Pam’s Big Adventure
Never before had Pam realized how much one’s brother might be to one.
Those first days of Jack’s coming to Ripple would have spelled unalloyed
happiness for her had it not been for the trouble about her grandfather.
It was of no use to tell herself that she knew the old man was not a
thief, and that he would not have dreamed of robbing the man he had hurt
so badly. The fear that he had done it in a moment of evil temper was
always present with her to spoil her peace. She worried, too, as she
thought of what his suffering must have been when he was outcast from
his home. In spite of all that Jack and Sophy could say to the contrary,
the fear was on her that the old man lay in the nameless grave where
that little heap of bones found in the forest had been put.
Laughing and talking with Jack, labouring hard with him over the tasks
to which they were both so unaccustomed, Pam found it easy to be happy
and to put even the remembrance of the trouble away. It was in the
nights, when sometimes she was too tired to sleep, that the burden of
her care dropped upon her, and then she was as acutely miserable as it
was possible for a healthy girl to be.
The poultry was increasing on her hands. One brood of chickens was
safely hatched, and the ten downy, fluffy chicks threatened to be great
time-wasters, they were so dear and so cunning. But Sophy reminded her
that she was out to make the place pay, and the chicks were neither
ornaments nor playthings, but just a detail of farm life; after which
Pam hardened her heart and tore herself away to less congenial tasks.
The pigs failed to rouse much enthusiasm in her. She was glad to resign
the care of them to Jack, even though he was six months younger to farm
life than she was, and ignorant in proportion. Yet in spite of this
drawback he was showing uncommon wisdom, or perhaps it was adaptability,
in looking after the animals. When a litter of young was born, he was as
enthusiastic over it as Pam was over the chickens. He talked largely of
going in for pig-breeding on a large scale, because, as he very truly
said, people always wanted bacon for breakfast, so there would always be
a market for his stuff.
Pam only laughed at him, and wrinkled her nose in a little grimace of
disgust every time she came near his end of the barn. She was secretly
delighted at the way in which he was taking hold of things and adapting
himself to the new life. She had been afraid that he might hark back to
city life, and want to be a clerk or something of that sort. The younger
boys had never been so fond of books as Jack. She was slow in
understanding that his love of books arose from the honest desire for
information, and was not an indication of any wish for life in a city
office.
When Jack had been at Ripple two weeks Sophy went home for a few days.
She and her mother were going down river to Fredericton to buy the
wedding frock, or, at least, the material for it. Nothing would suit
Sophy but that she should make it herself, and as she was so expert with
her needle, it would have been folly to pay another to do work that
would bring exquisite pleasure to herself.
It was very strange at Ripple without her. Jack took his share of
getting meals and in washing dishes, but all the same it was Pam who had
to feel the great want. Sophy had been a comrade worth having. She had
tact and sympathy, she never wanted to talk when Pam had a quiet fit,
and she was so helpful in a quiet way that she had to go before it was
possible to understand how useful she was.
With Sophy away, Pam found it necessary to be in the house more. When
the morning “chores” were done, Jack went off most days to help Nathan
Gittins, who was planting corn and potatoes in the fields of Mrs.
Buckle, and also on the cleared land at Ripple. Reggie Furness, who did
the “chores” for the Gittins’s place, was only a night and morning
boy—that is to say, he had to go to school, and was only available out
of school hours. Left so much to herself, Pam decided that it was a fine
chance for turning the house upside down. She argued that if she did it
thoroughly now, it would keep fairly tidy in the brief brilliant summer
weather, when the outdoor work would be too pressing to allow much time
for anything else.
A spell of wet weather set in. Every day it rained and rained as if it
would never leave off. The creek rose and rose, until there was danger
that Mrs. Buckle would be cut off, and the field in which her house
stood made temporarily into an island. There was no such danger for
Ripple, where the house stood on rising ground, and was a whole field
distant from the swollen creek.
But corn planting had to stop while the rain came down. Jack had more
time for the work in the barn now, so Pam was free for her campaign of
scouring and scrubbing. Oh, how dirty the house was! Surely never had a
place been as long without a spring clean as this comfortable old timber
house at Ripple! The best sitting-room had been a dumping-ground for all
manner of things during the winter. Extra firewood had been neatly
stacked in a remote corner. Sophy had kept her big rolls of flannel and
calico on the massive centre table. All kinds of rubbish had gathered
there. But now Pam meant that it should be clean, as clean as her mother
doubtless kept it in those long-past days before Mrs. Walsh had run away
to be married.
It was a pouring wet day when Pam started on her campaign. The rain was
coming down with a steady slant that promised more flooding later on.
Jack wanted to help in the cleaning, but Pam thought he would be of more
use elsewhere, so she suggested that he should do all the outside
“chores”, and get breakfast also, which would leave her free for her
great campaign. This suited Jack finely; he had scored a distinct
success in the making of Indian corncake and buckwheat porridge, which
was uncommonly good when eaten with maple syrup. He went to work with
great zest when he came in from the barn, while Pam for her part was
busy sorting the lumber and carrying the things which belonged to Sophy
to the sanctuary of one of the clean rooms upstairs.
Breakfast was about an hour late, but Pam was so hard at work that she
did not notice that, although she was faint and fagged from want of
food. When Jack called to her that it was ready he apologized meekly
enough for the delay, which had been owing to accident; he had upset the
porridge into the fire, and had been obliged to make a fresh lot.
“Oh, Jack, it is just lovely for you to upset something, because in the
past it was poor unlucky me who had all the accidents!” cried Pam, as
she drew up her chair to the table and fell upon the second edition of
porridge with keen appetite.
“It makes one feel so horribly mad with oneself—such a silly thing to
do!” growled Jack, who was by way of being very cross over his
stupidity.
“I suppose even that state of mind is rather an advantage than
otherwise, since it takes away any tendency to swelled head,” said Pam,
as she helped herself to more syrup—then, abruptly, she changed the
subject—“Jack, I wonder who it was that sold Sam Buckle’s watch to the
second-hand shop at St. John?”
Jack scraped the saucepan with great care, for he was not minded to
waste any of the porridge which had bothered him so much in the making.
Then he said with deliberation: “If we knew so much we should most
likely be able to get the miserable business cleared up. But you know
what the manager said when we wrote to him—he had so many men in during
the winter selling their watches because they were hard up that it was
impossible to remember any details.”
“It is very mysterious,” said Pam thoughtfully. “Still, it is only
reasonable that the man should not be able to remember. There is one
thing about it that bothers me though——”
“Only one? You are lucky. There are a round dozen bothering me at this
very moment!” exclaimed Jack, and then he got up from his place at the
table and went to fetch the letter which had been received from the
manager of the second-hand shop at St. John where he had purchased the
watch.
“One is enough for me at this minute,” Pam went on with her face
overcast. “There was one man from here who went to St. John during last
fall, or just after the first snow came. I have only now remembered
about it. You see, here we only think of Fredericton; St. John is out of
the world to us.”
“Who was the man? Out with it, and now we may get on a little!” and Jack
slapped his letter down on the table with great gusto, and waited for
Pam to speak.
“Oh, but it is horridly mean of me even to let such a thought come into
my head, for he saved my life before he went.” Pam looked so miserable,
and she wore such an aspect of guilt, that anyone to look at her would
have thought she was the culprit.
[Illustration: PAM WAS DRAGGED UP AND TUGGED HERE
AND PULLED THERE]
“Do you mean Mose Paget?” cried Jack, leaping to his feet with a
startled air.
“He certainly went to Fredericton, and I understood that he went
farther—all the way to St. John, where he was very ill—and that poor
little step-brother of his was half-starved here at home. Then, Jack,
just remember it was at the moment when Mrs. Buckle recognized the watch
that Mose Paget came along, saying he was going out west. No one had
heard anything about his going off until that very minute, and he went
straight away, not even staying to say good-bye to his brother, so
Galena told me. Poor Galena! Years ago, when they were both quite young,
they were lovers, but the thrift in her resented the unthrift in him, so
they quarrelled and parted. But she would have made a man of him if
anyone could!”
“It is mighty hard on a woman to have to form her husband’s character. I
shan’t expect my wife to form me,” said Jack, with a squaring of his
shoulders that made Pam laugh, for it was very evident that there would
not be much for Jack’s wife—if he had one—to do in the way of
character-forming. Then he went on: “But I don’t see that you have
anything but coincidence to work on. Even if Mose was in St. John, you
have no proof that it was he who sold the watch, although of course he
might have done it. Then as to his throwing up his work for Mrs. Buckle,
you must remember that he was coming to do it when he stumbled into the
scene of her recognition of the watch. If he had not been coming to tell
her that he was going to throw up the work he would not have been there
at the moment, don’t you see? That disposes of clue number two, as you
might call it, while always behind everything else we have got to find
out why Grandfather is missing. If he did not damage his neighbour, then
why did he go? And who was it that stole the money from Ripple, whose
bones were afterwards gnawed by the wolves?”
Pam put up her hands in dismay.
“Don’t, Jack!” she protested. “I feel sometimes as if my poor brain will
give way under the strain of trying to think it all out and to supply a
reason for everything. I should lie awake at night to puzzle about it,
only I am always so tired when I go to bed that I am asleep before I
know I am sleepy, and the next thing I know is that getting-up time has
come again. Oh, there is great compensation in hard work, for it most
often stops hard worry!”
“Well, go and get on with your cleaning; I will wash the dishes and get
this room into shape,” said Jack, rising from the table and stretching
his arms high above his head. He always stretched himself to his full
height after a meal, for someone had told him that it assisted growth,
and he fairly yearned to be tall. His father had been rather short, and
Jack was desperately afraid of failing in the matter of height.
“I wonder if it is ever going to leave off raining?” Pam went to the
door and peered out at the steady downpour. “I want to scrub those rag
carpets that I found tucked away in that old chest in Grandfather’s
room; it is my belief he put them there because they were too dirty to
lie on the floor. I think if I took them across to the creek and washed
them there I should have plenty of water to rinse them; you see, they
are much too thick and heavy for the ordinary sort of washing, and they
want such a lot of water, too.”
“Why don’t you put them out in the rain now? They would have a chance to
get soaked.” Jack’s wisdom was mostly equal to the demand for it, and
Pam was quick to avail herself of it.
“Leave the dishes, Jack dear, and I will get my mackintosh and rubbers,
while you bring the little truck from the barn. We will pile the carpets
on the truck, and take them across the field to the side of the creek
and hang them in a safe place where they are not likely to be washed
away. I don’t want Grandfather’s rag carpets travelling to Fredericton
by water. If we hang them over there it will save carrying them about
while they are wet, and they can stay there until they are dry, for of
course they will be fearfully heavy when they are full of water.”
Jack went for the truck, while Pam got into waterproof and rubbers as
quick as she could. Then she dragged out the heavy home-made rugs, the
work of her mother and her grandmother, which she had found stowed away
in safety, but so plastered with dirt that it was quite impossible to
use them until they had been cleansed. Sophy had told her months ago
that they would have to be washed, and that it was of no use to think of
it until the snow melted, and they could be rinsed in abundance of
water. She offered to do the work herself, but Pam was not minded to
pile up the burden of her indebtedness more than could be helped. Sophy
had been like an angel to her all through the dreary days of that long,
anxious winter; this heavy, dirty task of rug-washing was to be got over
before she came back, and Pam decided that there was no time like the
present.
One of the rugs was so heavy that Pam could barely lift it alone when it
was dry, and when it was wet lifting would be quite out of question.
There were stout loops of cord under the fringe, and Pam had threaded a
length of rope through these which she meant to fasten to a tree on the
bank of the creek. Then, with her rug safely moored, she could beat it
with sticks until it was clean, while the running water would wash the
dirt away.
They loaded the rugs on the truck, then, heedless of the pouring rain,
started to drag it across the field. What heavy work it was! Neither of
them was of the looking-back sort, however, and so, despite mud, rain,
and the heaviness of the truck, they toiled on, reached a cluster of
trees growing at the edge of the swollen creek, and by dint of furious
exertions succeeded in getting the rugs afloat and moored to the
branches of the trees. They were hot and tired, it rained harder than
ever, but they felt so successful that they were ready to shout in
triumph over their achievement.
“The water is rising fast. Oh, Jack, I think you ought to go over and
see how Mrs. Buckle and Amanda are getting on,” said Pam as they turned
back from the creek. “I will do the breakfast dishes before I go back to
my cleaning. If Mrs. Buckle is drowned out, tell her she can come over
here to stay until the floods go down.”
“Right oh! Shall I help you to tow the truck home first, or will you
leave it here until the laundry work is done?” he asked, swinging his
hand with a flourish to the rugs that were fastened to the branches.
“Leave it here and go straight. Since I have seen how high the water is
I have felt rather bad because we have been so wrapped in our own
concerns this morning. Stay and help Mrs. Buckle if she needs it. One’s
duty to one’s neighbour is of first importance in this lonely part of
the world, you know, and I can manage very well, for I can easily leave
undone the things I cannot do.” Pam laughed as she turned away to go
back to the house, and Jack echoed her laughter as he went along the
back of the creek to Mrs. Buckle’s house.
The hours sped away. Pam was so busy she scarcely noticed their going.
The big sitting-room was as clean as hands could make it. The breakfast
dishes were washed, and she was busy putting the big kitchen into what
she called normal tidiness, when she was startled by a blaze of
sunshine. They had hardly seen the sun for days and days, while the rain
had poured down with dreary persistence.
She looked at the clock then, and was surprised to find that it was long
past noon. Jack had not come back. Doubtless Mrs. Buckle had need of
him, and would give him some dinner there. Pam sighed with thankfulness
to think there was no need for her to worry about getting a meal. She
got herself some food, which she shared with the dog; then, having fed
the chickens, which were clamouring loudly about the door, she put on
her hat, and, taking a stout stick from the wood-pile, went across the
field to the creek, revelling in the warmth and beauty of the sunshine,
and humming a little tune because she felt so very cheerful.
The creek was higher than ever. One of her rugs had been lifted so high
that it had floated off its mooring branch and had started on a
down-creek trip, but had happily caught on a trail of brambles a little
distance down, where it was momentarily held.
“It is lucky I happened along just as I did!” she muttered, and after
some skilful handling with her big stick she retrieved the errant rug,
towed it back to its mooring and proceeded to beat it, laying on the
strokes with great vigour, although her arms were beginning to ache with
all the work she had done that day. She was raising so much water with
her active strokes that in spite of her waterproof there seemed a
likelihood of her getting wet through, when she was startled by the
amount of wreckage floating past. There were boxes and barrels, a
chicken coop or two, and a bamboo chair, which rode on the
swiftly-flowing current with an air of rakish irresponsibility that
would have been amusing if it had not been so horribly suggestive of
someone’s drowned-out home.
“I wonder what is the matter, and whose house has been flooded?” she
said, and then she stood leaning on her stick surveying the wreckage,
which was coming faster and faster, while the creek was crowded with all
sorts of things sailing along.
A shrill screaming smote on her ear, and at the sound her heart seemed
to stand still. Instinctively she looked about for something to cling
to, and, catching at the branch to which her biggest rug was moored,
stood peering up-stream to get the first possible glimpse of what was
coming.
A big table with its legs uppermost was careering down-stream, and
crouching on it was the drenched figure of a small, white-faced boy, who
was uttering shrill cries for help. She had seen him before, but where?
Even as she asked herself the question there flashed across her mind the
remembrance of the inquiry in the Doctor’s wagon-house, and the small
boy who had made grimaces at her when she came out. The bitter injustice
of the insult had struck her then, and it came across her now. There had
been no reason so far as she could see why he should have treated her in
such a fashion, and she was still in the dark as to the cause.
“I will pull him out, and then he shall tell me, the little wretch!” she
murmured, and the thought of possible danger to herself never even
entered her head. Plunging down into the water until it was up to her
waist, she started shouting her loudest to attract his attention, and
waving her stick to make him see that help was at hand. The branch would
not let her go far enough, but by catching at the rug that floated
moored to the branch she was able to get ever so much farther out.
Luckily the creek did not seem to be very deep at that place, and the
footing was firm. The boy had seen her now, and was shrieking to her to
help him, and to save him from being drowned.
“Catch hold of the stick!” she screamed, realizing that she would barely
reach him even now, and as she could not swim it would be madness to
venture beyond the reach of the floating rug. “If I had not been washing
those carpets I could have done nothing for him!” she gasped, and then
caught her breath sharply, for, stretch her arm as she might, she could
not get her stick within reach of his hand. In another moment he would
be beyond reach, the current flowed so fast. She must get him, she must!
Putting her foot forward with a cautious movement she found firm ground,
and letting the rug go she thrust the stick out farther, and had the joy
of feeling it gripped. But the jerk almost upset her. She reeled,
recovered herself by a great effort, and tugged at the pole to tow the
boy and the table inshore.
Some more wreckage punted into the table from behind, and it came on her
with a jerk; the pole slipped from her grasp, and she was down before
she had time to see that the table was going to strike her. There was a
wild cry from the boy, who felt himself lost, and then Pam made a great
effort, and found herself clinging to the table leg, while the boy clung
to her, his grip a frantic clutch that had more danger for her in it
than anything else, as she knew full well. But she could not get free of
him, and she would have to get him to the bank somehow, or be drowned
with him. Then she noticed that some of the wreckage in front of her had
been caught by something, and was piling into a barrier. It might not
hold many minutes, but if it held long enough for her to reach the bank
with the boy it was all that she asked of it. There was a noise in her
ears as of someone calling, and she was so dazed by her great effort
that she thought it was her mother reminding her of some neglected duty,
as had so often been the case in those far-away days when duty had no
meaning for her beyond an unpleasant something not always to be shirked.
Ah, her feet touched the bottom! She would do it after all! A feeble
shout of triumph burst from her lips and was echoed by the boy, who had
plainly pluck of a sort, although he was so desperately afraid of water.
Even as the shout left her lips Pam was down again, and this time she
seemed to have no strength to pull herself up. She felt it was all over,
and there was even a pang because she would never know why that small
boy had been so rude to her. Then something struck her with a force that
hurt. She was dragged up and tugged here and pulled there. Someone was
working hard to get her ashore, and panting heavily in the process. But
she could not help. She could not do anything but struggle to get her
breath, and to marvel that she was still alive. At first she could not
even open her eyes, and she seemed to be slipping, slipping, while a
great black void waited to swallow her up, when she heard a voice in her
ears calling to her, and she strove with all her might to answer.
“Jack, Jack, I did not know that you were here!” Her voice was so feeble
that she was even surprised herself to find how little noise she could
make.
“It is lucky that I was coming along the creek when you fell!” he
answered. His tone was jerky, and opening her eyes again, Pam felt
half-frightened by the look on his face.
“Was it such a near thing? Poor old Jack!” Pam felt a leaping joy at
heart to think he cared so much. She had been so home-sick all the
winter that it seemed worth while being brought to such a pitch as this,
just to have surprised that look of adoring affection in her brother’s
eyes. Then she remembered the boy who was the cause of all the trouble,
and she cried out sharply: “Where is the boy? Surely he is not drowned,
I tried so hard to save him!” The thought that she might have tried in
vain was too much for Pam. She saw the black void open close to her once
more; she was slipping, slipping again, and then she heard a burst of
noisy crying, and a shrill voice calling:
“Can’t you do nothing to save her? She is dying—I say she is dying, and
I never told her. Boo-oo-oo!”
It seemed to Pam that she had slipped to the very verge of the void. The
slightest further movement, and she would be gone beyond recall; but she
hung poised as it were while Jack said sharply:
“Help me to bring her round, can’t you? It is of no good to howl like
that.”
“I might have told her, though, and now it is too late!” wailed the boy,
and the sharp curiosity in the heart of Pam drew her back again from the
edge of the void.