Nan ran out immediately to speak to the old lumberman; but Toby was
calling for Uncle Henry:
“Hey, Hen! Hen Sherwood! Come out yere,” he cried.
Uncle Henry halloaed from the stables, and came striding at the call.
Nan reached the old rattletrap wagon first.
“Oh, Mr. Vanderwiller!” she said. “I am glad to see you! And how is your
wife and Corson?”
He looked down at her reflectively, and for a moment did not say a word.
Then he swallowed something and said, jerkily:
“An' you're the one that done it all, Sissy! The ol' woman an' the boy
air as chipper as bluejays. An' they air a honin' for a sight on you.”
“Yes. I haven't been over lately. But that man from Chicago came, didn't
he?”
“I sh'd say 'yes'! He come,” said Toby, in awe. “An' what d'ye s'pose?
He done buyed a heap of Corson's spec'mens an' paid him more'n a hundred
dollars for 'em. And that ain't countin' that there dead-head butterfly
ye made sech a time about.
“I reckoned,” pursued Toby, “that you was right crazy about that there
bug. One bug's as bad as another to my way of thinkin'. But it seems
that Chicago feller thinked dif'rent.”
“It really was one of the very rare death's-head moths?” cried Nan,
delighted.
“So he said. And he was willin' ter back up his belief with cold cash,”
declared Toby, smiting his leg for emphasis. “He paid us harnsome for
it; and he said he'd take a lot more spec'mens if--
“Har! Here ye be, Hen,” he added, breaking off to greet Nan's uncle. “I
got suthin' to say to you. I kin say it now, for I ain't beholden ter
nobody. With what me and the ol' woman had scrimped and saved, an' what
this feller from Chicago give Corson, I done paid off my debt to ol' Ged
Raffer, an' the little farm's free and clear.”
“I'm glad to hear it, Tobe,” Uncle Henry declared, shaking hands with
the old lumberman again. “I certain sure am glad to hear it! I'm pleased
that you shouldn't have that worry on your mind any longer.”
“And it has been a worry,” said Old Toby, shaking his head. “More'n you
think for. Ye see, it snarled me all up so's I warn't my own master.”
“I see.”
“Ye see, Ged was allus after me to go inter court an' back up his claim
ag'in you on that Perkins Tract.”
“I see,” said Henry Sherwood again, nodding.
“On the other hand, you wanted me, if I knowed which was right, to
witness, too. If I'd witnessed for Ged, ev'rybody wuld ha' thought I
done it because he had a mortgage on the farm.”
“I s'pose so,” admitted Uncle Henry.
“Or, if I helped you, they'd ha' thought you'd bribed me--mebbe helped
me git square with Ged.”
“I couldn't. Too poor just now,” said Uncle Henry, grimly. “But I'd the
mind for it, Toby.”
“Well, there ye be. Whichever way the cat jumped, I'd lost the respect
of the community,” said the old lumberman. “But now I am independent, I
don't give a dern!”
Mr. Sherwood looked at him expectantly. Toby's “wizzled” face shone.
“I got a debt owin' to that leetle gal you got here, and somethin' to
pay off to Tommy, too. But money won't do it, ef I had money. I am goin'
to tell what I know about that boundary, though, Hen, and it will do YOU
good! I can find another old feller, livin' down Pale Lick way, that can
corroborate my evidence.
“You can git that injunction vacated at once, Hen, if you want, and put
your axe-men right back into the Perkins Tract to work. That's what I
come 'round to tell ye.”
Aunt Kate was moved to tears, an unusual expression of emotion on her
part. Being of pioneer stock, and having suffered much in the past,
Nan's aunt was not easily moved. Uncle Henry was delighted. It was a
great day for the Sherwoods.
It was another great day when, a week later, the roan ponies were
brought to the door and Nan's trunk was strapped upon the back of the
buckboard. Uncle Henry was to drive her to the train; but she would
travel alone to Chicago to meet her chum, Bess Harley.
“And go to Lakeview Hall! I never did really expect I'd get there,” Nan
sighed, as she clung to Aunt Kate's neck. “It almost makes me forget
that Momsey and Papa Sherwood are not at home yet.
“But, my dear!” she added, “if such a thing could be, you and Uncle
Henry have taken the place of my own dear parents all these months I
have been at Pine Camp. I've had a dee-lightful time. I'll never forget
you all. I love you, love you, love you.”
The roan ponies started on the jump. The boys cheered her from the
corner of the house, having bashfully remained in the background. Even
Margaret Llewellen and her impish brother, Bob, appeared and shrilly
bade her goodbye.
Nan was off for school, and wonderful adventures lay before her!
End of Project Gutenberg's Nan Sherwood at Pine Camp, by Annie Roe Carr