He looked around him guardedly, not wishing to let his hostess see that he was doing so, for she looked like one who might easily be offended. The room seemed remarkably bare of furniture. There was an unpainted table, and there were also three chairs, one of which had lost its back. These were plain wooden chairs, and though they appeared once to have been painted, few vestiges of the original paint now remained. On a shelf were a few articles of tin, but no articles of crockery were visible, except two cracked cups. Walter had before this visited the dwellings of the poor, but he had never seen a home so poorly provided with what are generally regarded as the necessaries of life.
"I wonder what Lem would say if he should see me now," thought Walter, his thoughts going back to the Essex Classical Institute, and the friend whose studies he shared. They seemed far away, those days of careless happiness, when as yet the burdens of life were unfelt and scarcely even dreamed of. Did Walter sigh for their return? I think not, except on one account. His father was then alive, and he would have given years of his own life torecall that loved parent from the grave. But I do not think he would have cared, for the present at least, to give up his business career, humble though it was, and go back to his studies. He enjoyed the novelty of his position. He enjoyed even his present adventure, in spite of the discomforts that attended it, and there was something exciting in looking about him, and realizing that he was a guest in a rough cabin in the midst of the woods, a thousand miles away from home.
Guarded as he had been in looking around him, it did not escape without observation.
"Well, young man, this is a poor place, isn't it?" asked the woman, suddenly.
"I don't know," said Walter, wishing to be polite.
"That's what you're thinkin', I'll warrant," said the woman. "Well, you're not obliged to stay, if you don't want to."
"But I do want to, and I am very much obliged to you for consenting to take me," said Walter, hastily.
"You said you would pay in advance," said the woman.
"So I will," said Walter, taking out his pocket-book, "if you will tell me how much I am to pay."
"You may give me a dollar," said the woman.
Walter drew out a roll of bills, and, finding a one-dollar note, handed it to the woman.
She took it, glancing covetously at the remaining money which he replaced in his pocket-book. Walter noticed the glance, and, though he was not inclined to be suspicious, it gave him a vague feeling of anxiety.
An hour passed without a word being spoken by his singular hostess. She went to the window from time to time, and looked out as if expecting some one. At length Walter determined to break the silence, which had become oppressive. It did not seem natural for two persons to be in the same room so long without speaking a word.
"I should think you would find it lonely living in the woods away from any neighbors," he said.
"I don't care for neighbors," said the woman, shortly.
"Have you lived here long?"
"That's as people reckon time," was the answer.
Walter found himself no wiser than before, and the manner of his hostess did not encourage him to pursue his inquiries further on that subject.
"You don't have far to go for fuel," was the next remark of our hero.
"Any fool might see that," said the woman.
"Not very polite," thought Walter.
He relapsed into silence, judging that his hostess did not care to converse. Soon, however, she began to ask questions.
"Did you say you was a book-peddler?" she inquired.
"I am a book-agent."
"Where are your books,—in that carpet-bag?"
"No, I have sold all my books, and sent for some more."
"Where did you sell them?"
"In C——."
"Have you come from there?"
"Yes, I started from there this forenoon."
"Where did you stop?"
"At the tavern."
"Is your business a good one?" she asked, eying him attentively.
"I have done very well so far, but then I have been at it only a week."
"It's a good thing to have money," said the woman, more to herself than to Walter.
"Yes," said Walter, "it's very convenient to have money; but there are other things that are better."
"Such as what?" demanded the woman abruptly.
"Good health for one thing."
"What else?"
"A good conscience."
She laughed scornfully.
"I'll tell you there's nothing so good as money. I've wanted it all my life, and never could get it. Do you think I would live here in the woods if I had money? No, I should like to be a lady, and wear fine clothes, and drive about in a handsome carriage. Why are some people so lucky, while I live in this miserable hole?"
She looked at Walter fiercely, as if she held him responsible for her ill-fortune.
"Perhaps your luck will change some day," he said, though he had little faith in his own words. He wondered how the tall, gaunt woman of the backwoods would look dressed in silks and satins.
"My luck never will change," she said, quickly.
"I must live and die in some such hovel as this."
"My luck has changed," said Walter, quietly; "but in a different way."
"How?" she asked, betraying in her tone some curiosity.
"A year ago—six months ago—my father was a rich man, or was considered so. He was thought to be worth over a hundred thousand dollars. All at once his property was swept away, and now I am obliged to earn my own living, as you see."
"Is that true?" she asked.
"Yes, it is true."
"How did your father lose his money?"
"By speculating in mines."
"The more fool he!"
"My father is dead," said Walter, gravely. "I cannot bear to hear him blamed."
"Humph!" ejaculated the woman; but what she intended to convey by this utterance Walter could not tell.
Again the woman went to the window and looked out.
"It's time for Jack to be here," she said.
"Your son?" asked Walter.
"No, my husband."
"He'll be pretty wet when he comes in," Walter ventured to say; but his remark elicited no response.
After a while his hostess said, in her usual abrupt tone, "I expect you are hungry."
"Yes," said Walter, "I am, but I can wait till your husband comes."
"I don't know when he'll come. Likely he's kept."
She took out from a small cupboard a plate of bread and some cold meat, and laid them on the table. Then she steeped some tea, and, when it was ready, she put that also on the table.
"Set up," she said, briefly.
Walter understood from this that supper was ready, and, putting on his shoes, which were now dry, he moved his chair up.
"Likely you're used to something better," said the woman.
This was true, but our hero politely said that the supper looked very good, and he did not doubt he would enjoy it.
"That's lucky, for it's all you will get," said the woman.
"There's not much use in wasting politeness on her," thought Walter. "She won't give any in return, that's certain."
The woman poured him out some tea in one of the cracked cups.
"We haven't got no milk nor sugar," she said. "My man and I don't care for them."
The first sip of the tea, which was quite strong, nearly caused a wry expression on Walter's face, but he managed to control himself so far as not to betray his want of relish for the beverage his hostess offered him. The only redeeming quality it had was that it was hot, and, exposed as he had been to the storm, warm drink was agreeable.
"There's some bread and there's some meat," said the woman. "You can help yourself."
"Are you not going to eat supper with me?" asked Walter.
"No, I shall wait for Jack."
She sat down in a chair before the fire, leavingWalter to take care of himself, and seemed plunged in thought.
"What a strange woman!" thought Walter. "I wonder if her husband is anything like her. If he is, they must be an agreeable couple."
He ate heartily of the food, and succeeded in emptying his cup of tea. He would have taken another cup if there had been milk and sugar, but it was too bitter to be inviting.
"Will you have some more tea?" asked the hostess, turning round.
"No, I thank you."
"You miss the milk and sugar?"
"I like them in tea."
"We can't afford to buy them, so it's lucky we don't like them."
There was a bitterness in her tone whenever she talked of money, which led Walter to avoid the topic. Evidently she was a discontented woman, angry because her lot in life was not brighter.
Walter pushed his chair from the table, and sat down again before the fire. She rose and clearedthe table, replacing the bread and meat in the cupboard.
"Where are you going next?" she asked, after a pause.
Walter mentioned the name of the place.
"Have you ever been there?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Is it a flourishing place?"
"Yes, good enough, but I haven't been there for a year. It may have burned down for all I know."
"I wonder what sort of a woman she was when she was young?" thought Walter. "I wonder if she was always so unsociable?"
There was silence for another hour. Walter wished it were time to go to bed, for the presence of such a woman made him feel uncomfortable. But it was too early yet to suggest retiring.
At length the silence was broken by a step outside.
"That's Jack," said the woman, rising hastily; and over her face there came a transient gleam of satisfaction, the first Walter had observed.
Before she could reach the door it was opened,and Jack entered. Walter looked up with some curiosity to see what sort of a man the husband of this woman might be. He saw a stout man, with a face like a bull-dog's, lowering eyes, and matted red hair and beard.
"They are fitly mated," thought our hero.
The man stopped short as his glance rested upon Walter, and he turned quickly to his wife.
"Who have you got here, Meg?" he asked, in a rough voice.
"He was overtaken by the storm, and wanted me to take him in, and give him supper and lodging."
"He's a boy. What brings him into these woods?"
"He says he's a book-peddler."
"Where are his books?"
"I have sold them all," said Walter, feeling called upon to take a personal share in the conversation.
"How many did you have?"
"Twenty."
"How much did you charge for them?"
"Three dollars and a half apiece."
"That's seventy dollars, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Well, you can stay here all night if you want to. We aint used to keepin' a tavern, but you'll fare as well as we."
"Thank you. I was afraid I might have to stay out all night."
"Now, Meg, get me something to eat quick. I'm most famished."
While his wife was getting out the supper again, he sat down beside the fire, and Walter had a chance to scan his rough features. There was something in his appearance that inspired distrust, and our hero wished the night were past, and he were again on his way.
After supper, which the man devoured like a wild animal, he proved more sociable. He tried in a rough, uncouth manner to make himself agreeable, and asked Walter numerous questions.
"Do you like peddlin'?" he asked.
"I can't tell yet," said Walter. "I haven't been at it long enough."
"You can make money pretty fast?"
"I don't know. Some days I expect to do well, but other days I may not sell any books. But I like travelling about from place to place."
"I don't know but I should like travellin' myself," said Jack. "Hey, Meg?"
"Anything better than staying in this miserable hole," said the woman. "I'm sick and tired of it."
"Well, old woman, maybe we'll start off soon.You couldn't get me a chance in your business, could you?"
Walter doubted strongly whether a rough, uneducated man like the one before him would be well adapted for the book business, but he did not venture to say so.
"If you would like to try it," he said, "I can give you the name of the agent in Cleveland. He is authorized to employ agents, and might engage you."
"Would he engage the old woman too?"
"I don't know whether he has any female agents."
"I couldn't do nothing sellin' books," said Meg, "nor you either. If it was something else, I might make out."
"Well, we'll think about it. This aint a very cheerful place to live, as you say, and it's about time for a change."
About nine o'clock Walter intimated a desire to go to bed.
"I have been walking considerable to-day," he said, "and I feel tired."
"I'll show you the place you're to sleep in," said the woman.
She lit a candle, and left the room, followed by Walter. She led the way up a rough, unpainted staircase and opened the door of the room over the one in which they had been seated.
"We don't keep a hotel," said she, "and you must shift as well as you can. We didn't ask you to stay."
Looking around him, Walter found that the chamber which he had entered was as bare as the room below, if not more so. There was not even a bedstead, but in the corner there was a bed on the floor with some ragged bedclothes spread over it.
"That's where you're to sleep," said the woman, pointing it out.
"Thank you," said Walter.
"There isn't much to thank me for. Good-night."
"Good-night," said Walter.
She put the candle on the mantel-piece, for there was no bureau or table in the room, and went out.
"This isn't a very stylish tavern, that's a fact," thought Walter, taking a survey of the room. "Ishall have a hard bed, but I guess I can stand it for one night."
There was something else that troubled him more than the poor accommodations. The ill looks of his host and hostess had made a strong impression upon his mind. The particular inquiries which they had made about his success in selling books, and their strong desire for money, led him to feel apprehensive of robbery. He was in the heart of the woods, far away from assistance, and at their mercy. What could he, a boy of fifteen, do against their combined attack? He would have preferred to sleep in the woods without a shelter, rather than have placed himself in their power.
Under the influence of this apprehension, he examined the door to see if there was any way of locking it. But there was neither lock nor bolt. There had been a bolt once, but there was none now.
Next he looked about the room to see if there was any heavy article of furniture with which he could barricade the door. But, as has already been said, there was neither bureau nor table. In fact, therewas absolutely no article of furniture except a single wooden chair, and that, of course, would be of no service.
"What shall I do?" thought Walter. "That man can enter the room when I am asleep, and rob me of all my money."
It was a perplexing position to be in, and might have puzzled an older and more experienced traveller than our young hero. He opened his pocket-book, and, taking out the money, counted it. There were sixty dollars and a few cents within.
"Where shall I hide it?" he considered.
Looking about the room, he noticed a closet, the door of which was bolted on the outside. Withdrawing the bolt he opened the door and looked in. It was nearly empty, containing only a few articles of little or no value. A plan of operations rapidly suggested itself to Walter in case the room should be entered while he was awake. In pursuance of this plan he threw a few pennies upon the floor of the closet, and then closed the door again. Next he drew from the pocket-book all the money it contained, except a single five-dollar bill. The bank notes thusremoved amounted to fifty-five dollars. He then drew off his stockings, and, laying the bills in the bottom, again put them on.
"He won't suspect where they are," thought Walter, in a tone of satisfaction. "If he takes my pocket-book, I can stand the loss of five dollars."
He put on his shoes, that he might be ready for instant flight, if occasion required it, and threw himself down on the outside of the coverlid.
If our young hero, who, I hope, will prove such if the danger which he fears actually comes, could have overheard the conversation which was even then going on between Jack and Meg, he would have felt that his apprehensions were not without cause.
When the woman returned from conducting Walter to his room, she found her husband sitting moodily beside the fire.
"Well, Meg," he said, looking up, "where did you put him?"
"In the room above."
"I hope he'll sleep sound," said Jack, with a sinister smile. "I'll go up by and by and see how he rests."
"What do you mean to do?" asked Meg.
"He has got seventy dollars in that pocket-book of his. It must be ours."
His wife did not answer immediately, but looked thoughtfully into the fire.
"Well, what do you say?" he demanded impatiently.
"What do I say? That I have no objection to taking the money, if there is no danger."
"What danger is there?"
"He may charge us with the theft."
"He can't see me take it, when his eyes are shut."
"But he may not be asleep."
"So much the worse for him. I must have the money. Seventy dollars is worth taking, Meg. It's more money than I've had in my hands at one time for years."
"I like money as well as you, Jack; but the boy will make a fuss when he finds the money is gone."
"So much the worse for him," said Jack, fiercely. "I'll stop his noise very quick."
"You won't harm the lad, Jack?" said Meg, earnestly.
"Why not? What is he to you?"
"Nothing, but I feel an interest in him. I don't want him harmed. Rob him if you will, but don't hurt him."
"What should you care about him? You never saw him before to-day."
"He told me his story. He has had ill-luck, like us. His father was very rich, not long since, but he suddenly lost all his property, and this boy is obliged to go out as a book-peddler."
"What has that to do with us?"
"You mustn't harm him, Jack."
"I suppose you would like to have him inform against us, and set the police on our track."
"No, I wouldn't, and you know it."
"Then he must never leave this cabin alive," said Jack.
"You would not murder him?" demanded Meg, horror-struck.
"Yes, I would, if there is need of it."
"Then I will go up and bid him leave the house.Better turn him out into the forest than keep him here for that."
She had got half way to the door when her husband sprang forward, and clutched her fiercely by the shoulder.
"What are you going to do?" he growled.
"You shall not kill him. I will send him away."
"I have a great mind to kill you," he muttered fiercely.
"No, Jack, you wouldn't do that. I'm not a very good woman, but I've been a faithful wife to you, and you wouldn't have the heart to kill me."
"How do you know?" he said.
"I know you wouldn't. I am not afraid for myself, but for you as well as this boy. If you killed him, you might be hung, and then what would become of me?"
"What else can I do?" asked her husband, irresolutely.
"Threaten him as much as you like. Make him take an oath never to inform against you. He's a boy that'll keep his oath."
"What makes you think so?"
"I read it in his face. It is an honest face, and it can be trusted."
"Well, old woman, perhaps you are right. The other way is dangerous, and if this will work as well, I don't mind trying it. Now let us go to bed, and when the boy's had time to fall asleep, I'll go in and secure the money."
Walter's feelings, as he lay on his hard bed on the floor, were far from pleasant. He was not sure that an attempt would be made to rob him, but the probability seemed so great that he could not compose himself to sleep. Suspense was so painful that he almost wished that Jack would come up if he intended to. He was tired, but his mental anxiety triumphed over his bodily fatigue, and he tossed about restlessly.
It was about nine o'clock when he went to bed. Two hours passed, and still there were no signs of the apprehended invasion.
But, five minutes later, a heavy step was heard upon the staircase, which creaked beneath the weight of the man ascending. Jack tried to come up softly, but it creaked nevertheless.
Walter's heart beat quick, as he heard the stepsapproaching nearer and nearer. It was certainly a trying moment, that might have tested the courage of one older than our hero. Presently the door opened softly, and Jack advanced stealthily into the chamber, carrying a candle which, however, was unlighted. He reckoned upon finding Walter undressed, and his clothes hanging over the chair; but the faint light that entered through the window showed him that his intended victim had not removed his clothing. Of course this made the task of taking his pocket-book much more difficult.
"Confusion!" he muttered. "The boy hasn't undressed."
Walter had closed his eyes, thinking it best to appear to be asleep; but he heard this exclamation, and it satisfied him of Jack's dishonest intentions.
The robber paused a moment, and then, stooping over, inserted his hand into Walter's pocket. He drew out the pocket-book, Walter making no sign of being aware of what was going on.
"I've got it," muttered Jack, with satisfaction, and stealthily retraced his steps to the door. Hewent out, carefully closing it after him, and again the steps creaked beneath his weight.
"I'm afraid he'll come back when he finds how little there is in it," thought Walter. "If so, I must trust to my plan."
Meg looked up with interest when her husband re-entered the room. She had been listening with nervous interest, fearing that there might be violence done. She had been relieved to hear no noise, and to see her husband returning quietly.
"Have you got the pocket-book?" she asked.
"Yes, Meg," he said, displaying it. "He went to bed with his clothes on, but I pulled it out of his pocket, as he lay asleep, and he will be none the wiser."
"How much is there in it?"
"I'm going to see. I haven't opened it yet."
He opened the pocket-book, and uttered a cry of disappointment.
"That's all," he said, displaying the five-dollar bill. "He must have had more."
"He did have more. When he paid me the dollar for stoppin' here, he took it from a roll of bills."
"What's he done with 'em, the young rascal?"
"Perhaps he had another pocket-book. But that's the one he took out when he paid me."
"I must go up again, Meg. He had seventy dollars, and I'm goin' to have the rest. Five dollars won't pay me for the trouble of stealin' it."
"Don't hurt the boy, Jack."
"I will, if he don't fork over the money," said her husband, fiercely.
There was no longer any thought of concealment. It was necessary to wake Walter to find out where he had put the money. So Jack went upstairs boldly, not trying to soften the noise of his steps now, angry to think that he had been put to this extra trouble. Walter heard him coming, and guessed what brought him back. I will not deny that he felt nervous, but he determined to act manfully, whatever might be the result. He breathed a short prayer to God for help, for he knew that in times of peril he is the only sufficient help.
The door was thrown open, and Jack strode in, bearing in his hand a candle, this time lighted. Headvanced to the bed, and, bending over, shook Walter vigorously.
"What's the matter?" asked our hero, this time opening his eyes, and assuming a look of surprise. "Is it time to get up?"
"It's time for you to get up."
"It isn't morning, is it?"
"No; but I've got something to say to you."
"Well," said Walter, sitting up in the bed, "I'm ready."
"Where've you put that money you had last night?"
"Why do you want to know?" demanded Walter, eying his host fixedly.
"No matter why I want to know," said Jack, impatiently. "Tell me, if you know what's best for yourself."
Walter put his hand in his pocket.
"It was in my pocket-book," he said; "but it's gone."
"Here is your pocket-book," said Jack, producing it.
"Did you take it out of my pocket? What made you take it?"
"None of your impudence, boy!"
"Is it impudent to ask what made you take my property?" said Walter, firmly.
"Yes, it is," said Jack, with an oath.
"Do you mean to steal my money?"
"Yes, I do; and the sooner you hand it over the better."
"You have got my pocket-book already."
"Perhaps you think I am green," sneered Jack. "I found only five dollars."
"Then you had better give it back to me. Five dollars isn't worth taking."
"You're a cool one, and no mistake," said Jack, surveying our hero with greater respect than he had before manifested. "Do you know that I could wring your neck?"
"Yes, I suppose you could," said Walter, quietly. "You are a great deal stronger than I am."
"Aint you afraid of me?"
"I don't think I am. Why should I be?"
"What's to hinder my killin' you? We're alone in the woods, far from help."
"I don't think you'll do it," said Walter, meeting his gaze steadily.
"You aint a coward, boy; I'll say that for you. Some boys of your age would be scared to death if they was in your place."
"I don't think I am a coward," said Walter, quietly. "Are you going to give me back that pocket-book?"
"Not if I know it; but I'll tell you what you're goin' to do."
"What's that?"
"Hunt up the rest of that money, and pretty quick too."
"What makes you think I have got any more money?"
"Didn't you tell me you sold twenty books, at three dollars and a half? That makes seventy dollars, accordin' to my reckonin'."
"You're right there; but I have sent to Cleveland for some more books, and had to send the money with the order."
This staggered the robber at first, till he remembered what his wife had told him.
"That don't go down," he said roughly. "The old woman saw a big roll of bills when you paid her for your lodgin'. You haven't had any chance of payin' them away."
Walter recalled the covetous glance of the woman when he displayed the bills, and he regretted too late his imprudence in revealing the amount of money he had with him. He saw that it was of no use to attempt to deceive Jack any longer. It might prove dangerous, and could do no good.
"I have some more money," he said; "but I hope you will let me keep it."
"What made you take it out of your pocket-book?"
"Because I thought I should have a visit from you."
"What made you think so?" demanded Jack, rather surprised.
"I can't tell, but I expected a visit, so I took out most of my money and hid it."
"Then you'd better find it again. I can't wait here all night. Is it in your other pocket?"
"No."
"Is that all you can say? Get up, and find me that money, or it'll be the worse for you."
"Then give me the pocket-book and five dollars. I can't get along if you take all my money."
Jack reflected that he could easily take away the pocket-book again, and decided to comply with our hero's request as an inducement for him to find the other money.
"Here it is," he said. "Now get me the rest."
"I hid some money in that closet," said Walter. "I thought you would think of looking there."
No sooner was the closet pointed out than Jack eagerly strode towards it and threw open the door. He entered it, and began to peer about him, holding the candle in his hand.
"Where did you put it?" he inquired, turning to question Walter.
But he had scarcely spoken when our hero closed the door hastily, and, before Jack could recover from his surprise, had bolted it on the outside. To add tothe discomfiture of the imprisoned robber, the wind produced by the violent slamming of the door blew out the candle, and he found himself a captive, in utter darkness.
"Let me out, or I'll murder you!" he roared, kicking the barrier that separated him from his late victim, now his captor.
Walter saw that there was no time to lose. The door, though strong, would probably soon give way before the strength of his prisoner. When the liberation took place, he must be gone. He held the handle of his carpet-bag between his teeth, and, getting out of the window, hung down. The distance was not great, and he alighted upon the ground without injury. Without delay he plunged into the woods, not caring in what direction he went, as long as it carried him away from his dishonest landlord.
Though Walter was in a room on the second floor, the distance to the ground was not so great but that he could easily hang from the window-sill and jump without injury. Before following him in his flight, we will pause to inquire how the robber, unexpectedly taken captive, fared.
Nothing could have surprised Jack more than this sudden turning of the tables. But a minute since Walter was completely in his power. Now, through the boy's coolness and nerve, his thievish intentions were baffled, and he was placed in the humiliating position of a prisoner in his own house.
"Open the door, or I'll murder you!" he roared, kicking it violently.
There was no reply, for Walter was already half way out of the window, and did not think it best to answer.
Jack kicked again, but the door was a strong one, and, though it shook, did not give way.
"Draw the bolt, I say," roared the captive again, appending an oath, "or I'll wring your neck."
But our hero was already on the ground, and speeding away into the shelter of the friendly woods.
If any man was thoroughly mad, that man was Jack. It was not enough that he had been ingloriously defeated, but the most galling thing about it was that this had been done by a boy.
"I'll make him pay for this!" muttered Jack, furiously.
He saw that Walter had no intention of releasing him, and that his deliverance must come from himself. He kicked furiously, and broke through one of the panels of the door; but still the bolt held, and continued to hold, though he threw himself against the door with all his force.
Meanwhile his wife below had listened intently, at the bottom of the staircase, not without anxiety as to the result. She was a woman, and, though by no means of an amiable disposition, she was notwithout some humanity. She knew her husband's brutal temper, and she feared that Walter would come to harm. Part of her anxiety was selfish, to be sure, for she dreaded the penalty for her husband; but she was partly actuated by a feeling of rough good-will towards her young guest. She didn't mind his being robbed, for she felt that in some way she had been cheated out of that measure of worldly prosperity which was her due, and she had no particular scruple as to the means of getting even with the world. The fact that Walter, too, had suffered bad fortune increased her good-will towards him, and made her more reluctant that he should be ill-treated.
At first, as she listened, and while the conversation was going on, she heard nothing to excite her alarm. But when her husband had been locked in the closet, and began to kick at the door, there was such a noise that Meg, though misapprehending the state of things, got frightened.
"He's killing the poor boy, I'm afraid," she said, clasping her hands. "Why, why need he be so violent? I told him not to harm him."
Next she heard Jack's voice in angry tones, but could not understand what he said. This was followed by a fresh shower of kicks at the resisting door.
"I would go up if I dared," she thought; "but I am afraid I should see the poor boy dying."
She feared, also, her husband's anger at any interference; for, as she had reason to know, his temper was not of the gentlest. So she stood anxiously at the foot of the staircase, and continued to listen.
Meanwhile Jack, finding he could not release himself readily, bethought himself of his wife.
"Meg!" he called out, in stentorian tones.
His wife heard the summons and made haste to obey it.
She hurried upstairs, and, opening the chamber door, found herself, to her surprise, in darkness.
"Where are you, Jack?" she asked, in some bewilderment.
"Here," answered her husband.
"Where?" asked Meg; for the tones were muffledby the interposition of the door, and she could not get a clear idea of where her husband was.
"In the closet, you fool! Come and open the door," was the polite reply.
Wondering how her husband could have got into the closet, and, also, what had become of Walter, she advanced hastily to the closet-door, and drew the bolt.
Jack dashed out furiously, cursing in a manner I shall not repeat.
"How came you here, Jack?" asked his wife. "Where's the boy?"
It was so dark that he could not readily discover Walter's flight. He strode to the bedstead, and, kneeling down, began to feel about for him.
"Curse it, the boy's gone!" he exclaimed. "Why didn't you stop him?"
This he said on supposition that Walter had escaped by the stairs.
"I don't know what you mean. I've seen nothing of the boy. Wasn't he here when you came up?"
"Yes, he was, but now he's gone. He must havegot out of the window," he added, with a sudden thought.
"I don't understand it," said Meg. "How came you shut up in that closet?"
"The boy sent me in on a fool's errand, and then locked me in."
"Tell me about it, Jack."
Her husband rehearsed the story, heaping execrations upon his own folly for being outwitted by a boy.
"But you've got the pocket-book and the five dollars," said his wife, by way of comforting him.
"No, I haven't. I gave them back to him, to get him to tell me where the rest of the money was. I meant to take it away from him again."
"Then he's escaped with all his money?"
"Yes," growled Jack; "he's fooled me completely. But it isn't too late. I may catch him yet. He's hiding in the woods somewhere. If I do get hold of him, I'll give him something to remember me by. I'll learn him to fool me."
"I wouldn't go out to-night, Jack," said his wife. "It's most twelve."
"If I don't go now, I'll lose him. Go downstairs, Meg, and light the candle."
"Did he have the money with him?"
"He said he hid it."
"Then perhaps he left it behind him. He had to go away in a hurry."
"That's so, Meg. Hurry down, and light the candle, and we'll hunt for it."
The suggestion was a reasonable one, and Jack caught at it. If the money were left behind, it would repay him in part for his mortification at having been fooled by a boy, and he might be tempted to let him go. What vexed him most was the idea of having been baffled completely; and the discovery of the money would go far to make things even.
Meg came up with the lighted candle; and they commenced a joint search, first in the closet, where they found the five pennies which Walter had thrown on the floor, and, afterwards, about the room, and particularly the bedding. But the roll of bills was nowhere to be found. Walter had, as we know,carried it away with him. This was the conclusion to which the seekers were ultimately brought.
"The money aint anywhere here," said Jack. "The boy's got it with him."
"Likely he has," said Meg.
"I'm goin' for him," said her husband. "Go downstairs, Meg, and I'll foller."
"You'd better wait till mornin', Jack," said his wife.
"You're a fool!" he said, unceremoniously. "If I wait till daylight, he'll be out of the woods, and I can't catch him."
"There isn't much chance now. It's dark, and you won't be likely to find him."
"I'll risk that. Anyhow, I'm goin' and so you needn't say any more about it."
Jack descended to the room below, put on his boots and hat, and, opening the outer door, sallied out into the darkness.
He paused before the door in uncertainty.
"I wish I knowed which way he went," he muttered.
There seemed little to determine the choice of direction on the part of the fugitive. There was no regular path, as Jack and his wife were the only dwellers in the forest who had occasion to use one, except such as occasionally strayed in from the outer world. There was, indeed, a path slightly marked, but this Walter could not see in the darkness. Nevertheless, as chance would have it, he struck into it and followed it for some distance.
Having nothing else to determine his course, it was only natural that Jack should take this path. Now that he was already started on his expedition, and found the natural darkness of the night deepened and made more intense by the thick foliage of the forest trees, he realized that his chances of coming upon Walter were by no means encouraging. But he kept on with dogged determination.
"I'd like to catch the young rascal, even if I don't get a penny of the money," he said to himself.
He resolved, in case he was successful, first, to give his victim a severe beating, and next, to convey him home, and keep him for weeks a closeprisoner in the very closet in which he had himself been confined. The thought of such an appropriate vengeance yielded him considerable satisfaction, and stimulated him to keep up the search.
Meanwhile Walter had the advantage of quarter of an hour's start of his pursuer. Jack had indeed been released within five minutes, but he had consumed ten minutes more in searching for the money. It was too dark, however, to make rapid progress. Still Walter pushed on, resolved to put as great a distance as possible between the cabin and himself, for he anticipated pursuit, and judged that, if caught, he would fare badly for the trick he had played upon his host.
He had proceeded perhaps half a mile when he stopped to rest. Two or three times he had tripped over projecting roots which the darkness prevented his seeing in time to avoid.
"I'll rest a few minutes, and then push on," he thought.
It was late, but the excitement of his positionprevented him from feeling sleepy. He wished to get out of the woods into some road or open field, where he would be in less danger of encountering Jack, and where perhaps he might find assistance against him.
He was leaning against an immense tree, one of the largest and oldest in the forest. Walter began idly to examine it. He discovered, by feeling, that it was hollow inside. Curiosity led him to examine farther. He ascertained that the interior was eaten out by gradual decay, making a large hollow space inside.
"I shouldn't wonder if I could get in," he said to himself.
He made the attempt, and found that he was correct in his supposition. He could easily stand erect inside.
"That is curious," thought Walter. "The tree must be very old."
He emerged from the trunk, and once more threw himself down beside it. Five minutes later and his attention was drawn by a sound of approaching footsteps. Then came an oath, which sounded startlingly near. It was uttered by Jack, who had tripped overa root, and was picking himself up in no very good humor. The enemy, it appeared, was close upon him.
Walter started to his feet in dismay. His first thought was immediate flight, but if he were heard by Jack, the latter would no doubt be able to run him down.
"What shall I do?" thought Walter, in alarm.
Quickly the hollow trunk occurred to him. He seized his carpet-bag, and with as little delay as possible concealed himself in the interior. He was just in time, for Jack was by this time only a few rods distant. Walter counted upon his passing on; but on reaching the old tree Jack paused, and said aloud, "Where can the young rascal be? I wonder if I have passed him? I'll rest here five minutes. He may straggle along."
With these words he sank upon the ground, in the very same place where Walter had been reclining two minutes before. He was so near that our hero could have put out his hand and touched him.
It was certainly a very uncomfortable situation forWalter. He hardly dared to breathe or to stir lest his enemy should hear him.
"He's led me a pretty tramp," muttered Jack. "I'm as tired as a dog, but I'm bound to get hold of him to-night. If I do, I'll half kill him."
"Then I hope you won't get hold of him," Walter ejaculated inwardly.
He began to wish he had run on instead of seeking this concealment. In the first case, the darkness of the night would have favored him, and even if Jack had heard him it was by no means certain that he would have caught him. Now an unlucky movement or a cough would betray his hiding-place, and there would be no chance of escape. He began to feel his constrained position irksome, but did not dare to seek relief by change of posture.
"I wish he'd go," thought our hero.
But Jack was in no hurry. He appeared to wish to waylay Walter, and was constantly listening to catch the sound of his approach. At last a little relief came. A sound was heard, which Jack suspected might proceed from his late guest. He started to his feet, and walked a few steps away.Walter availed himself of this opportunity to change his position a little.
"It isn't he," said Jack, disappointed. "Perhaps he's gone another way."
He did not throw himself down this time, but remained standing, in evident uncertainty. At length Walter was relieved to hear him say, "Well, I shan't catch him by stopping here, that's sure."
Then he started, and Walter, listening intently, heard the sound of his receding steps. When sufficient time had elapsed, he ventured out from his concealment, and stopped to consider the situation.
What should he do?
It was hardly prudent to go on, for it would only bring him nearer to the enemy. If he ventured back, he would be farther away from the edge of the woods, and might encounter Meg, who might also be in pursuit. He did not feel in danger of capture from this quarter, but the woman might find means of communicating with her husband. On the whole, it seemed safest, for the present at least, to stick tothe friendly tree which had proved so good a protector. He stood beside it, watching carefully, intending, whenever peril threatened, to take instant refuge inside. This was not particularly satisfactory, but he hoped Jack would soon tire of the pursuit, and retrace his steps towards the cabin. If he should do that, he would then be safe in continuing his flight.
Jack pushed on, believing that our hero was in advance. It had been a fatiguing day, and this made his present midnight tramp more disagreeable. His hopes of overtaking Walter became fainter and fainter, and nature began to assert her rights. A drowsiness which he found it hard to combat assailed him, and he found he must yield to it for a time at least.
"I wish I was at home, and in bed," he muttered. "I'll lie down and take a short nap, and then start again."
He threw himself down on the ground, and no longer resisted the approaches of sleep. In five minutes his senses were locked in a deep slumber,which, instead of a short nap, continued for several hours.
While he is sleeping we will go back to Walter. He, too, was sleepy, and would gladly have laid down and slept if he had dared. But he felt the peril of his position too sensibly to give way to his feelings. He watched vigilantly for an hour, but nothing could be seen of Jack. That hour seemed to him to creep with snail-like pace.
"I can't stand this watching till morning," he said to himself. "I will find some out-of-the-way place, and try to sleep a little."
Searching about he found such a place as he desired. He lay down, and was soon fast asleep. So pursuer and pursued had yielded to the spell of the same enchantress, and half a mile distant from each other were enjoying welcome repose.
Some hours passed away. The sun rose, and its rays lighted up the dim recesses of the forest. When Walter opened his eyes he could not at first remember where he was. He lifted his head from his carpet-bag which he had used as a pillow, andlooked around him in surprise; but recollection quickly came to his aid.
"I must have been sleeping several hours," he said to himself, "for it is now morning. I wonder if the man who was after me has gone home?"
He decided that this was probable, and resolved to make an attempt to reach the edge of the forest. He wanted to get into the region of civilization again, if for no other reason, because he felt hungry, and was likely to remain so as long as he continued in the forest. He now felt fresh and strong, and, taking his carpet-bag in his hand, prepared to start on his journey. But he had scarcely taken a dozen steps when a female figure stepped out from a covert, and he found himself face to face with Meg.
Not knowing but that her husband might be close behind, he started back in alarm and hesitation. She observed this, and said, "You needn't be afraid, boy. I don't want to harm you."
"Is your husband with you?" asked Walter, on his guard.
"No, he isn't. He started out after you beforemidnight, and hasn't been back since. That made me uneasy, and I came out to look for him."
"I have seen him," said Walter.
"Where and when?" asked the woman, eagerly.
It was strange that such a coarse brute should have inspired any woman with love, but Meg did certainly love her husband, in spite of his frequent bad treatment.
"It must have been within an hour of the time I left your house. He stopped under that tree. That was where I saw him."
"Did he see you?"
"No, I was hidden."
"How long did he stay?"
"Only a few minutes, to get rested, I suppose. Then he went on."
"In what direction?"
"That way."
"I am glad he did not harm you. He was so angry when he started that I was afraid of what would happen if he met you. You must keep out of his way."
"That is what I mean to do if I can," said Walter. "Can you tell me the shortest way out of the woods?"
"Go in that direction," said the woman, pointing, "and half a mile will bring you out."
"It is rather hard to follow a straight path in the woods. If you will act as my guide, I will give you a dollar."
Meg hesitated.
"If my husband should find out that I helped you to escape, he would be very angry."
"Why need he know? You needn't tell him you met me."
The woman hesitated. Finally love of money prevailed.
"I'll do it," she said, abruptly. "Follow me."
She took the lead, and Walter followed closely in her steps. Remembering the night before, he was not wholly assured of her good faith, and resolved to keep his eyes open, and make his escape instantly if he should see any signs of treachery. PossiblyMeg might intend to lead him into a trap, and deliver him up to her husband. He was naturally trustful, but his adventures in the cabin taught him a lesson of distrust.
Walter followed Meg through the woods. He felt sure that he would not have far to go to reach the open fields. He had been delayed heretofore, not by the distance, but by not knowing in what direction to go.
Few words were spoken between him and Meg. Remembering what had happened at the cabin, and that even now he was fleeing from her husband, he did not feel inclined to be sociable, and her thoughts were divided between the money she was to be paid as the price of her services, and her husband, for whose prolonged absence she could not account.
After walking for fifteen minutes, they came to the edge of the forest. Skirting it was a meadow, wet in parts, for the surface was low.
"Where is the road?" asked Walter.
"You'll have to cross this meadow, and you'llcome to it. It isn't mor'n quarter of a mile. You'll find your way well enough without me."
Walter felt relieved at the prospect of a speedy return to the region of civilization. It seemed to him as if he had passed the previous night far away in some wild frontier cabin, instead of in the centre of a populous and thriving neighborhood, within a few miles of several flourishing villages.
He drew out a dollar-bill, and offered it to Meg.
"This is the money I agreed to pay you," he said. "Thank you, besides."
"You haven't much cause to thank me," she said, abruptly. "I would have robbed you if I had the chance."
"I am sorry for that," said Walter. "Money got in that way never does any good."
"Money is sure to do good, no matter how it comes," said the woman, fiercely. "Think of what it will buy!—a comfortable home, ease, luxury, respect. Some time before I die I hope to have as much as I want."
"I hope you will," said Walter; "but I don't think you will find it as powerful as you think."
His words might as well have remained unspoken, for she paid no attention to them. She seemed to be listening intently. Suddenly she clutched his arm.
"I hear my husband's steps," she said, hurriedly. "Fly, or it will be the worse for you."
"Thank you for the caution," said Walter, roused to the necessity of immediate action.
"Don't stop to thank me. Go!" she said, stamping her foot impatiently.
He obeyed at once, and started on a run across the meadow.
A minute later, Jack came in sight.
"What, Meg, are you here?" he said, in surprise.
"Yes; I got anxious about you, because you did not come home. I was afraid something had happened to you."
"What could happen to me?" he retorted, contemptuously. "I'm not a baby. Have you seen the boy?"
He did not wait for an answer, for, looking across the meadow, he saw the flying figure of our hero.
"There he is, now!" he exclaimed, in a tone of fierce satisfaction.
"Let him go, Jack!" pleaded Meg, who, in spite of herself, felt a sympathy for the boy who, like herself, had been unfortunate.
He threw off the hand which she had placed upon his arm, saying, contemptuously, "You're a fool!" and then dashed off in pursuit of Walter.
Walter had the start, and had already succeeded in placing two hundred yards between himself and his pursuer. But Jack was strong and athletic, and could run faster than a boy of fifteen, and the distance between the two constantly diminished. Walter looked over his shoulder, as he ran, and, brave as he was, there came over him a sickening sensation of fear as he met the fierce, triumphant glance of his enemy.
"Stop!" called out Jack, hoarsely.
Walter did not answer, neither did he obey. He was determined to hold out to the last, and when he surrendered it would be only as a measure of necessity.
"Are you going to stop or not? You'd better," growled Jack.