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Chapter XIX
JACK'S PROPOSITION

Jack called at Mr. Chick's house, saw that gentleman and got his promise to bury old crumple-horn at once, after which he continued on past Bill Dean's home, fearing no trouble from him since he was yet at the camp grounds.

On arriving at the store he found Mr. Treat alone, and was greeted with the question, —

"Hello! Here's Aunt Nancy's young man! How's the old lady after her trip to the grove?"

"She is well, but tired."

"I'll warrant that. When folks want to go off for a good time they invite Nancy Curtis, reckonin' she'll do whatever work there is without grumblin', an' they ain't far out of the way, either. Did the deacon get his full share of that Mocha she bought?"

"I don't know, sir; but I guess so, I didn't hear him findin' fault."

"Then you can count on his havin' been filled up; he don't buy very much of that kind of coffee when it's him as has to foot the bills."

Jack had no interest in this subject, and changed it abruptly by saying, —

"Aunt Nancy's cow died this mornin'."

"Sho! How'd that happen?"

"Mr. Chick thought it must be old age."

"Well I reckon it was. That cow has been in the family quite a spell."

"It'll be hard on Aunt Nancy not to have the milk."

"I 'low you're 'bout right, sonny; it helped make up a good bit of the old woman's livin', an' she hasn't so much money but that a dollar makes a big difference."

"That's true, an' I've come to see if I can't help her out in some way."

"You?" and Mr. Treat looked up in surprise. "Why, I thought you hadn't any great amount of cash on hand."

"And I haven't; but I thought perhaps I might make a trade with you."

"Want to have a dicker of some kind, eh? Well, what have you got to show up?" and Mr. Treat selected from a pile of pine wood a convenient stick to whittle, as he assumed a more comfortable attitude preparatory to indulging in his favorite pastime of "dickering."

"I haven't got anything, sir; but thought there might be work I could do around here till I'd earned enough to buy Aunt Nancy another cow."

Jack stammered and hesitated until it was a positive pleasure both to himself and the storekeeper when the speech was finally ended.

"What can you do?" Mr. Treat asked thoughtfully as he fashioned with infinite care the bit of wood into a toothpick.

"Almost anything, sir. I'd be willin' to work very hard if I could get the job."

"Have you got any idea what the jobs 'round here might be?"

"It don't make any difference; I'm not afraid of bucklin' down to them."

"How much do you count on earnin'?"

"I want to get enough to buy a cow for Aunt Nancy."

"Do you know what one is worth?"

"No, sir."

Mr. Treat was silent for a moment as if revolving some very weighty matter in his mind, and said slowly, —

"I've got jest sich a cow as would suit Aunt Nancy; she's a good one, an' I wouldn't like to part with her for nothin'. Now, if you'd do the chores 'round here this summer, an' she would put in some of the money I owe for the wheat, we might strike a trade."

"But I don't want her to pay anything."

"Thought you could do it all yourself, eh?"

"I hoped so," Jack replied in a tone of disappointment.

"Why, I don't reckon you'd earn it in a year. I'd want forty dollars at the very lowest figger for my cow, an' it would take a mighty smart boy to git that much in twelve months."

Jack could no longer conceal his feelings, and, seeing he was pained because of the failure of his plans, Mr. Treat continued in what he intended should be a soothing tone, —

"I'd be willin' to allow you twenty dollars for a summer's work previdin' you'd board yourself at Aunt Nancy's. Then she'd only be called on to pay as much more, an' have twice as good a cow as the one that's dead."

"How long do you say the summer should last?"

"Well, I wouldn't be hard on you, an' we'd call it quits by the middle of November."

"How much of that time would it be necessary for me to stay in the store?"

"From five o'clock in the mornin' till nine at night, the same as is expected of other boys."

It was the last blow to Jack's hopes. His duty to Louis would prevent him from remaining in this section of the country such a length of time, and it was essential he should assist Aunt Nancy in order to pay her for the food he and Louis consumed.

"Well, what do you think of it?" Mr. Treat asked, as the boy stood irresolutely for a moment.

"I couldn't because I can't stay here as long as that, and, besides, I must do something for Aunt Nancy to earn our board."

"That's right, my boy. There's no harm done because we didn't make a trade; but it shows I'm willin' to help along all I can in a case like this."

"I'm much obliged to you," Jack replied faintly, and then he started up the road once more, walking decidedly faster than when he came.

He had counted on being able to ease the sorrow in Aunt Nancy's mind by buying for her a cow as good as the one she had lost.

He was revolving in his mind half a dozen plans by which the desired result might be attained, when a voice from the opposite side of the road caused him to halt.

"How's Aunt Nancy by this time?"

It was Mr. Souders who spoke, and because that gentleman had been so kind to him on the day when the sewing circle met at the little woman's house, he decided to tell him the whole story, not from any expectation of receiving assistance, but in order to relieve his mind.

Mr. Souders listened attentively to all he had to say, and then replied, —

"Treat was trying to swindle you. His cow isn't worth ten dollars, to say nothing of forty, an' he wasn't over an' above anxious to give you too much for your work. Let the matter drop a couple of days an' I'll see what can be done. We mustn't allow Aunt Nancy to suffer."

There was a world of encouragement in the gentleman's tones, and Jack felt as if half his troubles had already been removed.

"I'm willin' to do anything I can towards earnin' the money to buy one; but Louis an' I mustn't stay here till November, an' I don't want her to use her own money."

"That will be all right, my lad. Go home now, an' I'll see you later."

Jack's heart was quite light when he walked swiftly down the lane leading to the tiny house, but became heavy again when he saw the little woman's face.

It was evident Aunt Nancy was mourning deeply the loss of her pet, and the cripple felt that as yet he had nothing tangible to assuage her grief.

She looked up inquiringly as he approached, but he offered no explanation regarding his journey until the question had been asked directly, and then said hesitatingly, —

"I would rather not tell you, Aunt Nancy. I thought I might be able to do something, but it was a failure, an' the less we say about it the better."

"Jack dear," and the little woman was very grave, "when a boy can't tell his friends what he has been doing it looks as if there was something of which to be ashamed."

"But in this case there isn't, Aunt Nancy; cross my throat if there is."

"I believe you, my child, but would have much preferred if there had been perfect confidence between us."

Jack looked up in positive alarm.

The little woman's tone was so different from what he had ever heard before when she was addressing him, that he actually felt frightened.

"I'll tell you all about it," he said quickly; but Aunt Nancy held up her hand to prevent his saying anything more.

"If it is something which you wish to keep a secret from me I don't want to hear it."

Now Jack was distressed, for there could be no question but that he had displeased his best friend.

"Please listen to me, Aunt Nancy. I did say I wasn't going to tell you, because I thought perhaps you'd think I was meddlin'. That is, you might have thought so after I failed; but if the thing had gone through all right you'd been glad."

Then, disregarding entirely her gestures for him to remain silent, he told all the story save that relating to his interview with Mr. Souders.

It was yet possible old crumple-horn's place would be filled, but he believed it best not to raise any false hopes.

When he concluded Aunt Nancy took his face in her hands, bending his head over until she could kiss his cheeks, when she said in a tremulous voice, —

"Jack, you are a dear, good boy, and have been a blessing to me from the hour you first came into this house; but you must not think of taking any such load upon your shoulders. I would not have permitted it even had you been able to make a satisfactory bargain with Mr. Treat, and that is what no person has ever done before to my knowledge. It was not right to keep from me anything you wished to do, and it is proven in this case, for if I had known what you thought of attempting, I could have explained how useless it would be."

"It didn't seem so to me, Aunt Nancy, and I surely believed I could earn more than twenty dollars by working all summer."

"Not for such a man as the storekeeper. Now you will be obliged to walk over to Daniel Chick's twice each day for milk, and that will be more labor than taking care of poor old crumple-horn."

"Perhaps you may get another cow, Aunt Nancy."

"It is impossible, at least during this year. I spent more money at camp meeting than I could afford, and must now pay the penalty when the summer boarders come by being forced to buy both milk and butter. It will make a big hole in my earnings."

Now that there was no cow to care for, the work in Jack's particular department was very light, and, as he said to Aunt Nancy, it seemed as if he had hardly begun before the whole was done.

The walk to Daniel Chick's was not as pleasant as taking care of old crumple-horn, and besides, he would be forced to pass Bill Dean's house twice each day, a fact which caused him no little disquietude; but he said nothing regarding this to Aunt Nancy.

The following forty-eight hours passed very quietly on the farm.

The little woman was so thoroughly tired from her labors at camp meeting that she did not have the ambition to bustle around as usual, and the greater portion of her time was spent with Jack in the garden.

It is probable that no collection of vegetables ever received more care than was bestowed by these enthusiastic gardeners.

The smallest weed was detected and instantly pulled up by Aunt Nancy, while Jack loosened the ground around the roots of each tiny plant until it seemed certain they would be dwarfed.

Much to Jack's discomfort, hardly an hour passed when the little woman did not make some reference to Mr. Pratt, and constantly bewailed the fact that she failed to see him.

"But it wasn't your fault I couldn't find him, Aunt Nancy," Jack finally said.

"I suppose not; but yet it seems as if my cowardice had something to do with it."

"You know that couldn't be so, Aunt Nancy; but if you want me to I'll walk over to his house. It ain't so terribly far."

This proposition had the effect of reducing the little woman to silence, and during three or four hours Louis' guardian heard nothing regarding the man whom he had every reason to consider an enemy.

Late on the afternoon of the third day after he had talked with Mr. Souders, that gentleman's wife drove up, and instead of alighting to call upon Aunt Nancy, said quite sharply, —

"Samuel wanted me to drive over here for Jack."

"Why, what is the matter?" The little woman asked in alarm.

"Nothing very serious, Nancy Curtis, so don't begin to fret. Sam always was full of whims, an' I reckon this is one of 'em."

Jack fancied he knew what was wanted, and his heart was very light when he clambered into the wagon.

"I'll come right back," he cried, as the carriage rolled away, and Aunt Nancy sat looking at Louis as if speechless with astonishment.

"Is it about the cow?" Jack asked of Mrs. Souders, who sat stiff as a statue and quite as forbidding looking, holding the reins tightly in both hands, and paying no attention to the cripple.

She nodded her head, and Jack could not but wonder if she thought her breath too valuable to be wasted in words.

This was the extent of the conversation during the ride of ten minutes or more, and the hunchback felt decidedly relieved when it came to an end.

Mrs. Souders, silent and stern, was quite as disagreeable a companion as Mrs. Souders angry.

The cause of his having thus been summoned was, as he had hoped, a cow.

In the yard, with a halter on her head and a card tied to her horn, stood a meek-eyed animal which Jack thought a model of her kind.

Mr. Souders came from the shed as the hunchback alighted, and cried in his hearty, cheery voice, —

"What do you think of that, lad? Talk about Treat's cow; why, she can't hold a candle side of this one, and there was a big difference in the price."

"Is it for Aunt Nancy?"

"Sartin, an' I sent for you to lead her over to the little woman."

"But who's to pay for her?"

"That part of the transaction has been settled already, an' all you have to do now, is to take the creater away."

"But I wanted to do somethin' toward buyin' her."

"So you have, my boy. Can you read writin'?"

"Not very well."

"Then come here while I tell you what's on the card. I got one of Daniel Chick's daughters to fix it up so's it would be kerrect."

Then Mr. Souders, after wiping his glasses lest a single word should escape his attention, read the following: —

"TO AUNT NANCY CURTIS FROM JACK DUDLEY, TO WHOM THIS COW WAS PRESENTED BY SARAH SOUDERS, IN TOKEN OF HER REGRET FOR THE UNKIND TREATMENT WHICH HE RECEIVED AT HER HANDS."

"You see," Mr. Souders explained confidentially as he finished reading the inscription, "mother has been sorry about what happened over to Aunt Nancy's, jest as I said she would be, an' this is kind of a peace-offerin' to you, at the same time a good turn is done the old woman."

"Then no one else paid for the cow? Your wife did the whole thing?"

"I may have chipped in a bit; but that don't count. Its mother's present to you an' Aunt Nancy, an' I'm right glad of the chance to help the little woman along. She'd be in mighty hard lines this summer if she had to buy butter an' milk."

Jack hardly knew what to do or say.

He was delighted almost beyond bounds at being able to take the cow to Aunt Nancy, and at the same time it seemed necessary he should thank Mrs. Souders, but was at a loss to know how it was to be done.

"Where is your wife?" he asked after a pause.

"In the house, an' I reckon she's locked the door. Better not try to say anything to her. Mother's peculiar, an' flies off dreadfully sometimes, but her heart's in the right place, my boy, which makes up for a good many faults. Lead the creater home now, an' I'll venter to say you'll enjoy seein' Aunt Nancy dance when she knows its hers."

Jack would have attempted to thank Mr. Souders, but the gentleman prevented him by unfastening the cow's halter, and insisting that the animal be led away at once.

Chapter XX
BILL DEAN

Jack was a very proud boy when he came down the lane to the farmhouse leading the docile animal by the halter.

He hoped to reach the door before Aunt Nancy should see him; but the little woman was sitting under the old oak wondering what business Mr. Souders had on hand which required the cripple's presence.

He was half way from the main road to the house when she saw him, and cried in astonishment, —

"Bless my soul, Jack, have you been and made a trade with Mr. Treat after what I said?"

"Indeed I haven't! Jest wait till you see what's on this beauty's horn, an' then you'll know all about it."

Aunt Nancy could not curb her curiosity until the animal was led in, but ran forward with Louis in her arms, Jack stopping the cow that she might read that which was written on the card.

The little woman was bewildered.

She could hardly realize the animal was a present until Jack repeated again and again what Mr. Souders had said, and then it was the hunchback's turn to be bewildered, for instead of expressing her gratitude, she sat down on the grass, regardless of possible stains to her dress, and began to cry heartily.

"Why, I thought you'd be glad," Jack said in a tone of disappointment, while Louis pulled at the little woman's ringlets to show his sympathy for what seemed to be grief.

"So – so – so I am – Jack dear; but – but – it doesn't seem right that people should do so – so – so much for me."

"It wouldn't be enough if they'd sent a thousand cows."

"But for you I might never have had poor old crumple-horn replaced."

"Of course you would. That was wrote on the card only to make me feel better about what Mrs. Souders did; but she'd given you this all the same."

Aunt Nancy refused to look at it in that light, and Jack became confused at being overwhelmed with thanks.

The little woman insisted on tracing the gift directly to his visit to Treat's store, thus giving him nearly all the credit, until the conversation became really painful.

"Let's take her out to the pasture, for she must be hungry by this time," he said, as a means of putting an end to the words of gratitude which he believed were undeserved.

This aroused Aunt Nancy to a sense of the situation as nothing else could have done, for the thought that anything around her might be suffering would always cause her to forget herself, and she followed Jack, who had lifted Louis to the cow's back to give him a ride.

It was a sort of triumphal procession which halted at the pasture bars in order that Aunt Nancy might inspect more closely her new pet.

"Seems wrong to say anything disparaging of poor old crumple-horn after she has served me faithfully for so many years, but I must confess this cow looks as if she might be a better milker."

"I'll bet she's the best in town," Jack replied enthusiastically, as he pulled clover for the gentle animal to eat.

"Not quite that, Jack dear, for Deacon Downs has a Jersey that leads everything."

"At any rate his cow can't be as kind as this one."

"That may be," Aunt Nancy replied meditatively as she kissed the fawn colored nose. "I do really think we couldn't have found a better substitute for poor old crumple-horn."

Then the animal was examined critically, without a single flaw having been found, and not until half an hour was spent in this manner could she be allowed to enter the pasture.

Aunt Nancy thought it her duty to see Mrs. Souders at the earliest opportunity in order to thank her for the gift, and decided to do so on the following morning when the breakfast dishes had been cleared away.

Jack went to clean the stall in the barn for the new cow's occupancy, and was working industriously when he fancied he heard a cry of distress coming from the direction of the duck pond.

His first thought was that Louis had strayed again, but on looking out, both he and the little woman were seen under the big oak, apparently as happy and contented as well could be.

Believing he had been deceived by his fancy, he resumed the work, but only to stop an instant later as the cries sounded more distinct.

This time there could be no mistake, and he ran toward Aunt Nancy as he asked, —

"Do you hear that noise? I'm goin' to see what it means."

As he went rapidly across the fields without waiting for a reply, the little woman followed him, but her pace was slow because of having the baby in her arms.

The cries continued almost incessantly, and by them Jack was guided to a clump of large trees standing near one end of the pond within a few yards of the spot where Louis had been set adrift on the raft.

It was not necessary to search long for the sufferer.

Lying on the ground, held firmly down by a huge limb of a tree which had fallen across his breast in such a manner that he could not use his arms, was Bill Dean.

His face was pale, whether from pain or fear Jack had no means of ascertaining, for the boy did not wait to be questioned, but cried piteously, —

"O Hunchie, help me outer this scrape an' I won't ever play tricks on you agin!"

This promise was not necessary to enlist Jack's sympathy.

It was a boy in agony and not an enemy he saw before him; the only question in his mind was how the rescue could be effected.

"Lay still, an' I'll do the best I can; but it may hurt a little more when I try to lift the limb."

Kneeling that he might get his shoulder under one end of the heavy branch, Jack tried to raise it, but in vain.

He was making the second effort, Bill moaning piteously meanwhile, when Aunt Nancy arrived, and she, like Jack, thought only of relieving suffering.

"Where are you hurt, William?" she asked anxiously.

"I don't know, but it seems as if the ache was all over my body."

"How did the accident happen?"

"I was choppin' this limb off to build a new raft, an' it fell on me."

"Can you lift it, Jack dear?"

"I'm afraid not; it's terribly heavy."

"Let me help you."

The two strained and tugged all to no purpose, when, as he paused to regain his breath and wipe the perspiration from his face, Jack said, —

"I could cut away part of it if I had an axe."

"Mine is around here somewhere," Bill said with a groan.

Jack soon found the tool, and, working very cautiously lest he should cause the sufferer yet more pain, chopped here and there to remove the larger twigs, while Aunt Nancy bathed Bill's pale face with her handkerchief wetted in the pond.

It required nearly half an hour of the most fatiguing labor to perform the task, and then Jack said as he threw down the axe, —

"When I lift on this end you must try to pull him out, Aunt Nancy."

The first attempt was a failure, but at the second the little woman succeeded, and Bill was drawn from his uncomfortable position looking decidedly the worse for wear.

"Can you stand up?" Aunt Nancy asked solicitously as she brushed the dirt from Bill's hands, and little Louis patted his cheek to show he wished to take some part in the rescue, even though it only was to display sympathy.

"I'll try," Master Dean said meekly, and, with the aid of Aunt Nancy and Jack, the sorrowful looking bully arose to his feet.

It was positive the bones of his legs were not broken, for he stood erect without difficulty, and, this having been ascertained, Aunt Nancy proceeded to make a careful examination of his arms and chest.

"I do not believe you are seriously injured, William," she said with a sigh of relief. "There can be no doubt but that you will be very lame for a few days; you must bear with it, and thank your Father it is no worse."

"My father didn't have anything to do with it. He'd given me Jesse if he knowed I was here cuttin' down the tree."

"I mean your Father in heaven, William, who watches over even the sparrow's fall."

Bill looked rather shamefaced at having made such a mistake, and said as he turned half away from his rescuers, —

"I told Hunchie I wouldn't bother him any more if he'd help me out, an' I'm goin' to stick to my promise."

"It would have been much better if you had arrived at that conclusion before you were in need of assistance," Aunt Nancy replied gravely. "One should do right because it is his duty, and not as a reward to others."

"What's the matter now?" Bill asked in surprise. "Do you want me to keep on roughin' it into him?"

"Certainly not, and I am glad you made the promise. What I meant was that it would have been better had you done so because you wished to."

"But I didn't till now."

"We won't speak of it further now. Go home and ask your mother to rub the bruises with liniment. When you feel inclined I would like to have you come to see Jack and me."

"I ain't goin' 'round to be preached at," Bill replied in his old defiant tone. "There was enough of that at camp meetin' to last a feller a month."

"I did not see you at the services."

"Once I had to go when mother caught me jest as the bell was ringin', an' its the last time I'll get in the same box."

Aunt Nancy shook her head sadly.

She was discouraged, but not so much as to give up the struggle, for it was her intention to renew it again at a more "convenient season."

"We had best go back, Jack dear, and William will come to-morrow to tell us how he feels.

"I ain't so sure 'bout that, if you're goin' to stuff a feller with a lot of sabbath-school talk," Bill said sulkily, as he picked up the axe and started across the fields without further thanks to his kind friends.

"He doesn't seem like a very good boy at heart," Aunt Nancy said sadly, as she raised Louis in her arms; "but we must not judge by outward appearances. I almost feel condemned for saying anything when my own sin has not been atoned for. My mind would be much easier if I had seen Mr. Pratt at the meeting."

"It won't take long to fix that," Jack replied, noting with sorrow the look of pain which had come over the little woman's face. "It will do jest as well if I go there an' tell him what you wanted to say."

"But then you would be where they could easily carry you to the poor farm."

"Well, s'posen they did, what would that 'mount to side of makin' you feel good? Besides, don't you believe Mr. Souders could make them let me out?"

"Perhaps he might; I never thought of that."

"I'll leave here to-morrow mornin', an' by night be there."

"Bless your heart, child, I would never think of letting you walk that long distance. If we should make up our minds that it was best to go, and I wish I could have the strength to say it, you'd ride in the cars."

"Why not decide now?"

"Because, Jack dear, it nearly breaks my heart to think there is a possibility of being obliged to give you up."

"Well, s'posen we go home an' talk the thing over some other time," Jack said with an assumption of cheerfulness which was far from natural.

He had suddenly conceived a plan by which the little woman could be relieved without the pain of deciding that it should be so, and there was no more than sufficient time to put it into execution.

Aunt Nancy walked back to the house in a meditative mood, Jack talking about the cow and kindred topics to prevent her mind from dwelling upon the dreaded subject.

He at once set about doing the chores in an unusually careful manner when they arrived home.

A large quantity of wood was brought into the kitchen, an extra amount of water drawn, and the cow given a generous lunch of clover after she had been driven into the stable.

"Why do you do so much unnecessary work, Jack dear?" Aunt Nancy asked. "There will be nothing left for morning, and it is bad to have 'idle hands.'"

"I may as well fix everything now, for you know what you said about puttin' off till to-morrow. Say, Aunt Nancy, would you lend me a lead pencil an' a piece of paper?"

"Of course, my child. Are you going to write a letter?"

"Yes, Aunt Nancy, an' you shall see it in the mornin'."

"Better sit down at the kitchen table. If writing is as much of a task for you as it is for me, you'll need every possible convenience."

"I had rather do it in my room, for you see I don't know very much about such things, an' it'll come mighty hard, but you won't care if it don't look very nice, will you?"

"Certainly not, my child. It could only annoy me because I have not taken advantage of our leisure time to teach you the little I know."

"You are always blamin' yourself, Aunt Nancy, an' I don't like to hear it. I wouldn't let anybody else talk that way about you."

For reply the little woman patted the boy on the cheek, and then proposed the nightly search for burglars be made.

After the evening devotions Aunt Nancy gave Jack the articles he had asked for, and was considerably surprised by the warmth of the boy's good-night salute.

Once in his room, Jack set about what was for him a formidable task, and it was late before he completed the following: —

"DEAR AUNT NANCY I AM GOIN TO SEA THE FARMER & TELL HIM YOU R SORRY IF I DONT COME BACK U WILL NO WHERE I AM BUT DONT FEL BAD FOUR I LUV U. I CARNT STOP TO MILK

"JACK DUDLEY URE JACK DEAR."

When this had been done Jack looked around the little room as if taking leave of all it contained, wiped a suspicious moisture from his eyes, and then dressed, but with his shoes in his hands, crept softly down the stairs.

The ticking of the clock sounded strangely loud and unnatural; the silence, save for this clicking noise, was oppressive, and he felt as if he was about to commit some crime against the woman who had befriended him.

"It's got to be done, an' I mustn't stand here worryin' about it, or I might back out," he said to himself.

It was necessary he should think of Aunt Nancy's self accusations and sorrow before he could nerve himself to raise the window.

He took this method of departing rather than by the door, for he feared the little woman would be alarmed on learning she had remained in the house a portion of the night without every place of egress being securely fastened.

Once outside he gazed around several moments, taking in all the details of the place where he had spent so many pleasant days, and then, putting on his shoes, he started up the lane with a heart so heavy it seemed a positive burden.

The moon shone faintly through the clouds; the night wind murmured mournfully among the trees, and before him could dimly be seen the road he believed led him to the paupers' home by way of Mr. Pratt's house.