WHERE IS CHRISTOPHER?
After the tea-party was over, Jane dressed Sally again and she and Anna
Parsons took their dolls for a walk down into the garden, while Letty
carried the plates down-stairs to be washed, and made the room tidy
again.
“What is it that you would like so much to do, Letty, dear?” asked Mrs.
Hartwell-Jones presently. “There is something on your mind, I know.”
“Oh, there is, dear Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. If only I could learn to sing!
Sing right, you know. It would be wonderful!” And Letty clasped her
hands eagerly.
“Well, my dear, it will all depend on yourself.”
“How do you mean?” asked the girl breathlessly.
“I mean that when we go back to the city I am going to have your voice
tried. That is, I am going to have you sing before a certain good
teacher of singing and if he thinks it worth while to give you lessons,
you shall study with him. He is a wonderful master, and will take only
pupils who have really good voices.”
“Oh!” cried Letty, the sound being more a sigh than an exclamation. She
was really breathless with joy at the thought of what happiness might be
in store for her.
“But suppose he shouldn’t be willing to give me lessons!” she cried in
sudden dismay, her voice coming back with a little gasp.
“That remains to be seen,” replied Mrs. Hartwell-Jones with a serene
little smile that did not look as if she were very much worried.
Then they went back to the subject that always proved so deeply
interesting to them both; the subject of Letty’s studies in the fall,
and so intent did they become that they forgot all about the time until
Jane rushed suddenly into the room, crying:
[Illustration: “DON’T YOU WORRY, LITTLE GIRL”]
“Where is Kit? It’s much after half-past five, Letty. Oh, where is he!”
Letty sprang to her feet and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones looked anxiously out of
the window at the lengthening shadows.
“I’ll look and see if he’s coming down the road,” said Letty, and ran
quickly out of the room, followed by Jane.
Letty looked up and down the road, straining her eyes, but no horse and
wagon was to be seen. Jane climbed on the gate and swung on it gloomily,
back and forth.
“Do you suppose the horse has run away with them?” she asked with a
catch in her voice. “I spoke crossly to Kit when he went away. I hope he
isn’t—isn’t killed!” And she began to cry.
Mrs. Carpenter came out of her house next door and called to Letty
across the fence:
“Are you looking for those boys? Most likely they won’t get home before
dark. Boys never know what time it is.”
“Kit’s got a watch,” wailed Jane, still swinging disconsolately on the
gate.
“Don’t you worry, little girl. Watches don’t mean anything to boys when
they’re off on a picnic. Nothing has happened with Jo Perkins to take
care of them. When I get my Billy home I shall spank him and put him to
bed without any supper.”
Jane’s tears flowed faster than ever at the thought that a like
punishment might be in store for Christopher. Sadness can come so very
quickly on the heels of joy! She had been perfectly happy only a short
half hour ago.
“Janey, dear,” called Mrs. Hartwell-Jones from her up-stairs window,
“Letty would better drive you home in the pony carriage, and then, if
your grandmother thinks best, she can send Joshua out to hunt up the
boys. Come up to me, little girl, and get comforted while Letty
harnesses Punch and Judy.”
In the meantime, where was Christopher?
The three boys were in the highest of spirits as they drove off into the
woods. The swimming hole that Billy Carpenter had in mind was situated
farther up the stream than Christopher had ever been. It was very, very
pretty. Pine trees grew close to the water’s edge, and the needles that
had dropped into the pool made the water clear and brown and gave it a
delicious, spicy smell.
Perk unharnessed the horse and tied him by the reins to a neighboring
tree. Then the boys undressed and Christopher, with mingled feelings,
stepped into the water. He understood all the principles of swimming; it
was only confidence he lacked, and the desire to appear well in the eyes
of his companions gave him courage. The pool was shallow, nowhere was
the water over the boys’ heads; it was in reality as safe as a bath tub.
In a very short time Christopher was paddling about in great glee,
keeping his head nicely above water.
It was a grand frolic and after dressing again, they were all very ready
for Huldah’s nicely packed luncheon. Christopher insisted upon building
a fire in a hole to roast the potatoes, in true camping out fashion. The
potatoes were somewhat lumpy when done, and burned the mouth. Still,
they were quite eatable with plenty of salt and butter.
It was nearly four o’clock when the picnic lunch was finished. But the
August afternoon was close and sultry. The boys had got hot and grimy
over the potatoes. They lay about on the ground, throwing pine-cones at
a family of chattering squirrels and trying to feel cool.
Christopher looked at the still clear brown pool and sat up exclaiming:
“Say, fellows, let’s go in for another dip. Just enough to cool us off.”
“No, you mustn’t. It is bad to go into the water right after eatin’,”
said Perk.
“Oh, what are you givin’ us?” chaffed Billy Carpenter, who had begun to
undress at Christopher’s first word. “I have been in hundreds of times,
right after a big dinner.”
“Besides, we’ve been through eating a long time,” added Christopher.
“’Most ten minutes, I guess.”
“But you oughtn’t, Kit. What will your grandfather say?”
“Grandfather’ll be glad I know how to swim.”
“Are you quite sure you know how?” insinuated Billy. He thought he saw
signs of weakening in Christopher’s resolution and did not want to lose
any fun.
“Of course I’m sure,” retorted Christopher indignantly. “Just you hold
on and I’ll show you!”
“Well, if you boys are set on doin’ it, I guess I’ll have to go in too,
to keep you out of mischief,” drawled Jo Perkins, untying his cravat as
he spoke. His remonstrances had not been very strong, but they had
satisfied his conscience.
The second bath proved to be even more fun than the first. The water was
delightfully cool and refreshing; Christopher soon lost the last bit of
dread he had had of going under. He and Billy began to swim a race
across the pond and back. They had crossed, had splashed into the
shallow water to touch a certain pine branch that had been chosen as the
half-way mark (like the first stake in croquet) and were starting back.
Billy was in the lead, but Christopher was gaining on him, when all at
once he felt a queer sensation in his arm, as if someone had struck him
a sudden blow. The pain was intense and increased every moment.
Christopher doubled up his elbow involuntarily and stopped moving his
other arm, forgetting in his sudden discomfort that he was not on solid
ground. Naturally, he went under. His mouth being open at the time, he
swallowed quantities of water and did not find it pleasant. He gasped
and splattered and tried to call for help, but the water filled his
mouth and nose and eyes. He could not breathe, much less speak. And all
the while the pain in his arm increased. His struggles pushed him upward
again and as his head appeared above the water he gave a wailing cry. If
he had had presence of mind enough to stand upright on the sandy bottom,
his head would have been almost entirely out of water. But he was in
great pain and very badly frightened. Was he drowning, he wondered? And
if so, would everybody be sorry? Would grandfather blame him for having
gone to the swimming hole without permission? He hoped he would not be
held up to other boys as a sad example of disobedience. Where in the
world were Billy and Perk and why did they not come to his assistance?
Oh! Oh! Another effort to shout and another nasty dose of water.
Drowning people were supposed to review their whole past life, he
remembered. He could think of nothing except that he had learned in
school that Socrates had met his death by being compelled to drink
hemlock. There was hemlock enough in this water to kill a horse,
Christopher felt sure. If he escaped from drowning, therefore, he was
sure to be poisoned. It was certain death however you looked at it, and
he gave up struggling. The pain in his arm made him feel weak and numb.
Just then he was grabbed by rough but friendly hands, his head propped
above water and his body propelled speedily to shore. It had been a very
few seconds from the time Perk had seen him go under and had swum out
and seized him by the hair. So short had the time been, indeed, that
Billy Carpenter did not know that anything had gone amiss until he
reached the goal of the race and turned to jeer his victory. Then he saw
Perk wading swiftly through the shallow water, half carrying, half
pushing Christopher before him. The boy was almost unconscious when they
got him to shore, and he lay in a heap on the pine-needles, his cramped
arm bent pitifully beneath his body. Perk threw a coat about him and
went to work in a businesslike, capable way to revive the boy.
“He’s swallowed an awful lot of water, and it has made him sick,” Perk
explained to Billy. “It’s that right arm that’s cramped. Haul it out
straight, Bill, and pound it. Never mind if he hollers; it’ll help bring
him to. Keep poundin’ and don’t let him double it up again. We’ve got to
get the muscles limbered up.”
It took half an hour’s hard work to restore Christopher to anything like
his usual cheerful self. Then they all realized with a pang how late it
was. The sun was so near setting that it had already darkened the woods.
In a panic of alarm the boys harnessed the horse and drove as rapidly as
they dared in the growing dusk, down the winding wood road.
“There is no use in going into the town,” said Jo Perkins as they
emerged from the gloom of the trees into the lighter twilight of the
open road. “Jane will have got home somehow before this. Letty’s taken
her home, most likely. I shouldn’t be surprised if they had searching
parties out for us,” he added, eyeing the reddening western sky.
“Oh, shucks,” boasted Christopher, “I guess they know we can take care
of ourselves.” But his voice had not quite so confident a ring as usual.
“Besides, Perk, there’s no other way to get home except by going through
town.”
“We can go along Birch Lane to the crossroads. It is only half as far
that way.”
Both boys whistled under their breath. Birch Lane was a lonely road by
night!
“But how about me?” asked Billy. “I guess I’ve got to get home.”
“Yes,” chimed in Christopher, “it wouldn’t be polite not to take Bill
home. He’s our company.”
“Besides, Perk, there’s your bicycle that you left at our house.”
“We can drop Bill at the turn. It’s only two miles from there home, and
I guess that’s nothing of a walk for you, is it, Bill? I’ll come in
after the bicycle in the morning.”
“I don’t think it’s treating Bill right, to dump him like that,” argued
Christopher. If he did not relish the drive along Birch Lane in Perk’s
companionship, Birch Lane with its ghostly, whispering white sentinels,
the silver birch trees, how much less must Bill look forward to walking
by himself along the deserted wood road? Christopher was sincerely
sympathetic. “Besides,” he added, “I feel pretty sure that Jane will be
waiting for us, Perk. I told her I’d come for her, and she knows that I
always keep my word.”
“Oh, pshaw! She knew long before this that you weren’t coming for her,
leastways, not at the time you said. And I guess your grandma’s pretty
nigh crazy by this time. No, we’ve got to get home as soon as ever we
can and take our thrashings. Bill ain’t afraid to walk, and here’s the
turn. Hop out, Bill.”
“Who’s afraid?” demanded Billy, in a boastful voice, jumping out over
the wheel with affected alacrity. “And it’s only girl-boys that get
thrashed for staying out late. I’ve been out lots later than this. My,
Jo Perkins, if I was as old as you I guess I wouldn’t let anybody thrash
me! Not much. Not for anything like that!”
With which parting taunt, Billy trotted off, whistling to keep up his
spirits.
Christopher sat rather close to Jo Perkins and stared stolidly ahead. As
each birch tree came in sight he eyed it roundly, even watching it over
his shoulder in passing, as if to stare it out of countenance. Then he
took to counting them off as they went by; it helped to keep his
thoughts from the present homecoming and grandmother’s face. It was
growing darker and darker.
“I hope she won’t cry,” he said suddenly. “Women are such babies. I’d
rather she’d thrash me than cry.”
“I guess you won’t get the thrashing until your grandpa gets home,” Perk
answered grimly. “But I tell you, Kit, this is a pretty bad scrape for
me. I was put in charge of you two young ones, and I didn’t do right to
keep you out so late. I ought to have watched the time a bit closer. And
I almost let you drown, too,” he added soberly. “Gee whizz, I guess
mebbe it’ll cost me my place! I’m powerful sorry about it all.”
“Oh, Perk, did I really nearly drown?” asked Christopher in awe.
He shuddered as the recollection of his recent experience came over him.