Will uttered a great sigh of relief as the stranger led him towards the
anxious throng.
“Here’s your money, my little man,” he said, extending a bill towards
Will. “I wouldn’t go through the suspense I’ve suffered again, though,
for ten ospreys.”
Will took the money deprecatingly, and his murmured words to the effect
that “it was too much,” were lost amid the busy hum of talk around him.
“Where’s the bird?” demanded the stranger, abruptly.
“They’re chasing it yonder, still alive.”
“Yes, but it can’t fly. Here they come with it.”
Will Bertram took this opportunity, while attention was diverted from
himself, to slip away from the throng.
Clasping the ten dollar bill tightly in his hands, which were not
a little bruised by climbing, he thought only of the benefit its
possession would afford his parents.
He burst into the house just as his father and mother were sitting down
to their humble evening meal, and wondering what had detained him so
long beyond his usual time.
Impulsive, excited boy that he was, Will could not keep the climax
of his adventure of the afternoon and evening as a denouement to a
continuous narrative, but, flushed with delight at imparting surprise
and pleasure to others, he laid the crisp, new bill at his mother’s
plate.
“Will! Will!” she cried, in utter amazement, “where did you get this?”
“Earned it.”
The incredulous, almost anxious, expression in his mother’s face made
Will hasten his explanation.
The repast was deferred, as with bated breath and wondering faces his
parents listened to his recital.
He saw his father’s face grow grave as he told of his encounter with
Captain Morris, and that of his mother blanch with anxiety when he
described his ascent of the steeple.
No chiding words fell from his father’s lips when he had concluded his
narrative. Instead, he said, calmly:
“It is not a question of incurring Captain Morris’ enmity, Will, it is
a simple question of right and wrong. His conduct to poor Tom Dalton
was cruel in the extreme, and I am afraid I should have done just as
you did in telling him to run away. As to defying Morris and trying to
resist his anger as you did, hereafter I would simply keep out the way
of such men.”
“He cannot injure you, father, as he threatened?” inquired Will,
anxiously.
“No, Will, at least not until the next interest note is due, six months
hence, and by that time it looks as if my brave boy intends to have
enough money to settle the claim for good.”
“I will, father, see if I don’t,” cried Will, enthusiastically. “I’m
bound to work, and I don’t intend to get into trouble and peril to
do it as I did to-day, either. Don’t think me lacking in respect
to my elders, father, because I defied Captain Morris, but he is a
bad-hearted, malignant man, and I could not control my indignation at
his conduct.”
“And where is Tom Dalton?” inquired Mrs. Bertram.
“I don’t know,” responded Will. “Poor fellow, I must hunt him up as
soon as the Moose sails, for he’ll keep in hiding until then. Captain
Morris says I’m helping a mutiny and breaking his discipline, but I
think it’s a mighty bad discipline he’s got, father.”
“Well, come, Will, your supper is ready, and there’s plenty of time to
discuss the affair later,” urged Mrs. Bertram, as she bestowed a tender
look on her son and carefully folded away the bill.
They sat down at the table, but Will’s tongue would run over the
exciting events of the day. They had scarcely completed the meal when a
quick knock sounded at the door.
Mrs. Bertram looked inquiringly at the well-dressed stranger who stood
revealed on the threshold as she answered the knock.
“Does Mr. Bertram live here?” he inquired, and then, as she nodded
assent, he continued: “I am looking for Will Bertram.”
Will recognized the voice and hastened to the door.
“Oh! it’s the gentleman who wanted the osprey,” he explained.
“Come in, sir,” spoke Mrs. Bertram, while the husband tendered him a
chair.
The stranger nodded pleasantly to Will.
“Yes, he’s the person I’m looking for. The people directed me here. I
suppose he has told you of my recklessness in hiring him to risk his
neck for the sake of a bird?”
Mrs. Bertram paled concernedly.
“He is very venturesome,” she said, solicitously.
“He is a natural acrobat,” broke in the stranger, enthusiastically.
“Mind me, madam, not that I want to encourage him to these feats of
danger, but the agility, courage and manliness he exhibits should not
be suppressed.”
Will’s cheek flushed at the honest compliment the stranger bestowed
upon him.
“And now to business,” continued the stranger, “for I didn’t come here
from idle curiosity. My name is Robert Hunter, and I am an agent for
the North American Menagerie and Museum. Every year we send out agents
to secure material for our institution from all quarters of the globe.
I myself am now on my way to the great northern forests of Maine. We
shall remain there for some two months and endeavor to trap a large
number and variety of animals, such as the deer, the moose, the otter,
the beaver, the catamount, the wolf, the bear, the fox, the lynx, and
also such large birds as can be found. For this expedition we are very
nearly entirely equipped, and I am expected to-morrow to join the
wagons containing our outfit, traps, and men, at a town some few miles
north of here.”
Will Bertram had listened with breathless attention. His eyes glittered
with excitement as Mr. Hunter’s words suggested to him a fascinating
field of adventure.
“I’ve taken a rare fancy to your boy Will,” continued Hunter. “He’s
just the lad we need for handy little tasks, and I’ve come to make him
an offer to accompany us on our expedition.”
Mr. Bertram’s face had grown serious, while Mrs. Bertram’s hand stole
caressingly, anxiously, around that of Will, who sat near her.
“You want him to go away,--to leave us?” she murmured, tremulously.
“If he wants to go and you are willing. Don’t fear, madam. I’ll lead
him into no danger, and the wild life he’ll see will benefit him. We
carry everything for comfort, and, aside from once in a while climbing
a hill to prospect, or a tree to get some bird’s nest----”
Will looked his disapproval at this suggestion, and the keen-eyed
stranger, quick to notice it, laid his hand kindly on his arm and said:
“Don’t misunderstand me, lad. I mean no nest-robbing expedition--only
the securing of abandoned nests to fit up a fancy aviary in the
museum. A man who has lived long with animals and birds for his daily
companions learns to be kind to them, and we allow no wanton killing of
harmless beasts. It was pity, as much as curiosity, that made me want
the osprey. Come, madam, I’m ready to make your boy an offer. What do
you say?”
Mrs. Bertram was mute, but glanced tearfully at Will, and then
inquiringly at her husband.
Will took their silence as a token of encouragement.
“What will I be paid?” he asked. “You see, my father is old and there
is a debt on the little home. As their help and support, I would not
leave them for the mere pleasure of the expedition.”
“Spoken like the true lad I believe you to be,” said Mr. Hunter,
heartily, “and business-like, in the bargain. Well, Master Will, aside
from the premiums I will give you for any important discovery or
capture, I will pay you fifteen dollars a month, and I’ll relieve your
anxiety about your parents by paying you two months in advance.”
“Thirty dollars! Oh, father, think what a help it would be!” cried
Will, breathlessly.
Mr. Hunter arose to his feet, hat in hand.
“I will leave the hotel here to join the expedition at ten o’clock
to-morrow morning. If you want to go, let me hear from you early in the
day. Think it over, Mrs. Bertram, and rest assured if you agree I’ll
take good care of him and return him safe and sound when the expedition
is over.”
He bade them good-night and was gone without another word, leaving Mrs.
Bertram in tears, her husband anxious and silent, and Will excited and
undecided over the strange proposition he had made.
“It seems like Providence, father,” he said finally, after an
oppressive silence. “With what I got to-day, the two months’ wages
will support you for a long time, and you won’t have to work so hard.
Besides, if there’s any extra money to earn, I will not miss it. Why,
at the stores here I couldn’t earn half the amount, and I get my living
free.”
“We will have to think and talk it over, Will,” replied Mr. Bertram,
gravely, and at a motion Mrs. Bertram followed him into the next
apartment.
Will could hear the low, serious sound of their voices in earnest
consultation, even after they had softly closed the door connecting the
two rooms.
He took up a book and tried to read, but the exciting thoughts that
would come about the expedition distracted his mind completely.
“I hope they’ll let me go,” he breathed fervently. “It’s even better
than the ocean. Hello, what is that?”
There had come a quick, metallic tap at the window, and Will fixed his
eyes in its direction.
“It’s the wind, I guess,” he finally decided. “No, there it is again.”
Will arose, put on his cap, and, walking to the door, opened it,
stepped outside, and looked searchingly around.
A low whistle from the direction of the woodshed told him that some one
was there--some one, he theorized, who had thrown the pebbles against
the window to attract his attention, and who did not care to manifest
himself openly--in all probability, Tom Dalton.
Will found his suspicions verified as he approached the shed, and a
disorderly figure stepped from behind the door.
“Tom?” he queried, peering into the face of the other.
“Yes, it’s me,” came the low, dogged response. “I hadn’t ought to
bother you, Will, but I’m nigh starved.”
“Hungry, eh, Tom?”
“I should say so. Bring me a hunk of bread and meat, and I’ll get out
of town and your way.”
Poor Tom had become so used to being in people’s way that he could
not regard his association with any human being as otherwise than a
disagreeable tolerance.
“You ain’t in my way, Tom,” said Will, kindly, “and I’ll not only get
you something to eat, but I’ll find a place for you to sleep to-night.
Wait a minute.”
Will returned to the house, and, when he came back, tendered his
belated companion the promised “hunk” of bread and meat, which Tom
seized and devoured ravenously.
“Well, Tom,” said Will, finally, as the runaway bolted the last morsel
of food with a sigh of intense satisfaction, “what are your plans?”
“Ain’t got any.”
“You won’t go back to the Moose?”
“Not much. Do you think I want to get killed? I tell you, Will, you
don’t know what a brute the captain is.”
“Won’t they look for you?”
“Of course they will. They were down the street searching for me
everywhere half an hour ago.”
“Who?”
“Captain Morris and two of the sailors in one party, and the mate and
the boatswain in another.”
Will reflected. He had intended to obtain permission of his parents to
allow Tom to sleep in the house that night, but if Captain Morris was
looking for him it would be unsafe.
“If I can only keep out of the way until the Golden Moose sails, I
shall be all right,” said Tom, confidently.
“Keep quiet, Tom; some one is coming,” whispered Will, warningly.
Some one was coming, sure enough, for as he spoke the heavy tramp of
footsteps at the side of the house was followed by a thundering knock
at the back door as the forms of two men loomed into view.
“What did I tell you?” quavered Tom, beginning to tremble violently.
“Keep quiet and listen,” repeated Will, peremptorily.
At that moment Mrs. Bertram, in answer to the knock, opened the door.
The lamplight fell upon the faces of two members of the crew of the
Golden Moose--the boatswain and mate in quest of Tom Dalton, the
runaway.