"Hello!" she responded.
"The Leicester Bank has been robbed," the voice went on, hurriedly, "by
two men with a wagon and a white horse. They have driven toward
Barrington, with Mr. Allen and two constables in pursuit, half an hour
behind. You must--" Here the voice stopped as suddenly and completely as
though it had had an extinguisher put over it. Even the hum of the
electricity was checked, and Jennie knew enough about the telephone to
be aware that in some way the connection had been abruptly cut off. It
was in vain that she rang the bell and called "Hello!" No one answered.
Jennie felt once more the old sense that she was out of the world.
Leicester seemed all at once removed hundreds of miles away.
But what was it that she must or must not do? Why had not the connection
lasted only a minute longer, when her instructions would have been
complete? When were the robbers to be expected? Jennie made a little
calculation. If they had been gone thirty minutes before any one started
in pursuit, that would carry them, by fast driving, half-way to the
toll-gate. If ten minutes had gone by before the telephone bell had
rung, she might look for them within a quarter of an hour. What was she
to do? The conversation which she had overheard came to her mind. "Stop
them at the toll-gate," one of the voices had said. Very likely they
would have told her to do that if the telephone had kept on. But how
could a little girl arrest two armed and desperate men?
By this time she began to feel chilly. She could not go back to bed with
this responsibility upon her, even though she did not know how to meet
it; so, dressing herself, she opened the front door, and looked and
listened. The night was darker than ever. A little space around the gate
was lit up by the warning lantern. It would not help in stopping the
burglars, she suddenly thought, to illuminate their way; so, going over
to the light, she blew it out, and left the road in total darkness. That
was at least one step toward the desired end.
All at once she thought of the gate. "How stupid!" she said to herself.
"Why didn't I think of that before?" It was fastened back against the
front of the house, but in a moment she had unhooked it and swung it
around, until it stretched completely across the road. There was only a
latch on the gate, but going in the house she brought out of one place a
padlock, and from another a chain, with which she fastened it so
securely that no ordinary strength could force it open. "They can't get
through that," she said to herself; "and there isn't any way of getting
around it." Then she went in the house, locked and bolted the door,
rolled a bureau up against it, fastened all the windows, pulled down the
shades, and waited in the dark for the sound of wheels.
It was not long before they came, but to Jennie every minute seemed an
hour, while every rustling leaf outside sounded like a man's stealthy
tread. When at last she heard them coming, far up the road, her heart
stood still. Nearer and nearer they came. Would they not see the gate?
she wondered. The horse still kept on; and instantly there was a sudden
exclamation outside, a crash as though something had come into collision
with the gate, the sound of splintering wood, and the noise of a
plunging horse. Jennie did not venture to move; she dared not go to the
window, but sat in the middle of the room, shaking with fear, and
listening anxiously for what might happen next. Presently steps sounded
on the planks outside, and in a moment there was a rap on the door.
Jennie remained perfectly quiet, though her heart beat so loud that she
thought they must hear it outside. In a moment the knocking ceased.
"Folks asleep," she could hear one of the men say.
"Asleep, or dead, or run away," the other one growled.
"Shall we try the window?"
Jennie trembled all over, but the sash held firm.
"Oh, come on!" exclaimed his companion. "Don't let's waste time here; we
can splice the shafts with the halter."
They moved off again, and Jennie breathed more freely. If the shafts
were broken, it would be a work of some minutes to mend them, and the
pursuing party might yet arrive in time. Mr. Allen, who Jennie knew to
be the president of the Leicester Bank, had the fastest horses in the
county, and ought to be able to make up at least ten minutes in ten
miles. For a while there was quiet outside. The men were evidently
working at the shafts, and only the stamping of the horse's feet gave
any signs of life. Jennie began to get nervous, and to listen more
intently for the pursuers' approach. By this time they could not be far
off. Finally, unable to sit still any longer, she crept upstairs, and
sitting down on the floor by the open window of the attic, ventured to
look out. The white horse was quite distinctly visible as it stood by
the gate, but the men, bending over the wagon, were hardly more than an
outline. Presently they seemed to have finished, and backing the horse
around, proceeded to hitch him in the shafts. Would the others never
come? The gate was not yet opened, but Jennie began to fear that
burglars would not find that a serious difficulty. Suddenly through the
woods came the sound of horses' hoofs galloping as if for life. Did the
men hear it too?
Apparently they did.
"Open the gate," she heard one of them say.
His companion went to it and vainly tried to pull it open. "It's
padlocked," he exclaimed, after a minute.
The other muttered an angry oath. "Pick it!" he cried. "They've put up a
job on us here. I knew we didn't cut that wire quick enough."
It was a minute before the burglar's skill could pick the lock, and by
that time the pursuing wagon was dangerously near.
"Open the gate!" shouted the first man, pulling back his horse to escape
its sweep.
The other pushed, and the great bar swung slowly back. But before it had
opened wide enough to let them through, the other wagon had dashed in
upon the scene.
"Stand where you are," Jennie heard Mr. Allen's voice call out, "or I'll
shoot you down!"
What immediately followed Jennie did not see, for leaving the window,
she rushed down-stairs, lit the lantern, rolled back the bureau,
unlocked the door, and went out. When she had gained the road, the two
burglars, captured and tied, were being guarded by the constables, while
Mr. Allen was investigating the contents of the wagon, and making sure
as far as he could in the darkness that all was right. At Jennie's
approach he looked up.
"Ah!" he said. "Are you the toll-gate keeper's daughter? Just ask your
father to step out here, won't you?"
Jennie smiled. "Father isn't at home, sir," she said.
"Oh, well, your mother, then, or any one who keeps the gate."
"Mother isn't at home either, sir; I am keeping the gate."
The gentleman looked at her in surprise.
"You!" he exclaimed. "What made these fellows stop here?"
"They broke their wagon, sir."
"How did they happen to do that?"
"The horse ran into the gate, sir."
"Was the gate shut?"
"Yes, sir."
"You don't usually shut the gate nights?"
"No, sir, but I did to-night."
He looked at her for a further explanation, and Jennie, who never liked
to tell of her own exploits, was obliged to go on.
"They telephoned me about it from Leicester, sir," she said, briefly.
"Did they tell you to shut the gate?"
"No, sir; the telephone stopped before they got as far as that; these
men cut the wire, and I had to think for myself what I should do."
"And you thought of that?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," she said, modestly.
"Well," he said, "you are a thoughtful little girl. You've saved me a
great deal of money to-night, and I'll never forget it."
And he never did. The directors of the bank passed a vote of thanks, at
their next meeting, to Miss Jennie Bartlett "for her prompt and
efficient services in arresting the burglars who feloniously entered the
bank building on the evening of September --, and abstracted the
valuable contents of its vault"; and more than that, sent her a purse of
money, with which she was able that winter to carry out her
long-cherished plan of going to school. It was a disagreeable experience
to go through, but Jennie will always date whatever success she has in
the world from that night at the Barrington toll-gate.
[Illustration]
Merrily, merrily dancing away,
Who is this dancing the long summer day,
Over the meadow and through the lane,
Then through the orchard, and then back again?
Who is this girlie that's dancing away,
Who but our own little Edith, I pray.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Swinging, swinging, swinging,
Here I sit and swing,
But I'm only resting,
Now each weary wing;
Very soon you'll see me fly,
Upward, upward, oh, so high;
Onward, onward through the air,
But I'll never tell you where.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Sleep, my baby, angel forms
Are bending now above you,
And mother dear is watching here,
Who'll always guard and love you.
Safe her baby boy she'll keep
When the night-fall brings him sleep.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Cuckoo, dear Cuckoo, has fallen so ill,
And here on the ground he is lying.
Oh, what shall we do the summer night through,
When our own darling cuckoo is dying?
At the earliest dawn we must send for the mole,
And tell him that cuckoo has left us,
He'll dig a deep grave where the willow-trees wave,
While we mourn the sad fate that bereft us.
The owl and the eagle, the parrot and dove,
Will watch while the nightingale's singing,
And solemn and slow, in tones soft and low,
The funeral song will be ringing.
[Illustration]