MAX POOLER'S MEG.
The girl who approached was a tall, gaunt creature, certainly not over
ten years of age, yet with a knowing look of worldly experience in her
pinched face and furtive black eyes.
She was sparingly dressed in an ill-fitting calico gown of ancient
pattern. Her feet were bare and on her head rested a dilapidated
sunbonnet. She carried a large pail on one arm, and made her way to a
gushing spring but a few feet away from where Jack and Mont were
reclining.
She started back in surprise upon seeing the pair, and as they sprang to
their feet she made a hasty move as if to retreat.
"Don't run away, please," called out Jack. "We won't hurt you."
Thus reassured, the overgrown child--for she was naught else--stopped
short, shyly swinging the empty pail from one hand to the other.
"Who're you?" she asked abruptly, as the young machinist came up.
"I'm Jack Willington, and this is my friend, Mont Gray."
"How'd you come here?" was the second question, asked as abruptly as the
first.
"We had the misfortune to be carried over the falls," replied Jack.
The girl tossed her pretty, but by no means clean nose, in the air.
"Them falls?" she asked, pointing her long, thin finger to the mighty
volume of water up the river.
"Yes."
She gave a contemptuous snicker.
"You can't stuff no such stories down me!" she ejaculated. "Them falls!
You couldn't live a minnit in 'em! Think I believe such lies?"
"It's the truth, whether you believe it or not," put in Mont, "We were
on that tree"--he pointed it out--"and that saved us. See, our clothes
are still wet."
The girl was silent, more convinced by their genteel appearance, than by
what was said, that she was being told the truth.
"What is your name?" asked Jack, curiously. He had never met such a
unique character before.
"Meg," was the laconic reply.
"Meg? Meg what?"
"No, not Meg what; only Meg."
"But what is your other name?"
"Hain't got none."
"Oh, but you must have," put in Mont. He, too, was becoming interested.
"Never did--leastwise, never knowed it, anyway," and Meg grew sober for
a moment.
"Do you live here?" asked Jack.
"Yep."
"Alone?"
"Nope. I live with Mr. Pooler."
"Who is he?"
The girl eyed the young machinist in surprise.
"Why, I thought everybody knew him," she said. "He's the man who owns
this island."
"What, the whole of it?" exclaimed Mont, in astonishment.
"Yep."
"And you live here with him?" continued Jack.
"Yep. Have always."
"Any one else here besides you and him?"
"Not now. His wife used to, but she died last winter."
"I suppose you keep house for him?"
"Yep."
A faint smile accompanied the monosyllable this time.
"It's rather hard work for a girl like you," Jack remarked.
Meg tossed back her head.
"Hard! 'Tain't nothing; cookin' and cleanin' ain't. It's garden work
that's tough. Look at them hands." She dropped the pail and held them
up. "Been blistered lots of times hoein' and diggin'."
"It's too bad," cried the young machinist, indignantly. "It ain't fair
to make you work like a slave."
"What would you do if you was me?" asked the girl, with a hungry,
searching look in her eyes.
For a moment Jack was nonplused.
"I don't know," he replied, slowly; "I might, though, if I thought over
it. Are you a relative of his?"
"Not's I know."
"How long have you been here?"
"Ever since I can remember. I didn't mind it so much when Mrs. Pooler
was alive, but since she died I hate it;" and Meg grated her teeth
tightly together.
"Where is the house?" asked Mont.
"Over yonder, through the trees."
"Do you think you can get us something to eat?" continued the young man.
"We have been out since yesterday, and I'm as hungry as a stray dog."
The girl hesitated.
"We will pay you for it," Mont went on, feeling for his purse, which,
luckily, still remained in his pocket.
"Guess I can," said Meg, finally. "Pooler ain't home; he went to the
mainland this morning. Did you really go over them falls?" she
continued, jerking her thumb in the direction.
[Illustration: "DID YOU REALLY GO OVER THEM FALLS?" SHE CONTINUED,
JERKING HER THUMB IN THE DIRECTION.]
"Yes, indeed we did. It was a terrible experience," replied the young
man with a shudder.
"Must be. Never heard of 'em comin' out alive--'em as goes over, I
mean."
"We are not anxious to try it again," Jack put in.
The "house" consisted of a dilapidated cottage of two rooms and an
attic, almost wholly covered by grape vines. Meg led the way around to
the back, and motioned them to a bench under a big tree.
"Better stay out here. It's cooler and nicer," she said. "I'll fetch a
table;" and in a few seconds she had done so, and placed it before them.
"Don't take too much trouble," said Mont; "we are hungry enough to
tackle almost anything."
"'Tain't no trouble--leastwise, not if there's money in it. Pooler
worships money."
"Is he rich?" asked Jack.
"Don't ask me!" replied Meg. "I've often heard the men say he was rich,
but I never see any money."
"Doesn't he give you any?"
"Not a cent. Say, how will coffee and bread, with some pickerel do? I
can get them ready in a few minutes."
"First-rate," replied Mont.
"Then just wait;" and Meg disappeared within the cottage.
"Quite a smart lass," remarked Jack when they were alone.
"Awfully wild, though," returned Mont; "I would like to see this Pooler.
Something runs in my mind concerning him--I can't exactly tell what."
"I shouldn't wonder but what he misuses that girl awfully," added Jack,
with a shake of his head.
It was not long before Meg returned with quite a substantial meal for
both. She set the things before them, and then stood by, ready for
further orders.
"What does Mr. Pooler do for a living?" asked Mont, while eating.
"Nothin' 'cept run his farm here," replied the girl. "He's gettin'
kinder old."
"He is a farmer, then?"
"Yep. That is, now. He used to work in the tool works at Corney."
"He did?" exclaimed Mont, with interest. "I work there. How long ago
was this?"
"I don't know exactly. I heard Mosey and him talkin' 'bout it."
Jack dropped his knife and fork in astonishment.
"Whom did you say?" he ejaculated.
"Mosey," repeated Meg. "Do you know him?"
"I think I do. Is his first name Andy?"
"Yep."
"Well, I'm stumped!" declared the young machinist. "Yes, I know him," he
continued bitterly. "And he'll know me, too, when we meet again."
Jack meant all his manner implied. His blood boiled at the thought of
the Irishman, and the cowardly treatment he had received at the mill.
"Does Mosey come here often?" he asked.
"Not lately. He used to, him and two or three more. But I oughten to
tell you all this! Pooler'll beat me if he finds it out."
"Not if I'm around!" replied Jack, stoutly. "But we will not mention
what you have told us."
"Wish you wouldn't. But I don't care anyhow; I'm gettin' tired, and
sha'n't stay much longer."
"What will you do?" asked Mont.
"Run away," was the quick reply.
"Where to?"
"I don't know, and I don't care, either. Any place is as good as this,
I reckon."
"Perhaps you can find some sort of a home in Corney," suggested the
young machinist. "You seem to be quite handy. I will help you if I
can."
"And so will I," put in Mont.
"I could do better if I had half a chance," asserted Meg, tapping the
ground with her foot.
"May I ask what other men visit Mr. Pooler?" inquired the young man,
after a pause.
"A man by the name of Corrigan sometimes comes with Mosey."
"Corrigan!"
Jack and Mont uttered the name together. Here was certainly news. Yet
they never dreamt of what was coming.
"Any one else?" asked Jack.
"A man used to come sometimes at night. Pooler thought I never saw him,
but I did--and heard who he was, too."
"What was his name?" asked Mont, with just the slightest tremor in his
voice.
"Mr. Gray--Felix, Pooler called him."
Mont looked at Jack in deep perplexity.
"There is surely a mystery here," he said.
"You are right," returned the young machinist; "and who knows but what
it may concern both of us?"
At this juncture Meg uttered an exclamation.
"There's a boat comin' over!" she cried. "I guess it's Pooler gettin'
back!"