NEW VICTIMS
"His children are far from safety, and they are crushed in the gate,
neither is there any to deliver them."--Job v, 4
Momentous events followed the children's transfer to the barn loft.
In many respects they found themselves better off than in the small,
windowless alcove into which they had been thrust so summarily on the
night of their arrival at the farm-house.
In the barn there was more freedom. They were not subjected to
annoyance from the insufferable Ambrose nor to the brutality of
Peter. They could talk without fear of restraint and, when there was
no likelihood of interruption, could pore over the picture books
which Stephen had so thoughtfully secreted.
"Don't ever let Pete get hold of those books," Stephen warned Mollie.
"He'd only tear them up and throw them in the bog."
"Or give them to that fat cry-baby," supplemented Mollie, whose dread
of the Grimes child increased daily.
So the gaudy little booklets of animal and Biblical stories which had
been given to the orphan lad on the previous Christmas were treasured
with the utmost care. To the isolated children they represented
their only connection with a happy past, the link that united them
with the world from which they would otherwise have been completely
severed.
There were long hours in the early evening before darkness descended
during which the books could be studied with impunity. As long as
the children were quiet and out of sight and hearing of their
persecutors they were unmolested. For this they were mutely grateful.
During these same evening hours the Grimes family was sufficient unto
itself. In silence its members sat about, each absorbed according to
individual bent or preference.
Peter chewed tobacco and schemed how to increase his little hoard of
money with the least amount of labor. Maria alternately dipped
snuff, quaffed corn liquor and attended her well-nigh ungovernable
child.
Ambrose, however, was quiet at intervals, until roused to a fit of
temper by some unexpected result of his own folly. His favorite
pastime was that of torturing insects and other small, living
creatures. His parents' only fear for him was that some day he
might, inadvertently, pick up a poisonous reptile instead of the
lizards and grass snakes which he had been repeatedly told were
harmless. These possessed for him a fascination bordering upon
mania. In anticipation of such an untoward event Maria not
infrequently dosed the child with corn liquor, that he might be the
better able to imbibe it in quantity when the emergency arose.
The barn was polluted by none of these features. To Mollie and
Stephen it was a home, a place of retreat, a haven of rest, a city of
refuge, a school and a recreation hall all in one. To them the
"play-house" of the past had, in the loft, become a reality. Chairs,
tables and beds were improvised with the facility which childhood
alone possesses.
Mollie's persistency, and Maria's susceptibility to the little girl's
magnetic personality, resulted in their retaining possession of the
few personal belongings with which each child had been provided upon
arrival.
Had either Maria or Peter realized the value of such a concession to
children reared as Mollie and Stephen had been, the request would
undoubtedly have been denied. But a casual inventory of the contents
of Stephen's traveling bag, and of the small box of wearing apparel
for Mollie which later arrived at the farm, revealed nothing that
appealed to Maria or which Peter considered of use. So for the time
being, at least, the children's creature comforts were not lacking.
With remarkable sagacity for their years the two little ones
husbanded their meagre resources and endeavored as far as possible to
regulate their daily life after the manner of the routine to which
they had been accustomed. They had no idea what was before them in
the way of hardship and privation nor how long would be the time of
their exile. Stephen buoyed Mollie's hope as well as his own by the
oft-repeated assertion that the mistake which had consigned him into
the hands of Peter Grimes was bound to be discovered and rectified.
Secure in this hope they patiently resigned themselves to an
existence in the barn loft and at times were even able to forget
their unhappiness and home-sickness in the enjoyment of its novelties.
Light and ventilation came into the loft principally by means of the
great window opening through which hay would ordinarily be tossed for
storage purposes. In times of storm this opening would, of course,
have to be closed. For this purpose there was a great door, made of
uneven boards, roughly nailed together and which must be held in
position by a stout stick braced against a plank in the floor. But
even with this shutter in place light and air, and also rain, had
ample circulation through chinks and crevices on every side.
To this aerie retreat the children had already been forced to flee in
haste several times at the ringing of the jangling bell which Peter
Grimes had suspended above the newly constructed gateway. It had
been difficult at first for little Mollie to mount the perpendicular
ladder, with its widely placed rungs, which was the only means of
access to the loft and which came up through a hole in the floor.
Stimulated to frantic effort by the shouts of Peter in the yard
without, the clamorous bell down at the gate and demoniac chuckles
from Ambrose as he rounded the barn door with a wriggling green
creature in his hand, the spritelike little girl performed a series
of acrobatic feats without knowing it and arrived at the top of the
ladder almost as quickly as Stephen. On the occasion of her first
ascension Stephen had carried her on his back. Each successive
mounting of the ladder only served to increase their agility. They
soon went through the exercise as automatically as if it had been a
fire drill at school.
Few persons, however, came to the remote hog-farm. Peter Grimes was
both feared and distrusted by the majority of those who knew him.
Only when good and sufficient reasons prevailed to warrant their
turning off the highway and traversing the precarious way to Peter's
farm could they be induced to stop and dicker with him. During the
several days following the installation of the children in the
barn-loft it chanced that one man came, bringing a box. It was the
box that held Mollie's clothes. From their place of observation in
the loft Mollie and Stephen both recognized him as the "buggy man
with the funny mustache" who had consigned Mollie to Peter. Another
visitor to the Grimes estate was a farmer who argued at considerable
length with Peter and, after inspecting his hogs, refused to pay the
price demanded. He departed with some show of temper. The third
person to ring the bell at the gate was a pedestrian who had lost his
way and wanted directions.
During the interim between each of these legitimate bell-ringings
there were half a dozen others, purely rehearsal affairs, staged by
Peter for the purpose of training the children to effect their
disappearance in an ever lessening period of time.
Thus it happened they were in the loft on the day Peter drove out the
gate behind old Walter after having mentioned to Maria that their
family would be increased before nightfall. From their perch in the
loft Stephen and Mollie watched him depart. They saw Maria come
forth from the kitchen, seat herself on the door-step, place her
unkempt head against the post supporting the lean-to roof that
covered the entrance to the house and compose herself for a nap. The
child, Ambrose, was already asleep under a tree, lying on his back
with his mouth open, while flies swarmed over his one scanty and much
begrimed garment.
"Don't let's go down, Splutters," said Mollie to Stephen. "I'm tired
of picking potato bugs. Let's stay here awhile and look at the
pictures."
Stephen willing agreed. His back ached from pulling weeds and
carrying heavy pails of water and feed for the farm animals.
"Then I'll hear you read and spell and we'll make believe we're in
school," he said, as he procured the treasured books from their
hiding place.
To this naturally studious child the disappointment of not arriving
at the school he had so joyfully looked forward to was a deeper wound
than any purely physical burden his captor could lay upon him.
Whatever his occupation Stephen was always thinking of that school.
Again and again the vision of its tall buildings and broad campus
appeared before him like a mirage. The more he thought about it the
more difficult it became to take any degree of interest in his
immediate surroundings.
For Mollie's sake he tried to be cheerful and to make conversation
but in his heart was an ache too deep for words and a sense of
calamity it was impossible to shake off. He had not Mollie's
effervescent nature nor her impulsiveness. With him every word,
every act, every decision must be carefully thought out in advance.
In this way he very seldom made mistakes but Mollie's alertness and
keen imagination were often able to bring results of one kind or
another while he was yet deliberating.
Now, Mollie designated the book she preferred for the moment and the
two children flung themselves down before the great, open window from
which they might quickly detect any sign of an impending
interruption, and were soon absorbed in the story of Moses in the
bulrushes. It greatly appealed to Mollie. Many of the words were
too large even for Stephen to pronounce. Others were meaningless.
But Stephen's sedate reasoning and Mollie's intuition bridged
whatever difficulties there were and they contrived to read into the
narrative much more than the printed page contained.
"I don't guess they had a bog like this one anywhere around," Mollie
remarked at the conclusion of the reading. "Something awful might
have happened to that poor little baby."
Mollie's sympathies were easily roused, and she loved babies. Had
Ambrose been a normal child she would have devoted herself to him
without hesitation.
The story of Moses was followed by other child stories from the
scriptures, each seemingly of greater interest than the one
preceding. Time passed unnoticed. Just at the beginning of what
promised to be a beautiful story of a kindly shepherd, sitting with
many little children grouped about him, the soft, summer stillness
was shattered by cries from Ambrose.
Stephen and Mollie sprang up in dismay and hastily restored the
picture books to their hiding place. A glance from the window
revealed Ambrose tugging at his mother's limp, calico dress,
imploring her to get him some bread and molasses. Maria, coming
slowly back from dreamland, was preparing to arise.
"Perhaps we stayed here too long," said Stephen, anxiously. "If she
finds out we're not down in the garden she'll tell him."
Neither of the children referred to Maria and Peter as Mr. and Mrs.
Grimes. They were merely "he" and "she." Mollie frequently
designated Peter as "that ogre", and Stephen in moments of great
bitterness took satisfaction in letting the name of "Pete" pass
between his teeth with a viciousness indicative of his inward desire
to bite the despicable appellation in fragments.
They cautiously descended the ladder into the stable below and peeked
through the doorway until they saw Maria and Ambrose safely within
the house. Then, darting from cover to cover like little rabbits,
they fled to the garden patch and resumed their labors. A loud
halloo that was almost a yodel halted the work almost before it was
commenced. Maria, thinking they had been steadily engaged upon it
ever since Peter's departure, was summoning them to partake of the
bread she was dispensing to Ambrose.
Had they but known it, this supposed generosity was not so much due
to Maria's thoughtfulness of them, as to her own laziness. She
wanted Stephen to fetch a bucket of water and Mollie to "red up" the
house.
It was while engaged upon these tasks they witnessed Peter's return.
Not wishing to descend from the ramshackle conveyance in which he was
seated, he shouted loudly from without the gate for Maria to come and
open it that he might drive in. Stephen was amazed to see with what
alacrity Maria could move when she so desired. Mollie, dish-towel in
hand, watched proceedings from the doorway. Maria swung open the
gate. Peter raised the whip in his hand. Walter the horse, eager
for oats and, like all other living creatures on the place, not
willing to incur his master's displeasure, gave a sudden start
forward. Maria sprang to one side. One wheel of the vehicle
careened against the side of the gate. The buggy tilted. Something
bounced out and fell to the ground. With a piercing scream a
barefoot girl in rough attire leaped from the moving buggy, fell,
rose and dashed madly back toward the gate.
It had already been closed by Maria, but close beside it lay a small,
motionless heap. The woman stooped, curiously, to investigate what
seemed to be a bundle of clothes. Before she could touch it the girl
who had leaped from the buggy bore down upon her like a small cyclone.
[Illustration: _Scene from Mary Pickford's Photoplay_. _Sparrows_.
"HE WAS BORN IN A BARN JEST LIKE THIS ONE."]
Without a word she brushed Maria aside and examined the little heap
tenderly. Then Maria observed that it was a child about a year old.
It was not dead at all events, for as the girl raised it in her arms,
crooning softly the name of "Buddy", the child raised its voice in
piteous, heart-rending wails.
Its tiny arm was broken!