Tim stopped as quickly as if he had stepped into a pool of glue, which
had suddenly hardened and held him prisoner, and peered anxiously ahead,
trying to discover where the voice came from.
"Didn't know there was anybody round here, did yer?" continued the
voice, while the body still remained hidden from view.
Again Tim tried to discover the speaker, and failing in the attempt, he
asked, in a sort of frightened desperation, "Who are you anyhow?"
"Call off yer dog, and I'll show yer."
These words made Tim feel very much braver, for they showed that the
speaker as well as himself was frightened, and he lost no time in
reducing Tip to a state of subjection by clasping him firmly around the
neck.
"Now come out; he wouldn't hurt a fly, an' it's only his way to bark
when he's kinder scared."
Thus urged, the party afraid of the dog came out of his place of hiding,
which was none other than the branches of a tree, by simply dropping to
the ground--a proceeding which gave another shock to the nerves of both
Tim and Tip.
But there was nothing about him very alarming, and when Tim had a full
view of him, he was inclined to be angry with himself for having allowed
so short a boy to frighten him. He was no taller than Tim, and as near
as could be seen in the dim light, about as broad as he was long--a
perfect ball of jelly, with a face, two legs, and two arms carved on it.
It was impossible to gain a good view of his face, but that did not
trouble Tim, who was only anxious to learn who this boy was, and whether
he might be sufficiently acquainted with Captain Babbige to send him
news of the runaway.
The new-comer did not appear to be in any hurry to begin the
conversation, but stood with his hands in his pockets, eying Tim as
though he was some strange animal who might be expected to cut up queer
sort of antics at any moment.
"Hullo!" said Tim, after he thought the fat boy had looked at him quite
as long as was necessary.
"Hullo!" was the reply.
"Where did you come from?"
"Outer that tree there," replied the boy, gravely, as he pointed to the
place where he had been hiding.
"Yes, I saw you come out of there; but that ain't where you live, is
it?"
"No."
"Where do you live?" And Tim was beginning to think that it required a
great deal of labor to extract a small amount of knowledge from this fat
party.
"Oh, I live over the hill, about half a mile down the road. Got anything
good to eat?"
The question seemed so unnecessary and out of place, considering all the
circumstances, that Tim took no notice of it, but asked, "What's your
name?"
"Sam."
"Sam what?"
"I dunno, but I guess it's Simpson."
"Well, you're funny, if you ain't sure what your name is," said Tim,
thoughtfully, forgetting his own troubles in his curiosity about this
queer specimen. "What makes you think your name's Simpson?"
"'Cause that's my father's name."
By this time Tim had released his hold of Tip's neck, and the dog walked
around Sam on a sort of smelling tour, very much to the boy's
discomfort.
"Don't be afraid," said Tim; "he won't bite you. He's the best dog in
the world if you only let him alone."
"I'll let him alone," replied Sam, still in doubt as to Tip's good
intentions--"I'll let him alone, an' I wish he'd let me alone."
"He's only kinder gettin' acquainted, that's all. Say, do you s'pose
your father would let me sleep in his barn to-night?"
"I dunno. What do you want to for?"
"'Cause I ain't got any other place."
If Sam hadn't been so fat, he would probably have started in surprise;
but as it was, he expressed his astonishment by a kind of grunt, and
going nearer to Tim he asked, "Where do you live?'
"Nowhere. Me an' Tip are tryin' to find some place where we can earn
our own livin'," replied Tim, in doubt as to whether he ought to tell
this boy his whole story or not.
"Ain't you got any father or mother?"
"No," was the sad reply. "They're both dead, an' me an' Tip have to look
out for ourselves. We did live with Captain Babbige, but we couldn't
stand it any longer, an' so we started out on our own hook."
"Where do you get things to eat?"
"We've got some money to buy 'em with."
"How much you got?"
"I had two cents when I left Selman, an' Mr. Sullivan, that keeps a
store down to the mills, gave me two dollars."
"I'll tell you what let's do," said Sam, eagerly, as his eyes sparkled
with delight. "Jest the other side of my house there's a store, an' we
can go down there an' get two big sticks of candy, an' have an awful
good time."
Tim reflected a moment. He knew that he ought to keep his money; but
Sam's idea seemed such a good one that the thought of the pleasure which
would come with the eating of the candy was too much for his notions of
economy; therefore he compromised by saying, "I will, if you'll let me
sleep in your barn."
Sam quickly agreed to that (in order to get the candy he would probably
have promised to give the entire farm away), and the three--Sam, Tim,
and Tip--started off, the best of friends.
But before they had gone very far, Sam stopped in the middle of the
road, as he said, mournfully, "My! but I forgot all about the cow."
"What cow?"
"Father sent me down here to find old Whiteface, an' I forgot all about
her when I saw you."
"Well, why don't you find her now? Me an' Tip will help you."
"But it'll take so long, an' before we get back the store will be shut
up," objected Sam, who stood undecided in the road, as if he had half a
mind to leave old Whiteface to her fate while he made sure of the candy.
"Never mind if the store is shut up," said Tim, earnestly. "We can get
the candy just as well in the morning, an' perhaps we'll find her so
quick that there'll be plenty of time."
"Will you buy the candy in the mornin' if you don't to-night?"
"Yes, I will, honest."
"Cross your throat."
Tim went through the ceremony of crossing his throat to make his promise
more solemn, and search was made for the cow.
Up to this time it was plain that Sam did not feel any great amount of
love for or confidence in Tip; but when, after a few moments' search,
his loud bark told that he had discovered the missing cow, his future
was assured so far as Sam Simpson was concerned.
"Now that's somethin' like," he said, after they had started homeward.
"When you've got such a dog as that, all a feller's got to do is to sit
down an' send him after 'em. It's the awfulest hateful thing in the
world to go off huntin' cows when you don't want to."
Tim had many and serious doubts as to whether Tip could be depended on
to go for the cows alone, but he did not think it best to put those
doubts in words, lest he should deprive his pet of his new-found friend.
It was only a ten minutes' walk to Sam's home, and when the cow had been
led to her stall Tim proposed that Sam should ask permission for him to
sleep in the barn.
"There's time enough for that when we come back," was Sam's reply, the
thought of the candy he was to have in case they reached the store
before it was closed for the night driving all else from his mind. "Come
on; we'll catch Mr. Coburn if we hurry."
Now Tim would much rather have had the question settled as to his
sleeping quarters before starting out for pleasure; but Sam was so eager
for the promised feast that he felt obliged to do as he said, more
especially since it was through his influence that he hoped to receive
the favor.
Naturally Sam Simpson was not a quick-motioned boy, but no one could
have complained of the speed with which he went toward Mr. Coburn's
store that night, and Tim found it hard work to keep pace with him.
The store was open, but the proprietor was just making preparations for
closing. The candy, placed in two rather dirty glass jars, was in its
accustomed place, and beamed down upon them in all its sticky sweetness,
delighting Sam simply by the view to such an extent that his face was
covered with smiles.
With a gravity befitting the occasion and the amount of wealth he was
about to squander, Tim asked to be allowed to see the goods he proposed
to buy, in order to make sure they were of the proper length.
Old Mr. Coburn rubbed his glasses carefully, wiped his face as a sort of
preface to his task, and set about making this last sale of the day with
the air of a man who knows he is called upon to deal with very exacting
customers.
[Illustration: PEPPERMINT, OR LEMON?]
It was fully five minutes before Tim could settle the weighty question
as to whether it was better to buy a stick of peppermint and one of
lemon, and thus by dividing them get two distinct treats, or to take
both of one kind, and thus prevent any dispute as to whether he had made
a just and equal division.
While this struggle was going on in the purchaser's mind, Sam fidgeted
around, standing first on one foot and then on the other, watching every
movement Tim made, while Tip searched over every portion of the store,
very much to Mr. Coburn's annoyance.
The decision was finally made, but not before Mr. Coburn hinted that he
could not afford to burn a quart of oil in order that his customers
might see how to spend two cents, and with a peppermint stick in one
hand and a lemon stick in the other Tim left the store, followed by Sam
and preceded by Tip.
To make a fair division of the sweet feast was quite as great a task as
the purchase had been, and it was begun in the gravest manner.
The two sticks were carefully measured, and by the aid of Sam's
half-bladed jackknife broken at the proper place. A large rock by the
side of the road served as seat, and there the two boys munched away as
slowly as possible, in order that the feast might be prolonged to the
utmost.
Tip sat close by, watching every mouthful in a hungry way, but refusing
the portion Tim offered him.
Now that the feast was fast fading away into only a remembrance, the
thought of where he was to spend the night began to trouble Tim again,
and he asked, anxiously, "Sure your father will let me sleep in the
barn?"
Before the candy had been purchased, the fat boy had been perfectly sure
Tim could sleep in his father's barn, but now that the dainty was in his
possession, he began to have some doubts on the subject.
"I'll tell you what we'll do," he said, his mouth so full of candy that
Tim could hardly understand him. "Father an' mother will be in bed when
we get home, an' it won't be any use to bother 'em. You come right up
stairs to bed with me, an' we'll fix it in the morning."
"I'd rather ask them, an' sleep in the barn," said Tim, not half liking
this plan.
"But they'll be asleep, an' you can't," was the quiet reply.
"Then I'd rather go in the barn anyway."
"Now see here," said Sam, with an air of wisdom, as he sucked the
remaining particles of candy from his fingers, "I know father an' mother
better 'n you do, don't I?"
"Yes," replied Tim, glad that Sam had made one statement with which he
could agree.
"Then you do jest as I tell you. We'll creep up stairs like a couple of
mice, an' in the morning I'll fix everything. Mother wouldn't want you
to sleep in the barn when you could come with me as well as not; an' you
do as I tell you."
It did not seem to Tim that he could do anything else, and he said, as
he slid down from the rock, "I'll do it, Sam, but I'd rather you'd ask
them."
Sam, content with having gained his point, walked silently along with
Tim by his side, and followed by Tip, who acted as if he knew he was
going out to spend the night without a proper invitation.
When they reached the house, not a light was to be seen, and the three
crept up stairs, not quite as softly as mice, but so quietly that Mr.
and Mrs. Simpson did not hear them.
That night Sam, Tim, and Tip lay on one bed, and neither of them lost
any sleep by thinking of his possible reception in the morning.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]