MRS. BOYLE'S HOUSE.
From Ratke's Wrengell proceeded eastward. As he passed Takum's, he
was loudly greeted by the dogs. They were, however, recalled by
Philetus, for an infuriated Irishman had lately hurled a club with
such force and precision that the larger pup had been permanently
lamed and subsequently sold at a sacrifice. In the increasing
darkness the great tamaracks, which were near the center of the
causeway, could not be separately distinguished, but their masses
cast a gloomy shade over the road and were easily discerned even
against the clouded sky.
John stopped at Wallace's house, the door of which was opened by
Julia.
"Come in," said the maiden. "You live to the major's, don't you? Take
off your hat and stay awhile."
"That is where I live," answered John. "Thank you, I cannot stop."
"Oh, now you better come in," insisted Julia, "It's just as cheap to
set in the house as it is to poke around outdoors. Pa and Ab are gone
away to-night, plague take 'em. I'm all alone and so lonesome I don't
know what to do. We could git acquainted in no time."
"Can you tell me the way to Mrs. Boyle's?" asked John.
"Why, it's too dark to git to Mrs. Boyle's," said Julia. "Of course
I'll tell you the way, though. You go right up here to the first
corner. Then you want to turn to your right. Then you take the first
turn to your left. Then you take the first turn to your right. Then
you go past two houses and you'll come to a gate. It's a funny gate,
and I'll bet a cooky you never see one like it before. It's got a
great monstrous beam on the top, and way on the end of that beam
there's a box, and the box has got some big stones in it. You'd think
it would be all you could do to lift it, but it swings around just
like nothin'. Ole McDuff always makes his gates in that way. Well,
you go in there and bear to your right till you come to a stake and
rider fence. You foller that fence to the woods, and there you'll
strike a path. That'll take you to Mrs. Boyle's. But you'll git sick
of it. It's awful dark. You better come in and stay with me. We'll
have a high ole time."
"It is impossible," replied John. "I promised to go to Mrs. Boyle's.
Thank you for your information."
"Say," exclaimed Julia suddenly. "I know the way and you don't. I
better go along with you and show you."
"I am much obliged," returned John, "but I can find the way from the
description you gave. I do not want you to take any such trouble."
"No trouble at all," replied Julia. "I'll be right out."
"No," said John firmly, "I would rather go alone."
"Go it, devil," cried Julia angrily. "Start your stumps. Don't you
never come here again."
A little more than half a mile from Wallace's John came to four
corners and turning south, recrossed the swamp, which near this point
curved to the eastward. He reached the end of the road, which bent to
the left, proceeded a short distance, circled to the right and
presently arrived at the gate which had been described by Julia. He
found it, as she had said, easy to open. There was comparatively
little friction at the hinges, and the ponderous beam was so balanced
by the end and box of heavy stones that it did not require lifting.
The path went with many variations to the stake and rider fence,
where it was straight until it reached the woods. The fence, higher
at this place than at others, was securely staked and wired.
Evidently it had been knocked down by careless pedestrians and
rebuilt by the owner of the land in such a manner as to prevent all
depredations except those of a wanton character.
He was rejoiced when he stood at the edge of a clearing, from the
farther side of which glimmered a light. His troubles were not yet
over. Between him and the house were thickets of blackberry bushes,
which caught in his clothes and scratched his face and hands. As he
descended the rise of ground at the border of the woods, the light
disappeared, and he groped without guidance to gain his destination.
When he emerged from the thicket, he found that he had gone some rods
out of his way. Congratulating himself that he had escaped with so
few inconveniences on so dark a night, he advanced to the house and
was admitted by the cattle-buyer, Durgenson.
The cottage into which John stepped was small and humble, but
comfortably furnished. In a corner of the principal room, which was
at once kitchen and parlor, was a safe with scalloped newspapers
placed over the top and hung on the doors. Near the safe was a table
on which rested some curious stones and a few books. The walls were
covered with paper, and from them were suspended pictures of little
art, too long drawn to be called new, and too modern to be ranked as
antiquities. That a person of Christian principles had assisted in
furnishing the house was indicated by two Bibles, some Sabbath school
papers, some religious works, including the life of Whitefield and
Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, and a cardboard motto worked in zephyr
which read, "Nearer, my God, to Thee." The only occupant of the
cottage besides Durgenson was a dark-complexioned young man who had a
short, bristling mustache, a sullen, resolute face, and eyes which
were ever eluding the scrutiny of those whom he met. This evasion of
the gaze of others resulted not from timidity, but from a desire to
keep his thoughts to himself. Indeed, no sagacious observer would
have ascribed cowardice to him, for such an imputation would have
been contradicted by his every appearance. The lamp on the table was
surrounded by millers, which darted against it, but were prevented by
the chimney from reaching the flame. The young man busied himself by
catching them, thrusting them into the lamp, and watching their death
struggles with the keenest interest. When Durgenson introduced him,
he shook Wrengells hand, still averting his eyes, and immediately
resumed his occupation of catching millers.
"I was afraid it would be so dark you wouldn't come," said the
cattle-buyer. "You must have had a bad time getting through the
woods. You kept the business secret, as I told you?"
"As nearly as I could," replied John. "I could never have found the
way from the description you gave me. I inquired at a house after I
started."
"Is that so?" asked Durgenson. "Where did you inquire?"
"At Wallace's," answered John. "I said nothing about you. I merely
asked the way to Mrs. Boyle's. I hope it did no damage."
"Oh, no," said Durgenson. "Of course, when I go into anything, I
don't advertise it. But probably no one will mistrust what you came
for. I believe I didn't tell you what I wanted of you."
"What business do you wish to hire me to do?" asked John.
"The stock business," answered Durgenson. "I want you to drive and to
buy cattle and horses, perhaps sheep."
"But I have had no experience," objected John. "You would certainly
lose if you had me use my poor judgment in buying."
"Don't be too sure about that," returned Durgenson. "It's in you, and
I know it. I've had my eye on you for quite a while. I can tell
whether I want a man or not the first time I see him. I care more
about honesty than experience. I had a cowboy to work for me once. He
would guess the weight of a steer almost to a pound notch. But I
wouldn't board that fellow for all he'd do. He'd get drunk, and then
he'd either pay so much that I lost, or offer so little that the
stockmen would get mad and wouldn't have anything to do with us. Then
I had another hand that was steady and a good buyer, but he was
always smousing me. It's hard to find one that's just right, mighty
hard."
"I have a course of study which I am very anxious to finish," said
John. "I really ought not to give my attention to new subjects now.
But if you hire me, it will be necessary. What wages do you propose
to give?"
"Oh, as to that," Durgenson returned, "I can't give you as much at
first as I give an experienced hand. I wouldn't venture over fifty
dollars a month and expenses for the first three months. After that,
if I kept you at all, I could bid up to seventy-five or a hundred.
I'd want you to commence right off."
"I cannot do that," replied John. "I have hired to Major Ratke for
all summer."
"You are sure you told no one about coming here?"
"No one except Miss Wallace," John replied, "and the boys at Ratke's
did not know which way I came."
"Why I'm so careful," explained Durgenson, "Pease and I have quite a
rivalry. I get the start of him once in a while, and he beats me when
he can. Sometimes, after I've got a plan ready, he drops on to it and
gets ahead of me. When I begin to hire men, he knows something is up,
and he gets wind of it some way. Now, I'm satisfied there's money in
a car-load of horses to put in here, and I mean to get them before he
does."
Glancing past the cattle-buyer, John saw an ugly shadow on the wall.
It was the head of a man with an abnormally large nose and a savage,
repulsive countenance. The exaggerated shape was made by the rays of
the lamp falling on the face of young Boyle, who had finished his
insect butchery and was sitting still and silent by the table. From
each of his eyes was reflected a ball of light something like that
which shines from the orb of an excited cat. John was momentarily
impressed by the figure on the wall and the sullen behavior of the
young man, who, he observed, looked at him often, but avoided meeting
his direct gaze.
"I want you to begin your training to-night, Wrengell," said
Durgenson; "I've got my horse out here tied to a tree, and I want you
to guess what he's worth."
"What," asked John, "practice an art before learning the theory? You
said that you would give me a book, so that I could get posted."
"So I will," assured the stockman. "But you ought to take every
opportunity to improve. If you can't afford to spend the time, I'll
give you ten dollars rather than to have you unprepared when I'm
ready to use you. You will acquire judgment. You'll guess with him,
won't you Alf?"
"Yes," answered young Boyle.
"He's out there in the woods tied to a tree," explained Durgenson.
"The stable door is so narrow I couldn't make him go through it. You
must tell me what he is best adapted for, running, trotting or
pulling."
A bat flew in at a window and displeased with its new quarters,
circled about the room in desperate but unavailing efforts to escape.
Young Boyle rushed at it, struck it down with a narrow piece of thin
board and picking it up, made sure of its death by crushing it
between his fingers.
As he was tossing the lifeless creature through the window, a woman
entered the door which had admitted John, She was about fifty years
of age, was plainly dressed, and, John thought, had the most
benevolent face he had ever seen. She appeared astonished at finding
so many occupants in the house, and looked from John to Durgenson as
if to ascertain the object or objects of their visit.
"What are you here for?" growled young Boyle, with an oath. "I
thought you was goin' to stay to Blake's all night."
"Mrs. Blake is better," responded the woman meekly, "Mrs. Sparks and
Mrs. Holmes are both there, and they said I might as well come home,
I have been up two nights in succession, and I can rest better here
than there."
"I'd have stayed till mornin' an' got my breakfast," said Boyle.
"You've earned your board there, I guess."
"This is Mr. Durgenson, I think," remarked the woman, after a long
survey of the cattle-buyer.
"That is my name," replied Durgenson, "but I don't remember where we
ever got acquainted."
"I am Mrs. Boyle," said the woman, "We met at Chicago after the death
of Mr. and Mrs. Lehmann. Perhaps you will remember that Mr. Boyle and
I were their nearest neighbors."
"Oh, yes," answered Durgenson, with a show of uneasiness, "It was so
long ago I wouldn't have recognized you if you hadn't spoken about
our being acquainted."
"And this young man," said Mrs. Boyle, "I have never met him."
"Excuse me," Durgenson apologized, "I'll introduce you."
John wondered that so refined a lady should have so brutal a son. It
struck him that he was having a generous share of her attention and
that, courteous as she had seemed, she was allowing her curiosity to
master her civility.
"That looks like a violin case," said Mrs. Boyle. "Do you play, Mr.
Wrengell?"
"I have had some practice on that instrument," replied John.
"I wish you would play for us," said Mrs. Boyle, "I like to hear
music."
The lady's interest in John apparently increased as she listened to
the strains of the violin. Her eyes brightened; the kindly expression
on her face was intensified to a degree which reached regard and
love.
"That is beautiful," she said, when John had finished the air. "I
have thought that the violin ought to be used in church. There is
truth in saying that the Devil ought not to be allowed all the best
music. I hope you don't play for dances."
"No, ma'am," he replied. "That is, not for public dances," he added,
recollecting his performance in the club-house.
"I am glad to hear that," said the lady. "You could do so much good
if you wished. Think how many you could draw to the house of God,
some that would not come for anything only to hear good music. There
is a great responsibility resting on you, Mr. Wrengell. You must use
your talents rightly or they may be taken away."
John felt at this gentle rebuke a sense of shame which would not have
been imparted by harsher censure.
"I presume you play on other instruments," continued Mrs. Boyle. "A
good organ player can make himself very useful. The organ is used so
much for sacred music."
A loud squalling, as of some cats about to engage in desperate
battle, arose outside the cottage. On hearing the sound Boyle sprang
up and went hurriedly to a bedroom where he rummaged noisily about,
but he soon reappeared, bearing a double-barreled shotgun.
"What are you going to shoot, Alfred?" inquired Mrs. Boyle.
"I'm a-goin' to shoot them cats," returned the young fellow, whom we,
like Durgenson, will call Alf.
"Oh, don't do that," protested Mrs. Boyle. "It may be Mr. Lowry's
Bob. You know how much they think of him."
"Let 'em keep him to home, then," gruffly returned Alf, passing out
of the house. "There'll be a howlin' out here all night. I won't lose
my rest for no cat."
In a few minutes he returned, disappointed, from his hunt. Resuming
his chair by the table, he sat with his forehead so traversed by
wrinkles that its primarily narrow surface was much diminished and
his eyebrows almost met his hair. After a short occupation of this
seat, he arose and again went to the bedroom. When he emerged, he
walked straight to the outside door, looking neither to the right nor
to the left.
"Are you going away, Alfred?" asked Mrs. Boyle, with an anxiety which
she could not suppress.
"It's none o' your bisness where I'm goin'," he replied, turning
furiously about, the wrinkles on his brow changed in direction from
horizontal to perpendicular, "I'm of age, I thank you."
"Now, Wrengell," said Durgenson when Alf's footsteps were no longer
audible to them, "we'd like to hear another tune. At least, I would."
John complied with Durgenson's request and putting his violin in its
case, announced his intention to leave.
"Oh, what's the use of being in a hurry?" said the cattle-buyer.
"You've got all night to go home in. I'll light you through the woods
with a lantern."
"Will you do an errand for me?" asked Mrs. Boyle.
"Certainly," answered John. "What do you wish?"
"Take a letter to Mrs. Grippin if you will. I will see if I can find
it."
Mrs. Boyle lighted a lamp, proceeded to the bedroom and closed the
door. Presently she came out with two envelopes in her hand.
"I am sorry to keep you waiting," she said, handing John an envelope.
"I haven't my glasses on. Perhaps you can tell which one of these is
directed to Mrs. Grippin."
When she had finished speaking, Mrs. Boyle stood between John and
Durgenson, close to the latter, so that the view between the two men
was almost wholly obstructed. The first envelope which John scanned
was addressed to Mrs. Cyrus Boyle, Detroit, Mich. The second bore the
following inscription: "Do not go back the way you came. Go back of
the house and you will find a road that you must follow. Look out for
Durgenson and my son. Remember."
John could hardly repress a start of surprise as he read this
warning, which made a strong and instantaneous impression. Neither in
the appearance of Mrs. Boyle nor in that of Durgenson was there any
confirmation of the message. Her countenance was still untroubled,
and he was as smiling and good-natured as ever.
"I'll go with you," said Durgenson. "We'll want a lantern. We can't
get through without."
"Thank you," returned John, "I shall not need your help."
"Now don't forget my errand," said Mrs. Boyle. "My son is careless
once in a while. You must remember."
"If you'll get a lantern, Mrs. Boyle," said Durgenson, "I'll go to
the fields with him. He'll never find the way out alone."
"No," said John, in a positive tone, "I do not need any company, nor
am I anxious to have a lantern."
"I'd. like to speak to you a minute," remarked Durgenson, "just a
minute."
"Come to Major Ratke's, then," John returned, as he quickly left the
room.