BILL DEAN.
Jack was a very proud boy when he came down the lane to the farmhouse
leading the docile animal by the halter.
He hoped to reach the door before Aunt Nancy should see him; but the
little woman was sitting under the old oak wondering what business Mr.
Souders had on hand which required the cripple's presence.
He was half way from the main road to the house when she saw him, and
cried in astonishment,--
"Bless my soul, Jack, have you been and made a trade with Mr. Treat
after what I said?"
"Indeed I haven't! Jest wait till you see what's on this beauty's horn,
an' then you'll know all about it."
Aunt Nancy could not curb her curiosity until the animal was led in, but
ran forward with Louis in her arms, Jack stopping the cow that she might
read that which was written on the card.
The little woman was bewildered.
She could hardly realize the animal was a present until Jack repeated
again and again what Mr. Souders had said, and then it was the
hunchback's turn to be bewildered, for instead of expressing her
gratitude, she sat down on the grass, regardless of possible stains to
her dress, and began to cry heartily.
"Why, I thought you'd be glad," Jack said in a tone of disappointment,
while Louis pulled at the little woman's ringlets to show his sympathy
for what seemed to be grief.
"So--so--so I am--Jack dear; but--but--it doesn't seem right that people
should do so--so--so much for me."
"It wouldn't be enough if they'd sent a thousand cows."
"But for you I might never have had poor old crumple-horn replaced."
"Of course you would. That was wrote on the card only to make me feel
better about what Mrs. Souders did; but she'd given you this all the
same."
Aunt Nancy refused to look at it in that light, and Jack became confused
at being overwhelmed with thanks.
The little woman insisted on tracing the gift directly to his visit to
Treat's store, thus giving him nearly all the credit, until the
conversation became really painful.
"Let's take her out to the pasture, for she must be hungry by this
time," he said, as a means of putting an end to the words of gratitude
which he believed were undeserved.
This aroused Aunt Nancy to a sense of the situation as nothing else
could have done, for the thought that anything around her might be
suffering would always cause her to forget herself, and she followed
Jack, who had lifted Louis to the cow's back to give him a ride.
It was a sort of triumphal procession which halted at the pasture bars
in order that Aunt Nancy might inspect more closely her new pet.
"Seems wrong to say anything disparaging of poor old crumple-horn after
she has served me faithfully for so many years, but I must confess this
cow looks as if she might be a better milker."
"I'll bet she's the best in town," Jack replied enthusiastically, as he
pulled clover for the gentle animal to eat.
"Not quite that, Jack dear, for Deacon Downs has a Jersey that leads
everything."
"At any rate his cow can't be as kind as this one."
"That may be," Aunt Nancy replied meditatively as she kissed the fawn
colored nose. "I do really think we couldn't have found a better
substitute for poor old crumple-horn."
Then the animal was examined critically, without a single flaw having
been found, and not until half an hour was spent in this manner could
she be allowed to enter the pasture.
Aunt Nancy thought it her duty to see Mrs. Souders at the earliest
opportunity in order to thank her for the gift, and decided to do so on
the following morning when the breakfast dishes had been cleared away.
Jack went to clean the stall in the barn for the new cow's occupancy,
and was working industriously when he fancied he heard a cry of distress
coming from the direction of the duck pond.
His first thought was that Louis had strayed again, but on looking out,
both he and the little woman were seen under the big oak, apparently as
happy and contented as well could be.
Believing he had been deceived by his fancy, he resumed the work, but
only to stop an instant later as the cries sounded more distinct.
This time there could be no mistake, and he ran toward Aunt Nancy as he
asked,--
"Do you hear that noise? I'm goin' to see what it means."
As he went rapidly across the fields without waiting for a reply, the
little woman followed him, but her pace was slow because of having the
baby in her arms.
The cries continued almost incessantly, and by them Jack was guided to a
clump of large trees standing near one end of the pond within a few
yards of the spot where Louis had been set adrift on the raft.
It was not necessary to search long for the sufferer.
Lying on the ground, held firmly down by a huge limb of a tree which had
fallen across his breast in such a manner that he could not use his
arms, was Bill Dean.
His face was pale, whether from pain or fear Jack had no means of
ascertaining, for the boy did not wait to be questioned, but cried
piteously,--
"O Hunchie, help me outer this scrape an' I won't ever play tricks on
you agin!"
This promise was not necessary to enlist Jack's sympathy.
It was a boy in agony and not an enemy he saw before him; the only
question in his mind was how the rescue could be effected.
"Lay still, an' I'll do the best I can; but it may hurt a little more
when I try to lift the limb."
Kneeling that he might get his shoulder under one end of the heavy
branch, Jack tried to raise it, but in vain.
He was making the second effort, Bill moaning piteously meanwhile, when
Aunt Nancy arrived, and she, like Jack, thought only of relieving
suffering.
"Where are you hurt, William?" she asked anxiously.
"I don't know, but it seems as if the ache was all over my body."
"How did the accident happen?"
"I was choppin' this limb off to build a new raft, an' it fell on me."
"Can you lift it, Jack dear?"
"I'm afraid not; it's terribly heavy."
"Let me help you."
The two strained and tugged all to no purpose, when, as he paused to
regain his breath and wipe the perspiration from his face, Jack said,--
"I could cut away part of it if I had an axe."
"Mine is around here somewhere," Bill said with a groan.
Jack soon found the tool, and, working very cautiously lest he should
cause the sufferer yet more pain, chopped here and there to remove the
larger twigs, while Aunt Nancy bathed Bill's pale face with her
handkerchief wetted in the pond.
[Illustration: "Where are you hurt, William?" asked Aunt Nancy
anxiously.--Page 252.]
It required nearly half an hour of the most fatiguing labor to perform
the task, and then Jack said as he threw down the axe,--
"When I lift on this end you must try to pull him out, Aunt Nancy."
The first attempt was a failure, but at the second the little woman
succeeded, and Bill was drawn from his uncomfortable position looking
decidedly the worse for wear.
"Can you stand up?" Aunt Nancy asked solicitously as she brushed the
dirt from Bill's hands, and little Louis patted his cheek to show he
wished to take some part in the rescue, even though it only was to
display sympathy.
"I'll try," Master Dean said meekly, and, with the aid of Aunt Nancy and
Jack, the sorrowful looking bully arose to his feet.
It was positive the bones of his legs were not broken, for he stood
erect without difficulty, and, this having been ascertained, Aunt Nancy
proceeded to make a careful examination of his arms and chest.
"I do not believe you are seriously injured, William," she said with a
sigh of relief. "There can be no doubt but that you will be very lame
for a few days; you must bear with it, and thank your Father it is no
worse."
"My father didn't have anything to do with it. He'd given me Jesse if he
knowed I was here cuttin' down the tree."
"I mean your Father in heaven, William, who watches over even the
sparrow's fall."
Bill looked rather shamefaced at having made such a mistake, and said as
he turned half away from his rescuers,--
"I told Hunchie I wouldn't bother him any more if he'd help me out, an'
I'm goin' to stick to my promise."
"It would have been much better if you had arrived at that conclusion
before you were in need of assistance," Aunt Nancy replied gravely. "One
should do right because it is his duty, and not as a reward to others."
"What's the matter now?" Bill asked in surprise. "Do you want me to keep
on roughin' it into him?"
"Certainly not, and I am glad you made the promise. What I meant was
that it would have been better had you done so because you wished to."
"But I didn't till now."
"We won't speak of it further now. Go home and ask your mother to rub
the bruises with liniment. When you feel inclined I would like to have
you come to see Jack and me."
"I ain't goin' 'round to be preached at," Bill replied in his old
defiant tone. "There was enough of that at camp meetin' to last a feller
a month."
"I did not see you at the services."
"Once I had to go when mother caught me jest as the bell was ringin',
an' its the last time I'll get in the same box."
Aunt Nancy shook her head sadly.
She was discouraged, but not so much as to give up the struggle, for it
was her intention to renew it again at a more "convenient season."
"We had best go back, Jack dear, and William will come to-morrow to tell
us how he feels.
"I ain't so sure 'bout that, if you're goin' to stuff a feller with a
lot of sabbath-school talk," Bill said sulkily, as he picked up the axe
and started across the fields without further thanks to his kind
friends.
"He doesn't seem like a very good boy at heart," Aunt Nancy said sadly,
as she raised Louis in her arms; "but we must not judge by outward
appearances. I almost feel condemned for saying anything when my own
sin has not been atoned for. My mind would be much easier if I had seen
Mr. Pratt at the meeting."
"It won't take long to fix that," Jack replied, noting with sorrow the
look of pain which had come over the little woman's face. "It will do
jest as well if I go there an' tell him what you wanted to say."
"But then you would be where they could easily carry you to the poor
farm."
"Well, s'posen they did, what would that 'mount to side of makin' you
feel good? Besides, don't you believe Mr. Souders could make them let me
out?"
"Perhaps he might; I never thought of that."
"I'll leave here to-morrow mornin', an' by night be there."
"Bless your heart, child, I would never think of letting you walk that
long distance. If we should make up our minds that it was best to go,
and I wish I _could_ have the strength to say it, you'd ride in the
cars."
"Why not decide now?"
"Because, Jack dear, it nearly breaks my heart to think there is a
possibility of being obliged to give you up."
"Well, s'posen we go home an' talk the thing over some other time,"
Jack said with an assumption of cheerfulness which was far from natural.
He had suddenly conceived a plan by which the little woman could be
relieved without the pain of deciding that it should be so, and there
was no more than sufficient time to put it into execution.
Aunt Nancy walked back to the house in a meditative mood, Jack talking
about the cow and kindred topics to prevent her mind from dwelling upon
the dreaded subject.
He at once set about doing the chores in an unusually careful manner
when they arrived home.
A large quantity of wood was brought into the kitchen, an extra amount
of water drawn, and the cow given a generous lunch of clover after she
had been driven into the stable.
"Why do you do so much unnecessary work, Jack dear?" Aunt Nancy asked.
"There will be nothing left for morning, and it is bad to have 'idle
hands.'"
"I may as well fix everything now, for you know what you said about
puttin' off till to-morrow. Say, Aunt Nancy, would you lend me a lead
pencil an' a piece of paper?"
"Of course, my child. Are you going to write a letter?"
"Yes, Aunt Nancy, an' you shall see it in the mornin'."
"Better sit down at the kitchen table. If writing is as much of a task
for you as it is for me, you'll need every possible convenience."
"I had rather do it in my room, for you see I don't know very much about
such things, an' it'll come mighty hard, but you won't care if it don't
look very nice, will you?"
"Certainly not, my child. It could only annoy me because I have not
taken advantage of our leisure time to teach you the little I know."
"You are always blamin' yourself, Aunt Nancy, an' I don't like to hear
it. I wouldn't let anybody else talk that way about you."
For reply the little woman patted the boy on the cheek, and then
proposed the nightly search for burglars be made.
After the evening devotions Aunt Nancy gave Jack the articles he had
asked for, and was considerably surprised by the warmth of the boy's
good-night salute.
Once in his room, Jack set about what was for him a formidable task, and
it was late before he completed the following:--
"DEAR AUNT NANCY I AM GOIN TO SEA THE FARMER & TELL HIM YOU R SORRY
IF I DONT COME BACK U WILL NO WHERE I AM BUT DONT FEL BAD FOUR I
LUV U. I CARNT STOP TO MILK
JACK DUDLEY
URE JACK DEAR."
When this had been done Jack looked around the little room as if taking
leave of all it contained, wiped a suspicious moisture from his eyes,
and then dressed, but with his shoes in his hands, crept softly down the
stairs.
The ticking of the clock sounded strangely loud and unnatural; the
silence, save for this clicking noise, was oppressive, and he felt as if
he was about to commit some crime against the woman who had befriended
him.
"It's got to be done, an' I mustn't stand here worryin' about it, or I
might back out," he said to himself.
It was necessary he should think of Aunt Nancy's self accusations and
sorrow before he could nerve himself to raise the window.
He took this method of departing rather than by the door, for he feared
the little woman would be alarmed on learning she had remained in the
house a portion of the night without every place of egress being
securely fastened.
Once outside he gazed around several moments, taking in all the details
of the place where he had spent so many pleasant days, and then, putting
on his shoes, he started up the lane with a heart so heavy it seemed a
positive burden.
The moon shone faintly through the clouds; the night wind murmured
mournfully among the trees, and before him could dimly be seen the road
he believed led him to the paupers' home by way of Mr. Pratt's house.