Bert was determined to go. He wouldn't ask his father, for he was very
sure his father would say, No. He didn't quite like to disobey a
positive command, so he would say nothing at all about the matter.
Bert was thirteen years old, and it was high time that he began to
exercise his own judgment, at least when his own affairs were
concerned,--so Bert thought.
He would like to know what harm his going down to the river for a quiet
moonlight swim could possibly do to anybody. He would try it, at all
events. Ned Sellars would be there, and Frank Peters. They didn't seem
to care whether their parents liked it or not. Bert couldn't feel so,
exactly; but, still, where was the sense in a boy's going to his father
every time he turned round?
He was going. He had fully made up his mind to that. He went up to bed
at the usual time, however, but his mother coming into his little
bedroom about half an hour afterward, was surprised to find him almost
hidden by blanket and quilt, though it was a warm night in August.
"Why, Bert, you'll smother. Do let me pull off some of these clothes."
But Bert held them tightly down. "I ain't cold, mother. I mean I ain't
warm."
"Are you sick?"
"No'm."
"Two blankets and a quilt," laughed his mother, as she turned away. "I
don't know what you're made of, Bert."
"And jacket and pants and stockings and shoes," thought Bert, as he
snapped his fingers very softly under the weight of bedclothes.
The beautiful moon looked in at the little window. There had been times
when Bert, gazing at her pure, pale face, had marveled that any boy
could have the heart to do wrong when her soft light was shining on him;
but to-night she seemed to say, "Come on, come on. I tell no tales. The
night indoors is warm and stifling. The river is cool and clear. My
beams are there before you. Come on, come on!"
It seemed as if the hours had never lagged so heavily. Eleven o'clock
was the time agreed upon.
Twice Bert found himself napping. Suppose he should go to sleep. The
idea was not to be entertained for a moment. He sat up in the bed and
listened, listened, listened, until at length the welcome strokes
greeted his ear. He was tired and sleepy and stupid and very warm. He
opened his door softly, and went down stairs. He did not dare unlock
the front door, for grandpa's room was just across the hall, and grandpa
always slept with one eye open. He crept through the kitchen, and found
himself in the shed. Was ever anything more fortunate? The outer door
was open.
[Illustration: "_He opened the door softly, and went down stairs_."]
He took his hat from the nail, and just then a plaintive "mew" greeted
his ear.
"Hush! Be still, Cuff," said he, in a whisper.
But Cuff wouldn't be still. She was very glad to see him, and was
determined to tell him so.
"Mew, me-aw," called Billy, the mocking-bird, from his cage above.
"Dear me," thought Bert, "they'll wake father up as sure as the world."
But it was not unusual for Billy to sing in the night. Indeed, his
midnight music was sometimes overpowering. Bert stood very still for a
moment, but could hear no one stirring. He walked on a few steps, Cuff
purring loudly, and rubbing her soft gray sides against him.
[Illustration: _The Cat_]
"Bow, wow, wow, wow," barked the faithful watch-dog.
"Be quiet, Prince. Stop your noise!"
Prince knew his young master's voice, and, like Cuff, was delighted to
be near him, and so gave expression to his feelings in a succession of
loud quick barks.
[Illustration: _"Me-aw," called Billy_.]
"Hadn't you better go down, John?" asked Bert's mother, anxiously. "I'm
afraid some one is trying to get in."
"They can't get farther than the shed," was the careless reply. "I left
that open."
In a few moments all was quiet again. Prince lay down at Bert's feet,
and Cuff stretched herself out beside him. Time was passing. The boys
would surely be there before him. Very carefully he crept toward the
door, hardly daring to breathe, in his anxiety.
[Illustration: "_Bow, wow, wow_."]
But Prince had not been asleep. No, indeed! Restarted up at the first
sound of his master's footsteps. It was very evident that something
unusual was going on, and he was determined to be "in it."
"I must run as fast as I can," said Bert to himself. "Hit or miss,
there's nothing else for me to do."
He was preparing to suit the action to the word, when Snow, the old
family horse, who for a few days past had been allowed to wander about
among the clover fields, put her white nose just inside the door and
gave a loud and fiercely prolonged neigh.
"What next!" muttered Bert, between his teeth. "I shall expect to see
some of the cows soon. I don't care if all the animals on the place
come,--I'm going."
He was walking defiantly from the door, when he heard his mother's voice
at her window. "I never can sleep, John, with a horse crying around. I
wish you'd go down to see what the trouble is. And do lock the shed
door. I haven't slept five minutes to-night."
[Illustration: "_The old family horse_."]
What was Bert to do now? To go forward in the moonlight, with his mother
watching from above, would be foolish, indeed. To remain in the shed, to
be discovered by his father, seemed equally unwise.
[Illustration: "_Bert came into the shed, and watched his father as he
mended an old harness_."]
He had very little time to think about the matter, for at that moment
he heard the well-known footsteps on the stairs. He darted over to the
shed closet, shut the door, and tremblingly awaited the result.
And the result was that, after standing painfully still for about ten
minutes, during which Prince's significant sniffs and growls had thrice
driven him to the very verge of disclosure, he was left unmolested in
the dark old closet. He opened the door; but the shed seemed darker yet.
No loving cat or friendly dog was there to cheer or to betray. Nothing
but thick, black darkness. Was it possible that the moon was still
shining outside?
He wondered if the boys were having a good time. He would open the door
and go to them as soon as he dared. But while he was thinking and
wondering, waiting until he was sure his father and mother were asleep
again, the old clock rang out the hour of twelve. Midnight! It was of no
use to go then; the boys would be gone.
And so Bert crept up stairs to his room, cross and dissatisfied, feeling
that the fates were against him.
He was late to breakfast the next morning. His mother laughingly
inquired if the weight of his bedclothes had affected his hearing.
"Yes'm--no'm. I mean--I guess not," he replied absently.
It was a rainy morning, and the weather was disagreeably warm. After
breakfast Bert came into the shed, and watched his father as he mended
an old harness.
"What sort of boy is that Ned Sellars?" inquired his father at length.
Bert started.
"I don't know. I think he's a pretty good boy. Why?"
"I passed the house this morning. Some one was getting a terrible
flogging, and I think it must have been Ned."
"What for? Do you know?"
"Yes. They spoke very loud, and I couldn't help hearing. It was for
running off last night. Going swimming, I believe."
[Illustration: "_Some one was getting a terrible fogging_."]
Bert's eyes flashed.
"That's just like his father," said he, indignantly. "He never wants Ned
to have any fun."
There was no reply. Some hidden feeling, he could hardly tell what,
prompted Bert's next question.
"Would you flog me, father, if I went swimming without leave?"
"That depends upon circumstances," replied his father, looking
searchingly into his face. "If my boy was mean enough to skulk out of
the house at night, when I supposed him to be abed and asleep, it is
just possible that I might not consider him worth flogging."
How Bert's cheeks burned. He had never looked at the matter in just that
light before. "_Never_ be a sneak, my son. It is cowardly and
disgraceful."
Bert made no answer, but his thoughts were busy. Was he not every whit
as mean and cowardly as if he had really gone with his unfortunate
friend? Yes, verily.
And then he thought of his father. How _good_ he was--never denying him
any reasonable pleasure; nay, often denying himself for his sake. Bert
seemed to realize his father's goodness now as never before.
As he thought of this two large tears rolled down his sunburnt cheeks.
"What is it, my boy?"
He brushed them away hastily.
"Father," said he, "I've been a sneak; but I _won't_ be a coward. I was
going with the boys last night."
"Ah!"
"Yes. I should have gone if it hadn't been for the dog, and the cat,
and--all the rest of them. 'Twasn't any goodness of mine that kept me at
home."
His father was silent.
"I wish you'd say something, father," cried poor Bert, impatiently. "I
s'pose you don't think I'm worth flogging; but"--
"My dear boy," said his father, "I knew your footsteps in the shed last
night. I knew perfectly well who was hidden in the old closet."
"Why didn't you say so?" inquired astonished Bert, tremblingly.
"Because I preferred to let you go. I thought, if my boy wanted to
deceive me, he should, at least, imagine that he had that pleasure."
"O father!"
"Yes, you should have gone, Bert. Very likely I might have gone with
you; but you would not have known it."
Bert hadn't a word to say.
"I pitied you, too. I knew that, after the fun was over, there must come
the settling with your conscience. I was sure you had a conscience,
Bert."
The boy tried to speak, but no words came.
"I was disappointed in you, Bert. I was very much disappointed in you."
Down went Bert's head into his hands.
"But now," continued his father, placing one hand upon his shoulder,
"now I have my honest boy again, and I am proud of him. I do consider
you worth a dozen floggings, Bert; but I have no disposition to give
them to you."
Bert wrung his father's hand and rushed out into the rain. Cuff came
running to meet him, and Prince barked with pleasure at his approach.
Billy whistled and sung in his cage above, and old Snow's voice was
heard in the field close by.
Bert loved them and they knew it. It was some minutes, however, before
he noticed them now; and when he did, it was not in his accustomed merry
way.
"Just like the monitors at school," said he, seriously. "Making such a
fuss that a fellow can't go wrong, if he wants to." And he took Cuff up
in his lap, and patted Prince's shaggy coat.
Bert's monitors still watch him with affectionate interest; but never
again, I am happy to say, has he felt the least inclination to disturb
their midnight slumbers.