FARMER PRATT.
Aunt Nancy was now in a fine state of perplexity.
Jack's reproachful tone had cut very deeply, and she began to consider
herself responsible for all which might happen because of not having
warned him in time.
"I'm a wicked woman," she said, wringing her hands distractedly, "and
accountable for all that happens now. Why was I so weak as not to give
the dear boy a decided answer when he came from the barn?"
Then she ran to the bars and called after Jack in a whisper; but if any
one had asked why she wanted him to come back just at that time, she
could not have explained.
Returning to the old oak, she was about to sit down again when the
rattle of wheels told that Farmer Pratt was near at hand.
Hardly aware of what she did, the little woman went hurriedly into the
house, and there awaited what must necessarily be a very painful
interview.
A few moments later the man whom Jack looked upon as a merciless enemy
knocked at the door, and Aunt Nancy said feebly, "Come in."
Farmer Pratt entered without very much ceremony, and as the little woman
gazed at his face she fancied, probably from what Jack had told her,
that it was possible to see covetousness and hard-heartedness written on
every feature.
He did not remove his hat, but stood in the centre of the floor, whip in
hand, as he said,--
"Mornin' ma'am, mornin'. I'm from Scarborough, an' my name is Nathan
Pratt. P'rhaps you've heard of me."
Aunt Nancy was about to say she never had, meaning that her neighbors
never had spoken of him as a person of importance; but she checked
herself on remembering this would be a falsehood because of what Jack
had said.
"I have heard the name," she replied faintly.
"I thought so, I thought so. I've lived, man an' boy, in Scarborough for
nigh on to fifty years, an' when that's been done without givin'
anybody a chance to say a word agin me, except that I want my own, as
other folks do, then it would be kinder strange if I wasn't known
within a dozen miles of home."
"Was that all you came here to say?" Aunt Nancy asked.
"Of course not,--of course not"; and the farmer seated himself without
waiting for an invitation. "The fact of the matter is, ma'am, I'm
huntin' for a couple of children what drifted ashore on my place the
other day. One of 'em was a hunchback, an' I must say he is bad, for
after eatin' all the food in my house that he an' the young one wanted,
he run away, leavin' me in the lurch."
"I don't suppose they stole it, did they?" and Aunt Nancy spoke very
sharply, for it made her angry to hear such things said about Jack.
"No, it wasn't exactly that," and the farmer hesitated, as if to give
her the impression something equally wrong had been done by the boy;
"but as a citizen of the town I don't want it said we let a couple of
youngsters run around loose like calves."
"What do you intend to do with them?" the little woman asked severely.
Farmer Pratt had no idea of telling a secret which he believed would be
worth at least an hundred dollars to him, and by keeping it he again
defeated himself.
"They oughter be carried to the poor farm till we can find out who owns
'em. You see I'm as big a tax-payer as there is in Scarborough, an' if
any other town takes care of the children, we're likely to be sued for
the cost of keepin'. Now I don't believe in goin' to law, for it's
dreadful expensive, so I've come out to save myself an' my neighbors
what little money I can."
If Farmer Pratt had told the truth, Aunt Nancy would have done all in
her power to aid him, and Jack could not but have rejoiced, although the
farmer received a rich reward; but by announcing what was a false
proposition, he aroused the little woman's wrath.
She no longer remembered that it was wrong even to act a lie, and
thought only of the possibility that those whom she had learned to love
were really to be taken to the refuge for paupers, if her visitor should
be so fortunate as to find them.
"It seems hard to put children in such a place," she said, with an
effort to appear calm.
"That's only prejudice, ma'am, sheer prejudice. What do we keep up sich
institoots for? Why, to prevent one man from bein' obleeged to spend
more'n another when a lot of beggars come around."
"And yet it seems as if almost any one would be willing to feed a
couple of children who were lost."
"There's where you are makin' a mistake ag'in, ma'am. Youngsters eat
more'n grown folks, an' I know what I'm talkin' about, 'cause I've
raised a family. Heaven helps them as helps themselves, an' when we
find two like the one I'm huntin' for, then I say since heaven won't
take a hand at it, the town should."
Aunt Nancy remained silent, but those who knew her intimately would have
said, because of the manner in which she moved her chair to and fro,
that the little woman was struggling very hard to "rule her spirit."
"I don't reckon you know anything about 'em, ma'am," Farmer Pratt said
after a long pause, during which Aunt Nancy had rocked violently, with
her gaze fixed upon an overbold honey bee who was intent on gathering
the sweets from a honeysuckle blossom which the wind had forced through
the open window.
"I know this much," she replied with vehemence, "that I hope you won't
find the children if it is simply to carry them to the poor farm. We are
told of the reward which--"
"Who said anything about a reward?" the farmer asked in alarm, fearing
that which he wished should remain a secret was already known.
"The Book tells us what shall be the reward of those who give a cup of
cold water only to these His little ones--"
"Oh! is that it?" and the visitor appeared greatly relieved. "I count
myself about as good as my neighbors, but when it comes to keepin' a
parcel of children, after I've paid my taxes to run a place especially
for sich as they, then I say it's a clear waste of money, an' that's as
much of a sin as anything else."
"We won't argue the matter," the little woman replied with dignity, "but
I hope the time will never come that I, poor as I am, can count the
pennies in a dollar when it is a question of giving aid or comfort to
the distressed."
"Since you haven't seen the youngsters, there's no need of my stayin'
any longer, ma'am, but it does seem funny that nobody has run across
'em, when I heard for a fact that they'd come up this road."
Aunt Nancy knew full well that by remaining silent now, she was giving
the visitor to understand she knew nothing about the missing ones; but
just at the moment she would have told a deliberate lie rather than give
Jack and Louis up to such a man, however much she might have regretted
it afterward.
"Of course there's no harm in my askin' the questions," Farmer Pratt
said as he moved toward the door, feeling decidedly uncomfortable in
mind because of the little woman's sharp words.
"Certainly not; but at the same time I am sorry you came."
"Why, ma'am?"
"Because I have learned how hard-hearted men can be when it is a
question of a few dollars. If the children should come to me, they would
be given a home, such as it is, until their relatives could be found."
"If they should come, I warn you that it is your duty to let me know,
for they drifted ashore on my property, an' I've got the first claim."
This was rather more than meek little Aunt Nancy could endure; but she
succeeded in checking the angry words, and rose from her chair to
intimate that the interview was at an end.
Farmer Pratt went out very quickly, probably fearing he might hear more
unpalatable truths, and the old lady watched him until he drove away.
"It was wicked, but I'm glad I did it!" she said emphatically. "The idea
of hunting up such children as Jack and Louis simply to send them among
paupers!"
Not for many moments did the little woman remain in this frame of mind.
After a time she began to realize that she had done exactly what she
told Jack would be impossible--acted a lie, and her conscience began to
trouble her greatly.
She tried to read a chapter in the Book with the hope of finding
something to comfort her, and, failing in this, her thoughts went out to
the children who had left so suddenly.
"Mercy on us!" she exclaimed. "Suppose Jack really has gone away,
believing I would tell that man all I knew about him!"
This idea was sufficient to arouse her to action, and she went behind
the barn, where she called softly,--
"Jack! Jack! Where are you?"
Not until this very feeble outcry had been repeated half a dozen times
did she receive any reply, and then the hunchback, with Louis clasped in
his arms, peered out from among the bushes.
"Has the farmer gone?" he asked in a whisper.
"Indeed he has."
"And you didn't tell him where we was?"
"He never asked the question; but all the same, Jack dear, I did wrong
in allowing him to suppose I knew nothing about you."
"You're the sweetest aunt any feller ever had," the hunchback said
heartily as he came swiftly up and kissed one of the old lady's wrinkled
hands before she was aware of his intentions. "I couldn't believe you
wanted us taken to the poorhouse, so I didn't go very far off."
"I almost wish I hadn't done it, for--No, I don't either! After talking
with that wretch it would have broken my heart to see him take you away!
Give me the baby this minute; it seems as if I hadn't seen him for a
week."
Jack willingly relinquished his charge to the motherly arms extended to
receive the laughing child, and said, as Aunt Nancy almost smothered
Louis with kisses,--
"You sha'n't ever be sorry for what you have done. I'll work awful hard,
an' take care of the baby whenever you've got somethin' else to do."
"I know you are a good boy, Jack, and I wouldn't undo what's been done
if I could; but at the same time my conscience will reproach me, for I
realize that I acted wickedly."
So far as the sin was concerned, Jack did not think it of great
importance, and wondered not a little that as good a woman as Aunt
Nancy should attach so much importance to what, in his mind at least,
was nothing more than a charitable act.
He took care not to give expression to his thoughts, however, and led
the way back to the old oak-tree, where he said,--
"You sit down here awhile, an' I'll go out to make certain that man has
gone. It might be he's waitin' 'round somewhere to find whether we're
really here."
"I don't think there is any danger of that," Aunt Nancy replied as she
seated herself on the bench and fondled Louis until the little fellow
was tired of caresses.
Jack could not be comfortable in mind unless positive his enemy had left
the vicinity, and he walked quite a long distance up the road before
convincing himself of the fact.
When he returned the desire to make himself necessary to the little
woman was stronger than ever, and he proposed to finish the work of
fence mending at once.
"Better wait till after dinner now that it is so near noon," she said.
"We'll have a quiet talk, and then I will start the fire."
"Is it about Farmer Pratt you want to say something?"
"No, we'll try to put him out of our minds. It is the baby."
"What's the matter with him?"
"He must have another frock and some clothes. These are very dirty, and
I'm afraid he'd take cold if I should wash them at night, and put them
on again in the morning."
"Haven't you got an old dress like the one I wore? By pinnin' it up he'd
get along all right."
"Indeed he wouldn't, Jack. Boys can't be expected to know what a child
needs; but it puzzles me how to get the material from the store."
"What's the matter with my goin' after it?"
"It is a very long distance--more than four miles away."
"That's all right; I walked a good deal farther the day I came here.
Jest say what you want, an' I'll go after it now."
"Do you really think you could get back before sunset?"
"I'm certain of it, providin' I don't wait for dinner."
"But you must have something to eat, Jack dear."
"I can take a slice of bread and butter in my hand, an' that'll last me
more'n four miles."
"I have half a mind to let you go," Aunt Nancy said as if to herself,
and Jack insisted so strongly that she finally decided he should do the
shopping.
Not one, but half a dozen slices of bread were spread thickly with
butter as a dinner for the messenger, and then the little woman wrote on
a slip of paper the different articles she needed.
"You must see that Mr. Treat gives you exactly what I've asked for," she
said as she read the list, and explained what the texture or color of
each article should be. "Watch him closely, and be sure he makes the
right change."
Then she gave him the most minute directions as to the road, the time
which should be occupied in the journey, and the manner the goods were
to be brought home.
A basket was provided for the purchases, and Aunt Nancy said as she gave
Jack a ten-dollar note,--
"Tie that in your handkerchief so's to be sure not to lose it, Jack
dear, for it's a great deal of money to a lone woman like me."
He promised to be careful, and kissed the baby good by.
Aunt Nancy leaned over for the same salute, and when it had been given
she said in a sorrowful tone,--
"It is a deal of comfort to have you with me, Jack; but I do wish I had
been bold enough to tell that man the truth, and then refused to let you
go with him."
"It's lucky you didn't, Aunt Nancy, for he'd been bound to have us any
way."
Then Jack walked swiftly down the daisy-embroidered lane, thinking he
was a very fortunate boy indeed in having found such a good friend as
the sweet-faced old lady.