Robert was forced, by Ben Haley's, taking possession of his boat to give up for the present his design of recrossing the river. He felt bound to go back and inform Paul of Ben's escape.
"He has carried off my gold," exclaimed Paul, in anguish. "Why didn't you catch him?"
"He had too much start of us," said Robert's companion. "But even if we had come up with him, I am afraid he would have proved more than a match for us. He is a desperate man. How much money did he take away with him?"
"More than five hundred dollars," wailed the old man. "I am completely ruined!"
"Not quite so bad as that, Mr. Nichols. You have your farm left."
But the old man was not to be comforted. He had become so wedded to his gold that to lose it was like losing his heart's blood. But was these no hope of recovery?
"Why don't you go after him?" he exclaimed, suddenly. "Raise the neighbors. It isn't too late yet."
"He's across the river before this," said Robert.
"Get a boat and go after him."
"I am willing," said our hero, promptly. "Where can we find a boat, Mr. Dunham?"
"There's one about a quarter of a mile down the stream—Stetson's boat."
"Let's go, then."
"Very well, Robert. I've no idea we can do anything, but we will try."
"Go, go. Don't waste a moment," implored the old man, in feverish impatience.
Robert and Mr. Dunham started, and were soon rowing across the river in Stetson's boat.
"Whereabout would he be likely to land?" asked the farmer.
"There's my boat now," said Robert, pointing it out. "He has left it where I usually keep it."
Quickly they rowed alongside. Then to his great sorrow Robert perceived the malicious injury which his enemy had wrought.
"Oh, Mr. Dunham, look at that!" he said, struck with grief. "The boat is spoiled!"
"Not so bad as that. It can be mended."
"What will Will Paine say? What will his father say?"
"Then it isn't your boat?"
"No, that is the worst of it. It was lent me by Will Paine, and I promised to take such good care of it."
"It isn't your fault, Robert?"
"No, I couldn't help it, but still it wouldn't have happened if it had not been in my charge."
"You can get it repaired, so that it will look almost as well as new."
If Robert had had plenty of money, this suggestion would have comforted him, but it will be remembered that he was almost penniless, dependent on the fish he caught for the means of supporting his mother and himself. Now this resource was cut off. The boat couldn't be used until it was repaired. He felt morally bound to get it repaired, though he was guiltless of the damage. But how could he even do this? One thing was clear—Mr. Paine must at once be informed of the injury suffered by the boat. Robert shrank from informing him, but he knew it to be his duty, and he was too brave to put it off.
But first he must try to find some clew to Ben Haley. He had now a personal interest in bringing to justice the man who had made him so much trouble. He had scarcely got on shore than the boy who had sold Ben Haley the hatchet, strolled up.
"Who was that man who came across in your boat?" he asked.
"Did you see him?" asked Robert, eagerly.
"To be sure I did," said Tom Green, with satisfaction. "I sold him my old hatchet for money enough to buy a new one, and he give me a quarter besides for my trouble."
"I wish you hadn't done it, Tom," said Robert, gravely. "See what he's done with it."
Tom Green opened his eyes wide with astonishment.
"What did he do that for?" he asked.
"To be revenged on me. I'll tell you what for another time. Now I want to find him. Can you tell me where he went?"
"No; I left him here, while I went to the store for a new hatchet."
The old hatchet was found under a clump of bushes. Robert took possession of it, feeling that he had a right to it, as part compensation for the mischief it had done.
"We'd better go to the railroad depot, Mr. Dunham," he said. "He'd be most likely to go there."
"You're right. We'll go."
They walked rapidly to the station, but too late, of course, for the train. The station-master was standing on the platform, superintending the removal of a trunk.
"Mr. Cross," said Robert, "I want to find out if a particular man left by the last train. I'll describe him."
"Yes," said the station-master, "that's the man I was wondering about. He had a wound in the shoulder."
"He got that from me," said Robert.
"Sho! you don't say so," returned the station-master, in surprise. "He said he was out hunting with a friend, and his friend's gun went off accidentally."
"I don't believe he feels very friendly to me," said Robert, smiling. "He's stolen five or six hundred dollars in gold from old Paul Nichols."
"It'll about kill the old man, won't it?"
"He feels pretty bad about it. For what place did he buy a ticket?"
"For Cranston; but that ain't no guide. When he gets there, he'll buy a ticket for further on."
Had there been a telegraph station, Robert would have telegraphed on to have Ben Haley stopped, but there was none nearer than the next town. He determined to give information to a justice of the peace, and leave the matter in his hands. But Justice in a country town is slow, and it may as well be stated here, before anything was done Ben Haley was out of danger. But Robert was destined to fall in with him at a future day.
This business attended to, Robert bent his steps to Mr. Paine's office. This brings us to his meeting with Halbert Davis at the door. He was slightly surprised at the encounter, but was far from guessing the object of Halbert's call.
Mr. Paine looked up as he entered, and had no difficulty in guessing his errand.
"What can I do for you, Robert?" he asked, kindly.
"I bring bad news, Mr. Paine," said our hero, boldly plunging into the subject which had brought him to the office.
"It's about the boat, isn't it?" said the lawyer.
"What, do you know about it?" asked Robert, in surprise.
"Yes; a disinterested friend brought the news."
"Halbert Davis?"
"The same. He takes a strong interest in your affairs," added the lawyer, dryly. "Now tell me how it happened."
Robert gave a full explanation, the lawyer occasionally asking a question.
"It seems, then," he said, "that you incurred this man's enmity by your defense of Mr. Nichols' money."
"Yes, sir."
"It was incurred in a good cause. I can't blame you, nor will my son. I will get Mr. Plane, the carpenter, to look at the boat and see what he can do to repair it."
"Some time I will pay you the cost of the repairs, Mr. Paine. I would now if I had any money; but you know how I am situated."
"I shall not call upon you to do that," said the lawyer, kindly. "It was not your fault."
"But the damage would not have happened if Will had not lent the boat to me."
"That is true; but in undertaking the defense of Mr. Nichols you showed a pluck and courage which most boys would not have exhibited. I am interested, like all good citizens, in the prevention of theft, and in this instance I am willing to assume the cost."
"You are very kind, Mr. Paine. I was afraid you would blame me."
"No, my boy; I am not so unreasonable. It will save me some trouble if you will yourself see Mr. Plane and obtain from him an estimate of the probable expense of putting the boat in order."
Robert left the office, feeling quite relieved by the manner in which his communication had been received. A little way up the road he overtook Halbert Davis. In fact, Halbert was waiting for him, expressly to get an opportunity of enjoying his discomfiture at the ruin of the boat.
"Hallo, Rushton!" he said.
"Good-morning, Halbert!"
"Are you going out in your boat this afternoon?" asked Halbert, maliciously.
"You know why I can't."
"I wonder what Will Paine will say when he sees the good care you take of it."
"I don't believe he will blame me when he knows the circumstances."
"You ain't fit to have the charge of a boat. I suppose you ran it on a rock."
"Then you suppose wrong."
"You won't be able to go out fishing any more. How will you make a living?"
"Without your help," said Robert, coldly. "You will probably see me out again in a few days, if you take the trouble to look."
"How can you go?"
"Mr. Paine has asked me to see Mr. Plane about repairing the boat."
"Is he going to pay the expenses?"
"Yes."
"Then he's a fool."
"You'd better not tell him so, or he might give you a lesson in politeness."
"You're a low fellow," said Halbert, angrily.
"You are welcome to your opinion," returned Robert, indifferently.
Robert saw the carpenter, according to Mr. Paine's instructions, but found him so busy that he would not engage to give his attention to the boat under a week.
The delay was regretted by our hero, since it cut him off from the employment by which he hoped to provide for his mother. Again Mrs. Rushton was in low spirits.
"I am sorry you couldn't agree with Halbert Davis, Robert," she said, with a sigh. "Then you could have stayed in the factory, and got your wages regularly every week."
"I know that, mother, but I am not willing to have Halbert 'boss me round,' even for a place in the factory."
"Then, Robert, you quarreled with the man you took across the river."
"I think I did right, mother," said Robert. "Don't get out of spirits. I don't expect to succeed always. But I think I shall come out right in the end."
"I am sure I hope so."
Mrs. Rushton was one of those who look on the dark side. She was distrustful of the future, and apt to anticipate bad fortune. Robert was very different. He inherited from his father an unusual amount of courage and self-reliance, and if one avenue was closed to him, he at once set out to find another. It is of this class that successful men are made, and we have hopes that Robert will develop into a prosperous and successful man.
"I am sure I don't see what you can do," said Mrs. Rushton, "and we can't live on what I make by braiding straw."
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Robert, "I'll go on Sligo Hill and pick blueberries; I was passing a day or two ago, and saw the bushes quite covered. Just give me a couple of tin pails, and I'll see what I can do."
The pails were provided, and Robert started on his expedition. The hill was not very high, nor was its soil very good. The lower part was used only to pasture a few cows. But this part was thickly covered with blueberry bushes, which this season were fuller than usual of large-sized berries. Robert soon settled to work, and picked steadily and rapidly. At the end of three hours he had filled both pails, containing, as near as he could estimate, eight quarts.
"That's a pretty good afternoon's work," he said to himself. "Now I suppose I must turn peddler, and dispose of them."
He decided to ask ten cents a quart. Later in the season the price would be reduced, but at that time the berries ought to command that price.
The first house at which he called was Mr. Paine's. He was about to pass, when he saw Hester at the window. Pride suggested, "She may despise me for being a berry peddler," but Robert had no false shame. "At any rate, I won't be coward enough to try to hide it from her." Accordingly he walked up boldly to the door, and rang the bell.
Hester had seen him from the window, and she answered the bell herself.
"I am glad to see you, Robert," she said, frankly. "Won't you come in?"
"Thank you," said our hero, "but I called on business."
"You will find my father in his office," she said, looking a little disappointed.
Robert smiled.
"My business is not of a legal character," he said. "I've turned peddler, and would like to sell you some blueberries."
"Oh, what nice berries! Where did you pick them?"
"On Sligo."
"I am sure mother will buy some. Will you wait a minute while I go and ask her?"
"I will wait as long as you like."
Hester soon returned with authority to buy four quarts. I suspect that she was the means of influencing so large a purchase.
"They are ten cents a quart," said Robert, "but I don't think I ought to charge your father anything."
"Why not?"
"Because I shall owe him, or rather Will, a good deal of money."
"I know what you mean—it's about the boat."
"Did your father tell you?"
"Yes, but I knew it before. Halbert Davis told me."
"He takes a great interest in my affairs."
"He's a mean boy. You mustn't mind what he says against you."
Robert laughed.
"I don't care what he thinks or says of me, unless he persuades others to think ill of me."
"I shall never think ill of you, Robert," said Hester, warmly.
"Thank you, Hester," said Robert, looking up into her glowing face with more gratification than he could express. "I hope I shall deserve your good opinion."
"I am sure you will, Robert, But won't you come in?"
"No, thank you. I must sell the rest of my berries."
Robert left the house with forty cents in his pocket, the first fruits of his afternoon's work. Besides, he had four quarts left, for which he expected to find a ready sale. He had not gone far when he met Halbert. The latter was dressed with his usual care, with carefully polished shoes, neatly fitting gloves, and swinging a light cane, the successor of that which had been broken in his conflict with Robert. Our hero, on the other hand, I am obliged to confess, was by no means fashionably attired. His shoes were dusty, and his bare hands were stained with berry juice. He wore a coarse straw hat with a broad brim to shield him from the hot sun. Those of my readers who judge by dress alone would certainly have preferred Halbert Davis, who looked as if he had just stepped out of a band-box. But those who compared the two faces, the one bright, frank and resolute, the other supercilious and insincere, could hardly fail to prefer Robert in spite of his coarse attire and unfashionable air.
Halbert scanned his rival with scornful eyes. He would have taken no notice of him, but concluded to speak in the hope of saying something disagreeable.
"You have found a new business, I see," he said, with a sneer.
"Yes," said Robert, quietly. "When one business gives out, I try another."
"You've made a good choice," said Halbert. "It's what you are adapted for."
"Thank you for the compliment, but I don't expect to stick to it all my life."
"How do you sell your berries?"
"Ten cents a quart."
"You'd better call on your friend, Miss Hester Paine, and see if she won't buy some."
"Thank you for the advice, but it comes too late. She bought four quarts of me."
"She did!" returned Halbert, surprised. "I didn't think you'd go there."
"Why not?"
"She won't think much of a boy that has to pick berries for a living."
"I don't think that will change her opinion of me. Why should it?"
"It's a low business."
"I don't see it."
"Excuse my delaying you. I am afraid I may have interfered with your business. I say," he called out, as Robert was going on, "if you will call at our house, perhaps my mother may patronize you."
"Very well," said Robert, "if I don't sell elsewhere, I'll call there. It makes no difference to me who buys my berries."
"He's the proudest beggar I ever met," thought Halbert, looking after him. "Hester Paine must be hard up for an escort if she walks with a boy who peddles berries for a living. If I were her father, I would put a stop to it."
The same evening there was a concert in the Town Hall. A free ticket was given to Robert in return for some slight service. Mr. Paine and his daughter were present, and Halbert Davis also. To the disgust of the latter, Robert actually had the presumption to walk home with Hester. Hester laughed and chatted gayly, and appeared to be quite unconscious that she was lowering herself by accepting the escort of a boy "who picked berries for a living."
The next day Robert again repaired to Sligo. He had realized eighty cents from his sales the previous day, and he felt that picking berries was much better than remaining idle. Halbert's sneers did not for a moment discompose him. He had pride, but it was an honorable pride, and not of a kind that would prevent his engaging in any respectable employment necessary for the support of his mother and himself.
Returning home with well-filled pails, he walked a part of the way on the railroad, as this shortened the distance. He had not walked far when he discovered on the track a huge rock, large enough to throw the train off the track. How it got there was a mystery. Just in front there was a steep descent on either side, the road crossing a valley, so that an accident would probably cause the entire train to be thrown down the embankment. Robert saw the danger at a glance, and it flashed upon him at the same moment that the train was nearly due. He sprang to the rock, and exerted his utmost strength to dislodge it. He could move it slightly, but it was too heavy to remove. He was still exerting his strength to the utmost when the whistle of the locomotive was heard. Robert was filled with horror, as he realized the peril of the approaching train, and his powerlessness to avert it.
The cars swept on at the rate of twenty miles an hour, the engineer wholly unconscious of the peril in front. Robert saw the fated train with its freight of human lives, and his heart grew sick within him as he thought of the terrible tragedy which was about to be enacted. Was there any possibility of his averting it? He threw himself against the rock and pushed with all the strength he could command. But, nerved as he was by desperation, he found the task greater than he could compass.
And still the train came thundering on. He must withdraw to a place of safety, or he would himself be involved in the destruction which threatened the train.
There was one thing more he could do, and he did it.
He took his station on the rock which was just in the path of the advancing train, and waved his handkerchief frantically. It was a position to test the courage of the bravest.
Robert was fully aware that he was exposing himself to a horrible death. Should he not be seen by the engineer it would be doubtful whether he could get out of the way in time to escape death—and that of the most frightful nature. But unless he did something a hundred lives perhaps might be lost. So he resolutely took his stand, waving, as we have said, his handkerchief and shouting, though the last was not likely to be of any avail.
At first he was not seen. When the engineer at last caught sight of him it was with a feeling of anger at what he regarded as the foolhardiness of the boy. He slackened his speed, thinking he would leave his place, but Robert still maintained his position, his nerves strung to their highest tension, not alone at his own danger, but at the peril which he began to fear he could not avert.
Reluctantly the engineer gave the signal to stop the train. He was only just in time. When it came to a stop there was an interval of only thirty-five feet between it and Robert Rushton, who, now that he had accomplished his object, withdrew to one side, a little paler than usual, but resolute and manly in his bearing.
"What is the meaning of this foolery?" the engineer demanded, angrily.
Robert pointed in silence to the huge rock which lay on the track.
"How came that rock there?" asked the engineer, in a startled tone, as he took in the extent of the peril from which they had been saved.
"I don't know," said Robert. "I tried to move it, but I couldn't."
"You are a brave boy," said the engineer. "You have in all probability saved the train from destruction. But you ran a narrow risk yourself."
"I know it," was the reply; "but it was the only thing I could do to catch your attention."
"I will speak to you about it again. The first to be done is to move the rock."
He left the engine and advanced toward the rock. By this time many of the passengers had got out, and were inquiring why the train was stopped at this point. The sight of the rock made a sensation. Though the peril was over, the thought that the train might have been precipitated down the embankment, and the majority of the passengers killed or seriously injured, impressed them not a little. They pressed forward, and several lending a hand, the rock was ousted from its its position, and rolled crashing over the bank.
Among the passengers was a stout, good-looking man, a New York merchant. He had a large family at home waiting his return from a Western journey. He shuddered as he thought how near he had been to never meeting them again on earth.
"It was providential, your seeing the rock," he said to the engineer. "We owe our lives to you."
"You do me more than justice," replied the engineer. "It was not I who saved the train, but that boy."
All eyes were turned upon Robert, who, unused to being the center of so many glances, blushed and seemed disposed to withdraw.
"How is that?" inquired the merchant.
"He saw the obstruction, and tried to remove it, but, not being able to do so, took his station on the rock, and, at the risk of his own life, drew my attention, and saved the train."
"It was a noble act, my boy; what is your name?"
"Robert Rushton."
"It is a name that we shall all have cause to remember. Gentlemen," continued the merchant, turning to the group around him, "you see before you the preserver of your lives. Shall his act go unrewarded?"
"No, no!" was the general exclamation.
"I don't want any reward," said Robert, modestly. "Any boy would have done as much."
"I don't know about that, my young friend. There are not many boys, or men, I think, that would have had the courage to act as you did. You may not ask or want any reward, but we should be forever disgraced if we failed to acknowledge our great indebtedness to you. I contribute one hundred dollars as my share of the testimonial to our young friend."
"I follow with fifty!" said his next neighbor, "and shall ask for the privilege of taking him by the hand."
Robert had won honors at school, but he had never before been in a position so trying to his modesty. The passengers, following the example of the last speaker, crowded around him, and took him by the hand, expressing their individual acknowledgments for the service he had rendered them. Our hero, whom we now designate thus appropriately, bore the ordeal with a self-possession which won the favor of all.
While this was going on, the collection was rapidly being made by the merchant who had proposed it. The amounts contributed varied widely, but no one refused to give. In ten minutes the fund had reached over six hundred dollars.
"Master Robert Rushton," said the merchant, "I have great pleasure in handing you this money, freely contributed by the passengers on this train, as a slight acknowledgment of the great service which you have rendered them at the risk of your own life. It does not often fall to the lot of a boy to perform a deed so heroic. We are all your debtors, and if the time ever comes that you need a friend, I for one shall be glad to show my sense of indebtedness."
"All aboard!" shouted the conductor.
The passengers hurried into the cars, leaving our hero standing by the track, with one hand full of bank notes and in the other the card of the New York merchant. It was only about fifteen minutes since Robert had first signaled the train, yet how in this brief time had his fortunes changed! From the cars now rapidly receding he looked to the roll of bills, and he could hardly realize that all this money was his own. He sat down and counted it over.
"Six hundred and thirty-five dollars!" he exclaimed. "I must have made a mistake."
But a second count turned out precisely the same.
"How happy mother will be!" he thought, joyfully. "I must go and tell her the good news."
He was so occupied with the thoughts of his wonderful good fortune that he nearly forgot to take the berries which he had picked.
"I shan't need to sell them now," he said. "We'll use a part of them ourselves, and what we can't use I will give away."
He carefully stored away the money in his coat pocket, and for the sake of security buttoned it tight. It was a new thing for him to be the custodian of so much treasure. As Halbert Davis usually spent the latter part of the afternoon in promenading the streets, sporting his kids and swinging his jaunty cane, it was not surprising that Robert encountered him again.
"So, you've been berrying again?" he said, stopping short.
"Yes," said Robert, briefly.
"You haven't got the boat repaired, I suppose."
"Not yet."
"It's lucky for you this is berrying season."
"Why?"
"Because you'd probably have to go to the poorhouse," said Halbert, insolently.
"I don't know about that," said Robert, coolly. "I rather think I could buy you out, Halbert Davis, watch, gloves, cane and all."
"What do you mean?" demanded Halbert, haughtily. "You seem to forget that you are a beggar, or next to it."
Robert set down his pails, and, opening his coat, drew out a handful of bills.
"Does that look like going to the almshouse?" he said.
"They're not yours," returned Halbert, considerably astonished, for, though he did not know the denomination of the bills, it was evident that there was a considerable amount of money.
"It belongs to me, every dollar of it," returned Robert.
"I don't believe it. Where did you get it? Picking berries, I suppose," he added, with a sneer.
"It makes no difference to you where I got it," said our hero, returning the money to his pocket. "I shan't go to the almshouse till this I is all gone."
"He must have stolen it," muttered Halbert, looking after Robert with disappointment and chagrin. It was certainly very vexatious that, in spite of all his attempts to humble and ruin our hero, he seemed more prosperous than ever.
Mrs. Rushton was braiding straw when Robert entered with his berries.
"Couldn't you sell your berries, Robert?" she asked.
"I haven't tried yet, mother."
"The berrying season won't last much longer," said his mother, despondently.
"Don't borrow trouble, mother. I am sure we shall get along well."
"You feel more confidence than I do."
"I just met Halbert Davis in the street."
"Have you made up with him?"
"It is for him to make up with me."
"I am afraid you are too high-spirited, Robert. Did Halbert speak to you?"
"Oh, yes," said Robert, laughing. "He takes a great interest in my affairs. He predicts that we shall come to the poorhouse yet."
"He may be right."
"Now, mother, don't be so desponding. We've got enough money to pay our expenses for more than a year, even if we both stop work."
"What can you mean, Robert?" said his mother, looking up in surprise. "You must be crazy."
"Does that look like going to the poorhouse?" asked Robert, drawing out his money.
Mrs. Rushton uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"Whose money is that, Robert?"
"Mine!"
"You haven't done anything wrong?"
"No, mother; I thought you knew me too well for that. I see you are anxious to hear how I obtained it, so I'll tell you all about it."
He sat down, and in brief words told his mother the story of the train and its peril, how he had rescued it, and, lastly, of the generous gift which he had so unexpectedly received. The mother's heart was touched, and she forgot all her forebodings.
"My son, I am proud of you," she said, her eyes moist. "You have done a noble deed, and you deserve the reward. But what a risk you ran!"
"I know it, mother, but we won't think of that, now that it is over. How much, money do you think I have here?"
"Two or three hundred dollars."
"Six hundred and thirty-five! So you see, mother, we needn't go to the poorhouse just yet. Now, how much better off should I have been if I had kept my place in the factory? It would have taken me more than two years to earn as much money as this. But that isn't all. I have been the means of saving a great many lives, for the train was sure to be thrown down the embankment. I shall remember that all my life."
"We have reason to be grateful to Heaven that you have been the means of doing so much good, Robert, while, at the same time, you have benefited yourself."
"That is true, mother."
"I shall be afraid to have so much money in the house. If it were known, we might be robbed."
"I will leave it with Mr. Paine until I get a chance to put it in a savings bank. He has a safe in his office. At the same time I will carry him some berries as a present. It won't be much, but I should like to do it on account of his kindness about the boat. I will offer now to bear the expense of its repair."
After washing his hands and adjusting his clothes a little, for Robert, though no fop like Halbert, was not regardless of appearances, especially as he thought Hester might see him, he set out for the lawyer's office.
"Excuse my bringing in my berries," said Robert, as he entered the office, "but I want to ask your acceptance of them."
Many persons, under the supposition that Robert was too poor to afford a gift, would have declined it, or offered to pay for it, thinking they were acting kindly and considerately. But Mr. Paine knew that Robert would be mortified by such an offer, and he answered:
"Thank you, Robert; I will accept your gift with thanks on one condition."
"What is it, Mr. Paine?" inquired our hero, a little puzzled.
"That you will take tea with us to-morrow evening, and help us do justice to them."
"Thank you," said Robert, not a little pleased at the invitation, "but I shouldn't like to leave my mother at home alone."
"Oh, we must have your mother, too. Hester will call this evening, and invite her."
"Then," said Robert, "I can answer for myself, and I think for her, that we should both be very happy to come."
The lawyer's social position made such an invitation particularly gratifying to Robert. Besides, he was led to value it more on account of the persistent efforts of Halbert to injure him in the general estimation. Then, too, it was pleasant to think that he was to sit down to the same table with Hester, as her father's guest, and to receive a call from her at his own house. Nothing that Mr. Paine could have done would have afforded him an equal amount of gratification.
"There is one other matter I wanted to speak to you about, Mr. Paine," he said. "Will you take care of some money for me until I get a chance to deposit it in the savings bank?"
"Certainly, Robert," was the reply, but the lawyer's manner showed some surprise. He knew the circumstances of the Rushtons, and he had not supposed they had any money on hand. "How much is it?"
"Six hundred and thirty-five dollars," answered Robert, producing it. "Will you count it, and see if it is all right?"
"Is this your money?" asked the lawyer, laying down his pen and gazing at Robert in astonishment.
"Yes, sir," said Robert, enjoying his surprise. "I will tell you how I got it."
So the story was told, with a modest reserve as to his own courage, but still showing, without his intending it, how nobly he had behaved.
"Give me your hand, Robert," said Mr. Paine, cordially. "You have shown yourself a hero. We shall be proud of your company to tea to-morrow evening."
Robert flushed with gratification at the high compliment conveyed in these words.
What did he care then for Halbert Davis and his petty malice! He had the approval of his own conscience, the good opinion of those whom he most respected and a provision against want sufficient to avert all present anxiety.
"There is one thing more, Mr. Paine," he added. "It's about the boat Will was kind enough to lend me."
"Have you seen the carpenter about repairing it?"
"Yes, sir, and he will attend to it as soon as he can spare the time. But that was not what I wanted to say. I think I ought to bear the expense of repairing it. I would have spoken about it at first, but then I had no money, and didn't know when I should have any. Will you be kind enough to take as much of my money as will be needed to pay Mr. Plane's bill when it comes in?"
"Certainly not, Robert. It was not your fault that the boat was injured."
"It wouldn't have happened if I had not borrowed it. It isn't right that the expense should fall on you."
"Don't trouble yourself about that, Robert. I am able and willing to pay it. It is very honorable in you to make the offer, and I like you the better for having made it. Won't you need any of this money for present expenses?"
"Perhaps I had better take the thirty-five dollars. Mother may be in want of something."
Robert received back the sum named, and returned home, much pleased with his interview.
About seven o'clock, sitting at the window of the little cottage, he saw Hester Paine opening the front gate. He sprang to his feet and opened the door.
"Good-evening, Robert," she said. "Is your mother at home?"
"Yes, Hester. Won't you come in?"
"Thank you, Robert. Father has been telling me what a hero you were, and it made me feel proud that you were a friend of mine."
Robert's face lighted with pleasure.
"You compliment me more than I deserve," he answered, modestly; "but it gives me great pleasure to know that you think well of me."
"I am sure that there is no boy in Millville that would have dared to do such a thing. Good-evening, Mrs. Rushton. Are you not proud of your son?"
"He is a good son to me," said Mrs. Rushton, with a glance of affection.
"It is such a splendid thing he did. He will be quite a hero. Indeed, he is one already. I've got a New York paper giving an account of the whole thing. I brought it over, thinking you might like to read it."
She displayed a copy of a great city daily, in which full justice was done to Robert's bravery. Our hero listened with modest pleasure while it was being read.
"I don't deserve all that," he said.
"You must let us judge of that," said Hester. "But I have come this evening, Mrs. Rushton, to ask you to take tea with us to-morrow evening, you and Robert. You will come, won't you?"
Mrs. Rushton was pleased with this mark of attention, and after a slight demur, accepted.
I do not intend to give an account of the next evening, and how Robert, in particular, enjoyed it. That can be imagined, as well as Halbert's chagrin when he heard of the attention his rival was receiving in a quarter where he himself so earnestly desired to stand well. I must pass on to a communication received by Mrs. Rushton, a communication of a very unexpected character, which had an important effect upon the fortunes of our hero.
It was not often that Mrs. Rushton received a letter. Neither she nor her husband had possessed many relatives, and such as either had were occupied with their own families, and little communication passed between them and Captain Rushton's family. Robert, therefore, seldom called at the post office. One day, however, as he stepped in by a neighbor's request to inquire for letters for the latter, the postmaster said, "There's a letter for your mother, Robert."
"Is there?" said our hero, surprised, "When did it come?"
"Yesterday. I was going to ask some one to carry it round to her, as you don't often call here."
He handed the letter to Robert, who surveyed it with curiosity. It was postmarked "Boston," and addressed in a bold business hand to "Mrs. Captain Rushton, Millville."
"Who can be writing to mother from Boston?" thought Robert.
The size of the letter also excited his curiosity. There were two stamps upon it, and it appeared bulky. Robert hurried home, and rushed into the kitchen where his mother was at work.
"Here's a letter for you, mother," he said.
"A letter for me!" repeated Mrs. Rushton.
"From Boston."
"I don't know who would be likely to write me from there. Open it for me, Robert."
He tore open the envelope. It contained two inclosures—one a letter in the same handwriting as the address; the other a large sheet of foolscap rumpled up, and appearing once to have been rolled up, was written in pencil. Mrs. Rushton had no sooner looked at the latter than she exclaimed, in agitation: "Robert, it is your father's handwriting. Read it to me, I am too agitated to make it out."
Robert was equally excited. Was his father still alive, or was this letter a communication from the dead?
"First let me read the other," he said. "It will explain about this."
His mother sank back into a chair too weak with agitation to stand, while her son rapidly read the following letter:
"BOSTON, August 15, 1853.MRS. RUSHTON, DEAR MADAM: The fate of our shipNorman, which left this port now more than two years since, under the command of your husband, has until now been veiled in uncertainty. We had given up all hopes of obtaining any light upon the circumstances of its loss, when by a singular chance information was brought us yesterday. The shipArgo, while in the South Pacific, picked up a bottle floating upon the surface of the water. On opening it, it was found to contain two communications, one addressed to us, the other to you, the latter to be forwarded to you by us. Ours contains the particulars of the loss of theNorman, and doubtless your own letter also contains the same particulars. There is a bare possibility that your husband is still alive, but as so long a period has passed since the letters were written it would not be well to place too much confidence in such a hope. But even if Captain Rushton is dead, it will be a sad satisfaction to you to receive from him this last communication, and learn the particulars of his loss. We lose no time in forwarding to you the letter referred to, and remain, with much sympathy, yours respectfully,WINSLOW & CO."
"BOSTON, August 15, 1853.MRS. RUSHTON, DEAR MADAM: The fate of our shipNorman, which left this port now more than two years since, under the command of your husband, has until now been veiled in uncertainty. We had given up all hopes of obtaining any light upon the circumstances of its loss, when by a singular chance information was brought us yesterday. The shipArgo, while in the South Pacific, picked up a bottle floating upon the surface of the water. On opening it, it was found to contain two communications, one addressed to us, the other to you, the latter to be forwarded to you by us. Ours contains the particulars of the loss of theNorman, and doubtless your own letter also contains the same particulars. There is a bare possibility that your husband is still alive, but as so long a period has passed since the letters were written it would not be well to place too much confidence in such a hope. But even if Captain Rushton is dead, it will be a sad satisfaction to you to receive from him this last communication, and learn the particulars of his loss. We lose no time in forwarding to you the letter referred to, and remain, with much sympathy, yours respectfully,
WINSLOW & CO."
Mrs. Rushton listened to this letter with eager and painful interest, her hands clasped, and her eyes fixed upon Robert.
"Now read your father's letter," she said, in a low tone.
Robert unfolded the sheet, and his eyes filled with tears as he gazed upon the well-known handwriting of the father whose loss he had so long lamented. This letter, too, we transcribe: