IN WHICH THE CLOUDS BLOW OVER, AND BOBBY IS HIMSELF AGAIN.
Fortunately for Bobby, the wind began to blow very heavily soon after
he went on board of the lumber schooner, so that the captain was too
much engaged in working his vessel to ask many questions. He was short
handed, and though our hero was not much of a sailor, he made himself
useful to the best of his ability. Though the wind was heavy, it was
not fair; and it was not till the third morning after his parting with
Sam Ray that the schooner arrived off Boston Light. The captain then
informed him that, as the tide did not favor him, he might not get up
to the city for twenty-four hours; and, if he was in a hurry, he would
put him on board a pilot boat which he saw standing up the channel.
"Thank you, captain; you are very kind, but it would give you a great
deal of trouble," said Bobby.
"None at all. We must wait here till the tide turns; so we have
nothing better to do."
"I should be very glad to get up this morning."
"You shall, then;" and the captain ordered two men to get out the jolly
boat.
"I will pay my passage now, if you please."
"That is paid."
"Paid?"
"I should say you had worked your passage. You have done very well,
and I shall not charge you any thing."
"I expected to pay my passage, captain; but if you think I have done
enough to pay it, why, I have nothing to say, only that I am very much
obliged to you."
"You ought to be a sailor, young man; you were cut out for one."
"I like the sea, though I never saw it till a few weeks since. But I
suppose my mother would not let me go to sea."
"I suppose not. Mothers are always afraid of salt water."
By this time the jolly boat was alongside; and bidding the captain
adieu, he jumped into it, and the men pulled him to the pilot boat,
which had come up into the wind at the captain's hail. Bobby was
kindly received on board, and in a couple of hours landed at the wharf
in Boston.
With a beating heart he made his way up into Washington Street. He
felt strangely; his cheeks seemed to tingle, for he was aware that the
imputation of dishonesty was fastened upon him. He could not doubt but
that the story of his alleged crime had reached the city, and perhaps
gone to his friends in Riverdale. How his poor mother must have wept
to think her son was a thief! No; she never could have thought that.
_She_ knew he would not steal, if no one else did. And Annie
Lee--would she ever smile upon him again? Would she welcome him to her
father's house so gladly as she had done in the past? He could bring
nothing to establish his innocence but his previous character. Would
not Mr. Bayard frown upon him? Would not even Ellen be tempted to
forget the service he had rendered her?
Bobby had thought of all these things before--on his cold, damp bed in
the forest, in the watches of the tempestuous night onboard the
schooner. But now, when he was almost in the presence of those he
loved and respected, they had more force, and they nearly overwhelmed
him.
"I am innocent," he repeated to himself, "and why need I fear? My good
Father in heaven will not let me be wronged."
Yet he could not overcome his anxiety; and when he reached the store of
Mr. Bayard, he passed by, dreading to face the friend who had been so
kind to him. He could not bear even to be suspected of a crime by him.
"Now or never," said he, as he turned round. "I will know my fate at
once, and then make the best of it."
Mustering all his courage, he entered the store. Mr. Timmins was not
there; so he was spared the infliction of any ill-natured remark from
him.
"Hallo, Bobby!" exclaimed the gentlemanly salesman, whose acquaintance
he had made on his first visit.
"Good morning, Mr. Bigelow," replied Bobby with as much boldness as he
could command.
"I didn't know as I should ever see you again. You have been gone a
long while."
"Longer than usual," answered Bobby, with a blush; for he considered
the remark of the salesman as an allusion to his imprisonment. "Is Mr.
Bayard in?"
"He is--in his office."
Bobby's feet would hardly obey the mandate of his will, and with a
faltering step he entered the private room of the bookseller. Mr.
Bayard was absorbed in the perusal of the morning paper, and did not
observe his entrance. With his heart up in his throat, and almost
choking him, he stood for several minutes upon the threshold. He
almost feared to speak, dreading the severe frown with which he
expected to be received. Suspense, however, was more painful than
condemnation, and he brought his resolution up to the point.
"Mr. Bayard," said he, in faltering tones.
"Bobby!" exclaimed the bookseller, dropping his paper upon the floor,
and jumping upon his feet as though an electric current had passed
through his frame.
Grasping our hero's hand, he shook it with so much energy that, under
any other circumstances, Bobby would have thought it hurt him. He did
not think so now.
"My poor Bobby! I am delighted to see you!" continued Mr. Bayard.
Bobby burst into tears, and sobbed like a child, as he was. The
unexpected kindness of this reception completely overwhelmed him.
"Don't cry, Bobby; I know all about it;" and the tender-hearted
bookseller wiped away his tears. "It was a stroke of misfortune; but
it is all right now."
But Bobby could not help crying, and the more Mr. Bayard, attempted to
console him, the more he wept.
"I am innocent, Mr. Bayard," he sobbed.
"I know you are, Bobby; and all the world knows you are."
"I am ruined now; I shall never dare to hold my head up again."
"Nonsense, Bobby; you will hold your head the higher. You have behaved
like a hero."
"I ran away from the State Reform School, sir. I was innocent, and I
would rather have died than staid there."
"I know all about it, my young friend. Now dry your tears, and we will
talk it all over."
Bobby blowed and sputtered a little more; but finally he composed
himself, and took a chair by Mr. Bayard's side. The bookseller then
drew from his pocket a ponderous document, with a big official seal
upon it, and exhibited it to our hero.
"Do you see this, Bobby? It is your free and unconditional pardon."
"Sir! Why--"
"It will all end well, you may depend."
Bobby was amazed. His pardon? But it would not restore his former
good name. He felt that he was branded as a felon. It was not mercy,
but justice that he wanted.
"Truth is mighty, and will prevail," continued Mr. Bayard; "and this
document restores your reputation."
"I can hardly believe that."
"Can't you? Hear my story then. When I read in one of the Maine
papers the account of your misfortune, I felt that you had been grossly
wronged. You were coupled with that Tom Spicer, who is the most
consummate little villain I ever saw, and I understood your situation.
Ah, Bobby, your only mistake was in having anything to do with that
fellow."
"I left him at Brunswick because he began to behave badly; but he
joined me again at Augusta. He had spent nearly all his money, and did
not know what to do. I pitied him, and meant to do something to help
him out of the scrape."
"Generous as ever! I have heard all about this before."
"Indeed; who told you?"
"Tom Spicer himself."
"Tom?" asked Bobby, completely mystified.
"Yes, Tom; you see, when I heard about your trouble, Squire Lee and
myself--"
"Squire Lee? Does he know about it?"
"He does; and you may depend upon it, he thinks more highly of you than
ever before. He and I immediately went down to Augusta to inquire into
the matter. We called upon the governor of the state, who said that he
had seen you, and bought a book of you."
"Of me!" exclaimed Bobby, startled to think he had sold a book to a
governor.
"Yes; you called at his house; probably you did not know that he was
the chief magistrate of the state. At any rate, he was very much
pleased with you, and sorry to hear of your misfortune. Well, we
followed your route to Brunswick, where we ascertained how Tom had
conducted. In a week he established a very bad reputation there; but
nothing could be found to implicate you. The squire testified to your
uniform good behavior, and especially to your devotion to your mother.
In short, we procured your pardon, and hastened with it to the State
Reform School.
"On our arrival, we learned, to our surprise and regret, that you had
escaped from the institution on the preceding evening. Every effort
was made to retake you, but without success. Ah, Bobby, you managed
that well."
"They didn't look in the right place," replied Bobby, with a smile, for
he began to feel happy again.
"By the permission of the superintendent, Squire Lee and myself
examined Tom Spicer. He is a great rascal. Perhaps he thought we
would get him out; so he made a clean breast of it, and confessed that
you had no hand in the robbery, and that you knew nothing about it. He
gave you the two bills on purpose to implicate you in the crime. We
wrote down his statement, and had it sworn to before a justice of the
peace. You shall read it by and by."
"May Heaven reward you for your kindness to a poor boy!" exclaimed
Bobby, the tears flowing down his cheeks again. "I did not deserve so
much from you, Mr. Bayard."
"Yes, you did, and a thousand times more. I was very sorry you had
left the institution, and I waited in the vicinity till they said there
was no probability that you would be captured. The most extraordinary
efforts were used to find you; but there was not a person to be found
who had seen or heard of you. I was very much alarmed about you, and
offered a hundred dollars for any information concerning you."
"I am sorry you had so much trouble. I wish I had known you were
there."
"How did you get off?"
Bobby briefly related the story of his escape, and Mr. Bayard
pronounced his skill worthy of his genius.
"Sam Ray is a good fellow; we will remember him," added the bookseller,
when he had finished.
"I shall remember him; and only that I shall be afraid to go into the
State of Maine after what has happened, I should pay him a visit one of
these days."
"There you are wrong. Those who know your story would sooner think of
giving you a public reception, than of saying or doing any thing to
injure your feelings. Those who have suffered unjustly are always
lionized."
"But no one will know my story, only that I was sent to prison for
stealing."
"There you are mistaken again. We put articles in all the principal
papers, stating the facts in the case, and establishing your innocence
beyond a peradventure. Go to Augusta now, Bobby, and you will be a
lion."
"I am sure I had no idea of getting out of the scrape so easily as
this."
"Innocence shall triumph, my young friend."
"What does mother say?" asked Bobby, his countenance growing sad.
"I do not know. We returned from Maine only yesterday; but Squire Lee
will satisfy her. All that can worry her, as it has worried me, will
be her fears for your safety when she hears of your escape."
"I will soon set her mind at ease upon that point. I will take the
noon train home."
"A word about business before you go. I discharged Timmins about a
week ago, and I have kept his place for you."
"By gracious!" exclaimed Bobby, thrown completely out of his propriety
by this announcement.
"I think you will do better, in the long run, than you would to travel
about the country. I was talking with Ellen about it, and she says it
shall be so. Timmins's salary was five hundred dollars a year, and you
shall have the same."
"Five hundred dollars a year!" ejaculated Bobby, amazed at the vastness
of the sum.
"Very well for a boy of thirteen, Bobby."
"I was fourteen last Sunday, sir."
"I would not give any other boy so much; but you are worth it, and you
shall have it."
Probably Mr. Bayard's gratitude had something to do with this
munificent offer; but he knew that our hero possessed abilities and
energy far beyond his years. He further informed Bobby that he should
have a room at his house, and that Ellen was delighted with the
arrangement he proposed.
The gloomy, threatening clouds were all rolled back, and floods of
sunshine streamed in upon the soul of the little merchant; but in the
midst of his rejoicing be remembered that his own integrity had carried
him safely through the night of sorrow and doubt. He had been true to
himself, and now, in the hour of his great triumph, he realized that,
if he had been faithless to the light within him, his laurel would have
been a crown of thorns.
He was happy--very happy. What made him so? Not his dawning
prosperity; not the favor of Mr. Bayard; not the handsome salary he was
to receive; for all these things would have been but dross, if he had
sacrificed his integrity, his love of truth and uprightness. He had
been true to himself, and unseen angels had held him up. He had been
faithful, and the consciousness of his fidelity to principle made a
heaven within his heart.
It was arranged that he should enter upon the duties of his new
situation on the following week. After settling with Mr. Bayard, he
found he had nearly seventy dollars in his possession; so that in a
pecuniary point of view, if in no other, his eastern excursion was
perfectly satisfactory.
By the noon train he departed for Riverdale, and in two hours more he
was folded to his mother's heart. Mrs. Bright wept for joy now, as she
had before wept in misery when she heard of her son's misfortune. It
took him all the afternoon to tell his exciting story to her, and she
was almost beside herself when Bobby told her about his new situation.
After tea he hastened over to Squire Lee's; and my young readers can
imagine what a warm reception he had from father and daughter. For the
third time that day he narrated his adventures in the east; and Annie
declared they were better than any novel she had ever read. Perhaps it
was because Bobby was the hero. It was nearly ten o'clock before he
finished his story; and when he left, the squire made him promise to
come over the next day.