The voices went on, but Jesse's power of listening seemed gone. He had
to clutch the ladder for support. What could he do?
It was clear to his mind that Bill had come back for some evil deed.
What was it he had come to steal? Jesse shook with terror, but tried to
remember just what Bill had said, and just where this hidden treasure
lay. _The cupboard to the right of the fire-place, under the floor._ It
was always locked, he knew that. Oh, if only he dared move!
The wind and rain seemed to make the most unearthly noises as poor
little Jesse crept to the door and sped across the yard. There was no
light in the old kitchen but that of the fire. At first he was glad of
this; it seemed to protect him from Bill and his wicked companion. But
on second thoughts he remembered that if they saw the house in darkness,
they might conclude it safe to come in for their evil purpose; and so he
lighted two candles, placing them on the table near the window. This
done, he went to the cupboard door, and looking at it in perplexity and
terror, wondered what he ought to do next.
His one distinct idea was that he must in some way save Miss Holsover's
treasure, whatever it might be. He did not care how or with what he
wrenched the cupboard door open; but when it fell back there was a new
difficulty, and every sound outside seemed to increase his nervousness
and dread.
Nothing of importance was on the shelves; but Bill had said _under the
floor_. How could he move the flooring? Finally, taking the screw-driver
he had used in forcing open the door, he put the edge of the instrument
into the crack, and to his delight found that the old plank yielded.
He searched narrowly, and there, protected by a wooden box, lay a
smaller one of tin, and a package tied with faded ribbon.
Jesse did not stop to look at what he had found. Blowing out his candle,
he gathered them up as quickly as his trembling fingers would allow, and
then, with one hasty thought what to do, he rushed to the front door,
and sped away in the darkness.
For the first few moments he had no definite idea of where he meant to
go. His main thought was to get away from Bill, and save Miss Holsover's
treasure.
Suddenly he thought of Mr. North, and turning down the lane by the
cross-roads, he walked along toward his house as swiftly as possible.
That there was money in the box he held, Jesse never doubted; but what
the package contained was more mysterious. There were papers, and he
could feel a frame and glass. But he did not even think what it might
be. He was too worn out by excitement to have any clear ideas. The road
ahead of him seemed endless, and so dark that it seemed as if he could
never find his way.
But happily his long walks on Miss Holsover's errands stood him in good
stead. He knew all the country for miles around, and had grown fearless
from habit.
As he went along he thought with a pang of his preparations to leave the
farm, and that perhaps no chance would come again when he would feel
courageous enough to go.
Then another thought came. Suppose Miss Holsover refused to believe that
Bill had meant to rob her cupboard, and asserted that the real thief was
Jesse himself? This was more than likely, and the child shuddered,
thinking of the result. Well, he knew he was doing his duty.
Poor, tired little Jesse! He looked up at the dark sky, and knew that
beyond it there was One who always _knew_. Comfort came with the
thought. He pushed on bravely, holding the box and package with a firmer
grasp.
* * * * *
Mr. North had had his supper, and was sitting at his comfortable
fireside smoking his pipe, while Mrs. North, in the little inside
kitchen, was making a cheerful clatter with the supper dishes.
Suddenly their attention was arrested as by something falling against
the outer door.
"What's that noise?" exclaimed the old lady.
"I don't know," Mr. North said, jumping up and putting down his pipe. He
disappeared from the kitchen, and Mrs. North, accustomed to her son's
always doing the right thing, quietly waited.
He was only gone two minutes, but he returned with a slower step. In his
arms he bore Jesse's apparently lifeless figure. His poor garments hung
wet about him--his face against Mr. North's rough coat was like some
rain-washed, beaten-down white flower; but his thin little hands still
clasped the "treasure."
"Why, Peter North!" exclaimed the old lady.
Mr. North slowly shook his head.
"Ef that thar old fiend has killed him," he whispered, solemnly, "I vow
I'll hev her hung."
Very tenderly he deposited the child on the big soft lounge which stood
not far from the fire-place, and it was not long before he and his
mother had devised restoratives.
Mrs. North knew just what to do. She ran up stairs, and in a few moments
a bright wood fire was crackling in the spare room, while she and her
little servant Jenny aired sheets, and made a comfortable bed. Jesse was
soon brought up stairs, and snugly tucked in.
Then after administering a hot drink, and bidding him go to sleep, the
good lady went down to her son again.
He was standing before the fire, holding Miss Holsover's treasure in his
hands. Jesse had contrived to make them understand what had happened at
the farm, but something else was absorbing the good-hearted man.
"Mother," he said, "jest look here. These things are that child's. Look
what's written on the package." And he handed it to Mrs. North. The old
lady scanned it curiously. In a faded but delicate and refined hand was
written the following:
"For my child Jesse. To be sent to my brother, Paul Martin, ---- Beacon
Street, Boston, July 6, 1865."
"I see through it all," said Mr. North. "That old skinflint has kep' 'em
from him. Seems to me we ought to look to it that he never goes back."
Mrs. North looked at her son with moistened eyes.
"It's the Lord as sent him," she said, softly, and Mr. North bowed his
head.
* * * * *
The sun was shining brightly St. Valentine's morning when Mr. North,
leaving Jesse on the lounge near the fire, started for Boston.
Once in that city, he proceeded directly to the Beacon Street address.
It was a quiet old-fashioned house on a corner, and on Mr. North's
inquiry of the butler for Mr. Martin, he was told that that gentleman
had been dead five years, but his widow lived there. So Mr. North was
ushered into a beautiful room, full of books and pictures and quiet
colors, to wait for the lady of the house.
In a few moments an elegantly dressed, gentle-looking lady came into the
room, and good Mr. North turned to her, stammering out his story.
"How remarkable!" exclaimed Mrs. Martin. "I am sure it is my husband's
nephew Jesse. Oh, if he had but lived to see this day! His sister Helen
ran away from home to marry a young sailor, and she was never heard from
again. This Miss Holsover must have known her. But why should she not
have brought the child to us, when poor Helen so evidently desired it?"
Mrs. Martin opened the package eagerly. Within were several letters from
Paul Martin to his sister, and one long one from Helen to her brother,
which had evidently been written during her last illness. In it she
spoke of having found board with Miss Holsover, to whom she had
intrusted her valuable jewels and all her money and her poor little
child, Miss Holsover promising to take all to Boston when she was dead.
"There is the secret," exclaimed Mrs. Martin, looking up from the letter
with streaming eyes. "The wretched woman kept the jewels and money, and
made the child her drudge. Oh, my poor little Jesse, if I can only find
you!"
Mr. North had a sumptuous dinner before he and Mrs. Martin started out
for B----. Then some time was devoted to making purchases for Jesse's
comfort and convenience. Mr. North looked on in mute admiration while
Mrs. Martin purchased a warm suit, a stylish little overcoat trimmed
with handsome fur, and a warm seal cap, not to speak of shoes and
stockings and all sorts of underwear.
Then they were on board the train, and whirling on toward B---- and
Jesse.
* * * * *
It had not been a long day to the poor boy. He lay on the sofa, glad of
the repose. As the twilight deepened, night and a snow-storm set in.
Jesse watched the window, and listened eagerly for every sound of
wheels; but he fell asleep before Mrs. Martin and Mr. North arrived, and
awoke to find himself in his aunt's arms.
It was a blissful evening. Jesse was too weak to move; but he lay still,
holding his new aunt's hands, and half crying with joy. Mr. North had
gone over to the farm, and on his return brought the word that Miss
Holsover refused to make any explanation, and declared herself well rid
of a troublesome charge. A little threatening, however, induced her to
give up the key of the tin box. In it were found the money and jewels
which the miserly old woman had evidently been hoarding.
What became of Bill and his companion they never knew, and Mrs. Martin
declared herself so happy to have Jesse that they could afford to forget
the Holsovers forever.
* * * * *
It was about three years later, when Mr. and Mrs. North were spending
the 14th of February at Mrs. Martin's house, that Jesse, a very
different-looking person from the poor little waif of former times, put
his hand on his first friend's shoulder, and, smiling, said,
"Mr. North, do you remember the day you gave me that lift?"
"Of course I do, Master Jesse," he answered, looking at the boy's
bright, happy face as he stood near him. Then he glanced around the
beautiful room, to which the handsomely dressed figure seemed so well
adapted.
"Well," said Jesse, "you remember how you told me what valentines
meant?"
"Now you speak of it, I believe I do."
"Don't you think I got mine?" the boy continued, gently. "And it was you
who brought it to me, after all."
They did not speak for a moment; then the good-hearted man said,
quietly: "No, my boy; it was you doing your duty. Instead of seeking to
be revenged on that poor woman, who's in her grave now, you did what was
right, and God sent you your valentine."
And Jesse, happy in his aunt's home, seeing his old friends often,
cheering many lives, and being grateful for his blessings, brings new
happiness and comfort to others with every year. And the sunshine of the
present has put far into the past the night he left the lonely
farm-house unconsciously carrying his first valentine.