KATE'S DEFECTION.
"Fanny Grant, you stole that money!" said Kate, as though she had made
a great discovery.
It was no discovery at all. She had been reasonably confident that the
five dollars, which Fanny acknowledged to be in her possession, had
been stolen, or, if not actually stolen, that it had been obtained in
a manner entirely at variance even with a very low ideal of common
honesty. She was willing to enjoy the good things which might be
bought with the five dollars, but she was not disposed to bear the
responsibility of the theft, either as principal or accessory. If, when
the day of reckoning came, she could make it appear that she did not
know the money had been stolen, she would escape the penalty and the
odium of being a thief, or a receiver of stolen goods.
Like many others, she could hold up her hands in holy horror at the
crime made public, while she was willing to wink at or compromise the
crime for her own benefit in the secret chambers of her own heart. If
she had been taught in ancient Lacedæmonia that it is not a crime to
steal, but a crime to be found out, she could not have been more
faithful to its base policy.
Fanny heard the charge, but made no reply, pretending to be occupied in
watching the course of the boat.
"You stole that money, Fanny Grant!" repeated Kate, with even more
emphasis, and more holy horror than before.
"Well, what if I did?" answered Fanny, who was disposed to have her
associate as deep in the mud as she herself was in the mire; and she
knew that it would be impossible to deny the fact when she exhibited
the great roll of bills in her pocket.
"I didn't think you would steal money, Fanny."
"You would yourself, if you got a chance."
"No, I wouldn't; I'm bad enough, I know, but I wouldn't steal."
"Yes, you would! You needn't pretend to be so good. You will never be
hung for your honesty. I know you."
"Do you mean to say I would steal?" demanded Kate, not a little
mortified to be thought so meanly of.
"I know you would. Who stole the strawberries the other day?"
"That wasn't money," pleaded Kate.
"It was all the same."
"I wouldn't take money. I'm not a thief."
"You flatter yourself."
"I wouldn't. But, Fanny," she added, willing to change the subject, "I
shouldn't dare to go to New York city."
"Why not?"
"Something might happen to us."
"What can happen to us?"
"I don't know; but I'm afraid to go. What should we do with ourselves
for a whole week?"
"Have a good time; that's what we are going for?"
"I can't go, Fan."
"Yes, you can; and you must. You have got into the scrape so far, and
you are not going to leave me alone now. You promised to go with me."
"But you did not tell me what you were going to do."
"I have told you now; and if you attempt to back out, you shall bear
half the blame."
"I didn't steal."
"I don't care if you didn't; you shall bear your share of the blame.
You shall go with me."
"What will my mother say?"
"She will say you are a naughty girl, and punish you for what you have
done. If you go with me, she will be so glad to see you when you get
back, that she won't say a word. She will find out what you are made of
then; if you go back now, she will see that you are nothing but a
chicken at heart, and she will punish you, as you deserve to be for
deserting your friend."
"My mother would feel awfully if I did not come back to-night,"
continued Kate, thoughtfully, even sadly; and she was sincere now.
"She will get over it."
"She would feel dreadfully."
"So much the better; the worse she feels the more glad she will be to
see you when you do go back."
Kate saw that it was useless to reason with her companion on this
point; besides, there was a certain sacred feeling in her heart which
Fanny could neither understand nor appreciate, and she was unwilling to
expose it to the rude reproaches of one who seemed to have no heart.
She was too timid, rather than too conscientious, to engage in such a
gigantic scheme of wickedness as that which Fanny had indicated; and we
must do her the justice to add, that the blessed influence of a
mother's love, stronger and deeper in her heart than principle,
asserted its sway, and to give her mother a week of pain and anxiety
was revolting to her.
She was fully determined not to go to New York city, and to get home as
soon as she could. But Fanny had so much to say about "backing out,"
and "deserting her friend," that she deemed it prudent not to mention
anything about her resolution. She knew her companion well enough to
believe that it would be useless to attempt to persuade her to abandon
her brilliant scheme; and Fanny was so resolute and self-willed that
she might find a way to compel her to go with her, whether she was
willing or not.
"Do you want to know how much money I have got?" asked Fanny, after a
silence of some minutes, during which Kate had been thinking what she
should do.
"I should like to know," replied Kate, who, however, was really
indifferent after she had decided not to partake of the good things
which the stolen money could purchase.
"You take the tiller then, and I will count it. Keep it just as it is,"
said Fanny, resigning her place to her fellow-voyager.
The boat was going along very easily with the wind on the starboard
quarter, and did not need much attention. She was approaching
Pennville, and the cruise was nearly finished. Fanny took the roll of
bills from her pocket, and proceeded to count it. The notes were nearly
all "greenbacks," with a few small bills on the state banks. There were
twenties, tens, and fives, and the thief was almost frightened herself
when she ascertained the amount she had obtained.
"One hundred, one hundred five, one hundred and ten," said Fanny, as
she counted the money; "one hundred and ten----"
"Why, Fanny Grant!" cried Kate, horrified at the greatness of the sum.
"Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty----"
"They will send you to the state prison for stealing so much money!"
added Kate, trembling as the large numbers were mentioned.
"The more the better," replied Fanny, trying to keep cool, though she
was much agitated herself, as, measuring the crime by the amount of the
money, she realized how guilty she had been.
She finished the counting; and the whole sum was one hundred and
seventy-three dollars and eighty-five cents.
"There is a great deal more than I thought there was," said she.
"Why did you take so much?" asked the terrified Kate.
"I didn't know how much there was."
"You will have all the constables in the county after you before
night."
"And after you, too."
"I didn't steal it."
"Well, you were with me, and I will give you some of it."
"I don't want any of it."
"Don't you?"
"No, I don't; I don't think it is fair for you to try to make it out
that I helped you steal the money, when I didn't, and when I didn't
know anything about it."
"You knew I had some money before you got into the boat. You are
scared--that's all."
"I am scared, and I wish I hadn't come."
"I wish you hadn't, because you are so frightened; but now you have
gone so far, you can't back out. You want to return to Woodville, and
tell them I stole the money."
"No, I don't."
"I'm never going back to Woodville again. They have been talking about
sending me to my uncle's, in Minnesota, and I'm not going to be sent
there."
"What shall I do, then?" demanded Kate, awed and astonished at the
desperate purpose of her friend.
"I will see that you get back home all right. Here is some money to pay
your passage," added Fanny, counting out a portion of the bills.
"I don't want that."
"Very well," answered Fanny, putting the bills in her pocket; and she
looked so firm and so "ugly" that Kate was actually afraid of her.
The Greyhound had nearly reached the pier at Pennville; but Fanny did
not intend to land at any public place, and she ran the boat up to the
bank of the river, a short distance above the village, grounding it
lightly on a kind of beach she had chosen as a landing-place. Fanny
took the boat-hook in her hand, and jumped ashore.
"Now, Kate Magner, before we go any farther, we must come to an
understanding. If you think you are going to leave me to bear all the
blame, you are mistaken."
"I don't mean any such thing," replied Kate.
"Yes, you do; you mean to betray me."
"No, I don't."
"Why didn't you take the money I offered you, then?"
"I don't want it."
"You are in the boat, and I am on the land. If you don't take the
money, I will push the boat off, and she will carry you away--I don't
know where."
"Don't do that."
"Will you take the money?"
"Yes, I will," answered Kate, who was more afraid of the boat than she
would have been of a demon.
"Take it, then," said Fanny, handing her the little roll of bills she
had taken from the package for this purpose. "There is twenty-one
dollars."
Kate took the money, and thrust it into her pocket.
"Now we are both just the same. You have taken some of the money, and
you are just as bad as I am. You can't back out now, if you want to do
so."
This was only an expedient on the part of the resolute mistress of the
expedition to prevent her companion from deserting her, rather than to
insure an equal division of the punishment for stealing.
"What shall we do now?" asked Kate, as she landed from the boat, which
Fanny held with the boat-hook.
"We will go up to the railroad station, and take the train for New York
city."
"But what are you going to do with the boat?"
"I don't care anything about the boat. I have had all I want of her.
But I think I will let the sails down, and fasten her to the bank. If
they should find her, she might betray us."
Fanny lowered the sails, and fastened the painter to a stake on the
bank. The two girls then started for the village, which was about a
quarter of a mile below the place where they had landed. When they had
gone a short distance, they saw a man mending a boat on the bank of the
river. Kate took particular notice of him, for she was already planning
the means of her deliverance from the arbitrary sway of her companion.
The two girls were very well dressed, and it was not an uncommon thing
for young ladies to manage their own boats on the Hudson; so, if they
had been seen to land from the Greyhound, no notice was taken of the
circumstance. They were not likely to be molested, except by their own
guilty consciences. They walked directly to the railroad station, and
ascertained that the train would leave in half an hour. Fanny, anxious
to conciliate her associate, and accustom her to her new situation,
invited her to a saloon, where they partook of ice-creams; but partial
as Kate was to this luxury, it did not taste good, and seemed to be
entirely different from any ice-cream she had ever eaten before.
When it was nearly time for the train to arrive, Fanny bought two
tickets, and they joined the crowd that was waiting for the cars. Kate
seemed to be so fully reconciled to the enterprise, that her friend did
not doubt her any longer; she had no suspicion of her intended
defection.
"I am almost choked," said Kate, when the whistle of the locomotive was
heard in the distance. "I must have a drink of water."
"You have no time."
"I won't be gone but a second," replied Kate.
"I will wait here--but be quick."
Kate went into the station-house, and passing out at the door on the
other side, ran off towards the river as fast as her legs would carry
her. She reached the outskirts of the village before she slackened her
pace, and then, exhausted and out of breath with running, she paused to
ascertain if Fanny was in pursuit of her. No one was to be seen in the
direction from which she had come, and taking courage from her success,
she walked leisurely towards the place where the Greyhound had been
left.
The man she had passed on her way down was still at work on his boat,
and Kate, telling him such a story as suited her purpose, engaged him
to sail the Greyhound up to Woodville. They embarked without any
interruption from Fanny, and in a couple of hours she was landed at the
pier from which she had started. Kate paid her boatman three dollars
from the money which Fanny had given her, and then walked up to the
mansion.
She told Mrs. Green the whole truth, and gave her the eighteen dollars
remaining in her possession. She then went home to make peace with her
mother, to whom also she told the whole story, blaming Fanny for
everything except her own truancy, and pleading that she had been led
away in this respect.
Mr. Long was still engaged in the search for Fanny, though the loss of
the money in the closet had not been discovered till Kate appeared.