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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/25506-8.txt b/25506-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2895516 --- /dev/null +++ b/25506-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8523 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Bobby Orde, by Stewart Edward White + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Adventures of Bobby Orde + +Author: Stewart Edward White + +Illustrator: Worth Brehm + +Release Date: May 17, 2008 [EBook #25506] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF BOBBY ORDE *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, Janet Blenkinship and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + + +THE ADVENTURES OF BOBBY ORDE + + + + +OTHER BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR + + THE CLAIM JUMPERS + THE WESTERNERS + THE BLAZED TRAIL + BLAZED TRAIL STORIES + THE MAGIC FOREST + CONJUROR'S HOUSE + THE SILENT PLACES + THE FOREST + THE MOUNTAINS + THE PASS + CAMP AND TRAIL + THE RIVERMAN + ARIZONA NIGHTS + + With Samuel Hopkins Adams + THE MYSTERY + +[Illustration: "ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT A TRUE SPORTSMAN IN EVERY WAY IS +ABOUT THE SCARCEST THING THEY MAKE--AND THE FINEST. SO NATURALLY THE +COMMON RUN OF PEOPLE DON'T LIVE UP TO IT. IF _you_--NOT THE THINKING +YOU, NOR EVEN THE CONSCIENCE YOU, BUT THE WAY-DOWN-DEEP-IN-YOUR-HEART +_you_ THAT YOU CAN'T FOOL NOR TRICK NOR LIE TO--IF THAT _you_ IS +SATISFIED, IT'S ALL RIGHT."] + + + + + THE ADVENTURES OF + BOBBY ORDE + + BY + + STEWART EDWARD WHITE + + [Illustration] + + ILLUSTRATED BY WORTH BREHM + + NEW YORK + GROSSET & DUNLAP + PUBLISHERS + + + + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION + INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN + + COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + + COPYRIGHT, 1908, 1909, + BY THE PHILLIPS PUBLISHING COMPANY + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. THE BOOMS 3 + + II. THE PICNIC 36 + + III. HIDE AND COOP 67 + + IV. THE PRINTING PRESS 81 + + V. THE LITTLE GIRL 91 + + VI. THE LITTLE GIRL (_Continued_) 103 + + VII. UNTIL THE LAST SHOT 115 + + VIII. THE FLOBERT RIFLE 140 + + IX. MR. DAGGETT 150 + + X. THE SPORTSMAN'S ASSOCIATION 160 + + XI. THE MARSHES 167 + + XII. THE TRESPASSERS 209 + + XIII. THE PLAYMATES 221 + + XIV. THE SHOOTING CLUB 235 + + XV. THE UPPER ROOMS 239 + + XVI. THE THIRD STORY 243 + + XVII. "SLIDING DOWN HILL" 247 + + XVIII. CHRISTMAS 262 + + XIX. THE BOXING MATCH 284 + + XX. THE PARTNERS 292 + + XXI. WINTER 298 + + XXII. THE MURDER 304 + + XXIII. THE TRIAL 317 + + XXIV. THE TRIAL (_Continued_) 322 + + XXV. THE HOLE IN THE CAP 326 + + XXVI. THE SIXTEEN-GAUGE SHOTGUN 332 + + XXVII. THE SPORTSMAN 337 + + +THE ADVENTURES OF BOBBY ORDE + + + + +I + +THE BOOMS + + +At nine o'clock one morning Bobby Orde, following an agreement with his +father, walked sedately to the Proper Place, where he kept his cap and +coat and other belongings. The Proper Place was a small, dark closet +under the angle of the stairs. He called it the Proper Place just as he +called his friend Clifford Fuller, or the saw-mill town in which he +lived Monrovia--because he had always heard it called so. + +At the door a beautiful black and white setter solemnly joined him. + +"Hullo, Duke!" greeted Bobby. + +The dog swept back and forth his magnificent feather tail, and fell in +behind his young master. + +Bobby knew the way perfectly. You went to the fire-engine house; and +then to the left after the court-house was Mr. Proctor's; and then, all +at once, the town. Father's office was in the nearest square brick +block. Bobby paused, as he always did, to look in the first store +window. In it was a weapon which he knew to be a Flobert Rifle. It was +something to be dreamed of, with its beautiful blued-steel octagon +barrel, its gleaming gold-plated locks and its polished stock. Bobby was +just under ten years old; but he could have told you all about that +Flobert Rifle--its weight, the length of its barrel, the number of +grains of both powder and lead loaded in its various cartridges. Among +his books he possessed a catalogue that described Flobert Rifles, and +also Shotguns and Revolvers. Bobby intoxicated himself with them. Twice +he had even seen his father's revolver; and he knew where it was +kept--on the top shelf of the closet. The very closet door gave him a +thrill. + +Reluctantly he tore himself away, and turned in to the straight, broad +stairway that led to the offices above. The stairway, and the hall to +which it mounted were dark and smelled of old coco-matting and stale +tobacco. Bobby liked this smell very much. He liked, too, the echo of +his footsteps as he marched down the hall to the door of his father's +offices. + +Within were several long, narrow desks burdened with large ledgers and +flanked by high stools. On each stool sat a clerk--five of them. An +iron "base burner" stove occupied the middle of the room. Its pipe ran +in suspension here and there through the upper air until it plunged +unexpectedly into the wall. A capacious wood-box flanked it. Bobby was +glad he did not have to fill that wood-box at a cent a time. + +Against the walls at either end of the room and next the windows were +two roll-top desks at which sat Mr. Orde and his partner. Two or three +pivoted chairs completed the furnishings. + +"Hullo, Bobby," called Mr. Orde, who was talking earnestly to a man; +"I'll be ready in a few minutes." + +Nothing pleased Bobby more than to wander about the place with its +delicious "office smell." At one end of the room, nailed against the +wall, were rows and rows of beautifully polished models of the firm's +different tugs, barges and schooners. Bobby surveyed them with both +pleasure and regret. It seemed a shame that such delightful boats should +have been built only in half and nailed immovably to boards. Against +another wall were maps, and a real deer's head. Everywhere hung framed +photographs of logging camps and lumbering operations. From any one of +the six long windows he could see the street below, and those who passed +along it. Time never hung heavy at the office. + +When Mr. Orde had finished his business, he put on his hat, and the big +man, the little boy and the grave, black and white setter dog walked +down the long dark hall, down the steps, and around the corner to the +livery stable. + +Here they climbed into one of the light and graceful buggies which were +at that time a source of such pride to their owners, and flashed out +into the street behind Mr. Orde's celebrated team. + +Duke's gravity at this juncture deserted him completely. Life now meant +something besides duty. Ears back, mouth wide, body extended, he flew +away. Faster and faster he ran, until he was almost out of sight; then +turned with a whirl of shingle dust and came racing back. When he +reached the horses he leaped vigorously from one side to the other, +barking ecstatically; then set off on a long even lope along the +sidewalks and across the street, investigating everything. + +Mr. Orde took the slender whalebone whip from its socket. + +"Come, Dick!" said he. + +The team laid back their pointed delicate ears, shook their heads from +side to side, snorted and settled into a swift stride. Bobby leaned over +to watch the sunlight twinkle on the wheel-spokes. The narrow tires sunk +slightly in the yielding shingle fragments. _Brittle!_ _Brittle!_ +_Brittle!_ the sound said to Bobby. Above all things he loved to watch +the gossamer-like wheels, apparently too light and delicate to bear the +weight they must carry, flying over the springy road. + +At the edge of town they ran suddenly out from beneath the maple trees +to find themselves at the banks of the river. A long bridge crossed it. +The team clattered over the planks so fast that hardly could Bobby get +time to look at the cat-tails along the bayous before blue water was +beneath him. + +But here Mr. Orde had to pull up. The turn-bridge was open; and Bobby to +his delight was allowed to stand up in his seat and watch the wallowing, +churning little tug and the three calm ships pass through. He could not +see the tug at all until it had gone beyond the bridge, only its smoke; +but the masts of the ship passed stately in regular succession. + +"Three-masted schooner," said he. + +Then when the last mast had scarcely cleared the opening, the ponderous +turn-bridge began slowly to close. Its movement was almost +imperceptible, but mighty beyond Bobby's small experience to gauge. He +could make out the two bridge tenders walking around and around, pushing +on the long lever that operated the mechanism. In a moment more the +bridge came into alignment with a clang. The team, tossing their heads +impatiently, moved forward. + +On the other side of the bridge was no more town; but instead, great +lumber yards, and along the river a string of mills with many +smokestacks. + +The road-bed at this point changed abruptly to sawdust, springy and +odorous with the sweet new smell of pine that now perfumed all the air. +To the left Bobby could see the shipyards and the skeleton of a vessel +well under way. From it came the irregular _Block!_ _Block!_ _Block!_ of +mallets; and it swarmed with the little, black, ant-like figures of men. + +Mr. Orde drove rapidly and silently between the shipyards and the rows +and rows of lumber piles, arranged in streets and alleys like an +untenanted city. Overhead ran tramways on which dwelt cars and great +black and bay horses. The wild exultant shriek of the circular saw rang +out. White plumes of steam shot up against the intense blue of the sky. +Beyond the piles of lumber Bobby could make out the topmasts of more +ships, from which floated the pointed hollow "tell-tales" affected by +the lake schooners of those days as pennants. At the end of the lumber +piles the road turned sharp to the right. It passed in turn the small +building which Bobby knew to be another delightful office, and the huge +cavernous mill with its shrieks and clangs, its blazing, winking eyes +beneath and its long incline up which the dripping, sullen logs crept in +unending procession to their final disposition. And then came the +"booms" or pens, in which the logs floated like a patterned brown +carpet. Men with pike poles were working there; and even at a distance +Bobby caught the dip and rise, and the flash of white water as the +rivermen ran here and there over the unstable footing. + +Next were more lumber yards and more mills, for five miles or so, until +at last they emerged into an open, flat country, divided by the +old-fashioned snake fences; dotted with blackened stumps of the +long-vanished forest; eaten by sloughs and bayous from the river. The +sawdust ceased. Bobby leaned out to watch with fascinated interest the +sand, divided by the tire, flowing back in a beautiful curved V to cover +the wheel-rim. + +As far as the eye could reach were marshes grown with wild rice and +cat-tails. Occasionally one of these bayous would send an arm in to +cross the road. Then Bobby was delighted, for that meant a float-bridge +through the cracks of which the water spurted up in jets at each impact +of the horses' hoofs. On either hand the bayou, but a plank's thickness +below the level of the float-bridge, filmed with green weeds and the +bright scum of water, not too stagnant, offered surprises to the +watchful eye. One could see many mud-turtles floating lazily, feet +outstretched in poise; and bullfrogs and little frogs; and, in the clear +places, trim and self-sufficient mud hens. From the reeds at the edges +flapped small green herons and thunder pumpers. And at last---- + +"Oh, look, papa!" cried Bobby excited and awed. "There's a snap'n' +turtle!" + +Indeed, there he was in plain sight, the boys' monster of the marshes, +fully two feet in diameter, his rough shell streaming with long green +grasses, his wicked black eyes staring, his hooked, powerful jaws set in +a grim curve. If once those jaws clamped--so said the boys--nothing +could loose them but the sound of thunder, not even cutting off the +head. + +Ten of the twelve miles to the booms had already been passed. The horses +continued to step out freely, making nothing of the light fabric they +drew after them. Duke, the white of his coat soiled and muddied by +frequent and grateful plunges, loped alongside, his pink tongue hanging +from one corner of his mouth, and a seraphic expression on his +countenance. Occasionally he rolled his eyes up at his masters in sheer +enjoyment of the expedition. + +"Papa," asked Bobby suddenly, "what makes you have the booms so far +away? Why don't you have them down by the bridge?" + +Mr. Orde glanced down at his son. The boy looked very little and very +childish, with his freckled, dull red cheeks, his dot of a nose, and his +wide gray eyes. The man was about to make some stop-gap reply. He +checked himself. + +"It's this way Bobby," he explained carefully. "The logs are cut 'way up +the river--ever so far--and then they float down the river. Now, +everybody has logs in the river--Mr. Proctor and Mr. Heinzman and Mr. +Welton and lots of people, and they're all mixed up together. When they +get down to the mills where they are to be sawed up into boards, the +logs belonging to the different owners have to be sorted out. Papa's +company is paid by all the others to do the floating down stream and the +sorting out. The sorting out is done in the booms; and we put the booms +up stream from the mills because it is easier to float the logs, after +they have been sorted, down the stream than to haul them back up the +stream." + +"What do you have them so far up the stream for?" asked Bobby. + +"Because there's more room--the river widens out there." + +Bobby said nothing for some time, and Mr. Orde confessed within himself +a strong doubt as to whether or not the explanation had been understood. + +"Papa," demanded Bobby, "I don't see how you tell your logs from Mr. +Proctor's or Mr. Heinzman's or any of the rest of them." + +Mr. Orde turned, extending his hand heartily to his astonished son. + +"You're all right, Bobby!" said he. "Why, you see, each log is stamped +on the end with a mark. Mr. Proctor's mark is one thing; and Mr. +Heinzman's is another; and all the rest have different ones." + +"I see," said Bobby. + +The road now led them through a small grove of willows. Emerging thence +they found themselves in full sight of the booms. + +For fifty feet Bobby allowed his eyes to run over a scene already +familiar and always of the greatest attraction to him. Then came what he +called, after his Malory, the Stumps Perilous. Between them there was +but just room to drive--in fact the delicate points of the whiffle tree +scratched the polished surfaces of them on either hand. Bobby loved to +imagine them as the mighty guardians of the land beyond, and he always +held his breath until they had been passed in safety. + +Shying gently toward each other, ears pricked toward the two obstacles, +the horses shot through with pace undiminished and drew up proudly +before the smallest of the group of buildings. Thence emerged a tall, +spare, keen-eyed man in slouch hat, flannel shirt, shortened trousers +and spiked boots. + +"Hullo, Jim," said Mr. Orde. + +"Hullo, Jack," said the other. + +"Where's your chore boy to take the horses?" + +"I'll rustle him," replied the River Boss. + +Bobby drew a deep breath of pleasure, and looked about him. + +From the land's edge extended a wide surface of logs. Near at hand +little streaks of water lay between some of them, but at a short +distance the prospect was brown and uniform, until far away a narrow +flash of blue marked the open river. Here and there ran the confines of +the various booms included in the monster main boom. These confines +consisted of long heavy timbers floating on the water, and joined end to +end by means of strong links. They were generally laid in pairs, and +hewn on top, so that they constituted a network of floating sidewalks +threading the expanse of saw-logs. At intervals they were anchored to +bunches of piles driven deep, and bound at the top. An unbroken palisade +of piles constituted the outer boundaries of the main boom. At the upper +end of them perched a little house whence was operated the mechanism of +the heavy swing boom, capable of closing entirely the river channel. +Thus the logs, floating or driven down the river, encountered this +obstruction; were shunted into the main booms, where they were +distributed severally into the various pocket booms; and later were +released at the lower end, one lot at a time, to the river again. Thence +they were appropriated by the mill to which they belonged. + +Bobby did not as yet understand the mechanism of all this. He saw merely +the brown logs, and the distant blue water, and the hut wherein he knew +dwelt machinery and a good-natured, short, dark man with a short, dark +pipe, and the criss-cross floating sidewalks, and the men with long pike +poles and shorter peavies moving here and there about their work. And he +liked it. + +But now the chore boy appeared to take charge of the horses. Mr. Orde +lifted Bobby down, and immediately walked away with the River Boss, +leaving with Bobby the parting injunction not to go out on the booms. + +Bobby, left to himself, climbed laboriously, one steep step at a time, +to the elevation of the roofless porch before the mess house. The floor +he examined, as always, with the greatest interest. The sharp caulks of +the rivermen's shoes had long since picked away the surface, leaving it +pockmarked and uneven. Only the knots had resisted; and each of these +now constituted a little hill above the surrounding plains, Bobby always +wished that either his tin soldiers could be here or this well-ordered +porch could be at home. + +The sun proving hot, he peeped within the cook-house. There long tables +flanked each by two benches of equal extent, stretched down the dimness. +They were covered with dark oil-cloth, and at intervals on them arose +irregular humps of cheese cloth. Beneath the cheese cloth, which Bobby +had seen lifted, were receptacles containing the staples and condiments, +such as stewed fruit, sugar, salt, pepper, catsup, molasses and the +like. Innumerable tin plates and cups laid upside down were guarded by +iron cutlery. It was very dark and still, and the flies buzzed. + +Beyond, Bobby could hear the cook and his helpers, called cookees. He +decided to visit them; but he knew better than to pass through the +dining room. Until the bell rang, that was sacred from the boss himself. + +Therefore he descended from the porch, one step at a time, and climbed +around to the kitchen. Here he found preparations for dinner well under +way. + +"'Llo, Bobby," greeted the cook, a tall white-moustached lean man with +bushy eyebrows. The cookees grinned, and one of them offered him a cooky +as big as a pie-plate. Bobby accepted the offering, and seated himself +on a cracker box. + +Food was being prepared in quantities to stagger the imagination of one +used only to private kitchens. Prunes stewed away in galvanized iron +buckets; meat boiled in wash-boilers; coffee was made in fifty-pound +lard tins; pies were baking in ranks of ten; mashed potatoes were +handled by the shovelful; a barrel of flour was used every two and a +half days in this camp of hungry hard-working men. It took a good man to +plan and organize; and a good man Corrigan was. His meals were never +late, never scant, and never wasteful. He had the record for all the +camps on the river of thirty-five cents a day per man--and the men +satisfied. Consequently, in his own domain he was autocrat. The dining +room was sacred, the kitchen was sacred, meal hours were sacred. Each +man was fed at half-past five, at twelve, and at six. No man could get a +bite even of dry bread between those hours, save occasionally a teamster +in the line of duty. Bobby himself had once seen Corrigan chase a +would-be forager out at the point of a carving knife. As for Bobby, he +was an exception, and a favourite. + +The place was enthralling, with its two stoves, each as big as the +dining room table at home, its shelves and barrels of supplies, its rows +of pies and loaves of bread, and all the crackle and bustle and aroma of +its preparations. Time passed on wings. At length Corrigan glanced up at +the square wooden clock and uttered some command to his two +subordinates. The latter immediately began to dish into large +receptacles of tin the hot food from the stove--boiled meat, mashed +potatoes, pork and beans, boiled corn. These they placed at regular +intervals down the long tables of the dining room. Bobby descended from +his cracker box to watch them. Between the groups of hot dishes they +distributed many plates of pie, of bread and of cake. Finally the +two-gallon pots of tea and coffee, one for each end of each table, were +brought in. The window coverings were drawn back. Corrigan appeared for +final inspection. + +"Want to ring the bell, Bobby?" he asked. + +They proceeded together to the front of the house where hung the bell +cord. Bobby seized this and pulled as hard as he was able. But his +weight could not bring the heavy bell over. Corrigan, smiling grimly +under his white moustache, gave him advice. + +"Pull on her, Bobby, hang yer feet off'n the ground. Now let up entire! +Now pull again! Now let up! That's the bye! You'll get her goin' yit +widout the help of any man." + +Sure enough the weight of the bell did give slightly under Bobby's +frantic, though now rythmic, efforts. Nevertheless Corrigan took +opportunity to reach out surreptitiously above the little boy's head to +add a few pounds to the downward pull. At last the clapper reached the +side. + +_Cling!_ it broke the stillness. + +"There you got her goin', Bobby!" cried Corrigan, "Now all you got to do +is to keep at her. Now pull! Now let go. See how much easier she goes?" + +The bell, started in its orbit, was now easy enough to manipulate. Bobby +was delighted at the noise he was producing, and still more delighted at +its results. For from the maze of his toil he could see men coming--men +from the logs near at hand, men from the booms far away--all coming to +the bell, concentrating at a common centre. By now the bell was turning +entirely over. Bobby was becoming enthusiastic. He tugged and tugged. +Sometimes when he did not let go the rope in time, he was lifted +slightly off his feet. The sun was hot, but he had no thought of +quitting. His hat fell off backward, his towsled hair wetted at the +edges, clung to his forehead, his dull red cheeks grew redder behind +their freckles, his eyes fairly closed in an ecstasy of enjoyment. He +did not hear Corrigan laughing, nor the gleeful shouts of the men as +they leaped ashore and with dripping boots advanced to the expected +meal. All he knew was that wonderful _clang!_ _clang!_ _clang!_ over +him; the only thought in his little head was that he, _he_, Bobby Orde, +was making all this noise himself! + +How long he would have continued before giving out entirely it would be +hard to say, but at this moment Mr. Orde and Jim Denning came around the +corner with some haste. Both looked worried and a little angry until +they caught sight of the small bell-ringer. Then they too laughed with +the men. + +But Mr. Orde swooped down on his son and tossed him on his shoulder. + +"That'll do," he advised, "we're all here. Lord, Corrigan! I thought you +were afire at least." + +"You got to show us up a reg'lar Christmas dinner to match that," said +one of the men to Corrigan. + +After the meal, which Bobby enjoyed thoroughly, because it was so +different from what he had at home, he had a request to proffer. + +"Papa," he demanded, "I want to go out on the booms." + +"Haven't time to-day, Bobby," replied Mr. Orde. "You just play around." + +But Jim Denning would not have this. + +"Can't start 'em in too early, Jack," said he. "I bet you'd been fished +out from running logs before you were half his age." + +Mr. Orde laughed. + +"Right you are, Jim, but we were raised different in those days." + +"Well," said Denning, "work's slack. I'll let one of the men take him." + +At the moment a youth of not more than fifteen years of age was passing +from the cook house to the booms. He had the slenderness of his years, +but was toughly knit, and already possessed in eye and mouth the steady +unwavering determination that the river life develops. In all details +of equipment he was a riverman complete: the narrow-brimmed black felt +hat, pushed back from a tangle of curls; the flannel shirt crossed by +the broad bands of the suspenders; the kersey trousers "stagged" off a +little below the knee; the heavy knit socks; and the strong shoes armed +with thin half-inch, needle-sharp caulks. + +"Jimmy Powers!" called the River Boss after this boy, "Come here!" + +The youth approached, grinning cheerfully. + +"I want you to take Bobby out on the booms," commanded Denning, "and be +careful he don't fall in." + +The older men moved away. Bobby and Jimmy Powers looked a little +bashfully at each other, and then turned to where the first hewn logs +gave access to the booms. + +"Ever been out on 'em afore?" asked Jimmy Powers. + +"Yes" replied Bobby; then after a pause, "I been out to the swing with +Papa." + +They walked out on the floating booms, which tipped and dipped ever so +slightly under their weight. Bobby caught himself with a little stagger, +although his footing was a good three feet in width. On either side of +him nuzzled the great logs, like patient beasts, and between them were +narrow strips of water, the colour of steel that has just cooled. + +"How deep is it here?" asked Bobby. + +"Bout six feet," replied Jimmy Powers. + +They passed an intersection, and came to an empty enclosure over which +the water stretched like a blue sheet. Bobby looked back. Already the +shore seemed far away. Through the interstices between the piles the +wavelets went _lap_, _lap_, _slap_, _lap_! Beyond were men working the +reluctant logs down toward the lower end of the booms. Some jabbed the +pike poles in and then walked forward along the boom logs. Others ran +quickly over the logs themselves until they had gained timbers large +enough to sustain their weight, whence they were able to work with +greater advantage. The supporting log rolled and dipped under the burden +of the man pushing mightily against his implement; but always the +riverman trod it, first one way, then the other, in entire +unconsciousness of the fact that he was doing so. The dark flanks of the +log heaved dripping from the river, and rolled silently back again, +picked by the long sharp caulks of the riverman's boots. + +"Can you walk on the logs?" asked Bobby of his companion. + +"Sure," laughed Jimmy Powers. + +"Let's see you," insisted Bobby. + +Jimmy Powers leaped lightly from the boom to the nearest log. It was a +small one, and at once dipped below the surface. If the boy had +attempted to stand on it even a second he would have fallen in. But all +Jimmy Powers needed was a foothold from which to spring. Hardly had the +little timber dipped before he had jumped to the next and the next +after. Behind him the logs, bobbing up and down, churned the water +white. Jimmy moved rapidly across the enclosure on an irregular zigzag. +The smaller logs he passed over as quickly as possible; on the larger he +paused appreciably. Bobby was interested to see how he left behind him a +wake of motion on what had possessed the appearance of rigid immobility. +The little logs bobbed furiously; the larger bowed in more stately +fashion and rolled slowly in dignified protest. In a moment Jimmy was +back again, grinning at Bobby's admiration. + +"Look here," said he. + +He took his station sideways on a log of about twenty inches diameter, +and began to roll it beneath him by walking rapidly forward. As the +timber gained its momentum, the boy increased his pace, until finally +his feet were fairly twinkling beneath him, and the side of the log +rising from the river was a blur of white water. Then suddenly with two +quick strong stamps of his caulked feet the young riverman brought the +whirling timber to a standstill. + +"That's birling a log," said he to Bobby. + +They walked out on the main boom still farther. The smaller partitions +between the various enclosures were often nothing but single round poles +chained together at their ends. On these Bobby was not allowed to +venture. + +"How deep is it here?" he asked again. + +"Bout thirty feet," replied Jimmy Powers. + +Bobby for an instant felt a little dizzy, as though he were on a high +building. All this fabric on which he moved suddenly seemed to him +unreal, like a vast cobweb in suspension through a void. It was a brief +sensation, and little defined in his childish mind, so it soon passed, +but it constituted while it lasted a definite subjective experience +which Bobby would always remember. As he looked back, the buildings of +the river camp, lying low among the trees, had receded to a great +distance; apparently at another horizon was the dark row of piling that +marked the outer confines of the booms; up and down stream, as far as he +could see, were the logs. Bobby suddenly felt very much alone, with the +blue sky above him, and the deep black water beneath, and about him +nothing but the quiet sullen monsters herded from the wilderness. He +gripped very tightly Jimmy Powers's hand as they walked along. + +But shortly they turned to the left; and after a brief walk, mounted the +rickety steps to the floor of the hut where dwelt old man North, and the +winch for operating the swinging boom. Old man North was short, dark, +heavy and bearded; he smoked perpetually a small black clay pipe which +he always held upside down in his mouth. His conversation was not +extensive; but his black eyes twinkled at Bobby, so the little boy was +not afraid of him. When he saw the two approaching, he reached over in +the corner and handed out a hickory pole peeled to a beautiful white. + +"The wums is yonder," said he. + +Bobby put a fat worm on his hook and sat down in the opposite doorway +were he could dangle his feet directly over the river. Where the shadow +of the cabin fell, he could see far down in the water, which there +became a transparent fair green. Close to the piles, on the tops of +which the hut was built, were various fish. Jimmy leaned over. + +"Mostly suckers," he advised. "Yan's a perch, try him." + +Bobby cautiously lowered his baited hook until it dangled before the +perch's nose. The latter paid absolutely no attention to it. Bobby +jiggled it up and down. No results. At last he fairly plumped the worm +on top of the fish's nose. The perch, with an air of annoyance, spread +his gills and, with the least perceptible movement of his tail, sank +slowly until he faded from sight. + +"Better let down your hook and fish near bottom," suggested Jimmy +Powers. + +Bobby did so. The peace of warm afternoon settled upon him. He dangled +his chubby legs, and tried to spit as scientifically as he could, and +watched the waving green current slip silently beneath his feet. Beside +him sat Jimmy Powers. The fragrant strong tobacco smoke from North's +pipe passed them in wisps. + +"I'd like to walk on logs," proffered Bobby at last, "It looks like lots +of fun." + +"Oh, that's nothin'," said Jimmy Powers, "You ought to be on drive." + +The boys fell into conversation. Jimmy told of the drive, and the +log-running. Bobby listened with the envy of one whose imagination +cannot conceive of himself permitted in such affairs. He was entirely +absorbed. And then all at once the peace was shattered. + +"Yank him, Bobby, yank him!" yelled Jimmy. + +"Christmas! he's a whale!" said old North. + +For, without wavering, the tip of the hickory pole had been ruthlessly +jerked below the water's surface, and the butt nearly pulled from +Bobby's hands. + +Bobby knew the proper thing to do. In such cases you heaved strongly. +The fish flew from the water, described an arc over your head, and lit +somewhere behind you. He tried to accomplish this, but his utmost +strength could but just lift the wriggling, jerking end of the pole from +the water. + +"Give her to me!" cried Jimmy Powers. + +"Le' me 'lone," grunted Bobby. + +He planted the butt of the pole in the pit of his stomach, and lifted as +hard as ever he could with both hands. His face grew red, his ears +rang, but, after a first immovable resistance, to his great joy the tip +of the bending, wriggling pole began to give. Slowly, little by little, +he pulled up the fish, until he could make out the flash of its body +darting to and fro far down in the depths. + +"Black bass!" murmured Jimmy Powers breathlessly. + +And then just as his size and beauty were becoming clearly visible, the +line came up with a sickening ease. The interested spectators caught a +glimpse of white as the fish turned. + +Bobby let out a howl of disappointment. + +"Oh _gee_, that's hard luck!" cried Jimmy Powers. + +"Bet he weighed four pounds," proffered North curtly. + +But at this instant a faint clear whistle sounded from about the wooded +bend of the river above. + +"Boat coming," said North, "Clear out of the way, boys." + +He began at once to operate the winch which drew the long slanting swing +boom out of the channel, for the River was navigable water, and must not +be obstructed. In a moment appeared the _Lucy Belle_, a +shallow-draught, flimsy-looking double decker, with two slim +smokestacks side by side connected by a band of fancy grill-work, a +walking beam, two huge paddle boxes and much white paint. She sheered +sidewise with the current around the bend, and headed down upon them +accompanied by a vast beating of paddle wheels. Bobby could soon make +out atop the walking-beam, the swaying iron Indian with bent bow, and +the piles of slabs which constituted the _Lucy Belle_'s fuel. Almost +immediately she was passing, within ten feet or so of the hut. The water +boiled and eddied among the piles, rushing in and sucking back. A fat, +ruddy-faced man in official cap and citizen's clothes leaned over the +rail. + +"Well, you made her to-day," shouted North. + +"Bet ye," called the man with a grin. "Only aground once." + +The _Lucy Belle_ swept away with an air of pride. She made the trip to +and from Redding, forty miles up the River, twice a week. Sometimes she +came through in a day. Oftener she ran aground. + +Now Bobby reverted to his original idea. + +"I'd like to walk on the logs," said he. + +"Well, come on, then," said Jimmy Powers. + +They retraced their steps along the booms until near the shore. + +"You don't want to try her where she's deep," explained Jimmy Powers, +"'Cause then if you should fall in, the logs would close right together +over your head, and then where'd you be?" + +Bobby shuddered at this idea, which in the event continued to haunt him +for some days. + +"There's a big one," said Jimmy Powers. "Try her." + +Bobby stepped out on a big solid-looking log, which immediately proved +to be not solid at all. It dipped one way, Bobby tried to tread the +other. The log promptly followed his suggestion--too promptly. Bobby +soon found himself about two moves behind in this strange new game. He +lost his balance, and the first thing he knew, he found himself waist +deep in the water. + +Jimmy Powers laughed heartily; but to Bobby this was no laughing matter. +The penalties attached both by nature and his mother were dire in the +extreme. He foresaw sickness and spankings, both of which had been +promised him in the event of wet feet merely, and here he was dripping +from the waist down! In any other surroundings or with any other company +he would have wept bitterly. Even in the presence of Jimmy Powers his +lower lip quivered; and his soul filled to the very throat with dismay. +Jimmy Powers could not understand his very evident perturbation. If took +a great deal of explanation on Bobby's part; but finally there was +conveyed to the young riverman's understanding a slight notion of the +situation. To the child the day seemed lost; but Jimmy Powers was more +resourceful. He surveyed his charge thoughtfully. + +"You're all right, kid," he announced at last. "Your collar's all right, +and your hair ain't wet. The rest'll dry out so nobody will know the +diff'." + +Bobby brightened. + +"Won't I catch cold?" he asked doubtfully. + +"This kind of weather? Naw!" said Jimmy Powers with scorn. "You rustle +in to the cook shanty and get Corrigan to let you sit by the stove." + +Bobby said farewell to his guide, and presented himself to the cook. + +"I fell in," he announced, "can I sit by the stove?" + +"Sure" said Corrigan hospitably. "Take a cracker-box and go over by the +wood box. Tryin' to ride a log?" + +"Yes" confessed Bobby. + +"Well, you want to look out for them," warned Corrigan a little vaguely. +He produced the customary cooky. Bobby sat and steamed, and munched and +told about the fish he had almost caught. He liked Corrigan because the +latter talked to him sensibly, without ill-timed facetiousness, as to an +equal. In a moment Duke thrust his muzzle in the door. Bobby looked +hastily down. His clothes were quite dry. + +"Don't tell Papa," he begged. + +For answer Corrigan portentously winked one eye, and went on peeling +potatoes. After a moment Mr. Orde appeared at the door. + +"Bobby here?" he inquired. "Oh yes! Come on, youngster." + +Bobby showed himself with considerable trepidation; but apparently Mr. +Orde noticed nothing wrong, and the little boy's spirits rose. The team +was waiting, and they mounted the buggy at once. Duke fell in behind +them soberly. For him the freshness of the expedition was over. It was +now merely a case of get back home. + +"Have a good time?" asked Mr. Orde. + +Bobby talked busily all the way in. He told principally of the fish, +although the _Lucy Belle_ and Jimmy Powers came in for a share. From +time to time Mr. Orde said, "That's good," or, "Yes," which sufficed +Bobby. Probably, however, the man heard little of his son's talk. His +mind was very busy with the elements of the game he was playing, sorting +and arranging them, figuring how to earn and borrow the money necessary +to permit his taking advantage of a chance he thought he saw in the +western timber lands. He heard little, to be sure, and yet he was in +reality wholly occupied with the child prattling away at his side--with +his fortune, and his business prospects of thirty years hence. + +Under the maples the sun slanted low and golden and mote-laden. Bobby +suddenly felt a little tired, and more than a little hungry. He +descended from the buggy with alacrity. The wetting was forgotten in the +home-coming. Only when washing for dinner did he remember with certain +self-felicitation that even his mother had noticed nothing. For the +first time it occurred to him that his parents were not +omniscient:--that was the evil of the afternoon's experiences. For the +first time also it occurred to him that he possessed the ability to meet +an emergency without their aid:--that was the good of it. And the good +far outweighed the evil. + +That night Bobby called upon the Lord to bless those dear to him, as +usual; but he offered on his own account an addendum. + +"And make Bobby grow up a big man like Jimmy Powers." + + + + +II + +THE PICNIC + + +One Saturday, shortly after, everybody was early afoot in preparation +for a picnic up the River. Bobby had on clean starched brown linen +things, and his hair was parted on one side and very smoothly brushed +across his forehead. His mother had been somewhat inclined to the dark +green velvet suit with the lace collar, but to his great relief his +father had intervened. + +"Give the boy a chance," said he, "He'll want to eat peaches and go down +in the engine room, and perhaps catch sunfish." + +At the wharf, built along the front of the river at the foot of Main +Street, they could see, when they turned the corner at the engine-house, +the single sturdy stack of the _Robert O_ pouring forth a cloud of gray +smoke, while in front of it fluttered the white of the women's dresses. + +"We're going to be late," danced Bobby. + +"I guess they'll wait for us," replied Mr. Orde easily. "They know +what's in this," he smiled, patting the hamper he was carrying. + +At the wharf they were greeted by a chorus of exclamations from a large +group of people. Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were there, the latter sweet and +dainty in one of the very latest creations in muslin; Mr. and Mrs. +Fuller with Tad and Clifford; young Mr. Carlin from the bank; Mr. and +Mrs. Proctor, and their young-lady daughter wearing a marvellous +"waterfall"; Angus McMullen, alone, his father detained professionally; +Mrs. Cathcart and Georgie; young Bradford carrying his banjo, his +wonderful raiment and his air of vast leisure; Welton, the lumberman, +red-faced, jolly, popular and ungrammatical. The women guarded baskets. +All greeted the Ordes with various degrees of hilarity. When the noise +had died down, a massive and impressive lady, heretofore unnamed, +stepped forward. She held a jewelled arm straight before her, the hand +drooping slightly, so that, although she was in reality of but medium +stature, she gave the impression of condescending from a height. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Owen," greeted Mrs. Orde, shaking the proffered +hand. + +"Good morning, my dear," replied Mrs. Owen regally. She swept slowly +sideways to reveal a woman and a little girl of seven or eight years, +immediately behind her. "Allow me to present to you my very dear friend, +Mrs. Carleton. Mrs. Carleton is from the city, staying at the Ottawa for +a few weeks, and I knew you would like the chance to show her some of +our beautiful River." Mrs. Carleton, a pretty, modish woman, with the +ease of city manner, bowed quietly and murmured her pleasure. The little +girl looked half bashfully through a wealth of natural curls at the +grown-ups to whom she was presented in the off-hand method one employs +with children. She was altogether a charming little girl. Her hair was +of the colour of ripe wheat; her skin was of the light smooth brown +peculiar to an exceptional blonde complexion tanned in the sun; her +mouth was full and whimsical; and her eyes, strangely enough in one +otherwise so light, were so black as to resemble spots. Her dress was +very simple, very starched, very white. A big leghorn hat with red roses +half hid her head. She was shy, that was easily to be seen; but shyness +was relieved from the awkwardness so usual and so painful in children of +her age by the results of what must have been a careful training. She +answered when she was spoken to, directly and to the point; and yet it +could not but be evident that her spirit fluttered. + +The combination was charming; and Mrs. Orde fell to it at once. + +"Celia, my dear," she said kindly, "come with me, we're going to have a +nice day together; and I have a little boy named Bobby who will show you +everything." + +But now the _Robert O_ gave two impatient toots. Everybody ceased +greeting everybody else, and began to pile the shawls and lunch baskets +aboard. The thick strong gunwale of the _Robert O_ was a foot or so +below the chute level from the wharf. The women were helped aboard +soberly by the men. Miss Proctor, however, slipped little slips and +screamed little screams, while young Mr. Carlin, Bradford and Welton, +with galvanized beaming smiles, all attempted to help her. Mrs. Owen +marched down the chute, waited calmly and without impatience until all +the available men were at hand, and then stepped down majestically with +dignity unimpaired. + +Long before this, Bobby had quit the altogether uninteresting wharf. The +_Robert O_ he had seen many times from a distance, and once of twice +near at hand lying at the cribs and piers, but this was his first chance +to explore. Accordingly he dropped down to her deck, and, with the +natural instinct to see as far ahead as possible, marched immediately to +the very prow. The deck proved to slope up-hill strangely, which, in its +unlikeness to any floor Bobby had ever walked on, was in itself a +pleasure. The hawser around the bitt interested him; and the glimpse he +had of the sparkling river slipping toward him from the yellow hills up +stream. He could just rest his chin on the rail to look. + +Then he turned his gaze aft; and encountered the amused scrutiny of a +man leaning on a wheel in a little house. The house had big windows, and +on top was an iron eagle with spread wings. Two steps led up to a door +on each side; and Bobby without hesitation entered one of these doors. + +The inside of the house he found different from any house he had ever +been in before; and possessed of a strange fascination. There was the +wheel, with projecting handles to every spoke, and above it, racks +containing spyglasses, black pipes, tobacco-tins. At hand projected a +speaking-tube like that in the back hall at home, and two or three +handles connected with wires. Behind the wheel was a broad leather seat; +and clothes on nails; and a chart; and a pilot's licence, of which Bobby +understood nothing, but admired the round gold seals. + +"Well, Bobby, what do you think of it?" asked the man. + +Bobby had not had time to look at the man. He did so now and liked him. +The first thing he noticed was the man's eyes, which were steady and +unwavering and as blue as the sky. Then he surveyed in turn gravely his +heavy bleached, flaxen moustache; his hard brown cheeks; the round +barrel of his blue-clad body; and his short sturdy legs. + +"Think you'd like to run a tug?" inquired this man. + +"I don't know," replied Bobby; "what is your name?" + +"I'm Captain Marsh," replied the man. He glanced out the open door at +the group on the wharf. "If they're going up past the bend to-day, +they'll have to get a move," he remarked. "Here, Bobby, want to blow the +whistle?" + +He lifted the boy up in the hollow of one arm. "There, that's it; that +handle. Pull down on it, and let go." + +Bobby did so and his little heart almost stopped at the shock of the +blast, so loud was it, and so near. + +"Now again," commanded Captain Marsh. + +Bobby recovered and obeyed. The passengers began to embark. + +Captain Marsh watched until the last was safely aboard; then he set +Bobby gently to the floor. + +"If you want to see out, go sit on the bunk back there," he advised. + +Somebody cast off the lines. Captain Marsh pulled the other handle. A +sharp tinkling bell struck somewhere far in the depths of the craft. +Immediately Bobby felt beneath him the upheaval and trembling of some +mighty force. The wharf seemed to slip back. In another moment at a +second tinkle of the bell the tug had gathered headway, and the little +boy was watching with delight the sandhills and buildings on one side +and the other slipping by in regular succession. + +Captain Marsh stood easily staring directly ahead of him, and paying no +more attention to the child. Bobby sat very straight in his absorption. +New impressions were coming to him so fast that he had no desire to +move. The slow turn of the great wheel; the throb of the engine; the +swift passing of water; the orderly procession of the river banks; the +feeling of smooth, resistless motion--these sufficed. How long he might +have sat there if undisturbed, it would be hard to say; but at the end +of a few moments Angus McMullen looked in at the door. + +"What you stayin' here for, Bobby?" he inquired with contemptuous +wonder. "Come on out and see the big waves we're making." + +Outside Bobby found all the grown-ups gathered forward of the pilot +house. The older people were seated on folding camp chairs, the +equilibrium of which they found some difficulty in maintaining on the +sloping deck. Bradford, Carlin, Welton and Miss Proctor, however, had +established themselves in the extreme bow. Miss Proctor perched on the +bitts, while the men stood or leaned near at hand. Occasionally, as the +tug changed course, Miss Proctor would utter a little exclamation and +thrust her arms out aimlessly, as though uncertain. All three of the men +thereupon assured her balance for her. With the group Bobby saw the +little girl with light hair. + +"Not up there," advised Angus. "This way." A very narrow passage ran +between the thick gunwale and the deck-house. It sloped down and then +gradually up toward the stern. At its lowest point it seemed to Bobby +fearfully near the river; and as he descended to that point he +discovered that indeed the displacement of rapid running appeared to +force the water even above the level of the deck. Bits of chip, sawdust +and the like shot swiftly by in the smooth, oily curve of the liquid. +The wet smell of it came to Bobby's eager nostrils, the subtle cool +aroma of the river. + +But, from a little door level with the deck, smoking a pipe, leaned a +negro who greeted them jovially. He dwelt in a narrow place down in the +hull, filled with machinery and the glow of a furnace. The boys hung in +the opening fascinated by the regular rise and fall of the polished +rods; savouring the feel of heavy heated air and the clean smell of oil. +In a moment the negro flung open an iron door whence immediately sprang +glowing light and a blast of heat. Into this door he thrust two or three +long slabs which he took from the deck on the other side of the tug; and +shut it to with a clang. + +After gazing their fill, the boys continued their way back. The +deck-house ended. They found themselves on the broad, flat, spoon-shaped +after-deck occupied by the strong towing-bitts and coils of cable. + +"Isn't this great?" asked Angus. + +They joined the Fuller boys hanging eagerly over the stern. Here the +wake boiled white and full of bubbles from the action of the powerful +propeller necessary to a towing-tug. Along the edges it was light green +shot with blue; and the central line of its down-section waved from side +to side like a snake. On either side long, slanting waves pushed aside +by the bow surged smoothly away; behind followed other round waves in +regular and diminishing succession. Over them the chips and bark rode +with a jolly, dancing motion. + +Shortly, however, the younger people discovered the possibilities of the +after-deck. Miss Proctor leaned her back against the low gunwale astern. +The men disposed themselves about her. They talked with a great deal of +laughter; but Bobby did not find their conversation amusing. Finally +they began to entreat Mr. Bradford to play his banjo. That young +gentleman became suddenly afflicted with shyness. + +"I don't play much," he objected. "Honestly I don't--just picked up a +few chords by ear." + +"Oh, Mr. _Bradford_," cried Miss Proctor, "I've heard you play +_beautifully_. _Do_ get it." + +Mr. Bradford objected further; and was further cajoled by Miss Proctor. +Bobby wondered why he had brought the banjo along, if he didn't want to +play on it. The other men did none of the persuading. Finally Mr. +Bradford procured the instrument. He took some time to tune it; and had +something to say concerning damp air and the strings. Finally he played +the "Spanish Fandango," to the enthusiasm of Miss Proctor and the polite +attention of the other men. This he followed by a song called "Listen to +the Mocking Bird," the chorus to which consisted of complicated gurgling +whistling supposed to represent the song of the mocking bird, though it +is to be doubted if that performer would have recognized himself in it. +Miss Proctor approving of this, Bradford next played a trick piece, in +the course of which he did acrobatics with his instrument, but without +missing a note. + +Carlin and Welton finally strolled away unnoticed. The lumberman offered +the other a cigar. + +"Ain't no use buckin' the funny man with the banjo, Tommy," he observed +with a rueful grin. + +Mr. Bradford now put two pennies under the bridge. + +"Makes it sound like a guitar," he explained; and drifted into +thrillingly sentimental selections. He sang three in so low a voice that +Bobby began to think it useless to listen any more; when a loud and +prolonged whistle from the tug drowned all other sounds. Mr. Bradford +looked savage; but the boys were delighted. + +"Going to pass the drawbridge!" shrieked Angus. + +They raced away to the bow in order to watch the imminence of the great +structure over their heads; to see the smokestack dip back on its hinges +as they passed beneath; and to gloat over the smash of their waves +against the piling of the bridge's foundation. Here Bobby was captured +by Mrs. Orde. + +"Here, Bobby," said she, "This is Celia Carleton, and I want you to be +nice to her." + +With that she left them staring at each other. + +"How do you do?" remarked Bobby gravely. + +"How do you do?" said she. + +They were no further along. + +"I got a new knife," blurted out Bobby, in desperation. + +"That's nice," said Celia politely. "Let's see it." + +"I haven't got it with me," confessed Bobby. He was ashamed to say that +he was not yet permitted to use it. + +He glanced at her sideways. Somehow he liked the fresh clean stiffness +of her starched, skirts, and the biscuit brown of her complexion. He +desired all at once that she think well of him. + +"I can jump off our high-board fence to the ground," he boasted. + +Celia seemed impressed. + +"My knife's nothing," said Bobby, "My father's got a razor that can cut +anything. He lets me take it whenever I want it. It's awful sharp. If I +had it here I could cut this boat right in two with it." + +"My!" said Celia, "But I wouldn't want to cut it in two. Would you?" + +"Oh, I don't know," said Bobby, his legs apart, his head on one side. He +was sure now that he liked this new acquaintance; she seemed pleasantly +to be awestricken. "Come on, let's go in the back part of the boat" he +suggested, "and I'll show you things." + +"All right," said she. + +Bobby led her past the scornful Angus to the narrow deck. + +"This is the engine room," he announced out of his new knowledge. + +But Celia did not care for it. + +"It's awfully dirty," said she. + +This was a new point of view; and Bobby marvelled. However, she was +delighted with the after-deck, and the wake, and the attendant waves. +Bobby showed them off to her as though they had been his private +possessions. This was the first little girl he had ever known. The +novelty appealed to him; the daintiness of her; the freshness and +cleanness; the dependence of her on Bobby's ten years of experience--all +this brought out the latent and instinctive male admiration of the +child. He remained heedless of the other three boys hanging awkwardly in +the middle distance. All his small store of knowledge he poured out +before her--he told her everything, without reservation--of Duke, and +the sand-hills, and the fort, and Sir Thomas Malory, and the booms, and +the Flobert Rifle, and the "Dutchmen" on the side street. She found it +all interesting. They became very good friends. + +In the meantime Mr. Bradford had long since laid aside the banjo, and +was basking in Miss Proctor's unshared attention. The pleased smile +never left his face; the lean of his head bespoke deep deference; the +curve of his body respectful devotion. He talked in a low voice, and +every moment or so Miss Proctor would giggle, or exclaim, "Oh, Mr. +_Bradford_!" in a pleased and reproving voice. + +In the meantime the tug was going rapidly up river; and yet, with the +exception of an occasional glance from some isolated individual, and the +sporadic attention of the boys, no one saw what was passing. All were +absorbed by the people, the little happenings and the talk aboard the +craft. So without comment they swept past the tall yellow sand-hills +with their fringe of crested trees on the left; and the wide plain on +the right. Only Bobby remarked the deep bayou in the bosom of the hills +where dreamed in the peace and mystery of an honourable old age the +hulks of a dozen vessels rotting in the sun. The shipyards and the mills +the other side the drawbridge nobody saw, for at that time even Bobby +was absorbed in his new acquaintance. + +But beyond that, the boy having offered and the girl received the first +burst of confidence, the children turned their attention to things +passing. They saw the wide marshes of rushes and cat-tails, with their +bayous and channels wherein swam the white-billed mud-hens; and the long +booms to the left filled with brown logs. From this level, low to the +water, these things seemed to them wonderful and vast. After a little +the _Robert O_ whistled again. They passed the swing at the upper end of +the booms. Old man North stood, in the doorway of his hut, smoking his +short black pipe upside down. Bobby was astonished to see how different +the hut looked from this point of view. He would hardly have recognized +it were it not for the swing-tender, who waved his pipe at Bobby when +the tug passed. + +"I know him," said Bobby proudly to Celia. + +The _Robert O_ swept through, and the long slanting waves, and the round +following waves sucked up and down among the piles. + +"Now we're going around the Bend!" cried Bobby excitedly. "I never been +around the Bend!" + +But Celia suddenly arose. + +"I'm going back to mamma and the rest," she announced. + +"Why?" asked Bobby astonished. "Come on; stay here and see what there is +around the Bend." + +Celia stood on one foot, her black eyes wide and speculative, staring +past Bobby into some fair realm of feminine caprice. She shook her head, +slowly, so that first a curl on one side, then on the other fell across +her eyes. After a long deliberate moment she turned and went forward, +followed at a distance by the grieved and puzzled Bobby. In the bow she +sidled up to her mother, against whom she leaned lightly, her head on +one side, her eyes dreamy, her hand slipped into one of her mother's +open palms. Bobby, shut out, made his way to the prow, where he rested +his chin on the rail, and rather glumly contemplated the surprises of +"around the Bend." + +But over the prow the little boy was the first--except for Captain +Marsh--to see from afar the landing, first as a glimmering shadow under +the reflection of the elms; then as a vague ill-defined form above the +River's glassy surface; finally as a wide, low, T-shaped platform wharf, +reaching its twenty feet from the grassy banks to shimmer in the heat +above its own wavering reflection. + +The tug sidled alongside with a great turmoil of white-and-green +bubble-shot water drifting around in eddies from her labouring +propeller. Captain Marsh, after one prolonged jingle of his bell emerged +from his pilot-house, seized a heavy rope, and sprang ashore. The end of +the rope he cast around a snubbing-pile. + +But some inset of current or excess of momentum made it impossible to +hold her. The rope creaked and cried as it was dragged around the smooth +snubbing-pile. Finally the end was drawn so close that Captain Marsh was +in danger of jamming his hands. At once, with inconceivable dexterity +and quickness, he cast loose, ran forward, wrapped the line three times +around another pile farther on and braced his short, sturdy legs against +the post for a trial of strength. Here the heavy, slow surge of the tug +was effectually checked. Captain Marsh turned his wide grin of triumph +toward his passengers. Everybody laughed, and prepared to disembark. + +Between the gunwale and the wharf's edge could be seen a narrow glinting +strip of very black water. The _Robert O_ slowly approached and receded +from the dock; and this strip of water correspondingly widened and +narrowed. Over it every one must step; and the anxieties and precautions +were something tremendous. Bobby came toward the last, and was lifted +bodily across, his sturdy legs curling up under like a crab's. + +The wharf he found broad and square and shady, with a narrow way leading +ashore. In the middle of it were piled, awaiting shipment on the _Lucy +Belle_, three tiers of the old-fashioned, open-built, pail-shaped +peach-baskets containing the famous Michigan fruit. Each was filled to a +gentle curve above the brim, and over the top was wired pink mosquito +netting. This at once protected the fruit from insects; added to the +brilliancy and softness of its colouring; and lent to the rows of +baskets a gay and holiday appearance. The men examined them attentively, +talking of "cling stones," "free stones," "Crawfords," and other +technicalities which Bobby could not understand. When the last lunch +basket had been passed ashore, all crossed to the bank of the river and +the grove of elms, leaving the _Robert O_ and Captain Marsh and the +engineer. + +In the grove the boys immediately scattered in search of adventure. All +but Bobby. He remained with the older people, wishing mightily to take +Celia with him; but suddenly afraid to approach her with the direct +request. So he contented himself with expressive gestures, which she, +close to her mother, chose to ignore. + +Two of the men disappeared up the path, one carrying an empty pail. The +others went busily about collecting wood, building a fire, smoothing out +a place to spread the rugs which would serve as a table. All the women +fluttered about the lunch baskets examining the contents, discussing +them, finally distributing them in accordance with the mysterious system +considered proper in such matters. Bobby, left alone, without occupation +on the one hand, nor the desire for his companions' amusements on the +other, was then the only one at leisure to look about him, to observe +through the alders that fringed the bank the hide-and-seek glint of the +River; to gaze with wonder and a little awe on the canopy of waving +light green that to his childish sense of proportion seemed as far above +him as the skies themselves; to notice how the sunlight splashed through +the rifts as though it had been melted and poured down from above; to +feel the friendly warmth of summer air under trees; to savour the hot +springwood-smells that wandered here and there in the careless +irresponsibility of forest spirits off duty. This was Bobby's first +experience with woods; and his keenest perceptions were alive to them. +The tall trunks of trees rising from the graceful, fragile, +half-translucence of undergrowth; little round tunnels to a distant +delicate green; lights against shadows, and shadows against lights; the +wing-flashes of birds hidden and mysterious; and above all the +marvellous green transparence of all the shadows, which tinted the very +air itself, so that to the little boy it seemed he could bathe in it as +in a clear fountain--all these came to him at once. And each brought by +the hand another wonder for recognition, so that at last the picnic +party disappeared from his vision, the loud and laughing voices were +hushed from his ears. He stood there, lips apart, eyes wide, spirit +hushed, looking half upward. The light struck down across him. + +The picnic party went about its business unaware of the wonderful thing +transacting in their very presence. Men do not grow as plants, so many +inches, so many months. The changes prepare long and in secret, without +visible indication. Then swiftly they take place. The qualities of the +soul unfold silently their splendid wings. + +After a moment the boys ran whooping through the woods from one +direction demanding food; the two men came shouting from the other +carrying a pail of water and an open basket of magnificent peaches. +Bobby shivered slightly, and looked about him, half dazed, as though he +had just awakened. Then quietly he crept to a tree near the table and +sat down. For perhaps a minute he remained there; then with a rush came +the reaction. Bobby was wildly and reprehensibly naughty. + +Once in a while, and after meals, Mrs. Orde allowed him a single piece +of sponge-cake; no more. But now, Bobby, catching the eye of Celia upon +him, grimaced, pantomimed to call attention, and deliberately _broke_ +off a big chunk of Mrs. Owen's frosted work of art and proceeded to +devour it. Celia's eyes widened with horror; which to Bobby's depraved +state of mind was reward enough. Then Mrs. Orde uttered a cry of +astonishment; Mrs. Owen a dignified but outraged snort; and Bobby was +yanked into space. + +After the storm had cleared, he found himself, somewhat dishevelled, +aboard the _Robert O_, entrusted to Captain Marsh, provided with three +bread-and-butter sandwiches, and promised a hair-brush spanking for the +morrow. + +Mrs. Orde was not only mortified, but shocked to the very depths of her +faith. + +"I don't know how to explain it!" she said again and again. "Bobby is +always so good about such things! I've brought him up--and +_deliberately_. My dear Mrs. Owen, such a beautiful frosting, and to +have it ruined like that!" + +But Mrs. Fuller, fat, placid, perhaps slightly stupid, here rose to the +heights of what her husband always admiringly called "horse sense." + +"Now, Carroll," she said, "stop your worrying about it. You'll get +yourself all worked up and spoil your lunch and ours, all for nothing. +Children will be naughty sometimes. I was naughty myself. So were you, +probably. That's human nature. Just don't worry about it and spoil the +good time." + +Mrs. Orde thereupon fell silent, for she was a sensible woman and could +see the point as to lessening the other's enjoyment. Little by little +she cooled off, until at last she was able to join in the fun; although +always in the background of her mind persisted the necessity of knowing +a _reason_ for such an outbreak. + +The flurry over, Welton insisted that they all admire the peaches. + +"Best Michigan produces," he boasted. "Every one big as a coffee-cup; +and perfect in shape, colour and flavour. Freestone, too. Nothing +exceptional about them either. Millions more just like 'em. Can't match +them anywhere in the world." + +"Saw by the paper this spring that the peach crop was ruined by the +frost," marvelled Carlin. + +Taylor laughed. + +"My dear fellow, the Michigan peach crop is destroyed regularly _every_ +spring. Seem to be enough peaches by August, however." + +They fell to on the lunch. When they had eaten all they could, there +still remained enough to have fed four other picnics of the same size as +their own. + +Bobby remained not long cast down, however. + +"Been at it, have you?" observed Captain Marsh after the irate parent +had departed. "What was it this time?" + +"I ate a piece of cake," replied Bobby. + +"H'm! That doesn't sound very bad." + +"It was Mrs. Owen's cake," supplemented Bobby. + +"I see," said the Captain gravely in enlightenment. "What are you going +to do now?" + +"I'm going to eat my lunch," Bobby informed him, showing the three +bread-and-butter sandwiches. + +"H'm. So'm I," said the Captain. "Better join me." + +They entered the pilot-house and established themselves facing each +other on the wide leather seat. The Captain produced a tin dinner-pail +with a cupola top such as Bobby had often seen men carrying, and which +he had always desired to investigate. This came apart in the middle. The +top proved to contain cold coffee all sugared and creamed. The bottom +had a fringed red-checked napkin, two slabs of pie, two doughnuts, and +four thick ham sandwiches made of coarse bread. They ate. Captain Marsh +insisted on Bobby's accepting a doughnut and a piece of pie. Bobby did +so, with many misgivings; but found them delicious exceedingly because +they were so different from what he was used to at home. + +"Now," said the Captain, brushing away the crumbs with one comprehensive +gesture, "what do you want to do now? You got to stay aboard, you +know?" + +"Can't we fish?" suggested Bobby timidly. + +The Captain looked about him with some doubt. + +"Well," he decided at last, "we might try. The time of day's wrong, and +the place don't look much good; but there's no harm trying." + +Two long bamboo poles fitted with lines, hooks, and sinkers were slung +alongside the deck-house. Captain Marsh produced worms in a can. The two +sat side by side, dangling their feet over the stern, the poles slanting +down toward the dark water, silent and intent. In not more than two +minutes Bobby felt his pole twitch. Without much difficulty he drew to +the surface a broad flat little fish that flashed as he turned in the +water. + +"Hi!" cried Bobby, "there _are_ fish here!" + +"Oh, that's a sunfish," said Captain Marsh. + +Bobby looked up. + +"Aren't sunfish good?" he inquired anxiously. + +Captain Marsh opened his mouth to reply, caught Bobby's apprehensive and +half-disappointed expression, and thought better of it. + +"Why, sure!" said he. "They're a fine fish." + +At the end of an hour Bobby had acquired a goodly string. Captain Marsh +early drew in his line, saying he preferred to smoke. Bobby had an +excellent time. He was very much surprised at the return of the picnic +party. The period of punishment had not hung heavy. + +By the time all had embarked, the steam pressure was up. The _Robert O_ +swung down stream for home. + +But now Celia, forgetting her earlier caprice of indifference, watched +Bobby constantly. After a little he became aware of it, and was +flattered in his secret soul, but he attempted no more advances, nor did +he vouchsafe her the smallest glance. Soon she sidled over to him shyly. + +"What made you do it?" she asked in a whisper. + +"Do what?" pretended Bobby. + +"Break Mrs. Owen's cake." + +"'Cause I wanted to." + +"Didn't you know 't was very bad?" + +"'Course." + +Celia contemplated Bobby with a new and respectful interest. "I wouldn't +dare do it," she acknowledged at last. In this lay confession of the +reason for her change of whim; but Bobby could not be expected to +realize that. With masculine directness he seized the root of his +grievance and brought it to light. + +"Why were you so mean this noon?" he demanded. + +She made wide eyes. + +"I wasn't mean. How was I mean?" + +"You went away; and you wouldn't look at me or talk to me." + +"I didn't care whether I talked to you or not," she denied. "I wanted to +be with my mamma." + +So on the return trip, too, Bobby had a good time. The wharf surprised +him, and the flurry of disembarkation prevented his saying formal +good-bye to Celia. He waved his hand at her, however, and grinned +amiably. To his astonishment she gave him the briefest possible nod over +her shoulder; and walked away, her hand clasping that of her mother, +even yet a dainty airy figure in her mussed white dress still flaring +with starch, her slim black legs, and her wide leghorn hat with the red +roses. + +The hurt and puzzle of this lasted him to his home, and caused him to +forget the spanking in prospect. He ate his supper in silence, quite +unaware of his mother's disapproval. After supper he hunted up Duke and +sat watching the sunset behind the twisted pines on the sandhills. He +did much cogitating, but arrived nowhere. + +"Bobby!" called his mother. "Come to bed." + +He said good night to Duke, and obeyed. + +"Now, Bobby," said Mrs. Orde, "I don't like to do this, but you have +been a very naughty boy to-day. Come here." + +Bobby came. The hair brush did its work. Usually in such case Bobby +howled before the first blow fell, but to-night he set his lips and +uttered no sounds. _Slap!_ _slap!_ _slap!_ _slap!_ with deliberate +spaces between. Bobby was released. He climbed down, his soul tense, +with agony, but his face steady--and laughed! + +It was not much of a laugh, to be sure, but a laugh it was. Mrs. Orde, +shocked, scandalized, outraged and now thoroughly angry, yanked her son +again across her knees. + +"Why! I never heard of anything like it!" she cried. "You naughty, +_naughty_ boy! I don't see what's got into you to-day. I'll teach you to +laugh at my spankings!" + +Bobby did not laugh at this spanking. It was more than a stone could +have borne. After the fifth well-directed and vigorous smack, he howled. + +Later, when the tempest of sobs had stilled to occasional gulps, Mrs. +Orde questioned him about it. They were rocking back and forth in the +big chair, the twilight all about them. Bobby said he was sorry and his +mamma had cuddled him and loved him, and all was forgiven. + +"Now, Bobby, tell mamma," soothed Mrs. Orde. "Why were you such a bad +little boy as to laugh at mamma when she spanked you just now?" + +"I wasn't bad," protested Bobby, "I was trying to be good. You told me +not to cry when I got hurt, but to jump up and laugh about it." + +"Oh, my baby, my poor little man!" cried Mrs. Orde between laughter and +tears. + +They rocked some more. + +"Now, Bobby, tell mamma," insisted Mrs. Orde gently. "Why did you break +Mrs. Owen's cake? Were you as hungry as all that?" + +"No ma'am," replied Bobby. + +"Why did you do it, then?" + +"I don't know." + +Mr. Orde laughed uproariously when told of Bobby's attempt to be brave +under affliction. + +"The little snoozer!" he cried. "Guess I'll go up and see him." + +Bobby loved to have his father lie beside him on the bed. They never +said much; but the little boy lay, looking up through the dimness, +bathed in a deep comfortable content at the man's physical presence. + +To-night they lay thus in silence for at least five minutes. Then Bobby +spoke. + +"Papa," said he "don't you think Celia Carleton is pretty?" + +"Very pretty, Bobby." + +Another long silence. + +"Papa," complained Bobby at last, "why does Celia be nice to me; and +then not be nice to me; and change all the while?" + +Mr. Orde chuckled softly to himself. + +"That's the way of 'em, Bobby," said he. "There's no explaining it. All +little girls are that way--and big girls, too," he added. + +So long a pause ensued that Mr. Orde thought his son must be asleep, and +was preparing softly to escape. + +"Papa," came the little boy's voice from the darkness, "I like her just +the same." + +"Carroll," said Mr. Orde to his wife as blinking he entered the lighted +sitting room, "you can recover your soul's equanimity. I've found out +why he broke into the cake." + +"Why?" asked Mrs. Orde eagerly. + +"He was showing off before that little Carleton girl," replied Mr. +Orde. + + + + +III + +HIDE AND COOP + + +Early Monday morning Bobby was afoot and on his way to the Ottawa Hotel. +He ran fast until within a block of it; then unexpectedly his gait +slackened to a walk, finally to a loiter. He became strangely reluctant, +strangely bashful about approaching the place. This was not to be +understood. + +Usually when he wanted to go play with any one, he simply went and did +so. Now all sorts of barriers seemed to intervene, and the worst of it +was that these barriers he seemed to have spun from out his own soul. +Then too a queer feeling suddenly invaded his chest, exactly like that +he remembered to have experienced during the downward rush of a swing. +Bobby could not comprehend these things; they just were. He was fairly +to the point of deciding to go back and look at the Flobert Rifle, in +the shop window, when a group of children ran out from the wide office +doors to the croquet court at the side. + +Among them Bobby made out Celia, a different Celia from her of the +picnic. Her curls danced as full of life and light as ever; the biscuit +brown of her complexion glowed as smooth and clean; even from a distance +Bobby could see the contrast of her black eyes; but on her head she wore +a brown chip hat; her gown was of plain blue gingham; her slim straight +legs were encased in heavy strong stockings. She looked like a healthy, +lively little girl out for a good time; and the sight cheered Bobby's +wavering courage as nothing else could. His vague ideas of retreat were +discarded. + +But he did not know how to approach. The children inside the low rail +fence were placing the brilliantly-striped wooden balls in a row in +order to determine by 'pinking' at the stake who should have the +advantageous last shot. Bobby, irresolute, halted outside, shifting +uneasily, wanting to join the group, but withheld by the unwonted +bashfulness. Amid shouts and exclamations each clicked his mallet +against his ball, and immediately ran forward with the greatest +eagerness to see how near the stake he had come. At last the group +formed close. A moment's dispute cleared. Celia had won, and now stood +erect, her cheeks flushing, her eyes dancing with triumph. In so doing +she caught sight of Bobby hesitating outside. + +"Why, there's Bobby!" she cried. "Come on in, Bobby, and play!" + +At the sound of her voice, all his timidity vanished. He entered boldly +and joined the others. + +"This is Bobby," announced Celia by way of general introduction, "and +this," she continued, turning to Bobby, "is Gerald, and Morris, and +Kitty and Margaret." + +"Hullo," said Morris, "Grab a mallet, and come on." + +Bobby liked Morris, who was a short, redheaded boy of jolly aspect. +Gerald, a youth of perhaps twelve years of age, rather tall and slender, +of very dark, clear, pale complexion, nodded carelessly. Bobby took an +immediate distaste for him. He looked altogether too superior, and +sleepy and distinguished--yes, and stylish. Bobby was very young and +inexperienced; but even he could feel that Gerald's round straw hat, and +norfolk-cut jacket, and neat, loose, short trousers buckled at the knee +contrasted a little more than favourably with his own chip hat, blue +blouse and tight breeches. Also he was already dusty, while Gerald was +immaculate. + +As to Kitty and Margaret, they were nice, neat, clean, pretty little +girls--but not like Celia! + +Bobby found a mallet and ball in the long wooden case, and joined the +game. He was not skilful at it, and soon fell behind the others in the +progress through the wickets. Indeed, when, after two strokes, he had at +last gained position for the "middle arch," he met Gerald coming the +other way. Gerald shot for his ball; hit it; and then, with a disdainful +air, knocked Bobby away out of bounds across the lawn. This was quite +within the rules, but it made Bobby angry just the same. As he trudged +doggedly away after his ball, he felt himself very much alone under what +he thought must be the derisive eyes of all the rest. The game ended +before he had gained the turning stake. + +"Skunked," remarked Morris cheerfully. + +Gerald said nothing, did not even look; but Bobby liked Morris's comment +better than Gerald's assumed indifference. + +"Let's have another game--partners," suggested Gerald to Celia. + +But Bobby, to his own great surprise, found courage to speak up. + +"Let's not play croquet any more," said he. "Let's have a game of +Hi-Spy." + +"It's too hot," interposed Gerald quickly. + +The others said nothing, but with the child's keen instinct for the +drama, had drawn aside in favour of the principal actors. Gerald stood +by the stake, leaning indolently on his mallet, his long black lashes +down-cast over the dark pallor of his cheeks, very handsome, very +graceful. Bobby had drawn near on Celia's other side. The comparison +showed all his freckles and the unformed homeliness of his rather dumpy, +sturdy figure; it showed also the honest dull red of his cheeks and the +clear unfaltering gray of his eyes. Celia, between them, looked down, +tapping her croquet ball with the tip of her shoe. + +"I don't think it's very hot," she said at last, looking up. "Let's play +Hi-Spy." + +A wave of glowing triumph rushed through Bobby's soul. Gerald merely +shrugged his shoulders. + +But unmixed joy was to be a short-lived emotion with Bobby as far as +Celia was concerned. He knew lots of fine hiding-places about the +grounds of the Ottawa, and he promised himself that he would take Celia +to them. They could hide together; and that would be delightful. + +Morris counted out first to be "it." He leaned his arm against a post, +his head against his arm, and closed his eyes. + +"Ten-ten-double-ten-forty-five-fifteen" he repeated over ten times as +rapidly as possible. That was his way of counting a thousand. + +The other children scurried off as fast as their legs could carry them +in order to reach concealment before the end of the count. And somehow, +against his will, Bobby found himself cast in the hurry of the moment +with Kitty instead of with Celia. And Celia he saw disappear in Gerald's +convoy. + +"Coming!" roared Morris, uncovering his eyes. + +"Oh dear, he's coming!" cried Kitty in distress, "and we're not hid! +Where shall we go? Don't you know any good places?" + +But Bobby, still confused over his disappointment, had not the wits +wherewith to think in so pressing an emergency. He vacillated between +pillar and post; and so was espied by the goal-keeper. Morris +immediately set himself in rapid motion for the "home." + +"One, two, three for Bobby Orde!" he cried, striking the post +vigorously. "One, two, three for Kitty Clark!" + +The two reluctantly appeared. + +"There, now, you got us caught," accused Kitty sulkily. + +"Never mind," consoled Bobby, "anyway he saw me first. I'm it!" + +Morris was off prowling after more prey. As he disappeared around the +corner of the building a rapid flash of skirts was visible from the +other. Morris caught it; and, turning, raced with all his might back to +the home goal. But Margaret had too good a head start. She arrived +first; and immediately began to dance around and around, her long legs +twinkling, her two thick braids flying. + +"In free! In free!" she shrieked over and over again. + +There still remained Celia and Gerald. Morris set himself very carefully +to find them, prowling into all likely places, but returning abruptly +every moment or so in order to forestall or discourage attempts to get +in. He proved unsuccessful; nor did his absence seem to afford the +others chances to run home. The other three watched with growing +impatience. + +"Oh, Morris, let them in!" begged Kitty. Bobby felt a glow of kindliness +toward her for making the suggestion. He would not have proffered it +himself for worlds. Morris, however, was obstinate. He continued his +search for at least ten minutes. At last he had to give in. + +"All sorts in free!" he called at the top of his voice. + +Celia and Gerald appeared smiling and unruffled. They refused to divulge +their hiding-place. + +"We'll save it until next time," said Celia. + +Bobby blinded his eyes and counted. He had no interest in the game, and +experienced inside himself a half-sick, hollow feeling unique in his +experience. Morris, Kitty and Margaret got in free, simply because his +attention was too lax. Gerald and Celia had once more disappeared. After +a decent interval the others became clamorous again for general amnesty. + +"Blind again, Bobby," they urged, "let them in free." + +But Bobby continued to search beyond the places he had already looked. +His further knowledge of the hotel grounds was a negligible quantity; so +he began, consistently to eliminate all possibilities. From one corner +he zigzagged back and forth, testing every nook and cranny that might +contain a human being. Thus he examined every foot of the place; but +without results. He was puzzled; but he would not give up. Methodically, +and to the vast disgust of the others, he began over again at the corner +from which he had started. No results. + +"No fair outside the grounds!" he shouted. To this of course, no answer +came. + +"Give it up!" urged the others. + +"I won't!" insisted Bobby doggedly. + +He did not know where to search next, so he looked up. The hotel was +provided with a broad shady flat-roofed verandah. At the edge of this +roof, projecting the least bit above, Bobby glimpsed a fold of blue. The +pair were evidently lying at full length in the spacious water gutter. +The blue could be nothing but the gingham of Celia's dress. Nevertheless +Bobby walked to goal and calmly announced. + +"One, two, three for Gerald--on the verandah roof!" And then, after a +deliberate pause, "All sorts in free!" + +Gerald blinded. Bobby, with determination, took Celia's hand, and +breathlessly the pair sped away. The little boy's first move was to +place the hotel building between himself and Gerald. + +"Can you climb a fence?" he asked hurriedly. + +"If it isn't too high." + +"Come on then, I know a dandy place." + +Bobby attacked the board fence behind the hotel. Two packing-boxes of +different heights made the problem of ascent easy. But the other side +was a sheer drop; and Celia was afraid. + +"I can't!" she cried. "It's too far!" + +"Just drop," advised Bobby desperately. "Hurry up! He'll be around the +corner!" + +"I daren't!" cried poor Celia. "You go first." + +Promptly Bobby dangled; and dropped. + +"See; it's easy. Come on, I'll catch you!" + +Finally Celia wiggled over the edge, shut her eyes, and let go. She +landed directly on Bobby, and the two went down in a heap. + +"Come on!" whispered Bobby. "Scoot!" + +Before them rose a whitewashed barn. Celia's hand in his, Bobby darted +in at the open doorway, and more by instinct than by sight, found a +rickety steep flight of stairs and ascended to the hay-mow. + +"There, isn't that great?" he whispered. + +They sank back on the soft fragrant hay, and breathed luxuriously after +the haste of the last few moments. A score of mice had scurried away at +their abrupt entrance; and the fairy-like echoes of these animals' tiny +feet seemed to linger in the twilight. Through cracks long pencils of +sunlight lay across the hay and the dim criss-cross of the rafters +above. Dust motes crossed them in lazy eddies, each visible for a golden +moment as it entered the glow of its brief importance, only to be +blotted into invisibility as it passed. + +"Is this a fair hide?" whispered Celia. "This is outside the grounds." + +"It's the hotel barn," replied Bobby. "I bet he doesn't find us here." + +They fell silent, because they were hiding, and in that silence they +unconsciously drew nearer to each other. The delicious aroma of the hay +overcame their spirits with a drowsiness. New sensations thronged on +Bobby's spirit, made receptive by the narcotic influences of the tepid +air, the mysterious dimness, the wands of gold, the floating brief +dust-motes. He wanted to touch Celia; and he found himself diffident. He +wanted to hear her voice; and he suddenly discovered in himself an +embarrassment in addressing her which was causeless and foolish. He +wanted to look at her; and he did so; but it was not frankly and +openly, as he had always looked at people before. His shy side-glances +delighted in the clear curve of her cheeks; the soft wheat-colour of her +curls; the dense black of her half-closed eyes; the brown of her +complexion; the sweet cleanliness of her. A faint warm fragrance +emanated from her. Bobby's heart leaped and stood still. All at once he +knew what was the matter. It is a mistake to imagine that children do +not recognize love when it comes to them. Love requires no announcement, +no definition, no description. Only in later years when the first fresh +purity of the heart has gone, we may perhaps require of him an +introduction. + +At once Bobby felt swelling within his breast a great longing, a hunger +which filled his throat, a yearning that made him faint. For what? Who +can tell. The idea of possession was still years distant; the thought of +a caress had not yet come to him; the bare notion that Celia could care +for him had not as yet unfolded its dazzling wings; even the desire to +tell her was not yet born. Probably at no other period of a human +being's life is the passion of love so pure, so divorced from all +considerations of the material, or of self, so shiningly its ethereal +spiritual soul. Yet love it is; such love as the grown man feels for his +mate; with all the great inner breathless longings of the highest +passion. + +The two lay curled side by side in their nests of hay. Time passed, but +they did not know of it. The little boy was drowned in the depths of +this new thing that had come to him. Celia filled the world to him. His +reverie brimmed with her. Yet somehow also there came to him other +things, unsought, and floated about him, and became more fully part of +him than they had ever been before. It was an incongruous assortment; +some of the knights of Sir Malory; the River above the booms, with the +brown logs; a plume of white steam against the dazzling blue sky; the +mellow six-o'clock church bell to which he arose every morning; the +snake-fence by the sandhill as it was in winter, with the wreaths of +snow; and all through everything the feel of the woods he had seen at +the picnic, their canopy of green so far above, their splashes of +sunlight through the rifts, the friendly summer warmth of their air, +their hot, spicy wood-smells wandering to and fro; their tall trunks, +their undergrowth, with the green tunnels far through them, the flashes +of their birds' wings, their green transparent shadows. These came to +him, vaguely, and their existence seemed explained. They were because +Celia was. And so, in the musty loft of an ill-kept stable, Bobby +entered another portion of the beautiful heritage that was some day to +be his. + + + + +IV + +THE PRINTING PRESS + + +Next week was Bobby's birthday. He received many gifts, but as usual, +saved the biggest package until the last. It had come wrapped in stout +manila paper, tied with a heavy cord, and ornamented with the red +sticker and seals of the Express Company. With some importance Bobby +opened his new knife and cut the string. The removal of the wrapper +disclosed a light wooden box. This was filled with excelsior, which in +turn enclosed a paper parcel. A card read: + +"For Bobby on his eleventh birthday, from Grandpa and Grandma." + +Wrought to trembling eagerness by the continued delays, Bobby tore off +the paper. Within was a small toy cast-iron printing press. Its +ink-plate was flat and stationary. Its chase held two wooden grooves +into which the type could be clamped by means of end screws. The +mechanism was worked by a small square lever at the back. Bobby opened +a red pasteboard box to discover a miniature font of Old English type; a +round tin box to uncover sticky but delicious-smelling printer's ink; a +package to reveal the ink-roller and a parcel to complete the outfit +with a pack of cheap pasteboard cards. + +"What do you think of that?" cried Mrs. Orde. + +"Now you'll be able to go into business, won't you?" said his father. +"You might make me twenty-five calling cards for a starter." + +Immediately breakfast was finished, then Bobby took his printing press +upstairs and installed it on his little table. He would have liked very +much to show Celia his gifts, but this Mrs. Orde peremptorily forbade. + +After some manipulation he loosened the chase and laid it on the table. +Then he began to pick out the necessary type and arrange it in the upper +grove to spell his father's name. The replacement of the chase was easy +after his experience in taking it out. Ink he smeared on the top plate, +according to directions, rolling it back and forth with the composition +roller until it was evenly distributed. Nothing remained now but to +adjust the guides which would hold the cards on the tympan. Bobby +passed the inked roller evenly back and forth across the face of the +type, inserted a card and bore down confidently on the lever. He +contemplated this result: + +[Illustration] + +Besides the transpositions and inversions, the impression itself was +blurred and imperfect and smeared with ink. + +After the first gasp of dismay, Bobby set to work in the dogged +analytical mood which difficulties already aroused in him. The remedy +for the inversion was plain enough. Bobby changed the type end for end +and turned the R and the E right side up, but he worked slower and +slower and his brow was wrinkled. Suddenly it cleared. + +"Oh, I know!" said he aloud. "It's just like the looking-glass!" + +Satisfied on this point, he finished the resetting quickly and tried +again. This time the name read correctly but it slanted down the card +and was blurred and inky. Bobby fussed for a long time to get the line +straight. Experiment seemed only to approximate. One end persisted in +rising too high or sinking too low. The problem was absorbing and all +the time Bobby was thinking busily along, to him, original lines. At +last, by means of a strip of paper and a pencil he measured equidistants +from top and bottom of the platen, adjusted the guides in accordance and +so that problem was solved. Bobby, flushed and triumphant, addressed +himself to remedying the blurring. + +"Too much ink," said he. + +Obviously the way to remedy too much ink was to rub some of it off and +the directest means to that end was the ever-useful pocket handkerchief. +The paste proved very sticky and the handkerchief was effective only at +the expense of great labour. Bobby ruined three more cards before he +established the principle that superfluous ink must be removed not only +from the plate but from the roller and type as well. + +But now further difficulties intervened before perfection. Some of the +letters printed heavily and some scarcely showed at all. Here Bobby +entered the realm of experiments which could not be lightly solved in +the course of a half hour. He tried raising the type to a common level +and locking them as tightly as possible, but always they slipped. He +attempted to insert bits of paper under what proved to be the shorter +types. This improved the results somewhat, but was nevertheless far from +satisfactory. By now he had learned not to use a fresh card every time. +The first half-dozen were printed back and forth, front and behind. +Bobby was smeared with more ink than the printing press. Scissors, +pencils, paper, used cards and type were scattered everywhere. All the +time his fingers were working his brain, too, was busy, searching back +from the result to the cause, seeking the requisite modification. Mr. +Orde, returning at noon, burst out laughing at the sight. + +"Well, youngster," said he, "how do you like being a printer?" + +"Oh Bobby!" cried Mrs. Orde behind him. "You are a _sight_! Don't you +know it's time to get ready for lunch?" + +Bobby looked up in bewildered surprise. Lunch! Why he had hardly begun! +His father was chuckling at him. + +"Benzine will take it off," said Mr. Orde to his wife. + +Bobby caught at the hint. + +"Will benzine take off the ink?" he cried eagerly. + +"It's supposed to," replied his father; "but in your case----" + +"Can I have a little, in a bottle, and a toothbrush?" begged Bobby. He +saw in a flash the solution of the ink problem. + +"We'll see," said Mrs. Orde. "Come with me, now." + +They disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Mr. Orde examined the +cards with some amusement. + +"Well, sonny," said he to Bobby at lunch. "The printing doesn't seem to +be a howling success. What are you going to do about it?" + +"I don't know," replied Bobby; "but I'll fix it all right yet." + +Bobby was busy with his birthday party all that afternoon, but next +morning he was afoot even before the Catholic Church bell called him. +The press occupied him until breakfast time, but he made small progress. +His father's morning paper filled him with envy by reason of its clear +impression. After breakfast he begged a tiny bottle of benzine and an +old toothbrush from his mother, and went at it again for nearly an hour. +The benzine worked like a charm. The type came out bright as new and the +old ink dissolved readily from the platen and roller. Bobby took note +that he should have cleared them the day before, as a night's neglect +had left them sticky. With it all he seemed to have arrived at a dead +wall. All his limited mechanical ingenuity was exhausted and still the +letters printed either too deep or too light. About half-past nine he +cleaned up and went down to the Ottawa. + +His friends there were all sitting under the trees before the hotel, +resting rather vacantly after a hard romp. Celia perched high on a root, +her curls against the brown bark, her hat dangling by its elastic from a +forefinger, her lips parted, her eyes vacant. Gerald leaned gracefully +against the trunk. Bobby sat cross-legged on the ground watching +her--and him. Kitty and Margaret reclined flat on their backs, gazing up +through the leaves. Morris alone showed a trace of activity. He had +fished from his pockets the short, blunt stub of a pencil, a penny and a +piece of tissue paper. The latter he had superimposed over the penny and +by rubbing with the pencil was engaged in making a tracing of the +pattern on the coin. Through his preoccupation Bobby at last became +cognizant of this process. He sat and watched it with increasing +interest. + +"By Jimmy!" he shouted leaping to his feet. + +"What is it?" they cried, startled by the abrupt movement. + +"I got to go home," said Bobby. + +They expostulated vehemently, for his departure spoiled the even number +for a game. But he would not listen, even to Celia's reproachful voice. + +"I'll be back after lunch," he called, and departed rapidly. Duke arose +from his warm corner, stretched deliberately, yawned, glanced at the +children, half wagged his tail and finally trotted after. + +Bobby rushed home as fast as he could; broke into the house like a +whirlwind; tore upstairs and, breathless with speed and the excitement +of a new idea, flung himself into the chair before his little table. He +had seen the solution. To the flash of embryonic creative instinct +vouchsafed him, Morris's penny had represented type, the inequalities of +its design were the inequalities of alignment over which he had +struggled so long and the pressure of the pencil and tissue paper +paralleled the imposition of the card on the letters. But in the case of +Morris's penny the type did not conform to the paper and the pressure, +_the paper conformed to the type_. + +His brain afire with eagerness, Bobby first stretched several clean +sheets of paper over the platen and clamped them down; then he inked the +type and pressed down the lever. Thus he gained an impression on the +platen itself. At this point he hesitated. On his father's desk down +stairs was mucilage, but mucilage was strictly forbidden. The hesitation +was but momentary, however, for the creative spirit in full blast does +not recognize ordinary restrictions. With his own round-pointed scissors +he cut out little squares of paper. These he pasted on the platen over +the letters whose impression had been too faint. A few moments adjusted +the guides. Bobby inked the type and inserted a fresh card. The moment +of test was at hand. + +He paused and drew a long breath. From one point of view the matter was +a small one. From another it was of the exact importance of a little +boy's development, for it represented the first fruits of all the +hereditary influences that had silently and through the small +experiences of babyhood, led him over the edge of the dark, warm nest to +this first independent trial of the wings. He pressed the lever gently +and took out the card. It was not a very good job of printing; the ink +was not quite evenly distributed, the type were so heavily impressed +that they showed through the reverse of the card like stamping; _but +each letter had evidently received the same amount of pressure!_ + +Bobby uttered a little chuckle of joy--he had not time for more--and +plunged into the rectification of minor errors. And by noon the press +was working steadily, though slowly, and a very neat array of _Mr. John +Ordes_ was spread out on the window drying. + +The game was absorbing. Bobby brushed his type with the benzine and +toothbrush; distributed it and set up another name--Miss Celia Carleton. +He had printed nearly a dozen of these when his mother's voice behind +him interrupted his labours. + +"Robert," said the voice sternly, "what are you doing with that +mucilage?" + + + + +V + +THE LITTLE GIRL + + +Bobby spent as much time with Celia as he was allowed. On Sunday he took +her on his regular excursion to Auntie Kate--and Auntie Kate's cookies. + +"Aren't you glad there was no Sunday School to-day?" he inquired +blithely. + +"I like Sunday School," stated Celia. + +Bobby stopped short and looked at her. + +"Do you like church too?" he demanded. + +"I love it," she said. + +"Do you like pollywogs?" + +"Ugh, No!" + +"Or stripy snakes?" + +"They're _horrid!_" + +"Or forts?" + +"I don't know." + +"Or rifles an' revolvers?" + +"I am afraid of them." + +"Or dogs?" + +"I love dogs. I've got one home. His name is Pancho." + +"What kind is he?" asked Bobby with a vast sigh of relief at finding a +common ground. He had been brought to realize yesterday that little +girls differ from boys; but for a few dreadful, floundering moments this +morning he had feared they might, so to speak, belong to a different +race. Afterward he realized that it would not have mattered even if she +had not liked dogs. He merely wished to be near her. When he left her he +immediately experienced the strongest longing to be again where he could +see her, and breathe the deep, intoxicating, delicious, clean influence +of her near presence. And yet with her his moments of unalloyed +happiness were few and his hours of sheer misery were many. +Self-consciousness had never troubled Bobby before; but now in the +presence of Gerald's slim elegance and easy, languid manner, he became +acutely aware of his own deficiencies. His clothes seemed coarser; his +hands and feet were awkward; his body dumpier; his face rounder and more +freckled. To him was born a great humility of spirit to match the great +longing of it. + +Nevertheless, as has been said, he and Duke trudged down to the Ottawa +every morning, and again every afternoon, or as many of them as Mrs. +Orde permitted. He was content to come under the immediate spell of the +dancing, sprite-like, sunny little girl. No thought of the especial +effort to please, called courtship, entered his young head. He played +with the children, and kept as close to Her as possible; that was all. +And one evening, trudging home dangerously near six o'clock, he ran slap +against the legend chalked in huge letters on a board fence: + + CELIA CARLETON and BOBBY ORDE + +He stopped short, his heart jumping wildly. Often had he seen this +coupling of names, other names; and he knew that it was considered a +little of a shame, and somewhat of a glory. The sight confused him to +the depths of his soul; and yet it also pleased him. He rubbed out the +letters; but he walked on with new elation. The undesired but +authoritative sanction of public recognition had been given his +devotion. Gerald was not considered. Somebody had observed; so the +affair must be noticeable to others. And with another tremendous leap +of the heart Bobby welcomed the daring syllogism that, since the +somebody of the impertinent chalk had fathomed his devotion to her, +might it not be possible, oh, remotely inconceivably possible, of +course, that the unknown had equally marked some slight interest on her +part for him? The board fence, the maple-shaded walk, the soft brown +street of pulverized shingles, all faded in the rapt glory of this +vision. Bobby gasped. Literally it had not occurred to him before. Now +all at once he desired it, desired it not merely with every power of his +child nature, but with the full strength of the man's soul that waited +but the passing of years to spread wide its pinions. The need of her +answer to his love shook him to the depths, for it reached forward and +back in his world-experience, calling into vague, drowsy, fluttering +response things that would later awaken to full life, and reanimating +the dim and beautiful instincts that are an heritage of that time when +the soul is passing the lethe of earliest childhood and retains still a +wavering iridescence of the glory from which it has come. The question +rose to his lips ready for the asking. He wanted to turn track on the +instant, to call for Celia, to demand of her the response to his love. + +And then, after the moment of exaltation, came the reaction. He was +afraid. The thought of his stubby uninteresting figure came to him; and +a deep sense of his unworthiness. What could she, accustomed to +brilliant creatures of the wonderful city, of whom Gerald was probably +but a mild sample, find in commonplace little Bobby Orde? He walked +meekly home; and took a scolding for being late. + +Nevertheless the idea persisted and grew. It came to the point of +rehearsal. Before he fell asleep that very night, Bobby had ready cut +and dried a half-dozen different ways in which to ask the question, and +twice as many methods of leading up to it. In the darkness, and by +himself, he felt very bold and confident. + +The next morning, however, even after he had succeeded in sequestrating +Celia from her companions, he found it impossible to approach the +subject. The bare thought of it threw him to the devourings of a panic +terror. This new necessity tore him with fresh but delicious pains. He +felt the need of finding out whether she cared for him as he had never +conceived a need could exist; yet he was totally unable to satisfy it. +By comparison the former misery of jealousy seemed nothing. Bobby lived +constantly in this high breathless state of delight in Celia; and +misery in the condition of his love for her. The Fuller boys and Angus +saw him no more; the little library was neglected; the wood-box half the +time forgotten; and the arithmetic, always a source of trouble, tangled +itself into a hopeless snarl of which Bobby's blurred mental vision +could make nothing. + +All of his spare time he spent at his toy printing press, trying over +and over for a perfect result--unblurred, well-registered, well +aligned--in the shape of calling cards for "Miss Celia Carleton." + +As soon as they were done to his satisfaction, he wrapped them in a +clumsy package, and set out for the Ottawa, followed, as always, by +Duke. + +He found Celia alone in a rocking chair. + +"Why didn't you come down this morning?" she asked him at once. + +Bobby held up the package and looked mysterious. + +"This," said he. + +"Oh! what is it?" she cried, jumping up. + +"I made it," said Bobby. + +"What is it?" insisted Celia. "Show it to me." + +But Bobby thrust the package firmly into his pocket. + +"Up past our house there's a fine sand-hill to slide down," said he, +"and we got a fine fort over the hill, and I know where there's a place +you can climb up on where you can see 'most to Redding." + +"Show me what you've got!" pleaded Celia. + +"I will," Bobby developed his plan, "if you'll come up and play in the +fort." + +"All right," agreed Celia in a breath; "I'll tell mamma I'm going. And +I'll hunt up the others." + +"I don't want the others to go," announced Bobby boldly. + +She calmed to a great stillness, and looked at him with intent eyes. + +"All right," she agreed quietly after a moment. + +They walked up the street together, followed by the solemn black and +white dog. The shop windows did not detain them, as ordinarily. At the +fire-engine house they turned under the dense shade of the maples. But +by the end of the second block said Bobby: + +"We'll go this way." + +He was afraid of encountering Angus, or perhaps the Fuller boys. + +The sand-hill proved toilsome to Celia, but without a single pause she +struggled bravely up its sliding, cascading yellow surface to the top. +Then she stood still, panting a little, her cheeks flushed, her eyes +bright, the tiniest curls about her forehead wet and matted with +perspiration. With a great adoration, Bobby looked upon her slender +figure held straight against the blue sky. Almost--almost dared he +speak. At least that is what he thought until the words rose to his +lips; and then all at once he realized what a wide gulf lay between the +imagined and the spoken word. + +"The fort's over this way," said he gruffly. + +"Show me the package first," insisted Celia. + +Bobby drew out the cards, and thrust them into her hands. + +"They're for you," he said hastily. "I did them on my printing press." + +Celia was delighted and wanted to say so at length, but Bobby had his +sex's aversion to spoken gratitude. + +"Come on, see the fort," he insisted. + +He showed her the elaborate works and explained their uses, and pointed +out the enemy of stumps charging patiently. Celia caught fire with the +idea at once. + +[Illustration: ALMOST--ALMOST DARED HE TO SPEAK] + +"I'll make bullets the way they did in the Colonies!" she cried. + +"Have you 'Old Times in the Colonies,' too?" asked Bobby eagerly. + +They seated themselves and talked of their books. Celia was just +beginning the Alcott series. Bobby had never heard of them, and so they +had to be explained. The children had romped and played games together; +but they had never exchanged such ideas as their years had developed. +For once Bobby forgot the fact of his love, and its delicious pains, and +its need for something which he could not place, in the unselfconscious +joy of intimate communion. He drew close to Celia in spirit; and his +whole being expanded to a glow that warmed him through and through. The +westering sun surprised them with the lateness of the hour. At the hotel +gate Celia left him. + +"My, but we had a good time!" said she. + +With much trepidation Bobby next day suggested in face of the whole +group that he and Celia should climb the high hill from which Bobby +fondly believed he could see "'most to Redding." To his surprise, and to +the surprise of the others, Celia consented at once. They climbed the +hill in short stages, resting formally every ten feet. Bobby they +called the Guide; while Celia was assigned the duty of announcing the +resting-places. There was a wood-road up the hill, but they preferred +the steep side. Trees shaded it; and undergrowth veiled it. Little open +spaces were guarded mysteriously and jealously by the thickets; little +hot pockets held like cups the warmth of the sun. Birds flashed and +disappeared; squirrels chattered indignantly; chipmunks scurried away. +Occasionally they came to dense shade, and moss, and black shadow, and +low sweet shrubs a few inches high, and the tinkle of a tiny streamlet. +Once a tangle of raspberries in a little clearing fell across their way. +Bobby had never happened on these. They had been well picked over by the +squaws, who sold fruit in town by the pailful, but the children managed +to find a few berries, and ate them, enjoying their warm, satiny feel. + +Thus they climbed for a long time. The rests were frequent, the course +not of the straightest. For many years their recollection of that hill +was as of a mountain. Finally the top sprang at them abruptly, as though +in joke. + +"Come over this way, I'll show you," said Bobby. + +He led the way to a point where the scant timber had in times past +suffered a windfall. Through the opening thus made they looked abroad +over the countryside. They could see the snake-fences about the farms, +and the white dusty road like a ribbon and the stumps like black dots, +and the waving green tops of the "wood lots" and far away the flash of +the River. + +Thus Bobby gained another of his great desires. Celia proved strangely +acquiescent to suggestions for these excursions. Gerald's dreaded +attractions relaxed their power over Bobby's spirit; and in +corresponding degree Bobby regained the lost captaincy of his soul. The +self-confidence which he lacked seeped gradually into him; and he began, +though very tentatively, to recognize and respect his own value as an +individual. These are big words to employ over the small problems of a +child; yet in the child alone occur those silent developments, those +noiseless changes which touch closest to true abstraction. Later in life +our processes are stiffened by the material into forms of greater +simplicity. + +They explored the country about; and what the shortness of their legs +denied them in the matter of actual distance, the largeness of their +children's imaginations lavished bounteously. + +Bobby had explored most of it all before--the stump pastures, the +wood-lots, the hills, the beach, the piers, the upper shifting downs of +sand--but now he saw them for the first time because he was showing them +to Celia. One day they made their way under tall beech woods, through a +scrub of cedars, and found themselves on the edge of low bluffs +overlooking the yellow shore and the blue lake. Long years after he +could remember it vividly, and all the little details that belonged to +it--the flash of the waters, the dip of gulls, the gentle wash of the +quiet wavelets against the shore, the thin strip of dark wet sand that +marked the extent of their influences, and, in a long curve to the blue +of distance, the uneven waste of the yellow dry sand on which lay and +from which projected at all angles countless logs, slabs and timbers +cast up derelict by the storms of years. But at the time he was not +conscious of noticing these things. In the darkness of his room that +night all he remembered was Celia standing bright and fair against the +shadow of ancient twisted cedars. + + + + +VI + +THE LITTLE GIRL (CONTINUED) + + +Every Saturday evening the Hotel Ottawa gave a hop in its dining room. +Mrs. Carleton suggested that the Ordes dine with her, and afterward take +in this function. The hop proper began at nine o'clock; but the floor +for an hour before was given over to the children. Mrs. Orde accepted. + +Promptly at half-past six, then, they all entered the dining room. +Bobby, living in the town, had never taken a meal there. He saw a +high-ceilinged, large room, filled with small, square and round tables +arranged between numerous, slender, white plaster pillars. At the base +of each pillar were still smaller serving tables each supporting a metal +ice-water pitcher. Two swinging doors at the far end led out. Tall +windows looked into the grounds where the children had been in the habit +of playing. + +People were scattered here and there eating. Statuesque ladies dressed +in black, with white aprons, stood about or sailed here and there, +bearing aloft in marvellous equilibrium great flat trays piled high with +steaming white dishes. They swung corners in grand free sweeps, the +trays tilted far sideways to balance centrifugal force; they charged the +swinging doors at full speed, and when Bobby held his breath in +anticipation of the crash, something deft and mysterious happened at the +hem of their black skirts and the doors flew open as though commanded by +a magic shibboleth. They were tall and short, slender and stout, dark +and light, but they had these things in common--they all dressed in +black and white, their hair was lofty and of exaggerated waterfall, and +their expressions never altered from one of lazy-eyed, lofty, scornful +ennui. To Bobby they were easily the leading feature of the meal. + +After dinner the party sat on the verandah a while, the elders +conversing; the children feeling rather dressed up. By and by their +other playmates joined them. The lights were lit, and shadows descended +with evening coolness. From within came the sound of a violin tuning. + +Immediately all ran to the dining room. The tables had been moved to one +end where they were piled on top of one another; the chairs were +arranged in a row along the wall; the floor, newly waxed, shone like +glass. A small upright piano manipulated by an elderly female in +glasses; a tremendous bass viol in charge of a small man, and a violin +played by a large man represented the orchestra. + +All the children shouted, and began to slide on the slippery floor. +Bobby joined this game eagerly, and had great fun. But in a moment the +music struck up, the guests of the hotel commenced to drift in and the +romping had to cease. + +Gerald offered his arm to Celia, and they swung away in the hopping +waltz of the period. Other children paired off. Bobby was left alone. + +He did not know what to do, so he sat down in one of the chairs ranged +along the wall. After a minute or so Mrs. Carleton and the Ordes came +in. Bobby went over to them. + +"Don't you dance, Bobby?" asked Mrs. Carleton kindly. + +"No, ma'am," replied Bobby in a very small voice. + +When the music stopped, the children gathered in a group at the lower +end of the hall. Bobby joined them; but somehow even then he felt out +of it. Celia's cheeks were flushed bright with the exercise and +pleasure. Her spirits were high. She laughed and chatted with Gerald +vivaciously. Poor Bobby she included in the brightness of her mood, but +evidently only because he happened to be in the circle of it. She was +sorry he did not dance; but she loved it, and just now she could think +of nothing else but the enjoyment of it. Bobby could not understand that +there was nothing personal in this. He saw, with a pang, that Gerald +danced supremely well; that Morris romped through the steps with a +cheerful hearty abandon not without its attraction; that Tad Fuller, who +had come in with his mother and his brother, and half a dozen others +whom Bobby knew, all made creditable performers; that even Angus, +red-faced, awkward, perspiring as he was, could yet command the hand, +time and attention of any little girl he might choose to favour. He +himself was useless; and therefore ignored. + +At the end of the children's hour he said good night miserably, and +trailed along home at his parents' heels. Ordinarily he liked to be out +after dark. The stars and the velvet shadows and the magic +transformations which the night wrought in the most ordinary and +accustomed things attracted him strongly. But now he was too conscious +of a smarting spirit. Mr. and Mrs. Orde were talking busily about +something. He could not even get a chance to ask a question; and that +seemed the last straw. His lips quivered, and he had to remember very +hard that he was _not_ a little girl in order to keep back the tears. + +Finally the talk died. + +"Mamma," blurted out Bobby. + +"Yes?" + +"Can't I learn how to dance?" + +The pair wheeled arm in arm and surveyed him. In the starlight his round +child face showed white and anxious. + +"Why, of course you can, darling," replied Mrs. Orde, "Don't you +remember mamma wanted you to go to dancing school last winter, and you +wouldn't go?" + +"How soon does dancing school open?" demanded Bobby. + +"I don't know. Not much before Christmas, I suppose." + +Having thus made a definite resolution to remedy matters, Bobby felt +better, even though he would have to wait another year. This recovery +of spirit was completed the next day. He went with some apprehension to +ask Celia to walk again. She had seemed to him so aloof the night +before, that he could hardly believe her unchanged. However, she +assented to the expedition with alacrity. Hardly had they quitted the +hotel grounds when Bobby shot his question at her. + +"Celia," said he, "if I learn how to dance this winter will you dance +with me when you come back next summer?" + +"Why of course," said Celia. + +"Will you dance with me a lot?" + +"Yes." + +"Will you dance with me more than you do with any one else?" + +Celia pondered. + +"I don't know," she said slowly. She paused, her eyes vague. "I guess +so," she added at last. + +"Then I'll learn," said Bobby. + +"It's lots of fun," said she. + +Bobby trod on air. Without his conscious intention their course took +direction to the river front. They walked to the left along the wide, +artificial bank of piling. Beneath them the water swished among the +timbers. On one side were the sand-hills, on the other the blue, +preoccupied river. Across the stream was another facade of piles, +unbroken save for the little boatslips where the Life Saving men had +their station. A strong sweet breeze came from the Lake. Far down ahead +they could just make out the twin piers that, jutting into the Lake, +continued artificially the course of the river. The lighthouses on their +ends were dwarfed by distance. + +By and by Celia tired a little, so they sat and dangled their feet and +watched the tiny scalloped blue wavelets dance in the current. A +passer-by stopped a moment to warn them. + +"Look out, youngsters, you don't fall in," said he. + +Bobby still exalted with the favour he had been vouchsafed, looked up +with dignity. + +"_I_ am taking care of this little girl," he said deliberately, and +turned his back. + +The man chuckled and passed on. + +For a long time they sat side by side looking straight out before them. + +"Celia," said Bobby without turning his head, "I love you. Do you love +me?" + +"Yes," said Celia steadily. + +Neither stirred by so much as a hair's breadth. After a little they +arose and returned to the hotel. Neither spoke again. + +Strangely enough the subject was not again referred to, although of +course the children continued to play together and the excursions were +not intermitted. There seemed to be nothing to say. They loved each +other, and they were glad of each other's nearness. It sufficed. + +Each morning Bobby awoke with a great uplift of the spirit, and a great +longing, which was completely appeased when he had come into Celia's +presence. Each evening he retired filled with an impatience for the +coming day, and with divine rapture of little memories of what had that +day passed. It seemed to him that hour by hour he and Celia drew closer +in a sweet secret, intimacy that nevertheless demanded no outer symbol. +When he spoke to her of the simplest things, or she to him, he +experienced a warm, cosy drawing near, as though beneath the commonplace +remark lay something hidden and subtle to which each must bend the ear +of the spirit gently. This was the soul of it, a supreme inner +gentleness one to the other, no matter how boisterous, how laughing, how +brusque might be the spoken word. And in correspondence all the +beautiful sunlit summer world took on a new softness and splendour and +glory in which they walked, but whose source they did not understand. + +This much for the essence of it. But of course, Bobby, being masculine +must give presents after his own notion, and being a small boy must give +them according to his age. The quarter he had earned from his father he +invested in a pack of cards on the upper left-hand corner of which were +embossed marvellous doves, wonderful flowers and miraculous tangles of +scroll-work in colour. These he printed with Celia's name and address. +Near the wharf and railroad station stood a small booth from which a +discouraged-looking individual tried to sell curios. Bobby's eye fell on +a cheap bracelet of silver wire from which dangled half a dozen +moonstones. It caught his eye; day by day his desire for it grew; +finally he asked advice on the subject. + +"No, Bobby," replied his mother, "I don't think Celia would care for it. +It is cheap-looking. She has several very pretty bangles already; and +this is not a good one." + +Nevertheless, Bobby, being as we have said thoroughly masculine, +deliberated some days further, and bought it. The price was two +dollars--an almost fabulous sum. Most men give their wives or +sweethearts what they think they would like themselves were they women, +and were a man to offer a gift. That is one reason why in so many bureau +drawers are tucked away unused presents. Young as she was, Celia had the +taste not to care for the moonstone bangle, but, like all the rest, she +accepted it with genuine delight because Bobby gave it. She even wore +it. These were the principal transactions of the kind; but anything +Bobby particularly fancied he brought her. Shortly she became possessed +of a bewildering collection consisting variously of large glass marbles +with a twist of coloured glass inside; two or three lichi nuts, then a +curiosity; a dried gull's wing; several exploded shotgun shells; and a +"real," though broken-pointed chisel. Celia gave Bobby her tiny narrow +gold ring with two little turquoises. He could just get it on his little +finger, and wore it proudly, in spite of jeers. Being teased about Celia +was embarrassing to the point of pain; but in the last analysis it was +not unpleasant. + +So matters slipped by. Abruptly the end of August came. One day Bobby +found Celia much perturbed. + +"I can't go out long," she said, "I've got to help mamma." + +"What doing?" asked Bobby. + +But Celia shook her head dolefully. + +"Come, let's go walk somewhere and I'll tell you," said she. + +They crossed Main Street to the shaded street on which lived Georgie +Cathcart. + +"What is it?" demanded Bobby again. + +"We are going home to-morrow," Celia announced mournfully. "Mamma has a +letter." + +Bobby stopped short. + +"Going home!" he echoed. + +"Yes," said Celia. + +"Then we won't see each other till next summer!" he cried. + +"No," said she. + +"And we can't walk any more or--or----" Bobby felt the lump rising in +his throat. + +"No," said Celia. + +Bobby swallowed hard. + +"Are--are you sorry?" he asked. + +"Yes," replied Celia quietly. "Are you?" + +"I don't know what I'm going to do!" cried Bobby desperately. + +After a little, the main fact of the catastrophe being accepted, they +talked of the winter to come. + +"You'll write me some letters, won't you?" pleaded Bobby. + +"If you write to me." + +"Of course I will write to you. And you'll send me your picture, won't +you? You said you would." + +"I don't believe I have any," demurred Celia; "and mamma has them all; +and they're very comspensive." + +"I'll give you one of mine," offered Bobby, "if I have to get it from +the album. Please, Celia." + +"I'll see," said she. + +They were moving again slowly beneath the trees. + +Bobby looked up the street; he looked back. He turned swiftly to her. + +"Celia," he asked, "may I kiss you?" + +"Yes," said Celia steadily. + +She stopped short, looking straight ahead. Bobby leaned over and his +lips just touched her cool smooth cheek. They walked on in silence. The +next day Celia was gone. + + + + +VII + +UNTIL THE LAST SHOT + + +There remained as consolation after this heartbreaking defection but +two interesting things in life--the printing press and the Flobert +Rifle. Somehow the week dragged through until Sunday, when Bobby duly +scrubbed and dressed, had to go to church with his father and mother. +Bobby, to tell the truth, did not care very much for church. Always his +glance was straying to a single upper-section of one of the windows, +which, being tipped inward at the bottom, permitted him a glimpse of +green leaves flushed with sunlight. A very joyous bird emphasized the +difference between the bright world and this dim, decorous interior with +its faint church aroma compounded of morocco leather, flowers, and the +odour of Sunday garments. Only when the four ushers tiptoed about with +the collection boxes on the end of handles, like exaggerated +corn-poppers, did the lethargy into which he had fallen break for a +moment. The irregular passage of the receptacle from one to another was +at least a motion not ordered in the deliberate rhythm of decorum; and +the clink of the money was pleasantly removed from the soporific. Bobby +gazed with awe at the coins as they passed beneath his little nose. He +supposed there must be enough of them to buy the Flobert Rifle. + +The thought gave him a pleasant little shock. It had never occurred to +him that probably the Flobert Rifle had a price. It had seemed so +passionately to be desired as to belong to the category of the +inaccessible--like Mr. Orde's revolver on the top shelf of the closet, +or unlimited ice cream, or the curios locked behind the glass in Auntie +Kate's cabinet. Now the revelation almost stopped his heart. + +"Perhaps it doesn't cost more'n a thousand dollars!" he said to himself. +And he had already made up his mind to save a thousand dollars for the +purpose of getting a boat. The boat idea lost attraction. His papa had +agreed to give half. Bobby lost himself in an exciting daydream +involving actual possession of the Flobert Rifle. He resolved that, on +the way home, if the curtains were not down, he would take another look +at the weapon. + +The curtains were not down; but now, attached to the Flobert Rifle, was +a stencilled card. Bobby set himself to reading it. + +"First Prize," he deciphered, "An-nual Trap Shoot, Monrovia Sportsman's +Club, Sep. 10, 1879." + +For some moments the significance of this did not reach him. Then all at +once a sob caught in his throat. It had never occurred to poor little +Bobby that there might be other Flobert rifles in the world; and here +this one was withdrawn from circulation, as it were, to be won as prize +at the trap shooting. + +Bobby did not recover from this shock until the following morning. Then +a bright idea struck him, an idea filled with comfort. The Rifle was not +necessarily lost, after all. He trudged down to the store, entered +boldly, and asked to examine the weapon. + +"My papa's going to win it and give it to me," he announced. + +A very brown-faced man with twinkling gray eyes turned from buying black +powder and felt wads to look at him amusedly. + +"Hullo, Bobby," said he, "so your father's going to win the rifle and +give it to you, is he? Are you sure?" + +"Of course," replied Bobby simply; "my papa can do anything he wants +to." + +The man laughed. + +"What do you know about rifles, and what would you do with one?" he +asked. + +"I know all about them," replied Bobby with great positiveness, "and I +know where there's lots of squirrels." + +The storekeeper had by now taken the Flobert from the show window. The +other man reached out his hand for it. + +"Well, tell me about this one," he challenged. + +"It's a Flobert," said Bobby without hesitation, "and it weighs five and +a half pounds; and its ri-fling has one turn in twenty-eight inches; and +it has a knife-blade front sight, and a bar rear sight; and it shoots 22 +longs, 22 shorts, C B caps, and B B caps. Only B B caps aren't very good +for it," he added. + +"Whew!" cried the man. "Here, take it!" + +Bobby looked it over with delight and reverence. This was the first time +he had enjoyed it at close hand. The blue of the octagon barrel was like +satin; the polish of the stock like a mirror; the gold plating of the +most fancy lock and guards like the sheen of silk. Bobby loved, too, the +indescribable _gun_ smell of it--compounded probably of the odours of +steel, wood and oil. With some difficulty he lifted it to his face and +looked through the rather wobbly sights. Reluctantly he gave it back +into the storekeeper's hands. + +"Would you mind, please," he asked, a little awed, "would you mind +letting me see a box of cartridges?" + +Stafford smiled and reached to the shelf behind, from which he took a +small, square, delightful, red box. It had reading on it, and a portrait +of the little cartridges it contained. Bobby feasted his eyes in +silence. + +"I--I know it's a prize," said he at last. "But--how much _was_ it?" + +"Fifteen dollars," replied Mr. Bishop. + +Bobby's eyes widened to their utmost capacity. + +"Why--why--why!" he gasped; "I thought it must be a thousand." + +Both men exploded in laughter, in the confusion of which, stunned, +surprised, delighted and excited with the thought of eventual ownership, +Bobby marched out the door, where he was joined gravely by Duke, his +beautiful feather tail waving slowly to and fro as he walked. + +Later in the day Kincaid, the spare, brown man with the twinkling gray +eyes, met Mr. Orde on the street. + +"Hullo, Orde!" he greeted. "Hear you have a sure win of the tournament." + +"Sure win!" said Orde, puzzled, "What you talking about? You know I +couldn't shoot against you fellows." + +"Well, your small boy told me you were going to win that rifle down at +Bishop's, and give it to him." + +Orde's face clouded. + +"He's been talking nothing but rifle for a month," said he. "I'm going +West in September. Wouldn't have any show against you fellows, anyway." + +When Bobby heard this paralyzing piece of news, his entire scheme of +things seemed shattered. For a long time he sat staring with death in +his heart. Then he arose silently and disappeared. + +In the Proper Place, among Bobby's other possessions, was a small toy +gun. Its stock was of pine, its lock of polished cast iron, and its +barrel of tin. The pulling of the trigger released a spring in the +barrel, which in turn projected a pebble or other missile a short and +harmless distance. Then a ramrod re-set the spring. When, the previous +Christmas, Bobby had acquired this weapon, he had been very proud of it. +Latterly, however, it had fallen into disfavour as offering too painful +a contrast to the real thing as exemplified by the Flobert Rifle. + +Bobby rummaged the darkness of the Proper Place until he found this toy +gun. From the sack in his father's closet--forbidden--he deliberately +abstracted a handful of bird-shot. Retiring to the woodshed, he set the +spring in the gun, poured in what he considered to be about the proper +quantity of shot, and solemnly discharged it at the high fence. The +leaden pellets sprayed out and spattered harmlessly against the boards. +Thrice Bobby repeated this. Then, quite without heat or rancour, he +threw the toy gun and what remained of the shot over the fence into the +vacant lot behind it. His common sense had foretold just this result to +his experiment, so he was not in the least disappointed; but he had +considered it his duty to try the only expedient his ingenuity could +invent. For if--by a miracle--the little gun had discharged the shot +with force; Bobby might--by a miracle--be permitted to participate with +it in the Shoot; and might--by a miracle--win the Flobert himself. Bobby +was no fool. He marked the necessity of three miracles; and he did not +in the least expect them. Merely he wished to fulfill his entire duty to +the situation. + +Saturday morning--the very day of the Shoot--Mr. Orde left for +California. + +After lunch Bobby trudged to Main Street, turned to the right, away from +town, and set himself in patient motion toward the shooting grounds. + +These were situated some two miles out along the county road. Bobby had +driven to them many times, but had never attempted to cover the distance +afoot. The sun was hot, and the way dusty. Many buggies and one large +carry-all passed him, each full of the participants in the contest. No +one thought of giving Bobby a lift, in fact no one noticed him at all. +He could not help thinking how different it would be if only his father +had not gone West. + +"Hello!" called a hearty voice behind him. + +He turned to see a yellow two-wheeled cart drawn by a gaunt white horse. +On the seat close to the horse's tail sat Mr. Kincaid. + +"Going to the Shoot?" he asked. + +"Yes, sir," said Bobby. + +"Well, jump in." + +Mr. Kincaid moved one side, and lifted half the seat so Bobby could +climb in from the rear. Then he let the seat down again and clucked to +the horse. + +Mr. Kincaid wore an ancient gray slouch hat pulled low over his eyes; +and a very old suit of gray clothes, wrinkled and baggy. Somehow, in +contrast, his skin showed browner than ever. He looked down at Bobby, +the fine good-humour lines about his eyes deepening. + +"Well youngster," said he, "where's your father?" + +Bobby's eyes fell; he kicked his feet back and forth. Beneath them lay +Mr. Kincaid's worn leather gun-case, and an oblong japanned box which +Bobby knew contained shells. For an instant he struggled with himself. + +"He--he had to go to California," he choked; and looked away quickly to +hide the tears that sprang to his eyes. + +Mr. Kincaid whistled and raised his hand so abruptly that the old white +horse, mistaking the movement for a signal, stopped dead, and instantly +went to sleep. + +"Get ap, Bucephalus!" cried Mr. Kincaid indignantly. + +Bucephalus deliberately awoke, and after a moment's pause moved on. To +Bobby's relief Mr. Kincaid said nothing further, but humped over the +reins, and looked ahead steadily across the horse's back. He stole a +glance at the older man; and suddenly without reason a great wave of +affection swept over him. He liked his companion's clear brown skin, and +the close clipped gray of his hair, and his big gray moustache beneath +which the corners of his mouth quirked faintly up, and the network of +fine crow's feet at his temples, and the clear steady steel-colour of +his eyes beneath the bushy brows. On the spot Bobby enshrined a hero. + +But now they turned off the main road through a gap in the snake-fence, +and followed many wheel tracks to the farther confines of the field +where, under a huge tree they could see a group of men. These hailed Mr. +Kincaid with joy. + +"Hello, Kin, old man," they roared. "Got here, did you? What day did you +start? The old thing must be about dead. Lean him up against a tree, and +come tell us about the voyage." + +"The cannon-ball express is strictly on schedule time, boys," replied +Mr. Kincaid, looking solemnly at his watch. + +He drove to the fence, where he tied Bucephalus. The other rigs were +hitched here and there at distances that varied as the gun-shyness of +the horses. Bobby proudly bore the gun-case. Mr. Kincaid lifted out the +heavy box of shells. + +Bobby took in the details of the scene with a delight that even his just +cause for depression could not quench. + +The men, some twenty in number, sprawled on the ground or sat on boxes. +Before them stood a wooden rack with sockets, in which already were +stacked a number of shotguns. Two pails of water flanked this rack, in +each of which had been thrust a slotted hickory "wiper" threaded with a +square of cloth. A fairly large empty wooden box, for the reception of +exploded shells, marked the spot on which the shooters would stand. The +rotary trap lay in plain sight eighteen yards away. That completed the +list of arrangements, which were, in the light of modern methods, as +every trap shooter of to-day will recognize, exceedingly crude. + +The men, however, supplied the interest which the equipment might lack. +At that time every trap-shot was also a field shot. The class which +confines itself to targets had not even been thought of. And good +picked-shots have in common everywhere certain qualities, probably +developed by the life in the open, and the unique influences of woodland +and upland hunting. They are generous, and large in spirit, and +absolutely democratic--the millionaire and the mechanic meet on equal +ground--and deliberate in humour, and dry of wit. The quiet chaffing, +tolerant, good-humoured, genuine intercourse of hunters cannot be +matched in any other class. + +The components of this group had each served his apprenticeship in the +blinds or the cover. They knew each other in the freemasonry of the +Field; and when they met together, as now, they spoke from the gentle +magic of the open heart. + +One exception must be made to this statement, however. Joseph Newmark, +in advance of his time, shot methodically and well at the trap, never +went afield, and maintained toward his neighbours an habitual dry +attitude of politeness. + +Bobby seated himself on the ground and prepared to listen with the +completest enjoyment. These men were to him great or little according +as they shot well or ill. That was to him the sole criterion. It did not +matter to him that Mr. Heinzman controlled the largest interests in the +western part of the state--he "couldn't hit a balloon"; nor that young +Wellman was looked upon as worthless and a loafer--he was well up among +the first five. + +Nearly everybody smoked something. The tobacco smelled good in the open +air. + +"Well," remarked Kincaid, "if that Stafford party doesn't show up before +long, I'm going home. I can't stand you fellows without some excitement +for a counter-irritant." + +"That's right, Kin," called somebody, "Better start that old Buzzard +toward town pretty soon, if you want to get in for breakfast--there's a +good moon!" + +But at this moment a delivery wagon turned into the field, and drove +briskly to the spot. From it Mr. Stafford descended spryly. + +"Sorry to be a little late, boys; just couldn't help it," he apologized. + +His arrival galvanized the crowd into activity. From the delivery wagon +they unloaded boxes of shells, two camp stools and a number of barrels. +The driver then hitched his horses to the fence, and returned to act as +trap-puller. + +One of the barrels was rolled out to the trap, opened, and its contents +carefully spilled on the ground. It contained a quantity of sawdust +and brown glass balls. These were about the size of a base-ball, had an +opening at the top, and were filled with feathers. John, the driver of +the delivery wagon, climbed down into a pit below the trap. He set the +spring of the trap and placed a glass ball in its receptacle at the end +of one of the two projecting arms. A long cord ran from the trap back to +the shooting stand. + +Mr. Stafford opened a camp stool, sat down, and produced a long blank +book. In this he inscribed the men's names. Each gave him two dollars +and a half as an entrance fee. A referee and scorer were appointed from +among the half-dozen non-shooting spectators. + +"Newmark to shoot; Heinzman on deck!" called the scorer in a +business-like voice. + +The trapper ducked into his hole. Mr. Newmark thrust five loaded shells +into his side pocket, picked his gun from the rack and stepped forward +to the mark. Then he loaded one barrel of the gun and stood at ready. +In those days nobody thought of standing gun to shoulder, as is the +present custom. The rule was, "stock below elbow." + +"Ready," said he in his dry incisive voice. + +"Ready," repeated the trap puller at his elbow. + +"Pull!" commanded Mr. Newmark abruptly. + +Immediately the trap began to revolve rapidly; after a moment or so it +sprung, and the glass ball, projected violently upward, sailed away +through the air. The mechanism of the trap was such that no one could +tell precisely how long it would revolve before springing; nor in what +direction it would throw the target. Nevertheless the mark offered would +now, in comparison with our saucer-shaped target, be considered easy. +Mr. Newmark brought his gun to his shoulder and discharged it apparently +with one motion, before the ball had more than begun its flight. A roar +of the noisy black powder shook the air. The glass sphere seemed +actually to puff out in fine smoke. Only the feathers it had contained +floated down wind. + +"Dead!" announced the referee in a brisk business-like voice. + +Mr. Newmark broke his gun and flipped the empty yellow shell into the +box next him. A cloud of white powder smoke drifted down over the +group. Bobby snuffed it eagerly. He thought it the most delicious smell +in the world; and so continued to think it for many years until the +nitros displaced the old-fashioned compounds. Four times Mr. Newmark +repeated his initial performance; then stepped aside. + +"Heinzman to shoot; Wellman on deck!" announced the scorer. + +Mr. Heinzman was already at the mark; and young Wellman arose and began +to break open a box of shells. Mr. Newmark thrust his gun barrels into +one of the pails and with the hickory wiper pumped the water up and +down. + +"He's a good snap-shot," Bobby heard a man tell a stranger, in a +half-voice. + +"Has a brilliant style," commented the other. + +They fell into a low-toned conversation on the partridge season, and the +ducks, to which Bobby listened with all his ears, the while his eyes +missed nothing of what took place before him. Nobody now spoke aloud. +The chaffing had ceased. Shooter's etiquette prohibited anything that +even by remote possibility might "rattle" the contestants. Only the +voices of the men at mark and the referee were heard, and the heavy +_bang_ of the black powder. Bobby liked to listen to the referee. +Reporting, as he did, hundreds of results in the course of the +afternoon, his intonation became mechanical. + +"Dead!" he snapped in the crispest, shortest syllable, when the glass +ball was broken by the charge. + +"Law-s-s-t!" he drawled when the little sphere sailed away unharmed. + +Each shooter on finishing his first string of five, swabbed out his gun, +leaned it against the rack, and went to squat in the group where he +commented to his friends on his own or others' luck, but always quietly. +An air of the strictest business held the entire assembly. + +This broke slightly when Mr. Kincaid's name was called. A stir went +through the crowd; and some one called out, + +"Go it, Old Reliable. Have you had any hoops put around her lately?" + +Mr. Kincaid grinned good-naturedly, but made no reply. He had discarded +his coat; and now wore a brown cardigan jacket. He took his place with +the greatest deliberation, consuming twice as much time as any one else. + +"Ready," said he. + +"Ready," replied the trapper mechanically. + +"Pool!" cried Mr. Kincaid. + +The discharge delayed so long that Bobby looked to see if a misfire had +occurred; but when the ball reached the exact top of its swing, Mr. +Kincaid broke it. + +"One of the most reliable duck shots we have," said Bobby's neighbour to +the stranger. "He shoots just like that, always. Never in a hurry; but +he seems to get there. Kills a lot of game in the season." + +The shoot progressed with almost the precision of a machine. Bobby +amused himself by closing his eyes to hear the regular _ready, pull, +bang!_ that marked the progress of the score. From his level with the +tops of the brown grasses of late summer he enjoyed the wandering puffs +of hot air, the drift of pungent aromatic powder smoke, the rapid +successive bending of the stalks as though fairies were running over +them when the breezelets passed. It was all very pleasant and, for the +time being, he forgot his disappointment. + +The match was to be at one-hundred balls--sixty singles, and twenty +pairs of doubles. Early in the game the different shooters began roughly +to group themselves on the score-cards according to their ability. One +class, among whom were Newmark and Kincaid, continued to break their +targets with unvarying accuracy. Young Wellman by rights belonged with +these; but he had undershot a strong incomer; and the miss had cost him +two others before he could recover his temper. The second class had +missed from one to five each. The third class, typified by Mr. Heinzman, +had a long string of "goose-eggs" to their discredit. + +The fiftieth bird, however, Mr. Kincaid missed. It flipped sideways from +the arm of the trap, and flew for twenty feet close to the ground. The +referee had actually started to call "no bird"; but Mr. Kincaid elected +to try for it; missed; and had to abide by his decision. At the close of +the singles, Newmark had a score of sixty straight; Kincaid fifty-nine; +and the others strung out variously in the rear. + +At this point, a short recess was taken. The crowd of men lit fresh +cigars; talked out loud; circulated about; and relaxed generally from +the long strain. Some scattered out into the grass to help the trapper +to look for unbroken balls. Ordinarily Bobby loved to do this; but +to-day he sidled up to where his friend was stooping over the japanned +box. Bobby watched him a moment in silence, methodically laying away +the used brass shells, one up and one down in regular succession. + +"It's too bad you got beat," he ventured timidly at last. + +Mr. Kincaid ceased his occupation, removed his pipe from his mouth, and +looked up at Bobby searchingly. + +"Youngster," he said kindly, "I'm not beat." + +"You're behind," insisted Bobby, "and Newmark never misses." + +Mr. Kincaid arose slowly, and without a word took Bobby by the arm and +led him around the tree. He stopped and raised Bobby's chin in his +gnarled brown hand until the little boy's eyes looked straight into his +own. Bobby noticed that the twinkle had--not disappeared--but drawn far +back into their gray depths, which had become unaccountably sober. + +"Bobby," said Mr. Kincaid gravely, "always remember this, all your life, +no matter what happens to you; a man is never defeated until the very +last shot is fired." + +He paused. + +"And remember this, too: that even if he is defeated, he is not beaten, +provided he has done the very best he could, and has never lost heart." + +He looked a moment longer into Bobby's eyes; and the little boy saw the +gray twinkle flickering back to the surface, and the crow's-feet +deepening good-naturedly. + +"That's all, sonny," he said, and withdrew his hand from Bobby's chin. + +"So you want to see me win the rifle, do you?" asked Mr. Kincaid, as +they turned away. + +"Yes, sir," replied Bobby. + +"Why?" + +"Because you're a friend of mine," replied Bobby with simple dignity. + +"And that's the very best reason in the world!" cried Mr. Kincaid +heartily. + +The shooting at the doubles began. Two balls were placed in the trap at +once--it will be remembered that it was provided with double arms--and +thrown in the air together. At this game many good scores fell into +disintegration, for it required great quickness of manipulation to catch +both before one should reach the ground. Mr. Newmark's snap method here +stood him in good stead. When Mr. Kincaid stepped to the trap, the +stranger turned to his friend. + +"Here's where the old fellow falls down, I'm afraid," said he a trifle +regretfully. "He's too deliberate for this business. I'm sorry. I'd +like to see him give Newmark a race for it." + +"Deliberate!" snorted the local man. + +Mr. Kincaid's preparations were as careful and as wasteful of time as +ever. But when he enunciated his famous "pool!" the stranger was treated +to a surprise. The first ball was literally snuffed into nothingness +before it had risen five feet above the trap! Then quite slowly Mr. +Kincaid followed the second to the top of its flight and broke it as +though it had been a single. + +"Lord!" gasped the visitor. "He surely can't do that with any +certainty!" + +"Can't he!" said the other grimly, "Watch him." + +Interest soon centred on Newmark and Kincaid, as those who had made +straight scores on the singles now dropped one or more. Both the +contestants named broke their nine pair straight. Bobby sent strong +little waves of hope for a miss after each of Mr. Newmark's targets, but +without avail. Only one pair apiece remained to be shot at; and in order +that Mr. Kincaid should win the match, it would be necessary that +Newmark should miss both. This was inconceivable. Bobby threw himself +face downward in the grass, sick at heart. He made up his mind he would +not look. Nevertheless when Mr. Newmark's name was called, he sat up. + +"Pull!" came Mr. Newmark's dry, incisive voice. + +The balls sprang into the air. A sharp _click_ followed. Evidently a +misfire. The referee, imperturbable, stepped forward to examine the +shell. He found the primer well indented; so, in accordance with the +rules, he announced: + +"No bird!" + +Mr. Newmark reloaded. + +"Pull!" he called again. + +On the first bird he scored his first miss of the day. + +"Misfire threw him off," exclaimed the spectators afterward. + +And then, curiously enough, a queer current of air, springing from +nowhere, utterly abnormal, seized the dense powder smoke and whirled it +backward, completely enveloping the shooter. The obscuration was +momentary, but complete. By the time it had passed the second ball had +fallen almost to the ground. Newmark snapped hastily at it. + +"Lost! Lost!" announced the scorer. + +A deep sigh of emotion swept over the crowd. Bobby gripped his hands so +tightly that the knuckles turned white. He resented the intervention of +a half-dozen other contestants before Mr. Kincaid should be called; and +rolled about in an agony of impatience until his friend stepped to the +mark. + +The men unconsciously straightened and removed the cigars from their +lips. Two hits would win; one miss would tie. Bobby stood up, his breath +coming and going rapidly, his sight a little blurred. But Mr. Kincaid +went through his motions of preparation, and broke the two balls, with +no more haste or excitement than if they had been the first two of the +match. + +A cheer broke out. Others were still to shoot, but this decided the +winner. + +"Congratulations!" said Newmark dryly as his rival stepped from the +mark. + +"That's all right," replied Kincaid, "but it was sheer rank hard luck +for you." + +On the way home just about sunset many teams passed the old white horse +with his old yellow cart, and his driver hunched comfortably over the +reins. Everybody shouted final chaffing, kindly congratulations as they +sped by. + +Bobby, hunched alongside in loyal imitation of his companion's +attitude, glowed through and through. + +"My! I'm glad you won!" he repeated again and again. + +Kincaid looked straight ahead of him, his gray eyes pensive, the short +pipe shifted to the corner of his mouth. Finally he glanced down +amusedly at his ecstatic companion. + +"You see, Bobby?" he said, "--until the last shot is fired." + + + + +VIII + +THE FLOBERT RIFLE + + +Thus Bobby had passed through the extremes of hope, of anticipation, of +disappointment and of despair. The Flobert Rifle on which he had set his +heart, which he had firmly made up his mind to buy as soon as he could +save up enough on an allowance of one cent a day, had been withdrawn +from sale and offered as prize for the fall trap shooting. This had been +a severe blow, but from it Bobby had finally rallied. His father would +participate in the shoot; his father was omnipotent and invincible. +After winning the Flobert Rifle, he would undoubtedly give it to Bobby. +Then, just before the shoot Mr. Orde had been called west on business. +Bobby had been vouchsafed only the melancholy satisfaction of seeing Mr. +Kincaid, whom he liked, win out over Mr. Newmark, whom he disliked. The +rifle was in good hands; that was all any one could say about it. + +But one afternoon, returning home about two o'clock, he was surprised +to find Bucephalus and the yellow cart hitched out in front, and Mr. +Kincaid sitting on the porch steps. + +"No one home but the girl; so I thought I'd wait," he explained, shaking +hands with Bobby very gravely. "I brought around the new rifle," he +added further. "What do you say to driving up over the hill somewhere +and trying her?" + +They drove slowly up the road of planks that gave footing over the +sand-hills. The new shiny Flobert Rifle with its gold-plated locks and +trigger guards rested between Mr. Kincaid's knees. He would not permit +Bobby to touch it, however. + +When the old white horse had struggled over the grade and into the +stump-dotted country, Mr. Kincaid hitched him to the fence, and, +followed closely by the excited Bobby, climbed into a field. From his +pocket, quite deliberately, he produced a small paper target and a dozen +tacks wrapped in a bit of paper. + +"We'll just nail her up against this big stub," he said to Bobby, +tacking away with the handle of his heavy pocket-knife; "and then you +can get a rest over that little fellow there." + +He stepped back. + +"Now let's see you open her," he said, handing over the rifle. + +Bobby had long since acquired a theoretical familiarity with the +mechanism. He cocked the arm and pulled back the breech block, thus +opening the breech with its broken effect due to the springing of the +ejector. + +"That's all right," approved Mr. Kincaid, pausing in the filling of his +pipe, "but you have the muzzle pointing straight at Duke." + +"It isn't loaded," objected Bobby. + +"A man who knows how to handle a gun," said Mr. Kincaid emphasizing his +words impressively with the stem of his pipe, "never in any +circumstances lets the muzzle of his gun, loaded or unloaded, for even a +single instant, point toward any living creature he does not wish to +kill. Remember that, Bobby. When you've learned that, you've learned a +good half of gun-handling." + +"Yes, sir," said Bobby. + +"Keep the muzzle up," finished Mr. Kincaid, "and then you're all right." + +He led the way to the smaller stump; and nonchalantly, as though it were +not one of the most wonderful affairs in the world to own such a thing, +produced a little square red box containing the cartridges. This he +opened. Bobby gazed with the keenest pleasure on the orderly rows of +alternate copper and lead dots. + +"Now," said Mr. Kincaid, "kneel down behind the stump." He rested the +rifle across it. "You know how to sight, don't you? I thought likely. +When you pull the trigger, try to pull it steadily, without jerking. Get +in here, Duke!" + +Bobby knelt, and assumed a position to shoot. To his surprise he found +that his heart was beating very fast, and that his breath came and went +as rapidly as though he had just climbed a hill. He tried desperately to +hold the front sight in the notch of the hind sight, and both on the +black bull's eye. It was surprisingly difficult, considering the +simplicity of the theory. Finally he pulled the trigger for the first +time in his life. + +"Snap!" said the rifle. + +"Now let's see where you hit!" suggested Mr. Kincaid. + +Bobby started up eagerly; remembered; and with great care laid the +Flobert, muzzle up, against the stump. + +"That's right," approved Mr. Kincaid. + +The bullet had penetrated the exact centre of the bull's eye! + +"My!" cried Bobby delighted. "That was a pretty good shot, wasn't it, +Mr. Kincaid? That was doing pretty well for the first time, wasn't it?" + +But Mr. Kincaid was lighting his pipe, and seemed quite unimpressed. + +"Bullet went straight (_puff, puff_)," said he. "That's all you can say +(_puff, puff_). No _one_ shot's a good shot (_puff, puff_). Take's two +to prove it (_puff, puff_)." + +He straightened his head and threw the match away. + +"It's too good, Bobby, to be anything but an accident," said he kindly. +"Now come and try again." + +Bobby was permitted to fire nine more shots, of which three hit the +paper, and none came near the bull's eye. He could not understand this; +for with the dead rest across the stump, he thought he was holding the +sights against the black. Mr. Kincaid watched him amusedly. The small +figure crouched over the stump was so ridiculously in earnest. At the +tenth shot he put the cover on the box of ammunition. + +"Aren't we going to shoot any more?" cried Bobby, disappointed. + +"Enough's enough," said Mr. Kincaid. "Ten shots is practice. More's +just fooling--at first, anyway. You can't expect to become a good shot +in an afternoon. If you could, why, where's the glory of being a good +shot?" + +"I don't see what made me miss," speculated Bobby. + +"I think I could tell you," replied Mr. Kincaid, "but I'm not going to. +You think it over; and next time see if you can tell me. That's the way +to learn." + +"Next time!" cried Bobby, his interest reviving. + +"You aren't tired of it, are you?" enquired Mr. Kincaid with mock +anxiety. "Because I've got ninety cartridges left here that I wouldn't +know what to do with." + +"Oh!" cried Bobby. + +"Well, then," proposed Mr. Kincaid, "I'll tell you what we'll do. You +and I will organize the--well, the Maple County Sportsman's Association, +say; and we'll hold weekly shoots. These will be the grounds. You and I +will be the charter members; but we'll let in others, if we happen to +want to." + +"Papa," breathed Bobby. + +"Moved and seconded that Mr. John Orde, alias Papa, be elected. Motion +carried," said Mr. Kincaid. "I'll be President," he continued. "I've +always wanted to be president of something; and you can be secretary. +You must get a little blank book, and rule it off for the scores. Then +maybe by and by we'll have a prize, or something. What do you think?" + +Bobby said what he thought. + +"Now," said Mr. Kincaid, opening the wooden box that ran along the floor +of the two-wheeled cart where the dashboard, had there been one, would +have been placed, "this is the next thing: when you're through shooting, +clean the gun. If you leave it over night, the powder dirt will make a +fine rust that you may never be able to get out; and rust will eat into +the rifling and make the gun inaccurate. No matter how late it is, or +how tired you are, _always clean your gun_ before you go to bed. It's +the second most important thing I can teach you. You'll see lots of men +who can kill game, perhaps, but remember this; the fellow who lets his +gun point toward no living thing but his game, and who keeps it bright +and clean, is further along toward being a true sportsman--even if he is +a very poor shot--than the careless man who can hit them." + +He gave Bobby the steel wire cleaning-rod, the rags, and the oil can, +and showed him how to get all the powder residue from the rifling +grooves in the barrel. + +"There," said Mr. Kincaid, folding back the half-seat, "climb in. That +settles it for to-day." + +Bucephalus came to with reluctance. Going down hill he settled into a +slow steady jog, which soon covered the distance to the Orde house. +Bobby climbed out and turned to utter thanks. + +"That's all right," said Mr. Kincaid. "Next time I'm going to shoot, +myself; and you'll have to rustle to beat me. Don't forget the score +book." + +"When will it be?" asked Bobby. + +"Oh, Thursday again," replied Mr. Kincaid. He disengaged the Flobert +from between his knees. "Here," said he; "you take this and put it away +carefully. I'll keep the ammunition," he added with a grim smile. +"Remember not to snap it. Snapping's bad for it when it is empty. +Good-bye." + +He drove off down the street beneath the over-arching maples, the old +white horse jogging sleepily, the old yellow cart lurching. Over his +shoulder floated puffs of smoke from his pipe. + +Bobby carried the new rifle into the house, ascended to his own room, +and sat down to enjoy it to its smallest detail. The heavy blued octagon +barrel bore an inscription which he deciphered--the maker's name, and +the patents under which the arm was manufactured. He examined the +sights, and how they were fastened to the barrel; the fall of the +hammer; the firing-pin; the mechanism of the ejector, the butt plate, +the polished stock and the manner in which it was attached to the +barrel. Over the fancy scroll of the gold-plated trigger-guard he passed +his fingers lovingly. The trigger-guard extended back along the grip of +the stock in a long thin metal strip--also gold-plated. It, too, bore an +inscription. Bobby read it once without taking in its meaning; a second +time with growing excitement. Then he rushed madly through the house +shrieking for his mother. + +"Mamma, Mamma!" he cried. "Where are you? Come here!" + +Mrs. Orde came--on the run--likewise the cook, and the butcher. They +found Bobby dancing wildly around and around, hugging close to his heart +the Flobert rifle. + +"Bobby, Bobby!" cried Mrs. Orde. "What is it? What's the matter? Are you +hurt?" + +She caught sight of the gun, leaped to the conclusion that Bobby had +shot himself and sank limply into a chair. + +"See! Look here!" cried Bobby. He thrust the rifle, bottom up into her +lap. "Read it!" + +On the plate behind the trigger-guard, carved in flowing script, were +these words. + +_To Robert Orde from Arthur Kincaid. September 10, 1879._ + + + + +IX + +MR. DAGGETT + + +The printing press, too, was now a success. What time Bobby could spare, +he spent over his new work. In fact he would probably have printed out +all his interest in the shape of cards for friends and relatives, did +not an incident spur his failing enthusiasm. The little tin box of +printer's ink went empty. Bobby tried to buy more at Smith's where other +kinds of ink were to be had. Mr. Smith had none. + +"You'd better go over to Mr. Daggett's," he advised. "He'll let you have +some." + +Bobby crossed the street, climbed a stairway slanting outside a square +wooden store building and for the first time found himself in a printing +office. + +Tall stands held tier after tier of type-cases, slid in like drawers. +The tops were slanted. On them stood other cases, their queerly arranged +and various-sized compartments exposed to view. Down the centre of the +room ran a long table. One end of it was heaped with printed matter in +piles and in packages, the other was topped with smooth stone on which +rested forms made up. Shelves filled with stationery, cans and the like +ran down one side the room. Beyond the table were two presses, a big and +a little. In one corner stood a table with a gas jet over it. In another +was an open sink with running water. A thin man in dirty shirt-sleeves +was setting type from one of the cases. Another, shorter man at the +stone-topped table was tapping lightly with a mallet on a piece of wood +which he moved here and there over a form. A boy of fifteen was printing +at the smaller of the presses. A huge figure was sprawled over the table +in the corner. In the air hung the delicious smell of printer's ink and +the clank and chug of the press. + +Bobby stood in the doorway some time. Finally the boy said something to +the man at the table. The latter looked up, then arose and came forward. + +He was of immense frame, but gaunt and caved-in from much stooping and a +consumptive tendency. His massive bony shoulders hung forward; his head +was carried in advance. In character this head was like that of a Jove +condemned through centuries to long hours in a dark, unwholesome +atmosphere--the grand, square, bony structure, the thick, upstanding +hair, the bushy, steady eyebrows, the heavy beard. But the cheeks +beneath the beard were sunken; the eyes in the square-cut caverns were +kind and gentle--and very weary. + +"I want to see if I can get some ink of you," requested Bobby, holding +out his little tin box. + +Mr. Daggett took the box without replying; and, opening it, tested with +his finger the quality and colour of what it had contained. + +"I guess so," said he. + +He led the way to one of the shelves and opened a can as big as a +bucket. Bobby gasped. + +"My!" he cried; "will you ever use all that?" + +Mr. Daggett nodded, and, dipping a broad-bladed knife, brought up, on +merely its point, enough to fill Bobby's tin box. + +"How much is it?" asked Bobby. + +"Let's see, you're Jack Orde's little boy, aren't you?" asked Daggett. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, that's all right, then. It's nothing." + +"Oh, thank you!" cried Bobby, overwhelmed. The man nodded his massive +head. "Please," ventured Bobby, hesitating, "please, would you mind if I +stay a little while and watch?" + +"'Course not," assured Mr. Daggett. "Stay as long as you want." + +He returned to his table and forgot the little boy. An hour later he +looked up. Bobby was still there standing in the middle of the floor, +staring with all his might. Mr. Daggett pulled together his great frame +and arose. + +"Have you a printing press?" he asked Bobby. + +"Yes, sir," replied Bobby--"it's only a little one--to print two lines," +he added. + +"Do you like printing?" + +"Oh!" burst out Bobby enthusiastically, "it's more fun than anything!" + +"I'd like to see some of your work," said Mr. Daggett a flash of +amusement flickering in his deep eyes. + +Bobby felt in his pocket and gravely presented a card. + + _"Mr. Robert Orde. + Job Printer."_ + +"Why," said Mr. Daggett, surprised, "this is pretty well done. I didn't +know you could make ready so well on those little presses." + +"What's 'make ready'?" asked Bobby. + +"Why, regulating the impression so that all the letters are printed +evenly." + +"They didn't for a long time," sighed Bobby. "I had lots of trouble." + +"How did you make it go?" asked Mr. Daggett, interested. + +Bobby explained the pasting of the slips of paper. + +"Who taught you that?" asked Mr. Daggett sharply. + +"Nobody; I just thought of it." + +Two hours later, when the noon whistles blew, Bobby said good-bye to his +friend after a most interesting morning. Mr. Daggett had showed him +everything. He explained how in the type-cases the capital letters +occupied little compartments all alike and at the top, but how the small +letters were arranged arbitrarily in various-sized compartments. + +"You see," said he, "we use the _e_ oftenest, so that is the largest and +is right in the middle. And here is the _a_ near it, but a little +smaller. A man has to learn where they are." + +Then they watched the compositor setting type in the metal "stick" with +the sliding end. The compositor showed Bobby how he could tell when the +letters were right side up by feeling the nicks in the type, without the +necessity of looking; how he used the leads to space between the lines. +His hands flew from one compartment of the type case to the other and +the type clicked sharply. In a moment the stick was full. All three +walked over to the "composing table" of stone. Here Bobby watched the +type placed in the huge iron frame, which was then filled in with the +wooden blocks. The wedge-shaped irons locked it. Finally the block and +mallet went over the whole surface to even it down. + +Bobby saw proof taken. He watched the small press in operation. It was +worked by a foot lever. The round ink plate which automatically made a +quarter turn at each impression and the double automatic ink-rollers +were a revelation to him. All the boy had to do was to insert and +withdraw the paper and push down with his foot. And the pressure was so +exact and so delicate and so brief--as though the type and the platen +coquetted without actually touching; and the imprint was so true and +clear! Even on the thin paper, the shape of the type did not stamp +through! + +He could have watched for an hour, but shortly the job was finished, so +he moved on to look at the coloured inks and the fascinating variety of +papers and cards and envelopes. + +This latter occupation kept him busy for a long time. He had not +realized that so many shapes and kinds of letters could exist. Mr. +Daggett told him their names and sizes--nonpareil, brevier, agate, pica, +minion and a dozen others which Bobby could not remember but which he +found exotic and attractive. Especially was he interested in the poster +type, made of wood. One letter was bigger than the whole form of his +little press. + +When he left, Mr. Daggett gave him a small heavy package. + +"Here you are," said he. "Here's an old font of script. It's old and too +worn for my use, but you can fool with it." + +Bobby was delighted. He could hardly wait to get home before undoing the +package. The font formed a compact quadrilateral wound around the edges +with string. The letters were all arranged in order--four capital A's--A +A A A--then the Bs, and so on. It differed from his own font. The one +that came with his press had just three of each letter--large or small. +This varied. For instance, there were twenty _s_s, and only two _q_s. +Bobby procured his tweezers and began to set up his own name. He had no +stick so he got out the form with the two narrow wooden groves. To his +dismay the type would not fit. They were at least a quarter inch longer +than his own. + +"Why so solemn, Bobby?" enquired his father at lunch a few minutes +later. "What's wrong?" + +"My printing press isn't a real one," broke out Bobby. "It's a _toy_ +one! I don't _like_ toys!" + +"Oh, ho!" cried Mr. Orde. "Don't like toys, eh! How about the engine and +cars, and the tin soldiers?" + +"I don't like them any more, either," insisted Bobby stoutly. + +"All right," suggested Mr. Orde, winking at his wife. "Of course then +you won't want them any more: I'll just give them away to some other +little boy." + +"All right," assented Bobby with genuine and astonishing indifference. + +Bobby laid the little press away, but he could not resist the +fascination of Mr. Daggett's printing office. One day he came from it +bearing an inky and much-thumbed catalogue. He fairly learned it by +heart--not only the machines, from the tiny card press to the beautiful +fifty-dollar self-inker beyond which his ambition did not stray, but +also all the little accessories of the trade--the mallet, the patent +quoins, the sticks, the type-cases, the composing stones, the roller +moulds and compositions, the patent gauge-pins, the lead-cutters, the +slugs. And page after page he ran over the type in all its sizes and in +all its modifications of form. These things fascinated him and held him +with a longing for them, like revolvers and razors and carpenter's +chisels and peavies and all other business-like tools of a trade. Their +very shapes were the most appropriate and romantic shapes they could +possibly have assumed. He made lists. At first they were elaborate, and +included the big foot press and four fonts of type and three colours of +ink and fixings innumerable. They then shrank modestly by gradations +until they stuck at the 5×7 form. Bobby would not have cared for a press +smaller than that, for he wanted to print real things, like bill-heads +and whist cards and perhaps a small newspaper. His little heart throbbed +with a complete enthusiasm. + +"When I grow up I think I'd like to be a printer like Mr. Daggett," he +said wistfully. + +"Oh, no, you wouldn't," said Mr. Orde. "It's a poor trade--no money in +it here--and you'd have to stay in the house all the time. You wouldn't +want to be a printer, Bobby." + +"Yes I would," repeated Bobby positively. + + + + +X + +THE SPORTSMAN'S ASSOCIATION + + +The Maple County Sportsman's Association held its weekly shoots with +regularity. It consumed a great deal of Bobby's time and attention. You +see, each event was to be anticipated, and then remembered; the score +was to be rejoiced over or regretted; and the great question of how to +do better was to be considered prayerfully and long. Bobby found it to +be a more complicated problem than he would have believed possible. He +used to lie awake in bed thinking it over. Regularly before Thursday +came around he hit on a complete solution of the difficulty; and as +regularly he discovered by the actual test that something, whether of +theory or practice, still lacked. + +Mr. Kincaid always listened to his ideas non-commitally. + +"I've found out what it is!" cried Bobby as soon as Bucephalus had +approached within hearing distance. "You got to practise until your +forefinger works all by itself--entirely separate from the rest of your +arm. Then the rifle won't jerk sideways so much." + +"All right," Mr. Kincaid responded, as Bobby climbed laboriously into +the cart. "Try it." + +Bobby tried it; found it difficult to accomplish, and not altogether +effective. The bullets still scattered more or less like a shotgun +charge. Mr. Kincaid's score more than doubled his. Mr. Kincaid always +shot the best he could; and entered a grave negative to Bobby's +tentative suggestion for a handicap. + +"No, Bobby," said he, "don't believe in 'em. It really doesn't matter +whether you defeat me or not; now does it? But it does matter whether +you get to be a good enough shot to win." + +After each demolition of his ideas, Bobby returned a trifle dashed, but +with undaunted spirit. Again his busy brain attacked the puzzle. In a +week he had another hypothesis ready for the test. + +Thus he edged slowly but surely toward marksmanship. The sight must be +held on the mark for an instant after the discharge; the trigger must +be squeezed steadily, not pulled; the independent command of the +forefinger is helped by as inclusive a grasp of the stock as possible; +holding the breath is an aid to steadiness--these, and a dozen other +first principles, Bobby acquired, one after another, by the slow +inductive process. Each helped; and Mr. Kincaid appreciated that his +pupil was learning intelligently, so that in the final result Bobby +would not only be a good shot, but he would know why. + +In the meantime various changes were taking place in the seasons, which +Bobby noted in his own fashion. The little green apples of summer--just +right for throwing and for casting from the end of a switch--were now +large and rosy. Under the big hickory tree in the Fuller's yard were +already to be found occasional nuts. The leaves were turning gorgeous; +and enough were falling to make it necessary that the householder +search out his broad rake. In the country the shocks of corn stood in +rows like so many Indian chiefs wrapped each in his blanket, his plumes +waving above. The night was weird with the notes of birds migrating. + +To each of these things Bobby, like every other boy in town, gave his +attention. Apples and grapes there were everywhere in abundance. The +early pioneer planted always his orchard and his arbours. The town, +taking root on the old riverside farms, preserved, as far as it could, +the fruit-trees. Every one who had a yard of any size about his house, +possessed also an apple tree or so and a grape vine--sometimes a chance +peach or pear. Bobby could not go amiss for fresh fruit; but he liked +best of all the sweet little red "Delawares" that grew back of Auntie +Kate's kitchen garden. These he picked, warmed by the sun. The satiny +"Concords" from the trellis, however, were better dipped in cool water, +which, with some labour, he caused to gush sparkling from an +old-fashioned wooden pump. Auntie Kate's apple trees, too, were of +selected varieties. Early in the season were the soft yellow sweetings; +then the streaked red and green "Northern Spies"; and last of all the +snow-apples with their contrast of deep crimson outside and white flesh +within. The windfalls covered the ground ready to the hand; and the +branches bent under their burden. It was the season of apple-sauce with +cinnamon, and baked apples with a dab of jelly where the core ought to +be, and apple-tapioca and Brown Betty. And these tasted wondrous good, +even to youngsters already gorged with raw fruit. + +In every front yard and along every street front the householders were +busy raking the crisp autumn leaves into great heaps and long piles. +Bobby and his friends liked solemnly to "swish" their little legs +through them; to roll in them; to hide beneath them by burrowing like so +many squirrels. If this was the season of fruit, it was also the season +of bonfires. Every one burned leaves in those days, blissfully +unconscious of future city ordinances. A thin sweet haze of smoke hung +constantly in the air mellowing the blue of the sky, softening the +outlines of the hills, aromatic as an incensed cathedral. In the +evenings the fires winked bravely on both sides the streets. Figures +with rakes were silhouetted against them. Smaller figures careered +wildly in and out the dense smoke. It was a great "dare" to run and jump +directly through the fire! Now the sun was getting lazy; and sometimes +Bobby was allowed the indulgence of a half-hour of this delicious wild +fun. He always came in smoky and overheated; and always Mrs. Orde vowed +that it should not happen again.... it did. + +Then there were the hickory nuts to be gathered in pails and sacks and +spread out on the garret floor to cure. Unfortunately the hickory tree +was very tall, so the boys had patiently to await the pleasure of the +wind. Walnuts and butternuts, on the contrary, were to be knocked down +with well-aimed clubs; hazelnuts to be stripped from the bushes; and +beech-nuts to be shaken down by a bold and practised climber. And in the +woods the squirrels were busy laying away their winter stores. + +Mr. Kincaid and Bobby were often afield on the beech ridges. Mr. Kincaid +carried his gun, but he did not use it. They looked for squirrels. The +woods were carpeted with dead leaves on which the sun lay golden. They +had to move very quietly and keep a very sharp lookout. When the game +was sighted, the matter was by no means resolved. Squirrels are lively +people, and expert at hiding. Bobby and Mr. Kincaid chased hard and +breathlessly to force their quarry up a tree. When that was +accomplished, it was by no means easy to get a shot. The squirrel leaped +from one tree to another as fast as his enemies below could run. Finally +he climbed to the top of a tall beech whose trunk he immediately put +between himself and the hunters. It became necessary first to see him, +second to get a shot at him, third to hit him, and last to bring him +down. Bobby, shooting the heavy barrelled Flobert at unaccustomed +ranges, and at an elusive mark, discovered the appetite of atmosphere +for lead. Nevertheless it was the most exciting, breathless, tingling +game he had ever played. The air was biting cold, especially after the +sun began to sink through the trees, but it had the effect merely of +nipping Bobby's nose and cheeks red--his little body was tingling and +aglow. On his banner day he brought down two fox-squirrels, and one of +the beautiful black squirrels, then not uncommon, but now practically +extinct. In the process he used up his box of cartridges. + + + + +XI + +THE MARSHES + + +"Real fall weather," that season of 1879, seemed to delay long beyond +the appointed time. During each night, to be sure, it grew cold. The +leaves, after their blaze and riot of colour, turned crisp and crackly +and brown. Some of the little still puddles were filmed with what was +almost, but not quite, ice. A sheen of frost whitened the house-roofs +and silvered each separate blade of grass on the lawns. But by noon the +sun, rising red in the veil of smoke that hung low in the snappy air, +had mellowed the atmosphere until it lay on the cheek like a caress. No +breath of air stirred. Sounds came clearly from a distance. Long +V-shaped flights of geese swept athwart the sky very high up, but their +honking carried faintly to the ear. Time seemed to have run down. And +yet when the sun, swollen to the great dimensions of the rising moon, +dipped blood-red through the haze, the first faint premonitory tingle +of cold warned one that the tepid, grateful warmth of the day had been +but an illusion of a season that had gone. This was not summer; but, in +the quaint old phrase, Indian summer. And its end would be as though the +necromancer had waved his wand. + +In the meantime the barges and schooners continued to take chances in +order to market the last of the year's lumber crop; the small boys and +squirrels made the most of the nut crop; the grouse remained scattered +in noisy cover; and the ducks frequented the open stretches where they +were quite out of reach. + +But at last Bobby Orde, awakening early, heard the rising and falling +moan of wind past the eaves' corner outside his windows. He hopped out +of bed, thrust his feet into a pair of knit socks and ran to the window. +The sun was not yet up; but the wild barbaric gold of it was flung +abroad over flat, hard-looking clouds. + + _"'Bright sunrise at morning, + The sailor takes warning,'"_ + +murmured Bobby. + +In the yard below, the brown leaves were chasing themselves madly around +and about, back and forth, like restless spirits. Others slanted down +from the trees in continuous flocks. The maples tossed restlessly. In +the air was a deep bitter chill which sent Bobby scurrying back to his +warm nest in a hurry. + +After breakfast he was glad of his heavier suit. The sun rose and shone, +it is true; but its rays possessed no warmth. The light of it appeared +to be a cold silver, like the sheen on stubble. All the landscape seemed +to have paled. Gone were the rich glowing reds, the warm browns. A gray +cast hung over the land. + +From school Bobby hurried home to be in time for an early lunch as Mr. +Orde wanted to go up river. He found Bucephalus in front; and Mr. +Kincaid about to sit down to the lunch table. The latter had on his old +gray suit and cardigan jacket. + +"Hullo, youngster!" he greeted Bobby, "Looks like pretty good weather +for ducks. Want to go for a shoot?" + +That settled lunch for Bobby. He could hardly stay at table until the +others had finished; and heard with enraptured joy his mother's voice, +as she rose from the table, asking Mr. Kincaid about provisions. + +"I have all that," replied Mr. Kincaid, "and there's lots of bedding and +such things." + +Nevertheless Mrs. Orde slipped away after a moment to wrap up a loaf of +"salt-rising bread," and one of "dutch bread." The two-wheeled cart +Bobby found, when finally he and Mr. Kincaid emerged from the house +carrying his valise, to be well packed with the shell-box, gun, bag and +a lunch basket. Mr. Kincaid's duck-dog, named Curly, lay crouched in the +bottom like a soft warm mat. Bobby had met Curly before. He was a +comical seal-brown dog, covered with compact tight curls all over his +body. When Bobby petted him, they felt springy. His face, head and ears, +however, were smooth and silky. He had yellow eyes, and an engaging +disposition. To the touch his body, even through the tight curls, felt +unusually warm. Though Curly's tail was a mere stump he wagged it +energetically when his master appeared, but without raising his nose +from between his forepaws. + +Duke pranced out, eager to go, but was called back by Mrs. Orde and +ignominiously held. Bucephalus got under way. Bobby hugged the cold +barrel of his little rifle between his knees. He had on his "pull-down" +cap, and his shortest and heaviest cloth over-jacket, and knit woollen +mittens. The actual temperature was not as yet very low, but the wind +from the Lake was abroad, and growing in strength every minute. From the +flag-pole of the Ottawa they could see the square red storm-flag with +the black centre standing out like a piece of tin. + +Bucephalus made surprising time. His gait on the open road was a long +awkward shamble, but it seemed to cover the ground. Mr. Kincaid humped +his shoulders and drove in a sociable silence, his short pipe empty +between his teeth. Curly retained his flattened attitude on the bottom +of the cart; only occasionally rolling up his yellow eyes, but without +moving his head. The wind tore by them madly. + +About half a mile beyond the last mill Mr. Kincaid left the main road to +turn sharp to the right directly across the broad marshes. Here a +makeshift road had been constructed of poles laid in the corduroy +fashion. The cart pitched and bounced along at a foot pace. Bobby had no +chance to look about him, and could see only that on both sides +stretched the wide cat-tails and rush flats; that near them was water. +The sun was setting cold and black in hard greasy-looking clouds. + +By and by the cart gave one last bump and rose to a little dry knoll +like an island in the marshes. Bobby saw that on it grew two elm trees, +beneath which stood a rough shed. Beyond a fringe of bushes he could +make out the roof of another small structure. Mr. Kincaid stopped at the +shed, and began to unharness Bucephalus. Bobby descended very stiffly. +Curly hopped out and expressed delight over his arrival by wagging +himself from the fifth rib back. You see he had not tail enough for the +job, so he had to wag part of his body too. In a moment or so Bucephalus +was tied in the shed and supplied with oats from a bag. + +"Well, we're here," said Mr. Kincaid, picking up one of the valises and +the lunch basket. "Bobby, you carry the guns." + +He led the way through the bushes to the other structure. + +It was a cabin of boards, long and narrow, about the size and shape of a +freight car. The upper end of it rested on dry land, but the lower end +gave out on a floating platform. A single window in the side and a stove +pipe through the roof completed the external features. + +"Door's around in front," explained Mr. Kincaid. + +They descended to the float. The door was fastened by a padlock. When +it was opened Bobby saw at first nothing but blackness and the flat +board prow of a duck-boat that seemed to occupy all available space. Mr. +Kincaid, however, lifted this bodily to the float, and, entering, drew +aside the curtain to the little window. + +Bobby stood in the middle of the floor and gazed about him with +unbounded delight. The place contained two bunks, one over the other, a +small round iron stove, a shelf table against one wall, and two folding +stools. From nails hung a frying pan, a coffee pot, and two kettles. +Shelves supported a number of cans, while two or three small bags +depended from the ceiling. Those were its main furnishings. But beneath +the bunks and piled in one corner were many painted wooden ducks. Around +the neck of each was wound a long white cord to the end of which was +attached a leaden iron weight; in the bunks themselves lay powder +canisters, shotbags, wad-boxes. At one end of the table was fastened a +crimper and a loading block. Several old pipes lay about. Burned matches +strewed the floor. + +"Well, here we are, Bobby," repeated Mr. Kincaid, dropping the valises +in the corner, "and it's pretty near sunset; so I guess we'll organize +our boat first, while it's daylight." + +He descended to the float. + +"Now, you hand me down the decoys," said he. + +Bobby passed out the wooden ducks two by two, and Mr. Kincaid stowed +them carefully amidships. They were of many sorts and sizes, and Mr. +Kincaid named them to Bobby as he received them. + +"These are the boys!" said he. "Good old green-heads, Worth all the +other ducks put together. Their celery-fed canvasbacks may be +better--never had a chance to try them--but the canvasback in this +country can't touch the mallards. And here, these are blue-bill. They +come to a decoy almost too easy. This is a teal--fly like thunder and +are about as big as a grasshopper. We'll make our flock mostly of these. +Those widgeon, there, wouldn't do us much good. Might put in a few +sprig. They're a handsome duck, Bobby; but the most beautiful thing in +feathers is the wood-duck. Probably won't get any of them to-morrow, +though." + +Bobby worked eagerly. Soon he was in a warm glow, the cold wind +forgotten, his cheeks like snow-apples, his eyes like stars. + +"That's just a hundred," counted Mr. Kincaid, "and its a humming good +boat load. It'll do. Now you take this demijohn and fill it from the +spring-hole you'll find back of the house, and I'll get the shell-box." + +The equipment was finally completed by two wooden shell-boxes to sit on, +a short broad paddle and a long punting pole. + +By now the sun had dipped below the horizon leaving nothing of its glory +in the low-hung, hard clouds. All the world seemed clad in velvet-gray, +with dark soft shadows. A gleam of light reflected from water as it +showed in patches here and there. It matched and continued the pale +green light of the heavens, as though the sky had flowed down and +through the blackness of the marshes. The wind came now in heavy gusts, +succeeded by intervals of comparative calm. During these intervals could +be heard the cries of innumerable wildfowl. + +Bobby stood at the end of the float, absolutely motionless, taking it +in. His intellectual faculties were as though non-existent. All the +sensitiveness of his nature, like the sensitiveness of a photographic +plate, was exposed to that which took place before him. No little +detail of the scene would he ever forget; and nothing of what its +vastness and mystery and turmoil signified in the world of further +meanings would be lost to him, though for many years he would not +understand them. + +But now, as the darkness of the shadows deepened, and the light of water +and sky took on a deeper lucence before being extinguished, for the +first time the sense of pain and the incompleteness of beautiful things +entered his heart. The thing was wonderful; but it hurt. The sight of it +filled him to the lips with a passion of uplift; and yet something +lacked. And the lack of that something was a pain. + +Bobby had forgotten that he was cold, that he was alone, that he had +come on an exciting and novel expedition. Mr. Kincaid had disappeared +within the cabin. + +A whistle of wings rushed in on the boy's consciousness with startling +suddenness. Across the face of the evening indeterminate, dark bodies +darted low. A prolonged swish of water sounded, and the placid faint +light on the lagoon fifty yards away was broken and troubled. For a +moment it shimmered, and was still. Absolute darkness seemed abruptly +to descend on all the world. From the blackness Bobby heard the low +conversational sounds of ducks newly alit. + +"_Ca-chuck!_" said they "_ca-tu-kuk!_" and then an old drake lifted up +his voice. + +"_Mark!_" said he. "_Mark-quok, quok, quok!_" + +"Oh, Mr. Kincaid!" whispered Bobby sneaking quietly through the door. +"There's a great big flock of ducks lit just outside." + +"That so?" queried Mr. Kincaid cheerfully in his natural voice, "Well, +we'll get after 'em in the morning. Don't you want any supper?" + +Mr. Kincaid had a fire going in the little round stove. The light that +leaked from it wavered and flickered over the bunks and the table +shelves, and the diminished pile of decoys. Curly was asleep in the +corner. Every few moments Mr. Kincaid removed the frying pan from the +top of the stove, and turned over its contents with a fork. At such +times the light flared up brilliantly, illuminating the whole upper part +of the cabin. A lively sizzling arose from the frying pan; and a +delicious smell filled the air. Bobby made out a tea-kettle at the back, +and the phantom of light steam issuing from its spout. + +In a little while Mr. Kincaid straightened up and with a clatter slid +an iron stove cover over the opening. He lit a candle, stuck it in the +mouth of a bottle, and moved down on the table shelf carrying the frying +pan. Bobby then saw that the table shelf had been set with two-heavy +plates, cutlery, and two granite-ware cups. The salt-rising bread and +dutch bread were laid out with a knife beside them. A saucer contained a +pat of butter; a bottle, milk; and a plate was heaped with doughnuts. + +"Supper's ready," announced Mr. Kincaid cheerfully. "Sit up, Bobby." + +The frying pan proved to contain two generous slices of ham; and four +eggs fried crisp. + +"What's the matter with this for a feast?" cried Mr. Kincaid; "sail in!" + +The man and the boy ate, the flickering light between them. Outside +howled the wind. Curly slumbered peacefully in the corner. + +"This," proffered Mr. Kincaid after an interval, as he reached toward +the basket, "is what my grandfather used to call a 'good competent pie.' +Like pie, Bobby?" + +"Yes, sir," replied Bobby, "but I mustn't eat the under crust." + +"Right you are. Well, there's somebody here who'll eat it for you." + +"Do you want it?" asked Bobby, wondering. + +Mr. Kincaid laughed. "No, I mean Curly," he explained. + +"Will Curly eat pie?" marvelled Bobby. + +"Curly," said Mr. Kincaid impressively, "will eat anything you can throw +down a hole." + +It was a good pie, with lots of room between the crusts, and cinnamon on +the apples, and sugar and nutmeg on top. When finally Mr. Kincaid pushed +back his stool, Curly gravely arose and came forward to get his share of +whatever had not been eaten. + +"Now, dishes!" said Mr. Kincaid. "Will you wash or wipe, Bobby?" + +"My, I'm full!" said Bobby in the way of indirect expostulation against +immediate activity. + +"The time to wash dishes is right away," said Mr. Kincaid briskly. "They +wash easier; and when they're done you have a comfortable feeling that +there's nothing more to be done--and a clear conscience. Did you ever +wash dishes?" + +"No, sir." + +"Well, it's time you learned. Come on." + +Bobby learned how to manipulate hot water, soap, and a dish-rag. Also +how difficult it is to remove some sorts of grease. + +"Condemned!" pronounced Mr. Kincaid severely, returning him the frying +pan. + +But when the simple task was done, Bobby felt an unusual glow of +competence and experience. He was really "camping out." A new ambition +to learn came to him, an ambition to do his share and to understand +other people's share. Naturally his mind turned first to accustomed +things. + +"Where's the wood pile?" he asked Mr. Kincaid. "Can't I fill the +wood-box?" + +"It's just behind the house," approved Mr. Kincaid. + +Bobby turned the wooden "button" that fastened the door from the inside. +At once it was snatched from his hand and flung open. A burst of wind +rioted in, extinguished the candle, flared up the fire in the stove, and +hurled a loose paper against the roof. + +"Whew!" cried Mr. Kincaid, coming to Bobby's assistance; "she's blowing +_some_! When you come back, just kick on the door, and I'll open it for +you." + +[Illustration: "CONDEMNED!" PRONOUNCED MR. KINCAID SEVERELY, RETURNING +HIM THE FRYING-PAN] + +Bobby stood still a moment until his eyes should expand to the darkness. +He heard the repeated and rapid _swish, swish, swish_, of wavelets +driven against the float, which rose and fell gently beneath his +feet. A roar of wind filled the night. Occasionally it lulled. Then +quite distinctly he could make out a faint grumbling diapason which he +knew to be the surges beating against the distant coast. + +The armful of wood he brought in was not very large, but Mr. Kincaid +pronounced it enough. + +"And now, youngster," said he, "you'd better turn in. We're going to get +up very early in the morning." + +For as long as five minutes Bobby lay awake between the soft woollen +blankets. This was his first experience without sheets. Mr. Kincaid had +blown out the candle and was sitting back smoking a last pipe. Light +from the dying fire in the stove threw his shadow gigantic behind him. +As the flames rose or died this shadow advanced or receded, leaped or +fell, swelled or diminished; and all the other shadows did likewise. In +the entire room Mr. Kincaid's figure was the only motionless object. +Soon Bobby's vision blurred. The dancing shadows became unreal, changed +to dream creatures. Twice a realization, a delicious, poignant +realization of the morrow brought him back to consciousness; and the +dream creatures to the shadows. Then finally he drifted away with only +the feeling of something pleasant about to happen, lying as a background +to sleep. + +He awoke in what seemed to him the middle of the night after an +absolutely _black_ sleep. His first thought was that the broad of his +back was shivering; his next that the tip of his nose was marvellous +cold; his last that he was curled all up in a ball like a furry raccoon. +Then he heard the scratch of a match. A light immediately flickered. In +two minutes the little stove was roaring and Mr. Kincaid was exhorting +him to arise. + +"Come on, now!" he called. "Duck time!" + +Bobby dressed in his thickest winter clothes, which he had brought for +the occasion. When, after breakfast, he put on his reefer and over that +the canvas coat, he looked and felt like a cocoon. + +"That's all right," Mr. Kincaid reassured him. "It's going to be cold, +and you'll be mighty glad of them." + +They stepped out on the float, and Mr. Kincaid thrust the duck-boat into +the water. + +Bobby had never seen so many stars. The heavens were full of them, and +the still water had its share. Not a breath of wind was stirring. +Through the silence could be heard more plainly the roar of the surf far +away. The quacking of ducks came from near and far. Nothing of the marsh +was visible. + +Bobby took his place on the shell-box in the bow, his rifle between his +knees. Curly, without awaiting command, jumped in and lay at his feet. +Mr. Kincaid stepped in aft. Bobby could feel the quiver of the boat as +it took the weight, but having been instructed to sit quiet, he did not +look around. The craft received an impetus and moved forward. +Immediately the breaking of thin scum ice set up a crackling. + +"Pretty cold!" said Bobby. + +"Don't talk," replied Mr. Kincaid in a guarded voice. + +They moved forward in silence. Only the slight crackling at the prow, +the soft dip of the paddle, and an occasional breath of effort from the +paddler broke the stillness. The motion forward was slow; for the back +suction in the shallow, narrow channel, which they almost immediately +entered, stopped the boat at the end of each paddle stroke. Bobby was +vaguely aware of high reeds or low banks on either side; but he could +not see ten feet ahead, and he wondered how Mr. Kincaid could tell +where to go. Shortly the latter put aside his paddle in favour of the +punting pole. Bobby, stealing a glance over his shoulder, saw him +standing against the sky. + +From right and left, in mysterious side lagoons and pockets, came the +low quacking and chattering of wildfowl, now close at hand. They were, +of course, quite invisible; but their proximity was exciting. Twice the +duck-boat approached so close as to alarm them into flight. They arose, +then, with a mighty quacking. Bobby could see the silver of broken water +where they took wing; but although there seemed to be enough light +against the sky, he could not make out the birds themselves. He clasped +his rifle close, and shivered with delight, and patted Curly to relieve +his feelings. + +For a long time, and for a tremendous distance as it seemed to Bobby +they crept along through the lagoons and channels of the marshes. The +dawn had not come yet, but the air was getting grayer in anticipation of +it, and the wind began to blow faintly from the direction of the Lake. +Bobby could see the shapes of the grasses and cat-tails, and make out +the bodies of water through which they passed. Almost he could catch the +flight of ducks as they leaped; and quite distinctly he saw a flash of +teal that passed with a startling rush of wings within a dozen feet of +the boat. + +And then deliberately the whole universe turned faintly gray, and the +smaller stars faded in the lucence of dawn, and the brief, weird world +of half-light came into being. At the same moment, Mr. Kincaid turned +the boat to the left, forced it by main strength through a thick fringe +of reeds, and debouched on a little round pond silvering in the dawn. + +The crackling of the duck-boat through the reeds was answered by a roar +like the breaking of a great wave. Bobby saw very dimly the rise of +hundreds of ducks straight up into the air. The roar of the first leap +was immediately succeeded by the whistling of flight. + +"My!" breathed Bobby to Curly, "My! My! My!" + +But a second roar thundered, as a second and larger flight took wing; +and then after an interval a third. The air all around seemed full of +ducks circling in and out the limited range of vision before finally +taking their departure. + +Mr. Kincaid, however, pushed forward without paying the slightest +attention to this abundance. Fifteen or twenty yards out in the pond he +brought the boat to a stand-still by thrusting his punting-pole far down +into the mud. + +"We're here, Bobby," he said in a guarded tone. "Turn around very +carefully, take off your mittens and help me put out the decoys." + +"My, there's a lot of 'em," ventured Bobby in a whisper. + +"Yes, this is called the Mud Hen Hole. It's the best place in the +marshes. Quick! Get to work! It's getting near daylight!" + +Bobby helped unwind the cords from around the necks of the decoys and +drop them overboard. Mr. Kincaid moved the boat here and there, +scattering the flock in a life-like manner. The gray daylight was coming +stronger every instant. Even while they worked in plain sight, big +flocks of teal and blue-bill stooped toward them and whirled around them +with a rush of wings. + +"They're awful close!" whispered Bobby excitedly, "why don't you shoot?" + +"Hurry!" commanded Mr. Kincaid. + +When the last decoy was out, he thrust the boat hastily into the thick +reeds where already a blind had been constructed quite simply by +thickening the natural growth. "Crouch down!" whispered Mr. Kincaid; +"and don't move a muscle!" + +Bobby crouched, drawing his head between his shoulders like a +mud-turtle. Curly crouched too. Above and around was the continued +whistle of wings as the wildfowl, with their strange, early-morning +persistence, insisted on returning to the spot whence they had been so +lately disturbed. A movement shook the boat as Mr. Kincaid arose to his +feet. + +_Bang! Bang!_ spoke both barrels of the ten-gauge. + +"Two," said Mr. Kincaid in his natural voice. + +"Kneel around to face the decoys, Bobby, and you can see. But when I say +'mark,' don't move by a hair's breadth." + +Bobby shifted position and found that he could see quite easily through +the interstices of the reeds. On the pond, silvered bright by the +increasing day, the decoys floated snugly. Even at close range Bobby was +surprised at their life-like appearance. Among them floated two ducks, +white bellies to the sky. This was all Bobby had time to observe for the +moment. + +"Mark!" warned Mr. Kincaid behind him. + +A tremendous tenseness fell on the world. Bobby's muscles stiffened to +the point of aching. The limited vista bounded on right and left by the +sidewise movement of his eyeballs, and above by the brim of his cap +contained nothing. He did not dare extend this vista by so much as one +inch. But in the air sounded that magic soul-stirring whistle of wings, +now gaining in volume until it seemed overhead; now fading until Bobby +thought surely the ducks must have become suspicious and left. + +And then, low to the reeds across the pond, a long deliberate flight of +black bodies against the sky came into sight at the left, slanted across +the field of his vision and disappeared to the right. Their wings were +set, and every instant Bobby expected to hear the splash of water that +should indicate their alighting. But Mr. Kincaid's figure held its +immobility. He knew that the wily old mallards were not yet satisfied. +Indeed at the last moment, instead of swinging in, they arose with a +sudden swift effort, and resumed the slow scrutinizing circle about the +pond. + +Bobby lived an eternity in the next few moments. His neck muscles grew +stiff; his eyeballs strained from a constant attempt to see farther to +one side than nature had intended him to see. Each circle he followed +visually as far as he could, and then aurally, his hopes arising and +falling as the whistling of the wings sounded near or far. And each +circle was lower than its predecessor, until at last the flight swung +scarcely twenty feet above the tops of the reeds. + +Then, quite unexpectedly to Bobby, and when at its farthest from the +blind, the flock turned in and headed directly for him, its wings set. + +Bobby caught his breath, and his heart commenced to thump violently. Not +a bird of them all seemed to move, and yet with the rush of a railroad +train each individual grew in size like magic. It was just like +coasting--the same breathless headlong feeling--that quivering avalanche +of ducks projected at his head so abruptly and so swiftly that he hardly +had time to wink. Nearer and nearer they came, larger and larger they +grew. Something inside him seemed to expand like a bubble with their +approach; like a bubble too rapidly blown, so that at once, without +warning, the bursting point seemed to be reached. Instinctively Bobby +shrank back. The moment of collision was imminent. Nothing could stop +this headlong flight of living arrows launched against his very face. +And then, in a flash, the appearance of the flock changed. As though at +a preconcerted signal each duck dropped his legs, threw back his head, +opposed to momentum the breadth of his wings and tail. An indescribable +and sudden rushing sound smote the air. The flock, its course arrested, +hung motionless above the decoys in the attitude of alighting. + +At this precise instant Mr. Kincaid, without haste, smoothly got to his +feet. Involuntarily Bobby arose also. Curly, who up to this instant had +even kept his yellow eyes closed, put his forepaws on the gunwale, and +craned his neck upward the better to see. + +Immediately with a mighty beating of wings the ducks "towered." It was +almost incredible, the rapidity with which, from a dead stand, they +broke into the swiftest flight--and straight up. Bobby could see them +plainly, in every detail, the beautiful iridescent green heads of the +drakes, stretched eagerly upward, the dove and the cinnamon of the +breasts, the white bellies snowy against the sky. The gun spoke twice. +Instantly three of the outstretched necks seemed to wilt. For a brief +moment the bodies hung in the air; then plunged downward with increasing +speed until they hit with an inspiring _splash, splash, splash!_ that +threw the water high. There they floated belly up. The orange-coloured +leg of one kicked slowly twice. + +"Mallard!" said Mr. Kincaid with satisfaction. + +Curly looked inquiringly at his master, then dropped back to his former +position in the bottom of the boat. Bobby settled himself on his +shell-box---- + +Swish!----he peered out startled and there among the decoys swam a dozen +little ducks, their heads up, their brights eyes glancing suspiciously +from one to another of their stolid wooden relations. Before Bobby could +realize that they were there, they had made up their minds; and, with +the same abruptness that had characterized their arrival, sprang into +the air and departed. Not, however, before Mr. Kincaid had shot. + +"Only one," said he. "They're a lively proposition." + +"What are they?" asked Bobby. + +"Teal. They often fly low just over the marsh, and drop in unexpectedly +like that." + +Daylight was full and broad now; and the sun was rising. With it came +the first signs of wind. Ducks filled the air in all directions, some +circling about other ponds; others winging their way in long flights +toward distant feeding grounds. Every few moments Mr. Kincaid had a shot +as some of these dropped to the decoys. Sometimes they came down boldly +in an attempt to alight; at others they merely stooped, and flew by. +These offered difficult side shots at long range. Always the mallards +made their wide circles of inspection; but always Mr. Kincaid waited +patiently for them, ignoring absolutely other ducks that in the meantime +lit among the decoys. Big flocks of teal manoeuvred back and forth +erratically like blackbirds, wheeling, turning, rising and darting +without apparent reason but as though at the word of command. The high +buzz of their wings was quite different from the whistling flight of the +larger ducks. One of these bands came within range, but without +attempting to alight. Into the compact formation Mr. Kincaid emptied +both barrels. Instantly the air seemed to Bobby full of ducks falling. +They hit the water like huge rain drops. Bobby could not begin to keep +count; but Mr. Kincaid said nine. Among them was a broken-winged +cripple, which at once began to swim toward the rushes on the other side +the pond. + +"Fetch, Curly!" commanded Mr. Kincaid. + +Curly, with a whimper of delight, plunged into the icy water, and with +astonishing speed overtook and seized the wounded duck. He returned +proudly carrying his prize; was handed in over the gunwale; shook +himself like a lawn sprinkler; and resettled himself in the bottom of +the boat. Curly was a quiet and reserved character. His specialty was +lying still, and swimming after ducks. The rest of life did not interest +him. + +Now little by little the flight slackened. Longer intervals ensued +between the visits to the decoys. The sky was occasionally quite clear +of ducks, so that for a few moments Mr. Kincaid and Bobby would rise to +stretch their legs. Always they kept a sharp lookout in all directions, +and at the first sight of game, even so far away in the sky it looked +like a flock of specks, they would drop down into concealment. This was +something Bobby could do; and he was always overjoyed when he caught +sight of the ducks first; and could say "mark east"--or west or whatever +it was--as Mr. Kincaid taught him. + +Sometimes the ducks passed far away; but again the direction of their +flight brought them within hearing distance of the blind. Then Mr. +Kincaid produced his duck-call, and uttered through it the most natural +duck sounds. + +"Quack!" it said sharply, and then after the briefest possible pause. +"Quok-quok-quok-quok-quok!" in increasing rapidity. It was quite +remarkable to observe how the flock, apparently with a fixed destination +of its own, would hesitate, waver, finally swing down to investigate. At +this, Mr. Kincaid's call became confidential and intimate. It uttered +all sorts of clucks and half-notes, telling, probably, of the manifold +advantages of feed and shelter offered by this particular pond. Then +came the slow circles ending with the final breathless, level-winged +rush. + +But presently, as the sun mounted higher and higher, even these flights +ceased. Mr. Kincaid lit his pipe. Curly made trip after trip, carrying +in the game. + +"Fun?" enquired Mr. Kincaid succinctly. + +"I should think so!" breathed Bobby with rapture. + +They sat opposite each other in the sociable silence that seemed to come +so easily to them. The wind had risen again, until now it had once more +attained the proportions of a respectable gale. Bobby liked to watch the +brisk puffs as they hit, spread in a fan-shaped ruffle of dark water and +skittered away. In the miniature wavelets possible under the lea, the +decoys bobbed gravely, swinging to their anchor strings. The sun flashed +from their backs, and from the little waves. All about were the tall +stalks of reeds; and ahead, where the open water was, grew tufts of +grasses that looked silvery-brown and somehow intimate when, as now, +Bobby looked at them from their own plane of elevation. They waved and +bent before the wind, and the reeds across the pond bowed and recovered; +and over the low, flat landscape seemed to hover a brown, untamed spirit +of wildness. + +But, though the wind blew a gale, the duck-boat was so snugly hidden +that hardly a breath reached its occupants. The warm rays of the sun +shone full down upon them, first driving the early chill from Bobby's +bones, then making him sleepy. He fell into a delicious lethargy, +running over drowsily the small details of his immediate surroundings. +In the course of a few hours this cosy nest which he had never seen +before had become strangely familiar. He experienced a sense of personal +acquaintanceship with many of the individual reeds; he recognized, as +one recognizes an accustomed landscape, the angle at which certain +clumps crossed one another; or the vistas allowed by the different +interstices. A marsh wren had business among the galleries. Bobby +watched it hop in and out of sight, sometimes right side up, sometimes +upside down. A dozen times he thought it had gone; but always it came +back, flirting its absurd short tail, one bright eye fixed on the +occupants of the blind. When Bobby slipped still further into the warm +bright land of laziness, he abandoned even the effort of observation, +and amused himself by sifting rainbows through his eye-lashes. + +"Bobby!" whispered Mr. Kincaid sharply. + +He came to with a start, rapping his knee against the gunwale of the +boat. Mr. Kincaid held his hand up warningly, then pointed toward the +decoys. Bobby looked, and saw, preening its feathers calmly, a live duck +rising to the wavelets. Mr. Kincaid handed over two 22-short cartridges. + +Bobby's breath caught with a gasp. His fingers trembling, he opened the +breach of the Flobert and loaded; then cautiously thrusting the muzzle +through an opening in the reeds, tried to aim. But his heart was +thumping like a hammer, and do his best he could not hold the wavering +sights in alignment. In vain he recalled all the many principles of +accurate shooting he had so laboriously acquired in his target practice. +Finally in desperation he pulled the trigger. The duck, with a startled +quack, sprang into the air. + +"Got one!" chuckled Mr. Kincaid. "That furtherest decoy," he replied to +Bobby's unspoken question. "Saw the splinters fly. Must have over-shot +three feet." + +Bobby, carrying with him the bitterest possible cud of failure, retired +within himself and gloomed angrily at the situation from all points of +view. He was completely out of conceit with himself. After he had +finished his performance, he naturally took to reviewing it and +recasting it in terms of success. If he'd only shot at first, before he +lost his breath! If he'd only remembered to get his hand away around the +grip of the rifle! If he'd only---- + +As though to test these theories, the Red Gods at this moment vouchsafed +him a wonderful favour. As he frowned steadily between the reeds, his +attention was dragged by a moving object from its abstractions to that +which he gazed on so unseeingly. He came to alertness with a snap. A +duck flying not a foot above the water swung in an awkward circle and +lit with a long furrowing splash not forty feet away. + +Bobby glanced toward Mr. Kincaid. The latter was gazing at the sky, his +hands clasped behind his head. Cautiously Bobby reloaded with the other +cartridge, and again thrust the rifle muzzle between the reeds. His +entire mind was now occupied by a vengeful spirit against himself +because of his first miss. Therefore he had no room for +self-consciousness or nervousness. The sights aligned with precision, +and held rigidly on the mark. His teeth set, Bobby pulled the trigger. + +Instantly the duck fell on its side, and, beating the water frantically +with its wings, began to kick around in a circle. + +"I got him! I got him! Oh, he'll get away!" screeched Bobby in a breath. + +At the crack of the rifle Mr. Kincaid had leaped to his feet with +surprising agility. + +"Well, good boy!" he exclaimed, "I should say you did get him! He won't +get away; he's hit in the head." + +"Is that the way they act when they're hit in the head?" asked Bobby, +still doubtful. + +"Yes. Fetch him, Curly." + +Bobby took the duck from Curly's mouth and held him up by the bill to +drain the water, just as he had seen Mr. Kincaid do. Then he laid his +prize across the bow and gloated. + +It was a very beautiful duck, with an erect topknot of white edged with +black running over the top of its head like the plume of a Grecian +helmet. The sides of its white breast were covered with feathers of a +bright cinnamon tipped with gray; its back was black and gray with fine +black edgings; and its wings were dark with a white and iridescent band +on each. But what interested Bobby especially was its bill. This +differed entirely from the bills of all the other ducks. It was very +long and very slender and had teeth! + +"What kind is it?" asked Bobby looking up to encounter Mr. Kincaid's +amused gaze. + +"Well--it's called a merganser in the books," said Mr. Kincaid. + +"I'm going to have mama cook it," announced Bobby, and returned to his +blissful contemplation. + +Mr. Kincaid grinned quietly to himself. He would not spoil the little +boy's pleasure by telling him that his first trophy was a fish-duck, +and, beautiful as it was, utterly useless. + +No more ducks came for a long time after that. The wind continued to +increase, blowing from a clear sky, without scuds. By and by Mr. Kincaid +produced a package of lunch, and they ate, drinking in turn from the +demijohn that Bobby had filled the night before. The sun swung up +overhead, and down the westward slope. With the advance of afternoon +came more, but scattered, ducks rushing down the wind at railroad speed, +to wheel sometimes into the teeth of it like yachts rounding to as they +caught sight of the decoys. When the sun was low and red, thousands of +blackbirds began to fly by in an unbroken succession, low to the reeds, +uttering their chattering and liquid calls. So numerous were they that +the entire outlook seemed filled with the crossing lines of their +flight, until Bobby's eyes were bewildered, and he could not tell +whether he saw blackbirds near at hand or ducks farther away. Whence +they had come or whither they were going he could not guess; but that +they had some definite objective he could not doubt. Out from the gray +distances of the east they appeared; laboured by against the gale; and +disappeared into the red distances of the west. + +Now the evening flight of ducks was on in earnest, and the warm +excitement of decoy-shooting again gripped hard all three occupants of +the boat. Over the wide marshes spread the brief crimson of evening. The +sun set and dusk came on. It was first indicated, even before a +perceptible diminution of daylight, by the vivid flashes from the gun. +Then the low western horizon turned to a dark band between sky and +water, and the heavens immediately above took on a pale green lucence of +infinite depth. + +"More wind," said Mr. Kincaid, glancing at it. + +Finally, although it was still possible plainly to see the incoming +ducks against the sky, Mr. Kincaid laid aside his gun and picked up the +punt-pole. + +"Mustn't shoot much after sun-down," he told Bobby. "If we do, there +won't be any here in the morning. Nothing drives the duck off the +marshes quicker than evening shooting." + +He pushed the duck-boat out into the open. Instantly the weight of the +wind became evident. Although on the lea side of the pond, the light +boat drifted forward rapidly; and Bobby had to snatch suddenly for his +cap. Mr. Kincaid snubbed her at the edge of the flock of decoys. + +"Pick 'em up, Bobby," said he. "You'll have to do it, while I hold the +boat." + +Bobby lifted the nearest decoy out of the water and, under direction, +wound the anchor line around its neck and stowed it away. This was easy. +Also the next and the next. + +But by the time he had lifted the tenth he had discovered a number of +things. That a wooden decoy is heavy to lift at arm's length over the +gunwale; that it brings with it considerable water; that the anchor +lines carry with them a surprisingly greater quantity of water; that the +water is very cold; that said cold water causes the flesh to puff up, +the hands to turn numb, and the fingers to ache. This was disagreeable; +and Bobby had not been in the habit of continuing to do things after +they had become disagreeable. + +"My, but this is awful cold work!" said he. + +Mr. Kincaid looked at him. + +"You aren't going to quit, are you?" he asked. + +Bobby had not thought of it with this definiteness. + +When the issue was thus squarely presented to him, his reply of course, +was in the negative. But the night got darker and darker; the decoys +heavier and heavier; the water colder and colder. Little by little the +glory of the day was draining away. Mr. Kincaid, leaning strongly +against the punt-pole, watched him for some time in silence. + +"Pretty hard work?" he enquired at last. + +"Yes, sir," said Bobby miserably. + +"Why is it hard?" + +Bobby looked up in surprise. + +"Because the water is so cold, and the decoys are hard to lift over the +edge," he answered presently. + +"No; it's not that," said Mr. Kincaid, "It's because you're thinking +about how many more there are to do." + +Bobby stopped work in the interest of this idea. + +"If you're going to be a hunter--or anything else"--went on Mr. Kincaid +after a moment, "you're going to have lots of cold work, and hard work +and disagreeable work to do--things that you can't finish in a minute, +either, but that may last all day--or all the week. And you'll have to +do it. If you get to thinking of how long it's going to take, you'll +find that you will have a tough time, and that probably it won't be done +very well, either. Don't think of how much there is still to do; think +of how much you have done. Then it'll surprise you how soon it will be +finished." + +"Yes, sir," said Bobby. + +"Now pick 'em up," said Mr. Kincaid, "one at a time. Don't begin to pick +up the next one before you get this one out of the water." + +Bobby went at it grimly, trying to keep in mind Mr. Kincaid's advice. +The task was as disagreeable, and apparently as interminable as ever, +but Bobby had gained this: he had not now, even in the subconscious +background of his mind, any desire to quit; and there no longer pressed +upon the weight and cold of the decoy he was at the moment handling, the +useless and imaginary, but real, cold and weight of all the decoys yet +to be lifted. + +Nevertheless he was very glad when the last had found its place on the +pile amidship. + +"Good boy!" said Mr. Kincaid. "Now it's all over." + +It was somewhat after twilight; although objects about were still to be +made out in the unearthly half-illumination that precedes starlight. Mr. +Kincaid lifted his punt-pole and allowed the duck-boat to be carried +down wind to the other side of the pond. Here floated the dead ducks. +They were lying all along the edges of the reeds, their white bellies +plainly to be seen. After all those in sight had been picked up, Curly +was allowed a short search on his own account. It made Bobby shiver to +see him plunge into the icy water; but Curly did not mind. He found two +more inside the reeds; then was hauled over the gunwale and settled +himself happily, wet fur and all, in the bottom of the boat. + +The homeward trip seemed to Bobby interminable. He was very cold; his +fingers ached; the anticipations of the day had all been used. The +sudden rise of waterfowl near at hand aroused in him no excitement; +their presence was just now useless from the shooting standpoint. + +"We might try the big slough to-morrow," said Mr. Kincaid, more as an +audible thought than as a remark to Bobby. + +"I don't want to go to-morrow," said Bobby. + +In spite of Mr. Kincaid's advice, he could not prevent himself from +anticipating the arrival at the cabin-float. A dozen little bends he +mentally designated as the last before the lagoon; and each +disappointment came to him as a personal affront. + +But finally, when he had fallen into the indifference of misery, the two +elms loomed in silhouette against the skyline. + +Mr. Kincaid held the boat while Bobby stepped ashore; then made it fast, +and, without bothering with the game, opened the hut and lit the candle. +Bobby sat down dully. He had no further interest in life. Mr. Kincaid +glanced at his disconsolate little figure humped over on the stool, and +smiled grimly beneath his moustache. But he made no comment; and set +about immediate construction of a fire. + +Bobby relapsed into a dull lethargy which took absolutely no account of +space or time. The shadows danced and flickered against the wall. He saw +them, but as something outside the real centre of his consciousness. The +wind howled by in gusts that shook the structure; Bobby did not care if +it blew the whole thing over! + +"Come, Bobby! Supper!" Mr. Kincaid broke in on his black mood. + +"I don't believe I want any supper," mumbled Bobby. + +Mr. Kincaid took two long steps across to him, picked him and the stool +up bodily, and set him against the table. + +"Now get at it," said he. + +Bobby languidly tasted a piece of bread and butter. + +In five minutes he was at his fifth slice, and had had four eggs and +three pieces of bacon. In ten the world had brightened marvellously. In +fifteen Bobby was chattering eagerly between mouthfuls, rehearsing with +some excitement the different events of the day. + +"To-morrow," said he, "I'm going to shoot a lot." + +"Thought you weren't going to-morrow," suggested Mr. Kincaid. + +Bobby smiled shamefacedly. + +"That's all right, Bobby," said Mr. Kincaid kindly. "Supper makes a big +difference to any of us, especially after a long day." + +Curly received with gratitude the few scraps and three dog biscuits. The +guns were cleaned and oiled. All the ducks were tied in bunches by their +necks and hung from hooks on the north side of the hut. Bobby held the +heads together while Mr. Kincaid slipped the loops over them. Both +counted. Bobby made it eighty-four; while Mr. Kincaid's tally was only +eighty-three. + +"Enough, anyway," said the latter. + +Then Bobby suddenly found himself so extraordinarily drowsy that he +actually fell asleep while taking off his shoes. Mr. Kincaid put him to +bed. Outside, the wind howled, the water lapped against the float. +Inside, the shadows leaped and fell. But Bobby did not even dream of +ducks. + + + + +XII + +THE TRESPASSERS + + +One day as Bobby and Mr. Kincaid were walking along looking for +squirrels in the high open woods, Duke, who was always required to trail +at heel for fear of alarming the game, became very uneasy. He dropped +back a few steps, and attempted to escape from control on either side; +he tried to get ahead--with always a deprecating side-glance at his +masters; he begged in his best dog fashion. + +"He acts like birds," said Mr. Kincaid. "Hie on, Duke!" + +Immediately Duke sprang away, the impulse of his suddenly released +energy projecting him ten feet at a bound. But at once he slowed down. +Step by step he drew ahead, his beautiful feathered tail sweeping slowly +from side to side, his delicate nostrils expanding and contracting, his +fine intelligent eye roving here and there. He stopped. His head dropped +to the level of his back and stretched straight out ahead. His tail +stiffened. Gently he raised one hind leg just off the ground. His eye +glazed with an inner concentration, and the trace of slaver moistened +the edges of his black and shining lips. + +Mr. Kincaid cocked his gun and stepped forward. + +"He's just beyond that dead log, Bobby," he said quietly. + +Bobby watched with all his eyes. One, two, three steps Mr. Kincaid +advanced. Now he was abreast of Duke. The setter merely stiffened a +trifle more. Bobby's heart was beating rapidly. The whole sunlit autumn +world of woodland seemed waiting in a breathless suspense. The little +boy found space for a fleeting resentment against a nuthatch on a +tree-trunk near at hand for the calm, indifferent and noisy manner in +which he went about his everyday business. + +Suddenly a mighty roar shattered the stillness. Beyond Duke something +swift and noisy and brown and explosive seemed to fill the air. So +startling was the irruption that Bobby was powerless to gather his +scattered senses sufficiently to see clearly what was happening. Mr. +Kincaid's gun bellowed; a cloud of white powder smoke hung in the +mottled sunshine. And down through the trees a swift, brown, +bullet-like flight crumpled and fell, whirling and twisting in a long +slanting line until it hit the earth with a thump! Bobby heard Mr. +Kincaid berating Duke. + +"Down, you villain! Don't you try to break shot on me!" + +And Duke, his hindquarters trembling with eagerness, his head turned +beseechingly toward the man, crouched awaiting the signal. + +Quite deliberately Mr. Kincaid reloaded. + +"Fetch dead!" he then commanded. + +Duke sprang away in long elastic leaps. After a moment of casting back +and forth, he returned. His head was held high, for in his mouth he +carried the limp brown bird. Straight to Mr. Kincaid he marched. The man +stooped and laid hands on the game. At once the dog released it, not a +feather ruffled by his delicate mouthing. + +"Good dog, Duke," Mr. Kincaid commended him. "Old cock bird," he told +Bobby. + +Bobby spread out the broad brown fan of a tail; he inserted his finger +under the glossy ruffs; he stroked the smooth, brown, mottled back. + +"This is more fun than squirrels," said he with conviction. + +Mr. Kincaid glanced at him in surprise. + +"But you can't hunt these fellows," said he, "It takes a shotgun to get +'pats.' You wouldn't have much fun at this game." + +"I'd rather watch you--and Duke," replied Bobby, "than to shoot +squirrels. Are there many of them?" + +"Not up on the ridges," said Mr. Kincaid. "This fellow's rather a +straggler. But there's plenty in the swamps and popples. Want to go +after them?" + +"Yes," said Bobby. + +After that the two used often to follow the edges of the hardwood +swamps, the creek bottoms, the hillsides of popples, and--later in the +season--the sumac and berry-vine tangles of the old burnings, looking +for that king of game-birds, the ruffed grouse. + +Bobby became accustomed to the roar as the birds leaped into the air, so +that he was able to follow with intelligent interest all the moves in +the game, but never did his heart fail to leap in response. In later +years, when he too owned a shotgun, this sudden shock of the nerves +seemed to be the required stimulant to key him instantly to his best +work. A sneaker--that is to say, a bird that flushed without the +customary whirr--he was quite apt to miss. + +Little by little, as he followed Mr. Kincaid, he learned the habits of +his game: where it was to be found according to time of day and season +of year. Strangely enough this he never analyzed. He did not consciously +say to himself; "It is early in the day, and cold for the time of year, +_therefore_ we'll find them in the brush points just off the swamps, +_because_ they will be working out to the hillsides for the sun after +roosting in the swamps." His processes of judgment were more +instinctive. By dint of repeated experience of finding birds in certain +cover, that kind of cover meant birds to him. "A good place for 'pats,'" +said he to himself, and confidently expected to find them. That is the +way good hunters are made. + +All day long thus they would tramp, forcing their way through the +blackthorn thickets; clambering over and under the dead-falls and débris +of the slashings; climbing the side hills with the straight, silvery +shafts of the poplars; wandering down the narrow aisles of the old +logging roads; plodding doggedly across the unproductive fields that lay +between patches of cover; always lured on in the hope of more game +farther on, picking up a bird here, a bird there, each an adventure in +itself. And occasionally, once in a great while, they ran against a +glorious piece of luck, when the grouse rose in twos and threes, this +way, that, and the other, until the air seemed full of them. Mr. +Kincaid, very intent, shot and loaded as fast as he was able. Sometimes +things went right, and the bag was richer by two or three birds. Again +they went wrong. The first grouse to rise might be the farthest away. +Mr. Kincaid would snap-shoot at it, only to be overwhelmed, after his +gun was empty, by a half dozen flushing under his very feet. Or a miss +at an easy first would spell humiliation all along the line. Then Bobby +and Duke would be much cast down. + +"Thing to do," said Mr. Kincaid, "is to shoot one bird at a time. If you +get to thinking of the second before you've killed the first, you won't +get either. It's a hard thing to learn. I haven't got it down pat yet." + + * * * * * + +The short autumn days went fast. Before they knew it the pale sun had +touched the horizon and the world was turning cold and gray. Then came +the long laden tramp back to old Bucephalus, or perhaps to town, if they +had started out afoot. They were always very tired; but, as to Bobby, at +least, very happy. + +Generally speaking they wandered through the country at will. Shooting +was not then as popular as it is now, nor the farms as close together. +Sometimes, however, they came across signs warning against trespass or +hunting. Then, if the cover seemed especially desirable, Mr. Kincaid +used sometimes to try to obtain permission of the owner of the land. +Once or twice, having overlooked the sign, they were ordered off. The +farmers were good-natured, even though firm. + +But some four miles to the eastward lay a deep long swamp following the +windings between hills where Mr. Kincaid and Bobby had a very +disagreeable experience. It was late in the afternoon, so Bobby had +become tired. Duke made game on the outskirts of a dense thicket, +hesitated, then led the way cautiously into the tangle. + +"It's pretty thick," Mr. Kincaid advised Bobby; "you'd better sit on the +stump there until I come out." + +Bobby did so. A moment or so after Mr. Kincaid had disappeared, the +little boy became aware of a man approaching across the stump-dotted +field. He was a short, thickset man, with a broad face almost entirely +covered with a beard, a thick nose, and little, inflamed snapping eyes. +He was clad in faded and dingy overalls, and carried a pitchfork. + +"Who's that shooting in here?" he shouted at Bobby as soon as he was +within hearing. "What do you mean by hunting here? You must have passed +right by the sign." + +"Don't you want shooting here? No; we didn't see the sign," replied +Bobby. + +By this time the man had approached, and Bobby could see his bloodshot +little eyes flickering with anger. + +"You lying little snipe," he roared. "You must have seen the sign. You +couldn't help it. I've a mind to tan your hide good." + +"What's this?" asked Mr. Kincaid's quiet voice. + +The man whirled about. + +"Oh, it's you, is it?" he snarled. "Well, what do you mean by +trespassing on my farm?" + +"I didn't know it was your farm, in the first place; and I didn't know +shooting was prohibited in the second place." + +"That's too thin. You came right by that sign at the corner. Now just +make tracks off this farm about as fast as you can go." + +"Certainly," agreed Mr. Kincaid, quite unruffled. "I never shoot on a +man's land when he doesn't want me to." + +He turned, and at once the man became abusive, just as a dog gains +courage as his enemy passes. Bobby listened, his eyes wide with dismay +and shock. Never had he heard quite that sort of language. Finally Mr. +Kincaid happened to glance down at his small companion. He slipped the +shells from his gun and leaned it against a stump. + +"About face!" he said sharply to the man. "You can't talk that way +before this baby. We are going off your place as straight and as fast as +we can. You shoulder your pitchfork and go back to your house." + +The man started again on a string of objurgation. + +"I mean what I say," said Mr. Kincaid with deadly emphasis. "About face. +If you open your mouth again I shall certainly kill you." + +The old man's bent shoulders had straightened, his mild blue eye flashed +fire. So he must have looked to his soldiers before the storming of +Molino del Rey. His hands were quite empty of a weapon, and his age was +hardly a match for the other's brute strength. Nevertheless the farmer +at once turned back, after a parting, but milder, admonition. + +Mr. Kincaid picked up his gun, tucked it under his arm and trudged +forward. Bobby was trembling violently with excitement and anger. + +"Why--why--" he gasped, as yet unable to cast his thoughts into speech. + +Mr. Kincaid glanced down. A faint and amused smile flickered under his +moustache. + +"You aren't going to do that sort of a crank the honour of keeping +stirred up, are you?" "That's Pritchard--the worst crank in Michigan. +He's quarrelled with every one. I never did know where his farm was, or +I should have taken pains to keep off." + +They climbed into the cart and drove away toward town. + +"I believe I'll make a hunter of you, Bobby," pursued Mr. Kincaid after +they were going. "It's a good thing to be. Of course there's the fun of +it--the 'pats,' the quail, the jacksnipe, the 'cock. But then there's +the other part, too." + +[Illustration: "I MEAN WHAT I SAY," SAID MR. KINCAID WITH DEADLY +EMPHASIS] + +They had come out on the sandhills over the town. Mr. Kincaid drew up +Bucephalus and contemplated it as it lay below them, its roofs half +hidden in the mauve and lilac of bared branches, its columns of smoke +rising straight up in the frosty air. + +"Of course, I don't know, Bobby, whether you'll ever be a hunter or not. +It all depends on where you live and how--the chance to get out, I mean. +But, sonny, you can always be a sportsman, whatever you do. A sportsman +does things because he likes them, Bobby, for no other reason--not for +money, nor to become famous, nor even to win--although all these things +may come to him and it is quite right that he take them and enjoy them. +Only he does not do the things for them, but for the pleasure of doing. +And a right man does not get pleasure in doing a thing if in any way he +takes an unfair advantage. That's being a sportsman. And, after all, +that's all I can teach you if we hunt together ten years. Do you think +you can remember that?" + +"Yes, sir," replied Bobby soberly. + +"There's only one other thing," went on Mr. Kincaid, "that is really +important, and it isn't necessary if you remember the other things I've +told you. It's pretty easy sometimes to do a thing because you see +everybody else doing it. Always remember that a true sportsman in every +way is about the scarcest thing they make--and the finest. So naturally +the common run of people don't live up to it. If _you_--not the thinking +you, nor even the conscience you, but the way-down-deep-in-your-heart +_you_ that you can't fool nor trick nor lie to--if that _you_ is +satisfied, it's all right." He turned and grinned humorously at his +small companion. "I've nothing but a little income and an old horse and +two dogs and a few friends, Bobby; I've lived thirty years in that +little place there; and a great many excellent people call me a +good-for-nothing old loafer, but I've learned the things I'm telling you +now, and I'm just conceited and stuck-up enough to think I've made a +howling success of it." + +"_I_ don't think that," said Bobby, laying his cheek against the man's +threadbare sleeve. + +"Of course you don't, Bobby," said Mr. Kincaid cheerfully, "and I'll +tell you why. It's because you and I speak the same language, although +you're a little boy and I'm a big man." + + + + +XIII + +THE PLAYMATES + + +Early that autumn it became expedient that Mrs. Orde and Bobby should +visit Grandfather and Grandmother Orde at Redding, while Mr. Orde pushed +through certain heavy cutting in the woods. Bobby took with him his two +fonts of "real" type--one a parting present from Mr. Daggett--and his +Flobert Rifle. + +The old Orde homestead covered about three acres of ground. The city had +grown up around it. The house was a three-storied stone structure, built +fifty years before, steep of roof, gabled, low-ceilinged, old-fashioned +and delightful. Bobby loved it and its explorations, from the cellar +with its bins of vegetables and fruit and its barrels of molasses, cider +and vinegar, to its attic with its black, mysterious, "behind the tank." +And the three acres were a joy. Outside the picket fence were the shade +trees, their trunks nearly two feet in diameter. Then stretched the +wide deep lawn, now turning dull with the approach of winter and strewn +with dead leaves. It supported the fir which Bobby always called the +"Christmas Tree," and under whose wide low branches he could crawl as +into a dusty, cobwebby house; and the little birch tree with its silver +bark; and the big round lilac bush, now bare, but in summer the fragrant +haunt of birds and butterflies innumerable; and the round flower bed; +and the horse-chestnut tree whose inedible brown-and-yellow nuts were +just right to throw or to string into necklaces; and close by the front +gate the Big Tree. Bobby firmly believed this the largest tree in the +world. It was a silver maple so great about the trunk that Bobby could +trot about it as around a race-track. At twelve feet it branched in two, +each division bigger than any shade tree in town. The branches were held +together by a logging chain. Above them were more divisions and more and +yet more, ever rising higher and finer, until at last, far over the tops +of the maples, of the elms, even of the hickory at the side of the +house, above the highest point of the highest gable of the house itself, +it feathered out in a delicate, wide lacework that seemed fairly to +brush the sky. Bobby's realization of height ceased short of the +reality. Beyond that he was breathless, as one is breathless at too +great speed. The big tree was full of orioles' and vireos' nests, old +and recent, representing the building of many summers. Out behind was +the orchard, a dozen sturdy old apple trees, now passing the meridian of +their powers. + +Here Bobby laboured hard with hammers and a few old boards until he had +constructed a shield on which to tack his target. He leaned the affair +against the thickest and tallest woodpile, placed a saw-horse for a rest +at fifteen yards from his mark and brought out his Flobert Rifle. + +At the third snap of the little weapon, he looked up to discover a row +of interested heads lined up along the top of the high board fence that +constituted the Ordes' eastern boundary. He pretended not to see but +shot again, very deliberately. + +"Say," shouted a voice, "I'm coming over!" + +Bobby looked up once more. One of the heads had given place to a very +sturdy back and legs suspended on the Orde side of the fence. The legs +wriggled frantically, the toes scratched at the boards. + +"Aw, drop!" said another voice, and the second head produced a hand and +arm which proceeded calmly to rap the knuckles of the one who dangled. +The latter let go. Finding himself uninjured by the three-foot fall, he +looked up wrathfully at his late assailant. That youth was in the act of +swinging his own legs over. The first-comer, with a gurgle of joy, +seized the other by both feet and tugged with all his strength. His +victim kicked frantically, tried to hang on, had to let go and came down +all in a heap on top of his tormentor. Immediately they clinched and +began to roll over and over. Bobby stared, vastly astonished. + +Before he could collect his thoughts a third figure was dangling down +the boards. This one was feminine. It displayed a good deal of long +black leg, of short dull plaid skirt, a reefer jacket, two pigtails and +a knit blue tam-o'-shanter. Further observation was impossible, for it +dropped without hesitation and the moment it struck ground pounced on +the two combatants. Bobby saw those gentlemen seized, shaken and slapped +with hurricane vigour. The next he knew, three flushed visitors were +descending on him with ingratiating grins. + +The first, he of the pounded knuckles, was a short, sturdy, very +fair-haired youth with a wide red-lipped mouth, wide and winning blue +eyes and a bit of a swagger in his walk. He was about Bobby's age. The +second, he of the pulled feet, was brown-haired, slightly stooped, +rather nervous-faced, but with the drollest twinkle to his brown eyes +and the quaintest quirk to his sensitive lips. He was about twelve years +old. The third, the girl, was tawny-haired, gray-eyed. Her face was +almost the exact shape of the hearts on valentines; her nose turned up +just enough to be impudent; her freckles, for she was indubitably +freckled, were just wide enough apart to emphasize the inquiring, +unabashed self-reliance of her eyes. Her figure was long and lank but +moved with a freedom and a confidence that indicated her full control of +it. She was probably just short of her 'teens. + +"Gorry!" said the first boy, "is that gun yours?" + +"Let's see it," said the second. + +"It's a beauty, isn't it? Look at the gold mounting," said the girl. + +"Look out how you handle it!" warned Bobby. + +"Why, is it loaded?" asked Number One. + +"It doesn't matter whether it's loaded or not!" insisted Bobby stoutly. +"It ought never to be pointed toward anybody." + +"Oh, shucks!" said Number One, reaching for the rifle. + +But Bobby interposed. + +"You mustn't touch it unless you handle it right," said he. + +"Shucks," repeated the light-haired boy, still reaching. + +Bobby, his heart beating a little more rapidly than usual, thrust +himself in front of the other. + +"Ho!" cried the other, the joy of battle lighting up his dancing blue +eyes. "Want to fight? I can lick you with one hand tied behind me." + +"This is my yard," said Bobby, "and that is my gun! And besides I didn't +ask you to come in here, anyway." + +"Well, I can lick you, anyway," replied the other with unanswerable +logic. + +The girl had been watching them narrowly, her hands on her hips, her +head on one side. Now she interfered. + +"Johnnie, come off!" said she sharply. "No fighting! You're bigger than +he is, and it _is_ his yard and his gun, and, anyway, he isn't afraid of +you." + +Johnnie looked at her doubtfully, then turned to Bobby as to a +companion under tyranny. + +"That's just like her," he complained. "She always spoils things! You +ain't smaller than I am, anyhow. Never mind, we'll try it sometime when +she ain't around. Let's see your old gun. I won't point it at anybody. +Show me how she works." + +Bobby, a little stiffly at first, for he could not understand fighting +without animosity, showed them how it worked. + +"Let me try her," urged Johnnie. + +But Bobby would not until he had asked his mother, for permission to +shoot had been obtained only at expense of a very solemn promise. + +"Fraidy!" jeered Johnnie, "tied to his mammy's apron-strings!" + +Bobby flushed deeply, but stood his ground. + +"It's my gun," he pointed out again. "If you don't like my yard, you +needn't come into it." + +"Oh, all right, we don't want to stay in your old yard," replied +Johnnie. "Come on, kids." + +"Johnnie, come back here," commanded the girl sharply. "You ought to be +ashamed of yourself! He's perfectly right! Suppose one of us should get +shot!" + +"I'll get papa to shoot with us, if he will," promised Bobby. + +"Johnny, you come back here!" ordered the girl in more peremptory tones. +"You come back or--or--_I'll sit on your head again!_" + +Johnny came back, entirely good-natured, his attractive blue eyes +glancing here and there in restless activity. + +"Oh, all right," said he. "Let's play robbers and policemen." + +"We've left Carrie over the fence," insisted the girl. + +"Bother Carrie! Why don't she climb?" + +"You come over with us," the girl suggested to Bobby. "You're Bobby +Orde, of course, we know. I'm May Fowler. I live in the big square house +over that way. The boy with the yellow hair is Johnny English. The other +one is Morton Drake. Come on." + +"Where is it?" asked Bobby. + +"Just over the fence. That's where the Englishes live. Haven't you been +there yet?" + +"No," said Bobby. + +He leaned his rifle in the barn and followed the disappearing trio. His +doubt as to how the smooth board fence was to be surmounted was soon +resolved. The new-comers evidently knew all the ins and outs. In the +very end of the long woodshed stood a chicken-feed bin. By scrambling to +the top of this, it was just possible to squeeze between the edge of the +roof and the top of the fence. Once there, one had the choice of +descending to the other side or climbing to the shed roof. + +The expedition at present led to the other side. Here was no necessity +of dangling, for the two-by-fours running between the posts offered a +graduated descent. Bobby found himself in the back yard of a tall house +that occupied nearly the entire width of the lot. It was a very +impressive cream-brick house. A cement walk led around it from the +front. There were no stables, no clothes-lines, no pumps, nothing to +indicate the kitchen end of a residence. The swift curve of a grassed +terrace dropped from the house-level to that on which Bobby stood. Four +large apple trees, mathematically spaced, would furnish shade in summer. +That the shade was utilized was proved by the presence of a number of +settees, iron chairs and a rustic table or so. + +"There's Carrie!" cried May Fowler. "Why didn't you come on over? This +is Bobby Orde who lives over there. This is Caroline English." + +"We're going to play robber and policeman," announced Johnny English, +cheerfully. + +"All right," said Carrie. + +She sat down behind one of those rustic tables. + +"She's police sergeant," confided Morton Drake to Bobby. "She's always +police sergeant because she doesn't like to get her clothes dirty." + +"Here come the rest! Goody!" cried the alert Johnny as four more +children came racing around the corner of the house. + +Robber and policemen was a game absurd in its simplicity. The policemen +pursued the robbers who fled within the specified limits of the +Englishes' yard. When an officer caught a malefactor, he attempted to +bring his prize before the police sergeant. The robber was privileged to +resist. Assistance from the other policemen and rescues by the other +robbers were permitted. That was all there was to it. The beautiful +result was a series of free fights. + +Bobby, as a new-comer, was made a robber. So were Grace Jones, Morton +and Walter. The nature of the game demanded that the oldest should be +policeman, otherwise arrests might be disgracefully unavailing. + +At a signal from Carrie the robbers scurried away. At another the +sleuths set out on the trail. Each policeman elected a robber as his +especial prey. Bobby ran rapidly around the front of the house, dodged +past the front steps and paused. Behind him he heard stealthy footsteps +approaching the corner of the house. Instantly he ducked forward around +the other corner and ran plump into the arms of Johnny English. + +That youngster immediately grappled him. + +Johnny was no bigger than Bobby, but he was practised at scuffles and +his body was harder and firmer knit. Bobby tugged manfully, but almost +before he knew it he was upset and hit the ground with a disconcerting +whack. Of course, he continued to struggle, and the two, fiercely +locked, whirled over and over through the leaves, but in a humiliatingly +brief period Johnny had twisted him on his back and was sitting on his +chest. + +"There, I told you I could lick you!" he cried triumphantly. + +"Let me up! Let me up, I tell you!" roared Bobby, kicking his legs and +threshing his arms in a vain effort to budge the weight across his body. + +Johnny looked at him curiously. + +"Why! You ain't _mad_, are you!" He shrieked with the joy of the +discovery. "Oh, kids! Come here and see him! He's getting mad!" + +Bobby's eyes filled with tears of rage. And then he saw quite plainly +the top of a sand-hill and the village lying below and the blue of the +River far distant. And he heard Mr. Kincaid's voice. + +"But, sonny, you can always be a sportsman, whatever you do," the voice +said, "and a sportsman does things because he likes them, Bobby, for no +other reason--not for money, nor to become famous, nor even to win----" + +He choked back his rage and forced a grin to his lips--very much the +same sort that he had once accomplished when he "jumped up and laughed" +at his mother's spanking, simply because he had been told to do that +whenever he was hurt. + +"I'm not mad," he disclaimed and heaved so mighty a heave that Johnny, +being unprepared by reason of shouting to the others, was tumbled off +one side. Instantly Bobby jumped to his feet and scudded away. + +He was captured eventually--so were the others--but only after fierce +struggles. Even did a policeman catch and hold a robber, to drag the +latter to jail was no easy problem. For if he summoned the help of a +brother officer that left at large an unattached robber who would create +diversions and attempt rescues. At times all eight were piled in a +breathless, tugging, rolling mass, while Carrie, behind her rustic +table, looked on serenely lest some of the simple rules of the game be +violated. In fact Carrie was just as severe in anticipation of possible +infractions, as over the infractions themselves, which, perhaps, goes +far to explain Carrie. + +Bobby returned home at lunch time to be received with horror by Mrs. +Orde. + +"You're a sight!" she cried. "_Where_ have you been, and _what_ have you +been doing? I never saw anything like you! And look at those holes in +your stockings." + +"I've been playing robber 'n policeman with Johnny English and Carter +Irvine and all the kids," explained Bobby blissfully. + +After lunch Mr. Orde kissed his son good-bye. + +"Going up in the woods for a week, sonny," said he. + +"Papa," asked Bobby holding tight to the man's hand, "can I have the +kids shoot with my rifle?" + +"Not any!" cried Mr. Orde emphatically. "Not until I get back. Then +maybe we'll have a shooting-match and invite all hands." + +He was slipping on his overcoat as he spoke. + +"Which of the boys do you like best?" he asked casually. + +"I don't know," replied Bobby after an instant's thought. "Carter +Irvine's got an air-gun: I like him. And Johny English is all right, +too. I wish I were as strong as Johnny English," he ended with a sigh. + +Mr. Orde paused in reaching for his valise. + +"Can he take you down?" he asked shrewdly. + +"Yes, sir!" replied Bobby with a vivid flush. + +"All right, you be a good boy, and when I get back I'll show you a few +tricks to fool Mr. Johnny," Mr. Orde chuckled. "There's a lot in knowing +how." + + + + +XIV + +THE SHOOTING CLUB + + +When Bobby proposed again that his father oversee general shoots in the +back yard, the latter demurred. + +"Haven't any time," said he. "And you youngsters certainly can't be +turned loose with two guns alone. I'll tell you: you organize your club, +and have a regular time to shoot every week. I'll appoint Martin Chief +Inspector; but it must be distinctly understood that there is to be no +shooting unless he's here." + +Martin was the "hired man" about Grandpa Orde's place. + +The children fell on the idea with alacrity, and at once adjourned to +Bobby's room. Carter Irvine suggested formal organization. + +"Somebody's got to make targets; and somebody's got to buy cartridges +and collect the money for them; and somebody's got to buy prizes--we got +to have prizes--and somebody's got to keep the scores." + +After much talk they elected officers to perform these duties; and +formulated curious but practical by-laws. Bobby was elected secretary +and treasurer; and he has to-day a copy of them written in his own +boyish unformed hand. Among other things they provided that "any one +pointing a gun, accidentally or otherwise, at anybody else or Duke, is +fined one cent." The entire club went into a committee of the whole, +marched down town in a body and pestered a number of store-keepers. +Finally it purchased a silver bangle a little larger than a ten-cent +piece, had it hung from a bar pin, and inscribed "First Prize." The +second prize, following Mrs. Orde's practical suggestion, was a bright +ribbon. Winners were privileged to wear these until defeated. The shoots +were conducted with great ceremony. Each took a single chance in turn +until five rounds apiece had been expended. In a loud voice the scorer +announced the results, and the name of the next on the list. The +shooting was done from a dead rest over the saw-horse, and at about +fifteen yards. Martin sat by on the bridge-approach to the barn, smoking +a very short and very black clay pipe upside down. He rarely said +anything; but his twinkling eyes never for a moment left the excited +group. Martin was reliable. Occasionally he was called upon to referee +some particularly close decision--as to whether a certain bullet-hole +could be said to have cut the edge of the black or not--and his +decisions were never questioned. + +The shoots were taken very seriously. He who won the first or second +prize wore it proudly. Scores, individual shots, good or bad luck, +distracting influences were all discussed with the greatest interest. +Grandpa Orde, happening home early one day, watched the performance with +great enjoyment, his hands behind him underneath the flapping linen +duster, his eyes twinkling, his jaws working slowly. At the time he made +no comments; but next shoot day he was punctually on hand, carrying a +small paper parcel. + +"Here's another prize," said he. + +They opened it eagerly. It contained a large round leather disk to which +a safety pin had been sewn. + +"That's for the one who makes the worst score," explained Grandpa Orde +chuckling. + +Thenceforth the poor shots had an interest. If they could not hope to +compete with Bobby and Carter Irvine, at least they could try not to +stand at the bottom of the list. A new by-law was adopted, making +compulsory the conspicuous wearing of the leather medal. + +As has been hinted, the supremacy generally lay between Bobby and +Carter. Johnny occasionally carried off all honours by a most brilliant +score; but the week following he was likely to escape the leather medal +only by the narrowest margin. The latter decoration was shared by his +sister and Grace Jones. Caroline English disliked firearms; and took +part in the contest only because she did not care to be left out. Both +she and Grace held the weapon directly in front of them, the two hands +clasped tight at the same point just behind the trigger-guard. May +Fowler, Walter and Morton "furnished packing," as Morton said, between +the leaders and the losers. + +In this manner the children came to a thorough respect for the muzzle of +a gun; and a deep pride in handling a weapon in a safe and sportsmanlike +manner. By the time the snow and cold weather put a stop to the +shooting, each child would have been mortified and ashamed beyond words +to have been caught doing anything "like a greenhorn." + + + + +XV + +THE UPPER ROOMS + + +On Mr. Orde's return from the woods, he was promptly called upon to +redeem his promise. He therefore, showed Bobby a few of the simpler +wrestler's tricks which Bobby adopted and brooded over in his manner. +The first game of robber and policeman thereafter, he tried one on +Johnny, but bungled it and got sat on harder than ever. Bobby's trouble +in the practice of such matters arose from the fact that he was too +analytical. Before an idea could become part of his make-up, he had to +revolve it over in his mind, examining it from all sides, understanding +the relations of its component parts, making the mechanism revolve +slowly, as it were, in order to comprehend all its correlations. This +analytical thought naturally made him, to a certain degree, +self-conscious in his movements. It destroyed the instinctive, +superconscious accuracy valuable in all games of skill, but absolutely +necessary to such things as skating, boxing, wrestling, wing-shooting, +tennis and the like. Self-consciousness in such cases means awkwardness. +Bobby, in learning a new thing, was awkward. But he possessed a +wonderful persistence. In time he would think all around a thing. In +more time he would have practised it sufficiently to have lost sight of +the carefully considered "reason why" for each move. Thus the final, +though delayed, result was apt to be more consistent performance than +Johnny's brilliantly instinctive achievements. + +For example, Bobby tried again and again to attain the quick twisting +heave necessary to the common "grape-vine." At no time did he achieve +more than partial success. But in his numerous attempts he, without +knowing it, taught Johnny. That quick-witted youth caught the +possibilities and at his first attempt sprawled Bobby. In fact, by the +time Bobby had even a fair command of the three or four falls shown him +by his father, Johnny was skilful in them all and could catch Bobby with +them twice as often as Bobby could catch him. This kept Bobby +humble-minded, and, as it in no way discouraged him from keeping at it, +was a good thing for him. Here is perhaps as good a place as any to +remark parenthetically that while the friends scuffled and wrestled +constantly, Johnny never got to be much better than he became in the +first three weeks, while Bobby, in later years, was the middle-weight +champion of his class at college. + +The autumn passed, and colder weather set in. Out of doors was available +only for the activities of life. As long as energy was burnt with some +lavishness, all was well, but when the first enthusiasm had ebbed, Jack +Frost began to nip shrewdly. Then the children went within doors. They +divided their favours almost equally between the third stories of the +Orde and English homes. + +The Englishes' third story had never been finished. Bare walls, bare +floors, fresh varnished wood-work and the steam radiators constituted +the whole equipment. + +This very openness of space, however, proved an irresistible attraction +to the children. Gradually articles of their amusement became installed, +until the latter end of that third story was an official "play room." +Shelves--made by Johnny--held books and miscellaneous junk; toys of +various sorts were scattered about; against the wall was screwed a noisy +chest-weight, which nobody disturbed; near the window stood a +scroll-saw worked by foot-power. Nobody bothered with that either, for +the simple reason that all the saw blades were broken and the novelty +had worn off. Bobby would have liked to experiment with it, but of +course he did not feel like suggesting repairs. + +But the Upper Rooms were full of echoes and noises when one clumped on +the bare floor, and space with nothing to knock over when one scuffled, +and the air was always cold enough so one could see his breath. +Therefore the Upper Rooms were popular, but in a different manner and +for different purposes than Bobby's warmed and furnished chamber. + +Here the rougher, noisier romping took place, and here was finally +brought to adjustment the smouldering rivalry between the two small +boys. + + + + +XVI + +THE THIRD STORY + + +Bobby's room was also in the third story and up among the gables. It +slanted here, it slanted there, steeply or gradually according to the +demands of the roof outside. There May, Johnny and Martin curled up on +the western window seat; Bobby and Carter Irvine sat on the floor; +Caroline drew up a straight-back chair. Then while the twilight lasted +they "talked," in children's aimless fashion, about everything, anything +or nothing. + +By and by somebody yawned. + +"My, it's getting dark. Light up, Johnny." + +Then could be seen the prize attraction of the room--the deal table on +which one could use ink, mucilage, scissors and other dangerous weapons. +Here was screwed the toy printing press. Bobby, after a few further +attempts to adopt the regulation fonts of type to its chase, had rather +lost interest in it, but his new companions revived it. He showed them +exactly how to get clear and good impressions, and in the explanation +proved a most comfortable glow over finding something at last in which +he was distinctly and indisputably superior. All had to have cards +printed. Each bought his own and set up his own type; Bobby made +adjustments, and then again each was privileged to make his own +impressions. + +Johnny English, however, was keenly alive to the commercial aspects of +the case. One day he appeared in triumph bearing an order from Mr. +Ellison's wholesale house. It read quite simply: "Use Star Stove +Polish," a legend well within the possibilities of the little press. + +"Got an order for a thousand of 'em!" cried Johnny triumphantly. "We're +to print them and distribute them. We get four dollars for it!" + +Four dollars was untold wealth, though, counting the distribution, Mr. +Ellison's firm stood to gain on regular rates--provided it really cared +thus to advertise Star Stove Polish. To active youngsters the wandering +up one street and down another, leaving cards at every house, handing +cards to every passer-by, was a huge lark. When the four dollars were +paid, it seemed almost like getting a Christmas present out of season. +Johnny's imagination was fired. + +"There's lots of printing we might get," said he. "Look at all the +envelopes my papa uses, and there's his letter-heads, and +bill-heads--and lots else. But we can't do it on that thing! It takes +different kinds of type." + +Thereupon Bobby got out his catalogues and told them of the second-hand +self-inker to be had for twenty-five dollars, Enthusiasm burned at fever +heat for about three days, then the sickening realization that the total +capital of _Orde & English, Job Printers_--including the four +dollars--was just seven-thirty pricked that bright dream. The approach +of Christmas inspired Johnny with a new idea. He and Bobby risked a +half-dollar of the capital in cards embossed with holly wreaths. On +these they printed "_Merry Christmas, From ---- to ----._" These had an +encouraging sale among immediate relatives. + +But in spite of these gratifying commercial ventures, Bobby's disgust +grew. It might make marks on paper; it might earn money, but it would +not take full-sized type, it would not print more than two lines. By +these same tokens it was not a printing press, but a toy; not the real +thing, but an imitation, and Bobby was outgrowing imitations. Finally he +made a definite statement of principle. + +"I'm not going to use her any more," said he with decision, "I'm sick of +the old thing." + +"But I've just got an order for fifty cards from Mrs. Fowler!" +expostulated Johnny. + +"Then go on, do them," replied Bobby. "I won't." + +He retired to the corner, leaving Johnny wrathful. There for the +thousandth time he pored over the pages of the catalogue showing the +beautiful 5x7 self-inking press. + + + + +XVII + +"SLIDING DOWN HILL" + + +One morning Bobby awoke before daylight. It might have been the middle +of the night except that, far down in the still house, he heard a +muffled scrape and clank as Martin set the furnace in order for the day. +Bobby knew six o'clock by these dull, distant, comfortable sounds. The +air in the room was very frosty and Bobby's nose was as cold as a dog's; +but underneath the warm double blanket and the eider-down quilted +comforter Bobby had made himself a warm nest. In this he curled in a +tight little ball. Not for worlds would he have stretched his legs down +into shivery regions, and though he was not drowsy and did not care to +sleep, not for worlds would he have left his lair before the radiator +had warmed. + +So he lay there waiting and watching where the window ought to be for +the first signs of daylight. Bobby liked to amuse himself trying to +define just when the window became visible. He never could. So this +morning, some time, no time, Bobby saw a dull gray rectangle where +darkness had been, and knew that day had arrived. Over in the corner the +radiator was singing softly with the first steam. Slowly the reluctant +daylight filtered in, showing in dim outline the familiar objects in the +room. + +Bobby was just dozing when an unexpected sound from outside brought him +wide awake. He sat up in bed the better to hear. Far in the distance, +but momently nearing, rang a faint jingle of bells. At the same moment +there began a methodical _scrape, scrape, scrape_ immediately outside +the house. + +Without a thought of the cold air of the room, nor the warm flannel +dressing gown, nor the knit bedroom socks, Bobby leaped out and pattered +to the window. This was covered thick with frost crystals, but Bobby +breathed on them, and rubbed them with the heel of his palm, and so +acquired a sight-hole. + +"Snow!" he murmured ecstatically to himself. + +The outer world was very still and bathed in a cold half-light. Over +everything lay a thick covering of white. The lawn, the sidewalks, the +street, the roofs of houses were hidden by it; the top of the fence was +outlined with it; great mantles draped the post tops and the fans of the +fir tree; every branch and twig of every tree bore its burden; Martin, +wielding a very broad wooden shovel, was engaged in clearing a way to +the front gate. Just as Bobby looked out, the milkman, his vehicle on +runners and his team decorated with the strings of bells that had +aroused the little boy, drove up, dropped his hitch-weight and with the +milkman's peculiar rapid gait, trotted around to the back door. The +breath of Martin and the milkman and his two horses ascended in the +still air like steam. Bobby heard the loud shrieking of the snow as it +was trodden, and knew that it must be very cold. + +He dressed and went down stairs. Amanda, with her head tied in a duster, +was putting things to rights. Bobby could find none of his snow clothes +and Amanda was unable or unwilling to help him, so to his disappointment +he could not join Martin. However, he opened the front door and peeked +at the cold-looking thermometer. + +"My," said he to Amanda, scurrying back to the new-lighted fire, "it's +only four above!" + +This information he proffered with an air of pride to each member of +the family as he or she appeared. Bobby took a personal satisfaction in +the coldness of the weather, as though he had ordered it himself. + +In the meantime he watched Martin from the window. Shortly the municipal +snow-plow passed, throwing the snow to right and left, its one horse +plodding patiently along the sidewalk, its driver humped over, smoking +his pipe. One of Bobby's ambitions used to be to drive the municipal +snow-plow when he grew up. + +After breakfast, in the customary sequence of events, came lessons. They +naturally seemed interminable, and indeed, lasted much longer than +usual, because Bobby was unable to give his whole mind to the task. At +last they were over. Under Mrs. Orde's supervision Bobby donned (a) +heavy knit, woollen leggings that drew on over his shoes and pinned to +his trousers above the knee; (b) fleece-lined arctic overshoes; (c) a +short, thick, cloth jacket; (d) a long knit tippet that went twice +around his neck, crossed on his chest, again at the small of his back, +passed around his waist, and tied in front; (e) a pair of red knit +mittens; (f) a tasselled knit cap that pulled down over his ears. Thus +equipped, snow- and cold-proof, he passed through the refrigerator-like +storm porch, and stood on the front steps. + +The sun was up and before him the facets of the snow sparkled like +millions and millions of tiny diamonds. Across it the shadows of the +trees lay blue. In Bobby's nostrils the crisp air nipped delightfully +just short of pain. + +What did Bobby do first? Waded, to be sure. He found the deepest drift, +augmented somewhat by Martin's shovel, and wallowed laboriously and +happily through it. Twice he was unable to extricate his foot in time to +prevent a glorious tumble from which he arose covered from crown to toe +with the powdery crystals. The temperature was so low that they did not +melt, although just inside the tops of the arctics thin bands of snow +packed tight. These Bobby occasionally removed with his forefinger. + +Bobby waded happily. On either side the broad walk were tall mounds of +the snow that Martin had shovelled aside. Bobby found these waist-deep. +The lawn itself was only knee-deep, but it offered a beautiful smooth +surface. Duke appeared about this time and frisked back and forth madly, +his forefeet extended, his chest to the earth, his face illuminated +with a joyous doggy grin. He would run directly at Bobby, as though to +collide with him, swerve at the last moment and go tearing away in +circles, his hind-legs tucked well under him. The smooth white surface +of the lawn became sadly marred. Bobby was vexed at this and uttered +fierce commands to which Duke paid not the slightest attention. The +little boy made patterns in which he stepped conscientiously, pretending +he could not "get off the track." Of course he tried to make snowballs, +but tossed from him in disgust the feather-light result. + +"No packing," said he. + +About this time Martin reappeared, after his own breakfast, to finish +cleaning the walks. Bobby begged the fire shovel and assisted. + +When lunch time came Bobby entered the storm-porch and stood patiently +while he was brushed off. The entrance to the warm air inside promptly +turned the crystals still adhering to the interstices of the knit +garments into glittering drops of water. Bobby made tiny little puddles +where he disrobed--to his delight and Amanda's disgust. The damp clothes +were hung to dry behind the kitchen stove, and Bobby sat down to a +tremendous lunch. + +After lunch Bobby went out-doors again, but the novelty had worn off and +his main thought was one of impatience for three o'clock to release his +friends from school. The snow was not yet packed well enough to make the +sleighing very good, but everybody in town was out. Cutters, their +thills to one side so the driver could see past the horse; two-seated +higher sleighs; the gorgeous plumed and luxurious conveyances of the +élite--all these streamed by, packing the street every moment into a +better and better surface. + +And then, before Bobby had realized it could be so late, a first, faint, +long-drawn and peculiar shout began far away; grew steadily in volume. +Bobby ran out to the middle of the road. + +This street began at the top of a low, long hill eight blocks above the +Orde place and ended three blocks below. Coming toward him rapidly Bobby +saw a long dark object from which the sound issued. In a moment, slowing +every foot because of the level ground and the still heavy snow surface +of the road-bed, it passed him. He saw a ten-foot pair of bobs laden +with children seated astraddle the board. Each child held up the legs of +the one behind. In front, the steersman, his feet braced against the +cross-pieces, guided by means of ropes leading to the points of the +leading sled. At the rear the "pusher off" half reclined, graceful and +nonchalant. With the exception of the steersman, who was too busy, each +had his mouth wide open and was expirating in one long-drawn continuous +vowel-sound. This vowel-sound was originally the first part of the word +"out." It had long since become conventionalized, but still served its +purpose as a warning. + +Slower and slower crept the bobs. The passengers ceased yelling and +began to move their bodies back and forth in jerks, as does the coxwain +of a racing shell. Even after the bobs had come to a complete +standstill, they sat a moment on the off-chance of another inch of gain. +Then all at once the compact missile disintegrated. The steersman made a +mark in the snow at the side to show how far they had gone. Three seized +the ropes and began to drag the bobs back toward the hill. The rest fell +in, trudging behind. + +But already from the group at the top, confused by distance, other swift +black objects at spaced intervals had detached and came hurtling down. +Some of them were bob-sleds; others hand-sleds carrying but a single +passenger. Bobby stood by the gate post watching them. Each pair of bobs +made its best on distance, trying for the record of the "farthest down." +Although the temptation must have been great, nobody cheated by so much +as the smallest push. + +Bobby owned a sled on which he used to coast. It reposed now in the +barn. He wanted very much to slide down hill, but he left the sled in +its resting place. Why? Because already Bobby had grown into big boy's +estate. He knew his sled would arouse derision and contempt. It had flat +runners! And it curved far up in front! And it was built on a skeleton +framework! What Bobby wanted, if he were to join the coasting world at +all, was a long, low, solid, rakish-built affair with round "spring +runners." Even "three-quarters" would not do for his present ideas. + +By now the hill was alive. A steady succession of arrow-like flights was +balanced by the slow upward crawlings, on either side, of dozens +returning afoot. The mark set by the first bobs had been passed and +passed again. New records became a matter of inches. + +At last Bobby saw bearing down on him a magnificent bobs that had not +before appeared. It was gliding evenly where others usually began to +slow up. Its board was twelve feet long. Foot-rails obviated the +necessity of holding legs. Its sleds were long and substantial and +evidently built solely as bob-sleds and not, as most, to be detached and +used for hand sleds as well. The eight occupants began to "jounce" when +opposite the Orde place, and Bobby saw with admiration that this was a +"spring bobs." That is to say: the board connecting the sleds was not of +rigid pine, like the others, but of hickory which bent like a +buck-board. When the occupants "jounced," the spring of this board +naturally helped the bobs to keep going for some distance after it would +ordinarily have come to a stand-still. + +This scientific bobs easily excelled all previous records. Its steersman +made a triumphant mark, a full half-block beyond the farthest. So lost +in admiration of the vehicle had Bobby been that he had failed even to +glance at its occupants. Now as they returned, dragging the bobs after +them, he recognized in the steersman Carter Irvine, and in the others +the rest of his intimate friends. At the same instant they recognized +him and greeted him with a shout. + +"Come on slide!" they called. + +Bobby joyously laid hand on the steer-rope and began to help up the +hill. + +The centre of the street was entirely given over to the coasters darting +down. On either side those ascending toiled, helped occasionally by the +good-natured driver of a cutter or delivery sleigh. Then the steer-ropes +were passed around a runner support of the cutter and held by the +steersman who perched on the front of the bobs. Thus if the bobs upset, +or the horse went too fast, he could detach the bobs from the cutter by +the simple expedient of letting go the rope. All the others immediately +piled on to get the benefit of the ride. Some preferred to stand atop +the cutter's runners. It lent a pleasant sensation of a sort of +supernatural gliding, this standing, upright and motionless, but +nevertheless moving forward at a good rate of speed. Certain drivers +refused, however, to allow these liberties, but scowled blackly when +addressed by the usual cheerful "Give us a ride, Mister?" To catch +surreptitious rides with them was considered a desirable feat. Certain +daring youngsters stole up behind and crouched low against the runners. +Occasionally they escaped detection, but generally tasted the sting of +the whip-lash as it curled viciously backward. Then arose from the whole +hill the derisive cry of "whip behind!" + +At the top Bobby found a large crowd awaiting its turn. Some he knew, +others were strangers to him. All classes were represented, rich and +poor, rough and gentle. To one side the girls and smallest boys were +sliding decorously a hundred feet or so down the deeper snow of the +gutter. They sat facing forward on high framework sleds with flat +runners, one foot on either side. Whenever the sled showed indications +of speed, the feet were used as brakes. The little girls were dressed +very warmly in leggings, arctics, flannel petticoats and heavy dresses, +and wore tied close about their heads knit or fuzzy gray hoods that +framed their red cheeks bewitchingly. Bobby had always coasted in this +manner, but now he looked on them with a sort of pitying contempt. + +The main group stood waiting. New-comers fell in behind so that some +rough semblance of rotation was maintained. The bobs' crews settled +themselves with the deftness of long practice. Then bending to his task +the pusher at the rear dug his toes in, while the others hunched. With a +creak the runners gave way their hold on the frozen snow; the bobs +began slowly to move. As momentum and the downward curve of the hill +exerted their influence, the pusher found his task easier and easier. +His then the nice decision as to just how long to continue to push. To +jump on too soon was a disgrace; to delay too long was a certainty of +rolling over and over in the snow while your bobs went on without you. +The artistic pusher came aboard gracefully, with a flying, forward leap, +at the precise moment when the equilibrium of forces permitted him to +alight as softly as a thistledown. The bobs shot away in a whirl of +snow-dust. + +Immediately stepped forth a tall, gawky youth clad in dull brown, faded +garments, without mittens, without overshoes, his hands purple, but with +a long, low, narrow sled as tall as himself. His left hand clasped the +front, his right hand the back. The sled slanted across his body. A +dozen swift steps he ran forward flung the sled headlong with a smack +against the road and followed lightly to the little deck. There he +crouched, reclining on his left forearm, his left thigh doubled under +him, his head thrust forward, his right leg extended. A magnificent +start! So perfect was his balance that the merest touch of his right +toe to one side or the other sufficed for steering. In an instant he +shot close to the bobs ahead. + +"Out! out! out! out!" he cried in a sharp stacatto--very different from +the general long-drawn out warning. + +The bobs swerved and he darted by with lofty and oblivious superiority. + +In the meantime another boy had stepped forward carrying his sled +directly in front of him, a hand on either side. He, too, ran forward, +but cast himself and sled with a mighty crash into the road. He +disappeared lying flat on his stomach, his hands grasping each a +projecting runner, his legs spread wide apart. + +"Belly flop!" remarked the steersman of the next bobs, waiting. No great +speed was possible by this antiquated method, so it was necessary to +give the despised belly-flopper a good start. + +Among those whose turns did not come soon was great rivalry in the +matter of sled-runners. Flat bands were negligible and assigned to +girls, quarter-rounds and half-rounds were somewhat but not much better, +although several orthodox-shaped sleds were fitted with them. As between +three-quarters and full-round spring runners, however, was room for +argument, and endless and partisan discussion obtained. This was a +matter of opinion. A question of comparison was the relative wear and +brightness of the metals. This must be caused by use only. The +employment of sandpaper would be to your small boy what--well, what +dynamiting trout would be to your fly-fisherman. + +The twilight and the frost were already descending. Soon the +lamp-lighter with his torch and his little ladder came nimbly down the +street. On the down trip Bobby found his mother waiting by the gate, a +heavy shawl thrown over her head and shoulders. In the darkness, and +after the cold, pale moon had climbed the heavens, the hill continued +thronged. About eight o'clock many of the younger grown-ups arrived. But +Bobby had to go to bed, and he fell asleep with snatches of +conversation, the shriek of runners and the weird ululation of warning +ringing in his ears. + + + + +XVIII + +CHRISTMAS + + +Within a week of Christmas Bobby suddenly awoke to the fact that he must +go shopping. He found that in ready money he possessed just one dollar +and sixty-two cents; the rest he banked at interest with his father. +With this amount he would have to purchase gifts for the four of his +immediate household, Celia and Mr. Kincaid, of course. Besides them he +would have liked to get something for Auntie Kate, and possibly Johnnie +and Carter. + +Down town, whither he was allowed to trudge one morning after lessons, +he found bright and gay with the holiday spirit. Every shop window had +its holly and red ribbon; and most proper glittering window displays +appropriate to the season. In front of the grocery stores, stacked up +against the edges of the sidewalks, were rows and rows of Christmas +trees, their branches tied up primly, awaiting purchasers. The sidewalks +were crowded with people, hurrying in and out of the shops, their lips +smiling but their eyes preoccupied. Cutters, sleighs, delivery wagons on +runners, dashed up and down the street to a continued merry jingling of +bells. Slower farmers on sturdy sled runners crept back and forth. A +jolly sun peeked down between the tall buildings. The air was crisp as +frost-ice. + +Bobby wandered down one side the street and back the other, enjoying +hugely the varied scene, stopping to look with a child's sense of +fascination into even the hat-store windows. He made his purchases +circumspectly, and not all on the same day. Only after much hunting of +five- and ten-cent departments, much investigation of relative merits, +did he come to his decision. Then, his mind at rest, he retired to his +own room where he did up extraordinarily clumsy packages with white +string, and laid them away in the bottom of his bureau drawer. + +Three days before Christmas the tree was delivered. Martin and Mr. Orde +installed it in the parlour. First they brought in a wash-tub, then from +its resting place since last year, they hunted out its wooden cover with +the hole in the top. Through the hole the butt of the tree was thrust; +and there it was solid as a church! It was a very nice tree, and its +topmost finger just brushed the ceiling. + +Now Bobby had new occupation which kept him so busy that he had no more +time for coasting. Grandma Orde gave him a spool of stout linen thread, +a thimble, and a long needle with a big eye. Bobby, a pan of cranberries +between his knees, threaded the pretty red spheres in long strings. He +liked to pierce their flesh with the needle, and then to draw them down +the long thread, like beads. The juice of them dyed the thread crimson, +as indeed it also stained Bobby's finger and anything they happened +subsequently to touch. As each long string was completed, Bobby went +into the chilly parlour and reverently festooned it from branch to +branch of the tree. It was astonishing what a festive air the red +imparted to the sombre green. When finally the pan was emptied of +cranberries, it was replenished with popcorn. Bobby unhooked the +long-handled wire popper from its nail in the back entry and set to work +over the open fire. It was great fun to hear the corn explode; and great +fun to keep it shaking and turning until the wire cage was filled to its +capacity with this indoor snow. Once Bobby neglected to fasten the top +securely, and the first miniature explosion blew it open so that the +popcorn deluged into the fire. When the last little cannon--for so Bobby +always imagined them--had uttered its belated voice, Bobby knocked loose +the fastening and poured the white, beautiful corn into the pan. Always +were some kernels which had refused to expand. "Old Maids," Bobby called +them. + +This popcorn, too, was to be strung by needle and thread. It was a +difficult task. The corn was apt to split, or to prove impervious to the +needle. However, the strings were wonderful, like giant snowdrops +shackled together to do honour to the spirit of Christmas. Bobby hung +them also on the branches of the tree. His part of the celebration was +finished. + +Mrs. Orde believed that Christmas excitement should have a full day in +which to expend itself; so Christmas eve offered nothing except a +throbbing anticipation. One old custom, however, was observed as usual. +After supper Mr. Orde seated himself in front of the fire. + +"Get the book, Bobby," said he. + +Bobby had the book all ready. It was a very thin wide book, printed +entirely on linen, in bright colours, and was somewhat cracked and +ragged, as though it had seen much service. Bobby presented this to his +father and climbed on his knee. Mr. Orde opened the book and began to +read that one verse of all verses replete to childhood with the very +essence of this children's season: + + "_'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house + Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. + The stockings all hung by the chimney with care + In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there._" + +As the reading progressed, Bobby thrilled more and more at the +cumulation of the interest. St. Nick's cry to his steeds: + + "_----Now Dolly, now Vixen! + Now Feather! Now, Snowball! Now Dunder and Blitzen!_" + +brought his heart to his mouth with excitement that culminated in that +final surge: + + "_To the top of the house, to the top of the wall, + Now dash away! dash away! dash away, all!_" + +When the reading was finished he sank back with a happy sigh. + +"Now story," said he, and became once more for this evening the little +child of a year back. + +He listened with satisfaction to his father's unvarying Christmas story +of the Good Little Boy who went to bed and slept soundly and awoke to +varied gorgeousness of gifts; and the Bad Little Boy who slipped out and +"hooked" a ride on Santa Claus's very sleigh, and next morning, on +seeing his stocking full congratulated himself that he had been +unobserved; but on opening the stocking beheld a magic ruler that +followed him everywhere he went and spanked him vigorously and +continuously: "Even into the conservatory?" Bobby in his believing +infancy used to ask. "Even into the conservatory," his father would +solemnly reply. + +After the story Bobby had to go to bed. + +"And look out you don't open your eyes if you hear Santa Claus in the +room," warned his mother. "Because if you do, he won't leave you any +presents!" + +Bobby kissed them all and trudged upstairs. He was too old to believe in +Santa Claus. His attitude during the rest of the year was frank +scepticism. Yet when Christmas eve came around, he found that he had +retained just enough faith to be doubtful. It was manifestly impossible +that such a person could exist; and yet there remained the faint chance. +Nobody believes that horseshoes bring luck; and yet we all pick them up. +Bobby resolved, as usual, to stay awake. Once in former years he had +awakened in the dark hours. He had become conscious of a bright and +unusual light in the street, and had hidden his head, fairly convinced +that Santa was passing. Nobody told Bobby that the light was the lantern +on a wagon making late deliveries. To-night he hung his stocking at the +foot of his bed, resolved to see who filled it. The Tree was not to be +unveiled until ten o'clock; and it was ridiculous to expect a small boy +to wait until then without _anything_. Hence the stocking. + +Bobby must have stayed awake an hour. The room gradually became cold. A +dozen times his thoughts began to swell into queer ideas, and as many +times he brought himself back to complete consciousness. Then quite +distinctly he heard the sound of sleighbells, faint and far and +continuous. Bobby's sleepy thoughts resolved about the old question. +This might be Santa. Dared he look? As his faculties cleared, his +common-sense resumed sway. He turned over in bed. Then he found that the +faint far sound was not of sleighbells at all, but of the first steam +singing to itself from the radiator; and that the window was gray; and +in the dim light he could see a dark irregular, humpy stocking depending +from the foot of his bed. He had slept. It was Christmas morning. + +Bobby, broad awake with the shock of the discovery, crept hastily down, +untied the bulging stocking and crawled back to his warm nest. It was +yet too dark to see; but he cuddled it to him, and felt of it all over, +and enjoyed the warmth of his bed in contrast to that momentary +emergence into the outer cold. + +Shortly the light strengthened, however, and the room turned warmer. +Bobby reached for his dressing gown. + +From the top of the stocking projected two fat, red and white striped +candy canes with curved ends. These, of course, Bobby drew out carefully +and laid aside. He knew by former experiences that one was flavoured +with wintergreen, the other with peppermint. They were not to be sampled +"between meals." Next came something hard and very cold. Bobby dragged +forth a pair of skates. They were shining and beautiful, and when Bobby, +with the knowledge of the expert, went hastily into details, he found +them all heart could wish for. No effeminate straps about these! but +toe-clamps to tighten with a key and a projecting heel lock to insert in +a metal socket in the boot's heel. This was the _pièce de résistance_ of +the stocking. Bobby felt perfunctorily along the outside to assure +himself that the usual two oranges and the dollar in the toe were in +place; then returned to gloat over his skates. He wanted to use them +that very day; but realized the heel plates must be fitted to his boots +first. After a few moments he stuffed the skates back into the stocking, +put on his bedroom knit slippers, and stole shivering down the steep, +creaking stairs. The door to his parents' room stood slightly ajar. He +pushed it open cautiously and peered in. The blinds were drawn, and the +room was very dim, so Bobby could make out only the dark shape of the +great four-poster bed, and could not tell whether or not his father and +mother still slept. For a long time he hesitated, shifting uneasily from +one foot to the other. Then he ventured, only just above a whisper. + +"Merry Christmas!" said he, a little breathlessly. + +But instantly he was reassured. There came a stir of bed-clothes from +the four-poster. + +"Merry Christmas, dear!" answered Mrs. Orde. + +"Merry Christmas! Caught us, you little rascal, didn't you?" came in his +father's voice. + +With a gurgle of delight, Bobby, clasping his stocking, ran and leaped +at one bound into the soft coverlet. There he perched happily and told +of his skates. + +"Suppose you open the blinds and show them," suggested Mr. Orde. + +Bobby did so. Mr. Orde examined the skates with the eye of a +connoisseur. + +"Seems to me Santa Claus has been pretty good to you," said he finally. + +"Yes, sir," said Bobby. For the time being, under the glamour of the +day, he wanted to believe in Santa Claus. Doubts had cold comfort, for +they were shut entirely outside the doors of his mind. + +But before long it was time to get up. Bobby pattered across the room +and down the hall to the head of the stairs. Outside Grandma Orde's room +he paused. + +"Merry Christmas, grandma!" he called. + +"Merry Christmas, Bobby!" replied Grandma Orde promptly. + +"Merry Christmas, grandpa!" repeated Bobby. + +"Grandpa isn't here," replied Grandma. + +And on his way back to his own room Bobby found Grandpa; or rather +Grandpa surprised him by springing on him suddenly from behind the +corner with a shout of "Merry Christmas!" Grandpa had been waiting there +for ten minutes, and was as pleased as a child at having caught Bobby. + +The latter dressed and went hunting for other game. Mrs. Fox was an easy +victim. Amanda he stalked most elaborately, ducking below the chairs and +tables, exercising the utmost strategy to approach behind her broad +back. Apparently his caution succeeded to admiration. Amanda went on +peeling apples, quite oblivious. And then, just as he was about to +spring upon her from the rear, she remarked, in an ordinary tone of +voice and without moving her head: + +"Merry Christmas, ye young imp! I know you're there!" + +This was a disappointment; but Bobby bagged Martin by hiding in the +storehouse; and Duke was too easy. + +After breakfast came the inevitable delay during which Bobby sat and +eyed the parlour doors. Mr. Orde slipped in and out of them several +times. Martin, too, entered on some mysterious errand regarding the +heating. Finally everything was pronounced in readiness. All the family +but Bobby went into the parlour. Suddenly both doors were thrown back at +once. Bobby stood face to face with the Tree. + +It stood, glittering and glorious, set like a jewel in the velvet of the +darkened room. Only the illumination of its own many little candles cast +radiance on its decorations and the parcels hung from its branches and +piled beneath, and dimly on the half-visible circle of the family +sitting motionless as though part of a spectacle. + +Bobby drew a deep breath and entered. What a changed tree from the one +he had hung with cranberries and popcorn the day before! The cranberries +and popcorn were still there; but in addition were glittering balls, and +strings of silver, and coloured glass bells, and candy birds and angels +with spun-glass wings, and clouds of gold and silver tinsel and +cornucopias, and candy in bags of pink net, and dozens of lighted +candles, and on the very top the great silver Star of Bethlehem. + +Most of the gifts were wrapped in paper and tied with green and red +ribbon. Two or three, however, were too large for this treatment, and +stood exposed to view. Bobby could not help seeing a sled--a real +sled--painted red. He declined, however, to see another larger article +quite on the other side the tree. By a perversity of will he thrust it +entirely out of his head, as though it did not exist, unwilling to spoil +the effect of its final realization. + +For a full minute Bobby stood in the centre of the stage, his sturdy +legs spread apart, his hands clasped tight behind him, his eyes blinking +at the splendour. Finally he sighed. + +"My, that tree's just--just--_scrumptious!_" he breathed. + +The interest that had held the circle of elders silent and motionless, +like a mechanical setting for the tree, broke in a laugh. Mr. Orde +arose. + +"Well, let's see what we have," said he. + +He advanced and picked up a package. + +"'For Grandma Orde from her loving daughter,'" he read the inscription. +"Here you are, grandma. First blood!" + +Rapidly the distribution went forward. Cries of delight, of surprise +and of thanks, the rustle of many wrapping papers filled the air. Around +each member of the family these papers, tossed carelessly aside in the +impatience of the moment, accumulated knee-deep. The servants, very +clean and proper in their Sunday best, stood in a constrained group near +the door, holding their gifts, still wrapped, awkwardly in their hands. + +Bobby for a few moments was kept very busy acting as messenger. By +custom his was the hand to deliver to the servants their packages. Then +grown-up excitement lulled, and he had time to gloat over his own +formidable pile. + +The sled he at once turned over. Glory! Its runners were of the +round-spring variety--the very best. They were dull blue and unpolished +as yet, of course; but that fact was merely an incentive to much +coasting. Another knife filled his heart with joy! for naturally the +birthday knife was broken-bladed by now. A large square package proved +to contain a model steam engine with a brass boiler and what looked like +a lead cylinder; its furnace was a small alcohol lamp. Seven or eight +books of varying interest, another pair of knit socks from Auntie Kate, +a half-dozen big glass marbles, a box of tin soldiers completed the +miscellaneous list. A fat, round, soft package, when opened, disclosed a +set of boxing-gloves. + +"Now you and Johnny can have it out," observed Mr. Orde. + +Another square package held two volumes from Mr. Kincaid. They were +thick volumes with pleasant smelling red leather covers on which were +stamped in gold the name and the figure of a man in very old-fashioned +garments aiming a very old-fashioned fowling-piece at something outside +of and higher than the book. "Frank Forrester's Sporting Scenes and +Characters: The Warwick Woodlands" spelled Bobby. He lingered a moment +or so over the fat red volumes. + +Each of the servants contributed to Bobby's array; for they liked Bobby +and his frank manly ways. Martin gave a red silk handkerchief whose +borders showed a row of horses' heads looking out of mammoth horseshoes. +Amanda presented him with a pink china cup-and-saucer on which were +scattered bright green flowers. Mrs. Fox's offering was, +characteristically, a net-work bag for carrying school books. + +The Christmas tree was stripped of everything but its decorations. Even +some of the candles had burned dangerously low and had been +extinguished. The servants had slipped away. + +"Here, youngster," admonished Mr. Orde, "aren't you going to get all +your presents? You haven't looked behind the tree yet." + +And then at last Bobby permitted himself to see that of which he had +been aware all the time; but which, by an effort of the will he had made +temporarily as unreal to himself as St Paul's in London. Behind the +tree, furnished, repainted, wonderful, to be reverenced, stood high and +haughty the self-inking, double roller, 5 x 7 printing press! + +"What do you say to that?" cried Mr. Orde. + +But Bobby had nothing to say to that. He was too overwhelmed. He +approached and pulled down the long lever. Immediately, as the platen +closed, the two rollers rose smoothly across the form and over the round +ink-plate, which at the same time made a quarter-revolution. At the nice +adjustment and correlation of these forces Bobby gave a cry of +admiration. + +"Look in the drawers," advised his father. + +The little boy pulled open one after another the shallow drawers in the +stand to which the press was fastened. Some were filled with leads and +quoins and blocks. Some were regular type-cases, plenished with +glittering new fonts all distributed. One contained a small composing +stone, a cleaning brush, a composing stick, a pair of narrow-pointed +pliers, a mallet and planer. Everything was complete. + +"Don't you think Auntie Kate was pretty good to a little boy I know?" +asked Mrs. Orde. + +"Did Auntie Kate give me all this?" asked Bobby. + +"She certainly did," replied his mother. + +Now the family, bearing each his presents, moved into the sitting room +to give Mrs. Fox and Martin a chance to clean up the débris. Bobby +arranged his things on the sofa. Suddenly there came to him the uneasy +feeling of having reached the end. He had mounted above the first joy +and surprise and anticipation. It was all comprehended; nothing more was +to follow. Novelty had evaporated, like the volatile essence it is; and +Bobby had not as yet entered the fuller enjoyment of use. He could not +calm to the point of doing more than glance restlessly through the +books; he had not recovered sufficiently from his morning excitement to +settle down making his engine go, or to trying his press, or to playing +with any of his new toys. There descended upon him that peculiar and +temporary sense of emptiness, which, being revealed by youngsters and +misunderstood by elders, often brings down on its victim the unjust +accusation of ingratitude. + +Luckily Bobby was not long left to his own devices. A wild whoop from +outside summoned him to the window; and what he saw therefrom caused him +to jump as quickly as he could into his out-door garments. + +By the horse-block stood a very black and very chubby pony. It wore a +beautiful brass-mounted harness, atop its head perched a wonderful red +and white pompon, to it was hitched a low, one-seated sleigh on the +Russian pattern, with high grilled dash, and two impressive red and +white horse-hair plumes. In this rig-in-miniature sat Johnny English, a +broad grin on his face. + +"Look what I got for Christmas!" he cried to Bobby. "Jump in and have a +ride!" + +Bobby jumped in, and they drove away. The pony trotted very busily with +more appearance of speed than actual swiftness. The little sleigh, being +low to the ground, emphasized this illusion; so that the two small boys +had all the exhilaration of tearing along at a racing gait. + +"This is great!" cried Bobby. "What else did you get?" + +"Yes, and there's a two-wheeled cart for summer," said Johnny; "and when +you slide the seat forward a little and let down the back, it makes +another seat. I'll show you when we go back." + +Shortly they decided to do this. Johnny attempted to turn in his tracks, +as he had seen cutters do on the Avenue. But here the snow was not +packed flat, as it is on the thoroughfare, so that when the twisting was +applied one runner promptly left earth, and the whole sleigh canted +dangerously. A moment later, however, in response to the frantic +counterbalancing of two frightened small boys and the sensible coming to +a halt of the fuzzy pony, it sank back to solidity. + +"Gee!" breathed Johnny, wide-eyed, "That was a close squeak!" + +They turned more cautiously, and in a wide circle, and jingled away +toward home. It might be mentioned that the bells were not strung as a +belt to encircle the pony, but were attached below to the underside of +the thills in such a manner as to contribute chimes. + +"What's his name?" asked Bobby, referring to the pony. + +"He hasn't any. I got to name him." + +"I knew a very nice horse once. His name was Bucephalus," remarked Bobby +tentatively. + +"I tell you!" cried Johnny, who had not been listening. "I'll name him +Bobby, after you!" + +"Oh!" cried that young man. "Will you?" He gazed at the pony with new +respect. + +"It'll mix things up a little, though, won't it?" reflected Johnny. "I +tell you. We'll call him Bobby Junior. How's that?" + +"That's fine!" agreed Bobby gravely. + +In the dead cold air of the Englishes' barn, which was situated in an +alley-way, the block above their house, Bobby and Johnny examined the +cart, admired its glossy newness, and, under the coachman's +instructions, experimented with the sliding seat. They took a peek +through the folding door into the stable where stood the haughty horses. +These, still chewing, slightly turned their heads and rolled their fine +eyes back at the intruders, then, with a high-headed indifference, +returned to their hay. After this the boys scuttled into the small, +overheated "office" with its smell of leather and tobacco and harness +soap; with its coloured prints of horses, and its shining harness behind +the glass doors; with its cushioned wooden armchairs, its sawdust box +and its round hot stove with the soap-stones heating atop. Here they +toasted through and through; then clumped stiffly down to the Englishes' +house, where Johnny exhibited his other presents. They were varied, +numerous and expensive. Bobby's Christmas was as dear to him as ever; +but it no longer filled the sky. Another and higher mountain had lifted +itself beyond his ranges. The eagerness to exhibit triumphantly to +Johnny which, up to this moment, he had with difficulty restrained, was +suddenly dashed. It hardly seemed worth while. + +"Come over and see my things," he suggested without much enthusiasm. + +"It's dinner time now, Bobby," objected Mrs. English, who had just come +in. "After dinner." + +"All right; after dinner, then," agreed Bobby. "Bring Caroline," he +added as an after-thought. + +That demure damsel had also her array of presents, of which she seemed +very proud, but which did not interest Bobby in the slightest. They +seemed to be silver-handled scissors, and pincushions, and embroidered +handkerchief-holders and similar rubbish. + +But when Johnny--without Caroline--appeared shortly after the elaborate +Christmas dinner the production of which constituted Grandma Orde's +chief delight in the day, Bobby's enthusiasm returned. Johnny went wild +over the printing press. Experience with the toy press had given him a +basis of comparison. + +"My!" he ejaculated at last, "I believe I'd rather have this than Bobby +Junior! + +"Now," continued Johnny, "we can get all sorts of orders. I'll ask papa +about envelopes and letter-heads this evening." + + + + +XIX + +THE BOXING MATCH + + +Early after breakfast next morning appeared Johnny. + +"I asked Papa about envelopes. He says he won't give us an order until +he sees samples of the type and the work, but he says if we can do it as +well as the regular printer, he doesn't mind giving us an order for a +thousand. Here's one." + +The boys ascended at once to Bobby's room. Investigation of the fonts +showed that the firm possessed the proper type. Bobby set up the matter +in the composing stick--and promptly pied it when he attempted to move +it to the chase. He had forgotten to put a lead in first, so there was +nothing to bind the top line. Redistribution and rectification of the +error were in order. It took a good half-hour to get the type properly +arranged in the chase. When single letters did not drop through from the +middle, the ends of the lines fell away, and then, try as they would, +the boys were unable to lock the stickful in the chase. Either it would +not bind, or it warped out or in so that even without trial it could be +seen that a clear impression was manifestly impossible. These and other +mechanical difficulties occupied them until noon. Johnny was wild-eyed +and nervous. + +"Why, we haven't even started to print!" he cried, "We'll never get a +job done at this rate! I don't believe the old press is any good, +anyhow!" + +"Yes, it is," insisted Bobby doggedly. "We'll get it yet." + +He hardly finished his lunch, so eager was he to be back at the problem. +Johnny did not come until after two o'clock, and then stood his hands in +his pockets, surveying his absorbed partner with some disgust. + +"Well," said he, "is the old thing working yet?" + +Bobby looked up absorbedly. + +"She's going to in just a second--you wait," he muttered. + +A moment later he lifted the locked form in triumph. It held together +and it was flat. Immediately Johnny's nearly extinct enthusiasm flamed +up. + +"Stick her in!" he cried. "Come on, we can show Papa a sample to-night. +How many an hour do you suppose we can print on her, Bobby?" + +"I don't know," replied Bobby. + +They inserted the form, slipped a blank envelope in the corner and were +ready for the first trial. + +"It won't be even on the paper," said Bobby, "but we can fix that +later." + +He pulled down and back the long lever and the two heads bumped together +over the result. One side of the legend was very heavy and black and +clear, but the other was almost invisible. + +"Oh, snakes!" cried Johnny in disappointment. + +"Oh, that's all right," reasoned Bobby out of his experience with the +toy press. "All it needs is paper underneath." + +But paper underneath proved inadequate. It was impossible with paper to +establish the nice gradation necessary to equalize the pressure. And +then, also, too much paper made too deep an impression. + +At the failure of this tried expedient even Bobby's patience ran short +for the time being. + +"Come on over to my house," suggested Johnny crossly. "The crowd's +coming. I got boxing gloves for Christmas too, but I bet they're no good +either. I bet they rip first thing." + +Sore at heart and in glum silence the two marched around the corner to +the Englishes'. + +Here already in the cold third story were Grace Jones and Martin Drake, +skipping about in a game of hop-scotch to keep warm. Shortly May and +Carter arrived together and Caroline ascended from her own room where +she had been sewing. At sight of the boxing gloves May and Morton set up +a shout. + +"Nope," vetoed Johnny, "Bobby and I are going to try them first!" + +The youngsters were at first a little awkward with the unusual-sized +fists, but soon forgot a detail as trivial as that. Neither knew the +first principles of hitting. Round-arm blows with the head lowered were +first choice, of which a good ninety per cent. went wild. The other ten +naturally had little force, but there was a great deal of action. In +this game Bobby stood no disadvantage with Johnny. After the first few +seconds, finding himself, to his surprise, still unhurt, he sailed in +with some confidence. Accidently Johnny ran square against his extended +fist. It jarred Johnny considerably, and made that youth exceedingly +eager to get even. Shortly he succeeded. The pair warmed up. Affairs +began to get serious. In a brisk though wild rally they clinched, and in +a moment were rolling over and over on the floor, pummelling vigorously. + +But immediately Carter jerked them apart. + +"Here, that's no way to box. Keep your feet. Here, May, give us a little +help." + +They pulled the contestants to their feet. Johnny and Bobby were very +mussed up and dusty. Johnny's nose was bleeding slightly; Bobby's eye +was a trifle swelled. The instant their captors released them, they went +at it again, hammer and tongs. They were certainly not angry as enemies +are angry, but as certainly for the time being, in the sense that each +was grimly resolved on victory, they had ceased to be friends. + +How long the combat might have lasted it would be impossible to say. +Bobby had never before used his fists, while the aggressive Johnny, at +public school, was the hero of many fights. But as long as Carter +insisted on no rough-and-tumble this fact gave the elder boy little +advantage. The damage that two light-weights can inflict on each other +with round-arm blows is inconsiderable, and Bobby was of the sort that +punishment merely renders obstinate. Probably sheer lack of breath would +in time have called the battle a draw, but all at once Bobby had an +idea. So illuminating and sudden was it that for an instant he forgot +what he was doing. Johnny closed on him like a tiger beating him with +both fists as hard as he could hit. Even then Bobby's thought was not of +defence but of explanation. + +"Hold on! hold on! quit!" he kept on crying in expostulation. "Wait a +minute! I got it!" + +It is doubtful if Johnny heard him. Before Carter and May could stop him +he had inflicted more damage than the rest of the fight had produced. +Bobby's nose too was bleeding, and a huge red bump was swelling on his +forehead when finally he was freed. + +However, he was not even aware of those trifles. + +"Don't you know those two screws--" he began eagerly to Johnny. + +But that young gentleman, panting, was not yet emerged from the red haze +of combat. + +"I licked!" he cried. "Didn't I lick? He quit! He hollered 'nuff, didn't +he? I licked the stuffing out of him!" + +"O shut up!" said May contemptuously; "or I'll lick the stuffing out of +you." + +Bobby, practically oblivious to the meaning of this exchange, had +stripped off his gloves and had advanced, eager to finish his +explanation. + +"Johnny, I just thought!" said he. "You remember those two thumb screws +under the platen? I bet you if you turn those, they'll regulate the +pressure. Let's go over and try it!" + +Johnny looked at Bobby uncertainly. He drew a deep breath, then his +round, cheerful grin broke over his face. + +"I guess I didn't lick you after all, old socks," said he. "I don't know +what you're talking about. Go on try your old press. I'm sick of her." + +Bobby washed his bruised face and went home. Sure enough, the thumb +screws did regulate the pressure. Within a half-hour he was back at the +Englishes'. The boxing gloves were still in commission. Morton was +dancing around and around May, slapping her with his open glove first on +one side the face, then on the other. The girl, in spite of her +strength, agility and superior age was as awkward as are most girls at +hitting with their fists. She made short angry rushes at the dodging +Morton who slipped easily in and out of her guard. He was getting even +for a long tyranny. Finally May stopped short and stamped her foot with +vexation. Her face was very red and she actually had tears in her eyes. + +"Oh!" she cried. "You wait 'till I get hold of you, you miserable little +thing!" + +At that the boxing ended. Bobby drew Johnny one side. "Look there!" said +he with pardonable pride. "Show that to your papa. I bet he can't tell +it from the regular printers. Look out; it's wet yet." + +Johnny gazed with awe on the perfect production. The next instant all +his dead enthusiasm leaped to life. + +"I bet we can print the whole thousand in one morning!" he cried +gleefully, "And then there's the letter-heads, and bill-heads and May's +cards--and perhaps your father and Carter's will give us jobs--and--" + +They clattered down the stairs to the tune of Johnny's business +expansions. + + + + +XX + +THE PARTNERS + + +The thousand envelopes were printed and delivered. Mr. English expressed +himself as entirely satisfied, and allowed the new firm to experiment on +bill heads. Mr. Orde promised an order of more envelopes when these were +finished. + +Johnny's commercial instincts were thoroughly aroused. He saw visions of +wealth beyond the dreams of wood-box-filling or street-sprinkling with +the garden hose in summer. In that community even Johnny English had to +earn his own pocket money. Bobby, too, entered into the game with +enthusiasm--for over a week. Then he grew tired of the mechanical +repetition of that which he had acquired so painfully. It no longer +interested him to set the type, to lock the form, to ink and clean the +ink plates. He had carried these things to their last refinement of +skill. As for the actual printing--the endless insetting of paper, +pulling down on the lever, removing the paper--this he could no longer +stand for more than half an hour at a time. Then a deep lethargy seized +his every faculty. His mind sank to stupor. Time no longer possessed +dimensions, but blew into a vast Present which was never going to cease. +If he kept at it a half-hour after this condition manifested itself he +emerged from the ordeal as tired and sleepy as though he had undergone +hard physical labour. It was more than mere boredom; it was a revolt of +the soul. + +At first his loyalty to the firm and his sense of duty drove him on. +Then gradually he relinquished the printing to Johnny. That young man +could cheerfully have stuck to the press twelve hours a day, if he had +been permitted. Each printed bit of paper laid aside on the growing pile +to his left represented just that much more pocket money. + +So, strangely enough, the relative position of the two boys toward the +work in hand was reversed. At first, when the mechanical difficulties +seemed insurmountable, Bobby's perseverance had been inexhaustible, +while Johnny was a dozen times inclined to let the whole problem go +smash. Now, when the task of feeding into the press the thousand +necessary to fill orders seemed endless, Johnny's patience rose more +than adequate to the occasion, while Bobby's spirit shrank at the mere +size of it. + +Finally matters adjusted themselves so that Bobby saw to the alignment, +the perfection of the impression, all the rest of getting ready; then +Johnny took hold. + +But one day Bobby, walking glumly over to the composing stone, suggested +something new. + +"Let's start a newspaper," said he. + +The clang of the press came to an abrupt stop. + +"Let's start a newspaper," he repeated. "We've got enough pica to print +one page at a time." + +Rashly Johnny agreed. All went well until it came time to print the +sheet. Eighteen subscribers were secured at five cents a copy. Johnny +and Bobby wrote the entire number between them. Bobby set it up, +happily. Johnny, also happily, turned out certain letter-heads at the +press. Then came time to print. And at that moment trouble began. + +The first copy was legible but smudgy. Bobby was not satisfied and +attempted improvement, most of which, so far from improving, gave cause +for fresh defects. Johnny was standing about impatiently. + +"Come on," said he at last, "that's good enough. They can read it, all +right, and those few letters don't matter. Let it go at that." + +But Bobby shook his head and carried the form back to the composing +stone. + +Four days he worked over the first page of the _Weekly Eagle_. Johnny +expostulated, stormed, pleaded with tears in his eyes. + +"Let's let the whole thing slide," he begged. "All we get out of it +anyway is less'n a dollar and think of all the time we're wasting. That +job for Mr. Fowler isn't all done, and Smith's Meat Market is going to +order some bill-heads." + +But Bobby was obstinate. Finally Johnny, in disgust, left him to his own +devices. + +The world for Bobby contained but one thing. His recollections of that +time are of a flaring gas jet and the smell of printer's ink. He won +finally and duly delivered the eighteen copies--letter-perfect. Probably +five hundred other and imperfect examples of the _Weekly Eagle_ found +their way into the furnace. + +Johnny plucked up heart and returned, only to find that the printing +press question was dead as far as Bobby was concerned. + +"I'm sick of printing," was all Bobby would say, and no argument as to +unexploited wealth could move him. The subject had not only lost +interest, but mere casual thought of its details brought on a faint +repetition of the mental lethargy. The sight of the press and its varied +appurtenances threw his mind into the defensive blank coma which +rendered him incapable of the simplest intellectual effort. This was +something as outside Bobby's control as the beating of his heart. He did +not understand it, nor attempt to analyze it. + +"I'm sick of it," said he; just as after the labour of building a fort +in Monrovia, he had with the same remark deserted his companions on the +threshold of its enjoyment. + +Bobby thought he exercised a choice when he turned from printing, just +as he chose whether to walk on the right or on the left side of the +street. In reality it would have been impossible for him to re-enter his +interest, his enthusiasm; impossible even for him to have accomplished +the mechanical labour of the trade save at an utterly disproportionate +expense of nervous energy. + +Bobby did not know this; of course, Johnny was not capable of such +analysis. The only human being who might have understood and worked in +correction of the tendency, read the affair amiss. Mrs. Orde was only +too glad to get Bobby into the open air again, and saw in his +abandonment of this feverish enthusiasm only cause for rejoicing. + +So Bobby threw his friend into despair by declining to go on with a +flourishing business. "Bime by," said he. "I'm sick of it, now." As a +matter of fact he never touched the printing press again. His parents +deplored the useless waste of a large amount of money and drew the usual +conclusion that it is foolish to buy children expensive things. No doubt +from that standpoint the affair was deplorable; yet there is this to be +noted, that Bobby's enthusiasm blew out only after he had thought all +around the subject, back front, bottom and sides. He knew that printing +press theoretically and practically and all it could do. As long as it +withheld the smallest secret Bobby clung to it, his soul at white heat. +But the repetition and again the repetition of what he had learned +thoroughly struck cold his every higher faculty. He shrugged it all from +him, and turned with unabated freshness his inquiring child's eyes to +what new the world had to offer him. + + + + +XXI + +WINTER + + +After the collapse of the printing business Bobby and Johnny turned to +Bobby Junior and the little sleigh. They drove often, far into the +country. It was the dead of winter. The country was wide and still and +white. Against the prevailing note of the snow the patches of woods +showed almost black. The landscape looked strangely flattened out, and +bereft of life. Nevertheless that impression was false, for the little +sleigh climbed and dipped over many hills and hollows; and the boys were +continually seeing living things and their indications. Tracks of small +animals embroidered the snow. Strange tame birds hopped here and there +or rose and swept down wind with plaintive pipings that, in spite of +their lack of fear, lent them a spirit of wildness akin to the aloof +savaging of winter winds in bared trees. Bobby and Johnny recognized the +snow buntings, tossing in compact big companies like flakes in a +whirlwind, the unsoiled white effect of their plumage shaming the snow. +Besides these were little red-polls, dressed warmly in magenta and brown +for the winter, hopping and clinging among the seed-weeds exposed by the +breezes; and hardy, impudent, harsh-voiced blue-jays, cloaking much +villany and cunning under wondrous suits of clothes; and trim, neat +cedar wax-wings, perching on elevated twigs, always apparently at +leisure; in the woods, whole bands of chickadees and nuthatches, +cruising it cheerfully, calling to each other in their varied notes, +tiny atoms defying all the cold and famine Old Winter could bring. Once +they were vastly excited to catch sight of a hoary, wide-winged monster +sweeping like a ghost close to the snow. They surmised it might be a +Great Snow Owl, like the stuffed one in the English library, but they +never knew. And again, in some trees alongside the road, they came upon +a large flock of stocky-built birds, a little smaller than robins, so +tame that the boys drove beneath them and could see their thick bills, +and the marvellous clarity of the sunset yellow of their heads, shading +to twilight down their backs, to black night on their wings, barred by a +strip of clear white moonlight. They agreed that these were most +unusual-looking creatures. How unusual any naturalist would have been +glad to tell them; for these were that great and prized rarity, the +Evening Grosbeak. So, too, in the pine woods they were showered by bits +of cones, and looked aloft to make out a distant little bird busily +engaged in tearing the cones to pieces. They laughed at his industry, +but would have been immensely interested could they have examined at +close hand the Crossbill's beak and its singular adaption to just this +task. And of course they remarked the stately deliberate-looking prints +of the grouse; and the herded tramping of the quail. The winter was +populous enough, in spite of its rigour. Some of its many creatures the +boys knew; many more they did not; but you may be sure they saw all that +did not exercise the closest circumspection. + +For miles about, the little sleigh explored the country: main-road, worn +smooth by countless farmer-sleighs; by-roads, through which the pony had +to wallow belly-deep, making a new track. Not the mere pleasure of +driving lured them out--that amounted to little after the week of +novelty--but something of the spirit of exploration was in it. Duke +always accompanied them, plunging powerfully through the deepest drifts, +exulting in the snow, rolling in it, frisking in it in all directions, +racing down the road and back, glad to be alive and warm this freezing +weather. One day in a patch of woods he came to an abrupt halt. The +boys, watching, saw his eye fixed, his upper lip snarl back the least in +the world, his tail stiffen except at its quivering tip, his whole body +lengthen and half-crouch and turn rigid. And as the sleigh wallowed near +him, suddenly, with an immense scattering of snow and a startling roar, +an old cock-partridge burst from beneath the surface of the snow and +hurtled away through the frozen trees. + +Some days when the wind blew keen and sharp as knives across the broad +reaches, it was almost impossible for the boys to keep warm. The heated +soap-stone wrapped up at their feet, the warm buffalo robes under and +over them, their thick overcoats and fur caps alike proved inadequate. +Then one took his turn at driving, while the other crouched entirely +covered beneath the robes. The wind drove the hard, sparse flakes from +the low leaden sky like so many needles against the driver's face, +filling his eyes with tears, causing his skin to glow and smart. Even in +this was a certain joy and adventure. But again the sun would shine, the +bells jingle louder in the clarified air. Probably, however, the boys +liked best of all the warm, still snowstorms, when all the world was +muffled in the shoes of silence; when nature held her finger on hushed +lips; when deliberately, without haste the great white flakes zigzagged +down from the soft gray above, obscuring and softening the landscape, +rendering dear and mysterious the commonest things. Then sounds came, +subdued as in a sanctuary, and people approaching showed portentous as +through a mist, and the boys, looking upward, caught big wet flakes on +their lashes as they tried in vain to determine the point at which the +snowflakes became visible. There existed no such point. The snowflakes +did not approach as other things approach, beginning small with +distance, and becoming larger as they neared. They flashed into sight +full-grown. It was as though they had fallen wrapped in invisibility +until the great Magician had uttered the word. That was Bobby's secret +thought, which he told nobody. Often he imagined he could hear the word +repeated all about him, _presto! presto! presto! presto!_ like the +distant hushed falling of waters. And as the charm was said, he, looking +skyward, could see the big soft flakes flash into view out of nothing. + + + + +XXII + +THE MURDER + + +So successful did the friendship between the two boys turn out to be +that next autumn Johnny English was invited to visit the Ordes at +Monrovia. He accepted very promptly, and, as the distance was short, +brought with him the cart and pony. The country around Monrovia was very +interesting to them. Riverland, marshland, swampland, shore and meadow, +all offered themselves in the most diversified forms. The sandy roads +wound over the hills, down the ravines, along the corduroys and +float-bridges. Life was varied. The boys, armed with their Flobert +rifle, wandered far afield. + +They did not get very much, it is true, but they popped away steadily, +and did a grand amount of sneaking and looking. And they managed first +and last to see a great deal. In the snipe marshes they knew when the +first flight dropped in--and murdered a killdeer as he stood. Out in the +sloughs they marked the earnest red-heads from the north--and +accomplished two mud-hens, a ruddy duck, and a dozen blackbirds. In the +uplands they knew almost to a feather how many partridge each thicket +had bred; to a covey where the quail used; and once in a great while, by +strategy on their own side and foolishness on the part of the quarry, +they caught one sitting and brought it down. What is quite as much to +the point, they felt the season as it changed. The gradual +transformation from the green of summer to the brown and lilac of late +autumn, the low swinging of the sun, the mellowing of the days, the +broad-hung curtain of sweet smoke-breeze, the hushing of the vital +forces of the world in anticipation of winter--all these passed near +them and, passing, touched their eyes. They were too busy to notice such +things consciously, however. The influence sank deep and became part of +the permanent background against which their lives were to be thrown. + +At first some doubt was expressed as to the wisdom of that Flobert +rifle. To turn two small boys loose with a deadly weapon seemed to Mrs. +Orde a rather strong temptation of Providence. Mr. Kincaid spoke for +them. In the end it was decided, though with many misgivings and more +admonitions. + +"Keep the muzzle pointed up; never get excited; never shoot at anything +unless you _know_ what it is," was Mr. Kincaid's summing up. + +These three precepts were so constantly impressed that to the boys their +practice ended by becoming second nature. + +"It's not only dangerous to do these things," said Mr. Kincaid, "but +it's a sure sign of a greenhorn. A man ought to be deadly ashamed to +confess himself such an all-round dub." + +Toward the end of the fall, and nearing Thanksgiving, the boys drove +Bobby Junior out the old east road. After a time they turned off into a +by-way deep with sand. It ended. They hitched the placid Bobby Junior to +the top rail of a "snake-fence" climbed it, and headed toward a +scrub-oak and popple thicket thrown like a blanket over the long slope +of a hill. They walked cautiously, for by experience they had learned +that at the very edge, and in the lea of an old burned log, it was +possible a fine big cock-partridge might be sunning himself. The +popples, shining silvery, were almost bare of leaves, but the scrub oaks +clung tenaciously to a crackling umber-brown foliage. It was now near +the close of the afternoon. The game bag was empty. Both boys trod on +eggs, scrutinizing every inch of the ground before them. + +"It's too late for 'em," whispered Bobby in discouragement. "There's not +enough sun. They've gone in to feed." + +But Johnnie seized his arm. + +"There," he breathed, "See him! He's sitting in that little scrub +oak--just to the left of the stub." + +Bobby peered along his friend's arm. After a moment he made out a +mottled spot of brown. + +"I see him," said he, cocking his rifle. "It's his breast. I wish I +could get at his head." + +"He'll be gone in a minute!" warned Johnny. + +It was Bobby's turn to shoot. He raised his weapon, aimed carefully, and +pressed the trigger. + +Immediately the thicket broke into a tremendous commotion. A scurrying +of leaves, a brief exclamation of pain, a brown cap whirling through the +air--and both boys turned and ran, ran as hard as they could up the hill +until sheer lack of breath brought them to the ground. They stared at +each other with frightened eyes from faces chalky white. + +"We've killed somebody!" gasped Johnny. + +They clung to each other trembling with the horror of it, utterly unable +to gather their faculties. This was just what so often both had been +cautioned against--the shooting without seeing clearly the object of +aim. To the shock of a catastrophe they had to add the sinking remorse +over warnings disobeyed. + +"What are we going to do?" chattered Johnny at last. + +"We got to go down and see----" + +"I daresn't" confessed Johnny miserably. + +"Do you suppose he's dead?" + +"They'll probably put us in jail." + +"Come on," said Bobby at last. + +They arose, very giddy and uncertain on their feet. For the first time +they forced themselves to look at the copse lying below them. + +"Oh!" breathed Johnny, "Look!" + +Below them on the farther edge of the copse, and over a quarter of a +mile away, they saw Mr. Kincaid. He was bareheaded. Curly was with him. +The man was trying to send the water spaniel into the copse. Curly +pretended that he wanted to play, and did not in the least understand +what it was all about. He capered joyously around Mr. Kincaid's +outstretched arm; he pressed his chest to the earth and uttered short +barks; he chased madly around in circles, but he did not enter the +copse, which was plainly his master's desire. Finally Mr. Kincaid gave +it up and departed over the brow of the next hill. + +And while this little by-play was going on two small boys above him felt +the warmth of life flowing back into their frozen souls. The blood +returned to their lips, their thumping hearts calmed, all the blessed +joy and sunshine and freedom of the world flooded in a return tide of +blessed relief. + +"Gee," said Johnny, "I'm never going hunting again! Never any more! +Never!" + +"You bet I'm going to be careful after this," said Bobby. "My, but I'm +glad!" + +"I wonder why he didn't pick up his cap?" wondered Johnny. + +"Perhaps he had it in his hand." + +The boys drove home ringing the changes on a thousand new resolutions of +caution. + +"It's a good lesson to us," said Bobby by way of reminiscent philosophy +often heard before. + +They put Bobby Junior into the barn, cleaned the Flobert, changed their +hunting clothes, and answered with alacrity the summons to the dining +room. After they were well started with the meal, Mr. Orde came in and +sat down. He nodded abstractedly, and had little to say. The boys were +too far down in remorse to care to bring up any of the subjects near +their hearts. Finally Mrs. Orde remarked this general depression. + +"I must say you're a cheerful lot of men folks," said she. "What is it? +Business?" She smiled at the boys in raillery at the idea. But she could +not cheer them up. As soon as the meal was over Mr. Orde dismissed the +boys. + +"Run along now," said he briefly; "I want to talk." + +They climbed the stairs to Bobby's room, and sat down glumly on the +floor. Reaction was strong, and they had both fallen into aimless +doldrums of spirit. Suddenly Bobby sat up straight at attention. + +The Orde house was provided with old-fashioned hot-air registers. When +the registers happened all to be open, they constituted most excellent +speaking-tubes. Thus, without intention of deliberate eavesdropping, +Bobby and his friend became aware of the following conversation. + +"What's the matter, Jack? Anything wrong at the office or on the River?" + +Mr. Orde sighed deeply. + +"Oh, no. Everything's snug as a bug in a rug, sweetheart," said he. "But +I'm bothered a lot. A dreadful thing happened to-day. You know that +popple thicket out at Pritchard's place?" + +Both boys froze into horrified attention. + +"Yes." + +"Well, just before dusk Pritchard was found dead near the east end of +it." + +"Why, how did that happen?" cried Mrs. Ode. + +The boys stole a look at each other. + +"He had been murdered." + +"Murdered!" cried Mrs. Orde sharply. + +"Oh!" moaned Bobby in a smothered voice. + +"Yes. He was found with a knife wound in his throat." + +"How terrible!" said Mrs. Orde. + +"But that isn't what worries me. Pritchard is no irreparable loss." + +"Jack!" cried Mrs. Orde. + +"He isn't," insisted Orde stoutly. "But Kincaid was seen by several +competent witnesses coming out from that thicket, and as far as anybody +has been able to find out he is the only human being who was out there +to-day. They have him under arrest." + +"I never heard of anything so ridiculous!" cried Mrs. Orde indignantly. + +"There has been bad blood between them," said Orde; "and everybody knows +it. That's the trouble. Pritchard, as usual, has off and on done an +awful lot of talking." + +"You don't for a moment believe----" + +"Certainly not. Arthur Kincaid never would harm a fly in anger. And I +rely absolutely on his word." + +"You've seen him?" + +"Of course. He acknowledges he was out at Pritchard's, but denies all +knowledge of the affair. That's the trouble. He offers no explanation of +the facts, and the facts are--queer." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Well, this; the men who saw Kincaid coming out of the thicket say he +was bareheaded. When Pritchard's body was found, Kincaid's cap was +discovered about fifty feet distant." + +"What does he say to that?" + +"His story is so ridiculous that I wouldn't blame anybody who did not +know Kincaid for not believing it. He says he was playing with his dog +Curly, when Curly grabbed the cap and made off with it. The dog came +back without the cap, and Kincaid could not find it. That's all he says, +except that he was not in the thicket at all, and certainly not within a +quarter-mile of the scene of the murder." + +"That might be so." + +"Of course it's so, if Arthur Kincaid says it is," insisted Orde, "but +what do you think of this? The cap had a 22-calibre bullet hole through +the crown; and Pritchard was armed with a 22-calibre rifle." + +"What does Mr. Kincaid say to it?" + +"That's just the trouble," cried Orde in despairing tones. "If he'd +plead self-defence any jury in Michigan would acquit him without leaving +the box. But when we asked him how that bullet hole got in that cap, he +simply says that he doesn't know; it wasn't there when he lost the cap! +Could anything be more absurd!" + +Bobby reached out and softly closed the register. + +He turned to grip Johnny fiercely by the arm. His eyes blazed. + +"Mr. Kincaid is my friend," he hissed. "Understand that? He's my best +friend. If you ever say anything about this afternoon----" + +"Let go!" cried Johnny struggling. "You hurt! You needn't get mad about +it. He's my friend, too. I ain't going to say anything." Bobby released +his arm. "He must have done it, though," concluded Johnny. + +"Of course he did it. I'd have done it. Pritchard was an old beast. You +ought to have been along with me when he ordered us off his land." + +"Mr. Kincaid says he was never up at that end." + +"There's his cap, with the hole I shot in it," Bobby pointed out. "It +was right where Pritchard was when I shot at it." + +Johnny nodded. + +"If we let that get out, they'll have us in as witnesses." + +"We mustn't," said Johnny. + +Following this policy the boys for the next month carried about an air +of secrecy and an irresponsibility of action very irritating to +everybody. They forgot errands, they did absent-minded, destructive +things, they were much given to long consultations behind the woodshed. +When they were permitted to visit Mr. Kincaid at the jail, they tried +mysteriously to convey assurance of absolute secrecy, but succeeded +only in appearing stupid, frivolous and unsympathetic. Nevertheless +their concern was very real. Bobby in especial brooded over the affair +to the exclusion of all other interests. The Flobert rifle was laid +away, the printing press gathered dust. Over and over he visualized the +scene, until he could shut his eyes and reproduce its every detail--the +hillside with its scattered, half-burned old logs, the popple thicket +shining white, the scrub oaks with red rustling leaves, the patch of +brown that looked exactly like a partridge; and then the whirl of the +cap in the air as the bullet struck, and the horrible sinking feeling +before he turned to flee. A dozen small things he had not noticed +consciously at the time, now stood out clear. He remembered that the +supposed partridge had stood out against the sky; that the ground broke +gently up just beyond the black log. "Mr. Kincaid must have been +standing on a stump," he thought. He recalled now his own exact +position, and figured the course of the bullet. "It must have gone in +just at the tip top," he figured. "That's the only way it could have +done without hurting his head. Otherwise, it would have scalped him." +Over and over he turned the facts until gradually he evolved an exact +picture of what had occurred--here was the victim, here the murderer. +Inquiry disclosed the spot where Pritchard's body had been found. It was +up-hill from the spot Bobby had shot the cap--and about ten feet away. +"He must just have done it," he said with a shudder. + +"Why?" demanded Johnny to whom he confided these reasonings. "Maybe it +was before." + +"No," argued Bobby. "Because then when I shot the cap off, if Pritchard +had been alive, we'd have heard from him." + +"Maybe Mr. Kincaid killed him to keep him from chasing us," suggested +Johnny. + +Bobby considered this romantic suggestion but shook his head. + +"No," said he, "there wasn't time for Mr. Kincaid to kill him and then +walk down to the other end of the thicket. He must have run when I +shot." + +"Do you think they'll convict Mr. Kincaid?" + +"Papa says he doesn't think so," said Bobby. "He says nobody can prove +Mr. Kincaid was at the place." + +"We could." + +"We're going to shut up!" said Bobby sharply. + + + + +XXIII + +THE TRIAL + + +General opinion did not, however, share Mr. Orde's optimism. The +circumstantial evidence was very strong. Interest in the trial was such +that people came from far out in the country to attend it. Every day of +the preliminaries the court-room was filled with silent spectators. The +boys, eluding the vigilance of the women and utterly disregarding +specific commands, found themselves unable to get beyond the outer +corridor. Here they hung around for some time in the vain hope of +hearing something. The heavy breathing and jostling of the crowd about +them was their only reward. Finally they gave it up and wandered out +into the grounds. + +It was by now nearly December of a remarkably open year. Although Indian +summer had long since gone, and although the low black clouds and heavy +gales of late autumn had given repeated warnings, winter had somehow +failed to arrive. There was as yet no snow; and the sun, turned silver +in place of the harvest gold, sometimes, as now, dispersed considerable +warmth. In consequence of the mildness without and the crowd within, the +windows of the court-room had been lowered at the top. The boys could +almost catch the words of whoever was speaking. + +"Come on, let's shin up that tree," suggested Johnny. + +Immediately they acted on the inspiration. The highest limbs capable of +bearing weight were still some three feet below the window-sills. Still, +the boys could hear plainly what was going on, and could see into the +room on an upward slant. + +Evidently the legal processes had been fulfilled, and the first witness +was giving his testimony. + +"I was working in my field, throwing out manure, when I saw the prisoner +come out of the popple thicket on Pritchard's place." + +"How far were you from the thicket?" + +"My field is right across the county road." + +"At what point did the prisoner emerge from the thicket as respects the +spot where the body was found?" + +"He came out right opposite, a good quarter-mile, I should say." + +"Anything unusual in the prisoner's appearance or actions?" + +"He didn't have no hat. I noticed that." + +After a few more questions the witness was excused. In an instant he +appeared in the boys' line of vision and sat down. + +Another witness was sworn, and deposed that he had been driving along +the county road, and had also seen Mr. Kincaid emerge from the thicket +without a hat. This witness likewise, on being excused, crossed the room +and took his seat near the window. + +This point established, the prosecution called upon the man who had +found the body. He stated that he was in the employ of the deceased; had +gone out afoot to look up a strayed cow, had come across the body late +in the afternoon. Pritchard had been killed by a knife thrust in the +throat. He lay on his back. He had carried a 22-calibre rifle with which +he was accustomed to shoot hawks and crows. The rifle had been +discharged. In looking about for evidence witness had found a cap lying +by a stump ten feet or so down hill. He identified the cap. He also took +a seat where Bobby and Johnny could see him--a short thickset man with +a swarthy complexion and very oily long black hair. + +A witness was called who identified positively the cap as belonging to +Mr. Kincaid. + +At this point the prosecution rested. A moment later Bobby heard again +the measured, calm tones of his friend, called in his own defence. + +"I know nothing about it," said Mr. Kincaid after the usual +preliminaries, "I was nowhere near the scene of the murder. What the +first witness had to say as to personal antagonism between Pritchard and +myself was quite true: he had ordered me off his land, and very +offensively. We had some words at that time." + +"When was that?" asked the attorney. + +"Some months back. Therefore I took especial pains to keep off his land, +and was at the lower edge of the thicket a good quarter-mile from the +place his body was found." + +"You did not enter the thicket?" + +"Only a few feet, after the dog took my cap." + +"How about the cap?" + +"My retriever, Curly, was playing with me. I was teasing him by waving +the cap before him. He managed to get hold of it and ran with it into +the thicket. In a moment or so he came back without it. I could not +find it, nor could I induce him to retrieve it." + +"When was this?" + +"About two o'clock." + +"Two witnesses have sworn they saw you come out of the thicket shortly +before sun-down." + +"That was on my way home. I tried again to get Curly to hunt up the +cap." + +"How do you account for the cap's being found at the upper edge of the +thicket?" + +"I cannot account for it." + +"Could the dog have carried it that far in the time before he returned?" + +"I do not think so--I am certain not." + +"How do you account for the holes?" + +"They might have been the marks of Curley's teeth," said Mr. Kincaid +doubtfully. + +"Look at them," + +A pause ensued. + +"They certainly do not look like teeth marks," acknowledged Mr. Kincaid. + +At this moment the heavy bell in the engine-house tower boomed out the +first strokes of noon. The boys nearly lost their holds from the +surprise of it. By the time they had recovered, court had been declared +adjourned, and the crowds were pouring forth from the opened double +doors. + + + + +XXIV + +THE TRIAL (CONTINUED) + + +By remarkable promptitude and the exercise of the marvellous properties +ascribed impartially to the worm, the eel, and the snake, Bobby and +Johnny succeeded in gaining a place in the court-room for the afternoon +session. It was not a very good place. Breast-high in front of them was +a rail. Behind them pressed a suffocating crowd. On the other side of +the rail were many benches on which was seated another crowd. This +second multitude concealed utterly whatever occupied the floor of the +court-room. Only when one or another of the actors in the proceedings +arose to his feet could the boys make out a head and shoulders. They +could see the massive walnut desk and the judge, however; and the lower +flat tables at which sat the recording officials. And on the blank white +wall ticked solemnly a big round clock. The second-hand moved forward by +a series of swift jerks, but watch as he would Bobby could see no +perceptible motion of the other two hands. In the monotony of some of +the proceedings this bland clock fascinated him. + +Likewise the living wall before him caught and held his half-suffocated +interest--the slope of their shoulders, the material of their coats, the +shape of their heads, the cut of their hair. One by one he passed them +in review. Two seats ahead sat a thickset man with very long, oily black +hair. He turned his head. Bobby recognized the man who had found +Pritchard's body. He nudged Johnny, calling attention to the fact. + +The prosecuting attorney was on his feet making a speech. It was +interesting enough at first, but after a time Bobby's attention +wandered. The prosecuting attorney was a young man, ambitious, and ego +was certainly a large proportion of _his_ cosmos. Bobby listened to him +while he spoke of the obvious motive for the deed; but when he began +again, and in detail, to go over the evidence already adduced, Bobby +ceased to listen. Only the monotonous cadences of the voice went on and +on. The clock tick-tocked. People breathed. It reminded him of church. + +A little stir brought him back from final drowsiness. A man in the row +ahead of him wanted to get out. The disturber carried an overcoat over +his left arm, and it amused Bobby vastly to see the stiff collar of that +overcoat rumple the back hair of those who sat in the second row. As he +watched, it caught the long oily locks of the witness for the +prosecution. With a fierce exclamation the man turned, scowling at the +other's whispered excuse. When he had again faced the front, he had +rearranged his disturbed locks. + +After this slight interruption, Bobby again relapsed into day-dreaming. +He fell once more to visualizing the scene of that day. Gradually the +court-room faded away. He saw the hillside, the burnt logs on the bare +ground, the popples silvery in the sun, the sky blue above the hill. The +patch of brown by the rustling scrub oak glimmered before his eyes. He +saw again the exact angle it lay above him. For the hundredth time he +looked over the sights of the rifle, fair against that spot of brown. "I +must have over-shot a foot," he sighed, "or it would have taken him +square." + +And then as he stared over the sights, his finger on the trigger, the +imaginary scene faded, the familiar court-room came out of the mists to +take its place. Slowly the brown spot at which he aimed dissolved, a +man's head took its place; the oily-haired witness for the prosecution +happened now to occupy exactly the position relative to Bobby's attitude +as had Mr. Kincaid's cap the day of the murder. And through the slightly +disarranged long hair, and exactly in line with the imaginary rifle +sights Bobby could just make out a dull red furrow running along the +scalp. At this instant, as though uneasy at a scrutiny instinctively +felt, the man reached back to smooth his locks. The scar at once +disappeared. + + + + +XXV + +THE HOLE IN THE CAP + + +For perhaps ten seconds Bobby sat absolutely motionless while a new +thought was born. Then, oblivious of surroundings or of the exasperated +objections of those near him, he clambered over the rail and wriggled +his way to the open aisle. Several tried to seize him, but he managed in +some manner to elude them all. Once in the open he darted forward toward +the astonished officials. His freckled face was very red, his stubby +hair towsled, his gray eyes earnest. The sheriff rose from his seat as +though to stop him. + +"I want to see that cap!" cried Bobby to the blur in general. He caught +sight of it, ran to seize it, looked at it closely, and threw it down +with a little cry of triumph. The bullet holes were not both at the top: +one perforation was high up; but the other, on the left hand side, was +situated low, near the edge. Bobby knew that the man who had worn that +cap must have been hit. + +The judge's gavel was in the air, the sheriff on his feet, a hundred +mouths open to expostulate against this interruption of a grave +occasion. + +"Mr. Kincaid did not do it!" cried Bobby aloud. + +The clamour broke out. The sheriff seized Bobby by the arm. + +"Here," he growled at him, "you little brat! What do you mean, raising a +row like this?" + +Bobby struggled. He had a great deal to say. All was confusion. Half the +room seemed to be on its feet. Bobby saw his father making way toward +him through the crowd. Only the clock and the white-haired judge beneath +it seemed to have retained their customary poise. The clock tick-tocked +deliberately, and its second-hand went forward in swift jerks; the judge +sat quiet, motionless, his chin on his fists, his eyes looking steadily +from under their bushy white brows. + +"Just a moment," said the judge, finally, "Sheriff, bring that boy +here." + +Bobby found himself facing the great walnut desk. Behind him the room +had fallen silent save for an irregular breathing sound. + +"Who are you?" asked the judge. + +"Bobby Orde." + +"Why do you say the prisoner--Mr. Kincaid--did not commit the deed?" + +Bobby started in a confused way to tell about the cap. The judge raised +his hand. + +"Were you present at this crime?" he asked shrewdly. + +"Yes, sir," replied Bobby. + +The judge lowered his voice so that only Bobby could hear. + +"Do you know who murdered Mr. Pritchard?" + +"Yes, sir," replied Bobby in the same tone, "I do." + +"Who was it?" + +"I don't know his name. He's sitting----" + +"I thought so," interrupted the judge. "Mr. Sheriff," he called sharply. +That official approached. "Close all doors," said the judge to him +quietly, "and see that no one leaves this room. Mr. Attorney, your +witness here is ready to be sworn." + +Bobby went through the preliminaries without a clear understanding of +them; or, indeed, a definite later recollection. He was deadly in +earnest. The crowd did not exist for him. Not the faintest trace of +embarrassment confused his utterance, but he got very little forward +under the prosecuting attorney's questioning--the matter was too +definite in his own mind to permit of his following another's method of +getting at it. Finally the judge interposed. + +"It's not strictly in my province," said he, "but we are all anxious for +the truth. I hope the prosecuting attorney may see the advisability of +allowing the boy to tell his own story in his own way. Afterward he +will, of course, have full opportunity for cross-questions." + +This being agreed to, Bobby went ahead. + +"Mr. Kincaid lost his cap, just as he said, and Curly carried it into +the woods and dropped it. Another man came along and picked it up and +put it on. Then he walked through the thicket and came up with Mr. +Pritchard. He knew where Mr. Pritchard was because Mr. Pritchard had +just shot his little rifle at a hawk or something. He stabbed Mr. +Pritchard, and then walked down hill and climbed up on a stump to look +around. He was facing down hill. He saw Mr. Kincaid and Curly way below. +Just then his cap was knocked off by another bullet." + +"What other bullet?" interposed the prosecution sharply. + +"That was just an accident," said Bobby confusedly, "it happened to hit. +It wasn't shot at him at all." + +"You mean a spent ball from somewhere else? Who shot it? Where did it +come from?" + +"I'll 'splain that in a minute. Then he ran as fast as he could----" + +That was as far as Bobby got for the moment. A slight confusion at one +of the doors interrupted him. Almost immediately it died, but before +Bobby could resume, the sheriff elbowed his way forward. + +"Laughton--you know, that second witness, the fellow who worked for +Pritchard--tried to get out. I have him in charge." + +"Hold him," said the judge. The sheriff elbowed his way back down the +aisle. + +"How do you know all this?" began the prosecuting attorney. + +"If Mr. Kincaid wore the cap, why isn't his head hurt?" demanded Bobby. + +"If the shot was fired by Pritchard, when lying on the ground," +explained the attorney, "it would not have scraped." + +"But it wasn't," persisted Bobby. "It was fired from down hill, and +about thirty feet away. That would hit the man, wouldn't it?" he +appealed. + +"Certainly." + +"Well, is Mr. Kincaid hurt?" + +"This, your honour," said the attorney with some impatience, "is beside +the mark----" + +He was interrupted by a cry from Bobby. + +"He's gone!" he wailed, pointing his hand toward the seat where Laughton +had been sitting. + +"Was that the man?" asked the judge. + +"Yes," said Bobby, "and he's gotten away." + +"Mr. Sheriff," said the judge, "examine the man for a scar or wound on +the head." + +The sheriff disappeared. The clock tick-tocked away five minutes, then +ten. Finally the door swung open. + +"Your Honour," said the sheriff clearly, across the court-room, "the man +has confessed." + + + + +XXVI + +THE SIXTEEN GAUGE SHOTGUN + + +Bobby and his friend, Johnny English, sat on the floor of Bobby's +chamber reviewing the exciting events of the afternoon. In the tumult +following the sheriff's announcement, Bobby was temporarily forgotten. +He had slipped back into the crowd, and from that point had followed +closely all that had ensued. Laughton's confession merely filled in the +details of Bobby's surmises. It seems that Pritchard had had a violent +quarrel with his man, ending by knocking him down and stalking off +across the fields. Mad with rage, Laughton had picked himself up and +followed without even pausing long enough to get a hat. He had lost +track of his victim in the popple thicket, but had come across Kincaid's +cap, which he had appropriated. A shot from Pritchard's little rifle +apprised him of his enemy's whereabouts. The murder committed, he had +mounted a stump to spy upon the country. He had seen Kincaid and his +dog, and was just about to withdraw, when the cap was knocked from his +head by a bullet which at the same time broke the skin on his scalp. +Thinking himself discovered, he had run. Later reconnoitring carefully, +he had seen two apparently unexcited small boys climbing into a pony +cart a half-mile away and had come to the conclusion that the bullet had +been spent, and a chance shot. The idea of incriminating Mr. Kincaid had +not come to him until later. + +Mr. Kincaid had at once been released. Under cover of the +congratulations, the boys made their escape. + +"I don't see how you ever figured it out!" cried Johnny for the twelfth +time. + +"I knew it must have hit his head unless it just grazed his cap," said +Bobby, "and when I saw that scar----" + +"Gee, it was great!" gloated Johnny, "just like a book! It'll be in all +the papers to-morrow. You saved Mr. Kincaid's life, didn't you?" + +"I suppose I did," said Bobby complacently. + +At this moment the open hot-air register began to speak, carrying up the +voices from the rooms below. As the subject under discussion was the +closest to the boys' hearts for the moment, they drew near to listen. + +"It's Mr. Kincaid himself!" breathed Bobby. + +"I've been trying to catch you all the way up the street," Mr. Kincaid +was saying, "but you walk like a steam engine." + +"I felt good," explained Mr. Orde. "I knew you were innocent, of course; +but it looked dark." + +"Yes, it looked dark," admitted Mr. Kincaid. "Where's that youngster of +yours? He saved the day." + +"I was just going to look for him. There're a few points I'd like to +clear up. If he saw all that, why didn't he say something before?" + +"Don't know. But he certainly spoke to the point when he did get going. +Look here, Orde, I'm proud of that kid. I want you to let me do +something; he's old enough now to have a sure enough gun, and I want you +to let me give it to him. Stafford has a little shotgun--16 gauge--ever +see one?" + +"Nothing smaller than a 12" confessed Orde. + +"Well, I told him to keep it for me. I'd like to give it to Bobby. He's +learned fast, and he's paid attention to what he learned. I don't +believe in guns for small boys, but Bobby is careful; he doesn't make +any breaks." + +Johnny reached over to clasp Bobby excitedly. + +"Now we can get partridges!" he squealed under his breath. + +But Bobby was unexpectedly cold to this enthusiasm. He reached over to +close the register. At once the voices were shut off. Then for some time +he sat cross-legged staring straight in front of him. To Johnny's +remarks he replied irritably until that youngster flounced himself into +a corner with a book, ostentatiously indifferent. + +Bobby was seeing things. As was his habit, he was visualizing a scene +that had passed, recalling each little detail of what had at the time +apparently passed lightly over his consciousness. + +He saw again plainly the yellow sand-hills under his feet, and the +village lying below, its roofs half hidden in the lilac and mauve of +bared branches, its columns of smoke rising straight up in the frosty +air. He saw the sturdy round-shouldered form in the old shooting coat, +the lined brown lean face, the white moustache and the eyebrows, the +kindly twinkling eyes squinted against the western light. He heard again +Mr. Kincaid's deep slow voice: + +"Sonny, you can always be a sportsman--a sportsman does things because +he likes them, Bobby, for no other reason--not for money, nor to become +famous, nor even to win--and a right man does not get pleasure in doing +a thing if in any way he takes an unfair advantage--if _you_--not the +thinking you, nor even the conscience you, but the way-down-deep-in-your +heart _you_ that you can't fool nor trick nor lie to--if that _you_ is +satisfied, it's all right." + +Bobby sighed deeply and went downstairs. + + + + +XXVII + +THE SPORTSMAN + + +He opened the door and entered very quietly, so that neither occupant of +the room saw him before he spoke. + +"I heard what you said--through the register----" he explained. "But I +can't take the shotgun." + +Both men turned and looked at him curiously, the first natural +exclamations stilled on their lips by the sight of his straight, earnest +little figure facing them. + +"Why not, Bobby?" asked Mr. Orde at last. + +"I was the one who fired that shot that hit Mr. Laughton's head. I did +it a-purpose." + +"What for?" + +"I saw something brown in the brush, and I was sure it was a partridge, +so I shot at it. I really didn't know it was a partridge. It just looked +brown. You told me not to do that, lots of times, but I got all excited, +and forgot. So you see I'm not careful, like you said. I ought not to +have any shotgun." + +"Oh, Bobby!" said Mr. Kincaid. "And that's one of the most important +things of all!" + +"I know, sir," said Bobby. "That's why I thought I'd tell you." + +The two men examined the youngster for some time in silence. A very +tender look lurked back in their eyes. + +"What did you do then?" asked Mr. Orde at last. + +"I saw the cap fly up in the air, and ran." + +"Yes?" + +"And then after a little I saw Mr. Kincaid come out down below, and I +thought it was all right until I got home." + +"Why did you jump up in court this afternoon?" + +"I knew where I was standing, and I saw a scar on Laughton's head, and +then I knew if the holes in the cap were low down, he must have been the +man." + +"Why didn't you tell all this before?" + +"I'd never seen the cap; and I thought Mr. Kincaid had done it. I wasn't +going to give him away." + +Both men burst into laughter. + +"And you thought I'd kill a man!" reproached Mr. Kincaid at last. + +"I'd have done it--to old Pritchard," maintained Bobby stoutly. + +After a time Mr. Kincaid returned to the first subject. + +"There is no doubt, Bobby," said he, "that a man careless enough to +shoot at anything without knowing what it is--especially in a settled +country--is not fit to have a gun of any kind. There are plenty of +people killed every year through just such carelessness. On that ground +you are quite right in saying that you do not deserve the new shotgun." + +"Yes, sir," said Bobby. + +"But you will never do anything like that again. You have learned your +lesson. And you told the truth. That is a great thing. It is easy to +cover up a mistake; but very hard to show it when you don't have to. I +was a little disappointed that you forgot about shooting at things; but +I am more than proud that you remembered to be a sportsman. With your +father's permission, I'm going to get you that shotgun, just the same. +We'll go down together in the morning to get it." + +At the end of ten minutes more, Bobby returned to his room. He looked +about it as one looks on a half-remembered spot visited long ago. The +place seemed smaller; the toys trivial. A deep gulf had been passed +since he had left the room a half-hour before. To his eyes had opened a +new vision. Little Boyhood had fallen away from him as a garment. A +touch had loosed. All experience and observation had led the way; but it +was only in expectation of the supreme test of self-sacrifice. Character +changes radically only under that test. Bobby had borne it well; and now +stood at the threshold of his Youth. + +He picked up the Flobert rifle and looked it over. + +"It'll always be handy to fool with," said he to Johnny. + +That youngster looked up with sardonic humour. + +"Gee, you're gettin' swelled head with your new gun," said he. + +THE END + + + * * * * * + + +KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN'S STORIES OF PURE DELIGHT + +Full of originality and humor, kindliness and cheer + +THE OLD PEABODY PEW. Large Octavo. Decorative text pages, printed in two +colors. Illustrations by Alice Barber Stephens. + +One of the prettiest romances that has ever come from this author's pen +is made to bloom on Christmas Eve in the sweet freshness of an old New +England meeting house. + +PENELOPE'S PROGRESS. Attractive cover design in colors. + +Scotland is the background for the merry doings of three very clever and +original American girls. Their adventures in adjusting themselves to the +Scot and his land are full of humor. + +PENELOPE'S IRISH EXPERIENCES. Uniform in style with "Penelope's +Progress." + +The trio of clever girls who rambled over Scotland cross the border to +the Emerald Isle, and again they sharpen their wits against new +conditions, and revel in the land of laughter and wit. + +REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. + +One of the most beautiful studies of childhood--Rebecca's artistic, +unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of +austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal +dramatic record. + +NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA. With illustrations by F. C. Yohn. + +Some more quaintly amusing chronicles that carry Rebecca through various +stages to her eighteenth birthday. + +ROSE O' THE RIVER. With illustrations by George Wright. + +The simple story of Rose, a country girl and Stephen a sturdy young +farmer. The girl's fancy for a city man interrupts their love and merges +the story into an emotional strain where the reader follows the events +with rapt attention. + + * * * * * + +LOUIS TRACY'S + +CAPTIVATING AND EXHILARATING ROMANCES + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list + +CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR. Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. + +A pretty American girl in London is touring in a car with a chauffeur +whose identity puzzles her. An amusing mystery. + +THE STOWAWAY GIRL. Illustrated by Nesbitt Benson. + +A shipwreck, a lovely girl stowaway, a rascally captain, a fascinating +officer, and thrilling adventures in South Seas. + +THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS. + +Love and the salt sea, a helpless ship whirled into the hands of +cannibals, desperate fighting and a tender romance. + +THE MESSAGE. Illustrated by Joseph Cummings Chase. + +A bit of parchment found in the figurehead of an old vessel tells of a +buried treasure. A thrilling mystery develops. + +THE PILLAR OF LIGHT. + +The pillar thus designated was a lighthouse, and the author tells with +exciting detail the terrible dilemma of its cut-off inhabitants. + +THE WHEEL O'FORTUNE. With illustrations by James Montgomery Flagg. + +The story deals with the finding of a papyrus containing the particulars +of some of the treasures of the Queen of Sheba. + +A SON OF THE IMMORTALS. Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. + +A young American is proclaimed king of a little Balkan Kingdom, and a +pretty Parisian art student is the power behind the throne. + +THE WINGS OF THE MORNING. + +A sort of Robinson Crusoe _redivivus_ with modern settings and a very +pretty love story added. The hero and heroine, are the only survivors of +a wreck, and have many thrilling adventures on their desert island. + +_Ask for complete free list of G. & D. 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By Grace Miller White. Illust. by Howard +Chandler Christy. + +A girl from the dregs of society, loves a young Cornell University +student, and it works startling changes in her life and the lives of +those about her. The dramatic version is one of the sensations of the +season. + +YOUNG WALLINGFORD. By George Randolph Chester. Illust. by F. R. Gruger +and Henry Raleigh. + +A series of clever swindles conducted by a cheerful young man, each of +which is just on the safe side of a State's prison offence. As +"Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford," it is probably the most amusing expose of +money manipulation ever seen on the stage. + +THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY. By P. G. Wodehouse. Illustrations by Will Grefe. + +Social and club life in London and New York, an amateur burglary +adventure and a love story. Dramatized under the title of "A Gentleman +of Leisure," it furnishes hours of laughter to the play-goers. + +THE NOVELS OF STEWART EDWARD WHITE + +THE RULES OF THE GAME. Illustrated by Lajaren A. Hiller + +The romance of the son of "The Riverman." The young college hero goes +into the lumber camp, is antagonized by "graft" and comes into the +romance of his life. + +ARIZONA NIGHTS. Illus. and cover inlay by N. C. Wyeth. + +A series of spirited tales emphasizing some phases of the life of the +ranch, plains and desert. A masterpiece. + +THE BLAZED TRAIL. With illustrations by Thomas Fogarty. + +A wholesome story with gleams of humor, telling of a young man who +blazed his way to fortune through the heart of the Michigan pines. + +THE CLAIM JUMPERS. A Romance. + +The tenderfoot manager of a mine in a lonesome gulch of the Black Hills +has a hard time of it, but "wins out" in more ways than one. + +CONJUROR'S HOUSE. Illustrated Theatrical Edition. + +Dramatized under the title of "The Call of the North." Conjuror's House +is a Hudson Bay trading post where the head factor is the absolute lord. +A young fellow risked his life and won a bride on this forbidden land. + +THE MAGIC FOREST. A Modern Fairy Tale. Illustrated. + +The sympathetic way in which the children of the wild and their life is +treated could only belong to one who is in love with the forest and open +air. Based on fact. + +THE RIVERMAN. Illus. by N. C. Wyeth and C. Underwood. + +The story of a man's fight against a river and of a struggle between +honesty and grit on the one side, and dishonesty and shrewdness on the +other. + +THE SILENT PLACES. Illustrations by Philip R. Goodwin. + +The wonders of the northern forests, the heights of feminine devotion, +and masculine power, the intelligence of the Caucasian and the instinct +of the Indian, are all finely drawn in this story. + +THE WESTERNERS. + +A story of the Black Hills that is justly placed among the best American +novels. It portrays the life of the new West as no other book has done +in recent years. + +THE MYSTERY. In collaboration with Samuel Hopkins Adams With +illustrations by Will Crawford. + +The disappearance of three successive crews from the stout ship +"Laughing Lass" in mid-Pacific, is a mystery weird and inscrutable. In +the solution, there is a story of the most exciting voyage that man ever +undertook. + + * * * * * + +TITLES SELECTED FROM + +GROSSET & DUNLAP'S LIST + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +HIS HOUR. By Elinor Glyn. Illustrated. + +A beautiful blonde Englishwoman visits Russia, and is violently made +love to by a young Russian aristocrat. A most unique situation +complicates the romance. + +THE GAMBLERS. By Charles Klein and Arthur Hornblow. Illustrated by C. E. +Chambers. + +A big, vital treatment of a present day situation wherein men play for +big financial stakes and women flourish on the profits--or repudiate the +methods. + +CHEERFUL AMERICANS. By Charles Battell Loomis. Illustrated by Florence +Scovel Shinn and others. + +A good, wholesome, laughable presentation of some Americans at home and +abroad, on their vacations, and during their hours of relaxation. + +THE WOMAN OF THE WORLD. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox. + +Clever, original presentations of present day social problems and the +best solutions of them. A book every girl and woman should possess. + +THE LIGHT THAT LURES. By Percy Brebner. Illustrated. Handsomely colored +wrapper. + +A young Southerner who loved Lafayette, goes to France to aid him during +the days of terror, and is lured in a certain direction by the lovely +eyes of a Frenchwoman. + +THE RAMRODDERS. By Holman Day. Frontispiece by Harold Matthews Brett. + +A clever, timely story that will make politicians think and will make +women realize the part that politics play--even in their romances. + +A CERTAIN RICH MAN. By William Allen White. + +A vivid, startling portrayal of one man's financial greed, its wide +spreading power, its action in Wall Street, and its effect on the three +women most intimately in his life. A splendid, entertaining American +novel. + +IN OUR TOWN. By William Allen White. Illustrated by F. R. Gruger and W. +Glackens. + +Made up of the observations of a keen newspaper editor, involving the +town millionaire, the smart set, the literary set, the bohemian set, and +many others. All humorously related and sure to hold the attention. + +NATHAN BURKE. By Mary S. Watts. + +The story of an ambitious, backwoods Ohio boy who rose to prominence. +Everyday humor of American rustic life permeates the book. + +THE HIGH HAND. By Jacques Futrelle. Illustrated by Will Grete. + +A splendid story of the political game, with a son of the soil on the +one side, and a "kid glove" politician on the other. A pretty girl, +interested in both men, is the chief figure. + +THE BACKWOODSMEN. By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated. + +Realistic stories of men and women living midst the savage beauty of the +wilderness. Human nature at its best and worst is well portrayed. + +YELLOWSTONE NIGHTS. By Herbert Quick. + +A jolly company of six artists, writers and other clever folks take a +trip through the National Park, and tell stories around camp fire at +night. Brilliantly clever and original. + +THE PROFESSOR'S MYSTERY. By Wells Hastings and Brian Hooker. Illustrated +by Hanson Booth. + +A young college professor, missing his steamer for Europe, has a +romantic meeting with a pretty girl, escorts her home, and is enveloped +in a big mystery. + +_Ask for complete free list of G. & D. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Adventures of Bobby Orde + +Author: Stewart Edward White + +Illustrator: Worth Brehm + +Release Date: May 17, 2008 [EBook #25506] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF BOBBY ORDE *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, Janet Blenkinship and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 408px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="408" height="600" alt="" title="cover" /> +</div> + + +<h1>THE ADVENTURES OF BOBBY ORDE</h1> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="OTHER_BOOKS_BY_THE_SAME_AUTHOR" id="OTHER_BOOKS_BY_THE_SAME_AUTHOR"></a>OTHER BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR</h2> + +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">The Claim Jumpers</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">The Westerners</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">The Blazed Trail</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Blazed Trail Stories</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">The Magic Forest</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Conjuror's House</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">The Silent Places</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">The Forest</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">The Mountains</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">The Pass</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Camp and Trail</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">The Riverman</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Arizona Nights</span><br /> +<br /> +With Samuel Hopkins Adams<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Mystery</span><br /> +</p></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="500" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT A TRUE SPORTSMAN IN EVERY WAY IS +ABOUT THE SCARCEST THING THEY MAKE—AND THE FINEST. SO NATURALLY THE +COMMON RUN OF PEOPLE DON'T LIVE UP TO IT. IF <i>you</i>—NOT THE THINKING +YOU, NOR EVEN THE CONSCIENCE YOU, BUT THE WAY-DOWN-DEEP-IN-YOUR-HEART +<i>you</i> THAT YOU CAN'T FOOL NOR TRICK NOR LIE TO—IF THAT <i>you</i> IS +SATISFIED, IT'S ALL RIGHT."</span> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + <h1>THE ADVENTURES OF<br /> + BOBBY ORDE</h1> + + <h4>BY</h4> + + <h2>STEWART EDWARD WHITE</h2> + + + + <h3>ILLUSTRATED BY WORTH BREHM</h3> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">New York</span><br /> +GROSSET & DUNLAPbr /> +<span class="smcap">Publishers</span><br /> + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION<br /> + INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN<br /><br /> + + COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br /><br /> + + COPYRIGHT, 1908, 1909,<br /> + BY THE PHILLIPS PUBLISHING COMPANY</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="70%" cellspacing="0" summary="CONTENTS"> +<tr><td align='right'> </td><td align='left'>CHAPTER</td><td align='right'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Booms</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_3'><b>3</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Picnic</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_36'><b>36</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Hide and Coop</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_67'><b>67</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Printing Press</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_81'><b>81</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Little Girl</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_91'><b>91</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Little Girl</span> (<i>Continued</i>)</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_103'><b>103</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Until the Last Shot</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_115'><b>115</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Flobert Rifle</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_140'><b>140</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mr. Daggett</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_150'><b>150</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Sportsman's Association</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_160'><b>160</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Marshes</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_167'><b>167</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Trespassers</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_209'><b>209</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Playmates</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_221'><b>221</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Shooting Club</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_235'><b>235</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XV.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Upper Rooms</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_239'><b>239</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVI.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Third Story</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_243'><b>243</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">"Sliding Down Hill"</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_247'><b>247</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVIII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Christmas</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_262'><b>262</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIX.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Boxing Match</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_284'><b>284</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XX.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Partners</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_292'><b>292</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXI.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Winter</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_298'><b>298</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Murder</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_304'><b>304</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Trial</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_317'><b>317</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIV.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Trial</span> (<i>Continued</i>)</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_322'><b>322</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXV.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Hole in the Cap</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_326'><b>326</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXVI.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Sixteen-gauge Shotgun</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_332'><b>332</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXVII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Sportsman</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_337'><b>337</b></a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><br /><br />THE ADVENTURES OF BOBBY ORDE<br /><br /></h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<h3>THE BOOMS</h3> + + +<p>At nine o'clock one morning Bobby Orde, following an agreement with his +father, walked sedately to the Proper Place, where he kept his cap and +coat and other belongings. The Proper Place was a small, dark closet +under the angle of the stairs. He called it the Proper Place just as he +called his friend Clifford Fuller, or the saw-mill town in which he +lived Monrovia—because he had always heard it called so.</p> + +<p>At the door a beautiful black and white setter solemnly joined him.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Duke!" greeted Bobby.</p> + +<p>The dog swept back and forth his magnificent feather tail, and fell in +behind his young master.</p> + +<p>Bobby knew the way perfectly. You went to the fire-engine house; and +then to the left after the court-house was Mr. Proctor's; and then, all +at once, the town. Father's office was in the nearest square brick +block. Bobby paused,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> as he always did, to look in the first store +window. In it was a weapon which he knew to be a Flobert Rifle. It was +something to be dreamed of, with its beautiful blued-steel octagon +barrel, its gleaming gold-plated locks and its polished stock. Bobby was +just under ten years old; but he could have told you all about that +Flobert Rifle—its weight, the length of its barrel, the number of +grains of both powder and lead loaded in its various cartridges. Among +his books he possessed a catalogue that described Flobert Rifles, and +also Shotguns and Revolvers. Bobby intoxicated himself with them. Twice +he had even seen his father's revolver; and he knew where it was +kept—on the top shelf of the closet. The very closet door gave him a +thrill.</p> + +<p>Reluctantly he tore himself away, and turned in to the straight, broad +stairway that led to the offices above. The stairway, and the hall to +which it mounted were dark and smelled of old coco-matting and stale +tobacco. Bobby liked this smell very much. He liked, too, the echo of +his footsteps as he marched down the hall to the door of his father's +offices.</p> + +<p>Within were several long, narrow desks burdened with large ledgers and +flanked by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> high stools. On each stool sat a clerk—five of them. An +iron "base burner" stove occupied the middle of the room. Its pipe ran +in suspension here and there through the upper air until it plunged +unexpectedly into the wall. A capacious wood-box flanked it. Bobby was +glad he did not have to fill that wood-box at a cent a time.</p> + +<p>Against the walls at either end of the room and next the windows were +two roll-top desks at which sat Mr. Orde and his partner. Two or three +pivoted chairs completed the furnishings.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Bobby," called Mr. Orde, who was talking earnestly to a man; +"I'll be ready in a few minutes."</p> + +<p>Nothing pleased Bobby more than to wander about the place with its +delicious "office smell." At one end of the room, nailed against the +wall, were rows and rows of beautifully polished models of the firm's +different tugs, barges and schooners. Bobby surveyed them with both +pleasure and regret. It seemed a shame that such delightful boats should +have been built only in half and nailed immovably to boards. Against +another wall were maps, and a real deer's head. Everywhere hung framed +photo<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>graphs of logging camps and lumbering operations. From any one of +the six long windows he could see the street below, and those who passed +along it. Time never hung heavy at the office.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Orde had finished his business, he put on his hat, and the big +man, the little boy and the grave, black and white setter dog walked +down the long dark hall, down the steps, and around the corner to the +livery stable.</p> + +<p>Here they climbed into one of the light and graceful buggies which were +at that time a source of such pride to their owners, and flashed out +into the street behind Mr. Orde's celebrated team.</p> + +<p>Duke's gravity at this juncture deserted him completely. Life now meant +something besides duty. Ears back, mouth wide, body extended, he flew +away. Faster and faster he ran, until he was almost out of sight; then +turned with a whirl of shingle dust and came racing back. When he +reached the horses he leaped vigorously from one side to the other, +barking ecstatically; then set off on a long even lope along the +sidewalks and across the street, investigating everything.</p> + +<p>Mr. Orde took the slender whalebone whip from its socket.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come, Dick!" said he.</p> + +<p>The team laid back their pointed delicate ears, shook their heads from +side to side, snorted and settled into a swift stride. Bobby leaned over +to watch the sunlight twinkle on the wheel-spokes. The narrow tires sunk +slightly in the yielding shingle fragments. <i>Brittle!</i> <i>Brittle!</i> +<i>Brittle!</i> the sound said to Bobby. Above all things he loved to watch +the gossamer-like wheels, apparently too light and delicate to bear the +weight they must carry, flying over the springy road.</p> + +<p>At the edge of town they ran suddenly out from beneath the maple trees +to find themselves at the banks of the river. A long bridge crossed it. +The team clattered over the planks so fast that hardly could Bobby get +time to look at the cat-tails along the bayous before blue water was +beneath him.</p> + +<p>But here Mr. Orde had to pull up. The turn-bridge was open; and Bobby to +his delight was allowed to stand up in his seat and watch the wallowing, +churning little tug and the three calm ships pass through. He could not +see the tug at all until it had gone beyond the bridge, only its smoke; +but the masts of the ship passed stately in regular succession.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Three-masted schooner," said he.</p> + +<p>Then when the last mast had scarcely cleared the opening, the ponderous +turn-bridge began slowly to close. Its movement was almost +imperceptible, but mighty beyond Bobby's small experience to gauge. He +could make out the two bridge tenders walking around and around, pushing +on the long lever that operated the mechanism. In a moment more the +bridge came into alignment with a clang. The team, tossing their heads +impatiently, moved forward.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the bridge was no more town; but instead, great +lumber yards, and along the river a string of mills with many +smokestacks.</p> + +<p>The road-bed at this point changed abruptly to sawdust, springy and +odorous with the sweet new smell of pine that now perfumed all the air. +To the left Bobby could see the shipyards and the skeleton of a vessel +well under way. From it came the irregular <i>Block!</i> <i>Block!</i> <i>Block!</i> of +mallets; and it swarmed with the little, black, ant-like figures of men.</p> + +<p>Mr. Orde drove rapidly and silently between the shipyards and the rows +and rows of lumber piles, arranged in streets and alleys like an +untenanted city. Overhead ran tramways on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> which dwelt cars and great +black and bay horses. The wild exultant shriek of the circular saw rang +out. White plumes of steam shot up against the intense blue of the sky. +Beyond the piles of lumber Bobby could make out the topmasts of more +ships, from which floated the pointed hollow "tell-tales" affected by +the lake schooners of those days as pennants. At the end of the lumber +piles the road turned sharp to the right. It passed in turn the small +building which Bobby knew to be another delightful office, and the huge +cavernous mill with its shrieks and clangs, its blazing, winking eyes +beneath and its long incline up which the dripping, sullen logs crept in +unending procession to their final disposition. And then came the +"booms" or pens, in which the logs floated like a patterned brown +carpet. Men with pike poles were working there; and even at a distance +Bobby caught the dip and rise, and the flash of white water as the +rivermen ran here and there over the unstable footing.</p> + +<p>Next were more lumber yards and more mills, for five miles or so, until +at last they emerged into an open, flat country, divided by the +old-fashioned snake fences; dotted with blackened stumps of the +long-vanished forest; eaten by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> sloughs and bayous from the river. The +sawdust ceased. Bobby leaned out to watch with fascinated interest the +sand, divided by the tire, flowing back in a beautiful curved V to cover +the wheel-rim.</p> + +<p>As far as the eye could reach were marshes grown with wild rice and +cat-tails. Occasionally one of these bayous would send an arm in to +cross the road. Then Bobby was delighted, for that meant a float-bridge +through the cracks of which the water spurted up in jets at each impact +of the horses' hoofs. On either hand the bayou, but a plank's thickness +below the level of the float-bridge, filmed with green weeds and the +bright scum of water, not too stagnant, offered surprises to the +watchful eye. One could see many mud-turtles floating lazily, feet +outstretched in poise; and bullfrogs and little frogs; and, in the clear +places, trim and self-sufficient mud hens. From the reeds at the edges +flapped small green herons and thunder pumpers. And at last——</p> + +<p>"Oh, look, papa!" cried Bobby excited and awed. "There's a snap'n' +turtle!"</p> + +<p>Indeed, there he was in plain sight, the boys' monster of the marshes, +fully two feet in diameter, his rough shell streaming with long green<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +grasses, his wicked black eyes staring, his hooked, powerful jaws set in +a grim curve. If once those jaws clamped—so said the boys—nothing +could loose them but the sound of thunder, not even cutting off the +head.</p> + +<p>Ten of the twelve miles to the booms had already been passed. The horses +continued to step out freely, making nothing of the light fabric they +drew after them. Duke, the white of his coat soiled and muddied by +frequent and grateful plunges, loped alongside, his pink tongue hanging +from one corner of his mouth, and a seraphic expression on his +countenance. Occasionally he rolled his eyes up at his masters in sheer +enjoyment of the expedition.</p> + +<p>"Papa," asked Bobby suddenly, "what makes you have the booms so far +away? Why don't you have them down by the bridge?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Orde glanced down at his son. The boy looked very little and very +childish, with his freckled, dull red cheeks, his dot of a nose, and his +wide gray eyes. The man was about to make some stop-gap reply. He +checked himself.</p> + +<p>"It's this way Bobby," he explained carefully. "The logs are cut 'way up +the river—ever so far—and then they float down the river.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> Now, +everybody has logs in the river—Mr. Proctor and Mr. Heinzman and Mr. +Welton and lots of people, and they're all mixed up together. When they +get down to the mills where they are to be sawed up into boards, the +logs belonging to the different owners have to be sorted out. Papa's +company is paid by all the others to do the floating down stream and the +sorting out. The sorting out is done in the booms; and we put the booms +up stream from the mills because it is easier to float the logs, after +they have been sorted, down the stream than to haul them back up the +stream."</p> + +<p>"What do you have them so far up the stream for?" asked Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Because there's more room—the river widens out there."</p> + +<p>Bobby said nothing for some time, and Mr. Orde confessed within himself +a strong doubt as to whether or not the explanation had been understood.</p> + +<p>"Papa," demanded Bobby, "I don't see how you tell your logs from Mr. +Proctor's or Mr. Heinzman's or any of the rest of them."</p> + +<p>Mr. Orde turned, extending his hand heartily to his astonished son.</p> + +<p>"You're all right, Bobby!" said he. "Why,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> you see, each log is stamped +on the end with a mark. Mr. Proctor's mark is one thing; and Mr. +Heinzman's is another; and all the rest have different ones."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Bobby.</p> + +<p>The road now led them through a small grove of willows. Emerging thence +they found themselves in full sight of the booms.</p> + +<p>For fifty feet Bobby allowed his eyes to run over a scene already +familiar and always of the greatest attraction to him. Then came what he +called, after his Malory, the Stumps Perilous. Between them there was +but just room to drive—in fact the delicate points of the whiffle tree +scratched the polished surfaces of them on either hand. Bobby loved to +imagine them as the mighty guardians of the land beyond, and he always +held his breath until they had been passed in safety.</p> + +<p>Shying gently toward each other, ears pricked toward the two obstacles, +the horses shot through with pace undiminished and drew up proudly +before the smallest of the group of buildings. Thence emerged a tall, +spare, keen-eyed man in slouch hat, flannel shirt, shortened trousers +and spiked boots.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Jim," said Mr. Orde.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hullo, Jack," said the other.</p> + +<p>"Where's your chore boy to take the horses?"</p> + +<p>"I'll rustle him," replied the River Boss.</p> + +<p>Bobby drew a deep breath of pleasure, and looked about him.</p> + +<p>From the land's edge extended a wide surface of logs. Near at hand +little streaks of water lay between some of them, but at a short +distance the prospect was brown and uniform, until far away a narrow +flash of blue marked the open river. Here and there ran the confines of +the various booms included in the monster main boom. These confines +consisted of long heavy timbers floating on the water, and joined end to +end by means of strong links. They were generally laid in pairs, and +hewn on top, so that they constituted a network of floating sidewalks +threading the expanse of saw-logs. At intervals they were anchored to +bunches of piles driven deep, and bound at the top. An unbroken palisade +of piles constituted the outer boundaries of the main boom. At the upper +end of them perched a little house whence was operated the mechanism of +the heavy swing boom, capable of closing entirely the river channel. +Thus the logs, floating or driven down the river, encountered this +obstruction;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> were shunted into the main booms, where they were +distributed severally into the various pocket booms; and later were +released at the lower end, one lot at a time, to the river again. Thence +they were appropriated by the mill to which they belonged.</p> + +<p>Bobby did not as yet understand the mechanism of all this. He saw merely +the brown logs, and the distant blue water, and the hut wherein he knew +dwelt machinery and a good-natured, short, dark man with a short, dark +pipe, and the criss-cross floating sidewalks, and the men with long pike +poles and shorter peavies moving here and there about their work. And he +liked it.</p> + +<p>But now the chore boy appeared to take charge of the horses. Mr. Orde +lifted Bobby down, and immediately walked away with the River Boss, +leaving with Bobby the parting injunction not to go out on the booms.</p> + +<p>Bobby, left to himself, climbed laboriously, one steep step at a time, +to the elevation of the roofless porch before the mess house. The floor +he examined, as always, with the greatest interest. The sharp caulks of +the rivermen's shoes had long since picked away the surface, leaving it +pockmarked and uneven. Only the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> knots had resisted; and each of these +now constituted a little hill above the surrounding plains, Bobby always +wished that either his tin soldiers could be here or this well-ordered +porch could be at home.</p> + +<p>The sun proving hot, he peeped within the cook-house. There long tables +flanked each by two benches of equal extent, stretched down the dimness. +They were covered with dark oil-cloth, and at intervals on them arose +irregular humps of cheese cloth. Beneath the cheese cloth, which Bobby +had seen lifted, were receptacles containing the staples and condiments, +such as stewed fruit, sugar, salt, pepper, catsup, molasses and the +like. Innumerable tin plates and cups laid upside down were guarded by +iron cutlery. It was very dark and still, and the flies buzzed.</p> + +<p>Beyond, Bobby could hear the cook and his helpers, called cookees. He +decided to visit them; but he knew better than to pass through the +dining room. Until the bell rang, that was sacred from the boss himself.</p> + +<p>Therefore he descended from the porch, one step at a time, and climbed +around to the kitchen. Here he found preparations for dinner well under +way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Llo, Bobby," greeted the cook, a tall white-moustached lean man with +bushy eyebrows. The cookees grinned, and one of them offered him a cooky +as big as a pie-plate. Bobby accepted the offering, and seated himself +on a cracker box.</p> + +<p>Food was being prepared in quantities to stagger the imagination of one +used only to private kitchens. Prunes stewed away in galvanized iron +buckets; meat boiled in wash-boilers; coffee was made in fifty-pound +lard tins; pies were baking in ranks of ten; mashed potatoes were +handled by the shovelful; a barrel of flour was used every two and a +half days in this camp of hungry hard-working men. It took a good man to +plan and organize; and a good man Corrigan was. His meals were never +late, never scant, and never wasteful. He had the record for all the +camps on the river of thirty-five cents a day per man—and the men +satisfied. Consequently, in his own domain he was autocrat. The dining +room was sacred, the kitchen was sacred, meal hours were sacred. Each +man was fed at half-past five, at twelve, and at six. No man could get a +bite even of dry bread between those hours, save occasionally a teamster +in the line of duty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> Bobby himself had once seen Corrigan chase a +would-be forager out at the point of a carving knife. As for Bobby, he +was an exception, and a favourite.</p> + +<p>The place was enthralling, with its two stoves, each as big as the +dining room table at home, its shelves and barrels of supplies, its rows +of pies and loaves of bread, and all the crackle and bustle and aroma of +its preparations. Time passed on wings. At length Corrigan glanced up at +the square wooden clock and uttered some command to his two +subordinates. The latter immediately began to dish into large +receptacles of tin the hot food from the stove—boiled meat, mashed +potatoes, pork and beans, boiled corn. These they placed at regular +intervals down the long tables of the dining room. Bobby descended from +his cracker box to watch them. Between the groups of hot dishes they +distributed many plates of pie, of bread and of cake. Finally the +two-gallon pots of tea and coffee, one for each end of each table, were +brought in. The window coverings were drawn back. Corrigan appeared for +final inspection.</p> + +<p>"Want to ring the bell, Bobby?" he asked.</p> + +<p>They proceeded together to the front of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> house where hung the bell +cord. Bobby seized this and pulled as hard as he was able. But his +weight could not bring the heavy bell over. Corrigan, smiling grimly +under his white moustache, gave him advice.</p> + +<p>"Pull on her, Bobby, hang yer feet off'n the ground. Now let up entire! +Now pull again! Now let up! That's the bye! You'll get her goin' yit +widout the help of any man."</p> + +<p>Sure enough the weight of the bell did give slightly under Bobby's +frantic, though now rythmic, efforts. Nevertheless Corrigan took +opportunity to reach out surreptitiously above the little boy's head to +add a few pounds to the downward pull. At last the clapper reached the +side.</p> + +<p><i>Cling!</i> it broke the stillness.</p> + +<p>"There you got her goin', Bobby!" cried Corrigan, "Now all you got to do +is to keep at her. Now pull! Now let go. See how much easier she goes?"</p> + +<p>The bell, started in its orbit, was now easy enough to manipulate. Bobby +was delighted at the noise he was producing, and still more delighted at +its results. For from the maze of his toil he could see men coming—men +from the logs near at hand, men from the booms<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> far away—all coming to +the bell, concentrating at a common centre. By now the bell was turning +entirely over. Bobby was becoming enthusiastic. He tugged and tugged. +Sometimes when he did not let go the rope in time, he was lifted +slightly off his feet. The sun was hot, but he had no thought of +quitting. His hat fell off backward, his towsled hair wetted at the +edges, clung to his forehead, his dull red cheeks grew redder behind +their freckles, his eyes fairly closed in an ecstasy of enjoyment. He +did not hear Corrigan laughing, nor the gleeful shouts of the men as +they leaped ashore and with dripping boots advanced to the expected +meal. All he knew was that wonderful <i>clang!</i> <i>clang!</i> <i>clang!</i> over +him; the only thought in his little head was that he, <i>he</i>, Bobby Orde, +was making all this noise himself!</p> + +<p>How long he would have continued before giving out entirely it would be +hard to say, but at this moment Mr. Orde and Jim Denning came around the +corner with some haste. Both looked worried and a little angry until +they caught sight of the small bell-ringer. Then they too laughed with +the men.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Orde swooped down on his son and tossed him on his shoulder.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That'll do," he advised, "we're all here. Lord, Corrigan! I thought you +were afire at least."</p> + +<p>"You got to show us up a reg'lar Christmas dinner to match that," said +one of the men to Corrigan.</p> + +<p>After the meal, which Bobby enjoyed thoroughly, because it was so +different from what he had at home, he had a request to proffer.</p> + +<p>"Papa," he demanded, "I want to go out on the booms."</p> + +<p>"Haven't time to-day, Bobby," replied Mr. Orde. "You just play around."</p> + +<p>But Jim Denning would not have this.</p> + +<p>"Can't start 'em in too early, Jack," said he. "I bet you'd been fished +out from running logs before you were half his age."</p> + +<p>Mr. Orde laughed.</p> + +<p>"Right you are, Jim, but we were raised different in those days."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Denning, "work's slack. I'll let one of the men take him."</p> + +<p>At the moment a youth of not more than fifteen years of age was passing +from the cook house to the booms. He had the slenderness of his years, +but was toughly knit, and already possessed in eye and mouth the steady +unwaver<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>ing determination that the river life develops. In all details +of equipment he was a riverman complete: the narrow-brimmed black felt +hat, pushed back from a tangle of curls; the flannel shirt crossed by +the broad bands of the suspenders; the kersey trousers "stagged" off a +little below the knee; the heavy knit socks; and the strong shoes armed +with thin half-inch, needle-sharp caulks.</p> + +<p>"Jimmy Powers!" called the River Boss after this boy, "Come here!"</p> + +<p>The youth approached, grinning cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"I want you to take Bobby out on the booms," commanded Denning, "and be +careful he don't fall in."</p> + +<p>The older men moved away. Bobby and Jimmy Powers looked a little +bashfully at each other, and then turned to where the first hewn logs +gave access to the booms.</p> + +<p>"Ever been out on 'em afore?" asked Jimmy Powers.</p> + +<p>"Yes" replied Bobby; then after a pause, "I been out to the swing with +Papa."</p> + +<p>They walked out on the floating booms, which tipped and dipped ever so +slightly under their weight. Bobby caught himself with a little stagger, +although his footing was a good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> three feet in width. On either side of +him nuzzled the great logs, like patient beasts, and between them were +narrow strips of water, the colour of steel that has just cooled.</p> + +<p>"How deep is it here?" asked Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Bout six feet," replied Jimmy Powers.</p> + +<p>They passed an intersection, and came to an empty enclosure over which +the water stretched like a blue sheet. Bobby looked back. Already the +shore seemed far away. Through the interstices between the piles the +wavelets went <i>lap</i>, <i>lap</i>, <i>slap</i>, <i>lap</i>! Beyond were men working the +reluctant logs down toward the lower end of the booms. Some jabbed the +pike poles in and then walked forward along the boom logs. Others ran +quickly over the logs themselves until they had gained timbers large +enough to sustain their weight, whence they were able to work with +greater advantage. The supporting log rolled and dipped under the burden +of the man pushing mightily against his implement; but always the +riverman trod it, first one way, then the other, in entire +unconsciousness of the fact that he was doing so. The dark flanks of the +log heaved dripping from the river, and rolled silently back again, +picked by the long sharp caulks of the riverman's boots.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can you walk on the logs?" asked Bobby of his companion.</p> + +<p>"Sure," laughed Jimmy Powers.</p> + +<p>"Let's see you," insisted Bobby.</p> + +<p>Jimmy Powers leaped lightly from the boom to the nearest log. It was a +small one, and at once dipped below the surface. If the boy had +attempted to stand on it even a second he would have fallen in. But all +Jimmy Powers needed was a foothold from which to spring. Hardly had the +little timber dipped before he had jumped to the next and the next +after. Behind him the logs, bobbing up and down, churned the water +white. Jimmy moved rapidly across the enclosure on an irregular zigzag. +The smaller logs he passed over as quickly as possible; on the larger he +paused appreciably. Bobby was interested to see how he left behind him a +wake of motion on what had possessed the appearance of rigid immobility. +The little logs bobbed furiously; the larger bowed in more stately +fashion and rolled slowly in dignified protest. In a moment Jimmy was +back again, grinning at Bobby's admiration.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said he.</p> + +<p>He took his station sideways on a log of about twenty inches diameter, +and began to roll it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> beneath him by walking rapidly forward. As the +timber gained its momentum, the boy increased his pace, until finally +his feet were fairly twinkling beneath him, and the side of the log +rising from the river was a blur of white water. Then suddenly with two +quick strong stamps of his caulked feet the young riverman brought the +whirling timber to a standstill.</p> + +<p>"That's birling a log," said he to Bobby.</p> + +<p>They walked out on the main boom still farther. The smaller partitions +between the various enclosures were often nothing but single round poles +chained together at their ends. On these Bobby was not allowed to +venture.</p> + +<p>"How deep is it here?" he asked again.</p> + +<p>"Bout thirty feet," replied Jimmy Powers.</p> + +<p>Bobby for an instant felt a little dizzy, as though he were on a high +building. All this fabric on which he moved suddenly seemed to him +unreal, like a vast cobweb in suspension through a void. It was a brief +sensation, and little defined in his childish mind, so it soon passed, +but it constituted while it lasted a definite subjective experience +which Bobby would always remember. As he looked back, the buildings of +the river camp, lying low among the trees, had receded to a great +distance;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> apparently at another horizon was the dark row of piling that +marked the outer confines of the booms; up and down stream, as far as he +could see, were the logs. Bobby suddenly felt very much alone, with the +blue sky above him, and the deep black water beneath, and about him +nothing but the quiet sullen monsters herded from the wilderness. He +gripped very tightly Jimmy Powers's hand as they walked along.</p> + +<p>But shortly they turned to the left; and after a brief walk, mounted the +rickety steps to the floor of the hut where dwelt old man North, and the +winch for operating the swinging boom. Old man North was short, dark, +heavy and bearded; he smoked perpetually a small black clay pipe which +he always held upside down in his mouth. His conversation was not +extensive; but his black eyes twinkled at Bobby, so the little boy was +not afraid of him. When he saw the two approaching, he reached over in +the corner and handed out a hickory pole peeled to a beautiful white.</p> + +<p>"The wums is yonder," said he.</p> + +<p>Bobby put a fat worm on his hook and sat down in the opposite doorway +were he could dangle his feet directly over the river. Where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> the shadow +of the cabin fell, he could see far down in the water, which there +became a transparent fair green. Close to the piles, on the tops of +which the hut was built, were various fish. Jimmy leaned over.</p> + +<p>"Mostly suckers," he advised. "Yan's a perch, try him."</p> + +<p>Bobby cautiously lowered his baited hook until it dangled before the +perch's nose. The latter paid absolutely no attention to it. Bobby +jiggled it up and down. No results. At last he fairly plumped the worm +on top of the fish's nose. The perch, with an air of annoyance, spread +his gills and, with the least perceptible movement of his tail, sank +slowly until he faded from sight.</p> + +<p>"Better let down your hook and fish near bottom," suggested Jimmy +Powers.</p> + +<p>Bobby did so. The peace of warm afternoon settled upon him. He dangled +his chubby legs, and tried to spit as scientifically as he could, and +watched the waving green current slip silently beneath his feet. Beside +him sat Jimmy Powers. The fragrant strong tobacco smoke from North's +pipe passed them in wisps.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to walk on logs," proffered Bobby at last, "It looks like lots +of fun."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, that's nothin'," said Jimmy Powers, "You ought to be on drive."</p> + +<p>The boys fell into conversation. Jimmy told of the drive, and the +log-running. Bobby listened with the envy of one whose imagination +cannot conceive of himself permitted in such affairs. He was entirely +absorbed. And then all at once the peace was shattered.</p> + +<p>"Yank him, Bobby, yank him!" yelled Jimmy.</p> + +<p>"Christmas! he's a whale!" said old North.</p> + +<p>For, without wavering, the tip of the hickory pole had been ruthlessly +jerked below the water's surface, and the butt nearly pulled from +Bobby's hands.</p> + +<p>Bobby knew the proper thing to do. In such cases you heaved strongly. +The fish flew from the water, described an arc over your head, and lit +somewhere behind you. He tried to accomplish this, but his utmost +strength could but just lift the wriggling, jerking end of the pole from +the water.</p> + +<p>"Give her to me!" cried Jimmy Powers.</p> + +<p>"Le' me 'lone," grunted Bobby.</p> + +<p>He planted the butt of the pole in the pit of his stomach, and lifted as +hard as ever he could with both hands. His face grew red, his ears<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +rang, but, after a first immovable resistance, to his great joy the tip +of the bending, wriggling pole began to give. Slowly, little by little, +he pulled up the fish, until he could make out the flash of its body +darting to and fro far down in the depths.</p> + +<p>"Black bass!" murmured Jimmy Powers breathlessly.</p> + +<p>And then just as his size and beauty were becoming clearly visible, the +line came up with a sickening ease. The interested spectators caught a +glimpse of white as the fish turned.</p> + +<p>Bobby let out a howl of disappointment.</p> + +<p>"Oh <i>gee</i>, that's hard luck!" cried Jimmy Powers.</p> + +<p>"Bet he weighed four pounds," proffered North curtly.</p> + +<p>But at this instant a faint clear whistle sounded from about the wooded +bend of the river above.</p> + +<p>"Boat coming," said North, "Clear out of the way, boys."</p> + +<p>He began at once to operate the winch which drew the long slanting swing +boom out of the channel, for the River was navigable water, and must not +be obstructed. In a moment appeared the <i>Lucy Belle</i>, a +shallow-draught,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> flimsy-looking double decker, with two slim +smokestacks side by side connected by a band of fancy grill-work, a +walking beam, two huge paddle boxes and much white paint. She sheered +sidewise with the current around the bend, and headed down upon them +accompanied by a vast beating of paddle wheels. Bobby could soon make +out atop the walking-beam, the swaying iron Indian with bent bow, and +the piles of slabs which constituted the <i>Lucy Belle</i>'s fuel. Almost +immediately she was passing, within ten feet or so of the hut. The water +boiled and eddied among the piles, rushing in and sucking back. A fat, +ruddy-faced man in official cap and citizen's clothes leaned over the +rail.</p> + +<p>"Well, you made her to-day," shouted North.</p> + +<p>"Bet ye," called the man with a grin. "Only aground once."</p> + +<p>The <i>Lucy Belle</i> swept away with an air of pride. She made the trip to +and from Redding, forty miles up the River, twice a week. Sometimes she +came through in a day. Oftener she ran aground.</p> + +<p>Now Bobby reverted to his original idea.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to walk on the logs," said he.</p> + +<p>"Well, come on, then," said Jimmy Powers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<p>They retraced their steps along the booms until near the shore.</p> + +<p>"You don't want to try her where she's deep," explained Jimmy Powers, +"'Cause then if you should fall in, the logs would close right together +over your head, and then where'd you be?"</p> + +<p>Bobby shuddered at this idea, which in the event continued to haunt him +for some days.</p> + +<p>"There's a big one," said Jimmy Powers. "Try her."</p> + +<p>Bobby stepped out on a big solid-looking log, which immediately proved +to be not solid at all. It dipped one way, Bobby tried to tread the +other. The log promptly followed his suggestion—too promptly. Bobby +soon found himself about two moves behind in this strange new game. He +lost his balance, and the first thing he knew, he found himself waist +deep in the water.</p> + +<p>Jimmy Powers laughed heartily; but to Bobby this was no laughing matter. +The penalties attached both by nature and his mother were dire in the +extreme. He foresaw sickness and spankings, both of which had been +promised him in the event of wet feet merely, and here he was dripping +from the waist down! In any other surroundings or with any other company +he would have wept bitterly. Even in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> presence of Jimmy Powers his +lower lip quivered; and his soul filled to the very throat with dismay. +Jimmy Powers could not understand his very evident perturbation. If took +a great deal of explanation on Bobby's part; but finally there was +conveyed to the young riverman's understanding a slight notion of the +situation. To the child the day seemed lost; but Jimmy Powers was more +resourceful. He surveyed his charge thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"You're all right, kid," he announced at last. "Your collar's all right, +and your hair ain't wet. The rest'll dry out so nobody will know the +diff'."</p> + +<p>Bobby brightened.</p> + +<p>"Won't I catch cold?" he asked doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"This kind of weather? Naw!" said Jimmy Powers with scorn. "You rustle +in to the cook shanty and get Corrigan to let you sit by the stove."</p> + +<p>Bobby said farewell to his guide, and presented himself to the cook.</p> + +<p>"I fell in," he announced, "can I sit by the stove?"</p> + +<p>"Sure" said Corrigan hospitably. "Take a cracker-box and go over by the +wood box. Tryin' to ride a log?"</p> + +<p>"Yes" confessed Bobby.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, you want to look out for them," warned Corrigan a little vaguely. +He produced the customary cooky. Bobby sat and steamed, and munched and +told about the fish he had almost caught. He liked Corrigan because the +latter talked to him sensibly, without ill-timed facetiousness, as to an +equal. In a moment Duke thrust his muzzle in the door. Bobby looked +hastily down. His clothes were quite dry.</p> + +<p>"Don't tell Papa," he begged.</p> + +<p>For answer Corrigan portentously winked one eye, and went on peeling +potatoes. After a moment Mr. Orde appeared at the door.</p> + +<p>"Bobby here?" he inquired. "Oh yes! Come on, youngster."</p> + +<p>Bobby showed himself with considerable trepidation; but apparently Mr. +Orde noticed nothing wrong, and the little boy's spirits rose. The team +was waiting, and they mounted the buggy at once. Duke fell in behind +them soberly. For him the freshness of the expedition was over. It was +now merely a case of get back home.</p> + +<p>"Have a good time?" asked Mr. Orde.</p> + +<p>Bobby talked busily all the way in. He told principally of the fish, +although the <i>Lucy Belle</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> and Jimmy Powers came in for a share. From +time to time Mr. Orde said, "That's good," or, "Yes," which sufficed +Bobby. Probably, however, the man heard little of his son's talk. His +mind was very busy with the elements of the game he was playing, sorting +and arranging them, figuring how to earn and borrow the money necessary +to permit his taking advantage of a chance he thought he saw in the +western timber lands. He heard little, to be sure, and yet he was in +reality wholly occupied with the child prattling away at his side—with +his fortune, and his business prospects of thirty years hence.</p> + +<p>Under the maples the sun slanted low and golden and mote-laden. Bobby +suddenly felt a little tired, and more than a little hungry. He +descended from the buggy with alacrity. The wetting was forgotten in the +home-coming. Only when washing for dinner did he remember with certain +self-felicitation that even his mother had noticed nothing. For the +first time it occurred to him that his parents were not +omniscient:—that was the evil of the afternoon's experiences. For the +first time also it occurred to him that he possessed the ability to meet +an emergency without their aid:—that was the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> good of it. And the good +far outweighed the evil.</p> + +<p>That night Bobby called upon the Lord to bless those dear to him, as +usual; but he offered on his own account an addendum.</p> + +<p>"And make Bobby grow up a big man like Jimmy Powers."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<h3>THE PICNIC</h3> + + +<p>One Saturday, shortly after, everybody was early afoot in preparation +for a picnic up the River. Bobby had on clean starched brown linen +things, and his hair was parted on one side and very smoothly brushed +across his forehead. His mother had been somewhat inclined to the dark +green velvet suit with the lace collar, but to his great relief his +father had intervened.</p> + +<p>"Give the boy a chance," said he, "He'll want to eat peaches and go down +in the engine room, and perhaps catch sunfish."</p> + +<p>At the wharf, built along the front of the river at the foot of Main +Street, they could see, when they turned the corner at the engine-house, +the single sturdy stack of the <i>Robert O</i> pouring forth a cloud of gray +smoke, while in front of it fluttered the white of the women's dresses.</p> + +<p>"We're going to be late," danced Bobby.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I guess they'll wait for us," replied Mr. Orde easily. "They know +what's in this," he smiled, patting the hamper he was carrying.</p> + +<p>At the wharf they were greeted by a chorus of exclamations from a large +group of people. Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were there, the latter sweet and +dainty in one of the very latest creations in muslin; Mr. and Mrs. +Fuller with Tad and Clifford; young Mr. Carlin from the bank; Mr. and +Mrs. Proctor, and their young-lady daughter wearing a marvellous +"waterfall"; Angus McMullen, alone, his father detained professionally; +Mrs. Cathcart and Georgie; young Bradford carrying his banjo, his +wonderful raiment and his air of vast leisure; Welton, the lumberman, +red-faced, jolly, popular and ungrammatical. The women guarded baskets. +All greeted the Ordes with various degrees of hilarity. When the noise +had died down, a massive and impressive lady, heretofore unnamed, +stepped forward. She held a jewelled arm straight before her, the hand +drooping slightly, so that, although she was in reality of but medium +stature, she gave the impression of condescending from a height.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Mrs. Owen," greeted Mrs. Orde, shaking the proffered +hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good morning, my dear," replied Mrs. Owen regally. She swept slowly +sideways to reveal a woman and a little girl of seven or eight years, +immediately behind her. "Allow me to present to you my very dear friend, +Mrs. Carleton. Mrs. Carleton is from the city, staying at the Ottawa for +a few weeks, and I knew you would like the chance to show her some of +our beautiful River." Mrs. Carleton, a pretty, modish woman, with the +ease of city manner, bowed quietly and murmured her pleasure. The little +girl looked half bashfully through a wealth of natural curls at the +grown-ups to whom she was presented in the off-hand method one employs +with children. She was altogether a charming little girl. Her hair was +of the colour of ripe wheat; her skin was of the light smooth brown +peculiar to an exceptional blonde complexion tanned in the sun; her +mouth was full and whimsical; and her eyes, strangely enough in one +otherwise so light, were so black as to resemble spots. Her dress was +very simple, very starched, very white. A big leghorn hat with red roses +half hid her head. She was shy, that was easily to be seen; but shyness +was relieved from the awkwardness so usual and so painful in children of +her age by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> the results of what must have been a careful training. She +answered when she was spoken to, directly and to the point; and yet it +could not but be evident that her spirit fluttered.</p> + +<p>The combination was charming; and Mrs. Orde fell to it at once.</p> + +<p>"Celia, my dear," she said kindly, "come with me, we're going to have a +nice day together; and I have a little boy named Bobby who will show you +everything."</p> + +<p>But now the <i>Robert O</i> gave two impatient toots. Everybody ceased +greeting everybody else, and began to pile the shawls and lunch baskets +aboard. The thick strong gunwale of the <i>Robert O</i> was a foot or so +below the chute level from the wharf. The women were helped aboard +soberly by the men. Miss Proctor, however, slipped little slips and +screamed little screams, while young Mr. Carlin, Bradford and Welton, +with galvanized beaming smiles, all attempted to help her. Mrs. Owen +marched down the chute, waited calmly and without impatience until all +the available men were at hand, and then stepped down majestically with +dignity unimpaired.</p> + +<p>Long before this, Bobby had quit the altogether uninteresting wharf. The +<i>Robert O</i> he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> had seen many times from a distance, and once of twice +near at hand lying at the cribs and piers, but this was his first chance +to explore. Accordingly he dropped down to her deck, and, with the +natural instinct to see as far ahead as possible, marched immediately to +the very prow. The deck proved to slope up-hill strangely, which, in its +unlikeness to any floor Bobby had ever walked on, was in itself a +pleasure. The hawser around the bitt interested him; and the glimpse he +had of the sparkling river slipping toward him from the yellow hills up +stream. He could just rest his chin on the rail to look.</p> + +<p>Then he turned his gaze aft; and encountered the amused scrutiny of a +man leaning on a wheel in a little house. The house had big windows, and +on top was an iron eagle with spread wings. Two steps led up to a door +on each side; and Bobby without hesitation entered one of these doors.</p> + +<p>The inside of the house he found different from any house he had ever +been in before; and possessed of a strange fascination. There was the +wheel, with projecting handles to every spoke, and above it, racks +containing spyglasses, black pipes, tobacco-tins. At hand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> projected a +speaking-tube like that in the back hall at home, and two or three +handles connected with wires. Behind the wheel was a broad leather seat; +and clothes on nails; and a chart; and a pilot's licence, of which Bobby +understood nothing, but admired the round gold seals.</p> + +<p>"Well, Bobby, what do you think of it?" asked the man.</p> + +<p>Bobby had not had time to look at the man. He did so now and liked him. +The first thing he noticed was the man's eyes, which were steady and +unwavering and as blue as the sky. Then he surveyed in turn gravely his +heavy bleached, flaxen moustache; his hard brown cheeks; the round +barrel of his blue-clad body; and his short sturdy legs.</p> + +<p>"Think you'd like to run a tug?" inquired this man.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," replied Bobby; "what is your name?"</p> + +<p>"I'm Captain Marsh," replied the man. He glanced out the open door at +the group on the wharf. "If they're going up past the bend to-day, +they'll have to get a move," he remarked. "Here, Bobby, want to blow the +whistle?"</p> + +<p>He lifted the boy up in the hollow of one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> arm. "There, that's it; that +handle. Pull down on it, and let go."</p> + +<p>Bobby did so and his little heart almost stopped at the shock of the +blast, so loud was it, and so near.</p> + +<p>"Now again," commanded Captain Marsh.</p> + +<p>Bobby recovered and obeyed. The passengers began to embark.</p> + +<p>Captain Marsh watched until the last was safely aboard; then he set +Bobby gently to the floor.</p> + +<p>"If you want to see out, go sit on the bunk back there," he advised.</p> + +<p>Somebody cast off the lines. Captain Marsh pulled the other handle. A +sharp tinkling bell struck somewhere far in the depths of the craft. +Immediately Bobby felt beneath him the upheaval and trembling of some +mighty force. The wharf seemed to slip back. In another moment at a +second tinkle of the bell the tug had gathered headway, and the little +boy was watching with delight the sandhills and buildings on one side +and the other slipping by in regular succession.</p> + +<p>Captain Marsh stood easily staring directly ahead of him, and paying no +more attention to the child. Bobby sat very straight in his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> absorption. +New impressions were coming to him so fast that he had no desire to +move. The slow turn of the great wheel; the throb of the engine; the +swift passing of water; the orderly procession of the river banks; the +feeling of smooth, resistless motion—these sufficed. How long he might +have sat there if undisturbed, it would be hard to say; but at the end +of a few moments Angus McMullen looked in at the door.</p> + +<p>"What you stayin' here for, Bobby?" he inquired with contemptuous +wonder. "Come on out and see the big waves we're making."</p> + +<p>Outside Bobby found all the grown-ups gathered forward of the pilot +house. The older people were seated on folding camp chairs, the +equilibrium of which they found some difficulty in maintaining on the +sloping deck. Bradford, Carlin, Welton and Miss Proctor, however, had +established themselves in the extreme bow. Miss Proctor perched on the +bitts, while the men stood or leaned near at hand. Occasionally, as the +tug changed course, Miss Proctor would utter a little exclamation and +thrust her arms out aimlessly, as though uncertain. All three of the men +thereupon assured her balance for her. With the group Bobby saw the +little girl with light hair.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not up there," advised Angus. "This way." A very narrow passage ran +between the thick gunwale and the deck-house. It sloped down and then +gradually up toward the stern. At its lowest point it seemed to Bobby +fearfully near the river; and as he descended to that point he +discovered that indeed the displacement of rapid running appeared to +force the water even above the level of the deck. Bits of chip, sawdust +and the like shot swiftly by in the smooth, oily curve of the liquid. +The wet smell of it came to Bobby's eager nostrils, the subtle cool +aroma of the river.</p> + +<p>But, from a little door level with the deck, smoking a pipe, leaned a +negro who greeted them jovially. He dwelt in a narrow place down in the +hull, filled with machinery and the glow of a furnace. The boys hung in +the opening fascinated by the regular rise and fall of the polished +rods; savouring the feel of heavy heated air and the clean smell of oil. +In a moment the negro flung open an iron door whence immediately sprang +glowing light and a blast of heat. Into this door he thrust two or three +long slabs which he took from the deck on the other side of the tug; and +shut it to with a clang.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>After gazing their fill, the boys continued their way back. The +deck-house ended. They found themselves on the broad, flat, spoon-shaped +after-deck occupied by the strong towing-bitts and coils of cable.</p> + +<p>"Isn't this great?" asked Angus.</p> + +<p>They joined the Fuller boys hanging eagerly over the stern. Here the +wake boiled white and full of bubbles from the action of the powerful +propeller necessary to a towing-tug. Along the edges it was light green +shot with blue; and the central line of its down-section waved from side +to side like a snake. On either side long, slanting waves pushed aside +by the bow surged smoothly away; behind followed other round waves in +regular and diminishing succession. Over them the chips and bark rode +with a jolly, dancing motion.</p> + +<p>Shortly, however, the younger people discovered the possibilities of the +after-deck. Miss Proctor leaned her back against the low gunwale astern. +The men disposed themselves about her. They talked with a great deal of +laughter; but Bobby did not find their conversation amusing. Finally +they began to entreat Mr. Bradford to play his banjo. That young +gentleman became suddenly afflicted with shyness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't play much," he objected. "Honestly I don't—just picked up a +few chords by ear."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. <i>Bradford</i>," cried Miss Proctor, "I've heard you play +<i>beautifully</i>. <i>Do</i> get it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bradford objected further; and was further cajoled by Miss Proctor. +Bobby wondered why he had brought the banjo along, if he didn't want to +play on it. The other men did none of the persuading. Finally Mr. +Bradford procured the instrument. He took some time to tune it; and had +something to say concerning damp air and the strings. Finally he played +the "Spanish Fandango," to the enthusiasm of Miss Proctor and the polite +attention of the other men. This he followed by a song called "Listen to +the Mocking Bird," the chorus to which consisted of complicated gurgling +whistling supposed to represent the song of the mocking bird, though it +is to be doubted if that performer would have recognized himself in it. +Miss Proctor approving of this, Bradford next played a trick piece, in +the course of which he did acrobatics with his instrument, but without +missing a note.</p> + +<p>Carlin and Welton finally strolled away unnoticed. The lumberman offered +the other a cigar.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ain't no use buckin' the funny man with the banjo, Tommy," he observed +with a rueful grin.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bradford now put two pennies under the bridge.</p> + +<p>"Makes it sound like a guitar," he explained; and drifted into +thrillingly sentimental selections. He sang three in so low a voice that +Bobby began to think it useless to listen any more; when a loud and +prolonged whistle from the tug drowned all other sounds. Mr. Bradford +looked savage; but the boys were delighted.</p> + +<p>"Going to pass the drawbridge!" shrieked Angus.</p> + +<p>They raced away to the bow in order to watch the imminence of the great +structure over their heads; to see the smokestack dip back on its hinges +as they passed beneath; and to gloat over the smash of their waves +against the piling of the bridge's foundation. Here Bobby was captured +by Mrs. Orde.</p> + +<p>"Here, Bobby," said she, "This is Celia Carleton, and I want you to be +nice to her."</p> + +<p>With that she left them staring at each other.</p> + +<p>"How do you do?" remarked Bobby gravely.</p> + +<p>"How do you do?" said she.</p> + +<p>They were no further along.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I got a new knife," blurted out Bobby, in desperation.</p> + +<p>"That's nice," said Celia politely. "Let's see it."</p> + +<p>"I haven't got it with me," confessed Bobby. He was ashamed to say that +he was not yet permitted to use it.</p> + +<p>He glanced at her sideways. Somehow he liked the fresh clean stiffness +of her starched, skirts, and the biscuit brown of her complexion. He +desired all at once that she think well of him.</p> + +<p>"I can jump off our high-board fence to the ground," he boasted.</p> + +<p>Celia seemed impressed.</p> + +<p>"My knife's nothing," said Bobby, "My father's got a razor that can cut +anything. He lets me take it whenever I want it. It's awful sharp. If I +had it here I could cut this boat right in two with it."</p> + +<p>"My!" said Celia, "But I wouldn't want to cut it in two. Would you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," said Bobby, his legs apart, his head on one side. He +was sure now that he liked this new acquaintance; she seemed pleasantly +to be awestricken. "Come on, let's go in the back part of the boat" he +suggested, "and I'll show you things."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> + +<p>"All right," said she.</p> + +<p>Bobby led her past the scornful Angus to the narrow deck.</p> + +<p>"This is the engine room," he announced out of his new knowledge.</p> + +<p>But Celia did not care for it.</p> + +<p>"It's awfully dirty," said she.</p> + +<p>This was a new point of view; and Bobby marvelled. However, she was +delighted with the after-deck, and the wake, and the attendant waves. +Bobby showed them off to her as though they had been his private +possessions. This was the first little girl he had ever known. The +novelty appealed to him; the daintiness of her; the freshness and +cleanness; the dependence of her on Bobby's ten years of experience—all +this brought out the latent and instinctive male admiration of the +child. He remained heedless of the other three boys hanging awkwardly in +the middle distance. All his small store of knowledge he poured out +before her—he told her everything, without reservation—of Duke, and +the sand-hills, and the fort, and Sir Thomas Malory, and the booms, and +the Flobert Rifle, and the "Dutchmen" on the side street. She found it +all interesting. They became very good friends.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the meantime Mr. Bradford had long since laid aside the banjo, and +was basking in Miss Proctor's unshared attention. The pleased smile +never left his face; the lean of his head bespoke deep deference; the +curve of his body respectful devotion. He talked in a low voice, and +every moment or so Miss Proctor would giggle, or exclaim, "Oh, Mr. +<i>Bradford</i>!" in a pleased and reproving voice.</p> + +<p>In the meantime the tug was going rapidly up river; and yet, with the +exception of an occasional glance from some isolated individual, and the +sporadic attention of the boys, no one saw what was passing. All were +absorbed by the people, the little happenings and the talk aboard the +craft. So without comment they swept past the tall yellow sand-hills +with their fringe of crested trees on the left; and the wide plain on +the right. Only Bobby remarked the deep bayou in the bosom of the hills +where dreamed in the peace and mystery of an honourable old age the +hulks of a dozen vessels rotting in the sun. The shipyards and the mills +the other side the drawbridge nobody saw, for at that time even Bobby +was absorbed in his new acquaintance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>But beyond that, the boy having offered and the girl received the first +burst of confidence, the children turned their attention to things +passing. They saw the wide marshes of rushes and cat-tails, with their +bayous and channels wherein swam the white-billed mud-hens; and the long +booms to the left filled with brown logs. From this level, low to the +water, these things seemed to them wonderful and vast. After a little +the <i>Robert O</i> whistled again. They passed the swing at the upper end of +the booms. Old man North stood, in the doorway of his hut, smoking his +short black pipe upside down. Bobby was astonished to see how different +the hut looked from this point of view. He would hardly have recognized +it were it not for the swing-tender, who waved his pipe at Bobby when +the tug passed.</p> + +<p>"I know him," said Bobby proudly to Celia.</p> + +<p>The <i>Robert O</i> swept through, and the long slanting waves, and the round +following waves sucked up and down among the piles.</p> + +<p>"Now we're going around the Bend!" cried Bobby excitedly. "I never been +around the Bend!"</p> + +<p>But Celia suddenly arose.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm going back to mamma and the rest," she announced.</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Bobby astonished. "Come on; stay here and see what there is +around the Bend."</p> + +<p>Celia stood on one foot, her black eyes wide and speculative, staring +past Bobby into some fair realm of feminine caprice. She shook her head, +slowly, so that first a curl on one side, then on the other fell across +her eyes. After a long deliberate moment she turned and went forward, +followed at a distance by the grieved and puzzled Bobby. In the bow she +sidled up to her mother, against whom she leaned lightly, her head on +one side, her eyes dreamy, her hand slipped into one of her mother's +open palms. Bobby, shut out, made his way to the prow, where he rested +his chin on the rail, and rather glumly contemplated the surprises of +"around the Bend."</p> + +<p>But over the prow the little boy was the first—except for Captain +Marsh—to see from afar the landing, first as a glimmering shadow under +the reflection of the elms; then as a vague ill-defined form above the +River's glassy surface; finally as a wide, low, T-shaped platform wharf, +reaching its twenty feet from the grassy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> banks to shimmer in the heat +above its own wavering reflection.</p> + +<p>The tug sidled alongside with a great turmoil of white-and-green +bubble-shot water drifting around in eddies from her labouring +propeller. Captain Marsh, after one prolonged jingle of his bell emerged +from his pilot-house, seized a heavy rope, and sprang ashore. The end of +the rope he cast around a snubbing-pile.</p> + +<p>But some inset of current or excess of momentum made it impossible to +hold her. The rope creaked and cried as it was dragged around the smooth +snubbing-pile. Finally the end was drawn so close that Captain Marsh was +in danger of jamming his hands. At once, with inconceivable dexterity +and quickness, he cast loose, ran forward, wrapped the line three times +around another pile farther on and braced his short, sturdy legs against +the post for a trial of strength. Here the heavy, slow surge of the tug +was effectually checked. Captain Marsh turned his wide grin of triumph +toward his passengers. Everybody laughed, and prepared to disembark.</p> + +<p>Between the gunwale and the wharf's edge could be seen a narrow glinting +strip of very black water. The <i>Robert O</i> slowly approached<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> and receded +from the dock; and this strip of water correspondingly widened and +narrowed. Over it every one must step; and the anxieties and precautions +were something tremendous. Bobby came toward the last, and was lifted +bodily across, his sturdy legs curling up under like a crab's.</p> + +<p>The wharf he found broad and square and shady, with a narrow way leading +ashore. In the middle of it were piled, awaiting shipment on the <i>Lucy +Belle</i>, three tiers of the old-fashioned, open-built, pail-shaped +peach-baskets containing the famous Michigan fruit. Each was filled to a +gentle curve above the brim, and over the top was wired pink mosquito +netting. This at once protected the fruit from insects; added to the +brilliancy and softness of its colouring; and lent to the rows of +baskets a gay and holiday appearance. The men examined them attentively, +talking of "cling stones," "free stones," "Crawfords," and other +technicalities which Bobby could not understand. When the last lunch +basket had been passed ashore, all crossed to the bank of the river and +the grove of elms, leaving the <i>Robert O</i> and Captain Marsh and the +engineer.</p> + +<p>In the grove the boys immediately scattered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> in search of adventure. All +but Bobby. He remained with the older people, wishing mightily to take +Celia with him; but suddenly afraid to approach her with the direct +request. So he contented himself with expressive gestures, which she, +close to her mother, chose to ignore.</p> + +<p>Two of the men disappeared up the path, one carrying an empty pail. The +others went busily about collecting wood, building a fire, smoothing out +a place to spread the rugs which would serve as a table. All the women +fluttered about the lunch baskets examining the contents, discussing +them, finally distributing them in accordance with the mysterious system +considered proper in such matters. Bobby, left alone, without occupation +on the one hand, nor the desire for his companions' amusements on the +other, was then the only one at leisure to look about him, to observe +through the alders that fringed the bank the hide-and-seek glint of the +River; to gaze with wonder and a little awe on the canopy of waving +light green that to his childish sense of proportion seemed as far above +him as the skies themselves; to notice how the sunlight splashed through +the rifts as though it had been melted and poured down from above; to +feel the friendly warmth of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> summer air under trees; to savour the hot +springwood-smells that wandered here and there in the careless +irresponsibility of forest spirits off duty. This was Bobby's first +experience with woods; and his keenest perceptions were alive to them. +The tall trunks of trees rising from the graceful, fragile, +half-translucence of undergrowth; little round tunnels to a distant +delicate green; lights against shadows, and shadows against lights; the +wing-flashes of birds hidden and mysterious; and above all the +marvellous green transparence of all the shadows, which tinted the very +air itself, so that to the little boy it seemed he could bathe in it as +in a clear fountain—all these came to him at once. And each brought by +the hand another wonder for recognition, so that at last the picnic +party disappeared from his vision, the loud and laughing voices were +hushed from his ears. He stood there, lips apart, eyes wide, spirit +hushed, looking half upward. The light struck down across him.</p> + +<p>The picnic party went about its business unaware of the wonderful thing +transacting in their very presence. Men do not grow as plants, so many +inches, so many months. The changes prepare long and in secret, without<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +visible indication. Then swiftly they take place. The qualities of the +soul unfold silently their splendid wings.</p> + +<p>After a moment the boys ran whooping through the woods from one +direction demanding food; the two men came shouting from the other +carrying a pail of water and an open basket of magnificent peaches. +Bobby shivered slightly, and looked about him, half dazed, as though he +had just awakened. Then quietly he crept to a tree near the table and +sat down. For perhaps a minute he remained there; then with a rush came +the reaction. Bobby was wildly and reprehensibly naughty.</p> + +<p>Once in a while, and after meals, Mrs. Orde allowed him a single piece +of sponge-cake; no more. But now, Bobby, catching the eye of Celia upon +him, grimaced, pantomimed to call attention, and deliberately <i>broke</i> +off a big chunk of Mrs. Owen's frosted work of art and proceeded to +devour it. Celia's eyes widened with horror; which to Bobby's depraved +state of mind was reward enough. Then Mrs. Orde uttered a cry of +astonishment; Mrs. Owen a dignified but outraged snort; and Bobby was +yanked into space.</p> + +<p>After the storm had cleared, he found himself,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> somewhat dishevelled, +aboard the <i>Robert O</i>, entrusted to Captain Marsh, provided with three +bread-and-butter sandwiches, and promised a hair-brush spanking for the +morrow.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Orde was not only mortified, but shocked to the very depths of her +faith.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how to explain it!" she said again and again. "Bobby is +always so good about such things! I've brought him up—and +<i>deliberately</i>. My dear Mrs. Owen, such a beautiful frosting, and to +have it ruined like that!"</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Fuller, fat, placid, perhaps slightly stupid, here rose to the +heights of what her husband always admiringly called "horse sense."</p> + +<p>"Now, Carroll," she said, "stop your worrying about it. You'll get +yourself all worked up and spoil your lunch and ours, all for nothing. +Children will be naughty sometimes. I was naughty myself. So were you, +probably. That's human nature. Just don't worry about it and spoil the +good time."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Orde thereupon fell silent, for she was a sensible woman and could +see the point as to lessening the other's enjoyment. Little by little +she cooled off, until at last she was able to join in the fun; although +always in the background<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> of her mind persisted the necessity of knowing +a <i>reason</i> for such an outbreak.</p> + +<p>The flurry over, Welton insisted that they all admire the peaches.</p> + +<p>"Best Michigan produces," he boasted. "Every one big as a coffee-cup; +and perfect in shape, colour and flavour. Freestone, too. Nothing +exceptional about them either. Millions more just like 'em. Can't match +them anywhere in the world."</p> + +<p>"Saw by the paper this spring that the peach crop was ruined by the +frost," marvelled Carlin.</p> + +<p>Taylor laughed.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, the Michigan peach crop is destroyed regularly <i>every</i> +spring. Seem to be enough peaches by August, however."</p> + +<p>They fell to on the lunch. When they had eaten all they could, there +still remained enough to have fed four other picnics of the same size as +their own.</p> + +<p>Bobby remained not long cast down, however.</p> + +<p>"Been at it, have you?" observed Captain Marsh after the irate parent +had departed. "What was it this time?"</p> + +<p>"I ate a piece of cake," replied Bobby.</p> + +<p>"H'm! That doesn't sound very bad."</p> + +<p>"It was Mrs. Owen's cake," supplemented Bobby.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I see," said the Captain gravely in enlightenment. "What are you going +to do now?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to eat my lunch," Bobby informed him, showing the three +bread-and-butter sandwiches.</p> + +<p>"H'm. So'm I," said the Captain. "Better join me."</p> + +<p>They entered the pilot-house and established themselves facing each +other on the wide leather seat. The Captain produced a tin dinner-pail +with a cupola top such as Bobby had often seen men carrying, and which +he had always desired to investigate. This came apart in the middle. The +top proved to contain cold coffee all sugared and creamed. The bottom +had a fringed red-checked napkin, two slabs of pie, two doughnuts, and +four thick ham sandwiches made of coarse bread. They ate. Captain Marsh +insisted on Bobby's accepting a doughnut and a piece of pie. Bobby did +so, with many misgivings; but found them delicious exceedingly because +they were so different from what he was used to at home.</p> + +<p>"Now," said the Captain, brushing away the crumbs with one comprehensive +gesture, "what do you want to do now? You got to stay aboard, you +know?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can't we fish?" suggested Bobby timidly.</p> + +<p>The Captain looked about him with some doubt.</p> + +<p>"Well," he decided at last, "we might try. The time of day's wrong, and +the place don't look much good; but there's no harm trying."</p> + +<p>Two long bamboo poles fitted with lines, hooks, and sinkers were slung +alongside the deck-house. Captain Marsh produced worms in a can. The two +sat side by side, dangling their feet over the stern, the poles slanting +down toward the dark water, silent and intent. In not more than two +minutes Bobby felt his pole twitch. Without much difficulty he drew to +the surface a broad flat little fish that flashed as he turned in the +water.</p> + +<p>"Hi!" cried Bobby, "there <i>are</i> fish here!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's a sunfish," said Captain Marsh.</p> + +<p>Bobby looked up.</p> + +<p>"Aren't sunfish good?" he inquired anxiously.</p> + +<p>Captain Marsh opened his mouth to reply, caught Bobby's apprehensive and +half-disappointed expression, and thought better of it.</p> + +<p>"Why, sure!" said he. "They're a fine fish."</p> + +<p>At the end of an hour Bobby had acquired a goodly string. Captain Marsh +early drew in his line, saying he preferred to smoke. Bobby<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> had an +excellent time. He was very much surprised at the return of the picnic +party. The period of punishment had not hung heavy.</p> + +<p>By the time all had embarked, the steam pressure was up. The <i>Robert O</i> +swung down stream for home.</p> + +<p>But now Celia, forgetting her earlier caprice of indifference, watched +Bobby constantly. After a little he became aware of it, and was +flattered in his secret soul, but he attempted no more advances, nor did +he vouchsafe her the smallest glance. Soon she sidled over to him shyly.</p> + +<p>"What made you do it?" she asked in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Do what?" pretended Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Break Mrs. Owen's cake."</p> + +<p>"'Cause I wanted to."</p> + +<p>"Didn't you know 't was very bad?"</p> + +<p>"'Course."</p> + +<p>Celia contemplated Bobby with a new and respectful interest. "I wouldn't +dare do it," she acknowledged at last. In this lay confession of the +reason for her change of whim; but Bobby could not be expected to +realize that. With masculine directness he seized the root of his +grievance and brought it to light.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why were you so mean this noon?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>She made wide eyes.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't mean. How was I mean?"</p> + +<p>"You went away; and you wouldn't look at me or talk to me."</p> + +<p>"I didn't care whether I talked to you or not," she denied. "I wanted to +be with my mamma."</p> + +<p>So on the return trip, too, Bobby had a good time. The wharf surprised +him, and the flurry of disembarkation prevented his saying formal +good-bye to Celia. He waved his hand at her, however, and grinned +amiably. To his astonishment she gave him the briefest possible nod over +her shoulder; and walked away, her hand clasping that of her mother, +even yet a dainty airy figure in her mussed white dress still flaring +with starch, her slim black legs, and her wide leghorn hat with the red +roses.</p> + +<p>The hurt and puzzle of this lasted him to his home, and caused him to +forget the spanking in prospect. He ate his supper in silence, quite +unaware of his mother's disapproval. After supper he hunted up Duke and +sat watching the sunset behind the twisted pines on the sandhills. He +did much cogitating, but arrived nowhere.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Bobby!" called his mother. "Come to bed."</p> + +<p>He said good night to Duke, and obeyed.</p> + +<p>"Now, Bobby," said Mrs. Orde, "I don't like to do this, but you have +been a very naughty boy to-day. Come here."</p> + +<p>Bobby came. The hair brush did its work. Usually in such case Bobby +howled before the first blow fell, but to-night he set his lips and +uttered no sounds. <i>Slap!</i> <i>slap!</i> <i>slap!</i> <i>slap!</i> with deliberate +spaces between. Bobby was released. He climbed down, his soul tense, +with agony, but his face steady—and laughed!</p> + +<p>It was not much of a laugh, to be sure, but a laugh it was. Mrs. Orde, +shocked, scandalized, outraged and now thoroughly angry, yanked her son +again across her knees.</p> + +<p>"Why! I never heard of anything like it!" she cried. "You naughty, +<i>naughty</i> boy! I don't see what's got into you to-day. I'll teach you to +laugh at my spankings!"</p> + +<p>Bobby did not laugh at this spanking. It was more than a stone could +have borne. After the fifth well-directed and vigorous smack, he howled.</p> + +<p>Later, when the tempest of sobs had stilled to occasional gulps, Mrs. +Orde questioned him about it. They were rocking back and forth in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> the +big chair, the twilight all about them. Bobby said he was sorry and his +mamma had cuddled him and loved him, and all was forgiven.</p> + +<p>"Now, Bobby, tell mamma," soothed Mrs. Orde. "Why were you such a bad +little boy as to laugh at mamma when she spanked you just now?"</p> + +<p>"I wasn't bad," protested Bobby, "I was trying to be good. You told me +not to cry when I got hurt, but to jump up and laugh about it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my baby, my poor little man!" cried Mrs. Orde between laughter and +tears.</p> + +<p>They rocked some more.</p> + +<p>"Now, Bobby, tell mamma," insisted Mrs. Orde gently. "Why did you break +Mrs. Owen's cake? Were you as hungry as all that?"</p> + +<p>"No ma'am," replied Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Why did you do it, then?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>Mr. Orde laughed uproariously when told of Bobby's attempt to be brave +under affliction.</p> + +<p>"The little snoozer!" he cried. "Guess I'll go up and see him."</p> + +<p>Bobby loved to have his father lie beside him on the bed. They never +said much; but the little boy lay, looking up through the dimness,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +bathed in a deep comfortable content at the man's physical presence.</p> + +<p>To-night they lay thus in silence for at least five minutes. Then Bobby +spoke.</p> + +<p>"Papa," said he "don't you think Celia Carleton is pretty?"</p> + +<p>"Very pretty, Bobby."</p> + +<p>Another long silence.</p> + +<p>"Papa," complained Bobby at last, "why does Celia be nice to me; and +then not be nice to me; and change all the while?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Orde chuckled softly to himself.</p> + +<p>"That's the way of 'em, Bobby," said he. "There's no explaining it. All +little girls are that way—and big girls, too," he added.</p> + +<p>So long a pause ensued that Mr. Orde thought his son must be asleep, and +was preparing softly to escape.</p> + +<p>"Papa," came the little boy's voice from the darkness, "I like her just +the same."</p> + +<p>"Carroll," said Mr. Orde to his wife as blinking he entered the lighted +sitting room, "you can recover your soul's equanimity. I've found out +why he broke into the cake."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Mrs. Orde eagerly.</p> + +<p>"He was showing off before that little Carleton girl," replied Mr. +Orde.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<h3>HIDE AND COOP</h3> + + +<p>Early Monday morning Bobby was afoot and on his way to the Ottawa Hotel. +He ran fast until within a block of it; then unexpectedly his gait +slackened to a walk, finally to a loiter. He became strangely reluctant, +strangely bashful about approaching the place. This was not to be +understood.</p> + +<p>Usually when he wanted to go play with any one, he simply went and did +so. Now all sorts of barriers seemed to intervene, and the worst of it +was that these barriers he seemed to have spun from out his own soul. +Then too a queer feeling suddenly invaded his chest, exactly like that +he remembered to have experienced during the downward rush of a swing. +Bobby could not comprehend these things; they just were. He was fairly +to the point of deciding to go back and look at the Flobert Rifle, in +the shop window, when a group of children ran out from the wide office +doors to the croquet court at the side.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>Among them Bobby made out Celia, a different Celia from her of the +picnic. Her curls danced as full of life and light as ever; the biscuit +brown of her complexion glowed as smooth and clean; even from a distance +Bobby could see the contrast of her black eyes; but on her head she wore +a brown chip hat; her gown was of plain blue gingham; her slim straight +legs were encased in heavy strong stockings. She looked like a healthy, +lively little girl out for a good time; and the sight cheered Bobby's +wavering courage as nothing else could. His vague ideas of retreat were +discarded.</p> + +<p>But he did not know how to approach. The children inside the low rail +fence were placing the brilliantly-striped wooden balls in a row in +order to determine by 'pinking' at the stake who should have the +advantageous last shot. Bobby, irresolute, halted outside, shifting +uneasily, wanting to join the group, but withheld by the unwonted +bashfulness. Amid shouts and exclamations each clicked his mallet +against his ball, and immediately ran forward with the greatest +eagerness to see how near the stake he had come. At last the group +formed close. A moment's dispute cleared. Celia had won,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> and now stood +erect, her cheeks flushing, her eyes dancing with triumph. In so doing +she caught sight of Bobby hesitating outside.</p> + +<p>"Why, there's Bobby!" she cried. "Come on in, Bobby, and play!"</p> + +<p>At the sound of her voice, all his timidity vanished. He entered boldly +and joined the others.</p> + +<p>"This is Bobby," announced Celia by way of general introduction, "and +this," she continued, turning to Bobby, "is Gerald, and Morris, and +Kitty and Margaret."</p> + +<p>"Hullo," said Morris, "Grab a mallet, and come on."</p> + +<p>Bobby liked Morris, who was a short, redheaded boy of jolly aspect. +Gerald, a youth of perhaps twelve years of age, rather tall and slender, +of very dark, clear, pale complexion, nodded carelessly. Bobby took an +immediate distaste for him. He looked altogether too superior, and +sleepy and distinguished—yes, and stylish. Bobby was very young and +inexperienced; but even he could feel that Gerald's round straw hat, and +norfolk-cut jacket, and neat, loose, short trousers buckled at the knee +contrasted a little more than favourably with his own chip hat, blue +blouse and tight breeches.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> Also he was already dusty, while Gerald was +immaculate.</p> + +<p>As to Kitty and Margaret, they were nice, neat, clean, pretty little +girls—but not like Celia!</p> + +<p>Bobby found a mallet and ball in the long wooden case, and joined the +game. He was not skilful at it, and soon fell behind the others in the +progress through the wickets. Indeed, when, after two strokes, he had at +last gained position for the "middle arch," he met Gerald coming the +other way. Gerald shot for his ball; hit it; and then, with a disdainful +air, knocked Bobby away out of bounds across the lawn. This was quite +within the rules, but it made Bobby angry just the same. As he trudged +doggedly away after his ball, he felt himself very much alone under what +he thought must be the derisive eyes of all the rest. The game ended +before he had gained the turning stake.</p> + +<p>"Skunked," remarked Morris cheerfully.</p> + +<p>Gerald said nothing, did not even look; but Bobby liked Morris's comment +better than Gerald's assumed indifference.</p> + +<p>"Let's have another game—partners," suggested Gerald to Celia.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Bobby, to his own great surprise, found courage to speak up.</p> + +<p>"Let's not play croquet any more," said he. "Let's have a game of +Hi-Spy."</p> + +<p>"It's too hot," interposed Gerald quickly.</p> + +<p>The others said nothing, but with the child's keen instinct for the +drama, had drawn aside in favour of the principal actors. Gerald stood +by the stake, leaning indolently on his mallet, his long black lashes +down-cast over the dark pallor of his cheeks, very handsome, very +graceful. Bobby had drawn near on Celia's other side. The comparison +showed all his freckles and the unformed homeliness of his rather dumpy, +sturdy figure; it showed also the honest dull red of his cheeks and the +clear unfaltering gray of his eyes. Celia, between them, looked down, +tapping her croquet ball with the tip of her shoe.</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's very hot," she said at last, looking up. "Let's play +Hi-Spy."</p> + +<p>A wave of glowing triumph rushed through Bobby's soul. Gerald merely +shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>But unmixed joy was to be a short-lived emotion with Bobby as far as +Celia was concerned. He knew lots of fine hiding-places<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> about the +grounds of the Ottawa, and he promised himself that he would take Celia +to them. They could hide together; and that would be delightful.</p> + +<p>Morris counted out first to be "it." He leaned his arm against a post, +his head against his arm, and closed his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Ten-ten-double-ten-forty-five-fifteen" he repeated over ten times as +rapidly as possible. That was his way of counting a thousand.</p> + +<p>The other children scurried off as fast as their legs could carry them +in order to reach concealment before the end of the count. And somehow, +against his will, Bobby found himself cast in the hurry of the moment +with Kitty instead of with Celia. And Celia he saw disappear in Gerald's +convoy.</p> + +<p>"Coming!" roared Morris, uncovering his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, he's coming!" cried Kitty in distress, "and we're not hid! +Where shall we go? Don't you know any good places?"</p> + +<p>But Bobby, still confused over his disappointment, had not the wits +wherewith to think in so pressing an emergency. He vacillated between +pillar and post; and so was espied by the goal-keeper. Morris +immediately set himself in rapid motion for the "home."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p>"One, two, three for Bobby Orde!" he cried, striking the post +vigorously. "One, two, three for Kitty Clark!"</p> + +<p>The two reluctantly appeared.</p> + +<p>"There, now, you got us caught," accused Kitty sulkily.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," consoled Bobby, "anyway he saw me first. I'm it!"</p> + +<p>Morris was off prowling after more prey. As he disappeared around the +corner of the building a rapid flash of skirts was visible from the +other. Morris caught it; and, turning, raced with all his might back to +the home goal. But Margaret had too good a head start. She arrived +first; and immediately began to dance around and around, her long legs +twinkling, her two thick braids flying.</p> + +<p>"In free! In free!" she shrieked over and over again.</p> + +<p>There still remained Celia and Gerald. Morris set himself very carefully +to find them, prowling into all likely places, but returning abruptly +every moment or so in order to forestall or discourage attempts to get +in. He proved unsuccessful; nor did his absence seem to afford the +others chances to run home. The other three watched with growing +impatience.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, Morris, let them in!" begged Kitty. Bobby felt a glow of kindliness +toward her for making the suggestion. He would not have proffered it +himself for worlds. Morris, however, was obstinate. He continued his +search for at least ten minutes. At last he had to give in.</p> + +<p>"All sorts in free!" he called at the top of his voice.</p> + +<p>Celia and Gerald appeared smiling and unruffled. They refused to divulge +their hiding-place.</p> + +<p>"We'll save it until next time," said Celia.</p> + +<p>Bobby blinded his eyes and counted. He had no interest in the game, and +experienced inside himself a half-sick, hollow feeling unique in his +experience. Morris, Kitty and Margaret got in free, simply because his +attention was too lax. Gerald and Celia had once more disappeared. After +a decent interval the others became clamorous again for general amnesty.</p> + +<p>"Blind again, Bobby," they urged, "let them in free."</p> + +<p>But Bobby continued to search beyond the places he had already looked. +His further knowledge of the hotel grounds was a negligible quantity; so +he began, consistently to eliminate all possibilities. From one corner +he zigzagged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> back and forth, testing every nook and cranny that might +contain a human being. Thus he examined every foot of the place; but +without results. He was puzzled; but he would not give up. Methodically, +and to the vast disgust of the others, he began over again at the corner +from which he had started. No results.</p> + +<p>"No fair outside the grounds!" he shouted. To this of course, no answer +came.</p> + +<p>"Give it up!" urged the others.</p> + +<p>"I won't!" insisted Bobby doggedly.</p> + +<p>He did not know where to search next, so he looked up. The hotel was +provided with a broad shady flat-roofed verandah. At the edge of this +roof, projecting the least bit above, Bobby glimpsed a fold of blue. The +pair were evidently lying at full length in the spacious water gutter. +The blue could be nothing but the gingham of Celia's dress. Nevertheless +Bobby walked to goal and calmly announced.</p> + +<p>"One, two, three for Gerald—on the verandah roof!" And then, after a +deliberate pause, "All sorts in free!"</p> + +<p>Gerald blinded. Bobby, with determination, took Celia's hand, and +breathlessly the pair sped away. The little boy's first move was to +place the hotel building between himself and Gerald.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can you climb a fence?" he asked hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"If it isn't too high."</p> + +<p>"Come on then, I know a dandy place."</p> + +<p>Bobby attacked the board fence behind the hotel. Two packing-boxes of +different heights made the problem of ascent easy. But the other side +was a sheer drop; and Celia was afraid.</p> + +<p>"I can't!" she cried. "It's too far!"</p> + +<p>"Just drop," advised Bobby desperately. "Hurry up! He'll be around the +corner!"</p> + +<p>"I daren't!" cried poor Celia. "You go first."</p> + +<p>Promptly Bobby dangled; and dropped.</p> + +<p>"See; it's easy. Come on, I'll catch you!"</p> + +<p>Finally Celia wiggled over the edge, shut her eyes, and let go. She +landed directly on Bobby, and the two went down in a heap.</p> + +<p>"Come on!" whispered Bobby. "Scoot!"</p> + +<p>Before them rose a whitewashed barn. Celia's hand in his, Bobby darted +in at the open doorway, and more by instinct than by sight, found a +rickety steep flight of stairs and ascended to the hay-mow.</p> + +<p>"There, isn't that great?" he whispered.</p> + +<p>They sank back on the soft fragrant hay, and breathed luxuriously after +the haste of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> the last few moments. A score of mice had scurried away at +their abrupt entrance; and the fairy-like echoes of these animals' tiny +feet seemed to linger in the twilight. Through cracks long pencils of +sunlight lay across the hay and the dim criss-cross of the rafters +above. Dust motes crossed them in lazy eddies, each visible for a golden +moment as it entered the glow of its brief importance, only to be +blotted into invisibility as it passed.</p> + +<p>"Is this a fair hide?" whispered Celia. "This is outside the grounds."</p> + +<p>"It's the hotel barn," replied Bobby. "I bet he doesn't find us here."</p> + +<p>They fell silent, because they were hiding, and in that silence they +unconsciously drew nearer to each other. The delicious aroma of the hay +overcame their spirits with a drowsiness. New sensations thronged on +Bobby's spirit, made receptive by the narcotic influences of the tepid +air, the mysterious dimness, the wands of gold, the floating brief +dust-motes. He wanted to touch Celia; and he found himself diffident. He +wanted to hear her voice; and he suddenly discovered in himself an +embarrassment in addressing her which was causeless and foolish. He +wanted to look at her; and he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> did so; but it was not frankly and +openly, as he had always looked at people before. His shy side-glances +delighted in the clear curve of her cheeks; the soft wheat-colour of her +curls; the dense black of her half-closed eyes; the brown of her +complexion; the sweet cleanliness of her. A faint warm fragrance +emanated from her. Bobby's heart leaped and stood still. All at once he +knew what was the matter. It is a mistake to imagine that children do +not recognize love when it comes to them. Love requires no announcement, +no definition, no description. Only in later years when the first fresh +purity of the heart has gone, we may perhaps require of him an +introduction.</p> + +<p>At once Bobby felt swelling within his breast a great longing, a hunger +which filled his throat, a yearning that made him faint. For what? Who +can tell. The idea of possession was still years distant; the thought of +a caress had not yet come to him; the bare notion that Celia could care +for him had not as yet unfolded its dazzling wings; even the desire to +tell her was not yet born. Probably at no other period of a human +being's life is the passion of love so pure, so divorced from all +considerations of the material, or of self, so shiningly its ethereal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +spiritual soul. Yet love it is; such love as the grown man feels for his +mate; with all the great inner breathless longings of the highest +passion.</p> + +<p>The two lay curled side by side in their nests of hay. Time passed, but +they did not know of it. The little boy was drowned in the depths of +this new thing that had come to him. Celia filled the world to him. His +reverie brimmed with her. Yet somehow also there came to him other +things, unsought, and floated about him, and became more fully part of +him than they had ever been before. It was an incongruous assortment; +some of the knights of Sir Malory; the River above the booms, with the +brown logs; a plume of white steam against the dazzling blue sky; the +mellow six-o'clock church bell to which he arose every morning; the +snake-fence by the sandhill as it was in winter, with the wreaths of +snow; and all through everything the feel of the woods he had seen at +the picnic, their canopy of green so far above, their splashes of +sunlight through the rifts, the friendly summer warmth of their air, +their hot, spicy wood-smells wandering to and fro; their tall trunks, +their undergrowth, with the green tunnels far through them, the flashes +of their birds' wings,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> their green transparent shadows. These came to +him, vaguely, and their existence seemed explained. They were because +Celia was. And so, in the musty loft of an ill-kept stable, Bobby +entered another portion of the beautiful heritage that was some day to +be his.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<h3>THE PRINTING PRESS</h3> + + +<p>Next week was Bobby's birthday. He received many gifts, but as usual, +saved the biggest package until the last. It had come wrapped in stout +manila paper, tied with a heavy cord, and ornamented with the red +sticker and seals of the Express Company. With some importance Bobby +opened his new knife and cut the string. The removal of the wrapper +disclosed a light wooden box. This was filled with excelsior, which in +turn enclosed a paper parcel. A card read:</p> + +<p>"For Bobby on his eleventh birthday, from Grandpa and Grandma."</p> + +<p>Wrought to trembling eagerness by the continued delays, Bobby tore off +the paper. Within was a small toy cast-iron printing press. Its +ink-plate was flat and stationary. Its chase held two wooden grooves +into which the type could be clamped by means of end screws. The +mechanism was worked by a small square<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> lever at the back. Bobby opened +a red pasteboard box to discover a miniature font of Old English type; a +round tin box to uncover sticky but delicious-smelling printer's ink; a +package to reveal the ink-roller and a parcel to complete the outfit +with a pack of cheap pasteboard cards.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of that?" cried Mrs. Orde.</p> + +<p>"Now you'll be able to go into business, won't you?" said his father. +"You might make me twenty-five calling cards for a starter."</p> + +<p>Immediately breakfast was finished, then Bobby took his printing press +upstairs and installed it on his little table. He would have liked very +much to show Celia his gifts, but this Mrs. Orde peremptorily forbade.</p> + +<p>After some manipulation he loosened the chase and laid it on the table. +Then he began to pick out the necessary type and arrange it in the upper +grove to spell his father's name. The replacement of the chase was easy +after his experience in taking it out. Ink he smeared on the top plate, +according to directions, rolling it back and forth with the composition +roller until it was evenly distributed. Nothing remained now but to +adjust the guides which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> would hold the cards on the tympan. Bobby +passed the inked roller evenly back and forth across the face of the +type, inserted a card and bore down confidently on the lever. He +contemplated this result:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/page83.jpg" width="600" height="144" alt="" title="printing " /> +</div> + +<p>Besides the transpositions and inversions, the impression itself was +blurred and imperfect and smeared with ink.</p> + +<p>After the first gasp of dismay, Bobby set to work in the dogged +analytical mood which difficulties already aroused in him. The remedy +for the inversion was plain enough. Bobby changed the type end for end +and turned the R and the E right side up, but he worked slower and +slower and his brow was wrinkled. Suddenly it cleared.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know!" said he aloud. "It's just like the looking-glass!"</p> + +<p>Satisfied on this point, he finished the resetting quickly and tried +again. This time the name read correctly but it slanted down the card +and was blurred and inky. Bobby fussed for a long time to get the line +straight. Experiment seemed only to approximate. One end persisted in +rising too high or sinking too low.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> The problem was absorbing and all +the time Bobby was thinking busily along, to him, original lines. At +last, by means of a strip of paper and a pencil he measured equidistants +from top and bottom of the platen, adjusted the guides in accordance and +so that problem was solved. Bobby, flushed and triumphant, addressed +himself to remedying the blurring.</p> + +<p>"Too much ink," said he.</p> + +<p>Obviously the way to remedy too much ink was to rub some of it off and +the directest means to that end was the ever-useful pocket handkerchief. +The paste proved very sticky and the handkerchief was effective only at +the expense of great labour. Bobby ruined three more cards before he +established the principle that superfluous ink must be removed not only +from the plate but from the roller and type as well.</p> + +<p>But now further difficulties intervened before perfection. Some of the +letters printed heavily and some scarcely showed at all. Here Bobby +entered the realm of experiments which could not be lightly solved in +the course of a half hour. He tried raising the type to a common level +and locking them as tightly as possible, but always they slipped. He +attempted to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> insert bits of paper under what proved to be the shorter +types. This improved the results somewhat, but was nevertheless far from +satisfactory. By now he had learned not to use a fresh card every time. +The first half-dozen were printed back and forth, front and behind. +Bobby was smeared with more ink than the printing press. Scissors, +pencils, paper, used cards and type were scattered everywhere. All the +time his fingers were working his brain, too, was busy, searching back +from the result to the cause, seeking the requisite modification. Mr. +Orde, returning at noon, burst out laughing at the sight.</p> + +<p>"Well, youngster," said he, "how do you like being a printer?"</p> + +<p>"Oh Bobby!" cried Mrs. Orde behind him. "You are a <i>sight</i>! Don't you +know it's time to get ready for lunch?"</p> + +<p>Bobby looked up in bewildered surprise. Lunch! Why he had hardly begun! +His father was chuckling at him.</p> + +<p>"Benzine will take it off," said Mr. Orde to his wife.</p> + +<p>Bobby caught at the hint.</p> + +<p>"Will benzine take off the ink?" he cried eagerly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's supposed to," replied his father; "but in your case——"</p> + +<p>"Can I have a little, in a bottle, and a toothbrush?" begged Bobby. He +saw in a flash the solution of the ink problem.</p> + +<p>"We'll see," said Mrs. Orde. "Come with me, now."</p> + +<p>They disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Mr. Orde examined the +cards with some amusement.</p> + +<p>"Well, sonny," said he to Bobby at lunch. "The printing doesn't seem to +be a howling success. What are you going to do about it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," replied Bobby; "but I'll fix it all right yet."</p> + +<p>Bobby was busy with his birthday party all that afternoon, but next +morning he was afoot even before the Catholic Church bell called him. +The press occupied him until breakfast time, but he made small progress. +His father's morning paper filled him with envy by reason of its clear +impression. After breakfast he begged a tiny bottle of benzine and an +old toothbrush from his mother, and went at it again for nearly an hour. +The benzine worked like a charm. The type came out bright as new and the +old ink dissolved readily from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> platen and roller. Bobby took note +that he should have cleared them the day before, as a night's neglect +had left them sticky. With it all he seemed to have arrived at a dead +wall. All his limited mechanical ingenuity was exhausted and still the +letters printed either too deep or too light. About half-past nine he +cleaned up and went down to the Ottawa.</p> + +<p>His friends there were all sitting under the trees before the hotel, +resting rather vacantly after a hard romp. Celia perched high on a root, +her curls against the brown bark, her hat dangling by its elastic from a +forefinger, her lips parted, her eyes vacant. Gerald leaned gracefully +against the trunk. Bobby sat cross-legged on the ground watching +her—and him. Kitty and Margaret reclined flat on their backs, gazing up +through the leaves. Morris alone showed a trace of activity. He had +fished from his pockets the short, blunt stub of a pencil, a penny and a +piece of tissue paper. The latter he had superimposed over the penny and +by rubbing with the pencil was engaged in making a tracing of the +pattern on the coin. Through his preoccupation Bobby at last became +cognizant of this process. He sat and watched it with increasing +interest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<p>"By Jimmy!" he shouted leaping to his feet.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" they cried, startled by the abrupt movement.</p> + +<p>"I got to go home," said Bobby.</p> + +<p>They expostulated vehemently, for his departure spoiled the even number +for a game. But he would not listen, even to Celia's reproachful voice.</p> + +<p>"I'll be back after lunch," he called, and departed rapidly. Duke arose +from his warm corner, stretched deliberately, yawned, glanced at the +children, half wagged his tail and finally trotted after.</p> + +<p>Bobby rushed home as fast as he could; broke into the house like a +whirlwind; tore upstairs and, breathless with speed and the excitement +of a new idea, flung himself into the chair before his little table. He +had seen the solution. To the flash of embryonic creative instinct +vouchsafed him, Morris's penny had represented type, the inequalities of +its design were the inequalities of alignment over which he had +struggled so long and the pressure of the pencil and tissue paper +paralleled the imposition of the card on the letters. But in the case of +Morris's penny the type did not conform to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> paper and the pressure, +<i>the paper conformed to the type</i>.</p> + +<p>His brain afire with eagerness, Bobby first stretched several clean +sheets of paper over the platen and clamped them down; then he inked the +type and pressed down the lever. Thus he gained an impression on the +platen itself. At this point he hesitated. On his father's desk down +stairs was mucilage, but mucilage was strictly forbidden. The hesitation +was but momentary, however, for the creative spirit in full blast does +not recognize ordinary restrictions. With his own round-pointed scissors +he cut out little squares of paper. These he pasted on the platen over +the letters whose impression had been too faint. A few moments adjusted +the guides. Bobby inked the type and inserted a fresh card. The moment +of test was at hand.</p> + +<p>He paused and drew a long breath. From one point of view the matter was +a small one. From another it was of the exact importance of a little +boy's development, for it represented the first fruits of all the +hereditary influences that had silently and through the small +experiences of babyhood, led him over the edge of the dark, warm nest to +this first independent trial of the wings. He pressed the lever gently +and took<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> out the card. It was not a very good job of printing; the ink +was not quite evenly distributed, the type were so heavily impressed +that they showed through the reverse of the card like stamping; <i>but +each letter had evidently received the same amount of pressure!</i></p> + +<p>Bobby uttered a little chuckle of joy—he had not time for more—and +plunged into the rectification of minor errors. And by noon the press +was working steadily, though slowly, and a very neat array of <i>Mr. John +Ordes</i> was spread out on the window drying.</p> + +<p>The game was absorbing. Bobby brushed his type with the benzine and +toothbrush; distributed it and set up another name—Miss Celia Carleton. +He had printed nearly a dozen of these when his mother's voice behind +him interrupted his labours.</p> + +<p>"Robert," said the voice sternly, "what are you doing with that +mucilage?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<h3>THE LITTLE GIRL</h3> + + +<p>Bobby spent as much time with Celia as he was allowed. On Sunday he took +her on his regular excursion to Auntie Kate—and Auntie Kate's cookies.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you glad there was no Sunday School to-day?" he inquired +blithely.</p> + +<p>"I like Sunday School," stated Celia.</p> + +<p>Bobby stopped short and looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Do you like church too?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"I love it," she said.</p> + +<p>"Do you like pollywogs?"</p> + +<p>"Ugh, No!"</p> + +<p>"Or stripy snakes?"</p> + +<p>"They're <i>horrid!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Or forts?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Or rifles an' revolvers?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid of them."</p> + +<p>"Or dogs?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I love dogs. I've got one home. His name is Pancho."</p> + +<p>"What kind is he?" asked Bobby with a vast sigh of relief at finding a +common ground. He had been brought to realize yesterday that little +girls differ from boys; but for a few dreadful, floundering moments this +morning he had feared they might, so to speak, belong to a different +race. Afterward he realized that it would not have mattered even if she +had not liked dogs. He merely wished to be near her. When he left her he +immediately experienced the strongest longing to be again where he could +see her, and breathe the deep, intoxicating, delicious, clean influence +of her near presence. And yet with her his moments of unalloyed +happiness were few and his hours of sheer misery were many. +Self-consciousness had never troubled Bobby before; but now in the +presence of Gerald's slim elegance and easy, languid manner, he became +acutely aware of his own deficiencies. His clothes seemed coarser; his +hands and feet were awkward; his body dumpier; his face rounder and more +freckled. To him was born a great humility of spirit to match the great +longing of it.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, as has been said, he and Duke<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> trudged down to the Ottawa +every morning, and again every afternoon, or as many of them as Mrs. +Orde permitted. He was content to come under the immediate spell of the +dancing, sprite-like, sunny little girl. No thought of the especial +effort to please, called courtship, entered his young head. He played +with the children, and kept as close to Her as possible; that was all. +And one evening, trudging home dangerously near six o'clock, he ran slap +against the legend chalked in huge letters on a board fence:</p> + +<h4>CELIA CARLETON and BOBBY ORDE</h4> + +<p>He stopped short, his heart jumping wildly. Often had he seen this +coupling of names, other names; and he knew that it was considered a +little of a shame, and somewhat of a glory. The sight confused him to +the depths of his soul; and yet it also pleased him. He rubbed out the +letters; but he walked on with new elation. The undesired but +authoritative sanction of public recognition had been given his +devotion. Gerald was not considered. Somebody had observed; so the +affair must be noticeable to others. And with another tre<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>mendous leap +of the heart Bobby welcomed the daring syllogism that, since the +somebody of the impertinent chalk had fathomed his devotion to her, +might it not be possible, oh, remotely inconceivably possible, of +course, that the unknown had equally marked some slight interest on her +part for him? The board fence, the maple-shaded walk, the soft brown +street of pulverized shingles, all faded in the rapt glory of this +vision. Bobby gasped. Literally it had not occurred to him before. Now +all at once he desired it, desired it not merely with every power of his +child nature, but with the full strength of the man's soul that waited +but the passing of years to spread wide its pinions. The need of her +answer to his love shook him to the depths, for it reached forward and +back in his world-experience, calling into vague, drowsy, fluttering +response things that would later awaken to full life, and reanimating +the dim and beautiful instincts that are an heritage of that time when +the soul is passing the lethe of earliest childhood and retains still a +wavering iridescence of the glory from which it has come. The question +rose to his lips ready for the asking. He wanted to turn track on the +instant, to call for Celia, to demand of her the response to his love.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p>And then, after the moment of exaltation, came the reaction. He was +afraid. The thought of his stubby uninteresting figure came to him; and +a deep sense of his unworthiness. What could she, accustomed to +brilliant creatures of the wonderful city, of whom Gerald was probably +but a mild sample, find in commonplace little Bobby Orde? He walked +meekly home; and took a scolding for being late.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless the idea persisted and grew. It came to the point of +rehearsal. Before he fell asleep that very night, Bobby had ready cut +and dried a half-dozen different ways in which to ask the question, and +twice as many methods of leading up to it. In the darkness, and by +himself, he felt very bold and confident.</p> + +<p>The next morning, however, even after he had succeeded in sequestrating +Celia from her companions, he found it impossible to approach the +subject. The bare thought of it threw him to the devourings of a panic +terror. This new necessity tore him with fresh but delicious pains. He +felt the need of finding out whether she cared for him as he had never +conceived a need could exist; yet he was totally unable to satisfy it. +By comparison the former misery of jealousy seemed nothing. Bobby lived +con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>stantly in this high breathless state of delight in Celia; and +misery in the condition of his love for her. The Fuller boys and Angus +saw him no more; the little library was neglected; the wood-box half the +time forgotten; and the arithmetic, always a source of trouble, tangled +itself into a hopeless snarl of which Bobby's blurred mental vision +could make nothing.</p> + +<p>All of his spare time he spent at his toy printing press, trying over +and over for a perfect result—unblurred, well-registered, well +aligned—in the shape of calling cards for "Miss Celia Carleton."</p> + +<p>As soon as they were done to his satisfaction, he wrapped them in a +clumsy package, and set out for the Ottawa, followed, as always, by +Duke.</p> + +<p>He found Celia alone in a rocking chair.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you come down this morning?" she asked him at once.</p> + +<p>Bobby held up the package and looked mysterious.</p> + +<p>"This," said he.</p> + +<p>"Oh! what is it?" she cried, jumping up.</p> + +<p>"I made it," said Bobby.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" insisted Celia. "Show it to me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Bobby thrust the package firmly into his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Up past our house there's a fine sand-hill to slide down," said he, +"and we got a fine fort over the hill, and I know where there's a place +you can climb up on where you can see 'most to Redding."</p> + +<p>"Show me what you've got!" pleaded Celia.</p> + +<p>"I will," Bobby developed his plan, "if you'll come up and play in the +fort."</p> + +<p>"All right," agreed Celia in a breath; "I'll tell mamma I'm going. And +I'll hunt up the others."</p> + +<p>"I don't want the others to go," announced Bobby boldly.</p> + +<p>She calmed to a great stillness, and looked at him with intent eyes.</p> + +<p>"All right," she agreed quietly after a moment.</p> + +<p>They walked up the street together, followed by the solemn black and +white dog. The shop windows did not detain them, as ordinarily. At the +fire-engine house they turned under the dense shade of the maples. But +by the end of the second block said Bobby:</p> + +<p>"We'll go this way."</p> + +<p>He was afraid of encountering Angus, or perhaps the Fuller boys.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<p>The sand-hill proved toilsome to Celia, but without a single pause she +struggled bravely up its sliding, cascading yellow surface to the top. +Then she stood still, panting a little, her cheeks flushed, her eyes +bright, the tiniest curls about her forehead wet and matted with +perspiration. With a great adoration, Bobby looked upon her slender +figure held straight against the blue sky. Almost—almost dared he +speak. At least that is what he thought until the words rose to his +lips; and then all at once he realized what a wide gulf lay between the +imagined and the spoken word.</p> + +<p>"The fort's over this way," said he gruffly.</p> + +<p>"Show me the package first," insisted Celia.</p> + +<p>Bobby drew out the cards, and thrust them into her hands.</p> + +<p>"They're for you," he said hastily. "I did them on my printing press."</p> + +<p>Celia was delighted and wanted to say so at length, but Bobby had his +sex's aversion to spoken gratitude.</p> + +<p>"Come on, see the fort," he insisted.</p> + +<p>He showed her the elaborate works and explained their uses, and pointed +out the enemy of stumps charging patiently. Celia caught fire with the +idea at once.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 422px;"> +<img src="images/facing-98.jpg" width="422" height="600" alt="ALMOST—ALMOST DARED HE TO SPEAK" title="" /> +<span class="caption">ALMOST—ALMOST DARED HE TO SPEAK</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll make bullets the way they did in the Colonies!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"Have you 'Old Times in the Colonies,' too?" asked Bobby eagerly.</p> + +<p>They seated themselves and talked of their books. Celia was just +beginning the Alcott series. Bobby had never heard of them, and so they +had to be explained. The children had romped and played games together; +but they had never exchanged such ideas as their years had developed. +For once Bobby forgot the fact of his love, and its delicious pains, and +its need for something which he could not place, in the unselfconscious +joy of intimate communion. He drew close to Celia in spirit; and his +whole being expanded to a glow that warmed him through and through. The +westering sun surprised them with the lateness of the hour. At the hotel +gate Celia left him.</p> + +<p>"My, but we had a good time!" said she.</p> + +<p>With much trepidation Bobby next day suggested in face of the whole +group that he and Celia should climb the high hill from which Bobby +fondly believed he could see "'most to Redding." To his surprise, and to +the surprise of the others, Celia consented at once. They climbed the +hill in short stages, resting formally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> every ten feet. Bobby they +called the Guide; while Celia was assigned the duty of announcing the +resting-places. There was a wood-road up the hill, but they preferred +the steep side. Trees shaded it; and undergrowth veiled it. Little open +spaces were guarded mysteriously and jealously by the thickets; little +hot pockets held like cups the warmth of the sun. Birds flashed and +disappeared; squirrels chattered indignantly; chipmunks scurried away. +Occasionally they came to dense shade, and moss, and black shadow, and +low sweet shrubs a few inches high, and the tinkle of a tiny streamlet. +Once a tangle of raspberries in a little clearing fell across their way. +Bobby had never happened on these. They had been well picked over by the +squaws, who sold fruit in town by the pailful, but the children managed +to find a few berries, and ate them, enjoying their warm, satiny feel.</p> + +<p>Thus they climbed for a long time. The rests were frequent, the course +not of the straightest. For many years their recollection of that hill +was as of a mountain. Finally the top sprang at them abruptly, as though +in joke.</p> + +<p>"Come over this way, I'll show you," said Bobby.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>He led the way to a point where the scant timber had in times past +suffered a windfall. Through the opening thus made they looked abroad +over the countryside. They could see the snake-fences about the farms, +and the white dusty road like a ribbon and the stumps like black dots, +and the waving green tops of the "wood lots" and far away the flash of +the River.</p> + +<p>Thus Bobby gained another of his great desires. Celia proved strangely +acquiescent to suggestions for these excursions. Gerald's dreaded +attractions relaxed their power over Bobby's spirit; and in +corresponding degree Bobby regained the lost captaincy of his soul. The +self-confidence which he lacked seeped gradually into him; and he began, +though very tentatively, to recognize and respect his own value as an +individual. These are big words to employ over the small problems of a +child; yet in the child alone occur those silent developments, those +noiseless changes which touch closest to true abstraction. Later in life +our processes are stiffened by the material into forms of greater +simplicity.</p> + +<p>They explored the country about; and what the shortness of their legs +denied them in the matter of actual distance, the large<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>ness of their +children's imaginations lavished bounteously.</p> + +<p>Bobby had explored most of it all before—the stump pastures, the +wood-lots, the hills, the beach, the piers, the upper shifting downs of +sand—but now he saw them for the first time because he was showing them +to Celia. One day they made their way under tall beech woods, through a +scrub of cedars, and found themselves on the edge of low bluffs +overlooking the yellow shore and the blue lake. Long years after he +could remember it vividly, and all the little details that belonged to +it—the flash of the waters, the dip of gulls, the gentle wash of the +quiet wavelets against the shore, the thin strip of dark wet sand that +marked the extent of their influences, and, in a long curve to the blue +of distance, the uneven waste of the yellow dry sand on which lay and +from which projected at all angles countless logs, slabs and timbers +cast up derelict by the storms of years. But at the time he was not +conscious of noticing these things. In the darkness of his room that +night all he remembered was Celia standing bright and fair against the +shadow of ancient twisted cedars.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<h3>THE LITTLE GIRL (CONTINUED)</h3> + + +<p>Every Saturday evening the Hotel Ottawa gave a hop in its dining room. +Mrs. Carleton suggested that the Ordes dine with her, and afterward take +in this function. The hop proper began at nine o'clock; but the floor +for an hour before was given over to the children. Mrs. Orde accepted.</p> + +<p>Promptly at half-past six, then, they all entered the dining room. +Bobby, living in the town, had never taken a meal there. He saw a +high-ceilinged, large room, filled with small, square and round tables +arranged between numerous, slender, white plaster pillars. At the base +of each pillar were still smaller serving tables each supporting a metal +ice-water pitcher. Two swinging doors at the far end led out. Tall +windows looked into the grounds where the children had been in the habit +of playing.</p> + +<p>People were scattered here and there eating. Statuesque ladies dressed +in black, with white<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> aprons, stood about or sailed here and there, +bearing aloft in marvellous equilibrium great flat trays piled high with +steaming white dishes. They swung corners in grand free sweeps, the +trays tilted far sideways to balance centrifugal force; they charged the +swinging doors at full speed, and when Bobby held his breath in +anticipation of the crash, something deft and mysterious happened at the +hem of their black skirts and the doors flew open as though commanded by +a magic shibboleth. They were tall and short, slender and stout, dark +and light, but they had these things in common—they all dressed in +black and white, their hair was lofty and of exaggerated waterfall, and +their expressions never altered from one of lazy-eyed, lofty, scornful +ennui. To Bobby they were easily the leading feature of the meal.</p> + +<p>After dinner the party sat on the verandah a while, the elders +conversing; the children feeling rather dressed up. By and by their +other playmates joined them. The lights were lit, and shadows descended +with evening coolness. From within came the sound of a violin tuning.</p> + +<p>Immediately all ran to the dining room. The tables had been moved to one +end where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> they were piled on top of one another; the chairs were +arranged in a row along the wall; the floor, newly waxed, shone like +glass. A small upright piano manipulated by an elderly female in +glasses; a tremendous bass viol in charge of a small man, and a violin +played by a large man represented the orchestra.</p> + +<p>All the children shouted, and began to slide on the slippery floor. +Bobby joined this game eagerly, and had great fun. But in a moment the +music struck up, the guests of the hotel commenced to drift in and the +romping had to cease.</p> + +<p>Gerald offered his arm to Celia, and they swung away in the hopping +waltz of the period. Other children paired off. Bobby was left alone.</p> + +<p>He did not know what to do, so he sat down in one of the chairs ranged +along the wall. After a minute or so Mrs. Carleton and the Ordes came +in. Bobby went over to them.</p> + +<p>"Don't you dance, Bobby?" asked Mrs. Carleton kindly.</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am," replied Bobby in a very small voice.</p> + +<p>When the music stopped, the children gathered in a group at the lower +end of the hall. Bobby<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> joined them; but somehow even then he felt out +of it. Celia's cheeks were flushed bright with the exercise and +pleasure. Her spirits were high. She laughed and chatted with Gerald +vivaciously. Poor Bobby she included in the brightness of her mood, but +evidently only because he happened to be in the circle of it. She was +sorry he did not dance; but she loved it, and just now she could think +of nothing else but the enjoyment of it. Bobby could not understand that +there was nothing personal in this. He saw, with a pang, that Gerald +danced supremely well; that Morris romped through the steps with a +cheerful hearty abandon not without its attraction; that Tad Fuller, who +had come in with his mother and his brother, and half a dozen others +whom Bobby knew, all made creditable performers; that even Angus, +red-faced, awkward, perspiring as he was, could yet command the hand, +time and attention of any little girl he might choose to favour. He +himself was useless; and therefore ignored.</p> + +<p>At the end of the children's hour he said good night miserably, and +trailed along home at his parents' heels. Ordinarily he liked to be out +after dark. The stars and the velvet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> shadows and the magic +transformations which the night wrought in the most ordinary and +accustomed things attracted him strongly. But now he was too conscious +of a smarting spirit. Mr. and Mrs. Orde were talking busily about +something. He could not even get a chance to ask a question; and that +seemed the last straw. His lips quivered, and he had to remember very +hard that he was <i>not</i> a little girl in order to keep back the tears.</p> + +<p>Finally the talk died.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," blurted out Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Can't I learn how to dance?"</p> + +<p>The pair wheeled arm in arm and surveyed him. In the starlight his round +child face showed white and anxious.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course you can, darling," replied Mrs. Orde, "Don't you +remember mamma wanted you to go to dancing school last winter, and you +wouldn't go?"</p> + +<p>"How soon does dancing school open?" demanded Bobby.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Not much before Christmas, I suppose."</p> + +<p>Having thus made a definite resolution to remedy matters, Bobby felt +better, even though<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> he would have to wait another year. This recovery +of spirit was completed the next day. He went with some apprehension to +ask Celia to walk again. She had seemed to him so aloof the night +before, that he could hardly believe her unchanged. However, she +assented to the expedition with alacrity. Hardly had they quitted the +hotel grounds when Bobby shot his question at her.</p> + +<p>"Celia," said he, "if I learn how to dance this winter will you dance +with me when you come back next summer?"</p> + +<p>"Why of course," said Celia.</p> + +<p>"Will you dance with me a lot?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Will you dance with me more than you do with any one else?"</p> + +<p>Celia pondered.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she said slowly. She paused, her eyes vague. "I guess +so," she added at last.</p> + +<p>"Then I'll learn," said Bobby.</p> + +<p>"It's lots of fun," said she.</p> + +<p>Bobby trod on air. Without his conscious intention their course took +direction to the river front. They walked to the left along the wide, +artificial bank of piling. Beneath them the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> water swished among the +timbers. On one side were the sand-hills, on the other the blue, +preoccupied river. Across the stream was another facade of piles, +unbroken save for the little boatslips where the Life Saving men had +their station. A strong sweet breeze came from the Lake. Far down ahead +they could just make out the twin piers that, jutting into the Lake, +continued artificially the course of the river. The lighthouses on their +ends were dwarfed by distance.</p> + +<p>By and by Celia tired a little, so they sat and dangled their feet and +watched the tiny scalloped blue wavelets dance in the current. A +passer-by stopped a moment to warn them.</p> + +<p>"Look out, youngsters, you don't fall in," said he.</p> + +<p>Bobby still exalted with the favour he had been vouchsafed, looked up +with dignity.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> am taking care of this little girl," he said deliberately, and +turned his back.</p> + +<p>The man chuckled and passed on.</p> + +<p>For a long time they sat side by side looking straight out before them.</p> + +<p>"Celia," said Bobby without turning his head, "I love you. Do you love +me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Celia steadily.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<p>Neither stirred by so much as a hair's breadth. After a little they +arose and returned to the hotel. Neither spoke again.</p> + +<p>Strangely enough the subject was not again referred to, although of +course the children continued to play together and the excursions were +not intermitted. There seemed to be nothing to say. They loved each +other, and they were glad of each other's nearness. It sufficed.</p> + +<p>Each morning Bobby awoke with a great uplift of the spirit, and a great +longing, which was completely appeased when he had come into Celia's +presence. Each evening he retired filled with an impatience for the +coming day, and with divine rapture of little memories of what had that +day passed. It seemed to him that hour by hour he and Celia drew closer +in a sweet secret, intimacy that nevertheless demanded no outer symbol. +When he spoke to her of the simplest things, or she to him, he +experienced a warm, cosy drawing near, as though beneath the commonplace +remark lay something hidden and subtle to which each must bend the ear +of the spirit gently. This was the soul of it, a supreme inner +gentleness one to the other, no matter how boisterous, how laughing, how +brusque<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> might be the spoken word. And in correspondence all the +beautiful sunlit summer world took on a new softness and splendour and +glory in which they walked, but whose source they did not understand.</p> + +<p>This much for the essence of it. But of course, Bobby, being masculine +must give presents after his own notion, and being a small boy must give +them according to his age. The quarter he had earned from his father he +invested in a pack of cards on the upper left-hand corner of which were +embossed marvellous doves, wonderful flowers and miraculous tangles of +scroll-work in colour. These he printed with Celia's name and address. +Near the wharf and railroad station stood a small booth from which a +discouraged-looking individual tried to sell curios. Bobby's eye fell on +a cheap bracelet of silver wire from which dangled half a dozen +moonstones. It caught his eye; day by day his desire for it grew; +finally he asked advice on the subject.</p> + +<p>"No, Bobby," replied his mother, "I don't think Celia would care for it. +It is cheap-looking. She has several very pretty bangles already; and +this is not a good one."</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Bobby, being as we have said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> thoroughly masculine, +deliberated some days further, and bought it. The price was two +dollars—an almost fabulous sum. Most men give their wives or +sweethearts what they think they would like themselves were they women, +and were a man to offer a gift. That is one reason why in so many bureau +drawers are tucked away unused presents. Young as she was, Celia had the +taste not to care for the moonstone bangle, but, like all the rest, she +accepted it with genuine delight because Bobby gave it. She even wore +it. These were the principal transactions of the kind; but anything +Bobby particularly fancied he brought her. Shortly she became possessed +of a bewildering collection consisting variously of large glass marbles +with a twist of coloured glass inside; two or three lichi nuts, then a +curiosity; a dried gull's wing; several exploded shotgun shells; and a +"real," though broken-pointed chisel. Celia gave Bobby her tiny narrow +gold ring with two little turquoises. He could just get it on his little +finger, and wore it proudly, in spite of jeers. Being teased about Celia +was embarrassing to the point of pain; but in the last analysis it was +not unpleasant.</p> + +<p>So matters slipped by. Abruptly the end<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> of August came. One day Bobby +found Celia much perturbed.</p> + +<p>"I can't go out long," she said, "I've got to help mamma."</p> + +<p>"What doing?" asked Bobby.</p> + +<p>But Celia shook her head dolefully.</p> + +<p>"Come, let's go walk somewhere and I'll tell you," said she.</p> + +<p>They crossed Main Street to the shaded street on which lived Georgie +Cathcart.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" demanded Bobby again.</p> + +<p>"We are going home to-morrow," Celia announced mournfully. "Mamma has a +letter."</p> + +<p>Bobby stopped short.</p> + +<p>"Going home!" he echoed.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Celia.</p> + +<p>"Then we won't see each other till next summer!" he cried.</p> + +<p>"No," said she.</p> + +<p>"And we can't walk any more or—or——" Bobby felt the lump rising in +his throat.</p> + +<p>"No," said Celia.</p> + +<p>Bobby swallowed hard.</p> + +<p>"Are—are you sorry?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Celia quietly. "Are you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what I'm going to do!" cried Bobby desperately.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> + +<p>After a little, the main fact of the catastrophe being accepted, they +talked of the winter to come.</p> + +<p>"You'll write me some letters, won't you?" pleaded Bobby.</p> + +<p>"If you write to me."</p> + +<p>"Of course I will write to you. And you'll send me your picture, won't +you? You said you would."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe I have any," demurred Celia; "and mamma has them all; +and they're very comspensive."</p> + +<p>"I'll give you one of mine," offered Bobby, "if I have to get it from +the album. Please, Celia."</p> + +<p>"I'll see," said she.</p> + +<p>They were moving again slowly beneath the trees.</p> + +<p>Bobby looked up the street; he looked back. He turned swiftly to her.</p> + +<p>"Celia," he asked, "may I kiss you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Celia steadily.</p> + +<p>She stopped short, looking straight ahead. Bobby leaned over and his +lips just touched her cool smooth cheek. They walked on in silence. The +next day Celia was gone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<h3>UNTIL THE LAST SHOT</h3> + + +<p>There remained as consolation after this heartbreaking defection but +two interesting things in life—the printing press and the Flobert +Rifle. Somehow the week dragged through until Sunday, when Bobby duly +scrubbed and dressed, had to go to church with his father and mother. +Bobby, to tell the truth, did not care very much for church. Always his +glance was straying to a single upper-section of one of the windows, +which, being tipped inward at the bottom, permitted him a glimpse of +green leaves flushed with sunlight. A very joyous bird emphasized the +difference between the bright world and this dim, decorous interior with +its faint church aroma compounded of morocco leather, flowers, and the +odour of Sunday garments. Only when the four ushers tiptoed about with +the collection boxes on the end of handles, like exaggerated +corn-poppers, did the lethargy into which he had fallen break<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> for a +moment. The irregular passage of the receptacle from one to another was +at least a motion not ordered in the deliberate rhythm of decorum; and +the clink of the money was pleasantly removed from the soporific. Bobby +gazed with awe at the coins as they passed beneath his little nose. He +supposed there must be enough of them to buy the Flobert Rifle.</p> + +<p>The thought gave him a pleasant little shock. It had never occurred to +him that probably the Flobert Rifle had a price. It had seemed so +passionately to be desired as to belong to the category of the +inaccessible—like Mr. Orde's revolver on the top shelf of the closet, +or unlimited ice cream, or the curios locked behind the glass in Auntie +Kate's cabinet. Now the revelation almost stopped his heart.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it doesn't cost more'n a thousand dollars!" he said to himself. +And he had already made up his mind to save a thousand dollars for the +purpose of getting a boat. The boat idea lost attraction. His papa had +agreed to give half. Bobby lost himself in an exciting daydream +involving actual possession of the Flobert Rifle. He resolved that, on +the way home, if the curtains were not down, he would take another look +at the weapon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<p>The curtains were not down; but now, attached to the Flobert Rifle, was +a stencilled card. Bobby set himself to reading it.</p> + +<p>"First Prize," he deciphered, "An-nual Trap Shoot, Monrovia Sportsman's +Club, Sep. 10, 1879."</p> + +<p>For some moments the significance of this did not reach him. Then all at +once a sob caught in his throat. It had never occurred to poor little +Bobby that there might be other Flobert rifles in the world; and here +this one was withdrawn from circulation, as it were, to be won as prize +at the trap shooting.</p> + +<p>Bobby did not recover from this shock until the following morning. Then +a bright idea struck him, an idea filled with comfort. The Rifle was not +necessarily lost, after all. He trudged down to the store, entered +boldly, and asked to examine the weapon.</p> + +<p>"My papa's going to win it and give it to me," he announced.</p> + +<p>A very brown-faced man with twinkling gray eyes turned from buying black +powder and felt wads to look at him amusedly.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Bobby," said he, "so your father's going to win the rifle and +give it to you, is he? Are you sure?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course," replied Bobby simply; "my papa can do anything he wants +to."</p> + +<p>The man laughed.</p> + +<p>"What do you know about rifles, and what would you do with one?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"I know all about them," replied Bobby with great positiveness, "and I +know where there's lots of squirrels."</p> + +<p>The storekeeper had by now taken the Flobert from the show window. The +other man reached out his hand for it.</p> + +<p>"Well, tell me about this one," he challenged.</p> + +<p>"It's a Flobert," said Bobby without hesitation, "and it weighs five and +a half pounds; and its ri-fling has one turn in twenty-eight inches; and +it has a knife-blade front sight, and a bar rear sight; and it shoots 22 +longs, 22 shorts, C B caps, and B B caps. Only B B caps aren't very good +for it," he added.</p> + +<p>"Whew!" cried the man. "Here, take it!"</p> + +<p>Bobby looked it over with delight and reverence. This was the first time +he had enjoyed it at close hand. The blue of the octagon barrel was like +satin; the polish of the stock like a mirror; the gold plating of the +most fancy lock and guards like the sheen of silk. Bobby loved, too, the +indescribable <i>gun</i> smell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> of it—compounded probably of the odours of +steel, wood and oil. With some difficulty he lifted it to his face and +looked through the rather wobbly sights. Reluctantly he gave it back +into the storekeeper's hands.</p> + +<p>"Would you mind, please," he asked, a little awed, "would you mind +letting me see a box of cartridges?"</p> + +<p>Stafford smiled and reached to the shelf behind, from which he took a +small, square, delightful, red box. It had reading on it, and a portrait +of the little cartridges it contained. Bobby feasted his eyes in +silence.</p> + +<p>"I—I know it's a prize," said he at last. "But—how much <i>was</i> it?"</p> + +<p>"Fifteen dollars," replied Mr. Bishop.</p> + +<p>Bobby's eyes widened to their utmost capacity.</p> + +<p>"Why—why—why!" he gasped; "I thought it must be a thousand."</p> + +<p>Both men exploded in laughter, in the confusion of which, stunned, +surprised, delighted and excited with the thought of eventual ownership, +Bobby marched out the door, where he was joined gravely by Duke, his +beautiful feather tail waving slowly to and fro as he walked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<p>Later in the day Kincaid, the spare, brown man with the twinkling gray +eyes, met Mr. Orde on the street.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Orde!" he greeted. "Hear you have a sure win of the tournament."</p> + +<p>"Sure win!" said Orde, puzzled, "What you talking about? You know I +couldn't shoot against you fellows."</p> + +<p>"Well, your small boy told me you were going to win that rifle down at +Bishop's, and give it to him."</p> + +<p>Orde's face clouded.</p> + +<p>"He's been talking nothing but rifle for a month," said he. "I'm going +West in September. Wouldn't have any show against you fellows, anyway."</p> + +<p>When Bobby heard this paralyzing piece of news, his entire scheme of +things seemed shattered. For a long time he sat staring with death in +his heart. Then he arose silently and disappeared.</p> + +<p>In the Proper Place, among Bobby's other possessions, was a small toy +gun. Its stock was of pine, its lock of polished cast iron, and its +barrel of tin. The pulling of the trigger released a spring in the +barrel, which in turn projected a pebble or other missile a short and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +harmless distance. Then a ramrod re-set the spring. When, the previous +Christmas, Bobby had acquired this weapon, he had been very proud of it. +Latterly, however, it had fallen into disfavour as offering too painful +a contrast to the real thing as exemplified by the Flobert Rifle.</p> + +<p>Bobby rummaged the darkness of the Proper Place until he found this toy +gun. From the sack in his father's closet—forbidden—he deliberately +abstracted a handful of bird-shot. Retiring to the woodshed, he set the +spring in the gun, poured in what he considered to be about the proper +quantity of shot, and solemnly discharged it at the high fence. The +leaden pellets sprayed out and spattered harmlessly against the boards. +Thrice Bobby repeated this. Then, quite without heat or rancour, he +threw the toy gun and what remained of the shot over the fence into the +vacant lot behind it. His common sense had foretold just this result to +his experiment, so he was not in the least disappointed; but he had +considered it his duty to try the only expedient his ingenuity could +invent. For if—by a miracle—the little gun had discharged the shot +with force; Bobby might—by a miracle—be permitted to par<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>ticipate with +it in the Shoot; and might—by a miracle—win the Flobert himself. Bobby +was no fool. He marked the necessity of three miracles; and he did not +in the least expect them. Merely he wished to fulfill his entire duty to +the situation.</p> + +<p>Saturday morning—the very day of the Shoot—Mr. Orde left for +California.</p> + +<p>After lunch Bobby trudged to Main Street, turned to the right, away from +town, and set himself in patient motion toward the shooting grounds.</p> + +<p>These were situated some two miles out along the county road. Bobby had +driven to them many times, but had never attempted to cover the distance +afoot. The sun was hot, and the way dusty. Many buggies and one large +carry-all passed him, each full of the participants in the contest. No +one thought of giving Bobby a lift, in fact no one noticed him at all. +He could not help thinking how different it would be if only his father +had not gone West.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" called a hearty voice behind him.</p> + +<p>He turned to see a yellow two-wheeled cart drawn by a gaunt white horse. +On the seat close to the horse's tail sat Mr. Kincaid.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Going to the Shoot?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Well, jump in."</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid moved one side, and lifted half the seat so Bobby could +climb in from the rear. Then he let the seat down again and clucked to +the horse.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid wore an ancient gray slouch hat pulled low over his eyes; +and a very old suit of gray clothes, wrinkled and baggy. Somehow, in +contrast, his skin showed browner than ever. He looked down at Bobby, +the fine good-humour lines about his eyes deepening.</p> + +<p>"Well youngster," said he, "where's your father?"</p> + +<p>Bobby's eyes fell; he kicked his feet back and forth. Beneath them lay +Mr. Kincaid's worn leather gun-case, and an oblong japanned box which +Bobby knew contained shells. For an instant he struggled with himself.</p> + +<p>"He—he had to go to California," he choked; and looked away quickly to +hide the tears that sprang to his eyes.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid whistled and raised his hand so abruptly that the old white +horse, mistaking the movement for a signal, stopped dead, and instantly +went to sleep.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Get ap, Bucephalus!" cried Mr. Kincaid indignantly.</p> + +<p>Bucephalus deliberately awoke, and after a moment's pause moved on. To +Bobby's relief Mr. Kincaid said nothing further, but humped over the +reins, and looked ahead steadily across the horse's back. He stole a +glance at the older man; and suddenly without reason a great wave of +affection swept over him. He liked his companion's clear brown skin, and +the close clipped gray of his hair, and his big gray moustache beneath +which the corners of his mouth quirked faintly up, and the network of +fine crow's feet at his temples, and the clear steady steel-colour of +his eyes beneath the bushy brows. On the spot Bobby enshrined a hero.</p> + +<p>But now they turned off the main road through a gap in the snake-fence, +and followed many wheel tracks to the farther confines of the field +where, under a huge tree they could see a group of men. These hailed Mr. +Kincaid with joy.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Kin, old man," they roared. "Got here, did you? What day did you +start? The old thing must be about dead. Lean him up against a tree, and +come tell us about the voyage."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The cannon-ball express is strictly on schedule time, boys," replied +Mr. Kincaid, looking solemnly at his watch.</p> + +<p>He drove to the fence, where he tied Bucephalus. The other rigs were +hitched here and there at distances that varied as the gun-shyness of +the horses. Bobby proudly bore the gun-case. Mr. Kincaid lifted out the +heavy box of shells.</p> + +<p>Bobby took in the details of the scene with a delight that even his just +cause for depression could not quench.</p> + +<p>The men, some twenty in number, sprawled on the ground or sat on boxes. +Before them stood a wooden rack with sockets, in which already were +stacked a number of shotguns. Two pails of water flanked this rack, in +each of which had been thrust a slotted hickory "wiper" threaded with a +square of cloth. A fairly large empty wooden box, for the reception of +exploded shells, marked the spot on which the shooters would stand. The +rotary trap lay in plain sight eighteen yards away. That completed the +list of arrangements, which were, in the light of modern methods, as +every trap shooter of to-day will recognize, exceedingly crude.</p> + +<p>The men, however, supplied the interest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> which the equipment might lack. +At that time every trap-shot was also a field shot. The class which +confines itself to targets had not even been thought of. And good +picked-shots have in common everywhere certain qualities, probably +developed by the life in the open, and the unique influences of woodland +and upland hunting. They are generous, and large in spirit, and +absolutely democratic—the millionaire and the mechanic meet on equal +ground—and deliberate in humour, and dry of wit. The quiet chaffing, +tolerant, good-humoured, genuine intercourse of hunters cannot be +matched in any other class.</p> + +<p>The components of this group had each served his apprenticeship in the +blinds or the cover. They knew each other in the freemasonry of the +Field; and when they met together, as now, they spoke from the gentle +magic of the open heart.</p> + +<p>One exception must be made to this statement, however. Joseph Newmark, +in advance of his time, shot methodically and well at the trap, never +went afield, and maintained toward his neighbours an habitual dry +attitude of politeness.</p> + +<p>Bobby seated himself on the ground and prepared to listen with the +completest enjoyment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> These men were to him great or little according +as they shot well or ill. That was to him the sole criterion. It did not +matter to him that Mr. Heinzman controlled the largest interests in the +western part of the state—he "couldn't hit a balloon"; nor that young +Wellman was looked upon as worthless and a loafer—he was well up among +the first five.</p> + +<p>Nearly everybody smoked something. The tobacco smelled good in the open +air.</p> + +<p>"Well," remarked Kincaid, "if that Stafford party doesn't show up before +long, I'm going home. I can't stand you fellows without some excitement +for a counter-irritant."</p> + +<p>"That's right, Kin," called somebody, "Better start that old Buzzard +toward town pretty soon, if you want to get in for breakfast—there's a +good moon!"</p> + +<p>But at this moment a delivery wagon turned into the field, and drove +briskly to the spot. From it Mr. Stafford descended spryly.</p> + +<p>"Sorry to be a little late, boys; just couldn't help it," he apologized.</p> + +<p>His arrival galvanized the crowd into activity. From the delivery wagon +they unloaded boxes of shells, two camp stools and a number of barrels. +The driver then hitched his horses<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> to the fence, and returned to act as +trap-puller.</p> + +<p>One of the barrels was rolled out to the trap, opened, and its contents +carefully spilled on the ground. It contained a quantity of sawdust +and brown glass balls. These were about the size of a base-ball, had an +opening at the top, and were filled with feathers. John, the driver of +the delivery wagon, climbed down into a pit below the trap. He set the +spring of the trap and placed a glass ball in its receptacle at the end +of one of the two projecting arms. A long cord ran from the trap back to +the shooting stand.</p> + +<p>Mr. Stafford opened a camp stool, sat down, and produced a long blank +book. In this he inscribed the men's names. Each gave him two dollars +and a half as an entrance fee. A referee and scorer were appointed from +among the half-dozen non-shooting spectators.</p> + +<p>"Newmark to shoot; Heinzman on deck!" called the scorer in a +business-like voice.</p> + +<p>The trapper ducked into his hole. Mr. Newmark thrust five loaded shells +into his side pocket, picked his gun from the rack and stepped forward +to the mark. Then he loaded one barrel of the gun and stood at ready. +In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> those days nobody thought of standing gun to shoulder, as is the +present custom. The rule was, "stock below elbow."</p> + +<p>"Ready," said he in his dry incisive voice.</p> + +<p>"Ready," repeated the trap puller at his elbow.</p> + +<p>"Pull!" commanded Mr. Newmark abruptly.</p> + +<p>Immediately the trap began to revolve rapidly; after a moment or so it +sprung, and the glass ball, projected violently upward, sailed away +through the air. The mechanism of the trap was such that no one could +tell precisely how long it would revolve before springing; nor in what +direction it would throw the target. Nevertheless the mark offered would +now, in comparison with our saucer-shaped target, be considered easy. +Mr. Newmark brought his gun to his shoulder and discharged it apparently +with one motion, before the ball had more than begun its flight. A roar +of the noisy black powder shook the air. The glass sphere seemed +actually to puff out in fine smoke. Only the feathers it had contained +floated down wind.</p> + +<p>"Dead!" announced the referee in a brisk business-like voice.</p> + +<p>Mr. Newmark broke his gun and flipped the empty yellow shell into the +box next him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> A cloud of white powder smoke drifted down over the +group. Bobby snuffed it eagerly. He thought it the most delicious smell +in the world; and so continued to think it for many years until the +nitros displaced the old-fashioned compounds. Four times Mr. Newmark +repeated his initial performance; then stepped aside.</p> + +<p>"Heinzman to shoot; Wellman on deck!" announced the scorer.</p> + +<p>Mr. Heinzman was already at the mark; and young Wellman arose and began +to break open a box of shells. Mr. Newmark thrust his gun barrels into +one of the pails and with the hickory wiper pumped the water up and +down.</p> + +<p>"He's a good snap-shot," Bobby heard a man tell a stranger, in a +half-voice.</p> + +<p>"Has a brilliant style," commented the other.</p> + +<p>They fell into a low-toned conversation on the partridge season, and the +ducks, to which Bobby listened with all his ears, the while his eyes +missed nothing of what took place before him. Nobody now spoke aloud. +The chaffing had ceased. Shooter's etiquette prohibited anything that +even by remote possibility might "rattle" the contestants. Only the +voices of the men at mark and the referee were heard, and the heavy +<i>bang</i> of the black powder. Bobby<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> liked to listen to the referee. +Reporting, as he did, hundreds of results in the course of the +afternoon, his intonation became mechanical.</p> + +<p>"Dead!" he snapped in the crispest, shortest syllable, when the glass +ball was broken by the charge.</p> + +<p>"Law-s-s-t!" he drawled when the little sphere sailed away unharmed.</p> + +<p>Each shooter on finishing his first string of five, swabbed out his gun, +leaned it against the rack, and went to squat in the group where he +commented to his friends on his own or others' luck, but always quietly. +An air of the strictest business held the entire assembly.</p> + +<p>This broke slightly when Mr. Kincaid's name was called. A stir went +through the crowd; and some one called out,</p> + +<p>"Go it, Old Reliable. Have you had any hoops put around her lately?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid grinned good-naturedly, but made no reply. He had discarded +his coat; and now wore a brown cardigan jacket. He took his place with +the greatest deliberation, consuming twice as much time as any one else.</p> + +<p>"Ready," said he.</p> + +<p>"Ready," replied the trapper mechanically.</p> + +<p>"Pool!" cried Mr. Kincaid.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> + +<p>The discharge delayed so long that Bobby looked to see if a misfire had +occurred; but when the ball reached the exact top of its swing, Mr. +Kincaid broke it.</p> + +<p>"One of the most reliable duck shots we have," said Bobby's neighbour to +the stranger. "He shoots just like that, always. Never in a hurry; but +he seems to get there. Kills a lot of game in the season."</p> + +<p>The shoot progressed with almost the precision of a machine. Bobby +amused himself by closing his eyes to hear the regular <i>ready, pull, +bang!</i> that marked the progress of the score. From his level with the +tops of the brown grasses of late summer he enjoyed the wandering puffs +of hot air, the drift of pungent aromatic powder smoke, the rapid +successive bending of the stalks as though fairies were running over +them when the breezelets passed. It was all very pleasant and, for the +time being, he forgot his disappointment.</p> + +<p>The match was to be at one-hundred balls—sixty singles, and twenty +pairs of doubles. Early in the game the different shooters began roughly +to group themselves on the score-cards according to their ability. One +class, among whom were Newmark and Kincaid, continued to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> break their +targets with unvarying accuracy. Young Wellman by rights belonged with +these; but he had undershot a strong incomer; and the miss had cost him +two others before he could recover his temper. The second class had +missed from one to five each. The third class, typified by Mr. Heinzman, +had a long string of "goose-eggs" to their discredit.</p> + +<p>The fiftieth bird, however, Mr. Kincaid missed. It flipped sideways from +the arm of the trap, and flew for twenty feet close to the ground. The +referee had actually started to call "no bird"; but Mr. Kincaid elected +to try for it; missed; and had to abide by his decision. At the close of +the singles, Newmark had a score of sixty straight; Kincaid fifty-nine; +and the others strung out variously in the rear.</p> + +<p>At this point, a short recess was taken. The crowd of men lit fresh +cigars; talked out loud; circulated about; and relaxed generally from +the long strain. Some scattered out into the grass to help the trapper +to look for unbroken balls. Ordinarily Bobby loved to do this; but +to-day he sidled up to where his friend was stooping over the japanned +box. Bobby watched him a moment in silence, methodically laying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> away +the used brass shells, one up and one down in regular succession.</p> + +<p>"It's too bad you got beat," he ventured timidly at last.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid ceased his occupation, removed his pipe from his mouth, and +looked up at Bobby searchingly.</p> + +<p>"Youngster," he said kindly, "I'm not beat."</p> + +<p>"You're behind," insisted Bobby, "and Newmark never misses."</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid arose slowly, and without a word took Bobby by the arm and +led him around the tree. He stopped and raised Bobby's chin in his +gnarled brown hand until the little boy's eyes looked straight into his +own. Bobby noticed that the twinkle had—not disappeared—but drawn far +back into their gray depths, which had become unaccountably sober.</p> + +<p>"Bobby," said Mr. Kincaid gravely, "always remember this, all your life, +no matter what happens to you; a man is never defeated until the very +last shot is fired."</p> + +<p>He paused.</p> + +<p>"And remember this, too: that even if he is defeated, he is not beaten, +provided he has done the very best he could, and has never lost heart."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>He looked a moment longer into Bobby's eyes; and the little boy saw the +gray twinkle flickering back to the surface, and the crow's-feet +deepening good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>"That's all, sonny," he said, and withdrew his hand from Bobby's chin.</p> + +<p>"So you want to see me win the rifle, do you?" asked Mr. Kincaid, as +they turned away.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," replied Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because you're a friend of mine," replied Bobby with simple dignity.</p> + +<p>"And that's the very best reason in the world!" cried Mr. Kincaid +heartily.</p> + +<p>The shooting at the doubles began. Two balls were placed in the trap at +once—it will be remembered that it was provided with double arms—and +thrown in the air together. At this game many good scores fell into +disintegration, for it required great quickness of manipulation to catch +both before one should reach the ground. Mr. Newmark's snap method here +stood him in good stead. When Mr. Kincaid stepped to the trap, the +stranger turned to his friend.</p> + +<p>"Here's where the old fellow falls down, I'm afraid," said he a trifle +regretfully. "He's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> too deliberate for this business. I'm sorry. I'd +like to see him give Newmark a race for it."</p> + +<p>"Deliberate!" snorted the local man.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid's preparations were as careful and as wasteful of time as +ever. But when he enunciated his famous "pool!" the stranger was treated +to a surprise. The first ball was literally snuffed into nothingness +before it had risen five feet above the trap! Then quite slowly Mr. +Kincaid followed the second to the top of its flight and broke it as +though it had been a single.</p> + +<p>"Lord!" gasped the visitor. "He surely can't do that with any +certainty!"</p> + +<p>"Can't he!" said the other grimly, "Watch him."</p> + +<p>Interest soon centred on Newmark and Kincaid, as those who had made +straight scores on the singles now dropped one or more. Both the +contestants named broke their nine pair straight. Bobby sent strong +little waves of hope for a miss after each of Mr. Newmark's targets, but +without avail. Only one pair apiece remained to be shot at; and in order +that Mr. Kincaid should win the match, it would be necessary that +Newmark should miss both. This was inconceivable. Bobby threw himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +face downward in the grass, sick at heart. He made up his mind he would +not look. Nevertheless when Mr. Newmark's name was called, he sat up.</p> + +<p>"Pull!" came Mr. Newmark's dry, incisive voice.</p> + +<p>The balls sprang into the air. A sharp <i>click</i> followed. Evidently a +misfire. The referee, imperturbable, stepped forward to examine the +shell. He found the primer well indented; so, in accordance with the +rules, he announced:</p> + +<p>"No bird!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Newmark reloaded.</p> + +<p>"Pull!" he called again.</p> + +<p>On the first bird he scored his first miss of the day.</p> + +<p>"Misfire threw him off," exclaimed the spectators afterward.</p> + +<p>And then, curiously enough, a queer current of air, springing from +nowhere, utterly abnormal, seized the dense powder smoke and whirled it +backward, completely enveloping the shooter. The obscuration was +momentary, but complete. By the time it had passed the second ball had +fallen almost to the ground. Newmark snapped hastily at it.</p> + +<p>"Lost! Lost!" announced the scorer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>A deep sigh of emotion swept over the crowd. Bobby gripped his hands so +tightly that the knuckles turned white. He resented the intervention of +a half-dozen other contestants before Mr. Kincaid should be called; and +rolled about in an agony of impatience until his friend stepped to the +mark.</p> + +<p>The men unconsciously straightened and removed the cigars from their +lips. Two hits would win; one miss would tie. Bobby stood up, his breath +coming and going rapidly, his sight a little blurred. But Mr. Kincaid +went through his motions of preparation, and broke the two balls, with +no more haste or excitement than if they had been the first two of the +match.</p> + +<p>A cheer broke out. Others were still to shoot, but this decided the +winner.</p> + +<p>"Congratulations!" said Newmark dryly as his rival stepped from the +mark.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," replied Kincaid, "but it was sheer rank hard luck +for you."</p> + +<p>On the way home just about sunset many teams passed the old white horse +with his old yellow cart, and his driver hunched comfortably over the +reins. Everybody shouted final chaffing, kindly congratulations as they +sped by.</p> + +<p>Bobby, hunched alongside in loyal imitation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> of his companion's +attitude, glowed through and through.</p> + +<p>"My! I'm glad you won!" he repeated again and again.</p> + +<p>Kincaid looked straight ahead of him, his gray eyes pensive, the short +pipe shifted to the corner of his mouth. Finally he glanced down +amusedly at his ecstatic companion.</p> + +<p>"You see, Bobby?" he said, "—until the last shot is fired."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE FLOBERT RIFLE</h3> + + +<p>Thus Bobby had passed through the extremes of hope, of anticipation, of +disappointment and of despair. The Flobert Rifle on which he had set his +heart, which he had firmly made up his mind to buy as soon as he could +save up enough on an allowance of one cent a day, had been withdrawn +from sale and offered as prize for the fall trap shooting. This had been +a severe blow, but from it Bobby had finally rallied. His father would +participate in the shoot; his father was omnipotent and invincible. +After winning the Flobert Rifle, he would undoubtedly give it to Bobby. +Then, just before the shoot Mr. Orde had been called west on business. +Bobby had been vouchsafed only the melancholy satisfaction of seeing Mr. +Kincaid, whom he liked, win out over Mr. Newmark, whom he disliked. The +rifle was in good hands; that was all any one could say about it.</p> + +<p>But one afternoon, returning home about two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> o'clock, he was surprised +to find Bucephalus and the yellow cart hitched out in front, and Mr. +Kincaid sitting on the porch steps.</p> + +<p>"No one home but the girl; so I thought I'd wait," he explained, shaking +hands with Bobby very gravely. "I brought around the new rifle," he +added further. "What do you say to driving up over the hill somewhere +and trying her?"</p> + +<p>They drove slowly up the road of planks that gave footing over the +sand-hills. The new shiny Flobert Rifle with its gold-plated locks and +trigger guards rested between Mr. Kincaid's knees. He would not permit +Bobby to touch it, however.</p> + +<p>When the old white horse had struggled over the grade and into the +stump-dotted country, Mr. Kincaid hitched him to the fence, and, +followed closely by the excited Bobby, climbed into a field. From his +pocket, quite deliberately, he produced a small paper target and a dozen +tacks wrapped in a bit of paper.</p> + +<p>"We'll just nail her up against this big stub," he said to Bobby, +tacking away with the handle of his heavy pocket-knife; "and then you +can get a rest over that little fellow there."</p> + +<p>He stepped back.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now let's see you open her," he said, handing over the rifle.</p> + +<p>Bobby had long since acquired a theoretical familiarity with the +mechanism. He cocked the arm and pulled back the breech block, thus +opening the breech with its broken effect due to the springing of the +ejector.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," approved Mr. Kincaid, pausing in the filling of his +pipe, "but you have the muzzle pointing straight at Duke."</p> + +<p>"It isn't loaded," objected Bobby.</p> + +<p>"A man who knows how to handle a gun," said Mr. Kincaid emphasizing his +words impressively with the stem of his pipe, "never in any +circumstances lets the muzzle of his gun, loaded or unloaded, for even a +single instant, point toward any living creature he does not wish to +kill. Remember that, Bobby. When you've learned that, you've learned a +good half of gun-handling."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Keep the muzzle up," finished Mr. Kincaid, "and then you're all right."</p> + +<p>He led the way to the smaller stump; and nonchalantly, as though it were +not one of the most wonderful affairs in the world to own such a thing, +produced a little square red box con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>taining the cartridges. This he +opened. Bobby gazed with the keenest pleasure on the orderly rows of +alternate copper and lead dots.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Mr. Kincaid, "kneel down behind the stump." He rested the +rifle across it. "You know how to sight, don't you? I thought likely. +When you pull the trigger, try to pull it steadily, without jerking. Get +in here, Duke!"</p> + +<p>Bobby knelt, and assumed a position to shoot. To his surprise he found +that his heart was beating very fast, and that his breath came and went +as rapidly as though he had just climbed a hill. He tried desperately to +hold the front sight in the notch of the hind sight, and both on the +black bull's eye. It was surprisingly difficult, considering the +simplicity of the theory. Finally he pulled the trigger for the first +time in his life.</p> + +<p>"Snap!" said the rifle.</p> + +<p>"Now let's see where you hit!" suggested Mr. Kincaid.</p> + +<p>Bobby started up eagerly; remembered; and with great care laid the +Flobert, muzzle up, against the stump.</p> + +<p>"That's right," approved Mr. Kincaid.</p> + +<p>The bullet had penetrated the exact centre of the bull's eye!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My!" cried Bobby delighted. "That was a pretty good shot, wasn't it, +Mr. Kincaid? That was doing pretty well for the first time, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>But Mr. Kincaid was lighting his pipe, and seemed quite unimpressed.</p> + +<p>"Bullet went straight (<i>puff, puff</i>)," said he. "That's all you can say +(<i>puff, puff</i>). No <i>one</i> shot's a good shot (<i>puff, puff</i>). Take's two +to prove it (<i>puff, puff</i>)."</p> + +<p>He straightened his head and threw the match away.</p> + +<p>"It's too good, Bobby, to be anything but an accident," said he kindly. +"Now come and try again."</p> + +<p>Bobby was permitted to fire nine more shots, of which three hit the +paper, and none came near the bull's eye. He could not understand this; +for with the dead rest across the stump, he thought he was holding the +sights against the black. Mr. Kincaid watched him amusedly. The small +figure crouched over the stump was so ridiculously in earnest. At the +tenth shot he put the cover on the box of ammunition.</p> + +<p>"Aren't we going to shoot any more?" cried Bobby, disappointed.</p> + +<p>"Enough's enough," said Mr. Kincaid.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> "Ten shots is practice. More's +just fooling—at first, anyway. You can't expect to become a good shot +in an afternoon. If you could, why, where's the glory of being a good +shot?"</p> + +<p>"I don't see what made me miss," speculated Bobby.</p> + +<p>"I think I could tell you," replied Mr. Kincaid, "but I'm not going to. +You think it over; and next time see if you can tell me. That's the way +to learn."</p> + +<p>"Next time!" cried Bobby, his interest reviving.</p> + +<p>"You aren't tired of it, are you?" enquired Mr. Kincaid with mock +anxiety. "Because I've got ninety cartridges left here that I wouldn't +know what to do with."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Well, then," proposed Mr. Kincaid, "I'll tell you what we'll do. You +and I will organize the—well, the Maple County Sportsman's Association, +say; and we'll hold weekly shoots. These will be the grounds. You and I +will be the charter members; but we'll let in others, if we happen to +want to."</p> + +<p>"Papa," breathed Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Moved and seconded that Mr. John Orde, alias Papa, be elected. Motion +carried," said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> Mr. Kincaid. "I'll be President," he continued. "I've +always wanted to be president of something; and you can be secretary. +You must get a little blank book, and rule it off for the scores. Then +maybe by and by we'll have a prize, or something. What do you think?"</p> + +<p>Bobby said what he thought.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Mr. Kincaid, opening the wooden box that ran along the floor +of the two-wheeled cart where the dashboard, had there been one, would +have been placed, "this is the next thing: when you're through shooting, +clean the gun. If you leave it over night, the powder dirt will make a +fine rust that you may never be able to get out; and rust will eat into +the rifling and make the gun inaccurate. No matter how late it is, or +how tired you are, <i>always clean your gun</i> before you go to bed. It's +the second most important thing I can teach you. You'll see lots of men +who can kill game, perhaps, but remember this; the fellow who lets his +gun point toward no living thing but his game, and who keeps it bright +and clean, is further along toward being a true sportsman—even if he is +a very poor shot—than the careless man who can hit them."</p> + +<p>He gave Bobby the steel wire cleaning-rod,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> the rags, and the oil can, +and showed him how to get all the powder residue from the rifling +grooves in the barrel.</p> + +<p>"There," said Mr. Kincaid, folding back the half-seat, "climb in. That +settles it for to-day."</p> + +<p>Bucephalus came to with reluctance. Going down hill he settled into a +slow steady jog, which soon covered the distance to the Orde house. +Bobby climbed out and turned to utter thanks.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said Mr. Kincaid. "Next time I'm going to shoot, +myself; and you'll have to rustle to beat me. Don't forget the score +book."</p> + +<p>"When will it be?" asked Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Thursday again," replied Mr. Kincaid. He disengaged the Flobert +from between his knees. "Here," said he; "you take this and put it away +carefully. I'll keep the ammunition," he added with a grim smile. +"Remember not to snap it. Snapping's bad for it when it is empty. +Good-bye."</p> + +<p>He drove off down the street beneath the over-arching maples, the old +white horse jogging sleepily, the old yellow cart lurching. Over his +shoulder floated puffs of smoke from his pipe.</p> + +<p>Bobby carried the new rifle into the house,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> ascended to his own room, +and sat down to enjoy it to its smallest detail. The heavy blued octagon +barrel bore an inscription which he deciphered—the maker's name, and +the patents under which the arm was manufactured. He examined the +sights, and how they were fastened to the barrel; the fall of the +hammer; the firing-pin; the mechanism of the ejector, the butt plate, +the polished stock and the manner in which it was attached to the +barrel. Over the fancy scroll of the gold-plated trigger-guard he passed +his fingers lovingly. The trigger-guard extended back along the grip of +the stock in a long thin metal strip—also gold-plated. It, too, bore an +inscription. Bobby read it once without taking in its meaning; a second +time with growing excitement. Then he rushed madly through the house +shrieking for his mother.</p> + +<p>"Mamma, Mamma!" he cried. "Where are you? Come here!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Orde came—on the run—likewise the cook, and the butcher. They +found Bobby dancing wildly around and around, hugging close to his heart +the Flobert rifle.</p> + +<p>"Bobby, Bobby!" cried Mrs. Orde. "What is it? What's the matter? Are you +hurt?"</p> + +<p>She caught sight of the gun, leaped to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> conclusion that Bobby had +shot himself and sank limply into a chair.</p> + +<p>"See! Look here!" cried Bobby. He thrust the rifle, bottom up into her +lap. "Read it!"</p> + +<p>On the plate behind the trigger-guard, carved in flowing script, were +these words.</p> + +<p><i>To Robert Orde from Arthur Kincaid. September 10, 1879.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<h3>MR. DAGGETT</h3> + + +<p>The printing press, too, was now a success. What time Bobby could spare, +he spent over his new work. In fact he would probably have printed out +all his interest in the shape of cards for friends and relatives, did +not an incident spur his failing enthusiasm. The little tin box of +printer's ink went empty. Bobby tried to buy more at Smith's where other +kinds of ink were to be had. Mr. Smith had none.</p> + +<p>"You'd better go over to Mr. Daggett's," he advised. "He'll let you have +some."</p> + +<p>Bobby crossed the street, climbed a stairway slanting outside a square +wooden store building and for the first time found himself in a printing +office.</p> + +<p>Tall stands held tier after tier of type-cases, slid in like drawers. +The tops were slanted. On them stood other cases, their queerly arranged +and various-sized compartments exposed to view. Down the centre of the +room<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> ran a long table. One end of it was heaped with printed matter in +piles and in packages, the other was topped with smooth stone on which +rested forms made up. Shelves filled with stationery, cans and the like +ran down one side the room. Beyond the table were two presses, a big and +a little. In one corner stood a table with a gas jet over it. In another +was an open sink with running water. A thin man in dirty shirt-sleeves +was setting type from one of the cases. Another, shorter man at the +stone-topped table was tapping lightly with a mallet on a piece of wood +which he moved here and there over a form. A boy of fifteen was printing +at the smaller of the presses. A huge figure was sprawled over the table +in the corner. In the air hung the delicious smell of printer's ink and +the clank and chug of the press.</p> + +<p>Bobby stood in the doorway some time. Finally the boy said something to +the man at the table. The latter looked up, then arose and came forward.</p> + +<p>He was of immense frame, but gaunt and caved-in from much stooping and a +consumptive tendency. His massive bony shoulders hung forward; his head +was carried in advance. In character this head was like that of a Jove<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +condemned through centuries to long hours in a dark, unwholesome +atmosphere—the grand, square, bony structure, the thick, upstanding +hair, the bushy, steady eyebrows, the heavy beard. But the cheeks +beneath the beard were sunken; the eyes in the square-cut caverns were +kind and gentle—and very weary.</p> + +<p>"I want to see if I can get some ink of you," requested Bobby, holding +out his little tin box.</p> + +<p>Mr. Daggett took the box without replying; and, opening it, tested with +his finger the quality and colour of what it had contained.</p> + +<p>"I guess so," said he.</p> + +<p>He led the way to one of the shelves and opened a can as big as a +bucket. Bobby gasped.</p> + +<p>"My!" he cried; "will you ever use all that?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Daggett nodded, and, dipping a broad-bladed knife, brought up, on +merely its point, enough to fill Bobby's tin box.</p> + +<p>"How much is it?" asked Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Let's see, you're Jack Orde's little boy, aren't you?" asked Daggett.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's all right, then. It's nothing."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you!" cried Bobby, overwhelmed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> The man nodded his massive +head. "Please," ventured Bobby, hesitating, "please, would you mind if I +stay a little while and watch?"</p> + +<p>"'Course not," assured Mr. Daggett. "Stay as long as you want."</p> + +<p>He returned to his table and forgot the little boy. An hour later he +looked up. Bobby was still there standing in the middle of the floor, +staring with all his might. Mr. Daggett pulled together his great frame +and arose.</p> + +<p>"Have you a printing press?" he asked Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," replied Bobby—"it's only a little one—to print two lines," +he added.</p> + +<p>"Do you like printing?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" burst out Bobby enthusiastically, "it's more fun than anything!"</p> + +<p>"I'd like to see some of your work," said Mr. Daggett a flash of +amusement flickering in his deep eyes.</p> + +<p>Bobby felt in his pocket and gravely presented a card.</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>"Mr. Robert Orde.</i><br /> +<i>Job Printer."</i> +</p> + +<p>"Why," said Mr. Daggett, surprised, "this is pretty well done. I didn't +know you could make ready so well on those little presses."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's 'make ready'?" asked Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Why, regulating the impression so that all the letters are printed +evenly."</p> + +<p>"They didn't for a long time," sighed Bobby. "I had lots of trouble."</p> + +<p>"How did you make it go?" asked Mr. Daggett, interested.</p> + +<p>Bobby explained the pasting of the slips of paper.</p> + +<p>"Who taught you that?" asked Mr. Daggett sharply.</p> + +<p>"Nobody; I just thought of it."</p> + +<p>Two hours later, when the noon whistles blew, Bobby said good-bye to his +friend after a most interesting morning. Mr. Daggett had showed him +everything. He explained how in the type-cases the capital letters +occupied little compartments all alike and at the top, but how the small +letters were arranged arbitrarily in various-sized compartments.</p> + +<p>"You see," said he, "we use the <i>e</i> oftenest, so that is the largest and +is right in the middle. And here is the <i>a</i> near it, but a little +smaller. A man has to learn where they are."</p> + +<p>Then they watched the compositor setting type in the metal "stick" with +the sliding end. The compositor showed Bobby how he could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> tell when the +letters were right side up by feeling the nicks in the type, without the +necessity of looking; how he used the leads to space between the lines. +His hands flew from one compartment of the type case to the other and +the type clicked sharply. In a moment the stick was full. All three +walked over to the "composing table" of stone. Here Bobby watched the +type placed in the huge iron frame, which was then filled in with the +wooden blocks. The wedge-shaped irons locked it. Finally the block and +mallet went over the whole surface to even it down.</p> + +<p>Bobby saw proof taken. He watched the small press in operation. It was +worked by a foot lever. The round ink plate which automatically made a +quarter turn at each impression and the double automatic ink-rollers +were a revelation to him. All the boy had to do was to insert and +withdraw the paper and push down with his foot. And the pressure was so +exact and so delicate and so brief—as though the type and the platen +coquetted without actually touching; and the imprint was so true and +clear! Even on the thin paper, the shape of the type did not stamp +through!</p> + +<p>He could have watched for an hour, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> shortly the job was finished, so +he moved on to look at the coloured inks and the fascinating variety of +papers and cards and envelopes.</p> + +<p>This latter occupation kept him busy for a long time. He had not +realized that so many shapes and kinds of letters could exist. Mr. +Daggett told him their names and sizes—nonpareil, brevier, agate, pica, +minion and a dozen others which Bobby could not remember but which he +found exotic and attractive. Especially was he interested in the poster +type, made of wood. One letter was bigger than the whole form of his +little press.</p> + +<p>When he left, Mr. Daggett gave him a small heavy package.</p> + +<p>"Here you are," said he. "Here's an old font of script. It's old and too +worn for my use, but you can fool with it."</p> + +<p>Bobby was delighted. He could hardly wait to get home before undoing the +package. The font formed a compact quadrilateral wound around the edges +with string. The letters were all arranged in order—four capital A's—A +A A A—then the Bs, and so on. It differed from his own font. The one +that came with his press had just three of each letter—large or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> small. +This varied. For instance, there were twenty <i>s</i>s, and only two <i>q</i>s. +Bobby procured his tweezers and began to set up his own name. He had no +stick so he got out the form with the two narrow wooden groves. To his +dismay the type would not fit. They were at least a quarter inch longer +than his own.</p> + +<p>"Why so solemn, Bobby?" enquired his father at lunch a few minutes +later. "What's wrong?"</p> + +<p>"My printing press isn't a real one," broke out Bobby. "It's a <i>toy</i> +one! I don't <i>like</i> toys!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho!" cried Mr. Orde. "Don't like toys, eh! How about the engine and +cars, and the tin soldiers?"</p> + +<p>"I don't like them any more, either," insisted Bobby stoutly.</p> + +<p>"All right," suggested Mr. Orde, winking at his wife. "Of course then +you won't want them any more: I'll just give them away to some other +little boy."</p> + +<p>"All right," assented Bobby with genuine and astonishing indifference.</p> + +<p>Bobby laid the little press away, but he could not resist the +fascination of Mr. Daggett's printing office. One day he came from it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +bearing an inky and much-thumbed catalogue. He fairly learned it by +heart—not only the machines, from the tiny card press to the beautiful +fifty-dollar self-inker beyond which his ambition did not stray, but +also all the little accessories of the trade—the mallet, the patent +quoins, the sticks, the type-cases, the composing stones, the roller +moulds and compositions, the patent gauge-pins, the lead-cutters, the +slugs. And page after page he ran over the type in all its sizes and in +all its modifications of form. These things fascinated him and held him +with a longing for them, like revolvers and razors and carpenter's +chisels and peavies and all other business-like tools of a trade. Their +very shapes were the most appropriate and romantic shapes they could +possibly have assumed. He made lists. At first they were elaborate, and +included the big foot press and four fonts of type and three colours of +ink and fixings innumerable. They then shrank modestly by gradations +until they stuck at the 5×7 form. Bobby would not have cared for a press +smaller than that, for he wanted to print real things, like bill-heads +and whist cards and perhaps a small newspaper. His little heart throbbed +with a complete enthusiasm.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>"When I grow up I think I'd like to be a printer like Mr. Daggett," he +said wistfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, you wouldn't," said Mr. Orde. "It's a poor trade—no money in +it here—and you'd have to stay in the house all the time. You wouldn't +want to be a printer, Bobby."</p> + +<p>"Yes I would," repeated Bobby positively.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<h3>THE SPORTSMAN'S ASSOCIATION</h3> + + +<p>The Maple County Sportsman's Association held its weekly shoots with +regularity. It consumed a great deal of Bobby's time and attention. You +see, each event was to be anticipated, and then remembered; the score +was to be rejoiced over or regretted; and the great question of how to +do better was to be considered prayerfully and long. Bobby found it to +be a more complicated problem than he would have believed possible. He +used to lie awake in bed thinking it over. Regularly before Thursday +came around he hit on a complete solution of the difficulty; and as +regularly he discovered by the actual test that something, whether of +theory or practice, still lacked.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid always listened to his ideas non-commitally.</p> + +<p>"I've found out what it is!" cried Bobby as soon as Bucephalus had +approached within<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> hearing distance. "You got to practise until your +forefinger works all by itself—entirely separate from the rest of your +arm. Then the rifle won't jerk sideways so much."</p> + +<p>"All right," Mr. Kincaid responded, as Bobby climbed laboriously into +the cart. "Try it."</p> + +<p>Bobby tried it; found it difficult to accomplish, and not altogether +effective. The bullets still scattered more or less like a shotgun +charge. Mr. Kincaid's score more than doubled his. Mr. Kincaid always +shot the best he could; and entered a grave negative to Bobby's +tentative suggestion for a handicap.</p> + +<p>"No, Bobby," said he, "don't believe in 'em. It really doesn't matter +whether you defeat me or not; now does it? But it does matter whether +you get to be a good enough shot to win."</p> + +<p>After each demolition of his ideas, Bobby returned a trifle dashed, but +with undaunted spirit. Again his busy brain attacked the puzzle. In a +week he had another hypothesis ready for the test.</p> + +<p>Thus he edged slowly but surely toward marksmanship. The sight must be +held on the mark for an instant after the discharge; the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> trigger must +be squeezed steadily, not pulled; the independent command of the +forefinger is helped by as inclusive a grasp of the stock as possible; +holding the breath is an aid to steadiness—these, and a dozen other +first principles, Bobby acquired, one after another, by the slow +inductive process. Each helped; and Mr. Kincaid appreciated that his +pupil was learning intelligently, so that in the final result Bobby +would not only be a good shot, but he would know why.</p> + +<p>In the meantime various changes were taking place in the seasons, which +Bobby noted in his own fashion. The little green apples of summer—just +right for throwing and for casting from the end of a switch—were now +large and rosy. Under the big hickory tree in the Fuller's yard were +already to be found occasional nuts. The leaves were turning gorgeous; +and enough were falling to make it necessary that the householder +search out his broad rake. In the country the shocks of corn stood in +rows like so many Indian chiefs wrapped each in his blanket, his plumes +waving above. The night was weird with the notes of birds migrating.</p> + +<p>To each of these things Bobby, like every other boy in town, gave his +attention. Apples<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> and grapes there were everywhere in abundance. The +early pioneer planted always his orchard and his arbours. The town, +taking root on the old riverside farms, preserved, as far as it could, +the fruit-trees. Every one who had a yard of any size about his house, +possessed also an apple tree or so and a grape vine—sometimes a chance +peach or pear. Bobby could not go amiss for fresh fruit; but he liked +best of all the sweet little red "Delawares" that grew back of Auntie +Kate's kitchen garden. These he picked, warmed by the sun. The satiny +"Concords" from the trellis, however, were better dipped in cool water, +which, with some labour, he caused to gush sparkling from an +old-fashioned wooden pump. Auntie Kate's apple trees, too, were of +selected varieties. Early in the season were the soft yellow sweetings; +then the streaked red and green "Northern Spies"; and last of all the +snow-apples with their contrast of deep crimson outside and white flesh +within. The windfalls covered the ground ready to the hand; and the +branches bent under their burden. It was the season of apple-sauce with +cinnamon, and baked apples with a dab of jelly where the core ought to +be, and apple-tapioca and Brown Betty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> And these tasted wondrous good, +even to youngsters already gorged with raw fruit.</p> + +<p>In every front yard and along every street front the householders were +busy raking the crisp autumn leaves into great heaps and long piles. +Bobby and his friends liked solemnly to "swish" their little legs +through them; to roll in them; to hide beneath them by burrowing like so +many squirrels. If this was the season of fruit, it was also the season +of bonfires. Every one burned leaves in those days, blissfully +unconscious of future city ordinances. A thin sweet haze of smoke hung +constantly in the air mellowing the blue of the sky, softening the +outlines of the hills, aromatic as an incensed cathedral. In the +evenings the fires winked bravely on both sides the streets. Figures +with rakes were silhouetted against them. Smaller figures careered +wildly in and out the dense smoke. It was a great "dare" to run and jump +directly through the fire! Now the sun was getting lazy; and sometimes +Bobby was allowed the indulgence of a half-hour of this delicious wild +fun. He always came in smoky and overheated; and always Mrs. Orde vowed +that it should not happen again.... it did.</p> + +<p>Then there were the hickory nuts to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> gathered in pails and sacks and +spread out on the garret floor to cure. Unfortunately the hickory tree +was very tall, so the boys had patiently to await the pleasure of the +wind. Walnuts and butternuts, on the contrary, were to be knocked down +with well-aimed clubs; hazelnuts to be stripped from the bushes; and +beech-nuts to be shaken down by a bold and practised climber. And in the +woods the squirrels were busy laying away their winter stores.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid and Bobby were often afield on the beech ridges. Mr. Kincaid +carried his gun, but he did not use it. They looked for squirrels. The +woods were carpeted with dead leaves on which the sun lay golden. They +had to move very quietly and keep a very sharp lookout. When the game +was sighted, the matter was by no means resolved. Squirrels are lively +people, and expert at hiding. Bobby and Mr. Kincaid chased hard and +breathlessly to force their quarry up a tree. When that was +accomplished, it was by no means easy to get a shot. The squirrel leaped +from one tree to another as fast as his enemies below could run. Finally +he climbed to the top of a tall beech whose trunk he immediately put +between him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>self and the hunters. It became necessary first to see him, +second to get a shot at him, third to hit him, and last to bring him +down. Bobby, shooting the heavy barrelled Flobert at unaccustomed +ranges, and at an elusive mark, discovered the appetite of atmosphere +for lead. Nevertheless it was the most exciting, breathless, tingling +game he had ever played. The air was biting cold, especially after the +sun began to sink through the trees, but it had the effect merely of +nipping Bobby's nose and cheeks red—his little body was tingling and +aglow. On his banner day he brought down two fox-squirrels, and one of +the beautiful black squirrels, then not uncommon, but now practically +extinct. In the process he used up his box of cartridges.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> + +<h3>THE MARSHES</h3> + + +<p>"Real fall weather," that season of 1879, seemed to delay long beyond +the appointed time. During each night, to be sure, it grew cold. The +leaves, after their blaze and riot of colour, turned crisp and crackly +and brown. Some of the little still puddles were filmed with what was +almost, but not quite, ice. A sheen of frost whitened the house-roofs +and silvered each separate blade of grass on the lawns. But by noon the +sun, rising red in the veil of smoke that hung low in the snappy air, +had mellowed the atmosphere until it lay on the cheek like a caress. No +breath of air stirred. Sounds came clearly from a distance. Long +V-shaped flights of geese swept athwart the sky very high up, but their +honking carried faintly to the ear. Time seemed to have run down. And +yet when the sun, swollen to the great dimensions of the rising moon, +dipped blood-red through the haze, the first faint premonitory<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> tingle +of cold warned one that the tepid, grateful warmth of the day had been +but an illusion of a season that had gone. This was not summer; but, in +the quaint old phrase, Indian summer. And its end would be as though the +necromancer had waved his wand.</p> + +<p>In the meantime the barges and schooners continued to take chances in +order to market the last of the year's lumber crop; the small boys and +squirrels made the most of the nut crop; the grouse remained scattered +in noisy cover; and the ducks frequented the open stretches where they +were quite out of reach.</p> + +<p>But at last Bobby Orde, awakening early, heard the rising and falling +moan of wind past the eaves' corner outside his windows. He hopped out +of bed, thrust his feet into a pair of knit socks and ran to the window. +The sun was not yet up; but the wild barbaric gold of it was flung +abroad over flat, hard-looking clouds.</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>"'Bright sunrise at morning,<br /> +The sailor takes warning,'"</i><br /> +</p> + +<p>murmured Bobby.</p> + +<p>In the yard below, the brown leaves were chasing themselves madly around +and about, back and forth, like restless spirits. Others<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> slanted down +from the trees in continuous flocks. The maples tossed restlessly. In +the air was a deep bitter chill which sent Bobby scurrying back to his +warm nest in a hurry.</p> + +<p>After breakfast he was glad of his heavier suit. The sun rose and shone, +it is true; but its rays possessed no warmth. The light of it appeared +to be a cold silver, like the sheen on stubble. All the landscape seemed +to have paled. Gone were the rich glowing reds, the warm browns. A gray +cast hung over the land.</p> + +<p>From school Bobby hurried home to be in time for an early lunch as Mr. +Orde wanted to go up river. He found Bucephalus in front; and Mr. +Kincaid about to sit down to the lunch table. The latter had on his old +gray suit and cardigan jacket.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, youngster!" he greeted Bobby, "Looks like pretty good weather +for ducks. Want to go for a shoot?"</p> + +<p>That settled lunch for Bobby. He could hardly stay at table until the +others had finished; and heard with enraptured joy his mother's voice, +as she rose from the table, asking Mr. Kincaid about provisions.</p> + +<p>"I have all that," replied Mr. Kincaid, "and there's lots of bedding and +such things."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>Nevertheless Mrs. Orde slipped away after a moment to wrap up a loaf of +"salt-rising bread," and one of "dutch bread." The two-wheeled cart +Bobby found, when finally he and Mr. Kincaid emerged from the house +carrying his valise, to be well packed with the shell-box, gun, bag and +a lunch basket. Mr. Kincaid's duck-dog, named Curly, lay crouched in the +bottom like a soft warm mat. Bobby had met Curly before. He was a +comical seal-brown dog, covered with compact tight curls all over his +body. When Bobby petted him, they felt springy. His face, head and ears, +however, were smooth and silky. He had yellow eyes, and an engaging +disposition. To the touch his body, even through the tight curls, felt +unusually warm. Though Curly's tail was a mere stump he wagged it +energetically when his master appeared, but without raising his nose +from between his forepaws.</p> + +<p>Duke pranced out, eager to go, but was called back by Mrs. Orde and +ignominiously held. Bucephalus got under way. Bobby hugged the cold +barrel of his little rifle between his knees. He had on his "pull-down" +cap, and his shortest and heaviest cloth over-jacket, and knit woollen +mittens. The actual temper<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>ature was not as yet very low, but the wind +from the Lake was abroad, and growing in strength every minute. From the +flag-pole of the Ottawa they could see the square red storm-flag with +the black centre standing out like a piece of tin.</p> + +<p>Bucephalus made surprising time. His gait on the open road was a long +awkward shamble, but it seemed to cover the ground. Mr. Kincaid humped +his shoulders and drove in a sociable silence, his short pipe empty +between his teeth. Curly retained his flattened attitude on the bottom +of the cart; only occasionally rolling up his yellow eyes, but without +moving his head. The wind tore by them madly.</p> + +<p>About half a mile beyond the last mill Mr. Kincaid left the main road to +turn sharp to the right directly across the broad marshes. Here a +makeshift road had been constructed of poles laid in the corduroy +fashion. The cart pitched and bounced along at a foot pace. Bobby had no +chance to look about him, and could see only that on both sides +stretched the wide cat-tails and rush flats; that near them was water. +The sun was setting cold and black in hard greasy-looking clouds.</p> + +<p>By and by the cart gave one last bump and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> rose to a little dry knoll +like an island in the marshes. Bobby saw that on it grew two elm trees, +beneath which stood a rough shed. Beyond a fringe of bushes he could +make out the roof of another small structure. Mr. Kincaid stopped at the +shed, and began to unharness Bucephalus. Bobby descended very stiffly. +Curly hopped out and expressed delight over his arrival by wagging +himself from the fifth rib back. You see he had not tail enough for the +job, so he had to wag part of his body too. In a moment or so Bucephalus +was tied in the shed and supplied with oats from a bag.</p> + +<p>"Well, we're here," said Mr. Kincaid, picking up one of the valises and +the lunch basket. "Bobby, you carry the guns."</p> + +<p>He led the way through the bushes to the other structure.</p> + +<p>It was a cabin of boards, long and narrow, about the size and shape of a +freight car. The upper end of it rested on dry land, but the lower end +gave out on a floating platform. A single window in the side and a stove +pipe through the roof completed the external features.</p> + +<p>"Door's around in front," explained Mr. Kincaid.</p> + +<p>They descended to the float. The door was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> fastened by a padlock. When +it was opened Bobby saw at first nothing but blackness and the flat +board prow of a duck-boat that seemed to occupy all available space. Mr. +Kincaid, however, lifted this bodily to the float, and, entering, drew +aside the curtain to the little window.</p> + +<p>Bobby stood in the middle of the floor and gazed about him with +unbounded delight. The place contained two bunks, one over the other, a +small round iron stove, a shelf table against one wall, and two folding +stools. From nails hung a frying pan, a coffee pot, and two kettles. +Shelves supported a number of cans, while two or three small bags +depended from the ceiling. Those were its main furnishings. But beneath +the bunks and piled in one corner were many painted wooden ducks. Around +the neck of each was wound a long white cord to the end of which was +attached a leaden iron weight; in the bunks themselves lay powder +canisters, shotbags, wad-boxes. At one end of the table was fastened a +crimper and a loading block. Several old pipes lay about. Burned matches +strewed the floor.</p> + +<p>"Well, here we are, Bobby," repeated Mr. Kincaid, dropping the valises +in the corner,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> "and it's pretty near sunset; so I guess we'll organize +our boat first, while it's daylight."</p> + +<p>He descended to the float.</p> + +<p>"Now, you hand me down the decoys," said he.</p> + +<p>Bobby passed out the wooden ducks two by two, and Mr. Kincaid stowed +them carefully amidships. They were of many sorts and sizes, and Mr. +Kincaid named them to Bobby as he received them.</p> + +<p>"These are the boys!" said he. "Good old green-heads, Worth all the +other ducks put together. Their celery-fed canvasbacks may be +better—never had a chance to try them—but the canvasback in this +country can't touch the mallards. And here, these are blue-bill. They +come to a decoy almost too easy. This is a teal—fly like thunder and +are about as big as a grasshopper. We'll make our flock mostly of these. +Those widgeon, there, wouldn't do us much good. Might put in a few +sprig. They're a handsome duck, Bobby; but the most beautiful thing in +feathers is the wood-duck. Probably won't get any of them to-morrow, +though."</p> + +<p>Bobby worked eagerly. Soon he was in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> warm glow, the cold wind +forgotten, his cheeks like snow-apples, his eyes like stars.</p> + +<p>"That's just a hundred," counted Mr. Kincaid, "and its a humming good +boat load. It'll do. Now you take this demijohn and fill it from the +spring-hole you'll find back of the house, and I'll get the shell-box."</p> + +<p>The equipment was finally completed by two wooden shell-boxes to sit on, +a short broad paddle and a long punting pole.</p> + +<p>By now the sun had dipped below the horizon leaving nothing of its glory +in the low-hung, hard clouds. All the world seemed clad in velvet-gray, +with dark soft shadows. A gleam of light reflected from water as it +showed in patches here and there. It matched and continued the pale +green light of the heavens, as though the sky had flowed down and +through the blackness of the marshes. The wind came now in heavy gusts, +succeeded by intervals of comparative calm. During these intervals could +be heard the cries of innumerable wildfowl.</p> + +<p>Bobby stood at the end of the float, absolutely motionless, taking it +in. His intellectual faculties were as though non-existent. All the +sensitiveness of his nature, like the sensitiveness of a photographic +plate, was exposed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> to that which took place before him. No little +detail of the scene would he ever forget; and nothing of what its +vastness and mystery and turmoil signified in the world of further +meanings would be lost to him, though for many years he would not +understand them.</p> + +<p>But now, as the darkness of the shadows deepened, and the light of water +and sky took on a deeper lucence before being extinguished, for the +first time the sense of pain and the incompleteness of beautiful things +entered his heart. The thing was wonderful; but it hurt. The sight of it +filled him to the lips with a passion of uplift; and yet something +lacked. And the lack of that something was a pain.</p> + +<p>Bobby had forgotten that he was cold, that he was alone, that he had +come on an exciting and novel expedition. Mr. Kincaid had disappeared +within the cabin.</p> + +<p>A whistle of wings rushed in on the boy's consciousness with startling +suddenness. Across the face of the evening indeterminate, dark bodies +darted low. A prolonged swish of water sounded, and the placid faint +light on the lagoon fifty yards away was broken and troubled. For a +moment it shimmered, and was still. Absolute darkness seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> abruptly +to descend on all the world. From the blackness Bobby heard the low +conversational sounds of ducks newly alit.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ca-chuck!</i>" said they "<i>ca-tu-kuk!</i>" and then an old drake lifted up +his voice.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mark!</i>" said he. "<i>Mark-quok, quok, quok!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Kincaid!" whispered Bobby sneaking quietly through the door. +"There's a great big flock of ducks lit just outside."</p> + +<p>"That so?" queried Mr. Kincaid cheerfully in his natural voice, "Well, +we'll get after 'em in the morning. Don't you want any supper?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid had a fire going in the little round stove. The light that +leaked from it wavered and flickered over the bunks and the table +shelves, and the diminished pile of decoys. Curly was asleep in the +corner. Every few moments Mr. Kincaid removed the frying pan from the +top of the stove, and turned over its contents with a fork. At such +times the light flared up brilliantly, illuminating the whole upper part +of the cabin. A lively sizzling arose from the frying pan; and a +delicious smell filled the air. Bobby made out a tea-kettle at the back, +and the phantom of light steam issuing from its spout.</p> + +<p>In a little while Mr. Kincaid straightened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> up and with a clatter slid +an iron stove cover over the opening. He lit a candle, stuck it in the +mouth of a bottle, and moved down on the table shelf carrying the frying +pan. Bobby then saw that the table shelf had been set with two-heavy +plates, cutlery, and two granite-ware cups. The salt-rising bread and +dutch bread were laid out with a knife beside them. A saucer contained a +pat of butter; a bottle, milk; and a plate was heaped with doughnuts.</p> + +<p>"Supper's ready," announced Mr. Kincaid cheerfully. "Sit up, Bobby."</p> + +<p>The frying pan proved to contain two generous slices of ham; and four +eggs fried crisp.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with this for a feast?" cried Mr. Kincaid; "sail in!"</p> + +<p>The man and the boy ate, the flickering light between them. Outside +howled the wind. Curly slumbered peacefully in the corner.</p> + +<p>"This," proffered Mr. Kincaid after an interval, as he reached toward +the basket, "is what my grandfather used to call a 'good competent pie.' +Like pie, Bobby?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," replied Bobby, "but I mustn't eat the under crust."</p> + +<p>"Right you are. Well, there's somebody here who'll eat it for you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you want it?" asked Bobby, wondering.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid laughed. "No, I mean Curly," he explained.</p> + +<p>"Will Curly eat pie?" marvelled Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Curly," said Mr. Kincaid impressively, "will eat anything you can throw +down a hole."</p> + +<p>It was a good pie, with lots of room between the crusts, and cinnamon on +the apples, and sugar and nutmeg on top. When finally Mr. Kincaid pushed +back his stool, Curly gravely arose and came forward to get his share of +whatever had not been eaten.</p> + +<p>"Now, dishes!" said Mr. Kincaid. "Will you wash or wipe, Bobby?"</p> + +<p>"My, I'm full!" said Bobby in the way of indirect expostulation against +immediate activity.</p> + +<p>"The time to wash dishes is right away," said Mr. Kincaid briskly. "They +wash easier; and when they're done you have a comfortable feeling that +there's nothing more to be done—and a clear conscience. Did you ever +wash dishes?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's time you learned. Come on."</p> + +<p>Bobby learned how to manipulate hot water, soap, and a dish-rag. Also +how difficult it is to remove some sorts of grease.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Condemned!" pronounced Mr. Kincaid severely, returning him the frying +pan.</p> + +<p>But when the simple task was done, Bobby felt an unusual glow of +competence and experience. He was really "camping out." A new ambition +to learn came to him, an ambition to do his share and to understand +other people's share. Naturally his mind turned first to accustomed +things.</p> + +<p>"Where's the wood pile?" he asked Mr. Kincaid. "Can't I fill the +wood-box?"</p> + +<p>"It's just behind the house," approved Mr. Kincaid.</p> + +<p>Bobby turned the wooden "button" that fastened the door from the inside. +At once it was snatched from his hand and flung open. A burst of wind +rioted in, extinguished the candle, flared up the fire in the stove, and +hurled a loose paper against the roof.</p> + +<p>"Whew!" cried Mr. Kincaid, coming to Bobby's assistance; "she's blowing +<i>some</i>! When you come back, just kick on the door, and I'll open it for +you."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 461px;"> +<img src="images/facing-180.jpg" width="461" height="600" alt=""CONDEMNED!" PRONOUNCED MR. KINCAID SEVERELY, RETURNING +HIM THE FRYING-PAN" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"CONDEMNED!" PRONOUNCED MR. KINCAID SEVERELY, RETURNING +HIM THE FRYING-PAN</span> +</div> + +<p>Bobby stood still a moment until his eyes should expand to the darkness. +He heard the repeated and rapid <i>swish, swish, swish</i>, of wavelets +driven against the float, which rose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> and fell gently beneath his +feet. A roar of wind filled the night. Occasionally it lulled. Then +quite distinctly he could make out a faint grumbling diapason which he +knew to be the surges beating against the distant coast.</p> + +<p>The armful of wood he brought in was not very large, but Mr. Kincaid +pronounced it enough.</p> + +<p>"And now, youngster," said he, "you'd better turn in. We're going to get +up very early in the morning."</p> + +<p>For as long as five minutes Bobby lay awake between the soft woollen +blankets. This was his first experience without sheets. Mr. Kincaid had +blown out the candle and was sitting back smoking a last pipe. Light +from the dying fire in the stove threw his shadow gigantic behind him. +As the flames rose or died this shadow advanced or receded, leaped or +fell, swelled or diminished; and all the other shadows did likewise. In +the entire room Mr. Kincaid's figure was the only motionless object. +Soon Bobby's vision blurred. The dancing shadows became unreal, changed +to dream creatures. Twice a realization, a delicious, poignant +realization of the morrow brought him back to consciousness; and the +dream creatures to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> shadows. Then finally he drifted away with only +the feeling of something pleasant about to happen, lying as a background +to sleep.</p> + +<p>He awoke in what seemed to him the middle of the night after an +absolutely <i>black</i> sleep. His first thought was that the broad of his +back was shivering; his next that the tip of his nose was marvellous +cold; his last that he was curled all up in a ball like a furry raccoon. +Then he heard the scratch of a match. A light immediately flickered. In +two minutes the little stove was roaring and Mr. Kincaid was exhorting +him to arise.</p> + +<p>"Come on, now!" he called. "Duck time!"</p> + +<p>Bobby dressed in his thickest winter clothes, which he had brought for +the occasion. When, after breakfast, he put on his reefer and over that +the canvas coat, he looked and felt like a cocoon.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," Mr. Kincaid reassured him. "It's going to be cold, +and you'll be mighty glad of them."</p> + +<p>They stepped out on the float, and Mr. Kincaid thrust the duck-boat into +the water.</p> + +<p>Bobby had never seen so many stars. The heavens were full of them, and +the still water had its share. Not a breath of wind was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> stirring. +Through the silence could be heard more plainly the roar of the surf far +away. The quacking of ducks came from near and far. Nothing of the marsh +was visible.</p> + +<p>Bobby took his place on the shell-box in the bow, his rifle between his +knees. Curly, without awaiting command, jumped in and lay at his feet. +Mr. Kincaid stepped in aft. Bobby could feel the quiver of the boat as +it took the weight, but having been instructed to sit quiet, he did not +look around. The craft received an impetus and moved forward. +Immediately the breaking of thin scum ice set up a crackling.</p> + +<p>"Pretty cold!" said Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk," replied Mr. Kincaid in a guarded voice.</p> + +<p>They moved forward in silence. Only the slight crackling at the prow, +the soft dip of the paddle, and an occasional breath of effort from the +paddler broke the stillness. The motion forward was slow; for the back +suction in the shallow, narrow channel, which they almost immediately +entered, stopped the boat at the end of each paddle stroke. Bobby was +vaguely aware of high reeds or low banks on either side; but he could +not see ten feet ahead, and he wondered how Mr. Kincaid could tell +where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> to go. Shortly the latter put aside his paddle in favour of the +punting pole. Bobby, stealing a glance over his shoulder, saw him +standing against the sky.</p> + +<p>From right and left, in mysterious side lagoons and pockets, came the +low quacking and chattering of wildfowl, now close at hand. They were, +of course, quite invisible; but their proximity was exciting. Twice the +duck-boat approached so close as to alarm them into flight. They arose, +then, with a mighty quacking. Bobby could see the silver of broken water +where they took wing; but although there seemed to be enough light +against the sky, he could not make out the birds themselves. He clasped +his rifle close, and shivered with delight, and patted Curly to relieve +his feelings.</p> + +<p>For a long time, and for a tremendous distance as it seemed to Bobby +they crept along through the lagoons and channels of the marshes. The +dawn had not come yet, but the air was getting grayer in anticipation of +it, and the wind began to blow faintly from the direction of the Lake. +Bobby could see the shapes of the grasses and cat-tails, and make out +the bodies of water through which they passed. Almost he could catch the +flight of ducks as they leaped; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> quite distinctly he saw a flash of +teal that passed with a startling rush of wings within a dozen feet of +the boat.</p> + +<p>And then deliberately the whole universe turned faintly gray, and the +smaller stars faded in the lucence of dawn, and the brief, weird world +of half-light came into being. At the same moment, Mr. Kincaid turned +the boat to the left, forced it by main strength through a thick fringe +of reeds, and debouched on a little round pond silvering in the dawn.</p> + +<p>The crackling of the duck-boat through the reeds was answered by a roar +like the breaking of a great wave. Bobby saw very dimly the rise of +hundreds of ducks straight up into the air. The roar of the first leap +was immediately succeeded by the whistling of flight.</p> + +<p>"My!" breathed Bobby to Curly, "My! My! My!"</p> + +<p>But a second roar thundered, as a second and larger flight took wing; +and then after an interval a third. The air all around seemed full of +ducks circling in and out the limited range of vision before finally +taking their departure.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid, however, pushed forward without paying the slightest +attention to this abundance. Fifteen or twenty yards out in the pond<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> he +brought the boat to a stand-still by thrusting his punting-pole far down +into the mud.</p> + +<p>"We're here, Bobby," he said in a guarded tone. "Turn around very +carefully, take off your mittens and help me put out the decoys."</p> + +<p>"My, there's a lot of 'em," ventured Bobby in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Yes, this is called the Mud Hen Hole. It's the best place in the +marshes. Quick! Get to work! It's getting near daylight!"</p> + +<p>Bobby helped unwind the cords from around the necks of the decoys and +drop them overboard. Mr. Kincaid moved the boat here and there, +scattering the flock in a life-like manner. The gray daylight was coming +stronger every instant. Even while they worked in plain sight, big +flocks of teal and blue-bill stooped toward them and whirled around them +with a rush of wings.</p> + +<p>"They're awful close!" whispered Bobby excitedly, "why don't you shoot?"</p> + +<p>"Hurry!" commanded Mr. Kincaid.</p> + +<p>When the last decoy was out, he thrust the boat hastily into the thick +reeds where already a blind had been constructed quite simply by +thickening the natural growth. "Crouch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> down!" whispered Mr. Kincaid; +"and don't move a muscle!"</p> + +<p>Bobby crouched, drawing his head between his shoulders like a +mud-turtle. Curly crouched too. Above and around was the continued +whistle of wings as the wildfowl, with their strange, early-morning +persistence, insisted on returning to the spot whence they had been so +lately disturbed. A movement shook the boat as Mr. Kincaid arose to his +feet.</p> + +<p><i>Bang! Bang!</i> spoke both barrels of the ten-gauge.</p> + +<p>"Two," said Mr. Kincaid in his natural voice.</p> + +<p>"Kneel around to face the decoys, Bobby, and you can see. But when I say +'mark,' don't move by a hair's breadth."</p> + +<p>Bobby shifted position and found that he could see quite easily through +the interstices of the reeds. On the pond, silvered bright by the +increasing day, the decoys floated snugly. Even at close range Bobby was +surprised at their life-like appearance. Among them floated two ducks, +white bellies to the sky. This was all Bobby had time to observe for the +moment.</p> + +<p>"Mark!" warned Mr. Kincaid behind him.</p> + +<p>A tremendous tenseness fell on the world. Bobby's muscles stiffened to +the point of aching.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> The limited vista bounded on right and left by the +sidewise movement of his eyeballs, and above by the brim of his cap +contained nothing. He did not dare extend this vista by so much as one +inch. But in the air sounded that magic soul-stirring whistle of wings, +now gaining in volume until it seemed overhead; now fading until Bobby +thought surely the ducks must have become suspicious and left.</p> + +<p>And then, low to the reeds across the pond, a long deliberate flight of +black bodies against the sky came into sight at the left, slanted across +the field of his vision and disappeared to the right. Their wings were +set, and every instant Bobby expected to hear the splash of water that +should indicate their alighting. But Mr. Kincaid's figure held its +immobility. He knew that the wily old mallards were not yet satisfied. +Indeed at the last moment, instead of swinging in, they arose with a +sudden swift effort, and resumed the slow scrutinizing circle about the +pond.</p> + +<p>Bobby lived an eternity in the next few moments. His neck muscles grew +stiff; his eyeballs strained from a constant attempt to see farther to +one side than nature had intended him to see. Each circle he followed +visually as far as he could, and then aurally, his hopes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> arising and +falling as the whistling of the wings sounded near or far. And each +circle was lower than its predecessor, until at last the flight swung +scarcely twenty feet above the tops of the reeds.</p> + +<p>Then, quite unexpectedly to Bobby, and when at its farthest from the +blind, the flock turned in and headed directly for him, its wings set.</p> + +<p>Bobby caught his breath, and his heart commenced to thump violently. Not +a bird of them all seemed to move, and yet with the rush of a railroad +train each individual grew in size like magic. It was just like +coasting—the same breathless headlong feeling—that quivering avalanche +of ducks projected at his head so abruptly and so swiftly that he hardly +had time to wink. Nearer and nearer they came, larger and larger they +grew. Something inside him seemed to expand like a bubble with their +approach; like a bubble too rapidly blown, so that at once, without +warning, the bursting point seemed to be reached. Instinctively Bobby +shrank back. The moment of collision was imminent. Nothing could stop +this headlong flight of living arrows launched against his very face. +And then, in a flash, the appearance of the flock changed. As though at +a preconcerted signal each duck dropped his legs, threw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> back his head, +opposed to momentum the breadth of his wings and tail. An indescribable +and sudden rushing sound smote the air. The flock, its course arrested, +hung motionless above the decoys in the attitude of alighting.</p> + +<p>At this precise instant Mr. Kincaid, without haste, smoothly got to his +feet. Involuntarily Bobby arose also. Curly, who up to this instant had +even kept his yellow eyes closed, put his forepaws on the gunwale, and +craned his neck upward the better to see.</p> + +<p>Immediately with a mighty beating of wings the ducks "towered." It was +almost incredible, the rapidity with which, from a dead stand, they +broke into the swiftest flight—and straight up. Bobby could see them +plainly, in every detail, the beautiful iridescent green heads of the +drakes, stretched eagerly upward, the dove and the cinnamon of the +breasts, the white bellies snowy against the sky. The gun spoke twice. +Instantly three of the outstretched necks seemed to wilt. For a brief +moment the bodies hung in the air; then plunged downward with increasing +speed until they hit with an inspiring <i>splash, splash, splash!</i> that +threw the water high. There they floated belly up. The orange-coloured +leg of one kicked slowly twice.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mallard!" said Mr. Kincaid with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Curly looked inquiringly at his master, then dropped back to his former +position in the bottom of the boat. Bobby settled himself on his +shell-box——</p> + +<p>Swish!—--he peered out startled and there among the decoys swam a dozen +little ducks, their heads up, their brights eyes glancing suspiciously +from one to another of their stolid wooden relations. Before Bobby could +realize that they were there, they had made up their minds; and, with +the same abruptness that had characterized their arrival, sprang into +the air and departed. Not, however, before Mr. Kincaid had shot.</p> + +<p>"Only one," said he. "They're a lively proposition."</p> + +<p>"What are they?" asked Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Teal. They often fly low just over the marsh, and drop in unexpectedly +like that."</p> + +<p>Daylight was full and broad now; and the sun was rising. With it came +the first signs of wind. Ducks filled the air in all directions, some +circling about other ponds; others winging their way in long flights +toward distant feeding grounds. Every few moments Mr. Kincaid had a shot +as some of these dropped to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> the decoys. Sometimes they came down boldly +in an attempt to alight; at others they merely stooped, and flew by. +These offered difficult side shots at long range. Always the mallards +made their wide circles of inspection; but always Mr. Kincaid waited +patiently for them, ignoring absolutely other ducks that in the meantime +lit among the decoys. Big flocks of teal manœuvred back and forth +erratically like blackbirds, wheeling, turning, rising and darting +without apparent reason but as though at the word of command. The high +buzz of their wings was quite different from the whistling flight of the +larger ducks. One of these bands came within range, but without +attempting to alight. Into the compact formation Mr. Kincaid emptied +both barrels. Instantly the air seemed to Bobby full of ducks falling. +They hit the water like huge rain drops. Bobby could not begin to keep +count; but Mr. Kincaid said nine. Among them was a broken-winged +cripple, which at once began to swim toward the rushes on the other side +the pond.</p> + +<p>"Fetch, Curly!" commanded Mr. Kincaid.</p> + +<p>Curly, with a whimper of delight, plunged into the icy water, and with +astonishing speed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> overtook and seized the wounded duck. He returned +proudly carrying his prize; was handed in over the gunwale; shook +himself like a lawn sprinkler; and resettled himself in the bottom of +the boat. Curly was a quiet and reserved character. His specialty was +lying still, and swimming after ducks. The rest of life did not interest +him.</p> + +<p>Now little by little the flight slackened. Longer intervals ensued +between the visits to the decoys. The sky was occasionally quite clear +of ducks, so that for a few moments Mr. Kincaid and Bobby would rise to +stretch their legs. Always they kept a sharp lookout in all directions, +and at the first sight of game, even so far away in the sky it looked +like a flock of specks, they would drop down into concealment. This was +something Bobby could do; and he was always overjoyed when he caught +sight of the ducks first; and could say "mark east"—or west or whatever +it was—as Mr. Kincaid taught him.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the ducks passed far away; but again the direction of their +flight brought them within hearing distance of the blind. Then Mr. +Kincaid produced his duck-call, and uttered through it the most natural +duck sounds.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Quack!" it said sharply, and then after the briefest possible pause. +"Quok-quok-quok-quok-quok!" in increasing rapidity. It was quite +remarkable to observe how the flock, apparently with a fixed destination +of its own, would hesitate, waver, finally swing down to investigate. At +this, Mr. Kincaid's call became confidential and intimate. It uttered +all sorts of clucks and half-notes, telling, probably, of the manifold +advantages of feed and shelter offered by this particular pond. Then +came the slow circles ending with the final breathless, level-winged +rush.</p> + +<p>But presently, as the sun mounted higher and higher, even these flights +ceased. Mr. Kincaid lit his pipe. Curly made trip after trip, carrying +in the game.</p> + +<p>"Fun?" enquired Mr. Kincaid succinctly.</p> + +<p>"I should think so!" breathed Bobby with rapture.</p> + +<p>They sat opposite each other in the sociable silence that seemed to come +so easily to them. The wind had risen again, until now it had once more +attained the proportions of a respectable gale. Bobby liked to watch the +brisk puffs as they hit, spread in a fan-shaped ruffle of dark water and +skittered away. In the miniature<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> wavelets possible under the lea, the +decoys bobbed gravely, swinging to their anchor strings. The sun flashed +from their backs, and from the little waves. All about were the tall +stalks of reeds; and ahead, where the open water was, grew tufts of +grasses that looked silvery-brown and somehow intimate when, as now, +Bobby looked at them from their own plane of elevation. They waved and +bent before the wind, and the reeds across the pond bowed and recovered; +and over the low, flat landscape seemed to hover a brown, untamed spirit +of wildness.</p> + +<p>But, though the wind blew a gale, the duck-boat was so snugly hidden +that hardly a breath reached its occupants. The warm rays of the sun +shone full down upon them, first driving the early chill from Bobby's +bones, then making him sleepy. He fell into a delicious lethargy, +running over drowsily the small details of his immediate surroundings. +In the course of a few hours this cosy nest which he had never seen +before had become strangely familiar. He experienced a sense of personal +acquaintanceship with many of the individual reeds; he recognized, as +one recognizes an accustomed landscape, the angle at which certain +clumps crossed one another; or the vistas allowed by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> the different +interstices. A marsh wren had business among the galleries. Bobby +watched it hop in and out of sight, sometimes right side up, sometimes +upside down. A dozen times he thought it had gone; but always it came +back, flirting its absurd short tail, one bright eye fixed on the +occupants of the blind. When Bobby slipped still further into the warm +bright land of laziness, he abandoned even the effort of observation, +and amused himself by sifting rainbows through his eye-lashes.</p> + +<p>"Bobby!" whispered Mr. Kincaid sharply.</p> + +<p>He came to with a start, rapping his knee against the gunwale of the +boat. Mr. Kincaid held his hand up warningly, then pointed toward the +decoys. Bobby looked, and saw, preening its feathers calmly, a live duck +rising to the wavelets. Mr. Kincaid handed over two 22-short cartridges.</p> + +<p>Bobby's breath caught with a gasp. His fingers trembling, he opened the +breach of the Flobert and loaded; then cautiously thrusting the muzzle +through an opening in the reeds, tried to aim. But his heart was +thumping like a hammer, and do his best he could not hold the wavering +sights in alignment. In vain he recalled all the many principles of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +accurate shooting he had so laboriously acquired in his target practice. +Finally in desperation he pulled the trigger. The duck, with a startled +quack, sprang into the air.</p> + +<p>"Got one!" chuckled Mr. Kincaid. "That furtherest decoy," he replied to +Bobby's unspoken question. "Saw the splinters fly. Must have over-shot +three feet."</p> + +<p>Bobby, carrying with him the bitterest possible cud of failure, retired +within himself and gloomed angrily at the situation from all points of +view. He was completely out of conceit with himself. After he had +finished his performance, he naturally took to reviewing it and +recasting it in terms of success. If he'd only shot at first, before he +lost his breath! If he'd only remembered to get his hand away around the +grip of the rifle! If he'd only——</p> + +<p>As though to test these theories, the Red Gods at this moment vouchsafed +him a wonderful favour. As he frowned steadily between the reeds, his +attention was dragged by a moving object from its abstractions to that +which he gazed on so unseeingly. He came to alertness with a snap. A +duck flying not a foot above the water swung in an awkward circle and +lit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> with a long furrowing splash not forty feet away.</p> + +<p>Bobby glanced toward Mr. Kincaid. The latter was gazing at the sky, his +hands clasped behind his head. Cautiously Bobby reloaded with the other +cartridge, and again thrust the rifle muzzle between the reeds. His +entire mind was now occupied by a vengeful spirit against himself +because of his first miss. Therefore he had no room for +self-consciousness or nervousness. The sights aligned with precision, +and held rigidly on the mark. His teeth set, Bobby pulled the trigger.</p> + +<p>Instantly the duck fell on its side, and, beating the water frantically +with its wings, began to kick around in a circle.</p> + +<p>"I got him! I got him! Oh, he'll get away!" screeched Bobby in a breath.</p> + +<p>At the crack of the rifle Mr. Kincaid had leaped to his feet with +surprising agility.</p> + +<p>"Well, good boy!" he exclaimed, "I should say you did get him! He won't +get away; he's hit in the head."</p> + +<p>"Is that the way they act when they're hit in the head?" asked Bobby, +still doubtful.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Fetch him, Curly."</p> + +<p>Bobby took the duck from Curly's mouth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> and held him up by the bill to +drain the water, just as he had seen Mr. Kincaid do. Then he laid his +prize across the bow and gloated.</p> + +<p>It was a very beautiful duck, with an erect topknot of white edged with +black running over the top of its head like the plume of a Grecian +helmet. The sides of its white breast were covered with feathers of a +bright cinnamon tipped with gray; its back was black and gray with fine +black edgings; and its wings were dark with a white and iridescent band +on each. But what interested Bobby especially was its bill. This +differed entirely from the bills of all the other ducks. It was very +long and very slender and had teeth!</p> + +<p>"What kind is it?" asked Bobby looking up to encounter Mr. Kincaid's +amused gaze.</p> + +<p>"Well—it's called a merganser in the books," said Mr. Kincaid.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to have mama cook it," announced Bobby, and returned to his +blissful contemplation.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid grinned quietly to himself. He would not spoil the little +boy's pleasure by telling him that his first trophy was a fish-duck, +and, beautiful as it was, utterly useless.</p> + +<p>No more ducks came for a long time after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> that. The wind continued to +increase, blowing from a clear sky, without scuds. By and by Mr. Kincaid +produced a package of lunch, and they ate, drinking in turn from the +demijohn that Bobby had filled the night before. The sun swung up +overhead, and down the westward slope. With the advance of afternoon +came more, but scattered, ducks rushing down the wind at railroad speed, +to wheel sometimes into the teeth of it like yachts rounding to as they +caught sight of the decoys. When the sun was low and red, thousands of +blackbirds began to fly by in an unbroken succession, low to the reeds, +uttering their chattering and liquid calls. So numerous were they that +the entire outlook seemed filled with the crossing lines of their +flight, until Bobby's eyes were bewildered, and he could not tell +whether he saw blackbirds near at hand or ducks farther away. Whence +they had come or whither they were going he could not guess; but that +they had some definite objective he could not doubt. Out from the gray +distances of the east they appeared; laboured by against the gale; and +disappeared into the red distances of the west.</p> + +<p>Now the evening flight of ducks was on in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> earnest, and the warm +excitement of decoy-shooting again gripped hard all three occupants of +the boat. Over the wide marshes spread the brief crimson of evening. The +sun set and dusk came on. It was first indicated, even before a +perceptible diminution of daylight, by the vivid flashes from the gun. +Then the low western horizon turned to a dark band between sky and +water, and the heavens immediately above took on a pale green lucence of +infinite depth.</p> + +<p>"More wind," said Mr. Kincaid, glancing at it.</p> + +<p>Finally, although it was still possible plainly to see the incoming +ducks against the sky, Mr. Kincaid laid aside his gun and picked up the +punt-pole.</p> + +<p>"Mustn't shoot much after sun-down," he told Bobby. "If we do, there +won't be any here in the morning. Nothing drives the duck off the +marshes quicker than evening shooting."</p> + +<p>He pushed the duck-boat out into the open. Instantly the weight of the +wind became evident. Although on the lea side of the pond, the light +boat drifted forward rapidly; and Bobby had to snatch suddenly for his +cap. Mr. Kincaid snubbed her at the edge of the flock of decoys.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Pick 'em up, Bobby," said he. "You'll have to do it, while I hold the +boat."</p> + +<p>Bobby lifted the nearest decoy out of the water and, under direction, +wound the anchor line around its neck and stowed it away. This was easy. +Also the next and the next.</p> + +<p>But by the time he had lifted the tenth he had discovered a number of +things. That a wooden decoy is heavy to lift at arm's length over the +gunwale; that it brings with it considerable water; that the anchor +lines carry with them a surprisingly greater quantity of water; that the +water is very cold; that said cold water causes the flesh to puff up, +the hands to turn numb, and the fingers to ache. This was disagreeable; +and Bobby had not been in the habit of continuing to do things after +they had become disagreeable.</p> + +<p>"My, but this is awful cold work!" said he.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid looked at him.</p> + +<p>"You aren't going to quit, are you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Bobby had not thought of it with this definiteness.</p> + +<p>When the issue was thus squarely presented to him, his reply of course, +was in the negative. But the night got darker and darker; the decoys<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +heavier and heavier; the water colder and colder. Little by little the +glory of the day was draining away. Mr. Kincaid, leaning strongly +against the punt-pole, watched him for some time in silence.</p> + +<p>"Pretty hard work?" he enquired at last.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Bobby miserably.</p> + +<p>"Why is it hard?"</p> + +<p>Bobby looked up in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Because the water is so cold, and the decoys are hard to lift over the +edge," he answered presently.</p> + +<p>"No; it's not that," said Mr. Kincaid, "It's because you're thinking +about how many more there are to do."</p> + +<p>Bobby stopped work in the interest of this idea.</p> + +<p>"If you're going to be a hunter—or anything else"—went on Mr. Kincaid +after a moment, "you're going to have lots of cold work, and hard work +and disagreeable work to do—things that you can't finish in a minute, +either, but that may last all day—or all the week. And you'll have to +do it. If you get to thinking of how long it's going to take, you'll +find that you will have a tough time, and that probably it won't be done +very well, either.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> Don't think of how much there is still to do; think +of how much you have done. Then it'll surprise you how soon it will be +finished."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Now pick 'em up," said Mr. Kincaid, "one at a time. Don't begin to pick +up the next one before you get this one out of the water."</p> + +<p>Bobby went at it grimly, trying to keep in mind Mr. Kincaid's advice. +The task was as disagreeable, and apparently as interminable as ever, +but Bobby had gained this: he had not now, even in the subconscious +background of his mind, any desire to quit; and there no longer pressed +upon the weight and cold of the decoy he was at the moment handling, the +useless and imaginary, but real, cold and weight of all the decoys yet +to be lifted.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless he was very glad when the last had found its place on the +pile amidship.</p> + +<p>"Good boy!" said Mr. Kincaid. "Now it's all over."</p> + +<p>It was somewhat after twilight; although objects about were still to be +made out in the unearthly half-illumination that precedes starlight. Mr. +Kincaid lifted his punt-pole and allowed the duck-boat to be carried +down wind to the other side of the pond. Here floated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> the dead ducks. +They were lying all along the edges of the reeds, their white bellies +plainly to be seen. After all those in sight had been picked up, Curly +was allowed a short search on his own account. It made Bobby shiver to +see him plunge into the icy water; but Curly did not mind. He found two +more inside the reeds; then was hauled over the gunwale and settled +himself happily, wet fur and all, in the bottom of the boat.</p> + +<p>The homeward trip seemed to Bobby interminable. He was very cold; his +fingers ached; the anticipations of the day had all been used. The +sudden rise of waterfowl near at hand aroused in him no excitement; +their presence was just now useless from the shooting standpoint.</p> + +<p>"We might try the big slough to-morrow," said Mr. Kincaid, more as an +audible thought than as a remark to Bobby.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go to-morrow," said Bobby.</p> + +<p>In spite of Mr. Kincaid's advice, he could not prevent himself from +anticipating the arrival at the cabin-float. A dozen little bends he +mentally designated as the last before the lagoon; and each +disappointment came to him as a personal affront.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> + +<p>But finally, when he had fallen into the indifference of misery, the two +elms loomed in silhouette against the skyline.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid held the boat while Bobby stepped ashore; then made it fast, +and, without bothering with the game, opened the hut and lit the candle. +Bobby sat down dully. He had no further interest in life. Mr. Kincaid +glanced at his disconsolate little figure humped over on the stool, and +smiled grimly beneath his moustache. But he made no comment; and set +about immediate construction of a fire.</p> + +<p>Bobby relapsed into a dull lethargy which took absolutely no account of +space or time. The shadows danced and flickered against the wall. He saw +them, but as something outside the real centre of his consciousness. The +wind howled by in gusts that shook the structure; Bobby did not care if +it blew the whole thing over!</p> + +<p>"Come, Bobby! Supper!" Mr. Kincaid broke in on his black mood.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe I want any supper," mumbled Bobby.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid took two long steps across to him, picked him and the stool +up bodily, and set him against the table.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now get at it," said he.</p> + +<p>Bobby languidly tasted a piece of bread and butter.</p> + +<p>In five minutes he was at his fifth slice, and had had four eggs and +three pieces of bacon. In ten the world had brightened marvellously. In +fifteen Bobby was chattering eagerly between mouthfuls, rehearsing with +some excitement the different events of the day.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," said he, "I'm going to shoot a lot."</p> + +<p>"Thought you weren't going to-morrow," suggested Mr. Kincaid.</p> + +<p>Bobby smiled shamefacedly.</p> + +<p>"That's all right, Bobby," said Mr. Kincaid kindly. "Supper makes a big +difference to any of us, especially after a long day."</p> + +<p>Curly received with gratitude the few scraps and three dog biscuits. The +guns were cleaned and oiled. All the ducks were tied in bunches by their +necks and hung from hooks on the north side of the hut. Bobby held the +heads together while Mr. Kincaid slipped the loops over them. Both +counted. Bobby made it eighty-four; while Mr. Kincaid's tally was only +eighty-three.</p> + +<p>"Enough, anyway," said the latter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then Bobby suddenly found himself so extraordinarily drowsy that he +actually fell asleep while taking off his shoes. Mr. Kincaid put him to +bed. Outside, the wind howled, the water lapped against the float. +Inside, the shadows leaped and fell. But Bobby did not even dream of +ducks.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> + +<h3>THE TRESPASSERS</h3> + + +<p>One day as Bobby and Mr. Kincaid were walking along looking for +squirrels in the high open woods, Duke, who was always required to trail +at heel for fear of alarming the game, became very uneasy. He dropped +back a few steps, and attempted to escape from control on either side; +he tried to get ahead—with always a deprecating side-glance at his +masters; he begged in his best dog fashion.</p> + +<p>"He acts like birds," said Mr. Kincaid. "Hie on, Duke!"</p> + +<p>Immediately Duke sprang away, the impulse of his suddenly released +energy projecting him ten feet at a bound. But at once he slowed down. +Step by step he drew ahead, his beautiful feathered tail sweeping slowly +from side to side, his delicate nostrils expanding and contracting, his +fine intelligent eye roving here and there. He stopped. His head dropped +to the level of his back and stretched straight out ahead.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> His tail +stiffened. Gently he raised one hind leg just off the ground. His eye +glazed with an inner concentration, and the trace of slaver moistened +the edges of his black and shining lips.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid cocked his gun and stepped forward.</p> + +<p>"He's just beyond that dead log, Bobby," he said quietly.</p> + +<p>Bobby watched with all his eyes. One, two, three steps Mr. Kincaid +advanced. Now he was abreast of Duke. The setter merely stiffened a +trifle more. Bobby's heart was beating rapidly. The whole sunlit autumn +world of woodland seemed waiting in a breathless suspense. The little +boy found space for a fleeting resentment against a nuthatch on a +tree-trunk near at hand for the calm, indifferent and noisy manner in +which he went about his everyday business.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a mighty roar shattered the stillness. Beyond Duke something +swift and noisy and brown and explosive seemed to fill the air. So +startling was the irruption that Bobby was powerless to gather his +scattered senses sufficiently to see clearly what was happening. Mr. +Kincaid's gun bellowed; a cloud of white powder smoke hung in the +mottled sunshine. And down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> through the trees a swift, brown, +bullet-like flight crumpled and fell, whirling and twisting in a long +slanting line until it hit the earth with a thump! Bobby heard Mr. +Kincaid berating Duke.</p> + +<p>"Down, you villain! Don't you try to break shot on me!"</p> + +<p>And Duke, his hindquarters trembling with eagerness, his head turned +beseechingly toward the man, crouched awaiting the signal.</p> + +<p>Quite deliberately Mr. Kincaid reloaded.</p> + +<p>"Fetch dead!" he then commanded.</p> + +<p>Duke sprang away in long elastic leaps. After a moment of casting back +and forth, he returned. His head was held high, for in his mouth he +carried the limp brown bird. Straight to Mr. Kincaid he marched. The man +stooped and laid hands on the game. At once the dog released it, not a +feather ruffled by his delicate mouthing.</p> + +<p>"Good dog, Duke," Mr. Kincaid commended him. "Old cock bird," he told +Bobby.</p> + +<p>Bobby spread out the broad brown fan of a tail; he inserted his finger +under the glossy ruffs; he stroked the smooth, brown, mottled back.</p> + +<p>"This is more fun than squirrels," said he with conviction.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid glanced at him in surprise.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But you can't hunt these fellows," said he, "It takes a shotgun to get +'pats.' You wouldn't have much fun at this game."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather watch you—and Duke," replied Bobby, "than to shoot +squirrels. Are there many of them?"</p> + +<p>"Not up on the ridges," said Mr. Kincaid. "This fellow's rather a +straggler. But there's plenty in the swamps and popples. Want to go +after them?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Bobby.</p> + +<p>After that the two used often to follow the edges of the hardwood +swamps, the creek bottoms, the hillsides of popples, and—later in the +season—the sumac and berry-vine tangles of the old burnings, looking +for that king of game-birds, the ruffed grouse.</p> + +<p>Bobby became accustomed to the roar as the birds leaped into the air, so +that he was able to follow with intelligent interest all the moves in +the game, but never did his heart fail to leap in response. In later +years, when he too owned a shotgun, this sudden shock of the nerves +seemed to be the required stimulant to key him instantly to his best +work. A sneaker—that is to say, a bird that flushed without the +customary whirr—he was quite apt to miss.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>Little by little, as he followed Mr. Kincaid, he learned the habits of +his game: where it was to be found according to time of day and season +of year. Strangely enough this he never analyzed. He did not consciously +say to himself; "It is early in the day, and cold for the time of year, +<i>therefore</i> we'll find them in the brush points just off the swamps, +<i>because</i> they will be working out to the hillsides for the sun after +roosting in the swamps." His processes of judgment were more +instinctive. By dint of repeated experience of finding birds in certain +cover, that kind of cover meant birds to him. "A good place for 'pats,'" +said he to himself, and confidently expected to find them. That is the +way good hunters are made.</p> + +<p>All day long thus they would tramp, forcing their way through the +blackthorn thickets; clambering over and under the dead-falls and débris +of the slashings; climbing the side hills with the straight, silvery +shafts of the poplars; wandering down the narrow aisles of the old +logging roads; plodding doggedly across the unproductive fields that lay +between patches of cover; always lured on in the hope of more game +farther on, picking up a bird here, a bird there, each an adventure in +itself. And occas<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>ionally, once in a great while, they ran against a +glorious piece of luck, when the grouse rose in twos and threes, this +way, that, and the other, until the air seemed full of them. Mr. +Kincaid, very intent, shot and loaded as fast as he was able. Sometimes +things went right, and the bag was richer by two or three birds. Again +they went wrong. The first grouse to rise might be the farthest away. +Mr. Kincaid would snap-shoot at it, only to be overwhelmed, after his +gun was empty, by a half dozen flushing under his very feet. Or a miss +at an easy first would spell humiliation all along the line. Then Bobby +and Duke would be much cast down.</p> + +<p>"Thing to do," said Mr. Kincaid, "is to shoot one bird at a time. If you +get to thinking of the second before you've killed the first, you won't +get either. It's a hard thing to learn. I haven't got it down pat yet."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The short autumn days went fast. Before they knew it the pale sun had +touched the horizon and the world was turning cold and gray. Then came +the long laden tramp back to old Bucephalus, or perhaps to town, if they +had started out afoot. They were always very tired; but, as to Bobby, at +least, very happy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<p>Generally speaking they wandered through the country at will. Shooting +was not then as popular as it is now, nor the farms as close together. +Sometimes, however, they came across signs warning against trespass or +hunting. Then, if the cover seemed especially desirable, Mr. Kincaid +used sometimes to try to obtain permission of the owner of the land. +Once or twice, having overlooked the sign, they were ordered off. The +farmers were good-natured, even though firm.</p> + +<p>But some four miles to the eastward lay a deep long swamp following the +windings between hills where Mr. Kincaid and Bobby had a very +disagreeable experience. It was late in the afternoon, so Bobby had +become tired. Duke made game on the outskirts of a dense thicket, +hesitated, then led the way cautiously into the tangle.</p> + +<p>"It's pretty thick," Mr. Kincaid advised Bobby; "you'd better sit on the +stump there until I come out."</p> + +<p>Bobby did so. A moment or so after Mr. Kincaid had disappeared, the +little boy became aware of a man approaching across the stump-dotted +field. He was a short, thickset man, with a broad face almost entirely +covered with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> beard, a thick nose, and little, inflamed snapping eyes. +He was clad in faded and dingy overalls, and carried a pitchfork.</p> + +<p>"Who's that shooting in here?" he shouted at Bobby as soon as he was +within hearing. "What do you mean by hunting here? You must have passed +right by the sign."</p> + +<p>"Don't you want shooting here? No; we didn't see the sign," replied +Bobby.</p> + +<p>By this time the man had approached, and Bobby could see his bloodshot +little eyes flickering with anger.</p> + +<p>"You lying little snipe," he roared. "You must have seen the sign. You +couldn't help it. I've a mind to tan your hide good."</p> + +<p>"What's this?" asked Mr. Kincaid's quiet voice.</p> + +<p>The man whirled about.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's you, is it?" he snarled. "Well, what do you mean by +trespassing on my farm?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't know it was your farm, in the first place; and I didn't know +shooting was prohibited in the second place."</p> + +<p>"That's too thin. You came right by that sign at the corner. Now just +make tracks off this farm about as fast as you can go."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," agreed Mr. Kincaid, quite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> unruffled. "I never shoot on a +man's land when he doesn't want me to."</p> + +<p>He turned, and at once the man became abusive, just as a dog gains +courage as his enemy passes. Bobby listened, his eyes wide with dismay +and shock. Never had he heard quite that sort of language. Finally Mr. +Kincaid happened to glance down at his small companion. He slipped the +shells from his gun and leaned it against a stump.</p> + +<p>"About face!" he said sharply to the man. "You can't talk that way +before this baby. We are going off your place as straight and as fast as +we can. You shoulder your pitchfork and go back to your house."</p> + +<p>The man started again on a string of objurgation.</p> + +<p>"I mean what I say," said Mr. Kincaid with deadly emphasis. "About face. +If you open your mouth again I shall certainly kill you."</p> + +<p>The old man's bent shoulders had straightened, his mild blue eye flashed +fire. So he must have looked to his soldiers before the storming of +Molino del Rey. His hands were quite empty of a weapon, and his age was +hardly a match for the other's brute strength. Nevertheless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> the farmer +at once turned back, after a parting, but milder, admonition.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid picked up his gun, tucked it under his arm and trudged +forward. Bobby was trembling violently with excitement and anger.</p> + +<p>"Why—why—" he gasped, as yet unable to cast his thoughts into speech.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid glanced down. A faint and amused smile flickered under his +moustache.</p> + +<p>"You aren't going to do that sort of a crank the honour of keeping +stirred up, are you?" "That's Pritchard—the worst crank in Michigan. +He's quarrelled with every one. I never did know where his farm was, or +I should have taken pains to keep off."</p> + +<p>They climbed into the cart and drove away toward town.</p> + +<p>"I believe I'll make a hunter of you, Bobby," pursued Mr. Kincaid after +they were going. "It's a good thing to be. Of course there's the fun of +it—the 'pats,' the quail, the jacksnipe, the 'cock. But then there's +the other part, too."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 390px;"> +<img src="images/facing-218.jpg" width="390" height="600" alt=""I MEAN WHAT I SAY," SAID MR. KINCAID WITH DEADLY +EMPHASIS" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I MEAN WHAT I SAY," SAID MR. KINCAID WITH DEADLY +EMPHASIS</span> +</div> + +<p>They had come out on the sandhills over the town. Mr. Kincaid drew up +Bucephalus and contemplated it as it lay below them, its roofs half +hidden in the mauve and lilac of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> bared branches, its columns of smoke +rising straight up in the frosty air.</p> + +<p>"Of course, I don't know, Bobby, whether you'll ever be a hunter or not. +It all depends on where you live and how—the chance to get out, I mean. +But, sonny, you can always be a sportsman, whatever you do. A sportsman +does things because he likes them, Bobby, for no other reason—not for +money, nor to become famous, nor even to win—although all these things +may come to him and it is quite right that he take them and enjoy them. +Only he does not do the things for them, but for the pleasure of doing. +And a right man does not get pleasure in doing a thing if in any way he +takes an unfair advantage. That's being a sportsman. And, after all, +that's all I can teach you if we hunt together ten years. Do you think +you can remember that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," replied Bobby soberly.</p> + +<p>"There's only one other thing," went on Mr. Kincaid, "that is really +important, and it isn't necessary if you remember the other things I've +told you. It's pretty easy sometimes to do a thing because you see +everybody else doing it. Always remember that a true sportsman in every +way is about the scarcest thing they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> make—and the finest. So naturally +the common run of people don't live up to it. If <i>you</i>—not the thinking +you, nor even the conscience you, but the way-down-deep-in-your-heart +<i>you</i> that you can't fool nor trick nor lie to—if that <i>you</i> is +satisfied, it's all right." He turned and grinned humorously at his +small companion. "I've nothing but a little income and an old horse and +two dogs and a few friends, Bobby; I've lived thirty years in that +little place there; and a great many excellent people call me a +good-for-nothing old loafer, but I've learned the things I'm telling you +now, and I'm just conceited and stuck-up enough to think I've made a +howling success of it."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't think that," said Bobby, laying his cheek against the man's +threadbare sleeve.</p> + +<p>"Of course you don't, Bobby," said Mr. Kincaid cheerfully, "and I'll +tell you why. It's because you and I speak the same language, although +you're a little boy and I'm a big man."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE PLAYMATES</h3> + + +<p>Early that autumn it became expedient that Mrs. Orde and Bobby should +visit Grandfather and Grandmother Orde at Redding, while Mr. Orde pushed +through certain heavy cutting in the woods. Bobby took with him his two +fonts of "real" type—one a parting present from Mr. Daggett—and his +Flobert Rifle.</p> + +<p>The old Orde homestead covered about three acres of ground. The city had +grown up around it. The house was a three-storied stone structure, built +fifty years before, steep of roof, gabled, low-ceilinged, old-fashioned +and delightful. Bobby loved it and its explorations, from the cellar +with its bins of vegetables and fruit and its barrels of molasses, cider +and vinegar, to its attic with its black, mysterious, "behind the tank." +And the three acres were a joy. Outside the picket fence were the shade +trees, their trunks nearly two feet in diameter. Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> stretched the +wide deep lawn, now turning dull with the approach of winter and strewn +with dead leaves. It supported the fir which Bobby always called the +"Christmas Tree," and under whose wide low branches he could crawl as +into a dusty, cobwebby house; and the little birch tree with its silver +bark; and the big round lilac bush, now bare, but in summer the fragrant +haunt of birds and butterflies innumerable; and the round flower bed; +and the horse-chestnut tree whose inedible brown-and-yellow nuts were +just right to throw or to string into necklaces; and close by the front +gate the Big Tree. Bobby firmly believed this the largest tree in the +world. It was a silver maple so great about the trunk that Bobby could +trot about it as around a race-track. At twelve feet it branched in two, +each division bigger than any shade tree in town. The branches were held +together by a logging chain. Above them were more divisions and more and +yet more, ever rising higher and finer, until at last, far over the tops +of the maples, of the elms, even of the hickory at the side of the +house, above the highest point of the highest gable of the house itself, +it feathered out in a delicate, wide lacework that seemed fairly to +brush the sky. Bobby's realization<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> of height ceased short of the +reality. Beyond that he was breathless, as one is breathless at too +great speed. The big tree was full of orioles' and vireos' nests, old +and recent, representing the building of many summers. Out behind was +the orchard, a dozen sturdy old apple trees, now passing the meridian of +their powers.</p> + +<p>Here Bobby laboured hard with hammers and a few old boards until he had +constructed a shield on which to tack his target. He leaned the affair +against the thickest and tallest woodpile, placed a saw-horse for a rest +at fifteen yards from his mark and brought out his Flobert Rifle.</p> + +<p>At the third snap of the little weapon, he looked up to discover a row +of interested heads lined up along the top of the high board fence that +constituted the Ordes' eastern boundary. He pretended not to see but +shot again, very deliberately.</p> + +<p>"Say," shouted a voice, "I'm coming over!"</p> + +<p>Bobby looked up once more. One of the heads had given place to a very +sturdy back and legs suspended on the Orde side of the fence. The legs +wriggled frantically, the toes scratched at the boards.</p> + +<p>"Aw, drop!" said another voice, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> second head produced a hand and +arm which proceeded calmly to rap the knuckles of the one who dangled. +The latter let go. Finding himself uninjured by the three-foot fall, he +looked up wrathfully at his late assailant. That youth was in the act of +swinging his own legs over. The first-comer, with a gurgle of joy, +seized the other by both feet and tugged with all his strength. His +victim kicked frantically, tried to hang on, had to let go and came down +all in a heap on top of his tormentor. Immediately they clinched and +began to roll over and over. Bobby stared, vastly astonished.</p> + +<p>Before he could collect his thoughts a third figure was dangling down +the boards. This one was feminine. It displayed a good deal of long +black leg, of short dull plaid skirt, a reefer jacket, two pigtails and +a knit blue tam-o'-shanter. Further observation was impossible, for it +dropped without hesitation and the moment it struck ground pounced on +the two combatants. Bobby saw those gentlemen seized, shaken and slapped +with hurricane vigour. The next he knew, three flushed visitors were +descending on him with ingratiating grins.</p> + +<p>The first, he of the pounded knuckles, was a short, sturdy, very +fair-haired youth with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> wide red-lipped mouth, wide and winning blue +eyes and a bit of a swagger in his walk. He was about Bobby's age. The +second, he of the pulled feet, was brown-haired, slightly stooped, +rather nervous-faced, but with the drollest twinkle to his brown eyes +and the quaintest quirk to his sensitive lips. He was about twelve years +old. The third, the girl, was tawny-haired, gray-eyed. Her face was +almost the exact shape of the hearts on valentines; her nose turned up +just enough to be impudent; her freckles, for she was indubitably +freckled, were just wide enough apart to emphasize the inquiring, +unabashed self-reliance of her eyes. Her figure was long and lank but +moved with a freedom and a confidence that indicated her full control of +it. She was probably just short of her 'teens.</p> + +<p>"Gorry!" said the first boy, "is that gun yours?"</p> + +<p>"Let's see it," said the second.</p> + +<p>"It's a beauty, isn't it? Look at the gold mounting," said the girl.</p> + +<p>"Look out how you handle it!" warned Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Why, is it loaded?" asked Number One.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter whether it's loaded or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> not!" insisted Bobby stoutly. +"It ought never to be pointed toward anybody."</p> + +<p>"Oh, shucks!" said Number One, reaching for the rifle.</p> + +<p>But Bobby interposed.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't touch it unless you handle it right," said he.</p> + +<p>"Shucks," repeated the light-haired boy, still reaching.</p> + +<p>Bobby, his heart beating a little more rapidly than usual, thrust +himself in front of the other.</p> + +<p>"Ho!" cried the other, the joy of battle lighting up his dancing blue +eyes. "Want to fight? I can lick you with one hand tied behind me."</p> + +<p>"This is my yard," said Bobby, "and that is my gun! And besides I didn't +ask you to come in here, anyway."</p> + +<p>"Well, I can lick you, anyway," replied the other with unanswerable +logic.</p> + +<p>The girl had been watching them narrowly, her hands on her hips, her +head on one side. Now she interfered.</p> + +<p>"Johnnie, come off!" said she sharply. "No fighting! You're bigger than +he is, and it <i>is</i> his yard and his gun, and, anyway, he isn't afraid of +you."</p> + +<p>Johnnie looked at her doubtfully, then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> turned to Bobby as to a +companion under tyranny.</p> + +<p>"That's just like her," he complained. "She always spoils things! You +ain't smaller than I am, anyhow. Never mind, we'll try it sometime when +she ain't around. Let's see your old gun. I won't point it at anybody. +Show me how she works."</p> + +<p>Bobby, a little stiffly at first, for he could not understand fighting +without animosity, showed them how it worked.</p> + +<p>"Let me try her," urged Johnnie.</p> + +<p>But Bobby would not until he had asked his mother, for permission to +shoot had been obtained only at expense of a very solemn promise.</p> + +<p>"Fraidy!" jeered Johnnie, "tied to his mammy's apron-strings!"</p> + +<p>Bobby flushed deeply, but stood his ground.</p> + +<p>"It's my gun," he pointed out again. "If you don't like my yard, you +needn't come into it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right, we don't want to stay in your old yard," replied +Johnnie. "Come on, kids."</p> + +<p>"Johnnie, come back here," commanded the girl sharply. "You ought to be +ashamed of yourself! He's perfectly right! Suppose one of us should get +shot!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll get papa to shoot with us, if he will," promised Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Johnny, you come back here!" ordered the girl in more peremptory tones. +"You come back or—or—<i>I'll sit on your head again!</i>"</p> + +<p>Johnny came back, entirely good-natured, his attractive blue eyes +glancing here and there in restless activity.</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right," said he. "Let's play robbers and policemen."</p> + +<p>"We've left Carrie over the fence," insisted the girl.</p> + +<p>"Bother Carrie! Why don't she climb?"</p> + +<p>"You come over with us," the girl suggested to Bobby. "You're Bobby +Orde, of course, we know. I'm May Fowler. I live in the big square house +over that way. The boy with the yellow hair is Johnny English. The other +one is Morton Drake. Come on."</p> + +<p>"Where is it?" asked Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Just over the fence. That's where the Englishes live. Haven't you been +there yet?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Bobby.</p> + +<p>He leaned his rifle in the barn and followed the disappearing trio. His +doubt as to how the smooth board fence was to be surmounted was soon +resolved. The new-comers evidently<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> knew all the ins and outs. In the +very end of the long woodshed stood a chicken-feed bin. By scrambling to +the top of this, it was just possible to squeeze between the edge of the +roof and the top of the fence. Once there, one had the choice of +descending to the other side or climbing to the shed roof.</p> + +<p>The expedition at present led to the other side. Here was no necessity +of dangling, for the two-by-fours running between the posts offered a +graduated descent. Bobby found himself in the back yard of a tall house +that occupied nearly the entire width of the lot. It was a very +impressive cream-brick house. A cement walk led around it from the +front. There were no stables, no clothes-lines, no pumps, nothing to +indicate the kitchen end of a residence. The swift curve of a grassed +terrace dropped from the house-level to that on which Bobby stood. Four +large apple trees, mathematically spaced, would furnish shade in summer. +That the shade was utilized was proved by the presence of a number of +settees, iron chairs and a rustic table or so.</p> + +<p>"There's Carrie!" cried May Fowler. "Why didn't you come on over? This +is Bobby Orde who lives over there. This is Caroline English."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We're going to play robber and policeman," announced Johnny English, +cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"All right," said Carrie.</p> + +<p>She sat down behind one of those rustic tables.</p> + +<p>"She's police sergeant," confided Morton Drake to Bobby. "She's always +police sergeant because she doesn't like to get her clothes dirty."</p> + +<p>"Here come the rest! Goody!" cried the alert Johnny as four more +children came racing around the corner of the house.</p> + +<p>Robber and policemen was a game absurd in its simplicity. The policemen +pursued the robbers who fled within the specified limits of the +Englishes' yard. When an officer caught a malefactor, he attempted to +bring his prize before the police sergeant. The robber was privileged to +resist. Assistance from the other policemen and rescues by the other +robbers were permitted. That was all there was to it. The beautiful +result was a series of free fights.</p> + +<p>Bobby, as a new-comer, was made a robber. So were Grace Jones, Morton +and Walter. The nature of the game demanded that the oldest should be +policeman, otherwise arrests might be disgracefully unavailing.</p> + +<p>At a signal from Carrie the robbers scurried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> away. At another the +sleuths set out on the trail. Each policeman elected a robber as his +especial prey. Bobby ran rapidly around the front of the house, dodged +past the front steps and paused. Behind him he heard stealthy footsteps +approaching the corner of the house. Instantly he ducked forward around +the other corner and ran plump into the arms of Johnny English.</p> + +<p>That youngster immediately grappled him.</p> + +<p>Johnny was no bigger than Bobby, but he was practised at scuffles and +his body was harder and firmer knit. Bobby tugged manfully, but almost +before he knew it he was upset and hit the ground with a disconcerting +whack. Of course, he continued to struggle, and the two, fiercely +locked, whirled over and over through the leaves, but in a humiliatingly +brief period Johnny had twisted him on his back and was sitting on his +chest.</p> + +<p>"There, I told you I could lick you!" he cried triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Let me up! Let me up, I tell you!" roared Bobby, kicking his legs and +threshing his arms in a vain effort to budge the weight across his body.</p> + +<p>Johnny looked at him curiously.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why! You ain't <i>mad</i>, are you!" He shrieked with the joy of the +discovery. "Oh, kids! Come here and see him! He's getting mad!"</p> + +<p>Bobby's eyes filled with tears of rage. And then he saw quite plainly +the top of a sand-hill and the village lying below and the blue of the +River far distant. And he heard Mr. Kincaid's voice.</p> + +<p>"But, sonny, you can always be a sportsman, whatever you do," the voice +said, "and a sportsman does things because he likes them, Bobby, for no +other reason—not for money, nor to become famous, nor even to win——"</p> + +<p>He choked back his rage and forced a grin to his lips—very much the +same sort that he had once accomplished when he "jumped up and laughed" +at his mother's spanking, simply because he had been told to do that +whenever he was hurt.</p> + +<p>"I'm not mad," he disclaimed and heaved so mighty a heave that Johnny, +being unprepared by reason of shouting to the others, was tumbled off +one side. Instantly Bobby jumped to his feet and scudded away.</p> + +<p>He was captured eventually—so were the others—but only after fierce +struggles. Even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> did a policeman catch and hold a robber, to drag the +latter to jail was no easy problem. For if he summoned the help of a +brother officer that left at large an unattached robber who would create +diversions and attempt rescues. At times all eight were piled in a +breathless, tugging, rolling mass, while Carrie, behind her rustic +table, looked on serenely lest some of the simple rules of the game be +violated. In fact Carrie was just as severe in anticipation of possible +infractions, as over the infractions themselves, which, perhaps, goes +far to explain Carrie.</p> + +<p>Bobby returned home at lunch time to be received with horror by Mrs. +Orde.</p> + +<p>"You're a sight!" she cried. "<i>Where</i> have you been, and <i>what</i> have you +been doing? I never saw anything like you! And look at those holes in +your stockings."</p> + +<p>"I've been playing robber 'n policeman with Johnny English and Carter +Irvine and all the kids," explained Bobby blissfully.</p> + +<p>After lunch Mr. Orde kissed his son good-bye.</p> + +<p>"Going up in the woods for a week, sonny," said he.</p> + +<p>"Papa," asked Bobby holding tight to the man's hand, "can I have the +kids shoot with my rifle?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not any!" cried Mr. Orde emphatically. "Not until I get back. Then +maybe we'll have a shooting-match and invite all hands."</p> + +<p>He was slipping on his overcoat as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Which of the boys do you like best?" he asked casually.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," replied Bobby after an instant's thought. "Carter +Irvine's got an air-gun: I like him. And Johny English is all right, +too. I wish I were as strong as Johnny English," he ended with a sigh.</p> + +<p>Mr. Orde paused in reaching for his valise.</p> + +<p>"Can he take you down?" he asked shrewdly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir!" replied Bobby with a vivid flush.</p> + +<p>"All right, you be a good boy, and when I get back I'll show you a few +tricks to fool Mr. Johnny," Mr. Orde chuckled. "There's a lot in knowing +how."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> + +<h3>THE SHOOTING CLUB</h3> + + +<p>When Bobby proposed again that his father oversee general shoots in the +back yard, the latter demurred.</p> + +<p>"Haven't any time," said he. "And you youngsters certainly can't be +turned loose with two guns alone. I'll tell you: you organize your club, +and have a regular time to shoot every week. I'll appoint Martin Chief +Inspector; but it must be distinctly understood that there is to be no +shooting unless he's here."</p> + +<p>Martin was the "hired man" about Grandpa Orde's place.</p> + +<p>The children fell on the idea with alacrity, and at once adjourned to +Bobby's room. Carter Irvine suggested formal organization.</p> + +<p>"Somebody's got to make targets; and somebody's got to buy cartridges +and collect the money for them; and somebody's got to buy prizes—we got +to have prizes—and somebody's got to keep the scores."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> + +<p>After much talk they elected officers to perform these duties; and +formulated curious but practical by-laws. Bobby was elected secretary +and treasurer; and he has to-day a copy of them written in his own +boyish unformed hand. Among other things they provided that "any one +pointing a gun, accidentally or otherwise, at anybody else or Duke, is +fined one cent." The entire club went into a committee of the whole, +marched down town in a body and pestered a number of store-keepers. +Finally it purchased a silver bangle a little larger than a ten-cent +piece, had it hung from a bar pin, and inscribed "First Prize." The +second prize, following Mrs. Orde's practical suggestion, was a bright +ribbon. Winners were privileged to wear these until defeated. The shoots +were conducted with great ceremony. Each took a single chance in turn +until five rounds apiece had been expended. In a loud voice the scorer +announced the results, and the name of the next on the list. The +shooting was done from a dead rest over the saw-horse, and at about +fifteen yards. Martin sat by on the bridge-approach to the barn, smoking +a very short and very black clay pipe upside down. He rarely said +anything; but his twinkling eyes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> never for a moment left the excited +group. Martin was reliable. Occasionally he was called upon to referee +some particularly close decision—as to whether a certain bullet-hole +could be said to have cut the edge of the black or not—and his +decisions were never questioned.</p> + +<p>The shoots were taken very seriously. He who won the first or second +prize wore it proudly. Scores, individual shots, good or bad luck, +distracting influences were all discussed with the greatest interest. +Grandpa Orde, happening home early one day, watched the performance with +great enjoyment, his hands behind him underneath the flapping linen +duster, his eyes twinkling, his jaws working slowly. At the time he made +no comments; but next shoot day he was punctually on hand, carrying a +small paper parcel.</p> + +<p>"Here's another prize," said he.</p> + +<p>They opened it eagerly. It contained a large round leather disk to which +a safety pin had been sewn.</p> + +<p>"That's for the one who makes the worst score," explained Grandpa Orde +chuckling.</p> + +<p>Thenceforth the poor shots had an interest. If they could not hope to +compete with Bobby and Carter Irvine, at least they could try not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> to +stand at the bottom of the list. A new by-law was adopted, making +compulsory the conspicuous wearing of the leather medal.</p> + +<p>As has been hinted, the supremacy generally lay between Bobby and +Carter. Johnny occasionally carried off all honours by a most brilliant +score; but the week following he was likely to escape the leather medal +only by the narrowest margin. The latter decoration was shared by his +sister and Grace Jones. Caroline English disliked firearms; and took +part in the contest only because she did not care to be left out. Both +she and Grace held the weapon directly in front of them, the two hands +clasped tight at the same point just behind the trigger-guard. May +Fowler, Walter and Morton "furnished packing," as Morton said, between +the leaders and the losers.</p> + +<p>In this manner the children came to a thorough respect for the muzzle of +a gun; and a deep pride in handling a weapon in a safe and sportsmanlike +manner. By the time the snow and cold weather put a stop to the +shooting, each child would have been mortified and ashamed beyond words +to have been caught doing anything "like a greenhorn."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> + +<h3>THE UPPER ROOMS</h3> + + +<p>On Mr. Orde's return from the woods, he was promptly called upon to +redeem his promise. He therefore, showed Bobby a few of the simpler +wrestler's tricks which Bobby adopted and brooded over in his manner. +The first game of robber and policeman thereafter, he tried one on +Johnny, but bungled it and got sat on harder than ever. Bobby's trouble +in the practice of such matters arose from the fact that he was too +analytical. Before an idea could become part of his make-up, he had to +revolve it over in his mind, examining it from all sides, understanding +the relations of its component parts, making the mechanism revolve +slowly, as it were, in order to comprehend all its correlations. This +analytical thought naturally made him, to a certain degree, +self-conscious in his movements. It destroyed the instinctive, +superconscious accuracy valuable in all games of skill, but absolutely +necessary to such things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> as skating, boxing, wrestling, wing-shooting, +tennis and the like. Self-consciousness in such cases means awkwardness. +Bobby, in learning a new thing, was awkward. But he possessed a +wonderful persistence. In time he would think all around a thing. In +more time he would have practised it sufficiently to have lost sight of +the carefully considered "reason why" for each move. Thus the final, +though delayed, result was apt to be more consistent performance than +Johnny's brilliantly instinctive achievements.</p> + +<p>For example, Bobby tried again and again to attain the quick twisting +heave necessary to the common "grape-vine." At no time did he achieve +more than partial success. But in his numerous attempts he, without +knowing it, taught Johnny. That quick-witted youth caught the +possibilities and at his first attempt sprawled Bobby. In fact, by the +time Bobby had even a fair command of the three or four falls shown him +by his father, Johnny was skilful in them all and could catch Bobby with +them twice as often as Bobby could catch him. This kept Bobby +humble-minded, and, as it in no way discouraged him from keeping at it, +was a good thing for him. Here is perhaps<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> as good a place as any to +remark parenthetically that while the friends scuffled and wrestled +constantly, Johnny never got to be much better than he became in the +first three weeks, while Bobby, in later years, was the middle-weight +champion of his class at college.</p> + +<p>The autumn passed, and colder weather set in. Out of doors was available +only for the activities of life. As long as energy was burnt with some +lavishness, all was well, but when the first enthusiasm had ebbed, Jack +Frost began to nip shrewdly. Then the children went within doors. They +divided their favours almost equally between the third stories of the +Orde and English homes.</p> + +<p>The Englishes' third story had never been finished. Bare walls, bare +floors, fresh varnished wood-work and the steam radiators constituted +the whole equipment.</p> + +<p>This very openness of space, however, proved an irresistible attraction +to the children. Gradually articles of their amusement became installed, +until the latter end of that third story was an official "play room." +Shelves—made by Johnny—held books and miscellaneous junk; toys of +various sorts were scattered about; against the wall was screwed a noisy +chest-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>weight, which nobody disturbed; near the window stood a +scroll-saw worked by foot-power. Nobody bothered with that either, for +the simple reason that all the saw blades were broken and the novelty +had worn off. Bobby would have liked to experiment with it, but of +course he did not feel like suggesting repairs.</p> + +<p>But the Upper Rooms were full of echoes and noises when one clumped on +the bare floor, and space with nothing to knock over when one scuffled, +and the air was always cold enough so one could see his breath. +Therefore the Upper Rooms were popular, but in a different manner and +for different purposes than Bobby's warmed and furnished chamber.</p> + +<p>Here the rougher, noisier romping took place, and here was finally +brought to adjustment the smouldering rivalry between the two small +boys.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h2> + +<h3>THE THIRD STORY</h3> + + +<p>Bobby's room was also in the third story and up among the gables. It +slanted here, it slanted there, steeply or gradually according to the +demands of the roof outside. There May, Johnny and Martin curled up on +the western window seat; Bobby and Carter Irvine sat on the floor; +Caroline drew up a straight-back chair. Then while the twilight lasted +they "talked," in children's aimless fashion, about everything, anything +or nothing.</p> + +<p>By and by somebody yawned.</p> + +<p>"My, it's getting dark. Light up, Johnny."</p> + +<p>Then could be seen the prize attraction of the room—the deal table on +which one could use ink, mucilage, scissors and other dangerous weapons. +Here was screwed the toy printing press. Bobby, after a few further +attempts to adopt the regulation fonts of type to its chase, had rather +lost interest in it, but his new companions revived it. He showed them +exactly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> how to get clear and good impressions, and in the explanation +proved a most comfortable glow over finding something at last in which +he was distinctly and indisputably superior. All had to have cards +printed. Each bought his own and set up his own type; Bobby made +adjustments, and then again each was privileged to make his own +impressions.</p> + +<p>Johnny English, however, was keenly alive to the commercial aspects of +the case. One day he appeared in triumph bearing an order from Mr. +Ellison's wholesale house. It read quite simply: "Use Star Stove +Polish," a legend well within the possibilities of the little press.</p> + +<p>"Got an order for a thousand of 'em!" cried Johnny triumphantly. "We're +to print them and distribute them. We get four dollars for it!"</p> + +<p>Four dollars was untold wealth, though, counting the distribution, Mr. +Ellison's firm stood to gain on regular rates—provided it really cared +thus to advertise Star Stove Polish. To active youngsters the wandering +up one street and down another, leaving cards at every house, handing +cards to every passer-by, was a huge lark. When the four dollars were +paid, it seemed almost like getting a Christmas<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> present out of season. +Johnny's imagination was fired.</p> + +<p>"There's lots of printing we might get," said he. "Look at all the +envelopes my papa uses, and there's his letter-heads, and +bill-heads—and lots else. But we can't do it on that thing! It takes +different kinds of type."</p> + +<p>Thereupon Bobby got out his catalogues and told them of the second-hand +self-inker to be had for twenty-five dollars, Enthusiasm burned at fever +heat for about three days, then the sickening realization that the total +capital of <i>Orde & English, Job Printers</i>—including the four +dollars—was just seven-thirty pricked that bright dream. The approach +of Christmas inspired Johnny with a new idea. He and Bobby risked a +half-dollar of the capital in cards embossed with holly wreaths. On +these they printed "<i>Merry Christmas, From —— to ——.</i>" These had an +encouraging sale among immediate relatives.</p> + +<p>But in spite of these gratifying commercial ventures, Bobby's disgust +grew. It might make marks on paper; it might earn money, but it would +not take full-sized type, it would not print more than two lines. By +these same tokens it was not a printing press, but a toy; not the real<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +thing, but an imitation, and Bobby was outgrowing imitations. Finally he +made a definite statement of principle.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to use her any more," said he with decision, "I'm sick of +the old thing."</p> + +<p>"But I've just got an order for fifty cards from Mrs. Fowler!" +expostulated Johnny.</p> + +<p>"Then go on, do them," replied Bobby. "I won't."</p> + +<p>He retired to the corner, leaving Johnny wrathful. There for the +thousandth time he pored over the pages of the catalogue showing the +beautiful 5x7 self-inking press.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h2> + +<h3>"SLIDING DOWN HILL"</h3> + + +<p>One morning Bobby awoke before daylight. It might have been the middle +of the night except that, far down in the still house, he heard a +muffled scrape and clank as Martin set the furnace in order for the day. +Bobby knew six o'clock by these dull, distant, comfortable sounds. The +air in the room was very frosty and Bobby's nose was as cold as a dog's; +but underneath the warm double blanket and the eider-down quilted +comforter Bobby had made himself a warm nest. In this he curled in a +tight little ball. Not for worlds would he have stretched his legs down +into shivery regions, and though he was not drowsy and did not care to +sleep, not for worlds would he have left his lair before the radiator +had warmed.</p> + +<p>So he lay there waiting and watching where the window ought to be for +the first signs of daylight. Bobby liked to amuse himself trying to +define just when the window became visible.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> He never could. So this +morning, some time, no time, Bobby saw a dull gray rectangle where +darkness had been, and knew that day had arrived. Over in the corner the +radiator was singing softly with the first steam. Slowly the reluctant +daylight filtered in, showing in dim outline the familiar objects in the +room.</p> + +<p>Bobby was just dozing when an unexpected sound from outside brought him +wide awake. He sat up in bed the better to hear. Far in the distance, +but momently nearing, rang a faint jingle of bells. At the same moment +there began a methodical <i>scrape, scrape, scrape</i> immediately outside +the house.</p> + +<p>Without a thought of the cold air of the room, nor the warm flannel +dressing gown, nor the knit bedroom socks, Bobby leaped out and pattered +to the window. This was covered thick with frost crystals, but Bobby +breathed on them, and rubbed them with the heel of his palm, and so +acquired a sight-hole.</p> + +<p>"Snow!" he murmured ecstatically to himself.</p> + +<p>The outer world was very still and bathed in a cold half-light. Over +everything lay a thick covering of white. The lawn, the sidewalks, the +street, the roofs of houses were hidden by it;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> the top of the fence was +outlined with it; great mantles draped the post tops and the fans of the +fir tree; every branch and twig of every tree bore its burden; Martin, +wielding a very broad wooden shovel, was engaged in clearing a way to +the front gate. Just as Bobby looked out, the milkman, his vehicle on +runners and his team decorated with the strings of bells that had +aroused the little boy, drove up, dropped his hitch-weight and with the +milkman's peculiar rapid gait, trotted around to the back door. The +breath of Martin and the milkman and his two horses ascended in the +still air like steam. Bobby heard the loud shrieking of the snow as it +was trodden, and knew that it must be very cold.</p> + +<p>He dressed and went down stairs. Amanda, with her head tied in a duster, +was putting things to rights. Bobby could find none of his snow clothes +and Amanda was unable or unwilling to help him, so to his disappointment +he could not join Martin. However, he opened the front door and peeked +at the cold-looking thermometer.</p> + +<p>"My," said he to Amanda, scurrying back to the new-lighted fire, "it's +only four above!"</p> + +<p>This information he proffered with an air of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> pride to each member of +the family as he or she appeared. Bobby took a personal satisfaction in +the coldness of the weather, as though he had ordered it himself.</p> + +<p>In the meantime he watched Martin from the window. Shortly the municipal +snow-plow passed, throwing the snow to right and left, its one horse +plodding patiently along the sidewalk, its driver humped over, smoking +his pipe. One of Bobby's ambitions used to be to drive the municipal +snow-plow when he grew up.</p> + +<p>After breakfast, in the customary sequence of events, came lessons. They +naturally seemed interminable, and indeed, lasted much longer than +usual, because Bobby was unable to give his whole mind to the task. At +last they were over. Under Mrs. Orde's supervision Bobby donned (a) +heavy knit, woollen leggings that drew on over his shoes and pinned to +his trousers above the knee; (b) fleece-lined arctic overshoes; (c) a +short, thick, cloth jacket; (d) a long knit tippet that went twice +around his neck, crossed on his chest, again at the small of his back, +passed around his waist, and tied in front; (e) a pair of red knit +mittens; (f) a tasselled knit cap that pulled down over his ears. Thus +equipped, snow- and cold-proof,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> he passed through the refrigerator-like +storm porch, and stood on the front steps.</p> + +<p>The sun was up and before him the facets of the snow sparkled like +millions and millions of tiny diamonds. Across it the shadows of the +trees lay blue. In Bobby's nostrils the crisp air nipped delightfully +just short of pain.</p> + +<p>What did Bobby do first? Waded, to be sure. He found the deepest drift, +augmented somewhat by Martin's shovel, and wallowed laboriously and +happily through it. Twice he was unable to extricate his foot in time to +prevent a glorious tumble from which he arose covered from crown to toe +with the powdery crystals. The temperature was so low that they did not +melt, although just inside the tops of the arctics thin bands of snow +packed tight. These Bobby occasionally removed with his forefinger.</p> + +<p>Bobby waded happily. On either side the broad walk were tall mounds of +the snow that Martin had shovelled aside. Bobby found these waist-deep. +The lawn itself was only knee-deep, but it offered a beautiful smooth +surface. Duke appeared about this time and frisked back and forth madly, +his forefeet extended, his chest to the earth, his face illuminated +with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> a joyous doggy grin. He would run directly at Bobby, as though to +collide with him, swerve at the last moment and go tearing away in +circles, his hind-legs tucked well under him. The smooth white surface +of the lawn became sadly marred. Bobby was vexed at this and uttered +fierce commands to which Duke paid not the slightest attention. The +little boy made patterns in which he stepped conscientiously, pretending +he could not "get off the track." Of course he tried to make snowballs, +but tossed from him in disgust the feather-light result.</p> + +<p>"No packing," said he.</p> + +<p>About this time Martin reappeared, after his own breakfast, to finish +cleaning the walks. Bobby begged the fire shovel and assisted.</p> + +<p>When lunch time came Bobby entered the storm-porch and stood patiently +while he was brushed off. The entrance to the warm air inside promptly +turned the crystals still adhering to the interstices of the knit +garments into glittering drops of water. Bobby made tiny little puddles +where he disrobed—to his delight and Amanda's disgust. The damp clothes +were hung to dry behind the kitchen stove, and Bobby sat down to a +tremendous lunch.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> + +<p>After lunch Bobby went out-doors again, but the novelty had worn off and +his main thought was one of impatience for three o'clock to release his +friends from school. The snow was not yet packed well enough to make the +sleighing very good, but everybody in town was out. Cutters, their +thills to one side so the driver could see past the horse; two-seated +higher sleighs; the gorgeous plumed and luxurious conveyances of the +élite—all these streamed by, packing the street every moment into a +better and better surface.</p> + +<p>And then, before Bobby had realized it could be so late, a first, faint, +long-drawn and peculiar shout began far away; grew steadily in volume. +Bobby ran out to the middle of the road.</p> + +<p>This street began at the top of a low, long hill eight blocks above the +Orde place and ended three blocks below. Coming toward him rapidly Bobby +saw a long dark object from which the sound issued. In a moment, slowing +every foot because of the level ground and the still heavy snow surface +of the road-bed, it passed him. He saw a ten-foot pair of bobs laden +with children seated astraddle the board. Each child held up the legs of +the one behind. In front, the steersman, his feet braced against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> the +cross-pieces, guided by means of ropes leading to the points of the +leading sled. At the rear the "pusher off" half reclined, graceful and +nonchalant. With the exception of the steersman, who was too busy, each +had his mouth wide open and was expirating in one long-drawn continuous +vowel-sound. This vowel-sound was originally the first part of the word +"out." It had long since become conventionalized, but still served its +purpose as a warning.</p> + +<p>Slower and slower crept the bobs. The passengers ceased yelling and +began to move their bodies back and forth in jerks, as does the coxwain +of a racing shell. Even after the bobs had come to a complete +standstill, they sat a moment on the off-chance of another inch of gain. +Then all at once the compact missile disintegrated. The steersman made a +mark in the snow at the side to show how far they had gone. Three seized +the ropes and began to drag the bobs back toward the hill. The rest fell +in, trudging behind.</p> + +<p>But already from the group at the top, confused by distance, other swift +black objects at spaced intervals had detached and came hurtling down. +Some of them were bob-sleds;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> others hand-sleds carrying but a single +passenger. Bobby stood by the gate post watching them. Each pair of bobs +made its best on distance, trying for the record of the "farthest down." +Although the temptation must have been great, nobody cheated by so much +as the smallest push.</p> + +<p>Bobby owned a sled on which he used to coast. It reposed now in the +barn. He wanted very much to slide down hill, but he left the sled in +its resting place. Why? Because already Bobby had grown into big boy's +estate. He knew his sled would arouse derision and contempt. It had flat +runners! And it curved far up in front! And it was built on a skeleton +framework! What Bobby wanted, if he were to join the coasting world at +all, was a long, low, solid, rakish-built affair with round "spring +runners." Even "three-quarters" would not do for his present ideas.</p> + +<p>By now the hill was alive. A steady succession of arrow-like flights was +balanced by the slow upward crawlings, on either side, of dozens +returning afoot. The mark set by the first bobs had been passed and +passed again. New records became a matter of inches.</p> + +<p>At last Bobby saw bearing down on him a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> magnificent bobs that had not +before appeared. It was gliding evenly where others usually began to +slow up. Its board was twelve feet long. Foot-rails obviated the +necessity of holding legs. Its sleds were long and substantial and +evidently built solely as bob-sleds and not, as most, to be detached and +used for hand sleds as well. The eight occupants began to "jounce" when +opposite the Orde place, and Bobby saw with admiration that this was a +"spring bobs." That is to say: the board connecting the sleds was not of +rigid pine, like the others, but of hickory which bent like a +buck-board. When the occupants "jounced," the spring of this board +naturally helped the bobs to keep going for some distance after it would +ordinarily have come to a stand-still.</p> + +<p>This scientific bobs easily excelled all previous records. Its steersman +made a triumphant mark, a full half-block beyond the farthest. So lost +in admiration of the vehicle had Bobby been that he had failed even to +glance at its occupants. Now as they returned, dragging the bobs after +them, he recognized in the steersman Carter Irvine, and in the others +the rest of his intimate friends. At the same instant they recognized +him and greeted him with a shout.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come on slide!" they called.</p> + +<p>Bobby joyously laid hand on the steer-rope and began to help up the +hill.</p> + +<p>The centre of the street was entirely given over to the coasters darting +down. On either side those ascending toiled, helped occasionally by the +good-natured driver of a cutter or delivery sleigh. Then the steer-ropes +were passed around a runner support of the cutter and held by the +steersman who perched on the front of the bobs. Thus if the bobs upset, +or the horse went too fast, he could detach the bobs from the cutter by +the simple expedient of letting go the rope. All the others immediately +piled on to get the benefit of the ride. Some preferred to stand atop +the cutter's runners. It lent a pleasant sensation of a sort of +supernatural gliding, this standing, upright and motionless, but +nevertheless moving forward at a good rate of speed. Certain drivers +refused, however, to allow these liberties, but scowled blackly when +addressed by the usual cheerful "Give us a ride, Mister?" To catch +surreptitious rides with them was considered a desirable feat. Certain +daring youngsters stole up behind and crouched low against the runners. +Occasionally they escaped detection, but generally tasted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> the sting of +the whip-lash as it curled viciously backward. Then arose from the whole +hill the derisive cry of "whip behind!"</p> + +<p>At the top Bobby found a large crowd awaiting its turn. Some he knew, +others were strangers to him. All classes were represented, rich and +poor, rough and gentle. To one side the girls and smallest boys were +sliding decorously a hundred feet or so down the deeper snow of the +gutter. They sat facing forward on high framework sleds with flat +runners, one foot on either side. Whenever the sled showed indications +of speed, the feet were used as brakes. The little girls were dressed +very warmly in leggings, arctics, flannel petticoats and heavy dresses, +and wore tied close about their heads knit or fuzzy gray hoods that +framed their red cheeks bewitchingly. Bobby had always coasted in this +manner, but now he looked on them with a sort of pitying contempt.</p> + +<p>The main group stood waiting. New-comers fell in behind so that some +rough semblance of rotation was maintained. The bobs' crews settled +themselves with the deftness of long practice. Then bending to his task +the pusher at the rear dug his toes in, while the others hunched. With a +creak the runners gave way their hold<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> on the frozen snow; the bobs +began slowly to move. As momentum and the downward curve of the hill +exerted their influence, the pusher found his task easier and easier. +His then the nice decision as to just how long to continue to push. To +jump on too soon was a disgrace; to delay too long was a certainty of +rolling over and over in the snow while your bobs went on without you. +The artistic pusher came aboard gracefully, with a flying, forward leap, +at the precise moment when the equilibrium of forces permitted him to +alight as softly as a thistledown. The bobs shot away in a whirl of +snow-dust.</p> + +<p>Immediately stepped forth a tall, gawky youth clad in dull brown, faded +garments, without mittens, without overshoes, his hands purple, but with +a long, low, narrow sled as tall as himself. His left hand clasped the +front, his right hand the back. The sled slanted across his body. A +dozen swift steps he ran forward flung the sled headlong with a smack +against the road and followed lightly to the little deck. There he +crouched, reclining on his left forearm, his left thigh doubled under +him, his head thrust forward, his right leg extended. A magnificent +start! So perfect was his balance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> that the merest touch of his right +toe to one side or the other sufficed for steering. In an instant he +shot close to the bobs ahead.</p> + +<p>"Out! out! out! out!" he cried in a sharp stacatto—very different from +the general long-drawn out warning.</p> + +<p>The bobs swerved and he darted by with lofty and oblivious superiority.</p> + +<p>In the meantime another boy had stepped forward carrying his sled +directly in front of him, a hand on either side. He, too, ran forward, +but cast himself and sled with a mighty crash into the road. He +disappeared lying flat on his stomach, his hands grasping each a +projecting runner, his legs spread wide apart.</p> + +<p>"Belly flop!" remarked the steersman of the next bobs, waiting. No great +speed was possible by this antiquated method, so it was necessary to +give the despised belly-flopper a good start.</p> + +<p>Among those whose turns did not come soon was great rivalry in the +matter of sled-runners. Flat bands were negligible and assigned to +girls, quarter-rounds and half-rounds were somewhat but not much better, +although several orthodox-shaped sleds were fitted with them. As between +three-quarters and full-round spring runners, however, was room for +argument,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> and endless and partisan discussion obtained. This was a +matter of opinion. A question of comparison was the relative wear and +brightness of the metals. This must be caused by use only. The +employment of sandpaper would be to your small boy what—well, what +dynamiting trout would be to your fly-fisherman.</p> + +<p>The twilight and the frost were already descending. Soon the +lamp-lighter with his torch and his little ladder came nimbly down the +street. On the down trip Bobby found his mother waiting by the gate, a +heavy shawl thrown over her head and shoulders. In the darkness, and +after the cold, pale moon had climbed the heavens, the hill continued +thronged. About eight o'clock many of the younger grown-ups arrived. But +Bobby had to go to bed, and he fell asleep with snatches of +conversation, the shriek of runners and the weird ululation of warning +ringing in his ears.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h2> + +<h3>CHRISTMAS</h3> + + +<p>Within a week of Christmas Bobby suddenly awoke to the fact that he must +go shopping. He found that in ready money he possessed just one dollar +and sixty-two cents; the rest he banked at interest with his father. +With this amount he would have to purchase gifts for the four of his +immediate household, Celia and Mr. Kincaid, of course. Besides them he +would have liked to get something for Auntie Kate, and possibly Johnnie +and Carter.</p> + +<p>Down town, whither he was allowed to trudge one morning after lessons, +he found bright and gay with the holiday spirit. Every shop window had +its holly and red ribbon; and most proper glittering window displays +appropriate to the season. In front of the grocery stores, stacked up +against the edges of the sidewalks, were rows and rows of Christmas +trees, their branches tied up primly, awaiting purchasers. The sidewalks +were crowded with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> people, hurrying in and out of the shops, their lips +smiling but their eyes preoccupied. Cutters, sleighs, delivery wagons on +runners, dashed up and down the street to a continued merry jingling of +bells. Slower farmers on sturdy sled runners crept back and forth. A +jolly sun peeked down between the tall buildings. The air was crisp as +frost-ice.</p> + +<p>Bobby wandered down one side the street and back the other, enjoying +hugely the varied scene, stopping to look with a child's sense of +fascination into even the hat-store windows. He made his purchases +circumspectly, and not all on the same day. Only after much hunting of +five- and ten-cent departments, much investigation of relative merits, +did he come to his decision. Then, his mind at rest, he retired to his +own room where he did up extraordinarily clumsy packages with white +string, and laid them away in the bottom of his bureau drawer.</p> + +<p>Three days before Christmas the tree was delivered. Martin and Mr. Orde +installed it in the parlour. First they brought in a wash-tub, then from +its resting place since last year, they hunted out its wooden cover with +the hole in the top. Through the hole the butt of the tree was thrust; +and there it was solid as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> church! It was a very nice tree, and its +topmost finger just brushed the ceiling.</p> + +<p>Now Bobby had new occupation which kept him so busy that he had no more +time for coasting. Grandma Orde gave him a spool of stout linen thread, +a thimble, and a long needle with a big eye. Bobby, a pan of cranberries +between his knees, threaded the pretty red spheres in long strings. He +liked to pierce their flesh with the needle, and then to draw them down +the long thread, like beads. The juice of them dyed the thread crimson, +as indeed it also stained Bobby's finger and anything they happened +subsequently to touch. As each long string was completed, Bobby went +into the chilly parlour and reverently festooned it from branch to +branch of the tree. It was astonishing what a festive air the red +imparted to the sombre green. When finally the pan was emptied of +cranberries, it was replenished with popcorn. Bobby unhooked the +long-handled wire popper from its nail in the back entry and set to work +over the open fire. It was great fun to hear the corn explode; and great +fun to keep it shaking and turning until the wire cage was filled to its +capacity with this indoor snow. Once Bobby neglected to fasten<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> the top +securely, and the first miniature explosion blew it open so that the +popcorn deluged into the fire. When the last little cannon—for so Bobby +always imagined them—had uttered its belated voice, Bobby knocked loose +the fastening and poured the white, beautiful corn into the pan. Always +were some kernels which had refused to expand. "Old Maids," Bobby called +them.</p> + +<p>This popcorn, too, was to be strung by needle and thread. It was a +difficult task. The corn was apt to split, or to prove impervious to the +needle. However, the strings were wonderful, like giant snowdrops +shackled together to do honour to the spirit of Christmas. Bobby hung +them also on the branches of the tree. His part of the celebration was +finished.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Orde believed that Christmas excitement should have a full day in +which to expend itself; so Christmas eve offered nothing except a +throbbing anticipation. One old custom, however, was observed as usual. +After supper Mr. Orde seated himself in front of the fire.</p> + +<p>"Get the book, Bobby," said he.</p> + +<p>Bobby had the book all ready. It was a very thin wide book, printed +entirely on linen, in bright colours, and was somewhat cracked and +ragged, as though it had seen much service.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> Bobby presented this to his +father and climbed on his knee. Mr. Orde opened the book and began to +read that one verse of all verses replete to childhood with the very +essence of this children's season:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"<i>'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>The stockings all hung by the chimney with care</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there.</i>"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>As the reading progressed, Bobby thrilled more and more at the +cumulation of the interest. St. Nick's cry to his steeds:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"<i>——Now Dolly, now Vixen!</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Now Feather! Now, Snowball! Now Dunder and Blitzen!</i>"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>brought his heart to his mouth with excitement that culminated in that +final surge:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"<i>To the top of the house, to the top of the wall,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Now dash away! dash away! dash away, all!</i>"</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> + +<p>When the reading was finished he sank back with a happy sigh.</p> + +<p>"Now story," said he, and became once more for this evening the little +child of a year back.</p> + +<p>He listened with satisfaction to his father's unvarying Christmas story +of the Good Little Boy who went to bed and slept soundly and awoke to +varied gorgeousness of gifts; and the Bad Little Boy who slipped out and +"hooked" a ride on Santa Claus's very sleigh, and next morning, on +seeing his stocking full congratulated himself that he had been +unobserved; but on opening the stocking beheld a magic ruler that +followed him everywhere he went and spanked him vigorously and +continuously: "Even into the conservatory?" Bobby in his believing +infancy used to ask. "Even into the conservatory," his father would +solemnly reply.</p> + +<p>After the story Bobby had to go to bed.</p> + +<p>"And look out you don't open your eyes if you hear Santa Claus in the +room," warned his mother. "Because if you do, he won't leave you any +presents!"</p> + +<p>Bobby kissed them all and trudged upstairs. He was too old to believe in +Santa Claus. His attitude during the rest of the year was frank<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +scepticism. Yet when Christmas eve came around, he found that he had +retained just enough faith to be doubtful. It was manifestly impossible +that such a person could exist; and yet there remained the faint chance. +Nobody believes that horseshoes bring luck; and yet we all pick them up. +Bobby resolved, as usual, to stay awake. Once in former years he had +awakened in the dark hours. He had become conscious of a bright and +unusual light in the street, and had hidden his head, fairly convinced +that Santa was passing. Nobody told Bobby that the light was the lantern +on a wagon making late deliveries. To-night he hung his stocking at the +foot of his bed, resolved to see who filled it. The Tree was not to be +unveiled until ten o'clock; and it was ridiculous to expect a small boy +to wait until then without <i>anything</i>. Hence the stocking.</p> + +<p>Bobby must have stayed awake an hour. The room gradually became cold. A +dozen times his thoughts began to swell into queer ideas, and as many +times he brought himself back to complete consciousness. Then quite +distinctly he heard the sound of sleighbells, faint and far and +continuous. Bobby's sleepy thoughts resolved about the old question. +This<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> might be Santa. Dared he look? As his faculties cleared, his +common-sense resumed sway. He turned over in bed. Then he found that the +faint far sound was not of sleighbells at all, but of the first steam +singing to itself from the radiator; and that the window was gray; and +in the dim light he could see a dark irregular, humpy stocking depending +from the foot of his bed. He had slept. It was Christmas morning.</p> + +<p>Bobby, broad awake with the shock of the discovery, crept hastily down, +untied the bulging stocking and crawled back to his warm nest. It was +yet too dark to see; but he cuddled it to him, and felt of it all over, +and enjoyed the warmth of his bed in contrast to that momentary +emergence into the outer cold.</p> + +<p>Shortly the light strengthened, however, and the room turned warmer. +Bobby reached for his dressing gown.</p> + +<p>From the top of the stocking projected two fat, red and white striped +candy canes with curved ends. These, of course, Bobby drew out carefully +and laid aside. He knew by former experiences that one was flavoured +with wintergreen, the other with peppermint. They were not to be sampled +"between meals." Next came something hard and very cold.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> Bobby dragged +forth a pair of skates. They were shining and beautiful, and when Bobby, +with the knowledge of the expert, went hastily into details, he found +them all heart could wish for. No effeminate straps about these! but +toe-clamps to tighten with a key and a projecting heel lock to insert in +a metal socket in the boot's heel. This was the <i>pièce de résistance</i> of +the stocking. Bobby felt perfunctorily along the outside to assure +himself that the usual two oranges and the dollar in the toe were in +place; then returned to gloat over his skates. He wanted to use them +that very day; but realized the heel plates must be fitted to his boots +first. After a few moments he stuffed the skates back into the stocking, +put on his bedroom knit slippers, and stole shivering down the steep, +creaking stairs. The door to his parents' room stood slightly ajar. He +pushed it open cautiously and peered in. The blinds were drawn, and the +room was very dim, so Bobby could make out only the dark shape of the +great four-poster bed, and could not tell whether or not his father and +mother still slept. For a long time he hesitated, shifting uneasily from +one foot to the other. Then he ventured, only just above a whisper.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Merry Christmas!" said he, a little breathlessly.</p> + +<p>But instantly he was reassured. There came a stir of bed-clothes from +the four-poster.</p> + +<p>"Merry Christmas, dear!" answered Mrs. Orde.</p> + +<p>"Merry Christmas! Caught us, you little rascal, didn't you?" came in his +father's voice.</p> + +<p>With a gurgle of delight, Bobby, clasping his stocking, ran and leaped +at one bound into the soft coverlet. There he perched happily and told +of his skates.</p> + +<p>"Suppose you open the blinds and show them," suggested Mr. Orde.</p> + +<p>Bobby did so. Mr. Orde examined the skates with the eye of a +connoisseur.</p> + +<p>"Seems to me Santa Claus has been pretty good to you," said he finally.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Bobby. For the time being, under the glamour of the +day, he wanted to believe in Santa Claus. Doubts had cold comfort, for +they were shut entirely outside the doors of his mind.</p> + +<p>But before long it was time to get up. Bobby pattered across the room +and down the hall to the head of the stairs. Outside Grandma Orde's room +he paused.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Merry Christmas, grandma!" he called.</p> + +<p>"Merry Christmas, Bobby!" replied Grandma Orde promptly.</p> + +<p>"Merry Christmas, grandpa!" repeated Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Grandpa isn't here," replied Grandma.</p> + +<p>And on his way back to his own room Bobby found Grandpa; or rather +Grandpa surprised him by springing on him suddenly from behind the +corner with a shout of "Merry Christmas!" Grandpa had been waiting there +for ten minutes, and was as pleased as a child at having caught Bobby.</p> + +<p>The latter dressed and went hunting for other game. Mrs. Fox was an easy +victim. Amanda he stalked most elaborately, ducking below the chairs and +tables, exercising the utmost strategy to approach behind her broad +back. Apparently his caution succeeded to admiration. Amanda went on +peeling apples, quite oblivious. And then, just as he was about to +spring upon her from the rear, she remarked, in an ordinary tone of +voice and without moving her head:</p> + +<p>"Merry Christmas, ye young imp! I know you're there!"</p> + +<p>This was a disappointment; but Bobby<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> bagged Martin by hiding in the +storehouse; and Duke was too easy.</p> + +<p>After breakfast came the inevitable delay during which Bobby sat and +eyed the parlour doors. Mr. Orde slipped in and out of them several +times. Martin, too, entered on some mysterious errand regarding the +heating. Finally everything was pronounced in readiness. All the family +but Bobby went into the parlour. Suddenly both doors were thrown back at +once. Bobby stood face to face with the Tree.</p> + +<p>It stood, glittering and glorious, set like a jewel in the velvet of the +darkened room. Only the illumination of its own many little candles cast +radiance on its decorations and the parcels hung from its branches and +piled beneath, and dimly on the half-visible circle of the family +sitting motionless as though part of a spectacle.</p> + +<p>Bobby drew a deep breath and entered. What a changed tree from the one +he had hung with cranberries and popcorn the day before! The cranberries +and popcorn were still there; but in addition were glittering balls, and +strings of silver, and coloured glass bells, and candy birds and angels +with spun-glass wings, and clouds of gold and silver tinsel and +cornucopias, and candy in bags of pink net, and dozens of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> lighted +candles, and on the very top the great silver Star of Bethlehem.</p> + +<p>Most of the gifts were wrapped in paper and tied with green and red +ribbon. Two or three, however, were too large for this treatment, and +stood exposed to view. Bobby could not help seeing a sled—a real +sled—painted red. He declined, however, to see another larger article +quite on the other side the tree. By a perversity of will he thrust it +entirely out of his head, as though it did not exist, unwilling to spoil +the effect of its final realization.</p> + +<p>For a full minute Bobby stood in the centre of the stage, his sturdy +legs spread apart, his hands clasped tight behind him, his eyes blinking +at the splendour. Finally he sighed.</p> + +<p>"My, that tree's just—just—<i>scrumptious!</i>" he breathed.</p> + +<p>The interest that had held the circle of elders silent and motionless, +like a mechanical setting for the tree, broke in a laugh. Mr. Orde +arose.</p> + +<p>"Well, let's see what we have," said he.</p> + +<p>He advanced and picked up a package.</p> + +<p>"'For Grandma Orde from her loving daughter,'" he read the inscription. +"Here you are, grandma. First blood!"</p> + +<p>Rapidly the distribution went forward. Cries<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> of delight, of surprise +and of thanks, the rustle of many wrapping papers filled the air. Around +each member of the family these papers, tossed carelessly aside in the +impatience of the moment, accumulated knee-deep. The servants, very +clean and proper in their Sunday best, stood in a constrained group near +the door, holding their gifts, still wrapped, awkwardly in their hands.</p> + +<p>Bobby for a few moments was kept very busy acting as messenger. By +custom his was the hand to deliver to the servants their packages. Then +grown-up excitement lulled, and he had time to gloat over his own +formidable pile.</p> + +<p>The sled he at once turned over. Glory! Its runners were of the +round-spring variety—the very best. They were dull blue and unpolished +as yet, of course; but that fact was merely an incentive to much +coasting. Another knife filled his heart with joy! for naturally the +birthday knife was broken-bladed by now. A large square package proved +to contain a model steam engine with a brass boiler and what looked like +a lead cylinder; its furnace was a small alcohol lamp. Seven or eight +books of varying interest, another pair of knit socks from Auntie Kate, +a half-dozen big glass<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> marbles, a box of tin soldiers completed the +miscellaneous list. A fat, round, soft package, when opened, disclosed a +set of boxing-gloves.</p> + +<p>"Now you and Johnny can have it out," observed Mr. Orde.</p> + +<p>Another square package held two volumes from Mr. Kincaid. They were +thick volumes with pleasant smelling red leather covers on which were +stamped in gold the name and the figure of a man in very old-fashioned +garments aiming a very old-fashioned fowling-piece at something outside +of and higher than the book. "Frank Forrester's Sporting Scenes and +Characters: The Warwick Woodlands" spelled Bobby. He lingered a moment +or so over the fat red volumes.</p> + +<p>Each of the servants contributed to Bobby's array; for they liked Bobby +and his frank manly ways. Martin gave a red silk handkerchief whose +borders showed a row of horses' heads looking out of mammoth horseshoes. +Amanda presented him with a pink china cup-and-saucer on which were +scattered bright green flowers. Mrs. Fox's offering was, +characteristically, a net-work bag for carrying school books.</p> + +<p>The Christmas tree was stripped of everything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> but its decorations. Even +some of the candles had burned dangerously low and had been +extinguished. The servants had slipped away.</p> + +<p>"Here, youngster," admonished Mr. Orde, "aren't you going to get all +your presents? You haven't looked behind the tree yet."</p> + +<p>And then at last Bobby permitted himself to see that of which he had +been aware all the time; but which, by an effort of the will he had made +temporarily as unreal to himself as St Paul's in London. Behind the +tree, furnished, repainted, wonderful, to be reverenced, stood high and +haughty the self-inking, double roller, 5 x 7 printing press!</p> + +<p>"What do you say to that?" cried Mr. Orde.</p> + +<p>But Bobby had nothing to say to that. He was too overwhelmed. He +approached and pulled down the long lever. Immediately, as the platen +closed, the two rollers rose smoothly across the form and over the round +ink-plate, which at the same time made a quarter-revolution. At the nice +adjustment and correlation of these forces Bobby gave a cry of +admiration.</p> + +<p>"Look in the drawers," advised his father.</p> + +<p>The little boy pulled open one after another the shallow drawers in the +stand to which the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> press was fastened. Some were filled with leads and +quoins and blocks. Some were regular type-cases, plenished with +glittering new fonts all distributed. One contained a small composing +stone, a cleaning brush, a composing stick, a pair of narrow-pointed +pliers, a mallet and planer. Everything was complete.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think Auntie Kate was pretty good to a little boy I know?" +asked Mrs. Orde.</p> + +<p>"Did Auntie Kate give me all this?" asked Bobby.</p> + +<p>"She certainly did," replied his mother.</p> + +<p>Now the family, bearing each his presents, moved into the sitting room +to give Mrs. Fox and Martin a chance to clean up the débris. Bobby +arranged his things on the sofa. Suddenly there came to him the uneasy +feeling of having reached the end. He had mounted above the first joy +and surprise and anticipation. It was all comprehended; nothing more was +to follow. Novelty had evaporated, like the volatile essence it is; and +Bobby had not as yet entered the fuller enjoyment of use. He could not +calm to the point of doing more than glance restlessly through the +books; he had not recovered sufficiently from his morning excitement to +settle down making his engine go, or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> to trying his press, or to playing +with any of his new toys. There descended upon him that peculiar and +temporary sense of emptiness, which, being revealed by youngsters and +misunderstood by elders, often brings down on its victim the unjust +accusation of ingratitude.</p> + +<p>Luckily Bobby was not long left to his own devices. A wild whoop from +outside summoned him to the window; and what he saw therefrom caused him +to jump as quickly as he could into his out-door garments.</p> + +<p>By the horse-block stood a very black and very chubby pony. It wore a +beautiful brass-mounted harness, atop its head perched a wonderful red +and white pompon, to it was hitched a low, one-seated sleigh on the +Russian pattern, with high grilled dash, and two impressive red and +white horse-hair plumes. In this rig-in-miniature sat Johnny English, a +broad grin on his face.</p> + +<p>"Look what I got for Christmas!" he cried to Bobby. "Jump in and have a +ride!"</p> + +<p>Bobby jumped in, and they drove away. The pony trotted very busily with +more appearance of speed than actual swiftness. The little sleigh, being +low to the ground, emphasized this illusion; so that the two small boys +had all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> the exhilaration of tearing along at a racing gait.</p> + +<p>"This is great!" cried Bobby. "What else did you get?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and there's a two-wheeled cart for summer," said Johnny; "and when +you slide the seat forward a little and let down the back, it makes +another seat. I'll show you when we go back."</p> + +<p>Shortly they decided to do this. Johnny attempted to turn in his tracks, +as he had seen cutters do on the Avenue. But here the snow was not +packed flat, as it is on the thoroughfare, so that when the twisting was +applied one runner promptly left earth, and the whole sleigh canted +dangerously. A moment later, however, in response to the frantic +counterbalancing of two frightened small boys and the sensible coming to +a halt of the fuzzy pony, it sank back to solidity.</p> + +<p>"Gee!" breathed Johnny, wide-eyed, "That was a close squeak!"</p> + +<p>They turned more cautiously, and in a wide circle, and jingled away +toward home. It might be mentioned that the bells were not strung as a +belt to encircle the pony, but were attached below to the underside of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +the thills in such a manner as to contribute chimes.</p> + +<p>"What's his name?" asked Bobby, referring to the pony.</p> + +<p>"He hasn't any. I got to name him."</p> + +<p>"I knew a very nice horse once. His name was Bucephalus," remarked Bobby +tentatively.</p> + +<p>"I tell you!" cried Johnny, who had not been listening. "I'll name him +Bobby, after you!"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried that young man. "Will you?" He gazed at the pony with new +respect.</p> + +<p>"It'll mix things up a little, though, won't it?" reflected Johnny. "I +tell you. We'll call him Bobby Junior. How's that?"</p> + +<p>"That's fine!" agreed Bobby gravely.</p> + +<p>In the dead cold air of the Englishes' barn, which was situated in an +alley-way, the block above their house, Bobby and Johnny examined the +cart, admired its glossy newness, and, under the coachman's +instructions, experimented with the sliding seat. They took a peek +through the folding door into the stable where stood the haughty horses. +These, still chewing, slightly turned their heads and rolled their fine +eyes back at the intruders, then, with a high-headed indifference, +returned to their hay. After this the boys scuttled into the small, +overheated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> "office" with its smell of leather and tobacco and harness +soap; with its coloured prints of horses, and its shining harness behind +the glass doors; with its cushioned wooden armchairs, its sawdust box +and its round hot stove with the soap-stones heating atop. Here they +toasted through and through; then clumped stiffly down to the Englishes' +house, where Johnny exhibited his other presents. They were varied, +numerous and expensive. Bobby's Christmas was as dear to him as ever; +but it no longer filled the sky. Another and higher mountain had lifted +itself beyond his ranges. The eagerness to exhibit triumphantly to +Johnny which, up to this moment, he had with difficulty restrained, was +suddenly dashed. It hardly seemed worth while.</p> + +<p>"Come over and see my things," he suggested without much enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"It's dinner time now, Bobby," objected Mrs. English, who had just come +in. "After dinner."</p> + +<p>"All right; after dinner, then," agreed Bobby. "Bring Caroline," he +added as an after-thought.</p> + +<p>That demure damsel had also her array of presents, of which she seemed +very proud, but which did not interest Bobby in the slightest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> They +seemed to be silver-handled scissors, and pincushions, and embroidered +handkerchief-holders and similar rubbish.</p> + +<p>But when Johnny—without Caroline—appeared shortly after the elaborate +Christmas dinner the production of which constituted Grandma Orde's +chief delight in the day, Bobby's enthusiasm returned. Johnny went wild +over the printing press. Experience with the toy press had given him a +basis of comparison.</p> + +<p>"My!" he ejaculated at last, "I believe I'd rather have this than Bobby +Junior!</p> + +<p>"Now," continued Johnny, "we can get all sorts of orders. I'll ask papa +about envelopes and letter-heads this evening."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h2> + +<h3>THE BOXING MATCH</h3> + + +<p>Early after breakfast next morning appeared Johnny.</p> + +<p>"I asked Papa about envelopes. He says he won't give us an order until +he sees samples of the type and the work, but he says if we can do it as +well as the regular printer, he doesn't mind giving us an order for a +thousand. Here's one."</p> + +<p>The boys ascended at once to Bobby's room. Investigation of the fonts +showed that the firm possessed the proper type. Bobby set up the matter +in the composing stick—and promptly pied it when he attempted to move +it to the chase. He had forgotten to put a lead in first, so there was +nothing to bind the top line. Redistribution and rectification of the +error were in order. It took a good half-hour to get the type properly +arranged in the chase. When single letters did not drop through from the +middle, the ends of the lines fell away, and then,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> try as they would, +the boys were unable to lock the stickful in the chase. Either it would +not bind, or it warped out or in so that even without trial it could be +seen that a clear impression was manifestly impossible. These and other +mechanical difficulties occupied them until noon. Johnny was wild-eyed +and nervous.</p> + +<p>"Why, we haven't even started to print!" he cried, "We'll never get a +job done at this rate! I don't believe the old press is any good, +anyhow!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is," insisted Bobby doggedly. "We'll get it yet."</p> + +<p>He hardly finished his lunch, so eager was he to be back at the problem. +Johnny did not come until after two o'clock, and then stood his hands in +his pockets, surveying his absorbed partner with some disgust.</p> + +<p>"Well," said he, "is the old thing working yet?"</p> + +<p>Bobby looked up absorbedly.</p> + +<p>"She's going to in just a second—you wait," he muttered.</p> + +<p>A moment later he lifted the locked form in triumph. It held together +and it was flat. Immediately Johnny's nearly extinct enthusiasm flamed +up.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Stick her in!" he cried. "Come on, we can show Papa a sample to-night. +How many an hour do you suppose we can print on her, Bobby?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," replied Bobby.</p> + +<p>They inserted the form, slipped a blank envelope in the corner and were +ready for the first trial.</p> + +<p>"It won't be even on the paper," said Bobby, "but we can fix that +later."</p> + +<p>He pulled down and back the long lever and the two heads bumped together +over the result. One side of the legend was very heavy and black and +clear, but the other was almost invisible.</p> + +<p>"Oh, snakes!" cried Johnny in disappointment.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," reasoned Bobby out of his experience with the +toy press. "All it needs is paper underneath."</p> + +<p>But paper underneath proved inadequate. It was impossible with paper to +establish the nice gradation necessary to equalize the pressure. And +then, also, too much paper made too deep an impression.</p> + +<p>At the failure of this tried expedient even Bobby's patience ran short +for the time being.</p> + +<p>"Come on over to my house," suggested<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> Johnny crossly. "The crowd's +coming. I got boxing gloves for Christmas too, but I bet they're no good +either. I bet they rip first thing."</p> + +<p>Sore at heart and in glum silence the two marched around the corner to +the Englishes'.</p> + +<p>Here already in the cold third story were Grace Jones and Martin Drake, +skipping about in a game of hop-scotch to keep warm. Shortly May and +Carter arrived together and Caroline ascended from her own room where +she had been sewing. At sight of the boxing gloves May and Morton set up +a shout.</p> + +<p>"Nope," vetoed Johnny, "Bobby and I are going to try them first!"</p> + +<p>The youngsters were at first a little awkward with the unusual-sized +fists, but soon forgot a detail as trivial as that. Neither knew the +first principles of hitting. Round-arm blows with the head lowered were +first choice, of which a good ninety per cent. went wild. The other ten +naturally had little force, but there was a great deal of action. In +this game Bobby stood no disadvantage with Johnny. After the first few +seconds, finding himself, to his surprise, still unhurt, he sailed in +with some confidence. Accidently Johnny ran square against his extended +fist. It jarred Johnny<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> considerably, and made that youth exceedingly +eager to get even. Shortly he succeeded. The pair warmed up. Affairs +began to get serious. In a brisk though wild rally they clinched, and in +a moment were rolling over and over on the floor, pummelling vigorously.</p> + +<p>But immediately Carter jerked them apart.</p> + +<p>"Here, that's no way to box. Keep your feet. Here, May, give us a little +help."</p> + +<p>They pulled the contestants to their feet. Johnny and Bobby were very +mussed up and dusty. Johnny's nose was bleeding slightly; Bobby's eye +was a trifle swelled. The instant their captors released them, they went +at it again, hammer and tongs. They were certainly not angry as enemies +are angry, but as certainly for the time being, in the sense that each +was grimly resolved on victory, they had ceased to be friends.</p> + +<p>How long the combat might have lasted it would be impossible to say. +Bobby had never before used his fists, while the aggressive Johnny, at +public school, was the hero of many fights. But as long as Carter +insisted on no rough-and-tumble this fact gave the elder boy little +advantage. The damage that two light-weights can inflict on each other +with round-arm blows is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> inconsiderable, and Bobby was of the sort that +punishment merely renders obstinate. Probably sheer lack of breath would +in time have called the battle a draw, but all at once Bobby had an +idea. So illuminating and sudden was it that for an instant he forgot +what he was doing. Johnny closed on him like a tiger beating him with +both fists as hard as he could hit. Even then Bobby's thought was not of +defence but of explanation.</p> + +<p>"Hold on! hold on! quit!" he kept on crying in expostulation. "Wait a +minute! I got it!"</p> + +<p>It is doubtful if Johnny heard him. Before Carter and May could stop him +he had inflicted more damage than the rest of the fight had produced. +Bobby's nose too was bleeding, and a huge red bump was swelling on his +forehead when finally he was freed.</p> + +<p>However, he was not even aware of those trifles.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know those two screws—" he began eagerly to Johnny.</p> + +<p>But that young gentleman, panting, was not yet emerged from the red haze +of combat.</p> + +<p>"I licked!" he cried. "Didn't I lick? He quit! He hollered 'nuff, didn't +he? I licked the stuffing out of him!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> + +<p>"O shut up!" said May contemptuously; "or I'll lick the stuffing out of +you."</p> + +<p>Bobby, practically oblivious to the meaning of this exchange, had +stripped off his gloves and had advanced, eager to finish his +explanation.</p> + +<p>"Johnny, I just thought!" said he. "You remember those two thumb screws +under the platen? I bet you if you turn those, they'll regulate the +pressure. Let's go over and try it!"</p> + +<p>Johnny looked at Bobby uncertainly. He drew a deep breath, then his +round, cheerful grin broke over his face.</p> + +<p>"I guess I didn't lick you after all, old socks," said he. "I don't know +what you're talking about. Go on try your old press. I'm sick of her."</p> + +<p>Bobby washed his bruised face and went home. Sure enough, the thumb +screws did regulate the pressure. Within a half-hour he was back at the +Englishes'. The boxing gloves were still in commission. Morton was +dancing around and around May, slapping her with his open glove first on +one side the face, then on the other. The girl, in spite of her +strength, agility and superior age was as awkward as are most girls at +hitting with their fists. She made short angry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> rushes at the dodging +Morton who slipped easily in and out of her guard. He was getting even +for a long tyranny. Finally May stopped short and stamped her foot with +vexation. Her face was very red and she actually had tears in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she cried. "You wait 'till I get hold of you, you miserable little +thing!"</p> + +<p>At that the boxing ended. Bobby drew Johnny one side. "Look there!" said +he with pardonable pride. "Show that to your papa. I bet he can't tell +it from the regular printers. Look out; it's wet yet."</p> + +<p>Johnny gazed with awe on the perfect production. The next instant all +his dead enthusiasm leaped to life.</p> + +<p>"I bet we can print the whole thousand in one morning!" he cried +gleefully, "And then there's the letter-heads, and bill-heads and May's +cards—and perhaps your father and Carter's will give us jobs—and—"</p> + +<p>They clattered down the stairs to the tune of Johnny's business +expansions.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>XX</h2> + +<h3>THE PARTNERS</h3> + + +<p>The thousand envelopes were printed and delivered. Mr. English expressed +himself as entirely satisfied, and allowed the new firm to experiment on +bill heads. Mr. Orde promised an order of more envelopes when these were +finished.</p> + +<p>Johnny's commercial instincts were thoroughly aroused. He saw visions of +wealth beyond the dreams of wood-box-filling or street-sprinkling with +the garden hose in summer. In that community even Johnny English had to +earn his own pocket money. Bobby, too, entered into the game with +enthusiasm—for over a week. Then he grew tired of the mechanical +repetition of that which he had acquired so painfully. It no longer +interested him to set the type, to lock the form, to ink and clean the +ink plates. He had carried these things to their last refinement of +skill. As for the actual printing—the endless insetting of paper, +pulling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> down on the lever, removing the paper—this he could no longer +stand for more than half an hour at a time. Then a deep lethargy seized +his every faculty. His mind sank to stupor. Time no longer possessed +dimensions, but blew into a vast Present which was never going to cease. +If he kept at it a half-hour after this condition manifested itself he +emerged from the ordeal as tired and sleepy as though he had undergone +hard physical labour. It was more than mere boredom; it was a revolt of +the soul.</p> + +<p>At first his loyalty to the firm and his sense of duty drove him on. +Then gradually he relinquished the printing to Johnny. That young man +could cheerfully have stuck to the press twelve hours a day, if he had +been permitted. Each printed bit of paper laid aside on the growing pile +to his left represented just that much more pocket money.</p> + +<p>So, strangely enough, the relative position of the two boys toward the +work in hand was reversed. At first, when the mechanical difficulties +seemed insurmountable, Bobby's perseverance had been inexhaustible, +while Johnny was a dozen times inclined to let the whole problem go +smash. Now, when the task of feeding into the press the thousand +necessary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> to fill orders seemed endless, Johnny's patience rose more +than adequate to the occasion, while Bobby's spirit shrank at the mere +size of it.</p> + +<p>Finally matters adjusted themselves so that Bobby saw to the alignment, +the perfection of the impression, all the rest of getting ready; then +Johnny took hold.</p> + +<p>But one day Bobby, walking glumly over to the composing stone, suggested +something new.</p> + +<p>"Let's start a newspaper," said he.</p> + +<p>The clang of the press came to an abrupt stop.</p> + +<p>"Let's start a newspaper," he repeated. "We've got enough pica to print +one page at a time."</p> + +<p>Rashly Johnny agreed. All went well until it came time to print the +sheet. Eighteen subscribers were secured at five cents a copy. Johnny +and Bobby wrote the entire number between them. Bobby set it up, +happily. Johnny, also happily, turned out certain letter-heads at the +press. Then came time to print. And at that moment trouble began.</p> + +<p>The first copy was legible but smudgy. Bobby was not satisfied and +attempted improvement, most of which, so far from improving, gave cause +for fresh defects. Johnny was standing about impatiently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come on," said he at last, "that's good enough. They can read it, all +right, and those few letters don't matter. Let it go at that."</p> + +<p>But Bobby shook his head and carried the form back to the composing +stone.</p> + +<p>Four days he worked over the first page of the <i>Weekly Eagle</i>. Johnny +expostulated, stormed, pleaded with tears in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Let's let the whole thing slide," he begged. "All we get out of it +anyway is less'n a dollar and think of all the time we're wasting. That +job for Mr. Fowler isn't all done, and Smith's Meat Market is going to +order some bill-heads."</p> + +<p>But Bobby was obstinate. Finally Johnny, in disgust, left him to his own +devices.</p> + +<p>The world for Bobby contained but one thing. His recollections of that +time are of a flaring gas jet and the smell of printer's ink. He won +finally and duly delivered the eighteen copies—letter-perfect. Probably +five hundred other and imperfect examples of the <i>Weekly Eagle</i> found +their way into the furnace.</p> + +<p>Johnny plucked up heart and returned, only to find that the printing +press question was dead as far as Bobby was concerned.</p> + +<p>"I'm sick of printing," was all Bobby would say, and no argument as to +unexploited wealth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> could move him. The subject had not only lost +interest, but mere casual thought of its details brought on a faint +repetition of the mental lethargy. The sight of the press and its varied +appurtenances threw his mind into the defensive blank coma which +rendered him incapable of the simplest intellectual effort. This was +something as outside Bobby's control as the beating of his heart. He did +not understand it, nor attempt to analyze it.</p> + +<p>"I'm sick of it," said he; just as after the labour of building a fort +in Monrovia, he had with the same remark deserted his companions on the +threshold of its enjoyment.</p> + +<p>Bobby thought he exercised a choice when he turned from printing, just +as he chose whether to walk on the right or on the left side of the +street. In reality it would have been impossible for him to re-enter his +interest, his enthusiasm; impossible even for him to have accomplished +the mechanical labour of the trade save at an utterly disproportionate +expense of nervous energy.</p> + +<p>Bobby did not know this; of course, Johnny was not capable of such +analysis. The only human being who might have understood and worked in +correction of the tendency, read the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> affair amiss. Mrs. Orde was only +too glad to get Bobby into the open air again, and saw in his +abandonment of this feverish enthusiasm only cause for rejoicing.</p> + +<p>So Bobby threw his friend into despair by declining to go on with a +flourishing business. "Bime by," said he. "I'm sick of it, now." As a +matter of fact he never touched the printing press again. His parents +deplored the useless waste of a large amount of money and drew the usual +conclusion that it is foolish to buy children expensive things. No doubt +from that standpoint the affair was deplorable; yet there is this to be +noted, that Bobby's enthusiasm blew out only after he had thought all +around the subject, back front, bottom and sides. He knew that printing +press theoretically and practically and all it could do. As long as it +withheld the smallest secret Bobby clung to it, his soul at white heat. +But the repetition and again the repetition of what he had learned +thoroughly struck cold his every higher faculty. He shrugged it all from +him, and turned with unabated freshness his inquiring child's eyes to +what new the world had to offer him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a>XXI</h2> + +<h3>WINTER</h3> + + +<p>After the collapse of the printing business Bobby and Johnny turned to +Bobby Junior and the little sleigh. They drove often, far into the +country. It was the dead of winter. The country was wide and still and +white. Against the prevailing note of the snow the patches of woods +showed almost black. The landscape looked strangely flattened out, and +bereft of life. Nevertheless that impression was false, for the little +sleigh climbed and dipped over many hills and hollows; and the boys were +continually seeing living things and their indications. Tracks of small +animals embroidered the snow. Strange tame birds hopped here and there +or rose and swept down wind with plaintive pipings that, in spite of +their lack of fear, lent them a spirit of wildness akin to the aloof +savaging of winter winds in bared trees. Bobby and Johnny recognized the +snow buntings, tossing in compact big companies like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> flakes in a +whirlwind, the unsoiled white effect of their plumage shaming the snow. +Besides these were little red-polls, dressed warmly in magenta and brown +for the winter, hopping and clinging among the seed-weeds exposed by the +breezes; and hardy, impudent, harsh-voiced blue-jays, cloaking much +villany and cunning under wondrous suits of clothes; and trim, neat +cedar wax-wings, perching on elevated twigs, always apparently at +leisure; in the woods, whole bands of chickadees and nuthatches, +cruising it cheerfully, calling to each other in their varied notes, +tiny atoms defying all the cold and famine Old Winter could bring. Once +they were vastly excited to catch sight of a hoary, wide-winged monster +sweeping like a ghost close to the snow. They surmised it might be a +Great Snow Owl, like the stuffed one in the English library, but they +never knew. And again, in some trees alongside the road, they came upon +a large flock of stocky-built birds, a little smaller than robins, so +tame that the boys drove beneath them and could see their thick bills, +and the marvellous clarity of the sunset yellow of their heads, shading +to twilight down their backs, to black night on their wings, barred by a +strip of clear white moonlight.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> They agreed that these were most +unusual-looking creatures. How unusual any naturalist would have been +glad to tell them; for these were that great and prized rarity, the +Evening Grosbeak. So, too, in the pine woods they were showered by bits +of cones, and looked aloft to make out a distant little bird busily +engaged in tearing the cones to pieces. They laughed at his industry, +but would have been immensely interested could they have examined at +close hand the Crossbill's beak and its singular adaption to just this +task. And of course they remarked the stately deliberate-looking prints +of the grouse; and the herded tramping of the quail. The winter was +populous enough, in spite of its rigour. Some of its many creatures the +boys knew; many more they did not; but you may be sure they saw all that +did not exercise the closest circumspection.</p> + +<p>For miles about, the little sleigh explored the country: main-road, worn +smooth by countless farmer-sleighs; by-roads, through which the pony had +to wallow belly-deep, making a new track. Not the mere pleasure of +driving lured them out—that amounted to little after the week of +novelty—but something of the spirit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> of exploration was in it. Duke +always accompanied them, plunging powerfully through the deepest drifts, +exulting in the snow, rolling in it, frisking in it in all directions, +racing down the road and back, glad to be alive and warm this freezing +weather. One day in a patch of woods he came to an abrupt halt. The +boys, watching, saw his eye fixed, his upper lip snarl back the least in +the world, his tail stiffen except at its quivering tip, his whole body +lengthen and half-crouch and turn rigid. And as the sleigh wallowed near +him, suddenly, with an immense scattering of snow and a startling roar, +an old cock-partridge burst from beneath the surface of the snow and +hurtled away through the frozen trees.</p> + +<p>Some days when the wind blew keen and sharp as knives across the broad +reaches, it was almost impossible for the boys to keep warm. The heated +soap-stone wrapped up at their feet, the warm buffalo robes under and +over them, their thick overcoats and fur caps alike proved inadequate. +Then one took his turn at driving, while the other crouched entirely +covered beneath the robes. The wind drove the hard, sparse flakes from +the low leaden<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> sky like so many needles against the driver's face, +filling his eyes with tears, causing his skin to glow and smart. Even in +this was a certain joy and adventure. But again the sun would shine, the +bells jingle louder in the clarified air. Probably, however, the boys +liked best of all the warm, still snowstorms, when all the world was +muffled in the shoes of silence; when nature held her finger on hushed +lips; when deliberately, without haste the great white flakes zigzagged +down from the soft gray above, obscuring and softening the landscape, +rendering dear and mysterious the commonest things. Then sounds came, +subdued as in a sanctuary, and people approaching showed portentous as +through a mist, and the boys, looking upward, caught big wet flakes on +their lashes as they tried in vain to determine the point at which the +snowflakes became visible. There existed no such point. The snowflakes +did not approach as other things approach, beginning small with +distance, and becoming larger as they neared. They flashed into sight +full-grown. It was as though they had fallen wrapped in invisibility +until the great Magician had uttered the word. That was Bobby's secret +thought, which he told nobody. Often<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> he imagined he could hear the word +repeated all about him, <i>presto! presto! presto! presto!</i> like the +distant hushed falling of waters. And as the charm was said, he, looking +skyward, could see the big soft flakes flash into view out of nothing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a>XXII</h2> + +<h3>THE MURDER</h3> + + +<p>So successful did the friendship between the two boys turn out to be +that next autumn Johnny English was invited to visit the Ordes at +Monrovia. He accepted very promptly, and, as the distance was short, +brought with him the cart and pony. The country around Monrovia was very +interesting to them. Riverland, marshland, swampland, shore and meadow, +all offered themselves in the most diversified forms. The sandy roads +wound over the hills, down the ravines, along the corduroys and +float-bridges. Life was varied. The boys, armed with their Flobert +rifle, wandered far afield.</p> + +<p>They did not get very much, it is true, but they popped away steadily, +and did a grand amount of sneaking and looking. And they managed first +and last to see a great deal. In the snipe marshes they knew when the +first flight dropped in—and murdered a killdeer as he stood. Out in the +sloughs they marked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> the earnest red-heads from the north—and +accomplished two mud-hens, a ruddy duck, and a dozen blackbirds. In the +uplands they knew almost to a feather how many partridge each thicket +had bred; to a covey where the quail used; and once in a great while, by +strategy on their own side and foolishness on the part of the quarry, +they caught one sitting and brought it down. What is quite as much to +the point, they felt the season as it changed. The gradual +transformation from the green of summer to the brown and lilac of late +autumn, the low swinging of the sun, the mellowing of the days, the +broad-hung curtain of sweet smoke-breeze, the hushing of the vital +forces of the world in anticipation of winter—all these passed near +them and, passing, touched their eyes. They were too busy to notice such +things consciously, however. The influence sank deep and became part of +the permanent background against which their lives were to be thrown.</p> + +<p>At first some doubt was expressed as to the wisdom of that Flobert +rifle. To turn two small boys loose with a deadly weapon seemed to Mrs. +Orde a rather strong temptation of Providence. Mr. Kincaid spoke for +them. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> the end it was decided, though with many misgivings and more +admonitions.</p> + +<p>"Keep the muzzle pointed up; never get excited; never shoot at anything +unless you <i>know</i> what it is," was Mr. Kincaid's summing up.</p> + +<p>These three precepts were so constantly impressed that to the boys their +practice ended by becoming second nature.</p> + +<p>"It's not only dangerous to do these things," said Mr. Kincaid, "but +it's a sure sign of a greenhorn. A man ought to be deadly ashamed to +confess himself such an all-round dub."</p> + +<p>Toward the end of the fall, and nearing Thanksgiving, the boys drove +Bobby Junior out the old east road. After a time they turned off into a +by-way deep with sand. It ended. They hitched the placid Bobby Junior to +the top rail of a "snake-fence" climbed it, and headed toward a +scrub-oak and popple thicket thrown like a blanket over the long slope +of a hill. They walked cautiously, for by experience they had learned +that at the very edge, and in the lea of an old burned log, it was +possible a fine big cock-partridge might be sunning himself. The +popples, shining silvery, were almost bare of leaves, but the scrub oaks +clung<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> tenaciously to a crackling umber-brown foliage. It was now near +the close of the afternoon. The game bag was empty. Both boys trod on +eggs, scrutinizing every inch of the ground before them.</p> + +<p>"It's too late for 'em," whispered Bobby in discouragement. "There's not +enough sun. They've gone in to feed."</p> + +<p>But Johnnie seized his arm.</p> + +<p>"There," he breathed, "See him! He's sitting in that little scrub +oak—just to the left of the stub."</p> + +<p>Bobby peered along his friend's arm. After a moment he made out a +mottled spot of brown.</p> + +<p>"I see him," said he, cocking his rifle. "It's his breast. I wish I +could get at his head."</p> + +<p>"He'll be gone in a minute!" warned Johnny.</p> + +<p>It was Bobby's turn to shoot. He raised his weapon, aimed carefully, and +pressed the trigger.</p> + +<p>Immediately the thicket broke into a tremendous commotion. A scurrying +of leaves, a brief exclamation of pain, a brown cap whirling through the +air—and both boys turned and ran, ran as hard as they could up the hill +until sheer lack of breath brought them to the ground. They stared at +each other with frightened eyes from faces chalky white.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We've killed somebody!" gasped Johnny.</p> + +<p>They clung to each other trembling with the horror of it, utterly unable +to gather their faculties. This was just what so often both had been +cautioned against—the shooting without seeing clearly the object of +aim. To the shock of a catastrophe they had to add the sinking remorse +over warnings disobeyed.</p> + +<p>"What are we going to do?" chattered Johnny at last.</p> + +<p>"We got to go down and see——"</p> + +<p>"I daresn't" confessed Johnny miserably.</p> + +<p>"Do you suppose he's dead?"</p> + +<p>"They'll probably put us in jail."</p> + +<p>"Come on," said Bobby at last.</p> + +<p>They arose, very giddy and uncertain on their feet. For the first time +they forced themselves to look at the copse lying below them.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" breathed Johnny, "Look!"</p> + +<p>Below them on the farther edge of the copse, and over a quarter of a +mile away, they saw Mr. Kincaid. He was bareheaded. Curly was with him. +The man was trying to send the water spaniel into the copse. Curly +pretended that he wanted to play, and did not in the least understand +what it was all about. He capered joyously around Mr. Kincaid's +outstretched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> arm; he pressed his chest to the earth and uttered short +barks; he chased madly around in circles, but he did not enter the +copse, which was plainly his master's desire. Finally Mr. Kincaid gave +it up and departed over the brow of the next hill.</p> + +<p>And while this little by-play was going on two small boys above him felt +the warmth of life flowing back into their frozen souls. The blood +returned to their lips, their thumping hearts calmed, all the blessed +joy and sunshine and freedom of the world flooded in a return tide of +blessed relief.</p> + +<p>"Gee," said Johnny, "I'm never going hunting again! Never any more! +Never!"</p> + +<p>"You bet I'm going to be careful after this," said Bobby. "My, but I'm +glad!"</p> + +<p>"I wonder why he didn't pick up his cap?" wondered Johnny.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he had it in his hand."</p> + +<p>The boys drove home ringing the changes on a thousand new resolutions of +caution.</p> + +<p>"It's a good lesson to us," said Bobby by way of reminiscent philosophy +often heard before.</p> + +<p>They put Bobby Junior into the barn, cleaned the Flobert, changed their +hunting clothes, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> answered with alacrity the summons to the dining +room. After they were well started with the meal, Mr. Orde came in and +sat down. He nodded abstractedly, and had little to say. The boys were +too far down in remorse to care to bring up any of the subjects near +their hearts. Finally Mrs. Orde remarked this general depression.</p> + +<p>"I must say you're a cheerful lot of men folks," said she. "What is it? +Business?" She smiled at the boys in raillery at the idea. But she could +not cheer them up. As soon as the meal was over Mr. Orde dismissed the +boys.</p> + +<p>"Run along now," said he briefly; "I want to talk."</p> + +<p>They climbed the stairs to Bobby's room, and sat down glumly on the +floor. Reaction was strong, and they had both fallen into aimless +doldrums of spirit. Suddenly Bobby sat up straight at attention.</p> + +<p>The Orde house was provided with old-fashioned hot-air registers. When +the registers happened all to be open, they constituted most excellent +speaking-tubes. Thus, without intention of deliberate eavesdropping, +Bobby and his friend became aware of the following conversation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Jack? Anything wrong at the office or on the River?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Orde sighed deeply.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no. Everything's snug as a bug in a rug, sweetheart," said he. "But +I'm bothered a lot. A dreadful thing happened to-day. You know that +popple thicket out at Pritchard's place?"</p> + +<p>Both boys froze into horrified attention.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, just before dusk Pritchard was found dead near the east end of +it."</p> + +<p>"Why, how did that happen?" cried Mrs. Ode.</p> + +<p>The boys stole a look at each other.</p> + +<p>"He had been murdered."</p> + +<p>"Murdered!" cried Mrs. Orde sharply.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" moaned Bobby in a smothered voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes. He was found with a knife wound in his throat."</p> + +<p>"How terrible!" said Mrs. Orde.</p> + +<p>"But that isn't what worries me. Pritchard is no irreparable loss."</p> + +<p>"Jack!" cried Mrs. Orde.</p> + +<p>"He isn't," insisted Orde stoutly. "But Kincaid was seen by several +competent witnesses coming out from that thicket, and as far as anybody +has been able to find out he is the only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> human being who was out there +to-day. They have him under arrest."</p> + +<p>"I never heard of anything so ridiculous!" cried Mrs. Orde indignantly.</p> + +<p>"There has been bad blood between them," said Orde; "and everybody knows +it. That's the trouble. Pritchard, as usual, has off and on done an +awful lot of talking."</p> + +<p>"You don't for a moment believe——"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. Arthur Kincaid never would harm a fly in anger. And I +rely absolutely on his word."</p> + +<p>"You've seen him?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. He acknowledges he was out at Pritchard's, but denies all +knowledge of the affair. That's the trouble. He offers no explanation of +the facts, and the facts are—queer."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Well, this; the men who saw Kincaid coming out of the thicket say he +was bareheaded. When Pritchard's body was found, Kincaid's cap was +discovered about fifty feet distant."</p> + +<p>"What does he say to that?"</p> + +<p>"His story is so ridiculous that I wouldn't blame anybody who did not +know Kincaid for not believing it. He says he was playing with his dog +Curly, when Curly grabbed the cap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> and made off with it. The dog came +back without the cap, and Kincaid could not find it. That's all he says, +except that he was not in the thicket at all, and certainly not within a +quarter-mile of the scene of the murder."</p> + +<p>"That might be so."</p> + +<p>"Of course it's so, if Arthur Kincaid says it is," insisted Orde, "but +what do you think of this? The cap had a 22-calibre bullet hole through +the crown; and Pritchard was armed with a 22-calibre rifle."</p> + +<p>"What does Mr. Kincaid say to it?"</p> + +<p>"That's just the trouble," cried Orde in despairing tones. "If he'd +plead self-defence any jury in Michigan would acquit him without leaving +the box. But when we asked him how that bullet hole got in that cap, he +simply says that he doesn't know; it wasn't there when he lost the cap! +Could anything be more absurd!"</p> + +<p>Bobby reached out and softly closed the register.</p> + +<p>He turned to grip Johnny fiercely by the arm. His eyes blazed.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kincaid is my friend," he hissed. "Understand that? He's my best +friend. If you ever say anything about this afternoon——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Let go!" cried Johnny struggling. "You hurt! You needn't get mad about +it. He's my friend, too. I ain't going to say anything." Bobby released +his arm. "He must have done it, though," concluded Johnny.</p> + +<p>"Of course he did it. I'd have done it. Pritchard was an old beast. You +ought to have been along with me when he ordered us off his land."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kincaid says he was never up at that end."</p> + +<p>"There's his cap, with the hole I shot in it," Bobby pointed out. "It +was right where Pritchard was when I shot at it."</p> + +<p>Johnny nodded.</p> + +<p>"If we let that get out, they'll have us in as witnesses."</p> + +<p>"We mustn't," said Johnny.</p> + +<p>Following this policy the boys for the next month carried about an air +of secrecy and an irresponsibility of action very irritating to +everybody. They forgot errands, they did absent-minded, destructive +things, they were much given to long consultations behind the woodshed. +When they were permitted to visit Mr. Kincaid at the jail, they tried +mysteriously to convey assurance of absolute secrecy, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> succeeded +only in appearing stupid, frivolous and unsympathetic. Nevertheless +their concern was very real. Bobby in especial brooded over the affair +to the exclusion of all other interests. The Flobert rifle was laid +away, the printing press gathered dust. Over and over he visualized the +scene, until he could shut his eyes and reproduce its every detail—the +hillside with its scattered, half-burned old logs, the popple thicket +shining white, the scrub oaks with red rustling leaves, the patch of +brown that looked exactly like a partridge; and then the whirl of the +cap in the air as the bullet struck, and the horrible sinking feeling +before he turned to flee. A dozen small things he had not noticed +consciously at the time, now stood out clear. He remembered that the +supposed partridge had stood out against the sky; that the ground broke +gently up just beyond the black log. "Mr. Kincaid must have been +standing on a stump," he thought. He recalled now his own exact +position, and figured the course of the bullet. "It must have gone in +just at the tip top," he figured. "That's the only way it could have +done without hurting his head. Otherwise, it would have scalped him." +Over and over he turned the facts until gradually he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> evolved an exact +picture of what had occurred—here was the victim, here the murderer. +Inquiry disclosed the spot where Pritchard's body had been found. It was +up-hill from the spot Bobby had shot the cap—and about ten feet away. +"He must just have done it," he said with a shudder.</p> + +<p>"Why?" demanded Johnny to whom he confided these reasonings. "Maybe it +was before."</p> + +<p>"No," argued Bobby. "Because then when I shot the cap off, if Pritchard +had been alive, we'd have heard from him."</p> + +<p>"Maybe Mr. Kincaid killed him to keep him from chasing us," suggested +Johnny.</p> + +<p>Bobby considered this romantic suggestion but shook his head.</p> + +<p>"No," said he, "there wasn't time for Mr. Kincaid to kill him and then +walk down to the other end of the thicket. He must have run when I +shot."</p> + +<p>"Do you think they'll convict Mr. Kincaid?"</p> + +<p>"Papa says he doesn't think so," said Bobby. "He says nobody can prove +Mr. Kincaid was at the place."</p> + +<p>"We could."</p> + +<p>"We're going to shut up!" said Bobby sharply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXIII" id="XXIII"></a>XXIII</h2> + +<h3>THE TRIAL</h3> + + +<p>General opinion did not, however, share Mr. Orde's optimism. The +circumstantial evidence was very strong. Interest in the trial was such +that people came from far out in the country to attend it. Every day of +the preliminaries the court-room was filled with silent spectators. The +boys, eluding the vigilance of the women and utterly disregarding +specific commands, found themselves unable to get beyond the outer +corridor. Here they hung around for some time in the vain hope of +hearing something. The heavy breathing and jostling of the crowd about +them was their only reward. Finally they gave it up and wandered out +into the grounds.</p> + +<p>It was by now nearly December of a remarkably open year. Although Indian +summer had long since gone, and although the low black clouds and heavy +gales of late autumn had given repeated warnings, winter had somehow +failed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> to arrive. There was as yet no snow; and the sun, turned silver +in place of the harvest gold, sometimes, as now, dispersed considerable +warmth. In consequence of the mildness without and the crowd within, the +windows of the court-room had been lowered at the top. The boys could +almost catch the words of whoever was speaking.</p> + +<p>"Come on, let's shin up that tree," suggested Johnny.</p> + +<p>Immediately they acted on the inspiration. The highest limbs capable of +bearing weight were still some three feet below the window-sills. Still, +the boys could hear plainly what was going on, and could see into the +room on an upward slant.</p> + +<p>Evidently the legal processes had been fulfilled, and the first witness +was giving his testimony.</p> + +<p>"I was working in my field, throwing out manure, when I saw the prisoner +come out of the popple thicket on Pritchard's place."</p> + +<p>"How far were you from the thicket?"</p> + +<p>"My field is right across the county road."</p> + +<p>"At what point did the prisoner emerge from the thicket as respects the +spot where the body was found?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He came out right opposite, a good quarter-mile, I should say."</p> + +<p>"Anything unusual in the prisoner's appearance or actions?"</p> + +<p>"He didn't have no hat. I noticed that."</p> + +<p>After a few more questions the witness was excused. In an instant he +appeared in the boys' line of vision and sat down.</p> + +<p>Another witness was sworn, and deposed that he had been driving along +the county road, and had also seen Mr. Kincaid emerge from the thicket +without a hat. This witness likewise, on being excused, crossed the room +and took his seat near the window.</p> + +<p>This point established, the prosecution called upon the man who had +found the body. He stated that he was in the employ of the deceased; had +gone out afoot to look up a strayed cow, had come across the body late +in the afternoon. Pritchard had been killed by a knife thrust in the +throat. He lay on his back. He had carried a 22-calibre rifle with which +he was accustomed to shoot hawks and crows. The rifle had been +discharged. In looking about for evidence witness had found a cap lying +by a stump ten feet or so down hill. He identified the cap. He also took +a seat where Bobby<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> and Johnny could see him—a short thickset man with +a swarthy complexion and very oily long black hair.</p> + +<p>A witness was called who identified positively the cap as belonging to +Mr. Kincaid.</p> + +<p>At this point the prosecution rested. A moment later Bobby heard again +the measured, calm tones of his friend, called in his own defence.</p> + +<p>"I know nothing about it," said Mr. Kincaid after the usual +preliminaries, "I was nowhere near the scene of the murder. What the +first witness had to say as to personal antagonism between Pritchard and +myself was quite true: he had ordered me off his land, and very +offensively. We had some words at that time."</p> + +<p>"When was that?" asked the attorney.</p> + +<p>"Some months back. Therefore I took especial pains to keep off his land, +and was at the lower edge of the thicket a good quarter-mile from the +place his body was found."</p> + +<p>"You did not enter the thicket?"</p> + +<p>"Only a few feet, after the dog took my cap."</p> + +<p>"How about the cap?"</p> + +<p>"My retriever, Curly, was playing with me. I was teasing him by waving +the cap before him. He managed to get hold of it and ran with it into +the thicket. In a moment or so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> he came back without it. I could not +find it, nor could I induce him to retrieve it."</p> + +<p>"When was this?"</p> + +<p>"About two o'clock."</p> + +<p>"Two witnesses have sworn they saw you come out of the thicket shortly +before sun-down."</p> + +<p>"That was on my way home. I tried again to get Curly to hunt up the +cap."</p> + +<p>"How do you account for the cap's being found at the upper edge of the +thicket?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot account for it."</p> + +<p>"Could the dog have carried it that far in the time before he returned?"</p> + +<p>"I do not think so—I am certain not."</p> + +<p>"How do you account for the holes?"</p> + +<p>"They might have been the marks of Curley's teeth," said Mr. Kincaid +doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Look at them,"</p> + +<p>A pause ensued.</p> + +<p>"They certainly do not look like teeth marks," acknowledged Mr. Kincaid.</p> + +<p>At this moment the heavy bell in the engine-house tower boomed out the +first strokes of noon. The boys nearly lost their holds from the +surprise of it. By the time they had recovered, court had been declared +adjourned, and the crowds were pouring forth from the opened double +doors.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></a>XXIV</h2> + +<h3>THE TRIAL (CONTINUED)</h3> + + +<p>By remarkable promptitude and the exercise of the marvellous properties +ascribed impartially to the worm, the eel, and the snake, Bobby and +Johnny succeeded in gaining a place in the court-room for the afternoon +session. It was not a very good place. Breast-high in front of them was +a rail. Behind them pressed a suffocating crowd. On the other side of +the rail were many benches on which was seated another crowd. This +second multitude concealed utterly whatever occupied the floor of the +court-room. Only when one or another of the actors in the proceedings +arose to his feet could the boys make out a head and shoulders. They +could see the massive walnut desk and the judge, however; and the lower +flat tables at which sat the recording officials. And on the blank white +wall ticked solemnly a big round clock. The second-hand moved forward by +a series of swift jerks, but watch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> as he would Bobby could see no +perceptible motion of the other two hands. In the monotony of some of +the proceedings this bland clock fascinated him.</p> + +<p>Likewise the living wall before him caught and held his half-suffocated +interest—the slope of their shoulders, the material of their coats, the +shape of their heads, the cut of their hair. One by one he passed them +in review. Two seats ahead sat a thickset man with very long, oily black +hair. He turned his head. Bobby recognized the man who had found +Pritchard's body. He nudged Johnny, calling attention to the fact.</p> + +<p>The prosecuting attorney was on his feet making a speech. It was +interesting enough at first, but after a time Bobby's attention +wandered. The prosecuting attorney was a young man, ambitious, and ego +was certainly a large proportion of <i>his</i> cosmos. Bobby listened to him +while he spoke of the obvious motive for the deed; but when he began +again, and in detail, to go over the evidence already adduced, Bobby +ceased to listen. Only the monotonous cadences of the voice went on and +on. The clock tick-tocked. People breathed. It reminded him of church.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p> + +<p>A little stir brought him back from final drowsiness. A man in the row +ahead of him wanted to get out. The disturber carried an overcoat over +his left arm, and it amused Bobby vastly to see the stiff collar of that +overcoat rumple the back hair of those who sat in the second row. As he +watched, it caught the long oily locks of the witness for the +prosecution. With a fierce exclamation the man turned, scowling at the +other's whispered excuse. When he had again faced the front, he had +rearranged his disturbed locks.</p> + +<p>After this slight interruption, Bobby again relapsed into day-dreaming. +He fell once more to visualizing the scene of that day. Gradually the +court-room faded away. He saw the hillside, the burnt logs on the bare +ground, the popples silvery in the sun, the sky blue above the hill. The +patch of brown by the rustling scrub oak glimmered before his eyes. He +saw again the exact angle it lay above him. For the hundredth time he +looked over the sights of the rifle, fair against that spot of brown. "I +must have over-shot a foot," he sighed, "or it would have taken him +square."</p> + +<p>And then as he stared over the sights, his finger on the trigger, the +imaginary scene faded, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> familiar court-room came out of the mists to +take its place. Slowly the brown spot at which he aimed dissolved, a +man's head took its place; the oily-haired witness for the prosecution +happened now to occupy exactly the position relative to Bobby's attitude +as had Mr. Kincaid's cap the day of the murder. And through the slightly +disarranged long hair, and exactly in line with the imaginary rifle +sights Bobby could just make out a dull red furrow running along the +scalp. At this instant, as though uneasy at a scrutiny instinctively +felt, the man reached back to smooth his locks. The scar at once +disappeared.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXV" id="XXV"></a>XXV</h2> + +<h3>THE HOLE IN THE CAP</h3> + + +<p>For perhaps ten seconds Bobby sat absolutely motionless while a new +thought was born. Then, oblivious of surroundings or of the exasperated +objections of those near him, he clambered over the rail and wriggled +his way to the open aisle. Several tried to seize him, but he managed in +some manner to elude them all. Once in the open he darted forward toward +the astonished officials. His freckled face was very red, his stubby +hair towsled, his gray eyes earnest. The sheriff rose from his seat as +though to stop him.</p> + +<p>"I want to see that cap!" cried Bobby to the blur in general. He caught +sight of it, ran to seize it, looked at it closely, and threw it down +with a little cry of triumph. The bullet holes were not both at the top: +one perforation was high up; but the other, on the left hand side, was +situated low, near the edge.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> Bobby knew that the man who had worn that +cap must have been hit.</p> + +<p>The judge's gavel was in the air, the sheriff on his feet, a hundred +mouths open to expostulate against this interruption of a grave +occasion.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kincaid did not do it!" cried Bobby aloud.</p> + +<p>The clamour broke out. The sheriff seized Bobby by the arm.</p> + +<p>"Here," he growled at him, "you little brat! What do you mean, raising a +row like this?"</p> + +<p>Bobby struggled. He had a great deal to say. All was confusion. Half the +room seemed to be on its feet. Bobby saw his father making way toward +him through the crowd. Only the clock and the white-haired judge beneath +it seemed to have retained their customary poise. The clock tick-tocked +deliberately, and its second-hand went forward in swift jerks; the judge +sat quiet, motionless, his chin on his fists, his eyes looking steadily +from under their bushy white brows.</p> + +<p>"Just a moment," said the judge, finally, "Sheriff, bring that boy +here."</p> + +<p>Bobby found himself facing the great walnut desk. Behind him the room +had fallen silent save for an irregular breathing sound.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who are you?" asked the judge.</p> + +<p>"Bobby Orde."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say the prisoner—Mr. Kincaid—did not commit the deed?"</p> + +<p>Bobby started in a confused way to tell about the cap. The judge raised +his hand.</p> + +<p>"Were you present at this crime?" he asked shrewdly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," replied Bobby.</p> + +<p>The judge lowered his voice so that only Bobby could hear.</p> + +<p>"Do you know who murdered Mr. Pritchard?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," replied Bobby in the same tone, "I do."</p> + +<p>"Who was it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know his name. He's sitting——"</p> + +<p>"I thought so," interrupted the judge. "Mr. Sheriff," he called sharply. +That official approached. "Close all doors," said the judge to him +quietly, "and see that no one leaves this room. Mr. Attorney, your +witness here is ready to be sworn."</p> + +<p>Bobby went through the preliminaries without a clear understanding of +them; or, indeed, a definite later recollection. He was deadly in +earnest. The crowd did not exist for him. Not the faintest trace of +embarrassment confused<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> his utterance, but he got very little forward +under the prosecuting attorney's questioning—the matter was too +definite in his own mind to permit of his following another's method of +getting at it. Finally the judge interposed.</p> + +<p>"It's not strictly in my province," said he, "but we are all anxious for +the truth. I hope the prosecuting attorney may see the advisability of +allowing the boy to tell his own story in his own way. Afterward he +will, of course, have full opportunity for cross-questions."</p> + +<p>This being agreed to, Bobby went ahead.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kincaid lost his cap, just as he said, and Curly carried it into +the woods and dropped it. Another man came along and picked it up and +put it on. Then he walked through the thicket and came up with Mr. +Pritchard. He knew where Mr. Pritchard was because Mr. Pritchard had +just shot his little rifle at a hawk or something. He stabbed Mr. +Pritchard, and then walked down hill and climbed up on a stump to look +around. He was facing down hill. He saw Mr. Kincaid and Curly way below. +Just then his cap was knocked off by another bullet."</p> + +<p>"What other bullet?" interposed the prosecution sharply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That was just an accident," said Bobby confusedly, "it happened to hit. +It wasn't shot at him at all."</p> + +<p>"You mean a spent ball from somewhere else? Who shot it? Where did it +come from?"</p> + +<p>"I'll 'splain that in a minute. Then he ran as fast as he could——"</p> + +<p>That was as far as Bobby got for the moment. A slight confusion at one +of the doors interrupted him. Almost immediately it died, but before +Bobby could resume, the sheriff elbowed his way forward.</p> + +<p>"Laughton—you know, that second witness, the fellow who worked for +Pritchard—tried to get out. I have him in charge."</p> + +<p>"Hold him," said the judge. The sheriff elbowed his way back down the +aisle.</p> + +<p>"How do you know all this?" began the prosecuting attorney.</p> + +<p>"If Mr. Kincaid wore the cap, why isn't his head hurt?" demanded Bobby.</p> + +<p>"If the shot was fired by Pritchard, when lying on the ground," +explained the attorney, "it would not have scraped."</p> + +<p>"But it wasn't," persisted Bobby. "It was fired from down hill, and +about thirty feet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> away. That would hit the man, wouldn't it?" he +appealed.</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"Well, is Mr. Kincaid hurt?"</p> + +<p>"This, your honour," said the attorney with some impatience, "is beside +the mark——"</p> + +<p>He was interrupted by a cry from Bobby.</p> + +<p>"He's gone!" he wailed, pointing his hand toward the seat where Laughton +had been sitting.</p> + +<p>"Was that the man?" asked the judge.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Bobby, "and he's gotten away."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Sheriff," said the judge, "examine the man for a scar or wound on +the head."</p> + +<p>The sheriff disappeared. The clock tick-tocked away five minutes, then +ten. Finally the door swung open.</p> + +<p>"Your Honour," said the sheriff clearly, across the court-room, "the man +has confessed."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></a>XXVI</h2> + +<h3>THE SIXTEEN GAUGE SHOTGUN</h3> + + +<p>Bobby and his friend, Johnny English, sat on the floor of Bobby's +chamber reviewing the exciting events of the afternoon. In the tumult +following the sheriff's announcement, Bobby was temporarily forgotten. +He had slipped back into the crowd, and from that point had followed +closely all that had ensued. Laughton's confession merely filled in the +details of Bobby's surmises. It seems that Pritchard had had a violent +quarrel with his man, ending by knocking him down and stalking off +across the fields. Mad with rage, Laughton had picked himself up and +followed without even pausing long enough to get a hat. He had lost +track of his victim in the popple thicket, but had come across Kincaid's +cap, which he had appropriated. A shot from Pritchard's little rifle +apprised him of his enemy's whereabouts. The murder committed, he had +mounted a stump to spy upon the country. He had seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> Kincaid and his +dog, and was just about to withdraw, when the cap was knocked from his +head by a bullet which at the same time broke the skin on his scalp. +Thinking himself discovered, he had run. Later reconnoitring carefully, +he had seen two apparently unexcited small boys climbing into a pony +cart a half-mile away and had come to the conclusion that the bullet had +been spent, and a chance shot. The idea of incriminating Mr. Kincaid had +not come to him until later.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kincaid had at once been released. Under cover of the +congratulations, the boys made their escape.</p> + +<p>"I don't see how you ever figured it out!" cried Johnny for the twelfth +time.</p> + +<p>"I knew it must have hit his head unless it just grazed his cap," said +Bobby, "and when I saw that scar——"</p> + +<p>"Gee, it was great!" gloated Johnny, "just like a book! It'll be in all +the papers to-morrow. You saved Mr. Kincaid's life, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I did," said Bobby complacently.</p> + +<p>At this moment the open hot-air register began to speak, carrying up the +voices from the rooms below. As the subject under discussion was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> the +closest to the boys' hearts for the moment, they drew near to listen.</p> + +<p>"It's Mr. Kincaid himself!" breathed Bobby.</p> + +<p>"I've been trying to catch you all the way up the street," Mr. Kincaid +was saying, "but you walk like a steam engine."</p> + +<p>"I felt good," explained Mr. Orde. "I knew you were innocent, of course; +but it looked dark."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it looked dark," admitted Mr. Kincaid. "Where's that youngster of +yours? He saved the day."</p> + +<p>"I was just going to look for him. There're a few points I'd like to +clear up. If he saw all that, why didn't he say something before?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know. But he certainly spoke to the point when he did get going. +Look here, Orde, I'm proud of that kid. I want you to let me do +something; he's old enough now to have a sure enough gun, and I want you +to let me give it to him. Stafford has a little shotgun—16 gauge—ever +see one?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing smaller than a 12" confessed Orde.</p> + +<p>"Well, I told him to keep it for me. I'd like to give it to Bobby. He's +learned fast, and he's paid attention to what he learned. I don't +believe in guns for small boys, but Bobby is careful; he doesn't make +any breaks."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p> + +<p>Johnny reached over to clasp Bobby excitedly.</p> + +<p>"Now we can get partridges!" he squealed under his breath.</p> + +<p>But Bobby was unexpectedly cold to this enthusiasm. He reached over to +close the register. At once the voices were shut off. Then for some time +he sat cross-legged staring straight in front of him. To Johnny's +remarks he replied irritably until that youngster flounced himself into +a corner with a book, ostentatiously indifferent.</p> + +<p>Bobby was seeing things. As was his habit, he was visualizing a scene +that had passed, recalling each little detail of what had at the time +apparently passed lightly over his consciousness.</p> + +<p>He saw again plainly the yellow sand-hills under his feet, and the +village lying below, its roofs half hidden in the lilac and mauve of +bared branches, its columns of smoke rising straight up in the frosty +air. He saw the sturdy round-shouldered form in the old shooting coat, +the lined brown lean face, the white moustache and the eyebrows, the +kindly twinkling eyes squinted against the western light. He heard again +Mr. Kincaid's deep slow voice:</p> + +<p>"Sonny, you can always be a sportsman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span>—a sportsman does things because +he likes them, Bobby, for no other reason—not for money, nor to become +famous, nor even to win—and a right man does not get pleasure in doing +a thing if in any way he takes an unfair advantage—if <i>you</i>—not the +thinking you, nor even the conscience you, but the way-down-deep-in-your +heart <i>you</i> that you can't fool nor trick nor lie to—if that <i>you</i> is +satisfied, it's all right."</p> + +<p>Bobby sighed deeply and went downstairs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></a>XXVII</h2> + +<h3>THE SPORTSMAN</h3> + + +<p>He opened the door and entered very quietly, so that neither occupant of +the room saw him before he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I heard what you said—through the register——" he explained. "But I +can't take the shotgun."</p> + +<p>Both men turned and looked at him curiously, the first natural +exclamations stilled on their lips by the sight of his straight, earnest +little figure facing them.</p> + +<p>"Why not, Bobby?" asked Mr. Orde at last.</p> + +<p>"I was the one who fired that shot that hit Mr. Laughton's head. I did +it a-purpose."</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"I saw something brown in the brush, and I was sure it was a partridge, +so I shot at it. I really didn't know it was a partridge. It just looked +brown. You told me not to do that, lots of times, but I got all excited, +and forgot. So<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> you see I'm not careful, like you said. I ought not to +have any shotgun."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Bobby!" said Mr. Kincaid. "And that's one of the most important +things of all!"</p> + +<p>"I know, sir," said Bobby. "That's why I thought I'd tell you."</p> + +<p>The two men examined the youngster for some time in silence. A very +tender look lurked back in their eyes.</p> + +<p>"What did you do then?" asked Mr. Orde at last.</p> + +<p>"I saw the cap fly up in the air, and ran."</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"And then after a little I saw Mr. Kincaid come out down below, and I +thought it was all right until I got home."</p> + +<p>"Why did you jump up in court this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"I knew where I was standing, and I saw a scar on Laughton's head, and +then I knew if the holes in the cap were low down, he must have been the +man."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you tell all this before?"</p> + +<p>"I'd never seen the cap; and I thought Mr. Kincaid had done it. I wasn't +going to give him away."</p> + +<p>Both men burst into laughter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And you thought I'd kill a man!" reproached Mr. Kincaid at last.</p> + +<p>"I'd have done it—to old Pritchard," maintained Bobby stoutly.</p> + +<p>After a time Mr. Kincaid returned to the first subject.</p> + +<p>"There is no doubt, Bobby," said he, "that a man careless enough to +shoot at anything without knowing what it is—especially in a settled +country—is not fit to have a gun of any kind. There are plenty of +people killed every year through just such carelessness. On that ground +you are quite right in saying that you do not deserve the new shotgun."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Bobby.</p> + +<p>"But you will never do anything like that again. You have learned your +lesson. And you told the truth. That is a great thing. It is easy to +cover up a mistake; but very hard to show it when you don't have to. I +was a little disappointed that you forgot about shooting at things; but +I am more than proud that you remembered to be a sportsman. With your +father's permission, I'm going to get you that shotgun, just the same. +We'll go down together in the morning to get it."</p> + +<p>At the end of ten minutes more, Bobby<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> returned to his room. He looked +about it as one looks on a half-remembered spot visited long ago. The +place seemed smaller; the toys trivial. A deep gulf had been passed +since he had left the room a half-hour before. To his eyes had opened a +new vision. Little Boyhood had fallen away from him as a garment. A +touch had loosed. All experience and observation had led the way; but it +was only in expectation of the supreme test of self-sacrifice. Character +changes radically only under that test. Bobby had borne it well; and now +stood at the threshold of his Youth.</p> + +<p>He picked up the Flobert rifle and looked it over.</p> + +<p>"It'll always be handy to fool with," said he to Johnny.</p> + +<p>That youngster looked up with sardonic humour.</p> + +<p>"Gee, you're gettin' swelled head with your new gun," said he.</p> + +<h4>THE END</h4> + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<h3>KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN'S STORIES OF PURE DELIGHT</h3> + +<p class="center">Full of originality and humor, kindliness and cheer</p> + +<p>THE OLD PEABODY PEW. Large Octavo. Decorative text pages, printed in two +colors. Illustrations by Alice Barber Stephens.</p> + +<p>One of the prettiest romances that has ever come from this author's pen +is made to bloom on Christmas Eve in the sweet freshness of an old New +England meeting house.</p> + +<p>PENELOPE'S PROGRESS. Attractive cover design in colors.</p> + +<p>Scotland is the background for the merry doings of three very clever and +original American girls. Their adventures in adjusting themselves to the +Scot and his land are full of humor.</p> + +<p>PENELOPE'S IRISH EXPERIENCES. Uniform in style with "Penelope's +Progress."</p> + +<p>The trio of clever girls who rambled over Scotland cross the border to +the Emerald Isle, and again they sharpen their wits against new +conditions, and revel in the land of laughter and wit.</p> + +<p>REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM.</p> + +<p>One of the most beautiful studies of childhood—Rebecca's artistic, +unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of +austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal +dramatic record.</p> + +<p>NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA. With illustrations by F. C. Yohn.</p> + +<p>Some more quaintly amusing chronicles that carry Rebecca through various +stages to her eighteenth birthday.</p> + +<p>ROSE O' THE RIVER. With illustrations by George Wright.</p> + +<p>The simple story of Rose, a country girl and Stephen a sturdy young +farmer. The girl's fancy for a city man interrupts their love and merges +the story into an emotional strain where the reader follows the events +with rapt attention.</p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h3>LOUIS TRACY'S</h3> + +<h4>CAPTIVATING AND EXHILARATING ROMANCES</h4> + +<p class="center">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list</p> + +<p>CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR. Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.</p> + +<p>A pretty American girl in London is touring in a car with a chauffeur +whose identity puzzles her. An amusing mystery.</p> + +<p>THE STOWAWAY GIRL. Illustrated by Nesbitt Benson.</p> + +<p>A shipwreck, a lovely girl stowaway, a rascally captain, a fascinating +officer, and thrilling adventures in South Seas.</p> + +<p>THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS.</p> + +<p>Love and the salt sea, a helpless ship whirled into the hands of +cannibals, desperate fighting and a tender romance.</p> + +<p>THE MESSAGE. Illustrated by Joseph Cummings Chase.</p> + +<p>A bit of parchment found in the figurehead of an old vessel tells of a +buried treasure. A thrilling mystery develops.</p> + +<p>THE PILLAR OF LIGHT.</p> + +<p>The pillar thus designated was a lighthouse, and the author tells with +exciting detail the terrible dilemma of its cut-off inhabitants.</p> + +<p>THE WHEEL O'FORTUNE. With illustrations by James Montgomery Flagg.</p> + +<p>The story deals with the finding of a papyrus containing the particulars +of some of the treasures of the Queen of Sheba.</p> + +<p>A SON OF THE IMMORTALS. Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.</p> + +<p>A young American is proclaimed king of a little Balkan Kingdom, and a +pretty Parisian art student is the power behind the throne.</p> + +<p>THE WINGS OF THE MORNING.</p> + +<p>A sort of Robinson Crusoe <i>redivivus</i> with modern settings and a very +pretty love story added. The hero and heroine, are the only survivors of +a wreck, and have many thrilling adventures on their desert island.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<h3>GROSSET & DUNLAP'S</h3> + +<h4>DRAMATIZED NOVELS</h4> + +<p class="center">Original, sincere and courageous—often amusing—the kind that are +making theatrical history.</p> + +<p>MADAME X. By Alexandre Bisson and J. W. McConaughy. Illustrated with +scenes from the play.</p> + +<p>A beautiful Parisienne became an outcast because her husband would not +forgive an error of her youth. Her love for her son is the great final +influence in her career. A tremendous dramatic success.</p> + +<p>THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens.</p> + +<p>An unconventional English woman and an inscrutable stranger meet and +love in an oasis of the Sahara. Staged this season with magnificent cast +and gorgeous properties.</p> + +<p>THE PRINCE OF INDIA. By Lew. Wallace.</p> + +<p>A glowing romance of the Byzantine Empire, presenting with extraordinary +power the siege of Constantinople, and lighting its tragedy with the +warm underglow of an Oriental romance. As a play it is a great dramatic +spectacle.</p> + +<p>TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY. By Grace Miller White. Illust. by Howard +Chandler Christy.</p> + +<p>A girl from the dregs of society, loves a young Cornell University +student, and it works startling changes in her life and the lives of +those about her. The dramatic version is one of the sensations of the +season.</p> + +<p>YOUNG WALLINGFORD. By George Randolph Chester. Illust. by F. R. Gruger +and Henry Raleigh.</p> + +<p>A series of clever swindles conducted by a cheerful young man, each of +which is just on the safe side of a State's prison offence. As +"Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford," it is probably the most amusing expose of +money manipulation ever seen on the stage.</p> + +<p>THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY. By P. G. Wodehouse. Illustrations by Will Grefe.</p> + +<p>Social and club life in London and New York, an amateur burglary +adventure and a love story. Dramatized under the title of "A Gentleman +of Leisure," it furnishes hours of laughter to the play-goers.</p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<h3>THE NOVELS OF STEWART EDWARD WHITE</h3> + +<p>THE RULES OF THE GAME. Illustrated by Lajaren A. Hiller</p> + +<p>The romance of the son of "The Riverman." The young college hero goes +into the lumber camp, is antagonized by "graft" and comes into the +romance of his life.</p> + +<p>ARIZONA NIGHTS. Illus. and cover inlay by N. C. Wyeth.</p> + +<p>A series of spirited tales emphasizing some phases of the life of the +ranch, plains and desert. A masterpiece.</p> + +<p>THE BLAZED TRAIL. With illustrations by Thomas Fogarty.</p> + +<p>A wholesome story with gleams of humor, telling of a young man who +blazed his way to fortune through the heart of the Michigan pines.</p> + +<p>THE CLAIM JUMPERS. A Romance.</p> + +<p>The tenderfoot manager of a mine in a lonesome gulch of the Black Hills +has a hard time of it, but "wins out" in more ways than one.</p> + +<p>CONJUROR'S HOUSE. Illustrated Theatrical Edition.</p> + +<p>Dramatized under the title of "The Call of the North." Conjuror's House +is a Hudson Bay trading post where the head factor is the absolute lord. +A young fellow risked his life and won a bride on this forbidden land.</p> + +<p>THE MAGIC FOREST. A Modern Fairy Tale. Illustrated.</p> + +<p>The sympathetic way in which the children of the wild and their life is +treated could only belong to one who is in love with the forest and open +air. Based on fact.</p> + +<p>THE RIVERMAN. Illus. by N. C. Wyeth and C. Underwood.</p> + +<p>The story of a man's fight against a river and of a struggle between +honesty and grit on the one side, and dishonesty and shrewdness on the +other.</p> + +<p>THE SILENT PLACES. Illustrations by Philip R. Goodwin.</p> + +<p>The wonders of the northern forests, the heights of feminine devotion, +and masculine power, the intelligence of the Caucasian and the instinct +of the Indian, are all finely drawn in this story.</p> + +<p>THE WESTERNERS.</p> + +<p>A story of the Black Hills that is justly placed among the best American +novels. It portrays the life of the new West as no other book has done +in recent years.</p> + +<p>THE MYSTERY. In collaboration with Samuel Hopkins Adams With +illustrations by Will Crawford.</p> + +<p>The disappearance of three successive crews from the stout ship +"Laughing Lass" in mid-Pacific, is a mystery weird and inscrutable. In +the solution, there is a story of the most exciting voyage that man ever +undertook.</p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<h4>TITLES SELECTED FROM</h4> + +<h3>GROSSET & DUNLAP'S LIST</h3> + +<p class="center">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.</p> + +<p>HIS HOUR. By Elinor Glyn. Illustrated.</p> + +<p>A beautiful blonde Englishwoman visits Russia, and is violently made +love to by a young Russian aristocrat. A most unique situation +complicates the romance.</p> + +<p>THE GAMBLERS. By Charles Klein and Arthur Hornblow. Illustrated by C. E. +Chambers.</p> + +<p>A big, vital treatment of a present day situation wherein men play for +big financial stakes and women flourish on the profits—or repudiate the +methods.</p> + +<p>CHEERFUL AMERICANS. By Charles Battell Loomis. Illustrated by Florence +Scovel Shinn and others.</p> + +<p>A good, wholesome, laughable presentation of some Americans at home and +abroad, on their vacations, and during their hours of relaxation.</p> + +<p>THE WOMAN OF THE WORLD. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.</p> + +<p>Clever, original presentations of present day social problems and the +best solutions of them. A book every girl and woman should possess.</p> + +<p>THE LIGHT THAT LURES. By Percy Brebner. Illustrated. Handsomely colored +wrapper.</p> + +<p>A young Southerner who loved Lafayette, goes to France to aid him during +the days of terror, and is lured in a certain direction by the lovely +eyes of a Frenchwoman.</p> + +<p>THE RAMRODDERS. By Holman Day. Frontispiece by Harold Matthews Brett.</p> + +<p>A clever, timely story that will make politicians think and will make +women realize the part that politics play—even in their romances.</p> + +<p>A CERTAIN RICH MAN. By William Allen White.</p> + +<p>A vivid, startling portrayal of one man's financial greed, its wide +spreading power, its action in Wall Street, and its effect on the three +women most intimately in his life. A splendid, entertaining American +novel.</p> + +<p>IN OUR TOWN. By William Allen White. Illustrated by F. R. Gruger and W. +Glackens.</p> + +<p>Made up of the observations of a keen newspaper editor, involving the +town millionaire, the smart set, the literary set, the bohemian set, and +many others. All humorously related and sure to hold the attention.</p> + +<p>NATHAN BURKE. By Mary S. Watts.</p> + +<p>The story of an ambitious, backwoods Ohio boy who rose to prominence. +Everyday humor of American rustic life permeates the book.</p> + +<p>THE HIGH HAND. By Jacques Futrelle. Illustrated by Will Grete.</p> + +<p>A splendid story of the political game, with a son of the soil on the +one side, and a "kid glove" politician on the other. A pretty girl, +interested in both men, is the chief figure.</p> + +<p>THE BACKWOODSMEN. By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated.</p> + +<p>Realistic stories of men and women living midst the savage beauty of the +wilderness. Human nature at its best and worst is well portrayed.</p> + +<p>YELLOWSTONE NIGHTS. By Herbert Quick.</p> + +<p>A jolly company of six artists, writers and other clever folks take a +trip through the National Park, and tell stories around camp fire at +night. Brilliantly clever and original.</p> + +<p>THE PROFESSOR'S MYSTERY. By Wells Hastings and Brian Hooker. Illustrated +by Hanson Booth.</p> + +<p>A young college professor, missing his steamer for Europe, has a +romantic meeting with a pretty girl, escorts her home, and is enveloped +in a big mystery.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York</span></p> +</div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventures of Bobby Orde, by +Stewart Edward White + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF BOBBY ORDE *** + +***** This file should be named 25506-h.htm or 25506-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/5/0/25506/ + +Produced by David Garcia, Janet Blenkinship and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Adventures of Bobby Orde + +Author: Stewart Edward White + +Illustrator: Worth Brehm + +Release Date: May 17, 2008 [EBook #25506] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF BOBBY ORDE *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, Janet Blenkinship and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + + +THE ADVENTURES OF BOBBY ORDE + + + + +OTHER BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR + + THE CLAIM JUMPERS + THE WESTERNERS + THE BLAZED TRAIL + BLAZED TRAIL STORIES + THE MAGIC FOREST + CONJUROR'S HOUSE + THE SILENT PLACES + THE FOREST + THE MOUNTAINS + THE PASS + CAMP AND TRAIL + THE RIVERMAN + ARIZONA NIGHTS + + With Samuel Hopkins Adams + THE MYSTERY + +[Illustration: "ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT A TRUE SPORTSMAN IN EVERY WAY IS +ABOUT THE SCARCEST THING THEY MAKE--AND THE FINEST. SO NATURALLY THE +COMMON RUN OF PEOPLE DON'T LIVE UP TO IT. IF _you_--NOT THE THINKING +YOU, NOR EVEN THE CONSCIENCE YOU, BUT THE WAY-DOWN-DEEP-IN-YOUR-HEART +_you_ THAT YOU CAN'T FOOL NOR TRICK NOR LIE TO--IF THAT _you_ IS +SATISFIED, IT'S ALL RIGHT."] + + + + + THE ADVENTURES OF + BOBBY ORDE + + BY + + STEWART EDWARD WHITE + + [Illustration] + + ILLUSTRATED BY WORTH BREHM + + NEW YORK + GROSSET & DUNLAP + PUBLISHERS + + + + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION + INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN + + COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + + COPYRIGHT, 1908, 1909, + BY THE PHILLIPS PUBLISHING COMPANY + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. THE BOOMS 3 + + II. THE PICNIC 36 + + III. HIDE AND COOP 67 + + IV. THE PRINTING PRESS 81 + + V. THE LITTLE GIRL 91 + + VI. THE LITTLE GIRL (_Continued_) 103 + + VII. UNTIL THE LAST SHOT 115 + + VIII. THE FLOBERT RIFLE 140 + + IX. MR. DAGGETT 150 + + X. THE SPORTSMAN'S ASSOCIATION 160 + + XI. THE MARSHES 167 + + XII. THE TRESPASSERS 209 + + XIII. THE PLAYMATES 221 + + XIV. THE SHOOTING CLUB 235 + + XV. THE UPPER ROOMS 239 + + XVI. THE THIRD STORY 243 + + XVII. "SLIDING DOWN HILL" 247 + + XVIII. CHRISTMAS 262 + + XIX. THE BOXING MATCH 284 + + XX. THE PARTNERS 292 + + XXI. WINTER 298 + + XXII. THE MURDER 304 + + XXIII. THE TRIAL 317 + + XXIV. THE TRIAL (_Continued_) 322 + + XXV. THE HOLE IN THE CAP 326 + + XXVI. THE SIXTEEN-GAUGE SHOTGUN 332 + + XXVII. THE SPORTSMAN 337 + + +THE ADVENTURES OF BOBBY ORDE + + + + +I + +THE BOOMS + + +At nine o'clock one morning Bobby Orde, following an agreement with his +father, walked sedately to the Proper Place, where he kept his cap and +coat and other belongings. The Proper Place was a small, dark closet +under the angle of the stairs. He called it the Proper Place just as he +called his friend Clifford Fuller, or the saw-mill town in which he +lived Monrovia--because he had always heard it called so. + +At the door a beautiful black and white setter solemnly joined him. + +"Hullo, Duke!" greeted Bobby. + +The dog swept back and forth his magnificent feather tail, and fell in +behind his young master. + +Bobby knew the way perfectly. You went to the fire-engine house; and +then to the left after the court-house was Mr. Proctor's; and then, all +at once, the town. Father's office was in the nearest square brick +block. Bobby paused, as he always did, to look in the first store +window. In it was a weapon which he knew to be a Flobert Rifle. It was +something to be dreamed of, with its beautiful blued-steel octagon +barrel, its gleaming gold-plated locks and its polished stock. Bobby was +just under ten years old; but he could have told you all about that +Flobert Rifle--its weight, the length of its barrel, the number of +grains of both powder and lead loaded in its various cartridges. Among +his books he possessed a catalogue that described Flobert Rifles, and +also Shotguns and Revolvers. Bobby intoxicated himself with them. Twice +he had even seen his father's revolver; and he knew where it was +kept--on the top shelf of the closet. The very closet door gave him a +thrill. + +Reluctantly he tore himself away, and turned in to the straight, broad +stairway that led to the offices above. The stairway, and the hall to +which it mounted were dark and smelled of old coco-matting and stale +tobacco. Bobby liked this smell very much. He liked, too, the echo of +his footsteps as he marched down the hall to the door of his father's +offices. + +Within were several long, narrow desks burdened with large ledgers and +flanked by high stools. On each stool sat a clerk--five of them. An +iron "base burner" stove occupied the middle of the room. Its pipe ran +in suspension here and there through the upper air until it plunged +unexpectedly into the wall. A capacious wood-box flanked it. Bobby was +glad he did not have to fill that wood-box at a cent a time. + +Against the walls at either end of the room and next the windows were +two roll-top desks at which sat Mr. Orde and his partner. Two or three +pivoted chairs completed the furnishings. + +"Hullo, Bobby," called Mr. Orde, who was talking earnestly to a man; +"I'll be ready in a few minutes." + +Nothing pleased Bobby more than to wander about the place with its +delicious "office smell." At one end of the room, nailed against the +wall, were rows and rows of beautifully polished models of the firm's +different tugs, barges and schooners. Bobby surveyed them with both +pleasure and regret. It seemed a shame that such delightful boats should +have been built only in half and nailed immovably to boards. Against +another wall were maps, and a real deer's head. Everywhere hung framed +photographs of logging camps and lumbering operations. From any one of +the six long windows he could see the street below, and those who passed +along it. Time never hung heavy at the office. + +When Mr. Orde had finished his business, he put on his hat, and the big +man, the little boy and the grave, black and white setter dog walked +down the long dark hall, down the steps, and around the corner to the +livery stable. + +Here they climbed into one of the light and graceful buggies which were +at that time a source of such pride to their owners, and flashed out +into the street behind Mr. Orde's celebrated team. + +Duke's gravity at this juncture deserted him completely. Life now meant +something besides duty. Ears back, mouth wide, body extended, he flew +away. Faster and faster he ran, until he was almost out of sight; then +turned with a whirl of shingle dust and came racing back. When he +reached the horses he leaped vigorously from one side to the other, +barking ecstatically; then set off on a long even lope along the +sidewalks and across the street, investigating everything. + +Mr. Orde took the slender whalebone whip from its socket. + +"Come, Dick!" said he. + +The team laid back their pointed delicate ears, shook their heads from +side to side, snorted and settled into a swift stride. Bobby leaned over +to watch the sunlight twinkle on the wheel-spokes. The narrow tires sunk +slightly in the yielding shingle fragments. _Brittle!_ _Brittle!_ +_Brittle!_ the sound said to Bobby. Above all things he loved to watch +the gossamer-like wheels, apparently too light and delicate to bear the +weight they must carry, flying over the springy road. + +At the edge of town they ran suddenly out from beneath the maple trees +to find themselves at the banks of the river. A long bridge crossed it. +The team clattered over the planks so fast that hardly could Bobby get +time to look at the cat-tails along the bayous before blue water was +beneath him. + +But here Mr. Orde had to pull up. The turn-bridge was open; and Bobby to +his delight was allowed to stand up in his seat and watch the wallowing, +churning little tug and the three calm ships pass through. He could not +see the tug at all until it had gone beyond the bridge, only its smoke; +but the masts of the ship passed stately in regular succession. + +"Three-masted schooner," said he. + +Then when the last mast had scarcely cleared the opening, the ponderous +turn-bridge began slowly to close. Its movement was almost +imperceptible, but mighty beyond Bobby's small experience to gauge. He +could make out the two bridge tenders walking around and around, pushing +on the long lever that operated the mechanism. In a moment more the +bridge came into alignment with a clang. The team, tossing their heads +impatiently, moved forward. + +On the other side of the bridge was no more town; but instead, great +lumber yards, and along the river a string of mills with many +smokestacks. + +The road-bed at this point changed abruptly to sawdust, springy and +odorous with the sweet new smell of pine that now perfumed all the air. +To the left Bobby could see the shipyards and the skeleton of a vessel +well under way. From it came the irregular _Block!_ _Block!_ _Block!_ of +mallets; and it swarmed with the little, black, ant-like figures of men. + +Mr. Orde drove rapidly and silently between the shipyards and the rows +and rows of lumber piles, arranged in streets and alleys like an +untenanted city. Overhead ran tramways on which dwelt cars and great +black and bay horses. The wild exultant shriek of the circular saw rang +out. White plumes of steam shot up against the intense blue of the sky. +Beyond the piles of lumber Bobby could make out the topmasts of more +ships, from which floated the pointed hollow "tell-tales" affected by +the lake schooners of those days as pennants. At the end of the lumber +piles the road turned sharp to the right. It passed in turn the small +building which Bobby knew to be another delightful office, and the huge +cavernous mill with its shrieks and clangs, its blazing, winking eyes +beneath and its long incline up which the dripping, sullen logs crept in +unending procession to their final disposition. And then came the +"booms" or pens, in which the logs floated like a patterned brown +carpet. Men with pike poles were working there; and even at a distance +Bobby caught the dip and rise, and the flash of white water as the +rivermen ran here and there over the unstable footing. + +Next were more lumber yards and more mills, for five miles or so, until +at last they emerged into an open, flat country, divided by the +old-fashioned snake fences; dotted with blackened stumps of the +long-vanished forest; eaten by sloughs and bayous from the river. The +sawdust ceased. Bobby leaned out to watch with fascinated interest the +sand, divided by the tire, flowing back in a beautiful curved V to cover +the wheel-rim. + +As far as the eye could reach were marshes grown with wild rice and +cat-tails. Occasionally one of these bayous would send an arm in to +cross the road. Then Bobby was delighted, for that meant a float-bridge +through the cracks of which the water spurted up in jets at each impact +of the horses' hoofs. On either hand the bayou, but a plank's thickness +below the level of the float-bridge, filmed with green weeds and the +bright scum of water, not too stagnant, offered surprises to the +watchful eye. One could see many mud-turtles floating lazily, feet +outstretched in poise; and bullfrogs and little frogs; and, in the clear +places, trim and self-sufficient mud hens. From the reeds at the edges +flapped small green herons and thunder pumpers. And at last---- + +"Oh, look, papa!" cried Bobby excited and awed. "There's a snap'n' +turtle!" + +Indeed, there he was in plain sight, the boys' monster of the marshes, +fully two feet in diameter, his rough shell streaming with long green +grasses, his wicked black eyes staring, his hooked, powerful jaws set in +a grim curve. If once those jaws clamped--so said the boys--nothing +could loose them but the sound of thunder, not even cutting off the +head. + +Ten of the twelve miles to the booms had already been passed. The horses +continued to step out freely, making nothing of the light fabric they +drew after them. Duke, the white of his coat soiled and muddied by +frequent and grateful plunges, loped alongside, his pink tongue hanging +from one corner of his mouth, and a seraphic expression on his +countenance. Occasionally he rolled his eyes up at his masters in sheer +enjoyment of the expedition. + +"Papa," asked Bobby suddenly, "what makes you have the booms so far +away? Why don't you have them down by the bridge?" + +Mr. Orde glanced down at his son. The boy looked very little and very +childish, with his freckled, dull red cheeks, his dot of a nose, and his +wide gray eyes. The man was about to make some stop-gap reply. He +checked himself. + +"It's this way Bobby," he explained carefully. "The logs are cut 'way up +the river--ever so far--and then they float down the river. Now, +everybody has logs in the river--Mr. Proctor and Mr. Heinzman and Mr. +Welton and lots of people, and they're all mixed up together. When they +get down to the mills where they are to be sawed up into boards, the +logs belonging to the different owners have to be sorted out. Papa's +company is paid by all the others to do the floating down stream and the +sorting out. The sorting out is done in the booms; and we put the booms +up stream from the mills because it is easier to float the logs, after +they have been sorted, down the stream than to haul them back up the +stream." + +"What do you have them so far up the stream for?" asked Bobby. + +"Because there's more room--the river widens out there." + +Bobby said nothing for some time, and Mr. Orde confessed within himself +a strong doubt as to whether or not the explanation had been understood. + +"Papa," demanded Bobby, "I don't see how you tell your logs from Mr. +Proctor's or Mr. Heinzman's or any of the rest of them." + +Mr. Orde turned, extending his hand heartily to his astonished son. + +"You're all right, Bobby!" said he. "Why, you see, each log is stamped +on the end with a mark. Mr. Proctor's mark is one thing; and Mr. +Heinzman's is another; and all the rest have different ones." + +"I see," said Bobby. + +The road now led them through a small grove of willows. Emerging thence +they found themselves in full sight of the booms. + +For fifty feet Bobby allowed his eyes to run over a scene already +familiar and always of the greatest attraction to him. Then came what he +called, after his Malory, the Stumps Perilous. Between them there was +but just room to drive--in fact the delicate points of the whiffle tree +scratched the polished surfaces of them on either hand. Bobby loved to +imagine them as the mighty guardians of the land beyond, and he always +held his breath until they had been passed in safety. + +Shying gently toward each other, ears pricked toward the two obstacles, +the horses shot through with pace undiminished and drew up proudly +before the smallest of the group of buildings. Thence emerged a tall, +spare, keen-eyed man in slouch hat, flannel shirt, shortened trousers +and spiked boots. + +"Hullo, Jim," said Mr. Orde. + +"Hullo, Jack," said the other. + +"Where's your chore boy to take the horses?" + +"I'll rustle him," replied the River Boss. + +Bobby drew a deep breath of pleasure, and looked about him. + +From the land's edge extended a wide surface of logs. Near at hand +little streaks of water lay between some of them, but at a short +distance the prospect was brown and uniform, until far away a narrow +flash of blue marked the open river. Here and there ran the confines of +the various booms included in the monster main boom. These confines +consisted of long heavy timbers floating on the water, and joined end to +end by means of strong links. They were generally laid in pairs, and +hewn on top, so that they constituted a network of floating sidewalks +threading the expanse of saw-logs. At intervals they were anchored to +bunches of piles driven deep, and bound at the top. An unbroken palisade +of piles constituted the outer boundaries of the main boom. At the upper +end of them perched a little house whence was operated the mechanism of +the heavy swing boom, capable of closing entirely the river channel. +Thus the logs, floating or driven down the river, encountered this +obstruction; were shunted into the main booms, where they were +distributed severally into the various pocket booms; and later were +released at the lower end, one lot at a time, to the river again. Thence +they were appropriated by the mill to which they belonged. + +Bobby did not as yet understand the mechanism of all this. He saw merely +the brown logs, and the distant blue water, and the hut wherein he knew +dwelt machinery and a good-natured, short, dark man with a short, dark +pipe, and the criss-cross floating sidewalks, and the men with long pike +poles and shorter peavies moving here and there about their work. And he +liked it. + +But now the chore boy appeared to take charge of the horses. Mr. Orde +lifted Bobby down, and immediately walked away with the River Boss, +leaving with Bobby the parting injunction not to go out on the booms. + +Bobby, left to himself, climbed laboriously, one steep step at a time, +to the elevation of the roofless porch before the mess house. The floor +he examined, as always, with the greatest interest. The sharp caulks of +the rivermen's shoes had long since picked away the surface, leaving it +pockmarked and uneven. Only the knots had resisted; and each of these +now constituted a little hill above the surrounding plains, Bobby always +wished that either his tin soldiers could be here or this well-ordered +porch could be at home. + +The sun proving hot, he peeped within the cook-house. There long tables +flanked each by two benches of equal extent, stretched down the dimness. +They were covered with dark oil-cloth, and at intervals on them arose +irregular humps of cheese cloth. Beneath the cheese cloth, which Bobby +had seen lifted, were receptacles containing the staples and condiments, +such as stewed fruit, sugar, salt, pepper, catsup, molasses and the +like. Innumerable tin plates and cups laid upside down were guarded by +iron cutlery. It was very dark and still, and the flies buzzed. + +Beyond, Bobby could hear the cook and his helpers, called cookees. He +decided to visit them; but he knew better than to pass through the +dining room. Until the bell rang, that was sacred from the boss himself. + +Therefore he descended from the porch, one step at a time, and climbed +around to the kitchen. Here he found preparations for dinner well under +way. + +"'Llo, Bobby," greeted the cook, a tall white-moustached lean man with +bushy eyebrows. The cookees grinned, and one of them offered him a cooky +as big as a pie-plate. Bobby accepted the offering, and seated himself +on a cracker box. + +Food was being prepared in quantities to stagger the imagination of one +used only to private kitchens. Prunes stewed away in galvanized iron +buckets; meat boiled in wash-boilers; coffee was made in fifty-pound +lard tins; pies were baking in ranks of ten; mashed potatoes were +handled by the shovelful; a barrel of flour was used every two and a +half days in this camp of hungry hard-working men. It took a good man to +plan and organize; and a good man Corrigan was. His meals were never +late, never scant, and never wasteful. He had the record for all the +camps on the river of thirty-five cents a day per man--and the men +satisfied. Consequently, in his own domain he was autocrat. The dining +room was sacred, the kitchen was sacred, meal hours were sacred. Each +man was fed at half-past five, at twelve, and at six. No man could get a +bite even of dry bread between those hours, save occasionally a teamster +in the line of duty. Bobby himself had once seen Corrigan chase a +would-be forager out at the point of a carving knife. As for Bobby, he +was an exception, and a favourite. + +The place was enthralling, with its two stoves, each as big as the +dining room table at home, its shelves and barrels of supplies, its rows +of pies and loaves of bread, and all the crackle and bustle and aroma of +its preparations. Time passed on wings. At length Corrigan glanced up at +the square wooden clock and uttered some command to his two +subordinates. The latter immediately began to dish into large +receptacles of tin the hot food from the stove--boiled meat, mashed +potatoes, pork and beans, boiled corn. These they placed at regular +intervals down the long tables of the dining room. Bobby descended from +his cracker box to watch them. Between the groups of hot dishes they +distributed many plates of pie, of bread and of cake. Finally the +two-gallon pots of tea and coffee, one for each end of each table, were +brought in. The window coverings were drawn back. Corrigan appeared for +final inspection. + +"Want to ring the bell, Bobby?" he asked. + +They proceeded together to the front of the house where hung the bell +cord. Bobby seized this and pulled as hard as he was able. But his +weight could not bring the heavy bell over. Corrigan, smiling grimly +under his white moustache, gave him advice. + +"Pull on her, Bobby, hang yer feet off'n the ground. Now let up entire! +Now pull again! Now let up! That's the bye! You'll get her goin' yit +widout the help of any man." + +Sure enough the weight of the bell did give slightly under Bobby's +frantic, though now rythmic, efforts. Nevertheless Corrigan took +opportunity to reach out surreptitiously above the little boy's head to +add a few pounds to the downward pull. At last the clapper reached the +side. + +_Cling!_ it broke the stillness. + +"There you got her goin', Bobby!" cried Corrigan, "Now all you got to do +is to keep at her. Now pull! Now let go. See how much easier she goes?" + +The bell, started in its orbit, was now easy enough to manipulate. Bobby +was delighted at the noise he was producing, and still more delighted at +its results. For from the maze of his toil he could see men coming--men +from the logs near at hand, men from the booms far away--all coming to +the bell, concentrating at a common centre. By now the bell was turning +entirely over. Bobby was becoming enthusiastic. He tugged and tugged. +Sometimes when he did not let go the rope in time, he was lifted +slightly off his feet. The sun was hot, but he had no thought of +quitting. His hat fell off backward, his towsled hair wetted at the +edges, clung to his forehead, his dull red cheeks grew redder behind +their freckles, his eyes fairly closed in an ecstasy of enjoyment. He +did not hear Corrigan laughing, nor the gleeful shouts of the men as +they leaped ashore and with dripping boots advanced to the expected +meal. All he knew was that wonderful _clang!_ _clang!_ _clang!_ over +him; the only thought in his little head was that he, _he_, Bobby Orde, +was making all this noise himself! + +How long he would have continued before giving out entirely it would be +hard to say, but at this moment Mr. Orde and Jim Denning came around the +corner with some haste. Both looked worried and a little angry until +they caught sight of the small bell-ringer. Then they too laughed with +the men. + +But Mr. Orde swooped down on his son and tossed him on his shoulder. + +"That'll do," he advised, "we're all here. Lord, Corrigan! I thought you +were afire at least." + +"You got to show us up a reg'lar Christmas dinner to match that," said +one of the men to Corrigan. + +After the meal, which Bobby enjoyed thoroughly, because it was so +different from what he had at home, he had a request to proffer. + +"Papa," he demanded, "I want to go out on the booms." + +"Haven't time to-day, Bobby," replied Mr. Orde. "You just play around." + +But Jim Denning would not have this. + +"Can't start 'em in too early, Jack," said he. "I bet you'd been fished +out from running logs before you were half his age." + +Mr. Orde laughed. + +"Right you are, Jim, but we were raised different in those days." + +"Well," said Denning, "work's slack. I'll let one of the men take him." + +At the moment a youth of not more than fifteen years of age was passing +from the cook house to the booms. He had the slenderness of his years, +but was toughly knit, and already possessed in eye and mouth the steady +unwavering determination that the river life develops. In all details +of equipment he was a riverman complete: the narrow-brimmed black felt +hat, pushed back from a tangle of curls; the flannel shirt crossed by +the broad bands of the suspenders; the kersey trousers "stagged" off a +little below the knee; the heavy knit socks; and the strong shoes armed +with thin half-inch, needle-sharp caulks. + +"Jimmy Powers!" called the River Boss after this boy, "Come here!" + +The youth approached, grinning cheerfully. + +"I want you to take Bobby out on the booms," commanded Denning, "and be +careful he don't fall in." + +The older men moved away. Bobby and Jimmy Powers looked a little +bashfully at each other, and then turned to where the first hewn logs +gave access to the booms. + +"Ever been out on 'em afore?" asked Jimmy Powers. + +"Yes" replied Bobby; then after a pause, "I been out to the swing with +Papa." + +They walked out on the floating booms, which tipped and dipped ever so +slightly under their weight. Bobby caught himself with a little stagger, +although his footing was a good three feet in width. On either side of +him nuzzled the great logs, like patient beasts, and between them were +narrow strips of water, the colour of steel that has just cooled. + +"How deep is it here?" asked Bobby. + +"Bout six feet," replied Jimmy Powers. + +They passed an intersection, and came to an empty enclosure over which +the water stretched like a blue sheet. Bobby looked back. Already the +shore seemed far away. Through the interstices between the piles the +wavelets went _lap_, _lap_, _slap_, _lap_! Beyond were men working the +reluctant logs down toward the lower end of the booms. Some jabbed the +pike poles in and then walked forward along the boom logs. Others ran +quickly over the logs themselves until they had gained timbers large +enough to sustain their weight, whence they were able to work with +greater advantage. The supporting log rolled and dipped under the burden +of the man pushing mightily against his implement; but always the +riverman trod it, first one way, then the other, in entire +unconsciousness of the fact that he was doing so. The dark flanks of the +log heaved dripping from the river, and rolled silently back again, +picked by the long sharp caulks of the riverman's boots. + +"Can you walk on the logs?" asked Bobby of his companion. + +"Sure," laughed Jimmy Powers. + +"Let's see you," insisted Bobby. + +Jimmy Powers leaped lightly from the boom to the nearest log. It was a +small one, and at once dipped below the surface. If the boy had +attempted to stand on it even a second he would have fallen in. But all +Jimmy Powers needed was a foothold from which to spring. Hardly had the +little timber dipped before he had jumped to the next and the next +after. Behind him the logs, bobbing up and down, churned the water +white. Jimmy moved rapidly across the enclosure on an irregular zigzag. +The smaller logs he passed over as quickly as possible; on the larger he +paused appreciably. Bobby was interested to see how he left behind him a +wake of motion on what had possessed the appearance of rigid immobility. +The little logs bobbed furiously; the larger bowed in more stately +fashion and rolled slowly in dignified protest. In a moment Jimmy was +back again, grinning at Bobby's admiration. + +"Look here," said he. + +He took his station sideways on a log of about twenty inches diameter, +and began to roll it beneath him by walking rapidly forward. As the +timber gained its momentum, the boy increased his pace, until finally +his feet were fairly twinkling beneath him, and the side of the log +rising from the river was a blur of white water. Then suddenly with two +quick strong stamps of his caulked feet the young riverman brought the +whirling timber to a standstill. + +"That's birling a log," said he to Bobby. + +They walked out on the main boom still farther. The smaller partitions +between the various enclosures were often nothing but single round poles +chained together at their ends. On these Bobby was not allowed to +venture. + +"How deep is it here?" he asked again. + +"Bout thirty feet," replied Jimmy Powers. + +Bobby for an instant felt a little dizzy, as though he were on a high +building. All this fabric on which he moved suddenly seemed to him +unreal, like a vast cobweb in suspension through a void. It was a brief +sensation, and little defined in his childish mind, so it soon passed, +but it constituted while it lasted a definite subjective experience +which Bobby would always remember. As he looked back, the buildings of +the river camp, lying low among the trees, had receded to a great +distance; apparently at another horizon was the dark row of piling that +marked the outer confines of the booms; up and down stream, as far as he +could see, were the logs. Bobby suddenly felt very much alone, with the +blue sky above him, and the deep black water beneath, and about him +nothing but the quiet sullen monsters herded from the wilderness. He +gripped very tightly Jimmy Powers's hand as they walked along. + +But shortly they turned to the left; and after a brief walk, mounted the +rickety steps to the floor of the hut where dwelt old man North, and the +winch for operating the swinging boom. Old man North was short, dark, +heavy and bearded; he smoked perpetually a small black clay pipe which +he always held upside down in his mouth. His conversation was not +extensive; but his black eyes twinkled at Bobby, so the little boy was +not afraid of him. When he saw the two approaching, he reached over in +the corner and handed out a hickory pole peeled to a beautiful white. + +"The wums is yonder," said he. + +Bobby put a fat worm on his hook and sat down in the opposite doorway +were he could dangle his feet directly over the river. Where the shadow +of the cabin fell, he could see far down in the water, which there +became a transparent fair green. Close to the piles, on the tops of +which the hut was built, were various fish. Jimmy leaned over. + +"Mostly suckers," he advised. "Yan's a perch, try him." + +Bobby cautiously lowered his baited hook until it dangled before the +perch's nose. The latter paid absolutely no attention to it. Bobby +jiggled it up and down. No results. At last he fairly plumped the worm +on top of the fish's nose. The perch, with an air of annoyance, spread +his gills and, with the least perceptible movement of his tail, sank +slowly until he faded from sight. + +"Better let down your hook and fish near bottom," suggested Jimmy +Powers. + +Bobby did so. The peace of warm afternoon settled upon him. He dangled +his chubby legs, and tried to spit as scientifically as he could, and +watched the waving green current slip silently beneath his feet. Beside +him sat Jimmy Powers. The fragrant strong tobacco smoke from North's +pipe passed them in wisps. + +"I'd like to walk on logs," proffered Bobby at last, "It looks like lots +of fun." + +"Oh, that's nothin'," said Jimmy Powers, "You ought to be on drive." + +The boys fell into conversation. Jimmy told of the drive, and the +log-running. Bobby listened with the envy of one whose imagination +cannot conceive of himself permitted in such affairs. He was entirely +absorbed. And then all at once the peace was shattered. + +"Yank him, Bobby, yank him!" yelled Jimmy. + +"Christmas! he's a whale!" said old North. + +For, without wavering, the tip of the hickory pole had been ruthlessly +jerked below the water's surface, and the butt nearly pulled from +Bobby's hands. + +Bobby knew the proper thing to do. In such cases you heaved strongly. +The fish flew from the water, described an arc over your head, and lit +somewhere behind you. He tried to accomplish this, but his utmost +strength could but just lift the wriggling, jerking end of the pole from +the water. + +"Give her to me!" cried Jimmy Powers. + +"Le' me 'lone," grunted Bobby. + +He planted the butt of the pole in the pit of his stomach, and lifted as +hard as ever he could with both hands. His face grew red, his ears +rang, but, after a first immovable resistance, to his great joy the tip +of the bending, wriggling pole began to give. Slowly, little by little, +he pulled up the fish, until he could make out the flash of its body +darting to and fro far down in the depths. + +"Black bass!" murmured Jimmy Powers breathlessly. + +And then just as his size and beauty were becoming clearly visible, the +line came up with a sickening ease. The interested spectators caught a +glimpse of white as the fish turned. + +Bobby let out a howl of disappointment. + +"Oh _gee_, that's hard luck!" cried Jimmy Powers. + +"Bet he weighed four pounds," proffered North curtly. + +But at this instant a faint clear whistle sounded from about the wooded +bend of the river above. + +"Boat coming," said North, "Clear out of the way, boys." + +He began at once to operate the winch which drew the long slanting swing +boom out of the channel, for the River was navigable water, and must not +be obstructed. In a moment appeared the _Lucy Belle_, a +shallow-draught, flimsy-looking double decker, with two slim +smokestacks side by side connected by a band of fancy grill-work, a +walking beam, two huge paddle boxes and much white paint. She sheered +sidewise with the current around the bend, and headed down upon them +accompanied by a vast beating of paddle wheels. Bobby could soon make +out atop the walking-beam, the swaying iron Indian with bent bow, and +the piles of slabs which constituted the _Lucy Belle_'s fuel. Almost +immediately she was passing, within ten feet or so of the hut. The water +boiled and eddied among the piles, rushing in and sucking back. A fat, +ruddy-faced man in official cap and citizen's clothes leaned over the +rail. + +"Well, you made her to-day," shouted North. + +"Bet ye," called the man with a grin. "Only aground once." + +The _Lucy Belle_ swept away with an air of pride. She made the trip to +and from Redding, forty miles up the River, twice a week. Sometimes she +came through in a day. Oftener she ran aground. + +Now Bobby reverted to his original idea. + +"I'd like to walk on the logs," said he. + +"Well, come on, then," said Jimmy Powers. + +They retraced their steps along the booms until near the shore. + +"You don't want to try her where she's deep," explained Jimmy Powers, +"'Cause then if you should fall in, the logs would close right together +over your head, and then where'd you be?" + +Bobby shuddered at this idea, which in the event continued to haunt him +for some days. + +"There's a big one," said Jimmy Powers. "Try her." + +Bobby stepped out on a big solid-looking log, which immediately proved +to be not solid at all. It dipped one way, Bobby tried to tread the +other. The log promptly followed his suggestion--too promptly. Bobby +soon found himself about two moves behind in this strange new game. He +lost his balance, and the first thing he knew, he found himself waist +deep in the water. + +Jimmy Powers laughed heartily; but to Bobby this was no laughing matter. +The penalties attached both by nature and his mother were dire in the +extreme. He foresaw sickness and spankings, both of which had been +promised him in the event of wet feet merely, and here he was dripping +from the waist down! In any other surroundings or with any other company +he would have wept bitterly. Even in the presence of Jimmy Powers his +lower lip quivered; and his soul filled to the very throat with dismay. +Jimmy Powers could not understand his very evident perturbation. If took +a great deal of explanation on Bobby's part; but finally there was +conveyed to the young riverman's understanding a slight notion of the +situation. To the child the day seemed lost; but Jimmy Powers was more +resourceful. He surveyed his charge thoughtfully. + +"You're all right, kid," he announced at last. "Your collar's all right, +and your hair ain't wet. The rest'll dry out so nobody will know the +diff'." + +Bobby brightened. + +"Won't I catch cold?" he asked doubtfully. + +"This kind of weather? Naw!" said Jimmy Powers with scorn. "You rustle +in to the cook shanty and get Corrigan to let you sit by the stove." + +Bobby said farewell to his guide, and presented himself to the cook. + +"I fell in," he announced, "can I sit by the stove?" + +"Sure" said Corrigan hospitably. "Take a cracker-box and go over by the +wood box. Tryin' to ride a log?" + +"Yes" confessed Bobby. + +"Well, you want to look out for them," warned Corrigan a little vaguely. +He produced the customary cooky. Bobby sat and steamed, and munched and +told about the fish he had almost caught. He liked Corrigan because the +latter talked to him sensibly, without ill-timed facetiousness, as to an +equal. In a moment Duke thrust his muzzle in the door. Bobby looked +hastily down. His clothes were quite dry. + +"Don't tell Papa," he begged. + +For answer Corrigan portentously winked one eye, and went on peeling +potatoes. After a moment Mr. Orde appeared at the door. + +"Bobby here?" he inquired. "Oh yes! Come on, youngster." + +Bobby showed himself with considerable trepidation; but apparently Mr. +Orde noticed nothing wrong, and the little boy's spirits rose. The team +was waiting, and they mounted the buggy at once. Duke fell in behind +them soberly. For him the freshness of the expedition was over. It was +now merely a case of get back home. + +"Have a good time?" asked Mr. Orde. + +Bobby talked busily all the way in. He told principally of the fish, +although the _Lucy Belle_ and Jimmy Powers came in for a share. From +time to time Mr. Orde said, "That's good," or, "Yes," which sufficed +Bobby. Probably, however, the man heard little of his son's talk. His +mind was very busy with the elements of the game he was playing, sorting +and arranging them, figuring how to earn and borrow the money necessary +to permit his taking advantage of a chance he thought he saw in the +western timber lands. He heard little, to be sure, and yet he was in +reality wholly occupied with the child prattling away at his side--with +his fortune, and his business prospects of thirty years hence. + +Under the maples the sun slanted low and golden and mote-laden. Bobby +suddenly felt a little tired, and more than a little hungry. He +descended from the buggy with alacrity. The wetting was forgotten in the +home-coming. Only when washing for dinner did he remember with certain +self-felicitation that even his mother had noticed nothing. For the +first time it occurred to him that his parents were not +omniscient:--that was the evil of the afternoon's experiences. For the +first time also it occurred to him that he possessed the ability to meet +an emergency without their aid:--that was the good of it. And the good +far outweighed the evil. + +That night Bobby called upon the Lord to bless those dear to him, as +usual; but he offered on his own account an addendum. + +"And make Bobby grow up a big man like Jimmy Powers." + + + + +II + +THE PICNIC + + +One Saturday, shortly after, everybody was early afoot in preparation +for a picnic up the River. Bobby had on clean starched brown linen +things, and his hair was parted on one side and very smoothly brushed +across his forehead. His mother had been somewhat inclined to the dark +green velvet suit with the lace collar, but to his great relief his +father had intervened. + +"Give the boy a chance," said he, "He'll want to eat peaches and go down +in the engine room, and perhaps catch sunfish." + +At the wharf, built along the front of the river at the foot of Main +Street, they could see, when they turned the corner at the engine-house, +the single sturdy stack of the _Robert O_ pouring forth a cloud of gray +smoke, while in front of it fluttered the white of the women's dresses. + +"We're going to be late," danced Bobby. + +"I guess they'll wait for us," replied Mr. Orde easily. "They know +what's in this," he smiled, patting the hamper he was carrying. + +At the wharf they were greeted by a chorus of exclamations from a large +group of people. Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were there, the latter sweet and +dainty in one of the very latest creations in muslin; Mr. and Mrs. +Fuller with Tad and Clifford; young Mr. Carlin from the bank; Mr. and +Mrs. Proctor, and their young-lady daughter wearing a marvellous +"waterfall"; Angus McMullen, alone, his father detained professionally; +Mrs. Cathcart and Georgie; young Bradford carrying his banjo, his +wonderful raiment and his air of vast leisure; Welton, the lumberman, +red-faced, jolly, popular and ungrammatical. The women guarded baskets. +All greeted the Ordes with various degrees of hilarity. When the noise +had died down, a massive and impressive lady, heretofore unnamed, +stepped forward. She held a jewelled arm straight before her, the hand +drooping slightly, so that, although she was in reality of but medium +stature, she gave the impression of condescending from a height. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Owen," greeted Mrs. Orde, shaking the proffered +hand. + +"Good morning, my dear," replied Mrs. Owen regally. She swept slowly +sideways to reveal a woman and a little girl of seven or eight years, +immediately behind her. "Allow me to present to you my very dear friend, +Mrs. Carleton. Mrs. Carleton is from the city, staying at the Ottawa for +a few weeks, and I knew you would like the chance to show her some of +our beautiful River." Mrs. Carleton, a pretty, modish woman, with the +ease of city manner, bowed quietly and murmured her pleasure. The little +girl looked half bashfully through a wealth of natural curls at the +grown-ups to whom she was presented in the off-hand method one employs +with children. She was altogether a charming little girl. Her hair was +of the colour of ripe wheat; her skin was of the light smooth brown +peculiar to an exceptional blonde complexion tanned in the sun; her +mouth was full and whimsical; and her eyes, strangely enough in one +otherwise so light, were so black as to resemble spots. Her dress was +very simple, very starched, very white. A big leghorn hat with red roses +half hid her head. She was shy, that was easily to be seen; but shyness +was relieved from the awkwardness so usual and so painful in children of +her age by the results of what must have been a careful training. She +answered when she was spoken to, directly and to the point; and yet it +could not but be evident that her spirit fluttered. + +The combination was charming; and Mrs. Orde fell to it at once. + +"Celia, my dear," she said kindly, "come with me, we're going to have a +nice day together; and I have a little boy named Bobby who will show you +everything." + +But now the _Robert O_ gave two impatient toots. Everybody ceased +greeting everybody else, and began to pile the shawls and lunch baskets +aboard. The thick strong gunwale of the _Robert O_ was a foot or so +below the chute level from the wharf. The women were helped aboard +soberly by the men. Miss Proctor, however, slipped little slips and +screamed little screams, while young Mr. Carlin, Bradford and Welton, +with galvanized beaming smiles, all attempted to help her. Mrs. Owen +marched down the chute, waited calmly and without impatience until all +the available men were at hand, and then stepped down majestically with +dignity unimpaired. + +Long before this, Bobby had quit the altogether uninteresting wharf. The +_Robert O_ he had seen many times from a distance, and once of twice +near at hand lying at the cribs and piers, but this was his first chance +to explore. Accordingly he dropped down to her deck, and, with the +natural instinct to see as far ahead as possible, marched immediately to +the very prow. The deck proved to slope up-hill strangely, which, in its +unlikeness to any floor Bobby had ever walked on, was in itself a +pleasure. The hawser around the bitt interested him; and the glimpse he +had of the sparkling river slipping toward him from the yellow hills up +stream. He could just rest his chin on the rail to look. + +Then he turned his gaze aft; and encountered the amused scrutiny of a +man leaning on a wheel in a little house. The house had big windows, and +on top was an iron eagle with spread wings. Two steps led up to a door +on each side; and Bobby without hesitation entered one of these doors. + +The inside of the house he found different from any house he had ever +been in before; and possessed of a strange fascination. There was the +wheel, with projecting handles to every spoke, and above it, racks +containing spyglasses, black pipes, tobacco-tins. At hand projected a +speaking-tube like that in the back hall at home, and two or three +handles connected with wires. Behind the wheel was a broad leather seat; +and clothes on nails; and a chart; and a pilot's licence, of which Bobby +understood nothing, but admired the round gold seals. + +"Well, Bobby, what do you think of it?" asked the man. + +Bobby had not had time to look at the man. He did so now and liked him. +The first thing he noticed was the man's eyes, which were steady and +unwavering and as blue as the sky. Then he surveyed in turn gravely his +heavy bleached, flaxen moustache; his hard brown cheeks; the round +barrel of his blue-clad body; and his short sturdy legs. + +"Think you'd like to run a tug?" inquired this man. + +"I don't know," replied Bobby; "what is your name?" + +"I'm Captain Marsh," replied the man. He glanced out the open door at +the group on the wharf. "If they're going up past the bend to-day, +they'll have to get a move," he remarked. "Here, Bobby, want to blow the +whistle?" + +He lifted the boy up in the hollow of one arm. "There, that's it; that +handle. Pull down on it, and let go." + +Bobby did so and his little heart almost stopped at the shock of the +blast, so loud was it, and so near. + +"Now again," commanded Captain Marsh. + +Bobby recovered and obeyed. The passengers began to embark. + +Captain Marsh watched until the last was safely aboard; then he set +Bobby gently to the floor. + +"If you want to see out, go sit on the bunk back there," he advised. + +Somebody cast off the lines. Captain Marsh pulled the other handle. A +sharp tinkling bell struck somewhere far in the depths of the craft. +Immediately Bobby felt beneath him the upheaval and trembling of some +mighty force. The wharf seemed to slip back. In another moment at a +second tinkle of the bell the tug had gathered headway, and the little +boy was watching with delight the sandhills and buildings on one side +and the other slipping by in regular succession. + +Captain Marsh stood easily staring directly ahead of him, and paying no +more attention to the child. Bobby sat very straight in his absorption. +New impressions were coming to him so fast that he had no desire to +move. The slow turn of the great wheel; the throb of the engine; the +swift passing of water; the orderly procession of the river banks; the +feeling of smooth, resistless motion--these sufficed. How long he might +have sat there if undisturbed, it would be hard to say; but at the end +of a few moments Angus McMullen looked in at the door. + +"What you stayin' here for, Bobby?" he inquired with contemptuous +wonder. "Come on out and see the big waves we're making." + +Outside Bobby found all the grown-ups gathered forward of the pilot +house. The older people were seated on folding camp chairs, the +equilibrium of which they found some difficulty in maintaining on the +sloping deck. Bradford, Carlin, Welton and Miss Proctor, however, had +established themselves in the extreme bow. Miss Proctor perched on the +bitts, while the men stood or leaned near at hand. Occasionally, as the +tug changed course, Miss Proctor would utter a little exclamation and +thrust her arms out aimlessly, as though uncertain. All three of the men +thereupon assured her balance for her. With the group Bobby saw the +little girl with light hair. + +"Not up there," advised Angus. "This way." A very narrow passage ran +between the thick gunwale and the deck-house. It sloped down and then +gradually up toward the stern. At its lowest point it seemed to Bobby +fearfully near the river; and as he descended to that point he +discovered that indeed the displacement of rapid running appeared to +force the water even above the level of the deck. Bits of chip, sawdust +and the like shot swiftly by in the smooth, oily curve of the liquid. +The wet smell of it came to Bobby's eager nostrils, the subtle cool +aroma of the river. + +But, from a little door level with the deck, smoking a pipe, leaned a +negro who greeted them jovially. He dwelt in a narrow place down in the +hull, filled with machinery and the glow of a furnace. The boys hung in +the opening fascinated by the regular rise and fall of the polished +rods; savouring the feel of heavy heated air and the clean smell of oil. +In a moment the negro flung open an iron door whence immediately sprang +glowing light and a blast of heat. Into this door he thrust two or three +long slabs which he took from the deck on the other side of the tug; and +shut it to with a clang. + +After gazing their fill, the boys continued their way back. The +deck-house ended. They found themselves on the broad, flat, spoon-shaped +after-deck occupied by the strong towing-bitts and coils of cable. + +"Isn't this great?" asked Angus. + +They joined the Fuller boys hanging eagerly over the stern. Here the +wake boiled white and full of bubbles from the action of the powerful +propeller necessary to a towing-tug. Along the edges it was light green +shot with blue; and the central line of its down-section waved from side +to side like a snake. On either side long, slanting waves pushed aside +by the bow surged smoothly away; behind followed other round waves in +regular and diminishing succession. Over them the chips and bark rode +with a jolly, dancing motion. + +Shortly, however, the younger people discovered the possibilities of the +after-deck. Miss Proctor leaned her back against the low gunwale astern. +The men disposed themselves about her. They talked with a great deal of +laughter; but Bobby did not find their conversation amusing. Finally +they began to entreat Mr. Bradford to play his banjo. That young +gentleman became suddenly afflicted with shyness. + +"I don't play much," he objected. "Honestly I don't--just picked up a +few chords by ear." + +"Oh, Mr. _Bradford_," cried Miss Proctor, "I've heard you play +_beautifully_. _Do_ get it." + +Mr. Bradford objected further; and was further cajoled by Miss Proctor. +Bobby wondered why he had brought the banjo along, if he didn't want to +play on it. The other men did none of the persuading. Finally Mr. +Bradford procured the instrument. He took some time to tune it; and had +something to say concerning damp air and the strings. Finally he played +the "Spanish Fandango," to the enthusiasm of Miss Proctor and the polite +attention of the other men. This he followed by a song called "Listen to +the Mocking Bird," the chorus to which consisted of complicated gurgling +whistling supposed to represent the song of the mocking bird, though it +is to be doubted if that performer would have recognized himself in it. +Miss Proctor approving of this, Bradford next played a trick piece, in +the course of which he did acrobatics with his instrument, but without +missing a note. + +Carlin and Welton finally strolled away unnoticed. The lumberman offered +the other a cigar. + +"Ain't no use buckin' the funny man with the banjo, Tommy," he observed +with a rueful grin. + +Mr. Bradford now put two pennies under the bridge. + +"Makes it sound like a guitar," he explained; and drifted into +thrillingly sentimental selections. He sang three in so low a voice that +Bobby began to think it useless to listen any more; when a loud and +prolonged whistle from the tug drowned all other sounds. Mr. Bradford +looked savage; but the boys were delighted. + +"Going to pass the drawbridge!" shrieked Angus. + +They raced away to the bow in order to watch the imminence of the great +structure over their heads; to see the smokestack dip back on its hinges +as they passed beneath; and to gloat over the smash of their waves +against the piling of the bridge's foundation. Here Bobby was captured +by Mrs. Orde. + +"Here, Bobby," said she, "This is Celia Carleton, and I want you to be +nice to her." + +With that she left them staring at each other. + +"How do you do?" remarked Bobby gravely. + +"How do you do?" said she. + +They were no further along. + +"I got a new knife," blurted out Bobby, in desperation. + +"That's nice," said Celia politely. "Let's see it." + +"I haven't got it with me," confessed Bobby. He was ashamed to say that +he was not yet permitted to use it. + +He glanced at her sideways. Somehow he liked the fresh clean stiffness +of her starched, skirts, and the biscuit brown of her complexion. He +desired all at once that she think well of him. + +"I can jump off our high-board fence to the ground," he boasted. + +Celia seemed impressed. + +"My knife's nothing," said Bobby, "My father's got a razor that can cut +anything. He lets me take it whenever I want it. It's awful sharp. If I +had it here I could cut this boat right in two with it." + +"My!" said Celia, "But I wouldn't want to cut it in two. Would you?" + +"Oh, I don't know," said Bobby, his legs apart, his head on one side. He +was sure now that he liked this new acquaintance; she seemed pleasantly +to be awestricken. "Come on, let's go in the back part of the boat" he +suggested, "and I'll show you things." + +"All right," said she. + +Bobby led her past the scornful Angus to the narrow deck. + +"This is the engine room," he announced out of his new knowledge. + +But Celia did not care for it. + +"It's awfully dirty," said she. + +This was a new point of view; and Bobby marvelled. However, she was +delighted with the after-deck, and the wake, and the attendant waves. +Bobby showed them off to her as though they had been his private +possessions. This was the first little girl he had ever known. The +novelty appealed to him; the daintiness of her; the freshness and +cleanness; the dependence of her on Bobby's ten years of experience--all +this brought out the latent and instinctive male admiration of the +child. He remained heedless of the other three boys hanging awkwardly in +the middle distance. All his small store of knowledge he poured out +before her--he told her everything, without reservation--of Duke, and +the sand-hills, and the fort, and Sir Thomas Malory, and the booms, and +the Flobert Rifle, and the "Dutchmen" on the side street. She found it +all interesting. They became very good friends. + +In the meantime Mr. Bradford had long since laid aside the banjo, and +was basking in Miss Proctor's unshared attention. The pleased smile +never left his face; the lean of his head bespoke deep deference; the +curve of his body respectful devotion. He talked in a low voice, and +every moment or so Miss Proctor would giggle, or exclaim, "Oh, Mr. +_Bradford_!" in a pleased and reproving voice. + +In the meantime the tug was going rapidly up river; and yet, with the +exception of an occasional glance from some isolated individual, and the +sporadic attention of the boys, no one saw what was passing. All were +absorbed by the people, the little happenings and the talk aboard the +craft. So without comment they swept past the tall yellow sand-hills +with their fringe of crested trees on the left; and the wide plain on +the right. Only Bobby remarked the deep bayou in the bosom of the hills +where dreamed in the peace and mystery of an honourable old age the +hulks of a dozen vessels rotting in the sun. The shipyards and the mills +the other side the drawbridge nobody saw, for at that time even Bobby +was absorbed in his new acquaintance. + +But beyond that, the boy having offered and the girl received the first +burst of confidence, the children turned their attention to things +passing. They saw the wide marshes of rushes and cat-tails, with their +bayous and channels wherein swam the white-billed mud-hens; and the long +booms to the left filled with brown logs. From this level, low to the +water, these things seemed to them wonderful and vast. After a little +the _Robert O_ whistled again. They passed the swing at the upper end of +the booms. Old man North stood, in the doorway of his hut, smoking his +short black pipe upside down. Bobby was astonished to see how different +the hut looked from this point of view. He would hardly have recognized +it were it not for the swing-tender, who waved his pipe at Bobby when +the tug passed. + +"I know him," said Bobby proudly to Celia. + +The _Robert O_ swept through, and the long slanting waves, and the round +following waves sucked up and down among the piles. + +"Now we're going around the Bend!" cried Bobby excitedly. "I never been +around the Bend!" + +But Celia suddenly arose. + +"I'm going back to mamma and the rest," she announced. + +"Why?" asked Bobby astonished. "Come on; stay here and see what there is +around the Bend." + +Celia stood on one foot, her black eyes wide and speculative, staring +past Bobby into some fair realm of feminine caprice. She shook her head, +slowly, so that first a curl on one side, then on the other fell across +her eyes. After a long deliberate moment she turned and went forward, +followed at a distance by the grieved and puzzled Bobby. In the bow she +sidled up to her mother, against whom she leaned lightly, her head on +one side, her eyes dreamy, her hand slipped into one of her mother's +open palms. Bobby, shut out, made his way to the prow, where he rested +his chin on the rail, and rather glumly contemplated the surprises of +"around the Bend." + +But over the prow the little boy was the first--except for Captain +Marsh--to see from afar the landing, first as a glimmering shadow under +the reflection of the elms; then as a vague ill-defined form above the +River's glassy surface; finally as a wide, low, T-shaped platform wharf, +reaching its twenty feet from the grassy banks to shimmer in the heat +above its own wavering reflection. + +The tug sidled alongside with a great turmoil of white-and-green +bubble-shot water drifting around in eddies from her labouring +propeller. Captain Marsh, after one prolonged jingle of his bell emerged +from his pilot-house, seized a heavy rope, and sprang ashore. The end of +the rope he cast around a snubbing-pile. + +But some inset of current or excess of momentum made it impossible to +hold her. The rope creaked and cried as it was dragged around the smooth +snubbing-pile. Finally the end was drawn so close that Captain Marsh was +in danger of jamming his hands. At once, with inconceivable dexterity +and quickness, he cast loose, ran forward, wrapped the line three times +around another pile farther on and braced his short, sturdy legs against +the post for a trial of strength. Here the heavy, slow surge of the tug +was effectually checked. Captain Marsh turned his wide grin of triumph +toward his passengers. Everybody laughed, and prepared to disembark. + +Between the gunwale and the wharf's edge could be seen a narrow glinting +strip of very black water. The _Robert O_ slowly approached and receded +from the dock; and this strip of water correspondingly widened and +narrowed. Over it every one must step; and the anxieties and precautions +were something tremendous. Bobby came toward the last, and was lifted +bodily across, his sturdy legs curling up under like a crab's. + +The wharf he found broad and square and shady, with a narrow way leading +ashore. In the middle of it were piled, awaiting shipment on the _Lucy +Belle_, three tiers of the old-fashioned, open-built, pail-shaped +peach-baskets containing the famous Michigan fruit. Each was filled to a +gentle curve above the brim, and over the top was wired pink mosquito +netting. This at once protected the fruit from insects; added to the +brilliancy and softness of its colouring; and lent to the rows of +baskets a gay and holiday appearance. The men examined them attentively, +talking of "cling stones," "free stones," "Crawfords," and other +technicalities which Bobby could not understand. When the last lunch +basket had been passed ashore, all crossed to the bank of the river and +the grove of elms, leaving the _Robert O_ and Captain Marsh and the +engineer. + +In the grove the boys immediately scattered in search of adventure. All +but Bobby. He remained with the older people, wishing mightily to take +Celia with him; but suddenly afraid to approach her with the direct +request. So he contented himself with expressive gestures, which she, +close to her mother, chose to ignore. + +Two of the men disappeared up the path, one carrying an empty pail. The +others went busily about collecting wood, building a fire, smoothing out +a place to spread the rugs which would serve as a table. All the women +fluttered about the lunch baskets examining the contents, discussing +them, finally distributing them in accordance with the mysterious system +considered proper in such matters. Bobby, left alone, without occupation +on the one hand, nor the desire for his companions' amusements on the +other, was then the only one at leisure to look about him, to observe +through the alders that fringed the bank the hide-and-seek glint of the +River; to gaze with wonder and a little awe on the canopy of waving +light green that to his childish sense of proportion seemed as far above +him as the skies themselves; to notice how the sunlight splashed through +the rifts as though it had been melted and poured down from above; to +feel the friendly warmth of summer air under trees; to savour the hot +springwood-smells that wandered here and there in the careless +irresponsibility of forest spirits off duty. This was Bobby's first +experience with woods; and his keenest perceptions were alive to them. +The tall trunks of trees rising from the graceful, fragile, +half-translucence of undergrowth; little round tunnels to a distant +delicate green; lights against shadows, and shadows against lights; the +wing-flashes of birds hidden and mysterious; and above all the +marvellous green transparence of all the shadows, which tinted the very +air itself, so that to the little boy it seemed he could bathe in it as +in a clear fountain--all these came to him at once. And each brought by +the hand another wonder for recognition, so that at last the picnic +party disappeared from his vision, the loud and laughing voices were +hushed from his ears. He stood there, lips apart, eyes wide, spirit +hushed, looking half upward. The light struck down across him. + +The picnic party went about its business unaware of the wonderful thing +transacting in their very presence. Men do not grow as plants, so many +inches, so many months. The changes prepare long and in secret, without +visible indication. Then swiftly they take place. The qualities of the +soul unfold silently their splendid wings. + +After a moment the boys ran whooping through the woods from one +direction demanding food; the two men came shouting from the other +carrying a pail of water and an open basket of magnificent peaches. +Bobby shivered slightly, and looked about him, half dazed, as though he +had just awakened. Then quietly he crept to a tree near the table and +sat down. For perhaps a minute he remained there; then with a rush came +the reaction. Bobby was wildly and reprehensibly naughty. + +Once in a while, and after meals, Mrs. Orde allowed him a single piece +of sponge-cake; no more. But now, Bobby, catching the eye of Celia upon +him, grimaced, pantomimed to call attention, and deliberately _broke_ +off a big chunk of Mrs. Owen's frosted work of art and proceeded to +devour it. Celia's eyes widened with horror; which to Bobby's depraved +state of mind was reward enough. Then Mrs. Orde uttered a cry of +astonishment; Mrs. Owen a dignified but outraged snort; and Bobby was +yanked into space. + +After the storm had cleared, he found himself, somewhat dishevelled, +aboard the _Robert O_, entrusted to Captain Marsh, provided with three +bread-and-butter sandwiches, and promised a hair-brush spanking for the +morrow. + +Mrs. Orde was not only mortified, but shocked to the very depths of her +faith. + +"I don't know how to explain it!" she said again and again. "Bobby is +always so good about such things! I've brought him up--and +_deliberately_. My dear Mrs. Owen, such a beautiful frosting, and to +have it ruined like that!" + +But Mrs. Fuller, fat, placid, perhaps slightly stupid, here rose to the +heights of what her husband always admiringly called "horse sense." + +"Now, Carroll," she said, "stop your worrying about it. You'll get +yourself all worked up and spoil your lunch and ours, all for nothing. +Children will be naughty sometimes. I was naughty myself. So were you, +probably. That's human nature. Just don't worry about it and spoil the +good time." + +Mrs. Orde thereupon fell silent, for she was a sensible woman and could +see the point as to lessening the other's enjoyment. Little by little +she cooled off, until at last she was able to join in the fun; although +always in the background of her mind persisted the necessity of knowing +a _reason_ for such an outbreak. + +The flurry over, Welton insisted that they all admire the peaches. + +"Best Michigan produces," he boasted. "Every one big as a coffee-cup; +and perfect in shape, colour and flavour. Freestone, too. Nothing +exceptional about them either. Millions more just like 'em. Can't match +them anywhere in the world." + +"Saw by the paper this spring that the peach crop was ruined by the +frost," marvelled Carlin. + +Taylor laughed. + +"My dear fellow, the Michigan peach crop is destroyed regularly _every_ +spring. Seem to be enough peaches by August, however." + +They fell to on the lunch. When they had eaten all they could, there +still remained enough to have fed four other picnics of the same size as +their own. + +Bobby remained not long cast down, however. + +"Been at it, have you?" observed Captain Marsh after the irate parent +had departed. "What was it this time?" + +"I ate a piece of cake," replied Bobby. + +"H'm! That doesn't sound very bad." + +"It was Mrs. Owen's cake," supplemented Bobby. + +"I see," said the Captain gravely in enlightenment. "What are you going +to do now?" + +"I'm going to eat my lunch," Bobby informed him, showing the three +bread-and-butter sandwiches. + +"H'm. So'm I," said the Captain. "Better join me." + +They entered the pilot-house and established themselves facing each +other on the wide leather seat. The Captain produced a tin dinner-pail +with a cupola top such as Bobby had often seen men carrying, and which +he had always desired to investigate. This came apart in the middle. The +top proved to contain cold coffee all sugared and creamed. The bottom +had a fringed red-checked napkin, two slabs of pie, two doughnuts, and +four thick ham sandwiches made of coarse bread. They ate. Captain Marsh +insisted on Bobby's accepting a doughnut and a piece of pie. Bobby did +so, with many misgivings; but found them delicious exceedingly because +they were so different from what he was used to at home. + +"Now," said the Captain, brushing away the crumbs with one comprehensive +gesture, "what do you want to do now? You got to stay aboard, you +know?" + +"Can't we fish?" suggested Bobby timidly. + +The Captain looked about him with some doubt. + +"Well," he decided at last, "we might try. The time of day's wrong, and +the place don't look much good; but there's no harm trying." + +Two long bamboo poles fitted with lines, hooks, and sinkers were slung +alongside the deck-house. Captain Marsh produced worms in a can. The two +sat side by side, dangling their feet over the stern, the poles slanting +down toward the dark water, silent and intent. In not more than two +minutes Bobby felt his pole twitch. Without much difficulty he drew to +the surface a broad flat little fish that flashed as he turned in the +water. + +"Hi!" cried Bobby, "there _are_ fish here!" + +"Oh, that's a sunfish," said Captain Marsh. + +Bobby looked up. + +"Aren't sunfish good?" he inquired anxiously. + +Captain Marsh opened his mouth to reply, caught Bobby's apprehensive and +half-disappointed expression, and thought better of it. + +"Why, sure!" said he. "They're a fine fish." + +At the end of an hour Bobby had acquired a goodly string. Captain Marsh +early drew in his line, saying he preferred to smoke. Bobby had an +excellent time. He was very much surprised at the return of the picnic +party. The period of punishment had not hung heavy. + +By the time all had embarked, the steam pressure was up. The _Robert O_ +swung down stream for home. + +But now Celia, forgetting her earlier caprice of indifference, watched +Bobby constantly. After a little he became aware of it, and was +flattered in his secret soul, but he attempted no more advances, nor did +he vouchsafe her the smallest glance. Soon she sidled over to him shyly. + +"What made you do it?" she asked in a whisper. + +"Do what?" pretended Bobby. + +"Break Mrs. Owen's cake." + +"'Cause I wanted to." + +"Didn't you know 't was very bad?" + +"'Course." + +Celia contemplated Bobby with a new and respectful interest. "I wouldn't +dare do it," she acknowledged at last. In this lay confession of the +reason for her change of whim; but Bobby could not be expected to +realize that. With masculine directness he seized the root of his +grievance and brought it to light. + +"Why were you so mean this noon?" he demanded. + +She made wide eyes. + +"I wasn't mean. How was I mean?" + +"You went away; and you wouldn't look at me or talk to me." + +"I didn't care whether I talked to you or not," she denied. "I wanted to +be with my mamma." + +So on the return trip, too, Bobby had a good time. The wharf surprised +him, and the flurry of disembarkation prevented his saying formal +good-bye to Celia. He waved his hand at her, however, and grinned +amiably. To his astonishment she gave him the briefest possible nod over +her shoulder; and walked away, her hand clasping that of her mother, +even yet a dainty airy figure in her mussed white dress still flaring +with starch, her slim black legs, and her wide leghorn hat with the red +roses. + +The hurt and puzzle of this lasted him to his home, and caused him to +forget the spanking in prospect. He ate his supper in silence, quite +unaware of his mother's disapproval. After supper he hunted up Duke and +sat watching the sunset behind the twisted pines on the sandhills. He +did much cogitating, but arrived nowhere. + +"Bobby!" called his mother. "Come to bed." + +He said good night to Duke, and obeyed. + +"Now, Bobby," said Mrs. Orde, "I don't like to do this, but you have +been a very naughty boy to-day. Come here." + +Bobby came. The hair brush did its work. Usually in such case Bobby +howled before the first blow fell, but to-night he set his lips and +uttered no sounds. _Slap!_ _slap!_ _slap!_ _slap!_ with deliberate +spaces between. Bobby was released. He climbed down, his soul tense, +with agony, but his face steady--and laughed! + +It was not much of a laugh, to be sure, but a laugh it was. Mrs. Orde, +shocked, scandalized, outraged and now thoroughly angry, yanked her son +again across her knees. + +"Why! I never heard of anything like it!" she cried. "You naughty, +_naughty_ boy! I don't see what's got into you to-day. I'll teach you to +laugh at my spankings!" + +Bobby did not laugh at this spanking. It was more than a stone could +have borne. After the fifth well-directed and vigorous smack, he howled. + +Later, when the tempest of sobs had stilled to occasional gulps, Mrs. +Orde questioned him about it. They were rocking back and forth in the +big chair, the twilight all about them. Bobby said he was sorry and his +mamma had cuddled him and loved him, and all was forgiven. + +"Now, Bobby, tell mamma," soothed Mrs. Orde. "Why were you such a bad +little boy as to laugh at mamma when she spanked you just now?" + +"I wasn't bad," protested Bobby, "I was trying to be good. You told me +not to cry when I got hurt, but to jump up and laugh about it." + +"Oh, my baby, my poor little man!" cried Mrs. Orde between laughter and +tears. + +They rocked some more. + +"Now, Bobby, tell mamma," insisted Mrs. Orde gently. "Why did you break +Mrs. Owen's cake? Were you as hungry as all that?" + +"No ma'am," replied Bobby. + +"Why did you do it, then?" + +"I don't know." + +Mr. Orde laughed uproariously when told of Bobby's attempt to be brave +under affliction. + +"The little snoozer!" he cried. "Guess I'll go up and see him." + +Bobby loved to have his father lie beside him on the bed. They never +said much; but the little boy lay, looking up through the dimness, +bathed in a deep comfortable content at the man's physical presence. + +To-night they lay thus in silence for at least five minutes. Then Bobby +spoke. + +"Papa," said he "don't you think Celia Carleton is pretty?" + +"Very pretty, Bobby." + +Another long silence. + +"Papa," complained Bobby at last, "why does Celia be nice to me; and +then not be nice to me; and change all the while?" + +Mr. Orde chuckled softly to himself. + +"That's the way of 'em, Bobby," said he. "There's no explaining it. All +little girls are that way--and big girls, too," he added. + +So long a pause ensued that Mr. Orde thought his son must be asleep, and +was preparing softly to escape. + +"Papa," came the little boy's voice from the darkness, "I like her just +the same." + +"Carroll," said Mr. Orde to his wife as blinking he entered the lighted +sitting room, "you can recover your soul's equanimity. I've found out +why he broke into the cake." + +"Why?" asked Mrs. Orde eagerly. + +"He was showing off before that little Carleton girl," replied Mr. +Orde. + + + + +III + +HIDE AND COOP + + +Early Monday morning Bobby was afoot and on his way to the Ottawa Hotel. +He ran fast until within a block of it; then unexpectedly his gait +slackened to a walk, finally to a loiter. He became strangely reluctant, +strangely bashful about approaching the place. This was not to be +understood. + +Usually when he wanted to go play with any one, he simply went and did +so. Now all sorts of barriers seemed to intervene, and the worst of it +was that these barriers he seemed to have spun from out his own soul. +Then too a queer feeling suddenly invaded his chest, exactly like that +he remembered to have experienced during the downward rush of a swing. +Bobby could not comprehend these things; they just were. He was fairly +to the point of deciding to go back and look at the Flobert Rifle, in +the shop window, when a group of children ran out from the wide office +doors to the croquet court at the side. + +Among them Bobby made out Celia, a different Celia from her of the +picnic. Her curls danced as full of life and light as ever; the biscuit +brown of her complexion glowed as smooth and clean; even from a distance +Bobby could see the contrast of her black eyes; but on her head she wore +a brown chip hat; her gown was of plain blue gingham; her slim straight +legs were encased in heavy strong stockings. She looked like a healthy, +lively little girl out for a good time; and the sight cheered Bobby's +wavering courage as nothing else could. His vague ideas of retreat were +discarded. + +But he did not know how to approach. The children inside the low rail +fence were placing the brilliantly-striped wooden balls in a row in +order to determine by 'pinking' at the stake who should have the +advantageous last shot. Bobby, irresolute, halted outside, shifting +uneasily, wanting to join the group, but withheld by the unwonted +bashfulness. Amid shouts and exclamations each clicked his mallet +against his ball, and immediately ran forward with the greatest +eagerness to see how near the stake he had come. At last the group +formed close. A moment's dispute cleared. Celia had won, and now stood +erect, her cheeks flushing, her eyes dancing with triumph. In so doing +she caught sight of Bobby hesitating outside. + +"Why, there's Bobby!" she cried. "Come on in, Bobby, and play!" + +At the sound of her voice, all his timidity vanished. He entered boldly +and joined the others. + +"This is Bobby," announced Celia by way of general introduction, "and +this," she continued, turning to Bobby, "is Gerald, and Morris, and +Kitty and Margaret." + +"Hullo," said Morris, "Grab a mallet, and come on." + +Bobby liked Morris, who was a short, redheaded boy of jolly aspect. +Gerald, a youth of perhaps twelve years of age, rather tall and slender, +of very dark, clear, pale complexion, nodded carelessly. Bobby took an +immediate distaste for him. He looked altogether too superior, and +sleepy and distinguished--yes, and stylish. Bobby was very young and +inexperienced; but even he could feel that Gerald's round straw hat, and +norfolk-cut jacket, and neat, loose, short trousers buckled at the knee +contrasted a little more than favourably with his own chip hat, blue +blouse and tight breeches. Also he was already dusty, while Gerald was +immaculate. + +As to Kitty and Margaret, they were nice, neat, clean, pretty little +girls--but not like Celia! + +Bobby found a mallet and ball in the long wooden case, and joined the +game. He was not skilful at it, and soon fell behind the others in the +progress through the wickets. Indeed, when, after two strokes, he had at +last gained position for the "middle arch," he met Gerald coming the +other way. Gerald shot for his ball; hit it; and then, with a disdainful +air, knocked Bobby away out of bounds across the lawn. This was quite +within the rules, but it made Bobby angry just the same. As he trudged +doggedly away after his ball, he felt himself very much alone under what +he thought must be the derisive eyes of all the rest. The game ended +before he had gained the turning stake. + +"Skunked," remarked Morris cheerfully. + +Gerald said nothing, did not even look; but Bobby liked Morris's comment +better than Gerald's assumed indifference. + +"Let's have another game--partners," suggested Gerald to Celia. + +But Bobby, to his own great surprise, found courage to speak up. + +"Let's not play croquet any more," said he. "Let's have a game of +Hi-Spy." + +"It's too hot," interposed Gerald quickly. + +The others said nothing, but with the child's keen instinct for the +drama, had drawn aside in favour of the principal actors. Gerald stood +by the stake, leaning indolently on his mallet, his long black lashes +down-cast over the dark pallor of his cheeks, very handsome, very +graceful. Bobby had drawn near on Celia's other side. The comparison +showed all his freckles and the unformed homeliness of his rather dumpy, +sturdy figure; it showed also the honest dull red of his cheeks and the +clear unfaltering gray of his eyes. Celia, between them, looked down, +tapping her croquet ball with the tip of her shoe. + +"I don't think it's very hot," she said at last, looking up. "Let's play +Hi-Spy." + +A wave of glowing triumph rushed through Bobby's soul. Gerald merely +shrugged his shoulders. + +But unmixed joy was to be a short-lived emotion with Bobby as far as +Celia was concerned. He knew lots of fine hiding-places about the +grounds of the Ottawa, and he promised himself that he would take Celia +to them. They could hide together; and that would be delightful. + +Morris counted out first to be "it." He leaned his arm against a post, +his head against his arm, and closed his eyes. + +"Ten-ten-double-ten-forty-five-fifteen" he repeated over ten times as +rapidly as possible. That was his way of counting a thousand. + +The other children scurried off as fast as their legs could carry them +in order to reach concealment before the end of the count. And somehow, +against his will, Bobby found himself cast in the hurry of the moment +with Kitty instead of with Celia. And Celia he saw disappear in Gerald's +convoy. + +"Coming!" roared Morris, uncovering his eyes. + +"Oh dear, he's coming!" cried Kitty in distress, "and we're not hid! +Where shall we go? Don't you know any good places?" + +But Bobby, still confused over his disappointment, had not the wits +wherewith to think in so pressing an emergency. He vacillated between +pillar and post; and so was espied by the goal-keeper. Morris +immediately set himself in rapid motion for the "home." + +"One, two, three for Bobby Orde!" he cried, striking the post +vigorously. "One, two, three for Kitty Clark!" + +The two reluctantly appeared. + +"There, now, you got us caught," accused Kitty sulkily. + +"Never mind," consoled Bobby, "anyway he saw me first. I'm it!" + +Morris was off prowling after more prey. As he disappeared around the +corner of the building a rapid flash of skirts was visible from the +other. Morris caught it; and, turning, raced with all his might back to +the home goal. But Margaret had too good a head start. She arrived +first; and immediately began to dance around and around, her long legs +twinkling, her two thick braids flying. + +"In free! In free!" she shrieked over and over again. + +There still remained Celia and Gerald. Morris set himself very carefully +to find them, prowling into all likely places, but returning abruptly +every moment or so in order to forestall or discourage attempts to get +in. He proved unsuccessful; nor did his absence seem to afford the +others chances to run home. The other three watched with growing +impatience. + +"Oh, Morris, let them in!" begged Kitty. Bobby felt a glow of kindliness +toward her for making the suggestion. He would not have proffered it +himself for worlds. Morris, however, was obstinate. He continued his +search for at least ten minutes. At last he had to give in. + +"All sorts in free!" he called at the top of his voice. + +Celia and Gerald appeared smiling and unruffled. They refused to divulge +their hiding-place. + +"We'll save it until next time," said Celia. + +Bobby blinded his eyes and counted. He had no interest in the game, and +experienced inside himself a half-sick, hollow feeling unique in his +experience. Morris, Kitty and Margaret got in free, simply because his +attention was too lax. Gerald and Celia had once more disappeared. After +a decent interval the others became clamorous again for general amnesty. + +"Blind again, Bobby," they urged, "let them in free." + +But Bobby continued to search beyond the places he had already looked. +His further knowledge of the hotel grounds was a negligible quantity; so +he began, consistently to eliminate all possibilities. From one corner +he zigzagged back and forth, testing every nook and cranny that might +contain a human being. Thus he examined every foot of the place; but +without results. He was puzzled; but he would not give up. Methodically, +and to the vast disgust of the others, he began over again at the corner +from which he had started. No results. + +"No fair outside the grounds!" he shouted. To this of course, no answer +came. + +"Give it up!" urged the others. + +"I won't!" insisted Bobby doggedly. + +He did not know where to search next, so he looked up. The hotel was +provided with a broad shady flat-roofed verandah. At the edge of this +roof, projecting the least bit above, Bobby glimpsed a fold of blue. The +pair were evidently lying at full length in the spacious water gutter. +The blue could be nothing but the gingham of Celia's dress. Nevertheless +Bobby walked to goal and calmly announced. + +"One, two, three for Gerald--on the verandah roof!" And then, after a +deliberate pause, "All sorts in free!" + +Gerald blinded. Bobby, with determination, took Celia's hand, and +breathlessly the pair sped away. The little boy's first move was to +place the hotel building between himself and Gerald. + +"Can you climb a fence?" he asked hurriedly. + +"If it isn't too high." + +"Come on then, I know a dandy place." + +Bobby attacked the board fence behind the hotel. Two packing-boxes of +different heights made the problem of ascent easy. But the other side +was a sheer drop; and Celia was afraid. + +"I can't!" she cried. "It's too far!" + +"Just drop," advised Bobby desperately. "Hurry up! He'll be around the +corner!" + +"I daren't!" cried poor Celia. "You go first." + +Promptly Bobby dangled; and dropped. + +"See; it's easy. Come on, I'll catch you!" + +Finally Celia wiggled over the edge, shut her eyes, and let go. She +landed directly on Bobby, and the two went down in a heap. + +"Come on!" whispered Bobby. "Scoot!" + +Before them rose a whitewashed barn. Celia's hand in his, Bobby darted +in at the open doorway, and more by instinct than by sight, found a +rickety steep flight of stairs and ascended to the hay-mow. + +"There, isn't that great?" he whispered. + +They sank back on the soft fragrant hay, and breathed luxuriously after +the haste of the last few moments. A score of mice had scurried away at +their abrupt entrance; and the fairy-like echoes of these animals' tiny +feet seemed to linger in the twilight. Through cracks long pencils of +sunlight lay across the hay and the dim criss-cross of the rafters +above. Dust motes crossed them in lazy eddies, each visible for a golden +moment as it entered the glow of its brief importance, only to be +blotted into invisibility as it passed. + +"Is this a fair hide?" whispered Celia. "This is outside the grounds." + +"It's the hotel barn," replied Bobby. "I bet he doesn't find us here." + +They fell silent, because they were hiding, and in that silence they +unconsciously drew nearer to each other. The delicious aroma of the hay +overcame their spirits with a drowsiness. New sensations thronged on +Bobby's spirit, made receptive by the narcotic influences of the tepid +air, the mysterious dimness, the wands of gold, the floating brief +dust-motes. He wanted to touch Celia; and he found himself diffident. He +wanted to hear her voice; and he suddenly discovered in himself an +embarrassment in addressing her which was causeless and foolish. He +wanted to look at her; and he did so; but it was not frankly and +openly, as he had always looked at people before. His shy side-glances +delighted in the clear curve of her cheeks; the soft wheat-colour of her +curls; the dense black of her half-closed eyes; the brown of her +complexion; the sweet cleanliness of her. A faint warm fragrance +emanated from her. Bobby's heart leaped and stood still. All at once he +knew what was the matter. It is a mistake to imagine that children do +not recognize love when it comes to them. Love requires no announcement, +no definition, no description. Only in later years when the first fresh +purity of the heart has gone, we may perhaps require of him an +introduction. + +At once Bobby felt swelling within his breast a great longing, a hunger +which filled his throat, a yearning that made him faint. For what? Who +can tell. The idea of possession was still years distant; the thought of +a caress had not yet come to him; the bare notion that Celia could care +for him had not as yet unfolded its dazzling wings; even the desire to +tell her was not yet born. Probably at no other period of a human +being's life is the passion of love so pure, so divorced from all +considerations of the material, or of self, so shiningly its ethereal +spiritual soul. Yet love it is; such love as the grown man feels for his +mate; with all the great inner breathless longings of the highest +passion. + +The two lay curled side by side in their nests of hay. Time passed, but +they did not know of it. The little boy was drowned in the depths of +this new thing that had come to him. Celia filled the world to him. His +reverie brimmed with her. Yet somehow also there came to him other +things, unsought, and floated about him, and became more fully part of +him than they had ever been before. It was an incongruous assortment; +some of the knights of Sir Malory; the River above the booms, with the +brown logs; a plume of white steam against the dazzling blue sky; the +mellow six-o'clock church bell to which he arose every morning; the +snake-fence by the sandhill as it was in winter, with the wreaths of +snow; and all through everything the feel of the woods he had seen at +the picnic, their canopy of green so far above, their splashes of +sunlight through the rifts, the friendly summer warmth of their air, +their hot, spicy wood-smells wandering to and fro; their tall trunks, +their undergrowth, with the green tunnels far through them, the flashes +of their birds' wings, their green transparent shadows. These came to +him, vaguely, and their existence seemed explained. They were because +Celia was. And so, in the musty loft of an ill-kept stable, Bobby +entered another portion of the beautiful heritage that was some day to +be his. + + + + +IV + +THE PRINTING PRESS + + +Next week was Bobby's birthday. He received many gifts, but as usual, +saved the biggest package until the last. It had come wrapped in stout +manila paper, tied with a heavy cord, and ornamented with the red +sticker and seals of the Express Company. With some importance Bobby +opened his new knife and cut the string. The removal of the wrapper +disclosed a light wooden box. This was filled with excelsior, which in +turn enclosed a paper parcel. A card read: + +"For Bobby on his eleventh birthday, from Grandpa and Grandma." + +Wrought to trembling eagerness by the continued delays, Bobby tore off +the paper. Within was a small toy cast-iron printing press. Its +ink-plate was flat and stationary. Its chase held two wooden grooves +into which the type could be clamped by means of end screws. The +mechanism was worked by a small square lever at the back. Bobby opened +a red pasteboard box to discover a miniature font of Old English type; a +round tin box to uncover sticky but delicious-smelling printer's ink; a +package to reveal the ink-roller and a parcel to complete the outfit +with a pack of cheap pasteboard cards. + +"What do you think of that?" cried Mrs. Orde. + +"Now you'll be able to go into business, won't you?" said his father. +"You might make me twenty-five calling cards for a starter." + +Immediately breakfast was finished, then Bobby took his printing press +upstairs and installed it on his little table. He would have liked very +much to show Celia his gifts, but this Mrs. Orde peremptorily forbade. + +After some manipulation he loosened the chase and laid it on the table. +Then he began to pick out the necessary type and arrange it in the upper +grove to spell his father's name. The replacement of the chase was easy +after his experience in taking it out. Ink he smeared on the top plate, +according to directions, rolling it back and forth with the composition +roller until it was evenly distributed. Nothing remained now but to +adjust the guides which would hold the cards on the tympan. Bobby +passed the inked roller evenly back and forth across the face of the +type, inserted a card and bore down confidently on the lever. He +contemplated this result: + +[Illustration] + +Besides the transpositions and inversions, the impression itself was +blurred and imperfect and smeared with ink. + +After the first gasp of dismay, Bobby set to work in the dogged +analytical mood which difficulties already aroused in him. The remedy +for the inversion was plain enough. Bobby changed the type end for end +and turned the R and the E right side up, but he worked slower and +slower and his brow was wrinkled. Suddenly it cleared. + +"Oh, I know!" said he aloud. "It's just like the looking-glass!" + +Satisfied on this point, he finished the resetting quickly and tried +again. This time the name read correctly but it slanted down the card +and was blurred and inky. Bobby fussed for a long time to get the line +straight. Experiment seemed only to approximate. One end persisted in +rising too high or sinking too low. The problem was absorbing and all +the time Bobby was thinking busily along, to him, original lines. At +last, by means of a strip of paper and a pencil he measured equidistants +from top and bottom of the platen, adjusted the guides in accordance and +so that problem was solved. Bobby, flushed and triumphant, addressed +himself to remedying the blurring. + +"Too much ink," said he. + +Obviously the way to remedy too much ink was to rub some of it off and +the directest means to that end was the ever-useful pocket handkerchief. +The paste proved very sticky and the handkerchief was effective only at +the expense of great labour. Bobby ruined three more cards before he +established the principle that superfluous ink must be removed not only +from the plate but from the roller and type as well. + +But now further difficulties intervened before perfection. Some of the +letters printed heavily and some scarcely showed at all. Here Bobby +entered the realm of experiments which could not be lightly solved in +the course of a half hour. He tried raising the type to a common level +and locking them as tightly as possible, but always they slipped. He +attempted to insert bits of paper under what proved to be the shorter +types. This improved the results somewhat, but was nevertheless far from +satisfactory. By now he had learned not to use a fresh card every time. +The first half-dozen were printed back and forth, front and behind. +Bobby was smeared with more ink than the printing press. Scissors, +pencils, paper, used cards and type were scattered everywhere. All the +time his fingers were working his brain, too, was busy, searching back +from the result to the cause, seeking the requisite modification. Mr. +Orde, returning at noon, burst out laughing at the sight. + +"Well, youngster," said he, "how do you like being a printer?" + +"Oh Bobby!" cried Mrs. Orde behind him. "You are a _sight_! Don't you +know it's time to get ready for lunch?" + +Bobby looked up in bewildered surprise. Lunch! Why he had hardly begun! +His father was chuckling at him. + +"Benzine will take it off," said Mr. Orde to his wife. + +Bobby caught at the hint. + +"Will benzine take off the ink?" he cried eagerly. + +"It's supposed to," replied his father; "but in your case----" + +"Can I have a little, in a bottle, and a toothbrush?" begged Bobby. He +saw in a flash the solution of the ink problem. + +"We'll see," said Mrs. Orde. "Come with me, now." + +They disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Mr. Orde examined the +cards with some amusement. + +"Well, sonny," said he to Bobby at lunch. "The printing doesn't seem to +be a howling success. What are you going to do about it?" + +"I don't know," replied Bobby; "but I'll fix it all right yet." + +Bobby was busy with his birthday party all that afternoon, but next +morning he was afoot even before the Catholic Church bell called him. +The press occupied him until breakfast time, but he made small progress. +His father's morning paper filled him with envy by reason of its clear +impression. After breakfast he begged a tiny bottle of benzine and an +old toothbrush from his mother, and went at it again for nearly an hour. +The benzine worked like a charm. The type came out bright as new and the +old ink dissolved readily from the platen and roller. Bobby took note +that he should have cleared them the day before, as a night's neglect +had left them sticky. With it all he seemed to have arrived at a dead +wall. All his limited mechanical ingenuity was exhausted and still the +letters printed either too deep or too light. About half-past nine he +cleaned up and went down to the Ottawa. + +His friends there were all sitting under the trees before the hotel, +resting rather vacantly after a hard romp. Celia perched high on a root, +her curls against the brown bark, her hat dangling by its elastic from a +forefinger, her lips parted, her eyes vacant. Gerald leaned gracefully +against the trunk. Bobby sat cross-legged on the ground watching +her--and him. Kitty and Margaret reclined flat on their backs, gazing up +through the leaves. Morris alone showed a trace of activity. He had +fished from his pockets the short, blunt stub of a pencil, a penny and a +piece of tissue paper. The latter he had superimposed over the penny and +by rubbing with the pencil was engaged in making a tracing of the +pattern on the coin. Through his preoccupation Bobby at last became +cognizant of this process. He sat and watched it with increasing +interest. + +"By Jimmy!" he shouted leaping to his feet. + +"What is it?" they cried, startled by the abrupt movement. + +"I got to go home," said Bobby. + +They expostulated vehemently, for his departure spoiled the even number +for a game. But he would not listen, even to Celia's reproachful voice. + +"I'll be back after lunch," he called, and departed rapidly. Duke arose +from his warm corner, stretched deliberately, yawned, glanced at the +children, half wagged his tail and finally trotted after. + +Bobby rushed home as fast as he could; broke into the house like a +whirlwind; tore upstairs and, breathless with speed and the excitement +of a new idea, flung himself into the chair before his little table. He +had seen the solution. To the flash of embryonic creative instinct +vouchsafed him, Morris's penny had represented type, the inequalities of +its design were the inequalities of alignment over which he had +struggled so long and the pressure of the pencil and tissue paper +paralleled the imposition of the card on the letters. But in the case of +Morris's penny the type did not conform to the paper and the pressure, +_the paper conformed to the type_. + +His brain afire with eagerness, Bobby first stretched several clean +sheets of paper over the platen and clamped them down; then he inked the +type and pressed down the lever. Thus he gained an impression on the +platen itself. At this point he hesitated. On his father's desk down +stairs was mucilage, but mucilage was strictly forbidden. The hesitation +was but momentary, however, for the creative spirit in full blast does +not recognize ordinary restrictions. With his own round-pointed scissors +he cut out little squares of paper. These he pasted on the platen over +the letters whose impression had been too faint. A few moments adjusted +the guides. Bobby inked the type and inserted a fresh card. The moment +of test was at hand. + +He paused and drew a long breath. From one point of view the matter was +a small one. From another it was of the exact importance of a little +boy's development, for it represented the first fruits of all the +hereditary influences that had silently and through the small +experiences of babyhood, led him over the edge of the dark, warm nest to +this first independent trial of the wings. He pressed the lever gently +and took out the card. It was not a very good job of printing; the ink +was not quite evenly distributed, the type were so heavily impressed +that they showed through the reverse of the card like stamping; _but +each letter had evidently received the same amount of pressure!_ + +Bobby uttered a little chuckle of joy--he had not time for more--and +plunged into the rectification of minor errors. And by noon the press +was working steadily, though slowly, and a very neat array of _Mr. John +Ordes_ was spread out on the window drying. + +The game was absorbing. Bobby brushed his type with the benzine and +toothbrush; distributed it and set up another name--Miss Celia Carleton. +He had printed nearly a dozen of these when his mother's voice behind +him interrupted his labours. + +"Robert," said the voice sternly, "what are you doing with that +mucilage?" + + + + +V + +THE LITTLE GIRL + + +Bobby spent as much time with Celia as he was allowed. On Sunday he took +her on his regular excursion to Auntie Kate--and Auntie Kate's cookies. + +"Aren't you glad there was no Sunday School to-day?" he inquired +blithely. + +"I like Sunday School," stated Celia. + +Bobby stopped short and looked at her. + +"Do you like church too?" he demanded. + +"I love it," she said. + +"Do you like pollywogs?" + +"Ugh, No!" + +"Or stripy snakes?" + +"They're _horrid!_" + +"Or forts?" + +"I don't know." + +"Or rifles an' revolvers?" + +"I am afraid of them." + +"Or dogs?" + +"I love dogs. I've got one home. His name is Pancho." + +"What kind is he?" asked Bobby with a vast sigh of relief at finding a +common ground. He had been brought to realize yesterday that little +girls differ from boys; but for a few dreadful, floundering moments this +morning he had feared they might, so to speak, belong to a different +race. Afterward he realized that it would not have mattered even if she +had not liked dogs. He merely wished to be near her. When he left her he +immediately experienced the strongest longing to be again where he could +see her, and breathe the deep, intoxicating, delicious, clean influence +of her near presence. And yet with her his moments of unalloyed +happiness were few and his hours of sheer misery were many. +Self-consciousness had never troubled Bobby before; but now in the +presence of Gerald's slim elegance and easy, languid manner, he became +acutely aware of his own deficiencies. His clothes seemed coarser; his +hands and feet were awkward; his body dumpier; his face rounder and more +freckled. To him was born a great humility of spirit to match the great +longing of it. + +Nevertheless, as has been said, he and Duke trudged down to the Ottawa +every morning, and again every afternoon, or as many of them as Mrs. +Orde permitted. He was content to come under the immediate spell of the +dancing, sprite-like, sunny little girl. No thought of the especial +effort to please, called courtship, entered his young head. He played +with the children, and kept as close to Her as possible; that was all. +And one evening, trudging home dangerously near six o'clock, he ran slap +against the legend chalked in huge letters on a board fence: + + CELIA CARLETON and BOBBY ORDE + +He stopped short, his heart jumping wildly. Often had he seen this +coupling of names, other names; and he knew that it was considered a +little of a shame, and somewhat of a glory. The sight confused him to +the depths of his soul; and yet it also pleased him. He rubbed out the +letters; but he walked on with new elation. The undesired but +authoritative sanction of public recognition had been given his +devotion. Gerald was not considered. Somebody had observed; so the +affair must be noticeable to others. And with another tremendous leap +of the heart Bobby welcomed the daring syllogism that, since the +somebody of the impertinent chalk had fathomed his devotion to her, +might it not be possible, oh, remotely inconceivably possible, of +course, that the unknown had equally marked some slight interest on her +part for him? The board fence, the maple-shaded walk, the soft brown +street of pulverized shingles, all faded in the rapt glory of this +vision. Bobby gasped. Literally it had not occurred to him before. Now +all at once he desired it, desired it not merely with every power of his +child nature, but with the full strength of the man's soul that waited +but the passing of years to spread wide its pinions. The need of her +answer to his love shook him to the depths, for it reached forward and +back in his world-experience, calling into vague, drowsy, fluttering +response things that would later awaken to full life, and reanimating +the dim and beautiful instincts that are an heritage of that time when +the soul is passing the lethe of earliest childhood and retains still a +wavering iridescence of the glory from which it has come. The question +rose to his lips ready for the asking. He wanted to turn track on the +instant, to call for Celia, to demand of her the response to his love. + +And then, after the moment of exaltation, came the reaction. He was +afraid. The thought of his stubby uninteresting figure came to him; and +a deep sense of his unworthiness. What could she, accustomed to +brilliant creatures of the wonderful city, of whom Gerald was probably +but a mild sample, find in commonplace little Bobby Orde? He walked +meekly home; and took a scolding for being late. + +Nevertheless the idea persisted and grew. It came to the point of +rehearsal. Before he fell asleep that very night, Bobby had ready cut +and dried a half-dozen different ways in which to ask the question, and +twice as many methods of leading up to it. In the darkness, and by +himself, he felt very bold and confident. + +The next morning, however, even after he had succeeded in sequestrating +Celia from her companions, he found it impossible to approach the +subject. The bare thought of it threw him to the devourings of a panic +terror. This new necessity tore him with fresh but delicious pains. He +felt the need of finding out whether she cared for him as he had never +conceived a need could exist; yet he was totally unable to satisfy it. +By comparison the former misery of jealousy seemed nothing. Bobby lived +constantly in this high breathless state of delight in Celia; and +misery in the condition of his love for her. The Fuller boys and Angus +saw him no more; the little library was neglected; the wood-box half the +time forgotten; and the arithmetic, always a source of trouble, tangled +itself into a hopeless snarl of which Bobby's blurred mental vision +could make nothing. + +All of his spare time he spent at his toy printing press, trying over +and over for a perfect result--unblurred, well-registered, well +aligned--in the shape of calling cards for "Miss Celia Carleton." + +As soon as they were done to his satisfaction, he wrapped them in a +clumsy package, and set out for the Ottawa, followed, as always, by +Duke. + +He found Celia alone in a rocking chair. + +"Why didn't you come down this morning?" she asked him at once. + +Bobby held up the package and looked mysterious. + +"This," said he. + +"Oh! what is it?" she cried, jumping up. + +"I made it," said Bobby. + +"What is it?" insisted Celia. "Show it to me." + +But Bobby thrust the package firmly into his pocket. + +"Up past our house there's a fine sand-hill to slide down," said he, +"and we got a fine fort over the hill, and I know where there's a place +you can climb up on where you can see 'most to Redding." + +"Show me what you've got!" pleaded Celia. + +"I will," Bobby developed his plan, "if you'll come up and play in the +fort." + +"All right," agreed Celia in a breath; "I'll tell mamma I'm going. And +I'll hunt up the others." + +"I don't want the others to go," announced Bobby boldly. + +She calmed to a great stillness, and looked at him with intent eyes. + +"All right," she agreed quietly after a moment. + +They walked up the street together, followed by the solemn black and +white dog. The shop windows did not detain them, as ordinarily. At the +fire-engine house they turned under the dense shade of the maples. But +by the end of the second block said Bobby: + +"We'll go this way." + +He was afraid of encountering Angus, or perhaps the Fuller boys. + +The sand-hill proved toilsome to Celia, but without a single pause she +struggled bravely up its sliding, cascading yellow surface to the top. +Then she stood still, panting a little, her cheeks flushed, her eyes +bright, the tiniest curls about her forehead wet and matted with +perspiration. With a great adoration, Bobby looked upon her slender +figure held straight against the blue sky. Almost--almost dared he +speak. At least that is what he thought until the words rose to his +lips; and then all at once he realized what a wide gulf lay between the +imagined and the spoken word. + +"The fort's over this way," said he gruffly. + +"Show me the package first," insisted Celia. + +Bobby drew out the cards, and thrust them into her hands. + +"They're for you," he said hastily. "I did them on my printing press." + +Celia was delighted and wanted to say so at length, but Bobby had his +sex's aversion to spoken gratitude. + +"Come on, see the fort," he insisted. + +He showed her the elaborate works and explained their uses, and pointed +out the enemy of stumps charging patiently. Celia caught fire with the +idea at once. + +[Illustration: ALMOST--ALMOST DARED HE TO SPEAK] + +"I'll make bullets the way they did in the Colonies!" she cried. + +"Have you 'Old Times in the Colonies,' too?" asked Bobby eagerly. + +They seated themselves and talked of their books. Celia was just +beginning the Alcott series. Bobby had never heard of them, and so they +had to be explained. The children had romped and played games together; +but they had never exchanged such ideas as their years had developed. +For once Bobby forgot the fact of his love, and its delicious pains, and +its need for something which he could not place, in the unselfconscious +joy of intimate communion. He drew close to Celia in spirit; and his +whole being expanded to a glow that warmed him through and through. The +westering sun surprised them with the lateness of the hour. At the hotel +gate Celia left him. + +"My, but we had a good time!" said she. + +With much trepidation Bobby next day suggested in face of the whole +group that he and Celia should climb the high hill from which Bobby +fondly believed he could see "'most to Redding." To his surprise, and to +the surprise of the others, Celia consented at once. They climbed the +hill in short stages, resting formally every ten feet. Bobby they +called the Guide; while Celia was assigned the duty of announcing the +resting-places. There was a wood-road up the hill, but they preferred +the steep side. Trees shaded it; and undergrowth veiled it. Little open +spaces were guarded mysteriously and jealously by the thickets; little +hot pockets held like cups the warmth of the sun. Birds flashed and +disappeared; squirrels chattered indignantly; chipmunks scurried away. +Occasionally they came to dense shade, and moss, and black shadow, and +low sweet shrubs a few inches high, and the tinkle of a tiny streamlet. +Once a tangle of raspberries in a little clearing fell across their way. +Bobby had never happened on these. They had been well picked over by the +squaws, who sold fruit in town by the pailful, but the children managed +to find a few berries, and ate them, enjoying their warm, satiny feel. + +Thus they climbed for a long time. The rests were frequent, the course +not of the straightest. For many years their recollection of that hill +was as of a mountain. Finally the top sprang at them abruptly, as though +in joke. + +"Come over this way, I'll show you," said Bobby. + +He led the way to a point where the scant timber had in times past +suffered a windfall. Through the opening thus made they looked abroad +over the countryside. They could see the snake-fences about the farms, +and the white dusty road like a ribbon and the stumps like black dots, +and the waving green tops of the "wood lots" and far away the flash of +the River. + +Thus Bobby gained another of his great desires. Celia proved strangely +acquiescent to suggestions for these excursions. Gerald's dreaded +attractions relaxed their power over Bobby's spirit; and in +corresponding degree Bobby regained the lost captaincy of his soul. The +self-confidence which he lacked seeped gradually into him; and he began, +though very tentatively, to recognize and respect his own value as an +individual. These are big words to employ over the small problems of a +child; yet in the child alone occur those silent developments, those +noiseless changes which touch closest to true abstraction. Later in life +our processes are stiffened by the material into forms of greater +simplicity. + +They explored the country about; and what the shortness of their legs +denied them in the matter of actual distance, the largeness of their +children's imaginations lavished bounteously. + +Bobby had explored most of it all before--the stump pastures, the +wood-lots, the hills, the beach, the piers, the upper shifting downs of +sand--but now he saw them for the first time because he was showing them +to Celia. One day they made their way under tall beech woods, through a +scrub of cedars, and found themselves on the edge of low bluffs +overlooking the yellow shore and the blue lake. Long years after he +could remember it vividly, and all the little details that belonged to +it--the flash of the waters, the dip of gulls, the gentle wash of the +quiet wavelets against the shore, the thin strip of dark wet sand that +marked the extent of their influences, and, in a long curve to the blue +of distance, the uneven waste of the yellow dry sand on which lay and +from which projected at all angles countless logs, slabs and timbers +cast up derelict by the storms of years. But at the time he was not +conscious of noticing these things. In the darkness of his room that +night all he remembered was Celia standing bright and fair against the +shadow of ancient twisted cedars. + + + + +VI + +THE LITTLE GIRL (CONTINUED) + + +Every Saturday evening the Hotel Ottawa gave a hop in its dining room. +Mrs. Carleton suggested that the Ordes dine with her, and afterward take +in this function. The hop proper began at nine o'clock; but the floor +for an hour before was given over to the children. Mrs. Orde accepted. + +Promptly at half-past six, then, they all entered the dining room. +Bobby, living in the town, had never taken a meal there. He saw a +high-ceilinged, large room, filled with small, square and round tables +arranged between numerous, slender, white plaster pillars. At the base +of each pillar were still smaller serving tables each supporting a metal +ice-water pitcher. Two swinging doors at the far end led out. Tall +windows looked into the grounds where the children had been in the habit +of playing. + +People were scattered here and there eating. Statuesque ladies dressed +in black, with white aprons, stood about or sailed here and there, +bearing aloft in marvellous equilibrium great flat trays piled high with +steaming white dishes. They swung corners in grand free sweeps, the +trays tilted far sideways to balance centrifugal force; they charged the +swinging doors at full speed, and when Bobby held his breath in +anticipation of the crash, something deft and mysterious happened at the +hem of their black skirts and the doors flew open as though commanded by +a magic shibboleth. They were tall and short, slender and stout, dark +and light, but they had these things in common--they all dressed in +black and white, their hair was lofty and of exaggerated waterfall, and +their expressions never altered from one of lazy-eyed, lofty, scornful +ennui. To Bobby they were easily the leading feature of the meal. + +After dinner the party sat on the verandah a while, the elders +conversing; the children feeling rather dressed up. By and by their +other playmates joined them. The lights were lit, and shadows descended +with evening coolness. From within came the sound of a violin tuning. + +Immediately all ran to the dining room. The tables had been moved to one +end where they were piled on top of one another; the chairs were +arranged in a row along the wall; the floor, newly waxed, shone like +glass. A small upright piano manipulated by an elderly female in +glasses; a tremendous bass viol in charge of a small man, and a violin +played by a large man represented the orchestra. + +All the children shouted, and began to slide on the slippery floor. +Bobby joined this game eagerly, and had great fun. But in a moment the +music struck up, the guests of the hotel commenced to drift in and the +romping had to cease. + +Gerald offered his arm to Celia, and they swung away in the hopping +waltz of the period. Other children paired off. Bobby was left alone. + +He did not know what to do, so he sat down in one of the chairs ranged +along the wall. After a minute or so Mrs. Carleton and the Ordes came +in. Bobby went over to them. + +"Don't you dance, Bobby?" asked Mrs. Carleton kindly. + +"No, ma'am," replied Bobby in a very small voice. + +When the music stopped, the children gathered in a group at the lower +end of the hall. Bobby joined them; but somehow even then he felt out +of it. Celia's cheeks were flushed bright with the exercise and +pleasure. Her spirits were high. She laughed and chatted with Gerald +vivaciously. Poor Bobby she included in the brightness of her mood, but +evidently only because he happened to be in the circle of it. She was +sorry he did not dance; but she loved it, and just now she could think +of nothing else but the enjoyment of it. Bobby could not understand that +there was nothing personal in this. He saw, with a pang, that Gerald +danced supremely well; that Morris romped through the steps with a +cheerful hearty abandon not without its attraction; that Tad Fuller, who +had come in with his mother and his brother, and half a dozen others +whom Bobby knew, all made creditable performers; that even Angus, +red-faced, awkward, perspiring as he was, could yet command the hand, +time and attention of any little girl he might choose to favour. He +himself was useless; and therefore ignored. + +At the end of the children's hour he said good night miserably, and +trailed along home at his parents' heels. Ordinarily he liked to be out +after dark. The stars and the velvet shadows and the magic +transformations which the night wrought in the most ordinary and +accustomed things attracted him strongly. But now he was too conscious +of a smarting spirit. Mr. and Mrs. Orde were talking busily about +something. He could not even get a chance to ask a question; and that +seemed the last straw. His lips quivered, and he had to remember very +hard that he was _not_ a little girl in order to keep back the tears. + +Finally the talk died. + +"Mamma," blurted out Bobby. + +"Yes?" + +"Can't I learn how to dance?" + +The pair wheeled arm in arm and surveyed him. In the starlight his round +child face showed white and anxious. + +"Why, of course you can, darling," replied Mrs. Orde, "Don't you +remember mamma wanted you to go to dancing school last winter, and you +wouldn't go?" + +"How soon does dancing school open?" demanded Bobby. + +"I don't know. Not much before Christmas, I suppose." + +Having thus made a definite resolution to remedy matters, Bobby felt +better, even though he would have to wait another year. This recovery +of spirit was completed the next day. He went with some apprehension to +ask Celia to walk again. She had seemed to him so aloof the night +before, that he could hardly believe her unchanged. However, she +assented to the expedition with alacrity. Hardly had they quitted the +hotel grounds when Bobby shot his question at her. + +"Celia," said he, "if I learn how to dance this winter will you dance +with me when you come back next summer?" + +"Why of course," said Celia. + +"Will you dance with me a lot?" + +"Yes." + +"Will you dance with me more than you do with any one else?" + +Celia pondered. + +"I don't know," she said slowly. She paused, her eyes vague. "I guess +so," she added at last. + +"Then I'll learn," said Bobby. + +"It's lots of fun," said she. + +Bobby trod on air. Without his conscious intention their course took +direction to the river front. They walked to the left along the wide, +artificial bank of piling. Beneath them the water swished among the +timbers. On one side were the sand-hills, on the other the blue, +preoccupied river. Across the stream was another facade of piles, +unbroken save for the little boatslips where the Life Saving men had +their station. A strong sweet breeze came from the Lake. Far down ahead +they could just make out the twin piers that, jutting into the Lake, +continued artificially the course of the river. The lighthouses on their +ends were dwarfed by distance. + +By and by Celia tired a little, so they sat and dangled their feet and +watched the tiny scalloped blue wavelets dance in the current. A +passer-by stopped a moment to warn them. + +"Look out, youngsters, you don't fall in," said he. + +Bobby still exalted with the favour he had been vouchsafed, looked up +with dignity. + +"_I_ am taking care of this little girl," he said deliberately, and +turned his back. + +The man chuckled and passed on. + +For a long time they sat side by side looking straight out before them. + +"Celia," said Bobby without turning his head, "I love you. Do you love +me?" + +"Yes," said Celia steadily. + +Neither stirred by so much as a hair's breadth. After a little they +arose and returned to the hotel. Neither spoke again. + +Strangely enough the subject was not again referred to, although of +course the children continued to play together and the excursions were +not intermitted. There seemed to be nothing to say. They loved each +other, and they were glad of each other's nearness. It sufficed. + +Each morning Bobby awoke with a great uplift of the spirit, and a great +longing, which was completely appeased when he had come into Celia's +presence. Each evening he retired filled with an impatience for the +coming day, and with divine rapture of little memories of what had that +day passed. It seemed to him that hour by hour he and Celia drew closer +in a sweet secret, intimacy that nevertheless demanded no outer symbol. +When he spoke to her of the simplest things, or she to him, he +experienced a warm, cosy drawing near, as though beneath the commonplace +remark lay something hidden and subtle to which each must bend the ear +of the spirit gently. This was the soul of it, a supreme inner +gentleness one to the other, no matter how boisterous, how laughing, how +brusque might be the spoken word. And in correspondence all the +beautiful sunlit summer world took on a new softness and splendour and +glory in which they walked, but whose source they did not understand. + +This much for the essence of it. But of course, Bobby, being masculine +must give presents after his own notion, and being a small boy must give +them according to his age. The quarter he had earned from his father he +invested in a pack of cards on the upper left-hand corner of which were +embossed marvellous doves, wonderful flowers and miraculous tangles of +scroll-work in colour. These he printed with Celia's name and address. +Near the wharf and railroad station stood a small booth from which a +discouraged-looking individual tried to sell curios. Bobby's eye fell on +a cheap bracelet of silver wire from which dangled half a dozen +moonstones. It caught his eye; day by day his desire for it grew; +finally he asked advice on the subject. + +"No, Bobby," replied his mother, "I don't think Celia would care for it. +It is cheap-looking. She has several very pretty bangles already; and +this is not a good one." + +Nevertheless, Bobby, being as we have said thoroughly masculine, +deliberated some days further, and bought it. The price was two +dollars--an almost fabulous sum. Most men give their wives or +sweethearts what they think they would like themselves were they women, +and were a man to offer a gift. That is one reason why in so many bureau +drawers are tucked away unused presents. Young as she was, Celia had the +taste not to care for the moonstone bangle, but, like all the rest, she +accepted it with genuine delight because Bobby gave it. She even wore +it. These were the principal transactions of the kind; but anything +Bobby particularly fancied he brought her. Shortly she became possessed +of a bewildering collection consisting variously of large glass marbles +with a twist of coloured glass inside; two or three lichi nuts, then a +curiosity; a dried gull's wing; several exploded shotgun shells; and a +"real," though broken-pointed chisel. Celia gave Bobby her tiny narrow +gold ring with two little turquoises. He could just get it on his little +finger, and wore it proudly, in spite of jeers. Being teased about Celia +was embarrassing to the point of pain; but in the last analysis it was +not unpleasant. + +So matters slipped by. Abruptly the end of August came. One day Bobby +found Celia much perturbed. + +"I can't go out long," she said, "I've got to help mamma." + +"What doing?" asked Bobby. + +But Celia shook her head dolefully. + +"Come, let's go walk somewhere and I'll tell you," said she. + +They crossed Main Street to the shaded street on which lived Georgie +Cathcart. + +"What is it?" demanded Bobby again. + +"We are going home to-morrow," Celia announced mournfully. "Mamma has a +letter." + +Bobby stopped short. + +"Going home!" he echoed. + +"Yes," said Celia. + +"Then we won't see each other till next summer!" he cried. + +"No," said she. + +"And we can't walk any more or--or----" Bobby felt the lump rising in +his throat. + +"No," said Celia. + +Bobby swallowed hard. + +"Are--are you sorry?" he asked. + +"Yes," replied Celia quietly. "Are you?" + +"I don't know what I'm going to do!" cried Bobby desperately. + +After a little, the main fact of the catastrophe being accepted, they +talked of the winter to come. + +"You'll write me some letters, won't you?" pleaded Bobby. + +"If you write to me." + +"Of course I will write to you. And you'll send me your picture, won't +you? You said you would." + +"I don't believe I have any," demurred Celia; "and mamma has them all; +and they're very comspensive." + +"I'll give you one of mine," offered Bobby, "if I have to get it from +the album. Please, Celia." + +"I'll see," said she. + +They were moving again slowly beneath the trees. + +Bobby looked up the street; he looked back. He turned swiftly to her. + +"Celia," he asked, "may I kiss you?" + +"Yes," said Celia steadily. + +She stopped short, looking straight ahead. Bobby leaned over and his +lips just touched her cool smooth cheek. They walked on in silence. The +next day Celia was gone. + + + + +VII + +UNTIL THE LAST SHOT + + +There remained as consolation after this heartbreaking defection but +two interesting things in life--the printing press and the Flobert +Rifle. Somehow the week dragged through until Sunday, when Bobby duly +scrubbed and dressed, had to go to church with his father and mother. +Bobby, to tell the truth, did not care very much for church. Always his +glance was straying to a single upper-section of one of the windows, +which, being tipped inward at the bottom, permitted him a glimpse of +green leaves flushed with sunlight. A very joyous bird emphasized the +difference between the bright world and this dim, decorous interior with +its faint church aroma compounded of morocco leather, flowers, and the +odour of Sunday garments. Only when the four ushers tiptoed about with +the collection boxes on the end of handles, like exaggerated +corn-poppers, did the lethargy into which he had fallen break for a +moment. The irregular passage of the receptacle from one to another was +at least a motion not ordered in the deliberate rhythm of decorum; and +the clink of the money was pleasantly removed from the soporific. Bobby +gazed with awe at the coins as they passed beneath his little nose. He +supposed there must be enough of them to buy the Flobert Rifle. + +The thought gave him a pleasant little shock. It had never occurred to +him that probably the Flobert Rifle had a price. It had seemed so +passionately to be desired as to belong to the category of the +inaccessible--like Mr. Orde's revolver on the top shelf of the closet, +or unlimited ice cream, or the curios locked behind the glass in Auntie +Kate's cabinet. Now the revelation almost stopped his heart. + +"Perhaps it doesn't cost more'n a thousand dollars!" he said to himself. +And he had already made up his mind to save a thousand dollars for the +purpose of getting a boat. The boat idea lost attraction. His papa had +agreed to give half. Bobby lost himself in an exciting daydream +involving actual possession of the Flobert Rifle. He resolved that, on +the way home, if the curtains were not down, he would take another look +at the weapon. + +The curtains were not down; but now, attached to the Flobert Rifle, was +a stencilled card. Bobby set himself to reading it. + +"First Prize," he deciphered, "An-nual Trap Shoot, Monrovia Sportsman's +Club, Sep. 10, 1879." + +For some moments the significance of this did not reach him. Then all at +once a sob caught in his throat. It had never occurred to poor little +Bobby that there might be other Flobert rifles in the world; and here +this one was withdrawn from circulation, as it were, to be won as prize +at the trap shooting. + +Bobby did not recover from this shock until the following morning. Then +a bright idea struck him, an idea filled with comfort. The Rifle was not +necessarily lost, after all. He trudged down to the store, entered +boldly, and asked to examine the weapon. + +"My papa's going to win it and give it to me," he announced. + +A very brown-faced man with twinkling gray eyes turned from buying black +powder and felt wads to look at him amusedly. + +"Hullo, Bobby," said he, "so your father's going to win the rifle and +give it to you, is he? Are you sure?" + +"Of course," replied Bobby simply; "my papa can do anything he wants +to." + +The man laughed. + +"What do you know about rifles, and what would you do with one?" he +asked. + +"I know all about them," replied Bobby with great positiveness, "and I +know where there's lots of squirrels." + +The storekeeper had by now taken the Flobert from the show window. The +other man reached out his hand for it. + +"Well, tell me about this one," he challenged. + +"It's a Flobert," said Bobby without hesitation, "and it weighs five and +a half pounds; and its ri-fling has one turn in twenty-eight inches; and +it has a knife-blade front sight, and a bar rear sight; and it shoots 22 +longs, 22 shorts, C B caps, and B B caps. Only B B caps aren't very good +for it," he added. + +"Whew!" cried the man. "Here, take it!" + +Bobby looked it over with delight and reverence. This was the first time +he had enjoyed it at close hand. The blue of the octagon barrel was like +satin; the polish of the stock like a mirror; the gold plating of the +most fancy lock and guards like the sheen of silk. Bobby loved, too, the +indescribable _gun_ smell of it--compounded probably of the odours of +steel, wood and oil. With some difficulty he lifted it to his face and +looked through the rather wobbly sights. Reluctantly he gave it back +into the storekeeper's hands. + +"Would you mind, please," he asked, a little awed, "would you mind +letting me see a box of cartridges?" + +Stafford smiled and reached to the shelf behind, from which he took a +small, square, delightful, red box. It had reading on it, and a portrait +of the little cartridges it contained. Bobby feasted his eyes in +silence. + +"I--I know it's a prize," said he at last. "But--how much _was_ it?" + +"Fifteen dollars," replied Mr. Bishop. + +Bobby's eyes widened to their utmost capacity. + +"Why--why--why!" he gasped; "I thought it must be a thousand." + +Both men exploded in laughter, in the confusion of which, stunned, +surprised, delighted and excited with the thought of eventual ownership, +Bobby marched out the door, where he was joined gravely by Duke, his +beautiful feather tail waving slowly to and fro as he walked. + +Later in the day Kincaid, the spare, brown man with the twinkling gray +eyes, met Mr. Orde on the street. + +"Hullo, Orde!" he greeted. "Hear you have a sure win of the tournament." + +"Sure win!" said Orde, puzzled, "What you talking about? You know I +couldn't shoot against you fellows." + +"Well, your small boy told me you were going to win that rifle down at +Bishop's, and give it to him." + +Orde's face clouded. + +"He's been talking nothing but rifle for a month," said he. "I'm going +West in September. Wouldn't have any show against you fellows, anyway." + +When Bobby heard this paralyzing piece of news, his entire scheme of +things seemed shattered. For a long time he sat staring with death in +his heart. Then he arose silently and disappeared. + +In the Proper Place, among Bobby's other possessions, was a small toy +gun. Its stock was of pine, its lock of polished cast iron, and its +barrel of tin. The pulling of the trigger released a spring in the +barrel, which in turn projected a pebble or other missile a short and +harmless distance. Then a ramrod re-set the spring. When, the previous +Christmas, Bobby had acquired this weapon, he had been very proud of it. +Latterly, however, it had fallen into disfavour as offering too painful +a contrast to the real thing as exemplified by the Flobert Rifle. + +Bobby rummaged the darkness of the Proper Place until he found this toy +gun. From the sack in his father's closet--forbidden--he deliberately +abstracted a handful of bird-shot. Retiring to the woodshed, he set the +spring in the gun, poured in what he considered to be about the proper +quantity of shot, and solemnly discharged it at the high fence. The +leaden pellets sprayed out and spattered harmlessly against the boards. +Thrice Bobby repeated this. Then, quite without heat or rancour, he +threw the toy gun and what remained of the shot over the fence into the +vacant lot behind it. His common sense had foretold just this result to +his experiment, so he was not in the least disappointed; but he had +considered it his duty to try the only expedient his ingenuity could +invent. For if--by a miracle--the little gun had discharged the shot +with force; Bobby might--by a miracle--be permitted to participate with +it in the Shoot; and might--by a miracle--win the Flobert himself. Bobby +was no fool. He marked the necessity of three miracles; and he did not +in the least expect them. Merely he wished to fulfill his entire duty to +the situation. + +Saturday morning--the very day of the Shoot--Mr. Orde left for +California. + +After lunch Bobby trudged to Main Street, turned to the right, away from +town, and set himself in patient motion toward the shooting grounds. + +These were situated some two miles out along the county road. Bobby had +driven to them many times, but had never attempted to cover the distance +afoot. The sun was hot, and the way dusty. Many buggies and one large +carry-all passed him, each full of the participants in the contest. No +one thought of giving Bobby a lift, in fact no one noticed him at all. +He could not help thinking how different it would be if only his father +had not gone West. + +"Hello!" called a hearty voice behind him. + +He turned to see a yellow two-wheeled cart drawn by a gaunt white horse. +On the seat close to the horse's tail sat Mr. Kincaid. + +"Going to the Shoot?" he asked. + +"Yes, sir," said Bobby. + +"Well, jump in." + +Mr. Kincaid moved one side, and lifted half the seat so Bobby could +climb in from the rear. Then he let the seat down again and clucked to +the horse. + +Mr. Kincaid wore an ancient gray slouch hat pulled low over his eyes; +and a very old suit of gray clothes, wrinkled and baggy. Somehow, in +contrast, his skin showed browner than ever. He looked down at Bobby, +the fine good-humour lines about his eyes deepening. + +"Well youngster," said he, "where's your father?" + +Bobby's eyes fell; he kicked his feet back and forth. Beneath them lay +Mr. Kincaid's worn leather gun-case, and an oblong japanned box which +Bobby knew contained shells. For an instant he struggled with himself. + +"He--he had to go to California," he choked; and looked away quickly to +hide the tears that sprang to his eyes. + +Mr. Kincaid whistled and raised his hand so abruptly that the old white +horse, mistaking the movement for a signal, stopped dead, and instantly +went to sleep. + +"Get ap, Bucephalus!" cried Mr. Kincaid indignantly. + +Bucephalus deliberately awoke, and after a moment's pause moved on. To +Bobby's relief Mr. Kincaid said nothing further, but humped over the +reins, and looked ahead steadily across the horse's back. He stole a +glance at the older man; and suddenly without reason a great wave of +affection swept over him. He liked his companion's clear brown skin, and +the close clipped gray of his hair, and his big gray moustache beneath +which the corners of his mouth quirked faintly up, and the network of +fine crow's feet at his temples, and the clear steady steel-colour of +his eyes beneath the bushy brows. On the spot Bobby enshrined a hero. + +But now they turned off the main road through a gap in the snake-fence, +and followed many wheel tracks to the farther confines of the field +where, under a huge tree they could see a group of men. These hailed Mr. +Kincaid with joy. + +"Hello, Kin, old man," they roared. "Got here, did you? What day did you +start? The old thing must be about dead. Lean him up against a tree, and +come tell us about the voyage." + +"The cannon-ball express is strictly on schedule time, boys," replied +Mr. Kincaid, looking solemnly at his watch. + +He drove to the fence, where he tied Bucephalus. The other rigs were +hitched here and there at distances that varied as the gun-shyness of +the horses. Bobby proudly bore the gun-case. Mr. Kincaid lifted out the +heavy box of shells. + +Bobby took in the details of the scene with a delight that even his just +cause for depression could not quench. + +The men, some twenty in number, sprawled on the ground or sat on boxes. +Before them stood a wooden rack with sockets, in which already were +stacked a number of shotguns. Two pails of water flanked this rack, in +each of which had been thrust a slotted hickory "wiper" threaded with a +square of cloth. A fairly large empty wooden box, for the reception of +exploded shells, marked the spot on which the shooters would stand. The +rotary trap lay in plain sight eighteen yards away. That completed the +list of arrangements, which were, in the light of modern methods, as +every trap shooter of to-day will recognize, exceedingly crude. + +The men, however, supplied the interest which the equipment might lack. +At that time every trap-shot was also a field shot. The class which +confines itself to targets had not even been thought of. And good +picked-shots have in common everywhere certain qualities, probably +developed by the life in the open, and the unique influences of woodland +and upland hunting. They are generous, and large in spirit, and +absolutely democratic--the millionaire and the mechanic meet on equal +ground--and deliberate in humour, and dry of wit. The quiet chaffing, +tolerant, good-humoured, genuine intercourse of hunters cannot be +matched in any other class. + +The components of this group had each served his apprenticeship in the +blinds or the cover. They knew each other in the freemasonry of the +Field; and when they met together, as now, they spoke from the gentle +magic of the open heart. + +One exception must be made to this statement, however. Joseph Newmark, +in advance of his time, shot methodically and well at the trap, never +went afield, and maintained toward his neighbours an habitual dry +attitude of politeness. + +Bobby seated himself on the ground and prepared to listen with the +completest enjoyment. These men were to him great or little according +as they shot well or ill. That was to him the sole criterion. It did not +matter to him that Mr. Heinzman controlled the largest interests in the +western part of the state--he "couldn't hit a balloon"; nor that young +Wellman was looked upon as worthless and a loafer--he was well up among +the first five. + +Nearly everybody smoked something. The tobacco smelled good in the open +air. + +"Well," remarked Kincaid, "if that Stafford party doesn't show up before +long, I'm going home. I can't stand you fellows without some excitement +for a counter-irritant." + +"That's right, Kin," called somebody, "Better start that old Buzzard +toward town pretty soon, if you want to get in for breakfast--there's a +good moon!" + +But at this moment a delivery wagon turned into the field, and drove +briskly to the spot. From it Mr. Stafford descended spryly. + +"Sorry to be a little late, boys; just couldn't help it," he apologized. + +His arrival galvanized the crowd into activity. From the delivery wagon +they unloaded boxes of shells, two camp stools and a number of barrels. +The driver then hitched his horses to the fence, and returned to act as +trap-puller. + +One of the barrels was rolled out to the trap, opened, and its contents +carefully spilled on the ground. It contained a quantity of sawdust +and brown glass balls. These were about the size of a base-ball, had an +opening at the top, and were filled with feathers. John, the driver of +the delivery wagon, climbed down into a pit below the trap. He set the +spring of the trap and placed a glass ball in its receptacle at the end +of one of the two projecting arms. A long cord ran from the trap back to +the shooting stand. + +Mr. Stafford opened a camp stool, sat down, and produced a long blank +book. In this he inscribed the men's names. Each gave him two dollars +and a half as an entrance fee. A referee and scorer were appointed from +among the half-dozen non-shooting spectators. + +"Newmark to shoot; Heinzman on deck!" called the scorer in a +business-like voice. + +The trapper ducked into his hole. Mr. Newmark thrust five loaded shells +into his side pocket, picked his gun from the rack and stepped forward +to the mark. Then he loaded one barrel of the gun and stood at ready. +In those days nobody thought of standing gun to shoulder, as is the +present custom. The rule was, "stock below elbow." + +"Ready," said he in his dry incisive voice. + +"Ready," repeated the trap puller at his elbow. + +"Pull!" commanded Mr. Newmark abruptly. + +Immediately the trap began to revolve rapidly; after a moment or so it +sprung, and the glass ball, projected violently upward, sailed away +through the air. The mechanism of the trap was such that no one could +tell precisely how long it would revolve before springing; nor in what +direction it would throw the target. Nevertheless the mark offered would +now, in comparison with our saucer-shaped target, be considered easy. +Mr. Newmark brought his gun to his shoulder and discharged it apparently +with one motion, before the ball had more than begun its flight. A roar +of the noisy black powder shook the air. The glass sphere seemed +actually to puff out in fine smoke. Only the feathers it had contained +floated down wind. + +"Dead!" announced the referee in a brisk business-like voice. + +Mr. Newmark broke his gun and flipped the empty yellow shell into the +box next him. A cloud of white powder smoke drifted down over the +group. Bobby snuffed it eagerly. He thought it the most delicious smell +in the world; and so continued to think it for many years until the +nitros displaced the old-fashioned compounds. Four times Mr. Newmark +repeated his initial performance; then stepped aside. + +"Heinzman to shoot; Wellman on deck!" announced the scorer. + +Mr. Heinzman was already at the mark; and young Wellman arose and began +to break open a box of shells. Mr. Newmark thrust his gun barrels into +one of the pails and with the hickory wiper pumped the water up and +down. + +"He's a good snap-shot," Bobby heard a man tell a stranger, in a +half-voice. + +"Has a brilliant style," commented the other. + +They fell into a low-toned conversation on the partridge season, and the +ducks, to which Bobby listened with all his ears, the while his eyes +missed nothing of what took place before him. Nobody now spoke aloud. +The chaffing had ceased. Shooter's etiquette prohibited anything that +even by remote possibility might "rattle" the contestants. Only the +voices of the men at mark and the referee were heard, and the heavy +_bang_ of the black powder. Bobby liked to listen to the referee. +Reporting, as he did, hundreds of results in the course of the +afternoon, his intonation became mechanical. + +"Dead!" he snapped in the crispest, shortest syllable, when the glass +ball was broken by the charge. + +"Law-s-s-t!" he drawled when the little sphere sailed away unharmed. + +Each shooter on finishing his first string of five, swabbed out his gun, +leaned it against the rack, and went to squat in the group where he +commented to his friends on his own or others' luck, but always quietly. +An air of the strictest business held the entire assembly. + +This broke slightly when Mr. Kincaid's name was called. A stir went +through the crowd; and some one called out, + +"Go it, Old Reliable. Have you had any hoops put around her lately?" + +Mr. Kincaid grinned good-naturedly, but made no reply. He had discarded +his coat; and now wore a brown cardigan jacket. He took his place with +the greatest deliberation, consuming twice as much time as any one else. + +"Ready," said he. + +"Ready," replied the trapper mechanically. + +"Pool!" cried Mr. Kincaid. + +The discharge delayed so long that Bobby looked to see if a misfire had +occurred; but when the ball reached the exact top of its swing, Mr. +Kincaid broke it. + +"One of the most reliable duck shots we have," said Bobby's neighbour to +the stranger. "He shoots just like that, always. Never in a hurry; but +he seems to get there. Kills a lot of game in the season." + +The shoot progressed with almost the precision of a machine. Bobby +amused himself by closing his eyes to hear the regular _ready, pull, +bang!_ that marked the progress of the score. From his level with the +tops of the brown grasses of late summer he enjoyed the wandering puffs +of hot air, the drift of pungent aromatic powder smoke, the rapid +successive bending of the stalks as though fairies were running over +them when the breezelets passed. It was all very pleasant and, for the +time being, he forgot his disappointment. + +The match was to be at one-hundred balls--sixty singles, and twenty +pairs of doubles. Early in the game the different shooters began roughly +to group themselves on the score-cards according to their ability. One +class, among whom were Newmark and Kincaid, continued to break their +targets with unvarying accuracy. Young Wellman by rights belonged with +these; but he had undershot a strong incomer; and the miss had cost him +two others before he could recover his temper. The second class had +missed from one to five each. The third class, typified by Mr. Heinzman, +had a long string of "goose-eggs" to their discredit. + +The fiftieth bird, however, Mr. Kincaid missed. It flipped sideways from +the arm of the trap, and flew for twenty feet close to the ground. The +referee had actually started to call "no bird"; but Mr. Kincaid elected +to try for it; missed; and had to abide by his decision. At the close of +the singles, Newmark had a score of sixty straight; Kincaid fifty-nine; +and the others strung out variously in the rear. + +At this point, a short recess was taken. The crowd of men lit fresh +cigars; talked out loud; circulated about; and relaxed generally from +the long strain. Some scattered out into the grass to help the trapper +to look for unbroken balls. Ordinarily Bobby loved to do this; but +to-day he sidled up to where his friend was stooping over the japanned +box. Bobby watched him a moment in silence, methodically laying away +the used brass shells, one up and one down in regular succession. + +"It's too bad you got beat," he ventured timidly at last. + +Mr. Kincaid ceased his occupation, removed his pipe from his mouth, and +looked up at Bobby searchingly. + +"Youngster," he said kindly, "I'm not beat." + +"You're behind," insisted Bobby, "and Newmark never misses." + +Mr. Kincaid arose slowly, and without a word took Bobby by the arm and +led him around the tree. He stopped and raised Bobby's chin in his +gnarled brown hand until the little boy's eyes looked straight into his +own. Bobby noticed that the twinkle had--not disappeared--but drawn far +back into their gray depths, which had become unaccountably sober. + +"Bobby," said Mr. Kincaid gravely, "always remember this, all your life, +no matter what happens to you; a man is never defeated until the very +last shot is fired." + +He paused. + +"And remember this, too: that even if he is defeated, he is not beaten, +provided he has done the very best he could, and has never lost heart." + +He looked a moment longer into Bobby's eyes; and the little boy saw the +gray twinkle flickering back to the surface, and the crow's-feet +deepening good-naturedly. + +"That's all, sonny," he said, and withdrew his hand from Bobby's chin. + +"So you want to see me win the rifle, do you?" asked Mr. Kincaid, as +they turned away. + +"Yes, sir," replied Bobby. + +"Why?" + +"Because you're a friend of mine," replied Bobby with simple dignity. + +"And that's the very best reason in the world!" cried Mr. Kincaid +heartily. + +The shooting at the doubles began. Two balls were placed in the trap at +once--it will be remembered that it was provided with double arms--and +thrown in the air together. At this game many good scores fell into +disintegration, for it required great quickness of manipulation to catch +both before one should reach the ground. Mr. Newmark's snap method here +stood him in good stead. When Mr. Kincaid stepped to the trap, the +stranger turned to his friend. + +"Here's where the old fellow falls down, I'm afraid," said he a trifle +regretfully. "He's too deliberate for this business. I'm sorry. I'd +like to see him give Newmark a race for it." + +"Deliberate!" snorted the local man. + +Mr. Kincaid's preparations were as careful and as wasteful of time as +ever. But when he enunciated his famous "pool!" the stranger was treated +to a surprise. The first ball was literally snuffed into nothingness +before it had risen five feet above the trap! Then quite slowly Mr. +Kincaid followed the second to the top of its flight and broke it as +though it had been a single. + +"Lord!" gasped the visitor. "He surely can't do that with any +certainty!" + +"Can't he!" said the other grimly, "Watch him." + +Interest soon centred on Newmark and Kincaid, as those who had made +straight scores on the singles now dropped one or more. Both the +contestants named broke their nine pair straight. Bobby sent strong +little waves of hope for a miss after each of Mr. Newmark's targets, but +without avail. Only one pair apiece remained to be shot at; and in order +that Mr. Kincaid should win the match, it would be necessary that +Newmark should miss both. This was inconceivable. Bobby threw himself +face downward in the grass, sick at heart. He made up his mind he would +not look. Nevertheless when Mr. Newmark's name was called, he sat up. + +"Pull!" came Mr. Newmark's dry, incisive voice. + +The balls sprang into the air. A sharp _click_ followed. Evidently a +misfire. The referee, imperturbable, stepped forward to examine the +shell. He found the primer well indented; so, in accordance with the +rules, he announced: + +"No bird!" + +Mr. Newmark reloaded. + +"Pull!" he called again. + +On the first bird he scored his first miss of the day. + +"Misfire threw him off," exclaimed the spectators afterward. + +And then, curiously enough, a queer current of air, springing from +nowhere, utterly abnormal, seized the dense powder smoke and whirled it +backward, completely enveloping the shooter. The obscuration was +momentary, but complete. By the time it had passed the second ball had +fallen almost to the ground. Newmark snapped hastily at it. + +"Lost! Lost!" announced the scorer. + +A deep sigh of emotion swept over the crowd. Bobby gripped his hands so +tightly that the knuckles turned white. He resented the intervention of +a half-dozen other contestants before Mr. Kincaid should be called; and +rolled about in an agony of impatience until his friend stepped to the +mark. + +The men unconsciously straightened and removed the cigars from their +lips. Two hits would win; one miss would tie. Bobby stood up, his breath +coming and going rapidly, his sight a little blurred. But Mr. Kincaid +went through his motions of preparation, and broke the two balls, with +no more haste or excitement than if they had been the first two of the +match. + +A cheer broke out. Others were still to shoot, but this decided the +winner. + +"Congratulations!" said Newmark dryly as his rival stepped from the +mark. + +"That's all right," replied Kincaid, "but it was sheer rank hard luck +for you." + +On the way home just about sunset many teams passed the old white horse +with his old yellow cart, and his driver hunched comfortably over the +reins. Everybody shouted final chaffing, kindly congratulations as they +sped by. + +Bobby, hunched alongside in loyal imitation of his companion's +attitude, glowed through and through. + +"My! I'm glad you won!" he repeated again and again. + +Kincaid looked straight ahead of him, his gray eyes pensive, the short +pipe shifted to the corner of his mouth. Finally he glanced down +amusedly at his ecstatic companion. + +"You see, Bobby?" he said, "--until the last shot is fired." + + + + +VIII + +THE FLOBERT RIFLE + + +Thus Bobby had passed through the extremes of hope, of anticipation, of +disappointment and of despair. The Flobert Rifle on which he had set his +heart, which he had firmly made up his mind to buy as soon as he could +save up enough on an allowance of one cent a day, had been withdrawn +from sale and offered as prize for the fall trap shooting. This had been +a severe blow, but from it Bobby had finally rallied. His father would +participate in the shoot; his father was omnipotent and invincible. +After winning the Flobert Rifle, he would undoubtedly give it to Bobby. +Then, just before the shoot Mr. Orde had been called west on business. +Bobby had been vouchsafed only the melancholy satisfaction of seeing Mr. +Kincaid, whom he liked, win out over Mr. Newmark, whom he disliked. The +rifle was in good hands; that was all any one could say about it. + +But one afternoon, returning home about two o'clock, he was surprised +to find Bucephalus and the yellow cart hitched out in front, and Mr. +Kincaid sitting on the porch steps. + +"No one home but the girl; so I thought I'd wait," he explained, shaking +hands with Bobby very gravely. "I brought around the new rifle," he +added further. "What do you say to driving up over the hill somewhere +and trying her?" + +They drove slowly up the road of planks that gave footing over the +sand-hills. The new shiny Flobert Rifle with its gold-plated locks and +trigger guards rested between Mr. Kincaid's knees. He would not permit +Bobby to touch it, however. + +When the old white horse had struggled over the grade and into the +stump-dotted country, Mr. Kincaid hitched him to the fence, and, +followed closely by the excited Bobby, climbed into a field. From his +pocket, quite deliberately, he produced a small paper target and a dozen +tacks wrapped in a bit of paper. + +"We'll just nail her up against this big stub," he said to Bobby, +tacking away with the handle of his heavy pocket-knife; "and then you +can get a rest over that little fellow there." + +He stepped back. + +"Now let's see you open her," he said, handing over the rifle. + +Bobby had long since acquired a theoretical familiarity with the +mechanism. He cocked the arm and pulled back the breech block, thus +opening the breech with its broken effect due to the springing of the +ejector. + +"That's all right," approved Mr. Kincaid, pausing in the filling of his +pipe, "but you have the muzzle pointing straight at Duke." + +"It isn't loaded," objected Bobby. + +"A man who knows how to handle a gun," said Mr. Kincaid emphasizing his +words impressively with the stem of his pipe, "never in any +circumstances lets the muzzle of his gun, loaded or unloaded, for even a +single instant, point toward any living creature he does not wish to +kill. Remember that, Bobby. When you've learned that, you've learned a +good half of gun-handling." + +"Yes, sir," said Bobby. + +"Keep the muzzle up," finished Mr. Kincaid, "and then you're all right." + +He led the way to the smaller stump; and nonchalantly, as though it were +not one of the most wonderful affairs in the world to own such a thing, +produced a little square red box containing the cartridges. This he +opened. Bobby gazed with the keenest pleasure on the orderly rows of +alternate copper and lead dots. + +"Now," said Mr. Kincaid, "kneel down behind the stump." He rested the +rifle across it. "You know how to sight, don't you? I thought likely. +When you pull the trigger, try to pull it steadily, without jerking. Get +in here, Duke!" + +Bobby knelt, and assumed a position to shoot. To his surprise he found +that his heart was beating very fast, and that his breath came and went +as rapidly as though he had just climbed a hill. He tried desperately to +hold the front sight in the notch of the hind sight, and both on the +black bull's eye. It was surprisingly difficult, considering the +simplicity of the theory. Finally he pulled the trigger for the first +time in his life. + +"Snap!" said the rifle. + +"Now let's see where you hit!" suggested Mr. Kincaid. + +Bobby started up eagerly; remembered; and with great care laid the +Flobert, muzzle up, against the stump. + +"That's right," approved Mr. Kincaid. + +The bullet had penetrated the exact centre of the bull's eye! + +"My!" cried Bobby delighted. "That was a pretty good shot, wasn't it, +Mr. Kincaid? That was doing pretty well for the first time, wasn't it?" + +But Mr. Kincaid was lighting his pipe, and seemed quite unimpressed. + +"Bullet went straight (_puff, puff_)," said he. "That's all you can say +(_puff, puff_). No _one_ shot's a good shot (_puff, puff_). Take's two +to prove it (_puff, puff_)." + +He straightened his head and threw the match away. + +"It's too good, Bobby, to be anything but an accident," said he kindly. +"Now come and try again." + +Bobby was permitted to fire nine more shots, of which three hit the +paper, and none came near the bull's eye. He could not understand this; +for with the dead rest across the stump, he thought he was holding the +sights against the black. Mr. Kincaid watched him amusedly. The small +figure crouched over the stump was so ridiculously in earnest. At the +tenth shot he put the cover on the box of ammunition. + +"Aren't we going to shoot any more?" cried Bobby, disappointed. + +"Enough's enough," said Mr. Kincaid. "Ten shots is practice. More's +just fooling--at first, anyway. You can't expect to become a good shot +in an afternoon. If you could, why, where's the glory of being a good +shot?" + +"I don't see what made me miss," speculated Bobby. + +"I think I could tell you," replied Mr. Kincaid, "but I'm not going to. +You think it over; and next time see if you can tell me. That's the way +to learn." + +"Next time!" cried Bobby, his interest reviving. + +"You aren't tired of it, are you?" enquired Mr. Kincaid with mock +anxiety. "Because I've got ninety cartridges left here that I wouldn't +know what to do with." + +"Oh!" cried Bobby. + +"Well, then," proposed Mr. Kincaid, "I'll tell you what we'll do. You +and I will organize the--well, the Maple County Sportsman's Association, +say; and we'll hold weekly shoots. These will be the grounds. You and I +will be the charter members; but we'll let in others, if we happen to +want to." + +"Papa," breathed Bobby. + +"Moved and seconded that Mr. John Orde, alias Papa, be elected. Motion +carried," said Mr. Kincaid. "I'll be President," he continued. "I've +always wanted to be president of something; and you can be secretary. +You must get a little blank book, and rule it off for the scores. Then +maybe by and by we'll have a prize, or something. What do you think?" + +Bobby said what he thought. + +"Now," said Mr. Kincaid, opening the wooden box that ran along the floor +of the two-wheeled cart where the dashboard, had there been one, would +have been placed, "this is the next thing: when you're through shooting, +clean the gun. If you leave it over night, the powder dirt will make a +fine rust that you may never be able to get out; and rust will eat into +the rifling and make the gun inaccurate. No matter how late it is, or +how tired you are, _always clean your gun_ before you go to bed. It's +the second most important thing I can teach you. You'll see lots of men +who can kill game, perhaps, but remember this; the fellow who lets his +gun point toward no living thing but his game, and who keeps it bright +and clean, is further along toward being a true sportsman--even if he is +a very poor shot--than the careless man who can hit them." + +He gave Bobby the steel wire cleaning-rod, the rags, and the oil can, +and showed him how to get all the powder residue from the rifling +grooves in the barrel. + +"There," said Mr. Kincaid, folding back the half-seat, "climb in. That +settles it for to-day." + +Bucephalus came to with reluctance. Going down hill he settled into a +slow steady jog, which soon covered the distance to the Orde house. +Bobby climbed out and turned to utter thanks. + +"That's all right," said Mr. Kincaid. "Next time I'm going to shoot, +myself; and you'll have to rustle to beat me. Don't forget the score +book." + +"When will it be?" asked Bobby. + +"Oh, Thursday again," replied Mr. Kincaid. He disengaged the Flobert +from between his knees. "Here," said he; "you take this and put it away +carefully. I'll keep the ammunition," he added with a grim smile. +"Remember not to snap it. Snapping's bad for it when it is empty. +Good-bye." + +He drove off down the street beneath the over-arching maples, the old +white horse jogging sleepily, the old yellow cart lurching. Over his +shoulder floated puffs of smoke from his pipe. + +Bobby carried the new rifle into the house, ascended to his own room, +and sat down to enjoy it to its smallest detail. The heavy blued octagon +barrel bore an inscription which he deciphered--the maker's name, and +the patents under which the arm was manufactured. He examined the +sights, and how they were fastened to the barrel; the fall of the +hammer; the firing-pin; the mechanism of the ejector, the butt plate, +the polished stock and the manner in which it was attached to the +barrel. Over the fancy scroll of the gold-plated trigger-guard he passed +his fingers lovingly. The trigger-guard extended back along the grip of +the stock in a long thin metal strip--also gold-plated. It, too, bore an +inscription. Bobby read it once without taking in its meaning; a second +time with growing excitement. Then he rushed madly through the house +shrieking for his mother. + +"Mamma, Mamma!" he cried. "Where are you? Come here!" + +Mrs. Orde came--on the run--likewise the cook, and the butcher. They +found Bobby dancing wildly around and around, hugging close to his heart +the Flobert rifle. + +"Bobby, Bobby!" cried Mrs. Orde. "What is it? What's the matter? Are you +hurt?" + +She caught sight of the gun, leaped to the conclusion that Bobby had +shot himself and sank limply into a chair. + +"See! Look here!" cried Bobby. He thrust the rifle, bottom up into her +lap. "Read it!" + +On the plate behind the trigger-guard, carved in flowing script, were +these words. + +_To Robert Orde from Arthur Kincaid. September 10, 1879._ + + + + +IX + +MR. DAGGETT + + +The printing press, too, was now a success. What time Bobby could spare, +he spent over his new work. In fact he would probably have printed out +all his interest in the shape of cards for friends and relatives, did +not an incident spur his failing enthusiasm. The little tin box of +printer's ink went empty. Bobby tried to buy more at Smith's where other +kinds of ink were to be had. Mr. Smith had none. + +"You'd better go over to Mr. Daggett's," he advised. "He'll let you have +some." + +Bobby crossed the street, climbed a stairway slanting outside a square +wooden store building and for the first time found himself in a printing +office. + +Tall stands held tier after tier of type-cases, slid in like drawers. +The tops were slanted. On them stood other cases, their queerly arranged +and various-sized compartments exposed to view. Down the centre of the +room ran a long table. One end of it was heaped with printed matter in +piles and in packages, the other was topped with smooth stone on which +rested forms made up. Shelves filled with stationery, cans and the like +ran down one side the room. Beyond the table were two presses, a big and +a little. In one corner stood a table with a gas jet over it. In another +was an open sink with running water. A thin man in dirty shirt-sleeves +was setting type from one of the cases. Another, shorter man at the +stone-topped table was tapping lightly with a mallet on a piece of wood +which he moved here and there over a form. A boy of fifteen was printing +at the smaller of the presses. A huge figure was sprawled over the table +in the corner. In the air hung the delicious smell of printer's ink and +the clank and chug of the press. + +Bobby stood in the doorway some time. Finally the boy said something to +the man at the table. The latter looked up, then arose and came forward. + +He was of immense frame, but gaunt and caved-in from much stooping and a +consumptive tendency. His massive bony shoulders hung forward; his head +was carried in advance. In character this head was like that of a Jove +condemned through centuries to long hours in a dark, unwholesome +atmosphere--the grand, square, bony structure, the thick, upstanding +hair, the bushy, steady eyebrows, the heavy beard. But the cheeks +beneath the beard were sunken; the eyes in the square-cut caverns were +kind and gentle--and very weary. + +"I want to see if I can get some ink of you," requested Bobby, holding +out his little tin box. + +Mr. Daggett took the box without replying; and, opening it, tested with +his finger the quality and colour of what it had contained. + +"I guess so," said he. + +He led the way to one of the shelves and opened a can as big as a +bucket. Bobby gasped. + +"My!" he cried; "will you ever use all that?" + +Mr. Daggett nodded, and, dipping a broad-bladed knife, brought up, on +merely its point, enough to fill Bobby's tin box. + +"How much is it?" asked Bobby. + +"Let's see, you're Jack Orde's little boy, aren't you?" asked Daggett. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, that's all right, then. It's nothing." + +"Oh, thank you!" cried Bobby, overwhelmed. The man nodded his massive +head. "Please," ventured Bobby, hesitating, "please, would you mind if I +stay a little while and watch?" + +"'Course not," assured Mr. Daggett. "Stay as long as you want." + +He returned to his table and forgot the little boy. An hour later he +looked up. Bobby was still there standing in the middle of the floor, +staring with all his might. Mr. Daggett pulled together his great frame +and arose. + +"Have you a printing press?" he asked Bobby. + +"Yes, sir," replied Bobby--"it's only a little one--to print two lines," +he added. + +"Do you like printing?" + +"Oh!" burst out Bobby enthusiastically, "it's more fun than anything!" + +"I'd like to see some of your work," said Mr. Daggett a flash of +amusement flickering in his deep eyes. + +Bobby felt in his pocket and gravely presented a card. + + _"Mr. Robert Orde. + Job Printer."_ + +"Why," said Mr. Daggett, surprised, "this is pretty well done. I didn't +know you could make ready so well on those little presses." + +"What's 'make ready'?" asked Bobby. + +"Why, regulating the impression so that all the letters are printed +evenly." + +"They didn't for a long time," sighed Bobby. "I had lots of trouble." + +"How did you make it go?" asked Mr. Daggett, interested. + +Bobby explained the pasting of the slips of paper. + +"Who taught you that?" asked Mr. Daggett sharply. + +"Nobody; I just thought of it." + +Two hours later, when the noon whistles blew, Bobby said good-bye to his +friend after a most interesting morning. Mr. Daggett had showed him +everything. He explained how in the type-cases the capital letters +occupied little compartments all alike and at the top, but how the small +letters were arranged arbitrarily in various-sized compartments. + +"You see," said he, "we use the _e_ oftenest, so that is the largest and +is right in the middle. And here is the _a_ near it, but a little +smaller. A man has to learn where they are." + +Then they watched the compositor setting type in the metal "stick" with +the sliding end. The compositor showed Bobby how he could tell when the +letters were right side up by feeling the nicks in the type, without the +necessity of looking; how he used the leads to space between the lines. +His hands flew from one compartment of the type case to the other and +the type clicked sharply. In a moment the stick was full. All three +walked over to the "composing table" of stone. Here Bobby watched the +type placed in the huge iron frame, which was then filled in with the +wooden blocks. The wedge-shaped irons locked it. Finally the block and +mallet went over the whole surface to even it down. + +Bobby saw proof taken. He watched the small press in operation. It was +worked by a foot lever. The round ink plate which automatically made a +quarter turn at each impression and the double automatic ink-rollers +were a revelation to him. All the boy had to do was to insert and +withdraw the paper and push down with his foot. And the pressure was so +exact and so delicate and so brief--as though the type and the platen +coquetted without actually touching; and the imprint was so true and +clear! Even on the thin paper, the shape of the type did not stamp +through! + +He could have watched for an hour, but shortly the job was finished, so +he moved on to look at the coloured inks and the fascinating variety of +papers and cards and envelopes. + +This latter occupation kept him busy for a long time. He had not +realized that so many shapes and kinds of letters could exist. Mr. +Daggett told him their names and sizes--nonpareil, brevier, agate, pica, +minion and a dozen others which Bobby could not remember but which he +found exotic and attractive. Especially was he interested in the poster +type, made of wood. One letter was bigger than the whole form of his +little press. + +When he left, Mr. Daggett gave him a small heavy package. + +"Here you are," said he. "Here's an old font of script. It's old and too +worn for my use, but you can fool with it." + +Bobby was delighted. He could hardly wait to get home before undoing the +package. The font formed a compact quadrilateral wound around the edges +with string. The letters were all arranged in order--four capital A's--A +A A A--then the Bs, and so on. It differed from his own font. The one +that came with his press had just three of each letter--large or small. +This varied. For instance, there were twenty _s_s, and only two _q_s. +Bobby procured his tweezers and began to set up his own name. He had no +stick so he got out the form with the two narrow wooden groves. To his +dismay the type would not fit. They were at least a quarter inch longer +than his own. + +"Why so solemn, Bobby?" enquired his father at lunch a few minutes +later. "What's wrong?" + +"My printing press isn't a real one," broke out Bobby. "It's a _toy_ +one! I don't _like_ toys!" + +"Oh, ho!" cried Mr. Orde. "Don't like toys, eh! How about the engine and +cars, and the tin soldiers?" + +"I don't like them any more, either," insisted Bobby stoutly. + +"All right," suggested Mr. Orde, winking at his wife. "Of course then +you won't want them any more: I'll just give them away to some other +little boy." + +"All right," assented Bobby with genuine and astonishing indifference. + +Bobby laid the little press away, but he could not resist the +fascination of Mr. Daggett's printing office. One day he came from it +bearing an inky and much-thumbed catalogue. He fairly learned it by +heart--not only the machines, from the tiny card press to the beautiful +fifty-dollar self-inker beyond which his ambition did not stray, but +also all the little accessories of the trade--the mallet, the patent +quoins, the sticks, the type-cases, the composing stones, the roller +moulds and compositions, the patent gauge-pins, the lead-cutters, the +slugs. And page after page he ran over the type in all its sizes and in +all its modifications of form. These things fascinated him and held him +with a longing for them, like revolvers and razors and carpenter's +chisels and peavies and all other business-like tools of a trade. Their +very shapes were the most appropriate and romantic shapes they could +possibly have assumed. He made lists. At first they were elaborate, and +included the big foot press and four fonts of type and three colours of +ink and fixings innumerable. They then shrank modestly by gradations +until they stuck at the 5x7 form. Bobby would not have cared for a press +smaller than that, for he wanted to print real things, like bill-heads +and whist cards and perhaps a small newspaper. His little heart throbbed +with a complete enthusiasm. + +"When I grow up I think I'd like to be a printer like Mr. Daggett," he +said wistfully. + +"Oh, no, you wouldn't," said Mr. Orde. "It's a poor trade--no money in +it here--and you'd have to stay in the house all the time. You wouldn't +want to be a printer, Bobby." + +"Yes I would," repeated Bobby positively. + + + + +X + +THE SPORTSMAN'S ASSOCIATION + + +The Maple County Sportsman's Association held its weekly shoots with +regularity. It consumed a great deal of Bobby's time and attention. You +see, each event was to be anticipated, and then remembered; the score +was to be rejoiced over or regretted; and the great question of how to +do better was to be considered prayerfully and long. Bobby found it to +be a more complicated problem than he would have believed possible. He +used to lie awake in bed thinking it over. Regularly before Thursday +came around he hit on a complete solution of the difficulty; and as +regularly he discovered by the actual test that something, whether of +theory or practice, still lacked. + +Mr. Kincaid always listened to his ideas non-commitally. + +"I've found out what it is!" cried Bobby as soon as Bucephalus had +approached within hearing distance. "You got to practise until your +forefinger works all by itself--entirely separate from the rest of your +arm. Then the rifle won't jerk sideways so much." + +"All right," Mr. Kincaid responded, as Bobby climbed laboriously into +the cart. "Try it." + +Bobby tried it; found it difficult to accomplish, and not altogether +effective. The bullets still scattered more or less like a shotgun +charge. Mr. Kincaid's score more than doubled his. Mr. Kincaid always +shot the best he could; and entered a grave negative to Bobby's +tentative suggestion for a handicap. + +"No, Bobby," said he, "don't believe in 'em. It really doesn't matter +whether you defeat me or not; now does it? But it does matter whether +you get to be a good enough shot to win." + +After each demolition of his ideas, Bobby returned a trifle dashed, but +with undaunted spirit. Again his busy brain attacked the puzzle. In a +week he had another hypothesis ready for the test. + +Thus he edged slowly but surely toward marksmanship. The sight must be +held on the mark for an instant after the discharge; the trigger must +be squeezed steadily, not pulled; the independent command of the +forefinger is helped by as inclusive a grasp of the stock as possible; +holding the breath is an aid to steadiness--these, and a dozen other +first principles, Bobby acquired, one after another, by the slow +inductive process. Each helped; and Mr. Kincaid appreciated that his +pupil was learning intelligently, so that in the final result Bobby +would not only be a good shot, but he would know why. + +In the meantime various changes were taking place in the seasons, which +Bobby noted in his own fashion. The little green apples of summer--just +right for throwing and for casting from the end of a switch--were now +large and rosy. Under the big hickory tree in the Fuller's yard were +already to be found occasional nuts. The leaves were turning gorgeous; +and enough were falling to make it necessary that the householder +search out his broad rake. In the country the shocks of corn stood in +rows like so many Indian chiefs wrapped each in his blanket, his plumes +waving above. The night was weird with the notes of birds migrating. + +To each of these things Bobby, like every other boy in town, gave his +attention. Apples and grapes there were everywhere in abundance. The +early pioneer planted always his orchard and his arbours. The town, +taking root on the old riverside farms, preserved, as far as it could, +the fruit-trees. Every one who had a yard of any size about his house, +possessed also an apple tree or so and a grape vine--sometimes a chance +peach or pear. Bobby could not go amiss for fresh fruit; but he liked +best of all the sweet little red "Delawares" that grew back of Auntie +Kate's kitchen garden. These he picked, warmed by the sun. The satiny +"Concords" from the trellis, however, were better dipped in cool water, +which, with some labour, he caused to gush sparkling from an +old-fashioned wooden pump. Auntie Kate's apple trees, too, were of +selected varieties. Early in the season were the soft yellow sweetings; +then the streaked red and green "Northern Spies"; and last of all the +snow-apples with their contrast of deep crimson outside and white flesh +within. The windfalls covered the ground ready to the hand; and the +branches bent under their burden. It was the season of apple-sauce with +cinnamon, and baked apples with a dab of jelly where the core ought to +be, and apple-tapioca and Brown Betty. And these tasted wondrous good, +even to youngsters already gorged with raw fruit. + +In every front yard and along every street front the householders were +busy raking the crisp autumn leaves into great heaps and long piles. +Bobby and his friends liked solemnly to "swish" their little legs +through them; to roll in them; to hide beneath them by burrowing like so +many squirrels. If this was the season of fruit, it was also the season +of bonfires. Every one burned leaves in those days, blissfully +unconscious of future city ordinances. A thin sweet haze of smoke hung +constantly in the air mellowing the blue of the sky, softening the +outlines of the hills, aromatic as an incensed cathedral. In the +evenings the fires winked bravely on both sides the streets. Figures +with rakes were silhouetted against them. Smaller figures careered +wildly in and out the dense smoke. It was a great "dare" to run and jump +directly through the fire! Now the sun was getting lazy; and sometimes +Bobby was allowed the indulgence of a half-hour of this delicious wild +fun. He always came in smoky and overheated; and always Mrs. Orde vowed +that it should not happen again.... it did. + +Then there were the hickory nuts to be gathered in pails and sacks and +spread out on the garret floor to cure. Unfortunately the hickory tree +was very tall, so the boys had patiently to await the pleasure of the +wind. Walnuts and butternuts, on the contrary, were to be knocked down +with well-aimed clubs; hazelnuts to be stripped from the bushes; and +beech-nuts to be shaken down by a bold and practised climber. And in the +woods the squirrels were busy laying away their winter stores. + +Mr. Kincaid and Bobby were often afield on the beech ridges. Mr. Kincaid +carried his gun, but he did not use it. They looked for squirrels. The +woods were carpeted with dead leaves on which the sun lay golden. They +had to move very quietly and keep a very sharp lookout. When the game +was sighted, the matter was by no means resolved. Squirrels are lively +people, and expert at hiding. Bobby and Mr. Kincaid chased hard and +breathlessly to force their quarry up a tree. When that was +accomplished, it was by no means easy to get a shot. The squirrel leaped +from one tree to another as fast as his enemies below could run. Finally +he climbed to the top of a tall beech whose trunk he immediately put +between himself and the hunters. It became necessary first to see him, +second to get a shot at him, third to hit him, and last to bring him +down. Bobby, shooting the heavy barrelled Flobert at unaccustomed +ranges, and at an elusive mark, discovered the appetite of atmosphere +for lead. Nevertheless it was the most exciting, breathless, tingling +game he had ever played. The air was biting cold, especially after the +sun began to sink through the trees, but it had the effect merely of +nipping Bobby's nose and cheeks red--his little body was tingling and +aglow. On his banner day he brought down two fox-squirrels, and one of +the beautiful black squirrels, then not uncommon, but now practically +extinct. In the process he used up his box of cartridges. + + + + +XI + +THE MARSHES + + +"Real fall weather," that season of 1879, seemed to delay long beyond +the appointed time. During each night, to be sure, it grew cold. The +leaves, after their blaze and riot of colour, turned crisp and crackly +and brown. Some of the little still puddles were filmed with what was +almost, but not quite, ice. A sheen of frost whitened the house-roofs +and silvered each separate blade of grass on the lawns. But by noon the +sun, rising red in the veil of smoke that hung low in the snappy air, +had mellowed the atmosphere until it lay on the cheek like a caress. No +breath of air stirred. Sounds came clearly from a distance. Long +V-shaped flights of geese swept athwart the sky very high up, but their +honking carried faintly to the ear. Time seemed to have run down. And +yet when the sun, swollen to the great dimensions of the rising moon, +dipped blood-red through the haze, the first faint premonitory tingle +of cold warned one that the tepid, grateful warmth of the day had been +but an illusion of a season that had gone. This was not summer; but, in +the quaint old phrase, Indian summer. And its end would be as though the +necromancer had waved his wand. + +In the meantime the barges and schooners continued to take chances in +order to market the last of the year's lumber crop; the small boys and +squirrels made the most of the nut crop; the grouse remained scattered +in noisy cover; and the ducks frequented the open stretches where they +were quite out of reach. + +But at last Bobby Orde, awakening early, heard the rising and falling +moan of wind past the eaves' corner outside his windows. He hopped out +of bed, thrust his feet into a pair of knit socks and ran to the window. +The sun was not yet up; but the wild barbaric gold of it was flung +abroad over flat, hard-looking clouds. + + _"'Bright sunrise at morning, + The sailor takes warning,'"_ + +murmured Bobby. + +In the yard below, the brown leaves were chasing themselves madly around +and about, back and forth, like restless spirits. Others slanted down +from the trees in continuous flocks. The maples tossed restlessly. In +the air was a deep bitter chill which sent Bobby scurrying back to his +warm nest in a hurry. + +After breakfast he was glad of his heavier suit. The sun rose and shone, +it is true; but its rays possessed no warmth. The light of it appeared +to be a cold silver, like the sheen on stubble. All the landscape seemed +to have paled. Gone were the rich glowing reds, the warm browns. A gray +cast hung over the land. + +From school Bobby hurried home to be in time for an early lunch as Mr. +Orde wanted to go up river. He found Bucephalus in front; and Mr. +Kincaid about to sit down to the lunch table. The latter had on his old +gray suit and cardigan jacket. + +"Hullo, youngster!" he greeted Bobby, "Looks like pretty good weather +for ducks. Want to go for a shoot?" + +That settled lunch for Bobby. He could hardly stay at table until the +others had finished; and heard with enraptured joy his mother's voice, +as she rose from the table, asking Mr. Kincaid about provisions. + +"I have all that," replied Mr. Kincaid, "and there's lots of bedding and +such things." + +Nevertheless Mrs. Orde slipped away after a moment to wrap up a loaf of +"salt-rising bread," and one of "dutch bread." The two-wheeled cart +Bobby found, when finally he and Mr. Kincaid emerged from the house +carrying his valise, to be well packed with the shell-box, gun, bag and +a lunch basket. Mr. Kincaid's duck-dog, named Curly, lay crouched in the +bottom like a soft warm mat. Bobby had met Curly before. He was a +comical seal-brown dog, covered with compact tight curls all over his +body. When Bobby petted him, they felt springy. His face, head and ears, +however, were smooth and silky. He had yellow eyes, and an engaging +disposition. To the touch his body, even through the tight curls, felt +unusually warm. Though Curly's tail was a mere stump he wagged it +energetically when his master appeared, but without raising his nose +from between his forepaws. + +Duke pranced out, eager to go, but was called back by Mrs. Orde and +ignominiously held. Bucephalus got under way. Bobby hugged the cold +barrel of his little rifle between his knees. He had on his "pull-down" +cap, and his shortest and heaviest cloth over-jacket, and knit woollen +mittens. The actual temperature was not as yet very low, but the wind +from the Lake was abroad, and growing in strength every minute. From the +flag-pole of the Ottawa they could see the square red storm-flag with +the black centre standing out like a piece of tin. + +Bucephalus made surprising time. His gait on the open road was a long +awkward shamble, but it seemed to cover the ground. Mr. Kincaid humped +his shoulders and drove in a sociable silence, his short pipe empty +between his teeth. Curly retained his flattened attitude on the bottom +of the cart; only occasionally rolling up his yellow eyes, but without +moving his head. The wind tore by them madly. + +About half a mile beyond the last mill Mr. Kincaid left the main road to +turn sharp to the right directly across the broad marshes. Here a +makeshift road had been constructed of poles laid in the corduroy +fashion. The cart pitched and bounced along at a foot pace. Bobby had no +chance to look about him, and could see only that on both sides +stretched the wide cat-tails and rush flats; that near them was water. +The sun was setting cold and black in hard greasy-looking clouds. + +By and by the cart gave one last bump and rose to a little dry knoll +like an island in the marshes. Bobby saw that on it grew two elm trees, +beneath which stood a rough shed. Beyond a fringe of bushes he could +make out the roof of another small structure. Mr. Kincaid stopped at the +shed, and began to unharness Bucephalus. Bobby descended very stiffly. +Curly hopped out and expressed delight over his arrival by wagging +himself from the fifth rib back. You see he had not tail enough for the +job, so he had to wag part of his body too. In a moment or so Bucephalus +was tied in the shed and supplied with oats from a bag. + +"Well, we're here," said Mr. Kincaid, picking up one of the valises and +the lunch basket. "Bobby, you carry the guns." + +He led the way through the bushes to the other structure. + +It was a cabin of boards, long and narrow, about the size and shape of a +freight car. The upper end of it rested on dry land, but the lower end +gave out on a floating platform. A single window in the side and a stove +pipe through the roof completed the external features. + +"Door's around in front," explained Mr. Kincaid. + +They descended to the float. The door was fastened by a padlock. When +it was opened Bobby saw at first nothing but blackness and the flat +board prow of a duck-boat that seemed to occupy all available space. Mr. +Kincaid, however, lifted this bodily to the float, and, entering, drew +aside the curtain to the little window. + +Bobby stood in the middle of the floor and gazed about him with +unbounded delight. The place contained two bunks, one over the other, a +small round iron stove, a shelf table against one wall, and two folding +stools. From nails hung a frying pan, a coffee pot, and two kettles. +Shelves supported a number of cans, while two or three small bags +depended from the ceiling. Those were its main furnishings. But beneath +the bunks and piled in one corner were many painted wooden ducks. Around +the neck of each was wound a long white cord to the end of which was +attached a leaden iron weight; in the bunks themselves lay powder +canisters, shotbags, wad-boxes. At one end of the table was fastened a +crimper and a loading block. Several old pipes lay about. Burned matches +strewed the floor. + +"Well, here we are, Bobby," repeated Mr. Kincaid, dropping the valises +in the corner, "and it's pretty near sunset; so I guess we'll organize +our boat first, while it's daylight." + +He descended to the float. + +"Now, you hand me down the decoys," said he. + +Bobby passed out the wooden ducks two by two, and Mr. Kincaid stowed +them carefully amidships. They were of many sorts and sizes, and Mr. +Kincaid named them to Bobby as he received them. + +"These are the boys!" said he. "Good old green-heads, Worth all the +other ducks put together. Their celery-fed canvasbacks may be +better--never had a chance to try them--but the canvasback in this +country can't touch the mallards. And here, these are blue-bill. They +come to a decoy almost too easy. This is a teal--fly like thunder and +are about as big as a grasshopper. We'll make our flock mostly of these. +Those widgeon, there, wouldn't do us much good. Might put in a few +sprig. They're a handsome duck, Bobby; but the most beautiful thing in +feathers is the wood-duck. Probably won't get any of them to-morrow, +though." + +Bobby worked eagerly. Soon he was in a warm glow, the cold wind +forgotten, his cheeks like snow-apples, his eyes like stars. + +"That's just a hundred," counted Mr. Kincaid, "and its a humming good +boat load. It'll do. Now you take this demijohn and fill it from the +spring-hole you'll find back of the house, and I'll get the shell-box." + +The equipment was finally completed by two wooden shell-boxes to sit on, +a short broad paddle and a long punting pole. + +By now the sun had dipped below the horizon leaving nothing of its glory +in the low-hung, hard clouds. All the world seemed clad in velvet-gray, +with dark soft shadows. A gleam of light reflected from water as it +showed in patches here and there. It matched and continued the pale +green light of the heavens, as though the sky had flowed down and +through the blackness of the marshes. The wind came now in heavy gusts, +succeeded by intervals of comparative calm. During these intervals could +be heard the cries of innumerable wildfowl. + +Bobby stood at the end of the float, absolutely motionless, taking it +in. His intellectual faculties were as though non-existent. All the +sensitiveness of his nature, like the sensitiveness of a photographic +plate, was exposed to that which took place before him. No little +detail of the scene would he ever forget; and nothing of what its +vastness and mystery and turmoil signified in the world of further +meanings would be lost to him, though for many years he would not +understand them. + +But now, as the darkness of the shadows deepened, and the light of water +and sky took on a deeper lucence before being extinguished, for the +first time the sense of pain and the incompleteness of beautiful things +entered his heart. The thing was wonderful; but it hurt. The sight of it +filled him to the lips with a passion of uplift; and yet something +lacked. And the lack of that something was a pain. + +Bobby had forgotten that he was cold, that he was alone, that he had +come on an exciting and novel expedition. Mr. Kincaid had disappeared +within the cabin. + +A whistle of wings rushed in on the boy's consciousness with startling +suddenness. Across the face of the evening indeterminate, dark bodies +darted low. A prolonged swish of water sounded, and the placid faint +light on the lagoon fifty yards away was broken and troubled. For a +moment it shimmered, and was still. Absolute darkness seemed abruptly +to descend on all the world. From the blackness Bobby heard the low +conversational sounds of ducks newly alit. + +"_Ca-chuck!_" said they "_ca-tu-kuk!_" and then an old drake lifted up +his voice. + +"_Mark!_" said he. "_Mark-quok, quok, quok!_" + +"Oh, Mr. Kincaid!" whispered Bobby sneaking quietly through the door. +"There's a great big flock of ducks lit just outside." + +"That so?" queried Mr. Kincaid cheerfully in his natural voice, "Well, +we'll get after 'em in the morning. Don't you want any supper?" + +Mr. Kincaid had a fire going in the little round stove. The light that +leaked from it wavered and flickered over the bunks and the table +shelves, and the diminished pile of decoys. Curly was asleep in the +corner. Every few moments Mr. Kincaid removed the frying pan from the +top of the stove, and turned over its contents with a fork. At such +times the light flared up brilliantly, illuminating the whole upper part +of the cabin. A lively sizzling arose from the frying pan; and a +delicious smell filled the air. Bobby made out a tea-kettle at the back, +and the phantom of light steam issuing from its spout. + +In a little while Mr. Kincaid straightened up and with a clatter slid +an iron stove cover over the opening. He lit a candle, stuck it in the +mouth of a bottle, and moved down on the table shelf carrying the frying +pan. Bobby then saw that the table shelf had been set with two-heavy +plates, cutlery, and two granite-ware cups. The salt-rising bread and +dutch bread were laid out with a knife beside them. A saucer contained a +pat of butter; a bottle, milk; and a plate was heaped with doughnuts. + +"Supper's ready," announced Mr. Kincaid cheerfully. "Sit up, Bobby." + +The frying pan proved to contain two generous slices of ham; and four +eggs fried crisp. + +"What's the matter with this for a feast?" cried Mr. Kincaid; "sail in!" + +The man and the boy ate, the flickering light between them. Outside +howled the wind. Curly slumbered peacefully in the corner. + +"This," proffered Mr. Kincaid after an interval, as he reached toward +the basket, "is what my grandfather used to call a 'good competent pie.' +Like pie, Bobby?" + +"Yes, sir," replied Bobby, "but I mustn't eat the under crust." + +"Right you are. Well, there's somebody here who'll eat it for you." + +"Do you want it?" asked Bobby, wondering. + +Mr. Kincaid laughed. "No, I mean Curly," he explained. + +"Will Curly eat pie?" marvelled Bobby. + +"Curly," said Mr. Kincaid impressively, "will eat anything you can throw +down a hole." + +It was a good pie, with lots of room between the crusts, and cinnamon on +the apples, and sugar and nutmeg on top. When finally Mr. Kincaid pushed +back his stool, Curly gravely arose and came forward to get his share of +whatever had not been eaten. + +"Now, dishes!" said Mr. Kincaid. "Will you wash or wipe, Bobby?" + +"My, I'm full!" said Bobby in the way of indirect expostulation against +immediate activity. + +"The time to wash dishes is right away," said Mr. Kincaid briskly. "They +wash easier; and when they're done you have a comfortable feeling that +there's nothing more to be done--and a clear conscience. Did you ever +wash dishes?" + +"No, sir." + +"Well, it's time you learned. Come on." + +Bobby learned how to manipulate hot water, soap, and a dish-rag. Also +how difficult it is to remove some sorts of grease. + +"Condemned!" pronounced Mr. Kincaid severely, returning him the frying +pan. + +But when the simple task was done, Bobby felt an unusual glow of +competence and experience. He was really "camping out." A new ambition +to learn came to him, an ambition to do his share and to understand +other people's share. Naturally his mind turned first to accustomed +things. + +"Where's the wood pile?" he asked Mr. Kincaid. "Can't I fill the +wood-box?" + +"It's just behind the house," approved Mr. Kincaid. + +Bobby turned the wooden "button" that fastened the door from the inside. +At once it was snatched from his hand and flung open. A burst of wind +rioted in, extinguished the candle, flared up the fire in the stove, and +hurled a loose paper against the roof. + +"Whew!" cried Mr. Kincaid, coming to Bobby's assistance; "she's blowing +_some_! When you come back, just kick on the door, and I'll open it for +you." + +[Illustration: "CONDEMNED!" PRONOUNCED MR. KINCAID SEVERELY, RETURNING +HIM THE FRYING-PAN] + +Bobby stood still a moment until his eyes should expand to the darkness. +He heard the repeated and rapid _swish, swish, swish_, of wavelets +driven against the float, which rose and fell gently beneath his +feet. A roar of wind filled the night. Occasionally it lulled. Then +quite distinctly he could make out a faint grumbling diapason which he +knew to be the surges beating against the distant coast. + +The armful of wood he brought in was not very large, but Mr. Kincaid +pronounced it enough. + +"And now, youngster," said he, "you'd better turn in. We're going to get +up very early in the morning." + +For as long as five minutes Bobby lay awake between the soft woollen +blankets. This was his first experience without sheets. Mr. Kincaid had +blown out the candle and was sitting back smoking a last pipe. Light +from the dying fire in the stove threw his shadow gigantic behind him. +As the flames rose or died this shadow advanced or receded, leaped or +fell, swelled or diminished; and all the other shadows did likewise. In +the entire room Mr. Kincaid's figure was the only motionless object. +Soon Bobby's vision blurred. The dancing shadows became unreal, changed +to dream creatures. Twice a realization, a delicious, poignant +realization of the morrow brought him back to consciousness; and the +dream creatures to the shadows. Then finally he drifted away with only +the feeling of something pleasant about to happen, lying as a background +to sleep. + +He awoke in what seemed to him the middle of the night after an +absolutely _black_ sleep. His first thought was that the broad of his +back was shivering; his next that the tip of his nose was marvellous +cold; his last that he was curled all up in a ball like a furry raccoon. +Then he heard the scratch of a match. A light immediately flickered. In +two minutes the little stove was roaring and Mr. Kincaid was exhorting +him to arise. + +"Come on, now!" he called. "Duck time!" + +Bobby dressed in his thickest winter clothes, which he had brought for +the occasion. When, after breakfast, he put on his reefer and over that +the canvas coat, he looked and felt like a cocoon. + +"That's all right," Mr. Kincaid reassured him. "It's going to be cold, +and you'll be mighty glad of them." + +They stepped out on the float, and Mr. Kincaid thrust the duck-boat into +the water. + +Bobby had never seen so many stars. The heavens were full of them, and +the still water had its share. Not a breath of wind was stirring. +Through the silence could be heard more plainly the roar of the surf far +away. The quacking of ducks came from near and far. Nothing of the marsh +was visible. + +Bobby took his place on the shell-box in the bow, his rifle between his +knees. Curly, without awaiting command, jumped in and lay at his feet. +Mr. Kincaid stepped in aft. Bobby could feel the quiver of the boat as +it took the weight, but having been instructed to sit quiet, he did not +look around. The craft received an impetus and moved forward. +Immediately the breaking of thin scum ice set up a crackling. + +"Pretty cold!" said Bobby. + +"Don't talk," replied Mr. Kincaid in a guarded voice. + +They moved forward in silence. Only the slight crackling at the prow, +the soft dip of the paddle, and an occasional breath of effort from the +paddler broke the stillness. The motion forward was slow; for the back +suction in the shallow, narrow channel, which they almost immediately +entered, stopped the boat at the end of each paddle stroke. Bobby was +vaguely aware of high reeds or low banks on either side; but he could +not see ten feet ahead, and he wondered how Mr. Kincaid could tell +where to go. Shortly the latter put aside his paddle in favour of the +punting pole. Bobby, stealing a glance over his shoulder, saw him +standing against the sky. + +From right and left, in mysterious side lagoons and pockets, came the +low quacking and chattering of wildfowl, now close at hand. They were, +of course, quite invisible; but their proximity was exciting. Twice the +duck-boat approached so close as to alarm them into flight. They arose, +then, with a mighty quacking. Bobby could see the silver of broken water +where they took wing; but although there seemed to be enough light +against the sky, he could not make out the birds themselves. He clasped +his rifle close, and shivered with delight, and patted Curly to relieve +his feelings. + +For a long time, and for a tremendous distance as it seemed to Bobby +they crept along through the lagoons and channels of the marshes. The +dawn had not come yet, but the air was getting grayer in anticipation of +it, and the wind began to blow faintly from the direction of the Lake. +Bobby could see the shapes of the grasses and cat-tails, and make out +the bodies of water through which they passed. Almost he could catch the +flight of ducks as they leaped; and quite distinctly he saw a flash of +teal that passed with a startling rush of wings within a dozen feet of +the boat. + +And then deliberately the whole universe turned faintly gray, and the +smaller stars faded in the lucence of dawn, and the brief, weird world +of half-light came into being. At the same moment, Mr. Kincaid turned +the boat to the left, forced it by main strength through a thick fringe +of reeds, and debouched on a little round pond silvering in the dawn. + +The crackling of the duck-boat through the reeds was answered by a roar +like the breaking of a great wave. Bobby saw very dimly the rise of +hundreds of ducks straight up into the air. The roar of the first leap +was immediately succeeded by the whistling of flight. + +"My!" breathed Bobby to Curly, "My! My! My!" + +But a second roar thundered, as a second and larger flight took wing; +and then after an interval a third. The air all around seemed full of +ducks circling in and out the limited range of vision before finally +taking their departure. + +Mr. Kincaid, however, pushed forward without paying the slightest +attention to this abundance. Fifteen or twenty yards out in the pond he +brought the boat to a stand-still by thrusting his punting-pole far down +into the mud. + +"We're here, Bobby," he said in a guarded tone. "Turn around very +carefully, take off your mittens and help me put out the decoys." + +"My, there's a lot of 'em," ventured Bobby in a whisper. + +"Yes, this is called the Mud Hen Hole. It's the best place in the +marshes. Quick! Get to work! It's getting near daylight!" + +Bobby helped unwind the cords from around the necks of the decoys and +drop them overboard. Mr. Kincaid moved the boat here and there, +scattering the flock in a life-like manner. The gray daylight was coming +stronger every instant. Even while they worked in plain sight, big +flocks of teal and blue-bill stooped toward them and whirled around them +with a rush of wings. + +"They're awful close!" whispered Bobby excitedly, "why don't you shoot?" + +"Hurry!" commanded Mr. Kincaid. + +When the last decoy was out, he thrust the boat hastily into the thick +reeds where already a blind had been constructed quite simply by +thickening the natural growth. "Crouch down!" whispered Mr. Kincaid; +"and don't move a muscle!" + +Bobby crouched, drawing his head between his shoulders like a +mud-turtle. Curly crouched too. Above and around was the continued +whistle of wings as the wildfowl, with their strange, early-morning +persistence, insisted on returning to the spot whence they had been so +lately disturbed. A movement shook the boat as Mr. Kincaid arose to his +feet. + +_Bang! Bang!_ spoke both barrels of the ten-gauge. + +"Two," said Mr. Kincaid in his natural voice. + +"Kneel around to face the decoys, Bobby, and you can see. But when I say +'mark,' don't move by a hair's breadth." + +Bobby shifted position and found that he could see quite easily through +the interstices of the reeds. On the pond, silvered bright by the +increasing day, the decoys floated snugly. Even at close range Bobby was +surprised at their life-like appearance. Among them floated two ducks, +white bellies to the sky. This was all Bobby had time to observe for the +moment. + +"Mark!" warned Mr. Kincaid behind him. + +A tremendous tenseness fell on the world. Bobby's muscles stiffened to +the point of aching. The limited vista bounded on right and left by the +sidewise movement of his eyeballs, and above by the brim of his cap +contained nothing. He did not dare extend this vista by so much as one +inch. But in the air sounded that magic soul-stirring whistle of wings, +now gaining in volume until it seemed overhead; now fading until Bobby +thought surely the ducks must have become suspicious and left. + +And then, low to the reeds across the pond, a long deliberate flight of +black bodies against the sky came into sight at the left, slanted across +the field of his vision and disappeared to the right. Their wings were +set, and every instant Bobby expected to hear the splash of water that +should indicate their alighting. But Mr. Kincaid's figure held its +immobility. He knew that the wily old mallards were not yet satisfied. +Indeed at the last moment, instead of swinging in, they arose with a +sudden swift effort, and resumed the slow scrutinizing circle about the +pond. + +Bobby lived an eternity in the next few moments. His neck muscles grew +stiff; his eyeballs strained from a constant attempt to see farther to +one side than nature had intended him to see. Each circle he followed +visually as far as he could, and then aurally, his hopes arising and +falling as the whistling of the wings sounded near or far. And each +circle was lower than its predecessor, until at last the flight swung +scarcely twenty feet above the tops of the reeds. + +Then, quite unexpectedly to Bobby, and when at its farthest from the +blind, the flock turned in and headed directly for him, its wings set. + +Bobby caught his breath, and his heart commenced to thump violently. Not +a bird of them all seemed to move, and yet with the rush of a railroad +train each individual grew in size like magic. It was just like +coasting--the same breathless headlong feeling--that quivering avalanche +of ducks projected at his head so abruptly and so swiftly that he hardly +had time to wink. Nearer and nearer they came, larger and larger they +grew. Something inside him seemed to expand like a bubble with their +approach; like a bubble too rapidly blown, so that at once, without +warning, the bursting point seemed to be reached. Instinctively Bobby +shrank back. The moment of collision was imminent. Nothing could stop +this headlong flight of living arrows launched against his very face. +And then, in a flash, the appearance of the flock changed. As though at +a preconcerted signal each duck dropped his legs, threw back his head, +opposed to momentum the breadth of his wings and tail. An indescribable +and sudden rushing sound smote the air. The flock, its course arrested, +hung motionless above the decoys in the attitude of alighting. + +At this precise instant Mr. Kincaid, without haste, smoothly got to his +feet. Involuntarily Bobby arose also. Curly, who up to this instant had +even kept his yellow eyes closed, put his forepaws on the gunwale, and +craned his neck upward the better to see. + +Immediately with a mighty beating of wings the ducks "towered." It was +almost incredible, the rapidity with which, from a dead stand, they +broke into the swiftest flight--and straight up. Bobby could see them +plainly, in every detail, the beautiful iridescent green heads of the +drakes, stretched eagerly upward, the dove and the cinnamon of the +breasts, the white bellies snowy against the sky. The gun spoke twice. +Instantly three of the outstretched necks seemed to wilt. For a brief +moment the bodies hung in the air; then plunged downward with increasing +speed until they hit with an inspiring _splash, splash, splash!_ that +threw the water high. There they floated belly up. The orange-coloured +leg of one kicked slowly twice. + +"Mallard!" said Mr. Kincaid with satisfaction. + +Curly looked inquiringly at his master, then dropped back to his former +position in the bottom of the boat. Bobby settled himself on his +shell-box---- + +Swish!----he peered out startled and there among the decoys swam a dozen +little ducks, their heads up, their brights eyes glancing suspiciously +from one to another of their stolid wooden relations. Before Bobby could +realize that they were there, they had made up their minds; and, with +the same abruptness that had characterized their arrival, sprang into +the air and departed. Not, however, before Mr. Kincaid had shot. + +"Only one," said he. "They're a lively proposition." + +"What are they?" asked Bobby. + +"Teal. They often fly low just over the marsh, and drop in unexpectedly +like that." + +Daylight was full and broad now; and the sun was rising. With it came +the first signs of wind. Ducks filled the air in all directions, some +circling about other ponds; others winging their way in long flights +toward distant feeding grounds. Every few moments Mr. Kincaid had a shot +as some of these dropped to the decoys. Sometimes they came down boldly +in an attempt to alight; at others they merely stooped, and flew by. +These offered difficult side shots at long range. Always the mallards +made their wide circles of inspection; but always Mr. Kincaid waited +patiently for them, ignoring absolutely other ducks that in the meantime +lit among the decoys. Big flocks of teal manoeuvred back and forth +erratically like blackbirds, wheeling, turning, rising and darting +without apparent reason but as though at the word of command. The high +buzz of their wings was quite different from the whistling flight of the +larger ducks. One of these bands came within range, but without +attempting to alight. Into the compact formation Mr. Kincaid emptied +both barrels. Instantly the air seemed to Bobby full of ducks falling. +They hit the water like huge rain drops. Bobby could not begin to keep +count; but Mr. Kincaid said nine. Among them was a broken-winged +cripple, which at once began to swim toward the rushes on the other side +the pond. + +"Fetch, Curly!" commanded Mr. Kincaid. + +Curly, with a whimper of delight, plunged into the icy water, and with +astonishing speed overtook and seized the wounded duck. He returned +proudly carrying his prize; was handed in over the gunwale; shook +himself like a lawn sprinkler; and resettled himself in the bottom of +the boat. Curly was a quiet and reserved character. His specialty was +lying still, and swimming after ducks. The rest of life did not interest +him. + +Now little by little the flight slackened. Longer intervals ensued +between the visits to the decoys. The sky was occasionally quite clear +of ducks, so that for a few moments Mr. Kincaid and Bobby would rise to +stretch their legs. Always they kept a sharp lookout in all directions, +and at the first sight of game, even so far away in the sky it looked +like a flock of specks, they would drop down into concealment. This was +something Bobby could do; and he was always overjoyed when he caught +sight of the ducks first; and could say "mark east"--or west or whatever +it was--as Mr. Kincaid taught him. + +Sometimes the ducks passed far away; but again the direction of their +flight brought them within hearing distance of the blind. Then Mr. +Kincaid produced his duck-call, and uttered through it the most natural +duck sounds. + +"Quack!" it said sharply, and then after the briefest possible pause. +"Quok-quok-quok-quok-quok!" in increasing rapidity. It was quite +remarkable to observe how the flock, apparently with a fixed destination +of its own, would hesitate, waver, finally swing down to investigate. At +this, Mr. Kincaid's call became confidential and intimate. It uttered +all sorts of clucks and half-notes, telling, probably, of the manifold +advantages of feed and shelter offered by this particular pond. Then +came the slow circles ending with the final breathless, level-winged +rush. + +But presently, as the sun mounted higher and higher, even these flights +ceased. Mr. Kincaid lit his pipe. Curly made trip after trip, carrying +in the game. + +"Fun?" enquired Mr. Kincaid succinctly. + +"I should think so!" breathed Bobby with rapture. + +They sat opposite each other in the sociable silence that seemed to come +so easily to them. The wind had risen again, until now it had once more +attained the proportions of a respectable gale. Bobby liked to watch the +brisk puffs as they hit, spread in a fan-shaped ruffle of dark water and +skittered away. In the miniature wavelets possible under the lea, the +decoys bobbed gravely, swinging to their anchor strings. The sun flashed +from their backs, and from the little waves. All about were the tall +stalks of reeds; and ahead, where the open water was, grew tufts of +grasses that looked silvery-brown and somehow intimate when, as now, +Bobby looked at them from their own plane of elevation. They waved and +bent before the wind, and the reeds across the pond bowed and recovered; +and over the low, flat landscape seemed to hover a brown, untamed spirit +of wildness. + +But, though the wind blew a gale, the duck-boat was so snugly hidden +that hardly a breath reached its occupants. The warm rays of the sun +shone full down upon them, first driving the early chill from Bobby's +bones, then making him sleepy. He fell into a delicious lethargy, +running over drowsily the small details of his immediate surroundings. +In the course of a few hours this cosy nest which he had never seen +before had become strangely familiar. He experienced a sense of personal +acquaintanceship with many of the individual reeds; he recognized, as +one recognizes an accustomed landscape, the angle at which certain +clumps crossed one another; or the vistas allowed by the different +interstices. A marsh wren had business among the galleries. Bobby +watched it hop in and out of sight, sometimes right side up, sometimes +upside down. A dozen times he thought it had gone; but always it came +back, flirting its absurd short tail, one bright eye fixed on the +occupants of the blind. When Bobby slipped still further into the warm +bright land of laziness, he abandoned even the effort of observation, +and amused himself by sifting rainbows through his eye-lashes. + +"Bobby!" whispered Mr. Kincaid sharply. + +He came to with a start, rapping his knee against the gunwale of the +boat. Mr. Kincaid held his hand up warningly, then pointed toward the +decoys. Bobby looked, and saw, preening its feathers calmly, a live duck +rising to the wavelets. Mr. Kincaid handed over two 22-short cartridges. + +Bobby's breath caught with a gasp. His fingers trembling, he opened the +breach of the Flobert and loaded; then cautiously thrusting the muzzle +through an opening in the reeds, tried to aim. But his heart was +thumping like a hammer, and do his best he could not hold the wavering +sights in alignment. In vain he recalled all the many principles of +accurate shooting he had so laboriously acquired in his target practice. +Finally in desperation he pulled the trigger. The duck, with a startled +quack, sprang into the air. + +"Got one!" chuckled Mr. Kincaid. "That furtherest decoy," he replied to +Bobby's unspoken question. "Saw the splinters fly. Must have over-shot +three feet." + +Bobby, carrying with him the bitterest possible cud of failure, retired +within himself and gloomed angrily at the situation from all points of +view. He was completely out of conceit with himself. After he had +finished his performance, he naturally took to reviewing it and +recasting it in terms of success. If he'd only shot at first, before he +lost his breath! If he'd only remembered to get his hand away around the +grip of the rifle! If he'd only---- + +As though to test these theories, the Red Gods at this moment vouchsafed +him a wonderful favour. As he frowned steadily between the reeds, his +attention was dragged by a moving object from its abstractions to that +which he gazed on so unseeingly. He came to alertness with a snap. A +duck flying not a foot above the water swung in an awkward circle and +lit with a long furrowing splash not forty feet away. + +Bobby glanced toward Mr. Kincaid. The latter was gazing at the sky, his +hands clasped behind his head. Cautiously Bobby reloaded with the other +cartridge, and again thrust the rifle muzzle between the reeds. His +entire mind was now occupied by a vengeful spirit against himself +because of his first miss. Therefore he had no room for +self-consciousness or nervousness. The sights aligned with precision, +and held rigidly on the mark. His teeth set, Bobby pulled the trigger. + +Instantly the duck fell on its side, and, beating the water frantically +with its wings, began to kick around in a circle. + +"I got him! I got him! Oh, he'll get away!" screeched Bobby in a breath. + +At the crack of the rifle Mr. Kincaid had leaped to his feet with +surprising agility. + +"Well, good boy!" he exclaimed, "I should say you did get him! He won't +get away; he's hit in the head." + +"Is that the way they act when they're hit in the head?" asked Bobby, +still doubtful. + +"Yes. Fetch him, Curly." + +Bobby took the duck from Curly's mouth and held him up by the bill to +drain the water, just as he had seen Mr. Kincaid do. Then he laid his +prize across the bow and gloated. + +It was a very beautiful duck, with an erect topknot of white edged with +black running over the top of its head like the plume of a Grecian +helmet. The sides of its white breast were covered with feathers of a +bright cinnamon tipped with gray; its back was black and gray with fine +black edgings; and its wings were dark with a white and iridescent band +on each. But what interested Bobby especially was its bill. This +differed entirely from the bills of all the other ducks. It was very +long and very slender and had teeth! + +"What kind is it?" asked Bobby looking up to encounter Mr. Kincaid's +amused gaze. + +"Well--it's called a merganser in the books," said Mr. Kincaid. + +"I'm going to have mama cook it," announced Bobby, and returned to his +blissful contemplation. + +Mr. Kincaid grinned quietly to himself. He would not spoil the little +boy's pleasure by telling him that his first trophy was a fish-duck, +and, beautiful as it was, utterly useless. + +No more ducks came for a long time after that. The wind continued to +increase, blowing from a clear sky, without scuds. By and by Mr. Kincaid +produced a package of lunch, and they ate, drinking in turn from the +demijohn that Bobby had filled the night before. The sun swung up +overhead, and down the westward slope. With the advance of afternoon +came more, but scattered, ducks rushing down the wind at railroad speed, +to wheel sometimes into the teeth of it like yachts rounding to as they +caught sight of the decoys. When the sun was low and red, thousands of +blackbirds began to fly by in an unbroken succession, low to the reeds, +uttering their chattering and liquid calls. So numerous were they that +the entire outlook seemed filled with the crossing lines of their +flight, until Bobby's eyes were bewildered, and he could not tell +whether he saw blackbirds near at hand or ducks farther away. Whence +they had come or whither they were going he could not guess; but that +they had some definite objective he could not doubt. Out from the gray +distances of the east they appeared; laboured by against the gale; and +disappeared into the red distances of the west. + +Now the evening flight of ducks was on in earnest, and the warm +excitement of decoy-shooting again gripped hard all three occupants of +the boat. Over the wide marshes spread the brief crimson of evening. The +sun set and dusk came on. It was first indicated, even before a +perceptible diminution of daylight, by the vivid flashes from the gun. +Then the low western horizon turned to a dark band between sky and +water, and the heavens immediately above took on a pale green lucence of +infinite depth. + +"More wind," said Mr. Kincaid, glancing at it. + +Finally, although it was still possible plainly to see the incoming +ducks against the sky, Mr. Kincaid laid aside his gun and picked up the +punt-pole. + +"Mustn't shoot much after sun-down," he told Bobby. "If we do, there +won't be any here in the morning. Nothing drives the duck off the +marshes quicker than evening shooting." + +He pushed the duck-boat out into the open. Instantly the weight of the +wind became evident. Although on the lea side of the pond, the light +boat drifted forward rapidly; and Bobby had to snatch suddenly for his +cap. Mr. Kincaid snubbed her at the edge of the flock of decoys. + +"Pick 'em up, Bobby," said he. "You'll have to do it, while I hold the +boat." + +Bobby lifted the nearest decoy out of the water and, under direction, +wound the anchor line around its neck and stowed it away. This was easy. +Also the next and the next. + +But by the time he had lifted the tenth he had discovered a number of +things. That a wooden decoy is heavy to lift at arm's length over the +gunwale; that it brings with it considerable water; that the anchor +lines carry with them a surprisingly greater quantity of water; that the +water is very cold; that said cold water causes the flesh to puff up, +the hands to turn numb, and the fingers to ache. This was disagreeable; +and Bobby had not been in the habit of continuing to do things after +they had become disagreeable. + +"My, but this is awful cold work!" said he. + +Mr. Kincaid looked at him. + +"You aren't going to quit, are you?" he asked. + +Bobby had not thought of it with this definiteness. + +When the issue was thus squarely presented to him, his reply of course, +was in the negative. But the night got darker and darker; the decoys +heavier and heavier; the water colder and colder. Little by little the +glory of the day was draining away. Mr. Kincaid, leaning strongly +against the punt-pole, watched him for some time in silence. + +"Pretty hard work?" he enquired at last. + +"Yes, sir," said Bobby miserably. + +"Why is it hard?" + +Bobby looked up in surprise. + +"Because the water is so cold, and the decoys are hard to lift over the +edge," he answered presently. + +"No; it's not that," said Mr. Kincaid, "It's because you're thinking +about how many more there are to do." + +Bobby stopped work in the interest of this idea. + +"If you're going to be a hunter--or anything else"--went on Mr. Kincaid +after a moment, "you're going to have lots of cold work, and hard work +and disagreeable work to do--things that you can't finish in a minute, +either, but that may last all day--or all the week. And you'll have to +do it. If you get to thinking of how long it's going to take, you'll +find that you will have a tough time, and that probably it won't be done +very well, either. Don't think of how much there is still to do; think +of how much you have done. Then it'll surprise you how soon it will be +finished." + +"Yes, sir," said Bobby. + +"Now pick 'em up," said Mr. Kincaid, "one at a time. Don't begin to pick +up the next one before you get this one out of the water." + +Bobby went at it grimly, trying to keep in mind Mr. Kincaid's advice. +The task was as disagreeable, and apparently as interminable as ever, +but Bobby had gained this: he had not now, even in the subconscious +background of his mind, any desire to quit; and there no longer pressed +upon the weight and cold of the decoy he was at the moment handling, the +useless and imaginary, but real, cold and weight of all the decoys yet +to be lifted. + +Nevertheless he was very glad when the last had found its place on the +pile amidship. + +"Good boy!" said Mr. Kincaid. "Now it's all over." + +It was somewhat after twilight; although objects about were still to be +made out in the unearthly half-illumination that precedes starlight. Mr. +Kincaid lifted his punt-pole and allowed the duck-boat to be carried +down wind to the other side of the pond. Here floated the dead ducks. +They were lying all along the edges of the reeds, their white bellies +plainly to be seen. After all those in sight had been picked up, Curly +was allowed a short search on his own account. It made Bobby shiver to +see him plunge into the icy water; but Curly did not mind. He found two +more inside the reeds; then was hauled over the gunwale and settled +himself happily, wet fur and all, in the bottom of the boat. + +The homeward trip seemed to Bobby interminable. He was very cold; his +fingers ached; the anticipations of the day had all been used. The +sudden rise of waterfowl near at hand aroused in him no excitement; +their presence was just now useless from the shooting standpoint. + +"We might try the big slough to-morrow," said Mr. Kincaid, more as an +audible thought than as a remark to Bobby. + +"I don't want to go to-morrow," said Bobby. + +In spite of Mr. Kincaid's advice, he could not prevent himself from +anticipating the arrival at the cabin-float. A dozen little bends he +mentally designated as the last before the lagoon; and each +disappointment came to him as a personal affront. + +But finally, when he had fallen into the indifference of misery, the two +elms loomed in silhouette against the skyline. + +Mr. Kincaid held the boat while Bobby stepped ashore; then made it fast, +and, without bothering with the game, opened the hut and lit the candle. +Bobby sat down dully. He had no further interest in life. Mr. Kincaid +glanced at his disconsolate little figure humped over on the stool, and +smiled grimly beneath his moustache. But he made no comment; and set +about immediate construction of a fire. + +Bobby relapsed into a dull lethargy which took absolutely no account of +space or time. The shadows danced and flickered against the wall. He saw +them, but as something outside the real centre of his consciousness. The +wind howled by in gusts that shook the structure; Bobby did not care if +it blew the whole thing over! + +"Come, Bobby! Supper!" Mr. Kincaid broke in on his black mood. + +"I don't believe I want any supper," mumbled Bobby. + +Mr. Kincaid took two long steps across to him, picked him and the stool +up bodily, and set him against the table. + +"Now get at it," said he. + +Bobby languidly tasted a piece of bread and butter. + +In five minutes he was at his fifth slice, and had had four eggs and +three pieces of bacon. In ten the world had brightened marvellously. In +fifteen Bobby was chattering eagerly between mouthfuls, rehearsing with +some excitement the different events of the day. + +"To-morrow," said he, "I'm going to shoot a lot." + +"Thought you weren't going to-morrow," suggested Mr. Kincaid. + +Bobby smiled shamefacedly. + +"That's all right, Bobby," said Mr. Kincaid kindly. "Supper makes a big +difference to any of us, especially after a long day." + +Curly received with gratitude the few scraps and three dog biscuits. The +guns were cleaned and oiled. All the ducks were tied in bunches by their +necks and hung from hooks on the north side of the hut. Bobby held the +heads together while Mr. Kincaid slipped the loops over them. Both +counted. Bobby made it eighty-four; while Mr. Kincaid's tally was only +eighty-three. + +"Enough, anyway," said the latter. + +Then Bobby suddenly found himself so extraordinarily drowsy that he +actually fell asleep while taking off his shoes. Mr. Kincaid put him to +bed. Outside, the wind howled, the water lapped against the float. +Inside, the shadows leaped and fell. But Bobby did not even dream of +ducks. + + + + +XII + +THE TRESPASSERS + + +One day as Bobby and Mr. Kincaid were walking along looking for +squirrels in the high open woods, Duke, who was always required to trail +at heel for fear of alarming the game, became very uneasy. He dropped +back a few steps, and attempted to escape from control on either side; +he tried to get ahead--with always a deprecating side-glance at his +masters; he begged in his best dog fashion. + +"He acts like birds," said Mr. Kincaid. "Hie on, Duke!" + +Immediately Duke sprang away, the impulse of his suddenly released +energy projecting him ten feet at a bound. But at once he slowed down. +Step by step he drew ahead, his beautiful feathered tail sweeping slowly +from side to side, his delicate nostrils expanding and contracting, his +fine intelligent eye roving here and there. He stopped. His head dropped +to the level of his back and stretched straight out ahead. His tail +stiffened. Gently he raised one hind leg just off the ground. His eye +glazed with an inner concentration, and the trace of slaver moistened +the edges of his black and shining lips. + +Mr. Kincaid cocked his gun and stepped forward. + +"He's just beyond that dead log, Bobby," he said quietly. + +Bobby watched with all his eyes. One, two, three steps Mr. Kincaid +advanced. Now he was abreast of Duke. The setter merely stiffened a +trifle more. Bobby's heart was beating rapidly. The whole sunlit autumn +world of woodland seemed waiting in a breathless suspense. The little +boy found space for a fleeting resentment against a nuthatch on a +tree-trunk near at hand for the calm, indifferent and noisy manner in +which he went about his everyday business. + +Suddenly a mighty roar shattered the stillness. Beyond Duke something +swift and noisy and brown and explosive seemed to fill the air. So +startling was the irruption that Bobby was powerless to gather his +scattered senses sufficiently to see clearly what was happening. Mr. +Kincaid's gun bellowed; a cloud of white powder smoke hung in the +mottled sunshine. And down through the trees a swift, brown, +bullet-like flight crumpled and fell, whirling and twisting in a long +slanting line until it hit the earth with a thump! Bobby heard Mr. +Kincaid berating Duke. + +"Down, you villain! Don't you try to break shot on me!" + +And Duke, his hindquarters trembling with eagerness, his head turned +beseechingly toward the man, crouched awaiting the signal. + +Quite deliberately Mr. Kincaid reloaded. + +"Fetch dead!" he then commanded. + +Duke sprang away in long elastic leaps. After a moment of casting back +and forth, he returned. His head was held high, for in his mouth he +carried the limp brown bird. Straight to Mr. Kincaid he marched. The man +stooped and laid hands on the game. At once the dog released it, not a +feather ruffled by his delicate mouthing. + +"Good dog, Duke," Mr. Kincaid commended him. "Old cock bird," he told +Bobby. + +Bobby spread out the broad brown fan of a tail; he inserted his finger +under the glossy ruffs; he stroked the smooth, brown, mottled back. + +"This is more fun than squirrels," said he with conviction. + +Mr. Kincaid glanced at him in surprise. + +"But you can't hunt these fellows," said he, "It takes a shotgun to get +'pats.' You wouldn't have much fun at this game." + +"I'd rather watch you--and Duke," replied Bobby, "than to shoot +squirrels. Are there many of them?" + +"Not up on the ridges," said Mr. Kincaid. "This fellow's rather a +straggler. But there's plenty in the swamps and popples. Want to go +after them?" + +"Yes," said Bobby. + +After that the two used often to follow the edges of the hardwood +swamps, the creek bottoms, the hillsides of popples, and--later in the +season--the sumac and berry-vine tangles of the old burnings, looking +for that king of game-birds, the ruffed grouse. + +Bobby became accustomed to the roar as the birds leaped into the air, so +that he was able to follow with intelligent interest all the moves in +the game, but never did his heart fail to leap in response. In later +years, when he too owned a shotgun, this sudden shock of the nerves +seemed to be the required stimulant to key him instantly to his best +work. A sneaker--that is to say, a bird that flushed without the +customary whirr--he was quite apt to miss. + +Little by little, as he followed Mr. Kincaid, he learned the habits of +his game: where it was to be found according to time of day and season +of year. Strangely enough this he never analyzed. He did not consciously +say to himself; "It is early in the day, and cold for the time of year, +_therefore_ we'll find them in the brush points just off the swamps, +_because_ they will be working out to the hillsides for the sun after +roosting in the swamps." His processes of judgment were more +instinctive. By dint of repeated experience of finding birds in certain +cover, that kind of cover meant birds to him. "A good place for 'pats,'" +said he to himself, and confidently expected to find them. That is the +way good hunters are made. + +All day long thus they would tramp, forcing their way through the +blackthorn thickets; clambering over and under the dead-falls and debris +of the slashings; climbing the side hills with the straight, silvery +shafts of the poplars; wandering down the narrow aisles of the old +logging roads; plodding doggedly across the unproductive fields that lay +between patches of cover; always lured on in the hope of more game +farther on, picking up a bird here, a bird there, each an adventure in +itself. And occasionally, once in a great while, they ran against a +glorious piece of luck, when the grouse rose in twos and threes, this +way, that, and the other, until the air seemed full of them. Mr. +Kincaid, very intent, shot and loaded as fast as he was able. Sometimes +things went right, and the bag was richer by two or three birds. Again +they went wrong. The first grouse to rise might be the farthest away. +Mr. Kincaid would snap-shoot at it, only to be overwhelmed, after his +gun was empty, by a half dozen flushing under his very feet. Or a miss +at an easy first would spell humiliation all along the line. Then Bobby +and Duke would be much cast down. + +"Thing to do," said Mr. Kincaid, "is to shoot one bird at a time. If you +get to thinking of the second before you've killed the first, you won't +get either. It's a hard thing to learn. I haven't got it down pat yet." + + * * * * * + +The short autumn days went fast. Before they knew it the pale sun had +touched the horizon and the world was turning cold and gray. Then came +the long laden tramp back to old Bucephalus, or perhaps to town, if they +had started out afoot. They were always very tired; but, as to Bobby, at +least, very happy. + +Generally speaking they wandered through the country at will. Shooting +was not then as popular as it is now, nor the farms as close together. +Sometimes, however, they came across signs warning against trespass or +hunting. Then, if the cover seemed especially desirable, Mr. Kincaid +used sometimes to try to obtain permission of the owner of the land. +Once or twice, having overlooked the sign, they were ordered off. The +farmers were good-natured, even though firm. + +But some four miles to the eastward lay a deep long swamp following the +windings between hills where Mr. Kincaid and Bobby had a very +disagreeable experience. It was late in the afternoon, so Bobby had +become tired. Duke made game on the outskirts of a dense thicket, +hesitated, then led the way cautiously into the tangle. + +"It's pretty thick," Mr. Kincaid advised Bobby; "you'd better sit on the +stump there until I come out." + +Bobby did so. A moment or so after Mr. Kincaid had disappeared, the +little boy became aware of a man approaching across the stump-dotted +field. He was a short, thickset man, with a broad face almost entirely +covered with a beard, a thick nose, and little, inflamed snapping eyes. +He was clad in faded and dingy overalls, and carried a pitchfork. + +"Who's that shooting in here?" he shouted at Bobby as soon as he was +within hearing. "What do you mean by hunting here? You must have passed +right by the sign." + +"Don't you want shooting here? No; we didn't see the sign," replied +Bobby. + +By this time the man had approached, and Bobby could see his bloodshot +little eyes flickering with anger. + +"You lying little snipe," he roared. "You must have seen the sign. You +couldn't help it. I've a mind to tan your hide good." + +"What's this?" asked Mr. Kincaid's quiet voice. + +The man whirled about. + +"Oh, it's you, is it?" he snarled. "Well, what do you mean by +trespassing on my farm?" + +"I didn't know it was your farm, in the first place; and I didn't know +shooting was prohibited in the second place." + +"That's too thin. You came right by that sign at the corner. Now just +make tracks off this farm about as fast as you can go." + +"Certainly," agreed Mr. Kincaid, quite unruffled. "I never shoot on a +man's land when he doesn't want me to." + +He turned, and at once the man became abusive, just as a dog gains +courage as his enemy passes. Bobby listened, his eyes wide with dismay +and shock. Never had he heard quite that sort of language. Finally Mr. +Kincaid happened to glance down at his small companion. He slipped the +shells from his gun and leaned it against a stump. + +"About face!" he said sharply to the man. "You can't talk that way +before this baby. We are going off your place as straight and as fast as +we can. You shoulder your pitchfork and go back to your house." + +The man started again on a string of objurgation. + +"I mean what I say," said Mr. Kincaid with deadly emphasis. "About face. +If you open your mouth again I shall certainly kill you." + +The old man's bent shoulders had straightened, his mild blue eye flashed +fire. So he must have looked to his soldiers before the storming of +Molino del Rey. His hands were quite empty of a weapon, and his age was +hardly a match for the other's brute strength. Nevertheless the farmer +at once turned back, after a parting, but milder, admonition. + +Mr. Kincaid picked up his gun, tucked it under his arm and trudged +forward. Bobby was trembling violently with excitement and anger. + +"Why--why--" he gasped, as yet unable to cast his thoughts into speech. + +Mr. Kincaid glanced down. A faint and amused smile flickered under his +moustache. + +"You aren't going to do that sort of a crank the honour of keeping +stirred up, are you?" "That's Pritchard--the worst crank in Michigan. +He's quarrelled with every one. I never did know where his farm was, or +I should have taken pains to keep off." + +They climbed into the cart and drove away toward town. + +"I believe I'll make a hunter of you, Bobby," pursued Mr. Kincaid after +they were going. "It's a good thing to be. Of course there's the fun of +it--the 'pats,' the quail, the jacksnipe, the 'cock. But then there's +the other part, too." + +[Illustration: "I MEAN WHAT I SAY," SAID MR. KINCAID WITH DEADLY +EMPHASIS] + +They had come out on the sandhills over the town. Mr. Kincaid drew up +Bucephalus and contemplated it as it lay below them, its roofs half +hidden in the mauve and lilac of bared branches, its columns of smoke +rising straight up in the frosty air. + +"Of course, I don't know, Bobby, whether you'll ever be a hunter or not. +It all depends on where you live and how--the chance to get out, I mean. +But, sonny, you can always be a sportsman, whatever you do. A sportsman +does things because he likes them, Bobby, for no other reason--not for +money, nor to become famous, nor even to win--although all these things +may come to him and it is quite right that he take them and enjoy them. +Only he does not do the things for them, but for the pleasure of doing. +And a right man does not get pleasure in doing a thing if in any way he +takes an unfair advantage. That's being a sportsman. And, after all, +that's all I can teach you if we hunt together ten years. Do you think +you can remember that?" + +"Yes, sir," replied Bobby soberly. + +"There's only one other thing," went on Mr. Kincaid, "that is really +important, and it isn't necessary if you remember the other things I've +told you. It's pretty easy sometimes to do a thing because you see +everybody else doing it. Always remember that a true sportsman in every +way is about the scarcest thing they make--and the finest. So naturally +the common run of people don't live up to it. If _you_--not the thinking +you, nor even the conscience you, but the way-down-deep-in-your-heart +_you_ that you can't fool nor trick nor lie to--if that _you_ is +satisfied, it's all right." He turned and grinned humorously at his +small companion. "I've nothing but a little income and an old horse and +two dogs and a few friends, Bobby; I've lived thirty years in that +little place there; and a great many excellent people call me a +good-for-nothing old loafer, but I've learned the things I'm telling you +now, and I'm just conceited and stuck-up enough to think I've made a +howling success of it." + +"_I_ don't think that," said Bobby, laying his cheek against the man's +threadbare sleeve. + +"Of course you don't, Bobby," said Mr. Kincaid cheerfully, "and I'll +tell you why. It's because you and I speak the same language, although +you're a little boy and I'm a big man." + + + + +XIII + +THE PLAYMATES + + +Early that autumn it became expedient that Mrs. Orde and Bobby should +visit Grandfather and Grandmother Orde at Redding, while Mr. Orde pushed +through certain heavy cutting in the woods. Bobby took with him his two +fonts of "real" type--one a parting present from Mr. Daggett--and his +Flobert Rifle. + +The old Orde homestead covered about three acres of ground. The city had +grown up around it. The house was a three-storied stone structure, built +fifty years before, steep of roof, gabled, low-ceilinged, old-fashioned +and delightful. Bobby loved it and its explorations, from the cellar +with its bins of vegetables and fruit and its barrels of molasses, cider +and vinegar, to its attic with its black, mysterious, "behind the tank." +And the three acres were a joy. Outside the picket fence were the shade +trees, their trunks nearly two feet in diameter. Then stretched the +wide deep lawn, now turning dull with the approach of winter and strewn +with dead leaves. It supported the fir which Bobby always called the +"Christmas Tree," and under whose wide low branches he could crawl as +into a dusty, cobwebby house; and the little birch tree with its silver +bark; and the big round lilac bush, now bare, but in summer the fragrant +haunt of birds and butterflies innumerable; and the round flower bed; +and the horse-chestnut tree whose inedible brown-and-yellow nuts were +just right to throw or to string into necklaces; and close by the front +gate the Big Tree. Bobby firmly believed this the largest tree in the +world. It was a silver maple so great about the trunk that Bobby could +trot about it as around a race-track. At twelve feet it branched in two, +each division bigger than any shade tree in town. The branches were held +together by a logging chain. Above them were more divisions and more and +yet more, ever rising higher and finer, until at last, far over the tops +of the maples, of the elms, even of the hickory at the side of the +house, above the highest point of the highest gable of the house itself, +it feathered out in a delicate, wide lacework that seemed fairly to +brush the sky. Bobby's realization of height ceased short of the +reality. Beyond that he was breathless, as one is breathless at too +great speed. The big tree was full of orioles' and vireos' nests, old +and recent, representing the building of many summers. Out behind was +the orchard, a dozen sturdy old apple trees, now passing the meridian of +their powers. + +Here Bobby laboured hard with hammers and a few old boards until he had +constructed a shield on which to tack his target. He leaned the affair +against the thickest and tallest woodpile, placed a saw-horse for a rest +at fifteen yards from his mark and brought out his Flobert Rifle. + +At the third snap of the little weapon, he looked up to discover a row +of interested heads lined up along the top of the high board fence that +constituted the Ordes' eastern boundary. He pretended not to see but +shot again, very deliberately. + +"Say," shouted a voice, "I'm coming over!" + +Bobby looked up once more. One of the heads had given place to a very +sturdy back and legs suspended on the Orde side of the fence. The legs +wriggled frantically, the toes scratched at the boards. + +"Aw, drop!" said another voice, and the second head produced a hand and +arm which proceeded calmly to rap the knuckles of the one who dangled. +The latter let go. Finding himself uninjured by the three-foot fall, he +looked up wrathfully at his late assailant. That youth was in the act of +swinging his own legs over. The first-comer, with a gurgle of joy, +seized the other by both feet and tugged with all his strength. His +victim kicked frantically, tried to hang on, had to let go and came down +all in a heap on top of his tormentor. Immediately they clinched and +began to roll over and over. Bobby stared, vastly astonished. + +Before he could collect his thoughts a third figure was dangling down +the boards. This one was feminine. It displayed a good deal of long +black leg, of short dull plaid skirt, a reefer jacket, two pigtails and +a knit blue tam-o'-shanter. Further observation was impossible, for it +dropped without hesitation and the moment it struck ground pounced on +the two combatants. Bobby saw those gentlemen seized, shaken and slapped +with hurricane vigour. The next he knew, three flushed visitors were +descending on him with ingratiating grins. + +The first, he of the pounded knuckles, was a short, sturdy, very +fair-haired youth with a wide red-lipped mouth, wide and winning blue +eyes and a bit of a swagger in his walk. He was about Bobby's age. The +second, he of the pulled feet, was brown-haired, slightly stooped, +rather nervous-faced, but with the drollest twinkle to his brown eyes +and the quaintest quirk to his sensitive lips. He was about twelve years +old. The third, the girl, was tawny-haired, gray-eyed. Her face was +almost the exact shape of the hearts on valentines; her nose turned up +just enough to be impudent; her freckles, for she was indubitably +freckled, were just wide enough apart to emphasize the inquiring, +unabashed self-reliance of her eyes. Her figure was long and lank but +moved with a freedom and a confidence that indicated her full control of +it. She was probably just short of her 'teens. + +"Gorry!" said the first boy, "is that gun yours?" + +"Let's see it," said the second. + +"It's a beauty, isn't it? Look at the gold mounting," said the girl. + +"Look out how you handle it!" warned Bobby. + +"Why, is it loaded?" asked Number One. + +"It doesn't matter whether it's loaded or not!" insisted Bobby stoutly. +"It ought never to be pointed toward anybody." + +"Oh, shucks!" said Number One, reaching for the rifle. + +But Bobby interposed. + +"You mustn't touch it unless you handle it right," said he. + +"Shucks," repeated the light-haired boy, still reaching. + +Bobby, his heart beating a little more rapidly than usual, thrust +himself in front of the other. + +"Ho!" cried the other, the joy of battle lighting up his dancing blue +eyes. "Want to fight? I can lick you with one hand tied behind me." + +"This is my yard," said Bobby, "and that is my gun! And besides I didn't +ask you to come in here, anyway." + +"Well, I can lick you, anyway," replied the other with unanswerable +logic. + +The girl had been watching them narrowly, her hands on her hips, her +head on one side. Now she interfered. + +"Johnnie, come off!" said she sharply. "No fighting! You're bigger than +he is, and it _is_ his yard and his gun, and, anyway, he isn't afraid of +you." + +Johnnie looked at her doubtfully, then turned to Bobby as to a +companion under tyranny. + +"That's just like her," he complained. "She always spoils things! You +ain't smaller than I am, anyhow. Never mind, we'll try it sometime when +she ain't around. Let's see your old gun. I won't point it at anybody. +Show me how she works." + +Bobby, a little stiffly at first, for he could not understand fighting +without animosity, showed them how it worked. + +"Let me try her," urged Johnnie. + +But Bobby would not until he had asked his mother, for permission to +shoot had been obtained only at expense of a very solemn promise. + +"Fraidy!" jeered Johnnie, "tied to his mammy's apron-strings!" + +Bobby flushed deeply, but stood his ground. + +"It's my gun," he pointed out again. "If you don't like my yard, you +needn't come into it." + +"Oh, all right, we don't want to stay in your old yard," replied +Johnnie. "Come on, kids." + +"Johnnie, come back here," commanded the girl sharply. "You ought to be +ashamed of yourself! He's perfectly right! Suppose one of us should get +shot!" + +"I'll get papa to shoot with us, if he will," promised Bobby. + +"Johnny, you come back here!" ordered the girl in more peremptory tones. +"You come back or--or--_I'll sit on your head again!_" + +Johnny came back, entirely good-natured, his attractive blue eyes +glancing here and there in restless activity. + +"Oh, all right," said he. "Let's play robbers and policemen." + +"We've left Carrie over the fence," insisted the girl. + +"Bother Carrie! Why don't she climb?" + +"You come over with us," the girl suggested to Bobby. "You're Bobby +Orde, of course, we know. I'm May Fowler. I live in the big square house +over that way. The boy with the yellow hair is Johnny English. The other +one is Morton Drake. Come on." + +"Where is it?" asked Bobby. + +"Just over the fence. That's where the Englishes live. Haven't you been +there yet?" + +"No," said Bobby. + +He leaned his rifle in the barn and followed the disappearing trio. His +doubt as to how the smooth board fence was to be surmounted was soon +resolved. The new-comers evidently knew all the ins and outs. In the +very end of the long woodshed stood a chicken-feed bin. By scrambling to +the top of this, it was just possible to squeeze between the edge of the +roof and the top of the fence. Once there, one had the choice of +descending to the other side or climbing to the shed roof. + +The expedition at present led to the other side. Here was no necessity +of dangling, for the two-by-fours running between the posts offered a +graduated descent. Bobby found himself in the back yard of a tall house +that occupied nearly the entire width of the lot. It was a very +impressive cream-brick house. A cement walk led around it from the +front. There were no stables, no clothes-lines, no pumps, nothing to +indicate the kitchen end of a residence. The swift curve of a grassed +terrace dropped from the house-level to that on which Bobby stood. Four +large apple trees, mathematically spaced, would furnish shade in summer. +That the shade was utilized was proved by the presence of a number of +settees, iron chairs and a rustic table or so. + +"There's Carrie!" cried May Fowler. "Why didn't you come on over? This +is Bobby Orde who lives over there. This is Caroline English." + +"We're going to play robber and policeman," announced Johnny English, +cheerfully. + +"All right," said Carrie. + +She sat down behind one of those rustic tables. + +"She's police sergeant," confided Morton Drake to Bobby. "She's always +police sergeant because she doesn't like to get her clothes dirty." + +"Here come the rest! Goody!" cried the alert Johnny as four more +children came racing around the corner of the house. + +Robber and policemen was a game absurd in its simplicity. The policemen +pursued the robbers who fled within the specified limits of the +Englishes' yard. When an officer caught a malefactor, he attempted to +bring his prize before the police sergeant. The robber was privileged to +resist. Assistance from the other policemen and rescues by the other +robbers were permitted. That was all there was to it. The beautiful +result was a series of free fights. + +Bobby, as a new-comer, was made a robber. So were Grace Jones, Morton +and Walter. The nature of the game demanded that the oldest should be +policeman, otherwise arrests might be disgracefully unavailing. + +At a signal from Carrie the robbers scurried away. At another the +sleuths set out on the trail. Each policeman elected a robber as his +especial prey. Bobby ran rapidly around the front of the house, dodged +past the front steps and paused. Behind him he heard stealthy footsteps +approaching the corner of the house. Instantly he ducked forward around +the other corner and ran plump into the arms of Johnny English. + +That youngster immediately grappled him. + +Johnny was no bigger than Bobby, but he was practised at scuffles and +his body was harder and firmer knit. Bobby tugged manfully, but almost +before he knew it he was upset and hit the ground with a disconcerting +whack. Of course, he continued to struggle, and the two, fiercely +locked, whirled over and over through the leaves, but in a humiliatingly +brief period Johnny had twisted him on his back and was sitting on his +chest. + +"There, I told you I could lick you!" he cried triumphantly. + +"Let me up! Let me up, I tell you!" roared Bobby, kicking his legs and +threshing his arms in a vain effort to budge the weight across his body. + +Johnny looked at him curiously. + +"Why! You ain't _mad_, are you!" He shrieked with the joy of the +discovery. "Oh, kids! Come here and see him! He's getting mad!" + +Bobby's eyes filled with tears of rage. And then he saw quite plainly +the top of a sand-hill and the village lying below and the blue of the +River far distant. And he heard Mr. Kincaid's voice. + +"But, sonny, you can always be a sportsman, whatever you do," the voice +said, "and a sportsman does things because he likes them, Bobby, for no +other reason--not for money, nor to become famous, nor even to win----" + +He choked back his rage and forced a grin to his lips--very much the +same sort that he had once accomplished when he "jumped up and laughed" +at his mother's spanking, simply because he had been told to do that +whenever he was hurt. + +"I'm not mad," he disclaimed and heaved so mighty a heave that Johnny, +being unprepared by reason of shouting to the others, was tumbled off +one side. Instantly Bobby jumped to his feet and scudded away. + +He was captured eventually--so were the others--but only after fierce +struggles. Even did a policeman catch and hold a robber, to drag the +latter to jail was no easy problem. For if he summoned the help of a +brother officer that left at large an unattached robber who would create +diversions and attempt rescues. At times all eight were piled in a +breathless, tugging, rolling mass, while Carrie, behind her rustic +table, looked on serenely lest some of the simple rules of the game be +violated. In fact Carrie was just as severe in anticipation of possible +infractions, as over the infractions themselves, which, perhaps, goes +far to explain Carrie. + +Bobby returned home at lunch time to be received with horror by Mrs. +Orde. + +"You're a sight!" she cried. "_Where_ have you been, and _what_ have you +been doing? I never saw anything like you! And look at those holes in +your stockings." + +"I've been playing robber 'n policeman with Johnny English and Carter +Irvine and all the kids," explained Bobby blissfully. + +After lunch Mr. Orde kissed his son good-bye. + +"Going up in the woods for a week, sonny," said he. + +"Papa," asked Bobby holding tight to the man's hand, "can I have the +kids shoot with my rifle?" + +"Not any!" cried Mr. Orde emphatically. "Not until I get back. Then +maybe we'll have a shooting-match and invite all hands." + +He was slipping on his overcoat as he spoke. + +"Which of the boys do you like best?" he asked casually. + +"I don't know," replied Bobby after an instant's thought. "Carter +Irvine's got an air-gun: I like him. And Johny English is all right, +too. I wish I were as strong as Johnny English," he ended with a sigh. + +Mr. Orde paused in reaching for his valise. + +"Can he take you down?" he asked shrewdly. + +"Yes, sir!" replied Bobby with a vivid flush. + +"All right, you be a good boy, and when I get back I'll show you a few +tricks to fool Mr. Johnny," Mr. Orde chuckled. "There's a lot in knowing +how." + + + + +XIV + +THE SHOOTING CLUB + + +When Bobby proposed again that his father oversee general shoots in the +back yard, the latter demurred. + +"Haven't any time," said he. "And you youngsters certainly can't be +turned loose with two guns alone. I'll tell you: you organize your club, +and have a regular time to shoot every week. I'll appoint Martin Chief +Inspector; but it must be distinctly understood that there is to be no +shooting unless he's here." + +Martin was the "hired man" about Grandpa Orde's place. + +The children fell on the idea with alacrity, and at once adjourned to +Bobby's room. Carter Irvine suggested formal organization. + +"Somebody's got to make targets; and somebody's got to buy cartridges +and collect the money for them; and somebody's got to buy prizes--we got +to have prizes--and somebody's got to keep the scores." + +After much talk they elected officers to perform these duties; and +formulated curious but practical by-laws. Bobby was elected secretary +and treasurer; and he has to-day a copy of them written in his own +boyish unformed hand. Among other things they provided that "any one +pointing a gun, accidentally or otherwise, at anybody else or Duke, is +fined one cent." The entire club went into a committee of the whole, +marched down town in a body and pestered a number of store-keepers. +Finally it purchased a silver bangle a little larger than a ten-cent +piece, had it hung from a bar pin, and inscribed "First Prize." The +second prize, following Mrs. Orde's practical suggestion, was a bright +ribbon. Winners were privileged to wear these until defeated. The shoots +were conducted with great ceremony. Each took a single chance in turn +until five rounds apiece had been expended. In a loud voice the scorer +announced the results, and the name of the next on the list. The +shooting was done from a dead rest over the saw-horse, and at about +fifteen yards. Martin sat by on the bridge-approach to the barn, smoking +a very short and very black clay pipe upside down. He rarely said +anything; but his twinkling eyes never for a moment left the excited +group. Martin was reliable. Occasionally he was called upon to referee +some particularly close decision--as to whether a certain bullet-hole +could be said to have cut the edge of the black or not--and his +decisions were never questioned. + +The shoots were taken very seriously. He who won the first or second +prize wore it proudly. Scores, individual shots, good or bad luck, +distracting influences were all discussed with the greatest interest. +Grandpa Orde, happening home early one day, watched the performance with +great enjoyment, his hands behind him underneath the flapping linen +duster, his eyes twinkling, his jaws working slowly. At the time he made +no comments; but next shoot day he was punctually on hand, carrying a +small paper parcel. + +"Here's another prize," said he. + +They opened it eagerly. It contained a large round leather disk to which +a safety pin had been sewn. + +"That's for the one who makes the worst score," explained Grandpa Orde +chuckling. + +Thenceforth the poor shots had an interest. If they could not hope to +compete with Bobby and Carter Irvine, at least they could try not to +stand at the bottom of the list. A new by-law was adopted, making +compulsory the conspicuous wearing of the leather medal. + +As has been hinted, the supremacy generally lay between Bobby and +Carter. Johnny occasionally carried off all honours by a most brilliant +score; but the week following he was likely to escape the leather medal +only by the narrowest margin. The latter decoration was shared by his +sister and Grace Jones. Caroline English disliked firearms; and took +part in the contest only because she did not care to be left out. Both +she and Grace held the weapon directly in front of them, the two hands +clasped tight at the same point just behind the trigger-guard. May +Fowler, Walter and Morton "furnished packing," as Morton said, between +the leaders and the losers. + +In this manner the children came to a thorough respect for the muzzle of +a gun; and a deep pride in handling a weapon in a safe and sportsmanlike +manner. By the time the snow and cold weather put a stop to the +shooting, each child would have been mortified and ashamed beyond words +to have been caught doing anything "like a greenhorn." + + + + +XV + +THE UPPER ROOMS + + +On Mr. Orde's return from the woods, he was promptly called upon to +redeem his promise. He therefore, showed Bobby a few of the simpler +wrestler's tricks which Bobby adopted and brooded over in his manner. +The first game of robber and policeman thereafter, he tried one on +Johnny, but bungled it and got sat on harder than ever. Bobby's trouble +in the practice of such matters arose from the fact that he was too +analytical. Before an idea could become part of his make-up, he had to +revolve it over in his mind, examining it from all sides, understanding +the relations of its component parts, making the mechanism revolve +slowly, as it were, in order to comprehend all its correlations. This +analytical thought naturally made him, to a certain degree, +self-conscious in his movements. It destroyed the instinctive, +superconscious accuracy valuable in all games of skill, but absolutely +necessary to such things as skating, boxing, wrestling, wing-shooting, +tennis and the like. Self-consciousness in such cases means awkwardness. +Bobby, in learning a new thing, was awkward. But he possessed a +wonderful persistence. In time he would think all around a thing. In +more time he would have practised it sufficiently to have lost sight of +the carefully considered "reason why" for each move. Thus the final, +though delayed, result was apt to be more consistent performance than +Johnny's brilliantly instinctive achievements. + +For example, Bobby tried again and again to attain the quick twisting +heave necessary to the common "grape-vine." At no time did he achieve +more than partial success. But in his numerous attempts he, without +knowing it, taught Johnny. That quick-witted youth caught the +possibilities and at his first attempt sprawled Bobby. In fact, by the +time Bobby had even a fair command of the three or four falls shown him +by his father, Johnny was skilful in them all and could catch Bobby with +them twice as often as Bobby could catch him. This kept Bobby +humble-minded, and, as it in no way discouraged him from keeping at it, +was a good thing for him. Here is perhaps as good a place as any to +remark parenthetically that while the friends scuffled and wrestled +constantly, Johnny never got to be much better than he became in the +first three weeks, while Bobby, in later years, was the middle-weight +champion of his class at college. + +The autumn passed, and colder weather set in. Out of doors was available +only for the activities of life. As long as energy was burnt with some +lavishness, all was well, but when the first enthusiasm had ebbed, Jack +Frost began to nip shrewdly. Then the children went within doors. They +divided their favours almost equally between the third stories of the +Orde and English homes. + +The Englishes' third story had never been finished. Bare walls, bare +floors, fresh varnished wood-work and the steam radiators constituted +the whole equipment. + +This very openness of space, however, proved an irresistible attraction +to the children. Gradually articles of their amusement became installed, +until the latter end of that third story was an official "play room." +Shelves--made by Johnny--held books and miscellaneous junk; toys of +various sorts were scattered about; against the wall was screwed a noisy +chest-weight, which nobody disturbed; near the window stood a +scroll-saw worked by foot-power. Nobody bothered with that either, for +the simple reason that all the saw blades were broken and the novelty +had worn off. Bobby would have liked to experiment with it, but of +course he did not feel like suggesting repairs. + +But the Upper Rooms were full of echoes and noises when one clumped on +the bare floor, and space with nothing to knock over when one scuffled, +and the air was always cold enough so one could see his breath. +Therefore the Upper Rooms were popular, but in a different manner and +for different purposes than Bobby's warmed and furnished chamber. + +Here the rougher, noisier romping took place, and here was finally +brought to adjustment the smouldering rivalry between the two small +boys. + + + + +XVI + +THE THIRD STORY + + +Bobby's room was also in the third story and up among the gables. It +slanted here, it slanted there, steeply or gradually according to the +demands of the roof outside. There May, Johnny and Martin curled up on +the western window seat; Bobby and Carter Irvine sat on the floor; +Caroline drew up a straight-back chair. Then while the twilight lasted +they "talked," in children's aimless fashion, about everything, anything +or nothing. + +By and by somebody yawned. + +"My, it's getting dark. Light up, Johnny." + +Then could be seen the prize attraction of the room--the deal table on +which one could use ink, mucilage, scissors and other dangerous weapons. +Here was screwed the toy printing press. Bobby, after a few further +attempts to adopt the regulation fonts of type to its chase, had rather +lost interest in it, but his new companions revived it. He showed them +exactly how to get clear and good impressions, and in the explanation +proved a most comfortable glow over finding something at last in which +he was distinctly and indisputably superior. All had to have cards +printed. Each bought his own and set up his own type; Bobby made +adjustments, and then again each was privileged to make his own +impressions. + +Johnny English, however, was keenly alive to the commercial aspects of +the case. One day he appeared in triumph bearing an order from Mr. +Ellison's wholesale house. It read quite simply: "Use Star Stove +Polish," a legend well within the possibilities of the little press. + +"Got an order for a thousand of 'em!" cried Johnny triumphantly. "We're +to print them and distribute them. We get four dollars for it!" + +Four dollars was untold wealth, though, counting the distribution, Mr. +Ellison's firm stood to gain on regular rates--provided it really cared +thus to advertise Star Stove Polish. To active youngsters the wandering +up one street and down another, leaving cards at every house, handing +cards to every passer-by, was a huge lark. When the four dollars were +paid, it seemed almost like getting a Christmas present out of season. +Johnny's imagination was fired. + +"There's lots of printing we might get," said he. "Look at all the +envelopes my papa uses, and there's his letter-heads, and +bill-heads--and lots else. But we can't do it on that thing! It takes +different kinds of type." + +Thereupon Bobby got out his catalogues and told them of the second-hand +self-inker to be had for twenty-five dollars, Enthusiasm burned at fever +heat for about three days, then the sickening realization that the total +capital of _Orde & English, Job Printers_--including the four +dollars--was just seven-thirty pricked that bright dream. The approach +of Christmas inspired Johnny with a new idea. He and Bobby risked a +half-dollar of the capital in cards embossed with holly wreaths. On +these they printed "_Merry Christmas, From ---- to ----._" These had an +encouraging sale among immediate relatives. + +But in spite of these gratifying commercial ventures, Bobby's disgust +grew. It might make marks on paper; it might earn money, but it would +not take full-sized type, it would not print more than two lines. By +these same tokens it was not a printing press, but a toy; not the real +thing, but an imitation, and Bobby was outgrowing imitations. Finally he +made a definite statement of principle. + +"I'm not going to use her any more," said he with decision, "I'm sick of +the old thing." + +"But I've just got an order for fifty cards from Mrs. Fowler!" +expostulated Johnny. + +"Then go on, do them," replied Bobby. "I won't." + +He retired to the corner, leaving Johnny wrathful. There for the +thousandth time he pored over the pages of the catalogue showing the +beautiful 5x7 self-inking press. + + + + +XVII + +"SLIDING DOWN HILL" + + +One morning Bobby awoke before daylight. It might have been the middle +of the night except that, far down in the still house, he heard a +muffled scrape and clank as Martin set the furnace in order for the day. +Bobby knew six o'clock by these dull, distant, comfortable sounds. The +air in the room was very frosty and Bobby's nose was as cold as a dog's; +but underneath the warm double blanket and the eider-down quilted +comforter Bobby had made himself a warm nest. In this he curled in a +tight little ball. Not for worlds would he have stretched his legs down +into shivery regions, and though he was not drowsy and did not care to +sleep, not for worlds would he have left his lair before the radiator +had warmed. + +So he lay there waiting and watching where the window ought to be for +the first signs of daylight. Bobby liked to amuse himself trying to +define just when the window became visible. He never could. So this +morning, some time, no time, Bobby saw a dull gray rectangle where +darkness had been, and knew that day had arrived. Over in the corner the +radiator was singing softly with the first steam. Slowly the reluctant +daylight filtered in, showing in dim outline the familiar objects in the +room. + +Bobby was just dozing when an unexpected sound from outside brought him +wide awake. He sat up in bed the better to hear. Far in the distance, +but momently nearing, rang a faint jingle of bells. At the same moment +there began a methodical _scrape, scrape, scrape_ immediately outside +the house. + +Without a thought of the cold air of the room, nor the warm flannel +dressing gown, nor the knit bedroom socks, Bobby leaped out and pattered +to the window. This was covered thick with frost crystals, but Bobby +breathed on them, and rubbed them with the heel of his palm, and so +acquired a sight-hole. + +"Snow!" he murmured ecstatically to himself. + +The outer world was very still and bathed in a cold half-light. Over +everything lay a thick covering of white. The lawn, the sidewalks, the +street, the roofs of houses were hidden by it; the top of the fence was +outlined with it; great mantles draped the post tops and the fans of the +fir tree; every branch and twig of every tree bore its burden; Martin, +wielding a very broad wooden shovel, was engaged in clearing a way to +the front gate. Just as Bobby looked out, the milkman, his vehicle on +runners and his team decorated with the strings of bells that had +aroused the little boy, drove up, dropped his hitch-weight and with the +milkman's peculiar rapid gait, trotted around to the back door. The +breath of Martin and the milkman and his two horses ascended in the +still air like steam. Bobby heard the loud shrieking of the snow as it +was trodden, and knew that it must be very cold. + +He dressed and went down stairs. Amanda, with her head tied in a duster, +was putting things to rights. Bobby could find none of his snow clothes +and Amanda was unable or unwilling to help him, so to his disappointment +he could not join Martin. However, he opened the front door and peeked +at the cold-looking thermometer. + +"My," said he to Amanda, scurrying back to the new-lighted fire, "it's +only four above!" + +This information he proffered with an air of pride to each member of +the family as he or she appeared. Bobby took a personal satisfaction in +the coldness of the weather, as though he had ordered it himself. + +In the meantime he watched Martin from the window. Shortly the municipal +snow-plow passed, throwing the snow to right and left, its one horse +plodding patiently along the sidewalk, its driver humped over, smoking +his pipe. One of Bobby's ambitions used to be to drive the municipal +snow-plow when he grew up. + +After breakfast, in the customary sequence of events, came lessons. They +naturally seemed interminable, and indeed, lasted much longer than +usual, because Bobby was unable to give his whole mind to the task. At +last they were over. Under Mrs. Orde's supervision Bobby donned (a) +heavy knit, woollen leggings that drew on over his shoes and pinned to +his trousers above the knee; (b) fleece-lined arctic overshoes; (c) a +short, thick, cloth jacket; (d) a long knit tippet that went twice +around his neck, crossed on his chest, again at the small of his back, +passed around his waist, and tied in front; (e) a pair of red knit +mittens; (f) a tasselled knit cap that pulled down over his ears. Thus +equipped, snow- and cold-proof, he passed through the refrigerator-like +storm porch, and stood on the front steps. + +The sun was up and before him the facets of the snow sparkled like +millions and millions of tiny diamonds. Across it the shadows of the +trees lay blue. In Bobby's nostrils the crisp air nipped delightfully +just short of pain. + +What did Bobby do first? Waded, to be sure. He found the deepest drift, +augmented somewhat by Martin's shovel, and wallowed laboriously and +happily through it. Twice he was unable to extricate his foot in time to +prevent a glorious tumble from which he arose covered from crown to toe +with the powdery crystals. The temperature was so low that they did not +melt, although just inside the tops of the arctics thin bands of snow +packed tight. These Bobby occasionally removed with his forefinger. + +Bobby waded happily. On either side the broad walk were tall mounds of +the snow that Martin had shovelled aside. Bobby found these waist-deep. +The lawn itself was only knee-deep, but it offered a beautiful smooth +surface. Duke appeared about this time and frisked back and forth madly, +his forefeet extended, his chest to the earth, his face illuminated +with a joyous doggy grin. He would run directly at Bobby, as though to +collide with him, swerve at the last moment and go tearing away in +circles, his hind-legs tucked well under him. The smooth white surface +of the lawn became sadly marred. Bobby was vexed at this and uttered +fierce commands to which Duke paid not the slightest attention. The +little boy made patterns in which he stepped conscientiously, pretending +he could not "get off the track." Of course he tried to make snowballs, +but tossed from him in disgust the feather-light result. + +"No packing," said he. + +About this time Martin reappeared, after his own breakfast, to finish +cleaning the walks. Bobby begged the fire shovel and assisted. + +When lunch time came Bobby entered the storm-porch and stood patiently +while he was brushed off. The entrance to the warm air inside promptly +turned the crystals still adhering to the interstices of the knit +garments into glittering drops of water. Bobby made tiny little puddles +where he disrobed--to his delight and Amanda's disgust. The damp clothes +were hung to dry behind the kitchen stove, and Bobby sat down to a +tremendous lunch. + +After lunch Bobby went out-doors again, but the novelty had worn off and +his main thought was one of impatience for three o'clock to release his +friends from school. The snow was not yet packed well enough to make the +sleighing very good, but everybody in town was out. Cutters, their +thills to one side so the driver could see past the horse; two-seated +higher sleighs; the gorgeous plumed and luxurious conveyances of the +elite--all these streamed by, packing the street every moment into a +better and better surface. + +And then, before Bobby had realized it could be so late, a first, faint, +long-drawn and peculiar shout began far away; grew steadily in volume. +Bobby ran out to the middle of the road. + +This street began at the top of a low, long hill eight blocks above the +Orde place and ended three blocks below. Coming toward him rapidly Bobby +saw a long dark object from which the sound issued. In a moment, slowing +every foot because of the level ground and the still heavy snow surface +of the road-bed, it passed him. He saw a ten-foot pair of bobs laden +with children seated astraddle the board. Each child held up the legs of +the one behind. In front, the steersman, his feet braced against the +cross-pieces, guided by means of ropes leading to the points of the +leading sled. At the rear the "pusher off" half reclined, graceful and +nonchalant. With the exception of the steersman, who was too busy, each +had his mouth wide open and was expirating in one long-drawn continuous +vowel-sound. This vowel-sound was originally the first part of the word +"out." It had long since become conventionalized, but still served its +purpose as a warning. + +Slower and slower crept the bobs. The passengers ceased yelling and +began to move their bodies back and forth in jerks, as does the coxwain +of a racing shell. Even after the bobs had come to a complete +standstill, they sat a moment on the off-chance of another inch of gain. +Then all at once the compact missile disintegrated. The steersman made a +mark in the snow at the side to show how far they had gone. Three seized +the ropes and began to drag the bobs back toward the hill. The rest fell +in, trudging behind. + +But already from the group at the top, confused by distance, other swift +black objects at spaced intervals had detached and came hurtling down. +Some of them were bob-sleds; others hand-sleds carrying but a single +passenger. Bobby stood by the gate post watching them. Each pair of bobs +made its best on distance, trying for the record of the "farthest down." +Although the temptation must have been great, nobody cheated by so much +as the smallest push. + +Bobby owned a sled on which he used to coast. It reposed now in the +barn. He wanted very much to slide down hill, but he left the sled in +its resting place. Why? Because already Bobby had grown into big boy's +estate. He knew his sled would arouse derision and contempt. It had flat +runners! And it curved far up in front! And it was built on a skeleton +framework! What Bobby wanted, if he were to join the coasting world at +all, was a long, low, solid, rakish-built affair with round "spring +runners." Even "three-quarters" would not do for his present ideas. + +By now the hill was alive. A steady succession of arrow-like flights was +balanced by the slow upward crawlings, on either side, of dozens +returning afoot. The mark set by the first bobs had been passed and +passed again. New records became a matter of inches. + +At last Bobby saw bearing down on him a magnificent bobs that had not +before appeared. It was gliding evenly where others usually began to +slow up. Its board was twelve feet long. Foot-rails obviated the +necessity of holding legs. Its sleds were long and substantial and +evidently built solely as bob-sleds and not, as most, to be detached and +used for hand sleds as well. The eight occupants began to "jounce" when +opposite the Orde place, and Bobby saw with admiration that this was a +"spring bobs." That is to say: the board connecting the sleds was not of +rigid pine, like the others, but of hickory which bent like a +buck-board. When the occupants "jounced," the spring of this board +naturally helped the bobs to keep going for some distance after it would +ordinarily have come to a stand-still. + +This scientific bobs easily excelled all previous records. Its steersman +made a triumphant mark, a full half-block beyond the farthest. So lost +in admiration of the vehicle had Bobby been that he had failed even to +glance at its occupants. Now as they returned, dragging the bobs after +them, he recognized in the steersman Carter Irvine, and in the others +the rest of his intimate friends. At the same instant they recognized +him and greeted him with a shout. + +"Come on slide!" they called. + +Bobby joyously laid hand on the steer-rope and began to help up the +hill. + +The centre of the street was entirely given over to the coasters darting +down. On either side those ascending toiled, helped occasionally by the +good-natured driver of a cutter or delivery sleigh. Then the steer-ropes +were passed around a runner support of the cutter and held by the +steersman who perched on the front of the bobs. Thus if the bobs upset, +or the horse went too fast, he could detach the bobs from the cutter by +the simple expedient of letting go the rope. All the others immediately +piled on to get the benefit of the ride. Some preferred to stand atop +the cutter's runners. It lent a pleasant sensation of a sort of +supernatural gliding, this standing, upright and motionless, but +nevertheless moving forward at a good rate of speed. Certain drivers +refused, however, to allow these liberties, but scowled blackly when +addressed by the usual cheerful "Give us a ride, Mister?" To catch +surreptitious rides with them was considered a desirable feat. Certain +daring youngsters stole up behind and crouched low against the runners. +Occasionally they escaped detection, but generally tasted the sting of +the whip-lash as it curled viciously backward. Then arose from the whole +hill the derisive cry of "whip behind!" + +At the top Bobby found a large crowd awaiting its turn. Some he knew, +others were strangers to him. All classes were represented, rich and +poor, rough and gentle. To one side the girls and smallest boys were +sliding decorously a hundred feet or so down the deeper snow of the +gutter. They sat facing forward on high framework sleds with flat +runners, one foot on either side. Whenever the sled showed indications +of speed, the feet were used as brakes. The little girls were dressed +very warmly in leggings, arctics, flannel petticoats and heavy dresses, +and wore tied close about their heads knit or fuzzy gray hoods that +framed their red cheeks bewitchingly. Bobby had always coasted in this +manner, but now he looked on them with a sort of pitying contempt. + +The main group stood waiting. New-comers fell in behind so that some +rough semblance of rotation was maintained. The bobs' crews settled +themselves with the deftness of long practice. Then bending to his task +the pusher at the rear dug his toes in, while the others hunched. With a +creak the runners gave way their hold on the frozen snow; the bobs +began slowly to move. As momentum and the downward curve of the hill +exerted their influence, the pusher found his task easier and easier. +His then the nice decision as to just how long to continue to push. To +jump on too soon was a disgrace; to delay too long was a certainty of +rolling over and over in the snow while your bobs went on without you. +The artistic pusher came aboard gracefully, with a flying, forward leap, +at the precise moment when the equilibrium of forces permitted him to +alight as softly as a thistledown. The bobs shot away in a whirl of +snow-dust. + +Immediately stepped forth a tall, gawky youth clad in dull brown, faded +garments, without mittens, without overshoes, his hands purple, but with +a long, low, narrow sled as tall as himself. His left hand clasped the +front, his right hand the back. The sled slanted across his body. A +dozen swift steps he ran forward flung the sled headlong with a smack +against the road and followed lightly to the little deck. There he +crouched, reclining on his left forearm, his left thigh doubled under +him, his head thrust forward, his right leg extended. A magnificent +start! So perfect was his balance that the merest touch of his right +toe to one side or the other sufficed for steering. In an instant he +shot close to the bobs ahead. + +"Out! out! out! out!" he cried in a sharp stacatto--very different from +the general long-drawn out warning. + +The bobs swerved and he darted by with lofty and oblivious superiority. + +In the meantime another boy had stepped forward carrying his sled +directly in front of him, a hand on either side. He, too, ran forward, +but cast himself and sled with a mighty crash into the road. He +disappeared lying flat on his stomach, his hands grasping each a +projecting runner, his legs spread wide apart. + +"Belly flop!" remarked the steersman of the next bobs, waiting. No great +speed was possible by this antiquated method, so it was necessary to +give the despised belly-flopper a good start. + +Among those whose turns did not come soon was great rivalry in the +matter of sled-runners. Flat bands were negligible and assigned to +girls, quarter-rounds and half-rounds were somewhat but not much better, +although several orthodox-shaped sleds were fitted with them. As between +three-quarters and full-round spring runners, however, was room for +argument, and endless and partisan discussion obtained. This was a +matter of opinion. A question of comparison was the relative wear and +brightness of the metals. This must be caused by use only. The +employment of sandpaper would be to your small boy what--well, what +dynamiting trout would be to your fly-fisherman. + +The twilight and the frost were already descending. Soon the +lamp-lighter with his torch and his little ladder came nimbly down the +street. On the down trip Bobby found his mother waiting by the gate, a +heavy shawl thrown over her head and shoulders. In the darkness, and +after the cold, pale moon had climbed the heavens, the hill continued +thronged. About eight o'clock many of the younger grown-ups arrived. But +Bobby had to go to bed, and he fell asleep with snatches of +conversation, the shriek of runners and the weird ululation of warning +ringing in his ears. + + + + +XVIII + +CHRISTMAS + + +Within a week of Christmas Bobby suddenly awoke to the fact that he must +go shopping. He found that in ready money he possessed just one dollar +and sixty-two cents; the rest he banked at interest with his father. +With this amount he would have to purchase gifts for the four of his +immediate household, Celia and Mr. Kincaid, of course. Besides them he +would have liked to get something for Auntie Kate, and possibly Johnnie +and Carter. + +Down town, whither he was allowed to trudge one morning after lessons, +he found bright and gay with the holiday spirit. Every shop window had +its holly and red ribbon; and most proper glittering window displays +appropriate to the season. In front of the grocery stores, stacked up +against the edges of the sidewalks, were rows and rows of Christmas +trees, their branches tied up primly, awaiting purchasers. The sidewalks +were crowded with people, hurrying in and out of the shops, their lips +smiling but their eyes preoccupied. Cutters, sleighs, delivery wagons on +runners, dashed up and down the street to a continued merry jingling of +bells. Slower farmers on sturdy sled runners crept back and forth. A +jolly sun peeked down between the tall buildings. The air was crisp as +frost-ice. + +Bobby wandered down one side the street and back the other, enjoying +hugely the varied scene, stopping to look with a child's sense of +fascination into even the hat-store windows. He made his purchases +circumspectly, and not all on the same day. Only after much hunting of +five- and ten-cent departments, much investigation of relative merits, +did he come to his decision. Then, his mind at rest, he retired to his +own room where he did up extraordinarily clumsy packages with white +string, and laid them away in the bottom of his bureau drawer. + +Three days before Christmas the tree was delivered. Martin and Mr. Orde +installed it in the parlour. First they brought in a wash-tub, then from +its resting place since last year, they hunted out its wooden cover with +the hole in the top. Through the hole the butt of the tree was thrust; +and there it was solid as a church! It was a very nice tree, and its +topmost finger just brushed the ceiling. + +Now Bobby had new occupation which kept him so busy that he had no more +time for coasting. Grandma Orde gave him a spool of stout linen thread, +a thimble, and a long needle with a big eye. Bobby, a pan of cranberries +between his knees, threaded the pretty red spheres in long strings. He +liked to pierce their flesh with the needle, and then to draw them down +the long thread, like beads. The juice of them dyed the thread crimson, +as indeed it also stained Bobby's finger and anything they happened +subsequently to touch. As each long string was completed, Bobby went +into the chilly parlour and reverently festooned it from branch to +branch of the tree. It was astonishing what a festive air the red +imparted to the sombre green. When finally the pan was emptied of +cranberries, it was replenished with popcorn. Bobby unhooked the +long-handled wire popper from its nail in the back entry and set to work +over the open fire. It was great fun to hear the corn explode; and great +fun to keep it shaking and turning until the wire cage was filled to its +capacity with this indoor snow. Once Bobby neglected to fasten the top +securely, and the first miniature explosion blew it open so that the +popcorn deluged into the fire. When the last little cannon--for so Bobby +always imagined them--had uttered its belated voice, Bobby knocked loose +the fastening and poured the white, beautiful corn into the pan. Always +were some kernels which had refused to expand. "Old Maids," Bobby called +them. + +This popcorn, too, was to be strung by needle and thread. It was a +difficult task. The corn was apt to split, or to prove impervious to the +needle. However, the strings were wonderful, like giant snowdrops +shackled together to do honour to the spirit of Christmas. Bobby hung +them also on the branches of the tree. His part of the celebration was +finished. + +Mrs. Orde believed that Christmas excitement should have a full day in +which to expend itself; so Christmas eve offered nothing except a +throbbing anticipation. One old custom, however, was observed as usual. +After supper Mr. Orde seated himself in front of the fire. + +"Get the book, Bobby," said he. + +Bobby had the book all ready. It was a very thin wide book, printed +entirely on linen, in bright colours, and was somewhat cracked and +ragged, as though it had seen much service. Bobby presented this to his +father and climbed on his knee. Mr. Orde opened the book and began to +read that one verse of all verses replete to childhood with the very +essence of this children's season: + + "_'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house + Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. + The stockings all hung by the chimney with care + In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there._" + +As the reading progressed, Bobby thrilled more and more at the +cumulation of the interest. St. Nick's cry to his steeds: + + "_----Now Dolly, now Vixen! + Now Feather! Now, Snowball! Now Dunder and Blitzen!_" + +brought his heart to his mouth with excitement that culminated in that +final surge: + + "_To the top of the house, to the top of the wall, + Now dash away! dash away! dash away, all!_" + +When the reading was finished he sank back with a happy sigh. + +"Now story," said he, and became once more for this evening the little +child of a year back. + +He listened with satisfaction to his father's unvarying Christmas story +of the Good Little Boy who went to bed and slept soundly and awoke to +varied gorgeousness of gifts; and the Bad Little Boy who slipped out and +"hooked" a ride on Santa Claus's very sleigh, and next morning, on +seeing his stocking full congratulated himself that he had been +unobserved; but on opening the stocking beheld a magic ruler that +followed him everywhere he went and spanked him vigorously and +continuously: "Even into the conservatory?" Bobby in his believing +infancy used to ask. "Even into the conservatory," his father would +solemnly reply. + +After the story Bobby had to go to bed. + +"And look out you don't open your eyes if you hear Santa Claus in the +room," warned his mother. "Because if you do, he won't leave you any +presents!" + +Bobby kissed them all and trudged upstairs. He was too old to believe in +Santa Claus. His attitude during the rest of the year was frank +scepticism. Yet when Christmas eve came around, he found that he had +retained just enough faith to be doubtful. It was manifestly impossible +that such a person could exist; and yet there remained the faint chance. +Nobody believes that horseshoes bring luck; and yet we all pick them up. +Bobby resolved, as usual, to stay awake. Once in former years he had +awakened in the dark hours. He had become conscious of a bright and +unusual light in the street, and had hidden his head, fairly convinced +that Santa was passing. Nobody told Bobby that the light was the lantern +on a wagon making late deliveries. To-night he hung his stocking at the +foot of his bed, resolved to see who filled it. The Tree was not to be +unveiled until ten o'clock; and it was ridiculous to expect a small boy +to wait until then without _anything_. Hence the stocking. + +Bobby must have stayed awake an hour. The room gradually became cold. A +dozen times his thoughts began to swell into queer ideas, and as many +times he brought himself back to complete consciousness. Then quite +distinctly he heard the sound of sleighbells, faint and far and +continuous. Bobby's sleepy thoughts resolved about the old question. +This might be Santa. Dared he look? As his faculties cleared, his +common-sense resumed sway. He turned over in bed. Then he found that the +faint far sound was not of sleighbells at all, but of the first steam +singing to itself from the radiator; and that the window was gray; and +in the dim light he could see a dark irregular, humpy stocking depending +from the foot of his bed. He had slept. It was Christmas morning. + +Bobby, broad awake with the shock of the discovery, crept hastily down, +untied the bulging stocking and crawled back to his warm nest. It was +yet too dark to see; but he cuddled it to him, and felt of it all over, +and enjoyed the warmth of his bed in contrast to that momentary +emergence into the outer cold. + +Shortly the light strengthened, however, and the room turned warmer. +Bobby reached for his dressing gown. + +From the top of the stocking projected two fat, red and white striped +candy canes with curved ends. These, of course, Bobby drew out carefully +and laid aside. He knew by former experiences that one was flavoured +with wintergreen, the other with peppermint. They were not to be sampled +"between meals." Next came something hard and very cold. Bobby dragged +forth a pair of skates. They were shining and beautiful, and when Bobby, +with the knowledge of the expert, went hastily into details, he found +them all heart could wish for. No effeminate straps about these! but +toe-clamps to tighten with a key and a projecting heel lock to insert in +a metal socket in the boot's heel. This was the _piece de resistance_ of +the stocking. Bobby felt perfunctorily along the outside to assure +himself that the usual two oranges and the dollar in the toe were in +place; then returned to gloat over his skates. He wanted to use them +that very day; but realized the heel plates must be fitted to his boots +first. After a few moments he stuffed the skates back into the stocking, +put on his bedroom knit slippers, and stole shivering down the steep, +creaking stairs. The door to his parents' room stood slightly ajar. He +pushed it open cautiously and peered in. The blinds were drawn, and the +room was very dim, so Bobby could make out only the dark shape of the +great four-poster bed, and could not tell whether or not his father and +mother still slept. For a long time he hesitated, shifting uneasily from +one foot to the other. Then he ventured, only just above a whisper. + +"Merry Christmas!" said he, a little breathlessly. + +But instantly he was reassured. There came a stir of bed-clothes from +the four-poster. + +"Merry Christmas, dear!" answered Mrs. Orde. + +"Merry Christmas! Caught us, you little rascal, didn't you?" came in his +father's voice. + +With a gurgle of delight, Bobby, clasping his stocking, ran and leaped +at one bound into the soft coverlet. There he perched happily and told +of his skates. + +"Suppose you open the blinds and show them," suggested Mr. Orde. + +Bobby did so. Mr. Orde examined the skates with the eye of a +connoisseur. + +"Seems to me Santa Claus has been pretty good to you," said he finally. + +"Yes, sir," said Bobby. For the time being, under the glamour of the +day, he wanted to believe in Santa Claus. Doubts had cold comfort, for +they were shut entirely outside the doors of his mind. + +But before long it was time to get up. Bobby pattered across the room +and down the hall to the head of the stairs. Outside Grandma Orde's room +he paused. + +"Merry Christmas, grandma!" he called. + +"Merry Christmas, Bobby!" replied Grandma Orde promptly. + +"Merry Christmas, grandpa!" repeated Bobby. + +"Grandpa isn't here," replied Grandma. + +And on his way back to his own room Bobby found Grandpa; or rather +Grandpa surprised him by springing on him suddenly from behind the +corner with a shout of "Merry Christmas!" Grandpa had been waiting there +for ten minutes, and was as pleased as a child at having caught Bobby. + +The latter dressed and went hunting for other game. Mrs. Fox was an easy +victim. Amanda he stalked most elaborately, ducking below the chairs and +tables, exercising the utmost strategy to approach behind her broad +back. Apparently his caution succeeded to admiration. Amanda went on +peeling apples, quite oblivious. And then, just as he was about to +spring upon her from the rear, she remarked, in an ordinary tone of +voice and without moving her head: + +"Merry Christmas, ye young imp! I know you're there!" + +This was a disappointment; but Bobby bagged Martin by hiding in the +storehouse; and Duke was too easy. + +After breakfast came the inevitable delay during which Bobby sat and +eyed the parlour doors. Mr. Orde slipped in and out of them several +times. Martin, too, entered on some mysterious errand regarding the +heating. Finally everything was pronounced in readiness. All the family +but Bobby went into the parlour. Suddenly both doors were thrown back at +once. Bobby stood face to face with the Tree. + +It stood, glittering and glorious, set like a jewel in the velvet of the +darkened room. Only the illumination of its own many little candles cast +radiance on its decorations and the parcels hung from its branches and +piled beneath, and dimly on the half-visible circle of the family +sitting motionless as though part of a spectacle. + +Bobby drew a deep breath and entered. What a changed tree from the one +he had hung with cranberries and popcorn the day before! The cranberries +and popcorn were still there; but in addition were glittering balls, and +strings of silver, and coloured glass bells, and candy birds and angels +with spun-glass wings, and clouds of gold and silver tinsel and +cornucopias, and candy in bags of pink net, and dozens of lighted +candles, and on the very top the great silver Star of Bethlehem. + +Most of the gifts were wrapped in paper and tied with green and red +ribbon. Two or three, however, were too large for this treatment, and +stood exposed to view. Bobby could not help seeing a sled--a real +sled--painted red. He declined, however, to see another larger article +quite on the other side the tree. By a perversity of will he thrust it +entirely out of his head, as though it did not exist, unwilling to spoil +the effect of its final realization. + +For a full minute Bobby stood in the centre of the stage, his sturdy +legs spread apart, his hands clasped tight behind him, his eyes blinking +at the splendour. Finally he sighed. + +"My, that tree's just--just--_scrumptious!_" he breathed. + +The interest that had held the circle of elders silent and motionless, +like a mechanical setting for the tree, broke in a laugh. Mr. Orde +arose. + +"Well, let's see what we have," said he. + +He advanced and picked up a package. + +"'For Grandma Orde from her loving daughter,'" he read the inscription. +"Here you are, grandma. First blood!" + +Rapidly the distribution went forward. Cries of delight, of surprise +and of thanks, the rustle of many wrapping papers filled the air. Around +each member of the family these papers, tossed carelessly aside in the +impatience of the moment, accumulated knee-deep. The servants, very +clean and proper in their Sunday best, stood in a constrained group near +the door, holding their gifts, still wrapped, awkwardly in their hands. + +Bobby for a few moments was kept very busy acting as messenger. By +custom his was the hand to deliver to the servants their packages. Then +grown-up excitement lulled, and he had time to gloat over his own +formidable pile. + +The sled he at once turned over. Glory! Its runners were of the +round-spring variety--the very best. They were dull blue and unpolished +as yet, of course; but that fact was merely an incentive to much +coasting. Another knife filled his heart with joy! for naturally the +birthday knife was broken-bladed by now. A large square package proved +to contain a model steam engine with a brass boiler and what looked like +a lead cylinder; its furnace was a small alcohol lamp. Seven or eight +books of varying interest, another pair of knit socks from Auntie Kate, +a half-dozen big glass marbles, a box of tin soldiers completed the +miscellaneous list. A fat, round, soft package, when opened, disclosed a +set of boxing-gloves. + +"Now you and Johnny can have it out," observed Mr. Orde. + +Another square package held two volumes from Mr. Kincaid. They were +thick volumes with pleasant smelling red leather covers on which were +stamped in gold the name and the figure of a man in very old-fashioned +garments aiming a very old-fashioned fowling-piece at something outside +of and higher than the book. "Frank Forrester's Sporting Scenes and +Characters: The Warwick Woodlands" spelled Bobby. He lingered a moment +or so over the fat red volumes. + +Each of the servants contributed to Bobby's array; for they liked Bobby +and his frank manly ways. Martin gave a red silk handkerchief whose +borders showed a row of horses' heads looking out of mammoth horseshoes. +Amanda presented him with a pink china cup-and-saucer on which were +scattered bright green flowers. Mrs. Fox's offering was, +characteristically, a net-work bag for carrying school books. + +The Christmas tree was stripped of everything but its decorations. Even +some of the candles had burned dangerously low and had been +extinguished. The servants had slipped away. + +"Here, youngster," admonished Mr. Orde, "aren't you going to get all +your presents? You haven't looked behind the tree yet." + +And then at last Bobby permitted himself to see that of which he had +been aware all the time; but which, by an effort of the will he had made +temporarily as unreal to himself as St Paul's in London. Behind the +tree, furnished, repainted, wonderful, to be reverenced, stood high and +haughty the self-inking, double roller, 5 x 7 printing press! + +"What do you say to that?" cried Mr. Orde. + +But Bobby had nothing to say to that. He was too overwhelmed. He +approached and pulled down the long lever. Immediately, as the platen +closed, the two rollers rose smoothly across the form and over the round +ink-plate, which at the same time made a quarter-revolution. At the nice +adjustment and correlation of these forces Bobby gave a cry of +admiration. + +"Look in the drawers," advised his father. + +The little boy pulled open one after another the shallow drawers in the +stand to which the press was fastened. Some were filled with leads and +quoins and blocks. Some were regular type-cases, plenished with +glittering new fonts all distributed. One contained a small composing +stone, a cleaning brush, a composing stick, a pair of narrow-pointed +pliers, a mallet and planer. Everything was complete. + +"Don't you think Auntie Kate was pretty good to a little boy I know?" +asked Mrs. Orde. + +"Did Auntie Kate give me all this?" asked Bobby. + +"She certainly did," replied his mother. + +Now the family, bearing each his presents, moved into the sitting room +to give Mrs. Fox and Martin a chance to clean up the debris. Bobby +arranged his things on the sofa. Suddenly there came to him the uneasy +feeling of having reached the end. He had mounted above the first joy +and surprise and anticipation. It was all comprehended; nothing more was +to follow. Novelty had evaporated, like the volatile essence it is; and +Bobby had not as yet entered the fuller enjoyment of use. He could not +calm to the point of doing more than glance restlessly through the +books; he had not recovered sufficiently from his morning excitement to +settle down making his engine go, or to trying his press, or to playing +with any of his new toys. There descended upon him that peculiar and +temporary sense of emptiness, which, being revealed by youngsters and +misunderstood by elders, often brings down on its victim the unjust +accusation of ingratitude. + +Luckily Bobby was not long left to his own devices. A wild whoop from +outside summoned him to the window; and what he saw therefrom caused him +to jump as quickly as he could into his out-door garments. + +By the horse-block stood a very black and very chubby pony. It wore a +beautiful brass-mounted harness, atop its head perched a wonderful red +and white pompon, to it was hitched a low, one-seated sleigh on the +Russian pattern, with high grilled dash, and two impressive red and +white horse-hair plumes. In this rig-in-miniature sat Johnny English, a +broad grin on his face. + +"Look what I got for Christmas!" he cried to Bobby. "Jump in and have a +ride!" + +Bobby jumped in, and they drove away. The pony trotted very busily with +more appearance of speed than actual swiftness. The little sleigh, being +low to the ground, emphasized this illusion; so that the two small boys +had all the exhilaration of tearing along at a racing gait. + +"This is great!" cried Bobby. "What else did you get?" + +"Yes, and there's a two-wheeled cart for summer," said Johnny; "and when +you slide the seat forward a little and let down the back, it makes +another seat. I'll show you when we go back." + +Shortly they decided to do this. Johnny attempted to turn in his tracks, +as he had seen cutters do on the Avenue. But here the snow was not +packed flat, as it is on the thoroughfare, so that when the twisting was +applied one runner promptly left earth, and the whole sleigh canted +dangerously. A moment later, however, in response to the frantic +counterbalancing of two frightened small boys and the sensible coming to +a halt of the fuzzy pony, it sank back to solidity. + +"Gee!" breathed Johnny, wide-eyed, "That was a close squeak!" + +They turned more cautiously, and in a wide circle, and jingled away +toward home. It might be mentioned that the bells were not strung as a +belt to encircle the pony, but were attached below to the underside of +the thills in such a manner as to contribute chimes. + +"What's his name?" asked Bobby, referring to the pony. + +"He hasn't any. I got to name him." + +"I knew a very nice horse once. His name was Bucephalus," remarked Bobby +tentatively. + +"I tell you!" cried Johnny, who had not been listening. "I'll name him +Bobby, after you!" + +"Oh!" cried that young man. "Will you?" He gazed at the pony with new +respect. + +"It'll mix things up a little, though, won't it?" reflected Johnny. "I +tell you. We'll call him Bobby Junior. How's that?" + +"That's fine!" agreed Bobby gravely. + +In the dead cold air of the Englishes' barn, which was situated in an +alley-way, the block above their house, Bobby and Johnny examined the +cart, admired its glossy newness, and, under the coachman's +instructions, experimented with the sliding seat. They took a peek +through the folding door into the stable where stood the haughty horses. +These, still chewing, slightly turned their heads and rolled their fine +eyes back at the intruders, then, with a high-headed indifference, +returned to their hay. After this the boys scuttled into the small, +overheated "office" with its smell of leather and tobacco and harness +soap; with its coloured prints of horses, and its shining harness behind +the glass doors; with its cushioned wooden armchairs, its sawdust box +and its round hot stove with the soap-stones heating atop. Here they +toasted through and through; then clumped stiffly down to the Englishes' +house, where Johnny exhibited his other presents. They were varied, +numerous and expensive. Bobby's Christmas was as dear to him as ever; +but it no longer filled the sky. Another and higher mountain had lifted +itself beyond his ranges. The eagerness to exhibit triumphantly to +Johnny which, up to this moment, he had with difficulty restrained, was +suddenly dashed. It hardly seemed worth while. + +"Come over and see my things," he suggested without much enthusiasm. + +"It's dinner time now, Bobby," objected Mrs. English, who had just come +in. "After dinner." + +"All right; after dinner, then," agreed Bobby. "Bring Caroline," he +added as an after-thought. + +That demure damsel had also her array of presents, of which she seemed +very proud, but which did not interest Bobby in the slightest. They +seemed to be silver-handled scissors, and pincushions, and embroidered +handkerchief-holders and similar rubbish. + +But when Johnny--without Caroline--appeared shortly after the elaborate +Christmas dinner the production of which constituted Grandma Orde's +chief delight in the day, Bobby's enthusiasm returned. Johnny went wild +over the printing press. Experience with the toy press had given him a +basis of comparison. + +"My!" he ejaculated at last, "I believe I'd rather have this than Bobby +Junior! + +"Now," continued Johnny, "we can get all sorts of orders. I'll ask papa +about envelopes and letter-heads this evening." + + + + +XIX + +THE BOXING MATCH + + +Early after breakfast next morning appeared Johnny. + +"I asked Papa about envelopes. He says he won't give us an order until +he sees samples of the type and the work, but he says if we can do it as +well as the regular printer, he doesn't mind giving us an order for a +thousand. Here's one." + +The boys ascended at once to Bobby's room. Investigation of the fonts +showed that the firm possessed the proper type. Bobby set up the matter +in the composing stick--and promptly pied it when he attempted to move +it to the chase. He had forgotten to put a lead in first, so there was +nothing to bind the top line. Redistribution and rectification of the +error were in order. It took a good half-hour to get the type properly +arranged in the chase. When single letters did not drop through from the +middle, the ends of the lines fell away, and then, try as they would, +the boys were unable to lock the stickful in the chase. Either it would +not bind, or it warped out or in so that even without trial it could be +seen that a clear impression was manifestly impossible. These and other +mechanical difficulties occupied them until noon. Johnny was wild-eyed +and nervous. + +"Why, we haven't even started to print!" he cried, "We'll never get a +job done at this rate! I don't believe the old press is any good, +anyhow!" + +"Yes, it is," insisted Bobby doggedly. "We'll get it yet." + +He hardly finished his lunch, so eager was he to be back at the problem. +Johnny did not come until after two o'clock, and then stood his hands in +his pockets, surveying his absorbed partner with some disgust. + +"Well," said he, "is the old thing working yet?" + +Bobby looked up absorbedly. + +"She's going to in just a second--you wait," he muttered. + +A moment later he lifted the locked form in triumph. It held together +and it was flat. Immediately Johnny's nearly extinct enthusiasm flamed +up. + +"Stick her in!" he cried. "Come on, we can show Papa a sample to-night. +How many an hour do you suppose we can print on her, Bobby?" + +"I don't know," replied Bobby. + +They inserted the form, slipped a blank envelope in the corner and were +ready for the first trial. + +"It won't be even on the paper," said Bobby, "but we can fix that +later." + +He pulled down and back the long lever and the two heads bumped together +over the result. One side of the legend was very heavy and black and +clear, but the other was almost invisible. + +"Oh, snakes!" cried Johnny in disappointment. + +"Oh, that's all right," reasoned Bobby out of his experience with the +toy press. "All it needs is paper underneath." + +But paper underneath proved inadequate. It was impossible with paper to +establish the nice gradation necessary to equalize the pressure. And +then, also, too much paper made too deep an impression. + +At the failure of this tried expedient even Bobby's patience ran short +for the time being. + +"Come on over to my house," suggested Johnny crossly. "The crowd's +coming. I got boxing gloves for Christmas too, but I bet they're no good +either. I bet they rip first thing." + +Sore at heart and in glum silence the two marched around the corner to +the Englishes'. + +Here already in the cold third story were Grace Jones and Martin Drake, +skipping about in a game of hop-scotch to keep warm. Shortly May and +Carter arrived together and Caroline ascended from her own room where +she had been sewing. At sight of the boxing gloves May and Morton set up +a shout. + +"Nope," vetoed Johnny, "Bobby and I are going to try them first!" + +The youngsters were at first a little awkward with the unusual-sized +fists, but soon forgot a detail as trivial as that. Neither knew the +first principles of hitting. Round-arm blows with the head lowered were +first choice, of which a good ninety per cent. went wild. The other ten +naturally had little force, but there was a great deal of action. In +this game Bobby stood no disadvantage with Johnny. After the first few +seconds, finding himself, to his surprise, still unhurt, he sailed in +with some confidence. Accidently Johnny ran square against his extended +fist. It jarred Johnny considerably, and made that youth exceedingly +eager to get even. Shortly he succeeded. The pair warmed up. Affairs +began to get serious. In a brisk though wild rally they clinched, and in +a moment were rolling over and over on the floor, pummelling vigorously. + +But immediately Carter jerked them apart. + +"Here, that's no way to box. Keep your feet. Here, May, give us a little +help." + +They pulled the contestants to their feet. Johnny and Bobby were very +mussed up and dusty. Johnny's nose was bleeding slightly; Bobby's eye +was a trifle swelled. The instant their captors released them, they went +at it again, hammer and tongs. They were certainly not angry as enemies +are angry, but as certainly for the time being, in the sense that each +was grimly resolved on victory, they had ceased to be friends. + +How long the combat might have lasted it would be impossible to say. +Bobby had never before used his fists, while the aggressive Johnny, at +public school, was the hero of many fights. But as long as Carter +insisted on no rough-and-tumble this fact gave the elder boy little +advantage. The damage that two light-weights can inflict on each other +with round-arm blows is inconsiderable, and Bobby was of the sort that +punishment merely renders obstinate. Probably sheer lack of breath would +in time have called the battle a draw, but all at once Bobby had an +idea. So illuminating and sudden was it that for an instant he forgot +what he was doing. Johnny closed on him like a tiger beating him with +both fists as hard as he could hit. Even then Bobby's thought was not of +defence but of explanation. + +"Hold on! hold on! quit!" he kept on crying in expostulation. "Wait a +minute! I got it!" + +It is doubtful if Johnny heard him. Before Carter and May could stop him +he had inflicted more damage than the rest of the fight had produced. +Bobby's nose too was bleeding, and a huge red bump was swelling on his +forehead when finally he was freed. + +However, he was not even aware of those trifles. + +"Don't you know those two screws--" he began eagerly to Johnny. + +But that young gentleman, panting, was not yet emerged from the red haze +of combat. + +"I licked!" he cried. "Didn't I lick? He quit! He hollered 'nuff, didn't +he? I licked the stuffing out of him!" + +"O shut up!" said May contemptuously; "or I'll lick the stuffing out of +you." + +Bobby, practically oblivious to the meaning of this exchange, had +stripped off his gloves and had advanced, eager to finish his +explanation. + +"Johnny, I just thought!" said he. "You remember those two thumb screws +under the platen? I bet you if you turn those, they'll regulate the +pressure. Let's go over and try it!" + +Johnny looked at Bobby uncertainly. He drew a deep breath, then his +round, cheerful grin broke over his face. + +"I guess I didn't lick you after all, old socks," said he. "I don't know +what you're talking about. Go on try your old press. I'm sick of her." + +Bobby washed his bruised face and went home. Sure enough, the thumb +screws did regulate the pressure. Within a half-hour he was back at the +Englishes'. The boxing gloves were still in commission. Morton was +dancing around and around May, slapping her with his open glove first on +one side the face, then on the other. The girl, in spite of her +strength, agility and superior age was as awkward as are most girls at +hitting with their fists. She made short angry rushes at the dodging +Morton who slipped easily in and out of her guard. He was getting even +for a long tyranny. Finally May stopped short and stamped her foot with +vexation. Her face was very red and she actually had tears in her eyes. + +"Oh!" she cried. "You wait 'till I get hold of you, you miserable little +thing!" + +At that the boxing ended. Bobby drew Johnny one side. "Look there!" said +he with pardonable pride. "Show that to your papa. I bet he can't tell +it from the regular printers. Look out; it's wet yet." + +Johnny gazed with awe on the perfect production. The next instant all +his dead enthusiasm leaped to life. + +"I bet we can print the whole thousand in one morning!" he cried +gleefully, "And then there's the letter-heads, and bill-heads and May's +cards--and perhaps your father and Carter's will give us jobs--and--" + +They clattered down the stairs to the tune of Johnny's business +expansions. + + + + +XX + +THE PARTNERS + + +The thousand envelopes were printed and delivered. Mr. English expressed +himself as entirely satisfied, and allowed the new firm to experiment on +bill heads. Mr. Orde promised an order of more envelopes when these were +finished. + +Johnny's commercial instincts were thoroughly aroused. He saw visions of +wealth beyond the dreams of wood-box-filling or street-sprinkling with +the garden hose in summer. In that community even Johnny English had to +earn his own pocket money. Bobby, too, entered into the game with +enthusiasm--for over a week. Then he grew tired of the mechanical +repetition of that which he had acquired so painfully. It no longer +interested him to set the type, to lock the form, to ink and clean the +ink plates. He had carried these things to their last refinement of +skill. As for the actual printing--the endless insetting of paper, +pulling down on the lever, removing the paper--this he could no longer +stand for more than half an hour at a time. Then a deep lethargy seized +his every faculty. His mind sank to stupor. Time no longer possessed +dimensions, but blew into a vast Present which was never going to cease. +If he kept at it a half-hour after this condition manifested itself he +emerged from the ordeal as tired and sleepy as though he had undergone +hard physical labour. It was more than mere boredom; it was a revolt of +the soul. + +At first his loyalty to the firm and his sense of duty drove him on. +Then gradually he relinquished the printing to Johnny. That young man +could cheerfully have stuck to the press twelve hours a day, if he had +been permitted. Each printed bit of paper laid aside on the growing pile +to his left represented just that much more pocket money. + +So, strangely enough, the relative position of the two boys toward the +work in hand was reversed. At first, when the mechanical difficulties +seemed insurmountable, Bobby's perseverance had been inexhaustible, +while Johnny was a dozen times inclined to let the whole problem go +smash. Now, when the task of feeding into the press the thousand +necessary to fill orders seemed endless, Johnny's patience rose more +than adequate to the occasion, while Bobby's spirit shrank at the mere +size of it. + +Finally matters adjusted themselves so that Bobby saw to the alignment, +the perfection of the impression, all the rest of getting ready; then +Johnny took hold. + +But one day Bobby, walking glumly over to the composing stone, suggested +something new. + +"Let's start a newspaper," said he. + +The clang of the press came to an abrupt stop. + +"Let's start a newspaper," he repeated. "We've got enough pica to print +one page at a time." + +Rashly Johnny agreed. All went well until it came time to print the +sheet. Eighteen subscribers were secured at five cents a copy. Johnny +and Bobby wrote the entire number between them. Bobby set it up, +happily. Johnny, also happily, turned out certain letter-heads at the +press. Then came time to print. And at that moment trouble began. + +The first copy was legible but smudgy. Bobby was not satisfied and +attempted improvement, most of which, so far from improving, gave cause +for fresh defects. Johnny was standing about impatiently. + +"Come on," said he at last, "that's good enough. They can read it, all +right, and those few letters don't matter. Let it go at that." + +But Bobby shook his head and carried the form back to the composing +stone. + +Four days he worked over the first page of the _Weekly Eagle_. Johnny +expostulated, stormed, pleaded with tears in his eyes. + +"Let's let the whole thing slide," he begged. "All we get out of it +anyway is less'n a dollar and think of all the time we're wasting. That +job for Mr. Fowler isn't all done, and Smith's Meat Market is going to +order some bill-heads." + +But Bobby was obstinate. Finally Johnny, in disgust, left him to his own +devices. + +The world for Bobby contained but one thing. His recollections of that +time are of a flaring gas jet and the smell of printer's ink. He won +finally and duly delivered the eighteen copies--letter-perfect. Probably +five hundred other and imperfect examples of the _Weekly Eagle_ found +their way into the furnace. + +Johnny plucked up heart and returned, only to find that the printing +press question was dead as far as Bobby was concerned. + +"I'm sick of printing," was all Bobby would say, and no argument as to +unexploited wealth could move him. The subject had not only lost +interest, but mere casual thought of its details brought on a faint +repetition of the mental lethargy. The sight of the press and its varied +appurtenances threw his mind into the defensive blank coma which +rendered him incapable of the simplest intellectual effort. This was +something as outside Bobby's control as the beating of his heart. He did +not understand it, nor attempt to analyze it. + +"I'm sick of it," said he; just as after the labour of building a fort +in Monrovia, he had with the same remark deserted his companions on the +threshold of its enjoyment. + +Bobby thought he exercised a choice when he turned from printing, just +as he chose whether to walk on the right or on the left side of the +street. In reality it would have been impossible for him to re-enter his +interest, his enthusiasm; impossible even for him to have accomplished +the mechanical labour of the trade save at an utterly disproportionate +expense of nervous energy. + +Bobby did not know this; of course, Johnny was not capable of such +analysis. The only human being who might have understood and worked in +correction of the tendency, read the affair amiss. Mrs. Orde was only +too glad to get Bobby into the open air again, and saw in his +abandonment of this feverish enthusiasm only cause for rejoicing. + +So Bobby threw his friend into despair by declining to go on with a +flourishing business. "Bime by," said he. "I'm sick of it, now." As a +matter of fact he never touched the printing press again. His parents +deplored the useless waste of a large amount of money and drew the usual +conclusion that it is foolish to buy children expensive things. No doubt +from that standpoint the affair was deplorable; yet there is this to be +noted, that Bobby's enthusiasm blew out only after he had thought all +around the subject, back front, bottom and sides. He knew that printing +press theoretically and practically and all it could do. As long as it +withheld the smallest secret Bobby clung to it, his soul at white heat. +But the repetition and again the repetition of what he had learned +thoroughly struck cold his every higher faculty. He shrugged it all from +him, and turned with unabated freshness his inquiring child's eyes to +what new the world had to offer him. + + + + +XXI + +WINTER + + +After the collapse of the printing business Bobby and Johnny turned to +Bobby Junior and the little sleigh. They drove often, far into the +country. It was the dead of winter. The country was wide and still and +white. Against the prevailing note of the snow the patches of woods +showed almost black. The landscape looked strangely flattened out, and +bereft of life. Nevertheless that impression was false, for the little +sleigh climbed and dipped over many hills and hollows; and the boys were +continually seeing living things and their indications. Tracks of small +animals embroidered the snow. Strange tame birds hopped here and there +or rose and swept down wind with plaintive pipings that, in spite of +their lack of fear, lent them a spirit of wildness akin to the aloof +savaging of winter winds in bared trees. Bobby and Johnny recognized the +snow buntings, tossing in compact big companies like flakes in a +whirlwind, the unsoiled white effect of their plumage shaming the snow. +Besides these were little red-polls, dressed warmly in magenta and brown +for the winter, hopping and clinging among the seed-weeds exposed by the +breezes; and hardy, impudent, harsh-voiced blue-jays, cloaking much +villany and cunning under wondrous suits of clothes; and trim, neat +cedar wax-wings, perching on elevated twigs, always apparently at +leisure; in the woods, whole bands of chickadees and nuthatches, +cruising it cheerfully, calling to each other in their varied notes, +tiny atoms defying all the cold and famine Old Winter could bring. Once +they were vastly excited to catch sight of a hoary, wide-winged monster +sweeping like a ghost close to the snow. They surmised it might be a +Great Snow Owl, like the stuffed one in the English library, but they +never knew. And again, in some trees alongside the road, they came upon +a large flock of stocky-built birds, a little smaller than robins, so +tame that the boys drove beneath them and could see their thick bills, +and the marvellous clarity of the sunset yellow of their heads, shading +to twilight down their backs, to black night on their wings, barred by a +strip of clear white moonlight. They agreed that these were most +unusual-looking creatures. How unusual any naturalist would have been +glad to tell them; for these were that great and prized rarity, the +Evening Grosbeak. So, too, in the pine woods they were showered by bits +of cones, and looked aloft to make out a distant little bird busily +engaged in tearing the cones to pieces. They laughed at his industry, +but would have been immensely interested could they have examined at +close hand the Crossbill's beak and its singular adaption to just this +task. And of course they remarked the stately deliberate-looking prints +of the grouse; and the herded tramping of the quail. The winter was +populous enough, in spite of its rigour. Some of its many creatures the +boys knew; many more they did not; but you may be sure they saw all that +did not exercise the closest circumspection. + +For miles about, the little sleigh explored the country: main-road, worn +smooth by countless farmer-sleighs; by-roads, through which the pony had +to wallow belly-deep, making a new track. Not the mere pleasure of +driving lured them out--that amounted to little after the week of +novelty--but something of the spirit of exploration was in it. Duke +always accompanied them, plunging powerfully through the deepest drifts, +exulting in the snow, rolling in it, frisking in it in all directions, +racing down the road and back, glad to be alive and warm this freezing +weather. One day in a patch of woods he came to an abrupt halt. The +boys, watching, saw his eye fixed, his upper lip snarl back the least in +the world, his tail stiffen except at its quivering tip, his whole body +lengthen and half-crouch and turn rigid. And as the sleigh wallowed near +him, suddenly, with an immense scattering of snow and a startling roar, +an old cock-partridge burst from beneath the surface of the snow and +hurtled away through the frozen trees. + +Some days when the wind blew keen and sharp as knives across the broad +reaches, it was almost impossible for the boys to keep warm. The heated +soap-stone wrapped up at their feet, the warm buffalo robes under and +over them, their thick overcoats and fur caps alike proved inadequate. +Then one took his turn at driving, while the other crouched entirely +covered beneath the robes. The wind drove the hard, sparse flakes from +the low leaden sky like so many needles against the driver's face, +filling his eyes with tears, causing his skin to glow and smart. Even in +this was a certain joy and adventure. But again the sun would shine, the +bells jingle louder in the clarified air. Probably, however, the boys +liked best of all the warm, still snowstorms, when all the world was +muffled in the shoes of silence; when nature held her finger on hushed +lips; when deliberately, without haste the great white flakes zigzagged +down from the soft gray above, obscuring and softening the landscape, +rendering dear and mysterious the commonest things. Then sounds came, +subdued as in a sanctuary, and people approaching showed portentous as +through a mist, and the boys, looking upward, caught big wet flakes on +their lashes as they tried in vain to determine the point at which the +snowflakes became visible. There existed no such point. The snowflakes +did not approach as other things approach, beginning small with +distance, and becoming larger as they neared. They flashed into sight +full-grown. It was as though they had fallen wrapped in invisibility +until the great Magician had uttered the word. That was Bobby's secret +thought, which he told nobody. Often he imagined he could hear the word +repeated all about him, _presto! presto! presto! presto!_ like the +distant hushed falling of waters. And as the charm was said, he, looking +skyward, could see the big soft flakes flash into view out of nothing. + + + + +XXII + +THE MURDER + + +So successful did the friendship between the two boys turn out to be +that next autumn Johnny English was invited to visit the Ordes at +Monrovia. He accepted very promptly, and, as the distance was short, +brought with him the cart and pony. The country around Monrovia was very +interesting to them. Riverland, marshland, swampland, shore and meadow, +all offered themselves in the most diversified forms. The sandy roads +wound over the hills, down the ravines, along the corduroys and +float-bridges. Life was varied. The boys, armed with their Flobert +rifle, wandered far afield. + +They did not get very much, it is true, but they popped away steadily, +and did a grand amount of sneaking and looking. And they managed first +and last to see a great deal. In the snipe marshes they knew when the +first flight dropped in--and murdered a killdeer as he stood. Out in the +sloughs they marked the earnest red-heads from the north--and +accomplished two mud-hens, a ruddy duck, and a dozen blackbirds. In the +uplands they knew almost to a feather how many partridge each thicket +had bred; to a covey where the quail used; and once in a great while, by +strategy on their own side and foolishness on the part of the quarry, +they caught one sitting and brought it down. What is quite as much to +the point, they felt the season as it changed. The gradual +transformation from the green of summer to the brown and lilac of late +autumn, the low swinging of the sun, the mellowing of the days, the +broad-hung curtain of sweet smoke-breeze, the hushing of the vital +forces of the world in anticipation of winter--all these passed near +them and, passing, touched their eyes. They were too busy to notice such +things consciously, however. The influence sank deep and became part of +the permanent background against which their lives were to be thrown. + +At first some doubt was expressed as to the wisdom of that Flobert +rifle. To turn two small boys loose with a deadly weapon seemed to Mrs. +Orde a rather strong temptation of Providence. Mr. Kincaid spoke for +them. In the end it was decided, though with many misgivings and more +admonitions. + +"Keep the muzzle pointed up; never get excited; never shoot at anything +unless you _know_ what it is," was Mr. Kincaid's summing up. + +These three precepts were so constantly impressed that to the boys their +practice ended by becoming second nature. + +"It's not only dangerous to do these things," said Mr. Kincaid, "but +it's a sure sign of a greenhorn. A man ought to be deadly ashamed to +confess himself such an all-round dub." + +Toward the end of the fall, and nearing Thanksgiving, the boys drove +Bobby Junior out the old east road. After a time they turned off into a +by-way deep with sand. It ended. They hitched the placid Bobby Junior to +the top rail of a "snake-fence" climbed it, and headed toward a +scrub-oak and popple thicket thrown like a blanket over the long slope +of a hill. They walked cautiously, for by experience they had learned +that at the very edge, and in the lea of an old burned log, it was +possible a fine big cock-partridge might be sunning himself. The +popples, shining silvery, were almost bare of leaves, but the scrub oaks +clung tenaciously to a crackling umber-brown foliage. It was now near +the close of the afternoon. The game bag was empty. Both boys trod on +eggs, scrutinizing every inch of the ground before them. + +"It's too late for 'em," whispered Bobby in discouragement. "There's not +enough sun. They've gone in to feed." + +But Johnnie seized his arm. + +"There," he breathed, "See him! He's sitting in that little scrub +oak--just to the left of the stub." + +Bobby peered along his friend's arm. After a moment he made out a +mottled spot of brown. + +"I see him," said he, cocking his rifle. "It's his breast. I wish I +could get at his head." + +"He'll be gone in a minute!" warned Johnny. + +It was Bobby's turn to shoot. He raised his weapon, aimed carefully, and +pressed the trigger. + +Immediately the thicket broke into a tremendous commotion. A scurrying +of leaves, a brief exclamation of pain, a brown cap whirling through the +air--and both boys turned and ran, ran as hard as they could up the hill +until sheer lack of breath brought them to the ground. They stared at +each other with frightened eyes from faces chalky white. + +"We've killed somebody!" gasped Johnny. + +They clung to each other trembling with the horror of it, utterly unable +to gather their faculties. This was just what so often both had been +cautioned against--the shooting without seeing clearly the object of +aim. To the shock of a catastrophe they had to add the sinking remorse +over warnings disobeyed. + +"What are we going to do?" chattered Johnny at last. + +"We got to go down and see----" + +"I daresn't" confessed Johnny miserably. + +"Do you suppose he's dead?" + +"They'll probably put us in jail." + +"Come on," said Bobby at last. + +They arose, very giddy and uncertain on their feet. For the first time +they forced themselves to look at the copse lying below them. + +"Oh!" breathed Johnny, "Look!" + +Below them on the farther edge of the copse, and over a quarter of a +mile away, they saw Mr. Kincaid. He was bareheaded. Curly was with him. +The man was trying to send the water spaniel into the copse. Curly +pretended that he wanted to play, and did not in the least understand +what it was all about. He capered joyously around Mr. Kincaid's +outstretched arm; he pressed his chest to the earth and uttered short +barks; he chased madly around in circles, but he did not enter the +copse, which was plainly his master's desire. Finally Mr. Kincaid gave +it up and departed over the brow of the next hill. + +And while this little by-play was going on two small boys above him felt +the warmth of life flowing back into their frozen souls. The blood +returned to their lips, their thumping hearts calmed, all the blessed +joy and sunshine and freedom of the world flooded in a return tide of +blessed relief. + +"Gee," said Johnny, "I'm never going hunting again! Never any more! +Never!" + +"You bet I'm going to be careful after this," said Bobby. "My, but I'm +glad!" + +"I wonder why he didn't pick up his cap?" wondered Johnny. + +"Perhaps he had it in his hand." + +The boys drove home ringing the changes on a thousand new resolutions of +caution. + +"It's a good lesson to us," said Bobby by way of reminiscent philosophy +often heard before. + +They put Bobby Junior into the barn, cleaned the Flobert, changed their +hunting clothes, and answered with alacrity the summons to the dining +room. After they were well started with the meal, Mr. Orde came in and +sat down. He nodded abstractedly, and had little to say. The boys were +too far down in remorse to care to bring up any of the subjects near +their hearts. Finally Mrs. Orde remarked this general depression. + +"I must say you're a cheerful lot of men folks," said she. "What is it? +Business?" She smiled at the boys in raillery at the idea. But she could +not cheer them up. As soon as the meal was over Mr. Orde dismissed the +boys. + +"Run along now," said he briefly; "I want to talk." + +They climbed the stairs to Bobby's room, and sat down glumly on the +floor. Reaction was strong, and they had both fallen into aimless +doldrums of spirit. Suddenly Bobby sat up straight at attention. + +The Orde house was provided with old-fashioned hot-air registers. When +the registers happened all to be open, they constituted most excellent +speaking-tubes. Thus, without intention of deliberate eavesdropping, +Bobby and his friend became aware of the following conversation. + +"What's the matter, Jack? Anything wrong at the office or on the River?" + +Mr. Orde sighed deeply. + +"Oh, no. Everything's snug as a bug in a rug, sweetheart," said he. "But +I'm bothered a lot. A dreadful thing happened to-day. You know that +popple thicket out at Pritchard's place?" + +Both boys froze into horrified attention. + +"Yes." + +"Well, just before dusk Pritchard was found dead near the east end of +it." + +"Why, how did that happen?" cried Mrs. Ode. + +The boys stole a look at each other. + +"He had been murdered." + +"Murdered!" cried Mrs. Orde sharply. + +"Oh!" moaned Bobby in a smothered voice. + +"Yes. He was found with a knife wound in his throat." + +"How terrible!" said Mrs. Orde. + +"But that isn't what worries me. Pritchard is no irreparable loss." + +"Jack!" cried Mrs. Orde. + +"He isn't," insisted Orde stoutly. "But Kincaid was seen by several +competent witnesses coming out from that thicket, and as far as anybody +has been able to find out he is the only human being who was out there +to-day. They have him under arrest." + +"I never heard of anything so ridiculous!" cried Mrs. Orde indignantly. + +"There has been bad blood between them," said Orde; "and everybody knows +it. That's the trouble. Pritchard, as usual, has off and on done an +awful lot of talking." + +"You don't for a moment believe----" + +"Certainly not. Arthur Kincaid never would harm a fly in anger. And I +rely absolutely on his word." + +"You've seen him?" + +"Of course. He acknowledges he was out at Pritchard's, but denies all +knowledge of the affair. That's the trouble. He offers no explanation of +the facts, and the facts are--queer." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Well, this; the men who saw Kincaid coming out of the thicket say he +was bareheaded. When Pritchard's body was found, Kincaid's cap was +discovered about fifty feet distant." + +"What does he say to that?" + +"His story is so ridiculous that I wouldn't blame anybody who did not +know Kincaid for not believing it. He says he was playing with his dog +Curly, when Curly grabbed the cap and made off with it. The dog came +back without the cap, and Kincaid could not find it. That's all he says, +except that he was not in the thicket at all, and certainly not within a +quarter-mile of the scene of the murder." + +"That might be so." + +"Of course it's so, if Arthur Kincaid says it is," insisted Orde, "but +what do you think of this? The cap had a 22-calibre bullet hole through +the crown; and Pritchard was armed with a 22-calibre rifle." + +"What does Mr. Kincaid say to it?" + +"That's just the trouble," cried Orde in despairing tones. "If he'd +plead self-defence any jury in Michigan would acquit him without leaving +the box. But when we asked him how that bullet hole got in that cap, he +simply says that he doesn't know; it wasn't there when he lost the cap! +Could anything be more absurd!" + +Bobby reached out and softly closed the register. + +He turned to grip Johnny fiercely by the arm. His eyes blazed. + +"Mr. Kincaid is my friend," he hissed. "Understand that? He's my best +friend. If you ever say anything about this afternoon----" + +"Let go!" cried Johnny struggling. "You hurt! You needn't get mad about +it. He's my friend, too. I ain't going to say anything." Bobby released +his arm. "He must have done it, though," concluded Johnny. + +"Of course he did it. I'd have done it. Pritchard was an old beast. You +ought to have been along with me when he ordered us off his land." + +"Mr. Kincaid says he was never up at that end." + +"There's his cap, with the hole I shot in it," Bobby pointed out. "It +was right where Pritchard was when I shot at it." + +Johnny nodded. + +"If we let that get out, they'll have us in as witnesses." + +"We mustn't," said Johnny. + +Following this policy the boys for the next month carried about an air +of secrecy and an irresponsibility of action very irritating to +everybody. They forgot errands, they did absent-minded, destructive +things, they were much given to long consultations behind the woodshed. +When they were permitted to visit Mr. Kincaid at the jail, they tried +mysteriously to convey assurance of absolute secrecy, but succeeded +only in appearing stupid, frivolous and unsympathetic. Nevertheless +their concern was very real. Bobby in especial brooded over the affair +to the exclusion of all other interests. The Flobert rifle was laid +away, the printing press gathered dust. Over and over he visualized the +scene, until he could shut his eyes and reproduce its every detail--the +hillside with its scattered, half-burned old logs, the popple thicket +shining white, the scrub oaks with red rustling leaves, the patch of +brown that looked exactly like a partridge; and then the whirl of the +cap in the air as the bullet struck, and the horrible sinking feeling +before he turned to flee. A dozen small things he had not noticed +consciously at the time, now stood out clear. He remembered that the +supposed partridge had stood out against the sky; that the ground broke +gently up just beyond the black log. "Mr. Kincaid must have been +standing on a stump," he thought. He recalled now his own exact +position, and figured the course of the bullet. "It must have gone in +just at the tip top," he figured. "That's the only way it could have +done without hurting his head. Otherwise, it would have scalped him." +Over and over he turned the facts until gradually he evolved an exact +picture of what had occurred--here was the victim, here the murderer. +Inquiry disclosed the spot where Pritchard's body had been found. It was +up-hill from the spot Bobby had shot the cap--and about ten feet away. +"He must just have done it," he said with a shudder. + +"Why?" demanded Johnny to whom he confided these reasonings. "Maybe it +was before." + +"No," argued Bobby. "Because then when I shot the cap off, if Pritchard +had been alive, we'd have heard from him." + +"Maybe Mr. Kincaid killed him to keep him from chasing us," suggested +Johnny. + +Bobby considered this romantic suggestion but shook his head. + +"No," said he, "there wasn't time for Mr. Kincaid to kill him and then +walk down to the other end of the thicket. He must have run when I +shot." + +"Do you think they'll convict Mr. Kincaid?" + +"Papa says he doesn't think so," said Bobby. "He says nobody can prove +Mr. Kincaid was at the place." + +"We could." + +"We're going to shut up!" said Bobby sharply. + + + + +XXIII + +THE TRIAL + + +General opinion did not, however, share Mr. Orde's optimism. The +circumstantial evidence was very strong. Interest in the trial was such +that people came from far out in the country to attend it. Every day of +the preliminaries the court-room was filled with silent spectators. The +boys, eluding the vigilance of the women and utterly disregarding +specific commands, found themselves unable to get beyond the outer +corridor. Here they hung around for some time in the vain hope of +hearing something. The heavy breathing and jostling of the crowd about +them was their only reward. Finally they gave it up and wandered out +into the grounds. + +It was by now nearly December of a remarkably open year. Although Indian +summer had long since gone, and although the low black clouds and heavy +gales of late autumn had given repeated warnings, winter had somehow +failed to arrive. There was as yet no snow; and the sun, turned silver +in place of the harvest gold, sometimes, as now, dispersed considerable +warmth. In consequence of the mildness without and the crowd within, the +windows of the court-room had been lowered at the top. The boys could +almost catch the words of whoever was speaking. + +"Come on, let's shin up that tree," suggested Johnny. + +Immediately they acted on the inspiration. The highest limbs capable of +bearing weight were still some three feet below the window-sills. Still, +the boys could hear plainly what was going on, and could see into the +room on an upward slant. + +Evidently the legal processes had been fulfilled, and the first witness +was giving his testimony. + +"I was working in my field, throwing out manure, when I saw the prisoner +come out of the popple thicket on Pritchard's place." + +"How far were you from the thicket?" + +"My field is right across the county road." + +"At what point did the prisoner emerge from the thicket as respects the +spot where the body was found?" + +"He came out right opposite, a good quarter-mile, I should say." + +"Anything unusual in the prisoner's appearance or actions?" + +"He didn't have no hat. I noticed that." + +After a few more questions the witness was excused. In an instant he +appeared in the boys' line of vision and sat down. + +Another witness was sworn, and deposed that he had been driving along +the county road, and had also seen Mr. Kincaid emerge from the thicket +without a hat. This witness likewise, on being excused, crossed the room +and took his seat near the window. + +This point established, the prosecution called upon the man who had +found the body. He stated that he was in the employ of the deceased; had +gone out afoot to look up a strayed cow, had come across the body late +in the afternoon. Pritchard had been killed by a knife thrust in the +throat. He lay on his back. He had carried a 22-calibre rifle with which +he was accustomed to shoot hawks and crows. The rifle had been +discharged. In looking about for evidence witness had found a cap lying +by a stump ten feet or so down hill. He identified the cap. He also took +a seat where Bobby and Johnny could see him--a short thickset man with +a swarthy complexion and very oily long black hair. + +A witness was called who identified positively the cap as belonging to +Mr. Kincaid. + +At this point the prosecution rested. A moment later Bobby heard again +the measured, calm tones of his friend, called in his own defence. + +"I know nothing about it," said Mr. Kincaid after the usual +preliminaries, "I was nowhere near the scene of the murder. What the +first witness had to say as to personal antagonism between Pritchard and +myself was quite true: he had ordered me off his land, and very +offensively. We had some words at that time." + +"When was that?" asked the attorney. + +"Some months back. Therefore I took especial pains to keep off his land, +and was at the lower edge of the thicket a good quarter-mile from the +place his body was found." + +"You did not enter the thicket?" + +"Only a few feet, after the dog took my cap." + +"How about the cap?" + +"My retriever, Curly, was playing with me. I was teasing him by waving +the cap before him. He managed to get hold of it and ran with it into +the thicket. In a moment or so he came back without it. I could not +find it, nor could I induce him to retrieve it." + +"When was this?" + +"About two o'clock." + +"Two witnesses have sworn they saw you come out of the thicket shortly +before sun-down." + +"That was on my way home. I tried again to get Curly to hunt up the +cap." + +"How do you account for the cap's being found at the upper edge of the +thicket?" + +"I cannot account for it." + +"Could the dog have carried it that far in the time before he returned?" + +"I do not think so--I am certain not." + +"How do you account for the holes?" + +"They might have been the marks of Curley's teeth," said Mr. Kincaid +doubtfully. + +"Look at them," + +A pause ensued. + +"They certainly do not look like teeth marks," acknowledged Mr. Kincaid. + +At this moment the heavy bell in the engine-house tower boomed out the +first strokes of noon. The boys nearly lost their holds from the +surprise of it. By the time they had recovered, court had been declared +adjourned, and the crowds were pouring forth from the opened double +doors. + + + + +XXIV + +THE TRIAL (CONTINUED) + + +By remarkable promptitude and the exercise of the marvellous properties +ascribed impartially to the worm, the eel, and the snake, Bobby and +Johnny succeeded in gaining a place in the court-room for the afternoon +session. It was not a very good place. Breast-high in front of them was +a rail. Behind them pressed a suffocating crowd. On the other side of +the rail were many benches on which was seated another crowd. This +second multitude concealed utterly whatever occupied the floor of the +court-room. Only when one or another of the actors in the proceedings +arose to his feet could the boys make out a head and shoulders. They +could see the massive walnut desk and the judge, however; and the lower +flat tables at which sat the recording officials. And on the blank white +wall ticked solemnly a big round clock. The second-hand moved forward by +a series of swift jerks, but watch as he would Bobby could see no +perceptible motion of the other two hands. In the monotony of some of +the proceedings this bland clock fascinated him. + +Likewise the living wall before him caught and held his half-suffocated +interest--the slope of their shoulders, the material of their coats, the +shape of their heads, the cut of their hair. One by one he passed them +in review. Two seats ahead sat a thickset man with very long, oily black +hair. He turned his head. Bobby recognized the man who had found +Pritchard's body. He nudged Johnny, calling attention to the fact. + +The prosecuting attorney was on his feet making a speech. It was +interesting enough at first, but after a time Bobby's attention +wandered. The prosecuting attorney was a young man, ambitious, and ego +was certainly a large proportion of _his_ cosmos. Bobby listened to him +while he spoke of the obvious motive for the deed; but when he began +again, and in detail, to go over the evidence already adduced, Bobby +ceased to listen. Only the monotonous cadences of the voice went on and +on. The clock tick-tocked. People breathed. It reminded him of church. + +A little stir brought him back from final drowsiness. A man in the row +ahead of him wanted to get out. The disturber carried an overcoat over +his left arm, and it amused Bobby vastly to see the stiff collar of that +overcoat rumple the back hair of those who sat in the second row. As he +watched, it caught the long oily locks of the witness for the +prosecution. With a fierce exclamation the man turned, scowling at the +other's whispered excuse. When he had again faced the front, he had +rearranged his disturbed locks. + +After this slight interruption, Bobby again relapsed into day-dreaming. +He fell once more to visualizing the scene of that day. Gradually the +court-room faded away. He saw the hillside, the burnt logs on the bare +ground, the popples silvery in the sun, the sky blue above the hill. The +patch of brown by the rustling scrub oak glimmered before his eyes. He +saw again the exact angle it lay above him. For the hundredth time he +looked over the sights of the rifle, fair against that spot of brown. "I +must have over-shot a foot," he sighed, "or it would have taken him +square." + +And then as he stared over the sights, his finger on the trigger, the +imaginary scene faded, the familiar court-room came out of the mists to +take its place. Slowly the brown spot at which he aimed dissolved, a +man's head took its place; the oily-haired witness for the prosecution +happened now to occupy exactly the position relative to Bobby's attitude +as had Mr. Kincaid's cap the day of the murder. And through the slightly +disarranged long hair, and exactly in line with the imaginary rifle +sights Bobby could just make out a dull red furrow running along the +scalp. At this instant, as though uneasy at a scrutiny instinctively +felt, the man reached back to smooth his locks. The scar at once +disappeared. + + + + +XXV + +THE HOLE IN THE CAP + + +For perhaps ten seconds Bobby sat absolutely motionless while a new +thought was born. Then, oblivious of surroundings or of the exasperated +objections of those near him, he clambered over the rail and wriggled +his way to the open aisle. Several tried to seize him, but he managed in +some manner to elude them all. Once in the open he darted forward toward +the astonished officials. His freckled face was very red, his stubby +hair towsled, his gray eyes earnest. The sheriff rose from his seat as +though to stop him. + +"I want to see that cap!" cried Bobby to the blur in general. He caught +sight of it, ran to seize it, looked at it closely, and threw it down +with a little cry of triumph. The bullet holes were not both at the top: +one perforation was high up; but the other, on the left hand side, was +situated low, near the edge. Bobby knew that the man who had worn that +cap must have been hit. + +The judge's gavel was in the air, the sheriff on his feet, a hundred +mouths open to expostulate against this interruption of a grave +occasion. + +"Mr. Kincaid did not do it!" cried Bobby aloud. + +The clamour broke out. The sheriff seized Bobby by the arm. + +"Here," he growled at him, "you little brat! What do you mean, raising a +row like this?" + +Bobby struggled. He had a great deal to say. All was confusion. Half the +room seemed to be on its feet. Bobby saw his father making way toward +him through the crowd. Only the clock and the white-haired judge beneath +it seemed to have retained their customary poise. The clock tick-tocked +deliberately, and its second-hand went forward in swift jerks; the judge +sat quiet, motionless, his chin on his fists, his eyes looking steadily +from under their bushy white brows. + +"Just a moment," said the judge, finally, "Sheriff, bring that boy +here." + +Bobby found himself facing the great walnut desk. Behind him the room +had fallen silent save for an irregular breathing sound. + +"Who are you?" asked the judge. + +"Bobby Orde." + +"Why do you say the prisoner--Mr. Kincaid--did not commit the deed?" + +Bobby started in a confused way to tell about the cap. The judge raised +his hand. + +"Were you present at this crime?" he asked shrewdly. + +"Yes, sir," replied Bobby. + +The judge lowered his voice so that only Bobby could hear. + +"Do you know who murdered Mr. Pritchard?" + +"Yes, sir," replied Bobby in the same tone, "I do." + +"Who was it?" + +"I don't know his name. He's sitting----" + +"I thought so," interrupted the judge. "Mr. Sheriff," he called sharply. +That official approached. "Close all doors," said the judge to him +quietly, "and see that no one leaves this room. Mr. Attorney, your +witness here is ready to be sworn." + +Bobby went through the preliminaries without a clear understanding of +them; or, indeed, a definite later recollection. He was deadly in +earnest. The crowd did not exist for him. Not the faintest trace of +embarrassment confused his utterance, but he got very little forward +under the prosecuting attorney's questioning--the matter was too +definite in his own mind to permit of his following another's method of +getting at it. Finally the judge interposed. + +"It's not strictly in my province," said he, "but we are all anxious for +the truth. I hope the prosecuting attorney may see the advisability of +allowing the boy to tell his own story in his own way. Afterward he +will, of course, have full opportunity for cross-questions." + +This being agreed to, Bobby went ahead. + +"Mr. Kincaid lost his cap, just as he said, and Curly carried it into +the woods and dropped it. Another man came along and picked it up and +put it on. Then he walked through the thicket and came up with Mr. +Pritchard. He knew where Mr. Pritchard was because Mr. Pritchard had +just shot his little rifle at a hawk or something. He stabbed Mr. +Pritchard, and then walked down hill and climbed up on a stump to look +around. He was facing down hill. He saw Mr. Kincaid and Curly way below. +Just then his cap was knocked off by another bullet." + +"What other bullet?" interposed the prosecution sharply. + +"That was just an accident," said Bobby confusedly, "it happened to hit. +It wasn't shot at him at all." + +"You mean a spent ball from somewhere else? Who shot it? Where did it +come from?" + +"I'll 'splain that in a minute. Then he ran as fast as he could----" + +That was as far as Bobby got for the moment. A slight confusion at one +of the doors interrupted him. Almost immediately it died, but before +Bobby could resume, the sheriff elbowed his way forward. + +"Laughton--you know, that second witness, the fellow who worked for +Pritchard--tried to get out. I have him in charge." + +"Hold him," said the judge. The sheriff elbowed his way back down the +aisle. + +"How do you know all this?" began the prosecuting attorney. + +"If Mr. Kincaid wore the cap, why isn't his head hurt?" demanded Bobby. + +"If the shot was fired by Pritchard, when lying on the ground," +explained the attorney, "it would not have scraped." + +"But it wasn't," persisted Bobby. "It was fired from down hill, and +about thirty feet away. That would hit the man, wouldn't it?" he +appealed. + +"Certainly." + +"Well, is Mr. Kincaid hurt?" + +"This, your honour," said the attorney with some impatience, "is beside +the mark----" + +He was interrupted by a cry from Bobby. + +"He's gone!" he wailed, pointing his hand toward the seat where Laughton +had been sitting. + +"Was that the man?" asked the judge. + +"Yes," said Bobby, "and he's gotten away." + +"Mr. Sheriff," said the judge, "examine the man for a scar or wound on +the head." + +The sheriff disappeared. The clock tick-tocked away five minutes, then +ten. Finally the door swung open. + +"Your Honour," said the sheriff clearly, across the court-room, "the man +has confessed." + + + + +XXVI + +THE SIXTEEN GAUGE SHOTGUN + + +Bobby and his friend, Johnny English, sat on the floor of Bobby's +chamber reviewing the exciting events of the afternoon. In the tumult +following the sheriff's announcement, Bobby was temporarily forgotten. +He had slipped back into the crowd, and from that point had followed +closely all that had ensued. Laughton's confession merely filled in the +details of Bobby's surmises. It seems that Pritchard had had a violent +quarrel with his man, ending by knocking him down and stalking off +across the fields. Mad with rage, Laughton had picked himself up and +followed without even pausing long enough to get a hat. He had lost +track of his victim in the popple thicket, but had come across Kincaid's +cap, which he had appropriated. A shot from Pritchard's little rifle +apprised him of his enemy's whereabouts. The murder committed, he had +mounted a stump to spy upon the country. He had seen Kincaid and his +dog, and was just about to withdraw, when the cap was knocked from his +head by a bullet which at the same time broke the skin on his scalp. +Thinking himself discovered, he had run. Later reconnoitring carefully, +he had seen two apparently unexcited small boys climbing into a pony +cart a half-mile away and had come to the conclusion that the bullet had +been spent, and a chance shot. The idea of incriminating Mr. Kincaid had +not come to him until later. + +Mr. Kincaid had at once been released. Under cover of the +congratulations, the boys made their escape. + +"I don't see how you ever figured it out!" cried Johnny for the twelfth +time. + +"I knew it must have hit his head unless it just grazed his cap," said +Bobby, "and when I saw that scar----" + +"Gee, it was great!" gloated Johnny, "just like a book! It'll be in all +the papers to-morrow. You saved Mr. Kincaid's life, didn't you?" + +"I suppose I did," said Bobby complacently. + +At this moment the open hot-air register began to speak, carrying up the +voices from the rooms below. As the subject under discussion was the +closest to the boys' hearts for the moment, they drew near to listen. + +"It's Mr. Kincaid himself!" breathed Bobby. + +"I've been trying to catch you all the way up the street," Mr. Kincaid +was saying, "but you walk like a steam engine." + +"I felt good," explained Mr. Orde. "I knew you were innocent, of course; +but it looked dark." + +"Yes, it looked dark," admitted Mr. Kincaid. "Where's that youngster of +yours? He saved the day." + +"I was just going to look for him. There're a few points I'd like to +clear up. If he saw all that, why didn't he say something before?" + +"Don't know. But he certainly spoke to the point when he did get going. +Look here, Orde, I'm proud of that kid. I want you to let me do +something; he's old enough now to have a sure enough gun, and I want you +to let me give it to him. Stafford has a little shotgun--16 gauge--ever +see one?" + +"Nothing smaller than a 12" confessed Orde. + +"Well, I told him to keep it for me. I'd like to give it to Bobby. He's +learned fast, and he's paid attention to what he learned. I don't +believe in guns for small boys, but Bobby is careful; he doesn't make +any breaks." + +Johnny reached over to clasp Bobby excitedly. + +"Now we can get partridges!" he squealed under his breath. + +But Bobby was unexpectedly cold to this enthusiasm. He reached over to +close the register. At once the voices were shut off. Then for some time +he sat cross-legged staring straight in front of him. To Johnny's +remarks he replied irritably until that youngster flounced himself into +a corner with a book, ostentatiously indifferent. + +Bobby was seeing things. As was his habit, he was visualizing a scene +that had passed, recalling each little detail of what had at the time +apparently passed lightly over his consciousness. + +He saw again plainly the yellow sand-hills under his feet, and the +village lying below, its roofs half hidden in the lilac and mauve of +bared branches, its columns of smoke rising straight up in the frosty +air. He saw the sturdy round-shouldered form in the old shooting coat, +the lined brown lean face, the white moustache and the eyebrows, the +kindly twinkling eyes squinted against the western light. He heard again +Mr. Kincaid's deep slow voice: + +"Sonny, you can always be a sportsman--a sportsman does things because +he likes them, Bobby, for no other reason--not for money, nor to become +famous, nor even to win--and a right man does not get pleasure in doing +a thing if in any way he takes an unfair advantage--if _you_--not the +thinking you, nor even the conscience you, but the way-down-deep-in-your +heart _you_ that you can't fool nor trick nor lie to--if that _you_ is +satisfied, it's all right." + +Bobby sighed deeply and went downstairs. + + + + +XXVII + +THE SPORTSMAN + + +He opened the door and entered very quietly, so that neither occupant of +the room saw him before he spoke. + +"I heard what you said--through the register----" he explained. "But I +can't take the shotgun." + +Both men turned and looked at him curiously, the first natural +exclamations stilled on their lips by the sight of his straight, earnest +little figure facing them. + +"Why not, Bobby?" asked Mr. Orde at last. + +"I was the one who fired that shot that hit Mr. Laughton's head. I did +it a-purpose." + +"What for?" + +"I saw something brown in the brush, and I was sure it was a partridge, +so I shot at it. I really didn't know it was a partridge. It just looked +brown. You told me not to do that, lots of times, but I got all excited, +and forgot. So you see I'm not careful, like you said. I ought not to +have any shotgun." + +"Oh, Bobby!" said Mr. Kincaid. "And that's one of the most important +things of all!" + +"I know, sir," said Bobby. "That's why I thought I'd tell you." + +The two men examined the youngster for some time in silence. A very +tender look lurked back in their eyes. + +"What did you do then?" asked Mr. Orde at last. + +"I saw the cap fly up in the air, and ran." + +"Yes?" + +"And then after a little I saw Mr. Kincaid come out down below, and I +thought it was all right until I got home." + +"Why did you jump up in court this afternoon?" + +"I knew where I was standing, and I saw a scar on Laughton's head, and +then I knew if the holes in the cap were low down, he must have been the +man." + +"Why didn't you tell all this before?" + +"I'd never seen the cap; and I thought Mr. Kincaid had done it. I wasn't +going to give him away." + +Both men burst into laughter. + +"And you thought I'd kill a man!" reproached Mr. Kincaid at last. + +"I'd have done it--to old Pritchard," maintained Bobby stoutly. + +After a time Mr. Kincaid returned to the first subject. + +"There is no doubt, Bobby," said he, "that a man careless enough to +shoot at anything without knowing what it is--especially in a settled +country--is not fit to have a gun of any kind. There are plenty of +people killed every year through just such carelessness. On that ground +you are quite right in saying that you do not deserve the new shotgun." + +"Yes, sir," said Bobby. + +"But you will never do anything like that again. You have learned your +lesson. And you told the truth. That is a great thing. It is easy to +cover up a mistake; but very hard to show it when you don't have to. I +was a little disappointed that you forgot about shooting at things; but +I am more than proud that you remembered to be a sportsman. With your +father's permission, I'm going to get you that shotgun, just the same. +We'll go down together in the morning to get it." + +At the end of ten minutes more, Bobby returned to his room. He looked +about it as one looks on a half-remembered spot visited long ago. The +place seemed smaller; the toys trivial. A deep gulf had been passed +since he had left the room a half-hour before. To his eyes had opened a +new vision. Little Boyhood had fallen away from him as a garment. A +touch had loosed. All experience and observation had led the way; but it +was only in expectation of the supreme test of self-sacrifice. Character +changes radically only under that test. Bobby had borne it well; and now +stood at the threshold of his Youth. + +He picked up the Flobert rifle and looked it over. + +"It'll always be handy to fool with," said he to Johnny. + +That youngster looked up with sardonic humour. + +"Gee, you're gettin' swelled head with your new gun," said he. + +THE END + + + * * * * * + + +KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN'S STORIES OF PURE DELIGHT + +Full of originality and humor, kindliness and cheer + +THE OLD PEABODY PEW. Large Octavo. Decorative text pages, printed in two +colors. Illustrations by Alice Barber Stephens. + +One of the prettiest romances that has ever come from this author's pen +is made to bloom on Christmas Eve in the sweet freshness of an old New +England meeting house. + +PENELOPE'S PROGRESS. Attractive cover design in colors. + +Scotland is the background for the merry doings of three very clever and +original American girls. Their adventures in adjusting themselves to the +Scot and his land are full of humor. + +PENELOPE'S IRISH EXPERIENCES. Uniform in style with "Penelope's +Progress." + +The trio of clever girls who rambled over Scotland cross the border to +the Emerald Isle, and again they sharpen their wits against new +conditions, and revel in the land of laughter and wit. + +REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. + +One of the most beautiful studies of childhood--Rebecca's artistic, +unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of +austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal +dramatic record. + +NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA. With illustrations by F. C. Yohn. + +Some more quaintly amusing chronicles that carry Rebecca through various +stages to her eighteenth birthday. + +ROSE O' THE RIVER. With illustrations by George Wright. + +The simple story of Rose, a country girl and Stephen a sturdy young +farmer. The girl's fancy for a city man interrupts their love and merges +the story into an emotional strain where the reader follows the events +with rapt attention. + + * * * * * + +LOUIS TRACY'S + +CAPTIVATING AND EXHILARATING ROMANCES + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list + +CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR. Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. + +A pretty American girl in London is touring in a car with a chauffeur +whose identity puzzles her. An amusing mystery. + +THE STOWAWAY GIRL. Illustrated by Nesbitt Benson. + +A shipwreck, a lovely girl stowaway, a rascally captain, a fascinating +officer, and thrilling adventures in South Seas. + +THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS. + +Love and the salt sea, a helpless ship whirled into the hands of +cannibals, desperate fighting and a tender romance. + +THE MESSAGE. Illustrated by Joseph Cummings Chase. + +A bit of parchment found in the figurehead of an old vessel tells of a +buried treasure. 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By Grace Miller White. Illust. by Howard +Chandler Christy. + +A girl from the dregs of society, loves a young Cornell University +student, and it works startling changes in her life and the lives of +those about her. The dramatic version is one of the sensations of the +season. + +YOUNG WALLINGFORD. By George Randolph Chester. Illust. by F. R. Gruger +and Henry Raleigh. + +A series of clever swindles conducted by a cheerful young man, each of +which is just on the safe side of a State's prison offence. As +"Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford," it is probably the most amusing expose of +money manipulation ever seen on the stage. + +THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY. By P. G. Wodehouse. Illustrations by Will Grefe. + +Social and club life in London and New York, an amateur burglary +adventure and a love story. Dramatized under the title of "A Gentleman +of Leisure," it furnishes hours of laughter to the play-goers. + +THE NOVELS OF STEWART EDWARD WHITE + +THE RULES OF THE GAME. Illustrated by Lajaren A. 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It portrays the life of the new West as no other book has done +in recent years. + +THE MYSTERY. In collaboration with Samuel Hopkins Adams With +illustrations by Will Crawford. + +The disappearance of three successive crews from the stout ship +"Laughing Lass" in mid-Pacific, is a mystery weird and inscrutable. In +the solution, there is a story of the most exciting voyage that man ever +undertook. + + * * * * * + +TITLES SELECTED FROM + +GROSSET & DUNLAP'S LIST + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +HIS HOUR. By Elinor Glyn. Illustrated. + +A beautiful blonde Englishwoman visits Russia, and is violently made +love to by a young Russian aristocrat. A most unique situation +complicates the romance. + +THE GAMBLERS. By Charles Klein and Arthur Hornblow. Illustrated by C. 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Frontispiece by Harold Matthews Brett. + +A clever, timely story that will make politicians think and will make +women realize the part that politics play--even in their romances. + +A CERTAIN RICH MAN. By William Allen White. + +A vivid, startling portrayal of one man's financial greed, its wide +spreading power, its action in Wall Street, and its effect on the three +women most intimately in his life. A splendid, entertaining American +novel. + +IN OUR TOWN. By William Allen White. Illustrated by F. R. Gruger and W. +Glackens. + +Made up of the observations of a keen newspaper editor, involving the +town millionaire, the smart set, the literary set, the bohemian set, and +many others. All humorously related and sure to hold the attention. + +NATHAN BURKE. By Mary S. Watts. + +The story of an ambitious, backwoods Ohio boy who rose to prominence. +Everyday humor of American rustic life permeates the book. + +THE HIGH HAND. By Jacques Futrelle. Illustrated by Will Grete. + +A splendid story of the political game, with a son of the soil on the +one side, and a "kid glove" politician on the other. A pretty girl, +interested in both men, is the chief figure. + +THE BACKWOODSMEN. By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated. + +Realistic stories of men and women living midst the savage beauty of the +wilderness. Human nature at its best and worst is well portrayed. + +YELLOWSTONE NIGHTS. By Herbert Quick. + +A jolly company of six artists, writers and other clever folks take a +trip through the National Park, and tell stories around camp fire at +night. Brilliantly clever and original. + +THE PROFESSOR'S MYSTERY. By Wells Hastings and Brian Hooker. Illustrated +by Hanson Booth. + +A young college professor, missing his steamer for Europe, has a +romantic meeting with a pretty girl, escorts her home, and is enveloped +in a big mystery. + +_Ask for complete free list of G. & D. 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