Where has He Gone?
It was quite late in the afternoon when the two girls reached the house
again. They were both of them tired out, for the day was fiercely hot.
They had come upon no trace of the old man, but of one thing they had
made quite certain: he was not lying in a dying or dead condition in any
of his fields, which was, as Pam said, a comfort of a sort.
They heard the dog barking wildly as they reached the house, and a man
was turning away from the door as if he had been trying to get admission
and had failed.
“Who is that?” cried Pam. At the first sight of the man she had jumped
to the conclusion that it was her grandfather, but a second glance had
shown her that this man was young, or comparatively young.
“It is Mose Paget,” Sophy whispered hurriedly, and there was so much
disapproval in her tone that Pam gathered the arrival was something of a
detrimental. And indeed he looked it, from the torn brim of his
weather-beaten hat to the burst boots on his feet.
“Good afternoon!” said Pam politely. She would have supposed the man to
be a tramp, only her companion knew his name, and so far as she knew
tramps had no names, or if they had no one knew them. To her surprise
the man swept off his ragged hat with a flourish, and he spoke like an
educated man when he returned her greeting, and asked if Mr. Wrack
Peveril was at home.
Pam’s face clouded. She had hoped that the man had come to give her news
of her grandfather, and here he was asking where he was, just like all
the other folks! She would have poured out the story of their long
search that afternoon, only Sophy’s hand dropped with a warning touch on
her arm, and instead of being confidential she merely said:
“I do not think that he has come back yet. If you will wait a moment I
will go into the house and see.”
The man nodded, then leaned against the fence very much at his ease,
while Pam, with Sophy at her side, walked to the door of the house and
opened it. With a howl of rage the dog burst out, but seeing it was the
two girls who were there the creature at once mended its manners, the
growls died in its throat, and it came to fawn upon them with every
appearance of joyfulness. Then, catching sight of the shabby figure
leaning on the fence, it began growling again, and would have dashed
away to do the man a serious injury, only Pam caught it round its neck
and held it fast.
One glance into the room showed her that it was just as they had left
it. The paper still lay on the table. No one had been there, and the old
man had not returned.
“My grandfather has not come home yet. Is there any message you would
like to leave for him?” she asked, raising her voice a little so that it
might reach the man who leaned against the fence. The dog still
struggled in her grasp, being plainly anxious to rend the man if only it
could reach him.
“Well, no, I can’t say that I have,” he answered. As he spoke he drew
himself erect from his leaning posture, and there was so much relief in
his face that both girls noticed it and wondered. “Perhaps I shall meet
him at The Corner in a day or two, or I may be round this way again
soon. It ain’t no sort of consequence. Good afternoon!”
“Didn’t you think he seemed very glad to find that Grandfather was not
at home?” said Pam, turning to Sophy as the retreating figure of Mose
Paget was hid by the winding of the trail. She was still gripping the
dog, and that sagacious beast was being nearly choked with its own
growls. Plainly the man did not appeal to the dog, or perhaps the wise
animal had some past grudge against him.
“Yes, I think that his wanting to see Mr. Peveril was only an excuse. It
was a good thing we left the dog shut in the house, or we might have
found the place had been ransacked while we were away. Mose Paget has
not much of a reputation, though folks do say he is very kind to his
half-brother, Reggie Furness.”
“A man would have to be very bad indeed if he had no good points,”
remarked Pam, as the two turned into the house. Then she asked: “Do you
suppose that there would be anything here worth stealing?”
“Not by the look of the place,” said Sophy, gazing round the wide, bare
room. The solid furniture was mostly home-made, very clumsy, and only
worth firewood price, which in that part of the world would not be worth
consideration. Of household plenishing of the more movable sort, such as
plate, glass, and cutlery, there was almost nothing; in fact, it was the
most hopeless wilderness, from the point of view of a burglar, that
could be imagined. “But Mose Paget might have heard that your
grandfather was not at home, and so just happened round to see if there
were any money to be picked up. When a man lives in the fashion Mr.
Peveril has done people are apt to think that there must be money hidden
somewhere close at hand, and to be had for the finding; and it is these
people who find it almost impossible to believe that it is poverty and
not miserliness which accounts for the barren look of things.”
Pam nodded, and was conscious of some secret sinking of heart. Sophy had
spoken of the old man’s poverty by way of reassuring Pam, who might have
been afraid to be compelled to guard the secret hoards of a miser.
Besides, everyone believed that Wrack Peveril was very poor, and even in
the wilderness people can make a very fair guess at the business of
their neighbours. If Pam’s grandfather were so poor, it would be madly
impracticable for her mother to give up the London boarding-house and
come to the old home in New Brunswick. But Pam was longing for her
family, and feeling that she could never be really happy while the wide
Atlantic rolled between herself and them.
The two girls did the evening “chores” between them, only to-night it
was Pam who sat on the stool and milked the cow under the able tuition
of Sophy, whose best frock was still the barrier to happiness in work.
Pam had to learn, however, and there was no time like the present, for
without doubt Sophy was a more patient teacher than the old man would be
when he came back; and Pam made up her mind to imbibe as much
information as was possible in the time. The pigs and the poultry had
fed themselves with the harvest of field and forest, but they had to be
shut up because of the nocturnal marauders, to whom a chicken, or even a
small porker, would not come amiss.
“We are all farmers more or less,” exclaimed Sophy, when Pam openly
wondered at her cleverness and the extent of her knowledge. “That is to
say, there is land under cultivation round most of the houses; and so we
all grow our own milk and butter, and rear our own pigs and poultry.”
“I feel so dreadfully ignorant now that I am here, for the sort of
knowledge I possess seems of no use at all,” said Pam, who had even to
be instructed in the art of lighting a fire with a back stick.[1] She
had never seen a cooking-stove of such a pattern before, and she would
have been very much at a loss in her new surroundings had it not been
for Sophy.
“You will soon pick up the ways of daily living that are most suited to
this part of the world,” Sophy said in a comforting tone. Then the two
proceeded to set supper. The food left over from the surprise party
would keep them supplied with provisions for several days to come, which
was just as well, for a house more bare of things to eat it would be
hard to imagine. There was no tea, no coffee, only a little dust of
sugar screwed up in a grimy paper bag, and a little meal in a tub. Pam
was ready to cry, thinking that her grandfather must have been on the
brink of starvation. Sophy reminded her of the cow, and pointed out
that, supposing he lived on new milk, with meal porridge, he would be
even better nourished than people who had tea, coffee, and all sorts of
groceries.
“Poor old man!” wailed Pam, as she inspected that bare house, “I feel as
if I could nearly break my heart over him. But if he comes back, and is
fearfully hard to live with, then I shall feel like breaking it from
another standpoint altogether.”
“Just so; and neither way will do any good, so it is much better to keep
cheerful,” said Sophy, who was of a very literal turn of mind. “Here
comes Don with some garments for me. Shall we ask him to stay for
supper, or do you think your grandfather would object?”
“Time enough to think about that when the dear old man shows up;
meanwhile we could not be so inhuman as to let anyone go away unfed.
Bring your brother in, and we will feed him on chicken pie and spiced
cake. What a good thing it is for me that the surprise party had such
liberal ideas with regard to food!” Pam whisked round to find another
plate as she spoke, but she left Sophy to go and invite the visitor in
to supper.
Don was looking very serious. He muttered to Sophy in that moment of
meeting that it was to be hoped old Wrack Peveril would not turn up in
the township just now, for the people were ready to rise and slay him,
because of the manner in which Sam Buckle had been knocked about.
“But they are not sure, are they, that Mr. Peveril did it?” gasped
Sophy, with a quick backward glance to make certain that Pam was nowhere
within earshot.
Don shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Who else was there to do it? The two were known to be at enmity. Sam
Buckle keeps muttering that it was his right, and everyone knows he
always declared it was his right to put a fence just there.”
“Sam Buckle is such a disagreeable old man that I cannot feel he is
worth much pity,” remarked Sophy with a scornful tilt of her nose, as
she laid her hand on the bag of clothes which her brother had brought
for her.
“I don’t feel any for him,” said Don quickly, “nor for old Wrack either;
the pair are about as amiable as a couple of old bull moose, and there
is nothing for it but to let them fight to a finish, that I can see. The
one that I am sorry for is that nice little girl in yonder, and whatever
her mother could have been thinking about to let her come so far with no
one to take care of her is more than I can imagine.”
“Oh, Pam can take care of herself, don’t you fret! She might be a
Canadian by the way she takes hold of life, and she does not seem to be
afraid of anything except the old mother-pig, and anyone might be
forgiven for being a bit scared at facing her, she looks so very
fierce.” Sophy was leading the way into the house as she spoke, and
looking back over her shoulder at her brother. She did not remember
having seen Don look so grave before, but she decided that gravity
certainly became him, for it gave him a dignity which was quite new to
him.
They were very merry at supper that night, despite the cloud which
overhung the house. Sophy had carried her bag upstairs, and had slipped
into a working frock. With her mind at ease about her clothes her
spirits had mounted at once. She made little jokes, and went off into
bursts of laughter about anything or nothing in a fashion which proved
so infectious that the other two were speedily laughing also.
Directly supper was over Don rose to go. Not having been in bed on the
previous night, and having been hard at work all day, he was so sleepy
that he could hardly keep his eyes open. Sophy would have besought him
to lie down on the settle in the living-room and have his sleep out
there, but she was so concerned that her mother should not be alone
another night that she would not even suggest his remaining at Ripple.
“Where are you two going to sleep to-night?” he asked, just as he was
going to mount his horse.
“In one of the upstairs rooms. We have had the bed out in the sun all
day,” said Sophy, and there was in her mind a swift wonder at his
concern.
“That is right. Look here, sis, if there is a bolt to the stairs door,
mind you shoot it when you go upstairs, and don’t come down in the night
whatever you may hear. I’m not afraid that anyone would harm either of
you—if you keep out of the way, that is. But I should not be surprised
if someone tried a bit of burgling on here, for there are plenty of
people silly enough to think that old Wrack was a miser, and not so
bed-rock poor as he looked.”
“We won’t come down, I promise you,” said Sophy. Then she added, with a
merry laugh: “Not even if another surprise party happens along this way,
and dances all night to the strains of a cornet and flute. Oh, I say,
wouldn’t it be weird!”
“I should think it would,” replied Don, and bothered though he was by
the lonely condition of the two, he could not forbear a chuckle of
amusement at the fancy picture his sister had called up. “Mose Paget is
the only man that can play the cornet in the township that I know of,
and he is going to help Mrs. Buckle with Sam to-night.”
It was very weird and still at Ripple when Don had ridden away. The
darkness dropped over the forest like a pall. It was cloudy to-night,
and the young moon had no chance at all against the billowy masses of
cloud that were piled along the horizon. It would rain before morning,
so Sophy said. If the weather broke it might even be dull and stormy for
a week or more, and she sighed, because she loved fine weather so much
the best. Pam sighed too, and her face was a little white and drawn when
she dropped the heavy bar of ironwood into the socket at the side of the
door. Sophy had told her that the nearest house was three miles away,
and she was trying to picture the situation. Brought up in London,
taught from her childhood to understand that there were bristling
dangers all around her, the solitude of Ripple seemed to put her almost
outside the world. She argued that if there were no people there could
be no danger, and then was surprised because she was scared at the
solitude.
The dog had attached itself to her with slavish devotion. The creature
accorded Sophy a bare tolerance, but there was perfect worship in the
gaze it turned on Pam, and she was tremendously flattered by its
preference. It even wanted to come up to bed with her that night when,
soon after Don had gone, they betook themselves to the upstairs room
where they intended to sleep. They humoured the animal, feeling that it
would really be a comfort to have it upstairs with them, and they did
not forget to bolt the door at the bottom of the stairs when they shut
it.
They were so tired that the night passed for both of them in dreamless
slumber, and they did not rouse until the dog woke them by whining to be
let out. It was Pam who, with a dressing-gown round her, came down to
open the house door that the creature might go free. She stood on the
doorstep for a moment sniffing the freshness and drinking in the beauty
of the morning. There was a chill in the air which made her shiver, for
the dressing-gown was thin and the sun was not up yet. It was the
magical beauty of the forest that was drawing her, the call of the wild
that was in her blood.
“I love it, I love it, I would not go back to England if I could!” she
whispered as she turned into the house again to go upstairs and dress.
Then it suddenly occurred to her to wonder what would happen if her
grandfather failed to return. “It is silly even to think of such a
thing. Of course he will come back!” she murmured as she went upstairs;
but she could not repress a little shiver, for the possibility would
haunt her despite her efforts to banish it.
The morning “chores” were done, breakfast was out of the way, and Sophy
was discussing with Pam what was the most necessary bit of work for them
to start that morning, when the Doctor rode up, and they both ran out to
greet him. The dog growled languidly. There had been so many people at
Ripple in the last two days that the creature plainly felt it was too
much fag to growl at everyone and so was indifferent about the business,
although when an arrival was a once-a-week or once-a-fortnight event it
had been ready to tear the new-comer to pieces.
“How is Mr. Buckle?” demanded Pam, giving Sophy no time to do the
asking, but shouting the question as she ran.
“He died at midnight,” replied the Doctor briefly, and Pam flung up her
hands in horror and consternation at the news. Of course she knew
yesterday that the poor man was very ill, but she had never thought that
he was going to die. Oh, it was too dreadful! Suppose her grandfather
really had hurt him, then the poor old man would not be able to come
home now, but would have to be a wanderer always, hiding from the
punishment which would await him if he were found.
“Father, you should not have told her so suddenly!” cried Sophy with
acute reproach in her tone as Pam turned and clung to her.
“So it seems,” replied the Doctor, as he slid from his horse and came to
help in the restoration of Pam. “But there are some things that do not
improve by keeping, and this is one of them. Miss Walsh, you have need
of every atom of courage you possess. I think you are made of good
stuff, and you have got to rise to the occasion somehow.”
“I will if I can!” whispered Pam, but she was white to the lips, and
there was such dismay in her heart that she was ready to sink with the
pain of it all.
“It is all very well to tell her to be brave, but think of the shock for
the poor girl! Why, I feel downright bad myself, and I am only an
outsider. Poor Pam! Whatever will become of her? Will she have to turn
round and go back to England?” Sophy was firing out a stream of
questions, for she was tremendously excited. Nothing like this had ever
come her way before, and she was a little thrown off her balance by it.
“I can’t go back to England, I have not money enough, and Mother cannot
afford to send me any either,” said Pam, recovering herself a little.
Then drawing away from Sophy she stood erect, though she was still white
and trembling. “I shall stay here and make the best of it!” she
declared.
“That is right!” The Doctor’s voice had such a ring of approval in it
that Pam began at once to feel better. “Nothing is proved against Mr.
Peveril, of course,” the Doctor went on. “He might not even have been
suspected of having hurt Sam Buckle but for his unaccountable absence.
As it is, people are disposed to think the very worst of him, and yet he
may be as innocent as you or I.”
“I believe he is. I cannot think that he would hurt anyone,” murmured
Pam, and the Doctor shook his head, but whether in agreement or dissent
did not appear.
“Will Pam have to live on here alone? Will she have to run the farm?”
demanded Sophy in a blaze of excitement. She was wondering whatever the
city girl would do alone in the wilderness with winter coming on.
For a moment the Doctor looked from one girl to the other as if he was
making up his mind, and then he spoke with brisk decision.
“No, she certainly cannot live alone; it is not to be thought of. You
will have to stay with her until some of her own people can come out to
her, or until she can find someone she likes better—that is, always
supposing her grandfather makes no sign.”
“I shall love to have Sophy with me, but I am afraid it is more than I
have any right to expect,” said Pam, striving to speak steadily. “I am
such an absolute stranger, and she has been so good to me.”
“We have to be good to each other out here in the backwoods, or we
should certainly get left every time there is trouble,” the Doctor
replied. He went on in a lighter tone: “You need not worry overmuch
about keeping Sophy. She is going to be married in the spring, and she
has mountains of sewing to do. At home she will never get time for it;
here she may.”
“Oh, and she never told me!” cried Pam, looking with new interest at
Sophy, whose face was covered with blushes, and a sight to see.
“Did she not? I thought girls always told such things,” said Doctor
Grierson with a glance of pride at his eldest daughter. Sophy had always
been his right hand ever since she had been old enough to do anything at
all. It was a piece of real self-sacrifice to spare her to stay with Pam
at Ripple, but the plight of the stranger girl was so serious that he
did not hesitate for a moment as to where his duty lay. He rode away in
a great hurry as usual, and when he had gone Pam for a time broke down
and cried.
Sophy, with rare wisdom, crept away and left her alone to have her cry
out. A moaning wind swept through the trees and sighed away in the
distance. Pam sobbed on until she had no more tears to shed, then she
gathered her courage to face what lay before her. She realized that she
was up against the hardest thing she had ever faced in her life; and she
was going to meet it boldly if she could. Her courage might feel like
water, but other people must not know it. For the sake of her
grandfather, who had so mysteriously disappeared, she must stay on at
Ripple and do her best. The thought of running a farm tickled her so
much that her tears were dry, and she was laughing when Sophy crept back
to see how it was with her.
“Well, you are a queer girl!” she exclaimed, and her opinion of Pam went
up by leaps and bounds.
-----
[1] A “back stick” is a fair-sized log of hard wood which is slow in
burning. It is lit in the stove of a Canadian house at bedtime, and
smoulders through the night, so that in the morning a fire may easily
enough be kindled from it.