From an Unexpected Quarter
“It is downright ripping!” burst out Jack with explosive energy. Then he dropped into sudden silence, and said never a word while Pam was guiding the obstinate old horse as close to the door of the house as she could persuade it to go. She stole a glance at him once, and was so awed by the expression of his face that she turned her head quickly, for she guessed he would not want her to know how he was feeling.
The horse had its own ideas about how close to the door of the house it intended to draw the wagon, and being obstinate as a mule it planted its fore feet wide apart in an attitude worthy of FitzJames when he cried:
“Come one, come all! this rock shall flyFrom its firm base as soon as I”.
“Come one, come all! this rock shall flyFrom its firm base as soon as I”.
“Come one, come all! this rock shall flyFrom its firm base as soon as I”.
“Come one, come all! this rock shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I”.
“If you were my horse you would have to come, but seeing you belong to my neighbour it does not seem worth the trouble to make you,” said Pam, giving in gracefully, determined not to let a small difference of opinion between herself and the horse upset for her the joy of having Jack reach Ripple safe and sound.
Sophy burst out of the door, coming at a run to welcome the traveller, and chaffing Pam because she could not manage the stupid old horse.
“If it were merely stupid I could manage it fast enough,” replied Pam. “It is so crafty, and I lose my temper in trying to circumvent it.” She went round to the back of the wagon as she spoke, and started to haul out the trunks which Jack had brought with him.
“What a lot of baggage for a boy!” cried Sophy. “Why, Jack, you must be quite a dandy! How many dress suits have you brought with you?”
“Just you wait and see!” chuckled Jack, who had come out of his quiet fit, and was ready to answer chaff with chaff, to laugh and see the funny side of everything. “Of course I need football togs, and golfing duds, a rowing rig-out, and another set of nautical clothes for when I go out on my yacht. Then there are garments for sitting and for standing, there are things to sleep in, a swimming outfit, a set of go-to-meeting clothes, and—and a court dress, only I am afraid that won’t be of much use in this part of the world, so any reasonable offer will not be refused.”
“Don’t take any notice of him, Sophy,” said Pam, who was laughing at his glib description of his fictitious wardrobe. “The boxes are crammed with books, and things about the house that Mother thought he might as well bring. I guess he has not many more clothes than what he is wearing, and even those will be outgrown in a few months at the rate he is going on. Shall we have a feed before I take the wagon back, or shall I drive the horse and wagon back to Mrs. Buckle straight away?”
“Dinner is quite ready, and if you have it now I can get the dishes washed while you are away,” replied Sophy.
“Have it now, by all means. I am almost hungry enough to start on eating the old horse, although by the look of it the creature would be tough,” said Jack. He ducked his head nearer to that of the animal, and worked his jaws in a fashion so fierce and suggestive that the horse suddenly started forward, drew the wagon close to the house door, and stopped again, while the three laughed until the tears came, over the success of Jack’s manœuvre.
They carried the luggage into the house, tied the horse to the hitching-post and gave it a feed of hay, then went indoors to the dinner which Sophy had ready for them. It was so warm that they had the door wide open, letting in the sunshine, the scents of trees and flowers, and the rippling notes of the bobolink in the big red maple near the house. Oh! the forest was a delightful place on a day in early spring, and Pam, stealing glances at Jack’s face, realized that behind the nonsense in which he was indulging, he was fighting back a whole storm of emotion.
The two went off when the meal was over, to restore the horse and wagon to Mrs. Buckle. When they came back there would be the afternoon “chores” to get through, and a lot of other things which Pam had been forced to neglect in order to reach Hunt’s Crossing in time to meet Jack. Even then she had not reached the river until long after the boat had passed. Last summer the boats up from Fredericton had done the journey in the daytime, passing Hunt’s Crossing in the afternoon; now they left the wharf of the city at midnight, and so reached the nearest point for Ripple early in the day.
“Do we pass the fence that made all the trouble?” Jack asked, as the horse moved away from the hitching-post, and broke into a shambling trot when it found it had its head towards home.
“Yes, I will show you,” said Pam, and then they began to talk of the mystery of their grandfather’s disappearance afresh.
“I can’t see why he needed to run away at all,” said Jack. “The two men quarrelled, and started to fight, I expect, and for aught we know Grandfather might have been as badly hurt as the other man. He might even have crawled into the shelter of the trees to die. I say, Pam, where was it the bones were found when you were sugaring? Anywhere near here?”
“No, miles away in an opposite direction,” she answered. “Besides, you forget the money which had been taken from Grandfather’s desk was found with those remains. I thought, as you have done, that he might have crept into the woods to die, and I tramped through the undergrowth in every direction last fall; the police hunted too. But he has been seen alive since then, you know.”
Jack nodded.
“I had forgotten that. I don’t suppose it is of any use for me to try to spring new theories on to you, seeing that you have been on the spot, and have had all the winter to think the matter round. You will have to be patient with me when I start any extra silly idea about it. But I can’t rest while we don’t know what has become of him. It does not seem right to enjoy being here either, for it is his place, and not ours at all.”
Pam nodded her head sadly.
“That is just how I feel about it. But there are two sides to think of, and if we were not here just think how the place would go to ruin! We are doing our best for him, and keeping the home together. If we can be happy while we are doing it, so much the better for us, and our happiness does not injure him if he is alive, nor is it any disrespect to him if he has gone.”
Jack gave a non-committal grunt, and then sat in silence, staring at the mighty trees which walled in the trail, or stood singly or in groups here and there, the lesser growths crowding about the big trunks like children round a mother’s knee.
“There is Mrs. Buckle, and that is her house,” Pam exclaimed presently, as they emerged from the forest and began to cross the fields. “Is it not strange that she has been one of my kindest friends?”
“Yes, it seems to me against nature,” he answered shortly. “It is one of the things that make me think that perhaps after all Grandfather had no hand in hurting Sam Buckle; for if he had, her instinct would have been dead against her being friends with you. And a woman usually follows her instinct, while a man trusts to his judgment. You need not laugh; I told you I should be springing all sorts of silly theories upon you about every ten minutes or so.”
“I am not going to laugh at you,” said Pam, turning a face that was deeply troubled upon him. “But, Jack, if Grandfather did not hurt the other man, why did he disappear? Where is he now? And why was his axe found beside the poor fellow? Why, too, did Sam Buckle keep muttering that it was his right?”
“I’m not a blooming detective!” growled Jack, who looked every bit as troubled as his sister. “But this I do know, that there are mostly two ways of explaining everything—a wrong way and a right. It is possible that all, or nearly all, your reasonable explanations are wrong ones, after all.”
“What solemn faces you have both got!” exclaimed Mrs. Buckle, as she hurried to meet them. She told Jack that he was a great acquisition, that the forest wanted young men more than it wanted anything, and that she was very glad indeed to see him there.
“Thank you, ma’am: I am sure that I am very glad to be here,” said Jack politely; and then he followed Mrs. Buckle round her small domain, listening in interested silence to all she had to say about things. He was as fond as most boys of talking and giving his opinion on this and that. But he was up against a most complete ignorance of the things she was discussing, so he had the sense to keep quiet until he knew something about it all.
Then Pam came along from the barn, where she had been to unhitch the horse; but because he was unwilling to go just yet, Jack pulled out his watch to see the time.
“Why, Jack, I did not know that you had a watch!” cried Pam in surprise. “Where did you get it from?”
“I bought it in St. John,” replied Jack. “Colonel Seaford came with Mother to see me on board. He gave me a sovereign to do what I liked with. Mother said I had better have a look round the second-hand shops in St. John when I landed, to see if I could buy a watch with the money, because she had not been able to get me one. I saw this priced at three dollars, and so I bought it. It is a jolly good one to go, and it is a fair size for the money.”
“What an old-fashioned watch!” cried Pam. “It looks good, though. See, Mrs. Buckle, wouldn’t you say that it was a good one?”
Mrs. Buckle took the watch which Pam handed to her, and turned it over in her hand. Pam noticed that she went very pale. Then she pressed the spring that opened the back, and immediately uttered a startled cry.
“It is Sam’s watch that was stolen from him before he died!”
It was Pam’s turn to become white now. Her cheeks were colourless, and her eyes dilated with fear as she gasped:
“How do you know? How can you be sure of a thing like that?”
Mrs. Buckle held the watch towards her with shaking hands.
“See that!” she whispered hoarsely. “Just down there by the keyhole—M. P. That stands for Moses Pratt, which was my father’s name. He scratched the initials there himself. Don’t you see how he boggled the loop of the P? He said it was easy enough to do the strokes, it was the curves that were the trouble. It is Sam’s watch. I would swear to it before any jury in the Dominion. Do you see that mark there?—I mean the little dash by the side of the name. That stands for my father’s marriage. The next little dash means me; he put it there when I was born. His record of blessings, he called it. Then the dot underneath was put when Mother died; and when Father was dying he used to say he had been such a fortunate man, for he had only one dot to two dashes!”
Mrs. Buckle broke down over her reminiscences, and sobbed aloud. Jack looked supremely uncomfortable, just as if he would have liked to run away. It was Pam who realized what had to be done.
“You must give her the watch.” The whisper was inaudible to the sobbing Mrs. Buckle, but Jack heard it and made a wry face, which was not to be wondered at. A boy’s first watch is mostly a treasured possession, and Mrs. Buckle was only a stranger. He had not even lived in touch with the tragic happenings of last fall, as Pam had done, so he was to be forgiven his momentary unwillingness to yield the watch he had valued so much. He was made of good stuff, though; for as Mrs. Buckle caught her breath on an extra big sob, and looked up to put a request to him, before she could utter one word of it he had thrust his hand out with a hasty movement, and was saying hurriedly:
“You will keep the watch, of course. I had no idea that it had been stolen. I am very glad that I have been able to bring it back to you.”
“Stolen!” cried Pam, aghast at the word. “Jack, Grandfather must have taken it!”
“We can’t be sure of that. All the same, it was stolen, whoever did it, seeing it was not his own,” said Jack with a sullen note in his voice; and he was turning away in a great hurry, for the scene was too emotional for him, when he knocked against a man who had come upon the group without being noticed, and who was standing staring at the watch in Mrs. Buckle’s hand.
“Hullo! I beg your pardon,” he said, expecting to be pulled up for his carelessness.
The man took no notice of him, only stared at Mrs. Buckle, who, now becoming aware of his presence, held the watch toward him, saying eagerly:
“See here, Mose Paget, this boy, Miss Walsh’s brother from England, has got my husband’s watch, and I knew it again directly. Isn’t it just wonderful?”
The man shook his head slightly, then said in a gruff voice:
“I don’t see anything very remarkable about it myself. Everyone knows that Wrack Peveril stole the watch from poor Sam, so what more natural than he should give it to his grandson?”
Jack flamed with sudden wrath, and thrusting out his fist he shook it within an inch of the tip of Mose Paget’s nose.
“Are you insinuating that my grandfather was a thief?” he asked; and Pam shivered at the thrill in his quiet voice. He was one of the most even-tempered people she knew, but when he did get roused he flared into hotter anger than any of them.
Mose laughed in a casual fashion that was infinitely irritating, then swung round with his back to Jack, as if the boy in his righteous anger were a thing of no account at all. He addressed himself again to Mrs. Buckle.
“I have come to say that I can’t take on that job we talked about. I have had an offer to join a man out west, and he wants me to go to-night.”
“But a bargain is a bargain,” expostulated Mrs. Buckle, who for the moment forgot the miraculous finding of the treasured watch, while she threshed out the matter in hand. “You said that you would see me through the farmwork this summer, you agreed upon the price and everything, and you can’t back out now.”
“Can’t I?” The man smiled in an ugly, aggravating fashion. “I guess, now my chance has come to better myself, I am going to take it. It isn’t a woman that is going to turn me when I have made up my mind. I should be obliged if you would pay me what is owing, as I’ve to get down river to-night, so as to catch the cars for the west to-morrow.”
Mrs. Buckle’s mouth set itself in lines of stern determination.
“I suppose I can’t force you to stay here and keep your word, but I can do as I like about paying you, and not a cent-piece shall you have before the end of the week. I am not used to paying every minute a lazy man wants his money, and, being a lone woman, I don’t keep no hard cash worth speaking of in the house, not being willing to have it stolen. If you want to go down river to-night you will have to go without that money, and I will pay it to Reggie—or are you going to take him with you?”
“No, I can’t be bothered with a kid at my heels all day,” rejoined Mose in a sulky tone. Hearing this, Pam felt again the swift repulsion for the man that was so nearly detestation; and yet, as she told herself, the man was not all bad, for had he not saved her life, and that at the risk of his own?
“Well, you won’t have the money, that is flat. I have not got it in the house for you,” said Mrs. Buckle; and then she burst into stormy invective because of the way he was treating her, in going off in this fashion and leaving her with the summer’s work on her hands.
Pam stepped a little closer to her as the man turned away.
“Never mind, dear Mrs. Buckle,” she said. “Jack and I will see you through. We don’t know much, it is true; but we are strong and can work, and we will take your land on as well as our own, so you will not be left in the lurch.”
“Yes, we will see you through, never you fear!” put in Jack. Then he burst out in a stormy fashion: “You are not going to believe that Grandfather is a thief, Mrs. Buckle, or that I knew I had no right to the watch?”
“Of course not. What a silly boy it is!” Mrs. Buckle looked up at the sky, as if she were talking to someone above her head, and she took no notice at all of Mose Paget, who hovered still in the background, as if to see if there was any chance that she would pay up. “It is not at Ripple that I shall look when I want to find the thief. Don’t you think that I have sense enough to know an honest man when I see one?”
“Is it me you are wanting to call a thief?” burst out Mose, looking as if he would do her an injury there and then, while his face was fairly convulsed with anger.
Mrs. Buckle looked him over with a calm scorn that made him wince.
“I have always found you honest,” she said; then added, with a suspicion of malice in her tone, “but then I have always believed that it was opportunity that made the thief, and it is precious little opportunity you have had in my house to be anything but an honest man.”
“You are right enough there!” retorted Mose with hearty spite. “Yours is reckoned the meanest house in the township, and the stuff that is thrown away would not keep a sparrow. The mice die from want of nourishment, and the one or two rats that I have seen were just walking skeletons. Talk about the tender mercies of a woman! Why, you are the meanest creature alive!”
“Well, Amanda is fat enough even if the vermin are thin,” replied Mrs. Buckle with a jolly laugh at being able to get the last word. Then she said sternly: “Now, Mose Paget, if you are not going to keep your side of the bargain, out you get, and that sharp, for I don’t allow no lazy, idle vagabonds to sauce me twice. Now, then, get!”
For a moment Mrs. Buckle stared into the face of the furious man, while he glared back at her; then, without another word, he swung round on his heel and took the trail which led east to the river, although his home was in the opposite direction.
“It looks funny, that it does!” Mrs. Buckle remarked as if talking to herself, and seeming for the moment quite unaware of the others standing near her. “Something has scared him pretty badly, or my name is not Martha Buckle. I don’t believe he has seen anyone this morning. If any stranger had been about the place surely I should have known about it.”
“Perhaps he had the offer made to him yesterday, only did not feel disposed to take it then,” put in Pam. Then, mindful of the long time they had been lingering, she said: “We must go now, Mrs. Buckle, but one of us will be over to-morrow to see how you are getting on, and if you want us before that, just send Amanda to Ripple to fetch us.”
“You can’t go yet; I must know about this,” said Mrs. Buckle, indicating the watch in her hand. “Then I want to pay your brother the value of it.”
“Oh, Jack would not take money for it!” cried Pam. “Especially after that most hateful thing said by Mose Paget, about Grandfather having stolen it and given it to Jack.”
“Of course I don’t want to be paid for what was not my own,” agreed Jack; but he was sore at heart all the same, for he had valued that watch very highly. It was such a substantial affair, and it made him feel as if he were almost, if not quite a man.
Mrs. Buckle laughed.
“Do you think I am really as hard up as I would have Mose Paget believe?” she asked, and her voice dropped to a cautious undertone. “It is quite true I have almost no money in the house, and I have kept none there ever since that mysterious theft from Ripple leaked out. But there are other places in which to keep money. You tell me how much this watch is worth to you, then go into the house and sit down while I find the cash, do you hear?”
“Yes, but I am not going to do it,” said Jack hurriedly. “Come along, Pam, it is time we were marching.”
The two marched off in spite of Mrs. Buckle’s protestations, and when they were well on their way Jack turned to Pam, demanding: “What do you think now?”
“I don’t know what to think,” she answered sadly.
“I think that you are all working on a wrong idea, and that poor old Grandfather was as innocent as I am of any hand in hurting Sam Buckle!” Jack’s voice had a confident, happy ring that was most inspiring. He had a host of theories, too, and he treated Pam to so many of them on the way back to Ripple that she arrived at home almost disposed to believe he might be right; only the circumstantial evidence of the axe being found near to Sam Buckle, and that other still more damaging fact of her grandfather’s disappearance, were so hard to explain away.
Pam’s Big Adventure
Never before had Pam realized how much one’s brother might be to one. Those first days of Jack’s coming to Ripple would have spelled unalloyed happiness for her had it not been for the trouble about her grandfather. It was of no use to tell herself that she knew the old man was not a thief, and that he would not have dreamed of robbing the man he had hurt so badly. The fear that he had done it in a moment of evil temper was always present with her to spoil her peace. She worried, too, as she thought of what his suffering must have been when he was outcast from his home. In spite of all that Jack and Sophy could say to the contrary, the fear was on her that the old man lay in the nameless grave where that little heap of bones found in the forest had been put.
Laughing and talking with Jack, labouring hard with him over the tasks to which they were both so unaccustomed, Pam found it easy to be happy and to put even the remembrance of the trouble away. It was in the nights, when sometimes she was too tired to sleep, that the burden of her care dropped upon her, and then she was as acutely miserable as it was possible for a healthy girl to be.
The poultry was increasing on her hands. One brood of chickens was safely hatched, and the ten downy, fluffy chicks threatened to be great time-wasters, they were so dear and so cunning. But Sophy reminded her that she was out to make the place pay, and the chicks were neither ornaments nor playthings, but just a detail of farm life; after which Pam hardened her heart and tore herself away to less congenial tasks. The pigs failed to rouse much enthusiasm in her. She was glad to resign the care of them to Jack, even though he was six months younger to farm life than she was, and ignorant in proportion. Yet in spite of this drawback he was showing uncommon wisdom, or perhaps it was adaptability, in looking after the animals. When a litter of young was born, he was as enthusiastic over it as Pam was over the chickens. He talked largely of going in for pig-breeding on a large scale, because, as he very truly said, people always wanted bacon for breakfast, so there would always be a market for his stuff.
Pam only laughed at him, and wrinkled her nose in a little grimace of disgust every time she came near his end of the barn. She was secretly delighted at the way in which he was taking hold of things and adapting himself to the new life. She had been afraid that he might hark back to city life, and want to be a clerk or something of that sort. The younger boys had never been so fond of books as Jack. She was slow in understanding that his love of books arose from the honest desire for information, and was not an indication of any wish for life in a city office.
When Jack had been at Ripple two weeks Sophy went home for a few days. She and her mother were going down river to Fredericton to buy the wedding frock, or, at least, the material for it. Nothing would suit Sophy but that she should make it herself, and as she was so expert with her needle, it would have been folly to pay another to do work that would bring exquisite pleasure to herself.
It was very strange at Ripple without her. Jack took his share of getting meals and in washing dishes, but all the same it was Pam who had to feel the great want. Sophy had been a comrade worth having. She had tact and sympathy, she never wanted to talk when Pam had a quiet fit, and she was so helpful in a quiet way that she had to go before it was possible to understand how useful she was.
With Sophy away, Pam found it necessary to be in the house more. When the morning “chores” were done, Jack went off most days to help Nathan Gittins, who was planting corn and potatoes in the fields of Mrs. Buckle, and also on the cleared land at Ripple. Reggie Furness, who did the “chores” for the Gittins’s place, was only a night and morning boy—that is to say, he had to go to school, and was only available out of school hours. Left so much to herself, Pam decided that it was a fine chance for turning the house upside down. She argued that if she did it thoroughly now, it would keep fairly tidy in the brief brilliant summer weather, when the outdoor work would be too pressing to allow much time for anything else.
A spell of wet weather set in. Every day it rained and rained as if it would never leave off. The creek rose and rose, until there was danger that Mrs. Buckle would be cut off, and the field in which her house stood made temporarily into an island. There was no such danger for Ripple, where the house stood on rising ground, and was a whole field distant from the swollen creek.
But corn planting had to stop while the rain came down. Jack had more time for the work in the barn now, so Pam was free for her campaign of scouring and scrubbing. Oh, how dirty the house was! Surely never had a place been as long without a spring clean as this comfortable old timber house at Ripple! The best sitting-room had been a dumping-ground for all manner of things during the winter. Extra firewood had been neatly stacked in a remote corner. Sophy had kept her big rolls of flannel and calico on the massive centre table. All kinds of rubbish had gathered there. But now Pam meant that it should be clean, as clean as her mother doubtless kept it in those long-past days before Mrs. Walsh had run away to be married.
It was a pouring wet day when Pam started on her campaign. The rain was coming down with a steady slant that promised more flooding later on. Jack wanted to help in the cleaning, but Pam thought he would be of more use elsewhere, so she suggested that he should do all the outside “chores”, and get breakfast also, which would leave her free for her great campaign. This suited Jack finely; he had scored a distinct success in the making of Indian corncake and buckwheat porridge, which was uncommonly good when eaten with maple syrup. He went to work with great zest when he came in from the barn, while Pam for her part was busy sorting the lumber and carrying the things which belonged to Sophy to the sanctuary of one of the clean rooms upstairs.
Breakfast was about an hour late, but Pam was so hard at work that she did not notice that, although she was faint and fagged from want of food. When Jack called to her that it was ready he apologized meekly enough for the delay, which had been owing to accident; he had upset the porridge into the fire, and had been obliged to make a fresh lot.
“Oh, Jack, it is just lovely for you to upset something, because in the past it was poor unlucky me who had all the accidents!” cried Pam, as she drew up her chair to the table and fell upon the second edition of porridge with keen appetite.
“It makes one feel so horribly mad with oneself—such a silly thing to do!” growled Jack, who was by way of being very cross over his stupidity.
“I suppose even that state of mind is rather an advantage than otherwise, since it takes away any tendency to swelled head,” said Pam, as she helped herself to more syrup—then, abruptly, she changed the subject—“Jack, I wonder who it was that sold Sam Buckle’s watch to the second-hand shop at St. John?”
Jack scraped the saucepan with great care, for he was not minded to waste any of the porridge which had bothered him so much in the making. Then he said with deliberation: “If we knew so much we should most likely be able to get the miserable business cleared up. But you know what the manager said when we wrote to him—he had so many men in during the winter selling their watches because they were hard up that it was impossible to remember any details.”
“It is very mysterious,” said Pam thoughtfully. “Still, it is only reasonable that the man should not be able to remember. There is one thing about it that bothers me though——”
“Only one? You are lucky. There are a round dozen bothering me at this very moment!” exclaimed Jack, and then he got up from his place at the table and went to fetch the letter which had been received from the manager of the second-hand shop at St. John where he had purchased the watch.
“One is enough for me at this minute,” Pam went on with her face overcast. “There was one man from here who went to St. John during last fall, or just after the first snow came. I have only now remembered about it. You see, here we only think of Fredericton; St. John is out of the world to us.”
“Who was the man? Out with it, and now we may get on a little!” and Jack slapped his letter down on the table with great gusto, and waited for Pam to speak.
“Oh, but it is horridly mean of me even to let such a thought come into my head, for he saved my life before he went.” Pam looked so miserable, and she wore such an aspect of guilt, that anyone to look at her would have thought she was the culprit.
PAM WAS DRAGGED UP AND TUGGED HEREAND PULLED THERE
PAM WAS DRAGGED UP AND TUGGED HEREAND PULLED THERE
“Do you mean Mose Paget?” cried Jack, leaping to his feet with a startled air.
“He certainly went to Fredericton, and I understood that he went farther—all the way to St. John, where he was very ill—and that poor little step-brother of his was half-starved here at home. Then, Jack, just remember it was at the moment when Mrs. Buckle recognized the watch that Mose Paget came along, saying he was going out west. No one had heard anything about his going off until that very minute, and he went straight away, not even staying to say good-bye to his brother, so Galena told me. Poor Galena! Years ago, when they were both quite young, they were lovers, but the thrift in her resented the unthrift in him, so they quarrelled and parted. But she would have made a man of him if anyone could!”
“It is mighty hard on a woman to have to form her husband’s character. I shan’t expect my wife to form me,” said Jack, with a squaring of his shoulders that made Pam laugh, for it was very evident that there would not be much for Jack’s wife—if he had one—to do in the way of character-forming. Then he went on: “But I don’t see that you have anything but coincidence to work on. Even if Mose was in St. John, you have no proof that it was he who sold the watch, although of course he might have done it. Then as to his throwing up his work for Mrs. Buckle, you must remember that he was coming to do it when he stumbled into the scene of her recognition of the watch. If he had not been coming to tell her that he was going to throw up the work he would not have been there at the moment, don’t you see? That disposes of clue number two, as you might call it, while always behind everything else we have got to find out why Grandfather is missing. If he did not damage his neighbour, then why did he go? And who was it that stole the money from Ripple, whose bones were afterwards gnawed by the wolves?”
Pam put up her hands in dismay.
“Don’t, Jack!” she protested. “I feel sometimes as if my poor brain will give way under the strain of trying to think it all out and to supply a reason for everything. I should lie awake at night to puzzle about it, only I am always so tired when I go to bed that I am asleep before I know I am sleepy, and the next thing I know is that getting-up time has come again. Oh, there is great compensation in hard work, for it most often stops hard worry!”
“Well, go and get on with your cleaning; I will wash the dishes and get this room into shape,” said Jack, rising from the table and stretching his arms high above his head. He always stretched himself to his full height after a meal, for someone had told him that it assisted growth, and he fairly yearned to be tall. His father had been rather short, and Jack was desperately afraid of failing in the matter of height.
“I wonder if it is ever going to leave off raining?” Pam went to the door and peered out at the steady downpour. “I want to scrub those rag carpets that I found tucked away in that old chest in Grandfather’s room; it is my belief he put them there because they were too dirty to lie on the floor. I think if I took them across to the creek and washed them there I should have plenty of water to rinse them; you see, they are much too thick and heavy for the ordinary sort of washing, and they want such a lot of water, too.”
“Why don’t you put them out in the rain now? They would have a chance to get soaked.” Jack’s wisdom was mostly equal to the demand for it, and Pam was quick to avail herself of it.
“Leave the dishes, Jack dear, and I will get my mackintosh and rubbers, while you bring the little truck from the barn. We will pile the carpets on the truck, and take them across the field to the side of the creek and hang them in a safe place where they are not likely to be washed away. I don’t want Grandfather’s rag carpets travelling to Fredericton by water. If we hang them over there it will save carrying them about while they are wet, and they can stay there until they are dry, for of course they will be fearfully heavy when they are full of water.”
Jack went for the truck, while Pam got into waterproof and rubbers as quick as she could. Then she dragged out the heavy home-made rugs, the work of her mother and her grandmother, which she had found stowed away in safety, but so plastered with dirt that it was quite impossible to use them until they had been cleansed. Sophy had told her months ago that they would have to be washed, and that it was of no use to think of it until the snow melted, and they could be rinsed in abundance of water. She offered to do the work herself, but Pam was not minded to pile up the burden of her indebtedness more than could be helped. Sophy had been like an angel to her all through the dreary days of that long, anxious winter; this heavy, dirty task of rug-washing was to be got over before she came back, and Pam decided that there was no time like the present.
One of the rugs was so heavy that Pam could barely lift it alone when it was dry, and when it was wet lifting would be quite out of question. There were stout loops of cord under the fringe, and Pam had threaded a length of rope through these which she meant to fasten to a tree on the bank of the creek. Then, with her rug safely moored, she could beat it with sticks until it was clean, while the running water would wash the dirt away.
They loaded the rugs on the truck, then, heedless of the pouring rain, started to drag it across the field. What heavy work it was! Neither of them was of the looking-back sort, however, and so, despite mud, rain, and the heaviness of the truck, they toiled on, reached a cluster of trees growing at the edge of the swollen creek, and by dint of furious exertions succeeded in getting the rugs afloat and moored to the branches of the trees. They were hot and tired, it rained harder than ever, but they felt so successful that they were ready to shout in triumph over their achievement.
“The water is rising fast. Oh, Jack, I think you ought to go over and see how Mrs. Buckle and Amanda are getting on,” said Pam as they turned back from the creek. “I will do the breakfast dishes before I go back to my cleaning. If Mrs. Buckle is drowned out, tell her she can come over here to stay until the floods go down.”
“Right oh! Shall I help you to tow the truck home first, or will you leave it here until the laundry work is done?” he asked, swinging his hand with a flourish to the rugs that were fastened to the branches.
“Leave it here and go straight. Since I have seen how high the water is I have felt rather bad because we have been so wrapped in our own concerns this morning. Stay and help Mrs. Buckle if she needs it. One’s duty to one’s neighbour is of first importance in this lonely part of the world, you know, and I can manage very well, for I can easily leave undone the things I cannot do.” Pam laughed as she turned away to go back to the house, and Jack echoed her laughter as he went along the back of the creek to Mrs. Buckle’s house.
The hours sped away. Pam was so busy she scarcely noticed their going. The big sitting-room was as clean as hands could make it. The breakfast dishes were washed, and she was busy putting the big kitchen into what she called normal tidiness, when she was startled by a blaze of sunshine. They had hardly seen the sun for days and days, while the rain had poured down with dreary persistence.
She looked at the clock then, and was surprised to find that it was long past noon. Jack had not come back. Doubtless Mrs. Buckle had need of him, and would give him some dinner there. Pam sighed with thankfulness to think there was no need for her to worry about getting a meal. She got herself some food, which she shared with the dog; then, having fed the chickens, which were clamouring loudly about the door, she put on her hat, and, taking a stout stick from the wood-pile, went across the field to the creek, revelling in the warmth and beauty of the sunshine, and humming a little tune because she felt so very cheerful.
The creek was higher than ever. One of her rugs had been lifted so high that it had floated off its mooring branch and had started on a down-creek trip, but had happily caught on a trail of brambles a little distance down, where it was momentarily held.
“It is lucky I happened along just as I did!” she muttered, and after some skilful handling with her big stick she retrieved the errant rug, towed it back to its mooring and proceeded to beat it, laying on the strokes with great vigour, although her arms were beginning to ache with all the work she had done that day. She was raising so much water with her active strokes that in spite of her waterproof there seemed a likelihood of her getting wet through, when she was startled by the amount of wreckage floating past. There were boxes and barrels, a chicken coop or two, and a bamboo chair, which rode on the swiftly-flowing current with an air of rakish irresponsibility that would have been amusing if it had not been so horribly suggestive of someone’s drowned-out home.
“I wonder what is the matter, and whose house has been flooded?” she said, and then she stood leaning on her stick surveying the wreckage, which was coming faster and faster, while the creek was crowded with all sorts of things sailing along.
A shrill screaming smote on her ear, and at the sound her heart seemed to stand still. Instinctively she looked about for something to cling to, and, catching at the branch to which her biggest rug was moored, stood peering up-stream to get the first possible glimpse of what was coming.
A big table with its legs uppermost was careering down-stream, and crouching on it was the drenched figure of a small, white-faced boy, who was uttering shrill cries for help. She had seen him before, but where? Even as she asked herself the question there flashed across her mind the remembrance of the inquiry in the Doctor’s wagon-house, and the small boy who had made grimaces at her when she came out. The bitter injustice of the insult had struck her then, and it came across her now. There had been no reason so far as she could see why he should have treated her in such a fashion, and she was still in the dark as to the cause.
“I will pull him out, and then he shall tell me, the little wretch!” she murmured, and the thought of possible danger to herself never even entered her head. Plunging down into the water until it was up to her waist, she started shouting her loudest to attract his attention, and waving her stick to make him see that help was at hand. The branch would not let her go far enough, but by catching at the rug that floated moored to the branch she was able to get ever so much farther out. Luckily the creek did not seem to be very deep at that place, and the footing was firm. The boy had seen her now, and was shrieking to her to help him, and to save him from being drowned.
“Catch hold of the stick!” she screamed, realizing that she would barely reach him even now, and as she could not swim it would be madness to venture beyond the reach of the floating rug. “If I had not been washing those carpets I could have done nothing for him!” she gasped, and then caught her breath sharply, for, stretch her arm as she might, she could not get her stick within reach of his hand. In another moment he would be beyond reach, the current flowed so fast. She must get him, she must! Putting her foot forward with a cautious movement she found firm ground, and letting the rug go she thrust the stick out farther, and had the joy of feeling it gripped. But the jerk almost upset her. She reeled, recovered herself by a great effort, and tugged at the pole to tow the boy and the table inshore.
Some more wreckage punted into the table from behind, and it came on her with a jerk; the pole slipped from her grasp, and she was down before she had time to see that the table was going to strike her. There was a wild cry from the boy, who felt himself lost, and then Pam made a great effort, and found herself clinging to the table leg, while the boy clung to her, his grip a frantic clutch that had more danger for her in it than anything else, as she knew full well. But she could not get free of him, and she would have to get him to the bank somehow, or be drowned with him. Then she noticed that some of the wreckage in front of her had been caught by something, and was piling into a barrier. It might not hold many minutes, but if it held long enough for her to reach the bank with the boy it was all that she asked of it. There was a noise in her ears as of someone calling, and she was so dazed by her great effort that she thought it was her mother reminding her of some neglected duty, as had so often been the case in those far-away days when duty had no meaning for her beyond an unpleasant something not always to be shirked.
Ah, her feet touched the bottom! She would do it after all! A feeble shout of triumph burst from her lips and was echoed by the boy, who had plainly pluck of a sort, although he was so desperately afraid of water. Even as the shout left her lips Pam was down again, and this time she seemed to have no strength to pull herself up. She felt it was all over, and there was even a pang because she would never know why that small boy had been so rude to her. Then something struck her with a force that hurt. She was dragged up and tugged here and pulled there. Someone was working hard to get her ashore, and panting heavily in the process. But she could not help. She could not do anything but struggle to get her breath, and to marvel that she was still alive. At first she could not even open her eyes, and she seemed to be slipping, slipping, while a great black void waited to swallow her up, when she heard a voice in her ears calling to her, and she strove with all her might to answer.
“Jack, Jack, I did not know that you were here!” Her voice was so feeble that she was even surprised herself to find how little noise she could make.
“It is lucky that I was coming along the creek when you fell!” he answered. His tone was jerky, and opening her eyes again, Pam felt half-frightened by the look on his face.
“Was it such a near thing? Poor old Jack!” Pam felt a leaping joy at heart to think he cared so much. She had been so home-sick all the winter that it seemed worth while being brought to such a pitch as this, just to have surprised that look of adoring affection in her brother’s eyes. Then she remembered the boy who was the cause of all the trouble, and she cried out sharply: “Where is the boy? Surely he is not drowned, I tried so hard to save him!” The thought that she might have tried in vain was too much for Pam. She saw the black void open close to her once more; she was slipping, slipping again, and then she heard a burst of noisy crying, and a shrill voice calling:
“Can’t you do nothing to save her? She is dying—I say she is dying, and I never told her. Boo-oo-oo!”
It seemed to Pam that she had slipped to the very verge of the void. The slightest further movement, and she would be gone beyond recall; but she hung poised as it were while Jack said sharply:
“Help me to bring her round, can’t you? It is of no good to howl like that.”
“I might have told her, though, and now it is too late!” wailed the boy, and the sharp curiosity in the heart of Pam drew her back again from the edge of the void.