except the snow-man shining weirdly in the pale moonlight. However, the
words, whoever spoke them, set Bob a thinking, and instead of breaking
the schoolmaster’s windows, he went home again and got into bed.
That was in January, and when January was done February came, as
happens in most years. February brought good fortune--at least Bob’s
mother said so, for she got a job as charwoman at the squire’s, for
which she was well paid.
It did not turn out so very well, though, after all, for the butler
said she stole a silver spoon, and told the squire so; and if the
butler could have proved what he said, the squire would have sent her
to prison; only he could not, so she got off, and Bob’s mother declared
that she had no doubt the butler took the spoon himself.
“All right,” said Bob to himself, “I’ll try the strength of my new
oaken stick across that butler’s back.”
And he meant it, too, for that very evening he shouldered his cudgel
and tramped away to the big house. And when he got there the door stood
wide open, so in he walked.
Now there hung in the hall the portrait of a queer old lady in a stiff
frill and a long waist, and an old-fashioned hoop petticoat; and when
Bob entered the house what should this old lady do but shake her head
at him! To be sure there was only a flickering lamp in the entry, and
Bob thought at first it must have been the dim light and his own fancy,
so he went striding through the hall with his cudgel in his hand.
“Better not, Bob!” said the old lady. “Better wait a bit!”
“Why, they won’t let me do anything!” grumbled Bob; but he went home
without thrashing the butler, all the same.
That was in February, you know. Well, when February was done, March
came, and with it came greater ill-fortune than ever; for Bob’s father
was driving his master’s horse and cart to market, when, what should
jump out of the ditch but old Nanny Jones’s donkey, an ugly beast at
the best of times, and enough to frighten any horse; but what must the
brute do on this occasion but set up a terrific braying, which sent
Farmer Thornycroft’s new horse nearly out of his wits, so that he
backed the cart and all that was in it--including Bob’s father--into
the ditch. A pretty sight they looked there, for the horse was sitting
where the driver ought to be, and Bob’s father was seated, much against
his wish, in a large basket full of eggs, with his legs sticking out
one side and his head the other.
Of course Farmer Thornycroft did not like to lose his eggs--who
would?--for even the most obliging hens cannot be persuaded to lay an
extra number in order to make up for those that are broken; but for
all that Farmer Thornycroft had no right to lay all the blame on Bob’s
father, and stop two shillings out of his week’s wage. So Bob’s father
protested, and that made Farmer Thornycroft angry, and then, since fire
kindles fire, Bob’s father grew angry too, and called the farmer a
cruel brute; so the farmer dismissed him, and gave him no wages at all.
We can hardly be surprised that when Bob heard of all this he felt a
trifle out of sorts, but the desire for vengeance which he felt could
hardly be justified. He went pelting over the fields, and all the way
he went he muttered to himself:
“A cruel shame I call it, but I’ll pay him out; I mean to let his sheep
out of the pen, and then I will just go and tell him that I’ve done it.”
Now, the field just before you come to Farmer Thornycroft’s sheep-pen
was sown with spring wheat, and they had put up a scarecrow there
to frighten the birds away. The scarecrow was very much down in the
world--his coat had no buttons and his hat had no brim, and his
trousers had only a leg and a half--his well-to-do relations in the
tailors’ windows would not have cared to meet him in the street at
all. But even the ragged and unfortunate have their feelings, and the
scarecrow was truly sorry to see Bob scouring across the field in such
a temper; so just as Bob passed him, he flapped out at him with one
sleeve, and the boy turned sharply round to see who it was.
“Only a scarecrow,” said he, “blown about by the wind,” and went on
his way. But as he went, strange to say, he heard, or thought he heard,
a voice call after him, “Better not, Bob! Better wait a bit!”
So Bob went home again and never let the sheep astray after all, but he
thought it very hard that he might not punish either the schoolmaster,
or the butler, or the farmer.
_Father Pan’s Revenge_
Now the folk that hide behind the shadows thought well of Bob for his
self-restraint, and they determined that they would work for him and
make all straight again; so when Bob went down to the river side next
day, and took out his knife to cut some reeds for “whistle-pipes,”
Father Pan breathed upon the reeds and enchanted them.
“What a breeze!” exclaimed Bob; but he knew nothing at all of what had
in reality happened.
Bob finished his pan-pipes, and trudged along and whistled on them to
his heart’s content. When he got to the village he was surprised to
see a little girl begin to dance to his tune, and then another little
girl, and then another. Bob was so astonished that he left off playing
and stood looking at them, open-mouthed, with wonder; but so soon as
ever he left off playing, the little girls ceased to dance; and as soon
as they had recovered their breath they began to beg him not to play
again, for the whistle-pipes, they were sure, must be bewitched.
“Ho! ho!” cried Bob, “here’s a pretty game; I’ll just give the
schoolmaster a turn. Come, that will not do him any harm, at any rate!”
Strange to say, at that very moment the schoolmaster came along the
street.
“Toot! toot! toot! tweedle, tweedle, toot!” went the pan-pipes, and
away went the schoolmaster’s legs, cutting such capers as the world
never looked upon before. Gayly trudged Bob along the street, and gayly
danced the schoolmaster. The people looked out of their windows and
laughed, and the poor schoolmaster begged Bob to leave off playing.
“No, no,” answered Bob; “I saw you make poor little Ralph Ruddy dance
with pain. It is your turn now.”
Just then the squire’s butler came down the street. Of course he was
much puzzled to see the schoolmaster dancing to the sound of a boy’s
whistle, but he was presently more surprised to find himself doing the
very same thing. He tried with all his might to retain his stately
gait; but it was all of no use, his legs flew up in spite of himself,
and away he went behind the schoolmaster, following Bob all through the
village.
The best sight was still to come; for the tyrannical Farmer Thornycroft
was just then walking home from market in a great heat, with a big
sample of corn in each of his side-pockets, and turning suddenly round
a corner, went right into the middle of the strange procession and
caught the infection in a moment. Up flew his great fat legs, and away
he went, pitching and tossing, and jumping and twirling, and jigging up
and down like an elephant in a fit.
How the people laughed, to be sure, standing in their doorways and
viewing this odd trio! It was good for them that they did not come
too near, or they would have been seized with the fit as well. The
schoolmaster was nearly fainting, the butler was in despair, and the
perspiration poured down the farmer’s face; but that mattered not to
Bob; he had promised himself to take them for a dance all round the
village, and he did it; and, at length, when he had completed the tour,
he stopped for just one minute, and asked the schoolmaster whether he
would beg Ralph Ruddy’s pardon, and the schoolmaster said he would if
only Bob would leave off playing. Then he asked the farmer if he would
take his father back and pay him his wages, and the farmer said he
would; and finally he asked the butler if he would give up the spoon
that he had stolen, and confess to the squire that Bob’s mother had
nothing to do with it, but the butler said, “Oh, no, indeed!”
[Illustration: AWAY WENT THE SCHOOLMASTER’S LEGS, CUTTING SUCH CAPERS
AS THE WORLD NEVER LOOKED UPON BEFORE]
So Bob began to play again, and they all began to dance again, till
at last the schoolmaster and the farmer both punched the butler until
he promised; and then Bob left off playing. The three poor men went
home in a terrible plight; and the schoolmaster begged little Ralph’s
pardon, and the butler cleared the stain from Bob’s mother’s character,
and Bob’s father went back to work, and Farmer Thornycroft soon
afterwards took Bob on too, and he made the best farm-boy that ever
lived.
* * * * *
The Story Lady rested a minute while the Story People were laughing
and talking about what they had heard. As she began again, there was
instant silence.
“The next story,” she said, “is that of a brave girl who lived in the
work-a-day world.”
XXVIII
ANN CATCHES A THIEF
AS a rule the office in which Ann Carstairs was employed did not close
until six o’clock, but at five-thirty on the December afternoon of this
story Ann found herself alone.
At four, the heads of the firm left for the day; and the billing clerk
and the stenographer, taking advantage of the absence of authority,
helped themselves to an extra half hour.
“We have a little shopping to do,” the billing clerk explained as they
passed Ann’s desk.
Before they reached the stair door, the inside salesman closed his desk
with a snap, and seized his hat and coat.
“Wait a minute, girls,” he called; “I’ll take you down to Broadway in
my machine.” As he followed them he said to Ann, “Good night, Miss
Carstairs, don’t stay late!”
A few minutes after they had gone, Mr. Bradford, the bookkeeper,
closed the safe and twirled the nickel knob gayly; “I’m off, too,” he
announced. “I’m going to leave the vault for you to close to-night,
Miss Ann.”
He shrugged himself into his overcoat and departed stiffly. He had
worked hard over his books that afternoon, and his legs and arms were
aching in unison with his head. He came back for a moment to turn off
some of the big lights.
“No use wasting electricity,” he explained. “No one will be in this
evening, and a little girl like you can’t use all this light.”
A minute later Ann heard the street door at the foot of the stairs
close with a bang, and she was left all alone in the big office.
She was not sorry to be alone. The day had been hard, and her nerves
had been near the breaking point all the afternoon. The switchboard was
Ann’s special charge, but she also took care of the odds and ends of
copy work and dictation for her busy associates. Odds and ends have a
curious way of accumulating and Ann seldom had a spare moment.
“I’m just dead tired,” she declared aloud, raising her arms above her
head in a vain effort to relieve their ache. “I’m always snowed under
with work, yet no one seems to think I have anything to do. It’s just:
‘Miss Carstairs, will you copy that for me?’ ‘I’ll give you a letter
now, Miss Carstairs, and you can run it off in your spare time.’ Spare
time! Did any one ever see me with a moment to spare? They don’t think
I amount to a row of pins, anyway. I’d just like to show them; I’d like
to let Mr. Ross see that I do amount to something.”
Mr. Ross was the senior partner of the big manufacturing plant, and
eighteen-year-old Ann admired him immensely. He was so calm, so quiet,
and yet so forceful; a splendid business man, but one whose family’s
wants and wishes were cared for before all else. Ann knew he must be an
ideal father, for he possessed all the qualities that Ann’s own father
had lacked.
Mr. Carstairs had been far from an ideal parent and had ended his
selfish, careless life just as Ann was preparing to enter college. Ann
and her mother had bravely gathered together what money remained, and
Ann started off to a business school instead.
For three months she worked feverishly night and day, and at the end
of that time, when their finances were in a precarious condition, she
left the school to enter the manufacturing firm of Ross and Hayward.
She had been there for nearly two years now, years of worry and careful
planning to make the slender salary cover growing needs.
“We have almost proved that the necessities of life are unnecessary,
so nearly have we come to getting along on next to nothing,” she had
laughingly told her mother only the evening before.
But though she joked about it, the situation was becoming serious, and
Ann had reached the place where she felt that she must steel herself to
the point of asking for more wages.
“Do people always have to ask for an increase?” she wondered.
“Everybody here treats me as if I were a child, except when it comes to
giving me work. That’s a different matter.”
Ann did not as a rule complain about the amount of work she had to do.
Instead, she was rather proud of being able to accomplish so much in
a single day. To-night, however, she was tired and all out of sorts.
She felt, too, that her looks were all against her. Curly hair and
freckles, added to a diminutive figure, gave her a decidedly childlike
appearance.
“I wish,” she declared to herself, “I wish I were tall and had straight
hair, and wrinkles around my mouth. What chance has anyone to advance
when she is short and freckled? I just must make them sit up and take
notice!”
She glanced around her with a proprietary look as she spoke. Her desk
and switchboard were in the outer office near the head of the short
flight of stairs leading from the street door, and commanded a view of
the entrance door and the stairway leading to the upper floors. At the
extreme end of the room was the entrance to the stock room, and beside
it the great iron door leading to the vault where the business records
were kept. In the dark corner by the vault door stood two tall piles of
sales books. Since the bookkeeper had turned off the extra lights, the
big office was lighted only by the globe above Ann’s head. The heavy
presses and machinery in the factory, running at full speed, shook the
building, and their roar and clatter sounded unusually loud now that
the office was quiet.
The switchboard was never very busy after half-past five, and Ann
leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment. She opened
them almost immediately with a start, suddenly aware of another
presence in the big office. The new janitor, a scraggly feather duster
in his hand, stood by her desk.
“Did you want something?” Ann asked sharply.
She did not approve of the new janitor; his hair was too long and
shaggy, his chin too stubbly, and his bushy eyebrows shaded eyelids
that drooped. His appearance was in accord with his shiftless way
of dusting and sweeping, Ann thought with disfavor. Her voice was
decidedly sharp as she asked again, “Did you want something?”
“I wanted to see the cashier,” the man answered. His drooping eyelids
gave a peculiar, leering expression to his face that filled Ann with
repulsion. Then she braced herself; no matter how afraid she was, he
must not know it.
“He has gone for the day. Come back in the morning,” she said, turning
to her typewriter to cut the conversation short. The man hesitated for
a moment, but her preoccupied air chilled him and Ann soon heard him
walk away.
At that moment a tall young woman came hurrying down the stairs from
the upper floor.
“I declare!” she cried, looking about the darkened office. “Everybody
has gone home! And Mr. Bradford has locked the safe! Now will you tell
me, Miss Carstairs, what I am going to do with all this money?”
She waved a green cardboard box in the air as she spoke, her voice
rising higher and higher in her agitation.
“I have collected eight hundred dollars on those Liberty Bond payments,
and here Mr. Bradford has locked the safe and gone home. I’m going to
the country to-night and I can’t take all this money with me.”
“Sh! Miss Benson!” Ann warned, glancing quickly at the swing door that
had not yet ceased swaying after the departing janitor. “Don’t tell any
one. Can’t you put it in the vault? Mr. Bradford left it for me to lock
to-night.”
“But,” Miss Benson objected, “something may happen to it and I am
responsible. I can’t take it with me, though. I’ll have to put it in
there, I guess.”
“See, Miss Carstairs,” she called a moment later from the depths of the
vault, “I’m putting it beside the stamp box.”
With Miss Benson’s departure the big office suddenly seemed doubly
large, and dim and empty. Ann shivered slightly, appalled by the fact
that she was alone with eight hundred dollars in cash in the open
vault. The factory machinery made such a din that none of the employees
could hear if she called for help. What would she do if the janitor had
overheard Miss Benson and should make up his mind to steal the money?
She glanced sharply at the swinging door. It was quiet now.
She reassured herself. “I’m as nervous as Miss Benson. I’ll just shut
that vault now, though, and have it over with. It is almost six o’clock
anyway.”
At that moment a call came in on the telephone, the strident whir
startling the girl with its suddenness.
“Ross and Hayward,” she answered mechanically into the receiver.
“Miss Carstairs,”--it was Mr. Ross speaking--“I left a couple of
Liberty Bonds in my desk. Please tell Bradford to put them into the
safe.”
“Mr. Bradford has gone for the day, Mr. Ross,” she answered, “but he
has left the vault for me to close; I’ll put them in.”
“All right. Put them in the stamp box; I guess they’ll be all right
there. Good night!”
Ann pulled out the plug and rose from her desk. Her rubber-soled shoes
made no noise as she crossed the room. She found the bonds face down on
Mr. Ross’s desk, and as she picked them up she could not fail to notice
the denominations. She stared at them.
“Two thousand dollars!” she whispered awestruck. “If only they were
mine!”
As she started to place them in the stamp box, its shabbiness caught
her eye. She hesitated, then laid the bonds down.
“I’ll get a new box for the stamps,” she decided, snapping off the
light as she left the vault.
Ann knew just where to find the particular box that she wanted and did
not stop to turn on the light as she entered the stockroom. She was in
the act of reaching up for the box, when the door stealthily opened.
She shrank back against the shelves as the new janitor came in. He
stopped for a moment and glanced around, then a minute later Ann heard
the snap of the electric button as the light in the vault was turned
on. She gasped in dismay. The bonds and the Liberty Loan money were all
there in plain sight! For a brief moment the girl was paralyzed with
fright. The janitor was after the money! She rushed forward. As she
paused by the open doorway of the vault she had a momentary glimpse
of the janitor with the green box in one hand, and heard the familiar
crackly paper of the bonds as he hurriedly thrust them into his pocket.
In a panic she caught the huge iron door and slammed it shut, hurriedly
throwing the big bolt in place.
“I’ve got him,” she gasped exultantly; but the words had not left her
lips before she was knocked from her feet by a sudden blow on her
shoulder. As she fell, another stunning blow came upon her head.
A minute later, so it seemed to the girl, she opened her eyes to find
Mr. Ross and his daughter, Margaret, bending over her.
“She’s coming to, now,” she could faintly hear Mr. Ross say. “Bathe her
head some more.”
Then he added jokingly, “Well, now, Miss Ann, you certainly gave us a
start. What were you trying to do?”
Ann’s head ached agonizingly. She lifted her hand to her forehead, and
felt it gingerly. A lump as large as a walnut was there just above the
temple. She became aware, now that the mist was fading from her eyes
and the ringing from her ears, that the factory was quiet. All the
noise of machinery had ceased.
“What time is it?” she asked; and then, without waiting for an answer,
“Where did you come from?”
“It is after eight. We were driving by on our way to see a friend
on the East Side, and I thought I would drop in and see if you had
remembered to lock the safe.” Mr. Ross laughed. “Fortunate for you that
I doubted your ability.”
Ann raised her head and looked about her; then she dropped it heavily
back on the improvised pillow Miss Ross had tucked under her head.
“It was that old sales book that knocked me down. It must have been on
the edge of the pile and tipped over when I slammed the door.” She felt
the bump on her head again. “I suppose I hit the wrapping desk when I
fell.”
“It wouldn’t take much to knock out a little thing like you,” Mr. Ross
laughed.
Ann opened her eyes again, a thought flashed through her mind, and she
sat bolt upright on the floor.
“Mr. Ross,” she said, “if I can prove to you that I was big enough to
save you two thousand dollars, would you think me big enough to be
given an increase in salary?”
“I surely would, Miss Carstairs!” Mr. Ross answered, becoming suddenly
grave.
Ann’s voice shook with excitement.
“Your bonds are safe in the vault, Mr. Ross, together with eight
hundred dollars that Miss Benson collected on Liberty Loan
payments--and the new janitor!”
“You’re a brave girl,” said Mr. Ross, helping her to her feet. “The
increase is yours; you have certainly earned it.”
* * * * *
“She was, indeed, a brave girl,” said the Story King, as the Story Lady
paused; “and deserved all her good fortune.”
“The next,” went on the Story Lady, smiling, “is the story of a young
man and a young woman whose only ambition in life was to help others.”
XXIX
JOHN AND MARGARET PATON AMONG SAVAGES
THE tropical island of Aniwa drowsed in the afternoon sunshine. Long,
lazy swells rolling in from the Pacific broke on the outlying reefs,
overflowed into the turquoise bay, and gently lapped the stretch of
sandy beach. The softest of breezes stirred the palm trees and rustled
the banana thickets.
Before the door of a low, thatched hut, nestling under a clump of
date-palms, stood a fair-haired young woman anxiously watching a canoe
which was making a perilous passage through the surf to the shelter of
the bay. When at last it slid into smooth water she breathed a sigh of
relief and went slowly down the hill toward the shore.
The craft nosed stealthily up to the beach, where a stalwart,
grave-faced white man sprang out; then the boat, propelled by the
muscular arms of two kinky-headed blacks, slipped away and vanished
around a little promontory.
“I’m glad you’re safe home, John,” the young woman cried, as the big
man came swiftly toward her. “Is all well?”
“Very far from that, Margaret,” the newcomer answered, as he reached
her side. “I’ve found a great deal of unrest throughout the island.”
“Because of the drought?”
“Yes,” he replied, and stood looking down upon her thoughtfully.
She came nearer and slipped her arm through his.
“I can see that you are anxious, John,” she said softly. “Do you fear
an uprising?”
[Illustration: BEFORE THE DOOR OF A LOW, THATCHED HUT STOOD A
FAIR-HAIRED YOUNG WOMAN]
“Margaret,” he exclaimed, as they turned and began to climb the hill to
the hut, “I should not have brought you here!”
“Oh!” she cried. “More than anything else I desired the privilege of
helping you in your work. Do you mean that I have failed? That I have
proved a burden rather than a help?”
“You know it is not that,” he replied quickly. “You have been
wonderful, dear. But I should not have allowed you to leave old
Scotland for the hardships and perils of these heathen isles.”
“It has not been easy,” she acknowledged; “but I have never once
regretted coming.”
“I thought I was doing right to bring you,” he went on; “but now--now--”
“You feel,” she interposed, “that we are in real danger?”
“We shall be if the natives rise,” he replied. “I think you should know
the truth, dear.”
Her blue eyes darkened, but there was no fear in them.
“But the people have come to feel we are their friends,” she protested.
“Some of them love us. Surely they will not harm us.”
By this time they had reached the hut. He put her gently into a
camp-chair before the door, and flung himself upon the white sand at
her feet.
“A trading-ship touched on the other side of the island yesterday,” he
told her.
“And paid for five hundred pounds’ worth of sandalwood with a barrel of
rum, I suppose,” she commented.
“They were a little more generous this time,” he replied grimly. “They
left several barrels.”
“No wonder then,” she said, “that the people are mad to-day.”
“They also left,” he continued, “in the mind of the old chief the
impression that we missionaries are responsible for the drought.”
“Oh, too bad!” she exclaimed softly.