Produced by Jim Weller
TRUE TO HIMSELF
ROGER STRONG'S STRUGGLE FOR PLACE
BY
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
PREFACE
"True to himself," while a complete story in itself, forms the third
volume of the "Ship and Shore Series," tales of adventure on land and
sea, written for both boys and girls.
In this story we are introduced to Roger Strong, a typical American
country lad, and his sister Kate, who, by an unhappy combination of
events, are thrown upon their own resources and compelled to make
their own way in the world.
To make one's way in the world is, ordinarily, difficult enough; but
when one is handicapped by a cloud on the family name, the difficulty
becomes far greater. With his father thrown into prison on a serious
charge, Roger finds that few people will have anything to do with
either himself or his sister, and the jeers flung at him are at times
almost more than he can bear. But he is "true to himself" in the best
meaning of that saying, rising above those who would pull him down,
and, in the end, not only succeeds in making a place for himself in
the world, but also scores a worthy triumph over those who had caused
his parents' downfall.
When this story was first printed as a serial, the author has every
reason to believe it was well received by the boys and girls for whom
it was written. In its present revised form he hopes it will meet with
equal commendation.
Edward Stratemeyer.
Newark, N.J.,
April 15, 1900.
CHAPTER I
THE TROUBLE IN THE ORCHARD
"Hi, there, Duncan Woodward!" I called out. "What are you doing in
Widow Canby's orchard?"
"None of your business, Roger Strong," replied the only son of the
wealthiest merchant in Darbyville.
"You are stealing her pears," I went on. "Your pockets are full of
them."
"See here, Roger Strong, just you mind your own business and leave me
alone."
"I am minding my business," I rejoined warmly.
"Indeed!" And Duncan put as much of a sneer as was possible in the
word.
"Yes, indeed. Widow Canby pays me for taking care of her orchard, and
that includes keeping an eye on these pear trees," and I approached
the tree upon the lowest branch of which Duncan was standing.
"Humph! You think you're mighty big!" he blustered, as he jumped to
the ground. "What right has a fellow like you to talk to me in this
manner? You are getting too big for your boots."
"I don't think so. I'm guarding this property, and I want you to hand
over what you've taken and leave the premises," I retorted, for I did
not fancy the style in which I was being addressed.
"Pooh! Do you expect me to pay any attention to that?"
"You had better, Duncan. If you don't you may get into trouble."
"I suppose you intend to tell the widow what I've done."
"I certainly shall; unless you do as I've told you to."
Duncan bit his lip. "How do you know but what the widow said I could
have the pears?" he ventured.
"If she did, it's all right," I returned, astonished, not so much over
the fact that Widow Canby had granted the permission, as that such a
high-toned young gentleman as Duncan Woodward should desire that
privilege.
"You've no business to jump at conclusions," he added sharply.
"If I judged you wrongly, I beg your pardon, Duncan. I'll speak to the
widow about it."
I began to move off toward the house. Duncan hurried after me and
caught me by the arm.
"You fool you, what do you mean?" he demanded.
"I'm going to find out if you are telling the truth."
"Isn't my word enough?"
"It will do no harm to ask," I replied evasively, not caring to pick a
quarrel, and yet morally sure that he was prevaricating.
"So you think I'm telling you a falsehood? I've a good mind to give
you a sound drubbing," he cried angrily.
Duncan Woodward had many of the traits of a bully about him. He was
the only son of a widower who nearly idolized him, and, lacking a
mother's guiding influence, he had grown up wayward in the extreme.
He was a tall, well-built fellow, strong from constant athletic
exercise, and given, on this account, to having his way among his
associates.
Yet I was not afraid of him. Indeed, to tell the truth, I was not
afraid of any one. For eight years I had been shoved in life from
pillar to post, until now threats had no terrors for me.
Both of my parents were dead to me. My mother died when I was but five
years old. She was of a delicate nature, and, strange as it may seem,
I am inclined to believe that it was for the best that her death
occurred when it did. The reason I believe this is, because she was
thus spared the disgrace that came upon our family several years
later.
At her death my father was employed as head clerk by the firm of
Holland & Mack, wholesale provision merchants of Newville, a thriving
city which was but a few miles from Darbyville, a pretty village
located on the Pass River.
We occupied a handsome house in the centre of the village. Our family,
besides my parents and myself, contained but one other member--my
sister Kate, who was several years my senior.
When our beloved mother died, Kate took the management of our home
upon her shoulders, and as she had learned, during my mother's long
illness, how everything should be done, our domestic affairs ran
smoothly. All this time I attended the Darbyville school, and was
laying the foundation for a commercial education, intending at some
later day to follow in the footsteps of my father.
Two years passed, and then my father's manner changed. From being
bright and cheerful toward us he became moody and silent. What the
cause was I could not guess, and it did not help matters to be told by
Duncan Woodward, whose father was also employed by Holland & Mack,
that "some folks would soon learn what was what, and no mistake."
At length the thunderbolt fell. Returning from school one day, I found
Kate in tears.
"Oh, Roger!" she burst out. "They say father has stolen money from
Holland & Mack, and they have just arrested him for a thief!"
The blow was a terrible one. I was but a boy of fourteen, and the news
completely bewildered me. I put on my cap, and together with Kate,
took the first horse car to Newville to find out what it all meant.
We found my father in jail, where he had been placed to await the
action of the grand jury. It was with difficulty that we obtained
permission to see him, and ascertained the facts of the case.
The charge against him was for raising money upon forged cheeks, eight
in number, the total amount being nearly twelve thousand dollars. The
name of the firm had been forged, and the money collected in New York
and Brooklyn. I was not old enough to understand the particulars.
My father protested his innocence, but it was of no avail. The forgery
was declared to be his work, and, though it was said that he must have
had an accomplice to obtain the money, he was adjudged the guilty
party.
"Ten years in the State's prison." That was the penalty. My father
grew deadly white, while as for me, my very heart seemed to stop
beating. Kate fainted, and two days later the doctor announced that
she had an attack of brain fever.
Two months dragged slowly by. Then my sister was declared to be out of
danger. Next the house was sold over our heads, and we were turned out
upon the world, branded as the children of a thief, to get a living as
best we could.
Both of us would willingly have left Darbyville, but where should we
go? The only relation we had was an uncle,--Captain Enos Moss,--and
he was on an extended trip to South America, and when he would return
no one knew.
All the friends we had had before deserted us. The girls "turned up
their noses" at Kate,--which made my blood boil,--and the boys
fought shy of me.
I tried to find work, but without success. Even in places where help
was wanted excuses were made to me--trivial excuses that meant but
one thing--that they did not desire any one in their employ who had a
stain upon his name.
Kate was equally unsuccessful; and we might have starved but for a
lucky incident that happened just as we were ready to give up in
despair.
Walking along the road one day, I saw Farmer Tilford's bull tearing
across the field toward a gate which had been accidentally left open.
The Widow Canby, absorbed in thought and quite unconscious of the
danger that threatened her, was just passing this gate, when I darted
forward and closed it just a second before the bull reached it. I did
not consider my act an heroic one, but the Widow Canby declared it
otherwise.
"You are a brave boy," she said. "Who are you?"
I told her, coloring as I spoke. But she laid a kindly hand upon my
shoulder.
"Even if your father was guilty, you are not to blame," she said, and
she made me tell her all about myself, and about Kate, and the hard
luck we were having.
The Widow Canby lived in an old-fashioned house, surrounded on three
sides by orchards several acres in extent. She was well to do, but
made no pretence to style. Many thought her extremely eccentric but
that was only because they did not know her.
The day I came to her assistance she made me stay to supper, and when
I left it was under promise to call the next day and bring my sister
along.
This I did, and a long conversation took place, which resulted in Kate
and myself going to live with the widow--I to take care of the garden
and the orchards, and my sister to help with the housekeeping, for
which we received our board and joint wages of fifteen dollars per
month.
We could not have fallen into better hands. Mrs. Canby was as
considerate as one would wish, and had it not been for the cloud upon
our name we would have been content.
But the stain upon our family was a source of unpleasantness to us. I
fully believed my father innocent, and I wondered if the time would
ever come when his character would be cleared.
My duties around Widow Canby's place were not onerous, and I had
plenty of chance for self-improvement. I had finished my course at the
village school in spite of the calumny that was cast upon me, and now
I continued my studies in private whenever the opportunity offered.
I was looked down upon by nearly every one in the village. To
strangers I was pointed out as the convict's son, and people reckoned
that the "Widder Canby wasn't right sharp when she took in them as
wasn't to be trusted."
I was not over-sensitive, but these remarks, which generally reached
my ears sooner or later, made me very angry. What right had people to
look down on my sister and myself? It was not fair to Kate and me, and
I proposed to stand it no longer.
It was a lovely morning in September, but I was in no mood to enjoy
the bright sunshine and clear air that flooded the orchard. I had just
come from the depot with the mail for Mrs. Canby, and down there I had
heard two men pass opinions on my father's case that were not only
uncharitable but unjust.
I was therefore in no frame of mind to put up with Duncan Woodward's
actions, and when he spoke of giving me a good drubbing I prepared to
defend myself.
"Two can play at that game, Duncan," I replied.
"Ho! ho! Do you mean to say you can stand up against me?" he asked
derisively.
"I can try," I returned stoutly. "I'm sure now that you have no
business here."
"Why, you miserable little thief--"
"Stop that! I'm no thief, if you please."
"Well, you're the son of one, and that's the same thing."
"My father is innocent, and I won't allow any one, big or little, to
call him a thief," I burst out. "Some day he will be cleared."
"Not much!" laughed Duncan. "My father knows all about the case. I can
tell you that."
"Then perhaps he knows where the money went to," I replied quickly. "I
know he was very intimate with my father at that time."
Had I stopped to think I would not have spoken as I did. My remark
made the young man furious, and I had hardly spoken before Duncan hit
me a stinging blow on the forehead, and, springing upon me, bore me to
the ground.