Kitabı oku: «My Strange Rescue and other stories of Sport and Adventure in Canada», sayfa 14

A PILLOW-SLIP FULL OF APPLES

"A. & H. O. A. S

"The arch-room – ten o'clock to-night. Bring a sheet and pillow-slip. ABRACADABRA."

Charlie Draper gazed at the piece of paper containing these simple words and mysterious signature with mingled feelings of pride and trepidation – pride because it was the first time since his coming to Twin Elm Academy that he had been the recipient of one of these much-prized missives, and trepidation because he had very vague notions of what his accepting the invitation it bore might entail.

He was a new boy, just finishing his first month at the academy, and being of rather reserved disposition, had been slow in forming acquaintances. Indeed, but for an incident that suddenly brought him into prominence, he might have made still poorer progress in this direction than he did.

A few days before this communication from "Abracadabra," a party of the boys were bathing in the river near Deep Pool. A youngster who could not swim rashly ventured too near the pool, and disappeared in its dark depths. There arose an immediate chorus of cries from his companions, but no intelligent effort was being made at rescue, when Charlie Draper, who had not been of the party, came rushing up, threw off his cap and coat, plunged into the pool, and brought out the drowning boy at the first try.

Of course he was a hero at once, and the leaders of the "A. & H. O. A. S." – the secret society of the academy, of which Charlie had already heard much, and admittance to which was the desire of his heart – lost no time in deciding that he was beyond question one of the right sort, and that he must become one of them forthwith. Hence the short but significant summons whose contents have been already given.

Promptly at ten o'clock, Charlie, in his stocking feet, and provided with pillow-slip and sheet, crept cautiously up the long stairs that led to the arch-room.

All the students, except those who belonged to the society, were already sound asleep, and the two tutors who lived in the building, knowing nothing of this exception, and imagining that every cot was duly occupied, had settled down for a comfortable smoke and chat in the cozy sitting-room of Mr. Butler, whose quarters were farthest away from the arch-room.

Upon all this the members of the society had astutely reckoned, and the coast was accordingly clear for them to do as they pleased as long as they did not make too much noise about it.

Bearing his note of invitation as a passport, Charlie approached the door of the arch-room. Suddenly out of its shadow a masked and draped figure darted, and putting its hand to his throat, inquired in a very husky voice, —

"What doest thou here?"

For answer, Charlie held up his sheet and slip of paper.

"'Tis well. Pass on," said the husky mystery.

And with palpitating heart Charlie tiptoed through the door.

The moment he passed the portal, two other masked and draped figures seized him by either arm, and hurried him before a fourth figure, who occupied a sort of throne at the far corner of the room.

"Whom do you bring before me?" asked this potentate, in the husky tone which seemed to be characteristic of the society.

"Charles Draper, may it please your sublimity," was the reply, accompanied by a reverent obeisance, in which Charlie was directed to join.

"He hath been well recommended to us. Let him be put to the tests. If he doth survive them and will take the oaths, he may be admitted into membership."

Then followed a lot of the usual elaborate nonsense such as boys delight to invent and execute in connection with their secret societies; and at the end of fifteen minutes or so, Charlie, flushed and excited, but triumphant, was handed a gown and mask, and informed by the figure on the throne, whose official title was the same as the signature to the invitation, that he was duly admitted into the membership of the society, whose full name he now learned was The Ancient and Honourable Order of Apple Stealers.

The next piece of information he received rather staggered him. It was that, according to the rules of the society, he must at once justify the confidence its members had reposed in him by proving his prowess as an apple-stealer.

The August pippins in Squire Ribston's orchard were reported to be ready to drop into one's mouth. Upon the novice, Charles Draper, devolved the perilous duty of securing a generous sample of those juicy golden globes, so that the ancient and honourable order might pronounce judgment on their excellence.

So soon as he understood this, Charlie began to wish he had not been in such a hurry to join the society. He had been at Twin Elm long enough to learn that old Squire Ribston's dogs were as good in their way as his apples were in theirs, and he did not at all relish the prospect of having an argument with them in their own territory at the dead of night.

But he was too stout of heart to back out, or even to show any signs of flinching, as his sublimity proceeded to give him his instructions.

Each member had brought a sheet with him. These were quickly converted into a rope, which reached from the window of the arch-room to the ground.

Stuffing the pillow-slip into his pocket, and putting on his shoes, Charlie, amid the whispered commands of his companions – to "Be sure and fill the pillow-slip," "Don't call the dogs bad names," "Give the compliments of the order to the squire if you happen to meet him," and other inspiring injunctions – climbed carefully out of the window, and let himself down hand over hand to the ground.

Pausing only to kiss his hand circus-fashion to the faces at the window, he hastened off noiselessly over the dew-laden grass in the direction of the squire's orchard.

He knew his route well enough, and the distance was not quite half-a-mile, so that a few minutes' quick walking brought him to his destination.

The Ribston mansion stood well back from the road, and the orchard lay to its rear.

Charlie therefore thought it well to leave the road before he reached the gate, and to take a slant through the fields that brought him up to the orchard fence about fifty yards behind the house.

Here he crouched down, and listened, with strained ears and throbbing pulses, for the slightest sound that might indicate the proximity of a dog. But not a growl, or bark, or even sniff, broke the clover-scented stillness.

As it chanced, he had hit upon a particularly favourable night for his enterprise, the good squire being wont to spend his Friday evenings with admirable regularity at Doctor Aconite's, where the genial rector of St. David's and important Judge Surrebutter helped to make up a quartette that could play whist by the hour without so much as winking.

For the sake of company on the way home the squire always took his dogs with him, so that until his return, which was never later than eleven o'clock, the Ribston premises were entirely unguarded.

Encouraged by the perfect silence, Charlie gently got over the fence, and making his way to the August pippin-tree, set diligently to work to fill his pillow-slip.

The boughs were bending low beneath their weight of juicy fruit, and he had no need to shake them. There were far more apples within easy reach of his hand than he could carry home.

Five minutes sufficed to fill the pillow-slip, and then, with a vast sigh of relief, he crawled back over the fence, hastened across the field, and came to the fence beside the road.

Knowing nothing of the squire's whist club, he took it for granted that all danger was practically over, and without looking to right or left, he tossed his bag over the fence and vaulted lightly after it.

Hardly had his feet touched the ground than a sharp, suspicious bark came from only a few yards away, and the next moment a collie dog, followed closely by a fox-terrier, bounded toward him, barking fiercely, while looming dimly through the darkness the portly form of their owner could be descried, as he demanded angrily, —

"Who are you? and what are you about?"

Charlie could have answered both questions easily enough had he chosen to do so. But the time did not seem to him altogether favourable, and instead of a verbal reply he picked up his pillow-slip, threw it over his shoulder, and took to his heels, with the dogs after him in full cry.

"Catch him, Grip; catch him, Oscar!" shouted the squire to his dogs, as he joined in the chase with all his might.

Although hardly in condition for a sprinting match, Squire Bibston had been renowned for fleetness of foot in his younger days, and he showed a surprising turn of speed as he dashed down the road after the fleeing boy.

Now, had Charlie dropped his heavy pillow-slip, he might have distanced his human pursuer easily, and as the dogs seemed to be content with barking, and to have no idea of biting, the irate squire would never have known more about the daring raider of his orchard than his strong suspicion that it was one of those rascally Twin Elm boys.

But to let go his burden was the last thing Charlie thought of doing.

To his daring, determined nature only two alternatives presented themselves – escape with his booty or capture red-handed.

So away he sped, holding tight to the pillow-case, the collie and terrier punctuating his strenuous strides with short, sharp barks.

After his first furious spurt, the squire's speed rapidly slackened until it became little more than a laboured jog-trot; and by the time he reached the entrance to the long avenue leading from the main road to the academy, Charlie was under the window and jerking the sheet-rope by way of a signal to the boys to haul him up.

Unfortunately, they were so occupied with some of their nonsense that they did not at first observe the signal, and precious moments were lost before they responded, so that Charlie's anxious ears caught the sound of the squire's panting as he toiled gamely along the avenue.

"Hurry up, boys!" he called, as loudly as he dared; "the squire's after me!"

The boys responded with a sudden jerk that snatched him off the ground, and nearly made him drop the apples. Then up he went more steadily, foot by foot.

But he was not half-way to the window when the squire, guided by his clever dogs, arrived upon the scene, and in spite of the semi-darkness his keen old eyes took in the situation at a glance.

"Aha, you young scoundrel! I have you now. Take that!"

And he hurled his stout oak cane at the ascending boy. The result greatly exceeded his expectations, for the stick, going straight to its mark, gave Charlie such a stinging blow that he involuntarily let go of the weighty pillow-slip, and down it dropped full upon the squire's pate, crushing his tall gray beaver over his eyes and sending him headlong to the ground.

It was some moments before he could pick himself up again, and by that time Charlie was safe inside the window. Beside himself with wrath, the squire assailed the front door with furious blows, bringing both the tutors out in startled haste.

To them, as well as his breathless, disordered condition permitted, he explained himself, and was at once invited to enter, while Mr. Butler went for Professor Rodwell.

On the professor's arrival all the boys were summoned to appear in the school-room, and presently in they flocked, all but the members of the A. & H. O. A. S. (who, by the way, had managed to get into their night-gowns with marvellous celerity), manifesting their innocence by their unmistakably startled, sleepy faces.

"Are all the boys here?" asked the squire suspiciously, on finding every one arrayed in his night-gown.

Professor Rodwell counted heads carefully.

"Yes, squire, all the boys are present," he replied.

"Humph!" snapped the squire. "A clever trick; but they can't pull the wool over my eyes in that way."

An anxious, expectant hush following, Professor Rodwell addressed the boys in grave yet not unkindly tones: —

"Young gentlemen, it is clear beyond possibility of denial that some of you have been guilty of robbing Squire Ribston's orchard. Now, I dare say, it will not be difficult to trace out the culprits, but I would much prefer that they should acknowledge their wrong-doing of their own accord. I therefore wait to give them the opportunity."

There was but a moment's pause, and then Charlie Draper, stepping forward, said in a steady voice, looking full at Professor Rodwell, —

"It was I that took Squire Ribston's apples. Let me bear all the punishment."

A look of mingled surprise and relief came into the professor's troubled face, and even the squire's anger-wrinkled countenance seemed to take on a softer expression, touched with approval of this frank avowal.

"Charles Draper, I am very sorry," said Professor Rodwell slowly. "Although you've been but a short time with us, I had thought better things of you than this."

Charlie's eyes fell and his lip began to tremble. He was already feeling deep regret for his part in the matter, and these gentle words touched him to the heart.

He was just about to express his contrition and ask for sentence upon himself, when the squire exclaimed, —

"Charlie Draper! is that Charlie Draper?"

"It is," replied Professor Rodwell, wondering why the squire asked.

"The same boy that saved my little grandson Hughie from drowning in Deep Pool a week ago?"

"Yes, squire, the same boy," replied the professor, now beginning to catch the old gentleman's drift.

"Then," cried the squire, who was as quick of generous impulse as he was of temper, jumping from his seat and advancing toward Charlie, "I don't want this thing to go any further. – Here's my hand, my brave lad. You're welcome to every apple on the tree, if you'll only come after them in honest, manly fashion, and not be playing such foolish pranks, skulking through the fields when you ought to be abed. – Come, now, Professor Rodwell, let's cry quits. I'm willing to let the matter rest. Boys will be boys, and if your boys will promise never to go out robbing orchards again, I'll promise to let 'em into my orchard on Saturday afternoons and take every apple they find in the grass so long as the crop lasts."

For a moment the boys were so bewildered by these astounding words that they could hardly credit their ears.

Then a spontaneous cheer burst from their throats, and the upshot of the whole matter was that they heartily gave the promise the squire asked; and the professor, relieved beyond measure at the turn affairs had taken, dismissed them with the understanding that the night's doings should be no further inquired into, provided good behaviour was maintained in future.

The pledge thus given, taking away from the A. & H. O. A. S. its principal reason for existing under that name, did not, however, put an end to its career. It simply altered its title and amended its ways, and continued to flourish as vigorously as before, with Charlie Draper as one of its most popular and active members.

LOST ON LAKE ST. LOUIS

The great river St. Lawrence, as if not content with its ordinary ample breadth, a few miles above the city of Montreal spreads out into a wide sheet of water which is known as Lake St. Louis. Lake St. Louis is about twelve miles long by eight in width at its widest part, and being famous for its cool breezes, the people from the city go out there in throngs every summer, so that its shores are well populated as long as the thermometer keeps well above the seventy point.

In winter, however, it is very different. Then Jack Frost has a confirmed habit of sending the mercury away down, down, down, not only below freezing-point, but below zero even; and the blue waters of the lake turn into a floor as hard as steel, over which the snows drift and pile up and scatter again in fantastic windrows, until the warm spring sunshine melts them into soggy slush, and a little later rends the solid floor itself asunder and sends it careering down the current in great jagged ice-floes.

There is nothing undecided about a Canadian winter. The frost-king means business from the start, and for three long months keeps a tight grip upon the land. Some winters, of course, he is more tyrannical than others. The Ross boys, for instance, thought that he had never before in their experience been so unmerciful as during the season that the event happened about which I am now going to tell. Day after day for weeks at a time the thermometer would not get up to the zero mark at all, while it would at night drop as much as thirty points below it.

"'Pon my word, this sort of weather isn't fair at all," said Bob Ross, in an impatient tone, at the breakfast-table one morning. "A fellow can hardly stir out of doors without getting his nose or ears nipped. My nose was frost-bitten for the third time last night, and that's a little too much of a good thing for me."

"Right your are, Bob," chimed in Phil, his elder brother, from across the table. "My poor ears have been nipped nobody knows how often. I expect one of them will drop off some fine day."

"It's a keen winter, boys, no doubt," assented Mr. Ross. "I don't remember many as sharp. But the longest winter has an end, and you'll forget all about the cold the first warm day that comes."

"That may be, father," answered Bob, "but I'd like a little mild weather right now if the weather-clerk has no objections. You know we're going over to the church festival at Beauharnois to-morrow night; and an eight-mile tramp in this cold weather is not just what I'm hankering for – though I mean to go all the same."

"Tut! my lad, when I was your age I would have thought nothing of double the distance, if only a certain person were at the end of it," replied Mr. Ross, with a meaning smile at his wife as he added, "But perhaps you have no such attraction."

"Not I," laughed Bob. "I'm going for the sake of the supper; but I won't answer for Phil," looking quizzically at his brother, who blushed violently and made a timely diversion by springing up and saying, —

"Come along, Bob; let us get at our work, cold or no cold."

Whereupon the two lads went off together.

Mr. Eoss owned one of the largest and finest among the many farms that bordered upon Lake St. Louis. Although he was what might be called a gentleman farmer, he was a thoroughly practical farmer too. He made his farm pay him handsomely, and thought so well of his occupation that he had brought up his two boys to follow it also. When they were grown men he would divide the greater part of his property between them, reserving only sufficient to keep himself and his wife in independent comfort during the remainder of their days.

The two sons, Phil and Bob, at the time of my story about sixteen and fourteen years of age respectively, were as satisfactory a pair of boys as parents could wish. One, the elder, tall and dark, the other short and fair, both were strong, healthy, hearty lads, full of spirit, and fond enough of having their own way, but thoroughly sound at heart and passionately fond of father and mother. Although trained to all kinds of farm work, their education had not been by any means neglected. They had had a good share of schooling, and Mr. Ross never went into the city without bringing back a new book or the latest magazine, so that they might keep up with the spirit of the times.

The church festival Bob spoke of was to take place the following evening at Beauharnois, a village that stood straight across the lake "as the crow flies" a distance of about eight miles. The snow was in capital condition for snow-shoeing, and the two sturdy boys thought nothing of the tramp there and back. They would start from home at four in the afternoon, make Beauharnois about six, enjoy themselves there to the best of their ability until ten, and then set off for home, where they ought to turn up soon after midnight.

Much to their gratification, the cold next morning showed signs of moderating.

"Looks as if the weather-clerk was interested in the festival," remarked Phil in the course of the morning, his beaming face revealing clearly enough that others than the weather-clerk were interested in the same event.

"I'm glad it isn't quite so keen as yesterday," answered Bob. "A fellow will enjoy the spread all the better for not going to it with his nose frozen."

"I shouldn't wonder if we had a regular change," said Mr. Ross, casting a searching glance at the sky, which was evidently losing its sharp blue tinge and becoming ashen gray in colour. "We often do have a soft spell about this time of the year. There'll most likely be snow soon. I hope it won't begin before you get home, boys."

"Oh, I think not," replied Phil confidently. "It can't come much sooner than the morning."

The hours of the day slipped quickly by, and sharp at four o'clock the two boys set forth on their long tramp. They certainly were a prepossessing pair in their white blanket-coats, that became them so well, tied with broad scarlet sashes, and blue caps with scarlet tassels on their heads. Bidding good-bye to their parents, who stood at the door watching them with fond pride, Phil and Bob strode swiftly down the slope to the lake, and soon were tramping over its broad bosom, upon which the snow lay deep in undulating waves. Barring the leaden hue of the sky, the afternoon could hardly have been finer. The stinging cold was gone, yet the air was keen enough to be bracing. There was little or no wind. The snow was well packed; and, full of joyful expectations, the brothers walked on side by side, their broad snow-shoes bearing them easily upon the very surface of the drifts. Eight miles in two hours was no remarkable performance for two such expert snow-shoers as they, and they accomplished it without difficulty, reaching their destination just as the bell in the tower of the church boomed out six solemn strokes. Leaving their coats and snow-shoes at a friend's house, they hastened to the place where the festival was in full swing, and entered heartily into the enjoyments, each following his own bent. The expectations of both were fully satisfied. The supper presented more dainties on its generous bill of fare than even the capacious appetite of Bob could comfortably sample, and Phil was not disappointed in the light that shone from a certain pair of brown eyes that for some mysterious reason had more attraction for him than anything else the entertainment offered.

Ten o'clock came all too soon for him, especially as the festival was not entirely over, although some of those who lived at a distance had already left; but Bob was rather glad, as the last hour had been somewhat slow, from his point of view. So siding up to Phil, he whispered discreetly in his ear, —

"Time to go, Phil; it's 'most ten o'clock."

Phil pulled out his watch with an incredulous look; but, alas! it told the same story as Bob, and dearly as he would have liked to linger, he knew well enough that the sooner they started now the better. So, with a very regretful adieu to the one whose presence had "made the assembly shine," he joined his brother at the door.

When they got outside, the look of the night and the feel of the air told them that the snow was nearer at hand than they had expected. In fact, a few soft, sly flakes were already dropping noiselessly. The friend at whose house they had left their coats and snow-shoes suggested their staying all night; but although Bob was nothing loath, Phil would not be persuaded.

"Father said he'd wait up for us," he objected, "and he'll get anxious if we're not home by twelve o'clock. – Come along, Bob."

Accordingly, off they went into the darkness of the night. When they reached the shore of the lake, they could just see the glimmer of the village lights by which they were to be guided – their home lying about half-a-mile to the left. Although their pace was far from a loitering one, they did not get over the snow by any means so fast as in the afternoon.

Bob was not only tired and sleepy, but provoked with Phil for refusing to stay all night at their friend's house. Indeed, he hoped his brother would yet repent and return, and so his feet dragged not a little. Noticing this, Phil said briskly, —

"Step out, Bob; we'll have all we can do to get across before the snow comes."

"All well enough to say 'step out,'" answered Bob gruffly. "Why couldn't you stay overnight? I'm too tired to walk fast anyhow, snow or no snow."

"Oh, you're not tired, Bob. You've eaten a little too much supper, that's all," rejoined Phil pleasantly.

Bob vouchsafed no answer, and for some time the brothers tramped along in silence. As they neared the centre of the lake, the snow-flakes, which had at first been few and far between, thickened rapidly, and the wind at the same time rose into gusts that blew them sharply into the boys' faces.

A thrill of alarm shot threw Phil, and grasping Bob's arm he called out, —

"It looks nasty, Bob; let's put on a spurt."

At this appeal Bob roused himself; and quickening their pace to a trot, they hastened onward, their snow-shoes rising and falling in steady, unbroken step. Every minute the snow and wind increased, until at length the storm in full force burst upon the boys and almost blew them off their feet. All around them the air was filled with flakes of white whirling about in bewildering myriads, splashing like fine spray into their faces and stinging like small shot, for the wind was bitterly cold. Presently Phil halted, and, peering hard into the blinding storm, cried anxiously, —

"What's become of the lights, Bob? I can't see them a bit; can you?"

"N-n-no," panted Bob. "Let's turn back."

"No use in that," replied Phil, turning round. "I can't see those behind us either. There's nothing for it but to push ahead."

"O Phil! are we lost?" asked Bob, with quivering lips.

Phil was more than half afraid they were; but to reassure Bob he answered cheerfully, —

"It's all right. I know how to steer. Come along." And grasping Bob's hand he started off again.

On and on they plodded through storm and snow, Phil half dragging Bob, who, between fright and real weariness, found difficulty in making progress at all. For half-an-hour more they struggled thus, until at last Bob dropped his brother's hand and flung himself down in the snow, sobbing out despairingly, —

"It's no use, Phil, I'm dead beat; you'll have to go on without me."

"Nonsense, Bob," said Phil, taking him by the shoulder. "Jump up and go at it again."

Thus helped to his feet, Bob made another attempt, but had not gone more than a quarter of a mile in a way that was staggering rather than walking before down he slipped again; and this time all that Phil could do failed to rouse him from his stupor. The cold and exhaustion had completely overcome him. He had but one thought, and that was – to be allowed to sleep. Phil fully realized the danger, and, tired as he was himself, put forth every exertion to keep his brother awake. He even tried to drag him along by his sash in what he thought was the right direction, but of course soon found this impossible.

Desert his brother he would not, though they died together; so, in order to keep himself from falling into the same state, he made a circle around him, walking slowly. While doing this he encountered a high drift whose lee afforded some shelter from the blast. An idea flashed into his mind which he instantly proceeded to execute.

Returning to Bob he dragged him with infinite difficulty to this spot. Then slipping off one of his snow-shoes, he proceeded to cover his body with snow, leaving nothing but his head exposed; the poor boy, now fast asleep, offering no objection to such strange bedclothes. Then sitting down beside him, with the big drift protecting his back, he let the snow gather over himself, hoping he hardly knew for what, and praying for the Lord who sent the snow-storm to have mercy on them both.

In a vague way – for the stupor was fast creeping upon him too – he wondered if his father had begun to miss them yet, and whether he would come out in search of them. He even dimly pictured his father sitting in the parlour at home reading his book, and pausing every now and then to listen for his boys' voices. His mother, he knew, would have gone to bed long ago. He felt relieved that the snow no longer stung his face, and that the wind had gone down completely, and so his thoughts wandered on until he knew no more.

One hour, two hours passed, and the drifting snow had hidden the forms of the two boys from sight, when a long line of men might have been seen coming from the village and scanning carefully every mound and swell of the snow as they hastened onward. In advance of the rest strode Mr. Ross, his face full of grave anxiety, his eyes intent upon the white plain before him that seemed to have so little to tell. Now bounding on ahead and now returning to look up in his face with inquiring eyes was his wise old collie, Oscar, without whom he never went abroad.

"Find them, Oscar, find them, good dog," would Mr. Ross say encouragingly, and the sagacious animal would dart on again. Presently he stopped beside a drift now grown to huge proportions, sniffed sharply at the snow, and then proceeded to dig into it with eager, vigorous paws. Observing his action, Mr. Ross uttered a cry of joy and sprang forward to the dog's side. Going down on his knees he tore at the snow-bank in a frenzy of haste. In another moment a red tassel appeared, then a blue cap, then a white, still face, and, others coming to his aid, the forms of the two boys were exposed to view, Phil still sitting up with his head bent over his knees, and Bob lying comfortably beside him. That they were both alive was clear enough, for they were breathing – very faintly, to be sure, but undoubtedly breathing.

Mr. Ross caught up one after another in a passionate embrace. Then litters were quickly improvised out of blanket-coats stripped from willing backs, and soon the unconscious boys were speeding homeward as fast as stalwart arms could bear them.

The rest of the story is quickly told. Thanks to the sturdy frames and perfect constitutions, the brothers were only temporarily the worse for their experience. They both were frost-bitten, of course, Bob's poor nose and Phil's feet coming in for the worst of it; but a few weeks' good nursing cured everything, and no scars remained to remind them, had they ever been likely to forget it, of the night they were lost.