And the young minister came hurrying down on the mountain express train, reaching there in the "very nick of time," as Madam Van Ruypen observed. She was thus able to appear with him at the grand dinner at the King household, where she was to preside at one of the small round tables, for the big state dining table was to be discarded for this Christmas night, and the assembled company were to meet around little tables; this had been decided upon after an important conference held by Grandpapa, Aunty Whitney, and Polly.
So now, much to her great satisfaction, Madam Van Ruypen looked around, as she sat up, resplendent in black velvet, lace, and gems, in her little company. There was the young minister—of course he had the seat on her right hand. Ben, equally of course, had the other side, and, as long as Ben was there, why, Polly must be; and then there was Jasper. Well, everybody wanted him, but he said, "Oh, I'll sit with Polly and Ben;" so he had a particularly soft and easy seat, with sofa cushions piled back of him, for it would be truly dreadful if he should get too tired! And then Alexia sat down before anybody asked her, and she looked so horror-stricken at the idea of being at any other table than the one where Polly Pepper sat, that Madam Van Ruypen laughed and said indulgently, "Oh, let her stay," for which Alexia loved her ever after.
And then Pickering Dodge was discovered in a corner, with such a longing eye that Polly cried out in the kindness of her heart,—
"Oh, do let Pick come to this table," so there he was, and that made seven.
"A very comfortable number," observed Madam Van Ruypen, shaking out her napkin with a happy hand, so that all the jewels on her fingers fell to trembling and shining at a great rate. Just then Pip rushed up and flung himself against Ben's chair, holding on with excited fingers.
"Let me, Ben," he cried, "sit with you!" his little pale face all aglow.
"Oh, we can't have that boy," said Madam Van Ruypen, decidedly.
Ben's ruddy face went quite pale. "I wish we might," he said, fixing his blue eyes on the Roman nose and white puffs.
"Oh, no, indeed," said Madam Van Ruypen, shaking the big white puffs more decidedly yet. "You see for yourself there are seven seats. Any more would be quite uncomfortable."
"I don't need so much room," said Ben, shoving his chair.
"Nor I," said Jasper. "Dear me, it isn't necessary that I have this great big thing. It's that which takes up so much room."
"Oh, yes, you do, Jasper," said Polly, quite alarmed at his efforts to move; "you must keep that chair, at any rate."
Ben looked over at Pickering in great trouble. Meantime he held Pip's nervous fingers fast.
"I don't see," said Pickering, swallowing something that seemed to choke in his throat, "why we can't all move up, just a bit, you know," beginning on his own chair—"or else, why, I'll quit and go to another table."
"Oh, no, you shan't, Pick," declared Jasper, "not a bit of it;" he looked so distressed at the mere thought that Polly beseechingly raised her eyes to the stately, forbidding old face.
"Oh, if you all like to be crowded," said the old lady, meeting Polly's brown eyes, "why, I am sure I don't care." So, the butler bringing a small chair, Pip crowded in next to Ben, and everything was merry once more.
And the young minister proved to be quite nice, and Madam Van Ruypen fairly beamed at him as the feast went on. And Pickering Dodge and he struck up quite a friendship across the table, and even made plans for a skating match on the morrow.
"Now tell me," at last said the old lady, when the talk ran a bit low, "what can I do with the boys? And that girl—" she glanced to the end of the room, where Elvira, despite her disappointment at not being at Joel's table, was comforting herself as best she might by giving undivided attention to a chicken wing, which she held in both fingers.
"You better send them to school," said Mr. St. John, quickly. "And just as soon as you can get them there."
"Will the mother allow it?" asked the old lady, brightening up.
"Will she allow it? My dear madam," the minister straightened up and forgot how afraid of her he was, when she sat, a formidable figure in the little mountain church of a summer Sunday, and how very much he had disliked her, albeit her generous contributions whenever the plate went around—and now he smiled broadly, "if you could only have seen her when that box—"
"Never mind that," said Madam Van Ruypen, abruptly, and waving her hand with authority. "The question is, Will she allow me to send these children to school?"
"I think there's no doubt about it," said Mr. St. John, determined to find his own way to tell the story as he wanted it to appear. "Well, as I was saying, that cabin—why, we didn't any of us know what that poor woman was suffering. I blame myself," his head dropped and he drummed on the table with his fingers.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the old lady, "you're not to blame." Then she added, with a remembrance of the summers spent in the mountain nook, "I'm sure I should have known."
"My dear madam," exclaimed the young minister, very much shocked to think that in the face of all her generosity he should have thrust a question for reproach, "you have been so very good, and have saved them all."
"Perhaps so," said the old lady, grimly. "But it wouldn't have been a bad idea if it had happened earlier, I'm thinking."
"But just think, if it hadn't gone to them just when it did," continued the young minister, determined to have the benefaction receive its full measure of appreciation. "Why, that poor mother was hurrying down to tell the selectman she could do nothing more,—the children were starving, and he must take them to the poorhouse,—when she met John Bramble, the expressman, you know, with the box in his cart."
Madam Van Ruypen laid down her fork and made a violent effort to get her handkerchief out of the velvet and jet bag that dangled from her waist. As for Polly and the others, they never thought of eating, but listened, with their eyes fastened on the young minister's face.
"I never supposed it was as bad as that," said the old lady, brokenly; at last, with her fingers on her handkerchief, beginning to feel a little bit better.
"Nor did any of us," said Mr. St. John. "Why, John Bramble hasn't got over it yet. And I don't know that he ever will. Well, the misery is over now, thanks to you."
"All the thanks necessary to be expressed," said Madam Van Ruypen, quite recovering herself and laying a hand on Ben's arm, to pull him forward into notice, "are due to this lad here."
Ben slunk back covered with confusion, and wished for nothing quite so much as to roll under the table quite out of sight. Seeing which Jasper spoke up: "Oh, it would be fine to have them go to school, wouldn't it?" and diverted attention so that it gave Ben time to breathe freely once more.
"Yes, indeed," said the minister; "it would be the making of them. And then that would give you a chance to have Luke and Matilda and Jane come down for a visit, maybe," and he laughed—he couldn't help it—at the face before him.
"I think not," said the old lady, dryly. "At least for a spell, until I get a little rested from Elvira," and then they all laughed. But the main thing was settled: the mountain children were to go to school.
Ben could hardly believe his ears; and he forgot to eat his dinner, while he gazed across the room where Matthew and Mark were placidly engaged at that pleasing occupation at a table with Joel and a whole company of other boys. Matthew had finally been induced to have his red tippet taken off, but insisted on keeping it across the back of his chair, where in the intervals of the dinner he could now and then feel of it. "Oh!" Ben gave a long sigh of satisfaction.
"What's the matter?" cried Madam Van Ruypen, turning off from the young minister; then she glanced at Ben's full plate. "This lad would rather look out for those boys than to eat his dinner," she said, which made Ben feel so ashamed again that he picked up his knife and fork and, with a very red face, plied them briskly.
Well, at last, as everything must have an ending sometime, that delightful dinner drew to a close. And then Grandpapa, who sat at the table of honor in the centre of the spacious apartment, with Phronsie at his side, rose and made them all a little speech, and said that although the Christmas this year came a little late, it found them all very happy, as, please God, the sick one was well, and they had so many new friends to make good cheer with them. And he wished every one the very merriest of all Merry Christmases!
And then there was a great burst of music out in the hall, and a big orchestra, cleverly concealed in a thicket of palms and ferns, struck up their liveliest march. And all the company, Grandpapa and Phronsie, of course, leading the way, set forth in a procession that finally wound up in the big playroom to circle around the Christmas tree, still under its white cloud.
And then, in the beautiful rose-colored light streaming from the long lines of candles in their red shades, the choir boys from St. Stephen's marched in and around the white-enfolded tree, singing their beautiful carol.
Pip, clinging to Ben's hand, started forward, entranced, his little pasty-colored face looking keen and alight. And as the choir boys sang on and on, Madam Van Ruypen found herself strangely drawn to it. "I must ask Mr. King who that boy is," she said to herself.
But she didn't have a chance to hear any recital that evening. Dear me, who could expect it, with a Christmas-tree party in full blast! And then the tree was unveiled, to stand forth in all its glory. Oh, such a brilliant sight! And they all took hold of hands, forming in a big, big circle, and marched around it a couple of times.
And then, a smart jingling of sleigh bells was heard.
"Oh, he's coming! he's coming!" screamed Phronsie, clapping her hands and dancing, little Dick doing the same.
"Who?" It was Elvira who picked Phronsie's little muslin sleeve.
"Santa Claus," said Phronsie, turning a happy face with dewy eyes. "He is! He is coming!" and she danced harder than ever.
"Who's Santa Claus?" demanded Elvira, but nobody heard her, for the jingling sleigh bells suddenly paused, and in he popped, the old saint himself, right through the window!
Now, although Miss Mary Taylor was there, nobody thought to ask her where Mr. Hamilton Dyce was, except when Phronsie piped out, "I want him," and ran up to Miss Taylor, who blushed and looked prettier than ever. But after the presents had all been given out and Santa Claus had bowed and disappeared to get into his sleigh and drive off with his reindeer, Mr. Hamilton Dyce made his appearance in the midst of the festivities, wiping his forehead and looking very hot, but smiling all over his face.
At sight of him Phronsie dropped Grandpapa's hand, and ran up to him. "I wanted you," she said, "and you didn't come."
"But I'm here now, Phronsie," said Mr. Dyce, swinging her to his shoulder.
"Yes, you are here now," repeated Phronsie, folding her hands in great satisfaction, and surveying the company from her high perch. "But you didn't see Santa Claus," and she gave a little sigh.
"Oh, well, I saw him out there," Mr. Dyce bobbed his head toward the hall.
"Did you?" cried Phronsie, in great delight; "and wasn't he a nice Santa Claus?" She bent down to gaze into the face beneath her, whose cheek she patted.
"I'm glad you liked him," said Mr. Dyce, laughing.
"And did he get into his sleigh?" cried Phronsie, in great excitement. "I heard the bells. Oh, I should so very much like to see him once drive off."
"Oh, I didn't see him get into his sleigh, Phronsie," said Mr. Dyce.
"Didn't you?" said Phronsie, much disappointed.
"Well, now we ought to go over and see what Grandpapa wants," said Mr. Dyce, catching sight of the old gentleman's face.
"And there are such a many presents for you," said Phronsie, in a happy little tone, and patting the broad back.
"You don't say so!" cried Mr. Dyce.
"Yes, oh, such a many; do hurry and get them," gurgled Phronsie, as off he pranced with her on his shoulder.
Presents? Well, if Mr. Hamilton Dyce had many, what can be said of the gifts that had been rained down on all sides for every one else in the big room! And the best of it all was that each one seemed to think that nothing ever could be happier, as a selection of gifts, and that no Santa Claus who would understand them better, could by any means have visited them.
"But I like this best," said Matthew, and he laid his hand on the red woollen tippet.
Ben and he happened to be alone in a corner. "Do you, though?" said Ben, his eyes lighting.
"Yes, I've always wanted one," said Matthew.
"Oh, yes, Pip," said Ben, "you must go."
"Oh, I don't want to," cried Pip, in great alarm, and, clinging to Ben's hand, he huddled up closer than ever. "Don't make me go to that old woman's; don't," he pleaded.
"Why not?" asked Ben, whirling him around to let his blue eyes search keenly the distressed little face.
"She looks at me so," said Pip, squirming uncomfortably; "she's always looking at me."
"Well, supposing she does, she won't bite you," said Ben, with a little laugh. Then he stopped suddenly. "Now then, Pip," and he put his hand on the small shoulder, "it's best for you to go; there's to be a jolly good time. Just think, Madam Van Ruypen is to give you all a sleigh-ride! And off you'll go into the country and have a supper and come home by moonlight. Why, everybody's going!"
"Are you going?" asked Pip, suddenly, his face emerging a little from its wrinkles.
"Well, no, I'm not," said Ben, "but everybody else is; I'm going to stay with Jasper."
"Oh, I won't go! I won't go!" screamed Pip, wholly beside himself with distress. "I'm going to stay with you, I am." With that he wound his wiry little arms around one of Ben's, and beat his feet nervously on the floor.
"See here now, Pip," Ben lifted him clear from the floor, and set him down on the window-seat, then he stood in front of him, "now just look at me," which Pip did, swinging miserable little feet and twisting his hands.
"It is best for you to go on this party, and so you must go. Why, you'd have to stay with Jocko if you didn't," added Ben, "or else amuse yourself."
"Oh, I don't want to stay with Jocko," replied Pip, who had good reasons, after his introduction to the monkey by Joel, for this decision.
"Well, you needn't," said Ben, bursting into a laugh, "but you must go on the sleighing party, and without me. Do you understand, Pip?"
Pip did, after he had carefully scanned Ben's face. At first he snivelled softly, but at last even that died away.
"Very well," said Ben. "Now then, you are to go with Joel. He'll see that you have a good time, for he said so. Here he comes now," as hasty feet scampering down the back stairs proclaimed Joel's approach.
"Where's Pip? I can't find him," cried Joel, rushing up with a very red face. "Oh, here he is! Well, come on, Pip," and he plunged toward the door.
"Hold on!" roared Ben. "Pip has got to go up to Mamsie; she's going to put some extra things on him so he won't get cold."
"Oh, bother!" said Joel, beating his feet impatiently on the floor.
"Why, there isn't any need for such a tremendous hurry, Joe," said Ben. "Now then, Pip, step lively upstairs to Mamsie's room; she wants to fix you up herself."
So Pip slowly got off from the window-seat, and, with many a backward glance at Ben, he crept upstairs.
"Go ahead, old snail," sang out Joel beneath. "O dear me! He'll never be ready, Ben," and now he beat his woollen mittens together as he pranced up and down the hall.
"Oh, yes, he will," said Ben, soothingly. "Don't rage so, Joel."
"And he's such a muff," said Joel, but he said it under his breath and with one eye on Ben.
"Hush up, Joe," said Ben, "there's no use in talking that way. And what are you in such a hurry to get to Madam Van Ruypen's for? Why, she doesn't expect you till three o'clock, and its only"—Ben pulled out his silver watch—"twenty-five minutes past two. What a silly thing you are, Joe!"
Joel dug the toes of his shoes into the rug. "Larry'll get there first if I don't," he whined; "you know he will."
"Nonsense! And what if he does; you aren't invited till three o'clock. Wait and go with Polly."
"Oh, I'm not going with a lot of girls," cried Joel, in a dudgeon, and extricating his toes from the rug. "You know they're always coming for her, Ben Pepper."
"Well, go with Percy and Van," said Ben. "Don't fly off in such a tangent."
But this suggestion only added fresh fuel to Joel's fire to be off.
"Oh, do make Pip hurry." He fairly howled it now. "Percy and Van have started already, I most know. They said they'd get ahead of me." And he rushed up and nipped Ben's arm.
"Goodness me! What a crab you are, Joe!" cried Ben, shaking him off, and then feeling of his arm.
"Well, do make him hurry," begged Joel. "O dear me, all the boys will get ahead of me!"
"Well, let them for once," said Ben, coolly. "And Aunty Whitney won't allow the boys to go now, you may be sure. So rest easy, Joe. And one thing more, you are not to race Pip over there at lightning speed. Do you understand, Joe?"
"O dear!" said Joel, wrinkling his round cheek in great disdain, "he's such a—"
"Yes, yes, I know," said Ben, hastily. "Well, now, I'm off to Jasper."
"Oh, Ben," Joel flew after him, "I wish you were going, I do."
"Well, I'm not," said Ben, "so good-by." He pulled his jacket away from Joel's detaining hand, got around the corner of the hall, and hurried up the front stairs.
Meantime, Polly was having a perfectly dreadful time in little Doctor Fisher's office. There he sat behind his big table, rolling up some powders in tiny papers, and looking at her over his spectacles.
"Oh, please, papa Doctor," begged Polly, clasping her hands, "do let me stay at home."
"That wouldn't ever do in all this world." Doctor Fisher shook his head gravely, and the big spectacles seemed to blink so much displeasure at her, that Polly felt very wicked indeed. "It would stop the party at once, Polly."
"Well, it's no fun at all," said Polly, mournfully, "without Jasper and Ben." She could hardly keep the tears from streaming down her cheeks.
"I don't suppose there'll be so much fun in it as if Jasper and Ben could go," said the little Doctor, quietly, "but that isn't the question just at present. It seems to be the best thing that this sleighing party should be carried out. Think of those poor children, Polly."
Polly twisted uneasily on her feet.
"And how they've never in all their lives had any pleasure like this," the little doctor proceeded artfully.
"O dear me!" said Polly.
"And what such a thing in Badgertown would have meant to you children, Polly," said the little man, softly. He laid down his powder papers and looked at her.
"Oh, I'll go, I'll go!" exclaimed Polly, perfectly overwhelmed, and running around the big table to throw both arms around his neck.
"I knew you would, Polly my girl. There—there." Doctor Fisher patted her gently. "Now that's right, and your mother will be so pleased. She told Madam Van Ruypen she was sure you would help the thing along. So bundle up and start—that's right!" He set his spectacles straight and fairly beamed at her, as she ran out of the room.
"Dear me, you were so long in coming, Ben," Jasper was exclaiming from his big easy-chair. "I've been watching that door as a cat does a mouse for the last hour."
"Hulloa!" said Ben, advancing to the chair. "And nonsense! You've only just about finished your luncheon, I'll be bound."
"Well, it seems ages ago," said Jasper, with a little laugh. "I tell you, Ben, it's awfully dull to be kept in bed all the morning," and he made a grimace at his canopied resting-place.
"Well, you sat up so late last night; and just think of all that fun!" said Ben.
"Oh, I know I'm an ungrateful wretch," said Jasper, bursting into a laugh. "Well, I don't care now, as long as Doctor Fisher allows me to have you. Where are all the others, Ben?" he asked suddenly, as Ben hurried to draw up a chair.
"Oh, they are going to be with Madam Van Ruypen," said Ben, carelessly, making a great deal of unnecessary noise over getting the chair in place.
"Oh!" said Jasper.
"You know those mountain children," said Ben, feeling something else was expected.
"Yes," said Jasper, "I know. Is Polly going?"
"Oh, yes, of course," said Ben, with wide eyes. "Why, they couldn't do without Polly, you know."
"Of course not," said Jasper, then he twisted uneasily in his big chair. "It's an awful nuisance to Polly," he broke out.
Ben said nothing, not thinking of anything that seemed just the right thing to say.
"And that girl—that Elvira. O dear me!" Jasper pulled himself up quickly.
"So you'll just have to put up with this person this afternoon," said Ben.
"And I'm sure I'll be glad to," cried Jasper, affectionately. "Oh, Ben!" He leaned over so that both of his pillows immediately tumbled out. "And I was going to give you a regular bear hug," he said ruefully, as Ben hopped up to put them in place again.
"I'll be willing to put it off till you get well," said Ben, laughing. "Now, then, see that you don't knock those out again," and he drew a long breath. "Well, what do you want to do now?"
"Oh, I tell you," said Jasper, and his dark eyes sparkled, "let us play chess. And do get the new ones that Father gave me last night at our Christmas. We'll christen the set this afternoon."
"We shall go twisted all the year, shan't we," said Ben, as he hurried over to the table for a box of chessmen, in the midst of the overflow of gifts, "because we had such a belated Christmas? Aren't these just fine?" coming back with it in his hand.
"Aren't they so?" cried Jasper, seizing the box eagerly. "And isn't Father good to give me a new set? And such beauties!" He emptied the box on the sofa blanket across his knees, while Ben went to draw up a small table to set them on.
"Oh, not that one," cried Jasper, looking up from his delighted examination of his new treasure. "Do you suppose for an instant that I'm going to play on that old table when I have a brand-new one that Sister Marian gave me last night? Why, Ben Pepper, what are you thinking of? No-sir-ee! Not by a long shot!"
"Excuse me, your high mightiness," said Ben, pushing back the old table and hurrying over to get the new gift. "Will that suit your Majesty?" he asked, setting it down in front of Jasper's chair.
"Perfectly," said Jasper, setting a good handful of the chessmen on the table, and Ben, bunching the others up from the little hollow in the sofa blanket, they were soon all there in a heap.
"Now which do you choose?" asked Jasper, putting a red and a white piece in either hand, and thrusting them behind him.
"O dear me!" said Ben. "It won't make any difference, for you'll beat me all to death, just as usual."
"Nonsense," laughed Jasper, "you know as much about the game as I do, Ben Pepper!"
"Indeed I don't," said Ben, stoutly contradicting. "Why, you knock the life out of me every time we play. Just think of that last score, Jasper King!"
"Oh, well, a beat doesn't always signify who's the cleverest," said Jasper, quickly.
"Doesn't it?" said Ben, with a little laugh. "Well, I always thought it did."
"Well, which do you choose?" said Jasper, impatiently. "We never shall get to playing if you don't make haste."
"Oh, the right hand," said Ben.
So the red queen was placed in Ben's hand, and the two boys fell to work to set the pieces. And the game began.
"The same old story," said Ben, at its close. "There you go checkmating me, and I haven't even begun to move half my men."
"Oh, well, you'll have better luck next time," said Jasper, beginning to set his men again.
"I'm going to get a paper and pencil for the score," said Ben, hurrying over to the desk in the corner. "There now, game number one, 'J' beats. I might as well mark ditto down for game number two and all the rest."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Jasper, who was now setting Ben's men. "You'll probably beat me out of sight next time."
"Probably," said Ben, sarcastically. And they fell to work again. And it was ditto, and number three also. But on game number four the luck turned, and Jasper's men, after a long fight, were routed.
"What did I tell you?" cried Jasper, who, although he had put up as good a game as he could, was greatly pleased at Ben's success.
"Oh, well, once," said Ben, leaning back in his chair. His round face was very red and he mopped it with his handkerchief. "I worked harder than I used to chopping wood," he said.
"Well, we won't play any more," said Jasper, yet he looked longingly at the men he was setting.
"Oh, yes, we will; that is, when I've rested a minute," said Ben, getting out of his chair to walk up and down the big room and swing his arms. "You set my men, and I'll be ready then."
"Oh, walk away and swing all you want to," said Jasper, "I'll set your men. Oh, I say, Ben!"
"What?" answered Ben, from the other end of the room.
"Wouldn't it be good fun to go up to the mountains, where those poor children came from, next summer?" said Jasper. "That minister says there is a capital camp up there."
"Wouldn't it!" cried Ben, flying around. Then he came up to Jasper's chair, "And he's an awfully good sort of man," he declared, bringing his hand down on the chess-table so that all the red and white men danced.
"Take care," warned Jasper, putting up both hands to the table-edge, "you'll have them all off. Yes, he is a splendid chap."
"And the camp is a big one," Ben went on, his blue eyes alight, and raising his hand again.
"Ow! Look out!" cried Jasper. But too late; down came Ben's hand, and away flew half the chessmen, running off to all quarters.
"O dear me!" exclaimed Ben, ruefully. "Now I have done it! Whatever did you speak of that mountain camp for now, Jasper King?"
"Well, I didn't suppose you'd think it necessary to knock over the whole thing into flinders," said Jasper, and lying back against the pillows. "You'll have a perfectly sweet time, now, Ben Pepper, picking all those up."
"I rather guess I shall," said Ben, getting down on his hands and knees. When at last he placed the last one on the table he was quite ready to sit down and rest by beginning a new game.
"And Father and Sister Marian could stay at the hotel, if they couldn't stand camp life," Jasper was saying, as he set his men. "And—"
"But I don't believe Grandpapa will want to," Ben was guilty of interrupting. "Mr. St. John says its splendid up at that camp. Oh, Jasper, don't you suppose we can go?" Ben was quite carried away now, and he got the king and queen all mixed up, while his knight and bishop had concluded to change places.
"Oh, what a chap you are!" chaffed Jasper, pointing to them. "See what a mess you've made!"
"Well, I tell you, you mustn't talk about that camp, if you want me to play," said Ben, desperately.
"Oh, well, let's drop the camp," said Jasper, turning his dark eyes on the chess-table, and revolving his plan, for it was his move.
"But I can't. I've just got to talk camp," said Ben, stubbornly.
"Well, you can't. We mustn't either of us talk," said Jasper, "when we are playing. Dear me, what a game that would be!"
"Well, I've got to think camp, then," said Ben.
"All right," said Jasper, "go ahead and think camp, if you must. Then I will beat you all around Robin Hood's barn."
Which he did. And then, as so many things occurred to both of them that had to be uttered about that mountain camp, the chessmen were shut up in their box, the new Christmas game table set back carefully in the corner, and the two boys gave themselves up without reserve to the grand plan for next summer.
"Oh," cried Jasper, "what fun! Polly could have all the fishing she wanted. Mr. St. John says the mountain brooks are just full of trout."
Ben's eyes glistened. To go fishing had always been one of the longings of his heart that the busy Badgertown days had given little chance to enjoy, when every minute that could earn a few pennies had to be devoted to helping Mamsie keep the wolf from the door of the little brown house.
"You and I would have some sport, eh, Ben?" Jasper leaned over to bring his dark eyes nearer.
"Yes," said Ben. He couldn't for his life get out another word.
"Wemustgo," said Jasper to himself, "after that look. Father will say 'yes,' I almost know. And just think of Joel let loose in those woods," he said aloud.
This brought Ben to. "Yes, I know," he said, "Joe would run wild."
"Wouldn't he?" laughed Jasper. "Well, it would be the best thing for Percy and Van and all the rest of us," he added. "Oh, Ben, wemustgo!" He brought his right hand down on Ben's with a slap.
"Yes," said Ben, "but perhaps we better not think too much about it, 'cause if we couldn't, you know," he turned his face away to look out of the window.
"Well, we must," persisted Jasper. "And then, you know, just think of the tramps you and I would have over the mountains."
"And Polly, too," said Ben, "she can walk as good as we can, you know, Jasper."
"Oh, yes, of course," assented Jasper. "Why, Polly would go on everything the same as we did. Did you think I meant to leave Polly out?" he asked in distress at the very idea.
"No," said Ben, "I didn't think so, Jasper."
"And Doctor Fisher would go; you know he's crazy to walk. If he had time, he wouldn't ever ride to see his sick people. Oh, wouldn't it be perfectly splendid, Jasper King! But we mustn't talk about it," and he pulled himself up quickly.
"Oh, let's talk," said Jasper, "it's half the fun of making plans beforehand. Oh, I wish Polly was here," and he gave a long sigh.
"No," said Ben, "it isn't best to talk about it any more, for if we can't go, we'd have an awful tumble from the clouds, and I can tell you that would hurt."
"Well, what shall we do?" said Jasper, with a long face. "It will have to be something pretty absorbing to keep my mind off that camp, and our tongues as well."
Ben rubbed his forehead and thought a bit. "I can't think of anything more absorbing than Jocko," he said at last.
"Well, Jocko it is," said Jasper, laughing. "Oh, I wish we had some peanuts to give him," he said suddenly.
"I'll run down town and get some," said Ben.
"Don't be gone long," begged Jasper.
"No, sir," said Ben, and he was off.
Polly and all the others must be just about midway to the country town where they were to stop for supper—Ben couldn't help but think of it as he dashed down the frozen driveway that gave out such a delightful "scrunch, scrunch" to his hurrying feet. He drew his breath hard, thrust his hands in his pockets, and whistled. Oh, how gloriously the winter sunshine glistened across the snow on the lawn, and how the gay equipages with their merry loads swept by him, as he turned into the thoroughfare! He whistled harder than ever until he remembered that Mamsie didn't like him to do such things on the street; then he stopped and set out on a run, that presently brought him up to the little store where Polly always bought her bird-seed. Hurrying in he bought a bagful of peanuts; then out again and home—unchained Jocko in the small room over the stable, and dashed upstairs.
Jocko, who seemed to know at once there were peanuts in the bag dangling from Ben's other hand, got between Ben's legs at every possible chance, thus impeding the progress seriously.
"Oh, you rascal!" exclaimed Ben, shaking the bag at him, "you shan't have one if you don't behave," and he shortened his grip on the chain to keep Jocko on one side if possible.
Jocko wrinkled up his eyelids and teased and whined, sending out a brisk paw to snatch the bag if possible.
"Be still," said Ben, giving him a cuff with the bag, "and come on and don't dance all over those stairs. Oh, such a piece of work!" he declared, at last going into Jasper's room.
"Have you come at last!" said Jasper, turning an eager face to him.
"Have I?" said Ben, the monkey and he coming in together with a rush up to Jasper's chair, Jocko making a last dash at the paper bag; "well, yes, I should say I had. There are your peanuts," throwing them into Jasper's lap. "Look out, or he'll have them," as Jocko immediately leaped into the centre of the sofa blanket.
"Not much he won't," declared Jasper, setting the bag back of him with a quick hand. "Hulloa, Jocko!" as the monkey gave a squeal of disappointment. "Oh, you shall have some peanuts all in good time. There, don't cry. Hold your paws."
Jocko, hearing this, stopped his lament and extended both paws, his little eyes shining eagerly.
"Oh, you greedy little thing," said Jasper, laughing, and emptying a handful into them, when Jocko squatted contentedly on the sofa blanket, cracked some nuts as fast as he could, spitting out the shells to right and to left.
"Here, look out, you mustn't do so," said Jasper. "I'll take the peanuts away if you do."
At the mention of this, Jocko stuffed his nuts with both paws into his cheeks, reserving one to crack and eat as he blinked first at Jasper and then at Ben.
"He's making a lot of dirt," said Ben, beginning to pick up the shells.
"I know it," said Jasper, "but he's such fun."
"They stick awfully, those little red skins," said Ben, picking away at the little pieces, as slap went another shot, this time in his face.
"Well, Jane can shake the blanket," said Jasper. "Stop that, you beggar!" to Jocko. "And they don't leave any spot," as another shell and the shower of little red skins came flying out. "Here, I'll take those away, I say." But easier said than done.
"You can't get those out of his cheeks," said Ben, with a laugh, and giving up the sofa blanket as a bad job. "Well, we'll just let him finish them, and then I'll shake the skins out of the bath-room window."
"And you won't have any more," said Jasper, with a bob at Jocko, as he squatted on his knee. "Those peanuts are gone, sir."
Jocko, who cared very little what was said about peanuts, as long as he had his cheeks full, picked the nuts out one by one, cracked and threw away the shells, with the same impartial attention to Jasper and Ben, and leisurely ate them.
"Here's the bag, Ben," said Jasper, tossing it to him, when the monkey's cheeks began to flatten out. "Put it up on the shelf, do, for I don't want him nosing all over me for it."
So Ben caught the bag and set it up high in the place designated, Jocko's sharp little eyes following every movement.
"Oh, you needn't stare that way, you greedy little thing," said Jasper, "for you can't get that bag, I'd have you to know. Oh, you are almost through, are you?" Which was presently without doubt the case, proclaimed as it was by a loud shout for more peanuts, and the quick extension of Jocko's long arms.
"No, sir!" said Jasper, shaking his dark hair vehemently; "see what a muss you've made," pointing to the sofa blanket and to the floor and to his jacket, and Ben's as well.
Jocko, who didn't care to waste time regarding these trivial things, redoubled his cries, till the room seemed full of monkeys.
"Goodness me, what a bedlam!" cried Ben. "You can't stand this."
"Well, do put the bag somewhere else than on that shelf," said Jasper. "If he doesn't see it, he'll stop."
But Jocko, seeing no good reason why he should stop till he had his peanuts, gave vent to howls in another key, much worse than the first.
"Ow!" said Jasper, with a grimace, "that sets my teeth on edge. Here, Ben, you may have your monkey," pushing Jocko off from his lap.
"Mymonkey?" said Ben, running around with the peanut bag, looking for a place to hide it. "Well, I think that's nice, when you made me bring him up here."
"Oh, well, he's yours now, as long as he's in your care," said Jasper, coolly. "That's right, Jocko, run after Master Ben;" and he dropped the chain.
There was no need to tell Jocko that, as long as Ben had the peanut bag. So he leaped to the broad back and ran down the arm, at the end of which was the coveted prize.
"No, you don't," said Ben, transferring the bag to the other hand, when Jocko like lightning ran over the broad back again, and down the other arm; this pretty game being played with no gain to either party, until Jasper begged for a pause.
"I should think you'd laugh," said Ben, turning round with a hot, red face, Jocko sticking to one shoulder, rage in his eye.
"O dear me!" said Jasper, faintly, and wiping his eyes. "Ha! Ha! Ha!" and he burrowed in the chair-depths, holding his sides.
"To get me into this scrape," exclaimed Ben, flying around with a wild step. "Stop that," for Jocko in this little diversion nearly gripped the prize. "There now!" He rushed to the closet, threw the bag in, and slammed the door. "Now, sir! who's got those peanuts?" and he gazed into the monkey's little wrinkled face.
Defrauded of his prize and, what was worse, with no hopes of getting it, for Jocko could see that the closet door was shut, he now set up a piteous sobbing, putting his paws up to his poor little eyes. And there he clung on Ben's shoulder, crying like a child.
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Jasper, coming out of his laugh, "I can't stand this. Do stuff something into his mouth, Ben," and Jasper thrust his fingers into his ears.
"He shan't have peanuts," declared Ben, firmly, yet having no heart now to set the monkey on the floor. "There, there, Jocko, be still," and he patted him kindly.
"Of course not," said Jasper, taking the finger from one ear long enough to hear Ben's reply; "but get him something else—anything—"
So Ben set up a hunt for something to appease Jocko, and at last lifted the lid of the cracker-jar.
When Jocko heard the click of china, he dropped one paw enough to peer around. Yes, he was going to have something to eat. So down went the other paw, which shot out to receive the tidbit. When on being conveyed to his mouth he found that it was nothing but cracker, a thing that Thomas and Jane and the other maids, who were always running out to pet him, gave him ever so many times a day, he spit it out disdainfully, clapped his paws to his eyes, and cried harder than ever.
"For goodness' sake!" cried Jasper, "can't you find some candy? There is plenty there in that box. I'll come and get it myself." And in another minute he would have been out of the big chair.
"You stay still," said Ben. "Hush, you beast!" to Jocko. And at last, after knocking down more things than he supposed was possible in that short time, the box of candy was found on the table, and a big piece crammed into Jocko's mouth.
"O dear me! How perfectly lovely not to hear his voice," exclaimed Jasper, dropping his fingers and sinking back against his pillows.
"Um!" said Ben; then he set Jocko down in the corner, took a big piece of chocolate, and smeared the wrinkled face from top to bottom, then set the remainder in one paw. "When you've got through licking your face and rubbing it clean, why then you'll go downstairs, sir," he declared grimly. "My goodness me, Iamtired," and he threw himself into a chair.
"Oh, what a scheme," cried Jasper. "O dear me!" and he began to laugh again, for Jocko, having swallowed as one morsel the big chocolate piece, was now endeavoring to lick his cheeks clean by running his tongue as far out as he could. To do this, as he always fancied after each fresh effort that there was much more up beyond his eyebrows, which was quite true, as Ben had been very generous in the application, he turned his back on himself, so to speak, many a time, to achieve the success he longed for—till he got out of breath, and had to squat and rest, only to up and at it again.
Just here in came Jane with a small tray, followed by Hobson, the butler, with a large one.
"You are to have your supper up here, too, Master Ben," said Jane.
"Oh, am I?" cried Ben, in a pleased tone.
"Yes, Mrs. Fisher said so," said Jane, depositing her tray on the table. "Oh, that nasty monkey!" she squealed, catching sight of Jocko, who was just beginning on a fresh attempt to get the sweet stuff off from his face. "Oh, me!"
"He won't hurt you, Jane," said Ben; "he's too much occupied. And Hobson, after you have set the table, you can take him downstairs."
"All right, Master Ben," said Hobson, pulling out the tea-table from the wall, and opening its leaves to deftly lay the cloth, Jane going gingerly about to help as far as she could, seeing that she must keep a sharp eye on Jocko.
"It seems so funny to have supper instead of dinner," said Jasper. "I haven't gotten used to it after all these weeks. And to think of its being time. Haven't you made a mistake and brought it too early, Hobson? Do look at your watch, Ben."
"It is a bit early, sir," said Hobson, "but Doctor Fisher ordered it now."
"It's half-past five o'clock," said Ben, "but it hasn't grown dark hardly any. Well, we must have the light turned on now," springing off to do it.
"I know why I'm to have my supper a half-hour sooner," said Jasper; "it's because I'm to be tucked into bed earlier to-night. Well, I suppose I must," he added resignedly, as a bright light filled the room.
"Yes, indeed, we had such a good time last night," said Ben, flying back. "Now this is jolly, isn't it?" his face lighting up.
"Yes," said Jasper, "it's no end jolly!" looking across the tea-table, as Jane lighted the candles under the red shades, pulled the curtains together, and Hobson adjusted the tea-things. "Is there anything else you want, Master Jasper?" he asked.
"No," said Jasper, with a quick eye for details, "thank you, Hobson; everything is very nice. Now if you will just take Jocko."
"Yes, I will, Master Jasper," said Hobson, going over to Jocko, who was still working away on his face, supposing he had plenty of time to attack the tea-table later. Jane gave a wide range to the two on her way out.
When they were fairly started Jocko gave a loud cry of disappointment, turning a baffled face to the two boys and the lovely table between them.
"Oh, do toss the poor beggar a piece of cake, Ben," said Jasper.
Which Ben did, and Jocko, wisely considering it better to take it than to get nothing, was borne off; the cake having been swallowed before he reached the bottom of the stairs, his cries pealed up till at last Hobson had him well out of hearing.
Jane set the little silver bell on the tea-table, and withdrew to the sitting room as usual, when the two sat a long time over the supper enjoying it hugely. At last it was time for her to summon Hobson, and the two trays were carried off.
"And now what?" asked Ben. "Shall I read to you, Jasper?"
"Oh, if you don't mind—are you tired of chess?" Jasper leaned forward to search the round face.
"No, not a bit; only it can't be any pleasure to you, I'm so stupid," said Ben.
"I tell you what it is, Ben Pepper, you arenotstupid," declared Jasper, warmly; "now don't say so again," he begged.
"Oh, I won't if it makes you feel badly," said Ben, laughing, "only I shall think so."
"You mustn't think so," declared Jasper, decidedly; "and do hurry and get the table and the men."
So the little game-table, inlaid and beautiful, was carefully brought out and set in place by Ben, the box of chessmen put in Jasper's hands, and then Ben sat down to the table.
"You choose this time," said Ben, picking up a red and also a white piece, to hold back of him, "only, as I said—"
"Ugh!" interrupted Jasper, "you weren't to say that again. You promised, Ben," he added reproachfully.
"So I did," said Ben. "Well, I won't again."
"See that you don't," said Jasper, laughing. "Well—I choose the left hand. Oh! You have the first move," as a white pawn came to view.
And after that there was nothing heard in the big room but the ticking of the French clock, and the crackling of the hickory logs, if we except Ben's hard breathing when his men were pushed pretty hard.
And the first thing any one knew there was little Doctor Fisher looking at them through his big spectacles and beaming all over his face.
"Well—well—well!" he could hardly stop himself. "And so you are having a good time," he said to Jasper.
"I should rather think so," said Jasper, lifting a bright face.
"I suppose now you don't know what time it is," said the little Doctor.
"Oh, it's early, I know," said Jasper, easily; "why, we have hardly got through supper, it seems to me."
"Then you must have been a good while at supper," said Doctor Fisher, composedly, and pulling out his big silver watch, "for it's nine o'clock."
"Nine o'clock!" exclaimed Jasper and Ben together.
"Fact." Doctor Fisher nodded so briskly that his spectacles slipped down to the end of his nose, "And so it's time for you to hop into bed, Jasper."
"O dear!" said Jasper, with a glance at the silken canopy and covers, and trying not to show a wry face.
"In with you! I give you ten minutes." The little Doctor laughed and went off, and immediately the room was in a bustle, Ben helping along the operation of getting Jasper to bed. And presently the light was out and Jasper was saying, "Oh, thank you, Ben, ever so much. Good night."
"Good night," said Ben, and he shut the door softly and went downstairs.
It was so still all through the big mansion—little Dick and Phronsie of course being abed and asleep hours ago, and all the other children away. Ben opened the big front door and stepped out on the stone porch. Oh, how good the crisp air was! He sniffed it in, and threw back his broad shoulders for another and another breath; then he hurried into the house to get his coat and cap,—and, jamming this last on his head, he thrust his hands in his pockets, and set off for a walk. Yes, they must—the merry sleighs full—be well on their way home by this time, because Grandpapa, who, of course, was going with them, had told Mother Fisher he should bring them home early.
Oh, how good the air was! Ben thought he hadn't tasted any quite so sweet since he left Badgertown—and he deserted the sidewalk now, having reached the thoroughfare, and struck out in the middle of the road, where it was more fun crunching down the snow. How long he walked he didn't know. Suddenly sleigh-bells jingled,—and merry voices,—and, yes, there was Polly's laugh,—and, why, of course, there was Grandpapa's voice,—and then,—
"Oh, there he is!" screamed Polly. "Oh, Ben!" stretching out her arms.
And "Hop up here," called Grandpapa, his cheeks rosy under the white hair. And up Ben went like a flash! One word to the driver of the four horses and off they went, turning first in the direction from which they had just come—the other big sleigh following fast.
"Oh, Grandpapa, we are going to give Ben a sleigh-ride," cried Polly, in a glad little voice, and clapping her brown gloves together.
"Of course," said Grandpapa; "we are going to give him a little one this time, and a big one, all made up on purpose for him, some other night."
"Yes," said Madam Van Ruypen, folding her long hands in her lap. She sat at one corner of her library fire, in a carved high-backed chair, and the young minister at the other end. Both were regarding the leaping flames.
"It will be best for you to return home to-morrow; tell the mother all my plans for the children, and ask her permission for me to put them into school," went on the old lady, not raising her gaze from the crackling hickory logs.
"Yes, Madam Van Ruypen," said the minister.
"And then write me at once what she says. Meantime, I shall be consulting Mr. King as to the school. It has to be a peculiar kind, of course, none of the high-fangled ones, but a good, substantial, ordinary sort of one, dominated by a man with a conscience. And where shall we find such an one—goodness knows, I'm sure I don't," she lifted her hands in dismay.
Mr. St. John, seeing that something was expected of him, volunteered the remark, "Oh, there must be such institutions; they are so much needed."
"Just like a minister," retorted the old lady, who was nothing if not blunt, especially if it fell out that she took a liking to a body; so now she added, "Oh, you'll do to preach from a desk; but as to practical things, such as the selection of a school, why, what can you, in the name of sense, be expected to know, either about them or the masters who run them?"
A little spot of red began to show itself on the fair cheek, and twice the young minister opened his mouth. But he thought better of it. Then he laughed. "Perhaps so," he said, with a nod, and stretched his hands to the blaze.
Madam Van Ruypen laughed too. Having never meant to give offence, that danger had not occurred to her. But she had been suddenly overcome, as it were, with a mortal terror, and all on account of those mountain children. What to do with them now she had sent for them she had found herself unable to answer. She couldn't send them back home, that would be cruelty indeed; and until the plan for the school popped up she was in a miserable state enough. So it was quite cheery to hear the bright little laugh bubble out from the other end of the fireplace, and she laughed so heartily in echo, that Mr. St. John tried it again.
"Well, now I feel better," she said, wiping her eyes with her lace-trimmed handkerchief. "You can't know, Mr. St. John, how very much I have been tried in this matter."
"I suppose so," he said, the laugh dropping away. Really, when he came to think of it again, the wonder grew how she came to do this thing at all, and then, how she dared to keep on so bravely. And that recalled "old money-bags"; how he blamed himself now for calling her so in his thoughts on those Sundays in the little mountain parish church! Could she be the same person as this woman, wiping her eyes, so touched by the little cheer he had given to her perplexity? He cleared his throat. "It was noble of you," he said, his own eyes glistening.
"Oh, now;" she turned on him a formidable face; the white puffs and Roman nose seemed to grow bigger. "You would do better to stop right there," she said, raising her forefinger, "else I shall wish you had gone home to-day," all of which made him feel decidedly like a schoolboy about to be whipped. And he sat back in his chair, quite depressed.
"Let us put our minds on those children, Richard," she said at last, breaking the silence that seemed to weigh on one of them like lead. "I don't like your name, St. John; it's well enough for a grand person, but you're a minister, and probably always will be a plain man, so I am going to call you Richard."
"If you only would!" he cried, the brightness coming back to eye and cheek, not caring in the least for the rest of her words.
"So you like it,—eh?"
"Very much. I am, as you say, a plain man."
"Besides being something of a boy," she added, with a twinkle in her sharp eyes.
"Besides being something of a boy," he repeated, laughing again.
"Well, then, Richard it is," she declared, with great satisfaction. "Now then, the first thing is to settle those children in some good school, or rather in two good schools, as soon as can be done. It isn't good for them to be here, I see that. I don't know in the smallest degree what to do with them, at least as far as the girl is concerned, and it is bad for them to be entertained all the while." Not a word about the demoralization of her houseful of servants, whose ill-concealed wrath and dismay were smouldering over the infliction of Elvira. "And they ought to be getting some education. Well, to-morrow you must go back and straighten it all out with the mother. That's settled." Then she sat quite erect to draw a long breath of enjoyment. "Now I'll tell you a piece of news," she said; "it's a secret as yet."
Richard leaned forward with great interest. He certainly was boy enough to enjoy a secret, and his eyes sparkled.
"I've engaged the whole front of the mountain hotel, the floor above the office, for next summer," she said. Then she waited to see the effect of her announcement.
"You're coming up?" cried Richard, in a glad voice.
"It looks like it," said the old lady, grimly, but vastly pleased at his tone, "and I want you to engage the Potter Camp for me."
"And you'll bring,—oh, now I know what you are going to do!" exclaimed the young minister, with great delight.
"No, you don't know in the least what I am going to do, young man," she retorted. "Oh, go along with you, Richard," and she laughed again, this time as light-heartedly as if her years matched his own. "Yes, I wrote yesterday to the manager to secure the rooms. You must get the camp for me."
"I surely will," promised Richard with huge satisfaction.
"And tell John Bramble if he doesn't bring my boxes and express matter up to the hotel quicker this summer than he did last year, I'll—I'll—report him to the government. Dear me, I want to scold somebody. Oh, and be sure, Richard, whatever you forget,—and I suppose you'll leave out the most important things,—don't forget to tell—what's that man Handy's name?"
"Shin?"
"Shin! Oh, what a name!"
"Well, we always call him that up in the mountains, because he can shin up the trees quicker than anybody else," said the young minister, laughing, "but his real name is—"
"Oh, well, if he's been called Shin so long, why Shin let it be," said Madam Van Ruypen, composedly; "I'm sure I don't care. Well, be sure and tell him he's engaged for the summer. There will be plenty he can do when we aren't at camp."
"That's fine," cried Richard, clapping his hands together smartly, "because you see Shin has so much time when he isn't hired for camping and guiding."
"And don't let those other children expect to come down. Whatever you do, don't raise any such hopes." The old lady here turned such a distressed face on him that the best he could do was to laugh again. "I'll remember," he said brightly.
And Madam Van Ruypen slept through the whole night, having the first good sound repose she had enjoyed since the visitors had arrived.
But up at the King household—O dear me! It was Polly who heard it first.
She was dreaming of the difficulty of making a little pink silk cushion out of a mussy end of flaming yellow ribbon that Candace seemed to have insisted on her using; and as she worked away, wishing it was pink, and trying to make herself believe it was pink, she saw it grow yellower and yellower, till finally she threw it down. And that twitched the needle and knotted up the silk thread, and then off her thimble flew with a little click—snip, and "O dear me!" exclaimed Polly, and opened her eyes.
She was just going to say, "Oh, I'm so glad I was only dreaming, and 'tisn't that hateful yellow cushion in reality," when another little click—snip, just like the one when her thimble dropped off in her dream, struck her ear. This time it was a "really truly" noise, and no dream, and Polly flew up in her pretty bed and leaned on her elbow.
Yes, and not only a click—snip, but ash—flop!or something that sounded as much like that as anything that could be put into words.
Polly flew out of bed, tossed on her pink wrapper, and only stopping to think, "I mustn't go into Mamsie's room, for that will wake King Fisher,"—Papa Doctor was away with a sick patient out of town,—she crept softly off to Ben's room, just around the angle of the hall, and, flying up to the bed, she gave him a little nip on the shoulder.
"Polly!" exclaimed Ben, sitting bolt upright, and, dashing his hands across his eyes, he was wide awake in an instant. "What's the matter?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Polly, huddling up to the side of the bed, "only hush, do, the door's shut, but don't speak loud. There's such a funny noise; it sounds downstairs, Ben," she said, with a little shiver.
"Funny noise!" said Ben. "Well, now, you creep back to your room and lock the door, and stay in there, Polly."
"Oh, Ben, don't go down," she cried, seizing his arm.
"Do as I say." He never spoke in such a tone before, and Polly, who had no thought of disobeying, found herself soon in her own room, wishing that she hadn't called Ben, and longing to run out and help, and a thousand things besides.
Ben meantime was out in the hall, a stout walking-stick in his hand, hanging over the banister. Yes, Polly was right, there certainly was a funny noise, and it appeared to come from downstairs, too. It wasn't just what he supposed would be raised by anybody getting in to rob the house; it was more like something dropping; and then another sound, like a flap, flap of the window shade. But it was just as well to act speedily, and yet it must be done with caution; so he crept off to the back hall, where he could press the button that gave the signal to the men in the stable.
And he presently saw the lights flashing as they turned their dark lanterns a second toward the big stone mansion. Well, whatever the trouble was, they would soon find out, for Thomas had a key for just such possible emergencies, and the search would—
Ben never finished it in his mind, for a sharp noise, so near him that it seemed as if the person making it must be close to his heels, sent every bit of blood away from his cheeks. He couldn't turn, for what might be back of him in the darkness? It wasn't the click of a pistol exactly,—Ben, in all his cold terror felt struck with the little resemblance to any such noise,—still, as there was nothing else so likely to be that very thing, why, it must be, he concluded.
Downstairs he could hear, with senses sharpened, that Thomas had entered the house and that the search had begun in earnest. Well, somebody, whoever it was with that pistol, would probably do something more than click it before long, when another noise, this time a little farther off, a soft, pat—pat, sent his mind in another direction. Either there were two burglars who had worked their way upstairs, or the one with the pistol had heard the noise downstairs, and concluded to try for an escape.
And now Ben's blood was up, and he softly followed in the direction of the sound, grasping his stick hard and setting his teeth. "It'll be easier for me than for the other fellow, as I know the way," flashed through his mind.
But he didn't seem to get much nearer. Of course he would stop when there was no noise, then the soft pat—pat would begin at a further remove, and on Ben would creep after it.
He must at least keep the trail till Thomas and the other serving-man could put in an appearance on that third floor. What,—ah, there he is! Again the click! And the portière twitched out by the sudden movement of a hand. Ben swung his stout stick above his head, and brought it down to hear a squeal of fright and pain, and Jocko, whose tail only had suffered, leaped into his face.
Over went Ben, the stick, and monkey together, just escaping the long stairs, as Thomas and his men rushed up, turning the lanterns on every side to find the cause. Doors were thrown open and frightened faces appeared, while Polly was already down on her knees by his side. "Oh, Ben," then her fingers felt Jocko's hairy coat.
"That beast!" It was all Ben could get out. Then he lay back on the floor and laughed till he was so weak he could hardly breathe. "He's a—sweet—dear—little thing—" at last he made out to say, "isn't—he—Polly?" he ended gustily.