THE CROWNING OF ANDY MCNEAL
Sam White's burial was a very simple affair. In that time of need and
anxiety men were off upon their country's business. Few could stay to
mourn. The pastor himself read the simple service in a voice of pride,
broken by a father's grief. He said that God would not let the sacrifice
pass unheeded. Since Sam had heard the call, and then had been so
suddenly taken away, another would be raised up to do his work; another
who, through Sam, might be touched more than in any other way.
Andy, standing in the little group about the open grave, at this raised
his eyes, and he found Ruth's wide, tearless gaze fixed upon him. Andy
smiled bravely back at her, for his heart was strong within him.
After it was over and the few neighbors gone, Andy and Ruth remained to
scatter flowers upon the young hero's bed, and cover up the bareness of
the place.
"Ruth," said Andy in a whisper, "I think my chance has come!"
"Your chance, Andy?"
"Aye. I have been thinking that Sam's being taken has aroused me, and
given me courage, just as your father said, and--and last night the
chance began!" Then he told her of much that had occurred. Ruth knelt
among the flowers, her young face glowing.
"Oh! I shall have some one to watch," she panted, "some one to help
while he works. Oh! Andy, you do not know how I long to help, and be
part of this great time. I go on long walks, and I hear and see so much.
Down on the Bowery I heard a group say the other day that General
Washington was going to burn the town and order the people to flee. One
man said, did he order such a thing, he, for one, would go over to the
British; and, Andy, there was a great shout from the other men! I felt
my heart burn, for did our General order _me_ to go, then would I go
whither and where he ordered; nor would I question, so great is my trust
in him. And did he burn all, even my home, yet would I gladly obey, for
I would _know_ he was doing wisely. So greatly do I honor him that I
think, next to God, I trust our General!"
The young face glowed and quivered, and Andy, with the spirit of
hero-worship growing upon his recent experiences, panted in excitement
as she spoke.
"I, too, would follow, and never question," he said. "Never fear, Ruth;
what the General expects of me, that will I do. Not even death do I
fear--it comes but once!" The boyish voice rang clear.
Suddenly, Ruth started toward the house. "Wait," she said, "I have
something for you." She was back in a moment, bearing Sam's cap. "The
time has come," she faltered, and there were tears in her eyes. "I--I
want to crown you, Andy McNeal." She removed Andy's rough cap and
replaced it with Sam's.
"I'll keep the old one," she said, "and--and if you should fail to do
bravely, you can have your own!" Then she dashed away the tears.
"Forgive me, Andy McNeal!" she sobbed; "you will never fail. There is
hero blood in your body, I know, and it may be that your lameness will
aid you in accomplishing tasks that a lusty lad could never attempt."
Andy raised his head proudly and the new crown set not badly on his
boyish curls.
"I must go," he breathed. "I will come every day unless--you know,
Ruth?"
The girl nodded, and so they parted silently, Ruth pressing the old hat
to her aching heart, and taking up the woman's part in those troubling
times; the part of the watching, waiting one.
The days following became filled with one longing for Andy. The longing
for Washington's messenger. Unless he came soon, the boy feared that he
would be too late. During his own recent explorations beyond the lines,
he heard much that warned him that the British were planning something
of grave importance.
Andy had told his mother and Ruth nothing of Washington's anticipated
messenger. They knew merely that Andy had ferried the great General
across the river--was that not enough? Had they known for what the boy
was eagerly watching, they could not have done their own daily tasks.
"He has an eager, watchful air," Janie confided to Ruth. "I am thinking
the lad expects the General to pass this way again. Lightning and _such_
happenings do not strike twice in the same spot."
Ruth smiled gently. "I do not think Andy walks as lame as he did," she
mused, watching the boy disappearing down a woody path.
"He is always on the go," Janie broke in. "He practices walking without
his crutch more than I think wise; but one can do little with men-folk!"
Janie tossed her head proudly. Andy was a growing delight to her.
"It may do him good," Ruth added; "he looks stronger and--and gladder."
"He has gone beyond me," the mother sighed. "I--I begin to know, lass,
the happy feeling a mother has when her heart aches with loneliness
and--and pride! What ails you, lass?" For Ruth had started and given a
short cry.
"Why--why--" laughed the girl, "I am thinking my eyes are playing me
false. I was watching Andy up the path, and I saw him as clear as I see
you this minute--and then he was gone!"
"Do not get flighty, Ruth." Janie came close, however, and peered up the
path. "You and Andy will drive me daft. The path is a straight, clean
one; had Andy been on it, he would still be in sight. I'm thinking he
turned before he came to the brook bed. You did not notice, but your
thoughts kept agoing on."
"Perhaps," nodded Ruth, but Janie knew she was unconvinced.
On her way home soon after, Ruth began to ponder. Once clear of Janie's
observant eye, the girl turned back through the shrubbery, and ran to
the spot where she had last seen Andy. All was as silent as a breathless
summer day could make it. There was no side-path; no broken bushes.
"He _was_ here," breathed the girl, "and he disappeared like a flash!"
Then she knelt down and tried to trace footprints in the mossy earth.
"Ah!" she smiled, for there was a crushed space at the edge of a brambly
cluster of bushes. She quietly drew aside the branches, and a look of
wonder grew in the bright eyes. So cunningly concealed, that even her
native-bred keenness might never have espied it, lay a path, and among
the bushes, Andy's crutch! Should she follow? In the old days Ruth would
not have paused. But these were not play-days; Andy might be upon grave
business. Reverently she drew back, and replaced the disorder she had
caused among the parted leaves. Suddenly a step startled her. She turned
sharply. Up the path came a British soldier, whistling a gay tune and
eyeing her boldly.
More than once had Ruth encountered these most ungallant gentlemen, and
she was alert at resenting any familiarity, but a fear grew in her heart
now. Andy's path must not be discovered! She must do her part.
"Good-day, my pretty lass!" The man halted. Under ordinary
circumstances Ruth would have taken to her fleet feet at this, but Andy
might return too soon, and emerge while yet the enemy could discover
him.
"Berrying?" grinned the fellow; "August is early for berries, is it not?
The man was suspicious, perhaps, and Ruth was on guard.
"For some kinds," she answered, lightly.
"What kind are you hunting?"
"One that you British do not know," she replied; "it's a kind that grows
only in America and thrives upon freedom."
The soldier leered unpleasantly. "Come, I will help you hunt," he cried;
"if we find a berry I cannot name, you may ask what reward you choose,
and if I succeed then will I take a kiss from your red lips, eh, my
girl?"
Ruth darted an angry look upward. If they hunted, the cane would be
discovered, and yet if she refused--well, she must act quickly.
"Is it a bargain?"
"Yes;" the word came bravely from a trembling courage.
[Illustration: "'GOOD DAY, MY PRETTY LASS.'"]
The two knelt and began the search. Ruth pressed the bushes so as to
cover Andy's cane, but as her keen eyes fell upon the spot where it had
been, to her surprise and joy, she saw that it was gone!
A cry broke from her, for, as she realized that that danger was past,
she saw, near at hand, a plant so rare even to her woodland eyes, that
it was precious. Thanks to her learned father, she knew its name, and
the spray of waxen berries was her salvation.
"See!" she cried, "you have brought good luck. 'Tis a rare find. Now I
pray you, sir, name the berry I hold in my hand."
The man was searching the underbrush, and turned half angrily. "What
have you?" he snarled. Ruth knew that Andy was near, but no breath was
heard.
"Name the berry, sir, or I claim my advantage!" Ruth stood upright with
the spray in her hand.
"Wintergreen," ventured the fellow, wildly.
"Wrong!" sneered Ruth, "and there is no second trial."
"How can you prove me wrong?" jeered the man, coming insolently close;
"who is to decide?"
"Your head officer, sir," flashed Ruth; "lead on, I will gladly leave it
to him. After he has heard the tale from me--from _me_, mark--I will
leave it to him. Perhaps there is one gentleman in the king's troops.
Lead on! Why stand staring when your stake is so high!" A dignity and
fearlessness came to the angry girl.
"Do you lead, or shall I?" she asked.
"I--I beg your pardon!" cringed the fellow, "I will abide by your
decision."
"Go, then!" cried Ruth, her temper breaking bounds, "and if you are a
sample of my Lord Howe's men, I am thinking our General will have but a
short tussle. Go!"
The man retraced his steps, sulkily. He had been foraging on his own
account, and had unearthed bigger game than he could manage.
Ruth watched the man until he passed from sight. As she turned about she
faced Andy sitting among the bushes. She jumped, then laughed nervously.
"How did you get your cane?" she asked.
"I was not six feet away." Andy's voice was strangely calm. "I hope you
know, Ruth," he faltered, 'that had things turned out differently, I
would have been with you. You know that?"
"Yes, Andy." A flush came to the pale face. "I think I feared you would
come more than anything else. But I do not trust that fellow. He will
come back. I know he was suspicious. Choose another way--next time!"
"Aye, and I'll stop up this trail. Good-by, Ruth. Hurry, I will wait
until you are safe, and this passage made harmless."
For a few days longer Andy remained near home, not caring to run the
risk of seeking the longer path of which he knew, while the Britisher's
suspicions might still be alert. Once or twice he had met the fellow on
the public highway, and he feared to arouse any further cause for
watchfulness. He had discovered, also, that the man had gone back to the
spot where he had encountered Ruth, but Andy laughed, when he recalled
how cunningly he had hidden the trail. But now the boy could wait no
longer, he must try to get near the lines and listen.
Taking the longer way, he left his crutch hidden inside a cave-like
opening. He would never again trust the outside. Then in true Indian
fashion he crept along through the rocky passage. He reached the other
end and for an hour or more waited patiently, but only the passing of a
lonely sentinel rewarded him, and he guessed that no news would come
that way.
He dared not emerge from his shelter, for the day was too bright and
clear, the sentinel would surely spy him, and better no news than to
give away the secret of the passage. Disappointedly he crept back, and
at the other end put his hand cautiously forth to grasp his crutch. Then
he became instantly aware that he was discovered, for his hand was
grasped in a firm, unyielding clutch.
Andy's heart stood still. He had no doubt but that Ruth's annoyer had
dogged his steps and had captured him. But there was little of the
coward about Andy; he would face the worst. He pushed through the tangle
of leaves, trying to free his hand, but the clasp was like iron. The
captor was not the Britisher, but a man of quite another sort. He was
young, handsome, splendidly formed. As he lay at full length upon the
moss Andy thought he had never seen so tall a man. He wore velvet
knee-breeches, long blue coat, and a wide-brimmed hat, which shielded a
pair of friendly, laughing eyes. One glance and Andy lost all fear.
"Now that you have come from your hole, you young mole, good-morning to
you, and where have you fared?" The voice was ringing and full of cheer.
"Good-morning, sir," Andy made answer.
"And where have you fared?"
"That I cannot tell you, sir."
"You cannot tell me!" the man sighed, impatiently. "Now, do you know,
for a moment I fancied that you were just the lad who could guide me
over your interesting island. What with all this excitement, a peaceful
traveler has no show above-ground. I hoped you might lead me
mole-fashion."
"I will gladly show you through the pass, sir, as far as the gate a
mile or so below."
"As far as the gate! Always as far as something! I want to go
beyond--'as far!' What care I for countersigns and passports. I want the
freedom of the island, and a chance to study its rocks and flowers and
very interesting weeds. Boys often know paths unknown to any one
else--except Indians!"
"But I am a lame boy much dependent upon a crutch."
"You can dispense with it at times," laughed the stranger. "For a good
two hours you did without it to-day. It and I have been keeping company.
I followed you at a distance, thinking easily to overtake you, when
piff! you were gone, and I and the crutch--for you see I searched the
hole--were alone!"
For some moments Andy's hand had been free, and now as he looked at the
speaker he saw that he was holding in his open palm the charm which last
he had beheld that glorious morning by the riverside.
With a glad cry he sprang up. "I am Andy McNeal!" he said, and he
doffed Sam's hat, which was his only martial possession.
"And I--am the schoolmaster!"
The two clasped hands. That was the beginning. Through the following
days the master abode in Janie's house. The good woman asked no
questions. Her curiosity burned and burned, but wisdom held it in check.
Enough that Andy was the companion of this mighty person. Enough that
her humble roof sheltered him, and her able hands served him faithfully.
It was wonderful, and--enough. Ruth, too, throbbed with excitement, but
went her ways calmly as if it were a common enough thing for a splendid
schoolmaster to suddenly undertake Andy's neglected education, and pay
for his lodging and board by instructing the hostess's son.
This was what was going on. Book in hand the two walked abroad quite
openly. Sometimes it would be rocks or flowers they were bent upon
understanding, at other times the intricacies of the English language
were the paths they followed. Occasionally Ruth would be asked to join
in the walks and talks, but oftener they were alone. There were real
lessons. Andy pondered upon them deeply, and his hungry mind fed upon
the feast. Of course, so fine a master walking abroad with the lame boy,
aroused the notice of the sentinels, but to their questions he answered
so glibly, that there remained nothing to do but ask more. The game
became tiresome.
The tutor and his pupil kept within bounds, so there was no excuse for
interference. But one day, quite lost in abstraction, the two passed
beyond the gate at the end of the pass, and strolled down the road
patroled by the British. Suddenly a loud "Halt!" made Andy jump. A look
of surprise passed over the master's face as a bayonet was thrust in
front of him.
The soldier was the one who had accosted Ruth; Andy knew him at once.
"Dear me! dear me!" cried the master, querulously, "after seeing us pass
to and fro so often, one would not think it necessary to resort to such
rudeness. Pray, good fellow, is not this his Majesty's highway, and free
to all?"
"No," grumbled the sentinel, lowering his weapon; "what's your
business?"
"Schoolmaster."
"I do not mean that. I see you prodding around rocks and weeds with your
noses in books, but I want to know what you mean on this road?"
"I desire to take a walk on it. I have no weapon, I am a peaceful
person. May I pass?"
"You better turn back. This road is sentineled all the way to camp.
You're too simple to go alone. You are an American?"
"Certainly. Born and bred in the colonies."
"A rebel?"
"Sir!"
"A rebel, I say?"
"I am loyal to the heart's core!" the master replied. "Come, Andy, the
way back is doubtless more pleasant for peaceful folk than the way
before. Conjugate to live, Andy."
Once beyond sight and hearing of the foe, the master bared his head.
"Loyal we are, and we know to whom! But how long it takes to disarm
their doubts!"