in hotels at summer resorts and got sums ranging from two hundred to twenty-seven hundred dollars. we worked together for nearly a year with much success and only an occasional fall, and these we succeeded in squaring. once we had a shooting-match which made me a little leary. i was getting out the window with my swag, when a shot just grazed my eye. i nearly decided to quit then, but, i suppose because it was about that time i was beginning to take opium, i continued with more boldness than ever. one night ed, a close pal of mine, was operating with me out in jersey. we were working in the rear of a house and ed was just shinning up the back porch to climb in the second story window, when a shutter above was thrown open and, without warning, a pistol shot rang out. down came ed, falling like a log at my feet. "are you hurt?" said i. "done!" said he, and i saw it was so. now a man may be nervy enough, but self-preservation is the first rule of life. i turned and ran at the top of my speed across two back yards, then through a field, then over a fence into what seemed a ploughed field beyond. the ground was rough and covered with hummocks, and as i stumbled along i suddenly tripped and fell ten feet down into an open grave. the place was a cemetery, though i had not recognized it in the darkness. for hours i lay there trembling, but nobody came and i was safe. it was not long after that, however, that something did happen to shake my nerve, which was pretty good. it came about in the following way. a jeweler, who was a well-known "fence", put us on to a place where we could get thousands. he was one of the most successful "feelers-out" in the business. the man who was my pal on this occasion, dal, looked the place over with me and though we thought it a bit risky, the size of the graft attracted us. we had to climb up on the front porch, with an electric light streaming right down on us. i had reached the porch when i got the well-known signal of danger. i hurriedly descended and asked dal what was the matter. "jim," he said, "there's somebody off there, a block away." we investigated, and you can imagine how i felt when we found nothing but an old goat. it was a case of dal's nerves, but the best of us get nervous at times. i went to the porch again and opened the window with a putty knife (made of the rib of a woman's corset), when i got the "cluck" again, and hastily descended, but again found it was dal's imagination. then i grew hot, and said: "you have knocked all the nerve out of me, for sure." "jim," he replied, "i ain't feeling good." was it a premonition? he wanted to quit the job, but i wouldn't let him. i opened up on him. "what!" i said. "you are willing to steal one piece of jewelry and take your chance of going to stir, but when we get a good thing that would land us in easy street the rest of our lives, you weaken!" dal was quiet, and his face unusually pale. he was a good fellow, but his nerve was gone. i braced him up, however, and told him we'd get the "éclat" the third time, sure. then climbing the porch the third time, i removed my shoes, raised the window again, and had just struck a light when a revolver was pressed on my head. i knocked the man's hand up, quick, and jumped. as i did so i heard a cry and then the beating of a policeman's stick on the sidewalk. i ran, with two men after me, and came to the gateway of a yard, where i saw a big bloodhound chained to his kennel. he growled savagely, but it was neck or nothing, so i patted his head just as though i were not shaking with fear, slipped down on my hands and knees and crept into his dog-house. why didn't he bite me? was it sympathy? when my pursuers came up, the owner of the house, who had been aroused by the cries, said: "he is not here. this dog would eat him up." when the police saw the animal they were convinced of it too. a little while later i left my friend's kennel. it was four o'clock in the morning and i had no shoes on and only one dollar and sixty cents in my pocket. i sneaked through the back window of the first house i saw, stole a pair of shoes and eighty dollars from a room where a man and his wife were sleeping. then i took a car. knowing that i was still being looked for, i wanted to get rid of my hat, as a partial disguise. on the seat with me was a working man asleep. i took his old soft hat, leaving my new derby by his side, and also took his dinner pail. then when i left the car i threw away my collar and necktie, and reached new york, disguised as a workingman. the next day the papers told how poor old dal had been arrested. everything that had happened for weeks was put on him. a week later dal was found dead in his cell, and i believe he did the dutch act (suicide), for i remember one day, months before that fatal night, dal and i were sitting in a politicians saloon, when he said to me: "jim, do you believe in heaven?" "no," said i. "do you believe in hell?" he asked. "no," said i. "i've got a mind to find out," he said quickly, and pointed a big revolver at his teeth. one of the guns in the saloon said: "let him try it," but i knocked the pistol away, for something in his manner made me think seriously he would shoot. "you poor brute," i said to him. "i'll put your ashes in an urn some day and write "dear old saturday night" for an epitaph for you; but it isn't time yet." it did not take many experiences like the above to make me very leary of night-work; and i went more slowly for some time. i continued to dip, however, more boldly than ever and to do a good deal of day work; in which comparatively humble graft the servant girls, as i have already said, used to help us out considerably. this class of women never interested me as much as the sporting characters, but we used to make good use of them; and sometimes they amused us. i remember an entertaining episode which took place while harry, a pal of mine at the time, and i, were going with a couple of these hard-working molls. harry was rather inclined to be a sure-thing grafter, of which class of thieves i shall say more in another chapter; and after my recent dangerous adventures i tolerated that class more than was customary with me. indeed, if harry had been the real thing i would have cut him dead; as it was he came near enough to the genuine article to make me despise him in my ordinary mood. but, as i say, i was uncommonly leary just at that time. he and i were walking in stuyvesant square when we met a couple of these domestic slaves. with a "hello," we rang in on them, walked them down second avenue and had a few drinks all around. my girl told me whom she was working with. thinking there might be something doing i felt her out further, with a view to finding where in the house the stuff lay. knowing the celtic character thoroughly, i easily got the desired information. we took the girls into bonnell's museum, at eighth street and broadway, and saw a howling border melodrama, in which wild indians were as thick as moll-buzzers in . mary anne, who was my girl, said she should tell her mistress about the beautiful play; and asked for a program. they were all out, and so i gave her an old one, of another play, which i had in my pocket. we had a good time, and made a date with them for another meeting, in two weeks from that night; but before the appointed hour we had beat mary anne's mistress out of two hundred dollars worth of silverware, easily obtained, thanks to the information i had received from mary anne. when we met the girls again, i found mary anne in a great state of indignation; i was afraid she was "next" to our being the burglars, and came near falling through the floor. but her rage, it seemed, was about the play. she had told her mistress about the wild indian melodrama she had seen, and then had shown her the program of _the banker's daughter_. "but there is no such thing as an indian in _the banker's daughter_," her mistress had said. "i fear you are deceiving me, mary anne, and that you have been to some low place on the bowery." the other servants in the house got next and kidded mary anne almost to death about indians and _the banker's daughter_. after i had quieted her somewhat she told me about the burglary that had taken place at her house, and harry and i were much interested. she was sure the touch had been made by two "naygers" who lived in the vicinity. it was shortly after this incident that i beat blackwell's island out of three months. a certain "heeler" put me on to a disorderly house where we could get some stones. i had everything "fixed." the "heeler" had arranged it with the copper on the beat, and it seemed like a sure thing; although the madam, i understood, was a good shot and had plenty of nerve. my accomplice, the heeler, was a sure thing grafter, who had selected me because i had the requisite nerve and was no squealer. at two o'clock in the morning a trusted pal and i ascended from the back porch to the madam's bed-room. i had just struck a match, when i heard a female voice say, "what are you doing there?" and a bottle, fired at my head, banged up against the wall with a crash. i did not like to alarm women, and so i made my "gets" out the window, over the fence, and into another street, where i was picked up by a copper, on general principles. the madam told him that the thief was over six feet tall and had a fierce black mustache. as i am only five feet seven inches and was smoothly shaven, it did not seem like an identification; although when she saw me she changed her note, and swore i was the man. the copper, who knew i was a grafter, though he did not think i did that kind of work, nevertheless took me to the station-house, where i convinced two wardmen that i had been arrested unjustly. when i was led before the magistrate in the morning, the copper said the lady's description did not tally with the short, red-haired and freckled thief before his honor. the policemen all agreed, however, that i was a notorious grafter, and the magistrate, who was not much of a lawyer, sent me to the island for three months on general principles. i was terribly sore, for i knew i had been illegally treated. i felt as much a martyr as if i had not been guilty in the least; and i determined to escape at all hazards; although my friends told me i would be released any day; for certainly the evidence against me had been insufficient. after i had been on the island ten days i went to a friend, who had been confined there several months and said: "eddy, i have been unjustly convicted for a crime i committed--such was my way of putting it--and i am determined to make my elegant, (escape) come what will. do you know the weak spots of this dump?" he put me "next", and i saw there was a chance, a slim one, if a man could swim and didn't mind drowning. i found another pal, jack donovan, who, like me, could swim like a fish; he was desperate too, and willing to take any chance to see new york. five or six of us slept together in one large cell, and on the night selected for our attempt, jack and i slipped into a compartment where about twenty short term prisoners were kept. our departure from the other cell, from which it was very difficult to escape after once being locked in for the night, was not noticed by the night guard and his trusty because our pals in the cell answered to our names when they were called. it was comparatively easy to escape from the large room where the short term men were confined. into this room, too, jack and i had taken tools from the quarry during the daytime. it was twelve o'clock on a november night when we made our escape. we took ropes from the canvas cot, tied them together, and lowered ourselves to the ground on the outside, where we found bad weather, rain and hail. we were unable to obtain a boat, but secured a telegraph pole, rolled it into the water, and set off with it for new york. the terrific tide at hellgate soon carried us well into the middle of long island sound, and when we had been in the water half an hour, we were very cold and numb, and began to think that all was over. but neither of us feared death. all i wanted was to save enough money to be cremated; and i was confident my friends would see to that. i don't think fear of death is a common trait among grafters. perhaps it is lack of imagination; more likely, however, it is because they think they won't be any the worse off after death. still, i was not sorry when a wrecking boat suddenly popped our way. the tug did not see us, and hit jack's end of the pole a hard blow that must have shaken him off. i heard him holler "save me," and i yelled too. i didn't think anything about capture just then. all my desire to live came back to me. i was pulled into the boat. the captain was a good fellow. he was "next" and only smiled at my lies. what was more to the purpose he gave me some good whiskey, and set me ashore in jersey city. jack was drowned. all through life i have been used to losing a friend suddenly by the wayside; but i have always felt sad when it happened. and yet it would have been far better for me if i had been picked out for an early death. i guess poor jack was lucky. certainly there are worse things than death. through these three years of continual and for the most part successful graft, i had known a man named henry fry whose story is one of the saddest. if he had been called off suddenly as jack was, he would certainly have been deemed lucky by those who knew; for he was married to a bad woman. he was one of the most successful box-men (safe-blowers) in the city, and made thousands, but nothing was enough for his wife. she used to say, when he would put twelve hundred dollars in her lap, "this won't meet expenses. i need one thousand dollars more." she was unfaithful to him, too, and with his friends. when i go to a matinée and see a lot of sleek, fat, inane looking women, i wonder who the poor devils are who are having their life blood sucked out of them. certainly it was so with henry, or henny, as we used to call him. one day, i remember, we went down the sound with a well-known politician's chowder party, and henny was with us. two weeks earlier new york had been startled by a daring burglary. a large silk-importer's place of business was entered and his safe, supposed to be burglar-proof, was opened. he was about to be married, and his valuable wedding presents, which were in the safe, and six thousand dollars worth of silk, were stolen. it was henny and his pals who had made the touch, but on this beautiful night on the sound, henny was sad. we were sitting on deck, as it was a hot summer night, when henny jumped off his camp-stool and asked me to sing a song. i sang a sentimental ditty, in my tenor voice, and then henny took me to the side of the boat, away from the others. "kid," he said, "i feel trouble coming over me." "cheer up," i replied. "you're a little down-hearted, that's all." "i wish to god," he said, "i was like you." i pulled out a five dollar bill and a two dollar bill and remarked: "i've got just seven dollars to my name." he turned to me and said: "but you are happy. you don't let anything bother you." henny did not drink as a rule; that was one reason he was such a good box-man, but on this occasion we had a couple of drinks, and i sang "i love but one." then henny ordered champagne, grew confidential, and told me his troubles. "kid" he said, "i've got thirty five hundred dollars on me. i have been giving my wife a good deal of money, but don't know what she does with it. in sixty days i have given her three thousand dollars, and she complains about poverty all the time." henny had a nice flat of seven or eight rooms; he owed nothing and had no children. he said he was unable to find any bank books in his wife's trunk, and was confident she was not laying the money by. she did not give it to her people, but even borrowed money from her father, a well-to-do builder. two days after the night of the excursion, one of henny's pals in the silk robbery, went into a gin mill, treated everybody, and threw a one thousand dollar bill down on the bar. grafters, probably more than others, like this kind of display. it is the only way to rise in their society. a central office detective saw this little exhibition, got into the grafters confidence and weeded him out a bit. a night or two afterwards henny was in bed at home, when the servant girl, who was in love with henny, and detested his wife because she treated her husband so badly (she used to say to me, "she ain't worthy to tie his shoe string") came to the door and told henny and his wife that a couple of men and a policeman in uniform were inquiring for him. henny replied sleepily that they were friends of his who had come to buy some stones; but the girl was alarmed. she knew that henny was crooked and feared that those below meant him no good. she took the canvas turn-about containing burglar's tools which hung on the wall near the bed, and pinned it around her waist, under her skirt, and then admitted the three visitors. the sergeant said to henny, who had dressed himself, "you are under suspicion for the silk robbery." yet there was, as is not uncommon, a "but," which is as a rule a monetary consideration. henny knew that the crime was old, and, as he thought his "fence" was safe, he did not see how there could be a come-back. so he did not take the hint to shell out, and worked the innocent con. but those whose business it is to watch the world of prey, put two and two together, and were "next" that henny and his mob had pulled off the trick. so they searched the house, expecting to find, if not _éclat_, at least burglars tools; for they knew that henny was at the top of the ladder, and that he must have something to work with. while the sergeant was going through henny's trunk, one of the flymen fooled with the pretty servant girl. she jumped, and a pair of turners fell on the floor. it did not take the flyman long to find the whole kit of tools. henny was arrested, convicted, and sent to sing sing for five years. while in prison he became insane, his delusion being that he was a funny man on the detroit free press, which he thought was owned by his wife. i never discovered what henny's wife did with the money she had from him. when i last heard of her she was married to another successful grafter, whom she was making unhappy also. in a grafter's life a woman often takes the part of the avenger of society. she turns against the grafters their own weapons, and uses them with more skill, for no man can graft like a woman. * * * * * i had now been grafting for three years in the full tide of success. since the age of eighteen i had had no serious fall. i had made much money and lived high. i had risen in the world of graft, and i had become, not only a skillful pickpocket, but a good swindler and drag-worker and had done some good things as a burglar. i was approaching my twenty-first year, when, as you will see, i was to go to the penitentiary for the first time. this is a good place, perhaps, to describe my general manner of life, my daily menu, so to speak, during these three fat years: for after my first term in state's prison things went from bad to worse. i lived in a furnished room; or at a hotel. if there was nothing doing in the line of graft, i'd lie abed late, and read the newspapers to see if any large gathering, where we might make some touches, was on hand. one of my girls, of whom there was a long succession, was usually with me. we would breakfast, if the day was an idle one, about one or two o'clock in the afternoon. then we'd send to the restaurant and have a beefsteak or chops in our rooms, and perhaps a whiskey sour. if it was another grafter's girl i'd won i'd be greatly pleased, for that kind of thing is a game with us. in the afternoon i'd take in some variety show; or buy the "tommy" a present; if it was summer we might go to a picnic, or to the island. if i was alone, i would meet a pal, play billiards or pool, bet on the races, baseball and prize fights, jump out to the polo grounds, or go to patsy's house and have a game of poker. patsy's wife was a handsome grafter; and patsy was jealous. every gun is sensitive about his wife, for he doesn't know how long he will have her with him. in the evening i would go to a dance-hall; or to coney island if the weather was good. if it was a busy day, that is, if there was a touch to be pulled off, we would get up in the morning or the afternoon, according to the best time for the particular job in hand. in the afternoon we would often graft at the polo grounds, where we had a copper "right." we did not have the same privileges at the race track, because it was protected by the pinkerton men. we'd console ourselves at the polo grounds, which we used to tear wide open, and where i never got even a hint of a fall; the coppers got their percentage of the touches. in the morning we would meet at one of the grafters homes or rooms and talk over our scheme for the day or night. if we were going outside the city we would have to rise very early. sometimes we were sorry we had lost our sleep; particularly the time we tried to tear open the town of sing sing, near which the famous prison is. we found nothing to steal there but pig iron, and there were only two pretty girls in the whole village. we used to jump out to neighboring towns, not always to graft, but sometimes to see our girls, for like sailors, the well-dressed, dapper pickpocket has a girl in every port. if we made a good touch in the afternoon we'd go on a spree in the evening with sheenie annie, blonde mamie, big lena or some other good-natured lasses, or we'd go over and inspect the jersey maidens. after a good touch we would put some of the dough away for fall-money, or for our sick relatives or guns in stir or in the hospital. we'd all chip in to help out a woman grafter in trouble, and pool a piece of jewelry sometimes, for the purpose. then, our duty done, we would put on our best front, and visit our friends and sporting places. among others we used to jump over to a hotel kept by an ex-gun, one of the best of the spud men (green goods men), who is now on the level and a bit of a politician. he owns six fast horses, is married and has two beautiful children. a few months before i was sent to the penitentiary for the first time, i had my only true love affair. i have liked many girls, but sentiment of the kind i felt for ethel has played little part in my life. for ethel i felt the real thing, and she for me. she was a good, sensible girl, and came from a respectable family. she lived with her father, who was a drummer, and took care of the house for him. she was a good deal of a musician, and, like most other girls, she was fond of dancing. i first met her at beethoven hall, and was introduced to her by a man, an honest laborer, who was in love with her. i liked her at first sight, but did not love her until i had talked with her. in two weeks we were lovers, and went everywhere together. the workingman who loved her too was jealous and began to knock me. he told her i was a grafter, but she would not believe him; and said nothing to me about it, but it came to my ears through an intimate girl pal of hers. shortly after that i fell for a breech-kick (was arrested for picking a man's trouser's pocket), but i had a good lawyer and the copper was one of those who are open to reason. i lay a month in the tombs, however, before i got off, and ethel learned all about it. she came to the tombs to see me, but, instead of reproaches, i got sympathy from her. after i was released i gave her some of my confidence. she asked me if i wouldn't be honest, and go to work; and said she would ask her father to get me a job. her father came to me and painted what my life would be, if i kept on. i thought the matter over sincerely. i had formed expensive habits which i could not keep up on any salary i could honestly make. away down in my mind (i suppose you would call it soul) i knew i was not ready for reform. i talked with ethel, and told her that i loved her, but that i could not quit my life. she said she would marry me anyway. but i thought the world of her, and told her that though i had blasted my own life i would not blast hers. i would not marry her, she was so good and affectionate. when we parted, i said to myself: man proposes, habit disposes. it was certainly lucky that i did not marry that sweet girl, for a month after i had split with her, i fell for a long term in state's prison. it was for a breech-kick, which i could not square. i had gone out of my hotel one morning for a bottle of whiskey when i met two grafters, johnny and alec, who were towing a "sucker" along with them. they gave me the tip that it was worth trying. indeed, i gathered that the man must have his bank with him, and i nicked him in a car for his breech-leather. a spectator saw the deed and tipped off a copper. i was nailed, but had nothing on me, for i had passed the leather to alec. i was not in the mood for the police station, and with alec's help i "licked" the copper, who pulled his gun and fired at us as we ran up a side street. alec blazed back, and escaped, but i was arrested. i could not square it, as i have said, for i had been wanted at headquarters for some time past, because i did not like to give up, and was no stool-pigeon. i notified mr. r----, who was told to keep his hands off. i had been tearing the cars open for so long that the company wanted to "do" me. they got brassy-mouthed and yelled murder. i saw i had a corporation against me and hadn't a living chance to beat it. so i pleaded guilty and received five years and seven months at sing sing. a boy of twenty-one, i was hand-cuffed with two old jail-birds, and as we rode up on a fourth avenue car to the grand central station, i felt deeply humiliated for the first time in my life. when the passengers stared at me i hung my head with shame. chapter vii. _in stir._ i hung my head with shame, but not because of contrition. i was ashamed of being caught and made a spectacle of. all the way to sing sing station people stared at us as if we were wild animals. we walked from the town to the prison, in close company with two deputy sheriffs. i observed considerably, knowing that i should not see the outside world again for a number of years. i looked with envy at the people we passed who seemed honest, and thought of home and the chances i had thrown away. when i reached the stir i was put through the usual ceremonies. my pedigree was taken, but i told the examiners nothing. i gave them a false name and a false pedigree. then a bath was given to my clothes and i was taken to the tailor shop. when my hair had been cropped close and a suit of stripes given me i felt what it was to be the convicted criminal. it was not a pleasant feeling, i can tell you, and when i was taken to my cell my heart sank indeed. a narrow room, seven feet, four inches long; dark, damp, with moisture on the walls, and an old iron cot with plenty of company, as i afterwards discovered--this was to be my home for years. and i as full of life as a young goat! how could i bear it? after i had been examined by the doctor and questioned about my religion by the chaplain, i was left to reflect in my cell. i was interrupted in my melancholy train of thought by two convicts who were at work in the hall just outside my cell. i had known them on the outside, and they, taking good care not to be seen by the screws (keepers) tipped me off through my prison door to everything in stir which was necessary for a first timer to know. they told me to keep my mouth shut, to take everything from the screws in silence, and if assigned to a shop to do my work. they told me who the stool-pigeons were, that is to say, the convicts who, in order to curry favor and have an easy time, put the keepers next to what other convicts are doing, and so help to prevent escapes. they tipped me off to those keepers who were hard to get along with, and put me next to the underground tunnel, and who were running it. sing sing, they said, is the best of the three new york penitentiaries: for the grub is better than at the others, there are more privileges, and, above all, it is nearer new york, so that your friends can visit you more frequently. they gave me a good deal of prison gossip, and told me who among my friends were there, and what their condition of health was. so and so had died or gone home, they said, such and such had been drafted to auburn or clinton prisons. if i wanted to communicate with my friends in stir all that was necessary for me to do was to write a few stiffs (letters) and they would be sent by the underground tunnel. they asked me about their old pals, hang-outs and girls in new york, and i, in turn gave them a lot of new york gossip. like all convicts they shed a part of the things they had received from home, gave me canned goods, tobacco and a pipe. it did not take me long to get on to the workings of the prison. i was particularly interested in the underground tunnel, for i saw at once its great usefulness. this is the secret system by which contraband articles, such as whiskey, opium and morphine are brought into the prison. when a rogue is persuasive with the coin of the realm he can always find a keeper or two to bring him what he considers the necessaries of life, among which are opium, whiskey and tobacco. if you have a screw "right," you can be well supplied with these little things. to get him "right" it is often necessary to give him a share--about twenty per cent--of the money sent you from home. this system is worked in all the state prisons in new york, and during my first term, or any of the other terms for that matter, i had no difficulty in supplying my growing need for opium. i do not want people to get the idea that it is always necessary to bribe a keeper, in order to obtain these little luxuries; for many a screw has brought me whiskey and hop, and contraband letters from other inmates, without demanding a penny. a keeper is a human being like the rest of us, and he is sometimes moved by considerations other than of pelf. no matter how good and conscientious he may be, a keeper is but a man after all, and, having very little to do, especially if he is in charge of an idle gang of "cons" he is apt to enter into conversation with them, particularly if they are better educated or more interesting than he, which often is the case. they tell him about their escapades on the outside and often get his sympathy and friendship. it is only natural that those keepers who are good fellows should do small favors for certain convicts. they may begin by bringing the convicts newspapers to read, but they will end by providing them with almost everything. some of them, however, are so lacking in human sympathy, that their kindness is aroused only by a glimpse of the coin of the realm; or by the prospect of getting some convict to do their dirty work for them, that is, to spy upon their fellow prisoners. at auburn penitentiary, whither i was drafted after nine months at sing sing, a few of the convicts peddled opium and whiskey, with, of course, the connivance of the keepers. there are always some persons in prison as well as out who want to make capital out of the misfortunes of others. these peddlars, were despised by the rest of the convicts, for they were invariably stool-pigeons; and young convicts who never before knew the power of the drug became opium fiends, all on account of the business propensities of these detestable rats (stool-pigeons) who, because they had money and kept the screws next to those cons who tried to escape, lived in easy street while in stir. while on this subject, i will tell about a certain famous "fence" (at one of these prisons) although he did not operate until my second term. at that time things were booming on the outside. the graft was so good that certain convicts in my clique were getting good dough sent them by their pals who were at liberty; and many luxuries came in, therefore, by the underground tunnel. now those keepers who are next to the underground develop, through their association with convicts, a propensity to graft, but usually have not the nerve to hustle for the goods. so they are willing to accept stolen property, not having the courage and skill to steal, from the inhabitants of the under world. a convict, whom i knew when at liberty, named mike, thought he saw an opportunity to do a good "fencing" business in prison. he gave a "red-front" (gold watch and chain), which he had stolen in his good days, to a certain keeper who was running the underground, and thus got him "right." then mike made arrangements with two grafters on the outside to supply the keeper and his friends with what they wanted. if the keeper said his girl wanted a stone, mike would send word to one of the thieves on the outside to supply a good diamond as quickly as possible. the keeper would give mike a fair price for these valuable articles and then sell the stones or watches, or make his girl a present. other keepers followed suit, for they couldn't see how there was any "come-back" possible, and soon mike was doing a thriving business. it lasted for five or six months, when mike stopped it as a regular graft because of the growing cupidity of the keepers. one of them ordered a woman's watch and chain and a pair of diamond ear-rings through the underground tunnel. mike obtained the required articles, but the keeper paid only half of what he promised, and mike thereupon shut up shop. occasionally, however, he continued to sell goods stolen by his pals who were at liberty, but only for cash on the spot, and refused all credit. the keepers gradually got a great feeling of respect for this convict "fence" who was so clever and who stood up for his rights; and the business went on smoothly again, for a while. but finally it was broken up for good. a grafter on the outside, tommy, sent through the underground a pawn ticket for some valuable goods, among them a sealskin sacque worth three hundred dollars, which he had stolen and hocked in philadelphia. mike sold the pawn-ticket to a screw. soon after that tommy, or one of his pals, got a fall and "squealed". the police got "next" to where the goods were, and when the keeper sent the ticket and the money to redeem the articles they allowed them to be forwarded to the prison, but arrested the keeper for receiving stolen goods. he was convicted and sentenced to ten years, but got off through influence. that, however, finished the "fence" at the institution. to resume the thread of my narrative, the day after i reached sing sing i was put through the routine that lasted all the time i was there. at six-thirty in the morning we were awakened by the bell and marched in lock-step (from which many of us were to acquire a peculiar gait that was to mark us through life and help prevent us from leading decent lives) to the bucket-shop, where we washed, marched to the mess for breakfast at seven-thirty, then to the various shops to work until eleven-thirty, when at the whistle we would form again into squads and march, again in the lock-step, fraternally but silently, to our solemn dinner, which we ate in dead silence. silence, indeed, except on the sly, was the general rule of our day, until work was over, when we could whisper together until five o'clock, the hour to return to our cells, into which we would carry bread for supper, coffee being conveyed to us through a spout in the wall. the food at sing sing was pretty good. breakfast consisted of hash or molasses, black coffee and bread; and at dinner we had pork and beans, potatoes, hot coffee and bread. pork and beans gave place to four eggs on friday, and sometimes stews were given us. it was true what i'd heard, that sing sing has the best food of any institution i have known. after five o'clock i would read in my cell by an oil lamp (since my time electricity has been put in the prison) until nine o'clock, when i had to put out my light and go to bed. i had a great deal more time for reading and meditation in my lonely cell than one would think by the above routine. i was put to work in the shop making chairs. it was the first time i had ever worked in my life, and i took my time about it. i felt no strong desire to work for the state. i was expected to cane a hundred chairs a day, but i usually caned about two. i did not believe in work. i felt at that time that new york state owed me a living. i was getting a living all right, but i was ungrateful. i did not thank them a wee bit. i must have been a bad example to other "cons," for they began to get as tired as myself. at any rate, i lost my job, and was sent back to my cell, where i stayed most of the time while at sing sing. i worked, indeed, very little at any time during my three bits in the penitentiary. the prison at sing sing, during the nine months i was there on my first term, was very crowded, and there was not enough work to go round; and i was absolutely idle most of the time. when i had been drafted to auburn i found more work to do, but still very little, for it was just then that the legislature had shut down on contract labor in the prisons. the outside merchants squealed because they could not compete with unpaid convict labor; and so the prison authorities had to shut down many of their shops, running only enough to supply the inside demand, which was slight. for eighteen months at auburn i did not work a day. i think it was a very bad thing for the health of convicts when this law was passed; for certainly idleness is a very bad thing for most of them; and to be shut up nearly all the time in damp, unhealthy cells like those at sing sing, is a terrible strain on the human system. personally, however, i liked to be in my cell, especially during my first year of solitary confinement, before my health began to give way; for i had my books from the good prison libraries, my pipe or cigarettes, and last, but not least, i had a certain portion of opium that i used every day. for me, prison life had one great advantage. it broke down my health and confirmed me for many years in the opium habit, as we shall see; but i educated myself while in stir. previous to going to sing sing my education had been almost entirely in the line of graft; but in stir, i read the english classics and became familiar with philosophy and the science of medicine and learned something about chemistry. one of my favorite authors was voltaire, whom i read, of course, in a translation. his "dictionary" was contraband in prison but i read it with profit. voltaire was certainly one of the shrewdest of men, and as up to snuff as any cynical grafter i know, and yet he had a great love for humanity. he was the philosopher of humanity. goethe said that luther threw the world back two hundred years, but i deny it; for luther, like voltaire, pointed out the ignorance and wickedness of the priests of their day. these churchmen did not understand the teachings of christ. was voltaire delusional? the priests must have thought so, but they were no judges, for they were far worse and less humane than the french revolutionists. the latter killed outright, but the priests tortured in the name of the most humane. i never approved of the methods of the french revolutionists, but certainly they were gentle in comparison with the priests of the spanish inquisition. i think that, in variety of subjects, voltaire has no equal among writers. shrewd as he was, he had a soul, and his moral courage was grand. his defense of young barry, who was arrested for using language against the church, showed his kindness and breadth of mind. on his arrival in paris, when he was only a stripling, he denounced the cowardly, fawning sycophants who surrounded louis xiv,[b] and wrote a sarcastic poem on his nibs, and was confined in the bastille for two years. his courage, his wit, his sarcasms, his hatred of his persecutors, and his love and kindness, stamp him as one of the great, healthy intellects of mankind. what a clever book is _candide_! what satire! what wit! as i lay on my cot how often i laughed at his caustic comments on humanity! and how he could hate! i never yet met a man of any account who was not a good hater. i own that voltaire was ungallant toward the fair sex. but that was his only fault. i enjoyed victor hugo because he could create a great character, and was capable of writing a story with a plot. i rank him as a master of fiction, although i preferred his experience as a traveller, to his novels, which are not real enough. ernest renan was a bracing and clever writer, but i was sadly disappointed in reading his _life of jesus_. i expected to get a true outline of christ's time and a character sketch of the man himself, but i didn't. i went to the fountain for a glass of good wine, but got only red lemonade. i liked dumas, and revelled in the series beginning with _the three musketeers_. i could not read dumas now, however. i also enjoyed gaboriau and du boisgobey, for they are very sensational; but that was during my first term in stir. i could not turn a page of their books now, for they would seem idiotic to me. balzac is a bird of another feather. in my opinion he was one of the best dissectors of human nature that the world ever produced. not even shakespeare was his equal. his depth in searching for motives, his discernment in detecting a hypocrite, his skill in showing up women, with their follies, their loves, their little hypocrisies, their endearments, their malice and their envy is unrivalled. it is right that balzac should show woman with all her faults and follies and virtues, for if she did not possess all these characteristics, how could man adore her? in his line i think thackeray is as great as balzac. when i had read _vanity fair_, _pendennis_, _the newcomes_ and _barry lyndon_, i was so much interested that i read anything of his i could lay my hands on, over and over again. with a novel of thackeray's in my hand i would become oblivious to my surroundings, and long to know something of this writers personality. i think i formed his mental make-up correctly, for i imagined him to be gentle and humane. any man with ability and brains equal to his could not be otherwise. what a character is becky sharp! in her way she was as clever a grafter as sheenie annie. she did not love rawdon as a good wife should. if she had she would not be the interesting becky that she is. she was grateful to rawdon for three reasons; first, he married her; second, he gave her a glimpse into a station in life her soul longed for; third, he came from a good family, and was a soldier and tall, and it is well-known that little women like big men. then rawdon amused becky. she often grinned at his lack of brains. she grinned at everything, and when we learn that becky got religion at the end of the book, instead of saying, god bless her, we only grin, too. _pendennis_ is a healthy book. i always sympathize with pen and laura in their struggles to get on, and when the baby was born i was willing to become godpapa, just for its mamma's sake. _the newcomes_ i call thackeray's masterpiece. it is truer to life than any other book i ever read. take the scene where young clive throws the glass of wine in his cousin's face. the honest horror of the father, his indignation when old captain costigan uses bad language, his exit when he hears a song in the music hall--all this is true realism. but the scene that makes this book thackeray's masterpiece is that where the old colonel is dying. the touching devotion of madam and ethel, the love for old tom, his last word "_adsum_" the quiet weeping of his nurse, and the last duties to the dead; the beautiful tenderness of the two women, of a kind that makes the fair sex respected by all men--i can never forget this scene till my dying day. when i was sick in stir a better tonic than the quack could prescribe was thackeray's _book of snobs_. many is the night i could not sleep until i had read this book with a relish. it acted on me like a bottle of good wine, leaving me peaceful after a time of pleasure. in this book are shown up the little egotisms of the goslings and the foibles of the sucklings in a masterly manner. i read every word dickens ever wrote; and i often ruminated in my mind as to which of his works is the masterpiece. _our mutual friend_ is weak in the love scenes, but the book is made readable by two characters, noddy boffin and silas wegg. where wegg reads, as he thinks, _the last of the russians_, when the book was _the decline and fall of the roman empire_, there is the quintessence of humor. silas's wooden leg and his occupation of selling eggs would make anybody smile, even a dip who had fallen and had no money to square it. the greatest character in _david copperfield_ is uriah heep. the prison scene where this humble hypocrite showed he knew his bible thoroughly, and knew the advantage of having some holy quotations pat, reminded me often of men i have known in auburn and sing sing prisons. some hypocritical jail-bird would dream that he could succeed on the outside by becoming a sunday school superintendent; and four of the meanest thieves i ever knew got their start in that way. who has not enjoyed micawber, with his frothy personality and straitened circumstances, and the unctuous barkis.--poor emily! who could blame her? what woman could help liking steerforth? it is strange and true that good women are won by men they know to be rascals. is it the contrast between good and evil, or is it because the ne'er-do-well has a stronger character and more magnetic force? agnes was one of the best women in the world. contrast her with david's first wife. agnes was like a fine violin, while dora was like a wailing hurdy-gurdy. _oliver twist_ is dickens's strongest book. he goes deeper into human nature there than in any other of his writings. fagin, the jew, is a very strong character, but overdrawn. the picture of fagin's dens and of the people in them, is true to life. i have seen similar gatherings many a time. the ramblings of the artful dodger are drawn from the real thing, but i never met in real life such a brutal character as bill sykes; and i have met some tough grafters, as the course of this book will show. nancy sykes, however, is true to life. in her degradation she was still a woman. i contend that a woman is never so low but a man was the cause. one passage in the book has often touched me, as it showed that nancy had not lost her sex. when she and bill were passing the prison, she turned towards it and said: "bill, they were fine fellows that died to-day." "shut your mouth," said bill. now i don't think there is a thief in the united states who would have answered nancy's remark that way. strong arm workers who would beat your brains out for a few dollars would be moved by that touch of pity in nancy's voice. but oliver himself is the great character, and his story reminds me of my own. the touching incident in the work-house where his poor stomach is not full, and he asks for a second platter of mush to the horror of the teachers, is not overdrawn. when i was in one of our penal institutions, at a later time of my life, i was ill, and asked for extra food; but my request was looked upon as the audacity of a hardened villain. i had many such opportunities to think of oliver. i always liked those authors who wrote as near life as decency would permit. sterne's _tristram shandy_ has often amused me, and _tom jones_, _roderick random_ and _peregrine pickle_ i have read over and over again. i don't see why good people object to such books. some people are forever looking after the affairs of others and neglecting their own; especially a man whom i will call common socks who has put himself up as a mentor for over seventy millions of people. let me tell the busy ladies who are afraid that such books will harm the morals of young persons that the more they are cried down the more they will be read. for that matter they ought to be read. why object to the girl of sixteen reading such books and not to the woman of thirty-five? i think their mental strength is about equal. both are romantic and the woman of thirty-five will fall in love as quickly as the girl of sixteen. i think a woman is always a girl; at least, it has been so in my experience. one day i was grafting in philadelphia. it was raining, and a woman was walking along on walnut street. she slipped on the wet sidewalk and fell. i ran to her assistance, and saw that her figure was slim and girlish and that she had a round, rosy face, but that her hair was pure white. when i asked her if she was hurt, she said "yes," but when i said "let me be your grandson and support you on my way," i put my foot into it, for, horrors! the look she gave me, as she said in an icy voice, "i was never married!" i wondered what manner of men there were in philadelphia, and, to square myself, i said: "never married! and with a pair of such pretty ankles!" then she gave me a look, thanked me, and walked away as jauntily as she ever did in her life, though she must have been suffering agonies from her sprained ankle. since that time i have been convinced that they of the gentle sex are girls from fifteen to eighty. i read much of lever, too, while i was in stir. his pictures of ireland and of the noisy strife in parliament, the description of dublin with its spendthrifts and excited populace, the gamblers and the ruined but gay young gentlemen, all mixed up with the grandeur of ireland, are the work of a master. i could only compare this epoch of worn-out regalia with a st. patrick's day parade twenty years ago in the fourth ward of manhattan. other books i read in stir were gibbon's _roman empire_, carlyle's _frederick the great_, and many of the english poets. i read wordsworth, gray and goldsmith, but i liked tom moore and robert burns better. the greatest of all the poets, however, in my estimation, is byron. his loves were many, his adventures daring, and his language was as broad and independent as his mind. footnote: [b] _sic._ (editor's note.) chapter viii. in stir (_continued_). sing sing was overflowing with convicts, and after i had been there nine months, i and a number of others were transferred to auburn penitentiary. there i found the cells drier, and better than at sing sing, but the food not so good. the warden was not liked by the majority of the men, but i admired him for two things. he believed in giving us good bread; and he did not give a continental what came into the prison, whether it was a needle or a cannister, as long as it was kept in the cell and not used. it was in auburn stir that opium grew to be a habit with me. i used to give the keepers who were running the underground one dollar of every five that were sent me, and they appreciated my kindness and kept me supplied with the drug. what part the hop began to play in my life may be seen from the routine of my days at auburn; particularly at those periods when there was no work to be done. after rising in the morning i would clean out my cell, and turn up my bed and blankets; then i went to breakfast, then if there was no work to do, back to my cell, where i ate a small portion of opium, and sometimes read the daily paper, which was also contraband. it is only the stool-pigeons, those convicts who have money, or the cleverest among the rascals, who get many of these privileges. after i had had my opium and the newspaper i would exercise with dumb-bells and think or read in my cell. then i would have a plunge bath and a nap, which would take me up to dinner time. after dinner i would read in my cell again until three o'clock, when i would go to the bucket-shop or exercise for half an hour in the yard, in lock step, with the others; then back to the cell, taking with me bread and a cup of coffee made out of burnt bread crust, for my supper. in the evening i would read and smoke until my light went out, and would wind up the day with a large piece of opium, which grew larger, as time passed. for a long time i was fairly content with what was practically solitary confinement. i had my books, my pipe, cigarettes and my regular supply of hop. whether i worked in the daytime or not i would usually spend my evenings in the same way. i would lie on my cot and sometimes a thought like the following would come to me: "yes, i have stripes on. when i am released perhaps some one will pity me, particularly the women. they may despise and avoid me, most likely they will. but i don't care. all i want is to get their wad of money. in the meantime i have my opium and my thoughts and am just as happy as the millionaire, unless he has a narcotic." after the drug had begun to work i would frequently fall into a deep sleep and not wake until one or two o'clock the following morning; then i would turn on my light, peer through my cell door, and try to see through the little window out in the corridor. a peculiar nervousness often came over me at this hour, particularly if the weather had been rainy, and my imagination would run on a ship-wreck very often, or on some other painful subject; and i might tell the story to myself in jingles, or jot it down on a piece of paper. then my whole being would be quiet. a gentle, soothing melancholy would steal upon me. often my imagination was so powerfully affected that i could really see the events of my dream. i could see the ship tossing about on waves mountain high. then and only then i was positive i had a soul. i was in such a state of peace that i could not bear that any human being should suffer. at first the scenes before my imagination would be most harrowing, with great loss of life, but when one of the gentle sex appeared vividly before me a shudder passed over me, and i would seek consolation in jingles such as the following: a gallant bark set sail one day for a port beyond the sea, the captain had taken his fair young bride to bear him company. this little brown lass was of puritan stock. her eyes were the brightest e'er seen. they never came back; the ship it was wrecked in a storm in the old gulf stream. two years had passed, then a letter came to a maid in a new england town. it began darling kate, it ended your jack, i am alive in a foreign land. the captain, his gentle young wife and your own were saved by that hand unseen, but the rest----they went down in that terrible storm that night in the old gulf stream. but these pleasures would soon leave me, and i would grow very restless. my only resource was another piece of opium. sometimes i awoke much excited, paced my cell rapidly and felt like tearing down the door. sometimes a book would quiet me. the best soother i had was the most beautiful poem in the english language--walt whitman's _ode to death_. when i read this poem, i often imagined i was at the north pole, and that strange shapes in the clouds beckoned me to come to them. i used to forget myself, and read aloud and was entirely oblivious to my surroundings, until i was brought to myself by the night guard shouting, "what in ---- is the matter with you?" after getting excited in this way i usually needed another dose of hop. i have noticed that the difference between opium and alcohol is that the latter is a disintegrator and tears apart, while the opium is a subtle underminer. opium, for a long time anyway, stimulates the intelligence; while the reverse is true of alcohol. it was under the influence of opium that i began to read philosophy. i read hume and locke, and partly understood them, i think, though i did not know that locke is pronounced in only one syllable till many years after i had read and re-read parts of _the human understanding_. it was not only the opium, but my experience on the outside, that made me eager for philosophy and the deeper poetry; for a grafters wits, if they don't get away from him altogether, become keen through his business, since he lives by them. it was philosophy, and the spectacle of men going suddenly and violently insane all about me, that led me first to think of self-control, though i did not muster enough to throw off the opium habit till many years afterwards. i began to think of will-power about this time, and i knew it was an acquired virtue, like truth and honesty. i think, from a moral standpoint, that i lived as good a life in prison as anybody on the outside, for at least i tried to overcome myself. it was life or death, or, a thousand times worse, an insane asylum. opium led me to books besides those on philosophy, which eventually helped to cure me. at this time i was reading balzac, shakespeare, huxley, tyndall and lavater. one poem of shakespeare's touched me more than any other poem i ever read--_the rape of lucrece_. it was reading such as this that gave me a broader view, and i began to think that this was a terrible life i was leading. but, as the reader will see, i did not know what hell was until several years later. i had been in stir about four years on my first bit when i began to appreciate how terrible a master i had come under. of course, to a certain extent, the habit had been forced upon me. after a man has had for several years bad food, little air and exercise, no natural companionship, particularly with the other sex, from whom he is entirely cut off, he really needs a stimulant. many men fall into the vilest of habits. i found, for my part, that only opium would calm me. it takes only a certain length of time for almost all convicts to become broken in health, addicted to one form or another of stimulant which in the long run pulls them down completely. diseases of various kinds, insanity and death, are the result. but before the criminal is thus released, he grows desperate in the extreme; particularly if he resorts to opium, for that drug makes one reckless. the hop fiend never takes consequences into consideration. under its influence i became very irritable and unruly, and would take no back talk from the keepers. they and the stool-pigeons began to be afraid of me. i would not let them pound me in any way, and i often got into a violent fight. as long as i had my regular allowance of opium, which in the fourth year of my term was about twenty grains a day, i was peaceable enough. it was when i began to lessen the amount, with the desire to give it up, that i became so irritable and violent. the strain of reform, even in this early and unsuccessful attempt, was terrible. at times i used to go without the full amount for several days; but then i would relapse and go on a debauch until i was almost unconscious. after recovery, i would make another resolution, only to fall again. but my life in stir was not all that of the solitary; there were means, even when i was in the shop, of communicating with my fellow convicts; generally by notes, as talking was forbidden. notes, too, were contraband, but we found means of sending them through cons working in the hall. sometimes good-natured or avaricious keepers would carry them; but as a rule a convict did not like to trust a note to a keeper. he was afraid that the screw would read it, whereas it was a point of honor with a convict to deliver the note unread. the contents of these notes were usually news about our girls or pals, which we had received through visitors--rare, indeed!--or letters. by the same means there was much betting done on the races, baseball games and prize fights. we could send money, too, or opium, in the same way, to a friend in need; and we never required an i. o. u. we were allowed to receive visitors from the outside once every two months; also a box could be delivered to us at the same intervals of time. my friends, especially my mother and ethel, sent me things regularly, and came to see me. they used to send me soap, tooth brushes and many other delicacies, for even a tooth brush is a delicacy in prison. ethel stuck to me for three years and visited me regularly during that period. then her visits ceased, and i heard that she had married. i couldn't blame her, but i felt bad about it all the same. but my mother came as often as the two months rolled by; not only during this first term, but during all my bits in stir. certainly she has stuck to me through thick and thin. she has been my only true friend. if she had fallen away from me, i couldn't have blamed her; she would only have gone with the rest of the world; but she didn't. she was good not only to me, but to my friends, and she had pity for everybody in stir. i remember how she used to talk about the rut worn in the stone pavement at sing sing, where the men paced up and down. "talk about the bridge of sighs!" she used to say. when a man is in stir he begins to see what an ungrateful brute he has been; and he begins to separate true friends from false ones. he thinks of the mother he neglected for supposed friends of both sexes, who are perhaps friendly at the beginning of his sentence, but soon desert him if he have a number of years to serve. long after all others have ceased coming to see him, his old mother, bowed and sad, will trudge up the walk from the station to visit her thoughtless and erring son! she carries on her arm a heavy basket of delicacies for the son who is detested by all good citizens, and in her heart there is still hope for her boy. she has waited many years and she will continue to wait. what memories come to the mother as she sees the mansion of woes on the hudson looming up before her! her son is again a baby in her imagination; or a young fellow, before he began to tread the rocky path!--they soon part, for half an hour is all that is given, but they will remember forever the mothers kiss, the son's good-bye, the last choking words of love and familiar advice, as she says: "trust in god, my lad." after one of my mothers visits i used to have more sympathy for my fellow convicts. i was always a keen observer, and in the shops or at mess time, and when we were exercising together in lock step, or working about the yard or in the halls, i used to "feel out" my brother "cons," often with a kindly motive. i grew very expert in telling when a friend was becoming insane; for imprisonment leads to insanity, as everybody knows. many a time a man i knew in stir would grow nervous or absent-minded, then suspicious, and finally would be sent to the madhouse at dannemora or matteawan. for instance, take a friend of mine named billy. he was doing a bit of ten years. in the fifth year of his sentence i noticed that he was brooding, and i asked him what was the matter. "i am afraid," he said, "that my wife is going outside of me." "you are not positive, are you?" i asked. "well," he answered, "she visited me the other day, and she was looking good (prosperous). my son was with her, and he looked good, too. she gave me five dollars and some delicacies. but she never had five dollars when i was on the outside." "she's working," said i, trying to calm him. "no; she has got a father and mother," he replied, "and she is living with them." "billy," i continued, "how long have you been in stir?" "growing on six years," he said. "billy," i proceeded, "what would you do if you were on the outside and she was in prison for six years?" "well," he replied, "i'd have to give myself some rope." "philosophers claim that it is just as hard for a woman to live alone as for a man," i said. "you're unreasonable, billy. surely you can't blame her." billy's case is an instance of how, when a convict has had bad food, bad air and an unnatural routine for some time, he begins to borrow trouble. he grows anæmic and then is on the road to insanity. if he has a wife he almost always grows suspicious of her, though he does not speak about it until he has been a certain number of years in prison. it was not long after the above conversation took place that billy was sent to the insane asylum at matteawan. sometimes, after a man has begun to grow insane, he will show it by reticence, rather than by talkativeness, according to his disposition. one of my intimate friends, in stir much longer than i, was like a ray of sunshine, witty and a good story teller. his laugh was contagious and we all liked to see him. he was one of the best night prowlers (burglars) in the profession, and had many other gifts. after he had been in stir, however, for a few years, he grew reticent and suspicious, thought that everybody was a stool-pigeon, and died a raving maniac a few years later at matteawan. sometimes a convict will grow so nervous that he will attempt to escape, even when there is no chance, or will sham insanity. an acquaintance of mine, louis, who had often grafted with me when we were on the outside, told me one day he did not expect to live his bit out. when confined a man generally thinks a lot about his condition, reads a book on medicine and imagines he has every disease the book describes. louis was in this state, and he consulted me and two others as to whether he ought not to "shoot a bug" (sham insanity); and so get transferred to the hospital. one advised him to attack a keeper and demand his baby back. but as billy had big, black eyes and a cadaverous face, i told him he'd better shoot the melancholy bug; for he could do that better. accordingly in the morning when the men were to go to work in the stone yard, billy appeared in the natural (naked). he had been stalled off by two friends until he had reached the yard. there the keepers saw him, and as they liked him, they gently took him to the hospital. he was pronounced incurably insane by two experts, and transferred to the madhouse. the change of air was so beneficial that louis speedily recovered his senses. at least, the doctors thought so when he was discovered trying to make his elegant (escape); and he was sent back to stir. as a rule, however, those who attempted to sham insanity failed. they were usually lacking in originality. at any hour of the day or night the whole prison might be aroused by some convict breaking up house, as it was called when a man tried to shoot the bug. he might break everything in his cell, and yell so loud that the other convicts in the cells near by would join in and make a horrible din. some would curse, and some laugh or howl. if it was at night and they had been awakened out of an opium sleep, they would damn him a thousand miles deep. his friends, however, who knew that he was acting, would plug his game along by talking about his insanity in the presence of stool-pigeons. these latter would tell the keepers that he was buggy (insane), and, if there was not a blow, he might be sent to the hospital. before that happened, however, he had generally demolished all his furniture. the guards would go to his cell, and chain him up in the catholic chapel until he could be examined by the doctor. warden sage was a humane man, and used to go to the chapel himself and try to quiet the fake lunatic, and give him dainties from his own table. during the night the fake had historic company, for painted on the walls were, on one side of him, jesus, and on the other, judas and mary magdalene. a favorite method of shooting the bug, and a rather difficult one for the doctors to detect, was that of hearing voices in one's cell. this is more dangerous for the convict than for anybody else, for when a fake tries to imagine he hears voices, he usually begins to really believe he does, and then from a fake he becomes a genuine freak. another common fake is to tell the keeper that you have a snake in your arm, and then take a knife and try to cut it out; but it requires nerve to carry this fake through. sometimes the man who wants to make the prison hospital merely fakes ordinary illness. if he has a screw or a doctor "right" he may stay for months in the comparatively healthy hospital at sing sing, where he can loaf all day, and get better food than at the public mess. it is as a rule only the experienced guns who are clever enough to work these little games. for faking, conversing, loafing in the shop, and for many other forbidden things, we were often punished, though the screws as often winked at small misdemeanors. at sing sing they used to hang us up by the wrists sometimes until we fainted. auburn had a jail, now used as the condemned cells, where there was no bed and no light. in this place the man to be punished would remain from four to ten days and live on ten ounces of bread and half a jug of water a day. in addition, the jail was very damp, worse even than the cells at sing sing, where i knew many convicts who contracted consumption of the lungs and various kidney complaints. indeed, a great deal of dying goes on in state's prison. during my first term it seemed as if three niggers died to every white man. a dozen of us working around the front would comment on the "stiffs" when they were carried out. one would ask, "who's dead?" the reply might be, "only a nigger." one day i was talking in the front with a hall-room man when a stiff was put in the wagon. "who's dead?" i asked. the hall-man wanted to bet it was a nigger. i bet him a dollar it was a white man, and then asked the hospital nurse, who said it was not a nigger, but an old pal of mine, named jerry donovan. i felt sore and would not accept the money i had won. poor jerry and i did house-work together for three months, some of which i have told of, and he was a good fellow, and a sure and reliable grafter. and now he had "gone up the escape," and was being carried to the little graveyard on the side of the hill where only an iron tag would mark his place of repose. my intelligence was naturally good, and when i began to get some education i felt myself superior to many of my companions in stir. i was not alone in this feeling, for in prison there are many social cliques; though fewer than on the outside. men who have been high up and have held responsible positions when at liberty make friends in stir with men they formerly would not have trusted as their boot-blacks. the professional thieves usually keep together as much as possible in prison, or communicate together by means of notes; though sometimes they associate with men who, not professional grafters, have been sent up for committing some big forgery, or other big swindle. the reason for this is business; for the gun generally has friends among the politicians, and he wants to associate while in stir only with others who have influence. it is the guns who are usually trusted by the screws in charge of the underground tunnel, for the professional thief is less likely to squeal than the novice. therefore, the big forger who has stolen thousands, and may be a man of ability and education appreciates the friendship of the professional pickpocket who can do him little favors, such as railroading his mail through the underground, and providing him with newspapers, or a bottle of booze. the pull of the professional thief with outside politicians often procures him the respect and consideration of the keepers. one day a convict, named ed white, was chinning with an irish screw, an old man who had a family to support. jokes in stir lead to friendship, and when the keeper told ed that he was looking for a job for his daughter, who was a stenographer, ed said he thought he could place her in a good position. the old screw laughed and said; "you loafer, if you were made to carry a hod you wouldn't be a splitting matches in stir." but ed meant what he had said, and wrote to the famous tammany politician, mr. wet coin, who gave the girl a position as stenographer at a salary of fourteen dollars a week. the old screw took his daughter to new york, and when he returned to auburn he began to "mister" ed. "i 'clare to god," he said, "i don't know what to make out of you. here you are eating rotten hash, cooped up like a wild animal, with stripes, when you might be making twelve to fifteen dollars a week." ed replied, sarcastically, "that would about keep me in cigar money." one of the biggest men i knew in stir was jim a. mcblank, at one time chief of police and mayor of coney island. he was sent to sing sing for his repeating methods at election, at which game he was a no. . he got so many repeaters down to the island that they were compelled to register as living under fences, in dog kennels, tents, or any old place. there was much excitement in the prison when the lord of coney island was shown around the stir by principal keeper connoughton. he was a good mechanic, and soon had a gang of men working under him; though he was the hardest worker of them all. after he had been there awhile the riff-raff of of the prison, though they had never heard the saying that familiarity breeds contempt, dropped calling him mr. mcblank, and saluted him as plain jimmy. he was never in touch, however, with the majority of the convicts, for he was too close to the authorities; and the men believe that convicts can not be on friendly terms with the powers that be unless they are stool-pigeons. another thing that made the "cons" dislike the mayor was the fact, that, when he was chief of police, he had settled a popular dip named feeley for ten years and a half. the very worst thing against him, however, was his private refrigerator in which he kept butter, condensed milk and other luxuries, which he did not share with the other convicts. one day a young convict named sammy, tried to beat sing sing. he bricked himself up in the wall, leaving a movable opening at the bottom. while waiting a chance to escape sammy used to sally forth from his hiding-place and steal something good from mcblank's box. one night, while helping himself to the mayor's delicacies, he thought he heard a keeper, and hastily plunging his arm into the refrigerator he made away with a large piece of butter. what did the ex-chief of police do but report the loss of his butter to the screws which put them next to the fact that the convict they had been looking for for nine nights was still in the stir. the next night they would have rung the "all-right" bell, and given up the search, and indeed, they rang the bell, but watched; and when sammy, thinking he could now go to new york, came out of his hiding place, he was caught. when the story circulated in the prison all kinds of vengeance were vowed against mcblank, who was much frightened. i heard him say that he would rather have lost his right arm than see the boy caught. what a come-down for a man who could throw his whole city for any state or national candidate at election time, to be compelled to apologize as mcblank was, to the lowest element in prison. here indeed was the truth of that old saying: pride goeth before a fall. one of the best liked of the convicts i met during my first bit was ferdinand ward, who got two years for wrecking the firm in which general grant and his son were partners. he did many a kindness in stir to those who were tough and had few friends. another great favorite was johnny hope, son of jimmy hope, who stole three millions from the manhattan bank. the father got away, and johnny, who was innocent, was nailed by a copper looking for a reputation, and settled for twenty years in sing sing, because he was his father's son and had the misfortune to meet an ambitious copper. when johnny had been in prison about ten years, the inspector, who was the former copper, went to the governor, and said he was convinced that the boy was innocent. but how about young hope's wrecked life? johnny's father, indeed, was a well-known grafter whom i met in auburn, where we worked together for a while in the broom-shop. he was much older than i, and used to give me advice. "don't ever do a day's work in your life, my boy," he would say, "unless you can't help it. you are too intelligent to be a drudge." another common remark of his was: "trust no convict," and a third was: "it is as easy to steal five thousand dollars as it is to steal five dollars." old man hope had stolen millions and ought to know what he was talking about. in personal appearance he was below the medium height, had light gray hair and as mild a pair of eyes as i ever saw in man or woman. i ranked him as a manly old fellow, and he was an idol among the small crooks, though he did not have much to do with them. he seemed to like to talk to me, partly because i never talked graft, and he detested such talk particularly among prison acquaintances. he referred one day to a pick pocket in stir who was always airing what he knew about the graft. "he's tiresome," said old hope. "he is always talking shop." one of the worst hated men at auburn was weeks, a well-known club man and banker, who once stole over a million dollars. he was despised by the other convicts, for he was a "squealer." one of the screws in charge of the underground tunnel was doing things for weeks, who had a snap,--the position of book-keeper, in the clothing department. in his desk he kept whiskey, beer and cigars, and lived well. one day a big bug paid him a visit, and weeks belched how he had to give up his watch and chain in order to secure luxuries. his friend, the big bug, reported to the prison authorities, and the principal keeper went to weeks and made the coward squeal on the keeper who had his "front." the screw lost his job, and when the convicts heard of it, they made weeks' life miserable for years. but the man who was hated worst of all those in prison was biff ellerson. i never understood why the other cons hated him, unless it was that he always wore a necktie; this is not etiquette in stir, which in the convicts' opinion ought to be a place of mourning. he had been a broker and a clubman, and was high up in the world. ellerson was a conscientious man, and once, when a mere boy, who had stolen a ten dollar watch, was given fifteen years, had publicly criticized the judge and raised a storm in the newspapers. ellerson compared this lad's punishment with that of a man like weeks, who had robbed orphans out of their all and only received ten years for it. many is the time that this man, biff ellerson, has been kind to men in stir who hated him. he had charge of the dungeon at auburn where convicts who had broken the rules were confined. i have known him to open my door and give me water on the quiet, many a time, and he did it for others who were ungrateful, and at the risk, too, of never being trusted again by the screws and of getting a dose of the cuddy-hole himself. by far the greater number of these swell grafters who steal millions die poor, for it is not what a man steals, but what he saves, that counts. i have often noticed that the bank burglar who is high up in his profession is not the one who has the most money when he gets to be forty-five or fifty years of age. the second or third class gun is more likely to lay by something. his general expenses are not so large and he does not need so much fall-money; and in a few years he can usually show more money than the big gun who has a dozen living on him. i knew a big one who told me that every time he met a certain police official, his watch, a piece of jewelry, a diamond stud or even his cuff buttons were much admired. the policeman always had some relative or friend who desired just the kind of ornament the big one happened to be wearing at the time. i cannot help comparing those swell guys whom i knew at sing sing with a third class pickpocket i met on the same bit. the big ones are dead or worse, but the other day i met, in new york, my old pickpocket friend in stir, mr. aut. i am positive that the hand-shake he gave me was only a muscular action, for mr. aut has "squared it", and the gun who has reformed and has become prosperous does not like to meet an old acquaintance, who knows too much about his past life. when i ran across him in the city i started in to talk about old times in stir and of pals we knew in the long ago, but he answered me by saying, "nix", which meant "drop it". to get him to talk i was forced to throw a few "larrys" into him, such as: "well, old man, only for your few mistakes of the past, you might be leader of tammany hall." gradually he expanded and told me how much he had gained in weight since he left stir and what he had done for certain ungrateful grafters. he boasted that he could get bail for anyone to the sum of fifty thousand dollars, and he told the truth, for this man, who had been a third class dip, owns at the present time, three gin-mills and is something of a politician. he has three beautiful children and is well up in the world. his daughter was educated at a convent, and his son is at a well-known college. yet i remember the time when this ex gun, mr. aut, and i, locked near one another in sing sing and consoled one another with what little luxuries we could get together. our letters, booze and troubles were shared between us, and many is the time i have felt for him; for he had married a little shop girl and had two children at that time. when he got out of stir he started in to square it, that is, not to go to prison any more. he was wise and no one can blame him. he is a good father and a successful man. if he had been a better grafter it would not have been so easy for him to reform. i wish him all kinds of prosperity, but i don't like him as well as i did when we wore the striped garb and whispered good luck to one another in that mansion of woes on the hudson. one of mr. aut's possessions makes me smile whenever i think of it. in his swell parlor, over a brand new piano, hangs an oil painting of himself, in which he takes great pride. i could not help thinking that that picture showed a far more prosperous man and one in better surroundings than a certain photograph of his which is quite as highly treasured as the more costly painting; although it is only a tintype, numbered two thousand and odd, in the rogues' gallery. chapter ix. _in stir and out._ some of the most disagreeable days i ever spent in prison were the holidays, only three of which during the year, however, were kept--fourth of july, thanksgiving and christmas. in sing sing there was no work on those days, and we could lie abed longer in the morning. the food was somewhat better than usual. breakfast consisted of boiled ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a cup of coffee with milk. after mess we went, as usual, to chapel, and then gave a kind of vaudeville show, all with local talent. we sang rag-time and sentimental songs, some of us played on an instrument, such as the violin, mandolin, or cornet, and the band gave the latest pieces from comic opera. after the show was over we went to the mess-room again where we received a pan containing a piece of pie, some cheese, a few apples, as much bread as we desired and--a real luxury in stir--two cigars. with our booty we then returned to our cells, at about eleven o'clock in the morning, and after the guards had made the rounds to see that none of the birds had gone astray, we were locked up until the next morning, without anything more to eat. we were permitted to talk to one another from our cells until five o'clock, when the night guards went on duty. such is--just imagine it--a great day in sing sing! the gun, no matter how big a guy he is, even if he has robbed a bank and stolen millions, is far worse off than the meanest laborer, be he ever so poor. he may have only a crust, but he has that priceless boon, his liberty. at auburn the routine on holidays is much the same as that of sing sing; but one is not compelled to go to chapel, which is a real kindness. i don't think a man ought to be forced to go to church, even in stir, against his will. on holidays in auburn a man may stay in his cell instead of attending divine service, if he so desires, and not be punished for it. many a con prefers not to go even to the vaudeville show, which at auburn is given by outside talent, but remains quietly all day in his cell. there is one other great holiday privilege at auburn, which some of the convicts appreciate more than i did. when the clock strikes twelve o'clock the convicts, locked in their cells, start in to make the rest of the night hideous, by pounding on the doors, playing all sorts of instruments, blowing whistles, and doing everything else that would make a noise. there is no more sleep that night, for everything is given over to bedlam, until five thirty in the morning, when discipline again reigns, and the nervous man who detests these holidays sighs with pleasure, and says to himself: "i am so glad that at last everything is quiet in this cursed stir." what with poor food, little air and exercise, no female society, bad habits and holidays, it is no wonder that there are many attempts, in spite of the danger, to escape from stir. most of these attempts are unsuccessful, but a few succeed. one of the cleverest escapes i know of happened during my term at auburn. b---- was the most feared convict in the prison. he was so intelligent, so reckless and so good a mechanic that the guards were afraid he would make his elegant any day. indeed, if ever a man threw away gifts for not even the proverbial mess of pottage, it was this man b----. he was the cleverest man i ever met in stir or out. it was after one of the delightful holidays in auburn that b----, who was a nervous man, decided to make his gets. he picked a quarrel with another convict and was so rough that the principal keeper almost decided to let him off; but when b---- spat in his face he changed his mind and put him in the dungeon. i have already mentioned this ram-shackle building at auburn. it was the worst yet. all b----'s clothing was taken off and an old coat, shirt, and trousers without buttons were given him. an old piece of bay rope was handed him to tie around his waist, and he was left in darkness. this was what he wanted, for, although they had stripped him naked and searched him, he managed to conceal a saw, which he used to such good purpose that on the second night he had sawed himself into the yard. instead of trying to go over the wall, as most cons would have done, b---- placed a ladder, which he found in the repair shop, against the wall, and when the guards discovered next morning that b---- was not in the dungeon, and saw the ladder on the wall, they thought he had escaped, and did not search the stir but notified the towns to look after him. he was not found, of course, for he was hiding in the cellar of the prison. a night or two afterwards he went to the tailor shop, selected the best suit of clothes in the place, opened the safe which contained the valuables of the convicts, with a piece of steel and a hammer, thus robbing his fellow sufferers, and escaped by the ladder. after several months of freedom he was caught, sent back to stir, and forfeited half of his commutation time. a more tragic attempt was made by the convicts, big benson and little kick. they got tools from friends in the machine shop and started in to saw around the locks of their doors. they worked quietly, and were not discovered. the reason is that there is sometimes honor among thieves. two of their friends in their own gallery, two on the gallery above and two on that underneath, tipped them off, by a cough or some other noise, whenever the night guard was coming; and they would cease their work with the saws. convicts grow very keen in detecting the screw by the creaking of his boots on the wooden gallery floor; if they are not quite sure it is he, they often put a small piece of looking-glass underneath the door, and can thus see down the gallery in either direction a certain distance. whenever benson and kick were at work, they would accompany the noise of the saw with some other noise, so as to drown the former, for they knew that, although they had some friends among the convicts, there were others who, if they got next, would tip off the keepers that an escape was to be made. in the morning they would putty up the cuts made in the door during the night. one night when everything was ready, they slipped from their cells, put the mug on the guard, took away his cannister, and tied him to the bottom of one of their cells. they did the same to another guard, who was on the watch in the gallery below, went to the outside window on the hudson side of sing sing, and putting a jack, which they had concealed in the cell, between the bars of the window, spread them far apart, so that they could make their exit. at this point however they were discovered by a third guard, who fired at them, hitting little kick in the leg. the shot aroused the sergeant of the guards and he gave the alarm. big benson was just getting through the window when the whole pack of guards fired at him, killing him as dead as a door-nail. little kick lost his nerve and surrendered, and was taken to the dungeon. big benson, who had been serving a term for highway robbery, was one of the best liked men in stir, and when rumors reached the convicts that he had been shot, pandemonium broke loose in the cells. they yelled and beat their coffee cups against the iron doors, and the officials were powerless to quiet them. there was more noise even than on a holiday at auburn. soon after i was transferred from sing sing to auburn, a friend came to me and said: "jimmy, are you on either of the shoe-shop galleries? no? well, if you can get on keeper riley's gallery i think you can spring (escape)." then he let me in on one of the cleverest beats i ever knew; if i could have succeeded in being put on that gallery i should not have finished my first term in state's prison. at that time work was slack and the men were locked in their cells most of the time. leahy started in to dig out the bricks from the ceiling of his cell. each day, when taking his turn for an hour in the yard, he would give the cement, which he had done up in small packages, to friends, who would dump it in their buckets, the contents of which they would then throw into the large cesspool. while exercising in the yard, the cons would throw the bricks leahy had removed on an old brick pile under the archway. after he had removed sufficient stuff to make a hole big enough to crawl through, all he had left to do was to saw a few boards, and remove a few tiles, and then he was on the roof. it is the habit of the guard, when he goes the rounds, to rap the ceiling of every cell with his stick, to see if there is an excavation. leahy had guarded against this by filling a small box with sand and placing it in the opening. then he pasted a piece of linen over the box and whitewashed it. even when the screw came around to glance in his cell leahy would continue to work, for he had rigged up a dummy of himself in bed. when he reached the roof, he dropped to a lower building, reached the wall which surrounds the prison, and with a rope lowered himself to the ground. with a brand new suit of clothes which a friend had stolen from the shop, leahy went forth into the open, and was never caught. at sing sing an old chum of mine named tom escaped, and would never have been caught if he had not been so sentimental. indeed, he was improvident in every way. he had been a well-known house-worker, and made lots of money at this graft, but he lived well and blew what he stole, and consequently did many years in prison. he was nailed for a house that was touched of "éclat" worth thousands, and convicted, though of this particular crime he was, i am convinced, innocent; of course, he howled like a stuck pig about the injustice of it, all his life. while he was in raymond street jail he got wind of the men who really did the job. they were pals and he asked them to try to turn him out. his girl, tessie, heard of it and wanted to go to police headquarters and squeal on the others, to save her sweetheart. but tom was frantic, for there was no squeal in him. you find grafters like that sometimes, and tom was always sentimental. he certainly preferred to go to stir rather than have the name of being a belcher. so he went to sing sing for seven and a half years. he was a good mechanic and was assigned to a brick-laying job on the wall. he had an easy time in stir, for he had a screw right, and got many luxuries through the underground; and was not watched very closely. one day he put a suit of clothes under his stripes, vamoosed into a wood near by, and removed his stripes. he kept on walking till he reached connecticut, which, as i have said, is the softest state in the union. tom would never have finished that bit in stir, if, as i have also said, he had not been so sentimental. when in prison a grafter continually thinks about his old pals and hang-outs, and the last scenes familiar to him before he went to stir. tom was a well-known gun, with his picture in the hall of fame, and yet, after beating prison, and leaving years behind, and knowing that if caught he would have to do additional time, would have the authorities sore against him and be confined in the dark cell, he yet, in spite of all that, after a short time, made for his old haunts on the bowery, where he was nailed by a fly-cop and sent back to sing sing. so much for the force of habit and of environment, especially when a grafter is a good fellow and loves his old pals. on one occasion tom was well paid for being a good fellow. jack was a well-known pugilist who had become a grafter. his wife's sister had married a millionaire, and jack stole the millions, which amounted, in this case, to only one hundred thousand dollars. for this he was put in prison for four years. while in stir, tom, who had a screw right, did him many favors, which jack remembered. years afterwards they were both on the outside again. tom was still a grafter, but jack had gone to work for a police official as general utility man, and gained the confidence of his employer, who was chief of the detective force. the latter got jack a position as private detective in one of the swellest hotels in florida. now, tom happened to be grafting in that state, and met his old friend jack at the hotel. instead of tipping off the chief that tom was a grafter, jack staked his old pal, for he remembered the favors he had received in stir. tom was at liberty for four years, and then was brought to police headquarters where the chief said to him: "i know that you met jack in florida, and i am sore because he did not tip me off." tom replied indignantly: "he is not a hyena like your ilk. he is not capable of the basest of all crimes, ingratitude. i can forgive a man who puts his hand in my pocket and steals my money. i can forgive him, for it may do him good. he may invest the money and become an honored member of the community. but the crime no man can forgive is ingratitude. it is the most inhuman of crimes and only your ilk is capable of it." the chief smiled at tom's sentiment--that was always his weak point--poor tom!--and said: "well, you are a clever thief, and i'm glad i was wise enough to catch you." whereupon tom sneered and remarked: "i could die of old age in this city for all of you and your detectives. i was tipped off to you by a dicky bird (stool pigeon) damn him!" i have known few grafters who had as much feeling as tom. more than five years passed, and the time for my release from auburn drew near. the last weeks dragged terribly; they seemed almost as long as the years that had gone before. sometimes i thought the time would never come. the day before i was discharged i bade good-bye to my friends, who said to me, smiling: "she has come at last," or "it's near at hand," or "it was a long time a-coming." that night i built many castles in the air, with the help of a large piece of opium: and continued to make the good resolutions i had begun some time before. i had permission from the night guard to keep my light burning after the usual hour, and the last book i read on my first term in stir was _tristram shandy_. just before i went to bed i sang for the last time a popular prison song which had been running in my head for months: "roll round, ' , ' , ' , sweet ' roll around. how happy i shall be the morning i go free, sweet ' roll around." before i fell asleep i resolved to be good, to quit opium and not to graft any more. the resolution was easily made and i went to bed happy. i was up at day-break and penned a few last words to my friends and acquaintances remaining in stir. i promised some of them that i would see their friends on the outside and send them delicacies and a little money. they knew that i would keep my promise, for i have always been a man of my word; as many of the most successful grafters are. it is only the vogel-grafter, the petty larceny thief or the "sure-thing" article, who habitually breaks his word. many people think that a thief can not be trusted; and it certainly is true that the profession does not help to make a man virtuous in his personal relations. but it is also true that a man may be, and sometimes is, honorable in his dealings with his own world, and at the same time a desperate criminal in the other. it is not of course common, to find a thief who is an honest man; but is there very often an honest man anywhere, in the world of graft or out of it? if it is often, so much the better, but that has not been my experience. does not everyone know that the men who do society the greatest injury have never done time; in fact, may never have broken any laws? i am not trying to excuse myself or my companions in crime, but i think the world is a little twisted in its ideas as to right and wrong, and who are the greatest sinners. when six o'clock on the final day came round it was a great relief. i went through the regular routine, and at eight o'clock was called to the front office, received a new suit of clothes, as well as my fare home and ten dollars with which to begin life afresh. "hold on," i said, to the warden. "i worked eighteen months. under the new piece-price plan i ought to be allowed a certain percentage of my earnings." the warden, who was a good fellow and permitted almost anything to come in by the underground tunnel, asked the clerk if there was any more money for me. the clerk consulted with the keepers and then reported to the warden that i was the most tired man that ever entered the prison; adding that it was very nervy of me to want more money, after they had treated me far better than the parent of the prodigal treated his son. the warden, thereupon, remarked to me that if i went pilfering again and were not more energetic than i had been in prison, i would never eat. "goodbye," he concluded. "well," i said, "i hope we'll never meet again." with my discharge papers in my hand, and in my mind a resolution never to go back to the stir where so many of my friends, strong fellows, too, had lost their lives or had become physical or mental wrecks, i left auburn penitentiary and went forth into the free world. i had gone to stir a boy of twenty-one, and left it a man of twenty-six. i entered healthy, and left broken down in health, with the marks of the jail-bird upon me; marks, mental and physical, that would never leave me, and habits that i knew would stick closer than a brother. i knew that there was nothing in a life of crime. i had tested that well enough. but there were times during the last months i spent in my cell, when, in spite of my good resolutions, i hated the outside world which had forced me into a place that took away from my manhood and strength. i knew i had sinned against my fellow men, but i knew, too, that there had been something good in me. i was half irish, and about that race there is naturally something roguish; and that was part of my wickedness. when i left stir i knew i was not capable, after five years and some months of unnatural routine, of what i should have been by nature. a man is like an electric plant. use poor fuel and you will have poor electricity. the food is bad in prison. the cells at sing sing are a crime against the criminal; and in these damp and narrow cells he spends, on the average, eighteen hours out of the twenty-four. in the name of humanity and science what can society expect from a man who has spent a number of years in such surroundings? he will come out of stir, as a rule, a burden on the tax-payers, unable to work, and confirmed in a life of crime; desperate, and willing to take any chance. the low-down, petty, canting thief, who works all the charitable societies and will rob only those who are his benefactors, or a door-mat, is utterly useless in prison or out. the healthy, intelligent, ambitious grafter is capable of reform and usefulness, if shown the error of his ways or taken hold of before his physical and mental health is ruined by prison life. you can appeal to his manhood at that early time. after he has spent a certain number of years in stir his teeth become decayed; he can not chew his food, which is coarse and ill-cooked; his stomach gets bad: and once his stomach becomes deranged it is only a short time before his head is in a like condition. eventually, he may be transferred to the mad-house. i left auburn stir a happy man, for the time, for i thought everything would be smooth sailing. as a matter of fact i could not know the actual realities i had to face, inside and outside of me, and so all my good resolutions were nothing but a dream. it was a fine may morning that i left auburn and i was greatly excited and bewildered by the brightness and joy of everything about me. i took my hat off, gazed up at the clear sky, looked up and down the street and at the passers-by, with a feeling of pleasure and confusion. i turned to the man who had been released with me, and said, "let's go and get something to eat." on the way to the restaurant, however, the jangling of the trolleys upset my nerves. i could not eat, and drank a couple of whiskies. they did not taste right. everything seemed tame, compared with the air, which i breathed like a drunken man. i bought a few pounds of tea, canned goods, cheese and fruit, which i sent by a keeper to my friends in stir. i also bought for my friends a few dollars' worth of morphine and some pulverized gum opium. how could i send it to them, for the keeper was not "next" to the underground? suddenly i had an idea. i bought ten cents worth of walnuts, split them, took the meat out, put the morphine and opium in, closed them with mucilage, put them in a bag and sent them to the convicts with the basket of other things i had left with the innocent keeper. i got aboard my train, and as i pulled out of the town of auburn gave a great sigh of relief. i longed to go directly to new york, for i always did like big cities, particularly manhattan, and i was dying to see some of my old girls. but i stopped off at syracuse, according to promises, to deliver some messages to the relatives of convicts, and so reached new york a few hours later than my family and friends had expected. they had gone to meet an earlier train, and had not waited, so that when i reached my native city after this long absence i found nobody at the station to welcome me back. it made me sad for a moment, but when i passed out into the streets of the big town i felt excited and joyous, and so confused that i thought i knew almost everybody on the street. i nearly spoke to a stranger, a woman, thinking she was blonde mamie. i soon reached the bowery and there met some of my old pals; but was much surprised to find them changed and older. for years and years a convict lives in a dream. he is isolated from the realities of the outside world. in stir he is a machine, and his mind is continually dwelling on the last time he was at liberty; he thinks of his family and friends as they were then. they may have become old, sickly and wrinkled, but he does not realize this. when, set free, he tries to find them, he expects that they will be unchanged, but if he finds them at all, what a shock! an old-timer i knew, a man named packey, who had served fifteen years out of a life sentence, and had been twice declared insane, told me that he had reached a state of mind in which he imagined himself to be still a young fellow, of the age he was when he first went to stir. chapter x. _at the graft again._ i spent my first day in new york looking up my old pals and girls, especially the latter. how i longed to exchange friendly words with a woman! but the girls i knew were all gone, and i was forced to make new acquaintances on the spot. i spent all the afternoon and most of the evening with a girl i picked up on the bowery; i thought she was the most beautiful creature in the world; but when i saw her again weeks afterwards, when women were not so novel to me, i found her almost hideous. i must have longed for a young woman's society, for i did not go to see my poor old mother until i had left my bowery acquaintance. and yet my mother had often proved herself my only friend! but i had a long talk with her before i slept, and when i left her for a stroll in the wonderful city before going to bed my resolution to be good was keener than ever. as i sauntered along the bowery that night the desire to talk to an old pal was strong. but where was i to find a friend? only in places where thieves hung out. "well," i said to myself, "there is no harm in talking to my old pals. i will tell them there is nothing in the graft, and that i have squared it." i dropped into a music hall, a resort for pickpockets, kept by an old gun, and there i met teddy, whom i had not seen for years. "hello, jim," he said, giving me the glad hand, "i thought you were dead." "not quite so bad as that, teddy," i replied, "i am still in evidence." we had a couple of beers. i could not quite make up my mind to tell him i had squared it; and he put me next to things in town. "take my advice," he said, "and keep away from ---- ---- (naming certain clubs and saloons where thieves congregated). the proprietors of these places and the guns that hang out there, many of them anyway, are not on the level. some of the grafters who go there have the reputation of being clever dips, but they have protection from the front office men because they are rats and so can tear things open without danger. by giving up a certain amount of stuff and dropping a stall or two occasionally to keep up the flyman's reputation, they are able to have a bank account and never go to stir. the flymen hang out in these joints, waiting for a tip, and they are bad places for a grafter who is on the level." i listened with attention, and said, by force of habit: "put me next to the stool-pigeons, teddy. you know i am just back from stir." "well," he answered, "outside of so and so (and he mentioned half-a-dozen men by name) none of them who hang out in those joints can be trusted. come to my house, jim, and we'll have a long talk about old times, and i will introduce you to some good people (meaning thieves)." i went with him to his home, which was in a tenement house in the lower part of the first ward. he introduced me to his wife and children and a number of dips, burglars and strong-armed men who made his place a kind of rendezvous. we talked old times and graft, and the wife and little boy of eight years old listened attentively. the boy had a much better chance to learn the graft than i had when a kid, for my father was an honest man. the three strong-arm men (highwaymen) were a study to me, for they were westerners, with any amount of nerve. one of them, denver red, a big powerful fellow, mentioned a few bits he had done in western prisons, explained a few of his grafts and seemed to despise new york guns, whom he considered cowardly. he said the easterners feared the police too much, and always wanted to fix things before they dared to graft. i told them a little about new york state penitentiaries, and then ted said to denver red: "what do you think of the big fellow?" denver grinned, and the others followed suit, and i heard the latest story. a well-known politician, leader of his district, a cousin of senator wet coin; a man of gigantic stature, with the pleasing name, i will say, of flower, had had an adventure. he is even better developed physically than mentally, and virtually king of his district, and whenever he passes by, the girls bow to him, the petty thief calls him "mister" and men and women alike call him "big flower." well, one night not long before the gathering took place in teddy's house, big flower was passing through the toughest portion of his bailiwick, humming ragtime, when my new acquaintances, the three strong-arm workers from the west, stuck him up with cannisters, and relieved him of a five carat diamond stud, a gold watch and chain and a considerable amount of cash. the next day there was consternation among the clan of the wet coins, for big flower, who had been thus nipped, was their idol. we all laughed heartily at the story, and i went home and to sleep. the next day i found it a very easy thing to drift back to my old haunts. in the evening i went to a sporting house on twenty-seventh street, where a number of guns hung out. i got the glad hand and an invitation to join in some good graft. i said i was done with the rocky path. they smiled and gently said: "we have been there, too, jim." one of them added: "by the way, i hear you are up against the hop, jim." it was billy, and he invited me home with him. there i met ida, as pretty a little shop girl as one wants to see. billy said there was always an opening for me, that times were pretty good. he and ida had an opium layout, and they asked me to take a smoke. i told them my nerves were not right, and that i had quit. "poor fellow," said billy. perhaps it was the sight or smell of the hop, but anyway i got the yen-yen and shook as in an ague. my eyes watered and i grew as pale as a sheet. i thought my bones were unjointing and took a pint of whiskey; it had no effect. then billy acted as my physician and prepared a pill for me. so vanished one good resolution. my only excuse to myself was: human nature is weak, ain't it? no sooner had i taken the first pill than a feeling of ecstasy came over me. i became talkative, and billy, noticing the effect, said: "jim, before you try to knock off the hop, you had better wait till you reach the next world." the opium brought peace to my nerves and dulled my conscience and i had a long talk with billy and ida about old pals. they told me who was dead, who were in stir and who were good (prosperous). not many days after my opium fall i got a note from ethel, who had heard that i had come home. in the letter she said that she was not happy with her husband, that she had married to please her father and to get a comfortable home. she wanted to make an appointment to meet me, whom, she said, she had always loved. i knew what her letter meant, and i did not answer it, and did not keep the appointment. my relation to her was the only decent thing in my life, and i thought i might as well keep it right. i have never seen her since the last time she visited me at auburn. for some time after getting back from stir i tried for a job, but the effort was only half-hearted on my part, and people did not fall over themselves in their eagerness to find something for the ex-convict to do. even if i had had the best intentions in the world, the path of the ex-convict is a difficult one, as i have since found. i was run down physically, and could not carry a hod or do any heavy labor, even if i had desired to. i knew no trade and should have been forever distrusted by the upper world. the only thing i could do well was to graft; and the only society that would welcome me was that of the under world. my old pals knew i had the requisite nerve and was capable of taking my place in any good mob. my resolutions began to ooze away, especially as at that time my father was alive and making enough money to support the rest of the family. so i had only myself to look out for--and that was a lot; for i had my old habits, and new ones i had formed in prison, to satisfy. when i stayed quietly at home i grew intensely nervous; and soon i felt that i was bound to slip back to the world of graft. i am convinced that i would never have returned to stir or to my old trade, however, if my environment had been different, on my release, from what it had been formerly; and if i could have found a job. i don't say this in the way of complaint. i now know that a man can reform even among his old associates. it is impossible, as the reader will see, i believe, before he finishes this book, for me ever to fall back again. some men acquire wisdom at twenty-one, some not till they are thirty-five, and some never. wisdom came to me when i was thirty-five. if i had had my present experience, i should not have fallen after my first bit; but i might not have fallen anyway, if i had been placed in a better environment after my first term in prison. a man can stand alone, if he is strong enough, and has sufficient reasons; but if he is tottering, he needs outside help. i was tottering, and did not get the help, and so i speedily began to graft again. i started in on easy game, on picking pockets and simple swindling. i made my first touch, after my return, on broadway. one day i met the kid there, looking for a dollar as hard as a financier. he asked me if i was not about ready to begin again, and pointed out a swell moll, big, breezy and blonde, coming down the street, with a large wallet sticking out of her pocket. it seemed easy, with no come-back in sight, and i agreed to stall for the kid. just as she went into denning's which is now wanamaker's, i went in ahead of her, turned and met her. she stopped; and at that moment the kid nicked her. we got away all right and found in the wallet over one hundred dollars and a small knife. in the knife were three rivets, which we discovered on inspection to be magnifying glasses. we applied our eyes to the same and saw some pictures which would have made mr. anthony comstock howl; if he had found this knife on this aristocratic lady he would surely have sent her to the penitentiary. it was a beautiful pearl knife, gold tipped, and must have been a loss; and yet i felt i was justified in taking that wallet. i thought i had done the lady a good turn. she might have been fined, and why shouldn't i have the money, rather than the magistrate? the kid was one of the cleverest dips i ever knew; he was delicate and cunning, and the best stone-getter in the city. but he had one weakness that made him almost a devil. he fell in love with every pretty face he saw, and cared no more for leading a girl astray than i minded kicking a cat. i felt sorry for many a little working girl he had shaken after a couple of weeks; and i used to jolly them to cheer them up. i once met kate, one of them, and said, with a smile: "did you hear about the kid's latest? why don't you have him arrested for bigamy?" she did not smile at first, but said: "he'll never have any luck. my mother is a widow, and she prays to god to afflict him with a widow's curse." "one of the ten commandments," i replied, "says, 'thou shalt not take the name of the lord thy god in vain,' and between you and me, kate, the commandment does not say that widows have the monopoly on cursing. it is a sin, anyway, whether it is a man, a girl or a widow." this was too deep for kate. "stop preaching, jim," she said, "and give me a drink," and i did. after she had drunk half-a-dozen glasses of beer she felt better. women are queer, anyway. no matter how bad they are, they are always good. all women are thieves, or rather petty pilferers, bless them! when i was just beginning to graft again, and was going it easy, i used to work a game which well showed the natural grafting propensities of women. i would buy a lot of confederate bills for a few cents, and put them in a good leather. when i saw a swell-looking moll, evidently out shopping, walking along the street, i would drop the purse in her path; and just as she saw it i would pick it up, as if i had just found it. nine women out of ten would say, "it's mine, i dropped it." i would open the leather and let her get a peep of the bills, and that would set her pilfering propensities going. "it's mine," she would repeat. "what's in it?" i would hold the leather carefully away from her, look into it cautiously and say: "i can see a twenty dollar bill, a thirty dollar bill, and a one hundred dollar bill, but how do i know you dropped it?" then she'd get excited and exclaim, "if you don't give it to me quick i'll call a policeman." "madam," i would reply, "i am an honest workingman, and if you will give me ten dollars for a reward, i will give you this valuable purse." perhaps she would then say: "give me the pocket-book and i'll give you the money out of it." to that i would reply: "no, madam, i wish you to receive the pocket-book just as it was." i would then hand her the book and she would give me a good ten dollar bill. "there is a woman down the street," i would continue, "looking for something." that would alarm her and away she would go without even opening the leather to see if her money was all right. she wouldn't shop any more that day, but would hasten home to examine her treasure--worth, as she would discover to her sorrow, about thirty cents. then, no doubt, her conscience would trouble her. at least, she would weep; i am sure of that. when i got my hand in again, i began to go for stone-getting, which was a fat graft in those days, when the lexow committee was beginning their reform. everybody wore a diamond. even mechanics and farmers were not satisfied unless they had pins to stick in their ties. they bought them on the installment plan, and i suppose they do yet. i could always find a laborer or a hod-carrier that had a stone. they usually called attention to it by keeping their hands carefully on it; and very often it found its way into my pocket, for carelessness is bound to come as soon as a man thinks he is safe. they probably thought of their treasure for months afterwards; at least, whenever the collector came around for the weekly installments of pay for stones they no longer possessed. it was about this time that i met general brace and the professor. one was a harvard graduate, and the other came from good old yale; and both were grafters. when i knew them they used to hang out in a joint on seventh street, waiting to be treated. they had been good grafters, but through hop and booze had come down from forging and queer-shoving to common shop-lifting and petty larceny business. general brace was very reticent in regard to his family and his own past, but as i often invited him to smoke opium with me, he sometimes gave me little confidences. i learned that he came from a well-known southern family, and had held a good position in his native city; but he was a blood, and to satisfy his habits he began to forge checks. his relatives saved him from prison, but he left home and started on the downward career of graftdom. we called him general brace because he looked like a soldier and was continually on the borrow; but a good story always accompanied his asking for a loan and he was seldom refused. i have often listened to this man after he had smoked a quantity of opium, and his conversational powers were something remarkable. many a gun and politician would listen to him with wonder. i used to call him general brace coleridge. the professor was almost as good a talker. we used to treat them both, in order to get them to converse together. it was a liberal education to hear them hold forth in that low-down saloon, where some of the finest talks on literature and politics were listened to with interest by men born and bred on the east side, with no more education than a turnip, but with keen wits. the graduates had good manners, and we liked them and staked them regularly. they used to write letters for politicians and guns who could not read or write. they stuck together like brothers. if one of them had five cents, he would go into a morgue (gin-mill where rot-gut whiskey could be obtained for that sum) and pour out almost a full tumbler of booze. just as he sipped a little of the rot-gut, his pal would come in, as though by accident. if it was the general who had made the purchase, he would say: "hello, old pal, just taste this fine whiskey. it tastes like ten-cent stuff." the professor would take a sip and become enthusiastic. they would sip and exclaim in turn, until the booze was all gone, and no further expense incurred. this little trick grew into a habit, and the bar-tender got on to it, but he liked colonel brace and the professor so much that he used to wink at it. i was in this rot-gut saloon one day when i met jesse r----, with whom i had spent several years in prison. i have often wondered how this man happened to join the under world; for he not only came of a good family and was well educated, but was also of a good, quiet disposition, a prime favorite in stir and out. he was tactful enough never to roast convicts, who are very sensitive, and was so sympathetic that many a heartache was poured into his ear. he never betrayed a friend's confidence. i was glad to meet jesse again, and we exchanged greetings in the little saloon. when he asked me what i was doing, i replied that i had a mortgage on the world and that i was trying to draw my interest from the same. i still had that old dream, that the world owed me a living. i confided in him that i regarded the world as my oyster more decidedly than i had done before i met him in stir. i found that jesse, however, had squared it for good and was absolutely on the level. he had a good job as shipping clerk in a large mercantile house; when i asked him if he was not afraid of being tipped off by some central office man or by some stool-pigeon, he admitted that that was the terror of his life; but that he had been at work for eighteen months, and hoped that none of his enemies would turn up. i asked him who had recommended him for the job, and i smiled when he answered: "general brace". that clever harvard graduate often wrote letters which were of assistance to guns who had squared it; though the poor fellow could not take care of himself. jesse had a story to tell which seemed to me one of the saddest i have heard: and as i grew older i found that most all stories about people in the under world, no matter how cheerfully they began, ended sadly. it was about his brother, harry, the story that jesse told. harry was married, and there is where the trouble often begins. when jesse was in prison harry, who was on the level and occupied a good position as a book-keeper, used to send him money, always against his wife's wishes. she also complained because harry supported his old father. harry toiled like a slave for this woman who scolded him and who spent his money recklessly. he made a good salary, but he could not keep up with her extravagance. one time, while in the country, she met a sporting man, mr. o. b. in a few weeks it was the old, old story of a foolish woman and a pretty good fellow. while she was in the country, her young son was drowned, and she sent harry a telegram announcing it. but she kept on living high and her name and that of o. b. were often coupled. harry tried to stifle his sorrow and kept on sending money to the bladder he called wife, who appeared in a fresh new dress whenever she went out with mr. o. b. one day harry received a letter, calling him to the office to explain his accounts. he replied that he had been sick, but would straighten everything out the next day. when his father went to awaken him in the morning, harry was dead. a phial of morphine on the floor told the story. jesse reached his brother's room in time to hear his old father's cry of anguish and to read a letter from harry, explaining that he had robbed the firm of thousands, and asking his brother to be kind to helene, his wife. then jesse went to see the woman, to tell her about her husband's death. he found her at a summer hotel with mr. o. b., and heard the servants talk about them. "jim," said jesse to me, at this point in the story, "here is wise council. wherever thou goest, keep the portals of thy lugs open; as you wander on through life you are apt to hear slander about your women folks. what is more entertaining than a little scandal, especially when it doesn't hit home? but don't look into it too deep, for it generally turns out true, or worse. i laid a trap for my poor brothers wife, and one of her letters, making clear her guilt, fell into my hands. a telegram in reply from mr. o. b., likewise came to me, and in a murderous frame of mind, i read its contents, and then laughed like a hyena: 'i am sorry i cannot meet you, but i was married this morning, and am going on my wedding tour. _au revoir._' you ask me what became of my sister-in-law? jim, she is young and pretty, and will get along in this world. but, truly, the wages of sin is to her living ashes." it was not very long after my return home that i was at work again, not only at safe dipping and swindling, but gradually at all my old grafts, including more or less house work. there was a difference, however. i grew far more reckless than i had been before i went to prison. i now smoked opium regularly, and had a lay-out in my furnished room and a girl to run it. the drug made me take chances i never used to take; and i became dead to almost everything that was good. i went home very seldom. i liked my family in a curious way, but i did not have enough vitality or much feeling about anything. i began to go out to graft always in a dazed condition, so much so that on one occasion a pal tried to take advantage of my state of mind. it was while i was doing a bit of house-work with sandy and hacks, two clever grafters. we inserted into the lock the front door key which we had made, threw off the tumblers, and opened the door. hacks and i stalled while sandy went in and got six hundred dollars and many valuable jewels. he did not show us much of the money, however. the next day the newspapers described the "touch," and told the amount of money which had been stolen. then i knew i had been "done" by sandy and hacks, who stood in with him, but sandy said the papers were wrong. the mean thief, however, could not keep his mouth shut, and i got him. i am glad i was not arrested for murder. it was a close shave, for i cut him unmercifully with a knife. in this i had the approval of my friends, for they all believed the worst thing a grafter could do was to sink a pal. sandy did not squeal, but he swore he would get even with me. even if i had not been so reckless as i was then, i would not have feared him, for i knew there was no come-back in him. another thing the dope did was to make me laugh at everything. it was fun for me to graft, and i saw the humor of life. i remember i used to say that this world is the best possible; that the fine line of cranks and fools in it gives it variety. one day i had a good laugh in a brooklyn car. tim, george and i got next to a dutchman who had a large prop in his tie. he stood for a newspaper under his chin, and his stone came as slick as grease. a minute afterwards he missed his property, and we did not dare to move. he told his wife, who was with him, that his stone was gone. she called him a fool, and said that he had left it at home, in the bureau drawer, that she remembered it well. then he looked down and saw that his front was gone, too. he said to his wife: "i am sure i had my watch and chain with me," but his wife was so superior that she easily convinced him he had left it at home. the wisdom of women is beyond finding out. but i enjoyed that incident. i shall never forget the look that came over the dutchman's face when he missed his front. i was too sleepy those days to go out of town much on the graft; and was losing my ambition generally. i even cared very little for the girls, and gave up many of my amusements. i used to stay most of the time in my furnished room, smoking hop. when i went out it was to get some dough quick, and to that end i embraced almost any means. at night i often drifted into some concert hall, but it was not like the old days when i was a kid. the bowery is far more respectable now than it ever was before. twenty years ago there was no worse place possible for ruining girls and making thieves than billy mcglory's joint on hester street. about ten o'clock in the morning slumming parties would chuckle with glee when the doors at mcglory's would be closed and young girls in scanty clothing, would dance the can-can. these girls would often fight together, and frequently were beaten unmercifully by the men who lived on them and their trade. often men were forcibly robbed in these joints. there was little danger of an arrest; for if the sucker squealed, the policeman on the beat would club him off to the beat of another copper, who would either continue the process, or arrest him for disorderly conduct. at this time, which was just before the lexow committee began its work, there were at least a few honest coppers. i knew one, however, that did not remain honest. it happened this way. the guns had been tearing open the cars so hard that the street car companies, as they had once before, got after the officials, who stirred up headquarters. the riot act was read to the dips. this meant that, on the second offense, every thief would be settled for his full time and that there would be no squaring it. the guns lay low for a while, but two very venturesome grafters, mack and jerry, put their heads together and reasoned thus: "now that the other guns are alarmed it is a good chance for us to get in our fine work." complaints continued to come in. the police grew hot and sent mr. f----, a flyman, to get the rascals. mr. f---- had the reputation of being the most honest detective on the force. he often declared that he wanted promotion only on his merits. whenever he was overheard in making this remark there was a quiet smile on the faces of the other coppers. f---- caught mack dead to rights, and, not being a diplomat, did not understand when the gun tried to talk reason to him. even a large piece of dough did not help his intellect, and mack was taken to the station-house. when a high official heard about it he swore by all the gods that he would make an example of that notorious pickpocket, mack; but human nature is weak, especially if it wears buttons. mack sent for f----'s superior, the captain, and the following dialogue took place: _captain_: what do you want? _mack_: i'm copped. _captain_: yes, and you're dead to rights. _mack_: i tried to do business with f----. what is the matter with him? _captain_: he is a policeman. he wants his promotion by merit. (even the captain smiled.) _mack_: i'd give five centuries (five hundred dollars) if i could get to my summer residence in asbury park. _captain_: how long would it take you to get it? _mack_: (he, too, was laconic.) i got it on me. _captain_: give it here. _mack_: it's a sure turn-out? _captain_: was i ever known to go back on my word? mack handed the money over, and went over to court in the afternoon with f----. the captain was there, and whispered to f----: "throw him out." that nearly knocked f---- down, but he and mack took a car, and he said to the latter: "in the name of everything how did you hypnotize the old man?" mack replied, with a laugh: "i tried to mesmerize you in the same way; but you are working on your merits." mack was discharged, and f---- decided to be a diplomat henceforth. from an honest copper he became as clever a panther as ever shook coin from a gun. isn't it likely that if a man had a large income he would never go to prison? indeed, do you think that well-known guns could graft with impunity unless they had some one right? nay! nay! hannah. they often hear the song of split half or no graft. but at that time i was so careless that i did not even have enough sense to save fall-money, and after about nine months of freedom i fell again. one day three of us boarded a car in brooklyn and i saw a mark whom i immediately nicked for his red super, which i passed quickly to one of my stalls, eddy. we got off the car and walked about three blocks, when eddy flashed the super, to look at it. the sucker, who had been tailing, blew, and eddy threw the watch to the ground, fearing that he would be nailed. a crowd gathered around the super, i among them, the other stall, eddy having vamoosed, and the sucker. no man in his senses would have picked up that gold watch. but i did it and was nailed dead to rights. i felt that super belonged to me. i had nicked it cleverly, and i thought i had earned it! i was sentenced to four years in sing sing, but i did not hang my head with shame, this time, as i was taken to the station. it was the way of life and of those i associated with, and i was more a fatalist than ever. i hated all mankind and cared nothing for the consequences of my acts. chapter xi. _back to prison._ i was not recognized by the authorities at sing sing as having been there before. i gave a different name and pedigree, of course, but the reason i was not known as a second-timer was that i had spent only nine months at sing sing on my first term, the remainder having been passed at auburn. there was a new warden at sing sing, too, and some of the other officials had changed; and, besides, i must have been lucky. anyway, none of the keepers knew me, and this meant a great deal to me; for if i had been recognized as a second-timer i should have had a great deal of extra time to serve. on my first term i had received commutation time for good behavior amounting to over a year, and there is a rule that if a released convict is sent back to prison, he must serve, not only the time given him on his second sentence, but the commutation time on his first bit. somebody must have been very careless, for i beat the state out of more than a year. some of the convicts, indeed, knew that i had served before; but they did not squeal. even some of those who did not know me had an inkling of it, but would not tell. it was still another instance of honor among thieves. if they had reported me to the authorities, they might have had an easier time in stir and had many privileges, such as better jobs and better things to eat. there were many stool-pigeons there, of course, but somehow these rats did not get wind of me. it did not take me long to get the underground tunnel in working order again, and i received contraband letters, booze, opium and morphine as regularly as on my first bit. one of the screws running the tunnel at the time, jack r----, was a little heavier in his demands than i thought fair. he wanted a third instead of a fifth of the money sent the convicts from home. but he was a good fellow, and always brought in the hop as soon as it arrived. like the new york police he was hot after the stuff, but who can blame him? he wanted to rise in the world, and was more ambitious than the other screws. i continued my pipe dreams, and my reading; indeed, they were often connected. i frequently used to imagine that i was a character in one of the books; and often choked the detestable tarquin into insensibility. on one occasion i dreamed that i was arraigned before my maker and charged with murder. i cried with fear and sorrow, for i felt that even before the just god there was no justice; but a voice silenced me and said that to be guilty of the crime of murder, it was not necessary to use weapons or poison. suddenly i seemed to see the sad faces of my father and mother, and then i knew what the voice meant. indeed, i was guilty. i heard the word, "begone," and sank into the abyss. after many thousand years of misery i was led into the chamber of contentment where i saw some of the great men whose books i had read. voltaire, tom paine and galileo sat on a throne, but when i approached them with awe, the angel, who had the face of a keeper, told me to leave. i appealed to voltaire, and begged him not to permit them to send me among the hymn-singers. he said he pitied me, but that i was not fit to be with the great elect. i asked him where dr. parkhurst was, and he answered that the doctor was hot stuff and had evaporated long ago. i was led away sorrowing, and awoke in misery and tears, in my dark and damp cell. on this bit i was assigned to the clothing department, where i stayed six months, but did very little work. warden sage replaced warden darson and organized the system of stool-pigeons in stir more carefully than ever before; so it was more difficult than it was before to neglect our work. i said to sage one day: "you're a cheap guy. you ought to be president of a woman's sewing society. you can do nothing but make an aristocracy of stool-pigeons." i gave up work after six months because of my health, which had been bad for a long time, but now grew worse. my rapid life on the outside, my bad habits, and my experience in prison were beginning to tell on me badly. there was a general breaking-down of my system. i was so weak and coughed so badly that they thought i was dying. the doctors said i had consumption and transferred me to the prison hospital, where i had better air and food and was far more comfortable in body but terribly low in my mind. i was so despondent that i did not even "fan my face" (turn my head away to avoid having the outside world become familiar with my features) when visitors went through the hospital. this was an unusual degree of carelessness for a professional gun. one reason i was so gloomy was that i was now unable to get hold of my darling hop. i was so despondent in the hospital that i really thought i should soon become an angel; and my environment was not very cheerful, for several convicts died on beds near me. whenever anybody was going to die, every convict in the prison knew about it, for the attendants would put three screens around the dying man's bed. there were about twenty beds in the long room, and near me was an old boyhood pal, tommy ward, in the last stages of consumption. tommy and i often talked together about death, and neither of us was afraid of it. i saw a dozen men die during my experience in state prisons and i never heard one of them clamor for a clergyman. tommy was doing life for murder, and ought to have been afraid of death, if anyone was. but when he was about to die, he sent word to me to come to his bedside, and after a word or two of good-bye he went into his agony. the last words he ever said were: "ah, give me a big peter (narcotic)." he did not receive the last rites of the catholic church, and his ignorant family refused to bury him. so tommy's cell number was put on the tombstone, if it could be called such, which marked his grave in the little burying ground outside the prison walls. indeed, it is not easy to throw the religious con (confidence game) into a convict. often, while we were in chapel, the dominie would tell us that life was short; but hardly one of the six or seven hundred criminals who were listening believed the assertion. they felt that the few years they were doing for the good of their country were as long as centuries. if there were a few "cons" who tried the cheerful dodge, they did not deceive anybody, for their brother guns knew that they were sore in their hearts because they had been caught without fall-money, and so had to serve a few million years in stir. after i got temporarily better in health and had left the hospital, i began to read lavater on physiognomy more industriously than ever. with his help i became a close student of faces, and i learned to tell the thoughts and emotions of my fellow convicts. i watched them at work and when their faces flushed i knew they were thinking of her. sometimes i would ask a man how she was, and he would look confused, and perhaps angry because his day dream was disturbed. and how the men used to look at women visitors who went through the shops! it was against the rules to look at the inhabitants of the upper world who visited stir, but i noticed that after women visitors had been there the convicts were generally more cheerful. even a momentary glimpse of those who lived within the pale of civilization warmed their hearts. after the ladies had gone the convicts would talk about them for hours. many of their remarks were vulgar and licentious, but some of the men were broken down with feeling and would say soft things. they would talk about their mothers and sweethearts and eventually drift back on their ill-spent lives. how often i thought of the life behind me! then i would look at the men about me, some of whom had stolen millions and had international reputations--but all discouraged now, broken down in health, penniless and friendless. if a man died in stir he was just a cadaver for the dissecting table, nothing more. the end fitted in well with his misspent life. these reflections would bring us around again to good resolutions. people who have never broken the law--i beg pardon, who were never caught--can not understand how a man who has once served in stir will take another chance and go back and suffer the same tortures. a society lady i once met said she thought criminals who go on grafting, when they know what the result will be, must be lacking in imagination. i replied to her: "madam, why do you lace tight and indulge in social dissipation even after you know it is bad for the health? you know it is a strain on your nerves, but you do it. is it because you have no imagination? that which we all dread most--death--we all defy." the good book says that all men shall earn their bread by the sweat of their brow, but we grafters make of ourselves an exception, with that overweening egotism and brash desire to do others with no return, which is natural to everybody. only when the round-up comes, either in the sick bed or in the toils, we often can not bear our burdens and look around to put the blame on someone else. if a man is religious, why should he not drop it on jesus? man! how despicable at times! how ungallant to his ancestor of the softer sex! from time immemorial he has exclaimed: "only for her, the deceiving one, my better half, i should be perfect." convicts, particularly if they are broken in health, often become like little children. it is not unusual for them to grow dependent on dumb pets, which they smuggle into prison by means of the underground tunnel. the man in stir who has a white mouse or robin is envied by the other convicts, for he has something to love. if an artist could only witness the affection that is centered on a mouse or dog, if he could only depict the emotions in the hard face of the criminal, what a story! i had a white rat, which i had obtained with difficulty through the underground. i used to put him up my sleeve, and he would run all over my body, he was so tame. he would stand on his hind legs or lie down at my command. sometimes, when i was lonely and melancholy, i loved this rat like a human being. in may, , when i still had about a year to serve on my second term, a rumor circulated through the prison that some of the salvation army were going to visit the stir. the men were greatly excited at the prospect of a break in the dreary routine. i imagined that a big burly salvationist, beating a drum, with a few very thin salvation lasses, would march through the prison yard. i was dumbfounded by the reality, for i saw enter the protestant chapel, which was crowded with eager convicts, two delicate, pretty women. no actor or actress ever got a warmer welcome than that given to mrs. booth and her secretary, captain jennie hughes. after the clapping of hands and cheering had ceased, mrs. booth arose and made a speech, which was listened to in deep silence. certainly she was eloquent, and what she said impressed many an old gun. she was the first visitor who ever promised practical christianity and eventually carried out the promise. she promised to build homes for us after our release; and in many cases, she did, and we respect her. she spoke for an hour, and afterwards granted private interviews, and many of the convicts told her all their troubles, and she promised to take care of their old mothers, daughters and wives. before leaving the chapel, she sang: "o lord, let the waves of thy crimson sea roll over me." i did not see how such a pretty, intelligent, refined and educated woman could say such a bloody thing, but she probably had forgotten what the words really meant. at any rate, she is a good woman, for she tried hard to have the parole bill passed. that bill has recently become a law, and it is a good one, in my opinion; but it has one fault. it only effects first-timers. the second and third timers, who went to sing sing years ago when there was contract labor and who worked harder than any laborer in new york city, ought to have a chance, too. show a little confidence in any man, even though he be a third-timer, as i have been, and he will be a better man for it. after the singing, on that first morning of mrs. booth's visit, she asked those convicts who wanted to lead a better life to stand up. about seventy men out of the five or six hundred arose, and the others remained seated. i was not among those who stood up. i never met anybody who could touch me in that way. i don't believe in instantaneous christianity. i knew half a dozen of the men who stood up, and they were not very strong mentally. i often wondered what the motives were that moved the men in that manner. man is a social animal, and mrs. booth was a magnetic woman. after i had heard her speak once, i knew that. she had a good personal appearance and one other requisite that appealed strongly to those who were in our predicament--her sex. who could entirely resist the pleadings of a pretty woman with large black eyes? certainly i was moved by this sincere and attractive woman, but my own early religious training had made me suspicious of the whole business. whenever anybody tried to reform me through christianity i always thought of that powerful celt who used to rush at me in sunday school with a hickory stick and shout "who made you?" and i don't think that most of the men who profess religion in prison are sincere. they usually want to curry favor with the authorities, or get "staked" after they leave stir. one convict, whom i used to call "the great american identifier," because he used to graft by claiming to be a relative of everybody that died, from california to maine and weeping over the dead body, was the worst hypocrite i ever saw--a regular uriah heep. he was one of mrs. booth's converts and stood up in chapel. after she went away he said to me: "what a blessing has been poured into my soul since i heard mrs. booth." another hypocrite said to me on the same occasion: "i don't know what i would do only for mrs. booth. she has lightened my weary burdens." now, i would not trust either of those men with a box of matches; and so i said to the great american identifier: "you are the meanest, most despicable thief in the whole stir. i'd respect you if you had the nerve to rob a live man, but you always stole from a cadaver." he was horrified at my language and began to talk of a favorite subject with him--his wealthy relatives. some of these converts were not hypocrites, but i don't think even they received any good from their conversion. some people go to religion because they have nothing else to distract their thoughts, and the subject sometimes is a mania with them. the doctors say that there is only one incurable mental disease--religious insanity. in the eyes of the reformers mrs. booth does a great thing by making some of us converts, but experts in mental diseases declare that it is very bad to excite convicts to such a pitch. many of the weak-minded among them lose their balance and become insane through these violent religious emotions. i did not meet so many of the big guns on my second term as on my first; but, of course, i came across many of my old pals and formed some new acquaintances. it was on this term that four of us used to have what i called a tenement house oratory talk whenever we worked together in the halls. some of us were lucky enough at times to serve as barbers, hall-men and runners to and from the shops, and we used to gather together in the halls and amuse ourselves with conversation. dickey, mull, mickey and i became great pals in this way. dickey was a desperate river pirate who would not stand a roast from anybody, but was well liked. mull was one of the best principled convicts i ever knew in my life. he was quiet, delicate and manly, and opposed to abusing young boys, yet if you did him an injury he would cut the liver out of you. he was a good fellow. mickey was what i called a tenement house philosopher. he'd stick his oar into every bit of talk that was started. one day the talk began on tammany hall and went something like this: "all crooked officials," said mull, "including all of them, ought to be railroaded to sing sing." _dickey_: "through their methods the county offices are rotten from the judge to the policeman." _mull_: "i agree with you." _mickey_: "ah, wat's the matter wid tammany? my old man never voted any other ticket. neither did yours. when you get into stir you act like college professors. why don't you practice what you spout? i always voted the tammany ticket--five or six times every election day. how is it i never got a long bit?" _mull_: "how many times, mickey, have you been in stir?" _mickey_: "this is the fourth, but the highest i got was four years." _dickey_: "you never done anything big enough to get four." _mickey_: "i didn't, eh? you have been hollering that you are innocent, and get twenty years for piracy. i only get four, but i am guilty every time. there is a big difference between that and twenty, aint it?" mull slapped mickey on the back and said: "never mind. you will get yours yet on the installment plan." then, turning to me, mull asked: "jim, don't you think that if everything was square and on the level we'd stand a better chance?" "no," i replied. "in the first place we have not reached the millennium. in the second place they would devise some legal scheme to keep a third timer the rest of his natural days. i know a moccasin who would move heaven and earth to have such a bill passed, and he is one of the crookedest philanthropists in america to-day. i am a grafter, and i believe that the present administration is all right. i know that i can stay out of prison as long as i save my fall-money. when i blow that in i ought to go to prison. every gun who is capable of stealing, knows that if he puts by enough money he can not only keep out of stir but can beat his way into heaven. i'm arguing as a professional thief." this was too much for mickey, who said: "why don't you talk united states and not be springing whole leaves out of a dictionary?" just then big jim came up. he had heard what i said and he joined in: "you know why i got the tenth of a century? i had thousands in my pocket and went to buy some silk underwear at a haberdasher's in new york. but it seemed to me a waste of good coin to buy them, so i stole a dozen pair of silk stockings. they tried to arrest me, i shot, and got ten years. i always did despise a petty thief, but i never felt like kicking him till then. ten years for a few stockings! can you blame the judge? i didn't. even a judge admires a good thief. if i had robbed a bank i'd never have got such a long bit. the old saying is true: kill one man and you will be hanged. kill sixteen, and the united states government is likely to pension you." the tenement-house philosopher began to object again, when the guard, as usual, came along to stop our pleasant conversation. he thought we were abusing our privileges. it was during this bit that i met the man with the white teeth, as he is now known among his friends. i will call him patsy, and tell his story, for it is an unusual one. he was a good deal older man than i and was one of the old-school burglars, and a good one. they were a systematic lot, and would shoot before they stood the collar; but they were gentlemanly grafters and never abused anybody. the first thing patsy's mob did after entering a house was to round up all the inmates and put them into one room. there one burglar would stick them up with a revolver, while the others went through the house. on a fatal occasion patsy took the daughter of the house, a young girl of eighteen or nineteen, in his arms and carried her down stairs into the room where the rest of the family had been put by the other grafters. as he carried the girl down stairs, she said: "mr. burglar, don't harm me." patsy was masked, all but his mouth, and when he said: "you are as safe as if you were in your father's arms," she saw his teeth, which were remarkably fine and white. patsy afterwards said that the girl was not a bit alarmed, and was such a perfect coquette that she noticed his good points. the next morning she told the police that one of the bad men had a beautiful set of teeth. the flymen rounded up half a dozen grafters on suspicion, among them patsy; and no sooner did he open his mouth, than he was recognized, and settled for a long bit. poor patsy has served altogether about nineteen years, but now he has squared it, and is a waiter in a bowery saloon, more content with his twelve dollars a week than he used to be with his thousands. i often go around and have a glass with him. he is now a quiet, sober fellow, and his teeth are as fine as ever. one day a man named "muir," a mean, sure-thing grafter, came to the stir on a visit to some of his acquaintances. he had never done a bit himself, although he was a notorious thief. but he liked to look at the misfortunes of others, occasionally. on this visit he got more than he bargained for. he came to the clothing department where mike, who had grafted with muir in new york, and i, were at work. muir went up to mike and offered him a bill. mike threw it in muir's face and called him--well, the worst thing known in graftdom. "if it wasn't for you," he said, "i wouldn't be doing this bit." there are several kinds of sure-thing grafters. some are crooked gamblers, some are plain stool-pigeons, some are discouraged thieves who continue to graft but take no risks. muir was one of the meanest of the rats that i have known, yet in a way, he was handy to the professional gun. he had somebody "right" at headquarters and could generally get protection for his mob; but he would always throw the mob over if it was to his advantage. he and two other house-work men robbed a senator's home, and such a howl went up that the police offered all manner of protection to the grafter who would tip them off to who got the stuff. grafters who work with the coppers don't want it known among those of their own kind, for they would be ostracized. if they do a dirty trick they try to throw it on someone else who would not stoop to such a thing. muir was a diplomat, and tipped off the central office, and those who did the trick, all except tom and muir, were nailed. a few nights after that the whisper was passed among guns of both sexes, who had gathered at a resort up-town, that somebody had squealed. the muttered curses meant that some central office man had by wireless telegraphy put the under world next that somebody had tipped off the police. but it was not muir that the hard names were said against: the central office man took care of that. with low cunning muir had had the rumor circulated that it was tom who had thrown them down, and tommy was ostracized. i knew muir and i knew tommy, and i was sure that the latter was innocent. some time after tom had been cut by the rest of the gang i saw muir drinking with two central office detectives, in a well-known resort, and i was convinced that he was the rat. his personal appearance bore out my suspicion. he had a weak face, with no fight in it. he was quiet of speech, always smiling, and as soft and noiseless as the animal called the snake. he had a narrow, hanging lip, small nose, large ears, and characterless, protruding eyes. the squint look from under the eye-brows, and the quick jerk of the hand to the chin, showed without doubt that he possessed the low cunning too of that animal called the rat. partly through my influence, muir gradually got the reputation of being a sure-thing grafter, but he was so sleek that he could always find some grafter to work with him. pals with whom he fell out, always shortly afterwards came to harm. that was the case with big mike, who spat in muir's face, when the latter visited him in sing sing. when muir did pickpocket work, he never dipped himself, but acted as a stall. this was another sure-thing dodge. muir never did a bit in stir because he was of more value to headquarters than a dozen detectives. the fact that he never did time was another thing that gradually made the gang suspicious of him. therefore, at the present time he is of comparatively little value to the police force, and may be settled before long. i hope so. one of the meanest things muir ever did was to a poor old "dago" grafter, a queer-maker (counterfeiter). the italian was putting out unusually good stuff, both paper and metal, and the avaricious muir thought he saw a good chance to get a big bit of money from the dago. he put up a plan with two central office men to bleed the counterfeiter. then he went to the dago and said he had got hold of some big buyers from the west who would buy five thousand dollars worth of the "queer." they met the supposed buyers, who were in reality the two central office men, at a little saloon. after a talk the detectives came out in their true colors, showed their shields, and demanded one thousand dollars. the dago looked at muir, who gave him the tip to pay the one thousand dollars. the italian, however, thinking muir was on the level, misunderstood the sign, and did not pay. the outraged detectives took the italian to police headquarters, but did not show up the queer at first; they still wanted their one thousand dollars. so the dago was remanded and remanded, getting a hearing every twenty-four hours, but there was never enough evidence. finally the poor fellow got a lawyer, and then the central office men gave up the game, and produced the queer as evidence. the united states authorities prosecuted the case, and the italian was given three years and a half. after he was released he met muir on the east side, and tried to kill him with a knife. that is the only way muir will ever get his deserts. a man like him very seldom dies in state's prison, or is buried in potter's field. he often becomes a gin-mill keeper and captain of his election district, for he understands how to control the repeaters who give tammany hall such large majorities on election day in manhattan. it was on this second bit in prison, as i have said in another place, that the famous "fence" operated in stir. i knew him well. he was a clever fellow, and i often congratulated him on his success with the keepers; for he was no stool-pigeon and got his pull legitimately. he was an older grafter than i and remembered well madame mandelbaum, the jewess, one of the best fences, before my time, in new york city. at the corner of clinton and rivington streets there stood until a few years ago a small dry goods and notions store, which was the scene of transactions which many an old gun likes to talk about. what plannings of great robberies took place there, in madame mandelbaum's store! she would buy any kind of stolen property, from an ostrich feather to hundreds and thousands of dollars' worth of gems. the common shop-lifter and the great cracksman alike did business at this famous place. some of the noted grafters who patronized her store were jimmy hope, shang draper, billy porter, sheenie mike, red leary, johnnie irving, jack walsh, alias john the mick, and a brainy planner of big jobs, english george. madame mandelbaum had two country residences in brooklyn where she invited her friends, the most famous thieves in two continents. english george, who used to send money to his son, who was being educated in england, was a frequent visitor, and used to deposit with her all his valuables. she had two beautiful daughters, one of whom became infatuated with george, who did not return her love. later, she and her daughters, after they became wealthy, tried to rise in the world and shake their old companions. the daughters were finely dressed and well-educated, and the madame hunted around for respectable husbands for them. once a bright reporter wrote a play, in which the central character was madame mandelbaum. she read about it in the newspapers and went, with her two daughters, to see it. they occupied a private box, and were gorgeously dressed. the old lady was very indignant when she saw the woman who was supposed to be herself appear on the stage. the actress, badly dressed, and made up with a hooked nose, was jeered by the audience. after the play, madame mandelbaum insisted on seeing the manager of the theatre. she showed him her silks and her costly diamonds and then said: "look at me. i am madame mandelbaum. does that huzzy look anything like me?" pointing to her daughters she continued: "what must my children think of such an impersonation? both of them are better dressed and have more money and education than that strut, who is only a moment's plaything for bankers and brokers!" in most ways, of course, my life in prison during the second term was similar to what it was on my first term. books and opium were my main pleasures. if it had not been for them and for the thoughts about life and about my fellow convicts which they led me to form, the monotony of the prison routine would have driven me mad. my health was by that time badly shattered. i was very nervous and could seldom sleep without a drug. my moral health was far worse, too, than it had been on my first term. then i had made strong efforts to overcome the opium habit, and laid plans to give up grafting. then i had some decent ambitions, and did not look upon myself as a confirmed criminal; whereas on the second term, i had grown to take a hopeless view of my case. i began to feel that i could not reform, no matter how hard i tried. it seemed to me, too, that it was hardly worth while now to make an effort, for i thought my health was worse than it really was and that i should die soon, with no opportunity to live the intelligent life i had learned to admire through my books. i still made good resolutions, and some effort to quit the hop, but they were weak in comparison with the efforts i had made during my first term. more and more it seemed to me that i belonged in the under world for good, and that i might as well go through it to the end. stealing was my profession. it was all i knew how to do, and i didn't believe that anybody was interested enough in me to teach me anything else. on the other hand, what i had learned on the rocky path would never leave me. i was sure of my knowledge of the technique of graft, and i knew that a sucker was born every minute. chapter xii. _on the outside again._ my time on the second bit was drawing to a close. i was eager to get out, of course, but i knew way down in my mind, that it would be only to graft again. i made a resolution that i would regain my health and gather a little fall-money before i started in hard again on the rocky path. on the day of my release, warden sage called me to his office and talked to me like a friend. he did not know that i was a second timer, or he might not have been so kind to me. he was a humane man, and in spite of his belief in the stool-pigeon system, he introduced good things into sing sing. he improved the condition of the cells and we were not confined there so much as we had been before he came. on my first term many a man staid for days in his cell without ever going out; one man was confined twenty-eight days on bread and water. but under mr. sage punishments were not so severe. he even used to send delicacies to men chained up in the catholic chapel. i should like to say a good word for head keeper connoughton, too. he was not generally liked, for he was a strict disciplinarian, but i think he was one of the best keepers in the country. he was stern, but not brutal, and when a convict was sick, mr. connoughton was very kind. he was not deceived by the fake lunatics, and used to say: "if you go to the mad-house, you are liable to become worse. if you are all right in the morning i will give you a job out in the air." although mr. connoughton had had little schooling he was an intelligent man. i believe the best thing the community can do to reform criminals is to have a more intelligent class of keepers. as a rule they are ignorant, brutal and stupid, under-paid and inefficient; yet what is more important for the state's welfare than an intelligent treatment of convicts? short terms, too, are better than long ones, for when the criminal is broken down in health and made fearful, suspicious and revengeful, what can you expect from him? however, in the mood i was in at the end of my second term, i did not believe that anything was any good as a preventive of crime. i knew that when i got on the outside i wouldn't think of what might happen to me. i knew that i couldn't or wouldn't carry a hod. what ambition i had left was to become a more successful crook than i had ever been before. warden sage gave me some good advice and then i left sing sing for new york. i did not get the pleasure from going out again that had been so keen after my first bit. my eye-sight was failing now, and i was sick and dull. my only thought was to get back to my old haunts, and i drank several large glasses of whiskey at sing sing town, to help me on my way. i intended to go straight home, as i felt very ill, to my father and mother, but i didn't see them for several days after my return to new york. the first thing i did in the city was to deliver some messages from my fellow convicts to their relatives. my third visit for that purpose was to the home of a fine young fellow i knew in stir. it was a large family and included a married sister and her children. they were glad to hear from bobby, and i talked to them for some time about him, when the husband of the married sister came home, and began to quarrel with his wife. he accused her of having strange men in the house, meaning me. the younger brother and the rest of the family got back at the brother-in-law and gave him better than they got. the little brother fired a lamp at him, and he yelled "murder". the police surrounded the house and took us all to the station-house in the patrol wagon. and so i spent the first night after my return in confinement. it seemed natural, however. in the morning we were taken before the magistrate, and the mother and sister testified that i had taken them a message from their boy, and had committed no offense. the brother-in-law blurted out that he had married into a family of thieves, and that i had just returned from sing sing. i was discharged, but fined five dollars. blessed are the peacemakers,--but not in my case! i passed the next day looking for old girls and pals, but i found few of them. many were dead and others were in stir or had sunk so far down into the under world that even i could not find them. i was only about thirty-two years old, but i had already a long acquaintance with the past. like all grafters i had lived rapidly, crowding, while at liberty, several days into one. when i got back from my second bit the greater part of my life seemed to be made up of memories of other days. some of the old pals i did meet again had squared it, others were "dead" (out of the game) and some had degenerated into mere bums. there are several different classes of "dead ones": . the man who has lost his nerve. he generally becomes a whiskey fiend. if he becomes hopelessly a soak the better class of guns shun him, for he is no good to work with. he will not keep an engagement, or will turn up at the place of meeting too late or too early. a grafter must be exactly on time. it is as bad to be too early as too late, for he must not be seen hanging around the place of meeting. punctuality is more of a virtue in the under world than it is in respectable society. the slackest people i know to keep their appointments, are the honest ones; or grafters who have become whiskey fiends. these latter usually wind up with rot-gut booze and are sometimes seen selling songs on the bowery. . the man who becomes a copper. he is known as a stool-pigeon, and is detested and feared by all grafters. nobody will go with him. sometimes he becomes a pinkerton man, and is a useful member of society. when he loses his grip with the upper world, he belongs to neither, for the grafters won't look at him. . the man who knows a trade. this grafter often "squares" it, is apt to marry and remain honest. his former pals, who are still grafters, treat him kindly, for they know he is not a rat. they know, too, that he is a bright and intelligent man, and that it is well to keep on the right side of him. such a man has often educated himself in stir, and, when he squares it, is apt to join a political club, and is called in by the leader to help out in an election, for he possesses some brains. the gun is apt to make him an occasional present, for he can help the grafter, in case of a fall, because of his connection with the politicians. this kind of "dead one" often keeps his friends the grafters, while in stir, next to the news in the city. . the gun who is _supposed_ to square it. this grafter has got a bunch of money together and sees a good chance to open a gin-mill, or a raines law hotel, or a gambling joint. he knows how to take care of the repeaters, and is handy about election time. in return he gets protection for his illegal business. he is a go-between, and is on good terms with coppers and grafters. he supplies the grafter who has plenty of fall-money with bondsmen, makes his life in the tombs easy, and gets him a good job while in stir. this man is supposed to be "dead," but he is really very much alive. often a copper comes to him and asks for the whereabouts of some grafter or other. he will reply, perhaps: "i hear he is in europe, or in the west." the copper looks wise and imagines he is clever. the "dead" one sneers, and, like a wise man, laughs in his sleeve; for he is generally in communication with the man looked for. . the sure-thing grafter. he is a man who continues to steal, but wants above everything to keep out of stir, where he has spent many years. so he goes back to the petty pilfering he did as a boy. general brace and the professor belonged to this class of "dead ones." the second night i spent on the bowery after my return from my second bit i met laudanum joe, who is another good example of this kind of "dead one." at one time he made thousands of dollars, but now he is discouraged and nervous. he looked bad (poorly dressed) but was glad to see me. "how is graft?" he asked. "i have left the rocky path," i replied, thinking i would throw a few "cons" into him. "i am walking straight. not in the religious line, either." he smiled, which was tantamount to saying that i lied. "what are you working at?" he asked. "i am looking for a job," i replied. "jimmy, is it true, that you are pipes (crazy)? i heard you got buggy (crazy) in your last bit." "joe," i replied, "you know i was never bothered above the ears." "if you are going to carry the hod," he said, "you might as well go to the pipe-house, and let them cure you. have you given up smoking, too?" he continued. he meant the hop. i conned him again and said: "yes." he showed the old peculiar, familiar grin, and said: "say, i have no coin. take me with you and give me a smoke." i tried to convince him that there was nothing in it, but he was a doubter. "what are _you_ doing, joe?" i asked. "o, just getting a few shillings," he replied, meaning that he was grafting. "why don't you give up the booze?" i asked. i had made a break, for he said, quickly: "why? because i don't wear a piccadilly collar?" all grafters of any original calibre are super-sensitive, to a point very near insanity. laudanum joe thought i had reference to his dress, which was very bum. "joe," i said, "i never judge a man by his clothes, especially one that i know." "jimmy," he said, "the truth is i can't stand another long bit in stir. i do a little petty pilfering that satisfies my wants--a cup of tea, plenty of booze, and a little hop. if i fall i only go to the workhouse for a couple of months. the screws know i have seen better days and i can get a graft and my booze while there. if i aint as prosperous as i was once, why not dream i'm a millionaire?" some grafters who have been prosperous at one time fall even lower than laudanum joe. when they get fear knocked into them and can't do without whiskey they sink lower and lower. hungry bob is another example. i grafted with him as a boy, but when i met him on the bowery after my second bit i hardly knew him, and at first he failed to recognize me entirely. i got him into a gin-mill, however, and he told how badly treated he had been just before we met. he had gone into a saloon kept by an old pal of his who had risen in the world, and asked him for fifteen cents to buy a bed in a lodging-house. "go long, you pan-handler (beggar)," said his old friend. poor bob was badly cut up about it, and talked about ingratitude for a long time. but he had his lodging money, for a safe-cracker who knew hungry bob when he was one of the gayest grafters in town, happened to be in the saloon, and he gave the "bum" fifteen cents for old times sake. "how is it, bob," i said to him, "that you are not so good as you were?" "you want to know what put me on the bum?" he answered. "well, it's this way. i can't trust nobody, and i have to graft alone. that's one thing. then, too, i like the booze too much, and when i'm sitting down i can't get up and go out and hustle the way i used to." hungry bob and i were sitting in a resort for sailors and hard-luck grafters in the lower bowery, when a sheenie i knew came in. "hello, jim," he said. "how's graft, mike?" i replied. "don't mention it." "what makes you look so glum?" "i'm only after being turned out of police court this morning." "what was the rap, mike?" "i'm looking too respectable. they asked me where i got the clothes. i told them i was working, which was true. i have been a waiter for three months. the flymen took me to headquarters. i was gathered in to make a reputation for those two shoo-flies. whenever i square it and go to work i am nailed regularly, because my mug is in the hall of fame. when i am arrested, i lose my job every time. nobody knows you now, jim. you could tear the town open." i made a mental resolution to follow mike's advice very soon--as soon as my health was a little better. just then jack, a boyhood pal of mine, who knew the old girls, sheenie annie and the rest, came in. i was mighty glad to see him, and said so to him. "i guess you've got the advantage of me, bloke," was his reply. "don't you remember jimmy the kid, ten years ago, in the sixth?" i jogged his memory with the names of a few pals of years ago, and when he got next, he said: "i wouldn't have known you, jim. i thought you were dead many years ago in stir. i heard it time and time again. i thought you were past and gone." after a short talk, i said: "where's sheenie annie?" "dead," he replied. "mamie?" i asked. "dead," he replied. "lucy?" "in stir." "swedish emmy?" "she's married." "any good molls now? i'm only after getting back from stir and am not next," i said. "t'aint like old times, jim," he said. "the molls won't steal now. they aint got brains enough. they are not innocent. they are ignorant. all they know how to do is the badger." i went with jack to his house, where he had an opium layout. there we found several girls and grafters, some smoking hop, some with the subtle cigarette between their lips. i was introduced to an english grafter, named harry. he said he was bloomin' glad to see me. he was just back from the west, he said, but i thought it was the pen. he began to abuse the states, and i said: "you duffer, did you ever see such pretty girls as here? did you ever wear a collar and tie in the old country?" he grew indignant and shouted: "'oly cobblestones! in this ---- country i have two hundred bucks (dollars) saved up every time, but i never spend a cent of it. 'ow to 'ell am i better off here? i'm only stealin' for certain mugs (policemen) and fer those 'igher up, so they can buy real estate. they enjoy their life in this country and europe off my 'ard earned money and the likes of me. they die as respected citizens. i die in the work'us as an outcast. don't be prating about your ---- country!" as soon as i had picked out a good mob to join i began to graft again. two of my new pals were safe-blowers, and we did that graft, and day-work, as well as the old reliable dipping. but i wasn't much at the graft during the seven months i remained on the outside. my health continued bad, and i did not feel like "jumping out" so much as i had done formerly. i did not graft except when my funds were very low, and so, of course, contrary to my plans, i saved no fall-money. i had a girl, an opium lay-out and a furnished room, where i used to stay most of the time, smoking with pals, who, like myself, had had the keen edge of their ambition taken off. i had a strange longing for music at that time; i suppose because my nerves were weaker than they used to be. i kept a number of musical instruments in my room, and used to sing and dance to amuse my visitors. during these seven months that i spent mainly in my room, i used to reflect and philosophize a lot, partly under the influence of opium. i would moralize to my girl or to a friend, or commune with my own thoughts. i often got in a state of mind where everything seemed a joke to me. i often thought of myself as a spectator watching the play of life. i observed my visitors and their characteristics and after they had left for the evening loved to size them up in words for lizzie. my eyes were so bad that i did not read much, but i took it out in epigrams and wise sayings. i will give a few specimens of the kind of philosophy i indulged in. "you always ought to end a speech with a sneer or a laconic remark. it is food for thought. the listener will pause and reflect." "it is not what you make, but what you save, that counts. it isn't the big cracksman who gets along. it is the unknown dip who saves his earnings." "to go to germany to learn the language is as bad as being in stir for ten years." "jump out and be a man and don't join the salvation army." "always say to the dip who says he wants to square it; well, what's your other graft?" "when a con gets home he is apt to find his sweetheart married, and a 'madonna of the wash tubs.'" "he made good money and was a swell grafter, but he got stuck on a tommy that absorbed his attention, and then he lost his punctuality and went down and out." "do a criminal a bodily injury and he may forget. wound his feelings and he will never forgive." "most persons have seen a cow or a bull with a board put around its head in such a way that the animal can see nothing. it is a mode of punishment. soon the poor beast will go mad, if the board is not removed. what chance has the convict, confined in a dark cell for years, to keep his senses? he suffers from astigmatism of the mind." "i am as much entitled to an opinion as any other quack on the face of the earth." "general grant is one of my heroes. he was a boy at fifteen. he was a boy when he died. a boy is loyalty personified. general grant had been given a task to do, and like a boy, he did it. he was one of our greatest men, and belongs with tom paine, benjamin franklin and robert ingersoll." "why don't we like the books we liked when we were boys? it is not because our judgment is better, but because we have a dream of our own now, and want authors to dream along the same lines." "the only gun with principles is the minor grafter." "the weakest man in the universe is he who falls from a good position and respectable society into the world of graft. forgers and defaulters are generally of this class. a professional gun, who has been a thief all his life, is entitled to more respect." "in writing a book on crime, one ought to have in mind to give the public a truthful account of a thief's life, his crimes, habits, thoughts, emotions, vices and virtues, and how he lives in prison and out. i believe this ought to be done, and the man who does it well must season his writings with pathos, humor, sarcasm, tragedy, and thus give the real life of the grafter." "sympathy with a grafter who is trying to square it is a tonic to his better self." "the other day i was with a reporter and a society lady who were seeing the town. the lady asked me how i would get her diamond pin. it was fastened in such a way that to get it, strong arm work would be necessary. i explained how i would "put the mug on her" while my husky pal went through her. 'but,' she said, 'that would hurt me.' as if the grafters cared! what a selfish lady to be always thinking of herself!" "life is the basis of philosophy. philosophy is an emanation from our daily routine. after a convict has paced his cell a few thousand times he sometimes has an idea. philosophy results from life put through a mental process, just as opium, when subjected to a chemical experiment, produces laudanum. why, therefore, is not life far stronger than a narcotic?" "i believe in platonic love, for it has been in my own life. a woman always wants love, whether she is eighteen or eighty--real love. many is the time i have seen the wistful look in some woman's eye when she saw that it was only good fellowship or desire on my part." "in this age of commerce there is only one true friendship, the kind that comes through business." "an old adage has it that all things come to him who waits. yes: poverty, old age and death. the successful man is he who goes and gets it." "if thy brother assaults you, do not weep, nor pray for him, nor turn the other cheek, but assail him with the full strength of your muscles, for man at his best is not lovable, nor at his worst, detestable." "there is more to be got in germany, judging from what dutch lonzo used to say, than in england or america, only the dutchmen are too thick-headed to find it out. a first class gun in germany would be ranked as a ninth-rater here." "grafters are like the rest of the world in this: they always attribute bad motives to a kind act." "from flim-flam (returning short change) to burglary is but a step, provided one has the nerve." "why would a woman take to him (a sober, respectable man but lacking in temperament) unless she wanted a good home?" "if there is anything detestable, it is a grafter who will steal an overcoat in the winter time." "'look for the woman.' a fly-cop gets many a tip from some tid-bit in whom a grafter has reposed confidence." * * * * * i did not do, as i have said, any more grafting than was necessary during these seven months of liberty; but i observed continually, living in an opium dream, and my pals were more and more amusing to me. when i thought about myself and my superior intelligence, i was sad, but i thought about myself as little as possible. i preferred to let my thoughts dwell on others, who i saw were a a fine line of cranks and rogues. somewhere in the eighties, before i went to stir, there was a synagogue at what is now hester street. the synagogue was on the first floor, and on the ground floor was a gin-mill, run by an ex-central office man. many pickpockets used to hang out there, and they wanted to drive the jews out of the first floor, so that they could lay out a faro game there. so they swore and carried on most horribly on saturdays, when the rabbi was preaching, and finally got possession of the premises. only a block away from this old building was a famous place for dips to get "books", in the old days. near by was ridley's dry-goods store, in which there were some cash-girls who used to tip us off to who had the books, and were up to the graft themselves. they would yell "cash" and bump up against the sucker, while we went through him. the jews were few in those days, and the irish were in the majority. on the corner of allen and hester streets stood the saloon of a well-known politician. now a jew has a shop there. who would think that an isaacs would supersede a finnigan? at the gin-mill on hester street, i used to know a boy dip named buck. when i got back from my second bit i found he had developed into a box-man, and had a peculiar disposition, which exists outside, as well as inside, graftdom. he had one thousand eight hundred dollars in the bank, and a fine red front (gold watch and chain), but he was not a good fellow. he used to invite three or four guns to have a drink, and would order hennessy's brandy, which cost twenty cents a glass. after we had had our drinks he would search himself and only find perhaps twenty cents in his clothes. he got into me several times before i "blew". one time, after he had ordered drinks, he began the old game, said he thought he had eighteen dollars with him, and must have been touched. then he took out his gold watch and chain and threw it on the bar. but who would take it? i went down, of course, and paid for the drinks. when we went out together, he grinned, and said to me: "i pity you. you will never have a bank account, my boy." the next time buck threw down his watch and said he would pay in the morning, i thought it was dirt, for i knew he had fifty dollars on him. so i said to the bartender: "take it and hock it, and get what he owes you. this chump has been working it all up and down the line. i won't be touched by the d---- grafter any more." buck was ready witted and turning to the bartender, said: "my friend here is learning how to play poker and has just lost eighteen dollars. he is a dead sore loser and is rattled." we went out with the watch, without paying for our drinks, and he said to me: "jim, i don't believe in paying a gin-mill keeper. if the powers that be were for the people instead of for themselves they would have such drinkables free on every corner in old new york." the next time buck asked me to have a drink i told him to go to a warm place in the next world. buck was good to his family. he was married and had a couple of brats. many a man educates himself in stir, as was my case. jimmy, whom i ran up against one day on the street, is a good example. he had squared it and is still on the level. when i saw him, after my second bit, he was making forty dollars a week as an electrical engineer; and every bit of the necessary education he got in prison. at one time he was an unusually desperate grafter; and entirely ignorant of everything, except the technique of theft. many years ago he robbed a jewelry store and was sent to blackwell's island for two years. the night of the day he was released he burglarized the same store and assaulted the proprietor. he was arrested with the goods on him and brought to general sessions before recorder smythe, who had sentenced him before. he got ten years at sing sing and auburn, and for a while he was one of the most dangerous and desperate of convicts, and made several attempts to escape. but one day a book on electricity fell into his hands, and from that time on he was a hard student. when he was released from stir he got a job in a large electrical plant up the state, and worked for a while, when he was tipped off by a country grafter who had known him in stir. he lost his job, and went to new york, where he met me, who was home after my first term. i gave him the welcome hand, and, after he had told me his story, i said: "well, there is plenty of money in town. jump out with us." he grafted with me and my mob for a while, but got stuck on a tommy, so that we could not depend on him to keep his appointments, and we dropped him. after that he did some strong arm work with a couple of gorillas and fell again for five years. when he returned from stir he got his present position as electrical engineer. he had it when i met him after my second bit and he has it to-day. i am sure he is on the level and will be so as long as he holds his job. about this time i was introduced to a peculiar character in the shape of a few yards of calico. it was at carey's place on bleecker street that i first saw this good-looking youth of nineteen, dressed in the latest fashion. his graft was to masquerade as a young girl, and for a long time short-haired liz, as we called him, was very successful. he sought employment as maid in well-to-do families and then made away with the valuables. one day he was nailed, with twenty charges against him. he was convicted on the testimony of a chamber-maid, with whom, in his character of lady's maid, he had had a lark. mr. r----, who was still influential, did his best for him, for his fall-money was big, and he only got a light sentence. i heard one day that an old pal of mine, dannie, had just been hanged. it gave me a shock, for i had often grafted with him when we were kids. as there were no orchards on the streets of the east side, dannie and i used to go to the improvised gardens that lined the side-walks outside of the green grocers' shops, and make away with strawberries, apples, and other fruits. by nature i suppose boys are no more bothered with consciences than are police officials. dannie rose rapidly in the world of graft and became very dangerous to society. as a grafter he had one great fault. he had a very quick temper. he was sensitive, and lacking in self-control, but he was one of the cleverest guns that ever came from the sixth ward, a place noted for good grafters of both sexes. he married a respectable girl and had a nice home, for he had enough money to keep the police from bothering him. if it had not been for his bad temper, he might be grafting yet. he would shoot at a moment's notice, and the toughest of the hard element were afraid of him. one time he had it in for an old pal of his named paddy. for a while paddy kept away from the saloon on pell street where dannie hung out, but paddy, too, had nerve, and one day he turned up at his old resort, the drum, as it was called. he saw dannie and fired a cannister at him. dannie hovered between life and death for months, and had four operations performed on him without anæsthetics. after he got well dannie grafted on the albany boats. one night he and his pals tried to get a moll's leather, but some western guns who were on the boat were looking for provender themselves and nicked the moll. dannie accused them of taking his property, and, as they would not give up, pulled his pistol. one of the western guns jumped overboard, and the others gave up the stuff. dannie was right, for that boat belonged to him and his mob. a few months after that event dannie shot a mug, who had called him a rat, and went to san antonio, texas, where he secured a position as bartender. one day a well-known gambler who had the reputation of being a ten time killer began to shoot around in the saloon for fun. dannie joined in the game, shot the gambler twice, and beat the latter's two pals into insensibility. a few months afterwards he came to new york with twenty-seven hundred dollars in his pocket; and he enjoyed himself, for it is only the new york city born who love the town. but he had better have stayed away, for in new york he met his mortal enemy, splitty, who had more brains than dannie, and was running a "short while house" in the famous gas house block in hester street. one night dannie was on a drunk, spending his twenty-seven hundred dollars, and riding around in a carriage with two girls. beeze, one of the molls, proposed to go around to splitty's. they went, and beeze and the other girl were admitted, but dannie was shut out. he fired three shots through the door. one took effect in beeze's breast fatally, and dannie was arrested. while in tombs waiting trial he was well treated by the warden, who was leader of the sixth ward, and who used to permit dannie's wife to visit him every night. at the same time dannie became the victim of one of the worst cases of treachery i ever heard of. an old pal of his, george, released from sing sing, went to visit him in the tombs. dannie advised george not to graft again until he got his health back, suggesting that meanwhile he eat his meals at his (dannie's) mother's house. the old lady had saved up about two hundred and fifty dollars, which she intended to use to secure a new trial for her son. george heard of the money and put up a scheme to get it. he told the old woman that dannie was going to escape from the tombs that night and that he had sent word to his mother to give him (george) the money. the villain then took the money and skipped the city, thus completing the dirtiest piece of work i ever heard of. "good heavens!" said dannie, when he heard of it. "a study in black!" dannie, poor fellow, was convicted, and, after a few months, hanged. another tragedy in manhattan was the end of johnny t----. i had been out only a short time after my second bit, when i met him on the bowery. he was just back, too, and complained that all his old pals had lost their nerve. whenever he made a proposition they seemed to see twenty years staring them in the face. so he had to work alone. his graft was burglary, outside of new york. he lived in the city, and the police gave him protection for outside work. he was married and had two fine boys. one day a copper, contrary to the agreement, tried to arrest him for a touch made in mt. vernon. johnny was indignant, and wouldn't stand for a collar under the circumstances. he put four shots into the flyman's body. he was taken to the station-house, and afterwards tried for murder. the boys collected a lot of money and tried to save him, but he had the whole police force against him and in a few months he was hanged. a friend of mine, l----, had a similar fate. he was a prime favorite with the lasses of easy virtue, and was liked by the guns. one night when i met him in a joint where grafters hung out, he displayed a split lip, given him by the biggest bully in the ward. it was all about a girl named mollie whom the bully was stuck on and on whose account he was jealous of l----, whom all the women ran after. a few nights later, l---- met the bully who had beaten him and said he had a present for him. "is it something good?" asked the gorilla. "yes," said l----, and shot him dead. l---- tried to escape, but was caught in pittsburg, and extradited to new york, where he was convicted partly on the testimony of the girl, whom i used to call unlimited mollie. she was lucky, for instead of drifting to the bowery, she married a policeman, who was promoted. l---- was sentenced to be hanged, but he died game. i think kleptomania is not a very common kind of insanity, at least in my experience. most grafters steal for professional reasons, but big sammy was surely a kleptomaniac. he had no reason to graft, for he was well up in the world. when i first met he was standard bearer at a ball given in his honor, and had a club named after him. he had been gin-mill keeper, hotel proprietor, and theatrical manager, and had saved money. he had, too, a real romance in his life, for he loved one of the best choir singers in the city. she was beautiful and loved him, and they were married. she did not know that sammy was a gun; indeed, he was not a gun, really, for he only used to graft for excitement, or at least, what business there was in it was only a side issue. after their honeymoon sammy started a hotel at a sea-side resort, where the better class of guns, gamblers and vaudeville artists spent their vacation. that fall he went on a tour with his wife who sang in many of the churches in the state. sammy was a good box-man. he never used puff (nitro-glycerine), but with a few tools opened the safes artistically. his pal mike went ahead of the touring couple, and when sammy arrived at a town he was tipped off to where the goods lay. when he heard that the police were putting it on to the hoboes, he thought it was a good joke and kept it up. he wanted the police to gather in all the black sheep they could, for he was sorry they were so incompetent. the loving couple returned to new york, and were happy for a long time. but finally the wife fell ill, and under-went an operation, from the effects of which she never recovered. she became despondent and jealous of sammy, though he was one of the best husbands i have known. one morning he had an engagement to meet an old pal who was coming home from stir. he was late, and starting off in a hurry, neglected to kiss his wife good-bye. she called after him that he had forgotten something. sammy, feeling for his money and cannister, shouted back that everything was all right, and rushed off. his wife must have been in an unusually gloomy state of mind, for she took poison, and when sammy returned, she was dead. it drove sammy almost insane, for he loved her always. a few days afterwards he jumped out for excitement and forgetfulness and was so reckless when he tried to make a touch that he was shot almost to pieces. he recovered, however, and was sent to prison for a long term of years. he is out again, and is now regularly on the turf. during his bit in stir all his legitimate enterprizes went wrong, and when he was released, there was nothing for it but to become a professional grafter. during the seven months which elapsed between the end of my second, and the beginning of my third term, i was not a very energetic grafter, as i have said. graft was good at the time and a man with the least bit of nerve could make out fairly well. my nerve had not deserted me, but somehow i was less ambitious. philosophy and opium and bad health do not incline a man to a hustling life. the excitement of stealing had left me, and now it was merely business. i therefore did a great deal of swindling, which does not stir the imagination, but can be done more easily than other forms of graft. i was known at headquarters as a dip, and so i was not likely to be suspected for occasional swindling, just as i had been able to do house-work now and then without a fall. i did some profitable swindling at this time, with an italian named velica for a pal. it was a kind of graft which brought quick returns without much of an outlay. for several weeks we fleeced velica's country men brown. i impersonated a contractor and velica was my foreman. we put advertisements in the newspapers for men to work on the railroads or for labor on new buildings. we hired desk room in a cheap office, where we awaited our suckers, who came in droves, though only one could see us at a time. our tools for this graft were pen, paper, and ink; and one new shovel and pick-axe. velica did the talking and i took down the man's name and address. velica told his countryman that we could not afford to run the risk of disappointing the railroad, so that he would have to leave a deposit as a guarantee that he would turn up in the morning. if he left a deposit of a few dollars we put his name on the new pick and shovel, which we told him he could come for in the morning. if we induced many to give us deposits, using the same pick and shovel as a bribe, we made a lot of money during the day. the next morning we would change our office and vary our form of advertisement. sometimes we met our victims at saloons. velica would be talking to some italian immigrant who had money, when i would turn up and be introduced. treating all around and flashing a roll of bills i could soon win the sucker's respect and confidence, and make him ante up on any old con. one day in a saloon in newark we got an italian guy for one hundred and fifty dollars. before he left the place, however, he suspected something. we had promised him the position of foreman of a gang of laborers, and after we got his dough we could not let well enough alone, and offered to give his wife the privilege of feeding the sixty italians of whom he was to be the foreman. i suppose the dago thought that we were too good, for he blew and pulled his gun. i caught him around the waist, and the bartender, who was with us, struck him over the head with a bottle of beer. the dago dropped the smoke-wagon and the bartender threatened to put him in prison for pulling a rod on respectable people. the dago left the saloon and never saw his money again. about this time, too, i had an opportunity to go into still another lucrative kind of swindling, but didn't. it was not conscience either that prevented me from swindling the fair sex, for in those days all touches,--except those made by others off myself--seemed legitimate. i did not go in for it because, at the time it was proposed to me, i had enough money for my needs, and as i have said, i was lazy. it was a good graft, however, and i was a fool for not ringing in on it. the scheme was to hire a floor in a private house situated in any good neighborhood. one of the mob had to know german, and then an advertisement would be inserted in the _herald_ to the effect that a young german doctor who had just come from the old country wanted to meet a german lady of some means with a view to matrimony. a pal of mine who put such an advertisement in a chicago paper received no less than one hundred and forty five answers from women ranging in age from fifteen to fifty. the grafters would read the letters and decide as to which ladies they thought had some money. when these arrived at the office, in answer to the grafters' letters, they would meet two or three men, impersonating the doctor and his friends, who had the gift of "con" to a remarkable degree. the doctor would suggest that if the lady would advance sufficient money to start him in business in the west it would be well. if he found she had plenty of money he married her immediately, one of his pals acting the clergyman. she then drew all her money from the bank, and they went to a hotel. there the doctor leaving her in their room, would go to see about the tickets for the west, and never return. the ladies always jumped at these offers, for all german women want to marry doctors or clergymen; and all women are soft, even if they are so apt to be natural pilferers themselves. when i was hard up, and if there was no good confidence game in sight, i didn't mind taking heavy chances in straight grafting; for i lived in a dream, and through opium, was not only lazy, but reckless. on one occasion a jew fence had put up a plan to get a big touch, and picked me out to do the desperate part of the job. the fence was an expert in jewels and worked for one of the biggest firms that dealt in precious stones. he kept an eye on all such stores, watching for an opening to put his friends the grafters "next." to the place in question he was tipped off by a couple of penny weighters, who claimed it was a snap. he agreed with them, but kept his opinion to himself, and came to see me about it. i and two other grafters watched the place for a week. one day the two clerks went out together for lunch, leaving the proprietor alone in the store. this was the opportunity. i stationed one of my pals at the window outside and the other up the street to watch. if i had much trouble with "the mark" the pal at the window was to come to my assistance. with red pepper (to throw, if necessary, in the sucker's eyes) and a good black jack i was to go into the store and buy a baby's ring for one dollar. while waiting for my change, i was to price a piece of costly jewelry, and while talking about the merits of the diamond, hit my man on the head with the black jack. then all i had to do was to go behind the counter and take the entire contents of the window--only a minute's work, for all the costly jewels were lying on an embroidered piece of velvet, and i had only to pick up the four corners of the velvet, bundle it into a green bag, and jump into the cab which was waiting for us a block away. well, i had just about got the proprietor in a position to deal him the blow when the man at the window weakened, and came in and said, "vix." i thought there was a copper outside, or that one of the clerks was returning, and told the jeweler i would send my wife for the ring. i went out and asked my pal what was the matter. he said he was afraid i would kill the old fellow, and that the come-back would be too strong. my other pal i found a block away. we all went back together to the fence, and then i opened on them, i tell you. i called them petty larceny barnacles, and came near clubbing them, i was so indignant. i have often had occasion to notice that most thieves who will steal a diamond or a "front" weaken when it comes to a large touch, even though there may be no more danger in it than in the smaller enterprises. i gave those two men a wide berth after that, and whenever i met them i sneered; for i could not get over being sore. the "touch" was a beauty, with very little chance of a come-back, for the police don't look among the pickpockets for the men who make this kind of touches, and i and my two companions were known to the coppers as dips. just before i fell for my third and most terrible term, i met lottie, and thought of marrying. i did not love her, but liked her pretty well, and i was beginning to feel that i ought to settle down and have a decent woman to look after me, for my health was bad and i had little ambition. lottie seemed the right girl for the place. she was of german extraction, and used to shave me sometimes at her father's barber shop, where i first met her. she seemed to me a good, honest girl, and i thought i could not do better, especially as she was very fond of me. women like the spruce dips, as i have said before, and even when my graft had broadened, i always retained the dress, manners and reputation of a pickpocket. lottie promised to marry me, and said that she could raise a few hundred dollars from her father, with which i might start another barber shop, quit grafting, and settle down to my books, my hop and domestic life. one day she gave me a pin that cost nine dollars, she said, and she wouldn't let me make her a present. all in all, she seemed like a sensible girl, and i was getting interested in the marriage idea. one day, however, i discovered something. i was playing poker in the office of a hotel kept by a friend of mine, when a man and woman came down stairs together and passed through the office. they were my little german girl and the owner of a pawn-shop, a sheenie of advanced years. suddenly i realized where she had got the pin she gave me; and i began to believe stories i had heard about her. i thought i would test her character myself. i did, and found it weak. i did not marry her! what an escape! every man, even a self-respecting gun, wants an honest woman, if it comes to hitching up for good. soon after i escaped lottie, i got my third fall for the stir. the other times that i had been convicted, i was guilty, but on this occasion i was entirely innocent. often a man who has done time and is well-known to the police is rounded up on suspicion and convicted when he is innocent, and i fell a victim to this easy way of the officials for covering up their failure to find the right person. i had gone one night to an opium joint near lovers row, a section of henry street between catherine and oliver streets, where some guns of both sexes were to have a social meeting. we smoked hop and drank heavily and told stories of our latest touches. while we were thus engaged i began to have severe pains in my chest, which had been bothering me occasionally for some time, and suddenly i had a hemorrhage. when i was able i left the joint to see a doctor, who stopped the flow of blood, but told me i would not live a month if i did not take good care of myself. i got aboard a car, went soberly home to my furnished room, and--was arrested. i knew i had not committed any crime this time and thought i should of course be released in the morning. instead however of being taken directly to the station house, i was conducted to a saloon, and confronted with the "sucker". i had never seen him before, but he identified me, just the same, as the man who had picked his pocket. i asked him how long ago he had missed his valuables, and when he answered, "three hours," i drew a long sigh of relief, for i was at the joint at that time, and thought i could prove an alibi. but though the rapper seemed to weaken, the copper was less trustful and read the riot act to him. i was so indignant i began to call the policeman down vigorously. i told him he had better try to make a reputation on me some other time, when i was really guilty, whereupon he lost his temper, and jabbed me in the chest with his club, which brought on another flow of blood from my lungs. in this plight i was taken to the station house, still confident i should soon be set at liberty, although i had only about eighty dollars for fall-money. i hardly thought i needed it, but i used it just the same, to make sure, and employed a lawyer. for a while things looked favorable to me, for i was remanded back from court every morning for eight days, on account of lack of evidence, which is almost equivalent to a turn-out in a larceny case. even the copper began to pig it (weaken), probably thinking he might as well get a share of my "dough," since it began to look as if i should beat the case. but on the ninth day luck turned against me. the chief of detectives "identified" me as another man, whispering a few words to the justice, and i was committed under two thousand dollars bail to stand trial in general sessions. i was sent to the tombs to await trial, and i knew at last that i was lost. my character alone would convict me; and my lawyer had told me that i could not prove an alibi on the oaths of the thieves and disorderly persons who had been with me in the opium joint. no matter how confirmed a thief a man may be, i repeat, he hates to be convicted for something he has not done. he objects indeed more than an honest man would do, for he believes in having the other side play fair; whereas the honest man simply thinks a mistake has been made. while in the tombs a murderous idea formed in my mind. i felt that i had been horribly wronged, and was hot for revenge. i was desperate, too, for i did not think i should live my bit out. determined to make half a dozen angels, including myself, i induced a friend, who came to see me in the tombs, to get me a revolver. i told him i wanted to create a panic with a couple of shots, and escape, but in reality i had no thought of escape. i was offered a light sentence, if i would plead guilty, but i refused. i believed i was going to die anyway, and that things did not matter; only i would have as much company as possible on the road to the other world. i meant to shoot the copper who had beaten me with his club, district attorney olcott, the judge, the complainant and myself as well, as soon as i should be taken into the court room for trial. the pistol however was taken away from me before i entered the court: i was convicted and sentenced to five years at sing sing. much of the time i spent in stir on my third bit i still harbored this thought of murder. that was one reason i did not kill myself. the determination to do the copper on my release was always in my mind. i planned even a more cunning revenge. i imagined many a scheme to get him, and gloat over his dire misfortunes. one of my plans was to hunt him out on his beat, invite him to drink, and put thirty grains of hydrate of chloral in his glass. when he had become unconscious i would put a bottle of morphine in his trousers pocket, and then telephone to a few newspapers telling them that if they would send reporters to the saloon they would have a good story against a dope copper who smoked too much. the result would be, i thought, a rap against the copper and his disgrace and dismissal from the force would follow. sometimes this seemed to me better than murder; for every copper who is "broke" immediately becomes a bum. when my copper should have become a bum i imagined myself catching him dead drunk and cutting his hamstrings. certainly i was a fiend when i reflected on my wrongs, real and imaginary. at other times i thought i merely killed him outright. chapter xiii. _in the mad-house._ on the road to sing sing again! the public may say i was surely an incorrigible and ought to have been shut up anyway for safe keeping, but are they right if they say so? during my confinement i often heard the prison chaplain preach from the text "though thou sinnest ninety and nine times thy sin shall be forgiven thee." probably christ knew what he meant: his words do not apply to the police courts of manhattan. these do not forgive, but send you up for the third term, which, if it is a long one, no man can pass through without impairment in body or in brain. it is better to make the convict's life as hard as hell for a short term, than to wear out his mind and body. people need not wonder why a man, knowing what is before him, steals and steals again. the painful experiences of his prison life, too often renewed, leave him as water leaves a rubber coat. few men are really impressionable after going through the deadening life in stir. five months of my third term i spent at sing sing, and then, as on my first bit, i was drafted to auburn. at sing sing i was classified as a second term man. i have already explained that during my first term i earned over a year's commutation time; and that that time would have been legally forfeited when i was sent up again within nine months for my second bit if any one, except a few convicts, had remembered i had served before. when, on my third sentence, i now returned to sing sing, i found that the authorities were "next," and knew that i had "done" them on the second bit. they were sore, because it had been their own carelessness, and they were afraid of getting into trouble. to protect themselves they classified me as a second term man, but waited for a chance to do me. i suppose it was some d---- dickey bird (stool-pigeon) who got them next that i had done them; but i never heard who it was, though i tried to find out long and earnestly. when i got back to my cell in sing sing this third time i was gloomy and desperate to an unusual degree, still eaten up with my desire for vengeance on those who had sent me to stir for a crime i had not committed. my health was so bad that my friends told me i would never live my bit out, and advised me to get to clinton prison, if possible, away from the damp cells at sing sing. but i took no interest in what they said, for i did not care whether i lived or died. i expected to die very soon, and in the meantime thought i was well enough where i was. i did not fear death, and i had my hop every day. all i wanted from the keepers was to be let alone in my cell and not annoyed with work. the authorities had an inkling that i was in a desperate state of mind, and probably believed it was healthier for them to let me alone a good deal of the time. before long schemes began to form in my head to make my gets (escape). i knew i wouldn't stop at murder, if necessary in order to spring; for, as i have said, i cared not whether i lived or died. on the whole, however, i rather preferred to become an angel at the beginning of my bit than at the end. i kept my schemes for escape to myself, for i was afraid of a leak, but the authorities must somehow have suspected something, for they kept me in my cell twenty-three hours out of the twenty-four. perhaps it was just because they had it in for me for beating them on my second bit. as before, i consoled myself, while waiting a chance to escape, with some of my favorite authors; but my eye-sight was getting bad and i could not read as much as i used to. it was during these five months at sing sing that i first met dr. myers, of whom i saw much a year or two later in the mad-house. at sing sing he had some privileges, and used to work in the hall, where it was easy for me to talk to him through my cell door. this remarkable man, had been a splendid physician in chicago. he had beaten some insurance companies out of one hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars, but was in sing sing because he had been wrongfully convicted on a charge of murder. he liked me, especially when later we were in the insane asylum together, because i would not stand for the abuse given to the poor lunatics, and would do no stool-pigeon or other dirty work for the keepers. he used to tell me that i was too bright a man to do any work with my hands. "jim," he said once, "i would rather see you marry my daughter than give her to an ignorant business man. i know you would treat her kindly and that she would learn something of the world. as my wife often said, i would rather die at thirty-eight after seeing the world and enjoying life than live in a humdrum way till ninety." he explained the insurance graft to me, and i still think it the surest and most lucrative of all grafts. for a man with intelligence it is the very best kind of crooked work. about the only way the insurance companies can get back at the thieves is through a squeal. here are a few of the schemes he told me for this graft: a man and his female pal take a small house in town or on the outskirts of a large city. the man insures his life for five thousand dollars. after they have lived there a while, and passed perhaps as music teachers, they take the next step, which is to get a dead body. nothing is easier. the man goes to any large hospital, represents himself as a doctor and for twenty-five dollars can generally get a stiff, which he takes away in a barrel or trunk. he goes to a furnished room, already secured, and there dresses the cadaver in his own clothes, putting his watch, letters and money in the cadavers pockets. in the evening he takes the body to some river or stream and throws it in. he knows from the newspapers when the body has been found, and notifies his woman pal, who identifies it as her husband's body. there are only two snags that one must guard against in this plot. the cadaver must not differ much in height from the person that has been insured; and its lungs must not show that they were those of anybody dead before thrown into the water. the way to prepare against this danger is to inject some water with a small medical pump into the lungs of the stiff before it is thrown overboard. then it is easy for the "widow" to get the money, and meet the alleged dead man in another country. a more complicated method, in which more money is involved, is as follows. the grafter hires an office and represents himself as an artist, a bric-à-brac dealer, a promoter or an architect. then he jumps to another city and takes out a policy under the tontien or endowment plan. when the game is for a very large amount three or four pals are necessary. if no one of the grafters is a doctor, a physician must be impersonated, but this is easy. if there are, say, ten thousand physicians in manhattan, not many of whom have an income of ten thousand a year, it is perhaps not difficult to get a diploma. after a sheepskin is secured, the grafter goes to another state, avoiding, unless he is a genuine physician, new york and illinois, for they have boards of regents. the acting quack registers so that he can practice medicine and hangs out his shingle. the acting business man takes out a policy, and pays the first premium. before the first premium is paid he is dead, for all the insurance company knows. often a live substitute, instead of a dead one, is secured. the grafter goes to the charity hospital and looks over the wrecks waiting to die. some of these poor dying devils jump at the chance to go west. it is necessary, of course, to make sure that the patient will soon become an angel, or everything will fall through. then the grafter takes the sick man to his house and keeps him out of sight. when he is about to die he calls in the grafter who is posing as a physician. after the death of the substitute the doctor signs the death certificate, the undertaker prepares the body, which is buried. the woman grafter is at the funeral, and afterwards she sends in her claim to the companies. on one occasion in dr. myers's experience, he told me, the alleged insured man was found later with his head blown off, but when the wife identified the body, the claim had been paid. * * * * * one afternoon, after i had been at sing sing five months, i was taken from my cell, shackled hand and foot, and sent, with fifty other convicts, to auburn. when i had been at auburn prison about six months i grew again exceedingly desperate, and made several wild and ill-thought-out attempts to escape. i would take no back talk from the keepers, and began to be feared by them. one day i had a fight with another convict. he struck me with an iron weapon, and i sent him to the hospital with knife thrusts through several parts of his body. although i had been a thief all my life, and had done some strong arm work, by nature i was not quarrelsome, and i have never been so quick to fight as on my third term. i was locked up in the dungeon for a week and fed on bread and water in small quantities. after my release i was confined to my cell for several days, and used to quarrel with whoever came near me. the keepers began to regard me as a desperate character, who would cause them a great deal of trouble; and feared that i might escape or commit murder at any time. one day, i remember, a keeper threatened to club me with a heavy stick he had. i laughed at him and told him to make a good job of it, for i had some years still to serve, and if he did not kill me outright, i would have plenty of time to get back at him. the cur pigged it (weakened). they really wanted to get rid of me, however, and one morning the opportunity came. i was feeling especially bad that morning and went to see the doctor, who told me i had consumption, and transferred me to the consumptive ward in the prison. there the doctor and four screws came to my bedside, and the doctor inserted a hyperdermic needle into my arm. when i awoke i found myself in the isolated dungeon, nicknamed the keeley cure by the convicts, where i was confined again for several weeks, and had a hyperdermic injection every day. at the end of that time i was taken before the doctors, who pronounced me insane. with three other convicts who were said to be "pipes" (insane) i was shackled hand and foot, put on a train and taken to the asylum for the criminal insane at matteawan. i had been in bad places before, but at matteawan i first learned what it is to be in hell. why was i put in the pipe house? was i insane? in one way i have been insane all my life, until recently. there is a disease called astigmatism of the conscience, and i have been sorely afflicted with that. i have always had the delusion, until the last few months, that it is well to "do" others. in that way i certainly was "pipes." and in another way, too, i was insane. after a man has served many years in stir and has contracted all the vices, he is not normal, even if he is not violently insane. his brain loses its equilibrium, no matter how strong-minded he may be, and he acquires astigmatism of the mind, as well as of the conscience. the more astigmatic he becomes, the more frequently he returns to stir, where his disease grows worse, until he is prison-mad. to the best of my knowledge and belief i was not insane in any definite way--no more so than are nine out of ten of the men who had served as much time in prison as i. i suppose i was not sent to the criminal insane asylum because of a perverted conscience. the stir, i believe, is supposed to cure that. why did they send me to the mad-house? i don't know, any more than my reader, unless it was because i caused the keepers and doctors too much trouble, or because for some reason or other they wanted to do me. but whether i had a delusion or not--and i am convinced myself that i have always been right above the ears--there certainly are many perfectly sane men confined in our state asylums for the criminal insane. indeed, if all the fake lunatics were sent back to prison, it would save the state the expense of building so many hospitals. but i suppose the politicians who want patronage to distribute would object. many men in prison fake insanity, as i have already explained. many of them desire to be sent to matteawan or dannemora insane asylums, thinking they will not need to work there, will have better food and can more easily escape. they imagine that there are no stool-pigeons in the pipe-house, and that they can therefore easily make their elegant (escape). when they get to the mad-house they find themselves sadly mistaken. they find many sane stool-pigeons there, and their plans for escape are piped off as well there as in stir. and in other ways, as i shall explain, they are disappointed. the reason the "cons" don't get on to the situation in the mad-house through friends who have been there is that they think those who have been in the insane asylum are really pipes. when i got out of the mad-house and told my friends about it, they were apt to remark, laconically, "he's in a terrible state." when they get there themselves, god help them. i will narrate what happened to me, and some of the horrible things i saw there. after my pedigree was taken i was given the regulation clothes, which, in the mad-house, consist of a blue coat, a pair of grey trousers, a calico shirt, socks and a pair of slippers. i was then taken to the worst violent ward in the institution, where i had a good chance to observe the real and the fake lunatics. no man or woman, not even an habitual criminal, can conceive, unless he has been there himself, what our state asylums are. my very first experience was a jar. a big lunatic, six feet high and a giant in physique, came up to me in the ward, and said: "i'll kick your head off, you ijit (idiot). what the ---- did you come here for? why didn't you stop off at buffalo?" i thought that if all the loons were the size of this one i wasn't going to have much show in that violent ward; for i weighed only one hundred and fifteen pounds at the time. but the big lunatic changed his note, smiled and said: "say, charley, have you got any marbles?" i said, "no," and then, quick as a flash, he exclaimed: "be japes, you don't look as if you had enough brains to play them." i had been in this ward, which was under the head attendant, nick-named "king" kelly, for two days, when i was taken away to a dark room in which a demented, scrofulous negro had been kept. for me not even a change of bed-clothing was made. in rooms on each side of me were epileptics and i could hear, especially when i was in the ward, raving maniacs shouting all about me. i was taken back to the first ward, where i stayed for some time. i began to think that prison was heaven in comparison with the pipe house. the food was poor, we were not supposed to do any work, and we were allowed only an hour in the yard. we stayed in our ward from half past five in the morning until six o'clock at night, when we went to bed. it was then i suffered most, for there was no light and i could not read. in stir i could lie on my cot and read, and soothe my nerves. but in the mad-house i was not allowed to read, and lay awake continually at night listening to the idiots bleating and the maniacs raving about me. the din was horrible, and i am convinced that in the course of time even a sane man kept in an insane asylum will be mad; those who are a little delusional will go violently insane. my three years in an insane asylum convinced me that, beyond doubt, a man contracts a mental ailment just as he contracts a physical disease on the outside. i believe in mental as well as physical contagion, for i have seen man after man, a short time after arriving at the hospital, become a raving maniac. for weeks and months i had a terrible fight with myself to keep my sanity. as i had no books to take up my thoughts i got into the habit of solving an arithmetical problem every day. if it had not been for my persistence in this mental occupation i have no doubt i should have gone violently insane. it is only the sensitive and intelligent man who, when placed in such a predicament, really knows what torture is. the cries of the poor demented wretches about me were a terrible lesson. they showed me more than any other experience i ever passed through the error of a crooked life. i met many a man in the violent ward who had been a friend of mine and good fellow on the outside. now the brains of all of them were gone, they had the most horrible and the most grotesque delusions. but horrible or grotesque they were always piteous. if i were to point out the greatest achievement that man has accomplished to distinguish him from the brute, it would be the taking care of the insane. a child is so helpless that when alms is asked for his maintenance it is given willingly, for every man and woman pities and loves a child. a lunatic is as helpless as a child, and often not any more dangerous. the maniac is misrepresented, for in matteawan and dannemora taken together there are very few who are really violent. and now i come to the most terrible part of my narrative, which many people will not believe--and that is the cruelty of the doctors and attendants, cruelty practiced upon these poor, deluded wretches. with my own eyes i saw scores of instances of abuse while i was at matteawan and later at dannemora. it is, i believe, against the law to strike an insane man, but any man who has ever been in these asylums knows how habitual the practice is. i have often seen idiots in the same ward with myself violently attacked and beaten by several keepers at once. indeed, some of us used to regard a beating as our daily medicine. patients are not supposed to do any work; but those who refused to clean up the wards and do other work for the attendants were the ones most likely to receive little mercy. i know how difficult it is for the public to believe that some of their institutions are as rotten as those of the middle ages; and when a man who has been both in prison and in the pipe house is the one who makes the accusation, who will believe him? of course, his testimony on the witness stand is worthless. i will merely call attention, however, to the fact that the great majority of the insane are so only in one way. they have some delusion, but are otherwise capable of observation and of telling the truth. i will also add that the editor of this book collected an immense number of instances of brutality from several men, besides myself, who had spent years there, and that those instances also pointed to the situation that i describe. moreover, i can quote the opinion of the writer on criminology--josiah flynt--as corroborative of my statements. he has said in my presence and in that of the editor of this book, mr. hapgood, that his researches have led him to believe that the situation in our state asylums for the criminal insane is horrible in the extreme. indeed, why shouldn't these attendants be brutal? in the first place, there is very little chance of a come-back, for who will believe men who have ever been shut up in an insane asylum? and very often these attendants themselves are unhinged mentally. to begin with, they are men of low intelligence, as is shown by the fact that they will work for eighteen dollars a month, and after they have associated with insane men for years they are apt to become delusional themselves. taking care of idiots and maniacs is a strain on the intelligence of the best men. is it any wonder that the ordinary attendant often becomes nervous and irascible, and will fly at a poor idiot who won't do dirty work or whose silly noises get on his nerves? i have noticed attendants who, after they had been in the asylum a few months, acquired certain insane characteristics, such as a jerking of the head from one side to the other, looking up at the sky, cursing some imaginary person, and walking with the body bent almost double. early in my stay at matteawan i saw something that made me realize i was up against a hard joint. an attendant in the isolation ward had an incurable patient under him, whom he was in the habit of compelling to do his work for him, such as caning chairs and cleaning cuspidors. the attendants had two birds in his room, and he used to make mickey, the incurable idiot, clean out the cage for him. one day mickey put the cages under the boiling water, to clean them as usual. the attendant had forgot to remove the birds, and they were killed by the hot water. another crank, who was in the bath room with mickey, spied the dead pets, and he and mickey began to eat them. they were picking the bones when the attendant and two others discovered them--and treated them as a golfer treats his golf-balls. another time i saw an insane epileptic patient try to prevent four attendants from playing cards in the ward on sunday. he was delusional on religious subjects and thought the attendants were doing wrong. the reward he received for caring for the religious welfare of his keepers was a kick in the stomach by one of the attendants, while another hit him in the solar plexus, knocking him down, and a third jammed his head on the floor until the blood flowed. after he was unconscious a doctor gave him a hyperdermic injection and he was put to bed. how often, indeed, have i seen men knocked out by strong arm work, or strung up to the ceiling with a pair of suspenders! how often have i seen them knocked unconscious for a time or for eternity--yes--for eternity, for insane men sometimes do die, if they are treated too brutally. in that case, the doctor reports the patient as having died of consumption, or some other disease. i have seen insane men turned into incurable idiots by the beatings they have received from the attendants. i saw an idiot boy knocked down with an iron pot because he insisted on chirping out his delusion. i heard a patient about to be beaten by four attendants cry out: "my god, you won't murder me?" and the answer was, "why not? the coroner would say you died of dysentery." the attendants tried often to force fear into me by making me look at the work they had done on some harmless lunatic. i could multiply instances of this kind. i could give scores of them, with names of attendants and patients, and sometimes even the dates on which these horrors occurred. but i must cut short this part of my narrative. every word of it, as sure as i have a poor old mother, is true, but it is too terrible to dwell upon, and will probably not be believed. it will be put down as one of my delusions, or as a lie inspired by the desire of vengeance. certainly i made myself obnoxious to the authorities in the insane asylum, for i objected vigorously to the treatment of men really insane. it is as dangerous to object to the curriculum of a mad-house in the state of new york as it is to find fault with the running of the government in russia. in stir i never saw such brutality as takes place almost every day in the pipe house. i reported what i saw, and though i was plainly told to mind my own business, i continued to object every time i saw a chance, until soon the petty spite of the attendants was turned against me. i was reported continually for things i had not done, i had no privileges, not even opium or books, and was so miserable that i repeatedly tried to be transferred back to prison. a doctor once wrote a book called _ten years in a mad-house_, in which he says "god help the man who has the attendants against him; for these demented brutes will make his life a living hell." try as i might, however, i was not transferred back to stir, partly because of the sane stool-pigeons who, in order to curry favor with the attendants, invented lies about attempts on my part to escape. if i had not had such a poor opinion of the powers that be and had stopped finding fault i should no doubt have been transferred back to what was beginning to seem to me, by contrast, a delightful place--state's prison. the all absorbing topic to me in the pipe house was paresis. i thought a great deal about it, and observed the cranks about me continually. i noticed that almost all insane persons are musical, that they can hum a tune after hearing it only once. i suppose the meanest faculty in the human brain is that of memory, and that idiots, lunatics and madmen learn music so easily because that part of the brain which is the seat of memory is the only one that is active; the other intellectual qualities being dead, so that the memory is untroubled by thought. i was often saddened at the sight of poor george, who had been a good dip and an old pal of mine. when he first saw me in the pipe house he asked me about his girl. i told him she was still waiting, and he said: "why doesn't she visit me then?" when i replied: "wait awhile," he smiled sadly, and said: "i know." he then put his finger to his head, and, hanging his head, his face suddenly became a blank. i was helpless to do anything for him. i was so sorry for him sometimes that i wanted to kill him and myself and end our misery. another friend of mine thought he had a number of white blackbirds and used to talk to them excitedly about gold. this man had a finely shaped head. i have read in a book of phrenology that a man's intelligence can be estimated by the shape of his head. i don't think this theory amounts to anything, for most of the insane men i knew had good heads. i have formed a little theory of my own (i am as good a quack as anybody else) about insanity. i used to compare a well shaped lunatic's head to a lady's beautiful jewel box from which my lady's maid had stolen the precious stones. the crank's head contained both quantity and quality of brains, but the grey matter was lacking. the jewel box and the lunatic's head were both beautiful receptacles, but the value had flown. another lunatic, a man named hogan, thought that girls were continually bothering him. "now go away, liz, and leave me alone," he would say. one day a lady about fifty years old visited the hospital with superintendent allison, and came to the violent ward where hogan and i were. she was not a bit afraid, and went right up to hogan and questioned him. he exclaimed, excitedly, "go away, meg. you're disfigured enough without my giving you another sockdolager." she stayed in the ward a long while and asked many questions. she had as much nerve as any lady i ever saw. as she and allison were leaving the ward, hogan said: "allison, chain her up. she is a bad egg." the next day i learned that this refined, delicate and courageous woman had once gone to war with her husband, a german prince, who had been with general sherman on his memorable march to the sea. she was born an american, and belonged to the jay family, but was now the princess salm-salm. the most amusing crank (if the word amusing can be used of an insane man) in the ward was an englishman named alec. he was incurably insane, but a good musician and mathematician. one of his delusions was that he was the sacred camel in the london zoo. his mortal enemy was a lunatic named jimmy white, who thought he was a mule. jimmy often came to me and said: "you didn't give your mule any oats this morning." he would not be satisfied until i pretended to shoe him. alec had great resentment for jimmy because when alec was a camel in the london zoo jimmy used to prevent the ladies and the kids from giving him sweets. when jimmy said: "i never saw the man before," alec replied indignantly, "i'm no man. i'm a sacred camel, and i won't be interfered with by an ordinary, common mule, like you." there are divers sorts of insanity. i had an interview with a doctor, a high officer in the institution, which convinced me, perhaps without reason, that insanity was not limited to the patients and attendants. one day an insane man was struck by an attendant in the solar plexus. he threw his hands up in the air, and cried: "my god, i'm killed." i said to another man in the ward: "there's murder." he said: "how do you know?" i replied: "i have seen death a few times." in an hour, sure enough, the report came that the insane man was dead. a few days later i was talking with the doctor referred to and i said: "i was an eye-witness of the assault on d----." and i described the affair. "you have been reported to me repeatedly," he replied. "by whom?" i asked, "attendants or patients?" "by patients," he replied. "surely," i remarked, "you don't believe half what insane men tell you, do you? doctor, these same patients (in reality sane stool-pigeons) that have been reporting me, have accused you of every crime in the calendar." "oh, but," he said, "i am an old man and the father of a family." "doctor," i continued, "do you believe that a man can be a respectable physician and still be insane?" "what do you mean?" he said. "in california lately," i replied, "a superintendent of an insane asylum has been accused of murder, arson, rape and peculation. this man, too, was more than fifty, had a mother, a wife and children, and belonged to a profession which ought to be more sympathetic with a patient than the church with its communicants. when a man will stoop to such crimes, is it not possible that there is a form of mental disease called partial, periodical paralysis of the faculty humane, and was not robert louis stevenson right when he wrote _dr. jekyl and mr. hyde_?" the doctor grabbed me by the wrist and shouted: "don't you dare to tell anybody about this interview." i looked into his eyes and smiled, for i am positive that at that moment i looked into the eyes of a madman. king kelly, an attendant who had been on duty in insane asylums for many years, was very energetic in trying to get information from the stool-pigeons. the patients used to pass notes around among themselves, and the attendants were always eager to get hold of those notes, expecting to find news of beats (escapes) about to be attempted. i knew that king kelly was eager to discover "beats" and as i, not being a stool-pigeon, was in bad odor with him, i determined to give him a jar. so one day i wrote him the following note: "mr. kelly; you have been in this hospital for years. the socks and suspenders which should go to the patients are divided impartially between you and the other attendants. of the four razors, which lately arrived for patients, two are in your trunk, one you sent to your brother in ireland, and the fourth you keep in the ward for show, in case the doctor should be coming around." that night when i was going to bed i slipped the note into the kings hand and whispered: "there's going to be a beat tonight." the king turned pale, and hurriedly ordered the men in the ward to bed, so that he could read the note. before reading it he handed it to a doctor, to be sure to get the credit of stopping the beat as soon as possible. the doctor read it and gave the king the laugh. in the morning, when the doctor made his rounds, mr. kelly said to him: "we have one or two funny men in the ward who, instead of robbing decent people, could have made their fortunes at tony pastor's." the result was that the doctor put me down for three or four new delusions. knowing the celtic character thoroughly i used to crack many a joke on the king. i would say to another patient, as the king passed: "if it hadn't been for kelly we should have escaped that time sure." that would make him wild. my gift of ridicule was more than once valuable to me in the mad-house. but i must say that the king was pretty kind when a patient was ill. when i was so ill and weak that i didn't care whether i died or not, the old king used to give me extras,--milk, eggs and puddings. and in his heart the old man hated stool-pigeons, for by nature he was a dynamiter and believed in physical force and not mental treachery. the last few months i served in the insane asylum was at dannemora, where i was transferred from matteawan. the conditions at the two asylums are much the same. while at dannemora i continued my efforts to be sent back to stir to finish my sentence, and used to talk to the doctors about it as often as i had an opportunity. a few months before i was released i had an interview with a commissioner--the first one in three years, although i had repeatedly demanded to talk to one. "how is it," i said, "that i am not sent back to stir?" he turned to the ward doctor and asked: "what is this mans condition?" "imaginary wrongs," replied the doctor. that made me angry, and i remarked, sarcastically: "it is curious that when a man tries to make a success at little things he is a dead failure." "what do you mean?" asked the superintendent, trying to feel me out for a new delusion. i pointed to the doctor and said: "only a few years ago this man was interlocutor in an amateur minstrel troupe. as a barn-stormer he was a failure. since he has risen to the height of being a mad-house doctor he is a success." then i turned to the commissioner and said: "do you know what constitutes a cure in this place and in matteawan?" "i'd like to know," he replied. "well," i said, "when a man stoops to carrying tales on other patients and starts in to work cleaning cuspidors, then, and not till then, he is cured. everybody knows that, in the eyes of attendants and doctors, the worst delusions in the asylum are wanting to go home, demanding more food, and disliking to do dirty work and bear tales." i don't know whether my talk with the commissioner had any effect or not, but a little while after that, when my term expired, i was released. i had been afraid i should not be, for very often a man is kept in the asylum long after his term expires, even though he is no more insane than i was. when the stool-pigeons heard that i was to be released they thought i must have been a rat under cover, and applied every vile name to me. i had been in hell for several years; but even hell has its uses. when i was sent up for my third term, i thought i should not live my bit out, and that, as long as i did live, i should remain a grafter at heart. but the pipe house cured me, or helped to cure me, of a vice which, if it had continued, would have made me incapable of reform, even if i had lived. i mean the opium habit. before i went to the mad-house there had been periods when i had little opium, either because i could not obtain it, or because i was trying to knock it off. my sufferings in consequence had been violent, but the worst moral and physical torture that has ever fallen to my lot came to me after i had entered the pipe house; for i could practically get no opium. that deprivation, added to the horrors i saw every day, was enough to make any man crazy. at least, i thought so at the time. i must have had a good nervous system to have passed through it all. insufficient hop is almost as bad as none at all. during my first months in the madhouse, the doctor occasionally took pity on me and gave me a little of the drug, but taken in such small quantities it was worse than useless. he used to give me sedatives, however, which calmed me for a time. occasionally, too, i would get a little hop from a trusty, who was a friend of mine, and i had smuggled in some tablets of morphine from stir; but the supply was soon exhausted, and i saw that the only thing to do was to knock it off entirely. this i did, and made no more attempts to obtain the drug. for the last two years in the asylum i did not have a bit of it. i can not describe the agonies i went through. every nerve and muscle in my body was in pain most of the time, my stomach was constantly deranged, my eyes and mouth exuded water, and i could not sleep. thoughts of suicide were constant with me. of course, i could never have given up this baleful habit through my own efforts alone. the pipe house forced me to make the attempt, and after i had held off for two years, i had enough strength to continue in the right path, although even now the longing for it returns to me. it does not seem possible that i can ever go back to it, for that terrible experience in the mad-house made an indelible impression. i shall never be able to wipe out those horrors entirely from my mind. when under the influence of opium i used frequently to imagine i smelled the fragrance of white flowers. i never smell certain sweet perfumes now without the whole horrible experience rushing before my mind. life in a mad-house taught me a lesson i shall never forget. chapter xiv. _out of hell._ i left dannemora asylum for the criminal insane on a cold winter morning. i had my tickets to new york, but not a cent of money. relatives or friends are supposed to provide that. i was happy, however, and i made a resolution, which this time i shall keep, never to go to stir or the pipe house again. i knew very well that i could never repeat such an experience without going mad in reality; or dying. the first term i spent in stir i had my books and a new life of beauty and thought to think about. once for all i had had that experience. the thought of going through prison routine again--the damp cells, the poor food, the habits contracted, with the mad-house at the end--no, that could never be for me again. i felt this, as i heard the loons yelling good-bye to me from the windows. i looked at the gloomy building and said to myself: "i have left hell, and i'll shovel coal before i go back. all the ideas that brought me here i will leave behind. in the future i will try to get all the good things out of life that i can--the really good things, a glimpse of which i got through my books. i think there is still sufficient grey matter in my brain for that." i took the train for new york, but stopped off at plattsburg and albany to deliver some messages from the poor unfortunates to their relatives. i arrived in new york at twelve o'clock at night, having had nothing to eat all day. my relatives and friends had left the station, but were waiting up for me in my brother's house. this time i went straight to them. my father had died while i was in the pipe house, and now i determined that i would be at last a kind son to the mother who had never deserted me. i think she felt that i had changed and the tears that flowed from her eyes were not all from unhappiness. she told me about my father's last illness, and how cheerful he had been. "i bought him a pair of new shoes a month before he died," she said. "he laughed when he saw them and said: 'what extravagance! to buy shoes for a dying man!'" living right among them, i met again, of course, many of my old companions in crime, and found that many of them had thought i was dead. it was only the other day that i met "al", driving a peddlers wagon. he, like me, had squared it. "i thought you died in the pipe house, jim," he said. this has happened to me a dozen times since my return. i had spent so much time in stir that the general impression among the guns at home seemed to be that i had "gone up the escape." as a general thing i found that guns who had squared it and become prosperous had never been very successful grafters. some of the best box-men and burglars in the business are now bar-tenders in saloons owned by former small fry among the dips. there are waiters now in saloons and concert halls on the bowery who were far cleverer thieves than the men who employ them, and who are worth thousands. hungry joe is an instance. once he was king of confidence men, and on account of his great plausibility got in on a noted person, on one occasion, for several thousand dollars. and now he will beg many a favor of men he would not look at in the old days. a grafter is jealous, suspicious and vindictive. i had always known that, but never realized it so keenly as i have since my return from the mad-house. above everything else a grafter is suspicious, whether he has squared it or not--suspicious of his pals and of everybody else. when my old pals saw that i was not working with them, they wondered what my private graft was. when i told them i was on the level and was looking for a job, they either laughed or looked at me with suspicion in their eyes. they saw i was looking good (well-dressed) and they could not understand it. they put me down, some of them, as a stool-pigeon. they all feel instinctively that i am no longer with them, and most of them have given me the frosty mit. only the bums who used to be grafters sail up to me in the bowery. they have not got enough sense left even for suspicion. the dips who hang out in the thieves' resorts are beginning to hate me; not because i want to injure them, for i don't, but because they think i do. i told one of them, an old friend, that i was engaged in some literary work. he was angry in an instant and said: "you door mat thief. you couldn't get away with a coal-scuttle." one day i was taking the editor of this book through the bowery, pointing out to him some of my old resorts, when i met an old pal of mine, who gave me the glad hand. we had a drink, and i, who was feeling good, started in to jolly him a little. he had told me about an old pal of ours who had just fallen for a book and was confined in a brooklyn jail. i took out a piece of "copy" paper and took the address, intending to pay a visit to him, for everybody wants sympathy. what a look went over that grafter's face! i saw him glance quickly at the editor and then at me, and i knew then he had taken alarm, and probably thought we were pinkerton men, or something as bad. i tried to carry it off with a laugh, for the place was full of thieves, and told him i would get him a job on a newspaper. he answered hastily that he had a good job in the pool-room and was on the level. he started in to try to square it with my companion by saying that he "adored a man who had a job." a little while afterwards he added that he hated anybody who would graft after he had got an honest job. then, to wind up his little game of squaring himself, he ended by declaring that he had recently obtained a very good position. that was one of the incidents that queered me with the more intelligent thieves. he spread the news, and whenever i meet one of that gang on the bowery i get the cold shoulder, a gun is so mighty quick to grow suspicious. a grafter who follows the business for years is a study in psychology, and his two most prominent characteristics are fear and suspicion. if some stool-pigeon tips him off to the police, and he is sent to stir, he invariably suspects the wrong person. he tells his friends in stir that "al done him," and pretty soon poor al, who may be an honest thief, is put down as a rat. if al goes to stir very often the result is a cutting match between the two. there are many convicts in prison who lie awake at night concocting stories about other persons, accusing them of the vilest of actions. if the prisoner can get hold of a sunday newspaper he invariably reads the society news very carefully. he can tell more about the four hundred than the swells will ever know about themselves; and he tells very little good of them. such stories are fabricated in prison and repeated out of it. when i was in auburn stir i knew a young fellow named sterling, as straight a thief as ever did time. he had the courage of a grenadier and objected to everything that was mean and petty. he therefore had many enemies in prison, and they tried to make him unpopular by accusing him of a horrible crime. the story reached my ears and i tried to put a stop to it, but i only did him the more harm. when sterling heard the tale he knocked one of his traducers senseless with an iron bar. tongues wagged louder than ever and one day he came to me and talked about it and i saw a wild look in his eyes. his melancholia started in about that time, and he began to suspect everybody, including me. his enemies put the keepers against him and they made his life almost unbearable. generally the men that tip off keepers to the alleged violent character of some convict are the worst stool-pigeons in the prison. even the messiah could not pass through this world without arousing the venom of the crowd. how in the name of common sense, then, could sterling, or i, or any other grafter expect otherwise than to be traduced? it was the politicians who were the cause of christ's trials; and the politicians are the same to-day as they were then. they have very little brains, but they have the low cunning which is the first attribute of the human brute. they pretend to be the people's advisers, but pile up big bank accounts. even the convict scum that come from the lower wards of the city have all the requisites of the successful politician. nor can one say that these criminals are of low birth, for they trace their ancestors back for centuries. the fact that convicts slander one another with glee and hear with joy of the misfortunes of their fellows, is a sign that they come from a very old family; from the wretched human stock that demanded the crucifixion of christ. this evil trait, suspiciousness, is something i should like to eliminate from my own character. even now i am afflicted with it. since my release i often have the old feeling come over me that i am being watched; and sometimes without any reason at all. only recently i was riding on a brooklyn car, when a man sitting opposite happened to glance at me two or three times. i gave him an irritated look. then he stared at me, to see what was the matter, i suppose. that was too much, and i asked him, with my nerves on edge, if he had ever seen me before. he said "no", with a surprised look, and i felt cheap, as i always do after such an incident. a neighbor of mine has a peculiar habit of watching me quietly whenever i visit his family. i know that he is ignorant of my past but when he stares at me, i am rattled. i begin to suspect that he is studying me, wondering who i am. the other day i said to him, irritably: "mr. k----, you have a bad habit of watching people." he laughed carelessly and i, getting hot, said: "mr. k---- when i visit people it is not with the intention of stealing anything." i left the house in a huff and his sister, as i afterwards found, rebuked him for his bad manners. indeed, i have lost many a friend by being over suspicious. i am suspicious even of my family. sometimes when i sit quietly at home with my mother in the evening, as has grown to be a habit with me, i see her look at me. i begin immediately to think that she is wondering whether i am grafting again. it makes me very nervous, and i sometimes put on my hat and go out for a walk, just to be alone. one day, when i was in stir, my mother visited me, as she always did when they gave her a chance. in the course of our conversation she told me that on my release i had better leave the city and go to some place where i was not known. "for," she said, "your character, my boy, is bad." i grabbed her by the arm and exclaimed: "who is it that is circulating these d---- stories about me?" my poor mother merely meant, of course, that i was known as a thief, but i thought some of the other convicts had slandered me to her. it was absurd, of course, but the outside world cannot understand how suspicious a grafter is. i have often seen a man, who afterwards became insane, begin being queer through suspiciousness. well, as i have said, i found the guns suspicious of me, when i told them i had squared it, or when i refused to say anything about my doings. of course i don't care, for i hate the bowery now and everything in it. whenever i went, as i did several times with my editor, to a gun joint, a feeling of disgust passed over me. i pity my old pals, but they no longer interest me. i look upon them as failures. i have seen a new light and i shall follow it. whatever the public may think of this book, it has already been a blessing to me. for it has been honest work that i and my friend the editor have done together, and leads me to think that there may yet be a new life for me. i feel now that i should prefer to talk and associate with the meanest workingman in this city than with the swellest thief. for a long time i have really despised myself. when old friends and relatives look at me askance i say to myself: "how can i prove to them that i am not the same as i was in the past?" no wonder the authorities thought i was mad. i have spent the best years of my life behind the prison bars. i could have made out of myself almost anything i wanted, for i had the three requisites of success: personal appearance, health and, i think, some brains. but what have i done? after ruining my life, i have not even received the proverbial mess of pottage. as i look back upon my life both introspectively and retrospectively i do not wonder that society at large despises the criminal. i am not trying to point a moral or pose as a reformer. i cannot say that i quit the old life because of any religious feeling. i am not one of those who have reformed by finding jesus at the end of a gas pipe which they were about to use as a black jack on a citizen, just in order to finger his long green. i only saw by painful experience that there is nothing in a life of crime. i ran up against society, and found that i had struck something stronger and harder than a stone wall. but it was not that alone that made me reform. what was it? was it the terrible years i spent in prison? was it the confinement in a mad-house, where i daily saw old pals of mine become drivelling idiots? was it my reading of the great authors, and my becoming acquainted with the beautiful thoughts of the great men of the world? was it a combination of these things? perhaps so, but even that does not entirely explain it, does not go deep enough. i have said that i am not religious, and i am not. and yet i have experienced something indefinable, which i suppose some people might call an awakening of the soul. what is that, after all, but the realization that your way of life is ruining you even to the very foundation of your nature? perhaps, after all, i am not entirely lacking in religion; for certainly the character of christ strongly appeals to me. i don't care for creeds, but the personality of the nazarene, when stripped of the aroma of divinity, appeals to all thinking men, i care not whether they are atheists, agnostics or sceptics. any man that has understanding reveres the life of christ, for he practiced what he preached and died for humanity. he was a perfect specimen of manhood, and had developed to the highest degree that trait which is lacking in most all men--the faculty humane. i believe that a time comes in the lives of many grafters when they desire to reform. some do reform for good and all, and i shall show the world that i am one of them; but the difficulties in the way are great, and many fall again by the wayside. they come out of prison marked men. many observers can tell an ex-convict on sight. the lock-step is one of the causes. it gives a man a peculiar gait which he will retain all his life. the convicts march close together and cannot raise their chests. they have to keep their faces turned towards the screw. breathing is difficult, and most convicts suffer in consequence from catarrh, and a good many from lung trouble. walking in lock-step is not good exercise, and makes the men nervous. when the convict is confined in his cell he paces up and down. the short turn is bad for his stomach, and often gets on his mind. that short walk will always have control of me. i cannot sit down now to eat or write, without jumping up every five minutes in order to take that short walk. i have become so used to it that i do not want to leave the house, for i can pace up and down in my room. i can take that small stretch all day long and not be tired, but if i walk a long straight distance i get very much fatigued. when i wait for a train i always begin that short walk on the platform. i have often caught myself walking just seven feet one way, and then turning around and walking seven feet in the opposite direction. another physical mark, caused by a criminal life rather than by a long sojourn in stir, is an expressionless cast of countenance. the old grafter never expresses any emotions. he has schooled himself until his face is a mask, which betrays nothing. a much more serious difficulty in the way of reform is the ex-convict's health which is always bad if a long term of years has been served. moreover, his brain has often lost its equilibrium and powers of discernment. when he gets out of prison his chance of being able to do any useful work is slight. he knows no trade, and he is not strong enough to do hard day labor. he is given only ten dollars, when he leaves stir, with which to begin life afresh. a man who has served a long term is not steady above the ears until he has been at liberty several months; and what can such a man do with ten dollars? it would be cheaper for the state in the end to give an ex-convict money enough to keep him for several months; for then a smaller percentage would return to stir. it would give the man a chance to make friends, to look for a job, and to show the world that he is in earnest. a criminal who is trying to reform is generally a very helpless being. he was not, to begin with, the strongest man mentally, and after confinement is still less so. he is preoccupied, suspicious and a dreamer, and when he gets a glimpse of himself in all his naked realities, is apt to become depressed and discouraged. he is easily led, and certainly no man needs a good friend as much as the ex-convict. he is distrusted by everybody, is apt to be "piped off" wherever he goes, and finds it hard to get work which he can do. there are hundreds of men in our prisons to-day who, if they could find somebody who would trust them and take a genuine interest in them, would reform and become respectable citizens. that is where the tammany politician, whom i have called senator wet coin is a better man than the majority of reformers. when a man goes to him and says he wants to square it he takes him by the hand, trusts and helps him. wet coin does not hand him a soup ticket and a tract nor does he hold on tight to his own watch chain fearing for his red super, hastily bidding the ex-gun to be with jesus. editor's postscript. the life of the thief is at an end; and the life of the man and good citizen has begun. for i am convinced that jim is strictly on the level, and will remain so. the only thing yet lacking to make his reform sure is a job. i, and those of my friends who are interested, have as yet failed to find anything for him to do that is, under the circumstances, desirable. the story of my disappointments in this respect is a long one, and i shall not tell it. i have learned to think that patience is the greatest of the virtues; and of this virtue an ex-gun needs an enormous amount. if jim and his friends prove good in this way, the job will come. but waiting is hard, for jim is nervous, in bad health, with an old mother to look after, and with new ambitions which make keen his sense of time lost. one word about his character: i sometimes think of my friend the ex-thief as "light-fingered jim"; and in that name there lingers a note of vague apology. as he told his story to me, i saw everywhere the mark of the natural rogue, of the man grown with a roguish boy's brain. the humor of much of his tale seemed to me strong. i was never able to look upon him as a deliberate malefactor. he constantly impressed me as gentle and imaginative, impressionable and easily influenced, but not naturally vicious or vindictive. if i am right, his reform is nothing more or less than the coming to years of sober maturity. he is now thirty-five years old, and as he himself puts it: "some men acquire wisdom at twenty-one, others at thirty-five, and some never." everyman the xvth century morality play, with reproductions of old wood cuts. $ . , postage paid or at your bookseller's. the first book to bear the imprint of fox, duffield & company. "in typography, in paper and in make-up the edition is admirable. it is a good beginning and sets a very high standard." _the sun, new york._ "the best of the old moralities, easy to read and fair to look upon." _evening post, new york._ "the book is well done, and should find a place on the shelves and in the spirits of all who care for the best in life and art." john corbin, in _the new york times_. "everyman" in book form will be welcomed by the large number of people whose attention has been called to this ancient morality play by its admirable presentation in different cities." _the outlook, new york._ "the first publication of (the new house) "everyman," the fifteenth century morality play given in boston this winter, is of artistic design and of handsome, agreeable type. the old woodcuts are reproduced from the first ancient edition of the play." _boston journal._ new york fox, duffield & company, east st street. transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). a mystery story for boys whispers at dawn or the eye by roy j. snell the reilly & lee co. chicago copyright, by the reilly & lee co. printed in the u.s.a. _author's note:_ _fantastic as the happenings recorded in this book may at times seem, they are, nevertheless, a fairly exact recording of the feats of magic already accomplished by the electrical wizards of our time._ roy j. snell. contents chapter page i three black boxes ii something rather terrible iii the battle iv back in the old shack v past and present vi a store in chicago vii the unholy five viii down a beam of light ix cut adrift x a runaway captured xi a room of strange magic xii the whisperer returns xiii so long as god gives us breath xiv a human spider xv a living picture xvi a strange treasure xvii "the eye" xviii the trap is sprung xix a whisper from afar xx the sky slider xxi christmas eve xxii the warning xxiii a promise that is a threat xxiv a strange victory xxv the whisperer talks whispers at dawn or _the eye_ chapter i three black boxes as johnny thompson put out a hand to ring the door bell of that brownstone house facing the deserted grounds of the chicago century of progress and the lake, the door opened without a sound. he looked up, expecting to see a face, hear a voice, perhaps. the voice came: "step inside, please." but there was no face. the space before him was empty. a little puzzled, he stepped into the narrow passageway. instantly in a slow, silent manner that seemed ominous, the door closed behind him. the place was all but dark. certainly there was no lamp; only a curious blue illumination everywhere. a little frightened, he put out a hand to grip the door knob. it did not give to his touch. indeed it was immovable as the branch of an oak. "locked!" he muttered. then for a space of seconds his heart went wild. from the wall to the right of him had flashed a pencil of white light. like an accusing finger it fell upon something on the opposite wall. and that something was an eye, an eye in the wall,--or so it seemed to the boy. and even as he stared, with lips parted, breath coming short and quick, the thing appeared to wink. "the eye!" he whispered, and again, "the eye!" for a space of many seconds, like a bird charmed by a snake, he stood staring at that eye. and then cold terror seized him. in the corner of the place he had detected some movement. it was off to his right. whirling about, he found himself staring at--of all the terrible things in that eerie light--a skeleton. and even as he stared, ready to sink to the floor in sheer terror, the skeleton appeared to move, to tremble, to open and close its fleshless hands. he watched the thing for ten terrible seconds. then a thought struck him with the force of a blow. "that--" he whispered as if afraid the thing might hear, "that is me! that is my own skeleton!" of this there could be no doubt. for, as he lifted his right hand, the skeleton did the same. as he bobbed his head, the thing before him bobbed. and if further evidence were lacking, the thing had a crooked third finger, and so had he. then, as if ashamed of being discovered, the terrifying image vanished and the eye in the wall blinked out. instantly the door at the inner end of the hall opened. there, standing in a flood of mellow light, was a girl of about his own age. she was smiling at him and shaking her mass of golden hair. "come in," she welcomed. "but--but you seem so frightened!" she stared at him for a second. "oh!" there was consternation in her tone. "felix left that terrible thing on! how can you ever forgive us? "but please do come in." her tone changed. "you came about father's books? how generous of you. poor father! his head is so full of things! he is always forgetting." johnny stepped inside. the door closed itself noiselessly. "what kind of a house of magic is this?" he asked himself. "doors close themselves. eyes gleam at you from the wall. you see your own skeleton in the dark!" the room he had entered seemed ordinary enough--plain furniture, a davenport, chairs, a table. but the light! he stared about him. the room was filled with mellow light, yet there was not a single lamp to be seen. "comes from everywhere and nowhere, that light," he whispered to himself. "let me take your hat." the girl held out her hand. she seemed a nice sort of girl, rather boyish. when she walked it was with a long stride, as if she were wearing knickers on a hike. "i--i'll call father." she marched across the floor. johnny started from his chair, then settled back. had he caught the gleam of an eye blinking from the wall? he thought so. but now it had vanished. the girl was still three paces from the door at the back of the room when, with a silence that was startling, that door swung open. johnny looked closely. the hall beyond was lighted. there was no one to be seen. as if this was quite the usual thing, the girl marched straight through the open door. at once it closed behind her. johnny was alone. if you have followed his career in our other books you will know that johnny is no coward. he had been in tight places more than once. persons much older than he had said he bore up under strain remarkably well. for all that, this place gave him the creeps. that it was not in the best part of the city he knew well enough. this brownstone house, as we have already said, was just across from the deserted century of progress grounds, and faced the lake. back of it were shabby tenements and dingy shops where second-hand goods were sold and where auctioneers hung out their red flags. "rather senseless, the whole business," he mumbled to himself. "fellow gets into all sorts of strange messes trying to fight other people's battles for them. and yet--" his thoughts broke off. a small red light like an evil eye flashed above the outer door, then blinked out. a faint buzzing sound came from a clock-like affair on the wall. then all was silent as before. "the professor's house," he muttered. "queer place! why did i come? couldn't help it really. it was the boxes--the three black boxes." ah yes, those three black boxes! first they had intrigued him, then they had aroused his interest and sympathy. after that there was just nothing to it. he had invested all but his last dollar in those three black boxes. now he was trying to get his money back and do someone else a good turn as well. "but it seems," he whispered to himself, "there are dragons in the way, gleaming eyes, skeletons. all--" the red light flashed again, three times. the clock buzzed louder. "wish she'd come." he rose to pace slowly back and forth across this room of many mysteries. it was truly strange, he thought, the course of events leading up to this moment. after a considerable stay in the wilds of michigan he had returned to the city of chicago. on his arrival he had gone at once to the shack. the shack, on grand avenue, as you will know if you have read "arrow of fire," was occupied by drew lane, a keen young city detective, and such of his friends as happened to be about. to his great disappointment, johnny had found the shades down, the door locked. "must be away," he told himself. at once he found himself all but overcome by a feeling of loneliness. who can blame him? what is lonelier than a city where one has not a single friend? johnny had other friends in chicago. doubtless he would chance upon them in time. for the present he was completely alone. "be rather amusing," he told himself, "to try going it alone. wonder how long it will be before someone will slap me on the back and shout, 'hello, johnny thompson!'" having recalled the fact that at noon on every tuesday of the year a rather unusual auction was held, he had decided to dispel his loneliness by mingling in the motley mob that attended that auction. there for an hour he had watched without any great interest the auctioneer's hammer rise and fall as he sold a bicycle, a box of clocks, a damaged coffin, an artificial arm, three trunks with contents, if any, two white puppies in a crate and a bird in a cage--all lost or damaged while being carried by a great express company. it was only when the three black boxes were trundled out that his interest was aroused. "this," he heard the auctioneer say in a low tone to a man seated near, "is a professor's library. he hasn't come to claim the shipment, so we are forced to sell his books." "a professor's library! poor fellow! what will he do without his books?" johnny had said to the man next to him. "a professor without books is like a juggler without hands." "a professor's library." the words had intrigued him. the very word professor had a glorious sound to him. they had been so good to him, the professors of his college. without more than half willing it, he had begun bidding on those three heavy black boxes filled with books. in the end they were his, and his pockets were all but empty. after the affair was over he had hunted up the auctioneer and secured the name and address of the professor. "i'll sell the books back to him," he said to the auctioneer. "surely he _must_ have some money, or will have in a month or two." "well, maybe." the auctioneer had shaken his head. "lots of folks pretty poor these days. too bad!" "and this," johnny told himself as he continued to pace the floor of that mysterious room, "is the professor's house. seems more like the haunts of an evil genius." he felt an almost irresistible desire to find his way out of the place and make a dash for it. but there were the books. he must manage to get his money back somehow. he had hoped the professor might be able to pay him the money and take the library. "cost hundreds of dollars in the first place, those books," he murmured. "you'd think--" again he broke off to listen and stare. strange noises, curious flashes of light, and then the door swung open. the golden-haired girl appeared. the door closed behind her. "he--he'll be here soon." she seemed breathless. "he--he's working at something, a--a sort of trap. do you know," she whispered, "this is a terrible neighborhood--truly frightful! that is why we live here." "curious sort of reason," the boy thought, but he said never a word, for at that instant the clock-like affair on the wall began buzzing loudly, the red light blinked six times in quick succession. "oh!" there was consternation in the girl's voice. seizing the astonished boy by the arm, she dragged him to a corner of the room. there he found himself looking at what appeared to be a narrow strip of mirror. upon that mirror moving objects began to appear. before his astonished eyes these spots arranged themselves into the form of two skeletons, one tall, one short. dangling from the hip-bone of the tall skeleton was what appeared to be a long knife. again the girl whispered, "oh!" but the short skeleton! trembling so it appeared to dance, it slipped a knife along its bony wrist to at last grip it firmly in its skeleton fingers. the girl touched a button here, another there. the thing on the wall buzzed. words were spoken outside the door, indistinct words. the skeletons disappeared. there came the sound of a door closing. "they--they're gone!" the girl sighed. catching a slight sound of movement behind him, jimmy whirled about to find himself looking into a pair of smiling blue eyes. "here," he thought to himself, "is the girl's father, the professor." there were the same features, the same shock of golden hair. "i am professor van loon," the man said in a voice that was low, melodious and dreamy. "beth here tells me you bought my books," he went on. "that was kind of you. we've been moving about a great deal. the books have followed us here and there. charges piled up. until quite recently money has been scarce. then, i confess, i forgot. in these days one is likely to forget his choicest treasures." he turned to the girl. "beth, who was at the door just now?" "two men." she trembled slightly. "they carried knives, so i opened the door on the outside. they--they hurried away." "i dare say!" the professor chuckled dryly. "press the button, beth," the professor said, nodding his head toward the right wall. "our guest will stay for cocoa and cakes, i am sure. that right?" he asked, turning to johnny. "i will, yes," johnny agreed. the girl pressed a button like a lamp switch in the wall. the boy's feelings were mixed. he wanted to stay. these people interested him and there were a hundred mysteries to solve,--living skeletons, eyes blinking from the walls, self-opening doors, lights that gleamed and clocks that buzzed. a fresh mystery was added when five minutes later the girl pressed a second button and a tray laden with cups, saucers, a plate of cakes and a pot of steaming cocoa appeared. "the 'eye' did it for us," the professor explained in a matter-of-fact tone. "in these days one scarcely needs a servant even when he is able to afford one." perhaps johnny would have said, "what is the 'eye'?" but at that moment the door at the rear opened and a tall youth with tumbled red hair appeared. the professor rose. "son, meet johnny thompson. now we are all here." when, two hours later, johnny left this place of enchantment, his head was in a whirl. "just goes to show," he chuckled to himself, "that when you do an unusual stunt anything may happen--just anything at all." several things _had_ happened in the last two hours. he had come to have a high regard for the professor and his family. he had received payment in full for the professor's library and a ten dollar bill thrown in for good measure. "boy alive!" the professor had exclaimed when he hesitated to accept this extra ten. "if some shark that haunts those auctions had got my books it would have cost me a small fortune to redeem them." all this had happened, and much more. "best of all," johnny whispered to himself, "i am no longer alone. i've made a place for myself." just what sort of place it was, he did not surely know. "i should like to have you cast in your lot with us," the professor had said. "a boy who thinks of others, as you have done in this library affair, is sure to be of service anywhere. "we do strange and interesting things here." the professor's eyes had twinkled. "sometimes they are useful and practical; sometimes they are not. always they are absorbing, at times quite too startling. at times we have money, at others none. just now we are quite rich." he chuckled. "someone offered us a great deal of money for an electric contraption that sorts beans, sorts a car load a day. who wants that many beans?" he chuckled again. "anyway we have money and they can sort beans. money means material, equipment for fresh experiments. you will come with us?" he squinted at johnny. "yes. yes, sure." johnny scarcely knew what leg he was standing on. "queer business!" was his mental comment. "we will exact only one promise," the professor continued. "you'll not pry into our secrets. such secrets as we entrust to you you will divulge to no man. do you promise?" "i promise." "you'll learn a lot and enjoy the work a heap," the son had said to johnny. "i want you to know," the professor had added in a sober tone, "that if you come with us you may be in some danger; in fact i'm quite certain that i can promise it, yet it will never be foolhardy nor reckless danger. you'll come to live with us. that is necessary." "that's o.k.," johnny had agreed. and now johnny found himself outside in the cool air of night, the lake breeze fanning his cheek, wondering if it all--the living skeletons, eyes blinking in the wall, the self-closing doors--all had been a dream. "no!" he crushed the roll of bills in his pocket. "no, it was real enough. i--" suddenly two shadows materialized from a doorway, one tall, one short. "the--the two men of the living skeletons, the ones that girl and i saw in the mirror!" he whispered, catching his breath sharply. if there had been any question in his mind regarding this last conclusion it was dispelled instantly. an inch of white steel, a knife blade, protruded from the short person's sleeve as he muttered menacingly, "stand where you are!" chapter ii something rather terrible johnny thompson was no weakling. he was a lightweight boxer. he had made his way over the frozen wastes of alaska and through the jungles of central america and many other wild places as well. this city held little terror for him. as he faced the two strangers in the semi-darkness of the street, he considered tackling the little man. "if i tackle low i'll catch him off his guard, bowl him over like a tenpin. but the other, the tall one?" ah, there was the rub! he carried a knife at his belt. the boy could run, but at thought of that he seemed to feel a twinge of pain from a knife in his back. as he stood there, nerves all aquiver, oddly enough he thought of the mysterious eye blinking out of the wall back there in the hall. he wondered vaguely what it all meant and how this affair was to end. and then quite suddenly the affair of the moment ended. the tall man uttered a low grumble which johnny did not understand. next instant the pair faded into the darkness, leaving him free to go his way in peace. "strange business, all of this," he murmured to himself. he felt for the roll of bills that had been paid him for the professor's library. yes, they were still there. "he said, 'come back tomorrow.' the professor said that," he mumbled as he hurried away. "said i would meet dangers. w-e-l-l--" he walked three blocks in deep thought. the whole business had thus far been very strange. what of the future? how little he knew! tomorrow lay before him, and after that tomorrow and another tomorrow. the task he had agreed to undertake was strange beyond belief. yet, for the most part ignorant of all this, he slept well that night and appeared next morning, suitcase in hand, ready for work at the door of that mystery house. in the broad light of day the place had lost much of its air of mystery. he was relieved to find felix van loon sitting on the doorstep waiting for him. "won't have to run the gauntlet of eyes in the wall and submit my skeleton for inspection this time," he whispered to himself. "come on in and have a cup of coffee with me before we get down to work," the other boy welcomed. "be glad to," johnny answered. "watch!" felix said a moment later. he pressed a button, then shot a wooden panel to one side, revealing a recess. in that dark hole in the wall things began to happen. two electric coils began to light up. at the same time johnny noted with a start that two red eyes were gleaming from the darkest corner. "eyes," felix murmured. "they'll do your work if you let them." felix made no further comment. johnny did not feel free to ask questions about the riddle of the "eye." dropping into a chair, felix stared for a full two minutes at a crack in the floor. then with a start he sprang to his feet, threw open a second panel and proceeded to draw forth a steaming pot of coffee and a plate of toast. johnny recalled the professor's remarks regarding the "eye" but said nothing. "it's a queer place," he told himself. as if reading his thoughts, felix put down his cup. "father's what they call an electrical wizard," he said. "he does things no one dreams of. enjoys it a lot, he does. so do i. but father has a deep purpose in it all, thinks electricity may help to save the race; anyway that's what he calls it." once more he lapsed into silence. johnny searched the dark corners of the room for peering eyes, but could find none. "through?" felix asked quite suddenly. "all right then, let's be on our way." he strode across the room to catch up a kit of tools. a moment more and they were in the street marching south. they had passed one brownstone building and were approaching a second when felix drew johnny into a doorway. "ought to tell you, i guess." his voice was low. "sort of warn you in case anything happens. bit irregular, the thing we are about to do. if it frightens you after i've told you, just say so. every fellow has a right! "you see," he got a fresh start, "father was once in the secret service. he became interested at that time in working out devices for trapping criminals. and they _should_ be trapped." his voice rose. "ninety per cent of all crimes are committed by men who never work. professional criminals, they make life unsafe for everyone. but father doesn't trap 'em. he just works out the traps. he's too much interested in making things to think much about using them himself. see that brick place, second door over?" his voice dropped. "some queer ones live there--a tall one and a short one." "tall one and a short--! i--" "not much time." felix held up a hand. "sleep late, those two, but not too late. got to get in and do some things before they come downstairs. "we're supposed to be changing some electric light switch boxes, you and i. that is, if we're caught. you're my helper. no breaking in or anything like that. got the key from the owner. but if they come down, that tall one and the short one, they might get a little rough. see? question is, are you still with me?" he concluded. "hundred per cent!" there was no hesitation in johnny's tone. for all that, there was a sense of dizziness in his head. he was seeing again the living skeletons, one with a knife on its hip, the other with a blade hanging from its bony fingers. "all right," said felix, "let's go!" "but why should we change the switch boxes in that place?" johnny asked. "rule one of our clan is, 'no questions asked'!" felix chuckled. a moment more and a key turned in a lock. they found themselves in an ancient parlor. the place was dark and silent, reeking with mystery. "here you are." felix handed johnny a large flashlight. "just focus that on my hands while i work. won't try to raise the shades. might disturb our friends upstairs. might--sh! listen!" the red-haired boy backed against the wall. involuntarily johnny gripped the handle of a hammer with his free hand. the memory of a knife blade protruding from a sleeve was fresh in his mind. for a space of seconds the two boys remained motionless. "thought i heard something." felix moved forward. a moment more and his long capable fingers, trembling slightly, were busy removing an electric punch button from the wall. "good!" he whispered. "hole's large enough." diving into his kit, he brought out a small metal box wrapped about with wires. after unwinding these wires, he stood again at attention. catching no sound, he resumed his work. pushing the wires through the hole left by the removal of the punch button, he slid them down between the walls, then prepared to fit the black box into position. "perfect," he sighed. "couldn't have been better! i--" he held up a finger for silence. there had come a faint sound from above. "like a bare foot touching the floor," johnny thought. once more he gripped his hammer handle hard. if they were attacked he would do his bit. but would that be enough? strange business this! a chill crept up his spine. felix resumed his work. his fingers flew. "there!" he sighed. "they'd never know a thing has been changed. and yet--" a moment later he disappeared into the depths of a large closet. what he did there johnny was not permitted to know. for a full quarter of an hour, alternately chilling and thrilling at every sound that reached his ears, johnny stood there on guard. "now," the other boy at last whispered in his ear, "we go this way." they passed through a door and down a stair into a cellar dark as night. "one minute here, and then for the outer air." felix moved forward cautiously. for all that, his foot struck some object that gave forth a low, hollow roar. at the same instant there came from above an unmistakable sound of movement. "coming down the stairs," felix breathed. "going out to breakfast, perhaps. if they don't, we're trapped like rats!" five long minutes they cowered there in the dark. then, satisfied that all was well, felix tucked some wires through a crack in the wall, and they were away. "you're all right!" a moment later in the broad light of the street the inventor's son offered johnny a slim hand. "i--i just wanted to make sure. you weren't much afraid, were you?" "do you mean--" the muscles in johnny's face hardened. "mean to say there really wasn't any danger back there?" "danger?" felix stared. "of course there was danger! those men were there, somewhere, no doubt about that. they're bad ones too! up to something rather terrible, i imagine. but then," he added as a sort of afterthought, "we're not detectives. i only wanted to get some things in there to try them out. you may have a chance to help at that. there's a lot of things to do. "but not tomorrow." his brow wrinkled in thought. "father and i will be away tomorrow. tell you what--that'll be all for today. why don't you come back day after tomorrow? we'll try something out then, something rather thrilling, i'd say." it was to be thrilling, that thing they were to try out; but the thrill was to be of a different sort than that expected by felix. fate too would step in and change the date for them. fate has a way of doing that little thing, as johnny had long since learned. gripping felix's hand, johnny hurried away to catch a bus. "just in time for one more auction," he thought to himself. "that other auction brought me luck and promise of adventure. why might not another do the same? might go to the shack and see if drew lane is there," he told himself. "do that after the auction is over." he was going to the shack right enough, but not in just the manner he would have chosen. chapter iii the battle "there! that's the one! the one up next!" johnny sat up with a start. arrived at the auction house where all manner of strange things lost, damaged or stolen, are sold, he had taken his place among the bidders. he had found himself crowded in between a thin man and a stout one. he knew the stout one slightly; they called him john. the slim man was new and quite strange for such a place. his clothes were new and very well kept. his face was dark. his lips were twitchy, his slim fingers ever in motion. there was on his left cheek a peculiar scar. two marks, like a cross, as if someone had branded him, so johnny thought. and now, to his great astonishment, after dozing through a half hour of uninteresting auction, he found this stranger whispering shrilly in his ear. before the whisper had come he felt a sharp punch in the ribs. the punch may have been made with a sharp elbow. johnny had an uncomfortable feeling that the business end of some sort of short gun had been stuck into his side. "say!" he whispered back. "what's the big idea? this is an auction house; not a hop joint!" "i know! i know!" came in an excited whisper from the slender, nervous-eyed man. "but listen to me!" one more prod in the ribs. "you'll remember it the longest day you live! you _bid_ on that next package! and _get_ it! take it away from 'em, see? take it away! me? i'm broke," the stranger went on hurriedly. "but i got a hunch. an' my hunches, they're open and shut, open and shut. just like that! so you bid! see?" the package in question seemed about as uninteresting as it well could be--a, plain corrugated box tied round with a stout hempen cord. there were scores quite like it. some were larger, some thinner, some thicker. johnny had seen many such packages opened. "broken bits of statuary," he thought to himself, "or old clothes, like as not, or jars of cheap cosmetics. what do i want of that package?" but the stranger was insisting. "bid! bid! see, i got a hunch!" "bid?" johnny grumbled in a whisper. "what for?" the auction room was warm. he guessed he must have fallen asleep. always after a nap he felt cross. he wouldn't bid on the silly package. what if this fellow did have a hunch? he had a mind to tell him so. strange to say, when the package went up, he did bid. "one dollar! two! three dollars!" and he had it. he turned about to look into the slim stranger's face; wanted to see how he felt about it. to his surprise he found the seat empty. "that's queer!" he thought with a start. "perhaps i dreamed the whole thing!... no, not all of it," he amended ten seconds later. "here comes the collector after my deposit. i've got a good mind to tell him i didn't buy the package." this notion too he abandoned. digging into his watch-pocket, he dragged forth a crumpled dollar bill. "o.k., buddie, you get your package after the auction." the collector went his way. johnny had not meant to stay the auction through. now he must, or forfeit his dollar. he debated this problem and decided to stay. the package did not interest him overmuch, but his money was up. he would have a look. losing all interest in the auction, he spent his time thinking through his unusual adventures of the night before. closing his eyes, he seemed to see again that frightful wavering skeleton which in time he came to believe was his own. two other skeletons he saw, one with a long-bladed knife wavering in its hand. "i saw them later on the streets, those men," he told himself, "only they were all dressed up in flesh and had their skins on--clothes too. it's a queer business! eyes staring at a fellow from the wall!" he shuddered. "fairly gives you the creeps! wonder why i agreed to join up with such an outfit as that old professor and his children." "people," he whispered after a long period of deep thinking, "certain people have a way of getting inside of you and making you like them. they may be very good and they may be very bad, in certain ways, but you like them all the same. and you'll follow them as a dog follows his master. queer old world! the professor is like that, and so's his daughter. fellow'd come to like the boy too. "wonder what we were up to in that strange house," he mused. "good thing we got out of that cellar before anyone showed up! i doubt if that boy's much of a fighter. "dumb!" he stirred impatiently in his seat. "got a lot more to sell at this auction. radios, somebody's trunks, 'with contents if any,' some puppies--hear 'em squeal!--pop-corn in a sack, six broken lamps and a hundred more things. guess i'll get out. buzz around here after awhile and pick up that package." when he returned to the auction room two hours later darkness was falling. a dull, drab fog had come creeping in from the lake. lights glowed through it like great staring eyes. they reminded him of the eyes in the wall at the professor's house. "bought a package here," he grumbled to the clerk. "some busted thing, i guess. here's the ticket and the rest of the money." "here you are!" the parcel man handed out his prize package. the thing was heavier than he had expected. prying up a corner of the box, he thrust in a hand. he touched something round, smooth and hard. "like a skull," he whispered. "only some sort of electric lamp," he decided after further exploring. "metal affair made like a jug; broken, probably. oh well, might as well take it along." leaving the auction room, he came out into the street and headed west. that portion of the city is not inviting, nor does it seem particularly friendly to well-dressed strangers. during the day, when the weather is fair, the cross streets swarm with men who once worked, who may work again, but who for the present stand and idly stare or wander up and down. this night was damp and chill. the street was all but deserted. halfway through a block a chance flash of light from a passing car revealed four well-dressed men standing at the entrance to an alley. one look, and johnny sprang back. the movement was purely instinctive. he had seen faces like theirs before, in court rooms and behind iron bars. three of the men were in full view, one in the shadow. unfortunately the chance revelation of that passing car came too late. before he could turn and show them his heels, they had him surrounded. that there would be a fight he did not question. why? he had not the remotest idea. johnny did not mind a fight, a clean fight. he kept himself fit for just such an occasion as this. he was always in training. "but four of them!" he groaned. no ringside rules here. one of the men was fat. like a battering-ram, johnny aimed his head square at that one's stomach. the man went over with a groan. but not johnny. regaining his balance in a flash, he swung his good right arm to bring his heavy package squarely down upon a second man's head. the package flew from his hand. in a fair fight with one man, or even two, johnny needed only two well-formed fists. as the third man sprang at him, he squared away to give him an uppercut under the chin that closed his jaws with the snap of a steel trap and put him out for a count of twice ten. but at that instant something crashed down upon johnny's skull. the fourth member of the gang, he who had hovered in the shadows, had gone into action. ten minutes later when a detective threw the beam of his flashlight down that alley it fell upon a lone figure huddled against the wall. he was about to pass on, thinking it was some poor wanderer fast asleep, when something about the person's clothes caused him to look again. two long strides and he was beside the prostrate form. "johnny thompson, as i live!" he muttered after bending over for a look. "and somebody's got him! i wonder if it's for keeps?" chapter iv back in the old shack johnny was not out for good. but his return to consciousness was gradual. he began to hear things dimly as in a dream. there was a certain melody and harmony about the sounds, like a pipe organ played softly at night. this was shot through at times by a loud pop-pop-crack. had memory returned, the boy might have thought they were fighting it out over his prostrate form, those men and the police. memory did not return. a drowsy feeling of painless well-being swallowed him up. he did not struggle against it, did not so much as wish to struggle. for all that, his eyes began seeing things--one more step on the way to full consciousness. like someone seen dimly in the clouds, as they do it in the movies, a vaguely familiar face appeared above him. a narrow, rather dark, tense face it was, with large eyes that seemed to burn with a strange fire. "joy--joyce mills," his lips whispered. "yes, johnny. we're glad you're back." "back?" he pondered that last word. "back to what?" he began to feel things--a third step in his return to the realm of reality. the cold fog was gone, he knew that. the darkness too was gone. a subdued light was all about him. "back," he thought once more, "back to what?" then, as if reading this thought, the girl said, "you are back in the shack on grand avenue. don't you remember?" at that all his memories came flooding in. the shack, drew lane and tom howe, keen young detectives, his staunch friends; newton mills, the one-time derelict and veteran detective, and joyce mills, his vivacious, ambitious daughter who at times had proven herself the keenest detective of them all. "the shack!" he exclaimed, making a brave attempt to sit up. "the shack! how--how wonderful!" he sank back dizzily. a sharp pain had shot across his temples. when this pain was gone, he gave himself over entirely to memories. the girl's face had vanished. something told him, however, that she was seated close by his side. memories, gorgeous, thrilling memories! they would be with him until he died. he and this slim, dark-haired girl had not been lovers; much more than that, very much more. they had been pals. and as pals they had shared dangers. they had dared together and had won. drew lane had been with them, newton mills too, and tom howe. men there had been who would gladly have killed them. yet, standing side by side and fighting for the good of all, they had won. "and now?" he said the words aloud. "now you have only to rest," came in that same melodious voice. "someone hit you rather hard on the head. that's what you get for going it alone. you might have known we were still in chicago. you did not look us up. you can't go it alone. no one can--not in this world of today. we stand shoulder to shoulder, or we don't stand at all. "but now--" the girl's voice fell. "now you are here in the shack and drew lane is here. others are not far away. you must rest." her voice trailed off into silence. johnny wanted to tell her he had tried to find drew lane at the shack and had failed; that he had not wished to go it alone, that he did appreciate his friends. but somehow the words would not come. his thoughts were all mixed up with dreams, dreams of eyes blinking from the wall, animated skeletons and mysterious packages. truth was, he had fallen asleep. * * * * * * * * "i went to an auction." five hours johnny had slept on a cot in the corner of the large room at the back of the shack. now he was sitting up on the cot, talking eagerly. from beneath his crown of bandages his two eyes gleamed like twin stars. "i bought a library, a professor's library, bought it at auction. because he was a professor i had to get it back to him. "i found his address. i went there. i was in the hall. eyes gleamed at me. a skeleton danced before me, my skeleton. i--" "your skeleton?" drew lane, the keen detective, grinned at him. "sure it was my skeleton! don't you suppose a fellow knows his skeleton when he sees it?" drew lane laughed, a low laugh, but made no reply. "then," johnny went on rapidly, "a girl opened the door, a taffy-haired, boyish sort of girl, and said she was sorry. it is a house of magic, the 'house of a thousand eyes.'" "eyes?" joyce mills leaned forward eagerly. "what sort of eyes?" "that," said johnny, "is what i don't know. they seem to do things, those eyes, open doors and shut 'em, make coffee maybe, i don't know. that's why i'm going back. i want to know. oh! don't i though!" "so you're going back?" drew smiled. a large man sitting before the fire, a man johnny had never seen until that night, turned and looked at him in a strange way. "sure i'm going back. i'm to help them!" "help them at what?" drew lane was curious. "don't know." johnny's brow wrinkled. had johnny been a little wider awake and a little more alive, he would have realized that the young detective and joyce mills were humoring him as they might a drunken man. "he was hit on the head in that alley--i found him and brought him here," drew was saying to himself. "he's slightly cuckoo from that terrible bump he got. all this stuff he's talking is sheer nonsense. he's delirious. he'll come round all right." joyce mills was thinking much the same. not knowing their thoughts, johnny rambled on: "we put some wires and things in a place nearby. two queer ones live there, a long one and a short one. one carries a knife up his sleeve." "nice friendly sort." drew grinned. "was he the fellow that hit you?" "hit me?" johnny's hand went to his head. "i--i doubt that. it--it was a different place." "of course," he added thoughtfully, "they might have followed me all that time. but why? i hadn't done anything to them--not yet." "not yet? are you going to later?" joyce mills gave him a look. "something tells me i am. fellow gets hunches, you know that. that old professor interests me and so does that 'house of a thousand eyes.' he said there'd be danger. but who cares for danger?" once more his hand went to his head. "they--they didn't get me, not yet. but if i find that fellow who hit me with that iron bar--and i _will_ find him, don't doubt that--when i find him, well--" he did not finish. "did you see him?" drew asked eagerly. "not out there in--" "in the 'wild garden of despair'?" drew laughed low. "that's what they call west madison street. you didn't see him there, did you?" drew was beginning to believe that johnny was all right in his head after all. "he's the only one i didn't see." johnny's tone was thoughtful. "all the same, i have a notion i've seen him right enough. unless i've got him all wrong, he sat beside me in that auction house and prodded me in the ribs, telling me to bid on a package i had no notion of buying." "did you buy it?" "sure did." johnny told of his experience in the auction house, then of the battle in the "garden of despair." "perhaps you're right," drew said slowly when the story was told. "the fellow who talked you into buying that package may have belonged to the gang that beat you up in that alley. package was gone right enough when i found you. you're sure there was nothing in that box but a broken lamp?" "i wouldn't swear to that." johnny dropped back to his place on the cot. "i didn't untie it; just explored it with my hands." "it's a toss-up," drew concluded. "man who carries a knife up his sleeve, or the fellow who made you buy what you didn't want. one of these hit you. which one? nice little riddle. we'll help you solve it, won't we, joyce?" "yes, and let me in on it!" the large man by the fire stood up. "johnny," drew said, and there was a note of deep respect in his voice, "this is captain burns, a chief in the detective bureau. he--he seems to like being here in our shack now and then. but keep it dark," he warned. "there are people who would like to meet the captain here in a very unsocial way--boys of the under-world who've felt his steel. right, captain?" "maybe so," the captain rumbled. "anyway, i wouldn't want our happy retreat broken up. "but this 'house of a thousand eyes'?" he turned to johnny. "tell me more about it." "i will," said johnny with a broad grin, "when i have more to tell." chapter v past and present several hours later, having quite recovered from his severe headache, and apparently not so very much the worse for the terrible thump he had received on the head, johnny sat before the open fireplace in drew lane's shack on grand avenue. about that same fire were gathered his friends of other days, drew lane, tom howe and joyce mills. with them was the ruddy-faced, smiling captain burns, one of the best known and most feared officers of the law in that city. if you have read "arrow of fire" you will know that the "shack" was the one remaining structure of days long gone by when the east end of grand avenue--which, after all, has never been very grand--was at the edge of a sandy marsh where in the autumn one might hunt wild ducks. this shack was now surrounded by tall warehouses. hidden away and quite forgotten, it made a perfect meeting place for such as drew lane and his little group of crime hunters. drew lane was still young. with his derby hat, bright tie and natty suit, he looked still very much the college boy he had been. endowed with great strength, trained to the limit, with a brain like a brightly burning lamp, he was the despair of evil doers. scarcely less effective was his team-mate, tom howe. small, freckled, active as a cat, silent, full of thoughts, tom planned, while, more often than not, drew executed. joyce mills, as you may know, had become a member of this group quite by accident. her father, newton mills, after many years of distinguished service as a detective in new york, had at last fallen a prey to strong drink. johnny and drew had found him in chicago drinking his life away. they had saved him to a life of further usefulness. joyce, deeply grateful, and always at heart a "lady cop," had cast her lot with them. and now here she was. "but your father?" johnny was saying to her at this moment, "where is he?" a shadow passed over the girl's dark face. "haven't seen him for two months. "but then," she added in a lighter tone, "you know him. gets going on something and forgets everything else. he'll show up." "yes," johnny agreed, "he's bound to." johnny was thinking of the time the veteran detective had turned himself into a gray shadow and had, all unknown, dogged johnny's heels, saving him from all manner of terrible deaths. the time was to come, and that soon enough, when he was to wish the "gray shadow" back on his trail. "drew," johnny said, turning to his sturdy young friend, "i came here the moment i reached the city. how come the place was locked up and dark?" "been on a vacation; just got back." drew's face lighted. "went to the rockies. had some wonderful hunting--grizzly bears. can't say that's more exciting than hunting crooks, though," he laughed. "met a girl you'd like on the way back." drew lane turned to joyce. "came on the bus. people in a bus, traveling far, get to be like one big family. funny part was--" he gave a low chuckle. "she's coming here to help her uncle. he has a store on maxwell street. maxwell street! can you imagine?" "rags, scrap-iron, poultry in crates, fish smells and noise--that's what maxwell street means to me!" joyce shuddered. "just that!" drew agreed. "this truly nice girl from somewhere in kansas is going there to help in her uncle's store. she doesn't know a thing about chicago. thinks maxwell street is all the same as state street, i'm sure. believes her uncle's store is anyway six stories high. well, she's in for a terrible shock. i feel sorry for her. have to get round and see her--gave me the address. she asked me what i did in chicago." drew chuckled once more. "what did you tell her?" joyce asked. "said i looked after people, lots of them." "and for once you told the truth," johnny laughed. "but johnny!" joyce exclaimed. "tell me some more about this 'house of magic' you've discovered. sounds frightfully interesting. we all thought you were a little delirious when you first talked of it. but now--" "now you begin to believe me." johnny's eyes shone. "it's a truly wonderful place." "tell us about it." captain burns insisted from his corner. "heard about some of these things before. shouldn't wonder if they'd do things in the end to lift the load off us poor, over-worked detectives." "i'll tell you all i know, which isn't much," johnny agreed. and here i think we may safely leave our friends for a little time while we look in upon grace krowl, the girl from somewhere in kansas. she had found her uncle's store on maxwell street. and how she had found it! chapter vi a store in chicago a slender mite of a girl, barely past her eighteenth birthday, grace krowl was possessed of an indomitable spirit and a will of her own; else she would not have been walking down maxwell street in chicago hundreds of miles from her home, in kansas. the look in her eyes as she marched down that street where all manner of junk and rags are mingled with much that, after all, is pleasant and desirable, was one of utter surprise. "a store," she murmured, more than once, "a store in chicago. and maxwell street. i am sure i can't be wrong. and yet--" arrived at the street number written on a slip of paper in her hand, she stood staring at the narrow, two-story building with its blank windows and unpainted walls for a full moment. then, a spirit of desperation seizing her, she sprang up the low steps, grasped the doorknob, then stepped resolutely inside. once inside, she stood quite still. never in any place had she witnessed such confusion. what place could this be? her mind was in a whirl. then, like a flash, her eyes fell upon an object that threw her into action. with a startled cry, she sprang at a group of women. she snatched a tortoise shell comb from a huge black woman's hand just as she was about to try it in her kinky hair. she dragged a pink kimono from beneath a tall, slim woman's arm and, diving all but headforemost, gathered in a whole armful of garments that an astonished little lady had been hugging tight. by this time the battle turned. she found herself at the center of a concerted attack. the black woman banged at her with a picture frame, the tall, thin one jabbed her with sharp elbows and the little lady made a grab at her hair. "ladies! ladies!" came in a protesting man's voice. "why must you fight in my store?" "fight? who wants to fight!" the tall woman screamed. "here we are peaceful folks looking over the goods in your store, and here comes this one!" she pointed an accusing finger at grace. "she comes in grabbing and snatching, that's what she does!" "store! goods!" grace's head was in a whirl. how could they call this a store? it was a place where people robbed strangers,--stole their trunks and rifled them. surely there could be no mistaking that. were not the trunks open there before her, a half dozen or more of them? and was not her own modest steamer trunk among them? had she not caught them going through her trunk? were not the articles in her arms, the tortoise shell comb, the kimono and those other garments her very own? goods? store? what could it all mean? her head was dizzy. "a store," she whispered to herself, "my uncle's store in chicago. he gave me this address. he must be in the business of stealing trunks and selling their contents!" she felt, of a sudden, all hollow inside, and dropping like an empty sack, half sat upon a partially emptied trunk. "miss! why do you do this?" the bearded man who now spoke was almost apologetic in his approach. "why do you do this in my store? many years i, nicholas fischer, have sold goods here and never before have i seen such as this!" "nich--nicholas fischer!" the girl's eyes widened. "then _you_ are nicholas fischer. and _this_ is your store? store!" she fairly screamed. she wanted to rise and flee, but she was half stuck in the trunk and her wobbly legs would not lift her out, so she said shakily: "i did it be--because that's my trunk. i--i am grace krowl, your niece who came from camden center, kansas, to help you keep your store. but i won't, i won't stay a moment. i'll never, never, never help a thief!" "you?" the bearded man's face was a study. surprise, mortification registered themselves on his face. "grace krowl, my niece," he murmured. "her trunk! it is her trunk! a thief it is she says i am--i, nicholas fischer, who never stole a penny! tell me, what is all this?" he stared from face to face as if expecting an answer. but no answer came. and then a slow smile overspread his face. "now i begin to understand," he murmured. "it is all a mistake, a terrible mistake! "ladies," he said, turning pleading eyes on the group of customers, "will you please put back into that little trunk everything you have taken out? and if any have paid for a thing, i will repay. it is my niece's trunk. it is one terrible mistake." he began rocking backwards and forwards like one in great pain. "a thief, she said," he murmured. "but who would not have thought it?" his eyes took in the half-empty trunks all about him, then he murmured again, "who would not have thought it?" four hours later, just after darkness had fallen, this same girl, grace krowl, found herself walking the most unusual street in america, maxwell street in chicago. she found it interesting, amusing, sometimes a little startling, and always unspeakably sad, this place where a strange sort of bedlam reigns. here, as she passed along, fat jewish women held up flimsy silk stockings to her view, screaming, "buy, miss, buy now! the price goes up! cheap! cheap!" here a man seized her rudely by the shoulder, turned her half around and all but shoved her into a narrow shop, where gaudy dresses were displayed. this made her angry. she wanted to fight. "i fight?" she laughed softly to herself. "i, who have always lived in camden center! a sort of madness comes over one in such a place as this, i guess." recalling her fight earlier in the day, her cheeks crimsoned, and she hurried on. "what a jumble!" she exclaimed aloud as she turned her attention once more to maxwell street. "shoes, scissors, radios, geese, cabbages, rags and more rags, rusty hardware, musical instruments. where does it all come from, and who will buy it?" she paused to look at a crate of cute white puppies with pink noses. they, too, were for sale. then, of a sudden, her face clouded. "can i do it?" she muttered. "can i? i--i must! but other people's things? so often the little treasures they prized! how can i?" that she might remove her thoughts from a painful subject, she forced her eyes to take in her present surroundings. then, with a little cry, she sprang forward. "books! 'everything in books.'" she read the sign aloud. she disappeared through a dingy door into a room which was brightly lighted. the lights and the face that greeted her changed all. the madly fantastic world was, for the moment, quite shut out. she was at home with many books and with a girl whose face shone, she told herself, "like the sun." "a book?" this sales girl smiled. "something entertaining? a novel, perhaps. oh no, i don't think you'd like 'portrait of a man with red hair.' it's really rather terrible. one of the chief characters is a mad man who loves torturing people." the girl shuddered. "but this now--" she took up a well-thumbed volume. "'a lantern in her hand.' it is truly lovely--the story of brave and simple people. i'm afraid we're neither very brave nor very simple these days. do you feel that we are?" "she really is able to think clearly," grace whispered to herself. "i am sure i am going to like her." "i'll take one, that one," she said putting out her hand for the book. and then, because she was alone in a great city, because she was bursting to confide in someone, she said, "he buys trunks, trunks full of other people's things. he takes the things out and sells them, other people's things. they packed them away with such care, and now--now he takes them out, throws them about and sells them!" "who does?" the girl's eyes opened wide. "my uncle, nicholas fischer." "oh, nicholas fischer." the girl's voice dropped. "but he is the kindest man! comes here with books. he sells them to mr. morrow who owns this store--secondhand books. perhaps they come from the trunks. and mr. morrow says he helps poor people, your uncle does, and he doesn't let anyone know who it is." "but he buys trunks, other people's trunks, and sells them!" grace insisted. "yes, buys them at auction, i guess. several people on this street do that. express auctions, railway auctions, storage house auctions and all that. and you are to help him open them up!" she exclaimed quite suddenly. "you are to explore them? how i envy you!" "envy?" grace stared in unbelief. "but why not? think of the things you may find. diamonds perhaps; stocks and bonds; rare old coins and rarer old books; ancient silver plate. just think of the things people pack away in their trunks! letters; diaries; quaint old pictures. it--why it's like a trip around the world!" "but it--it seems so unfair," grace wavered. "you're not the one that's being unfair," the bright-eyed one reasoned. "those people can't have their things in those trunks. perhaps they are dead. in some cases they lost their trunks because they were too poor to pay storage or express charges. you can't well help that. so why think about it?" grace krowl _was_ to think about it many times and in the end to do something about it. that something was to draw her into a great deal of trouble. for the moment she left the little secondhand bookshop soothed, comforted, and filled with a desire to call again. "no doubt you think maxwell street a terrible place," the smiling girl said as she walked with her to the door, "and that your uncle's store is the worst on the street. but i could tell you--" a shadow fell across her face. "i could tell you things about grand stores on a very grand street in this city of ours. per--perhaps i will sometime." grace was startled as she looked into her face. it had suddenly become gray and old. "how strange," she murmured as, dodging a pushcart laden with geese, she hurried away toward nicholas fischer's place on maxwell street. "how strange. and how--how sort of terrible. and yet--" the words of a great man came to her. "no situation in life is ever so bad but that it might be worse." * * * * * * * * "what," you may be asking by this time, "have the adventures of a girl from kansas to do with johnny thompson and his friends?" the answer is: "a great deal." in the first place, drew lane, having discovered this little lady while traveling in a bus, was not the sort to desert her in her plight. in the second place, an invisible finger of light moving across the sky was destined to join the fates of johnny thompson and grace krowl. however, for the time, we will return to johnny and his friends. chapter vii the unholy five during the course of their conversation about the open fire in drew lane's shack, captain burns took from his inside pocket a small package which proved to be five photographs pasted securely upon a strip of stout cloth in such a manner that they might be folded together in the form of a small book. "ever see any of these?" he said to johnny after spreading them out upon his knee. for a moment johnny studied the pictures thoughtfully. then he gave a sudden start. "that," he exclaimed, pointing a trembling finger at the third in the row, "is the man who sat beside me in the auction--who got me to bid in that package!" "are you sure?" the captain's tone was tense. "can't be a doubt about it. see that scar like a cross? couldn't well miss that, could i? he's the one all right. and, though i could never prove it, i'd swear he was the one who struck me from the dark. "and, by all that's good!" johnny sprang to his feet. "i'll get that man! see if i don't! no man can strike me from the shadows and get away with it!" "well, i guess that makes your friend johnny here one of us. that right, drew?" the captain rumbled. drew lane nodded his head. "sit down, son," said the captain. "i'll tell you what those pictures mean. drew here and tom howe carry those pictures with them always. so does joyce, though i don't know quite where--in her stocking perhaps." joyce smiled. "we joke at times," the captain went on, "but this affair is no joke. those men are our assignment. they are to be our assignment until every man of them is behind bars or in his grave. you may join us if you will." "i will." johnny's voice was low. the captain extended his hand as a solemn pledge. "you have a right to know," he went on, "just what men you are after, and what they have done. "they are hardened criminals, every one, public enemies of the worst sort. a little more than a month ago they sealed their fate--they killed a policeman, the finest copper that ever walked a beat." for a time the captain stared at the fire. "my boy," he said at last, in a different voice, "i'm going to take you with me somewhere, sometime. the finest little family you ever saw!" he rumbled low as if talking to himself. then, with a sudden start, he repeated, "they killed a policeman. of course a policeman's no better than any other man. but with us there's an unwritten law that no officer shall go unavenged. "that wasn't all they did, this unholy five. they went to a banker's home at midnight and terrorized his family until morning. man's wife was in ill health. but of course--" the captain's voice rumbled with scorn and hate. "of course you couldn't expect these robbers to take note of a little thing like that! what do they care for women and children? "when morning came they took the man to his bank. they compelled him to open the vault. they took the bank's securities, more than two hundred thousand dollars worth. then, of course, they went away. "by some oversight, the bank's insurance had been allowed to lapse. because of this heavy loss the bank was forced to close its doors. it was a working man's bank. thousands of common folks lost their savings. these five men--no doubt they had a fine time with the currency they took! "but the bonds--" his voice rose again. "the bonds are hot. we've kept them hot. they dare not sell them. and we'll get them back yet, see if we don't! "and those are the men we're after!" he added a moment later. "are you still with us?" "more than ever!" johnny's voice was husky. once again the captain offered his hand. "you're a lad after my own heart," he rumbled. "i've two places i want to show you, and i'm sure you'll like them both." chapter viii down a beam of light grace krowl, the girl from kansas, found plenty of things to occupy her thoughts as she sank into a chair in one of the two small rooms allotted to her on the upper floor of her uncle's store in chicago. "a store in chicago." she laughed low. her uncle's store in chicago. what dreams had she not dreamed of this store? chicago was a grand city. his store must be a grand place. she had of late pictured it as a six-story building; pure fancy, for he had never written about its size or importance. in fact, he had not written at all until she had written first and asked for a position as clerk in his store. he had been married to her mother's sister. the sister was dead. when grace had needed work badly she had written, and he had replied briefly: "i can give you work at fifteen dollars per week and board." so here she was. and her uncle's store was little more than a hole in the wall. no counters, no glass cases. things piled in heaps, and all secondhand; glass dishes here, bed covers there, dresses, sheets, towels, everything. and in the corner, like so many skeletons, a great pile of bruised, battered and empty trunks. "he buys trunks, other people's trunks." she shuddered afresh. then the words of her new-found friend of the bookstore came to her. "diamonds, stocks and bonds." these were dreams. "but rare old books, wonderful bits of irish lace, why not?" perhaps, after all, she could drive away the ache that came in her throat at the thought that someone who truly loved these things had lost them because they were poor. she thought of her own trunk and laughed aloud. what a sight that must have been--she snatching at her prized possessions and those other women poking her and banging her on the head! of course it had all been a mistake. she had come to chicago by bus and had sent on her trunk by express. the van that went for her trunk had also picked up a half dozen others which her uncle had bought at auction. the trunks had become mixed. the lock had been pried off her own and the contents were being sold when she arrived. everything had been retrieved except a pearl-backed brush she prized and a hideous vase she abhorred. "that did not turn out so badly," she assured herself. "perhaps everything will come along quite as well." and yet, as she took a handful of silver coins and one paper dollar from her purse and added them up, her face was very sober. she was a long way from home, and there could be no retreat. the place she was to call home was above the store. too tired and preoccupied to notice at first, she received a shock when she at last became conscious of her surroundings. the room in which she sat was a tiny parlor, all her own. off from that was a bedroom. everything--furniture, rugs, decorations,--was in exquisite taste and perfect harmony. "contrast!" she exclaimed. "who could ask for greater contrast? rags below, and this above!" she stared in speechless surprise. one thing astonished her. opposite the window in the parlor was an oval, concave mirror, like an old-fashioned light reflector. it was some two feet across. "i wonder why it is here," she murmured. she was to wonder more as the days passed. when she had prepared herself for the night's rest, she snapped out the light, then stood for a brief time at the open window looking out into the night. she was on the second floor of her uncle's small building. before her were the low, flat roofs of some one-story shacks. looking far beyond these, she saw squares of light against the night sky. these she knew were lighted windows of distant skyscrapers. there were thousands of these windows. "what can they all do at night?" she asked herself. "struggling to make money, to get on, to keep their families housed and fed," the answer came to her. then, strangely enough, her mind carried her back over the trail that had brought her to this city. it had been an interesting adventure, that long bus ride. six of the passengers, including herself, had ridden hundreds of miles together. they had become like a little community. "it was as if these were pioneer days," she told herself now. "as if we were journeying in covered wagons in a strange new land." one of these long distance passengers, as you will know, had been a young man. in his golf knickers and soft, gray cap, he had seemed a college boy. but he was not. "out of college and at work," was the way he had expressed it. "what work do you do?" she had asked. he had hesitated before replying. then his answer had been vague. "oh, i just look after people." "look after people?" "lots of people. all sorts." a queer smile had played about the corners of his mouth. she had not pressed the question further. but now, standing there looking out into his city at night, she whispered, "his name was drew lane. wonder if i'll ever see him again? i hope so. he seemed a nice boy, and i should love to know how he looks after 'lots of people--all sorts.'" she looked again at the many lighted windows. suddenly those who toiled there seemed very near to her. she found a strange comfort in this. "i, too, must do my best," she told herself. "god help me to be wise and strong, helpful to others and kind to all!" she prayed as she gave herself over to sleep. she was wakened at dawn by a whisper. at first, so closely did dream life blend with the life of day, it seemed natural that she should be listening to this whisper. when she had come into full consciousness she sprang out of bed with a start. "good morning!" the words came in slowly, a distinct whisper. "we hope you are happy this morning. cheerio! that's the word!" "when you have dressed," the whisper continued, "won't you just step out into the little parlor and take a seat by the table? it will be good to have a look at your shining face." "someone in my little parlor! i don't like it. and that whisper!" she dressed hurriedly, then stepped through the door. what sort of person had she expected to see? probably she could not have told. what she did see was _an empty room_. greatly astonished, hardly knowing why she obeyed the whispered orders, she took a seat by the table. instantly the whisper began once more: "ah! there you are! i am talking to you over a beam of light. i am a mile away. i have interesting things to tell you. you are going to aid me." for a brief space of time the whisper ended. the girl's mind was in a whirl. "talking down a beam of light!" she thought. "what nonsense! going to aid that whisperer?" here surely was some strange mystery. chapter ix cut adrift for some time grace krowl remained at her small table awaiting some further message from the mysterious whisperer. no further message came. had this whisper told the truth? was he a mile away? she could not believe it. on descending to the floor below, she found her strange uncle prepared to leave his odd store. "today i go to an auction," he said to her with a smile. "today there is nothing to unpack. not many people will come. they come only when there are trunks. tomorrow there will be trunks, perhaps many trunks." "trunks," grace thought with an involuntary shudder. "today," her uncle went on, "margot will tend store." he nodded toward an aged woman bending over a pile of soiled garments. "today you are free. you may make yourself at home in your new place." all that day in her little parlor, grace had one ear open for the whisperer. she heard nothing. he spoke, apparently, only at dawn. the day was, for her, quite uneventful. the same could not be said for our young friend johnny. late that day, with a narrow bandage still about his head, he returned to the "house of magic." and, almost at once, adventure struck him squarely between the eyes. "you are just in time!" felix, the inventor's son, greeted him. "i have not tried that new thing. we will begin at dusk, in an hour or two in a captive balloon,--" "a captive balloon!" johnny felt a thrill course up his spine. "on the fair grounds," felix added. "there is one over there. the grounds are deserted. i have permission to use the balloon. i have had it inflated. no one will bother us there." it is better sometimes to do things where there are crowds. felix was to learn this. there is safety in numbers. at the gate of the deserted fair grounds felix presented his pass. they were admitted. "sent the equipment over in a small truck," he explained to johnny. "rather heavy." "what equipment?" the words were on johnny's tongue. he did not say them. just in time he recollected that he was to look, listen, help all he could and not ask questions. "i'll be told all i need to know in good time," he assured himself. had he but known it, that night he was to need wisdom not written in any book. the streets they were passing through now were strange. the falling darkness gave to everything an air of mystery. here some great man-made dragon opened its mouth as if to swallow them, there a tattered sign fluttered and cracked in the wind. "the great century of progress!" johnny whispered. "here thousands swarmed along the midway. now all is still. now-- "what was that?" he stopped dead in his tracks. had he caught the sound of scurrying feet? yes, he was sure of it. and there, well defined against a wall, were the shadows of two half crouching figures. one was tall, the other short. johnny felt a chill run up his spine. felix apparently had seen nothing, heard nothing. he had gone plodding stolidly on into the gathering darkness; was at this moment all but lost from sight. with a little cry of consternation, johnny sprang after him. by the time he caught up to him they were at the spot where the balloon was kept. "we just release this clutch when we are ready to go up," felix explained, "then up we go. there is a time arrangement that will set the electrically operated drum, winding us back down again in two hours. we only go up about three hundred feet. cable holds us. quite safe tonight, no wind to speak of." johnny thought this a rather strange arrangement. "no guard here?" he asked. "no need. no one's allowed in the grounds unless they have a pass. climb in. all set." johnny did climb in, and up they went. johnny had been in the air many times. for all that, he experienced a strange sense of insecurity as they rose a hundred, two hundred, three hundred feet into the murky air of night. "pooh!" he exclaimed in a low breath. "it is nothing!" that he might throw off this feeling of dread, he busied himself with other thoughts. his gaze swept the city where lights were gleaming. "where," he thought, "are drew and tom? hunting pickpockets perhaps. and where is captain burns? i'm going to like him, i'm sure. he is so solid and real; but jovial for all that. he said he'd take me places. what places? i wonder. dangerous places? he said--" his thoughts were broken in upon by felix's voice: "here we are at the top. now for the test." the young inventor flashed on a powerful searchlight. "all i have to do is to connect this through a switch, aim my light at a window in our house, take up this microphone and say, 'hello father!' he hears me and no one else in the world can. he-- "what!" he exclaimed in consternation. "the current is off. someone cut the light cable!" "more than that!" johnny's tone was sober. he was looking over the side of the balloon basket in which they rode. "the cable that holds us has been cut! we're drifting!" "you're right!" consternation sounded in the older boy's voice. "we're going out into the night, over black waters. and there is no ballast!" "they got us, those two!" johnny muttered. "what two?" felix demanded. "i saw them on the grounds, a tall one and a short one--anyway i saw their shadows. should have told you." "oh!" felix groaned. "wonder what we've done to them. but they haven't got us--not yet!" there was courage and high resolve in felix van loon's tone. "we'll beat them yet. you'll see!" would they? johnny silently wondered. strangely enough, at that moment thoughts not related at all to this adventure passed through his mind. he was once more in that place of mystery, the professor's house, in the hallway seeing eyes in the wall, shuddering at sight of his own skeleton. "how could all that have happened?" he asked himself. chapter x a runaway captured johnny had known a thrill or two, but none quite like drifting through the night in a balloon that was not meant for drifting. "not an ounce of ballast!" felix groaned. "and the night so dark we may plunge without a moment's notice into those cold, black waters. and then--oh well, what's the good of thinking about that?" there truly was no use at all of thinking about it. if worse came to worst and they were able to tell the moment of great danger, they might throw his instruments and the searchlight over to lighten the balloon. "all this equipment," felix moaned, "cost plenty of money!" in spite of their predicament, johnny found himself wondering about that equipment and what they had been about to do. for a time johnny was silent. then of a sudden he exclaimed, "felix, we are drifting northeast! that means we'll be over the lake for hours. if the wind rises, if a strong gust drags us down, or if the gas bag leaks and we are plunged into the lake we are lost! a three hundred foot cable hangs beneath this balloon. it is weighting us down. suppose we could cut it away?" "it's an idea!" felix was all alert. "but it hangs from below. how'll you reach it?" "here's a rope. i'll go over the side. you hang on to the rope." "that," said felix slowly, "will be taking a long chance." "whole thing's a chance." johnny was tying a loop in the rope. "now i'll put a foot in this loop, hold to the rope with one hand and work with the other. flashlight will tell me all i need to know. can hold the light in my teeth." "you should be in a circus." felix laughed. for all that, he made the other end of the rope fast, then prepared to lower his companion. as he climbed up and over, johnny felt his heart miss a beat. it was strange, this crawling out into space. all was dark below. was the water a hundred or a thousand feet down? he could not tell. the majestic lindbergh light swept the sky, but its rays did not touch them. "if only it did," he murmured, "someone would see us." strangely enough, at this very moment the professor's golden-haired daughter, beth, was making strenuous efforts to bring that very thing to pass, to get one of those eyes of the night, a powerful searchlight, focussed upon the runaway balloon. her father, sensing that something had gone wrong with the balloon, had hurried her away to the spot from which the balloon had risen. arrived there after a wild taxi ride, she had discovered on the instant what had happened. "some--someone cut the cable with an electric torch!" in vain her eyes searched the sky for the balloon. she was about to hurry away when a hand gripped her arm. "where would you go?" "why! i--" taking one look at the man, she sent forth an involuntary scream. she had seen that man before. he carried a knife in his sleeve. she was terribly afraid. her scream had electrifying results. a huge bulk of a youth with tangled red hair emerged from somewhere. "here you!" he growled, "let her go!" releasing the girl, the small dark man sprang at her protector. "look out!" the girl screamed. "he--he has a knife!" her warning was not needed. the little man's knife went coursing through the air. next instant the little man followed it into the dark. the big fellow's fists had done all this. "now, sister," the young giant turned to beth, "where was it you wanted to go?" "the--the skidmore building." "the skidmore? o.k." fairly picking her up, he rushed her to the taxi that was waiting for her, then climbed in beside her. "skidmore building. make it snappy!" once in the taxi and speeding away, beth was able to collect her thoughts. there was, at the top of the tall skidmore building, a searchlight. this was not always in operation, but was held in readiness for any emergency either on the water or in the air. if only she could get that light searching the air for the runaway balloon something, she felt sure, could be done about it. the taxi came to a sudden jarring halt. "here you are!" "here." she dropped a half dollar in the taxi driver's hand. at the same instant something was pressed into the palm of her left hand. she looked up. her powerful young protector was gone. in her hand was a card. a moment later as she shot toward the stars in an elevator she looked at that card and smiled. "gunderson shotts, diversey way" it read. and in the lower right hand corner, "everybody's business." she smiled in spite of herself as she murmured, "gunderson shotts, everybody's business. what a strange calling!" * * * * * * * * at that same moment johnny was going over the side into the dark. it was strange, this adventure. "must be careful," he told himself. and indeed he must. dark waters awaited him. a drop from that height would probably kill or at least maim him. "no chance," he murmured. the bright lights of the city called to him from afar. he had seen much of that bright and terrible city; had meant to see much more. "must see it all," he told himself. "but now i must forget it," he resolved. and surely he must, for now he was beneath the basket. the tiny finger of light from his electric torch shot about here and there. steadying its motion, directing it toward the end of the cable, he began studying the problem at hand. and then--something happened. did his hand slip? did the noose about his foot give away? he will never know. nor will he forget that instant when his flashlight, slipping from his chattering teeth, shot downward and he, by the merest chance, escaped following it. how it happened he will never be able to tell. this much he knew: he hung there in all that blackness supporting his weight by one desperately gripping hand. somewhere below was the noose that should offer him footing. somewhere far, far below were black waters waiting. and through his mind there flashed a thousand pictures of the bright and beautiful world he might, in ten seconds' time, leave behind. all this in the space of a split second, then groping madly, he found the rope with his other hand. after that began the heart-breaking task of groping in the dark with his foot for the dangling rope loop, while the muscles in his arms became burning bands of fire. "i must win!" he whispered. "i must!" "johnny! johnny thompson!" came from above. "what has happened?" "don't know. i--i'm dangling. dra--draw me up if you can." came a sudden tug on the rope that all but tore the rope from his grip. "no! no! wait!" once again he sought that noose with his toe. * * * * * * * * as for beth, she had gone shooting up in that express elevator in the skidmore building. like a rubber ball she bounded from the car, then raced for a cubby-hole in a corner where two men were standing. "the balloon!" she exclaimed. "the captive balloon! it's loose, drifting! you must find it with your light!" "what's that?" one man demanded sharply. "impossible! there's no gale. that cable couldn't break!" "it's loose! drifting!" the girl insisted. "they cut the cable, someone cut it. my brother and another boy are in the balloon. you must save them." one man glanced at the other. "all right, we better try it, ben!" at that a long finger of white light began feeling its way through the blackness that is sky above lake michigan on a cloudy night. johnny, unable to find the loop in the rope, feeling his strength unequal to a climb hand over hand, felt the muscles of his arms weaken until all seemed lost. and then, as if some miracle had been done, night turned into day. the powerful light had reached him only for a second, but that was enough. his keen eye had caught the loop in the rope. it was by his knee. a sudden fling and his knee was resting in that loop. "all--all right now!" he called. "try to pull me up." and at that the gleam of that powerful searchlight returned to rest on the spot of air in which the runaway balloon hung. "i'll step over and call the sausage balloon, ben," one of the men in the great steel tower said to the other as beth, at sight of the balloon still drifting high, began breathing more easily. "they'll have to go to the rescue." one more fierce struggle and johnny tumbled over the side into the balloon's basket. "it--it's put on with steel rings," he panted. "it--what is?" felix stared. "the cable. what did you think?" johnny laughed in spite of himself. "that's what i went over to see about." "yes," felix grinned. "but now they've found us. all the honest people in that great city will want to save us. isn't it wonderful when you think of it?" he marveled. "so many good people in the world! so many willing to give a fellow a lift when he's in trouble. if only we could all pull together all the time, what a world this would be!" after that, each occupied with his own thoughts, they drifted on into the night. a half hour later a dark bulk came stealing toward them. this was a small dirigible balloon owned by an advertising firm. soon they were alongside. instruments were taken aboard, the runaway balloon deflated, then they went gliding back toward the city of a million lights. "should have had this old sausage in the beginning," felix grumbled. "will next time perhaps." johnny wondered if he would be invited to participate in that next endeavor and, if so, what he would learn. in due time they were back on good solid earth. but the day, for johnny, was not yet over. chapter xi a room of strange magic "say!" felix exclaimed as they boarded a car bound for home. "wonder how it happened that searchlight fellow was looking for us." "somebody told him," johnny suggested. "yes, and i know who!" the young inventor's face fairly shone. "it was beth; couldn't have been anyone else. fellow without a sister is just square out of luck, that's all. the way she gets me out of things! say, man! it's great!" a half hour later, over cups of steaming chocolate produced, as before, by the mysterious "eye," beth told her story. "gunderson shotts," felix murmured, examining the card beth handed him. "'everybody's business.' suppose that means he tends to everybody's business?" "got quite a job on his hands," johnny laughed. "he's big enough to take a huge load of it on his shoulders." beth was staring into space. "have to look him up and thank him," felix drawled. already the events of the day were fading from his memory. he was dreaming of some strange new contraption that might startle the world. "you'll stay with us tonight." roused from his revery, he turned to johnny. "why i--" "sure, sure you will. show you the room right away. it's on the third floor; a little strange, you may find it, but comfortable, extra fine, i'd say." felix favored him with a smile. the room they entered a few moments later was strange in two particulars. it was extremely tall. johnny thought it must be fully twenty feet to the ceiling. "queer way to build a room," was his mental comment. like other rooms in the house, it was illuminated to the deepest corners; yet there were no lamps anywhere. "odd place, this," he thought. yet felix had warned him. he had been given ample opportunity to say, "i don't like the looks of it." now he shrugged his shoulders and asked no questions; that was johnny's way. "light begins to fade in twenty minutes," was felix's only comment as he left the room. "light begins to fade," johnny grinned when the door had been closed. "sure is a queer way to put it." twenty minutes later he began to realize that the strange boy had spoken the exact truth. the light did begin to fade. at first the change was almost imperceptible, a mere deepening of shadows in remote corners. then, little by little, the pictures that hung low on those tall walls began to fade. the windows too, short, low windows, too short, johnny thought, for so tall a room, began letting in light about the shades, a very little light, but light all the same. breaking the spell that had settled upon his drowsy senses, johnny sprang to his feet, threw off his clothes, dragged on his sleeping garments, then crept beneath the covers of a most comfortable bed. "light is fading," he murmured. he recalled the lights on the stage of the opera house. they had not blinked on and off. they faded like the coming of darkness on the broad prairies. "sort of nice, i think," he murmured sleepily. "more natural. like--like--" well, after all, what did it matter what it was like. he had fallen asleep. how long we have slept we are seldom able to tell. at times an hour seems a whole night, at others four hours is but a dozen ticks of the clock. johnny slept. he awoke. and at once his senses were conscious of some change going on in his room. he was seized with a foreboding of impending catastrophe. at first he was at a complete loss to know what this change was. there was the room. the low windows still admitted streaks of light. the chairs, his bed, the very low chest of drawers were in their accustomed places. "and yet--" he ran a hand across his eyes as if to clear his vision. and then like a flash it came to him. that exceedingly tall room was not so tall now--or was it? "impossible! how absurd!" he sat up, determined to waken himself from a bad dream. but the thing was no dream. the ceiling _was_ lower, fully five feet lower. and--horror of horrors!--it was still moving downward, lower, lower, still lower. there was not the slightest sound, yet the boy seemed to feel the breath of moving air on his face. too astonished and frightened to move, he sat there while that ceiling marched down over the pattern of a quite futuristic wall-paper. when at last questions formed themselves in his fear-frozen brain they were, "how far will it come? will the posts of my bed arrest it? if the bed crashes under the weight, what then?" while he was revolving these questions in his mind and wondering in a vague sort of way what chance he had of escaping from one of those third story windows, he noted with a start that the ceiling had ceased moving. it was as if its desire to hide great stretches of wall paper had, for the time at least, been satisfied. the ceiling having settled nine feet or more, johnny found himself in quite a normal bed chamber. windows were the proper height, pictures correctly hung and furniture matching it all very well. he settled back on his bed. it had been a long day. he would just lie there and keep a wary eye on that playful ceiling. chapter xii the whisperer returns on the following morning at dawn the whisper returned to grace krowl's little parlor on maxwell street. she had just wakened and lay on her comfortable bed staring at the faint tracings of beautiful forms on her unusual walls, when she heard it. "a pleasant day to you! here i am again, talking to you down a beam of light." springing to her feet, she threw on a dressing gown and dashed into her parlor. she would trap the intruder. but she did not. as before, the room was empty. she took a seat by her table. "ah! there you are!" there was a glad note in the whisper. "how beautiful is youth!" she flushed. "i have no message of importance for you today," the whisper went on steadily. "but tomorrow--who knows? "one request: do not disturb any object in your room. to do so may destroy the charm. and, in the end, you would regret it. "let me assure you i am an honorable person. i am for the law--not against it. my motives are good. you may trust me. and you may believe me when i tell you i am more than a mile away." the girl started. there it was again. "more than a mile away. how could anyone be seen through a mile of space--much less send a whisper over that great distance? "a radio," she thought. a careful search revealed no sign of a radio. only one object in her room was strange, the two foot reflector against the wall. "dawn is passing," came once again in a whisper. "like the fairies, i must be on my way. cheerio, and a good day to you!" the room went suddenly silent. it was silence such as grace krowl had seldom experienced. strangely enough, at the "house of magic" in quite another section of the city, johnny thompson heard that same whisper. what was stranger still, the words were not the same. from this it might surely be learned that this was, at least, not a radio broadcast. he had fallen asleep staring at that magic ceiling that had a way of falling silently. he awoke at dawn, still staring at that ceiling. to his vast surprise, he found it now fully twenty feet above his head. "was that way when i went to bed," he assured himself. "must have dreamed it--must--" he broke short off to listen with all his ears. in a clear, distinct whisper had come a greeting: "good morning, johnny thompson!" "good--good morning," he faltered. he was conscious of a feeling that he was not heard. in this he was right. "we are glad you are back in the city, johnny. you will tell your friend drew lane that we will soon have a definite message for him--one that has to do with his present mission. we will whisper it to you some day at dawn. that is your room. you must keep it. no harm will befall you there. and now, may your day be a busy and profitable one." the whisper ended. we might say that, though johnny failed to notice it at that time, there was on the far side of his room a circular mirror or reflector, such as we have seen in grace krowl's room, and that his window was open toward the east. "a good day to you." grace krowl, the girl from kansas, recalled these words, whispered to her "down a beam of light" many times during the trying hours of that day. "whispers," she repeated to herself, "whispers at dawn. what does it mean? and this whisperer? is it a man or a woman? could one tell by the quality of tone?" the whisperer had given her little intimation of his purpose. she had been assured that the purpose was honorable and kind. she had been requested to leave her room just as it was. this request had caused her to look at the strange oval reflector on the wall. at times she thought of telling her uncle all about it. "but no," she decided in the end, "this shall be my own small secret. what harm can come from a whisper? the whisperer said that he would return. well then, let him!" with that, for the time, she set the matter aside. after a hasty breakfast served by her uncle's aged housekeeper, she went down into the "store." "look!" her uncle pointed to a number of trunks standing on end just inside the door. "yesterday was express auction day. it comes always on tuesday. i have bought these trunks. what is there in them? how should i know? probably wrags." nicholas fischer was very german in his speech. "but you will be surprised." his faded eyes brightened. "we have very swell customers on wednesday. they come from the north side and from out by the university. they are curious. they want to see what they can buy cheap. and they buy, right from the trunks. you shall see. "you will be very helpful," he went on. "you are young. they will like a bright face. you shall wait on them. you will know them by their fine clothes, fur coats, all that. and i--" he looked over his cheap garments. "i shall wait on the poor ones, the ones who buy a few towels or some very poor dishes. "yes, you wait on the fine ladies. only--" he held up a finger, "always i make the price." an artist looking in upon this bewhiskered, shabbily dressed keeper of a second-hand store and his niece all pink and fresh in her spotless smock, would have found contrast to suit his taste. "see!" nicholas fischer spoke again, "i will break open the locks and lift the lids, but you must not unpack the trunks. leave that to the fine ladies. they will tell you they are 'exploring.'" "but supposing they find something truly valuable--a--a diamond or something!" grace protested. "if they find a diamond, then i drop dead. what will it matter?" nicholas fischer laughed hoarsely. "but you keep watch." his shrewd eyes gleamed. "if you find a diamond, then you and i will buy us a christmas present." "good!" it was the girl's turn to laugh. "christmas will soon be here. i'll find the diamond, you'll see, and a few stocks and bonds for good measure." "yes. stocks and bonds." seizing a hammer and chisel, nicholas fischer pried off the lock of a large, round-topped trunk. "the round-topped ones," he commented, "they come from the country. sometimes there are very fine wool blankets in these. then we make a few dollars." while her uncle was prying away at the locks, the girl had an opportunity to study the trunks that, standing as they did, huddled in a group and tipped this way and that, reminded her of a picture she had seen of six very tipsy men awaiting the police wagon. "trunks," she told herself, "are like people. they have character. there is a big wardrobe--a trifle shabby to be sure, but still standing on its dignity. and there are three canvas covered ones, huddled together. never been anybody in particular and never will be. there's that one with bright orange stripes running around it, like a delicate lady. there's that good solid citizen, oak ribs and stout metal edges. and there--" having moved a little, she had caught sight of a tiny brown trunk that appeared to hide behind the "solid citizen." "horsehair trunk," she whispered to herself. "old as the hills. what must it contain?" and then her uncle, chisel in hand, approached. "please!" her cry was one almost of pain. "are there not enough others? this little one must not have much in it. let me look at it--alone tonight." nicholas fischer, looking into her pleading eyes, shook his head. "i am afraid you will wreck my business. you are too soft." nevertheless, he spared the little trunk. dropping his chisel in the corner, he threw a ragged blanket over it as he muttered, "tomorrow will be time enough. but mind you, it must be tomorrow." the "ladies" came, just as her uncle had promised they would. they came dressed in furs--mink, marten and hudson seal--for it was a bleak, blustery day. they picked their way daintily between piles of used bedding and soiled dresses, to pause at last before the open trunks. as they looked into the slim trunk with orange stripes about it, grace was reminded of a picture she had seen of three vultures sitting on a rock peering into the distance. "snoopers! how i hate them! yet, i must serve them." next moment she was wondering whether or not she was being quite fair to them. they had come where things were sold and had a right to inspect the wares. "but everything in that trunk belonged to a person who treasured it," she told herself. "why must such rude hands unpack it, after it was packed with such care? why must each one carry away the one treasure she most desires, while the rightful owner goes empty-handed?" to this question she could find no answer save one haunting verse she remembered from a very old book: "the destruction of the poor is their poverty." she summoned a friendly smile and assisted the "ladies" in emptying this trunk which had belonged to a young lady. when, however, grace came to a drawer of photographs, letters and personal papers, she dumped them all into a card-board box and shoved them under the ragged quilt where the little horsehair trunk seemed to peek at her through the holes. the "ladies" turned from the next three trunks in disgust. two men's, and one family trunk, they offered little more than dirty rags. "why must people be so filthy," a fat "lady" in a mink coat complained. "if they must lose their things you'd think they might at least wash them before packing." the wardrobe trunk offered gaudy finery that did not interest the "ladies" overmuch. but the big square trunk grace had named the "substantial citizen"--this one it was that brought a fresh ache to the girl's heart. it turned out to be a household trunk filled with bedding, linen and all sorts of fancy articles done by hand. everything was scrupulously clean. and the bits of hand embroidery, the touches of lace, the glints of color all done with the finest thread, seemed to say, "i belong to a home. we all belong together. we rested beneath the lamp, above the fireplace in a room some people called home." she tried to picture that home. there was a man, a woman, and their children, a brother and a sister. the man read. the woman's fingers were busy with thread and needle. the children played with the cat before the fire. her eyes filled with tears as she thought, "all this is being destroyed. all that is best in our good, brave land, a home, has become a wreck." but the "ladies"! how they babbled and screamed. "oh clara! look! isn't this a scream? only look at this piece! isn't it exquisite?" "mary, just take a peek at this buffet runner. two yards long! and all done by hand! it's a treasure. i'll offer the old man a half dollar for it. he'll take it. what does he know?" grace listened and set her lips tight. life, she could see, was going to be hard, but she would certainly see it through. she experienced a sense of contentment as she recalled the little horsehair trunk. tonight she would spirit that away up to her room and there she would find adventure looking inside it. there would be letters, she told herself, and photographs--and--and perhaps some real treasure. at that moment her eyes caught a second box of keepsakes. these too she shoved away under the ragged quilt. "tonight in my parlor," she told herself. she was rapidly coming to know that each trunk told the story of the owner. in her room she would read that story. her parlor. her brow wrinkled. what a mysterious room! so perfect, and in such a place. "and there's the concave mirror, and the whisper at dawn." she shuddered in spite of herself. then she came out of her revery with a snap. the fat lady in the mink coat was approaching her uncle. she would offer half a dollar for the buffet runner. gliding swiftly past, grace whispered in her uncle's ear: "the price is three dollars." the "lady" gave her a suspicious glance. but the price _was_ three dollars. and in the end, three dollars the lady paid. "is that all the trunks?" the fat lady turned a petulant, spoiled face toward the girl. "are there no other trunks?" she snatched at the ragged blanket, but grace was too quick for her, her foot was on its edge. "there are no other trunks to be opened today." "oh--ah!" the "lady" sighed. "this has been such fun!" fun? grace turned away. and in turning she found herself presenting a tearful face to none other than drew lane her friend of the bus, who had entered unnoticed. "well," he smiled, pretending not to see her tears. "how's the big store in chicago?" "great! great!" she managed a smile. "how--how are all the people you look af--after?" she asked a bit unsteadily. "oh, they're all right." he laughed a low laugh. "in fact--" his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper--"i've got some of them locked up. quite a number. you see, i'm a city detective. this is part of my territory. i'll be seeing you often, i hope." she started and stared. that whisper! when one spoke out loud his voice could be recognized. she knew this. but a whisper? could one truly recognize a whisper when he heard it the second time? it seemed incredible. and yet, drew lane's whisper was so like the one she had heard at dawn. "impossible! a mere fancy!" she tried to free herself from this apparently unreasonable suspicion. "a penny for your thoughts," drew lane bantered. "no! no! not for a dollar," was her quick reply. "all right," he laughed. "anyway, i'll be seeing you. got to hurry on down the street." he was gone, leaving the girl's head in a whirl. "whispers at dawn?" she murmured as she made her way toward the horsehair trunk. "what about these?" she held the box of keepsakes from the big trunk up for her uncle's inspection. "what?" he stared. "these? letters? pictures?" he made a wry face. "baby books, maybe. who would buy these? throw them in the alley. black children live in the next street. they carry them off." "but look! here is the croix de guerre. some brave fellow fought to win that," she protested. "yes! but did he keep it? no! let some black boy wear it." "then i may keep them? all these?" "if you wish." she rewarded him with a smile. after the evening meal she would read the stories recorded here and she would explore the little horsehair trunk. chapter xiii so long as god gives us breath that same morning as soon as he could gulp down his coffee, johnny hastened over to the shack. he was full of talk about the whisperer and his message. "what do you make of a thing like that?" he demanded of captain burns. "it seemed to come right out of the sky!" "and why not?" the captain smiled. "we are living in a strange world these days. "one thing's important," he said as he sat up in his chair, "you must not leave this 'house of magic' as you call it; at least not for long. i have a feeling that this whisperer must be on our side, the side of law and justice, and that he may be some sort of undercover man who can give us just the information we need. "you see, johnny--" he leaned forward in his chair. "that gang, the five public enemies, with iggy the snake at their head, is back in the city. they are sure, sooner or later, to sell some of these bonds they took from the bank. they are of small denominations and are negotiable. we have their serial numbers. the moment one of these bonds falls into the hands of an honest man, we will be hot on their trail. 'where did you get it?' we will say to the honest man. he will tell us. we will go to the man who sold the bond and repeat, 'where did you get it?' he may turn out to be honest and innocent too. but in the end we'll reach a crooked bond dealer who knew those bonds were 'hot' when he bought them. if he doesn't lead us to iggy the snake we'll send him up for ten years. the charge will be receiving stolen goods. "oh, i tell you, johnny!" he exclaimed, striking the arm of his chair, "we'll get 'em, johnny! in the end we'll get 'em, you'll see. "but today, johnny--" his voice took on a mellow tone. "while you and i are free, i'd like to take you to one of those places i spoke of the last time i saw you." "all--all right." johnny wondered what sort of place that would be. in the captain's long, powerful gray car they drove across the city and into the suburbs. at last they stopped before a home that was neither large nor showy--a bungalow with its broad side to the street, it stood in the midst of a clump of trees. nature had planted the trees. someone, admiring nature's work, had built his home there. once inside that house, the good captain heaved a sigh of content. a large open fire gave the tiny living room a feeling of luxurious grandeur. and yet there was about it an air of tidy comfort. the furniture was plain. hard-bottomed rockers had been softened by handmade cushions, all in bright colors. a touch of lace and embroidery here and there on table and chairs told of fingers never still. a short, energetic little lady with flushed cheeks hastened from the kitchen at the back to greet them. "well, how do you do, captain burns? how good it is to see you!" "it's good to be here," the captain rumbled. "and this, mrs. leclare, is my good friend johnny thompson. "and here," the captain chuckled, "here's alice. ah, johnny, there's a girl you could love!" johnny flushed. the girl who extended her hand laughed a merry laugh. "the captain must have his jokes." the hand johnny grasped was a chubby, capable little hand; the eyes he looked into were frank and clear. the girl's hair was black. there was a slight natural wave in it. her eyebrows were black and thick. she was short like her mother. like her too, she gave forth an air of boundless energy. "alice leclare," johnny said, half to himself. "a pretty name." "we are french," alice explained, "canadian french." "if you looked over the list of mounties that have come and gone up in the bleak northland of canada, you'd find many a leclare," the captain explained. "they're that sort." johnny saw a shadow pass over mrs. leclare's face. alice looked quickly away. "you'll have to excuse us," mrs. leclare explained after a moment of silence. "we're in the midst of things. make yourselves comfortable by the fire." just what sort of things the ladies were in the midst of, johnny could guess well enough. the kitchen was not too far away--one great advantage of a small house--and from it came savory odors, meat roasting, pumpkin pies baking, apple sauce simmering. "they can cook," said the captain, dropping into a chair with the air of a contented dog. "these canadian french can cook. and what workers they are, these people! "the boys will be here soon," he went on. "madame leclare's boys. they're out selling their magazines. fine boys--poor old jack's boys." his voice dropped. "who is jack?" johnny asked. "what? didn't i tell you?" the captain sat up. "but of course i didn't. "they're not jack's boys any more," he rumbled after a moment. "poor old jack is dead. finest, squarest cop that ever walked a beat. real name was jacques--french you know. we called him jack. "wish you could have known him, johnny. you'd have loved him." he stared at the fire. "fine, big, strapping fellow," he went on after a while. "six feet two, black hair and bushy eyebrows, like alice, you know. "women used to try to flirt with him. stop their car, they would,--rich women in big cars, diamonds on their fingers. new-rich, young, fool women. no good--you know the kind? well, maybe not. you will though. may god hasten the time when that sort get back to the dirty gutter where they belong! "but jack--" the captain laughed scornfully. "no danger! jack sent them along fast enough. jack had eyes for one and only one--his marie." he nodded toward the kitchen. "he lived for her, jack did, and for alice and the boys--fine boys, gluck and lucian--" his voice trailed off. "but what--what happened to jack?" not seeming to hear, the captain went on: "straightest cop i ever knew--too straight you might say. when you walk a beat you look after things--naturally, that's part of your job. you try store doors to see if they're locked, watch for prowlers, all that. and if some good citizen drinks a bit too much and the night air gets the best of him, you escort him safely home--part of your job. "grateful people, will hand a cop a dollar now and then. why not? but do you think jack would take it? never a cent. no end polite the way he thanked them, but he took no money but what came to him on pay day. that was jack. said he was afraid it would lead him to accept 'dirty money'--you know, hush money--from real wrongdoers. and, man! how jack hated dirty money! "polite, honest to a fault, kind, always looking out after the unfortunate--and brave, absolutely fearless!--'mountie' blood in his veins, way back. that was jack." again his voice trailed away. from the kitchen came the faintest snatch of some french song. the delicious aroma of coffee was added to that of meat, pie and sauce. from somewhere in the back came the scuffle and scrape of boyish feet. "all this was jack's," the captain rumbled, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace the whole world. "and then--" from his pocket he drew a narrow packet. this he unfolded, then spread it down the length of his knee. it was the photographs of public enemies. "these five--" his eyes shone with deep, abiding hate. "these five had been out riding in a costly car they had borrowed without leave. they had just kidnapped a banker and compelled him to open a safe. i told you that before. they'd got a lot of money and bonds. they were speeding west and tried to pass a stop-light. they skidded into another car. no real damage done. but that was jack's corner. he wanted to know--his business to know--why they'd crashed the light. "all he said was, 'what the--' then, without an instant's warning, they let him have it from the back seat--six shots. "and then they sped on. jack, the squarest cop that ever breathed, was dead. "johnny--" the captain's voice was deep. "don't ever for a moment think crime is romantic. it is not. it is dirty, rotten, selfish, beastly! "you might think to see one of these young crooks, dressed like 'boul mich' on parade, standing before the judge, that he was just a young adventurer. he's not. he's a dirty dog. he's never worked; never will. he sticks a gun in a working man's ribs and takes his money. spends it for flashy clothes, furs and diamonds for his moll--booze maybe, and gambling. and does he stop to ask, 'was this a rich or a poor man's money?' you better know he don't. what does it matter to him whose it was? it is his now. he took it. "and they shot him!" his voice dropped to such a solemn pitch that johnny was reminded of some words spoken in a church. "they shot him," the captain repeated slowly, "one of these five crooks, maybe iggy the snake shot poor old jack. and by the eternal!" he stood up, raising his hands high. "so long as god gives us breath, we'll hunt those men until the last one of them is dead or in jail for life. for life!" his hands dropped to his side and he sank into his chair. then again johnny was conscious of the low humming song, the aroma of fine food prepared by skillful hands and loving hearts--the distant scuffle of boyish feet. "so long as god gives us breath," he murmured low. it was like a sacred vow taken by some knight of king arthur's court. chapter xiv a human spider it was a wonderful dinner they enjoyed in madame leclare's snug little home. and not the least of the joys for the captain on that occasion--johnny was sure of this--were the smiling eyes of the kindly hostess. as for johnny, he had more than one smile from another pair of dark eyes. dinner over, they sat about the fire while lucian, a slender boy of twelve, entertained them with quaint french melodies played upon an ancient violin that had been his grandfather's. "you are to be a musician," johnny said to lucian. "but what will you be?" he turned to gluck, a sturdy boy of ten with flashing eyes. "tell him, gluck." there was pride in the mother's tone. "i am going to be an officer of the law, like my father." gluck squared his shoulders. "that's the boy!" his mother applauded. "there's a woman for you!" the captain murmured. his eyes glistened. "gave her husband for our country's good. now she offers her son. this country needs more mothers such as this." it was mid-afternoon when they bade madame leclare and her fine family a hearty farewell. "i wanted you to know them," the captain rumbled as once more they entered the great city. "you are to be one of us. you may have an opportunity to be of great service. danger and death may threaten you. it will help you to understand the war we are waging, and why we must win." "thank you," said johnny humbly. "i am sure it will." "this is a tough neighborhood," the captain said a moment later as they rolled down a narrow street. "'hell's half acre,' i guess you might call it. "i wonder what those young hoodlums are looking at." he slowed down his car to a crawl. at the corner of a five story apartment building a dozen or more of flashily dressed youths stood staring upward. from time to time one or the other of them might have been heard shouting something. stopping his car, the captain stepped out. johnny followed. to their astonishment, they saw clinging to the bricks of the corner, and near to the very top of the building, a huge youth with a thick crop of hair. he was tossing his mane, laughing and roaring like a gorilla, which he resembled slightly. "come down from there!" the captain thundered. "come and get me," the youth roared back. "come down!" the captain threw open his coat, revealing his star. "oh! all right, i'll come." the young giant's face sobered. the crowd of flashily dressed youths vanished. at the same time a square of paper came fluttering to the pavement. apparently it had fallen from the climber's pocket. johnny picked it up and read: "gunderson shotts, diversey way. everybody's business." "why that," he said with a start, "must be the young savage with a stout heart who helped us out of a jam last night. don't be too hard on him, captain." hastily he outlined the night's adventure with the runaway balloon, and the part this youth had played. "i'll not be too hard on him," the captain promised. "in fact i think this may be the changing point in his career. stranger things have happened. "what's your name?" he demanded as the young giant reached the pavement. "gunderson shotts, that's my name." the youth grinned broadly. "but they call me spider. i can climb, climb just anything at all." "spider," johnny thought, "it's a name that will stick. looks like a giant spider, long arms, long legs, hairy head, big eyes. spider." he chuckled. "don't you know," the captain demanded of the one who called himself spider, "that you're likely to break your neck?" he examined the lay of the bricks that had given the boy only an overlapping half inch at intervals of a foot, on which to cling and climb. "and if you fell, you'd like as not kill someone else in that fall." "they dared me, these--" he looked about in surprise. "why! where are they?" "they've blown," the captain replied dryly. "hawks go flapping away fast enough when a hunter comes round a corner. they're a bad lot, and this is no place for a lad like you. hop into the car." "you--you're not going to take me to the station!" spider's cheeks paled. "no," the captain laughed, "not the station. just to a shack we have for a hangout. we eat there sometimes. like to eat?" "do i? try me!" the young giant grinned at his captors broadly. "we will." "have much luck minding everybody's business?" the captain asked as they paused for a red light. "not much," the big boy chuckled, "but what's a fellow to do? no one would let me work for him, so i went to work for everybody." "did yourself a good turn once anyway," said the captain. "how's that?" the captain reminded him of his adventure with beth van loon. "that," the big boy chuckled, "was funny." "it might not have been. that fellow might have put his knife through your heart." "but he didn't." the big boy laughed hoarsely. they stopped at a delicatessen. here captain burns purchased half a baked ham, piping hot, a huge loaf of rye bread and a gallon pot of coffee. arrived at the shack, he spread this crude but wholesome meal out upon the table. he and johnny drank coffee but ate little. when they had finished, save for the dishes, the board was clear. "spider," the captain said, slapping the big boy on the back, "you're a fighter, an eater, and a climber. that's all it takes to make a first class cop. stick with me and i'll make you one." spider stuck. and that, as you will see, is why certain things came out as they did in the unwinding of events that were to follow. * * * * * * * * it was with a guilty feeling that grace krowl that evening began delving into the personal letters and papers taken from the thin trunk with orange stripes. "it is as if someone were looking over my shoulder," she told herself, "saying, 'see here! those are my letters! what right have you to read them?' "and yet," she philosophized, "if i am to help them in any way i must know something about these people." so she kept on reading. there were three bundles of letters and a diary. the more she read, the more deeply disgusted she became. "i did not dream there could be such a person as that girl is!" she exclaimed, throwing the letters back into the box and sliding it into a corner out of her sight. "that girl deserves nothing. false to her friends who try to help her, a flirt and a cheat. how--how terrible!" for some time she sat and stared into space. "i suppose," she murmured dejectedly, "that very few of them are worthy of any aid. and yet, there _must_ be some." she took up the box from the big family trunk. in this she read a beautiful sad story of a father, mother and two little girls. their pictures were all there. so too were the girls' baby books and the father's sharp-shooter's badge. the letters told the story of a brave but futile fight against poverty that had advanced upon them like a storm in the night. "they lost their home," she whispered. "next they lost their furniture, all those things that had become dear to them. and now, here, last of all, is their trunk. the wreck of the grandest thing god's eyes ever rested upon--a home. "but at least--" she clenched her hands fiercely. "at least they shall have these trophies back. i shall write to the mother and offer them to her without charge. "why not in every deserving case?" she exclaimed, springing to her feet and hopping about the room. here was a big idea. this should be a beginning. perhaps in time she could arrange to hold the entire contents of a trunk until the real owner could redeem it. she fancied her uncle frowning upon this. "but let him frown!" she exclaimed belligerently. the thought was a comforting one. with it, after a trying day, she soon fell fast asleep. she was awakened, as on the previous day, by a whisper at dawn. there was no "good morning," no "cheerio!" this time. words came short and quick. "i have just a moment." thus the whisper began. "there is a girl," it went on. "her name is nida mcfay. she works in the bookstore around the corner on peoria street." grace started. "why! that's the girl i know!" she spoke aloud, then ended abruptly. "ah! i see you know her! fine!" the whisper rose. "no, i didn't hear you. had to read your lips. for the moment i am deaf. i am a mile away but i have eyes that see you and lips that speak to you down a beam of light. you cannot see me." "but perhaps i _have_ seen you." the thought popped unbidden into the girl's mind. "listen carefully!" the whisperer's tone was insistent. "you are to become very well acquainted with this girl, nida; so well that she will tell you her story. and let me assure you--she has a story to tell. "you must invite her to your room, seat her by your table, then induce her to tell the story." "but that would be spying!" the girl burst out. "nothing dishonorable. remember, i promise this. you like to help people. this is your chance. you may help many. good morning." the whisper was gone, leaving the girl in a daze. "i must think," she told herself. "think clearly." then of a sudden her eyes fell upon the little horsehair trunk. "i forgot to open it! and uncle said i should have it only for a day. just for a day!" she was filled with consternation. "he will have to give me one more day," she decided at last. "he just must! i can't turn it over to--to vandals." for one full moment after that she stood in sober thought. nida mcfay. so that was the girl's name. she was to win her confidence. get her story. would she do it? something told her that she would. but why? because the whisper requested. who was the whisperer? at that she shook herself free from these thoughts and went off to breakfast. chapter xv a living picture johnny thompson had always supposed he loved mysteries. but in the "house of magic," the old professor's house, they came so thick and fast, and apparently without reason, that at times he felt dizzy in his head and ready enough to run away from it all. on the day following the visit to madame leclare's house, he was given a strange commission. it was felix who said to him, "you will do us a great favor if you will sit and watch a certain picture on the wall." "watch a picture?" johnny exclaimed. "is it worth a million dollars? and do you expect it to be stolen?" "it is worth," felix said without breaking into a smile, "very little. i even doubt if you could sell it at all. "and yet," he added, "if you watch it long enough, something may come of it after all!" something did come of it, you may be sure. but to johnny, ever keen for action, this at first seemed a dull occupation. the picture was in his own room, the tall room that during his first night had shown an inclination to become a short one. "nothing could be more stupid!" he told himself after a half hour of watching. "picture isn't even halfway interesting." this was true. though quite evidently an oil painting, this canvas within a narrow gilt frame was very dark. an old dutch master, one would say; a suggestion of some cabin in the foreground, clumps of trees behind. there might have been a sunset in the beginning. if there were, time had taken care of the sunset. it had put out the sun. "just to sit in this chair and look at that picture!" he grumbled to himself. "nothing could be worse!" his eyes strayed to the far side of the room where the strange round reflector rested. "whispers," he murmured. "those whispers that wakened me at dawn. wonder if they come from that thing? i feel sure they do. person can tell what direction sound comes from. but who whispers? how? why? that's what i'm going to find out." that the whisperer would speak again, that he would at last deliver some important message, perhaps many important messages, he did not doubt. but now-- it was with great reluctance that he dragged his eyes from this mysterious instrument to fix them once more upon the dull and quite commonplace dutch master. when at last he accomplished the feat, he fairly bounced from his chair. the dutch master was gone! in its stead was a square of glass. out from that square, well down toward the left-hand corner, shone a yellow spot of light. "like a moon in the midst of a black sky," he told himself. "what--" the spot of light began revolving. it broke itself up into a hundred yellow moons. it became a golden circle, a hundred golden circles. then, to johnny's utter astonishment, a face, a living face appeared in that frame. it was a wavering sort of face. had johnny been superstitious he might have said it was a ghost, for now the lips and eyes were distinct, and now they were irregular and all but lost. then with a sharp cry johnny sprang to his feet. "where is he?" he cried. "i must find him!" he had recognized that face. it was the man who sat beside him at the auction, who had all but forced him to bid in that package containing the bronze lamp, who had later more than likely struck him over the head in that dark alley. "iggy the snake!" he fairly shouted the name aloud. that this was the living image of iggy he could not doubt. he was blinking his eyes. he was talking to someone; that is, his lips moved, though no sound reached johnny. that this was no mere moving picture johnny knew well enough. that iggy was not in the next room, looking in at him, he knew quite as well. iggy could never have held the expression of quiet unconcern registered on his face had he known that any honest person, let alone johnny, was looking upon him. "it's magic!" johnny exclaimed. at the same instant he knew this was not true. "where is he?" he exclaimed once again. he leaped for the door. it was locked. it was a massive door. he could not hope to break it down, even should he desire to do so. he raced to the window and threw up the sash. it was a quiet, sunshiny day. there were people passing in the street. to attract their attention would be an easy matter. but did he wish to do this? had he a right to do so? "you will promise to betray none of our secrets?" the professor had said. he had promised. the outer air cooled his heated brow. slowly he turned about, retraced his steps, then sank down in his chair. he would watch. that, after all, was what he had been told to do. perhaps in the end he would learn a great deal, just watching. the hour that followed will stand out in johnny's mind as a vivid memory as long as johnny draws a breath. he was looking, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, upon the living image of the one man he most feared and hated, iggy the snake. he was watching his every gesture, every movement of his lips and eyes; yet he could not touch him nor speak to him. he could not say to the policeman on the corner, "officer, this man is a thief and a murderer! arrest him!" he did not know even where the man was. he might, for all he knew, be in the next room or a mile away. he could only watch. watch he did, and that which he saw was well worth his hour of waiting. but to wait, powerless to act, to sit there biting his lips, clenching his fists, watching that smiling, grimacing image, that was terrible. for a long time there was only that face. smiling, talking, bobbing his head, iggy was beyond doubt telling a very interesting story. once as he threw back his head his fist came swinging into view. "as if he were showing how he struck me!" johnny sprang from his chair. then, reluctantly, he settled back. well that he did, for a moment later the man in that distorted living picture partially disappeared and a cardboard box came into view. "that's it," johnny muttered, "that's the box i bought, the very one!" there could be no doubt about that. he could even distinguish the yellow express label. but this was not all, not nearly all. the package disappeared. iggy's head bent low. presently he held the metal lamp to view. he was laughing, was iggy. it was strange, sitting there looking on. that laugh was so real, so uproarious, johnny felt that he should hear it. "it's as if i were deaf," he told himself. but wait! there was still more. once again "the snake" bent his head. when his hands came up this time they were filled with bundles of paper. at first, with their edges toward him, johnny could make nothing of this. but now iggy's hand turned about, and johnny saw. his mouth flew open in astonishment. those papers were bonds. there were hundreds of them. "the stolen bonds!" he muttered. "the bonds that broke a bank and made paupers of thousands!" he could not believe his eyes. the bonds had been in that package! it had been his, his! he had bought it. had he looked closely, he would have found those bonds. and now-- a sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach caused him to double over. he saw it all now, clear as day. those were "hot" bonds. someone had taken them away, perhaps to new york. they had been frightened, had concealed them in that package and shipped them back. the person at the other end, more afraid than his confederate, had refused to accept the shipment. the package was to be sold at auction. afraid to bid it in, iggy had induced johnny to buy it. when johnny tried to take the package to his lodging, iggy and his men had fallen upon him, robbed him of the package, and hit him on the head in the bargain. "that," johnny hissed, "is chapter one. there will be other chapters to this little romance of the underworld." again his eyes were upon that square of glass. iggy had, beyond doubt, replaced the treasure. he was smiling and going through the motions of drinking. a moment more and he was gone. the glass went black. the spot of yellow light reappeared. and then, to johnny's vast amazement, he found himself looking once more at the uninteresting dutch master. "never mind." he sprang from his chair. "felix will return. he will know where iggy was when he put on this little show. i'll get drew lane and tom howe. we'll crash the door, and then perhaps--" he did not finish. instead he sprang for the door. he was prepared now, if such a thing were possible, to break it down. he put his hand to the knob. it turned. the door opened. _it was not locked._ he was a long time finding felix; a much longer time finding drew lane and tom howe, who were out on a hot scent. it was dark when he at last led them to the street that faces the lake where the gaunt towers of the deserted fair grounds hung dark against the sky. chapter xvi a strange treasure in the meantime, the girl from kansas who had found a home on maxwell street had made a rather wonderful discovery and found herself well on the road to adventure. at the moment johnny and the two young detectives arrived at the street of the "house of magic," far away on maxwell street grace krowl was staring into the friendly eyes of a white-haired book seller and saying, "do--do you think it is val--valuable?" "valuable!" frank morrow, the genial, white-haired proprietor of the little book shop on peoria, just off maxwell street, stared at her over his glasses. "valuable! my child, if that signature is genuine it is priceless." for the second time he held a ponderous volume, an ancient bible with hand-tooled leather cover, to the light and read aloud: "'as a token of gratitude for a great service done to our nation and to the crown. her majesty, the queen, elizabeth.'" "if that signature is genuine," he repeated, "and i have little doubt of it, this book is worth thousands of dollars." "thing is," grace sighed, "to find the rightful owner." "rightful owner!" frank morrow stared at her. nida mcfay, his assistant, joined in the stare. "rightful owner!" morrow repeated. "_you_ are the rightful owner. your uncle bought that horsehair trunk at auction for three dollars. you purchased it from him for double that amount. this bible was in the trunk. it is yours. the law will uphold you." "yes. but is the law always right? is there not a law higher than man's law?" grace's tone was deeply serious. "that," said frank morrow, rather bluntly, "is for you to decide." "decide," she thought, "all i've done since i came to chicago has been to decide, de--" she broke off to stare at the door of the book shop. it had been quietly opened. a tall man stood there. he was well-dressed, far too well for maxwell street. he was neither young nor old. his features were regular. he seemed quite a gentleman. then the girl got a look into his eyes. she shuddered. they were hard as steel. next instant she was staring at nida mcfay. her face had gone ashy white. she was grasping the table as if about to fall. when she was able to look again at the door, grace found it closed. the man had vanished. "it--it's as if i had not seen him," she told herself. one look at nida, who was very white, told her that for the time at least it was better that the man should remain unseen. "whatever you do," frank morrow was saying--he had not seen the stranger--"you should guard this bible with great care. beyond doubt, it was given by queen elizabeth as a token of great esteem to some protestant bishop. someone doubtless inherited this bible containing the queen's signature and brought it to america. where has it been since? who knows? enough that it is here and that many a collector of rare books would, even in these times, pay a king's ransom to possess it. so guard it with care!" "the bi--bible. oh, yes." the girl put her hands upon it. that bible had come from the little horsehair trunk she had saved from her uncle's purchase at an express auction. she had taken the trunk to her room, but in her excitement over other matters had failed to open it at her first opportunity. after looking at it a long time next day, without prying off the lock and peeking inside, she had decided that she must, if possible, have it for her very own. so she asked her uncle to sell her the trunk. "what!" he exclaimed, "you have opened that little trunk? you have found a diamond, or maybe some stocks and bonds? now you want to buy it for a little." his small, hard eyes gleamed. "no." she had held her ground. "i have not opened it. you may go and see that it is still locked. but i--i like the trunk and i--i'm sure i should have loved its owner. that--that's why i want to buy it." "all right." he had smiled broadly. "but i must have a profit. six dollars. you may have it for that. i will take it from your pay. "but, my child--" he had laid a hand gently on her arm. "you must not do these things. they make you soft. and soft you must not be in this business." nevertheless, she had remained "soft." she had purchased the trunk "with contents, if any." she had picked the lock with a hairpin and had spent three happy, tearful hours poring over its contents. the person who lost the trunk was named emily anne sheldon. she had two sisters. their pictures were all there. "the sweetest little old ladies one may ever hope to see," grace had assured herself. "what a shame that this trunk should have been lost!" there were bundles of letters tied with faded ribbons. the letters were like a beautiful song, sung at sunset. "if only the whole world were like these three dear old ladies," she had sighed. the blankets in that trunk were of finest wool, and very old. perhaps they had been hand-woven. she could not tell. there was a blue and white bedspread that was hand-woven, she was sure of that. "and it's worth several times what i paid for the trunk," she told herself. "but i won't sell it. i'll get in touch with emily anne and send it all back for a christmas present." in the very bottom of the trunk she had found the ancient family bible. for a long time she had left it there. then she had decided to show it to frank morrow and his assistant, nida mcfay, and here she was. and frank morrow was telling her it was worth many hundreds of dollars! "wr--wrap it up." she all but shuddered at thought of the wealth she was about to bear away under her arm. "wrap it up and i'll take it home." now wondering at nida's sudden fear at sight of the stranger, and now puzzling over the problem of the apparently priceless book, grace left the store to walk slowly down maxwell street. at once her mind was filled with a hundred thoughts. "this," she whispered, "is my crowded hour." and indeed, since that strange day when she had walked into her uncle's unusual store and had begun a fight for her few possessions, every hour had seemed crowded. there was the mysterious "whisperer" and his strange visits at dawn. how did his whisper come to her? she had tried in every way to trap him, but with no success. did he indeed talk to her "down a beam of light" from the window of a skyscraper a mile away? and could he see that far too? it seemed preposterous. and yet-- drew lane had visited the store three times. always he wore the jaunty clothes of a college boy. but once she had gripped his arm and found it hard as steel. he was a man, no mistaking that, and a city detective of the highest type. was he the whisperer? it seemed absurd to suspect him. "we all whisper alike," she had told herself. so, quite unconscious of her surroundings, she walked on, thinking hard. she had covered two blocks when of a sudden she felt a hand on her arm and heard in a low, chilling tone: "just a moment, please." next instant she found herself looking into the face of the man who, a half hour before, had so frightened nida mcfay. never in all her life had she wanted so much to scream. the precious bible was still under her arm. those cold eyes were fixed upon her. ten seconds of thought assured her that she was in no immediate danger. the shops were still open. she was surrounded by friends. in her brief stay on the street she had made many friends. max schmalgemeire, the baker, stood in his door; so too did mamma lebed, who sold geese. peter rapport was turning his hot dogs. even madam jakolev, the gypsy fortune-teller, whom she strongly suspected of carrying a dagger up her sleeve, was a welcome sight at that moment. "i merely wanted to ask you a question." the man was polite enough. "do you know," his words were distinct and cold, "this girl nida mcfay is a police character?" "po--police?" grace stared. "practically that. frank morrow's is the only place she could sell books in this city. he is stubborn, foolhardy. just thought i'd warn you. i am j. templeton semp, a detective." he tipped his hat and was gone, leaving grace with a sinking sensation at the pit of her stomach. "a police character!" she whispered. "how could she be?" she was to hear more of nida next morning, for the "whisperer" was to be with her once more at dawn. chapter xvii "the eye" as we have said, it was dark when johnny thompson finally returned to the "street of mystery," as he had come to call it. felix's answer to his excited questioning at an earlier hour had been strange. yes, he knew where the men were that johnny had seen in that animated picture--at least, he knew where they had been when johnny looked at them; they were in the house down the street where he and johnny had planted wires and instruments. had johnny really seen the men? "seen them!" johnny fairly raved. "i recognized one of them as surely as if he had been my brother!" "that's fine!" felix smiled blandly. "that proves the thing will work." "but these men!" johnny exploded. "we must get them!" "oh, must we?" felix showed surprise. "sure we must. they are robbers, murderers. they have bonds in their possession that broke a bank." "oh!" felix stared. "well--that's not in our field. we are inventors, not detectives." "i will get drew lane, tom howe and captain burns." johnny was poised to rush away. "as you like. here's the key." felix extended his hand. "be sure to lock the door. we are responsible for that." "lock the door," johnny grumbled to himself as he hurried away "queerest fellow i ever saw, that felix. smart, though. shouldn't wonder if his inventions would do a lot of good. think of being able to look right in upon a pack of thieves and you half a block or half a mile away! "lock the door!" he repeated. "may be so riddled with bullets before we get through that it won't even shut." in this last he was wrong. when the little band, johnny, drew, tom and the hulking spider, reached the place, they found it dark. there was no answer to the bell, nor to repeated rapping. when they unlocked the door and, flashlights in left hands, guns in right, made the rounds of the place, they found it deserted and still. the rooms were rented furnished. the furniture was there, but not a garment, not a scrap of paper, not a single article that told of occupation. "they are gone for good," was drew's pronouncement. "and yet i saw them this very afternoon," johnny said soberly. "saw the bonds, too. to think i once had them and i lost them so easily!" "we all make mistakes," drew consoled. "we're getting hotter and hotter on their trail. we'll get them, you'll see, and that very soon." they left the place in silence, locking the door behind them. they made their way to the "house of magic," where felix joined them. "find anyone?" he asked. "gone!" was johnny's reply. "i was afraid they might be. but that thing worked--that's the best of it. a little more work on it and we'll be ready to turn it over to those who can make the best use of it." "by the way, johnny," drew lane put in, "you should have a phone in your room. you may have something to report any time." johnny had not told felix of the whisperer's message. felix had many secrets, why not he? "i'll put a phone in at once," felix assured him. "well, goodnight, then." drew lane and his companions disappeared into the dark, leaving johnny and felix standing on the steps of the "house of magic." "easy to put a phone in," felix said. "house is full of wires." "and of eyes," johnny added. "yes--'house of a thousand eyes,'" felix chuckled. "want to know about 'em?" "do i!" "well, watch." felix rang the bell. the door opened itself. "an eye did that," he said quietly. "an electric eye. step inside." johnny did so. as on that other occasion, the narrow space was filled with a strange light; then he saw skeletons, his own and felix's, wavering before him. "eye does that," felix explained again. "the electric eye and x-ray. eye turns on the current that starts the x-ray going. quite a convenience. if your would-be visitors carry hard things like guns or knives, you see them and need not admit them unless you want to. "we are seeing ourselves now," he chuckled, "as we have never been, but as we shall be. come inside." the skeletons vanished. the next door opened. "in five minutes the 'eye' will have made us a cup of cocoa." felix sat down. "it's really very simple," he went on after a moment. "the electric eye, or photo-electric cell, is a vacuum tube treated chemically on the inside. a peep hole admits light. when light strikes the chemicals it starts a small electric discharge. this electric discharge, when stepped up, will start any piece of mechanism you may wish it to. "it works as well when i cut off the light as when i turn it on. so, when i pass before a light in the wall that plays on one electric eye, it causes the door to open. another closes the door, and so forth. "just now an 'eye' turned on the current under a pan of milk. when the milk is hot and rises in the pan, a second eye slides the pan aside and adds the cocoa and sugar. so we have steaming cocoa with no trouble at all. "impractical?" he threw back his head and laughed. "yes, but it's lots of fun. "but the eye is revolutionizing the world, for all that!" he added, handing johnny his cocoa. "i told you we fixed up a rig for sorting a carload of beans a day. that is done by thousands of electric eyes. pineapples are sorted the same way. in school rooms an eye watches the light. when it gets too dark the eye throws on the lighting switch. the eye umpires bowling matches and would umpire a baseball game, call a ball a ball, a strike a strike, and never be wrong. and that certainly would be something! "guess that's enough for tonight. i'll get that phone." he hurried away. it was not enough, not half enough for johnny. he wanted to ask if the eye had helped him see what he had seen that afternoon, if the eye could have anything to do with the whispers at dawn. he wanted to ask a hundred questions. but felix was gone. when johnny mounted to his room, he found the telephone in its place on a stand by his bed, but felix was nowhere to be seen. chapter xviii the trap is sprung as a rule, johnny was a heavy sleeper. all the strange doings of the past few days must have gotten on his nerves, for next morning, more than an hour before dawn, he found himself lying in bed wide awake, thinking. the ceiling of his room, he noticed, had dropped again during the night. this neither surprised nor disturbed him. in fact, in this strange house had the attraction of gravity been reversed and had he found his bed resting on the ceiling instead of the floor, he would not have been greatly surprised. he was, however, curious about many things. this room that had a way of growing small, with its strange light where there were no lamps, intrigued him. the matter of the locked door of the previous day had been solved. felix had been experimenting with a new type of time lock and had forgotten to throw the electrical switch that controlled it. "but that living picture on the wall!" johnny thought to himself. "how is one to explain that? "and the whisper? where does that come from? it can't be a broadcast, and he can't be close at hand." drew had told him the evening before that grace krowl had said she had heard the whisperer in her room more than a mile away. "the message was not the same," he told himself. "not nearly the same. she did not get my message. i did not get hers. he is a very particular person, this whisperer." his thoughts went back to that day he bought the express package that had come so near causing his death. "and i had those bonds!" he groaned aloud. how was this affair to end? would drew lane and his band come up with these outlaws? would there be a battle? would he, johnny thompson, be in at the finish? he devoutly hoped so. he thought again of madame leclare and her fine children who had lost a father. he saw the dark, smiling eyes of alice. "as long as god gives us breath!" he repeated. it was a pledge and a prayer. his thoughts had returned to the mysterious whisperer when he was given a sudden start by the loud jangle of a bell. he sprang out of bed. the bell appeared to be in the room. "like an alarm clock," he told himself. "but there is no clock." he looked at the reflector on the wall. the moonlight was falling upon it--or was that some other form of light? he could not tell. the sound seemed to come from there. he began pacing the room. the bell still jangled. but of a sudden he halted in amazement. as he crossed before the reflector the sound had ceased for the space of a second, then began again. he tried it again and got the same result. "that's strange!" he told himself. just then the jangling ceased and in its stead came the familiar voice of the whisperer: "johnny! johnny thompson! are you there? are you awake?" "the whisperer?" johnny breathed. "johnny," the message went on, "i have an important message for your friends. phone them at once. the men they want are at blair street. they are in a small, yellow sedan. they are in a garage, having their car repaired. hurry!" johnny did hurry. he called the shack and had drew on the wire at once. "yes," drew said, "tom is here with me, and so are the captain and spider. thanks for the tip, johnny. we are on our way at once." "well, that's that!" johnny sighed. he knew, though he regretted it tremendously, that he could not hope to join them in this adventure. "stay here and wait for any further message," he told himself. "wonder if drew and the rest will really come up to iggy and his gang? if they do, man! oh, man!" he could just hear the guns popping. there was, however, no such luck, at least for the moment. as the happy, fighting four, drew and his band, neared the garage at blair street, they saw a low, yellow sedan pop out of the garage door and go speeding north. "that's sure to be them. after them! give her the gas!" the captain shouted. drew sent the captain's powerful car speeding after. the yellow car shot straight north for a mile. then it whirled round a corner on two wheels. when drew and his band rounded that corner there was no car in sight--only a huge, lumbering moving-van two blocks to the east. "street ends two blocks west," the captain snapped. "must have gone east. drive slow and watch the north and south streets." this they did. they were still going slow as they passed the van. spider, who had been sitting in the back seat with tom howe, was startled a moment later to find that tom was no longer with him. he was not in the car. he was gone. * * * * * * * * in the meantime, johnny thompson was in the midst of a strange discovery. ten minutes after the first message had been delivered, the bell began its jangle once more. "hello!" johnny exclaimed. "big ben again!" springing to his feet, he began walking back and forth before the round reflector. as on the other occasion, the bell ceased jangling as he passed. a series of rapid experiments with a hat held in his hand showed him he could shut off the bell by holding the hat in certain positions. these positions, he found, must be higher and higher as he receded from the reflector toward the window. "one thing i know," he assured himself. "that sound is produced by some force outside my window. and the person who produces it must be very high up. "in fact--" he caught his breath as he looked out of the window and away to the east. "there is but one place it could come from. that is the top of the six hundred foot tower of the sky ride on those deserted century of progress grounds. the whisperer--" he broke off short to listen with all his ears. the ringing of that bell ceased, the whispered message was beginning. * * * * * * * * what had happened to the slender young detective, tom howe? something rather strange, i assure you. having slipped from the slowly moving police car, he had mounted the running board of the vast lumbering van. from this point he slid to a position beside the driver. as he did this he prodded the driver in the ribs with an automatic and whispered, "you will drive as i say and where i say, or you are a dead man!" the driver never took his eye from the road. he drove straight on. * * * * * * * * the message johnny thompson received after the second ringing of the bell was but a repetition of the first, so his mind was soon put to rest. he was left with plenty to wonder about, for all that. but dawn was now breaking. like departing fairies, the whisperer had other business that must be attended to. he was heard next in grace krowl's little parlor on maxwell street. "christmas eve will be here in three more days," he was saying. "on christmas eve everyone is in a mellow mood. that is the time for confiding secrets. on that evening, my friend grace, you are to invite nida mcfay to your room, seat her beside your table and induce her to tell her story. i shall be looking in upon you from my high tower a mile away." "high tower, a mile away!" she thought. "how can one see that far? and the shade is always half drawn. it is impossible!" and yet, the whisperer had more than once convinced her that he did see her face. "but christmas eve!" she exclaimed indignantly. "how can one ask another to bare her life's secrets at such a time?" it was a sober-faced grace krowl who seated herself before the table for a few moments of quiet thought. in the days just past she had tried out her plan of writing to people whose stories she had found in lost trunks. she had offered to return all their little treasures without cost. the results had been disappointing and disheartening. their attitude she had found difficult to understand. in their letters they seemed to say, "you have all the things in my trunk. you have a right to none of them." she had returned the pictures and letters from six trunks. she had paid the express charges out of her own meager funds. not one of them all had made an effort to repay these charges. "not one returned to thank me." she stared at the wall. "can it be that uncle is right? that i am merely letting myself get 'soft'?" she thought of the priceless bible tucked away at the bottom of the little horsehair trunk. is it strange that a half-formed hope should enter her mind, the hope that no one would appear to claim that treasure, and that she might have it for her very own? "a fortune! thousands of dollars!" she whispered. "and yet--" * * * * * * * * when tom howe mounted to the seat of that lumbering van he took one look through a narrow slit of a window behind the driver. the inside of the van at that time was completely dark. after riding with the driver for fully two miles and directing his course all this time, tom cast another sidewise look through that window. his lips parted in an unuttered exclamation. the back of the van was now open, the gate was down, and back two blocks, just turning the corner, was a low, yellow sedan. his face was a mask as he turned his attention once more to the street that lay ahead. two blocks before them a red crossing light gleamed. as the van paused for this light, he sprang from the seat and was away like a shot. "well! what became of you?" the captain roared as a half hour later he entered the shack. "you lost their trail?" tom grinned. "i'll say we did!" "so did i," tom said quietly. "in the end i did. but i stayed with them longer than you did." "you stayed?" drew exploded. "sure i did. you remember that van on the street? they were in there, car and all! pulled a swift one on us. driver lowered the back gate and they drove up and in. then he lifted the gate. "i had 'em trapped like rats, i thought. i'd have made the driver take that van right into our squad-car garage. and then, would there have been fun!" "but what happened?" drew was staring now. "near as i can find out, the driver released the gate with some foot control. iggy and his gang took the hint and backed right out while we were going. i saw them shoot round a corner. the trap was sprung, no rat in it--so i came home. "how about a cup of coffee?" he moved toward the stove in the corner. "well that," drew said slowly, "is something!" "there'll be another day," the captain grumbled. chapter xix a whisper from afar late that afternoon captain burns' car came to a stop before the "house of magic." "hop in," he said to johnny when the boy appeared. "want to take you somewhere. been working on clues all day. tired. need rest. need good company. come along." johnny, who had spent a quiet day with felix, being led further into the magic of the electric eye, but being told nothing at all about the mysteries that most intrigued him, was ready enough to go. "queer boy, that felix," he said to the captain as the car sped on through the city. "didn't really tell me a thing i wanted to know. "oh, yes," he corrected himself, "he did say that the light about the place was made by neon tubes set in the walls and that the light entered the room through a million pin-pricks in the canvas covering of the walls; also that this light came in slowly because it was filtered through bulbs very like radio tubes." "interesting, but not so terribly important," the captain rumbled. "same with that business of my room getting tall and short," johnny went on. "seems his father thinks there's a lot of waste space in modern homes. bed chambers stand empty all day, living-rooms all night, and there is never enough air space in either. so he's experimenting on floors built like elevators. you flatten out the bedroom furniture and raise the floor; that gives you a tall living-room during the day. by lowering the same floor at night you get a tall bedroom." "in any case," the captain laughed, "you're not likely to bump your head." "seems," johnny concluded, "i had a room intended in the beginning for a sort of parlor. they needed the space above, so they let down the floor. not a bad arrangement, only they ought to have let a fellow know. these inventors' heads are so full of things, they forget." they were now well out of the city, speeding along a country road. thirty miles from the heart of the city they swung through a gateway and came to a stop before a small, low-roofed cottage. it was now dark. the place seemed cold and deserted. "you'll not find any ceilings falling on you here," captain burns chuckled. "this was my boyhood home." "your boyhood home!" johnny surveyed the narrow yard surrounded by ancient maples. he looked at the insignificant dwelling towered over by a giant cottonwood tree. "and you rose from this," he said in an awed whisper. "no, johnny," the captain replied quickly. "i didn't rise. no one ever rises above his boyhood home. it is the grandest place on earth. come on in." the place they entered was the kitchen. it had a low ceiling. in a corner stood a small wood-burning kitchen range with a top that was warped and cracked. "that's the very stove," the captain said proudly, touching a match to shavings and watching yellow flames spread. "i cut wood for it more than thirty years ago. "i was away from this place a long, long time, johnny. when i got some money i bought it for a sort of retreat. when i am poor again it shall be the last of my treasured possessions to go--my boyhood home!" he ended reverently. "when i think--" there was a rumble in the captain's throat as he began to speak after some moments of silence. "when i think of the good, simple, happy times we had here, i wonder--" he did not finish, but sat smiling and looking at the glowing hearth of the little, old, cracked kitchen stove. "i was raised in this one small room," he began once more. "oh, yes, we slept upstairs. no fire up there, not a spark. cold!" he chuckled. "twenty below sometimes. "but this room, it was home to us. home." he said it softly. "i can see it now. the table there and the yellow glow of a kerosene lamp. father dozing by the fire. brother tom reading. he was a scholar, tom was. made a fine man, he would, if--" once more he did not finish. "father was a pious man," he rumbled on after a time. "wonder how many sons of truly pious men make their mark in the world? many of them, i believe. "we always had prayers on our knees before we went upstairs. father's prayer was always much the same. one sentence i remember well: 'we thank thee, our father, that it is well with us as it is.' it wasn't very well with us all the time. but we had peace. the doors were never locked. precious little to steal, and no one to steal it. "peace!" he mused. "sometimes i wonder whether this eternal struggle is worth the cost. when i got older and went out with my father to help with the work, when we came rattling home in the dark in our old lumber wagon, we had peace. no one wanted to kill us. but now--" once again he did not finish. there was no need. full well johnny knew that there were those who wished this faithful officer beneath the sod. "but when the city gets you--" the captain's tone had changed. "when it gets you, there's no turning back. the noise, the rush, the excitement of life that flows on and on like a torrent--it _gets_ you, and you never, never turn back. "remember the story of poor old lot?" "yes, i remember." johnny knew that great old book. "i've always felt sorry for lot." the captain chuckled. "country chap come to the city to live. got his wife turned to salt, he did. lost about all he had. but he couldn't help it. city got him. sodom got him. chicago's got you and me, johnny. and chicago won't let us go until they bring us out to some spot like the one we passed a mile from here, and put us away where the hemlocks sing and sigh over the marble that is white in the moonlight. "so we'll fight on, johnny." he prodded the fire. "we won't accomplish much. no one ever does. but we'll do our bit--do it like men. "but, johnny--" he rose and stretched himself. "it helps to come out here now and then where i have known so much peace. just to sit by this old, cracked stove, to listen to the whisper of the wind, the song of the tree toads and the whoo-whooting of some owl, and dream i am a boy again, just a boy. ah, son, that's good. "we'll go back to the city in a little while," he went on after a time. "get a good bed somewhere in town. "and that reminds me, johnny. i want you out here on christmas eve. we'll make up a party and stay all night. hang up our stockings just as we boys used to do. we'll bring out drew and tom, joyce mills, mrs. leclare and alice; yes, and spider--only we'll have a whole turkey for spider," he chuckled. "we--we'll have a grand time christmas eve and all day christmas. and such a dinner! i've bought a turkey, twenty-five pounds, johnny. "come in here." he took up a kerosene lamp and led the way into a second small room. "this was our parlor. only lit the fire on sundays. such sundays as those were! happy days, johnny! happy days!" "but what's this?" johnny asked suddenly. "surely this does not belong to those days." "no." there was a queer look on the captain's face. "fellow i know, man i would trust with my life, asked permission to put that in here." they were looking at a two-foot wide reflector such as was to be found in johnny's room in the "house of magic." "he said," the captain went on, "that if the time came when i was badly needed in the city, a message would come to me through that thing. how? i can't say. up until now it hasn't uttered a squawk. it--" suddenly johnny held up a hand. there was no need. the captain was listening with all his ears, for, into that room there on the lonely prairie, had stolen a whisper. "captain burns!" the words were very distinct. "i wish to inform you that a packet of stolen bonds you are seeking have been sold to joseph gregg of south kemp street. gregg is an honest man. but back of him--" the whisper faded. "that," exclaimed the captain, "is all i need to know!" racing for his coat and hat, he led the way to his car. a moment more and they were speeding back to the city. "johnny," said the captain, "do you believe that whisper came all the way from the city?" "i am sure of it." "a broadcast?" "no, not a broadcast. i feel sure no one in the world, save us, heard it." "wonderful, if true--a revolutionary idea!" the captain exclaimed. "i think," said johnny, "that i could name the very spot from which that message came--the top of the sky ride tower." he told the captain of his discovery regarding the whisper he had heard that morning. "we'll have to look into that," was the captain's only comment. that very night johnny attempted to "look into that," with such results as you shall see. chapter xx the sky slider having secured spider as his special bodyguard and obtained permission to enter the deserted grounds of the century of progress, johnny set out on his mission of discovery. he was determined to learn what he could about the mysterious whisperer. it was a dark night. clouds hid the moon. one of those cold, gusty nights it was, when fine siftings of snow creep and tremble about your feet, when sharp gusts of wind shooting out from unexpected angles blow fine particles of ice upon your cheek, and you say with a start, "some devil of the north has been let loose to blow his breath upon me." "boo!" spider shuddered. "how cold it is!" "yes, and ghostly!" johnny added. they were on the old fair grounds. "when you think what this place has been, so full of light and sunshine, so hilarious with the screams and shouts of jolly revelers, every corner seems to hide a ghost." "yes." spider quickened his pace. "there's the place where they had all those freaks--tall, skinny men, short, crooked ones, two headed, one legged--all sorts of funny and distorted humans. gee! johnny, what a joy to have two legs and two arms, eyes, ears and all that!" "yes, and what poor use some of us make of them!" johnny grumbled. "look." spider was full of recollections. "there's where they kept that huge snake. suppose he's in there now, all coiled up, torpid for his winter's sleep?" the thought caused him to veer sharply to the left. "ghosts, all right," johnny said quietly. "ghosts of those who stood in these places hour by hour, patiently doing their duty, roasting hot dogs, guarding jewels, changing money, selling tickets. ghosts too of performers on this hilarious midway." "and ghosts of those who came to see," spider chuckled genially. "but look!" johnny's voice rose. he gripped spider's arm. "do i see a light up there, or don't i?" "up where?" "tower of the sky ride." a gaunt skeleton of steel, the towers of the sky ride where, in the days of wild joy at the century of progress three million thrill seekers had shot upward to go gliding and bumping across the sky! and, yes, there at the very top of the left-hand tower a pale yellow light shone. "the whisperer!" johnny's voice was husky with emotion. "we've found him." "but that place--" there was doubt in spider's tone. "that place has been locked for months. electric current is probably turned off. how'd he get up there? six hundred feet and more!" there was awe in his tone. he was a climber, was spider--none better, so he had supposed. had he come upon the tracks of one more skillful than he? "i could do it," he muttered beneath his breath. "i could climb that tower. six hundred feet. bah! what's the diff? two hundred, three hundred, or six, it's all the same. "but that man?" he turned to johnny. "he can't just pucker up his lips and whisper a mile, can he? takes machines, instruments, whatever you may call it, don't it?" "yes, i'm sure it does," johnny agreed. "i don't know a lot about it myself. it's all like magic to me. but it must take a lot of mechanisms and a strong electric current. "of course," he added thoughtfully, as they walked slowly forward, "the sky ride's in somebody's care. bound to be. the managers of next year's fair are going to operate it. and if someone had some sort of a pull he could get permission to turn on the current and set an elevator running. he could get up and down that way. and what a place he'd have for whispering! whisper all over the world, i'd say. i'd like to have a picture of that man--if it _is_ a man." "if it is?" spider laughed. "you don't think he's an ape, or something?" "might be a woman," said johnny seriously. "yeah, a woman! fine chance!" spider scoffed. "tell you what!" he exclaimed suddenly. "i'll take that dare!" "what dare?" johnny stopped short in his tracks. "i'll get you his picture, and if it's a lady, i'll take two pictures." "you mean you'll climb that tower? six hundred feet! you--you've not been drinking, spider?" "drinking, johnny?" there was a deep note of reproach in spider's voice. "whatever else i am, johnny, i'm not a fool. only a fool drinks. and a fellow who climbs is a double fool if he drinks. drink, johnny, makes you feel as if you could fly. and that's a fatal feeling when you're up in the air. "no, johnny, i'm sober. you want to know what that man looks like, what he's doing up there. so do i. the elevator may be working. who knows? if not--up i go." "all right," johnny agreed reluctantly. full well he knew how futile it is to argue with a person of spider's nature. "you'll know when you've had enough, won't you? you'll give it up if it's sort of getting the best of you?" the spider's reply was a guttural mutter. "all the same, you promise!" johnny insisted. "have it your way," spider mumbled. "but just you watch this flashlight. i'll fasten it to my belt, behind. it will be shining straight down. guess you'll be able to see it all the way up. it's pretty bright. when you see it up there at the top you'll know i'm there. "and--when you see a white flash you'll know i've got the picture. always carry a flash-bulb and a little camera, i do. get some great pictures in all sorts of places." "yes," johnny grumbled, "and some time you'll get your head blown off in the bargain!" "oh, yeah?" spider laughed a crackly sort of laugh. the elevator to the sky ride tower might or might not have been working. the two boys had no way to tell. the door to the place was locked and bolted, apparently from within. "just as well pleased," spider chuckled. "always have wanted to climb that thing since i saw the first two sections sticking up out of the snow in --so here goes!" he was away up the steel frame, like a monkey. it was with a feeling akin to awe that johnny saw that small, wavering spot of yellow light mount up, up, up toward the spot where some bright star lay hidden behind a cloud. "he'll never climb so high," he muttered. "i shouldn't have let him try. and yet--" there was a mystery to be solved, and mysteries at times are to be solved only by deeds of daring. so he watched the light at spider's back mount and mount until it was but a tiny speck of yellow light that, winking and blinking, rose ever higher and higher. as for spider, he was not disturbed. a climber from the age of six, he had within him supreme self-confidence. what is distance anyway? if you fall at fifty feet you will die. can six hundred be worse? thus he reasoned and, mounting higher and higher, thought only of his goal. he would have a look into that room of mystery. he'd surprise someone at his work and, be he man, woman or devil--flash! there would be a picture. he was right in part--at least, the flash was not lacking; for, having at last scaled the height, he stood upon a steel cross-beam to draw his chin above a steel window frame. and there he hung, drinking in with his eyes the scene that lay before him. the right-hand corner of a broad, glass-enclosed space had been roughly partitioned off into a small room. at the center of this narrow space, bending over some curious instrument, was a tall, thin man. that he was not conscious of prying eyes was at once apparent, for, after a moment, partially straightening up, he switched on a powerful lamp, thus sending a sharp pencil of illumination through the clouds that hung over the city. this accomplished, he turned half about. spider dropped low, he might be seen. when next he dared bring his eyes above the edge of the window frame he found the man facing a peculiar square of metal attached to a low pedestal. "a microphone! he's talking into it. the whisperer!" spider breathed. then with the force of a blow it came to him that here was his chance. "the picture," he muttered low. twisting an arm about a steel beam, with no thought of the dizzy depths below, with fingers that trembled ever so slightly, he adjusted an electric light bulb, half filled with a sort of tinfoil, to his flashlight. then adjusting his small camera, he shifted his position, held camera and flashlight high, then pressed a button. the result was most astonishing. a bright flash was to be expected. the tinfoil filled bulb was such as newspaper photographers use for taking flashlight pictures. yes, that first bright flash was to be expected. the second, following closely upon the first and accompanied by a sharp report, had not been anticipated. a bullet burned spider's ear. with a cry of consternation, he released his grip, dropped a short way toward the black depths below, struck a steel beam, threw out his hands, clutched something cold and substantial, then hung there between heaven and earth. the first indication that all had not gone well came to johnny when some object falling from the sky crashed upon a square of wind-blown pavement not twenty feet from where he stood. springing forward, he cast the light of his electric torch upon some black fragments scattered over the spot where the thing had struck. "the--the camera!" he whispered. "spider's camera. there'll be no picture. but spider. what of him?" the wind that whistled about the foot of the sky ride tower brought him no answer. he had been watching the top of that tower for a full five minutes when some object, gliding along a cluster of four cables closely set together and running at a broad angle from the top of the tower to the ground, suddenly caught his attention. "can that be a man?" he asked himself, staring with all his eyes as the thing moved downward. "if it's a man, is it spider or the whisperer?" he asked himself a moment later. determined to know, he went racing away toward the end of the cable, some three blocks away. he arrived just in time to see the slider drop to earth. it was spider. "quite a sky-slider, i am!" he chuckled. "well done!" exclaimed johnny. "did you see him?" "not very clearly. he's a man, all right. and he's a tiger. nearly got me. never again!" spider led the way off the grounds. and so for the time the mystery of the whisperer remained unsolved. only this was known with a fair degree of certainty: his place of retreat was one high tower of the sky ride. chapter xxi christmas eve the dawn of the day before christmas arrived and with it, in grace krowl's tiny parlor, came the hoarse whisper of the mysterious one: "tonight," it insisted, "you will not fail me. it is for the good of all. you owe us more than you know. it is we who beautified your living quarters. your coming disturbed our plans. but if you do this thing for us you shall be forgiven." "plans." it was her turn to whisper. "what plans?" she wanted to know. a half hour later, when she descended to the street she found drew lane standing by the store door. "saw a small leather bag through the window," he explained. "think i'd like it." with some irrelevance grace said quickly: "drew lane, how could anyone see you a mile away?" "powerful telescope, perhaps." he gave her a strange look. "but in your room, with the shade half drawn?" "no, not possible. television, possibly that." his voice dropped to a near whisper. "they do strange things with that, i'm told. "what is it?" he looked her squarely in the eye. "that whisperer again?" "yes." "and does he claim to see you as well as talk to you?" "he does see me. i'm sure of it." "that's strange!" drew lane did not appear to be shamming. "can it be," she asked herself, "that this young man is not the whisperer, and that he knows nothing about it?" as for drew, he stood there considering the advisability of inviting this girl to the captain's christmas party. he left without having arrived at a definite decision. some hours later he was to be devoutly thankful that he had not given the invitation. christmas eve came. by nine o'clock the tracks of two large automobiles might have been seen winding through the freshly fallen snow before the captain's boyhood home, and from there away to the shed serving as a garage at the right of the house. from the windows there stole a mellow light. caught and flung high, curls of blue wood smoke rose from the chimneys. the guests were seated in the tiny parlor of their beloved captain's old home. there were two young detectives, drew lane and tom howe, with their youthful understudies, johnny thompson and spider. madame leclare was there too with alice, her daughter, and joyce mills. quite a jolly party they were on this christmas eve. only one thought marred their pleasure--the captain was not with them. "it's tough," he had said to them at the last moment. "something big just broke. i've got to get on the trail while it's hot. but you folks go right along out. hang your stockings up behind the old stove like good little children, and maybe you'll catch me filling them when you get up in the morning. and if you don't--may that christmas turkey be tender!" those had been his words. now, as johnny sat dreaming beside the cracked stove that, despite its age, sent forth a cheering glow, he imagined the captain skulking down some dark alley in quest of those who would disturb the tranquillity of christmas eve. "almost wish i were with him," he thought. "and yet--" there was a sharp wind blowing. the snow was drifting. outside, close to the road, a windmill stood on its tall, steel tower. from time to time the wind, giving this mill a twist, caused it to send forth a sharp, grating scream that seemed a human cry of pain. "boo!" johnny whispered. "there's something spooky about a lonely country place at night." a moment more and his thoughts were back with the captain. "the wind," he thought, "will be whistling about the corners of skyscrapers tonight. the snow will go scooting and whirling away and away just as it does among the crags of the rockies. cities are like that. wonder where the captain is now?" then again he seemed to hear the captain's rumbling voice as in this very room he told of his boyhood days. "that is the very stove--" he spoke aloud now. pretty alice leclare turned her shining black eyes upon him. "it's the very stove that burned here many years ago when the captain was a boy. he found it in the barn loft. "and these chairs," he went on, "are the very chairs on which he hung his stockings so long ago. he found them in the attic, bottoms gone, some broken. he had them restored. seems--" his voice went husky. "seems almost a sacred place." "it _is_ sacred," alice whispered back. "the boyhood home of a good man, the things he loved, are _always_ sacred." johnny could have loved the little french canadian for that speech. "and what a privilege," alice murmured low, "just for one night to live as he lived, so simple, so plain, so true. to hang up our stockings, feeling that they will be filled, not by lavish hands, but by loving ones, with the simple things that only real love can find." "but listen!" johnny touched her arm. "how that windmill screams! it seems a--a sort of warning. perhaps our night will not be so serene after all. per--" he broke short off. from the wall where the broad reflector stood facing the open window there had come a sound. "like a whisper," johnny thought. whisper or not, it made no sense. so again the room fell into silence. only the crackle of the fire, the racing tick-tock, tick-tock of the little clock on the mantel told that this little gray house was still the habitation of man. * * * * * * * * that night, over a cup of tea in grace krowl's parlor, with the whisperer looking on "from his tower a mile away" nida mcfay told her story. it was a strange story filled with smiles and tears. for three glorious years she had worked in the book department of one of america's most beautiful stores. surrounded by books, with congenial fellow workers and cultured customers, she had learned what it meant to truly live. "and then--" the little book seller looked away. "then a man, a very little, wistful old man who lived in my rooming house, brought me some books from his library; anyway, he said they were from his library. he asked me to sell them for him at a second-hand store. "they were valuable books. i--i sold them." she paused to sit for a time staring into her tea cup. it was as if she sensed the fact that someone was looking in upon them from afar, and that she dreaded to go on. from the reflector in the corner came a strange sound. "like someone stifling a cough," grace thought with a shudder. "the books--they had been stolen from our store," nida went on after a time. "a detective was put on my trail. the little old man disappeared. a--a house detective, with eyes like steel blades, accused me of stealing the books!" "i think i know him," grace broke in. "he looked into frank morrow's shop one night." "yes--yes, that was the man! he calls himself j. templeton semp." nida's eyes were wild for an instant. "he made me sign a paper," she went on. "i learned later it was a confession. they discharged me. i went to other places and asked for work, many places. everywhere the answer was the same: "'you worked at k----'s. we cannot employ you.' "you see--" her voice broke. "i had been put on the black list. i--i wouldn't do that to anyone! "well," she sighed at last, "that's all. good old frank morrow took me in spite of the list. and here i am." she forced a smile. five minutes later nida was gone. grace sat staring at the curious reflector on the wall. "that," she whispered, "is nida's story. and all the time she was talking someone was looking, listening. i am sure of that. i wonder how? television? i wonder what that really is?" finding herself enshrouded in a cloud of gloom, she drew on her coat and, taking up a basket filled with small boxes, she went out on maxwell street. moving along from door to door, she made brief christmas eve calls on the simple, kindly people she had learned to love. the small boxes contained homemade candy. she left one at every door. she found mamma lebed busy decorating a tiny tree for her two dark-haired little ones. "it's not much we can give them," she beamed. "but the dear ones, how they will dance and prattle when morning comes!" she brushed a tear from her broad cheek. "merry christmas!" grace whispered. "same to you!" mamma lebed gripped her hand hard. grossmuter schmalgemeire was filling stockings. there was no fireplace in her tiny home back of the shop, but a straight-backed chair did as well. "he said a mouse would come in through the hole in the toe, hans did," she laughed. "but i told him an orange would fill it up. and so it shall. i found one in the street that is not too bad." and so grace found them, these friends, on every hand. poor, but making much of the little they had, and all filled to overflowing with the spirit of christmas. when she returned to her rooms, her cheeks were glowing. "tonight," she whispered, "i am like the moon, filled with light. the light of happiness. it is reflected happiness, but happiness all the same." and then, into her mind there flashed questions that had grown old, but were ever new: "who is the whisperer? where is he? why does he want nida's story?" chapter xxii the warning in the meantime tremendous things were doing in the little house where captain burns had spent his childhood. for a time, it is true, the silence in that little gray home out where the snow lay white and glistening on field and road continued. madame leclare sat by the narrow drop-leaf table knitting. joyce mills, with a big black cat on her lap, seemed more than half asleep. dark-haired alice had curled herself up on two cushions beside the fire. the others sat in dreamy silence. it did not seem a time for small talk, this christmas eve. were their thoughts busy with other christmas eves? who can say? were they thinking of the future, of the approaching new year and what it would bring to them? did they think at times of the five public enemies still at large and free to follow their evil ways? perhaps, at times, all these. at any rate, they were silent. into that silence there crept a whisper. the effect was electric! madame dropped her knitting. joyce started so violently that the cat bounced from her lap. with an involuntary motion drew lane reached for his gun. "lanan--" the whisper began, "lanan road, attention! those in captain burns' old home, attention!" the whisper was like a call "to arms!" "you are in grave danger. grave danger! the report is just that. i can tell you no more. be on your guard!" the whisper ceased. the clock ticked on. from without came the hoarse scream of the rusty windmill. the black cat, walking across the floor, settled himself beside alice among the cushions. as if directed by a common impulse, drew and tom removed their automatics, examined them with care, then dropped them with a little chug back into their places. "peace on earth, good will toward men!" drew quoted dryly. "in such a world as ours there can be no peace." "grave danger," johnny thought to himself. he was looking through the window to the white silence outside. "danger? it does not seems possible! captain burns has kept this place a secret. we came here in a very round-about way. surely no one followed us. "and yet--" a thought struck him squarely between the eyes. "and yet, the whisperer, alone in his tower among the stars--he knows! "the whisperer--who can he be?" he said the words aloud. alice, who sat almost at his feet, shook her head. she did not know. no one did, at least almost no one. was he a friend of the law, or its enemy? a friend, johnny would have said. and yet, as he recalled how spider had barely escaped death when he attempted to take a picture of that mysterious man of the tower, he could not be sure. spider had not repeated his hair-raising experiment. curiously enough, it did not occur to one of them that they might slip out quietly, pile into their cars and go speeding back to the city. they had come here with a plan. they were to hang up their stockings, each of them, as if he were once more a small child. they were to stay all night, the ladies sleeping upstairs, the men and boys in two tiny downstairs bedrooms. there was to be joy in the morning and feasting at noonday; a twenty-five pound turkey awaited madame's skill at stuffing and baking. who should interfere with these glorious plans? no one, surely! * * * * * * * * in the meantime, grace krowl in her parlor in the distant city had received a strange visitor. hardly had she returned from her little journey dispensing christmas cheer, when there came a knock at her door. "who can that be?" springing up, she threw open the door, and there before her, smiling like some fairy, was a tiny little lady all dressed in furs. "i received your letter." she stepped inside. "i came to see about the little trunk." "but you--you're not emily anne!" grace stared with all her eyes. "oh, dear, no!" the little lady's laugh was like the jingle of a silver bell. "i am her niece, miss baxter. aunt emily is dead, i am sorry to say--has been for two years." "oh!" there was a note of genuine sadness in grace's voice. "ex--excuse me!" she apologized. "but i came almost to know her by the lovely things in her trunk." "i am sure you did." the little lady beamed. "she was a choice soul, aunt emily anne! "but tell me--" she dropped into a chair. "your letter interested me _so_ much. won't you tell me how you came into possession of this trunk, and how you came to write that wonderful letter?" "wonderful letter?" the girl thought. "at last one has returned to give thanks. how gorgeous!" she did tell miss baxter all she wished to know about the trunk and the letters. "but this bible?" the little lady's eyes gleamed. "you say it is worth several thousands of dollars?" "i am sure of it." grace nodded her head. "i've had the signature verified. it is genuine." "then," said miss baxter, "let us form a society, you and i--a 'society for the return of lost and strayed trunks.' how does that sound? there is a 'society for the return of lost and strayed cats.' trunks are more important than cats, much more!" "but you are the only one who returned to thank me. besides," said grace, "i don't quite understand." "oh! the plans," the little lady smiled, "we must work them out little by little. we shall sell the bible. i will add to that fund. this will give us working capital. you shall be the secretary, and do a great deal of the work." "nothing could be more wonderful," grace murmured, too overcome for speech. "and now!" miss baxter sprang to her feet. "this is christmas eve, and i must be on my way. i'll see you again soon!" with a wave of her hand, as if she might be a feminine santa claus, she was gone, leaving the astonished grace to stare after her. "life," she thought, "is strange, so very strange, so much mystery!" she closed the door, but did not stir from her place. she was thinking, and they were long, long thoughts. these thoughts were broken in upon by a second knock on the door. no light tap of a sparrow's wing, this knock, but one like the thump of a policeman demanding admittance in the name of the law. her hand trembled as she gripped the knob. chapter xxiii a promise that is a threat the silence in that little gray home out there on the snow-blown prairies lasted for ten long moments. to those who waited time seemed to creep at a snail's pace. drew lane, shifting uneasily in his chair, was about to suggest something--he will never know what--when, sudden as before, all thoughts were drawn to the mysterious talking reflector against the wall. the instant a voice broke the silence in that corner, drew lane leaped to his feet. tom howe, crouching like a cat, remained motionless in his chair. there was something menacing, sinister, altogether terrible about that voice. the words, more spoken than whispered, caused johnny's blood to freeze in his veins. "listen, you hell hounds!" those were the words. "listen! you whisper, do you? well, so do we! you narrow-cast, and you think we can't listen. well, we can! "listen!" the voice became more terrible. "you have been on our trail long enough! public enemies! bah!" as if choked with words, the voice ceased for a second. everyone in the room had turned into a statue. only the cat was unconscious of it all. he purred loudly in his place among the cushions. and the windmill, poor thing of rusty steel, it uttered one more unearthly scream. "listen!" the voice was hoarse with hate. "we got you, see? got all of you. you'll never leave that place, see? not one of you all! christmas eve. it's a laugh!" there came a hoarse chuckle that was terrible to hear. "hang up your stockings! get 'em up quick! we're coming to fill 'em, and we'll fill 'em right with machine gun slugs! that's how they'll be filled! "good-night, everyone!" the speaker's voice dropped to a mocking imitation of a radio announcer. "good-night. and a merry christmas to all!" for a full moment the silence in that little parlor, that through the years had witnessed so much of joy and sorrow, was profound. "it's a joke," spider said hoarsely at last. "it's no joke!" drew lane's lips were white. "i know that voice. "i only wish," he said slowly, "that you ladies were out of it. those fellows have machine guns. if they cut loose, they'll riddle this place." "i'm a detective's daughter." joyce mills stood up square shouldered and slim. "and i a slain policeman's widow." madame leclare stood up at her side. "and i his child." alice was not smiling as she joined the two. there was a glint of fire in her dark eyes. "is--is that iggy the snake?" madame leclare asked. "beyond doubt it is." drew's eyes were gleaming. "he and his gang, the men who killed jack leclare, the men we swore to get. and with god's help we'll get them yet!" he set his teeth hard. "you ladies can shoot?" he said in a changed voice. "as well as any man!" madame held up her head proudly. "that's good! let's see." drew moved to the cupboard by the stairs. "the captain showed me a new sort of gas bomb. yes, here it is. puts 'em out completely for a full half hour. be swell if we could use it." "but they'll be a respectful distance away," tom howe objected. "how can we?" "that's right. have to trust our automatics, i guess. here!" drew handed one of his guns to johnny. "and you." tom passed a thing of blue metal to madame leclare as if it were a bouquet of roses. she accepted it with a bow. "there's no phone--no way of spreading an alarm." drew spoke calmly. "no one passes this way at night. they've got till morning. johnny, has the place a cellar?" "only a hole for vegetables--no windows." "no use to us. they'd burn the house. smother us like rats. we'll have to stand our ground, every one at a window. this is the way our forefathers fought savages." his voice had grown husky. "these are more savage than they!" madame leclare added. "we might make a dash for it. try getting away in the cars," tom howe suggested. "they may be all set to mow us down as we come out," drew objected. "we've not been watching, you know. but we'd better be, right now!" his tone changed. "we'll set a watch at the windows. there's one on every side. we'll watch in pairs. misery loves company. you and you there; you and you--" he pointed them to their places rapidly. johnny found himself settled upon a cushion behind the low window in the small southwest room. at his side, so close he fancied he felt her heart beat, was alice leclare. he thanked drew for that. if the watch were to be long, here was pleasant company. then, too, he had learned by the glint in her dark eyes that, if worse came to worst, if he were wounded, out of the combat, this splendid girl would fight over him as bravely and savagely as any indian fighter's wife had fought over her fallen man. it was strange, the silence of the place, once they were all settled and the lights out. the fire in the cracked old stove shone red. the little clock that had ticked the good captain's boyhood quite away, as if it would end the suspense and bring the dawn at once, raced more furiously than before. the girl at johnny's side breathed steadily, evenly, as if this were but the night before christmas and she waiting for santa claus in the dark. "what a girl!" johnny thought. his eyes strayed through the open door at his back. through it he caught the square of light from the north window. a semi-circle of shadow above its sill he knew to be spider's head. spider was watching there alone. his post was an important one. that window looked out upon a small barn and the towering cottonwood tree. the tree was fully six feet through. the captain had told of swinging from its branches as a child. "it's strange," johnny whispered to the girl, "sitting here in this quiet little gray house where men and women have lived their lives away without a breath to disturb their calm, waiting for an attack. it--why, it's like the silence that must have hung over the fields of poppies in france during the great war." "do you think they'll truly come?" alice whispered back. "or was it just a scare? they may be in chicago, you know. the whisperer is." "they are not a mile away. they will come. drew believes they'll come, and drew seldom makes a mistake." "promise me--" she pressed his arm. "if i go to--to--to the last round-up and you--you are spared, you'll look after the boys and--and help gluck to be a good brave cop when he grows up." there was a little tremor in her voice. "i promise!" johnny whispered huskily. a moment later johnny's eyes swept the wide white field before him, then the narrow road that lay beyond. for a space of seconds his eyes remained fixed upon a dark spot on that road. "does it move?" he asked himself. in the end he decided that it did not. breathing more easily, he turned to look through the door at his back, into the room beyond. he started and stared. something was missing. the dark semi-circle that had been spider's head was gone. "that's queer!" he muttered low. to alice he whispered: "keep a sharp watch. i'll be back." next instant he was gliding noiselessly across the floor. ten seconds and he was staring at a vacant spot where the other boy had been. "spider!" he all but said the name aloud. "spider! he is gone!" instinctively his hand sought the latch to the door close beside that north window. it gave to his hand. "it--it's not locked," he whispered. "but it _was_ locked. i locked it myself." spider was gone, sure enough, not alone from his post, but out of the building. at once his head was in a whirl. what was he to make of it? was spider yellow, after all? had he decided to make a break all by himself? with his uncanny power of climbing, of getting through places unobserved, he would almost surely escape. "and yet--" he whispered, "is that like spider?" he could not feel that it was. he recalled times when the boy had appeared utterly fearless, absolutely loyal. "and yet, he was only a boy from the city streets. supposing--" doubt assailed him. supposing spider had only pretended to be loyal. supposing that during all this time he had been in league with iggy the snake and his gang? supposing it had been he who had tipped off the gang to their plans for a christmas party! "yes, and suppose it wasn't!" he whispered almost fiercely. one fact stood out clearly. spider's post was vacant. it must be filled at once. after locking the door, he slid over to drew's side. "spider's gone," he said. "gone? where?" drew did not raise his voice. "who knows? his place is empty." "you take it," was drew's instant command. "take alice with you. i'll move over where you were. "gone!" he murmured as johnny glided away into the darkness. "spider's gone!" chapter xxiv a strange victory apparently it is true that, under certain circumstances at least, one can recognize a person by his whisper. certain it is that grace krowl, upon opening her door for a second time that night and upon hearing the whispered message, "merry christmas, grace krowl," said without a moment's hesitation: "_you are the whisperer._" "i am." the slim, gray-haired man before her smiled. "may i come in?" she stepped aside. he entered and took a seat. "it was generous of you to trust me," he said. "you will not regret it. "you see--" his eyes strayed about the place. "i fitted these rooms up for myself. then, for reasons you shall know of later, i was obliged to leave them. when i learned of your presence here, i decided to trust you, and to use you. i-- you have nida's story?" grace nodded. "she is the daughter of a very old friend." the little, gray-haired man leaned forward. "will you tell me the story?" grace told the story as best she could. "it is as i thought." the whisperer sprang to his feet. "that man, j. templeton semp, is a rascal. he tried to hide his evil deeds by persecuting others. i must go!" he seized his hat. "but who--who are you?" grace cried. "i--" he smiled. "i am newton mills." then he was gone. what a commotion that declaration would have caused among the watchers in the little gray house on the prairies! newton mills, joyce mills' father, boon companion of drew lane, tom howe and johnny thompson--newton mills come to life and he, of all men, the whisperer! but no word of this could reach them now. * * * * * * * * it was cold over there by the north window of the little gray house. before he and alice established themselves there, johnny gathered up his heavy coat and wrapped it about the girl. he was very close to her now, this brave and beautiful child of a slain policeman. they were facing death together, these two. and death drew them closer. bleak night was outside, and out there somewhere in hiding, creeping up behind that barn or the grove where the captain had played as a boy, or perhaps behind the great cottonwood just before them, death was coming nearer. johnny was seized with an involuntary shudder. "what is it, my friend johnny?" the little canadian's shoulder touched his. "nothing. only thinking." he laughed a low, uncertain laugh. "do you know," he said a moment later in a voice that was all but a whisper, "that old barn behind the cottonwood was standing when the captain was a boy? on rainy days they played in the hay, climbed high and pushed one another down, made swings of the hay ropes and leaped into the mow from twenty feet in air. they played hide and seek, boys and girls together. sounds sort of peaceful and joyous, doesn't it? not--not like this." "you make it seem so real. perhaps, after all, this is only a dream. or, or only a trick to frighten us. christmas morning will come as it came in those good days. stockings all in a row." her voice was dreamy. "presents, and a fire laughing up the chimney. all that and-- "johnny!" she broke off suddenly to grip his arm. "what was that? a shot?" "i--i don't know." johnny's right hand gripped his automatic. surely there had come a sharp crack. it sounded strange in the night. "board nails snapping in the frost perhaps." he relaxed a little. "look, johnny!" she gripped his arm till it hurt. "look! some dark object tumbling about under that huge tree. it--i think it looks like a man!" johnny was on his feet. "drew! drew lane! come here quick!" he all but shouted the words. before the call died on his lips, drew was at his side. by that time not one dark object, but three were to be seen tumbling about on the snow beneath the giant cottonwood. their antics were grotesque in the extreme--like men sewed into canvas sacks. "something's happening," johnny hazarded. "or it's a decoy to call us out," drew replied dryly. what was to be done? surely here was a quandary. one of the figures had stiffened and lay quite still like a corpse. "may be faked," drew said grimly. "but a fellow has to see." one hand on the door, the other gripping his automatic, he was prepared for a dash, when johnny pulled him back. "no! no! let me go! you are older. if anything goes wrong, you'll be needed here. you must remember the women." "all--all right." drew backed away reluctantly. then, standing up at full height, ready for instant action, he prepared to protect johnny as best he might. johnny was out of the door and away like a shot. not so fast, however, but that a dark, muffled figure followed him. reaching the first prostrate form, he uttered a low exclamation. it was a man. apparently quite unconscious, he lay there, his face half buried in the snow. there was a curious odor about the place. johnny felt a faint dizziness in his head. he stepped to the next figure. to his surprise and horror he saw it was spider. he too lay motionless. "gas!" a voice said in his ear. "can't you see they've been gassed?" he wheeled about to find himself staring in the face of the little french canadian girl, alice. "you!" he murmured. "come out of it!" she dragged him away. "there is still some of that gas in the air." johnny had got a little more of that gas than he thought. he did not lose consciousness, but he did have only a hazy notion of that which went on about him. it will always remain so--how the other members of the party came swarming out, how they found four members of the "massacre parade" prostrate on the snow, and spider beside them on the ground with a broken arm--all this will always be a dream to johnny. so too will be the story of how drew and tom went after the missing iggy, who was not one of the four under the tree, and how they found him waiting in a high-powered car, and, having been fired upon, how they mowed him down with the very machine gun that had been loaded for the purpose of massacring women, men and girls alike. the effect of the gas did not last more than twenty minutes. the words used by the four would-be savage massacre men when they found handcuffs on their wrists and clothes-line rope bound round their legs, were scarcely in keeping with the spirit of christmas. it will not seem strange that no one cared. as for spider, he had some explaining to do. when a doctor had set his broken arm and he had fully recovered from his share of the gas, he told a strange story. he had caught a glimpse of someone dodging behind the old barn. putting the whole thing together, he had decided that the men with machine guns would take their stand behind the giant cottonwood. its thick base would offer perfect protection from bullets. "i thought," he went on, "if only i can beat them to the tree and climb it, with that gas bomb on my back, i'll be in a position to put them all to sleep at once. there wasn't a minute to lose, so, without saying anything, i made a dash for it." "but it's twenty feet to the first branch!" johnny protested. "how'd you make it?" "the bark of that old tree," said spider with a smile, "is like the edge of inch-thick boards sticking out. nothing easier than getting a grip and going up." "for you," johnny agreed. "but you were found on the ground," he objected. "things didn't go just right." spider indulged in a wry smile. "i got up the tree all right. they did their part, came and got under. then i saw something i hadn't counted on--saw the tops of heads, yours and alice's by that window. "ten seconds more, and they'd have riddled you with bullets. guess i got excited; must have moved. anyway, one of 'em spotted me and fired. "bullet hit my arm. lost my balance, and down i came, gas bomb and all. the bomb burst all right. and, well, you know the rest." "alice!" johnny was looking into the little canadian's eyes. he was thinking, "what if that machine gun had stuttered just once!" when he realized that in the face of death alice had followed him into the night, he wanted awfully to cry, then to seize the little canadian and kiss her on both cheeks. being a modest youth, he merely flushed and did neither the one nor the other, which was just as well, since alice could understand blushes quite as readily as tears and other things. chapter xxv the whisperer talks routing out a farmer a half mile north of the captain's old home, drew lane got the local sheriff on the wire and told him what had been done. an hour later the four prisoners were behind bars in the county jail, and iggy the snake, who had put an end to a half-score of useful men, was in the morgue. the clock was striking midnight when drew got captain burns on the wire. "what luck?" he asked the captain with a voice hard to control. "some luck, drew," the captain answered. "tell you about it later. thought i had something more. it went up like old st. nick's reindeers, straight into thin air!" "drive out early in the morning." there was suppressed animation in drew's tone. "we got some christmas presents for you." "not what we been after?" "the same." "no--n-o-o!" the captain fairly stuttered. "all five. one tried, condemned and executed; four behind the bars. "turkey weighs twenty-five pounds." he changed his tone hastily. "it'll be stuffed with oysters and other things. you'll be out?" "before you're up," the captain rumbled. "merry christmas!" he hung up. "it _is_ christmas at that," drew murmured after consulting his watch. it was late when the stockings were filled that night. is it any wonder that presents were sadly mixed, that johnny received a powder-puff and alice a bright and shiny toy pistol? but what did it matter? the sun was high when the young people piled out of their bunks in the cold little bedrooms. already the savory odors of a feast, of a turkey roasting, cranberries stewing, mince pie baking, was in the air. what did presents matter? a feast, and joyous and more peaceful times were just ahead. the captain did not keep his promise. he arrived at ten o'clock instead of at dawn. "had to wait for this young lady," he explained, helping grace krowl out of his car. "wanted her to have a look at one of your friends," he chuckled. "no time to talk of crooks, but that man j. templeton semp, the dutiful house detective, is none other than dapper dan drew in other circles, and dapper dan, as you know, is one of the men you have in jail. "it often happens," he added when the surprise had subsided, "that men who are so very good at enforcing little unimportant regulations, such as the j. templeton semp black list, are very bad in other ways. "but wait!" the captain exclaimed. "i have still another guest." he gave joyce mills a strange look, then he roared: "old man, come out!" out stepped newton mills. like a flash, his daughter was in his arms. "and might i add," said grace krowl, "that he is also the mysterious whisperer of the air!" "that," said the captain, "calls for a lot of explaining. suppose we retire to the parlor?" "there's really nothing very mysterious about that whisper business," said newton mills when they were all gathered about the fire. "i became interested in something they call narrow-casting. it's one of the uses of the electric eye. you really talk down a beam of light." "talk down a beam of light!" someone exclaimed. "surely." he smiled. "it's really very simple. you talk into a microphone. an instrument takes up the sound impulses of your voice and changes them to light impulses. these impulses may be sent down a beam of light a mile, ten, twenty, thirty miles. how far? no one knows. "a very special reflector catches those light impulses. a mechanism containing an electric eye changes those light impulses back into sound impulses. and then you hear my voice thirty miles away. "the wonderful part is, captain--" he leaned forward eagerly. "only a person with the proper mechanism in the line of that ray of light can hear them! think of being able to sit in my high tower and send secret messages to a score of my fellow detectives, and never a crook listening in! i tell you it is going to be a great thing for crime hunters in the future!" "do you know," johnny asked, "that you in your high tower came near being the end of this young giant?" he nodded toward spider. newton mills stared in surprise. then he said, dryly, "a caller should send in his card." "but how was it you could see me as well as speak to me?" grace krowl asked. "television." newton mills smiled afresh. "i'd had a set installed in that room. it's a rather crude set. but you can see a person well enough to recognize him even now." "and that must have been why i could see iggy the snake and the stolen bonds back there in the 'house of magic,'" johnny put in. "probably was," newton mills agreed. "speaking of those bonds," said captain burns, "last night i recovered all but a few of them. great luck! fine christmas present for that closed bank!" "and for the depositors," drew lane added. "and now," said madame leclare, appearing in the doorway, "soup's on!" "on with the feast!" cried the captain. a moment later they were all seated about a broad table that groaned under its weight of good things to eat. bowing their heads, they sang their grace before meat. "peace on earth, good will toward men!" the captain rumbled. "if only the men of this earth had good will toward one another, we could throw away our sticks and guns and come to a peaceful spot like this to live all our days." it was a very merry time they had in the captain's boyhood home that christmas day and a joyous journey they made back to the city. and why not? had they not been sentenced to death by their enemies and the enemies of all honest men, and had they not escaped and triumphed? next day johnny returned to the "house of magic." he found, however, that much of its charm had gone with the solving of its many mysteries. "yes. it was television that made it possible for you to see your friend iggy and the stolen bonds," felix admitted freely enough. "it is very imperfect at present. the time will come, however, when you will be able to look in upon wrongdoers from some spot miles away, and perhaps," he added with a chuckle, "we will be able to look right through walls of cement, stone or steel. who dares say we won't? "i suppose," he went on a moment later, "you'd like to know what we were about in that balloon when the long one and the short one, who beyond doubt were iggy and one of his pals, cut us loose in that balloon. we were about to talk down a beam of light. shortly after that i made the acquaintance of newton mills. he told me he had been working on that. we arranged to complete the experiment from the sky ride tower. he swore me to secrecy--so you see i couldn't well take you in on it." "well," yawned johnny, "looks as if it were going to be a trifle dull around here for a time." "might be and might not," the inventor's son grinned. "father is working on some marvelous things. don't go far from here without leaving your address. we may need you." "i'll keep in touch," johnny agreed. unfortunately the peace and good will the brave captain spoke of over the christmas feast in his old home does not yet exist. the world is still at war with itself. because of this we are likely to have more to tell our young adventurers in the near future. if this proves true, you will find it recorded in a book called _wings of mystery_. * * * * * * transcriber's note: --copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this e-text is public domain in the country of publication. --obvious typographical errors were corrected without comment. --variant spellings and dialect were left unchanged. the boy scouts of the air on lost island by gordon stuart contents i over the dam ii a hopeless search iii lost island iv more thrills v a startling clew vi to the rescue! vii the flying eagle scouts viii a voyage in the dark ix a rescue that failed x "to-morrow is the day!" xi a mid-air miracle xii an empty rifle shell xiii the game begins xiv patching the "skyrocket" xv a wild night xvi tricked again! xvii the big play xviii a close finish the boy scouts of the air on lost island chapter i over the dam three boys stood impatiently kicking the dew off the tall grass in ring's back yard, only pausing from their scanning of the beclouded, dawn-hinting sky to peer through the lightening dusk toward the clump of cedars that hid the fulton house. "he's not up yet, or there'd be a light showing," grumbled the short, stocky one of the three. "humph--it's so late now he wouldn't be needing a light. tod never failed us yet, frank, and he told me last night that he'd be right on deck." "we'd ought to have gone down right off, jerry, when we saw he wasn't here. frank and i would have stopped off for him, only we was so sure he'd be the first one here--especially when you two were elected to dig the worms." "we dug the worms last night--a lard pail half full--down back of his cabbage patch. and while we were sitting on the porch along comes his father--you know how absent-minded he is--and reaches down into the bucket and says, 'guess i'll help myself to some of your berries, boys.'" "bet you that's why tod isn't here, then." "why, frank ellery, seventh son of a seventh son? coming so early in the morning, your short-circuit brain shockers make us ordinary folks dizzy. this double-action----" "double-action nothing, dave thomas! i heard mr. fulton tell tod yesterday he was to pick four quarts of blackberries and take them over to your aunt jen. tod forgot, and so his dad wouldn't let him go fishing, that's all." "sun's up," announced jerry ring. "so's tod!" exclaimed dave thomas, who had climbed to the first high limbs of a near-by elm and now slid suddenly down into the midst of the piled-up fishing paraphernalia. "i just saw him coming in from the berry patch--here he comes now." a lanky, good-natured looking sixteen-year-old boy, in loose-fitting overalls and pale blue shirt open at the throat, came loping down the path. "gee, fellows," he panted, "i expect you're cussing mad--but i _had_ to pick those berries before i went, and it took me so long to grouch out the green ones after it got light." "i see you brought the very greenest one of all along," observed dave dryly. "oh, you here, too, little one?" as if seeing him for the first time. "i didn't know kindergarten was closed for the day. i make one guess who tipped over the bait can." "ask frank," suggested dave with pretended weariness; "he's got second sight." "don't need second sight to see that worm crawling up your pants leg. we going to stand here all day! i move we get a hike on down to the boat. maybe we can hitch on behind steve porter's launch--he's going up past dead tree point--and that'll save us the long pull through the slough." the boys picked up the great load of luggage, which was not so big when divided among four boys, and hustled out of the ring yard and down the dusty road. they were four of a size; that is, tod fulton was tall and somewhat flattened out, while frank ellery was more or less all in a bunch, as jerry said, who was himself sturdily put together. dave thomas was neither as tall as tod nor as stocky as frank; he looked undersized, in fact. but his "red hair and readier tongue," his friends declared, more than made up for any lack of size. at any rate, no one ever offered a second time to carry the heaviest end of the load. now, as they walked along through the back streets of watertown, rightly named as it was in the midst of lakes, creeks and rivers, they began a discussion that never grew old with them. tod began it. "we've got plenty of worms, for once." "good!" cried dave. "i've thought of a dandy scheme, but it'd take a pile of bait." "what's that?" asked jerry, suspecting mischief. "you know, you can stretch out a worm to about three inches. tie about a hundred together--allow an inch apiece for the knot--that would make two hundred inches, or say seventeen feet. put the back end of the line about a foot up on the bank and the other end out in the water. along comes a carp--the only fish that eats _worms_--and starts eating. he gets so excited following up his links of worm-weenies, that he doesn't notice he's up on shore, when suddenly tod fulton, mighty fisherman, grabs him by the tail and flips him----" "yes--where does he flip him?" tod had dropped his share of the luggage and now had dave by the back of the neck. "back into the water and makes him eat another string of worms as punishment for being a carp." "you with your old dead minnows!" exclaimed tod, giving dave a push that sent him staggering. "last time we went, all you caught was a dogfish and one starved bullhead. there's more real fish that'll bite on worms than on any other bait. i've taken trout and even black bass. early in the morning i can land pickerel and croppies where a minnow or a frog could sleep on the end of a six pounder's nose. don't tell me." "yes," put in jerry, "and i can sit right between the two of you and with my number two skinner and a frog or a bacon rind pull 'em out while you fellows go to sleep between nibbles." "bully!" exclaimed frank. "every time we go home after a trip, you hang a sign on your back: 'fish for sale,' with both s's turned backwards. i'm too modest to mention the name of the boy who caught the largest black bass ever hooked in plum run, but i can tell you the kind of fly the old boy took, all the same." "testimony's all in," laughed tod, good-humoredly. "and here we are at the dock of the 'big four.'" "yes, and there goes porter up around the bend. we row our boat to-day. we ought to get up a show or something and raise enough money to buy a motor." "i move we change our plans and leave round lake for another trip." it was lazy frank who made the proposal. "what difference does it make to you? you never row anyway. plum run's too high for anything but still fishing----" "i saw hunky doran coming back from parry's dam day before yesterday and he had a dandy string." "sure. he always does. bet you he dopes his bait," declared tod. "well, you spit on the worm yourself. the dam isn't half as far as dead tree, and, besides, we can always walk across to grass lake. jerry votes for the dam, don't you, jerry?" but jerry only shrugged his shoulders. frank and tod always disagreed on fishing places, largely because their styles of angling were different and consequently a good place for one was the poorest place in the world for the other. so jerry, who usually was the peacemaker, said nothing but unlocked the padlock which secured the boat, tossed the key-ring to dave with, "open the boathouse and get two pair of oars. tod, take a squint at the sun--five-thirty, isn't it? an hour and a half to the dead tree, and an hour more to round lake. what kind of fish can you take in old roundy after eight o'clock?" "oh, i knew we were going to the dam, all right. i give in. but if i've got to go where i don't want to, i'm going to have the boat to fish from." "as if you didn't always have it!" snorted frank. "the only one who fishes in one place all day, but he's got to have the boat--and forgets himself and walks right off it the minute he gets a real bite. huh!" tod paid no attention to this insult. he and jerry settled in their places at the oars, with frank at the stern for ballast, and dave up ahead to watch the channel, for plum run, unbelievably deep in places, had a trick of shallowing at unlikely spots. more than once had the _big four_ had her paint scraped off by a jagged shelf of rock or shoal. they were all in their places, the luggage stowed away, and frank was ready to push away from the dock, when he raised his hand and said instead: "understand me, boys, i'm the last one in the world to kick--you know me. but there's one request i have to make of you before the push of my fingers cuts us off from the last trace of civilization." "'sw'at?" cried the three. "when we have embarked upon this perilous voyage, let no mournful note swell out upon the breeze, to frighten beasts and men--and fish--into believing that dave thomas is once more _trying_ to sing!" immediately a mournful yowling began in the bow of the boat, growing louder as they drew away from shore. and then, amid the laughter of his three companions, dave ended his wail and instead broke into a lively boating song, the others joining in at the chorus. for dave's singing was a source of pride to his friends. so, dave singing lustily and tod and jerry tugging at the oars in time with the music, they swung away from the dock and out in the center channel of plum run, a good hundred yards from shore. once in the current, they swung straight ahead down stream. before long the last house of watertown, where people were fast beginning to stir, had faded from view. they passed safely through the ripples of the shoals above barren island, a great place for channel cat when the water was lower. through the west branch they steered, holding close to the island shore, for while the current was slower, at least the water was deeper and safer. a mile-long stretch of smooth rowing lay ahead of them now, after which they entered goose slough, narrow and twisty, with half-hidden snags, and sudden whirlpools. more than one fishing party had been capsized in its treacherous quarter mile of boiling length. then came a so-called lake, old grass, with the real grass lake barely visible through its circle of trees. a crystal-clear creek was its outlet to plum run, a thousand gleaming sunfish and tiny bass flashing through its purling rapids or sulking in deep, dark pools. there was good fishing in grass lake, but waist-high marsh grass, saw-edged, barred the way for nearly half a mile. but just ahead of them plum run had widened out once more to real river size, its waters penned back by concrete, rock and timber dam, with parry's mill on the east bank. "land me on the other side, above the big cottonwood," decided frank. "there's a weedy little bight up there where i predict a two-pound bass in twenty minutes." "i'll try the stretch just below, working toward the dam, i guess. how about you, jerry!" asked dave. "i'll stay with the boat awhile, i reckon. where away, boatman?" "dam," grunted tod. "not swearing, i take it?" inquired jerry. "no--fishing there." dave and frank were dropped out at the cottonwood, where they were soon exchanging much sage advice concerning likely spots and proper bait. jerry and tod chuckled as they rowed away. tod himself was keen on still fishing with worms or grubs; he liked to sit and dream while the bait did the work; but his quarreling with dave and frank was mostly make-believe. jerry, the best fisherman of the four, believed, as he said, in "making the bait fit the fish's mouth." his tackle-box held every kind of hook and lure; his steel rod and multiple reel were the best timkin's sporting goods store in town could furnish; they had cost him a whole summer's savings. tod rather laughed at jerry's equipment. his own cheap brass reel and jointed cane pole, with heavy linen line, was only an excuse. throw-lines with a half dozen hooks were his favorites, and a big catfish his highest aim. as soon as the boat hit the dam he began getting out his lines. jerry jumped lightly over the bow. "shall i tie you up?" he called over his shoulder. "never mind, jerry. i think i'll work in toward the shore a bit first, and, anyway, she can't drift upstream." so jerry went on his way out toward the middle of the dam. it was really a monstrous affair, that dam. the old part was built on and from solid rock, being really a jutting out of a lime stone cliff which had stood high and dry before the water had been dammed up by the heavy timber cribs cutting across the original stream. concrete abutments secured these timbers and linked the walls of stone with the huge gates opening into the millrace that fed the water to the ponderous undershot millwheel. just now the gates were open and the water rushed through with deafening force. jerry made his way across the stonework section, having a hard time in the water-worn crevices, slimed over with recent overflows, for when the millgates were closed, plum run thundered over this part of the dam in a spectacular waterfall. he had hardly reached the flat concrete before he noticed that the roar from the millrace had ceased; the gates had been closed. all the better; this part of the river was shallow; when the water rose, big fish would be coming in to scour over the fresh feeding grounds. so he moved a little nearer shore and quickly trimmed his lines. he heard a hail from the bank as he made his first cast. it was from dave. "mind if i come out and try my luck beside you?" "not at all. water's coming up fast. best try some grubs or worms, though. no good for minnows here now." "sure," agreed dave, settling comfortably beside him. "water sure is filling up, isn't she? guess the miller of the dee dropped a cogwheel into his wheat." "not wishing anybody any bad luck, but i hope they don't start up again all day. this'll be a backwater as soon as the current starts going over the dam. another six inches--say! look at tod. if he isn't fishing right above the flume. wonder if he's noticed." "noticed? he's got a bite, that's what! look at him bending to it. it's a big one, you bet. golly, did you see that!" "i see more than that," exclaimed jerry grimly, dropping his precious pole and starting across the slippery rocks on the run. "if he doesn't get out of there in about thirty seconds, he's going over the dam!" but just as jerry mounted the last clump of rocks, just as dave's desperate shouts had aroused tod to a realization of his danger,--something happened. you have watched a big soap bubble swelling the one last impossible breath; you have seen a camp coffee kettle boiling higher and higher till _splush!_ the steaming brown mass heaves itself into the fire--the bending, crowding mile-wide surface of plum creek found a sudden outlet. and right in the center of that outlet was a plunging tiny boat. "help!" rang out one choked-off cry, as in a great rush of suddenly foaming flood, over the dam plunged a boat and a terrorized boy. chapter ii a hopeless search in the brief instant that jerry stood on the slippery point of rock he had the queer feeling that it was all a horrible dream, or at least only an impossible scene from a motion picture. where a boat had been a second before was now only a seething, tossing down-tumbling wall of brownish foam. but his stunned inaction was quickly gone. down to the very edge of the flood he raced, almost losing his balance and toppling in. at a dangerous angle he leaned over and peered into the churning water-pit below. dave had come hurrying to his side, to miss his footing at the last and plunge waist-deep into the current. a precious moment was lost in rescuing him. when, both safe on the rocky ledge, they turned to scan the depths of the fall, it was to see a dark object suddenly pop up full fifty feet downstream. it was the boat--but no tod. "did you see it!" cried jerry excitedly. "didn't it look like something blackish in the bottom of the boat?" "she's full of water, that's all. tod's down there under the fall. he's drowned, i tell you! what shall we do? what shall we do!" excitable dave was fast losing his head. "come on!" shouted jerry, aroused by the helplessness of his companion. "we've got to get to the mill and have them turn the water through the race. then we've got to get a boat out there--quick!" but he had not waited for dave. across the river just below the dam was a house. if there was a telephone there--jerry knew there was one at the mill--something might yet be done in time. there was of course no way of reaching the mill itself across that raging torrent. there _was_ a telephone at the house, but it seemed hours after jerry reached it before he finally got a gruff "hello" from the mill manager, mr. aikens. but, fortunately, aikens was not slow to grasp the situation. in the midst of his explanations jerry realized that there was no one at the other end of the wire. out of the house he dashed and down to where in his wild race he had seen a boat moored below the dam. the oars were still in place. barely waiting for the panting dave to tumble in, he pushed off, exultingly noting as he strained at the oars that already the volume of water pouring over the falls had lessened. before he reached the main channel it had dwindled to a bare trickle. "take the oars!" he directed the helpless dave, at the same time stumbling to the bow of the boat and jerking off shoes, shirt and trousers. diving seemed a hopeless undertaking, but there was little else to do. again and again he plunged under, coming up each time nearly spent but desperately determined to try again. two boats put out from the mill side of the river, capable mr. aikens in one of them. a grappling hook trailing from the stern of the boat told that such accidents as this were not unusual in treacherous plum run. then began a search that exhausted their every resource. the ill word had speedily gone around among the nearer houses, and in the course of an hour a great crowd of men appeared from watertown itself. the water was black with boats and alive with diving bodies. hastily constructed grappling hooks raked the narrow stream from side to side. a big seine was even commandeered from a houseboat up the river and dragged back and forth across the rough river bed till the men were worn out. but all to no avail. every now and then a shout of discovery went up, but the booty of the grappling hooks invariably proved to be only watersoaked logs or mud-filled wreckage. once they were all electrified at a black-haired body dislodged by a clam-rake, that came heavily to the surface and then sank, to be the subject of ten minutes frantic dragging, only to be finally revealed as the body of an unfortunate dog. it was heart-breaking work, and the tension was not lessened with the appearance on the scene of mr. fulton, tod's father. he said nothing, but his hopeless silence was more depressing than any words of grief could have been. jerry and dave and frank, feeling in some queer way guilty of their friend's death, could not meet his eyes as he asked dully how it had happened. the dreary day dragged to a weary close, and the sun sank behind heavy clouds black with more than one rumbling promise of storm. the boys toiled doggedly on, weak from hunger, for their lunches had gone over with the boat, and, anyway, they would not have had the heart to swallow a bite. lanky, good-natured tod fulton--drowned! it simply couldn't be. but the fast darkening water, looking cruel now, and menacing, where it had laughed and rippled only that morning, gave the lie to their hopes. hopes? the last one had gone when mr. aikens had said: "never heard of anybody's being brought to after more than two hours under water. only thing we can hope for is to find the body. i'm going to telephone to town and tell 'em to send out some dynamite." it was already dusk when this decision was made, and it was after nine o'clock before an automobile brought a supply of dynamite sticks and detonating caps. in the meanwhile a powerful electric searchlight had been brought over from the interurban tracks a scant mile west of the river line, and the millwheel had been shafted to the big dynamo and was generating current to flash dazzling rays of light across the water. mayor humphreys, from watertown, and mr. aikens were chosen to set off the dynamite, while watchers lined the shores, sharp-eyed in the hope of catching sight of the body when it should come to the muddied surface of plum run after the dynamite had done its work. charge after charge was set off, and countless hundreds of fish were stunned or killed by the terrific force of the explosive, but no body of a hapless sixteen-year-old boy rewarded the anxious searchers. up and down the river combed the dynamiters, and glare and crash rent the night for a mile down the stream. it began to look as if other means would have to be resorted to--the saddest of all, perhaps--time. sometime, somewhere, after days or even weeks, ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred miles down the river, a sodden, unrecognizable body would be washed up on sand-bar or mud-bank. it was a sickening thought. "have all the river towns been telegraphed?" asked a bystander, of the mayor. a nod of the head was his only answer. "we may as well go home," was the final reluctant verdict. "we can come back in the morning." mr. fulton alone refused to abandon the search, and mr. aikens kindly offered to bear him company till daybreak brought others to take his place. when all had gone save these two and the three boys, jerry approached and tried to draw mr. aikens aside. "do you suppose," he began with a kind of despairing eagerness, "that he could have stayed in the boat?" aikens shook his head. "not a chance in the world," he declared. "but i thought----" began jerry, to be interrupted by mr. aikens, who finally contented himself with merely repeating: "not a chance in the world." they were silent until at last mr. aikens, moved by some impulse of kindliness, for he could hardly help guessing how miserable the boy's thoughts must be, added: "you thought what, lad?" "the boat was full of water, of course, but when she popped up, it looked like there was something black in the bottom----" "you saw the boat go over, didn't you! it must have turned over and over a dozen times down there in that whirlpool, even if he had stayed in till she lit. but he couldn't have. and even if----" "yes" urged jerry, but without enthusiasm. "if he _was_ in the bottom of the boat he would have been drowned just the same, knocked senseless as he probably was by the terrific force of the fall and the tons of water plunging on top of him. mind you, i don't think there was one chance in a million but that he was dashed out long before the boat hit bottom." "but where's the--the body, then?" objected jerry miserably. "if grappling hooks and seines and dynamite couldn't answer that question, don't expect me to. look here, lad, i know you feel all cut up over it, but think of how his poor father feels----" "i am--that's what makes me feel as if it was partly my fault." "now--now--don't take it like that. man and boy i've lived on this and other rivers a good many years over forty, and a drowning i've known for every one of those years. the water's a treacherous dame--she smiles at you in the sunshine, and the little waves kiss each other and play around your boat, but the shadows lurk deep and they're waiting, waiting, i tell you. the old river takes her toll. it happened to be _your_ friend, that's all. but it wasn't anybody's fault. mr. fulton would be the last one in the world to think so." jerry looked over at mr. fulton, who had finally ended his mute pacing up and down, and now sat, chin in hand, staring out across the water. a sudden impulse made the boy go over and stand for awhile, silent, beside the grief-stricken man. he wanted to say something, but the words would not come. so, after a little, he walked upstream to where dave and frank huddled against an overturned boat; the night was growing a bit chill. "moon's coming up," remarked frank as jerry settled down beside them. no one answered. "it's awful to sit around and not move a finger to find him," shivered dave at last. "seems as if there ought to be something we could do." "do you know what i think?" replied jerry, almost eagerly. "i think i was right about that boat. i've been trying to remember what we left in the boat that could have looked like--like what i saw when she came up. there wasn't a thing in the boat--not a thing. it was tod i saw--i know it was!" "but he never could have stayed in," objected frank. "that's what mr. aikens said--and everybody else. but tell me what else it could have been i saw. i saw _some_thing, _that_ i know." "we ought to have gone after the boat," admitted dave, slowly. "we didn't do a bit of good here, that's sure." "but we didn't know that at the time," frank argued. "everybody'd have blamed us if we'd gone on a wild goose chase down the river after an empty boat----" "but nobody would have said a word if we'd found him in the bottom of a boat everybody else thought was empty. if the moon was only higher----" "you don't catch me drilling off down plum bun at night, moon or no moon. there's a rattlesnake or copperhead for every hundred yards!" it was frank who took up jerry's thought. "besides, it would be different if we hadn't waited so long. tod--tod's--he's dead now," voicing at last the feeling they had never before put into words. there was a gruffness in jerry's voice as he answered, a gruffness that tried hard to mask the trembling of his tones. "i know it, but--but--i want to do something for mr. fulton. won't you fellows go along with me? i guess i--i'll go." "down river?" asked both boys, but without eagerness. "till we find the boat." "it's no use," said frank. "our folks'll cane us now when we get home. going along, dave--with me?" "how far do you s'pose the boat's drifted by now, jerry?" asked dave instead of answering frank. "can't tell. she's probably stuck on a sandbar or a snag, anywhere from five to twenty-five miles down. don't go along, dave, unless you want to." "better come home with me," urged frank. "do you _need_ me along, jerry?" queried dave uncertainly. "no--" shortly--"no _i_ don't. mr. fulton does--tod does." jerry rose stiffly to his feet and started slowly off in the faint moonlight, without so much as a look behind. "so long, jerry," called frank. "come on, dave." but dave slowly shook his head and reluctantly followed the footsteps of his chum. "hold on a minute, old man; i'll stick with you." chapter iii lost island it was only a thin edge of a moon that now stood barely above the low line of tree-covered hills beyond the east bank of the river. the light it gave was a misty, watery sort of ray that was a doubtful help in walking over the broken shore line. the two boys were too occupied in watching their footing to do much talking. jerry led the way, bearing to the water's edge, finally stopping where a light rowboat had been pulled well up on the rocky beach. "we'll have to divide forces, i guess. in this uncertain light we never could be sure of seeing the boat if she was on the other side. i'll cut across while you go down this bank." "why not take the boat and go down the middle?" "too hard work getting through the shallows, and, besides, this way we're closest to the place where the boat would most likely have been snagged. we can go lots faster on foot. we'll keep about opposite each other; we can yell across once in a while and it won't be quite so lonesome. you go ahead till you get below the riffles, and wait there till i catch up with you." jerry stepped into the boat and took up the oars. dave gave the boat a mighty shove that almost put the stern under the water. "hey! what you kids doing?" bellowed a gruff voice that the boys hardly recognized as being that of mr. aikens. "just duck and say nothing," called jerry guardedly to dave. "he might try to stop us." so dave scurried into the shadows of near-by trees, while jerry bent low over his oars and noiselessly shot the boat out into safe waters. it was the work of only a few minutes to push the nose of his boat high and dry on the sand of the opposite shore. he was in the heavy shadow of a big cottonwood and felt safe from peering eyes, so without wasting time to mask his movements he jumped out and scurried along the bank. a level stretch of a hundred yards carried him around a bend; he stopped for a brief rest and a glance toward the other side, where a great crashing of bushes told him that dave was safely out of sight and well on his way toward the riffles. a chuckle almost escaped jerry as he listened to the thrashing about, but remembrance of their errand killed the laughter. in fact, the chuckle turned to a genuine sob, for tod fulton was his closest chum. so, without an instant's pause, he made his way to the foot of the riffles, where their search would really begin. how soon it would end, there was no telling; it might be one mile; it might be twenty. but jerry grimly determined that he would carry the undertaking through to the end. the riffles was really a succession of pools of treacherous depths, joined by foaming, rock-broken rapids. the bank was lined with great boulders through which a day-time path wound a difficult way. jerry wasted no time in trying to follow it, but skirted far around through a waist-high cornfield. a barb-wire fence held him prisoner long enough to allow dave to break cover first on the opposite shore and send a vigorous but quavery "hello" across the water. "i'm stuck on the fence!" shouted jerry in return. "go ahead. i'll be along directly." but he noticed that dave stood waiting on the shore when he finally managed to release himself and broke through the thin fringe of willows. "all right, dave," he urged. "let's not be losing any time." for a while the going was much easier. on jerry's side a wide reach of sand lay smooth and firm in the pale moonlight. on dave's side a few yards of sand lay between a steep bank and the water's edge, but every few hundred feet a shallow creek broke through and forced wading. there was no chance for the boat to have stranded here, and the boys hurried along. within a mile the character of the ground changed. now the water lapped along under high, steep banks, with tiny, willow-covered islands alternating with bass-haunted snags of dislodged trees barricaded with driftwood. the moon cast queer shadows and more than once jerry's heart felt a wild thrill as he fancied he saw a boat hull outlined against the silvered current. every few hundred yards the two boys stopped and sent encouraging shouts across the widening water. it was a lonesome, disheartening task, with every step making the task all the harder. deep bays cut into the shore line; the feeder creeks grew wider and deeper. the night air was chill on their dripping shoulders. plum run was no longer a run--it was a real river, and dave's voice sounded far off when he came out on some bare point to shout his constant: "nothing doing--yet." they were now on a part of the river that was comparatively strange to them. jerry had more than once followed the plum this far south, but it had always been by boat, or at best on the west bank, dave's territory, where a chain of lakes followed the course of the river. each new twist and turn sent a shiver of nervous dread through him. many the story of rattlers and copperheads he had heard from fishermen and campers--and the night was filled with unexpected and disturbing noises, overhead and underfoot. of course he knew that snakes are not abroad at night, but the knowledge did not help his nerves. moreover, they were drawing near lost island, and no boy of watertown had ever been known to cast a line within half a mile of that dreaded spot. for lost island was the "haunted castle" of the neighborhood. it was nothing more than a large, weed-and-willow-covered five acres, a wrecked dam jutting out from the east bank, and a great gaunt pile of foundation masonry standing high and dry on a bare knoll at the north end. it had a history--never twice told the same. the dam had been dynamited, that much was sure. by whom, no one knew. the house, if ever a house had been built over those rain-bleached rocks, had been struck by lightning, hurricane, blown up by giant powder, rotted away--a dozen other tragic ends, as the whim of the story-teller dictated. the owner had been murdered, lynched, had committed suicide--no one knew, but everyone was positive that there was something fearfully, terribly wrong with lost island. it was one of the few islands in plum run which was not flooded over by the spring freshets, and the land was fertile, yet no one had ever been known to live there through a season; this in spite of the fact that lost island was known as "squatter's land," open to settlement by anyone who desired it. and lost island lay barely half a mile farther down the river. jerry fervently hoped that their search would be ended before they were in the shadow of that forsaken territory. his nerves were not calmed any by the tremble in dave's voice as he shouted across: "lost island's just below us, jerry. shall we go on?" "sure thing, dave!" called jerry with a confidence he did not feel. "it can't be any worse than what we've already gone through--and we've gone through _that_ all right." "supposing," hesitated dave, "supposing the boat's grounded on lost island itself----" "it's the boat we're looking for, isn't it?" but jerry knew as he spoke, that, hard as the going was, he would be well satisfied to discover the boat five weary miles farther on. once more they plodded along, the dark, forbidding hulk of lost island looming nearer and nearer. just before passing behind the northern point jerry came out to the water's edge and had cupped his hands about his mouth for a final reassuring shout, when a sudden discovery made him pause. a shout, that seemed to split in mid-air, convinced him that dave too had just then caught sight of the astounding object. it was a gleaming, flickering, ruddy light, and it came from the very center of lost island! jerry's first thought was fright. but that soon gave way to the wildest of conjectures. suppose tod had been in the boat. suppose he had come to in time, but too weak to do more than remain in the boat till it grounded here on lost island. a waterproof match-safe easily accounted for the fire. jerry refused to allow himself to reason any further. there might be a dozen reasons why tod had not swum the scant hundred yards to shore. "do you see it!" finally came a shout from the other side. "it's a camp fire," called jerry. "do you suppose it could possibly be----" "it couldn't be tod, _could_ it!" came the answer, showing the same wild hope that had surged through jerry. "oh--_tod!_" rang out from two trembly throats on both sides of the river. there was no reply. at least there came no answering shout. but the next instant jerry rubbed his eyes in bewilderment. the camp fire had been blotted out as if by magic. only the deep gloom of thick-set willows lay before him. "the fire's gone!" came in alarmed tones from dave. "_tod--oh, tod!_" rang out once more through the still night air. this time there was an answer, but not the one the boys expected. a gruff voice demanded angrily: "say, you idiots--what in the thunder you want!" "we're looking for a boy who was drowned up at----" began jerry, who was closest to the high point where a man was presently seen stalking through the fringe of bushes. "boy who was drowned? _calling_ for him! ye crazy loons!" interrupted the man. "we don't know whether he was drowned or not," answered jerry hotly. "well i'll never tell you," was the surly response. with a disgusted shrug of the shoulders the great hulk of a man slouched back toward the center of the island, pausing just before he disappeared once more in the wilderness to warn: "any more of that howling's going to bring a charge of buckshot, and i don't care which of you i hit." "do you care if we come over and look along the shore of the island?" shouted dave at the retreating figure. the answer, which was more like a growl than a human response, left no doubt of the man's meaning. neither boy felt the slightest desire to swim across to lost island. instead jerry waved his arms over his head and then pointed downstream. so once more they trudged along, disheartened more than ever, for somehow the actions of that weird figure on lost island had made their search look more of a wild goose chase than ever. the island was soon passed, but jerry found himself peering hopelessly across a sluggish, muddy-bottomed slough that promised many a weary minute of wading before he could hope to establish communication with his companion again. so it was with a great feeling of relief that, once more on solid ground, he heard dave's call. "say, jerry, we're pretty near down to tomlinson's wagon bridge. what you say that we hustle on down and meet halfway across--and wait there for daylight. i'm about woozified." "good!" agreed jerry, pleased that the suggestion had come from dave. "even the thought of it rests my old legs till they feel like new. i'll just race you to it!" but it was a slow sort of race, for neither boy was willing to take a chance in passing the most innocent shadow--which always turned out to be a water-soaked log or a back-eddied swirl of foam. nevertheless, it was a spent dave who sank gasping to the rough plank floor of the middle span of the wagon bridge a scant second ahead of another puffing boy. a good ten minutes they lay there, breathing hard. then both rose and walked over to the edge and leaned heavily against the girders as they looked gloomily down the river. "looks almost hopeless, doesn't it!" admitted jerry, finally. "worst of it is we don't really know whether she's down below yet or if we've passed it. she was riding pretty low." "wonder what that man was doing on lost island?" speculated jerry, crossing wearily to the north edge of the bridge and peering through the gray dawn-mist toward the island, barely visible now. a mere twinkle of light showed among the trees, and he stood there for a long minute. dave come to his side, and the two waited in silence for the dawn. jerry had almost fallen asleep standing up, when a sudden clutch at his arm nearly overbalanced him and sent him tumbling off the dizzy height. "look!" gasped dave. "what is it?" exclaimed jerry, turning to his companion, all sleep gone. "i'll swear it's the boat--right under us!" chapter iv more thrills it was only a bare few seconds before the floating object had passed within the shadow of the bridge, but there could be no doubt about it; it was a boat, riding so low that only her outline showed. jerry rubbed his eyes in disbelief, but for only an instant. then he sprang to the other side of the bridge, shedding hat, coat, trousers, shirt and shoes, on the way. so, at least, it seemed to dave, who caught his chum's arm, as jerry poised himself, his body white and gleaming in the moonlight, on the high rail that ran along the edge. "what you going to do, jerry? it's a good thirty feet to the water--and you don't know how deep it is down there." "i'm diving shallow, dave; two feet is all i ask below. we can't take any chances of losing her. carry my clothes along the bank, will you? i'll try to make the east side--it looks a little closer." in the few seconds they had talked, the boat had drifted under the bridge and now cut through the silver-edged shadow of the last timbers. there was a quiver of the flimsy railing, a slender body cut through the moonlight, parted the water with a clean _sush!_ and bobbed up almost immediately, within three feet of the boat. jerry ring did not have the reputation of being the best diver in watertown for nothing. now ensued a great kicking and churning as jerry's legs transformed themselves into propellers for the salvaged "_big four_." progress was slow; the waterlogged craft lay in the river like so much cordwood. more than once jerry had to stop for a few minutes' rest. but little by little he neared shore, encouraged by dave, who impatiently awaited the landing, wading out finally waist-deep to help. neither one said a word as the boat was at last beached. no more than the barest glance was needed to tell that there was nothing in the boat but water. theirs had been a fruitless chase. "well," said dave, slowly, after a long silence, "i guess that ends our last hope." "i'm afraid you're right," agreed jerry dejectedly. "but there's one thing that puzzles me--do you notice how much water there is in the boat? it's a good ten inches from the top--how full would it have been when she popped up from under the falls at the dam?" "she'd have been right up to the top, i suppose. why?" "well, what i want to know is: how did it get out? and, what's more, i'd like to know how it would have taken the boat all these hours to float those few miles. plum run's got a six mile an hour current up above, and it's at least four here. there's something mighty funny about it all to me." "but mightn't it just have been snagged or shoaled up above, and finally worked loose?" "sure, i know that. but i know the boat was drifting about as fast as we were walking, and that being the case, she must have cleared lost island just about three minutes after we talked with that man!" "you're getting excited, jerry--over nothing." "nothing! you call the water that was _baled_ out of the boat nothing. it _was_ baled out, i tell you. and look at that rope--it was _cut_ loose. somebody was in too big a hurry to untie knots, that's my guess." "but, jerry, what in the world are you driving at, anyway!" "i don't know. something about the way that man back there on lost island acted set me thinking away in the back of my head. i didn't realize what it was that was going on in my cranium until i noticed this cut rope and say!" jerry's voice rose in high excitement. "_dave!_ dave--do you remember? the _bucket!_" dave only stared at his friend in bewilderment. "wha--what bucket?" he at last managed to gasp. "you remember last week when we were out, and the storm caught us and pretty nearly swamped the boat? tod said he'd bet we'd never be caught without a bailing can again--and he put a lard pail on a snap hook under the back seat. it's gone!" "but what if--why, pshaw, it could easy have worked loose and floated away. i don't see what there is to be so worked up about." "but, dave, don't you see----" jerry was trembling with excitement. "suppose tod _had_ stayed in the boat, and he came to, and he didn't have any oars. first off he'd try to bale her out, wouldn't he? he'd bale out just enough so she'd ride easy, and then he'd try to get to shore. maybe he landed on lost island. suppose he did, and suppose that ruffian we saw didn't want him to get off again. what else would the man do but cut loose the boat when we came along!" "jerry, don't you think we'd better be getting on home?" "what's the matter with you, dave?" "why, nothing, jerry----" "then what you talking about going on home when i'm running down a clew like that?" "it's almost morning, jerry, and you've had a hard day and been up all night--and the lonesome chase through the dark----" "now look here, davie! if you think i'm getting soft in the head, just forget it. i never was more in earnest in my life. don't you understand? i think tod's alive--_back there on lost island!_" "but we don't know he was in the boat----" "look here, dave, if you were falling, what'd be the first thing you'd do? you'd grab at the nearest thing to you, wouldn't you! and if you got hold of that boat-seat, for instance, you'd pretty near hang on, wouldn't you? i saw _something_ in the bottom of the boat when she came up." "yes, but we don't know the boat touched lost island----" "no, of course not. but most always when i see a sign that says 'no fishing allowed,' i know there's fish there." "you certainly talk as if you were out of your head. what's fishing got to do with it?" "the man was not overly anxious to have us come out and make a search of _his_ island. i'm going back up there and i'm going to swim across or _get_ across and i'm going to find out what he has there he doesn't want us to see. are you game to go along?" "but supposing there's nothing there, and the man----" "that island doesn't belong to anybody. we've got as much right there as he has. the worst he can do is to kick us off, and there's only one of him against _two_ of us. come on." before they left, however, they tipped their boat over and emptied out nearly all the water. then, as they had no oars to row her back, they tied her by the short length of rope left, to a stout willow. jerry resumed his clothing, and shivering a bit in the cool morning air, was eager to warm up with a good brisk walk. they were on the east side of the river, and the trail would have been hard enough even in broad daylight, but jerry would waste no time in crossing over when a few minutes later they halted at the bridge. home lay on the other side of the river, and dave, still unconvinced, stubbornly insisted on following the west bank, but jerry soon cut short the argument by striding off in disgust. after a minute of uncertainty dave tagged along behind. neither spoke; to tell the truth, they were both decidedly cold, hungry and cross. the damp, fishy smell of the river somehow set their nerves on edge, and the long drill through swamps and across creeks and sloughs appeared none too enticing. "i say, jerry," called davie finally, "let's stop for a breath of air; i'm about petered out." "can't," replied jerry shortly. "sky's getting gray now. we've got to get _there_ before daylight. if we can catch our friend on the island asleep it'll make things a lot easier. pull your belt up a notch and see if you can't put the notch into your legs." dave grumbled but obediently hastened his gait. in single file they cut across the last stretch of knee-deep mud and halted opposite lost island. there it lay, beyond the narrow stretch of steaming, misty black water, dark and forbidding. there was something shivery about its low-lying-heavy outline, with nothing visible beyond the border of thick willow growth. "looks like some big crouching animal, doesn't it?" remarked dave as they stood an instant peering across. "well, we know it can't spring--and it won't bite, i guess." "i'm not so sure. how are we going to get over?" "swim it, unless--no, i guess we won't swim--not, at least, if there's a pair of oars in that flat-boat i see yonder. funny we didn't stumble over it when we came down." "maybe it wasn't here then. maybe the man came over in it. we better not stand here in the open. we don't know what minute he might be back." "well, if it is his boat, at least we don't need to worry about running onto him over there on the island." "you're going to swim over, aren't you, jerry? if the man came along and found his boat gone, he'd know _we_ were over there and----" "and he'd be stranded on this side until we were so kind as to bring back his boat. you can bet _he_ isn't going to swim over, and i bet you i don't either." the boat proved to be a cumbersome flat-boat of the type used by clam-fishers. in fact the smell that simply swirled up from its oozy bottom left no doubt that the boat had been used for that purpose. a pair of unbelievably heavy oars, cut from a sapling with a hand-axe, trailed in the water from "loose oarlocks." dave gave a gasp of dismay as he "hefted" the rough implements. "let's swim it, jerry," he said disgustedly. "the boat'll never hold up the oars and us too. they weigh a ton." "pile in," answered jerry, with the first laugh since that tragic moment when he had seen a different boat swept over the dam many weary miles up the river. "we'll each take an oar and try some two-handed rowing. this craft was built for ocean-going service. hold tight; we're off." but they weren't. jerry's mighty push ended in a grunt. "come on; get out here and shove." "maybe if we took the oars out we could start her," dave jibed. "i hope you've got a freight-hauling license." "get out and push. your witty remarks are about as light as those young tree-trunks we have for paddles. all together now!" as dave bent over beside him. a lurch, a grinding, thumping slide, and the flat-boat slid free of shore. "it's a mighty good thing if that man isn't on the island," remarked dave as he took up his half of the propelling mechanism. "because when our craft took the water she certainly did 'wake the echoes of yon wooded glen,' as the poet says." "poetry's got nothing to do with this boat. it doesn't rhyme with anything but blisters. let's see if we can move her." thanks to some tremendous tugging, the flat-boat moved slowly out from shore. inch by inch, it seemed, they gained on the current. "the old tub's got speed in her," grunted jerry, between sweeps of his oar. "ought to have it _in_ her," returned dave. "i'll bet you nobody ever got it _out_ of her. ugh!" "always grunt out toward the back of the boat--keep your head turned. it helps us along." "i've only got one grunt left; i'm saving it. how far have we gone?" "all of ten feet. i'll tell you when we hit the island. lift your oar out of water when you bring it back. the idea is to move the boat, not merely to stir up the water." so they joked each other, but their hearts were heavy enough, for always in the back of their minds was the thought of their friend, who, in spite of the wild hope that jerry had built up, might--_must_, dave was sure--be lying at the bottom of treacherous plum run somewhere, drowned. at last they seemed to be nearly halfway across, and they rested a brief spell, for every inch of their progress had to be fought for. "all right," said jerry, taking up his oar, "let's give her another tussle." but dave did not move, although he still hunched over his oar. "come on, dave," urged his friend. "we don't want to lose any time. the sun ought to be up almost any minute now." "look behind you, old man. right where we're headed, and tell me what you see." jerry turned in his seat. he took one quick glance toward lost island, now less than a hundred feet away, and then gave a low cry of dismay. chapter v a startling clew there was a streak of light in the western sky, whether caused by the low-hanging, mist-hidden moon or a freak reflection of the coming dawn. against that patch of brightness the northern headland of lost island loomed up high and barren save for its one tall tree. but it was neither headland nor tree that caught jerry's attention and caused the gasp of dismay. standing there, bold and menacing, looking like a giant against the queer light, was a man. whether it was the same one who had hailed them earlier in the morning, the boys could not of course know. but there was no doubt about the equal unfriendliness of his attitude, for through the crook of one elbow he carried a shotgun, while even as jerry turned in his seat, the other arm was raised and a big fist shaken. the next instant they were assured that this was the same man as had warned them away before. there was no mistaking the voice that bellowed across the water. neither was there any mistaking the meaning of the brief sentence: "get to thunder out o' here!" jerry stood up in the boat and waved a friendly hand in the general direction of the angry man, and called pleasantly: "we were just coming over to see about a boy we think landed on _your_ island last night or early this morning. we found his boat down at the bridge and we figured that he must have----" as jerry talked, dave had been slyly urging the boat closer to shore, but at a sudden interruption from the island, both he and jerry paused. "you come another foot closer, you young idiots, and i'll fill you full of rock salt. i loaded up especial for you when you raised that rumpus last night; i knew durned well you'd be coming back." "have you seen anything of our friend?" cried dave anxiously, trying to smooth things over by being civil. "if he's anything like you two, i hope i never do." "you've got no right to keep us off lost island," began jerry hotly. "i don't need any right; i've got a shotgun. you two just pick up your paddles and blow back to shore--and be sure you tie up that boat good and tight or i'll have the law on you. git, now!" there didn't seem to be anything else to do. the two boys muttered to each other, and neither one was willing to admit believing that the man would really shoot, but somehow they were unwilling to put it to the test. reluctantly they took up the oars again and turned the nose of the boat back toward the east bank. facing the man now, jerry sent one last appeal across the slowly widening space. "we didn't mean any harm. a friend of ours was drowned yesterday, we think. we're looking for him--or his body. all we want is to know if you've seen anything of him." "i told you this morning i hadn't." "but why don't you let us look on the island? we're almost sure our boat was stranded there a long while. he _might_ have been in it. if you'd just let us look, we'd be satisfied." "i guess you'll be satisfied anyway, youngster. just keep on rowing. where was young fulton drowned, anyway?" jerry made no answer. when dave undertook to shout a reply, jerry silenced him with a savage look. then he stood up on his seat. making a megaphone of his hands he yelled derisively: "yah! he _wasn't drowned!_" then he sat down again and caught up his oar and began lunging desperately at the water. "hurry, dave, hurry!" he commanded excitedly. "what's got into you?" exclaimed dave impatiently. "you've been flying off on about forty different angles lately. what new bug has bitten you?" "bug! dave, do you mean to tell me you didn't hear what the man said?" "course i did--but we're going, aren't we? he didn't say he'd shoot unless we kept on coming ahead." "oh--_that!_ well, you've been up all night, so no wonder you're half asleep. didn't you hear him say: 'where was young fulton drowned?'" "sure." "well?" "well what? what in thunder's got into you? why shouldn't he ask that?" "he should have. he should have asked it the first time we talked to him. but, gee whiz, dave, he shouldn't have known it was _young fulton_ unless--unless it was young fulton himself who told him. dave--dave! don't you see? we never mentioned his name." "great guns!" gasped dave. that was all he said, and for that matter, all that either one said. the man stood on the point of lost island till he was satisfied that the boys had tied the boat safely and did not mean to loiter in the neighborhood. then he disappeared among the trees of the lower part of the island. but the boys did not pay much attention to their late antagonist, save for a bare glance as they topped the high ridge that followed the river course. miles to the north they could see a big square white building that they knew as carter's mills, really only a grain storage elevator. almost due west of that was the milldam, which was about the only place they could hope to be able to cross plum run--and watertown lay on the other side. of course, they might follow the river bank on the chance of meeting some good-hearted fisherman or camper who would row them across. but the chance was too slim. they decided to cut across country till they reached the mill. it was a long, hard drill on an empty stomach. up hill and down dale, and every step kept time to by a pang from the inner man. "do you think it's a sin to steal?" this from dave. "certainly." "apples!" "apples? a sin? not if you know where there are any. lead me to them." "oh, i don't know where any are. i just wondered what you thought of it." "do you think it's wrong to punish criminals?" this from jerry. "put 'em in jail you mean?" "well, whatever way seems best." "no, i can't say as i do. why, jerry?" "i'm going to thump you good and plenty for fooling me about those apples, that's why." "catching comes before thumping!" and dave was off with all the speed his weary legs could muster. fortunately jerry's legs were in no better shape, so the race, while exciting enough, was a long, slow one. before jerry was able to overhaul his chum, he was so tired out that anything so strenuous as thumping was quite out of the question. "if you'd just kept running straight ahead, instead of ducking and dodging, we'd be home by now," he complained as he released the puffing dave. but at that they had made good time through their chase and within a very few minutes the last bend of the river showed them the milldam. the place was deserted. "i guess mr. aikens persuaded tod's father to go back home and get breakfast and rest up a bit," remarked dave. "if there doesn't happen to be a boat on this side of the river we may have to wait some time for that breakfast you've been promising me the last ninety-eight miles. we sure can't get across the dam, with all that water rushing over." "i'll swim it before i wait," grimly declared jerry. "do you suppose mr. aikens took the mill boat?" "most likely. where'll you try it, below or above? swimming, i mean." "no chance below, with that current. but i guess we won't need to. i see pete galpin's clam-boat down at his dock. it leaks like sin, but if one bails while the other rows i guess we can make it." no one was astir at galpin's shanty, a houseboat pulled high and dry on shore, and almost hidden by great piles of driftwood snagged upon the bank to serve as winter fuel. old pete galpin lived there all alone, fishing and clamming and occasionally taking a wood-cutting contract to help out through the scant winter months. once he had been known to work with an ice-cutting gang, but quit because he was afraid he'd make so much money that it would tempt somebody to rob him. the flat-boat that was moored down at galpin's "dock"--four railroad ties roped together--was none too substantial looking, having been built by galpin himself from odds and ends picked up from scrap heaps and driftage. as galpin himself said, the only whole part about the boat was the name, which had been painted in red on a single thin board sticking a full two feet past the stern--"upanatum." but the boys did not waste a great deal of time in admiring the beautiful lines of their borrowed craft. jerry made at once for the oar seat, leaving dave to untie and push off. for all the tremendous leak which at once developed, the boat responded easily to the strenuous tugs of jerry's muscular arms and back. they beached the boat and made their way up the bank and across a field where oats had just been cut, the bundles lying yellow as gold in the early morning sunlight. just beyond was a narrow, plum-thicket bordered lane, which in turn led into the newly graveled "county" road. the boys found the walking much easier in a path that twisted along next to the fence. however, within a mile, along came a farmer, hauling a load of early potatoes to town, and the boys gladly accepted his invitation to "hop on." within a quarter of a mile both were sound asleep, nor did they waken until the springless wagon rattled over the interurban tracks less than two blocks from dave's home. rubbing their eyes in a vain attempt to drive out the sleep, they stumbled along the quiet street. "where will i find you after breakfast?" asked jerry, as dave turned in at his gate. "in bed. i'll be lucky if i stay awake till after breakfast." "but we've got to tell mr. fulton." "you tell him, jerry. i just know he won't pay any attention to what we say--i don't more'n half believe it now myself----" dave had to stop for a tremendous yawn. "if that's the case, you might just as well sleep." jerry was out of patience, but dave was too sleepy to care very much. "i'll see you--see you--later, jerry," he said drowsily as he turned and staggered up the walk. jerry, after an undecided second or two, faced about and began to retrace his steps. he cut through the ellery back yard and came out on the cross street at whose corner the fultons lived. the house was a big ramshackle affair of a dozen rooms or so, far too large a place for the fultons, since there had been only the two of them, tod's mother having died when he was only a little tad. indeed, as tod said, they only used three rooms, the kitchen and two bedrooms. but that was hardly true; there was a big basement under all the house, the most of it used as a workroom, and here it was that the two of them spent the better part of their waking hours. mr. fulton was an odd sort of man, a bit inclined to think his business his own business. but it was no secret among his neighbors that all sorts of queer contrivances were planned and made in that combination machine shop, carpenter shop, forge and foundry below stairs. mr. fulton was an inventor. true, for the most part he invented useless things; he had inherited money and did not need to make any more. but the boys, who were allowed to roam through the workshop at will, were wildly enthusiastic over the ingenious devices schemed out by father and son, for tod was a chip off the old block. now, jerry did not go up to the front door, even though it was standing ajar. instead he hurried to the little side porch and reached high up under the eaves, where an electric button was concealed. he pushed it, hard, well knowing that if mr. fulton were anywhere in the house he would hear that bell. that was why it had been so well hidden. but there was no response. again jerry rang; he could hear the shrill br-r-r-r of the bell. after a long time he heard footsteps, but something told him they were not those of mr. fulton. the door swung open. there stood mr. aikens. "is mr. fulton here," demanded jerry. "asleep," nodded mr. aikens. "i've got to see him." "all right--if you don't wake him up." "i've got to talk to him--i've got big news." "big news? of--of tod?" big mr. aikens was not the kind of man to become easily excited, but his manner was eager enough. "of tod--yes!" cried jerry. "what is it? have you found his--his body?" "better than that, mr. aikens--oh, i'm almost dead sure!" jerry was so excited himself that his voice shook. as for mr. aikens, he leaped over and caught jerry's arm and was shaking it wildly up and down. neither one noticed that a white-faced man stood in the opposite doorway, and that his eyes were simply blazing with expectancy. "what do you mean? what _can_ you mean!" demanded mr. aikens. "i believe that tod fulton is----" "not alive?" almost screamed a voice from across the room. "not alive!" "alive and on lost island!" chapter vi to the rescue! this much of the interview was perfectly clear to jerry afterwards, but what followed he could not quite understand at the time or later. for a moment it was almost laughable. there stood aikens fiercely clutching one arm and waving it up and down as if to pump further information from him. mr. fulton, after the first dazed instant, darted across the room and grabbed jerry's other arm. "_where_ is he? tell me--quick!" he demanded. then it was that jerry could not understand, for the look that came over mr. fulton's face at his reply was neither belief nor doubt. his eyebrows almost met in a frown as he repeated mechanically: "on lost island, you say? but--but--how do you know? you weren't _on_ lost island, were you?" "no--o," answered jerry slowly. a look of relief, quickly hidden, came to mr. fulton's face, but jerry saw it, and wondered. "did someone tell you he was there, then?" "someone told me he _wasn't_ there----" began jerry, when the ting-a-ling of a telephone bell cut him short. "oh!" exclaimed mr. fulton and hurried from the room. his muffled voice could be heard in a lengthy conversation. jerry impatiently awaited his return, anxious to tell the rest of his story. imagine then his surprise when tod's father delayed his return unreasonably, and his only response to jerry's eager sentences was, "yes, yes, i know." jerry's heart sank unaccountably--he sensed the fact that mr. fulton was not listening, was only waiting, in fact, till the boy should finish and he could decently get rid of jerry. the story was consequently hurried through. disappointed beyond description, jerry left the house, not even noticing that mr. fulton had left the room even before jerry had reached the door. something was wrong somewhere; jerry had expected that his story would be literally snatched out of his mouth; instead it had been smothered under the dampest kind of wet blanket. feeling not a little sore over his failure to impress the two men with the importance of his discoveries, jerry plodded along home, determined that as soon as he had gulped down a little breakfast he would hike back to lost island alone and make one more attempt to gain the cover of its wooded banks. even that plan was doomed to disappointment. jerry's mother had saved a goodly breakfast for him, and bustled about making him comfortable. contrary to jerry's expectations, she had no word of blame for his having remained away overnight without asking consent, and even listened with sympathetic ear to the story of his adventures. but just at the moment when jerry was about to announce his intention to return, mrs. ring was called to the back door, to return a few minutes later with the announcement that it had been mr. aikens, and that jerry was not to worry any more about lost island. "but i've simply got to go back, ma," sputtered jerry, his mouth uncomfortably full of pancake. "mr. fulton isn't going to--well, he didn't show much interest in my theories---" "but mr. aikens seemed to think he did. you just rest easy, son. if two grown men can't take care of your lost islander--and your theories, too, why, well--you just get ready to pile into bed, that's all." "but, ma--there's the boat." "it'll take care of itself till you get there." "but, ma----" "hush up, now. into bed with you." "but can i go after the boat when i----" mrs. ring caught up a flat piece of wood from the back of the kitchen range, and laughingly but firmly put an end to the coaxing, jerry retreating hastily to the shelter of his bedroom. both jerry and his father stood in awe of tiny mrs. ring, who barely reached to overgrown jerry's shoulder. "wake me up at twelve, will you, ma?" called jerry, in his most wheedling voice. his mother only laughed, but jerry felt sure she would. besides, there was his dollar alarm clock. jerry repented his request when sharp at twelve o'clock he was called for noonday dinner. he was sleepy and cross and not a bit hungry. his muscles were sore, and the drill to lost island did not have quite the romance by broad daylight that it had had a few hours before. jerry watched his father put on his hat and hurry back to work, with a great deal of relief. his mother was much easier to handle in a case of this sort. "you won't mind if i don't get back till late?" he asked, hoping she would give her unqualified consent to his remaining away as long as he saw fit. "you promised me i could go camping this summer--let me take it now, _please_, ma." "will you promise me to come back and let me pick the birdshot out of you after you've made a landing on lost island?" she asked in mock anxiety. as a matter of fact, mrs. ring was about as proud of her big boy as a mother well could be without making herself a nuisance to the neighbors. from his earliest boyhood she had cultivated the independence of spirit he showed with his first pair of real trousers, and now she often strained a point to let him exercise it. to be sure, she sometimes wondered how much was genuine self-confidence and how much was a reckless love of adventure. now she raised her eyebrows in denial, but at the eager look on the boy's face she relented. "trot along, jerry," she agreed, with a quick pat at his shoulder--the rings were not much at kissing each other. "if you can't take care of yourself by now, you never will be able to. i know you're as anxious as you can be about tod--i do hope it turns out that you are right about him." with a muttered, "i've got to be right," jerry set about making himself a couple of substantial sandwiches and stuffing them in the pocket of his canvas hunting coat, which he took along for emergencies. "good-bye, ma," he called over his shoulder. "i'll be back as soon as i can bring tod with me." once outside, he wasted no time but struck off at once cross-lots to rout out dave thomas and frank ellery. fortunately frank came first, otherwise jerry might not have been equal to the task of waking up dave. they tried everything they had ever heard of. they tickled his feet; they set off a brass-lunged alarm clock under his very nose; they dumped him roughly out of his bed, but even on the bare floor he slumbered peacefully on. cold water brought only temporary success. they were in despair. it was frank who finally solved the problem. seating himself on the foot of the bed, he raised his head much in the fashion of a hound baying at the moon--the sound that issued from his throat would put to shame the most ambitious hound that ever howled. jerry caught up a pillow and would have shied it at the head of the offender, but the perfectly serious look on frank's face withheld his arm. gradually it dawned on him that the boy was trying to sing--and, more than that, it was one of dave's favorite songs he was murdering. then it was that jerry understood frank's strategy. the bed-clothes began to heave; they had piled them all atop dave as he lay on the floor. frank began on the chorus. a wriggling leg emerged from beneath the comforts. jerry joined in, his voice a villainous imitation of frank's discords. another leg came to view. they began to repeat the chorus, further off key than before. one line was all they were suffered to torture. a catapult of boy, bedclothes and pillows bounded from the floor and sent frank spinning into the bed, while jerry barely saved himself from a spill on the floor. "you will yowl like a lot of bob-tailed tomcats, will yuh!" yelled dave, dancing up and down on one foot--he had stubbed his toe against one of his shoes in his charge across the room. "you will snore away like six buzz-saws on circus day, huh?" snorted frank, neatly catching dave in the pit of the stomach with a pillow caught up from the floor. for a second it looked like a free-for-all, but jerry had no time to waste. "get your clothes on--hustle. we're going back to lost island." "suppose my mother won't let me?" "suppose you tell her we've got to go and get our boat? she'll let you go all right. you just want to get back to bed, that's all that's worrying you. hustle, dave. we can't lose a minute." "but didn't you tell tod's dad about what we--found out?" dave hesitated over the last. it was plain to be seen that he was none too sure in his own mind of the importance of their discovery. "i did, and he--well, he acted so queer about it that i don't know what to think. i wouldn't be a bit surprised if they--he and mr. aikens, you know--never went near lost island. they think we're just kids." "but we don't really _know_ anything, jerry; we're only just guessing." "guessing, huh? well, i'm only just guessing that you're wasting a lot of time about getting your clothes on, but in about half a minute i'm going to climb all over you." at that dave bristled up a bit, but his fingers became spryer with buttons and hooks and very shortly he stood fully dressed and ready to go downstairs. jerry had already made peace with mrs. thomas, so little time was lost in waiting for dave to snatch a bite to eat and be on his way. "i've got four bits loose in my pocket," announced jerry, once they were out on the street. "if we don't let any grass grow on the side streets while we're moving we can make the two-five express on the dellwood interurban. we can drop off when they slow down at downers crossing; that must be almost opposite lost island. it's hard going through the swamps to get to plum run, but i guess we're good for it." they made the two-five--with about three seconds to spare. their car was empty, so each dropped into a seat and sprawled out comfortably. jerry smiled grimly to himself as he looked back perhaps five minutes later and saw how the two had slumped down in their seats. it did not need a throaty gurgle from dave to convince him that the pair were sound asleep. "a fine pair of adventurers," he muttered to himself, not entirely without some feeling of resentment. it was well enough to be the leader, but--well, he wouldn't have minded a little snooze himself. he did not feel quite so critical, however, when, perhaps a half hour later, at a terrific jolt of the train, he was roused from the doze into which he too had fallen. a hasty glance out the window told him that they were at downers crossing. with a yell that would have done credit to a whole war-party of comanches, he pounced upon the two sleepers and dragged and pushed and pommeled them out onto the platform of the car. the train was beginning to move, so their descent was none too dignified. "why in thunder didn't you wake us in time so i could have got a drink?" complained frank. jerry said nothing; he felt too guilty to risk any answer. after they had cut across to the wagon road that led in the general direction of the river, he consoled his chum with: "downer's farm is only about half a mile in, and we can get all the buttermilk we want there----" adding mischievously: "----on wednesdays, when they churn." both dave and frank promised instant murder for that, so he had to admit that they would reach the best spring in winthrop county within three minutes. "saved your hide by just twenty-nine seconds," declared dave as he plunged his face into the bubbling surface of the clearest, coldest kind of a hillside spring. their gait was much livelier after that, and in less than ten minutes plum run was sighted, but they did not come out as close to lost island as jerry had predicted. in fact, they were not certain in which direction it lay, for to the north lay a cluster of trees apparently surrounded by water, and which might well be the place they sought. to the south lay another green spot away from shore. "it's north of here," declared both dave and frank, but jerry exclaimed triumphantly, after the first tangle of argument: "it must be south. if lost island was north the wagon bridge'd be between us and it." so south they went; and as they drew nearer they saw that the patch of green was indeed lost island. once they were within close sight of it, they went forward with all caution. the last hundred yards or so they made on hands and knees, finding cover in every clump of bushes or willows on the way. but finally they were ready to break through the last fringe of willow and spy out the prospect. jerry, who was ahead, waited for his two companions to catch up with him. "not a sound, now," he cautioned as they crouched beside him. stealthily they pushed aside the leaves that obscured their view. suddenly, from behind them a yell, blood-curdling, absolutely hair-raising, rang out through the stillness. the three turned. but it was too late. breaking cover at the same instant, a half-dozen husky young chaps charged on the surprised trio. "up and at them, fellows!" came a roar. "they're part of the gang!" chapter vii the flying eagle scouts for a minute or two it was hard for the three boys to understand just what had happened. they were pounced upon and hurled roughly to the ground, in spite of their violent struggles, and there they were pommeled unmercifully. they fought back, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. it was no adventure-story fight where the lone hero engages a dozen husky brutes and by superior science and strength lays his assailants out one by one. too bewildered to be really angry, the three found themselves pinned to the ground. then they were able to take stock of their attackers. six boys they were, of about the same size and age as dave, jerry and frank, they were dressed in some odd sort of uniform, like brownish canvas. just now their faces wore triumphant grins. "here comes phil," remarked one of the three who were standing, coming over to sit on jerry's legs, jerry having seized a favorable opportunity to attempt escape. "what's the idea?" inquired the newcomer, a tall but well-knit chap with a broad, sunburned face and a mop of black hair showing under the forward brim of his wide hat. "we caught them trying to sneak up on us, so we fooled them and jumped on them instead. it's part of that lost island gang," volunteered dave's captor. "we're not either," exploded dave. "shut up!" exclaimed the one astride his stomach. "didn't we see you slinking along through the bushes?" "well, so were you. but we didn't try any wild indian game on you just on that account." "good reason why. you didn't see us," crowed the one on top, giving dave a vigorous poke in the ribs to emphasize the point. that was too much for dave. his usual good nature had been oozing out with every passing second. now he gave a sudden twist, heaved, turned, heaved again, and in less time than it was told, was on his feet and presenting a pair of promising looking fists to the two others who had quickly come to their comrade's assistance. "hold on a minute," suggested the one they had called phil. "let's get the straight of this thing first and fight afterwards. you say you don't belong on the island?" he asked, turning to dave. "we certainly don't. we were trying to get onto it without being seen. that's why we were skulking along that way." "trying to get onto it? you haven't any boat." "we could swim, couldn't we?" "but what do you want to get onto the island for? where are you from, anyhow?" "none of your particular business," snapped dave, but jerry answered as well as he could with his shortness of breath--he too was "stomached" by a stout boy of his own size: "watertown." "know anybody there by the name of tod fulton? he's a cousin of mine--why, what's the matter?" for the three boys had cried out in dismay. "why--why--he's the boy we're after. he's our chum," stammered jerry at last. "then what you after him for--if he's your chum?" "well, he's--he's----" began jerry, and dave blurted out: "drowned!" "what!" cried the whole crew at that. "tod fulton drowned!" "we don't know for sure. that's why we're trying to get onto lost island." then the story came out, piecemeal, for all three insisted on telling it. phil stood as if stunned. at the end he said simply: "he's my cousin. i'm phil fulton. we live at chester. that's about ten miles south of here. we're the flying eagle patrol of boy scouts--maybe you noticed our suits." "thought you were some kind of bushwhackers the way you dropped on us," complained frank. "but what was the idea in thumping us because you thought we were from the island?" "we had good reasons enough," declared phil. "we left town at midnight last night, hiked all the way to our boat-landing two miles up the river, and made the long pull up the plum in the dark just for the sake of getting an early morning chance at the best bass rock you ever heard of--just to get chased out at the point of a shotgun after we'd landed the first one--a three pounder too. can you blame us for being sore?" "on lost island?" asked jerry eagerly. "no, _off_ lost island. a big burly ruffian blew down on us, cussing a streak, and wouldn't hardly let us get into our boat. chucked stones at us all the way across and promised us a mess of birdshot if we came back. do you blame us for wanting to lay you out?" it was dave's conqueror who spoke. "if that's what you do on suspicion, i don't want to be around when you're sure of yourself. my ribs'll be sore for a week." the boys had been talking excitedly; each one was wrought up over the fate of poor tod and this was the only way they were willing to show their feelings. it was phil who brought them back to earth. "well, fellows," he suggested, "let's get acquainted first, and then let's see if we can't frame up some way of getting across and going over that island from end to end. line up, scouts, and be presented." the scouts lined up in two columns. "this is sid walmsly, nicknamed 'the worm,' partly because that's the way we pronounce his name, but mostly because it's a long worm that has no turn, and sid says he's always the one to be left out. you can remember him by the wart on his left knuckle. next is dick garrett; he's assistant patrol leader. this thin, long-drawn-out morsel of sweet temper is fred nelson. we tried to nickname him "angel" but he licked everyone that tried it on him. now comes our joker, we'd call him trixie if we dared. his ma calls him algy brown. frank willis stands first in the behind row. he goes by the name of "budge," chiefly because he _won't_ unless he wants to. barney knowles, the littlest giant in the world--the one in the red sweater. he wears a sweater in july and shirt-sleeves in december. and last of all, but not least--far from it--ted lewis, the only grouchy fat man in captivity. smile for us, teddy." teddy growled. jerry introduced himself and his two chums, and then turned anxiously to phil. "got any plan?" "why not just get into our boat and row over? we can tell that chump over there----" "thought you told us good scouts were always respectful to our elders?" interrupted ted, he of the "grouch." "respectful where respect is _due_," came the quick response. "we can tell the gentleman that we have sent the rest of the gang back for the sheriff----" "and good scouts never tell lies----" this from ted again. "be still or i'll make it the truth by sending you back after him. we ought to make the try, anyway, because that makes our next move easier. if we can't get on the island in the open, we've got to use a little strategy. if we just could get our boat around to the other side of the island----" "i've got it!" cried dave. "our boat's down the river. while the bunch of us keep up a demonstration along the shore here, two of us could slip down and get the boat and sneak in at the lower end." "good. we'd best waste no time about it because it's going to be coming on dark before we know it. who's going along with me?" "to the island? i'll go. the man knows _me_," agreed jerry. "where's your boat?" the rest waited in the cover of the bushes while phil and jerry quietly made their way down the river bank to where the scout boat was moored. they sprang in at once, phil pushing off and hopping lightly to the oars. there was only one pair, but he sent the boat skimming across the ripples. no one was in sight on the island, and they were in hopes of making a landing unobserved, but just as their boat touched shore the willows parted and the man stepped out on the high bank. "back again?" he demanded gruffly. "oh, yes," replied phil easily. "we came back to see if you'd let us look for a box of tackle one of the boys thinks he left down where we were fishing this morning." "oh! and you," said the man sarcastically, turning to jerry. "i suppose you came to look for a lock of hair from your drowned friend's head?" the man's tone was so unfeeling that jerry simply gasped, but phil boiled over at once. "i'll have you know that that boy was my cousin. we have good reason for believing that he's on this island and _we're going to search it_!" "oh, indeed!" and jerry could have sworn that there was a twinkle in the man's eye for all there was no mistaking the threat in his voice. "well, i can promise you a full-sized spanking unless you make yourselves scarce in just about one half minute. this makes the third time i've had to chase you off--and third time's the charm, you know." "but why don't you want us to look for our friend? surely you've got nothing against him--or us." "not a thing. not a thing, sonny. only i live on this place, and i can't have a troop of youngsters tracking mud in at my front door. that friend of yours couldn't very well be on my island without my knowing it, could he?" "but you've never said out and out that he wasn't on the island," asserted jerry boldly. "and you've acted so suspicious that--that we wouldn't believe you now if you did say it." the man laughed at that, for jerry had started out by trying to be diplomatic, but his feelings got the better of him before the end. "i'll be careful not to say it then. as for the tackle box--here it is." jerry opened his eyes wide; he had thought the box a pure invention on the part of phil. "now back water and keep backing." "you think you've got us beat," shouted jerry at his retreating back. "never you worry--i've told mr. fulton, and he and mr. aikens will be coming down here with a posse. they won't be asking your permission if they can investigate an island that doesn't belong to you any more than it does to me." "it belongs to mr. fulton, i suppose?" challenged the man, and turning around for a last laugh. neither boy answered. "you tell your mr. fulton that i said he was welcome to come any time." "now what?" asked jerry, as phil turned the boat about and headed for the other shore. "what next? night, mostly. then i think we'll show your mr. billings a few scout tricks he doesn't know about." "i didn't say his name was billings----" "i know--but _i_ did. i've seen him before. that may be the reason he's so touchy about having us land on the island. the last time i saw him it was down at dad's office. uncle ed--that's mr. fulton, you know--was there, and when i opened the door on them suddenly, he and this billings were having the hottest kind of an argument. dad hustled me out of there in a hurry, but not before uncle ed'd called him billings--and a lot of other things." "you think then that billings is still sore at mr. fulton, and that he's holding tod there----" "nothing more likely. we'll know to-night. at least we'll know whether tod is there--and i guess we'll make a good strong try at getting him loose." "how can we do it? what's your plan?" "leave it to the flying eagle scouts. i'm not bragging, but we're one live crew!" chapter viii a voyage in the dark still, it was some time after the return of phil and jerry from their unsuccessful sortie into the enemy's country, before a practical plan occurred to the ten-brain-power plotters. but the scheme, once its details had been worked out, struck them all as having a fair chance for success. briefly, it was this: two of the boys--jerry and phil were again chosen--were to go down the river to the bridge and cross over and get the _big four_. they were to come back up the river as quietly as possible, hugging the opposite shore to a point about two hundred yards below the island, where the east bank spurred off into a fairly high hill. here one of the boys was to leave the boat, as near nine o'clock as possible--it was now seven--and climb the hill, where he was to signal across to dick garrett, who would be watching directly opposite. then jerry and phil were to make all speed to lost island, landing at the lower end. the boy scouts, and dave and frank, were to gather as conspicuously as possible--a flaring camp fire would show their intentions--and pretend that _they_ were about to embark for the island. that _ought_ to leave the lower end of the island unguarded for the safe landing of jerry and phil. once they were ashore, the dense bushes and the darkness ought to be sufficient cover for their search. little time had been lost, really, in making the plan, for the scouts had been bustling back and forth, building a camp fire and preparing supper. four of them had set up the tents, finishing the task begun by all of them when jerry and phil set out on their first trip to the island. it was not a very fancy meal the boys sat down to. the food was served on paper lunch plates, so there would be no dish-washing. each scout carried knife, fork, spoon and tincup. there was no extra "silverware" save the cook's big utensils. so the three outsiders ate with fingers and pocketknives. a nice mess of perch had been caught in a near-by creek, and frank willis, whose turn it was to act as chef, had browned them most artistically. there were some ash-baked potatoes, and a farmhouse close by had provided a generous supply of buttermilk. the last of the meal was eaten by the light of the camp fire, for the sky had clouded over and night seemed to drop suddenly from above. licking the last morsel of the delicious fish from his greasy finger-ends, and wiping his greasier mouth on his sleeve, jerry jumped to his feet and announced: "i'm ready, phil, if you are." "i've been ready for a quarter of an hour--just waiting for the skillet to be empty, because i knew you'd never stir so long as there was a crumb left. where do you put it all?" "i've got to stow away a lot to balance my brains. i notice you're a light eater," retorted jerry, but phil only chuckled. "all right, you two--be on your merry way," put in dick garrett. "this is no picnic excursion you're starting off on. and don't forget your oars, unless you expect to row your boat with your wits." the two made no reply; a half minute later there were only eight boys in camp. something like a quarter of a mile inland was the gravel road that followed the windings of plum run, to cut across at the wagon bridge. two stealthy figures hurried through the woods and across the fields, to emerge on the other side of a barbed wire fence and trudge off down the dusty road. "some woodsman, you are!" snorted phil in purposely exaggerated disgust. "when you skulked through the brush the limbs could be heard popping for a mile. how many times did you fall down?" "fall down? what you mean, fall down? every time you stumbled over your shadow i thought you were ducking for cover, so i simply crouched to keep out of sight." phil snorted, and quickened his pace. jerry put an extra few inches on his own stride and easily kept up. they passed a farmhouse--at good speed, for a dog came out and after a few suspicious sniffs proceeded to satisfy his appetite on phil's leg. a loud ripping noise told that he at least kept a souvenir of the visit. the dog's excited barking kept them company to the next farmhouse, which they passed as silently as possible, not particularly desiring to repeat the experience. "it was your whistling back there that scared up that dog--see if you can whistle a patch onto my leggins," phil suggested when they were once more surrounded by open fields. jerry did not answer, for just ahead of them the road forked and he was trying to remember which turn it was one took to get to the bridge. he had never gone this way, but he had once heard a farmer giving directions to a party of automobilists. however, phil unhesitatingly took the branch that cut in toward the river, so he said nothing for some time. "ever been over this road before?" he ventured to ask when the road suddenly became so rough that they stumbled at every step. "no--never been up this way. we always fish on the other side of the plum." "how do you know then that this is the right road?" "it turned in toward the river, didn't it? and the other road angled off toward tarryville." "but the bridge road is graveled all the way, and if this isn't blue clay i'll eat my hat. it might just be a private road to some farm, and the other road might have swung around after a bit. this muck-hole doesn't look good to me." "all the same, through those trees yonder i can see water. it's the old plum all right. shake a leg." "i think we'll gain time by shaking two legs--back to the fork. that's the plum, all right enough, but you'll walk through marsh all the way to the bridge if you try to follow the bank. i remember now: this is the old wood road. it hasn't been used since they cut timber on the jameson tract." jerry did not wait to finish his argument but had already gone back a good fifty feet of the way to the other road, when he noticed that phil was not following him. "what's the matter, phil?" "don't you think we've wasted enough time, without losing some more by going back?" "we'll lose more by going ahead. and we're losing now by standing still chewing the rag about it. come on." "i'm going ahead. you followed my lead this far; i guess it won't hurt you to follow it a little farther. i'm patrol leader, you know." jerry sensed a little resentment in phil's tone, and remembered that once or twice he had spoken to the scout leader just as he did to his chums--and his chums always looked to him for commands. "i'm not trying to boss you, phil, don't think that. but i _know_ that the other way is the best way, and i've _got_ to follow it. so you go ahead, and i'll wait for you at this end of the bridge." without further word he strode off on the back road. it was so dark that he might have done so safely, but he did not look back. nevertheless, a pleased grin spread over his face, for he was soon aware that phil was tagging along not many paces behind. that had always been the way. jerry was a born leader; the other boys followed him willingly because they never found any cause to lose confidence in his judgment. "phil, you're a genuine sport," was all he said as the other boy fell into step beside him as once more they reached the gravel roadway and turned into the right-hand branch. sooner than they expected they saw the gaunt skeleton of the upper bridgework against the dark sky. jerry did not permit himself an "i told you so," but he said instead: "we'll be in a pretty pickle if we get on the other side and find our boat gone." phil made no answer and in silence they walked across the hollow-echoing bridge. a series of giant stone steps led down to the river bank, and as soon as they reached bottom they saw that their fears were groundless, for there lay the _big four_ as jerry and dave had left her eighteen hours before. deep footprints in the mud bank, dimly visible in the dusk, told that someone had stopped to look the boat over. perhaps had the oars been handy, the boat might not have remained so safely. the boys were glad to relieve their shoulders of the pair they had taken turns in carrying, and without pausing to rest, they stepped into the boat, phil finding some difficulty in making the scout boat's oars fit the _big four's_ oarlocks. but at last they were off and jerry bent to his task. the _big four_ had been built for speed, and the craft was trimmed just right for getting the most with the least effort. the current was fairly swift here, but jerry hugged the east bank and took advantage of every eddy. it was not long before lost island swung into sight. "let me spell you off," suggested phil, but jerry shook his head. "after we land at the hill you can take her the rest of the way. i think i'll pull in at that little cove just ahead. it makes a little longer walk, but it's well out of sight of the island. who'll climb the hill!" "leave that to me. i kind of want to try out a little signaling stunt that dick and i have been figuring on. here's a good sandy stretch; let's beach her here." the boat grated on the pebbly shore; phil sprang lightly out, and jerry was left alone. he could hear phil scrunching over the rocks and through the brush; then all was still. jerry strained his eyes to see if he could make out the figure of dick, who must be almost directly opposite, but only the dense black of the wood met his gaze. he waited patiently for the gleam of the flashlight, but minute after minute slipped by, and no signal appeared. so he was somewhat surprised when after perhaps fifteen minutes he heard a footstep on the beach and he realized that phil was returning. "our scheme worked fine," announced the scout leader. "bet you never even saw dick's signal." "no, i didn't," confessed jerry. "good reason why. you see, i figured out that if you shoot a flash straight out in front of you very long everybody can see it. a quick flash--well, anyone who saw it might think it was just lightning or the interurban. so i just snapped about a dozen straight up into the air, until i got a return flash from dick. then i used this." he pulled out a little pocket mirror. "i pointed my light straight at the ground, and gave him a dot and dash message by holding the mirror in the light. some scheme, eh?" jerry merely grunted, but way down in his heart a deep respect was forming for these boy scouts and their resourcefulness. "just flash a few signals to those oars," he advised, taking his place in the stern. "and be careful with that left oar--she squeaks if you pull her too hard." but phil soon showed that he needed no advice about handling a boat. without a sound--without a ripple, almost--they moved away from shore and cut out into the current. "safe to get out into line with the island, i guess. if they're watching, it's the shore they'll be most suspicious of." "they? we've only seen one out there." "maybe. but i'm betting on a pair of them at least. it's about time for the boys to--listen to those indians, would you? i'm afraid they're overdoing it a bit." from the far shore, out of sight behind lost island, rose a hubbub of cries that sounded as if the island were about to be attacked by a war party of sioux. a boy scout yell sounded out, the voices of dave and frank heard above the rest. "guess your two must have deserted your banner and joined the eagles," teased phil. the island lay dead ahead of them, dark and still. both boys had a shivery feeling of being watched, but no sign was apparent as they floated in behind the point of the island and noiselessly beached the boat. "we'd best stay close together," suggested jerry in a whisper. "and by all means don't whisper--talk in an undertone. a whisper carries twice as far," countered phil. jerry marked down one more to the score of the boy scouts. but there was little need for talk. the brush was heavy, broken by thickets of plum trees and an occasional sapling of hickory; the ground was boggy in spots, and once jerry sank almost to his knees in oozy mud. a screech owl hooted in a tree close by, and cold shivers ran up and down their backbones. unbroken by path or opening, the island wilderness lay before them. they walked hours it seemed, trying their best not to advertise their coming in breaking limbs and rustling leaves, for the night was uncannily still. it was a great relief, therefore, when the underbrush suddenly gave way to a few low trees and after that open ground. jerry was for plunging right ahead, relying on the darkness, but phil caught his arm. "circle it," he commanded, and jerry, little used to obeying orders as he was, at once saw the wisdom of the idea and agreed. they were nearly halfway around the open plot when they struck a path, evidently leading to the river. but the other end must go somewhere, and they strained their eyes into the darkness. "a house, i do believe," mumbled phil. "shall we risk going closer?" "got to. not a sound now. let's take off our shoes." in their stocking feet they stealthily drew nearer the dark blot against the background. when they were within twenty feet they saw it was not a cabin, but one end of a long, narrow, shed-like structure, perhaps twenty feet wide and running far back into the darkness. they approached it cautiously and began feeling carefully along the higher side for some sort of door or opening. they had gone a good thirty feet, their nerves tingling with the hope of next-instant discovery, when phil broke the silence with a low-toned sentence. "there's a house or cabin of some kind less than twenty feet away." jerry did not look. his groping fingers had found something that felt like a door-edge. his hand closed over a knob. "here's the door!" he exclaimed eagerly, and then felt his heart almost stop beating. the knob had been turned in his hand! but before he could say a word, a sudden "sh!" sounded from his companion. "did you hear it?" gasped phil. "what?" asked jerry, his voice trembling in spite of him. but phil did not answer--there was no need. from the cabin came a sound that set every nerve on edge. it was a groan--the groan of someone in great agony. chapter ix a rescue that failed in the excitement of hearing that groan, jerry forgot every other thought. both boys jumped at once to the same conclusion: tod was in that cabin! perhaps he had been hurt, or perhaps, even, that ruffian was mistreating him. with one accord they broke for the cabin, making for where a thin pencil of light hinted at a door. they wasted no time fumbling for the knob, but put all the strength of their shoulders against the opening. the door gave, suddenly, and they tumbled over each other into a dimly lighted room. it was fortunate for them that there was no one there, for in falling phil overturned a chair, which in turn managed to become entangled in jerry's legs, who came to the floor with a suddenness that did not give phil time to get out of the way. half stunned, they lay there panting, till a renewal of the moaning aroused them to quick action. phil jumped to his feet and caught up a leg of the chair, that had been broken loose in the triple fall. it was well to have some sort of weapon. the sounds seemed to have come from above, where a trap door indicated a loft or attic of some sort. the boys looked wildly about for some means of getting up to the trap door, but the light of the smoky kerosene lamp revealed nothing. the chair might have helped them, but it was wrecked beyond hope. "perhaps if we called to him, he might answer," ventured jerry huskily. "first see if you can reach the trap door if you stand on my shoulders." phil made a stirrup of his hands and gave jerry a leg up. wabbling uncertainly, but managing to straighten himself, jerry caught at the edge of the opening. "nailed!" he exclaimed disappointedly as he jumped to the floor. "shall we call?" phil nodded. "tod. oh, tod!" only silence. again they called. "tod--tod fulton." there was an answer this time, but not of the sort nor from the direction the boys expected. it was more like a whine than a groan this time, and it came from the far side of the room. for the first time the boys noticed that there was a door there, partly open. they made a rush for it, jerry in the lead. but he got no farther than the threshold. as he reached it, the door was flung open in his face. in the doorway stood a sixteen-year-old girl, a slim, black-haired slip of a thing, her black eyes snapping. one hand was doubled up into a fist that would have made any boy laugh, but there was no laughter in the other hand. it brandished a wicked looking hand-axe, and it was evident from the way she handled it that there was strength in those scrawny arms. "you get out of here!" she commanded, advancing a step. jerry backed away hastily, but phil only laughed, trying to balance himself on the two and a half legs of the wrecked chair. "i've seen you before, lizzie, and you don't scare me a bit with that meat axe." "it's no meat axe; it's a wood axe--look out for your heads," she retorted scornfully. "clear out of here or i'll make kindling of both of you." "put down that cleaver, lizzie, and let's talk sense. we came here to get tod fulton--he's my cousin, you know----" but that was as far as he got. the girl, her face showing a determination that made nonchalant phil jump up from his chair and beat a quick retreat, walked up on them, the axe flashing viciously back and forth before her. "you're going to get off this island," she exclaimed, "and you're going to do it quick. no tricks now! the first one who makes a break gets this axe in the back--and i can throw straight. about face, now. march!" there was nothing to do but obey. sheepishly enough the boys turned and meekly let her drive them out into the dark. as she passed the lamp she caught it down from the bracket on the wall with one hand. thus they marched across the open ground, along the narrow path and out on the waterfront. "our boat is down at the other end of the island" remarked phil, turning his head ever so slightly. "i'll have my father bring it over to you in the morning," answered the girl relentlessly. "i see your friends waiting for you over on the other side, so it wouldn't be fair to keep them in suspense." "you're surely not going to make us try to swim it?" pleaded phil, pretending great consternation, hoping that he might delay their departure till something might happen to give them the advantage. "that's not all i am going to do." setting down her lamp on a convenient rock, and changing her axe to her left hand, she stooped over and picked up a pebble. with a quick jerk she drew back her arm and then shot it out, boy-fashion the boys heard the stone hum as it sailed through the air. an instant, and then a howl of pain arose from one of the scouts dancing about the blazing camp fire on the other shore. it was a good hundred yards away. "i just did that to show you what'd happen to you if you didn't head straight for that gang of pirates over there," she said grimly. "you're _some_--tomboy!" exclaimed phil, admiringly, jerry thought, but the girl only laughed sarcastically. "you first," she demanded. "you're just watching for a chance to catch me off my guard. i'm onto you." phil had no choice, so without more ado, he plunged in and began cutting the water neatly in the direction of the camp fire. "he swims well, doesn't he?" remarked the girl, so easily that jerry could have sworn she was about ready to laugh. "he sure does!" he agreed. "he's got me beat a mile. say," he coaxed, "we didn't mean any harm. we were just looking for a boy who was supposed to have got drowned up the river a piece but we believe landed here on lost island. just tell me whether he's alive or not, and we won't bother you any more." "oh, you're no bother. in fact, i rather enjoyed your little visit--though i will admit you scared me a bit when you held the knob of the door to the hangar----" "hangar? what's that?" "it's--it's french for--woodshed," the girl stammered. "it's your turn now," motioning toward the water. "but won't you tell me about tod?" "did you ask my father about him?" "if it _was_ your father, yes." "and he didn't tell you!" "no, and he wouldn't let us search the island." "well, i'm my father's daughter. so into the briny deep with you. i hope the fish don't bite you." "but, look here," began jerry, then fell silent and moved toward the waters edge, for the girl had picked up a handful of large pebbles and stood plumping them meaningly into the river. the water was warm, and aside from his clothes, jerry did not mind the swim. after he had stroked along perhaps a third of the way, he turned on his back. the light had disappeared from shore. he had a moment's impulse to turn back, but was afraid she might be waiting in the darkness to greet him with a laugh and an invitation to take to the water again. he turned once more and swam steadily across the current. but after a little, once more he turned on his back, only kicking occasionally to keep himself afloat. he fancied he had heard some noise that did not belong with the night. there it was again, that regular beat as of wood striking against wood. he listened intently, trying to place the sound. finally, it dawned on him that it was a boat, rowed by means of a pair of loose oars. his mind worked quickly. it could not be the boy scout boat, for the sound was not right for that. it could only be the man of the island, "lizzie's" father--she had as much as said he was away. at any rate, jerry decided, he would wait there and find out. if the worst came to the worst he could always dive out of sight. nearer and nearer came the boat. jerry lay in the water with only his nose showing. he was too heavy-boned to be very good at floating, but the barest movement of hands or feet kept him from going under. at first he could make out nothing, but as his eyes focused more sharply he distinguished a slow-moving shape against the gray of the sky. it was barely twenty feet away, headed almost directly at him. a few noiseless strokes put him inside the boat's path, but when he stopped paddling he realized to his horror that the boat had changed direction and was cutting in toward the island. it was almost upon him when he dived. he was not quick enough. the landward oar caught him a flat blow across his eyes. blinded, dazed, his mouth full of water, he flung up his arms. he had a vague sense of having caught hold of something, and he held on. through a sort of mist he heard a voice saying laughingly: "hit a snag, john. better be careful or you'll wreck the ship in sight of harbor." little by little jerry's head cleared and he realized that he had caught hold of the stern of the boat. he could not see over the edge, but he could tell that there were two people in the boat, both men. they talked fitfully, but for the most part their voices came to jerry only as meaningless mumbles. once more the dark outline of lost island lay before him, and in jerry's heart arose a new hope that perhaps this time he would not come away empty-handed. the boat grounded on the beach where he and phil had stood only a few minutes before. the man who had been at the oars jumped out and pulled the boat well up on shore. jerry, finding that he could touch bottom, had let go and now stood well hidden in the water. "you might as well wait here in the boat," said the one who had gone ashore. "i won't be gone but a minute." he moved up the bank. it was the same man jerry had encountered twice before on his island visits. but who was the man in the boat? jerry wished he dared come closer. the minutes passed slowly, and the water did not feel as warm as it had at first. he was greatly relieved when once more he heard the rustle of someone coming through the tall grass. but though the sound came nearer and nearer, jerry, his nerves literally on end, found the wait a long one. would the man never get there? but the delay was quickly explained. there were two instead of one crunching across the beach, and the other stumbled as he walked and would have fallen more than once had it not been for the supporting arm of his companion. jerry could have shouted from joy had he dared, for some instinct told him that that swaying form belonged to no one but his chum, tod fulton. and then, in an instant, the mystery was all made clear--at least for the instant. the man in the boat rose and struck a match so that the other could see to help wobbly tod to a seat. as the light flared up full, jerry had a good sight of the face of the man who stood waiting. it was mr. fulton! chapter x "to-morrow is the day!" and then it was that jerry saw that the temporary clearing of the mystery only made things darker than ever. for, why should tod be rescued in this weird fashion? why had the man refused to let tod's friends come on the island? and why, why had mr. fulton laughed at jerry's story--and yet followed his clue in this stealthy way? jerry, up to his nose in the water, and deeper than that in perplexity, saw that the whole affair was really no longer the mystery of tod fulton's disappearance, but the mystery of lost island. so, although he now felt safe from bodily harm, because of mr. fulton's presence, he made no sign, but waited there a scant dozen feet beyond the stern of the boat. he heard tod answer a few low-toned questions of his father, but could not make out either question or answer. he saw mr. fulton pick up the oars and poise them for a sweep, dropping the blades into the water to exchange a last sentence with the shadow who stood waiting on the bank. "everything all right, then, billings!" "varnish on the left plane cracked pretty badly, mr. fulton. i had to scrape it off and refinish it. it really ought to have another day to dry." jerry repeated, puzzled, to himself: "left plane--what in thunder's that?" billings went on: "you won't forget to bring the timer. elizabeth will get it at the usual place if you can leave it by noon." "it'll be there, billings." not a word more was said as the boat was swung about and headed out into the stream, save that mr. fulton chuckled: "old billings rather had you worried, eh, son, until he gave you my message?" tod laughed, so heartily that jerry, who had watched his chance to cut out into the wake of the boat and hold on behind with one hand, could not himself forbear a little happy ripple. "what was that?" exclaimed mr. fulton, a full minute after. "i don't know," answered tod. "i was waiting for it to come again. sounded like--only _he_ couldn't be here." "who couldn't?" "it sounded like a laugh--and there's only one person, outside of a billygoat, who's got a gurgle like that." "your wetting didn't tame you down any, did it? who's the goat you had in mind?" "jerry king--_well_, what in the world!" over the back of the boat clambered a dripping, wrathful figure. "i'll be switched if i'm going to be dragged along at the tail of this scow and be insulted any longer. i laugh like a billygoat, do i? for two cents i'd scuttle the ship!" but jerry's anger was more put on than real, and under mr. fulton's banter and tod's grateful appreciation of the attempted rescue, he soon calmed down. "what was the matter with you back there on the island? we heard you groaning as if you'd green-appled yourself double." "groaning? me groaning? huh! say, next time you go bearding damsels in distress and rescuing castaway fishermen, you learn how to tell the difference between a bulldog who's whining to get out and get at you, and a wounded hero. it's a good thing you didn't have a chance to follow up that 'groan'--you'd have _groan_ wiser." "one more like that, tod," suggested mr. fulton wearily, "and i think i'll take a hand myself." "but why," jerry wanted to know, "didn't you come back home right away--if you weren't hurt?" "oh, but i was. you try going over that dam once and see if your insides-out don't get pretty well mixed up. i got a terrific thump on the back of the head when the boat turned turtle, and if i hadn't had a leg under the seat, i'd be in davy jones' locker right now. when i came to i didn't know whether i was me or the boat. i had gallons of water in me and--and i think i swallowed a worm or two; the bait can got tipped over--and all the worms were gone--somewhere." "but why did you stay----" jerry began, feeling vaguely that tod was talking so much to keep him from asking questions. but he was not allowed even to ask this one, for mr. fulton interrupted with: "i got busy right away after you had told me about your lost island clue, and soon got a message through to--to mr. billings there. when he told me tod was safe and sound, i thought i'd wait until i had finished some important business i just couldn't leave. that's how it was so late before i got here." "mr. billings came and got you, didn't he?" remarked jerry, trying to keep the suspicion out of his voice. if they had a secret that was none of his business, _he_ wouldn't pry. "yes," said mr. fulton, and made no further explanation. "but there were two of you on the island after me, weren't there? who was the other hero?" tod wanted to know. "where were you, that you knew there were two of us?" "i was all doubled up in that little anteroom where the dog was--doubled up laughing." then he added hastily, thinking he had teased poor jerry far enough: "but i was locked in." "why locked in, if mr. billings had gone to bring your father? afraid you'd up and rescue yourself?" jerry's tone was downright sarcastic. "no, jerry--you see, the island--that is," looking toward mr. fulton as if for permission to go on, "that is, there's something going on on lost island that mr. billings figures isn't anybody else's business, and he didn't want to take chances of my nosing around." "i see," said jerry dryly. "so of course rather than row you across to dry land himself he brought your father here to get you. it's all as plain as the wart on a pumpkinhead's nose!" "now, jerry, you're getting way up in the air without any cause. i'll tell you this much, because i think you've got a right to know: mr. billing's secret really is mine. just as soon as i dare i'll tell you all about it. but what became of your friend--if there _were_ two of you?" "i was so peeved that i forgot all about phil. it's phil fulton----" "what!" cried tod. "cousin phil. where is he?" "standing on the bank just opposite lost island and figuring out how soon he ought to give me up for drowned or hand-axed by a savage female. he may have gone for the sheriff by this time--or the coroner. better take me to shore here and i'll go back." mr. fulton began pulling the boat toward shore. "how did he happen to get into this?" he asked. jerry told him the whole story of the encounter with the boy scouts. "they've pitched camp there, so i guess i'll see if they can dry me out and put me up for the night," he finished. as the boat neared shore tod began to show signs of suppressed excitement. finally, as jerry was about to jump out into the shallow water, being already soaked through, tod began coaxingly: "why couldn't i go on with jerry, dad? you told me you'd let me go camping with the bunch, don't you remember? and i promised phil i'd show him the best bass lake in the country----" "i ought to take you back to town and let doc burgess look you over. maybe the bones are pressing on your brain where you bumped your head. you act like it. but the fact is i _didn't_ want to go back to watertown--i ought to chase right down to chester for that timer. it was promised for to-morrow, and there isn't a minute to be lost. there aren't any falls down this way, are there?" he asked with mock seriousness. "come on, dad, say i can go!" begged tod. "we-l-l," hesitated mr. fulton, "suppose we say i'll let you stay till morning--or night, rather. then we'll see." jerry jumped out at this point and splashed his way to shore. he had a feeling that the two might want to talk without being overheard. apparently he was right, as for a good five minutes the two conversed in low tones. jerry tried his best not to hear what was said, but every now and then a sentence reached his ears. but it was so much greek as far as he was concerned. he had walked inland a bit, finally striking the narrow path that fishermen had cut along the top of the high bank. it swung back toward the edge, cut off from view by a rank growth of willows. he noticed that the boat had drifted downstream until it now stood almost opposite him, and only a few feet from shore. thus it was that, as mr. fulton backed water with his left-hand oar and rammed the nose of the boat toward the shelving beach, he heard one complete sentence, distinct and understandable. "it's up to you, tod, to get them away. we can't afford any complications at this stage of the game. to-morrow is the day!" "trust me, dad!" exclaimed tod, going up and giving his father's shoulder a squeeze. jerry waited for no more. bending low, he scurried far down the path, so that tod could have no suspicion that his chum had overheard. "are you coming?" he shouted when he felt that he had gone far enough. "hold up a second and i'll be with you. good night, dad." "good night, mr. fulton," shouted jerry in turn, then waited for tod. the journey to the boy scout camp was made in silence, for jerry did not feel that he dared ask any more questions, and tod volunteered no further explanation. just outside the ring of light cast by the deserted camp fire, however, jerry halted and asked: "thought what you'll tell _them?_" "why, no. just what i told you, jerry." "you can't--unless you tell them more. they'd never be satisfied with _that_." "i'm sorry, jerry. i'd like to tell you the whole yarn, but--but you see how it is." "i don't but i guess i can wait. only i do think you ought to have something cooked up that would stop their questions. will you leave it to me?" "surest thing you know. what'll you say?" "that's my secret. you play up to my leads, that's all you've got to do. _hello_, bunch!" he shouted. "wow! hooray! there he is!" came cries of delight from the darkness in the direction of the river, and a moment later the boys, who had been almost frantic with worry over the non-appearance of jerry, came trooping up. when they found tod with him, their joy was unbounded. their excited questions and exclamations of surprise gave jerry a much-needed instant in which to collect his story-inventing wits. at last phil quieted down his dancing mob and put the question jerry had been awaiting: "how did you do it?" "that's the funny part of it. i didn't. tod's dad came along and did it for me." "i hope he beat up that old grouch----" "huh, you got another guess coming. they're old friends----yes," as a cry of unbelief went up, "that's why tod was in no hurry to be rescued. his name's billings, and mr. fulton used to be in business with him. is yet, isn't he, tod?" "uhuh--i think so." "well, you may know there's fish around lost island. billings is what i call a fish hog. he don't want anybody to know about the place--wants it all for himself. tod drifts onto the island and the man can't very well throw _him_ off, half drowned as he is. then, when he gets the water out of tod, all but his brain, he finds it's the son of his partner, and he can't very well throw him off _then_. there's a girl on that mound out there, and she comes in with a string of the biggest fish you ever saw. you couldn't drive tod off with a club after that. after the fish, i mean, not the girl. he gets a message to his father, and makes his plans to stay there all summer, but dad comes down to-night and spoils his plans by dragging him off. he kind of thinks he doesn't want all the fish dragged out by the tails--he likes to hook a few big ones himself. i'd got out into the middle of the plum when i heard the sound of prodigious weeping--it was tod, saying a last farewell to the big fishes--and the little girl. "so i swam back. and here he is and here i am, and we're both pledged not to go back on lost island." "righto!" cried tod, in great relief, jerry could plainly see. "and dad asked me to coax you chaps to keep away from old billings--he's a regular bear, anyway. but to make up for that, to-morrow i'm going to take you to the swellest pickerel lake you ever laid eyes on." "you mean _bass_ lake, don't you?" asked jerry maliciously. "pickerel and bass," agreed tod without an instant's hesitation. "let's turn in; we want to make an early start." it was late, however, before the camp was finally quiet, for someone started a story, and that brought on another and another, till half of the scouts fell asleep sitting bolt upright. but as one lone boy, the last awake, rolled near the fire in his borrowed blanket, he chuckled knowingly to himself and said: "foxy old tod! dad sure can 'trust' him. but i'm just going to be curious enough to block his little game so far as i'm concerned. _i'm_ going to stick around!" chapter xi a mid-air miracle jerry had a hard time next morning explaining just why he couldn't go along on the proposed fishing trip. tod was inclined to accept his excuses at face value, but dave and frank could not understand why jerry should so suddenly about-face in his notions. just the day before he had talked as if he was prepared to stay a week. but his promise of a speedy return--with his own fishing tackle--finally silenced their grumblings, especially when he agreed to make their peace with two mothers who would be asking some pretty hard questions on their own return. but jerry was not to get away without taking part in an incident that almost provided a disagreeable end for the adventure. it was while they were all at breakfast. tod had been giving a glorious account of the thrilling sport he had enjoyed on his last trip to the bass lake he promised to guide them to. suddenly, in the midst of a sentence, he stopped dead. his jaw dropped. he positively gasped. "_there she is!_" then his face became blank. after a hasty glance about the circle of astonished faces, he went on with his fish story. but he was not allowed to go far. it was phil, taking a cousin's rights, who put the sharp question. "is your mind wandering, or what? 'there she is!' who is _she_--and where? we don't want to hear your old fish yarn anyway." "i guess he's still thinking of that island girl," suggested jerry, realizing that tod had put himself into some kind of a hole, and wishing to help his chum out. but phil was not to be so easily satisfied. "there's something mighty queer about this whole proposition. that yarn of yours last night, jerry, didn't sit very easy on my pillow, and it doesn't rest very easy on my breakfast, either. what's the idea? what you trying to hide, you two?" "nothing," said tod, and jerry repeated the word. "nothing! you make me tired. now, out with it. i swam across that creek last night in my clothes on account of you, and i figure you've got a right to tell me why." "and i figure you've got a right to believe me when i told you why last night." "you didn't. you left it to jerry to cook up a story that would keep us from asking questions. and now you yell out, 'there she is!' and sit there gaping at the sky, with your mouth wide open as if you expected a crow to lay an egg on your tongue. what does it all mean?" "it means i'm still capable of taking care of my own business!" snapped tod. "oh--very well. after this i'll let you." it was an uncomfortable group that sat about the rest of the breakfast, even after tod had begged his cousin's pardon for ungrateful loss of temper, and phil had said that it was "all right." jerry was afraid for awhile that the fishing trip would be called off, but in the boisterous horseplay that went with the washing of the scanty dishes, all differences were forgotten, especially when phil, scuffling in friendly fashion, put tod down on his back and pulled that squirming wrestler's nose till he shouted "enough!" it was with feelings of mingled amusement and relief that jerry watched the noisy crowd pile into the two boats, the scout boat and the _big four_, and paddle downstream, soon to be lost sight of behind lost island. his satisfaction was somewhat lessened by the fact that phil had felt it necessary that one of their number remain behind to stand guard over the camp, but jerry was sure that he would have no great trouble in keeping away from frank willis, trusting that "budge" would live up to his reputation. he began well, for hardly was the camp deserted before he went back to his blankets. "now some folks like fishing," he yawned, "and i do too when the fish don't bite too fast; but i like sleep. it's good for what ails you, and it's good if nothing ails you. take it in regular doses or between meals--it always straightens you out." jerry did not argue with him. a few minutes later his regular breathing told the world at large and jerry in particular that so far as one budge was concerned the coast was clear. as a matter of fact, jerry did not feel that there would be anything to see until late in the afternoon at best. the conversation between mr. fulton and the man billings had seemed to indicate that nothing out of the ordinary was to happen that day, but mr. fulton's parting words to tod gave jerry hope. "this is the day!" he had said. at any rate, he slipped out of camp and scouted about for a comfortable spot in which to keep an eye on lost island. but after he had sat there a half hour, he began to have twinges of the same disease that afflicted budge and he saw that it would be necessary for him to move about a bit in order to stay awake. he regretted having left the camp without a fishing pole; that would at least give him something to do to pass the time away. with something like that in mind he started back toward the shady place where he had left budge snoozing. but as the walk started his blood circulating again, and his brain became active once more, he had a new idea. "old tod's a sly fox," he said to himself. "he's not going to be among the missing when the fun is on. he's going to take them down to his bass lake, and then he's going to slip away. he'll have to come back by land, so he'll probably take them to last shot lake. it'll take them an hour to get there, but he can come back afoot in half that time if he's in a hurry--and i guess he is. he most likely will hang around half an hour before he thinks it's safe to make his getaway. that's two hours all told. in some fifteen or twenty minutes he ought to come skulking along through the woods. "there's that hill yonder--it ought to make a good spy-post. little jerry bids these parts a fond adieu." something like a strong quarter of a mile down the river, and perhaps that much inland, stood a lonesome hill, almost bare of trees save a clump of perhaps a dozen on the very summit. it was an ideal hiding place. leaving the road after cutting through the river timber and following it a few hundred yards, he plunged into a dense growth of scrub oak and hazel brush that extended almost to the base of his hill. he came to one bare spot, perhaps an acre in extent, and was about to leave the shelter of the brush for the comparatively easy going of the weedy grass, when, almost opposite him, he saw a figure emerge from the trees. at first he thought it was tod, and he chuckled to himself as he thought how quickly his guess had been proved true. but when a second stepped out close behind the first, jerry realized that neither one was his friend, even before he noticed that both were carrying rifles. a pair of hunters, no doubt, jerry surmised, although he wondered idly what they would be hunting at this season of the year. rabbits were "wormy" and the law prohibited the shooting of almost everything else. but "city hunters," jerry derided, "from their clothes. they think bluejays and crows are good sport." that the hunters were looking for birds was evident, for they kept their eyes turned toward the tree-tops. thus it was that they did not see jerry crouching in the brush a scant dozen feet from where they broke into the woods again. he was near enough to overhear them perfectly, but not a word could he understand, for they were talking very earnestly together in some outlandish tongue that, as jerry said, made him seasick to try to follow. but as they talked they pointed excitedly, first toward the sky and then straight ahead, and that part of their conversation was perfectly understandable to the boy. a sudden wild thought entered his mind. here were two hunters out in the woods at a time when no real sportsmen carried anything but rods and landing nets. the mystery of their purpose reminded him of another mystery, and immediately his mind connected the two, even before he noticed the constant recurrence of a word that sounded much as a foreigner would pronounce "lost island." jerry realized, even as the thought passed through his mind, that it was the wildest kind of guess, but it was enough to set him stealthily picking his way through the brush in the wake of the two. he saw, just in time to avoid running smack into them, that just before they reached the road, although now out of the heavier woods, they had stopped and were talking together more excitedly than ever. something had happened, jerry realized at once, but he could not puzzle out what it was, although he looked and listened as intently as they seemed to be doing. he was about to give it up in disgust, when he became conscious of a queer droning noise, as of a swarm of bees, or a distant threshing machine. strangely, the sound did not seem to be coming from the woods or fields about him, but from the blank sky itself. then he remembered how tod had acted at breakfast--how he too, like these men, had been apparently staring into space. jerry read the newspapers; he was an eager student of one of the scientific magazines; he had sat in mr. fulton's basement workshop and listened to many a discussion of the latest wonders of invention. but even then he did not at once realize that the sound he had been hearing really came from the sky, and that the purring noise was the whir of the propellers of an aeroplane. he looked for a full minute at the soaring speck against the blue sky before he exclaimed aloud. "i'll be darned--an airship!" fortunately, the two men were too engaged to pay any attention to sounds right beside them. but jerry glanced hastily in their direction as he dropped back into the shelter of a big clump of elderberry. then he looked again. there could be no doubt the two were following the flight of the aeroplane. they stepped off a few feet to the right and jerry could see only their shoulders and heads above the bushes. he was curious to see better what they were doing, but he dared not cross the open ground between. so instead he turned his attention again to the soaring man-bird. it was coming closer. it swung down lower and circled in over lost island, barely a hundred feet above the tree-tops. a sudden cry from the two men drew his eager eyes away from the approaching aircraft, but he looked back just in time to witness a wonderful sight. motionless, poised like a soaring hawk, the aeroplane, its propeller flashing in the sunlight, hung over lost island. for fully six seconds it remained there, not moving an inch. suddenly it lurched, dropped half the distance to the trees, the yellow planes snapping like gun-shots. it looked as if it would be wrecked, and jerry started forward as if to go to the rescue. in the half instant he had looked away, the machine had righted and purring like an elephant-size pussy, was darting out over the water. a cheer sounded faintly from lost island; jerry wanted to cheer himself. now he heard another kind of sound, but this time there was no doubt in his mind as to its source. there could be no mistaking the put-put-put of a single cylinder motor boat. it was coming up plum run, probably from the "city"--chester. he could see it swinging around into the channel from behind lost island. it crept close along shore, and with a final "put!" came to a stop just where the boat had landed the night before with mr. fulton. three men crowded forward and jumped to shore; one of them, jerry could have sworn, was mr. fulton himself. as if the pilot of the aeroplane had been waiting for their coming he circled back toward the island. he had climbed far into the blue, but came down a steep slant that brought him within two hundred feet of earth almost before one could gather his wits to measure the terrific drop. out across plum run he swept in a wide circle, and jerry saw that the aeroplane would pass almost directly overhead. he had forgotten all about the two men by this time, so keen was his interest in the daring aviator. he certainly had nerve, to go on with his flight after the accident that had so nearly ended his career only a minute back. and then jerry was treated to a sight that made him rub his eyes in amazement. the accident was repeated--it had been no accident. now only a hundred feet up, directly above him, the big machine seemed to quiver with a sudden increase or change of power. a rasping, ear-racking sound--a spurt of blue vapor--and the aeroplane did what no other flying machine had ever done before; it stopped stock-still in mid-air. jerry could see every detail of the big machine, its glistening canvas, its polished aluminum motor and taut wires and braces. he could even see the pilot, leaning far over to one side, a smile of satisfaction on his face. jerry could hardly resist shouting a word of greeting to the bold aeronaut. he did shout, but it was a cry of horror, for all in a moment, a streak of flame seemed to leap out of the motor, there was a fearful hiss of escaping gas, a report that fairly shook the tree-tops, and with planes crumpling under the tremendous pressure of the air rushing past as it fell, the aeroplane plunged to earth. yet, even in his intense excitement, jerry, as he raced to where the flaming machine had fallen, caught at a fleeting impression: there had been two explosions, and the first seemed to come from close beside him. the aeroplane had come to earth a good hundred yards away, and jerry made all speed in that direction. he passed the spot where the two men had been standing--they were still there, and seemed in no hurry to go to the rescue. one of them, jerry noticed as he rushed by, shouting "quick!" had just thrown his gun under his arm, but the action did not impress the boy at the time as having any significance. he raced on, the flaming wreck now in sight. he fairly flew through the last dense thicket and jumped out, just in time to collide with another hurrying figure. when the two picked themselves up, jerry saw that it was tod. "hurry, jerry," he cried. "i'm afraid that poor billings is killed!" chapter xii an empty rifle shell in that few steps till they reached the smoking mass of wreckage, many things became clear to jerry. he realized that lost island had been merely a building ground for mr. fulton's experiments in aeronautics, that this sorry looking ruin was his invention. he remembered the long, low shed on the island--that was the workshop. then they were at the verge of the twisted and wrecked machine, frantically tugging at rods and splintered wood in an effort to get at the unconscious form covered by the debris. fortunately there was no great weight to lift, and there was really no fire once the smoke of the explosion had cleared away. in a very few seconds they had dragged the man clear and laid him out flat on his back in a grassy spot, where tod remained to fan the man's face while jerry hurried toward camp for water. blackened and bleeding as the man was, jerry readily recognized him as billings. he found budge startled by the explosion and hesitating about leaving the camp unguarded to go to the rescue. jerry's shouted command brought him galloping across the field with a pail of water, and the two boys made good speed on the way back. they found the man still unconscious but beginning to writhe about in pain. "i think his leg's broken," cried tod, his face white with the strain of helpless waiting. "from the way he doubles up every little bit i think he must be hurt inside. the cuts that are bleeding don't seem to be very bad. let me have the water." "do you suppose we really ought to----" began jerry, but paused, for budge had answered his question effectually. without a word he stooped over the moaning man. outer clothes were taken off in a trice. without jarring the man about, almost without moving him, garment by garment budge gradually removed, replaced, examined, until every part of the man's anatomy had been looked over. finally he straightened up, and for the first time the other two, who had stood helplessly by, saw how set and white the young scout's face was. "leg's broken all right," he said slowly. "so's his arm--and at least two ribs. maybe more. side's pretty badly torn and i think he's bleeding internally. we've got to get a doctor without a second's loss of time. tod, you chase along like a good fellow and see how quick you can get to a telephone. jerry, lend a hand here and we'll fix a splint for his leg--lucky it's fractured below the knee or we'd have a time. i don't know whether i can do anything for his ribs or not. hustle up, tod--what you standing there gaping for?" "where--where'd you learn to do things like that?" blurted tod, as he started away. "what? this?" in surprise. "every scout knows how to do simple things like this." and he turned back to his bandaging, for he had brought along the camp kit, with its gauze and cotton. out came his big jackknife and he cut a thumb-sized willow wand, which he split and trimmed. in less than no time he had snapped the bone back into place and wound a professional looking bandage about the home-made splint. he was just about to turn his attention to the injured side when a great crackling in the brush caused both boys to turn. three men came bounding across the open space, the foremost, mr. fulton. "is he alive?" he exclaimed before he recognized the two boys. "yes," answered jerry, "but he's hurt pretty bad--inside, budge says. tod just----" "tod! he here? did he go after a doctor?" "here he comes now. did you get the doctor?" shouted budge and jerry together. "i got his office. it's our own doctor burgess. i got mrs. burgess and she says the doctor is out this way, and she'll get him by telephone--she can locate him better than i could. he ought to be here most any minute. i'm to watch for him along the road." tod darted back toward the line of bushes that marked the highway. but it was a good half hour before a shout proclaimed the coming of the doctor, and in that time budge had had a chance to show more evidences of his scout training. after a hurried trip back to camp he fashioned bandages that held the broken ribs in place; he bound the scalp wound neatly, and stopped the flow of blood from an ugly scratch on the man's thigh. the others stood about, helping only as he directed. it was with a wholesome respect that they eyed him when the job was finished. but it took the doctor to sum their admiration up in one crisp "bully--couldn't have done it better myself." he felt about gently and at last straightened up and remarked: "he's good enough to move, but not very far. where's the nearest farmhouse?" "half a mile, nearly," answered tod. "i think he'd want to be taken--home," mr. fulton said hesitatingly. "if we could move him to the river bank i guess we could get him across all right--to lost island, you know. his daughter's there to nurse him." "lost island?" questioned the doctor, raising his eyebrows. "we-l-l--son, can you make a stretcher?" turning to budge. "come on, jerry. back in a minute," called budge over his shoulder to the doctor. jerry followed to the scout camp, where budge caught up a pair of stout saplings that had been cut for tent poles but had not been needed. "grab up a couple blankets," he directed, setting off again through the brush on a run. jerry was well out of breath, having contrived to trip himself twice over the trailing blankets, when he finally rejoined the group. budge reached out for the blankets and soon had a practical stretcher made, onto which the injured man was gently lifted. mr. fulton and one of the strangers took hold each of an end and they set out directly for the bank of plum run. for the first time jerry had a chance to observe the two who had come with tod's father. heavy-set, rather stolid chaps they were, just beginning to show a paunch, and gray about the temples. they looked good-natured enough but gave the impression of being set in their ways, a judgment jerry had no occasion to change later. they spoke with an odd sort of accent but were evidently used to conversing in english, although the first glance told that they were not americans. they were plainly but expensively dressed; they looked like men of wealth rather than like business men. they had come to see mr. fulton's invention tried out, jerry surmised, and, if it proved successful, perhaps to buy it. those two men he had seen with the rifles were foreigners too, but of a different station in life and, jerry was sure, belonging under a different flag. they were soon down to the water's edge, where was moored the launch jerry had heard chugging over to the island not long before. blankets were brought from the scout camp and piled on the launch floor to make a comfortable bed, and poor billings was carefully lifted from the stretcher and laid in the boat. the doctor and mr. fulton got in. the two men remained on the bank. mr. fulton looked at them questioningly, but their heavy faces gave no sign. so he asked: "you will wait for me, i trust! i don't want you to feel that this--accident----" he hesitated over the word--"makes the scheme a failure. there is something about it all that i can't understand, but a close examination may reveal----" "ah, yes," answered the shorter of the two, "we will want to be just as sure of the failure as we insisted on being of the success. but you understand of course that we feel--ah--feel considerably--ah--disappointed in the trial flight. oh, yes, we will wait for you. you will not be long?" "just long enough for the doctor to find out what needs to be done. that slim youngster there is my son tod. he knows almost as much about my--about _it_ as i do. tod, you take care of mr. lewis and mr. harris till i come back. you'd best stay close to the _skyrocket_; we don't want to take any chances, you know." all the time he had been talking he had been tinkering with the motor, which was having a little balky spell. at his last words jerry spoke up hastily: "i'll chase over and keep an eye on the _skyrocket_ while the rest of you take your time," and he hurried off, adding to himself: "_skyrocket's_ a good name, 'cause it sure went up in a blaze of glory, and came down like the burnt stick." but he had other things in mind besides the mere watching of the wreck. at mr. fulton's hesitation over the word "accident" a picture had popped into his mind--two men carrying rifles and peering up over the tree-tops. he was destined to see them again, for as he crossed the road he heard a crackling in the underbrush of someone in hasty retreat. he blamed his thoughtlessness in whistling as he ran along; perhaps he might have caught them red-handed if he had been careful. as it was, he saw the two scurrying toward the south, whereas before they had been going northward. he did not go directly to the fallen aeroplane. instead he picked his way carefully over the route the men had followed just after the explosion, stooping low and examining every spear of grass. his search was quickly rewarded. just where the trampled turf showed that the two men had stood for some time he pounced upon a powder-blackened cartridge, bigger than any rifle shell he had ever seen before, even in his uncle's old springfield. that was all, but it was enough to confirm his suspicions. he walked over to the charred and twisted remains of the _skyrocket_, fighting down his strong impulse to pry into the thing and see if he could discover the secret of its astounding exploits before the crash came. it did not take more than the most fleeting glance to see, even with his limited knowledge of flying machines, that this one was very much different from the others. he was glad when the others came up to save him from yielding to his curiosity. tod and the two men were deep in a discussion of mr. fulton's invention, but jerry gained little by that, as most of the technical terms were so much greek to him. tod talked like a young mechanical genius--or a first-class parrot. the two men listened to his glowing praises in no little amusement, venturing a word now and then just to egg the boy on--though he needed none. jerry waited for a chance to break in forcibly. "i say, tod." he interrupted a wild explanation of the theory of the differential, "i expect i'd better chase along back home. i can just catch the interurban if i cut loose now. i--i want to hike back and spread the good news that you aren't decorating a watery grave." "i s'pose i'll have to stay here and help the scouts mount guard over the relics here--when will you be back?" "to-morrow, maybe." "you can come back with dad. he'll probably come back to watertown to-night, after he takes these two gentlemen to chester in the launch. he'll probably want you to help him bring down some repairs." "you think he'll try to patch up the _skyrocket?_" asked jerry. "doesn't look hardly worth while." "worth while!" exploded tod. "is a half million dollars worth while?" then he repented having spoken out so freely, reminded by the sharp glances of the two men. "oh, jerry's all right," he apologized. "dad thinks as much of him as he does of me." "well, i'll be off," said jerry hurriedly. "tell your father i'll see him either to-night or early in the morning--and that i've got something important to tell him." "about the _skyrocket?_" demanded tod eagerly, but jerry only shook his head teasingly and began to hurry across the fields and woods to the interurban tracks. he was lucky, for hardly had he reached the road crossing before the familiar whistle sounded down the track. the motorman toot-tooted for him to get off the rails, as this was not a regular stop, but jerry stood his ground and finally the man relented at the last minute and threw on the brakes. watertown reached, jerry could not hold his good news till he got home, but to every one he met he shouted the glad word that tod fulton had been found, alive and uninjured. the open disbelief with which his announcement was met gave him a lot of secret satisfaction. in fact, he could hardly restrain an occasional, "i told you so." his mother was the only one to whom he allowed himself to use that phrase, but then, he _had_ told her. he could hardly wait until mr. fulton should return from chester, so eager was he to tell of his discovery there in the woods, but the slow day passed, and bedtime came without any sign of a light in the big house down the street. reluctantly he finally went up to his room, but for a long time he sat with his nose flattened out on the window pane, watching patiently. at last he was rewarded. out of the gloom of the fulton house he saw a tiny point of light spring, followed by a flood of radiance across the lawn. "what are you doing, son?" came a deep masculine voice from the sitting room. "thought you had gone to bed hours ago." "mr. fulton just came home, pa, and tod told me to tell him----" "guess it'll keep till morning, won't it? besides, i expect tod saw his father later than you did." "i'll be right back, dad----" this from just outside the kitchen door. "it's just awfully important----" the door banged to just then. mr. ring chuckled. he believed in letting boys alone. jerry sped down the dark walk and jabbed vigorously at the special doorbell, hurried a little bit by the fact that as he came through the wide gate he had a feeling that the big gateposts did not cause all the shadow he passed through. "i'm getting nervous since i saw those two men to-day," he reminded himself. "i'll soon be afraid of my own shadow--but i hope it doesn't take to whispering too." mr. fulton came hurrying to the door, a big look of relief on his face when he saw who it was. "i couldn't wait till morning, mr. fulton. i just had to tell you i knew the _skyrocket_ didn't fall of its own free will. i saw two men skulking in the woods. they both carried big rifles. i was sure i heard one of them go off just before the explosion came, and on the ground where they stood i found _this!_" he handed mr. fulton the rifle shell. "good boy!" exclaimed the man, almost as excited as the youngster. "i'm beginning to see daylight. you keep all this under your hat, sonny, and come over as early in the morning as you can. we'll talk it over then, after i've had a chance to sleep on _this_." he indicated the cartridge. "tell me, though--was one of the men a tall, lean chap with a sabre scar on his jaw----" "they were both heavy-set, scowly looking----" "hm. that makes it all tangled again. well, it may look clearer in the morning. chase along, jerry; i've got a busy night's work ahead of me. no," he added as jerry began to speak, "you couldn't help me any. not to-night. to-morrow you can." jerry wanted to tell him about the whispering shadows, but hesitated because it sounded so foolish. his heart skipped a beat or two as he drew near the tall posts, but this time the gateway was as silent as the night about him. "some little imaginer i am," he laughed to himself as he skipped back into the house. chapter xiii the game begins the sun was not up earlier next morning than jerry ring. however, he waited till after breakfast before going over to rouse mr. fulton, who would, he knew, sleep later after his strenuous night's work. he spent the time in an impatient arrangement and rearrangement of his fishing tackle, for he had a feeling in his bones that this visit to lost island might be more than a one-day affair. mrs. ring finally appeared on the scene, to tease him over his early rising. "i don't need to look for the fishing tackle when you get up ahead of me; i know it's there." but jerry only grinned. his mother was a good pal, who never spoiled any of his fun without having a mighty good reason. now he saw her setting about fixing up a substantial lunch, and he knew that there would be no coaxing necessary to gain her consent to his trip. he slipped up behind her unawares and kissed her smackingly on the back of the neck--perhaps that was one reason she was such a good pal. breakfast over, jerry caught up his pole and tackle box and hustled down the street. the fulton house looked silent and deserted, he thought, as he reached up to push the secret button. the loud b-r-r-r echoed hollowly through the big house; jerry sat down on the step to await the opening of the door, for he figured mr. fulton would be slow in waking up. but the minute he had allowed stretched into two, so he reached up and gave the button another vigorous dig. still there was no response. puzzled, he held the button down for fully a minute, the bell making enough racket to wake the dead. vaguely alarmed, jerry waited. no one came. putting his mouth to the keyhole, he shouted: "mr. fulton--wake up--it's jerry!" then he put his ear against the door and listened for the footsteps he was sure would respond to his call. silence profound. again he shouted and listened. and then came a response that set him frantically tugging at the door--his name called, faintly, as if from a great distance. but the door did not yield. jerry bethought himself of a lockless window off the back porch roof, which he and tod had used more than once in time of need. he quickly shinned up the post and swung himself up by means of the tin gutter. in through the window, through the long hall and down the stairway he plunged, instinct taking him toward mr. fulton's bedroom-study. the door stood ajar. he pushed it open and looked in. a fearful sight met his eyes. on the bed, where he lay half undressed on top of the covers, was mr. fulton, blood streaming down his battered face. "what has happened?" gasped jerry, seeing that the man's eyes were open. but there was no answer, and he saw that mr. fulton was too dazed to give any account of the events that had left him so befuddled. jerry got water and bathed and dressed the deep cuts and bruises as best he could. the shock of the cold water restored the man's faculties in some measure and he finally managed a coherent statement. "it was your two friends, i guess. they broke in on me while i was working downstairs. one stood guard over me while the other ransacked the house. then, when they couldn't find anything, they tried to force me to tell where my papers were hid. that was when i rebelled, and they pretty near did for me. i put up a pretty good scrap for a while, until one of them got a nasty twist on my arm. i guess the shoulder's dislocated; i can't move it. but i guess i left a few marks myself--that's why they were so rough. but all they got was the satisfaction of beating me up." "i wish i knew what it was all about," remarked jerry. "i feel like a fellow at a moving picture show who came in about the middle of the reel. and there's nobody to tell me what happened before." "i guess there's no harm in telling _you_--now. you see, jerry, the big outstanding feature of the war across the water has been the work done by two recent inventions, the submarine and the aeroplane. that set me thinking. the water isn't deep enough around here to do much experimenting with submarines, but there's dead oodles of air. so aeroplanes it had to be. now, the aircraft have been a distinct disappointment, except as scouting helps, because the high speed of the aeroplanes makes accurate bomb-dropping almost impossible. "that was my starter. if i could perfect some means of stopping a machine in mid-flight, just long enough to drop a hundred pounds of destruction overboard with a ninety per cent chance of hitting the mark, i had it. well, i got it. the _skyrocket_ is the first aeroplane that can stop dead still--or was. i showed my model to the proper government officials, but even after i had cut my way through endless red tape i found only a cold ear and no welcome at all. i think the official i talked to had a pet invention of his own. "at any rate i was plumb disgusted. i finally took my idea to the business agent of a foreign power--and the reception i got almost took me off my feet. meet me halfway! they pretty near hounded me to death till i finally consented to give them an option on the thing, but then my troubles began. the man who had made the deal with me had to step aside for a couple of old fogies who can't grasp anything they can't see or handle. i was about disgusted, when a friend introduced me to a friend of his, who hinted that there were other markets where the pay was better. the upshot of it was that i gave this man--as agent of course for _his_ government--a second option on the invention to hold good if no deal was made with the first party before august first, when option number one expires. "mr. lewis and mr. harris represent--well, the name of the country doesn't make any difference, but they hold the first option. they are cautious; they won't buy unless they can see a complete machine that works perfectly. the others are willing to buy the idea outright, just as it stands. "of course i have no proof that the two men you saw--and they are the same i am sure as the two who burglarized me--have anything to do with my invention, but i'd venture a guess that their aim is to prevent my being able to demonstrate my machine before august first. what do you think?" "i think we'd better be getting busy." "there's nothing to do. of course, i don't lose any money by it--i gain some. but i hate to sell my idea to a gang of cutthroats and thieves. i resent being black-handed into a thing like that. but with billings laid out, the _skyrocket_ wrecked and myself all binged up, there's little chance. i suppose i could get a lot of mechanics and turn out a new plane in time, but i don't know where i could get men i could trust. like as not those two villains, or their employer, would manage to get at least one of their crew into the camp, and there'd be a real tragedy before we got through." "i tell you what," suggested jerry. "if you feel strong enough to manage it, you come over to the house and let ma get you some breakfast. then you'll feel a little more hopeful--ma's breakfasts always work that way," he said loyally. "there is bound to be a way out of this mix-up, and we'll find it or know the reason why." over a savory pile of pancakes mr. fulton did grow more hopeful, especially when jerry began to outline a scheme that had been growing in his mind. he began by asking questions. "do you have to have such skilled mechanics to make those repairs?" "well, no, not as long as i have skilled eyes to oversee the job. a good deal of it is just dub work. most anybody could do it if he was told how. i could do the directing easy enough; but i'm not left-handed. however, i'll chase downtown and let doc burgess look me over; maybe my shoulder isn't as bad as it feels. but i'm afraid my right arm is out of the fight for at least a couple of weeks--and there's just two weeks between now and august first. i'd not be much good except as a boss, and a boss isn't much good without somebody to stand over. so there you are, right back where we started." "not on your life! we're a mile ahead, and almost out of the woods. if you can boss dubs, and get anything out of them, why i know where you can get at least nine of them, and they're all to be trusted--absolutely." "tod could help a lot, and i suppose you are one of the dubs, but where are the rest?" "phil fulton and his boy scouts----" "my nephew, you mean, from chester? i suppose i could get him, but just what are these boy scouts?" "you've been so interested in your experiments that you don't know what the rest of the world is doing. never heard of the boy scouts?" jerry, secure in his own recent knowledge, was openly scornful. "oh, yes, now that you remind me, i do remember of reading about some red-blooded boy organization--a little too vigorous for chaps like you and tod, eh?" he teased. "you'll see what happens before the summer is ended. but that isn't helping _us_ out any, now. phil's patrol is down there with tod right this minute, and i bet you they know a thing or two about mechanics. that seems to be their specialty--knowing something about most everything. i'm mighty sure that if you tell us what to do, we can do it. we may not know a lot about the why of it, but we're strong on following instructions." "i'd be willing to take a chance on you fellows if it wasn't for the time. the _skyrocket's_ a complete wreck. it took billings a good many times two weeks to build her up in the first place----" "but you're not losing anything. the boys would be tickled to death to tackle it, and if we do lose out finally, why we've lost nothing but the time. it's like a big game----" "yes," observed mr. fulton dryly. "a big game, with the handicaps all against us. if we win, we lose money, and we have the pleasant chance of getting knocked over the head most any night." "but that isn't the idea. a set of foreigners are trying to force some free-born americans to do something we don't want to do. are we going to let them?" "not by a jugfull!" exclaimed mr. fulton, getting up painfully from his chair. "i'll go on down to the doctor--i expect i should have first thing, before i started to stiffen up. you go ahead to lost island, and see what can be done toward picking up the pieces and taking the _skyrocket_ over to the island. if there are enough unbroken pieces we may have a chance. i'll be along by noon." he hobbled down the street and jerry, after telling his mother what had happened, and getting reluctant consent to his extended absence, gathered together a few necessaries and made all speed for the interurban. there was no temptation to go to sleep this time, for his thoughts were racing madly ahead to the exciting plan to beat the schemers who had wrecked the _skyrocket_. at the same time he was conscious of a disappointed feeling in his heart; why could it not have been the united states that had bought the invention? that would have made the fight really worth while. for, to tell the truth, the two unenthusiastic owners of the first option did not appeal to him much more than did the others. he found the whole boy scout crew gathered about the _skyrocket_, having given up a perfectly wonderful fishing trip to guard the airship. jerry quickly told the story of the morning's events to phil, interrupted at every other sentence by the rest of the excited scouts. the whole affair appealed to their imaginations, and when he came to the proposition he had made mr. fulton, there was no doubt of their backing up his offer. "let's get busy!" shouted dick garrett, assistant patrol leader. "we ought to be all ready to move across by the time mr. fulton gets here." and he started toward the wreck as if to tear the thing apart with his bare hands and carry it piecemeal to the banks of the plum. "we won't get far, that way, dick," observed phil. "first of all we want a plan of action. and before that, we need to investigate, to see just how much damage has been done and how big the pieces are going to be that we'll have to carry." "but we don't know the first thing about how the contraption works," objected dick, somewhat to jerry's satisfaction, for there was a little jealous thought in his heart that phil would naturally try to take away from him the leadership in the plan. but phil soon set his mind at rest. "we don't need to know how it works. all we need to know is whether we have to break it apart or if we can carry it down mostly in one piece. first, though, we've got to organize ourselves. jerry's the boss of this gang, and as patrol leader i propose to be straw-boss. anybody got any objections? no? well, then, boss jerry, what's orders?" much pleased, jerry thought over plans. a workable one quickly came to him. "first of all we'll follow out your idea, phil. let's all get around it and see if we can lift it all together. dave, you catch hold of that rod sticking out in front of you--it won't bite. give him a hand, budge. all right, everybody! raise her easy--_so_." to their unbounded relief, nearly all the aeroplane rose together. one plane, it is true, gave one final c-c-r-rack! as the last whole rod on that side gave way; but the rest, twisted all out of shape and creaking and groaning, held together in one distorted mass. "all right," commanded jerry; "let her down again--easy, now. that's the ticket. now, frank--the two franks--you scout ahead and pick us out a clear trail to the water. you'll have to figure on a good twenty-foot clearance. "i guess we might as well finish the work you young sandows started. i see that the right plane--or wing or whatever you call it--is just as good as gone. we'll cut her away and that'll give us a better carrying chance." "why not take her all apart while we're at it, jerry?" suggested phil. "we'll have to anyway to get her over to the island." "just leave it to me and we won't. i've got a little scheme. who's got a heavy knife with a sharp big blade in it?" "that's part of our scout equipment," answered phil proudly. "come on, scouts, the boss says whack away the right wing." "wing?" grunted fred nelson, hacking vainly at the tough wood. "feels more like a drumstick to me!" although the rods were splintered badly they did not yield readily to the knives. the two trail scouts returned long before the task of clearing away the plane was finished. "there's a fairly easy way if we go around that hazel thicket and make for the road about a hundred yards south of here, then come back along the road to that cut-over piece by the little creek, go in through there to the river trail, and along that, south again, till we come just about straight across from here," reported the two. "all right. now one of you stay here and mount guard over the left-behinds, while the other goes ahead and shows us the way. how's the knife brigade coming on?" "ready any time you are. what's next?" "line up on each side the stick of the _skyrocket_, and we'll pick her up and tote her to the beach. back here, dave, you and barney; we need more around the motor--it weighs sixteen ounces to the pound. all set now? right-o--pick her up. lead ahead, frank." the unwieldy load swayed and threatened to buckle, and more than once they had to set it down and find new holds, but the winding road picked out by frank ellery was followed without any serious mishap, until at last they stood on the high bank overlooking the wide stretch of sandy beach beyond which plum run rippled along in the sunshine. "set her down--gently, now," ordered jerry. "we'll let her rest here while we bring up our reinforcements--and the rest of our baggage. phil, you take three scouts and go back and bring in the wings. leave frank there until you've gathered up every last scrap. the rest of us will stay here to figure out some way of getting our plunder shipped safely across to lost island." "go to it!" urged phil mockingly. "you've got some job ahead of you. you figure out how a rowboat's going to float that load across--and let me know about it." "yes," challenged a new voice, "you do that, and let me know about it too." mr. fulton had stepped unobserved through the border of trees and brush lining the river path. "huh!" bragged jerry. "if that was the hardest thing we had to do, we could use the _skyrocket_ for a fireworks celebration to-night!" chapter xiv patching the "skyrocket" but jerry gave no explanation of the method he intended to use in transporting the unwieldy bulk across the narrow stretch of water. while phil and his helpers disappeared, to bring up the rest of the aeroplane framework, he set his crew to work. the scout camp, which was something like a hundred feet north, yielded a couple of trappers' axes; with these he soon had two stout saplings cut and trimmed to an even length of thirty feet. in the larger end of each he cut a deep notch, while to the smaller ends he nailed a good-sized block, the nails found in an emergency locker on the _big four,_ both it and the boy scout boat having been brought down and hauled up on the beach. the two boats were now laid side by side, twenty odd feet apart. across the bows he laid the one sapling, across the sterns, the other, so that blocks and notches fitted down over the far edges of the boats. mr. fulton at once caught jerry's idea and nodded his head approvingly. "all right," he said, "if the saplings will hold up the weight." "they don't need to," explained jerry. "the _skyrocket_ will reach over to the inner edges of the boats; i measured the distance with my eye. all the sticks do is to hold the two ships together." phil's crew made two trips, on the second one bringing in frank, who had wrapped up a weird collection of broken-off parts in a piece of varnish-stiffened silk torn from one of the planes. it did not take long to load the "body" of the _skyrocket_ onto the saplings, the boats being still on shore. then, all pushing steadily, the strange double craft was slowly forced across the sand and into the shallow shore-water of plum bun. both boats settled dangerously near to the point of shipping water, so it was fortunate that the river was as calm as a millpond. at that, there was no hope that anyone could get in to row the boats. "strip for action!" shouted phil. "the boss says we're to swim across. likewise, the last one in's a rotten egg." the splashing that ensued, as ten youngsters plunged in, almost in a body, nearly swamped the boats. after his first shout of alarm, mr. fulton waved his hand gayly and shouted: "go to it, fellows. if the doctor didn't have my arm in a splint i'd be right with you." "all right, scouts," assented jerry, "but go mighty easy." they were all good swimmers, and with hardly a ripple they propelled the _skyrocket_ slowly but steadily toward the shore of lost island. as they drew near they saw that they had spectators on both sides, for awaiting them was the girl phil and jerry had seen not so long before, but under different circumstances. now she waved her hand encouragingly. "oh, liz-z-i-e!" shouted phil, "where's the meat-axe?" for answer she caught up a pebble and sent it skimming in his direction, so close that phil felt no shame in ducking, even if it did bring a great shout of laughter from his companions. but it was evident that "lizzie" or elizabeth billings, as they soon came to call her, bore no ill will as she came down to the water's edge and awaited their coming. but the boys had no intention of making a landing so long as she was there, and jerry was turning over in his mind just how to ask her to withdraw, when she apparently came to the conclusion that her presence was neither needed nor desired. at any rate, she left the beach abruptly and disappeared along the island path, only stopping to send a hearty peal of laughter in their direction. "next time across i guess well wear our clothes," snickered budge. "the young lady isn't used to welcoming savages to her lonely isle." "try a little of your savage strength on that rod you're leaning on; nobody suggested that this affair was a lawn party," phil reminded him. "come on, fellows, let's get the old _skyrocket_ up out of the damp." after some maneuvering they decided to unload from the water, as the beach shelved gradually. within five minutes they were ready to make for the other shore, being compelled to swim the boats back again, as no one had remembered to throw in the oars. this time their load was hardly worth calling one so far as weight was concerned, and four of the boys piled in, to row the boats across, nearly capsizing the whole arrangement in their efforts to outspeed each other. this time they were fully dressed. one of the boys brought the two boats back, and now all the party crossed over, with the exception of poor budge, who again was the one slated to stay behind and guard camp. perhaps his disappointment was only half genuine, however, as he was none too keen about the heavy job of freighting the wreckage to the center of lost island. tod was awaiting them when the last boatload beached on the island. it was easy to see that he had been greatly worried over the nonappearance of his father, and the bandages in which mr. fulton was literally swathed were not calculated to set his mind at ease. but mr. fulton's laughing version of the "accident," as he called it, soon relieved tod's fears. they made short work of the trip to the long, low shed phil and jerry had seen on their exploration of the island, and which they now learned was a "hangar," a place specially fitted for taking care of the aeroplane. when the big sliding door was thrown open the boys saw that inside was a complete machine shop, with lathes, benches, drills and punches, the whole being operated by power from the gasoline engine in the corner. "the first thing to do," announced mr. fulton, "is to understand just what we're driving at. so i'll explain, as briefly as possible, just what this contraption of mine is. it's simply a device that enables me to reverse the propellers instantly at high speed. but that isn't all. the same lever throws in another set of propellers--lifters, we call them--just above where the pilot sits. they act as a kind of counterbalance. now these planes, or wings, act in the same manner as the surfaces of a box kite, and aside from this device of mine, which has some details you won't need to know about, and a slight improvement i've made in the motor itself, the _skyrocket_ isn't any different from the ordinary biplane, which you all know about, of course." "of course we don't," blurted jerry. "of course we do," exclaimed phil. "there isn't one of the flying eagles who hasn't made half a dozen model flying machines, and barney here won a prize with a glider he made last spring in the manual training department of the high school. but we've all studied up about aeroplanes--that's why we call ourselves the _flying_ eagles." "another reason," chuckled mr. fulton, "why there ought to be a bunch of boy scouts in watertown. how about it, jerry?" "leave it to us. we'll challenge you eagles to a tournament next summer, and you'd better brush up your scouting if you don't want to come off second best. is that a go, tod?" "that's two go's--one for each of us." "well," suggested mr. fulton, "those of you who don't know the first principles of flying go into the second squad. you go to the office--that's the railed off space yonder--where you'll find plenty of books for your instruction. as soon as i get gang number one properly started i'll come back and give you a course of sprouts." jerry and dave and frank went to the "office," from where they heard mr. fulton putting tod in charge of one group, while he took the rest under his personal direction. "first off," he advised, "we'll take the _skyrocket_ all apart. all the broken or strained parts we'll throw over here in this box. anything that's too big we'll pile neatly on the floor. i want to know as soon as possible just what i'll have to get from the city. i can call on the blacksmith shop at watertown for some of the hardest welding, and job western did most of the carpentering in the first place, so i know where to go for my trusses and girders. examine every bolt and nut--nothing is to be used that shows the slightest strain or defect. "phil, you and i will tackle the motor. if she isn't smashed, half the battle's won." jerry sat back in the corner awhile, trying his best to get something definite out of the great array of books he found on a low shelf. looking up and seeing mr. fulton's eyes on him, a twinkle in their depths, he threw down the latest collection of algebraic formulas and walked over. "i guess i know enough about aeroplanes to unscrew nuts and nip wires. you can explain the theory of it to us after working hours." so, with monkey wrench, pliers, hammers and screwdriver, he set about making himself as busy as any of the others--and as greasy. dark came on them before they had made enough headway to be noticeable. the boys were glad to see the shadows creeping along, for, truth to tell, they were all thoroughly tired and not a little hungry. not a bite had any of them eaten since breakfast. "hope budge has taken it upon himself to hash together a few eats," sighed phil. "i feel hungry enough to tackle my boots." "eats?" exclaimed mr. fulton in surprise. "you don't mean to tell me that you're hungry?" "oh, no, not hungry. just plain starved," clamored the whole outfit. "good. one of you go over and get your guard, and we'll see what those mysterious signals mean that miss elizabeth has been making this past half hour. she told me she'd cook us a dinner--if we could stand domestic science grub. this is the first time she ever kept real house. let's wash up." the supper that elizabeth brought, smoking hot, to the long, board-made table the boys quickly set up in the hangar, did not smack very much of inexperience. even budge declared it was well worth the trip across the river. the boys were inclined to linger over the meal, and dave started in to tell a long story about a hunting trip in which he and his uncle had been the heroes of a bear adventure, but mr. fulton stopped him, even if the yawns of his listeners had not warned him to cut the tale short. "we're in for some good hard licks, men," said mr. fulton, "and it's going to mean early to bed and early to rise. that is," he amended, "if you want to go through with it." "we'll stick to the bitter end," they cried. "what's the program?" "two weeks of the hardest kind of work. breakfast at six; work at six-thirty, till twelve; half hour for lunch; work till seven; dinner; bed. that may not sound like much fun--it isn't." "suits us," declared phil for the rest. "do we get a front seat at the circus when the man puts his head in the lion's mouth--and a ride on the elephant?" he joked, pointing at the dismembered _skyrocket_. "i'll give you something better than that, just leave it to me," promised mr. fulton. "where you going to turn in?" "we go over to camp. you'll blow the factory whistle when it's time to get up, won't you?" "no," teased elizabeth, coming in just then, "i'll drop a couple o' nice smooth pebbles into camp as a gentle reminder." it was a jolly party that crowded into the two boats and sang and shouted their way across plum run some ten minutes later, but within the half-hour the night was still, for tired muscles could not long resist the call of sleep. but bright and early next morning they were all astir long before the hour of six and the promised pebbles. a swim in plum bun put them in good trim for a hearty breakfast, and that in turn put them in shape for a hard day's work. and a hard day it turned out to be, for mr. fulton parceled out the work and kept everyone on the jump. jerry and tod were put at the motor, which had refused to respond to its owner's coaxing. they twisted, tightened, adjusted, tested, till their fingers were cramped and eyes and backs ached. lunch gave a most welcome rest, but the half hour was all too short. every one of them welcomed mr. fulton's decision when he said: "we've got along so nicely that i think i will call this a six-o'clock day. wash up, everybody, and let's see what elizabeth has for us." chapter xv a wild night that was merely the first of a whole week of days that seemed amazingly alike. mr. fulton tried to make the work as interesting as possible by letting them change off jobs as often as he could. but even then there was little that under ordinary circumstances would interest a regular out-of-doors boy. what helped was that the circumstances were not ordinary. it was all a big game to them--a fight against odds. perhaps at times the screwing of greasy nuts on greasier bolts did not look much like a game, nor did the tedious pushing of a plane or twisting a brace and bit look like a fight, but every one of the boys sensed the tense something that was back of all mr. fulton's cheery hustle. they knew that his arm and shoulder hurt fearfully at times, but never a complaint did they hear from him, although he was all sympathy over the blood-blisters and cut hands of their own mishaps. but the second week made up for any lack of excitement that the boys had felt. the week was up wednesday night. on thursday morning mr. fulton met them with a white face that somehow showed the light of battle. "guess you'd better arrange, boss jerry, to leave a couple of your scouts on guard here nights," was all he said, but the boys felt that something disturbing had happened the night before. they questioned elizabeth when she brought their lunch, which they ate from benches and boxes to save time, but she would give them no satisfaction. tod seemed to know something, but he too was strangely mum. jerry decided to remain over that night himself, and phil, who had dropped a steel wrench across his toes and so had to remain for medical attention anyway, offered to share the watch with him. after mr. fulton had left them at about ten o'clock, they talked for awhile together, but finally they both began to yawn. "what'll it be?" asked phil. "two hours at a stretch, turn and turn about?" "suits me," said jerry. "ill take the first trick." phil's snoring something like fifty-nine seconds later was sufficient answer. all was still, and jerry set about to await midnight, when he could hope for a brief snooze. after a while the silence began to wear on his nerves and in every night noise he fancied he heard steps. he sat still and watchful, hardly breathing at times, his finger poised above a push button that would ring a bell where mr. fulton lay stretched out on a pallet on the floor of the tiny cabin. but midnight came and nothing had happened. he roused phil and then hunted himself out a soft spot in which to curl up. but he had grown so used to listening that now he found he could not stop. he tried counting, only it was fish he was catching instead of sheep going through the gap in the hedge. it was no use. at last he got up and stretched himself. "guess i'll take a turn around in the cool air; i can't seem to sleep." "gee," grumbled phil, "and here _i_ can't seem to stay awake. just as well have let me slumber on in peace." "well, don't slumber while i'm gone, sleepyhead." jerry walked across the open ground and after an undecided halt, broke through the bushes, heavy now with dew, and made for the shore. he stood for a long time on the bank, looking across to where the scout camp lay quiet in the darkness, and then turned and was about to go back to phil. but he paused; a steady creaking sound had broken the night. it was drawing slowly nearer. it was a rowboat. "great conspirators, they are!" sniffed jerry. "they might at least grease their oars." he heard the mumble of low voices, the _sush_ of a boat keel on the sand. reaching down, he caught up a big handful of pebbles; with a hard overhand swing he let them fly. he heard a muttered "ouch!" and then, after a moment's silence, once more the _creak-crook_ of oars. "batter out" chuckled jerry to himself as he scurried back to the hangar. after that he slept. the boys were all excitement when he told his story next morning, but that was nothing to compare with the exclamation that arose that same evening when they returned to camp to find that dave, who had been left in charge, had disappeared, and that the place had been rifled and then torn all to pieces. poor dave was found not far off, tied to a tree. his story was somewhat lacking in detail. he had sat dozing over a book on aeronautics, when suddenly an earthquake came up and hit him over the head. that was all he knew till he woke up tied securely to a tree. "that settles it," declared phil. "we ought to have done it in the first place, but the boss didn't think it was worth while." "what's that?" demanded jerry, a bit sharply. "well, what's the idea of our coming over here every night to sleep, when there's oodles of room there on lost island, where we're needed? huh?" "what's that 'huh'? boy scout for sir?" cried jerry hotly. phil jumped to his feet, but to the surprise of jerry, who had put up his fists, the scout leader brought his heels together with a click and his right hand went to the salute. "i stand convicted," he said simply. "you're the boss of this expedition. what's orders?" "orders are to break camp--it's already pretty well broken--and take ship for lost island. patrol leader fulton will take charge of the job while boss ring goes off and kicks himself quietly but firmly." they all laughed and good feeling was restored. the scouts made short work of getting their traps together, even in the dark, and it was not many minutes before the first load was on the way to lost island. jerry, phil and dave followed silently afterwards in the _big four_ with the rest of the dunnage. "you think _they_ did it?" asked dave of no one in particular. no one asked who _they_ were, nor did anyone answer, but each knew what the others were thinking. mr. fulton showed no surprise when told of their decision to camp henceforth on the island. "good idea," was his only comment. they were not disturbed that night, and the next day passed without incident, save that budge had the bad luck to break a truss he had been all day in making. "good!" said mr. fulton. "that wood might have caused a serious accident if it had got into the _skyrocket_." budge, knowing his awkwardness and not the timber was to blame, felt grateful that he had been spared the reproof that would have been natural. they had been making good progress, in spite of their greenness; next day mr. fulton was planning to stretch the silk over the planes; it had already been given a preliminary coat of a kind of flexible varnish which was also a part of mr. fulton's invention. the carpenter had done his part handsomely. the launch had come down the day before with all of the heavier framework and trusses. a few rods were still to come from the blacksmith, and the rear elevator control was still awaited, but enough of the material had been mended and put in place to make the aeroplane look less like a wreck. jerry and mr. fulton had finally managed to master the secret of the motor; that is, they finally made it run as smoothly as a top, but neither one was ever able to tell why it had not done so from the start. oiled and polished, it stood on the bench till a final brace should be forthcoming. camp had been pitched on the river side of the open ground, close beside the path. the second night of their new location mr. fulton and elizabeth came over, dick guarding the _skyrocket_ and tod remaining at the cabin to look after poor billings, who, thanks to the doctor's daily visits and his daughter's patient nursing, was growing steadily stronger. elizabeth brought along a guitar, which she played daintily, singing the choruses of all the popular songs the boys could ask for by name. after a little bashful hesitation, dave chimed in, while the rest of the boys lay back and listened in undisguised delight. into this peaceful scene burst tod, frightened out of his wits. it was a full minute before he finally managed to gasp: "they've come--they've been here! i didn't see them!" "what in the world do you mean?" cried mr. fulton, shaking the excited boy with his left hand. "if you didn't see them, how do you----" "i didn't. but it's gone--the motor's gone.----" "what!" yelled the whole crew at once. "dick and i sat outside the doorway, listening to you folks having a good time, and i went in to see what time it was--and there was the hole in the side of the hang--hang--the shed, and the motor had disappeared. at least that was all we noticed was gone." the last of this was delivered on the run, for all had set out for the machine shop, mr. fulton having promptly vetoed phil's plan to put a circle of scouts around the shore. sure enough, a big gap showed in the side of the hangar, where two boards had been pried loose. "lucky you were outside," grunted phil disgustedly, "or they'd have pulled the whole place down over your head." "we've got to work fast," urged mr. fulton. "if they get away with the motor the stuff's all off. they're desperate men--i don't want any of you trying to tackle them. scout ahead, and when you sight them, this is the signal:" he whistled the three short notes of the whippoor-will's call. "i've got my automatic, and i guess i can take care of them." as they hurried out into the night they spread out, working toward the east side of the island. jerry found himself next to phil, and after a few yards he moved over closer to the scout leader. "i say, phil," he called guardedly; "you ready to listen to the wildest kind of a notion?" "shoot," came the answer. "i don't believe our visitors came on the island for that motor at all. what good would it do them?" "it'd stop our launching the _skyrocket_, for one thing." "but there are lots of lighter things that would do that. i don't trust those two ruffians--or their boss, either." "well, who does?" "that's not the point. mr. fulton figures that they merely want to keep those others from buying his idea, so that when the first option expires, _they_ can. but if they could steal the plans in the meanwhile--get me?" "i get you. then you think that stealing the motor was just a blind, and that they are----" "getting us out of the road so they can take their time going through the workshop. if we're wrong, there's plenty of scouts out trailing them--it'd be too late anyway, as it's only a few hundred feet to where they would have left their boat. what say we sneak back, see if there's a gun at the cabin, and take them by surprise when they start burglarizing the hangar?" phil turned about by way of answer, and stealthily they approached the cabin. a light showed dim in the invalid's room, and through the curtained window they could see elizabeth's long braids bent over a book. she merely looked up when they stopped at the window, and at once came out the back door to where they stood. "is there a gun in the house?" questioned phil. "a thirty-two colts," she replied. "want it?" "quick as we can have it. _they_ are on the island." but she did not wait to hear the rest of his explanation. in a jiffy she had brought them an ugly looking revolver. "be careful," she said as she handed it to phil; "it shoots when you pull the trigger." the boys stole across the narrow space between the cabin and the hangar, and flattened themselves against the log walls as they wound their way toward the little "night door" near the other end. as they passed the big sliding doors they paused an instant and pressed their ears close against the planks, but all was still. both had an instant of disappointment, for they were counting strongly on being able to crow over the rest. but when they came to the crack where the two doors came together, and looked within, their spirits jumped up till they hardly knew whether they were pleased or frightened. for just an instant a flash lamp had lighted up the darkness! not quite so cautiously now, and a good deal faster, they made their way to the little door, guided by their sense of feeling, for the night was black as the pitch in the old saying. jerry turned the catch firmly but slowly, and the door swung open without a creak. they stepped inside. they were now in a walled off ante-room used for small supplies. it opened into the main workshop by means of a narrow doorway. standing in the middle of the tiny room they had a full view of the whole place. like two monstrous fireflies a pair of dark figures darted about, ransacking mr. fulton's desk, tearing open the lockers and cupboards, searching out every likely nook and cranny where papers might be hid, their flashlights throwing dazzling light on each object of their suspicion. the two boys realized suddenly that the attention of the two had been focused in their direction, and jerry jumped back behind the shelter of the door-edge just in time to escape the blinding rays of the flashlights. phil evidently realized that their time of grace was over and there was nothing to be gained in further delay. with raised pistol he stepped out into the light. "hands up!" he ordered gruffly. "your little game is ended for to-night." but he had miscalculated somewhat. with startling suddenness darkness closed in about them, there was a quick rush across the littered floor, a thud as a heavy body dashed against the shed wall and crashed through the inch boards. phil's gun roared out twice. as the two boys hastened to the gap in the wall they could hear the crash of the pair as they tore madly through the brush. then all was still again. but not for long. panting from the run, mr. fulton and three of the scouts came chasing like mad through the darkness. "what's happened?" he cried when he saw it was jerry and phil. he listened as patiently as possible to their disconnected story, laughing grimly at the end. "well, they'll swim it to shore, because we found their boat, and we sunk it under about a ton of stones." "yes, but----" began jerry, a premonition of further disaster in his mind and on the tip of his tongue, when from the east shore of lost island came wild cries of rage and chagrin. "just what i thought!" exclaimed jerry, by way of finishing out his sentence. "what's that?" demanded mr. fulton and phil in a breath. but jerry did not answer. there was no need. down the path came an excited group, shouting: "somebody's made off with the _big four!_" chapter xvi tricked again! nothing else happened that night, but the boys had already had enough excitement to keep them awake long past their usual time for turning in. some of them, indeed, were for starting out in pursuit of the _big four_, but mr. fulton promptly squelched the plan. there was little hope of finding the boat in the dense darkness. next morning, before breakfast, sid walmaly and dave were sent out on a scouting expedition, but they were not gone long. the _big four_ had been found, barely half a mile down, stranded on a sand-bar. a jagged hole in the side showed where the kidnappers had tried to scuttle the craft. after this event, the boys settled to their work in high spirits, undeterred by the fact that the motor was still missing, although mr. fulton felt sure it could not have been taken from the island. phil ventured to advance a theory, which the boys were inclined to scout but which mr. fulton finally decided was at least worth the time and effort it would take to try it out. the men had had no time to carry the motor far, argued phil. they had not gone to their boat, else they could hardly have made their way back to the hangar. they might of course have picked it up after they had been frightened away, but there had been hardly time for that. they had undoubtedly hidden it in the first place. the easiest place to hide the thing was in the river, and the closest trail to the river hit the extreme north end, where there was a steep-sided bay. "who's the best swimmer in the crowd?" asked mr. fulton. "i don't dare take very many away from the job, but we've got to have the motor." "jerry ring's the best swimmer and diver in watertown," announced dave without hesitation. mr. fulton turned inquiringly to the boy scouts, but no one answered his questioning look until phil at last spoke up quietly: "i'll go along if you need another one." "i do. you two take the scout boat and bring her around the point. i'll go through the woods--be there in half an hour or so, when i get things running smoothly here. be careful you don't find the gas-eater before i get there," he jested. but it was more than half an hour before mr. fulton came upon the two boys, stripped to their b-v-d's and at that instant resting on the bank. he came up just in time to hear jerry say: "i used to think i could dive! where'd you get onto it?" "just scout stuff," laughed phil, modestly. "every scout in the patrol's got swimming and diving honors." "good!" broke in mr. fulton. "dive me up that motor and i'll get you a special honor as a substitute submarine." "we've worked down from the point, scraping bottom for twenty feet out--that's about as far as they could heave it, we figured. we've just got to the place where i'd have dived first-off if i had only one chance at it. here goes for that leather medal," as phil rose and poised himself for the plunge. it was as pretty a dive as one could want to see. he split the water with a clean slash, with hardly a bubble. a minute, another, and another passed, the two on shore watching the surface expectantly. they began to grow worried. "he's been beating me right along" confessed jerry. "i can't come within a full minute of his ordinary dives. this one is a pippin--there he blows!" spouting like a young whale, phil broke the water and came ashore in long reaching strokes. "i tried my best!" he gasped as he pushed back his hair and rubbed the water from his eyes. "but i couldn't make it!" "better luck next time," encouraged mr. fulton. "if you don't find her in two more dives like that, why she isn't in plum run, that's all!" "find her? i was talking about _lifting_ her. guess we'll have to get a rope on her--she's pretty well down in the mud." "hurray!" shouted jerry, giving his chum a sounding smack on the wet back. "man the lifeboats! i chucked a rope in the bow of the boat." mr. fulton stood on the bank to mark the line, while the boys pushed the boat out to where phil had come up, some twenty feet from shore. jerry slipped over the side, one end of the rope in his hand. he did not remain long below. clambering in at the stern, he shouted: "hoist away--she's hooked!" and there was the motor, clogged with mud, to be sure, but undamaged. mr. fulton stepped into the boat and they rowed quickly back to the "dock." while the two boys put on their clothes over their wet underwear, he hurried back to the workshop to see how things were going. a few minutes later they followed with the motor. they felt, after this fortunate end of the adventure, that mr. fulton ought once more to be his own cheery self, but a look of gloom seemed to have settled down over his face, and his face looked haggard except when he was talking to one of the boys. jerry finally decided to try to cheer him up. "luck was sure breaking our way this morning, wasn't it?" he exclaimed cheerfully as the man came up to where jerry sat, removing the mud from their prize. "fine--fine," agreed mr. fulton, but without spirit. "what's the trouble?" demanded jerry, sympathetically. "anything else gone wrong?" "no--oh, no." "you look like the ghost of mike clancy's goat. remember how you always used to be telling tod and me to grin hardest when we were getting licked worst?" "i sure ought to grin now, then." "we're not licked--not by a long shot!" "yes we are--by about twenty-four hours. while you were gone i got word from the blacksmith. he says he can't possibly have that propeller shaft we found was snapped, welded before to-morrow afternoon late. not if we're to have the other things he promised. he's lost his helper--quit him cold." "no!" exclaimed jerry, his heart sinking at least two feet. then, with sudden suspicion, "do you suppose----" "i _know_ it," interrupted mr. fulton. "our two friends are working every scheme they know. blocking our blacksmithing was one of their easiest weapons. i'm only surprised they didn't do it before." "what can we do?" "submit gracefully. but i just can't face those two doubters. first they were so enthusiastic and then so suspicious, that i can't be satisfied unless i convince them. but the stuff's all off--and i told lewis and harris to come out to-morrow afternoon at three-thirty to see the _skyrocket_ make good all my claims!" "can't you beg off and get a little more time?" "they'd be willing enough, i suppose. they don't seem to be in the slightest hurry. but there's that second option that begins operations after to-morrow. no, there's no loophole. all we can do is just peg ahead, and if the blacksmith comes through sooner than he expects, we may have a bare chance. i just sent tod in to lend a hand." the blacksmith did do better than his word, for tod came back late in the afternoon bearing the mended shaft and two smaller parts that were urgently needed. it took all the rest of that afternoon to lay the shaft in its ball-bearings and true it up. the propeller was still to be attached, but mr. fulton declared he would take no chances with that or with the final adjustments in the half light of the growing dusk. the boys were glad to knock off. they had been working at high tension for a long while now and were beginning to feel the strain. they were all frankly sleepy, too, after the excitement of the night before. as a final precaution against a repetition of the surprise attack they all slept in the hangar, finding the hard floor an unwelcome change from their leafy beds in camp. but the night passed quietly. with daybreak they were all astir, but the time before breakfast was spent in an invigorating swim in the plum. elizabeth had done herself proud in the way of pancakes this last morning, and the boys did full justice. it was almost eight o'clock before anyone returned to the hangar with any intention of working. after barely half an hour there, chiefly spent in polishing and tightening up nuts and draw-buckles, mr. fulton drove them all outdoors. "chase off and play," he insisted. "tod and i will give her the finishing touches; then you can all come back and help us push her out into the sunlight for the final inspection." but elizabeth called them before mr. fulton was ready for their services. heaping platters of beautifully browned perch testified both to her skill and that of the boys. "lunch time already?" exclaimed mr. fulton in surprise. "where's the morning gone to?" but he showed that if he hadn't noted the passage of time, his stomach had. as he watched the brown pile diminish under mr. fulton's vigorous attack, phil threatened to go back to the river and start fishing again. "you oughtn't to be eating fish," he joked. "birds are more your style. better let me go out and shoot you a duck--or a sparrow; they're more in season." but mr. fulton was at last satisfied, as were all the boys. he sauntered back at once to the hangar. "guess you chaps can give me a shoulder now, and we'll take her out to daylight. after that you keep out of the way till the show starts--about four o'clock. all but two of you, that is. there's a bearing to grind on the lathe, and a couple of sets of threads to recut." tod could not have been driven away, so jerry volunteered to be the other helper. the whole troop made easy work of running out the _skyrocket_. after standing about admiringly a while, they all scattered, some of them, jerry learned from their conversation, to try to teach elizabeth how to catch bass. jerry grinned to himself at this; he had heard tod tell of the exploits of this slip of a girl, and no boy in camp could do more with a four-ounce bass rod than she could. tod and jerry went at once at their grinding, and by two o'clock all was in readiness. every rod and strut and bolt and screw was in place, tight as a drum. the nickel and brass of the bearings flashed in the sun; the _skyrocket_ looked fit as a fiddle. there was still a little gasoline in the gallon can that they had been using for testing the motor, and tod let it gurgle into the gasoline tank that curved back on the framework just above the pilot's seat. "try her out, dad," he urged. "i'll try the motor," agreed mr. fulton, "but i'm not going up until there's somebody around to watch her go through her paces. i've got my shoulder out of splints to-day, but i don't dare use it when there's any danger of strain. think you're going to have the nerve to go up with me, son?" jerry opened his eyes wide. this was the first he had heard of any such plan as _that_. "think i'm going to let you go up alone, with a twisted wing that might give out?" demanded tod scornfully. "huh! i'll take her up alone if you'll let me." "i'll let you fill her up with gas, if you're so ambitious as all that. i see an automobile throwing up the dust on the last hill of the town road. i expect it's our friends. i'll let one of the boys row me across to meet them. ask billings, if you can't find the wrench to unscrew the cap of the gasoline reservoir." billings proved to be sound asleep, napping off the effects of over-indulgence in browned perch, so the boys decided to await the return of mr. fulton, a search of the workshop having failed to reveal the wrench, and none of the stillsons being big enough to take the big nut that capped the fifty-gallon tank sunk in the ground on the shady north side of the hangar. so they sat down beside it and waited for mr. fulton to come back with his visitors. they finally appeared, lewis and harris standing about and listening in unenthusiastic silence as mr. fulton glowingly explained the whyness of the various devices and improvements that made the _skyrocket_ a real invention. they did not even venture an occasional question, although it was easy to see that they were impressed. "what are they made of? wood?" exclaimed jerry in fierce impatience. "do you know--if it wasn't that we've simply got to beat out those other fellows, i'd almost like to see these two sleepies get left. i don't like them a little bit!" "huh! ask me if i do. they give me the willies. never did like them, and ever since they acted so nasty about that accident i just plumb hate 'em. you'd think dad was trying to sandbag them or something like that. just listen to them grouching around. i'd hate to be a woman and married to one of them and have dinner late." jerry had seated himself on the top of the reservoir, the cap between his legs. he caught hold of it with his two hands. "it's too blamed bad your dad couldn't hitch up with uncle sam!" he exclaimed. "yes, and if you believe what the papers say, we're going to need it, too. we might be mixed up in the big war any day." "well, i expect we'd better not sit here gassing any longer. tod, chase over and ask your dad where that wrench is--unless you've got a notion i can twist this thing off with my hands." he gave a playful tug as if to carry out his boast. "say!" he cried, "what do you know about this!" "about what?" asked tod lazily, a dozen feet away on the way to his father. "this," answered jerry, giving the big cap a twirl with his forefinger. "some careful of your gasoline you people are!" the cap was loose. "something funny about that," declared tod, coming back. "i saw billings screw that on last time myself--with the wrench." there _was_ something decidedly funny about it, as it turned out. at tod's alarmed call mr. fulton came on the run. "it's been tampered with," was his immediate decision. "screw on the pump, boys, and force up a gallon or so, if there isn't water in that gas we're the luckiest folks alive. i might have known those crooks had a final shot in their locker!" "what's the idea?" asked mr. harris, with the first interest he had showed. "somebody's trying to block the game, that's what!" sputtered mr. fulton. "here, boys, take the canfull in and put it in the shop engine. if she can take it i guess we're worrying for nothing." for a moment or so it looked as if that were the case; the engine chugged away in its usual steady manner. but once the gasoline was gone that the boys had been unable to empty out of its tank, it began to kick a little. within another minute it had stopped dead. "show's over," announced mr. fulton grimly. "it's way after three o'clock now, and we can't hope to get a new supply from town this side of dark. if we just hadn't sent your auto back!" "you mean to tell us that you cannot go up--that there will be no flight!" cried mr. lewis, making up for all his previous lack of excitement in one burst of protest. "but, man--it's the last day of the option." "it's worse than that," countered mr. fulton. "it's the day before the beginning of a new option, held by the people who watered that gas--and at least a dozen other sneaking tricks." "but you told us that you would--why, you guaranteed us a trial flight." "i said you didn't have to buy till you'd seen it work, yes. i'm in your hands, gentlemen. after midnight to-night i'm in other hands--and you're going to lose the chance of your lifetime to secure for your government something that may prove the deciding factor in that terrific war you're carrying on over there. i'm sure you don't doubt my good faith." "faith! it's performances we want." "give me gas and i'll give you a demonstration that can't help but convince you. i can't use my motor on water. i was willing to risk my neck--and my boy's--by going up and trying this contraption with my left hand--but i can't accomplish the impossible." "but surely you don't expect us to buy a pig in a poke----" "this is no pig--it's a hawk. will you do this? will you buy the machine and the idea on approval? i'm pledged. if it isn't sold by night to you, to-morrow those other people will come with cash in hand----" "harris, you know," drawled mr. lewis, "i half believe the fellow's trying to flimflam us, you know. how do we know?" "how do you know!" mr. fulton's eyes flashed fire. "i'll have you know i'm a man of honor." "sure--sure," agreed mr. harris conciliatingly. "but that's not the idea, old chap. we don't buy this for ourselves, you understand. we're merely agents, and responsible to our chief. what'd we say if we came back with a bag of pot metal for our money?" "what will you say to your conscience when your enemy drops destruction onto your brave countrymen in the trenches from the fulton aeroplane? that's what you'd better be asking yourselves." "but we've got to be cautious." "cautious! if you saw the goose that laid the golden egg getting off the nest, you'd hold the egg up to a candle to see if it was fresh!" "well, now, mr. fulton----" began mr. harris, when he was interrupted by jerry, who had been holding himself in as long as was humanly possible. "don't let's waste any more time talking, mr. fulton. tod and i have got a scheme that will pull us out on top yet--even if it does mean helping these doubters against their will!" chapter xvii the big play "look here, mr. fulton," began jerry, almost stammering in his eagerness. "it wouldn't be any trick at all to get over to the interurban tracks in time to catch the four o'clock northbound. that gets to watertown at four twenty-five--say half-past. we ought to be able to get the gas and rout out a machine to haul it in inside another half hour. that's five o'clock. then an hour certainly would see us back here, with a good hour and more of daylight left." "i've gone over all that in my mind a dozen times. but i've also spent a little time figuring what these men would be doing in the meanwhile. there's just one place in watertown that keeps any quantity of gasoline--the rest buy of him. and he'd die of fright if he should be caught with more than a hundred gallons at one time." "but we don't need more than five!" exploded tod. "sure, son, sure. but suppose somebody just ahead of you made it his business to buy the hundred--how about that?" "but there's a chance," objected jerry, returning to the attack. "we might be able to get away without their seeing us." "don't worry; they're watching every move we make." "then i've got another scheme. see if you can pick it full of holes too." there was more than a touch of impatience in jerry's voice. "they're watching this side, that's sure; and they know we're bound to figure on either watertown or chester. we'll fool them. i'll swim across to the other side, reach a telephone, get my dad, who's at corliss these days on business. there's a standard oil tank at corliss. dad'll start the gas out inside of twenty minutes----" "corliss is a good two hours' trip by auto, my boy. it would take at least half an hour to get the message through, and another to get the gas here from the road. that means at least seven o'clock, and it would be dark before we were ready to go up." "all right," agreed jerry, refusing to give up. "suppose it does get dark: there's such a thing as flying by night, isn't there? all we've got to do is to build a dozen flaring bonfires to see by----" "now you're talking!" exclaimed mr. fulton with sudden enthusiasm. "you've hit it. not brush--that would smoke us out. but there are ten or a dozen open air torches here like those they use at street shows, and there's not enough water in the gasoline to hurt it for that purpose. moreover, we can switch our engine onto that dynamo in the shop, and we'll string incandescent lights all through the trees; we've got plenty of them. there's at least a mile of bare copper wire about the place--what you two standing with your mouths wide open for? thought you were going to get that gas! where in thunder are all those boys?" "here they come--tired of waiting out there in the sun, i guess. so long, dad; i'm going with jerry." "you are _not_. you're going to be chief electrician. if jerry can't put through his part of the job alone he doesn't deserve credit for having thought of the whole scheme." the first part of jerry's task proved easy enough. it took him well over the half hour mr. fulton had predicted, to find a farmhouse with a telephone, and central seemed an unusually long time in ringing through to the office jerry's father had been making his headquarters for the past weeks. then it developed that mr. ring was out at a conference of business men. jerry took the telephone number the girl gave him, and repeated it to central, who again took her time in giving the connection. jerry was about ready to drop with nervousness before he finally heard his father's gruff voice at the other end of the line. the words simply tumbled over themselves as jerry told his story; fortunately, mr. ring was shrewd enough to guess the half that jerry jumbled in his eagerness. "where are you--so i can call you back?" was mr. ring's only reply. fifteen minutes later the telephone rang. jerry answered, to hear: "ten gallons of gasoline, double strained, left here five minutes ago on a fast delivery truck. it ought to reach the road opposite lost island inside of two hours. you be there to tell them what to do. good luck, jerry--i'm going back to that conference. this skylark may cost me a five hundred dollar profit." "it isn't a skylark--it's a sky_rocket_, and mr. fulton will pay you double over!" but it was into a dead transmitter he shouted it, for mr. ring had not waited. jerry did not wait long either, but raced across fields and through woods to the river road. he found a shady spot, which he established as his headquarters, but he was too restless to wait there long. they seemed a mighty long two hours. the sun sank lower and lower; jerry heard a bell ringing far off, calling the farm hands to supper--he was getting hungry himself. shadows began to darken, the clouds flared up in a sudden crimson, first low down on the horizon, then high up in the sky. the sun dropped out of sight behind the trees. away down the road sounded a faint drumming noise that grew nearer and louder until around the bend whirred a dust-raising black monster that came to a halt a few feet away from the boy who had sprung out, shouting and waving his arms. "you waiting for gasoline?" a grouchy voice demanded. "are you mr. ring?" "i sure am!" "well, come on back here and help h'ist it out. we're in a hurry to get back to town--why it's only a kid!" as jerry came up. "who's going to help you handle it? it's in two five-gallon cans." "i guess i can manage it all right. i've got some friends waiting down on the river bank." "all right; it's your funeral. there you are, sealed, signed and delivered." the motor roared out, then settled to a steady hum; the man backed and turned and soon was swallowed up in the dust and the growing dark. jerry braced his shoulders for the stiff carry to the plum, a five-gallon can in each hand. he was willing to stop now and then for a breathing spell, but at last he set the load down on the narrow fringe of sandy beach. cupping his hands about his mouth, he sent a lusty shout ringing across the water; he was too weary to swim it, and there did not seem to be much need for further concealment. there was an instant answer, showing that the boys had been awaiting his signal. the splash of oars told him that the boat was on the way, and he felt suddenly glad that he could now think of a few minutes' rest. it proved to be dave and tod and phil in the scout boat. they made quick work of loading in the two cans, and then they all piled in, dave and tod at the oars. they were perhaps halfway across when jerry asked, anxiously, it seemed: "can't you get any more speed out of her, fellows?" "what's eating you? it's as dark now as it's going to get," answered dave, at the same time letting his oars float idly up against the side of the boat. "i'm worried, that's why," exclaimed jerry, slipping over and pushing dave out of his seat. "do you hear anything?" they all listened, tod holding his oars out of the water. sure enough, a purring, deeply muffled sound came faintly across the water. it was unmistakably a motorboat. "some camper," suggested dave. "it sounds more like--trouble," declared phil, a significant accent on the word. "the enemy, i bet, and trying to cut us off." "well, we've got a big start on them. they're a long way off" again dave volunteered. "you mean you're a long way off. they've got her tuned down--she isn't over two hundred yards away and coming like blue blazes. they mean mischief--they aren't showing a single light. what's our plan?" "keep cool," advised jerry. "they'll probably try to bump us. we'll row along easy-like, with a big burst of speed at the last second. before they can turn and come at us again, we can make shore. steady now!" the drone of the motor was almost upon them. the dusk lay heavy over the water; they could see nothing. louder and louder sounded the explosions, but now they had slowed up. a dim shape showed through the gloom. "all set!" came the low command from jerry, just as the boat, muffler cut out, the engine at top speed, and volleying revolutions and deafening explosions, seemed to leap through the water. "down hard!" cried jerry, lunging with his oars. tod grunted as he put all his strength into the pull. the scout boat seemed to lift itself bodily out of the water as it plunged forward--only inches to spare as a slim hull slipped by the stern. "yah!" yelled phil, jumping to his feet and shaking his fist wildly. "you're beat!" the scout boat hit shore just then, and phil, caught off his guard, took a header and landed astride one of the gasoline cans. "i wonder if that was a torpedo," he grunted as he picked himself up. "no," chuckled tod. "just a reminder not to crow while your head is still on the block." the boys wasted no time in getting the gasoline out of the boat and up through the bushes, sending a lusty shout ahead of them to tell the waiting islanders that they were coming. "over on the far side of the clearing," directed tod, who was carrying one side of a can with jerry. "we hauled the _skyrocket_ over there as the ground is more level and free from stumps." they found the whole crew waiting about the airship, their eager faces lighted up by the flaring flames of one of the gasoline torches. "hooray for jerry, the gasoline scout!" they shouted as the boys dropped their loads at the first convenient spot. "bully for you!" exclaimed mr. fulton, coming over and clapping jerry on the shoulder. "have any trouble?" "you better guess we did," broke in dave. "a motorboat tried its best to run us down." mr. fulton looked grave as he listened to the tale of their adventure. as dave finished a spirited account of their narrow escape, the man turned to tod with: "guess you'd better look after filling the tank, son, while i chase over to the house and get my goggles and my harness," referring to a leather brace the doctor had brought him a few days before to use until his shoulder grew stronger. unfortunately, the thing was not properly made and it held the arm too stiffly, so mr. fulton used it only when he absolutely had to. the boys all wanted to have a hand in this final operation and consequently it took twice as long as was necessary to fill the tank. enough was spilled, as tod said, to run the _skyrocket_ ten miles. in the meanwhile, one of the boys took the small can and went the rounds and filled all the torches with gasoline, while another came close behind him and started them going. tod finally left the rest to finish the job of filling the _skyrocket_, and disappeared in the direction of the workshop. within five minutes the boys heard the steady chugging of "old faithful" as they had named the shop motor. an instant later the whole field was suddenly lighted up as the twenty incandescent lights flashed up brightly. "_some_ illumination!" cried jerry, delightedly, turning to mr. harris, who happened to be nearest him. "yes," agreed the man coldly, "but it's all on the ground." "sure. because there's nothing up in the air to see. wait till the old _skyrocket_ shoots up," and jerry walked over to where the boys were standing. "old grouch," he said to himself. "you'd think he didn't want to see us win out." tod came hurrying back from the hangar. "where's dad?" he asked. "hasn't got back yet." "that's funny. i saw him leave the cabin as i went in to start up the dynamo. he called something to me about hurrying so as not to give those fellows any time to think up new tricks. who's that over there with mr. harris?" "phil, i guess. your dad hasn't come out yet or we'd have seen him--it's light as day." "what's the cause of the delay now?" came from behind them. mr. lewis had approached the group unobserved. "waiting for my father," answered tod. "guess he's having a hard time with his harness. i'd have stopped for him only i thought he'd have come back ahead of me. i'll chase over now and see if he needs any help with his straps." tod ambled off across the torch-lighted open. it was a weird sight, that flaring line of torches, the paler gleam of the electric lights hung high in the trees, the animated faces of the excited boys, the two stolid men, and the adventurous looking _skyrocket_, its engines throbbing, the tiny searchlight ahead of the pilot's seat sending a fan-shaped road of white light into the trees. it was like a scene on the stage--just before the grand climax. tod furnished the climax for this scene. hardly had he disappeared within the door of the cabin, before he came running out again, shouting at the top of his voice: "fellows! quick!" there was a note in his cry that went through the boys like an electric shock. it was anger and fear and a dozen other emotions at once. they fairly flew across the hundred yards or so to the cabin, crowding in till the main room was filled. "what is it, tod?" cried phil, as his cousin flung open the door to the tiny lean-to bedroom. tod's face was pasty white and his eyes bulged out. "they've--_got_ dad! i'm afraid he's--killed!" "no!" exclaimed jerry, pushing past. but the first look made him believe the worst. on the floor, toppled over in the chair to which he had been bound, lay mr. fulton, his injured shoulder twisted way out of place, his distorted face the color of old ivory. gagged and tightly laced to the bed lay mr. billings, his features working in wildest rage. but mr. fulton was not dead. he came to under the deft handling of phil and his fellow scouts, but it was mr. billings who told the story of the attack. while mr. fulton had been struggling with the strap that held his shoulder-brace in place, two burly men had burst through the doorway and quickly overpowered him, handicapped as he was by his useless arm. they had bound him to the chair, and then, after gagging and tying billings, had calmly proceeded to ransack the room, one holding a pistol at fulton's head while the other searched. papers scattered about on the floor, wrecked furniture and broken boxes, testified to the thoroughness of the hunt. but they had found nothing until they had thought to go through the bed on which billings lay. under the mattress was a portfolio packed with blueprints and plans. that was when mr. fulton had fallen; he had tried to free himself from his bonds and get at the two, no matter how hopeless the fight. as mr. billings finished the story, mr. fulton opened his eyes weakly. "tod----" he gasped--"where's tod?" "here, dad," coming close beside him where he lay on a big pile of blankets. "look quick and see if they found the little flat book--you know." tod rummaged hastily through the disordered mess of drawings littered over the bed and floor. "not here," he confessed finally. the man gave a deep groan. "we're done for, then. it had the contract folded up in it. and it had the combination to the safe at the house, and there was the list of the specifications mr. billings made out for me when we packed away the first draft of the _skyrocket_." "what difference does that make, if they've already got the blueprints'?" asked jerry. "oh-h!" cried mr. fulton, despair in his voice, "don't you see? the aeroplane itself was made here; billings did all the work on it. but tod and i did all the experimental work at home. all the data concerning the invention is back there in the safe!" "and they're already halfway there in their motorboat!" groaned phil. but mr. fulton made no answer. his eyes were closed; he had fainted dead away. tod jumped up from where he had been kneeling beside his father. "look after him, phil," he directed briskly. "jerry, you come with me. those villains have got the contract and they will soon have dad's secret--it means that we're cleaned out. there's only one thing to do in a tight place like this, and you and i are going to do it--if you've got the nerve!" "i've got it," responded jerry quickly. "what is it?" "we're going after those crooks in the _skyrocket_!" chapter xviii a close finish the incidents of the next hour or so would be hard to picture from the standpoint of jerry's emotions. as they half ran over to where the _skyrocket_ stood ready, snorting like an impatient racehorse, his heart was filled with a kind of frightened determination. once he was strapped into his seat, his pulses stopped galloping so fast, but as tod began an endless fumbling with levers, plainly as nervous as his chum, jerry's nerve oozed out at his fingertips; he might have climbed out had it not been for the straps--and the two men, who now came forward and insisted that the boys give up their hair-brained plan. jerry would have been killed by inches rather than give in to them. a sudden terrifying lurch, a dizzy parting company with solid earth that almost made jerry part company with his stomach. he yelled, but it might easily have been through excitement rather than fear. he hoped the two and tod would think so. he dared not look down--all he could do was grip the rod before him with a death-defying clutch. faster and faster, higher and higher they mounted, the air whistling by them like mad. "can't you slow her down a little?" he yelled in tod's ear, but tod gave no answer. he could hardly have heard above the roar of the motor and the sickening whine of the propellers--not to intention a steady drumming of taut wires and tightly stretched silk. "can't you tune her down?" jerry yelled, louder this time, "and get her level?" "can't!" shouted tod. "i've forgotten which handle to pull, even if i knew which way to pull it!" he tried first one and then another, but although they lurched dangerously, first this way and then that, they kept mounting into the sky. finally there was but one chance left--tod cautiously drew the lever toward him, then with an "ah!" heard above all the noise, brought it all the way. the _skyrocket_ quivered, dropped to an even keel, and then turned her nose earthward. but tod was ready for that. halfway back he shoved, the lever and once more the _skyrocket_ rode level. they had left lost island far behind, but in which direction they could not be sure. a long streak of flame to the left told them that a railroad lay there, and it could be none other than the belt line that ran into watertown. through a rift in the clouds a cluster of stars showed briefly--the big dipper. "see!" shouted tod. "we're headed north, all right." they were going much slower now, and the noise was not so deafening; they could talk without splitting their throats. dimly they made out plum run directly beneath them, while a haze of lights indicated watertown, the goal. even as they watched it seemed to be drawing nearer. "were you scared?" asked tod. "stiff," confessed jerry. "you?" "should say. bet my hair's turned white. where'll we land?" "where can you?" "don't know. river, most likely. say, we're lucky we're alive. i thought i knew how to run it until we got off the ground. then i found i'd forgotten more than i ever learned." "did you ever run it before?" "with dad watching, yes. once, that is. but i've faked running it a hundred times there in the hangar. suppose we could come down in your back lot? it's level--and big enough, maybe." "we might hit a horse. dad's got daisy in there nights." "we'll have to chance it, i guess. but you hold on good and tight, because i'll probably pull the wrong strings at the last minute. where are we now?" "that's the mill yonder, i think. we want to swing west a little now. suppose _they_ are at the house by now?" "most likely. they had a good start. shall we get your dad?" "uhuh. and several others--with guns. better have old bignold." mr. bignold was the only night policeman in watertown. "there's the city limits, that switch-tower on the belt line. hadn't we better come down a bit. i don't like the idea of falling so far." tod obediently let the _skyrocket_ slide down a few hundred feet, till they were just above the tree-tops. they could see that their arrival was causing a commotion below. they could even hear the cries of alarm. "bet they think we're a comet," chuckled tod. now he began to circle a bit, for it was hard to identify houses and streets in the dark and from this unfamiliar view. at last jerry gave a shout of joy. "there's our house--and i bet that's dad coming out to see what's up. hey, dad!" he yelled, but the running figure below made no answer. "well, here goes for daisy!" chuckled tod, at the same time pointing the _skyrocket_ earthward so sharply that it made jerry gasp. down, down they shot, the black underneath seeming to be rushing up to crush them. at the last tod managed to lessen their slant, but even then they struck the ground with a force that almost overturned the machine. over the rough ground the landing wheels jolted, but slower and slower. a final disrupting jar, and they stopped dead. not so the object they had struck. with a wild squeal of fear poor daisy struggled to her feet and went tearing out of sight and hearing at better speed than she had shown for years. "that'll bring dad on the jump," declared jerry, climbing painfully from his seat. "say, to-morrow i'm going to take a good look at this rod i've been holding to; i'll bet it shows fingermarks." "what's the meaning of that rumpus out there?" demanded a stern voice. "oh, dad--we need you the worst way." "that you, jerry? what in tarnation you up to anyhow?" "we're not up any longer--we're glad to get back to earth." "eh?" said mr. ring, perplexed, as he came up to them. "what ye driving at? what was that thing that just sailed over the house? did you see it? i heard daisy going on out here like the devil before day--or was it you two who were pestering her? what's that contraption you're sitting on?" "the same thing that just sailed over, dad," laughed jerry, then, unable to hold in any longer: "we came from lost island in mr. fulton's aeroplane that he's just invented, and there's robbers in mr. fulton's house, and we want you to get a gun and mr. bignold and all the neighbors, and go down and get them!" jerry stopped, but only because he was out of breath. "get them? who are _them?_ and what in thunder you two doing in an aero----" "oh, dad," jerry almost screamed in his fear that delay might make them too late, "don't stop to ask questions. let's get to the house and tod can be telephoning while i tell you what it's all about." he caught hold of his father's arm to hurry him along. "there are two men breaking into mr. fulton's safe this minute, most likely, and we mustn't let them get away." "well, what in thunder's fulton got in a safe that any robber would want?" grumbled mr. ring, but stepping briskly along nevertheless. "two men, you say? guess bignold and i can handle them. i've got my old horse-pistol--if it doesn't blow out backwards." they had reached the house, and tod went in to telephone, while mr. ring went upstairs to get his revolver, which, instead of being a horse pistol, was an automatic of the latest type. jerry stopped him for a moment at the stair door. "i'm going ahead. i'll be just outside the gate over yonder, keeping an eye on the place to see they don't get away." he was gone before mr. ring could object. but the house was dark and silent. not a sign of unwelcome visitors was to be seen. all the windows were tightly closed; both doors were shut. jerry felt uncomfortable. suppose there was no one there--had been no one there? the two men would roast him and tod unmercifully. he heard a light step on the walk behind him and turned, expecting his father. his words of greeting died in his throat. two men, looking unbelievably big and threatening in the darkness, were almost upon him. he tried to shout for help. his tongue seemed paralyzed and his throat refused to give out a sound. jerry was scared stiff. he knew at once that these two were the men they had come to capture, and somehow he had a feeling that they knew _that_, too. not a word was said. jerry had backed up against the gatepost, his fists doubled up at his sides. the two pressed in close against him. he felt powerful hands reaching out to crush the life out of him, but still he made no outcry. then one of them spoke. "you came in the airship?" jerry started, for the man's english was perfect, though heavy and foreign sounding in an unexplainable way. he repeated his question when the boy did not answer at once. "yes--yes," stammered jerry, hoping that perhaps he might gain time. "you came alone?" insinuated the same speaker as before, but now an ominous note of threat in his voice. jerry was in a quandary. he realized that if he told them that he had come alone, that they would kill him. on the other hand, if he told them the truth, they would get away. "answer!" commanded the man, catching jerry by the throat and shaking him till the back of jerry's eyeballs seemed to be red, searing flames. a sudden rage came over him, numbed as he was by the pressure on his windpipe. with a mighty wrench he freed himself. kicking out with all his might, he caught the farther man full in the pit of the stomach. he fell, all doubled up. but the man who had choked jerry, laughed scornfully as lie caught the boy's arms and gave the one a twist that almost tore it from its socket. "more spirit than brains," he laughed derisively. "i'll break you in two over my knee if you make another break like that." "you'll kindly put up your hands in the meanwhile," suggested a pleasant but firm voice which jerry could hardly recognize as that of his father. "i think i'll take a little hand in this game myself." "look out, dad--there's one on the ground!" warned jerry. "i kicked him in the stomach." "pleasant way to treat visitors. why didn't you invite them into the house, son? oblige me, gentlemen." he waved his automatic in the general direction of the fulton front porch. "i'd ask you to my own house, but, you know, womenfolks----" jerry stepped out of the way. his assailant passed him and turned to go in the gateway. then something happened, just what, jerry was not sure. afterwards it developed that he had been picked up bodily and hurled full at his father. mr. ring went down like a tenpin when the ball hits dead-center. as he fell, his finger pressed the trigger and six roaring shots flashed into the air. when father and son regained their feet, they had a last dim glimpse of two forms in rapid flight. then the darkness swallowed them up. "we bungled it," said mr. ring, ruefully feeling of a certain soft spot in his body where jerry's weight had landed. "and here come tod--and chief bignold, just a minute too late." "hi there, mr. ring," called the burly constable. "what is it--a riot?" "a massacre, but all the victims escaped. two blooming foreigners trying to steal an airship out of mr. fulton's safe down there in his cellar--wasn't that what you said, boys?" the boys tried to explain, but both men seemed to insist on taking the whole affair as a joke, though they talked it over seriously enough when the youngsters were out of hearing. tod opened the door and let them inside the house, but did not go in himself, motioning to jerry to stay beside him. "you two youngsters chase along over to the house and tell mrs. ring to give you your nursing bottles and put you to bed." "huh," snorted tod, "we daren't leave the _skyrocket_ unguarded." "why it's fulton's kid," exclaimed bignold, for the first time recognizing him. "say, you tell your dad that he's been stirring up this town till it's wild with excitement. three telegrams this day, not to mention a special delivery letter that they've been hunting all over the country for him with. and on top of that, an important little man with brass buttons and shoulder-straps, struttin' all over the place and askin' everybody if he's mr. fulton, the inventor. when'd your dad get to be an inventor?" "well, he had to be born sometime," answered tod dryly. "eh? well, you'd best tell that same little busy-bee where your father can be found. and the telegrams; don't forget them." "i won't," answered tod, starting off toward town on the run. "watch the old _skyrocket_ till i get back, will you, jerry?" and he was gone. * * * * * * * two stiff, sleepy, disgusted boys sat up in their nest of blankets and looked at each other through the framework of the _skyrocket_ next morning at something like seven o'clock. "and you said you wouldn't go to sleep," each said slowly and accusingly to the other, then both grinned sheepishly. "oh, well, the machine's still here, so why grouch over a couple hours' sleep?" tod defended. "huh--i suppose not. but i'll bet dad had a good laugh over us when he came down here about breakfast time. what's that pinned to your blanket?" tod crawled out of his nest and pulled loose the scrap of paper that had been pinned in the region of his big toe. "it's a note. want to hear it? it says, 'mother ring tells me pancakes are ready for you when you've finished your guard-mount. signed--a burglar.' that's sure one on us." it was scant justice that the two did to breakfast that morning. four telegrams were burning holes in tod's pockets; he could hardly keep from tearing them open, so curious was he to know their contents. even the newspaper that mrs. king brought in and laid beside their plates, could not entirely hold their attention, in spite of the startling news headlined on the front page. "break with germany--u. s. on verge of being drawn into world war." "we'll take it with us and read it after we get there. no--not another cake, mrs. ring. excuse us, please--we've got to go." "it seems a shame----" began tod, when they were once more outside, then asked abruptly: "willing to take a licking, jerry?" "and go back on the _skyrocket_? did you think we were going any other way? and leave the machine here for anybody to come along and study out--or steal? not much! i'll take a dozen lickings!" but he didn't. when the _skyrocket_ finally circled about lost island and settled down over the narrow landing field as easily as a homing pigeon, to come to a stop with hardly a jar, it was bringing news to mr. fulton that was bound to soften the heart of any dad. tod's father was out in front of the little cabin, a bit pale and shaky, but cheerful. his face lighted up wonderfully when he saw the _skyrocket_ aground and the two boys safe. he tried to rise to greet them, but had to be satisfied to wave his hand instead. the two boys came running over to where he sat, eager to tell their story. "what's happened?" mr. fulton asked excitedly before they could begin. he was pointing at the newspaper jerry had been waving wildly as they raced across the open. "war--maybe--with germany! but we've more important news than that--for us just now, at least. telegrams--four of them--look. and an officer's been looking for you----" "police?" asked mr. fulton gravely. "army!" exploded tod and jerry together. "bet it's about the----" they paused, for mr. fulton was not listening to them. he had torn one of the telegraph envelopes open and was reading the brief message, his face going first red and then white. "what's all the excitement?" demanded a slow voice in which there was a trace of resentment. it was mr. harris, who had appeared in the doorway of the cabin. "nothing much," answered mr. fulton. "nothing at all. in fact, the excitement's all over. i'm certainly very glad that you balked yesterday on buying that 'pig in a poke,' my dear baronet. it seems," flapping the opened telegram against his other hand, "it seems, my very dear sir, that the american government, being confronted by a situation which bears more than a promise of war, has offered to buy the ideas which are embodied in the _skyrocket_." "hooray for uncle sammy!" shouted tod. all the boys had come crowding around, slapping tod and jerry wildly on the back and cheering till their throats were hoarse. it was fully five minutes before anyone could make himself heard above the din. finally mr. fulton raised his hand for a chance to be heard, and after one rousing shout of "three cheers for the scouts of the air!" the noisy crew quieted down. "phil asked me one day if i'd promise you all a front seat at the circus and a ride on the elephant. well, i'm going to keep my word, i've got a piece of timber about forty miles up the river from here, and on it there's a log cabin and one of the greatest little old fishing lakes in the country. i'm going to take you all up there for a month of the best sport you ever had." "bully for you, dad!" shouted tod, then turned to jerry with: "and while we're there, what say we learn the first principles of boy scouting, so that when we get back to watertown we can organize a patrol of----" "the boy scouts of the air!" finished dave and frank and jerry in a breath.