"Well, the time is 1833, the place a New England city on the sea.
Chapter I: A young woman is walking along a street, with a child
sleeping in her arms. She is dark-skinned,--a Syrian. It is
growing dusk; the street is deserted, save by her and two sailors,
who are approaching her. They, too, are Syrians. One seems to
strike her,--it is mere pretence, however,--and she falls. The
other seizes the child, who, having been drugged, is still asleep.
A wagon is waiting near. They drive away hurriedly, their captive
under a blanket. The kidnappers make for the woods in New
Hampshire. Officers of the law drive them far. They abandon their
horse, tramping westward over trails in the wilderness, bearing the
boy in a sack of sail-cloth, open at the top. They had guns and
killed their food as they travelled. Snow came deep; by and by
game was scarce and they had grown weary of bearing the boy on
their backs. One waited in the woods with the little lad while the
other went away to some town or city for provisions. He came back,
hauling them in a little sleigh. It was much like those made for
the delight of the small boy in every land of snow. It had a box
painted red and two bobs and a little dashboard. They used it for
the transportation of boy and impedimenta. In the deep wilderness
beyond the Adirondacks they found a cave in one of the rock ledges.
They were twenty miles from any post-office but shortly discovered
one. Letters in cipher were soon passing between them and their
confederates. They learned there was no prospect of getting the
ransom. He they had thought rich was not able to raise the money
they required or any large sum. Two years went by, and they
abandoned hope. What should they do with the boy? One advised
murder, but the other defended him. It was unnecessary, he
maintained, to kill a mere baby, who knew not a word of English,
and would forget all in a month. And murder would only increase
their peril. Now eight miles from their cave was the cabin of a
settler. They passed within a mile of it on their way out and in.
They had often met the dog of the settler roving after small
game--a shepherd, trustful, affectionate, and ever ready to make
friends. One day they captured the dog and took him to their cave.
They could not safely be seen with the boy, so they planned to let
the dog go home with him in the little red sleigh. Now the
settler's cabin was like that of my father, on the shore of a pond.
It was round, as a cup's rim, and a mile or so in diameter.
Opposite the cabin a trail came to the water's edge, skirting the
pond, save in cold weather, when it crossed the ice. They waited
for a night when their tracks would soon disappear. Then, having
made a cover of the sail-cloth sack in which they had brought the
boy, and stretched it on withes, and made it fast to the sleigh
box, they put the sleeping boy in the sleigh, with hot stones
wrapped in paper, and a robe of fur, to keep him warm, hitched the
dog to it, and came over hill and trail, to the little pond, a
while after midnight. Here they buckled a ring of bells on the
dog's neck and released him. He made for his home on the clear
ice; the bells and his bark sounding as he ran. They at the cabin
heard him coming and opened their door to dog and traveller. So
came my hero in a little red sleigh, and was adopted by the settler
and his wife, and reared by them with generous affection. Well, he
goes to school and learns rapidly, and comes to manhood. It's a
pretty story--that of his life in the big woods. But now for the
love tale. He meets a young lady--sweet, tender, graceful,
charming."
"A moment," said Darrel, raising his hand. "Prithee, boy, ring
down the curtain for a brief parley. Thou say'st they were
Syrians--they that stole the lad. Now, tell me, hast thou reason
for that?"
"Ample," said Trove. "When they took him out of the sleigh the
first words he spoke were "Anah jouhan." He used them many times,
and while he forgot they remembered them. Now "Anah jouhan" is a
phrase of the Syrian tongue, meaning 'I am hungry.'"
"Very well!" said the old man, with emphasis, "and sailors--that is
a just inference. It was a big port, and far people came on the
four winds. Very well! Now, for the young lady. An' away with
thy book unless I love her."
"She is from life--a simple-hearted girl, frank and beautiful
and--" Trove hesitated, looking into the dying fire.
"Noble, boy, make sure o' that, an' nobler, too, than girls are apt
to be. If Emulation would measure height with her, see that it
stand upon tiptoes."
"So I have planned. The young man loves her. She is in every
thought and purpose. She has become as the rock on which his hope
is founded. Now he loves honour, too, and all things of good
report. He has been reared a Puritan. By chance, one day, it
comes to him that his father was a thief."
The boy paused. For a moment they heard only the voices of the
night.
"He dreaded to tell her," Trove continued; "yet he could not ask
her to be his wife without telling. Then the question, Had he a
right to tell?--for his father had not suffered the penalty of the
law and, mind you, men thought him honest."
"'Tis just," said Darrel; "but tell me, how came he to know his
father was a thief?"
"That I am thinking of, and before I answer, is there more you can
tell me of him or his people?"
Darrel rose; and lighting a torch of pine, stuck it in the ground.
Then he opened his leathern pocket-book and took out a number of
cuttings, much worn, and apparently from old newspapers. He put on
his glasses and began to examine the cuttings.
"The other day," said he, "I found an account of his mother's
death. I had forgotten, but her death was an odd tragedy."