BETSEY, the farmer's wife, put up a lunch large enough to last a couple
of voyagers for a two days' journey, and bustled around in her quickest
style, so that she ran out to the barn with her big basket as Farmer
Bassett drew a long breath and declared himself ready to start.
"Do hurry, John," she begged, setting her basket within the sleigh,
"those poor creeters must be half-starved, let alone their crying
theirselves eenamost to death."
Then her motherly heart that had taken up entirely the cause of the
boys, allowed throbs of pity to be felt on Thomas' account as she saw
the effect of her words upon him, and she hastened to add--"You'll make
pretty quick time after you git on the road, and boys always know how
to have a good time as long as daylight lasts, at any rate."
"You better believe, Betsey," declared Farmer Bassett, "that we will
not let the grass, or the snow rather, accumulate under our feet, will
we, Jack?" caressing his horse. "There, Mr. ---- what'd you say your
name was?" turning to the man beside him.
"Thomas, sir--Thomas Bradley. But I'm better known as Mr. Bangs' man,
bad luck to the day I shirked a bit. But I'll catch it enough when I
get home, though"--
"And serves you quite right, Thomas," observed Farmer Bassett; "well,
get in, and we'll be off. Good-by, mother!" He didn't kiss her; it
was not the New England way in which they had both been reared, but
he did look at her round, comely face with such an expression in his
gray eyes that a smile went back to him from the lips firmly folded
together--"Take care of yourself now, an' the house, I'll be along in
the mornin'."
Then he got into the sleigh, and tucking up the well-worn robes around
his companion and himself, signified to Jack by a loud "_g'lang!_" that
he was expected to start.
"I s'pose you're going to talk to me now," said Thomas awkwardly,
after they had turned the corner from which the last view of the
comfortable red farmhouse could be seen, "and give me a piece of your
mind for leaving them chaps and disobeying master. You've a good right,
I'm sure, being as you're getting me out o' the scrape."
"I ain't one to do preachin' to other folks," said the farmer shortly.
"I have enough to do to take care o' my own sins."
Thomas stared in amazement into the tough, leathery face. That any
one who could claim the least right, should let slip to "give it to"
another man caught in a peccadillo, he could not understand, and
he took the only way to find relief that came to his mind. When he
finished scratching his head in a perplexed way, he relapsed into
silence that was not broken till at least half the distance to Sachem
Hill was traversed.
Then the old farmer began to converse, but on general topics, and in
such a cheery way, that his travelling companion came a bit out of his
shamefaced despondency feeling as if there might be a chance even for
him in the world once more.
By the time that Jack jingled them into the vicinity of Mr. Bangs'
summer cottage, the two were in such a good state of mind that any one
meeting them would have said it was only a pleasure excursion that drew
them out to enjoy the night.
And now Thomas sat erect and drew his breath fast, while his eyes,
strained to their utmost, pierced the gathering darkness for the first
glimpse of the house.
"Turn here up this lane, master," he begged suddenly, "it's a short
cut," and the old farmer lashed Jack, all the time begging the
astonished animal's pardon, while he hurried up the back way as
directed.
"Good--oh!" groaned Thomas, pulling his arm, and pointing with a
shaking hand. Farmer Bassett more intent on the feelings of the
faithful horse, and on getting on, had not glanced up. At this cry of
distress he did, and now saw with Thomas a bright light gleaming from
one of the upper windows of the Bangs' cottage.
"It's FIRE!" said Thomas hoarsely, plucking him by the arm again. "We
must 'a' left somethin' smoulderin' in the fire-place"--
"Nonsense," said the farmer reassuringly. Nevertheless he gave Jack
another cut that made him jounce at a fearful rate up to the back
veranda.
Thomas leaped out and sped up the steps. Farmer Bassett tarried only
long enough to fasten Jack to the hitching-post, throw his blanket over
him, and give one pat on his head, then followed.
"_Boys!_" screamed Thomas, racing up and down the veranda, and shaking
the doors, "are you in there?"
But only the branches of the trees creaked in the cold wind for answer.
Thomas stamped in very fury.
"See here," said the old farmer, down on the ground and pointing up,
"look at their heads. They're all safe an' sound, an' not half as cold
as you an' I."
With that he sent out such a halloo that Thomas on the veranda clapped
his hands to his ears. It had the effect desired, for at least two of
the windows in the gable end of the cottage were thrown up, and as many
boys' heads as could possibly be accommodated, were thrust out.
"Halloo, Thomas, halloo," called one voice in derision, "don't you wish
you were here too?"
"You're a nice one," said Master Wingate, "and won't you catch it,
though, when you get home. You'll be place-hunting as soon as you can
say 'Jack Robinson'"--
"See here, you young scamp," shouted the old farmer, "it will be for
your interest to end that sort of talk, now I tell you. You just step
down lively an' open one of these doors. We've cooled our heels enough
comin' to look for you an' don't propose to stand here any longer.
Hurry up, now."
The boys stared in astonishment down into as much of his face as the
darkness would permit them to see, and recognizing from the quality of
his voice that a parley would not be acceptable, drew in their heads
and proceeded to obey the order.
"Who is the old party?" cried one of the boys as they ran over the
stairs.
"I don't know," returned Wingate, "I'm sure."
"Don't let us open the door then," urged another boy; "see here,
Wingate," laying a detaining hand on his arm, "you are not obliged
to--nobody has a right to order you to unlock your father's house.
Don't do it; we'll lose all the fun of keeping Thomas out till we've
had the fun of scaring him all we want to."
Master Wingate hesitated. But a vigorous rap on the dining-room
door at the foot of the staircase, made him start, and a loud
imperative--"Hurry up, there," caused him to redouble his speed.
"I guess we better let 'em in," he said, and slid back the bolt.