Widow Jones
In confusion, Babe backed away from the kitchen window.
The other Cubs also were embarrassed, for they had not intended to
investigate an occupied dwelling.
“Gee whiz!” Babe muttered. “Here she comes! I’ll bet she’s sore!”
The kitchen door creaked open and the mysterious “she” stood on the
threshold regarding the boys with curiosity rather than anger.
Tall and wiry, the woman appeared to be about fifty years of age. Her
iron-gray hair was combed severely back from her ears. The gingham dress
she wore was old fashioned and faded from repeated washing.
“I—I’m sorry,” Babe stammered, doffing his cap. “I—I didn’t know anyone
lived here. The house looked so old and—”
“We were just passing and stopped to look at the deep well,” Brad
interposed hastily. “One doesn’t see one like it very often.”
“Or a house as run down as this,” said the woman.
Plainly she had not taken offense at Babe’s remark, for she smiled and
said: “You boys must be on a hike.”
Mr. Hatfield told her about the organization and introduced the boys by
name. In turn, the woman said she was Mrs. Jones, a widow, and that she
lived alone.
“If you’re Mrs. Jones, you must be the one Mr. Wentworth mentioned!” Dan
exclaimed, recalling the name. “Do you board wards of the court?”
“I was supposed to take one—a harum-scarum lad who has a tendency to run
away,” Mrs. Jones replied. “The Court promised me eight dollars a week to
look after him. I need the money. But he never showed up.”
“That’s because he ran away again,” Dan informed the widow. “Police still
are looking for him.”
“Like as not he wouldn’t want to stay here anyway,” Mrs. Jones said, her
gaze sweeping the untidy yard. “There’s so much to be done, and no one to
do it except me.”
“I should think a sturdy boy would be a help to you here,” remarked Mr.
Hatfield. “And an outdoor life might be just what Jack needs. With a
woods and marsh nearby, he could interest himself in wild life which he
seems to enjoy.”
“That’s what Mr. Wentworth thought,” nodded the widow. “He said several
city boarding places have been tried, and each time Jack runs away.”
“The boy needs strict discipline but from someone who has an interest in
his welfare.”
“I’ve always liked boys—even so-called bad ones,” Mrs. Jones declared.
“Jack would have good food here and a comfortable bed. The house isn’t
much, but after all, it’s what’s in it that counts.”
The widow, who wore no wrap, was shivering from cold. Aware that they
were keeping her, the Cubs started away.
But as they started off, Mr. Hatfield thought to speak of the tramp who
had been seen at the group of new houses.
“Since you live here alone, it might be well to lock your doors at
night,” the Cub leader advised. “While the fellow probably is harmless,
one never knows.”
Mrs. Jones thanked him for the warning. “I’ll do as you advise,” she
said, “but I’ve never been afraid. It’s not in my blood to be afeared of
anyone or anything.”
The Cubs apologized again for having trespassed upon her property.
“Now you boys just come here whenever you like,” she invited cordially.
“Next time maybe I’ll have some cookies handy in my jar. Growing boys
always are hungry. I know, because I had three of ’em. They’re grown men
now.”
A lonely soul, Mrs. Jones would have chatted on and on. The Cubs,
however, already were late. So they edged away, waved a final goodbye,
and trudged back to the main road.
“That should cure us of peeking into windows,” Brad lectured Babe. “She
was mighty nice about it, but she could have jumped all over us.”
“How was I to know anyone lived there?” Babe defended himself. “You
thought yourself the house was empty.”
“That’s so,” Brad admitted honestly. “Mrs. Jones must be as poor as a
church mouse. She needs that board money badly.”
“And Jack needs someone like Mrs. Jones to take an interest in him,”
added Mr. Hatfield. “She is firm but kind.”
“Imagine living in a place like that!” Chips commented with distaste.
“It’s a dump.”
“The inside is clean and not badly furnished,” informed the Cub leader.
“I noticed when she had the door open. As for the outside, the windows
could be washed and the rubbish cleaned up in a few hours.”
“Say, maybe that’s a job for the Cubs!” proposed Brad. “We’re supposed to
give neighborhood good will. What better way?”
“That yard has a lot of rubbish,” Chips said quickly. “It would take more
than a few hours—maybe half a day.”
“And we’re pretty busy soliciting for the church campaign,” added Red.
“Not to mention our plans for the Round Table jamboree.”
“It was just a suggestion,” Brad shrugged. “Only I thought the widow
seems to need help.”
“I’d like to do it,” offered Dan. “I could spare a Saturday afternoon.”
“So could I,” volunteered Fred. “How about you, Midge?”
“Count me in. While we’re clearing away the trash, we might find some
things we could use for knight’s armor. I noticed a lot of old tin and
metal lying around. Also some wheels and things.”
“Let’s make it Saturday then,” proposed Brad. “If Red and Chips can’t
come, why that’s all right.”
“Oh, I can make it, I guess,” Red back-tracked.
Chips, not to be left out on any Den affair, said he would be on hand
too.
The Cubs had spent more time than they had intended exploring the
countryside. With a glance at his watch, Mr. Hatfield warned that they
would have to walk briskly if they were to reach home in time for supper.
“Maybe we can hook a ride!” Midge suggested. “Here comes a truck. Let’s
signal the driver.”
Despite his frantic hand waving, the truck rolled on past. However, a
quarter of a mile farther on, the hikers observed a familiar appearing
station wagon coming toward them.
“Say, that looks like my Dad’s car!” exclaimed Midge.
He was right. A moment later, with a screech of brakes, the station wagon
halted at the side of the road.
“Hey, you’re going in the wrong direction!” Midge called to his father.
“I’ll turn around,” Mr. Holloway offered. “I heard you boys were out this
way on a hike. The weather’s turning colder, so I thought you might like
a lift back into town. Of course if you prefer to walk—”
A hoot of derision greeted this remark. The Cubs waited until Mr.
Holloway had turned the station wagon around on the narrow road, and then
piled in.
Midge, Dan and Mr. Hatfield sat in the front with the Den Dad. The others
crowded into the rear, stowing their collection of roofing discs at their
feet.
“It’s sure swell to catch a ride,” Dan said gratefully. “My dogs were
beginning to ache me.”
In the rear of the station wagon, the other Cubs broke into song, making
further conversation all but impossible.
The car presently approached the outskirts of Webster City. At the
lefthand side of the road, Mr. Holloway noticed a boy trudging wearily
along the edge of the pavement.
“Maybe I should give him a lift,” he remarked, slowing the station wagon.
“He appears tired.”
Dan thought that the boy looked faintly familiar. He could not place him
though.
However, as Mr. Holloway brought the station wagon to a standstill only a
few yards away from the pedestrian, he caught a full view of his face.
“It’s that boy Jack!” he exclaimed.
“Not the one who escaped from Guy Wentworth?” Mr. Hatfield demanded
incredulously.
“I’m sure of it.”
“It does look like him,” the Cub leader acknowledged. Quickly he added:
“Boys, don’t let on that you suspect a thing or ever have seen the lad
before. If we play our cards right, we may be able to take him back where
he belongs.”