Monday morning came, bright and sunshiny; and it hardly reached Crofield before the people began to get up and look about them.
Jack went down to the river and did not get back very soon. His mind was full of something besides the flood, and he did not linger long at the mill.
But he looked long and hard at all the pieces of land below the mill, down to Deacon Hawkins's line. He knew where that was, although the fence was gone.
"The freshet didn't wash away a foot of it," he said. "I'll tell father what Mr. Hammond said about selling it."
A pair of well-dressed men drove down from Main Street in a buggy and halted near him.
"Brady," said one of these men, "the engineer is right. We can't change the railroad line. We can say to the Crofield people that if they'll give us the right of way through the village we'll build them a new bridge. They'll do it. Right here's the spot for the station."
"Exactly," said the other man, "and the less we say about it the better. Keep mum."
"That's just what I'll do, too," said Jack to himself, as they drove away. "I don't know what they mean, but it'll come out some day."
Jack went home at once, and found the family at breakfast. After breakfast his father went to the shop, and Jack followed him to speak about the land purchase.
When Jack explained the miller's offer, Mr. Ogden went with him to see Mr. Hammond. After a short interview, Mr. Ogden and Jack secured the land in settlement of the amount already promised Jack, and of an old debt owed by the miller to the blacksmith, and also in consideration of their consenting to a previous sale of the trees for cash to the Bannermans, who had made their offer that morning. Mr. Hammond seemed very glad to make the sale upon these terms, as he was in need of ready money.
When Jack returned to his father's shop, he remembered the men he had seen at the river, and he told his father what they had said.
"Station?—right of way?" exclaimed Mr. Ogden. "That's the new railroad through Mertonville. They'll use up that land, and we won't get a cent. Well, it didn't cost anything. I'd about given up collecting that bill."
Later that day, Jack came in to dinner with a smile on his face. It was the old smile, too; a smile of good-humored self-confidence, which flickered over his lips from side to side, and twisted them, and shut his mouth tight. Just as he was about to speak, his father took a long, neatly folded paper out of his coat pocket and laid it on the table.
"Look at that, Jack," he said; "and show it to your mother."
"Warranty deed!" exclaimed Jack, reading the print on the outside. "Father! you didn't turn it over to me, did you? Mother, it's to John Ogden, Jr.!"
"Oh, John—" she began and stopped.
"Why, my dear," laughed the blacksmith, cheerfully, "it's his gravel, not mine. I'll hold it for him, for a while, but it is Jack's whenever I chose to record that deed."
"I'm afraid I couldn't farm it there," said Jack; and then the smile on his face flickered fast. "But I knew Father wanted that land."
"It isn't worth much, but it's a beginning," said Mary. "I'd like to own something or other, or to go somewhere."
"Well, Molly," answered Jack, smiling, "you can go to Mertonville. Livermore says there's a team here, horses and open carriage. It came over on Friday. The driver has cleared out, and somebody must take them home, and he wants me to drive over. Can't I take Molly, Mother?"
"You'd have to walk back," said his father, "but that's nothing much. It's less than nine miles—"
"Father," said Jack, "you said, last night, I needn't come back to Crofield, right away. And Mertonville's nine miles nearer the city—"
"And a good many times nine miles yet to go," exclaimed the blacksmith; but then he added, smiling: "Go ahead, Jack. I do believe that if any boy can get there, you can."
"I'll do it somehow," said Jack, with a determined nod.
"Of course you will," said Mary.
Jack felt as if circumstances were changing pretty fast, so far as he was concerned; and so did Mary, for she had about given up all hope of seeing her friends in Mertonville.
"We'll get you ready, right away," said Aunt Melinda. "You can give Jack your traveling bag,—he won't mind the key's being lost,—and I'll let you take my trunk, and we'll fit you out so you can enjoy it."
"Jack," said his father, "tell Livermore you can go, and then I want to see you at the shop."
Jack was so glad he could hardly speak; for he felt it was the first step. But a part of his feeling was that he had never before loved Crofield and all the people in it, especially his own family, so much as at that minute.
He went over to the ruined hotel, where he found the landlord at work saving all sorts of things and seeming to feel reasonably cheerful over his misfortunes.
"Jack," he said, as soon as he was told that Jack was ready to go, "you and Molly will have company. Miss Glidden sent to know how she could best get over to Mertonville, and I said she could go with you. There's a visitor, too, who must go back with her.
"I'll take 'em," said Jack.
Upon going to the shop he found his father shoeing a horse. The blacksmith beckoned his son to the further end of the shop. He heard about Miss Glidden, and listened in silence to several hopeful things Jack had to say about what he meant to do sooner or later.
He listened in silence.He listened in silence.
He listened in silence.He listened in silence.
"Well," he said, at last, "I was right not to let you go before, and I've doubts about it now, but something must be done. I'm making less and less, and not much of it's cash, and it costs more to live, and they're all growing up. I don't want you to make me any promises. They are broken too easily. You needn't form good resolutions. They won't hold water. There's one thing I want you to do, though. Your mother and I have brought you up as straight as a string, and you know what's right and what's wrong."
"That's true," said Jack.
"Well, then, don't you promise nor form any resolutions, but if you're tempted to do wrong, or to be a fool in any kind of way, just don't do it that's all."
"I won't, Father," said Jack earnestly.
"There," said his father, "I feel better satisfied than I should feel if you'd promised a hundred things. It's a great deal better not to do anything that you know to be wrong or foolish."
"I think so," said Jack, "and I won't."
"Go home now and get ready," said his father; "and I'll see you off."
"This is very sudden, Jack,", said his mother, with much feeling, when he made his appearance.
"Why, Mother," said Jack, "Molly'll be back soon, and the city isn't so far away after all."
Jack felt as if he had only about enough head left to change his clothes and drive the team.
"It's just as Mother says," he thought; "I've been wishing and hoping for it, but it's come very suddenly."
His black traveling-bag was quickly ready. He had closed it and was walking to the door when his mother came in.
"Jack," she said, "you'll send me a postal card every day or two?"
"Of course I will," said he bravely.
"And I know you'll be back in a few weeks, at most," she went on; "but I feel as sad as if you were really going away from home. Why, you're almost a child! You can't really be going away!"
That was where the talk stopped for a while, except some last words that Jack could never forget. Then she dried her eyes, and he dried his, and they went down-stairs together. It was hard to say good-by to all the family, and he was glad his father was not there. He got away from them as soon as he could, and went over to the stables after his team. It was a bay team, with a fine harness, and the open carriage was almost new.
"Stylish!" said Jack. "I'll take Molly on the front seat with me,—no, the trunk,—and Miss Glidden's trunk,—well, I'll get 'em all in somehow!"
When he drove up in front of the house his father was there to put the baggage in and to help Mary into the carriage and to shake hands with Jack.
The blacksmith's grimy face looked less gloomy for a moment.
"Jack," he said, "good-by. May be you'll really get to the city after all."
"I think I shall," said Jack, with an effort to speak calmly.
"Well," said the blacksmith, slowly, "I hope you will, somehow; but don't you forget that there's another city."
Jack knew what he meant. They shook hands, and in another moment the bays were trotting briskly on their way to Miss Glidden's. Her house was one of the finest in Crofield, with lawn and shrubbery. Mary Ogden had never been inside of it, but she had heard that it was beautifully furnished. There was Miss Glidden and her friend on the piazza, and out at the sidewalk, by the gate, was a pile of baggage, at the sight of which Jack exclaimed:
"Trunks! They're young houses! How'll I get 'em all in? I can strap and rope one on the back of the carriage, but then—!"
Miss Glidden frowned at first, when the carriage pulled up, but she came out to the gate, smiling, and so did the other lady.
"Why, Mary Ogden, my dear," she said, "Mrs. Potter and I did not know you were going with us. It's quite a surprise."
"So it is to Jack and me," replied Mary quietly. "We were very glad to have you come, though, if we can find room for your trunks."
"I can manage 'em," said Jack. "Miss Glidden, you and Mrs. Potter get in, and Pat and I'll pack the trunks on somehow."
Pat was the man who had brought out the luggage, and he was waiting to help. He was needed. It was a very full carriage when he and Jack finished their work. There was room made for the passengers by putting Mary's small trunk down in front, so that Jack's feet sprawled over it from the nook where he sat.
"I can manage the team," Jack said to himself. "They won't run away with this load."
Mary sat behind him, the other two on the back seat, and all the rest of the carriage was trunks; not to speak of what Jack called a "young house," moored behind.
It all helped Jack to recover his usual composure, nevertheless, and he drove out of Crofield, on the Mertonville road, confidently.
"We shall discern traces of the devastation occasioned by the recent inundation, as we progress," remarked Mrs. Potter.
Jack replied: "Oh, no! The creek takes a great swoop, below Crofield, and the road's a short cut. There'll be some mud, though."
He was right and wrong. There was mud that forced the heavily laden carriage to travel slowly, here and there, but there was nothing seen of the Cocahutchie for several miles.
"Hullo!" exclaimed Jack suddenly. "It looks like a kind of lake. It doesn't come up over the road, though. I wonder what dam has given out now!"
There was the road, safe enough, but all the country to the right of it seemed to have been turned into water. On rolled the carriage, the horses now and then allowing signs of fear and distrust, and the two older passengers expressing ten times as much.
"Now, Molly," said Jack, at last, "there's a bridge across the creek, a little ahead of this. I'd forgotten about that. Hope it's there yet."
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Miss Glidden.
"Don't prognosticate disaster," said Mrs. Potter earnestly; and it occurred to Jack that he had heard more long words during that drive than any one boy could hope to remember.
"Hurrah!" he shouted, a few minutes later. "Link's bridge is there! There's water on both sides of the road, though."
It was an old bridge, like that at Crofield, and it was narrow, and it trembled and shook while the snorting bays pranced and shied their frightened way across it. They went down the slope on the other side with a dash that would have been a bolt if Jack had not been ready for them. Jack was holding them with a hard pull upon the reins, but he was also looking up the Cocahutchie.
"I see what's the matter," he said. "The logs got stuck in a narrow place, and made a dam of their own, and set the water back over the flat. The freshet hasn't reached Mertonville yet. Jingo!"
Bang, crack, crash!—came a sharp sound behind him.
"The bridge is down!" he shouted. "We were only just in time. Some of the logs have been carried down, and one of them knocked it endwise."
That was precisely the truth of the matter; and away went the bays, as if they meant to race with the freshet to see which would first arrive in Mertonville.
"I'm on my way to the city, any how," thought Jack, with deep satisfaction.
The bay team traveled well, but it was late in the afternoon when Jack drove into the town. Having been in Mertonville before, Jack knew where to take Miss Glidden and Mrs. Potter.
Mertonville was a thriving place, calling itself a town, and ambitious of some day becoming a city.
Not long after entering the village, Miss Glidden touched Jack's arm.
"Stop, please!" exclaimed Miss Glidden. "There are our friends. The very people we're going to see. Mrs. Edwards and the Judge, and all!"
The party on foot had also halted, and were waiting to greet the visitors. After welcomes had been exchanged, Mrs. Edwards, a tall, dignified lady, with gray hair, turned to Mary and offered her hand.
"I'm delighted to see you, Miss Ogden," she exclaimed, "and your brother John. I've heard so much about you both, from Elder Holloway and the Murdochs. They are expecting you."
"We're going to the Murdochs'," said Mary, a little embarrassed by the warmth of the greeting.
"You will come to see me before you go home?" said Mrs. Edwards. "I don't wonder Miss Glidden is so fond of you and so proud of you. Make her come, Miss Glidden."
"I should be very happy," said Miss Glidden benevolently, "but Mary has so many friends."
"Oh, she'll come," said the Judge himself, very heartily. "If she doesn't, I'll come after her."
"Shall I drive to your house now, Judge Edwards?" Jack said at last.
The party separated, and Jack started the bay team again.
The house of Judge Edwards was only a short distance farther, and that of Mrs. Potter was just beyond.
"Mary Ogden," said Miss Glidden in parting, "you must surely accept Mrs. Edwards's invitation. She is the kindest of women."
"Yes, Miss Glidden," said Mary, demurely.
Jack broke in: "Of course you will. You'll have a real good time, too."
"And you'll come and see me?" said Mrs. Potter, and Mary promised. Then Jack and the Judge's coachman lowered to the sidewalk Miss Glidden's enormous trunk.
As Mrs. Potter alighted, a few minutes later, she declared to Mary:
"I'm confident, my dear, that you will experience enthusiastic hospitality."
"What shall I do?" asked Mary, as they drove away. "Miss Glidden didn't mean what she said. She is not fond of me."
"The Judge meant it," said Jack. "They liked you. None of them pressed me to come visiting, I noticed. I'll leave you at Murdoch's and take the team to the stable, and then go to the office of theEagleand see the editor."
But when they reached the Murdochs', good Mrs. Murdoch came to the door. She kissed Mary, and then said:
"I'm so glad to see you! So glad you've come! Poor Mr. Murdoch—"
"Jack's going to the office to see him," said Mary.
"He needn't go there," said the editor's wife; "Mr. Murdoch is ill at home. The storm and the excitement and the exposure have broken him down. Come right in, dear. Come back, Jack, as soon as you have taken care of the horses."
"It's a pity," said Jack as he drove away. "TheEaglewill have a hard time of it without any editor."
He was still considering that matter when he reached the livery-stable, but he was abruptly aroused from his thoughts by the owner of the team, who cried excitedly:
"Hurrah! Here's my team! I say, young man, how did you cross Link's bridge? A man on horseback just came here and told us it was down. I was afraid I'd lost my team for a week."
"Well, here they are," said Jack, smiling. "They're both good swimmers, and as for the carriage, it floated like a boat."
"Oh, it did?" laughed the stable-keeper, as he examined his property. "Livermore sent you with them, I suppose. I was losing five dollars a day by not having those horses here. What's your name? Do you live in Crofield?"
"Jack Ogden."
"Oh! you're the blacksmith's son. Old Murdoch told me about you. My name's Prodger. I know your father, and I've known him twenty years. How did you get over the creek—tell me about it?"
Jack told him, and Mr. Prodger drew a long breath at the end of the story.
"You didn't know the risk you were running," he said; "but you did first-rate, and if I needed another driver I'd be glad to hire you. What did Livermore say I was to pay you?"
"He didn't say," said Jack. "I wasn't thinking about being paid."
"So much the better. I think the more of you, my boy. But it was plucky to drive that team over Link's bridge just before it went down. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll pay you what they'll earn me to-night—it will be about three dollars—and we'll call it square. How will that do?"
"It's more than I've earned," said Jack, gratefully.
"I'm satisfied, if you are," said Mr. Prodger as Jack jumped down. "Come and see me again if you're to be in town. You're fond of horses and have a knack with them."
"Three dollars!" said Jack, after the money had been paid him, and he was on his way back to the Murdochs'. "Mother let me have the six dollars they gave me for the fish. And this makes nine dollars. Why, it will take me the rest of the way to the city—but I wouldn't have a cent when I got there."
When he reached the editor's house, Jack noticed that the house was on the same square with the block of wooden buildings containing theEagleoffice, and that the editor could go to his work through his own garden, if he chose, instead of around by the street. He was again welcomed by Mrs. Murdoch, and then led at once into Mr. Murdoch's room, where the editor was in bed, groaning and complaining in a way that indicated much distress.
"I'm very sorry you're sick, Mr. Murdoch," said Jack.
"Thank you, Jack. It's just my luck. It's the very worst time for me to be on the sick-list. Nobody to get out theEagle. Lost my 'devil' to-day, too!"
"Lost your 'devil'?" exclaimed Jack.
"Yes," said Mr. Murdoch in despair. "No 'devil'! No editor! Nobody but a wooden foreman and a pair of lead-headed type-stickers. The man that does the mailing has more than he can do, too. There won't be anyEaglethis week, and perhaps none next week. Plenty of 'copy' nearly ready, too. It's too bad!"
"There won't be any Eagle this week.""There won't be any Eagle this week."
"There won't be any Eagle this week.""There won't be any Eagle this week."
"You needn't feel so discouraged," said Jack, deeply touched by the distress of the groaning editor. "Molly and I know what to do. She can manage the copy, just as she did for theStandardonce. So can I. We'll go right to work."
"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten," said Mr. Murdoch. "You've worked a while at printing. I'm willing you should see what you can do. I'd like to speak to Mary. I'm sorry to say that you'll have to sleep in the office, Jack, for we've only one spare room in this nutshell of a house."
"I don't mind that," said Jack.
"I hope I'll be out in a day or so," added the editor. "But, Jack, the press is run by a pony steam-engine, and that foreman couldn't run it to save his life," he added hopelessly.
"Why, it's nothing to do," exclaimed Jack. "I've helped run an engine for a steam thrashing-machine. Don't you be worried about the engine."
Mr. Murdoch was able to be up a little while in the evening, and Mary came in to see him. From what he said to her, it seemed as if there was really very little to do in editing the remainder of the next number of theEagle.
"I'm so glad you're here," said Mrs. Murdoch, when Mary came out to supper. "I never read a newspaper myself, and I don't know the first thing about putting one together. It's too bad that you should be bothered with it though."
"Why, Mrs. Murdoch," exclaimed Mary, laughing, "I shall be delighted. I'd rather do it than not."
The truth was that it was not easy for either Mary or her brother to be very sorry that Mr. Murdoch was not able to work. They did not feel anxious about him, for his wife had told them it was not a serious attack, and they enjoyed the prospect of editing the newspaper.
After supper Jack and Mary went through the garden to theEagleoffice. The pony-engine was in a sort of woodshed, the press was in the "kitchen," as Mary called it, and the front room of the little old dwelling-house was the business office. The editor's office and the type-setting room were up-stairs.
Jack took a look at the engine.
"Any one could run that," he said. "I know just how to set it going. Come on, Molly. This is going to be great fun."
The editor's room was only large enough for a table and a chair and a few heaps of exchange newspapers. The table was littered and piled with scraps of writing and printing.
"See!" exclaimed Jack, picking up a sheet of paper. "The last thing Mr. Murdoch did was to finish an account of his visit to Crofield, and the flood. We'll put that in first thing to-morrow. It's easy to edit a newspaper. Where are the scissors?"
"We needn't bother to write new editorials," said Mary. "Here are all these papers full of them."
"Of course," said Jack. "But we must pick out good ones."
Their tastes differed somewhat, and Mary condemned a number of articles that seemed to Jack excellent. However, she selected a story and some poems and a bright letter from Europe, and Jack found an account of an exciting horse-race, a horrible railway accident, a base-ball match, a fight with Indians, an explosion of dynamite, and several long strips of jokes and conundrums.
"These are splendid editorials!" said Mary, looking up from her reading. "We can cut them down to fit theEagle, and nobody will suspect that Mr. Murdoch has been away."
"Oh, they'll do," said Jack. "They're all lively. Mr. Murdoch is sure to be satisfied. I don't think he can write better editorials himself."
The young editors were much excited over their work, and soon became so absorbed in their duties that it was ten o'clock before they knew it.
"Now, Molly," said Jack, "we'll go to the house and tell him it's all right. We'll set theEaglea-going in the morning. I knew we could edit it."
Mary had very little to say; her fingers ached from plying the scissors, her eyes burned from reading so much and so fast, and her head was in a whirl.
At the house they met Mrs. Murdoch.
"Oh, my dear children!" exclaimed she to Mary, "Mr. Murdoch is delirious. The doctor's been here, and says he won't be able to think of work—not for days and days. Can you,—canyou run theEagle? You won't let it stop."
"No, indeed!" said Mary. "There's plenty of 'copy' ready, and Jack can run the engine."
"I'm so glad," said Mrs. Murdoch. "I'd never dare to clip anything. I might make serious mistakes. He's so careful not to attack anything nor to offend anybody. All sorts of people take theEagle, and Mr. Murdoch says he has to steer clear of almost everything."
"We won't write anything," said Jack; "we'll just select the best there is and put it right in. Those city editors on the big papers know what to write."
The editor's wife was convinced; and, after Mary had gone to her room, Jack returned to a room prepared for him in theEagleoffice.
"I sha'n't wear my Sunday clothes to-morrow," said Jack; "I'll put on a hickory shirt and old trousers; then I'll be ready to work."
The last thing he remembered saying to himself was:
"Well, I'm nine miles nearer to New York."
Morning came, and Jack was busy before breakfast, but he went to the house early.
"I must be there when the 'hands' come," he said to Mrs. Murdoch. "Molly ought to be in the office, too—"
"I've told Mr. Murdoch," she said, "but he has a severe headache. He can't bear to talk."
"He needn't talk if he doesn't feel able," replied Jack. "TheEaglewill come out all right!"
Mary could hardly wait to finish her cup of coffee, but she tried hard to appear calm. She was ready as soon as Jack, but she did not have quite so much confidence in her ability to do whatever might be necessary.
There was to be some press-work done that forenoon, and the pony-engine had steam up when the foreman and the two type-setters reached the office.
"Good-morning, Mr. Black," said Jack, as he came into the engine-room. "It's all right. I'm Jack Ogden, a friend of Mr. Murdoch's. The new editor's upstairs. There's some copy ready. Mr. Murdoch will not be at the office for a week."
"Bless me!" said Mr. Black. "I reckoned that we'd have to strike work. What we need most is a 'devil'—"
"I can be 'devil,'" said Jack. "I used to run theStandard."
"Boys," said the foreman, without the change of a muscle in his pasty-looking face, "Murdoch's hired a proxy. I'll go up for copy."
He stumped upstairs to what he called the "sanctum." The door stood open. Mr. Black's eyes blinked rapidly when he saw Mary at the editor's table; but he did not utter a word.
"Good-morning, Mr. Black," said Mary, holding out Mr. Murdoch's manuscript and a number of printed clippings. She rapidly told him what they were, and how each of them was to be printed. Mr. Black heard her to the end, and then he said:
"Good-morning, ma'am. Is your name Murdoch, ma'am?"
"No, sir. Miss Ogden," said Mary. "But no one need be told that Mr. Murdoch is not here. I do not care to see anybody, unless it's necessary."
"Yes, ma'am," said Mr. Black. "We'll go right along, ma'am. We're glad theEagleis to come out on time, ma'am."
He was very respectful, as if the idea of having a young girl as editor awed him; and he backed out of the office, with both hands full of copy, to stump down-stairs and tell his two journeymen:
"It's all right, boys. Bless me! I never saw the like before."
He explained the state of affairs, and each in turn soon managed to make an errand up-stairs, and then to come down again almost as awed as Mr. Black had been.
"She's a driver," said the foreman. "She was made for a boss. She has it in her eye."
Even Jack, when he was sent up after copy, was a little astonished.
"That's the way father looks," he thought, "whenever he begins to lose his temper. The men mind him then, too; but he has to be waked up first. I know how she feels. She's bound theEagleshall come out on time!"
Even Jack did not appreciate how responsibility was waking up Mary Ogden, or how much older she felt than when she left Crofield; but he had an idea that she was taller, and that her eyes had become darker.
Mr. Bones, the man of all work in the front office below, was of the opinion that she was very tall, and that her eyes were very black, and that he did not care to go up-stairs again; for he had blundered into the sanctum, supposing that Mr. Murdoch was there, and remarking as he came:
"Sa-ay, that there underdone gawk that helps edit theInquirer, he was jist in, lookin' for—yes, ma'am! Beg pardon, ma'am! I'm only Bones—"
"What did the gentleman want, Mr. Bones?" asked Mary, with much dignity. "Mr. Murdoch is at home. He is ill. Is it anything I can attend to?"
"Oh, no, ma'am; nothing, ma'am. He's a blower. We don't mind him, ma'am. I'll go down right away, ma'am. I'll see Mr. Black, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."
He withdrew with many bows; and while down-stairs he saw Jack, and he not only saw, but felt, that something very new and queer had happened to the MertonvilleEagle.
Both Mary and Jack were aware that there was a rival newspaper, but it had not occurred to them that they were at all interested in theInquirer, or in its editors, beyond the fact that both papers were published on Thursdays, and that theEaglewas the larger.
The printers worked fast that day, as if something spurred them on, and Mr. Black was almost bright when he reported to Mary how much they had done during the day.
"The new boy's the best 'devil' we ever had, ma'am," said he. "Please say to Mr. Murdoch we'd better keep him."
"Thank you, Mr. Black," said she. "I hope Mr. Murdoch will soon be well."
He stumped away, and it seemed to her as if her dignity barely lasted until she and Jack found themselves in Mr. Murdoch's garden, on their way home. It broke completely down as they were going between the sweet-corn and the tomatoes, and there they both stopped and laughed heartily.
"But, Molly," Jack exclaimed, when he recovered his breath, "we'll have to print the liveliest kind of anEagle, or theInquirerwill get ahead of us. I'm going out, after supper, all over town, to pick up news. If I can only find some boys I know here, they could tell me a lot of good items. The boys know more of what's going on than anybody."
"I'd like to go with you," said Mary. "Stir around and find out all you can."
"I know what to do," said Jack, with energy, and if he had really undertaken to do all he proceeded to tell her, it would have kept him out all night.
Supper was ready when Jack and Mary went into the house, and Mrs. Murdoch was eager that they should eat at once. She seemed very placidly to take it for granted that things were going properly in theEagleoffice. Her husband had been ill before, and the paper had somehow lived along, and she was not the kind of woman to fret about it.
"He's been worrying," she said to Mary, "principally about town news. He's afraid theInquirer'll get ahead of you. It might be good to see him."
"I'll see him," said Mary.
"Mary! Mary!" came faintly in reply to her kindly greeting. "Local items, Mary. Society Notes—the flood—logs—bridges—dams—fires. Brief Mention. Town Improvement Society—the Sociable—anything!"
"Jack will be out after news as soon as he eats his supper," said Mary. "He'll find all there is to find. The printers did a splendid day's work."
"The doctor says not to tell me about anything," said the sick man, despondently. "You'll fill the paper somehow. Do the best you can, till I get well."
She did not linger, for Mrs. Murdoch was already pulling her sleeve. The three were soon seated at the table, and hardly was a cup of tea poured before Mrs. Murdoch remarked:
"Mary," she said, "Miss Glidden called here to-day, with Mrs. Judge Edwards, in her carriage. They were sorry to find you out. So did Mrs. Mason, and so did Mrs. Lansing, and Mrs. Potter. They wanted you to go riding, and there's a lawn-tennis party coming. I told them all that Mr. Murdoch was sick, and you were editing theEagle, and Jack was, too. Miss Glidden's very fond of you, you know. So is Mrs. Potter. Her husband wishes he knew what to send Jack for saving his wife from being drowned."
This was delivered steadily but not rapidly, and Mary needed only to say she would have been glad to see them all.
"I didn't save anybody," said Jack. "If the logs had hit the bridge while we were on it, nothing could have saved us."
Mary was particularly glad that none of her new friends were coming in to spend the evening, for she felt she had done enough for one day. Mrs. Murdoch, however, told her of a "Union Church Sociable," to be held at the house of Mrs. Edwards, the next Thursday evening, and said she had promised to bring Miss Ogden. Of course Mary said she would go, but Jack declined.
After supper, Jack was eager to set out upon his hunt after news-items.
"I mustn't let a soul know what I'm doing," he said to Mary. "We'll see whether I can't find out as much as theInquirer'sman can."
He hurried away from the house, but soon ceased to walk fast and began to peer sharply about.
"There's a new building going up," he said, as he turned a corner; "I'll find out about it."
So he did, but it was only "by the way"; he really had a plan, and the next step took him to Mr. Prodger's livery-stable.
"Well, Ogden," said Prodger, when he came in. "That bay team has earned eight dollars and fifty cents to-day. I'm glad you brought them over. How long are you going to be in town?"
"I can't tell," said Jack. "I'm staying at Murdoch's."
"The editor's? He's a good fellow, but theEagleis slow. All dry fodder. No vinegar. No pickles. He needs waking up. Tell him about Link's bridge!"
That was a good beginning, and Jack soon knew just how high the water had risen in the creek at Mertonville; how high it had ever risen before; how many logs had been saved; how near Sam Hutchins and three other men came to being carried over the dam; and what people talked about doing to prevent another flood, and other matters of interest. Then he went among the stable-men, who had been driving all day, and they gave him a number of items. Jack relied mainly upon his memory, but he soon gathered such a budget of facts that he had to go to the public reading-room and work a while with pencil and paper, for fear of forgetting his treasures.
Out he went again, and it was curious how he managed to slip in among knots of idlers, and set them to talking, and make them tell all they knew.
"I'm getting the news," he said to himself; "only there isn't much worth the time." After a few moments he exclaimed, "This is the darkest, meanest part of all Mertonville!"
It was the oldest part of the village, near the canal and the railway station, and many of the houses were dilapidated. Jack was thinking that Mary might write something about improving such a neglected, squalid quarter, when he heard a shriek from the door of a house near by.
"Robbers!—thieves!—fire!—murder!—rob-bers!—villains!"
It was the voice of a woman, and had a crack in it that made it sound as if two voices were trying to choke each other.
"Robbers!" shouted Jack springing forward, just as two very short men dashed through the gate and disappeared in the darkness.
If they were robbers they were likely to get away, for they ran well.
Jack Ogden did not run very far. He heard other footsteps. There were people coming from the opposite direction, but he paid no attention to them, until just as he was passing the gate.
Then he felt a hand on his left shoulder, and another hand on his right shoulder, and suddenly he found himself lying flat on his back upon the sidewalk.
"Hold him, boys!"
"We've got him!"
"Hold him down!"
"Tie him! We needn't gag him. Tie him tight! We've got him!"
There were no less than four men, and two held his legs, while the other two pinioned his arms, all the while threatening him with terrible things if he resisted.
It was in vain to struggle, and every time he tried to speak they silenced him. Besides, he was too much astonished to talk easily, and all the while an unceasing torrent of abuse was poured upon him, over the gate, by the voice that had given the alarm.
"We've got him, Mrs. McNamara! He can't get away this time. The young villain!"
"They were goin' to brek into me house, indade," said Mrs. McNamara. "The murdherin' vagabones!"
"What'll we do with him now, boys?" asked one of his captors. "I don't know where to take him—do you, Deacon Abrams?"
"What's your name, you young thief?" sternly demanded another.
Jack had begun to think. One of his first thoughts was that a gang of desperate robbers had seized him. The next idea was, that he never met four more stupid-looking men in Mertonville, nor anywhere else. He resolved that he would not tell his name, to have it printed in theInquirer, and so made no answer.
"That's the way of thim," said Mrs. McNamara. "He's game, and he won't pache. The joodge'll have to mak him spake. Ye'd betther lock him up, and kape him till day."
"That's it, Deacon Abrams."
"That's just it," said the man spoken to. "We can lock him up in the back room of my house, while we go and find the constable."
Away they went, guarding their prisoner on the way as if they were afraid of him.
They soon came to the dwelling of Deacon Abrams.
It was hard for Jack Ogden, but he bore it like a young Mohawk Indian. It would have been harder if it had not been so late, and if more of the household had been there to see him. As it was, doors opened, candles flared, old voices and young voices asked questions, a baby cried, and then Jack heard a very sharp voice.
"Sakes alive, Deacon! You can't have that ruffian here! We shall all be murdered!"
"Only till I go and find the constable, Jerusha," said the deacon, pleadingly. "We'll lock him in the back room, and Barney and Pettigrew'll stand guard at the gate, with clubs, while Smith and I are gone."
There was another protest, and two more children began to cry, but Jack was led on into his prison-cell.
It was a comfortable room, containing a bed and a chair. There was real ingenuity in the way they secured Jack Ogden. They backed a chair against a bedpost and made him sit down, and then they tied the chair, and the wicked young robber in it, to the post.
"There!" said Deacon Abrams. "He can't get away now!" and in a moment more Jack heard the key turn in the lock, and he was left in the dark, alone and bound,—a prisoner under a charge of burglary.
"I never thought of this thing happening to me," he said to himself, gritting his teeth and squirming on his chair. "It's pretty hard. May be I can get away, though. They thought they pulled the ropes tight, but then—"
The hempen fetters really hurt him a little, but it was partly because of the chair.
"May be I can kick it out from under me," he said to himself, "and loosen the ropes."
Out it came, after a tug, and then Jack could stand up.
"I might climb on the bed, now the ropes are loose," he said, "and lift the loops over the post. Then I could crawl out of 'em."
He was excited, and worked quickly. In a moment he was standing in the middle of the room, with only his hands tied behind him.
"I can cut that cord," he thought, "if I can find a nail in the wall."
He easily found several, and one of them had a rough edge on the head of it, and after a few minutes of hard sawing, the cord was severed.
"It's easy to saw twine," said he. "Now for the next thing."
He went to the window and looked out into the darkness.
"I'm over the roof of the kitchen," he said, "and that tree's close to it."
Up went the window—slowly, carefully, noiselessly—and out crept Jack upon that roof. It was steep, but he stole along the ridge. Now he could reach the tree.
"It's an apple-tree," he said. "I can reach that longest branch, and swing off, and go down it hand over hand."
At an ordinary time, few boys would have thought it could be done, and Jack had to gather all his courage to make the attempt; but he slid down and reached for that small, frail limb, from his perilous perch in the gutter of the roof.
"Now!" said Jack to himself.
Off he went with a quick grasp, and then another lower along the branch, before it had time to break, but his third grip was on a larger limb, below, and he believed he was safe.
"I must be quick!" he said. "Somebody is striking a light in that room!"
Hand over hand for a moment, and then he was astride of a limb. Soon he was going down the trunk; and then the window (which he had closed behind him) went up, and he heard Deacon Abrams exclaiming:
"He couldn't have got out this way, could he? Stop thief! Stop thief!"
"Let 'em chase!" muttered Jack, as his feet reached the ground. "This is the liveliest kind of news-item!"
Jack vaulted over the nearest fence, ran across a garden, climbed over another fence, ran through a lot, and came out into a street on the other side of the square.
"I've got a good start, now," he thought, "but I'll keep right on. They don't expect me at Murdoch's to-night. If I can only get to theEagleoffice! Nobody'll hunt for me there!"
He heard the sound of feet, at that moment, around the next corner. Open went the nearest gate, and in went Jack, and before long he was scaling more fences.
"It's just like playing 'Hare-and-Hounds,'" remarked Jack, as he once more came out into a street. "Now for theEagle, and it won't do to run. I'm safe."
He heard some running and shouting after that, however, and he did not really feel secure until he was on his bed, with the doors below locked and barred.
"Now they can hunt all night!" he said to himself, laughing. "I've made plenty of news for Mary."
So she thought next morning; and the last "news-item" brought out the color in her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes.
"I'll write it out," she said, "just as if you were the real robber, and we'll print it!"
"Of course," said Jack; "but I'd better keep shady for a day or so. I wish I was on my way to New York!"
"Seems to me as if you were," said Mary. "They won't come here after you. The paper's nearly full, now, and it'll be out to-morrow!"
Mr. Murdoch would have been gratified to see how Mary and Jack worked that day. Even Mr. Black and the type-setters worked with energy, and so did Mr. Bones, and there was no longer any doubt that theEaglewould be printed on time. Mr. Murdoch felt better the moment he was told by Mary, at tea-time, that she had found editing no trouble at all. He was glad, he said, that all had been so quiet, and that nobody had called at the editor's office, and that people did not know he was sick. As to that, however, Mr. Bones had not told Mary how much he and Mr. Black had done to protect her from intrusion. They had been like a pair of watch-dogs, and it was hardly possible for any outsider to pass them. As for Jack, he was not seen outside of theEagleall that day.
"If any of Deacon Abram's posse should come in," he remarked to Mary, "they wouldn't know me with all the ink that's on my face."
"Mother would have to look twice," laughed Mary. "Don't I wish I knew what people will think of the paper!"
She did not find out at once, even on Thursday. Jack had the engine going on time, and as fast as papers were printed, the distribution of them followed. It was a very creditableEagle, but Mary blushed when she read in print the account Mr. Murdoch had written of the doings in Crofield.
"They'll think Jack's a hero," she said, "and what will they think of me?—and what will Miss Glidden say? But then he has complimented her."
Jack, too, was much pleased to read the vivid accounts she had written of the capture and escape of the daring young burglar who had broken into the house of Mrs. McNamara, and of the falling of Link's bridge. Neither of them, however, had an idea of how some articles in the paper would affect other people. Before noon, there was such a rush forEagles, at the front office, that Mr. Black got out another ream of paper to print a second edition, and Mr. Bones had almost to fight to keep the excited crowd from going up-stairs to see for themselves whether the editor was there. Before night, poor Mrs. Murdoch went to the door thirty times to say to eager inquirers that Mr. Murdoch was in bed, and that Dr. Follet had forbidden him to see anybody, or to talk one word, or to get himself excited.
"What's the matter with the people?" she said wearily. "Can it be possible that anything's the matter with theEagle? Mary Ogden said she'd taken the very best editorials from the city papers."
TheInquirerwas nowhere that Thursday, and the excitement over theEagleincreased all the afternoon.