A HIDDEN ENEMY
As Benny dashed valiantly into the thicket he was seized by the leg and
pulled to the ground, while some one jumped up from the bushes, and he
found himself face to face with Ivan, who gave an evil grin, and said,
“There young feller, I have you now, I make you pay.”
Benny’s heart stood still; he knew he was not able to cope with this
big, powerful fellow, but he struggled to his feet and stood silently
regarding his enemy, who still held him fast. Then he looked around
helplessly for a way of escape, but only the dark, sombre forest spread
around him, and he knew if he should attempt to run, that he would be
very speedily overtaken. Then he thought of the errand upon which he
had been sent and which he had hoped to execute promptly and well. Mr.
Bentley had said he trusted him.
Ivan’s hand continued to clutch him as he stood scowling above him.
“I must take these things to Mrs. Bentley,” began Benny, helplessly.
“No,” said Ivan, “you do not take. You lose them, also the bundles.”
A wave of dismay surged over Benny.
“What do you say that for? I never did anything to you,” he protested.
“You have done to me. You have made the eye of Mr. Bentley look me
suspect. He give me the harsh word. I will not have. It is you who have
done that to me.”
Benny was silent. He had told Mr. Bentley of Ivan’s constant little sly
actions, done to provoke him and work him trouble, and Mr. Bentley had
told the overseer to watch the Polish boy. All this Benny well knew,
and he wished he had kept his own counsel.
“You are to me disagreeable,” continued Ivan, “and now you are to be
made take the disagreeable. You are to leave these things here, and to
say you have lose, or I will beat you.”
Poor Benny! This was a hard alternative, to be untrue to the trust
placed in him, to be false to himself and his employer, or to suffer
bodily hurt. Then he suddenly remembered his father, and that he had
once said, “Never be afraid of bodily hurt; that can get well and show
no sign, but what hurts your character leaves a worse scar.”
His lip quivered, but he said, bravely, “I shall not leave the things
here.” Then with one swift movement he broke away from Ivan, jumped
over the bushes, picked up his packages, and started to run. Ivan
having quickly recovered from the surprise, followed.
On, on, Benny ran, each moment expecting to feel Ivan’s rough grasp on
his shoulder. But at a sudden cry from the Polish boy he turned his
head, to see Ivan wildly leaping in an opposite direction over bushes
and logs; and making the best of his chances, Benny proceeded to get
out of the woods as soon as possible without waiting to see what was
wrong with his pursuer. And before long he was on the open road.
“I wonder what was the matter with him,” thought Benny. “He acted as if
he were scared to death; as if he thought something was after him.”
He never did find out what had frightened Ivan, but the truth of the
matter was that a big black snake, of the variety called familiarly
a “racer,” had appeared in the path between Ivan and his victim, and
Ivan had been terrified at sight of the creature which seemed about to
pursue him as he was pursuing Benny. So in great fright he turned and
fled, and only overcame his fear sufficiently to return to the house
long after Benny was safe beyond his reach.
But the encounter gave Benny sufficient anxiety to make him very
cautious about meeting Ivan, and he was in a state of nervous terror
whenever Ivan came near him in the strawberry field, while he was
filled with apprehension when he thought about undertaking another trip
to Mr. Welch’s.
But fortune again favored him, for when he went to the house the next
morning for breakfast he missed from the kitchen the old colored cook,
and found in her place Mrs. Bentley looking anxious and worried.
“You’ll have to make out the best you can this morning,” she said,
turning to the hands. “Roxy is sick, and there isn’t a soul to help me.
I’m at my wits’ ends; picking season, and so much to do, and I hardly
know which way to turn.”
“Don’t you bother about us,” said one of the men, “we’ll make out.”
Benny watched the slight little woman lifting heavy pots and pans from
the stove, and sprang to help her.
All the time he was eating his breakfast there was a struggle going on
within him. He felt that he ought to offer to help Mrs. Bentley, but
that meant giving up his earnings in the strawberry field; on the other
hand, it would be a great relief to be out of Ivan’s way, and perhaps
that fact as much as his real generosity made him linger, after the men
had left the kitchen, to say, shyly, “Can I help you?”
Mrs. Bentley turned in surprise. “You? Why, what can you do?”
“I can wash dishes; I often do for mother. I wash, and sister wipes;
and I can sweep up, too. Besides I can amuse the children and keep them
out of the way.” This last was said with great seriousness, as if he
had long since left childhood behind him.
Mrs. Bentley looked at the stout little figure, at the round,
good-humored freckled face, the brown hair plastered back by two wet
hands, at the neatly patched clothes, and faded, well worn, though
clean, shirt waist, and her face took on an expression of relief.
“That will be a great help,” she said. “I shall be glad enough to
have you stay. My husband told me that you did not belong to the gang
of pickers that he brought down, but he didn’t know he was employing
a helper for me when he took you. Your name is Ben, isn’t it? Well,
Ben, you sha’n’t lose by it.” And for the rest of the day Benny found
himself Mrs. Bentley’s right-hand man. He smiled once or twice at his
odd position, and wondered what the boys would say--the boys who were
now, probably, playing “knuckle down” in the street. How they would
make fun of him and call him “Miss Betty.” Well, it didn’t matter;
they were probably quarreling over their marbles, while he was feeding
chickens and washing dishes.
Mrs. Bentley watched him narrowly, especially when during a moment’s
respite from kitchen work he played horse for the children.
But the black-browed Polish boy, Ivan, coming up to the pump for water,
scowled as he saw the little fellow so at home with the children.
“Sneakee!” he growled at Benny.
The boy’s face flushed. “I’m not a sneak,” he replied. “I don’t know
what you mean by saying that.”
“You very fine, very good,” Ivan replied. “I pay. You see.”
“What does make him hate me so?” thought Benny. “I’m not hurting him. I
believe he’s jealous.” And at the thought he smiled. Ivan looking over
his shoulder saw the smile and shook his fist as he vanished down the
path.
Little Alice put up a scared face, and clung to Benny, who took her in
his arms and comforted her, and soon all fear of Ivan had left the
little group.
Ivan, however, did not forget, for when Benny, whistling cheerily, went
to the dairy at Mrs. Bentley’s bidding, Ivan, who was on the watch for
some such proceeding, saw the boy go down the hill, and a gleam of
satisfaction came over his face, as, leaving his work, he followed.
Benny was bearing a crock of milk up to the house when suddenly
something whizzed through the air and struck sharply against the crock,
breaking it, spilling its contents all over the ground, and flooding
the boy’s feet with a milky torrent.
Poor little Benny knew not what to do. For a moment he was tempted
to hide the pieces, go back to the dairy, get another crock, and say
nothing about the matter; but almost instantly he recoiled from the
temptation and told himself he was a coward for even thinking of such
a thing, and therefore bearing the broken pieces back to the house,
he showed them to Mrs. Bentley. “I am awfully sorry,” he faltered. “I
don’t know how it happened. Something seemed to come out of the air
and strike the crock. I didn’t see anybody, and can’t imagine how it
happened.”
Mrs. Bentley looked a little suspiciously at the boy. It was natural
for boys to make excuses, she reasoned, and it was on the point of her
tongue to say that she had very frequently been told of breakages which
had occurred by articles coming to pieces in her servant’s hands in
some mysterious way, when they were broken through carelessness; but
just here little Jamie piped up:
“I know how it happened. That ugly, big boy, one of the pickers, threw
a stone at Ben. I saw him; he was hiding in the bushes by the spring
and he ran.”
“It was Ivan,” cried Benny. “I know it was.” And upon being questioned
he gave some account of the persecutions he had endured, while Mrs.
Bentley listened gravely.
“I don’t see how you have stood it,” she said; “but we’ll have no more
such tricks. I can’t have such an evil-minded person around here. There
is no telling what he might do. He’ll have to go.”
And the next morning Benny was informed that Ivan had been dismissed,
and had gone back to the city.
Benny breathed freer after this. He had dreaded immeasurably sleeping
in the quarters, so close to Ivan, as he was obliged to be. And to his
unspeakable relief, after supper, Mrs. Bentley said to him, “If you are
going to be my helper, Ben, I’d rather you’d sleep at the house. Those
pickers are not very clean.”
And he was shown a little room under the eaves, where he lay down and
slept peacefully.