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diff --git a/old/44150-8.txt b/old/44150-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2c5a39c..0000000 --- a/old/44150-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5769 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jack-Knife Man, by Ellis Parker Butler - -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 Jack-Knife Man - -Author: Ellis Parker Butler - -Illustrator: Hanson Booth - -Release Date: November 10, 2013 [EBook #44150] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JACK-KNIFE MAN *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger - - - - - - -THE JACK-KNIFE MAN - -By Ellis Parker Butler - -Author Of "Pigs Is Pigs," "The Confessions Of A Daddy," Etc. - -Illustrated By Hanson Booth - -New York The Century Co. - -1913 - - -MY FATHER - -Whose heart has held many children. - - -Transcriber's Note: Chapter VI is succeeded by Chapter VIII without -a designated intervening Chapter VII. DW - - - - -I. THE JACK-KNIFE MAN - - -PETER LANE GEORGE RAPP, the red-faced livery-man from town, stood with -his hands in the pockets of his huge bear-skin coat, his round face -glowing, looking down at Peter Lane, with amusement wrinkling the -corners of his eyes. - -"Tell you what I'll do, Peter," he said, "I'll give you thirty-five -dollars for the boat." - -"I guess I won't sell, George," said Peter. "I don't seem to care to." - -He was sitting on the edge of his bunk, in the shanty-boat he had spent -the summer in building. He was a thin, wiry little man, with yellowish -hair that fell naturally into ringlets: but which was rather thin on top -of his head. His face was brown and weather-seamed. It was difficult -to guess just how old Peter Lane might be. When his eyes were closed -he looked rather old-quite like a thin, tired old man-but when his eyes -were open he looked quite young, for his eyes were large and innocent, -like the eyes of a baby, and their light blue suggested hopefulness and -imagination of the boyish, aircastle-building sort. - -The shanty-boat was small, only some twenty feet in length, with a short -deck at either end. The shanty part was no more than fifteen feet long -and eight feet wide, built of thin boards and roofed with tar paper. -Inside were the bunk--of clean white pine--a home-made pine table, a -small sheet-iron cook-stove, two wooden pegs for Peter's shotgun, a -shelf for his alarm-clock, a breadbox, some driftwood for the stove, and -a wall lamp with a silvered glass reflector. In one corner was a tangle -of nets and trot-lines. It was not much of a boat, but the flat-bottomed -hull was built of good two-inch planks, well caulked and tarred. Tar was -the prevailing odor. Peter bent over his table, on which the wheels and -springs of an alarm-clock were laid in careful rows. - -"Did you ever stop to think, George, what a mighty fine companion a -clock like this is for a man like I am?" he asked. "Yes, sir, a tin -clock like this is a grand thing for a man like me. I can take this -clock to pieces, George, and mend her, and put her together again, and -when she's mended all up she needs mending more than she ever did. A -clock like this is always something to look forward to." - -"I might give as much as forty dollars for the boat," said George Rapp -temptingly. - -"No, thank you, George," said Peter. "And it ain't only when you 're -mending her that a clock like this is interesting. She's interesting all -the time, like a baby. She don't do a thing you'd expect, all day long. -I can mend her right up, and wind her and set her right in the morning, -and set the alarm to go off at four o'clock in the afternoon, and at -four o'clock what do you think she'll be doing? Like as not she'll be -pointing at half-past eleven. Yes, sir! And the alarm won't go off until -half-past two at night, maybe. Why I mended this clock once and left two -wheels out of her--" - -"Tell you what I'll do, Peter," said Rapp, "I'll give _fifty_ dollars -for the boat, and five dollars for floating her down to my new place -down the river." - -"I'm much obliged, but I guess I won't sell," said Peter nervously. "You -better take off your coat, George, unless you want to hurry away. -That stove is heating up. She's a wonderful stove, that stove is. You -wouldn't think, to look at her right now, that she could go out in a -minute, would you? But she can. Why, when she wants to, that stove can -start in and get red hot all over, stove-pipe and legs and all, until -it's so hot in here the tar melts off them nets yonder--drips off 'em -like rain off the bob-wires. You'd think she'd suffocate me out of here, -but she don't. No, sir. The very next minute she'll be as cold as ice. -For a man alone as much as I am that's a great stove, George." - -"Will you sell me the boat, or won't you?" asked Rapp. - -"Now, I wish you wouldn't ask me to sell her, George," said Peter -regretfully, for it hurt him to refuse his friend. "To tell you the -honest truth, George, I can't sell her because it would upset my plans. -I've got my plans all laid out to float down river next spring, soon as -the ice goes out, and when I get to New Orleans I'm going to load this -boat on to a ship, and I'm going to take her to the Amazon River, and -trap chinchillas. I read how there's a big market for chinchilla skins -right now. I'm goin' up the Amazon River and then I'm goin' to haul the -boat across to the Orinoco River and float down the Orinoco, and then--" - -"You told me last week you were going down to Florida next spring and -shoot alligators from this boat," said Rapp. - -Peter looked up blankly, but in a moment his cheerfulness returned. - -"If I didn't forget all about that!" he began. "Well, sir, I'm glad I -did! That would have been a sad mistake. It looks to me like alligator -skin was going out of fashion. I'd be foolish to take this boat all -the way to Florida and then find out there was no market for alligator -skins, wouldn't I?" - -"You would," said Rapp. "And you might get down there in South America -and find there was no market for chinchillas. It looks to me as if the -style was veering off from chinchillas already. You'd better sell me -the boat, Peter." - -"You know I'd sell to you if I would to anybody, George," said Peter, -pushing aside the works of the clock, "but this boat is a sort of home -to me, George. It's the only home I 've got, since Jane don't want me -'round no more. You're the best friend I've got, and you've done a lot -for me--you let me sleep in your stable whenever I want to, and you give -me odd jobs, and clothes--and I appreciate it, George, but a man don't -like to get rid of his home, if he can help it. I haven't had a home I -could call my own since I was fourteen years old, as you might say, and -I'm going on fifty years old now. Ever since Jane got tired havin' me -'round I've been livin' in your barn, and in old shacks, and anywheres, -and now, when I've got a boat that's a home for me, and I can go -traveling in her whenever I want to go, you want me to sell her. No, I -don't want to sell her, George. I think maybe I'll start her down river -to-morrow, so as to be able to start up the Missouri when the ice goes -out--" - -"I thought you said Amazon a minute ago," said Rapp. - -"Well, now, I don't know," said Peter soberly. "The fevers they catch -down there wouldn't do my health a bit of good. Rocky Mountain air -is just what I need. It is grand air. If I can get seventy or eighty -dollars together, and a good rifle or two, I may start next spring. I -always wanted to have a try at bear shootin'. I've got sev'ral plans." - -"And somehow," said Rapp, who knew Peter could no more raise seventy -dollars than freeze the sun, "somehow you always land right back in -Widow Potter's cove for the winter, don't you? She'll get you yet, -Peter. And then you won't need this boat. All you got to do is to ask -her." - -Peter pushed the table away and stood up, a look of trouble in his blue -eyes. - -"I wish you wouldn't talk like that, George," he said seriously. "It -ain't fair to the widow to connect up my name and hers that way. She -wouldn't like it if she got to hear it. You know right well she -don't think no more of me than she does of any other river-rat or -shanty-boatman that hangs around this cove all summer, and yet you keep -saying, 'Widow, widow, widow!' to me all the time. I wish you wouldn't, -George." He opened the door of his shanty-boat and looked out. The cove -in which the boat was tied was on the Iowa side of the Mississippi, and -during the summer it had been crowded with a small colony of worthless -shanty-boatmen and their ill-kempt wives and children, direly poor and -afflicted with all the ills that dirt is heir to. Here, each summer, -they gathered, coming from up-river in their shanty-boats and floating -on downriver just ahead of the cold weather in the fall. All summer -their shanty-boats, left high and dry by the receding high water of the -June flood, stood on the parched mud, and Peter looked askance on all of -them, dirty and lazy as they were, but somehow--he could not have told -you why--he made friends with them each summer, lending them dimes that -were never repaid, helping them set their trot-lines that the women -might have food, and even aiding in the caulking of their boats when his -own was crying to be built. - -All summer and autumn Peter had been building his shanty-boat, rowing -loads of lumber in his heavy skiff from the town to the spot he had -chosen on the Illinois shore, five miles above the town. He had worked -on the boat, as he did everything for himself, irregularly and at odd -moments, and the boat had been completed but a few days before George -Rapp drove up from town, hoping to buy it. Peter believed he loved -solitude and usually chose a summer dwelling-place far above town, but -if he had gone to the uttermost solitudes of Alaska he would have found -some way of mingling with his fellow-men and of doing a good turn to -some one. - -He never dreamed he was associating with the worthless shanty-boatmen, -yet, somehow, he spent a good part of his time with them. They were -there, they were willing to accept aid of any and all kinds, and on his -occasional trips to town Peter passed them. This was enough to draw -him into the entanglement of their woes, and to waste thankless days on -them. Yet he never thought of making one of their colony. He would row -the two miles to reach them, but he rowed back again each evening. It -was because he was better at heart, and not because he thought he was -better, that he remained aloof to this extent. In his own estimation he -ranked himself even lower than the shanty-boatmen, for they at least had -the social merit of having families, while he had none. His sister Jane -had told him many times just how worthless he was, and he believed it. -He was nothing to anybody--he felt--and that is what a tramp is. - -Once each week or so Peter rowed to town to sell the product of his -jack-knife and such fish as he caught. He was not an enthusiastic -fisherman, but his jack-knife, always keen and sharp, was a magic tool -in his hand. When he was not making shapely boats for the shanty-boat -kids, or whittling for the mere pleasure of whittling, his jack-knife -shaped wooden kitchen spoons and other small household articles, or -net-makers' shuttles, out of clean maplewood, and these, when he went to -town, he peddled from door to door. What he could not sell he traded for -coffee or bacon at the grocery stores. - -With the coming of cool weather and the "fall rise" of the river the -shanty-boat colony left the cove, to float down-river ahead of the -frost, and Peter hurried the completion of his boat that he might float -it across to the cove. Rheumatism often gave him a twinge in winter and -when the river was "closed" the walk to town across the ice was cold -and long. The Iowa side was more thickly populated, too, for the Iowa -"bottom" was narrow, the hills coming quite to the river in places, -while on the Illinois side five or six miles of untillable "bottom" -stretched between the river and the prosperous hill farms. The Iowa side -offered opportunities for corn-husking and wood-sawing and other -odd jobs such as necessity sometimes drove Peter to seek. These -opportunities were the reasons Peter gave himself, but the truth was -that Peter loved people. If he was a tramp he was a sedentary tramp, and -if he was a hermit he was a socialistic hermit. He liked his solitudes -well peopled. - -This early November day Peter had brought his shanty-boat across the -river to the cove. A fair up-river breeze and his rag of a sail had -helped him fight the stiff current, but it had been a hard, all-day pull -at the oars of his skiff, and when he had towed the boat into the cove -and had made her fast by looping his line under the railway track that -skirted the bank, he was wet and weary. His tin breadbox was empty and -he had but a handful of coffee left, but he was too tired to go to town, -and he had nothing to trade if he went, and he knew by experience that -an appeal to a farmer--even to Widow Potter--meant wood-sawing, and he -was too tired to saw wood. But he was accustomed to going without a meal -now and then, and there being nothing else to do, he tightened his belt, -made a good fire, took off his shoes, and dissected his alarm-clock. He -was reassembling it when George Rapp arrived. - -George Rapp was a bluff, hearty, loud-voiced, duck-hunting liveryman. -He ran his livery-stable for a living and, like many other men in the -Mississippi valley, he lived for duck-hunting. He owned the four best -duck dogs in the county. He had traded a good horse for one of them. -Although George Rapp would not have believed it, it was a blessing that -he could not hunt ducks the year around. The summer and winter months -gave him time to make money, and he was making all he needed. Some of -his surplus he had just paid for a tract of low, wooded bottom-land, in -the section where ducks were most plentiful in their seasons. The land -was swamp, for the most part, and all so low that the river spread -over it at every spring "rise" and often in the autumn. It was cut by a -slough (or bayou, as they are called farther south) and held a rice lake -which was no more than a widening of the slough. This piece of property, -far below the town, Rapp had bought because it was a wild-duck haunt, -and for no other reason, and after looking it over he wisely decided -that a shanty-boat moored in the slough would be a better hunting cabin -than one built on the shore, where it would be flooded once, or perhaps -twice a year, the river leaving a deposit of rich yellow mud and general -dampness each time. But Peter would not sell his boat, and Peter's boat, -new, clean and sturdy of hull, was the boat Rapp wanted. - -"I wish you wouldn't talk that way about the widow, George," said Peter, -looking out of the open door. The liveryman's team was tied to a fence -at the foot of the hills, and between the road and the railway tracks -that edged the river a wide corn-field extended. A cold drizzle half hid -the hillside where Widow Potter's low, white farmhouse, with its green -shutters, stood in the midst of a decaying apple orchard. "I wisht the -widow lived farther off. There ain't no place like this cove to winter -a boat, and when I'm here I've got to saw wood for her, and shuck corn, -and do odd jobs for her, and then she lights into me. I don't say I'm -any better than a tramp, George, but the way the widow jaws at me, and -the things she calls me, ain't right. She thinks I'm scum--just common, -low-down, worthless scum! So that's all there is to that." - -"Oh, shucks!" said George Rapp. - -But Peter believed it. For five years the Widow Potter had kept a -jealous eye on Peter Lane. Tall and thin, penny-saving and hard-working, -she had been led a hard life by the late Mr. Potter, who had been -something rather worse than a brute, and since death had removed -Mr. Potter the widow had given Peter Lane the full benefit of her -experienced tongue whenever opportunity offered. It was her way of -showing Peter unusual attention, but Peter never suspected that when she -glared at him and told him he was a worthless, good-for-nothing loafer -and a lazy, paltering, river-rat, and a no-account, idling vagabond -she was showing him a flattering partiality. He knew she could make him -squirm. It was Love-in-Chapped-Hands, but Mrs. Potter herself did not -know she scolded Peter because she liked him. She counted him as a poor -stick, of little account to himself or to any one else, but what her -mind could not, her heart did recognize--that Peter was Romance. He was -a whiff of something that had never come into her life before; he was a -gentleman, a chivalrous gentleman, a gentleman down at the heel, but a -true gentleman for all that. - -"The way me and her hates each other, George, is like cats and dogs," -said Peter. "I don't go near her unless I have to, and when I do she -claws me all up." - -"All right," said Rapp, laughing, "but you could do a lot worse than -tie up to a good house and cook-stove. If you make up your mind to go -housekeeping and to sell the boat, let me know. I'll get along home. It -is going to be a dog of a night." - -"I won't change my mind about the boat, George," said Peter. "Good -night." - -He closed the door and bolted it. - -"George means all right," he said, settling himself to his task of -reassembling his clock, "but he's sort of coarse." - -The storm, increasing with the coming of night, darkened the interior of -the cabin, and Peter lighted his lamp. As he worked over the clock -the drizzle turned into a heavy rain through which damp snowflakes -fluttered, and the wind strengthened and turned colder, slapping the -rain and snow against the small, four-paned window and freezing it -there. It was blowing up colder every minute and Peter put his handful -of coffee in his coffee-pot and set it on the stove to boil while he -completed his clock job. He tested the clock and found that if he set -the alarm for six o'clock it burst into song at seventeen minutes after -three. A thin smile twisted the corners of his mouth humorously. - -"You skeesicks! You old skeesicks!" he said affectionately. "Ain't you a -caution!" He set the clock on its shelf where it ticked loudly while he -drew his table closer to the bunk, his only seat, and put his coffeepot -and tin cup on the table. - -"Well, now," he said cheerfully, "as long as there ain't anything to eat -I might as well whet up my jack-knife." - -He whetted the large blade of his knife while he sipped the coffee. From -time to time he put down the tin cup and tried the blade of the knife -on his thumb, and when he was satisfied it was so sharp any further -whetting meant a wire edge, he took a crumpled newspaper from under the -pillow of his bunk and read again the article on the increased demand -for chinchilla fur, but it had lost interest. The wind was slapping -against the side of the boat in gusts and the frost was gathering on -his windows, but Peter replenished his fire and lighted the cheap cigar -George Rapp had left on the clock shelf. - -What does a hermit do when he is shut in for a long night with a winter -storm raging outside? Peter put his newspaper back under the pillow and -hunted through his driftwood for a piece that would do to whittle, but -had to give that up as a bad job. Then his eyes alighted on the wooden -pegs on which his shot-gun lay, and he took down the gun and pulled one -of the pegs from its hole. He looked out of the door, to see that his -line was holding securely, and slammed the door quickly, for the night -was worse, the rain freezing as it fell and the wind howling through the -telegraph wires. With a sigh of satisfaction that he was alone, and that -he had a snug shanty-boat in which to spend the winter, Peter propped -himself up in his bunk and began carving the head of an owl on the end -of the gun peg, screwing his face to one side to keep the cigar smoke -out of his eyes. He was holding the half-completed carving at a distance, -to judge of its effect, when he heard a blow on his door. He hesitated, -like a timid animal, and then slipped from the bunk and let his hand -glide to the shot-gun lying on his table. Quietly he swung the gun -around until the muzzle pointed full at the door, and with the other -hand he grasped his heavy stove poker, for he knew that tramps, on such -a night, are not dainty in seeking shelter, and he had no wish to be -thrown out of his boat and have the boat floated away from him. - -"Who's out there?" he shouted, but before he could step forward and bolt -the door, the latch lifted and the door, forced violently inward by -a gust of wind, clattered against the cabin wall. A woman, one hand -extended, stood in the doorway. Her face was deathly white, and her left -hand held the hand of a three-year-old boy. This much Peter saw before -the flame of his lamp flared high in a smoky red and went out, leaving -utter darkness. - -[Ill: 46] - - - - -II. PETER'S GUESTS - -"COME right in, ma'am," said Peter. - -"Step inside and close the door. Nobody here's going to hurt you. I'll -put my shoes on in a minute--" - -He was feeling for the matches on his clock shelf, but he hardly knew -what he was doing or saying. The ghastly white face of the woman was -still blazed on his mind. - -"Excuse me for being bare foot; I wasn't looking for callers," he -continued nervously, but he was interrupted by the sound of a falling -body and a cry. He pushed one of the stove lids aside, letting a glare -of red light into the room. The woman had fallen across his doorsill and -lay, half in and half out of the boat, with the boy crying as he clung -to her relaxed fingers. - -"Don't, Mama! don't!" the small boy wailed, not understanding. - -Peter stood, irresolute. He was a coward before women; they drove his -wits away, and his first wild thought was of flight--of leaping over -the fallen body--but, as he stood, the alarm-clock, after a preliminary -warning cluck, burst into a loud jangling clatter and the boy, sore -frightened, howled with all his strength. That decided for Peter. - -"There, now, don't you cry, son!" he begged, on his knees beside the boy -in an instant. "Don't you mind the racket. It ain't nothing but my old -funny alarm-clock. She goes off that way sometimes, but she don't mean -any harm to anybody. No, sir! Don't you cry." - -The boy wailed, more wildly than ever, calling on his mother to get up. - -"Don't cry, your ma will be all right!" urged Peter. "That clock will -stop right soon, and she won't begin again--not unless she takes a -notion." - -The clock stopped ringing abruptly, the boy stared at it open-mouthed. - -"That's a big boy!" said Peter approvingly. "And don't you worry about -your ma. I guess she'll be all right in a minute. You go over by that -stove and warm yourself, and I'll help your ma in, so this rain won't -blow on her." - -Peter led the boy to the stove, and lighted his lamp. He put the peg -back in the wall, and placed the gun behind the boy's reach before he -turned to the woman. - -She was neither young nor old, but as she lay on the floor she was -ghastly white, even in the glare from the smoking oil lamp, and her lips -were blue. Her cheap hat was wet and weighted down with sleet, and the -green dye from the trimmings had run down and streaked her face. She was -fairly well clad, but not against the winter rain, and her shoes were -too light and too high of heel for tramping a railway track. Peter saw -she was wet to the skin. He bent down and with his knee against her -shoulder moved her inside the door and closed it. - -"That's hot in there," said the boy, who had been staring into the -glowing coals of the opened stove. "I better not put my hand in there. -I'll burn my hand if I put it in there, won't I?" - -"Yes, indeedy," said Peter, "but now I got to fix your ma so's she will -be more comfortable." - -"I wish I had some liquor or something," he said, looking at the woman -helplessly. "Brandy or whisky would be right handy, and I ain't got a -drop. This ain't no case for cold water; she's had too much cold water -already. I wonder what coffee would do?" - -He put his coffee-pot down among the coals of his fire and while he -waited for it to heat, he drew on his shoes. - -"I guess your ma will feel sort of sick when she wakes up," he told the -boy, "and I guess she'd be right glad if we took off them wet shoes and -stockings of yours and got your feet nice and warm. You want to be ready -to help look after your ma. You ain't going to be afraid to let me, are -you?" - -"No," said the boy promptly, and held out his arms for Peter to take -him. He was a solid little fellow, as Peter found when he picked him up, -and his hair was a tangled halo of long, white kinks that burst out -when Peter pulled off the red stocking-cap into which they had been -compressed. From the first moment the boy snuggled to Peter, settling -himself contentedly in Peter's arms as affectionate children do. He had -a comical little up-tilt to his nose, and eyes of a deeper blue than -Peter's, and his face was white but covered with freckles. - -"That's my good foot," said the boy, as Peter pulled off one stocking. - -"Well, it looks like a mighty good one to me, too," said Peter. "So far -as I can see, it is just as good as anybody'd want." - -"Yes. It's my hop-on-foot," explained the boy. "The other foot is the -lame one. It ain't such a good foot. It's Mama's honey-foot." - -"Pshaw, now!" said Peter gently. "Well, I'll be real careful and not -hurt it a bit." He began removing the shoe and stocking from the lame -foot with delicate care, and the boy laughed delightedly. - -"Ho! You don't have to be careful with it," he laughed, giving a little -kick. "You thought it was a sore foot, didn't you? It ain't sore, it's -only lame." - -Peter put the barefoot boy on the edge of the bunk and hung the wet -stockings over his woodpile. The boy asked for the jack-knife again, and -Peter handed it to him. - -"You just set there," he told the boy, "and wiggle your toes at the -stove, like they was ten little kittens, and I'll see if your ma wants a -drink of nice, hot coffee." - -He poured the coffee into his tin cup and went to the woman, raised her -head, and held the hot coffee to her lips. At the first touch of the hot -liquid she opened her eyes and laughed; a harsh, mirthless laugh, which -made her strangle on the coffee, but when her eyes met Peter's eyes, -the oath that was on her lips died unspoken. No woman, and but few men, -could look into Peter's eyes and curse, and her eyes were not those of a -drunkard, as Peter had supposed they would be. - -"That's all right," she said. "I must have keeled over, didn't I? -Where's Buddy?" - -"He's right over there warming his little feet, as nice as can be," said -Peter. "And he was real concerned about you." - -"I wouldn't have come in, but for him," said the woman, trying to -straighten her hat. "I thought maybe he could get a bite to eat. It -don't matter much what, he ain't eat since noon. A piece of bread would -do him 'til we get to town." She leaned back wearily against the pile of -nets in the corner. - -"I want butter on it. Bread, and butter on it," said Buddy promptly. - -"There, now!" said Peter accusingly. "I might have knowed it was foolish -to let myself run so low on food. A man can't tell when food is going -to come in handiest, and here I went and let myself run clean out of it. -But don't you worry, ma'am," he hastened to add, "I'll get some in no -time. Just you let me help you over on to my bunk. I ain't got a chair -or I'd offer it to you whilst I run up to one of my neighbors and get -you a bite to eat. I've got good neighbors. That's one thing!" - -The woman caught Peter by the arm and drew herself up, laughing weakly -at her weakness. She tottered, but Peter led her to the bunk with all -the courtesy of a Raleigh escorting an Elizabeth, and she dropped on -the edge of the bunk and sat there warming her hands and staring at the -stove. She seemed still near exhaustion. - -"If you'll excuse me, now, ma'am," said Peter, when he had made sure she -was not going to faint again, "I'll just step across to my neighbor's -and get something for the boy to eat. I won't probably be gone more than -a minute, and whilst I'm gone I'll arrange for a place for me to sleep -to-night. You hadn't ought to make that boy walk no further to-night. -It's a real bad night outside." - -"That's all right. I don't want to chase you out," said the woman. - -"Not at all," said Peter politely. "I frequently sleep elsewheres. It'll -be no trouble at all to make arrangements." - -He put more wood in the stove, opened the dampers, and lighted his -lantern. Then he pinned his coat close about his neck with a blanket -pin, and, as he passed the clock shelf, slipped the alarm swiftly from -its place and hid it beneath his coat. - -"I'll be right back, as soon as I can," he said, and, drawing his worn -felt hat down over his eyes, he stepped out hastily and slammed the door -behind him. - -"Why did the man take the clock?" asked the boy as the door closed. - -"I guess he thought I'd steal it," said the woman languidly. - -"_Would_ you steal it?" asked the boy. - -"I guess so," the woman answered, and closed her eyes, - - - - -III. PETER LODGES OUT - -AS Peter crossed the icy plank that led from his boat to the railway -embankment he tried to whistle, but the wind was too strong and sharp, -and he drew his head between his shoulders and closed his mouth tightly. -He had understated the distance to Widow Potter's when he had said it -was "just across." In fair weather and daylight he often cut across the -corn-field, but on such a night as this the trip meant a long plod up -the railway track until he came to the crossing, and then a longer tramp -back the slushy road, a good half mile in all. When he turned in -at Widow Potter's open gate a great yellow dog came rushing at him, -barking, but a word from Peter silenced him and the dog fell behind -obediently but watchfully, and followed Peter to where the light shone -through the widow's kitchen window. Peter rapped on the door. - -"Who's out there?" Mrs. Potter called sharply. "I got a gun in here, and -I ain't afraid to use it. If you 're a tramp, you'd better git!" - -"It's Peter Lane," Peter called, loud enough to be heard above the wind. -"I want to buy a couple of eggs off you, Mrs. Potter." - -The door opened the merest crack and Mrs. Potter peered out. She did not -have a gun, but she held a stove poker. When she saw Peter she opened -the door wide. It was a brusk welcome. - -"Of all the shiftlessness I ever heard of, Peter Lane," she said -angrily, "you beat all! Cormin' for eggs this time of night when your -boat's been in the cove nobody knows how long. I suppose it never come -into your head to get eggs until you got hungry for them, did it?" - -Peter closed the door and stood with his back to it. At all times he -feared Mrs. Potter, but especially when he gave her some cause for -reproof. - -"I had some company drop in on me unexpected, Mrs. Potter," he said -apologetically. "If I hadn't, I wouldn't have bothered you. I hate it -worse'n you do." - -"Tramps, I dare say," said the widow. "You 're that shiftless you'd -give the shoes off your feet and the food out of your mouth to feed any -good-for-nothing that come camping on you. You don't get my good eggs to -feed such trash, Peter Lane! Winter eggs are worth money." - -"I thought to pay for them," said Peter meekly. "I wouldn't ask them of -you any other way, Mrs. Potter." - -"Well, if you 've got the money I suppose I've got to let you have -them," said the widow grudgingly. "Eggs is worth three cents apiece, and -I hate to have 'em fed to tramps. How many do you want to buy?" Peter -shifted from one foot to another uncomfortably. "Well, now, I'm what you -might call a little short of ready money tonight," he said. "I thought -maybe I might come over and saw some wood for you tomorrow--" - -"And so you can," said Mrs. Potter promptly, "and when the wood is sawed -they will be paid for, in eggs or money, and not until it is sawed. I'm -not going to encourage you to run into debt. You 're shiftless enough -now, goodness knows." - -Peter tried to smile and ignored the accusation. - -"There couldn't be anything fairer than that," he said. "Nobody ought -to object to that sort of arrangement at all. That's real business-like. -Only, there's a small boy amongst the company that dropped in on me and -he's only about so high--" Peter showed a height that would have been -small for an infant dwarf. "He's a real nice little fellow, and if you -was ever a boy that high, and crying because you wanted something to -eat--" - -"I don't believe a word of it!" snapped Mrs. Potter. "If there is a -child down there he ought to be in bed long ago." - -"Yes'm," agreed Peter meekly. "That's so. You wouldn't put even a dog -that size to bed hungry. So, if you could let me have about half-a-dozen -eggs, I'll go right back." - -"Six eggs at three cents is eighteen cents," said Mrs. Potter firmly, -looking Peter directly in the eye. She was not bad looking. Her cheek -bones were rather high and prominent and her cheeks hollow, and she had -a strong chin for a woman, but the downward twist of discouragement -that had marked her mouth during her later married years had already -disappeared, giving place to a firmness that told she was well able to -manage her own affairs. Peter drew his alarm-clock from beneath his coat -and stood it on the kitchen table. - -"I brought along this alarm-clock," he said, "so you'd know I'd come -back like I say I will. She's a real good clock. I paid eighty cents -for her when she was new, and I just fixed her up fresh to-day. She's -running quite--quite a little, since I fixed her." - -Mrs. Potter did not look at the clock. She looked at Peter. - -"So!" she exclaimed. "So that's what you've come to, Peter Lane! Pawnin' -your goods and chattels! That's what shiftless folks always come to in -the end." - -"And so, if you'll let me have half-a-dozen eggs, and maybe some pieces -of bread and butter and a handful of coffee," said Peter, "I'll leave -the clock right here as security that I'll come up first thing in the -morning and saw wood 'til you tell me I've sawed enough." - -Mrs. Potter took the clock in her hand and looked at Peter. - -"How old did you say that boy is?" she asked. - -"Goin' on three, I should judge. He's a real nice little feller," said -Peter eagerly. - -Mrs. Potter put the clock on her kitchen table. - -"Fiddlesticks! I don't believe a word of it. Who else have you got down -there?" - -"Just his--his parent," said Peter, blushing. "I wisht you could see -that little feller. Maybe I'll bring him up here to-morrow and let you -see him." - -"Maybe you won't!" said the widow. "If you 're hungry you can set down -and I'll fry you as many eggs as you want to eat, but you can't come -over me with no story about visitors bringin' you children on a night -like this! No, sir! You don't get none of my eggs for your worthless -tramps. Shall I fry you some?" - -Peter looked down and frowned. Then he raised his head and looked full -in the widow's eyes and smiled. Nothing but the direct need could -have induced him to smile thus at the widow for he knew and feared the -result. When, once or twice before, he had looked into her eyes and -smiled in this way--unthinkingly--she had fluttered and trembled like a -bird in the presence of an overmastering fascination, and Peter did -not like that. Such power frightened him. The widow, scolding and -condemning, he could escape, but the widow fluttering and trembling, was -a thing to be afraid of. It made him flutter and tremble, too. - -When Peter smiled the widow drew in her breath sharply. - -"Six--six eggs--will six eggs be all you want?" she asked hurriedly. - -"Yes'm," said Peter, still smiling, "unless you could spare some bread -_and_ butter. He 'specially asked for butter," and then he looked down. -The widow drew another long breath. - -"I don't believe you've got a boy down there, and I don't believe you've -got a visitor that deserves nothing," she said crossly. She was herself -again. "I know you from hair to sole-leather, Peter Lane, and if any -worthless scamp came and camped on you, you'd lie your head off to get -food for him, and that's what I think you 're doing now, but there ain't -no way of telling. If so be you have got a boy down there I don't want -him to go hungry, but if it's just some worthless tramp, I hope these -eggs choke him. You ain't got a mite of common sense in you. You 're too -soft, and that's why you don't get on. You'd come up here to-morrow and -do a dollar's worth of wood sawing for eighteen cents' worth of eggs, -and then give the eggs to the first tramp that asked you. What you ought -to have is a wife. You ought to have a wife with a mind like a hatchet -and a tongue like a black-snake whip, and you might be worth shucks, -anyway. You just provoke me beyond patience." - -"Yes'm," said Peter nervously. - -Mrs. Potter was cutting thick, enticing slices from a big loaf and -spreading them with golden butter. - -"I reckon you want jam on this bread?" she asked suddenly. - -"Yes, thank you!" said Peter. - -"Well, maybe you _have_ got a boy down there," said Mrs. Potter -reluctantly. "You'd be ashamed to ask for jam if you hadn't. If you had -a wife and she was any account you'd have bread and jam when boys come -to see you. But I do pity the woman that gets you, Peter Lane! No woman -on this earth but a widow that has had experience with men-folks could -ever make anything out of you." - -Peter put his hand on the door-knob, ready for instant flight. When he -smiled on Mrs. Potter something like this usually resulted and that was -why he tried it so seldom. It was he, now, who trembled and fluttered. - -"I'm not thinking of getting married at all," he said. "I couldn't -afford to, anyway." - -"You needn't think, just because you are no-account, some fool woman -wouldn't take you," snapped Mrs. Potter. "Look at what my first husband -was. Women marry all sorts of trash." - -Peter watched the progress of the bread and jam, trusting its -preparation would not be delayed long. - -"If they're asked," said Mrs. Potter. She seemed very cross about -something. She wrapped the slices of bread in a clean sheet of paper -from her table drawer, folding in the ends of the paper angrily. "But -they don't do the asking," she added. - -Peter took the parcel, and slipped the six clean white eggs into his -pocket. He wanted to get away, but Mrs. Potter stopped him. - -"I suppose, if there is a boy down there, I've got to give you what's -left of my roast chicken," she grumbled, "or you'll be coming up here -about the time I get into bed, routing me out for more victuals. If I -had a husband, and he was like you, and he had a mind to feed all the -tramps in the county, he wouldn't have to rout me out of bed to do it. -He could go to the cupboard himself, and feed them." - -"Now, that clock," said Peter hastily, "if I was you I wouldn't depend -too much on her alarm to get you up. I can't say she's regulated just -the way I'd like to have her yet. And I'm much obliged to you." - -"I don't want your clock!" said Mrs. Potter, but Peter had slipped out -of the door, closing it behind him. The widow held the clock in her hand -for a full minute, and then set it gently beside her own opulent Seth -Thomas. - -"I dare say you 're about as well regulated as he is," she said, "and -that ain't saying much for either of you. He ain't got the eyes to see -through a grindstone!" - -When Peter returned to the boat, the boy was busily trying to work one -of the trot-line hooks out of the sleeve of his jacket, but the woman -had dropped back on the bunk and her eyes were closed. She opened them -when the rush of cold air from the door struck her face, and looked at -Peter listlessly. - -"I guess you don't feel like cooking a couple of eggs," said Peter, "so -if you'll excuse me remaining here awhile, I'll do it for you. I'm a -fair to middling fried-egg cook. Son, you let me get that hook out of -you, and then see if you can eat five or six of these pieces of bread -and jam. I could when I was a boy, and then I could wind up with a piece -of chicken like this." - -"I hooked myself," the boy explained. - -"I should say you did," said Peter. "You want to look out for these -hooks, they bite a boy like a cat-fish stinger, and that ain't much fun. -I'm right glad you dropped in," he said to the woman, "because I've got -such good neighbors. It's almost impossible to keep them from forcing -more eggs and butter and such things on me than I'd know what to do -with. 'Just come on up when you want anything,' they are always saying, -'and help yourself.' So it's quite nice to have somebody drop in and -give me a chance to show my neighbors I ain't too proud to take a few -eggs and such. It would surprise you to see how eager they are that -way." - -He scraped the butter from one of the pieces of bread, needing it to -fry the eggs in, and he worked as he talked, breaking the eggs into the -frying-pan and watching that they were cooked to a turn. - -"I certainly am blessed with nice neighbors," he said. "There's a -widow lady lives a step or two beyond the railroad, and seems as if she -couldn't do enough for me. She just lays herself out to see that I'm -overfed. Do you feel like you could eat a small part of chicken?" - -The woman let her eyes rest on Peter some time before she spoke. - -"I ought to feel hungry, but I don't," she said. - -"Well, maybe a soft-boiled egg _would_ be better. I ought to have -thought of that," said Peter as if he had been reproved. "You'll have to -excuse me for boiling it in the coffee-pot, I've been so busy planning a -trip I'm going to take I haven't had time to lay in much tinware yet." - -"_Where_ did you take the clock?" asked the boy suddenly. - -Peter reddened under his tan. - -"That clock?" he said hesitatingly. "Where did I take that clock? Well, -the fact is--the fact is that clock is a nuisance. That's it, she's a -nuisance.' I been meaning to throw that clock into the river for I don't -know how long. Unless you are used to that clock you just can't sleep -where she is. 'Rattelty bang!' she goes just whenever she takes a -notion, like a dish-pan falling downstairs, all times of the night. So -I just thought, as long as I was going out anyway, 'Now's a good time to -get rid of the old nuisance!'" - -"Mama _would_ steal the clock," said the boy. - -"Oh, you mustn't say that!" said Peter. "You come here and eat these two -nice eggs. I hope, ma'am, you don't think I had any such notion as that. -When I have visitors they can steal everything in the boat, and welcome. -I mean--" - -"I know what you mean," said the woman. "You 're the white kind." - -"I'm glad you look at it that way," said - -Peter. "The boy, he don't understand such things, he's so young yet. -Maybe you'd feel better if I propped you up with the pillow a little -better. I'll lay this extry blanket on the foot of the bunk here in case -it should get cold during the night. You look nice and warm now." - -"I'm burning up," said the woman. - -"I judge you've got a slight fever," said Peter. "I often get them when -I get overtook by the rain when I'm out for a stroll." - -"I'll be all right if I can lie here for an hour or so," said the woman -listlessly. "Then Buddy and me will get on. Is it far to town?" - -"Now, you and that boy ain't going another step to-night," said Peter -firmly. "You 're going to stay right here. You won't discommode me a bit -for I've made arrangements to sleep elsewhere, like I often do." - -He gave the woman the egg in his tin cup, and while she ate he put his -trot-lines outside on the small forward deck so the boy might get in -no more trouble with the hooks. Then he removed the shells from his -shotgun, put the remaining eggs and bread and butter and chicken in his -tin box, and pinned his coat collar. - -"I'm going up to the place I arranged to sleep at, now," he said, "and -I hope you'll find everything comfortable and nice. There's more wood -there by the stove, and before I come in in the morning I'll knock on -the door, so I guess maybe you'd better take off as many of them wet -clothes as you wish to. You'll take a worse cold if you don't." - -"I'm afraid I'm too weak," said the woman. "If you will just give me -some help with my dress--" - -But Peter fled. He was a strange mixture, was Peter, and he fled as a -blushing boy would have fled, not to stop running until he was far up -the railway track. Then he realized, by the chill of the sleety rain -against his head where the hair was thinnest, that he had forgotten his -hat, and he laughed at himself. - -"Pshaw, I guess that woman scared me," he said. - -He did not follow the path to Mrs. Potter's kitchen door this time, but -skirted the orchard and climbed a rail fence into the cow pasture. He -made a wide circle through the pasture and climbed another fence into -the yard behind the barn, where a haystack stood. He was trembling with -cold by this time, and wet through, and the water froze stiff in his -coat cuffs, but he dug deep into the base of the haystack and crawled -into its shelter, drawing the sweet hay close around him. For awhile he -lay with chattering teeth, his knees close under his chin, and then he -felt warmer, and straightened his knees. The next moment he was asleep. - - - - -IV. THE SCARLET WOMAN - -WHEN Peter crawled out of his haystack the next morning the weather was -intensely cold and the wind was gone. Every twig and weed sparkled with -the ice frozen upon it. He had needed no alarm-clock to awaken him, for -an uneasy sense of discomfort gradually opened his eyes, and he found -his knees aching and his whole body chilled and stiff. He climbed the -fence into the farm-house yard. He had no doubt now that he was hungry, -and he was well aware that his head was cold where the hair was thin. -Indeed, his hands and feet were cold too. But he tightened his belt -another hole and made for Mrs. Potter's woodshed. Among the chips and -sawdust he found a piece of white cloth which, had he known it was the -remains of one of Mrs. Potter's petticoats, he would have left where -it lay, but not knowing this he made a makeshift turban by knotting the -corners, and drew it well down over his ears, like a nightcap. It was -more comfortable than the raw morning air, and Peter had no more pride -than a tramp. - -He found the wood saw hanging in the shed, a piece of bacon-rind on the -windowsill, and the ice-covered sawbuck in the yard, and he set to work -on the pile of pin-oak as if he meant to earn his clock, his breakfast -and a full day's wages before Mrs. Potter got out of bed. The exercise -warmed him, but he kept one eye on the top of Mrs. Potter's kitchen -chimney, looking for the thin smoke signal telling that breakfast was -under way. The pile of stove-wood grew and grew under his saw but still -the house gave no sign of life. The sun climbed, making the icy coating -of trees and fences glow with color, and still Mrs. Potter's kitchen -chimney remained hopelessly smokeless. - -"That woman must have a good, clear conscience or she couldn't sleep -like that," said the hungry Peter, "but I've got folks on my hands, and -I've got to see to them. If this ain't enough wood to satisfy her I'll -saw some more when I come back." - -He was worried, for no smoke was coming from the stovepipe that -protruded from the roof of his shanty-boat. When he reached the boat he -knocked three times without answer before he opened the door cautiously -and peered in, ready to retreat should his entrance be inopportune. The -woman was lying where he had left her, still in her wet clothes, and the -cabin was icy cold. The boy, when Peter opened the door, was standing on -the table trying to lift the shot-gun from its pegs. His face showed -he had made a trip to the bread and jam. He looked down at Peter as the -door opened. - -"Mama's funny," he said, and reached for the gun again. - -The woman was indeed "funny." She was in the grip of a raging fever. Her -cheeks were violently red and against them the green dye from her hat -made hideous streaks. Her hair had fallen and lay in a tangle over the -pillow, with the rain-soaked hat still clinging to a strand. As she -moved her head the hat moved with it, giving her a drunken, disreputable -appearance. She talked rapidly and angrily, repeating the names of men, -of "Susie" and "Buddy," stopping to sing a verse of a popular song, -breaking into profanity and laughing loudly. All human emotions except -tears flowed from her, and Peter stood with his back against the door, -uncertain what to do. The table, tipping suddenly and throwing the boy -to the floor, decided him. - -"There, now, you little rascal!" he said, gathering the weeping boy in -his arms. - -"You might have broke your arm, or your leg. You oughtn't to stand on a -table you ain't acquainted with, that way." - -"I wanted to fall down," said the boy, ceasing his tears at once. "I -like to fall off tables I ain't 'quainted with." - -"Well, I just bet you do!" said Peter. "You look like that sort of a -boy to me. Does your ma act funny like this often? You poor young 'un, I -hope not!" - -"No," said Buddy. - -Peter looked at the woman, studying her. It might have been possible -that she was insane, but the vivid red of her cheeks convinced him she -was delirious with fever. Her hat, askew over one ear, gave Peter a -feeling of shame for her, and he put Buddy down and walked to the bunk. -He saw that the hat pin had made a cruel scratch along her cheek. - -"Now, ma'am," he said, "I'm just going to help you off with this hat, -because it's getting all mashed up, and it ain't needed in the house." - -He put out his hand to take the hat, but the woman raised herself on one -arm, and with the other fist struck Peter full in the face, so that he -staggered back against the table, while she swore at him viciously. - -"You hadn't ought to do that," he said reprovingly; "I wasn't going to -hurt you." - -"I know you!" shouted the woman in a rage. "I know you! You can't come -any of that over me! You took Susie, you beast, but you don't get Buddy. -Let me get at you!" - -She tried to clamber from the bunk, but fell back coughing. - -"Now, you are absolutely wrong, ma'am," said Peter earnestly. "You've -got me placed entirely wrong. I ain't the man you think I am at all. I'm -the man that got something for Buddy to eat last night. You recall that, -don't you?" - -The woman looked at him craftily. - -"Where's Buddy?" she asked. - -"I'm--I'm cooking eggs, Mama," said Buddy promptly, and Peter turned. - -"Well, you little rascal!" cried Peter. "You must be hungry." - -The boy had put the frying-pan on the floor while Peter's back was -turned, and had broken the remaining eggs in it. Much of the omelet -had missed the pan, decorating Buddy's clothes and the floor. The woman -seemed satisfied when she heard the boy's voice, and closed her -eyes, and Peter took the opportunity to kindle the fire and start the -breakfast. He cooked the omelet, the condition of the eggs suggesting -that as the only method of preparing them. The woman opened her eyes as -the pleasant odor filled the cabin, and followed every movement Peter -made. - -"I know you! You'll run me out of town, will you?" she cried suddenly. -"All right, I'll go! I'll go! That's what I get for being decent. You -know I 've been decent since you took Susie away from me, and that's -what I get. Run me out--what do I care! I'll go." - -She put her feet to the floor, but another coughing fit threw her back -against the pillow, and when she recovered she burst into tears. - -"Don't take her!" she pleaded. "I'll be decent--don't! I tell you I'll -be decent. Don't I feed her plenty? Don't I dress her warm? Ain't she -going to school like the other kids? Don't take her. Before God, I'll be -decent. Come here, Susie!" - -"Now, that's all right, ma'am," said Peter, as she began coughing again. -"Nobody's going to take nobody whilst I'm in this boat, and you can make -your mind up to that right off. Here's Buddy right here, eating like a -little man, ain't you, Buddy?" - -"Poor baby!" said the woman. "Come and let Ma try to carry you again. -Your poor little leg's all tired out, ain't it?" - -"It's rested," said Buddy, "it ain't tired." - -"Tired, oh, God, I'm tired!" she wept. "You'll have to get down, Buddy. -Ma can't carry you another step. God knows when I get to Riverbank I'll -be straight. I've got enough of this. Where's Susie?" - -"Now, I wisht, if you can, you'd try to lie quiet, ma'am," said Peter, -"for you ain't well. Try lying still, and I'll go right to town and get -a doctor to come out and see you. I didn't mean you no harm at all." - -"I know you, you snake!" she cried. "You 're from the Society. You took -my Susie, and you want Buddy. I'll kill you first. Come here, Buddy!" - -The boy went to her obediently, and she drew him on to the bunk and ran -her hand through his white kinks of hair. It seemed to quiet her to feel -him in her arm. - -"Now, ma'am," said Peter, "you see nobody's going to take Buddy at all, -and you can take my word I won't let anybody take him whilst I'm around. -You can depend on that, I'm going to town, now, and I guess I'd better -leave Buddy right here, for you'll be more comfortable knowing where he -is. Don't you worry about nothing at all until I get back, and if you -find the door locked it's just so nobody can't get in and bother you." - -He looked about the cabin. It was comfortably warm, and he poured water -on the fire. He wished to take no chances with the woman in her present -state. He even took his shot-gun and the heavy poker as he went out. -Buddy watched him with interest. - -"Are you stealing that gun?" he asked. - -"No, son," said Peter gravely. "Nobody's stealing anything. You want to -get that idea out of your head. Nobody in this cabin--you, nor me, nor -your ma, would steal anything. Your ma's sick and don't know what she's -doing, but she don't mean no real harm. I guess she ain't been treated -right, and she feels upset about it, but a boy don't want, ever, to say -anything bad about his ma." - -He went out and closed and locked the door. Involuntarily he glanced at -Widow Potter's chimneys. No smoke came from any of them. - -"Now, I just bet that woman has gone and got sick, just when I've got -my hands plumb full!" he said disgustedly. "I've got to go up and see -what's the matter with her, or she might lie there and die and nobody -know a thing about it." - -The cold had frozen the slush into hardness, and Peter cut across -the corn-field. He tried Mrs. Potter's doors and found them all -locked--which was a bad sign, unless she had gone to town while he was -in the shanty-boat--but he knocked on the kitchen door noisily, and was -rewarded after a reasonable wait, by hearing the widow dragging her feet -across the kitchen. - -"Is that you, Peter Lane?" she asked. - -"Yes'm," Peter answered. - -"Well, it's time you come, I must say," said the widow, between groans. -"You the only man anywheres near, and you'd leave me die here as soon as -not. You got to feed the cows and the horse and give the chickens some -grain and then hitch up and fetch a doctor as fast as he can be fetched. -I might have laid here for weeks, you 're that unreliable. I'll put the -barn key on the kitchen table, and when the doctor comes I'll be in my -bed, if the Lord lets me live that long. I'll be in it anyway, I dare -say, dead or alive, if I can manage to get to it. And don't you come -in until I get out of the way, for I ain't got a stitch on but my -night-gown." - -"I won't," said Peter, and he didn't. He gave Mrs. Potter time to -get into twenty beds, if she had been so minded, before he opened the -kitchen door a crack and peeped in. He hurried through the chores as -rapidly as he could, feeding the stock and the chickens and milking -the cows. He had eaten part of the omelet Buddy had commenced, but he -thought it only right he should have a satisfying drink of the warm -milk, and he took it. He made a fire in the kitchen stove and saw that -the iron tea-kettle was full of water, and then he harnessed the horse -and drove briskly to town and sought a doctor. - -It was the hour when physicians were making their calls and the first -two Peter sought were out, but Dr. Roth, the new doctor who had come -from Willets to build a practice in the larger town, happened to be in -his office over Moore's Drug Store, and he drew on his coat and gloves -while Peter explained the object of his visit. - -"I ain't running Mrs. Potter's affairs," said Peter, "for there ain't no -call for her to have nobody to run them, but, if I was, I'd get a sort -of nurse-woman to go up and take care of her. She's all alone, and I -don't know how sick she is." - -"Then you are not Mr. Potter?" asked the doctor. - -"I ain't nothing at all like that," said Peter. "I'm a shanty-boatman -and my boat is right near the widow's place, and I do odd chores for -her. Old Potter died and went where he belongs quite some time ago." - -The doctor agreed to pick up Mrs. Skinner on his way, Mrs. Skinner being -one of those plump, useful creatures that are willing to do nursing, -washing, or general housework by the day. - -"And another thing, doctor," said Peter, as the doctor closed his office -door, "whilst you are out there I want you to drop down to the cove -below the widow's house, to a shanty-boat you'll see there, and take -a look at the woman I've got in it. So far as I can make out she's a -mighty sick woman. I'll try to get back before you get through with the -widow, but you'd better take my key, if I shouldn't. I'll pay whatever -it costs to treat her. I'm quite ready to do that." - -"Why not drive out with me?" - -"I got some business to transact," said Peter. "But mebby it might be -just as well to wait till I do get there. She's sort of out of her mind, -and she might think you had come to do her some harm if I wasn't there." -The business Peter had to transact took him to George Rapp's Livery, -Sale and Feed Stable, and by good luck he found George in his stuffy, -over-heated office, redolent of tobacco smoke, harness soap and general -stable odors. Like all men who brave cold weather at all hours George -liked to be well baked when in-doors. - -"Well, George," said Peter, "since I seen you yesterday circumstances -has occurred to change my mind about making any trips this year in my -boat. For a man of my constitution I've made up my mind it would be just -the worst thing to go south at all. It ain't the right air for my lungs, -and when you got to talking about chinchillas going out of fashion, I -seen it wasn't worth the risk. What I need is cold climate, George, and -it's an unfortunate thing this here Mississippi River don't run any -way but south, because there's one fur never does go out of style, and -that's arctic fox--." - -"All right, I'll give you forty dollars for the boat," laughed Rapp, -putting his hand in his pocket. - -"Now, wait!" said Peter. "I don't want you to think I'm doing this just -because I want to sell the boat, George. That ain't so. I guess maybe I -could raise what money I need to outfit, one way or another, but I can't -afford to pay a caretaker to take care of that boat whilst I'm away -up in Labrador, or Alaska, or wherever I'm going, and it ain't safe to -leave a shanty-boat vacant. Tramps would run away with her." - -"When do you aim to start north?" asked Rapp, grinning. - -"My mind ain't quite made up to that," said Peter. "I want to look over -a map and see where Labrador is before I start out. I thought maybe -you'd let me remain in the shanty-boat awhile, George." - -"Stay on her as long as you like," said Rapp. "You can live right in her -all winter. All I want is to get her down to my place right away before -the river closes, so she'll be there when the ducks fly next spring." - -"Now, that's another thing," said Peter uneasily. "With all the -preparations I have to make for my trip I'll have to be round town -more or less this winter, and as your place is a long way down river, -I thought maybe you might let the boat stay where she is this winter, -George?" - -"You can sleep in my barn any time you want to, Peter," said Rapp. "I -might as well let that boat lie where she is forever as leave her there -all winter. I want her down there when the ducks fly north. I'll give -you five dollars extra for floating her down, and a dollar or so a week -for taking care of her, but if she can't go down she ain't any use to -me." - -"The way the ice is beginning to run I'd have to start her down to-day -or to-morrow," said Peter regretfully. "It upsets my plans, but I got -to have some ready cash. If the wind shifts your slough will be -ice-blocked, and there ain't no other safe place to winter a boat down -there." - -"You don't have to sell her if you don't want to," said Rapp. "You can -put off your trip. Seems like I've heard you put off trips before now, -Peter." - -"Well, I guess I'll sell, George," said Peter. "Maybe I can trap -muskrats or something down there, I'll make out some how." - -He took the money Rapp handed him and once more Peter was homeless. -He was no better than a tramp now. His plans were vague as to the sick -woman, but forty-five dollars seemed a great deal of money to Peter. He -might hire a room from Mrs. Potter, if that lady would permit, and have -the sick woman cared for there, or he might, have her brought to -town and lodged somewhere, if any one would take her in. There was no -hospital in Riverbank. But he was happy. Somehow, he did not doubt he -could care for the woman, for he had money in his pocket. To turn her -over to the county poor-farm did not enter his mind. He would not have -given a dog that fate. - -He drove to Main Street first and tied his horse before the grocery that -received his infrequent patronage. Here he bought a bag of flour and -six packages of roasted coffee, some bacon and beans, condensed milk and -canned goods, sugar and other necessities, and then let his eyes wander -over the grocer's shelves. He had about decided to buy a can of green -gage plums, as a dainty he loved and never indulged in, and therefore -suitable to buy for the sick woman, when he saw the small white jars of -beef extract, and he bought one for the sick woman. - -While his parcels were being wrapped he picked up the copy of the -_Riverbank News_ that lay on the counter and glanced over it, for a -newspaper was a rare treat for Peter. On the first page his eye caught -the headline "Pass Her Along." It was at the head of an article in -the _News_ reporter's best humorous style, and told how Lize Merdin, a -notorious character, had been run out of Derlingport, the next town up -the river, and ordered never to return under pain of tar and feathers. -"The gay girl hit the ties in the direction of Riverbank at a Maud S. -pace, yanking her young male offspring after her by the arm," wrote the -reporter, "and when last seen seemed intending to favor River-bank with -her society, but up to last reports nothing has been seen of her there. -It is a two days' jaunt for a gentle creature like Lize, but when -she hits the River Street depot she will find Riverbank a regular -springboard, and the bounce she will get here will impress on her -receptive mind the fact that Riverbank is not hankering for her company. -Pass her along!" - -Peter folded the paper and laid it on the counter. So that was who -his visitor was, and how she came to be tramping the railway track! He -walked to where great golden oranges glowed in a box, near the door, and -chose half a dozen and laid them beside his other purchases. These too -were for the sick woman. Then he selected a dozen big, red apples and -laid them beside the oranges. They were for Buddy. It was Peter's method -of showing his disapproval of the bad taste of the _News'_ article. - -When Peter reached the widow's farmhouse the doctor's horse still stood -in the bam-yard, and Peter put up his own horse, while waiting for the -doctor to come out. - -"How is the widow? Is she bad off?" he asked when the doctor appeared. - -"Mrs. Potter thinks she is a very sick woman, and she isn't a well one," -said the doctor. "She'll stay in bed a week, anyway. That's some woman. -She has Mrs. Skinner hopping around like a toad in a skillet already, -and she sent orders by me that you are to come and sleep in the kitchen, -to be handy if she has a relapse in the night. You are to take care of -her stock, and saw the rest of her cord wood, and do the odd chores, and -if the pump freezes thaw it out, before it gets frozen any worse." - -"Now, ain't that too bad!" said Peter. "Just when I've got to get -started down river this afternoon. Things always happen like that, don't -they?" - -He led the way across the frozen corn-field to his shanty-boat, and -opened the door. Buddy had managed to turn the table upside down and was -"riding a boat" in it. The doctor gave the boy and the cabin one glance -and had Peter classed as one of the shiftless shanty-boatmen before -he had pulled off his fur gloves. Then he turned to the woman. She -was lying with her face toward the wall. He bent over her, and when he -straightened his back and turned to Peter his face was very serious. - -"Your wife is dead," he said. - -Peter's pale blue eyes stared at the doctor vacantly. - -"Dead?" he stammered. "My wife? Why, doctor, she ain't--" - -"Yes," said the doctor, not waiting to hear the conclusion of Peter's -sentence. "She has been dead an hour, at least. A weak heart, overtaxed, -I should say. What do you mean by leaving her in these damp clothes? I -should have been called long ago." - -"Now, ain't that too bad! Ain't that too bad!" said Peter regretfully. -"It ain't nobody's fault but mine. I ought to have gone for you last -night, and there I was, a-sleepin' away as comfortable as could be!" - -"She should have been under treatment for some time," said the doctor -severely. He was a young doctor, and important, and not inclined to -spare the feelings of a mere shanty-boatman. Here he could be severe, -who had to be suave and politic with better people. He told Peter -brutally that the woman had not been properly cared for; that with her -constitution, she should have had delicacies and comforts and kindness. -"If you want my candid opinion, you as much as killed her," said Dr. -Roth. - -He was nettled by Peter's apparent heartlessness, for while Peter showed -that the death had shocked him, he gave way to no outburst of sorrow -such as might be expected from a bereaved husband. But now deep regret -in Peter's eyes touched him. - -"I shouldn't have said that," he said more kindly. "I might not have -been able to do anything. Probably not much after all. But if you don't -want the boy to go the same way, treat him better. You have him left." - -Peter turned and looked at Buddy who, all unconscious, was rowing his -table boat with a piece of driftwood for oar. - -"That's so, aint it?" said Peter. "She's left the boy on my hands, ain't -she? I guess I got to take care of him. Yep, I guess I have!" - -When the doctor left the boat, half an hour later, he shook his head as -he closed the door. - -"Shiftless and unfeeling!" he muttered to himself. "'Left the boy on my -hands!' Poor boy, I'm sorry for you, with a father like that." - -For he did not see Peter drop on his knees beside the curly headed child -as soon as the door was closed, and he did not see how Peter took the -boy in his arms. He could not hear what Peter said. - -"Buddy boy," said Peter, "how'd it be if you and Uncle Peter just sort -of snuggled up close and--and et a big, red apple?" - - - - -V. BUDDY STEERS THE BOAT - - -"NOW, don't you fret, Buddy-boy," said Peter Lane with forced -cheerfulness, "because I'm going to let you do something you never did -before, and that I wouldn't let many boys do. You are going to help -Uncle Peter steer this boat, just like you was a big man." - -Buddy stood in the skiff which was drawn up on the bank. Peter, with -a rock and his stove-poker, was undoing the frozen knot that held his -shanty-boat to the Rock Island Railway System, and by means of that to -the State of Iowa. He was preparing to take the shanty-boat down the -river to George Rapp's place. His provisions were aboard, the rag of -a sail lay ready to raise should the wind serve--but it promised not -to--and the long sweep that had reposed on the roof of the boat was on -its pin at the bow, if a boat, both ends of which were identical, could -be said to have a bow. - -"I like to steer boats," said Buddy out of his boyish optimism. - -"I bet you do," said Peter, "and a mighty good steerer you'll make. -I don't know how Uncle Peter could get down river if he didn't have -somebody to steer for him. Now, you let me push that skiff into the -water, and we'll row around the boat, and before you know it you'll be -steering like a regular little sailor." - -He threw the mooring rope on to the stern deck of the shanty-boat, -pushed the skiff into the water and poled to the other end of the boat -where the long sweep was held with its blade suspended in the air, the -handle caught under a cleat on the deck. Peter lifted Buddy to the deck, -made the skiff's painter fast, and climbed to the deck after the boy. - -"Now, Buddy, we'll be off in a minute and a half," he said, "just as -soon as I fix you the way they fix sailors when they steer a ship in a -big storm." - -He drew a ball of seine twine from his pocket, knotted one end about -Buddy's waist, cut off a generous length, and tied the other end to the -cleat. - -"Don't!" said Buddy imperatively. "I don't want to be tied, Uncle -Peter." - -"Oh, yes, you do!" said Peter. "Why, a sailor-man couldn't think of -steering a great boat like this unless he was tied to it." - -"No!" shouted Buddy, and Peter stood, holding his end of the cord, -studying the boy. - -"Now, Buddy-boy," he said appealingly. "Don't holler like that. Ain't I -told you we must keep right quiet, because your ma is asleep in there." - -"But I don't want to be tied!" cried the boy. - -"But Uncle Peter's going to be tied, too," said Peter. "Yes, siree, Bob! -Just as soon as I get this boat out into the river, I'm going to be tied -like you are, and no mistake. You didn't know that, I guess, did you?" - -The boy looked at him doubtfully. - -"Are you?" he asked. - -"If I say I am, I am," said Peter. "You can always be right sure that -when Uncle Peter says a thing, he ain't trying to fool you, Buddy. No, -sir! You can just believe what Uncle Peter says, with all your might. -I might lie to grown folks now and then, but I wouldn't lie to a little -boy. No, sir!" - -"I ain't a little boy. I'm a big sailor-man!" said the boy. "And you -said I could steer, and I want to steer." - -"Right away you can," said Peter. "You're going to steer with one of -them skiff oars, but first I've got to row this boat out into the river -a ways so you'll have plenty of room. So don't you fret. You watch Uncle -Peter." - -He made the skiff fast to the boat with a length of rope, took the oars, -and as he rowed, the heavy boat moved slowly from behind the point out -into the river current. Peter towed her well out into the river before -he let the skiff drop back. He meant the shanty-boat to float sweep -first--it was all the same to her--and he fastened the painter of the -skiff to the shanty-boat's stern, and edged his way along the narrow -strip of wood that marked the division between the hull and the -superstructure, holding himself by clasping the edge of the roof with -his cold fingers, and sliding an oar along the roof as he went. It would -have been much simpler and safer to have passed through the cabin. - -To satisfy Buddy, he tied a length of seine cord about his own waist and -fastened the end to the deck ring, and then he lashed Buddy's oar to -a small iron ring. The boy could take a few steps and splash the water -with the oar without falling into the river. Then Peter took the heavy -sweep handle in his hands and the shanty-boat was under way. - -It was time. The rising water had dislodged heavier ice than had yet -come down, and the river was filling with it. The wind, such as there -was, while it blew almost dead upstream, was an aid in that it swept the -floating ice toward the Illinois shore, leaving Peter's course clear, -and an occasional dip of the sweep was sufficient to keep the boat -head-on in the current. The wind made the river choppy, but the -shanty-boat, not having had time to water-log since Peter put her in the -water, floated high. - -For a while Buddy steered energetically, splashing the water with the -blade of his oar, but Peter was ready for the first sign of weariness. - -"My! but you are a fine steerer!" he said approvingly. "When you grow -just a bit bigger, Uncle Peter is going to teach you how to row a boat, -and a song to sing while you row it. Hurry up, now, and help Uncle Peter -steer." - -"Let's sing a song to steer a boat," said Buddy. - -"No, I guess we won't sing to-day," said Peter. "Some other day we'll -sing." - -For Peter and Buddy were not taking the voyage alone. When Peter, -assisted by Mrs. Skinner, had completed the preparations he felt were -due any woman who is making the Great Journey, he found his money too -little to afford her a resting-place in the town, but Peter Lane could -not let one who had knocked at his door, seeking shelter, go from there -to the potter's field, any more than he could let her boy go to the -county farm. While the smart reporter was wondering whether the power -of the press, in his article "Pass Her Along," had warned Lize Merdin to -take the road to some other town, and while Dr. Roth was telling of the -shanty-boatman whose wife had died without medical attendance, Peter, by -roundabout questions regarding George Rapp's place, learned of a small -country burying ground not too far from the spot where the shanty-boat -was to be moored for the winter. There he was taking Lize Merdin who, -"decent" at last and forever, lay within the cabin. - -Through the long forenoon Peter leaned on the handle of his sweep, -pressing his breast against it now and then to swing the shanty-boat -into the full current. There was no other large boat on the river. Here -and there a fisherman pulled at his oars in a heavy skiff, or moved -slowly from hook to hook of his trot-line, lifting from time to time -a flop-pily protesting fish, but gave the shanty-boat no more than a -glance. - -The boat floated past the empty log-boom of the upper mill--silent -for the winter--and past the great lumber piles, still bearing their -covering of sleet. Peter could hear the gun-like slap of board on board -coming from where some man was loading lumber in a freight car, and -occasionally a voice came across the water with startling distinctness: - -"I told him he could chop his own wood, I wouldn't do it." - -"What did he say to that?" - -"He said he could get plenty of men that would do it." He knew the men -must be sitting close to the water's edge, and finally his sharp eyes -made them out below the railway embankment--two black specks crouched -over a small, yellow blaze. He recognized one voice, the voice of one -of the town loafers. The other was strange to him, probably that of some -tramp. - -Below that, dwellings fronted the river and the streets of the -town opened in long vistas as the boat came to them, closing again -immediately as it passed. The hissing of a switch-engine, sidetracked -to await the passing of a train soon due, and the clanking of a poker -on the grate bars as the fireman dislodged the clinkers, came to Peter's -ears distinctly. Then the boat slipped past George Rapp's stable, with -its bold red brick front, and as he passed the door, Peter could hear -for an instant the scrape of a horse's hoof in the stall, although the -boat was a good half mile out in the river. Beyond the stable was the -low-lying canning factory, and the row of saloons, and the hotel, and -the wholesale houses, partly hidden by the railway station on the river -side of Front Street, and the packet warehouse on the river's edge. Then -the low rumbling of the dusty oatmeal mill, cut by the excited voices of -small children playing at the water's edge, became the prominent voice -of the town. - -From the edge of the river the town rose on two hills, showing masses of -gray, leafless trees, with here and there a house peeping through. From -Peter's boat it looked like the dead corpse of a town, but he knew every -street of it, and he knew Life, with its manifold business of work and -play, was hurrying feverishly there, and he knew, too, that not one of -all those so busy with Life knew he was floating by, or if knowing it, -would have cared. - -"That there is a town, Buddy," said Peter. "That's Riverbank." - -"Is it?" said Buddy, without interest. He gave it but a glance. - -"Yes, sir!" said Peter. "That's the town. And it's sort of funny to -think of that whole townful of people rushing around, and going and -coming, and doing things that seem mighty important to them whilst -your--whilst this boat goes floating down this river as calm and -peaceful as if the day of judgment had come and gone again. It's funny! -Probably there ain't man or woman in that whole town but, a couple of -days ago, was better and whiter than--than a certain party; and now -there ain't one of 'em but is all smudgy and soiled if compared with -her. Yes, sir, it's funny!" - -He worked his sweep vigorously to carry the shanty-boat to the east -of the large island--the Tow-head--that lay before the lower-town. The -screech of boards passing through the knives of a planing-mill drowned -the rumble of the oatmeal mill. A long passenger train hurried along the -river bank like a hasty worm, and stopped, panting, at the water tank, -and went on again. The boat, as it passed on the far side of the island, -seemed to drop suddenly into silence, and the chopping of the waves -against the hull of the boat made itself heard. - -"Yes, sir, towns is funny!" said Peter. "Now, take the way going behind -this island has wiped that one out. So far as you and me are concerned, -Buddy, that town might be wiped off the earth, and we wouldn't know. We -wouldn't hardly care at all. The folks in it ain't nothing to us at all, -right now. And yet, if I go into that town, I'm interested in every one -of the folks I meet, and it makes me sort of sick to see any of them -cold and hungry. Maybe that's what towns is for. Maybe I live alone too -much. I get so all I think about is sleep and eat. And eating ain't a -bad habit. How'd you like to?" - -Buddy was willing. He was willing to eat any time. He ate two apples and -eight crackers, and watched the apple cores float beside the boat. - -"Now, you 're going to fish," said Peter. "Right here looks like a good -place to fish. Maybe you'll catch a whale. You're just as apt to catch a -whale here as anything else." - -"Ain't Mama hungry?" asked Buddy so suddenly that Peter was startled. - -"Now, hear that!" he said. "Ain't you just as thoughtful! Why, no, -Buddy. It's real nice for you to think of that, but your ma ain't -hungry. She ain't going to be hungry or cold or wet any more, so don't -you bother your little head about it one bit. She don't want anything -but that you should grow up and be a big, fine man." - -"Like you, Uncle Peter?" asked Buddy. "My land, no!" said Peter -impulsively. "I mean, no, indeed. Don't you take me for no model, Buddy. -You want to grow up and be--I'll explain when you get older. I want you -to grow up to be a good man; the kind of man that takes some interest in -other folks. You don't want to be a dried-up old codger like me." - -"What's a codger?" asked Buddy. - -"A codger is a stingy, old, hard-shell cuss--" Peter began. "I guess you -could eat another apple," he finished, and Buddy did. - -The island they were passing was low and fringed with willows, now bare -of leaf, and the shanty-boat kept close in until the current veered to -the Illinois shore, with its water-elms and maples, and tangles of wild -grapevines. Peter knew every mark of this part of the river well. The -current swung from shore to shore, now crossing to the Iowa side -again, where the levee guarded the fields, and now swinging back to the -Illinois bottom-land. For the boy the scene held little interest; -for Peter it was a new chapter of an old story he loved. Here a giant -sycamore he had known since youth had been blackened and shortened by -lightning; there an elm, falling, had created a new sand-bar on which -willows were already finding a foothold. In time it might be quite an -island, or perhaps the next spring "rise" might sweep it away -entirely. A farm-house high on the Illinois bluff had a new windmill. A -sweet-potato bam on the other side of the river was now a blackened pile -of timbers. Rotting sand-bags told the spot where the river, on its last -"rampage" had threatened to cut the levee. - -Buddy fished patiently until even a more interested fisherman would have -given it up as a bad job, and Peter fed him a slice of bread and butter. -For half an hour he watched Peter whittle a nubbin off the end of the -sweep and fashion it into a top, but at the first attempt to spin it the -top bounded into the water, and floated away, and this suggested boats. -For the rest of the afternoon Peter doled out pieces of the pile of -driftwood on the deck, and they went over the side as boats, Peter -naming each after one of the river steamers, until Buddy himself said, -"This is the _War Eagle_, Uncle Peter," or "This is the _Long Annie. -She'll_ splash!" Peter did not grudge his firewood; there was an -abundance of driftwood to be had in the slough for which they were -making. The last piece he fitted with a painter of twine, and Buddy let -it drag in the water, enjoying its "pull," until the afternoon grew late -and the sun set like a huge red ball that almost reached from bank to -bank, and made the river a path of gold and copper. - -As they floated down this glowing way, Peter fed the boy again. Little -as he knew about boys, he knew they must be fed. - -"There, now!" he said when the tired boy could eat no more, and the -tired eyes blinked, "I guess you'll sleep like a sailor to-night, and no -mistake, Buddy-boy, and I'm going to give you a treat such as boys don't -often have. You see that great, big, white moon up there? I'm going to -let you go to bed outdoors here, so you can look right up at that moon -and blink your eyes at it, and see if it blinks back at you. That's what -I'm going to do; and whenever you want to, you can open your eyes and -you'll see that big old moon, and those stars, and Uncle Peter." - -"I don't want to go to sleep," said Buddy. - -"Nobody said you had to go to sleep," said Peter. "You stay awake, if -you want to, and watch that funny old moon. You'd think we'd float right -past it, but she floats along up there, like a sort of shanty-boat up in -the sky, and the stars follow along like the play boats you put in the -water. You wait until you see the bed Uncle Peter is going to make for -you!" - -Buddy fixed his eyes very seriously on the moon, while Peter unlocked -the cabin door and brought out an armful of nets and blankets and a -pillow. Close against the cabin Peter built a bed of nets and blankets. - -"There, now!" he said. "That's some bed! I hope that moon didn't blink -at you. Did she?" - -"No, she didn't," said Buddy. "But she almost did." - -"You crawl in here where you'll be nice and warm, then," said Peter. -"Uncle Peter has to have somebody to watch that moon and tell him if she -blinks, and you can lie here and look up, like the sailors do. If she -blinks, you tell me, won't you?" - -"Yes," said Buddy seriously, and Peter tucked him in the blankets. -"Uncle Peter," he said, after a minute, "she blinked." - -"Did she, now?" said Peter, but Buddy said no more. He was asleep. - -But the moon did not blink much. Big and clear and cold she filled the -river valley with white light through which sparkles of frost glittered, -and through the evening and late into the night Peter Lane stood at his -sweep, looking out over the water and thinking his own strange thoughts. -Now and then he stooped and arranged the blanket over Buddy's shoulders, -and now and then he knelt and dipped water from the river with his -cupped hand to pour upon the sweep-pin lest it creak and awaken the boy. -When he swung the sweep he swung it slowly and carefully, so that only -the softest gurgle of water could be heard above the plashing of the -small waves against the hull. - -After midnight the night became intensely cold and Peter's fingers -stiffened on the sweep handle, and he warmed them by hugging them in his -arm-pits. It was about two in the morning when the shanty-boat slipped -into the mouth of the slough that cut George Rapp's place, and floated -more slowly down the narrow winding water until the soft grating of sand -on the bottom of the hull told Peter she was going aground on a bar. -Very quietly, then, Peter poled the boat close to the low, muddy -bank--frozen now--and made her fast. His voyage was over. - -He gathered driftwood and made a fire, well back from the boat so the -light might not disturb the boy's slumber, and sat beside it, warming -his hands and feet, until the sun lighted the east. It was a full hour -after sunrise before Buddy awakened, and then he looked expectantly at -the sky. - -"The moon got lost, Uncle Peter," he said with deep concern. - -"Well, we haven't time to bother about any moon this morning," said -Peter briskly. "This is the day you are going to have a real good time, -because a farmer man lives not so far away from here, and he has more -pigs than you ever heard of, and horses, and cows, and chickens, and -turkeys, and guinea-hens, and I don't know what all, and I dare say he's -wondering why you haven't come to see them by this time. Yes, sir, he's -wondering why Buddy hasn't come yet. And so are the pigs, and the cows, -and the horses, and the chickens, and the guinea-hens." - -"And the turkeys," said Buddy, eagerly. - -"Yes, siree, Bob!" said Peter. "So we'll hurry up and wash our faces--" - -Buddy scrambled to his feet, all eagerness, and then, with the sudden -changefulness of a small boy, he turned from Peter, toward the cabin -door. - -"I want my mama to wash my face!" he said. - -Peter Lane put his thin brown hand on Buddy's shoulder. - -"Son," he said, so seriously that Buddy looked up, "do you recall to -mind the other night when you and your ma come a knocking at my door, -and how cold and wet and tired in the leg, and hungry you was? Well, -Buddy, your ma was awful sorry you was so tired out and all. I guess I -couldn't half tell you how sorry she was, son, not in a week. You took -notice how your ma cried whilst you was on that trip, didn't you?" - -"Yes, Mama cried," said Buddy. - -"Yes, she cried," said Peter. "And the reason she cried was because she -had to take you on that trip that she didn't know what was to be the end -of. That's what she cried for, because she had to let you get all tired -and hungry. And you wouldn't want to make your ma cry any more, would -you?" - -"No," said Buddy simply. - -"Well, then," said Peter, clearing his throat, "your ma she has had -to go on another trip, unexpected, and she says to me, in a way, so to -speak, 'Uncle Peter,' she said, 'here's Buddy, and he just can't go with -me on this trip, and I want you to take him and--and--show him the pigs -and--'" - -"And cows," Buddy prompted. "And horses. And turkeys." - -"Why, yes," said Peter Lane. "So to speak, that's what she meant, I -guess. The horses and turkeys and the things in the world. So she went -away, and she wouldn't like to have you fret too much just because she -couldn't take you along." - -"All right," said Buddy, quite satisfied. "Let's go see the pigs, and -the cows, and the turkeys." - -For Peter it was a long day, from the time he carried Buddy on his -shoulder to the farm-house two miles back on the bluff to the time he -stopped for him at the farm-house again, late in the afternoon, and bore -him back to the boat, with a chunk of gingerbread in his hand, and the -farmer's kind wife standing in the door, wiping her eyes on her blue -apron. - -When Peter had tucked the boy in the bunk, and had said "Good night," -he took out his jack-knife to shape a wooden spoon. The boy, raising his -head, watched him, and Peter, looking up, saw the blue eyes and thought -he saw a reproach in them. - -"That's so!" he said. "That's so! I forgot it teetotally last night." - -He seated himself on the edge of the bunk and leaned over the boy, -taking the small hands in his. - -"I don't know if your ma had you say your prayers to her or not, Buddy," -he said, "and I don't rightly remember how that 'Our Father' goes, so -we'll get along the best we can 'til I go up to the farm again and I -find out for sure. You just say this after Uncle Peter--'O God, make us -all well and happy to-morrow: Buddy and Uncle Peter, and Aunt Jane,'" - -"And Aunt Jane," repeated Buddy. - -"And--and Mrs. Potter," said Peter. - -"And Mrs. Potter," said Buddy, "and the pigs, and the horses, and the -cows, and the chickens, and the turkeys." - -"Well--yes!" said Peter. "I guess it won't do any harm to put them in, -although it ain't customary. They might as well be well and happy as -not.--Amen!" - -"Uncle Peter," said the boy suddenly, "will Mama come back?" - -"Oh, yes!" said Peter Lane, in his unpreparedness, and then he opened -his mouth again to tell the boy the truth, but he heard the sigh of -satisfaction as Buddy dropped his head on the pillow and closed his -eyes. - -"I got to take that lie back to-morrow," said Peter gravely, but he -never did take it back, never! It stands against him to this day, but it -is quite hidden in the heaped up blossoms of his gentle kindness. - - - - -VI. "BOOGE" - -"NO, siree, Buddy!" said Peter, shaking his head, "my jack-knife is one -thing you can't have to play with. There's two things a man oughtn't to -trust to anybody; one's his jack-knife and one's his soul. He ought to -keep both of them nice and sharp and clean. If I been letting my soul -get dull and rusty and all nicked up, it's no sign I'm going to let my -jack-knife get that way. What I got to do is to polish up my soul, and -I guess there ain't no better place to do it than down here where there -ain't nobody to bother me whilst I do it. You hain't no idee what a soul -is, but you will have some day, maybe. I ain't right sure I know that, -myself." - -The shanty-boat was moored in Rapp's slough, and had been there three -days. The cold weather, which continued unabated, had sealed the boat -in by spreading a sheet of ice over the surface of the slough, but Peter -did not like the way the river was behaving. Between the new-formed -ice and the shore a narrow strip of water appeared faster than the cold -could freeze it and the ice that covered the slough cracked now and then -in long, irregular lines, all telling that the river was rising, and -rising rapidly. This meant that the cold snap was merely local and that -up the river unseasonably warm weather had brought rains or a great -thaw. There was no great danger of a long period of high water so late -in the season, for cold waves were sure to freeze the North soon, but -the present high water was not only apt to be inconvenient but actually -dangerous for the shanty-boat. A rise of another foot would cover the -lowland, and if the weather turned warm Buddy and Peter would be cut -off from the hill farms by two miles of water-covered "bottom," to wade -across which in Peter's thin shoes would be most unpleasant. - -The danger was that the wind which now blew steadily toward the Iowa -side and down stream, might force the huge weight of floating ice into -the head of the slough, pushing and pressing it against the newly formed -slough ice and crumbling it--cracked and loosened at the edges as -it was--and thus pile the whole mass irresistibly against the little -shanty-boat. In such an event the boat would either be overwhelmed by -one of those great ice hills that pile up when the river ice meets an -obstruction or, borne before the tons of pressure, be carried out of -the slough with the moving ice and forced down the river for many miles, -perhaps, before Peter could work the boat into clear water and find -shelter behind some point. The water reached the height of the bank of -the slough the third day, and Peter made every possible preparation to -save the boat should the ice begin to move. There was not much he could -do. He unshipped his small mast and drove a spike in its butt, to use as -a pike pole, stowed his skiff in a safe place between two large trees on -the shore, and saw to the hitch that held the boat, that he might cast -off promptly if the strain became too great. - -Peter did not blame himself for the position in which the untimely rise -had placed him. The slough should have been a safe place. Once let the -ice firmly seal the slough--any slough--and all the weight of all the -floating ice of the whole river could not disturb the boat. When the ice -moved out of the river in the spring it would pile up in a mountain at -the head of the island formed by the slough, choking the entrance, and -not until the slough ice softened and rotted and honeycombed and at last -dissolved in the sun, could anything move the shanty-boat. A big rise in -November is rare indeed. - -"But I want your jack-knife, Uncle Peter," said the boy insistently. "I -want to whittle." - -"And I wouldn't give two cents for a boy that didn't want to whittle," -said Peter. "A jack-knife is one of the things I've got to get you when -I go up town, and I'll put it right down now." - -From his clock shelf--still lacking its alarm-clock--he took a slip of -paper and a pencil stub. It was his list of goods to be bought, and it -was growing daily. - - Coffee - Rubber boots for B - Lard - Sweter for B. red one - Bibel - Sope - Hymn Book - Stokings for B - A. B. C. blocks for B - 60 thread. 80 too - -Under this he added "Jack-knife for B." and replaced the list and -pencil. He shook his head as he did so. He had forty cents in his -pocket, and the small pile of wooden spoons that represented his trading -capital had not increased. Getting settled for the winter had taken most -of his time, and while his jack-knife was busy each evening its work was -explained by the toys with which Buddy had littered the floor. These -were crudely whittled and grotesque animals--a horse, a cow, two pigs -and a cat much larger than the cow, all of clean white maplewood--the -beginnings of a complete farm-yard. Of them all Buddy preferred the -"funny cat," and a funny cat it was. - -Peter had his own ideas on the question of when a small boy should go to -bed, but Buddy had other ideas, and Peter was not sorry to have the boy -playing about the cabin long after normal bed-time. When, on the night -of the funeral, it became a matter of plain decency for Buddy to retire, -and he wouldn't, Peter had compromised by agreeing to whittle a cat -if Buddy would go to bed like a little soldier as soon as the cat was -completed. The result was a very hasty cat. Peter made it with -twenty quick motions of his jack-knife--which was putting up a job on -Buddy--but Buddy was satisfied. The cat had no ears. It might have been -a rabbit or a bear, if Peter had chosen to call it so. It was a most -impressionistic cat. But Buddy loved it. - -"Ho! ho!" he laughed, throwing his legs in the air, as was his way when -he was much amused. "_That's_ a funny cat, Uncle Peter. Make another -funny cat." - -"You get to bed, young Buddy!" said Peter. "I said I'd make you a cat, -and you say that's a cat, and you said you'd go to bed, so to bed you -go." - -And to bed Buddy went, with the cat in one hand. Next to Peter himself -Buddy loved the cat more than anything in the world. He loved to look at -the cat. It was the sort of cat that left something to the imagination. -That may be why he liked it. Children are happiest with the simplest -toys. - -In Peter's list of prospective purchases the "Bibel" had been put down -because Peter, watching Buddy's curly head as it lay beside the cat -on the pillow of the bunk, had suddenly perceived that a child is a -tremendous responsibility. Buddy's hair did it. He noticed that Buddy's -hair, which had been almost white, had, in the few days Peter had had -him in charge, turned to a dirty gray. He had not minded Buddy's dirty -face and hands--they were normal to a boy--but the soiled tow hair -shamed Peter. Even a mother like Buddy's had kept that hair as it -should be, and Peter was shocked to think he was already letting the -boy deteriorate. If this continued Buddy would soon be no better than -himself--a shiftless (as per Mrs. Potter), careless, no-account scrub -of a boy, and it made Peter wince. He thought too much of the freckled -face, and the little tow-head to have that happen. - -It made him down-hearted for a minute, but Peter was never despondent -long. If the cold chilled his bones it suggested a trip to New Orleans -or Cuba, and he instantly forgot the cold in building one detail of the -trip on another, until he had circumnavigated the globe and decided he -would go to neither one nor the other, but to Patagonia or Peru. - -If that was the way Buddy's hair looked after a few days under the old -Peter, then Peter must turn over so many new leaves he would be in the -second volume. He would be a tramp no more. He would have money and a -home and be a respected citizen, with a black silk watch fob, and go to -church--and that suggested the "Bibel." With "sope" and the Scripture on -his list Peter felt less guilty. - -The "hymn book" was a sequential thought. Bibles and hymn books go hand -in hand. Peter meant to start Buddy right, and he was going to begin -with himself. He meant, now, to be a good man, and a prosperous -one--perhaps a millionaire. His idea was a little vague, including a -shadowy Prince Albert coat and a silk hat, but he thought a Bible and a -hymn book, at least, ought to be in the stock of a man that was going -to be what Peter meant to be. The A. B. C. blocks on the list were to -be the cornerstone of Buddy's education, and on them Peter visioned a -gilded structure of college and other vague things of culture. Peter's -plans were always dreamlike, and all the more beautiful for that -reason. He was forever about to trap some elusive chinchilla on some -unattainable Amazon. - -"Make a funny cat, Uncle Peter," said Buddy when he was convinced he -could not coax the jack-knife from Peter. - -"Oh, no!" said Peter. "You've got one funny cat. I guess one funny cat -like that is enough in one family. Uncle Peter has to keep his eye out -to watch if the ice is going to move this morning. He can't make cats." - -"Make a funny dog," said Buddy promptly. "Well, Buddy, if I make you a -funny dog," said Peter, "will you be a good boy and play with it and let -Uncle Peter get some stove wood aboard the boat?" - -"Yes, Uncle Peter," said Buddy. He had the smile of a cherub and the -splendid mendacity of youth. He would promise anything. Only the most -unreasonable expect a boy to keep such promises, but it does the heart -good to hear them. - -Peter took a thin slice of maplewood from his pile, and seated himself -on his bunk. He held the wood at arm's length until he saw a dog in it, -and Buddy leaned against his knee. - -"Now, this is going to be a real funny dog," said Peter, as his keen -blade sliced through the wood as easily as a yacht's prow cuts the -water. "S'pose we put his head up like that, hey, like he was laughing -at the moon?" Two deft turns of the blade. "And we'll have this funny -dog a-sitting on his hind legs, hey?" Four swift turns of the knife. - -"That's a funny dog!" laughed Buddy. "Give me the funny dog." - -"Now, don't you be so impatient," said Peter. "This is going to be a -real funny dog, if you wait a minute. There, now, he's scratching -that ear with this paw, and he's ready to shake hands with this one, -and"--two or three quick turns of the knife--"there he is, cocking his -eye up at you, like he was tickled to death to see you had your face -washed this morning without howling no more than you did." - -"Ho, ho!" laughed Buddy; "that's a funny dog! Now make a funny rabbit, -Uncle Peter." - -"No, siree, Buddy!" said Peter sternly. - -"You promised to be good if I made a dog, so you just sit down and be -it. When a body makes a promise, he'd always ought to keep it, if it -ain't too inconvenient. So you stay right here and don't touch the stove -or anything, whilst I get in some wood. That's my duty, and when a man -has a duty to do he ought to do it, unless something he'd rather do -turns up meanwhile." - -Peter took his shot-gun. There was always a chance of a shot at a -rabbit. He crossed the plank to the shore, but there was not much -burnable driftwood along the slough. What there was had been frozen in -the ice, and Peter pushed his way up to where the slough made a sharp -turn. In such places abundant driftwood was thrown against the willows -at high water, and Peter set his gun against a log and filled his arms. -He was stooping for a last stick when a cotton-tail darted from under -the tangled pile and zig-zagged into the willow thicket. - -Peter dropped his wood and grasped his gun and ran after the rabbit, but -his foot turned on a slimy log and he went down. He had a bad fall. - -For a man just beginning a career of superhuman goodness Peter swore -quite freely as he sat on the log and hugged his ankle, grinning with -pain. It relieved his mind, and the rubbing he gave his ankle relieved -the pain, and he felt better all through when he put his foot to the -ground and tried it. He limped a little, but he grinned, too, for he -knew Buddy would be amused to see Uncle Peter limping "like Buddy." -Buddy could see something funny in anything. - -Peter limped back to his driftwood, but as he pushed through the -leafless willows he dropped his gun and hobbled hastily toward the -shanty-boat. Forced by the weight of river ice pressing in at the head -of the slough, the slough ice was "going out," and it was going out -rapidly. Already, as far as Peter could see down the slough, the surface -was covered with hurrying river ice, borne along by wind and current. - -In his concern for the shanty-boat and Buddy, Peter forgot his ankle. -He knew well the power of the ice, and he fought his way along the -shore through the willow thickets, fearing at each glimpse to see the -shanty-boat crushed against some great water-elm and heaped high with -ice, and fearing still more to see nothing of it whatever. Once let the -shanty-boat find the mouth of the slough and pass out into the broad -Mississippi and, he well knew, he might have a long fight to overtake -it. The boat might travel for days jammed in the floating ice, before -he could reach it, or it might be crushed against some point or in some -cove. What would then be Buddy's fate? What, indeed, might not be the -boy's fate already, if he had been frightened by the grinding of the ice -against the boat, by the snapping of the shore cable or by the motion -of the boat, and had attempted to reach the shore? Peter beat the willow -saplings aside with his arms as he tried to make haste, jumping into -them and thrusting them aside like a swimmer. - -In places the water had overflowed the feet of the willows, and through -this Peter splashed unheeding. Once, in trying to keep outside the -willow fringe, he would have slipped into the slough had he not saved -himself by clinging to the bushes, and he was wet to the waist. Here and -there the bank lay a foot or two higher, and there were no willows, -but a tangle of dead grapevines impeded him. In other places the shore -dipped and the water stood as deep as Peter's knees, and he crashed -through the thin ice into icy water. He did not dare venture back from -the shore lest he pass the shanty-boat, stranded against some tree. - -Cold as the air was the sweat ran from Peter's face, and he panted for -breath. To pass leisurely along the bank of such a slough is strenuous -work, but to fight along it as Peter was fighting, is real man's work, -and Peter--thin, delicate as he looked--was all iron and leather. For -a mile and a half he worked his way, until he reached a great sycamore, -known to all the duck hunters as the "Big Tree." Below the Big Tree the -slough widened into a broad expanse of water known as Big Tree Lake. -Peter stopped short. In the middle of the lake, knee-deep in water and -holding fast to a worn imitation-leather valise from which the water was -dripping, stood a man. The shanty-boat, thrown out of the main current, -had been pushed into shallow water, where it had grounded unharmed, and -it was for the shanty-boat the man with the valise was making, swearing -heartily each time he took a new step in the icy water. Peter yelled and -the man turned, and looked back. At the first glimpse of the face Peter -picked up a stout slab of driftwood. - -The man wore the ragged remnant of a felt hat on a mass of iron-gray -hair that hung over his beady eyes, and all his face but his eyes and a -round red nubbin of a nose was hidden by a mat of brown beard. When he -saw Peter he scowled and splashed recklessly toward the boat, swearing -as he went. - -The western side of the lake was overgrown with wild rice, a favorite -feeding spot for the migrating ducks. Indeed, the entire lake was apt -to disappear during very low water, leaving only sun-baked mud with the -slough running along the eastern margin. Through the shallow ice-topped -water Peter splashed after the tramp, breaking the ice as he went. Until -he was well out in the lake the ice had not been broken, and Peter could -not understand this. It was as if the tramp had jumped a hundred yards -from the shore. But Peter did not give it much thought. He had something -more important to think of. - -The tramp had reached the shanty-boat and had clambered aboard, and with -the pike pole Peter had left lying on the roof, was trying frantically -to pole the boat off the bar into deeper water. A boat adrift is any -one's boat, if he can keep it, and once the boat swung clear of the -bar into deeper water the tramp could laugh at Peter. He rammed the -pike-pole into the sand-bar and threw his weight upon it, straining and -jumping up and down while Peter splashed toward him. - -But the boat would not budge. The pike-pole found no grip in the soft -sand of the bar, and Peter came nearer, holding up one arm to protect -his head. He expected the tramp to strike him down with the heavy -pike-pole, and he was ready to make a fight for it, but as Peter's hand -touched the deck the tramp put down a hand to help him aboard. - -"All right, pardner," he said in a voice so gruff it seemed to come from -great depths, "I'll give you half the vessel. I've been dyin' for company -since I come aboard. It's lonely on this yacht." - -Peter grinned a grin he had when he was angry, that made his face -wrinkle like a wolf's. - -"This is my boat," he said briefly, and threw open the door. Buddy sat -on the floor as Peter had left him, playing with the "funny" dog. As -Peter entered he looked up. - -"My funny dog ain't got no tail, Uncle Peter," he said. - -"Yes, he has, Buddy," said Peter, with a great sigh of relief. "He's -got a tail, but you can't see it because he's sitting on it." - -But Buddy was looking past Peter at the tramp. The man, his thumbs in -the torn armholes of his coat, his head on one side, one leg raised in -the air, was making faces at Buddy. As Peter turned, the tramp put the -toe of his boot through the handle of his valise and raised it, tossing -it in the air with his foot. - -Buddy laughed with glee. - -"That's a funny man, Uncle Peter," he said. "Who's him?" - -The tramp stepped aside and put his wet valise on the floor. Then he -took off his hat and laid it across his breast and bowed low to Buddy. - -"Yer royal highness," he said gravely. "I am knowed from -near to far as The No-Less-Talented-Stranger-Who-Came-Out -Of-the-East-and-Got-His-Permanent-Set-back-In-the-Booze. Can you say -that?" - -Buddy laughed. - -"Booge," he said. "That's a funny name." - -Peter stood with one hand on the door and the tramp's dripping valise -in the other, but it was evident Booge did not mean to accept Peter's -attitude as an invitation to depart. He went inside and seated himself -on the edge of the bunk and pulled off first one wet boot, and then the -other. He paid no attention to Peter whatever but from time to time he -screwed up his hairy face and winked at the boy. - -"My name's Buddy," said Buddy. "Buddy?" queried Booge. "That's a bully -name for a little feller. First the Bud, an' then the Flower, an' then -the Apple green an' sour." - -Peter had never seen a tramp just like Booge. He had seen tramps as -dirty, and as ragged, and as hairy, but he had never seen one that -little boys did not fear, and it was plain that Buddy was captivated by -Booge's good-nature. But a tramp was a tramp, no matter how captivating, -and a tramp was no companion for a boy who was to grow up to be a bank -president, or goodness knows what, of respectability. He hardened his -heart. - -Booge continued to Buddy: "You didn't know I was a teacher, did you? Oh, -yes, indeed! I'm an educated feller, and I figured to teach you, but it -seems some folks want you to grow up just as ignorant as possible. Oh, -yes!" - -Peter hesitated. At any rate there was no need of making the fellow walk -through the ice-covered lake again. - -"What can you teach him?" he asked. - -"Well, there's soprano," rumbled Booge. "I can teach him soprano. That's -a good thing for a young feller to know. Soprano or alto, just as you -say--or bass. I can teach bass if the board is good. How is the board on -board?" - -Peter ignored the question. He was trying to guess what sort of strange -creature this was. - -"Well, if it's as good as you say," said Booge, "I'll teach him all -three. That's liberal. I'll give you a sample of my singin'." - -"You don't need to," said Peter. "When I want any singing, I'll do my -own." - -[Illus: 154] - -"Well, since you urge it that way," said Booge, "I can't refuse," and -tapping his bare foot on the floor he sang. He found, somewhere in -his head, a high, squeaky falsetto. It seemed to dwell in his nose. He -sang:-- - - Go wash the little baby, the baby, the baby; - Go wash the little baby, and give it toast and tea; - Go wash the little baby, the baby, the baby, - Go wash the little baby, and bring it back to me. - -He let the last word drone out long and thin, and as it droned he made -faces at Buddy, screwing up his eyes, wriggling his nose, and waggling -his chin. - -"Sing it again, Booge!" cried Buddy enthusiastically. "Sing it again." - -The tramp arose and bowed gravely, first to Buddy and then to the -frowning Peter. - -"That's enough of that," said Peter. - -"Sing it again, Booge!" commanded Buddy, and the tramp standing with his -hand inside his coat, sang, in his deepest bass:-- - - Don't swear before the baby, the baby, the baby, - Don't swear before the baby, or cheat or steal or lie, - Don't swear before the baby, the baby, the baby, - Don't swear before the baby, but give it apple pie. - -"Now, _laugh!_ shouted Buddy. - -"Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!" said Booge, exactly as it is printed. - -"I want your _face_ to laugh!" ordered Buddy. - -Booge screwed up his thin face, and Buddy looked and was satisfied. -Booge was satisfied, too. He knew Buddy was boss of the boat, now, and -he knew he stood well with Buddy. - - - - -VIII. RIVALS - - -"THUNDERING cats!" cried Peter with exasperation when the tramp had "ha, -ha'd" and grinned through two more verses of the idiotic song; "I've got -to go outside and tend to this boat!" - -"You play with your toys a minute, now, Buddy," said Booge, as soon as -Peter was outside. "My voice is such a delicate voice I got to rest it -between songs or it's liable to get sick and die away for good. You wait -'til I rest it and I'll sing about that funny dog you've got there, if -you remember to ask me." - -He took his few belongings from the valise and hung them before the fire -and then, crawling into the bunk, settled himself comfortably, and went -to sleep. When Peter came in a minute later, with feet and legs chilled, -Booge was snoring. - -"Get up, here!" said Peter, shaking him. - -"You better not wake up Booge, Uncle Peter," said Buddy, "he's got to -get his voice rested up." - -"You get up and get your boots on quick, and come out here and help -me," Peter commanded the tramp. "We got to get this boat afloat quick or -we'll be here all winter." - -"All right, Captain Kidd," said Booge cheerfully. "And you remember to -ask me to sing you that song about the funny dog," he told Buddy. - -The slough was now free from floating river ice, but Peter noticed that -the wind was still from the east. This should have kept the ice running -through the slough. He knew the ice must have jammed at the head of the -slough, and that it might act as a dam, lowering the water in the slough -enough to make it impossible to move the boat. He was working at the -pike-pole, but with poor success, and when Booge came out their combined -efforts seemed to accomplish no more. But Peter knew the boat must be -moved, and long after Booge wanted to give it up as a bad job, Peter -made him labor at the pole. By standing on the landward edge of the -deck and joggling the boat as they pushed on the pole they succeeded in -inching the shanty-boat toward deeper water, and at length she floated -free and swung down the current. Where the lake narrowed and ended Peter -ran the boat against the shore, letting her rest against a fallen tree. -It was a precarious position, and one in which it would not be safe to -leave the boat if the river ice ran again, but just above this where the -lake widened, Peter saw a safe harbor. Fifty feet out from the southern -shore of the lake a bar had formed, and between the bar and the -shore there was deep water enough to float the boat. To break the ice of -this cove, warp the boat around the point and into this snug harbor was -Peter's intention. His only cable had snapped close to the boat when she -broke away, and he made Booge hold the bow of the boat close against the -bank while he hastily twisted a makeshift rope of trot-lines--hooks and -all. - -With Booge on the shore dragging at the rope end, and Peter breaking -the ice with his pike-pole from the deck, and pushing with the pole, the -shanty-boat moved slowly out of the current of the slough and into the -quiet water where, as the river fell, it would be stranded with its hull -in the mud, as safe from danger as if on top of one of the hills two -miles back from the slough. - -It was hard work--the hardest Booge had tackled for years--and it -consumed the balance of the day. When the two men went inside Peter did -not complain when Booge threw himself on the bunk. - -If Booge imagined he had won an easy and permanent victory, leading to -a life of listless ease, he misestimated Buddy and Peter. Buddy alone -could have kept him busy, but Peter let Booge know immediately that if -he was to stay even a day he must earn his food and lodging. - -The tramp was an odd combination of good nature and laziness; of good -intentions and poor fulfilments. He could twang a banjo, when he had one -to twang, and his present low estate was due to the untimely end of -the career of a "medicine show," one of those numerous half-vaudeville, -half-peddling aggregations that at that time filled the country, charging -a dime for admission to the "show" and a dollar a bottle for the -"remedy." Out of a hidden past Booge had dropped into the position of -general "roustabout" for the show, caring for the tent, doing a banjo -"turn" when the "artist" went on his regular spree, and driving the -wagon when the show moved from town to town. When the final catastrophe -came, Booge sold his banjo and started on the trail of another -medicine-show. It fled as he advanced, and his garments decayed, were -replaced with cast-off clothes, until he awoke one morning with a sharp -realization that he was no longer a specialist seeking a position, but a -common, every-day tramp. It did not annoy him at all. Being a tramp had -advantages. He accepted it as his ultimate destiny. - -Caught near Riverbank by the cold weather, he recalled Lone Tree Lake, -where the duck hunters usually had a shack or a shanty-boat, vacant -at this season, and he left the main road only to find nothing but the -scant shelter of the duck blind. Peter's boat, when it appeared, had -seemed a gift from the gods. - -The shore against which the boat now lay was a thicket of willows so -close of growth that it was almost impossible to fight through them, -and while most were no larger than whips some were as large as a man's -wrist. Against the low bank the boat lay broadside and so close that the -willow branches reached over her roof, and as soon as Booge had brought -his valise inside Peter reached far under the bunk and brought forth an -ax. - -"Now, Booge ain't going to have time to sing songs to you daytimes, -Buddy, because everybody that lives in this boat has work to do," said -Peter, "and as I've got to make some spoons, Booge is going to take this -ax and clear away a path through the willows. And you want to cut them -off close down to the roots," he warned Booge, "or you'll have to do -it over again. You cut a path from the front door through that willow -clump, so we can pass in and out and get fire-wood, and when you 've got -the path you can fetch the fire-wood. I'm going to stay in to-day and -make spoons." - -Booge took the ax and looked at it quizzically. - -"Well, if this ain't my old friend wood-splitter I've been dodging for -years and years," he said good naturedly. "How-do, wood-splitter? How's -your cousin buck saw? Is all the little saw-bucks well?" - -"You'd better get at them willows," said Peter. - -"I just wanted to enquire about them old friends of mine," said Booge. - -"You'll have time enough to talk to Mr. Wood-ax before you get done with -him," said Peter dryly, and Booge laughed and went out. - -That evening, when Buddy was in bed Peter put down his jack-knife long -enough to scribble down the new variations of the "Tell the Little Baby" -song. - -"Writin' a book?" Booge asked. - -"Writing home to my folks to tell them how much I'm enjoying your -visit," Peter said, "and how sorry I am you 've got to be moving along -in a day or so." - -But Booge did not move along. After Peter had ostentatiously bathed once -or twice Booge became painfully clean. He would come in from the jobs -Peter set him and wash his face and hands violently. - -"You 're getting as clean as them fellows that get five dollars' worth -of baths at the Y. M. C. A., ain't you?" Peter said scornfully. - -"A feller can get lots of things at the Y. M. C. A. for five dollars -that he can't get without it," said Booge good naturedly. "You don't -want to knock me all the time, Peter. A horse crops grass one way, and a -cow crops it another way, and the Lord is the maker of them all, as the -feller said. So long as a man has a clean conscience and a clear eye he -can walk right up to any bull alive--if the bull wants to let him." - -"I'm glad you got a clean conscience," said Peter. "Maybe that's why you -don't worry." - -"If you feed a pig regular it don't ask to be petted," said Booge, "and -that's the way with me, but you ought to give me some credit for the way -I pitched in and labored in this here driftwood vineyard when you said -to. I bet the prodigal son hated to get down to work after his -pa's party, and yet he got to be quite a respected feller in his -neighborhood. You oughtn't to think a man can't work because he don't. -There's lots of fellers never seen the sea that has eat salt codfish." - -"I guess you read that in a book," said Peter. - -"I guess not," said Booge. "I never read but one book in my life. I read -the Bible, unexpurgated edition, when I was a kid, and it sort of cured -me of book readin'. There ain't hardly a comfortable word in it for an -easy-goin' man. If the Bible had been published to-day it would have got -some mighty severe criticism." - -"Booge," said Peter suddenly, "how'd you ever happen to become a tramp?" - -"How'd you ever happen to become a shanty-boatman?" asked Booge, -grinning, but Peter was serious. - -"I guess you 're right about that," he said. "I hadn't ought to object -to what you are, when I'm what I am. I just let myself slide, was how. -I had bad lungs was what was the matter with me, when I was a kid, so -my pa bought me a farm and put a man on it to run it for me, and I just -fooled around and tried to get husky and stout and by the time I was old -enough to run the farm Father busted, and then a--certain circumstances -took the farm from me, and I took to the river. It seemed like me and -the river was old friends from ever so far back. So I stuck to it and it -stuck to me, and--that's the story." - -"Just run down hill," commented Booge cheerfully. "It's funny, ain't it, -that water's about the only thing that don't get blamed for runnin' down -hill? You and the river sort of run down together. What started me was -something just about as common as lungs--it was wives. Yes sir, just -plain wives!" - -"Don't mean to say you had two of 'em?" asked Peter. - -"Almost," said Booge. "I had one-half of that many. I'm a naturally -happy man, and I've had all sorts of ups and downs, and as near as I can -make out, a man can be happy in most any circumstances except where he -don't give his wife the clothes she wants. My notion of hell is a place -where a man has fifty wives and no money to buy clothes for 'em. My wife -got to goin' through my pockets every night for money to buy clothes, so -I skipped out." - -"You don't mean to say a woman would rob a man's pockets whilst he was -asleep?" asked Peter. "Was that what she done? Took money from them?" - -"No, the trouble was she didn't find no money to take," said Booge. -"Light on money and strong on breath was what was my trouble." - -He made an expressive drinking motion with his hand. - -"Booze," he said. "Booze done it." - -"You'd ought to quit it," Peter said. "You don't seem like a common -tramp. I wouldn't let you stay here if you was. Look at the harm -booze done you. Look at what it done when you went to sleep in that -duck-blind." - -"That's so," agreed Booge. "It got me a good shanty-boat to sleep in -and three square meals a day and a place to practise my voice in. But I -suppose you mean it got me where I have to listen to temp'rance lectures -from you." - -That was sort of hard on Peter, although he would not have admitted it, -he was growing fond of the careless, happy-go-lucky tramp. Booge had a -fund of rough philosophy and, more than all else, he was good to Buddy, -and had not Peter resolved to be a different man himself on Buddy's -account, he would have liked nothing better than to have Booge make his -winter home in the shanty-boat, but he felt that Booge must go. The -trouble was to drive him away. Booge would not drive, and Peter thought -of a hundred quite impossible schemes for getting rid of him before he -hit on the one he finally decided to put into effect. - -He had noticed that the farmer on the hill back of the lake, where Buddy -had spent the day of his mother's funeral, had a huge pile of cord wood -in his yard, and he tramped across the lowland to the farmer's house and -dickered for the sawing of the wood. It was a large contract, and Peter -as a rule did not care to saw wood except in dire straits, but he had -decided that if he was to be a man of worth he must be a man of work to -begin with, and the wood pile was opportunity. It was while walking home -after making his bargain with his farmer friend that he had his happy -idea--Booge must saw wood! His food supply would be cut off otherwise! - -He explained it to Booge that evening. Here they were in the -shanty-boat, Peter explained, the two of them and Buddy, all eating from -the common store of food, and that store dwindling daily. Buddy could -not work, but Peter could, and Booge must. Then he explained about the -pile of wood, a good winter's work for the two of them. Booge listened -in silence. He was silent for several minutes after Peter ceased -talking, and then he grinned. - -"The man that says he wouldn't rather find a silver dollar in the road -than earn five dollars a-workin', is like that man that got killed with -a thunderbolt for careless conversation," he said cheerfully, "so I -won't say it. Wood-sawin' and me has been enemies ever since I became a -tourist. I guess I'll have to go--" - -"I bet you would!" said Peter. - -"Yes," said Booge, "I'll have to go--up to that farmer's and saw wood." - -His eyes twinkled as he saw Peter's face fall. And he was as good as -his word. The two men, taking turns carrying Buddy or leading him by -the hand, walked across the snow-covered bottom to the farm the next -morning, and while Booge did not over-exert himself, he at least sawed -wood. He sawed enough to prevent any unduly harsh criticism from Peter. - -For Buddy the trips were pleasure jaunts. He was able to play all day -with the farmer's little daughter, just enough older than he to hold her -own against his imperious little will, and Booge might have developed -into an excellent sawer of wood, but one morning, the little girl did -not come out to play with Buddy. She was sick, and in due time Buddy -became sick too--plain, simple measles. - -"Now, then," said Peter when one morning he awakened to find Buddy's -face covered with the red spots and the boy complaining, "one of us has -got to stay here in the boat and take care of Buddy." - -"You'd better stay," said Booge promptly. "You stay, Peter, and I'll go -on up and saw wood. I'm gettin' quite fond of it." - -Peter hesitated. He ran his hand over the boy's white head lovingly. - -"Who do you want to stay with you, Buddy?" he asked. - -"I don't care, Uncle Peter," said Buddy listlessly. - -It was a full minute before Peter took his hand from Buddy's curls. - -"I guess you'd better stay, Booge," he said then. "You can sing what he -likes better'n I can." - -"Well, if you think I can amuse him better'n you can, I'll stay, -Peter," said Booge reluctantly. "If he seems to hanker for you, I'll -fire the shot-gun and you can come to him." - -So one of these two men went to his work, and the other seated himself -on the floor of the cabin with his back against the wall and sang "Go -Tell the Little Baby, the Baby, the Baby," through his nose, and made -faces, to amuse a freckle-faced little boy with a very light attack of -the measles. - - - - -IX. PETER GIVES WARNING - - -THE weather turned extremely cold. Peter came back from his wood-sawing -one evening and found Buddy astride a rocking-horse. The table was on -top of the bunk to make room for the horse, and Booge, robed in one of -the blankets, was playing the part of a badly scared Indian after whom -Buddy was riding in violent chase. For a week Buddy had been well, but -Booge managed to make Peter think he could still see spots on the boy. -Booge had no desire to begin sawing wood again. It was much pleasanter -in the shanty-boat with Buddy. - -The rocking-horse was the oddest looking horse that ever cantered. Among -the driftwood Booge had found the remains of an old rocking-chair, and -on the rockers he had mounted four willow legs, with the bark still on -them, and on these a section of log for the body. With his ax he had cut -out a rough semblance of a head and neck from a pine board. The tail and -mane were seine twine. But Buddy thought it was a great horse. - -"Looks like you was a great sculpist, don't it?" said Peter jealously, -as he stood watching Buddy riding recklessly over the prairies of the -shanty-boat floor. "So that's why you been trying to make me think -freckles was measles. It's a pity you didn't have a saw to work with." - -Booge looked at Peter suspiciously. - -"I guess maybe by to-morrow I can find one for you," continued Peter. -"I saw a right good one up at the farm. And quite a lot of cord wood to -practise on." - -"If you ain't just like a mind reader, Peter!" exclaimed Booge. "You -must have knowed I been hankerin' to get back there at that pleasant -occupation. But I hated to ask you, you 're so dumb jealous of -everything. It's been so long since you've invited me to saw wood I was -beginnin' to think you wanted the whole job for yourself." - -"You won't have to hanker to-morrow," said Peter dryly. - -"To-morrow? Now, ain't that too bad!" said Booge. "To-morrow's just the -one day I can't saw wood. I been hired for the day." - -"Uncle Booge is going to make me a wagon," said Buddy. - -"Uncle Booge is going to take you up to the farm while he saws wood," -declared Peter. "Uncle Peter will make you a wagon later on, Buddy." - -"I want Uncle Booge to make me a wagon to-morrow," Buddy insisted. "He -said he would make me a wagon to-morrow. With wheels." - -"And a seat into it," added Booge. - -"All right," said Peter with irritation, "stay here and make a wagon, -then," but that night when Buddy was in the bunk and asleep, Peter had a -word for Booge. - -"I don't want to hasten you any, Booge," he said, trimming the handle -of a wooden spoon with great care as he spoke, "but day after to-morrow -you'll have to pack your valise and get out of here. I don't want to -seem inhospitable or anything, but when a visitor gets permission to -stay over night to dry his boots, and then camps down, and loafs, and -stays half the winter, and makes wagons and horses there ain't no room -for in the boat, he's done about all the staying he's entitled to." - -"Buddy's been askin' to have me go again!" said Booge. - -"No, he ain't," answered Peter. "He--" - -He caught the twinkle in Booge's eye and stopped. - -"Let's wake Buddy up and ask him," said Booge. - -"Buddy ain't got anything to say on this matter," said Peter firmly. -"And I ain't sending you away because you are trying to play off from -doing your share of wood sawing, neither. I'm Buddy's uncle, and I've -got to look out for how he's raised, and I don't want him raised by no -tramp, and that's how he's being raised. Every day I think I'll chase -you out to saw wood, and every day you come it over me somehow, and I -go, and you don't. I don't know how you do it, but you're smart enough -to make a fool of me. That's why you got to go." - -"Is it?" asked Booge placidly. "I thought it was because you was jealous -of me. Yep, that's what I was just thinkin'. He's jealous and he don't -care nothin' for what Buddy likes, or wants, or--" - -"Nothing of the sort," said Peter indignantly. "You ain't no sort of -example to set the boy. I heard you swear this morning when Buddy stuck -a fork into you to wake you up. No man that uses words like you used is -the sort of man I want Buddy to be with." - -Booge grinned. There was no use in rebutting such an accusation. Indeed, -he felt he had no call to argue with Peter. Day after to-morrow was a -distant future for a man who had lately lived from one meal to the next. -Booge believed Buddy would be the final dictator in the matter, and he -was sure of Buddy now. - -"So I guess you'll have to go," continued Peter. "_For_ a tramp you -ain't been so bad, but it crops out on you every once in awhile, and -it's liable to crop out strong any time. If it wasn't for the boy I'd -let you stay until the ice goes out. I'd got just about to the point -where I wasn't no better than a tramp myself, but when--but I've -changed, and I'm going to change more." - -Booge nodded an assent. - -"I can almost notice a change myself," he said, "but the way you 're -going to change ain't a marker to the way I'm goin' to change. I've -been planning what I'd change into ever since I come here. I ain't quite -decided whether to be an angel cherub, like you--or a bank president. I -sort of lean to being a bank president. Whiskers look better on a bank -president than on an angel cherub, but if you think I'd better be an -angel cherub, I'll shave up--and make a stab at--" - -"You might as well be serious, my mind's made up," said Peter coldly. -"You got to go." - -"Suppose," said Booge slowly, "I was to withdraw out of this here uncle -competition and leave it all to you? Suppose I let on I lost my singin' -voice?" - -"No use!" said Peter firmly. "My mind's settled on that question. The -longer you stay the harder it'll be to get you to go. I'm givin' you -'til day after to-morrow because I've got' to go up to town to-morrow. -We 're shy on food. If it wasn't for that I'd start you off to-morrow." - -"Now, suppose I stop bein' Uncle Booge. Say I start bein' Gran'pa Booge, -or Aunt Booge," proposed Booge gravely. "I'll get a gingham apron and a -caliker dress--" - -"You'll get nothin' but out," said Peter firmly. "You'll be nothin' but -away from here." - -The trip to town had become absolutely necessary. Peter had drawn ten -dollars from the farmer and he had some spoons ready for sale. The -farmer was going to town and Peter had at first decided to take Buddy -with him, but the spoon peddling excursion would, he feared, tire the -boy too much, and he ended by planning to let Booge and Buddy stay in -the shanty-boat. - -It was an index to Peter's changed opinion of the tramp that he felt -reasonably safe in leaving Buddy in Booge's care. For one thing Booge -was sure to stay with the boat as long as food held out and work was not -too pressing. The river had closed and the boat was solidly frozen in -the slough. There was no possibility of Booge's floating away in it. - -"I won't be back until late," said Peter the next morning as he pinned -his thin coat close about his neck, "and it's possible I won't get my -spoons all sold out to-day. If I don't I'll stay all night with a friend -up town and get back somewhere to-morrow. And you take good care of -Buddy, for if anything happens to him I'll hunt you up, no matter where -you are, and make you wish it hadn't." - -"Unless this horse runs away with him there ain't nothin' to happen," -said Booge. "You needn't worry." - -"And, Buddy, if you are a good boy and let Booge put you to bed, if I -don't get back, Uncle Peter will bring you something you've been wanting -this long while." - -"I know what you 're going to bring me," said Buddy. - -"I bet you do, you little rascal," said Peter, thinking of the -jack-knife. "We both of us know, don't we? Good-by, Buddy-boy." - -He picked up the boy and kissed him. - -"You don't know what Uncle Peter is going to bring me, Uncle Booge!" -said Buddy joyfully, when Peter was gone. - -"No, sir!" said Booge. - -"No, sir!" repeated Buddy. "Cause I know! Uncle Peter's going to bring -me back my mama." - - - - -X. A VIOLENT INCIDENT - - -BOOGE waited until he knew Peter was well on his way. Then he took Buddy -on his knee. - -"Where is your ma, Buddy?" he asked. "Mama went away," said Buddy -vaguely. "Did she go away from this boat?" - -"Yes. Let's make a wagon, Uncle Booge," but Booge was not ready. He -considered his next question carefully. - -"We'll make that wagon right soon," he said. "Was Uncle Peter your pa -before your ma went away?" - -"I don't know," said Buddy indefinitely. "You'd ought to know whether he -was or not," said Booge. "Didn't you call Uncle Peter 'pa,' or 'papa' or -'daddy' or something like that?" - -"No," said Buddy. "You said you'd make a wagon, Uncle Booge." - -"Right away!" said Booge. "What did you call Uncle Peter before your ma -went away, Buddy?" - -The child looked at Booge in surprise. "Why, 'course I didn't call him -at all," he said as if Booge should have known as much. "He _wasn't_ my -Uncle Peter, then." - -"Your ma just sort of stayed around the boat, did she?" - -"No, my mama comed to the boat, and I comed to the boat, and my mama -went away. But Uncle Peter and Buddy didn't _not_ go away. I want to -make a wagon, Uncle Booge." - -"Just one minute and we'll make that wagon, Buddy," said Booge. "I just -want to get this all straight first. What did your ma do when she came -to the boat?" - -"Mama cried," said Buddy. - -"I bet you!" said Booge. "And what did your ma do then, Buddy?" - -"Mama hit Uncle Peter," said Buddy, "and Mama went away, and Uncle Peter -floated the boat, and I floated the boat. And I steered the boat." - -"And your ma left you with Uncle Peter when she went away," said Booge. -"What was your ma's name, Buddy. Was it Lane?" - -"It was Mama," said Buddy. - -"But what was your name?" insisted Booge. "What did you say your name -was when anybody said, 'What's your name, little boy?'" - -"Buddy," said the boy. - -"Buddy what?" urged Booge. - -"Mama's Buddy." - -Booge drew a deep breath. For five minutes more he questioned the boy, -while Buddy grew more and more impatient to be at the wagon-making. -Of Buddy's past Peter had, of course, never told Booge a word, but -the tramp had his own idea of it. He felt that Peter was no ordinary -shanty-boat man, and he imputed Peter's silence regarding the boy's past -and parentage to a desire on Peter's part to shake himself free from -that past. Why was Peter continually telling that he had begun a -more respectable life? Peter's wife might have been one of the low -shanty-boat women, a shiftless mother and a worse than shiftless wife, -running away from Peter only to bring back the boy when he became a -burden, taking what money Peter had and going away again. Possibly Peter -had never been married to the woman. In digging into Buddy's memories -Booge hoped to find some thread that would give him a hold on Peter, -however slight. Booge liked the comfortable boat, but deeper than his -love of idleness had grown an affection for the cheerful boy and for -simple-minded Peter. If Peter had chosen this out-of-the-way slough -for his winter harbor--when shanty-boat people usually came nearer -the towns--in order that he might keep himself in hiding from the -troublesome wife, veiling himself and the boy from discovery by giving -out that he and Buddy were uncle and nephew, it was no more than Booge -would have done. - -"I suppose, when your ma come to the boat, she slept in the bunk, didn't -she?" asked Booge. - -"Yes, Uncle Booge," said Buddy. "I want you to make a wagon." - -"All right, bo!" said Booge gleefully. "Come ahead and make a wagon. And -when Uncle Peter comes back we'll have a nice surprise for him. We'll -shout out at him, when he comes in, 'Hello, Papa!' and just see what he -says. That'll be fun, won't it?" - -Booge worked on the wagon all morning. - -Toward noon he made a meal for himself and Buddy, and set to work on the -wagon again. He had found a canned-corn box that did well enough for -the body, and he chopped out wheels as well as he could with the ax. He -wished, by the time he had completed one wheel, that he had told Buddy -it was to be a sled rather than a wagon, but he could not persuade the -boy that a sled would be better, and he had to keep on. - -He worked on the clean ice before the shanty-boat and he was deep in his -work when Buddy asked a question. - -"Who is that man, Uncle Booge?" he asked. - -Booge glanced up quickly. Across the ice, from the direction of the -road a man was coming. He was well wrapped in overcoat and cap and he -advanced steadily, without haste. Booge leaned on his ax and waited. -When the man was quite near Booge said, "Hello!" - -"Good afternoon," said the stranger. "Are you Peter Lane?" - -Booge's little eyes studied the stranger sharply. The man, for all the -bulk given him by his ulster and cap, had a small, sharp face, and his -eyes were shrewd and shifty. - -"Mebby I am," rumbled Booge, crossing his legs and putting one hand on -his hip and one on his forehead, "and mebby I ain't. Let me recall! Now, -if I _was_ Peter Lane, what might you want of me?" - -The stranger smiled ingratiatingly and cleared his throat. - -"My--my name," he said slowly, "is Briggles--Reverend Rasmer Briggles, -of Derlingport. My duty here is, I may say, one that, if you are Peter -Lane, should give you cause only for satisfaction. Extreme satisfaction. -Yes!" - -Booge was watching the Reverend Mr. Briggles closely. - -"I bet that's so!" he said. "I sort of recall now that I _am_ Peter -Lane. And I don't know when I've had any extreme satisfaction. I'll be -glad to have some." - -"Yes," said Mr. Briggles rather doubtfully. "Yes! I am the President -of the Child Rescue Society, an organization incorporated to rescue -ill-cared-for children, placing them in good homes--" - -"Buddy," said Booge roughly, "you go into that boat And you stay there. -Understand?" - -The child did as he was told. Booge's tone was one he had never heard -the tramp use, and it frightened him. - -"It has come to my attention," said Mr. Briggles, "that there is a child -here. You will admit this is no place for a tender little child. You -may do your best for him but the influence of a good home must be sadly -lacking in such a place. In fact, I have an order from the court--" - -He began unbuttoning his ulster. - -"I bet you have!" said Booge genially. "So, if you want to, you can sit -right down on that bank there and read it. And if it's in po'try you -can sing it. And if you can't sing, and you hang 'round here for half an -hour, I'll come out and sing it for you. Just now I've got to go in and -sing my scales." He boosted himself to the deck of the shanty-boat and -went inside, closing and locking the door. In a moment Mr. Briggles, out -in the cold, heard Booge burst into song: - - Go tell the little baby, the baby, the baby, - Go tell the little baby he can't go out to-day; - Go tell the little baby, the baby, the baby, - Go tell the little baby old Briggles needn't stay. - -Mr. Briggles stood holding the court order in his hand. Armed with the -law, he had every advantage on his side. He clambered up the bank and -stepped to the deck of the shanty-boat. He rapped sharply on the door. -"Mr. Lane, open this door!" he ordered. The door opened with unexpected -suddenness and Booge threw his arms around Mr. Briggles and lifted him -from his feet. He drew him forward as if to hug him, and then, with -a mighty out-thrust of his arms, cast him bodily off the deck. Mr. -Briggles fell full on the newly constructed wagon, and there was a crash -of breaking wood. Booge came to the edge of the deck and looked down -at him. The man was wedged into the rough wagon box, his feet and legs -hanging over. He was bleeding at the nose, and his face was rather -scratched. He was white with fear or anger. Booge laughed. - -"I owed you that," he rumbled. "I owed you that since the day you -married me. And now I'll give you what I owe you for coming after this -boy." - -He jumped down from the deck, and Mr. Briggles struggled to release -himself from the wagon-box. He was caught fast. He kicked violently, and -Booge grinned. If he had intended punishing the interloper further, he -changed his mind. The lake lay wide and smooth, with only a pile of snow -here and there, and Booge grasped the damaged wagon and pushed it. Like -a sled it slid along on its broken wheels, and Booge ran, gathering -speed as he ran, until, with a last push, he sent the wagon and Mr. -Briggles skimming alone over the glassy surface of the lake toward the -road. Then he went into the shanty-boat and closed and locked the door. - - - - -XI. PETER HEARS NEWS - - -PETER reached town about noon, and set about his peddling at once, going -to the better residential sections, where his spoons were in demand, -and so successful was he that by three o'clock he had but a few left to -trade at the grocer's. He made his purchases with great care, for his -list had grown large in spite of the refillings of his larder from -time to time through the errands in town done for him by the farmer. He -bought the Bible and the A. B. C. blocks, and a red sweater, stockings -for Buddy and socks for himself, and the provisions he needed, and a -bright, new jack-knife for Buddy. All these he tied in a big gunny-sack, -except the knife, slung the sack over his shoulders, and went down to -report to George Rapp, stopping at the Post Office, where he asked for -mail. The clerk handed him, among the circulars and other advertising -matter, a letter. - -Peter turned the letter over and over in his hand. He had a sister, but -this letter was not from her. It was addressed in pencil and bore the -local postmark. Peter held it to the light, playing with the mystery -as a cat plays with a mouse, and finally opened it. It was from Mrs. -Potter. - -"Now I know all about you, Peter Lane," it ran, "and not much good I -must say, although I might have expected it, and I am much surprised and -such shiftlessness and you might have let me know _that woman_ was sick -for I am not a heathen whatever you may think. I want you to come and -get your clock out of my sight and if you have time to saw me some wood -I will pay _cash_. Mrs. Potter." - -Peter folded the letter slowly and put it in his pocket. He knew very -well the widow had no cause to single him out to saw her wood, and that -she would not be apt to write him for that reason, howevermuch she might -underscore "cash." That she should write him about the clock was not -sufficient excuse for a letter. There was no reason why she should write -to him at all, unless the underscoring of "that woman" meant she had -heard how he had taken the woman and her boy in and it had given her a -better opinion of him. If that was so Peter meant to keep far from Mrs. -Potter! He began to fear George Rapp might be right, and that the widow -had an eye on him--a matrimonial eye. When widows begin writing letters! - -When Peter entered George Rapp's livery stable, Rapp was superintending -the harnessing of a colt. - -"Hello!" he called heartily. "How's Peter? How's the boat? Friend of -yours was just enquiring for you in here. Friend from up the river -road." - -"She--who was?" - -"You guess it!" laughed Rapp. "Widow Potter. Say, why didn't you tell me -you were married?" - -"Me? Married to Widow Potter?" cried Peter, aghast. "I never in my life -married her, George!" - -"Oh, not _her_!" said Rapp. "Not her yet; the other woman. You with a -boy three or four years old, posing around as a goody-goody bachelor. -But that's the way with you too-good fellows. Hope you can keep your -little son." - -"My son?" stammered Peter. "But he's not my son--not my own son." - -"Gee whiz! Is that so!" said Rapp with surprise. "She was that bad, was -she? Well, it does you all the more credit, taking him to raise. Anybody -else would have sent him to the poor farm or to old snoozer Briggles. -You beat anything I ever seen, with your wives nobody ever guessed -you had, and your sons that ain't your sons. What makes you act so -mysterious?" - -Peter put his gunny-sack on the floor. - -"I don't know what you 're talking about, George," he said. "What is it -you think you know?" - -"I think I know all about it," said Rapp laughingly. "Come into the -office. What a man in the livery stable don't hear ain't worth finding -out. I know your wife come back to you at the shanty-boat, Peter, when -she was sick and played out and hadn't nowhere else to go, and I know -you took her in and got a doctor for her, and I know she brought along -her boy, which you say ain't your son. And I know you sold me your boat -so you could take her down river and bury her decent, just as if she -hadn't ever run off from you--" - -"Who said she was my wife? Who said she run off from me?" asked Peter. -"You tell me that, George!" - -"Why, Widow Potter said so," said Rapp. "Everybody knows about it. There -was a piece in the paper about it. The Doc you had up there told it all -around town, I guess. And Widow Potter is so interested she can't sit -still. She's just naturally bothering the life out of me. She says she's -buying a horse from me, but that's all gee whiz. Anyway, she's dropped -in to look at a colt near every day lately, and sort of enquires if -you've been up to town. She says she can understand a lot of things she -couldn't before. She says she can forgive you a lot of things, now she -knows what kind of a wife you had. She says it's some excuse for being -shiftless. She's anxious to see you, Peter." - -"She ain't in town now, is she?" asked Peter nervously. "You didn't tell -her I was likely to stop in here?" - -"I just naturally had to tell her something," Rapp said. "She's plumb -crazy. She says she's willing to let by-gones be by-gones; that it's all -as plain as day to her now." - -"All what?" asked poor Peter. - -"Why, all," said Rapp. "Everything. The whole business. Why you didn't -marry her long ago, I reckon. She didn't say so in that many words, but -she spoke about how curious it was a man could hang around a woman year -in and year out, and saw three times as much wood for her as need be, -and take any sort of tongue lashing as meek as Moses, and _look_ kind of -marriage-like, and not do it. She said a woman couldn't understand that -sort of thing, but it was easy to understand when she knew you had a -wife somewhere. She said she's sorry for your loss, and she'd like you -to come right up and see her." - -Rapp lay back in his chair and laughed. - -"Did she honestly say that?" asked Peter, very white. - -"Did she!" said Rapp. "You ought to hear what she said, and me trying -to sell her that bay colt of mine all the time. 'Good withers on this -animal, Mrs. Potter.''Well, he may be considered worthless by some,' -says she, 'but I've studied him many a year, and the whole trouble is -he's too good.' 'And he's a speedy colt, speedy but strong,' says I. -'Having a wife like that is what did it,' says she, 'for a wife like -that chastens a man too much, but I guess he'll be more human now she's -gone, and look after his own rights.' 'Want the colt?' I says, and she -just stared at the animal without seeing him and says, 'For my part I'd -enjoy having a small boy about the house.'" - -"Did she say that?" asked Peter. "She didn't say that!" - -"I never told anything nearer the truth," Rapp assured him. "She said -that she believed, now, you were a fully proper person to raise a small -boy, but that if Briggles was bound to take the boy, she--" - -"Briggles?" asked Peter breathlessly. "Who is Briggles? What has he got -to do with it?" - -"Don't you know who Briggles is?" asked Rapp with real surprise. "He -_used_ to be a Reverend, but he got kicked out, I hear say. He hires a -team now and again to take a child out in the country." - -"What does he take children to the country for?" - -"To put them in families," Rapp explained, and he told Peter how Mr. -Briggles hunted up children for the Society he had organized; how he -collected money and spent the money, and put the children in any family -that would take them, and paid himself twenty dollars a child for doing -it, charging mileage and expense extra. "Last time he come down here -he had a nice little girl from Derlingport," said Rapp. "Her name was -Susie. He put her with a woman named Crink." - -"Susie? Susie what?" asked Peter. - -"I don't know, but I felt sorry for her. He might as well have put her -in hell as with that Crink woman. He'll probably get twenty dollars -by-and-by for taking her out and putting her somewheres else, if they -don't work her to death. It's 'God help the little children but give me -the money,' so far as I see. He gets an order from the court, just like -he did in your case--" - -Peter had let himself drop into a chair as Rapp talked but now he leaped -from it. - -"What's that? He ain't after Buddy?" he cried aghast. - -"He drove down to-day," said Rapp. "I told him--" - -But Peter was gone. He slammed the office door so hard that one of the -small panes of glass clattered tinklingly to the floor. He slung his -gunny-sack over his shoulder and was dog-trotting down the incline into -the street before George Rapp could get to his feet, for Rapp was never -hasty. Along the street toward the feed-yard, where his farmer friend -had put up his team, Peter ran, the heavy sack swinging from side to -side over his shoulder and almost swinging him off his feet. He had -spent more time at Rapp's than he had intended, but he met the farmer -driving out of the feed-yard and threw the sack into the wagon bed. - -"Whoa-up!" said the farmer, pulling hard on his reins, but Peter was -already on the seat beside him. - -"Get along," he cried. "I want to get home. I want to get home quick." - -Through all the long ride Peter sat staring straight ahead, holding -tight to the wagon seat. The cold wind blew against his face but he did -not notice it. He was thinking of Buddy--of tow-headed, freckled-faced, -blue-eyed, merry Buddy, perhaps already on his way to a "good home" like -the "good home" to which Susie had been condemned. There were no hills -and the horses, with their light load and a driver with several warming -drinks in his body, covered most of the distance at a good trot, but -when the track left the road to avoid the snow-drifts that covered it -in places, and the horses slowed to a walk, Peter longed to get down and -run. It was long after dark when they reached the gate that opened into -Rapp's lowland, and Peter did not stop to take his purchases from the -wagon. He did not wait to open the gate, but cleared it at one leap and -ran down the faintly defined path, between the trees and bushes, as fast -as he could rim. - -Years in the open had mended the weak lungs that had driven him to the -open air, but long before he came in sight of the shanty-boat his breath -was coming in great sobs and he was gasping painfully. But still he kept -on, falling into a dog-trot and pressing his elbows close against his -sides, breathing through his open mouth. The path was rough, rising and -falling, littered with branches and roots. The calves of his legs seemed -swelled to bursting. Time and again he fell but scrambled up and ran on -until at last he caught sight of the light in the cabin-boat window. -He stopped and leaned with his hand against a tree, striving to get one -last breath sufficient to carry him to the boat, and as he stopped he -heard the shrill falsetto of Booge: - -Go wash the little baby, the baby, the baby, Go wash the little baby, -and give it toast and tea, Go wash the little baby, the baby, the baby, -Go wash the little baby and bring it back to me. - -It was Buddy's supper song. - -"Sing it again, Uncle Booge! Sing it again!" came Buddy's sharply -commanding voice, and Peter wrapped his arms around the tree trunk, and -laid his forehead against it. He was happy, but trembling so violently -that the branches of the small elm shook above his head. He twined his -legs around the tree, to still their trembling, and hugged the tree -close, for he felt as if he would be shaken to pieces. Even his forehead -rattled against the bark of the trunk, but he was happy. Buddy was not -gone! - -He clung there while his breath slowly returned, and until his trembling -dwindled into mere shivers, listening to Booge boom and trill his songs, -and to Buddy clamor for more. And as he stepped toward the boat Booge's -voice took up a new verse; one Peter had never heard:-- - - We took the old kazoozer, kazoozer, kazoozer, - We grabbed the old kazoozer and tore his preacher clothes; - We kicked the old ka-boozer, ka-doozer, ka-hoozer, - We scratched the old ka-roozer and smote him on the n-o-s-e! - -Peter opened the door. Buddy flew from his seat on the bunk and threw -himself into Peter's arms. - -"Uncle Peter! Uncle Peter!" he cried. "Did you bring me my mama?" - -"No, Buddy-boy," said Peter gently. "She's off on the long trip yet. We -mustn't fret about that. Ain't you glad Uncle Peter come back?" - -"Yes--and--and Uncle Booge made me a wagon," said Buddy, "and it got -broke." - -"A feller sort of fell on it," explained Booge carelessly, "and busted -it. He come visiting when we wasn't ready for comp'ny." - -Peter listened while Booge told the story of Mr. Briggles's arrival, -reception and departure. - -"And he failed on the wagon and broke it," said Buddy, "and Booge slided -him. And Booge is going to mend my wagon." - -"Maybe Uncle Peter'll mend it for you, Buddy," said Booge. "I guess -Booge has got to take a trip, like your ma did, to-morrow." - -"You couldn't talk sense if you tried, could you?" said Peter with -vexation. "You are going to stay here every bit as long as I do. Ain't -he, Buddy-boy?" - - - - -XII. THE RETURN OF "OLD KAZOOZER" - -"I'm much obliged to you, Peter," said Booge after a minute, "but I'm -afraid I can't stay. I got a telegram saying Caruso's got a cold and -I've got to go to New York and sing grand opry." - -"You 're real welcome to stay," said Peter, warming his hands over the -stove. "I'd like you to stay. That feller is sure to come back." - -"He's got a court order," said Booge. "I guess he heard you was so kind -hearted you'd hand Buddy right over to him and say, Thank you, mister.' -I surprised him." Booge looked at Buddy, playing on the floor. - -"Ain't it funny how you get attached to a kid?" he asked. "I was just as -mad when that old kazoozer said he was going to take Buddy as if he was -after my own boy, instead of yours." - -"I guess they think this ain't a good enough home for him," said Peter. - -He looked about the cabin with new interest. To Peter it had seemed all -that a home need be, and he had been proud of it and satisfied with it, -but now it looked poor and shabby. There were no chairs with tidies on -them, no chairs at all; there was no piano lamp; nor even a hanging lamp -with prisms; no carpet, not even a rug. It was not a "good home," it was -only a shanty-boat, not much better than any other shanty-boat, and it -was not even Peter's shanty-boat. It was George Rapp's. - -Booge was ramming his belongings into his valise. - -"Not a good enough home?" he growled. - -"What do they want for a home? A town hall or an op'ry house?" - -"It's all right for you or me, Booge," said Peter, "but what would be a -good home for a couple of old hard-shells like us ain't what a boy like -Buddy ought to have. I'll bet we 're eight miles from a Sunday school." - -"My, my!" said Booge. "I wouldn't have remained here a minute if I had -thought I was that far from Sunday school." - -"And we 're two miles from a woman. A boy like Buddy ought to be nearer -a woman than that. When I was a little tyke like him I was always right -up against my ma's knee." - -"And look how fine you turned out to be," said Booge. - -"Well, a place ain't a home unless there's a woman in it," said Peter -gravely. "I can see that now. I thought when I built this boat I had -a home, but I hadn't. And when I got Buddy I thought I had a home for -sure, but I hadn't. I never thought there ought to be a woman. I went -at it wrong end to. I'd ought to have looked up a woman first. Then I -could have got a house. And the boy would tag on somewheres along after. -Only it wouldn't have been Buddy. I guess I'd rather have Buddy." - -Booge snapped his valise shut and looked about for any stray bit of -clothing belonging to him. - -"You won't have him if you don't look out," he said. "You'd stand there -until that old kazoozer come back and took him, if I'd let you. Of -course, if you 're the sort to give him up, I ain't got a word to say." - -"I ain't that sort!" said Peter hotly. "If that man comes back I've got -the shot-gun, ain't I? Of course," he said more gently, "unless Buddy -wants to go. You don't want to go away from Uncle Peter, do you Buddy?" - -"No!" said Buddy in a way that left no doubt. - -"I can't do anything until that man comes back," said Peter helplessly. -"Maybe he won't come." - -"Don't you fret about that; he'll come," said Booge, grinning. "He's got -my address and number scratched on his face, and I'd ought to clear out -right now, but you see how I've got to help you out when trouble comes. -You 're like a child, Peter. You and Buddy would do for twins. When old -kazoozer comes back he'll bring a wagonload of sheriffs and a cannon or -something. What would you do if you come to me with a peaceable court -order, and got throwed all over a toy wagon?" - -"If he can shoot, I can shoot," said Peter. "I bet! And get Buddy -shot all full of holes? We've got to skedaddle and scoot and -vamoose,--listen!" - -In the silence that followed they could hear voices--a number of -voices--and Buddy crept to Peter's side and clung to his knee, -frightened by the tense expression on the two uncles' faces. Peter stood -with one hand resting on the table and the other clutching Buddy's arm. -Suddenly he put out his free hand and grasped his shot-gun. Booge jerked -it away from him and slid it under the bunk. - -"You idiot!" he said. "What good would that do you? Listen--have you got -any place you can take the kid to if you get away from here?" - -"I've got a sister up near town--" - -"All right! Now, I'm going to sing, and whilst I sing you get Buddy's -duds on, and your own, and be ready to skin out the back door with him. -I can hold off any constable that ever was--long enough to give you a -start, anyway--and then you've got to look out for yourself." - -Peter hurried Buddy into his outer coat and hat, and Booge searched the -breadbox for portable food, as he sang in his deepest bass. He crowded -some cold corn cake into Peter's pocket, and some into his own as he -sang, and as his song ended he whispered: "Hurry now! I'm goin' to put -out this lamp in a minute, and when it's out you slide out of that back -door--quick, you understand?" He let his voice rise to his falsetto. -"Sing it again, Uncle Booge!" he cried, imitating Buddy's voice. "No, -Buddy's got to go to sleep now," he growled and the next instant the -shanty-boat's interior was dark. "Scoot!" he whispered, and Peter opened -the rear door of the cabin and stepped out upon the small rear deck. He -stood an instant listening and dropped to the ice, sliding in behind -the willows, and the next moment he was around the protecting point, and -hurrying down the slough on the snow-covered ice, with Buddy held tight -in his arms. He heard Booge throw open the other door of the boat -and begin a noisy confab with the men on the shore. Booge was -bluffing--telling them they had lost their way, that they had come -to the wrong boat, that there was no boy there. Peter had crossed the -slough and was on the island that separated it from the river when he -saw the light flash up in the shanty-boat window. He slipped in among -the island willows and crouched there, listening, but he heard nothing -for he was too distant from the boat to hear what went on inside, and he -pushed deeper into the willows and sat there shivering and waiting. - -It was an hour later, perhaps, when he heard Booge's voice boom out, -deep and cheerful, repeating one song until his words died away in the -distance: - - Go tell the little baby, the baby, the baby, - Go tell the little baby we won't be back to-day; - Go tell the little baby, the baby, the baby, - Go tell the little baby they're takin' Booge away. - -"Come now, Buddy," said Peter, "we can go back to the boat. Uncle Booge -says there ain't nobody there now." - - - - -XIII. AUNT JANE - -PETER approached the shanty-boat cautiously but there was no sign of -danger. Indeed, finding Buddy gone, the five men who had come to the -boat were quite satisfied to get Booge. Four were but little interested -in helping Briggles pick up a small boy, and nobody wanted Peter, but -Booge, being a tramp and having assaulted a bearer of a court order, -was a desirable capture. Booge, when he felt reasonably sure Peter had -reached safety, ended his half-joking parley abruptly, and said he was -willing to accompany his captors in peace. He was satisfied he would not -be given much more than six months in the county jail for the assault, -and six months would carry him through the winter, into good, warm, -summer weather. There was nothing to be gained by a struggle against -five men except more trouble. - -Once more in his cabin, Peter put Buddy to bed in the dark, and ate his -much delayed supper. Buddy seemed to take the flight as a matter of no -moment. Flights, he probably thought, were a part of every small boy's -life, and he dropped asleep the moment he was tucked in the bunk. Peter, -however, did not sleep. He had much to think over. When an hour had -elapsed he lighted his lamp, knowing it could not be seen from any -distance, and set to work preparing to leave the boat forever. He had -few portable belongings worth carrying away. What food was left he -made into a parcel. He cut, with his jack-knife, strips from one of his -blankets to wind about his legs, and sliced off other pieces in which to -tie his feet, for his shoes were thin and worn through in places. He cut -a hole in the center of what was left of the blanket, making a serape -of it for Buddy. Later he cut a similar hole in the other blanket -for himself. All Buddy's toys he stored away under the bunk, with -his shotgun. Then he baked a corn cake and stowed pieces of it in his -pockets. He was ready for his flight. His sister Jane should afford a -refuge for him and the boy. - -Long before sunrise he awakened Buddy and fed him, ate his own -breakfast, tied his feet in the pieces of blanket and left the -shanty-boat. They were two strange looking objects as Peter worked his -way down the slough, taking care to avoid the snow patches and keeping -to that part of the ice blown clear by the wind. Peter had dressed Buddy -and himself for comfort and not for show. The blue serape enveloped -Buddy and hung below his feet as Peter carried him, and both Peter and -Buddy had strips of blanket tied over their heads to protect their ears. -Peter, in his own gray blanket, tied about the waist with seine twine, -looked like an untidy friar, his feet huge gray paws. - -A quarter of a mile below the shanty-boat Peter turned and crossed the -island, and, issuing on the other side, the whole broad river lay before -him. It was still dark as he began his long tramp across the river, -and on the vast field of ice it was frigidly cold. There the wind had a -clearer sweep than in the protected slough, and one could understand why -Peter had risked the return to the boat for additional garments after -having once fled from it. The wind carried the snow in low white clouds, -lifting it from one drift to deposit it in another, piling it high -against every obstruction on the ice. Without their blanket serapes it -would have been impossible for Peter, hardened as he was, to withstand -the cold of the long journey he had planned. - -For a quarter of a mile, after leaving the island, Peter had to struggle -over the rough hummocks that had been drift ice until the river closed, -but beyond that the going was smoother. In places the ice was so glassy -that he could not walk, but had to slide his feet along without lifting -them. The wind cut his face like a knife and the blowing snow gathered -on his eye lashes, and Buddy grew heavier and heavier in his arms. He -could have carried him all day pickaback, but he did not dare risk that -mode lest he slip and fall backward on the little fellow. His arms and -back ached with the strain, but still he kept on, making straight across -the river, and not until he had passed the middle did he set Buddy down. -Then, believing he was beyond the jurisdiction of an Iowa court order, -he rested, sitting flat on the ice with Buddy in his lap. - -"I can walk, Uncle Peter," said Buddy. - -"Uncle Peter will carry you awhile yet, Buddy," said Peter. "By and by, -when he gets tired again he'll let you walk. Uncle Peter is in a hurry -now." - -He lifted the boy again and plodded on, and when he reached the roughly -wooded Illinois shore he pushed in among the grapevine festooned trees -until he was well hidden from the river. There he made a fire and rested -until he and Buddy were warmed through. Then out upon the river again -and, keeping close to the bank, up stream. Here he was sheltered from -the cutting wind, and the walking was surer, for the sand had blown upon -the ice in many places, but his progress was slow for all that. About -noon he halted again and made a fire and ate, and then went on. Toward -four o'clock, coming abreast of a tall, lightning scarred sycamore, -Peter plunged into the brush until he came to a clearing on the edge of -a small slough. Here stood an old log cattle shed, and here, with a -fire burning on the dirt floor, they spent the night, Buddy huddled in -Peter's arms, with his back to the fire. - -They had covered half the distance to Riverbank. - -"Where are we going now, Uncle Peter?" asked Buddy the next morning. - -"I guess we won't go nowhere to-day," said Peter. "We ain't likely to be -bothered here, this time of the year, so we'll just make a good fire and -stay right here and be comfortable, and to-night we 're going to start -over across to your Aunt Jane's house." - -"Is Aunt Jane's house like this house?" asked Buddy. - -"Well, it's quite considerable better," said Peter. "You'll see what -it's like when you get to it. If everything turns out the way I hope it -will, you and me will live at Aunt Jane's quite some time." - -Not until well toward nine o'clock did Peter awaken Buddy that night. He -was haunted by the fear that, once he touched Iowa soil, every eye would -be watching for him and every hand eager to tear Buddy from him. If, -however, he could get Buddy safely into Jane's care Peter believed he -could make a fight against Briggles or any other man, for Jane's house -was a home--there was a woman in it--Peter meant to time his trip to -reach Jane's in the early morning. - -The moon was full and bright, glaring bright on the river, as Peter -started, and the cold was benumbing. - -The long, diagonal course across the river brought Peter and Buddy to -the Iowa shore some three miles below Riverbank, just before sunrise. On -shore new difficulties met him. A road ran along the shore, but Peter's -destination lay straight back in the hills, and two miles of sandy farm -land, in frozen furrows, crossed by many barbed wire fences, lay between -Peter and the foot of the hills. The sun came up while he was still -struggling across the plowed land, and by the time he reached the road -that led up the hillside it was glaring day. Twice early farmers, bound -to town, passed him as he trudged along the winding road, staring at him -curiously, and Peter dropped to the creek bed that followed the road. -Here he could hide if he heard an approaching team. Just below his -sister's house the road crossed the creek and here Peter climbed the -bank. A wind had risen with the sun and Peter's blanket flapped against -his legs. At his sister's gate he paused behind a mass of leafless -elderberry bushes, and deposited Buddy on the low bank that edged the -road. - -"Now, you stay right here, Buddy," said Peter to the boy, "and just sort -of look at the landscape over there whilst I run up and tell your Aunt -Jane you're coming. She don't like to be surprised." - -"But I don't want to look at the landscape, Uncle Peter," Buddy -complained. "I want to go with you." - -"It ain't much of a landscape, and that's a fact," said Peter, glancing -at the bare clay bank across the creek, "and if it wasn't very important -that I should speak to your Aunt Jane first I wouldn't ask you to wait -here. I know just how a boy feels about waiting. My goodness! Did I see -a squirrel over there? A little gray squirrel with a big bushy tail?" - -"No," said Buddy. - -"Well, you just keep a sharp eye on that clay bank, and maybe you will. -Maybe you'll see a little jumpy rabbit." - -"I don't want to see a rabbit. I want to go with you," said Buddy. - -Peter looked at the house. It was hardly more than a weather-beaten -shanty. Its fence, once an army of white pickets, was now but a -tumble-down affair of rotting posts and stringers with a loose picket -here and there, and the door yard was cluttered with tin cans and wood -ashes. The woodshed, as free from paint as the house, was well filled -with stove wood, for Peter had filled it in the early fall. Beyond the -woodshed the garden--Peter worked it for his sister each spring--was -indicated by the rows of cabbage stalks with their few frozen leaves -still clinging to them. The whole place was run down and slip-shod, but -it was a house, and it held a woman. - -"Goodness me!" said Peter. "Of course you don't want to look for -rabbits! I've got that jack-knife I bought for you right here in my -pocket, and _now_ I guess you'll want to wait here for Uncle Peter! -You will if Uncle Peter opens the big blade and gets you a stick to -whittle." - -"I want to whittle," said Buddy promptly. "I want to whittle a funny -cat." - -Peter looked about for a stick. - -"There!" he said. "There's a stick, but if I was you I'd make a funny -snake out of it. That stick don't look like it would make a cat. You -make a snake, and if it don't turn out to be a snake, maybe it'll be a -sword. Now, you stay right here, and Uncle Peter won't be gone very -long. I'm going to put you right back in among these bushes, and don't -you move." - -[Illus: 232] - -"I won't," said Buddy. - -When Peter left the shanty-boat he had felt that he could walk up to -Jane with the front of a lion and demand shelter for himself and for -Buddy all the advantages of a home. From that distance it had seemed -quite reasonable, for he owned the house and the small plot of ground on -which it stood. Ownership ought to give some rights, and he had planned -just what he would say. He would tell Jane he had come. Then he would -tell her he had reformed, and how he had reformed, and that he was a -changed man and was going to work hard and make things comfortable for -her, and give up shanty-boating and the river and all the things he had -loved. He would say he now saw all these were bad for his character. -Then, when she got used to that, he would incidentally mention Buddy, -and tell her what a nice little fellow he was, and what a steadying -effect the boy would have on his shiftless life. Then he would get -Buddy, and his sister would see what a fine boy Buddy was, and wrap -her arms around him, and weep. Peter was sure she would weep. And there -would be a home for Buddy with a woman in it! - -But if Jane objected--as she might--Peter meant to set his foot down -hard. It was his house and he could do what he wished with it. That he -had allowed Jane to possess it in single peace was well enough, but it -was his house. That would bring her to time--it---- - -The nearer he had approached the house, however, the more doubtful -he had become that Jane would welcome him and that she would, after a -little talk, order him to bring Buddy in. The closer he came to Jane the -better he recalled the many times he had fled precipitately after doing -her chores, and his many moist and mournful receptions. - -Now he walked to the kitchen door and knocked, and Jane's voice bade him -enter. He took off his hat as he entered. His sister was sitting at the -kitchen table where, despite the lateness of the hour, she had evidently -just finished her breakfast. As she turned her head all Peter's optimism -fled, for Jane's eyes were red with weeping. When her sorrows pressed -heavily upon Jane she was a very fountain of tears. She threw up her -hands as she saw Peter. - -"Oh, mercy me, Peter Lane!" she cried in a heart-broken voice. "Look -what you've come to at your time of life. Nothing to wear but old rags -and horse blankets on back and foot! It does seem as if nothing ever -went right for you since the day you were born. Just poverty and -bad-health and trouble, and one thing after another." She wiped her -eyes to make room in them for fresh tears. "Every time I think of you, -freezing to death in that shanty-boat, and going hungry and cold, I--it -makes me so miserable--it makes me feel so bad--" - -"Now, Jane," said Peter uncomfortably, "don't cry! Don't do it! It ain't -so bad as all that. Every time I come to see you, you just cry and carry -on, and I tell you I don't need it done for me. I'm all right. I get -along somehow." - -"Never, never once, have I said an unkind word to you, Peter," said -Jane damply. "You shouldn't upbraid me with it, for I know it ain't your -fault you turned out this way. I know you ain't got the health to go to -work and earn a living, if you wanted to. I do what I can to keep your -house from falling down on my head. When I think what would become of -this house if you didn't have me to do what I can to mend it up--the -roof's leakin' worse than ever." - -"As soon as spring comes, I'm going to get some shingles and shingle up -the leaky places," said Peter. "Maybe I'll put a whole new roof on. Now, -just listen to what I want to say, please, Jane." - -"It's that makes me feel so awful bad, Peter," said Jane, shaking her -head. "You mean so well, and you promise so much, and you see things so -big, and yet you ain't got money to buy shoes nor clothes nor anything, -and for all I know you might be lying sick without a bite to eat, and me -having all I can do to hold body and soul together in a house like this. -Time and again I've made up my mind to go and leave it, and I would -if it wasn't for you. I feel my duty by you, and I stay, but work in a -house like this wears me to the bone. It does. To the bone!" - -It may have worn some one to the bone but not Jane. She was one of those -huge, flabby women who are naturally lazy; who sit thinking of the work -they have to do but do not do it; and who linger long over their meals -and weep into them. To Peter her tears were worse than Mrs. Potter's -sharp tongue, for Mrs. Potter's reproaches were single of motive, while -Jane's tears were too apt to be a mask for reproaches more cutting than -Mrs. Potter's out and out hard words. Jane did not weep continually; she -had the knack of weeping when tears would serve her purpose. - -From time to time, as the spirit moved her, Jane went to town and did -plain sewing. She had had a husband (but had one no more) and he had -left her a little money which she had kept in the bank, drawing four -per cent, regularly. It did not amount to much, only a couple of hundred -dollars a year, but this she used most sparingly, leaving the greater -part of the interest to accumulate. Perhaps she was sincere in her -mourning for Peter, but she certainly did not want him in the house. As -a provider Peter had never been a success--he was too liberal--and in -his periods of financial stringency he had been known to ask Jane -for money. Not that he ever got it, but it was a thing to be guarded -against. Jane guarded against it with tears. In fifteen minutes of -tearful reproaches she could make Peter feel that he was the most -worthless and cruel of men. She had so often reduced him to that state -that he had come to fall into it naturally whenever he saw Jane, and he -was usually only too glad to escape from her presence again and go -back to the river life. Tears proclaim injustice, and a man like Peter, -seeing them, falls easily into the belief that he must be in the wrong, -and very badly in the wrong. In flying from Jane he fled from the -self-incrimination she planted in him. Now he sighed and took a seat on -one of the kitchen chairs. - -"Jane," he said, "this house is my house, aint it?" - -"You know it is, Peter," she said reproachfully. "No need to remind me -of that, nor that I ain't any better than a pauper. If I was, it would -be far from me to stay here trying to hold the old boards together for -you. Many and many a time I wish you had health to live in this house, -so I could go somewhere and live like a human being, and let you take -care of this cow-pen--for it ain't no better than that--yourself. It -would be a blessed thing for me, Peter, if you ever got your health. I -could go then." - -Peter moved uneasily, and frowned at the fresh tears. - -"I wisht you wouldn't cry, Jane," he said. "I want to talk sort of -business to you this morning." He paused, appalled by the effect his -revelation would be apt to have on Jane. It must be made, however, and -he plunged into it. "I've got a boy. I've got a little feller about -three years old that come to me one night when his ma died, and he ain't -got anybody in the world but me, Jane, to take care of him. I've had him -some months, down at my boat, and he's the cutest, nicest little tyke -you ever set eyes on. Why, he's--he's no more trouble 'round a place -than a little kitten or a pup or something like that. You'd be just -tickled to death with him. My first notion," he said more slowly, "my -first idee was to have him and me come here, so you could be a sort of -ma to him, and I could be a sort of pa, so we'd make a sort of family, -like. What he's got to have is a good home, first of all, and a -shanty-boat ain't that. I see that. But I can see how easy-going I am, -and how I might be an expense to you, for awhile anyway, so I thought, -maybe, if you would take the boy in--now wait a minute, Jane! Wait a -minute! You're bound to hear me out." - -His sister had forgotten her sorrows in open-mouthed amazement as Peter -talked, but as the startling proposal became clear she dabbled at her -eyes, and sniffled. Peter knew what was coming--a new torrent of tears, -an avalanche of sorrow. - -"For Heaven's sake shut up for a minute 'til I get through!" he cried in -exasperation. "You ain't done nothing but weep over me since I was knee -high. Give me a rest for one time. I don't need weeping over. I'm all -right. Ain't I just said I'll go away again?" - -"You never understand me," wept Jane. - -"Yes, I do, too!" said Peter angrily. "I understand you good. All you -want is to weep me out of house and home, and I know it. I'm a sort of -old bum, and I know that, too, but I've been fair to you right along, -and all I get for it is to be wept over, and I'm sick of it. You ain't a -sister, you 're a--a fountain. You 're an everlasting fountain. You let -me come up and saw your wood, and you weep; and you let me make your -garden, and you weep, and if you do give me a meal while I'm working for -you it's so wept into that my mouth tastes of salt for a week. I've put -up with it just as long as I'm going to." - -"I'll go," said Jane, sniveling. "I'll go. I never thought to get such -unkind words from my brother!" - -"Brother nothing!" said Peter, thoroughly exasperated. "What did you -ever give me but shoves, wrapped up in sorrow and grief? What did you -ever do but jump on me, and tear me to pieces, and pull me apart to show -me how worthless I was, whilst you let on you was mourning over me? I -guess I've had it done to me long enough to see through it, Jane, so you -may as well shut off the bawling. You ain't no sister--you 're a miser!" - -"Peter Lane!" - -"That's what you are, a miser!" said Peter, rising from his chair. "You -'re a weeping miser, and you might as well know it. That's why you don't -want me 'round, you 're afraid I might cost you a nickel sometime. For -two cents I'd _put_ you out of the house. You'd bawl some if you had to -pay rent." - -Peter should have felt a sense of shame, but he did not. In some -inexplicable way a huge weight seemed lifted from his chest. He -felt big, and strong, and efficient. It was a wonderful thing he had -discovered. He, who had for so many years, cringed before his sister's -cruelty was making her wince. He, Peter Lane, was not feeling worthless -and mean. He was talking out as other men do. He was having a rage, and -yet he was so self-controlled that he knew he could stop at any moment. -He was not the tool of his anger, the anger was his instrument. His pale -eyes blazed, but he ended with a scornful laugh. - -Jane did not flare up. She dropped her head on her table and cried -again, but with real self-pity this time. - -"Now, it ain't worth while to cry," said Peter coldly. "I've said -all I've got to say on that subject. All I've got now is a business -proposition, and you can take it or not. If you want to take Buddy in -and feed him and sleep him and treat him white, the way he deserves, -I'll pay you for it just as soon as I earn some money, and I'm going -to get work right away. If you won't do that you can take the house and -have it, and I'm through with you." - -He stood with his hat in his hand, waiting. It seemed to him that Jane -was waiting too long, that she was calculating the chances of getting -her pay if she took the boy, and Peter knew his past record did not -suggest any very strong probability of that. - -"You'll get your money," he said. "I'm going to look for a job as -soon as I go out from here. Don't you be afraid of that. You won't lose -anything." - -Her reply came so suddenly that it startled - -Peter. She jumped from her chair and stamped her foot angrily. - -"Oh!" she cried, clinching her fists, while all her anger blazed in her -face. "Hain't you insulted me enough? Get out of my house! Don't you -ever come back!" - -Peter put on his hat. He paused when his hand was on the door-knob, his -face deathly white. - -"If you ever get sick, Jane," he said, "you can leave word at George -Rapp's Livery stable. I'll come to you if you are sick," and he went -out, closing the door softly. - -Buddy was waiting where Peter had left him. - -"I'm making a funny snake for you, Uncle Peter," he said. - -"Well, I should think you were!" said Peter, summoning all his -cheerfulness. "That's just the funniest old snake I ever did see, but -you better let Uncle Peter have your jack-knife now, Buddy. We'll get -along." - -He gathered the boy, who obediently yielded the knife, into his arms. - -"I'm going to see Aunt Jane, now," said the boy contentedly. - -"No, I guess we won't go see your Aunt Jane to-day, Buddy," said Peter, -holding the boy close. "Put your head close up against Uncle Peter's -shoulder and he can carry you better. You ain't so heavy that way." - -Buddy put his head on Peter's shoulder and crooned one of Booge's verses -contentedly. They walked a long way in this manner, toward the town. -From time to time Peter shifted the boy from one shoulder to the other, -and once or twice he allowed him to walk, but not far. He wanted to feel -Buddy in his arms. - -"I shouldn't wonder," said Peter as they entered the outskirts of the -town, "if I had to go on a trip right soon. I can't seem to think of any -way out of it." - -"I like to go on trips with you, Uncle Peter," said Buddy. - -"Well, you see, Buddy-boy," said Peter, "this here trip I can't take you -on, so I've got to leave you with a man--a man that looks a good deal -like that kazoozer man, but you mustn't be afraid of him, because all -he is going to do is to take you for a ride in a horse and buggy out -to where you'll stay. It may be some time before I see you again, but I -want you should remember me. I guess you will, won't you?" - -"Yes, Uncle Peter." - -"That's right! You just remember Uncle Peter every day, but don't you -worry for him, and some day maybe I'll come and get you. I've got a lot -of work to do first that you wouldn't understand, such as building up a -new man from the ground to the top of his head, but I'll get it done -some time, and I'll come for you the first thing after I do. You want I -should, don't you?" - -"Yes" said Buddy. - -For the rest of the way to town Peter held the boy very close _in_ his -arms, and did not think of his tired muscles at all. He was thinking of -his perfidy to the trusting child, for he was without money and without -it he could see nothing to do but deliver the boy to Briggles and the -Unknown. - - - - -XIV. A RAY OF HOPE - -THE Marcy's Run Road, on which Peter's sister lived, led into Riverbank -past the cemetery, and near the cemetery stood a group of small stores. -One of these, half grocery and half saloon, was even more unkempt than -the others, but before its window Peter stopped. A few small coins--the -residue after his purchasing trip of the day before--remained in his -pocket, and in the window was a square of cardboard announcing "Hot Beef -Soup To-day." - -Hot beef soup, when a man has tramped many miles carrying a heavy child, -is a temptation. Buddy himself would be glad of a bowl of hot soup, and -Peter opened the door and entered. - -The store was narrow and dark. A few feet, just inside the door, were -occupied by the scanty stock of groceries, tobacco and cheap candy, and -back of this was the bar, with two small tables in the space before it. -The whole place was miserably dirty. It was no gilded liquor palace, -with mirrors and glittering cash-registers. The bar was of plain pine, -painted "barn-red," and the whole arrangement was primitive and cheap. -Beyond the bar room a partition cut off the living room, and this -completed "Mrs. Crink's Place." - -Mrs. Crink had a bad reputation. During the stringent prohibition days -she had run a "speak-easy" without paying the town the usual monthly -disorderly house fine, and had served her term in jail. After that she -was strongly suspected of boot-legging whisky, and she had purchased -this new place but a few days since. She was a thin, sour-faced, angular -woman, ugly alike in face and temper. When Peter opened the door a bell -sounded sharply, but the high voice of Mrs. Crink in the living room -drowned the bell. She was scolding and reviling at the top of her -voice--swearing like a man--and a child was sobbing and pleading. Peter -heard the sharp slap of a hand against a face, and a cry from the child, -and Mrs. Crink came into the bar room, her eyes glaring and her face -dark with anger. - -"Well, what do you want?" she snarled. - -"I'd like to get two bowls of soup for me and the boy, if it ain't too -much trouble," said Peter. - -"Everything's trouble," whined Mrs. Crink. "I don't expect nothing else. -A woman can't make a living without these cranks tellin' her what she -shall and what she shan't. Shut up that howlin', you little devil, or -I'll come in there and bat your head off." - -She went into the living room and brought out the two bowls of soup, -placing them on one of the small tables. Peter lifted Buddy into a -chair. Mrs. Crink began wiping off the beer-wet bar. - -"I wonder if you could let me have about a dime's worth of crackers and -cheese?" he asked, and Mrs. Crink dropped the dirty rag with which she -was wiping the bar. - -"Come out here, and shut up your bawlin', and swab off this bar," she -yelled, and the door of the back room opened and a girl came out. She -was the merest child. She came hesitatingly, holding her arm before -her face, and the old hag of a woman jerked up the filthy, wet rag and -slapped her across the face. It was none of Peter's business, but he -half arose from his chair and then dropped back again. It made his blood -boil, but he had not associated with shanty-boat men and women without -learning that in the coarser strata of humanity slaps and blows and ugly -words are often the common portion of children. He would have liked to -interfere, but he knew the inefficiency of any effort he might make, -and like a shock it came to him that it was for things like this that -Briggles rescued,--or pretended to rescue--little children. It was not -so bad then, after all. If he must give up Buddy there would be some -compensation in telling Briggles of this poor child, who deserved far -more the attention of his Society. All this passed through his mind -in an instant, but before he could turn back to his bowl of soup Buddy -uttered a cry of joy and, scrambling from his chair, ran across the -floor toward the weeping girl. - -"Oh! Susie! Susie! My Susie!" he shouted and threw himself upon her. - -The impetus of his coming almost threw the child off her feet, and she -staggered back, but the next instant she had clasped her arms around the -boy, and was hugging him in a close, youthful embrace of joy. - -"My Buddy! My Buddy!" she kept repeating over and over, as if all other -words failed her, as they will in an excess of sudden surprise. "My -Buddy! My Buddy!" - -The woman stared for an instant in open-mouthed astonishment, and then -her eyes flashed with anger. She reached out her hand to grasp the girl, -but Peter Lane thrust it aside. - -His own eyes could flash, and the woman drew back. - -"Now, don't you do that!" he said hotly. - -"You git out of my store, then!" shouted Mrs. Crink. "You take your brat -and git out!" - -"I'll get out," said Peter slowly, "as soon as I am quite entirely ready -to do so. I hope you will understand that. And I'll be ready when I have -ate my soup." - -The woman glared at him. She let her hand drop behind the bar, where -she had a piece of lead pipe, and then, suddenly, she laughed a high, -cackling laugh to cover her defeat, and let her eyes fall. She slouched -to the front of the shop for the crackers and cheese and Peter seated -himself again at the small table, and looked at the children. - -"Where's Mama?" he heard the girl ask, and Buddy's reply: "Mama went -away," and he saw the look of wonder on the girl's face. - -"Come here," Peter said, and the girl came to the table. - -"I guess you 're Buddy's sister he's been tellin' me about, ain't you?" -said Peter kindly, "and I'm his Uncle Peter He's been staying with on -a shanty-boat. Your ma"--he hesitated and looked at the girl's sweet, -clear eyes--"your ma went away, like Buddy said, Susie, but you don't -want to think she run away and left him, for that wouldn't be so, not at -all! She had to go, or she wouldn't 've gone. I guess--I guess she'd 've -come and got you. Yes, I guess that's what she had on her mind. She -spoke of you quite a little before she went on her trip." - -"I want you should take me away from here," said the girl suddenly. - -"Well, now, I wish I could, Susie," said Peter, "but I don't see how I -can. Maybe I can arrange it--" He poised his soup spoon in the air. "Did -Reverend Mr. Briggles bring you here?" - -"Not here," said Susie. "Mrs. Crink didn't live here, then." - -"Well, that's all the same," said Peter. "I just wanted to enquire about -it. You'd better eat your soup, Buddy-boy. Well, now, let me see!" - -Peter stared into the soup, as if it might hold, hidden in its muggy -depths, the answer to his riddle. - -"Just at present I'm sort of unable to do what I'd like to do myself," -he said. "I'd like to take you right with me, but I've got a certain -friend that was quite put out because I didn't bring your ma to--to see -her when your ma stopped in at my boat, and I guess maybe"--Mrs. -Crink was returning with the crackers and cheese, and Peter -ended hurriedly--"I guess maybe you better stay here until I make -arrangements." - -It was a strange picture, the boy eating his soup gluttonously, Peter -Lane in his comedy tramp garb of blanket and blanket-strips, and the -little girl staring at him with big, trustful eyes. Mrs. Crink put the -crackers and cheese on the table. - -"If you've got through takin' up time that don't belong to you, maybe I -can git some work out of this brat," she snapped. - -"Why, yes, ma'am," said Peter politely. "It only so happened that this -boy was her brother. We didn't want to discommode you at all." - -Susie turned away to her work of swabbing the bar, and Peter divided the -crackers and cheese equally between himself and Buddy. - -"I don't care much to have tramps come in here anyway," said Mrs. Crink. -"I never knew one yit that wouldn't pick up anything loose," but Peter -made no reply. He had a matter of tremendous import on his mind. He felt -that he had taken the weight of Susie's troubles on his shoulders in -addition to those of Buddy, and he had resolved to ask Widow Potter to -take the two children! - -The parting of the two children had for them none of the pathos it had -for Peter. When Buddy had eaten the last scrap of cracker he got down -from his chair. - -"Good-by, Susie," he said. - -"Good-by, Buddy," she answered, and that was all, and Peter led the boy -out of the place. - -There are, in Riverbank, alleys between each two of the streets parallel -with the river, and Peter, now that he had once more resolved not to -allow Briggles to have Buddy, took to the alleys as he passed through -the town. The outlandishness of his garb made him the more noticeable, -he knew, and he wished to avoid being seen. He traversed the entire town -thus, even where a creek made it necessary for him to scramble down one -bank and up another, until the alleys ended at the far side of the town. -There he crossed the vacant lot where a lumber mill had once stood, and -struck into the river road. - -The boy seemed to take it all as a matter of course, but Peter kept a -wary eye on the road, ready to seek a hiding-place at the approach of -any rig that looked as if it might contain the Reverend Briggles, but -none appeared. A farmer, returning from town with a wagon, stopped at a -word from Peter, and allowed him to put Buddy in the wagon and clamber -in with him. They got out again at Mrs. Potter's gate. - -The house was closed, and the doors locked. Peter tried them all before -he was convinced he had had the long tramp for nothing, and then he led -Buddy toward the barn. As he neared the barn the barn door opened and a -man came out, carrying a water bucket. He stared at Peter. - -"Mrs. Potter is not at home, I guess?" said Peter. - -"Nope," said the man. "Anything I can do for you?" - -"It's business on which I'll have to see her personally," said Peter. -"She wasn't expecting I'd come. Is she going to be back soon?" - -"Well, I guess she won't be back to-day," said the man. "She only hired -me about a week ago, so she ain't got to telling me all her plans yet, -but she told me it was as like as not she'd go up to Derlingport to-day, -and maybe she might come home to-morrow, and maybe not till next day. -Want to leave any word for her?" - -"No," said Peter slowly, "I guess there's no word I could leave. I -guess not. I'm much obliged to you, but I won't leave no word. Come on, -Buddy-boy, we got to go back to town now, before night sets in." - -"Where are we going now, Uncle Peter?" asked the boy. - -"Now? Well, now we 're going to see a friend I've got. You never slept -in a great, big stable, where there are a lot of horses, did you? You -never went to sleep on a great big pile of hay, did you? That'll be fun, -won't it, Buddy-boy?" - -"Yes, Uncle Peter," said the child cheerfully, and they began the long, -cold walk to town. - - - - -XV. AN ENCOUNTER - - -"THAT horse," said George Rapp, slapping the colt on the flank, "is as -good a horse as you can get for the money in ten counties, and you -won't find anybody that will offer what I do in trade for your old one. -Nowhere." - -"You'd say that anyway, George Rapp," said Mrs. Potter. "You ain't here -to run down what you want to sell. Seems to me the colt acts skittish." - -"What you said you wanted was a young horse," said Rapp with a shrug. "I -don't know what you want. You want a young horse, and this is young, and -you don't want a skittish horse, and all young horses are more or less -that way." - -"What I want is a young, strong horse--" Mrs. Potter began. - -"You've told me that a million times and two, and if you tell me it -again I'll know it by heart well enough to sing it," said Rapp. "There -he stands, just like you say--a young, strong horse." - -"A skittish animal like this colt ain't fit for a woman to drive," said -Mrs. Potter. - -"And you ought to have a driver to drive him, as you said about ten -thousand times before," said Rapp with good-natured tolerance, "but -Peter Lane ain't come up to town yet, if that's what you're working -round to." - -"Oh, get along with you!" said Mrs. Potter. "I got a hired man now." - -"Well, you meant Peter, didn't you? Why don't you come right out and say -so? But I guess you won't get Peter to drive this colt for a while yet." - -"He ain't sick?" - -"No. Nor he ain't dead. But as near as I can make out Peter is goin' to -jail." - -Mrs. Potter turned sharply and George Rapp grinned. He could not help -it, she showed such consternation. - -"Peter--in--jail?" she cried. - -"Well, not yet," said Rapp, chuckling at her amazement. "They 're -out hunting him now. The dogs of the law is on his trail. That feller -Briggles I told you of got his head broke by a tramp Peter took into my -boat, and he's real sore, both in head and feelings. Last night him and -a sort of posse went down to get the whole crowd, but Peter had skipped -out with the kid." - -"Good for Peter! Good for Peter!" exclaimed Mrs. Potter. "I never looked -for so much spunk. It was his boy as much as anybody's, wasn't it?" - -"Looks so to me," said Rapp, "but this here United States of Riverbank -County seems to think different. Maybe Peter ain't been washin' the -boy's face regular, three times a day. Anyhow, Briggles got a court -order for the boy and he's goin' to jug Peter." - -"You talk so much nonsense, I don't know what to believe," complained -the widow. - -"Anything I say is apt to be more or less nonsense, except when I'm -talkin' horse," said Rapp, "but this ain't. Briggles and the dep'ty -sheriff is out now, swearin' to bring Peter in by the seat of his pants -or any way they can get him." - -"Well, if Peter Lane had a wife to look after him and tell him how-so -once in a while, he wouldn't get into trouble like this," said Mrs. -Potter, with aggravation. "He's enough to drive a body crazy." - -George Rapp's eyes twinkled. "The next time I see Peter I'll -say, 'Peter, I been tryin' to sell a colt to Mrs. Potter since -Lord-knows-when, and she's holdin' off until she gets a husband to tend -the colt. I don't want to hurry you none,' I'll say to him, 'but when -you get done servin' them ten years in the pen'tentiary, just fix it up -for me. I'd like to sell this colt before he dies of old age." - -"You think you 're smart, George Rapp," said Mrs. Potter, reddening, -"but when you talk like that, when I've heard Peter Lane say, a dozen -times, that you're the best friend he's got in the world, it's time -somebody took hold for him. I wouldn't buy a horse off you, not if it -was the only one in the world!" - -George Rapp patted the colt on the neck and ran his hand down the sleek -shoulder. - -"Now, Mrs. Potter," he said, "you know better than that. I'm just as -much Peter's friend as anybody is. I'll bail him out if he gets in jail, -and I'll pay his fine, if there is one. But don't you worry. Peter -ain't a fool. By this time Peter and that boy is in Burlington. Peter's -safe--" - -It seemed as if Rapp's cheerful prediction had been fulfilled, for, as -he spoke, horses' hoofs clattered on the plank incline that led into -the stable. Rapp led the colt out of the way as the two-horse rig, -containing the Reverend Rasmer Briggles and the deputy sheriff, reached -the main floor. It was evident they had not found Peter. - -"Wild goose hunt this time, George," said the deputy as he jumped from -the carriage. - -"That so?" said Rapp, walking around the team. "Got the team pretty hot -for such cold weather, didn't you?" - -"We drove like blazes," said the deputy, "but I didn't get heated much. -Colder than th' dickens. H'ar you, Mrs. Potter? George robbin' you -again?" - -Mr. Briggles was climbing from the carriage slowly. He was bundled in -a heavy ulster with a wide collar that turned up over his ears. He wore -ear-mufflers, and a scarf was tied over his cap and under his chin. -On his hands were thick, fur-lined mittens, and his trouser legs were -buckled into high arctics. Over his nose and across one cheek a strip -of adhesive plaster showed where Booge had "hit the old kazoozer and -scratched him on the nose," as he had sung. - -Mr. Briggles was not in a good temper. Under his arrangement with his -society this had been an unprofitable week, for he had not "rescued" a -single child (at twenty dollars per child). He slowly untied his scarf, -removed his ear-tabs and unbuttoned his ulster. He affected ministerial -garb under his outer roughness; it had a good effect on certain old -ladies as he sat in their parlors coaxing money from them (forty per -cent, commission on all collected), and his face had what George Rapp -called "that solemncholy sneaker" look. You expected him to put -his finger-tips together and look at the ceiling. There are but few -Briggleses left to prey on the gullibly charitable to-day, and thank -God for that. Their day is over. Most of them are in stock-selling games -now. - -"We were on sheriff's business to-day, Brother Rapp," said Briggles, -when he had opened his coat. "You can charge the rig to the county." - -"How about that, Joe?" Rapp asked the deputy. - -"What's the diff.?" asked Joe carelessly. "The county can stand it." - -He had entered the office, where Rapp always kept his barrel-stove red -hot, and was kicking his toes against the foot-rail of the stove. - -"Want the team again to-morrow?" asked Rapp. - -"I want it to-morrow," said Joe. "I got to go to Sweetland to put an -attachment on to a feller's hogs. I don't know what your friend Briggles -wants." - -"I want you to help me find this boy, Brother--" Briggles began, but the -deputy merely turned his back to the stove and looked at him over one -shoulder. - -"Oh, shut up!" he said. "I ain't your brother." - -"What's the matter with you, Joe?" asked Rapp. "You act sore." - -"Sore nothin'! I'm sick at my stummik. You'd be if you had to drive a -pole-cat around the county all day." - -"Now, Brother Venby," said Mr. Briggles pleadingly, "you misunderstood -me entirely. If you will let me explain--" - -"You go and explain to your grandmother," said Joe roughly. "You can't -explain to me. If I didn't have on my dep'ty sheriff badge, I'd come out -there and do some explainin' with a wagon spoke on my own account. Say, -George, did this feller get a rig from you once to take a young girl -that he brought down from Derlingport, to a 'good home'? Nice little -girl, wasn't she? Where d'you suppose he took her? Mrs. Crink's! Say, -come in here a minute." - -Rapp went into the office and Joe closed the door. A hostler led the -team to the rear of the stable, and Mr. Briggles, as if feeling a -protective influence in the presence of Mrs. Potter, moved nearer to -her. He pushed back his cap and wiped his forehead. - -"In this charity work we meet the opposition of all rough characters, -Madame," he began suavely, but she interrupted him. - -"You 're the man that's pestering Peter Lane, ain't you?" she asked. - -"Only within the law, only within the law!" said Mr. Briggles -soothingly. "I act only for the Society, and the Society keeps within -the law." - -"Law--fiddlesticks!" said Mrs. Potter. "What's this nonsense about -putting Peter Lane in jail?" - -"We fear we shall have to make an example of him," said Mr. Briggles. -"The ungodly throw obstructions in our path, and we must combat them -when we can. This Lane has evaded a court order. We trust he will -receive a term in prison. We have faith that Judge Bennings will uphold -the right." - -"Huh! So that old rascal of a Bennings is the man that let you bother -Peter Lane, is he? Seems to me he's getting pretty free with his court -orders and nonsense! But I guess he ain't heard from me yet!" - -She turned her back on Mr. Briggles and almost ran down the incline into -the street. Unluckily for Judge Bennings, he was almost too convenient -to Rapp's Livery, Feed and Sale Stable, living in an old brick mansion -that occupied the corner of the block but, luckily for him, he was not -at home. Mrs. Potter poured out her wrath on the German servant girl. - -When Mrs. Potter had hastened away, Mr. Briggles hesitated. He could see -the deputy sheriff and George Rapp through the smoky glass of the -office door, and Joe was talking steadily, only stopping now and then to -expectorate, while Rapp's good-natured face was scowling. Mr. Briggles -buttoned his ulster. From the look on George Rapp's face he felt it -would be better to be out of the stable when Rapp came out of the -office. He turned. Peter Lane was staggering wearily up the incline into -the stable, his back bent with fatigue, and Buddy, sound asleep, in his -arms. Mr. Briggles watched the uncouth, blanket-draped pair advance, and -when Peter stood face to face with him, a smile of satisfaction twisted -his hard mouth. Peter looked into the fellow's shrewd eyes and drew a -long breath. - -"Your name's Briggles, ain't it?" he asked listlessly. "Mine's Peter -Lane. This here's Buddy. I guess we got to the end of our string." - -Peter shifted the sleeping boy to his shoulder and touched the child's -freckled face softly. - -"I wisht you would do what's possible to put him into a nice home," -said Peter; "a home where he won't be treated harsh. I've got so used to -Buddy I feel almost like he was my own son, and I wouldn't like him to -be treated harsh. He's such a nice little feller--" - -He stopped, for he could say no more just then. He lowered his arms -until Buddy's head slid softly from his shoulder to the crook of his -arm. - -"Well," he said, holding out the sleeping boy, "I guess you might as -well take him now as any time." - -Mr. Briggles reached forward to take the boy just as Mrs. Potter came -rushing up the stable incline, waving her hand wildly. - -"Oh, _Smith!_" she called. "Peter _Smith!_ You 're just the man I been -looking for, _Smith!_" - -Peter stared at her uncomprehendingly for one instant, and as he -understood her useless little strategy, his eyes softened. - -"I'm just as much obliged to you, Mrs. Potter," he said, "but I've -already told this man who I am. I guess I'll go now." - -He looked from one to the other helplessly and Mrs. Potter put out her -arms and took the sleeping boy. - -"Peter, you're a perfect fool!" she said angrily. - -"I guess I am," said Peter. "Yes, I guess I am!" - -He bent and kissed Buddy's warm cheek. - -"I'd like to be somewheres else when he wakes up," he explained and -turned away. He had started down the driveway when Mr. Briggles stepped -after him and laid a detaining hand on his arm. - -"Wait!" said Mr. Briggles. "The sheriffs deputy is in the office here; -he has been looking for you." - -"Oh, that's all right!" said Peter. "You can tell Joe I've gone on up to -the jail," and he drew his arm away and went on down to the street. Mrs. -Potter called after him. - -"Peter Lane! Peter!" she called, but Peter had hurried away. Buddy -raised his head suddenly and looked up into Mrs. Potter's face. - -"I know who you are," he said fearlessly. "You 're Aunt Jane." - -"No, child," said Mrs. Potter, "I ain't anybody's aunt. I'm just a -worthless old creature." - -"Where's Uncle Peter?" asked Buddy in his sudden way. - -"Now, don't you worry," said Mrs. Potter. "Uncle Peter has gone away." - -"I know," said Buddy, now wide awake. "Uncle Peter told me. I want to -get down." Mrs. Potter put him down and he stood leaning against -her knee, holding tightly to her skirt and eyeing Mr. Briggles -distrustfully, for his quick eyes recognized the "old kazoozer" Uncle -Booge had thrown off the boat, but before he could give utterance to -what was running through his small head, the office door opened and -George Rapp and the deputy came out. Rapp walked up to Mr. Briggles. - -"All right," he said roughly. "You've got the kid, I see, and I guess -that's all you want in my stable, so you pick him up and get out of -here, and don't you ever come here again. Do you understand that? If you -do, I'm going to show you how I treat skunks. Y' understand?" - -Involuntarily Mr. Briggles put up his elbow as if to ward off a blow, -and Buddy clung the tighter to Mrs. Potter's skirt. The ex-minister -reached out his hand for the child, and Buddy turned and ran. - -Mr. Briggles did not run after him. He stood staring at the child. "I -don't want that boy," he said. "I don't want him. I couldn't do anything -with that boy. He's a cripple!" - -Buddy, stopping at the head of the incline, gazed, wide-eyed from one to -the other. - -Didn't anybody want a boy that was lame? "I got _one_ good foot," he -said boastingly. And suddenly Mrs. Potter's strong, work-muscled arms -gathered Buddy up and held him close to her breast, so that one of the -sharp buttons of her coat made him shake his head and forget the angry -tears he had been ready to shed. - -"I want him!" she cried, her eyes blazing. "I'll take him, you--you--" - -No one knew what she would have called Mr. Briggles, for with an -unexpectedness that made Mr. Briggles's teeth snap together George Rapp -shut an iron hand on the back of his neck, and bumped a knee into Mr. -Briggles from behind so vigorously as to lift him off his feet. With the -terrible knee bumping him at every step, Mr. Briggles was rushed down -the incline with a haste that carried him entirely across the street and -left him gasping and trembling against a tool box alongside the railway -tracks. George Rapp returned wiping his hands in his coat skirts as if -he had just been handling a snake, or some other slimy creature. - -"Now we got done with pleasure," he said with a laugh, "we'll talk -business. Do you want that colt, or don't you, Mrs. Potter?" - - - - -XVI. JAIL UNCLES - - -THE county jail stood back of the courthouse, on Maple Street, and was -a three-story brick building, flush with the sidewalk, with barred -windows. To the right was the stone-yard where, when the sheriff -was having good trade, you could hear the slow tapping of hammers on -limestone as the victims of the law pounded rock, breaking the large -stones into road metal. As a factory the prisoners did not seem to care -whether they reached a normal output of cracked rock or not. - -Seated on a folded gunny-sack laid upon a smooth stone in this yard, -Booge was receiving justice at the hands of the law. He pulled a rough -piece of limestone toward him, turned it over eight or ten times to -find the point of least resistance, settled the stone snugly into the -limestone chips, and--yawned. Eight or ten minutes later, feeling chilly -and cramped in the arms, he raised his hammer and let it fall on the -rock, and--yawned! The other prisoners--there were five in all--worked -at the same breathless pace. - -The stone-yard was protected from the vulgar gaze of the outer slaves of -business and labor by a tall board fence, notable as the only fence -of any size in Riverbank that never bore circus posters on its outer -surface. Several times within the memory of man there had been "jail -deliveries" from the stone-yard. In each case the delivery had been -effected in the same manner. The escaping prisoner climbed over the -fence and went away. One such renegade, recaptured, told why he -had fled. "I won't stay in no hotel," he said, "where they've got -cockroaches in the soup. If this here sheriff don't brace up, there -won't none of us patronize his durn hotel next winter." - -Peter, enveloped in his blanket serape, pulled the knob of the door-bell -of the jail and waited. He heard the bell gradually cease jangling, and -presently he heard feet in the corridor, and the door opened. - -"Well, what do you want?" asked the sheriff's wife. "If you want Ed, he -ain't here. You'll have to come back." - -"I've come to give myself up," said Peter. "My name's Peter Lane." - -"Well, it don't make any difference what your name is," said Mrs. -Stevens flatly. "You can't give yourself up to me, and that's all there -is to it. Every time the weather turns cold a lot of you fellows come -around and give yourselves up, and I'm sick and tired of it. I won't -take another one of you unless you 're arrested in a proper manner. Half -the time Ed can't collect the board money. If you want to get in here -you go down to the calaboose and get arrested in the right way." - -"But I'm sort of looked for here," said Peter. "Joe Venby knows I'm -coming here, and if Ed was here--" - -"Oh, if Ed was here, he'd feed you for nothing, I dare say!" said Mrs. -Stevens. "He's the easiest creature I ever see. If it wasn't for me he'd -lose money on this jail right along." - -"Can't I come in and wait for Ed?" asked Peter. "I ought to stay here -when I'm wanted. I don't want Ed or Joe to think I'd play a trick on -them." - -"You can't come in!" said Mrs. Stevens. "The last man that come and gave -himself up to me stole a shell box off my what-not, and I won't have -that happen again. You can come back after a while." - -"Can't you let me wait in the stone-yard?" asked Peter. - -"See here!" said the sheriff's wife. "I'm busy getting a meal, and I've -no time to stand talking. Ed locked them boarders in the yard when he -went away, and he took the key. If you want to get into that stone-yard, -you'll have to climb over the fence, and that's all there is to it. I -have no time to fritter away talking." - -She slammed the door in Peter's face, and Peter turned away. The fence -was high but Peter was agile, and he scrambled up and managed to throw -one leg over, and thus reached the top. - -"Come on in," Booge's gruff voice greeted him, and Peter looked down to -see the tramp immediately below him. - -"They got Buddy," said Peter, as he dropped to the ground inside the -fence. - -"Did, hey?" said Booge, stretching his arms. "I was sort of in hopes -you'd kill that old kazoozer, if you had to. I don't like him. He's -the feller that married me and Lize, and I ain't ever forgive him. One -Merdin was enough in a town. I was all of that name the world ought to -have had in it--" - -"Merdin?" said Peter. "Is that your name?" - -"Why, sure, it is. Didn't I ever tell you?" asked Booge. "No, I guess I -didn't. Come to think of it, it wasn't important what _you_ called me, -and Buddy sort of clung to 'Booge.' Where is the little feller?" - -"Your name's Merdin? And your wife was Lize Merdin?" repeated Peter, -staring at the tramp. "Is that so?" - -"Cross my heart. If you want me to, I'll sing it for you." - -"Booge," said Peter soberly, "she's dead. Your wife is dead." - -The tramp was serious now. "Lize is dead?" he asked. "Honest, Peter?" - -"She's dead," Peter repeated. "She died in my boat. She come there one -awful stormy night, and she died there. She was run out of Derlingport, -and she died, and I buried her." - -Booge put down his stone-hammer and for a full minute stared at the -chapped and soiled hands on his knees. Then he shook his head. - -"Ain't that peculiar? Ain't that odd?" he said. "Lize dead, and she -died in your boat, and--why!" he cried suddenly, "Buddy 's my boy, ain't -he?" - -"Yes," said Peter, "he's your boy." - -"Ain't that queer! Ain't that strange!" Booge repeated, shaking his -bushy head. "Ain't that odd? And Buddy was my boy all the time! And he's -a nice little feller, too, ain't he? He's a real nice little feller. -Ain't that odd!" - -He still shook his head as he picked up the hammer. He struck the rock -before him several listless blows. - -"I wonder if Lize told you what become of Susie?" he asked. - -"I know what become of her," said Peter. "Briggles got her, too. She's -with a--with a lady in town here." He could not bring himself to tell -the imprisoned man what the lady was in reality. - -"That's fine," said Booge, laughing mirthlessly. "I knowed all along I'd -bring up my family first-class. All we needed to make our home a regular -'God-bless-er' was for me to get far enough away, and for some one to -get the kids away from Lize. Do you know, Peter, I feel sort of sorry -for Lize, too. That's funny, ain't it?" - -"Not if she was your wife, it ain't," said Peter. - -"Yes, it is," Booge insisted. "A man don't feel sorry for a wife like -that. Generally he's glad when she's gone, but I sort of feel like Lize -didn't have a fair show.. She was real bright. If I hadn't married her, -she'd probably have worked her way over to Chicago and got in a chorus, -or blackmailed some rich feller, but I was a handicap to her right -along. She couldn't be out-and-out whole-souled bad when she was a -married lady. She'd just get started, and begin whooping things, when -she'd remember she was a wife and a mother and all that, and she'd lose -her nerve. She never got real bad, and she never got real good. I guess -I stood in her way too much." - -"You mean you wasn't one thing or the other?" asked Peter. - -"Yep! That's why I went away, when I did go," said Booge. "I seen Lize -wasn't happy, and I wasn't happy, so I went. The sight of me just made -her miserable. She'd come in after being away a week or so, and she'd -moan out how wicked she was, and how good I was, and that she was going -to reform for my sake, and she'd be unhappy for a month--all regrets -and sorrow and punishing herself--and then I'd take my turn and get on a -spree, and when I come back, she'd be gone. Then she'd come back and -go through the whole thing once more. It was real torture for her. She -never fig-gered that my kind of bad was as bad as her kind of bad. I -never gave her no help to stay straight, either. I guess what I'd ought -to have done was to whack her over the head with an ax handle when she -come back, or give her a black eye, but I didn't have no real stamina. I -was a fool that way." - -"I don't see why you married her," said simple Peter. - -"Well, I was a fool that way, too," said Booge. "She seemed so young and -all, to be throwed out by her mother and father, so I just married her -because nobody else offered to, as you might say, to give her baby -some sort of a dad when it come. It didn't get much of a sort of a dad, -either, when it got me. - -"Then you ain't Susie's pa?" asked Peter. - -"Lord, no!" - -"And Buddy?" - -"Oh, yes! And ain't he a nice little feller? Seems like he's got all -Lize's and my good in him, don't it, and none of our bad? And to think I -was there with him all the time, and you didn't even like me to be uncle -to him! I wonder--Peter, if you ever see him again, just tell him his -dad's dead, will you, Peter?". - -"If you want I should, Booge," said Peter reluctantly. - -"Yes! And tell him some sort of story about his poor but honest parents. -Tell him I was a traveling man and got killed in a wreck. Tell him I -had a fine voice to sing with, or some little thing like that, so he -can remember it. A little kid likes to remember things like that when he -grows up and misses the folks he ought to have." - -"I'll tell him you were always kind to him, for so you was--in my boat," -said Peter. - -"I'll tell him that when he was a little fellow you used to sing him to -sleep." - -"Yes, something like that," said Booge, and went on breaking rock. -Suddenly he looked up. "I wonder if it would do any good for me to give -you a paper saying you are to have all my rights in him? I don't know -that I've got any, but I'd sort of like to have you have Buddy." - -They talked of this for some time, and it was agreed that when Booge had -served his term and was released he was to sign such a paper before a -notary and leave it with George Rapp, and they were still discussing the -possibility of such a paper being of any value when the door of the jail -opened and the sheriff came into the stone-yard. - -"Hello, Peter!" he said. "My wife tells me you want to see me. What's -the trouble?" - -Peter explained. - -"Well, I'm sorry I've got to turn you out," said the sheriff -regretfully. "I've got the jail so full you mightn't be comfortable -anyway, and I've taken in about all I can afford to take on speculation. -I'd like to keep you, but I don't see how I can do it, Peter. I don't -make enough feeding you fellows to take any risk on not getting paid. I -guess you'll have to get out." - -"But I'm guilty, Ed," said Peter. "I guess I am, anyway." - -"Can't help it!" said the sheriff firmly. "I don't know nothing about -that. If you want to come to jail, you've got to be served with papers -in the regular way. The city don't O. K. my bills hit-or-miss no more. -I guess you'll have to get out. I can't run the risk of keeping you on -your own say-so." - -"If you say so, Ed," said Peter. "If anything comes up, you'll know I've -tried to get into jail, anyway. What should you say I ought to do?" - -"What you _ought_ to do," said the sheriff, "is to go home and wait -until somebody comes and arrests you in proper shape." - -"I'll do so, if you say so, Ed," said Peter. "I'm living in George -Rapp's house-boat, down at Big Tree Lake, and if you want me, I'll be -there. I'll wait 'til you come." - -He shook Booge's hand and the sheriff unlocked the gate of the -stone-yard, and Peter passed out into the cold world. - - - - -XVII. FUNNY CATS - - -PETER avoided the main street, for he was aware he was a curious sight -in his blanket serape, and it was too comfortable to throw away, and, -in addition, would be his only bed clothing when he reached his boat. He -hurried along Oak Street as less frequented than the main street, for -he had almost the entire length of the town to pass through. As it was -growing late he was anxious to strike the bluff road in time to catch a -ride with some homeward-bound farmer. His bag of provisions was still at -the farmer's on the hillside; the shanty-boat awaited him, and he must -take up his life where it had been interrupted. For the present he was -powerless to aid either Susie or Buddy. - -Peter had a long walk before him if he did not catch a ride, and -he started briskly, but in front of the Baptist Church he paused. A -bulletin board stood before the door calling attention to a sale to -be held in the Sunday-school room, and the heading of the announcement -caught his eye. "All For The Children," it said. It seemed that there -were poor children in the town--children with insufficient clothes, -children with no shoes, children without underwear, and a sale was to -be held for them; candy, cakes, fancy work, toys and all the usual -Christmas-time church sale articles were enumerated. Peter read the -bulletin, and passed on. - -He was successful in catching a ride, and found his sack of provisions -at the farmer's and carried it to the boat on his back. The boat was as -he had left it, and little damage had been done during his absence. The -river had fallen and his temporary mooring rope--too taut to permit -the strain--had snapped, but the shanty-boat had grounded and was safe -locked in the ice until spring. Inside the cabin not a thing had been -touched. The shavings still lay on the floor where they had fallen while -he was making Buddy's last toy, and the toys themselves were under the -bunk just as he had left them. Peter felt a pang of loneliness as he -gathered them up and placed them on his table with the new stockings and -the A. B. C. blocks. He put the new "Bibel" on the clock-shelf. - -The toys made quite an array, and Peter looked at them one by one, -thinking of the child. There were more than a dozen of them--all sorts -of animals--and they still bore the marks of Buddy's fingers. It was -quite dark by the time Peter had stowed away his provisions, and he -lighted the lamp, with a newly formed resolution in his mind. He dropped -the A. B. C. blocks into the depths of his gunny-sack and, looking at -each for the last time, let the crudely carved animals follow, one by -one. He held the funny cat in his hand quite a while, hesitatingly, and -then set it on the clock-shelf beside the Bible, but almost immediately -he took it down again and dropped it among its fellows in the sack. The -Bible, too, he took from the shelf and put in the sack, and, last of -all, he added the few bits of clothing Buddy had left in his flight. He -tied the neck of the sack firmly with seine twine and set it under the -table. All his mementos of Buddy were in that sack, and Peter, with a -sigh, chose a clean piece of maple wood, seated himself on the edge of -the bunk, and began whittling a kitchen spoon. Once more he was alone; -once more he was a hermit; once more he was a mere jack-knife man, and -Buddy was but a memory. - -Peter tried to put even the memory out of his mind, but that was not as -easy as putting toys in a gunny-sack. If he tried to think of painting -the boat, he had to think of George Rapp, and then he could think of -nothing but the hasty parting in Rapp's barn and how the soft kinks of -Buddy's hair snuggled under the rough blanket hood. If he tried to think -of wooden spoons he thought of funny cats. And if he tried to think of -nothing he caught Booge's nonsense rhymes running through his head and -saw Buddy clinging eagerly to Booge's knee and begging, "Sing it again, -Booge, sing it again." - -"Thunder!" he exclaimed at last, "I wisht I had that clock to take -apart." - -He put the unfinished spoon aside and, choosing another piece of maple -wood, began whittling a funny cat, singing, "Go tell the little baby, -the baby, the baby," as he worked. It was late when his eyelids drooped -and he wrapped himself in his blanket. Three more cats had been added to -the animals in the gunny-sack. - -"Some little kid like Buddy'll like them," he thought with satisfaction, -and dropped asleep. - -Early the next morning he tramped across the "bottom" to the farmer's. - -"You said you was going to town to-day," Peter said, "and I thought -maybe you'd leave this sack at the Baptist Church for me, if it ain't -too much out of your way. It's some old truck I won't have any use for, -and I took notice they were having a sale there today. You don't need to -say anything. Just hand it in." - -Before the farmer could ask him in to have breakfast Peter had -disappeared toward the wood-yard, and when, later, he started for town -he could hear Peter's saw. - -At the Baptist Church the farmer left the sack. A dozen or more women -were busily arranging for the sale, and one of them took the sack, -holding it well out from her skirt. - -"For our sale? How nice!" she cried in the excited tone women acquire -when a number of them are working together in a church. "Who are we to -thank for it?" - -"Oh, I guess there ain't no thanks necessary," said the farmer. "I guess -you won't find it much. I just brought it along because I promised I -would. It's from a shanty-boatman down my way--Lane 's his name--Peter -Lane." - -"Oh," said the woman, her voice losing much of its enthusiasm. "Yes, I -know who he is. He's the jack-knife man. Tell him Mrs. Vandyne thanks -him; it is very kind of him to think of us." - -"All right! Gedap!" - -Mrs. Vandyne carried the sack into the Sunday school room and snipped -the twine with her scissors, which hung from her belt on a pink ribbon. -She was a charming little woman, with bright eyes and rosy cheeks, and -she was the more excited this afternoon because she had been able to -bring her friend and visitor, Mrs. Montgomery, and Mrs. Montgomery was -making a real impression. Mrs. Montgomery was from New York, and just -how wealthy and socially important she was at home every one knew, and -yet she mingled with the ladies quite as if she was one of them. And not -only that, but she had ideas. Her manner of arranging the apron table, -as she had once arranged one for the Actors' Fair, was enough to show -she was no common person. Already her ideas had quite changed the -old cut and dried arrangements. At her request ladies were constantly -running out to buy rolls of crêpe paper and other inexpensive decorative -accessories, and the dull gray room was blossoming into a fairy garden. - -"And when you come to-night, I want each of you to wear a huge bow of -crêpe paper on your hair, and--what have you there, Jane?" - -Mrs. Montgomery, although beyond her fortieth year, had the fresh and -youthfully bright face of a girl of eighteen. She was one of those -splendidly large women who retain a vivid interest in life and all its -details, and Mrs. Vandyne, who was smaller and lesser in every way, was -her Riverbank counterpart. - -"Nothing much," Mrs. Vandyne answered, dipping her hand into the sack. -"But it was kind of the man to send what he could. Wooden spoons, I -suppose. Well, will you look at this, Anna?" - -It was one of the "funny cats." Mrs. Vandyne held it up, that all the -ladies might see. - -"How _perfectly_ ridiculous!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilcox. "What _do_ you -suppose it was meant to be? _Do_ you suppose it is a bear?" - -"Or an otter, or something?" asked Mrs. Ferguson. "Oh, I know! It's a -squirrel. Did you ever see anything so--so ridiculous!" - -The ladies, all except Mrs. Montgomery, laughed gleefully at the funny -cat Buddy had hugged and loved. - -"We might get a dime for it, anyway, Alice," said one. "Are there any -more? They will help fill the toy table. Do you think they would spoil -the toy table, Mrs. Montgomery?" - -The New Yorker had taken the cat in her hand, and Mrs. Vandyne was -standing one after another of Peter's toys on the table. - -"Spoil it!" exclaimed Mrs. Montgomery enthusiastically. "I have not seen -anything so naïve since I was in Russia. It is like the Russian peasant -toys, but different, too. It has a character of its own. Oh, how -charming!" - -She had seized another of the funny animals. - -"But what _is_ it?" asked Mrs. Wilcox. - -"Mercy! I don't know what it _is_," laughed Mrs. Montgomery. "What does -that matter? You can call it a cat--it looks something like a cat--yes! -I'm sure it is a cat. Or a squirrel. That doesn't matter. Can't you see -that no one but a master impressionist could have done them? Just see -how he has done it all with a dozen quick turns of his--his--" - -"Jack-knife," Mrs. Vandyne supplied. "_Do_ you think they are worth -anything, Alice?" - -"Worth anything?" exclaimed Mrs. Montgomery. "My dear, they are worth -anything you want to ask for them. Really, they are little masterpieces. -Can't you see how refreshing they are, after all the painted and prim -toys we see in the shops? Just look at this funny frog, or whatever it -is." - -The ladies all laughed. - -"You see," said Mrs. Montgomery, "you can't help laughing at it. The man -that made it has humor, and he has art and--and untrammeled vision, and -really the most wonderful technique." - -Peter Lane and the technique of a jack-knife! - -The ladies of the Baptist Aid Society were too surprised to gasp. -The enthusiasm of Mrs. Montgomery took their breath away, and Mrs. -Montgomery was not loth to speak still more, with a discoverer's natural -pride in her discovery. She examined one toy after another, and her -enthusiasm grew, and infected the other women. They, too, began to see -the charm of Peter's handiwork and to glimpse what Mrs. Montgomery had -seen clearly: that the toys were the result of a frank, humorous, boyish -imagination combined with a man's masterly sureness of touch. Here was -no jig-saw, paper-patterned, conventional German or French slopshop toy, -daubed over with ill-smelling paint. She tried to tell the ladies -this, and being in New York the president of several important art and -literary and musical societies, she succeeded. - -"We must ask twenty-five cents apiece for them," said Mrs. Ferguson. - -"Oh! twenty-five cents! A dollar at least," said Mrs. Montgomery. "The -work of an artist. Don't you see it is not the intrinsic value but the -art the people will pay for?" - -"But do you think Riverbank will pay a dollar for art?" asked Mrs. -Vandyne. - -Mrs. Montgomery glanced over the toys. "I will pay a dollar apiece for -all of them, and be glad to get them," she said. "I feel--I feel as if -this alone made my trip to Riverbank worth while. You have no idea -what it will mean to go home and take with me anything so new and -unconventional. I shall be famous, I assure you, as the discoverer of--" - -"His name is Peter Lane," said Mrs. Vandyne. "He is one of the -shanty-boatmen that live on the river. A little, mildly-blue-eyed man; -a sort of hermit. They call him the Jack-knife Man, because he whittles -wooden spoons and peddles them." - -"Oh, he _will_ be a success!" cried Mrs. Montgomery. "Even his name is -delicious. Peter Lane! Isn't it old-fashioned and charming? Peter Lane, -the Jack-knife Man! How many of these toys may I have, Anna?" - -"I want one!" said Mrs. Wilcox promptly, and before the ladies were -through, Mrs. Montgomery had to insist that she be permitted to claim -two of the toys by her right as discoverer. - -Later, as they went homeward for supper, Mrs. Vandyne gave a happy -little laugh. - -"That was splendid, Alice," she said. "To think you were able to _make_ -them pay a dollar apiece for those awful toys!" - -"Awful!" exclaimed Mrs. Montgomery. "My dear, I meant every word I said. -You will see! Your Peter Lane is going to make me famous yet!" - -That evening, while Peter sat in his shanty-boat, lonely and thinking of -Buddy as he whittled a spoon, Mrs. Montgomery stood, tall and imposing -and sweet-faced, behind the toy table on which all of Buddy's toys -stood with "Sold" tags strung on them, and told about Peter Lane, the -Jack-knife Man. - -"I'm very sorry," she said time after time, "but they are all sold. -We do not know yet whether we can persuade the Jack-knife Man to make -duplicates, but we will take your order subject to his whim, if you -wish. We cannot promise anything definite. Artists are so notably -irresponsible." - -But there was one voice which, had Peter been able to hear it, would -have set him making jack-knife toys on the instant. While the ladies of -the Baptist Church were exclaiming over the toys in the Sunday school -room a small boy with freckles and white, kinky hair, was leaning on -the knee of a harsh-faced woman in a white farm house three miles up the -river-road. - -"Auntie Potter," he said longingly, "I wish Uncle Peter would come and -make me a funny cat." - -"If he don't," said Mrs. Potter with great vigor, "he's a wuthless -scamp." - - - - -XVIII. MORE FUNNY CATS - - -NEW YORK, being a great mill that grinds off rough corners and operates, -as it seems, for no other purpose than to make each New York inhabitant -and each New York creation a facsimile of every other New York -inhabitant and creation, loves those who introduce the quaint, the -strange and the outlandish--which is to say, anything not after the -conventional New York model. Women have become rich with the discovery -of a rag rug or a corn-husk door-mat. - -To Mrs. Montgomery the trip to Peter Lane's shanty-boat was a path to -fame. Her quick perception grasped every detail and saw its value or, to -put it most crudely, its advertising potency. As she, with Mr. and Mrs. -Vandyne, whirled down the smooth bluff road in the Vandyne barouche, she -said: "Anna, I do wish we could have come in an ox-cart, or a-straddle -little donkeys, or in a hay-wagon, at least." - -"My dear! Isn't this comfortable enough?" - -"Oh, I was thinking of my talk before the Arts and Crafts Club. It makes -such a difference. It is so conventional to be taken in a carriage. -And probably I'll find your Peter Lane just an ordinary man, and his -shanty-boat nothing but a common houseboat." - -But when the carriage ran into the farmer's yard--it was Sunday--and the -farmer volunteered to show the route to Peter's shanty-boat, and warned -Mrs. Montgomery, after a glance at her handsome furs, that it would be -a rough tramp, her spirits rose again. Perhaps there would be some local -color after all. The event fully satisfied her. - -In single file they tramped the long path to the boat, stooping under -low boughs, climbing over fallen tree trunks, dipping into hollows. -Rabbits turned and stared at them and scurried away. Great grapevine -swings hung from the water elms, and when the broad expanse of Big Tree -Lake came into view Mrs. Montgomery stood still and absorbed the scene. -It represented absolute loneliness--acres of waving rice straw, acres of -snow-covered ice and, close under the bank, the low, squat shanty-boat -overshadowed by the leafless willows. It was a romantic setting for her -hermit. - -The farmer had brought them by the shorter route, so that they had to -cross the lake, and Peter, gathering driftwood, was amazed to see the -procession issue from the rice and come toward him across the lake. - -"That's Peter," said the farmer. "He acts like he didn't expect -comp'ny." - -Peter was standing at the edge of the willows, his arms full of -driftwood, the gray blanket serape with its brilliant red stripes -hanging to his ankles, and a home-made blanket cap pulled down over his -ears. He stood like a statue until they reached him, then doffed his cap -politely, and Mrs. Montgomery saw his eyes and knew this was the artist. - -"I guess you'd better step inside my boat, if it's big enough," said -Peter, "but it's sort of mussy. Maybe you'd like to wait out here 'til I -sweep out. I been whittlin' all morning." - -"We will go in just as it is," said Mrs. Montgomery promptly. "I want to -see where you work, just as it is when you work." - -Peter looked at her with surprise. - -"You ain't mistook in the man you're lookin' for, are you, ma'am?" He -asked. "I'm Peter Lane. I don't work in this boat. Lately I've been -workin' up at the farmer's, sawin' wood." - -Mrs. Montgomery laughed delightedly, and Peter, looking into her eyes, -grinned. He liked this large, wholesome woman. - -"You are the man!" said Mrs. Montgomery gaily. "And since Mrs. Vandyne -won't introduce me, I'll introduce myself." - -Peter was justified in his doubts regarding the capacity of his boat, -and the farmer, after trying to feel comfortable inside, went out -and sat on the edge of the deck. The shavings on the floor, the -wooden-spoons (there were but three or four), the boat itself--when -she learned Peter had built it himself--all delighted her. She asked -innumerable questions that would have been impertinent but for her -kindly smile, and she was delighted when she learned that Peter had but -one blanket, which was his coat by day and his bed-clothing by night. -But more than all else she liked Peter's kindly eyes. She explained, in -detail, the object of their visit, and Peter listened politely. - -"It's right kind of you to come down so far," he said when he had heard, -"but I guess I'll have to refuse you, Mrs. Montgomery. I don't seem to -have no desire to make no more funny toys. I guess I won't." - -"I can understand the feeling perfectly," said Mrs. Montgomery, too wise -to try coaxing. "You have an artist's reluctance to undertake for pay -what you have done for pleasure only." - -"It ain't that," said Peter. "I just whittled out them toys for a little -feller I had here, because he used to laugh at them. That's all I done -it for, and since he ain't here to laugh, it don't seem as if I could -get the grin into them. I don't know as I can explain; I don't know as -you could understand if I did--" - -"But I _do_, I _do_," said Mrs. Montgomery eagerly. "You mean you lack the -sympathetic audience." - -"Maybe so," said Peter doubtfully. "What I do mean is, that I'd miss the -look in his eyes and how he quirked up his mouth whilst I was -cutting out a toy. Maybe it looks to you like this hand and this old -whetted-down jack-knife was what made them toys, but that ain't so! No, -ma'am! All I done was to take a piece of maple wood and start things -going. 'This is going to be a cat, Buddy,' I'd say, maybe, and he'd -sparkle up at me and say, 'A funny old cat, Uncle Peter!' and then it -had got to be a funny old cat, like he said. And his eyes and his mouth -would tell me just how funny to make that cat, and just how funny not to -make it. He sort of seen each whittle before I seen it myself, and told -me how to make it by the look of his eyes and the way his mouth sort of -_felt_ for it until I got it just right. And then he would laugh. So you -see, now that Buddy's gone, I couldn't--no, I guess I couldn't!" - -"And you made no more after Buddy--after he left?" - -"He didn't die," said Peter, "if that's what you mean. He was took away. -Yes'm. I did make a couple. I made a couple more cats to put in the -gunny-sack. But that was because I sort of saw Buddy a sittin' there on -the floor, even when he was gone." - -"But don't you see," cried Mrs. Montgomery eagerly, "that you can always -see Buddy? Don't you know there are hundreds of other Buddys--boys -and girls--all over the country, and that, as you work, a man of your -imagination can _feel_ their eyes and smiling mouths guiding your hand -and your knife? _They_ want your 'funny cats,' too, Mr. Lane. Don't -you see that you could sit here in your lonely boat, and have all the -children of America clustered about your knee?" - -"Yes, I do sort of see it," said Peter, "but it's a thing I'm liable -to forget any time." - -"But you must not forget it!" exclaimed Mrs. Montgomery. "Your work is -too rare, too valuable to permit you to forget How many artists, do you -suppose, are, like the musicians, able to draw their inspiration face to -face from their audiences? Very few, Mr. Lane. Do you suppose a Dickens -was able to have those for whom he wrote crowded in his workroom? And -yet those he worked to please guided his pen. He heard the laughs and -saw the tears and was guided by them as he chose the words that were to -cause the laughs and tears. You, too, can see the children's faces." - -She paused, for she saw in Peter's eyes that he understood and agreed. - -"But then there's another reason I can't whittle more toys," he said. -"I've got about thirty more cords of wood to saw this winter." - -"But that is not like you!" said Mrs. Montgomery reproachfully. "You -see I know you, Mr. Lane! You are not the man to saw wood when all the -Buddys are eager for your toys." - -"It ain't like me usually," admitted Peter. "I don't know who's been -telling you about me, but usually I don't do any work I don't have -to, and that's a fact, but certain circumstances--" he hesitated. "You -didn't know why they took Buddy away from me, did you? I wasn't fit -to keep him. I was like a certain woman was always tellin' me, I -guess--shiftless and no-'count--so they took Buddy. And I guess they -were right. But I've changed. It's going to take some time, but I'm -going to make money, and I'm going to be like other folks, and I'm going -to get Buddy back. So you see," he said, after this outburst, "I've got -to saw wood. If it wasn't for that I'd be right eager to make toys for -all the kids you speak of. It would be a pleasure. But I've got to make -some money." - -Mrs. Montgomery stared at him. "You don't mean to tell me--" she began. -"You don't mean to say you thought I wanted you to give up everything -and make toys for _nothing?_" - -"Why, yes," said Peter. - -"But, my dear Mr. _Lane!_" exclaimed Mrs. Montgomery. "I do believe I -almost persuaded you to do it!" She laughed joyously. "Oh, you _are_ a -true artist! Why, you can make many, many times as much money whittling -jack-knife toys as you could make sawing wood! You can hire your own -wood sawed." - -She descended to details and told him what he could sell the toys for; -how she would tell of them in New York and interest a few dealers. - -"You'll be working for Buddy all the while you are working for the other -Buddys," she ended, "making the home you want while you make the toys -that will make little children happy." - -"That's so," agreed Peter eagerly, and her battle was won. The rest was -mere detail--her address in New York, prices, samples, Peter's address, -and other similar matters. The farmer was willing enough to hunt another -man to saw his wood. Mrs. Vandyne placed the orders with which she had -been commissioned by the Baptist ladies; Mr. Vandyne--the cashier of the -First National Bank--actually shook Peter's hand in farewell, and Peter -was alone again. - -When the voices of his visitors had died in the distance he lifted the -mattress of his bunk and felt under it with his hand until he found a -round, soft ball. He unrolled it and smoothed it out--Buddy's old, worn -stockings, out at knees and toes. - -"There, now," he said, hanging them on a nail under his clock-shelf, "I -guess I ain't afraid to have you look me in the face now." - -"What happened to the child he mentioned?" Mrs. Montgomery asked when -she was snugly rug-enwrapped in the barouche once more. - -"I think some society took it," Mrs. Van-dyne answered. "I'll have Jim -look it up. No doubt Jim can have the boy returned to Peter Lane." - -"I'll do what I can," said Mr. Vandyne, but Mrs. Montgomery was silent -while the carriage traveled a full mile. - -"I wouldn't!" she said at last "No, I wouldn't! You might see that the -boy is where he is properly cared for, but I think it will be best to -let the Jack-knife Man earn the boy himself. I know what he has been, -and I can see what he hopes to be. If he could step outside himself and -see as we see, he would say what I say. The best thing for him is to -have something to work for." - -"He could work for money, like the rest of us," suggested Mr. Vandyne. - -"Oh, you utter Philistine!" cried Mrs. Montgomery. "You must wait until -he gets the habit, and then--!" - -"Then what?" - -"Then he will have a bank-book," laughed Mrs. Montgomery. - -***** - -The winter passed rapidly enough for Peter. Between the stockings, and -the vision of the children Mrs. Montgomery had conjured up, and his -eagerness to win a home for Buddy, Peter worked as faithfully as an -artist should, and he made many raids on the farmer's wood-pile to -secure dry, well-seasoned, maple wood. - -When the vision of Buddy's eyes grew dim Peter was always able to bring -it back by humming Booge's song, and before the winter was over Peter -had crowded his clock shelf with toys and had constructed another shelf, -which was filling rapidly, for while he made many duplicates he kept one -of each for Buddy--"Buddy's menagerie," he called them. Thus he kept -his own interest alive, too, for when it flagged he made a new animal, -making it as he thought Buddy would like it made and so that it would -bring that happy "Ho! ho! _That's_ a funny old squ'arl, Uncle Peter." - -One letter Peter wrote, soon after the visit to his boat, which was to -Mrs. Vandyne. It brought this answer: "My husband called at the place -you mentioned, but the little girl is there no longer. I can find no -trace of her. Mr. Briggles, I understand, has had to leave this state -and no one knows where he is." - -Peter had no time to go to town. Mrs. Montgomery had been as good as her -word, and had, on her return to New York in midseason, introduced the -"Peter Lane Jack-Knife Toys" to her Arts and Crafts Club, and to two of -those small shops on the Avenue that seem so inconspicuous and yet -are known to every one. The toys, after their first few weeks as a -fashionable fad, settled into a vogue and James Vandyne, whom Mrs. -Montgomery had wisely asked to act as Peter's agent, received letters -from other shops, and from wholesalers, asking for them. The toys were, -of course, almost immediately counterfeited by other dealers, and it was -Vandyne who wisely secured copyrights on Peter's models, and who, later -in the winter, sent Peter a small branding-iron with which he could burn -his autograph on each toy. - -Peter's farmer friend stopped at the bank on each trip to town, -delivering the toys, which Vandyne tagged and turned over to the express -company. The farmer brought back such supplies as Peter had commissioned -him to buy. The entire business was crude and unsystematic, even to -Peter's method of packing the toys in hay and sewing the parcels in -gunny-sacking, but it all served. It was naïve. - -When the ice in the river went out, and that in Big Tree Lake softened -and honeycombed, Peter put aside his jack-knife for a few days and -repaired the old duck-blind that had been Booge's damp and temporary -home, and built two more, knowing George Rapp and his friends would be -down before long. He built two more bunks in the narrow shanty-boat and -cleared a tent space on the highest ground near the boat, constructing a -platform four feet above the ground, in case the high water should come -with the ducks. All this put a temporary close to his toy-making, but -Peter was ready for Rapp when the first flock of ducks dropped into -the lake, and that night he sent the farmer's hired man to town with a -message to Rapp. Late the next evening Rapp and his two friends found -Peter waiting for them at the road, and the best part of the night was -spent getting the provisions and duck-boats to the slough. The four men -dropped asleep the instant they touched their beds, and it was not -until the next morning, when Peter was cooking breakfast that he had an -opportunity to ask a question that had been in his mind. - -"George," he said, "you didn't ever hear where they took Buddy to, did -you?" - -Rapp looked up, and stared at Peter until the match with which he had -been lighting his pipe burned his fingers, and he snapped them with -pain. - -"Do you mean to tell me you don't know where that boy is?" he asked. -"Well--I'll--be--Petered! Why, Mrs. Potter's got him!" - -Peter was holding a plate, but he was quick, and he caught it before it -struck the floor. - -"I--I caught that one," he said in silly fashion. - -"You're going to catch something else when Widow Potter sees you," said -George Rapp. - - - - -XIX. PETER GOES TO TOWN - - -ONE DAY, if we saw a woman gowned as Mrs. Montgomery was gowned when she -visited Riverbank, we would laugh her to ridicule, but the toys Peter -Lane whittled that winter are still admired for their design and -execution. There is a collection of them in the rooms of the Riverbank -Historical Society. We laugh, too, when we see photographs of Main -Street as it was when Peter came to town after his winter on Big Tree -Lake, with the mud almost hub deep. That was before the new banks were -built or the brick-paving laid, and Main Street was a ragged, ill-kept -thoroughfare, with none of the city airs it has since donned. But as -Peter stepped out of the First National Bank, and stood for a minute -on the steps in the warm spring sunshine, the street looked like an old -friend, and this was the more odd because it had never looked like a -friend before. - -Jim Vandyne had just cashed the checks and money orders Peter had -accumulated during the winter. They were for small amounts--a few -dollars each--and not until the cashier had pushed the pile of crisp -bills under the wicket, mentioning the amount, did happy-go-lucky Peter -realize how much his winter earnings had amounted to. - -"Quite a lot of money," Jim had said. "How would you like to open -an account?" and Peter had opened his first bank account. The warm, -leather-bound bank-book now reposed in his pocket. Peter could feel it -pressing against him, and he could feel the extra bulge the check-book -made in his hip pocket. He felt like a serf raised to knighthood, with -armor protecting him against harm. As he stood there, Mr. Howard, the -bank's president, came briskly down the street. He was a short, chubby -man, and he had always nodded cheerfully to Peter, but now he stopped -and extended his hand. - -"How do you do!" he said cheerfully. "Jim Vandyne has been telling me -what you have been doing this winter. Glad to know you are making a go -of it." - -It was not much. The bank president was not a great bank president, -and the bank was not much of a bank--as great banks go--and he had -not, after all, said much, but it made Peter's brown cheeks glow. Bank -presidents do not often stop to shake hands with shanty-boatmen, nor do -they pause to congratulate them, although the bank president may be an -infernal rascal and the shanty-boatman a moral king. But Peter did not -philosophize. He knew that if enough bank presidents shake the hand -of an ex-shanty-boatman the world will consider the shanty-boatman -respectable enough to raise one freckle-faced, kinky-headed little waif -of a boy. - -Peter raised his head higher than ever, and he had always held it high. -He was a man, like other men, now. He could, if he wished, build another -shanty-boat. He could _hire_ it built. He could rent a house and put -a carpet on the parlor floor. He could say he was going to Florida and -people would believe him. He could--buy a suit of clothes! A whole, -complete, entire suit, vest and all! It had been years and years since -he could do that, and when he had been able to do it he had always spent -the money otherwise. Now he crossed the street and entered the Riverbank -Clothing Emporium. It gave him a warming feeling of respectability to be -buying clothes, but he did not plunge recklessly. He bought everything -he needed, from socks and shoes to tie and hat, but the shoes were stout -and cheap, and the shirt a woolen one, and the hat a soft felt that -would stand wind and weather. - -Mr. Rosenheim himself came and stood by Peter when he was trying on the -shoes. - -"My wife was showing me the piece about you in the magazine," he said. -"I guess you are the first man in Riverbank to get into magazines. We -should be proud of you, Lane." - -"Who, me in a magazine? I guess not." - -"Oh, sure! I read some of it. Some such Art and Crafts magazine, with -photo cuts from them toys you make. Ain't you seen it?" - -"Nope! Let me try on a seven and a half B," he said calmly, but his -pulse quickened. - -"Well, I suppose you are used to being puffed up already," said Mr. -Rosenheim. "I wish I could get such free advertising." - -When Peter looked at himself in the store mirror he was well satisfied. -Mr. Rosenheim nodded his approval. - -"That suit looks like it was made for you, Mr. Lane," he said, and he -did not know what a great truth he was uttering, for Peter, so long in -rags, and the simple, quiet suit seemed well fitted for each other's -company. Peter went out upon the street, and at the first corner he -met--Booge! - -He was the same old, frowsy, hairy Booge, and he greeted Peter in the -same deep bass. - -"Did you get the papers, to rescue the cheeild?" he asked -melodramatically. "I hid them under the stone at the corner of the lane. -Meet me at midnight! Hush! A stranger approaches!" - -There were several strangers approaching, for they were standing on the -corner of the two principal streets. Peter grinned. - -"George Rapp brought it down to me," he said. "I thought you were in for -six months." - -"Sheriff discharged me," said Booge. "I ate too much. He couldn't figure -a profit, so he kicked me out." - -"You don't mean it!" - -"No, teacher excused me at noon so I could go to dancing class," said -Booge. - -"How did you get out?" Peter insisted. "There wasn't room for me and -Briggles in the same jail," said Booge. "We was always singin' out of -harmony." - -"Was Briggles in jail?" - - "They caught the old kazoozer, kazoozer, kazoozer, - They caught the old kazoozer and took him to the jail," - -hummed Booge, "and I got excused so I could go and hunt up Susie: I was -her responsible guardian. Ain't that a joke?" - -"What are you going to do now?" asked Peter. - -"I dunno!" said Booge thoughtfully. "I ain't made up my mind whether to -run for mayor or buy the op'ry house, but if anybody was to give me a -nickel I'd give up whisky and buy beer. If not, I'll stand around here -'til I _do_ get arrested. The town cop has promised and promised to do -it, but he ain't reliable. I've got so I don't depend on his word no -more." - -Peter took a silver dollar from his pocket and handed it to the tramp, -and Booge started across the street to the nearest saloon without -farewell. Peter took a step after him and then turned back. - -"I guess it's what he likes," he said, "and I couldn't stop him if I -wanted to." - -Peter turned into the Star Restaurant and took a seat at one of the -red-covered tables. - -"Bob," he said, "can you get me up one of them oyster stews of yours? -One of them milk stews, with plenty of oysters and a hunk of butter -thawing out on top. Fix me one. And then I want a chicken--a nice, -fresh, young chicken, killed about day before yesterday--split open and -br'iled right on top of the coals, so the burned smell will come sifting -in before the chicken is ready, and I want it on a hot plate--a plate so -hot I'll holler when I grab it. And I want some of your fried potatoes -in a side dish--hashed browned potatoes, browned almost crisp in the -dish, with bacon chopped up in them. And I want a big cup of coffee with -real cream, even if you have to send out for it. And then, Bob, I want -a whole lemon meringue pie. A whole one, three inches thick and fourteen -inches across. I've been wanting to eat a whole lemon meringue pie ever -since I was fourteen years old, and now I'm going to. _I'm_ going to -have one full, fine, first-class meal and then--" - -"Then what?" asked Bob. - -"Then I'm going to go and get an alarm-clock that belongs to me." - - - - -XX. PETER GETS HIS CLOCK - - -For a man who means to walk it, considering the usual state of the -river-road in spring, the railway is the best path between Riverbank and -Widow Potter's farm, and Peter, leaving the town, took to the railway -track. He had, he assured himself, a definite purpose in visiting Mrs. -Potter. She had expressed her views of a man who fell so low as to pawn -his goods and chattels, and the wound still rankled, and Peter meant to -have back his alarm-clock. That, he repeated to himself, was why he was -going to Mrs. Potter's, but in his heart he knew this was not -so--he wanted to see Buddy. He wanted, before the boy forgot him, to -reestablish for a moment the old ties. In short, he was jealous of Mrs. -Potter. - -As he walked up the track he planned the interview in advance. "Mrs. -Potter," he would say, "I have come to get my clock. Here is the money, -and I'm sorry I had to trouble you to keep it so long." Then he would -lay the money on the kitchen table, and Mrs. Potter, slightly awed by -his new clothes, would hand him the clock. "And if possible," he would -say then, "I'd like to speak with Buddy a few minutes." Mrs. Potter -would then call Buddy. - -That was as he planned it, but the nearer he approached Mrs. Potter's -cove the less likely it seemed to Peter that Mrs. Potter would be much -awed by the clothes. By the time he was within half a mile of the cove -he was not only sure that Mrs. Potter was not the woman to be awed by -anything, but he began to wish he had not bought the clothes. He could -imagine her tone as she put her hands on her hips and looked him over -and said, "Well, of all the shiftlessness I ever heard tell of! Goin' -and dressin' yourself up like a dude, and you not a roof in the world to -hide your head under!" He wished he could see himself just once more in -a large mirror, so that he might renew the feeling of confidence he had -felt at Rosenheim's. Instead, he felt much as a young fellow feels when -he dons his first dress-suit and steps upon the dancing-floor. He felt -stiff and awkward, and that every garment he wore was a showy misfit. -He did not seem to be Peter Lane at all, but some flashy, overdressed, -uncomfortable stranger. He suddenly realized that he had hands and feet, -and that the new hat was stiff and uncomfortable, and that the tie--so -placidly blue in the dusk of the clothing store--was rampantly and -screamingly blue in the full light of day. He felt that he had done an -inexcusable and reckless thing in buying the new clothes, and he knew -Mrs. Potter would tell him so. - -Peter decided that, since he was sure to be in for a horrible half hour, -he would assert his manhood. If Mrs. Potter scolded he would sass back. -He had money in the bank, hadn't he? He had heard enough of her hard -words, hadn't he? All right! The minute she said "shiftless" he would -speak right up. He would look her firmly in the eye and say something -like--"Now, stop! You've talked to me that way before, Mrs. Potter, when -I was a poor shanty-boatman, but I've had just about enough of it! I'm -tired of that." He would hide the misery of his clothes in a flood of -high words. - -That is to say, if Mrs. Potter gave him a chance! For, as Peter turned -from the track to the road, and neared the gate, he saw it all depended -on Mrs. Potter. If she did not wish him to talk, that would end it, and -it was a meek, uneasy, uncomfortable, undecided, miserable Peter that -turned in at the gate. - -And then, before he could tuck the sleeves of his flannel shirt--which -seemed to have grown until they were ridiculously long--into his coat -cuffs--which seemed to have become ridiculously short--a young girl -jumped from behind one of the old apple trees and stood staring at him. -Peter took off his hat as if she had been a princess. He was in the -state of mind when he would have taken off his hat to a wax figure. - -But the girl stood but for a moment. Then she ran toward him. - -"I know who you are!" she cried. "You 're Uncle Peter, ain't you? I'm -Susie!" - -"Susie?" said Peter. "Are _you_ Susie?" He tried to greet her as a man -should greet a strange child, but she would have none of it. She threw -her arm around his right arm and hugged it, jumping up and down. - -"O Uncle Peter! Uncle Peter!" she cried joyously, and turning, she -screamed at the top of her voice: "Bud-dy! B-u-u-u-dy! Bud-dy! Here's -Uncle Peter!" - -Around the corner of the house popped a hatless, kinky head. - -"Uncle Peter! Uncle Peter!" screamed Buddy, running with a strange -little hippety-hop. "O Uncle Peter! My Uncle Peter! My Uncle Peter!" and -he threw himself into Peter's arms, laughing and crying and trembling -with joy, repeating over and over, through the laughter and the tears: -"My Uncle Peter! My Uncle Peter!" - -"My Buddy! My old Buddy-boy!" Peter murmured, hugging him close. "My old -Buddy-boy!" - -So it happened that he was not thinking of his new clothes when Mrs. -Potter came to the kitchen door. - -"Well, for the land's sake, Peter Lane," she cried, while Buddy clung to -his neck and Susie clung around one leg, "it's about time! I thought -you never _was_ cornin'. I been waitin' here for you, with these two -fatherless children--" - -From the kitchen came the rackety-banging of the alarm-clock, proving -that, as the clock was set to ring at six, Peter had found a mother for -the fatherless children at just seventeen minutes past three. - -"If it wouldn't annoy you too much to get married, Mrs. Potter," said -Peter, gasping at his own temerity, and wiping his forehead on the -sleeve of his new coat, "I can--I could--we'd have quite a nice little -family to start off with right away." - -"Annoy me? Is that what you call a proposal to marry me, Peter Lane?" -asked Mrs. Potter scornfully. "Ain't you ever goin' to be able to talk -up like a man!" - -"Yes, I am," snapped Peter. "Will you marry me?" - -"Yes, I will!" snapped the Widow Potter. - -THE END - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Jack-Knife Man, by Ellis Parker Butler - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JACK-KNIFE MAN *** - -***** This file should be named 44150-8.txt or 44150-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/1/5/44150/ - -Produced by David Widger - -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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