ON THE RIVER.
VICTORIA concluded that if she wished to save Dave Carney, her best
course was to say nothing to Mr. Madison. He would not be influenced by
any feeling of pity for Dave, she feared, and if he knew that Sophy had
imagined that the boy passed through the room, he would consider it his
duty to tell the detective of the fact.
Victoria remembered that Sophy had been very confident when the incident
occurred that she had not been dreaming, and the torn vines and the open
door proved conclusively that some one had climbed in at the window.
Victoria in her own mind was almost if not entirely convinced that it was
Carney, but there was nothing to cause any one else to suspect him,—with
the exception of her aunt, who suspected him on principle,—and if
Victoria remained silent, she hoped that the boy would escape.
But then, again, was this course right? If Carney were so depraved as to
steal from the family who had treated him with such kindness, surely it
was their duty to deliver him into the hands of justice. Victoria knew
that this would be Roger Madison’s opinion. She had just determined to
say nothing and to allow matters to take their course without
interference from her, when something which Peter said to her again
unsettled her.
The boy was in the hammock, which was hung across one end of the piazza
directly in front of the dining-room window. Seeing Victoria within,
where she was busily washing the breakfast dishes, he called to her to
come to him.
“What do you want?” asked Victoria, appearing on the other side of the
wire screen at the window, with a saucer in her hand which she was
vigorously wiping with a crash towel. “I’m awfully busy, Peter. It is
ironing day, you know, and Honor and Katherine are making the beds, so I
have to do the breakfast things alone. Sophy is helping me, but—you know
what that means!”
“I want to speak to you,” said Peter, raising himself on one arm, and
lowering his voice to a mysterious whisper. “It’s really very important,
Vic. About last night, you know. Can’t you come out here a minute? Is any
one else in there?”
“Only Sophy.”
“Not Aunt Sophia?”
“No; she is upstairs.”
“Oh, then do come out, quick! It’s a good chance. And shut that window. I
don’t want any one inside to hear me.”
Victoria saw that he had really something of importance to communicate,
so, leaving several articles upon the tray for Sophy to wipe during her
absence, and giving her strict injunctions to be careful, she closed the
dining-room window, and went around through the door to Peter on the
piazza.
“Have you seen Carney this morning?” he asked eagerly.
Victoria started. The mention of Carney’s name fitted so exactly with her
own thoughts.
“No,” she replied.
“Vic, do you think it could have been he? I wasn’t going to let on to
Aunt Sophia that I thought it for a minute, but I do feel kind of shaky
about it.”
“Why, Peter, do you really?” said Victoria. “Wouldn’t it—at least, why
should he have chosen that way of letting the burglars in? If it was
really Dave who opened the door, I should think he could have found some
other way of doing it. He is around the kitchen so much, he might have
left a window unbolted, or something of that sort. It would have been
easier than climbing up to my room. And now I come to think of it, Dave
knew that was my room. He came up there once, to hang my book shelves. He
never would have been so stupid as to climb in that way!”
Victoria’s tone expressed a sense of relief. She had not thought of this
before. She almost forgot her surprise at Peter’s suspicions.
“But, Vic,” said her brother, “I must tell you something I have never
told anybody, and it kind of bothers me. I never told you what Carney was
doing when I first saw him.”
“No. Was it anything wrong, Peter?”
“He was—now don’t you tell any one, Vic, unless we decide that we had
better. Now mind you don’t!”
“No, I won’t. Hurry, for I hear Sophy calling.”
“He was stealing apples from a barrel outside of a provision store in
Fordham.”
“Peter!”
“Yes, he was! I caught him at it. He said he hadn’t any money to buy
anything to eat, and he was awfully hungry, so I gave him some. And then
he helped me,—in that fight, you know,—and he came home with me.” Peter
could not yet endure to mention the name of Sirius.
“He seemed like such a nice fellow,” he continued, “and I thought it
would be a shame to give him a bad name by saying he’d been stealing. I
knew Honor would never have him here if I did, so I just kept quiet about
that, and didn’t even tell you, but I thought I had better to-day. I
don’t believe for a minute, though, that he had anything to do with the
robbery. I can’t think it, can you?”
“I don’t know what to think,” said Victoria, again remembering Sophy’s
so-called dream.
At that moment a loud crash sounded from within.
“Dear me,” cried Victoria, running into the house; “I do believe Sophy
has broken something!”
She found her small sister gazing in dismay at the floor, which was
strewn with broken glass.
“I never meant to!” she wailed, when she saw Victoria. “Indeed, Vic, I
never meant to! I was only going to help you carry the tumblers to the
china closet, and they all began to slip, and slide, and tumble off the
tray. Is that the reason they’re called tumblers, Vic? Because they
always tumble off? I never touched a tumbler when it didn’t tumble. Tell
me, Vic, is it? Oh, I’m awful sorry, but I was only helping!”
“I suppose you were, but, oh dear!” said Victoria, hurrying away for the
dust-pan and brush with which to sweep up the broken glass. “This is a
day of misfortunes! What the burglars have left you have broken.”
“Oh, not everything, Vic! How can you say so? There’s all the china,
dishes, and plates, and cups and saucers, and everything. I haven’t
broken those.”
“No, and please don’t try to,” said her sister, struggling to remain calm
and not to scold Sophy. A dozen good tumblers in atoms, and how could
they spare the money to buy more?
“I never tried to!” cried Sophy, bursting into tears and burying her face
in a dish-towel. “Oh, how can you say so? I never tried to break ’em!”
But for the first time in her life, Victoria turned a deaf ear to Sophy’s
lamentations, and the child fled upstairs to Honor for consolation. She
found her eldest sister in her own room. She was standing in the middle
of the floor and she was directly confronted by B. Lafferty, who, with
her hands on her hips, was haranguing her young mistress with all the
eloquence at her command.
Sophy forgot her own grievance in wonder as to what Blanch could be
talking about, and sidling up to Honor, she dried her tears and listened,
her big brown eyes fastened upon the crimson countenance of the
housemaid.
“I tell yer, I’m agoin’ ter go this very minute!” said Blanch. “I ain’t
agoin’ ter stay where insults is heaped upon me. I’ve put up with the
imperence of that proud an’ hotty girl long enough. Sayin’ she’s allus
lived on Beacon Street an’ ain’t never lived in the country afore! An’
has allus been in the house with three others, a cook, a laundress, an’
an upstairs girl! An’ now she an’ yer aunt be afther sayin’ as it was me
as let in the burglars, an’ me as sound asleep as anything an’ adreamin’
o’ the ould counthry, an niver a word did I hear of any burglars till I
come down this mornin’ an’ was agoin’ ter set the table for breakfast,
an’ lo an’ behold, all the drawers an’ the closets was astandin’ open an’
I not knowin’ at all what it all mint. An’ yer know yerself as Miss Vic’s
windy and doore was astandin’ wide open an’ the burglar walked in that
way as sure as anything, an’ they be afther sayin’ as it was me or young
Dave Carney as let ’em in, as honest a young feller as iver I seen. Oh, I
tell yer—”
“Just wait a minute, Blanch,” interposed Honor. “_I_ do not think that
you had anything to do with the robbery. Neither do my sisters, and we
are the ones to whom you are accountable. If you go away in the next
train, as you threaten to do, you will make others suspect you as well as
my aunt. It will look exactly as if you were afraid of being caught and
were running off. The detective who is coming out this morning will
certainly say that you had something to do with it if he finds that you
have gone, whereas if you stay quietly here and go about your work as
usual, no one will dream of accusing you.”
There was an amount of common sense in this statement which B. Lafferty,
excited though she was, could not fail to recognize.
“Very well,” said she, “I’ll stay till termorrow, but longer than that I
couldn’t put up with that girl from Beacon Street. It’s long enough I’ve
been afther standin’ it, and me keepin’ stiddy company with a widder man
an’ havin’ the chance to git married any day I’ll set!”
And so saying she departed to the kitchen, leaving her mistress, who had
recently been having a discussion with her aunt, strongly of the opinion
that residents of Beacon Street were indeed difficult to live with.
It was not long before Roger Madison returned, bringing with him a
detective. The man carefully examined the premises, took a list of the
missing articles with an exact description of them all, and interviewed
each member of the household.
There seemed to be no doubt that the person whom Katherine had heard in
the shrubbery had entered through the window in Victoria’s room. Although
Mrs. Wentworth Ward named her suspicions of both Blanch and Dave Carney
to the detective, he did not seem inclined to agree with her in regard to
the former. Honor had been given a very good account of the Irishwoman’s
honesty when she engaged her, and there had been nothing since she lived
with them to cause her to doubt it.
As to Carney, that was a different matter. When the detective questioned
him, he became very much confused and gave most unsatisfactory replies;
and yet it seemed impossible that a boy who was familiar with the house,
and knew that two members of the family occupied the room over the
dining-room, should have chosen that means of entering. The detective
could determine nothing as yet.
After he had gone back to Boston, and the affairs of the family had
resumed their accustomed regularity, Victoria’s thoughts reverted to the
matter which had been troubling her the evening before. There seemed to
be no one to whom she could speak upon the subject. She attempted to draw
Honor into conversation about it, but with no result. Honor replied
rather shortly that her mind was too much occupied with the robbery to
think of anything else. Naturally, to speak to Katherine was out of the
question, and after all, said Victoria to herself, why was it necessary
to speak to any one? It was only the foolish habit that they all had of
talking over their troubles together, that made her anxious to do so on
this occasion.
“I may just as well learn to do without it,” thought she. “It is a good
chance to begin. I have several things on my mind now. Katherine, the
etchings, and Dave. Secrets and responsibilities seem to be multiplying.
I think I’ll slip off to the grove and have a good think all to myself.”
This was not so easy of accomplishment as might appear at first sight,
but after having promised Aunt Sophia that the afternoon should be
devoted to her correspondence, and having established Peter and Sophy at
a game of halma, and leaving Katherine at the piano and Honor at the
sewing-machine, Victoria departed to the pine grove.
It was a warm day, and now at noon the sun shone down with oppressive
heat. The weather, which had been unusually cool during the past few days
for the season of the year, had suddenly changed, and a hot wave had
reached that part of the country and was about to envelop them with its
relentless intensity. There was not a breath of air in the grove, and the
aromatic smell of the pine needles which covered the ground like a thick
carpet seemed to add to the heat.
Victoria wondered if it would be cooler on the river, drawn up in the
shadow of the bank. She went to the little boathouse and loosing the old
boat, she stepped into it and pushed out into midstream. Then with one
oar she paddled close up to shore and made herself fast to a convenient
stump.
The boat was not a very comfortable craft, and it was inclined to leak,
but by sitting with her feet carefully tucked to one side, she managed to
avoid the pools of water in the bottom. The Starrs had long wished for a
canoe, and their father had intended to buy one for them. After his death
there was no money with which to get it, although Katherine had made
known her intention more than once of buying one as soon as she had saved
enough.
“I don’t believe she will, though,” said Victoria to herself, as she
leaned her head upon her hands and prepared for a “good think.” “I really
believe Katherine is growing a tiny mite more economical. She hasn’t
bought anything at all, lately. I wonder if it is because of her interest
in her music and—and the Madisons.”
The name had scarcely crossed her mind when she was startled by a voice
that seemed to be very close to her. She had been so absorbed in her
thoughts that she had not heard the gentle dip of a paddle nor the slight
sound in the water of an approaching canoe. Turning quickly, she found
that Roger Madison had drawn up directly alongside.
“Did I startle you?” he said. “I beg your pardon. I thought you would
hear me coming. No, to be quite truthful, I didn’t really think so. I
wanted to catch you, and not give you a chance to run away from me, as
usual. No, you needn’t look up there,” he added, seeing that Victoria’s
glance involuntarily sought the river bank, which was high and
particularly steep at this point. “You couldn’t possibly climb up there,
if you were to try, without falling back into the river, and I should
have to rescue you from a watery grave.”
“A muddy one, I think,” said Victoria, laughing in spite of her desire
for flight. She could not help liking Roger Madison, much as she wished
to avoid him. She had liked him that memorable day in the picture store;
and since then what a good friend he had proved himself to be! He had
saved Peter’s life, he had come again and again to see the boy, and had
done much, Victoria felt confident, to help him to bear his accident
patiently; and now to-day he had taken all this trouble in regard to the
robbery.
“I have long been waiting for this chance,” said Madison; “and, now that
it has come, I intend to make the most of it, and you shall not be
allowed to escape until you have explained matters. I felt that I was
staying out of town for some good reason to-day, and now it is explained.
It was to see you. I want to know why you always try to avoid me. Have I
ever done anything to make you dislike me?”
“Never!” replied Victoria, with such emphasis that there was no doubting
her sincerity.
“Then why do you run away whenever I come within speaking distance?”
“I should think you would know,” said she. “It is because you were the
man who bought that etching.”
“But I don’t see the connection,” said Roger. “Why should that make you
wish to avoid me? You didn’t cheat me. The etching was worth all I gave
you for it. It was simply a matter of business. If you feel that you must
avoid all the people you have ever transacted any business with—”
“But it _wasn’t_ worth all that you gave me for it,” cried Victoria,
turning towards him her flushed and troubled face, and, in her
excitement, allowing her feet to slip down into the bottom of the boat.
“It wasn’t! That is just it! You gave me more than you should have done;
and I accepted it, which was dreadful! When I came home and told the
girls about it, Honor hoped that I should never see you again. She felt
very badly about it, and so did I. I didn’t dare tell them that it was
you. That is the reason I ran away the day we went to call on your sister
and I saw you in the parlor. The girls couldn’t understand it, and have
never been able to since.”
“Then they don’t know it yet?”
“No. I have never dared tell them.”
“Then don’t tell them now, will you? It might prejudice them against me.”
“I won’t if I can help it,” said Victoria. “They asked me last night
about it, and said that Sophy repeated something I said yesterday
afternoon. I think I should have told them then if Katherine hadn’t heard
that noise in the shrubbery just at that minute, and we were
interrupted.”
“But I wish you would explain why you feel so,” said Roger, with a
puzzled expression upon his face. “Why did you wish to avoid me? Why did
you never wish to see me again? I can’t understand.”
“Dear me, you are very dense!” exclaimed Victoria. “It is as simple as
possible, I’m sure! In the first place, I took ten dollars more from you,
or five dollars at least, than I should have done, because there was no
reason why you should give me more than you would have paid in the store.
Then, it—well, Honor felt dreadfully about having let me go to Boston to
sell those etchings, and said I ought not to have gone alone, and you,
‘the young man,’ would think it very strange that I was allowed to go
when I was so young, and she should have gone with me. That is the reason
she hoped we should never see you again. Then when you came here to live
I couldn’t tell her that you were the one, because she had felt
uncomfortable about calling on your sister anyhow.”
“But why?” asked Madison. “Didn’t she like our looks?”
“Oh, not that at all! Because we are so poor and are working for our
living. She felt that you were strangers and perhaps wouldn’t understand,
and perhaps wouldn’t want us to call upon you or know you. You see, we
haven’t always been so, and it makes it harder. We had great difficulty,
Katherine and I, in getting her to go, and when she finally did and liked
you all so much I couldn’t bear to spoil it by telling her.”
“I see,” said Roger. “And you won’t spoil it now by telling her, either,
because—well, we are such capital friends now and it might make a
difference. Wait until—until I know her better. Then we will tell her,
you and I together, and have a good laugh over it. But I want to say
something to you, Miss Victoria. You needn’t feel in that way about the
etching. I happen to know that the picture dealer sold the others for
thirty-five dollars each, and mine gave so much pleasure to my sister, to
whom I gave it, that it is worth far more to me. I have never regretted
buying it, I assure you. And I also want to tell you how much we admire
and respect you for the way in which you have all done. So far from our
not understanding, we had heard about you before we came, and were most
anxious to meet you. We feel proud to know you. Would you mind shaking
hands with me?”
Victoria promptly extended her hand, which was warmly grasped by the
occupant of the other boat.
“You won’t run away any more,” said he, “will you?”
“No indeed! I’m thankful I don’t have to. You have done me a lot of good.
It is one of the things I came down here to think over. You see I had no
one to speak to about it, and I really seem to need some one always to
talk things over with.”
“It is a great comfort. My sister and I have that habit, too. Can’t you
talk the other ‘things’ over with me? You say this was one of them, so
there must be more.”
Victoria blushed and turned away.
“Oh, no!” she said. “The others I shall have to keep to myself—except
Dave Carney. I could consult you about him, but I think I had better
not.”
“Do you mean in connection with the robbery?”
“Yes; and yet I don’t want to put it into words. I wish I could have a
little talk with Dave myself.”
“Why don’t you?” said Madison. “It would be more efficacious than
anything I could do. You might induce him to tell you something.”
Victoria was silent for a moment. Then she suddenly looked at her feet.
“I am positively sitting with my feet in the river!” said she. “This
leaky old boat is no good at all, and my shoes are soaking wet. I shall
have to go right in and change them.”
“I suppose I shall have to allow you to go under those circumstances,”
said Roger, as he pushed out of the way and watched her unfasten her
boat, in the doing of which she scorned his proffered assistance. “But I
am glad we have had this explanation. You won’t run away from me any
more, will you?”
“No,” said Victoria, smiling brightly at him and disappearing within the
shelter of the old boathouse. “I won’t run away from you any more.”