How long Budd remained unconscious he never exactly knew. It must have
been some hours, however, for when he recovered sufficiently to look
about him it was night; at least a darkness almost thick enough to be
felt was all around him. He could hear the wind whistling fiercely above
his head, yet he felt it not. He could hear the sound of dashing waves
but faintly, as though some distance away. He was evidently lying upon
a hard board or floor; yet to it there was a gentle, undulating motion,
like that of a boat in some sheltered harbor, or drawn, bow up, onto a
sandy beach.
With difficulty he sat up. His clothes were heavy with water, and he
was stiff and numb from cold and exposure. He put out his right hand,
and it rested upon a short board partition; he stretched out his left
hand, and it touched a similar one, about the same distance away. Then
he knew he was in the body of his ox-cart, which had in some way become
detached from its wheels. It must have been this into which he had been
providentially thrown just as he had lost consciousness. But _where_
was the cart-body?
Certainly it was no longer tossed about by the angry waters of the bay.
Where, then, had it landed? He rose up, and his head came so forcibly
in contact with a heavy planking that he was thrown off his feet.
Rubbing the bruised spot tenderly, he crept along to the side of the
cart-bed and put out his hand as far as possible; but it touched
nothing. Slowly stepping ever the side, he found himself standing in a
few inches of water. Walking directly ahead a few steps, he came up
against a solid wall, that extended either way farther than he could
reach.
He now knew that he was under some wharf, where the waves had tossed the
cart-bed. This accounted for the planking above his head, for his
hearing the whistling wind without feeling it, for the sound of the
dashing of the waves at such a distance from him, and for the heavy
darkness settled around. But _what_ wharf was it? Which way should he
go to find the opening by which he had entered?
He straightened himself up and looked steadily first in one and then in
an opposite direction. He soon became convinced that to the left he
could see a little more clearly than to the right, and that it was from
that direction that came what little air he could feel stirring. In
that direction, then, he determined to go.
As he advanced the water deepened, and the roof became more elevated.
Not only could he now stand erect, but the planking was higher above his
head than he could reach. Soon the stone wall ceased, and wooden piles
heavily boarded took its place. Now he saw a light space just ahead;
the wind fanned his cheek; the opening was not far off; but the water
was up to his neck, and he must swim for it. A few strokes, and he was
in the open air. It was very dark, yet not with the intenseness he had
experienced under the wharf. The wind and the rain beat fiercely upon
him. Unless some house were near, he had better return under the dock
for shelter and wait for morning.
With the little strength that remained to him he drew himself up onto
the wharf and looked anxiously about him. As he looked, a great hope
sprung up within his heart. Not far away, and gleaming brightly through
the thick darkness, was a light. With a hoarse cry of exultation he
staggered to his feet and went toward it. Brief as the walk was, it
exhausted him. He was afraid that he would not reach the house from
whose window he now knew the light shone forth, and in his despair he
shouted:
"Help! Help!"
The next instant the door of the building swung open, letting out a
flood of light upon the exhausted lad, and a voice asked:
"Who are you? Where are you?"
"Here!" answered Budd, feebly, stretching out his hands toward the
stranger, who sprung forward and caught him just as he was falling
helplessly at his feet.
The stranger was a youth no older nor larger than Budd himself; but he
showed that he possessed enormous strength by lifting his helpless
companion in his arms and carrying him into the house.
Closing the door against the storm, he went to work upon Budd with a
directness and skill that showed he knew just what to do for an
exhausted person. The wet clothing was stripped off; the numbed and
chilled body was rubbed until the blood began to circulate freely
through it; dry clothing and a warm blanket were then wrapped about the
recovering lad, and he was laid upon a rude pallet of straw before the
rusty stove, in which, however, a good fire was burning. Nor did the
young stranger's attention to his unexpected guest end here. From some
unseen quarter he brought forth a tin cup, and filled it with hot coffee
from a pot on the stove. Milk and sugar were also fished out of their
hiding-places and added to the beverage; then the whole was put to
Budd's lips, with the simple comment:
"There; drink that down, and I'll warrant you'll be kicking round here
as lively as a kitten, in a few minutes."
Budd drained the offered cup, and then said, gratefully:
"I don't know how I shall ever repay you for your kindness to me. I was
pretty near used up, I declare."
The young host took the cup from his guest without a word and refilled
it. Sipping this slowly off himself, he eyed his visitor until he had
finished it; then he asked, abruptly:
"Will you tell me how you came here, Budd Boyd?"
"Where am I? Who are you?" asked Budd, surprised that the lad had
called him by name, and sure that he had never seen him before.
The boy-host gave a comical shrug of his shoulders, and with a
flourishing gesture answered:
"I am Judd Floyd, at your service. This is Fox Island, where I have for
the present taken up my solitary abode, and am monarch of all I survey.
But how came you here in all this tempest? Did you see my light
streaming far across the watery deep, and attempt to walk over? Hanged
if I wouldn't think so, from the looks of your clothes!"
Weak as he was, Budd could not help laughing at the serio-comic air of
his companion, but as briefly as possible he related his adventure.
"'Twas a close shave, now, wasn't it?" Judd said, with a shrill whistle,
as Budd concluded. "I don't want to try that sail, at least on that
kind of a craft, such a night as this, you bet. Lucky for you I was
here, else you might have perished from sheer exhaustion before
morning."
Budd at once admitted this; then he asked:
"But how is it that you knew me? And how long have you been here?"
"Oh! I've seen you up at the village with Benton's ox-team, and
inquired your name. I couldn't help remembering it, for it sounds much
like my own. Yours is Budd Boyd, and mine is Judd Floyd. Guess we must
be sort of second-rate twins," said the irrepressible Judd with a
comical grin; and indeed the lads, in size, figure and features, were
not unlike.
"How long have I been here?" he went on.
"Just a week to-night, by actual count. You see, I have lived, as far
back as I can remember, in an old shanty just out of the village. Pop
got drunk as a steady business, and ma took in washing and ironing to
keep our souls and bodies together. I know now I didn't help her as much
as I ought, but she would keep me in school, and I did try to help her,
out of school hours. But last winter she got rather tired of this
world, and went where I trust she has peace and rest. She deserves
them, for she never had them here;" and the lad tried to keep back the
tears that would gather in his eyes.
"Well, after her death pop carried on worse than ever, and so the town
authorities sent him up to the State Farm for a six-month term as an
habitual drunkard. Then the same worthy individuals that disposed of
him talked of putting me on the Poor Farm down there on Quidnessett
Neck; but I had a slight objection to the arrangement, and the next
morning I was among the missing.
"I'd been over here before, and knew there was an old stove, a chair or
two, and some other odd pieces of furniture in the house; so I packed up
a few necessary traps at the shanty, stowed them aboard pop's old boat,
and came over here by night. Here, too, I've remained in undisputed
possession ever since."
"How do you live?" asked Budd, with a good deal of curiosity.
"Oh! that's easy enough," said Judd, with a laugh. "I catch fish and
dig clams. Some I eat; the rest I sell. That enables me to purchase
what groceries and provisions I may want. I was over to the village and
made some purchases early this morning. By and by, when the
watering-places open up, I can get odd jobs enough. I shall fare as
well as I have ever done, I assure you. I'm no pauper--not if I know
myself. By the way, won't you have something to eat?"
Without waiting for Budd to answer, he drew up before the fire a large
box. On this he spread a cloth; then he brought out some cold ham, some
fresh bread, butter, cookies, poured out another cup of coffee, and
remarked:
"I've eaten supper already, but help yourself. There's more, when this
is gone."
Budd accepted his host's hospitality and made out a comfortable meal.
Then Judd said:
"I'm sorry I've no bed for you to sleep on. That old pallet is all I
brought over, but you are welcome to that. I'll roll up in a blanket
and sleep on the floor. It won't be the first time I've done it;" and
soon both boys were sound asleep.
The next morning Budd felt quite like himself; but the storm still
raged, and he was obliged to remain quietly with his new friend. Toward
noon, however, the force of the tempest was spent, and Judd announced
his willingness to take the anxious lad over to the main-land after
dinner.
So not far from one o'clock they embarked in Judd's boat, and a
half-hour later landed safely on "The Hummocks." Budd could find no
trace of either the oxen or the missing wheels of the cart, and with a
heavy heart he started off for Mr. Benton's.
As Judd parted with him he remarked:
"I say, Budd, I wouldn't be in your shoes for a good deal. There is no
knowing what old Benton will do to you for losing his cart and oxen.
You'd better go back to the island with me, and let him think you are
dead."
"No," said Budd. "My duty is to go to him and tell him the whole story,
let the consequences be what they may, and I shall do it."
"I always did admire pluck," replied Judd, in undisguised admiration,
"and you have it. I'd rather take your sail of last night than go back
and face the old tyrant. Only, if he kicks you off of the farm,
remember you are welcome to go pards with me on the island. It's better
than no place to lay your head."
Thanking him for the invitation, which he knew was as genuine as it was
rough, Budd turned away and walked slowly along the roadway leading to
Mr. Benton's, wondering greatly what that cruel and grasping man would
really say and do when he learned of the serious loss he had sustained.
Doubtless the fact that he had been so long away had led Mr. Benton to
believe that he had perished. Would not his providential deliverance
from a watery grave awaken such feelings of gratitude, even in that
stony heart, that the pecuniary loss he had experienced would be
forgotten by the avaricious man? Budd hoped so; and yet it was with
terrible misgivings he went bravely on, to meet whatever fate might be
in store for him.