THE GREAT DISCOVERY
A week later Jerry finished his labors for Major Laurence. The garden
had been dug from end to end and half a dozen minor jobs attended
to, and Jerry was in possession of the munificent sum of thirty-one
dollars and twenty-five cents; or he would have been if the purchase
of baseball togs, a new cap, a tin lantern and some other articles
hadn’t reduced his capital by half. A light-colored darky, released
from oyster fishing, took over Jerry’s duties. But the Major enjoined
the latter not to forget to come and see him now and then and Jerry
promised. There had been several talks subsequent to that first one
on the subject of the boy’s future and Jerry had already made up his
mind to take up the study of Law as soon as might be, and, following
the Major’s advice, had become a diligent and omnivorous student of
history. When he had exhausted the possibilities of the school library
the Major loaned him a twelve-volume history of the French Republic
and Jerry finished the Spring term on it. There was a short recess in
April and most of the students went home. Jerry, however, remained at
school and had a simply glorious time reading and taking long tramps
in the woods. Occasionally there was a game of ball amongst the thirty
odd fellows remaining, and at such times Jerry was greatly in demand
because of his prowess with the bat and alternated between the opposing
teams. On one occasion, ambling across to The Poplars one afternoon,
he found the Major and his wife having tea on the wide back veranda
that overlooked the river and the white buildings of the Naval Academy
in the distance. Jerry was for taking himself off again, but that
the Laurences wouldn’t hear of, and so he found himself sitting on
the edge of a chair, drinking tea and eating biscuits and responding
less and less embarrassedly to his host’s efforts to make him feel at
home. Mrs. Laurence was small and dark, with a winning smile and a
soft and pleasant voice, and Jerry didn’t hold out against her long.
That afternoon proved one of the pleasantest he had ever known. He
recalled afterwards that he had sometimes lapsed into the homely and
ungrammatical speech of his preschool days, and was a bit ashamed. But
he comforted himself with the thought that if he had talked very badly
they wouldn’t have asked him to dinner two evenings later, which was
just what they had done!
The dinner, although only his host and hostess were present with him,
proved somewhat of a trial to Jerry. There were more forks and spoons
and knives than he had ever seen collected on one table before and
the food was far too various for his taste. But he struggled through
somehow, eating, if the truth must be told, much less than he wanted
to. Afterwards Mrs. Laurence played for them in the big, comfortable
living room, and still later Jerry and the Major talked long of a great
many subjects, and the Major, who had a remarkable fund of stories and
anecdotes and a rare manner of telling them, kept the guest spellbound
until he made the disconcerting discovery that the hour was long past
nine.
But neither social diversions nor ball playing gave Jerry quite the
pleasure he got from rambling through the forests or along the river.
If he had only had a dog and a gun he would have been supremely happy.
Or, failing the gun, just the dog would have satisfied him. The trees
were out in full leaf by then and the woods were even lovelier, he
decided, than they were back home. For one thing, there was a far
greater variety of trees, many of which he didn’t even know the names
of. The weather, with the exception of one day, remained warm and
pleasant, and many an afternoon, with a volume of history under his
nose, Jerry lay sprawled on some sun-flecked bank above the blue river
and alternately read and dreamed.
He missed Tom a good deal, and sometimes wished that he had accepted
the invitation to go to New York with him. Usually, however, he didn’t,
realizing that he neither had the clothes nor the money for such a
visit. It was enough that Tom had been sincere in wanting him to go,
had even got a trifle disgruntled when he found that he couldn’t
shake Jerry’s determination not to. Mr. Ledyard had tried to be very
friendly to Jerry――the secretary’s duties had kept him at the school
during all but two days of the recess――but Jerry somehow didn’t take
to Mr. Ledyard. Perhaps he suspected the secretary of patronage. He
did spend one evening with him, but the friendship went no further.
Some of the boys who remained, juniors most of them, were very nice and
would have made Jerry welcome at their feasts and games, but Jerry was
rather shy with strangers and his evenings were generally spent, quite
contentedly, in Number 7.
It was two days before the end of the Spring recess that Jerry made his
great discovery. He had secured leave for the whole day and, with three
sandwiches stowed in one pocket and a cake of chocolate in another, he
took to the road soon after breakfast. The road followed the river in
a general way and then, crossing the stream on a rickety wooden bridge,
wandered off westward, gradually degenerating into a rutted and gullied
pink-clay streak between woods and fields. Jerry didn’t stay with it
so long, however, for the forest called him. Some two miles from the
school he turned off and, skirting a tobacco field, entered the green
slopes of the rolling country beyond. Presently he had to make a detour
to avoid a large pond in which frogs were still croaking their morning
exercises, and was soon halted by a stream that, he supposed, flowed
into the river further along. It was only about eight feet wide, that
quiet little brook, but the trees came close to it on Jerry’s side and
there was no chance for a run, and without a run and a good takeoff
Jerry was fairly certain to alight well short of the further bank. He
contemplated removing his shoes and socks, but just then an alternative
presented itself in the shape of a sapling which, broken just above
the ground, needed but a few tugs and twists to wrench it loose. Jerry
broke off the few upper branches and tested it. It seemed well-seasoned
and quite strong enough to bear his weight for a moment. So he placed
the splintered end in midstream, drew back as far as he could from the
edge and sprang, his hands grasping the pole above his head. But the
two steps he had taken were not enough, and after dangling doubtfully
a moment over midstream, he was lucky enough to land back where he had
started from. He went further down the brook and found a place where,
if he could manage not to stumble over a root, he might do better. This
time he used the sapling as he had seen the pole vaulters use their
poles, taking a short run of a few steps and, as he came to the edge of
the stream, thrusting one end into the water and launching himself up
and forward. Everything went beautifully until he had swung past the
zenith of his flight. Then there was a smart cracking sound and Jerry
descended with much velocity into the brook!
He struck flat on his back, or nearly so. At all events, he managed
to get wet from head to feet, and a hidden log or stone――he didn’t
think it worth while to determine which――came in violent contact with
the small of his back, so that for an instant he wallowed about quite
helplessly in the water. When he finally got his feet under him and
staggered out he was a sorry-looking object. Rotted leaves, stirred
from the bottom of the brook, were plastered over him and he had thrust
his feet into the margin of mud and sand under the bank. For a moment
he viewed himself in disgust. Then his eyes began to twinkle and his
mouth curved in a wide grin.
“Reckon,” he chuckled aloud, “it would have been cheaper if I’d just
naturally waded it!”
He rescued the sandwiches and chocolate and, removing the sopping
paper, spread them out on a stone in the sunlight. Then he emptied
his wet pockets of other treasures, his nickel watch, a knife, some
change, a sodden handkerchief and a fortnight-old letter from Pap
Huckins. These he likewise placed to dry. After that he stripped to the
skin and adorned the branches of neighboring trees with his clothing.
Fortunately, there were fewer trees on this side of the brook and the
sunlight fell through in broad patches. Fortunately, too, the April
morning was warm and, in the woods, still. Jerry trotted around a
minute in a little patch of warmth and then considered his situation.
It would be some time before his clothes would be dry. Meanwhile the
morning air just lacked sufficient warmth to make standing around
pleasant. He held his watch to his ear, found that it was still going
bravely and saw that the time was but a little after nine. So far
as he knew, there was no human habitation anywhere near him, and it
would be quite safe to “project” about while his things were drying.
So presently he went on, keeping along the side of one of the little
knolls, more than once vainly trying to thrust his hands in his
pockets. One knoll succeeded another, and after awhile he made his
way to the summit of one. If he had expected to find a view from there
he was disappointed, for it gave him only the sight of green forest
dipping and rolling on every side. He sat down for a minute, his back
against the bole of a big poplar, and basked in the sunlight. But,
while the sun held warmth, there was a faint breeze stirring up here
and he was soon on his feet again. And, rising, something that wasn’t
a tree trunk showed on the next hillside. He stared perplexedly,
crouching and peering. It looked something like a weather-faded
board fence, though what a fence should be doing back here in the
forest he couldn’t conceive. In the end curiosity took him down one
slope and up another and brought him in a minute in sight of a small
cabin. There was a chimney at one end――he was facing the front of the
cabin――formed of short pieces of wood and yellow clay. The door swung
inward, held only by one leather hinge. A square opening beside the
door was empty of glass or shutter. Before the cabin stood the remains
of a stone fireplace. A dozen feet distant from where Jerry stood
and reconnoitered a faintly perceptible path wound down the knoll in
the direction of the brook. An untidy litter of empty cans had been
mercifully hidden to some extent by fallen leaves.
Jerry was scarcely in condition to pay a call, but after a minute’s
further contemplation of the cabin he decided that it was safe to
take a nearer look, for the sagging door, the smokeless chimney and
the empty socket of a window told their tale plainly. The trees atop
the little hill had been cleared away to make room for the shack,
and hidden though it was in the deep woods, the site was attractive.
Sunlight fell gayly on the warped and splintered boards of wall and
roof and the shadows of the young leaves traced a lacy pattern over
them. Jerry approached the doorway with lively curiosity. There is
something about a deserted habitation, no matter how old and decrepit,
that hints of mystery and arouses speculation. Silently Jerry peered
through beyond the half-opened door. Inside was twilight and stillness.
Wide boards formed a floor, and on it lay a litter of discarded things:
a rusty frying pan, a cotton jumper, some scraps of paper, an empty
shotgun shell, a broken-bladed knife and many corncobs. The floor was
dirty and stained, and even charred where, at one end of the single
room, a tumble-down stove poked a crazy pipe into the chimney outside.
Near the stove was a box nailed to the wall, evidently once used as
shelves. But nothing else remotely resembling furniture remained. Jerry
picked up a half sheet of newspaper, yellow and crackly. It bore a
date of three years previous.
Perhaps, he reflected, some one had once used the cabin for hunting.
There were, so he had heard, quail and rabbits to be shot hereabouts.
Indeed, he had seen more than one rabbit himself. He examined the
door. A new hinge at the bottom would put it right. As to the two
windows――there was one in the rear as well as the front――he could
not see that they had ever been protected by anything save mosquito
netting, tattered remnants of which still hung about the inner frame.
Jerry wondered whom the place belonged to. After that he wished for
a broom that he might clear it out, and still later he was making a
mental list of necessary articles: a hatchet, some nails, a strip of
leather, first of all. To Jerry a deserted cabin in the woods suggested
but one thing and suggested that strongly――instant possession! Already
he pictured himself frying bacon on the stove and subsequently curling
himself up on a nonexistent bed of boughs. He tried again to thrust his
hands into his pockets. Having hands in pockets was always a great aid
to thought with Jerry. As the pockets were missing he made up his mind
to go and get them. First, though, he pried off one of the warped lids
from the little sheet-iron stove. Some charred embers were revealed
and, so far as he could determine, the stove was quite usable. He
gathered an armful of dry wood before he recalled the fact that he had
no way of lighting it!