UNDER ARREST
"Here's a pretty kettle of fish!" he exclaimed, bobbing his head up
and down; "what do you mean breaking into some one else's house like
burglars? Don't tell me you were hiding from the rain for I won't
believe you."
Neither Peter nor Janet made any attempt to tell him anything. They
were both too startled. They stood frozen to the spot on which they
stood.
"Nothing to say, eh?" the old man went on in his excited, squeeky
little voice. "Well, that's just as well. You'll come along with me
now, both of you."
"Are you the owner of this house?" Peter was himself again, and
Janet marveled at the quiet manner in which he spoke.
"Never you mind about that; you'll soon enough know." The old man
bustled toward them. Peter stepped in front of Janet.
"Are you the owner of this house?" he demanded again.
"Now look here, young fellow, don't give me any of your impertinence,
but come along quick." The quieter Peter's voice got the more
excited grew the little man. "What are your names, eh? Tell me
that," he squeaked.
"We will do nothing of the kind," Peter said firmly.
"What, what, what! You tell me at once and no more nonsense," the
old man fairly spluttered.
"We refuse to tell our names to any one but the owner of this house."
By now, Peter was thoroughly enjoying himself, and he winked ever so
slightly at Janet.
Janet was chuckling to herself, but not at Peter. She was wondering
what would happen if she did tell her name. From past experiences
she knew that from blustering the old man would apologize and offer
to take her home. But he might insist on arresting Peter, and
loyalty made her keep silent.
The old man was getting very angry at Peter; he even stamped his foot
and his big gold chain jingled.
"You come straight along and tell the owner then," he exploded, "and
you'll be sorry you didn't tell me first. I can promise you. I'm a
sheriff, and you are both under arrest. Now then, what have you got
to say?"
Peter and Janet looked at each other, and Peter laughed.
"We have nothing to say until we see the owner," he said.
The sheriff turned on his heel. They followed him through the hall
and out of the back door, of which he had the key. A buggy was
standing in the woodshed, and they all got in. The rain had stopped
and soft mud spattered them as they drove along.
"I'm awfully glad he isn't the owner," Peter whispered in Janet's ear.
"Oh, so am I," she agreed, "but of course I knew he couldn't be and
look like that."
The sheriff did not notice them in any way. His ridiculous little
fat face tried to look grim, but only succeeded in looking funny. He
was thinking very hard and wondering if the owner would approve of
his actions. He had not bothered to explain, when he said he was a
sheriff, that he was a retired one, without the slightest right in
the world to make an arrest.
"Where does the owner live?" Peter inquired, breaking a silence that
had lasted a mile.
"Never you mind where," the sheriff retorted; "all that concerns you
is that you will find the owner at my house to-day."
Peter and Janet exchanged glances.
"We're in for it," Peter whispered, "but it can't be very bad, and
anyway we will see him at last."
"I'm almost sorry," Janet sighed. "He was always such a thrilling
mystery to me. Do you suppose those are his gloves on the library
table?"
Peter did not have time to reply, for they were turning in at the
gate of a big farm, and the sheriff whipped up his horse to make a
gallant approach.
Once on his own land he regained his assurance, and he opened the
door of the tool house as though it were a dungeon cell.
"You'll wait in here," he directed.
There was nothing else to do, so in they went, and Janet heard the
key grate in the rusty lock with a queer sinking feeling. But a look
at Peter's face made her swallow her fears and manage a little laugh.
"What do you suppose will happen next?" she asked.
"Nothing very terrible," Peter assured her. "You see, we never did
any harm to anything, and if we explain about the books, it ought to
be all right."
"That will depend on the owner,"--Janet's voice sounded frightened in
spite of herself. "If he is nice, he will understand, and I suppose
he is if he owns the Kingdom; still, why doesn't he live in it?"
"Why, that's the mystery,"--Peter laughed. "We will find out soon
enough. Mr. Sheriff is probably telling all about us now, and I
guess he is not saying anything to help our case much."
Janet was silent for a minute, then she drew a long heartfelt sigh.
"Oh, Peter, do you realize that we can never go to the Kingdom again?
It isn't enchanted any more; it's just a house that belongs to a man
that probably has a bald head and whiskers."
"I hadn't thought of that," Peter said gravely.
The door opened, and the little man stood before them again.
"Come with me," he said, and led the way to the house.
"He's not nearly so starchy," Janet whispered; "maybe he is nice
after all."
"Of course he is," Peter assured her.
They passed through a big clean kitchen, full of shiny pots and pans,
and then into a dark little hall.
"Wait here," their guide directed, as he shoved them into a little
room that looked like an office.
They waited, and a minute or two later the door opened.
It would be hard to say just what either Peter or Janet imagined the
owner of the deserted house to resemble. Janet, when she thought of
the place as belonging to any one but herself, usually pictured a
modern King Arthur who would admit her claims as princess without
hesitation. Peter knew that it was a house that his father would
have loved, and he thought of the owner as a quiet gray-haired man in
consequence. They were neither of them prepared to see a woman.
"Mrs. Todd!" Janet after a stupefied second fairly shouted the name,
and it was Peter's turn to be astonished. He looked from one to the
other and blushed a little; he realized it might be difficult to
explain to a woman, for Peter knew nothing about women.
Mrs. Todd did not say anything. She stood in the doorway and laughed
and laughed.
"Is it really your house?" Janet stammered, and she nodded.
"Yes, it's my house, and perhaps you can tell me, for Mr. Simpson's
benefit, what you two were doing in it."
Peter looked at Janet, and she started the explanation.
"We weren't doing anything just when he found us," she said, "except
waiting for the rain to stop, but this wasn't the only time we've
been there. You see, I found it first, oh, ages ago, and I used to
row over and read in the Kingdom--I mean the library--"
"What did you call it?" Mrs. Todd interrupted.
"Oh, that was just my name for it. I always thought of it as 'The
Enchanted Kingdom' because of all the wonderful books first and then
because it was so old and deserted and spooky." Janet looked at
Peter and he nodded encouragement.
"I only met Peter the other day; it was the very day of the fair. I
came over because--"
"I know; go on about Peter," Mrs. Todd put in.
"He was fixing the roof, and he dropped a piece of tin down on my
nose, and then, well, of course we began to talk, and he said he had
found the books, too, and so we went into the Kingdom, and it was
Peter that made me go back to the fair in spite of--" Janet stopped,
confused.
Mrs. Todd surveyed the two before her. There was nothing left of her
laughter but the tiniest twinkle in her bright blue eyes. She
snapped open her old-fashioned watch, looked at the time, and snapped
it shut again.
"It's late," she said. "Janet, I'll drive you home. Where do you
live?"--she turned to Peter.
"At Blunt's farm. I work there," he answered her.
"Humm, well, you won't have far to go. Good-by. I'll see you again,
and thanks for mending my roof," she added, as Peter hurried to the
door.
He smiled at her over his shoulder. Janet went with him as far as
the gate.
"It's funny, isn't it!" she laughed; "and of course she understands."
"Guess she does," Peter admitted. "Good-by."
"Until next time," Janet added.
"Maybe," Peter hesitated and then finished, "Do you remember asking
me what the matter was this morning? Well, it's this. Doc is going
to Europe, and I won't let him leave me any money 'cause I know he
needs it all himself, so I've got to get work, and I think I'll be
starting soon."
"But, Peter, I'll see you before you go," Janet exclaimed in dismay.
"Maybe," Peter drawled as he had done the first time she had ever
seen him. "Anyway good-by for now."
Janet watched him walk down the road until the twilight shadows
swallowed him up. There was something that felt like a lump in her
throat.