Berthawas deeply pained at the reckless wrong which herprotégéhad done, and more deeply by the cool indifference with which he carried himself after his voluntary confession. There was little to hope for while he manifested not a single sign of contrition for the crime committed. He was truly sorry for the grief he had caused her; but for his own sin he did not speak a word of regret.
"I suppose I am to be a tinker now," said Noddy to her, with a smile, which looked absolutely awful to Bertha, for it was a token of depravity she could not bear to look upon.
"I must leave you now, Noddy, for you are not good," replied Bertha, sadly.
"I am sorry you feel so bad about me, Miss Bertha," added Noddy.
"I wish you would be sorry for yourself, instead of me."
"I am—sorry that you want to make a tinker of me;" and Noddy used this word to express his contempt of any mechanical occupation.
He did not like to work. Patient, plodding labor, devoid of excitement, was his aversion; though handling a boat, cleaning out a gutter on some dizzy height of the mansion, or cutting off a limb at the highest point of the tallest shade tree on the estate, was entirely to his taste, and he did not regard anything as work which had a spice of danger or a thrill of excitement about it. He was not lazy, in the broad sense of the word; there was not a more active and restless person on the estate than himself. A shop, therefore, was a horror which he had no words to describe, and which he could never endure.
"I want to see you in some useful occupation, where you can earn your living, and become a respectable man," said Bertha. "Don't you want to be a respectable man, Noddy?"
"Well, I suppose I do; but I had rather be a vagabond than a respectable tinker."
"You must work, Noddy, if you would win a good name, and enough of this world's goods to make youcomfortable. Work and win; I give you this motto for your guidance. My father told me to lock you up in your room."
"You may do that, Miss Bertha," laughed Noddy. "I don't care how much you lock me in. When I want to go out, I shall go. I shall work, and win my freedom."
Noddy thought this application of Bertha's motto was funny, and he had the hardihood to laugh at it, till Bertha, hopeless of making any impression on him at the present time, left the room, and locked the door behind her.
"Work and win!" said Noddy. "That's very pretty, and for Miss Bertha's sake I shall remember it; but I shan't work in any tinker's shop. I may as well take myself off, and go to work in my own way."
Noddy was tired, after the exertions of the day; and so deeply and truly repentant was he for the wrong he had done, that he immediately went to sleep, though it was not yet dark. Neither the present nor the future seemed to give him any trouble; and if he could avoid the miseries of the tinker's shop, as he was perfectly confident he could, he did not concern himself about any of the prizesof life which are gained by honest industry or patient well doing.
When it was quite dark, and Noddy had slept about two hours, the springing of the bolt in the lock of his door awoke him. He leaped to his feet, and his first thought was, that something was to be done with him for burning the boat-house. But the door opened, and, by the dim light which came through the window, he recognized the slight form of Fanny Grant.
"Noddy," said she, timidly.
"Well, Miss Fanny, have you come to let me out of jail?"
"No; I came to see you, and nobody knows I am here. You won't expose me—will you?"
"Of course I won't; that isn't much like me."
"I know it isn't, Noddy. What did you say that you set the fire for?"
"Because I thought that was the best way to settle the whole thing. Ben saw you come out of the boat-house, and told your father he believed you set the building on fire. That was the meanest thing the old man ever did. Why didn't he lay it to me, as he ought to have done?"
"I suppose he knew you didn't do it."
"That don't make any difference. He ought to have known better than tell your father it was you."
"I am so sorry for what you have done!"
"What are you sorry for? It won't hurt me, any how; and it would be an awful thing for you. They were going to make a tinker of me before, and I suppose they will do it now—if they can. I wouldn't care a fig for it if Miss Bertha didn't feel so bad about it."
"I will tell her the truth."
"Don't you do it, Miss Fanny. That wouldn't help me a bit, and will spoil you."
"But I must tell the truth. They don't suspect me even of going on the water."
"So much the better. They won't ask you any hard questions. Now, Miss Fanny, don't you say a word; for if you do, it will make it all the worse for me."
"Why so, Noddy?"
"Because, according to my notion, I did set the building afire. If I hadn't said what I did, you never would have thought of doing it. So I was the fellow that did it, after all. That's the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
"But you didn't set it afire, and you didn't mean to do any such thing."
"That may be; but you wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been for me. It was more my fault than it was yours; and I want you to leave the thing just where it is now."
"But it would be mean for me to stand still, and see you bear all the blame."
"It would be enough sight meaner for you to say anything about it."
"I don't think so."
"I do; for don't you see it is a good deal worse for me to put you up to such a thing than it was for me to do it myself? Your father would forgive me for setting the fire sooner than they would for making you do it. I'm bad enough already, and they know it; but if they think I make you as bad as I am myself, they would put me in a worse place than a tinker's shop."
Noddy's argument was too much for the feminine mind of Miss Fanny, and again she abandoned the purpose she had fully resolved upon, and decided not to confess her guilt. We must do her the justice to say, that she came to this conclusion, not from any fear of personal consequences, but in order to saveNoddy from the terrible reproach which would be cast upon him if she did confess. Already, in her heart and before God, she had acknowledged her error, and was sorrowfully repenting her misconduct. But she could not expose Noddy to any penalty which he did not deserve. She knew that he did not mean to set the fire; that his words were idle, petulant ones, which had no real meaning; and it would be wrong to let her father and Bertha suppose that Noddy had instigated her to the criminal act.
Fanny had not yet learned that it is best to cleave unto the truth, and let the consequences take care of themselves.
She yielded her own convictions to those of another, which no person should ever do in questions of right and wrong.
She sacrificed her own faith in the simple truth, to another's faith in policy, expediency.
The question was settled for the present, and Fanny crept back to her chamber, no easier in mind, no better satisfied with herself, than before. Noddy went to sleep again; but the only cloud he saw was the displeasure of Bertha. He was simply conscious that he had got into a scrape. He had not burned the boat-house, and he did not feel guilty.He had not intended to induce Fanny to do the deed, and he did not feel guilty of that. He was so generous that he wished to save her from the consequences of her error, and the deception he used did not weigh very heavily on his conscience.
He regarded his situation as merely a "scrape" into which he had accidentally fallen, and his only business was to get out of it. These thoughts filled his mind when he awoke in the morning. He was too restless to remain a quiet prisoner for any great length of time; and when he had dressed himself, he began to look about him for the means of mitigating his imprisonment, or bringing it to a conclusion, as the case might require. The window would be available at night, but it was in full view of the gardeners in the daytime, who would be likely to report any movement on his part. The door looked more hopeful.
One of the men brought his breakfast, and retired, locking the door behind him. While he was eating it,—and his appetite did not seem to be at all impaired by the situation to which he had been reduced,—he saw Mr. Grant on the lawn, talking with a stranger. His interest was at once excited, and a closer examination assured him thatthe visitor was Squire Wriggs, of Whitestone. The discovery almost spoiled Noddy's appetite, for he knew that the squire was a lawyer, and had often been mixed up with cases of house-breaking, horse-stealing, robbery, and murder; and he at once concluded that the legal gentleman's business related to him.
His ideas of lawyers were rather confused and indistinct. He knew they had a great deal to do in the court-house, when men were sent to the penitentiary and the house of correction for various crimes. He watched the squire and Mr. Grant, and he was fully satisfied in his own mind what they were talking about when the latter pointed to the window of his chamber. He had eaten only half his breakfast, but he found it impossible to take another mouthful, after he realized that he was the subject of the conversation between Mr. Grant and the lawyer.
It seemed just as though all his friends, even Miss Bertha, had suddenly deserted him. That conference on the lawn was simply a plot to take him to the court-house, and then send him to the penitentiary, the house of correction, or some other abominable place, even if it were no worse than atinker's shop. He was absolutely terrified at the prospect. After all his high hopes, and all his confidence in his supple limbs, the judges, the lawyers, and the constables might fetter his muscles so that he could not get away—so that he could not even run away to sea, which was his ultimate intention, whenever he could make up his mind to leave Miss Bertha.
Noddy watched the two gentlemen on the lawn, and his breast was filled with a storm of emotions. He pictured the horrors of the prison to which they were about to send him, and his fancy made the prospect far worse than the reality could possibly have been. Mr. Grant led the way towards the building occupied by the servants. Noddy was desperate. Squire Wriggs was the visible manifestation of jails, courts, constables, and other abominations, which were the sum of all that was terrible. He decided at once not to wait for a visit from the awful personage, who was evidently coming into the house to see him.
He raised the window a little, intending to throw it wide open, and leap down upon the lawn, when his persecutor entered the door. There was not a man or boy at Woodville who could catch himwhen he had the use of his legs, and the world would then be open to him. But the gentlemen paused at the door, and Noddy listened as a criminal would wait to hear his sentence from the stern judge.
"Thirty thousand dollars is a great deal of money for a boy like him," said Mr. Grant. "Of course he must have a guardian."
"And you are the best person in the world for that position," added Squire Wriggs.
"But he is a young reprobate, and something must be done with him."
"Certainly; he must be taken care of at once."
"I'm afraid he will burn my house down, as he did the boat-house. My daughter is interested in him; if it wasn't for her, I would send him to the house of correction before I slept again."
"When you are his guardian, you can do what you think best for him."
"That will be no easy matter."
"We will take the boy over to the court now, and then—"
Noddy did not hear any more, for the two gentlemen entered the house, and he heard their step on the stairs. But he did not want to know anything more. Squire Wriggs had distinctly said they would take him over to the court, and that was enough to satisfy him that his worst fears were to be realized. The talk about thirty thousand dollars, and the guardian, was as unintelligible to him as though it had been in ancient Greek, and he did not bestow a second thought upon it. The "boy like him," to whom thirty thousand dollars would be a great deal of money, meant some other person than himself. The court was Noddy's peculiar abomination; and when he heard the words, he clutched the sash of the window with convulsive energy.
Mr. Grant and Squire Wriggs passed into the house, and Noddy Newman passed out. To a gymnast of his wiry experience, the feat was not impossible, or even very difficult. Swinging out of the window, he placed his feet on the window-cap below, and then, stooping down, he got hold with his hands, and slipped down from his perch with about the same ease with which a well-trained monkey would have accomplished the descent.
He was on the solid earth now, and with the feeling that the court-house and a whole regiment of constables were behind him, he took to his heels. A stiff-kneed gardener, who had observed his exitfrom the house, attempted to follow him; but he might as well have chased a northwest gale. Noddy reached the Glen, and no sound of pursuers could be heard. The phantom court-house had been beaten in the race.
WhenNoddy reached the Glen, he had time to stop and think; and the consequences of the sudden step he had taken came to his mind with tremendous force. He had fled from Miss Bertha, and all the comforts and luxuries which had surrounded him at Woodville. He was a vagabond again.
It was a great deal better to be a vagabond than it was to be an inmate of a prison, or even of a tinker's shop. He had committed no crime; the worst that could be said of him was, that he was a victim of circumstances. It was unfortunate for him that he had used those petulant words, that he wished the boat-house was burned down, for they had put the idea into Fanny's head. He did not mean to kindle the fire, but he believed that he had been the cause of it, and that it was hardly fair to let the young lady suffer for what he had virtually done.
He was sorry to leave Woodville, and above all, sorry to be banished from the presence of Miss Bertha. But that had already been agreed upon, and he was only anticipating the event by taking himself off as he did. He would rather have gone in a more honorable manner than running away like a hunted dog; but he could not help that, and the very thought of the horrible court-house was enough to drive him from the best home in the world.
He walked up to a retired part of the Glen, where he could continue his retreat without being intercepted, if it became necessary, and sat down on a rock to think of the future. He had no more idea what he should do with himself, than he had when he was a wanderer before in these regions. Undoubtedly his ultimate purpose was to go to sea; but he was not quite ready to depart. He cherished a hope that he might contrive to meet Bertha in some of her walks, and say good-bye to her before he committed himself to his fortunes on the stormy ocean.
While he was deliberating upon his prospects, a happy thought, as he regarded it, came to his mind. He could turn somersets, and cut more capers than any man in the circus company which he had seenon the preceding day. With a little practice, he was satisfied that he could learn to stand up on the back of a horse. A field of glory suddenly opened to his vision, and he could win the applause of admiring thousands by his daring feats. He had performed all sorts of gyrations for the amusement of the idlers about Woodville, and he might now turn his accomplishments to a useful purpose—indeed, make them pay for his food and clothing.
Noddy had no idea that circus performances were not entirely respectable; and it seemed to him that his early training had exactly fitted him to shine in this peculiar sphere. It might not be decent business for Mr. Grant and Bertha, but it was just the thing for him. Whitestone was a very large town, and the circus was still there. He had not a moment to lose; and, under the impulse of his new resolution, he left the Glen, intending to walk up the river to the ferry, a couple of miles distant.
Noddy went over the river, and reached the great tent of the circus company about one o'clock. He was rather disturbed by the fear that he might meet Squire Wriggs, or some of the constables; but all his hopes were now centred on the circus, and he could not avoid the risk of exposing himself.He boldly inquired for the "head man" of the establishment; but this distinguished functionary was not on the premises at that time; he would be there in the course of half an hour.
He walked down to a shop, and having a small sum of money in his pocket, he obtained something to eat. On his return to the tent, the head man was pointed out to him. Noddy, as a general rule, was not troubled with bashfulness; and he walked resolutely up to the manager, and intimated to him that he should like to be engaged as a performer.
"What do you want, my boy?" demanded the head man, who was quite confident that he had mistaken the applicant's meaning, for it was hardly possible that a youth like him could be a circus performer.
"I want a place to perform, sir," repeated Noddy, who was entirely ignorant of the technical terms belonging to the profession.
"To perform!" laughed the manager, measuring him from head to foot with his eye.
"Yes, sir."
"What kind of business can you do, my boy?"
"Almost anything, sir."
"Do you ride?"
"No, sir; I'm not much used to standing up on a horse, but I think I could go it, after doing it a little while."
"Do you, indeed!" sneered the man. "Well, we don't want anybody that can do almost any kind of business."
"I'm used to this thing, sir," pleaded Noddy.
"Used to it! I suppose you want a place as a bill-sticker, or to take care of the horses."
"No, sir; I want to perform. If you will give me a chance to show what I can do, I think you'll have me," persisted Noddy, not at all pleased with the decided refusal he had received.
"Well, come in here," laughed the head man, who had no doubt that the applicant would soon be brought to grief.
It was almost time for the doors to be opened for the afternoon performance, and the man conducted Noddy to the ring, where he saw a number of the riders and gymnasts, all dressed in their silks and spangles to appear before the public.
"Here, Whippleby, is a young man that wants an engagement," said the manager to the man who had acted as ring-master when Noddy was present.
"What can he do?"
"Almost everything; but he isn't much used to riding."
Whippleby laughed, and the manager laughed; and it was quite evident, even to the aspirant for circus honors, that all present intended to amuse themselves at his expense. But Noddy felt able to outdo most of the circus people at their own profession, and he confidently expected to turn the laugh upon them before the game was ended.
"A versatile genius," said Whippleby.
"Just try him, and see what he can do," added the manager, significantly.
"Well, my little man, what do you say to a little ground and lofty tumbling," said Whippleby, winking at the performers, who stood in a circle around them.
"I'm at home in that," replied Noddy, throwing off his jacket.
"Good! You have got pluck enough, at any rate. Here, Nesmond, do something," said the ring-master to a wiry young man of the group.
Nesmond did what Noddy had seen him do the day before; he whirled over and over across the ring, like a hoop, striking his hands and feet alternately on the ground.
"There, youngster, do you see that?" said Whippleby.
"Yes, sir, I see it," replied Noddy, unabashed by the work which was expected of him.
"Now, let us see you do it."
Noddy did it, and if anything, more rapidly and gracefully than the professional man. The men applauded, and Nesmond—"the great American vaulter and tumbler"—looked exceedingly disconcerted when he saw his wonderful act so easily imitated.
"Try it again, Nesmond," said Whippleby.
The distinguished athlete went on for half an hour, performing his antics; and Noddy repeated them, though he had never before attempted some of them. Nesmond gave it up.
"Well, young man, you can do almost everything, but you are as clumsy and ungraceful as a bear about it. You need a little training on your positions, and you will make a first-class tumbler," said the manager.
The men had ceased to laugh, and even looked admiringly on the prodigy who had so suddenly developed himself. Noddy felt that his fortune was already made, and he was almost ready to snap hisfingers at the court-house. Here was a chance for him to "work and win," and it was entirely to his taste.
The manager then questioned him in regard to his family connections; but as Noddy had none, his answers were very brief. He had no father nor mother, and he had no home; he was no runaway, for there was no one living who had any claim upon him. These answers were entirely satisfactory to the head man.
"What salary do you expect?" asked the manager, when he had assured himself there was no one to interfere with any arrangement he might make.
"What do you give?" asked Noddy.
"Well, we give different salaries, depending on the men."
"You have seen what I can do—what will you give me? Talk right up, or I shall have nothing to do with it," added Noddy, borrowing an expression from a highly respectable horse jockey, who had a language of his own.
"I'll give you your board and clothes, and your dresses for the first season."
"Nothing of that sort for me," replied Noddy,promptly. "I want to know how much I am to have in hard cash."
"Very well; I'll give you five dollars a week, and you find yourself."
Five dollars a week looked like a large salary to Noddy, though it was not one-fourth of what the distinguished Mr. Nesmond received, and he immediately closed the bargain.
"I'll put you on the bills for the next town we visit. What's your name?"
"Noddy Newman."
"What?"
The embryo performer repeated his name.
"That won't do; you must have a better name than that. Arthur De Forrest—how will that suit you?"
"First rate," replied Noddy, who was very accommodating in minor matters.
"We show in Disbury to-morrow night, and you must be ready to do your business then, Mr. De Forrest," added the manager. "After the performance this afternoon Mr. Whippleby will give you a few lessons."
"But where shall I get a dress?"
"I will furnish you one, and take it out of yoursalary. You had better put it on when you practice, so as to get used to it."
Noddy was highly pleased with all these arrangements, and could not help congratulating himself on the happy thought which had induced him to join the circus. It was true, and he could not help noticing it, that the men around him were not such people as Mr. Grant, and others whom he had been in the habit of seeing at Woodville. All of them swore terribly; their breath smelt of liquor, and they talked the language of a depravity to which Noddy, with all his waywardness, was a stranger. There were boys no older than himself in the company, but they did not seem a whit less depraved than the older ones.
Though the novice was not a young man of high aims and purposes, he was not much pleased with his companions. He was what they termed "green," and it was quite plain to him that there would be a fight before many days had passed by, for he was too high-spirited to submit tamely to the insults which were heaped upon him.
During the afternoon performance, he stood at the gates of the ring, where the horses enter; and Mr. Whippleby sent him before the public for the firsttime, to bring out a whip which had been left there.
"Noddy Newman!" shouted a boy among the spectators.
The young athlete heard his name, and too late he remembered that he had exposed himself to the gaze of the constables, who might by this time be in search of him. During the rest of the afternoon he kept himself out of sight; but the mischief had already been done.
Whenthe performance was over, Noddy, with the assistance of one of his companions, dressed himself in "trunk and tights," and appeared in the ring to take his first lesson in graceful movements. He could turn the somersets, and go through with the other evolutions; but there was a certain polish needed—so the ring-master said—to make them pass off well. He was to assume a graceful position at the beginning and end of each act; he must recover himself without clumsiness; he must bow, and make a flourish with his hands, when he had done a brilliant thing.
Noddy had not much taste for this branch of the profession. He did not like the bowing and the flourishing. If the feat itself did not please the people, he could not win them by smirking. He was much pleased with his costume, and this kept himgood-natured, under the severe training of the ring-master, for a time. Mr. Whippleby was coarse and rough in his manners. During the show he had been all grace and elegance, and did not use any big words, but now he was as rough as a bear, and swore like a pirate. He was just like a cat's paw,—he kept the sharp claws down while the dear people were present; but now he thrust them out.
Noddy found the "business" was no joke. Mr. Whippleby did not so regard it, now that the training had commenced; and the novice found that he had placed himself under a very tyrannical master. He made his bows and flourished his arms, with all the grace he could command for a time; but he did not come up to his severe teacher's standard.
"Do that again," said Mr. Whippleby, with savage emphasis. "Don't hurry it."
Noddy did it again, as slowly as he could; but he was apparently just as far from perfection as before.
"If you don't do better than that, I'll put the whip around your legs!" shouted the impatient ring-master. "One of the mules could do it better."
"I did it as well as I could," replied Noddy, rather tartly.
"You will do it better than that, or your legs will smart. Now do it again."
Noddy obeyed. He did not think the ring-master really intended to strike him with the long whip he held in his hand, but supposed he was so much in the habit of threatening the clown with the lash, that he did it now from the force of habit. His last attempt did not satisfy Mr. Whippleby, who stormed at him more furiously than before.
"Do you think I have nothing better to do than waste my time over a blockhead like you? I haven't had my bitters yet. Now do it again; and if you fail this time you will catch it."
Noddy turned his somerset; but he had hardly recovered himself before he received a smart cut from the whip in the tenderest part of his leg. There was a young lion in the novice, and a blow from any man was more than he could endure. He expressed his mind in regard to the outrage with such freedom, that Mr. Whippleby lost his temper, if he ever had any to lose, and he began to lash the unfortunate youth in the most brutal manner.
Noddy, finding there was no satisfaction to be obtained by facing the ring-master, fled from the spot, leaping up on the seats where the spectatorssat. He was maddened to fury by the harsh treatment he had received; and thirsting for vengeance, he seized whatever missiles he could find, and hurled them at his persecutor. His legs seemed to be on fire from the effects of the blows he had received. He rubbed them for a moment, while he hurled the most bitter denunciations at the ring-master.
"Now, come down, and try again," called Mr. Whippleby, who did not seem to be much disconcerted by what had taken place, when he had in some measure recovered his equanimity.
"No, I won't!" replied Noddy.
"Have you got enough, Mr. Arthur De Forrest?"
"I will giveyouenough before you get through."
While this colloquy was going on, the manager appeared in the ring. Whippleby laughingly told him what had happened, and he seemed to be much amused by it; but the ring-master had certainly changed his tone at the appearance of the "head man."
"Come, my boy, come down, and let me see how well you do your business," said the manager.
"I've had enough of it," replied Noddy, as hereturned to the ring. "I'm not a horse, and I'm not going to be treated like one."
"That's your initiation, my boy," said Whippleby. "We always try new beginners in that way, to find out what they are made of."
"You will find out what I'm made of, if you hit me again with that whip."
"I know now. You won't need any more, if you try to do what you are told."
"I'm not going to be whipped, whether I try or not," added Noddy, doggedly.
"You shall not be whipped, my boy," said the manager. "Now show me your ground act."
The novice was about to comply,—for he had already come to the conclusion that the "head man" would protect him,—when he saw two men enter the tent. They did not belong to the company, and Noddy was quite sure he had often seen them in Whitestone.
"We don't allow visitors in here now," said the manager.
"We come on business. There is a boy here that we want to find," replied one of the men.
"You must leave the tent," said the manager, rather sharply.
"I am a constable, and there is a boy about here that I want."
"What's his name?"
"They call him Noddy Newman."
"What do you want of him?"
"That's my business," answered the constable, rudely. "The boy came into the ring this afternoon during the show, and I suppose he belongs to the company."
"That's the fellow!" exclaimed the other constable, pointing to Noddy, who was trying to take himself off without being noticed.
"That's Arthur De Forrest," interposed the manager.
"No, it isn't; I've known him this five years," said the man who had recognized the culprit.
Both of them walked towards Noddy, with the intention, apparently, of laying violent hands on him; but the young gentleman in "trunk and tights" was not prepared to yield up his personal liberty, and he retreated.
The officers were in a position where they could stop him from leaving the tent by either of the two entrances; and Noddy, finding his exit prevented, seized a rope which was hanging down by the centre-pole, and climbed up out of the reach of his pursuers.
"What do you want of me?" demanded the young athlete, as he perched himself in a comfortable position on the "slack-rope," which was suspended to the pole.
"We shall not do you any harm, my boy," said one of the officers.
"What do you want of me?"
"There is good news for you; and you are wanted over at Squire Wriggs's office."
"I know ye! You want to take me to the court-house. You can't humbug me," said Noddy, fully confirmed in his suspicions by the conduct of the men.
"We won't hurt you."
"You want to take me up."
"No, we don't; we only want to take you up to Squire Wriggs's office. It's all for your good."
"No, you don't," replied Noddy. "You can't cheat me."
"We don't want to cheat you. We are only sent to find you. We will not arrest you."
"I know better. You can't fool me. I heard Squire Wriggs say he wanted to take me up to thecourt-house; and you don't catch me near no court-house. I know what you mean."
"You are mistaken, my boy. Come down, and I will tell you all about it."
"When I do, you let me know," replied Noddy, who felt so secure from arrest in his present quarters that he expressed his mind with perfect freedom.
"We promise not to arrest you," persisted the constable who did the talking. "We have been looking for you all day."
"You may look another day, if you like," added the defiant refugee. "You want me for setting fire to the boat-house; but I am not to blame, if I did do it."
"We don't know anything about the boat-house; Squire Wriggs has a lot of money for you."
"You can't catch an old bird in any such trap as that," answered Noddy, shaking his head significantly.
The officers used all their powers of persuasion to induce him to come down; but Noddy, satisfied that they had been sent by Squire Wriggs, was fully persuaded that they were trying to deceive him. The story about a "lot of money" for a poor boy like him, who had not a friend in the world, was tooabsurd, in his estimation, to be entertained for a moment. He had heard the squire speak to Mr. Grant about thirty thousand dollars; but such a sum was beyond his comprehension. He did not believe any man, not even the owner of Woodville, had so much money; and of course it was nothing to him.
The constables got out of patience at last; and though they showed no signs of anger or malice, they exhibited an intention to catch him, which was much worse. One of them commenced the ascent of the pole in the centre of the tent. The circus people, who seemed to be in full sympathy with Noddy, remained neutral, for the intruders were officers of the law, and it was not prudent to oppose them.
Noddy perceived the object of his pursuers, and grasping one of the tent-ropes, he scrambled up to the very apex of the canvas structure, and crawled through the aperture around the pole. From this point he slid down to the short poles, and then dropped upon the ground, before the man in the ring could pass round to the outside of the tent. Dodging under the curtains, he reached the place which served as a dressing-room. Removing his "trunks," he hurried on his clothes, and rushed out into the open air again.
His persecutors were not in sight, and he did not lose a moment in putting a safe distance between himself and them. Precisely as a well-educated duck or other water-fowl would have done, he hastened to the river, as his most natural element. He had made a complete circuit of the town in his flight. He did not dare to show himself to a living being; for it seemed to him just as though the whole country was after him. When he reached the river, he sat down on the bank, exhausted by his efforts and by the excitement of the afternoon.
"I reckon I've got about circus enough," said he to himself,—for there was no one else to whom he could say it. "That Whippleby is worse than a heathen. I don't like any of them."
He rubbed his legs, which were not yet done smarting; and the pain seemed to be an emphatic protest against circuses in general, and the "Great Olympian Circus" in particular. But whether he liked the circus or not, it was no longer safe for him to remain with the company. He had taken "French leave" of the manager, and had cheated him out of the tights which enveloped his body from neck to heels. This thought reminded him that they did not feel atall comfortable, and he wished the manager had his own again.
Having abandoned the circus profession in disgust, he wondered what he should do next. It was useless for him to stay in the vicinity of Woodville; and the only safe plan for him to adopt was, to go away to some other part of the country, or go to sea at once. He could not tolerate the idea of leaving without letting Bertha know where he was. The officers were on his track, and he could not hope always to escape them. The court-house was terrible, and prompt action was necessary.
He must have a sight of Bertha, even if he did not speak to her; and at the risk of being captured, he determined to stay in the neighborhood of Woodville till the next morning. Near the place where he sat there was a skiff moored to the bank. He hauled it in, and took up the oars. He did not mean to steal it, only to borrow it till the next morning. With this comfortable reflection he cast off the painter, and pulled over to the other side of the river.
It was now quite late in the evening. He had not eaten any supper, and, like other boys, he was always hungry at meal times. He wanted something to eat; and it occurred to him that there were generallysome crackers and cheese in the locker of the Greyhound, and he rowed down to her moorings. He found what he wanted there, and made a hearty supper. He was satisfied then, and soon went to sleep in the stern-sheets of the sail-boat.
Fortunately for him he waked up about daylight, and was not seen by any of the early risers at Woodville. Appropriating the rest of the crackers and cheese for his breakfast, he got into the skiff and rowed up to the Glen, where he hoped, in the course of the forenoon, to see Bertha.
Berthaoften walked to the Glen before breakfast, and Noddy expected to find her there on the present occasion. As she did not appear, he followed the path toward Woodville, and actually reached the lawn which surrounded the mansion before he thought of the danger he incurred. But it was breakfast time in the servants' quarters, and he was not seen.
Keeping on the outskirts of the lawn, where he could make good his retreat in case of necessity, he walked nearly around to the pier, and was so fortunate as to discover Bertha at the turn of a winding path, near his route. The sight of her filled him with emotion, and brought to his mind the remembrance of the many happy days he had spent in her presence. He could hardly restrain the tears which the thought of leaving the place brought to his eyes,though Noddy was not given to the feminine custom of weeping.
"Miss Bertha," said he, as she approached the spot where he stood.
She started back with alarm; but he stepped forward from the concealment of the bushes, and with a smile of pleasure she recognized him.
"Why, Noddy, is that you?" said she, walking towards the spot where he stood.
"It's me, Miss Bertha; but I suppose you don't want to see me now."
"I am very glad to see you. What did you go away for?"
"Because they were going to put me in the court-house."
"In the court-house!" exclaimed Bertha, who was better acquainted with legal affairs than her pupil.
"Yes, for setting the boat-house afire."
"I don't think they intended to take you to the court-house."
"O, I know they did. I have had two constables after me; but I got away from them. Besides, I heard Squire Wriggs say they were going to take me to the court-house. I heard him say so myself."
"Perhaps it is so," said Bertha, musing. "SquireWriggs came to see father yesterday morning. They went out together, and were speaking of you as they left the house."
"I'm glad you didn't have anything to do with it," said Noddy, delighted to find that Bertha was not one of his persecutors.
Then, with the utmost simplicity, and apparently with the feeling that he was a persecuted youth, he told her everything that had occurred from the time he first saw Mr. Grant and Squire Wriggs on the lawn.
"I don't know what my father's plans are," said Bertha, sadly; "but he thinks it is no longer safe to permit you to roam about the place. He is afraid you will set the house on fire, or do some other terrible thing."
"But I wouldn't, Miss Bertha," protested Noddy.
"Why did you do such a wicked thing?"
"I couldn't help it."
"Yes, you could, Noddy. That's only making a bad matter worse. Of course you could help setting a building on fire."
"It wasn't my fault, Miss Bertha," stammered he; "I can't explain it now—perhaps some time I may;and when you understand it, you won't think so bad of me."
"If there is anything about it I don't know, why don't you tell me?" added Bertha, mystified by his strange remark.
"I can't say anything now. Please don't ask me anything about it, Miss Bertha. I'm not half so much to blame as you think I am; but I set the fire, and they are after me for it. They have used all sorts of tricks to catch me; but I'm not going into any court-house, or any tinker's shop."
"What tricks do you mean?"
"They said they had a lot of money for me, and that Squire Wriggs wouldn't do me any harm."
"Well, I don't know anything about that. Father went over to Whitestone with Squire Wriggs, after you ran away. He went over again last night, after he came from the city, and I haven't seen him for more than a moment since."
"He is going to send me to the court-house," said Noddy, fully satisfied that Bertha knew nothing about the proceedings of her father. "I am going to sea, now."
"To sea, Noddy?"
"Yes, I'm going to work and win, as you told me, and when I come back I shall be respectable."
Bertha had her doubts on this point. She had almost lost all hope of herprotégé, and she did not think that a voyage in the forecastle of a ship would be likely to improve his manners or his morals.
"I can't let you go, Noddy," said she.
"I must go; if I stay here they will put me in prison. You don't want to see me put in prison, Bertha."
"I don't."
"Then what can I do? The officers are after me this moment."
"But I shall have to tell my father that I have seen you."
"You may do that; and you may tell him, too, that it won't be any use for him to try to find me, for I shall keep out of the way. If they catch me they will be smarter than I am," added Noddy, confidently.
"I want to see you again, Noddy, after I have talked with father about you. I don't believe he intends to send you to prison."
"I know he does. I come over here to see you before I went away. I couldn't go without seeing you,or I shouldn't have come. I may never see you again, for I shan't run any more risks after this."
Bertha said all she could to induce him to meet her again; but the cunning youth was afraid that some trap might be set to catch him, and he assured her that this was positively his last appearance at Woodville for the present. He was satisfied that Mr. Grant had taken the case into his own hands, and that she could not save him if she would.
"Now, good-bye, Miss Bertha," said he, wiping a tear from his face.
"Don't go, Noddy," pleaded she.
"I must."
"You haven't any clothes but those you have on, and you have no money."
"I don't want any. I can get along very well. Won't you shake hands with me before I go?"
"Certainly, I will," replied she, giving him her hand. "You will not let me do anything for you now?"
"You have done more than I deserve. Good-bye, Miss Bertha," said he, pressing the hand he held.
"Good-bye, Noddy," replied she. "Good-bye, if you must go."
"There comes your father," exclaimed he, as hebounded off into the grove with the speed of an antelope.
"Was that Noddy?" asked Mr. Grant, as he joined Bertha a few minutes later.
"Yes, father."
"Why didn't you tell me he was here, Bertha?"
"He came but a few moments ago. He came to bid me good-bye."
"Where is he going?"
"He is going to sea. He says you intend to take him to the court-house."
"This is very unfortunate. A most remarkable event in regard to the boy has occurred, which I haven't time to tell you about now. It is very important that I should find him at once."
"I don't think you can catch him. He is very much afraid of being sent to prison."
"I had no intention of sending him to prison," laughed Mr. Grant.
"But he heard Squire Wriggs say he must take him over to the court."
"That was for another matter—in a word, to have a guardian appointed, for Noddy will be a rich man when he is of age."
"Noddy?" exclaimed Bertha.
"Yes; but I haven't a moment to spare. I have been at work on his affairs since yesterday morning. They are all right now; and all we want to enable us to complete the business is the presence of the boy."
"Poor fellow! He is terribly worked up at the idea of going to the court-house, or even to a tinker's shop, as he calls it."
"Well, he is running away from his own fortune and happiness; and I must find him."
"I hope you will, father," said Bertha, earnestly, as Mr. Grant hastened away to organize a pursuit of the refugee.
All the male servants on the place were summoned, and several started off in the direction in which Noddy had retreated. The boatman and others were sent off in the boats; and the prospect was, that the fugitive would be captured within a few hours. As our story relates more especially to the runaway himself, we shall follow him, and leave the well-meaning people of Woodville to pursue their investigations alone.
When Noddy discovered Mr. Grant, he was satisfied that the gentleman saw him, for he quickened his pace, and walked towards the place where he stoodholding Bertha's hand. He ran with all his might by the familiar paths till he reached the Glen. There were, at present, no signs of a pursuit; but he was confident that it would not be delayed, and he did not even stop to take breath. Rushing down to the water, he embarked in the skiff, and rowed up the river, taking care to keep in shore, where he could not be seen from below.
Above Van Alstine's Island, he crossed the river, and began to work his way down; but the white sails of the Greyhound were seen, with all the boats belonging to the estate, headed up stream. They were chasing him in earnest, and he saw that it was not safe to remain on the river.
"Do you know where Mr. Grover lives?" he asked of a ragged boy who was fishing on the bank of the river.
"Below Whitestone?"
"Yes."
"Will you take this boat down there?"
"I will," replied the boy, glad of the job, and willing to do it without any compensation.
Noddy had taken off the tights belonging to the circus company, and rolled them up in a bundle. In order to be as honest as Bertha had taught him to be,—though he was not always so particular,—he engaged the boy to leave them at the circus tent.
The boy got into the boat, and began his trip down the river. Noddy felt that he had been honest, and he was rather proud of the record he was to leave behind him; for it did not once occur to him that borrowing the boat without leave was only a little better than stealing it, even if he did return it.
The servants at Woodville and the constables at Whitestone were on his track, and he had no time to spare. Taking a road leading from the river, he walked away from it as fast as he could. About three miles distant, he found a road leading to the northward; and thinking it better to suffer by excess of prudence than by the want of it, he took this direction, and pursued his journey till he was so tired he could go no farther.
A farmer on the road gave him some dinner; and when he had rested himself, he resumed his walk. At sunset he reached a large town on the river, where he felt safe from pursuit until he saw the flaming hand-bills of the Great Olympian Circus, which was almost as bad as meeting one of the constables, for these worthies would expect to find him at the tent, and probably were on the watch for him.
Noddy was too tired to walk any farther that day. He wanted to reach some large seaport, like New York or Boston, where he could find a vessel bound on a foreign voyage. He was almost afraid to go to the former city, for he had heard about the smart detectives they have there, who catch any person guilty of crime, though they never saw him before. He had told Bertha that he intended to go to sea; and he was afraid that Mr. Grant would be on the watch for him, or set some of these detectives to catch him, if he went there.
It was almost time for the steamers for Albany, which went up in the night, to reach the town, and he determined to go on board of one, and proceed as far up the river as he could with the small sum of money in his possession. He soon found the landing-place, and presently a steamer came along.
"Where do you want to go, boy?" asked one of the officers of the boat.
"I want to go to Albany; but I haven't money enough to pay my fare."
"How much money have you got?"
"Thirty-five cents. I will go as far as that will pay my fare."
"That will only be to the next landing-place."
"Couldn't you give me some work to do, to pay my fare up to Albany?"
The officer happened to be rather pleased with Noddy, and told him he might stand by and help land the baggage at the stopping-places. He gave the little wanderer some supper in the mess-room, after the boat got off, and Noddy was as grateful as though the man had given him a gold mine. When the steamer made another landing, he worked with all his might, and was highly commended for his skill and activity.
And so he passed the night, sleeping between the stoppages, and working like a mule at every landing. In the morning the boat reached Albany, and the officer gave him his breakfast with the engineers. Noddy felt safe from pursuit now; he went on shore, and walked about the city, thinking what he should do next.
Bostonwas two hundred miles distant, and Noddy was principally excited to know how he should get there, for he had decided to ship in that city. It would take him a week to go on foot, and his funds were now completely exhausted, so that he could not pay his fare by railroad. If he could neither ride nor walk, the question was narrowed down to a point where it needed no further consideration.
"Here, boy, do you want a job?" said a gentleman, coming out of a dwelling with a valise and a large bundle in his hands.
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," replied Noddy, springing forward, and taking the heavier articles, without giving the gentleman the trouble to state what he wanted of him.
This incident seemed to solve the problem for him. He could remain in Albany long enough to earn asufficient sum of money to pay his fare to Boston. He followed the gentleman to the railroad station, and handed the valise to the baggage-master. The gentleman gave him a quarter of a dollar for his services. It was a liberal return for the short time he had been employed, and a few more such jobs as that would soon put him in funds.
Noddy was sanguine now that he could earn money with entire ease, and all the difficulties which had beset him began to disappear. There was something exceedingly pleasant in the idea of being independent; of putting his hand into his pocket and always finding some money there which had been earned by his own labor. It was a novel sensation to him.
"Work and win!" exclaimed he, as he walked out of the railroad station. "I understand it all now, and I may thank Miss Bertha for the idea."
In the enthusiasm of the moment, he began to consider whether it would not be better to remain on shore and amass a fortune, which he believed could be done in a short time. He could carry bundles and valises till he got money enough to buy a horse and wagon, when he could go into the business on a more extensive scale. The road to fortune was open to him; all his trials and difficulties had suddenly vanished, and he had only to reach out his hand to pluck the golden harvest.
The rattling of a train which had just arrived disturbed this pleasant dream, and Noddy hastened back to secure the fruit of his brilliant resolution. There were plenty of gentlemen with bags and valises in their hands, but not a single one of them wanted any assistance; and some of them answered his civil salutation with insult and harshness. The experiment did not work so well as he had anticipated, for Noddy's great expectations led him to believe that he should make about half a dollar out of the arrival of this train, instead of which he did not make a single cent.
"Work and win; but where are you going to get your work?" said Noddy to himself.
No more trains were to arrive for some hours, and he posted himself in the street, asking for a job whenever there was the least prospect of obtaining one. At noon, Noddy was hungry, and was obliged to spend half his morning's earnings for a coarse dinner, for his circumstances did not permit him to indulge in the luxury of roast beef and plum pudding. During the afternoon he lay in wait for a job at the railroad stations, and in the most public placesof the city. But the sum of his earnings was only five cents.
"Work and win!" said he. "Sum total of day's work, thirty cents; not enough to buy what I want to eat. It don't pay."
If work did not pay, stealing certainly would not; and we are happy to say, Bertha Grant had done her duty by him so faithfully, that he did not feel tempted to resort to any irregular means of obtaining a subsistence. If work did not pay, it was only because he could not obtain it. He had not yet struck a productive vein. He had been a fishing a great many times; but when he had no success, he neither concluded that fish were not good, nor that there were no fish in the river.
There was a train to arrive, after dark, from New York city, and he determined to make one more effort to improve his fortunes. As the passengers came out of the station with small parcels of baggage in their hands, he offered his services to them. His heart almost leaped with rapture when a gentleman handed him a small carpet-bag, and told him to follow to the Delavan House. He took the bag, and then, to his horror, he discovered that the gentleman was Mr. Grant!
What had brought him to Albany? As Noddy's sphere of observation was confined to the little world of his own affairs, he concluded that the owner of Woodville must be there for the purpose of arresting him. Probably some of those smart constables had traced him to the town where he had embarked for Albany. Again the horrors of the court-house, the jail, and the tinker's shop were present to his mind. He had taken the valise, and was now following Mr. Grant to the hotel. It was dark at the place where he had received the carpet-bag, otherwise he would have been recognized.
Noddy had no doubt in regard to the correctness of his conclusions; and he could not help thinking that a great man, like Mr. Grant, was taking a good deal of pains to capture a poor boy, like him. His arrest was a matter of a great deal more consequence than he had supposed, which made it all the more necessary to his future peace and happiness that he should escape. The bag tied him to his persecutor, or he would have run away as fast as he could. He could not carry off the baggage, for that would subject him to another penalty, even if he had been dishonest enough to do such a thing. He decided to follow Mr. Grant to the hotel, drop the bag, and run.
"Boy, do you know where the police office is?" said Mr. Grant, suddenly turning round upon him.
"No, sir," replied Noddy, whose natural boldness prompted him, when fairly cornered, to face the danger.
"What! Noddy?" exclaimed Mr. Grant. "I came to look for you."
"Thank you, sir," replied Noddy.
"You were a foolish fellow to run away. I'm not going to hurt you; neither is anybody else."
Noddy was not a little astonished to find Mr. Grant, in his own homely terms, "trying it on" in this manner. It was not strange that the constable, or even Squire Wriggs, should resort to deception to entrap him; but he was not quite prepared for it from the upright proprietor of Woodville. If he was wanted "bad enough" to induce a gentleman of wealth and position to make a journey to Albany after him, it was the very best reason in the world why he should get out of the way as soon as possible.
"How is Miss Bertha, sir?" asked Noddy, who did not know what else to say.
"She is quite well, and feels very badly now atyour absence. You have made a great mistake, Noddy," replied Mr. Grant.
"Is Miss Fanny pretty well, sir?"
"Very well. We don't wish to injure you, or even to punish you, for setting the boat-house on fire. The worst that I shall do will be to send you——"
"Is Ben any better than he was?" continued Noddy, fully satisfied in his own mind in regard to the last remark.
"Ben is very well," said Mr. Grant, impatiently. "Now, you will come with me, Noddy, and not try to run away again."
"How is Mrs. Green and the rest of the folks?" asked Noddy, fully resolved that even Mr. Grant should not "pull wool over his eyes," as he quaintly expressed his view of this attempt to deceive him.
"She is well. Now come with me, Noddy. I will give you a good supper, and you shall have everything you need. Your circumstances have changed now, and you will be a rich man when you are of age."
"Have you heard from Mr. Richard lately, sir?"
"Never mind Richard, now. Come with me, Noddy. If you attempt to run away again, I shall be obliged to hand you over to a policeman."
That looked much more like it, in Noddy's opinion, and he had no doubt of Mr. Grant's entire sincerity in the last remark.
"I will follow you, sir," replied Noddy, though he did not intend to continue on this route much farther.
"You understand that I am your friend, Noddy, and that no harm shall come to you."
"Yes, sir; I understand that."
"Come here now, and walk by my side. I don't want to call a policeman to take charge of you."
Noddy did not want him to do so either, and did not intend that he should. He placed himself by the side of his powerful persecutor, as he still regarded him, and they walked together towards the hotel. The young refugee was nervous and uneasy, and watched with the utmost diligence for an opportunity to slip away. As they were crossing a street, a hack, approaching rapidly, caused Mr. Grant to quicken his pace in order to avoid being run over. Noddy, burdened with the weight of the carpet-bag, did not keep up with him, and he was obliged to fall back to escape the carriage.
"Here, boy, you take this bag, and follow the owner to the hotel, and he will give you something,"said Noddy to a ragged boy at the corner of the street.
Without waiting for an answer, he darted down the cross street, and made his best time in the rush for liberty.
The boy, to whom Noddy had given the bag, ran over the street, and placed himself behind Mr. Grant, whom he judged to be the owner of the baggage.
"Where is the other boy?" demanded Mr. Grant.
"Gone down State Street to find ten cents he lost there," replied the wicked boy. "I'll carry your bag, sir."
"But I want the boy! Which way did he go?" said Mr. Grant, in hurried tones.
"Down there, sir. His mother'll lick him if he don't find the ten cents he lost. I'll carry the bag."
But Mr. Grant was unwilling to trust his property to the hands of such a boy, and he immediately reclaimed it.
"I want that boy!" exclaimed Mr. Grant, in great agitation. "Which way did he go?"
"Down there," replied the ragged boy, pointing down a street in exactly the opposite direction from that taken by the fugitive.
But Mr. Grant was too wise a man to follow. He was in search of a policeman just then. As these worthy functionaries are never at hand when they are wanted, of course he did not find one. He called a carriage, and ordered the driver to convey him with all speed, and at double fare, to the police office. On his arrival, he immediately stated his business, and in a few hours the whole police force of the city were on the lookout for poor Noddy Newman.
The object of all this friendly solicitude was unconscious of the decided steps taken by Mr. Grant; but he ran till he had placed a safe distance between himself and his potent oppressor. He saw plenty of policemen in his flight, but he paid no attention to them, nor even thought what a powerful combination they formed against a weak boy like himself. He was satisfied, however, that he must leave the city; and when he was out of breath with running, he walked as nearly on a straight course as the streets would permit, till he reached the outskirts of the city.
"Stop that heifer!" shouted a man, who was chasing the animal.
Noddy headed her off, and she darted away in another direction. Our refugee was interested inthe case at once; for he could not permit any horned beast to circumvent him. He ran as though he had not run before that evening, and brought the wayward animal up in a corner when the man came to his assistance.
"You are a smart boy," said the drover.
"That's so," puffed Noddy, modestly.
"If you haven't got nothin' better to do, I'll make it wuth your while to help drive these cattle down to the keers," added the man.
As Noddy had nothing better to do, he at once accepted the offer, without even stipulating the price. They started the heifer again, and she concluded to join the drove which was in the adjoining street. It was no easy matter to drive the animals, which were not accustomed to the ways of the city, through the streets, and Noddy won a great deal of credit for the vigor and agility with which he discharged his duty. They reached the ferry boat, and crossing, came to the "keers," into which the young drover assisted in loading the cattle.
His employer gave him a quarter of a dollar, which hardly came up to Noddy's expectations; for it seemed to him like working very hard, and winning very little for it. The man asked him somequestions about his home. Noddy told as much of the truth as suited his purpose, and concluded by saying he wanted to get to Boston, where he could find something to do.