IN THE TEN-ACRE LOT
LITTLE Peter's mother instantly grasped the letter, and seating herself
by the table, and drawing the candle nearer, at once began to read. Tom
watched her eagerly, but she did not speak, and the expression upon her
face did not betray any of the emotions in her heart.
The Indian still stood motionless in the position he had taken when he
first entered the room, and except for the occasional turning of his
dark eyes from the boy to the woman, so far as appearances went he might
have been a statue. The rain still dashed against the windows, and the
sounds of the wind outside showed that the storm was unabated. The
flickering candle served to intensify the darkness, and the alarm which
Tom had felt had not entirely departed.
The woman read the letter all through carefully, and then, without a
word of explanation, began to read it again. Tom hardly knew what to
do. He had given her his warning, and whether she would care for his
further services he could not determine. He did not feel like
interrupting her, and yet he feared that his presence now might not be
altogether welcome, for he had no means of knowing what the message was,
or who had sent it.
His uncertainty was quickly dispelled, however, as the woman laid the
letter upon the table, and turning to him said, "You were right, Tom.
Peter is coming home; but how you found it out, I cannot even guess."
Tom did not feel at liberty to enlighten her upon the subject beyond
what he had told her already, for he was sadly troubled about Benzeor
and his relations with Fenton. Doubtless Benzeor was implicated, but
matters had not yet gone so far that he felt he was at liberty to betray
his foster father to the neighbors.
"Yes," resumed the woman, "Peter is coming home, but only for a day or
two."
"Where is he? What does he say of the army?" inquired Tom.
"Washington is at Hopewell, as you said, Tom. When he found out that
Clinton really intended to march across Jersey, he detached General
Maxwell's brigade and some of the militia to obstruct and bother the
British, and Peter was in the militia, you know. They were to keep close
to the redcoats, and by their skirmishes keep them from going too fast,
and so give Washington a chance to pass them, and then, when the place
he wanted was found, turn about and fight. When the army crossed the
Delaware at Coryell's Ferry, Washington sent Colonel Morgan with six
hundred of the riflemen to reinforce Maxwell, and with the rest of his
men he set out to march toward Princeton."
"I thought you said he was at Hopewell now," said Tom.
"So he is, Peter writes, but Hopewell isn't but a few miles from
Princeton, you know, and he decided to stop there and give his army a
good rest. Peter writes that all the men now think that Clinton is
marching so slowly on purpose, and that his plan is to let the Americans
go on into the lower country and then gain the right of our army by a
quick march and get possession of the higher ground on the right of our
men. Peter writes that that is what all the Continentals think Clinton
is trying to do, and so General Washington has halted at Hopewell.
That's only five miles from Princeton, you see, and he is going to stay
there a few days so that he can give his men a good rest before any
engagement takes place; and he can find out what Clinton's plans are,
too."
"And while the army is waiting there, Big Peter thinks he'll run up home
for a day, does he?" said Tom.
"Yes, that's just it. He's sent me word of his coming by Indian John,
here. But you must have been delayed John," she said, turning to the
Indian as she spoke.
"Heap wet," said the Indian quietly.
"When does he say he expects to be here?" inquired Tom.
"To-morrow; no, to-day, for it must be long past midnight now. I
shouldn't be surprised to see him any time."
"Well I've given you my message, and you'll know what to do now. I think
perhaps I'd better be going back home, that is, unless there's something
you think I can do to help you."
"No, there's nothing more now, Tom. Little Peter will soon be here, and
with him and Indian John in the house, I don't think we shall have much
to fear. It was good of you to come, Tom. I shall never forget you, and
I know that Peter will not, either. I am sadly troubled, but I think it
will be all right."
"Good-night, then," said Tom.
"Good-night, and thank you again for all your trouble and kindness."
Tom drew back the bar, and, opening the door, passed out into the night,
little dreaming that he had looked upon the face of Little Peter's
mother for the last time.
As he ran along the lonesome road, he could see that the clouds were
breaking, and in low masses were swept by the wind across the sky. The
rain had almost ceased now, but the air was damp and heavy and strangely
oppressive. Perhaps it was the oppressiveness which affected Tom more
than the excitement through which he had just passed, for the lad was
much depressed as he came nearer to Benzeor's house. All the
conversation he had overheard between the men came back to him, and he
almost wished that he had not left Peter's mother alone with Indian John
and the children. His feeling of obligation to Benzeor had mostly
departed now, and as he recalled the plots of his foster father his
heart was hot within him. He even thought of going over to the Court
House and reporting the matter to Sheriff Forman that very night; but
the hope that Benzeor still might not join Fenton in the evil project
they had formed deterred him, and as he just then obtained a glimpse of
the house which for more than ten years had been the only home he had
ever known, his mind was recalled to his own immediate plans. At least
he had given Peter's mother the warning, and if Fenton's band should
make the proposed visit, in any event she would be prepared to receive
them.
At first Tom thought he would not return to his room, but would pass the
night in the barn; still the fear that Benzeor might discover his
absence, and be led to suspect its cause, quickly presented itself, and
the troubled lad decided to go back to his accustomed place.
Carefully he climbed up on the woodpile, and grasping the sill drew
himself up and passed through the open window. He stood for a moment in
the room and listened intently. Not a sound could be heard, and even the
long drawn-out snores with which Benzeor had been wont to proclaim to
the household the fact that he had entered the land of dreams were
silent now. He waited several moments, and as the silence was still
unbroken he proceeded carefully to remove his wet clothing, and climbed
into his high bed.
For the first time then he realized how thoroughly tired he was. The bed
had never been more grateful to him, and a heavy sigh of relief escaped
his lips. He heard the crowing of the cocks and knew that the morning
could not be far away now.
Not even the exciting events of the day, or the treacherous project of
Benzeor, or his anxiety for the safety of Little Peter's father, now
availed to keep the wearied lad awake.
How long he slept he did not know, but it was broad daylight when he
opened his eyes. Some one was pounding upon his door, and with a
confused thought that Fenton was besieging the house, or that Washington
had begun an attack upon Clinton's forces, he quickly sat up in the bed
and listened.
The summons was repeated, and Tom at once realized where he was and what
was expected of him. There was no mistaking Benzeor's rude method of
proclaiming the presence of the morning, and if he had had any doubts,
they would have been quickly dispelled by the words which followed.
"Come, Tom, get up! It's high time we were at work again!"
"I'll be down in a minute," replied Tom as he leaped out of bed and
hastily dressed.
While he was engaged in that occupation he tried desperately to collect
his thoughts and think of some way out of the troubles which he feared
were sure to come that day. Should he tell Benzeor plainly that he could
no longer remain under his roof? Ought he to tell him what he had
overheard the night before? Had the time come for him to declare himself
and to take the open stand which he had for a long time secretly planned
to do? Thoughts of Sarah and the toiling, careworn little mother of the
household presented themselves before his troubled mind, and the longer
he thought, the more perplexed he became.
The problem was not solved when he passed down the stairs and went out
of the house to the barrel which stood beneath the corner of the eaves.
He took the rude wooden bowl and filled it with water, and desperately
tried to arrive at some conclusion as he bathed his flushed face.
The family were already seated at the breakfast-table, and the sounds of
Benzeor's gruff voice could be distinctly heard through the open
windows. The hens with their broods were moving about the yard, and the
dog came and rubbed against his leg as the lad dried his face and hands
on the rough towel that was hanging near the water barrel. The storm had
passed, and the summer sun was shining clear and strong now.
As he lifted his eyes and looked out over Benzeor's fertile lands, only
a vision of peace and restfulness could be seen on every side. It was
all so different from the storm which was in his own soul that Tom
almost groaned aloud as he turned to enter the kitchen and take his
accustomed place at the table.
As he entered the room, Benzeor said, "You're late this morning, lad,
but I thought I would let you sleep, you had such a hard day of it
yesterday. But there's no trip to New York this morning, and not likely
to be one again soon."
Benzeor's manner was not unkind, and as Tom glanced at him he wondered
whether the man was in any wise suspicious of him or not. Apparently he
was not, but without making any reply Tom seated himself and quietly
decided to wait until they were alone before he spoke of what was in his
mind.
"Tom," said Benzeor after a brief silence, "I want you to go over to the
ten-acre lot to-day. The ground's wet, but the corn there needs hoeing,
and we can't wait."
The "ten-acre lot" was on the border of Benzeor's possessions, and was
nearly a mile distant from the house. On all sides it was bordered by
woods, and was as lonely a place as could be found in all the region.
"Are you going, too?" inquired Tom, with an apparent indifference he was
far from feeling.
"No. I've got to go in another direction to-day. I may not be back at
night either, though I can't say as to that. You'd better take your
dinner, too, Tom, and I'll leave one of the muskets for you. You can
load it up with bird-shot and keep the blackbirds and crows away.
They're raising the mischief this year, and corn's going to be worth
money this fall, if I'm not greatly mistaken."
Tom made no reply, although his heart was beating a little more rapidly
than usual. Benzeor's absence from home promised little good, and the
words which he had overheard the night before came back now with
redoubled force. Where was Benzeor going? And why did he send him to
work in the distant field, when he was positive that some of the corn
nearer the house was in far greater need of hoeing than that in the
ten-acre lot?
However, he did not voice his questions, and immediately after the
breakfast was over Benzeor mounted his horse and departed up the road,
going in the opposite direction to that which led to Little Peter's
house.
Tom went up into the unfinished room in which Benzeor kept his guns and
ammunition, but instead of taking the musket to which the man had
referred, he selected a rifle, and loaded it with a ball instead of the
bird-shot as Benzeor had directed. Just why he did this Tom could not
have explained even to himself, but somehow there was the feeling in his
heart that he might need to be prepared to deal with larger game that
day than the thieving blackbirds or the noisy crows.
"I've got your dinner all ready, Tom," said Sarah, as the boy came back
with his gun into the kitchen. "Why, you've got the rifle!" she added in
surprise, as she noted the weapon he had in his hands. "There's nothing
wrong, is there?" she said anxiously.
"I hope not. I don't know. I thought I'd take this gun," replied Tom in
some confusion.
Sarah said nothing more, but Tom knew from her manner that she was
alarmed. He would have been glad to quiet her fears, but the anxiety in
his own heart rendered him somewhat embarrassed, and without saying
anything more he shouldered his gun, and picking up the little pail, or
"blicky," as the country people termed it, having adopted the Dutch word
whether they themselves were Dutch or not, he set forth on his walk to
the distant ten-acre lot.
He stopped in the barn long enough to select a hoe, and then with the
added implement resumed his journey across the fields. When he came to
the borders of the woods through which he was to pass, he turned and
looked back at the house.
Sarah was still standing in the doorway, and as she saw Tom stop she
waved at him the sunbonnet which she was holding in one hand by the
strings. Tom waved his "blicky" by way of a return, and then entered the
woods, which shut out the view of all that lay behind him.
The birds were flitting about in the trees and filling the air with
their songs. The squirrels darted along the branches, stopping only
occasionally to chatter at the intruder. High over all he could see a
fish-hawk and his mate circling in the air, and Tom knew that their nest
was not far away, and doubtless they were watching him to see that he
did no harm to their little ones, which by this time must be well grown.
As he came near to a marshy little pond which lay in the centre of an
open place in the woods, he stopped for a moment when he heard the angry
notes of a ground thrush near by. He soon saw that the bird was engaged
in a fierce contest with a water snake which had crawled up the bank and
doubtless had been endeavoring to make his breakfast upon the
fledgelings in the nest he had discovered.
Tom watched the contest for a moment, and then advanced to the aid of
the bird, which was beating the ground with her wings, and occasionally
darting swiftly at her foe. His approach was instantly seen by the
snake, which quickly abandoned the contest, and, squirming down the
bank, slid into the stagnant water; but Tom could still see the head
which was lifted above the water, and the glittering little eyes were
intently watching his movements, although the rest of the long slimy
body was concealed in the pond.
"That's just like Benzeor," said Tom aloud, as he dropped his pail, and
picking up a stone threw it savagely at the head he could see a few
yards out from the bank.
The head instantly disappeared, and Tom turned to watch the bird, which
now was hopping about in the bushes, uttering harsh little notes of
relief.
"You're all right now, old lady," said Tom. "Go back and tend to your
babies. I only wish I could serve every crawling thing the way I served
your enemy."
He soon arrived at the end of his journey, and, placing his gun within
easy reach, began his task for the day. Why he had put off his
conversation with Benzeor he could not explain. But the energy with
which he began his work served to afford a measure of relief for his
pent-up feelings, and when the noon hour at last came he had done far
more work than a morning often witnessed.
Once he had stopped suddenly when he thought he heard the report of a
gun in the distance. The sound had twice been repeated, but it seemed to
be muffled and far away, and as he resumed his labor he tried to
persuade himself that it was only Little Peter firing at the blackbirds
or the thieving crows.
The reports had made him anxious, however, and when he had stopped for
dinner he had kept his gun near him all the time. The silence served to
increase his feeling of loneliness. On every side stood the forests; and
the great trees, which had never as yet felt the stroke of the axe, were
companions without sympathy.
With a feeling of desperation Tom soon resumed his labors. The sun
passed over his head and began to sink below the tops of the taller
trees. He had stopped for a moment to wipe his dripping face and gain a
brief rest, when he was startled by the sight of some one emerging from
the forest.
He gazed for a moment intently at the new-comer, and soon recognized
Sarah. What was the trouble? Her dress had been torn by the bushes, her
hair had become loose and was streaming down her back. But her
disheveled appearance was not the worst, for as Tom dropped his hoe and
ran across the lot to meet her, he saw that her eyes were filled with an
expression of terror, and her face betrayed the wild alarm which seemed
to possess the swiftly running girl.