Little Hickory had no further trouble among his companions at Break o’
Day. If reluctant at first, Larry went to work beside him in spading
up the ground, and that very afternoon they planted their first seed.
To these foundlings of the great city this was an event, little to be
appreciated by those brought up in the country. All but Mrs. Willet and
Mr. Joe Little joined the planters, Joe having the honor of dropping
the first seed into the “hills.”
That evening Dr. Menter paid them a short visit, and when he found
how the garden had been begun, he promised to arrange so that a man
with a pair of horses and a plow should come up the first of the
following week to help out the boys in their spading. He had also
found a situation for Larry, which the latter accepted after a little
hesitation.
The visit of the genial doctor lent additional inspiration to the
hearts of the members of the young republic, and when he had gone, the
three families met together, at Larry’s suggestion, and there in the
presence of them all he took the hand of Rob, saying:
“Little Hickory, you deserve your name, and I was a fool for trying to
lick ye. Now if ye’ll let thet be fergot I’ll stand by ye after this.”
“I do,” replied Rob, fervently. “You have got the right stuff in you,
Larry, and I know we shall get along first-rate.”
“I’ll do my part, Little Hickory, and you know I never fergit.”
Larry was noted among his friends for his wonderful memory, and though
he did not realize it then, it was a gift that was going to help him in
times to come.
Joe took his hand cordially, and thanked him for his generosity. And
Joe’s thanks were worth all of the others to him.
So the little band forgot their enmities, and that evening, at least,
were happy. Already both the invalids declared that they were feeling
better, and they looked forward to the time when they should be fully
recovered.
The four weeks that followed were uneventful. ’Squire Hardy seemed to
have forgotten his enmity, though if Rob ever met him he scowled darkly
upon him and turned away. The authorities of the town in which the
old red house stood ignored entirely the new inhabitants within their
jurisdiction.
Thus the close of this month of peace to the young republic found Rob
still working for Deacon Cornhill, who was lingering with a slow
fever, from which it would take him many weeks longer to fully recover.
Little Hickory continued to go home every night, and during the odd
moments that he could get he assisted the small boys in the task of
caring for the growing crops.
Joe was really the master spirit at home now, and others must have
been struck by the new phase of life taken on at Break o’ Day. The old
house had been repaired, cleaned and so altered in appearance that
it presented a look of comfort, if not of comeliness. Just below the
smooth, green yard, the scene of the settlement of the mastery between
Little Hickory and Larry Little, was a garden of fresh-growing plants,
which was a source of unlimited pride and pleasure to the dwellers in
the old house.
Dr. Menter had proved a true prophet in the case of Mr. Little and
Mrs. Willet. The first was already able to sit in the doorway on warm,
pleasant days, enjoying both the sunshine and the country air. Mrs.
Willet, very much to Joe’s joy, was in the habit of sitting by one of
the windows, the color coming back to her countenance and the strength
to her tired body, due largely to the pure air and the sunshine.
One cloud now rested on their everyday lives. Dr. Menter had bade them
good-by for several months, while he took a much-needed vacation in
Europe.
“This seems too good to last,” declared Aunt Vinnie, who seemed always
looking for the clouds.
“Let us enjoy the sun while we may, auntie,” said Joe, in her buoyant
way. “See how beautifully the sun is setting behind yonder rim of
mountains. It makes me in love with the country, and I never, never
want to see the hot, dusty city again. I don’t see what makes Rob so
late to-night. He thought he would get home early.”
Perhaps it is well we cannot read what is taking place beyond our
sight, or light-hearted Joe would have shuddered at that moment over
the fortunes of her youthful lover.
Let us see what Rob is doing at this moment.
In going back and forth between Break o’ Day and the home of Deacon
Cornhill he had found the west route by way of the “Flying Jump” his
best course, it being nearly a mile shorter, though more broken at
places.
Rob had not been at work many days for Deacon Cornhill before he found
there a second-hand bicycle left by a nephew, and which Mrs. Cornhill,
who was overcoming her prejudice for him, kindly loaned to Little
Hickory. In the morning he found his wheel of considerable help to him,
though in returning to his home he had to walk more than half the way.
On this particular evening when Joe was so light-hearted and not a
cloud had been discovered on the horizon of the young republic, Rob
was climbing one of the long ascents leading to Break o’ Day, wheeling
his bicycle along beside him as he slowly advanced.
About midway in the ascent was that wild section of the route called
“Flying Jump,” where the mountain road, after hanging for several rods
on the very brink of a high precipice, took a sudden turn and descended
with dizzy abruptness into a narrow, dark ravine, to rise on the other
side with equal steepness.
A small stream wound through the lonely valley, at places finding a
difficult passage, so that at high water it would overflow the gorge to
a considerable depth.
Little Hickory always walked this portion of his route, and at this
time he had barely reached the western summit, and was casting swift
glances over his wild surroundings, when he was suddenly confronted by
two masked men, who had stepped silently from the thicket overhanging
the road.
It was evident that they had been lying in wait for him, for,
simultaneously with their appearance, both drew revolvers, and pointing
the deadly weapons at Rob’s head, one of them cried out, in a sharp
tone:
“Throw up your hands, youngster, or yer life ain’t worth a dead
rabbit’s hide!”
Though taken completely by surprise, Little Hickory realized that he
was at the mercy of these bold villains, and accordingly he did as he
was bid, at the same time allowing his bicycle to rest against his body.
“Good!” exclaimed the spokesman of the twain, “ye act like a sensible
chap. It pays to know when ye’re knocked under. See what he carries in
his pocket, Jed.”
The waylayer addressed lowered his weapon and stepped forward to carry
out the order of his companion, as he did so for a moment coming
between his accomplice and the victim.
It was Little Hickory’s golden opportunity.
Quick as a flash he dealt the ruffians each a tremendous blow with his
fists, sending them staggering back into the bushes, with exclamations
of terror.
He had barely accomplished this feat and was about to follow up his
advantage by seizing their weapons and thus turning the tables upon
them, when a pistol shot came from the growth and a bullet whistled so
close to his head that it cut away a lock of hair!
An oath followed the report of the weapon, when a hoarse voice cried
out:
“Quick, lads! nab the fool chap afore he gets away!”
A crash in the bushes succeeded, another shot, and Little Hickory knew
he was in the midst of enemies thirsting for his blood.