Meanwhile the author of all this misery had come upon the scene. He was
a young man, whose rifle and well filled game bag showed that he had
been hunting, and his face expressed the liveliest sorrow for what he
had so unwittingly done.
“I didn't know I was firing at your pet,” he said to Toby as he laid his
hand on his shoulder and endeavored to make him look up. “I only saw a
little patch of fur through the trees, and, thinking it was some wild
animal, I fired. Forgive me, won't you, and let me put the poor brute
out of his misery?”
Toby looked up fiercely at the murderer of his pet and asked, savagely:
“Why don't you go away? Don't you see that you have killed Mr. Stubbs,
an' you'll be hung for murder?”
“I wouldn't have done it under any circumstances,” said the young man,
pitying Toby's grief most sincerely. “Come away and let me put the poor
thing out of its agony.”
“How can you do it?” asked Toby, bitterly. “He's dying already.”
“I know it, and it will be a kindness to put a bullet through his head.”
If Toby had been big enough, perhaps there might really have been a
murder committed, for he looked up at the man who so coolly proposed to
kill the poor monkey after he had already received his death wound that
the young man stepped back quickly, as if really afraid that in his
desperation the boy might do him some injury.
“Go 'way off,” said Toby, passionately, “an' don't ever come here again.
You've killed all I ever had in this world of my own to love me, an' I
hate you--I hate you!”
Then, turning again to the monkey, he put his hands on each side of his
head, and, leaning down, kissed the little brown lips as tenderly as a
mother would kiss her child.
The monkey was growing more and more feeble, and when Toby had shown
this act of affection he reached up his tiny paws, grasped Toby's
finger, half raised himself from the ground, and then with a convulsive
struggle fell back dead, while the tiny fingers slowly relaxed their
hold of the boy's hand.
Toby feared that it was death, and yet hoped that he was mistaken; he
looked into the half open, fast glazing eyes, put his hand over his
heart, to learn if it were still beating; and, getting no responsive
look from the dead eyes, feeling no heart throbs from under that gory
breast, he knew that his pet was really dead, and flung himself by his
side in all the childish abandonment of grief.
He called the monkey by name, implored him to look at him, and finally
bewailed that he had ever left the circus, where at least his pet's life
was safe, even if his own back received its daily flogging.
The young man, who stood a silent spectator of this painful scene,
understood everything from Toby's mourning. He knew that a boy had run
away from the circus, for Messrs. Lord and Castle had stayed behind one
day, in the hope of capturing the fugitive, and they had told their own
version of Toby's flight.
For nearly an hour Toby lay by the dead monkey's side, crying as if his
heart would break, and the young man waited until his grief should have
somewhat exhausted itself, and then approached the boy again.
“Won't you believe that I didn't mean to do this cruel thing?” he asked,
in a kindly voice. “And won't you believe that I would do anything in my
power to bring your pet back to life?”
Toby looked at him a moment earnestly, and then said, slowly, “Yes, I'll
try to.”
“Now will you come with me, and let me talk to you? For I know who you
are, and why you are here.”
“How do you know that?”
“Two men stayed behind after the circus had left, and they hunted
everywhere for you.”
“I wish they had caught me,” moaned Toby; “I wish they had caught me,
for then Mr. Stubbs wouldn't be here dead.”
And Toby's grief broke out afresh as he again looked at the poor little
stiff form that had been a source of so much comfort and joy to him.
“Try not to think of that now, but think of yourself and of what you
will do,” said the man, soothingly, anxious to divert Toby's mind from
the monkey's death as much as possible.
“I don't want to think of myself, and I don't care what I'll do,” sobbed
the boy, passionately.
“But you must; you can't stay here always, and I will try to help you
to get home, or wherever it is you want to go, if you will tell me all
about it.”
It was some time before Toby could be persuaded to speak or think of
anything but the death of his pet; but the young man finally succeeded
in drawing his story from him, and then tried to induce him to leave
that place and accompany him to town.
“I can't leave Mr. Stubbs,” said the boy, firmly; “he never left me the
night I got thrown out of the wagon an' he thought I was hurt.”
Then came another struggle to induce him to bury his pet; and finally
Toby, after realizing the fact that he could not carry a dead monkey
with him, agreed to it; but he would not allow the young man to help him
in any way, or even to touch the monkey's body.
He dug a grave under a little fir tree near by, and lined it with wild
flowers and leaves, and even then hesitated to cover the body with the
earth. At last he bethought himself of the fanciful costume which the
skeleton and his wife had given him, and in this he carefully wrapped
his dead pet. He had not one regret at leaving the bespangled suit, for
it was the best he could command, and surely nothing could be too good
for Mr. Stubbs.
Tenderly he laid him in the little grave, and, covering the body with
flowers, said, pausing a moment before he covered it over with earth,
and while his voice was choked with emotion: “Goodby, Mr. Stubbs,
goodby! I wish it had been me instead of you that died, for I'm an awful
sorry little boy, now that you're dead!”
Even after the grave had been filled, and a little mound made over it,
the young man had the greatest difficulty to persuade Toby to go with
him; and when the boy did consent to go at last he walked very slowly
away, and kept turning his head to look back just so long as the little
grave could be seen.
Then, when the trees shut it completely out from sight, the tears
commenced again to roll down Toby's cheeks, and he sobbed out: “I wish I
hadn't left him. Oh, why didn't I make him lie down by me? an' then he'd
be alive now; an' how glad he'd be to know that we was getting out of
the woods at last!”
But the man who had caused Toby this sorrow talked to him about other
matters, thus taking his mind from the monkey's death as much as
possible, and by the time the boy reached the village he had told his
story exactly as it was, without casting any reproaches on Mr. Lord, and
giving himself the full share of censure for leaving his home as he did.
Mr. Lord and Mr. Castle had remained in the town but one day, for they
were told that a boy had taken the night train that passed through the
town about two hours after Toby had escaped, and they had set off at
once to act on that information.
Therefore Toby need have no fears of meeting either of them just then,
and he could start on his homeward journey in peace.
The young man who had caused the monkey's death tried first to persuade
Toby to remain a day or two with him, and, failing in that, he did all
he could toward getting the boy home as quickly and safely as possible.
He insisted on paying for his ticket on the steamboat, although Toby did
all he could to prevent him, and he even accompanied Toby to the next
town, where he was to take the steamer.
He had not only paid for Toby's ticket, but he had paid for a stateroom
for him; and when the boy said that he could sleep anywhere, and that
there was no need of such expense, the man replied: “Those men who were
hunting for you have gone down the river, and will be very likely to
search the boat, when they discover that they started on the wrong
scent. They will never suspect that you have got a stateroom; and if
you are careful to remain in it during the trip you will get through
safely.”
Then, when the time came for the steamer to start, the young man said to
Toby: “Now, my boy, you won't feel hard at me for shooting the monkey,
will you? I would have done anything to bring him back to life, but, as
I could not do that, helping you to get home was the next best thing I
could do.”
“I know you didn't mean to shoot Mr. Stubbs,” said Toby, with moistening
eyes as he spoke of his pet, “an' I'm sorry I said what I did to you in
the woods.”
Before there was time to say any more the warning whistle was sounded,
the plank pulled in, the great wheels commenced to revolve, and Toby was
really on his way to Uncle Daniel and Guilford.
It was then but five o'clock in the afternoon, and he could not expect
to reach home until two or three o'clock in the afternoon of the next
day; but he was in a tremor of excitement as he thought that he should
walk through the streets of Guilford once more, see all the boys, and go
home to Uncle Daniel.
And yet, whenever he thought of that home, of meeting those boys, of
going once more to all those old familiar places, the memory of all that
he had planned when he should take the monkey with him would come into
his mind and damp even his joy, great as it was.
That night he had considerable difficulty in falling asleep, but did
finally succeed in doing so; and when he awoke the steamer was going
up the river, whose waters seemed like an old friend, because they had
flowed right down past Guilford on their way to the sea.
At each town where a landing was made Toby looked eagerly out on the
pier, thinking that by chance someone from his home might be there and
he would see a familiar face again. But all this time he heeded the
advice given him and remained in his room, where he could see and not
be seen; and it was well for him that he did so, for at one of the
landings he saw both Mr. Lord and Mr. Castle come on board the boat.
Toby's heart beat fast and furious, and he expected every moment to hear
them at the door, demanding admittance, for it seemed to him that they
must know exactly where he was secreted.
But no such misfortune occurred. The men had evidently only boarded the
boat to search for the boy, for they landed again before the steamer
started, and Toby had the satisfaction of seeing their backs as they
walked away from the pier. It was some time before he recovered from the
fright which the sight of them gave him; but when he did his thoughts
and hopes far outstripped the steamer, which, it seemed, was going so
slowly, and he longed to see Guilford with an impatience that could
hardly be restrained.
At last he could see the spire of the little church on the hill, and
when the steamer rounded the point, affording a full view of the town,
and sounded her whistle as a signal for those on the shore to come to
the pier, Toby could hardly restrain himself from jumping up and down
and shouting in his delight.
He was at the gangplank ready to land fully five minutes before the
steamer was anywhere near the wharf, and when he recognized the first
face on the pier what a happy boy he was!
He was at home! The dream of the past ten weeks was at length realized,
and neither Mr. Lord nor Mr. Castle had any terrors for him now.
He ran down the gangplank before it was ready, and clasped every boy he
saw there round the neck, and would have kissed them if they had shown
an inclination to let him do so.
Of course he was overwhelmed with questions, but before he would answer
any he asked for Uncle Daniel and the others at home.
Some of the boys ventured to predict that Toby would get a jolly good
whipping for running away, and the only reply which the happy Toby made
to that was:
“I hope I will, an' then I'll feel as if I had kinder paid for runnin'
away. If Uncle Dan'l will only let me stay with him again he may whip me
every mornin', an' I won't open my mouth to holler.”
The boys were impatient to hear the story of Toby's travels, but he
refused to tell it them, saying:
“I'll go home, an' if Uncle Dan'l forgives me for bein' so wicked I'll
sit down this afternoon an' tell you all you want to know about the
circus.”
Then, far more rapidly than he had run away from it, Toby ran toward the
home which he had called his ever since he could remember, and his heart
was full almost to bursting as he thought that perhaps he would be told
that he had forfeited all claim to it, and that he could never more call
it “home” again.
When he entered the old familiar sitting room Uncle Daniel was seated
near the window, alone, looking out wistfully--as Toby thought--across
the fields of yellow waving grain.
Toby crept softly in, and, going up to the old man, knelt down and said,
very humbly, and with his whole soul in the words, “Oh, Uncle Dan'l!
if you'll only forgive me for bein' wicked an' runnin' away, an' let me
stay here again--for it's all the home I ever had--I'll do everything
you tell me to, an never whisper in meetin' or do anything bad.”
And then he waited for the words which would seal his fate. They were
not long in coming.
“My poor boy,” said Uncle Daniel, softly, as he stroked Toby's
refractory red hair, “my love for you was greater than I knew, and when
you left me I cried aloud to the Lord as if it had been my own flesh and
blood that had gone afar from me. Stay here, Toby, my son, and help to
support this poor old body as it goes down into the dark valley of the
shadow of death; and then, in the bright light of that glorious future,
Uncle Daniel will wait to go with you into the presence of Him who is
ever a father to the fatherless.”
And in Uncle Daniel's kindly care we may safely leave Toby Tyler.