Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MAY 19, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVII.--NO. 864. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
JACK HOWARD'S SURPRISE PARTY.
It was the critical moment in the famous sham battle of Easter Monday.
The bicycle corps was a mile and a half away, and the signal post had
been captured by the enemy. Unless the corps could be brought into the
action the day was lost, and the wood road running back of the
"Cardinal's Nob" offered the only possible means of communication. But
could the message be conveyed in time? Colonel Howard turned to his son
Jack, who stood anxious and silent at the front handle-bars of the
Arrow, a modern racing quad, geared to 120, and stripped down to the
enamel. The inspection seemed to satisfy him, and hastily scribbling a
few lines on a page torn from his note-book, he handed the order to his
son.
"Get this through if you possibly can," he said, briefly, and turned
again to his field-glasses.
A moment later and Jack and his crew were carrying the Arrow down the
steep sides of the "Nob" to the wood road that ran below. The road was
in splendid condition, hard and smooth as a racing-track, and the boys
were all picked riders, and bound to hold on to their grips until the
tires began to smoke.
"It will be a scorch, fellows," said Jack, as he swung himself into his
saddle; "but let her run off easily until we can get to pedalling all
together. Now, then, hit her up!"
The Arrow jumped forward like a hare as the long chain tightened and the
riders bent over to their work. It took Jem Smith, No. 2, a moment
longer to find his left pedal, and then the eight legs began to go up
and down with the mechanical regularity of so many piston-rods. Once
fairly into the long rhythmical swing, every ounce of power told, and
the tense spokes hummed merrily as the speed increased and the road-bed
slipped away beneath the rapidly revolving wheels. Jack Howard had his
cap drawn well down over his eyes, and his hands were tightly clinched
on the front handle-bars. So long as the way was smooth and the crew
were pumping in strict time the Arrow steered with the certainty and
quickness of a racing sloop; but every now and then a shallow rut or a
half-hidden stone would cause the long machine to swerve like a flying
horse, and it would take all of Jack's strength, even with the
assistance of No. 2, whose handle-bars were coupled to the steering
head, to keep the Arrow steady on her course. Above all, it was
necessary that every rider should pay strict attention to the business
in hand, or rather under foot. Uneven pedalling meant lost power and
hard steering, while a slipped pedal might result in an ugly fall and a
general smash-up.
Three-quarters of a mile from the "Nob" there was a gate across the
road, with the approach on a curve that was also slightly down-grade. As
was only prudent, speed was reduced, and the Arrow rounded the turn well
under control. Luckily so, for the gate was closed. This was rather odd,
for the bicycle corps had passed over the road only an hour before, and
it had been understood that they should leave the gate open. The loss of
time was vexatious, but there was nothing to do but to stop. The Arrow
ran slowly up to the obstruction, and Jack called to Dick Long, the end
man, to jump off and swing the gate aside.
"Hands up!" came with startling distinctness from the high, thickly
wooded slope that bordered the road on either side, and Jack looked up
straight into the barrel of a regulation army carbine that for the
moment yawned as wide as the muzzle of a hundred-ton gun. It was the
enemy, sure enough, a sergeant with a dozen men, and the Arrow had
walked straight into the trap. Resistance was as impossible as it was
hopeless, for the boys had strapped their carbines securely to the
framing of the quad, and the surprise had been complete.
"You're captured," said the umpire, who had accompanied the ambuscade.
"Hand over your despatches to the sergeant and stand at attention."
It was a dreadfully mortifying situation for the boys, but their captors
were inclined to be magnanimous.
"It's not your fault, Jack," chuckled the jolly sergeant, as he took the
precious despatch; "it was just a little game of strategy in which we
happened to hold the high cards."
After all, it had been a desperate chance, and Jack was philosopher
enough to abide by the result. And besides that he had faith enough in
his father to feel assured that he would pull through somehow, and that
his confidence was not misplaced those who have read "The Battle of
Easter Monday" will remember.
The umpire hurried away for the actual field of battle, and the sergeant
and his party took up their post again at the gate. It was stupid work
playing prisoner, and Jack hinted as much to the sergeant. If they
couldn't see the battle it was a pity to lose such a fine afternoon for
a ride, and it was not likely that they would be able to borrow the quad
again.
"Well," said the sergeant, good-naturedly, "I don't know that I have any
right to do it, but I'll release you on parole, with the understanding
that you go in the opposite direction from the battle-field, and that
you report at the armory this evening and turn in your rifles and
cartridge-belts."
The terms were too easy not to be accepted, and though the boys were
naturally disappointed in not being able to see or take part in the
fight, it was something in the way of consolation to have a twenty-mile
spin on the Arrow.
"Let's go to Queenston," suggested Jem Smith, as the Arrow rolled slowly
back along the wood road.
It was a good fifteen miles away to the old college town, but the roads
were unusually good for so early in the year, and the scenery was more
than enough to make up for the steepness of the hills.
"And take luncheon at Rock Hill," added Jack. "Is it a vote?" and no one
dissenting, it was so ordered.
It was a glorious afternoon for a spin, and the boys enjoyed the novel
experience of four-in-hand riding. But since the Arrow was geared up for
racing on a level track, it was hard work hill-climbing, and nobody was
sorry to see in the distance the gray towers of Queenston. A mile away
from town and Jack called a halt. The stretch of road immediately before
them had been broken up preparatory to macadamizing, and it was clearly
unrideable. Nobody liked the idea of trundling the long machine into
town; but, on the other hand, they had set out for a run to Queenston,
and it would not do to give up within sight of port. And, moreover,
through the town lay the shortest road back to Fairacre.
"What's that road?" asked Dick Long, pointing to a carriage drive that
entered the woods at right angles to the highway.
Jack's eyes brightened. "I remember it now," he said. "It's a private
road that runs back of the college and brings us out on University
Square. There can't be any objection to our using it."
There was a locked gate to prevent intrusion, but the Arrow was quickly
hoisted over the fence, and Jack and his crew were in the saddle again.
It was evident that the road had not been used for a long time, for it
was overgrown with grass, and the old wheel-tracks were hardly
discernible. But it was fair riding, for the turf was thick and firm,
and as it was early in the spring, it had only just begun to grow. Half
a mile in and the Arrow was running swiftly and noiselessly through the
thickest part of the college wood. The university buildings were but a
quarter of a mile or so away, but it was only occasionally that they
showed through the leafless trunks of the great oaks and chestnuts. Here
and there a chipmunk scuttled away through the dry rustling leaves, and
once an early robin piped up with an original spring poem. The silence
and stillness seemed almost primeval; it might have been the first
Sunday morning after the creation of the world; a laugh or an idle word
would have broken the spell. And then--
"Hold hard!" came in a tense whisper from Jack, and his crew
mechanically bore back on their pedals. The Arrow had stopped at the
brow of a gentle declivity that widened out at the bottom into a little
glade, which was now the scene of a drama that looked perilously like a
tragedy to the startled eyes of the new-comers. In the middle of the
open space stood a rude structure of rough stones some three feet high
and six long, and upon it was stretched the figure of a man bound and
gagged. At a little distance were grouped a dozen masked forms armed
with odd-looking axes, and listening attentively to an incomprehensible
harangue on the part of the one who appeared to be their leader.
The boys looked at each other with white faces. Ku-Klux? White Caps? It
was possible. Whatever it was, it looked ugly enough in all conscience.
Jack Howard began to unstrap his carbine from the framework of the
Arrow.
"Our cartridges are all blanks," whispered Dick Long, hurriedly.
"I know it," returned Jack, fumbling with nervous haste at the mechanism
of the breech-block, "but I'm not going to stand here and see murder
done."
"But what can we do?"
"See that your magazines are full, be ready to ride the Arrow so as to
get that stone pile between us and the crowd, and, above all, let nobody
fire until I give the word. It's twelve to four, and the only chance is
to bluff them."
It seemed like a dream to stand there waiting for the moment of action,
the motionless figure stretched upon the stones, the sunlight flickering
upon the grim-looking axes of the twelve masked men, the monotonous,
unintelligible drone of the speaker. And yet there was a something in
the picture that made it terribly alive, for all that this was the year
of Our Lord 1896, and the bells in the college chapel were even now
ringing the call for evening prayers.
Jack and his crew were sitting motionless in their saddles, Dick Long,
the rear man, standing ready to give the necessary shove-off.
The speaker had stopped talking, and had taken his stand at the head of
the line of masked men. In his hands he held an antique-looking urn, and
at a signal the others advanced one by one. As the first man passed he
dropped into the urn a small object that looked like a bean. But there
could be no mistake about the color--it was black. Another followed, and
then another, until all had passed and cast their vote, if vote it was.
The chief solemnly emptied the contents of the urn upon the ground.
Every bean was black.
The leader drew from beneath his cloak a long, glittering,
crescent-shaped knife, and held it high above his head.
"Your sentence, then"--he looked inquiringly at the immovable silent
figures that stood about him in a circle.
"Death!" came in muffled tones from the first mask, and "Death!" echoed
the next, and the next, until all had spoken.
The circle parted, and the executioner moved slowly towards the altar
and the victim.
"Now!" shouted Jack, and the Arrow flashed down the slope as though sped
from some gigantic bowstring. In an instant the boys had dismounted, and
were kneeling under cover of the stone-work with their rifles at their
shoulders. There was a moment of surprise and confusion among the masked
figures, and the man with the knife pulled up sharply.
Jack snatched off his cap and tossed it into the air. It fell some
twenty feet away, an improvised dead-line between the two parties.
"Keep back of that or we fire," he said, tersely.
The line of masked men wavered for an instant, and then the leader held
up his hand and stepped forward.
"This doesn't concern you," he said, quietly.
"Maybe not," retorted Jack, "but we are going to make it our business.
Keep back!" and he raised his rifle.
The masked man made an impatient gesture. "I tell you again," he said,
coldly, "that this is no affair of yours. You had better take my advice,
and hop the twig as fast as you can."
"And suppose we don't choose to profit by your friendly warning,"
returned Jack, jauntily. "What then?"
One of the masked figures stepped up to the leader, and whispered
something in his ear. The chief nodded affirmatively, and turned again
to Jack.
"We know well enough where you came from," he said, confidently, "and
you can't bluff us with blank cartridges."
There was an involuntary movement of surprised consternation among the
boys, which the masked man was quick to perceive and take advantage of.
"This isn't any sham battle," he continued, with a sneer. "I'll give you
while I count ten to clear out. One, two--"
Jack turned hurriedly to the boys. "Remember, now, hold your fire, no
matter what I do."
"Eight, nine, ten. Come on, you fellows!" and the man in the mask threw
down his knife and jumped for Jack. There was a sharp report, and the
leader stopped short, staggered, and fell.
It was all over in an instant. The masked figures had scattered in all
directions, and Jack was cutting the cords that bound the prisoner. And
by all that was wonderful, if it wasn't Tom Jones, a Fairacre boy, and a
member of the Sophomore Class at Queenston College. The boys stared at
him, open-mouthed.
"Take out the gag; he's trying to speak," said Dick Long, excitedly.
The gag was quickly removed, and Tom sprang to his feet.
"Well, you are a fine set of blooming wooden-heads," said Mr. Jones,
reproachfully.
The boys looked at him in astonishment. Under the peculiar circumstances
the remark savored of ingratitude, to say the least.
"Perhaps you would have preferred that we had not interfered," said Jem
Smith, with sarcastic politeness.
"I wish to goodness you hadn't," was the disconcerting reply. "Well, old
man, are you much hurt?" Tom Jones had hurried to where the wounded man
was lying propped up against a tree, and was bending over him with
anxious solicitude. His mask had fallen off, and his face looked
familiar enough, though nobody could place him exactly.
"See here, Jones," said Jack Howard, with a desperate effort to shake
off the growing conviction that the whole affair was nothing more than
an ugly dream, "what does all this mean, anyhow? Haven't we just pulled
you out of a pretty tight place--saved your life, I mean?"
"No, you haven't," answered Tom, snappishly.
"You've gone and interfered with my initiation into the Order of Ancient
and Royal Druids, the best secret society in the college, and you shot
in the leg the Captain of the university team, and the only decent
half-back we have this year. That's what you've done."
"Oh, my leg!" groaned the sufferer, feebly. "There's a hole bored clear
through it, and it's bleeding like one o'clock."
And then Mr. Jones, who had been examining the injured member, did a
very remarkable thing. He deliberately bestowed upon his wounded
superior a couple of hearty kicks, and then proceeded to assist him to
his feet.
"Get up, Phil, and don't make an ass of yourself. Here's the fatal
bullet that laid you low." He picked up something from the ground, and
showed it first to Captain Phil and then to Jack. The latter nodded,
took it, and stowed it away in his pocket. A few words in undertone
followed, and then the football Captain laughed and held out his hand to
Jack.
"I wish you fellows would come up to the college and have some tea," he
said, heartily. "Sure you haven't the time? Well, then, remember that
I'll expect you over for the first baseball game of the season next
Saturday--and your friends too."
"You're sure that you're all right again?" inquired Jack.
Captain Phil turned a handspring with remarkable agility, and came up
smiling, to the manifest astonishment of three or four of his late
companions in crime, who were cautiously making their way back to the
scene of battle, in the evident expectation of having to perform the
last sad offices for their late leader.
"Straight as a string and sound as a bell," announced Captain Phil,
cheerfully. "But just wait, young fellow, until you enter Fresh, in the
fall, and I can get a chance to tackle you on the twenty-yard line. That
ought to square things between us."
Jack laughed, and with another hearty shake of the Captain's hand, he
sprang into his saddle, and the Arrow was quickly speeding towards
Fairacre again.
"He ought to make a rattling quarter-back," said Captain Phil,
reflectively, to Tom Jones. "A fellow with his nerve is just the man we
want to fill Robinson's shoes."
And Jones nodded an oracular assent.
* * * * *
Half a mile down the pike, and Jem Smith's curiosity could no longer be
restrained.
"Well, if you must know," said Jack, finally, "here's the fatal bullet.
It just occurred to me to slip it in my rifle-barrel in the hope that it
might do some execution if it came to actual hostilities. Of course it
was only a bluff to make them think that your guns were really loaded
with ball cartridge, and it worked just that way. Of course, when it
broke against his leg, and he felt the ink running down--"
"What are you talking about?" said Jem, impatiently; "and what is this
little rubber cap, anyhow?"
"All that's left of a brand-new stylographic pen," answered Jack,
mournfully.
A MYSTERY.
BY CLARA LOUISE ANGEL.
I know of a dry little, sly little man
Who comes o'er our threshold whenever he can;
Though little, he cares for the sunshine and light;
He haunts our big library when it is night.
When papa is reading his paper with care,
And I'm dozing all snug in the cushioned arm-chair,
When mamma looks up from her sewing--"My dear,
Perhaps you don't know that the sand-man's been here."
Then I hunt round the curtain, on top of the books,
'Neath table and sofa, and all sorts of nooks,
And out on the stairway, and down in the hall;
But I can't find the sly little sand-man at all!
THE AMERICAN NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS.
THE M. S. D'S.
BY EMMA J. GRAY.
[Illustration]
"It fell upon a day in the balmy month of May" that the M. S. D's went
for an out-of-door frolic.
Who were the M. S. D's? Merry Sons and Daughters. The society had been
incorporated the year before; there were no dues, no president,
secretary, treasurer, or by-laws; there was but one qualification--being
merry. No long faces among the members of _that_ society; no boys or
girls who always want things done _their_ way. No, that style of person
was not eligible, nor selfish folks, or any other kind of disagreeable
people.
The M. S. D's were stanch, true-hearted, and sunny, their greatest joy
being forgetfulness of self. They were always merry because they were
always happy; and they were always happy because they trod evil
underfoot, and thought out great thoughts white and godlike, thoughts
that shone with the clear and steady light that reflected good-will on
all.
Therefore, when the society went for a day's fun it was the gayest of
roving, a complete El Dorado of enjoyment; and an outing in the
blithesome month of May to them meant a full and happy one.
For some reason the usual parties had been omitted this year, and
therefore none of the girls had been crowned Queen, and none of the boys
had paid their respects to the Court.
So when they reached the "happy independence grounds," as the boys
dubbed them, because everybody was to do as they pleased when they got
there, it was most amusing that each one seemed to have the same desire
to gather handfuls of blossoms, weave crowns, hunt for four-leaved
clover, and listen to bird calls. And thus it was that soon were
gathered blue violets from the meadow, and dandelions, buttercups, and
daisies from among the long waving grass that covered field after field
through which these Merry Sons and Daughters laughingly ran.
And then followed the butterfly hunt; just to see if anybody could
really catch one of these "ne'er-do-weel" fellows. But their fragile
painted wings carried them so safe and rapid that when a hand was almost
over the petal tip that held the happy fellow, he would up and away in
the breezy blue, and ride on graciously out of sight, or sometimes, as
through a desire to tempt his pursuer, skim over the clover blossoms,
and finally light again on a bunch of daffadown-dillies, or possibly
make a round of all the sweet May blossoms.
"What the Dandelions said" was then played, which is the old game so
familiar to all from babyhood--that of blowing the soft down of the
ripened dandelion to learn "How old am I?" Blow once, one year old; blow
twice, two years, and so on, until all the downy stuff has gone. The
number of times the blows have been given before the down has altogether
disappeared indicates the age.
And then the players ran at utmost speed to the babbling brook, which
was a short distance off; and having first torn the dandelion stems into
quarters by splitting the tubular stem from tip to flower, they laid
them in the cool flowing water, and watched them curl until all were
tightly rounded; then shaking off the gathered drops, they firmly
fastened these curls to their hats, together with the bunches of clover,
buttercups, violets, strawberry blossoms, or whatever else fanciful
taste dictated.
[Illustration]
This pastime was soon followed by the "Daisy Catch." Both girls and boys
stood in a group, with the exception of one girl, and to her was given a
bunch of daisies. There was also a tree selected as a place of safety,
after which the other girls then counted ten, allowing ten seconds for
the count. During the counting the girl ran wherever she pleased, but
the moment ten was spoken the boys raced after her. The idea was to
"tag" her while the flowers were in her hand. If she was "tagged," the
girl must then throw the daisies, as if they were a ball, to the boy
tagging her. If he caught them, the game would proceed as before, by
reversing the players; but if he did not catch them, the girl could try
over again. The girl could also demand another chance if, when fearing
she would be tagged, she threw her daisies away and caught them again
before any of the boys did. Whenever the game was repeated it commenced
regularly from the beginning, the players taking the same position as at
the start. On the way back from the brook everybody's attention was
drawn to a pair of yellow-birds that had braved the yet unsettled
atmosphere, and were building a very pretty home for themselves near the
top of a blackberry bush, when all of a sudden a cat-bird's song was
heard, and knowing that he was very shy, all breathlessly kept quiet.
And then how uneasy the little yellow-birds became! The young people
wondered what it all meant; but afterwards they saw both the
yellow-birds fly off for fern down or other soft stuff with which to
line their nest, and this disappearance was evidently what the cat-bird
desired, for no sooner had the birds gone than, quietly and cautiously,
and yet rapidly, as if seizing opportunity much after the manner of
other thieves, he approached and stole all the building materials he
could possibly carry from their pretty home.
This sight reminded the boys of a game called "Keep It." It was nothing
more nor less than an echo, and those who knew lightly closed each hand
so that the first two fingers touched the thumb. Then putting one hand
on top of the other, and calling through the column thus made, trumpet
fashion, the noise was greatly accelerated, and, "Keep it, keep it,"
were the words over and over again repeated in the uncanny peculiar way
that echo repeats sound. The children then ran in various directions,
laughingly trying to get ahead of each other, and discover who could
make the clearest and loudest echo.
But the great feature of the day was the boat-race, and this was an
impromptu amusement, for the boys had planned the girls should botanize,
tell stories, or anything that they liked, while they went fishing; and
with fishing in mind the boys had many a secret conclave beforehand, as
each one was trying to get all the fishing points possible, and many and
various were the ones received, everybody agreeing, however, that all
the fishermen must understand both shoving and sculling a boat before
attempting to fish in that particular water, as it was winding, narrow,
and full of all sorts of rushes, meadow grasses, and snags in variety,
and if rowing was attempted, fishing would be impracticable. Then, too,
there should be a slight wind blowing from the southwest, and a cloudy
sky. So as fishing was the uppermost thought, the boys were sure the
weather would be right when they got there, and therefore came laden
with bait, tackle, and fishing-baskets in abundance, for they had
assured their mothers they would bring home a lot of shining fat fellows
for supper. A few, too, of the more skilled had refused to bring bait,
saying, with an important toss of the head, they only fished with flies;
and no sooner had the M. S. D's gotten to their destination than these
fishermen ran to the water to watch the sort and color of flies the fish
were mostly jumping for.
So it was a genuine disappointment when, at ten o'clock in the morning,
the sun shone unusually hot and the water was as smooth as a mirror, for
not even a perceptible zephyr was stirring.
Therefore it was that the girls begged the boys not to attempt fishing,
that it would be only a great waste of time, and to further quote their
words, "when it gets cooler, as it's bound to after a while, let's have
a boat-race"--for there was a clear space of water where such could be
held.
This was a happy suggestion, and immediately the race was arranged. The
girls who did not care to row were to act as umpires; and a grand stand
was selected, which was nothing more nor less than a massive irregular
rock over which a tangle of vines ran luxuriously, and for canopy there
was a wide-branched locust-tree.
[Illustration]
There would be three races--one between the girls, another between the
boys, and the third between the girls and boys together, and they were
to be given in the order indicated. Two willow-trees which conspicuously
over-hung the water, and so could not be mistaken, were selected as the
points that would start and end the race, the prow of the boat being
even with the centre of the tree-trunk at starting, and the stern of the
boat being even with the centre of the tree-trunk on closing. Only one
person would be in a boat at a time, and no person could have a second
chance. As the water was too narrow to allow for all the boys or all the
girls to try at once, it was decided that two boats only should row, and
then two more, and so on. After the race was over, the victors would be
obliged to row again, two and two, as at the first, and so determine the
winners. When the winning girl and the winning boy were known, they
would race together, and thus the champion rower would be discovered.
Whoever was champion was to be rewarded with a wreath of laurel, after
the fashion of the great Roman victors; laurel was not very plentiful in
this section, but the boys were confident that by a run of a mile or so
they could find some, and if they couldn't they would use oak leaves,
and tell the hero they were meant for laurel. In any case, the wreath
must be made and at the grand stand before the race opened; at this
stand, also, the coronation would take place.
Providing for the race led to the gathering of numberless flowers, with
which the boats were decorated, and later, as they sped over the water,
they seemed a part of a great picture--over and around them air and
clouds, exquisite colorings of matchless reds, yellows, violets, pinks,
and greens, soft reflections of the same in the water and the distance,
and, added to all, the ambition of the rowers and the contending
emotions of those who watched the pretty play. One boat was very simply
trimmed. It was carpeted with mosses and wreathed around with fern
leaves; another was so daintily decorated it seemed as if it was a fairy
boat; and yet another style was richly and gayly covered, as though it
was at the disposal of a grandly beautiful queen, and almost,
unconsciously we turned to look if Cleopatra was near. This boat was
canopied with apple blossoms; the branches were held in place between
the narrow strip of wood that forms the border of the lining and the
boat herself. But this boat was not among the winners; it was top-heavy,
and therefore too difficult to steer and row. The shades of night were
indeed fast falling when the M. S. D's reached home again. The sunburnt
faces, joyous laughter, and light-hearted confusion of voices told their
own story.
DOROTHY'S PROBLEM.
I've only a single quarter left
Of all my allowance, that looked so large
On last pay-day, when dear mamma
Said, "Now, you must neither borrow nor 'charge,'
But keep out of debt, and never forget
That dollars are made of single cents."
I'm sure I've tried, but it's very hard
To keep to the rule of your good intents.
There were creams and bonbons the other day,
And a box of paper, and, let me see,
A bunch of the dearest violets
Tucked into my jacket flap. Ah! me,
They faded and died, and I almost cried;
It seemed a shame with my funds so low;
But the wonderful thing is, do your best
To save, and still your money will go!
And where will my Christmas gifts come in?
Pray, what can I buy with this little bit
For papa and mamma and Fred and Nell?
Of course, I ought to have thought of it
A month ago, but I didn't, you know.
And here is my purse so flat and thin;
I'm just as discouraged as I can be,
For where will my Christmas gifts come in?
M. E. S.
AN "OLD-FIELD" SCHOOL-GIRL.[1]
[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 857.
BY MARION HARLAND.
CHAPTER IX.
A note was brought to Mr. Grigsby at noon of the next day. It was from
Major Duncombe.
"MY DEAR MR. GRIGSBY,--As you did not come to my house last night, I
take it for granted that your negro man did not deliver the message
sent to you by Mr. Tayloe, who met him on the road yesterday
evening. I write now to ask you to meet Mr. Tayloe and myself at
half past three o'clock to-day at the school-house, for the
discussion of important and confidential business. As the days are
short, may I suggest that you be punctual to the hour named?
"Yours truly, C. S. DUNCOMBE."
Mr. Grigsby had not seen the Major in his morning round of the
plantation, never omitted except in very stormy weather. He had made it
to-day with a clouded brow and heavy heart. Dick had affirmed upon his
knees, the tears bursting from his frightened eyes, that he had no idea
how "Miss F'lishy" got into the cart, or when, or where. He also
declared that he had not left the vehicle for a minute during the
journey. Flea was raving in delirium. The doctor, summoned at midnight,
said that she was on the verge of brain-fever. Except for the scratches
and the wetting, she had apparently sustained no external injury. Dee
was laid up with a violent sick headache. His mother was positive in the
belief that both of the children had "ketched" some anonymous disease
somewhere and somehow.
"It didn't stand to reason [her reason] that the two on 'em would 'a'
come down at oncet in exac'ly the same way unless 'twas somethin'
ketchin. Flea mus' 'a' been off her head when she run away into the
woods and got into the cyart while Dick was a-noddin'. That nigger could
sleep 's well a-walkin' 'long as a-lyin' down."
When Mr. Grigsby arrived at the school-house Major Duncombe's buggy was
already there, Nell, his bay mare, standing patiently under an
aspen-tree. Her master and Mr. Tayloe were in the house, the Major in
his usual seat on the corner of the desk, the schoolmaster tramping from
side to side of the room. He stopped at the overseer's entrance, and
eyed him frowningly, without speaking. Major Duncombe said "Good-day'"
civilly, but gravely. Something unpleasant was in the air, and Mr.
Grigsby was certain it had to do with him before the Major opened the
conversation.
"We asked you to meet us here, Mr. Grigsby, because, as I wrote to you,
the matter we have in hand is confidential. I must request that,
whatever may be the outcome of our talk, the facts of this interview
shall remain confidential between us three."
"Your wishes shall be obeyed to the letter, Major Duncombe."
The employer was formal; the hireling was stiff. His conscience was void
of offence, and he would not behave like a man on trial.
"To begin with what you are already aware of," continued the Major, "we
have been annoyed of late by the discovery that a regular system of
thieving is going on upon this plantation. You know, too, how
unsuccessful have been our efforts to track the thieves. I told you
yesterday, that besides the depredations in the poultry-yard and the
loss of an occasional sheep or pig from the fields, one of the
smoke-houses was entered Thursday night, and four or five hams stolen.
Night before last the laundress carelessly left out in the garden a
quantity of valuable lace and handkerchiefs which had been laid on the
grass to bleach in the sun. In the morning everything was gone, also
several linen pillow-cases and towels from the line in the yard."
"I had not heard of this last robbery," said Mr. Grigsby, when the
speaker paused as for a reply.
The Major's gravity deepened. As he went on he avoided Mr. Grigsby's
eye.
"The information was purposely held back for reasons that will appear
presently. We agreed, you may recollect, that the guilty parties were
most probably the Fogg family. Also that they were aided and abetted by
some of my negroes who have access to the keys and are familiar with the
habits of the household. My fear now is that the Foggs have made use of
other and more unlikely tools. To speak plainly, Mr. Grigsby, I am
afraid that they have tampered with your second daughter, and that the
freedom she has been allowed in the Greenfield house and grounds has
been used by them for their vile and wicked purposes--"
"Major Duncombe!"
The overseer's lank form was drawn up to full height; his deep-set eyes
were alight with angry and resentful amazement.
"You are surprised and displeased, Mr. Grigsby, and no wonder. This is a
most unpleasant task to me. I like the child. She has the elements of a
noble character in her. But I have positive proof of her intimacy with
the Fogg tribe. She stops at the house on her way to school; she sits
upon the porch and chats familiarly with them on summer afternoons. The
elder Fogg woman boasts of her intimacy with your family. Yesterday,
after school, Mr. Tayloe asked your daughter, who had been kept in for
insubordination and impertinence, to bring him a drink of water from the
spring. I met Mrs. Fogg going to the school-house as I was riding by at
the same hour, but thought no more of the circumstance until Mr. Tayloe
came home last night and told me a shocking story. He was sitting at his
desk writing, his watch and chain laid upon his silk handkerchief on the
desk beside him, when your daughter, coming up behind him, dashed pail,
water and all, over him, and ran away as fast as she could go to the
woods. He gave chase, but could not overtake her. Returning to the
school-house, he found that his watch and chain and his handkerchief
were gone. There seems to be no doubt that your daughter snatched them
when she blinded him for the instant with the water. Her confederate
must have been waiting for her outside."
The overseer's face was gray and rigid. He cleared his throat as he
began to speak.
"I must have very strong evidence--direct evidence of my child's guilt
before I believe all this, sir."
Mr. Tayloe spoke for the first time. He addressed the Major, not the
last speaker.
"What more does the man want than my word?"
The father wheeled sharply upon him.
"Did you _see_ her throw the water upon you? Did you look to see whether
or not the watch was upon your desk when you started to run after the
child? Might not the woman whom Major Duncombe saw have entered the
school-house while you were in the woods? Major Duncombe, my daughter
came home last night raving with fever, scratched by briers, and covered
with swamp mud. She has raved all day of the cruelty and injustice of
her teacher. There's another side to the story, sir"--the hand that held
his cowhide whip went up above his head and came down hard upon the
desk--"and as sure as I am a live man, and there is justice on earth or
in heaven, I mean to get at the bottom of this thing!"
He turned abruptly and stalked to the door. Warm moisture hung upon his
sandy eyelashes and made the lids smart. He could not have uttered
another word to save his life or his child's reputation.
The Major looked perplexedly at his companion, who shrugged his
shoulders and pursed up his mouth disdainfully.
"What else did you expect from him?" he asked, taking no pains to lower
his voice.
Mr. Grigsby came back as abruptly as he had left. He had got himself in
hand, and spoke in his usual dry, somewhat harsh voice.
"Major Duncombe, I am at your service as soon as I have your commands.
Do you advise a search of the Fogg premises? As a magistrate, you can
make out a warrant and qualify me to serve it. The son from Norfolk is
at his mother's just now. It might be well to make the search before he
gets away. As to my daughter--if there is any doubt as to her ability to
appear as an accomplice, you can satisfy yourself on that head by a
visit to my house. Perhaps a search of my premises might be expedient."
"By no means! It is not to be thought of!" cried the Major, impulsively.
"I hope you understand, Grigsby, how plaguedly disagreeable this whole
proceeding is to me--to us. I am so sick of it that I would not go a
step further were I the only party that has been robbed. As to having
the poor little girl up, it is all nonsense. I pledge myself for that."
"Even should her guilt be proved?" Mr. Tayloe jerked in the question,
his horse-shoe smile sinking the roots of his nose into his face. "Would
there be law or equity in such a course?"
"Pooh, pooh!" retorted the Major, impatiently. "We don't put the law
upon babies in this part of the world. Mr. Grigsby, if you will ride
along with us as far as my office, we will make out the necessary
papers, and also send for a couple of constables. Dan Fogg is an ugly
customer to handle."
The river mists were unfolding over the landscape as a cool evening
crept stealthily upon the heels of a warm day. They lay low upon the
meadows, and sagged over the banks of the sunken road beyond the
school-house. The three men had gained higher ground where the carriage
road was level with the surrounding country, when the eye of the
horseman, who rode behind the gig, was attracted by a gleam of light
twinkling across a wide field. It was like the glimmer of a fire-fly,
but his quick wits told him it had no right to be there. He watched it
keenly while it flashed and vanished, always at the same height from the
ground. Hiding on a stone's-throw further, he caught sight of it again.
It was stationary, and he had fixed the location in his mind. He rode up
to the side of the gig.
"Major Duncombe, it is well at this time not to overlook anything
suspicious. And a light in that old cabin over yonder is suspicious. If
you please, I will alight when we get nearer, and go on foot across the
fields to see what it means."
"Better pull down a panel of fence, and let us drive into the field,"
suggested the Major. "I'll go with you, leaving the horses with Mr.
Tayloe."
About a hundred yards from the haunted house they alighted, and
approached it cautiously from the back. The light twinkled at intervals
through a crevice at the side of the chimney. Guiding their course by
it, the men trod lightly upon the withered herbage until they stood at
the front and only door. Here all was dark, but by laying their ears
against the door they could detect muffled movements within, as of some
one walking about and dragging something on the floor. The Major knocked
loudly with his loaded whip. All was instantly still.
"Who is in here?" he called. "Open the door! I am Major Duncombe."
No answer.
"Do you hear me?" he said again. "Open the door, or we will break it
down."
After another long minute, he whispered in Mr. Grigsby's ear: "Put your
shoulder against it, and when I say, 'Now!' drive it in. Are you ready?
_Now!_"
Under the force of their united strength and weight the crazy door went
down as if made of pasteboard, and with such surprising suddenness that
both men fell in with it on the floor. A man leaped over them as they
lay there, and rushed off into the darkness. Mr. Grigsby was the first
to find his feet. He struck a match and held it high to look around the
room.
"There's nobody here!" he said. "That fellow was holding the door, and
let it go purposely to throw us when we threw our weight against it. Ha!
here's his lantern."
[Illustration: MR. GRIGSBY EMPTIED THE BAG UPON THE FLOOR.]
It was on the floor, and, when lighted, revealed a disorderly heap of
stuff collected about a big carpet-bag, open, and partly packed. Without
further ado Mr. Grigsby picked it up by the corners and emptied it upon
the floor. At the very bottom were the missing lace and handkerchiefs,
and, rolled up carefully in a white silk handkerchief, Mr. Tayloe's
watch and chain. A roll of pillow-cases and towels was near by. Beyond
was a stout sack of oznaburg containing four hams. A roll of homespun
flannel, a box half full of candles, a bag of corn and one of oats, with
articles of lesser value, were piled in the corners of the cabin. The
haunted house was the cleverly chosen hiding-place of the booty
collected during several weeks, perhaps for months.
"I wonder how long this has been going on?" said the Major, giving a
long whistle as he stared about him. "No need of a search-warrant now
for the Fogg house. They were too smart to store their plunder there.
They are a sharp set! Not a negro would come within gun-shot of this
place after sunset. Did you get a glimpse of the rascal who played us
such a shabby trick?"
"No, sir."
Mr. Grigsby was busy with the lantern that just at that moment went out,
leaving them in total darkness but for the dying daylight that found
entrance through the open door. When the candle in the lantern was
rekindled, the blaze made the overseer's face look ghastly, and his high
cheek-bones threw his eyes into shadows. They seemed to have sunken
further back into his head. When he spoke his voice was husky, as if the
yellow fog without had settled there.
"If you will take charge of the watch I'll ram the laces and linen into
the bag and carry it to the gig"--stooping to gather them while he
talked. "Then I'll prop up the door for to-night. The rest of the things
can be sent for to-morrow."
After the place was closed he strolled on ahead of the Major and tucked
the carpet-bag under the seat of the gig, making no reply to Mr.
Tayloe's impatient queries.
"Have you any other orders for me to-night, Major?" he asked, looming up
tall and dark in the twilight when his employer was in his seat.
"Nothing more, thank you, Grigsby," said the Major's lively, hearty
voice. His good humor was thoroughly restored by the excitement of the
adventure. "We may well be satisfied with our evening's work. And, I
say, Grigsby, if there's anything any of us can do for the little girl,
you know how gladly we would do it. Emily will be down in the morning to
see her."
"Thank you, sir."
The reply came back as he was moving toward his horse, and was hardly
audible.
"An uncivil cur!" commented Mr. Tayloe, "I wonder that you keep him."
"I might go further and fare a million times worse. It's natural he
should be sore and surly just now. If any man had said one-tenth of one
of my girls that I said of that bright little daughter of his I'd be as
savage as a bear."
"I submit that there is some difference between your daughters and his,"
observed Mr. Tayloe, dryly. "But what have you found?"
"For one thing, your watch and chain."
The schoolmaster heard the story to the end without interrupting the
narrator. Then he sneered openly.
"I'll wager my head against a turnip that that impudent vixen put the
watch there herself. I'm not sure that she isn't responsible for the
laces and handkerchiefs too. Doesn't it strike you as rather odd that
her father should ferret out the stolen goods on this particular
evening?"
"Oh, come, now, Tayloe, that is carrying your detective genius too far!
Grigsby is an honest man if ever there was one. It is more odd that this
nest of thieves was not unearthed before. Grigsby only needed to be put
upon the scent. A canny Scot has a nose like a pointer-dog's if once you
wake him up."
The canny Scot was wide awake at this present moment, rolling his horse
up in a part of the road where the banks shut him away from possible
observation, he struck a match and examined more closely a piece of
paper he had picked up, unnoticed by the Major, in the hut. It had lain
open, the written side up, in the middle of the floor. At the first
glance he had read nothing but his daughter's name, yet had recognized
instantly the lost report, and instinctively secreted it. The match
burned long enough for him to verify his first impression.
"_October 31, 184-._
"_Felicia Jean Grigsby: Lessons, usually fair. Conduct--room for
improvement! James Tayloe._"
The date was the day before yesterday, when her mother had scolded the
girl for loitering on the way home. He recalled the haste and heat with
which Flea had answered, while confessing that she had lost the
report--she could not say where.
How came she to be inside of that locked door? He had vowed to get at
the bottom of this matter. Was he there now?
Flea was worse when her father got home. Her cheeks were purple and
glazed with fever, her eyes wild and sightless. Her head rolled
restlessly on the pillow; her fingers picked tufts of wool from the
blanket while she crooned over and over what her mother described as
"outlandish stuff." Her aunt, who had established herself as head nurse,
had learned the lines by heart already:
"It stands beside the weedy way;
Shingles are mossy, walls are gray:
Gnarled apple-branches shade the door,
Wild vines have bound it o'er and o'er.
The sumac whispers, with its tongues of flame,
'Here once was done a deed without a name.'"
At the fourth repetition, in her father's hearing, the girl laughed
aloud--the hollow, mirthless peal of madness.
"_I_ made that poem! It's all about the haunted house, you know. Mrs.
Fogg says nobody but just we two dares to go there. She says the devil
has been seen there. I say he lives in the school-house. Eighteen
hundred and forty-four into three thousand six hundred and eighty-eight.
Why, father, that's just twice and none over. Now I've got to climb to
the top of the haunted house on a ladder made of noughts, noughts,
noughts!"
Her rambling subsided into whispers. She fell to tracing figures and
drawing lines upon the counterpane, her brows knitted, her lips moving
fast.
"That is worse than the singing," said Mrs. McLaren, aside, to her
brother. "She will work at that sum for an hour at a time. It is wearing
her out. Heaven forgive that teacher!"
The father did not say "Amen."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
RICK DALE.
BY KIRK MUNROE.