THE day was hot and still. Slowly they mounted the foot-hills between
meadows aglow with color. The country seemed to flow ever downward past
their sleepy eyes on its way to the great valley. The daisies were like
white foam on the slow cascade of Bowman's Hill, and there were masses
of red and yellow which appeared to be drifting on the flats. A driver
sat on the front seat, and Gordon behind with Socky and Sue. The little
folk chattered together and wearied their father with queries about
birds and beasts. By-and-by the girl grew silent, her chin sank upon her
breast, and her head began to shake and sway as their wagon clattered
over the rough road. In a moment Socky's head was nodding also, and the
feet of both swung limp below the wagon-seat.
They had seemed to sink and rise and struggle and cry out in the
silence, and were now as those drowned beneath it. Gordon drew them
towards him and lifted their legs upon the cushioned wagon-seat. He sat
thinking as they rode. They had been hard on him--those creditors. He
had not meant to steal, but only to borrow that small sum which he had
taken out of the business in order to feed and clothe the children who
lay beside him. True, some dollars of it had gone to buy oblivion--a few
hours of unearned, of unholy relief. How else, thought he, could he have
stood the reproaches of brutal men?
They arrived at Tupper's Mill late in the afternoon. There Gordon found
a canoe and made ready. At this point the river turned like a scared
horse and ran east by south, around Tup-per Ridge, in a wide loop, and,
as if doubting its way, slackened pace, and, wavering right and left,
moved slowly into the shade of the forest, and then, as if reassured,
went on at a full gallop, leaping over the cliff at Fiddler's Falls.
Below, it turned to the north, and, seeming to see its way at last, grew
calm and crossed the flats wearily, covered with foam.
Socky woke and rubbed his eyes when he and his sister were taken out of
the wagon. Sue continued to sleep, although carried like a sack of
meal under the arm of the driver and Silas Strong laid amidships on a
blanket. Mr. Tupper, the mill man, gave them a piece of meat which, out
of courtesy to the law, he called "mountain lamb." With pack aboard and
Socky on a blanket in the bow, Gordon pushed his canoe into the current.
All who journeyed to the Lost River country from the neighborhood
of Hillsborough arrived at Tupper's late in the afternoon. There,
generally, they took canoe and paddled six miles to a log inn at the
head of the still water. But as Gordon started from Tupper's Mill down
stream he had in mind a destination not on any map of this world. Socky
sat facing him, a little hand on either gunwale.
Socky had thought often that day of the incident of the night before and
of his father's poverty. Now he looked him over from head to foot.
He saw the little steel chain fastened to his father's waistcoat and
leading into the pocket where he knew that his own watch lay hidden. The
look of it gave him a feeling of great virtue and satisfaction.
"Father, will you please tell me what time it is?" he inquired.
Gordon removed the watch from his pocket. "Half-past six. We've got to
push on."
It was fine to see that watch in his father's hand.
"I'm going to give it to you," said the boy, soberly. "You can wear it
Sundays an' every day."
Gordon looked into the eyes of his son. He saw there the white soul of
the little traveller just entering upon the world.
"I'm going to buy you some new clothes, too," said Socky, now
overflowing with generosity.
"Where'll you get the money?"
"From my Uncle Silas." After a few moments Socky added, "If I was Lizzie
Cornell's father I'd give her a good whipping."
They rode in silence awhile, and soon the boy lay back on his blanket
looking up at the sky.
"Father," said he, presently.
"What?"
"I'm good to you, ain't I?"
"Very."