Joseph Stagg heard the dog barking first of all. Rightchild and the cook
were directly behind him, and when the hardware dealer bore suddenly off
to the right they shouted after him.
"If the ice is breaking up, Joe, that's where she'll give way first--in
the middle of the cove," Rightchild said.
"And the boy wouldn't know any better than to come right up the middle,"
Mr. Stagg declared.
"You're right," agreed the cook.
"Besides, there's the dog. Listen!"
Prince's barking was unmistakable now. The other men realised what the
sound must mean. It was as convincing as the chapel bell; and that kept
on as steadily as a clock pendulum.
The men with Mr. Stagg having spread out on the ice like a skirmishing
party, now closed in towards the point from which sounded the dog's
barking. The hardware dealer shouted as he ran. He was the most reckless
of them all, and on several occasions came near to falling. The snow
over the ice made the footing treacherous, indeed.
Suddenly an object appeared in the smother of falling snow. Hoarsely the
dog barked again. Mr. Stagg shouted:
"Hey, Prince! Prince! Here we are!"
The mongrel made for the hardware merchant and almost knocked him over.
He was mad with joy. He barked and whined and leaped upon the man; and
the sight of Joseph Stagg down on his knees in the snow trying to hug
the wriggling dog was certainly one to startle his neighbours.
"Show 'em to us, good dog!" cried Uncle Joe. "Take us to 'em! Where's
Hannah's Car'lyn? Show us, boy!"
"That dog's a good un," declared Rightchild.
"Now you've said something," agreed the eating-house cook.
Prince lapped Mr. Stagg's face and then ran off through the falling
snow, barking and leaping. The men hurried after him. Twice or thrice
the dog was back, to make sure that he was followed. Then the men saw
something outlined in the driving snow.
"Uncle Joe! Uncle Joe!"
The child's shrill voice reached the hardware merchant. There was poor
Chet, staggering on, leaning against the wind, and pulling the sled
behind him.
"Well, you silly chump!" growled Joseph Stagg. "Where're you going,
anyway?"
"Oh, Uncle Joe!" wailed Carolyn May, "he isn't anything like that, at
all! He's just the very bravest boy! And he's all wet and cold."
At the conclusion of this declaration poor Chet fell to his knees, and
then slipped quietly forward on his face.
"I vum!" grunted the hardware dealer, "I guess the boy is all in."
But Chet did not lose consciousness. He raised a faint murmur which
reached Mr. Stagg's ears.
"I--I did the best I could, Mr. Stagg. Take--take her right up to mother.
She'll fix Car'lyn up, all right."
"Say, kid!" exclaimed the cook, "I guess you need a bit of fixin' up
yourself. Why, see here, boys, this chap's been in the water and his
clothes is froze stiff."
"Pick him up and put him on the sled here, boys," Mr. Stagg said. "I'll
carry Hannah's Car'lyn myself."
The party, including the excited Prince, got back to the docks without
losing any time and without further accident. Still the chapel bell was
ringing, and somebody said:
"We'd have been up a stump for knowing the direction, if it hadn't been
for that bell."
"Me, too," muttered Chet Gormley. "That's what kep' me goin', folks--the
chapel bell. It just seemed to be callin' me home."
Joseph Stagg carried his niece up to Mrs. Gormley's little house, while
Rightchild helped Chet along to the same destination. The seamstress met
them at the door, wildly excited.
"And what do you think?" she cried. "They took Mandy Parlow home in
Tim's hack. She was just done up, they tell me, pullin' that chapel
bell. Did you ever hear of such a silly critter--just because she
couldn't find the sexton!"
"Hum! you and I both seem to be mistaken about what constitutes
silliness, Mrs. Gormley," grumbled the hardware dealer. "I was for
calling your Chet silly, till I learned what he'd done. And you'd better
not call Miss Mandy silly. The sound of the chapel bell gave us all our
bearings. Both of 'em, Chet and Miss Mandy, did their best."
Carolyn May was taken home in Tim's hack, too. To her surprise, Tim was
ordered to stop at the Parlow house and go in to ask how Miss Amanda
was.
By this time the story of her pulling of the chapel-bell rope was all
over Sunrise Cove, and the hack driver was, naturally, as curious as
anybody. So he willingly went into the Parlow cottage, bringing back
word that she was resting comfortably, Dr. Nugent having just left her.
"An' she's one brave gal," declared Tim. "Pitcher of George Washington!
pullin' that bell rope ain't no baby's job."
Carolyn May did not altogether understand what Miss Amanda had done, but
she was greatly pleased that Uncle Joe had so plainly displayed his
interest in the carpenter's daughter. On this particular occasion,
however, she was so sleepy that she was lifted out of the hack when they
reached home by Uncle Joe, who carried her into the house in his arms.
When Aunty Rose heard the outline of the story she bustled about at once
to get the little girl to bed. She sat up in bed and had her supper,
with Prince sitting close beside her on the floor and Aunty Rose
watching her as though she felt that something of an exciting nature
might happen at any moment to the little girl.
"I never did see such a child--I never did!" Aunty Rose repeated.
The next morning Carolyn May seemed to be in good condition. Indeed, she
was the only individual vitally interested in the adventure who did not
pay for the exposure. Even Prince had barked his legs being hauled out
on to the ice. Uncle Joe had caught a bad cold in his head and suffered
from it for some time. Miss Amanda remained in bed for several days. But
it was poor Chet Gormley who paid the dearest price for participation in
the exciting incident. Dr. Nugent had hard work fighting off pneumonia.
Mr. Stagg surprised himself by the interest he took in Chet. He closed
his store twice each day to call at the Widow Gormley's house. The
seamstress was so delighted with this attention on the hardware
merchant's part that she was willing to accept at its face value Chet's
hope and expectation that _some_ day the sign over the store door would
read, "Stagg & Gormley."
It was a fact that Mr. Stagg found himself talking with Chet more than
he ever had before. The boy was lonely, and the man found a spark of
interest in his heart for him that he had never previously discovered.
He began to probe into his young employee's thoughts, to learn something
of his outlook on life; perhaps, even, he got some inkling of Chet's
ambition.
That week the ice went entirely out of the cove. Spring was at hand,
with its muddy roads, blue skies, sweeter airs, soft rains, and a
general revivifying feeling.
Aunty Rose declared that Carolyn May began at once to "perk up." Perhaps
the cold, long winter had been hard for the child to bear. At least,
being able to run out of doors without stopping to bundle up was a
delight.
One day the little girl had a more than ordinarily hard school task to
perform. Everything did not come easy to Carolyn May, "by any manner of
means," as Aunty Rose would have said. Composition writing was her bane,
and Miss Minnie had instructed all Carolyn May's class to bring in a
written exercise the next morning. The little girl wandered over to the
churchyard with her slate and pencil--and Prince, of course--to try to
achieve the composition.
The earth was dry and warm and the grass was springing freshly. A soft
wind blew from the south and brought with it the scent of growing
things.
The windows of the minister's study overlooked this spot, and he was
sitting at his desk while Carolyn May was laboriously writing the words
on her slate (having learned to use a slate) which she expected later to
copy into her composition book.
The Reverend Afton Driggs watched her puzzled face and labouring fingers
for some moments before calling out of the window to her. Several sheets
of sermon paper lay before him on the desk, and perhaps he was having
almost as hard a time putting on the paper what he desired to say as
Carolyn May was having with her writing.
Finally, he came to the window and spoke to her.
"Carolyn May," he said, "what are you writing?"
"Oh, Mr. Driggs, is that you?" said the little girl, getting up quickly
and coming nearer. "Did you ever have to write a composition?"
"Yes, Carolyn May, I have to write one or two each week." And he sighed.
"Oh yes! So you do!" the little girl agreed. "You have to write sermons.
And that must be a terribly tedious thing to do, for they have to be
longer than my composition--a great deal longer."
"So it is a composition that is troubling you," the minister remarked.
"Yes, sir. I don't know what to write--I really don't. Miss Minnie says
for us not to try any flights of fancy. I don't just know what those
are. But she says, write what is in us. Now, _that_ don't seem like a
composition," added Carolyn May doubtfully.
"What doesn't?"
"Why, writing what is in us," explained the little girl, staring in a
puzzled fashion at her slate, on which she had written several lines.
"You see, I have written down all the things that I 'member is in me."
"For pity's sake! let me see it, child," said the minister, quickly
reaching down for the slate. When he brought it to a level with his eyes
he was amazed by the following:
"In me there is my heart, my liver, my lungs, my verform pendicks,
my stummick, two ginger cookies, a piece of pepmint candy, and my
dinner."
"For pity's sake!" Mr. Driggs shut off this explosion by a sudden cough.
"I guess it isn't much of a composition, Mr. Driggs," Carolyn May said
frankly. "But how can you make your inwards be pleasant reading?"
The minister was having no little difficulty in restraining his mirth.
"Go around to the door, Carolyn May, and ask Mrs. Driggs to let you in.
Perhaps I can help you in this composition writing."
"Oh, _will_ you, Mr. Driggs?" cried the little girl. "That is awful kind
of you."
The minister must have confided in his wife before she came to the door
to let Carolyn May in, for she was laughing heartily.
"You funny little thing!" cried Mrs. Driggs, catching her up in her
arms. "Mr. Driggs says he is waiting for you--and this sermon day, too!
Go into his study."
The clergyman did not seem to mind neglecting his task for the pleasure
of helping Carolyn May with hers. Be explained quite clearly just what
Miss Minnie meant by "writing what is in you."
"Oh! It's what you think about a thing yourself--not what other folks
think," cried Carolyn May. "Why, I can do that. I thought it was
something like those physerology lessons. Then I can write about
anything I want to, can't I?"
"I think so," replied the minister.
"I'm awfully obliged to you, Mr. Driggs," the little girl said. "I wish
I might do something for you in return."
"Help me with my sermon, perhaps?" he asked, smiling.
"I would if I could, Mr. Driggs." Carolyn May was very earnest.
"Well, now, Carolyn May, how would you go about writing a sermon, if you
had one to write?"
"Oh, Mr. Driggs!" exclaimed the little girl, clasping her hands. "I know
just how I'd do it."
"You do? Tell me how, then, my dear," he returned, smiling. "Perhaps you
have an inspiration for writing sermons that I have never yet found."
"Why, Mr. Driggs, I'd try to write every word so's to make folks that
heard it happier. That's what I'd do. I'd make 'em _look up_ and see the
sunshine and the sky--and the mountains, 'way off yonder--so they'd see
nothing but bright things and breathe only good air and hear birds
sing--Oh, dear me, _that_--that is the way I'd write a sermon."
The clergyman's face had grown grave as he listened to her, but he
kissed her warmly as he thanked her and bade her good-bye. When she had
gone from the study he read again the text written at the top of the
first sheet of sermon paper. It was taken from the book of the Prophet
Jeremiah.
"'To write every word so's to make folks that heard it happier,'" he
murmured as he crumpled the sheet of paper in his hand and dropped it in
the waste-basket.