THE RETURN OF THE RUNAWAY.
When Phil Berkeley read the note that was brought to him by the man
with the black straw hat, he gave a shout of joy which rang through the
house.
“Read that,” he cried to Chap, who had been on the porch, making
calculations on a piece of paper, and who now ran in to see what was
the matter.
Chap seized the note and read:
“MY VERY DEAR PHIL,--From the bottom of my heart I beg your pardon
for the cruel words I wrote you. It was all a mistake. I long to see
you again, and shall be with you very soon after you read this.
“Your affectionate uncle,
“GODFREY.”
The joyful news spread rapidly over the place, and in ten minutes Joel
was driving a light wagon toward town, to meet Mr. Berkeley and bring
him home.
Never was prodigal uncle received more warmly. Phil, of course, was
wild with joy. Even if Mr. Berkeley had not returned that day, the note
he had received would have made him the happiest boy on earth.
Chap was a good deal more overjoyed than if one of his own uncles had
arrived, and Susan’s face had not been so radiant for many a year.
Even Mr. Muller, possessed with the pervading spirit, could scarcely
resist welcoming Mr. Berkeley to Hyson Hall. But as he had not the
slightest right to do so, he kept discreetly in the background and
smiled his gratification.
During supper, and long after the meal was over, the talking, the
questioning, and the explanations went on. There was so much to ask and
to tell that there seemed to be no end to it all. Mr. Muller went to
bed early, for he had done a great deal of walking that day. Chap would
have been glad to sit up all night to talk and listen, but, after a
time, he discreetly followed the example of Mr. Muller.
As he was about to pass the open door of the room which that gentleman
occupied, he stopped and asked,--
“Are you asleep, sir?”
Mr. Muller felt very much inclined to say that he was, but instead of
that he muttered that he was not quite asleep yet--just dropping off,
he thought.
“I’ll not bother you now,” said the considerate Chap; “but to-morrow
you’ll find me all ready to talk about that business.”
And he passed on.
“That is more than I shall be,” said Mr. Muller to himself. “I wonder
if there is such a thing as a sunken ship on the place?”
And he went to sleep and dreamed that he had gone to bed in a ship that
was buried three hundred feet under mud and sand; and he was in a great
deal of trouble when he thought how difficult it would be for him to
get out when it was time for him to go ashore for breakfast.
Phil and his uncle sat up until long after their usual bedtime. As soon
as they were alone, Mr. Berkeley explained to Phil the reason he wrote
the note which had caused the boy so much grief.
“When I walked over this way on the morning of that day,” said Mr.
Berkeley. “I came after Old Bruden, because I thought it would be a
good thing to have a gun out there in the woods with me, and I picked
up a little fellow on the road to send to the house. I thought it very
likely you would come running to meet me when you heard where I was,
and so I did not stay by the bridge where the boy left me, but went
over to the top of one of the little hills in the field, to watch and
see who came from the house.
“I knew very well that if you came to me you would wheedle and coax
me into giving up my splendid plan of study. When I saw you coming,
and without the gun, as if my wishes and requests were not worth
considering, I was a little provoked, and hurried down the other side
of the hill, and by the time you reached the bridge I was far enough
away. I did not, however, go back to my little hut, and after a time
I began to think how disappointed you must have been when you came
to the bridge and did not find me. It also dawned upon me that I was
not behaving in a very sensible manner. It would be much better to
go home and get what I wanted and trust to you not to annoy me with
questions as to where I was and what I was doing. So, in the course
of the afternoon, I started back for Hyson Hall, thinking it very
likely I should spend the night there and return to my hut the next
day; but when I came near the house, I heard those bells and soon saw
them on the roof. I don’t know of any sound that could have affected
me more disagreeably than the jingling of those bells. I knew that you
understood how much I disliked them, and it pained me to think you
should hang them up while I was gone. And when I considered that you
knew I had been in the neighborhood that morning, it seemed to me that
you had hung them in revenge for my having taken myself out of your
way. I was so angry at this imagined insult that I marched off and
mailed you that abominable note.”
“It’s all right now, uncle,” said Phil. “I don’t wonder you thought I
was a contemptible rascal. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to start
off and look for you, Emile would not have dared to come here, the
bells would not have been hung up, you would have been home in the
afternoon, and everything would have been all right.”
“It often happens that way, my boy,” said Mr. Berkeley. “But you have
had a hard time, Phil, and you have done splendidly. If any mistakes
were made they were not your fault. You have saved me this property,
and I shall never forget what I owe you. When I went away, I expected
you would have some bothers and perplexities, but I thought it would
be a useful experience for you to weather through them. It would have
been impossible for me to imagine that you would have such anxieties
and trials as those you have gone through. And, although I always had
a good opinion of you, I would not have supposed that you would have
stood up against your difficulties so manfully.”
As to the deficiency in money for household and other expenses, Mr.
Berkeley easily explained that. He had expected a certain sum which
was owing to him to be paid on his account to Mr. Welford, which that
gentleman had not received. If this payment had been properly made,
there would have been no difficulty in carrying on the Hyson Hall
establishment until Mr. Berkeley’s return.
“But, uncle,” said Phil, as they were preparing to go up-stairs,
“there’s one thing I don’t understand. You said, in the long letter
you left for me when you went away, that you couldn’t stay at home any
longer because life here was so monotonous. Now, it seems to me it
must have been ever so much more monotonous in a little log hut in the
woods, where you never saw a soul. Of course I can understand why you
couldn’t study here, where you are interrupted every five minutes by
some of us.”
“It was the monotony of interruption that disturbed me,” said Mr.
Berkeley, smiling. “Every day it was the same thing. I would plan out
a certain amount of reading, and the day would often pass without my
opening a book. In the woods it was very different. Law is generally
considered a very dry and musty subject, but my studies were very fresh
and interesting to me. The whole affair seemed like an adventure. It
reminded me of part of my life in South America, and I enjoyed it
greatly. I was not only leading an untrammelled life in the woods,
but I was doing something useful and sensible besides, and this is
more than I can say of a good deal of the out-door life of my earlier
years. And, then, there was the spice of running away from a tyrannical
nephew. That made it all the jollier, don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t,” said Phil. “But some of these days I may run away from
you, just to see how pleasant it is.”
“If you do,” said Mr. Berkeley, “I’ll let old Touron buy Hyson Hall,
and when you are tired of roving you can come back and live with Emile.”
When the two went up-stairs, Chap called out to them from his room. He
had evidently been keeping himself awake on purpose to hail them when
they came up.
“Phil,” cried Chap, “did you ask your uncle if he saw anything of the
lonely sumach when he was in the Green Swamp?”
“That boy again!” groaned Mr. Muller, as he turned over in his bed.
“No, I didn’t,” said Phil. “I never thought of it. But you have heard
of that lonely sumach, haven’t you, uncle? Did you see it?”
Mr. Berkeley stopped at the door of Chap’s room, which, like the other
bedrooms on that floor, opened on the large central hall.
“Yes, I have heard of it,” he said, “and I am quite sure I have found
it. It was not far from my hut, and I did most of my reading in its
shade.”
“In its shade!” cried both of the boys together.
“Yes,” said Mr. Berkeley. “The ground under it was smooth and grassy,
and, as it stands by itself on a little hill, there was more air out
there than in the thick woods about my hut.”
“Then it isn’t poisonous, after all!” cried Chap, who was sitting up in
bed.
“No,” said Mr. Berkeley, “I certainly did not find it so.”
“That _is_ a disappointment!” cried Chap.
“What!” exclaimed Phil. “Did you want me to have a dead uncle?”
“No,” replied Chap, “I didn’t mean that; but still---- Oh, you
understand! Good-night!”
And he lay down, and drew the bed-covers around his ears.
He had earnestly longed to find that tree, and now, alas! it was not a
deadly tree at all. One of life’s charms had vanished.
The next morning, after breakfast, Mr. Berkeley noticed Old Bruden
standing in a corner of the hall, where Mr. Muller had placed it when
he brought it home, the afternoon before. Taking up the gun, Mr.
Berkeley raised the hammers, and then remarked,--
“Have you forgotten, Phil, that it is against orders to leave a loaded
gun about the house in this way? There is a fresh cap on one of these
barrels.”
Phil explained that he had had so much to think about the night before
he had not noticed the gun at all.
Thereupon Mr. Berkeley, having put upon the other nipple a
percussion-cap, which Mr. Muller produced from one of his pockets, went
out on the porch to fire out the loads.
He pointed the gun over the lawn, where there was nothing that could be
injured, and pulled one trigger. A cap snapped. Then the other trigger.
Another snap.
“What is the matter with this old gun?” said Mr. Berkeley, coming into
the hall. “I must draw the loads. Where is the ramrod?”
Phil got it from the umbrella-rack, where he had put it when he brought
it home. Mr. Berkeley then fixed the screw and, running the ramrod
into one of the barrels, proceeded to draw the load. First he pulled
out a piece of raw cotton, then another piece, and then some more.
“Why, this load seems to be all wadding!” said Mr. Berkeley, in
surprise. “Here is quite a pile of it.”
The interested and somewhat amazed group standing around the gun was
now joined by Jenny.
“Them’s Susan’s loads,” she said to Phil. “She put ’em in when she took
the gun up to her room. She wanted to make sure it wouldn’t go off.”
“And she certainly did make sure of it!” cried Phil, as his uncle
pulled the cotton from the other barrel.
Phil was now obliged to tell the story of Susan and the gun, though
he touched so lightly upon the bad points of it that Chap stuck his
hands in his pockets and strutted up and down in disgust. Mr. Berkeley
understood the story quite well, although he chose to say little about
it.
“Susan is a prudent woman,” he remarked, “and her cotton loads have
probably saved at least one of our lives.”
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