HOW JACK WON A BET, AND RETURNED A FAVOR.
THE next morning Sellick sat milking a cow in the yard, when a clear,
pleasant voice close beside him said, “Good morning, Mr. Constable!”
He had heard footsteps and the rattling of a milk-pail behind him, but
had not looked around, thinking it was Billy the farm-boy coming to help
him. Now he looked, however, and there stood his escaped prisoner of
yesterday, smiling, with a milk-pail in one hand and a stool in the
other.
“Ha! good morning, sonny!” cried Sellick, excitedly. His first impulse
was to spring and seize the fugitive; his next, to sit still.
“You helped me milk yesterday morning, now I’ve come to help you,” said
Jack. “I like to pay my debts.”
“That’s right! that’s fair!” said the astonished constable.
“Which is the kicking cow? I don’t want to tackle _her_!” quietly
remarked Jack, surveying the little herd.
“Try that heifer with the white forefeet,” replied Sellick. “You’re an
honest boy, as I said yesterday! I’ve changed works many a time with a
neighbor, but I never had one return my little favors quite so prompt!
You kind o’ took my breath away! Where have you been since we parted in
that rather abrupt fashion yisterday?”
“O, travelling about the country a little!” said Jack, seating himself
beside the heifer. “I thought I would make the most of my opportunities;
I may not have another chance soon.”
“What trick is the fellow up to now?” thought the constable. “He must
have settled the affair with Peternot!” So he said aloud, “Have you seen
the squire?”
“Not since I left him with you in the court-room. The squire and I are
not the best friends in the world, I’m sorry to say. ‘Nice old man, the
squire!’ But I’ve called on him once too often.”
“Where was you last night?”
“_You_ kept me last night.”
“I kept you, sonny?” said Sellick, more and more puzzled.
“Yes; I thought it was no more than fair that you should give me a
night’s lodging. I won’t ask you to board me; I pay for my own milk, you
know.”
“Yes, I know!” Sellick grimaced at the recollection. “But where _did_
you sleep last night? Not under my roof!”
“Yes, I did, under your roof!” laughed Jack.
“Look here, sonny!” cried the incredulous Sellick, “I’ll bet ye a trifle
on that! I believe you’re an honest boy, as I’ve said; but you couldn’t
have slept under my roof without my knowing it, unless Billy smuggled
you in, and he wouldn’t have dared to do it!—Here, Billy!” An
old-looking, broad-shouldered, hollow-cheeked youth came into the yard.
“Did you take this fellow into my house last night?”
“I never saw him on the place before,” replied Billy, “though I rather
guess he’s the one Mis’ Sellick says come to the door last evening and
asked for you.”
“I came to your door, and afterwards slept under your roof,” Jack
insisted. “Since you offer to bet, I’ll bet ye,—well, I’m no gambler,
but I’ll say my hat against a bowl of bread and milk.”
“No more milk! no more milk!” said Sellick, good-humoredly. “That cupful
of yisterday soured on my stomach, if it didn’t on yours. Call it a
breakfast; I’m willing.”
“All the better,” said Jack. “Now just step into your barn, and in the
left-hand farther corner you’ll find a heap of straw, which you’ll agree
has been slept on. There’s a pitchfork standing behind it; and there’s a
bound bundle, which I used as a pillow. I walked in last evening and
made myself at home, while you were leading your horse to the pasture.”
“I can believe all that,” said Sellick readily. “But my barn ain’t my
house.”
“I said nothing about your house; I bet that I slept under your _roof_.”
“Sonny, I give it up! Keep on in the way you have begun, and you’ll make
a joker, by the time you’re a hundred year old. But what in sixty _have_
you come here for this morning? If that’s a joke too, I can’t see it.”
“I thought you might like to finish that little ride we began yesterday.
Not that I’m at all anxious about it,” Jack explained, “but your heart
seemed set on it; and, thinking it over, I concluded ’t was too bad to
disappoint you.”
“And you mean—” Sellick, sitting by his cow, paused to grin at the young
milker in puzzled astonishment.
“Yes, I do!” said Jack laughing; “I don’t mean to spill any more milk,
nor lock up any more court-rooms, nor go through any more culverts, very
soon.” Then, as Sellick still looked incredulous, he added, more
seriously, “I’ve thought it all over, and made up my mind to just this,
if I’ve done anything to be taken to jail for, why, then, take me to
jail, if you want to.”
“You’re deep!” said Sellick, still suspicious of some cunning design
hidden beneath Jack’s candid avowal; “or else you’re a bigger fool than
I took ye for.”
“Have it which way you like,” Jack replied. And having fairly committed
himself to this open and manly course, he felt his bosom swell with
honest pride and satisfaction. “Now, whatever happens,” thought he,
“I’ve done what is right; I’ll be true, I’ll be my better self, I won’t
lie or skulk, for anybody or anything!” Or if he did not think this, he
felt it, and it made him brave and strong.
“You’re a smart boy to milk,” said Sellick, looking at the contents of
Jack’s pail when it was brought to him. “If you git out of this scrape,
I shouldn’t wonder if I would hire you. What do you say?”
It did not seem to Jack that he could bear to live so near Deacon
Chatford’s house, and feel that he might never enter it again as he used
to do. Yet such an offer was encouraging; and the confidence in him
which it implied, on the part of the constable, touched his heart.
“There will be time enough to talk about that after I get out of the
scrape,” he said. “I can’t make any bargain till then.”
“That’s right; that’s fair and honest. You’ll find it a fust-rate
place,” Sellick went on; “good living, plenty to do, and a jolly man to
work for. Do chores this winter to pay for your board, and go to school
if you like; and next summer I’ll pay you wages. Think on ’t, you’d
better. Now for breakfast. You’ve earnt yours, say nothing about the
bet. You can milk a cow twice as quick as Billy. Good boy, but slow, is
Billy; drea’ful modrit; stiddy as a yoke of oxen. Fust summer he worked
for me—Talking about you, Billy,” said Sellick, as the old-looking youth
overtook them on their way to the house.
Billy, looking as if he was used to being made fun of, said, “Sho!” and
grinned, and hung his head.
“Telling how stiddy you be. Fust season he worked for me, I had a good
deal of chopping to do over in the South Swamp. So fur off, men used to
carry their dinners. Billy went over every day ’cept Sundays, all
spring, till along into May, when I noticed something mighty curi’s
about his face. From a straight line down his forehead and nose, all one
side was tanned like an Injin’s, while t’ other was white as a lady’s.”
“Sho! ’t wa’n’t so!” said Billy.
“Fact. And this is how it happened. He went over in the morning with the
left side of his face turned towards the sun as ’twas rising, and come
home at night with the same side turned towards the sun as ’twas
setting; worked in the shade of the woods all day, and never turned his
head going and coming, ’cause he’s sich a stiddy boy.” And Sellick set
the example of laughing merrily at his own wit.
“Folks that work for you don’t git a chance to come home with the
sunlight on their faces,” grumbled Billy. “You keep us to work till
dark, and sometimes by moonlight. You’ll find it so, if you come to work
for him,” he added, turning to Jack. “’T ain’t like working for Deacon
Chatford.”
As Sellick had the reputation of driving his hired men early and late,
this hit told; and he made haste to change the conversation.
“Billy’s bilious. Billy’ll feel better arter breakfast. Billy’s smart at
one thing, if nothing else,—knife-and-fork practice. If he worked as
well as he eats, there’d be no need of his sometimes staying in the
field till dark. But come in, come in; breakfast, boys, breakfast.” And
he led the way into the house.
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