WILL BECOMES A HERO.
It was during this winter, his sixteenth year, when Will entered
upon the footing of a successful “business man,” that two important
adventures befell him.
The first was on one cold Saturday in November just before the snow
fell. The gray sky warned the boy that a storm was likely to set in,
and as he needed more firewood for the heater he resolved to go into
the grove and pick up all the dead branches which the wind had blown
from the trees, and to put them in piles so that Nick Wells, the
carter, could come for them on Monday morning. So he put some luncheon
in his basket and, telling his mother he would not be home for supper,
hastened away to the grove, leaving Egbert to care for the fire in the
“office”.
There was plenty of dead wood lying around the grove, and Will worked
steadily piling it up until evening approached and it grew dusk. He
was just about to stop work and return home when he heard a sound of
footsteps approaching, and stood silent a little way from the path to
watch Mr. Jordan pass by on his regular evening walk, which he
permitted nothing to interrupt.
To Will’s astonishment the man stopped abruptly in the middle of the
grove and gazed earnestly at an oak tree. Then, exactly as he had
done on that other evening when Will had watched him, he walked up to
the tree and passed his hand hurriedly up and down the rough bark,
returning almost immediately to the path to continue on his way.
This repetition of the same curious action Will had before noticed
filled the boy with surprise, and puzzled him greatly. What possible
object could Mr. Jordan have in feeling of the bark of an oak tree
situated in the center of a deserted grove, where few people ever
passed?
But while he pondered the matter darkness fell upon the grove, and he
was obliged to hasten home to relieve Egbert.
It snowed a little during the night, and all day Sunday a thin white
mantle lay upon the frozen ground. Mr. Jordan took his usual evening
walk, and Will looked after him thoughtfully, wondering if he made a
regular practice of stopping to feel the bark of the oak tree. But he
made no attempt to follow his mother’s boarder, as the boy would have
considered it a mean trick to spy upon the man, however peculiar he
might be.
Yet early on Monday morning, when he drove over to the grove with Nick
Wells to load the wood he had piled up, Will could not resist the
temptation to go to the tree and see if Mr. Jordan had indeed stopped
there the evening before. Yes, there were the tracks of his boots,
clearly outlined in the snow. Will knew exactly the way he had walked
to the tree, cast that furtive glance over his shoulder, and then
passed his hand up and down the bark.
But why? That was the question; and surely it might well puzzle older
heads than that of Will Carden.
The other adventure referred to had a distinct bearing upon the boy’s
future life, and made him the village hero for many months to come.
Christmas week arrived with weather sharp and cold, although
wonderfully brisk and exhilarating. One of the chief pleasures of the
young folks of Bingham in winter was to skate upon Marshall’s pond, a
broad stretch of deep water lying just west of the town, and not far
from the Williams homestead. This pond was fed by a small brook that
wound for miles through the country, and here the Bingham ice man
harvested his supply each winter, often cutting holes in the ice which,
when lightly frozen over, made dangerous places for the skaters, who
did well to avoid them.
The day following Christmas a large crowd of youngsters assembled at
the pond for skating, many of the boys and girls being anxious to try
the new skates Santa Claus had brought them. The Williams children were
all there except little Gladys, and Will Carden came over also, for he
was an expert skater and had decided that an afternoon’s sport would do
him good.
It was a merry throng, indeed, and Will was gliding along over the ice
with Mary Louise when a sharp scream reached his ears and he saw the
children scattering from one spot like a flock of frightened sheep.
Will dropped Mary Louise’s hand and sped as quickly as possible toward
the place. He had known in an instant that an accident had occurred,
and as he drew near he saw that the ice had broken. Then a small arm
came into view above the surface, its fingers clutching wildly for
support before it again disappeared.
Without hesitation Will flew toward the hole. The ice cracked and gave
way as he reached the edge, and immediately he plunged into the water,
where he kept his wits and began reaching in every direction for the
drowning form he had noted.
From those standing at a safe distance a cry of horror arose; but it
quickly changed to a shout of joy as Will Carden rose to the surface
and caught at the edge of the ice for support, for in one arm he held
Annabel Williams’ almost lifeless form.
“Shove us a rail, you fellows!” he called, wisely refraining from
trying to draw himself up by the flimsy edge of ice he clutched.
The boys were quick to understand what he wanted, and a score of
willing hands tore the rails from a fence that came down to the shore
of the pond, and slid them along the ice so that they reached across
the hole and both ends rested on a firm foundation. Will seized the
first one that came within reach, and then a couple of the boys crept
out upon the rails and caught hold of Annabel, drawing her from the
icy water and carrying her safely to land. Others assisted Will and
although he was dripping wet and his teeth chattered with cold, as soon
as he reached safe ice he shook off the supporting hands of his friends
and walked over to the unconscious girl.
[Illustration: The rescue of Annabel by Will Carden. Page 74.]
“Give me all the shawls and wraps you can spare!” he cried, and as they
were eagerly offered he wrapped them around Annabel and then lifted her
in his arms and started at his best pace for the Williams house, which
was fortunately the nearest in the village to the pond.
Other boys offered to help him, but Will shook his head and plunged on,
the curious crowd following at his heels, while one or two volunteered
to run ahead and warn the family of the accident.
Mary Louise paced at Will’s side, sobbing bitterly.
“It’s all right; don’t cry,” he said to her. “I can feel Annabel
stirring in my arms, and I’m sure she’s alive.”
As they reached the gate that marked the entrance to the grounds a
stout little man bounded down the path toward them, bareheaded and
with a look of fear in his protruding eyes.
“Give her to me! Give me my child!” he said; and Will placed his burden
at once in the father’s arms and turned away. For he was shivering in
every bone of his body, and knew he ought to get home and change his
own clothes as soon as possible.
Mr. Williams carried Annabel into the house, issuing as he went a
string of commands.
“Jane, prepare a hot water bath; Fanny, send Peter for the doctor;
Nora, bring me some towels and warm flannels,” and so on until all the
servants were running about upon their various errands.
He carried the girl to her room, and tore or cut away her clothing,
plunging her as quickly as possible into a warm bath. She was quite
conscious now, and kept saying: “I’m all right, papa! I’m all right.”
But the man grimly insisted on carrying out his plans, and after the
bath rolled her in warm flannels and tucked his child snugly into bed.
“Mrs. Williams’ compliments, sir,” said the servant; “and she begs to
know how is the little girl.”
“Tell Mrs. Williams not to disturb herself,” he answered, gruffly; but
Annabel herself called a more satisfactory message, for she said:
“I’m all right, tell mamma.”
Nora, blubbering with joy and thankfulness, for Annabel was her
especial pet, brought in a bowl of hot lemonade, which Mr. Williams
forced the convalescent to drink. And then Doctor Meigs arrived, and
after a glance around the room and a brief examination of his patient,
nodded his shaggy head in approval.
“She’ll come along nicely, sir,” he said; “thanks to your prompt and
intelligent methods. But it was a close call for the little one. Who
pulled her out?”
“I haven’t heard,” replied the great man, looking up with sudden
interest. “But I’ll find out at once, for whoever it was most certainly
saved her life.”
“It was Will Carden,” said Theodore, who had entered unobserved, and
stood just behind them.
“I might have suspected that,” remarked the doctor, dryly, but there
was a tone of pride in his deep voice that he could not disguise.
“Carden?” said Mr. Williams, reflectively; “Carden? I wonder if he is
any relation to John Carden, who----”
“Just his son, sir,” interrupted Doctor Meigs, calmly. “The son of that
John Carden who discovered the process of making steel which your mills
are now using.”
“I know; I know!” said Mr. Williams hastily. Then he bent down and
kissed Annabel’s white brow.
“I like Will,” she whispered.
“Try to sleep, my darling,” he answered, gently. “Fanny will sit by
you; and, if you want me, send at once.”
Then he stood up, cast another loving glance at his daughter, and
followed by the doctor left the room.
Few strangers would have supposed Chester D. Williams to be a
successful business man, if they judged him superficially by his
appearance. Unlike his lady wife, he assumed no airs or mannerisms that
might distinguish him from any other man you came across. His clothes,
although made by an excellent tailor, were carelessly worn, and had not
his wife kept careful watch of him he would have continued to wear one
necktie until its edges were disgracefully frayed. In build the man
was not very prepossessing, being below the medium height and inclined
to stoutness, while his beardless face was round and red and only his
kindly eyes redeemed his features from being exceptionally plain.
Yet in the big outside world people liked Chester Williams, and
respected his ability. No one knew better how to obtain a favorable
contract for steel, or fulfilled it more exactly to the letter of the
agreement. In mechanical industries he was acknowledged a great man,
and was known to have accumulated an immense fortune. Here in Bingham,
where he was seldom seen, for his business in the city claimed a
large share of his time, the owner of the steel mills was an absolute
autocrat, and his word was law to the simple villagers. Yet he had
never abused their trust and confidence in him.
“Step in here a moment, doctor,” he said, pushing open the door to his
study. So Doctor Meigs followed him in and sat down.
“I am very grateful for my child’s rescue,” began Mr. Williams, with a
slight tremor in his voice. “Tell me, Doctor Meigs, what sort of boy is
this Will Carden who proved himself so brave this afternoon?”
“I can’t say,” replied the doctor, a merry twinkle in his eye. “That
is, with modesty. For Will is my partner.”
“A doctor!”
“No; a mushroom grower.”
Mr. Williams seemed puzzled, but waited to hear more.
“You’d better see the boy yourself,” continued the doctor. “He’s proud,
you’ll find; and he’s very poor.”
“Poor?”
“Yes. His father lost all his money in experimenting with that steel
process; and then he started for London and was lost at sea. Therefore
the family is dependent mostly upon the industry of this boy.”
“I see.”
For a moment the mill owner remained lost in thought. Then he asked:
“How did Jordan get the control of John Carden’s secret process?”
“I never knew the particulars,” replied Doctor Meigs; “but Mr.
Jordan has told me that he loaned Mr. Carden money to carry on his
experiments.”
“Bosh! Jordan never had a dollar in his life until after I made the
deal with him and started these mills. He was nothing but an humble
clerk in the bank here.”
“I remember,” said the doctor, regarding the other man with a blank
expression.
“But at the time I made my arrangements with Jordan he showed me a
paper signed by John Carden which transferred all his interest in the
secret process, together with the formula itself, to Ezra Jordan, in
consideration of the sum of ten thousand dollars.”
“Ten thousand dollars!” ejaculated the doctor.
“Which Jordan never owned,” said Williams, slapping his knee
emphatically. “When I enquired at the bank, the cashier told me that
Jordan had never had any money except his salary, and it is certain he
had not embezzled a dollar while in the employ of the bank. But it was
none of my business, after all. Only, Jordan drove such a hard bargain
with me for the use of his process that I’m paying him a fortune every
year, in royalties, and he runs the works himself, so as to be sure
I don’t rob him. The paper executed by John Carden seems genuine, and
the only thing that puzzles me is why he transferred such a valuable
secret, just as it was proven a success, to a man he could not possibly
have borrowed money from, because the man never had it to lend.”
“You astonish me,” said Doctor Meigs, with evident sincerity. “I’ve
never been able to understand Mr. Jordan, myself. He is a very reserved
individual, and I knew that he was quite intimate with John Carden,
before the latter left Bingham on his fatal journey. But that there was
anything wrong or at all suspicious in Jordan’s dealings with his old
friend, I have never even dreamed.”
“There may be nothing wrong at all,” returned Mr. Williams. “But in
that case the inventor of the best steel process in the world was a
fool.”
Doctor Meigs made no reply, but rose to take his leave; and after
showing the physician to the door Mr. Williams turned into the sitting
room, where the lamps had been lighted. All the children were there but
Annabel, who was reported to have fallen asleep, and it was good to
observe how eagerly they clustered about their father’s knee, and how
fond they seemed to be of him.
Mrs. Williams presently sent word that she was “so upset by Annabel’s
careless accident” that she would dine alone in her own room, and the
children greeted this announcement with a whoop of delight that made
their father frown and turn more red than usual, with shamed chagrin.
They trooped into the dining room happy and content, and as soon as
they were seated, began to chatter of Will Carden.
“Do you know him?” asked the father.
“Know Will Carden! Well, I guess we do!” replied boisterous Reginald.
“We all like Will,” said Mary Louise, in her gentle voice; “and if he
had not been so prompt to rescue Annabel I am sure she would have been
drowned, for everyone else was too frightened to move. But Will didn’t
wait a minute. He plunged right in after her.”
“He is a brave boy,” said Mr. Williams.
“And he can do lots of things,” remarked Theodore, slowly.
“He fixted my dolly’s leg!” shouted Gladys, anxious to testify in her
friend’s behalf.
“Yes, and mamma sent him about his business, and wouldn’t let him play
with us,” added Reggie, in a grieved tone.
“Why?” asked the father.
“Oh, because he’s a vegetable boy, and poor. She said we’d got to
respect your position in society,” replied Reginald, with a grin.
“She scolded me awfully,” declared Gladys, nodding her head sagely.
“Hush, my daughter,” said Mr. Williams, with unaccustomed severity.
“You must not criticise mamma’s actions, for she loves you all and
tries to act for your best good. But it’s nothing against Will Carden
to be a vegetable boy, you know. How old is he?”
“About sixteen, I think,” said Mary Louise.
“Well, when I was his age,” continued Mr. Williams, “I was shovelling
coal in a smelting furnace.”
“That isn’t as respectable as being a vegetable boy, is it?” asked
Theodore, gravely.
“Both callings are respectable, if they enable one to earn an honest
livelihood,” returned his father, with a smile. “There is no disgrace
at all in poverty. The only thing that hopelessly condemns a person is
laziness or idle inaction.”
“But mother----” began Reginald.
“Mother sometimes forgets how very poor we ourselves used to be,”
interrupted Mr. Williams, looking earnestly into the circle of eager
faces; “and I am very glad she _can_ forget it. I’ll talk to her,
however, about your friend Will Carden, and I’ve no doubt when she
learns how brave he has been she will at once withdraw her objections
to his playing with you.”
“Thank you, papa,” said Mary Louise, reaching out to take his hand in
her slim white one.
“You’re all right, daddy; and we love you!” exclaimed Reggie, earnestly.
The great mill owner flushed with pleasure, and his eyes grew bright
and moist.
“But,” observed Gladys, her mouth full of bread and butter, “mamma
scolds me lots a’ times.”
“Hush!” commanded her father, sternly; and a cloud came over his face
and drove the joy from his eyes.