A Midnight Visitor.
REUBE and Will did not go shad fishing the next night, after all. A
fierce sou’wester blew up toward evening, and drifting for shad was out
of the question. Every boat was made secure with extra care, and all
night the fury of an unusually high tide put the Tantramar and Westcock
dikes to the test. They stood the trial nobly, for well had their
builders done their work.
The Dares’ wide-winged cottage, set in a hollow of the hill, was little
jarred by the gusts that volleyed down upon it. Having seen the _Dido_
well secured behind the little wharf, Reube felt altogether at ease.
“Are you quite sure,” asked Mrs. Dare that evening, “that Gandy won’t
make another attack on the shad boat or the net?”
“O yes, mother,” answered Reube; “I’m no longer anxious on that score.
Mart feels madder than ever, I’ve no doubt, and I think he’d have tried
to drown Will last night if I had left him half a chance. But he is just
mortally afraid of the penitentiary, and, now he knows we can prove a
case against him, I imagine he’ll bottle his wrath for a while.”
“Well, dear, I hope you are right,” said his mother. “But I must say I
think Mart Gandy is more dangerous than you give him credit for being. I
want you to be very careful how you go about alone at night. I know that
blood, and how it craves for vengeance. Be watchful, Reube, and don’t
make the mistake of undervaluing your enemy.”
“No, mother, I won’t,” answered Reube. “I know that wise head of yours
is generally in the right. If you think I ought to keep my weather eye
open, why, open I will keep it, I promise you. And now it’s my turn!
What were you doing out so late alone, when it was almost dark, with
those poor eyes that can’t see much even in broad daylight?”
“I know it was imprudent, Reube, and I did have some trouble getting
home,” confessed Mrs. Dare. “But, dear, I couldn’t help it. I heard
quite late in the afternoon that Jim Paul was on a spree again, after
keeping steady for a whole year. He has been drinking hard for a
week—drunk all the time—and his wife sick in bed, and nothing to eat
in the house. I went right down with a basket, and I was glad I went.
The children were crying with hunger. And such a house! And Mrs. Paul
lying on the floor, white as a ghost, where she had just fallen! She had
got out of bed and tried to make some porridge for the children—there
was nothing in the house but a little corn meal. Her husband was out,
and she was trembling with fear lest he should return in a drunken
frenzy and beat them all. Poor woman! And Jim Paul is a good husband and
father when he is sober. You see, Reube, it took me a long while, blind
as I’m getting, to find the children and straighten things up.”
“Well, mother, this autumn, if all goes well,” said Reube, cheerfully,
“we’ll get the poor eyes fixed as good as new. And then you may stay out
late sometimes without me scolding you.”
That night, when Reube and his mother were sleeping soundly, they were
roused by a crash which the roaring of the wind could not drown. It
seemed to shake the whole house. Reube sprang out of bed. As he dragged
on his trousers his mother came to the door with a lamp in her hand.
“What is it, mother?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Some one has broken in the outer door,” replied Mrs. Dare, calmly. “He
is in the back kitchen now, but the inner door is bolted.”
Reube took the lamp from her hand and started down stairs.
“O, my boy, what are you doing? You have no weapon. O, if only we had—”
But Reube interrupted these words, which now had an all-unwonted tremor
in them.
“Nothing else to be done, mother,” he said, quietly. “Don’t be scared!
He won’t bother me, whoever he is!” And as his mother looked at him she
felt strangely reassured. Or, perhaps it was something in his voice
which satisfied her. She snatched up her big Paisley shawl, flung it
over her nightgown, and followed Reube at a discreet distance.
Reube opened a door leading from the hall to the inner kitchen. At the
same moment the door between the two kitchens was battered in with a
loud crash, and there entered a terrifying apparition. It was Jim Paul,
drunk, and with a wild glitter in his bloodshot eyes. His face and huge,
burly form were stained with the blood of various fights, and he carried
in his hand the ax with which he had broken down the doors.
Jim Paul’s appearance was well calculated to daunt an older heart than
Reube’s, but Reube’s heart was of a dauntless fiber. A cold, steady
light seemed to shine from his pale eyes as they met the fierce and
feverish gaze of the intruder, who promptly stopped and glanced aside
uneasily. Reube’s mouth and broad brow, usually so boyish, looked as
grim as iron as he stepped up coolly to the drunken giant and asked him
what he meant by breaking into the house.
Paul hesitated, beginning to quail before the stronger will that
confronted him.
“Give me that ax!” said Reube, quietly.
Paul handed over the weapon with most prompt and deferential obedience,
and began to stammer an inarticulate apology. Reube kept eyeing him
without another word, and Paul grew anxious and worried under the gaze.
At last he plunged his great hand deep down into his trousers pocket and
drew forth a lot of silver and copper coins. These he pressed Reube to
accept, presently breaking into maudlin protestations of esteem.
Reube turned away abruptly, having made up his mind what to do with his
troublesome guest. He set the lamp on a shelf, and then took the money
which Paul still held out.
“I’ll take care of it till you’re sober enough to put it to its proper
use,” said he.
The big fellow was by this time on the verge of tears, and ejaculating a
host of promises. He wouldn’t touch another drop, and he’d mend both the
doors so they’d be just as good as new; and he’d never forget Reube’s
goodness in not having him taken up for a burglar, and he’d go right
home to his poor family.
“No you don’t, Jim!” interrupted Reube at this point. “You’ll stay right
here where I put you for the rest of this night. And you’ll go home to
your family in the morning if you’re sober enough, but not otherwise.”
At this Paul began to protest. But paying no more heed to his words than
if he had been a naughty child, Reube led him to a small room opening
off the kitchen. The window of this room was a tiny affair through which
a man of Paul’s bulk could not manage to squeeze. Reube got a couple of
heavy buffalo robes, spread them on the floor, and told Paul to lie down
on them. Then, bidding him sleep soundly and feel better in the morning,
Reube locked him in and went to bed. But he took the precaution to carry
the ax up stairs with him. His mother said simply:
“You managed the poor fellow beautifully, my dear boy. I was glad you
were not forced to be rough with him.”
Reube smiled inwardly at his mother’s magnificent faith in his powers,
but all he said was:
“Good night, mother dear. He’s all right where he is now, and I’ll have
a talk with him in the morning.”
In the morning Paul had fairly sobered up. He was genuinely ashamed of
himself. After making him eat some breakfast Reube gave him back his
money and sent him home. As he was leaving the house he turned to say
something, but seeing Mrs. Dare within earshot he hesitated. Reube
followed him to the gate. There he stopped and said:
“I know I was just crazy drunk las’ night, but I kinder reck’lect what
happened. When we wuz all drinkin’ down to Simes’s, an’ I’d licked three
or four of the fellers, Mart Gandy says, says he, ‘There’s a lad
hereabouts as yer cain’t lick, Jim Paul, an’ him only a kid, too!’ In
course I fires up, and says I, ‘Show him to me, an’ I’ll show yous all!’
Some more words passed, till I was that riled I was blind, an’ then Mart
Gandy says, says he, ‘Yer cain’t lick Reube Dare!’ Off I started to
once’t, an’ you know’s well’s I do that I’d never ’a’ lifted a finger
agin this house ef I hadn’t bin jest blind crazy! But I’ll remember what
I might ’a’ done ef you hadn’t jest bin able to make me mind; an’ ’fore
God, I’ll try to keep straight. But you mark my words. Look out fer that
ther Gandy! He’s up ter mischief, an’ he ain’t the one to stick at
anything.”
“Thank you, Jim,” answered Reube, holding out his hand. “We’ll say no
more about last night, but I’ll remember your warning, and I want you to
remember the promise you’ve just made me!”