Whenthe stage which conveyed John and Mr. Huxter was fairly out of sight Mrs. Oakley entered the house with a great feeling of relief. She realized for the first time how she had been constrained by the presence of her stepson. Though he had always been respectful, there was an unuttered reproach in his frank, fearless glance, which made her uncomfortable. It was the tribute which a mean and wicked nature pays to one of greater nobility, though Mrs. Oakley did not acknowledge that. She only felt glad that John was out of the way.
She had been so fearful that something might happen to prevent the success of her plan, that she had been careful not to make Ben acquainted with it. She was apprehensive that Ben would, in his exultation, lead John to suspect what was going on, and so cause him to refuse going. Now that he was fairly off she would tell her son the good news.
Ben came down to breakfast late. He generally had his way now, and was seldom present at the regular breakfast hour. It was different when Squire Oakley was alive; but then many other things were different also.
"Benjamin is delicate," she said, one morning in presence of the servant. "He needs more sleep than the rest of us."
"Maybe it's smoking cigars makes him delicate," suggested the servant, who did not particularly admire Ben, or care to join his mother in making allowances for him.
Her mistress silenced her with some asperity; but nevertheless took an opportunity to speak to Ben on the subject. But that young gentleman only laughed at her remonstrances.
"It does me good, mother," he said. "I always feel better after smoking a good cigar."
"It seems to me you are growing pale," said Mrs. Oakley, whose heart was full of tenderness where Ben was concerned.
"That's all nonsense," said Ben. "I'm not as red as a beet, and I don't want to be. But as to being pale, I'm healthy enough. Don't worry yourself."
With this Mrs. Oakley had to be contented, for Ben, though a coward with his equals, had senseenough to take advantage of his mother's weak partiality, and take his own way.
When Ben came down to breakfast on the morning of his uncle's departure, he said in an indifferent tone:—
"Has that man gone?"
"Do you refer to your uncle, Benjamin?" asked Mrs. Oakley, not altogether pleased to hear Mr. Huxter spoken of in that style, though she felt no very warm attachment for him herself.
"I mean Mr. Huxter," said Ben, carelessly, breaking an egg as he spoke.
"He is your uncle."
"I don't mean to call him so. I'm ashamed of the relationship."
"He is my brother."
"That's your misfortune," said Ben. "All I know is, that I hope he won't darken our doors again."
"What have you against him?"
"He's a coarse, low man. He isn't a gentleman. You're a rich woman now, mother. You'd better cut his acquaintance. He won't do us any credit. You haven't invited him to come again, I hope."
"I don't think he will come again very soon."
"He'd better not. How can you expect people toforget that you were the late Mr. Oakley's house-keeper if you show them such a man as that as your brother?"
This argument had weight with Mrs. Oakley. She wanted to be looked upon as a lady, and she acknowledged to herself that Mr. Huxter's relationship would be no credit to her. He was coarse and low, as Ben said,—not because he was poor. Wealth would have made no difference in him, except that it might have enabled him to dress better. It would not have diminished the redness of his nose, for instance, or refined his manners. Mrs. Oakley, however, made no comment on what Ben had said, but remarked:—
"At any rate, Ben, your uncle has done us a good turn."
"What is that, mother?" asked Ben.
"John has gone with him."
"Gone home with him?"
"Yes."
"How long is he going to stay?"
"For good."
"How's that? I don't understand."
"John was in the way here. You and he could not agree,—not that I blame you for that,—and I did not like him. Therefore I made an arrangementwith my brother to have John board with him. I don't suppose you'll miss him much."
"It'll be a lucky miss," said Ben, emphatically. "But John's rather stubborn. How did you get him to go?"
"He doesn't know he is to stay. I told him I wanted him to go back with your uncle, in order to attend to a little business for me. When he gets there he'll find out what it is."
"Won't he rave, though?" exclaimed Ben, laughing heartily. "He'll find it a healthy old boarding-house."
"I wish you wouldn't use such language, Ben," said his mother. "It is my great ambition to see you act and talk like a gentleman."
"So I do, mother. That's just the way they talk."
Mrs. Oakley looked rather incredulous.
"I say, mother, is Uncle Huxter going to prepare John for college?"
Mrs. Oakley laughed—heartily for her.
"Your uncle's shoe-shop will be the only college John will enter," she said.
"Do you mean that he is to peg shoes?"
"Yes."
"His pride will have a pretty hard fall."
"I mean that it shall," said Mrs. Oakley, compressing her thin lips.
"Well, I don't envy John. Every dog has his day, and he has had his. It's our turn now. Another cup of coffee, and not so weak as the last."
"I don't think such strong coffee is good for you, Benjamin."
"Oh bother, don't be a granny," said Ben, rudely. "Anybody'd think I was a baby."
This was the way in which Ben addressed his mother, who deserved his gratitude at least, for she was to him a devoted and self-sacrificing mother, however faulty might be her conduct towards John.
At length Ben's late breakfast was over, and he left the house to resort to his accustomed haunt,—the hotel bar-room and billiard saloon.
"I wish Ben cared more about study, and was more ambitious," thought Mrs. Oakley, with a half sigh. "If I could only make him feel as I do!"
It would have been fortunate for Ben if he had inherited his mother's energy and ambition. The ambition was not a noble one; but at least it would have kept him from low haunts and bad associates, which were all he cared about at present. Though all his mother's worldly plans should succeed, this was the point in which they were likely to fail. Mrs.Oakley's punishment would come in all probability through the son for whom she was willing to sacrifice justice and duty.
When Ben had left the house, Mrs. Oakley began to concentrate her thoughts upon that which had first led her to determine upon John's banishment. This was the hidden will. She could not feel assured of her position until that was found. Until now she had not felt at full liberty to search. She had feared that John might come upon her unexpectedly, and divine her object. Now there was no fear of interruption. She could ransack the house from top to bottom, and no one would understand the motive of her search. She had not communicated her intention to Ben. She trusted in his discretion too little to confide to him any secret of importance, for she was a shrewd and prudent woman.
On this particular morning she had a feeling that she had never had before. There was a confidence that she had never before experienced that success awaited her.
"I must and will find it," she thought. "This is not a large house. Then there are some parts of it that need not be searched. Mr. Oakley would never have hidden his will in the servants' rooms, nor in the kitchen. Everywhere else I will search. Let me goto work systematically and thoroughly. This time it shall not be my fault if it escapes me."
There was a small room on the lower floor, where the late Mr. Oakley used to do the most of his writing. This has already been referred to. Here he kept a desk, and this desk more than once had been searched by Mrs. Oakley. She determined to search it once more, but only for form's sake.
"He did not mean that I should find it," she thought. "Therefore he did not conceal it where I should be certain to look first."
So, though she searched the desk, she was not disappointed when this search, like the preceding, resulted in bringing nothing to light.
"It is as I thought," she said. "Where shall I search next?"
She selected her own bedchamber, though here, for obvious reasons, she had little hopes of finding the missing document.
"He wouldn't place it under my very eyes," she said. "Of course I know that. Still I cannot afford to leave a single place unexplored."
The result justified her anticipations. So room after room was searched, and no clue was obtained.
"He wouldn't put it under the carpet," she thought.
Yet the thought seemed worth following up. She got down on her hands and knees, and felt of every square foot of carpeting in the several rooms to see if she could detect beneath the pressure of any paper. In one place there was a rustle, and she eagerly tore up the carpet. But nothing was revealed save a loose piece of newspaper, which by some chance had got underneath. Disappointed, she nailed down the carpet again.
Where else should she look? All at once a luminous idea came to her.
John's room,—his old room, of course! Why had she never thought of that? John, of course, was the one who would be most benefited by the new will. If by any chance it should be discovered by him, no harm would result. His father would trust John, when he would not have trusted her or Ben. Mrs. Oakley could not help acknowledging to herself that in that he was right. What strengthened her in this view was, that among the articles of furniture was an old desk which had belonged to Squire Oakley's father. It was battered and defaced by hard usage, and had been at one time banished to the attic. But John, who was accustomed to study in his room, felt that this old desk would be of use to him, and he had asked to have it transferred to his own chamber.There had been no objection to this, and the transfer took place about a year before Squire Oakley's death. It had stood in John's room ever since.
When the new idea came to Mrs. Oakley, she thought at once of this old desk as the probable repository of the will. Her eyes sparkled with anticipated triumph.
"I was a fool not to think of this before," she said. "If the will is anywhere in the house, it is in John's room, and in that old desk. At last I am on the right track!"
With a hurried step she entered John's room. Her hands trembled with nervous agitation. She felt that she was on the brink of an important discovery.
Mrs. Oakleycommenced her examination of the old desk, thoroughly convinced that if the missing will were in existence at all, it was hidden there.
It was one of those old desks and bureaus combined, which were so common in the days of our grandfathers. In the drawers beneath, John had been accustomed to keep his clothing; in the desk above, writing materials, and some small articles of no particular importance. These he had not had time to remove before his unexpected departure.
Mrs. Oakley turned those over impatiently, and explored every drawer hurriedly. But she did not discover what she had expected to find. This first failure, however, did not surprise her. She did not expect to find the will lying loosely in any of the drawers. But she suspected that some one drawer might have a false bottom, beneath which the important document would prove to be concealed. Shetherefore carefully examined every drawer with a view to the discovery of such a place of concealment. But to her disappointment she obtained no clue. The drawers seemed honestly made. For the first time Mrs. Oakley began to doubt whether the will were really in existence. She had searched everywhere, and it could not be found.
"I wish I could be sure," she said to herself. "I would give five hundred dollars this minute to be sure that there was no will. Then I should feel secure in the possession of my money. But to feel that at any moment a paper may turn up depriving me of forty thousand dollars keeps me in constant anxiety."
She gave up the search for the day, having domestic duties to attend to. She tried to persuade herself that her fears and anxieties were without foundation, but in this she was unsuccessful. She permitted a day to slip by, but on the second day she again visited John's room. The old desk seemed to have a fascination for her.
This time she turned the desk around, and passed her hand slowly over the back. Just when she was about to relinquish the attempt in despair, success came.
Suddenly beneath her finger a concealed spring wasunconsciously touched, and a thin drawer sprang from the recesses of the desk. Mrs. Oakley's eyes sparkled with the sense of approaching triumph, as she perceived carefully laid away therein a paper compactly folded.
With fingers trembling with nervous agitation she opened it. She had not been deceived.The missing will lay outspread before her!Mrs. Oakley read it carefully.
It was drawn up with the usual formalities, as might have been expected, being the work of a careful lawyer. It revoked all other wills of a previous date, and bequeathed in express terms two-thirds of the entire estate left by the testator to his only son, John. Squire Selwyn was appointed executor, and guardian of said John, should he be under age at the time of his father's death. The remaining third of the property was willed to Mrs. Jane Oakley, should she survive her husband; otherwise to her son Benjamin in the event of his mother's previous death.
Such was the substance of Squire Oakley's last will and testament, now for the first time revealed.
Mrs. Oakley read it with mingled feelings,—partly of indignation with her late husband that he should have made such a will, partly of joy that no one save herself knew of its existence. She held inher hand a document which in John Oakley's hands would be worth forty thousand dollars if she permitted him to obtain it. But she had no such intention. What should be done with it?
Should she lock it up carefully where it would not be likely to be found? There would be danger of discovery at any moment.
"It must be destroyed," she said to herself, resolutely. "There is no other way. A single match will make me secure in the possession of the estate."
Mrs. Oakley knew that it was a criminal act which she had in view; but the chance of detection seemed to be slight. In fact, since no oneknewthat such a will was in existence, though some might suspect it, there seemed to be no danger at all.
"Yes, it shall be destroyed and at once. There can be no reason for delay," she said firmly.
She crossed the entry into her own chamber, first closing the secret drawer, and moving the old desk back to its accustomed place. There was a candle on the mantel-piece, which she generally lighted at night. She struck a match, and lighted it now. This done, she approached the will to the flame, and the corner of the document so important to John Oakley caught fire, and the insidious flame began to spread. Mrs. Oakley watched it with exulting eyes,when a sudden step was heard at the door of her chamber, and, turning, she saw Hannah, the servant-girl, standing on the threshold, looking in.
Mrs. Oakley half rose, withdrawing the will from the candle, and demanded harshly:—
"What brought you here?"
"Shall I go out to the garden and get some vegetables for dinner?" asked Hannah.
"Of course you may. You needn't have come up here to ask," said her mistress, with irritation.
"I didn't know whether you would want any," said Hannah, defending herself. "There was some cold vegetables left from yesterday's dinner. I thought maybe you'd have them warmed over."
"Well, if there are enough left you may warm them. I'll come down just as soon as I can. I have been looking over some old papers of my husband's," she explained, rather awkwardly, perceiving that Hannah's eyes were bent curiously upon the will and the candle, "and burning such as were of no value. Do you know what time it is?"
"Most eleven, by the kitchen clock," said Hannah.
"Then you had better go down, and hurry about dinner."
"I can take down the old papers, and put them in the kitchen stove," suggested Hannah.
"It's of no consequence," said Mrs. Oakley, hastily. "I will attend to that myself."
"Mrs. Oakley seems queer this morning," thought Hannah, as she turned and descended the stairs to her professional duties in the kitchen. "I wonder what made her jump so when I came in, and what that paper is that she was burning up in the candle."
Hannah had never heard of the will, and was unacquainted with legal technicalities, and therefore her suspicions were not excited. She only wondered what made Mrs. Oakley seem so queer.
When she went out Mrs. Oakley sat in doubt.
"Hannah came in at a most unlucky moment," she said to herself, with vexation. "Could she have suspected anything? If she should breathe a word of this, and it should get to that lawyer's ears, I might get into trouble."
Mrs. Oakley held the will in her hand irresolutely. Should she follow out her first intention, and burn it? A feeling of apprehension as to the possible consequences of her act prevented her. The flame had gone out, leaving the corner scorched, and slightly burned; but apart from this the will was uninjured.
After a pause of deliberation, Mrs. Oakley blew out the candle, and, taking the will, opened the upper drawer of her bureau, and deposited it carefully inside.She locked it securely, and, putting the key in her pocket, went downstairs.
Before doing so, however, she went to the closet in which she kept her wardrobe, and, selecting a handsome silk cape, took it down with her.
"Hannah," she said, "here's a cape I shall not use again. It doesn't fit me exactly. If you would like it, it is yours."
"Thank you, ma'am," said the astonished Hannah, for this was the first present she had ever received from her mistress; "you're very kind indeed. It is an elegant cape."
"Yes, it is a nice one. I am glad you like it."
"The mistress must be crazy," thought the bewildered Hannah. "I never knew her to do such a thing before, and I've lived here three years come October."
Mrs. Oakley'sdoor-bell rang, and Hannah answered the summons.
"Is Mrs. Oakley at home?" inquired Squire Selwyn, for it was he.
"Yes, sir. Will you walk in?"
"I think I will. Let her know that I wish to see her, if you please."
Hannah did as directed.
"Squire Selwyn?" asked Mrs. Oakley. "Where is he?"
"In the parlor."
"Very well. I will go in at once."
"Has he found out anything about John, I wonder?" thought Mrs. Oakley.
"Good-morning, sir," she said, as she entered the lawyer's presence.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Oakley."
"Is your family well?"
"Quite well. My son tells me that John has been absent from school for two or three days past."
"Yes."
"He is not sick, I suppose?"
"No."
"You will excuse my questions; but his father and myself were very intimate friends. Is he at home?"
"No, he is not."
"I suppose you have no objection to telling me where he is?"
"Suppose I have?" said Mrs. Oakley, coolly.
"Then I should think it very strange."
"You are at liberty to think it very strange," said Mrs. Oakley, composedly.
"Why should you object to telling me that he went away with your brother, Mr. Huxter, and is now at his house?"
Mrs. Oakley started in surprise. The lawyer was better informed than she supposed.
"If you knew," she answered, after a slight pause, "why need you inquire?"
"I wished to know whether you had sent him away, intending to keep his destination a secret."
"I suppose he has written to you."
"He did write to me; but the letter was suppressedby your brother. May I inquire whether this was by your wish?"
"What you tell me is news to me," said Mrs. Oakley; "but I have no hesitation in saying that my brother understands my wishes, and will carry them out."
"I am answered," said the lawyer. "Is it your intention to permit John to continue his studies preparatory for college?"
"It is not."
"It was his father's wish and intention. That wish ought to be sacred with you."
"I understand my duty."
"I trust you will do something more than understand it," said the lawyer, gravely. "I must remonstrate with you on your intentions with regard to John. He is an excellent scholar, and his abilities are superior. It would be a great pity that he should be debarred from the privilege of a college education."
"You say he is an excellent scholar," said Mrs. Oakley. "Then, if his education is already so excellent, there is no further need of his studying. He can begin to earn his living."
"Surely you do not mean what you say. If he were poor, and such a necessity existed, it would bewell enough that he should go to work; but you well know that no such necessity exists."
"I am not going to support him in idleness," said Mrs. Oakley, coolly.
"As a student in college he would lead far from an idle life," said the lawyer. "Study is hard work, and college distinction is never won by a lazy student."
"It may be work, though to my mind it is not; but it brings in no money."
"Not at first, perhaps, but it prepares the student for remunerative employment in after life."
"I don't think much of colleges."
Though Mrs. Oakley said this, she would have been very glad to have Ben in college, not that she cared so much to have him a scholar, but it would give him a good social standing.
"I don't know," said Squire Selwyn, rather sharply, for he was getting out of patience with Mrs. Oakley,—"I don't know that it matters much what your opinion of colleges is. It was, as you know, the desire and intention of your late husband that John should enter college. It is your moral duty to carry out that intention."
"I don't care to be told what is my duty," said Mrs. Oakley, her eyes flashing.
"Do you propose to be independent of public opinion?"
"Perhaps you mean your opinion?"
"Not mine alone. Let me tell you, Mrs. Oakley, that in defrauding John Oakley of the privileges which his father meant him to enjoy, you are wronging the dead as well as the living,—not John alone, but the dead husband from whom all your money comes."
"He chose to leave all his money to me," said Mrs. Oakley, "Probably he thought that I would know how to dispose of it without outside advice."
"I am not so sure that he did leave his money to you," said the lawyer, significantly.
Mrs. Oakley flushed. Could he know that the will was found? Involuntarily she put her hand to her pocket, where the will was at that moment lying concealed. But a moment's reflection satisfied her that Hannah, who had not left the house, could not have had a communication with Squire Selwyn. Besides, there was no probability of Hannah's suspecting the nature of the document which she had seen in the candle.
"You have not forgotten that there was a will executed three months before Mr. Oakley died," added Squire Selwyn,—"a will by which John would have come into possession of two-thirds of the estate."
"I have heard a great deal about that will," retorted Mrs. Oakley. "Undoubtedly my husband destroyed it, as unjust to me."
"I don't see how it was unjust to you. It left the property as the law would have left it."
"Very well, where is the will? If you will produce it, I shall of course surrender to John all except the third which comes to me."
"I wish I could produce it."
"But you can't," said Mrs. Oakley, triumphantly, looking the lawyer in the face.
"In my opinion it has never been properly searched for," said the lawyer. "I have the strongest reason to believe that it exists."
"May I inquire what is that reason?" asked Mrs. Oakley.
"Mr. Oakley, in his last sickness, spoke to John about the will."
"What did he say about it?" asked the lady. "This is the first I have heard of it."
"Unfortunately he was so low that he was unable to declare where it was."
Mrs. Oakley looked relieved.
"But John heard the words 'secret drawer.'"
"Then you conclude that the will is still in existence."
"I do."
"And where do you think it is?"
"Somewhere in this house," said Squire Selwyn, emphatically.
"It is strange then that it has not been found," said Mrs. Oakley.
"I do not think so. If hidden in a secret drawer, it would naturally be difficult to find."
Mrs. Oakley rapidly made up her mind what to do. She saw that Squire Selwyn was suspicious of her. By a show of fair dealing she could allay those suspicions, and this would be worth while.
"If this will exists," she said, "it ought to be found."
"So I think," said the lawyer, surprised to hear her speak thus.
"And though its discovery would be to my disadvantage, I certainly shall not object to a search. Are you at leisure now to assist me in such a search?"
"I am," said the lawyer. "I think there is no time like the present."
"Then let us begin in this very room."
"It wouldn't be likely to be here. Still it is best not to slight any possible place of concealment."
Assisted by Mrs. Oakley, Squire Selwyn commenced a strict search, beginning with the parlor,and proceeding from room to room. He little suspected how near him the document was all the time. Of course the search proved fruitless.
"There is one room which has not yet been searched," said Mrs. Oakley,—"the only one except the kitchen, in which Mr. Oakley would be hardly likely to conceal it. I mean my own room."
"There's no occasion to search there."
"I would prefer that the search should be thorough. Here are my keys. I would rather have you go up."
Thus requested, Squire Selwyn complied with the request. He returned from the quest disappointed.
"It is very strange," he thought. "I am firmly convinced that my friend Oakley left a will in existence. But where is it?"
That question he was unable to answer.
"I cannot find the will," he said.
"I am glad you have searched," said Mrs. Oakley. "The fact that I have given you every facility for searching proves that I am perfectly willing that my husband's will should be carried out."
"And his wishes as well?"
"What do you refer to?"
"I refer to John's education."
"I have made up my mind as to that," said Mrs. Oakley, briefly.
"Do you consider your brother's house a suitable home for Mr. Oakley's son?"
"Why not?" she demanded, sharply.
"Do you think, in setting him to work in a shoe-shop, you are doing as his father wished?"
"I do not know where you got your information, Mr. Selwyn," said Mrs. Oakley, angrily, "but I must tell you that you are meddling with business that does not concern you. As you were my husband's lawyer, and drew up the will which you thought in existence, I have asked you to search for it; I have even opened my own chamber to your search. You ought to be satisfied by this time that you are mistaken. In doing this, I have done all that I intend doing. I shall take my own course with John Oakley, who is dependent upon me, and whatever you choose to think or say can have no effect upon me. Good-afternoon, sir."
Mrs. Oakley swept from the room, and Squire Selwyn left the house, feeling that his visit had not benefited John in the slightest degree. That night he wrote John a letter.
Itwas Mr. Huxter's intention to set John to work as soon as possible; but it so happened that the shoe business, in which he was engaged, had been for some time unusually dull, and had not yet revived. To this circumstance our hero was indebted for the comparative freedom which for a few days he was permitted to enjoy. During that time he was waiting anxiously for the expected letter from Squire Selwyn. He wished to know whether his stepmother was resolutely determined upon her present course with regard to himself, before he decided to take the matter into his own hands, and help himself in his own way. Upon one thing he was fully resolved,—not to remain much longer a member of Mr. Huxter's household.
As the letter was to come to the Milbank post-office, on the fourth afternoon he walked over to that village. This time he was not fortunate enough to meet David Wallace, and therefore had a long and tiresome walk.
"Is there a letter here for John Oakley?" he inquired of the postmaster.
"John Oakley," said the old official, looking under his glasses. "Do you live round here?"
"I am passing a short time in the neighborhood," said John.
The postmaster took some time to adjust his spectacles, and a longer time in looking over the letters. John waited anxiously, fearing that he had taken the long walk for nothing. But he was destined to be more fortunate.
"You said your name was John Oakley?" repeated the official, balancing a letter in his hand.
"Yes," said John, quickly.
"Then here's a letter for you. It looks like Squire Selwyn's writing."
"It is from him," said John.
"Then you know him?"
"Yes," said John, mechanically, impatiently tearing open the letter.
"He's a good lawyer, the squire is," said the postmaster. "He was here only last week."
"Yes, I saw him."
This was the letter which John received:—
"My dear young Friend:—I called upon your stepmother yesterday in the afternoon, hoping to induce her toadopt different measures with regard to yourself. I regret to say that I failed utterly in my mission. She will not permit you to go to college, declaring that you have already a sufficient education. Nor will she remove you from the house of Mr. Huxter, though I represented that he was not a proper person to have the charge of you."We had some conversation about the missing will. I was a little surprised by her suggesting that I should search the house for it. I was glad of the opportunity, and proceeded to do so. I made the search as thorough as possible, but discovered nothing. I still believe, however, that the will is in existence,unless it has been destroyed since your father's death."I hardly know what to advise under the circumstances. If you should leave Mr. Huxter, I advise you to seek your aunt at Wilton, and I shall be glad to hear from you when you have arrived there. If you should need money, do not hesitate to apply to me, remembering that I am your father's friend.""Your true friend,James Selwyn.""P. S. I enclose a few lines from Sam."
"My dear young Friend:—I called upon your stepmother yesterday in the afternoon, hoping to induce her toadopt different measures with regard to yourself. I regret to say that I failed utterly in my mission. She will not permit you to go to college, declaring that you have already a sufficient education. Nor will she remove you from the house of Mr. Huxter, though I represented that he was not a proper person to have the charge of you.
"We had some conversation about the missing will. I was a little surprised by her suggesting that I should search the house for it. I was glad of the opportunity, and proceeded to do so. I made the search as thorough as possible, but discovered nothing. I still believe, however, that the will is in existence,unless it has been destroyed since your father's death.
"I hardly know what to advise under the circumstances. If you should leave Mr. Huxter, I advise you to seek your aunt at Wilton, and I shall be glad to hear from you when you have arrived there. If you should need money, do not hesitate to apply to me, remembering that I am your father's friend."
"Your true friend,
James Selwyn."
"P. S. I enclose a few lines from Sam."
There was another sheet inside the envelope, on which John recognized easily Sam's familiar handwriting. He was very glad to hear from Sam, for whom he felt a warm attachment.
Here is Sam's letter:—
"Dear John:—I have been missing you awfully. I couldn't think what had become of you till father told mehe had seen you at Milbank. So you are in the spider's clutches, you poor innocent fly? A nice time you must have of it with old Huxter. I declare I've no patience with Mrs. Oakley, when I think of the way she has treated you. I can't do anything to her; but I'll take it out in tricks on Ben. By the way, your amiable stepbrother has got a new friend,—a flashy young man from New York, who sports a lot of bogus jewelry, and smokes from ten to a dozen cigars a day, and spends his time in lounging about the billiard and bar room. He isn't doing Ben any good. They play billiards a good deal, and he tells Ben stories about the city, which I expect will make Ben want to go there. Do you think Mrs. Oakley will let him?"You've no idea how I miss you, old fellow. All the hard parts in Virgil and Xenophon come to me now. I don't enjoy studying half so much now that you are away. If I were you, I'd give old Huxter the slip some fine morning. I only wish you could come and stay at our house. Wouldn't it be jolly? I know father would like it; but I suppose people would talk, and Mrs. Oakley would make a fuss."Well, it's time for me to go to studying. Keep up a stiff upper lip, and never say die. Things will be sure to come round. One thing, you must be sure to write to me as soon as you can. Tell me all about how you're getting along with themonstrum horrendum informe. Of course I mean old Huxter.""Your affectionate friend,Sam Selwyn."
"Dear John:—I have been missing you awfully. I couldn't think what had become of you till father told mehe had seen you at Milbank. So you are in the spider's clutches, you poor innocent fly? A nice time you must have of it with old Huxter. I declare I've no patience with Mrs. Oakley, when I think of the way she has treated you. I can't do anything to her; but I'll take it out in tricks on Ben. By the way, your amiable stepbrother has got a new friend,—a flashy young man from New York, who sports a lot of bogus jewelry, and smokes from ten to a dozen cigars a day, and spends his time in lounging about the billiard and bar room. He isn't doing Ben any good. They play billiards a good deal, and he tells Ben stories about the city, which I expect will make Ben want to go there. Do you think Mrs. Oakley will let him?
"You've no idea how I miss you, old fellow. All the hard parts in Virgil and Xenophon come to me now. I don't enjoy studying half so much now that you are away. If I were you, I'd give old Huxter the slip some fine morning. I only wish you could come and stay at our house. Wouldn't it be jolly? I know father would like it; but I suppose people would talk, and Mrs. Oakley would make a fuss.
"Well, it's time for me to go to studying. Keep up a stiff upper lip, and never say die. Things will be sure to come round. One thing, you must be sure to write to me as soon as you can. Tell me all about how you're getting along with themonstrum horrendum informe. Of course I mean old Huxter."
"Your affectionate friend,
Sam Selwyn."
John felt much better after reading these letters.He felt that, whatever might be the hardships of his present lot, he had two good friends who sympathized with him. He read over the lawyer's letter once more. Though he didn't expressly advise him to leave Mr. Huxter, it was evident that he expected him to do so. John himself had no doubts on that point. He felt that he would be willing anywhere else to work for his living; but to remain in his present position was insupportable. He could feel neither regard nor respect for Mr. Huxter. He witnessed daily with indignation the manner in which he treated his poor wife, whom he sincerely pitied. But it was not his business to interfere between man and wife. No, he could not stay any longer in such a house. To-morrow morning he would rise early, and, before Mr. Huxter woke, bid a silent farewell to Jackson, and start on his journey to Wilton.
When he reached his boarding-place, it was already four o'clock in the afternoon. Mr. Huxter had come home just drunk enough to be ugly. He had inquired of his wife where John was. She couldn't tell him.
"What business has he to leave the house without permission?" he growled.
"He is old enough for that, surely," said Mrs. Huxter.
"Shut up, Mrs. Huxter! What do you knowabout it?" said her husband. "The boy needs a good flogging."
"I'm sure he's a very good boy," said Mrs. Huxter. "He is quite a young gentleman."
"He is altogether too much of a young gentleman," said Mr. Huxter. "He puts on too many airs for me."
"You are not just to him, Mr. Huxter."
"How many times, Mrs. Huxter, must I request you to mind your own business?" said her husband, coarsely. "Do you know what I am going to do?"
"What?" asked his wife, with apprehension.
"I'm going to cut a stout stick out in the orchard, and give the young gentleman a lesson when he returns. That's what I'm going to do."
"Oh don't, Mr. Huxter!" implored his wife, clasping his arm.
But Mr. Huxter was in one of his ugly fits, and shaking off his wife's grasp, went out into the orchard, taking out his jack-knife. He returned in a few minutes with a thick stick in his hand, which boded no good to poor John.
Mrs. Huxter turned pale with apprehension, and earnestly hoped John would not return until her husband had forgotten his resolution. But this was not to be. She heard a step upon the threshold, andJohn entered by the back way. Mr. Huxter tightened the grasp upon his stick, and smiled grimly.
"Where've you been, Oakley?" he demanded, abruptly.
"I have been over to Milbank," said John, quietly, not knowing the intention of the questioner.
"What did you go over to Milbank for?" asked Huxter.
"I didn't know there was any objection to my going," said John.
"What business had you to go without asking my leave?"
"I didn't suppose there was any need of my asking you whether I could go or not."
"You're an impudent young rascal!" exclaimed Mr. Huxter.
"What reason have you for calling me that?" asked John, calmly. He saw that Mr. Huxter had been drinking, and did not wish to get into a dispute with him.
"You needn't think you can put on any of your airs here. I won't stand it!" vociferated Huxter, gradually working himself up into a rage.
"I don't want to put on any airs, Mr. Huxter," said John.
"Do you mean to contradict me?" demanded Huxter, glaring at John.
"You had better go out," said Mrs. Huxter, in a low voice.
"He shan't go out! He shall stay," roared Huxter. "I'll thank you not to interfere, Mrs. Huxter. I'm going to flog the young jackanape."
He seized his stick and made a rush at John. Our hero, knowing he could not cope with him, and besides not wishing to get into a fight in the presence of Mrs. Huxter, dodged the angry man. This made Mr. Huxter, whose blood was now up, all the more eager to get hold of him. John, however, succeeded in eluding him once more. This time, however, Mr. Huxter was unlucky. Mrs. Huxter had been washing, and the tub full of quite warm water had been temporarily placed upon the floor of the kitchen. Mr. Huxter, whose motions were not over-steady, slipped, and, falling backward, sat down in the tub.
He gave a yell of pain, and John, taking advantage of the accident, ran out of the door. But Mr. Huxter was in no condition to follow him. The water was not hot enough to scald him; but it certainly made him feel very uncomfortable.
"The young rascal has killed me," he groaned. "I'm scalded to death, and I suppose you're glad ofit, Mrs. Huxter. You put the tub there on purpose."
Mr. Huxter took off his clothes and went to bed, swearing at his poor wife, who he declared was in league with John.
"There's no help for it now," said John to himself. "I must leave this house to-morrow."
"To-morrowI will leave Jackson," thought John, as he undressed himself, and jumped into bed.
His spirits rose as he made this resolution. It had been very irksome to him to feel that he was under the control of such a man as Mr. Huxter,—a man for whom it was impossible for him to feel either respect or regard. Under any circumstances it would have been disagreeable for him to remain, but off from the studies in which he had taken delight, the time passed heavily; he felt that he had no longer an object in life. But the petty persecutions to which he was subjected made it intolerable, and he was satisfied that the accident which had befallen Mr. Huxter would only make matters worse.
Meanwhile Mr. Huxter, on his bed below, cherished thoughts the reverse of agreeable concerning our hero.
"I'll come up with the young rascal," he muttered."He'll find it's a bad day's work he's done for himself."
"It wasn't his fault, Mr. Huxter," said his wife, who wanted justice done.
"Why isn't it his fault?" said her husband, looking at her with a frown.
"He didn't know you would slip into the tub."
"And I shouldn't wonder if you put it there, Mrs. Huxter. It was a regular trap."
"I put it there just for a few minutes. I was going to move it."
"Yes, after you had accomplished your object, and got me scalded."
"You ought not to say such things, Mr. Huxter. You know I was innocent of any such intention."
"Oh, of course nobody was to blame! That's always the way. But it isn't much comfort to me."
"I don't see how anybody was to blame."
"Well, I do," said Mr. Huxter, savagely. "As soon as I get up, I'll give Oakley such a flogging as he never got before."
It was a great disappointment to Mr. Huxter that he could not carry out his benevolent design at once; but he felt too uncomfortable for that.
"I wish you had never brought him here," saidMrs. Huxter. "I am sure he cannot enjoy himself much here."
"I don't care whether he enjoys himself or not," said her husband. "We get six dollars a week for his board,—that's the main point. And next week, when I set him to work in the shop, we'll make a pretty good thing out of him."
"I don't believe he will be willing to work in the shop. He knows that you get paid for his board."
"I think I can persuade him with the horsewhip," said Mr. Huxter, significantly.
At that moment John's steps were heard as he ascended the attic stairs on his way to bed.
A new thought came to Mr. Huxter about an hour later. He reflected that it was in John's power to elude his vengeance by escaping, and this he had no intention of permitting.
"Mrs. Huxter," he said.
"Do you want anything?"
"Yes, I want you to go upstairs, and fasten the door of John Oakley's chamber."
"What for?"
"No matter what for. Go and do it, and I will tell you afterwards."
"He won't be able to come downstairs in the morning."
"I don't mean that he shall. I'll keep him in his room for twenty-four hours on bread and water. It'll be a good lesson for him. Come, are you going? If you don't I'll get out of bed myself, and go up."
Mrs. Huxter thought it best to comply with the command accompanied by such a threat. Much against her will, therefore, she went up and secured the door of John's chamber by a bolt placed upon the outside. She hoped that her husband would forget all about it during the night, so that she might release John before he had learned that he had been a prisoner.
It was about half-past three that John awoke. He did not know what time it was, but conjectured that it might be near four. Though he still felt sleepy, he deemed it advisable to lose no more time, but escape while Mr. Huxter was asleep. He accordingly dressed himself as carefully as he could, in the imperfect light, and went on tiptoe to the door. He tried to open it, but without success. Thinking that the door might stick, he made another attempt. This time he understood the state of things.
"I have been bolted in," he said to himself. "Can Mr. Huxter have suspected my plan?"
Whether this was or was not the case John was unable to determine.
He sat down on the bed, and reflected what he had better do. Should he give up the attempt, and go to bed again? No; he was resolved not to relinquish his plan while there was any chance of carrying it out.
He went to the window and looked out. If it had been on the second floor the difficulty would have been less, but it was an attic window, and over twenty feet from the ground. There was no ell part beneath; but the distance to the ground was unbroken.
A sudden thought struck John. He turned up the bed, and found that it rested upon an interlacing cord. Why could he not detach this cord, and, fastening it to some fixed object in the chamber, descend with safety to the ground? The plan no sooner occurred to John than he determined to carry it into execution.
The rope proved to be quite long enough for his purpose. He fastened one end securely, and dropped the other over the sill. Looking down, he saw that it nearly reached the ground. He had no fear of trusting himself to it. He had always been good at climbing ropes, and was very strong in the arms.
"After all," he thought, "this is better than to have gone downstairs. I might have stumbled oversomething in the dark, and Mr. Huxter would have been roused by the noise."
He got out of the window, and swung out. He let himself down as noiselessly as possible. In less than a minute he stood upon the ground, under the gray morning sky.
He looked up to Mr. Huxter's window, but everything was still. Evidently no one had heard him.
"So far, so good," thought John. "Now I must travel as many miles as possible between now and six o'clock. That will give me a good start if I am pursued."
John hoped he would meet no one who would recognize him. But in this he was disappointed. He had walked six miles, when he heard his name called from behind. Startled, he looked back hastily, and to his relief discovered that the call came from David Wallace, who had taken him up on his first journey to Milbank.
"Where are you going, John?" asked David. "Don't you want to ride?"
"Thank you," said John.
He jumped on board the wagon, and took a seat beside David.
"You are travelling early, David," he said.
"Just what I was going to say to you," saidDavid, laughing. "Are you walking for your health?"
"Not exactly," said John. "I've a great mind to tell you. You won't tell?"
"Honor bright!"
"Then, I've left Mr. Huxter without bidding him good-by."
"Good!" said David. "I don't blame you a bit. Tell me how it happened."
David was highly amused at Mr. Huxter's adventure with the tub.
"I must tell that to George Sprague," he exclaimed. "It's a good joke."
"I'm afraid Mr. Huxter wouldn't agree with you there."
"He never does agree with anybody. Now tell me how you managed to walk off."
John narrated how he found himself locked in, and how he resorted to the expedient of the bed-cord.
"You're a trump, John!" said David, slapping him on the shoulder. "I didn't think you had so much spunk."
"What did you think of me?" asked John, smiling.
"You see you're such a quiet fellow, you don'tlook as if you were up to such things. But what will you do if Mr. Huxter pursues you?"
"I can tell better when the time comes," said John.
"You wouldn't go back with him?"
"Not if I could help myself. I don't feel that he has any right to control me. He isn't my guardian, and he is the last man, I know, that my father would be willing to trust me with."
"I wish I could see how he looks when he finds you are gone. If you'd like to send him your love I could go round by the house on my way back."
"I don't think I shall need to trouble you, David," said John.
"Whereabouts are you going?"
"I have an aunt living about fifty miles away. I shall go there for the present."
"Well, I'm sorry you're going to leave Jackson. I mean I'm sorry I shan't see you any more. Can't you write to me now and then?"
"I would but for one thing," said John.
"What's that?"
"I am afraid the letters would be noticed by the postmaster, and put Mr. Huxter on the track. I don't want to have any more to do with him."
"There's something in that. I didn't think of it. At any rate I hope we'll meet again some time."
"So do I, David. You have been very kind to me, and I shall not forget it. I don't know what lies before me, but I shall keep up good courage, hoping that things will come out right in the end."
"That's the best way. But I am afraid I must bid you good-by here. I turn up that side road. I suppose you are going straight ahead."
"Yes."
"I wish I could carry you further."
"It's been quite a help what I have already ridden."
"Whoa, Dan!" said David, and the horse stopped.
"Good-by, David," said John, as he jumped out of the wagon.
"Good-by, John. Then you haven't any message to send back to Mr. Huxter?"
"Not to him," said John; "but," he added, after a moment's thought, "if you happen to see Mrs. Huxter, just let her know that you saw me, and that I am grateful for all she tried to do for me."
"You're sure she won't tell her husband?"
"No; she acted like a good friend. I would like to have said good-by; but it wouldn't do."
"All right, I'll remember what you say. Good-by, old fellow."
"Good-by, David."
John estimated that he was now nearly ten miles from his starting-place. The sun was already shining brightly, and it promised to be a fine day. Our hero began to feel hungry. The fresh morning air had given him an appetite.
Mr. Huxterfelt better after a night's rest. In fact, his injuries had not been as serious as he wished Mrs. Huxter to suppose. The truth is, he was a coward, and even a small sickness terrified him. But with the morning, finding himself very little inconvenienced by his mishap of the day previous, his courage returned, and with it his determination to wreak condign vengeance on John.
"How do you feel, Mr. Huxter?" asked his wife.
"I feel like whipping that young scamp, Oakley," said her husband.
"He has done nothing that deserves punishment, I am sure."
"Of course, scalding me is a very slight affair, inyouropinion; but I happen to think differently," he said, with a sneer.
He drew on his pantaloons as he spoke, and seizing a leather strap, left the room.
"Oh, dear," sighed Mrs. Huxter, "I do wish Mr. Huxter wouldn't be so violent. I don't see what can have turned him so against that poor boy. I am sure he's very polite and gentlemanly."
She wanted to say more, in the hope of dissuading her husband from his harsh resolution, but she dared not. She went to the foot of the attic stairs to listen, fearing that she would hear the sounds of an altercation. She saw Mr. Huxter draw the bolt and enter the chamber, but she was quite unprepared to see him burst forth furiously a minute later, exclaiming in a rage:—
"He's gone,—the young rascal has escaped."
"Escaped?" repeated Mrs. Huxter, bewildered, for she could not conceive how John could escape from a third-story room when the door was bolted.
"Ha, are you there?" demanded her husband. "What do you know of this?" he asked, suspiciously.
"Nothing at all," said Mrs. Huxter. "I don't see how he could have got away."
"You'll see plain enough if you come upstairs," said her husband. "He got out of the window."
"Jumped out?" gasped Mrs. Huxter.
"Slid down by the bed-cord, you fool!" said her husband, who was too angry to be polite.
"I declare!" exclaimed Mrs. Huxter, in a tone indicating her surprise.
"Did you advise him to run away?" asked Mr. Huxter.
"Of course not."
"And did you know nothing of his going? Didn't he tell you?" he asked, suspiciously.
"Not a word. But I'm glad he's gone,—I really am."
"You're glad we've lost six dollars a week, are you?" growled her husband. "You'd like to see us starvin', I suppose. But you needn't be in such a hurry to be glad. I'll have him back yet, and then if he doesn't get the tallest kind of a flogging, that'll sicken him of running away forever, my name is not Huxter."
"You'd better let him go, husband. Don't go after him."
"You'll oblige me by minding your business, Mrs. Huxter. I shall go after him, as soon as I have eaten breakfast."
Meanwhile John, feeling very hungry, as was stated at the close of the last chapter, determined to get a breakfast at the first inn on the road. He had only to walk a mile further, when he came to a country inn, with its long piazza, and stable-yardalongside. It had a comfortable look, suggestive of good old-fashioned hospitality.
John walked through the front entrance, chancing to meet the landlord.
"Can I have some breakfast?" he asked.
"Are you travelling alone?" asked the landlord, who was a Yankee.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I guess we can give you some. What would you like?"
"I should like some beefsteak and a couple of eggs."
"Coffee or tea?"
"Coffee."
"Very well."
"How soon will it be ready, sir? I've taken a long walk, and am very hungry."
"You won't have to wait long. Here, Betty, just get up some breakfast for this young man. Beefsteak, boiled eggs, and coffee. As quick as you can."
In twenty minutes John was told that breakfast was ready. He was shown into rather a cheerless dining-room, but the meat emitted a savory odor, and he enjoyed the meal better, it seemed to him, than ever before in his life. He rose from the tableat length with a sigh of enjoyment. Going into the office he called for his bill.
"Fifty cents," said the landlord.
John produced a two-dollar bill, and the change was returned to him.
"Not going to stay with us?" said the landlord, interrogatively.
"No," said John; "I've got to travel further."
"Where may you have come from?"
"From Jackson this morning," said John.
"Did you walk? It's a pretty long stretch,—hard upon ten miles."
"I rode part of the way."
"And where are you bound?"
John was beginning to tire of this persistent questioning, and would have declined answering, but that he feared this would excite suspicion.
"I am going to Redport," he answered.
Redport, as he had ascertained, was the next town on the route. He did not think it necessary to mention that he was going considerably further.
"Redport!" repeated the landlord.
"Yes. How far is it?"
"It's a matter of six miles. Are you going to walk?"
"Yes, unless I find somebody that's going that way."
"I'm going over myself this afternoon. If you'll wait till that time you may go with me."
"Thank you," said John; "but I don't think I will wait. I've got pretty good legs, and I shan't mind the walk."
"You can get over in two hours easy. Ever been that way before?"
"No."
"Well, it's a straight road. You can't miss it."
John left the landlord's presence with a feeling of relief. He had declined his offer for two reasons: partly because he did not want to wait till afternoon, but principally because the landlord would be sure to ask where he intended to stop in Redport, which would of course embarrass him.
John waited about half an hour, as he did not wish to walk immediately after a hearty meal. Then, having cut a stick from a tree by the roadside, he went on his way.
Twenty minutes after his departure, Mr. Huxter rode up to the inn which he had just left. That gentleman had procured a fast horse from the stable, for the pursuit of the runaway. It was rather extravagant, to be sure; but then Mr. Huxter felt that hemust have John back at all hazards. He could not afford to let a boy escape who paid him three hundred dollars a year, besides the work he intended to get out of him. Then again, he thought, by proper representations, he could induce his sister to pay all the expenses attending John's capture.
"It's only fair," he thought, "that Jane should pay for the team, if I give my time."
So Mr. Huxter sped along the road at a rapid rate. He had taken the right road by chance, and having met a boy who had met John and described his appearance accurately, he had the satisfaction of knowing that he was on the track of the fugitive.
Arriving at the tavern, it occurred to him that John might have stopped to rest, if nothing more. He accordingly descended hastily from the carriage, and accosted the landlord, whom he knew slightly.
"Good-morning, Mr. Jones."
"Good-morning, Mr. Huxter. Going to stop with us?"
"I can't stop now. Have you seen anything of a boy of about fifteen, rather stout built, who must have passed this way lately?"
"Blue suit?" interrogated the landlord.
"Yes; have you seen him?"
"You don't mean to say you're after him?"
"Yes, I do. But have you seen him?"
"Yes, he took breakfast here only an hour ago. Son of yours?"
"No, he was my nephew."
"Run away, hey?"
"Yes; he's been acting badly, and I suppose he thought I was going to punish him; so the young rascal took to his heels."
"Sho! you don't say so! He paid for his breakfast all right."
"You can judge how he came by his money," said Mr. Huxter.
"You don't say so! Well, he is a bad case," said the landlord, who concluded, as it was intended he should, that John had stolen the money. "Well, he don't look like it."
"Oh, he's a deep young rascal!" said Mr. Huxter. "You'd think butter wouldn't melt in his mouth; but he's a regular scamp. Which road did he take?"
"He said he was going to Redport."
"What time did he start?"
"Less than half an hour ago. He can't have got much over a mile. If you keep on, you'll be sure to overhaul him."
"I'll do that with a vengeance," said Mr. Huxter.
"Thank you for your information, Mr. Jones. I'll do as much for you some time."
"All right. Stop on the way back, won't you?"
"Well, I don't know but I will. I only took a mouthful of breakfast, I was in such a hurry to pursue this young scamp."
"Well, it's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the landlord. "The boy's running away has brought me two customers. I had no idea he was such a young rascal."