Kitabı oku: «Jack the Hunchback: A Story of Adventure on the Coast of Maine», sayfa 4
Chapter VII
FARMER PRATT
Aunt Nancy was now in a fine state of perplexity.
Jack's reproachful tone had cut very deeply, and she began to consider herself responsible for all which might happen because of not having warned him in time.
"I'm a wicked woman," she said, wringing her hands distractedly, "and accountable for all that happens now. Why was I so weak as not to give the dear boy a decided answer when he came from the barn?"
Then she ran to the bars and called after Jack in a whisper; but if any one had asked why she wanted him to come back just at that time, she could not have explained.
Returning to the old oak, she was about to sit down again when the rattle of wheels told that Farmer Pratt was near at hand.
Hardly aware of what she did, the little woman went hurriedly into the house, and there awaited what must necessarily be a very painful interview.
A few moments later the man whom Jack looked upon as a merciless enemy knocked at the door, and Aunt Nancy said feebly, "Come in."
Farmer Pratt entered without very much ceremony, and as the little woman gazed at his face she fancied, probably from what Jack had told her, that it was possible to see covetousness and hard-heartedness written on every feature.
He did not remove his hat, but stood in the centre of the floor, whip in hand, as he said, —
"Mornin' ma'am, mornin'. I'm from Scarborough, an' my name is Nathan Pratt. P'rhaps you've heard of me."
Aunt Nancy was about to say she never had, meaning that her neighbors never had spoken of him as a person of importance; but she checked herself on remembering this would be a falsehood because of what Jack had said.
"I have heard the name," she replied faintly.
"I thought so, I thought so. I've lived, man an' boy, in Scarborough for nigh on to fifty years, an' when that's been done without givin' anybody a chance to say a word agin me, except that I want my own, as other folks do, then it would be kinder strange if I wasn't known within a dozen miles of home."
"Was that all you came here to say?" Aunt Nancy asked.
"Of course not, – of course not"; and the farmer seated himself without waiting for an invitation. "The fact of the matter is, ma'am, I'm huntin' for a couple of children what drifted ashore on my place the other day. One of 'em was a hunchback, an' I must say he is bad, for after eatin' all the food in my house that he an' the young one wanted, he run away, leavin' me in the lurch."
"I don't suppose they stole it, did they?" and Aunt Nancy spoke very sharply, for it made her angry to hear such things said about Jack.
"No, it wasn't exactly that," and the farmer hesitated, as if to give her the impression something equally wrong had been done by the boy; "but as a citizen of the town I don't want it said we let a couple of youngsters run around loose like calves."
"What do you intend to do with them?" the little woman asked severely.
Farmer Pratt had no idea of telling a secret which he believed would be worth at least an hundred dollars to him, and by keeping it he again defeated himself.
"They oughter be carried to the poor farm till we can find out who owns 'em. You see I'm as big a tax-payer as there is in Scarborough, an' if any other town takes care of the children, we're likely to be sued for the cost of keepin'. Now I don't believe in goin' to law, for it's dreadful expensive, so I've come out to save myself an' my neighbors what little money I can."
If Farmer Pratt had told the truth, Aunt Nancy would have done all in her power to aid him, and Jack could not but have rejoiced, although the farmer received a rich reward; but by announcing what was a false proposition, he aroused the little woman's wrath.
She no longer remembered that it was wrong even to act a lie, and thought only of the possibility that those whom she had learned to love were really to be taken to the refuge for paupers, if her visitor should be so fortunate as to find them.
"It seems hard to put children in such a place," she said, with an effort to appear calm.
"That's only prejudice, ma'am, sheer prejudice. What do we keep up sich institoots for? Why, to prevent one man from bein' obleeged to spend more'n another when a lot of beggars come around."
"And yet it seems as if almost any one would be willing to feed a couple of children who were lost."
"There's where you are makin' a mistake ag'in, ma'am. Youngsters eat more'n grown folks, an' I know what I'm talkin' about, 'cause I've raised a family. Heaven helps them as helps themselves, an' when we find two like the one I'm huntin' for, then I say since heaven won't take a hand at it, the town should."
Aunt Nancy remained silent, but those who knew her intimately would have said, because of the manner in which she moved her chair to and fro, that the little woman was struggling very hard to "rule her spirit."
"I don't reckon you know anything about 'em, ma'am," Farmer Pratt said after a long pause, during which Aunt Nancy had rocked violently, with her gaze fixed upon an overbold honey bee who was intent on gathering the sweets from a honeysuckle blossom which the wind had forced through the open window.
"I know this much," she replied with vehemence, "that I hope you won't find the children if it is simply to carry them to the poor farm. We are told of the reward which – "
"Who said anything about a reward?" the farmer asked in alarm, fearing that which he wished should remain a secret was already known.
"The Book tells us what shall be the reward of those who give a cup of cold water only to these His little ones – "
"Oh! is that it?" and the visitor appeared greatly relieved. "I count myself about as good as my neighbors, but when it comes to keepin' a parcel of children, after I've paid my taxes to run a place especially for sich as they, then I say it's a clear waste of money, an' that's as much of a sin as anything else."
"We won't argue the matter," the little woman replied with dignity, "but I hope the time will never come that I, poor as I am, can count the pennies in a dollar when it is a question of giving aid or comfort to the distressed."
"Since you haven't seen the youngsters, there's no need of my stayin' any longer, ma'am, but it does seem funny that nobody has run across 'em, when I heard for a fact that they'd come up this road."
Aunt Nancy knew full well that by remaining silent now, she was giving the visitor to understand she knew nothing about the missing ones; but just at the moment she would have told a deliberate lie rather than give Jack and Louis up to such a man, however much she might have regretted it afterward.
"Of course there's no harm in my askin' the questions," Farmer Pratt said as he moved toward the door, feeling decidedly uncomfortable in mind because of the little woman's sharp words.
"Certainly not; but at the same time I am sorry you came."
"Why, ma'am?"
"Because I have learned how hard-hearted men can be when it is a question of a few dollars. If the children should come to me, they would be given a home, such as it is, until their relatives could be found."
"If they should come, I warn you that it is your duty to let me know, for they drifted ashore on my property, an' I've got the first claim."
This was rather more than meek little Aunt Nancy could endure; but she succeeded in checking the angry words, and rose from her chair to intimate that the interview was at an end.
Farmer Pratt went out very quickly, probably fearing he might hear more unpalatable truths, and the old lady watched him until he drove away.
"It was wicked, but I'm glad I did it!" she said emphatically. "The idea of hunting up such children as Jack and Louis simply to send them among paupers!"
Not for many moments did the little woman remain in this frame of mind.
After a time she began to realize that she had done exactly what she told Jack would be impossible – acted a lie, and her conscience began to trouble her greatly.
She tried to read a chapter in the Book with the hope of finding something to comfort her, and, failing in this, her thoughts went out to the children who had left so suddenly.
"Mercy on us!" she exclaimed. "Suppose Jack really has gone away, believing I would tell that man all I knew about him!"
This idea was sufficient to arouse her to action, and she went behind the barn, where she called softly, —
"Jack! Jack! Where are you?"
Not until this very feeble outcry had been repeated half a dozen times did she receive any reply, and then the hunchback, with Louis clasped in his arms, peered out from among the bushes.
"Has the farmer gone?" he asked in a whisper.
"Indeed he has."
"And you didn't tell him where we was?"
"He never asked the question; but all the same, Jack dear, I did wrong in allowing him to suppose I knew nothing about you."
"You're the sweetest aunt any feller ever had," the hunchback said heartily as he came swiftly up and kissed one of the old lady's wrinkled hands before she was aware of his intentions. "I couldn't believe you wanted us taken to the poorhouse, so I didn't go very far off."
"I almost wish I hadn't done it, for – No, I don't either! After talking with that wretch it would have broken my heart to see him take you away! Give me the baby this minute; it seems as if I hadn't seen him for a week."
Jack willingly relinquished his charge to the motherly arms extended to receive the laughing child, and said, as Aunt Nancy almost smothered Louis with kisses, —
"You sha'n't ever be sorry for what you have done. I'll work awful hard, an' take care of the baby whenever you've got somethin' else to do."
"I know you are a good boy, Jack, and I wouldn't undo what's been done if I could; but at the same time my conscience will reproach me, for I realize that I acted wickedly."
So far as the sin was concerned, Jack did not think it of great importance, and wondered not a little that as good a woman as Aunt Nancy should attach so much importance to what, in his mind at least, was nothing more than a charitable act.
He took care not to give expression to his thoughts, however, and led the way back to the old oak-tree, where he said, —
"You sit down here awhile, an' I'll go out to make certain that man has gone. It might be he's waitin' 'round somewhere to find whether we're really here."
"I don't think there is any danger of that," Aunt Nancy replied as she seated herself on the bench and fondled Louis until the little fellow was tired of caresses.
Jack could not be comfortable in mind unless positive his enemy had left the vicinity, and he walked quite a long distance up the road before convincing himself of the fact.
When he returned the desire to make himself necessary to the little woman was stronger than ever, and he proposed to finish the work of fence mending at once.
"Better wait till after dinner now that it is so near noon," she said. "We'll have a quiet talk, and then I will start the fire."
"Is it about Farmer Pratt you want to say something?"
"No, we'll try to put him out of our minds. It is the baby."
"What's the matter with him?"
"He must have another frock and some clothes. These are very dirty, and I'm afraid he'd take cold if I should wash them at night, and put them on again in the morning."
"Haven't you got an old dress like the one I wore? By pinnin' it up he'd get along all right."
"Indeed he wouldn't, Jack. Boys can't be expected to know what a child needs; but it puzzles me how to get the material from the store."
"What's the matter with my goin' after it?"
"It is a very long distance – more than four miles away."
"That's all right; I walked a good deal farther the day I came here. Jest say what you want, an' I'll go after it now."
"Do you really think you could get back before sunset?"
"I'm certain of it, providin' I don't wait for dinner."
"But you must have something to eat, Jack dear."
"I can take a slice of bread and butter in my hand, an' that'll last me more'n four miles."
"I have half a mind to let you go," Aunt Nancy said as if to herself, and Jack insisted so strongly that she finally decided he should do the shopping.
Not one, but half a dozen slices of bread were spread thickly with butter as a dinner for the messenger, and then the little woman wrote on a slip of paper the different articles she needed.
"You must see that Mr. Treat gives you exactly what I've asked for," she said as she read the list, and explained what the texture or color of each article should be. "Watch him closely, and be sure he makes the right change."
Then she gave him the most minute directions as to the road, the time which should be occupied in the journey, and the manner the goods were to be brought home.
A basket was provided for the purchases, and Aunt Nancy said as she gave Jack a ten-dollar note, —
"Tie that in your handkerchief so's to be sure not to lose it, Jack dear, for it's a great deal of money to a lone woman like me."
He promised to be careful, and kissed the baby good by.
Aunt Nancy leaned over for the same salute, and when it had been given she said in a sorrowful tone, —
"It is a deal of comfort to have you with me, Jack; but I do wish I had been bold enough to tell that man the truth, and then refused to let you go with him."
"It's lucky you didn't, Aunt Nancy, for he'd been bound to have us any way."
Then Jack walked swiftly down the daisy-embroidered lane, thinking he was a very fortunate boy indeed in having found such a good friend as the sweet-faced old lady.
Chapter VIII
A SECOND WARNING
True to his promise, Jack returned before the sun was very low in the western sky, and Aunt Nancy expressed the greatest surprise at seeing him so soon.
"When I send William Dean to the store he needs all day for the journey, and on two or three occasions it has been late in the evening before he came back."
"It isn't such an awful long walk, but it makes a feller kinder tired, an' I s'pose he had to rest a good while before startin' back. I thought I'd better come the minute the things were ready, 'cause I was afraid you'd do the milkin'."
"Of course I shall. You don't suppose I'd let you work after that terribly long walk."
"But I'm goin' to do the chores jest the same," Jack replied; and to prove his words he carried in the kindlings for morning.
Aunt Nancy was perfectly satisfied with the purchases he made, and until it was time to bring the cow up from pasture she explained her intentions in the way of making clothes for Louis.
"This piece of calico isn't as pretty as some I've had from Treat's," she said, unfolding the goods, "but it seems to be a good quality, and that's the main thing. Now, the question is whether I shall make his frock with a yoke, or plain? What do you think, Jack dear?"
Jack hadn't the faintest idea of what she meant by a "yoke" or a "frock," but, wishing to please the little woman by giving an opinion, he answered decidedly, —
"I should make it plain."
"That was just my idea. How queer it is that you should know all about such things, and have good judgment too!"
Jack came very near smiling because of this praise which he did not deserve, but was wise enough not to make any reply, and Aunt Nancy consulted him on every detail until the garment had been fully decided upon.
Then it was time to attend to old crumple-horn, and when Jack came into the kitchen again supper was on the table.
In view of the fact that he had had such a long tramp, the little woman insisted on his retiring very early, and the Book was opened as soon as the supper-table had been cleared.
On this day Aunt Nancy's evening devotions occupied an unusually long time, and she prayed fervently to be forgiven for her sin of the forenoon, – a fact which caused Jack to say when she had finished, —
"It don't seem to me as if you could ever do anything wicked, Aunt Nancy, an' there ain't any need of fussing about what you said to Farmer Pratt, for God knows jest how good you are."
"You mustn't talk like that, Jack dear. There are very many times when I give way to anger or impatience, and there can be no question but that I as much as told a lie when that man was here."
Jack would have protested that no wrong had been done, but she prevented further conversation by kissing him on both cheeks as she said, "Good night."
On the following morning, Aunt Nancy's "man of all work" took good care she should not be the first one awake.
He arose as the rays of the coming sun were glinting the eastern sky, and when the little woman entered the kitchen the fire had been built, the floor swept, and the morning's milk in the pail ready for straining.
Her surprise at what he had done was sufficient reward for Jack, and he resolved that she should never have an opportunity to do such work while he was sleeping.
"I begin to feel quite like a visitor," the little woman said with a cheery laugh as she bustled around in her sparrow-like fashion, preparing breakfast. "This is the first time in a great many years that the fire has been made and the milking done before I got up."
Thanks to Jack's labors, the morning meal was unusually early, and when it had been eaten and the dishes washed, the hunchback said as he took up his hat, —
"I'll go now an' finish mendin' the fence."
"Wait until I have seen Mr. Dean. I'm afraid those dreadful boys will do you some mischief."
"I don't reckon they'll be stirring so early, an' it won't take me more'n an hour longer. While I'm gone, think of somethin' else that needs to be done, for I'd rather be workin' than layin' still."
"You're a good boy, Jack dear, and I should be very sorry to have you go away from me now."
"There's no danger of that yet awhile, unless Mr. Pratt takes it into his head to come this way again," Jack replied with a laugh as he left the house.
It required some search to find the hammer and nails he had thrown down when he was so frightened, and then the task of fence mending progressed famously until a rustling among the bushes caused him to raise his eyes suddenly.
Bill Dean stood before him, looking particularly savage and threatening.
Jack took a yet firmer grasp of the hammer, resolved to defend himself vigorously providing there should be no other enemies in the vicinity.
"So you're still here, eh?" Bill asked sternly.
"Looks like it I reckon."
"When are you goin'?"
"I haven't quite made up my mind; but I'll write an' tell you before I pack my trunk."
Bill stepped forward quickly, but Jack persuaded him to go back by swinging the hammer unpleasantly near the bully's head as he said, —
"Don't come too near! You served me out yesterday because there was three in the gang, an' I hadn't anything to defend myself with; but now matters are a little different."
"Are you goin' to leave this place to-day?" Bill asked, as he retreated a few paces.
"No, nor to-morrow either."
"Then remember what I say. This is the second warnin' you've had, an' it'll be the last. Look out for trouble if you're in this town to-night!"
"I shall be here, an' I want you to remember that somebody besides me may get into trouble if there's any funny business. Aunt Nancy threatened to tell your father about what was done yesterday, but I coaxed her not to, an' I won't say a word another time."
"I don't mind what she says, we'll run you out of this place before two days go by, so take care of yourself."
"That's jest what I count on doin', an' if you've got any sense you'll keep away from me."
Bill shook his fist threateningly as near Jack's nose as he thought prudent, and disappeared among the bushes, leaving the hunchback decidedly disturbed in mind despite the bold front he had assumed.
"Them fellers can make it hot for me, of course," he said to himself when the bully had gone, "an' I expect I shall catch it rough, but almost anything is better than leavin' here after Aunt Nancy has fixed it so nice with Farmer Pratt."
He worked more rapidly after receiving this second warning, and returned to the house by the main road instead of going around past the frog pond.
The little woman was under the old oak making Louis's new garments when he arrived, and she saw at once by the troubled expression on his face that something had gone wrong.
"What's the matter, Jack dear?" she asked kindly.
"Matter? I guess I don't know what you mean."
"Indeed you do, so now tell Aunt Nancy all about it. Have you seen that Dean boy again to-day?"
Jack was forced to confess he had, and in a few moments the little woman succeeded in learning the whole story.
She insisted that it was necessary for her to see Bill's father at once; but the hunchback begged her not to do anything of the kind, and she apparently abandoned the idea.
"Why is it you don't want me to go?" she finally asked.
"Because when any fuss is raised about me, I'm afraid it'll come to Farmer Pratt's ears somehow, an' he'll be over here again."
"I wish he would, for then I could confess to him that I the same as told a lie, and defy any one to take you children from me."
"When that time comes we shall have to go," Jack replied despondently; and Aunt Nancy endeavored to cheer him by displaying Louis's frock, which was rapidly approaching completion.
During the remainder of the day Jack busied himself around the farm at such chores as he or Aunt Nancy could find, and when night came nothing had been heard of those who insisted he must leave the town.
The baby sat under the old oak during the evening in all the bravery of his new dress, and Aunt Nancy discussed the subject matter of her proposed letter to "Brother Abner" until it was time to retire.
Then Jack went into his tiny room with a heart full of thankfulness that his lines "had been cast in such pleasant places," and it seemed as if his eyes had but just closed in slumber when he was awakened by the pressure of a soft hand on his face.
Fear would have caused him to rise to a sitting posture very suddenly but for the fact that the same gentle pressure forced him to remain in a reclining position, and then he heard a familiar voice whisper, —
"O Jack dear, burglars are trying to get into the house! What shall we do?"
He was now thoroughly awake, and as the hand was removed from his mouth he asked in a low tone, —
"Are you certain of that?"
"Absolutely. I thought I heard an unusual noise, and looked out when – There! Do you hear that?"
"It would be strange if I didn't," Jack replied as the creaking of the shed door swinging back on its hinges sounded remarkably loud and harsh on the still night air. "I'll get right up; go downstairs and wait for me."
"It will be better if I stay in the hall-way," Aunt Nancy said in a voice, the tremor of which told that she was thoroughly frightened.
Never before had Jack dressed so quickly, and as he did he tried to think what course should be pursued.
There seemed to be no question but that burglars were on the premises, and to encounter them single handed and alone would be the height of folly.
As may be fancied, he had not made a very elaborate toilet when he joined Aunt Nancy at the head of the stairs.
It was sufficient that he had on enough clothing to admit of his going out of doors without danger of taking cold.
"Have you got a gun or a pistol?" he asked of the little woman who was shivering with fear as if with an ague fit.
"No indeed, I never would dare to sleep in the same house with such things."
"What have you that I can use as a weapon?"
"There isn't a single article in this house which is dangerous except the carving knife, and that is very dull."
"It will be better than nothing."
"But you surely don't intend to go out there when desperate men may be laying in wait to take your life!"
"Something must be done; we can't stay shut up here and allow them to do as they please."
"But you'll be killed, Jack dear"; and poor old Aunt Nancy clung to the boy in a frenzy of fear. "To think that I've been expecting something of the kind all my life, and it has come at last!"
A sound as if the shed door had been closed told Jack he was wasting what might be precious time.
"Get the carving knife quick," he whispered, "and when I go out lock the door after me."
Aunt Nancy obeyed in silence.
She brought the knife much as though it was the deadliest of weapons, and put it in Jack's hands with something very like awe.
"Don't kill the men if you can help it," she whispered. "It would be better to frighten them very badly rather than stain your hands with blood."
Jack made no reply; but the thought came into his mind that he would stand a poor chance of frightening a burglar, with nothing but the well worn knife.
He opened the door softly.
Aunt Nancy stood ready to close and lock it instantly he was on the outside, and the decisive moment had arrived.
