A MIDNIGHT RIDE
Mr. Savage took his time in going to the village, and did not come back
until after the dinner hour.
“Did ye git th’ medicine?” asked Mrs. Savage of her husband.
“Yep, an’ it cost a dollar.”
“Tell Dan t’ ask yer sister fer it ’fore he delivers th’ bottle,”
advised the farmer’s wife.
“I guess that would be a good way,” decided Mr. Savage, brightening up.
“I kin charge fer my time, too. I’ll have him ask a dollar an’ a half.
That won’t be so bad,” and he rubbed his hands in satisfaction over the
idea.
It was getting dusk when Dan started away on the back of the mare Bess.
He had been obliged to do all his chores before starting, for Mr.
Savage never thought of such a thing as omitting any of the farm work
for the sake of his sick sister.
“Now don’t ride th’ mare t’ death,” cautioned Mr. Savage as Dan rode
out of the barn. “Ye’ve got all night, an’ th’ trip’ll de ye good.”
Dan had his doubts about this, but he said nothing.
“I wonder if Mrs. Randall is very sick?” the boy said to himself as he
was going along the highway toward Pokeville in the dusk. “If I had a
sister who was ill I wouldn’t wait until night to send her medicine.
Pokeville is so far away from any stores and doctors she might die
before help could reach her. I wonder what time I’ll get there? I don’t
know the roads very well, and, from what the hired men said, they don’t
either. Seems to me Mr. Savage could have driven over this afternoon by
daylight. But I suppose he did not want to waste the time.”
Thus pondering, Dan rode on. It was quite lonesome, for in the country,
people do not travel after dark unless they have to, and there was no
occasion for many to be out this evening.
Dan met a few farmers whom he knew, and spoke to them, but, after a
while, it got so dark he could not distinguish faces, even had he
passed any one, which did not happen once he got well outside of
Hayden.
The mare plodded on, Dan stopping now and then to look at sign boards
to make sure he was on the right road. About ten o’clock he came to a
place where four highways met. He got off the mare’s back and lighted
matches to read what the signs might have on them. In the uncertain
light he thought he read, “Pokeville three miles,” with a finger
pointing to the east.
“Well, that’s not so bad,” he murmured. “I can do three miles in half
an hour, and I may get back home in time to sleep.”
He mounted the mare again, and started off at a smart trot. He soon
began to look for some signs of a village, but after he had ridden
nearly an hour, and all there was to be seen was the dark road, he
began to have his doubts.
“I wonder if I am going the right direction?” he asked himself. “Bess,
don’t you know?”
The mare whinnied an answer, but what it was, Dan, of course, could not
tell.
“I’ll keep on until I come to a house,” he decided, “and then I’ll ask
my way.”
About ten minutes after this he came to a lonely residence, standing
beside the road. It was all dark, and the boy disliked to knock
and arouse the inmates, but he felt it was a case of necessity.
Dismounting, and taking care not to smash the bottle of medicine in
his coat pocket, he pounded on the door. The persons inside must have
been sound sleepers, for it was nearly five minutes before a window was
raised, and a man, thrusting his head out, asked:
“Well, what’s the matter? What do you want?”
“I am sorry to trouble you,” said Dan, “but is this the road to
Pokeville?”
“Land sakes no!” exclaimed the man. “You’re five miles out of your way.
What’s the trouble?”
“I am taking some medicine to a sick woman over there, and I looked at
a sign post some five miles back. I thought it said Pokeville was in
this direction.”
“I see, you made the same mistake other persons make. There’s a town
called Hokeville, which is on this road. Lots of people look at the
sign in a hurry, and think it says Pokeville.”
“I should think they’d make the letters big enough so people could read
them easily,” remarked Dan.
“That’s what they ought to.”
“What’s the matter? Is the house afire?” demanded a woman sticking her
head out beside that of the man.
“No, no, Mandy. Every time there’s any excitement at night you think
there’s a fire.”
“Well, the chimbley was on fire onct!”
“Yes, but it isn’t now. This is a boy inquiring his way to Pokeville.
Some one is sick and he’s taking her some medicine.”
“Who’s sick, boy?” asked the woman, determined not to miss a chance to
hear some news, even if she had been awakened from sleep.
“Mrs. Randall.”
“What, not Lucy Randall, she that was a Savage?”
“She’s Mr. Savage’s sister.”
“Do tell! What’s the matter with her?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
“If you’ll go back about a mile, an’ take the first road you come to,
an’ then go along that until ye come to an’ old grist mill, an’ then
take th’ first turn to the left, an’ the second to the right after
that, ye’ll git on th’ right road to Pokeville,” said the man.
“I’m afraid I can’t remember all that,” replied Dan.
The man repeated it for him, and at last the boy thought he could find
his way. He thanked his informant and started off, the woman calling
after him:
“Tell Lucy that Mandy Perkins, her that married a Linton, was askin’
fer her.”
“I will,” promised Dan.
He hurried Bess along through the dark night, and along the unfamiliar
road. He got as far as the grist mill, which he could dimly
distinguish, and then he was at a loss. He might have taken the wrong
road again, but, fortunately a farmer unexpectedly came along and
directed him.
It was past midnight when Dan rode into the village of Pokeville. It
seemed as if every one was asleep as he trotted through the lonely main
street. Now and then a dog barked, or a rooster crowed, but that was
the only sign of life. Dan knew his way now, for Mr. Savage had given
him directions how to find the house of Mrs. Randall. It was close to
one o’clock when the youth knocked at the door. He expected to find the
house lighted up, since some one in it was ill.
“I wonder if she can be--worse or dead,” he murmured. “It seems very
quiet.”
Some one must have been up, however, for, a few moments after his
pounding on the front door had awakened the echoes of the silent house,
an upper window was raised and a head thrust out.
“Everyone seems afraid to open their front doors after dark,” thought
the lad.
“Well, what’s wanted?” asked a man’s voice.
“Here is the medicine from Mr. Savage.”
“Oh! All right. I’ll be right down,” and the man drew in his head. A
woman’s at once replaced it.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“I’m Dan Hardy. I work for Mr. Savage. He sent me with the medicine for
his sister.”
“I’m his sister, but a lot of good the medicine will do me now. I’m all
over my pain. What kept you so long?”
“I lost my way in the dark.”
“Humph! That’s a fine excuse! More likely you stopped to play. You
ought to have been here at nine o’clock.”
“I did not start until nearly seven, madam.”
“I don’t care. You were so long that my pain all went away, and I don’t
need the medicine now. You’re a lazy boy, Dan Hardy, my brother says
so! The idea of keeping me suffering while you loitered on the road.”
“I did not loiter. I came as quickly as I could.”
“I don’t believe you. You did it on purpose to make me suffer. I’ll
tell my brother.”
By this time the man had opened the door, and had taken the bottle of
medicine.
“Mr. Savage says it will be a dollar and a half,” said Dan, giving the
message he had been instructed to deliver.
“What’s that?” inquired Mrs. Randall from above. “A dollar and a half?
You can take it right back again. I’ll never pay a dollar and a half
for medicine, and you can tell my brother so. Give it right back to
him, Sam, I insist on it.”
The man did not seem to know what to do, but stood holding the medicine
in one hand, and a lamp in the other.
“Do you hear?” called Mrs. Randall. “Give it right back to that lazy
boy, and he can take it home again. If it had come in time to do me any
good I’d a kept it, but I won’t now. My pain is all gone, and I’m not
going to waste a dollar and a half. Give it back, I say.”
Looking rather ashamed the man handed the bottle to Dan.
“I guess you’ll have to take it back,” he said.